#let me do a background without really doing a background

[l4ndonorizz]

sleepless nights / lando norris

pairing: lando norris x reader

song: chase atlantic - falling

summary: unable to sleep, lando calls you in the middle of the night, seeking comfort. What starts as a late-night conversation turns into an emotional confession, as hidden feelings come to light and change everything between you

wc: 1.6k

The soft buzz of your phone on the nightstand broke the silence of your room. You blinked groggily at the screen, trying to focus as the late hour made everything seem hazy. Lando’s name lit up the display, and a small knot of concern formed in your chest.

It was nearly 2 a.m.

Swiping to answer, you held the phone to your ear, voice thick with drowsiness. “Lando? It’s really late. What’s going on?”

There was a pause, the quiet sound of his breathing filling the space between your words. “Yeah, sorry,” he replied, sounding hesitant. “Did I wake you?”

You sat up a little, pushing the sleep from your mind. “It’s okay. I wasn’t really asleep yet. What’s up? You sound… off.”

He let out a deep sigh, the weight in his voice unmistakable. “I can’t sleep.”

Your concern deepened. Lando was usually carefree, the type who always found a way to joke through anything. But this time, he sounded different—worn out. “Again?” you asked softly, knowing he’d struggled with sleepless nights recently.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice quiet, almost defeated. “It’s been like this for days. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, settling deeper into your pillows as you listened. “What’s on your mind? You wanna talk about it?”

Lando hesitated, and you could almost picture him running a hand through his messy hair, trying to find the right words. “It’s just… everything, I guess. Racing, the pressure, what’s next… I can’t shut my brain off.”

Your heart ached a little at how tired he sounded, and you wished you could be there to help ease whatever burden he was carrying. “I’m sorry, Lando. That sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “I hate it. I lie there for hours, and my head just keeps spinning.”

You listened as he vented, the words pouring out now that he had someone to talk to. Lando rarely let people in like this—he preferred to keep things light, brushing off the hard stuff with a joke or a smile. But tonight, he was raw and unfiltered, and it made you realize just how much weight he carried on his shoulders.

After a few moments of silence, Lando spoke again, his voice softer, almost hesitant. “Do you think… do you think I could come over?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Come over? Now?”

“Yeah,” he replied, and you could hear the vulnerability in his voice. “I know it’s late, but I don’t want to be alone right now. I think… I think I just need to be around someone.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and without hesitation, you nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Of course, Lando. You can come over.”

“Thanks,” he said softly, the relief in his voice palpable. “I’ll be there soon. Can we stay on the phone while I drive?”

You smiled at the thought of him wanting to keep talking to you, even during the short drive. “Yeah, of course.”

You heard the faint sounds of him moving around, probably grabbing his keys and pulling on a hoodie. The soft rumble of his car’s engine started in the background, and then he was back on the line with you, the quiet hum of the road accompanying his voice.

“What’s been keeping you up the most?” you asked gently, not wanting to push too hard but knowing that sometimes it helped to talk through things.

Lando sighed, the sound tired and heavy. “Honestly? I don’t know. It’s like… I’m trying to be everything at once, you know? The perfect driver, the perfect teammate, even the perfect friend. But no matter what I do, it never feels like enough.”

The vulnerability in his words hit you hard, and you wished you could reach through the phone and just hold him. “Lando… you don’t have to be perfect,” you said softly. “You’re allowed to have bad days, and you’re allowed to feel overwhelmed.”

“I know, but it’s hard,” he murmured. “I keep thinking about the future, what’s next, what I’m supposed to be doing… and I just don’t know.”

Your chest tightened with empathy as you listened to the quiet frustration in his voice. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now, Lando. You’re doing your best, and that’s all anyone can ask of you.”

There was a long pause, the sound of the road faint in the background as he processed your words. “You always know what to say,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the warmth in his tone, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. “You’d be just fine,” you joked lightly, hoping to ease the tension, but even as you said it, you knew that wasn’t entirely true. He leaned on you in a way that felt different from how he leaned on others, and deep down, you’d always known that.

“You think?” he teased, a hint of his usual playful tone creeping back into his voice. But then, after a brief pause, he added more softly, “I don’t know. I think you’re a bigger part of my life than you realize.”

Your breath caught at the unexpected honesty in his words. There was something about the quiet of the night, the intimacy of the late hour, that made everything feel more open, more real. “I think you’re a bigger part of my life than you realize too,” you confessed quietly.

Lando didn’t respond right away, but you could hear his breathing on the other end, slow and steady, as if he were thinking carefully about what to say next. “I’m almost there,” he said softly, his voice carrying a weight that told you he wasn’t just talking about the drive.

A few minutes later, you heard the faint sound of his car pulling up outside. “I’m here,” he said, his voice gentle as he stepped out of the car.

You climbed out of bed, pulling your blanket around you as you padded to the door. Opening it, you found Lando standing there, his hair tousled from the drive, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. His face was soft, tired but relieved, and something in his eyes made your chest tighten.

“Hi,” you said quietly, stepping aside to let him in.

“Hi,” he replied, offering you a small smile as he stepped inside, kicking off his shoes by the door. You closed it softly behind him, the quiet of your apartment wrapping around you both like a warm blanket.

Lando stood in the middle of your living room, looking around for a moment before turning back to you, his expression soft but serious. “I’m sorry for showing up like this,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me,” you reassured him, stepping closer until you were standing just a few feet apart. “I’m glad you came.”

He looked down at his hands, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie, and for a moment, he seemed almost unsure of what to say. “I’ve been thinking about a lot of things lately,” he said softly. “Mostly about you.”

Your breath hitched at the confession, and you took another step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “About me?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I’ve been thinking about how much you mean to me. How you’re always there for me, even when I don’t deserve it. And… how scared I am of losing you.”

The vulnerability in his words made your chest tighten, and you felt the urge to reach out and touch him, to reassure him that you weren’t going anywhere. “You won’t lose me, Lando,” you whispered, taking his hand in yours. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing softly over your skin. “I care about you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “More than just as a friend.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and suddenly, everything felt clear. The late-night phone calls, the way you always felt so safe around him, the way your heart fluttered every time he smiled—it had all been leading to this.

“I care about you too,” you admitted, your voice soft but sure. “More than I’ve let myself realize.”

Lando’s eyes softened, and he stepped closer, his free hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. “I didn’t want to mess this up,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your skin. “But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

You smiled, your heart swelling at the tenderness in his voice. “You’re not messing anything up,” you whispered back.

For a moment, you just stood there, the world falling away as Lando’s gaze locked with yours. Then, slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that felt like a promise—gentle, warm, and filled with everything that had been left unsaid.

When you finally pulled back, Lando rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I think I can finally sleep now,” he murmured with a small laugh.

You smiled, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. “I think I can too.”

[anniebeemine]

parents gone wild- s.r. x fem!reader

warnings: title is misleading but it made me giggle, just domestic bliss :)

You and Spencer were giddy with excitement as you dropped your two little ones off at Penelope’s. She greeted you both with a bright smile, practically bouncing on her toes as she waved off your last-minute instructions. “Go! Enjoy yourselves! You *need* this!" she said with a laugh, hugging you both before shooing you away. There was a surreal feeling as you drove away, the car strangely quiet without the usual baby babble or crying in the backseat. It had been months—no, almost two years—since you and Spencer had a night to yourselves.

“This feels so weird,” Spencer admitted, his hand resting on yours as he navigated through the city streets. “Like we’re… doing something we shouldn’t.”

You smirked. “You mean, like we’re sneaking off?”

“Exactly,” he chuckled. “I mean, no diapers, no screaming for once. Just… quiet.”

You grinned as you pulled up to the restaurant, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you both really dressed up. Spencer was in a crisp button-up, tie slightly loosened, and you in a dress that hadn’t seen the outside of the closet since before your first baby. The restaurant was a dimly lit bistro, with candles on each table and soft jazz playing in the background. The atmosphere was cozy and intimate, and you felt like you were dating again—before kids, before the late-night feedings and endless baby chores.

Dinner was incredible. You laughed over stories, clinked glasses of wine, and indulged in rich food you hadn’t had time for in months. It was like you both let out a collective sigh, a reminder of what it was like to just be *you*—not just parents, but partners, enjoying each other’s company.

By the time you left the restaurant, you were both tipsy from wine and full from food, grinning like lovestruck teenagers.

“You know, I kinda forgot what it’s like to have a conversation where I’m not interrupted by someone screaming for more Cheerios,” you joked as you leaned into Spencer, his arm draped casually over your shoulders.

“I missed this,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Just… being with you.”

When you got home, you were still floating from the night, ready to pop open the fancy bottle of wine you had splurged on earlier. The apartment was quiet—eerily so—without the kids. No whirring baby monitor, no toy sounds echoing through the hallway. Just peaceful, blissful silence.

