#apparently I’m their photographer now

[monzabee]

the smallest man who ever lived - cl16

masterlist || part 2 || part 3 ||

Summary: The one where you’re thrown into a conundrum when you learn the news of your husband, Charles’, infidelity.

Pairing: charles leclerc x wife!reader; carlos sainz x reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: angst, cheating, crying, manipulation(?), charles is an absolute asshole (but so is the reader) (but she’s kinda also badass?) (toxic relationship?), even more assholish carlos (gasp), blackmail, mention of pregnancy, mention of sex and sexual acts, physical confrontation (literally just pushing someone off but still)

Request: “Hey girl can I request something angsty with Charles? Maybe Charles cheating on Y/N (we’re already famous and have been married to Charles for years) and the fighting, the finding out, his guilt, angst, etc.”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! thank you to the anon who requested this because i had the time of my life working on it, and it might be the first fic i wrote in one go for the last six months or so!! also thank you to the getting cheated on playlists i found on spotify and amy dunne for giving me the inspiration to make the reader as toxic as i could. special thanks to @norrisleclercf1 and @percervall who had to listen to me talk about this fic NONSTOP. this is definitely something very different to what i usually write, but i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

There are moments in life where you feel like a complete and utter idiot. Although it could be for no apparent reason at all, there is a perfectly explainable reason why you feel like that right now, in the middle of your trailer on the set, with your manager and publicist both looking at you like you could explode at any given moment. It took you a good amount of time to wrap your head around the news, the news that wrecked you into a million of pieces which left you as the only person who can put them back together.  

“Let me get this straight,” you start, still trying to wrap your head around the news, “they were photographed leaving the club, and there’s a–?” 

“Sex tape, yes.” Your manager mumbles, earning himself a side-eye from your publicist. “It was so kindly attached to the email.”  

“And it is anonymous?” You ask, earning curt nods from both. “Well,” you manage to get out, pressing your lips together not to let out a sob, or a laugh, both? “That is very ambitious of him.” 

Your publicist shares a concerned look with your manager, then turns to you, “I guess so? How would you want us to handle this? I can buy us some time until these are released to public, but I think getting a statement ready just in case is essential given the fact that both of you are public figues. We can say that you’ll attend marriage councelling–” 

Your loud laugter cuts her off in the middle of her sentence. “And just why would we do that?” 

“I–” She gives you another concerned look as she softens her voice, which is quite uncharacteristic for her, you realise. “How would you want us to approach it then?” 

“I don’t want you to approach it at all.” You voice cuts through the tension, your gaze fixed on her. “I’ll handle it.”  

“But Charles–” She tries to reason, but you cut her off again.  

“Decided to get his dick wet where it certainly didn’t belong, he’s a big boy – he’ll survive.” Fixing her with a final look, you turn to your manager instead. “I don’t want this going to Charles or his team’s ears, that’s what the email said, and we should honour it, no?”  

His expression turns into a smirk, matching the one playing on your lips as he nods in thougt, “Would you like us to do anything else? We can talk with the production if you need a couple of days to… well, recuperate. Greta would understand.” 

“No.” Your answer is final as you shake your head. “She thinks this is an Oscar worthy project, I’m not throwing it away because my husband decided to think with his dick and not his brain. Just call my lawyers and tell them to be on stand by.” 

“Should I also book you tickets to Monaco still?” He asks in a monotone tone. 

“Well of course,” you reply in a sweet voice, widening your eyes for dramatic effect, “it’s a family event.” 

Your publicist eyes the both of you, “Okay,” as she drags the word out, “are you sure you don’t want to take a couple of days off?” 

“Positive. I have an EGOT to win.” Raising the script you have in your hands in the air, you announce, “I have lines I need to go over, is that all?”  

And as they leave your trailer to give you some space to ‘go over your lines’, you let a few tears escape your eyes, promising yourself that you would make Charles feel a thousand worse what he made you feel in the moment. 

It is not surprising or a sudden revelation that Monte Carlo has good weather all year around. But as it happens with the last few weeks following you learning about your husband’s infidelity, all you feel is cold – and no amount of warm weather is enough to make your heart feel warmer again. As you stand at the terrace of Café de Paris, overlooking the cityscape of Monte Carlo, all you can think about is how you just want to get this part of you plan over with as fast as possible.  

“Chérie!” The voice you hear makes a lump perpetually situate itself in the middle of your throat, but you brace yourself for the worst as you turn on your heels to face the person you’re most scared of facing in this whole situation. “Look at you, you look incroyable! You had me scared when you told me you were catching the redeye, and that we just had to talk!” 

“Pascale,” you breathe out as the woman pulls you into her arms with the warmness of any mother would do, and for that brief moment, you feel better than you have in weeks. “It’s so nice to see you again,” giving her the warmest smile you can muster up in the circumstances as you pull back, fixing your gaze at the figure behind her as you nod your head in acknowledgement, “Arthur.” 

“Maman is right,” Arthur says as he opens his arms, “you do look good.”  

“Well, thank you.” You reply as you give him a quick hug, and motion the table as you pull back. “Shall we?” Call it common curtesy, or cowardice, the fact that you don’t directly get to the point. Either way, you talk about what you’ve missed in the couple of months in which you’ve been away filming. You’re not necessarily paying attention, though the endtail of Pascale’s sentence catch your attention. “Excuse me, can you repeat that?” 

“Well, I was just telling how sad I was that Charles doesn’t come home as often this season. Though I understand he’s coming out to see you on set, distance can be so hard even for–” 

“He’s not coming out to see me, Pascale.” You voice is softer, and appears more broken than you would want it to be, but your words convey the message enough. It takes you a couple of moments to organise your thoughts, and Arthur calling out your name, to get you back into the moment. “There’s something I need to talk with the both of you, something I’ve already talked with Lorenzo, but I thought it would be better for you to hear it from me.”  

“Okay?” Arthur mumbles, then gives you a supportive smile, “You can tell us anything. Though don’t tell me I’m about to be an uncle because I don’t think my ego can take it at the–” 

You attempt to swallow the lump in your throat as you direct your words to the woman sitting across from you. “I’m divorcing your son, and I thought you should hear it from me and not him.”  

It takes a few minutes for both Pascale and Arthur to say something, and it concerns you that you somehow managed to give your mother in law a brain aneurism, but eventually, she manages to get out, “What? How? Why? Are you okay?”  

“I’m… fine.” You reply, albeit it comes off calculated. “I found a couple of weeks ago that he was cheating on me, I’ve came back to give him the papers myself.”  

“He what?” Arthur exclaims, then realises the level of his voice, and lowers it down as he asks, “Are you sure this is not a misunderstanding? The guy has been in love with you for over a decade, he wouldn’t do this.” With a resigning sigh, you find what you’re looking for in your phone and hand it over to Arthur. Who then, upon seeing what you have pulled up, immediately hands it back to you and turns to his mother, “Trust me you don’t want to see it.” 

“I’ve came to tell you the news, and well, to apologise.” You turn to face Pascale again.  

“Apologise?” She repeats, “Why on earth would you apologise to me when my son cheated on you?” 

“You’ve been nothing but kind to me ever since we’ve met, both of you.” You acknowledge Arthur with a look, and then focus your attention back on the woman, “Though I will make sure you don’t get caught in the crossfire in any way, I wanted to apologise for what I’m about to put your son through.”  

You honestly don’t know how you manage to act as if everything has been going fine in your life during race day. Given the fact that your husband doesn’t expect you to be at his race due to your rigorous filming schedule, and his family members being willing to hide your existence from him, you have no obstacles in your way to carry out the rest of your plan in motion. Which is exactly why you’re sat in the dark, waiting for your husband to walk through the doors of your apartment overlooking the city. With you seemingly being absent for the weekend, he has no reason to not believe that he is coming to an empty house.  

So, imagine his surprise when he enters his home; with his girlfriend in his arm, no less, and sees his wife sitting on the couch with her legs crossed and a drink in her hand. The look on his face is priceless, and despite all the pain and frustration you’re feeling, it manages to bring you some semblance of joy, knowing that it’s going to hurt him just as much as it hurt you.  

“Ma chérie,” Charles stammers, eye wide as he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights, “I – I didn’t know y–you were coming back this weekend.” 

“Well obviously,” you scoff, taking a generous sip from the drink in the glass tumbler in your hand, “otherwise you wouldn’t bring your little girlfriend into my house to fuck her.” You hear a gasp from the scaredy brunette wedging herself closer to your husband’s side, and for the first time you take a good look at her – young, much younger than you, tall, leggy; all the telltale signs that she is exactly your husband’s type. Tilting your head to the side, you rest the glass on the arm of the armchair you’re sitting in, “If you could leave now, I would greatly appreciate it.”  

You hear Charles whisper something in her ear, probably telling her to leave and that he’ll contact her tomorrow, and watch as she gives him a scowl, screeching, “You’re just going to let her throw me out?” 

“Well, considering the fact that this is my house, yes.” You give her a look of pity, watching her face light up with anger.  

“Listen to me, you bitch–” She starts, but your husband quickly cuts her off.  

“Mon cœur!” He exclaims, “S'il te plaît!” 

“Yes, listen to him, like a good little girl,” you egg her on, a smirk widening on your lips as you start swinging the leg resting on your lower one, choosing to focus on your nails instead of your husband trying to soothe his lover. 

You hear her scoff, take a few steps as her heels click on the marble floor of the entrance, “I wouldn’t be so calm if I were you, I’m not someone you want to be on bad terms with, considering the fact that he’s going to leave you for me!” 

“Oh, honey,” you coo, focusing your attention back on her and seeing the look of concern in your husband’s face through the corner of your eye, “and when did he tell you that, like a year ago? Two? Three?” A realisation dawns on her face as the smug expression starts to fade. “Don’t worry, though, you can have him when I’m done with him.” Pushing yourself off the armchair, you down the rest of the drink in the glass before slamming it down onto the glass coffee table. “And not only do I not care if you think I'm a bitch, but I hugely prefer it. Now get the fuck out of my house before I call security and get your ass thrown out.”  

You watch as she looks at Charles with indignation, lets out another screeching sound and slams the door behind her as she stomps out of your apartment. Only then you turn your gaze back to your husband, who has the guts to look at you with a worried look on his face. “How long have you known?” Is the first thing he asks you, taking a few steps closer.  

“A couple of weeks, a month, maybe?” You answer him, leaving your place to get to the small bar in the corner of your living room to get another refill of your drink. “There’s a video of the two, it somehow got into my hands, and it has very graphic details of the two of you having sex.” Popping a lemon into your cup, you make your way back to the armchair and sit down, “Are you stupid enough to cheat on me and make a fucking sex tape, Charles?” 

“I-I didn’t mean to–” He tries to plead, but you cut him off with a shake of your head.  

“You didn’t mean to what?” You ask him; your voice soothing, almost understanding, and it does the job of fooling him. “Cheat on me? Fuck another woman in my bed? Break the vows you’ve made?”  

“Ma chérie,” he whispers, “please.” 

“No.” Your voice is colder all of a sudden. “Tell me how long this has been going on for. Was I right? How many years?” 

“It started five years ago,” his voice is soft, somber and he tries to appear as genuine as he can in the situation, you suppose, “but I knew her, from before...” 

“Before what?” You’re seething now, the complete opposite of his calmness, “Did you fucking cheat me when we were dating, Charles?” 

“Ma chérie,” he gives you another pleading look, “please, I can change. I’ll go to therapy.”  

Now that, manages to get a bark of laughter from you. It’s ripped from the back of your throat, making you throw your head back as you lose yourself in the laughter to the point that there are tears in your eyes when you finally manage to calm yourself down. Putting the glass down on the coffee table once again, you wipe them off, mindful of your mascara, as you shift your attention back onto your husband. “Are fucking kidding me right now?” He gives you a concerned look, hands on his hips as he opens his mouth to answer you, but you quickly shut him down again. “You were bringing her into my house to fuck her, I caught you, I have your fucking sex tape – which is going to be streamlined for the world to see within twenty-four hours, do you honestly think I would go back to you?”  

“Wait, what?” He exclaims, looking at you with wide eyes and a shocked expression. “What do you mean they are going to streamline it, why didn’t you go to the lawyers? 

“I did go to the lawyers,” you shrug, innocently, “my lawyers,” you point out. “Why would I cover up your mistakes after everything you’ve done?” 

“Because I’m your fucking husband!” He barks, his arms widening to his sides as he finally loses his mask and his composure.  

His little tantrum only makes you let out another laugh, “Now, you’re my husband? Not when you’re cheating on me when I’m away shooting, but when you need me to clean up after your mistakes?” 

“How did you even get the video?” He asks, eyes narrowing down, “Who- who– who?” 

“Who? Who? Hoo? What are you, a fucking owl?” You exclaim, this time raising your voice. “You’re honestly more concerned about where I got it and not about the fact that the entire world is about to see you fucking someone other than your wife?” 

“What are we doing to do?” He asks, “Fuck, I have a race tomorrow.” 

“We’re not going to do anything.” You shrug, leaning forward to grab the glass and take another sip, “Or scratch that, we’re actually going to do something.” You stand up from the armchair, walk towards the table and hand him the file. “Congratulations, we’re getting a divorce.” 

“That is not happening.” He scoffs, not even bothering to look at the papers.  

“I don’t think you’re in the position to bargain with me, Charles.” You seethe, “You’re going to sign the damn papers, and you’re also going to sign away your rights to the baby.”  

“What the–?” He looks at you in disbelief, “You’re pregnant?” 

“Congratulations, it’s a boy.” You bite out, “Like you wanted.” 

“You’ve been drinking the entire night.” He points to the glass, “Do you expect me to believe you’re pregnant?” 

Offering him a sweet smile you hand him the glass, tipping it towards him, “It’s soda water, would you like a sip?” 

“Don’t make me do this,” he pleads, “give me another chance.” 

“I would’ve, if you were honest with me from the start.” You resign, a sincere look in your eyes. “I’ll give you a choice: us, or her.”  

He rears back with the offer, looking at you in disbelief. “What?” 

“You either choose me and the baby or you choose to be with her, and in that case, I will never let you near my baby, Charles.” You shake your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach protectively.  

For a second, his eyes linger around your stomach.   But you know his choice when he meets your eyes again.  

“What have we done to each other?” He whispers, and you can barely see the tears in his eyes.  

“We didn’t do anything, Charles. I gave up everything for you, but you just took me for granted.” Walking back to the dining table, you grab your coat and bag, and when you come face to face with him again, your voice is soft despite all the anger you still feel towards him. “You, Charles Leclerc, are truly the smallest man who ever lived.”  

The hotel lobby is calm and empty as you sit at the bar, and it’s surprising when you consider that fact that it is the weekend of the Monaco Grand Prix, meaning that there must be hundreds and thousands of motorsports fans visiting. Not that you’re complaining about the silence, of course. After the night you’ve had, silence and calmness are all you could ask for.  

“I’ll get a whiskey, please, whatever top shelf stuff you’ve got.” A voice cuts through the moment you are having, and you instantly recognise the distinct accent of the stranger sitting next to you. “Thought you were in the States, finishing off filming.” This time, the comment is directed to you, and you roll your eyes as you push the empty glass towards the bartender on duty.  

With a sigh, you turn to the man on your right, “What do you want, Carlos?” Your voice conveys your lack of energy, and Carlos is not dumb enough not to notice the dark circles under your eyes beneath your makeup.  

“I came to check on you.” Is his answer. Simple, curt and to the point. You’d certainly appreciate it more if you had the patience for his antics.  

“Well, you did, have a good night.” Slamming down a hundred-Euro bill onto the counter, you make a move to get up from your place, but a gentle hand on your wrist stops you. “Let me go.”  

Though there is no venom to your voice, Carlos knows that it is not the time, nor the place, to test your patience. “I’m sorry,” he starts and when you take a good look at him, you can tell that he’s being sincere, “I really did want to check up on you, and considering the fact that you have a perfectly good penthouse but instead in a hotel, I think I was right to do so.”  

Crossing your arms across your chest as you get back onto the barstool with a huff, you glare at him lightheartedly, “I didn’t want to stay in the same house as him,” raising your eyebrows, you continue with a lower voice, “thanks to chilisade5594@gmail.com, but I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.” The way his cheeks redden under the dim lights of the lobby bar would make you chuckle under normal circumstances, but you push the thought aside, “Honestly, what were you thinking? You’re lucky it was me who realised it was you, if it was my agent or publicist, we’d have another scandal to deal with.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he brushes you off with a swat of his hand, “I’m sorry I put you into that position.” 

“Don’t be,” you mumble, tilting your head to the side, “I wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t sent me the video. Just tell me why you did it.” 

“What?” He turns you with a confused look on his face.  

“Why, Carlos?” You ask, voice encouraging yet soft, “Why did you send it? Why now?” 

He keeps quiet for a while, not answering your questions but not taking his gaze off you either. Eventually, he exhales a deep sigh as he gives you a sheepish shrug, “I didn’t like the way he treated you. And I didn’t want to make you worry about it without concrete proof, so I guess everything just... worked out.”  

“Huh,” you let out a small hum in agreement, “I guess you’re right.”  

Expecting more than the words you chose to answer him with, he raises an eyebrow as he takes a big gulp of whiskey from his glass. “That’s it?” 

“Well, what more is it there to say?” You ask, sheepishly shrugging. “We’re getting a divorce; he’s going to move out and I’m gonna make sure the entire world knows just why.” 

Carlos flags down the bartender as he mumbles, “I feel like you need a stronger drink if we’re going to talk about your impending divorce, cariño.” 

Taking a deep breath and exhaling an even deeper sigh, you shake your head. “I can’t.” Thank God Carlos is one of the people who is the proud owner of a braincell around you, because he catches your insinuation quickly.  

