#mic drop and I am off

[chipped-chimera]

THIS. DEAR LORD THIS. THIS IS WHAT HAS BEEN DRIVING ME INSANE ABOUT AI.

Look I have contemplated writing an AI Analysis post coming from an actual artist's perspective SEVERAL times with the knowledge I've accumulated but rarely have the spoons to do it but I'll just do a short bit of it now.

So when something really upsets me that is happening and I have little control, I habitually do this thing where I will actively go out there and research the shit out of it. Because I've spent enough time in therapy to know the thing that scares us the most is the unknown. Make the unknown known? It becomes significantly less scary.

And I am backing it up when they say 'AI is a buzzword'. It 120% is. What the AI labelling is hiding under the world's biggest and perhaps most obfuscated umbrella-term is machine learning.

So it would probably shock you to know, by that metric we have been using AI for YEARS. Your autocomplete keyboard on your phone that remembers your words according to usage? Machine learning. Facial recognition on mobile phone cameras and facebook? Machine learning. The ALGORITHMS that have been driving a lot of my most beloathed social medias for years? MACHINE. LEARNING. Auto-generated captions on videos, reverse image searching, targeted advertising, analysis of weather systems, handwriting recognition, DNA sequencing, search engines, and of course your dynamic enemy 'AI' in videogames that has to react to your actions as a player - these are ALL products of machine learning and by that metric? You have technically been using AI for years but we just didn't call it that yet.

In my great search of understanding all things AI, what an Australian tech journalist commentator said was - we're basically calling anything 'new' in machine learning that we don't quite understand yet collectively 'AI'. And I agree 100%. The reality is AI has been with us since about the 1960s.

Hang on Chimera/Kery I hear you say, on the Wikipedia page of machine learning it says machine learning is a result of trying to build AI, not AI! Yes, but you literally cannot have the 'Intelligence' part without the machine learning part. You take out the learning and you've just got a brick of data that you can't do shit with. The intelligence part comes in when based on the data it's been fed and the responses it has gotten back from it's environment, whether that is a researcher saying yes or no, or literal environmental feedback in a robot that is learning optimal locomotion through a space - it executes actions. So again, by that metric when you whip out your phone to take a selfie and your phone starts to track where your face is? It is executing an action based on its data-set of 'what is a face'. That. Is. AI.

So everything is AI now? Yeah it's an umbrella term, that's what I said. The disparity between knowing what machine learning and AI is to the point we call specific things AI (image generation, large language models, voice generation) and other things 'not AI' (see my long list again) is down to MARKETING.

Let me take you back to the tail 'end' of the pandemic. You're OpenAI and through scraping a lot of publically available data of just people chatting or writing various things - with dubious consent - you have made a really good chat-bot. Yeah you heard me, CHAT-BOT. If you're old like me, you remember chat-bots - they're those goofy things you played with as a teenager and laughed at because it'd say silly things and it'd be funny to put two together trying to talk to each other because they'd begin spouting nonsense and getting stuck in a loop. Or they're the widely hated artificial help systems on government websites embedded in a chatbox that does jack shit. Or the annoying pop up on some website you're just trying to buy shit from and stock-image-sandra is here in a text box 'ready to help you'. Chat-bots have an image problem. You can't release ChatGPT, your fancy chat-bot as a 'chat-bot', how the hell are you supposed to get investors? You've got some really good projects on the go (with dubiously sourced data) but you're running out of money. You need to do something fast.

So you take out the AI umbrella term, and right before everyone is just about ready to leave their hermit-chronically-online-pandemic-induced lifestyles - you drop the metaphorical bomb. You hand over your tech, now with the shiny new AI label, to the public. The AI label hides the fact from the public that you're basically rebranding shit we've had forever and by keeping it purposefully murky you can (hopefully) get people to ignore the fact that you've basically pulled vast swathes of data with dubious consent because - but it's AI! It's such a superior piece of technology! We can't un-invent the wheel because the ends didn't justify the means! It could change the world!

Despite the fact it's been 'changing the world' since 1960 and the only difference here is you linked enough computers together to make it better than what was currently available. But you now have to pay electricity costs for all that tech so, out into the wild it goes!

And now you've triggered a technological arms race and the use of AI (and your bottom line) is skyrocketing! AI that was previously the domain of government and massive corporate use is now in the hands of people to play with - their personal tech literacy be dammed (no literally be dammed, the less they understand the better). And they won't want to have it taken off them - in fact they'll fight each other over the value of your chat-bot and image generator in spite of the fact you stole data to train it. So your profits keep rolling in and next minute, despite your ethos being 'open source to all' - you're getting approached by Microsoft for a partial buy in and now you're 'semi-private', whatever the hell that means. Who cares! Money!

I have so, so much more to say on all this but I'll leave it for a proper post. But the lesson of this very tl;dr history of OpenAI is this: AI is machine learning. Machine learning is a TOOL. AI is a TOOL.

And a tool is only as ethical as the hand that chooses to wield it. Artificial intelligence is neutral. It is not good. It is not bad. It is just like the knife on your kitchen bench, with all the potential of doing good and useful things like help you make dinner and also horrendous, horrible things like commit a violent crime. And who made the knife in your kitchen? Is it artisan? Handcrafted by someone well paid in their profession? Or was it mass produced in third world conditions? Now is your knife itself bad? Should we ban all kitchen knives?

AI is a marketing buzzword for shit we've had for years - this is just the shiny version that went public to get money and we all fell for it hook, line and sinker.

So I challenge you, the next time something wizz-bang-shiny-tech-whatever is placed in front of you, and maybe it's a bit scary - to do what I do. Instead of filing it into a box of good or bad, start arguments online with someone with only limited information over whether someone is 'good' or 'bad' for participating or not participating in use of this technology because it's now emotionally loaded for you - do what I do. RESEARCH IT. Understand it, deeply. Listen to commentary on it from both sides, learn about the intent of why it was handed to you and for the love of god USE SOME CRITICAL THINKING SKILLS.

Because I guarantee you once you do that? Stuff will quickly become a lot less murky. You'll be able to see where your own blindspots are, and prevent them from being exploited - in this case, being taken advantage of by big corporations who are trying to pull and 'oopsie-woopsie' on unethical datasets for profit. You'll be able to hold them accountable. You'll also be less likely to get pulled into stupid arguments online about shit because you know it is way more nuanced than tech-bro putting out his big titty waifu image soup - he's small game here. Who cares about him. Go for the people at the top of this who are hoping to keep sliding on by with their rolling profits because you're too busy having fights among yourselves. Go for them and go for the fucking throat.

Any technology can be used for weal or woe, and it is entirely about the hand who wields it. Or in this case, the hand who programmed it.

If we want to continue to use AI or Machine Learning in an ethical, revolutionary manner we need to stop falling for the marketing, and hold each other accountable to uses that will continue to benefit humanity. Not pull it apart.

So yes. AI is a buzzword. Stop falling for it.

[renegadse]

i guess you could call them...

secret soulmates

[httpiastri]

no oscar hand dump? 🥲💔

sorry it’s late, hope u enjoy 😚😚

[carolinanadeau]

In Praise of Sally Ann Howes

As I've made it one of the purposes of my blog to share photos and songs and general positivity about the wonderful English actress Sally Ann Howes, I thought I'd make a post to talk in much more detail about all the great things about her and why I adore her so much!

This classy English beauty possessed a highly expressive face and eyes, an astonishingly powerful soprano, a great sense of humor, and the world's most charming laugh. One thing I cannot stop saying about Sally Ann is that she did not and does not get nearly enough credit and recognition for her immense talent and prolific career, and it's precisely for that reason that I'm here to do my part in giving it to her!

This overlong rambling post is a combination of biographical information and my personal fawning over her performances... whatever I felt I most wanted to put out there in the world and what I'd like people less familiar with her to know.

Click on Keep Reading and I'll take you on a journey!

As she preferred to work on the stage and didn't really pursue a film career, the catalog of Sally Ann's work that can still be viewed today is unfortunately small - though you can find almost all of her early films on the internet if you look hard! In her early film days, mostly made before she was able to pursue her true passion of musical theatre, her extraordinary singing talents weren't utilized by the producers at all.

However, we were fortunately blessed with exactly one musical film role from her, and it's an iconic one: the aptly-named role of Truly Scrumptious in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (1968), the golden-haired, golden-hearted candy heiress who falls in love with and eventually marries Dick van Dyke's character Caractacus Potts after joining him and his children on a madcap adventure. She's a sweet, intelligent ingenue with hidden depths and one of my favorite sorts of character arcs - the uptight, lonely woman who becomes more and more warm and open as she discovers newfound freedom and joy in life and falls in love.

There is something about Sally Ann that just glows in every scene of Chitty, and it's not only that bright blonde hair! The way she widens her eyes sometimes, the way she raises her eyebrows, her gentle and soft presence in the happiest scenes, and the particular airy lilt she has to her speaking voice are all so distinctive and appealing, and I can't take my eyes off her. And her smile! When I say she glows it's barely even a metaphor, the woman just emits light. 

(Funnily enough, I started to realize that many of the laudatory quotes I've found about her also refer to her in this way, like this quote from a 1965 TV Guide article, from playwright Sidney Kingsley: "She's luminous as an actress. I mean that literally. In Brigadoon she really lit up the stage.")

For me, I'm weak for any actress who can do the defrosted-ice-queen trope so incredibly well. Truly starts out as closed-off and prim, and nearly reverts to that state when she and Caractacus have a Big Misunderstanding near the end, but in the scenes where she's happy and carefree, the warmth just radiates off of her.

She also has the most adorable chemistry with Dick van Dyke in an annoyances-to-friends-to-lovers relationship that absolutely shaped my young brain. Whenever Sally Ann and Dick glance at each other, whether with irritation and frustration early in the film or with warmth and affection later on, their chemistry is obvious and natural, and there's so much expressed in each one of those glances. One has no difficulty believing that these characters are going to be very happily married.

(Here's a cute on-set interview where she talks about, among other things, how easily she and van Dyke clicked.)

While I acknowledge that the character of Caractacus Potts was absolutely originally planned to be an actual Englishman, Dick van Dyke played him with an American accent, and to me they will always be an adorable English-American couple. It's a whole part of the charm of this pairing to me!

Sally Ann also had a great relationship with child actors Adrian Hall and Heather Ripley who played Jeremy and Jemima Potts, and did her best to help make them more comfortable and happy during the many very long days on set. Having been a child film star herself, she knew a great deal about how difficult and alienating it could be. The genuine affection the three of them shared is obvious in their scenes together, especially in the extremely adorable "Truly Scrumptious" number, and it really makes the developing mother-child relationship between the characters so believable.

The beach scene, where so much of the relationship between Truly and Caractacus and the Potts children is developed, is incredibly cute and heartwarming, and a lot of that rides on Sally Ann's performance and how her previously prim-and-proper character shows herself to be warm and loving, once she (literally) lets her hair down. We've already seen how happy the Potts family is together; now we see how Truly fits in perfectly and makes them all even happier.

Look at her! Literally glowing!

(One thing I should mention: I think both the plot and the love story of CCBB are greatly improved if one just treats the "dream sequence" as real events, which was possibly the original intention anyway, so just note that is always the perspective I'm coming from here. It's the only way to make some things make sense and for the characters and their relationships to fully develop.)

"Lovely, Lonely Man" is Truly's big solo moment, and was probably the least comprehensible part of the movie to me as a kid (lol), but is now indisputably one of the very best parts to me as an adult. It's an exquisitely beautiful love song, especially the bridge, and I somehow love it more and more every time I rewatch it. Sally Ann's dreamy, graceful movements and the way the whole scene is shot make her look like a princess, and the slow build of the song is masterfully done. She has this distinctive crisp way of articulating her words while singing, especially the closing consonants like N and M, that I just love to listen to. The string section and the building countermelodies are so beautiful it makes me want to weep. Everyone involved in creating this scene and song deserved an award, I'm being so serious. While it's not the highest of soprano songs and doesn't fully show off Sally Ann's astonishing range, she shows an incredible amount of vocal control here through the many diminuendos and crescendos, and she's mesmerizing to watch and listen to. One of her "glowiest" scenes, for sure!

While I've seen people call this song irrelevant to the plot, I strongly disagree - the romance is part of the plot, of course, and while I didn't fully understand the meaning as a kid, this song establishes how much Truly's outlook on life and hopes for the future have already changed since meeting Caractacus, and how much happier she is with the poor Potts family than she's ever been in her life of luxury. Plus, now we know for certain that she's head over heels for Caractacus, but he doesn't know... increasing the dramatic irony of the pining and yearning to follow!

In the reprise of "Hushabye Mountain", which was sung in a much earlier scene by Dick van Dyke alone, Caractacus loses the will to continue the song because he's overwhelmed with emotion thinking of his children being held captive. Truly comes in to aid him with the final verse - another pivotal moment in the developing romance - and Sally Ann's singing here is nothing short of breathtaking.

And of course, I can't neglect to mention the "Doll on a Music Box" number, where Sally Ann, who was not a trained dancer and in fact considered herself to be "appalling" at it, performs an incredibly precise, incredibly impressive clockwork song-and-dance number while on a spinning turntable! She practiced it so well that she managed to successfully complete the shot in a single take, prompting the stage full of extras to burst into applause.

This is another important character moment for Truly, though it's disguised in a diegetic performance: though it's another thing that went over my head as a child who only got to see the movie once, the lyrics about being trapped up on a music box and longing to be freed by love pretty clearly symbolize how trapped the real Truly's high-society life makes her feel, and how she yearns to break free from class restrictions and live happily-ever-after with Caractacus, as it's only with him and his family that she really feels free.

Then there's that incredibly warm romantic look that Truly and Caractacus share at the end of the song when she silently acknowledges the love confession he's just made while singing in counterpoint with her, though they're still in a dangerous situation and can't give themselves away by appearing too human and breaking their disguises... sadly this vital moment is cut off on all the Youtube videos of the scene I can find, because none of the people who clipped it understand that that's the whole point of it all, apparently. But here's a gif!

The character of Truly doesn't exist at all in the original (quite different) book by James Bond author Ian Fleming - surprising, I know, given her name! - and, honestly, the fact that Truly and the romantic subplot of this movie exist are why it had such a strong impact on me as a child, and very much why I fell in love with it again as an adult. Even though the score is wonderful anyway and the story is charming and magical, I can confidently say that I would not have become as completely enchanted or had such a strong desire to revisit it again and again if there'd been no Truly and no love story. The fact that Sally Ann's performance makes Truly so loveable is, obviously, a pretty crucial factor there.

Sally Ann's delivery of "Well, Mr. Potts... now you'll have to marry me!" after Caractacus kisses Truly... that slide from prim mock-outrage to the playful, warm, you-can-hear-the-smile-in her-voice conclusion is flawless. Not even exaggerating when I say that this was the moment that made me into a hopeless romantic as a 9-year-old child. Sure, this wasn't the first movie I'd seen where two people fall in love and live happily ever after, but I distinctly remember that this was the first romance story that had me in a giggling, kicking-my-feet, "I ship it so hard" state of mind. And after revisiting it as an adult for the first time last year, I have confirmed that yes, child me already had great taste in fictional romances!

Oh, I could say so much about the difference in her body language between the two scenes where Caractacus carries Truly out of her car that's become stuck in a pond. The first time, Truly is affronted and extremely embarrassed by the situation, holding herself so stiffly and awkwardly to avoid an accidental embrace that she causes him to nearly lose his balance and drop her. The second time, when they're in love and they know it, she snuggles right up into his arms without hesitation and it's the cutest thing ever. Sally Ann was 5'6" but looks so tiny in that scene!

(And that kiss! Maybe I'm getting off-topic here in terms of strictly focusing on Sally Ann's contributions, because Dick van Dyke deserves tons of credit for making this kiss so good... but wow, the kiss. Several times I have called it "the Most Kiss they could have gotten away with in a children's movie." Again, giggling, kicking my feet etc.)

While Truly's costumes and hairstyling are rarely historically accurate (the film is set around 1910), the stylized nature of her fashion is iconic and memorable in itself. Sally Ann also completely pulls off playing a fresh-faced ingenue who is 12+ years younger than her actual age - and I do wonder if the aging-down of Sally Ann is at least part of the reason why Truly wears her hair loose throughout most of the movie! Either way, it works perfectly and I was shocked when I first learned how much older she was than her character. (If you watch her in The Admirable Crichton, where she is also in Edwardian costume and was closer to Truly's actual age, she really doesn't look all that much different. If anything, I think she looks even more glowingly beautiful in Chitty!)