You headed toward the kitchen, calling out to Spencer. “How about we start with the wine before anything else?”

But as you passed the living room, you stopped in your tracks. The sight in front of you was *not* what you wanted to see after such a perfect evening. Toys were scattered everywhere—blocks, stuffed animals, teething rings—every surface was covered. A sippy cup was laying on its side, tiny socks were draped on the coffee table, and the plush playmat was askew. You sighed, staring at the chaos for a moment.

Spencer came up behind you, seeing the same thing. “Maybe we could just… ignore it for tonight?” he suggested, though even as he said it, he didn’t sound convinced.

You bit your lip, torn. “I mean… it won’t take long to clean up. Just a quick tidy, and then we can relax.”

He smiled, knowing that was code for: *We won’t be able to relax until this place is clean.* “Alright. I’ll tackle the dishes.”

You both set off on a whirlwind cleaning spree. What was supposed to be a "quick" tidy turned into something much more. You couldn’t help yourself—once you started picking up the toys, you found yourself folding the kids’ laundry, wiping down the counters, and fluffing the couch pillows. Spencer, meanwhile, was meticulously scrubbing the dishes, loading the dishwasher, and even organizing the pantry as he went. It was almost therapeutic, in a way—cleaning the house without the usual chaos of trying to keep a baby entertained at the same time.

Hours ticked by, and by the time you both sat down on the couch, exhausted, it was nearly 3 a.m.

You collapsed next to Spencer, letting out a long, tired sigh. “Well… at least the house is clean?”

He chuckled softly, stretching his arms out over the back of the couch. “We’re supposed to be drinking wine and relaxing right now.”

“Yeah…” you murmured, leaning your head against his shoulder. “But I’m too tired to even get up and pour a glass.”

Spencer wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. “Me too.” You could feel the exhaustion creeping up on you both, but there was a quiet satisfaction in the clean apartment. The silence around you was peaceful, but something felt… off.

After a few moments, Spencer spoke up, his voice low and amused. “You know… Penelope wouldn’t mind keeping them for another night.”

You smiled, closing your eyes as you rested against him. “Yeah, probably not.”

There was a pause, and you could feel Spencer’s heartbeat slow as he relaxed. “But… I miss them,” you whispered.

He nodded against you. “Yeah. I do too.”

The thought of your little ones—Caitlin's giggles, the way she babbled excitedly when Spencer talked to her, the sight of your younger one’s toothless grin—it tugged at both of your hearts. Even with the freedom of a night alone, you realized just how much you loved the little chaos they brought into your lives.

And as you both drifted off to sleep on the couch, arms wrapped around each other, you knew that despite the sleepless nights and the mess, there was nothing you’d trade for the life you had now.

[artificialstardust]

You ask, you shall receive, hehe

So, I am shy person, I don't do sexual things with anyone until I get to know them to a certain level

That inspired my thought like when reader is at Noah's place for movie night and they have a hot make out session with reader straddling Noah's lap and he knows she's too shy, so he just gently leads her hips over his bulge or over his thigh and that leads to an orgasm without being 'really' intimate

No because I understand this so much

Okay SO

Noah came over to your place for your weekly movie night. Tonight’s movie being one you’ve both watched together numerous times before. You were cuddled into him, his arm around you holding you close. “So why are we watching this one again?” He asks, holding you tighter. “Because it’s good and you didn’t say no when I suggested it” you laugh at him. He gives your side a gentle pinch as he chuckles a bit in response.

You reach for a piece of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table and throw it at him. “Oh so you wanna play that game huh?” He smirks at you. You smile bashfully at him “maybe.” With that he turns to tickle you, sending you into a fit of laughter. His hands going for your sides and neck. You try and grab his hands to get him to stop. “Call truce and I’ll stop” he laughs. “Okay fine” you laugh “truce” and he slowly stops. He lets out a soft chuckle then brings you to sit on his lap.

You rest your hands on his shoulders and just admire him, the sound of the movie becoming a background noise. He brings his hand up to rest of your cheek. “You’re so beautiful” he mumbles. You smile sheepishly at him and look down. He catches you, bringing your face back up to look at him by resting your chin on his index finger. “Don’t hide from me” he says softly. “Wanna see you” he continues, then leans in to kiss you softly. He pulls back and then does it again.

“I love you” he says, the pushes your hair out of your face. “I love you too” you say softly, then lean back in to kiss him. He holds your face gently in one hand. After a few more kisses, he decides to deepen it a little, hearing you let out a soft him gives him to green light to keep going.

Noah deepens it a little bit more, his tongue poking at your lower lip. You open your mouth slightly with a small whine, allowing him entrance. He groans slightly when you do, he pulls you closer to him, his hands on your hips, his right thumb rubbing your hip lovingly. You interlock your fingers around the back of his neck, wanting to stay there forever. This keeps on for a little while longer before you feel him poking at your inner thighs.

You pull away from the kiss and rest your forehead against his. “Noah” you breathe out. “I know baby” he replies “is it okay if I keep kissing you? We don’t need to do anything more if you don’t want to” he says softly. You nod your head, but then he pulls your face to look at him again. “Baby I need words, nod all you want but I want you to say it” he says with a gentle sternness. “Yes, please, keep kissing me” you say softly. “That’s my girl” he smiles, then goes into kiss you again immediately.

You whine at how fast his lips were back on yours, him already deepening it to the same extent. One of his hands leaves your hips to tangle into the back of your hair. He pulls at it gently in an experimental manner. When he hears you moan from it, he smirks into the kiss. “My girl likes that doesn’t she?” He mumbles into the kiss. “Shut up” you say, shy about it. He chuckles slightly then drifts his hand that’s been on your hip down to grab a handful of your ass. A whine comes from you as you rub down against him trying to absentmindedly get some friction. As soon as you hear him let out a deep groan, you register what you just did and freeze up a little. A deep blush forms on your cheeks, while the movement surprised you, you loved the sound he made as a result from it, as well as how good it felt on your end.

“What is it baby?” He asks, seeing the blush on your face. You look at him and see his smug expressions, realizing he knows exactly what just happened. “Did it feel good?” He ask, already knowing the answer. You nod your head yes which causes him to chuckle a little bit. “Thought so, you wanna do it again?” Your blush deepens as you nod again. He smiles slightly then places both hands on your hips, pulling you down a little bit more onto him. The pressure causing both of you to groan a little. “Sound so pretty for me” he says as he starts guiding your hips to grind on him. “Look at me baby, its okay” he says, knowing that acts like this cause you to be shy. “Not going all the way until you say the word, but like this we can both feel good, right sweet girl?” He says reassuringly. You nod and let out a breathy yes. You start to move your hips as he helps to guide you. “There you go baby, you’re doing so good for me” he praises.

You let out a moan, a bit louder this time as you feel him through your shorts, the friction on your clit becoming addicting. You place your hands on his shoulders for better leverage as you start to grind down a little harder on him. “Fuuck” he groans, leaning his head back. He looks back at you and grabs your ass with both hands. “You’re doing so fucking good baby, I’m so proud of you.” You let out a whine at his praise “feels good” you say, a bit of shyness still remaining in your voice.

He cracks a smile hearing you and seeing the blush on your face. He reaches up and pushes your hair behind your ear, both of your breaths becoming heavier. “I know baby” he breathes out, another groan following it. He looks down and watches your hips move against his. He brings his hands down to rest on your hips, his thumbs rubbing against them. “Fuck” he mumbles softly as he watches, almost in a hypnosis by it. A louder moan coming from you snaps him out of it. He looks back up at you. Your face flushed red, your eyes closed, face contorting from the stimulation. A whine follows quickly after from you. He smiles widely, loving how you look like this. His grip on your hips tightens and he helps you move faster on him, pushing his hips up into yours. The sound you make as a result making his dick twitch in his pants.

“C’mon pretty girl” he urges, a moan breaking through his lips. His words make you focus on putting more pressure on your clit with your movements. With his guidance on your hips, you find yourself going a little bit faster, chasing after your release. You lean down and kiss him, one of his hands leaving your hips to tangle into your hair. A high pitched whine leaves your chest, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Right there” you pant. “Is my baby getting close?” Noah says, a smirk laced into his tone. You nod your head, the pressure in your lower stomach increasing drastically. His hand leaves your hair and goes back to your hips. “Let go for me baby” he pants “wanna see how pretty you are when you cum” he groans out.

