#i'm trying to post at least a week apart

[fooltofancy]

feel like i never shut up, lately, but my world's so quiet if i don't it's. too big and empty and so i have to shout. in my head. on the internet.

it's not like there's no one to talk to, but when i try the words aren't there. which is just like. god! so frustrating, cause it's not like i'm not thinking the fucking words, but the brain-world barrier is yaknow. pretty good at pathogens and also words. afuckinpparently. but also i'm not gonna shout into the void (tumblr) about the things which actually matter, so WHAT is even the point???

[alinaandalion]

idk, maybe i'm just being unfair, but it's really weird and suspicious that my husband and i were under the impression that his dad would be arriving for a week's visit soon and he has yet to appear. and my husband's mom refuses to tell us when he's coming

tbh at this point it feels like she lied from the beginning about how long she planned to stay

[reiderwriter]

☎️ Don't Call Me ☎️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: After catching your boyfriend cheating, you find accidental comfort in your coworker. With your phone ringing nonstop, you're willing to do whatever it takes to start fresh.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, bug mentions (cockroaches), cheating, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slight spanking, mentions of masturbation. Dom! Spencer.

A/N: Haha... hi guys... been a while 😚 Please enjoy the fic I dreamed up over a month ago now, and was finally able to conjure up!

Masterlist

If you were to be asked how you assumed a five-year-long relationship would end, you'd likely say something like irreparable differences. Maybe a difference in lifestyle, growing out of love, or even different plans for the future. Unfortunately, the irreparable difference your boyfriend had chosen at 10 pm on a Thursday evening was being balls deep in an irreparably different woman. 

You supposed you should've seen the signs the relationship was drawing to a close and likely you did, but with your job itself being a life or death situation almost daily, you really didn't have much time to worry about the fact that your boyfriend was sowing his oats in other fields. Based on the look of the woman spread across your bed, the oats weren't that great for her either. 

Your reaction had been somewhat delayed, but curiously not as much as hers. She'd been wonderfully blasé about the man writhing on top of her before you started screaming and throwing things, and even now you were armed with a vase of flowers (dead - you'd bought them yourself before the case you'd been on for the last two weeks) she still looked slightly bored. But at least her legs were together now, and not gynaecologist level apart. 

Your boyfriend - ex-boyfriend? - managed to regain an ounce of dignity with a scrap of clothing, and did his best to shepard you out of the crime scene as you regained the ability to hold coherent thoughts that weren't about strangling him with his own tie. 

“Listen to me, please just for five minutes-” 

“Listen? I was just listening! To you moaning into that woman's shoulders with your eyes rolled back in your head!” 

It was as if in the last few minutes all the love you'd had for this man, all five years of relationship and comfort, and nights spent together had melted away in an instant. The rage dissipated, and you were surprisingly calm again, though that worried you, too. Surely you should be crying, or at the very least upset. You should be feeling some kind of emotion that wasn't a vague disgust at the man in front of you in full pooh bear mode, trying to tug down the hem of his shirt to cover the crown jewels. 

“It didn't mean anything. She doesn't mean anything. She's just - You're gone so long on cases, and I just-” 

“So you're saying it's my fault you're cheating on me?” 

“Yes! No, wait, no, no, no, no-” 

“No, heard loud and clear, I'll try not to save lives in the future, I'm sure the BAU will understand I should be on my back 24 hours a day instead, taking all four inches you have to donate to my worthy cause.” 

“Y/N, don't be like that,” he said, exasperated. Whatever he had to be exasperated about, you had no idea. Maybe blue balls. 

“Like what?”

“Like a bitch!” 

The room went still with silence as you let him sit with the words he'd just spoken, willing him to snap back quickly so you could keep even just a shred of respect for him. 

No such apology came. 

“I'm leaving now. I expect your things packed and out of here by 12 pm tomorrow, including your thing in the bedroom. Don't bother cleaning the sheets. Just burn them. Lock the door and post the keys through the letterbox when you're done.” 

“Y/N, I told you it's not like that, I still love you, come on-” 

“Well I don't love you. And please go put some fucking pants on.” 

You stepped back over the threshold of your apartment - the lovely, nice apartment you'd been living in for the last eight years, your nice safe space - and you shuddered. 

The question wasn't exactly what next, but more like where next. What next was sending a group text in your ex-boyfriends family chat telling them what you'd walked in on, and then leaving the chat before you could get any response. The where would be a harder sell. 

From this part of the city, it'd take 2 hours to get to Penelope’s apartment, especially at this time of night without a car. Emily's apartment was similarly far. Going through a list of your coworkers again, you mentally crossed off Tara, who'd been injured on your last case and was resting at her girlfriend's apartment, Luke, who despite the promised comfort of a cute dog, you were absolutely sure didn't have a spare bed, and all members of the team with spouses and/or children. Which left just Spencer and Rossi. 

Needless to say, you found your way to Spencer's apartment in only 20 minutes, though you were sure you had disassociated the entire thing. 

Knocking on the door, you felt a little bit awkward, but not awkward enough to leave and find a hotel at nearly 11 pm. Your last case hadn't been a pleasant one, hotel-wise, and you weren't exactly eager for another check-in.

Spencer opened the door quickly, his eyebrows knitted in confusion as he found you there  but only for a brief flash before his face brightened up. 

“Y/N? Do we have a case again? I thought Hotch said-” 

“Can I stay here tonight?” you blurted, needing to get the words out as quickly as possible before you convinced yourself to walk away. 

Spencer took a moment to take in your words, and you took the opportunity to look at him then. He was fully clothed at least, and you were glad to find that his pajamas looked comfortable and clean. A simple plaid cotton pant with a soft-looking white long sleeved shirt pushed up his arms slightly. He'd taken out his contacts and put on his glasses, and you wondered if you'd caught him mid-book. 

“Please?” you added in a hopeful voice as he still looked at you slightly confused. 

“Oh, of course,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing inside. “Is there something wrong with your apartment?” he asked, taking your go-bag from you without question and guiding you into the main living space of his apartment. 

“Thank you, yeah. Something like that. Shoes off or on?” 

“I have some slippers. You can take them off. What happened?” he said, placing the slippers in front of you and turning back to bolt the door. 

“Invasive species?” You said, trying to sound as nonplussed as possible  despite now feeling incredibly plussed.

“Oh, bugs? Yeah, I've had a cockroach or two in the apartment before. Did you know that the average female cockroach can produce up to 10,000 offspring in a single year?” 

You sat on his couch quietly, trying not to imagine 10,000 cockroaches and failing nearly spectacularly. Unfortunately, the only image that could surpass tiny cockroach babies was of your boyfriend pounding away at another woman. Which was just a brilliant move for your psyche. 

“Spencer, I know I've really intruded here tonight, but do…. Do you wanna drink with me?” You asked, hoping to drown at least a memory or two of the last 24 hours. Hopefully, the cheating one, but you'd take cockroach extermination as well.

A slightly worried look settled on Spencer's face, but he said nothing and nodded, walking to his kitchen, grabbing two beers and meeting you back on his loveseat. 

“Oh you really have beer here!” You exclaimed, thanking him for the beverage before cracking it open and taking a sip. 

“Morgan came over with some to celebrate 6 months out of prison. These are leftovers.” 

“Right… right…” 

The first few sips were so painfully awkward that you thought about returning back to your apartment and just sleeping on your own couch. 

Vaguely, you felt Spencer watching you, taking a sip of his drink for every sip you took of yours. 

“So…” you said, and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow again, already questioning whatever was about to come out of your mouth. 

“So?”  he asked. You weren't sure if it was the beer, the look on his face, or the crazy implosion of the last 5 years that had you giggling all of a sudden. You were just glad that when you cracked up, he cracked a smile as well, and a little bit of the tension went away. 

“Why are you really here, YN?” 

You took a deep breath and looked straight forward at the bookshelves Spencer had lovingly filled. Maybe this had taken him half a decade as well, so he'd understand how your life felt a little bit like a wobbly bookshelf at that second. 

“The invasive species I mentioned? It was the woman screwing my boyfriend in my bed. Ex. Ex-boyfriend.” 

You heard the intake of breath from Spencer before he put his can down and started thinking of something to say in reply to that. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh… Y/N, I-” 

A shrill ringing cut him off, and you were almost glad to not be on the receiving end of whatever pitiful words he was about to push on you, until you checked the caller ID and saw your ex's name. 

“Don't pick that up,” Spencer said as you hesitated towards the phone. With a hand over yours, he flipped the phone over, locking eyes with you as he let it ring out. 

“He's just going to try it again.”

“Let him.” 

You nodded, breaking eye contact and sinking back into Spencer's slightly wilted couch cushions. 

“In your bed? Really?” he asked, talking another sup as you took a gulp, letting the beer fizz down your throat before you could answer.

“I told him to expect me tomorrow because of how the case was looking. I guess he wasn't expecting me.” 

“I think that was a given. Unless he was into that. Exhibitionism is one of the most common kinks among adult males, and-” 

“Oh he was not into exposing himself,” you laughed into your drink, propping your head up on your hand and turning to face Spencer more. He shot another questioning glance but didn't push the issue, so you silently explained as well. By pinching your fingers together to the approximate size of your ex-boyfriend's dick. 

“Oh. Well, it's not the size that counts?” He whispered almost ironically as he took another sip, now much closer than before. You'd done your best to distance yourself from your boyfriend even as he'd followed you through your apartment half naked, but you didn't seem to find Spencer's proximity threatening at all. 

Maybe because he wasn't having sex with a random woman in your bed 5 seconds before. 

“You wanna know the worst part?” You said, leaning closer as if to tell him an even bigger secret. “He didn't even know how to use it. I haven't-” 

Another phone call blasted through, and you grabbed your phone and put it behind you. 

“He's really great at interrupting conversation when it’s just getting good,” Spencer laughed, but you were slightly disappointed that he'd leaned back away now. 

“What was it you were saying?” He asked, taking a swig of beer again, can nearing its close. 

“I haven't had an orgasm in almost three years,” you said bluntly, watching the most genuine spit take you’d seen in your life. You pat Spencer's back as he coughed up inhaled beer, bringing your feet up under you into a cosier position. 

“Okay now?” you asked as his breathing returned to normal. 

“No? Three years, Y/N? Really?” 

You shrugged and looked away  almost embarrassed to be meeting his eyes now that your sexual history was the topic of the night. 

“We had sex. He's just… he's just a really lazy lover. It'd be the same stuff every time. Handjob to some clumsy fingers missing my clit, a few pumps and cum on my face. I wasn't exactly initiating seven days a week in the hopes that this time he'd be able to locate it.” 

Spencer was somewhere between horror and trying not to laugh, eyes wide with either alarm or the strain of having to keep it in. 

“It's okay, you can laugh,” you said, but he shook his head politely.

“Y/N, I was in prison and still had more orgasms than you this year.” 

“Hey, I hear prison is a great place to meet new people. Have new experiences.”

Spencer shot you a quickly horrified look as his cheeks flushed with heat. “Y/N, I was not someone's bitch in prison.” 

“Why not? You're pretty enough for it?” 

You'd meant the line to come across as teasing, just as you'd expected the finger now twisted in a lock of his hair, playing with him, to come off as teasing as well. 

But you felt a definite throb between your legs when he looked at you again, doubly so when his eyes darted down to your lips. 

You cleared your throat and tried for a teasing tone once again. 

“So you made someone else your bitch?” you smiled, trying to drag his eyes away from your lips before you did something you'd regret. 

“No. I… I spent a long time in solitary, and there's… there's really not that much to do.” 

“So you did yourself?” 

The tips of his ears were scarlet when you finally decided to back off, tucking the curl of hair behind his ear and letting him cool off. 

“Why didn't you masturbate then?” he asked, pouting slightly still from your interrogation. 

“Excuse me?”

“Your boyfriend couldn't make you cum, but a vibrator probably could. But you still haven't had an orgasm in three years. Why is that?” 

It was your turn to feel the heat, the warmth from the beer finally reaching your head. 

“He didn't want me to.” 

You didn't mean for the words to sound as sad as they did. The fact itself was just incredibly sad. Your boyfriend saw anything vaguely phallic shaped as competition and had encouraged “organic” coupling instead. 

You waited for Spencer to say something else, anything else as you held his gaze, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and him to start talking down to you as if you were simply a victim of the worst sex in the world. 

Instead, he said “so did that other woman look as miserable as you've been for the last three years?” and the spell was broken. 

You laughed so hard, you nearly choked on the beer you'd already finished. This time, it was Spencer's turn to land a hand on your back as you winded yourself with laughter. 

“She looked bored! She looked genuinely bored. I almost thought it was just a lifelike doll, she was that unphased,” you kept giggling between gasps, forcing the words out as you threw your head onto Spencer's shoulder, hand landing on his thigh as you finally calmed down. 

“I'd be horrified if anyone looked bored while in bed with me,” came Spencer's voice, and a little shiver ran down your spine as the rasp of his whisper rang in your ear. 

You looked up from his shoulder and caught his eye immediately. If you wanted to, you could lean up by a centimetre and catch his lips with yours. And you suddenly, very much wanted to do that. 

A final shriek of your phone behind you deterred you for a few seconds, and you were about to work yourself up to scooting a little bit away from Spencer when he leaned over you, grabbed the phone, and hung up on your boyfriend. 

“Do you want to cum, Y/N?” he asked, as quietly as before as his hands traced over you on their return journey to him. He looked down your body, eyes greedily drinking in your breasts, hips, thighs and legs tucked into his side on his couch. 

You didn't know what you were going to respond when your head practically nodded by itself. Enthusiastically. 

He doesn't immediately pull you in for a kiss, and you're worried for a beat that he meant that only as a hypothetical and not an invite. A final cry from your phone has you standing in seconds, completely detached from Spencer, and the nearly embarrassing moment you pouncing him would've been.

“I should probably take it this time,” you explained, turning slightly. 

But Spencer was faster than you, if not more prepared for what was to come. Wrapping an arm around your waist, Spencer tugged you back, pulling you onto his lap. When you were firmly situated - ass over his now evidently firm cock - he grabbed the phone out of your other hand, hung up and put it in his pocket. 

“Spencer, I-I don't think that's a good idea,” you gasped as his hands slowly progressed up to your chest, and his lips dropped to your neck, biting and sucking along whatever flesh was easy for him to access. 

“You need to cum. You deserve to cum, Y/N. I'm just here to help. Use me.” 

You stifle a sharp, quick moan, biting your lips and thanking God that he couldn't see the face you made when his hips ground his cock up into your ass. 

“I'm probably not ready for this,” you stuttered slightly, breath departing your body quicker than it could arrive. 

“Probably not.”

“We work together, too. It would be awkward.”

“It might,” he nodded. “But you still want to.” 

You couldn't help the moan, finally letting it free as you tossed your head back and clawed at his forearm, wrapped around you. 

Your ass had a mind of its own, grinding back into him in circles as his hands found their way under your shirt, inquisitive fingers stroking your nipples through your bra. 

“S-Spencer,” you whimpered again, legs spreading apart as you felt that familiar warmth settle between them. He didn't miss the longing in your tone, the shift in your core, pushing one hand down your stomach and trailing it onto your thigh. 

It was as close as he could get with your pants still on, tight against your skin. He squeezed your thigh,  still licking and sucking at your neck before his hand rose to the clasp of your pants. 

It took him a long lime to fumble with them, and you thought of helping multiple times but you let yourself get distracted by the tense definition of his muscles, the rigid line of his body as he strained to please you. 

Your mind fogged with lust, and you felt the vibrations from his pocket right under you when your phone rang again. You practically jerked up in shock as pleasure hit you in a wave, Spencer's fingers finally dipping into your panties just as the vibrations hit you. They weren't centred, of course, not anywhere close to where you needed them to be for you to enjoy them the way you would a toy, but that's what Spencer was for. 

He let the call ring out, tracing small, slow circles over your clit as you jumped up into his hand, moaning and whimpering the entire time. 

“What an idiot. I bet he never touched you like this. Nice and slow.”

“N-no, S-s-” 

“I'm so glad I'm right. He didn't deserve this beautiful cunt. You're so wet for me, right, baby?” You nodded and he hummed in response, voice low and making you pulse in his lap. 

“That's it, good girl,” he whispered as you worked your cunt up and down his fingers, stilling himself so you could find your own pleasure. 

“Spencer… Spencer, fuck-” 

With his free hand, he turned your face to the side and finally kissed you properly as you moaned into his mouth. He was quick to deepen the kiss, to press his tongue against the seam of your mouth and enter your mouth, quickly dominating you as you let yourself get more and more excited. Your hips stuttered, out of rhythm and out of practice, and you almost whimpered in frustration that you couldn't get off quicker, that your body wasn't finding the orgasm quick enough despite how good, how perfect this felt.

Sensing your growing frustration, Spencer broke the kiss. 

“Come with me,” he said, pulling his hands away from your wet cunt and out of your stupid pants and encouraging your hips up until you were stood and he was stood behind you. 

Cock still firmly stood against your ass, he walked you all the way to his bedroom, hands on your hips the entire time, memorising the sway of your walk. 

“Strip and get on the bed, please, Y/N,” he said, finally peeling himself away from you as you nodded quickly and listened to him immediately. You weren't sure what to expect, so you hesitated, laying down, crawling up until your head hit the pillows. You were almost disappointed when you finally looked back at Spencer and he was still fully clothed, so sure that he was going to fuck you to your climax. 

Instead, he approached the bed, gently slid his arms around your thighs, opened your legs wider, knelt on the floor and brought your cunt to his face. 

The first touch of his to guess to your clit had you almost beside yourself with lust. You'd been sexually active for a handful of years, and this - THIS - was the first time you'd experienced such acute pleasure. 

Your hips were unable to stop, thrusting up into his face as you willed his tongue to engulf you, to be a tool in your pleasure. 

Again your phone rang, but he grabbed it quickly, pausing only a second to silence it and discard it on the bed beside you, sitting it further up the bed where it would no longer be a distraction to him. 