Also, as for Truly wearing her hair down... it may just have been an intentionally anachronistic stylistic choice, but in-story, I think it actually contributes to her character by showing a willingness to flout convention and pursue whatever will make her happy instead of what's expected of her, which happens to be a key theme of her character arc.

Another thing that led me to adore Sally Ann as a person as I learned more about her over the last year: in the 1960s, she appeared as a panelist in quite a few episodes of the game show To Tell the Truth (as well as a few episodes of Password), and these can be found on Youtube. I really adore how her personality shines through - she's unfailingly bubbly, witty, self-deprecating, and a bit quirky. Just listening to her speak is a delight and she has one of the best laughs I've ever heard. Here is one of my favorite little moments that I clipped. 

By all accounts, she was a delightful person to know and work with, witty and clever, very professional, and very serious about her craft. She also always maintained a great affection for and pride in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and her role as Truly, which is always a wonderful thing to know about an actor in a beloved role.

Another bonus: here is a super charming interview with her after a backstage disaster at What Makes Sammy Run? on Broadway.

She was also, along with Twiggy and Diahann Carroll (as Julia Baker), one of the first three celebrities to have her likeness made into a Barbie doll.

Two of her earlier films I recommend are the comedies Fools Rush In (1949) and The Admirable Crichton (1957), if you can find them (hint-hint, you can.) You may also be able to find the 1966 TV movie of her reprising her Tony-nominated role of Fiona in Brigadoon with Robert Goulet, and although I feel like the oddly close-up way the film was shot kinda does a disservice to the actors at times, it's still amazing to be able to see and hear her in a role she performed on Broadway.

Richard Rodgers once called Sally Ann "the greatest singer who ever sang on the American musical stage." Now, I don't quote this to claim this superlative as some kind of objective fact. If you know anything about me, I am very, very strongly opposed to pitting women against each other and all the Golden Age sopranos are absolute queens who deserve crowns, no matter how much mainstream success or present-day name-recognition they have/had. I just think it's phenomenal that she received such high praise from a man who worked with many of the best musical theatre singers who ever lived... and to think, many people today have never even heard her voice. Without her performance as Truly Scrumptious, it's possible almost nobody would in the future! I am so glad that Sally Ann's lasting legacy was ensured by such a beloved film role.

Sadly for us, many of the theatrical roles which she originated (and thus, for which cast albums featuring her exist) were in shows that either flopped quickly or at least did not enter the theatrical canon, so she never achieved the level of mainstream recognition she clearly deserves. But Sally Ann also played such legendary and challenging roles as Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady, Fiona MacLaren in Brigadoon (for which she received a Tony nomination), Maria Rainer von Trapp in The Sound of Music, Anna Leonowens in The King and I, and, much later, Desiree Armfeldt in A Little Night Music. She received great acclaim for all of these performances and, judging by what we know of her process on My Fair Lady, was excellent at making roles distinctly her own and never merely imitating another performer.

Even in her iconic original role of Truly Scrumptious, you don't get to hear the true full power of Sally Ann's extraordinary soprano. For that, I highly recommend listening to "Another Time, Another Place" from Kwamina (1961), and "Something to Live For" from What Makes Sammy Run? (1964). I'm always sad that we don't have any recordings of her in her "fiery" star turn as Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady, but you can at least hear her do a Cockney accent, be silly, and sing "With a Little Bit of Luck" with Bing Crosby here!

If it weren't for the enduring success of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, few people might have even heard of Sally Ann Howes today, and that would be a terrible loss. I cannot overstate that I am so grateful that we all know who she is because she played this role and we get to see her give this radiant performance of a character that's all her own. Maybe this sounds strange, but I think the fact that this was Sally Ann's only musical film role (and the ONLY role most people will ever see her in) makes it even more precious, and makes everything she brings to the character that much more distinctive and unique and special.

Both for all of the talent and charm she brings to the role itself, and everything else that I and many other fans have been able to learn of so much of her otherwise-obscure work because of it, the world is incredibly lucky to have the lovely Sally Ann Howes immortalized as our Truly Scrumptious, and I wouldn't have it any other way 💖

[kawaii-killshot]

With SKZ just landing on US soil I am goddamn begging y'all with my entire heart and soul please behave yourselves and don't make this country more of an embarrassment than it already is

[inkandapex]

stream madness

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary : To the world, Y/N had always been Lando Norris’ closest friend—before the fame, the podiums, and the roar of F1 engines. Their bond had always been well-known, shared through countless moments on and off camera. But as the months went on, something started to shift, and it wasn’t just between Y/N and Lando. It became apparent through streams, where their chemistry couldn’t be denied.

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: some swearing

part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Max's Cooking Stream

“Done! I think they came out quite well,” Max announces, lifting the pan toward the camera, showing off the results of two hours in the kitchen.

The chat is already flooded with reactions—compliments, jokes, and the occasional disbelief at Max’s culinary skills.

"I'll be the judge of that" Lando states as he steps into view "Like master chef" he continues

Pietra is chatting with someone just out of view, her voice light and engaged. The mic, which has been filtering most background noise throughout the stream, only picks up bits and pieces of conversation—muffled words, distant laughter. But this moment? This one, it catches perfectly.

Lando steps away from where Max’s mic is propped, moving slightly out of frame. He reaches for a fork, his attention focused on someone unseen. And then, clear as day, his voice carries through.

"Love, come here a sec. Try it with me."

The chat explodes. But all three were too busy to realize what had just happened

"LOVE?? did he just say love??" "Stop rn who is he talking to" "someone find out rn pls" "it might be y/n, she was seen with them around monaco yesterday" "yeaa he calls her love sometimes i think its just a normal endearment for them lol"

All three, oblivious to the brewing chaos, all continue with what they were doing. Because whether it was intentional or not, Lando just dropped something big.

"Y/N’s here too, everyone! The whole gang’s here—Y/N, say hello to the chat," Max finally acknowledges, glancing at the flood of messages. It’s clear he’s doing some damage control, but the chat is already too far gone.

With a small wave and an amused little smile, Y/N finally steps into frame, grabbing a fork as she inches closer to the pan of food her friends have spent the past two hours making.

"Doesn’t look half bad, to be honest," she muses, inspecting the dish. "P’s really doing wonders, getting you this far into cooking."

Pietra laughs in the background while Max rolls his eyes, but before anyone can add to the banter, Y/N is already taking a bite.

"You’ve gotta—"

"Bloody hell—"

Lando’s warning comes a second too late. Y/N’s eyes widen as the heat hits, steam practically pouring out of her mouth as she waves a hand in front of her face, trying to cool down.

"You muppet, that’s literally fresh off the stove—c’mere," Lando chuckles, already unscrewing a bottle of water. He hands it to her, shaking his head as she takes it gratefully.

The chat? Utterly unhinged.

"NOT THE WAY HE JUST—"

"‘C’mere’ HE SAID ‘C’MERE’ I’M GONNA SCREAM."

"I AM LIVING FOR THIS CHAOS."

And just like that, what was supposed to be a casual cooking stream has become a full-blown internet event.

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

Lando's Annual Stream

Everyone teases Lando about how he’s practically become a Twitch relic, only gracing the platform with his presence once a year. A far cry from the frequent streams he used to do. Some argue that it makes his rare appearances even more iconic, like a seasonal event the internet gathers for.

On one of his rare Twitch streams, Lando found himself diving into Backrooms with Max and a few other friends. As expected, chaos ensued—shouting, panicked laughter, and the occasional unintelligible screaming into the mic. But one moment, in particular, sent the fans into an absolute frenzy.

The doorbell rings, making both Ed and Lando pause mid-game and glance at each other.

"Food’s here," Lando announces into the mic.

Ed, already taking off his headset, ready to stand up. But just as Ed moves, they both hear the faint sound of the door unlocking.

"Oh, I think Y/N’s grabbing it, mate," Ed says, blinking in surprise. He relaxes back into his seat for a second before standing up anyway. "I’ll go help her."

"SHES STILL IN MONACO" "i thought she went back to London with Max and P" "omg she's staying with lando" "loool stop reading into it guys ed's also staying with lando. theyre just friends" "my delusions are being fed"

Both Y/N and Ed return, arms full with bags of food and cutlery. Ed drops back into his chair, already digging into his meal, while Y/N pauses beside Lando, holding a box of food in her hands.

"Do you want yours transferred to a plate, or is the box good?" she asks, tilting her head slightly.

"Like that is fine, thank you—oh, I’m streaming, by the way. They can see and hear you," Lando adds with a grin as he takes the box from her.

Y/N barely reacts, too used to this by now. Instead, she casually leans in slightly, scanning the chat as she asks, "Is Max here? Can you tell him to let P know I’ve been trying to call her?"

Lando doesn’t even look away from his screen. "He can hear you—he says sure. You wanna sit here and eat with us?"

She shakes her head, stepping back. "I’m good, got my own thing going on. I’ll see if I can join you guys later if you’re still on. Do you want water or anything?"

Lando glances up at her, smiling. "I’m good, I can grab some myself later."

"You know he’s lying, right?" Ed chimes in, chewing his food. "He’s just gonna wait until you leave so he can ask me to grab it for him."

"Shut up," Lando laughs, shaking his head.

Y/N only smirks knowingly before rolling her eyes. "Alright, whatever you say."

"Okay, okay, go back to doing your thing," Lando says, refocusing on his screen. "Connor’s complaining we’re taking too long."

The chat, meanwhile, is already in shambles.

"She’s literally taking care of him at this point.""Ed exposing Lando is my new favorite thing.""The domestic energy here is sending me."

"What is she up to now? Too busy to play with us?" Max teases as they dive back into the game.

"Nah, mate, she's busy building Legos in the other room," Lando replies casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Max snorts. "Another new hobby? You know she gave us a shit ton of air-dry clay stuff she made that one time. My apartment is literally full of it."

"No, Max, I stepped into the apartment today, and I genuinely thought I was in a Lego store. It’s insane," Ed laughs, shaking his head.

Lando chuckles. "Some of them are mine too, alright? They're not all hers. She’s been building some sets I’ve had lying around for ages."

The chat, of course, goes wild.

"Their apartment is a Lego store. I am crying." "WAIT SO THEY HAVE BEEN LIVING TOGETHER RIGHT??" "Domestic life with Y/N and Lando sounds like a fever dream."

Max just laughs. "Well, tell her to finish up and come scream with us in the Backrooms when she’s done playing with her bricks."

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

Taking Lando's Seat

The stream opens with Lando and Max sitting side by side, each focused on their own PC as they prep for a game of Tarkov. There’s an easy banter in the air, Max teasing Lando about his gear while the two get things set up. But it’s the subtle detail in the background that catches the chat's attention—Lando’s racing rig.

It’s glowing softly in the background, the LED lights creating an almost otherworldly vibe against the dim room.

Max finally glances at the chat, giving a quick nod to thank some of his new subs. But his eyes stop when he spots a few of the comments scrolling by.

Max smirks, leaning into the mic with a grin. "The rig? Oh—it's Y/N. She’s playing F1 right now."

With that, Max casually moves his chair out of the way, revealing Y/N sitting just behind him. She's fully immersed, headset on, brows furrowed in concentration as she steers through a corner on screen, oblivious to the fact that she’s now in full view of the chat.

A small smile tugs at the corner of Lando’s lips as he turns back to look at Y/N, still fully engrossed in the game, unaware that both he and Max are watching her with amusement.

"She's prepping for the season too," Lando continues, keeping his voice casual, though there’s a playful edge to it. "Chat, I think she’s planning on taking my seat—she’s been on there for hours now."

Lando laughs, but the chat immediately picks up on the vibe.

"HE'S JEALOUS, LOOK AT HIM."

"Lando knows he's been replaced."

"Imagine Y/N taking his F1 seat. I’d pay to watch that."

Max, who’s been watching the scene unfold, looks back at Lando with a raised brow. "She’s putting in more practice than you are, mate. Maybe she is taking your seat."

Lando chuckles, shaking his head, though his smile lingers. "Nah, nah, she’s still got a lot to learn... but she’s getting there. I’m just here for moral support."

The chat, of course, has already spirals into chaos.

"Moral support? He’s just trying to hold on to his seat!"

"I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE RACE BETWEEN THEM. WHO’S GONNA WIN??"

"Lando’s literally her biggest fan and her biggest competitor at the same time. I love it."

Y/N, still completely absorbed in the game, lets out a frustrated grunt as she crashes into the wall during a tight turn. "I've fucking crashed—how is AI Lando also a little shit?"

The pair immediately burst into laughter, unable to hold it in. The moment is too perfect—Y/N, so focused on her race, completely unaware she’s been on stream the whole time.

Max wipes away tears, trying to calm down. "What?" Y/N finally takes off her headset after pausing her game, looking around in confusion, only to notice the commotion between the two.

"We’re on Twitch," Max manages between laughs, still struggling to breathe. "They heard you calling Lando a little shit."

Max, still grinning, leans back in his chair, clearly enjoying the moment. "I mean, I honestly don’t know if you should be more offended by the fact that she just called you a little shit... or the fact that she’s not racing as you."

Lando looks over at Max, a playful glint in his eyes. "Yeah, who are you racing as right now?" His curiosity gets the best of him, and he stands up, walking behind Y/N to peer over her shoulder at her screen.

Y/N barely notices him, still intensely focused on her race. "You’re racing as Max?!" Lando exclaims, his voice a mix of disbelief and amusement. "I feel so betrayed!"

Y/N doesn’t respond, grabbing her water bottle beside her, taking a sip.

But Lando’s eyes widen as he looks at her screen again. "Wait, you're were P3?!" he says, his voice rising in shock. "What the fuck, Y/N—this is on 110 difficulty—did you change it?"

"Yeah, well I was but you crashed into me you knob"

Lando's completely taken aback, mouth agape, staring at her settings in awe. Without thinking, he takes over the controls, fully inspecting her game setup. "This is... this is insane. You’re actually doing really well."

Y/N, now realizing the level of chaos happening around her, turns to look at him with a grin. "What? Like its hard?"

Max, who’s been watching this unfold, laughs. "I told you she’d be better than you at this rate. I’m not surprised."

The chat, of course, is losing it.

"SHE'S RACING AS MAX AND BEATING LANDO. WHAT A MOOD."

"Y/N: 1, Lando: 0."

"Lando looks like he’s seen a ghost. How did she do that?"

Y/N just laughs, clearly loving the moment. "I told you, Lando, I’m coming for your seat."

"Alright, we've got to put a screen time limit on you from now on, love—fucking hell," Lando says, still shaking his head in disbelief, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He ruffles her hair affectionately before heading back to his seat.

The chat explodes with excitement.

"Lando’s whipped for her. I can’t breathe.""The way he ruffled her hair? That’s the couple energy we’re here for.""Y/N just casually destroying him, and Lando’s still soft with her. I’m obsessed.""I can’t believe they’re just out here living their best life on stream. I’m living for this dynamic."

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

Gaming Trio

The trio can be seen in Lando’s usual gaming spot, the atmosphere relaxed but buzzing with excitement. In an effort to accommodate everyone, an extra table has been pulled into the room, holding the laptop they’ve set up for Y/N so she can join in on the fun. The new setup feels a little crowded, but it only adds to the chaotic energy that’s been building up since they all logged in.

"Y/N is right behind you!" Max shouts into the mic, pulling the same trick he did to Lando the last time they played Backrooms

"Max, shut up, oh my gosh—NO IT'S CHASING ME, WAIT—PAUSE IT, PAUSE IT!" The panic in Y/N’s voice is unmistakable, and it sends both Lando and Max into fits of laughter.

Max, already losing it, grins widely. "You’re telling me to pause, but I’m the one who’s not controlling it!"

Lando, equally amused, can’t help but tease, hiding comfortably from the monster "Didn’t know you were this scared of a game, love."

Y/N’s frantic clicking can be heard through the mic as she scrambles to escape whatever horror was chasing her in the game. "I can’t— I swear it’s going to catch me!"

A sigh of relief escapes Y/N’s mouth as she finally reaches the room, the monster stopping its chase just in time. “Right, so you two do all the work and I’ll run out when it’s time to escape.”

