#I’m not sure if this is a toxic trait. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

st4rpiece · 4 months ago

Text

dealing with a rude server

SWF

characters: luffy, zoro, law, crocodile x f! reader summary: how the guys would handle a server being rude/disrespectful towards you in front of them CW: not proofread, killing (law and crocodile), toxic behavior from servers, but mainly fluff [different kinds of reader traits are mentioned in different scenarios: allergies (not specified), height + weight (kind of specified), speech impediment (more specifically stuttering)]

Monkey D. Luffy

luffy doesn't bother reading the menu at any restaurant you guys go to, and that's because he gets the same thing every time; one of everything. you, however, love taking your sweet time examining the menu and familiarizing yourself with the items, especially if you guys are on a new island.

another reason was because of your allergies, you wanted to make sure the food you were eating didn’t contain anything that could trigger a reaction. unfortunately, a lot of the food served at this particular restaurant contained that exact ingredient, so your options when it came to food were limited. usually, you'd pick a dish you’d like with a couple of new dishes to try, but as a precaution, you stuck to just one.

while deciding, you noticed how overly friendly the server had been with luffy, answering all his weird questions and agreeing to his even weirder requests. had you been treated the same, you (like luffy) would’ve brushed it off as just over-the-top service, but you weren’t. it was clear that they had a thing for luffy, so clear that they didn’t even bother to hide their feelings towards you.

while ordering, they would cut you off to properly pronounce a word you had mispronounced, or answer your questions in a condescending tone, a stark contrast to the way they had treated luffy. and although you didn't ask, they began recommending meals they knew you couldn’t have because you had already told them about your allergies.

the treatment was unfair but not worth fighting over so despite all that, neither of you commented on their actions (although it was clear that luffy was bothered by it). he didn’t like that they would recommend a dish you couldn’t eat as if mocking you. still, he kept quiet, thinking that was all you guys had to deal with.

when your food arrived, and instead of getting what you ordered, you got the exact dish the server had recommended earlier. everything about it was exactly as they had advertised it to be, and while it did look and smelt nice, it wasn't what you ordered. luffy could turn a blind eye to any harm done to him, but he wasn’t as lenient when it came to you. seeing the server stand there with a smirk on their face as if they didn't just hand you something that could kill you pissed him off greatly.

“is this some fucking joke?” luffy asked, his voice a mixture of disbelief and anger as his eyes bore into the server, demanding an answer.

“you know she didn’t order this,” he said, pointing at the offending plate in front of you. the server's eyes darted from luffy’s intense gaze to the food and back again, their cheeks flushing a deep red as they realized their mistake.

“i-i’m so sorry, i’ll get your order fixed right away,” they stammered, their hands trembling as they hastily retreated to the kitchen.

after the stunt they just pulled, their words do nothing to ease luffy’s anger or anxiety. so despite not being allowed in the kitchen, he still went. demanding he keep an eye on the cooks, making sure your dish was prepared quickly and correctly.

once it was done he would personally bring it out to you, intensely assessing you for any weird reactions as you took your first bite. after giving him the nod of approval and your usually happy smile, his eyes would light up with relief before joining indulging in his own meal.

Roronoa Zoro

zoro never orders his food cause he doesn’t care what he eats as long as there’s some good alcohol. so, by default, you've always been the one in charge of ordering. something you enjoyed doing because of the praise you'd get whenever he liked the dish you picked out. the server, unfamiliar with your relationship dynamic, placed all the attention on zoro, waiting for his order with little to no acknowledgment towards you.

“what are you looking at me for? she’s the one ordering,” he’d say, nodding his head in your direction. his brows furrowed in annoyance, eyeing the server intensely, watching them apologize frantically before they finally turned to you, giving you their undivided attention.

seeing this you began ordering a mountain of food; ones you liked, ones you knew he’d like, and a couple of new things for you both to try. you were ordering a lot, especially for just two people, but with zoro’s appetite and your love for trying new dishes, you knew it wouldn't go to waste. the server, watching you order all this food, couldn’t keep their negative thoughts to themselves.

“no wonder she’s so big,” they mumbled under their breath as they wrote down the rest of your order. unprepared for the sudden blade aimed directly at their neck, scaring them in the process.

“come again?” zoro asked, his brows still furrowed, but this time in anger as his blade hovered mere inches from their neck.

the restaurant was silent, the usual chatter of customers and clanging of kitchenware had ceased abruptly. the server’s eyes were wide with terror. they truly didn’t think anyone could hear them.

“i-i just meant she’s tall and muscular like she must work out a lot!” they stuttered, their voice trembling.

zoro’s grip tightened around the blade, the insult was clear. you both knew what she meant; still, he decided to withdraw his blade, sliding it back into its sheath.

“watch your fucking mouth,” he warned his voice a dangerously low rumble that sent a shiver down their spine. they nodded fervently, their eyes never leaving the spot where the blade had just been. after apologizing some more, they quickly left to go get your food, not wanting to anger him even more.

her words didn’t bother you, and if they did you could’ve easily handled it, but the sight of your usually level-headed boyfriend threatening someone’s life for your sake was pretty hot. you couldn’t help but tease him about it, loving the way his ears redden in response.

Trafalgar Law

law doesn’t eat out much, nothing against it he just hates rowdy places, the extroverted personality of his crew was enough for him to deal with. however, after getting together with you, he found himself at a lot of different restaurants watching you gush over a new dish, excited to recreate them back on the submarine. he usually kept quiet while you ordered, trusting your judgment on whatever you picked for him.

food was one of the few outlets that allowed you to express yourself without words. due to your speech impediment, you tended to avoid talking to anyone you weren’t close with, as it was something you were insecure about. but, when it came to food, you could ramble all day regardless of how many times you stuttered. and it helps that all of the restaurants you've been to had servers who were patient and kind, giving you the time to order without judgment.

when visiting a new place law would always ask if you wanted him to order instead, usually after assessing the environment of the restaurant or, in this case, the server's attitude. one he picked up on as they gave their introduction still, you insisted on being the one to order. things were going fine with you ordering as you normally would, before becoming aware of the growing look of disinterest and impatience on the server's face. this made you feel like you were taking too much of their time, causing you to speed up, rushing through your words. something you instantly regretted after coming across a word you weren’t familiar with, butchering it along with your stutter.

noticing the sudden shift in your mood, law takes your hand, drawing small circles on your palm as a way to calm you down. but the warmness from his hands was overshadowed by the muffed chuckle from your server. you weren't sure if they were laughing at your pronunciation or at your stutter either way, you were too embarrassed to say anything else.

“what's so funny?” he asked, a noticeable edge in his voice. the server, however, failed to detect it.

“my apologies,” they said insincerely, mockery evident in their eyes. “what was it that you wanted again?”

you didn't bother answering instead, turning to your boyfriend, hoping he’d take over. unprepared for the sight of the server’s heart clutched in his hands.

coming face to face with their heart made them realize the gravity of the situation that they were in, but before they could plead for their life, law squeezed tightly around their heart, silencing them with the pain.

“get us a different server,” he demanded, watching them frantically search for the nearest coworker with a gaping hole in their chest drawing the attention of the nearby patrons. after arriving with their replacement, they began apologizing for their actions, hoping that law would spare them.

as if he'd spared them after disrespecting you like that. so in front of the new server and all of the patrons watching law, pierced his sword right through their heart, killing them on the spot. the atmosphere in the restaurant completely chilled as everyone was shocked at the lifeless body on the ground while you and law remained unfazed.

“go on baby tell her what you wanted” and that's exactly what you did telling the new waitress who patiently waited for your next words about what you and law would be having that evening.

Sir. Crocodile

despite him being the leader of a wanted criminal group with a bounty of over one billion berries on his head, crocodile always finds the time to spoil you even when he isn't home. you'd wake up to mountains of gifts or a surprise solo trip to one of the summer islands. while being with him, you never had to ask or even lift a finger crocodile's always a step ahead, catering to your every need.

as someone so used to being independent, dating someone like crocodile made you feel so fragile and princess-like. despite your initial barriers, you loved depending on him for simple things you could easily do on your own. like holding doors, planning dates, tying your shoes/putting on your heels, and choosing your meals. it’s been two years, and you’ve stopped reaching for doors and picking what to eat, always letting him do it.

but what you loved the most was being able to spend quality time with him, something you couldn't do often due to his hectic "job." sometimes you'd go months without seeing him, so whenever you guys had that downtime, you cherished it.

he had just returned home after being away for a month, establishing a base in the south blue, and while he doesn't think it's something worth celebrating he knows you do. so, he made dinner reservations at one of the fanciest restaurants on the winter island. it was a pretty restaurant with an even prettier view, but despite the warm atmosphere you couldn't help but be bothered by the server's attitude.

while crocodile ordered you noticed the server's lust-filled gaze as they looked at him, but what bothered you wasn't her looking at him (you knew your man was fine) it was how she purposefully ignored your presence while doing so. for the sake of keeping peace, you don't call her out, planning to vent about it to him later.

after the server left crocodile got a call from mihawk and you figured it was urgent since mihawk never calls unless it was.

“i’ll be right back baby, just need to take this,” he said placing a small kiss on your forehead before leaving to take his call.

not long after, the server returns with your drinks with the same flirty smile that immediately drops the moment they noticed he was gone.

“the sex must be real good if he’s willing to take someone like you here,” they mumbled disgust evident in their voice as they sized you up.

