#i feel zero sympathy for this man

[iguessitsjustme]

Then you don't get to date her what in the absolute fuck

[glitchfang]

actually if i may linger on keaton and mateo for a bit. kinda insane how obt commenters were calling woo an abuse apologist for having keaton be a victim too and try to make up for what he did (and even then not be forgiven immediately, like its pretty obvious that the narrative isnt condoning his actions based on that) and then wank about how mateo did nothing wrong actually and he was just a stressed parent so he HAD to neglect, hit, and abandon dielle, and argued that he’s purely a victim. and then insinuate that dielle is also horrible because she didnt want to kill julius or keaton. woo is a better person than me for being reasonable and firm through it all because id be on that like white on rice

[pinkcasket]

watching house is a trip but hearing the writers early opinions is so funny "he's not autistic he's just an eccentric jerk" "house isn't in love with wilson they're both straight" not only did you write an autistic bisexual you also gave him adhd and complex ptsd.

[inthestripclubstraightupjorkinit]

Flashback to the time my mother found this rare beauty in the depths of facebook

[julietsf1]

Strawberry Season - Lando Norris x Reader

summary: she was his plus-one, his accessory, his afterthought. but Lando Norris? he made her laugh before her boyfriend even noticed she’d stopped smiling (6.7k words)

content: sad/comfort, slow burn, he falls first, stuck in bad relationship (non-graphic), mutual pining, mention of fish!

AN: I was having a nostalgic day and suddenly I remembered Shawn Mendes exists. listened to Treat You Better and now boom this was made. big kiss to you all!! don't forget you deserve someone who makes you smile <3

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

The Hôtel Hermitage had a way of dressing the evening in silk and scent—amber light dancing off champagne flutes, velvet murmurs weaving between notes of string quartets, the faint hush of the sea just beyond the terrace.

You arrived on your boyfriend's arm, perfectly polished, smelling faintly of oud and confidence. Your gown—a midnight blue silk with delicate beading at the shoulders—glistened like the reflection of stars on still water. He, in a tuxedo he hadn’t even ironed himself, gave you a cursory once-over, the kind usually reserved for window displays or weather forecasts.

"You clean up well. When you try," he remarked, the words soaked in backhanded charm and just enough volume to make the sommelier glance over with subtle disapproval. "Didn’t expect that dress to actually work on you."

Then he kissed your temple like one might stamp a document—detached, obligatory—and peeled off toward a group of men with hedge funds and zero personalities, tossing the comment like a grenade dipped in cologne. He chuckled at his own wit before they even reacted, already anticipating the hollow laughter of men who mistook cruelty for charisma.

You blinked once, twice, then turned on your heel and made for the bar.

"One strawberry martini, please," you said to the bartender, your voice calm and glossy, though your chest felt like it was holding its breath. The bartender gave a subtle nod and began working in quiet sympathy.

You leaned your elbow on the marble and exhaled. Your reflection in the mirrored back wall looked elegant and mildly amused. That, at least, you could live with.

"Your boyfriend’s tux looks like it’s been through customs, dry-cleaned with a rock, and ironed with a shoe."

You turned. The man beside you held a glass of something expensive and looked far too pleased with himself. He was, annoyingly, the kind of handsome that didn’t need to try. Hair—perfectly careless. Smile—dangerously self-aware. The overall vibe? Trouble, tailored in what I assume is Tom Ford.

You laughed, sharp and immediate. "Do you know I spent half the afternoon trying to convince him to iron that shirt? Offered him a steamer. He looked personally victimized by the concept of chores. Hopeless."

He looked delighted. "So this was a collaborative failure. Now I feel bad for mocking it. Sort of."

"Don’t. I made one polite suggestion and he acted like I’d insulted his entire lineage. I refuse to be held responsible for his fashion choices," you said, the corners of your mouth finally giving in to a smile. The knot in your chest loosened just a little—this was the most fun you’d had all evening.

"I can’t tie my own ties," he offered casually. "So really, who am I to talk?"

"What do you do, then? Just let your girlfriend do it for you?"

"No girlfriend, just clip-ons. Or my mate George. He’s so posh he probably learned to tie a bow tie before he could tie his own shoes."

You laughed again, lighter this time. The sound surprised you with how easy it felt.

"Well," you said, "I can't even walk in my So Kates for an hour, so I’m in no position to judge anyone tonight."

His eyebrows lifted like you'd said you walked here barefoot. "That’s borderline inhumane. Those are incredibly uncomfortable, right?"

"Horrible," you admitted, sipping your drink. "But the real perk is that I now have a perfectly valid excuse to leave this party in about thirty minutes."

He tapped his glass against yours. "To noble suffering."

"And men who can’t tie ties."

"Ouch. That was personal."

You grinned, the martini smoothing out something tight in your chest. The conversation rolled along like it had always been waiting for an excuse to begin.

"Lando," he said suddenly, extending a hand.

"Nice to meet you, Lando," you replied, taking it, your grip easy, your smile laced with light amusement.

You tilted your head slightly. "I think I recognise you—from the racing, right?"

His brow quirked, caught somewhere between pleased and intrigued. "Guilty."

You sipped your drink, eyes glinting. "Well, it’s easy to remember a face like that."

"In the positive way?"

You rolled your eyes at him. "Please."

His posture straightened just a touch. The smirk didn’t leave his face, but something about it softened at the edges.

"I’ll try not to let that go to my head," he said, a beat late, his voice just a little warmer, his eyes twinkling amused. 

"You already did."

"Unfair. That was disarming. You’re very good at this."

"At what?" you said, feigning innocence.

"Catching me off guard in a way that’s... annoyingly effective."

"I have a talent," you said, sipping your drink.

"You do," he replied, gaze lingering just a second too long before he added, "and you’re very distracting."

You arched a brow. "Good distracting or 'tripped-over-my-own-feet' distracting?"

"Bit of both. Still deciding."

You laughed, shaking your head, the edge of your smile refusing to leave.

And just like that, the night took on a different hue. The room still sparkled, but its edges softened. You talked about Monaco in winter, about awful hotel carpets, about how Lando once tried to cook pasta in a kettle. There were no pauses, no polite silences. It was ridiculous and lovely and utterly unserious.

At some point, your boyfriend reappeared in the distance, laughing too loudly with someone whose blazer had dragons embroidered on the sleeves.

Lando clocked it instantly. "Should I spill something on him? Not on purpose, obviously. But also maybe very much on purpose."

"Tempting," you said.

He set his glass down. "But we’re too elegant for that."

"Allegedly."

The music swelled, a slow turn from something glittering into something that signaled the end of the night.

You sighed and glanced at the crowd. "I should go find him."

Lando leaned against the bar with a smirk. "Are you sure? He gives off strong 'brings up his net worth in casual conversation' energy."

You smirked. "You’re terrible."

"But right."

"No comment."

As you walked away, he called after you, "Next time, I’m bringing backup shoes for you."

You didn’t turn. But your smile stayed with you, long after the violins began their last swell.

…

The paddock terrace buzzed with the sort of energy only Monaco could host—where money didn’t whisper, it practically shouted through linen suits and Hermès bags, and everything smelled faintly of jet fuel and overpriced champagne.

You arrived on your boyfriend’s arm, your heels clicking softly on the polished concrete, your dress catching the breeze in a way that had drawn more than a few glances already. The adrenaline in the air was contagious. You couldn’t help it—you were excited. This was your home turf, after all. Monaco at its absolute peak.

You leaned over slightly, catching your first glimpse of the pit lane just below the terrace’s glass railing. The sound, the scent, the movement—it all made your heart flicker.

“This is amazing,” you said, more to yourself than to him. “I can actually feel the vibration of the engines from here.”

Your boyfriend barely glanced up from his phone. “Yeah it’s whatever,” he muttered. “Look—those guys in the corner, that’s who I need to speak to. Go entertain yourself, will you?”

You opened your mouth, but he was already off, striding toward a group of Loro Piana-clad finance types who looked like they’d never broken a sweat in their lives. One of them gave you a cursory glance before turning his attention back to whatever new tax loophole they were dissecting.

Left alone, you drifted toward the edge of the terrace, your fingers lightly brushing the glass. You looked in the distance, taking in the beautiful track. The air that smelled like tyre smoke. Somewhere, a commentator’s voice crackled through loudspeakers.

Then you heard it—cutting through the din like it was aimed just for you.

“Hey, Strawberry!”

You blinked, turned your head.

Down in the pit lane, Lando was looking directly at you, leaning casually against the garage barrier with his helmet tucked under one arm and a grin that bordered on criminal. “Good to see you again!” he called up, already looking far too pleased with himself.

Your smile widened despite yourself.

He pointed upward, voice still carrying. “What? You thought I’d forget your cocktail of choice? Strawberry martini, wasn’t it?”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled out of you. A few heads turned to see who he was yelling at. You gave a little wave, pretending not to enjoy the attention.

"Fancy seeing you here."

“You look bored up there!” he shouted, cupping a hand around his mouth for dramatic flair. “Wanna come down and see where the fun actually happens?”

You raised an eyebrow, half amused, half intrigued.

He motioned toward the stairs behind you. “Come on, Strawberry. I’ll even let you wear the team radio.”

You glanced back toward the terrace. Your boyfriend was still deep in conversation, probably pitching himself like a startup, laughing with one hand in his pocket and the other balancing a drink he hadn’t even offered you.

So, you turned back to Lando—who was now dramatically miming putting on headphones like he was in a music video—and tilted your head like you were still considering it.

"Alright then," you called down. "But if I trip in these heels, I’m blaming you."

"I'll catch you," he yelled back, utterly unfazed. “Or I’ll sue the FIA for putting stairs in a paddock. Either way—worth it.”

You made your way down the metal staircase, the heels clicking like castanets, and by the time you reached the bottom, Lando was already holding out a pair of headphones and an access bracelet with a kind of smug reverence.

“For you, madame,” he said, bowing slightly. “Your official ticket to the chaos.”

You put on the bracelet with a smile, already feeling a little lighter.

“For the record,” he said, holding out the headset, “I don’t offer these to just anyone.”

You took them. “Oh, so I’m special.”

“Undoubtedly.”

You slipped the headphones on as he stepped back, hands in the pockets of his race suit, clearly satisfied.

“Let me guess,” you said, voice a little louder now with the headset in place, “you do this for all the guests who look mildly unimpressed by the view upstairs?”

“No,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Just the ones I secretly hope stick around.”

You gave him a look—curious, not skeptical—and he added quickly, “Because you’ve got good race-watching energy. Very calm. Slightly elegant. Makes the garage look better.”

“Right,” you said, clearly amused. “You just want me to make you look cool.”

“Impossible task,” he admitted with a grin. “But I admire your optimism.”

The garage buzzed around you—technicians moving with purpose, radios crackling, tyres getting shuffled like oversized poker chips. And yet, somehow, everything in your little corner felt... light.

“Not gonna lie,” he murmured, lowering his voice, “I like stealing a few quiet minutes when I can.”

You nodded. “Yeah. It’s a lot during weekends like this I can imagine.”

He glanced at you, thoughtful for a moment, like he wanted to ask something but decided against it. Then his expression shifted back to its usual mischief.

“Want to see something fun?”

You blinked. “Fun in a normal person way, or in a ‘you drive 300km/h for fun’ way?”

“Both,” he said, tilting his head toward the car in the middle of the garage—sleek, low, and absolutely radiating menace. “Come on. Get in. You’ve earned it.”

You blinked. “Earned it how?”

“For surviving the upstairs crowd without launching yourself off the terrace,” he said, already grinning. “Also, I feel like you'd suit it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You just want to see me try to climb into that thing in a dress.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, unapologetic. “But I’ll make it look like I’m being a gentleman helping you in. Good for my PR.”

You laughed but still let him offer his hand. His grip was steady, warm, guiding you in with an ease that made the whole moment feel weirdly... natural.

Inside, the cockpit felt surreal—like slipping into another universe. Tight, sharp, oddly comfortable in a way that made you sit up straighter.

You looked up at him. “I feel like I need clearance from air traffic control.”

Lando smirked. “You look good in it.”

You raised a brow. “Is this part of your usual garage tour?” He grinned. “Only the deluxe version. Very limited availability.” 

“Mm-hmm.”

He crouched beside the car, arms resting on the edge, expression suddenly playful. “Alright—race start. Lights out. Whole world watching. What’s your move?”

You pretended to think. “Adjust my lip gloss. Then floor it.”

He burst out laughing. “Unreal. No notes.”

You smiled, settling back slightly in the seat, the hum of the garage around you fading into a softer kind of focus. His eyes lingered on you just a second longer than necessary, making you feel a bit warmer than you would’ve liked to admit. 

“Okay,” you said eventually. “I like your version of fun.”

“Told you.”

Just then, you heard your name.

Lando glanced up behind you, his smile dimming just slightly.

You followed his gaze.

There, at the top of the stairs, your boyfriend had finally noticed. Arms folded. Sunglasses pushed down just enough to show a flicker of something more than irritation. 

You shifted slightly in the seat, your back instinctively straightening, your smile thinning.

“I should probably head back,” you murmured, glancing up again. “Before that turns into a thing.”

Lando’s eyes were still on you.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice low and smooth. “I kind of like that I get under his skin.”

You gave him a warning look, but your smile gave you away.

“He’s... not great with this sort of thing.”

Lando leaned one arm casually against the car, just close enough that his shoulder brushed the edge of yours. “What sort of thing? Someone actually talking to you? Enjoying you?”

You swallowed. “He’s just protective.”

“He didn’t look all that interested twenty minutes ago.”

You didn’t respond.

Lando straightened up slightly, his grin flickering into something more assured, less teasing. “You don’t have to explain it. But I’m not sorry for this.”

You looked at him—really looked at him—and for a second, you forgot the tension humming above the pit lane.

You laughed softly. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he said, grinning.

You climbed out carefully—again with his help, though he tried very hard not to smirk when your heel caught slightly on the floor.

“Thanks for inviting me down,” you said, adjusting your dress.

He nodded. “Anytime. Next time you should stay for the race.”

You paused at that, surprised, amused, and... something else. Then you turned, stepping away, the noise of the pit building back around you.

“Bye, Strawberry!” he called after you, voice light and full of sunshine. “Try not to break hearts on your way up!”

…

The lunch reservation was for 13:00. The cancellation came at 12:52.

“Something came up. Just a quick game at the club. Have to raincheck.”

You stared at the message like it might change if you blinked hard enough. It didn’t. The text sat there on your screen, casual and infuriating, like a shrug in Helvetica.