With widened eyes, he quickly turns towards you, eyes softening as you offer him a sad smile. “Dios mío,” he murmurs, eyes running over you worriedly, “are you okay?” 

“Well... no.” You let out an unexpected laugh at his expression, patting him on the shoulder lightheartedly. “I’ll be fine, Carlos, I’m a big girl. I can handle this.” 

“I know you will,” he assures you, “but does Charles know?” 

Now that manages to bring a grimace to your face. “He signed his parental rights away along with the divorce papers.” The look he gives you after hearing your words has you worried that his eyes are going to pop out of their sockets, but you try to calm him down as best as you can. “Carlos, it’s fine.” 

“It’s most certainly not!” He exclaims, his voice echoing in the almost empty hotel lobby. “Is he out of his mind?”  

You give him an awkward smile and another shrug of your shoulders. "I... feel like whatever I’m going to say is going to be wrong. So... yes?”

“Cariño,” he says, exasperated, “how are you so normal about this?” 

“Lots of women raise their kids as single mothers while working, Carlos.” Your expression quickly taking the form of a frown, “I can handle this, I don’t need Charles or anyone else to hold my hand and tell me I’m doing such a good job.” 

“I know you can do this alone, tonta,” he rolls his eyes as the endearment making you roll your eyes, “but you’re not going to be alone. Because I’m here.” There’s a certain finality to his words. And just as you’re about to object to his words, he quickly shuts you down. “I know you can do this on your own, but you don’t have to, okay? I’m going to be with you every step of the way.”  

“What if I need waffles in the middle of the night?” You ask, your eyebrow raised in a skeptical way.  

“I’ll adjust my pancake recipe.” His reply his immediate, and he shrugs lightly as he adds, “Pancakes are better, anyway.”  

Rolling your eyes you continue, “What if I need someone to hold my hand in the delivery room? It can get quite gruesome, you know?” 

He provides you with another nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve never really been affected by it.”  

“Okay, this is ridiculous, Carlos!” You exclaim, pushing yourself off your seat as you turn your body to face him. “I don’t need you to bail me out, I don’t need your help!” 

“I know you don’t,” he nods.  

“I am capable of doing this on my own!” You shriek, and the fact that your face is starting to get progressively redder worries Carlos.  

“I know you are, but–” he tries to reason.  

“No buts! I’m going to be a good mother, okay?” You point an accusatory finger towards him. “I’m going to choose him!” 

The way your voice breaks at the end of your sentence has Carlos instinctively pull you into his arms, which is not that hard given the fact that you are almost the same height as him as you stand in front of the bar stool he’s sitting on, and he doesn’t say a word as you sob into his chest – letting out all the emotion you’ve bottled up over the past few weeks, no less. He doesn’t you offer you empty promises or tries to soothe you with cliché phrases. Instead, he stands still, holding you between his arms as you sob continuously into his chest. Giving the bar tender an awkward smile over your shoulder, he hands him his card to close out your tabs.  

He only starts talking again once you’ve pulled away and trying to wipe the remnants of your tears from under your eyes. “Do you feel better now?” He asks, handing you a napkin.  

“Yeah,” you mumble, sniffing as you play with the corners of the napkin. Then, you flip your eyes toward his, and fix him with a glare. “You are not becoming my kid’s stepdad.” 

“Of course not, cariño,” he assures you, “I’ll be the dad that stepped up instead.” 

You let out a teary chuckle as you slap him lightly on his chest. “I’m serious, Carlos.” 

“So am I.” He replies softly, and you can see the genuine look on his face. “You’re not alone anymore, I’m choosing you.” Tentatively, he presses his hand softly against your stomach as he maintains your gaze. “Both of you.” 

And though the last thing you want is a promise, this one seems like a real one. So, you let yourself believe that he might just keep it up. 

[luveline]

I absolutely adore your Spencer x Hotch!sister fics! <3 Can we possibly see the dynamics if it were switched? A Hotch x Spencer's Older Sister fic, pretty please? But no worries if not! Thank you, hope you have a good day!

Was Spencer’s sister always this shy? Hotch can’t remember (and he can’t stop himself from flirting, just a little). fem, 1.4k

“Reid?” Hotch asks. 

Spencer grins at his phone. 

“Reid.” Hotch clears his throat. “Spencer.” 

Spencer puts his phone down on the desk, but he doesn’t seem to have heard Hotch either way. When he realises Hotch is standing by his desk, he perks up. “Hotch, can I ask a favour?” 

Hotch had been about to ask Spencer a favour, but it’s fine. “Sure.” 

“Uh, my sister is supposed to meet me for lunch in half an hour, but she doesn’t really like restaurants and I’m– me. Do you think she could come to the office?” he asks. 

“Sure, Reid. That’s fine, she just needs a visitor card.” 

Hotch can’t remember the last time he saw you. Probably when Reid first started tailing Gideon a few years ago, when you’d made the trip from Vegas to Quantico to see how he was settling. It was a brief introduction, and, while you may possess a few more practical graces than your brother, you were far shyer at the time. You didn’t mind shaking Hotch’s hand, but you struggled to maintain eye contact after. 

You don’t look much like your brother for reasons he’s never cared to ask, as Hotch has never placed much value on how family comes about. He doubts Spencer does either. But you stay in Vegas with your mother, and Spencer sees you three times a year. Birthdays and Christmas. And today, apparently. 

“What’s the occasion?” Hotch asks. 

Spencer smiles again. “I think she’s gonna move here, with me.” 

“Yeah?” Hotch isn’t the prying boss, but he’s a nosy friend. “Everything okay?” 

“Things are great, I mean.” Spencer has the expression of someone deciding what they can and can’t say. Eventually his eyes clear, and Hotch feels satisfied at the realisation that trust has settled tightly between them. “When I decided my mom needed help, Y/N, she hated that, and maybe she resented me, but– I used to worry she hated me, but she doesn’t.” 

“I don’t think she could,” Hotch says easily. 

Spencer nods. Whether he agrees is up for debate, though. “If t’s finally hit her that mom’s sick forever, so she’s feeling out her options.” 

“That must be a hard thing to realise.” 

“Yeah. But things really are great, she’s here now, her stuff is coming tomorrow, and– and maybe she’ll stay for a while.” 

Hotch likes excitement on Reid (when it doesn’t impede their most important work, that is). Truthfully, there’s so much to worry about that Hotch can’t admit to worrying about Reid as much in recent years, and yet he’s relieved to hear that there will be more Reid’s in a hundred mile radius. 

“I’m glad,” Hotch says honestly. “She’s more than welcome here. If she can cope with the photographs in the conference room, the round table is all yours.” 

Hotch retreats to his office and forgets about it for a while, submerged in his own lunch and a certain seven year old’s birthday planning. Jack wants a clown, and a cake with Cars, and he really wants a bounce house. Which is great, but Jack decided he wanted the bounce house last night, and his party is at the end of the week. Hotch makes a bunch of phone calls and finally gets to take a victory lap forty five minutes later. 

He steps out of his office, enticed by the sound of laughter. Spencer laughs like he’s surprised ninety percent of the time, and yours is no different. It’s clear to the listening ear who taught Spencer how to laugh. 

“I love it, I don’t ever want to hear a bad word about it,” you say through peels of it, a breathy, smiley warmth to you as a chair creaks from within the conference room, “and I mean that. Please don’t tell me any facts.” 

“I know so many you’d like to hear!” 

“I don’t doubt it, but please, as a favour? You can tell me about everything else.” 

“Processed cheeses–”

Hotch turns the corner as you put down a sandwich. “Okay, fine. I’m done, are you happy?” you ask, your smile fading into a more polite one as you meet Hotch’s eyes. 

“I didn’t get to say anything.” 

“Some things are better left unsaid,” Hotch says. He doesn’t interrupt, only says it into the quiet, and he doesn’t bother with fanfare. It’s just to alert Spencer of his presence. “Y/N,” Hotch adds, “hello. It’s good to see you.” 

He’s alarmed by your reaction —your eyes widen in your seat, hands hidden beneath your thighs, and your lips part ever so slightly. “Agent Hotchner,” you say softly, almost weakly. 

He’s not that intimidating, is he?

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says. 

“You’re not interrupting, I was just telling her about the dangers of processed cheese. They’re so irregularly salty that the sodium has to be marked as a cause of heart disease on FDA approved packaging for the service industry,” Spencer says. 

“I’m sure some every now and then won’t hurt,” Hotch says, attempting to offer you a friendly smile. “Spencer tells me you’re staying here for a while, that’s great. How are you liking the weather? It must be a change from Nevada?” 

You look peculiarly hot. “It’s different,” you agree.

Voices ring from the bullpen. 

Spencer stands up. You stand with him, but Spencer says, “Sorry, is that Morgan? He said I have to go and get him when you’re here.” 

“Spencer–”

Spencer’s already leaving. “He threatened me, actually,” he’s saying, more to himself than either of you as he departs. 

You wring your hands. 

Hotch worries his brows are giving him away. You’re acting strangely, but maybe he’s too much. He is a special agent, sometimes the other parents at Jack’s school get antsy around him like they’re worried he can tell they haven’t paid their last parking fine. Maybe you’ve a secret crime you’ve committed. 

He watches you more closely, to your flustering. 

No crime, Hotch thinks, but a secret. Even from Spencer. 

“So how’s your day, Agent Hotchner?” you ask softly. 

It’s actually quite sweet, the way you say it. Your nerves are cute. 

“Busy.” The expected answer. “I’ve been trying to plan a birthday party between paperwork.” 

“For Jack?” 

He smiles with more gentleness. “Yes, for Jack.” 

“He was, um, a newborn, when we last met. Just a couple of weeks old, I think. How old is he turning now?” 

“Seven.” 

You breathe out. “Wow. Seven years.” 

Seven years, and your crush on him remains. That’s what he’d forgotten —when you visited Spencer at the time, even Gideon had mentioned your frazzled, almost dizzy disposition whenever Hotch was around. And Gideon tended to focus narrowly on work at work, so Hotch had known he wasn’t making it up. 

At the time it had been cute, but awkward too, and infeasible. He’d been dedicatedly married and in love with his Haley. And if he weren’t, your age gap might’ve been a little non-functioning, Hotch well into his thirties, and you a fresh twenty-five. 

Today you’re older, and more beautiful. Something about you has shifted, a blossoming into your features, and Hotch actually has the ability to notice it now. 

Your Spencer’s sister, he remembers suddenly. Probably not a woman he should flirt with, some subtle compliment lost on his tongue. 

“You look the same,” you say. 

He laughs. “That’s kind and untrue. I’m getting old.” 

The look you give him then is a shock and a pit, long the long forgotten twist of butterflies. “No,” you say, looking down at your hands, “I wouldn’t say that.” 

“What would you say?” he asks. 

You’re saved —poor girl, he doesn’t know what he was thinking, you can barely hold your head up— as Morgan bounds up the stairs and into the conference room. He gathers you for a hug as though he knows you better than he does, and Hotch loses sight of your face. 

Unknown to him and unseen, Morgan’s greeting is white noise. Why does he talk like that? you think to yourself desperately. He’s asking you all those questions with this weight to them, and he’s so calm! I’m going back to Vegas. 

“How long are you staying?” Morgan asks. 

You laugh weakly and accidentally catch Hotch’s eye, who smiles at you nicely. 

“Oh, I don’t know. A couple of weeks, maybe.” 

Longer, if you have reason. 

[yanderenightmare]

part two

TW: none? ig

fem reader

You’re there with a friend, only waiting, holding her stuff—feeling in-the-way posted on the wall as closely as possible, making yourself as small as you could while models and other busy passersby buzzed about back and forth in front of you.

Your friend—one of the many models—had just done her fifth outfit change and was all but running back to the photo shoot. Apparently, the photographer was a real jackass.

Jackass was an understatement. You feared he’d turn around from the white background sheet he was facing, spot you and tell you that you didn’t belong in there and to get the fuck out. He was certainly shouting that same thing to some of the models.

Your friend was then next to bite the bullet—being the fifteenth model he’d sent on their sorry way. 

You’d honestly thought it was for the best—she’d get nothing but scorn modeling for that narcissistic drama queen anyway. You give her your best sympathetic smile as she teeters over. It doesn’t surprise you to see her on the verge of tears. Some of the prior ones had been all but bawling their eyes out, running out of the room as fast as they could. But you couldn't blame them—if anyone were to shout at you that way, you’d most likely have died on the spot.

His eyes fall to the back of the room in frustration—a heavy sigh leaving him. Seems he was out of models already. What a pity until—right there, standing small and almost insignificant next to the changing area, there’s you—the perfect face he’d been needing.

“Oi you, get dressed,” he bites with a finger pointed towards you. But no, he must have changed his mind about your friend who’s standing next to you as you hand her back her clothes.

She brightens up when she notices, dropping her clothes back in your arms to go back, only—

“No, not you,” he very nearly sneers. “You there,” he points again—this time, it isn’t a question of who it’s directed at. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

There’s such a harshness to his tone that you’re almost convinced you’ve done something wrong. But no, you’re not supposed to be dressed.

“I’m not a model,” you call back.

At that, he scoffs. The smile on his face must be the cockiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Everyone’s a model, sweetheart. We’ll send you a check in the mail.”

Your eyes are round—too stunned to be affronted. He taps his shoe, hardened gaze directed at you, unwavering in wait. You’re almost scared to say no.

“Well? What’s it gonna be?”

It’s only been a few seconds, and still, he sounds as if he’s been waiting forever—exuding impatience on a level you’ve never seen.

You open your mouth to tell him off, but a tug from your side makes you stop.

“You have to,” your friend ushers. “It’ll be trouble for me if you don’t.”

You give her an incredulous look—but she only grabs you and drags you with her into the many rows of clothes, picks out your size, and helps you get into it before you’ve even said another word aside from a pitiful “Wait—” 

Lastly, she applies some light makeup to your face before pushing you out into view of the waiting photographer.

You’re in too deep to be turning back now. Besides, you wouldn’t want your friend to get fired when she works so hard just to have gotten in the same room as the guy before you—so you end up walking over, ever so awkwardly—not used to the height of the cigarette heels.

If he notices, which he most certainly does, he doesn’t say anything.

He seems to have found some patience he lacked, watching you—bearing an expression, almost amused.

You don’t return the favor, looking down as you stop before him.

“So, uhm—what, ugh—” you mumble, on your way to peek behind you, hoping to get some sort of direction from your friend, when he grabs your chin and makes you face him.

Still, he makes no sound—only wetting his thumb with a lick of his tongue before putting it to the outer corner of your eye. You gasp, but it doesn’t deter him as he smudges the eyeliner to his liking. Doing the same with the other eye. He continues until he’s satisfied. Keeping his grasp on your chin, he angles your face here and there slightly while his intense glare rakes over you like he’s a tortured artist chiseling a sculpture to some vision in his head—then hums with a smile, softly, “Perfect.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Aizawa, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Kageyama, Iwaizumi, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin ♡ AOT – Levi ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

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

[theother-victoria]

Mr reca word vomit bc the brain worms won’t leave my brain!!! I promise I’m Very Sane abt this man

TAGS: not proofread, written before his release so potentially ooc and I’m too lazy to rewrite it post-release, secret relationship trope, reader wears lipstick, making out eheheheheh, reader is smaller/shorter than him, this is my propaganda and sign for u to become a reca kisser too

TAGLIST: @akutasoda, @https-sourlimes, @tragedy-of-commons, @mitsvriii (putting you on the reca kisser agenda >:3), @harque, @hazyue, @gabile18, @khoncore, @moineauz

Ok so imagine being in a secret relationship with the man himself…

Like the two of you HATE each other’s guts in public. As a rival film producer, the public loves to pit your films against each other, and the two of you as well apparently. There have been so many instances of you making small digs and sly remarks toward each other during interviews that it’s become somewhat expected by now. You have a gripe with the pacing of his films and his fame. He has a bone to pick with your cinematography.

“That manic director’s most recent film? I would give my thoughts, but unfortunately I fell asleep not even halfway through.”

“That uninspired, dreadfully dull and artistically lacking director? All their films look the same. I couldn’t differentiate them even if I wanted to.”

No matter how critically acclaimed your work is, he always has something to say about it.

Even if it was in the back of an alley with his hands gripping your hips tightly and teeth nipping at your neck.

"It took until a quarter of the way through the movie before- hah- your cinematography finally showed some signs of thought put into the shots. I know you can do better than this. So why- mmph- did it take you so long?"

You angrily nip on his bottom lip. A flash of satisfaction runs through you when you hear him hiss and taste blood on the tip of your tongue.

“Like you’re one to talk with the horrendous pacing of your newest film! Tell me, what was the plot of it again? Because I- mmm!?- already forgot the direction it was supposed to be taking twenty minutes in!”

"Well, you just simply lack reading comprehension. Not my fault, of course.”

“Oh, you little piece of-!”

He shuts you up with a rough and messy kiss. Your legs immediately go jelly and were it not for his leg slotted between yours and pushing you up against the wall, you think you would’ve collapsed right there and then.

When he pulls away, your lips are glossy and swollen. There’s a dazed look in your eyes that makes him smirk in satisfaction and without any hesitation, he pulls out his camera to take a few shots.

“Yes, yes, wonderful! That expression really suits you!”

Anger looks good on you, but he much rather prefers this expression.

He leans in for another kiss and because you can’t say no to him, you indulge him- until you hear footsteps nearby. You hurriedly clamp your hand over his mouth and wait until they’re gone before glaring at him.

“Stop running your mouth so much in public! You’ll give us away at this point!”

“Then stop being so loud,” he hisses back, though he’s in no better state than you, his-already-disheveled hair an absolute mess now from you gripping it. His flushed face is littered with lipstick marks and you can’t resist the temptation to add a few more.

