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quibbs126 · 2 years ago

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Okay, I just wanted to do this for posterity’s sake, but basically this post is: Things About Dark Cacao Cookie That (At Least to Me) Point to Him Having Odd Origins (But I’m Probably Overthinking It)

No I will not shorten that name

So I really only have three points (at least that I can currently remember) that apply here, but let’s just mention them regardless

So first up: his abnormal strength

As shown below, his story specifically states that his sword takes 3 average Cookies to even budge, yet we see in game that he’s able to wield it with seemingly little struggle. There is no explanation ever given for this. I mean I suppose you could say that it’s the Soul Jam that gives him the strength, but given that none of the other Ancient descriptions mention their Soul Jam bestowing upon them enchanted physical attributes, it’s little more than conjecture, and it seems more likely to assume that this is just natural for him. But then the question remains: how and why?

Next up: the slit eye thing

In these two sprites, we see Dark Cacao have these slit eyes that he never has in any other sprite. The Wiki names them his “rage sprites”, and while yes, the Wiki is unofficial, the only times we really see these sprites in game seem to be when he’s incredibly angry, or in other words, enraged

Again, no explanation is given for these. I have seen some people say that it’s because cacao and chocolate have small amounts of caffeine in them, and the coffee Cookies are noted to have dilated pupils due to their amounts of caffeine, and thus this is a reference to him having small amounts of caffeine. And yeah, I can accept that as an answer. But also at the same time, these eyes don’t exactly operate like the other coffee eyes, given that they only show up at certain emotionally driven points for Dark Cacao, as opposed to them where it’s just natural and doesn’t seem to ever go away. Also again, this is just a fan theory, and in canon there is no official explanation for this

Now let’s get into my third point: his younger self’s clothes

I know that sounds a weird one but hear me out

Now there’s two parts of this that I want to take note of

First, let’s compare this to the other young Ancients’ outfits

I’d say that by comparison, Dark Cacao’s outfit looks much nicer than theirs

Now yes, you can have explanations for why theirs aren’t the nicest looking. From what I’ve gathered, Pure Vanilla was a pilgrim, and if the art book is to be believed, was once a shepherd, and let’s just say that kind of lifestyle probably isn’t leading you to be wearing particularly nice clothes. As for Hollyberry, while she know she came from a noble house, you can just say this is her adventuring attire, made for battle and roughing it out in the wild rather than looking nice

But that in itself isn’t the weird thing. The weird thing is that Dark Cacao’s clothes look a lot nicer than theirs, which is odd considering the Dark Cacao Kingdom doesn’t seem to be known for having clothes that look particularly high quality. I’m not saying their clothes aren’t of nice quality, it’s just that clothes like this look a bit too nice for just a presumably normal villager, no?

I mean, both the cape and top have those trims you usually put on clothes to make them look nicer (at least I think that’s what it’s called, sorry I’m not good with how clothes work), as well as his nice looking brooch that has a small gem in it. Not to mention the sword he’s carrying, which looks like it has engravings and has what looks more like a dark gem at the pommel. Compare that to the swords we see the Watchers at the Citadel use, and it looks much higher quality. Again, odd for a normal person of a kingdom that isn’t known for its wealth or high quality of clothes or swords (again not to say they can’t have it, it’s just odd in this scenario. Those people who do have high quality stuff are cookies of high ranking in the kingdom, not normal cookies. I don’t think I’m wording this well)

There’s also the fact that it’s purple, which back in the day, was hard to come by and rather expensive. Yes in the current day kingdom, we see people wearing purple, but first off nowadays purple isn’t as hard to obtain, and second those cookies are all those who are at the Citadel, the place of highest ranking in the kingdom. They’re probably allowed higher quality clothing. But also keep note that these are Cookies, not humans, and how clothing colors work could easily be different, so take this point with a grain of salt, it’s probably not all that strong. And I know he’s associated with purple, so it makes sense for him to wear it, but it doesn’t look a particularly dull shade of purple (I mean it does somewhat, but it’s nice enough that it doesn’t just look like grey fabric with a purple tint), and that’s why I call it out

Secondly, there’s the fact that aesthetically, it doesn’t really match the Dark Cacao Kingdom

Now sure, fashion isn’t constant, and it’s not ludicrous to imagine that outfits 1000+ years ago would look radically different, but let’s compare this to the only other cookie we see of the soon to be kingdom from this time period

Just compare the two and they look nothing alike, which is odd considering they’re supposed to both be from the same place. (also it again affirms my point about his clothes looking pretty high quality; Reluctant Cookie here looks like they’re wearing torn and ragged clothing unlike Dark Cacao)

Like Dark Cacao has said himself that he is native to this land, and his features compared to other members do support this idea, so why doesn’t he dress like them?

I mean sure, at this point the land was a bunch of different tribes, and you can assume they probably each have their own style and don’t all look the same, but still, the radical difference

Now okay, those last two points are more speculation on my part, while the other two are objective facts, but you see what I mean? Him being a normal Cookie from the (future) Dark Cacao Kingdom just doesn’t seem to add up

I mean yeah, I know he’s an Ancient, he’s not a “normal Cookie”, but like, everyone else only became “different” later in life, they seem to have started out relatively normal. Dark Cacao stands out as the odd one of the bunch (I mean other than Golden Cheese, but that’s probably because we don’t know anything about her yet)

Originally, back when I was first getting into Cookie Run, I speculated his oddities could be because he’s related to the dragons or was raised by them, hence his unusual traits and clothes. However, Might of the Ancients seems to disprove this, as there, he seems to not be familiar with the dragons at all, not even knowing they were the ones causing the odd storms and snow, simply trying to find the sources of these “anomalies”. And when he does know, nothing tells us that he has any familiarity with them. So I think it’s safe to say he’s not connected to the North and South Dragons

Alright, I so I should mention here that I don’t actually have an answer for all these oddities. I just made this to point them out and say they were weird, at least to me. Hopefully at some point these things get answered. Or again, I’m just overthinking it all

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #dark cacao cookie #ramblings #not really speculation/theory as I’m not doin anything with this info #merely pointing it out #so if you want to know how I got here #so after hearing of Capsaicin I thought “so I guess food compounds are fair game now”#“what about a Theobromine Cookie? Since they’re like the only other compound I know aside from like caffeine?”#“but if there was a Theobromine Cookie they’d have to be related to Dark Cacao/Choco”#“since theobromine is named after the cacao tree and is mainly found in cacao and chocolate so why wouldn’t they be?”#“but if capsaicin is a Super Epic would theobromine also be? (I forgot that Super Epics could also be normal Cookies)”#“and also just given the name (and the fact that it means “food of the gods” which is metal as hell) they’re probably not just a relative”#“maybe an ancestor or even parent of Dark Cacao that’s possibly supernatural in origin?”#and yeah everything spiraled from there #that was just my imagination going wild I don’t actually think there’s gonna be anything like that #or at least it’s not seemingly necessary #(though I’m not opposed to making that just for personal fun)#but it still led me to want to talk about possible weird things about Dark Cacao’s origins #and so yeah #random stuff

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whimsyfinny · 5 months ago

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Sexy F*cking Nerd

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Dean discovers a little secret of (Y/n)'s during a case research session he can't help but let temptation get the best of him.

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, Oral (M receiving), slight angst if you squint, Dean having a glasses kink (not really a warning but not everyone wears them hahaha lucky bastards)

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 5688

A/N: It's taken a little while but here is the second competition winner from a few weeks back, the prompt provided by the wonderful @foxyjwls007 - I hope you like it!

The motel room was stuffy to say the least - that usual aroma of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener lingering around us. There was a dripping sound coming from God knows where and the AC hummed in between the concerning clinking from deep within the vents. It was crap. So crap. But it was home for a few nights; just like all the motel rooms that came before. Dean stepped past me and over the threshold, immediately slinging his duffle and jacket onto his chosen bed. He stretched his arms above his head, the grey Henley clutching his muscular abdomen and rising enough to flaunt what lay beneath. I sighed, following him in and slumping onto the bed beside his - the musty stench from the sheets enveloping me.

“Well…” Dean started, pulling Sam's laptop out of his bag and placing it on the small table by the window.

“Well…?” My voice echoed as I focused on the ceiling fan that spun off centre.

“...This is… nice?” His statement was more of a question as he looked around with raised eyebrows. I propped myself up on my elbows, flashing him a look of speculation.

“Seriously?” A moment passed before he huffed a long-held breath and slapped his large palms on his thighs.

“No of course not, this place sucks more dick than a hooker on payday.”

“You got that right,” I flopped back down onto the bed, a small dust cloud erupting under my weight. I closed my eyes and listened as Dean pulled a chair out from under the table, slumping down into it. Then there was the familiar click of the laptop opening followed by the sound of stuttered not-quite-touch-typing, presumably he was starting work on the case that we’d come here to investigate. The tap tap tap of whatever was leaking began to drill into my brain, my patience already wearing thin with the rooms dire ambiance. I pulled myself up to sitting, criss-crossing my legs on the bed and brushing whatever that dust from the bedding was off my sweater sleeves.

“When's Sam back?” I asked, watching as Dean searched the keyboard in front of him for some long lost letter.

“Uuuh, I'm not sure. He said to work this case without him.”

“Ugghhh, I bet he's having way more fun than us right now, it's not fair,” I plopped my chin into my palm and stared past the older Winchester out the window, almost willing Sam to appear and walk in like any other day.

“It's just some dumb wedding, I doubt he's having that much fun.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself, Dean breaking eye contact with the screen to throw me a raised eyebrow.

“Look,” I collected myself, “you didn't know Sam in college. He won't admit it but he was popular. Really popular. Not the total nerd you think he is. He's absolutely having fun with these people.”

“Yeah right. So who's at this wedding anyway? Why was it so important that he just had to be there?”

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well Sam had already told him all the details. Typical Dean.

“It's for a couple of friends who he and Jess were close with back then. Pretty sure the bride was prom queen in highschool or something and the groom was a trust fund jock. Either way, not my crowd,” I sighed slightly, memories from my college days flooding my mind.

Deans eyebrows twitched into a small frown, his thoughts seeming to cloud his vision for a second before he reluctantly dismissed them. I looked down into my lap for a moment, reminiscing how I always kept my distance from Sam whilst at Stanford, but he had always been that boy that would make my heart flutter when he spoke up in class or when I'd see him on the quad with his friends. I remember seeing him with his nose in a book once at my usual desk in the library, my cheeks burning when he caught me staring. Who would've thought several years down the line I'd be sat in a bottom-rung motel room with his obscenely good looking older brother researching monster lore. At least we would be researching monster lore, if it wasn't for the small growl my empty stomach had gurgled out. I couldn't stop the small pulse of embarrassment burning into my cheeks as Dean eyed me with a grin.

“Wanna get some lunch?” He asked, standing up like he already knew my answer.

“Fuck yes. I'm feeling burgers,” I shuffled to the edge of the bed and stood up, watching as Dean shrugged on his leather jacket and headed to the door, holding it open for me.

“Now you're speaking my language.”

The diner was almost as sad and withered as the motel room, however the food was nothing short of spectacular. I watched in awe as Dean polished off his second burger, a small glob of sauce sticking to his stubble and threatening to drip off his chin. He must've felt me watching in wonder - or perhaps disgust - as when he looked up from his plate he shot me a questioning glance.

“What?” His tone was a little defensive through the mouthful of fries he'd just shovelled in. I took a second before asking, half-genuine:

“Where do you put all of that?”

“Put what?”

“The food - where does it go? Do you have hollow legs? Two stomachs? Does it just evaporate as soon as you swallow it?”

He grinned, wiping the sauce from his face with a napkin.

“Goes straight to the abs baby. It's muscle fuel,” he leant back in his chair, stretching a little before patting his stomach to punctuate his statement. I simply rolled my eyes.

“Yeah right, you're not that muscly Dean.”

“How would you know? You've never seen me with my shirt off.”

“I know, and I plan to keep it that way.”

He feigned a pout before returning to his fries. We ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, my mind absently going back to all the lore we should be trying to gather. I gripped my milkshake that had so generously been served in a thin paper cup, attempting to suck the practically solid beverage up the equally thin paper straw. Finding the nearest library would be the next task on our to-do list, despite the protesting I know I'll get from Dean.

“Hey, (Y/n)?” My train of thought was derailed at the sound of my name. The slurping of over-thickened milkshake from myself ceased.

“What's up?”

“What were you like in college?”

I eyed him with caution, wondering what part of his brain was in control right now.

“What do you wanna know?”

Catching the wariness to divulge him to such information, he smiled slightly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I'm not asking to be weird, I just-” he paused, choosing his next words tactfully, “the way you described Sam as being a totally different person - some hot-shot with the perfect grades, popular friends and a girlfriend like Jess - it just got me thinking. How would Sam have described you?”

I almost spat my dairy-goop back into the straw, my brain freezing.

“Dean,” I started before planning what I was going to say, placing my cup on the table. “Sam wouldn't be able to describe me.”

My words brought a small smirk to his lips.

“You were that hot, huh?”

“What the fuck- no- I wasn't- he didn't- Sam never- ” I stopped myself before I had an aneurysm and took a deep breath.

“I was in a totally different crowd to Sam. He was always surrounded by people and, well, I barely even had a crowd.”

“Lone wolf?”

“Bingo. But definitely not the cool, collected, stoic type. Think more, invisible to the public eye, always carrying books, and borderline selective mute because of how shy I was.”

“Oh… what changed?,” Deans tone changed entirely, genuine intrigue seeming to take the wheel. I couldn't help but laugh slightly, remembering my method to forcing myself out of my bubble.

“The only job I could get was in a bar. No one else wanted the hours and I desperately needed cash. I didn't really have a choice after that,” I paused, remembering how terrified I was on my first day and grinned slightly, grateful for the extra confidence I had now because I took that leap.

“Hey, what sort of crowd do you think I would've been in?”

I snorted, looking up into his expectant eyes - almost captivated by the glistening greens.

“What am I? A BuzzFeed quiz? I have no idea Dean, you're too much of a wildcard to predict. You probably would've fit in with anyone and everyone.”

“Even you?”

For reasons unbeknownst to even myself, my breath caught in my throat. The sudden soft sincerity of his voice contradicting his usual temperament, my heart starting to flutter in my chest. If the college version of myself had met Dean back then I just know I would have been enthralled at first glance.

“I don't think you would've noticed me. You would've been surrounded by every tall, thin blonde and brunette with perfect tits. Trust me, you would've been distracted,” I smiled an almost sad smile at the thought of him simply being on university grounds and having the time of his life - knowing it was something that he was never going to get the chance to experience in this upside down life of his. Of ours. He tapped his fingers on the table for a second, likely lost in some ludicrous thought I don't think I'd want to be privy to. I attempted another slurp of my milkshake when the paper straw gave out and flopped in half, the need to leave conversation and the diner suddenly looming over me.