Max lets out another laugh, clearly amused. “That’s not how it works, Y/N. You've got to carry your weight”

“Come on then, let’s go. Just stay behind me and you’ll be fine.” Lando moves his character closer to hers, ready to lead the way.

Y/N, still a little nervous, responds with a grin. “I’ll keep my eyes closed.”

Lando laughs, shaking his head. “Y/N—darling, it’s fine. It’s not that scary. It’s not gonna jump out at you. You just die and respawn, it’s all good.”

Max joins in, teasing, “Yeah, but if you keep closing your eyes, you’ll miss the whole thing. We’ll be done before you even open them.”

Y/N scoffs but can’t help but laugh, her character hesitating slightly. “I’m not opening them. I’m just here to run when the time comes.”

Lando smiles at her, his voice light. “Alright, well, try not to panic. We’ve got your back.”

The chat erupts in excitement, fans loving the playful back-and-forth between them.

"Y/N’s already planning her escape route. Classic." "he calls her darling im sobbing " "Lando’s trying to act all calm but he’s lowkey making sure she’s okay." "Max is enjoying this way too much, lol."

Lando glances at Y/N with a grin. “Stay close, alright? We’re doing this together.”

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

Y/Ns Instagram Live

Y/N was live on Instagram, chatting with fans while showing off her latest air-dry clay creations. She’d been getting non-stop requests to share her work ever since Max mentioned it in one of his streams, and now here she was, crafting away on camera.

Sitting on the floor in front of a coffee table, Y/N focused on the delicate jewelry plate she was shaping. She was giving her followers a detailed look at her process, her hands moving skillfully as she explained what she was doing.

"See, then you build the sides and stick it to the plate part you just made," she said, carefully adding a border to the plate. "So it kinda has a nice little border around it, and that way, you can put your jewelry in the middle without it all rolling off."

"Who you talking to?" A voice, unmistakably Lando's, makes Y/N's head snap up to look at him, her concentration momentarily broken.

Her eyes widen slightly at the sight of him standing in the doorway, and she quickly responds, trying to maintain the calm vibe of her live stream. "I'm on Instagram live— you didn’t see my text?" Y/N says, her voice soft but carrying a hint of a warning as she tries to focus on her work again.

Lando, walks into frame to stand beside her, only half his body on screen. “I saw it, but I didn’t think you’d actually be live. What’s going on in here?”

"I'm doing a jewelry plate tutorial, see?" Y/N smiles up at him, gently lifting the plate to show him the progress she’s made, the edges perfectly formed and the design coming together nicely.

Lando leans in a little closer, clearly impressed. "That's actually pretty sick. Have you shown them the other ones you've done?"

"Mhmm," Y/N nods, setting the plate back down on the table and continuing to work on it. "I did earlier. I have a few that are dried, so once I'm done with this one, I'm gonna show them how I paint it."

"Cool, cool," Lando says, grinning as he takes a step back. "I’m actually pretty curious about the painting part."

Y/N shoots him a glance, arching an eyebrow. "You want in on this too?"

Lando looks at her, then at the camera, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Can I join you?"

Y/N pauses for a moment, clearly trying to keep a straight face. "You gonna try your hand at some clay art, Norris?" she teases, but her tone is warm.

"Gotta try to beat you in something after you've somehow managed to get close to beating me on the racing sim" a smirk on his face as he plops down on the floor beside her "Right what am I meant to do?"

The two sat mostly in silence, both deeply immersed in their work. Y/N’s focus was on finishing her jewelry plate, the soft clink of clay against the table the only sound as she shaped it carefully. Lando, on the other hand, was determined to paint one of the already dried plate, though it was clear his attention was divided between the task and watching Y/N work.

"Oh, I’ve messed up, bub," Lando admitted, his voice a little defeated. "I’m sorry, this looks horrific. I think I’ve ruined it." He leaned back dramatically, letting his shoulders slump as he rested his back against the foot of the sofa, casting an apologetic look her way. "This is a disaster."

"What? No! It's cute—you even painted flowers on it, it's nice!" Y/N exclaimed, her tone playful as she tried to hype him up, a grin tugging at her lips.

Lando looked at her with a raised eyebrow, clearly amused. "Those are strawberries, you muppet," he said, laughing as he gently nudged her with his elbow, clearly not buying her attempt to boost his confidence.

Y/N burst out laughing, her hands up in surrender. "Oh, I'm only kidding! Of course they're strawberries," she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

She quickly mouthed a playful I didn’t know to the camera as Lando became distracted with his painting again, a smirk creeping up on her face as she watched him carefully work on his next stroke.

"add bub to the list of names lando calls y/n" "theyre actually so cute im going insane" "not y/n gentle parenting lando" "im telling my therapist about this" --------------------------------------------------

I'm telling mom

Max’s loud voice cut through the quiet apartment, shattering the late-night calm. It was already past 10 PM, and he’d been streaming for over two hours, fully immersed in whatever chaos his Twitch chat had cooked up for him.

“Y/N! Get in here a sec!” Max’s voice carried from his gaming room, loud enough to startle Y/N from where she sat beside P, half-watching a Netflix show.

With a sigh, she got up, padding toward his room. She hesitated at the door, peeking inside carefully, mindful of the camera that might be angled her way.

“It’s almost 11 PM, Max. What the fuck are you yelling about?” she laughed, eyes landing on him. He stood in the middle of the room, VR headset strapped on, controllers gripped tightly like his life depended on it. "You look ridiculous by the way"

“Can you call Lando? He’s fucking with me,” Max huffed, shifting on his feet like he was bracing for something. “He told me to download this horror VR game, and now he’s in chat claiming he’s in bed. I swear to God—he set me up.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Y/N started, arms crossed. “You want me to call Lando—”

“Yep.”

“—to ask him to get out of bed and play a game with you—”

“Mhm.”

“—instead of letting him sleep, because it’s nearly midnight in Monaco?”

“Exactly.” Max stood firm, pointing a VR controller at her like this was a life-or-death situation.

Y/N blinked. “Oh, you’re serious—right.” She sighed, shaking her head as she leaned against the wall, already dialing.

“I swear, if he doesn’t hop on after I’ve set this up and put my contacts in—”

“Lan, you’re on speaker,” Y/N announced the second he picked up, barely giving him a chance to breathe.

Before Lando could even say hello, Max exploded. “You muppet! I’ve been standing here waiting for you for the past ten minutes!”

“Oh, piss off! I’ve been waiting for you for nearly an hour, Max! Can’t believe you actually made Y/N call me for this.”

“You weren’t picking up my calls!”

Y/N let out a slow, tired sigh and turned to the camera with a deadpan look, the exact kind of exhausted stare straight out of The Office.

“So you tell on me?! How mature,” Lando huffs

“Just hop on the game!” Max shot back, exasperated.

“This behaviour at 25 is diabolical,” Y/N muttered, dragging a hand down her face.

Through the speaker, you could hear Lando moving around. “Fine, fine! Okay, I’m on,” Lando said, voice muffled as he adjusted his setup. “Max, hurry up—I’ll send Y/N the code. Love, show him the code before you leave.”

Y/N sighed, holding up her phone as she walked over to Max. “Right. I’ve been dragged from my peaceful night just to moderate a sibling fight.”

Max squinted at the screen. “Got it. Thanks, Mom—right, I’m joining. You can leave now.” He was already fumbling with the game settings, barely paying her any attention.

Y/N rolled her eyes as Lando’s voice softened on the phone. “I’ll call you later, alright? Go watch your show with P. I’ll text you when we’re done.”

“Mm-hmm,” Y/N hummed in response, finally making her escape.

As soon as she was gone, Max turned back to chat, shaking his head. “Right, let’s go. See? He’s such a knob—I have to call Y/N every time he’s being an ass because he actually listens to her.”

The chat was loving this interaction

"Y/N staying with Max and P is actually so wholesome" "NOT Y/N BEING MOM" "LANDO LISTENING TO Y/N ONLY IS PEAK BF BEHAVIOUR U CANT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE" " "i'll call you later" is so cute he's down bad for her"

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

Big Reveal

At this point, they’d practically exposed themselves. The subtle interactions hadn’t gone unnoticed—small moments that seemed insignificant alone but painted a clear picture together. The lingering looks, the casual slips of affectionate nicknames, the way their conversations always carried a certain ease.

Everyone had a general understanding that the two were a couple, but they’d come to accept that Lando and Y/N weren’t quite ready to make it official—at least, not publicly. But what really sealed the deal? Max’s most recent stream, just before the season kicked off.

“Right, chat, Lando and I are finishing up the download, and we’ll hop on as soon as it’s done,” Max said, scrolling through chat and tossing out quick thanks for subs and gifted memberships while they waited.

“Is anyone else joining us or nah?” Lando asked, finally looking up from his phone where he sat beside Max, his own setup in front of him.

“Nah, don’t think so. Connor just texted—he’s out,” Max replied, making Lando nod before going back to whatever he was scrolling through.

“Chat, I’ll be back—I’m gonna grab some water,” Max announced, tapping his mic to mute it before standing up.

Completely unaware, Lando reached over and tapped the mic again, turning it back on.

“Baby?! C’mere a sec!” Lando called out, sitting with his back to the camera, casually waiting for someone to walk in—completely oblivious to the absolute chaos erupting behind him.

“OH BOB, YOU’RE NOT MUTED!!” “HES HOPELESS.” “NOOOOOOO LN TURN AROUND!!!” “HE FULLY EXPOSED HIMSELF IM CRYING.” "baby??!"

A moment later, Y/N appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "Hello my pretty girl, wanna come join Max and I?" “Aren’t you live with Max right now?” she asked softly.

“Yeah, yeah, I muted it—don’t worry,” Lando reassured her without a second thought. “Wanna join? Max is still downloading it, we can set yours up if you’re up for it.”

Y/N smiled. “Yeah, sure, I’ll go grab the laptop.” With that, she turned and left the room.

Max walked back in, settling into his chair. “What were you two chatting about?” he asked as he put his headset back on.

“Y/N’s gonna play with us,” Lando answered smoothly. “Oh—by the way, I muted your mic. Chat can’t hear you right now.”

Max blinked. “Well, yeah, I muted it before I left—” His head snapped toward Lando. “Did you fucking tap the mic again?”

Lando visibly paled. “…No, I muted it.”

Max hurriedly glanced at chat, eyes scanning the messages flooding in before exhaling sharply. “You fucking unmuted it, you idiot.”

Lando sat there, frozen. Then, with an almost comically slow realization, he sighed. “Damn… well. Secrets out.”

Y/N practically skipped into the room, excitement clear in the way she carried her laptop against her chest. But the moment she stopped behind the two, her smile faltered.

Max and Lando both looked at her with identical guilty expressions.

“…What?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Max didn’t hesitate. “Your dimwit of a boyfriend just exposed you two. He unmuted the mic.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “No...”

Lando was already reaching for her hand, pulling her close. “I’m so sorry, baby. I swore I muted it.”

Y/N groaned, running a hand down her face. “Oh my God. How bad?”

Max snorted, scrolling through chat. “Let’s see… ‘We’re witnessing a live trainwreck,’ 'my pretty girl', ‘Bruh did he just expose himself?’ ‘Send help, I can’t breathe,’ and—oh, this one’s gold—‘My parents are finally public.’

Lando groaned, burying his face in Y/N’s side. “This is your fault, Max.”

“My fault?! You tapped the damn mic!”

The two went back and forth, bickering like a couple of siblings, while Y/N just stood there, still trying to wrap her head around what was going on.

“Oh, Y/N, come on. Don’t worry. It’s not like it’s a big surprise. He hasn’t exactly been subtle about it either.”

“Yeah, but until now, it was all just rumors and whispers.”

Lando shot her a reassuring smile. “Aww, baby, it’s fine. They love you, you know.”

Max groaned, leaning back in his chair and teasing them both. “See? Now he’s gonna go full PDA mode, more than he already does. We’re all doomed.”

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. “I swear, I can already see it.”

Lando reached over to take her hand, squeezing it gently. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“Yeah, it is,” Max teased, rolling his eyes. “Just wait till he starts calling you ‘babe’ every two seconds on stream.”

Lando grinned mischievously. “You love it, Max. Admit it.”

Max shot him a playful glare. “I’m really starting to think I’ve been cursed.”

“Right, come on then, let’s play before I get called for an impromptu PR meeting,” Lando chuckled, giving Y/N a wink as he pulled his headset on.

[zulashi-the-writer]

⚠️PSA this is fully consensual, it might seem very dark but I am only trying to be the same level as the song

Underneath Your Skin

Jinu x Reader

Summary: he has you cornered trapped, his body pressed against yours no space left to breathe

2nd person pov

His lips grazed against your neck, his teeth teasing your delicate skin, your heart raced almost beating out of your chest fans screams echoed from outside the changing room but he didn't care, his eyes laid close his hair somewhat tussled and his costume layed down his shoulders barely covering him. His teeth pinched your skin as he sucked slightly leaving trails of red down your neck drawing your blood to the surface.

Your fast breathes just begged for him to take you, his hands tightened their hold on yours bringing them to hang over your head against the wall, he smirked into your skin hearing your little gasps, he was in control over you over your body he owned every single inch, and he was leaving no space unmarked.

His breath was heavy against your skin, his hair tickling your cheek as he moved around your neck, he could feel your fastened pulse through your veins tempting him, his mind was clouded with darkness of all the things he's going to do to you the only difficult thing was where he should start, where should he begin tasting this delectable thing Infront of him.

Pray for me now

One of his hands dropped to hold your body moving to grab whatever he could get his hands on, his hand gripped your hip pressing it firm against his eagerly showing off his need and lust, your cheeks dusts red crying out feeling the tightened nip at your skin, he pulls back a small trail of red moved from his smirking lips but he was quick to catch with his tongue his eyes glowing a dark yellow, it was too late to run.

I'll be your idol

His body caged you in no room for escape, trapped by his hunger and lust, he released your hands, but your body was frozen only your eyes could flicker watching his every move, his hands caught the ends of the fabric keeping your body secret from his gaze. He was quick to tear, your eyes following the sorrowful shreds as they fell to the floor.

Keeping you in check (Uh), keeping you obsessed (Uh)Play me on repeat, 끝없이 in your head Anytime it hurts, play another verse I can be your sanctuary

Your body quivered feeling his hands move along your naked shin leaving a trail of goosebumps wherever his fingertips grazed, his patterns glowed a light shade of purple like a predator's growl it was just the start. His eyes travelled slowly up and down your body and then to meet your gaze as he slowly dropped to his knees his hands dragging across your skin as he went down, his hot breath fanning your thighs as his golden eyes stared up at you filled with lust.

Know I'm the only one right now (Now) I will love you more when it all burns down More than power, more than gold (Yeah) Yeah, you gave me your heart, now I'm here for your soul

His lips parted slightly looking so kissable you longed for them to meet yours, but he had other plans slowly moving his lips to kiss the sensitive skin of your inner thigh leaving a trail of kisses as he made his way up every inch he gets closer sends a ripple of shivers through your body, your breath hitched feeling his hands clasped your thighs his fingers digging into your skin making sure you couldn't move away.

I'm the only one who'll love your sins Feel the way my voice gets underneath your skin Listen 'cause I'm preachin' to the choir Can I get the mic' a little higher? Gimme your desire I can be the star you rely on

His eyes never left yours watching your every movement, every reaction, he wanted to see everything he made you feel, he leaned in close his breathe tickling your delicate skin, you felt as if you were about to faint, your pitiful pleas making him smirk, his lips met your plump folds, his tongue sneaking out to explore the sensitive slit, his tongue worked its way up and down, swirling around your clit, he was enjoying this, watching you try to drown your pleasured moans by covering your mouth and how your body presses against him.

내 황홀의 취해 you can't look away (Hey) Don't you know I'm here to save you Now we runnin' wild Yeah, I'm all you need, I'ma be your idol Uh, 비치나는 fame, 계속 외쳐, I'm your idol

He worked his mouth against your clit, his hands gripping your thighs tighter with each squeak of pleasure, his tongue tingled with your delicious taste he just needed more, his fingers traced across your skin, his rough skin slid up and down your folds, the wetness coating his skin to make it easier as two of his fingers slid into your slick entrance, pumping in and out in slow motions to drive you insane.