“Cheeky, aren’t you?” he huffs out as you place a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. A soft kiss to his eyelid makes his eyes flutter shut and an affectionate sigh escape him. He smells of the chemicals used to develop film and strong coffee…

Then there’s a gasp and the undeniable sound of a camera shutter going off. Caught red handed.

You pull apart from him with a surprised gasp and expression. Strangely, he doesn’t look fazed at all. Still as smug as ever.

You whirl around to see an equally-shocked photographer standing there. Paparazzi, from the looks of it. He was probably going around and looking for some potential shots before accidentally stumbling upon something that would make front-page headlines. When you look back at him, then at the photographer, there’s even more people now snapping away at the two of you in a compromising position.

With the damage already done, you try to leave before he stops you. His jacket resting on your shoulders dwarfs your smaller frame and he yanks on the film strip belt to reel you back in. The crowd of photographers has doubled now, murmuring excitedly to themselves.

“Wh- let go! The paparazzi are having a field day-!”

He silences you with a swift kiss and a pinch to the inner thigh. The cameras flash even more rapidly now.

“Let them see for all I care.”

enjoyed this? my taglist is open!

@ theother-victoria, do not copy, repost, modify, translate, or feed to ai

[mywritersmind]

THREE DAYS. TWO CONFESSIONS. - KA12

summary : A pair of flirty teens with rich parents and talent running through their blood. In three days of running into eachother in black and red, the pair seem to come to the conclusion that maybe their jokes aren’t too far off from the truth.

listen up : suggestive jokes. dual pov!! mutual pining! banter! kimixbearman!reader. idk apparently i have a thing for wrong kimi x photographers

word count : 3740

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I’m staring at him.

He’s talking to an engineer from Mercedes, leaning against a table with his arms braced against it. Fuck his arms. Tan and veiny, gripping the table.

His curls bounce as he nods, his jaw moving as his words meet the open air. I bring my camera up to my face, peering through and snapping one shot. One for myself.

One of him.

Kimi turns his head when I take the photo, the confused look on his face changing, the corner of his lip quirking upwards.

He excuses himself, walking over to me while slipping his hands into his pockets, “Antonelli.” I nod.

“Bella.” He says it as if it’s any other word, yet the weight of it hangs above me like a knife.

He’s called me ‘Bella’ ever since I caught him talking to his friend in italian two years ago. He was explaining who was in the group photo we took at Prema and he said, “The pretty one to the left is Y/n.”

In the moment, my heart did a funny flip, but I played it off and am now stuck with him calling me ‘Pretty’ in his favorite romantic language.

“Saw your face when Lewis radioed.” I fake a frown, “Don't want the car anymore?”

He stays calm and collected, his accent hitting me once again, “It’s like you don’t want to see me every weekend next year.” He frowns, “I know you better than that.”

I cross my arms, looking up at him, “Do you?”

“If I wasn’t there, who would you bully?”

A small smile breaks my cool exterior, “True. My brother isn’t as easy as you.”

He bites his lip, shaking his head, “Ollie is a project for both of us to bug.”

⋆༺

I’m in the Ferrari garage for the majority of the day, practice going smoothly and my day getting increasingly boring.

I end up walking over to Ollie as he gets out of his car, “My speedy brother!” I smile as he pulls his helmet off, the same grin he has everytime he gets out of a car.

“My snappy sister.” He greets me as I raise a brow. “Oh! Later today I'm going over to Kimi’s room so I can’t get dinner with you…” I frown, “Sorry! Guys night. Jack too.”

I cross my arms, “How are the three of you already pissing me off and your season hasn’t started yet?” Ollie just laughs and shrugs, leaving me in the pitlane.

I continue my walk, taking some more photos even though I'm technically supposed to focus on Ferrari pics. I see Kimi in the Mercedes garage, talking animatedly with Lewis.

I pull myself away because too many times I’ve gotten caught looking at him.

I continue my walk to see Jack Doohan standing alone, “Jack!” I smile as I approach him.

He grins a toothy smile, “Y/n! Long time no see!”

“Shit, yeah! How’ve you been?”

“Great! This weather is worrying me though.” I look up to the blue skies, frowning, “I have a feeling.” Jack and his ‘feelings’ are well known in the paddock.

“Well, if it does rain i’m calling for a singing in the rain moment!”

“I’m thinking more of Tom Holland and an umbrella.” I let out a loud laugh, reaching out to touch his arm.

“I’m so in! I can definitely find a black wig and leather.” He shakes his head, his gaze flicking past me.

I turn instinctively. Kimi is looking at us, his face blank but soon turns into a soft smile and a wave. Jack waves back but Kimi doesn’t look at me, just walks back into the garage.

I make a face, turning back to Jack, “Weird.” He laughs out loud, staring down at me, “What?”

Jack just shakes his head, “I’ll see you later, Y/n.”

⋆༺

KIMI

The guys somehow found three old gaming controllers and hooked them up to the TV. Ollie and Jack are screaming at each other as I grab the ice bucket, “Hey! Grab me a candy bar?”

“Oh! And some crisps!” Jack cuts in. Rolling my eyes, I grab some cash and slip out the door.

As I walk down the hallway, I’m humming a stupid one direction song that Ollie got stuck in my head. The hotel is nice and I pause when I walk past the window.

Brazil stares back at me, the darkness isolating the few lights that are still on. I pull myself away from the view and continue humming and walking to the ice machine.

I stop my noise as soon as I turn the corner, seeing a girl standing with her back facing me, and her foot repeatedly hitting the vending machine.

She’s in pink low waisted flared sweats, and what looks like a formerly oversized shirt, cut into a crop and off the shoulder top.

“Fuck!” She yells again, this time placing her hands on the machine.

“Y/n?” I don’t mean to scare her, but she jumps. “Sorry. You need help?”

She looks hopelessly between me and the machine, crossing her arms over her bare skin, “Yes. This stupid thing ate my money!”

I can’t help but smile at her anger, her face is red and her hair looks like she’s shoved her hands through it a million times.

I quietly nod, peering into the box and seeing the stuck candy. I put my money in, buying a packet of strawberry cookies that do exactly what I hoped.

When the pack falls, it knocks her candy right out. “My savior.” She jokes before bending down and reaching into it. My gaze flicks down to her ass, the curve of her waist and her skin on display.

When she stands, I finally see her candy. It’s a chocolate bar with some sort of nuts and she looks ecstatic to finally have it in her grasp.

“Thank you!” She hands over my cookies that I hope Ollie will eat, “How’s the boys night going? They put you on errand duties?” She laughs a bit, a sound I wish I could bottle.

I scratch the back of my neck, “Yeah… What are you up to tonight?”

She shrugs, “Movies, going through pictures, snacks, crying. The usual?”

I let out a breathy laugh, “Why are you crying?”

“I miss my cat.”

“Mmm, peppermint.” I swear she almost starts crying right there. But she takes a breath, “You alone?”

It’s like a switch flips and she’s suddenly looking up at me like I'm more than some kid from karting. She bats her eyelashes, “I don’t have to be. Ditch the guys, I'm watching the princess bride.” I frown, I do love that movie.

“As appealing as that sounds… I think your brother would have an issue with that.” Her lips quirk into a slow smirk. God I love her lips.

“Tell them you got lost. Or kidnapped!” she steps a bit closer, “You really gonna turn down my invite?”

Fuck. Actually fuck. Fuck Ollie for having such a hot sister and fuck her for being so damn convincing. “You’re making it really hard for me.”

She doesn’t miss a fucking beat, raising a brow innocently, “Making more than one thing hard?”

I bite my lip, shaking my head, “You’re funny.”

She doesn’t break eye contact, “I aim to please.”

“You’re gonna get me in trouble, Bella.” I see her flirty facade break when I call her that. She likes it and I like that I can make her blush like that.

She flips her hair over her shoulder, “There’s this thing called self control.

I run my tongue over my teeth, “Trust me. I know a thing or two about it.” She looks satisfied at my answer, “Is this gonna come back to haunt me?”

She blinks innocently, backing up, “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

I groan, watching her sinister smirk as she leaves, “Bearman…”

She mocks me, laughing, “Antonelli.” I want her to say my name a million times in a million different ways.

I nod slowly, “Have fun crying!”

“Have fun thinking about me!” She blows a kiss before disappearing around the corner. I want to chase after her and keep our conversation going forever.

Instead, I buy a bag of crisps and a chocolate bar. Walking back to my room, all I can wonder is why the universe continues to test me with my best friend's bloody sister.

⋆༺

YOU

I bounce around the paddock, RAYE in my headphones and my camera in hand. The sprint is over and after some dramatics, the rain started.

I texted Jack as soon as I saw the dark cloud, letting him know he’d be good as a prophet.

I run into Franco, he looks tired but happy to see me, “Fran!” He hasn’t been here for long, but his first day was when we met and hit it off instantly. He’s like another brother to me.

“I’m hiding from the media.” He whispers, “Anything interesting happen to you recently?” My mind immediately goes to Kimi and last night. Something about him just makes me need to mess with him.

But maybe it’s not all for fun, maybe it’s a bit of truth mixed with flirting.

“Uh oh…” Franco points at me, “You've got that look in your eye.”

I scoff, playing it off, “What look?”

“That look like something interesting did happen to you. Spill!” I’m about to say something but a figure appears next to us, clapping his hand with Franco and smiling at me.

“Norris!” I thank god for the distraction.

“What’s up?” He’s in all papaya orange, a water bottle in hand.

Franco smirks, “Y/n here was just about to tell me about her interesting life!” He crosses his arms, “Go ahead.”

“Oh?” Lando turns to me as well, standing next to Franco. I suddenly feel very ganged up on.

“I’m not telling you two anything! You’re both too nosy.”

“Can’t help but be curious. Especially about you.” Franco’s relaxed manner makes my lips crack, smiling a bit. “So tell us, who’s the boy?”

“You’re not my brother- you don’t get to ask that.”

“You tell Ollie about your boy troubles?” Lando asks.

“He’s my twin, it’s in the rule book. At least everything he won’t gag at.”

Lando laughs at this, his eyes tracking past me and I know instantly as him and Franco smile, “Kid!” Lando waves him over just as Franco catches the look on my face.

His mouth drops but I just run my tongue over my teeth, holding back my smile with my hands on my hips.

Kimi is next to me in seconds, coolly looking at me as if he wasn’t an inch away from me yesterday. “Hey.”

“So what are your intentions?” Franco comes in hot and embarrassing, my eyes widening at him.

Kimi looks confused and a little intimidated, “With…?”

I stare Franco down, my eyes wide and panicked, Lando finally understanding and breaking out into laughter.

“Next year. You gonna be okay with your friend on the grid? I mean we all saw what happened with Lewis.”

Kimi looks at me as if i’m going to be any help, “I think i’ll be okay… Y/n will probably give me more issues than Ol.”

I scoff, “Right. You’re so cocky with Merc. Do you need a reminded how Lewis is driving that car this weekend?” I tick and wave my finger, “Ollie was totally geeking out when he overtook him.”

He laughs as Lando smiles, “I say we get Y/n a car and see how she likes it.”

Kimi shakes his head, “Don't say that! She’ll go bowling and still win.”

I smile widely, “I was a menace in karting. Kimi has never had the pleasure of racing against me.”

“You’re the one getting cocky, Bella. You really think you can beat me?” I nod, knowing full well I would not beat him.

Lando and Franco both look at us quizzically, “Bella?” Franco speaks italian. Something Kimi clearly did not know.

Lando frowns, “Bella? Is that your middle name or something.” Kimi looks like a deer in headlights.

“More like a nickname.” I mumble.

Franco eyes me, “And you know what it means?”

Lando is still confused, “What does it mean!?”

We all ignore him, “Mhm.” I say as Kimi fiddles with his ring, “Anyways- I gotta go!”

⋆༺

I ignore Kimi for the rest of the day. In my mind, i’m blaming it on work as if the rain hasn’t stopped my job.

Well, I still sit in the garage and snap pictures of the same things over and over again. Charles and Carlos are pretty but become boring to look at after two hours of them sitting and staring into space.

“Y/n!” The head media manager comes up to me, “Could you go print out what I just sent you? It’s for a tiktok.” I nod, grateful for a distraction and a reason to get out of the cold.

Walking through the halls, I stare at blank walls and try to find the printer which we share with two other teams.

It’s hidden in a dark corner, the door shut. I walk in, still humming to my music when I face Kimi. I’m reminded of last night and how his humming ceased when he saw me.

He turns around when the door squeaks, “Oh, Hey.”

“They got you running errands again?” I smile, the door shutting behind me.

“You’re one to talk.” He eyes my phone in my hand, the picture pulled up already.

“Fair enough…” I walk closer to him, he’s leaning over the printer, “How long is your stuff going to take?”

“I’m assuming a while because I can’t get it to work.” My eyebrows pull together as I look at the tiny screen, my arm brushing his as I reach over and press some buttons.

I eye his arms, something that keeps acting a magnet for my eyes. Stupid driver workouts.

Kimi checks his watch, groaning, “I gotta be back soon.” I keep messing with it as he crosses his arms.

“I’m not very experienced in printers.” I shrug, turning to him, “Maybe we can borrow Haas’?” He makes a face, “It’s a printer, not a car part.”

When he reaches for the doorknob a sense of sadness washes over me, knowing we’ll be separated again.

But i’m supposed to be avoiding him! I can't make up my mind and it’s making me angry. I don’t want to be with him but I do at the same time and I'm busy and stressed and he’s so damn cute.

He turns it, except it doesn’t turn. His hand slides over it as it stays in place. He looks back at me, already panicked.

Suddenly, i’ve completely forgot about why I want to stay with him. Because all I can focus on is that I’m stuck in a tiny room with Kimi Antonelli and no fucking air.

⋆༺

KIMI

We’ve texted everyone we know, called and banged on the door, yet still… nothing.

I think she’s freaking out because her hand hasn’t left her bracelet. I sit next to her on the floor as she shivers, “I’m going to petition for a bigger warning budget.” I laugh a bit, shrugging off my jacket.

I see her gaze drop to the black bomber, “I don’t know how you’re cold because I'm getting hot.” I push the jacket closer to her and she offers a small smile and pulls it on.

I think she’s going to stay quiet, but she looks up and sighs, “Must be because I'm so hot.”

I laugh, grateful for her humor back, “Glad to know you’re feeling well enough to talk yourself up.” a small smile graces her lips again.

“The day I don’t, call the police.” She crosses her arms, pulling my jacket close to her, “Thanks.”

“No problem, I told you, you look good in mercedes merch.” She’s facing the wall across from us still, her head tilted back as she bites back a smile.

“Do I look good in Mercedes, or is it just because it’s yours?” She tilts her head towards me as a slow smile meets my lips.

“Bit of both?” I look at her. Her eyes locked on mine as they squint a bit, assessing my answer. “Mostly cause it’s mine.”

She shakes her head, looking forward again, her cheeks pink.

“Your flirting game has improved.” she teases again, “Must be all the time around me.” cocky. arrogant. and correct.

“Nah, I think it’s because I actually mean it.” I see her breathing change, her smile fading.

“Too far, Antonelli. Don’t do that.” She whispers.

“Do what?”

She sits up, turning towards me completely, “Giving me false hope.”

I blink, realizing that this is real and happening right now as we’re stuck in a tiny room, “There’s nothing false about it.” when she starts to look away from me, rolling her eyes, I scoff, “You can’t be the one upset about this. You started this!”

“I started this?” she looks shocked but her voice is still calm, “You called me ‘Bella’. You called me Bella and I didn’t even know your last name.”

“Some girls would like that I described her as I see her. And you 100% love it.” She licks her lips as I continue, “Ollie tells both of us to stop constantly. I thought you at least do it to bug him.”

“Kimi. I don’t care what my brother says that much and… If I was doing it because of Ollie- I wouldn’t flirt with you when we’re alone.”

“So you like it. So why did you tell me to stop?” I can’t quite place the look on her face, confusion mixed with… anger?

“I told you… false hope.”

“And I told you. There’s nothing false about it.” She swallows. I can hear myself breathing as she stares at me.

She stares at me as if it's the first time we met. She stares at me like she knows everything about me. She’s confusing and it’s making me so angry because we’re stuck in this fucking room and neither of us will-

I’m so caught up in my own mind that I don’t realize she’s leaning in. I don’t realize until her hand touches my jaw and her lips are on mine.

She pulls back, her eyes wide and her breath quickened. “I- Sorry.” I’m shaking my head and pulling her in before she can talk again.

She tastes like mint and smells like chocolate. My hand slips under the jacket, gripping her waist. I think I'm dreaming and if I am I don’t want to ever be woken up.

“Bella.” I whisper, my breath ragged and her smile pressing against my lips.

And then the door opens.

We pull apart so quickly that when Ollie blinks down at us, he doesn't see us. But he knows.

Y/n’s lips are red and my cheeks match it. We’re both panting and Ollie just blinks.

“Ollie.” Y/n says, her voice breaking the silence.

“No.” Is all he says before turning around and leaving.

⋆༺

YOU

Ollie isn’t pissed.

Ollie is… embarrassed? Uncomfortable? Horrified that he caught his sister and best friend making out?

We had texted him to get us out of that room and obviously I completely forgot because I was FUCKING KISSING KIMI.

I’m still warm and absolutely buzzing, but with the rain delay, I'm on extra photo duty. I edit all through the afternoon and fall asleep before I even think of texting him.

On quali and race day, I wake up way too early to my phone dead, and when I finally make it to the track, I'm working again.

With my phone a tiny bit charged, I text Kimi.

I’m tapping my foot the whole race, cringing at every crash and mentally screaming at every red flag.

I keep checking my phone to see if Kimi has texted me but still nothing. He pops up on the TV when Lewis gets overtaken.

I don’t mean to smile, but I do.

It’s ridiculous. I’m acting like a total school girl! One day, i’m flirting and sizing him up because I thought our game was… well… just a game. Even though I didn’t want it to be. And the next, I'm kissing him and checking my phone like an obsessed freak in love.