“Come on, let's get to the library before it closes,” I stood and pulled my oversized sweater down so it covered my ass before reaching for my backpack. Just as my fingers touched the worn fabric of the strap it was torn away, my head snapping up to Dean who flung it over one shoulder with his signature grin on his face.

“Lead the way nerd.”

I couldn't help but beam at his playfulness. I hated the fact that he made it so easy to adore him. Hated that he completely overlooked how I was his total opposite in almost every way. How when we were talking, his eyes never left mine - how he was genuinely interested in what I was like in the past. And how, when I had his attention, he didn't even notice that the hot waitress had written her number on a napkin and left it next to him.

The trip to the library was about as eventful as it sounded. After checking out multiple books on cursed items, local lore and popular antiques from the seventies, we loaded ourselves back into the impala, made an all-important beer run before heading back to the motel.

The small table by the window was now totally smothered by a blanket of books, maps and empty beer bottles. Deans chin rested in his palms as he stared blankly at the screen in front of him, and I must've read the last sentence of the paragraph laid before me a dozen times without it even sinking in. The obnoxious dripping and humming of ancient appliances was starting to make me feel restless.

“It has to be the boots,” Dean groaned, draining the last of his beer.

“Either the boots or the disco ball. But my money is on boots as well,” I sighed, pushing the book away from me and standing slowly, gathering the quickly accumulating litter now scattered around us.

“I'm gonna make some coffee, my brain is fried over how fucking ridiculous this case is,” I ditched the trash in the bin before filling the coffee machine, listening to it whir to life whilst I headed to my bed. I could feel Deans gaze on my back as I rummaged around my bag in search of a specific item.

“What are you looking fo-” he'd started to ask the question but his voice died in his throat when I turned around. I quickly pushed my newly adorned glasses up the bridge of my nose, already feeling the oversized frame start to slip down as I tried not to make a big deal over them.

“What?” My tone was a fraction off aggressive when I realised he was staring. He seemed to snap out of his daze, quickly rubbing the back of his neck and turning back to the laptop screen. He cleared his throat

“I uh, I didn't know you wore glasses,” I could tell from the slight tremble in his voice that his mind was reeling.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No! I mean, no, absolutely not. They look good. The glasses, I mean. The glasses look good. Not on their own, obviously. On your face. They look good on your face. You have a great fa-”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter, filling it to the brim with caffeinated goodness. I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my lips at Deans fumbling, almost finding the whole ordeal a little charming. I sat back down at the table and pulled the books back towards me, also grabbing my pen and tattered notebook.

“The guests at the club mentioned hearing footsteps - so it has to be the boots, right? A disco ball wouldn't make that sound…” my voice trailed off when I realised that, even though Dean was looking at me, he wasn't listening to a word I was saying.

“Earth to Dean?”

He flinched slightly at his name, but felt no shame delving in with a completely off-topic question.

“So how long have you worn glasses?”

“I’ve always worn them,” I slid back into my chair at the table opposite him, not sure whether to laugh at the shocked expression on his face or whether to be concerned about his observation skills.

“What?! No way, I would’ve noticed,” He opened another beer and took a sip before tracing the opening to the bottle over his bottom lip.

“ I only wear them for concentration work, and I have emergency contact lenses if I know I’m going to be around a lot of people as I don’t particularly like how they look.”

Dean made a small disagreeable expression before averting his gaze from mine back to the laptop, taking another swig of his beer. I placed my coffee mug down and settled back into the book I was reading before, and after a few moments I could feel my skin begin to prickle - as though I could feel a pair of eyes on me. I glanced up, my breath immediately catching in my throat. Deans eyes found mine, burning with an intensity that made my heart hammer in my chest. I didn’t want to look away, but under his gaze I felt like I’d been stripped bare, unable to hide my insecurities from an eye that seemed to scorch through to my very core.

“Dean-”

“(Y/n), you should really have more confidence in yourself; I think the glasses look cute as fuck. You should wear them more,” a fierce blush erupted across my face when he spoke, his assured tone leaving no room for disagreement. I tried desperately not to let on that his words held any sort of impact over my decisions so I looked down, away from his scrutiny and simply said:

“Maybe I will.”

He hummed in approval, finally looking elsewhere and I couldn’t stop myself from breathing a sigh of relief when the pressure of his stare was averted.

The evening dragged on and an hour and a half had passed since his loaded comment. I was on the third book we’d checked out of the library, now trying desperately to find the curse that would cause a pair of 1970s glam rock boots to dance for eternity and haunt anyone who tried to wear them. This case was absurd, and I could feel myself growing restless with the small amount of progress we’d made. I huffed out a sigh and leant back in my chair, the faux leather and rusted metal creaking under my weight. Pulling the hair bobble from around my wrist I scooped my hair into a bundle on the top of my head, securing it in place; the sensation of air on my neck seemed to clear some of the fog from my brain. The messy bun was comfortably enough that I could forget it was there, and I allowed myself a stretch before leaning back over the table, grasping my pen. As I began to read the next segment, I absently traced the end of the pen over my bottom lip, running it back and forth a few times before gently nibbling on the end. I heard the shuffling of Dean moving in his seat and a ragged clearing of his throat before the sound of vigorous laptop keys clicking ensued. Without looking up at him I continued reading, the pen still tapping my bottom lip, and when I neared the bottom of the paragraph, I slowly licked the pad of my index finger. My eyes never leaving the words, I turned the page swiftly with my dampened digit, the transition from one page to the next perfectly seamless. Another shuffle from the man opposite followed by a quiet groan filled the silence between us. Pen still between my teeth, I lifted only my eyes to glance at him and noted the dusting of pink across his cheeks and the furrow in his brow. Concluding that he’d had one too many beers I decided to ignore his persistent fidgeting, returning to my previous task on monotonous reading. Several sentences in and I’d almost forgotten Deans restlessness - that was until I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, deep in thought, that I earned myself a throaty groan and an exasperated sigh. I looked up just in time to watch him wipe a large hand down his face, momentarily masking his pained expression.

“Can you not do that? I can’t concentrate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Upon asking my question I absently took the pen between my teeth again, quickly glancing down at the book to place a mental bookmark.

“That.”

“What?”

“That. That thing you do with our mouth, and the pen, and your tongue and your finger. Can you please stop before it kills me.”

The heat beneath my skin was immediate at his admission, knowing my small, absent-minded actions were playing on his mind and making it hard for him to think straight. I instinctively crossed my legs, a fluttering in my lower belly instantly dragging my mind back to the deprived things I’d imagined Dean doing to me in the depths of night. The places I’d imagined his hands travelling, the areas his lips would touch and the sensations his tongue could create. These were deeply, deeply personal fantasies, and right now as Dean looked at me with a restrained hunger, I felt like I was wearing these fantasies for the world to see. For Dean to see.

“It doesn’t help that you’ve been sat over there like a sexy fucking librarian all evening, but every time you do that anything with that mouth - shit, sweetheart you’re driving me insane.” His voice was gravelly as he looked at me with desperate eyes across the table. The overly rational part of my brain had shut down completely, and now the part of my mind that had spent hours conjuring vivid scenes of Dean Winchester ravishing me in my entirety had taken the charge. I stood slowly, taking a moment to reason with myself - unsuccessfully of course - before sinking to my knees in front of my chair. I could see Deans strong thighs were spread wide beneath the table so I crawled forwards, across the cold tiles and placed myself between his legs. Resting my palms softly on his thighs I made him flinch at the unexpected contact. He immediately scooted his chair back, allowing a gap for me to poke my head through - his hand instantly acting as a barrier between the edge of the table and my skull. I got comfortable and allowed myself a moment to gaze up at him, to take in the strained furrow in his brow and the parting of his lips. I observed the way his chest rose and fell in apprehensive breaths, and the way his free hand clenched into a fist on his thigh - like he was so desperate yet so scared to touch me.

“(Y/n)-”

“Dean,” I spoke softly, slowly running my hands up his thighs - delicate palms against rough denim, “you’re a smart boy - you know I wouldn’t do something I didn’t want to do. So please, don’t say I don’t have to do this.”

Dean released a shaky breath the moment my fingers unclasped his jeans. I tugged them down slightly with his help, just enough so I could dip my hand into his boxers and wrap my fingers around his half-hard length. The moment my skin touched his, his head lolled back and his eyes fluttered closed with a breathy moan on his lips.

“Fuck…”

I gently pulled him from his confines, coming face to face with the cock I’d literally dreamt of again and again. I took the scene in, committing to memory the sharp outline of his jaw and the way his long lashes rested on his lightly-freckled cheeks. The way that, every time he breathed in, I could see his defined muscle tone through the thin fabric of his shirt; and with every small caress that my fingers made against his length, it made his fingers twitch and teeth clench. I licked my lips before leaning in and took his tip into my mouth, not giving him a chance to finish sucking in air through his teeth before I plunged his entire length down my throat.

“Oh FUCK.”

His hands flew to my hair, fingers gripping tight as they loosened strands from the messy bun, causing them to fall around my face. He’d lifted his head to look down at me, pupils blown as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked nothing more than enthralled. Infatuated. Entranced. I moved my head up and down, up and down, again and again to a steady rhythm, pressing my tongue to the underside of his now rock-hard cock to trace every vein and nerve-ending.

“Shit, (Y/n), I didn’t know you could suck cock, like, at all… how’re you s’fuckin’ good…” his voice was breathless as he continued to grip my hair, his head flopping to the side as pleasure started to overcome his senses. I released him with a small ‘pop’, wrapping my fingers around him and smearing the warm mixture of saliva and precum from tip to base.

“Despite everything I told you earlier, Dean, I’m not a virgin - and this certainly isn’t my first rodeo,” my voice came out more sultry than I’d expected and I could feel Dean tremble beneath my palms.

“Fuck, I wish I’d known that sooner,” I chewed on my bottom lip, quickly becoming addicted to the way he writhed at my touch. The way he moaned and gripped my hair tighter when I sucked him back into my mouth was like pure ecstasy, my insides heating up and throbbing with an ache of familiar arousal. Like a thirst that could only be satisfied by him. By tasting him, feeling him on my tongue and drinking in every sound that passed his plush parted lips. The sensation of my glasses slipping down my nose as I sped up my ministrations had me reaching to push them back up, but not before Dean beat me to it. With the rough pad of his thumb he pushed on the plastic bridge, his palm and fingers pressed to my flushed cheek in the most tender, almost heart wrenching caress. I thought my heart might stop when he tilted my face up to his; lustful eyes burning into mine with a vehemence I’d never encountered. I stopped in my tracks, all actions ceased as the spell he’d somehow put me under wouldn’t let me look away.

“If you keep going like that darlin’ this whole thing is gonna be over before you know it,” his voice was raspy, a rawness to it from the harsh breaths and ragged moans that had been pulled from his throat. He slowly pulled his cock from my spit-slick lips and grasped it loosely, giving himself a few lazy pumps whilst his other hand never left my face. He stared down at me, taking a few moments as though he was committing the sight of me, knelt between his knees with flushed cheeks and swollen lips to memory. Once it seemed that memory was locked away in the depths of his mind, he grasped me by the arm and pulled me effortlessly into his lap, his fingers almost bruising against my skin. Immediately I felt him, in his entirety, press against me with the heat and wetness seeping through my jeans and past my panties. This time when our eyes met, there was a mutual desperation; a need to consume each other and to feel every inch of his heated skin against mine. He pulled me frantically down to him and crashed his lips against mine.

Some people describe their first kiss with someone like butterflies in their stomach, or fireworks exploding all around them. That wasn’t at all what this was like. Kissing Dean Winchester was different - it was wild and untamed - and describing this experience in such a mundane way would be like adding water to a top-shelf whiskey. Kissing Dean Winchester was like driving the impala at one thirty with the roar of the engine drowning out the rest of the world. It was like trying to ride a wild mustang without a saddle, or daring to stand on the highest peak on Earth with nothing to tie you down. It was exhilarating in the most dangerous way imaginable - and I was now officially a thrill seeker.

The warm taste of the beer on his tongue and the masculine scent of old leather and cologne was pulling me under. Breathing no longer mattered as long as his mouth was on mine and his fingers were in my hair, now tugging the bobble out and throwing it to the floor. As my hair tumbled free he grabbed under my thighs and stood effortlessly, moving me from his lap to the edge of the table without his lips leaving mine. I winced slightly as the corners and several books and the laptop jabbed into my rear and I fumbled to move everything aside, failing when I refused to unlock our lips. Deans patience was non-existent and with one sweep of his strong arm everything tumbled to the floor - including the laptop. I threw the remaining books from underneath me down to join them, no longer caring for their wellbeing. Before I could pull Dean back in - to allow him to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do to me - he hastily pulled off my boots and tugged down my jeans, throwing every item to the growing pile of chaos beside us. I discarded my sweater and top, but before I let his fingers touch my bra I wanted nothing more than to return the favour.

“I guess you can forget about that whole ‘never seeing me shirtless’ thing, huh?” he smirked through the sexual fog, not waiting for a reply as his lips hungrily found mine again, his own top falling to the floor.

“Shut up Winchester. Now are you gonna fuck me or wh- OH FUCK-”

Two thick fingers crept under my panties and plunged into me with zero hesitation, curling up and stroking the sensual cushion deep within my core with skillful precision.

“Oh yeah? You want me to fuck you?” Even with my face now buried in the crook of his neck, I could hear the smirk in his voice, the tormenting tone going straight to my brain.

“Y-yes- fuck- please,” my knees twitched either side of him, squeezing at his hips with every push of his fingers. I gripped his shoulders tight, nails indenting his skin as I leant back to look at him better. Seeing the beads of sweat on his chest and brow alongside the raw, carnal desire in his eyes could have undone me there and then. He frowned in disapproval when I moved to remove my glasses, the fingers that were just inside me now wrapped forcefully around my wrist.

“What d’ya think you’re doing?” straight away I knew his growling question left no room for negotiation.

“I was just-”

“The glasses stay on.”

“To the end?”

“‘Til I say you can take them off.”

I did as I was told, moving my hand to grip the soft strands on the back of his neck, softly dragging my nails over his scalp and drawing a shiver from his spine and a groan from his lungs. He pulled me against him, crushing his lips against mine one more time. He swiftly pulled away and I leant back on my hands, both of us taking a moment to drink each other in - to bask in lascivious glory. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and looked up at him through my lashes, the lenses of my glasses starting to fog around the edges. Another deep moan rumbled from his chest as his heated gaze stayed locked to mine.

“I can’t wait any longer now that you’ve looked at me like that. Fuck.”

With a large hand gripping the soft flesh of my thigh he pulled my underwear to one side and lined himself up, slowly sinking in. Blissful moans harmonised between us, the rawness of him stretching me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and my quivering thighs wrapped around him, pushing him to the hilt. He secured his large hands on the soft flesh of my hips and held me in place as he slowly withdrew. I could feel him; feel every ridge and vein drag out and then in, out and in, over my most sensitive, intimate, area. The slick sounds of our intimacy began to echo around the room as he picked up speed, strong thighs working at a feverish pace. With every thrust he pushed against that one spot that made my legs jerk and eyes water, my arms almost giving out underneath me as the table rattled beneath my weight. With the ferocity of his pounding and the heightened sensitivity he’d curated between my legs only moments before, we both knew that neither of us would last long. The sounds of his ragged breaths and throaty moans alone had me clenching around him already, and I know my constricting muscles already had his hips stuttering as I sucked him in with every thrust.