The maître d’ at the café had already asked if you’d like to be seated twice. You smiled politely, murmured a no thank you, and slipped out before you started feeling more humiliated than hungry.

The sky was unfairly pretty for a bad day—clear and soft, with sunbeams brushing the cobblestones as if Monaco itself had no idea someone had just bailed on you for nine holes and overpriced cigars.

You didn’t want to go home. You weren’t angry, not quite. Just tired in a way that lingered behind your ribs. So, instead, you wandered a few streets over—past a bookstore, a gelato stand, and finally, a small flower shop with wide windows and hydrangeas stacked like frosting.

You paused. Then pushed the door open.

The scent hit you first—green, sweet, almost cold from the water buckets lining the floor. Peonies, roses, lavender, tulips. All in quiet conversation. The florist gave you a gentle bonjour from behind a counter cluttered with ribbon and stems.

You wandered aimlessly. No plan. No occasion. You just needed to feel like something soft could still be held in your hands.

You reached toward a bouquet of pale pink peonies—petals feathered and ruffled, like they were mid-sigh.

“I was hoping you’d go for those.”

You turned—half startled, half already smiling.

Lando was standing in the doorway, sunglasses pushed up into his curls, a grin threatening the corner of his mouth. He was wearing a zip-up and trainers, casually gorgeous in the way some people just are when they’re not trying.

“I was going to say,” he added, stepping further inside, “you look like someone who could use a bouquet.”

“You following me now?”

He shrugged. “Just happened to be across the street. Monaco’s small and you have a way of catching my eye.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you.

Lando stepped past you and plucked the peonies from the bucket like he’d been sent here by divine instruction.

“Don’t,” you started, watching as he pulled out his card.

“I insist,” he said smoothly, not even looking back. “They look like you.”

That made you pause. “Soft and overpriced?”

He smirked. “Chic, delicate, vaguely intimidating… but in a very classy way.”

You huffed a laugh and shook your head as he paid, thanked the florist with a grin that probably earned him three free carnations, and handed the bouquet to you like it was an Olympic medal.

“You really didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.”

You looked down at the flowers, then back at him. “I was just trying to walk off a lunch that didn’t happen.”

“Rough day?”

You nodded once.

He hesitated. Then: “Come on. Let me walk you home. Or somewhere. I’m excellent at distracting people.”

You blinked. “Aren’t you busy?”

“Not even a little.”

You stepped outside together, the late sun catching the edge of your bouquet. He fell into step beside you like it was instinct.

“So,” he said, as you turned the corner, “what car would you never be caught dead in?”

You squinted. “Like… ever?”

“Yes. Immediate judgment. Go.”

You thought. “Anything that looks like it was designed by someone who hates joy. Or a Fiat Multipla.”

“Very specific. I respect it.” He nodded solemnly. “For me, it’s the ones with faces. Like, cartoon villain faces. Headlights that judge you.”

You burst out laughing. “What kind of car trauma are you working through?”

“Deep and unresolved,” he said gravely. “I once had a rental that made me feel like it wanted to eat me. Never again.”

The conversation spiraled from there—into ugly rims, hideous spoilers, the tragedy of beige leather interiors. Every few steps, Lando pointed out a car and gave it a nickname. 

"That one’s definitely a Greg. Greg works in insurance and never tips."

You laughed. Actually laughed. The kind that catches you off guard and warms your ribs a little.

And then—your phone buzzed in your bag.

You glanced down. His name lit up the screen.

Lando noticed the pause.

You looked at the call. Then pressed the side button, letting it disappear. You didn’t say anything about it, and he didn’t ask.

But he smiled. Just slightly.

It was the quietest rebellion you’d made in a while. And it felt... right.

A few minutes later, as you reached your street, you slowed.

“This is me.”

He nodded, eyes flicking up toward the front of your building like he was memorising it for later. Or just being nosy. Hard to say.

“Thanks for—well, for all of that,” you said, lifting the peonies slightly.

“Anytime,” he replied, and you believed him.

You turned to go.

“Oh, and hey,” he called, stepping backwards down the street, that familiar grin slipping into place. “If you ever need help judging more terrible cars…”

You raised an eyebrow, amused.

He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it lightly in your direction. You caught it—his number, scribbled on a business card with Lando (flower expert) scrawled beneath in messy handwriting.

“…now you know where to find me,” he finished.

You looked down at the card, then back up.

“I do now,” you said, smiling—soft, amused, and something else you didn’t want to name yet.

And you didn’t look back until your door had closed behind you—and the peonies were already in water. 

…

Your birthday started with a buzz—literally, from your phone. Noon. A text.

Happy bday x

No call. No emoji. No punctuation enthusiasm. Just lowercase indifference and a kiss like a formality. Like he'd done his civic duty and could now go about his day in peace.

By the time your boyfriend actually arrived at the party—a whopping two hours late, no explanation—you were already knee-deep in hugs, flowers, Aperol spritzes, and the cake was nearly finished.

The rooftop was busy. Sun-drenched. Monaco glittered in the background like it knew it was part of the aesthetic. Friends mingled, music hummed, someone had started making mimosas in a blender for reasons no one could quite explain.

And then there was Lando.

He’d arrived on time, casually cool in a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of sunglasses perched in his curls.

You hadn’t expected him to come, not really. But you’d invited him anyway—half as a joke, half because he was one of the only people lately who made things feel lighter. Since the flower shop, you’d been texting—mostly memes, random complaints about ugly cars, and his very intense opinions on croissants. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’d started looking forward to his name lighting up your screen more than you should’ve.

So when he appeared with a cheeky smile and a gift bag in tow, you nearly forgot to keep pretending you weren’t waiting for him.

“Hey, birthday girl,” he said, putting the bag on the gift table. “No refunds or returns.”

You grinned. “Perfect. I was just saying how I wanted to make my own life harder today.”

“Glad to contribute.”

Your boyfriend showed up five minutes later.

No apology, no excuse. Just sunglasses, a glance around, and a distracted kiss on the cheek before he handed you an envelope.

Inside was a gift card. For skincare.

“I figured you’d appreciate this,” he said, loud enough for the people around you to hear. “Don’t want an old lady by my side, yeah?”

Someone laughed awkwardly. You didn’t.

You smiled. Thinly. The kind that feels more like a paper cut than anything resembling joy.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, folding the card and tucking it into your bag.

Lando had seen it. The whole thing. He didn’t say anything at first—just sipped his drink, eyes glinting behind his sunglasses.

A few minutes later, he drifted close, nudged your elbow lightly, and said, “Mind if I borrow the birthday girl for a sec?”

You blinked. “Sure?”

He led you away from the crowd and toward the quieter corner of the terrace, near the railing. The music faded behind you. The breeze picked up, cool against your neck.

“I really wanted to personally give this before I have to leave.”

He pulled something small from his little gift bag.

A Cartier box.

You looked at him, suddenly cautious. “Lando, what—”

“Relax,” he said, grinning. “I didn’t mortgage a yacht or anything.”

He flipped the box open with a little dramatic flair.

Inside: a sleek, elegant watch—timeless and perfectly understated, the metal catching the sunlight just enough to glow. When you looked closer, you spotted it—on the back of the face, engraved in the corner, a tiny strawberry.

You looked back up at him.

He shrugged, hands in his pockets now. “So you know when it’s time to leave,” he said lightly, then winked. “Or when it’s time to stay.”

You laughed, a real one this time, head tipped back just slightly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I should be offended,” he murmured, carefully fastening the clasp around your wrist. “But you are right.”

“Don’t say anything yet,” he said quickly, holding up a hand. “I have a speech.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” He stepped a little closer, enough that you had to tilt your chin just slightly to keep looking at him. “Won’t say it’s well prepared, though.”

You glanced up. “No?”

He shrugged, then looked at you—not performative, just sincere with a glint of trouble behind it. “I figured you already knew. That you’re kind. And bright. And that you maybe make half of Monaco feel slightly boring in comparison.”

Your eyes caught his, something warm pooling between the humour and whatever was quietly rising beneath it.

“But also,” he added, tone shifting back to the familiar grin, “you’ve tolerated me for weeks, so I figured you deserved a prize.”

“Ah,” you said. “So it’s a pity watch.”

“It’s a prestigious pity watch,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“It’s perfect,” you said, fingers brushing over the charm. “Truly.”

A few friends called your name in the distance, but you didn’t move yet.

When you finally hugged him goodbye, it lingered. A second too long. Not enough to make it obvious—but enough that you both noticed.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, his hand pressed lightly against your back, and neither of you made a joke this time.

And that’s when it hit you. That soft, uncomfortable, quiet truth slowly creeping up on you.

You didn’t want to go back to the party.

You didn’t want to go back to him.

You just wanted to stay in that warm, safe, ridiculous moment a little longer.

…

It had been one of those dinners where the wine flowed more freely than the conversation, where the seating was all wrong, and the playlist too curated to feel spontaneous. You’d arrived on time, makeup set, dress clinging just right, genuinely hoping the night might turn things around.

He had promised he’d come.

You’d waited. You made polite conversation with strangers. You checked your phone under the table every ten minutes. At 10:14pm, a message finally came.

Running late. Take a cab? x

You stared at it. The ‘x’ annoyed you most—like it could soften the blow. Like it meant anything at this point.

You slipped out quietly, offering the host a graceful excuse. No one really noticed. You walked down the hill alone, heels clicking against wet stone. The rain started halfway to the road—first soft, then persistent, warm but unrelenting.

By the time you reached the corner, you were soaked. Your jacket was thin and decorative. Your hair clung to your cheeks. A cab passed. You raised your hand too late. Another didn’t even slow.

Then headlights curved around the bend.

A sleek black car eased up to the curb, quiet and smug.

The window rolled down.

“Need a ride, Cinderella?”

Lando.

You blinked at him through the rain.

He was in a hoodie, hair damp, wearing Nike slides like he’d rolled straight out of a student flat. His smile was all teeth and trouble, curls damp at the edges, and yet he looked exactly like what you didn’t know you needed.

You exhaled through a laugh. “What are you even doing here?”

“Padel,” he said simply, “with the boys. Charles insisted we needed some cardio. Alex brought protein shakes. It was big.”

You didn’t move.

He nudged the door open from the inside. “Get in. You look like a drenched sad poodle.”

You slid into the passenger seat, wet fabric against warm leather. The door thunked shut, muting the storm instantly.

The cabin smelled faintly of eucalyptus and sweat and jasmine air freshener. It was... comforting.

Lando glanced over. “You alright?”

You nodded, even though the answer was somewhere closer to no.

“Why were you walking?” he asked.

You stared out the window. “My ride bailed on me.”

He didn’t reply right away. Just gripped the wheel a little tighter.

Then, quieter: “Right.”

You could feel the temperature drop half a degree in the silence that followed.

He turned onto a quieter road, headlights sweeping over puddles, rain tapping steadily on the roof.

Then he cleared his throat. “Padel really roughed us all up today.”

You blinked. “Aren’t you professional athletes?”

“Oh, yeah. You’d think we’re all coordinated and elite and whatever,” he waved vaguely with one hand, “but I’ve never seen grown men lose their dignity faster than when we play anything outside of racing.”

You laughed softly. “You’re telling me Charles Leclerc isn’t good at everything?”

“God, no,” Lando said, perking up. “Charles is awful at most sports. He insists though he could���ve been a pro footballer. Brings it up every time he can.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wait, seriously?”

“Dead serious,” Lando grinned. “He once missed three serves in a row at padel, slammed the racket down, and said, ‘It’s because my reflexes are trained for football.’”

You snorted. “He did not.”

“And then there’s George,” Lando said. “Who, by the way, calls padel ‘cheap tennis for the common folks’ but still never declines an invitation.”

You laughed. “I assume this is the same George that helps you tie your bows?”

“Absolutely.” Lando continued, “And then there is Alex who has the coordination of a baby giraffe. He runs like he’s buffering.”

You were laughing now, fully, warmth curling in your chest.

“So what about you?” you asked, glancing sideways. “How much do you suck?”

“I’d like to think I’m one of the better ones in the group,” he said confidently.

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s definitely not true.”

“I’m amazing at everything, especially other sports.”

“Oh?”

“I’m a god at golf,” he added, eyes twinkling. “Elite. Practically unbeatable. Some say Tiger Woods retired just to avoid me.”

“Some say?”

“Me. Just me. But I say it with conviction.”

You grinned, resting your head against the seat, the storm outside softening under the steady purr of the engine.

“You’re good at this,” you said after a pause.

“At what?”

“Distractions.”

He smiled, but didn’t answer.

A few minutes passed like that—quiet, easy, the kind of silence that felt earned. The kind you didn’t want to break.

Then Lando turned off the main road.

You lifted your head. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said, flashing you a quick glance. “Don’t worry, I’m not kidnapping you. Yet.”

“That’s reassuring.”

Two turns later, he parked in front of a small café tucked between shuttered boutiques. Soft orange light glowed from the windows. The sign above the door read Clémentine in fading script.

“I need hot chocolate,” he said. “And you, tragically, look like you do too.”

You laughed. “This your secret spot?”

He grinned. “Sort of. George’s girlfriend loves this place. Alex’s girl says it feels like a Wes Anderson film. Charles’s thinks they do the best croissants in Europe—which is wrong, but she’s charming so we let it slide.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Ah. So this is… an exclusive tier”

He gave a small, lopsided grin. “Yeah. You’d fit right in.”

You blinked, heat creeping up the back of your neck.

He looked over the roof of the car and winked. “Let’s go, Strawberry.”

…

Inside, the café was quiet and warm, the kind of place that smells like something’s always in the oven. The barista gave Lando a knowing nod.

“Deux chocolats chauds, extra cream, and an extra cookie, please,” he said as you slid into a corner table.

Your dress was still damp at the edges, and your heels had started to pinch, but the chair was soft and the lighting was kind. 

You watched him as he pulled off his hoodie—without a word—he held it out to you across the table.

“You’re shivering,” he said simply.

You hesitated, then slipped it on. It was warm, oversized, and smelled faintly like him—cologne, laundry detergent, and something like orange peel. It pooled around your wrists like it belonged there.

He dropped into the seat across from you, in a plain white t-shirt slightly creased and still damp at the collar. He looked maddeningly effortless. 

When the drinks arrived, he handed yours over carefully, fingers brushing yours as he passed the mug.

“I think you forget how extraordinary you are sometimes,” he said.

No grin. No teasing glint in his eye. Just sincerity, like it had been sitting quietly on his tongue for a while, waiting for the right moment.

You looked at him.

And for a heartbeat too long, the world went still.

Then, gently, you lowered your gaze, your hands tightening around the warmth of the mug. You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to.