I really do like him. And that scares me a whole lot more than I expected.

⋆༺

KIMI

I frown with the team at todays result for Lewis, but I fucking run out of the garage the second the podium starts.

I find her in the midst of chaos, her hair is wet and I can’t help but laugh. She doesn’t see me yet, but she’s making a disgusted face and peeling her hair off her face, “Bella.”

She turns just then, her face morphing into a smile, “Hi.”

“You wanted to talk?” She nods, pulling me into an empty glass room.

“I like you.”

A slow smile pulls at my lips as I lean against the table, “I like you too…”

She sighs, like all she needed was to hear that. “But i’m fucking scared because how does that even work and I always thought you flirted back as a joke and Ollie is so weird about it and I really really like you.”

I take her hand in mine, her eyes settling on me, “The first time I saw you, I told Ollie you were pretty. He then informed me that you were his twin and I wanted to die.” She laughs out loud, “But it’s more than your face, because as pretty as you are, and as much as we flirt… I like you because you’re the smartest eighteen year old I know and the only one who can make me laugh and blush simultaneously.”

Her breath slows, stepping closer so she’s standing in between my legs, “I’m sorry for being a pussy about you.”

I laugh, “I wouldn’t give up your cheesy lines for anything.” my favorite smile stares back at me. The one that I create. I poke her in the side, “You fancy me!” I mock her accent as she rolls her eyes and kisses me.

She’s sweet and perfect and my girl.

[zvdvdlvr]

Hi! Firstly, I wanted to say that I adore your imagines! Secondly , I was hoping you’d agree to write an imagine based on s3 e7. Specifically the end of it when he’s sitting on his couch rubbing his fingers the baby touched. Maybe that makes him realize he wants a baby of his own with you? Thanks in advance!!!🩵

what i want ✩ gregory house

🫀- synopsis. Greg knows what he wants, but he needs to know that you want the same thing.

🫀 - warnings. I got a little carried away… SLIGHT impregnation kink. OOC House but i dont care. i hope you enjoyed this, anon!! 🤍

Greg’s mind had been bizarrely silent.

Instead of the regular influx of thoughts that flooded his brain, Greg just heard his heartbeat and his breathing. Well, the T.V. too, but the point is that something was off.

The face of House’s watch read fifteen minutes before eleven o’clock at night, and Greg hadn’t thought if a single thing since the surgery.

The case was an unusual one- as always- consisting of a pregnant photographer who had a stroke. After fainting, House and the team had deducted that the baby (House consistently reffered to it as ‘the fetus’) was killing the mother. Eventually, her organs started to shut down so a surgery was needed to fix the baby to fix Emma.

During the surgery, the unborn child had reached out and clasped it’s tiny hand around Greg’s pointer finger. The baby’s arm wasn’t even the length of Greg’s finger, House noticed. Truly, Greg hadn’t realized how long he had been staring at the baby’s fingers until Cuddy had called his name twice.

Now House thought of that moment in the operating room. He pressed his thumb down lightly to match the amount of pressure Greg felt when the baby held onto him.

Kids were a nuisance. A waste of money, the reason why so many people had heart attacks, and disrespectful. But… they were also cute sometimes and, apparently, wanted nothing more than to make their mommy and daddy proud of them. Well, that’s what Wilson had said when Greg had asked why people wanted kids so badly.

Greg didn’t know if you wanted kids.

You were great with them at any age- infant, toddler, and even those devilish pre-teens. In fact, you seemed to glow whenever someone trusted you to hold their baby. You made sure to look up and find Greg: watching you like he always does. He can’t help but feel a wry smile pull at his lips when he pictures you, your own finger being clutched by your own baby.

Greg was torn; he didn’t know what he wanted.

“I think I’m going to blow up,” you sang as you closed the door behind you. Greg stays still, thumb still pressing on his pointer finger.

You toe off your shoes and start to unbuckle your jeans as you head for your shared room. Greg doesn’t look up when you eventually traipse back out wearing Greg’s sweatpants and and old shirt Greg didn’t know he had. You navigate yourself under his arms and carefully over his leg to lay carefully on him. Greg feels the slow puff of your breath on his neck as you exhale. “Did you eat already, love?”

Greg lets out his own sigh and he let’s his hands rest on your back. “No. Expired lasagna didn’t really sound too appealing to my refined taste,” he replies.

“What’s wrong?” You ask looking up at him.

Greg blinks at you. As he slowly meets your eyes, he starts to feel you hand gently raking his hair back and running your thumb over his prickly facial hair. Just like you always do.

And then it comes to him.

“Do you… want kids?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “I… don’t think so. I don’t- well, you don’t want kids, do you?”

“That’s not what I asked,” Greg chided, squeezing your ass. “Do you want kids?”

It takes you a ling moment to answer. So long, in fact, that Greg thinks you may have fallen asleep with your eyes open. “Probably not. I don’t think you want kids so I haven’t really thought about it. Why?”

Greg keeps going. “Would you want kids? With me?”

You lay your head back down on his chest. “Yeah. If you wanted them too.”

House doesn’t really know how to proceed with the conversation, so he lets you play with his fingers as you watch the baseball game Greg put on. “I want one.”

Your movements stop. Yet again, you peer up at Greg. This time with unhealthily furrowed eyebrows. One of your hands comes up to check your boyfriend’s temperature. “Are you okay? Do I need to call Wilson?”

Greg looks pained as his hands slide up your body to rest at your face. His thumbs rest on your cheekbones. “I want a baby with you, y/n,” he tells you, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips. “I want- I want your womb to swell with our kid. I want a little extension of you to put up with when you’re working late. I want you to marry me and I want you to be the mother of my child.”

Your mouth dropped open. “That’s- wow.”

“Wow,” Greg repeats with an unsure smile.

“I’m not going to lie,” you say, cracking a smile. “I’m pretty turned on right now. I’m just really surprised that you have baby fever.”

Greg groans. “Tell me what you want, woman! I just rather uncharacteristically spilled my guts and you say ‘wow’!”

You snicker and support Greg’s neck with your hand as you lean up to kiss him. As expected, he wraps his arms tightly around your waist and reciprocates your passion tenfold.

“We could practice the baby-making for the honeymoon,” you whisper after pulling away from his lips.

Greg’s eyes flutter closed and you chuckle. “I would say ‘race you to the bedroom’, but I think you’re going to beat me anyway,” he rasps. You exhale a laugh through your nose as you start to press kisses from his lips hown to his neck. “Let’s go to the bedroom, yeah?” Greg asks, humping you pathetically as you kiss him.

“Fuck yeah,” you respond lowly, a dangerous smile in your face.

[sillysowa]

RUNWAY MODEL

PAIRING: hobie brown x fem!reader

GENRE: suggestive, smut

WORD COUNT: 2.9k

WARNINGS: smut, vaginal fingering, choking (fem! and male receiving), vaginal sex, both hobie and reader are switches

AUTHORS NOTE: not proofread cause i’m so tired i can feel my eyes melting

SYNOPSIS: in which hobie brown is a model, and you are his favorite designer

—

Hobie walked into your studio nonchalantly with no apparent purpose, like usual. The day had been long and he was tired of bending around for the photographers, wanting to visit his favorite designer. He sat his tall figure in the chair across from you, kicking his legs up on the desk because he knows it doesn’t bother you,

“Oh, Hobie…you’re still here?” You mumbled drowsily, exhaustion present in your hoarse voice. It’s late and you probably shouldn’t still be here at the studio, but you’re so caught up in your work. Hobie leans forward slightly, catching glimpse at the scribble artistic designs that he can tell after for him,

“Mhm,” Hobie hums, “You never tire of this work do you?” He chuckles, leaning back and tossing around a pen of yours, “Y’alright? Must be tired.” He asks in that deep voice of his,

You sigh, “Of course…just…gotta get this right.” You scribble around on the paper,

Hobie’s interest is piqued at this and he eyes the sketch pad, “You know I’ll wear whatever you come up with.” He leans back in the chair, still studying the work in progress, “Don’t have to do such hard work f’me.”

“I know…that’s what makes it so complex…I mean there’s so many different things I can see you in! Like…this maybe?” You ramble, flipping around your sketch pad to show him the punk rock outfit you had crafted for him. It’s skimpy to say the least, exposing his abs, most of his legs, and the pants hang low, exposing that pretty V-line of his that you’ve seen with watchful eyes as he gets his pictures taken for especially seductive shoots.

Hobie studies the artworks with squinty eyes, a smirk spreading across his face,

“I like that one…” He smiles knowingly, bringing his feet off the desk to support his head in his hands with his elbows on his knees. He glances up at the design again, and then back at you,

“You always do these designs f’me, hm? Am I your favorite model?” He teases, smirking a little like he knows a secret.

You smile and lean back, chewing the inside of your cheek for a moment in contemplation, “I mean you’re honestly probably my favorite out of all the models I’ve worked with.“ You say bluntly, wanting to only slightly allude to how deep your desire for Hobie is. Clearly, it’s written all over your face. You notice his stare as he obviously tries not to smile,

“Wanna expand on that? You look a little…flustered.” His voice drops low, his flickering down to your lips and even lower for a moment.

“I’m not. You’re a stunning model, Hobie.” You smile, continuing your work. Your face is burning hot and you can’t look at him because all you’re thinking about is how how badly you want him to bend you over the table with his long fingers around your neck. He suddenly changes the topic,

“D’you think I could do a gig solely on m’hands?” He asks like he knows the answer, “I think you’re someone who can appreciate their beauty, hm? With your drawings n’all?” He smirks teasingly and you feel your heart drop into your stomach,

“What?”

“Well you’ve drawn my hands about a hundred times…I’ve seen it. Can’t even keep your eye off of em when we talk.” He replies, leaning in and shortening the distance between the two of you between the table. Clearly, he had been through your sketchbook—your stomach churned at the thought,

“And how would you know that?” You whisper, flustered at the idea of of being caught in a sense but so fucking up for this challenge that he’s offering—there’s nothing to be ashamed of now that he obviously knows you have a severe hand kink. He keeps smiling at you as if he was entertained by all this,

“Doesn’t matter. What does the bough is that you must take a hefty liking to my fingers, right?” He says, flexing them again across the table, stretched out to their full length. You don’t even give in to your desire, eyes locked on the way his middle and ring finger press together suggestively a d make your face feel hot.

You bite your lip, tearing your eyes away as you flip the pages on your sketchbook to change the subject,

“A-Anyways, I’ve also got this design you could try…”

Hobie just smiles and leans back, deciding to let it go for now and toy with you later. He looks at the papers for a while before he speaks up,

“You’ve done a great job.” Hobie says in awe, gesturing to the designs with a nod of his head and that signiature sly smile, “I like ‘em.” Hobie’s tone switches to his playful-work-voice of his now, and he reaches his hands out, gripping the edge of the desk as he stands,

“So, Y/N,” Hobie starts looking down on you. “Got any of these ready for me to try on?” He asks, leaning down to your eye level.

You squirm a little in your seat, your thighs clenching together. He always gets you so riled up you’ve never had this kind of one on one time together. You often just catch glimpse of him during his shoots,

“Yeah…I actually have one of them here if you really want to try it out early,” You say excitedly, walking to the clothing rack and plucking it off. Its gorgeous, grungy, and incredibly revealing. The other designers love to see Hobie in multiple layers and a lot of baggy clothing, but when you got lucky enough to catch the photographers bending Hobie around in nothing but tight boxers for his Calvin Klein shoot—you nearly died, “It’s a little skimpy.”

“Oh yeah? Just f’me?” Hobie chuckles, walking up behind you in the dimly lit room and brushing his hand onto of yours to grab the clothing hanger. He looks at you with his head over your shoulder, awfully close,

“If you wanted to see me naked could’ve just asked” Hobie teases, whispering in your ear before turning away from you. To your utmost horror and delight, he starts stripping right then and there,

“Oh my god you slut, right infront of me?” You gasp, turning around letting out a quick laugh in disbelief. Your face feels hot after catching the sight of his jeans catching on his dick as he pulled them down, looking at you out of the corner of his eye,

A snicker comes from Hobie as he gets undressed in a fashion comparable to a strip-tease,

“Oh come on doll, it’s not like you haven’t seen me at work with even less on. I don’t mind you watching.” He pry’s, his voice taunting and inviting like a sweet honey. You think of your job. You think about how you thought you were alone only 10 minutes ago before Hobie strolled in. It’s beyond after hours, and it’s just the two of you—quite literally a recipe for disaster. Hobie finished getting dressed, standing up straight in the designer outfit,

“Alright, alright, it’s safe you prude. Come get a look at your creation.” Hobie holds his arms out, flipping them and getting a look at it all himself before smiling at you. You turn and look at him and instantly your eyes as they widen,

“Oh…my…god…” You gasp, “You look so good!” Excitement covers your to face as you walk up to him, inspecting how everything fits. You marvel in the way his toned chest looks on display and his nipple piercings under the sheer top. The studded jewelry and leather accessories add so much to the look but most of all…his hands in those fingerless gloves are to die for. You inspect them closely, pulling them towards you as you dreamily stare at his long fingers, toying with them in your hands,

Hobie smiles in the silence of your admiration, “Y’know it’s kinda funny...” He murmurs. His left hand gently holds onto yours, lacing your fingers with his. His other hand grazes your side,

You freeze and look up at him—instantly, your stomach drops at his gaze, “What’s funny?”

“You clearly got a hand kink or something…or is it just mine, hm? Got a thing for me, miss designer?” He teases, gently pulling you close with his knee in between your legs. Your heart beats in your chest like a drum and your toes curl in your shoes. You lick your lips, melting at the proximity,

“Well it looks like you’ve got me all figured out huh?” You whisper as your skin warms under his touch, his hands feeling like fire on your skin. You shouldn’t be doing this…but it feels too good to stop,

“Yeah?” He pulls you up in an embrace, nuzzling into the crook of your neck with his hot breath on your sensitive skin. His left hand grips your hair as he whispers into your ear,

“Say it.” Hobie enunciates every syllable, his lips hovering over the sensitive skin of your ear. You press your body against him and all logical reasoning leaves your mind,

“I want you.” You groan into his ear, balling your fists around his mesh shirt. Hobie grins, and his voice is low and husky when he whispers,

“I know you do. I want you too, dollface.” He wraps his arm around you fully, one hand still in your hair, and the other around your back. He stares straight ahead, his knee edging further up between your legs as he whispers,

“Let me show you…” He whispers into your ear, biting it gently and leaning down to kiss your neck. Your mind melts and you nearly collapse against him—it’s an all numbing feeling to have model lips like Hobie’s on your neck and his tall stature holding you so close,

You moan softly and dig your fingers into his clothes at the feeling, his lips on your neck make you feel so good inside. His large thigh slides up and now your skirt is pushing and your warm pussy is on his thigh. It’s lewd and oh so embarrassing until he groans, his voice all needy and horny, right in your ear,

“Oh, fuck…you’re already so wet? I’ve barely touched you, love.” He coo’s clicking his tongue, slipping his hands under the back of your shirt and undoing your bra in a swift, skilled motion. He toys with the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head. After getting you topless, his hands are palming your breasts wasting absolutely no time. You throw your head back and shamelessly whine at the feeling—the feeling being indescribable desire,

“God I just knew those—ah! Mmm-knew those hands would feel so good.” Your breath hitches in your throat as you mewl, his fingers pinching your nipples while you’re mid sentence. He laughs darkly at you, leaning down and taking one of your nipples into his mouth, squirming his tongue around the small bud,

“Mmm…” He hums around your skin, his eyes rolling into the back of his head for your viewing pleasure—and oh does it do things to you. Your desperate moans echo in the empty studio, the low lighting reflecting off of Hobie’s dark eyes driving you crazy,

One of his hands grabs your chin, and he stands up straight again, lifting your face up so that he could look into your eyes, “Keep making those pretty noises, gorgeous…” He murmurs, his eyes on yours flickering down to your lips.

You so badly want to kiss him that you can’t even wait for him, pulling him the collar of his shirt and meshing your lips against his in a matter of seconds, capturing his lips in a moral-melting kiss. You knew if anyone saw you two—colleagues—grinding and kissing in the studio late at night, you’d both lose your jobs on the spot; but there was no stopping now. His lips were like magic on yours. You felt your heart rate pickup the moment his hands met your thighs and he picked you up, walking you to the desk and never once breaking away from the desperate needy kiss you were sharing. When it starts to get to your head and you feel a need for air, you break away from the kiss, panting and looking into his lust blown eyes,

“Fuck me on that desk…right now.”

Hobie is shocked for a quick moment before a grin spreads across his face. He wastes no time in laying you onto the desk and kissing his way down your stomach, his fingers toying with the top of your skirt,

“What do you say I put these long fingers of mine to use, hm?” Hobie’s whispers, his voice raspy and sending need straight to your aching pussy.

“You better…” You thrust your hips up as he removes your skirt, his fingers grazing your thighs before he spits onto them, shoving two right into your tight pussy,

“Not so sure i’m the model anymore—fucking look at you…” Hobie groans, kissing your thighs as he slowly thrusts his fingers into you. His pace is agonizing, and you grab him by his wrist,

“Please…just shut up and fuck me…I’ve seen how big it is and I can’t wait any longer…” You grunt and Hobie’s eyes widen more than you’ve ever seen. It’s his turn to look flustered and the feeling of being spoken to in such a dirty manner is enough to make his dick twitch in his pants,

“How can I deny such an offer?” He laughs breathlessly, standing up and unbuckling his spikey belt, pulling everything down and letting his cock spring free. It’s long, and thick, and there’s precum leaking from his tip like the glaze on your favorite dessert. He feels his face heat up at your hungry stare, leaning down and cupping his hands in the bend of your legs, pushing them down at your sides and spreading your legs wide open for him,

“Please—“

“Yeah I know…” Hobie groans, smearing his pre-cum across your pussy and gently thrusting into you. It takes your breath away and shakes the desk, your mouth hanging open as a guttural moan tumbles out of your mouth,

Hobie groans and kisses your neck, “You’re so fucking tight.” Hobie whispers, his voice shaking. He groans and slams his hips into yours, his hands gripping your hips as he desperately fucks into you. Never in your entire life had you felt something so big inside of you—so filling and so fucking good. Of course a model as gorgeous as Hobie has such a perfect dick—but this position isn’t doing it for you.