“and what? you think he’d bring someone like you here instead?” you asked. your tone and expression filled with mockery as you returned their heated gaze. it was clear they had expected their words to have a greater effect on your confidence not expecting you to have a sharp tongue.

“don’t get so cocky, i’m sure you're not the only one he’s seeing,” they said with a sneer, their voice rising slightly above the murmur of the restaurant unaware of the looming figure behind them.

while making his way back to your table crocodile had managed to catch the last bit of their words. he didn’t know what they were talking about or who started the argument and honestly he didn’t care. they had disrespected you and to him that good enough reason to kill them. without bothering to make his presence known, he snaps their neck earning a chorus of gasps from the horrified patrons as they watched the servers body drop dead on the floor. his expression unchanged, as he wordlessly looks around looking for the nearest worker, requesting a different table with a new server.

the manager rushes over, sweat beading on his forehead as he frantically apologize for the disturbance the dead server had caused. crocodile calmly hands him a wad of cash, enough to cover the meals of the entire restaurant for the night. "make it right," he instructed, his voice as smooth as the whiskey in his glass.

the man nodded fervently, snapping at his staff to clean up and move them to a different section. the murmurs grew louder as people whispered about what they had just witnessed. but crocodile's eyes remained on you, his hand reaching out to take yours. "you okay?" he asked his grip firm and reassuring.

“oh please,” you said rolling your eyes at his unnecessary worry. “as if her words could bother me. i know you’re all mine,” you said taking a sip from your wine and watching as his eyes narrowed slightly in amusement.

“damn right, i am,” his voice was a low growl sending a shiver down your spine, not one of fear but of excitement.

One Piece Masterlist

having an idea is so much more fun then actually writing down that idea T~T plus i had no time to write these past couple of days due to school. (neuroscience has been kicking my ass).

also i hope i did the reader traits justice or at least done them properly (if not let me know so I can tweak it!)

anyways i hope you guys enjoyed this !! (wrote mini version for the usual people but i ran out of ideas so theres no part 2 :p)

and for those that sent requests i see you and i promise will get to them when i have time 😭😭

1K notes · View notes

jiinxswife · 1 month ago

Text

Jinx’s toxic traits x fem!Reader

Trigger warnings:manipulation, suicide, light smut, stalking, obsessed behavior. Really really short.

•stalks you 100% of the time, if you have a weaker/not really good for fighting physical, expect her to follow you EVERYWHERE. To always have a shadow disappearing when you look behind

•tells that you can’t survive zaun without her

•threatens to lull herself if you ever mention a breakup.

•chases down your exes, both to make sure they stay away from you but also to learn with them.

•fucks you with huge straps so you’re “ruined” to every other man

•leaves you marks everywhere with anything she can. Will bite, scratch, suck you

•has fucked you with her gun at least once

•Russian roulette with you, her and someone that she’s jealous of! The gun is unloaded but you don’t have to know that until she makes you understand

•tries to get you to tattoo her name on your body

•kills people (mostly your exes or people who makes her feel threatened) in your name

•”I killed him for you! To be with you!! Are you really going to break up with me?? His death will be meaningless if you do!”

•steals gifts to you

•makes her injuries worse to get you to pay extra attention on her

•sometimes, tries to make you “in pain” (hiding your cramps or headache medicine) just so you will cling on her to comfort

•pushes your family and friends away. How can you leave her when she’s all you got?

•super duper protective over you, principally when Vi chooses Caitlyn over her. Her own sister, own blood chose someone else over her, she can’t give you the chance to do the same.

•tries to make you physically “weaker” so you cannot survive without her. Without friends or family and ability to fight, you’d die in zaun without her

•jinx from season one at least would buy you one of these

•holds you tightly at night

•never fully sleeps, she needs to make sure you won’t run away

Really short because idk what to write. I’m not having the motivation lately

#arcane #jinx arcane #jinx league of legends #jinx x reader #jinx x y/n #jinx x you #league of legends #lesbian #cannon x oc #cannon x reader #jinx smut #jinx posting #jinx lol #jinx #drabble #short drabble

189 notes · View notes

cherry-leclerc · 10 months ago

Text

so long, london ☆ ln4

genre: angst, toxic relationship traits, fluff, humor, established relationship, one-sided, smut

word count: 7.3k

You've never been read so easily by someone until he entered your world. All is good, all is true love, but realistically, that all comes crumbling down. Leaving you with a series of doubts. The kind you ignore because why not?

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...penetrative sex, m!receiving, f!receiving

inspired by london boy, taylor swift , so long, london, taylor swift !

To be completely fair, the accent wasn’t all that familiar to you. It’s odd, then alluring, then it makes you curl a brow. Australian? British? Irish—no, that’s too far off, ridiculous, really.

It’s the end of spring, which means it’s also the start of summer, which also means your job is in full force. Which is good if you’re still considering transferring to London to study abroad. You were, thank you very much, which is why you needed a shit load of money.

Being a waitress isn’t all that bad; the view was breathtaking. Laguna Beach has always been and always will be. It’s impossible to take away its charm.

The diner is small, yet crowded, so it’s hard to get through with a stack of breakfast plates atop one another. A piece of bacon slips past you as you let out a curse, mentally noting to clean it up on your way back. “An order of pancakes, french toast, two hashbrowns, bacon, four freshly squeezed orange juice—shit. I forgot, it was grapefruit, wasn’t it?”

Setting down the plates as carefully as you can with their assistance, you let out a sigh. “I’ll be right back—”

“It’s fine, mate. Orange juice is just as good.” His voice is soft and rough, all at once.

You halt, fixing your apron, awkwardly. “No, it was my mistake, I’ll fix it—”

Mmm, delicious, his friends chime in as they take a sip from the fresh beverage. The blue eyed boy signals with his dark brows. “Told you. Don’t worry about it.”

“Cool,” you mumble. “Enjoy. Oh, and let me know if you need anything.”

They don’t, which is quite upsetting since you were slightly curious to find out if you were right. Smoking a joint, you hear a loud cough. The mysterious brunette waves. “Tough shift?”

“Of course not, I love it.”

He nods. “I’m sure you do, but I’m also sure that’s not the complete truth.” He sits. “You’re on your break, I presume, which means you're not on the clock, which means I’m no longer a customer, but rather just a stranger. A stranger whom you will most likely never see again, so…”

A puff expands through the blue sky and yellow sun. You squint. “I’m worn out. Down. Worn down? Both.”

“You’re good at hiding it.”

A chuckle. “But you were able to notice which obviously means I’m not much of an actress.”

He motions over to the cigarette. You hesitantly hand it over to him as he sucks sharply and releases. Bemused, you make a face. “I was because I go through the same thing, oftentimes. More like all the time.” Another hit. “I understand.”

“I’m not sure whether I should feel seen or scared…” Humor laces your soft voice as you quirk a brow. He laughs.

“Seen, definitely.” A beat. “I’m Lando. Foreign visitor.”

Shaking his hand, you ease up, smiling, gently. “Nice to meet you, Lando—foreign visitor.” A pause. “Resident.”

“Really, now?” He plays along, teasing. You can hear it.

“Lucky, I know. Been here my entire life. Can’t complain.”

“I bet.”

“Yourself?”

Lando winces. “England. Bristol, specifically. Ever been?” Nope. A toothy grin. “Don’t—rains all day long, gloomy all year. It’s depressing, but…” He relaxes. “It’s home.”

Staring off into the waves, you cover your face from the strong breeze. Salt air splits your tongue in half as you wipe your mouth. “Your accent. It’s captivating. As soon as I heard it, I grew jealous.”

The Brit frowns. “Your accent is much better. Clean,” he adds and you let out a snort. Accent—what accent? He rolls his blue eyes. “That one. You might not consider it one, but it is. Very…pretty.” A rosy tint flourishes onto his cheeks. Summer heat, summer breeze, perhaps.

Retreating the roll from his hand, you stomp on it, letting the light die. “Thank you, Lando from England. You made my day.”

That’s the end, really. Just a nice encounter that still doesn’t make much sense, but you’re glad it happened. Normally, after a tiring shift, you borrow Benny’s surfboard and rush towards the killer waves. The soothing water releases a lot of the built up tension that lies between your shoulder blades.

Today isn’t much different. After getting yelled at for— “getting the fucking order wrong, bitch” —and— “my toddler just threw up, yes, oh, nevermind, had a…teensy accident” — you don’t second guess it. As soon as your skin connects to the warm temperature, you sigh in sweet relief.

“I need to get out, I need to get out, I need to—”

“You just got here, though. Plus, the water feels nice, don’t you think?”

Startled, you sit up on your board, rocking back and forth. With what looks to be a painful tan, Lando smiles, sheepishly. “Hello…again.”

“Are…” You look around, but the ocean is practically empty. “A-are you stalking me?”

His smile drops. “W-wh—no! Of course not! I saw you from afar, and I just thought…” He grimaces. “I should go.” Except he can’t. Every chance he tries to tread away, the waves only push him back. It’s comedic. “One sec…crap. One more—shit. Okay, two, two sec—”

“Ah, forget it, stay. Land of the free, no?” Rubbing your nose, you pull his paddle closer. “What brought you out here?”

“Heard it was a good day to attempt to surf. Tell you what—it’s not.”

A giggle escapes, then lessens. You furrow your brows. “Hold on a minute; are you teaching yourself? As in, no instructor? Just you? Alone? Solo?”

“Yeah, what about it?” he grumbles. “I can do it.”