Something softened in your chest. Something that hadn’t for weeks.

…

The invitation had come via text, in true Lando fashion.

Hiya there’s this art auction Friday. Charles’s girlfriend’s hosting. Could be fun. Come with? Low pressure, high snacks.

You hadn’t even known Lando liked art, let alone attended charity auctions hosted by the Monaco elite, but the message made you smile. You’d read it twice. Maybe three times.

He followed up, minutes later:

Bring your boyfriend, if he won’t spontaneously combust in a room without talking about stocks.

That was how you ended up on the guest list for a night you weren’t supposed to remember as the one where everything finally snapped.

You didn’t know Alexandra—not really. You’d seen her tagged in posts with Charles, always in Dior or vintage Alaïa, always looking like she’d been drawn rather than born. But the invite felt personal in a way you couldn’t explain. Like Lando had meant for you to have something nice.

You showed up with your boyfriend.

He was already half-distracted before you arrived, scrolling his phone as the car pulled up outside the villa, barely glancing at the curated sculpture garden or the warm lighting glowing out from the glass facade.

“Art shows, what a waste of time and money,” he said, adjusting his watch, not even pretending to be excited about going with you. “Hope I can do some decent networking, make something of my night at least.”

As expected, he made a beeline for the restroom the moment you stepped inside. You hated how much relief washed over you—but deep down, you just didn’t want his sulking to cloud your first impression.

But then—you spotted Lando.

He was standing near the champagne tower, wearing a charcoal jacket with the sleeves half-rolled and a grin like he’d been waiting for you.

He caught your eye and made a show of pretending to squint. “Strawberry?” he said dramatically as you approached. “Wow. Look at you, pretending not to know me in front of the important people.”

You rolled your eyes. “I was hoping you’d stay over there a little longer.”

“That’s fair,” he nodded solemnly. “But then I wouldn’t get to tell you how unreasonably hot you look.”

You gave him a dry smile. “You’re terrible at compliments.”

“And yet, somehow, you keep showing up.”

Just then, a lilting voice cut in—velvety, amused.

“Is this the infamous Strawberry?”

You turned.

She was every bit the Monaco fantasy: Alexandra, in vintage Saint Laurent, hair pinned like a Vogue spread, a glass of champagne in one hand and the quiet confidence of someone who knew every art dealer in the room—and their secrets. And yet, the way she looked at you felt nothing but warm.

“I’ve heard things,” she said, leaning in for a kiss on each cheek. “Mostly from this one, who dramatically insists he doesn’t talk about you, and then does. A lot.”

You laughed, surprised. “Doesn’t sound like him at all.”

Lando raised his eyebrows in mock betrayal. “Unbelievable slander in my own presence.”

Alexandra gave you an approving once-over, eyes twinkling. “You look incredible, by the way. Please tell me you’re staying for the cocktails after. We have a pianist who’ll play Taylor Swift if you bribe him with compliments or €20.”

“That might be the most compelling reason I’ve ever been given to stay at a party,” you said, grinning.

Alexandra gave you a grin from ear to ear, amused. “I’m really so happy to finally meet you! I can already tell we are going to be great friends! You should meet my dog.”

You smiled. “Oh my god! I would love to!”

“Already regretting introducing you two,” Lando said. “Feels like I’m third wheeling.”

“That’s your own fault, Norris,” Alexandra said, sipping her champagne. “You have been hyping her up for weeks, of course I’m excited.”

You looked at him. “Oh really?”

Lando didn’t even blink. “All good things. Mostly.”

Alexandra raised her eyebrows at you. “He actually tried to be subtle about it. It was cute.”

You bit back a smile. “I can imagine.”

“I’ll come find you later,” Alexandra added, brushing your arm. “Got to make sure Charles hasn’t lost Leo yet. So nice to meet you, lovely!”

She slipped off into the crowd with the grace of someone born to host art auctions and mild chaos.

“She’s my new favourite person,” you said.

“I’m going to pretend that doesn’t hurt,” Lando said. “But only because you look stupidly good tonight.”

He sipped his champagne, eyes back on the crowd like he hadn’t just said something that made your pulse tick strangely in your wrist.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t think of anything clever fast enough.

But the flush in your cheeks said enough.

You gave him a side glance.

…

Laughter drifted lightly through the space, more polite than genuine, the kind of sound bred in auction houses and villas with good acoustics. You let yourself drift for a while, away from the main crush of guests and the low buzz of clinking flutes and unsolicited business pitches.

Lando had disappeared into a conversation across the room—arms folded, half-listening, already looking for an escape route. You wandered along the perimeter, letting your eyes pass over sculpture and canvas, nothing really sticking—until something did.

A Monet.

Not loud. Not the centrepiece of the evening. Just tucked off to the side, quietly luminous. The colour was soft, the light dreamlike, and it hit you all at once—how rare it was to stand still in front of something that didn’t need to impress anyone to be worth something.

You didn’t smile, but you didn’t move either.

And then, out of nowhere, a voice landed at your side.

“You’re not seriously getting emotional over that, are you?”

You blinked once.

Your boyfriend had materialised beside you, the corner of his mouth turned up in that smug, half-bored way he always wore at events that weren’t about him.

“It’s just some smudged garden scene,” he added, barely sparing it a glance. “Looks like the guy couldn’t be bothered to finish it.”

You said nothing.

He chuckled, nudging your elbow like he was letting you in on a joke. “Honestly, my niece brought home something just like this last week—finger paints, but same idea.”

You turned toward him.

And for once, your voice didn’t waiver. “Do you ever get tired?”

He raised a brow. “Of what?”

“Of being so obnoxious.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “I was joking—”

“I know you were not. You just have to be an asshole all the time,” you said, stepping back. “I’m so done with this.”

You handed him your untouched champagne without looking at him again.

And then you walked.

Not fast. Not dramatic. Just… forward. Certain.

Across the room, Lando caught sight of you. He paused mid-sentence, head tilting ever so slightly, eyes following the clean line of your exit. He didn’t know what had happened. But he knew enough.

And he didn’t see the man behind you calling your name, confusion creeping into frustration, his voice rising in your wake.

…

The days following the gala blurred into a haze of solitude. You hadn't anticipated the weight of ending a relationship that had, for too long, been a source of discomfort rather than joy. Even though it felt like a relief to be free, the fresh perspective you had now gained made looking back on the relationship seemingly harder, being disappointed in yourself for sticking around so long.The walls of your apartment seemed to close in, each corner echoing with memories you'd rather forget.

Then, an unexpected message illuminated your phone screen. It was from Alexandra.

Hii! I know we've only met once, Charles is hosting a yacht party this weekend. I'd love for you to come. It'll be fun, and I think you could use a night out. What do you say?

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Alexandra's warmth was palpable, even through text. The idea of attending a lavish yacht party was daunting, especially solo, but the prospect of genuine company was tempting. Before you could overthink it, you quickly responded you’d be there.

…

The evening of the party arrived with a golden sunset casting its glow over Monaco's harbor. As you approached the yacht, its grandeur was undeniable. Laughter and the clinking of glasses floated through the air, mingling with the soft strains of music. Taking a deep breath, you stepped aboard, the gentle sway beneath your feet reminding you of the fluidity of the moment.

You hadn’t arrived with a dramatic entrance, but you may as well have. There was something in the way you carried yourself—unhurried, unbothered, glowing without trying—that turned heads. The white sundress moved like water around your legs. Your hair was soft, undone. You looked like summer had chosen you personally.

"Hey! You made it!" Alexandra's voice rang out, genuine delight evident as she approached, her embrace warm and reassuring.

She beamed the moment she saw you. “You look like revenge dressed in satin. Come ruin someone's night—in a good way.”

"Thank you! I’m so excited!" you replied, grateful for her presence.

She linked her arm with yours, guiding you through the throng. "Come on, let's get you a drink and introduce you to some people."

So you mingled.

You laughed. You listened. You accepted compliments with a smile that didn’t flicker with doubt this time. The isolation of the past few days had left you sharper, oddly steadier. You hadn’t expected to feel so… grounded. You were alone, technically. But not lonely.

And then—across the deck—you felt it.

Someone watching.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

But you did anyway.

Lando stood near the upper rail, half-leaning into conversation with Charles and George, drink in hand, curls damp like he’d only recently dried off. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to be suggestive without meaning to be, and he was laughing at something George was saying—until he saw you.

Then he stopped laughing.

His eyes softened. Lit up. Like you’d just stepped out of a dream he wasn’t finished having.

He didn't move immediately. Just watched. And when you finally gave him a smile—small, knowing—he excused himself, barely disguising it.

You turned back to your conversation, heart thudding quietly.

When he reached you, it was casual. Or it would’ve been, if not for the very specific way he looked at you. As if seeing you tonight had knocked the wind out of him slightly.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, voice easy, but with that familiar edge of amusement.

You tilted your head. “Trying my best. Alexandra told me to come ruin someone’s night tonight.”

Lando’s gaze swept over you, amused. “I’ve got a pretty good candidate.”

You met his look head-on. “You volunteering?”

“I’m begging.”

You took a step closer, just enough. “Careful. I take those kinds of requests seriously.”

His voice dipped. “I was hoping you would.”

You laughed.

He smiled, pleased.

“I was wondering if you’d come,” he said, a little quieter now. “I didn’t want to push.”

“I needed a few days,” you replied honestly. “To unpick a few things.”

Lando nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something more, something gentler, but didn’t want to risk it here.

“Want to see the good part of the boat?” he offered instead, gesturing subtly toward the back. “It’s less busy, better view of the sea.”

“Are you offering a tour or an escape plan?”

“Both,” he said. “But this is not my boat so don’t blame me if we get lost mid-tour.”

You smiled, setting your glass down. “Alright. Lead the way.”

He offered his hand this time. Not his arm. His hand. Like it was only natural you’d take it.

And you did.

…

The further you got from the music and noise, the more the sea became the soundtrack. The laughter and clinking glasses behind you faded into something muted and unimportant. Lando walked beside you—not rushing, not talking. His thumb brushed against yours every few steps, like a quiet question he didn’t need answered yet.

At the stern, it opened up—a wide, quiet deck, low to the water, with just enough light to see but not enough to distract from the stars. The sea lapped gently around the hull. It smelled like salt and sun.

You leaned against the railing, feeling the breeze touch your skin. Lando stood beside you, but not too close.

“Nice out here,” you murmured, looking up.

He glanced over at you. “You suit starlight. That’s unfair.”

You gave him a look. “You’re laying it on thick.”

“Absolutely,” he said, eyes warm. “I’ve been holding back for weeks.”

You laughed, quiet and real. He grinned, pleased.

But then, after a second, he sobered. His gaze drifted down, toward the water, and when he spoke again, his voice had shifted.

“You look happy,” Lando said lightly, almost teasing. “I almost didn’t recognise you without the polite ‘I’m-fine’ smile.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Wow. Go ahead and expose me.”

“I’m serious,” he said, this time softer. “It’s good to see you like this.”

You glanced at him, and for a moment, he didn’t try to dodge the feeling in the air. He looked out at the sea and back again.

“I hated seeing you pretend,” he said finally. “These past few months… at the garage, the brunch, the auction—you were always there, but it felt like part of you was somewhere else. You still smiled, still made jokes, still looked beautiful, but…”

He trailed off. Not because he didn’t know what to say. Just because he meant all of it.

You didn’t speak right away.

“You wanted to throw him in the harbour, didn’t you.”

A beat.

“Every single time,” Lando said, with no apology.

That made you laugh again, but quieter this time. Almost sad.

You looked down at the rail, fingers brushing the edge. “I wasn’t really fooling anyone, was I.”

“You fooled plenty,” he said. “Just not me.”

You looked away for a beat. Then quietly, “I haven’t been unhappy around you, though.”

Lando froze.

When you turned your head back, he was watching you like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard.

“Say that again,” he said, almost joking. Almost.

You smiled, small and real. “You’ve been the exception, Lando. You’ve always felt like... a relief. Like I could let out a breath I never knew I was holding.”

His expression cracked open at the edges—something flickering across it, equal parts surprise and affection.

“I’ve been trying not to say something,” he said eventually, his voice lower now. “But it’s getting... impossible.”

You arched a brow. “To me or to you?”

He looked at you deeply, green eyes soft but with a sparkle. “Me. Definitely me.”

There was a beat of silence, hanging between you like a held breath.

“You just keep making it harder,” he added, almost laughing at himself. “Showing up looking like this. Laughing at my stupid jokes.”

You stared at him. He raised his hands, just slightly.

“I know I joke around a lot,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s easy to hide behind that. But I’m not playing with this. I’m not here to push or expect anything you’re not ready for.” He paused, letting the words settle. “I just… I need you to know. I’ve been falling for you since the gala.”

The words didn’t feel rehearsed or dramatic—just honest. And they landed like something you’d been waiting to hear without realising.

You stayed still, listening.

“Since the dress,” he went on, his smile tugging softly at the corner of his mouth. “Since the strawberry drink. Since you made fun of my bow tie.”

You laughed—quiet and barely there. But it was real.

“Since you made me want to stick around,” he added, “even when you were barely looking at me.”

His eyes met yours fully now. “You’re magnetic,” he said, simple as anything. “Warm. Sharp. And really hot even when you look like a drenched puppy.” He exhaled lightly. “And I just… I didn’t want summer to end without you knowing.”

You stepped closer.

Close enough to feel the change in the air, the shift in his breathing.

You placed your hand on his chest, light but certain.

“Lando.”

He didn’t move.

“If I kiss you, is it going to be a problem?”

His answer was immediate, and sure. “No.”

Then, softer. “But only if you want to.”

You looked at him for a long, quiet second.

“I do.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding it since May. Maybe longer.

And then you kissed him.

Slow, at first. Curious. The kind of kiss that asks before it takes. His hand hovered near your waist, the other brushing your jaw with the gentlest touch—as if he still couldn’t believe he was allowed.

But the second your fingers curled into his shirt and your lips parted slightly, that control cracked.

His arm wrapped fully around you then, the kiss deepening with a sudden warmth that made your stomach twist. He kissed you like he’d wanted to for weeks. Like he'd held every grin, every brush of your arm, every stolen look in his chest—and finally let them out all at once.

You felt it in the way his hand slid up your back, in the way his mouth moved with yours like he already knew the rhythm.

When you finally pulled apart, your breath hitched.

His forehead leaned against yours. Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Then you smiled, just a little. “So… did I ruin your night after all?”

Lando let out a low, breathless laugh. “You can ruin my life, for all I care.”

He leaned in again, this time without hesitation.