He dove right back in, and you rewarded him with wave after wave of fierce moan, your writhing body only restricted by a hand snaked up onto his stomach. You still pushed against his face, practically fucking it as he flattened out his to guess and let you chase your high. 

“Spencer!” You gasped and moaned, voice dripping with lust and desperation, mouth not even properly forming words now you were so close. 

You propped yourself up slightly, looking down as Spencer's eye caught your own, his chin slick with your juices, his eyes dripping with lust. You grabbed a handful of his hair and jumped that little bit faster as you felt that long forgotten whisper of pleasure, that all-encompassing explosion of satisfaction, and you came apart on Spencer's tongue. 

“Thank you, thank you, Spencer, shit, thank you,” you whimpered, falling back again into the bed as you rode out the high. When you managed to open your bleary eyes again, Spencer was propped up above you, but instead of paying you attention, he'd grabbed your phone and bought it to his ear. 

“You heard that? Good. I'm sure you're aware now that she won't be returning your calls tonight. Goodbye.” 

His voice, his words, were like a cold bucket of water to your brain as you sat up, reaching for him and finding him as his hips circled your waist. 

“Was that-?” He cut you off with a kiss  a sweet, soft one. 

“Yes.” He kissed you again  and you melted into his touch as he pulled you into his lap again. 

“H-He-” 

“He knows now what a real orgasm sounds like. He knows you're not interested anymore. He knows you're mine now.” 

You shivered at the words, your lust addled brain flooding your senses, and your cunt as you reacted to the possessiveness of his words, his tone. Part of you was turned on by the exhibitionism as well. You'd had to walk in on your ex boyfriend completely exposed, and there was satisfaction in kicking him to the curb with a similar fuck you. A fuck you that you'd enjoyed a lot. 

You pressed your lips against Spencer's and rocked your hips against him again, tasting yourself on his tongue as he laid you down once more. His cock twitched against your leg as he propped you up on the pillows, and your hands trailed down to show it some attention as your sighed into his kiss.

He eagerly shed his clothes, first his top, sitting up and pulling it over his head, giving you a deliriously enticing shot of his chest and soft stomach before dropping down to cover your body again. You let your hand find the sprinkling of hair on his lower stomach, though, following it down as you encouraged his pants off. His cock was thick and heavy in your hand, and you gladly stroked it as he kissed the plains of your body again. He found the side of your neck that he'd neglected earlier, licking and sucking until it was almost as loved as the first side, before pulling your hand away from his cock. 

You pouted and began to protest when he quickly lined his cock up with your cunt, and slid in deep and soft before you could. 

“Needed to be in you,” he whispered in your ear, gripping your hips and sliding your legs up and around him as he pushed that little bit deeper. “Keep them nice and wide for me,” he said, dropping one last kiss to your lips, before his chest rose, and his hips pulled away again. 

When they snapped back into you, you let out a generous scream of pleasure that almost had you wishing you'd never hung up. He set a quick pace, a furious pace as he too moaned into the contact of your cunt and his cock, two desperate people searching for release. 

“So tight, Y/N, you're so tight,” he moaned, flesh hitting flesh as you dug your nails into his arms, already so wet again, you could feel the sheets under you growing damp. His hand left its perch on your hip and found its way to your clit once again, and you knew that you weren't going to be able to keep to this pace without cumming a second time. 

“Keep moaning for me baby, show me how much you want it,” his voice begged, almost a rumble with how lustful he sounded. You let your voice carry, each moan a little bit more unrestricted than the last. 

“Louder, Y/N, please. I want to hear how much you're enjoying this, you don't know how much I enjoy hearing your pleasure.”

His prayers were answered when he lowered his head back down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, gently grazing it with his teeth between licks and sucks. You practically screamed his name, pressing your chest up to grant him better access. 

You liquefied beneath him, pressure building and building until you felt him rock, lifting his chest as you came. He pulled his cock out, teasing it through your folds as you stuttered around him, your arousal squirting across his cock and sheets as you fell back to the bed, gasping in pleasure. Your hips stuttered against him, and he soothed you gently, still working his cock through your folds gently as your clit went from overwhelmed to calm to quickly overstimulated. 

“Spencer,” you whimpered, almost unable to take all the pleasure he was offering you. “Spencer, it-it hurts.” 

“Don't you want me to stop?” He asked, stopping his movements for a second as you deliberated your answer. The lack of movement was answer alone, and you shook your head no wanting to feel his cock against you, inside you, one more time. 

“Louder, Y/N, tell me what you want.” 

“I want to keep going,” you said, as he began slowly rocking his cock against you again, sticky from your cum. 

“What do you want me to do?” He asked, teasing a nipple with his hand as your eyes fluttered shut. 

“Please fill me up again, please I want to cum again.” 

“One more time?” He asked.

“Mhmmm… one more… one more, please.” 

You were cum drunk, so horny that you couldn't fathom stopping there. He pressed another kiss to your lips and encouraged you to flip over, propping a pillow under your stomach as he pulled your legs into the right position. 

You snuggled into the pillows at your head, pushing your ass up for him slightly as he nudged his cock against your entrance once more. 

“Where should I cum  Y/N?” He asked, reaching under you to slowly circle your clit again. 

“H-hmmm…” you said, eyes shut, focused more on the pleasure than the question. You didn't care anymore. You didn't care where he came, just as long as he let you do it, too. 

“Y/N, I expect an answer. Where should I put my cum?” 

“Anywhere,” you pouted, pressing your hips back into his cock in the hopes that he'd just fuck you again already. 

“That's not an answer,” he said, gently slapping your ass as he pulled his cock away. 

“On your back?” He asked, fingers still working your clit underneath, but trailing lower until they found your cunt, two entering you to keep you wet and stretched for him. 

“You'd need to shower before you could pass out, but I'm happy to help clean you off. They have communal showers in prison, so I'm not shy.” You moaned at the suggestion but couldn't answer further. 

“On your stomach? Again we'd have to shower off, but I would love to see your boobs decorated all nicely.” Your moans were whimpers now as he edged you with his fingers, his words gentle in your ear but dripping with so much lust and promise you couldn't stand it. You didn't want to make decisions anymore. 

“On your face?”

“Not on my face,” you snapped quickly, and he nodded and stroked your hair, hooking a strand behind your ear as he agreed. 

“Okay. Where, Y/N? Be a good girl and tell me.”

“I-Inside. Cum inside me. Please.” 

“Of course. Good job.”

He pulled his hand free gently, and quickly replaced it with his thick cock, and you moaned again at the weight of it against your walls, the familiar stretch of it. In this position, he reached deeper somehow, his thrusts slower, more precise as he drew out his own orgasm as long as possible, maximising his ability to pleasure you. 

“Good girl,” he muttered against your skin, dropping a kiss to your back. “Good girl.” 

“Wanted to do this for so long, Y/N,” he confessed with each thrust. “Look at how pretty this pussy is, how wet it is for me. I wish your boyfriend could see it. I wish he could see how well-behaved you are for me. How nicely you take my cock.” 

His deep, slow strokes, his words, the kisses he pressed against any inch of your skin he could reach combined to push you over the edge a third and final time. This one wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. It was a steady shudder of pleasure from your hips and a quiet, satisfied sigh. 

You didn't say anything  but Spencer knew, he felt it, and he came moments after, cock deep inside as he filled you with his cum. 

“You're on birth control, right?” 

“IUD. Pill. Yeah.” You say between breathy sighs of contentment.

Muttering something behind you, he pulled out finally, leaving for a minute to grab a washcloth and clean himself off before returning to help you as well. 

“What did you mumble?” You asked, as he crawled back into your arms, looking up at him. 

“What?” He asked, ears turning slightly pink as you stared at him intently. 

“Just now. I told you I was on birth control, and you mumbled something.” 

He looked away, refusing to meet your gaze before dropping to kiss you sweetly once again. 

“Tell me,” you said, and he kissed you again. 

“Spencer, tell me,” you pouted, and he kissed the pout away. 

You almost asked again, but he kissed you too quickly, too deeply  and you lost your breath again. 

“I said,” he started, leaving you panting under him again. “It was good you're on birth control, because I like the sight of my cum dripping out of you.” 

The remaining breath left your body as you gasped, your face growing hot. You burrowed your face in his chest and let him hold you as you drifted into sleep, wrapped up in each other. 

[foxtrology]

sweet sweet baby (since you've been gone)

harry castillo x reader

series

warnings: no y/n, 28 year age gap, female reader.

The last time he had gone up to a woman was at a wedding reception and it ended terribly for him.

Lucy was her name.

He had thought she was the one. All the time they had spent together, all the nights he held her, it was all for nothing. In the end he was the one left behind while she and that broke fucking waiter—oh how much he hated that broke waiter with a fucking passion—ran off into the sunset all happily.

John.

John was his name. Living in a rundown studio apartment with a struggling college student as a roommate. Yeah, what a fucking life she decided to choose.

He still follows her on Instagram.

An Instagram she begged for him to have. He valued his privacy. Being a successful CEO had its perks but it also had his downsides. Privacy was a major downside. He's lucky if a week has gone by without The New York Times calling his office.

Something he should've done a long time ago was delete Instagram and move on from Lucy, but of course he loves to make things more difficult for himself.

19lucy89 has posted a photo!

He should've at least turn off the notifications notifying him of her posting but he couldn't do it. He still wasn't over her. Scrolling on the social media app had him scoffing.

She had posted a photo of her and that broke waiter kissing.

"Whiskey neat."

Harry slips his phone back into his pocket, thanking the bartender. Sliding off the barstool, he glances at all the couples around him. He rolls his eyes.

Since when is everyone fucking dating? Everywhere he goes it's always a couple canoodling. It pisses him off.

Getting back to his table, Danny slaps Harry on his back as he sits down. He cringes as the hand hits his back. He's always had back problems but never acknowledged them.

Not until Lucy. She made him start seeing a chiropractor.

But since she's out of his life, he has been ignoring his pains and ignoring his chiropractor’s calls. She didn't care anymore so why should he.

"Dude Vanessa and everybody are going to an afterparty—"

"Is this not an afterparty?" Harry furrows his brows, interrupting his partygoer friend.

Danny shakes his head playfully, scoffing. "Any excuse to continue drinking, am I right?"

He really didn't want to spend another hour at a party. He's 54 for god's sake, he done.

He's old. He's an old man.

He gets cranky if he doesn't go to sleep at a certain time, he gets aggravated when he pushes paperwork aside leaving it to the last minute, he hated pleasing his friends who have been trying to get him out more ever since the whole Lucy thing happened.

He's leaving, he wants to go home.

"I think I'll be heading—" Then his phone vibrating in his coat pocket stops him.

Maybe Lucy texted him?

Fuck he's so delusional.

"Actually I'm gonna head out. I have a lot of paperwork." Harry stands up, pulling out his phone.

Danny furrows his brows at his friend.

"But you didn't even touch your drink?"

Harry tells him he has liquor at his place, he can finish his drink at home, not here. He doesn't bother to say any goodbyes to any of his friends. They won't remember it anyways.

He hurriedly swipes open his phone as the cold air hits his face.

19lucy89 has added onto their stories!

Clicking onto her profile made him sick.

He should have deleted Instagram.

He should have blocked her.

But he wasn't strong enough.

She posted a video.

Though it wasn't just any other video. The video showed John on his left knee holding up a ring.

He was fucking proposing.

It was like his whole world came tumbling down.

He had never felt this sick in his life.

Harry used to hate the way rich people would talk about money. They used to say money isn't everything, how it doesn't solve anything and it isn't happiness.

He begged to differ.

He didn't grow up with much. His mother struggled especially.

She was sick and wasn't financially stable for treatment so she died.

He used to think that if they had money she would still be here.

He never told anyone about it. Never spoke about the situation, he always tried to ignore it. Until Lucy came around.

She was the only person he confided in. He cried in her arms.

He didn't understand how she could just leave so easily. He remembers the night she told him, they were in the kitchen when she spoke the truth about how she was still in love with John.

She had said that he was the one that got away and that they needed each other.

She packed up her clothes and left his penthouse.

And that was it.

And now he’s standing outside The Met at 54 years old, pathetically hung up on a woman who left him for some broke waiter in a studio apartment that probably has one fucking bathroom.

A couple bumping into him made him come back to earth. He mutters an apology for blocking the entrance.

Another fucking couple.

He shoves his phone into his pocket with too much force, rolling his shoulders as he takes the steps two at a time, the cold air biting against his skin.

Only Vanessa Garnier would throw a goddamn dinner party at The Met.

He needs to go home.

Needs to drink.

Needs to pretend he didn’t just witness the woman he once loved agreeing to marry a broke fucking waiter.

Harry is already pissed off as he stomps down the Met steps. He’s just trying to leave this godforsaken party, get home, and drown himself in whiskey while pretending he doesn’t care about Lucy’s engagement.

Then—he sees her.

She’s sitting on the steps wrapped up in her own world, scrolling her phone.

She’s alone. Not giggling into her phone like the socialites inside, not throwing herself at men with trust funds bigger than their personalities.

Just…sitting.

And for some reason, it annoys him.

"You’re in my spot."

It wasn't his spot but he was annoyed.

Maybe he was annoyed of seeing people who aren't miserable like him.

She barely looks up.

Just a quick flick of her eyes from her phone to the man standing in front of her, assessing him in a single glance before exhaling softly through her nose—unimpressed and unbothered.

That should have been the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

Since he was already irritated, already on edge, already a step away from either throwing his phone into the street or smashing it against the nearest wall—he stood there, waiting for a reaction that didn’t come.

Nothing.

No wide eyes.

No forced politeness.

No recognition.

Just a woman sitting on the steps of The Met, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, scrolling through her phone like he wasn’t even there.

His jaw ticked.

"Did you hear me?"

She sighed—actually sighed—as if he was the one disturbing her.

Well he kind of was.

Finally, she lifted her head, phone still in her hand, her gaze settling on him with all the enthusiasm of someone being asked to do a survey on the street.

"Yeah. I heard you."

His brow furrowed. He waited.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t shift.

Didn’t apologize.

Didn’t give him an inch of what he was used to—deference, nervous laughter, people scrambling to please him just because of who he was.

Instead, she blinked once slow and deliberate before tilting her head slightly to the side.

"Pretty sure the city owns these steps."

Harry clenched his teeth.

Of course.

Of course, he’d have to deal with this tonight.

This was not his night.

This was not his fucking night.

He didn’t even know why he was still standing there, why he hadn’t just turned and left. He should be in his car by now, should be halfway home with a drink already in his hand.

But for some reason he wasn’t.

For some reason he sat down instead.

A slow, deliberate movement. A shift of his coat as he lowered himself onto the step beside her, his knee brushing against the fabric of her own red coat as he exhaled sharply.

Her brow lifted slightly, her grip on her phone tightening for a moment as if she was considering whether to acknowledge his presence or simply ignore him altogether.

She settled on the latter.

Good.

Fine.

He didn’t want to talk anyway.

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring out at the street with the same burning resentment that had been sitting in his chest since he walked out of that party.

Another fucking couple passed by.

Laughing. Whispering. Holding hands like they were the only two people in the world.

His grip tightened around his knee. His mouth pressed into a firm thin line.

He should be at home.

He should be anywhere but here.

Instead, he was sitting on the cold steps of The Met beside a stranger who didn’t care that he was Harry fucking Castillo.

He scoffed.

The sound must have been louder than he intended, because this time—she looked at him.

Actually looked at him.

Not just a glance. Not just a flicker of vague recognition before returning to her phone.

No—she studied him, just for a second.

And then…the corner of her mouth twitched.

Not a smile. Not exactly. But close enough.

Close enough for something inside of him to tighten, for his stomach to knot in that irritating way he didn’t like.

She turned back to her phone.

"Rough night?"

He huffed out a sharp breath, shaking his head adjusting his tie even though it wasn’t loose.

"Something like that."

She hummed. Hummed. Like she wasn’t even surprised.

Like she already knew that about him.

Like she had already figured him out.

His teeth clenched.

She didn’t know him.

She didn’t know anything about him.

"What?" His voice was sharper than intended.

She barely reacted. Just tapped her thumb against her screen, scrolling absentmindedly before murmuring

"Nothing."

But it wasn’t nothing.

It was something.

It was definitely fucking something.

Harry exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his exhaustion settle deeper into his bones.

This night was never going to end, was it?

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

The sounds of the city hummed around them. Car horns. Distant conversations. The occasional roar of an engine as someone sped down Fifth Avenue.

And then—

"You gonna sit here all night?"

Harry turned his head slightly, catching the amused glint in her eyes as she finally looked at him again.

"Depends," he muttered. "You gonna move?"

She smirked. "Nope."

He exhaled.

Rolled his shoulders.

Ignored the way something unsettled was shifting in his chest.

"Guess I’m staying, then."

And for the first time in a long time—he didn’t mind.

That realization alone should have pissed him off. Should have made him get up, adjust his coat, and leave like he had originally planned.

But he stayed.

The cold air pressed against his skin, sneaking beneath his collar, curling around his fingers where they rested against his knee. The whiskey from earlier still burned slightly in the back of his throat, though it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, to settle the restless storm churning inside his chest.

The silence stretched.

Not an uncomfortable one, surprisingly. But an unfamiliar one.

People didn’t let silence sit with him. They filled it, rushed to fix it, scrambled to find something clever or charming or useful to say because people who sat next to him were always trying to get something from him.

The woman sitting next to him, scrolling through her phone like he wasn’t even there. Like he was just another insignificant part of the city.

That part should have pissed him off.

But it didn’t.

It intrigued him.

He tilted his head slightly, just enough to catch the faint reflection of her screen. Not because he cared what she was looking at—he didn’t—but because he needed a distraction. Any distraction.

A taxi app.

She was waiting for a ride.

She was leaving.

Good.

Great.

That meant he wouldn’t have to sit here much longer, wouldn’t have to keep pretending like this wasn’t some strange, unexplainable moment in his otherwise predictable night.