“Fuck (Y/n)- You’re so fuckin’ tight-”

I chewed on my bottom lip as his desperate eyes met mine.

“Oh yeah? Well I feel like you’re cock is in my fucking ribcage- oh fuck-”

He slipped one hand between us, his large palm resting on my lower belly as his thumb drew fast circles around my clit. The immediate contact on my bundle of nerves had my whole body quivering, the knot of an impending climax already starting to twist tighter and tighter in the depths of my core. The way that Dean fucked me into the motel room table was something that I would be able to feel deep in my soul for the rest of my life - my body and entire nervous system having never been worked in such a feral way before. Dean dropped forward and crushed my body into his - one large strong arm wrapped around my trembling body and kept me pressed against him as his head dropped to the crook of my neck. Soft lips pressed hot kisses against my shoulder, teeth gently nibbling the soft flesh as the coil wound and wound, the wave of orgasmic bliss rising higher and higher as my mind emptied, leaving behind only one thought.

Dean.

He was all consuming - all I could see, taste and smell. All I could feel. Oh God could I feel him; driving me to the brink of pure bliss as he frantically sped up - desperate to seek his own undoing as well as my own. One… two… three more fervid thrusts and the peak he’d helped me ascend to shattered around me as I practically screamed his name, the white-hot euphoria scorching my insides as I clamped like a vice around him.

“Oh shit- (Y/n) I can’t- fuck-”

I grabbed the back of his head and pushed his mouth to mine as he came undone, spilling inside me as he worked through his own white-hot euphoria.

The kiss we shared evolved from hot and needy to soft and wanting - the sensation of hot cum running down the inside of my thigh and cooling against my skin being the only thing to pull me away. Dean continued to lean over me for a moment, looking down at me with an expression that told me he had so much he wanted to say. Instead, he looked down at his release now starting to pool on the floor beneath us, then to the books and laptop that had been thrown across the floor before turning back to face me with the most devilish grin on his face.

“You know that this mess is all your fault, right?”

I scoffed.

“My fault? How is it my fault?”

“Because, sweetheart…” he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and pushed lightly on the plastic bridge sitting on my nose.

“You put on on those fucking glasses.”

--------------------------------------------------

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#dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x female!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x you smut #supernatural reader insert #supernatural one shot #dean winchester one shot #dean smut #supernatural smut #smut

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paddockletters · 4 months ago

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only girl (in the word) | lando norris

pairing: lando norris x reader summary: Lando and y/n enjoy a night out at a club with friends, but when some girls try to get close, he doesn't allow it and gives you your place as always. author's note: I took inspiration from a tiktok that I saw some time ago and I wanted to write it, so I hope you like it 😭😭

The lights of the nightclub flickered as the music pulsed through the room, blending with the laughter and chatter of the crowd. I leaned back against the VIP section, sipping my drink and watching Lando at the DJ booth with Martin. Both of them were having a blast, messing around with the controller and hyping up the crowd. Nights like this had become a regular thing for us—a little bit of fun, music, and good company with our tight-knit circle.

Even though Lando was always in the spotlight, we had managed to keep our relationship pretty private. Only our closest circle knew. It wasn't that we were hiding it, but having a relationship in the spotlight of F1 could be… overwhelming. It allowed us to just be us without the pressure of prying eyes and the constant speculation from fans or media.

I was watching him goof off with Martin when I felt someone nudge me. I turned to see Max (Fewtrell) , one of Lando’s closest friends, grinning as he leaned over to speak, his voice barely audible over the music.

"He's having the time of his life up there, isn't he?" Max said with a chuckle, motioning toward Lando, who was pretending to DJ like a pro.

"He really is. I’m just waiting for him to mess something up.” I laughed, nodding.

Max laughed, his eyes scanning the dance floor before he leaned closer.

"You know, it’s funny—he never really used to like these kinds of nights before you."

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah," Max nodded. "He’d always be the one leaving early, saying he had training or a race coming up. But ever since you guys started hanging out, he sticks around longer. Seems to enjoy it more. I think you’re a good influence on him."

"Maybe I’m just more fun than his training sessions." I smiled at the thought.

"Definitely more fun," Max teased, giving me a wink before heading off to join a few other friends.

I took another sip of my drink, feeling the warmth spread through me, both from the alcohol and Max’s words. I glanced back toward the DJ booth, catching Lando’s eye as he looked over at me, a playful grin on his face. He gave me a quick wink before returning to the music, his fingers moving over the controls like he knew exactly what he was doing.

It was then that I noticed a group of girls edging closer to him. One in particular seemed determined to get his attention, her phone already in hand, angling for a selfie or a picture with him. She was bold, stepping right up to him, bottle in hand, and attempting to take the one Lando was holding.

I watched as Lando paused, his smile fading slightly. He gently pushed her hand away, not rough, but firm enough to make his point. I could see him looking around, scanning the crowd until his eyes found mine. His expression softened immediately, and without hesitation, he motioned for me to come closer.

I could feel the girls' eyes on me as I made my way over. Their glances were sharp, the kind of looks that were meant to make you feel out of place, but I wasn’t about to let that ruin the night. Lando didn’t say a word when I reached him, just slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer, his body pressing against mine in a protective, almost possessive way.

"Hey," he whispered into my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine."

"Good," he said, leaning in closer. "Because I want you right here with me."

He pulled me in even tighter, and I rested my head on his shoulder for a moment, letting the music and the energy of the club surround us. Lando kissed the top of my head, a small gesture, but one that made me feel like the only person in the room.

Just then, Martin leaned over, grinning at us.

"Oi, Lando! You better be careful up here, mate. You’re making her fall for you all over again!"

"That’s the plan, mate!" Lando laughed, his arm never leaving my waist.

"You’re such a dork." I rolled my eyes, playfully nudging him.

"But I’m your dork," he replied with a cheeky grin.

As the night wore on, we danced, laughed, and enjoyed every second. The crowd seemed to disappear, and it was just us, lost in our own little world. But every now and then, I’d catch one of the girls from earlier casting a glance our way, her lips curled in a smug smile as if she was waiting for me to crack under the pressure of being in Lando’s orbit.

It didn’t bother me, not really. Lando had always made sure I knew my place in his life. He wasn’t the type to flirt with random girls or let anyone come between us. But I couldn’t deny that the whispers, the glances, they got under my skin just a little.

After a while, Lando leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. "You wanna get out of here?"

I nodded, grateful for the offer. The night had been fun, but I was ready for something quieter, something just for us.

"Yeah, let’s go."

He grabbed my hand, guiding me through the crowd, past the girls who had been eyeing us all night. One of them whispered something to her friend as we passed, but I didn’t catch it. I didn’t need to. The look on her face said enough.

As we stepped outside, the cool night air hit my skin, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Lando squeezed my hand, pulling me close.

"You okay?" he asked, concern flickering in his eyes.

I hesitated for a moment, debating whether to brush it off, but decided against it.

"It’s just… sometimes it’s hard being around people who don’t really get us, you know?"

Lando frowned, his thumb brushing gently over the back of my hand. "Did something happen inside?"

I shrugged, trying to downplay it. "It’s nothing, really. Just some girls being… well, girls."

"What did they say?" Lando stopped walking, turning to face me fully.

I shook my head, not wanting to make a big deal out of it.

"It’s not what they said, it’s just... their looks. Like they were waiting for me to mess up or something. I don’t know. I guess I’m not used to it."

Lando’s jaw tightened, his hand gripping mine a little harder.

"You know you don’t have to worry about that, right? I’m with you. Only you."

I smiled, touched by his words.

"I know. I just—sometimes it feels like I’m always being watched. Like I’m never enough."

Lando’s expression softened, and he pulled me into a tight embrace. "You’re more than enough. Don’t let anyone make you feel like you aren’t. Especially not them."

I hugged him back, feeling the warmth of his body against mine, and for the first time that night, I felt at ease. With Lando by my side, the whispers, the looks—they didn’t matter.

As we pulled apart, he leaned down and kissed me gently, his lips lingering on mine for just a moment longer than usual. When he pulled back, he grinned.

"Come on, let’s go home. I think we are going have a more fun night there."

"Yeah, let’s get out of here." I laughed softly, nodding in agreement.

And with that, hand in hand, we left the nightclub behind, ready to end the night our way—together.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris imagines #landonorris #lando norris #lando norris blurb #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris one shot #lando x reader #f1 one shot #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 fic #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #ln4 x reader

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xndrexcruz · 6 months ago

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When You Get Shipped With Another Player | FC BARCELONA

✮- summary: how they react to fans shipping you with another barca player

✮- warnings: none i don’t think

Requests are open

masterlist here

João Félix

“How come fans think you’re a better match with Marc Guiu than with me?” João grumbled, throwing his bag down by the door.

You glanced up at him from your book, raising an eyebrow. “Fans are just being fans, João. They see what they want to see, you know how it is.”

He walked over to you and plopped down besides you, a pout forming on his puffy lips. “Mas não é justo. Somos perfeitos juntos.” (“It’s not fair though. We’re perfect together.”)

You slightly chuckled, putting your book aside and leaning closer to your boyfriend. “We know that, but they don’t. They just enjoy making up different scenarios, nothing serious.”

“Yeah, but why Marc? I mean he’s a pretty good guy and all, but he’s obviously not me,” João insisted, wrapping his arms around you possessively.

You pressed a kiss to his lips and then trailed a line of kisses along his jaw. “Maybe just maybe, they can’t handle how perfect we are together.” You whispered in between kisses, “They need some drama to entertain themselves.”

João signed, his body relaxing under your soft touch. “I just really hate seeing those comments. It makes me want to scream to the world that you’re mine and I’m yours.”

“One day, I promise. For now, let’s just enjoy what we have now,” you whispered, kissing him deeply.

“Yeah, you’re right, João murmured against your lips, his jealousy melting away. “As long as we know the truth right, that’s all that matters.”

Pablo Gavi

“I swear, if I see one more post shipping you with Héctor, i’m actually going to lose it,” Gavi fumed, pacing around the room.

You signed, shutting your laptop closed. “Pablo, it’s just fans having fun. They don’t mean any harm.”

He stopped pacing and looked at you, frustration evident when you looked at him in the eyes. “But it bothers me. They think you two would be a quote on quote amazing couple.”

You stood up and walked over to him, placing your hands on his chest. “Do you really I care about what they think? I’m with you because I’m head over heels for you.”

Gavin’s expression softened at your words, but he still seemed restless. "Es difícil ignorarlo, ¿sabes? Quiero que todos sepan que eres mi novia". (“It’s just hard to ignore, you know? I want everyone to know you’re my girlfriend.”)

You kissed his lips and then both his cheeks, feeling him shiver at the contact. “I know, trust me I know, but we had both agreed to keep things private in the meantime. We just have to trust that our love for one another is strong enough.”

He signed at your words, wrapping his arms around you and putting his head in the crook of your neck. “It is. I’m sorry for getting frustrated. It’s not on purpose.”

You smiled, leaning your head to kiss him. “It’s okay. I just want you to remember that you’re the one I choose every single day, just you.”

Pedri González

“I don’t understand why people think you and João would make such a power couple,” Pedri muttered, scrolling through his phone.

You rolled your eyes, setting you coffee mug down on the coffee table. “Because they don’t about the two of us, Pedri. They’re only speculating.”

He looked up at you, concern written across his face. “But it still bothers me. I want them to see how perfect I am for you.”

You walked over and sat next to him, taking his hands into yours. “I know it must be hard, but it’s just make believe, I’m with you not João. We know what’s actually real.”

Pedri only let out a huff, squeezing your hands. “Sinceramente, odio la idea de que alguien más que no sea yo pueda estar contigo”. (“I just honestly hate the thought of anyone else being with you who isn't me.”)

You leaned in, kissing him lovingly before moving to his neck. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about. I’m all yours Pedri.”

A smile started forming on his lips. “You’re right, of course you are. It only matters that you and I know the truth no one else matters.”

“Exactly,” you murmured, kissing his lips again.

Fermín López

“We could always let our relationship go public to stop the rumors about you and Lamine,” Fermín suggested, frustration evident in his voice.

You looked at him in surprise. “You do remember you were the one who wanted to keep our relationship hidden from the public to protect us, right?”

He let out a breath, running a hand through his combed hair. “Lo sé, pero es duro ver a los fans pensar que tú y él son más adecuados el uno para el otro”. (“I know, but it’s hard seeing fans think you and him are better suited for each other.”)

You laid your head on his chest before speaking. “It’s just rumors. They don’t mean anything.”

Fermín pulled you closer into him, kissing the top of your head. “It’s just annoying. I always see those type of comments.”

You tilted your head up to see him, kissing his adam’s apple. “It doesn’t matter what the fans think. We’re the ones together.”

He nodded his head, sighing as he relaxed his head on top of yours. “You’re right Y/n. I’m sorry for getting so worked up over that.”

You gave him a small smile. “It’s okay. As long as I’m with you.”

Héctor Fort

“Why do fans seem to think you’d be better with Pedri than you would be with me?” Héctor annoyingly grumbled, tossing his phone aside.

You looked up from the movie you had been watching. “Héctor they don’t know any better. The fans are just imagining things, they would think differently if they knew we were dating.”

He walked over and sat next to you, while wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I just want every person to know that you’re mine, not anybody else’s.”

You leaned against his shoulder, leaving a kiss on his cheek. “One day they all will. But for now, let’s enjoy our relationship as it is, okay?”

Héctor nodded, resting his head over yours to find comfort in your touch. "Bé. Em molesta tant veure comentaris com que m'irrita molt.” (“Okay. It just bothers me so much seeing comments like that it really irritates me.””

You moved off his shoulder, placing you hand on his defined jawline. “Just don’t let it get to you. Because nothing will change the fact that I’m your girlfriend Héctor.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss you softly. “I won’t, not anymore.”

Lamine Yamal

"Of all the players, they think you'd go out with Fermín," Lamine muttered, scrolling through his phone.

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Fans will ship anyone with anyone. It doesn't mean anything, you should know that."

He looked at you, concern clear in his eyes. "Doesn’t change the fact that it’s annoying. They should know I’m your boyfriend."

You walked over and wrapped your arms around his neck. "Maybe but at least we know that you are my incredible and loving boyfriend."

Lamine cracked a small smile, pulling you closer. "No puedo esperar hasta el día en que el mundo sepa que estamos juntos. Entonces, esto hará que dejemos de emparejarte con otras personas que no son tus novios.” (“I can’t wait till the day the world knows that we’re together. Then this will stop all the shipping you with other people who aren’t your boyfriend.")