And then he kissed you—like he had nothing left to hold back. Like the wait had been worth it. Like it had always been leading to this.

…

It was the kind of Sunday that felt like a soft breeze. The kind where you woke up to Lando already beside you, hair a mess, voice rough with sleep as he offered to make pancakes—and then promptly convinced you to go out for groceries instead. A domestic detour. A small adventure disguised as an errand. Like you had so many of these past weeks with him.

You hadn’t argued. Not really.

Now, somewhere between the mangoes and the melons in your favourite Carrefour, you were watching Lando shake a pineapple like it had personally offended him.

“That’s not how you check if it’s ripe,” you said, barely holding in a laugh.

He looked genuinely betrayed. “It’s not? Then why did that woman on YouTube tell me to do it?”

“You watched a pineapple tutorial?”

“Research is key,” he said, placing it carefully into the cart. “Anyway, I came prepared.”

“You’re such a dork.” You rolled your eyes, smiling. “You pick the snacks, I’ll handle dinner?”

He winked. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Then promptly wandered off to the crisps aisle like a man on a mission.

You lingered in the herb section, still debating parsley versus basil, when a voice behind you slid into your spine like cold water.

“Well. You look good.”

You turned.

He looked the same—your ex. A little too polished, sunglasses indoors, holding a bottle of overpriced green juice that screamed aesthetic punishment.

“Thanks,” you said simply. “I’ve been feeling better.”

It wasn’t petty. Just honest.

He blinked, clearly not expecting honesty.

You were just about to step away when—

“Oh, no. No no no,” Lando groaned from the next aisle, appearing with a look of theatrical dismay. “There’s a full seafood crime scene back there. Half the ocean’s laid out. I’ve never seen so much salmon.”

He stopped short when he saw you. And him.

His entire posture shifted.

He stepped up beside you, one hand sliding effortlessly around your waist, grounding and easy. He didn’t force it. Just filled the space.

“Hi,” Lando said, his tone calm, eyes flicking to the man in front of you. “I’m Lando.”

Your ex gave a tight nod, straightening slightly. “We’ve met.”

Lando’s gaze dipped to the man’s basket—almond milk, snack bars, and two tubs of something suspiciously protein-packed and aggressively vanilla.

“Solid haul,” Lando said, casual. Then, after the smallest pause, “Though I’d go easy on the sugar. Causes hair loss, you know. Wouldn’t want to risk it, considering your current situation.”

He didn’t smile. Just winked. Cheeky enough to pass for humour. Sharp enough to land exactly where it needed to.

Your ex blinked again. Offered no reply. Just turned back toward the juice aisle with the grace of someone trying not to trip over his own ego.

“Lovely to see you,” Lando called politely, already nudging the cart forward—his hand still warm around your waist.

You let him guide you down the aisle, heart flickering with quiet satisfaction.

“Hair loss?” you asked, giggling, once you were out of earshot.

He shrugged, eyes forward, lips twitching. “What? It was observational science.”

“You’re awful.”

“Mm,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then your temple. “But I’m yours.”

You laughed, soft and real, tucking into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

[gf2bellamy]

Hey, can I please request some jealous! Spencer, who is experiencing extreme jealousy over the reader let's say she gets hit on by an officer or something, and Spencer obvious as ever gets super confused on why he's feeling like this, and Morgan or Emily had to spell it out for him

jealousy — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: officer flirting with reader , mentioned that reader is not flirting back / uncomfortable , lots of teasing from morgan and emily a/n: hiii !! hope you like this <3

Spencer narrowed his eyes. 

He didn’t even realize he was doing it at first, not until his grip on the file in his hands tightened, the papers inside bending under the pressure of his fingers. His focus was locked on the scene just outside the conference room—on you. 

More specifically, on you and the police officer standing a little too close, talking to you with a cocky smile that made Spencer’s blood heat in a way he didn’t quite understand.

He barely noticed Derek and Emily sitting at the table, as he zeroed in on the way the officer leaned toward you, the way you gave a small, awkward smile in return. 

That smile. Spencer knew that smile. It was the one you used when you didn’t know how to get out of a conversation. 

So why wasn’t this guy picking up on it? 

Spencer’s jaw clenched. His fingers dug into the file again, creasing the edges. 

“Uh-oh,” Derek muttered, his voice laced with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, watching Spencer with knowing eyes. “Pretty Boy’s got that look.” 

Emily smirked, following Derek’s gaze to where Spencer sat, practically glaring a hole through the glass wall. “Reid, you okay?” she asked, raising a brow. 

Spencer blinked as if snapping out of a trance, forcing himself to look away and meet Emily’s gaze. “What—? Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” He nodded too quickly.

Derek’s grin widened as he pointed to the crumpled papers in Spencer’s hands. “You sure? ‘Cause those files say otherwise.” 

Spencer’s eyes darted down, realizing how badly he had crumpled them, and immediately began smoothing them out, his ears burning. “I just—” He hesitated, clearing his throat before trying again. “I just don’t think he should be talking to her that much.” 

Emily and Derek exchanged a glance, their smirks growing. 

Spencer didn’t notice. He was still rambling, eyes flickering back toward the glass as the officer laughed at something you said. 

“I mean, she clearly doesn’t want to be talking to him,” he continued, gesturing slightly. “She keeps shifting her weight from one foot to the other—classic sign of discomfort. And see how she keeps tucking her hair behind her ear? That’s not flirting, that’s self-soothing behavior.” 

Derek snorted. “So what you’re saying is, this guy should take a hint?” 

“Exactly!” Spencer exclaimed, throwing a hand in the air before realizing how worked up he sounded. He cleared his throat, lowering his voice. “And besides, she has work to do. He’s just distracting her, and he—” 

He stopped abruptly, biting his lip. 

Emily tilted her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “And he…?” 

Spencer’s mouth opened and closed. “And he… should just go away,” he finished lamely, shifting uncomfortably. 

Derek let out a low whistle, shaking his head in mock sympathy. “Damn, kid. That’s rough.” 

Spencer frowned. “What’s rough?” 

Emily leaned in, her grin sharp. “That is some textbook jealousy, Reid.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly. “What? No, that’s not—” 

“You are so jealous,” Derek cut in, laughing. “Man, I’ve never seen you look that mad before.” 

“I'm not mad,” Spencer argued, though the way his voice rose slightly didn’t help his case. “I'm just… concerned.” 

Emily chuckled. “Concerned about what? That he'll ask her out and that she'll go out with him?” 

Spencer hesitated. Too long. 

Derek and Emily exchanged a glance, their smirks deepening as they watched realization flicker across his face—like a puzzle piece slotting into place, but one he didn’t want to acknowledge. 

“Just accept it, genius. You’re jealous,” Derek said, amusement laced through every word. 

Spencer barely looked up from his crumpled file, his ears burning. “No, I’m not,” he muttered, but the words lacked conviction. 

Emily leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. “Spencer.” 

That got his attention. He finally glanced up, still slightly red, eyes darting between them like he was searching for an escape route. 

Emily didn’t let up. “You like her.” 

Spencer opened his mouth, then closed it again. His silence spoke louder than words. 

Derek let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a grin. “Wow. You really do like her.” 

Spencer huffed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Emily smirked. “Oh, come on. Don’t try to outsmart us, Reid. You might have the IQ, but we’ve got the experience.” 

Derek nodded in agreement. “And the eyes. And the ears. And the ability to read social cues—which, by the way, you suck at when it comes to your own feelings.” 

Spencer scowled. “I am perfectly capable of understanding my own emotions.” 

Emily raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. So if I asked you for the real reason as to why you’ve been glaring at that officer like that, what would you say?” 

Spencer stiffened. “I wasn’t glaring.” 

Derek chuckled. “My guy, you were about two seconds away from burning a hole through the glass.” 

Emily leaned closer. “Face it, Reid. You like her. And you don’t like that she’s talking to another guy.” 

Spencer groaned, running a hand through his hair. “This is ridiculous.” 

“Oh, is it?” Derek shot back. “Then say it.” 

Spencer blinked. “Say what?” 

Derek gestured toward him. “Say you don’t like her. Say you don’t care if that dude asks her out.” 

Spencer opened his mouth—ready to argue, ready to say whatever he needed to just to shut them up. But the words wouldn’t come out. 

Emily grinned, victorious. “That’s what I thought.” 

Spencer exhaled sharply, looking down at the file in his hands as if it could save him. 

Derek clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, kid. Admitting it is the first step.” 

Spencer shook his head, grumbling under his breath before finally muttering, “Fine. Maybe I do.” 

Emily gasped dramatically. “Sorry, what was that?” 

Spencer muttered a small. “You heard me.” 

Derek cupped a hand around his ear. “Nah, I don’t think I did. Sounded like you said something, but it was real quiet—” 

Spencer let out an exasperated sigh. “I like her, okay?” 

Derek leaned back with a satisfied nod. “There it is.” Emily beamed. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Spencer buried his face in his hands. “This is a nightmare.” 

Derek just laughed. “Buddy, your nightmare is just beginning. Now you actually have to do something about it.” 

[xazse]

Warnings. CurseSpirt!Satoru x Female!Reader + submissive!reader + smut + long tongue + makeout session + mentions of injuries + I’m just giving you guys new content that you’ll become obsessed with constantly ask for more of 😈 + This is based off Beautiful art I had seen by owwllly on twitter

Erm Curse!Satoru who ur able to wield in the heat of a fight, getting something as old and ancient as him to listen is probably the hardest thing, he stays slumped in the little pocket world you keep him in, he’s able to come out and help but only when he feels your life is in danger.

He’s lazy in short, you have no clue why thousands of sorcerers would want their hands on him, yes he’s extremely powerful, and his power is one of a kind but you can only take so much of his rancid attitude and actions. He was forced upon you when you stumbled across a shiny blue rock, it seemed to hauntingly pull you in with zero effort, that’s how you got stuck with him.

Curse!Satoru is a creepy man ghost thing, his six blue eyes that sit on his face never leaves yours when you’re in his presence, his long unkempt hair making him look even more unnerving. You think it’s so frightening how someone as big as him could easily kill you if he wanted but in return he’d die as well, so he needs you. You have no reason to fear him right?

You’ll exclaim how much you hate his guts to your sorcerer friends and how he’s such a burden on you, Satoru knows to keep quiet in those moments, he can only laugh and stare at the heartbroken expressions of sympathy they give you.

Satoru knows it’s you who’s begging for a simple little kiss after you manage to kill powerful spirt without relying on him, it’s you who’s laying on the ground bruised and bloodied calling out to him in that soft sweet tone. He graces you with his appearance fairing that ugly smirk like he thinks he’s better than you.

He grants you that small little peck on the lip and it’s not long before that whine bubbles within your throat just how he likes it, he decides to stop teasing you and embrace you with his nasty long tongue that slips around your small one.

Satoru is gross with the way he shoves it down your throat and practically fucks it there, the amount of spit that collects and drips down is absurd, he also can’t help but laugh inbetween baited breaths. He loves how needy you get in this moment, and with how heady your head is from your injuries you don’t realize you’re rubbing your little clit through your underwear so brazenly.

He’s definitely going to bring this up later but for now he watches, watches as you get yourself off with a mere make out session, watches as your underwear darkens from the lewd amount of cum.

He places his sharp inhumanly fingers ontop of yours and puts pressure on your clit, you beg for him to actually put his fingers inside but he insists that you clearly know what you’re doing so just keep going. He glances at your face to see the cutest pout ever, that’s why he hasn’t killed you just yet.

Only after a few hours of playing with you does Satoru drop you off at Shokos Clinic.

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reaction to you being sore the morning after they went hard

Request: Can you pleaseeeee do like Ot13 s/o being sore all of their body after sex? Or like their body being sore the morning after. Like what are their reaction to their s/o being sore after being fucked harddd lmaoooo

A/N: Minghao.

Seungcheol: You're walking funny and he just smirks, “Can’t handle your man?” he teases while already scooping you up bridal style. Kisses your temple, massages your thighs later, but doesn’t promise to go easier next time. In fact, he’s kinda proud.

Jeonghan: He's a devilish little shit, “aww, baby~ did I break you?” Fake sympathy and coo-ing while dragging you onto his lap. Whispers “You were begging for more last night” in your ear with a sly grin. He'll then run a bath for you and act like a saint. Manipulative menace.

Joshua: As we know, he can be an angel turned demon. At first, he’s all, “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, right?” But when you admit you’re sore, his ears go red, but he smiles a bit cockily. “Guess I got carried away, huh?” Helps you stretch… but starts teasing and touching you again. Trouble in disguise.

Jun: This man is blunt and cocky. “You’re sore?” Grins. “I warned you.” Slaps your butt playfully as you wince, but then offers a massage and actually follows through with warm oil and expert hands. Still whispers, “Want me to make you sore again tonight?” You might actually throw soap at him and die.

Hoshi: Oh, he's a tease too, “babe… are you limping?” starts laugh-laughing, but when you glare, he panics, “Wait wait wait—are you okay?!” Gives you one of his precious tiger plushies from his sacred collection as an apology. But he's high-key proud. Very proud.

Wonwoo: He watches you struggle to sit and just lifts an eyebrow over his pc. “So you’re feeling it.” Says it so casually like it’s a weather update. He’ll tug you into his lap and rub your back gently, murmuring, “You’ll get used to it.” NO YOU WON'T!!!

Woozi: “...You’re sore? Huh. That’s… that’s not my fault. You told me not to stop.” Cue him looking away, ears turning pink. Makes you coffee while avoiding eye contact. He’s embarrassed but lowkey flattered, but planning to do it again tonight. There's no stopping him.

Dokyeom: “OH NO DID I BREAK YOU?!” He’s so apologetic even though he was the one destroying you six hours ago 😭 Will carry you around, feed you snacks, kiss your forehead 50 times. Cries a little inside, but if you say you liked it—he lights up. And this will repeat all over again...

Mingyu: Golden retriever smug. “Can’t move?” He’s grinning so wide while helping you get out of bed. Literally acts like you just won a championship. “That’s my girl.” He’ll cook you breakfast and wink every five seconds. Zero shame. Very shameless. Very, very shameless.

Minghao: I think he's very chill but lethal about it; notices the way you’re stretching weird and just goes, “Hmm.” Nothing else. Then comes over and whispers, “But, you were so loud last night.” Kisses your neck while handing you tea and I don't really know what the fuck that means but he's very into how ruined you look. Might go again just because.

Seungkwan: “You’re SORE?? I—did I go too hard?!” Full-on pacing in his pajamas, hand over heart, but when you admit you liked it, he blushes like hell. “Well, of course you did.” Helps you change and wraps you in a blanket. King of extra aftercare. He's the softest among all these 12 shits.