You sit up, your hands on his chest as you push him down onto the desk and crawl on top. Hobie looks pleasantly surprised at this, his hands coming up to your hips,

“Fuck…” He whines, his head thrown back and his adams apple bobbing in his neck. You sink down on his length, grunting so loud you’d think it’s injuring you as your hand comes to Hobie’s neck. You give him a gentle squeeze and he nods at you, his eyelashes fluttering as he slaps your ass,

“C’mon.”

You ride him like your life depends on it, your hands tight around his neck and his clothes. The studio echoes with both of your moans and you feel your head spinning as his cock melts your insides, the sensation eliciting desperate moans out of you.

Hobie feels lightheaded and delirious with your hand around his neck and your pussy squeezing him so good, broken moans, grunts, and whimpers leaving his lips. The messy sounds fill the dark room and you can barely hold on any longer,

“Give it to me—please…”

You squeeze his neck just right and his hand comes up to yours as you ride him, your pussy clenching and your orgasm nearing. Now both of you are gripping each others necks, grunting and panting and falling apart so beautifully,

“I’m gonna—“ Hobie starts but he doesn’t finish…well he does. He cums deep inside you as you continue to ride him through it all, making a sloppy mess and coating his dick and thighs in cum. His head falls back against the hard wood and you ride his soul out until you cum. When you do, you’re shaking and moaning loudly, your hands moving from his neck to his shoulders to support yourself as you nearly pass out, pulling too hard on the mesh shirt and tearing it down his chest,

Hobie’s breathing is slow yet heavy as he tries to get a grip on reality now. His hands are still holding your hips and his brain still feels like jell-o, but he’s slowly coming to his senses,

“Y’look so good fucked out like this.” He mumbles, smoothing his thumbs over your bare skin,

“You think I’m the one who’s fucked out?” You giggle as you look Hobie over. His makeup is smudged, his clothes torn, and his eyebrows are as furrowed as they were when he came. He looks perfect, because how could he look anything but? He’s a model…and he’s your art no matter what,

“Wait stay right there…” You smile, walking behind him to your desk drawers and getting your camera, coming back around to his front. Hobie rolls his eyes and laughs incredulously at you, holding his pose with his elbows behind him, his lips parted and his eyebrows pinched, and his cock on full display still pumping its cum. You snap the picture and instantly swear to yourself that this would not be the last time you fuck Hobie.

—

@ohxx @luxxtuxx @fatenpara @hobesbf @defnot-bri

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Alrighty, beautiful human, I have a request for you if you have the time: I desperately need fluffy Ford. I need kisses and cuddling. The general story is up to you, but I NEED sweet, loving Stanford.

hello, sweetheart <333 thank you for requesting this because I also need sweet, loving Ford myself :,,) but I’m so sorry, about the cuddling part - I got carried away and missed it aghhh I hate myself :(((

ps - I’m absolutely in love with ur fics💗

tags: kind of awkward Ford, coffee date, autumn, forest, fluff, sfw

Leaves crunched underfoot as you and Ford wandered through the forest, the path framed by trees ablaze in shades of red, orange and gold. The air was crisp, carrying the earthy scent of damp moss and fallen leaves. Ford seemed to take it all in with a kind of wonder, like he was seeing the world with new eyes — which, honestly, wasn’t far from the truth. After so many years spent away from this dimension, you thought it was cute how he marveled at simple things like sunlight filtering through branches.

“Thirty years,” Stanford started. “thirty autumns I missed. I almost forgot the way the colors seem to breathe in this season." 

He reached up, fingers brushing a low-hanging branch laden with scarlet leaves, and you smiled at that. There was something so sweet about his awe, his joy, so obvious at moments like this.

“Guess you’re getting to be an Earth tourist now,” you teased gently. 

Ford chuckled, giving you a sidelong glance. “Ah, yes, perhaps. But I think I like this. . . rediscovery.” a small smile tugged at his lips. “some things are even better than I remember.”

The path opened to a clearing with a breathtaking view of the valley below, a sea of trees stretching into the distance, every shade of autumn imaginable. You stopped, a thought popping into your head as you took out your phone. “Hey, Ford,” you called, grinning. “take a picture of me?”

He looked at you, surprised, then down at the phone like you’d just handed him a puzzle box. “A picture?” he held the phone with both hands. “Of course, but. . . er, bear with me. These things were a bit. . . different last time I checked.”

You stifled a laugh, nodding as you struck a pose. “Just press that button,” you said, pointing at the screen. “It’ll be easy, I promise.”

Ford cleared his throat, focusing intently as he poked at the screen. "Alright. let me see. I just. . . press this here?"

But as he tried to get his bearings, he accidentally tapped the wrong icon. Suddenly, the camera flipped and his own face filled the screen — caught mid-frown, brow furrowed in confusion. He froze, staring at his reflection like it had personally betrayed him.

“Oh. . . uh. . .” his cheeks flushed as he looked between you and the screen, thoroughly bewildered. “It appears I’ve become the subject instead. Hold on. . . where did— no, this— ah, infernal contraption. . .” Ford mumbled, eyes squinting in concentration as he fumbled to switch it back.

You couldn’t help it — laughter bubbled out and you doubled over, nearly losing your balance. “Awww, Ford! you look so lost, it’s so cute!”

He looked up, flustered but laughing along with you. “Yes, well,” he grumbled, a crooked smile breaking through. “I can navigate alternate dimensions, but apparently, your ‘smartphone’ remains beyond my understanding. I think it’s mocking me.” with a sigh, he handed the phone back, an embarrassed grin still tugging at his lips. “Perhaps. . . perhaps I’ll leave the photographs to you, sweetheart.”

You took the phone from Ford’s hands, still chuckling as you swiped the screen to switch back to the camera. “Alright, here we go, Mr. Genius. Just try not to look too cute when you take my picture or I might just keep it as blackmail.” 

“Blackmail?” he feigned horror, eyes widening dramatically as he stepped back. “Sweetheart, you wound me! I thought we had an understanding! I’m an esteemed scientist, not a criminal mastermind!” 

You giggled and turned your back to him, posing with the beautiful autumn scenery as your backdrop. “Okay, now I’m ready!” 

Ford cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure as he positioned the camera. “Right, focus,” he told himself. “just like in my journals. You know, I could’ve cataloged the beauty of this moment scientifically, but no, I’m reduced to a photographer.” 

He pressed the button, and you could hear the faint click of the shutter. Turning to face him, you couldn't help but brighten at the awkward seriousness in his eyes. “You’re doing great! Now, maybe try a few more. I want options.”

“Options,” he repeated, still smiling, shaking his head in amusement. “Isn’t one good photo sufficient? the universe won’t implode if I don’t get a perfect shot.” 

“Yeah, but what if I want to look cute in a different way?” you teased, putting your hands on your hips.

With a smirk, Ford nodded. “Alright, what would you like? a ‘mysterious thinker’ look? of perhaps a ‘fierce scientist’ pose?” 

“Definitely the fierce scientist!” you exclaimed, throwing your head back dramatically. “I’ll pose like I just discovered a new dimension, just like my man.”

“Very well,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “On the count of three. . . one, two—”

But before he could reach three, you struck a ridiculous pose, one hand on your hip and the other dramatically raised as if you were battling interdimensional forces. “take that, Bill Cipher!”

Ford burst out laughing, shaking his head. You were just too adorable in his eyes. “Sweetheart, I’m pretty sure Bill would be quaking in his. . . well, whatever he has in place of boots.”

He snapped the photo and you saw the corners of his mouth twitching, clearly trying to suppress his laughter. “Okay, now that was an excellent one. Hold on. . .” he leaned closer, inspecting the image as if it were a rare artifact. Ford seemed to have caught fire with the idea of photographing Bill's defeat.

“Let me see!” you leaned over, your shoulders brushing against his as you peered at the screen. 

“Oh, this is just splendid. You look so cute, darlin.” Ford leaned closer to examine the screen, fixing his glasses. 

Your heart fluttered at compliment and you nudged him playfully. “Now, you should get in the next one. I want a picture of us!”

He looked a bit apprehensive again, glancing at the phone like it might explode. “Are you sure? I mean, what if I fumble it again?” 

“Trust me, you’ll be fine!” you shot him an encouraging smile, and after a moment, he relented, taking the phone back.

“Alright, alright,” he said, adjusting his glasses as if preparing for a complex experiment. “just don’t move too much. I need to concentrate.”

You stood beside him, leaning into his side, feeling the warmth radiating from him. “Okay, how’s this?” you asked, flashing a big grin.

“Perfect, hold still.” he raised the phone, staring intently at the screen like it contained the answers to the universe. 

“Uh, Ford, i think you need to press the button now.”

He blinked, breaking out of his focus. “Right! the button!” he pressed it, and just as he did, his finger slipped, causing the phone to snap a picture of you both in the most ridiculous pose — your mouth still open mid-laugh and Ford’s expression a mix of shock and concentration.

You burst into laughter again as Ford stared at the photo, face turning a shade of crimson. “Well, that’s certainly not going to be framed,” he muttered, trying to suppress his smile.

“Oh come on, it’s adorable!” you pressed your cheek against his.

However, your laugh made the corners of his lips twitch upwards. “I suppose it has a certain charm to it,” he admitted, chuckling softly. 

You grinned, putting your hand on his arm. “Let’s take another, hun, but this time, we’ll get it right. Just be yourself, Ford. No need for dignity.” 

“One, two. . . three!” you both said at same time.

Click! 

As the image captured, you both broke into laughter, the sound echoing through the autumn trees. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this free, this happy, sharing this moment with your couple. 

When Ford looked at the photo this time, a satisfied grin spread across his face. “Now that’s more like it,” he said, glancing at you with that spark of affection in his eyes.

As you admired the photos, a realisation suddenly struck you. “Wait!” you said excitedly, grabbing his arm before he could put the phone away.

Ford looked at you, curious. “Wait for what?”

“You’ve been gone thirty years, right? that means you haven’t tried my favourite coffee at that little café by the lake!” you could barely contain your enthusiasm, a wide genuine smile spreading across your face. “we have to go there right now!”

Ford raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smile as he followed your lead. “Well, you know I can’t say no to my seasoned guide of modern luxuries.”

🍂🍂🍂

The café was a cozy little spot nestled on a quiet corner, with big windows that showcased the lake outside. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans, warm spices, and just a hint of something sugary, like caramel or maple syrup, filled your nostrils. You spotted a chalkboard behind the counter listing their seasonal drinks and pointed eagerly at one in particular.

“That’s it! The ‘Golden Harvest Latte.’ It’s a mix of espresso, steamed milk, cinnamon, nutmeg and a swirl of caramel. It’s like autumn in a cup, I swear.”

Ford eyed the menu with interest. Well, considering his last ‘caffeine experience’ involved coffee brewed over a campfire in another dimension. . . he was open to something a bit more refined.

The barista greeted you with a smile. “Hey there! the usual?”

“Absolutely! and I have a new fan who needs to try it,” you said, motioning to Ford.

You turned to him, your eyes sparkling with happiness. “You won’t regret it! just wait until you taste it.”

And soon, the barista handed over two steaming cups topped with a dusting of cinnamon and an artful swirl of caramel. The scent hit you first, warm and sweet, making your mouth water. You handed Ford his cup, watching as he eyed the foam with curiosity.

He brought the cup to his lips and took a careful sip, eyebrows lifting as the flavors blossomed across his tongue. The richness of the espresso and a hint of spicy warmth from the cinnamon and nutmeg, all balanced by the buttery sweetness of the caramel.

“Wow,” he murmured, eyes widening. “yeah, this is delicious. I didn't know that a drink could have such a complex taste.”

You laughed, pleased by his reaction, and took a long, indulgent sip of your own. “Right? It’s like drinking a warm hug, this is my absolute favorite fall treat.”

Ford took another sip, clearly savouring it this time, his expression softening as he looked out the window at the golden leaves falling. “It’s funny,” he said quietly, “I’ve been to so many places, seen so many strange and alien things, but it’s these little, simple moments that feel the most surreal. Sitting here, with you, drinking coffee.”

You reached across the table, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Well, lucky for you, there are plenty of little things like this to rediscover. And I’ll be here to make sure you try them all.”

🍂🍂🍂

Stepping out of the café, the refreshing autumn air greeted you both, still tinged with the scent of cinnamon and coffee. Ford held the door for you, the smile never quite leaving his face as he watched you rummage in your bag for something. Finally, you pulled out your lipstick, a soft, rich shade that matched Ford’s turtleneck perfectly. 

“Would you look at that,” you said, holding it up beside his collar with a little grin. “I guess I’ve got a good eye.”

Ford chuckled, glancing between the color and his sweater. “It seems I’m unknowingly fashionable. I’ll take that as a compliment.” his eyes lingered on you as you applied the lipstick, your lips soft and inviting, the color blooming in a way that seemed to suit the season and Ford watched, clearly entranced.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you capped the lipstick, noticing the way his gaze softened.

“Oh, nothing,” he replied, though his voice had a gentleness to it, he swallowed, shifting his stance slightly. “just appreciating the moment.”

You took a small step closer, lifting a hand to rest gently on his chest. Ford’s breath hitched, neither of you spoke, both letting the warmth build in the silence, the soft murmurs of the town around you fading away.

“I think you might need a little color yourself,” you whispered, your thumb grazing his cheek as you leaned in. His eyes closed as your lips met his, softly, tenderly and you smiled in a kiss. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours and you could still taste the coffee and caramel. Ford’s hands found their way to your waist, holding you.

The world seemed to blur, the only thing that held you back was the feeling of his lips against yours, soft and warm, as if they had been waiting for this. Ford’s fingers brushed against your back, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss with a mixture of gentleness and longing.

When you finally pulled back, his eyes fluttered open, looking at you with a softness you’d rarely seen. He reached up, brushing his thumb across your cheek, unable to take his eyes off you.

“What’s got you so captivated now?” you asked, a smirk creeping onto your face.

“Just realising how lucky i am.”

you noticed the gleam in his eyes, as if he had finally, after all these years, found his way home.

[taetaespeaks]

Ferrari Friends [CL16]

yourusername

Liked by carlossainz55, luisinhaoliveira99 and 156,862 others

yourusername dump

View all 317 comments

user1 Y/n, you look so good !

yourusername no you bestie !

user2 you’re in portugal???

yourusername i was, yes!!!

user3 she was in portugal with lando !!!

user4 fuck charles, date lando

user5 Can Charles fight ?

user6 he apparently can’t lol

carlossainz55 I guess I’m not invited ? 🤣

landonorris you’re always welcome in my bed

alex_albon this is not the kind of things i want to read when i open the app

francisca.cgomes how did you like my homeland ???

yourusername miss it already 🥲

francisca.cgomes Portugal looks good on you ❤️

yourusername ok but what are we kika ?

user7 guys, charles unfollowed her just now ?!?!?

maxverstappen1 Hopefully, Lando will get a tan for the first time in his life 😂😂😂

Liked by yourusername

landonorris not the dutch guy speaking ?

user8 Thank you for the Lando content, Y/n

yourusername 🫡

user9 Did Charles unfollow her ????

luisinhaoliveira99 ❤️❤️❤️

Liked by yourusername

user10 OMG ?!??

user11 who is she ??

user12 Lando’s ex !!!

charles_leclerc unfollowed you

f1gossip

1009 likes

f1gossip Charles photographed in Corsica with unknown woman. His little idylle with Y/n over before it even started ? 👀

View 248 comments

user1 red flag, red as his car

user2 the leclerc brothers be getting on my nerves recently

user3 fuck that

user4 I hope Y/n gets with his bestfriend 🙄

user5 I love how everyone just hates on Leclerc’s behavior 🤣🤣🤣

user6 Maybe it’s because Y/n got with Lando ?

user7 Lando confirmed in an interview recently they were not dating ! Plus, his ex-girlfriend started following him again on ig and someone allegedly saw them together in Portugal

user6 Well, fuck Charles then 🥲

user8 poor y/n…

yourusername blocked charles_leclerc

you blocked charles’ number

masterlist - part 5(you’re here) - next

taglist : @a-beaverhausen @sltwins @imsiriuslyreal @taygrls @mahii7 @nebarious @ididntseeurbag @d3kstar @tinyhrry @ririyulife @bingussthirdtoe

[nanaarchy]

Hey chat !!!! I'm going insane.

Ever since my first listen to TMA, I've had a huge question that NEVER got answered.

Never. Not in the whole series, not Q&As or the wiki or anything. I thought I would never find answers. I thought it would be forgotten. I thought it was a small insignificant detail and I'd have to live with never knowing the truth about it.

Now with TMAGP 19, I might finally know the answer.

Maybe. Maybe maybe. But It Could Be. And now I'm losing my mind at the implications.

((For the record, I know that the stories and worldbuilding are inherently separate - hell, there are even timeline differences in the cases I'm using as evidence. But the overlap might be important, especially when it comes to the Web.))

Spoilers for both shows below!