You kissed his neck, feeling him relax. "Don’t let it get to you. Soon enough everyone will know, I promise Lamine."

He smiled, kissing you softly. "You better keep your promise"

Marc Guiu

"How am I supposed to ignore the fans shipping you with Gavi?" Marc exclaimed, frustration clear in his voice as he spoke.

You sighed, looking up from your phone. "It’s just rumors. They don’t know what they’re talking about half the time."

He looked at you, concern etched on his face. "Però em molesta molt. Sé que tu i en Gavi no esteu passant res, però només pensar-hi em molesta molt". ("But it really bothers me. I know that you and Gavi don’t have anything going on but just thinking about it annoys me so much.")

You walked over and wrapped your arms around his waist. "Exactly. So don’t worry about something that silly."

Marc sighed, pulling you closer. "I just hate seeing people think Gavi could do a better job at being your boyfriend than I can."

You kissed his neck, feeling his body starting to relax. "Don’t let it get to you. We know that you are the only boy for me."

"That you’re right about." He smirked, as he kissed your lips.

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l4ndonorizz · 5 months ago

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q&a stream gets personal (chat edition) / lando norris x reader

pairing: lando norris x reader

song: san holo - bring back the color

summary: a lighthearted Q&A stream between you and lando quickly turns serious when fan questions push you both to reveal long-hidden feelings, leading to a conversation that changes everything.

wc: 1.5k

The stream had been going for over thirty minutes now. You and Lando were sitting comfortably in front of the camera, bantering like you always did, making light of the fan questions. At first, everything felt easy—laughs, inside jokes, playful jabs—but you could feel the questions starting to shift, becoming more personal with every scroll through the chat.

Lando, as usual, was taking the lead. He leaned in, his eyes scanning the chat for the next question. “Alright, next one! This one’s for you,” he said, turning to you with that mischievous glint in his eyes. “‘What’s the one thing that annoys you most about me?’”

You laughed, grateful for the harmless question, though your mind was still spinning from some of the bolder ones that had come up earlier. “That’s easy—how you can never decide what to eat when we hang out. You’re so indecisive.”

Lando gasped dramatically, his hand over his chest as if he’d been personally wounded. “It’s called being considerate! I don’t want to pick the wrong place and have you hate me for it.”

“Uh-huh,” you teased, the ease returning to your voice. “Or maybe you just can’t make a decision.”

The chat lit up with laughing emojis and comments like “classic Lando” and “indecision king!” The conversation felt light again—for a moment, anyway. But then, Lando scrolled again, and his eyes locked on a question that made your stomach flip.

“This one’s for me,” he read aloud, his voice quieter now. “‘What’s the sweetest thing she’s ever done for you?’”

Your heart skipped a beat. The question hung in the air, and you could tell Lando was thinking, actually thinking, about how to answer. The playful energy between you shifted slightly, making the room feel smaller, more intimate.

“Well…” Lando started, pausing to look at you for a moment before turning back to the camera. “There was this one time when I got sick after a race, and she brought me soup and stayed the whole night to take care of me. That was pretty sweet.”

Your cheeks flushed instantly. You hadn’t expected him to bring that up, and the chat was going wild—spamming heart emojis and teasing comments like “aww, they’re so cute!” and “best friends or something more?”

You waved dismissively, laughing it off. “I’m just a good friend. That’s what good friends do.”

Lando turned to you, his smile softening. “Yeah, the best.”

His words sent a flutter through your chest, but you laughed nervously, pushing it aside. The chat wasn’t helping either, with more comments pouring in, speculating about your relationship. You tried to keep your composure, but the tension was beginning to creep in, a subtle shift in the air that neither of you could ignore.

Lando scrolled down again, and this time, the question he read out loud made the temperature in the room rise by several degrees.

“Oh, here’s a good one,” he said, glancing at you with a grin. “‘Do you guys think you’d make a good couple?’”

Your heart stopped. The chat was immediately flooded with excited comments, but all you could hear was the pounding in your ears. You glanced at Lando, expecting him to laugh it off, but his expression was more serious than you expected. He didn’t look uncomfortable—just thoughtful.

“I think we would,” he said, his voice steady but with an undercurrent that made your breath catch.

You turned to him, wide-eyed. “Wait, what?”

Lando shrugged, trying to play it cool, but you could see the nervousness creeping in behind his grin. “I mean, why not? We get along great, we always have fun, and…” He paused, glancing at you, his smile faltering just a bit. “I think we’d be good together.”

The chat erupted. Fans were spamming “I KNEW IT!” and “FINALLY!” along with a torrent of heart emojis and comments begging for more details. But you couldn’t focus on the screen. All you could focus on was Lando sitting next to you, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you.

Your heart pounded as you swallowed hard. “Are you… serious?”

Lando’s smile softened, and he shrugged again. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? I mean… we’ve always gotten along so well. I’ve thought about it before.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and suddenly the lighthearted Q&A session felt too intimate, too real. You were aware of the camera recording, the thousands of people watching, and yet all of it seemed to fade into the background as the tension between you and Lando grew.

Before you could respond, Lando scrolled again, trying to move on from the tension, but the next question hit even harder.

“‘Have you ever had feelings for her?’” he read aloud, his voice now much quieter.

The chat was frozen, waiting for his response, and so were you. You didn’t dare breathe as you watched him process the question. For a moment, Lando looked like he might dodge it, make a joke out of it, but then he surprised you.

“Uh… yeah,” he admitted after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I mean… I’ve thought about it. More than once.”

Your heart leapt into your throat. The world felt like it had stopped spinning. Lando was still looking at the camera, but his gaze kept flickering toward you, gauging your reaction. The chat had exploded again, but you couldn’t process any of it. All you could think about was how you had just crossed a line, one that couldn’t be uncrossed.

You cleared your throat, trying to regain some composure. “I didn’t… I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Lando turned to you, his eyes full of something you hadn’t seen before—vulnerability. “Yeah… well, I didn’t really know how to bring it up. Until now, I guess.”

The chat was full of comments, pushing for more, but the two of you sat in an awkward, loaded silence. You felt your pulse racing, and for the first time since the stream started, you had no idea what to say. Everything felt too exposed, too vulnerable.

Lando, sensing the tension, tried to move things along. “Let’s, uh… let’s move on to the next one.”

He scrolled quickly, but the chat had taken on a life of its own, and the questions weren’t letting up. The next one made the tension nearly unbearable.

“‘Do you regret anything in your friendship?’” Lando read aloud, his voice quieter again.

You swallowed, the weight of the question pressing down on you. Lando turned to look at you, his expression serious now, no trace of the lighthearted banter that had carried you through the stream earlier.

“I…” you started, unsure of what to say. The chat was waiting, Lando was waiting, and you could feel the nerves bubbling up inside you. “I don’t regret our friendship; I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But…”

Lando’s eyebrows furrowed. “But what?”

You fidgeted with your hands, the tension between you almost suffocating. You could feel the words building in your throat, but you weren’t sure if you were ready to say them—not here, not now, in front of all these people.

“I guess I regret… not being more honest,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando’s eyes softened as he looked at you, the vulnerability still lingering in his gaze. For the first time during the stream, it felt like the rest of the world had disappeared. The chat, the cameras, the fans—it all faded away. All that mattered was the way Lando was looking at you, waiting.

“Honest about what?” he asked gently, his voice careful, as if he was afraid of pushing too far.

You hesitated, your heart racing. You knew the answer, and so did he. But saying it out loud felt like crossing a line that neither of you could come back from.

“I just…” you started, your voice shaking slightly. “I’ve never told you how much you mean to me.”

Lando blinked, clearly taken aback by your admission. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” you trailed off, glancing away as the tension became too much to bear. “I care about you. A lot. More than just… as a friend.”

The room felt like it had gone completely silent, except for the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. Lando stared at you, processing what you’d just said, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

Finally, Lando let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I care about you too.”

The chat was exploding with heart emojis and comments, but none of that mattered anymore. The air between you was thick with the weight of everything you’d just revealed, and for the first time, it felt like you were both being completely honest with each other.

Lando gave you a small, nervous smile. “Well… I guess that’s one way to wrap up a Q&A stream.”

You laughed, though your heart was still racing. “Yeah… not what I expected.”

The chat was still buzzing, but all you could focus on was the way Lando was looking at you—as if everything had just changed between you, and maybe, for the better.

#f1 one shot #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 #formula 1 #lando imagine #lando norris one shot #lando x reader #lando norris #f1 fic

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katszumi · 1 year ago

Text

“do you think i’m a good person?” you could tell katsuki had to swallow his pride in order to ask you, but when you made eye contact with the male in front of you, the clear look of insecurity was plastered over his face.

your eyebrows knitted together. “i do,” your eyes searched him. obviously, he was trying to maintain his robust appearance, but the way his shoulders slouched more than usual and the very very small pout on his lips, you noticed he wasn’t his usual self. “why are you asking me this?”

your voice lowered in volume and he hated how soft you spoke to him. he didn’t like pity, even if you didn’t view this as such.

katsuki lifted his shoulders and quickly dropped them, his eyes shifting away from yours.

“people talk,” he begrudgingly answered. “just wanted to see if the people around me agreed i guess.” and by people, he meant his stupid classmates and pro-hero teachers, but mainly he meant you.

your opinion mattered to him the most after all.

you shook your head, denying his speculation. you wondered who he was around to even hear something like this.

you inched yourself closer to katsuki on the couch in the dormitory lounge, slipping your hand into his dormat one that laid on his thigh. of course he would explode anyone else that would dare touch him in an affectionate way, but it was you. the only person who could even remotely manage to get him to feel tender inside and be sentimental back—or at least he tries his best.

katuski’s red irises ogled into yours, waiting for your lips to part.

“it doesn’t matter what they think. you’re bakugou katsuki, mr. great explosion murder god dynamight,” katsuki’s shoulders racked gently from laughter, “and you’ve saved countless lives at the age of 17. from what i know, that’s a good person and a damn good future hero.” you hoped your words would inspire him, but his eyes weren’t hopeful enough.

“yeah, i save lives, but if i’m an asshole about it then does it even matter?”

katsuki was being so vulnerable right now that you couldn’t believe it. he told you things he wouldn’t share with anyone else, but never would you have thought how open he could be with you. your heart was warm from the thought.

“don’t let people who know the surface-level bakugou affect the inner bakugou. if they choose not to learn who you really are, then their perspective of you is bias, and that’s unfair.” you explained.

“but,” he started, though you didn’t let him finish.

“and the people around you know that you are a good person. you may be loud, arrogant and brash at moments. but, we wouldn’t want it any other way. who else would we tease for fun if you weren’t there? or if we wanted some honesty, or a good laugh. we love you, kats. the inner and surface level of you.”

katsuki couldn’t help the smile that tugged on his lip, his shoulders lifting with relief. he lightly squeezed your hand that was still entwined with his. you figured it was his way of saying thank you.

“you love me?” he repeated, his smile now forming into a grin. he turned his back and started to lean back, resting his body in your lap.

you giggled, your face warming. “yes, i do.”

“say it then.” his eyes gazing into yours. of course katuski was aware of your love for him. there was nobody sane that would date someone like him; it truly seemed like a beauty and the beast situation in his eyes.

it was all more reason to fall in love with you even harder. he didn’t deserve your love and kindness, but there you were always giving it to him. you’re beautiful, delicate, and intelligent. it would be a sin to not praise the ground that you walked upon. because you were everything to katsuki and he wasn’t sure if he was up to par.

but while you were here, showering him in unconditional and gentle love, he was going to try and learn how to be the best person for you and the people around him. he would hate himself if he lost you because of his irrational behavior considering you’re the future in his eyes.

your smile matched his, crescent moon’s beginning to form under your eyes from how wide your grin was.

“i love you, katsuki.” finally. the words he loved to hear. and it ached. it ached all over. since when did he turn into such a big softie? but, it didn’t matter as long as you remained in his presence.

his rough, calloused hand reached up to cup your face, swiping his thumb across the apple of your cheek.

“i love you more, y/n.”

—

come here katsuki… lemme love u pls. hes so beautiful and soft. delicate bakugou 4 life !!!

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utilitycaster · 24 days ago

Note

Hi, would just like to say thank you for writing up so much meta on campaign 3, it is keeping me sane seeing similar thoughts to what I’ve had written down coherently.

The last couple asks you’ve answered have got me thinking about how campaign 3 ended up like this (indecisive characters, weird nonsensical themes, only setpieces and maybe a ship or two being memorable) and I remember hearing that c3 was described by Matt as ”Pulpy” and I keep coming back to that and thinking that there was never even meant to be a big decision. From what I’ve read of old pulp fiction dnd novels it's pretty much “here’s the big bad go defeat/seal/slap them on the wrist, have fun on the way there with several cool setpieces and romance!” and I wonder if there was even meant to be a god debate at all or if it was just picked up in the middle of the story by the cast. It could explain why the characters wouldn't fit the story if this wasn’t meant to be the story.

Cause a character who goes with the flow is fine in those books and a character who only looks into what is thrust upon them works, but it feels like somewhere it tried to be more and just fell apart.

Because even now the story does feel pulpy but just held down by a narrative it isn’t handling well. 119 was a great episode and having the Raven Queen show up in the middle to give boons is an incredibly cool beat that would be memorable as hell but for it to end up as another god debate just sucks. But the rest of the campaign sort of does that with cool beats that end up dragged down in one way or another so its not unique I guess

I know you talked about the “pulpy”ness of c3 a while ago and was wondering if you had more thoughts now that we’re in the endgame for the campaign

I do - this is all rather speculative but in some discussions with other people one possible explanation that's come up is that Matt genuinely didn't expect the characters to be so hesitant to save the gods or stop Ludinus or sympathize with the the Vanguard, and has kind of pivoted to make a campaign that accomodates those doubts...but in doing so sort of fucked his end premise of "we must deal with Predathos". Which, you know, makes a lot of sense! What if Hearthdell was intended as a glimpse into why people might join something like the Vanguard to introduce an element of complexity to a party that (quite reasonably I might add) had said "these people are a fucking scourge on Exandria" but instead served to fan the flames of "well the gods didn't give me things when I asked so yeah we should let them be eaten"? What if the fetch quests to the Shattered Teeth or the scouting mission were like the quest for vestiges - something that the party desperately wished to do to achieve a deeply felt goal - and not something they had to be nudged along to do every step of the way? What if the party went into the final confrontation with any consensus or intention? Because then yeah a pulpier "you're taking on the Big Bad Ultimate Threat...but your MOTHER is on THEIR side" a la vintage superhero comics plays out much more coherently. I cannot stress enough that the cultural touchstone Matt brings up about the campaign is the 2012 Avengers film. Regardless of some posts I've seen (which tend to assume anything the cast has ever read/watched/played is an influence, which is. incorrect) that is your starting point.