Vernon: Idk if it's surprising but he's lowkey a menace. “Damn. Wasn’t even trying that hard.” Says it all deadpan while watching you limp to the bathroom. Doesn’t tease too much but will absolutely throw in a You look hot, though while sipping water like nothing happened. Might poke your thigh just to see you flinch.

Dino: It's probably an overachiever moment. “You're sore?” Confused. “I didn’t think I went that hard… unless—” Pauses. Slowly starts smirking. “Well, guess someone couldn’t keep up.” He tries to act cool but fails when you start whining and hitting him. Still massages you. “Next time, stretch first.”

[arceus-insanity]

Endeavor Deserves No Sympathy!

I don't understand how anyone can think Endeavor was ever a good dad. It also always comes off as incredibly victim blamie, especially towards Touya, and often Shoto too.

He literally only got married and had kids to use them. He never gave a shit about their well being, never even thought about it until he had the one thing he cared about and was still miserable. I've already gone over the math proving he gave up on achieving his dream himself at 21 at the absolute latest. (https://www.tumblr.com/arceus-insanity/763259515356512256/i-liked-endeavors-character-when-he-was?source=share)

And basic math will once again be used to prove just how little this waste of flesh actually tries.

This time the focus is on how quickly he abandoned Touya and immediately went to emotional abuse via neglect & literally replacing him, and once again risking that more children be born with self-destructive quirks.

For context we only see Endeavor doing anything with his kids that's not him literally walking through and ignoring them in two circumstances. Once when Fuyumi's a newborn and Touya is attempting to crawl (not walk) over to her. And training. Those are the only times he tries to spend with any of them, even after he starts his 'atonement'

Now comparing Touya in the scene of them training and himself as a toddler and all the child imagery this series loves to use instead of actually saving imperfect victims, Touya is at least 3 (probably closer to 4) when he's taken to the doctor and they are informed of his condition

Natsuo is 4 and a half years younger than him.

We know for a fact Natsuo (& Shoto) was conceived after they got the news, not willingly either. Pregnancy takes 40 weeks average, so Touya would still be 3 when Natsuo was conceived. So once again it took this 'man' less than a year to give up and have another child he hoped to use as a tool, and was explicitly making to hurt his existing son. And as I have said plenty of times before, risking that the new kids could be born with the same disorder, I hate how convenient it is that Shoto gets near zero negative quirk side effects.

Want to know what we never see, Endeavor doing something else with Touya and Touya demanding training, it's always him walking past/ away from Touya. Considering all of the shit they've pulled to soften Endeavor's abuse both in the manga and even more so in the anime, they wouldn't skip something like this. It's not hard to tell that Touya's 'obsession with training' is really about spending time with his dad, you know like a human child that literally needs love, proven by numerous studies and research in the real world.

He throws all parenting responsibilities onto Rei, adds more children to that load, and when Touya suffers for it (like everyone else) he does nothing, doesn't even hire a nanny

Another are you kidding me take I've seen is that somehow Touya's quirk issues are worse than Midoriya's and Yuga's. Touya managed to train his quirk to produce blue fire at 13 with zero equipment and less than no help, and only lost control of it, because of the mental abuse Endeavor had inflicted on him leading him to a mental breakdown. And/ or the theory I've only seen once of AFO using his ability to force quirk activation (seen with a passed out chapter 90 during his first confrontation with All Might)

Midoriya was breaking his bones all the way into the Shie Hassaikai arc and was only able to fight because Eri and was breaking support equipment in the following arc as well. Yuga had a support belt all the way back in the entrance exam and was still struggling with that.

Speaking of Yuga let's compare parental effort here, because as much as it backfired Yuga's parents tried a whole lot more. For starters they nearly bankrupted themselves to get him a quirk, so he could feel equal. All For One is a mythic man prior to his arrest, and those who knew of him were shown to be serious long-term villain groups, so they had gone to quite a bit of effort to find that he existed to begin with. They also got him support gear (the navel belt thing) as a kid to help him with said quirk, he literally had it in the entrance exam. Endeavor never looked into that, Endeavor is not only rich too but he's a top hero he would have direct access to support equipment companies that would jump at the opportunity and it never even occurred to him.

Endeavor's name is an irony as endeavour means to try hard to do or achieve something. He never tries hard he gives up incredibly quickly the second there's any road block, but instead of moving on he makes everyone suffer for it. He's a toxic pageant mom who'd rather force their child into a toxic world and a role they don't want than work on himself

And what finally makes him change? Getting exactly what he wanted and still being miserable, and he still expects through his actions his family to cater to him.

Not his son getting a major disability due to his actions, no, he decided to double down, mentally abusing and neglecting the son he supposedly loves, raping his wife who didn't want more kids or participate in this abuse, and again risking that Natsuo & later Shoto might have that same issue. Not when his wife breaks down and permanently scars his precious masterpiece, who proceeds to rightfully blame him, and he just thinks of it as a tantrum despite it lasting a fucking decade. Not when his eldest literally dies as the result of his selfishness. Not literally during any part of this entire process!

Dabi is 23 when Endeavor finally starts to 'try' to be better, that means that for at least 24 years he has only been caring about his fucking precious number one spot in a popularity contest that he couldn't even bother to try to be likeable for, this wasn't one bad decision, this was him constantly choosing to be so insanely selfish that he found ways that shouldn't even be possible for over two decades. And it was all him.

[angelbby555]

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ Jake's girl

Summary: Bradley "accidentally" slept with Jake's girlfriend and feels zero sympathy for it.

Word count: 2k

⋆. ୨୧˚⋆

Bradley was not a cheater. He was a faithful man, and always been loyal to his partners. Cheaters truly made himself sick to his stomach. Never was he able to comprehend why somebody would lead their partner on when they wanted to explore other options.

Except when it came to Jake's girlfriend, that was a whole other ball park. It's not like he was throwing himself at you the moment he laid eyes on you. There were no intentions on his end for you to cheat on Jake or was deliberately trying to demolish your relationship with him either. But Bradley was attracted to you the instant he noticed you under Jake's arm.

Fuck you were gorgeous. You were one of those types of girls that had Bradley wondering if you were even real. A face that could not be forgotten and easily found in a crowd. An angelic beauty that had him nervous to be around.

You got along with everybody. Laid back, spoke nicely to everybody, never raised your voice and looked too cool for your own good. He wondered what a guy like Jake Seresin did to deserve a girl like you.

Jake introduced you to the group everyone offering polite smiles, and a few compliments. Due to Jake rivalry with Bradley he was the last to be introduced. Your eyes swept over the daggers before it feel onto him. Bradley noticed your eyebrows quirk up a bit, like you were surprised to him.

"I hope, I don't look as awful Hangman had described me to be." Bradley chuckled extending his hand forward for you to shake. Bradley had expertly read your expression, making you smile as your hand touched his.

"No nothing but flowers and butterflies about you." Your tone dripped in sarcasm making Bradley grin like an idiot.

You weren't slick. Bradley had caught you staring at him multiple times that night at the bar. Each time you looked away putting your attention on something else. Bradley was not delusional he could see it all over your face you wanted him, like he wanted you.

You were hungry for him, and he was thirsty for you.

A week goes by after Bradley had his first encounter with you. You were still stuck in his mind like honey. No matter what he couldn't shake the way you had gazed at him when you thought he wasn't looking.

Jake had called him once he had got out of work on a Friday afternoon.

"Listen, I got to ask for a huge favor from you." Jake said with a sigh like he didn't want to have to utter these words out loud. "My girlfriend got a flat tire and is pulled up on the side of the road 5 minutes away from base."

Bradley tried not to scoff. Out of everybody Jake knew, why would he trust Bradley to do something like this for him? Did he seriously not think of the possibility that Bradley could snatching his girl up if he wasn't looking. Which he certainly wasn't watching, since he was deployed in Wisconsin for the new mission.

"Can't you get somebody else to help her?" Bradley held phone to his ear as he walked towards his bronco. He was looking out for Jake, because you were staring at Bradley like he a a forbidden fruit at the Hard Deck.

"Please you're the last person I thought of. Everybody else can't and Nat won't pick up her phone." Brad wondered if he was the last option due to Jake's dislike towards him, or because he knew that his girlfriend had wandering eyes. "You know I never ask you for anything. I'll owe you if you do this one thing for me."

Bradley raised his brows while pining his phone against his ear and shoulder while he dug his keys out of his pocket. Jake must really have it bad for you, to be in another state trying to rescue his girlfriend from car trouble.

"Alright." Bradley agreed unlocking his car.

⊹☆~⟡⋆

The passenger side door was wide open, as you casually sat on the seat swinging your legs. It seemed and though Jake was more worried about you then you were of yourself. You didn't seem stress as music played out of your white convertible Volkswagen.

"Do you wanna learn how to do this? Just in case it happens to you again?" Bradley asked once he had gotten the jack placed under the car. You looked at him like he had asked such an obscure question. He was sure you hadn't thrown out your own trash once in your life.

"Why would I need to learn when a kind guy like yourself, can do it for me?" Your smart ass reply made you smile. Either Jake kept you a well kept princess or you were just born spoil from the get go.

"Because one day a kind guy like myself won't be there, and you'll be alone in the real world." Bradley spoke slow so you could understand. Every word coming out in a condescending manner.

You got up from the car seat and popped your hip out and placed a hand on your waist. Bradley felt this pang of longing from your sassy stance. He bet you wanted to have the last word of each conversation. Bradley bet Jake let you have the last laugh each time.

"I guess your right Bradley. Teach me then." A tight lips smile pulled at your lips. You had Jake wrapped around your fingers, and could have him do anything for you. Meanwhile Bradley was sure he could boss you around and you would politely agree since you didn't know him too well.

Bradley was walking you through this whole how to process. Giving you in depth instructions on how replace a flat tire. You were nodding along to what he was saying while he did all the work. Bradley was starting to sweat and mid tire change had tied his flight suit sleeves around his waist. The sun was hitting his back and he felt like he was getting cooked alive.

"And then with the lug wrench you're gonna wanna tighten the lug nuts in a star formation and make sure the tire-" Bradley caught you staring at his bicep instead of the tire tutorial at hand. "What are you looking at?" Bradley boldly asked snapping you back to the present.

Both of you knew damn well you were staring at his muscle while he worked on your car. A sheepish smile took over your beautiful face, making Bradley smile a little himself.

"Uh just the way you tighten those... uh bolts in a star pattern." You nodded stupidly not remembering a word he had spoken. His mouth was moving but you didn't understand anything except for how perfectly sculpted his hands were for this. Bradley was trying hard not to smile. Jake girlfriend, Jake's girlfriend, Jake's girlfriend.

"Uh huh." He mocked. Bradley passed you the lug wrench. "Now you try." It looked like the tool was heavy for you, watching your hand drop down a bit when he thrusted it into your hand.

You furrowed your brows looking at the tool like you were waiting for it to start doing the work for you. Both your hands examined the cross wrench before you placed the socket end to tighten the other lug nut. You bite your bottom lip, struggling to tighten the lug nut. He let you struggle for a bit till he gave you some advice.

"It's clockwise." You still didn't listen still attempting to twist the cross wrench in the wrong direction. Your manicured hands definitely were just for display, instead of working. Bradley grabbed your wrist, your skin soft and delicate under his hand, stopping you from your fight with the lug wrench. "Honey it's the other way. Your twisting left, your supposed to be twisting right."

"Ohhhh!" The lovely sound of realization was like music to Bradley ears.

"Ohhhh." Bradley mocked with a grin.

You started tightening the lug nuts clockwise and were able to do it just fine. "Why didn't you tell me I was doing it wrong before!?" You shrieked excitedly.

"Wanted to see a princess struggle a bit." Bradley shrugged. He didn't mind the heat to much now, since he was kneeling on the pavements inches away from you. If he really wanted to he could give you a fat good job kiss. But of course he wouldn't.

"Maybe you should give me your number just in case this happens to me again." You nonchalantly stated while going to tighten another lug nut. Were you flirting with him? No way we're you trying to make a move on him when you were dating his colleague.

"I don't think you need it now since you learned how to change a tire."

"I suppose your right, but maybe I start twisting the lug nut counterclockwise instead of clockwise. I need somebody to tell me the difference." Your eyes meet his. There it was. That same playful innocent look that had Bradley thinking he should take you home.

"Alright." Bradley stupidly agreed taking his phone out his pocket.

⊹☆~⟡⋆

It was Bradley's biggest fear. To be deployed and have his girlfriend cheat on him, or find a different guy while he wad gone. Now here was leaving your house being the guy he feared.

He kept telling himself it wasn't his fault. It was his daily mantra ever since he started visiting you when you called him late at night. It wasn't his fault that Jake girl had a thing for him. It wasn't his fault that you called him each night wanting somebody in your bed. Matter of fact Jake should be thanking him for keeping his side of the bed warm. He would shake that thought out his head each time it popped up, but it always left him feeling amused.

It's not like Bradley was planning on taking his girl, she stumbled right to him. Plus Jake wasn't here he didn't have to know about this little affair. Bradley was sure if he was Jake and some other guy was hanging around his girlfriend he would have killed him. But good thing Jake wasn't gonna find out.

"You can't be calling me after this." Bradley grunted as he put his jeans back on. You sat up your elbows, you hair a wonderful mess after all the pulling he did with it.

"Don't worry I wasn't playing on it." You muttered, watching him with that lustful gaze that made him want to go another round with you. Your words did kinda rub salt in his wounds. The moment Jake was back you would completely forget about him, and carry on with your life. It hurt but, Bradley was just gonna have to move on too since he would have to face Jake every day on base.

"Not even if you get another flat tire?" Bradley asked his voice sounding a bit to hopefully for his liking. He grabbed your red panties off the floor and flung them in your direction landing right on your cover chest. You let out an adorable giggle, that was probably his new favorite sound.

"I'll see if we can accommodate anything for you Mr mechanic." You gave him a sly wink while he put his white shirt back on. Bradley would probably still see you around but this certainly did feel like a break up. He went around the bed, placing his palms on the mattress leaning down and kissing you one last time.

"Bye baby." He said over your lips.

"Bye bye." You repeated throwing your arms over his neck.

⊹☆~⟡⋆

The next Friday. He saw you at the Hard deck while everybody was celebrating Jake was back home. To Bradley it seemed like a funeral since the best sex of his life was gone. He was pretty sure the celebration was in your bedroom when Jake wasn't here.