He could go home, pour himself a drink, scroll through Lucy’s Instagram like a fucking idiot, and pretend he wasn’t still furious.

But—

He didn’t want her to leave.

Not yet.

Not before he figured out why the hell he was still sitting here.

Not before he figured out why she wasn’t miserable like him.

His gaze flicked to her hands, the way she tapped at her screen absentmindedly like she wasn’t in a hurry, wasn’t anxious about the time, wasn’t dreading the ride home.

He wanted to ask where she was going.

He didn’t.

Instead, he spoke before he thought.

"Where do you live?"

She didn’t react at first.

Just kept scrolling.

Then without looking up.

"That’s a weird thing to ask a stranger."

Harry exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly.

"You’re waiting for a cab."

Finally, she turned to him, brow raised. "And?"

He rolled his shoulders, voice even. "I’ll take you home."

A beat of silence.

Then—

She laughed.

Not a giggle. Not a polite chuckle. A real, unfiltered laugh.

Like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

Harry’s expression did not change.

"I wasn’t joking."

That just made her laugh harder.

She shook her head, lips twitching as she locked her phone and slid it into her pocket, finally—finally—giving him her full attention.

"You, a man who I met ten minutes ago, are offering to take me home."

Harry blinked, unfazed.

"Yes."

"In your car?"

"Yes."

She exhaled, shaking her head again.

"This is the part where I ask if you're a serial killer."

He smirked, dry and humorless. "Would a serial killer offer?"

"Maybe a dumb one."

He scoffed. "Do I look dumb to you?"

She considered him for a moment. Then—

"A little bit."

Harry almost smiled.

Almost.

Instead, he sighed adjusting the sleeve of his coat as he stared out at the street again.

"Look, I don’t care where you live. I don’t care what you do. And I don’t care if you take the cab or not. But it’s late and I have a driver waiting." He paused. "Take the ride. Or don’t."

She studied him for a moment.

Not like the people at the party, not like the women who assessed him as a prize, a trophy, a walking investment.

No, she was studying him like she was still trying to figure out if he was serious.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why offer?"

Harry clenched his jaw.

Good question.

Why had he?

Because he was restless.

Because he didn’t want to be alone.

Because he wasn’t ready for the night to end.

But he didn’t say any of that.

Instead he said, "Because I can."

She hummed at that, something unreadable passing over her face.

Then to his absolute fucking surprise

She stood.

Pulled her coat tighter around herself.

Looked down at him with a grin.

"Lead the way, then."

The Maybach was parked at the curb, sleek and expensive and definitely out of place for a random stranger sitting on museum steps.

His driver, James barely batted an eye when Harry pulled open the door and gestured for her to get in first.

She hesitated.

Just for a moment.

And then—

She slid into the seat like she did this every day.

Harry followed, closing the door behind them.

James glanced at him through the rearview mirror, silent, waiting.

Harry exhaled, glancing at her.

"Where to?"

She gave him a look.

"Aren't you supposed to be a gentleman and ask for my name first?"

He huffed. "You never asked for mine."

"Because I don’t care."

His lips twitched. "Then why get in the car?"

She leaned back against the leather seat, legs crossed, gaze flicking out the window.

"Because I wanted to see if you'd actually do it."

Harry shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he gave James the silent cue to start driving.

This was insane.

He should have just gone home.

Should have just let her take the damn cab.

But now—he was in a car with a woman who didn’t care who he was, nor his money, didn’t even seem remotely fazed by the fact that she was sitting in a million dollar car with a man who could buy out half the city.

And for the first time all night...

Lucy’s engagement didn’t feel like the worst thing that had happened to him.

The car pulled away from the curb, merging smoothly into the flow of late night Manhattan traffic. The soft hum of the engine filled the space between them, a quiet luxury that most people would have fawned over.

But not her.

She wasn’t running her fingers over the leather seats, wasn’t sneaking glances at him, wasn’t pretending to be indifferent while stealing curious looks.

She just stared out the window, completely at ease.

Harry tilted his head slightly, studying her side profile.

"You still haven’t told me where you live."

She blinked, turning back to him, almost as if she’d forgotten he was even there.

"Oh. Right." She exhaled, stretching her arms slightly before dropping them into her lap. "I’ll just have your driver drop me off at the corner of—"

"Not James." His voice was firm, sharp in a way he didn’t expect.

She raised a brow.

"What?"

"Tell me."

A slow smirk curled at her lips, amusement flickering in her gaze.

"Are you always this controlling?"

"Are you always this difficult?"

Her smirk widened slightly, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to the front of the car.

"Excuse me, take me to—"

"Don’t talk to my driver."

She whipped her head back to him, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

"He’s not your driver."

She let out a small, sharp laugh, shaking her head.

"You’re serious?"

"Very."

She rolled her eyes, but there was something else there, something interested.

She sighed, crossing her arms, "Fine. Since you clearly need to be the one in control, Lower East Side."

He barely nodded before shifting his gaze back toward the front.

James, wordlessly, made a turn.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Harry leaned back against his seat, stretching out his legs, exhaling slowly as the tension from earlier in the night settled into something quieter.

The city moved past them in streaks of light, taxis cutting through traffic, pedestrians still wandering the streets like the night would never end.

She stayed turned toward the window, her fingers mindlessly tapping against her knee.

The silence should have been comfortable.

But it wasn’t.

Not for him.

Because he was still thinking.

Thinking about Lucy. Thinking about how stupid he felt for still checking her Instagram. Thinking about how much he hated the feeling of losing.

But also—thinking about her.

This woman.

This stranger who got into his car without a second thought, who didn’t care about his money, who didn’t care about him.

That part was what unsettled him the most.

Because he was used to being recognized. Used to being admired, envied, feared.

But she?

She was just here.

Like he was just another man.

Like he wasn’t anything at all.

And for some reason—he wasn’t sure he hated that.

She broke the silence first. "So, what’s your deal?"

Harry exhaled, rolling his head to the side slightly.

"My deal?"

"Yeah." She waved a hand vaguely. "You seem miserable."

"You say that like it’s an observation."

"It is."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Maybe I just don’t like parties."

"Nope."

He arched a brow.

"No?"

"Not just parties. Life."

Harry’s jaw tightened. "Bold assumption."

"Accurate assumption."

His gaze flicked toward her, sharp, assessing.

She met it without hesitation.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then she shrugged.

"Look, I don’t know what rich guy problems you have but you were sitting on those steps like someone had either ruined your life or just rejected your marriage proposal."

Harry stilled.

His fingers twitched slightly against his knee, his pulse slow, heavy.

She didn’t know how close she was.

How dangerously fucking close.

She didn’t know about Lucy. About the proposal he never got to make. About much time he spent believing he was enough only to realize that he wasn’t.

She didn’t know anything.

But she still saw right through him.

And that?

That pissed him off.

"Maybe I just wanted some fresh air." His voice was clipped, sharp.

"Sure." She smirked, looking out the window again. "And maybe I’m a billionaire, too."

Harry inhaled, slow and deep, rolling his head back against the seat, eyes flickering up toward the roof of the car.

"You’re insufferable."

"So I’ve been told."

For a moment, it was quiet again.

Then—

"Was it a girl?"

His brow furrowed.

"What?"

"The reason you were brooding." She tilted her head slightly. "Was it a girl?"

His fingers clenched.

She smirked.

"It was, wasn’t it?"

He clenched his jaw.

"Not everything is about a woman."

"I never said it was." She lifted a shoulder. "You just confirmed it, though."

Harry exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.

This was insane.

She was insane.

Why was he even still talking to her?

Why hadn’t he just dropped her off and left?

"I don’t do small talk." His voice was firm.

"Good. Me neither."

Then—silence.

Not uncomfortable.

Not forced.

Just…there.

The car slowed as they reached her street.

She shifted slightly, sitting up, unfastening her seatbelt as James pulled over.

For a second, Harry felt something strange.

Something he didn’t want to name.

She reached for the door handle, but before she could push it open—

"Wait."

She paused.

Glanced back at him. Brows lifted, waiting.

Harry swallowed.

"Let me take you to dinner."

Silence.

Her head tilted, lips curving up at the corners. "Are you asking or telling?"

"Does it matter?"

She smirked.

"I guess not."

She pushed the door open, stepping out into the cold.

Harry watched her go, watched as she turned, hands stuffed into her pockets, eyes unreadable as she met his gaze one last time.

Then—

"If you find me again, maybe I’ll say yes."

And just like that—

She was gone.

Harry sat there for a long moment.

Watched the empty space where she had been.

Felt the quiet weight of something new settle over him.

And for the first time in years, he found himself hoping—

That he’d see her again.

And knowing, somehow—

That he would.

[vettelsvee]

THE MOMENT I KNEW | Max Verstappen

Max Verstappen x Girlfriend!Reader

SUMMARY: After a few races where he didn't get the results he expected, Max decides to go out with some friends to disconnect from everything. Unluckily, one of those days when he arrives home after having some drinks, he finds out that he missed his girlfriend's birthday as soon as he sees the cake she ordered on the trash ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Maybe something angsty?? Like maybe bro goes out with his friends and forgets readers bday until he sees the cake in the trash can and realizes bro screwed up

WORD COUNT: 2007

WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of being drunk, angst

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]

VEE'S NOTES: I've absolutely loved this one my God. With this fic, we mark a total of 6196 words written this week (not counting my uni essays and other several projects), so I'm quite proud about that! Also, thank you so much for the support all this week, hope you liked all the fics! I'll be uploading this upcoming week's posts tomorrow. Let me know in the comments or on the anon inbox your thoughts on this one! See you next week :) ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

Max stumbled into your apartment, fumbling with the keys and opening the door with trembling hands, his pounding headache reminding him that it wouldn’t be this bad if he’d listened to the bartender’s advice to stop after the last gin tonic.

As soon as he stepped inside, he froze in the doorway, scanning everything as if it were his first time entering the place, even though he had been living there for nearly five years, the last two with you. He took a few unsteady steps toward the small entryway counter, where he dropped his keys and realized the silence was far heavier than he had anticipated.

His laughter, faint and fueled by the false sense of security that alcohol had provided, quickly dissipated. Taking a cautious step further into the living room, he noticed there were no lights on, no plates or leftover food on the small coffee table in front of the TV, and most strikingly, you were neither sprawled out on the couch watching one of the romantic movies you adored nor curled up asleep with one of your cats.

Despite the glaring signs, Max didn’t panic, at least not as much as he should have, even though something inside him whispered that the situation didn’t sit right.

It wasn’t until he wandered into the kitchen to get a glass of water and rounded the island that his foot stumbled slightly, nearly sending him sprawling to the floor. Puzzled, he looked down to see what had caused him to trip. His heart sank when his eyes landed on a discarded box, its lid broken as if it had been thrown to the floor, angrily, on purpose.

That’s when reality hit him like a freight train.

He turned his gaze to the left, where the trash can stood partially open. Inside, he saw an untouched cake, decorated with intricate floral designs and a message that read, “Happy Birthday, Y/N!” The sight struck him like a blow to the chest, the pressure so intense it made him want to vomit.

“No… No, it wasn’t today…” 

Desperately, and trying to figure out what to do, Max ran his hands through his hair, as if that might somehow help him calm down. His breathing grew more erratic with each passing second, his eyes glued to the cake. It didn’t feel real. He couldn’t understand how he had managed to forget such an important date… you, his girlfriend’s, birthday. Something so obvious had suddenly spiraled into a waking nightmare.

He noticed his phone sitting on the kitchen counter. Grabbing it quickly, he checked for any missed calls or messages from you, only to realize after several failed attempts to turn it on that it was dead. He blamed his drunkenness not only for not noticing he didn’t have his phone with him or that it was out of battery, but for forgetting such a meaningful day and breaking every promise he had made to you.

Deep down, though, he knew all the excuses were hollow. Any justification he tried to offer would be nothing but foolishness.

Setting the phone back on the counter, he decided not to waste any more time. He headed toward your bedroom. The door was ajar, and though the lights were off, he could make out your silhouette lying on the bed, your back turned to him. You gave no sign that you had noticed his arrival. The only sound in the room was your muffled, quiet sobs. As Max stepped closer, he saw you were clutching a pillow tightly, as if it were your only source of comfort.

That was the moment Max realized he couldn’t avoid facing the situation, no matter how impossible it felt to fix things right away.

“Y/N...” he said softly.

You didn’t answer, and your silence hurt more than a thousand words could have. Max knelt beside the bed, close enough to reach out, and gently began stroking your face. You didn’t resist his touch, but your indifference pierced him deeply.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice trembling as he fought to hold himself together. “I swear this wasn’t my intention… I wanted to come home earlier, but Lando insisted we stay a bit longer, and then I didn’t have my phone…”

“You forgot, Max,” you interrupted, your tone sharp but laced with pain, anger, and sadness. You still wouldn’t look at him. “Goddammit, Max, you forgot my fucking birthday ever since the moment the clock struck midnight.”

Max fell silent. Once again, reality hit him square in the face, forcing him to acknowledge that anything he said would likely be inadequate. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, trying to find the words to explain himself calmly, to admit his mistakes while grappling with the weight of his guilt.  

“You know it wasn’t my intention,” he began, his voice low. “It’s just… with the shitty season I’ve been having and everything that comes with it, I’ve been feeling overwhelmed. I just needed to step out of my comfort zone for a bit, to clear my head…”  

“And you thought doing that on my birthday, after promising me a dream day, was the most appropriate choice?” you cut him off, finally raising your head. Your eyes were swollen and red from crying. “I know you’re not in a good place right now, but I also know that until now, every promise you’ve made to me, you’ve kept. You didn’t just forget about me, Max. You left me here, alone, all day, like I didn’t matter at all.”  

Max searched desperately for a way to salvage the situation, to apologize, to do something, anything, to prove how deeply sorry he was. But when you turned on the light and sat up to face him, he realized he was out of options. He didn’t know how to continue without disappointing you further.  

“You know this has been really hard for me…”  

“Hard for you? Seriously?” you interrupted, leaning closer and pointing your finger at him. “And you think this has been easy for me? Watching you shut me out, never telling me what’s going on in that head of yours? Not to mention your fans… They’re fully convinced that your shitty season is all my fault, that our relationship is ruining your career.”  

“Y/N, I know…”  

That was a lie. He didn’t know. Max had ignored the comments and criticism because, deep down, he believed you weren't to blame for his performance, especially when you rarely even went with him to the races anymore.  

“There’s nothing I can say to argue with you,” Max admitted. “You’re absolutely right. I’ve been a complete asshole today, and I’m truly sorry. I love you, Y/N, more than you know…”  

“Are you sure you love me?” you shot back, your voice trembling with anger. “Do you love me, or your damn career? Because lately, it feels like your whole world revolves even more around cars, races, speed, adrenaline, and your constant need to be the best at everything.”  

“Hey…” Max tried, his voice faltering.  

“Every day, you show me more and more that we’re no longer a team… that I’m no longer a part of you. And I know I’m not the only one who sees it.”  

Your words hit him like a dagger, but he knew he deserved them.  

“It’s not just about you forgetting my birthday today, Max. It’s everything. You don’t listen to me… you don’t give me anything, not even a minute of your day, let alone affection or support. Why should I stay in a relationship that, instead of giving me life, is killing me inside?”  

Your words struck him like a bucket of ice water.  

“You don’t get it, do you?” you asked, frustration and sadness mingling in your tone as he stayed silent. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t be afraid to show me who you are, flaws and all. But you’ve always done this, Max, keeping me at arm’s length, never letting me into your life.”  

“I don’t do that, Y/N, it’s just that…” he began, summoning his courage to explain, but you cut him off once again.  

“Damn it, Max, yes, of course you do!” you yelled, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “Do you realize that even though I’ve been with you, I’ve been completely alone? Alone, Max, utterly alone! I’ve tried so many times to talk to you, to make you see that a few bad races aren’t the end of the world for someone like you, but…”  

You stopped yourself abruptly, your throat aching and your head pounding. You felt no remorse for the way you were speaking to him since he deserved every word, but you couldn’t help but feel a deep sadness. Sadness for the Max Verstappen you had once known. A man who had been so proud of himself and his achievements after years of hard work, now emotionally shattered and, worse, so determined to hide it from everyone, including you.  

“I can’t keep giving you everything I have while you keep taking and taking, without giving anything back.”  

“I’m sorry…” Max muttered, but the words felt hollow.  

“A simple ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t fix anything, Max,” you replied, your voice quieter now but no less wounded. “I wish it were just about today, but like I said, I feel like you’re pushing me further out of your life with every passing day. You’re becoming a stranger to me, Max,” you admitted, trying not to let your voice waver. “You’ve been like this for months, and I don’t know what else to do to stop us from falling apart… though it feels like that’s exactly what you want.”  

“That’s not true,” he answered immediately, desperation in his voice. “Y/N, seriously, I love you more than you could ever imagine.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, tears welling up again. “Because I feel like you’re showing me the exact opposite.” Your voice trembled with the weight of her words. “Sometimes it feels like you love your career, the success you’ve achieved and the crowds chanting your name more than you love me.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice barely audible. “You know I want to, but… I don’t know how to fix this anymore…”

You looked at him, your eyes searching his face for some sign, some silent promise that would make you believe things between you could change. But Max’s words only made you realize that you had to stop thinking fantasies and start facing reality.

“Maybe you can’t fix it,” you confessed, the words breaking you from the inside. “I can’t keep going like this, Max… I can’t keep feeling like I’m not enough… like I’m not good enough for you.”

“Seriously, there has to be a solution…” he pleaded, his voice full of regret. “I’ll do better from now on, I promise…”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You turned to look at him, the pain evident in your expression. “Things won’t magically get better if you take me to dinner or buy me a million-dollar necklace to make up for today. That won’t fix anything, Max…”

“Y/N… Y/N, please… I need you…”

No matter how many times Max said those words, he knew that any promise he made now would be meaningless, especially considering how much he had already failed you.

Feeling that there were no more words left to say between them, you slowly got out of bed. You gathered the few belongings you had on the nightstand and, with a sense of finality, began to pack a bag, all the while feeling Max’s powerless gaze on you.