You’re wheezing at this point, stomach clenching. “That’s nearly impossible! I’m mean, sort of, sort of not.” When his eyes don’t switch from being offended to getting the joke, you quickly snap your lips shut. “Can I teach you? It’s not that hard.”

He gapes, curls grow more and more. They’re cute, the way they bounce when he shakes his head. “And if it’s so easy then why can’t I just do it myself?”

“How long have you been trying?”

He burns up. “That’s not the point.”

“No, that’s exactly my point. You need a mentor, and lucky for you, I’m a surf instructor on the weekends. Come on.”

The twenty-four year old is not sure he even wants to be here, suffering from an overdose of embarrassment. Every single attempt ends up with him splashing straight into the clear water. He groans for the millionth time, clutching into his board. “I think I’m done for the day.”

You don’t fight him on it. His bruised nose makes you feel bad, and his chipped lip makes you want to giggle, so yeah, that’s enough. He can taste the salt water as he smacks his lips, trying to get rid of it. You click your tongue. “That doesn’t really do anything. Not until you bathe and brush your teeth. Or rinse. Either or.”

He invites you to the mansion he’s rented for him and his friends, declaring that there would be endless amounts of alcohol, but when you decline, he rubs his jaw and grimaces. “Yeah, I’m not in the mood, either. Craving tacos?”

So, that’s what you two do; converse over an amazing meal. You can already note his skin shedding, but for some reason, it’s endearing. You even spot a couple of moles. Chewing rapidly to try and forget about the spice, he pants. “London, eh?”

“England,” you correct. He deadpans you.

“That’s basically the same thing. It’s along the same lines. Just like Monaco and Paris.”

You shrug. “London—yes.”

Sniffling, he reaches for his can of Coke. Gasping left and right, he winks to the best of his ability. “You’re a smart girl…I think. And you’ll get in…I think.”

“Gee, thanks, I think.”

He laughs. “I hope you get in. I really do, Laguna Resident.” You roll your eyes. “You won’t miss all of this, though?” The warmth, the people, everything. A bittersweet feeling runs through your veins, momentarily, before you wave him off.

“Nothing is holding me back, forcing me to stay. I’ll be just fine.”

Finally, he calms down, occasionally sneezing. The way he excuses himself makes him look very polished. Lando licks his lips clean, drumming his long fingers against his lap. Later you would find out this would be his nervous tick. A teller. A good one, at most.

“Call me? When you get there, I mean—if you want to, of course. No pressure.”

And while you may not have a reason to be a part of SoCal anymore, something else seemed to tug you to the other side of the world. “Might have to take your word for it.”

“Good.”

You grin, looking down onto your lap. Later he’d know this was your way of avoiding his stare. Butterflies, for the meantime. “Good.”

“No, no, no! You were supposed to—forget it, nevermind. Did you at least—” The stream flatlines and Lando is left speechless, headset drooping down, inch by inch. The way his eyes furiously twitch is enough for you to peck his cheek.

“It’s late anyways. Come on, let's go to bed.”

There’s utter nonsense, and mumbo-jumbo that he spills as he reluctantly follows. If Max had done this, and if Max had done that. Pouting, you cradle his face, forcing him to look at you. “You’re telling me you wish you would still rather be playing than spend time with me?” You gently slap his face and he smiles, sheepishly. “I’m hurt.”

“No, no, you’re right. Of course I want to spend time with you.” When you peck his nose, he sighs. You can faintly smell the cheap beer, courtesy of said Max, so you let out a screech, creating a distance.

“Never mind. I don’t want to spend time with you, you reek.” His smile drops and you pinch the tip of your nose. “Reek, I tell you. Go brush your teeth!”

The McLaren driver snarls, then makes his way over to your shared bathroom. “I remember when you used to be fun. Seems like a decade ago.”

“And make sure to floss!”

If you’re able to remember, you could openly admit that you did make that call. Actually, text. You got cold feet and sent a text last minute. You met up at the pub just around your dorm, the one that is only busy during the weekends, so is practically empty during the week. Hence, Wednesday night.

Wow. Your tan is gone, is the first thing he says when he sees you. It’s true. Being away from the California sun has completely changed you. A bit, but it did. Giggling, you accept his hug, finding warmth. London weather. “How was the move? I want to hear all about it.”

Oh, the move was as good as it could get. The airport lost two of my luggages, but it’s fine, I didn’t really need many dresses, because yes, you were right, it’s always gloomy. I miss Benny like a baby, but we always keep in touch—I’m actually going to visit him for his birthday. Which is in January? Yes…yes! January third.

“What about you? Work?”

First of all, can’t really consider it work when it’s fucking fun. Second of all, it’s quite swell. I’ve got a new teammate, which sort of sucks, but he’s nice. The car is a bit wonky, but I’m sure that’ll change throughout the course of the year. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

Conversations switched from having them on a steady stool in the pub, to having them in the comfort of his flat. Plus, you two were more open and honest with one another.

Benny, yeah, it’s pancreatic cancer, and no, I’m not okay.

The team is fucking shit. My arm still hurts from last week's crash, but I’ll be fine. Please, don’t you worry, love.

Lando is an absolute angel. He pays for your tickets back home, along with Benny’s treatment. He declines the help at first, but as soon as he meets your smiley boyfriend, he accepts. I’ll pay you back. Once I’m better. Lando laughs with a muppet dive. Of course—of course, Ben.

You take care of him and his injuries. Follow doctors orders. Ice at least twice a day. Don’t forget to take your pain meds. No, for the love of God, they’re not candy, sweetheart.

It’s the best and the worst. And it’s all yours.

He’s very much obsessed with Mila as soon as she’s born. He congratulates his brother and his sister-in-law once, and off he goes, straight to the newborn. It makes you fall in love even more, which you didn’t know was possible, but here you were.

“I say give it a year or two.”

“More like five. Come on, honey, be realistic.”

“I am! Can’t you tell he adores her?” Oliver scoffs. “He’s my brother. I would know.” His wife rolls her eyes, then moves on to snap a few pictures of Lando and Mila, then a thousand videos.

“Crap. I want one,” he mentions on the drive back home. He gently rubs his thumb over your leg; you shudder. “You saw me, you were a witness, I was a good enough babysitter!”

“Babysitter? You’d be a dad, not a babysitter,” you retort, though your wobbly grin is a dead giveaway. A long finger pokes at your ribs as you laugh, scooting as far enough away as the McLaren allows you to get. “One day. Just not now.”

And he knows that’s true. He’s busy with racing, you’re busy with school; it's irresponsible. Your confirmation was sweet though—it was enough. The Brit hums, continuing the drive with a bright smile.

“One day, then.”

Baby talk was a fun thing to dream about. To think, daydream. Marriage talk? Now that’s serious.

It started on a Sunday morning; a non-race week. He’s finally back home and you're ecstatic. He was too, but that slowly goes out the window when you rush him to the room. I like where this is going, he starts when you drag him along. You bite back a smile, waiting for his noise. “What the shit?” he yelps, pulling on his curls. Spinning to face you, your boyfriend groans. “Where’s all my gaming—sweetheart,” he softened his voice, softened his eyes. “Sweetheart…”

“It’s gone! Bye-bye, adios!” You twirl around the empty room. “You don’t need it, Lando. It was rotting your brain.”

The color from his vibrant face fades, leaving him to let out a delirious laugh. “No, no, it wasn’t. Wh-why would you do that?” He doubles over. “I’m going to be sick.”

After a while of letting him drown in a puddle of self-pity, you snicker. Blue eyes look up at you; furrowed thick brows. What? “They’re in the guest room. I just needed us to paint the walls.” Releasing a scream, Lando plunges for you, picking you up and spinning you around until you flop against his arms.

“Asshole!” you yell, smacking his arm. After a series of instructions, you both fall into a pattern. He focuses on the left side of the room and you focus on the left and the right. It just makes sense.

“Stick to your side,” he mumbles, pushing you away. You burn a laser to the back of his head. “I can feel you killing me—stop it.”

“Then quit drawing, you’re ruining it!” There’s a cat, a dog, a house, his racing car, you—you presume— and Mila for good measure, but he serves her no justice as she appears to be more of a blob. Going over it with a thick layer of paint, he curses to himself. As soon as he picks up the thin brush once again, you immediately set your foot down. “No, Lando, think before you commit.”

But he must not hear you—or ignores you—because suddenly he’s drawing something unrecognizable. You almost laugh when you guess it must be a donut, but when he draws the familiar rock, you come to a halt. “Stellar, no?”

“Hardly. Looks like more of a neck guard—next!”

But he pushes you away as soon as you reach over to cover it up. “I’m being serious. I’m mean, not now, but someday. Are you…” His voice drops, slowly, and he drums his fingers onto his thigh. Your lips turn upward. “...open to it? Getting married?”

“Well,” you start and his breath hitches, nervously tapping, awaiting for your response. Pressing your lips against his, you breathe out, and he groans. “I love you, Lando. I’m more than open to it.”

He sighs in relief, kissing you harder this time, with more emotion. “Good.” A beat. “Thank you.”

Slowly, but surely, you’re celebrating your three year anniversary—in Japan, a race week—but still. Yuki specifically gives you two a list of places to visit, so it makes everything a thousand percent easier. Fifth, he grunts, throwing his helmet onto the tiny bed in his motorhome. Screw it, I’m blowing my brains out.

“Hey now, quit talking like that.” A kiss. “I don’t care if you’re upset, I happen to be super duper proud.”

“It’s Super Trouper,” Oscar yells from the other side of the wall. “Don’t disrespect ABBA like that.