Thank you for the pain 'cause it got me going viral Uh, yeah, 나지 않는 fever, makin' you a believer 나를 왜 넌 존재하는 아이돌 Don't let it show, keep it all insideThe pain and the shame, keep it outta sight

Your head laid back against the wall, eyes shut tightly, your teeth slightly digging into your hand muffling your cries, his fingers increased their speed as his tongue circled your clit making your body trembled, he could feel the pleasure radiate off of your skin begging him to make you finish but he didn't want you to finish on his tongue, he wants to feel your pussy clench around him as he pumps you fill of his seed fully claiming you as his.

Your obsession feeds our connection 이 순간 give me all your attention You know I'm the only one who'll love your sins Feel the way my voice gets underneath your skin

His patterns flared at the thought, he pulled back growling at the sounds of your displeasure of the loss of pleasure, he brought his fingers to his lips, his tongue reached out licking up your delicious juices, he caught your gaze watching him intently with flushed cheeks his body shivered at your taste, rolling his shoulders his costume fell leaving him bare infront of you, his cock hardened by pleasure.

Listen 'cause I'm preachin' to the choir Can I get the mic a little higher? Gimme your desire I can be the star you rely on 내 황홀의 취해, you can't look away (Yeah) Don't you know I'm here to save you Now we runnin' wild Yeah, I'm all you need, I'ma be your idol Be your idol

His lips pressed against your in a passionate kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth your faded flavour still present on his lips, one of his hands cradled your face as the other settled on your hip dragging his body closer, his cock pressed up against you throbbing for release, his comments of dominance against your lips made you beg for the same. His hand moved from your hip to hold his dick pressing up against you, slowly entering you inch by inch he stretches you open, your hands reach out to clasp his shoulders for balance.

Living in your mind now Too late 'cause you're mine now I'll make you free When you're all part of me (Listen 'cause I'm) preaching to the choir(Now) Can I get the mic a little higher?

His chest rumbled with a growl how he wished to savour this moment, his hips started to move in slow strokes feeling every shudder and twitch through your sensitive walls, you are his obsession his every desire in one, his teeth nipped at your lips with each thrust, the movements slowly moving faster as your cunt molded around him, his patterns stood vibrant against his pale skin filled by pleasure and passion.

Gimme your desire Watch me set your world on fire 내 황홀의 취해, you can't look away No one is coming to save you Now we runnin' wild

His body pressed you further into the wall with each thrust, his cock pressing further and further into you, your moans filled the room echoing off the walls while his panting breathes fanned your cheeks, he could feel your release nearing the feeling of it driving him insane, his cock throbbed, his seed building up inside him but his thrusts never fultered, your hips red and raw from his hips hitting yours.

You're down on your knees, I'ma be your idol

His breath strung out foul words of excitement, his eyes half lidded in pleasure staring down at your trembling body as you reached the edge of your ecstasy, your walls tightening around him as you squealed out, finger tips digging into his skin, his head fell back groaning out as his dick released inside of you, the warm liquid filling you up, his breath fanned your face, his chest heaving with each breath his voice hoarse as he spoke.

"You are mine"

Taglist

@smiling-laughing-hating

@bitchpleaseeeeeeeeee

[isekyaaa]

I said what I did, but my writing currently is extremely flowy. There's no bumps, crevices, curves, hills.... It's complete and total legato. However in my case, the issue isn't with sentence variation. It's the way I word my sentences. It's too poetic and vibey. Honestly pretty cringe in many aspects, like it's doing its best to sound meaningful and deep. It works well writing oneshots, but if I ever wanted to write an actual chaptered story, it'd completely fail. I really need to learn how to write proper prose again...

[inthedarkofmyroom]

Wow. I think this chapter is my favorite piece of yours. The story itself is up there too. I have no words but also a million at the same time LOL! This story is outstanding.

I loved the dialogue during their argument. It was so intense and I could feel the emotion from both of them

You were furious at him, yet so deeply hurt for him too, you hated that he felt that much pain and kept it buried behind his walls, and you hated that you’d just broken one of the few walls he’d trusted you to respect.

Ughhh I get it!!!! You feel so much for this person so you want to help in any way you can, to offer any sort of support but then it backfires when that wasn’t the intention. They’re too hurt to see that immediately and while you’re mad you understand that too. They just need some love and scare and support😭

The strawberry cups😩

You stood frozen, staring down at the fragments. You had bought two of them, one for each of you.

You’d loved the symmetry, loved convincing him to use his as well. Now keeping just one made no sense at all.

Ugh It was special🥺😫Something that tied the two of them together in a way😭

And, oddly enough, you missed your daily arguments. The little squabbles that had become routine, teasing each other, debating over stupid things, bickering about what to eat or whose turn it was to do the dishes, they had been part of your lives together. It was maddening, exhausting, and infuriating, but it was also comforting. At least then you knew he was there, present, sharing the space with you.

I loved this. Even though it wasn’t perfect it was them🥺they both acknowledged each other and could interact even if it was teasing or bickering.

And wow I was honestly surprised he reached out first. But I love it so much😌

At first, I tried. I said yes to everything, went to every session, wrote every feature, gave them my time, my energy. But it was like they were squeezing me dry, like no matter how much I gave, it was never enough. They didn’t want music, they wanted me to be their machine. And after a while… after months of forcing myself to keep up, there was nothing left. I had nothing left. I couldn’t write, I couldn’t feel, I couldn’t… breathe. I just… couldn’t anymore."

This broke my heart 😭😭I WANT TO PROTECT HIM😭😭

The vulnerability !!!!!!!!!

“Then… I changed my number. I left. I thought… I thought I needed to disappear. I thought I needed to run and that I didn't deserve anyone's help. And I… I’m sorry. I’ve been a complete asshole since the first moment you saw me. You didn’t deserve that. Not at all.”

&

You wanted to understand, to make sense of me, and… I can’t fault you. Not really. I can’t. I just… I wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t ready for you to see me, I gues. To see that it let all those people down and run away from my fucking job. And I acted like a jerk. I’m so sorry.”

&

His eyes finally met yours. “And it's weird but since you’ve been here… i felt like maybe I’m not… entirely irredeemable. You... you changed me in a way. And your writing did too.”

This vulnerability is so incredible. Getting a deeper understanding oh him and how much more emotional he actually is (which we deff all knew). This made me so happy that he felt comfortable to open up🥺

“The thing is… I don’t want you to keep all of this locked inside. You don’t have to. Not with me. And I know we are not... like, friends. Or anything. But if you want me in your life like you said, then let me see you. I don’t need you to be perfect, Noah. I just want to help.”

SHE JUST WANTS TO HELP😭😭she’s so lovely

“I missed you these last three days,” you admitted quietly. “Even when we fought, even when we teased each other over the stupidest things. The silence was worse than any argument. I don’t want that again. I’d rather have your mess than your absence.”

&

You took a shaky breath, letting it all out. “So… if you’re asking if I still want to be in this with you, the answer is yes. I do. Because you’re not irredeemable, Noah. Not even close. You’re just… human. And I like that version of you, the one who’s real and imperfect and sitting here, right now, still trying.”

I love her 😭😭😭she’s so understanding and kind and caring and exactly what he needs !!!!

When they fell asleep in her bed AHHHHH !!!!!!!

Then, with hesitance, Noah lifted his hand. His fingers ghosted along your arm, feather-light, tracing the curve of your skin as though memorizing it.

It wasn’t bold or demanding, it was careful, like he was asking without words if this was okay.

You closed your eyes, letting the feeling wash over you, and leaned into it.

When sleep finally pulled you under, his hand was gently resting on your arm, his thumb tracing the barest movements across your skin, back and forth, almost like he was reassuring himself that you were really there.

So soft so special so perfect🥺

Him opening up to her about tour and him reminiscing🥺

One morning, you shuffled sleepily into the kitchen, and something immediately caught your eye on the table: two brand new glasses, identical to the ones that had shattered during your fight, with little strawberries printed on the sides. You froze, staring at them.

“I bought them again,” Noah said from the counter, his voice casual, but his eyes flicked toward you carefully, like he was gauging your reaction.

“They were just stupid glasses,” you said, but you were already smiling.

“They weren’t stupid,” he said softly, “You liked them.”

OMG OMG OMG🥹😭😭😭this is everything

&

All you could do in that moment was cross the room in a couple of quick steps and hug him, you face pressed against his chest, and whisper a very sleepy but very happy "thank you".

After some seconds, you felt his arms around you and you closed your eyes, staying there for a moment longer.

LOVEEEEEEEE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The massage !!!!!!!! Teasing him for the groans too is so sweet and fun🤭🤭I love how quickly they became comfortable with each other

It had become something of a habit lately, ending the night with the two of you on your bed, close enough to feel the comfort of the other’s presence.

THIS IS THE BEST ^ I LOVE THIS ^

“You’ve disappeared,” you said, gently but without backing down. “You cut yourself off. From your friends, from people who cared about you. You… vanished. Just like Adrian.”

His lips parted, but no words came. He looked almost startled, like you’d put into words something he’d been trying to ignore for too long.

“That’s why I hate the ending,” he finally muttered.

In that moment, you realized you weren't the only one who saw Noah in the character you'd created.

“Then change yours.”

Wow I just am in awe of the writing. I loved this^ so much.

THE KISS THE KISS THE KISS

If someone had told you back in those first weeks, after he’d slammed the door of apartment 137 in your face and left you standing in the hallway, mad and insulted, that months later you’d be here kissing him, you would have sworn they were crazy.

No that’s so valid. Look how far we’ve come you guys !!!!!!!!!

Loved her telling Zoe they kissed😌🤭fun girl moment

Him wanting her help with lyrics😭😭😭

“And songs are stories,” he countered, “I... kind of have the sound, but… I think you’re exactly what’s missing to make this one a real song.”

&

The story in his music and the story in your words found each other in the quiet of his room, creating something between reality and imagination, between Noah and Adrian.

Beautiful ! And how they continue to work together is just so special ahhhhhhhh

They were so cute at the market !!!! The churros !!!! And their banter was so good and Noah grabbing her hand too😫🥺🥺

THEN AHHHHHHHHHH

You felt him let out a small laugh. Before you could even finish the thought, he leaned in and kissed you, slow, bacause he already knew the answer. His lips were warm, he pushed you closer to him with one of his hands on your back, and you realized you were smiling against his mouth.

“I like you… more than I thought I would too,” he murmured.

AHHHHHHHHHH MOVIE MOVIE MOVIE

THIS WHOLE SCENE IS THE BEST OMG

You didn't know yet that for a few days, you would be the one with back pain, not Noah.

AHHHHHH IM SCREAMINGGGGGG

The morning after !!!!!!!!!!!

Eventually, you both reluctantly untangled yourselves and headed to the shower together. You laughed when the shampoo made his hair stick up in ridiculous little peaks, and started making fun of him, and he kissed you again just to shut you up.

Then working on the song together !!!!!!! What a precious morning🥰🥰

And omg

OMG

NICHOLAS

This was the sweetest thing ever!!!! I was not expecting it !!!!!!! They emotion from Noah and how he immediately starts rambling everything he wants to do and how he can be better🥹

Before you could second-guess it further, Noah cut in. “She’s my girlfriend.”

AHHHHHHHHHHHH ALL CAPS FOR THE REST BECAUSE I CANNOT CONTAIN MY LOVE FOR THIS

AND THE AMAZING GLASSES🥹

THIS ENDING JUST KEPT GETTING BETTER OMGGGGGGG !!!!!!! MOVING OUT TOGETHER !!!!!! THE NEIGHBOR AND HER CIGARETTE !!!!!!!

You couldn’t have imagined that you and Noah would soon have a beautiful home together, where the blinds were always drawn up, where the little plant you’d bought at the market sat by the fridge in the kitchen, and where your strawberries glasses had their rightful place in the cupboard, always there for you to reach for and use.

You couldn’t yet imagine standing on the crowded streets there and seeing your own book plastered across a massive billboard for the first time, and that Noah would finally read the last chapter of your book, saying he didn't cry at all (that was a lie).

Nor could you have known that Los Angeles would be the place where Noah finally finished Specter, the song you had built together, he would record it there, and that your name would be in the credits too.

MOVIE MOVIE MOVIE MOVIE

You couldn’t have imagined any of it yet, just like once, you could never have imagined that moving into Apartment 137 with Noah would turn out to be one of the best decisions of your life.

&

The future was waiting, but you couldn’t help it. You knew you were going to miss that apartment.

😭😭😭😭

A MAGICAL ENDING LIKE OH MY GOD

I’m truly blown away. This story is so beautiful. You are tremendously talented and I feel so lucky to be able to read this. Thank you

APARTMENT 137 FOREVER🩷🩷

𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝟏𝟑𝟕 - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: A rental mix-up leaves you without the apartment you were promised. After convincing the current tenant to let you share it, a cohabitation begins, and it’s far from simple. But Noah, who’s been a total asshole from the start, may be hiding more secrets than he lets on.

Tw: enemies to lovers vibes, and they were roommates trope, burn out, depressive-like behaviors, attempted sa (not graphic, not from noah), drinking, implied smut, death (of a fictional character. It will make sense), noah being an asshole, a couple of Nana (anime) references (if you catch them you'll get a cookie)

Mini series mastelist

That Wednesday morning, everything went to hell.

You were in the kitchen, drying with a towel the last of the plates you’d washed.

You were talking about random things, and you weren’t even sure if Noah was actually listening to you.

“And then Zoe and Diego just won’t stop fighting,” you said, shaking your head with a small laugh. “This time it’s because Diego wants to grow his hair out, and Zoe insists it’ll look terrible on him.”

Noah barely looked up from his phone.

“Maybe she’s right,” he muttered.

You shrugged, setting a plate on the counter. “I don’t know… I think all guys look good with long hair.” And then, without thinking, you added, “You did, too.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

The moment they left your mouth, your entire body froze. The towel in your hands stilled against the plate, and you felt like the air had been knocked out of you.

You hadn’t meant to say it. You hadn’t meant to cross that line.

Because Noah had never told you he once had long hair. You’d never seen it in person. The only reason you knew was because of the photos online.

And now you’d just exposed yourself.

Your eyes flicked quickly toward him. He was no longer looking at his phone. His gaze was fixed on you.

Your throat went dry. You hadn’t meant to say it. You shouldn’t have said it.

“What did you just say?”

“I—just—”

His chair scraped violently against the floor as he stood. “How the fuck would you know that?”

You felt your stomach twist. Too late. You’d gone too far.

“I… I saw a picture, that’s all—”

“A picture? Where? Don’t fucking lie to me.”

You swallowed, heart hammering. “Online.”

For a moment, his whole body went rigid, like you’d just hit a nerve you weren’t supposed to touch.

“You looked me up? Jesus Christ—are you serious? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I just—”

“No!” he cut you off, pointing a finger at you, his voice loud. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to go digging through my past, through my life, like it’s some fucking scavenger hunt. That’s my privacy. Mine. And you—” his voice cracked, breaking just slightly under the anger, “—you had no right.”

Your face flushed. “I wasn’t digging! I just wanted to know more about you, Noah. You don’t tell me anything, you barely look at me half the time. What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to respect boundaries,” he spat back, stepping closer, tattoos tense with the flex of his arms. “Ever heard of that word? Respect? Or does curiosity make it okay to treat me like some goddamn stranger on Google?”

“Stranger? You act like one every single day! You shut me out, Noah. You sit there, cold and silent, like you don’t even exist. I live with you and I know nothing. So yeah, maybe I wanted to understand who the hell I’m sharing this apartment with. Excuse me for trying.”

His eyes flared, the vein in his neck taut. “You think you deserve to know? What makes you so special? You’ve been here five minutes, and you think you’re entitled to my past? To read about my struggles online? Newsflash—you’re not.”

“Entitled? No. But maybe if you weren’t such a cold asshole, I wouldn’t have had to look! You act like everyone is out to hurt you, but god forbid someone actually cares enough to try! I felt like you were hurting, Noah, and I just wanted to understand!”

“Cares?” he repeated, “Don’t fucking use that word with me. You don’t know what caring is. Clicking through old pictures doesn’t mean you give a damn about me, it means you’re curious. That’s it. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“You’re unbelievable. I had no idea there was all that stuff about you online! You’d rather believe I’m some creepy stalker than accept that maybe, just maybe, someone wanted to do something good for you? That someone wanted to see the person you won’t show them?”