“I can’t keep waiting, Max,” you said, her voice steady despite the anguish inside. “Today, no matter how much I tried to turn a blind eye, let it go, and even put myself in your shoes… This… everything… after many tries… God, Max, all of this… That was the moment I knew.”

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.9

Chapter Nine: The Silver Lining's I'll Be There With You

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, Heavy Overthinking, Cecilia deserves her own warning lol, Confrontation,

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: SOOO… lol, this is the longest I’ve gone without writing/posting, I deeply apologise and I’m so sorry T^T I literally had to lock the fuck in with school, each week I had at least two exams/deadlines. I blame our profs for their poor planning lol. Anyways, I have a little bit of a lighter load now since it’s almost finals season… I’ll keep ya’ll posted, and I humbly ask ya’ll to be patient for the next update and oh god, TLOU season 2… Uneven Odds… My backlog is insane right now, oh naur. Pedro babes I love you, but go on vacation boo. 

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Silver Lining by Laufey

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

PINEWOOD STUDIOS, LONDON — MORNING

You were hella nervous. Pedro held your hand the entire car ride to the studio, his thumb softly brushing over your knuckles, grounding you even as your stomach twisted itself into knots.

"You're quiet," he murmured, watching you from the corner of his eye. "You okay, baby?"

You forced a smile. "Yeah. Just… y’know. Nervous."

"About what?"

You shrugged, trying to play it off. "I dunno. Just… going back on set. Seeing everyone. After, y'know…"

The accident.

Pedro squeezed your hand tighter. His jaw clenched, and you could tell — he was still haunted by it too. The way you had thrown yourself in front of him. The way he had watched you collapse under the rig. The way he had screamed for help — like his entire world was falling apart.

"Hey." His voice was soft. "I'm not leaving your side, okay? The second you wanna leave — we leave. I don't care what anyone says."

And you believed him. God, you did. But there was still this gnawing pit in your stomach. Something you couldn't shake.

Because something still didn't make sense.

The rig was never supposed to fall like that.

The air in the studio felt wrong the moment you stepped inside.

Too still. Too watchful.

The crew was polite — too polite — but cagey. Their gazes flitted toward you, then away. Conversations hushed behind clipboards. Even your supervisor couldn’t meet your eyes. Something was off.

And Pedro… he never let go of your hand.

“Hey.” His thumb brushed against your knuckles, voice low. “You okay?”

You weren’t sure. Your stomach coiled, dread sinking deep into your bones. “Yeah. Just—”

“—Glad you could make it,” a voice interrupted.

You both turned.

Rob, the production’s safety manager, stood stiffly at the entrance. His face was a heavy mask of professionalism, but his eyes… there was something hard in them.

“Rob?” Pedro said, stepping forward slightly. “What’s going on?”

Rob’s jaw flexed. “We need to speak with you both. Privately.”

Your stomach flipped. “Both of us?”

A beat of hesitation. “Yes. It’s regarding the rig accident.”

Pedro’s grip on your hand tightened.

The meeting room was small and clinical. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, washing the walls in a cold, sterile glow. A long table stretched across the center, surrounded by a few empty chairs — and at the end of it, a large television screen.

You sat next to Pedro. His knee pressed against yours, grounding you — or maybe grounding himself.

“What’s going on?” you finally managed, trying to sound casual despite the dread in your throat.

Rob didn’t answer immediately. He set his clipboard down and exhaled heavily, gaze flicking between you and Pedro. We reviewed the footage from the accident. We also conducted a full inspection of the rig.”

Your chest tightened. “And?”

Rob hesitated, his throat working. “We found something.”

Silence dropped like a hammer. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

“What did you find?” Pedro’s voice was tight, protective.

Rob didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed a remote and clicked it. The television flickered to life.

And there it was.

The accident.

Your throat closed.

You watched yourself on the screen — laughing softly as you secured the cast into their harnesses. Pedro stood beside you, his hand resting on your shoulder as he said something that made you smile. The light rig swayed subtly above you, unnoticed.

And then—

It happened.

The exact moment the rig detached.

A sharp, metallic snap. Your body jolted, instinctively pushing Pedro out of the way as the light came crashing down.

Your mouth ran dry. Every muscle in your body seized.

“Wait—pause it,” Pedro rasped, his voice cracking. “Right there.”

Rob froze the footage. Pedro shot to his feet, pointing at the corner of the screen. “Zoom in.”

The image expanded.

And there — in the background — was someone.

Half-hidden behind a metal panel. But unmistakable.

“Cecilia,” you whispered, ice flooding your veins.

Pedro went rigid beside you. “What the fuck—”

She was watching you. Her gaze locked solely on you. And then — her hand moved.

A deliberate pull.

And that’s when the rig snapped.

“No.” Pedro’s voice broke, his entire body jerking back as though burned. “No — she—” His hand raked through his hair. “She did that on fucking purpose.”

You couldn’t breathe. “Why—why would she—”

And then Rob’s voice cut through. Low. Grave.

“…She wasn’t trying to kill Mr. Pascal.”

The room dropped into an unbearable silence.

Your head snapped toward Rob. “…What?”

Rob’s throat worked. “The investigation revealed the rig was deliberately tampered with during your lunch break. Cecilia was on set when no one else was. We believe she… adjusted the release on the rig.”

Your entire body went cold. “But it didn’t fall on me,” you rasped. “It— it almost hit him—”

“Because the timing was off.” Rob’s voice was heavy. “…It was meant to fall when you returned. She was waiting for you to get under it.”

Pedro’s hands were shaking. “You’re saying—”

“She was trying to kill her,” Rob confirmed grimly. “And when it didn’t happen — she didn’t react. She just… watched.”

Your stomach lurched.

Pedro stumbled back a step, his face ashen. “Where the fuck is she?” he demanded, voice raw.

“We have her in a separate room. Security’s questioning her now.”

Rob’s words sat heavy in the air.  

The room was suffocating. You could hear the hum of the air conditioner, the faint chatter from outside the closed door, the scratch of Rob’s pen against his clipboard. Everything felt too loud and too quiet at the same time.  

You exhaled slowly, trying to ground yourself.  

"I know she and I don’t get along…” you started, your voice unsteady. “But this is a lot.”  

Pedro’s head snapped toward you. His eyes—wide, dark, still brimming with the horror of what he just saw—searched yours like he couldn’t believe you were saying that.  

“A lot?” he repeated, voice tight. “A lot?”  

You swallowed.  

“Pedro, I—”  

“No.” He let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his curls before gripping the back of his neck, his whole body strung tight with barely restrained fury. “She tried to fucking kill you. And you’re standing here acting like it’s just—what? Office drama?”  

Your stomach twisted. “That’s not—”  

“No,” he cut you off, stepping closer. “She planned this, waited for the right moment, rigged that thing to fall exactly when you’d be standing there—” He sucked in a shaky breath. “She watched it happen.”  

The words made your blood run cold.  

Because he was right.  

She had watched. You’d seen it in the footage—the way her head barely moved as the rig came loose, how she didn’t even flinch when it nearly crushed Pedro.  

If anything… it had almost looked like satisfaction.  

A chill ran down your spine.  

Pedro saw your expression shift, and his own softened just a fraction. He sighed, running a hand down his face before reaching for you again, his fingers sliding against yours.  

“Amor,” he murmured, his voice low and pleading. “You can’t downplay this.”  

You hesitated—but you didn’t pull away.  

“I just—” you licked your lips, eyes darting toward Rob. “I need to know why.”  

“Then let’s find out.” Pedro’s grip tightened. He looked at Rob. “I want to see her.”  

Rob hesitated.  

"Mr. Pascal, I don't think—"  

“We need to see her.”  

There was no room for argument.  

Rob exhaled sharply, glancing between you both before nodding. "Follow me."  

SECURITY ROOM — PINEWOOD STUDIOS

The moment you stepped inside, the air felt wrong.  

Cecilia didn’t look up at first. She just sat there, fingers tapping lazily against the metal table, the picture of boredom. But when the door clicked shut behind you, her lips curled into something sharp, something mocking.  

“Well, well.” She leaned back, exhaling a slow breath through her nose. “Look who survived.”  

Pedro’s hands clenched into fists.  

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your pulse pounded in your ears. You had questions—you had so many questions—but standing in front of her, seeing the absolute lack of remorse in her expression, your stomach twisted into knots.  

“You were trying to kill me.” It wasn’t even a question.  

Cecilia tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with something twisted. “You make it sound so dramatic.”  

Pedro lunged.  

Security was on him before he could reach her, two guards stepping in to block his path. His breathing was ragged, shoulders heaving, but he didn’t take his eyes off her.  

“You tried to fucking kill her!” he spat, voice raw with barely restrained rage.  

Cecilia let out a soft, breathy laugh.  

And then she looked at you.  

The intensity of it made your stomach churn. There was something ugly in her gaze, something simmering beneath the surface.  

“Don’t act so shocked,” she mused, her voice sickly sweet. “You had to know I hated you.”  

You took a shaky step forward. “Why?”  

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”  

“Why, Cecilia?”  

Her smirk dropped.  

And then—  

"Because you don’t belong here," she snapped.  

The air seemed to still.  

Pedro stiffened beside you.  

Cecilia leaned forward, her nails scraping against the metal table. "You’re nobody," she sneered. “Some random, awkward little nobody who just lucked her way into all of this.” Her eyes flicked to Pedro with something scathing. “And somehow, you have him wrapped around your pathetic little finger.”  

Your breath hitched.  

Pedro’s hand found yours, squeezing tight.  

She saw it. And laughed.  

"Oh, wow," she drawled. “That’s fucking hilarious.”  

You opened your mouth, but she cut you off.  

"You walk onto this set like you belong here, like you’re one of us—but you’re not." Her voice was venomous now, her eyes wild. “You think people don’t talk about you? You think we don’t see it? The way you cling to him like some shy, pathetic little puppy?”  

You flinched.  

Pedro stepped in front of you instinctively, his body a shield. “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”  

Cecilia rolled her eyes. "Look at you. Protecting her. It’s honestly nauseating."  

Pedro’s grip on your hand tightened.  

"Here’s what really pisses me off," she continued, voice low and sharp. "I worked my ass off to get where I am. I have connections, I have talent, I belong here. But you—" her lip curled "—some quiet, nothing of a girl, you get handed everything. People like you shouldn’t get to win."  

Your throat tightened.  

Cecilia sat back, exhaling through her nose. "So yeah," she murmured. "I wanted you gone."  

Silence.  

And then Pedro moved.  

Not toward her—but toward you. His hand came up, cupping the back of your neck, his thumb brushing softly against your jaw. His touch was gentle, but his voice was firm.  

“She’s everything you’ll never be,” he said quietly.  

Cecilia’s eyes darkened.  

Rob, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. His voice was sharp, cold.  

“You’re done.”  

Cecilia blinked, her head snapping toward him.  

“Legal is handling the rest,” Rob continued. "You’ll be formally charged. The company will pursue legal action for endangering crew and tampering with safety equipment. And as for Mr. Pascal and Miss—”  

Pedro cut him off. “We’re filing charges too.”  

Your heart skipped.  

Cecilia laughed. "We’re?” Her eyes flicked to you. “Oh my god. You’re actually letting him do this for you.”  

Pedro didn’t even hesitate. "No," he said. “She’s not letting me do anything. I’m doing this because she deserves better.”  

Cecilia scoffed, but it was weaker now.  

Security moved in. "Time’s up," one of them muttered, gripping Cecilia’s arm.  

She didn’t fight them. Didn’t struggle. But as they led her out, she turned, eyes locking onto yours.  

And then she smiled.  

A chill ran down your spine.  

Pedro felt it. You knew he did—because his hand never left yours.  

Rob cleared his throat. "You two need to come with me. Legal will brief you on the next steps."  

Pedro nodded, already leading you toward the door.  

But your feet felt heavy.  

This wasn’t over.  

Not by a long shot.  

And somehow… you had a terrible feeling that Cecilia wasn’t done with you yet.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — LATER THAT DAY

To say the rest of the workday was exhausting was an understatement.  

The meeting with legal had been a blur—signing statements, reviewing footage again, going over protocol and next steps. There was so much red tape, so much legal jargon, that it all started to bleed together in your head.  

And then there was Cecilia.  

She was officially gone. Fired. Out of the studio.  

No one was exactly mourning her departure. In fact, you quickly realized that she hadn’t been all that liked to begin with. Crew members exchanged knowing glances, a few even muttering things like, “About damn time.” It was a strange kind of relief, knowing you hadn’t imagined the way she’d treated you—that you hadn’t been overreacting.  

Still, you couldn’t shake the sick feeling in your gut.  

There was something about the way she had smiled before she left.  

Like she knew something you didn’t.  

But you pushed it down. You had to. There was still work to be done, cameras to prep, lights to check. The show had to go on, and the last thing you wanted was to make everything about you.  

So you pretended.  

You focused on your job, gave polite smiles when necessary, forced your hands to steady when they trembled. If anyone noticed how stiff you were, they didn’t say anything. And if Pedro noticed—well.  

He was watching you.  

Constantly.  

Even as he ran through his scenes, even when he was talking to the director, even when he was across the damn set, you could feel it—his eyes lingering, his brow furrowed in quiet concern.  

And honestly? It was starting to make you nervous.  

So, during a break between shots, when he finally cornered you near the equipment table, you weren’t exactly surprised.  

"Are you okay?"  

You swallowed, forcing a small smile. "I’m fine."  

Pedro raised an eyebrow.  

Damn it.  

"I’m trying to be fine," you amended, shifting awkwardly under his gaze.  

He sighed. "You don’t have to try with me, you know."  

Your stomach twisted.  

Because that was the thing about Pedro—he was safe. You had known that since the moment you met him. It was in his voice, in the warmth of his touch, in the way he never pushed too hard, never made you feel like you had to be anything other than what you were.  

And that—that terrified you more than anything.  

Because what if you fell into that safety? What if you leaned too hard? What if you needed him too much?  

You bit your lip, glancing down. "I just... I don’t want to make this a big deal."  

Pedro was silent for a beat. Then—  

"But it is a big deal," he murmured.  

Your breath caught.  

Pedro reached out, his fingers ghosting over your wrist before he really touched you—slow and gentle, like he was giving you the chance to pull away.  

You didn’t.  

"Someone tried to hurt you," he continued, voice low, careful. "I need you to understand that I—" He broke off, his jaw clenching like he was trying to rein himself in. "I don’t take that lightly."  

You exhaled shakily.  

"I know," you whispered.  

His fingers tightened around your wrist, warm and steady.  

For a second, neither of you moved.  

And then—  

Someone called Pedro’s name from across the set.  

He swore under his breath but didn’t let go right away, his thumb brushing absently against your pulse.  

"We’re not done talking about this," he murmured.  

And before you could protest, he was gone.  

Leaving you standing there, heart racing, hands aching with the ghost of his touch.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — EARLY EVENING  

The day dragged on like a ghost of itself.

After Cecilia was escorted off set and Pedro’s legal team assured you everything would be handled, you forced yourself to keep working. You were quiet. Careful. Mechanical. Going through the motions like a wind-up version of yourself.

People tried to be nice. Someone handed you a protein bar. Someone else asked if you were okay in that awkward, nervous way people do when they don’t know how to talk about something awful.  

You smiled. Nodded. Said, “Yeah. I’m okay.”

You weren’t.

By the time the lights dimmed and crew started packing up, the hum of the studio felt deafening. Pedro had been across the lot filming a short pickup scene—he’d looked back at you three times as he walked off, like he didn’t want to leave you alone, but you waved him on with a soft, forced smile. Told him you’d be fine.

You lied.

Because now you found yourself sitting on a lonely bench just outside the studio’s back lot, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The sun was low in the sky, casting everything in golden haze, but none of it touched the growing pit in your chest.

Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

You almost died.

He almost died.  

You didn’t even remember moving—your body just acted, just lunged toward him before the rig collapsed. You could still feel the heat of it brushing past your back as you shoved him out of the way. The sound of it crashing. Pedro yelling your name. The weight of it all hadn’t sunk in until now.

You sat there, heart pounding, staring at your hands like they belonged to someone else.

Then—Footsteps. Familiar ones. Heavy boots on pavement.

Pedro.

“…There you are,” he said softly.

You looked up too fast, eyes wide. He frowned when he saw your face.

“You said you were going to the parking lot,” he murmured, kneeling down in front of you instead of sitting beside you. “You’ve been out here alone?”

You nodded. Barely. “Yeah. I just… I needed a second.”

His gaze flickered over you, reading all the things you didn’t say.

“You’re not okay.”

You tried to smile again. Failed. “No.”

That one word cracked something open. Your voice wobbled. “I’m really not.”

Pedro didn’t say anything—he just reached for your hands, gently prying them from where they were clutched around your middle. His thumbs brushed your knuckles as he held them, grounding you with his warmth.

“I keep thinking,” you whispered, “If I was just a few steps slower—if I hadn’t looked up, if the timing was different… you could’ve been—”

“Hey.” He reached up, cupping your cheek. His voice was low and firm and steady. “But I wasn’t. You were there. You saved me.”

You blinked hard. Your throat tightened. “But you shouldn’t have been in danger in the first place. None of this should’ve happened. I don’t know how she—how someone I used to know—could hate me that much. It’s like… like I did something wrong just by existing.”

Pedro’s brow furrowed. His thumb brushed gently under your eye where a tear had slipped free. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “You’re not the problem, cariño. She is. Whatever’s broken in her, it has nothing to do with you.”

You dropped your gaze. “I’ve always been the weird one. The quiet one. The ‘who even let her in here?’ kind of girl.”

Pedro let out a breath like it hurt to hear you say that. Then he sat beside you, pulling you into his chest without hesitation. You didn’t even think—your body just curled into him like it was home.

“I don’t know who made you feel like that,” he said quietly, “but they were all wrong.”

His arms were wrapped around you tight. Solid. Safe.