Its branches were exquisite, and delicate, swaying slightly from small eddies in the liquid, and they shone with every spectra. I must confess that to look upon it, one was – (sigh) filled with profound wonder at its exquisite elegance. [...] Even I, steeped in worldly matters as I am, recognized The Lord’s words to Adam, and was much dismayed at the implication. Isaac then plucked the delicate fruit with ungloved hands and held it before me. [...] The creature was taking root. Strands of its mottled brown hair were extruding downwards between the floor, seeking the dark earth below. Then, too, its back began to sprout, radiant branches unfurling and thickening before me, reaching upwards towards the sunlight with a seemingly insatiable desire. [...] I tell you here, Robert, it saw me, and it knew me. (TMAGP 19 - HARD RESET)

It was an ornate wooden thing, with a snaking pattern of lines weaving their way around towards the centre. The pattern was hypnotic and shifted as I watched it, like an optical illusion. I found my eyes following the lines towards the middle of the table, where there was nothing but a small square hole. Graham noticed me staring, and told me that interesting antique furniture was one of his few true passions. Apparently he’d found the table in a second-hand shop during his student days and fallen in love with it. It had been in pretty bad shape but he’d spent a long time and a lot of money restoring it, though he’d never been able to figure out what was supposed to go in the centre. He assumed it was a separate piece and couldn’t track it down. (MAG 3 - ACROSS THE STREET)

Re: Magnus Institute Ruins. By RedCanary on Saturday April 23 2022 12:17pm. The photos from the spelunk seem properly gone, but I did find an old wooden thing with a bunch of similar symbols on. Some kinda empty box, not really sure what for, though. Gonna see if I can get the light right for a decent pic. Edit: No dice, I’m afraid. Must be something up with my phone camera. Really not helping the whole paranoia thing either. Anyone know anything about photographic distortion? Gonna see if I can borrow my dad’s SLR tomorrow. (TMAGP 1 - FIRST SHIFT)

Adelard Dekker stood in the corner. He was straight and motionless, his lips moving rapidly, though no sound came out of them. In the centre of the room, stood a table carved from dark wood and wrapped all over with a sprawling, intricate pattern. And in front of that table was the thing that had said it was my cousin. It was long and thin, the tops of it bent against the ceiling and its stick-like limbs flailed from too many joints and elbows. Wrapped around it were thick strands of what I think was spider’s web, stretching back into the table, which I now saw pulsed along its carved channels with a sickly light. The face at the top of that gangly frame was like nothing on earth. (MAG 78 - DISTANT COUSIN)

Now... Now I get it. I get it. I finally gave an answer. Or, at least, I think we'll get a concrete answer soon. But I think I get it.

I think I get where the web table comes from. I think I know what it's made of. why it glows. why it had a hole in the middle. I think I might know how the web gained control and sentience so much faster than the other fears. and, if it still manifests in the same way in the Protocol universe, how it also quickly became "the manager" of other fears, as theories suggest.

More importantly, I think I know what was up with the mysterious tree from so, so long ago.

Now I have an answer.

Why was there an apple buried in Hill Top Road?

I opened the box and sitting inside was a single green apple. It looked fresh, shiny, with a coat of condensation like it had just been picked on a cool spring morning. I picked it up. I wasn’t going to eat it, I’m not that stupid, but more than bleeding trees or phantom burning, this confused me. As I took it out of the box, though, it began to turn. The skin turned brown and bruised and started to shrivel in my hand. Then it split. And out came spiders. Dozens, hundreds of spiders erupting from this apple that was rotting right before my eyes. I shrieked and dropped it before any of them could touch my arm. The apple fell to the ground and burst in a cloud of dust. I backed away and waited until I was sure all the spiders had left before retrieving the box. I smashed it with a crowbar, and threw the remains into a skip. (MAG 8 - BURNED OUT)

And now I have an answer. Maybe.

[formulafics]

MRS. ALL AMERICAN (2) | AA23

Scenario: this time around, alex and yn get married over the winter break, and unintentionally spark some crazy rumors amidst the start of the season.

Pairing: alex albon x fem!sargeant!reader

also includes: logan sargeant x fem!reader (siblings), oscar piastri x fem!reader, lando norris x fem!reader (all platonic)

AN: as usual, this was thought up between me and @renarots who also came up with the names used for alex and yn’s pets, so shoutout to them for that 🫶🏻 i hope you all enjoy this very silly part two to MAA!

PART ONE

ynsargeant_albon on Instagram

thailand

liked by georgerussel63, alexalbon_sargeant, landonorris, oscarpiastri, logansargeant, and 75,632 others

ynsargeant_albon my forever home away from home, with my forever love. ❤️

view all 1,453 comments

alexalbon_sargeant luca says he misses you

⤷ ynsargeant_albon ill book a flight immediately

⤷ twitchquartetenthusiast CRYING THEYRE SO SWEET

logansargeant 🫶🏻

landonorris congrats again 🎉

⤷ ynsargeant_albon thank you lando 💞

formulasargeant THEYRE MARRIED??? FOR REAL MARRIED??

rizzciardo they’re straight out of a romance book and I love it for them

alexalbon_sargeant on Instagram

florida

liked by ynsargeant_albon, landonorris, georgerussel63, logansargeant, and 245,720 others

alexalbon_sargeant home away from home. wish you were here! ☀️

view all 4,329 comments

ynsargeant_albon flordia looks good on you btw 😚

landonorris never realized yn was that small 🤔

⤷ alexalbon_sargeant that’s her real size 🙊

⤷ ynsargeant_albon this is evil I’m never doing silly pictures again

oscarpiastri amazed to see no .5 pictures in this one

⤷ ynsargeant_albon lowkey me too

formulawilliams lowkey maybe i get how yn rizzed up alex

albonpets on Instagram

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 254,321 others.

albonpets we thought it was time to introduce the newest members of the albon-sargeant family. meet Thomas 🐭 and Ferdinand 🐸.

side note: apologies for the confusion 😁

view all 3,421 comments

ynsargeant_albon I love our babies 🥹

landonorris oh.

⤷ ynsargeant_albon tbh I thought you understood

⤷ landonorris I mean now I do

⤷ ln4nation LMAO LANDO IS ONE OF US

formulapapaya I want to know why they picked those names

⤷ ynsargeant_albon Thomas the train and Ferdinand the bull!

logansargeant im stealing thomas

⤷ ynsargeant_albon you will do no such thing

⤷ logansargeant he loves me though

formulawilliams this makes so much more sense than them having actual kids 🤡

dreamyalbon I HAD A FEELING IT WAS PETS

formulalex notice how everyone hating on twitter is SILENT

⤷ dreamyalbon were you silent or were you silenced?

lando.jpg on Instagram

liked by ynsargeant_albon, alexalbon_sargeant, logansargeant, maxfewtrell, and 212,962 others

lando.jpg here’s the newlyweds 📸❤️

view all 5,623 comments

ynsargeant_albon best photographer we could have had. thank you lando ❤️

⤷ landonorris also best dj? 👀

⤷ ynsargeant_albon sure I’ll let you have that

alexalbon_sargeant a post about our wedding with the first picture being you 🤔

⤷ formulawilliams one thing abt alex is he’s gonna keep people humble

dreamyalbon WORST DAY OF MY LIFE CHECK I AM DEVASTATED OH MY GOD

lovelysargeant THIS IS SO CUTE I AM WEEPINF

ln4nation living for how close yn and lando are now 🥹

⤷ landoworld ME TOO. apparently he, oscar, logan, yn, and alex hang out regularly 😭 they’re everything to me

Thank you for reading! 🌷<3

TAGLIST: @renarots @minseok-smaus @jsjcue @treehouse-mouse @piasstrisblog @spidersophie @motorsp0rt @fastcarsandshit @vellicora @leclercvsx @kortneej81 @lokietro @arkhammaid @harrysdimple05 @lovstappen @illicitverstappen @stopeatread @cixrosie @sadieurlady @marshmummy @i-love-ptv @pretty-little-bunny382728 @elliegrey2803 (to be added, comment or ask!)

[doraminatook]

We're About To Get Playfully Blasphemous Here (or...The Metaphorical Death and Resurrection of Me)

2023 was the year I turned 33, and in case you didn’t know, many religious scholars cite that as the age Jesus was crucified and rose from the dead.  Now, within literature there’s a trope called the Christ-like figure in which a character sacrifices themself and from that death, something happens in order to advance the plot.  Usually that something is either the “dead” character rising from the ashes and obtaining new powers (think Gandalf the Grey battling the Balrog and then coming back as Gandalf the White) or the protagonist being so moved by the death of this secondary character that they are reborn in some way (think Red Badge of Courage’s Jim Conklin (JC…get it?) whose death changes Henry’s opinion on war.)

Because I’m a storyteller and have a dark sense of humor, I began to wonder if I would somehow have a Christ-like-figure-moment within my thirty-third year of life.  (Not long after my birthday, I told my mom that I just had to make it to 34 and then I would have “beaten” Jesus; being a good Lutheran woman, she did not appreciate this joke.)

Now, I may be reaching or forcing figurative imagery into the literal world (isn’t that what artists do?), but I think I did have a “death” and consequential “resurrection”.  

I’m at a strange place in my writing career in that I am not famous (by any means) but I’m also not considered emerging.  Recently, I was told by a theater that I should “sit this contest out” and give someone else a chance but at the same time my work has not been produced enough to catch an agent’s eye.  (It doesn’t help that theatre companies have an intense fixation on world premieres.  They want to be the first one to do the show, apparently assuming that as soon as a piece gets produced once, that means it’s finished.  But that’s a rant for another day.) 

Currently I live in Milwaukee and for a long time I thought (or at least hoped) that I could maybe just make it work here; it is technically a theater town.  Add to that the fact that my whole family lives in Wisconsin, my financial situation was not ideal, and my best friend (platonic soulmate) had made it fairly clear to me that she did not wish to move away from Milwaukee.  When I was honest with myself, I knew that I wanted to get out, but there were so many things holding me back from making the jump.  

As soon as the thought of moving away entered my head, Anxiety would perk up.  Always eager to be the backseat driver, it would shout things like, “Isn’t life here good enough for you?  You’ve got a roof over your head, a job that allows you to pursue your passion, and you’re perfectly healthy.  Be grateful for what you have and stop expecting something more!” 

I attended a workshop for other playwrights from the area and, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I didn’t have a lot in common with many of them.  Discussions and questions whirled around about how we find time to write, where we get inspiration, and how we format a script properly.  Some of the writers present had never even finished a full script.  I certainly am not bringing this up in order to shame anyone, but it was an eye-opening experience for me.  Was I a proverbial big fish in a little pond?

My anxiety had an opinion for that, too.  

“Wow!  Way to be egotistical, D!  You think you’re so much better than everyone here?  Get over yourself!  You’re not special.  You’re just another ‘artist’ who thinks they’ve got something special to say!”

A few weeks later I was at my cousin’s wedding and after the ceremony, he approached me to offer congratulations for all the success I’ve had…only to then immediately cut me off guard with the question, “So when are you moving to New York?”  As the groom, he was quickly called away for photographs and I never really got to answer his question.  

If this moment had been in a play, the spotlight would have hit me right then and there and I would have begun some contemplative soliloquy where I openly pondered, “New York, eh?  Maybe I should go to New York!”

Obviously, as a theatre person, the idea of moving to New York had crossed my mind; it’s the theatre capital of the US for obvious reasons.  But, at the same time, New York just didn’t feel like me.  (I have a lot of opinions on NYC, especially when it comes to the outrageous ticket prices.  When it costs a small fortune to see a Broadway show, art becomes a luxury rather than a necessity.  But that’s a rant for another day.)  It certainly seemed daunting, and every good dream should be at least a little daunting.  But New York was daunting without being exciting.  It felt like something I should do…something that was expected of me.

LA didn’t do it for me, either.  Nor Seattle.  I considered many locations, but nothing really made me sit up and take notice.  I wasn’t about to dive headfirst into debt and throw away a good thing unless it was something that truly excited me…something that was enticing enough to spark a change.  

Again, Anxiety spoke up, “Calm the fuck down, D!  New York?  Even if that is what you wanted, they’d eat you alive there!  You’re a soft midwestern girl who can’t take criticism and cries at the drop of a hat!  You really think you could handle New York or LA?  Also, the cost of living in any of those places is way more than you will ever hope to make!  Stick with Submission Helper.  Stick with the contests and the festivals.  Go back to dreaming only as big as The Milwaukee Repertory Theatre.  Sit down and shut up!”

It may have gone on like this…if not for the summer of 2023.

Close your eyes and picture it: WGA strike, Barbenheimer, The Eras Tour, OceanGate, the Grimace Birthday shake…and in the midst of it all, I was having an epiphany.  

A favorite television show of mine dropped its latest season and I eagerly pulled out the Chardonnay and the popcorn to binge it all.  The vast majority of the show takes place in London and features several actors whom I admire greatly.  Between the giggles, sobs, and various twists and turns of the emotional rollercoaster that was Season 2, something all at once occurred to me.

This is what I want.  

That’s where I want to be.  

I want to move to the United Kingdom.

Was it daunting?  Hell yeah, it was daunting.  

And it was exciting.  

It was a dream that excited me.  

It burned inside me.  

It raged.

It burned so hot that I didn’t know what to do with it.  I paced around my tiny apartment, simply stunned by the prospect of it all.  

Anxiety was in the process of drinking a quad shot espresso con panna and promptly did a spit take upon hearing this new idea.  In a frenzied panic, it bellowed, “Are you nuts?  What the hell do you think you’re doing?  YOU can’t move to the UK!  It would be so difficult!  You’d need to apply for a Visa…or something like that!  Do you even know how to apply for a Visa!”  

“No,” I metaphorically replied, “but I could learn.”

“I bet it’s super difficult!” Anxiety shot back, trembling in fear, “I bet it’s expensive and complicated and you’ll never figure it out!  I bet your sense of humor wouldn’t translate!  I bet you’d end up broke and living under a bridge and crying because you threw away this good thing you had!”

For a split second, Anxiety almost won…but somehow, prompted by the promise of this new dream, I dared to ask, “But what if it worked out?  What if I could figure it out?  What if I somehow scraped up the money and did the research and filed the paperwork and just made it work?”

If it were a play, I would have been standing center stage, staring out into the audience like some kind of dramatic hero and whispering hopefully, “Yes…what if…?”  

It has been a long road to get here, but, despite what Anxiety likes to tell me, I did figure it out.  The process has been stressful enough to induce atypical Shingles and a few anxiety attacks, but it’s happening.  It’s actually happening!

This October I’m going to grad school at the University of Essex where I’ll pursue my masters degree in Scriptwriting.  I’ll hone my skills as a playwright while learning the ins and out of writing for film, television, and radio.  I’ll take the train into London on the weekends and see every show I can at the National Theatre.  I’ll get new life experiences.  I’ll do my best to explore every inch of that beautiful island.  I’m going to do something new because it’s scary and, most importantly, it’s exciting.  

(To add to the awesomeness of this new adventure, my best friend (platonic soul mate) is moving with me and pursuing her own dreams of studying acting…also at the University of Essex.)

My “death” was not as dramatic or world-changing as Jesus’s, but it gave way to a new life for me.  The power of storytelling combined with a newfound confidence was enough to catapult me into something new, something different.    

And I know you’re wondering what show I was watching that prompted this sudden change; if you know anything about me, you’ve probably guessed it already.  

Along with seeing as much theatre as I can on my visits to London, I also plan to have surreptitious meetings at The Bandstand, feed ducks some frozen peas at St. James’s Park, and maybe help avert an apocalypse (or two).  My birthday is in January and it just so happens that Season 3 is scheduled to begin filming around that time; perhaps on my winter holiday, I’ll put myself onto a train and take myself up to Edinburgh.  I have so many thoughts on what could possibly happen next to my favorite angel and demon…but that’s a rant for another day.

(Fun fact: I say this line at least once a week...if only to myself.)

[featherandferns]

daylight - six

jj maybank x fem!reader | part 6 of the daylight series | read part 5 here

content warnings: sexual content (m receiving)

word count: 2.8k.

blurb: seemingly not put-off from your last encounter, JJ comes by your house and studies your photographs. There's one within the mix that makes something click in JJ's head.

“Mimsy, it was humiliating,” you groan through the camera. 

She cringes. “I mean…yeah, that is pretty rough.”

“Ah!” you cry, tossing your head into your hands. 

“What was up? Were you not turned on?”

“Of course I was!” you argue, offended at the insulation that JJ wasn’t sex walking. “I just got all in my head, and the dark and Tyler and–”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Mimsy interrupts. You brave a glance at her on the facetime call. “You were thinking of Tyler whilst hot-mechanic-man was going down on you?”

“Well, we never got that far,” you mumble. 

Mimsy silences you with a look. “Why were you thinking of Tyler?”

You sigh and shake your head. Once more, your eyes dart down to the shoebox. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I just felt like I was back in that room with him all over again in December. The confusion and the–”

“Are you sure Tyler never assaulted you?” Mimsy checks. Despite her careless questioning, you know it comes from a place of concern. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” you say. “I mean, his emphasis on consent was honestly one of his finer features. One time I nodded and he went ‘no, no, you gotta use your words’.”

“Condescending prickhole,” Mimsy mutters bitterly. 

Eyebrows raised, mildly alarmed, you say, “well, yes, he was, but he was an consent advocate.”

“Gee, someone give him a gold medal. The bar really is on the fucking floor.”

You click your fingers. Mimsy could get lost in her anti-Tyler spiel easily. “Can we stay on task, please? What the hell is wrong with my body!?”

“Alright, one sec,” Mimsy says. You watch as she types away on her laptop, halfway in shot. “Okay, Google, what have you got?”

Waiting anxiously as Mimsy puruses the web, she makes a ‘eureka’ type sound. 

“Well if it makes you feel any better, apparently around seventeen percent of women aged eighteen to fifty experience vaginal dryness problems during sex. So you’re not a freak - yay!”

“Thank you for that,” you grumble. “What else does it say? Does it say why it happens?”