"Hey, it's nice seeing back." Bradley pulled Jake in a bro hug knowing that he didn't mean a word of that, and slept with his girlfriend.

"Hey I appreciate you helping my girlfriend with the flat tire." Jake said into Bradley ear making sure nobody heard him since he wasn't Bradley biggest fan.

"My pleasure." And trust me Jake it certainly was.

Bradley was avoiding you at all costs. The only time he had spoken to you was when he was forced to greet you in front of Jake and Bradley had almost slipped out a baby with your boyfriend standing right next to you.

You were really good at this. Because you didn't spare Bradley a glance cling on to Jake's arm as If you weren't crying out daddy to him a few nights ago. It's like Jake was the only guy to exist to you. Your wandering eyes had been trained and now Bradley was a complete ghost.

He was the one looking now. The one staring at you like he wanted to rip your clothes off. Calculating in his head the possibilities of slashing your tires so you had an excuse to call him up. Bradley didn't think he was that obvious with his glances but of course Natasha noticed.

"Why are you looking at her like that?" His best friend's voice was knowing. Like right on his forehead he had I slept with Jake's girlfriend written there.

"What? No, nothing." Bradley put his hands out in defense. Natasha crossed her arms and raised her brows. A knowing smile spread on her face. He could never lie to his best friend when she looked at him so expectedly.

"Okay I slept with her." Bradley quickly admitted making Phoenix dramatically gasped for air. "Shut up!" He grunted through his teeth not needing anybody else to know.

The truth wasn't eating him alive, he could care less that he slept with Jake's girlfriend. It was the want that was killing him mixed with the fact she didn't even spare him a second glance.

You were a splendid actor, because the next day you were over at Bradley apartment. Turns out he did exist since you drove all the way to Coronado at night. Bradley wonders if Jake was asleep right now in your shared bed. That maybe you lied telling him, that you were at a friend's house when you came over to his house instead.

"Hey." You nervously swallowed. It hadn't even been a week, and now you were already desperate for him again. "Need a mechanic." You awkwardly said looking like a kid who reached into the cookie jar.

"Right at your service." Bradley didn't spare Jake a second thought pulling you closer to him.

Testing toxic Bradley out, and I love it. Check out She's a little runaway if you want more a silly Jake and Bradley story.

[buddieism]

tommy's character, bucktommy's inherent flaws, tommy & eddie as mirrors and buddie endgame; a (lengthy) meta analysis

honestly, what's really confirmed my feelings about tommy (and the imminent bucktommy bones -> buddie pipeline) is that there have now been multiple opportunities for the writers to actually make tommy a likeable/serious love interest for buck and they just…haven’t. because while fans are naturally going to overanalyse every little thing, the vast majority of the show's audience are regular viewers who consume the show at face value and don't think twice about it -- so if tommy was intended to be buck's endgame or anything remotely close to it, they'd absolutely want to make the most of his (very limited) screen time to present him in the best light they could. think about karen, the only non-main LI, and how she was introduced to us -- despite hen's cheating, we can see how dedicated karen and hen are to each other and how karen is a complex character in her own right who is immediately easy to root for and love.

comparatively, when we look at tommy's s7 appearances and specifically his interactions with buck, it becomes abundantly clear that there isn't really much depth to their relationship at all. which is fine! it's just... you know. fine. let's get into it.

following the cruise arc, we watch tommy through buck's eyes in 7x04 where he's basically wining and dining eddie -- flying him to vegas, getting them front row tickets to a fight, sparring with him in muay thai, playing pick up basketball with him -- tommy and eddie are so similar (which we'll come back to later), and we even get that line from eddie about how well they "click." as the audience, we are being subconsciously told to align tommy and eddie together -- and furthermore, we are told that tommy can easily make grand gestures when he wants to. now let's compare that to the bucktommy moments of the season.

bucktommy's first date: tommy makes a shady comment that would have outed buck if eddie or marisol caught onto it and then proceeds to abandon him on the sidewalk because he thinks buck isn't "ready" for a relationship with a man

i'll be objective here -- i understand in a show like 911 there's always going to be "unnecessary" relationship conflict for the sake of drama and i can also see how buck trying to play off their date as platonic to eddie might have put a bad taste in tommy's mouth. but we hear from tommy himself that he struggled with being open about his sexuality when he was at the 118 so he could have absolutely extended some sympathy towards buck for not wanting to come out on the spot to his best friend -- especially when tommy fully knows how important of a role eddie plays in buck's life. at the very least, he didn't have to leave buck alone on the curb. this isn't me trying to woobify buck because yeah, he's a grown man, he's fine -- but that doesn't mean it still isn't a bit of an asshole move.

the bachelor party: tommy doesn't dress up for the theme and dismisses buck when he's clearly disappointed about him doing so

tommy showing zero interest for the bachelor party buck planned is practically the writers waving a massive red flag in front of the camera -- him having to leave because he's on call is an understandable 'conflict' plot point but why not have him show up in an 80s themed outfit? it wouldn't have changed anything except that he and buck would have had a positive interaction; buck would have been happy that tommy cared enough to make that small gesture and it could have been a cute way to establish their relationship as one built on mutual effort. (btw, the bucktommy hospital kiss could be seen as a big gesture, sure -- but from a more practical viewpoint knowing how rushed this season had to be, it was also just an easy way for buck to "come out" to the rest of the 118 without having to spend too much episode airtime on it.)

the medal ceremony: tommy says 'enjoy it while it lasts' (which, LOL) and also is not shown reacting to buck receiving his medal. he also has a conversation with henren in a deleted scene.

again, i'm going to try to give tommy the benefit of the doubt -- i'm not saying he has to be sunshine and rainbows all the time and i have no issue with a character having a snarky/sarcastic side. but when his screentime is so minimal, every line of dialogue matters. and it's pretty damning that the writers aren't taking those few chances to give us something to appreciate about him. with buck, tommy makes a dismissive comment for literally zero reason, and with hen and karen, who are rightfully looking out for their friend, tommy refuses to take them seriously at all.

bucktommy's dinner in the finale: buck displays some vulnerability about losing bobby, and tommy... really doesn't seem to care.

honestly i refuse to rewatch this part of the ep because it really icks me out on another level but iirc: buck says he's glad bobby's okay because bobby is like the father he never had -> tommy says "your father's alive" -> something something joke about daddy issues. ignoring #that joke entirely, it's really insane to me that they have tommy even acknowledge the nuclear bomb that is buck's relationship with his parents. yes, we had a bit of a ham-fisted 'redemption arc' in s6 but that doesn't negate the buckley parents being absolutely heinous and the fact that buck verbalises how bobby played the role of the father figure because philip didn't -- all for tommy to basically deny that to his face -- is absurd. tommy has expressed on multiple occasions that he's jealous of the 118 family bond, so this line is just... very interesting to me.

now, let's recap all these events and bring eddie back into the mix!

post-bucktommy's first date, buck is more torn up about the fact that he lied to eddie than the actual date to the point that he has to vent to maddie about it. he then comes out to eddie, who is incredibly supportive (and oliver and ryan make some very curious acting choices indeed). eddie is reiterated as one of buck's most significant relationships.

pre-bachelor party, eddie is the one to suggest he and buck dress in matching (queer-coded) costumes. he then stays by buck's side at the party when everyone else leaves and although we'll never get to see it (tim minear i'm inside your walls👹), they sing an absurdly romantic karaoke song together. eddie is reiterated as one of buck's most significant relationships.

during the medal ceremony, when the camera pans to each member of the 118's love interest/family, it is eddie we are shown smiling at buck, not tommy. this is especially interesting considering we get buck reacting to tommy. i honestly can't get over how a reciprocated tommy reaction would have been an easy yet significant moment to cement bucktommy as a relationship, but they gave us eddie's instead (with chris in the background and marisol conveniently obscured, mind you). eddie is reiterated as one of buck's most significant relationships.

in the final episode, when eddie is experiencing his personal worst nightmare, buck is the one at eddie's side every step of the way. buck talks to christopher, buck reassures eddie (without judgement), and it's made clear that buck will be there for eddie, whatever he needs.

at every possible opportunity, we the audience are being implicitly told that eddie is buck's person. he is his place of support (buck having his more vulnerable coming out scene with eddie rather than his sister); he has buck's back (the bachelor party); he is his family (medal ceremony reaction), and ultimately, this goes both ways (finale).

some other things worth noting: when buck has his coming out scene with maddie, she tells him he's confused about his feelings in a way that seems to indicate she's talking about his feelings towards eddie ("if you there's something you need to tell eddie, you will"). in bobby's conversation with buck in the firehouse, he's verbally supportive of tommy and even asks if buck is going to see him, but buck goes to eddie's house instead. these were deliberate choices made by the writers; eddie has been consistently intertwined in bucktommy's relationship both overtly and subtextually throughout the entirety of s7. and let's not even get into the whole 'evan' thing, because that could be a whole other post in itself.

from the first moment we start to learn about tommy's character (beyond his... coloured past), we find out that he and eddie are practically mirrors. why not make tommy and buck share similar interests? why not give them something to bond over? why present tommy and eddie as almost identical in every way? because tommy is a placeholder for eddie. buck's initial bisexuality journey can't happen with eddie when eddie still hasn't come to terms with his own feelings. so, in the meantime, tommy is the "safe" choice in buck's mind because buck has nothing to lose with tommy whereas he's got everything to lose with eddie. buck can't confront what he truly wants yet because the risk factor is far greater and it's been repeatedly asserted that buck has an issue with people in his life leaving -- he would never do anything to jeopardise his relationship with eddie.

but ultimately (and in my opinion, fairly soon), we are going to get that moment where it "clicks" for buck and he realises that it is eddie he has feelings for. and when that happens, there's basically only one way it can go. we know buck can't keep secrets from eddie; we know eddie is going into s8 feeling "isolated"; we know tim loves making his characters suffer before they can be happy. in my mind, the narrative is going to go something like this: buck feelings realisation -> pining buck era -> eddie healing journey and a reevaluation of what buck means to him -> some insane life-threatening situation that really doubles down on how buck and eddie care more about each other than anyone else because it is 9-1-1 at the end of the day -> love confession induced by their dramatic near-death experience -> #BUDDIE_CANON !

when we factor in how there was a possibility of eddie having the sexuality arc this season instead, how tim has said buddie is one of his favourite dynamics of the show, and how supportive both oliver and ryan are of the ship, i really can't see how everything isn't building to buddie endgame. every other main pairing of the show has had seasons of development, of conflict, of bonding moments. buck and eddie have gone through that with each other time and time over (tsunami/lawsuit/shooting arc etc), which is why every other random love interest that's introduced for either of them falls flat in comparison. they quite literally are exactly what the other person needs; buck wants the stability of a home, a family, and unconditional love; eddie wants someone he can trust, a caretaker for his son but also a partner. buddie is the ship the audience wants to root for, because we know they work! now that we have canonically bisexual buck and eddie finally having to face his complicated feelings about losing shannon, buddie isn't just the logical conclusion -- it's the inevitable one.

[bronx-bomber87]

Hello amazing fandom :) Hope you are doing well. Hard to believe after this one we only have 8 left. Which makes this ep being somewhat a dud just a bit of a bummer IMO. We only have so many and they've been killing it this season. Truly making it count. The first 9 have been so good. The last 4 episodes just phenomenal. Week after week. It's easy to see where this one missed the mark.

I haven't minded low Chenford or even some crumbs if the entire ep is good like last week was. This one wasn't that unfortunately. Now 9 really good eps out of 10, being amazing so far isn't something to sneeze at. It's an outstanding achievement. S7 has been incredibly good. But this one definitely pales in comparison to the rest of the season.

As they say they can't all be home runs LOL Now there were parts of this episode I really liked. (Like the final Seth scene was primo) Those will be the parts I'm covering in this one. As a whole not their best. But I didn't not enjoy the full hour. Except the for Guitar guy but I'll get into that in my side notes. Off we go :)

7x10 Chaos Agent

Nolan bitching to Chenford about his song pretty humorous. Lucy not giving much sympathy is even funnier. Also loved her belting a little piece of the OG song. She's so cute I cannot. John has enough of her supportive shenanigans and takes off. lol

Lucy is left with Tim who was on her side till the serious bit. Giving her a sassy comment about not generalizing. I have zero doubt she gave him so much shit while they dated and he took some of it seriously. That's her 'experience' right there if you ask me ha. At least part of it. Love her face as she delivers that line. Smitty interrupts our crumb with his raccoon emergency lmao

Tim shoving Smitty's ass in the room I'm cackling. He doesn't have time for your shit sir LOL Lucy’s disappointed face when there is no raccoon is everything. She is so adorable. The animal lover in her wanting to see the little trash panda. Forever adore her being an animal lover no matter the animal. I am her and she is me haha

I love Lucy touching Tim's forearm when he says to neutralize the raccoon. There is no need to touch him so much Lucy.....Her hand all over that sexy forearm. Not once but twice. Also, them having opposing views on this, giving me 6x02 vibes with the bugs in her apartment, LOL. Miles is so cute in this scene too btw. He's really grown on me and his battle with this raccoon most of the ep was delightful.

Lucy was not jazzed with Seth showing up on his day off. I am never happy to see him either so I feel this. The irony that Seth is blown away by someone coming up with a crazy lie is wild. Pot meet habitually lying kettle. This kid is something else… Good lord... I knew the moment the doctor walked up and recognized Seth, it was the final nail in his lying liar coffin.

He is so terrible at said lying it’s painful. Lucy is on his ass from the moment he said ‘Used to be.’ So he used to have cancer…Kernel of truth with the lies. Just like all his others. I'll give it to him. He's nothing if not consistent with that. I have zero doubt, and so does Lucy; he used this to save his ass from being bounced from the program back in 7x05.

I was pretty damn certain but this officially confirmed it for me. Just look at Lucy as this convo goes down. Her stomach is turning over and over. This is not something to be ignored any longer. This doctor has accelerated his timeline out of the FTO and has no idea.

Lucy spots Luna and catches her. Cuts off Seth's incessant lying to do so. Dude knows he's a marked man when she departs. I adore Luna being a resource for Lucy on this. This has been such a good shift for her character to have. A useful one at that. Other thing I love is her telling Lucy she won't tell Wade unless she has to. You're a real one Luna.

Of course Seth switched to the shadiest doctor in the place. That sounds exactly right. When Luna was giving her background on this doctor, I thought, 'No doubt he’s paying this dude to make up shit for him'. She then confirms it at the end saying he's exactly the type of physician to be paid under table for that. Luna also putting to shame his BS answer about insurance. That little shit is dead in the water after this scene.