You whine at his words, the coil finally snapping. You let out a cry as you cum. “That’s my girl” he praises, grinding his hips up into yours, knowing that he can finally allow himself to loose it a little. A couple seconds after, he follows suit. A loud moan spilling from him as he cums in his pants. You both keep grinding as you ride out your highs. Eventually you both come to a still, just leaning against each other as you catch your breaths. “Are you okay baby?” He asks, swallowing. “Yeah, yeah I’m okay” you pant. He takes your face and has you look at him. “You did so good baby, I’m so proud of you” he says softly. He kisses you softly, then presses a kiss to your forehead. “I know that was probably a lot for you” he mumbles against your skin. “It was” you reply, “but i really liked it” you smile up at him. “Yeah?” He smiles back. “I’m so happy you did,” as he brushes the hair out of your face again.

You slowly move off of him so you can sit next to him. “Here” he mumbles, moving to lay horizontally on the couch, bringing you down with him to cuddle. He lets out a content sigh as you settle against his side, your head on his chest. “Thank you for being patient with me about all of this” you say. “I know it’s probably not the easiest, but it means a lot to me” you finish. “For you, I’d wait until the end. As long as you’re happy and comfortable, that’s all I need” he replies, leaning down and pressing another kiss to your hairline.

“I love you baby”

“I love you too Noah.”

[loveshotzz]

He’s not tech savvy, and he doesn’t really like to be laughed at. It doesn’t stop you from giggling under your breath at every wrong button he presses. The lag on the connection from the remote to the TV consistently getting letters wrong.

“If you don’t stop…” he mutters, frustrated. The curl you love so much falling over his glasses while he leans further forward on the couch. He squints at the television, jutting the remote toward the screen in an angry thrust just to accidentally hit ‘delete’. You break, letting out a loud laugh that wakes Bandit up from his nap on the dog bed. Steve can’t help it, he laughs too, a chuckle birthed from how annoyed he is trying to set up a ‘party watch’ for the Friday the 13th movies with Peach and Eddie in New York.

It made his heart soften at any hint of his best friend that he found in you. Smirking to himself when you mentioned watching them whenever a Friday the 13th happened to fall. It’s like Ed spoke through you. So he made a whole plan for it — a stay at home date night where he made snacks, ordered cannolis, got a good fall candle, and set the lights to an eerie low red.

And it would be perfect if he could figure out how to get the fucking link to work.

“If you think it’s so easy, why don’t you do it tough girl?” he asks, putting the remote on the center cushion on the couch, “Go ahead, show me how smart you are.”

“You’re just not being patient,” you tease in a measured, holier-than-thou tone, “You have to be one with the remote.”

“Okay,” he says smoothly, “Show me then, karate kid. Show me how to become one with the remote.”

You can smell the spice and cedar on him when he inches closer, big hand closing over yours while you take the remote in your hand, slowly spelling out Eddie’s email address for the invite on the screen. A silence falls between you, feeling the scruff of his five o’clock shadow near your cheek.

“You’re showin’ off, angel,” he murmurs, he breath coasting over your ear.

“So what if I am?” you ask headily, turning your head so your lips nearly brush. The remote drops between you, noses teasing against each other with gentle smiles on your lips, eyes closing.

Steve’s phone rings, Eddie’s ringtone — Creep by Radiohead blowing from the speaker.

“Hold that thought,” Steve sighs. He picks up, screen reflecting himself back when he realizes it’s a FaceTime call.

“‘Yyyello,” Steve says, settling the phone against a mug of decaf on the coffee table. You sigh at the way he can’t help but answer the phone like a geriatric.

“I’ve been waiting for this invite for like, twenty minutes — what’s the deal?” Eddie asks, from the background it looks like his phone is in a similar spot. Halloween decorations set and ready, fairy lights flickering orange and purple hanging prettily on the wall.

“We’re getting there man, relax,” Steve says, taking his glasses off to massage the bridge of his nose, “Technical difficulties.”

“Or you just don’t know how to do it,” he grins, “Where’s your girl? Ask if she can help.”

“I’m trying,” you pipe up, putting yourself in the frame and waving.

“Hey lady,” he smiles lazily, “You teachin’ him a thing or two?’

“Every day,” you smile back.

“They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” Eddie shrugs, “So…”

“Well, you’re older than me, so,” Steve bites back.

“Ooh, I love when you’re a little mean,” Ed flirts, “Do it again.”

“The invite should come in for you in a couple minutes, are you on the main page? It’ll pop up there,” you say, picking the remote up again.

“Yeah, I’m ready when you are,” he nods. You both can hear the lock click in Ed’s apartment, his face splitting into a smile and gentle eyes.

“Hey baby,” he says to his wife off screen, “Com’ere we’re gonna watch Jason with St—”

Off camera you can hear Peach’s voice, soft, and laced with a hint of disappointment, “You decorated…”

His face quirks, “Yeah, d-do you not like it?”

“I like it but…you um, you did it without me. We were supposed to do it together.”

“Oh, honey,” he frowns, “Wait no, don’t frown like that — Peach…”

Eddie looks at the screen, “Sorry guys, can you send the invite in like a half hour? Peach, sweetheart, I’m so sorry…don’t be upset…I — fuck, hold on — Yeah, send it in like a half hour — bye.”

The call disconnects, leaving you both sitting there in the glow of the TV, the cursor blinking waiting for you to click ‘Invite’ now that Eddie’s email was successfully entered.

“All that and now we have to wait,” Steve snaps, “He’s never on time.”

“I feel bad,” you give a small pout in solidarity, “She sounded so sad.”

“She’ll get over it,” Steve lets out a breath, shaking his head like he’s used to this, “She just wants some attention. Speaking of…”

“Speaking of…?” you respond, turning toward him on the couch.

“We were having a lot of fun before we were interrupted,” Steve smiles, leaning forward, lips skimming your cheek to press a kiss by your ear, “And I can think of a few good ways to kill a half hour.”

- not Carol, oh wait, yes it is

🥺 i’ve been selfish and kept this to myself for a little while and have been reading it when i get overwhelmed at work. you spoil me bf 🥺💕 I love him so much.

[literaila]

Atf if you can hear me pls save me atf

your eyes are sore, light coming in blinks and ribbons as you breathe. everything feels louder somehow, bigger than it was before.

“hey, wifey,” someone whispers.

but you can’t see him. if you could reach out and touch him, you wouldn’t.

“satoru?”

“the one and only.”

“where are you?”

his voice sounds so close, but you can’t really tell. you can feel your own breath on your face, can hear the faltering every time you breathe in. your hands twitch at your sides but they go no further.

maybe there’s a blue light there, a glimpse into something in the distance.

“i’m right here,” he says, and you can imagine him grabbing your hand. you can see his goofy smile, can feel his daring eyes on you—waiting for your reaction, whichever he wants you to give.

and you can hear breezes of days at the beach, nights laying in bed and tracing your name on his skin. you can feel the flutter of lips against your head, the daring of putting yourself in his hands.

there’s glimpses, between the flashes of light, there’s yelling and whining, laughing while you pull on snow white hair, there’s flirty jokes, sacred glances, and so many unspoken words that they collect in the pit of your chest.

that they linger there, waiting for their turn.

there’s so many secrets between the two of you, so many things you’ve felt but never reconsidered, so many lies that you’ve never gotten to plead guilty to.

and then there’s the truth, you can hear it, even if you can’t touch him right now.

“i miss you,” you whisper, and you’re not sure if it’s just another one of those memories, or if you’re actually saying it.

it’s true all the same.

“i know you do,” he says, “i miss you too.”

there’s a sharp breath. you want to reach out and grab him and pin him down but you can’t even open your eyes.

something is falling down your face, looming and wet. “you broke your promise.”

“i didn’t,” gojo tells you, and he’s grinning. you know he is. “i’m right here. i told you i’d stay.”

“you’re here?”

“right here, baby.”

there’s a weight on the other side of the bed, limbs brushing against yours as he stretches out like he always has—like he owns the space between everything.

“satoru, i don’t know what to do.”

“you don’t?”

“i can’t—i can’t feel you. where did you go?”

“nowhere. i’m right here.”

“what about the kids? what about me? we—we’re nothing without you. we’d be nothing. is that why i feel like this? i can’t feel anything, i cant—“

“hey, i’m right here.”

the tears are involuntary now. something inside your soul is shivering, breaking apart, begging to be crushed.

“you’re not nothing,” satoru tells you, and you can almost swear that he’s brushing the tears away, squeezing into you like you’re just that malleable. “you never needed me for anything. you handled it all on your own just fine.”

“i was lost without you.”

“you were brave,” he says, “you’ve always been brave. and strong. that’s why i kept you around, you know?”

it hurts to laugh, but you do. “that’s it?”

“well, the view wasn’t too bad either. and you always let me hang around, even if you were annoyed.”

“i was never really annoyed.”

satoru is smiling. “i know.”

you’re just laying there, listening to him, and it’s like hell.