“Yeah,” Lando hums, pulling you in. “Don’t.”

“I’ll pull the trigger,” you warn.

He gasps, theatrically. “You wouldn’t dare…”

“Try me.”

“I already have—sweet.” His dirty implications makes you heat up and the Australian groans as he turns up his music. Lando snickers, changing quickly. “Happy Anniversary. It’s not everyday, you know?”

“I know,” you cheer, playing with your promise ring. You beam up at the bubbly Brit. “I just wish we were home. Celebrating in the comfort of our own place.”

He doesn’t mention it, but you considering London your home—despite not growing up there—makes him crush on you harder than ever before; it's sickening. Clapping loudly, he stands up, reaching for your hand. “Then let's go back home. What’s keeping us here?”

“Yuki,” you grunt, taking his open hand. “We’d be breaking his heart, Lan. We need to do these twenty-one things.”

“Ah, he’ll understand.” A pause. “If he doesn’t then we’ll just buy his next meal to make up for it.”

Cackling, you peck his face, over and over until he pushes you away in a jokeful manner. “This is why I love you, Lando Norris!”

And he’s content, admiring the way you pack happily. He’s never seen someone so giddy to spend fourteen hours on a plane just to curl into the comfort of their bed. He’s just never seen or met anyone like you.

It was perfect.

As soon as he picks up his own digital camera, he’s in love. Part of you would be jealous, definitely, if it weren’t for him stopping to take a thousand pictures of you. One in the McLaren garage, next to his car. One where you balance yourself on a swing, eventually falling straight onto your face. One of your newly bruised nose, due to the fall. One where you’re sleeping, drooling like a—

“Delete that, I don’t even want to see it!”

Shaking his head full of curls, he runs away. “No! I happen to love it!”

“Lando!”

“You look adorable.”

“Fuck you, I’m leaving. Spend the night alone, loser.”

You don’t end up keeping your word. You get your revenge, eventually, when you pie him in his sleep. He nearly chokes, but it’s all in good fun, according to you.

But neither of you would have it any other way. You just happen to be his muse.

His greediness starts to show overnight, nearly. It catches you off guard, leaving you like a lost dog. The worst part is that it’s not directed directly at you, per se, but it felt like it. Most of the time, you’d deal with this by talking to him until he calms down, by making him a cup chamomile tea, because—

“It doesn’t help!” He paces the small room, throwing his gloves harshly against the wall.

“Studies prove—”

“Studies my ass.” An angry huff. “I just need to be alone. For a while.”

And it also catches you off guard how you don’t fight him back on it. Instead, you’re glad, fleeing out the door, straight to God knows where. Strolling, you twist and turn the thin band.

Where are you going?

“You said you wanted to be…” Except it’s not Lando. George quirks a dark brow. You gulp, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry. I thought you were…” A painful pause. “I thought you were Lando.”

“Must be the accent.” He laughs. “Don’t worry about it. Carmen actually made me chase you down. Said she wants your opinion with something about the wedding. You know her—perfectionist.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Throwing your hair over your shoulder, you beam brighter this time, though it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I have plenty of time.”

He’s rude when he finds you. Well, not really, but even your friends notice it. I’m telling him to wear a simple black and white suit. A bow or a tie, he can decide, but he’s insisting on wearing white and I’m like hello? You giggle, orbs moving to find George with a playful glare.

“Why can you be the only one wearing white? It’s this some kind of rule or?”

“No, but it’s weird!” Carmen turns to face you, desperate eyes begging for backup. “Come on! Tell him it’s weird.”

Plump lips flicker upward. “I don’t know, George, it is a b—”

“Awful. You’re going to steal all the attention away from Caren and you’re going to look horrible. Just go with a traditional suit.”

The Mercedes driver doesn’t pay any attention to what was just said to him, but you and Carmen do, and that’s probably worse. You can tell she’s bothered by your boyfriend's unwanted opinion and for him going after her fiancé, so you briskly stand up. “Sweetheart, are you, um…ready to go?”

The Brit nods, fixing his bag that lays over his shoulder. “That’s why I’m here, no? Could have let me know you were leaving, too.” There’s tension in his voice; annoyance. “Also, I forgot your bag. I’ll wait for you here.”

His implication makes you queasy. You blink hastily. “Of course.” Turning to the older couple, you smile politely. “Um…text me, yeah? Let me know what you two decide on.”

Once you rush off, Carmen narrows her usually kind eyes, hard. George is quick, placing a steady hand onto her lap, and clears his throat. “You know, just because you didn’t place a podium for once doesn’t mean you get to act like a jerk. Seriously.”

Lando chooses to ignore his comment, bidding goodbye, and strolls over to find you, flustered. “Now I’m ready,” you confirm with a weak smile. The Brit laces his fingers through yours and brings it up to his mouth, pressing a warm kiss.

“You know I love you, right?”

“I do. I do know.”

He’s trying to be more gentle, you can tell. With his words, with his actions. It reminds you why you chose him. He had apologized after a quiet night, settling with what he had done. How he had treated you and his friends. George is quick to accept his apology, and you were too.

“I didn’t mean it,” he groans quietly, chest pressed against yours as you ride him. “I s-shouldn’t have—fuck.” The way you clench around him tightly makes his head spin. A whine escapes your swollen lips as you nod, fast, then slow, then staggered. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you pant, finally opening your eyes to find him already looking up at you. He squeezes your hips harder, keeping you firm. “You were upset, that’s all. I get it.”

She gets it, he remembers thinking, considering himself lucky for having a girlfriend who understands. His highs. His lows. His wins. He loses. This—this is why you were the one.

But once again, his lack of display is what reluctantly pushes you away.

Then back in.

It’s been three months of him not even picking up his camera. Maybe he’s just too lazy to develop his pictures, so you do it for him. There’s really no excuse. That’s what you say with light humor when you push it towards his chest, but he only cocks his head to the side. “I never asked for you to do that.”

Your stomach churns. You lick your chapped lips. “You don’t need to. I just…did it. Thought it might help get you out of your slump.”

This pushes something in him as he narrows his brows like a set of sharp knives. “Slump?” A scoff. “What? Because I haven’t been able to get a win?”

“What?” You’re dazed. “No.” You’re confused. “No, why would you say that?”

“I don’t know—why would you?”

“I mean it because you’ve been down, that’s it. Not because…” When his eyes don’t change, and your heart continues to pound, you flip him a smile. “You’re right. My choice of words weren’t the best. I’m sorry.”

The blue eyed boy clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth once, then sets the camera to his side. “Whatever, it’s fine, I guess.” And suddenly he’s making his way to his gaming room, leaving you with wide eyes and a bruised heart.

“Wait!” Carefully, you pick up the small camera, extending it out towards him. “Wh-what do you want me to do? Should I pack it into your suitcase? Or maybe I could—”

“Pack it, yes, but into a box and put it in the attic.” He continues his march. “I lost interest a long time ago, either way.”

You’re not dazed. You’re not confused.

You’re broken hearted.

You would think that you would have learned by now. He loves you, damn it. He’s just having a tough time proving it, but it’s fine, stuff like this happens all the time.

“Hello, darling,” Carmen greets, pulling you away from your trance. The camera pans over to Lance, Carlos, and Lando. She gingerly takes the spot next to you. “Feeling alright? Lost a bit of weight and color.” Her concern can’t be hidden behind even the tallest mountain.

Been working out. London is gloomy all day long. Haven’t gotten proper Vitamin D. Looking down onto your lap, you twirl your fingers. Over and under, over and under, over and un—

Her hands feel warm against yours and you can’t help but flinch, instinctively needing to pull away, but she holds on tighter. Not even your boyfriend's hands have felt as warm as hers; not in a very long time. “You can talk to me. Anytime.” Eyes remain downward, watering, so, like most nights before bed, you blink them away. Hard, fast, and cruel.

“Have you chosen the song you want to be for your guys’ first dance?”

She remains still for a second, focuses directly into your soul and you blink faster before she has a chance to decode you. She always did. “We have. My Funny Valentine. Hear this, Daniel wants to sing it. With a band and the whole thing. Nightmare.”

And you’re glad for having her stories to distract you from your feelings, because silly is what they are. Childish. False. It’s only until the end of the race where you two realize you hadn’t been paying attention. As soon as George walks in through those doors, he jumps up and down. “Hey. Top five!”

“That’s my boy!”

You feel like a creep watching them kiss with sweet emotion you can’t help but miss and crave. Your eyes flicker over to the flat screen T.V. and you’re shooting up from your seat. “Shit! I have to go!”

He’s in the middle of a speech of some sort when you rush in gasping for air. Sheepishly, you wave, then scoot closer to Zak who gives you a quick side hug. Everyone claps and then he’s making his way to—

Not you.

First it’s Zak, then he squeezes by. Then it’s his entire team. Then it’s Oscar. Then it’s Carlos, which is the last straw because he’s not even supposed to be here. “Mind if I squeeze in?” you squeak. The Spaniard shakes his head.

“Be my guest. I should leave anyway.” “Are you sure?” Lando quips. “Why don’t you stay?”

Brown pity eyes dance over to where you look down, then settle with a wobbly smile. “I, um…I actually have a few emails to respond to. Stay, Carlos.” It’s pathetic and embarrassing how he’s the only one who convinces you to stick around. Not even your own boyfriend. Though his hand remains by your side, it feels all for show, which it is because as soon as a few fans take a couple of pictures of you two, he finally retreats his arm.

Once the Ferrari driver finally jogs away, Lando turns to face you. “Where were you?”