"You don’t get it! You can’t just pick and choose what parts of my life you’re allowed to peek into!"

"Noah, I just wanted to help you!"

"I don't need your help!"

You stared at him for a moment, heartbeat loud in your ears. He didn’t say a word, just turned sharply on his heel and disappeared down the hallway toward his room, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the walls.

The moments that followed blurred together. You couldn’t even process it all. Your chest burned, your hands were still gripping the dish towel, trembling slightly. You were furious at him, yet so deeply hurt for him too, you hated that he felt that much pain and kept it buried behind his walls, and you hated that you’d just broken one of the few walls he’d trusted you to respect.

The slam of the door made the table shake. You blinked, staring at it, and then you noticed the cup. One of the little glasses you’d bought together, the ones with the strawberry pattern you’d liked so much, teetered on the edge of the table. They were so light you could barely believe it, maybe that was why they’d only cost a dollar each.

You reached for it automatically, but stopped. You didn’t move. You watched it roll slowly across the surface, wobbling as if it were deciding whether to fall. Then it hit the edge and tumbled off the table. Time seemed to slow as it hit the floor and shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

You stood frozen, staring down at the fragments. You had bought two of them, one for each of you.

You’d loved the symmetry, loved convincing him to use his as well. Now keeping just one made no sense at all.

Before you could even process it, the second glass followed the first.

This time, because of you.

It rolled a short distance across the table, caught briefly by the uneven surface, and then pitched over the edge to meet the first.

The sound was deafening in the sudden quiet of the apartment.

You sank slowly onto the chair, staring at the wreckage. A part of you wanted to yell, to scream, to throw something in frustration, but another part of you simply wanted to cry.

The sunlight streaming through the kitchen window caught on the broken pieces, glinting harshly.

It was beautiful and cruel at the same time.

═════ ⋆˙༺✧༻˙⋆ ═════

Three days passed. You hadn’t seen Noah since that fight and you suspected he was leaving your room only when you left the apartment.

The shattered glasses were still in the trash bin. Every time you glanced at the bin, you felt a pang of guilt and uncertainty. You didn’t even know what to do with him, or how to start fixing what you had broken. (And no, not the glasses)

You tried to distract yourself with chores, with errands, with anything that could occupy your mind. The dishes were done, the counters wiped, laundry folded. Everything was in order, everything was clean, yet you kept thinking about who was going to do the first move now, if a first move was coming at all.

You wondered if he even slept in his room. Sometimes, when you passed the door, you thought you heard the faint rustle of sheets or the soft creak of the floorboards, but it could have been your imagination. Three days had never felt so long.

You didn’t know if he would ever forgive you, or if he even wanted to. Part of you hoped he would come out and talk, and part of you feared it.

And, oddly enough, you missed your daily arguments. The little squabbles that had become routine, teasing each other, debating over stupid things, bickering about what to eat or whose turn it was to do the dishes, they had been part of your lives together. It was maddening, exhausting, and infuriating, but it was also comforting. At least then you knew he was there, present, sharing the space with you.

It felt crazy how much you wanted to knock at his door, saying you missed having his annoying ass around.

By the evening of the fourth day, just as you were beginning to lose hope of seeing Noah anywhere around the apartment, there was a soft knock on your door.

You opened to find Noah standing there.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“Yes… come in.” You answered immediately.

He stepped in, and after a brief pause, sat down on the edge of your bed, close but not too close, as if unsure of his own boundaries.

Noah exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I… I need to explain. And say I'm sorry.”

You nodded, silent, letting him set the pace.

“It… it started after this intense stretch of touring. I just—I didn’t feel like I could keep going. I thought… maybe if I took a break, the band would be okay, the music would be okay. I thought it wouldn’t last long, just a few weeks… maybe a month. But I was wrong.”

He swallowed, “It wasn’t short at all. It dragged on. And… I wasn’t okay. Mentally, I… I felt awful. Like I had failed, not just myself, but the fans, the band. Everyone who believed in me. And the label… they were relentless. They wanted me to keep working, to keep collaborating with other artists on the roster, smaller acts they wanted to push, acts they thought my band could help blow up. At first, I tried. I said yes to everything, went to every session, wrote every feature, gave them my time, my energy. But it was like they were squeezing me dry, like no matter how much I gave, it was never enough. They didn’t want music, they wanted me to be their machine. And after a while… after months of forcing myself to keep up, there was nothing left. I had nothing left. I couldn’t write, I couldn’t feel, I couldn’t… breathe. I just… couldn’t anymore."

He shifted, staring down at the floor, hands clasped together. “I couldn’t write anything that felt remotely good. I couldn’t compose a single song that didn’t suck. And the longer it went, the heavier it got. I felt like I was disappointing everyone, and no matter how hard my friends tried to help, I just… closed myself off.”

His voice cracked slightly, “Then… I changed my number. I left. I thought… I thought I needed to disappear. I thought I needed to run and that I didn't deserve anyone's help. And I… I’m sorry. I’ve been a complete asshole since the first moment you saw me. You didn’t deserve that. Not at all.”

You remained quiet.

“I came here… I thought it would be just me. I thought I could… handle being alone, just existing, waiting for the mess to fix itself. But then… I found you in the apartment. And it… it threw me off, completely. I didn’t know you. I didn’t know how to… process having someone else here, someone who didn’t know me at all and still seemed to care about me, even if just a tiny bit. And I get it. I understand now why you looked me up. You wanted to understand, to make sense of me, and… I can’t fault you. Not really. I can’t. I just… I wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t ready for you to see me, I gues. To see that it let all those people down and run away from my fucking job. And I acted like a jerk. I’m so sorry.”

His eyes finally met yours. “And it's weird but since you’ve been here… i felt like maybe I’m not… entirely irredeemable. You... you changed me in a way. And your writing did too.”

He swallowed, “I just… I wanted you to know why I’ve been such a piece of shit. I come from a period of my life that was not... easy. That's not an excuse, but I wanted to apologize. For everything. For being cold, for running, for treating you like shit and for… for making you feel like you had to figure me out through the internet. That wasn’t fair.”

He paused, and the room was silent except for the faint hum of the city outside the window. “I don’t know what happens now. I don’t know if I can make up for it, or if we can… fix things. But I really would like to, bacause... I would like to still have you in my life.”

You took a slow breath, reorganization your own thoughts in your mind. “Noah,” you said softly, “I… I’m not mad at you.”

His shoulders tensed, then dropped slightly, like he’d been bracing for something harsher.

“You don’t have to apologize for struggling,” you said, your voice gentler now. “I can’t even imagine what that pressure must have felt like, with carrying a whole band, a label breathing down your neck, fans expecting more and more. No wonder you felt like you had to run. That would break anyone.”

For the first time in days, you let yourself smile a little, even if it was sad. “And as for you being an asshole? Maybe you are, sometimes. But you were also just… hurting. And now I know that. And it makes sense.”

You shifted closer, closing the small gap between you on the bed. Your knee brushed against his, and you didn’t move it away. “The thing is… I don’t want you to keep all of this locked inside. You don’t have to. Not with me. And I know we are not... like, friends. Or anything. But if you want me in your life like you said, then let me see you. I don’t need you to be perfect, Noah. I just want to help.”

You paused, searching his face. His eyes looked glassy, his throat working as though words were stuck there. You followed the line of his tattooed throat with your eyes, seeing his adam apple move.

"You did." He said.

"What?" You asked.

"You helped. Having you here helped. Maybe you didn't... notice, or anything. But it did. I felt better with you here."

There was a moment of silence.

“I missed you these last three days,” you admitted quietly. “Even when we fought, even when we teased each other over the stupidest things. The silence was worse than any argument. I don’t want that again. I’d rather have your mess than your absence.”

You took a shaky breath, letting it all out. “So… if you’re asking if I still want to be in this with you, the answer is yes. I do. Because you’re not irredeemable, Noah. Not even close. You’re just… human. And I like that version of you, the one who’s real and imperfect and sitting here, right now, still trying.”

There was a moment of silence, then let out a small laugh. “And also,” you added, “if we don’t make peace, where am I supposed to go? It seems like there are not many apartments available in this city.”

For a second, Noah blinked at you in surprise. Then a startled laugh escaped him, like he hadn’t expected it from himself. It grew, tumbling out of him, his shoulders shaking as his head dropped forward. The sight was so absurdly endearing that you couldn’t help but laugh too.

He was so beautiful when he laughed.

And there you both were, sitting on your bed, laughing like everything was normal.

And in that moment, it felt like a new start.

═════ ⋆˙༺✧༻˙⋆ ═════

That night, you woke up without remembering when or how exactly you had fallen asleep. The last thing you recalled was the two of you talking until your eyelids grew heavy. You must have drifted off mid-conversation, because the lamp was off now and Noah must have switched it off for you.

You hoped he hadn’t been offended by you dozing off so carelessly. You shifted slightly, ready to roll over, and that���s when you froze.

He was there.

Noah was lying beside you. Not pressed against you, not too close, but close enough that you could see him clearly in the faint light. His chest rose and fell in an even rhythm, lips parted slightly, his face softened in sleep in a way you had rarely seen. He looked calm. Peaceful. Almost unrecognizable compared to the version of him you had seen weighed down by guilt and tension just hours before.

It reminded you of that night months ago when you had come home to find him asleep on the couch. Only now, that softness was multiplied tenfold.

You couldn’t help yourself. Your hand moved before your mind caught up. Carefully, gently, you reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. Your fingers lingered a moment too long, tracing the shape of his temple, and as if stirred by your touch, his eyes fluttered open.

For a moment, he looked confused, lost between sleep and waking. Then realization hit him, and his entire body tensed. He shifted back a little, almost as if he had been caught committing some crime.

“I’m sorry, I—” he began, his voice hoarse from sleep, a mix of guilt and embarrassment in his tone.

“Stay,” you interrupted softly.

Noah froze. His gaze searched your face, as if waiting for the punchline, for you to laugh or take it back. But you didn’t. You simply looked at him.

Something shifted in his expression then. Slowly, almost cautiously, he eased back down beside you, settling again into the space between you.

You moved closer this time, closing the gap, your arm brushing against his. His body was warm.

Silence.

Then, with hesitance, Noah lifted his hand. His fingers ghosted along your arm, feather-light, tracing the curve of your skin as though memorizing it.

It wasn’t bold or demanding, it was careful, like he was asking without words if this was okay.

You closed your eyes, letting the feeling wash over you, and leaned into it.

When sleep finally pulled you under, his hand was gently resting on your arm, his thumb tracing the barest movements across your skin, back and forth, almost like he was reassuring himself that you were really there.

═════ ⋆˙༺✧༻˙⋆ ═════

In the days that followed, things between you and Noah didn’t change all at once. But there was definitely a change.

He started spending way more time outside of his room, his voice softened when he spoke to you. And sometimes, he even laughed.

One evening he ended up telling you a story about a tour in Japan years ago, how the crowds and food had been amazing, , and how he’d gotten lost in Tokyo once and ended up in some tiny ramen shop where nobody spoke English but somehow it was the best meal of his life. He told it smiling, nostalgic. And you found yourself watching the way his eyes lit up when he talked about it, how animated his hands became, and you realized how rare it was to see him like that.

Music had been his life.

It still was.

One morning, you shuffled sleepily into the kitchen, and something immediately caught your eye on the table: two brand new glasses, identical to the ones that had shattered during your fight, with little strawberries printed on the sides. You froze, staring at them.

“I bought them again,” Noah said from the counter, his voice casual, but his eyes flicked toward you carefully, like he was gauging your reaction.

“They were just stupid glasses,” you said, but you were already smiling.

“They weren’t stupid,” he said softly, “You liked them.”

You were so happy that he thought about you and bought them again that you could kiss him.

That's the moment you realized it.

You wanted to kiss him.

You really wanted to.

The realization was so sudden.

You wanted to feel his lips on yours, to run your fingers through his hair, to know what it was like to be pressed against him, his tongue in your mouth, his hands steadying you.

You swallowed, forcing the thought down, but it stayed there.

All you could do in that moment was cross the room in a couple of quick steps and hug him, you face pressed against his chest, and whisper a very sleepy but very happy "thank you".

After some seconds, you felt his arms around you and you closed your eyes, staying there for a moment longer.

═════ ⋆˙༺✧༻˙⋆ ═════

"Hey, you think—" you started saying as you entered the livingroom, but stopped when you looked at him.

You found him on the couch, one hand pressed against the middle of his back, eyes closed, looking tense even in his attempt to relax. The muscles along his shoulder blades were visibly taut, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his body stiffened slightly under his own weight.

“Hey,” you said softly, perching on the edge of the sofa beside him. “You really look like you could use a little help, grandpa.”

He opened one eye, a wary frown crossing his face. “I’m fine,” he said quickly, but his voice betrayed a hint of uncertainty. The hand that had been pressing against his back flexed involuntarily.

You tilted your head, giving him a small, teasing smile. “Are you sure? Because it looks like you’re about to crumple in half if someone doesn’t do something about that mess that is your back.” You gestured to it.

“I—No, really, I’m okay,” he stammered, shifting slightly, though the movement did nothing to ease the visible tightness.

You leaned in just a bit closer, your voice dropping softly. “What if I just… tried? Just for a minute? I promise I won’t go too hard. You can tell me to stop whenever you want.”

His frown softened slightly. “You don’t have to.”

“Come on,” you said, light and playful, brushing your fingers just over the fabric of his shirt without pressing yet. “It’ll feel good. I’ve got a good touch, I swear.”

He exhaled slowly, finally letting some of the tension leave his shoulders, a small nod betraying his silent permission. “Okay… fine. Just… careful, alright?”

“Careful is my middle name,” you joked, letting your fingers finally rest lightly against his shoulder blade.

“See?” you murmured, tracing gentle circles over the most knotted areas you felt. “Not so scary.”

He swallowed, letting out a soft, involuntary sigh as your thumbs pressed into the tight spots along his upper back and neck. “Oh… okay. Yeah… that actually feels… good,” he admitted, his voice a low murmur. He didn’t move away this time; instead, he leaned slightly into your hands, granting you silent consent to continue.

You slowly kept going, moving from the shoulders to the middle of his back, paying attention to every tense line, every rigid patch, pressing just enough to ease the knots without causing discomfort, or at least, trying your best.

“So… do you even know why it hurts so much all the time?” you asked as you moved to his lower back and pressed gently along the sides, easing the tension that had built up right there.

Contrary to what someone might expect, there was really nothing sexual about what you were doing. It was one of the first times Noah had let you take care of him, and you genuinely appreciated that.

“It’s... stress and the way I sit at the computer when I work on songs. I hunch over for hours trying to fix things that never come out the way I want,” he said. “It really started when I began overworking, spending way too many hours writing, stuck at the screen. At first I didn’t think much of it, but it just kept getting worse because I never gave myself a break. And, well… being 6'3" doesn’t exactly make things easier. Eventually everything just… aches.”

“Another reason you should leave the computer for a while.”

“I… can’t,” he muttered.

“Of course you can.”

“We’ll see.”

A comfortable silence fell over the room for a few seconds, just the quiet sound of your hands moving over the back of his t-shirt.

“Well… who would’ve thought that being a stressed-out giant would earn you a free massage, huh?”

He let out a short laugh and shook his head.

You let your thumbs press gently against the muscles along either side of his spine, just above the small of his back.

He let out another soft sigh, almost a little surprised at how good it felt.

You moved slowly in small, circular motions, feeling the stiffness gradually give way under careful, steady pressure. A soft, almost embarrassed little groan slipped from him.

“What was that?” you asked, one eyebrow raised, smirking.

"Shut up."

Unfortunately for him, you enjoyed making fun of him as much as he did.

"Hey, the neighbors are gonna think that-"

"I said shut up. Jesus."

You chuckled, and you couldn't help but notice that his ears were slightly redder now.

When you finally eased your hands away from his back, he let out another little contented sound, shoulders sagging fully against the couch cushions.

“Not bad,” he murmured, voice low, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Not bad?” you echoed. “Said by you, that means it’s been one of the best moments of your life, so… I’m glad.”

He chuckled softly. “Don’t go overboard.”

“I’m serious,” you said, “Say it. You liked it.”

“Jesus. Yeah. I liked it. Happy?”

“Very,” you replied, your smile warm. “Thank you.”