“You belong here,” he whispered. “You’re good at your job. You’re kind. And brave. You didn’t even hesitate today. You didn’t think about it, didn’t flinch—you just moved.”

You felt the warmth of his breath against your temple.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life,” he admitted. “Watching that rig come down, seeing you throw yourself toward me—” His voice cracked, just a little. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you got hurt.”

Your heart thudded painfully at that.

You shifted slightly, your face still tucked against his shoulder, your voice small. “But I’m okay.”

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “But that doesn’t mean it’s okay.”

Silence fell for a moment. But it wasn’t heavy this time. It was full of unspoken things. Of feeling.  

You pulled back just enough to look at him. He didn’t let go.

“…You really scared me too,” you whispered. “More than I expected. And I—I don’t think it’s just because I like working with you.”

Pedro’s eyes softened.

“You don’t?” he asked gently.

Your cheeks flushed. You glanced down, shy and awkward. “No. I think… I think I like you in the stupid romantic way.”

Pedro didn’t answer at first. Instead, he leaned in—slow, careful, giving you every chance to back away.

You didn’t.

And when he kissed you, it was soft. Warm. Like the sun finally touching your skin after a long, cold day.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, “That’s not stupid.”

You smiled, still tearful, still trembling—but for the first time all day, the weight on your chest felt just a little bit lighter.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

The car ride back to the hotel was quiet.

Not uncomfortable—just… full. The kind of silence that settles in after your body’s been wrung out by adrenaline and nerves. You stared out the window, your hands fidgeting in your lap. Pedro sat beside you, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your wrist with his thumb, like he needed to keep reminding himself you were still there.

He didn’t ask you anything. Didn’t push. Just stayed close.

By the time the keycard clicked and the hotel door swung open, your shoulders felt like they were being held up by thread.

Pedro locked the door behind you. You stood there for a beat too long, not sure what to do with yourself. Like you were suddenly a guest in your own body.

“Hey,” his voice came from behind, soft. “Why don’t you sit down, okay?”

You nodded, toeing off your shoes and sinking onto the edge of the bed. The moment your weight settled into the mattress, your spine curled forward. You didn’t cry. Didn’t break. Just sat there, small and still, trying to hold it all in.

Pedro crouched in front of you.

You didn’t realize your hands were shaking until he reached for them.

“Can I?” he asked quietly.

You looked up, eyes glassy, and gave the smallest nod.

He took your hands into his, warm and steady, his thumbs brushing slow circles over your knuckles.

“Pedro…”

He hummed, tilting his head slightly, eyes focused entirely on you. “Hm?”

You hesitated. Your heart fluttered in your chest—nervous, raw, still carrying the weight of everything that had happened. But his hands felt like an anchor. His eyes were kind and open and safe.

“Thank you,” you said softly. Barely more than a whisper.

His lips parted—just the smallest bit—and then curved into something achingly tender.

“Anything for you, mi amor,” he murmured.

Your breath caught.

The way he said it—it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t performative. There was no teasing lilt in his voice. It was soft and full of meaning, like every word had been carefully chosen. Like he meant it with his whole chest.

You tried to look away, but he was already watching you with that gaze that always made you feel like the most precious thing in the room.

“I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me,” you said quietly, your voice cracking just a little. “I’ve been weird all day, I barely said anything, and I just—there was this moment where I couldn’t stop shaking. I still feel like I can’t breathe right.”

Pedro didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he brought your hands up and pressed a kiss to your fingers, slow and reverent. Like you were something delicate and sacred.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he said gently. “I know what today was. I saw what it did to you. And I saw how hard you still tried.”

Your throat felt tight.

“You didn’t shut down,” he continued. “You showed up. You protected me. And then you went right back to work like nothing happened. But sweetheart… that wasn’t nothing. That was a lot.”

Your lips trembled.

He let go of your hands just long enough to cup your face, his thumbs stroking along your cheeks. “You don’t have to be okay right away. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I didn’t think it’d affect me this much,” you whispered. “It’s just… I felt so stupid for freezing up earlier.”

“You weren’t stupid,” he said immediately. “You were brave. You were human.”

You looked down, unsure of what to say to that. You were still getting used to how he talked to you—like you mattered. Like your feelings were real and valid and worth holding space for.

Pedro tipped your chin up with a gentle finger. “Hey.”

Your eyes met his again.

“I mean it,” he said softly. “You don’t owe anyone a perfect reaction. You don’t owe me anything except exactly who you are.”

“I don’t know how to be that around you,” you admitted, cheeks burning. “I still feel like I’m tripping over my own feet when I talk.”

His smile turned playful—just for a second.

“I think it’s cute.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “Don’t say that.”

He laughed softly, arms wrapping around you again.

“I’m serious,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re so hard on yourself, mi amor. But I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

Your heart fluttered painfully in your chest. You stayed like that, pressed close against him, letting his warmth sink into your skin like sunlight through linen. Your fingers curled into the hem of his shirt, and he held you like you were something he didn’t want to let go of.

Eventually, you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again.

“Will you stay?” you asked softly.

Pedro’s expression didn’t even flicker. “Of course.”

“No, I mean…” You hesitated. “All night.”

He reached up, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You want me here?”

You nodded. “I feel safe when you’re here.”

His chest rose with a quiet breath, and then he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead—slow, lingering, warm.

“Then I’m staying,” he said simply.

And he did.

You both climbed under the covers a few minutes later, your back to his chest, his arms around your waist. He held you gently, like a promise. You were still a little shy, still unsure of how close to be—but when he murmured, “I’ve got you,” into your shoulder, something deep in you finally let go.

You fell asleep wrapped in his warmth, the world softening around you.

End Notes:

I know, it's not a super long chapter update, for that I am so sorry, but I swear the next one will be longer tehe!

Will they catch a break?!?! I dunno. There’s a lot of things that come with dating a celebrity… and soon enough, the public will find out. I’m sure it will be fine! ...Right?

Anyways, I apologize once again for the wait and thank you for your patience! See you soon 🤍

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta @suzysface @reidsworld @xmaykeca @dontlookatme121 @mandaloriankait @picketniffler @pedrofan @mystickittytaco @enchantingchildkitten @seven-seas-of-fuck-you @ro-nahime-things @senhoritamayblog @hermionelove @ashhlsstuff @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @youusunshineyoutemptress @klajmekkk @aomi-nabi @churchofjoemiller @pascalitobarnes @ccmoonshine @its-different-for-girls66 @bunniboo0015 @kneelforloki @sarcasticamentegiulia @joelmillerpascal

[bluewxrld07]

Soap (Alternate Ending)

Lando Norris X F!Reader

Summary: Y/N has always loved hard and shows that through affection. Especially lately. She's a touch-starved kind of lovergirl, and Lando has always been okay with it. At least she thought so.

Warning(s): tension, flangst, fluff

A/N: TAGLIST IS FULL!!!! I won't be able to tag anymore of you on it, I'm sorry, loves!! ALSO HOLY MOLY WE HIT 1,000 FRIENDS???! YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING WTF!! I love how much you guys are loving this fic and my writing, it truly means the world!! Enjoy this for now, friends :)

Lando hadn't slept.

He hadn't been able to think straight.

People noticed at the premiere that he had only been there physically, but not anywhere near emotionally or mentally.

Critics kept saying it was because of the loss he took, or that maybe McLaren was trying to replace him with Oscar. Replace what Lando had built from the ground up.

The truth was, it was never that. It was the words he said to Y/N. It was the way her facial expression changed and broke as he spat absolute nonsense at her.

Everything he said was out of anger and frustration. He couldn't get his words out of his head. He couldn't get her out of his head.

It didn't help that his encounter with Max had haunted him. The way he had this fire in his eyes, he's rarely seen. Something he has rarely even seen on the track.

His emotions got the best of him that night, and they continued to get the best of him. When it came to the after-party post the F1 movie premiere, he couldn't stop thinking about Lewis' words.

It didn't stop him from messaging Max that night of the premiere, asking if it were true.

You have a lot of fuckin nerve to be sending me a message right now

That's all he received from the Redbull driver, nothing more, nothing less. Lando didn't know if he should be worried or have no right to be upset knowing what he knows now.

He didn't even think Max would send a response back. If anything, he expected a middle finger emoji if Max did respond.

Lando sat in the backseat of the large SUV, playing with his lower lip as his knee bounced continuously. His other hand was counting his fingers back and forth with his thumb.

To say he was a nervous wreck was an absolute understatement.

His mind wouldn't stop racing. It just wouldn't give him a quiet state of mind. Not once.

He had finally touched back home in Monaco, being driven back to his place as he kept arguing with himself if he should go see her once he was unpacked at home.

She'd probably slam the door on him. Or worse, Max would probably answer and have Lando's head on a stick for even trying to talk to her when she wasn't ready.

At that point, he wouldn't care if he was being honest with himself.

He decided against it for the time being, deciding that maybe he should try later in the week. Even though it would eat him alive till he saw her again.

Once Lando had gotten up to his place, he threw his stuff on his couch, the apartment already feeling empty and cold without her presence there. It was as if the light had left with her. His place was dark and gray in that moment.

He let out a sigh as he looked around the place, feeling both defeated, hungry, and tired. All at the same time.

When he went to his kitchen to see what he had for food, he let out a frustrated groan as he realized he had emptied his fridge before going away.

He slams it shut before heading back over to his living room to grab his wallet, keys, and phone, soon making his way out of his apartment to head towards the car garage.

It was a quiet drive as he drove down the still buzzing streets of Monaco, not missing the way some people were videoing his car passing by. Nothing out of the norm for his life, he didn't thinka single thing from it.

He tries to pull his hoodie higher over his head, adjusting his cap as well, not wanting people to catch the way his face looked more hollow and sad.

Once he makes it to the cafe parking lot, he pulls into a spot more secluded from the entrance and quickly scurries over to the front door.

The cafe smells like fresh coffee and grilled food, something that made the atmosphere feel much lighter than Lando had expected.

He goes up to order something to eat and drink, mentally fighting with himself to remember to have his assistant order his groceries later on when he is settled back home.

As he goes to sit at a table and wait, his eyes do a double-take and his body freezes.

His eyes lock with none other than Max Verstappen's own, who is walking into the cafe and waiting in line. Max's eyes looked like they could put him six feet under if they were able to.

Instead of Lando going to take a seat, he decides to stand over by the end of the bar, and wait paitently till Max was done ordering.

He could hear the way he had ordered Y/N's go-to choices, making his heart and chest cave in. He felt so many questions began to bombard his mind, not even stopping them from increasing as it made him just want to fix things with her more and more.

He knew that would probably be borderline impossible with Max being the way he was about her.

More or less, the way he felt about her.

Once Max had finished paying, he made his way down the line and closer to Lando, his eyes glaring at the green-eyed man.

As Max walked up to him, instead of bumping Lando's shoulder, he turned to the side and pushed himself past his figure. Lando's body reacted before he could, grabbing Max's forearm.

Max whipped around and shot a look at Lando, his eyes still having fire in them.

"Let go."

Lando clenched his jaw, feeling his self-esteem slowly increase. He wasn't going to give in.

"I'm not letting go," Lando shook his head. That meaning had more behind it, and he knew Max figured that out as his eyes widened only slightly.

Max clenched his jaw before snatching his arm away, turning his full body towards Lando, and crossing his arms.

"Oh, so now you've got some spunk in you? Where was that at dinner?" he asks. "You're lucky I don't put you in a fucking grave right now."

Lando nods slowly. "I deserve that-"

"You deserve way more than that."

"Yeah, I do. I'm not going to deny it," he admits, watching Max not let up on his stance. "I never meant to hurt her. You know me. You know me more than anyone else in that paddock."

Max scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I thought I did. Until you threw everything Y/N has ever known back in her face like it was so easy. Like she was a joke."

Lando rubs his face. "I never meant to say any of it. I won't even excuse it, because taking my frustrations out on her should've never been the case. I know that. I know that, Max."

"So why the fuck did you say it then? Hm?" Max shoots back, stepping closer to Lando. "Why would you break her heart like that? Why would you say she is-"

"Because I was upset! I know it's not a valid excuse, I don't want to make any excuses. Because this was unexcusable," Lando snaps back, huffing in a defeated way as he feels his eyes begin to burn. "I regret what I said. Every single day since then. She is not even close to anything I said. She is the absolute and complete opposite of it. She's been my rock forever, Max. And if anything, I took it for granted."

Max sees Lando's eyes turning red, hearing a small sniffle leave his figure. This made Max soften. Not out of guilt, but out of shock.

Lando rarely ever cried in public. It wasn't something he did. He was emotional when it came to racing, of course. This was a different story.

"Y/N is loving. She's caring. She always gives love to everyone around her because that's just who she is. She's a giver. And I took her for granted."

Lando looks up from his shoes to Max, shrugging his shoulders as he felt his emotions take over, making him feel defeated more than he did five minutes ago.

"I'm sorry, Max," he says before chuckling dryly to himself. "I'm saying sorry to you because I broke your trust with her. I'm sorry that I made you think you can't trust me to date her."

"I'm not her dad, I don't care who she dates. I'm just protective of who she is around because-"

"Because you're in love with her. I know that."

Max froze, his shoulders dropping. "What?"

Lando nods before biting his bottom lip. "Lewis told me. He said how you really feel for her. It's why you are so protective over who she keeps around."

"That fucking piece of-" Max stops himself before rubbing a hand over his face, shaking his head as he scoffs to himself.

"You know what I'm not sorry for, though?" Lando spoke up, making Max whip his eyes to Lando, squinting at him.

"I'm not sorry for loving her, too. I'm also not sorry for wanting to fight for her," Lando admits. "I want her. I want her more than anything in this world, or the next. I want her more than a fucking world championship."

Max feels his chest tighten at his words, trying hard to not smack Lando in that moment.

Yet, at the same time, Max didn't blame Lando. He couldn't blame Lando for speaking his truth. He had more balls than any of the other racers at that moment.

Yes, Max loved Y/N. He always has, and deep down he always wished it would've been him she chose.

He also wasn't going to force her to fall for him; he wanted her to make a choice in who she wanted. Who she wanted to love.

At the end of the day, he just wanted her happy.

So, as Max stood in front of Lando, he took in every single detail of Lando's appearance. Thinking back to how much Y/N had raved about Lando when they first got together. How right he treated her, no matter the circumstance. Lando was her one.

And Y/N was Lando's.

"I'm not going to ask for your forgiveness, because I don't deserve it. I don't deserve hers at all, out of anyone's. I just wanted to get that off my chest. It's been eating me up," Lando adds. "But it doesn't mean I won't redeem myself for her, and show her how long I'm willing to wait to make things right."

Before they can say anything further, both of their names are called, causing them both to go grab their items.

Lando grabs his, Max still looking at him with a frown on his face. Lando gives him a purse smile.

"See you around, Max."

With that, Lando leaves and makes his way to his car.

"Lando."

Max's voice calls out behind him, causing Lando to stop and turn his head to look at the Dutch man.

Max walks up to Lando, stopping in front of him. Only to peer down at the items in his hand, and soon motioning over towards Lando to take.

They were Y/N's items. Her iced latte she loved, her favorite pastries, and a chicken caesar wrap with crisps.

"Don't fuck this up. Or you're not getting another chance. Ever," Max says, giving Lando the bag and coffee.

Lando looks up at him with a confused frown. "What?"

Max shrugs before letting out a huff. "Yeah, I love her too. I do," he admits with a nod of acceptance. "But I love seeing her happy more. And she gets that with you."

Lando feels his heart swell at the thought of that. Of her feeling that way with him.

"She's gonna kill me, but if this works out, it will be worth it," Max says dryly. He pats Lando's shoulder.

"Don't. Mess. This. Up."

With that, Max walks off towards his car. Lando slowly turned back to his car, setting the items in his car nicely so none of them spilled. Once he fully got into his car and turned the ignition, he sat there for a moment, just thinking about everything he was going to say.

Then he took a deep breath, put his car in drive, and set off for Y/N's apartment.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Y/N had frowned at Max's message as it came in, wondering what he could've meant as she sat there.

Don't kill me, just trust me

He sent that message over fifteen minutes ago, still not back from the cafe. She hadn't known whether to worry or not, as he didn't respond to her questioning messages.

There were soon a few soft knocks on her door, making her frown to herself. She got up from her spot on the couch, wrapping the large hoodie more over her figure as she got to the door.

"Max, you can just walk in-"

As she opened the door, her voice froze mid-sentence, and her eyes widened.

"Hi."

She stood there frozen, looking at Lando, who stood there with the cafe bag in his hand and her iced latte in the other. His face showed a sign of uneasiness and caution, but she could also see he looked so tired.

"Lando?"

"May I come in?"

"Why are you here?"

"I want to fix things," he shrugs slowly. "Or at least say my part, and then you can kick me out. I just wanted to at least see you. Talk to you."

Y/N stayed silent for another moment before slowly moving to the side and letting him come in.

Once he had gotten inside, it immediately made him feel warmth grow in his chest. The familiar scents that screamed her, the warm lighting from her lamps and fairy lights in the room eased his mind. Eased his emotions.

He set her stuff down on the coffee table, his eyes catching her go to binge-watch show playing quietly on the TV.

Lando turned to face her once again, taking in her figure. Not missing that the large sweatshirt she wore had been one of the pairs he gave to her. It was his favorite one he owned, but he gave to her because he loved seeing her in it.

His eyes soon find her own, seeing her face also flush as she probably noticed he caught her wearing it.

"You can talk," she spoke softly, keeping her arms crossed and keeping a safe distance. He hated seeing how far she stood from him. The more they stood across from one another, was like his body began to realize it was her there. It had begun to crave the touch he knew and loved all too well.

"I first off want to say I'm sorry," he says slowly, clearing his throat. He watches her face contort lightly, as if she hated hearing the apology. He nodded. "I know that's not what you want to hear, but it's the first thing I need to tell you. Because I am. I will spend the rest of my days saying that."

Y/N stays silent, only nodding slowly for him to proceed.