The thing about all the "take a third option" and "status quo" talk surrounding this campaign is...this post is actually a good description of how it plays out in real life. Like yeah there's a lot of political constructs within the world that are stupid and unjust! However it is unproductive, naive, and idiotic to act as though just because you don't like them they aren't part of a complex system that needs thoughtful dismantling (at least, if you place any value on human life) or worse, that they simply don't exist because they shouldn't. Sometimes you genuinely do have two choices and neither is ideal and if you do not choose between them because you're holding out for a better option the choice is made for you, and often, it's the worse one. Sometimes there is in fact a problem caused by something stupid that you cannot undo in time to solve said problem, and it is selfish and childish to say "well I think this shouldn't be a problem" and leave it at that. You will fail in your endeavors if you do this. People will see that's your approach and stop listening to anything you say.

Bells Hells feel like that to me and it's not even entirely their fault. I think because Matt had such a clear endgame in mind in the sense of "face off against Predathos" and the party was so ill-suited, and the early pacing was genuinely already bad, he's sort of tried to pivot away by following every dumb idea Bells Hells have to perhaps funnel them towards that endgame. And this is a problem too, because it means the plot doesn't push back on them and they do not grow as people, which means that a lot of us are getting tired with their shit. It's telling that most of Bells Hells' loudest defenders are the "well, if you're traumatized, you're excused from all responsibility for your actions ever :)" types within the fandom because like, part of why people are sick of Laudna's shit (for example) is that it's like ok I agree you shouldn't have an evil wizard in your head but you do, so like, what are you doing about it. And because she hadn't done anything about it and because they had to get to Predathos we had our Deus Essek Machina situation, which to be clear, not mad about, but it also means Laudna never really learned or grew from this. And to be clear she's not alone; part of the frustration around Ashton is it seemed like they DID have a revelation around shardgate and then immediately discarded it.

There's many more factors I'm sure but just to sum up:

Matt has a very clear overarching plot in mind [and, also, probably was creating a campaign for characters who see point 3 had more realized worldviews and goals and investment in their communities]

Matt does not give the cast much guidance in creating characters for that plot; "pulpy" is really tonal and not even genre

Cast, having played characters specifically designed for the "complex and morally gray and must be from the continent the campaign is set on" campaign last, turn to wacky and go-with-the-flow types

Overarching plot kicks in; characters do not behave as expected

Matt tries to embrace/encourage this by getting the party to follow what they want to do

Go-with-flow/take no responsibility party doesn't know what they want to do

endless loop of a DM trying to adjust the direction of flow to a directionless party instead of imposing a direction/Cast trying to take direction cues from a DM who keeps throwing more options at them in the hopes one will appeal to them which turns into a "what do you want to do" "I don't know what do you want to do" situation.

#answered #Anonymous #cr spoilers

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threeacttragedy · 3 months ago

Text

Entry 9: The One Where You Choose Your Own Brazilian Adventure

My planned post – the “In Dedication of JVN” one where I fangirl over Jonathan Van Ness and what a fun and interesting piece of the Lukola puzzle he is – was derailed today because I was once again asked about Brazil. Well, more specifically, I was asked about whether I thought we were ever going to get those steamy, hopefully X-rated pictures, from Brazil. There’s pictures?!

In truth, I thought we’d collectively squeezed that grapefruit dry and left the rind somewhere between Italy and the Glamour Awards.

Alas, here I am writing about Brazil.

It’s funny because I’ve never thought much about Brazil. I know, I know! How could I possibly type those words without my nose growing six inches in front of my face? Well, it’s because it was always Australia that intrigued me. More on that later…

So why exactly do we believe there are pictures from Brazil? And, why do we think they are going to prove some kind of hot affair between Luke and Nicola? This theory is likely fueled by rumor; rumor born from how Luke and Nicola behaved towards each other while they were in Brazil.

I thought it would be fun to play a little game of “Choose Your Own Adventure” to determine if we’re ever going to see these alleged pictures. And, yes, I will be a very sarcastic bitch when doing this.

Before I start, though, I want to give a quick shout out to my dear friend, whom I shall call The-One-Who-Drops-Random-Pics-Into-Our-Group-Chat-and-Lets-Us-Sweat-Over-Them-for-Atleast-Three-Minutes-Before-Finally-Explaining-Them. She was a wealth of information about Brazil and even had a nice mother-daughter chat with me about the significance of a clean-shaven face (pardon me for never having dated a bearded man, which is odd because I find facial hair quite attractive).

Now, gather ‘round and I shall give you a little prologue to our adventure!

I’m sure most of you already know all about Brazil. In fact, many of you are probably self-described experts at this point. But, for those who are new here, let me go ahead and light the candles and set the ambiance for you.

On May 19, Luke and Nicola were shuttled off to do their beach photoshoot in Brazil. You know, the one where Nicola was walking the dogs; Luke was strumming the guitar; Nicola was being all girlfriend-like fixing Luke’s jacket; Luke was gazing up at Nicola at the pub while she was touching his neck; and then there was that moment when we all thought they might kiss. Yeah, all that plus Luke’s scruffy face from the week prior suddenly appeared clean-shaven. Apparently, you can never be too “Casual” when you’re headed down south (pun intended – as was that Chappell Roan reference). And, about now is where I’ll “insert disclaimer that this is speculation only.”

The following day, we had the actual premiere. I’m not sure what those two were up to before the premiere but both were un-fucking-hinged by the time they made it to the red carpet. We had angel-face Nicola looking up at Luke like he had created the universe and Luke answering Nicola’s Little Red Riding Hood vibe with one sexy ass Big Bad Wolf persona. I mean, the bits and bobs that came out of Luke’s mouth that day! “There’s a carriage downstairs.” “I mean, in this heat, all I’m thinking about is when we didn’t have to wear clothes ‘cos that would be quite nice right now.” “I mean the show is proof that it is [okay to kiss your friends].” With Nicola whispering back, “This is true.” Then there was Luke taking that mic without taking his eyes off Nicola. We had Luke helping Nicola put on her bracelets because – God forbid! – she let go of him for 30 seconds to do it her fucking self. And, let’s not forget about the two of them holding on to each other behind that woman’s back (I’m sorry, I don’t recall her name and I’m too lazy to look it up – mainly, because I’m certain most of you don’t really care about that other woman).

We were also given snippets of Luke and Nicola at the premiere afterparty, looking like two people who, at a minimum, enjoyed each other’s company. They greeted fans outside the venue and, as they walked away together, Nicola seemingly put her hand on Luke’s lower back as if to guide him in the right direction (go ahead – let your imagination run wild – it’s a great opening for a FanFic).

Then, throw in the beach walk with the giant security guard; the interview where Nicola was wearing the fluffy pink skirt and the two of them talked about Chappell Roan’s “Kaleidoscope” (seriously, those two were listening to that song together?); Nicola couldn’t stop giggling about the “meat” of the Carriage Scene; and Luke appeared perhaps a smidge too interested in Nicola’s answer about what she looks for in a man (which fit perfectly into Luke’s “Like, how nice is it when someone notices, like, your kindness or your sense of humor?”). And, we can’t ignore them seemingly sharing a tea cup and Luke reaching for Nicola’s spoon after she’d sampled a dish. Don’t even get me started on over-analyzing Luke’s “manspread” that day.

Let’s also not forget about the rumor portion of this Brazilian escapade – because that is what fuels the sexy hot pictures theory and the central plot of our storied adventure.

Rumor has it Luke and Nicola spent a lot of time with each other in Brazil.

By themselves.

In one or the other’s room.

On the beach.

By the pool.

There were also rumors of them making out in the hotel hallway.

The only evidence we have of any “alone time” are some pictures that were dumped on X of them dining together alone, without any other members of their team.

Now that the backdrop has been set, let’s go on my little adventure.

During the summer between my 7th and 8th grade years, I was bored out of my mind. I grew up in the countryside. No neighbors. No sidewalks. No cable! Just fields, wooded areas, and my two sisters, both of whom had no interest in entertaining me that summer. My mother suggested I read. After boredom had dug itself so far into my being that I was left with no choice but to read, I finally ventured over to the bookshelf and grabbed the thinnest book I could find. It was a “Choose Your Own Adventure.”

If you don’t know what a “Choose Your Own Adventure” book is, then you (and your children) are missing out. Basically, you play the role of the protagonist and make choices to determine the outcome of your story. Sometimes you make the right choice and survive; other times you make the wrong choice and get turned into a little mouse that may or may not be eaten by a cat.

Here we go.

As the protagonist of our story, you are:

THE EMPLOYEE

You’re an employee of the hotel Nicola and Luke stayed at while in Brazil. You have sworn to maintain the privacy of hotel guests; you’ve signed a non-disclosure agreement of sorts to protect the privacy of guests, especially since you have access to VIP areas. You can be a housekeeper, a watchman, a concierge, a seven-foot-tall security guard, whatever tickles your fancy. Doesn’t matter – you’re all bound by the same provisions to protect the privacy of the hotel’s guests. But, in this story, let’s say you’re the housekeeper because – what’s that old saying – the only person who knows everything going on in the house is the maid?

You’re cleaning Nicola’s room and you find lots of signs of a man being in the room. In fact, you find a coat that looks exactly like the one Luke was wearing the night of the premiere. Oh my. As you’re leaving, you see two people making out in the hallway – headed straight towards the room you’re just leaving! It looks like Nicola and Luke. What do you do?

Choice A: Well, you’re a pervy housekeeper so you pull your phone out and start taking pictures. I mean, those two are so into each other, they don’t even notice. You then run and play show-and-tell with your friends because you can’t keep a damn secret. Unfortunately for you, that gossip spreads faster than lice in a preschool, and hotel management tracks your ass down because, guess what, your friends can’t keep a secret either. So, congratulations on being fired. You’re meeting with the lawyers is first thing in the morning. Oh, we also need your phone and the names of all your friends.

Choice B: You respect the privacy of Nicola and Luke and simply turn and walk the opposite direction. Taking photos of them never even crossed your mind! But, damn, what a good story to tell your bestie when you get home, even if you don’t have “receipts.”

THE VIP GUEST

You’re a random guest staying at the hotel. In fact, you’re a random VIP guest staying on the same floor as Nicola and Luke. When you checked in, you signed a non-disclosure agreement. I mean, you want your privacy protected, too! And, heck, NDAs are thrown out like candy these days. You’ve seen so many at this point, you don’t even bother to read them.

You take the elevator up to your floor and, as you step into the hallway, you’re confronted with – goddammit, there’s two motherfuckers all over each other! The guy is trying to slide his key into the door, but the woman’s dress is so awkwardly large, he can’t seem to find the right slot! You realize the people look a lot like those two stars from Bridgerton, and your best friend, Effie, is a huge fan! What do you do?

Choice A: You can’t believe Effie is missing out on this excitement so, of course, you pull your phone out and start taking pictures!! I mean, that NDA you signed didn’t even cross your mind three minutes later when you were forwarding the pictures to Effie! And, because you can’t control what Effie does, she forwards the pictures to all her Bridgie buddies. The next morning you awaken to find the pictures all over X. Oopsie. You feel slightly guilty, and a bit peeved at Effie – but only until you’ve had your morning coffee.

Choice B: You take people’s privacy very seriously. Well, maybe you don’t take it that seriously, but it would be too difficult to dig your phone out of your handbag to take pictures. And, to be honest, Effie is the huge fan, not you. Plus, it seems the guy finally got that door open and damn, based on the sounds of it, he's unlocked something magical. Oh well. You’ll call Effie in the morning to tell her your story, if you remember it.

THE RANDOM STRANGER

You’re a random stranger taking an evening stroll along the beach. You love the sound of the ocean. It’s so peaceful…the sound of the waves… Ugh, what is that noise?! It sounds like – shit, it is! – two people snogging in a cabana about 10 yards away from you. Wait a minute – is that? Yeah, you think it could be! I mean, you were just at the Bridgerton premiere last night! What do you do? Without hesitation, you pull out your phone!

Choice A: You creep behind an umbrella and zoom in as close as possible with your camera! I mean, shite! You can’t believe this! How long have you been filming? Probably longer than necessary but who cares? Suddenly, you feel a presence behind you, perhaps a seven-foot-tall presence, and you slowly turn around. Fuck! Who’s this guy?! He takes your phone, drops it to the ground, and stomps on it, shattering its insides. Asshole. You bend down to pick up the phone, but the man taps your shoulder and shakes his head, “No.” Well, umm, yeah, I guess you best be leaving.

Choice B: You use your camera to zoom in on the couple. Snap! Snap! Snap! Then you get the FUCK OUT OF THERE! You tell yourself you don’t look suspicious at all, even though you’re practically running and your heart is about to pound its way out of your chest! Oh, thank God, you’ve made it to your car. You start it up and, like I said, YOU GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE! You get home and take a look at the photos! Goldmine! So, should you drop them on X? Maybe be a little see-you-next-Tuesday and try to sell them to Nicola or Luke’s teams? But, hell, you don’t even know where to start with that! Or, should you just pocket them for your own pleasure? You tell me….

The End.

Yes, I am absolutely being a facetious little ass! The above scenarios were for (the most part) my own entertainment. I mean, there are so many situations where these alleged pictures could exist (these playful ones don’t even scratch the surface). But, do the pictures exist?

If we’re being logical here, you would think that, if anyone in the general public were in possession of these alleged sexy-time pictures of Luke and Nicola, or had seen them, it would be all over social media at this point. I mean, ALL OVER. So, what can we deduce from the fact that they aren’t?

That the pictures probably don’t exist. Don’t shoot the messenger! Seriously, watch where you point that thing!

But, let’s say pictures did exist. Who is the most likely person to dump them on, say, X? The hotel employee, the VIP guest, or the random stranger? I would place money on the random stranger, followed by the VIP guest. The hotel employee, who probably has the most access to VIP guests but the strongest legal barriers, would be the least likely to photo dump. What is the likelihood that someone from one of these three groups – for example, a random stranger – (a) had pictures of Luke and Nicola, (b) didn’t drop them on social media, and/or (c) didn’t share them with someone who dropped them on social media?

I’m all for a good conspiracy theory but I find this one to be a hard pill to swallow.

Maybe one person can act as a lockbox for this kind of secret, but when you start including more people, the ability to keep something (like illicit photographs of two celebrities) out of the public eye diminishes rapidly.

Remember what Benjamin Franklin said, “Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead.”

Unfortunately, this quote is incredibly accurate. The general public cannot keep secrets.

If the pictures exist, they are most likely in the possession of Luke and/or Nicola’s team (of lawyers). So, unless they’re going to sneak them on to X for giggles (I mean, it’s been known to happen), you’re probably never going to see them – and that’s assuming they even exist.

However, if you’re the housekeeper from our first adventure and you happen to have some candid photographs you’re just dying to share, just find yourself a printer – one that cannot easily be linked back to you – and print them out. Then, “accidently” drop them at the feet of someone who knows exactly what they are, and then give them enough time to take their own photos of them and send them to their best friend’s brother’s sister-in-law’s third cousin’s wife’s neighbor, who could drop them on X for us. I mean, you should be golden with seven degrees of separation.