“I was watching the race.” Your heart beats faster.

“Liar. Your lips just did the thing.” A halt. “What thing?”

“There! There it is again! You didn’t watch it, did you?”

Taking his palms into your own, you kiss them, feverishly. “I was, but then Carmen came over, and we started to talk, and then one thing led to another and…” Blue eyes stare down, empty. You grimace. “I’m so sorry, Lando. You got second place and I wasn’t there to celebrate. I’m so sorry.”

And perhaps he feels he already made you suffer enough with his ignorance, or maybe he was still high off his accomplishment, but it surprises you when he leans down to peck your forehead. “Just don’t let it happen again, yeah?”

You let out a breath of relief. “Pinky swear.”

He laughs, ruffling your hair. “Ah, see, I don’t believe in pinky promises.”

“Take my word for it then.”

He winks. “Good enough.”

I can’t believe we haven’t had a sunny day in weeks! Flipping over to face him, you pout. Weeks! That’s bonkers.

The Brit hums against his blankets, against you. It’s officially been a year since you two have been dating and it honestly felt surreal. Especially in moments like these. The kind where he was just yours.

I tried to warn you.

You groan, pressing your cheek against his firm chest. His heartbeat is slow and steady, indicating he’s half asleep, indicating you were too awake. Indicating you should probably go to sleep, too.

Guess I’ll just have to learn to live with it.

Guess so.

You know…I sort of love it.

You say so because you haven’t lived here your whole life.

I could easily, you want to confess. If it’s with you, then yes, I can. But it’s too soon and you don’t want to scare him off. Not when things were a dream. Cloudy, sunny, rainy, sunshine—I don’t care. I have a good enough reason to stay.

He vibrates due to his chuckle and you giggle due to his chuckle. Look at you being all cute.

Not trying to be cute, just speaking my truth.

In one motion, he flips over you, hovering. You love it? Like truly?

I love it. I truly love it.

Make me believe it.

Are my words not enough?

He grins, eyes crinkling. I’m more of a pinky promise type of guy.

You lift your small finger and he’s fast to wrap his own around it. Pinky swear. I love you and London.

And it was true. It was true for a while.

It all came crashing down on you, really. It was alarming, yet you had expected it. It was lonely, but survivable. It came in phases. You first noticed the doubt a bit after your third year anniversary, but no, he loves me. I know he does.

But you were good at pushing it all away; far, far, and further. Until you couldn't think about it anymore, even if you tried. His acts were a suck punch, though. Everytime you started to heal and stand up, he only sent a new one. A stronger one. But, hey, no—he loves me. He only says it every night.

Like last Monday night. When he fucked you in his hotel room.

Or last Thursday. When he went down on you under the table.

Or Friday. When you sucked his cock in the shower.

All right before bed.

God, I fucking love you so much. Hot cum shoots down your throat and he groans like a madman. Love you so, so much. You can’t even begin to imagine.

So, when your friends ask and check up on you, that's what you say. Yes, he reminds me everyday. He means it. Don’t worry, we’re doing better than ever.

The second comes in like a slap to the face. He had just done what you consider a low blow, but no—he’ll make up for it. He always does.

“Bullshit.” You blink your hot tears away. Carmen never—ever—curses. She’s too classy for any of that, so it’s almost funny to hear it now. But it’s not, not really. She sighs, rubbing her temples. You and your problems were stressing her out, God, how could you be so selfish?

“Forget I said anything. I’m being a fucking crybaby—”

“No. You’re not.” It seems like she’s choosing her choice of words, delicately. “You have every right to be upset. Every. Single. Right.”

And for the first time in a while, you feel completely seen. Heard. Understood. And that was a lot, but it must have been what you needed, because suddenly, you were spilling the ugly truth. The reason why you didn’t attend the last race. Or the one before that one.

The reason why she and George found you clutching onto your chest that night in Vegas. Forgot my keys, you giggled. You two have fun! Don’t worry about me.

Carmen is older, wiser, and so fucking mature. You love it. But you hate it because now that you sit here with more of an open mind and less defense, you blink like a lost kid at the grocery store. “You love him.”

A whimper. “I adore him.”

“A lot?”

“Infinitely.”

“But?”

Another whimper, louder this time, more wet. “He makes me sad sometimes. Is that normal?” “It is—” And it’s the delusion that always makes you stay. You’re quick to swallow it down, eager and fast. It’s all you need to hear. Carmen shakes her head. “But not to this extent. You get sad over them forgetting your favorite drink order, or when they forget to pack your heels.” An unwanted pause. The kind that gives you the room to overthink. “Not because they locked you out. Or because they forgot your anniversary.”

And she won’t admit—not when you were already so broken—but Lando hadn’t forgotten.

She likes wine, fuck, she’s obsessed with that sparkly shit. Wine testing! We could go wine tasting and I could do it there. He twidles with the ring box. Is that good?

George raises a playful brow before releasing a laugh. It sounds great. As long as you have a nice place to take Instagram pictures, then you’re set to go. Chicks love that. Isn’t that right, love?

But she pinches her lips, forcing a smile to the younger Brit. Lando lets out a shaky breath. It’s about to be our four year anniversary—it’ll be perfect. I’ll make sure.

So, yes, she knows he loves you. But that still doesn’t make the way he treats you right. What kind of love was that? Sobbing loudly, you push your hair back. “But you don’t get it! When he’s good…” Her eyes soften and yours grows more glassy. “...he’s so good.”

“Is it worth the pain, though?”

The third one is the breaking point you had been avoiding for so long. The day started out gray, either way, and not just because of the dark London weather. Dragging your feet to the end of the bed, you tremble. You got the call at four a.m. and those are never good, so why were you shocked to hear from Benny’s son?

“Oh, baby…” He pulls you atop his lap, kissing your temple. “I know how much he meant to you.”

“I still owe him a surfboard. The expensive kind, too.” He quirks a confused brow, but you continue staring off into space. “They stole the last one. The one he always lent to me. His mom had gifted it to him.”

“When did this happen?” he questions, trying to keep you talking because that sounds like a good idea. To get your mind off things.

You hum. “Last January; his birthday weekend.”

“Birthday weekend? I don’t recall—” “You weren’t there.” He doesn’t have to remember to know that’s true. It's become a habit of his nowadays and now he’s feeling guilty. Another hum, this time sadder than the prior. “He was going to teach you how to grill steak, just the way I like it.”

His stomach churns. “And how do you like it?” A beat. “I don’t remember. Ask Benny.” Then you’re crying like a newborn.Worse, actually. But he holds you through it all. So maybe this was do-able. He was nice, after all. You could stick with him forever and you’d be grateful. After what seems like a decade, you finally calm down, though your nose keeps runny. “The funeral is later this week. Are we going?” You were, with no fucking doubt, but you just wanted him to say it. There— on the tip of his tongue. You can spot it and he could taste it.

“Sweetheart…you know I have a race.” You didn’t expect him to drop everything and venture off with you, but this cut deep. Still, you understood. Plus, the proposal was ditched the moment you got the eerie call. So, yes, everything was unbalanced, but it wasn’t your guys’ fault. It was just a twist of fate. Nothing you couldn’t handle; you’ve dealt with worse.

“Right. I can go by myself.” He feels bad—you know he does—but anything, really? “You can write a letter, maybe? Just a couple of words for his family. I know it’ll mean a lot.”

He chuckles. And you should have known at that very moment because it wasn’t one you’ve heard before. “Why would I? I barely even knew the guy.”

“Excuse me?”

The Brit continues tracing shapes onto your thigh. “I’m just saying! It sounds a bit weird coming from someone who spoke to him once. Twice at best.”

And you’re no longer dazed, no longer confused, no longer heartbroken.

You’re just angry.

Pushing yourself off him, you glare coldly. “Barely even knew…the guy? We Skyped with him over dinner! You paid his bills! You fucking attended his sons wedding! How could you be so…fucked.”

“Sure… He was a sweet lad, but do you really think they want to hear from me?”

“Maybe not, maybe they don’t give a flying fuck, but I do. Remind me why I loved you!”

He’s up now. His heart quickens, pierces through his skin. “Loved?”

You sigh, clutching your chest. “Love. I said love.”

A huff. “No, you definitely spoke in past tense—do you not love me anymore?”

“Lando…” “No. Just be upfront with me, I can handle it. Tell me now so I don’t waste my time any longer.”

Every uncertainty you ever had, every word of advice Carmen has given you comes crashing down. She was right. He’s keeping you around for good fun. For his benefit. “Your time? What about mine? You’re the one who’s been blocking me out these past couple months!” “That’s not true—”

“Fuck, you’re right—this past year. God Lando! Haven’t you noticed how good I am at apologizing now? My zombie appearance? You left me out in the hallway! All because of what? Because I didn’t tell you I was going out with the girls?” A sour laugh. “Wake up—it’s 2024. Since when are you a shitty masochist?”

His jaw clenched. “I was worried about you! It was fucking Vegas, what was I supposed to do? And for the love of God, this again. I. Didn’t. Hear. You. Knock.”

A peach seed forms onto your chin. Skin is flushed and tears stream down your face. But he’s fine. He’s tall and firm Hard headed. Without an ounce of regret. And you want to do it. You want to make him feel what you’ve felt.

“I got my degree…”

“Woo-fucking-hoo, we’re not talking about that right now.”

“I lived a few good years, filled with pure happiness.”

He pauses.