"I don't condone anything I said, and no excuse will make up for what I said. How I reacted," he croaked out, trying his best to keep his voice from shaking fully. "No matter how upset or mad or frustrated I get, I shouldn't use you as a punching bag. It's not fair to you, especially when you're all I want after I have a shit day."

"Then why did you say that stuff?" her voice cracks out, making his chest tighten and his heart break. He sees her eyes watering.

"Out of frustration. I was upset at the race. At McLaren. At myself," he admits. "So I pushed you away. Distanced you from me because it was getting harder. I didn't want you to see me at my worst."

"You know I would never judge you. I'll never downplay you at your worst times. I've never done that. Did I do something to make you think that?"

He began to shake his head quickly. "No. Absolutely not, never. You've never shown me any sign of that," he reassures her as he takes a few steps closer to her. He watches as her body cowers lightly at his closeness, so he stays where he then stood.

"You have done nothing but love me, care for me, and show me how much I deserve. Showed me more than I think I've ever deserved," he assures her.

Lando watches her lower lip wobble, her eyes never leaving his own. He can see the puffiness underneath them now from where he stood.

He wanted to do nothing but take her into his arms, and shut them both away from the rest of the world and nurse her back to herself again. The her he loved that he broke apart.

"You were never clingy. You were never too much for me. You were never any of that," he shook his head as he looked down at her. "You've been nothing but loving, caring, selfless, and my anchor. You have always been everything I've ever needed."

Y/N sniffles as she looks at him. "Because I love you, Lan. Because you made me happy in my own skin."

He sighs in relief, nodding at her. "Y/N, I love you so much. So so much. I love you for you. I love who you are, and I'd never want you to change that. I fucked up in the worst way possible, and I can't tell you how much I regret that entire interaction. It haunts me. Absolutely haunts me."

"What if you were right? What if I am too much?" she chokes out, and he shakes his head.

"You're not, Y/N, you are not. You bring nothing but light and warmth to this world. To my world. To the F1 world. You are the absolute sunshine. Don't dim that light. Please," Lando shakily says, tears falling freely from his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I made you think you were. You aren't. You're everything."

Y/N slowly takes a step closer to Lando. Then another. Then another. Then another, until she is right in front of him.

Both of them are crying freely. Something she hasn't seen much from Lando, and she could tell his body had held in so much. So, being who she always has been, she reaches up her hand and softly uses the pad of her thumb to wipe away some of his tears.

She doesn't miss the way his body physically relaxes at her touch, a sigh of relief leaving his shaky lips as he closes his eyes. His body almost chasing her hand as she cups his cheek just barely.

"You have no idea," he says, slowly shaking his head. "No idea how much I miss you. How much I miss your touch. I crave it. I literally crave you, Y/N."

His eyes open slowly to find her own, looking down at her.

"I'm so sorry."

Y/N just looks back and forth between his eyes, before nodding slowly. Lando lets out a few relieving breaths as she nods, feeling his whole body relax as he keeps his eyes on hers.

"Please let me touch you. Hold you. Anything."

"Okay."

With that, Lando doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her waist tightly, lifting her up and wrapping her legs around his hips as he carries her to her couch.

He lays them down, her on top with her body wrapped around his own. Lando's grip not letting up, scared as if she might slip away again.

The pair held each other tight, Y/N finally letting her sobs fall freely as Lando held her tight, caressing every piece of skin he could. His voice stayed hushed as he whispered sweet nothings and apologies in her ears, vowing to never hurt her again. How he promised he would never let her slip away.

Y/N looked up from her spot in his neck a few moments later, as her sobs came to quieter sniffles, his eyes looking down at her.

Before she knew it, she had slowly pressed her lips onto his own, Lando humming softly at her lips on his after much too long. He felt his heart growing again, Y/N feeling her chest become full again the more she stayed in his arms.

The pair knew that there was much to work from, and much to still sort out. They knew they'd come back strong, it was just going to take time.

This was a start.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N: Ahhhhh hello friends!! Hehe I told you that you'd be seeing me again VERY soon! I won't lie, this had been rewritten, deleted, and rewritten once again, like five times, lol until I was satisfied. I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did writing it. I got a little emotional ok, it was too good.

I have some more stuff in the drafts, and most likely will be sending out a poll later tonight on which to release first. I can't thank you guys enough for showing all the love you have! I can't wait to show you all what more I have waiting hehe :)

Love you all and I will see you soon, friends!!

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

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[inkskinned]

it is the first snow today. i think we should all have off work, even though it didn't stick. i think there should be 4 national holidays, one for each season. happy first snow, go home and make cookies. for spring it can be the first crocus. for summer the first lightning bug. for autumn, the first golden leaf. go home, kiss your dog, feed your cat (who is absolutely already-fed but somehow still starving.)

i think we should all take more showers together, but i mean that in the soft way. i mean it like taking a nap. two years ago i had 5 adult friends in my queen bed, all of us laying across each other, head over belly over thigh over hand. any time one of us would giggle, it would ripple over each of us, like pulling on a spiderweb. kim actually needed to nap and didn't get to sleep and i am still sorry for it even though this is one of my most precious memories.

i think we should all wash each other's hair, i mean. i walk my dog and i watch someone put up twinkle lights around their front porch. alex and i just moved, and i love the neighborhood. already so many of our new neighbors have stopped by to say hello. the nice lady downstairs also collects plants, like me. she gave us her number on a pink post-it note. i am trying to decide whether to make her cookies or brownies.

i am going through a very hard time. something bad happened this weekend that i do not wish to discuss. it is hanging over me. i think of the green ribbon, and the woman who had her throat cut. it feels like that sometimes, inside of my body. like i am walking and talking despite being half-corpsed. like i am hanging on by a ribbon, standing on some kind of cusp. i keep saying - at least it wasn't worse. we are so lucky it wasn't worse. the idea is river-rock smooth now, all the edges worried off.

in this very dark night - the sun sets by 3 now - people don't need to, but they try anyway. they paint the missing light into things. i have an embarrassing number of missed calls and texts, but i feel the love from them nevertheless - hey. if you need something, i'm here. i will bring you food/puzzles/anything. i got you.

i think we should all have a big group chat where we do errands with strangers. this week i got lost in a home depot, which is wild because i'm a lesbian and we are actually hatched in a lowe's lumber section. there were two other women in the whole store. we ended up shopping together, at first by accident (we all needed things in the same aisle), and then because, well, why not. one of the ladies was taller than me, so she pulled down the screws i needed. i am agile and have the personality of a raccoon, so they sent me after anything below 3 feet. we talked about holiday plans and never learned each other's names, but did learn all the drama about each other's families.

i am making you cupcakes, because i have so much affection i want to pour it into batter. you ask me if i am eating enough per meal. i wrap your gift twice, trying to do it prettily. i get excited to give it to you, just because i hope you'll be excited too.

my parents drive an hour just to see the new apartment and to do the parent thing; standing in the kitchen saying things like "oh you'll get so much use from this dishwasher" and "well, you could paint that" and "when your mother and i moved it was uphill both ways and in a snowstorm and of course your brother was an infant." my mother brought me a plant for housewarming. i always say i love you before she leaves.

i play dnd on tuesdays still, after all these years. we all keep that night free. at one point, between grad school and marriage and all of it, we had to have a serious discussion about how to keep it running. we will keep going, we decided eventually. just to see each other, even if we don't play - you are all important to me. sebastian is not prone to affection but last night he stole my usual sign off - i love you all, be good, he said. he was laughing.

i don't love the winter, actually. i like snow in theory, but i grew up in the north, and am too-familiar with the season of "mud and sludge". i don't like being cold. but i do love something kind of soft and rare: every year around this time, people remember oh yes. you and i are human together. and i have love to spare.

it is the first snow, and something in my heart is finally warm again. i have spent what felt like the last 18 months just going-through-the-motions. it has felt blank and immediate, like i would never actually feel again. that sounds extremely trite and stupid - but that is the boring and familiar experience of depression. life just washes up against your windows, and you watch it happening. you see things that should be lovely and affecting, and it just whispers too-thin. i was desperately uncreative. uninterested in my hobbies. unimpressed by my writing. i told my therapist, often, i don't know how to find hope again.

almost sheepishly, something strange and lovely is burning in my chest. i keep not-looking at it, worried it will scamper back into the shadows again. it is skittish and wild, but it is so warm i want to sink my hands into its fur and feel it breathing. i love-hate it: if it's real, it can hurt me when it leaves again. but i am icarus-born, sun-lover and poet: i can't help myself. despite my best intentions, i am falling in love with life again.

i am planning to make cookies for my friends. alex and i are going to go christmas tree shopping. we picked out matching dish towels last night, and they have little mushrooms on them.

i love you. it does come back. yes, even after a long time. even for you. i promise. keep trying. you will wake up and it will be a day you can smile about.

write me when you get there. we will take the day off of work, and i will wash your hair, and we will both be laughing.

[redhoodsdeer]

so american (aka civil!reader x vigilante bf jason)

prompt: where the reader is not used to be loved in the right way, or, where jason finds the reader sleeping wrapped in his t-shirt and does everything to show how much he loves her.

a/n: omg hi! i know, i really disappeared this time, but i'm back and with a new imagine! i promise i will post every request that it's on wait list, and become more active in here, anyway, i hope u guys like this one ❤️

english is not my first language.

"he says i'm pretty wearing his clothes" so american, olivia rodrigo

It was already late at night when the window of your tiny apartment opened, showing that your boyfriend had arrived from his usual patrol, unfortunately, you had been asleep for a long time, on the couch, curled up in a shirt at least twice your size, an open book sprawled on the coffee table, in a probably very uncomfortable position.

Jason's eyes lit up when he found your peacefully sleeping figure on the couch, his satisfaction growing even more when he recognized the oversized t-shirt you were wearing, his shirt, the one that had been missing for weeks, but he seen it hidden on your side of the closet, a smile started to take over his face.

He carefully approached you, pulling the blanket from the edge of the couch to cover your soft body, but no matter how gentle his touch was, he saw your eyes slowly opening, blinking slowly as you tried to shake off the desire to return to your deep sleep.

"Jay? What time is it? I'm sorry, I tried to stay awake, but the couch was so comfy" the girl said, trying to defend herself, of nothing, because he was not accusing her at all, and it's obvious when he looks at her face with an expression of pure confusion.

"Why are you apologizing, sweetheart? It's really late, you didn't have to wait for me, come on, let's get you on bed" he says as the girl blinks her big eyes, shaking off the sleep, her arms wrapping almost instinctively around his neck, as he picks you up bridal style, wrapped in the fluffy blanket and takes you towards the bedroom.

It didn't matter how many nights had passed, how many patrols there were, how many times he told her it was okay for her to go to sleep, and that she didn't need to wait for him.

The routine in the end was always the same, him finding her passed out on the couch, curled up in some uncomfortable position, and then carrying her back to the bedroom while she grumbled about how he didn't need to carry her, even though she made no sign of moving, and just curled up tighter into him.

And yet, night after night, she kept apologizing for doing something as silly as falling asleep while waiting for him to come, and as cute as he thought it was, it was starting to get tiring.

"Honey, you know you don't have to apologize every time you fall asleep, right? It's okay to sleep, besides, I love the routine of having to carry you to bed" He teases with a smile on his face that said everything that was hidden behind his gaze.

She curls up on the bed as she waits for him to finish taking off his gear, watching him take off his combat boots and heavy jacket.

"I don't know, I just feel bad, you already do so much for me, the least I could do was wait for you." She says with a look on her face that expressed how much she wished she could do more, how much she felt she needed to do more.

His head tilts slightly to the side as he lets out a tired sigh.

"The only thing I want from you is for you to rest, so you can be beautiful and happy the next day, and not look like a tired zombie, you know that's more like my thing." He teases, smiling mischievously, drawing a little laugh from her pretty lips, as the bed moves with the new added weight.

His arms go straight to her waist, as if there was a supernatural force pushing them towards her. They curl up comfortably around each other, his head tucked into the space between her neck and shoulder, leaving kisses that were anything, but innocent.

"Maybe I have to tire you up, so you finally stop being so stubborn and go to sleep," he jokes, smiling as he bites lightly her earlobe, making her let out a cute sound between a nervous laugh and the beginning of a moan.

"Jay, stop it, you're tired, let's go to sleep." She protests, moving in his arms as he warmly holds her in place.

"Nah, never too tired for you, love."

His voice sounds huskier as his open-mouthed kisses start to trail down her neck, causing nervous giggles. "You know, I think you should-" He begins as she let out little nervous laughs and giggles, he murmurs against her skin, causing goosebumps, an effect only he could cause on her. "...Wear that shirt more often, you look pretty in my clothes." He says with a naughty smile as he places kisses on the lap of her chest, the part that's not covered by her (his) shirt.

This was going to be a really long night, at least you got a good rest.

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

You Ask Shoto To Sleep With You | One Shot

Summary: You and Shoto have been friends for years, and you've had feelings for him for quite some time. While catching up over tea, you suggest hooking up. He confesses that he's never had sex before, but would be open to exploring it with you. Turns out, Shoto's a lot less experienced than you originally thought!

Important Notes/TW: All characters are A29+, Shoto is a Pro Hero, Shoto x Reader are close friends, mentions of fingering, nudity and penetrative sex, no actual explicit sex happens in this fic - it's just discussed, MDNI, This is an adult only blog posting mature content

"You want to have sex. With me?" Shoto sounds uncertain, his usual flat tone is infused with a wavelength of emotion you've never heard before.

"Yeah." You say, leaning across the small sticky coffee shop table so you can scoop up his hand into your own. "I do."

"Um." Shoto glances down at your hand. "I don't know what to say."

You release his hand, deflated. "Oh...so are you not interested? I just figured we've been on like ten dates so I thought we could at least discuss it."

"It's not that I'm not interested..." He says slowly, rounding his mouth around the words. "I haven't had sex before. So I wouldn't know what I'm doing."

"Oh." You're surprised by this. Shoto has just turned thirty, and your big thirtieth birthday isn't far behind. You've both been pretty popular on the Pro hero scene for the better part of a decade. Shoto's dated plenty of pretty starlets and pro heroes before you - girls who love the spotlight and look glamorous on magazine covers. You've assumed that he had been intimate with more than a few of them. You're surprised to find that you're wrong. "You've never had sex before? What about...I don't know...oral sex? Or, um, have you had a hand job?"

He shakes his head no, then takes a deep sip from his mug of tea. You glance around you to make sure there aren't any eavesdroppers, but the shop is mercifully empty. The two of you are inconspicuously tucked into a corner beneath a collection of leafy pants.

"I've never really felt comfortable doing those kinds of things with anyone." He takes another gulp from his cup. "But I'd be open to trying it with you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes. I like you as more than a friend, I've known you for a long time, I'm comfortable with you and I'm attracted to you. The last time we kissed, I had an erection afterwards." Something you've always liked about Shoto is his blunt, no-nonsense approach to life. But this is...a lot of information to take in.

"Wow, Sho. I...I feel the same way. I mean - obviously I didn't have an erection after we made out last week, but I was definitely turned on." You say weakly, taking a sip of your own tea as you stare at him with wide eyes.

"So what do we do now?" Shoto reaches out and re-takes your hand. His palm is warm against your own. "I'm free the rest of the afternoon - should we go back to my apartment?" You're surprised by how eager he looks all of a sudden. There's been a shift in the energy - now that you've offered up sex and put it on the table, he seems to be buzzing about it.

Your brain is moving a thousand miles a minute. You take a deep breath and try to approach the situation as you would a work emergency. What would Pro-Hero Y/N do?

Hmm...she would start slow and take small steps forward. Get Shoto comfortable with the various aspects of sex and sexual response and attraction.

"Maybe we start slow. Take off each others clothes. Touch each other. Maybe some hand stuff."

"Hand stuff?" He looks at you blankly.

"I'm assuming you've never fingered someone?"

"No, I have not."

"Alright - so I'll show you what to do there. And I can give you a hand job. You can show me what you like when you touch yourself, and then I'll try to emulate it. With a twist, of course."

He nods excitedly - he's already standing up and shrugging on his coat. He tosses a twenty down on the table to pay for your drinks.

"Well we'd better get going then. I've clearly got a lot to learn." His tone is lower than usual, and before he buttons up his long coat you swear you can see his arousal through his sharp slacks. The image tingles in your brain, shooting electricity straight down to your pussy. Your brain wanders for a moment - wondering what Shoto looks like naked. How his Pro Hero muscles could ripple beneath your gentle touch. How big he might be.

"Okay!" You rise from your chair and he's already behind you, helping you into your jacket. The man wastes no time. His touch lingers on your lower back as you slide your arms into the long sleeves.

You leave the coffee shop, the door jingling behind you as the pair of you step out into the cool winter air. Shoto reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers.

"I'm excited about this." He says, his voice honeyed and smooth. "I promise I'll do my best." The pledge makes your heart skip a beat and your pussy throb. If there's one thing to be said about Shoto Todoroki, it's that he keeps his promises. Also, he's meticulous and thorough in everything he does.

"Maybe we should call a cab." You say, feeling your panties dampen more with each step. "It'll be faster."

"Good idea." He looks down at you, eyes sharp and filled with an emotion you've never seen before. "I want to get you naked as soon as possible."

[dokyumms]

seventeen's reaction to you overworking yourself (maknae line) !

pairings: maknae line x reader (find the hyung line ver. here)

genre: fluff, suggestive ? (dino)

word count: 900

cw: overworking, light cursing

a/n: second part to the last reaction! tried to make this shorter and a little less angsty since i feel like i made the last one unnecessarily long. also thank yall so much for 100 followers!! i only started posting a couple days ago and i definitely wasn't expecting so many people to enjoy my work, i love you my kings ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ )

dk - dokyeom will do everything in his power to distract you from whatever you're doing. hunched over your computer? he's pulling you up and asking to dance. you're at the office for way longer than usual? he's calling you and telling you he's fainted, just for you to rush home and be greeted by a bear hug that you'll never escape.

he does it all in a jokingly manner, but in reality he is so scared that you're pushing yourself too far. at one point he'll sit you down and plead for you to take off some hours, and of course you can't say no when he gives you those puppy eyes.

mingyu - mingyu waits outside of your office when you normally get out of work so he can surprise you with a night out. after 20 minutes of impatiently waiting, he realizes you've decided to keep working, again. so he walks in, ignoring all of the staff that gawk at the fact they've never seen someone so attractive walk into the office (maybe besides you *wink*).

when you notice someone peer over your cubicle, you look up to be met by mingyu's face.