#lukola #luke newton #nicola coughlan #my thoughts #my opinion #speculation only #just me being ridiculous

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mclacedes · 2 months ago

Text

A Fading Echo (LH44)

CHAPTER II: Going Home

a/n: this is NOT PROOF READ

warnings: breakup, abu dhabi ‘21, rude!lewis, depression, gaslighting, fighting

★ previous chapter

★ next chapter

“For a moment, he wanted to break down and beg Willem not to leave. Don't go, he wanted to tell him. Stay here with me. I'm scared to be alone.”

- Hanya Yanagihara, "A Little Life"

He remembers your final battle—the fight that ended it all; the decision-maker, the deal-breaker.

Four years. You had been together for four beautiful, though turbulent, years. The kind of love story that felt unshakable, weathering the storms life hurled your way. You had your own career, pursuing the dreams you’d cherished since you were a kid. You were finally at a stage in life where everything felt like it fit perfectly. And with him by your side, it seemed like nothing could go wrong.

By 2020—your third year together—things had grown serious, the kind of serious that made people whisper about rings and forever.

You still remember the phone call in March 2020, just as the world began to crumble under the weight of a pandemic, when asked you the question, his voice calm but carrying a thread of anticipation.

“Quarantine with me. In the UK,” he said, his words slicing through the static.

You froze, caught completely off guard. The emotions hit you all at once—joy, anxiety, disbelief—so quickly that you couldn’t string a coherent thought together.

“Y/n?” His voice softened. “You still there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” you stammered, your mind still reeling. “I’m just… a little unprepared for that question.”

The pandemic was spiraling into chaos. Quarantine was the new normal, with no end in sight. Weeks? Months? Years? No one knew. There was no vaccine, no cure, just endless uncertainty. The thought of being confined in one place for so long felt suffocating.

“It's just… That's not my house, I don't know if I’ll…” he had this unbearable habit of cutting you off in the middle of a sentence.

“I know, but we can make it home,” you could tell he was beaming with pride for coming up with that sentence. “Home is wherever you are.”

It sounded like a promise. Like he was for real.

“Besides, there won’t be any races for a while. Things will be peaceful, quiet… just us. I think we can make it fun at home, huh?”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket. Despite the fear and uncertainty, the thought of being with him—just him—was comforting.

You took a deep breath, letting the idea sink in. “Okay, it sounds nice,” and you smiled.

And it was nice. More than nice, really. Those weeks together were filled with laughter and quiet moments, a bubble of peace in a chaotic world.

Eventually, though, he had to leave again. Racing had resumed, and his life called him back to the track. You went to as many races as you could, though he always worried.

“I don’t want you catching that thing,” he’d say, his protective nature shining through.

You’d laugh it off, but you knew he meant it. Those months felt like a rhythm you could get used to—brief separations and joyous reunions. You thought you had found your balance.

But cracks have a way of forming when you least expect them—because people talk. They speculate. They conspire. Perched on the edges of lives they don’t know, they wait for their chance to unravel something beautiful.

Your relationship became a sweet treat for an internet starved for the meanest way to make somebody seem interesting, a spectacle to devour and distort—somebody had to feed those vultures.

By mid-2021, Twitter was buzzing with talk of rings, cradles and bibs. People dissected your (and his) every move, searching for signs of the next big step. But while the world fantasized about your future, Lewis was consumed by a fight of his own—that year's championship; the toughest battle since 2016, since Nico.

You knew his career had always been his first love, the thing that made his heart pump and his eyes shine long before they settled on you. Just as you had your own dreams to chase, he had his. And in 2021, those dreams demanded everything from him—his time, his attention, his softness, and, it seemed, his love for you.

By late 2021, the cracks in your once unshakable foundation had grown too wide to ignore. The championship consumed him, pulling him further away, and you—desperately holding on—began to feel more like an obligation than a partner.

It started with the little things: unanswered texts, “I was catching up on data”, missed calls, conversations cut short with a distracted “Sorry, I’ll call you later”. Later never came thought. Even when you were physically together, his mind was elsewhere, a thousand miles ahead, already focused on the next race, the next strategy meeting, the next battle on track.

You tried to understand. You reminded yourself of his passion, his drive, the fire that had drawn you to him in the first place. But understanding didn’t make the loneliness any easier to bear.

Then it crumbled. December, after Abu Dhabi. It was like everything started to shut down, like multiple organ failure—there’s no surgery to save your relationship. The worst part is that you knew it—you both. The even worse part was that you let it go so easily.

The fallout from that race was cataclysmic, not just for him but for you too. He came home shattered—a man stripped of everything he’d worked for, everything he believed in. You wanted to be there for him, to help him rebuild, but he wouldn’t let you in. He was silent, withdrawn, a ghost of the man who had once made you feel like the center of his universe.

“I’m here if you wanna talk,” you had reassured him once, your voice soft, during a quietly bitter dinner.

“I don’t want to,” he replied sharply, his tone cold and clipped, not even looking up from his plate.

“I know, but what I mean is that—”

“I know what you mean, Y/N,” he interrupted, his voice laced with impatience. “Please, can we just eat?”

The finality in his words stung, sharp and unforgiving. Recessive and heartbroken, you nodded, lowering your gaze to the plate of food you had poured your heart into making—a meal that now tasted like ash in your mouth.

The days dragged on after that, each one heavier than the last. Conversations became sparse, filled only with superficial pleasantries or curt exchanges. The man who used to pull you into his arms and make you laugh until your sides ached now felt like a stranger in your own home.

And then came the day he told you he was leaving.

“I’m going over to my parents,” he said one evening, his voice flat, drained of its usual warmth, as the chill of December crept into the Monaco air.

You blinked, still sitting on the couch surrounded by a scattering of holiday cards you’d been addressing. The weight of his words took a moment to settle.

“Didn’t know they’d spend Christmas with us,” you said, absent-minded, not understanding what he meant yet.

“No,” he clarified, his tone cool and detached. “I’m going home.”

The room seemed to close in around you, the once-welcoming space now feeling alien and far too empty. “Okay… I’ll pack my bags,” you said quickly, standing up abruptly, as if to act like nothing had changed. “How long are we staying there? I hope you’re aware that I’m going home for New Year’s—”

“No, Y/N.” He cut you off, his words sharp enough to slice through the air. “I need to go by myself. Just me and my parents for once.”

Your breath hitched as you processed his words. “Oh. Umm… Okay,” you managed to say, your throat tightening, tears threatening to spill. “It’s just that we… we had planned this. We were supposed to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. “Plans changed.”

The dismissal stung, sharp and biting, like a slap to the face. And then, the silence.

“What happened, Lewis?” you asked, the crack in your voice betraying the storm brewing inside.

“How is that even a question?” he snapped, his brow furrowed, disbelief coloring his words. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration leaking from his every pore. “It’s right in front of you, Y/N. It’s been right in front of you.”

“No, it hasn’t!” you shot back, the words tumbling out in a mix of anger and desperation. “You’ve been shutting me out for months. I don’t know what’s going on with you anymore because you won’t talk to me! You won’t let me in!”

“Oh, so now this is my fault?” he retorted, his voice rising, defensive. “I’m the bad guy for not wanting to drown you in my shit? For needing space to deal with the fact that my career—my legacy—was torn apart in front of the entire world?” He turned his back on you, heading toward the hallway that led to your shared bedroom.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Lewis!” you shouted, following him, the frustration boiling over. “The thing is, you made me believe we were a team. We’d face things together. And now, when it matters most, you’re shutting me out!”

But he didn’t listen. His steps were heavy, his mind already elsewhere.

“You said you’re going home!” You screamed, and this time, he finally stopped, his body tensing.

He turned around, his face a storm of frustration. “I am going home, Y/N. What’s so hard to understand about that?”

“What happened to ‘home is wherever you are, Y/N’?” you repeated, your voice shaking with raw emotion. “This isn’t your home anymore? After everything we’ve built together, I’m not your home?”

He scoffed, a cruel sound that sliced through the air. “You’re twisting my words.”

“No, I’m not!” you retorted, your heart pounding, desperate to be heard. “I’m just trying to understand why you think running back to the UK and shutting me out is the answer to anything. You barely even look at me anymore, Lewis. Do you even want me here?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” His eyes narrowed, his tone sharp, though still defensive.

“It means you’ve kept me on the edge for so long. You’re here, but not really. And when you’re gone, we don’t talk. You disappear. I’m not even a part of your life anymore!” You could feel the tears in your throat, but you fought them back. “You dismiss everything we talked about—marriage, kids, a future. Like none of it matters to you anymore. Like you don’t want me in your life at all. It feels like you hate me!”

“Argh, here you go again,” he snarled, his fists clenching. “Shit, you always do this,” he snapped, his voice rising. “Always making it about you,” his index pointed straight at you.

“Because it is about us!” you cried, your voice breaking. “It’s about me too, isn’t it? I’m not some option you can just turn off when you don’t feel like dealing with me!”

“Well, I’m the one dealing with shit right now,” he shot back, his eyes flashing with anger. “And instead of supporting me, you’re interrogating me, saying I don’t care about you. You think that talking about babies and rings is going to fix anything? You don’t get it, Y/N! You’re so focused on your timeline, on what you think I should be giving you, that you can’t see that I’m falling apart!”

You stood frozen, the sting of his words slicing through you like ice. “That’s not fair, Lewis. I’ve been supporting you—”

“Have you?” he interrupted coldly, his voice full of bitterness. “Because all I hear is how you feel. I’m the one who’s lost everything, but somehow, I’m the one to blame. You’ve made this all about you.”

“You keep saying you’ve lost everything, but no,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears now spilling. “You haven’t lost everything. Your legacy is still there. You’re a legend. It’s always going to be remembered. But you’re so lost in your own darkness that you can��t see what’s still in front of you. You’ve lost a championship, so what?”

Lewis’s face twisted with rage, his eyes seething as he glared at you. “So what?” he echoed bitterly. “You think it’s just about a damn race? It’s not just the championship, Y/N. It’s everything. They took it from me. They stole it from me, right in front of everyone’s eyes. And all you can do is lecture me like I’m being unreasonable? You’re standing here talking about legacy and what I’ve achieved, but none of that matters if it’s all been ripped away. What’s left of me when they’ve taken everything?” he said, forcing himself to maintain his composure.

“Yeah, and what's left of us, Lewis?”

The words hit him harder than you expected, and for a moment, he was silent, his jaw tightening. His chest heaved, and his eyes locked onto yours, a mix of pain and frustration swirling in them.

“What do you mean, what's left of us?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly, as though he was trying to understand.

“We,” you repeated, your voice quieter now, barely above a whisper. “What’s left of us when you shut me out like this? When you push me away every time I try to help you, every time I try to understand? What happens when you keep giving them, the media, more than you give to this relationship?”

“I don’t think I have the mindspace to dwell on that anymore, Y/N,” He stood there, seemingly distant, his eyes avoiding yours now. The air between you both felt colder, thicker, like an impenetrable wall had risen between the two of you.

“See? That's what I’m talking about! You’ll just run away, packing it up and not talking to me. You can’t just not think about it, Lewis,” you said, frustration creeping into your voice. “You can’t just shut everything out because it’s easier than facing it. This relationship—us—it’s not a convenience, it’s not something you can just leave behind when it doesn’t fit your narrative anymore.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as if he were searching for a retort but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he said, “I can’t give you what you need right now, Y/N. I can’t be the person you want me to be.”

“I don’t need you to be perfect, Lewis,” you said, stepping closer to him. “I just need you to let me in. I need you to trust me enough to share the weight.”

He shook his head, looking away as if he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is!” you insisted, the tears you’d been holding back spilling over now. “You’re choosing to leave me out. You’re actively choosing to push me away. That’s not about the championship or your career—that’s about us. And it’s killing me, Lewis.”

For a moment, he just stood there, his eyes locked on yours, his face a blank mask. And then, in a voice so quiet, so small, it shattered your heart, he said, “Maybe we were never as strong as we thought we were.”

The words slammed into you like a punch to the gut, leaving you gasping for air. “You don’t mean that,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, cracking under the weight of the truth you didn’t want to face.

Time seemed to slow as he reached for his house keys, his car keys, and the packed handbag—each movement like a dagger slowly twisting deeper into your chest.

“Lewis, no,” you begged, your voice raw, desperation flooding your veins. “No, please, don’t do this. Please stay…”

But he didn’t look back. He didn’t even flinch at your broken cries.

“I’ll see you around,” he muttered, his words empty, hollow. His tone was void of everything that once mattered. Without another word, he walked out, the door slamming shut behind him with a deafening finality.

The silence that followed was suffocating, the sound of the door’s closure ringing in your ears like a death knell. You were left standing there, frozen, in a sea of devastation. Alone. Lost. And questioning everything that had once been so sure.

Nothing was ever the same after that.

For him, that wasn’t just the loss of a championship—it was the loss of himself. Of everything he thought he could hold onto.

You watched helplessly as he sought solace in everything else—the noise, the distractions, the empty comforts—anything but you. Everyone else seemed to understand the depths of his pain, the weight of his loss, except for you. And that fact stung worse than anything he’d said.

That night, you let yourself slip into a crying spiral, tears falling uncontrollably, each one a reflection of the pain that had consumed you. You didn't know how long it lasted, but it felt like hours, your chest tight and raw. Eventually, exhaustion dragged you into a restless sleep, the emptiness settling around you.

A few weeks later, after trying to collect yourself and make sense of the pain, you sent one text.

you: i’ve taken my thing out of your house in Monaco. i’m breaking up with you.

You stared at the message for a long moment, your thumb hovering over the send button, as though giving yourself a moment to breathe before the finality of it.

With a shaky exhale, you pressed send. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything that had built up, everything that had been left unsaid. The knot in your chest didn’t loosen. It didn’t change anything. But it was done. And as you stared at the screen, the absence of a reply was just another confirmation that it was over.

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #lewis #hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x y/n #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton angst #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton #f1 #lh44 x reader #team lh44 #lh44 #lh44 imagine

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roanofarcc · 6 months ago

Text

THE OLD FASHIONED WAY

pairing. trevor lefkowtiz x alive!reader

summary. You had always regarded your ability to see ghosts as odd, until you met Sam and her eclectic group of ghosts.

warnings. kind of/kind of not happy ending, ig? sad trevor :( angsty and a little flirty. reader gets stood up.

word count. 3.8K || masterlist

a/n. alive!reader HURTS but in the best way

trevor tag list. @marcos-scorpion , @youngdumbamericanteen

“I have one last, fun, interview question,” Sam said and you inwardly cringed. You had sat through so many job interviews that you knew a ‘fun’ question was normally anything but. Nevertheless, you smiled politely and nodded at her to continue asking. “What are your thoughts on ghosts?”

You laughed, against your will. It was a reflexive response that you immediately regretted. “Sorry!” you rushed out.