“Not being turned on enough is the leading cause. Insufficient foreplay type things,” Mimsy reads. 

You shake your head, fingers pressed to your lips in thought. “No, I was definitely turned it on. It was only when he was no longer kissing me and stuff…”

“Is that when the Tyler thoughts started?” Mimsy wonders. 

You nod. 

“Alright, well, other reasons are psychological. Stress, anxiety, that kind of thing. You think that might be it?”

“Maybe,” you muse. Before you can try to expand your thoughts, Mimsy’s phone chimes. She momentarily disappears as she reads the text, and you watch as she gets up in a rush. “You good?”

“Darren hit me up. He said he’ll be here in five.”

“Wait, Darren?” you gape. “Since when were you hooking up with Darren?”

“Like a week ago, at this beach get-together. He’s gotten cuter, y’know? Works out and stuff now,” she grins cheeky at the camera, licking her teeth.

It's times like these that you realise how much your lives are already changing without the other knowing. Most of the time it's easy to ignore, but every now and then the FOMO is relentless and jealousy tries to rear its ugly head. 

“Right, I gotta dash. I need to check I’m nice and clean shaven.”

“T.M.I. Mimsy. We need some boundaries."

“Yeah, you’re right,” Mimsy says before deadpanning: “have fun navigating your dry vagina.”

“Fair point,” you mumble. With that, Mimsy disappears from your screen.

You mindlessly meddle on Instagram, editing your latest post - a picture of the Pogues you took a few weeks ago - and scrolling through the feed. A text notification appears. It’s JJ.

Let me in. 

Frowning, you reply. 

Hello?? 

I’m outside lol. Let me in. 

Frown deepening, you ditch your phone and rush down the stairs. Sure enough, when you open the door, JJ’s there. He’s wearing a t-shirt and shorts, and those same damned combat boots. No cap, messy tendrils of hair sticking out any which way. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I was bored.”

“Oh,” you reply. JJ had never come into your house before. Always picked you up or dropped you off outside. “Well, come in, I guess.”

JJ gladly does so. Wanders through the doorway, hands in his pockets. 

“What you been up to today?” you wonder. 

“Went to Heyward’s with Pope to earn a couple bucks,” JJ says as he eyes up the decor. Most things are unpacked now, having been in Kildare for almost two months. Faux family photos line the mantle of the fire which doesn’t work. JJ peruses them. “You were a cute kid.”

“Thanks,” you say. “You want a drink or something?”

“Nah, I’m good,” he says, pulling out his flask. You roll your eyes as he takes a swig of what you assume is whiskey. “Where your parents at?”

“Trying to rekindle their romance on a weekend trip to my uncle’s place,” you say. “I was just gonna edit the last lot of photos I took at Kook Club.”

“They any good?” he asks. 

The two of you had worked the latest Gala dinner. It had been to “raise money” for the already pristine, state-of-the-art tennis courts. Whilst they were charging guests a thousand dollars per ticket, you and JJ left with less than a hundred bucks for ten hours worth of work. 

“They’re alright. Rafe and his posse are in the back of a bunch, sneaking drinks, so I need to edit that crap out,” you huff. You start up the stairs and JJ follows. Opening the door, you guide JJ into your bedroom. 

“Ta da,” you say. “My humble abode.”

“Cute bear,” JJ teases, pointedly looking at your well-cuddled stuffie.

You rush to grab him, hiding him under the pillow and nervously laughing when you turn back to him. 

His eyes gravitate to your pinboard of pictures. A collection of your favourites. Friends mostly, with about two of your parents. Lots of Vancouver. The Pogues. JJ. Things you took whilst people-watching. Most of the photos are pictures of the neighbourhood and town. Beaches and trees and people going about their days. Boats bobbing on water and fisherman dragging up crab-cages. Children biking down the street and old couples sat on their porches like something from a Suburbia advert in the fifties. There’s an intrigued slant to his brow as he takes in the world you see. 

Then, JJ plucks one from the masses and holds it with care, something seemingly unnatural for someone so energetic. You can’t help but study him as he studies your picture. It’s one you took almost two weeks ago, of a man that you saw smoking a cigarette outside of a dive bar. There was something about him that seemed so tired and worn, like he’d wasted his happiness on something unforgiving. JJ’s smile fades. There’s an urge to ask him if he's okay, though you’re not sure why. 

He returns it to the board and deliberates over some more. You try and think of something to say but come up with nothing. 

“These are really good,” JJ absent-mindedly tells you, eyes trained on the pictures. 

“Thanks.”

JJ smiles at the one you took of him. It’s a strange smile: like he’s surprised by his own candidness. Then he physically freezes. You follow his trained vision to a picture hidden under layers. Oh no. 

“Is that…”

JJ takes it from the board, careful not to disturb the others, and stares at it for a painful length of time. All you can do is fidget nervously, eyes wide, and watch him piece together the picture. Frowning, he holds it up to you as he turns. 

“When did you take this?”

“Um…”

It’s of him, laughing from afar, standing before a sunsetting sky, the sea in the distance. You try to grab it off him but his reflexes are too fast. JJ holds it above his head, out of your reach. 

“Just one time at the beach.”

“Nuh-uh,” JJ says, a grin starting to unfurl. “You’re lying. When’d you take this? I don’t remember you taking this.”

“Just a dumb candid I got at this kegger one time. It was ages ago,” you hurriedly say. 

And all the puzzle pieces click in JJ’s mind. The grin comes through in full effect and he points a finger in your face. Your stomach sinks through the floor. 

“It was you!”

“W-what?” you stammer.

“You were the peeping Tom at Chloe’s kegger! I knew I didn’t fucking imagine it!” JJ announces. 

No, no, bad, bad, bad. 

“Holy shit! I’ve been trying to figure out who it was and it was you the whole time!”

“Don’t be a dick, okay? I just like people-watching. Clearly!” you defend, gesturing to the pictures. 

“I’m not being a dick,” JJ says, enthusiasm dwindling. He lowers the photo and looks at it again. A smile returns, sweeter this time. “It’s a really good photo.”

“Course you’d say that,” you snort, taking it back. “You’re in love with yourself.”

“Damn straight,” he gloats. He watches you place the photo in your bedside drawer. “Putting that in your wank bank for later, then?”

“Careful,” you snarl, shooting him a glare. He cackles.

ADHD brain in full swing, JJ takes to investigating your cameras. “You ever take photos of yourself?”

“No.”

“Ever had people take them for you?”

“Look, some people photograph well,” you say, gesturing to JJ, “and some people don’t.”

JJ quirks a brow. “Are you saying you’re not photogenic?”

You make a face of ‘well, duh’ and JJ laughs incredulously.

“Oh, bullshit. You’re smoking! You’d take a great picture.”

“Well, history proves otherwise,” you laugh, flopping onto your bed. 

JJ looks back to the cameras. At his extended quiet, you gain the sense that he’s plotting something. Concocting. “What?”

“Just thinkin’,” he hums. He grabs your Polaroid camera, turning to you. “This charged?”

“It’s battery powered, JJ,” you say. “So, yes.”

“Got paper in it?”

“That little dial on the right will say.”

JJ checks and a grin reappears. “Lie down.”

“Excuse me?”

“Humour me,” JJ says, “lie down.”

Rolling your eyes, you comply, lying down like a corpse. “Happy?”

“No, fucking…” JJ poorly  imitates a sensual pose. You giggle. “Give it some effort.”

Sighing, as if it’s some great effort, you do as he asks. JJ grins and lifts the camera. With that, you crack up and raise a hand, trying to push the lens away. He snaps a photo before you can. 

“JJ!”

“Come on, come on! Pose it up, girl,” he urges. 

Aware that he won’t quit, you sit up and smile reluctantly with a lopsided head tilt. JJ takes another photo. 

“Okay, gimme something sexy.”

“Sexy?” you guffaw. 

“Yeah! Something for my wank bank.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter. You tug your shirt off before you can overthink it and lean back on your arms, dressed in pyjama shorts and bralette. JJ’s grin takes up half his face. “Happy?”

“That’s it baby, work it…”

At his compliments and praises, you entertain him further. Your confidence blossoms under the lens and you start to understand why people like being photographed. It makes you feel important. Beautiful, like you’re something worthy to be captured. You find yourself grabbing at your tit with one hand, staring doe-eyed into the lens. Another photo has you teasing at showing your nipple, pulling down the lip of your bra.

As JJ continues to snap away, you see his dick getting harder and harder under his shorts. When the camera runs out of film, JJ dumps it on your desk and he practically pounces on you. Consumes you with a heady kiss, a hand reaching up to your jaw, tilting your head to deepen it. You’re obsessed with the way JJ kisses. It’s so forward, unapologetic and proud. Tender and telling, dominating and delicate.

When his hands palm at your crotch over your clothes, your heart sinks. Using all the strength you have, you grab his shoulders and force him down onto his back, on your bed. An impressed, bewildered smile lights up his face. It’s quickly overshadowed with lust.

Now straddling his chest, JJ pulls you back down with both hands, bringing your lips to his. You both grin into the messy kiss. 

“Don’t think I forgot what you said during hot seat,” JJ mumbles out through the kiss. You don’t bother to answer. Start making work of his throat, empowered by the new position. “About your favourite position.”

Your only response is to rut back against his hard-on. JJ stammers out a groan which seems to quiet him. You push his shirt up just as he did yours the other night, and take to praising his toned chest. Lightly trace your tongue over his nipples. Who would have thought JJ was a switch? Not you. 

“Please, baby, fuck,” JJ stammers. 

“You want my mouth?” you tease, rubbing him through his shorts. 

“God, yes, yes,” he begs, eyes closed tight with pleasure. 

You drag it out. Leisurely free him from his shorts and boxers. Take long, slow kisses right up from his calves, guiding your trial with your nails. When you finally take his leaking tip in your mouth, JJ grabs at the sheets with a moan. You go down on him, varying between fast and slow, deep and shallow. Suckle at the tip just to hear the sounds he makes, sat up on his forearms to watch. 

“Takin’ me so well,” JJ groans. One of his hands fists into your hair. “Fuck…That’s it.”

You hum around his dick, grabbing at the flesh of his thigh for purchase as you work him closer and closer to the edge. He pulls you off him before he comes, spilling onto his chest with a shuddering groan. You sit back on your haunches, wiping at your mouth, as JJ sits up. You grab the box of tissues from beside your bed and offer them to him. He’s almost blushing as he takes them, cleaning himself up. 

“Christ, you Vancouver girls are built different, huh?” he says. 

You laugh, flustered. “Well, I can’t speak for all of us.”

“Don’t need you to,” JJ smirks, reaching out for you by your hip bone. “I got the perfect one right here.”

He easily pulls you into his lap with one arm. Dumbs your thoughts with a kiss, tongue swirling deliciously in your mouth. But when one of his hands ventures lower, you pull away with a small smile. He tries to chase your mouth with his but you place a hand to the apex of his neck, keeping him at bay. He frowns.

Tracing the pad of your thumb under one of his eyes, you quietly say, “maybe another night.”

JJ’s reaction mirrors that of a child being told they can’t have a candy bar. “Wait, seriously?”

“I’m tired,” you lie with a laugh. Pecking his lips, you smile. “Worn me out.”

“Barely fucking touched you,” JJ grumbles, disgruntled. You move off him and grab the mess of tissues, filtering them into your bedroom bin. You can feel JJ watching you as you gather the polaroid photos from the floor. “Is this about the other night?”

Your lack of reply is reply enough. 

“That was probably a fluke! I read somewhere that dehydration can cause it,” JJ tells you. You make your way back over with a small smile. JJ reaches out a hand and grabs you by your hip. He leans forward and places a kiss to your stomach through your t-shirt. Looks up at you, innocent through his lashes. “Just let me at you and I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“As romantic as that is,” you sardonically say, looping your fingers through his hair and gently easing him away, “I just wanna go to sleep. You staying over?”

“Is that cool with you?” JJ checks. 

“Mhm,” you say. “I’m gonna go wash up, yeah?”

“Alright,” JJ replies, already tugging off his shirt. 

When you’re finished in the bathroom you find JJ under your sheets, scrolling on his phone. You settle in beside him. Your bed is just slightly bigger than a twin. It gives you a good excuse to cuddle up against him. Sighing, JJ clicks off his phone and lays back. 

“You wanna get the light?” he wonders, absentmindedly stroking your shoulder.

“No,” you mumble against his sturdy frame. “I sleep with it on.”

��Oh. Alright.”

JJ coils an arm around your midsection, bending to your form like ivy wills to a building. And how strange is it to think, that as you and JJ fall asleep tangled up with each other, that a box of your ex-boyfriend's things lies under the bed.

read part seven here!

taglist:

@princessuki21 | @psyches-reid | @heybank | @avengersgirllorianna | @rrosiitas | @yourmumstoy | @jjsfavgirl | @void21 | @fictionalcomforts | @gsp420 | @redhead1180 | @wearemadeofstardust0 | @mrs-jjmaybank | @ifilwtmfc | @heybank | @lilyw1235 | @belle101200

[its-time-to-write]

hi sweetheart! i was wondering if you could do a jamie imagine where the reader is a physical therapist and he’s always finding the most ridiculous excuses to go see her, like getting a paper cut and things like that. i would also love if it could be before they got together :)

it’s okay if you don’t want to do it or already did it and i didn’t see it. thank you anyway, you’re one of my favorite writers here on tumblr 🩵

you called me sweetheart, so now I would die for you. pet names are the way to my heart, in case u didn’t know. hope u enjoy🍊

(important disclaimer, I don’t know how physical therapy works so if I’m wrong about things, remember this isn’t a medical journal, I am just a girl)

before you go

Apparently, it’s impossible to purposely give yourself a paper cut, but Jamie Tartt has been doing his damnedest all day to get some kind of ailment, so if that means being careless with some photographs in his locker then so be it. 

He really wishes his leg would cramp or something, but Will’s been keeping him far too hydrated for that. 

So Jamie has to settle for slipping a picture of his mum at just the right angle to draw blood. 

“Shit,” he whispers softly. He puts his finger to his mouth to catch the first beads of blood. 

“Paper cut?” Sam asks sympathetically. Jamie nods, finger in between his teeth. 

“Ay, sí, you should go see the physio for that one, amigo. Ask for the Rojas special,” Dani says with his ever-present grin. 

“It’s just a paper cut, mate,” Jamie says in order to keep up appearances. 

Sam knocks his arm. “You have to go. Dani only just let me request the Rojas special last week, and Richard still won’t talk to me about it.”

“Ça c’est merde,” Richard calls from across the locker room. “Put on a bandage and go home.”

Jamie won’t. He sticks his tongue out at Richard and turns to go to the treatment room because he needs treatment right away. Never mind that it’s a cut and not a muscle injury. He can hide under the excuse that Dani sent him. 

Jamie taps on the door and pushes it open to find you sitting on the table, absentmindedly tapping your fingers on your knees. You jump down at the sight of Jamie. 

“Hi! I was wondering if anybody’d be over today,” you grin. “Where does it hurt?”

Jamie holds up his finger. “Dani sent me.”

“Ah, right,” you nod, grin never leaving your face. Jamie wonders if your sunny disposition is why you and Dani are such good friends. Suddenly, he’s gripped by uncertainty. Maybe you and Dani are morethan good friends. After all, Dani is strangely tight-lipped about his affairs and besides, it’s not good for the physio to be openly screwing a player. 

Maybe he should go. 

But you’ve already come back to him after rummaging in a cupboard, small box in hand. 

“Technically, this isn’t part of my job,” you say as you select a band-aid, “but I’ve been doing this since I started going to my nephew’s footie matches. Kid’s almost ten now, but he still asks for me every time he gets a scrape. First time I was here it was like, force of habit, but Dani said it reminded him of his sister, so…” you trail off. “I dunno, it’s funny that even big strong footballers still want silly bandages, yeah?”

Jamie watches as you open a green bandage with yellow flowers and wrap it carefully around his finger. You press a kiss to it and smile up at him. “There. All better.”

Jamie is… well, he’s flustered. He’s heard about the so-called Rojas special and how it’s available through recommendation only, but he wasn’t prepared for the sweet way you cradled his hand or the fact that your lips touched him. In fact, he wasn’t prepared for anything beyond a bandage and the fact that you slipped sweets to Sam and Dani to numb the sting of injury. 

“Thanks,” he chokes out, aware of the fact that you’re still holding his hand. You give it one last squeeze before dropping it. 

“See you around,” you say. 

Jamie mumbles something unintelligible and finds his way out the door.

“Fuck you,” he says to Sam as soon as he catches him in the car park. 

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t get a chocolate. Did you not hold still?”

“I- you- it- fuck you,” Jamie says again. “You fucking knew.”

“Knew what?” Dani asks. He’s a horrible liar. 

“You knew I thought she was fit. You didn’t tell me she’s, like, emotionally fit as well. So fuck you both for that.”

Sam mouths emotionally fit as he and Dani dissolve into laughter. 

“Which band aid did you get?” Dani asks when he finally regains control of himself. “She ran out of Peppa Pig last week, but she promised to get some more soon.” 

Jamie holds up his finger, wishing the cut were on the middle one. 

Sam and Dani lean into inspect it and nod once. 

“Well?” Jamie demands. They just look at him with stupid grins. 

“Good night, Jamie Tartt,” Dani says, opening Sam’s passenger seat door. 

“Good night, Jamie,” Sam echoes. 

The fuckers just leave him standing in the lot, heart racing like a fucking idiot. 

—

Jamie’s ankle is barely twisted. Like, barely. But he grew up watching football so he knows how make an injury seem worse than it is. He’s mastered the art of not going overboard.  

“You should see the physio,” Beard tells him. Jamie pretends to protest a little bit, ignoring the way Ted shoots Dani and Sam quizzical looks. They’re making some sort of face and Jamie’s not going to figure out what they mean because he doesn’t care. 