“remember what i told you?” he murmurs, his voice collecting with the memories in the background. he’s probably cold right now.

“no.”

then there’s a feather light feeling, that nostalgic brush against your lips—like a kiss, like a dream.

and satoru doesn’t say anything, but you’re almost sure that he just kissed you. that you can’t move but he can, that he might be really there, that you might still be in that kitchen and he might still taste like toothpaste.

and, yeah. you remember what he said—what he never needed to say.

you want to grab onto him. hold him there. “you can’t leave,” you’re saying, but it’s not you.

“i’m right here,” satoru might be laughing. “im not leaving you.”

finally your hand moves and you go to touch him but—

but then your eyes open, and the tears have dried on your face. your head pounds, eyes searching for something that was never there.

satoru has always been such a liar.

[akookminsupporter]

Hey! A couple of questions for you 😊

AYS, to me, was never going to “confirm” jikook. It was just unrealistic considering society and that they’re serving now. That being said, did AYS reaffirm for you jikook might be real? And do you think if it was your first bts content would you also think that there might be going something on (ie watching with no bias). For me, it showed how incredibly close they are and several moments of intimacy that goes beyond most friendships.

The second one is now 6 weeks out from the car convo, has your opinion on it or its relation to jikook changed? For me still, that car convo didn’t show they broke up or disprove that they may be dating.

One of my pet theories, even before Face and long before knowing buddy existed, was wondering if they took a step back in prep for military service - a let’s focus on solo careers and work on not being as tied together cause we have service a head of us. A practice run if you will. Not breaking up, more let’s try long distance.

More so now, and what I haven’t seen people talk about, is I was thinking about how for the other guys and jikooks prior relationships, they would know how hard dating as an idol would be. I’m sure Tae and Jennie had a lot to contend w being so busy as idols and on differing schedules. Same thing for dating a non famous, dealing w the insane hours and workload, rarely being in Seoul. And that was never a reality jikook faced - for a period they would’ve both lived and worked together. They were in the same schedule, the same places. And that would’ve been for a majority of their relationship. So no wonder post October 2022 was an adjustment, when they truly did not have any schedules as bts. And they’re both human, and Jimin has said both he and jk get lost in their work (from that colouring live). Sometimes we aren’t the best and prioritizing work and relationships, especially when it gets busy. You hear stories about loving couples going thru phases where they’re just roommates before making the effort to not just be living together. It seems like Jimin got incredibly busy and focused with Face and Muse. And jk is allowed to have feelings about that. Doesn’t mean them not being able to see each other to hang out is any deeper than that. Doesn’t show that they broke up or couldn’t be dating. I also wonder, since we may never get the background on it, if that period of time solidified the decision to enlist together. Where before it was a ok well enlist it will suck, became after that period of time nah we’re not doing 18+ months apart.

Ahhhh sorry for the long post, a couple questions and a couple thoughts for you haha

Hey anon, sorry for taking a bit to post your ASK.

“Did AYS reaffirm for you that jikook might be real?”

Yeah, definitely.

“Do you think if it was your first BTS content, would you also think that there might be something going on (i.e. watching with no bias)?”

Oh, absolutely. I think if I'd seen AYS without much context, I’d be sure they’re a couple, no doubt about it.

“The second one is now six weeks out from the car convo; has your opinion on it or its relation to jikook changed?”

Are you talking about Jungkook complaining that Jimin never reached out? Honestly, no, I still hold the same opinion I had initially.

I think one of the reasons why that time they talked is confusing for us is that we don’t have the context for a lot of things. For example, when did they decide to enlist together? I think that decision shaped many of their choices, like focusing on their work and perhaps on other friendships, because their relationship wouldn’t just pause dramatically come December 2023.

Honestly, I think that period in their relationship solidified whatever they have and made them want to be together, which is why they ended up enlisting together through a system that guaranteed they'd be together. Even if Jimin and Jungkook took a break—assuming they really have a romantic relationship—the fact that they decided to film a show together and enlist together in the army shows they’ve overcome whatever was separating them or that they’ve just realised they want to be together.

So, I think it’s a bit tiring and unnecessary to speculate about what might have happened during that time in their relationship because, first of all, we have no context, and second, they’re still together. The fact that they enlisted together through the buddy system is the biggest “proof” they can give that their relationship is solid, whatever that may be.

[thatgirlwithasquid]

letters that i can never send

words: 25,571

Chrissy/Tina | Teen and Up Audiences | POV Tina | Ghost Chrissy Cunningham | Letters | Right Person Wrong Time | Unhappy Ending

beyond excited to get to share my fic for @sapphicstevents' stranger things sapphic mini bang!! writing it definitely fought me for a while but i'm really proud of this fic.

so here's the first chapter and a cover i threw together to post it with! the whole fic is up on ao3 here, and @hullomoon has been amazing and created a podfic of the work for anyone interested in listening <3

---

Chapter 1 : A Pack Of Green Scrunchies

words: 5,739

June 20th, 1986

Dear Chrissy,

I wish I had known you before everything went mad. 

I think I told you that before, but I mean it now more than I meant it then. It feels so crazy to think that we went through school walking past each other in the halls and not even glancing in each other’s direction. I know that I did the same thing to other kids but it still feels impossible.

My mom took me out to the mall the other day—there’s a mall in this town, not like the destroyed one in Hawkins. It’s full of people and stores and it's loud. I didn’t like it. I always used to find it annoying how quiet Hawkins was sometimes, but I hate how loud it is here. There’s too many people talking and smiling and I can’t see them without thinking about how oblivious I was before I met you.

They were selling scrunchies in one of the stores. My mom was looking for a new purse but I stopped to look at them instead. I bought a pack of green ones because they made me think of you. I wonder if that’s what you would smell like; cotton fabric and lingering perfume from my wrist.

I miss you. 

Tina.

—

The lights in the hospital waiting room hum with an electric static. Even under all the anxious chatter and background noise of the hospital, it’s the only thing Tina can hear. Well, that and the fading ringing in her ears.

Her hands clench and unclench around the hem of her shirt as she watches the minutes tick by. Beside her, her dad’s leg bounces up and down. She’s not sure if he’s aware of her watching him. The man stares ahead down the crowded hall through the chaos as if her mother will suddenly appear there, good as new.

Tina doesn’t say anything, just reaches out and entwines their fingers, letting out a sigh of relief as her father squeezes her hand back. She needs his strength to lean on. It doesn’t matter that, rationally, Tina knows her mother’s injuries from the earthquake were far from the most severe that came through those hospital doors today.

She’s never been more scared than she was when her dad came stumbling out of the rubble, shirt bloodied and with her mom’s arm over his shoulder to support her weight. Tina had been so frantic that she can’t even remember if her mother had been conscious at that point. She was out cold during the drive to the hospital, though; the sounds of ambulances and firetrucks and police cars responding to the destruction weren’t even enough to break her from her state. Her father had somehow remained stoic then, too.

Thankfully, it’s not too much longer before a nurse lets them visit her mom. After hours of waiting, they’re more than ready to see how she’s doing. 

With all the trouble caused during the disaster, her mom is crammed into a room with other people, separated only by a flimsy curtain. Around them, the relieved reconciliation of other patients and their families fade into the background as Tina reaches her mother’s side and grasps at her hand where it lays atop her blankets. 

IVs poke into her skin and wires trail off to monitors she doesn’t even begin to want to look at. Instead, Tina focuses her gaze on her mom’s weary face. She looks tired, eyes rimmed with dark circles that are only accentuated by the pale colouring of her skin. But she seems okay, all things considered, and Tina sighs out in a relieved whoosh of breath.

The nurse goes over her mom’s condition with her dad, but Tina hardly takes in a word—the moment the nurse confirms that her mom will be okay, she tunes her out entirely. Instead, Tina drinks in the sight of her mom, brushing a careful thumb over her scraped knuckles and almost tearing up when her mom gives her a small smile in return.

Eventually, the nurse hurries off again and Tina’s dad slumps into a chair beside the bed. Tina barely glances his way, too scared to look away from her mom, convinced that if she so much as takes her eyes off her, something terrible will happen again.

“Tina,” her mom sighs. “I’m okay. You don’t need to look so worried.”

Tina shakes her head.

“I was so scared,” she manages, voice cracking under the tears she spent so long suppressing. They finally rush down her face in a flood of emotion, tasting salty where they converge in the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, baby,” her mom says, voice softening. “It’s going to be okay now, okay? Why don’t you go and get some rest, you look exhausted.”

Tina can’t help but laugh at that, an ironic, choking thing. “I look exhausted?”

“Well,” her mom smiles before shifting slightly and doing her best to smother a wince. “I’m already laying down and getting rest. I’m more worried about you.”