He paused, before a quiet reply left his lips. “No. Thank you.”

You couldn’t help but smile again.

═════ ⋆˙༺✧༻˙⋆ ═════

It had become something of a habit lately, ending the night with the two of you on your bed, close enough to feel the comfort of the other’s presence.

That late evening, the conversation had somehow circled back to your writing.

“They even wrote fanfiction about it,” you laughed softly, amused and embarrassed at the same time.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you said, shaking your head. “Apparently Adrian was… very popular. The readers liked him a lot. Maybe too much.”

“Mhm,” he murmured, a sound that was more of a low hum than a word.

You turned to glance at him. “And you?”

“And me what?” he asked, tilting his head just enough to look at you.

“Did you like the book?”

“I didn't tell you I read it.”

“I know,” you replied, “But months ago, I walked past your room, and your door was just slightly open. I saw the book on your nightstand. And before you accuse me of snooping, no, I didn’t come in. I just closed the door for you.”

For a moment, something unreadable flickered across his face, then he nodded slowly. “I haven’t read the last chapter.”

That caught you off guard. “Why not?”

He exhaled through his nose, almost as if the answer itself made him tired. “Because I have this feeling it’s gonna be sad.” His voice dropped softer. “He disappears at the end, doesn’t he? Adrian. For good. He never sees Eve again.”

The way he said it, not just a casual guess, but almost an accusation against the story itself, almost hurt you. You studied his profile, the way the shadows of your bedside lamp softened his features.

You hesitated, “Yes, that’s the end of the story.”

He looked away toward the far wall, as though refusing to let the confirmation in. “Then I don’t want to read it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not fair,” he said quickly, almost sharply, though his voice had more pain than anger in it. “Adrian just… vanishes. Eve doesn’t get to see him again. The people in the town who actually cared about him, they don’t either. He’s just... gone.”

“Isn’t that what you’ve done too?”

His head snapped toward you, confusion flickering across his face. “What?”

“You’ve disappeared,” you said, gently but without backing down. “You cut yourself off. From your friends, from people who cared about you. You… vanished. Just like Adrian.”

His lips parted, but no words came. He looked almost startled, like you’d put into words something he’d been trying to ignore for too long.

“That’s why I hate the ending,” he finally muttered.

In that moment, you realized you weren't the only one who saw Noah in the character you'd created.

“Then change yours.”

He blinked at you, uncertain.

“Don’t do what Adrian did, Noah,” you said, leaning just slightly closer. “I know it's hard but don’t disappear completely. You’re still here. You’re still in time, to reach out, to explain why you pulled away, to let people back in. To accept their help.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, gaze flickering away again.

“You’re not a ghost, Noah,” you whispered. “So stop acting like one.”

He let out a shaky breath. “You make it sound like I could actually do it.”

“You can,” you said simply. “You’re still here. You’re still you. That hasn’t gone anywhere. Your music hasn't either. You went through something, but you're not helpless.”

He gave a faint, almost incredulous laugh. “You really believe that.”

“I wouldn’t be saying it if I didn’t.”

Something in him faltered then, the way his shoulders eased, the tension slipping. His eyes lingered on yours, then dropped for half a second to your mouth before darting back up.

Neither of you spoke.

He leaned in slowly, cautiously. You met him halfway, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was soft, careful, and almost unbearably tender. His hand hovered at your jaw for a moment before finally resting there, thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

If someone had told you back in those first weeks, after he’d slammed the door of apartment 137 in your face and left you standing in the hallway, mad and insulted, that months later you’d be here kissing him, you would have sworn they were crazy.

And yet here you were.

His breath still brushed against yours, your body pressed against his. You thought of that day outside his door, and you almost laughed at yourself. Because now, all you wanted was to stay here, close to him, to keep feeling this warmth that you already knew you’d crave again.

You deepened the kiss just slightly, enough to feel the warmth of him, the way he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for far too long.

Then his hand slid, almost hesitantly, to your waist, the warmth of his palm seeping through the thin fabric of your shirt. He pulled you closer with a gentleness that almost surprised you, so careful, so tender.

When you pulled back, you were close enough to still feel the whisper of his breath against your lips.

For once, Noah didn’t try to cover the moment with a joke or a wall. He just looked at you, big brown eyes open.

“I don't want to disappear.” he murmured.

Your hand tightened against his shirt. “Good. Because I don’t want you to either.”

That night, you fell asleep tangled together on your bed. His arm was draped over you, holding you close in a way that felt protective and intimate at the same time. You could feel the rhythm of his breath against your neck, the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

You shifted, sliding your arm across his side and resting your hand lightly against his back, as if to embrace him in return.

As you drifted into sleep, you wondered what were you two now. Whatever it was, it felt right, it felt safe, and it felt like something you never wanted to let go of.

═════ ⋆˙༺✧༻˙⋆ ═════

You were sitting on Zoe’s couch, her cat Cookie on your legs. His soft weight pressed against your shins as he purred.

“Maybe he’s a secret agent,” Zoe continued your conversation.

You laughed. “Oh, absolutely. How did I not see it sooner?”

“Or maybe… he’s an assassin on the run from the police.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “That explains everything.”

But she didn’t drop it. Instead, her gaze sharpened as if she’d caught something. “Wait. Hold on. What’s that face?"

“What face?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

“That face,” she said, pointing straight at you. “The I-actually-know-something-but-I’m-not-going-to-say face.”

“I don't have that face,” you said quickly.

“What do you know?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on.”

“I said nothing.”

“Please,” she begged, “I have to know. I won’t sleep tonight if you don’t tell me and I'm-”

Desperate to divert her, the words slipped out before you could stop them. “We kissed.”

The silence that followed was only filled by Cookie’s purrs, suddenly sounding like the loudest thing in the room. You realized, a beat too late, that maybe blurting it out wasn’t the smartest way to shut her up.

“What?”

You stared down at the cat in your lap. “Yeah. More than once.”

“What?” she repeated, louder this time.

“You already said that,” you muttered.

Zoe let out a high, delighted laugh. “I knew it! Oh my god, I knew it. What did I say from the very beginning? That this had enemies-to-lovers energy written all over it!”

Cookie flicked his tail as Zoe dissolved into giggles beside you, and you couldn’t help but laugh too, partly because she was ridiculous, and partly because maybe, she had been right all along.

═════ ⋆˙༺✧༻˙⋆ ═════

It was a rainy evening when you passed by Noah’s room on your way down the hall and noticed, once again, that the door was ajar. Lately, he had been leaving it open more often, as if without even realizing it. It was a small change, but you loved it.

Peeking in, you caught sight of his room. It looked different, not pristine, but tidier than it had been in months. A few shirts folded on the dresser instead of tossed over the chair, the bed somewhat made, loose sheets of paper stacked instead of scattered. And at the desk, he sat hunched toward the computer.

He glanced up at the sound of your steps, and the moment his eyes found you, his mouth curved into the smallest, almost shy smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you echoed, leaning against the doorframe.

“Come in,” he said, nodding toward the space beside him.

You crossed the room, and came to stand behind his chair. Your hands settled lightly on his shoulders, palms warm against the fabric of his shirt. “Posture check,” you teased gently, pressing just enough to straighten him.

He let out a low laugh. “Right.”

You kneaded his shoulders for a moment, fingers moving in small circles, and then let your hands soften into a slow, affectionate caress over the slope of his back.

Leaning closer, you glanced at his screen, seeing dozens of windows were open, software for composing, audio tracks in different colors, layers of beats and melodies. And off to the side, a Word document, filled with scattered lines and phrases.

“You should take a break,” you said quietly, noticing the tired focus in his posture.

“Actually …” he turned slightly in his chair to look at you, “I was going to ask you something.”

“About the music? You know I’m hopeless with that. My talent only goes as far as listening to it.”

He shook his head. “But you’re good with words. You’re incredible with them.”

The compliment caught you off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” he gestured toward the Word document, then back at you. “I want your help with the lyrics.”

You blinked, surprised, then laughed softly. “Noah, I write stories, not songs.”

“And songs are stories,” he countered, “I... kind of have the sound, but… I think you’re exactly what’s missing to make this one a real song.”

His gaze flicked toward the screen, then back to you,

“My music felt stuck,” he said. “For so long. But then… your book. The way you wrote Adrian. The way you made me feel for him. And meeting you, and just... you. And that conversation we had about the ending, it’s been running in my head ever since. I don’t know, it just… made me want to write again. And I'm actually doing it now.”

You blinked, not sure if you were more surprised by the honesty or by how easily he’d offered it.

“That's... great. I'm glad. I didn't think my little story could inspire someone like that.”

“Well,” he said quietly, his expression softening, “it did.”

So you sat down beside him, close enough to see the messy lines he had typed into the document, close enough to hear the rhythm of the track he had been building. You read through what he’d written, shared your thoughts, pointed out the words that resonated and the ones that fell flat. He listened, adjusting, following your suggestions.

And that was how the evening unfolded. Talking, listening, scribbling ideas, erasing them, laughing when something sounded ridiculous, and trying again until it clicked. You weren’t a songwriter, but somehow it didn’t matter.

The story in his music and the story in your words found each other in the quiet of his room, creating something between reality and imagination, between Noah and Adrian.

By the time you both leaned back, it wasn’t finished, not even close, but it was a start.

The first step of your collaboration on this.

And you kept working together, again and again, in the nights and weeks to follow.

═════ ⋆˙༺✧༻˙⋆ ═════

You found him again on the couch, in his usual spot, headphones around his neck.

“Noah,” you said.

He glanced over, brow lifting slightly. “Hey.”

You crossed your arms. “Get dressed.”

His brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Because we’re going out.”

He gave you that flat, skeptical stare of his. “Out where?”

“There’s a market in the city today. You know, vintage stalls, secondhand books, food trucks. It’ll be fun.”

Noah snorted, turning back to his screen on his computer. “Define fun.”

“Fun as in: not sitting in this apartment for the fourteenth weekend in a row.”

“Mh."

“Come on, Noah. A couple of hours. That’s all.”

He was quiet for a moment, fingers drumming lightly on the armrest of his chair. You could almost see the excuses forming.

“I don’t like crowds,” he said finally.

“You won’t even notice them. You’ll be too busy judging all my purchases.”

That earned you the faintest twitch of a smile, but he shook his head. “Seriously, I don’t think—”

“Okay, what’s the worst that happens?” you interrupted, “You hate it. You glare at me the whole time. And then, I owe you one. Free pass. I won’t drag you anywhere else for the rest of...the month.”

"I don't like this deal already."

“Or,” you said, grinning, “best case scenario: you actually have fun. You eat something good, find a record you like, maybe even admit I was right.”

“That last part’s impossible.”

"Please?"

That did it. He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face before pushing himself up. “You’re insufferable, sometimes.”

"Didn't you stop being an asshole a while ago?"

He chuckled. "I like teasing you, what can I do?"

"C'mon."

"Yeah, yeah." He said as he started walking toward his bedroom to get changed.

“Yes!” you said brightly.

He turned around for a moment to give you a look resigned and amused at the same time as he and muttered, “This better be worth it.”

“Oh, it will be,” you promised, following him, “Trust me.”

So, Noah followed you, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

The market was all along the main street, rows of stalls crowded under strings of lights even in the daylight, each table full of stacks of weathered books with broken spines, boxes of vinyl records, mismatched mugs, polaroid cameras, plants.

You stopped at the first stall with plants, instantly drawn to the rows of small pots lined up in the sun. Your fingers hovered over them until you picked up a little plant with broad green leaves, sitting in a plain terracotta pot. “This one’s perfect,” you said, turning to show Noah.

He glanced at it. “It looks… like a plant.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not just a plant. It’ll go in the kitchen. Brighten the place up a little.”

"Just a plant."

"Okay but it’s nice. Trust me, you’ll thank me when it’s sitting by the window.”

You paid the vendor and carefully cradled the pot in your arms as you both walked on. Noah watched you for a while, then said, “You know you’re gonna forget to water it.”

“Excuse me?” you shot back, clutching the plant like it was a child.

He smirked faintly. “It’ll just sit there and die in two weeks. That’s how these things go.”

You shook your head, glaring at him. “Then you water it. It’ll be our plant. You can help keep it alive.”

“Yeah, right.” He gave a short laugh. “I’ll forget too.”

You stopped mid-step and turned to him. “Noah.”

He looked back at you. “What?”

“You can’t just forget. It’s not hard. A little water every few days, that’s it.”

He shrugged. “Plants don’t complain when you forget them. They just… sit there. Quietly dying. They're not cats.”

That made you laugh. “What?”

“Cats,” he repeated. “You’re two minutes late feeding them, and they act like you abandoned them at the side of the road. But plants? Plants just give up silently.”

You were laughing outright now, hugging the little terracotta pot to your chest. “You're funny sometimes.”

“I’m just saying,” he muttered, hiding a smile.

“Fine,” you said. “Then think of this plant as a cat. If you don’t water it, I’ll scream in your face like a starving kitten until you do.”

He glanced at you sidelong, shaking his head but smiling despite himself. “Great.”

You kept walking side by side, and Noah started to seems like he wasn’t hating it that much.

Then he slowed a step, his head turning slightly as a warm, sweet smell drifted over from one of the food trucks. His eyes flicked to the stand, where a man was pulling long strips of fried dough from the fryer, dusting them with sugar.

“Churros,” Noah said under his breath.

You glanced at him. “You want churros?”

He shook his head quickly, hands going back into his pockets. “No, I was just saying. They have churros.”

You smirked, already recognizing the game. “You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t want them.”

“No, I literally just said—”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Come on.” You shifted the plant into one arm and grabbed his sleeve with the other. “We’re getting churros.”

He groaned as you tugged him toward the stand. “This is not what I agreed to.”

“Correction: you agreed to come with me. Which means snacks are included.”

By the time you reached the front of the line, you were grinning. “Two, please,” you told the vendor, already digging for cash before Noah could argue.

When the paper tray was handed over, steaming and dusted in sugar, you thrust it toward him. “Here. Take one.”

“I didn’t ask for—”

“Take it.” You shoved the tray closer until he finally gave in, plucking one out with reluctance.

You bit into yours, "That’s good. Isn’t it good?”

Noah had already taken a bite, trying, and failing, not to look pleased. He chewed, swallowed, and finally admitted, “...Yeah. It’s good.”

“Ha!” you said triumphantly, licking a bit of sugar from your thumb. “Knew it. Say thank you.”

“For what?”

“For dragging you here. For churros. For saving you from another boring day on the couch.”

He took another bite of his churro, then looked at you. “Fine. Thanks. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” you said with a grin, brushing sugar from your fingers onto your jeans.

You kept walking and by the time you finished eating, you were both laughing and chatting.

You stopped briefly at another stall, setting the now-empty tray on a nearby bin. The vendor had a stack of simple paper bags, and you asked for one, slipping the terracotta pot inside so it would be easier to carry. You held it up proudly. “Look at that, hands-free.”

“Revolutionary.”

Rolling your eyes, you nudged him with your elbow before the two of you pushed back into the crowd.

The street narrowed where several stalls met, and ahead, a wall of people had gathered, two men were shouting and shoving near a table piled with vintage records.

You slowed instinctively. From where you stood, it was impossible to see what had started it, maybe someone had cut the line, maybe someone had tried to steal, but either way, that part of the market was a total chaos.

Before you could even think of what to do, Noah’s hand found yours, as he pulled you closer to his side. “This way,” he murmured, guiding you toward the far left, where the line of stalls thinned enough to slip through.

You followed his lead, his hand warm and soft in yours as you pushed past all those people.

"Asshole!" One of them shouted at the other.

"Oh, this reminds me of the first time we met.”

For a second, he blinked at you, then burst into laughter, his shoulders shaking with it. “God. You’re right,” he said between breaths, still laughing as you finally broke free from the crush of people.

And that was when you realized: he was still holding your hand.

You glanced down, the sight of your fingers tangled with his making your heart kick unexpectedly against your ribs. He didn’t seem in a rush to let go either, thumb brushing absently against your knuckles as though he’d forgotten about it.

You said nothing, just smiled to yourself, as you kept walking.

═════ ⋆˙༺✧༻˙⋆ ═════

That night, you’d showered, slipped into bed with damp hair, and for a while you just lay there, waiting for Noah to joy you.