(Or maybe he already knows what they mean. But he doesn’t give a shit.)

So he hobbles his way to the treatment room where you’re typing something on the computer. Reports, probably. 

You look up with a smile when you see him, the quickly school it into a frown. “Where does it hurt?” you ask. 

“My ankle,” Jamie grimaces. 

You pat the table and he obliges, sitting down on the crinkly paper. 

You squat to undo his boot and Jamie realizes that maybe this isn’t the best way to get you to fall for him but it’s too late now because you’re gingerly sliding it off his foot. 

“D’you mind if I get the sock as well?” you ask, and it’s all Jamie can do to mutely shake his head. You lightly run a cool hand over his ankle. 

“Feels a bit swollen,” you say. “What happened?”

Jamie has to gather his thoughts firmly away from the way he could feel the callouses on your palm. “Tackle,” he says. 

“Hm,” you reply. “Does this hurt?”

Jamie gasps as you press your thumb at just the wrong spot. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you say. “Lie down. I’m going to massage it for a minute then put it on ice. You’ll be good to go in an hour.”

Jamie obeys, trying to ignore the way his breath hitches when your hand squeezes his calf for a fraction of a second. 

You’re able to find all the right spots, gently pushing the muscle back where it needs to go. You pat his foot gently and go to get an ice pack. “Keep this on for fifteen minutes, off for five, then on for another fifteen. If it still hurts I’ll get you another pack, or maybe a heating pad. Depends on what type of pain you have, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“You sending me back?” Jamie asks in a feeble attempt to be his usual confident self. 

You hesitate. “I mean… the other option is you stay here. I won’t lie to you, it’s pretty quiet back here but it doesn’t smell. Will got me on these scent diffuser packs, so this is one of the least-gross rooms on the lower level. I usually just type reports, but I’ve finished for now so I was going to read but we can chat if you like. You don’t have to, but I can monitor your ankle for the next hour if you’re here. It’s up to you.”

Stay and flirt with the pretty physio or sit on the bench instead of practicing?

Jamie positions himself better on the table. “What’s your book about?”

—

Jamie wishes that he were just making an excuse to come see you, but if that were the case he’d have made sure to be showered. Instead, he’s fresh off the pitch after a long day of practice and he needs his joints like, replaced or some shit. 

He stumbles into the treatment room and practically flops facedown on the table. You’re up in an instant, combing his hair away from his face with your fingers. 

“Where does it hurt?” you ask, voice filled with concern. 

“Everywhere,” Jamie groans. 

“Okay, so full-massage with the extra-large ice pack at the end, then,” you say. 

Jamie just grunts in response and tries not to think about the fact that this is the most unromantic way he’s ever tried to date a girl. He tells himself that you’re a physio, that you’ve seen grosser, and that you’re not even interested in him anyway. It still doesn’t stop him from asking about your day and cracking stupid jokes the entire time you’re popping his muscles. His voice squeaks every time you forcibly release tension, but you just laugh and tell him, “You should hear Isaac.” So yeah, the worst training of his life has now turned out to be a goddamned blessing in disguise because you’re joking back and forth for a solid twenty minutes. 

“Come back any time,” you tell him with a wink as he heads out the door. “You don’t have to be injured to say hey.”

Jamie smiles at that, and goes to tell Sam and Dani that they’re shitheads but he loves them very much. 

—

It’s been a long week and an especially long match, but thank fuck it’s over. There’s a bit of an ache in his legs but he doesn’t give a flying shit. They’ve won, for once, so as a reward to himself he’s going to invite you out with the lads. Proper, like, probably with the words, “Hey I think you’re fit,” except he’s thinking he should probably swap “fit,” for beautiful, or stunning, or the most wonderful, funny, amazing woman he’s ever met and no, it’s not just because of the magical healing powers you seem to possess. 

Jamie showers, changes, then heads purposefully down the hall. He knows you’re still here, you never leave after matches until everyone who might possibly need physio is gone. 

He bangs open the door, ready to regale you with the shit Ted’s up to post-match when he catches sight of your face. Or rather, the fact that it’s in your hands as your shoulders shake. 

He rushes over to the desk and turns your chair so you’re facing him. 

His hands are on your knees as he urgently whispers, “Where does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t,” you gasp, wiping your eyes. “I’m fine, I don’t know what came over me, I’m good, I promise. What’s up?”

You move to get up but Jamie presses lightly where his hands were resting. “You don’t look fine, love,” he says, then internally winces. Not a good thing to say to a girl, no matter how true it is. 

“I’m good, swear down,” you choke. You move to wipe away another tear but Jamie beats you to it, swiping it with his thumb. You shudder involuntarily, trying not to notice the rough feel of his skin on yours. 

“I’m not hurt,” he says tentatively. “Came to see if you wanted to go out with me ‘n the lads.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, still trying your absolute best to pull yourself together and failing miserably. “Right. I um, I’m going to be here a while so you should just go, yeah? Tell Dani I’m proud of him.”

Jamie shakes his head. “Ain’t leaving you here all by yourself.” He realizes your hands have found their way into his, and he has no idea who put them there. He lifts one to his lips and brushes a kiss to your knuckles. “Just tell me where it hurts, yeah?”

Another shiver wracks your body. “You can’t- I can’t- you have to go, okay Jamie? I need you to go.”

Jamie will, he’ll do anything you ask, but first he has to know- 

“Why?” he asks, so softly. “What’s wrong, beautiful?”

“Don’t-” you half-choke. “Not- I’m gross right now.”

Jamie can’t stifle his laugh in time, so he does his best to save it. “Love, you’ve seen me at my fuckin’ worst. We’ll call it even.”

You’re breathing a little easier now, but just barely. You don’t seem too eager to get rid of him so Jamie pushes his luck and stays kneeling on the floor. 

“Tell me,” he urges again, but you just shake your head. 

“You really should go,” you say, breath catching in your throat. “You don’t want to keep Maia waiting. Heard actresses are notoriously particular about being on time.”

That’s confusing. Maia- do you mean Maia Stanwood? You must, that’s the only Maia he knows. But how did you know her, Jamie had run into her at dinner the other day and there’d been a brief article in the papers, but nothing that connects to what’s happening here. 

Unless-

No. 

Except- it’s the only thing that makes sense. 

But you don’t like him like that. At least, he’s pretty sure. And anyway, isn’t it prickish to assume everyone’s in love with him?

But you’re not everyone, you’re the team physio with nice hands and a sweet smile and an affinity to fix people, to mend what’s broken in the best way you know how. 

“I love you,” he says instead of everything else he had planned.

You’re silent, and he’s not sure you’ve heard him so he says it again. 

“Yeah, alright, I love you too,” you sniff with a half-smile, except it’s the way you’d say to a brother, the way you’d say it to Dani or Sam. 

“No,” Jamie says more insistently, “I love you. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to tell you, wanted to take you out proper. Impress you with my dancing and chat you up at the bar. Make the lads jealous that I’ve got a beautiful girl on my arm, then sneak out early to kiss you like I’ve been fucking thinking about since that fucking paper cut. Had a right crush on you like an idiot since you got hired.”

You’re staring at him open-mouthed, unable to believe what he’s saying, and Jamie doesn’t know much all the time but he knows that you’re gripping his hands like it’s a lifeline. He knows your eyes are wide open and that he was on the mark about you thinking he was with someone else. So he does what anyone in his position would do. 

He captures your lips in his, letting go of your hands only so he can slip one hand around your waist and another in your hair. 

God, you feel like you’re melting. 

Jamie Tartt is kissing you like there’s no tomorrow and the floor is tipping out from under you, but apart from that vague feeling all you’re aware of is his hands on you and the fact that he tastes like spearmint. 

His lips are soft against yours, mouth warm and inviting. 

It’s like taking a breath of air for the first time in months. 

“I love you,” you say as soon as you break apart. You’re breathing heavily as if you’re the one who just played a 90-minute match. Jamie’s lips are swollen and your hair is mussed, but you both share the same look.

“All better?” he asks, and you nod. 

“Good. You want to get dinner? I know a few places we can go, don’t have to worry about paps.”

“The team-” you begin, but Jamie waves that away. 

“They’ll understand,” he says. “Been flirting with you for ages, getting injured all the time. Think Ted’s starting to get fucking worried.”

You run your thumb down his jawline. “I always wondered about that,” you murmur. “Thought it was in my head how much you were down here. Didn’t want to be unprofessional.”

Jamie reaches up to hold your wrist and you just sit there, on the floor of the treatment room, looking at each other in the dim light. You’ll get up, eventually, but for now you’re going to savor this moment you have together. 

[destiny-in-the-universe]

Pines Headcanons [Happy Birthday, Grunkles]

I cannot believe I just now got reminded of this- holy shit. Unfortunately, I'm not an artist so have these headcanons instead about Stan and Ford

Stanley ‘Lee’ Pines

He’s bisexual. This is not up for debate (/lh). It just made sense for him 

Stanley is ambidextrous. He can write and utilize both his left and right hands. This was something he self-taught himself in after the portal accident 

On the power of ‘I said so’, Stan does have some level of book smarts but instead of math or science- it’s creative writing. He’s got the talent for it; however, he rarely - if ever - shares these stories with anyone

Stan has some form of neurodivergency. Young Stan definitely gives the impression of ADHD but also I feel he’s got dyslexia- don’t ask me why. This is canon now

He does have scars from the time he spent on the run and doing his sales. I’m not sure what they are exactly, but just know he has them 

Stan knows martial arts. Other than boxing, I feel he would’ve taught himself in other forms of fighting- like the ones done on the streets and it’s a weird mix of martial arts and free-style fighting

He can be a bit of a poet, but for the most part- Stan prefers show-and-tell as his love language. He will present his partner with gifts, and makes sure they understand he’s there for them 

He’s kind of protective over his partners, and definitely has gotten into fights in an attempt to protect their honor. It’s ill-placed sometimes but he’s not about to let some bozo mess with them

Stan always sought his father’s approval. He attempted multiple times to perfect his studying skills before the science fair accident, but apparently Old Pa Pines didn’t seem to notice and the rest, well, it was already history

He fantasized of being a pirate when he was a kid. This is where the whole thing of going on a seafaring adventure with Ford came from! Unfortunately due to canon events, this soured out but he held onto a photograph he and Ford took in front of the beach as a memoir

He’s very much not a big fan of vegetables

Stanford ‘Ford’ Pines

He’s arospec and ace!

Ford absolutely loves puzzles. Why? It just weirdly fitting for his character

He definitely has C-PTSD following the events of Weirdmaggedon

Autistic Ford? Autistic Ford. There is no way he doesn’t have it- I said what I said

Before he got involved in the strange and paranormal, one of Ford’s main interests was actually crystals and rocks! It felt weirdly fitting for his character, and here we are

Ford is more of a cat person. At one point, he rescued a cat-adjacent creature from an auction and named her ‘Nova’. Of course, it’s far from a cat but well, we’ll get to that later

He would be into LARP if it exists in the Gravity Falls canon. Like, that man is a nerd and already enjoys the show’s version of Dungeons and Dragons, there’s just no way he wouldn’t participate in LARP

He does have scars from his time in other dimensions for thirty years. He’s very secretive about them and doesn’t let anyone see- not even Stanley

Ford deals with the aftermath of a burnt-out gifted kid- like, he was the prodigal son and got all the right honors, scores, all of it but as he got older- the more he struggled, the more he felt like something was missing. As the golden child, he was brought up with the notion he would be important but then got smacked in the face when he realized none of it truly mattered

He had a lot of issues adjusting to his new life in Gravity Falls, Oregon after he was brought back from the portal. Ford’s triggered fight-or-flight response would kick in with unexpected situations- like, he’s definitely pulled a blaster/space gun

He likes hot chocolate

Ford enjoys cuddle piles, let’s be honest here. Once he gets more comfortable, he begins making nests with the rest of the Pines family

He’s protective of his family!

I’ll try and come up with new headcanons soon, but since I took too long releasing this- given I got sick unfortunately, I decided to post a smaller version 

[nobodyfamousposts]

More Norm Antics

Just a reminder that I am horrible and this is pretty much crack and to not be taken seriously.

“I wish Marinette was evil!”

“Uh…you suuuure you wanna wish for that?”

“YES!”

“It is the first year of Her Most Imperial, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, in her successful takeover of the world—with fashion!”

Nadja Chamack sounded strangely unconcerned with the news she was announcing, smiling cheerfully from the TV acting as the sole source of light and sound in Lila’s underground bunker.

Lila didn’t care about her. She was more concerned with the images behind the anchorwoman, which were apparently of Marinette’s coronation as Empress of the World and her giving a speech to the crowd.

And by “concerned”, what was really meant was “completely enraged”.

“WHAT THE HELL, NORM?!”

“Whaaaaaaat?” The genie whined. “She’s evil, isn’t she?”

“I didn’t mean for her to be a ‘Villain With Good Publicity’!” Lila shouted.

“You might want to keep it down. Don’t want people outside the bunker to hear you, after all. Calm your tush and all that.”

“I AM CALM! What I want are ANSWERS!”

He sighed, annoyed. “The wish was for her to be evil, and you can’t get more evil than politics.”

“So why is SHE queen of the world while I’M hiding in a bunker?” She demanded.

He stared back blankly.

“Uh…you want a list?”

Seeing she was about to blow her top and likely get them both caught by her screaming, Norm sighed again before proofing a script into hand, then putting on glasses and reading from the script.

“Apparently since she’s always been evil, she took over her lycée class and soon enough the school. Chloe Bourgeois has been a non-issue since her dad lost his reelection campaign and was quickly revealed for fraud and embezzlement, so the former ’Princess’ became a ‘Pauper’. Then Marinette turned Paris into the central fashion capital of the world—or at least more than it already apparently was in this universe. And once her parents sent her off to Dictator School, she graduated early and took over the world to enforce universal fashion sense with an iron fist.”

Lila gaped.

“You can’t be serious!”

Dictator School? Since when was there even a thing? Why hadn’t she known about it sooner?

“As her first decree,” Nadja continued from the television, regaining their attention. “Hawk Moth and all his allies shall be taken into custody and executed for their crimes.”

Both girl and genie stared at the screen.

“This can’t be happening!” Lila exclaimed. “There’s no way they can know I was involved!”

But sure enough, Lila’s photograph and name appeared on the screen.

“If you or anyone you know has any information on the criminal, please contact local law enforcement.” Nadja continued darkly.

Norm blinked.

“You sided with that fruitcake?”

This was bad! This was horrible! The absolute worst!

Lila took a deep breath to calm herself.

“No! No wait! It’s okay! This is fine!” Lila insisted, starting to smirk. “Ladybug’s a goody goody! There’s no way she would just sit by and let Marinette take over the world. No doubt Ladybug will do her ‘hero’ thing and stop Marinette. And since this is my wish, she won’t even know that this isn’t the real Marinette so she’ll be the one in trouble. Or better yet, they’ll destroy each other. Either way, the problem will be solved, so I still win!”

“Next segment will show Her Most Imperial coronate the Miraculous Protectors. People the Imperial has chosen to defend her empire and the world.”

Miraculous? No. No way. There was no way Marinette would have the Miraculous!

But sure enough, an image on the screen appeared of several of the classmates being bequeathed with titles and…were those really the Miraculous?

“How did she get those?!” Lila demanded.

Had she defeated Ladybug?

But then that meant she was right and Ladybug was probably dead or imprisoned so yay there, but it also meant now Marinette had all of the Miraculous and all the power and there would be no one to protect Lila from her!

No, no wait. There was Ladybug on screen. Appearing quite quite well and vexingly alive.

This was the absolute worst! Marinette had everything! The Miraculous! The entire WORLD in her hands! Even Adrien, as he has been presented on screen earlier at Marinette’s side as an official Consort of all things! Appearing quite happily so, for someone being bound to a tyrant.

And most infuriatingly, she couldn’t even have the small satisfaction of Ladybug’s defeat to make this situation at least a little better, as rather than cowering in defeat, it seemed that Ladybug had joined the regime as she stood at the head of the group, giving a speech to the masses.

“—I will do my utmost to find and eliminate the last of the criminals that sought to do harm to the city of Paris and the world!”

The crowd erupted in cheers and a few calls to “burn the witch!”

Lila gaped at the screen

“Sooo….no Ladybug fix then?” Norm asked.

She stared, unmoving.

“Also…not sure how to tell you this, but your bunker isn’t well stocked and you’re out of hot water for showers.” Norm added, scrubbing his back with a bath brush.

Lila twitched.

________________

“Okay, this time it’s bound to work!”

“Uh. Maybe you should stop making wishes about the pig-tailed girl?”

“No! I just need her to do something evil but not world-dominatingly evil for others to see and despise her for! So just take away any restraint and make her horrible!”

“Okay.”

Lila found herself cowering in a bathroom.

Marinette’s voice sweetly came from the other side of the locked door.

“Open the door, Lila~!”

“N-no!”

“YOU LOCKING DOORS, LILA?!”

An axe started slamming into the door.

“YOU LOCKING DOORS?!”

Lila screamed.

She had thought that wishing Marinette to be horrible would cause her to act out more blatantly against Lila and lead everyone to turn against her. She hadn’t thought that it would make her go full blown murder!

It was like something out of some old horror movie.

As if to further illustrate that point, Norm poofed in. Holding a carton of movie theater popcorn and wearing 3-D glasses.

“Wow, the 3-D effect really makes it look real.”

“That’s because it IS real!” Lila hissed at him, barely able to be heard over the sound of the axe being slammed into the door. “Now undo it!”

“You sure? I mean, at least this way everyone will know she’s evil. Once they find your body, of course.”

IF they found her body went unsaid.

“There’s no point in everyone knowing she’s horrible if I’m dead!” She snapped. “UNDO IT!”

Norm shrugged and snapped his fingers.