Guilt stabs Tina’s heart like a blade. Her mom’s the one in a hospital bed, with doctors and nurses hovering around outside to help if needed, and yet Tina’s the one acting like the world’s weighing down on her shoulders. It’s shameful in its own way. 

Tina always thought she was strong enough to be her parents’ equal. She did well enough in school and had plenty of friends; her parents saw how grown up she was and even helped her plan her Halloween parties; her mom told her everything—every annoying thing someone at work said, every snippy little complaint about her dad forgetting to hang the washing out…

And here she is now. Comforting Tina like she’s a little kid in need of a nap and not a seventeen-year-old who should be better than this. So, she shakes her head, plastering on a smile even as her eyes sting with another wave of tears and, admittedly, exhaustion.

Before she can put up much protest, her dad pipes up to agree with her mom. It doesn’t leave enough room for anything more than Tina going along with what they want. Her dad almost follows before he hesitates, catching her mom’s eye. She nods back at him.

“Why don’t you see about finding some dinner for us two? I won’t be far behind you, I just need to have a talk with your mom.”

What is Tina supposed to do about that other than leave? She’s obligated to listen to her parents, even if she wants to stay. Besides, she’s sure she’ll be visiting her mom as often as she can until she’s discharged. 

So, it’s fine. All this is fine.

When she gets to the door, Tina turns and looks back at her parents one last time. With all the other people talking in the room, she can’t make out what her parents are discussing. What she can make out is the way her father’s face pinches into a concerned frown. 

Whatever it is they wanted to talk over without her must be serious. Resigned, Tina sets off in search of the cafeteria. It feels strange, pushing on through crowds of the distraught and the injured. Against her better judgement, her eyes catch and linger on the horror around her. 

Nothing will ever be the same after this, not in Hawkins at least. Too much bad has happened, too much to even let herself think about.

By the time her dad finds her in the cafeteria that evening, the dinner that Tina bought them has long since gone cold.

—

School doesn’t reopen until a week later—a week filled with funerals and clean up and searching for anyone still buried under the rubble. During that time, Tina recovers what she can from her trashed house to cram into some other girl’s bedroom. She should probably count her lucky stars that its usual inhabitant left for college a year ago, otherwise she would be knocking elbows in this little space—seemingly so much smaller than her own room was.

She longs for home: for her corkboard of polaroids of herself and her friends, for each marker line creeping up her door frame dedicated to a year of her life, for her fuzzy blue blanket, and for so many more little comforts that she had taken for granted. Staying here, in someone else’s bedroom while her dad stays on the pull-out downstairs, makes her feel strangely like a jigsaw piece jammed into the wrong puzzle.

There’s nothing to be done about that, with the roof of her house half-collapsed it’s not like they have much choice other than this. She is grateful that her dad’s work friend—Mr. Daniels—took them in, but that doesn’t stop her longing for what she’s lost.

Returning to class brings back none of the normality she longs for, either. Sure, the cracks in the road outside have been hastily paved over for the most part and the classrooms have been deemed safe to return to despite whatever state the earthquake had left them in, but everything has so clearly shifted…

All Tina sees, everywhere she looks, are the empty seats. The ones from kids whose families fled the town are one thing, one type of grief for the friends she’s not sure she’ll ever see again. The rest are something else entirely, vacant seats that will never be filled; those seats offer no question to their absence in Tina’s life.

So far, she has been to eight funerals. Three of them were some of her best friends. She didn’t sleep the nights after any of those. After the last one, she hasn’t been able to bring herself to attend any more; it turns out that there’s only so many bodies you can handle saying goodbye to within such a short period of time.

Mr. Clarke clears his throat, trying to recapture the forlorn attention of the room. Even he can’t seem to muster a genuine smile so Tina doesn’t know how he expects the students to care about any of this. Honestly, she’s surprised the school has even bothered swapping teachers to fill in for staff absences with how little chance they have at passing their exams after all this. If their grief wasn’t enough, having a teacher so clearly unprepared to deal with older kids isn’t going to help them learn at all.

She remembers Mr. Clarke from middle school and almost, very briefly, feels bad for thinking poorly of him. He’d been a nice enough teacher. She’s sure he’s still nice enough, but she just doesn’t have it in her to care about stuff like that anymore. Not after everything. She’s not sure how she fits into this new, broken version of Hawkins; how the hell should she be able to care about how everyone else fits in?

Slowly, the eyes of the class do raise to the man where he stands, squirming at the front of the room, backdropped by the chalkboard covered in scrawled science Tina hasn’t understood a word of. She can’t help but think that their usual teacher would have explained it in a way that made so much more sense to her.

She doesn’t know if that teacher is one of the leavers or worse.

Everyone sits quietly as Mr. Clarke stumbles his way through telling them about the commemorative assembly that is going to be held in the gym. Both schools will be coming together in a few days time to remember their lost friends, or at least that’s the plan.

Silence hangs in the air for another excruciating moment. Then the whispering finally begins. Names get thrown around, ones Tina is sure must belong to the dead.

“Jason,” someone whispers.

“Carol,” says another.

“Nicole—”

The whispering gets cut off abruptly by the scraping of a chair as it’s shoved out from under its desk. Some kid launches himself to his feet and stalks out of the room, eyes red-rimmed. Behind him, the classroom door slams shut on a spluttering Mr. Clarke.

Whispers start up again in the wake of his sudden departure. This time, Tina tunes them out. Instead, she sets her thoughts adrift, steering away from anything too dour to think on. She doesn’t want to deal with this today. They’ve only been back at school for a day. 

She isn’t ready for this yet. It doesn’t feel like there has been nearly enough time for any of them to come to terms with this. How the hell are they going to get through these last two months of school and—

“Tina!”

Blinking back to her senses, Tina looks up, across the lunch table and to whoever called her name. It’s Vicki, looking at her with wide, concerned eyes. She probably should be concerned, Tina can only vaguely recall walking to the cafeteria, she’d been so trapped in her own mind.

“Sorry, what did you say?” she asks.

It’s just the two of them, perched on the edge of a sparsely populated table. Their group used to be a lot bigger.

“I—” Vicki starts, hesitates, and then leverages a painfully forced smile onto her face. “I asked if you figured out what you wanted to do at college yet.”

She wants to wince, to cringe away from the inane topic. It makes her feel sick to pretend that everything is normal. People died, other people got hurt, the town is a mess. Why would they be worrying about stuff like this as if it means anything at all anymore?

“I don’t know. With my mom in the hospital everything’s changed. I haven’t had time to think about it.”

Vicki squirms uncomfortably at her confrontational tone, looking chastised. It makes her deflate a little, feeling suddenly very cruel. Just because Tina doesn’t know how to play at being normal, doesn’t mean she has to be such an ass to her friend over it. She still cares about her and being a bitch is only going to drive a wedge between them. It’s not like she has many friends left after everything, either.

Her hands tremble in her lap and she shakes them out as if that might banish some of her simmering nerves. It doesn’t. With a tense kind of control, Tina pushes up to her feet. Vicki’s eyes swivel up to her, surprised by the abrupt shift.

“Bathroom,” Tina chokes out, trying to tamper down the frustration in her voice.

“Tina…” Vicki starts but Tina is already walking away.

The lighting in the bathroom is dingy and off-putting, and yet the electric buzzing of those fluorescents still puts her in mind of sterile hospital walls. Her mom’s been making a great recovery, she reminds herself. She’ll be home before she knows it. Maybe then everything will start going back to normal.

The porcelain basin of the sink stares, glaringly white up at her as she leans over, splashing her face with metallic-tasting water from the old taps. Her ragged breaths send speckles of water back into it as it drips in trails down her face. She’s probably smudged her makeup now, and it didn’t even help at all.

With a choked sob, Tina turns her face upwards, meeting the paled expression of her reflection; eyes wide, droplets of water clinging to mascara-tinted lashes. But that’s not all she sees.

A sick feeling of horror settles deep in her stomach as she notices something from the corner of her eye—something hovering behind her, in the corner of the bathroom. The room had been empty when she came in. Heart hammering, startled by being snuck up on, Tina whirls around to see—

Nothing.

Just an empty, dingy, school bathroom. The green doors of toilet stalls stare back at her impassively as she clutches a hand to her chest, willing her racing pulse to settle.

It was nothing. It was her mind playing tricks on her. It had to be nothing. Because if not, how could she explain that fleeting glimpse of the ghost of Chrissy Cunningham?

—

Tina’s pen taps restlessly against the Daniels’ kitchen table, the only sound in the eerily silent house.

Sharing a living space with another family comes with all the chaos one would expect, with each of their routines clashing loudly and incompatibly as they stumble around each other each morning and night. And yet the quiet moments like this are almost worse, when everyone is out working or visiting the hospital or whatever else it is these people do. Aside from Tina, it’s empty. Abandoned, almost, like the rest of this god-forsaken ghost town.