“But I see it now. Past all the gray clouds, I see it.” He can feel it coming and he’s desperate for you not to say it aloud, but you shrug it, face downward. “Nothing is holding me back to stay.”

His tone washes away like the Laguna waves as he gets closer to you, cradling your face. “Yes. Yes you do. You have me…”

“Lando, quit lying—I haven’t for a while now. I was just a trophy you didn’t want. One you got bored of.”

“That’s not—” “True?” A beat. “It is. And you know what also is? I don’t love you anymore.” The light in his eyes gave out, pitch black. He feels as if he’s going into cardiac arrest and you…you look at ease. Peaceful. Free. With a soft smile, you push his hands down. “I don’t think you love me anymore, either.”

“Don’t say that,” he pleads. “Please, don’t say that. Of course I love you.” Rushing over to his nightstand, he pulls out a box you only ever dreamt of. “You want proof—here! Take it! It’s yours anyways.”

“Where was this a year ago?” Opening the velvet box, you’re left with an inaudible gasp because of course it was gorgeous. And he feels a gist of hope when you place it onto your ring finger, but he slowly pales when it doesn’t fit.

“No. No. That’s your size. I know it is.” He takes it from you, analyzing it in an accusing manner. “I swear it was, I pinky…” The heater kicks on. “I swear.”

“It’s alright. This is the right ring…just not for me.” It shouldn’t affect you to see his cheeks grow splotchy, to hear his voice tremble like a kid who just skinned his knee against the pavement. But he was once your other half, so it does.

“I don’t want you to go…”

“I don’t either. I loved being here.”

“Then stay.” You purse your lips, then scrunch your nose. “It doesn’t love me, though. And I can’t go unwanted.”

If we start saving enough money then we could buy the house—you know—the one close enough to drive to your parents? Sweet, no?

Won’t they hear us fuck?

Ew, gross. No. I’d tape your mouth before I let that happen. You pinch his ear. This is your home.

And SoCal is yours, so why don’t we move there?

Because I don’t want to. I want to be with you and the people you love, in the place you love. Because I love you and I love the people you love, and I love London.

You’re quite literally perfect. I hope you know.

You make it clear everyday.

And I won’t ever stop. Because you deserve to know.

“This place is cold, the way you said it was. This place is gloomy, the way you said it was. But this place isn’t a home to me anymore…the way I once thought it was.”

Should he have been more careful—more caring—then he wouldn’t be here. This wouldn’t be happening, but it is. And it’s no one’s fault but his.

Sniffing, you rub your swollen eyes. “I’m going to pack my things and go to Benny’s funeral.” It's a declaration. He nods, attentively. “And I’m not coming back. Is that okay?”

No. It wasn’t okay. You’re tearing him in half, you’re stabbing his heart over and over again. You’re telling the truth and putting yourself first. Something he was awful at doing. What brought you two to this very moment in time.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I treated you the way I did.” I love you. “But if that’s your decision, then go on. Do what you need to do.” I love you.

“Good.” I love you. But I can’t say it aloud if not I’d stay forever.

You smile and he smiles back.

“Good.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

905 notes · View notes

4mrplumi · 6 days ago

Text

ZERO (ii): SCAVENGERY . (ms/prev/next)

-> plot synopsis - you don't think you're as odd and horrifying as the news makes you out to be. but you have never much cared for the validation of others, and certainly not theirs.

-> batfamily x serial killer reader. playlist (wip) ask 2b added to taglist

-> tw; gn reader, toxic relationships, fem love interest, unhealthy coping mechanisms, obsessive compulsive disorder, paranoia, murder, sociopathic tendencies, full on master list.

> a/n; this entry is skippable! while ive done work to establish the laws and details for the insert and the world around them, the batfamily moments one would look for scattered across. the prologue is planned for this world building exactly, and the next part will be focused on the family.

you have to be prepared. profiled. planned. not paranoid. you are not paranoid.

plans upon plans, plots behind plots, ploys behind ploys. by sixteen, you had your entire life planned out, exactly what you'd do, what you’d do if that didn’t work out, and another two back up plans just in case. you were prepared for yourself to get moved around like this too, driving into the third option you’d laid for your life. with its own backup plans, own what if’s and what not’s, probables and situations.

order. organisation. prepared.

it only makes you a little sick to see your behaviour mirrored on the man of the house, with his contingencies and protocols. but you’re not that stuck up, surely. you do it only out of resentment, you're nothing like him. he and your family are unable to save the scraps they've left, you have to do this to make up for the mess they've created.

you make sure none of your outings, meeting areas, contact lists or even the names you sign on grocery bills are the same. you can’t let any common clue stick out, whether it’s in your civilian life, or under the duty you’ve taken up. even though you’re relatively low on their radar right now, studying the world’s greatest detective’s tactics and those of his rogues has taught you that a frayed past never does anyone any good. it was a backup plan, a just in case, in the event you gained too much unwanted attention.

you want your family out of your business. it’s funny how the teenage, "i’m my own person" phase has so morbidly warped in your life. but you mean it. you don’t trust them with their rules, and will not risk anything trying to correct their errors and making yourself a target. they can live in oblivion, but you won't let them intrude. you don’t trust them.

to ensure your “friends”, as you have termed them, stay similarly in line, you make sure they update you on everything. no detail of common interest is hidden, because everything is common, aligned, on your principles and clues. everything must be known, not because you are paranoid. you check in on them, their health, their whereabouts, their families. they’re in debt, with not much space to refuse, taking the burner phones you force into their hands wearily. but sentimental isn’t the best word to use for you.

you are concerned for the wellbeing of your accomplices only to the extent that they remain in your line of work, alive. yes, you will feed their families and see to their wounds, but only and only to tip the scales of their debts towards you. it’s the exact reason why you make sure the work you put on them isn’t too much, so that there's a low chance that scale could be imbalanced, this time, against your favour. they need to remain in your control, to propel your movements and wipe out the instance of a snitch, a tattle tale.

in a way, with much reluctance, this is a trait you’ve picked up from the batman. you’ve learnt that his training comprises many different things, how to stop a man from running, how to disarm their guns, how to keep them from fleeing. but never how to kill.

of course, you don’t do as much fighting as he does, but you’ve taken the liberty to curve his ways to suit you. you’ll teach the people who work for you how to figure out plots, hidden intentions, the next move and the one after that. but never your next move.

you’ve wondered morbidly, only once, if he’d be proud of you, if your skills were somewhere more suitable, per say. but you have no intentions to change your ways for his peace of mind. you do not care for his pride.

you’ve made of yourself an independent dependant, unreliable. you'd caught on early that having expectations from others and expectations on yourself was an unnecessary burden. your first year in the manor was terrible, and it has improved only out of your isolation, your distrust.

you trusted just about no one, and made sure no one trusted you. no debt, no obligation.

you had to know everything, but not because you were paranoid.

there are only five people out of the handful you keep, allowed into your inner circle. people to confide in and accompany you when you need a plus one. they’re the easiest to keep in line, students or workers, and of course, her. your ‘girlfriend’ who too was a device for your plotting.

however, with her drawling voice and less than weary affections, you need to remind her of it often. you’ve heard very little endearment from people in your life; called “kid” or “doll” by the people in your childhood, your proper legal name by your ‘family’, and a plethora of less pleasant things by self-proclaimed rivals in school and on the streets.

so when she takes to calling you angel, you pause from smacking her hand away from curling in your hair. in an attempt to decipher her intentions, knowing damn well she did all this to gain your favour (you would not so kindly give it), you think upon it. for more hours than considered normal.

is she calling you inhumane? damian had said the same thing to you once, coming across your little hobby in the greenhouse once. is she calling you frightening? you were kinder to her than the others, just by a sliver. dick grayson had looked at you with weariness once, perhaps seeing the hint of a familiar scowl on you. or is she genuinely, as genuine as the glorified scum of your accomplices get, being genuine? an angel… you.

you don’t dwell on it any longer after that, pushing her hand aside and her legs off off of yours, leaving. you were not weak, and if that was what she was trying from you, it would not work. you were not weak, and not ashamed to show that you weren’t. people deserve to know their faults. and you’re no exception.

you did not ever, ever hide your disappointment nor disgust. damian wayne was scorned out loud for his empathy, dick grayson scowled at for his sensitivity and tim drake hissed at for his distance. jason todd for his dramatics, but not to his face, and duke for his concerns.

you judged, as an interrupting scoff that broke their peace, and did none of it for fun. you did not gain anything by irritating your brothers, nor did you hope to lose anything. you were speaking your mind, what they deserved to know.

if they resented you for it, fine! you couldn't care less, since you didn’t owe each other anything for it. you wanted them out of the way, and needed none of their kindness. you are unbothered.

you are not paranoid, but you can always be more prepared.

> a/n; i hope i’ve made a good effort to build on the mindset here. i had to rewrite this whole chapter cus the styles weren’t matching up (- - ;;) the prologues are super just set ins. plot starts from ch1 that i'm hoping to get out before my exams.

i’m incredibly happy that people are finding interest in this!! however, i need opinions on the relationship dynamics you think would be visible with the “friends”. i will expand on it maybe in a drabble? even though this is something i’m writing, i think it's important to know what kind of thoughts my sentences create. this means valid criticism on the writing is also appreciated (just please don’t be mean).

thank you for reading!!

taglist: @boredselkie @shirp-collector-of-fixations @randomlyappearingartist @bat1212 @maicenitas @xjesterxjacksx @heartjwonie @lucienneb1ue @vikkus-main @adornedlace @cuntiesweet @minorlyatfall @staarflowerr

#saria 💤 says #'25 run: scavengery #yandere batfamily #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #yandere batfam x reader #x male reader #x gn reader #yandere x reader #batfam x villain reader

145 notes · View notes

i-starcreamed · 5 months ago

Note

Beggingggg for a Megatron (Transformers One) x kind male reader who looked up to him not as a friend but as a small crush. Megatron saw jt at first when he was D-16 and didn’t think much until when he declared to kill their leader (did not like him that I forgot his name) and tries to take advantage of the readers fondness towards him to make him join his side. The reader knows it’s wrong and declines which turns into a small argument about why the reader should join them..