Then he finally came in, you felt the mattress dip beneath his weight. He lay on his back at first, one arm behind his head, eyes on the ceiling.

“You’re quiet,” you whispered.

His head turned toward you, a faint half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Just tired.”

“You’re always tired.”

“Because you drag me across the entire city,” he said dryly.

You chuckled in the dark. “And yet, you didn’t hate it.”

He snorted, rolling onto his side to face you. “Don’t push your luck.”

Your hand shifted under the blanket, brushing against his, and he hooked his fingers around yours.

“I liked today,” you admitted softly. “More than I thought I would.”

There was a pause, your fingers still tangled with his under the blanket. Then you tilted your head closer, whispering, “And you know what I like more than I thought I would?”

You felt him let out a small laugh. Before you could even finish the thought, he leaned in and kissed you, slow, bacause he already knew the answer. His lips were warm, he pushed you closer to him with one of his hands on your back, and you realized you were smiling against his mouth.

“I like you… more than I thought I would too,” he murmured.

His fingers traced along your arm, fingertips gentle, memorizing the curve and warmth of your skin. He leaned in, brushing his lips lightly across your temple, then the corner of your mouth. “I like your smile,” he said, catching your lips in a soft kiss.

His hand moved slowly, exploring the line of your shoulder, the sweep of your collarbone, lingering at every place your skin met his. “I like your body,” he murmured, voice husky, and kissed the plane of your neck, just above your collarbone, teasing but tender. You shivered, pressing closer instinctively, your hands threading into the soft hair at his nape.

“I like the way you feel,” he murmured, his hand gliding along the side of your stomach that your tank top left exposed. His long fingers traced delicate, teasing patterns across your skin, exploring slowly. Then, carefully, his fingers slipped just slightly beneath the edge of the fabric.

“I also like your clothes,” he murmured, fingers still tracing along your skin, brushing lightly over the fabric of your tank top. “But I think I’d like them better on the floor.”

He kissed you again, then looked at you with a little grin. "So? Do we wanna see them on the floor?"

You looked at him for a moment, the way he hovered just above you, careful not to crush you with his weight, the way his eyes searched yours as though he was waiting for nothing but your permission before tearing your clothes off. Months ago, you would never have imagined even a kiss from him. And this? This you could never have pictured at all. Not that you were complaining. Not even close.

A slow smile curved your lips. “Of course we do.”

You didn't know yet that for a few days, you would be the one with back pain, not Noah.

═════ ⋆˙༺✧༻˙⋆ ═════

The next morning, you woke up naked in bed with Noah. The first light of day filtered in through the curtains, washing the room in a warm glow. You lay there for a while, tangled together, listening to the soft sound of each other’s breathing. Hours passed as you chatted and laughed in bed, your hands tracing idle patterns across each other’s skin.

Eventually, you both reluctantly untangled yourselves and headed to the shower together. You laughed when the shampoo made his hair stick up in ridiculous little peaks, and started making fun of him, and he kissed you again just to shut you up.

Once dried and dressed, you settled in the living room, laptops open, notebooks scattered, headphones nearby, ready to work on the song you’d been shaping together.

“I think we’ve got it,” Noah said after a while.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I think... I think it can be perfect.”

A pause.

“And now?” you asked.

“Now, I need record it,” he said.

“You do realize that means calling your friends, right?” you teased.

“I… yeah, actually I was really thinking about—”

A sudden knock on the door interrupted him. Noah got up and moved to answer it.

“If it’s the neighbor again, asking for eggs, I’ll tell her to just buy a chicken,” he muttered as he opened the door.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly.

Noah opened the door, and standing there was a man you were certain you had seen before. His black hair fell just above his shoulders, he was tall, though noticeably shorter than Noah, and wore a black denim jacket over a simple t-shirt.

Noah froze for a moment, his posture shifting slightly as his eyes took him in.

“Nick?” he asked, his voice carrying a mix of surprise, relief, and something softer, almost like affection.

Of course.

Nick.

Nicholas.

One of Noah’s bandmates, and also far more than that. You remembered the stories Noah had told you, the fact that knew each other since they were kids and the endless nights spent playing music together when they where just teenagers. He had described Nick as one of the most important people in his life, one of the calmest people he had ever known but whose absence was always felt immediately. Nick was his family. And Nick's mother had been a mom for Noah too.

You watched as Noah’s face softened, the tension leaving his shoulders.

Nick started, words tumbling out too fast to form complete sentences. “I know you’re going to be mad that I found your address, but please...just let me talk. We miss you, we don’t know if you’re okay, we’re all worried, and—”

But Noah didn’t let him finish. Without a second thought, he stepped forward and wrapped Nick in a tight embrace, cutting him off mid-sentence. The surprise on Nick’s face softened immediately as he realized Noah's reaction.

“I’m so sorry for running away,” Noah murmured into Nick’s shoulder, “I’m sorry for being a shitty friend. For everything.”

Then, slowly, Nick returned the hug, arms tightening around Noah. "Man, you weren’t a shitty friend."

After a moment, Noah pulled back just slightly, enough to look Nick in the eyes, “I want to come back,” he admitted, “I want the band back, if you all want me too.”

Nick blinked, looked at his friend for a moment. “God, of course we do,” he said, almost breathless.

“I think I’m ready,” he said. “I’m ready to come back. This time… I’ll actually listen to you guys. We’ll take breaks when we need them, and I won’t run at the first sign of a problem. And… we’ll change labels. We absolutely need to change labels.” He added the last part with a small laugh.

"God, that's... that's great."

"Yeah, it is. She helped." Noah said, suddenly pointing to you.

Nick finally turned his gaze toward you, stepping inside as Noah quietly closed the door behind him. Then he extended a hand in your direction.

“Hi, I'm Nicholas,” he introduced himself simply.

You shook his hand, offering a small smile. “Nice to meet you.” You gave your name and then, after the faintest hesitation, added, “I’m Noah’s… roommate.”

The word felt flimsy the moment it left your lips, uncertain, incomplete.

Before you could second-guess it further, Noah cut in. “She’s my girlfriend.”

You froze, staring at him wide-eyed, your lips parted but no words coming out. You and Noah were obviously something, but neither of you had ever put it into words. Until now.

Nick’s gaze flicked between the two of you, and then his face broke into a grin. He burst out laughing. “What?” he chuckled, lookin at you. “You didn’t know?”

Heat crept into your cheeks, and you shook your head, trying to gather your thoughts. “It’s not that,” you said quickly. “It’s just… we hadn’t exactly—well, I mean, I—”

Noah was chuckling now too, shaking his head at your flustered expression, while Nick looked positively delighted by the awkwardness.

You sighed, trying to save yourself from further embarrassment, and blurted, “Jesus. Nick, do you want something to drink? We’ve got… amazing glasses.”

Without waiting for an answer, you hurried into the kitchen, reaching for the cabinet and pulling down the ones with strawberries on them.

Behind you, you heard Noah’s amused voice. “Oh, wow. She’s giving you the strawberry glasses? She really likes you.”

“Shut up!”

Nick was laughing again when you dared to look back, shaking his head in disbelief at the banter between you two.

Noah leaned back against the couch, watching you with a small, mischievous smile that said he was proud of himself for putting you on the spot. And though you were still flushed and had never wanted to disappear in the earth so much, part of you couldn’t stop the small, helpless grin tugging at your own lips.

You knew that day would mark a new beginning.

In that moment, you had no idea of everything that was waiting just ahead, all the things that were going to happen during the coming months, the way life was about to shift again. You couldn’t have known that soon you and Noah would pack up every corner of your house, spending long days surrounded by boxes, preparing to leave the city behind.

You said goodbye to Zoe, Diego, and Cookie again, promising you would see them again soon, and said goodbye to apartment 137.

As you were getting ready to leave, your neighbor, the one who always had a cigarette hanging from her lips, leaned out of her doorway.

“Moving out with your boyfriend?” she asked.

For the first time, you couldn’t do anything but smile and admit it. Because she was right.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “That’s exactly it.”

You couldn’t have guessed that you would be moving to Los Angeles, the place where Noah used to live, the city where some of his oldest friends still lived.

You couldn’t have imagined that you and Noah would soon have a beautiful home together, where the blinds were always drawn up, where the little plant you’d bought at the market sat by the fridge in the kitchen, and where your strawberries glasses had their rightful place in the cupboard, always there for you to reach for and use.

You couldn’t yet imagine standing on the crowded streets there and seeing your own book plastered across a massive billboard for the first time, and that Noah would finally read the last chapter of your book, saying he didn't cry at all (that was a lie).

Nor could you have known that Los Angeles would be the place where Noah finally finished Specter, the song you had built together, he would record it there, and that your name would be in the credits too.

You couldn't wait to see what fans would think of this, whether they'd find a connection between the song and your book. You knew they would; they always did.

You couldn’t have imagined any of it yet, just like once, you could never have imagined that moving into Apartment 137 with Noah would turn out to be one of the best decisions of your life.

The future was waiting, but you couldn’t help it. You knew you were going to miss that apartment.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog @pandora-08 @geminigirlfromfinland @rumoured-whispers @astronoids @raininkpress @jesuisunchaton

Apartment 137: @respectfulrebel @saythatuwill @acatatonicpeace @overmydeadbodysblog @trvshdxddy @littlewhiterose @bluehairpunklol @iconic-taurus @moostress19

[mishappeningss]

driver!reader viral moments 😼

oh for sureee, she’s got countless of viral moments it seems neverending. fans still live for it tho!!!

more about driver!yn

the podium slip

Rain soaked podium. Champagne everywhere. YN took one step in her race boots and slipped, did a perfect spin, and took George down with her.

He fell. Oscar slipped on them. Yuki watched it all happen with a horrified face from below the podium. They all ended up on the floor. She raised a thumbs up from the ground and said:

“I stuck the landing.”

“WHY DID SHE TAKE GEORGE DOWN WITH HER”

the team radio breakdown

She was in P2. Two laps to go. The podium was hers. And then—snap. A mechanical failure. Complete power loss, everything stopped.

She rolled to a stop in sector three, heart thundering, fists clenched so tight it shook. The radio crackled. And then—anger.

“I swear, I will actually FIGHT this car. Someone hold me back.”

Luca’s silence was deafening.

Later, she laughed about it. Said she’d cool off. But fans? They turned it into a war cry.

“luca’s js used to everything she’s doing”

post race cravings

Post-race interview. She looked dead behind her eyes. Grease smudged her jaw. Her ponytail was falling apart. The race had been hell. No points, no pace. And the reporter asked what her plans were.

She sighed, blinked slowly, and went: “…nuggets. McDonald’s. I’d sell my souls for a 20 piece right now.”

And the best part? McDonald’s replied. By the next race, she had a personalized nugget box. With her number on it.

“she ate the nuggets during fp1. realest driver out there”

the lewis interview

Post race, she walked into frame next to Lewis. Exhausted, but radiating chaos. He leaned on her shoulder. She leaned back.

“We’re tired,” he said to the mic.

“We’re delusional,” she added. They both bursted into laughter.

They started high-fiving out of nowhere mid-interview. Talking over each other. Giggling at nothing.

The interviewer gave up halfway through.

“these two have NO media training and we LOVE that”

grid kid softness

He looked scared. Eight years old, holding the umbrella next to her on the grid, hands shaking.

She knelt down.

“Hey,” she said gently, handing him her cap. “You look cool. Wanna wear this?” He nodded shyly.

She fist-bumped him. “You’re braver than half the grid.”

He beamed back at her. And she stood for the anthem, capless, with one hand protectively behind his back.

“he said she makes him feel ‘safe.’ i’m actually sobbing’

the seb moment

During a race weekend, Sebastian Vettel made a surprise paddock appearance. YN spotted him from across the media pen and literally gasped. Covered her mouth. Full body turn. Then ran.

They hugged, she squealed. He called her "the fiercest thing on four wheels." She teared up.

Photos of her beaming at Seb like he was her dad? Broke the internet. They love them both.

“she looked like a kid meeting her hero”

the public nap situation

It was between sessions. Hot day. Busiest paddock of the season.

Someone walked by a tire stack and found YN asleep behind it. Fully out. Arm as a pillow. Hoodie pulled over her eyes, how did she get there?

She woke up to the sound of a mechanic accidentally dropping a wrench and sat up like a soldier in a war movie.

“Am I late for quali?” she asked. It was 11 am.

She then fell back to sleep instantly.

“no bcs WHY ARE THEY JS LETTING HER SLEEP THERE”

[suliigwp]

Hi! Could you write another part for the Vroom Vroom story? Like they are all doing the interviews together and a reporter asks a question that she does not quite understand. Lewis or Alonso see that and try and explain it to her and the interview derails from there.

EMOTION ARC: MANY

Rookie! Reader x Platonic! Paddock

Previous Part!

SULI: I didn't think our vroom vroom would receive so much love, I'm so glad you're enjoying it! Here's another crack fic before the big more serious one comes! Thank you for requesting!

Warnings: pineapple on pizza mentioned, none!

The room is packed. Cameras flash, reporters fidget with recorders, and three drivers take their seats at the middle: Fernando Alonso, composed and sipping water like he didn’t just dodge chaos for 58 laps; Lewis Hamilton, ever-charismatic and polished, nodding to the crowd; and smack in the middle—The Rookie.

She’s wearing her race suit half unzipped over her team shirt, podium cap slightly crooked, and clutching the miniature champagne bottle like it’s a trophy. And her expression reads somewhere between am I still dreaming? and what happens if I open this bottle inside?

The moderator clears his throat.

“Congratulations to all drivers. We’ll open up the floor for questions.”

A reporter in the front row lifts a hand.

“This question is for our rookie. Congratulations on your first podium! Can you walk us through the emotional arc of your race?”

There’s a long pause.

The rookie leans forward toward the mic slowly, eyebrows drawn together in total confusion.

“…What is arc?”

She says it like someone just asked her to explain quantum physics using only interpretive dance.

Lewis, sitting next to her, is already smiling, having expected this exact energy.

“It means… like the emotional journey. How you felt at different points. Start, middle, end. That kind of thing.”

Still chewing gum, she nods slowly, visibly processing. Then, seriously:

“Ah. Okay. So…”

She leans into the mic again with full confidence now:

“Start: Scared. Turn 1: Still scared. Turn 3: Someone yell at me. Lap 7: I yell back. Then… vroom vroom. Rain happen. More vroom. Almost spin. I scream. I close eyes. Still drive. Then boom—I’m here. Emotion arc: Many.”

She finishes with a victorious sip of champagne and a shrug.

Fernando chokes slightly on his water.

Lewis is laughing, head down.

The press corps is stunned silent—then someone lets out a snort, and the whole room breaks into chuckles.

A second reporter raises a hand, trying to get things back on track.

“And how did you feel about the tyre strategy today?”

Rookie nods proudly.

“I do tyres.”

Dead silence.

Lewis blinks. “You… what?”

“I do tyres. I… use them. Good. Not bad. Round.”

Fernando leans toward the mic, totally deadpan.

“What she means is—her engineer made all the tyre decisions, and she said ‘okay’ with no clue what any of it meant.”

Rookie holds up a hand to correct him:

“No no. I say ‘okay’ very confidently. That is important. I fake it. I pretend I know. That is strategy.”

Lewis, still laughing:

“So you had no idea what tyre you were on?”

She pauses. Then:

“…Were they… black?”

Lewis slaps the desk. Fernando actually laughs out loud this time.

She points to Fernando and Lewis with both fingers like she’s shooting finger guns.

“Listen. You two talk too much about apex and degradation and undercut. I go vroom. That is my arc.”

The next reporter can barely hold a straight face but tries anyway:

“Okay… what was going through your mind when you crossed the finish line?”

She goes completely still, staring into the distance. Her voice drops into mock-dramatic whisper.

“I think… if I crash now… they still count, yes?"

Fernando puts his head in his hands.

“I want to say this is all an act, but I saw her spin in pit lane yesterday trying to wave at a pigeon.”

She shrugs again. “He looked friendly.”

Lewis tries to redirect:

“Let’s not forget she got P3 in the rain, held off Checo for five laps, and still had time to sing ABBA on the radio.”

She points triumphantly.

“Yes! This is why I win. Because of ABBA. And my skill. And because I forget to brake.”

Fernando stares at her.

“You… you forgot to brake?”

She looks unsure.

“I think maybe. I do one tiny brake. Just for fun. Mostly… vibes.”