She scratches a frustrated line through her pitiful homework attempt and pushes it away across the table, out of sight and out of mind as she stares distractedly out the window. The chair she sits on creaks as she leans to the side, trying to look out into the street. Usually at this time of the evening, kids would be running around, excited and playing in the warm spring air. Usually parents would be seen and heard, trying to cajole their kids inside for whatever they had cooked up or ordered in for dinner.

Tonight, there is nothing but a creeping sunset that paints the sky a dull pink, like drops of blood diluted in a lake of blue. There is no one finding time to play, and no one enjoying a peaceful evening, and Tina’s parents aren’t here. It’s just her, alone with her anxious mind.

She should be at the hospital, trying her best to be there for her dad and checking in on her mom. But going there again and again felt like poisoning herself, losing herself in worry that would set her heart pounding and mind spiralling. It doesn’t matter to her scared brain that she knows her mom is doing much better, she still can’t help but feel sick with worry.

And she’s so tired. It makes visiting her mom so difficult because her mom gives her this pitiful, concerned look whenever she sees her like this. Tina just can’t take that; being a burden to her parents instead of a place of support. They have nothing to be worried about, really. It— She’s just tired…

She can’t sleep with worrying about if something happened to her mom in the night, or if another earthquake might come to completely level this damn town. And what’s more, her mind hasn’t been able to stray far from the thought of what she saw—or what she thinks she saw—in that damn bathroom. Any time her mind has a chance to wander, her thoughts get inevitably dragged back to that sight.

She had only glimpsed her for a fleeting moment but that had been enough. Enough to see the shape of blood splatters on her cheer uniform and the inhuman pallor of her skin… Now, every sound—every creaking shift of this unfamiliar house, every car driving by, every sudden noise—leaves her jumping, expecting to see something horrific around her as if she’s being tormented by some twisted apparition. She hates it.

She should know better than this, she doesn’t even believe in ghosts! Whatever she saw must just be a trick of the mind. And yet.

With a frustrated groan, Tina pushes her chair out from the table and stands. Sitting around like this is doing her no good, either. It’s like she can’t escape any of this worry for even a second. Or, at least, she can’t when crammed into too-small rooms that have no space for the shape of her grief.

Her loaned keys chime against each other as she snatches them from the countertop. She just needs to get out of the house, walk around and clear her head. Maybe then all this anxiety can start to dissipate and the memory of that hallucination will fade.

Locking the door behind her, Tina wanders off in whatever direction her feet decide to take her. 

The air is clear outside and she hopes that might ease some of the tension that she has been holding, coiled and aching, within her. It’s hard to remember that she doesn’t need to be prepared for something awful to happen, because chances are nothing will.

She wishes she believed that.

Every time she blinks back to awareness, she finds herself on a different stretch of road that she can’t recall making the conscious choice to head to. This walk clearly isn’t doing anything for her. Clear her mind? What a ridiculous idea. How the hell could a place as fucked up as Hawkins bring her any relief, no matter where she might go or what she might do? It’s like the only thing her body knows how to do here anymore is to run on autopilot—to keep her body moving as her thoughts keep on spiralling.

She stills, taking a frustrated breath and at least trying to keep track of where she’s ended up. Her eyes scan her surroundings, taking note of how the efforts to fix up the town haven't reached this far yet, great deep cracks still clear and precariously crisscrossing the roads, splitting the asphalt open to reveal the exposed bowels of the earth.

It’s not something she’s that surprised by. Ahead of her, the road turns off into the trailer park. It makes sense that no one has prioritised fixing up things around here. With the abandoned yellow streamers of police tape, catching and glinting in the golden hour, it’s only too easy to remember what happened here all too recently.

Tina cringes at the sight of them, dancing in the gentle breeze like they don’t know what they mean. Like they don’t know a girl was massacred inside that place. Still, she can’t quite tear her eyes away. For a long, breathless moment, she just stares, caught in the bone-deep wrongness of that place. And then, like ice slithering down her spine, a stomach-churning feeling of horror settles upon her. It takes a hold in her chest before she even realises the cause of it.

Just barely visible from this far away, lingering in the window of the Munson’s trailer, is the shape of a person, standing stock-still. The longer she stares, breaths shallow and fast under the weight of that settling dread, the more the distant shape seems to resemble a girl, its silhouette becoming more convincingly feminine as that agonising second draws out longer and longer, running on forever as her gaze refuses to budge from the sight.

It’s like time has stopped. 

Tina doesn’t realise she’s stepping away until her feet scuff against the uneven ground and she nearly loses her balance. That, at least, is enough to break her out of her trance even if the terror sinking into her stomach refuses to dissipate; she rips her gaze away from the trailer as if burned. It feels like the shape of that figure is scorched into her retina now.

Unwilling to look back at that window, Tina runs.

—

Sitting through the commemorative assembly in the school’s gymnasium is like pulling teeth. Every word jars her, striking through with pained awareness of how overcrowded the room is playing host to two schools and yet not nearly as crowded as it should be.

She feels like an exposed nerve, too vulnerable for this. Her eyes burn with exhaustion and the threat of tears.

At some point she stops listening entirely, too mentally overwhelmed as she tries not to think about anything at all if it will get the ringing in her ears to stop. As she looks down at her hands, the shadows cast by the lines of her palms form a dark echo of the blood and grime she remembers from that day. She had to trim her nails as short as she could to get rid of the last traces of it.

When they’re finally dismissed, the end of the speeches coinciding with the end of the school day, Tina lingers behind at a shout of her name.

Waving over at her from through the dispersing crowd is Vicki. There are strained creases around the corners of her eyes as she weaves her way to meet Tina but she valiantly keeps a smile in place, something more than Tina can say for herself.

“You want to tag along with me? I’m heading to meet Samantha, she snuck some of her parents' booze in all the confusion so we’re going to meet up and let off some steam.”

“Samantha Stone?” Tina clarifies. “Since when do you hang around with Samantha?”

Vicki scoffs. “Since almost everyone else is gone.”

Tina presses her lips together to keep the sudden roll of nausea at that blasé statement at bay. Vicki seems to pick up on it, her expression dimming marginally with her concern, but she chooses not to question it. Instead, she strides on, head held high.

“Anyway, we all have people’s memories to drink to. I cannot deal with the aftermath of that stupid assembly while sober. So, you coming or what?”

Tina takes a steadying breath and follows. After all, it’s not like she’s got any better ideas. 

The crowd that gathers at the edge of the school’s field is a mishmash of different people, most of whom Tina has only ever seen around each other in the classroom or at her own parties. They seem to clump together uncertainly, stilted conversations offered between each other about inane topics that Tina doesn’t have the energy to entertain.

Regardless, she loiters around with the group, accepting whatever drinks get thrust into her hand and taking great gulps to avoid joining any conversations. Listening is more than enough, if you can even class what she’s doing as listening. 

Everyone else, at least, seems on the same page about getting shit-faced. As the hours creep by, shoulders finally start to slump and the group gets rowdier the drunker they get. Bottles are uncapped with grandiose claims of them being in honour of someone who couldn’t be there with them.

Silently, Tina raises her own drink, the faces of her friends flashing in her minds’ eye. 

At some point, Vicki leaves her place at Tina’s side. She looks up to see her, arms interlocked, with Samantha and laughing the way she only does when she’s really tipsy. For a second, Tina considers going over to talk to them, but when she gets up from her spot on the bench her body feels clumsy and uncoordinated. It’s probably better that she stays here, leaning against the seat for support.

There’s another kid who could probably benefit from the same. He’s pale aside from a splotchy flush to his cheeks as he stumbles ungainly out from the tree line.

“Didn’t get lost taking a piss then?” his friend taunts as he wobbles his way back over to their side.

“I think I just saw a ghost,” he says in a daze.

Everyone laughs at that. Tina tries not to think at all.

The sun is creeping towards the horizon and Tina is far too many drinks in when the nausea finally hits her. It feels like a physical thing, crawling its way up her throat.

“Shit,” she gasps, floundering up onto her feet at last and heading blindly into the trees. At least there she might have just a smidge more privacy in her shame.

Her sneakers shuffle over uneven earth, hesitant at first until the need to puke becomes too much and she hurries further along, with all the uncoordinated grace she can muster. Knees meet the ground and an arm braces against a tree as she sucks in deep breaths. They slowly soothe the sickness away. In the end, she’s not sure if it’s better or worse that she didn’t actually vomit.

Head still hazy, she looks up and widens her awareness back to her surroundings.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she says, clambering back to her feet, as she spots them.