She didn’t seem put off by your laughing. “I know, it’s a ridiculous question. But the last guy that worked here…uh, this place may, potentially, be haunted. Not that I know, but there’s speculation. I just want to know how you feel about ghosts. Do you believe in them? Do you think it's all a bunch of mumbo-jumbo?” That was probably one of the oddest interview questions you’d ever been asked, but it was better than explaining how your weaknesses were really strengths. It also felt pointed.

You didn’t know Sam and she didn’t know you, but the question made it sound like she knew your weird talent. And for some reason, you didn’t feel the embarrassment you normally did when someone brought up the concept of ghosts. There was something about Sam that compelled you to tell the truth, even against your better judgment.

“Actually, that’s kind of a funny story-” you started, but were cut off.

“Samatha, when you are done, your assistance is needed in the television room. Someone believes it is his turn to watch another horrible film of space nonsense, but I distinctly recall it being my turn to watch those horrible women pick out whorish dresses for their weddings.” A woman appeared at the threshold of the entryway and the living room, dressed in a gown not from that century with her red locks pinned up in a curious updo. You were taken back, confused when your eyes fell on the man that stood beside her, dressed formally on top but lacking anything but socks and shoes on his bottom half.

“First of all, Star Wars is not ‘space nonsense’ it's one of the biggest movies, like, ever,” the man started. “And second of all, you just got to watch your pick two days ago.”

Sam cleared her throat, ignoring the two with a tight-lipped smile. You looked between the two, which seemed to confuse them. “I’m so sorry, will you excuse me for one second? I’ve got to take care of something really fast.”

“Yeah, of course. Take your time. I don’t mess around when it comes to Star Wars either,” you said.

The two people overlapped in with a ‘what?’ and an ‘excuse me?’ Sam stared at you wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape as she looked between the two figures behind her and you. “Hold on, can you see them?”

It took a moment for you to understand why that was odd, which was too long if you were being honest. Obviously, no one was walking around in a gown like that or pantsless for no reason. You weren’t looking at cooky guests, but rather ghosts. Did nowhere not have any spirits lingering? It seemed like every job you worked or applied to had ghosts haunting the building. Though, you supposed out of all of the places, it did make the most sense for the old mansion to be haunted.

But Sam wasn’t a ghost, but she seemed to be able to at least hear the ones in the threshold. “Can you see them?” you asked.

“Y-Yeah. I can.”

“Me too.” You have been able to see ghosts since you were little. As a child, most of your friends were the collection of ghosts that inhabited your childhood home. You thought you’d eventually outgrown it, but you never did. Now, nearly everywhere you ventured, you encountered dead people. It was interesting, a little obnoxious at times, and often made you feel like a freak of nature. But the woman in front of you could see them too; that was a first.

Sam sat speechless for a moment before she said, “You’re hired.”

You weren’t sure what to expect, working in the haunted mansion. In your lifetime, you’d encountered just about every kind of ghost, so you prepared yourself for anything when Sam introduced you. The Woodstone ghosts were an eclectic bunch, comprised of ghosts spanning nearly every decade. They were interesting, to say the least. But even if they had ended up being terrible, you were just happy to be around someone who shared your ability to see them.

Sam and Jay had set you up at the front desk, putting you in charge of checking in guests. And when it was slow, the Woodstone ghosts often found their way to you if Sam was busy.

One ghost in particular liked to hang around you, Trevor. He was the definition of an overgrown frat brother, with a lazy smirk and incessant flirtatious attitude. Every time he sauntered up to the front desk, calling your name, you made a habit of rolling your eyes.

“Good morning,” you greeted, tone flat as you clicked away on the computer.

Trevor leaned against the desk, his gaze burning into the side of your face. “How you doin’?” he said, and you sighed.

“Watching Friends again, I see?”

He blew air from his cheeks, deflating just slightly. “I’m a little rusty, okay?”

“Rusty? At what?”

“This,” he pointed between you and him. “Flirting.”

You laughed and shook your head. “Is that what’s happening?”

“Well, yeah. My flirting with Sam is useless because she and Jay are annoyingly sweet together. But you…” Trevor trailed on, a smirk on his lips and a certain cocky attitude wrapped up in his voice.

“I hate to burst your bubble, no-pants, but we’re not exactly… compatible.”

He raised his brows. “Because I’m dead?” You winced slightly. You didn’t want to be the one to say it; some ghosts were really sensitive to that, but Trevor didn’t seem too bothered. He shrugged like he saw it as no big deal. “I see that as a minor roadblock.”

As much as you wanted to roll your eyes once more and shut him down, you were impressed at his relentlessness.

You thought after a couple of weeks of working at Woodstone, Trevor’s ploy to win you over would fade alongside his attention. But he started to hang around you even more than when you first started, and you two had created a weird but kind of nice rapport of his continued flirting, peppered with more authentic conversations sprinkled in. He told you stories of his college days and the assholes he befriended before they ended up killing him in that every house. You told him about your own school days and how you were currently floating through the motions of young adulthood, trying to figure things out.

“Scoring a job here was nice,” you said, comfortably resting your elbows on the front desk as Trevor stood across from you, listening intently.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sam and Jay are pretty cool.” He paused, toying with the end of his tie. “So, you think you’ll stick around?”

A small smile fell across your lips. “I think so. Things are pretty interesting around here.”

“Well, if you ever want them to be more interesting, let me know.”

“Oh, yeah?” you asked, raising your brows.

“Oh yeah. I could rile up the basement ghosts, convince Thor minivans are enemy warships, you name it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You are something else.”

“Careful,” he teased. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“It was supposed to,” you replied, not missing a beat.

Trevor’s eyes widened just slightly, the smirk wiped right off his face and was replaced by something that resembled confusion with a slight fluster. Clearing his throat, he managed to say, “Oh.” You didn’t know ghosts could blush until that moment, even with their lack of blood, because Trevor’s cheeks tinted a light shade of pink as he made up some excuse to leave, mumbling something about helping Sass before he hurried away.

You chuckled, resuming your work as another guest popped in.

To say your dating life was pathetic would be a polite understatement. It was almost nonexistent, which is why when an attractive-looking person popped up on the dating app you forced yourself to get, you got your hopes up a little too high. Sam had encouraged you to go out on a date with them, excitingly helping you get ready and everything.

You had been excited, believing it was a fresh start for you. First a new job and then a new romantic interest. Unfortunately, after waiting at the restaurant, alone, for a solid hour, you realized your dating life had quickly circled back around to being pathetic. Embarrassment didn’t quite cover how you felt as you left the restaurant and headed back home to wallow.

The following day at work, the second you stepped inside the mansion, Sam was there with an excited energy, ready to hear all about your date. She grabbed your hand and dragged you into the kitchen before you could protest. She had made tea and had left off sweets Jay had made for the guests yesterday. The other ghosts lounged around the kitchen too, and you felt even more embarrassed to talk about your total bust of a date around all of them.

But you slouched down in the one empty seat and let Sam push a mug of tea in front of you.

“Tell me everything!” she insisted.

You smiled politely but it didn’t stay on your face long before it morphed into a frown. “There’s not much to tell,” you sighed. “They stood me up.”

“Wait, seriously?” Trevor said, seated beside you, brows furrowed.

“No call, no apology, nothing. I sat there for an hour, like an idiot.” You rubbed your forehead, a scratchy feeling in your throat. There was no way you were going to cry in front of your boss and the ghosts. You tried to swallow down your emotions as you stared at the steam curling up from your tea.

Sam’s frown deepened. “I’m so sorry.”

“That is why you should meet suitors the old-fashioned way; not on the web,” Hetty said.

“People meet online all of the time,” Sam said. “Bad dates happen, but you’ll find someone.”

“At this rate, I’ll die alone,” you muttered before realizing your audience. “Sorry.”

“Dying alone not so bad,” Thor said, in his own odd way to cheer you up. “Die here!”

“Thor,” Sam sighed but you laughed lightly. “I’d prefer no one else to die in the house.”

The Viking shrugged. “Just suggestion.”

You picked at your fingernails, the same pit that’s been in your stomach since your ruined dinner last night turned.

Someone called from the entryway, the newest guest at the mansion. You moved to stand, but Sam waved you off. “I got it. You stay here, finish your tea.” You started to object, but she left before you could. With a huff, you sank back down in the chair.

“You’re young, you got plenty of time. If I learned anything from being alive, dating in your twenties is usually a, what’s that phrase Jay uses?”

Flower piped up, “A shit-show!”

Alberta nodded. “Yeah, a shit-show. Brush it off and get back out there, while you’re still young and hot.”

You smiled. “I’ll try. But you might be right, Hetty.” Maybe dating apps weren’t the way you were going to find someone. Old-fashioned dating sounded a little bit like a nightmare, but you figured it’d pay off more than mindless swiping through apps until another asshole stands you up.

“I normally am,” Hetty said.

The ghosts dispersed, going about their day-to-day while you lingered in the kitchen. Trevor stayed with you, quietly drumming his fingers against his bare knees. “At least you didn’t get catfished by a dead dude.”

“Excuse me?”

“I did that once,” he said. “Catfished Jay’s sister, actually. I didn’t know she was Jay’s sister at first, obviously. But, uh, yeah. It was a whole mess. I tried to possess her friend’s body, but he ended up almost dying, so it was a total bust. Then Sam started putting the iPad in the drawer.”

You laughed, that pit in your stomach easing just a little. “That’s insane,” you said. “A ghost on a dating app. For all know that’s why my date stood me up.” That sounded a little better than them just not being interested in meeting up with you in person. “But I doubt it.”

Trevor shrugged. “It’s possible.”

“I think it might just be me. I’ve never been great at the whole ‘dating’ thing.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Trevor said. “Looking like that, I’m surprised you don’t have every weekend booked.”

You shook your head, a little flattered and a little exasperated. “Definitely not. But by the sounds of it, you did.”

He smirked, throwing his hands up in a ‘what can I say’ gesture. “I got around, if that’s what you’re implying.”

It was odd, being around ghosts. To you, it never felt super different than hanging around livings. Besides the ability to touch them, the ghosts were every bit as real as Sam and Jay. You had started to forget that the Woodstone ghosts were just that, until they did something that knocked you back to reality. Trevor, being the most recent death, made it even harder to tell the difference. You could almost convince yourself he was living.

“Did you ever have a serious relationship before you died?” you asked, curious.

Trevor thought for a moment before he shook his head. “Nah. I was having too much fun being a bachelor and screwing around with my buddies to care about anything serious.” He paused, his smug attitude slipping away a little. “I didn’t know I was gonna end up dying before I could, though. I guess I would have liked to.”

“You guess?”

He looked a little zoned out, staring at something across the kitchen with his brows slightly knitted together. “I don’t know, I didn’t think much about it until I died.”

Sympathy fell hard against your shoulders, and you itched to reach out to Trevor and offer some kind of comfort but you couldn’t. Instead, you said, “I’m sorry.”

He tried to brush it off, regaining his normal composure but it didn’t shine in his eyes like it usually did. “It’s whatever. I don’t ever have to worry about going on a first date again, which is nice; those were always awful. And getting your heart broken probably sucks, so at least I’ll miss out on that.”

“You never had your heart broken?” you asked, impressed. Even though you’ve never had a super-serious relationship, you had a tendency to fall for your crushes hard, which usually resulted in a broken heart.

“Nope.”

“That’s pretty lucky,” you said. If you could go the rest of your life without a broken heart, you thought that’d be nice.

“It’s an interesting choice for a bachelor party, don’t you think?” Alberta said, but you had to ignore her because of the group of men you were checking in. You did agree though. The B&B was perfect for weddings and romantic weekend getaways. It was the kind of place you brought a family or your parents, not a bachelor party. But the men didn’t look like the kind to get too rowdy. The groom, in your small talk, had said they were just looking for a quiet weekend to unwind before the wedding chaos. They wanted to play video games and board games, drink whiskey, and catch whatever game was on TV. It was rather sweet, you thought.

“You’re all set. Is there anything else I can do for you?” The groom said no before thanking you and leading his small group of friends up the stairs. They weren’t up there for long though. After they carried in their bags and settled in, the group was back in the entryway, waiting for a car to take them into town, where they planned to bar-hop for the evening.

One of the groomsmen found himself at the front counter, handsome and smiley as he met your gaze.

“Do you have any bar recommendations? So far, our ‘bar-crawl’ only consists of two bars,” the groomsman asked.

You hummed in thought before replying, “The Black Dog is nice. It’s right on Main Street, if you’re heading downtown.”

“Do you hang out there often?”

“Sometimes.”

“So it has pretty company then, huh?” Your eyes widened and a flustered laugh fell from your lips.

From a couple of feet away, some of the ghosts had gathered to observe the new guests. A loud scoff sounded from Trevor before he said, “Seriously?”

You ignored him in favor of not looking crazy in front of the guests. “Oh, uh, no-”

“Oh, come on,” the groomsman said. “I’d say you’re pretty, really pretty, actually.”

Your face felt hot, and you tried to focus on the man in front of you, but the ghosts refused to stop talking.

“Get a load of this guy,” Trevor huffed.

“He’s got game, I’ll give him that,” Alberta said, to which Trevor scoffed once more. “What? Look at him.”

“Thank you,” you said.

The groomsman tilted his head to the side, pausing for a beat before he said, “Would it be too much to ask when you get off work?”

“A little.”

He held his hands up and chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“This can’t seriously be working on you?” Trevor said. “Look at this guy! He’s got khakis and a polo on!”

“At least he is wearing pants,” said Hetty.

“Unbelievable.” Trevor got closer to the counter, much to your disdain. It was hard enough trying to look sane in front of the guests when the ghosts were talking to each other, let alone you. “You’re clearly out of his league-”

“Enough!” you said, raising your voice regrettably so.

The groomsman looked at you oddly. “Whoa, sorry I-”

“No!” you quickly cut him off. “Not you! I was, um, I-”

“Dude, let’s go! The car’s here!” the groom shouted from the front door, beckoning the groomsman over.

He shot you one last smile, dipping his head in goodbye as he followed his friends out of the mansion. The door closed loudly behind them before the house was drenched in cold silence. The ghosts all stood quietly as you glared. “How many times have you asked you guys not to talk to me when I’m helping guests?”

“I don’t know if that counted as helping-” Sass started but shut his mouth when you shifted your glare onto him.

You mumbled under your breath before you left the front counter and bee-lined for the kitchen. Sam and Jay were out for the evening, leaving the mansion in your hands.

You only got a singular second to yourself before Trevor appeared in the room with you. Rubbing your fingers against your forehead, you asked him. “What was that?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment before he shrugged and said, “He was flirting with you, clearly, and was out of your league like I said.”

You stared at him, the way he fiddled with his tie and avoided your eyes. Then it hit you. “Are you jealous?”

He blinked. “W-What? No…” By the way, his voice trailed off, you felt a terrible knot tangle in your stomach.

“Trevor…”

“Don’t,” he quickly said, shaking his head. “Don’t do that. I don’t…I don’t need that,” he gestured to the very clear glaze of pity in your eyes, but you couldn’t help it. You felt bad, really, terribly bad.