"gyu? what are you doing here?" he frowns in response.

"to pick you up, of course! need to get you off this damn computer," he mutters, walking around the cubicle so he can shut down your computer. "hey! i really need to finish-" he cuts you off, "you've been doing this to me all week babe, you don't see that this isn't healthy?" when you try to argue against him, he shuts you down with, "you'd do the same if it were me, so please, let me take care of you."

the8 - you know minghao is going to be so pissed when you get home. it's around 1 in the morning, and you're just now getting out of the office. your phone is dead, but you already know your boyfriend has called you a multitude of times.

when you finally enter your apartment, you see minghao at the counter. he sighs before making his way to you.

"were you seriously working this whole time? don't you know how late it is?" you apologize, trying to explain why you decided to stay back, but he unexpectedly embraces you.

"i don't think you know how much you scared me. you didn't even answer my calls y/n," he mumbles into your hair, only humming at your response when you tell him your phone died. "come on, i'll give you a bath," he suggests, dragging you towards the bathroom without giving you a chance to respond.

seungkwan - when you call seungkwan to tell him that you'll be home late again, he's very, very upset to say the least.

"baby, this better be a joke. it's already so late right now! how will you get home? wait- don't answer that- i'll be there in 5 minutes. don't move a single foot! love you!" and then he hangs up.

you try to finish what you can before seungkwan calls you, "y/n! i'm here, and don't you ignore me to keep working because i'll drag you out here if i have to." you definitely do not want to test THE boo seungkwan, so you pack up quickly. when you get down to the lobby, you're met with a rather determined looking seungkwan? something like that.

"that's more like it, now let's go home, you've been ruining my sleep schedule," then he grabs your hand. sure, he said he wouldn't drag you outside, but he wants you home and asleep by 10:00 pm sharp tonight.

vernon - vernon respects the hustle, sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. he sits next to you and proceeds to watch you unravel for the next 4 hours as you try to hold your group project together.

you're pacing back and forth in the living room, rambling on how you just finished an exam and the last you want to do is carry your group project. he realizes it's too much, so he gets up off the couch to give you a back hug.

"hey, it's okay. you don't need to push yourself like this." he says, swaying you from side to side. "hansol, this is really important,"

"i know, but i can't just watch you tire yourself out like this, at least let me help you," to which you comply because with the way he's holding you, you're lowkey in a daze.

dino - chan's plan to get you to stop working? seducing you, duh. well- it's actually his like 50th plan, his 49 other attempts doing a whole lot of nothing. you're on your bed, tapping away on your computer when chan suddenly crawls onto the bed.

"chan? what are you doing?" he shuts your laptop before pulling you in for a kiss. you're wide-eyed, unsure if you should try to pull away or let him do what he wants, a little surprised he's so determined to get you to stop working. tossing the laptop to the side, he pins you to the bed and starts kissing your neck.

"babe, my work..." you say, attempting to keep your priorities straight as he basically devours you. he chuckles, "i think i have a better way to spend your time," it's going to be another long night, but this time, it's not because of your work.

[5sospenguinqueen]

Post Space Tension | Charles Leclerc x McLaren! Reader

Summary: Struggling with the new frame of her relationship, Y/N decides a visit to her sister is in order. Charles realises that not having you close is even worse than you beating him.

Warnings: Swearing. Female reader. Verstappen! Reader.

I know you guys wanted angst but the doe eyes got to me.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 4

Main Masterlist

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YourUserName just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and others

YourUserName a lovely visit with my favourite sibling @/victoriaverstappen, and an even lovelier surprise (p.s. max already knew so no, i'm not spoiling it for him)

5,657 comments

user1 charles in the likes but not in the comments

maxverstappen1 stop trying to get our nephews to like you more than me

→ YourUserName they already do (even the unborn one)

maxverstappen1 also, how am i not the favourite sibling. i listen to all your boy troubles

→ user2 boy troubles!!!

→ user3 all??? how many boys are there 😒

landonorris can't believe you had lunch without me

→ georgerussell63 really don't help yourself, mate

lance_stroll not the burger a week before a race

→ YourUserName don't tell my trainer

→ lance_stroll too late

mclaren future papaya racer

→ maxverstappen1 no.

user4 so, are you and charles still together? the world is dying to know if he was caught cheating or not

→ user5 apparently they're still together but taking time apart

→ user6 source: trust me bro

victoriaverstappen we loved seeing you but he keeps asking for uncy sha so maybe bring a visitor next time?? 🤍 liked by charles_leclerc

→ YourUserName can't believe i'm not enough :( but at least i'm introducing him to disappointment early on

→ user7 not her sister spilling the tea

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user8 so, does this mean LeStappen are back in the same country?

user9 how's he going to keep his distance when they're on the same track

user10 i feel tension brewing

user11 anyone see arthur's latest tweet?

→ user9 no why?

→ user11 he posted that pic of charles and that woman but from another angle. arthur was with them that day and it looks like arthur's holding the woman's hand?

→ user8 so charles wasn't on a date with that woman?!?! chay/n shippers rise!

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YourUserName just posted

liked by lilymhe, alex_albon and others

YourUserName 'cause i'm back in the saddle again tagged: landonorris, danielricciardo

6,456 comments

danielricciardo alternate caption was 'me and pookies' but lando and i talked her down from that

→ landonorris you're just jealous that i'm pookie #1

landonorris 🔥🔥

redbullracing we still think you'd look better in navy

→ mclaren back, back, i say 🤺

→ scuderiaferrari please, we all know red is her colour liked by charles_leclerc

→ user12we see you charles

landonorris @/redbullracing stop trying to steal my teammate

→ arthur_leclerc stop trying to steal my brother's girlfriend

(comment deleted)

→ user13 we saw that, arthur

skysportsf1 just posted

liked by YourUserName, maxverstappen1 and others

skysportsf1 read the latest interview from the verstappen twins, and how racing helped strengthen their bond

tagged: YourUserName, maxverstappen1

7,905 comments

f1 our favourite twins

YourUserName wow, we look good. thanks for having us, it was so nice to be able to hype each other up and get paid for it

maxverstappen1 can't believe they left out the part where i said i only like you because i beat you

→ YourUserName because you told them not to? stop trying to make out like you hate me so people think you're tough. everyone saw you cry when i won

danielricciardo alternate caption was 'join us as we chat with racer, y/n verstappen and her lesser-known brother, max'

→ YourUserName he threatened to sue if they used that title

→ maxverstappen1 i hate you both

lance_stroll only read for y/n

alex_albon love how they tried to make max sound good at padel

georgerussell63 does anyone know who either of these people are? it's amazing who they class as celebrities these days

user13 living for the grid picking on them (max)

mclaren going to need these pics blown up and hung in my living room

→ charles_leclerc agreed

→ redbullracing charles is all of us

user14 not charles trying to hide in the comments

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Part 4 will be the final part. Thank you for coming on the journey of self-indulgent fics x

Tag list: @mehrmonga @luvsforme @lemon-lav @missenclod @halleest @formula1mount @k4marina @evie-119 @letmeseeyougotowork @sleepybrokenmelle @eiaaasamantha @tinyhrry @janeholt3 @allywthsr @callsignwidow @raizelchrysanderoctavius @prudyhoo @valentinanappipage @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @delululeclerc @e-nonsense @scott-mccall-could-lift-mjolnir @thecubanator2 @butterfliesflyaroundmymind @kqliie @sweate-r-weathe-r @lifeless-firefly @woozarts @silverxxs-world @personwhoisther @eugene-emt-roe @anthonykatebridgerton @entr4p3 @carpediem241108 @forevercaffeinated-lee @youre-on-your-ownkid @xyzstar

[redsrooftopprincess]

Memory

RaphaelxReader

Warnings: Amnesia, Angst

(this is so tropey and self indulgent that I was almost too embarrassed to post it, thank you @the-cauldron-witch for giving me the stones. Apologies in advance. 😅)

"What are you to me?"

You freeze, your pen stopping mid-letter. For the last week you'd been trying to figure out how to answer if he asked, and you were still at a loss. 

Don't think for him, Donnie'd said, the memories are there, he just has to form the connections. They'll be stronger, and this will go faster, if you let him do that on his own.

He knows he shouldn't be asking, but every time he looks at you he feels like he's missing something important, and the way you look at him sometimes... he can't bear it. 

"We should, um," you clear your throat, looking very intentionally at the paper in front of you, "we should really focus on this analysis. The more data we can feed Donnie, the sooner he can figure out of there'll be any serious lasting consequences to this." 

"I'm missing three years of my life, I'd say that's pretty serious," he quips, humorlessly. You still haven't looked up at him. Jaw tight, measured breaths the only thing keeping your hand steady. You'd been keeping it together for the last two weeks, you couldn't break now. Least of all in front of him. 

Six hours trapped in a reinforced refrigeration truck. He only survived because of what little body heat you could offer, but you'd both nearly died. You woke a few days later, in the infirmary, your hands still raw and recovering from frostbite, but Raphael... didn't. 

For fifteen days, no one knew if he was going to survive. You didn't sleep. You couldn't eat. You wouldn't leave his side. The number of arguments you and Donatello had about you resting were in the double digits. He might lose his brother, he wasn't going to lose his best friend, too. The only way you agreed was by dragging the couch beside the cot Raphael was laying in.  

When he awoke he couldn't remember much of anything. Slowly, over the course of the next week, memories drifted back like smoke. He remembered his father, his brothers, April, his best friend, Casey, that dumb ass, Vern, but not you. The last three years are still a blur and none of it makes any sense.

He looks at you like a familiar face at the grocery store. Like something is digging at the back of his mind, something important, but he can't quite place you. He looks at you with curiosity, even attraction at times, but the love that you built and fought for, through death and distance, is gone.

You inhale, before the pen begins to move again in your hand. He reaches up and stops it. 

"Y/N..." The familiar feeling of his hand around yours, his thumb gently brushing the hollow of your wrist, makes your chest ache and your eyes fall closed. 

Tears glitter at the seam of your eyelashes, as the words slip free unbidden, barely louder than a whisper, "I miss you..." 

His hand stills, there it is again. That feeling, understanding just outside his reach, he's pulled to you and he doesn't know why. Everything you do affects him, and right now, you're crying, and he would tear the world apart to see you smile again. 

You inhale sharply, pushing yourself to your feet and pulling your hand from his, leaving the pen on the table, "I need to go."

"Y/N, wait," he begs, quickly, standing, "please, I-" 

All of your faculties are being used to keep you in one piece. You don't even have the ability to attempt any kind of excuse. "I'll be back tomorrow night. We can finish the analysis then." You shove your laptop into your bag and zip it closed, slinging it over your shoulder, before you rush out of the lair to echoes of him begging you to stay. 

You barely make it home before you collapse by the couch and weep. Three years. Three years just gone. 

You pull the deep red blanket he made you last winter off the couch and wrap yourself in it, in him, in his scent, because it's the only thing of his you can wrap around you. 

You let yourself cry. Mourn. Since he woke up, you've been shoving everything down and away. 

This is not about you, you'd scolded yourself. 

You'd reminded yourself it must be worse for him. He's probably terrified, losing so much time must be scary as hell. And you'd kept it together. Every time he looked at you with that question in his eyes. Every time he said "hey" and kept walking. Every time he touched you... and let go. 

But you've reached your breaking point

The feeling of his hand on your wrist was so familiar, and you were pulled back into lazy evenings in bed, the sunset painting your skin, as the two of you found any excuse not to get up for work. Comfortable, safe, warm. Things you haven't felt since before all of this started. And it was all too much. 

Violent sobs rip through your body, as your heart rages in your chest. It's not fair. You'd already been through so much. Fought so hard. And, for him... none of it happened. The bone-deep love and connection that had become so vital to both of you, was ripped away, and you were the only one left bleeding. 

You don't notice the soft landing beside the window. 

He just stares at you for a moment. He's overcome with the need to catch you up, hold you to him, and do whatever he has to do to fix it.

"It's important, isn't it," he says finally, quietly, "what I can't remember."

You gasp and stand up, clumsily, hands flying to your eyes and wiping pointlessly at tears as you turn away, "You shouldn't be here." 

"See, I'm not so sure about that." He steps forward slowly, "because..." His eyes fall on a carved wooden rose, and he pauses. A craftsman can always recognize their work. His eyes begin to scan the dimly lit room around him. 

No photographs, but all around him are little things made by his own hands, his favorite books and movies, this place doesn't just feel familiar. It feels like home. His eyes return to yours as he continues his approach.

You fall back against the wall as he advances, "Does Donnie know your here? You really shouldn't be out running around the city by yourself. You're still recovering, it's not... safe." Your breath hitches as your back hits drywall. 

He takes your hand gently, holding it just like before, caressing the inside of your wrist. Your jaw clenches, and your eyes sting. As he invades your personal space, your body reacts on instinct, head tilting up, hand against his chest, and his responds, gripping your waist and pulling you into him, breathing in deeply a scent just on the edge of his memory. 

"That's what I'm missing, isn't it," he asks softly, tears darkening the fabric around his eyes, "that's what this feeling is... love." 

Your heart twists, and you can't breathe. You're trembling with loss and grief and you don't want him to stop. 

"I love you," he says, almost in wonder, holding your gaze. 

It's like a bullet to the chest and all the air rushes out of you. Tears stream freely from your eyes and you draw a shuddering breath. "You don't even know me," you say, and you swear you don't mean for it to come out as bitter as it does.

He flinches, stepping back, but not releasing your hand. The shame and guilt are instantaneous. None of this is his fault. You look down and away, unable to meet his amber eyes, "I- I'm sorry," you manage, "I-"

"You're wrong."

You look up through tears as he steps forward again, pulling you closer. A hand comes up and cups your cheek as the one around your waist tightens, and he looks down at you with an intensity you haven't seen in weeks. 

"I may not know your face, or remember... anything about you, but..." His eyes close and his hand slides into your hair as he dips his head and touches his forehead to yours, "I remember... this," he continues breathlessly, gripping your hair gently, "I remember this feeling... Your skin... against mine. Your scent..." 

It's there. He can feel it. Just beyond his reach. He's been grasping blindly. Needing you and not knowing why, needing to feel you under his hands, against him. 

The hand at your waist slides to your lower back, pulling you closer. "Help me," he pleads, eyes shut tight, all focus trained on you, voice thick with hope and desperation, "please... help me remember." 

Donatello's warnings burn to ash within your memory as his mouth claims yours in a searing kiss. 

It's clumsy at first. Demanding. Desperate. Like a dance he doesn't quite remember the steps to. He holds too tightly, moves too stiffly, but you open to him anyway, and a warm wave of sunlight flows into him. 

He was so cold. He's still so cold. He can't remember the truck but he can remember the cold. Seeping into him slowly. As time dragged on and his body heat waned he'd grown so tired so quickly. He could still feel it. Frost on his edges. He's tried everything. Heated blankets, hot showers, gallons of tea. He's been trying since he woke up, he just can't seem to get warm. 

But where his skin touches yours, it's like holding the sun. 

Your heat floods into him like warm, golden light. Like the dawn. Pouring into the deepest, coldest parts, and filling him completely with that feeling. Love. And there you are, beneath the melt. As vital and familiar as his own heartbeat.

His kiss softens, his hold becomes more sure, familiar. It takes you a moment, but you realize, between kisses, he's whispering, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." He holds you the way he always has, and he kisses you the way he always has, and soon your crying too hard to kiss him back.

He holds you tight against him, pressing you against his chest, kissing your hair, apologizing over and over as if any of this is his fault. You cling to him desperately, afraid that if you let go it won't be real, that he'll forget you again. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, afraid that you'll be wrong, and you'll look up into his, and you'll find only questions.

His hold tightens and his eyes burn. He's angry. This is unacceptable. Unfair. He got played, and he was supposed to die in that truck. What the Oroku fuckers didn't count on, what they never count on, is you. You'd pressed yourself against him, sharing what little warmth you could. By the time the others found you, both of you were unconscious and hypothermic, but still alive, Raphael's large body wrapped tightly around yours. You'd kept his heart beating. Just like always.

He pulls back and attempts to raise your chin to meet his eyes. You resist. He can smell your fear, feel the pounding of your heart under his fingertips.

He rests his head against the side of yours and speaks your name softly, in the same voice that has pulled you peacefully from sleep a thousand times. Another sob escapes you and you curl into him tightly, before a few moments pass and you unfurl, your eyes raising to meet his. 

The weight of his gaze settles on you and you never thought you could be grateful to see such depths of pain within him, but within the pain was... everything else. From the depths of despair to the heights of ecstasy, every moment of the last three years was a storm inside his eyes.

You can see the naked rage, swirling in the tempest, and it mirrors your own. Those responsible would be dealt with, later. Now, you reach back behind him, and he dips his head to make it easier for you to remove his mask. You toss it aside, and he presses his forehead to yours. You rest your hands on either side of his face, tracing the familiar scars, and you can feel his shuddering exhale. 

"I love you."

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"Raphael-"

"I didn't mean to-" His breath catches on a sob, and you pull him tighter against you. Burying his head in your shoulder, he wraps his arms around your waist and breathes deep. If scent is the strongest sense tied to memory, he would bury himself in you. He would never forget again. 

....

I know this isn't how amnesia works, okay??? I KNOW the plot here is swiss cheese!!! but it got stuck in my head and now you have to deal with it too, so there.

...