LOVE LOVE LOVE that she calls hubby right after. My heart. It's the little things fandom. Tim giving her the best answer she could receive. It's brilliant to draw his blood. He gets zero say in it and it'll finally nail him. I was wondering if anyone was actually monitoring his shit. Clearly not… But that sounds like health insurance tbh. Only looking for liabilities nothing else. Loving this plan though. No way for him to lie his way out of this one.

Probably wondering why I did a gif of this one eh? It's because of how Tim is with Smitty. How soft he is when he finds him. The concern in his voice when he asks if he's ok? Then after Smitty apologies the sweet tap on his knee to let him know it's ok. Be still my heart. I just loved this moment of softness from Tim with Smitty.

Our boy has grown so much it makes my heart ache in the best way. Not only is he kind but the tap to his knee is all the reassurance Smitty needs. Also just an antithesis to earlier when he shoved him into the office for the raccoon. Does my heart good to see it.

We get to the best part of the episode IMO. Seth's judgment day. Oooh boy I've been waiting for this! haha We all have. I mean holy hell look at Feral Tim staring down Ridley. Hot damn. Doesn't break once with his intense glare or sharp tone. 'Yes or no Officer Ridley.' *fans self*

Like to point out how important it was that Tim was there with her. What this means to Lucy. He was right next to Wade to be a United Front for her. Tim was with her to the very end on this. We know how hard this was going to be on Lucy. It was important her pillar was there. She does a good job keeping a stern face at first.

Especially when Seth looks at her. Drawing strength from the two men she needs most in this moment. They don't beat around the bush with him and it's much needed. This kid needs a reality check and fast. Wade and Tim don't mess around with him for one second while this unfolds.

Love how Wade and Tim tag team Seth about what is going to happen. It's a no you're gone. If it's a yes and no cancer. You're still gone. It's a lose lose situation for him and Ridley knows it. It's here we really start to see Seth come undone. From his body language to how he handles himself in this convo. With zero grace or accountability.

When he feels the tide rising against him he tries to pull the 'Woe is me card.' One that has served him well up until this point. Spewing he can be better. No honey you can't. You're on the 4th or 5th chance at this point bub. You're not getting better. You can't own your mistakes to save your life. Or be honest ever. His rant about his rights. You gave those up when you became a probational rookie my son.

When he starts to panic and turns to Lucy this is where we start to see her crack. The tears starting to form in her eyes. It's killing her because for awhile she wanted to believe him. Truly she did. Her natural instinct is to see the best in everyone. He took advantage of her kindness and exploited her empathy for his own gain. I wonder if she is going to second guess her instincts after him? I would even though there is zero reason for her to. I would be feeling pretty tore up and hurt. I imagine she will be too.

Melissa be killing me absolutely killing me when he says no to the draw. You can tell Lucy is wrecked about this. I can’t say I’ve been there in terms of a replica of Seth. But I did have a kid on my team I whole heartedly believed in. Trusted him. He exploited my kindness and empathy. It was quite the burn to my self esteem. He turned out to be a nightmare of Seth’s level.

Even when he was eventually terminated I felt the weight of it. Relief yes, but I carried it with me. Even though I had done everything right I could’ve with him. I still shouldered some of the responsibility. I know Lucy is feeling that. She is an empath and deeply caring one at that. This is going to stay with her for a little while I think.

Look at how Set avoids both Lucy and Tim and only comes at Wade. Knowing Tim would destroy him if he went after Lucy. I kinda wish he had but this kid knew not to poke that bear. He sure as hell didn’t have the balls to go after Tim that's for sure. So he focuses all his crazy rage on Wade, who handles it like the champ he is. Tears his defiant little ass down. Even with his last breath he couldn't own up to a single thing. Hiding behind a threatening lawsuit he will not win.

Tim takes over with some serious death glares about what happens next. If looks could kill you'd be one dead washed out rookie. Kinda wished we could've seen them send him off from the station but that's ok. I feel the aftermath of this will be in the next episode. Lucy's face at the very end is the final dagger to my heart. This is gonna rock her for awhile I can feel it.

I also have a feeling we are not done with him. Seems like the kind of little weasel that knows all the dirty back channels for a settlement. Don’t think we are quite done with him. I could be wrong though. I know Melissa did a nice shout out post for him that made it seem final. But I'll believe it when I see the final ep of this season lol

If we aren't would love for them to find out about his NWS lie with the road. If this was the end. I've wanted to say this all season but wanted to wait till his demise. Well done Patrick. Holy hell. What a starter character for him to break into tv with. You did such a good job. I truly hated your character's guts my good sir LOL Fantastic job.

Thank you as always to you amazing readers who like, comment ( chatty chat with me) and reblog these thoughts each week. You're incredible and I can't tell you the deep appreciation and love I feel from each one. Excited for next week. Our babies sharing a shop during the madness. Always happy to see that. Shall see you in 7x11 next week :)

Side notes -non Chenford

Ok I didn't super love the Rodger storyline. I'll be honest. It felt awkward and stilted. His SL felt like a sore thumb in a mighty intense episode. If he just had the cold open ok maybe. But to dedicate part of the ep to him?

I wasn't about it. His songs made me wicked uncomfortable in a second hand embarrassment way. I got massive Skip Tracer Randy vibes from it. No offense if you like STR he's just never sat right with me and the tone of the show lol Also Celina needs better taste in men she could do better than this turkey IMO. Ok rant over. haha

Loved them bringing Lisa back to help James the callbacks are great. Tying it in with when she got shot and how long the process is. Poor Nyla though this is so rough on her. Not just the recovery but their marital stuff they still have to work out on top of it. It’s a lot. Proud of her for not rushing to the station to help.

Will say every time Tim says ‘Juarez’ with that slight inflection always gets me a little hot and bothered. Mmmm.

Ok Zuzu made my skin crawl. How violating. Didn't like that one bit.

Poor Miles all episode he tried and Celina got him LOL I really enjoy his he is quite the cute puppy I never expected to love.

[atopvisenyashill]

Is Lyanna really as terrible as some people portray her as?

no, not even a little bit.

the absolute most important thing about lyanna is that when she dies she is only 16. i am someone who works with kids - i work in a library so i spend most of my days cleaning up after tweens and asking teenagers to please stop doing dumb shit- and the first thing anyone who has ever worked with kids and especially teenagers is that they may look like adults but they are NOT. they don’t understand boundaries, they have next to zero impulse control, and every bad thing that happens feels like the worst thing ever because it very likely IS the worst thing they’ve ever experienced bc they have not been alive that long!

and this goes for every single teen & tween character in this series, not just lyanna! shit, i am someone who feels an immense amount of sympathy for joffrey! on one side he’s got his mother telling him he can do anything he wants with no repercussions and on the other he’s got his father hitting him so hard that stannis thought joffrey was going to die. and then he is given unchecked power and told not to abuse it! EYE cannot even guarantee that i wouldn’t use unchecked power to do shady shit and i am a fully grown adult, not a traumatized, irrationally, and deeply vindictive 13 year old boy.

but honestly the most important thing about lyanna is that we have ZERO CONTEXT for what happens between her and Rhaegar. What we have is

Ned’s sparse & guilt ridden thoughts about Lyanna and one (1) comment about Rhaegar

Robert’s angry, entitled, and grief ridden outbursts about Lyanna and Rhaegar

Barristan’s incredibly romanticized, guilt & grief ridden take on their relationship

Meera’s second hand account of Lyanna, told to her by a father who is likely just as guilt & grief ridden as the others, who likely has his own view of Lyanna

What’s important to note is that our view of her is heavily filtered through the eyes of the men that knew her. Robert loves an idealized version of her that never existed. Barristan never actually knew her. Ned is not only viewing her under 200 layers of guilt and grief, but very obviously does not understand his sister, or why she made the choices she did, and struggles constantly with knowing that he will never know her the way he wishes he could, the way he thought he did. Given the way Meera describes Lyanna, I actually think Howland is our most accurate look at her but even that is buried behind years of grief & a fair amount of hero worship and affection (“that’s my fathers man you’re kicking howled the she-wolf” is a line that makes me WEEP for this exact reason; Howland sees Lyanna as his hero above all else!).

All of that to say - we don't even know what Lyanna did that was so terrible! Even if she was a grown woman capable of making rational decisions, we have no idea what her decisions were. She could have been lied to, misled, kidnapped, threatened, just as surely as she could have walked into the situation with open eyes. Even in the show, with a slightly aged up Lyanna - we get, what, just Sam's opinion on Rhaegar and Lyanna being in love because they got hitched? Completely ignoring the fact that we had several women in this series get married not because they were in love or willing but because someone more powerful decided on it and that was that, so there's still no evidence that Lyanna had enough information about the situation to make any sort of informed, consensual decision.

so no, i do not hold lyanna responsible for anything at all that happened regardless of how it happened because she was not mentally mature enough to understand what the hell was going on. a 15 year old is just not mature enough to think “if i run off with this married man, it’s going to cause a cascade of political issues that could have disastrous consequences.” what she’s probably thinking is “this man says he can help me and i am fucking miserable and no one else will listen.” it’s why we don’t throw 15 year olds who run away to meet up with old dudes they met online in jail when they’re caught (or theoretically why we don’t punish them at any rate). There is one person and one person only who is responsible for the massive fuck up that is the Elia-Rhaenys-Aegon-Lyanna-Jon mess and that is RHAEGAR, the person with the most amount of power who used it in the dumbest way imaginable and got himself, most of his heirs, his wife, and his teenaged mistress killed. The only other people responsible are the Kingsguard who kept Lyanna under lock and key while she lay dying and pleading for her brother to come save her.

[antiyourwokehomophobia2]

does it not bother you that your position on trans people is the one consistently held and demonstrated by fascists? does it turn your stomach when nazis come to rallies for causes you believe in? i only hope you feel some remorse for being such a vile person

Does it bother you that Ben Shapiro supports gay marriage? Are you going to stand against gay marriage because a conservative man supports it? No? Do you think that makes you vile?

How about this:

You have two people who support abortion. One person supports abortion because they hate children, think that the world should end, and people should stop reproducing.

The second person supports abortion because they think women should have full control over their own bodies.

These people both support abortion but are they really the exact same? Can you look me in the eye and say that they really support the same exact thing?

The things is: I don't believe what fascists do. I have no problem with men who are feminine. I have no problem with women who are masculine. I don't want a world where every man is Kratos and every woman is Jessica rabbit. Fascists and nazi's don't care that someone is trans. Do you think they'd be happy with a man who wears women's clothing? Do you think they love effeminate gay men? You think they'd love seeing hairy butch dykes everywhere? Do you think their issue is REALLY with trans people in general? Or is it people not living up to their assigned, religion based, gender roles?

I have no problem with men who wear make up or nail polish or who love other men. I have no issue with butch lesbians who talk loudly about wanting to eat pussy. It genuinely makes me very happy to see gnc gay people out and about, regardless of it they're gay men or lesbians. It's instant vibes every single time.

How about another question for you, anon. Does it not bother you that teenage girls are being told that teenage males should be allowed access to their dressing rooms just because they say they "feel" like a girl? Does the discomfort and fear of those girls not churn your stomach? Do you have zero sympathy? Do the feelings of girls and women take a backseat to the feelings of men? Does it bother you that gay people are being fed homophobic rhetoric in a progressive package? Does it bother you that gnc kids are being told that they're doing boy/girlhood wrong and they should transition because no boy/girl would dare act how they do? Does it bother you that males are openly talking about wanting to fuck lesbians and how lesbians make their dick hard? Does it bother you that gay men are being told they're missing out on not eating pussy? Does it bother you that gay people are being called bad people for not liking the opposite sex?

Because it bothers me. If that reads as me having an issue with trans people then I think that says more about your ideology than mine.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ 23

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! An unlikely flirtation turns into a dark obsession... Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw/involuntary captivity. -> all chapters

Twenty-Three.

Now that you've fallen into the new lifestyle of a kept woman, Donaka usually rises before you do. He works out or trains or swims, or sometimes he's already gone to the office by the time you stumble out of bed. 

In your defense, he keeps you up late. 

One morning, you wake to find an old photograph on your night stand, resting on the Tai Chi book you've been making your way through.

It looks like it's from the 80s, a young man seated on a tattered couch in a studded leather jacket, a teenage girl beside him. They look similar, pretty, with fine features and dark eyes. The boy has a dusting of a moustache on his upper lip. 

It takes you an embarrassing amount of seconds to realize it’s Donaka. He must be in his early twenties, glowering at the camera, and yet…somehow he’s a little awkward too. His hair is long, past his chin, and so fluffy you would have died to touch it had you been there. Beneath the young man’s unapproachable facade, even through the photo, you sense a melancholy in this boy that squeezes your heart.

It’s creased down the middle between the two subjects, as though it's been folded for years.

You wonder if the younger girl is his sister. 

You'd asked him what he looked like when he was younger, that day in the restaurant. You never actually expected him to deliver. 

You clutch the image to your chest, thinking about the journey that young man had undergone to get to that moment, and what he must have done to get to where he is now. You don't know the details of that in between, but you want to. Someday, you hope he'll trust you enough to tell you. 

Donaka took your old journal, but you have a new one tucked into the drawer. You haven't actually managed to write anything in it yet. Something about absolutely knowing he will read whatever you write has stymied your creativity. But it feels like a safe place to store this new treasure, and you tuck it gingerly between the acid free pages.

You hope he hasn't left yet, and you get out of bed to look for him, pulling on your long robe as you go out the door. You slip out onto the terrace, the sub-tropical morning like magic before the heat of the day sets in. Quietly you pad barefoot on the stone, and you pause at a distance to admire the object of your search. 

To say he swims like a fucking merman is putting it lightly, crossing the infinity pool with powerful strokes, back and forth. You seat yourself silently on one of the deck chairs, watching him make his laps.

He erupts over the edge of the pool, his gaze immediately zeroing in on you. “Spying on me, bunny?”

You smile in answer. “You're not the only one who likes to watch.”

“Is that so?”

“The view from here is a solid ten.”

He smirks, because he knows he's beautiful, damn him. He crooks a finger at you. “Come here.”

“I don't have on my suit.”

“That's a problem why?”

“It’s too cold.”

“Don’t make me come get you.” He says it with a gleeful menace that suggests he would relish the chase.

Knowing you are doomed, you shrug out of your robe, and slowly pull your nightie over your head. You have long since numbed yourself to going about the house naked when Donaka demands it. All the staff have probably gotten an eyeful at some point, for which you are sorry. The heated look he pays you more than makes up for your embarrassment, going straight to your clit, and you narrow your eyes playfully, annoyed by your own desire, but totally resigned by now. You walk to the edge, stopping just out of reach with a hand on your hip.