A heavy breath slipped from your lips as you walked toward him, placing yourself right in front of him. His lips tugged downward in a still sadness that made your heart ache. “I’m really sorry.”

Trevor sighed, “Don’t be. It’s…ugh.” He pressed his hands against his eyes, laughing bitterly at himself. “I’m dead,” he said. “You’re not.”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, unsure of what else to say. Maybe if you had met him in a different life, one where you both were either alive or dead, you’d take his flirting more to heart. But that wasn’t your current situation. You existed in different realms, untouchable but on each other’s paths. You’d never described your ability as cruel until that moment.

“And I’m an idiot,” he added.

“No, you’re not. If things were different…” Even saying the words aloud, they felt bitter on your tongue, doing more harm than good. You could tell by the wince that twitched in Trevor’s face.

He smiled sadly, recovering from just the implication of your unfinished sentence. “But they’re not.” He let out a breathy sigh before he nodded his head toward the kitchen door. “I’m gonna go,” he said, slipping away before you could say anything else.

The next couple of days passed uncomfortably inside the mansion. Trevor barely showed his face, and you felt worse and worse by the hour. Hetty and Issac kept you company at the front desk, making light conversation between their reassurance that Trevor would be okay. But your guilt weighed on you. You didn’t know how to make it better; you feared you wouldn’t be able to.

But things came to a turn on the last day the bachelor party was there. The handsome groomsman had left his number on a slip of paper that you crumbled and shoved in your pocket, heavy on your side. You watched as they pulled out of the driveway and when you were alone, you unrolled the paper with his number, staring at it so intently you missed a presence appear beside you.

“You should call him.” Trevor’s voice started you. You yelped and clutched your heart, which brought a small smile to his lips.

“What?”

He sighed, shifting in his shoes and looking a little unsure of himself. “That’s his number, right?” You nodded. “You should call him.”

“Oh, no-”

Trevor cut you off. “Why not?” Because you felt bad, but you didn’t need to say that for Trevor to understand. “Don’t not call him because of me. Seriously, I…I lied when I said I’ve never had my heart broken.”

You peered at him, confused. “Why?”

“Because it sounded a little pathetic to say I crush hard. I liked my recess teacher so much that I cried like a baby when I had to move to fourth grade. In high school, my girlfriend of two weeks broke up with me because she was moving schools and I faked sick for three days because I was so, embarrassingly heartbroken. It’s just how I am,” he admitted, much to your surprise. “But I’ll get over it. It’s like not it would have worked out with me being dead and all. It was stupid.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” you said. “And you’re not pathetic. It’s sweet, actually. Really sweet.”

Trevor shrugged. “I’m glad someone thinks so.” He pointed a finger at the paper in your hands. “Call him, okay? You deserve a good date, the old-fashioned way.”

And so you did, the old-fashioned way.

#trevor lefkowitz #trevor lefkowitz x reader #trevor lefkowitz x you #cbs ghosts #cbs ghosts fanfiction #sam arondekar #jay arondekar #hetty woodstone #sasappis #issac higgintoot #thorfinn

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lady-raziel · 10 months ago

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and alright, here's my last (let's hope) and boldest take yet. lots of people have been talking about the level of staff (around 25-ish people) at watcher, and whether downsizing that number could have been a potential avenue of reducing costs before just jumping to a subscription model. at first i was like yeah, i'm not sure that there needs to be 18 people involved in making a lets play. i was in the fucking trenches in the unus annus days and i'm still amazed how markiplier and ethan nestor managed to put out pretty well edited videos every day for a whole year with only a handful of editors and a couple people filming. what unus annus was trying to do and what watcher is trying to do are obviously pretty different, but the point is that you really don't need a whole crew of people to make lots of different types of content and do it well.

i still think there probably doesn't need to be a whole production crew involved with the creation of some of the simpler types of content watcher puts out. however, i don't think the size of the staff is the real problem. in fact, i think the staff of watcher probably should have been larger.

let me explain. if i begrudgingly go to one of my most detested websites (linkedin. *bleeegh*) and look up watcher, i can see that pretty much every person on staff is in a creative role of some sort by their own admission. at first glance, its like, oh, that makes sense. they're making creative products, it's natural that they should all be in creative roles. however, once you think about it for a little longer from a business perspective, that fact is really concerning.

after all, by watcher's own definition, this is a production studio. this is a company. So in this sea of creative roles, who's doing corporate planning? Who's managing finance? Who's doing payroll? Or brand outreach? Or human-freaking-resources??? you can hire outside groups for all this. i'm aware. but those services cost a lot of money to contract too. i'm just finding it concerning that there is pretty much no one on full time staff that is there to at least do some of this stuff. if watcher wants to be a big-boy company, that's fine, but that means you have to pay some people to be part of your company to do the not-fun business stuff like accounting. or resource management.

if they want to be a real company, they should actually have a lot more people on staff to deal with all the non-creative parts of running a company. even if they contract out most of it, you want at least a few people that are your people and don't actually work for someone else. that's how you don't get screwed over or end up in a contract you can't get out of.

which leads me to my last train of thought. like, as i go through the staff of watcher and look at what they do, it really seems like one of the ONLY people who's job it was to look at the business side of things WAS steven lim in his role as CEO. and thinking about that, i'm like god, can you imagine?? here's a guy who just wants to create cool stuff too but as one of the few people who has to think about the realities of Brand and the Business, HE has to be the one to burst the bubble. He as CEO has to say no to people and make decisions to make sure the company survives. In a group of creative people who just want to make things they're interested in, no expense spared, he was probably the guy who had to stay at least a little tethered to reality.

I'm not about to say that steven lim isn't to blame here. everyone involved in making the decisions that have led up to this point is part of this. but shit, it absolutely sucks to have to be the person at the end of the brainstorm session when everyone is coming up with their best ideas and to have to say "guys, i don't think any of these things are possible unless we make some big decisions."

is that what happened at watcher HQ? i don't know. at this point, with radio silence from everyone, speculation is all we've got. but if you follow the thread of a bunch of creatives striking out on their own to make their own business after being burned by their former employer, despite not knowing really how to run a business, and then only hiring fellow creative people and not other people who actually run business things... well, all of this starts to make slightly more sense in WHY none of watcher's actions make sense. everybody wants to stick it to the man and be their own boss with their own business, until it actually comes to the hard parts of doing that. at that point people start to realize, "oh, maybe some of the things that existed at my old job were there for a reason, actually."

all this is why lots of creatives striking out and starting their own businesses don't work in the end. they're thinking about in terms of creative products still, when they really need to be focusing more on the "business" part of the "creative business." it's sad. it sucks. it destroys a lot of good ideas and good people, because one person in every company like that has to be the one who thinks practically. could this have been avoided if watcher had been hiring people all along to manage this business and not just adding people to add to the creative output? maybe. even then it might not have been enough to curb other predictable impulses that led us down this path.

i feel bad for watcher, and i feel bad for the fandom. but i can't help but wonder if this was always the kind of situation we were going to end up in, and we just missed some of the warning signs because ALL of us were thinking, "well, that could never happen to us. we're different. not the Ghoul Boys."

#watcher #watcher tv #two stupidly long thinkpieces in one morning? wow! what a bargain!#just don't ask which of my responsibilities i'm ignoring by typing all this out

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velvet-n-lace · 2 months ago

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Playing with Levi’s Joystick 💖

Series: Obey Me

Genre: Smut/Fluff

Word Count: 1.5k words

Pairing: Gender Neutral MC x Leviathan

Warnings and Tags: Blowjob, Handjob, Deepthroating, some Fluff, uhh that’s about it.

A/N: I added cute aesthetic pics aha~. Anyway this was the first Obey Me thing I ever wrote, ever. If you were there, oof. But I fixed it now so I hope it's better ^^. Also, Levi has one dick here, but I will make one with a two-dick Leviathan in the future.

TLDR: Levi invites you to his room to play a porn game; one thing leads to another, and you give him a blowjob, and Levi receives said blowjob.

Levi hasn’t taken his mind off you. Each night, he’d masturbate to his fantasy, where he dishevels you senselessly like a hentai character. It was wishful thinking; he was waiting for you to make the first move, but his impatience finally got the best of him.

He’s reimagined his ultimate fantasies through a porn game imported from the human world. He will make you play the game to get you in the mood, and when the time seems right… That’s how far his plan went… Struck with anxiousness, he realized you would notice his true intentions and think of him as a degenerate weeb for the rest of your life. He thought it was worth the risk since you probably already see him that way anyway. He called you up last night to come play his “new game,” and you’ll think nothing of it… He booted it up at the start menu as if he was seeing it for the first time. With a new lustful route, he waited for your arrival.

An anxious but smiling Leviathan greeted you.

“Enter MC. I have a surprise for you!” He pulled you in frantically and sat you down in front of his PC so you could glance at the game’s home screen menu.

“Here’s the new game I ordered. I heard it’s very fun! Hehe.” He tried masking his blush with a more innocent grin.

“Is this a single-player game?” You asked.

“Yeah, it is, so I’ll just be backseat gaming from here,” Levi stepped inside his bathtub and positioned himself to face you, “I want you to play it first, MC.”

“Uh-huh, okay then.” You sat on his gaming chair and leaned close to the PC to begin a new game, yet you couldn't help but notice another save file with plenty of hours played on it. Speculation became confirmation, not just through the save file, but with your previous experience with this specific porn game. You stifle a grin after willingly falling into his trap.

Levi blushed in anticipation; his warm face stayed hidden behind the bathtub wall. He realized everything was going as planned, but you were just in it for the ride, wondering how long it would take to make the first move.

. . .

It only took a few minutes to remember such sensations through the game's graphics, lewd sound effects, and “gameplay.” Topped over with Levi, noting every option you clicked on. You turned to Levi, staring at you with alluring eyes, no longer hiding his red face.

“Levi, I feel dirty,” you said, pausing the game and biting your lip. “Can I play with you instead?” As you asked, his face beamed like never before.

“Y-yes, YES! Get in here!” He brought you into his bathtub and pulled you in for a tight embrace.

You melted in his grasp as you kissed his trembling lips, igniting his desires further. Levi held his impulses for so long; he took every second to run his shaky hands down your precious body, ensuring every inch was his to touch. It surprised you when he grabbed your head and slid his tongue across your lips before kissing you again. Being awkwardly possessive over you came off as more adorable if anything.

You feared he would cum already just by exchanging spit through sloppy kisses, so you took advantage of his position and rubbed the bulge forming through his pants. He let out a cute moan, realizing he’d almost lost himself.

“Can I play with it?” You asked.

“Play? Ah, okay.” He nodded as he eagerly helped you undo his pants. His uneven breathing built up, and he slid down his boxers, his dick flung right out. You gasped and realized that every life decision was made so you could glance at the Avatar of Envy’s veiny cock twitching and leaking with precum. Levi’s eyes glazed over like he was in awe of his own arousal.

“Sorry, it’s not big enough….” Levi pouted as he stared down at his half-flaccid cock.

“Aw, Levi, it’s not bad.”

Even when it was half hard, it looked more than enough to handle. You couldn’t care less about the size since Levi has admired your body regardless of how you think, so it made sense for you to do the same for him.

“Levi, can I?”

“Yes, please touch me.”

Your soft clutch wrapped around his now rock-solid dick, making him jolt.

“Ahh, OMG, MC is touching me!” He hid his blushing face and glanced at you through his fingers. You were only holding it, but seeing how flustered Levi was just by your touch never felt so validating; you truly are everything he wanted.

With gentle fingers, you lubed his shaft with his precum and kept your eyes on him as each stroke put him at ease. He placed his hands on his beating heart, his chest rising and falling until you laid your tongue down and licked the precum off his tip, tasting its bitter flavor. Levi glanced down at you with teary eyes trying to hold back his moaning as more precum leaked out every time you flicked your tongue across his slit before sucking down on him. Having it stroked and sucked at the same time was a sight he only knew from the hentai and eroge he’s consumed. Little by little, his detained moans grew louder, knowing his dick was coated in your love.

“Ah… MC, c-can you try to deepthroat?” He asked. Your vision panned up at his blushing face as you pulled his cock out of your mouth.

“Yeah, I’ll try,” you nodded.

It would be difficult to bring it all down to your throat, but it was worth trying to give this envious demon your best cock-sucking abilities. You traced the tip with your tongue, and with the help of Levi’s trembling hands, he slowly pressed your mouth down his throbbing member. You made your first attempt slowly, but you gagged and pulled back once it hit the back of your throat.

“Ahh! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He held up your drooling face, his hands now trembling in panic, “you okay, MC?”

“I’m fine.” You regained your composure after his adorable apology; it made you want to give him more than he’d expected. No matter how you took him, he was aware of your limited human abilities, yet he still wanted every part of you for himself. You calmed him down from the deepthroat panic, but pleasuring him was far from over; you went back to planting kisses all over his cock, inching closer to his balls to suck on them.

“Oh, fu- MC?!” Levi let out a throaty gasp while your hand continued stroking his dick.

You’ve gone back to deepthroat him repeatedly, attempting to bring his cock down your throat without gagging. Sure enough, your constant gagging turned him on, convinced that his dick was big enough to make you choke on it.

He grabbed you by the head and thrust his overstimulated cock into your mouth; his quick pace brought you to tears. You were melting in his grasp as he kept using your pretty mouth as his deepthroat toy. He tried his best to hold off his release in hopes that your mouth could never stop tightening around him, but it was bound to end soon as his escalating whimpering made you realize he was getting close.

“I can’t control it. I’m gonna cum soon!” His voice echoed around his room, and you couldn’t wait any longer by that point, either.

“Just cum then!” Your sucking got harsher upon his remark that he had to hold onto the bathtub walls to keep himself from melting in your stimulation.

“Eh?! Cum in your mouth?!” His voice was cut off by your harsh cock sucking, “Ahh fuck FUCK…” His whimpering got higher each second.

“Ah, MC!! I’m cumming now!!” His movements were staggering and closing into his climax. He moaned your name one last time as thick warm cum shot to the back of your throat.

Your mouth could hardly contain it all; his cum that was left unswallowed was spilling out your mouth and onto your clothes. Some dripped down his dick, still wrapped tightly in your clutch. His moaning subsided, and the last drops of cum dribbled out of his now semi-hard cock. You looked up at him, awaiting his approval.

“Hah… Th-thank you, MC, hehe,” Levi’s nervous laugh brought you joy as you helped wipe some tears off his cheek with your cleaner sleeve. He couldn’t do the same with your cum-covered face, but he brought you closer to lick his salty juices off your lips.

“Mh, did I do good?” You asked.

“Mm-hm,” Levi nodded, “I never thought this could happen.” The lingering pleasure of your lips on his cock filled his mind once again, wanting to replay it over and over.

“Wait… Are you still hard? After cumming that much?” His dick twitched against your thigh; he could only let out another nervous laugh.

“I guess blowing me isn’t enough…”

#divider by @cafekitsune #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me smut #leviathan obey me #obey me leviathan #leviathan #om leviathan #leviathan om

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