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins @sacred-holy-light @celeste-clearwater-06 @pheradream-15

[mirohlayo]

Hi, can I request a Reader x F1 grid story where reader breaks her arm/leg and she can't race because of it, but she still attends the races to watch with her team? And then the drivers start to draw on her cast as a feel better soon gesture.

Maybe she also posts it on her social media throughout the day to show fans the progress of the drawings.

Thank you so much xxx

P.S. Love you writing

Hi !! So as you requested I used the F1 grid, but only the drivers who I write for originally (+ Albon). I also wrote reader as a F1 Academy driver to make it more easy to write and more realistic. It's the first time I write something like this, so hope you'll enjoy it girll !! ᥫ᭡

DRAWINGS ON MY BROKEN ARM

( because maybe you just need some love from your handsome friends. )

warning : none just a broken arm, a cast and fluff

note : I really struggled a lot to find some good cast pictures, these ones are a bit awful lmaoo sorry

word count : 1.3k

It was not planned. This was absolutely not what was planned.

As you get out of the car with difficulty, greeting pleasantly the driver who kindly accompanied you to the Suzuka circuit, you try as best you can not to move your arm too much. If you make unnecessary efforts you will tire yourself out for nothing.

You absolutely did not choose to break your arm. It was due to a mistake, a very big mistake indeed. While you were testing your car during free practice, during a session where the falling rain flooded the track with water, your tires did not grip effectively and you found yourself thrown against the wall, in a fairly serious crash. surprising.

The teams immediately helped you, and while everyone was asking you if you were okay after this crash, that's when you realized a big problem: yes, you were okay, but not your arm. . And after a short stay in the hospital, you now find yourself - or rather your arm - stuck in an amazing cast.

You obviously cannot participate in the next F1 Academy races. But you can, however, do something else that is much more energetic and beneficial for you in the state you are in: attend the F1 race which is currently taking place in Japan.

After all, being locked up for almost a week in your apartment was totally boring and you really need a little fresh air, and above all the passion for this sport to stimulate. Being a very close friend of certain drivers, you did not hesitate for a single second to accept your team's proposal when they offered to accompany you to the Suzuka GP.

Now there you are in the paddock, trying to slip through the others to get to the Mercedes garage. There where you find Georges, who smiles with all his teeth at the sight of you.

“Hello you” He walks over to you and starts to wrap his arms around you in order to give you a hug, but a reflex immediately makes him step back. “Oh sorry, I forgot you have a... little problem” He struggles to finish his sentence, grimacing at the sight of your wrapped arm in a cast.

You giggle before patting his shoulder. "Are you better since your crash? I saw that a few days ago and I was really scared for you." His eyes scan you, he is worried about you. You smile softly at him to reassure him. "Don't worry. I may have a broken arm but that won't stop me from supporting you in this race."

“Oh, Y/n!” Lewis' voice calls out to you, and you turn to face him, Charles next to him. They both smile at you, taking care not to touch your arm so as not to hurt you further. "I'm so sorry about your crash. You must definitely be disappointed." Lewis affectionately caresses your shoulder, a show of affection and support.

"At least you're alive, that's the main thing. It's good to see you here, the other guys miss you you know." Charles explains the situation, telling you how worried and scared the pilots were following your accident. You also received several messages from them on instagram, in which they supported you and showered you with kind words.

“Y/NNN!!” Daniel screams your name from afar, a big smile on his face as he almost throws himself at you. “Hey watch out for his arm.” Lewis alerts Daniel so he doesn't hurt you, but he doesn't seem to hear anything and comes to take you in his arms. “Daniel, I’ll go back to the hospital if you continue.” He finally pulls away, carefully observing your cast.

“Maybe I should call the others, they’ll be happy to see you.” Charles volunteers to bring the other drivers back, while you chat with your friends. They are all very respectful and very attentive, they are sincerely empathetic towards you.

In the distance, you finally see the rest of the boys arriving.

“Here’s my girl.” Lando comes to wrap his arm around your shoulders, a smirk present on his lips. You push him away, grimacing to tease him, and he holds his heart as if you had just broken it into a thousand pieces. "I know I shouldn't have sent you that 'get well soon' with a red heart on Instagram, hypocrite." He pretends to roll his eyes but his smile betrays him.

"Indeed, you shouldn't have. Your teammate was the first to message me and that's why he's my favorite boy today." Oscar tssk while crossing his arms, however amused by the situation. Max, Carlos and Alex are discreetly added to the group that has just formed around you.

“Even with a broken arm, you can do a lot of things you know.” Max told you in a confident manner. “Like Lance last year.” Carlos chuckled at Lando, both nodding at the same time because they thought the same thing. You can't help but feel alive again.

It's true that the last few days were difficult. Alone, injured and locked in your apartment, you no longer had much of a taste for life. You kept asking yourself questions about your future, about the rest of the races of the year. You were also worried. But you knew that coming here, being surrounded by your closest friends again, laughing and talking with them, was all you needed. You can only be grateful to them.

“I have an idea guys!” Alex then exclaims, drawing attention to himself. “Since Y/n is injured, and her cast is… white and bland, we should draw to give her courage.” He said while pointing at your cast. The other drivers nod, agreeing with the Williams driver's idea.

“I will have the honor of drawing first!” Then begins George, who is already ready to fight to have his drawing on your cast. "She wants a drawing of her favorite driver which is me. Too bad for you, George." Lando, and his sassy attitude, is ahead of the Mercedes driver. “I bet I draw better than all of you so let me do it.” Carlos steps forward to assert himself.

They seem to be on the verge of fighting over who will have the honor of drawing best, or who will draw first. You laugh while calming the situation. "Look, you're all going to be able to draw. We just need some markers." You remark, as you wave to your team in the distance to help you.

It doesn't take long before they arrive with a small pencil case filled with different colored markers. You then sit on a chair in a corner of the garage, the nine drivers around you. Oscar is the first to draw on your cast, while the others are still fighting over who will go second.

In the end, after a good session of laughter and slightly failed drawings, the result is there. Your plaster is decorated with designs, each one as extravagant as the last, but that doesn't matter, because their intention comes from the heart. This sincere gesture will certainly give you courage for the rest of your adventure, you are sure of it.

And as they all give you one last smile, one last hug, they leave to prepare for the approaching race. You end up joining your team further in the VIP stands, ready for the start of the race. “What a beautiful cast” Your engineer nods at the magnificent designs on your arm, and you smile. “Beautiful may not be the word, but it’s very precious to me for sure.”

And as you share a laugh, the red lights go out, as the din of cars echoes throughout the circuit. For a moment, everything seems wonderful. It's crazy how a simple little attention like drawings can brighten up your day a little more. And can also brighten up the day of others, like those of your fans for example...

yourusername just posted !

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and others...

yourusername: maybe no more arm but at least I have my handsome boyys ❤️

view comments

danielricciardo: if anyone wonders who drew the beautiful star, it’s me ✌️😁

⤷ landonorris: you wrote on her arm instead of her cast you dickhead

⤷ danielricciardo: I was feeling different 😜

user: Alex just writing his name makes absolutely sense

user: no cuz they're literally the SWEETEST ahww

⤷ yourusername: only oscar cuz he's the one who drew the best

⤷ danielricciardo: but you said it was me earlier

⤷ yourusername: i lied plus you literally drew on my SKIN instead of my cast 😠

landonorris: my girl not giving any credits to my amazing beautiful drawing 💔

⤷ yourusername: yeah cuz you have no talent, keep it up it's awful mate 🔥🔥

⤷ landonorris: hypocrite I hate you

charles_leclerc: take care of yourself y/n ❤️

georgerussell63: I slayed, my drawing is lit

⤷ yourusername: no 🙄🥱

user: i need friends as precious as them, love their friendship !!

[woollypoison]

Take what you want and go: part 1

Itzy Ryujin x m reader This part is all fluff, no smut here yet. Later parts will have smut, so stick around for that? I'm starting projects and working on them piece by piece. If I don't post them, I end up revising them ad infinitum. Word count: 1,664 words.

This isn’t your usual Friday night. Music pumping loud, a relentless beat that fights against the one in your chest. The air in the club is thick with sweat, perfume, alcohol and disgusting desperation. Some of those stenches belonging to you. People grinding into each other like they’re trying to forget something. Or Everything. You’re not here to forget, though. Not tonight.

You’ve been working the same old fashioned for an hour now. You’re not here to get wasted. Your eyes are skimming the room, catching glimpses of silhouettes. Shadows dance, giving way to partially revealed faces, none of them familiar— Until they are.

Ryujin.

She’s standing on the edge of the dance floor, her light skin reflecting against her dark clothes. She’s dressed in a black waving top that drapes over her matching black shorts, clinging to her like they were made for her body, a faint sheen of sweat glinting on her exposed abdomen under the neon lights. Her hair falls in sharp, intentional waves, and her lips curl into a smirk as she tilts her head towards someone leaning too fucking close. 

It’s been weeks since you last saw her. Weeks since she walked out of your apartment and left you staring at a closed door. You tried getting over her. So far, no success. Seeing her now, with that same effortless confidence and thrilling presence… it was no wonder you kept failing.

She hasn’t noticed you yet, or maybe she has and just doesn’t care. Her attention is on the person next to her. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You’re not here to intervene. You’re just here to see her, to remind yourself you're better off without her.

At least, that’s the lie you keep repeating to yourself. If you repeat it enough, you might end up believing it.

When Ryujin finally does look your way, it feels like the music is going on mute. Her eyes lock on yours, and for a single moment, the chaos of the club seems to fade into nothingness. Her smile drops, just barely, before returning to its original state, this time sharper. Calculated.

You know what’s happening. You should look away. You should finish your drink, leave the club, and never come back. But you don’t. You can’t.

Her dancefloor parasite says something, and Ryujin laughs. But her gaze keeps flicking back to yours, a challenge in her expression. “You’re here, aren’t you? Are you going to come to me, or are you going to keep pretending you don’t care?”

You’re hesitant, but her eyes always spur you on toward things you can’t control. You’re pushing through the crowd, the music getting louder and more obnoxious with each step to the dancefloor. Lifting your feet gets harder and harder as you close the distance between you and her.

When you’re finally close enough to appreciate the way her clothes are hugging her curves, she turns to face you fully, dismissing her companion with a clear gesture. They linger for a moment before disappearing back into the crowd, leaving the two of you standing face to face.

“Well, well,” Ryujin says, her voice smooth and teasing, clearly lying. “I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

She’s already getting on your nerves. She left, why is she being so casual? You should be screaming at eachother. Somehow, you manage to keep your calm. “Didn’t think you’d be here either.”

She shrugs, leaning against a nearby pillar with the kind of casual grace that always made her feel untouchable. “Seems you don’t know me that well after all.”

There’s a challenge in her words now. You’ve fallen for it too many times before. She’s baiting you, testing your resolve, and you hate that it’s working.

“Looks like you’ve been keeping busy,” you say, glancing toward the dance floor where her companion disappeared. The words come out sharper than you intended, but you don’t take them back.

Ryujin arches an eyebrow, her lips transforming into an amused smile. “Jealous?”

“No,” you lie. A bit too quickly. You can’t even convince yourself.

She steps closer, the space in between you gradually disappearing. You can smell the faint trace of her perfume. It’s familiar. It’s the one she used to wear when she was desperate for a night of fucking you.

“You sure about that?” she asks, her voice dropping low, her mouth getting closer to your ear as the words exit her mouth and enter your brain.

You don’t answer. You can’t. For a moment, you let yourself take her in—the sharp line of her jaw, the glint of mischief in her eyes. She’s everything you’ve been trying to forget, and seeing her now, you can’t help but want her back.

Your next words lack conviction. As if not daring to say it to her, but talking to yourself about her. “You shouldn’t be here,” you say finally.

Her smile softens, just barely, and you see something vulnerable in her expression. But then it’s gone, as quickly as it appeared.

“Neither should you.”

“I missed you,” she says suddenly, the words low enough that you almost don’t catch them.

For a second, you wonder if she means it, or if it’s just another game. But the look in her eyes—the way they soften, just slightly—tells you it’s real. It feels mean, her admitting something like this. Spiteful.

You missed her too. You want to say it too. You want to reach out, pull her close, and forget about everything that’s been keeping you apart. It’s impossible.

Instead, you take a step back, the weight of her words settling heavy in your chest. “You don’t get to say that,” you struggle to accuse her.

Ryujin straightens facing you, vengeance painting her smirk. “Maybe not,” she says, her tone rich with defiance. “But I said it anyway.”

Does she want you to laugh? To cry? She’s always been like this… unapologetic, reckless, and impossible to pin down. It’s what drew you to her in the first place. That’s what makes her so damn hard to let go of. It’s… unhealthy.

“Enjoy your night, Ryujin,” you say, turning around and getting ready to move.

But before you can take even a single step, her hand catches your wrist, her grip firm like she can’t allow herself to let you leave. “Wait,” she says, her voice pleading. “Don’t go.”

You freeze. You want to run. You want to stay. You're torn between the two. You can’t help but turn back to her, against better judgement. There’s something in her eyes you can’t ignore. You could never ignore. It’s enough to make your resolve crumble.

“What is it?” you ask. There’s concern, but a hint of apprehension strains your voice.

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she comes closer. Her hand brushes against your wrist again, lingering as though she’s unsure whether to pull you back or let you go. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, she looks like she’s struggling to find the words.

“Why do you make this so hard?” she murmurs. You can barely hear the exact words, but you understand their meaning.

You blink, caught off guard. Was this a joke? “Me?”

Her lips pressed together, forming a tiny thin line, and she shakes her head, exhaling a sharp sigh. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

But her hand doesn’t pull away. Her hand grips your wrist harder, a speechless contradiction to what her words were saying.

“Say it,” you inquire, her hand convincing you that you simply must know. The frustration she’s causing you impossible to ignore. “Whatever it is you’re trying so hard not to say, just spit it out, Ryujin.”

“You think you’re the only one who’s tired of this?” she says, biting back at your demands. “Of this endless back and forth? Like you’re the only one who’s hurting?”

Before you can even respond, she lets go of your wrist and takes a step back, the distance between you growing for the first time.

“You could’ve walked away a long time ago if you wanted to,” she continues, her tone colder now, defensive. “But you didn’t. So don’t stand there acting like this is all on me.”

“Ryujin—”

“No.” She cuts you off, her gaze narrowing down on you. “You keep showing up. Every single time. And then you get angry at me when I don’t give you what you want.”

Your jaw clenches at her provocations, her words pushing the exact buttons you’d hoped to avoid. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”

“Isn’t it?” she counters back to you, crossing her arms. For a moment, she looks like she’s about to say more, but then she takes a deep breath and shakes her head. Her voice softens a little, like she’s tired. “You can’t have it both ways. You don’t get to act like you care and then walk away whenever I get messy.”

You feel like you’re about to boil over, but you subdue it. “And what about you? You keep pulling me back in just to push me away again. What do you even want from me, Ryujin?”

Her lips part, and she looks like she might answer. Her eyes soften, and her eyebrows turn upwards in the center. Her expression is almost vulnerable. But as soon as she catches herself, she reverts it all. Re-establishing her guard.

“Forget it,” she says abruptly, turning away. “It doesn’t matter.”

And just like that, she walks off, leaving you standing there.

You watch her disappear into the crowd, your fists clenching at your sides. She always does this—gets under your skin, says just enough to make you question everything, and then leaves before you can get any answers.

But this time feels different. You’re not the same you were weeks ago. You won’t turn away. Just storm out in the other direction like you always did. You are getting a resolution today. You are not walking away this time.

[radiance1]

Another link to this post. Meet the parents style.

So, Danny and Jason have been fake dating for a while now, and ended up marrying each other solely for tax benefits. Also, they got cool ass fucking friendship rings that they just couldn't not wear everywhere and being married is convenient so...

Anywho, so Jason has met Danny's parents but Danny hasn't met Jason's parents. Danny knows that he has some ties with the vigilantee scene due to being a Crime Lord-he still doesn't know what to think of his parents connecting the dots immediately when they only met him once while it took him more than that while living with the guy.

He thinks Jason may have been an ex-vigilantee at some point before turning to crime.

Then Danny gets blinded by rich people aura when he finds out that his bestfriend is the long thought dead child of Bruce Wayne. Frankly, he's insulted.

You mean to tell him that his could've been buying ice cream from that high class place all this time!? He shook (literally he grabbed and shook him) that point into Jason, he doesn't care that Jason never told him he was rich but he could've at least bought some high class ice cream once in a while.

Jason who was busy solidifying his power as a crime lord, avoiding his family and making sure not to leak his identity at all: I'm a literal crime lord, and the only thing you care about is me not buying you ice cream?

Danny: YES!!!!

Jason: Dork.

Right anyways, so Jason takes Danny along to meet Bruce and his fam but did say as soon as he started being uncomfortable they're leaving. The batfam is a bit blindsided by Danny, because they thought Jason was bringing his partner but its good to also get a feel for Danny's personality.

Danny and Jason did what's normal for them when Danny starts getting comfortable around the manor full of things that cost waaay more than his rent. Like half-heartedly insulting each other, being snarky, leaning on each other and other such things.

The batfam start thinking that there's more there than they know of. So they start watching a bit closer and ask a few round about questions that fly over Danny and Jason's heads. They just forget they're married often, unless it's regarding taxes.

All of this sends the wrong message when they walk into the same room and, being nosy, one of the batfam comes up to the door and uh. They hear the bed moving quite a lot.

So.

Meanwhile, Jason is trying to wrestle with Danny because this man does not pick a lane. He'll either be the human octopus (who is cold as hell) Jason has ever seen, he'll try to kick him off the bed in his sleep as if Jason personally offended him in some way, or he'll sleep in some wacky position that interrupts Jason's sleep. The last one is tied to the other two, however.

So, Jason has to frequently wrestle this man into a proper position where they both manage to get some sleep and it wouldn't have been so bad if Danny wasn't a goddamn sleep fighter. He would know, he had to nurse a bruised jaw for a few weeks.

Why do they sleep together? Listen, when you're in an apartment with not a lot of money, you gotta cut costs where you can alright?