“Closer.”

“Make me,” you taunt, diving over his head into the water.

You're an ok swimmer. You won't be winning Olympic gold anytime soon, but you can usually manage not to drown. 

All that goes out the window when Donaka Mark is after you. 

You barely make it mid-pool before he's got you in his clutches, his strong arm around your waist, and you almost drown yourself because you are laughing. 

“Breathe, bunny,” he scolds you, hoisting you out of the water and patting your back too hard, punishing you a little for defying him. 

You cling to his solid form like a limpet, coughing and laughing. He presses you back against the infinity edge of the pool, the water sluicing over. All too pleased with yourself, you smile at him, blinking the water out of your eyes. 

“Someone’s up early.”

“Hmm.” You kiss him, running your fingers through his wet hair. You think back on that photograph, remembering those luxuriously dark curls that framed his face. 

“You should grow your hair out,” you tease, spiking the hair at his temples.

He lifts an eyebrow to this, smirking at you. 

“Ah, you liked your little gift?”

You nod, biting your lip. “You were so pretty.”

“Were? Thank you, ingrate.”

“Well. You're devastatingly handsome now. If it's any consolation…” you begrudgingly admit.

An approving grumble emanates from deep in his chest, and he presses you into the side of the pool a little harder with a kiss, his hold on you migrating down to cup your bare ass.

“Who…is the girl?”

“Jealous?”

“I think it's your sister.”

“Clever little rabbit.”

“Where was that taken? Toronto?”

“New York. We moved there for one of my mother’s numerous boyfriends.”

“Oh. Does…she still live there?”

He shakes his head, but offers you no more, pinning you with that dark gaze. 

“What…was your life like, when that photo was taken?” 

“Chaotic.” 

“How so?” 

He growls at your litany of questions, grazing your shoulder with his teeth. “Were you in a motorcycle gang?” you tease him, thinking of that bitchin’ jacket. 

“Not exactly,” he deadpans. You pause, wondering if he means he was in a gang, period. “Would you believe me if I told you I was an angry young man?” 

Nooooo, not at all. 

You bite back your sarcasm, hoping for more. “I might.” You run your nails through the short hair at the back of his head, but he doesn’t elaborate, the silence stretching between you. You think that maybe he wants to tell you about his past. He wouldn’t have given you that photograph otherwise. But maybe, he doesn’t know how. 

So you hold him closer, kissing his neck and enjoying the warmth of his bare skin pressed to yours in the glittering blue water. 

“Don’t pity me,” he grouses, like he can feel what you're thinking.

“I’m not,” you assure him. “I’m fascinated by you.” 

“Hmm. Nosey girl,” he growls into your hair. 

“Like you can throw stones.” 

This earns you a grumble of laughter from deep in his chest. “Most of what I know about you, you put out there for anyone to find, if they knew where to look.” You’re pretty sure he also hacked your email, but you suppose that’s mostly true. 

“Ok. So why did you look?” 

“I was curious about you.” It’s the understatement of the century. He doesn’t admit to you that he uses his knowledge like power. You suppose he doesn’t have to. 

“Well. I’m curious about you.” You try to draw this parallel for him, hoping he’ll return the favor.  

It earns you a grumble and another long silence, this imposing man holding you just this side of too hard in the serenity of the early morning with the water lapping around you. You rest your head on his broad shoulder, savoring the quiet with him, feeling his pulse through the fever-heat of his bare skin pressed to yours. Even if he doesn’t want to talk anymore…this is enough. 

At the moment you come to accept the finality of the silence between you, he begins to speak. “We were dirt poor, and constantly moving from house to apartment to house, depending who my mother was fucking at the time. She had a steady stream of boyfriends, but no one who wanted to be a father to us. I hated being home, if you could call wherever we were crashing at the time that, so I was always out on the street, getting into trouble. Big trouble. I think I left for Macau…a week after that photo was taken.” 

You can’t help but think that it makes sense in a way, that enduring such a childhood with no stability made a man who relishes absolute control over everything.  

“You were so young.” 

“In face only. How old were you, when you left the country on your own for the first time?” 

“Nineteen.” 

“We’re not so different then.” 

You’d left to see the world, and maybe to look for something to fill the hole that we all have inside–not to avoid prosecution for a crime–but maybe it was similar in the end. 

“Why did you have to leave?” you dare ask, insufferably curious.

“One of mom’s boyfriends thought that my little sister came with the package. I had to correct him of that notion.” 

Your eyebrows raise high, a sick feeling in your belly. It’s possible you know more than you’d like about that scenario from your own mother’s selfish choices. You’re not sure if he’s implying he killed this man, or simply beat him, but you find…you don’t care. 

“Your sister’s lucky she had you.” 

“Maybe. My mother disowned me though. She said I was just like my father.” 

“Oh, Donaka. That’s not fair. What did you do then?”

“I went to go find him.” 

“How?” 

“I had my ways.” 

“Oh come on.” You nip at the bulging muscle of his shoulder, winning a growl that curls your toes under the water. 

“Macau is a place where you can gamble on anything in the back room. I found out he’d finally become a wealthy man running an underground, high stakes fighting ring.”

“This is starting to sound like the plot of a JCVD movie.” In your perhaps misguided way, you try to cheer him by cracking jokes.

“JCVD? I don’t even merit your beloved Jackie Chan?” 

You giggle. “Ok. Jet Li, maybe. Do you remember Romeo Must Die? I think it changed my brain chemistry as a teenager.” 

He snorts at that. Afraid that you’ve derailed his story, you prompt, “So…you got into the fighting ring?” You’ve seen him training, and he is scary. You imagine a younger version of him in the octagon could have drawn a hell of a crowd.

He grunts in acknowledgement, distracted by kissing a line down your neck, his long fingers inching towards your center, and you hitch in your speech as you ask, “Did he…know who you were?” 

“Not at first.” There’s no emotion in those three words, but you sense a sea of fury beneath them, deep deep down. 

“What…happened?” 

“I won enough fights to get his attention. He was so impressed he offered me a place in his organization. Then, I destroyed him.”

You go still in his arms as this sinks in. You can’t shake that he means that he killed his father, and maybe many others too. But after what Donaka told you his father did when he was just a child…practically a baby…maybe you don’t blame him. Maybe you understand his need for revenge all too well.  “Are…you worried the 14k might come after you someday for that?”

“They split themselves into smaller factions of operation to limit liability, if someone gets caught. Anyone who ever knew anything about my involvement is gone. Except for you, now.” 

Gooseflesh erupts down your arms as you realize there is a responsibility as well as a threat folded into this information you so badly wanted to possess. Not that you would ever be able to prove anything to anyone, but the power of a stray word can turn into a big wave, in the right circumstances. He is both trusting you–and binding you even further to him. 

“Then what?” you ask, realizing with a new finality just how deeply you’re in now. You can’t say you were still actively thinking about going home lately, but something about this new revelation succeeds in pushing you off center somehow.  

“I came to Hong Kong with the nest egg I’d earned. I had inside experience with how the Triads worked. I used it to offer wealthy businessmen protection from them. And as you can see…that’s gone well for me.” 

You draw back to look at him, studying his handsome features. You’d sensed from the very beginning that he was a man who was quite capable of terrible things. But then, sometimes that’s what it takes in this hard world, and it’s hard to feel sorry for the boyfriend who made a pass at an underage girl, or his father, a man who wanted to hurt his own children, then abandoned them. Are your morals so flexible, or do you just know you’re no one to judge amidst the life you’ve lived in comparison?   

You should be horrified, but you're not. 

You shouldn't want him, but oh, you still do.

“That would make a hell of a Jackie Chan movie,” you tell him with a small smile, lightening the mood just enough to win you that sardonic smirk you’ve come to hold so dear. 

“Finally, the recognition I deserve,” he scoffs, fixing you with that gimlet stare that should scare the piss out of you, but instead…fills you with something effervescent and light. 

You do need your head examined. 

“So you like martial arts movies,” he muses, paying you a contemplative look that makes you nervous somehow. “Have you ever watched a real fight?” 

You know, because he’s told you, that that’s where he goes on the evenings when he doesn’t return until the wee hours of the morning. You realize he must have a particular appreciation for the sport, after having participated in such things himself. 

“I’ve been to a few peewee tae kwon do tournaments in my day,” you tease. “I’ve even got the little gold plastic trophy to prove it.”

This makes him throw back his head with wicked laughter, amused, as ever, by your cheek. No one else in the world would dare, he thinks to himself. He knows that part of your bravery comes from the fact that you still don’t understand, even after his confession to you, what kind of monster has you in his arms. And part of it…part of it is just you, and he is never going to let you go. 

“Pee wee tae kwon do. Aren’t you adorable.” 

“So I hear.” 

“How did I not know that about you?” 

“It was a dark time, before every move we made was immortalized on the internet…”

He huffs with reluctant laughter. “I see. So you’re initiated. Does that mean you’d like to see a real fight with me?” There is a sudden hunger in his gaze, his lips parted with the eagerness of a tiger tasting the wind. You can’t help but notice that he is rock hard between your legs, his cock pressing insistently against you as his gaze bores into yours. 

Perhaps you whetted his appetite, accepting his confession of his past sins so easily, but he finds he wants to share this with you. 

But you, oblivious to the sudden firestorm erupted in his heart, backpedal at the sudden bloodlust in his eyes. “Do people get really hurt?” 

“The fights I attend are a test of true warriors, not a suburban blackbelt league.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling uneasy, partly at the thought of the bloodsport, and partly for the hungry way he’s suddenly looking at you. “Can I think about it?” 

You know you’ve disappointed him, for the way his expression immediately closes off from you. “Nevermind, bunny. I don’t think you’d like it.” Maybe he was tempted by the chance to be accepted completely by you for everything that he is, horns, claws, and all…what a foolish notion. He knows better than to expose that underbelly to anyone who is not blooded. What was he thinking? 

Perhaps it’s not only teenage boys, who forget to reason with their real brains when a beautiful woman is around. 

You find you’re disappointed to have the chance to go with him to these mysterious nocturnal outings snatched completely from the table. You stick out your lip, sensing you’ve let him down. 

“Maybe…let me watch some more tournaments with you first. I do like that.”

“Hmm.” His interest sharpens again; you feel it like the weight of a blade upon your skin. “Do you miss doing martial arts?”

You shrug. “I was very young.”

“Are you liking your book on Tai Chi?”

“It’s interesting.”

“Alright, bunny. We’ll see then.” 

Before you can answer his mouth is slanted over yours, and with a pull at the fabric of his shorts he has buried himself inside you. He fucks you against the side of the pool, your nipples in his mouth as he bends you back over the edge.

You feel like you might fall off the side of the world, with him thrusting inside you, your body tumbling off into the void, right behind your sanity. As he fills you with hot ropes of his seed, your greedy cunt milking his cock through your own ecstasy, you know that you’re utterly lost to this man–you’re just lucid enough to recognize it, but much too far gone to care. 

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[maxdibert]

Hi! Could you tell me your top 5 least favorite Harry Potter characters and why?

My 5 most hated characters in Harry Potter are:

5 - Molly Weasley: I can’t stand this woman. I can’t stand how she acts like a morally superior, pure-blood yet holds endless prejudices, especially (and mostly) toward other, younger women. I don’t like her tradwife vibe, and I don’t like how overbearing and suffocating she is. Seriously, in real life, I’d feel the urge to tell her off—she’s that typical annoying woman who doesn’t know where the boundaries are.

4 - Remus Lupin: Zero sympathy for a man almost forty who got a 24-year-old girl pregnant and then abandoned her. Remus Lupin is a coward and a piece of trash, a bullying accomplice who keeps his head down regarding his own actions and needs a 17-year-old to teach him a lesson in manhood. I really wish Tonks had left him and taken off with Teddy to get as far away as possible from that pathetic excuse for a person.

3 - Dumbledore: Starting with the fact that the entire problem of the story basically stems from his irresponsibility with Tom Riddle, which already showed that he was a terrible teacher. He only shows concern for students who can serve his purposes or suck up to him, and his involvement throughout the story shows a moral stance I find nauseating. I mean, he’s a guy who has the nerve to lecture his former students who “chose the wrong path,” but when those same students were under his care, he constantly neglected and rejected them just because they didn’t belong to a certain house. He had the audacity to call Severus Snape “miserable” when it was Dumbledore himself who allowed Snape to be bullied and almost killed without lifting a finger to stop it or punish the bullies. This same Dumbledore scolds Draco Malfoy for not trusting him when from Draco’s first day at Hogwarts, all he saw from the old man was favoritism toward a certain house and certain students, completely ignoring the rest. Honestly, I’d have banned him from teaching. There’s a lot said about Snape as a teacher, but Dumbledore was responsible for everything, allowed terrible things to happen, and turned his back on many vulnerable children and teenagers. Then he acted all surprised when they ended up in bad places. Screw him, hypocritical old man.

2 - Ginny Weasley: The “I’m not like other girls,” the “shut up, Hermione, you don’t know anything about Quidditch,” the “everyone look at me, I hex people, I’m one of the boys, I’m not vain but I’m hot, but I’m not prissy,” the “I make fun of girls who are pretty, flirty, and feminine because I’m a textbook pick-me girl” who is shoved into the end of the series. She’s a character who didn’t matter at all throughout the story; she’s barely mentioned in some books, but suddenly she’s Harry’s love interest because J.K. Rowling needed all her characters to end up married with 468749284 kids, and Harry needed to be part of the Weasley family. So, they had to do something. Ginny is a terrible character, going from irrelevant to some sort of Mary Sue who even the Slytherins drool over and who, of course, is not a “typical girl” because being a “typical girl” in Rowling’s world is somehow the original sin. So, she’s great at sports, hexes people, pulls pranks because she’s so cool, uh uh uh, she’s not like the others, uh uh uh, but she has internalized misogyny that you can smell from here to China. Honestly, someone should have slapped her for being so damn stupid.

1 - James Potter: There’s nothing I haven’t already said about James Potter. He’s a character who really grinds my gears because they try to sell him as some kind of hero, but he was just a spoiled rich kid who decided to torment a poor, vulnerable boy simply because that boy was friends with his crush. He used his social power and status to get away with all the crap he pulled, attacked in groups, lied to his girlfriend saying he’d stopped bullying people when he really hadn’t, and when he was supposed to be locked up in a house with his wife and son, he was off fooling around with his best friend. James Potter was an ass, and defending him is defending classism, elitism, and whitewashing social classes. I’m not going to explain why.