It’s a girl. It’s too far away to be sure but she looks to be dressed in a cheer uniform, at least from what Tina can see. The girl is curled around herself, sitting with her back against a tree and her head in her hands.

This could be it. This could be that same hallucination. 

Tina should just go—whether or not this is real, she just needs to leave it alone. If this is just some other student from their drunken group, then her crying is none of Tina’s business. Hell, she’s had to step away for private moments herself and it’s not the sort of thing you want to be walked in on. And if this is Chrissy, then… Well, then that doesn't bode well to think about.

Leaves and twigs crunch underfoot, stealing any stealth she might have managed, as Tina approaches. Not like it matters, the girl doesn’t react at all, as if she can’t even hear her.

The closer she gets the less she can deny it. That strawberry-blonde hair, held back from her face by a green scrunchie; that small stature; the familiar cheer uniform, speckled with somehow still-red blood… She may not have known Chrissy personally, but Tina had certainly seen her around enough to be able to recognise her.

She slows to a stop, looking down at the figure of her. From here she can see that her head isn’t actually in her hands. She’s covering her ears, muttering something under her breath that Tina can’t quite make out without getting closer.

Tina’s mouth opens to speak but she finds it suddenly dry, her throat barren. She clears her throat, the sound perversely loud in the atmosphere around her.

“Chrissy?” she manages finally, voice little more than a whisper.

Chrissy’s head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide and frantic. Her whole body tenses, posture coiling and shifting as if she’s preparing to bolt, and for a moment Tina feels that same need to flee echoed in herself. Neither of them do.

Tearful, blue eyes take in Tina’s face before some of the fight seems to drain from her, slumping infinitesimally against the tree behind her. Tina, though, doesn’t relax and her alcohol slowed mind fumbles to come to grips with the sight before her.

Chrissy, where she sits in the leaves and dirt and forest debris, is so pale. Every so often, the very vision of her seems to flicker in Tina’s sight, as if the girl herself were not fully corporeal… trapped between this world and the next.

“Are… Are you real?” Chrissy breathes, voice small and broken.

The irony of that startles a laugh from Tina before she can help it. 

Shouldn’t she be the one asking that? Chrissy is the dead girl out of the two of them. If either of them should be mistrusting their minds right now, it should be Tina. Because if ghosts aren’t real, as Tina had always believed so strongly, then how can Tina be facing this right now?

“Am I real?” she scoffs, voice bordering on hysterical. “You’re the dead girl here.”

“What?” Chrissy asks in that same crushed tone.

“You’re dead,” Tina tells her, because what else is there to say?

Somehow, Chrissy seems to pale further, as if blood was rushing away from her non-existent face.

“No. N-no. I’m not, I can’t be. What are you talking about?”

“You died. In the Munsons’ trailer.”

“You’re lying. I’m right here—I can’t be—” Chrissy’s voice becomes shrill and stricken with panic before an anger steals over her features. “This isn’t funny. What kind of joke is that? I just—I need to get home.”

Tina scoffs, almost disbelieving, and steadies her swaying against a low-hanging branch.

“I went to your funeral. You’re dead. And I must be going crazy…”

The last part comes out half as a laugh, half as a sigh. It’s a fact she’s resigned herself to uncomfortably quickly, but what other explanation could there be? People don’t just see visions of dead girls sitting around and telling them they can’t be dead if they’re not mad.

Chrissy’s expression glazes over, seeming to be lost in her own mind as a fresh wave of tears give a new shine to those mournful eyes.

“You’re lying,” she says again, but this time she sounds more defeated than accusing, like it makes sense to her even if she doesn’t want it to be true.

Or Tina’s mind thinks Chrissy shouldn’t want it to be true—if Chrissy’s ghost actually was in front of her, that is. But she isn’t, because that would be preposterous. She’s just had too much to drink, and she’s been feeling paranoid, and it’s not as if she’s been able to rest since all of this began.

She doesn’t know why she’s indulging this in the first place. 

Her mouth opens to say something to that effect. Surely she has some smartass comment about it all, but all that remains in her mind are the wispy impressions of the thought as she tries her best to reorient herself. In the end, she gets nothing out before a voice calls out for her. 

Damn, she’s been out here for too long. She’s not even really sure how much time has slipped away without her notice between her leaving the gathering and ending up where she stands now.

Right, that decides it, she’s leaving. This—all of this—is something she doesn’t want any part in. Not ghosts, or hallucinations, or whatever any of this is and certainly not while she’s drunk. There are a thousand more important things she could be worrying about, she chides herself as she turns on her heel and sets her eyes on the way back. In fact, she’s mid-step when a feeble voice calls out for her.

“Please, don’t go. I’m scared to be alone…”

Tina pauses, her heart pounding.

“I need to get back,” she says; to herself, because there is no one else there. 

For a moment, Chrissy is quiet. Tina almost thinks the hallucination has finally dissipated when she speaks up again.

“Will you come back?”

Tina’s heart stutters in her chest. This isn’t real. None of this is real. She turns to look behind her and Chrissy is gone, not even a trace of her to be seen. 

“Tina!”

“Yeah,” Tina replies, the words mumbled to herself, as she finally unsticks her feet from the ground to return to the group. 

---

chapter 2

[nikkidawes]

"The Heights" for Fables: Citadel of the Unseen Sun from Ghostfire Gaming (AD: Zoë Robinson)

A bunch of vampires having a fancy dance!

[problemcore]

been real cloudy here, without any rain

[royalreef]

@infernalpursuit inquired: how does your muse react when they're scared? does it change, depending on what is currenly scaring them?

(( Oh, absolutely it depends on what's currently scaring her!

The thing you have to understand about Miranda is that she's less of a person, in the sense that her personality and reactions are organic and naturally occurring, and moreso that she's someone who has been so intensely groomed and micro-managed and pushed in such a specific direction that a lot of the way that she is is entirely on purpose.

Her personality isn't really a natural product of her birth nor her circumstance in the same way someone else's personality might be. It's more like... There's no way that people can go through something like what she had gone through and not turn out in a very similar way to her. It's a designed process in this way, something that very intentionally obliterates any other chance to be anything else, and makes becoming this highly specific mold of a person into a life-or-death matter, something that you can't will or whim or nature your way out of. Miranda is the way that she is because she's been intentionally ground down and shredded into the person that she is. She doesn't really have a concrete sense of self. She doesn't even really know who she is. She's not supposed to, she's just supposed to be a means to serve a singular purpose and a singular end, and all she even can comprehend doing is that purpose.

Fear is a major part of this process, this total obliteration of any other mere possibility, but I also feel like it's a little disingenuous to call it fear in the same way most people would relate to it. It's the kind of fear that's so big and bone-deep and constant that it stops really feeling like fear at all, the kind of thing that Miranda herself has a very hard time of realizing that she's feeling even when it's particularly bad.

It might be more accurate to call it getting locked into a constant state of flight-or-fight. It's a constant existential threat where Miranda is sincerely and totally convinced that she could die at any moment and anyone could hurt her as much as they wanted, constantly living solely in the very present and unable to think of what even a short distance ahead in time would be like, because she just never feels comfortable or secure enough to stop thinking of the right now. She's what happens when the fear has been intensified strongly enough that it never dips below what would be debilitating for anyone else, and thus has become wildly detached to her own body, physical harm to her body, threats to her own life, or any escalation of fear.

This is, in fact, one of the things that I worry about disappointing roleplay partners with at times! Because their muse will act scary or try to frighten Miranda, and it just doesn't work. She just doesn't respond to the situation in a measurably different way than how she normally does, because she's under so much constant stress and strain and terror that it's not really any different to her than how everything else already is.

The only real times when she starts to show it, in fact, are places where her aversion and fear of them have been specifically cultivated. Miranda is a tool, and a tool doesn't break under expected strain, but you do have to be able to sharpen it and make sure it remains useful. You do have to take it apart to do maintenance on it, make sure it's working. The points where Miranda starts to actually, sincerely, show her genuine fear and terror, are during these points and in these situations where her aversion of them can be used to punish her and make sure she's being redirected in the proper direction.

In which case, Miranda's fear response is also highly specific and the only real option that other people who have gone through it come out with.

Mostly, she freezes up. She starts fawning hard. She lets it happen, over and over and over again until the object of her fear goes away, because it's going to be easier if she doesn't fight back or resist. She starts disassociating, disconnecting from her body and her thoughts, forgetting where she is or what's happening to her, because then she doesn't have to be present to register it and the memories are easier to repress later. She starts to people-please, trying to make the object of her fear happy and content them, because doing what they tell her to do and making them happy makes it not last as long. If she just does what they want her to, then they won't hurt her as much. If she just listens when she's told, then she won't get punished as much.