THINKS OF SOME TOXIC TANGO OF LOVE AND LOYALTY WHERE ONE ISNT SURE—

MEGATRON X READER

Basically megop but with Y/N. You two are divorced YOU COULD HAVE BEEN SO MUCH MORE!! Also I don’t mention pronouns that often in my work but I’m tagging this as male reader :3

[cybertronian! male reader Angst AGAIN 😭 not that much though, you guys just argue a lil]

As D-16, he hadn’t thought much of your crush. He knew you as the mech who treated everyone with kindness, a trait he silently admired. You were almost an even softer version of Orion, gentle to a fault sometimes.

You were with them when you went to find the Primes, there, you uncovered the truth as they did. You watched as D-16's expression fell with every detail revealed about Sentinel and..everything he did.

Gesturing for him to follow you, you pulled him aside. He did so without hesitation—he knew you had no ill intent. Maybe his entire life had been a lie, but at least you were still there. As genuine as ever.

"I can’t believe…” he muttered, his voice strained. His optics moved across the ground, he had to blink rapidly to snap himself out of whatever thoughts he was having. You quickly placed a comforting servo on his shoulder, grounding him before he could spiral.

“D, look at me. I can’t believe it either,” you whispered, locking optics with him.

“We’re going to stop him…okay? I’m here with you.” You murmured. Was it a confession? Maybe so.

Your words hung in the air, heavy with hesitation. “I’ll follow you anywhere. We’ll get through this..together.”

D eyed you, his own voice faltering for a second.

“Yeah… yeah, okay.” He exvented, his optics again panning towards the ground as he let you comfort him. Despite the small flutter in his spark, the sudden goal to make Sentinel pay overrode any other emotion. He will pay.

When D-16 spiraled into Megatron, you were the first he sought out. His eyes were not the vibrant golden they used to be. You questioned him, to which he eagerly—almost desperately, held onto your shoulders in response.

“Y/N…listen to me. Do you trust me?”

“..I do trust you.”

“Then join me, come with me. I know how I’m going to make Sentinel pay for his lies. Unlike Orion's plan, I will make sure it gets done.”

You slightly shook your helm, “But D.. you two should be working together. Not split apart. I don’t want you doing anything uh.. extreme.”

His optics turned cold, narrowing in anger. “Extreme? You call my ideas extreme? Sentinel was the one that has been keeping us as slaves,” He hissed, inching towards you. “For years, for years, I thought we were doing the right thing. But no, everything was a lie. You, Y/N—you have to understand”

You watched in horror as Megatron killed Sentinel. He should have been satisfied now, but he wasn't. He called upon an army. Freedom fighters, but now they fought for a cause that no longer needed fighting. From his elevated position on the structure above, you locked optics.

His gaze flickered, just for a moment, as he took in the fear in your expression. Once, you looked up to him as someone you admired. Hell, you thought you loved him. Deep down, a part of you still did.

He’s still D-16, maybe. He must be, right?

You realized maybe you did have different ideals, different goals. To you, it should have ended when Sentinel was exposed. Then you had no option, perhaps after his death? You all would have rebuilt Cybertron together. Maybe even properly confess to D. Things just didn't go as planned in many ways.

But now, you could only watch as he descended the stairs toward you, his steps slow and deliberate.

You flinched, feeling his servo against the side of your helm. He stopped a couple inches away from you, leaning down, his voice a low hiss,

“Do you see it now, Y/N? That…I did that for you. For us.” His fingers traced the ridges of your helm, a caress that made your spark stutter in confusion. He was never, ever, this bold as D-16.

“I want you to join me. We can do this together.”

You hesitated, still trying to process how affectionate he was being with you. As much as you've dreamt of this, there was something off about it. D-16 was always soft, and casual about his demeanor. This Megatron was intense, his red optics burning into yours.

“Megs…I can’t.” You murmured. This was wrong. Very very wrong.

Megatron raised a brow, “You cannot?”

His servo shifted, cupping your chin and tilting your helm upward to meet his gaze. “Tell me something, Y/N. Are you a liar too?”

You furrowed your brow, “What? No, no, I haven’t lied to yo—“

“You said you’d follow me anywhere," He interrupted, "I need you to do that now.” He said in a softer tone, but you heard the hint of menace in his voice. It was an order, not a plead.

You took a deep intake, slowly stepping back from his grasp—his servo hung in the air for a moment before falling to his side.

“I don’t want to kill anyone, Megatron. I’m sorry, I can’t do this with you.” You said firmly, your voice steady. You had made up your mind.

His teeth clenched, frustration flaring in his optics as he stepped closer again, closing the distance between you two.

“Where is loyalty when you need it the most!? Where is it?! Tell me!” He exclaimed, his outburst making you take another step back.

Your optics flickered back to where Orion and your friends should be, then back at Megatron. “I want to be with you, Megs, I do. But this fight.. it’s over. Sentinel is dead.”

You stepped forward despite your frantic sparkbeat, your servos grasped onto his which were balled into fists.

“Come with me. We can help build Cybertron together, all of us. I need you to trust me.” You urged softly.

For a moment, you thought you had reached him. His optics softened, and his fists slowly unclenched, his gaze drifting to where your servos held his.

“I don’t want to rebuild Cybertron,”

He slowly scowled, his servos tightened around yours.

“I want to fix it.”

He turned away, leaving you standing in the dust and debris. You coughed, the air thick with smoke, watching him disappear into the distance with Primus knows how many High Guard fliers behind him.

You begin to wonder if you made the right choice. You wanted your D-16 back, but you couldn't bear the death and destruction that came along with Megatron.

As doubt crept in, you realized one terrible truth.

He had already won you over.

#transformers #transformers x reader #cybertronian reader #transformers one #tf one #megatron x reader #d 16 #cybertronian reader x transformers #d16 x reader #tf one spoilers #tf1 spoilers #male reader #ouhhhhh

360 notes · View notes

you-dance-with-the-skeleton · 4 months ago

Text

Me: I think I’m so viscerally uncomfortable with people acknowledging that Stanley might be as intelligent/more intelligent in some ways than Stanford because it makes Stanford so replaceable. I mean, Stanley is worth so much. The twins adore him. He’s so lovable and good to others. He’s charismatic, resourceful, scrappy, a wonderful parental figure, a truly driven person who could overcome anything if he had a reason to, and his positive traits vastly outweigh his flaws. Ford deserves his one thing. Stanley also having that one thing makes Ford obsolete.

The otherworldly therapist over my shoulder: Do you think that Stanford’s *only* good quality is his intelligence? Do you believe that if he wasn’t the smartest person in the room, he’d be entirely worthless?

Me, visibly sweating: Well, a bit? Yes? He has other qualities, sure, but none of them are nearly as valuable. None of them make him stand out as a person, or would allow him to compete with others. Anyone else could have those traits.

Therapist, reflecting my own face back to me: What about his creativity? His ability to tell stories? His art? His loyalty to those he trusts? His intuition? The care he also shows to his family? His survival skills? His own ability to endure hardship? Are those not worth appreciation?

Me, slapping at the spectral projection like a swarm of flies: Like I said, those are good qualities, but they’re also ones he shares. You could find a hundred people who could be as creative, or as enduring, or as loving, or anything else.

Therapist, reforming into a sentient cloud of mist: Why does he have to compete? Everyone has unique traits, yes, but everyone shares their traits too. You couldn’t name me a single trait that Stanley has that no one else in the cast also displays. Why hold Stanford to that standard and no one else?

Me:

Therapist: Do *you* believe that without your intelligence, you’d become replaceable?

Me:

Therapist: Failure has to be acceptable. As uncomfortable as that is, it just has to be. Your loved ones should value you regardless.

Me:

Therapist: Can you imagine Mabel or Stan or Dipper abandoning Ford just because he got something wrong? No. He gets many things wrong. So do you. You won’t be left behind either.

Me:

Therapist: The promise of knowing the answer every single time is always going to be a lie. That’s the point. You fell for it. You need to unlearn that, because it never ends well.

Me: … Can we go back to talking about toxic old man yaoi?

Therapist: yea sure.

#this is why bill cipher would fucking GET me #anyways #gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #billford #gfposting #<— oh no i had to make a gravity falls tag oh god

276 notes · View notes

eringobragh420 · 4 months ago

Text

🖤 Pairing — Damian Priest ♥︎ f!Reader (mentioned Finn Balor ♥︎ f!Reader) 🖤 Summary — Damian is caught with Finn’s girlfriend. 🖤 Word Count — 1.9k 🛑 Warnings — NSFW. Infidelity, toxic-ish relationship, dirty talk, Daddy kink, fingering, unprotected p in v, angst 18+ 🖤 Taglist — In the comments . If you’d like to be added, please click here! 🖤 Requested By — @twistedprincess-92. Hope you enjoy! 🖤 MASTERLIST, KINK LIST

She knew exactly where the night was headed the moment she felt his rough fingers brush her bare thigh under the table. It was risky—fuck, it was so risky—but that was their game, their passion, their toxic trait, as it were. Just that small touch, the gentle graze of his fingers along her skin, was enough to send her, considering he was seated on one side of her while her boyfriend of nearly four years was on the other side, his arm around her shoulders. In fact, they were out to dinner, surrounded by friends, celebrating someone’s birthday. She didn’t know the person all that well, but as soon as Finn mentioned that Damian would be one of a few joining them, she’d practically skipped to her closet to find something slinky to wear for him.

Of course she knew what she was doing was wrong, despicable even, but she fed herself plenty of reasons and excuses to justify her actions. Finn was never around. Finn refused to commit. Finn was great in bed, but he really had nothing on Damian. So why didn’t she just break up with Finn and date Damian? She loved Finn, she truly loved him despite hardly ever seeing him or the fact that he hadn’t put a ring on her finger, and Damian was fine as a friend, but she couldn’t ever see dating him. Finn was the one for her, and just because she was sleeping with one of his closest friends, didn’t mean she loved him any less.

Finn pressed a kiss to her cheek, and she turned to smile at him, but all she could focus on was the heat from Damian’s hand scorching her skin under the tablecloth. He was using the backs of his fingers now to glide along her silky thigh, occasionally his thumb, and Jesus Christ, her pussy was overflowing and if she didn’t take care of it soon, she would have a wet spot on her dress.

“Are you havin’ fun?” Finn asked.

Damian shifted in his chair, leaning forward to grab the salt, which was only to distract anyone who might have been looking at him as he slipped his whole hand to the inside of her thigh, pinching ever so gently, and then his touch was gone completely. A shiver wracked her body, and Finn’s arm around her shoulders tightened.

“You cold?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, grabbing her wine glass and gulping down the remaining two drinks. “I’m gonna run to the restroom.”

Finn removed his arm, and his girlfriend stood. Rounding her chair on Damian’s side, she bumped him, then placed a hand on his broad shoulder. “Sorry about that,” she purred, her eyes piercing his. She squeezed his shoulder before turning away, headed for the bathroom, a wicked smirk gracing her lips.

Once in the bathroom, she locked the door behind her, then checked the stalls to be sure they were empty before making a beeline to the mirror. Her makeup was still pristine, hair much the same, and she smoothed her dress over her curves. She was only trying to keep busy because sometimes when she was waiting for Damian, her brain started to wander. She considered breaking things off with Damian, but then she remembered he was a fucking Olympic athlete in the sack. She considered ending it with Finn, but just the thought of that man made her heart swell and baby pterodactyls hatch in her stomach. She even considered confessing to Finn in the interest of a possible polyamorous relationship between the three of them. But she digressed.

Hearing the familiar combination of Damian’s knocks, her heels brought her to the door. She unlocked it, and Damian rushed inside, closing it behind him. He was on her instantly, their mouths colliding in a whirlwind of tongues and teeth, and then there were four hands trying to pull her dress up over her curves. Once accomplished, Damian backed her up to the counter, smoothly lifting her onto the marble surface.

“You like it when I touch you, don’t you?” Damian growled, nipping at her neck, licking the same spots afterward, concentrating on not being too forceful so as not to leave any lasting marks, and Finn who? “When he’s right there?” The desperate woman in front of him could only nod. “Say it.”

“I like it when you touch me,” she breathed, eyes boring into his. “Especially when he’s next to me. It makes me so fucking wet for you.” She began work on his belt, letting the article hang loosely as she unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. Reaching inside, wrapping her hand around his thick cock, she sighed, all her fears and worries and stress melting away as she stroked him. His dick was like a weighted blanket—a comforting hug in time of need.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Damian whispered, thrusting into her fist as he pulled her panties aside. She thumbed the head of his cock, smearing precum along the shaft, and she felt him moan through his finger as it rubbed slow circles against her clit. “Wanted to bend you over that table and fuck you stupid right in front of him.” He spread her legs obscenely wide, then he took hold of his dick, pumping a few times before sliding it along her glistening slit. She whined, her head dropping back. “Show him how a slut like you needs to be fucked.”

“So do it already,” she said. She lifted her head, grabbing his chin between her fingers, and forced him to look at her, their lips sweeping along one another’s as she whispered, “Fuck me like he never could. Please, Daddy?”

She’d never in her life called anyone daddy before Damian, including Finn. She couldn’t even imagine calling Finn daddy and keeping a straight face. Damian owned her in a way Finn never could—she’d literally and so willingly served the six-five Puerto Rican on her hands and knees, on more than one occasion, and she was the one thanking him afterward. She’d never done anything like that with Finn, not even close, and she really had no desire to do it with him. She and Damian had briefly tried out papí, but there was nothing like hearing a beautiful woman call you Daddy, Damian had told her.

He held one thigh off to the side as he entered her smoothly, continuing until he was fully buried within her slick heat. The woman on the counter grunted with each following thrust, the expensive heels she’d begged Finn for hanging in the air on either side of Damian. She loved this, everything, all of it—Damian stretching her, almost painfully so, as their lips and tongues fought for domination.

“Daddy’s gonna cum in this pussy,” Damian growled against her ear, “and then we’re gonna straighten your panties …”

“Fuck,” she whispered, arm around his shoulders, the other hand clutching his neck.

The doorknob turning echoed loudly throughout the bathroom. Damian and Finn’s girlfriend paused, though he stayed inside her. “You locked the door, right?” Damian asked.

The woman’s eyes widened. “No, I—”

“What the actual fuck?”

There was no mistaking that voice, and the forbidden couple gaped at each other. Just like that, it was over. The most exciting year of her life was over, and, undoubtedly, her relationship with Finn was over. She felt no anger, no regret, no remorse. She was numb. Damian must have been feeling the same, because he wasn’t in a rush when he pulled out of her, nor did he seem nervous while he put his pants and belt back together, eyes on her the entire time. Finn’s girlfriend lowered her legs as soon as she was able, pulling her dress down over her thighs as far as she could.

“Tell me I didn’t just see what—”

“We don’t need a lecture, Rhea,” Finn’s girlfriend interrupted her, not meeting the other woman’s accusatory gaze.

Maneuvering off the countertop wasn’t nearly as easy as when she’d been placed there—it was built high into the wall, and her heels were fragile and expensive. Having no other choice, she prepared to hop off and hope for the best, but then Damian wrapped one strong arm around her, lifting, and placed her gently on her feet. She glanced up at him because he felt so good around her and inside her, and fuck, was it really over? Her heart started to pound as neither broke eye contact. Wait … what happened to the numbness? I want the numbness back, because suddenly her heart ached and her stomach sloshed and her knees wobbled.

“Well, isn’t that sweet?” Rhea hissed.

Finn’s girlfriend rolled her eyes, breaking the contact with Damian, however regretfully, and she looked at Rhea. “Rhea, this really isn’t any of your business,” she said.

“Kindly disagree,” Rhea growled. “I wish like hell I wasn’t the one who caught you assholes, but here we are.” She dropped her hands to her sides, disappointment and disgust radiating off her, hatred in her beautiful eyes.

Finn’s girlfriend supposed her friendship with Rhea was also over. And for what? She glanced back at Damian where he was leaning one hand on the counter, the other tucked into his pocket, and a thought floated through her mind like a message on the back of a plane—worth it, fuck my life, it was worth it. He was worth it.

“Tell him tonight, or I tell him in the morning. It’s your choice.” Rhea crossed her toned arms over her chest.

“Rhea—”

“He doesn’t deserve this,” Rhea cut her off, “and you don’t deserve him.” She glared at the both of them before storming out of the bathroom.

Finn’s soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend sighed, eyes falling closed. “So this is what it feels like to lose everything and have no one to blame but yourself.”

“Half the blame is on me,” Damian’s deep voice said from behind her.

She smiled. “There’s the silver lining.”

She took a deep breath, staring at the doorknob as she tried to come up with something at least coherent to say to Finn. Surely he wouldn’t be interested in any details of the affair, so she decided it would be best to keep it concise. She wouldn’t do it at the restaurant in front of everyone, of course. She’d have to convince him to leave, and then should she just confess in the car or wait until they got home?

“Did you hear me?”

She blinked for a moment before turning to Damian. “What?”

“I said you can stay with me tonight if you need to.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She spun around and started to pull the door open when Damian’s hand reached out above her head and closed it. She swallowed.

“Finn doesn’t wanna get married,” Damian quietly explained, leaning close to her ear. “I’d marry you tomorrow.” Her eyes widened and her heart tingled, palm sweating on the doorknob. “He leaves you at home or the hotel room … I can’t breathe when we’re not together.”

“Damian …”

“I needed you to know. You don’t have to say anything.”

She cast her eyes over her shoulder, meeting Damian’s, and everything he’d just said, she saw in his eyes. Absolute sincerity. And then she saw things like vacations and birthdays and diamond rings and weddings and kids and family get-togethers and growing old, and she had to shake her head and squeeze her eyes shut to make the images go away, because the man in those images wasn’t Finn anymore.

“I have—” She cleared her throat, swallowed, forced back tears. “I have to go.”

She opened the door and closed it behind her as swiftly as she could and every step she took that carried her toward Finn and away from Damian felt like an ice pick to the heart.

#wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #wwe x reader #damian priest #damian priest x reader #smut #damian priest smut #damian priest kinklist #wwe smut #wwe fic #damian priest imagine #damian priest fanfic #wwe fandom

183 notes · View notes