The end result is that she's very... robotic, in a sense. She does what she is told, to the letter. She will do what she is told, and she will not fuss or cry or cause any further problems if it also hurts her as well. She will be good, because the only choice other than being good is total obliteration. They should tell her what to do. They should make her do what they want her to do. It's okay that she's not there, or it's hurting her. It's even better if that happens, in fact, because then it's not as bad. She will not mention it after the fact, she will not hold it against them, she will not upset them again. She will be good. She was designed to be good.

Which, again, is part of why Miranda's fear response can be so inappropriate sometimes... Because she's been cultivated this way, because other people punishing her is so ingrained into her mind as a fundamental way of being, very often she will pick the seemingly much scarier or painful option over that cultivated social fear. She will happily hurt herself for someone else, and she will not be afraid of it, or be very upset at all. She will happily do many frightening things and deal with things that anyone else wouldn't be able to, because she's already locked into a permanent state of terror, and the only exception would be what happens if she doesn't do this. She's a tool. The only thing a tool has to fear is not fulfilling its purpose.

It's why she keeps doing increasingly dangerous things, too, seemingly without regard to her own life or death. Fear is an adaptation which allowed living things to avoid situations and things that were dangerous to them. Because Miranda's fear is constant and always at its peak, she doesn't register minor fluctuations to it, nor does she have it to try and get her to avoid things that might or will hurt her. It's also why her pain response is so bizarre and detached, and doesn't take very many efforts to avoid pain in general.

It also means, too, is that the potential for other people accidentally setting off or triggering this particular type of cultivated fear is very high, basically intentionally so. She has to be easy to control and redirect as needed, after all. If someone else gets close to her, gets her in an intimate situation similar to how she was cultivated to respond to punishment, then she can very easily get locked into a loop that they didn't know they were setting off. She's not in the state of mind to notice contradictions or try and correct herself, let alone notice if something is wrong, so nothing she can do can stop this from happening beyond general discouragement from those situations.

It just also means that it can be rather upsetting for other people when they notice that Miranda's immediate fear response, in wholly out-of-proportion situations, is to just sit there and take it without protest, even to the point of seemingly not reacting to someone nearly killing her if they do it in the right way.

[teufelme]

You ever just want to talk about Bertl,

[l4ndonorizz]

coffee and charm / lando norris x reader

pairing: lando norris x reader

song: don toliver - new drop

summary: flirty banter with Lando Norris at the coffee shop turns into something more as sparks fly between cups of coffee and charming smiles

wc: 1.1k

The familiar chime of the doorbell rang, and without even glancing up from the counter, you knew who it was. Lando Norris had become a regular at the coffee shop, his visits almost as predictable as the ticking clock. You could practically feel his presence in the air, the easy confidence he always carried following him like a shadow.

You looked up with a smile as he approached the counter. “Same as usual?” you asked, already reaching for the espresso beans you knew he liked.

Lando leaned against the counter, that familiar mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “I dunno. Maybe I’ll surprise you today.”

You raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Really? Finally switching things up? Shocking.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, better not. Stick with what works.” There was a playful glint in his eye, the same one that made your heart do a tiny, involuntary flip every time he walked in. It was ridiculous, really. He was just a customer, and yet there was something about the way he lingered around you—something unspoken but palpable.

You started making his usual order, the quiet hum of the espresso machine filling the air as the shop’s late evening lull settled in. There were no other customers at the moment, just the soft murmur of music in the background and the gentle clinking of ceramic cups. It was the kind of calm that let the silence stretch comfortably between you two.

As you handed him his coffee, your fingers brushed against his, and you swore you felt a jolt of electricity. Maybe it was just your imagination, but Lando’s eyes flicked down to your hand for the briefest second before he smiled again, the moment passing like a secret only the two of you shared.

“Slow night, huh?” he asked, still not moving from his spot at the counter.

You nodded, wiping your hands on the apron tied around your waist. “Yeah, it’s been like this all day. Nice change of pace, though.”

Lando took a sip from his cup, his gaze never leaving yours. “Then I guess I picked the right time to come by.”

There was something in his tone, something quieter than usual. The playful energy between you two had always been there, but tonight, it felt heavier, more charged. Like neither of you was quite sure what the next move would be, but neither wanted to be the first to break the tension.

“You could sit down, you know,” you suggested, surprising even yourself with the boldness of the offer. “If you don’t have anywhere to be, that is.”

Lando looked around the empty shop, his grin widening as if he liked the idea. “Alright, why not?”

He picked a seat at the bar by the window, and you followed suit, wiping down the counter nearby to keep busy. But really, it was just an excuse to stay close.

“Busy day?” you asked, making small talk but feeling the buzz of something deeper under your words.

Lando shrugged. “The usual. But honestly? I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning on the counter. “What, your coffee?”

He laughed, the sound deep and warm. “Sure, let’s call it that.” His eyes flicked to yours, lingering in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

The conversation between you flowed easily, the two of you slipping into familiar banter. There was something about Lando—his charm, his sense of humor—that made it easy to lose track of time. You found yourself laughing more than usual, enjoying the way he leaned in when he talked, how he seemed genuinely interested in every word you said.

“Tell me,” Lando said after a while, his tone more serious, “how is it that you’ve met me here so many times and never mentioned you’re into F1?”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Maybe I was waiting for the right moment. Or maybe I just didn’t want to feed your ego.”

Lando’s eyes widened in mock offense. “Oh, so that’s how it is? I thought we had something special going here.”

You leaned against the counter, the space between you shrinking just a little. “I guess you’ll have to work harder for that ‘special’ status. How do you know I’m into F1 anyways?”

“Oh, I found your Instagram profile. You follow a lot of my friends.”

You blinked in surprise, the playful teasing slipping into something more personal. “My Instagram?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips. “Stalking me, are we?”

Lando shrugged, his grin widening. “Let’s just say I did my homework. Had to make sure you weren’t secretly a Red Bull fan or something.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Can’t be. My mom knows Charles’ mom, so you can’t root for anyone but Ferrari.”

His grin widened at that. “So you’ve got Ferrari loyalty in your blood, huh? Guess that means I’ve got some serious competition.”

You leaned in, elbows resting on the counter, enjoying the shift from playful banter to something more charged. “Oh yeah? Who says I’m even rooting for you?”

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. “I’ll just have to work harder to get your attention then, won’t I?”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Maybe. Depends on what you’ve got planned.”

Lando chuckled, looking like he was enjoying the challenge. “How about this: When you're done here, I'll pick you up and give you a ride in a proper car with a proper driver, of course."

You felt your pulse quicken at Lando’s suggestion, the playful gleam in his eyes hinting that he wasn’t just talking about a simple drive. “A proper car, huh? What are we talking? One of those fancy McLarens you love to show off?”

Lando leaned in just a bit closer, his voice dropping low enough to send a shiver down your spine. “You’ll have to wait and see. I don’t give away all my surprises up front.”

Your smirk widened as you held his gaze. “Well, I’m finished in an hour. Think you can keep up?”

He laughed, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’m always up for a challenge.”

The intensity between you two grew, the space between you almost nonexistent now. The casual flirting had shifted into something more, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks.

As he stepped back, still holding your gaze, Lando reached into his pocket, pulling out his keys with a grin. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

You nodded, feeling the excitement bubbling inside you. “Don’t go getting cold feet.”

His eyes glinted with a playful fire. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[marathedemonoverlord]

So just finished Lesson 17.... I'm sort of indifferent to the story but maybe now we're actually getting plot?

Kinda obsessed with Raphael and the cliffhanger left off makes me think we're getting content but we'll see. They might throw filler at us again this started strong but I'm getting unethused as it goes on (still gonna play it but the interest is dying are we going to address Nightbringer or drag it out for 3 Seasons so we NEVER go back to the future?)

Also I do feel bad for Solomon because I don't mean to neglect you Babes plot and my job as an attendant is forcing me back into the Stockholm Syndrome with them again I swear LOL (ಥ ͜ʖಥ)

[thethingything]

I find it kind of interesting that we have a couple of delusions (and the hallucinations that come with those) that just kind of involve gruesome stuff happening to us, especially because they weren't as gruesome at first but have gotten more so over time.

the hallucinations are all somatic ones (sensations instead of visuals or audio) but they're stuff like I guess what our brain thinks it would feel like if our organs were decomposing, or being eaten by maggots, or just stuff with a similar vibe to that?

I can put up with it for the most part, but like I did nearly throw up on the bed because of it earlier and I'd really like to not experience that again

[yourqueenb]

This is so ridiculous it’s laughable! Like legitimately funny to me actually 😂 Why the writers choose to force and rehash drama when there’s so much organic drama already in the story is beyond me 🤡

[lemon-wedges]

....