At this point, a poor reporter in the back is just holding up a recorder, looking vaguely haunted.

Moderator clears his throat, half-chuckling.

“We’ll take one last question.”

A quiet voice from the back:

“What’s your goal for the rest of the season?”

She grins like she’s been waiting for this one.

“More podiums. More tyres. Less understanding. And… maybe one donut.”

She leans toward Lewis. “You teach me donut?”

Lewis, smiling warmly:

“Only if you promise to learn what a yellow flag is.”

She nods.

“Deal. But only yellow. No time for green.”

Fernando raises a hand.

“I would like to formally request she never meets Ricciardo.”

Lewis agrees.

“Or Kimi. We cannot risk it.”

She points between the two of them, grinning.

“Old men fear me. This means I win.”

As the conference ends and the drivers rise, Lewis drapes an arm around her shoulders, still chuckling.

“You know… you might actually be the future of the sport.”

She looks dead serious.

“Yes. But also… I want pizza now.”

Fernando, walking past her, doesn’t even break stride.

“If she podiums again, someone better bring pineapple pizza. Chaos deserves chaos.”

next part!

[charlotteking27]

Pursuing the Journalist

Max Verstappen x reader

Summary: Max makes his intentions clear, that he wants to pursue you, so much so that he's already planning your future with him.

Warning: This is part two of The pretty Interviewer.

The next morning in Monaco, the paddock buzzes with energy. You barely reach the Sky Sports tent before your producer rushes up to you, smiling like she just won the constructors’ championship.

“Don’t look now,” she says, “but there’s already a crowd outside. They want to see if Max will charm you on live TV again.”

You bury your face in your notes, trying not to blush. “He’s just playing with the media. He loves stirring things up.”

Your producer laughs. “Right, and I’m really Toto Wolff. You two broke the internet last night. Even the official F1 account is in on it.” She holds up her phone, showing you a meme: Max in his race suit, captioned, “Find someone who looks at you the way Max looks at the Sky Sports reporter.”

Suddenly, the crowd outside parts with excitement. Max appears at the paddock entrance, scanning the area until he spots you. Before anyone can react, he jogs over—helmet in hand, a big grin on his face.

Reporters and fans begin to murmur, cameras turning your way. Max doesn't care. He reaches you in an instant, taking your hand, warm and confident. The world seems to pause as he pulls you beside him, walking through the paddock together, fingers intertwined as if it’s perfectly normal.

Cheers and whistles follow you like confetti. Someone shouts, “Go on, Max!” He just squeezes your hand, glancing down with that charming, lovestruck smile that makes your heart skip.

“You didn’t think I’d let you handle this chaos alone, did you?” he whispers, just for you.

Your producer’s jaw drops. The Sky cameras are rolling. It’s Monaco, and for a moment, it feels like the whole world is watching Max Verstappen stroll hand-in-hand with you to the biggest race of the year.

You’re still groaning when Max shows up, surprisingly relaxed for someone about to race in Monaco. He flashes you a grin that promises trouble—except this time, there’s a softness to it, one that doesn’t fade when the cameras are on.

“Ready for your exclusive?” he asks, keeping his eyes on yours, ignoring the crowd of reporters pretending not to listen.

You try to remain professional. “Max, you’re starting on pole for the Monaco Grand Prix. Any nerves?”

He leans in close enough for you to catch a hint of his cologne. His eyes linger on your face just a beat too long. “Only if you’re nervous. I think that’s the only thing that could throw me off today.”

Your producer, clearly done with professionalism, whispers in your ear, “He’s got it bad for you.”

You push on. “What’s the plan for turn one? It’s usually chaos.”

“Stay ahead, avoid chaos, and maybe—” he pauses, giving you a slow look that makes your cheeks flush, “convince you to have dinner with me again after I win. Monaco’s stunning, but you make it unforgettable.”

You choke, and Max’s grin spreads wider. He leans in, his voice dropping, “Honestly, I’d race here every weekend just for a chance to see you.”

“I’m trying to do my job,” you hiss, covering your mic.

He shrugs, completely unruffled. “So am I. Just… my job’s a lot more fun when you’re around.”

The interview becomes a blur—a mix of technical talk and playful flirting, with Max teasing hints about post-race plans and you doing your best to act like you haven’t already agreed to a late-night stroll by the harbor. When it ends, Max lingers as if he’s forgotten there’s a race to win.

“You know,” he says, lowering his voice, “I used to hate interviews. Now I look forward to them. You’re the only one who makes me nervous.”

Your stomach turns. “Because you enjoy being the center of attention?”

He shakes his head. “Because when you look at me, I feel like I’ve already won.”

Before you can say anything, he strides back toward the garage, leaving you flustered and the entire F1 Twitterverse moments away from a meltdown.

The race is pure Monaco: tight, intense, impossible to predict. Max leads from the start, but a late safety car changes everything. You watch, holding your breath, as he navigates through the turmoil, the world focused on him.

He wins. Of course he does.

As the Red Bull zooms past the checkered flag, Max’s radio crackles with his engineer's euphoric shouts. He barely catches his breath before grabbing the radio, his voice filled with adrenaline.

“Max, you legend! Monaco winner! That’s how you do it!” his race engineer exclaims.

Max’s laughter is full of disbelief, almost boyish. But then he shifts his tone, warmer and more thoughtful. He knows everyone is listening—his team, the fans, the world.

“This one’s for someone special,” he says, steady as can be. “I want to dedicate this win to the Sky Sports reporter who survived my flirting all weekend. You know who you are. Thanks for making Monaco unforgettable.”

The team erupts with cheers and laughter. The crowd, hearing the dedication over the loudspeakers, goes wild.

Max grins into the radio, barely hiding his mischief. “Honestly, the car’s quick, but not as quick as my heart every time you ask me questions.”

His engineer groans, half-laughing, “Max, mate, you’re killing us.”

Max just laughs, a bit smug. “What can I say? She’s my lucky charm. That dinner offer still stands, by the way. Monaco’s beautiful at night—almost as beautiful as her smile.”

The paddock buzzes with chatter. Social media is already going crazy.

When he finally walks into parc fermé, covered in champagne and smiling, he looks right at you. The world’s cameras may be on him, but he finds your eyes first.

Later, the post-race interview turns into a frenzy. Reporters jostle, microphones wave, but Max waits, arms crossed, until you stand in front of him. Everything else fades away.

“Congratulations, Max,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Thank you.” He gives you that look that has sparked countless tweets. He leans in close enough that only you—and possibly millions of viewers—can hear. “You know, if I’d known winning Monaco would get me this interview, I would’ve tried even harder.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You just won Monaco. Shouldn’t you be celebrating with your team?”

Max shrugs, still only focused on you. “I’d rather celebrate with you. Maybe you’ll finally say yes to that dinner. Or do I need to win another race?”

He leans in, whispering in your ear with that grin. “Careful, or I’ll have to dedicate every win to you. Might make the other drivers jealous.”

The cameras capture it all—your laughter, his easy smile, the way he leans in as if he’s about to share a secret. The clip is already being shared, meme’d, and picked apart by the time you both slip away from the paddock, hearts racing, the world watching.

By midnight, Monaco’s streets have quieted down. You and Max stroll along the harbor, the air thick with anticipation and the scent of the sea. This time, there are no cameras, no microphones—just two people trying to figure out what happens next.

He stops, gazing out at the yachts bobbing on the dark water. “You know, everyone’s going to have an opinion about this.”

You nudge his shoulder. “Since when do you care about everyone?”

He laughs, soft and genuine. “I don’t. I only care about you.”

You open your mouth to respond, but he’s already leaning in, gentle and certain. For once, you forget about the world watching, the noise, the chaos, and the next race.

What began as just another paddock interview now feels like the start of something entirely new.

And you wouldn’t trade it for pole position—not even on a street circuit.

Taglist: @bowielovesyou and @lilypat

[jellyfishsthings]

Interrupted Dates

navigation , dc navigation

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune 

Dick

The rooftop was aglow with fairy lights, strung haphazardly between a rusted chimney and a disused antenna. It gave the space a dreamy sort of charm—romantic if you squinted and ignored the faint smell of city smog.

You sat cross-legged on a blanket, sharing a plastic container of pasta salad with Dick. He was barefoot, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair ruffled by the breeze and the kind of smugly radiant that only came from retelling stories of childhood chaos.

“So then I yell, ‘Ta-da!’—naked, mind you—because I was four and thought I could fly,” Dick said, stabbing his fork into a piece of tomato like it had personally wronged him. “Bruce was mortified. Alfred just... nodded, like he’d seen worse.”

You snorted into your drink. “How are you not traumatized?”

“I am. But charmingly so.”

Meanwhile, twelve feet below, chaos brewed.

Behind a nearby billboard, a truly absurd stack of Batfamily members wobbled dangerously. Stephanie was on top, phone in hand and already live-streaming to a private group chat titled #OperationDickDates??!. Jason had the binoculars. Tim was beneath him, trying to triangulate audio with a dish he may or may not have stolen from the Batcave. Damian, at the bottom, bore the weight of them all with the bitter fury of a betrayed acrobat.

“This is a disgrace,” Damian hissed. “Grayson’s form is off. His landing on the blanket was a ten-degree deviation from optimal angle.”

“Is that what’s bothering you?” Tim whispered. “Not the fact that we’re spying on our grown brother having a date like we’re the Scooby-Doo gang on meth?”

Stephanie shushed them. “Shut up, I think she’s laughing. That’s like, third laugh. Fourth laugh is when I declare it true love.”

Jason adjusted the focus on his binoculars. “Is she feeding him? Bro. She just fed him a tomato. That’s a couple move. This is disgusting.”

“Why are you even here?” Damian growled.

“I was promised chaos and snacks. So far, I have neither.”

Above, Dick paused, brows knitting. “Do you… hear whispering?”

You tilted your head. “Maybe it’s wind?”

“No, that’s definitely someone whispering ‘move your elbow, I can’t see his dumb face.’” He squinted into the shadows. “Give me a sec.”

In one effortless flip, he vanished into the dark like some sort of spandex-clad raccoon. A loud yelp followed.

Moments later, Dick returned, dragging Jason Todd by the back of his leather jacket like a particularly mouthy duffel bag.

Jason looked entirely unrepentant. “Hi. Love what you’ve done with the vibe. Very ‘Pinterest meets crime alley.’”

You sighed. “Hi, guys.”

Stephanie popped up like an excited meerkat. “Hi! You’re really pretty, by the way.”

Tim climbed over next, holding what looked like a home-wired parabolic mic. “Please don’t hate us. I had nothing to do with this. Except the part where I helped rig the surveillance array.”

Damian dropped from the billboard last, landing in a perfect crouch. “This entire endeavor was idiotic. But I recorded Grayson’s subpar trapeze flip for future blackmail purposes.”

You blinked. “Wait—how long have you all been watching?”

Jason shrugged. “Since the pasta salad.”

Stephanie nodded. “She laughed four times. That’s how you know it’s real.”

Dick stared at all of them. “You built a totem pole. Behind a billboard. In a wind tunnel.”

Damian sniffed. “It was Tim’s idea.”

“Lies,” Tim said. “I organized it. There’s a difference.”

You glanced at Dick, who looked like he was oscillating between mild amusement and full-on big brother meltdown.

He sighed dramatically, then turned to you with a hand outstretched. “Would you care to join me in fleeing the scene of the crime?”

“With pleasure.”

As the two of you retreated—blanket in hand, pasta salad container tucked under your arm—you heard Stephanie whisper behind you:

“I’m giving this a nine out of ten. Docking one point for no kiss.”

Jason grunted. “Give it five minutes. They’re totally going to kiss on the next roof.”

 “So…should we… follow?” Tim whispered.

 “NO.”

Jason

You were tucked into the coziest corner of the bookstore café, the one with the overstuffed chair that made ominous creaking noises when you sat in it, but held firm like a trusted secret. The golden afternoon light pooled on the hardwood floor, catching the soft steam curling from your shared cappuccino. Jason sat beside you, strangely gentle today, his leather jacket shrugged off, sleeves rolled, as he thumbed through a battered paperback of Pablo Neruda.

He cleared his throat—gruff, a little self-conscious—and then looked at you like you were the only real thing in the world.

“‘I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees,’” he read, voice low and slightly husky. Not quite polished—more like poetry scraped over gravel. Honest.

You smiled, fingers brushing his under the table, and he blinked like maybe he couldn’t believe he was allowed to have this—this calm, this softness, this weird, wonderful stillness.

Then—

“Is he blushing?” came a stage whisper from the bookshelf display to your right. You both froze.

From behind a rotating rack of pastel-covered romance novels, Dick and Tim peeked out, both wearing oversized, obviously fake glasses and pretending to browse.

Jason closed the book slowly.

Dick leaned sideways with all the stealth of a golden retriever trying to sneak a sandwich. “Look at him go. He’s quoting Neruda. Neruda, Tim. My angry cactus of a brother has feelings.”

“Do we have this on video?” Tim hissed, digging in his coat like he might’ve bugged the café.

Jason squinted. “Are they... wearing mustaches?”

Sure enough, both of them had slapped on wonky adhesive mustaches. Tim’s was starting to peel. Dick’s had migrated halfway up his cheek.

“They think they’re subtle,” you whispered.

Jason reached for the sugar packets, calmly selected one, then flicked his wrist like a sniper on a sugar-fueled vendetta. The packet arced cleanly over the romance display and smacked Tim right between the eyes.

“Ow!”

Dick choked on his latte.

Tim ducked behind the display, rubbing his forehead. “Did he just bean me mid-sonnet?”

You turned to Jason, impressed. “Did you seriously just assault your brother with sweetener while reading poetry?”

He grinned. “He deserved it.”

“Fair.”

From behind the shelf came Dick’s voice, unbothered and very much still spying. “Hey, we’re just trying to witness emotional growth.”

“And possibly blackmail material.”

Jason raised an eyebrow and called over his shoulder, “Get out before I start reading Yeats in a threatening tone.”

“Threatening Yeats?” Dick said. “You are in love.”

Tim emerged, dramatically clutching his sugar-packet injury. “This is how I die. Not in battle. Not in a tragic lab explosion. Murdered by Splenda™.”

“Get out,” Jason said, standing halfway. “Or I swear to God, I’ll recite sonnets until you sob.”

Dick raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, no need to traumatize the civilians.”

They backed out, knocking over a cardboard cutout of Jane Austen and leaving a half-eaten croissant on a poetry display. The barista glared. Someone in the back clapped.

When it was quiet again, Jason sat down with a long sigh and opened the book again. He didn’t look at you for a moment, just flipped a few pages like nothing had happened.

You leaned in, brushing his hair gently behind one ear. “You were blushing, by the way.”

He met your gaze, eyes warm and half-lidded, lips twitching. “Yeah, well... you’d blush too if you were reading love poems to someone you liked in front of two idiot brothers dressed like a community theater production of Sherlock Holmes.”

“True,” you admitted.

He found the page again, cleared his throat, and murmured, “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where…’”

And for once, no one interrupted.

(Not even when Dick and Tim snuck back disguised as a couple on a painfully awkward first date. But that’s another story.

Tim

  It was a clear night at Gotham’s old observatory—cold enough to see your breath, warm enough to be out without freezing, the kind of in-between that made you feel suspended in time. You were perched on a folding blanket with a thermos of hot chocolate between your knees, wrapped in one of Tim’s oversized hoodies, watching him fine-tune the telescope with all the reverence of someone handling a sacred artifact.

“This model’s based on the Cassegrain design,” he murmured, adjusting the focus ring, eyes narrowed in concentration. “The mirrors inside reflect the image back to a focal point—it’s more efficient for deep-sky observation. Which is perfect because Orion’s Nebula is peaking tonight, and you can see the whole trapezium cluster if—”

He stopped, mid-ramble.

“Too much?”

You grinned, sipping the hot chocolate. “Never. I like when you go full-nerd.”

Tim flushed just a little, half-hiding his face behind the telescope. “Right. Well. You’ll see it better if you look around there—” He gently guided your hands. “—past Rigel. That’s the blue supergiant. It’s—”

“—Eight-hundred sixty light years away,” you finished.

He looked at you like he might die a little from fondness. “I think I love you.”

A crunch echoed above you.

You froze. Tim’s shoulders tensed. Another crunch. Muffled whispering. Something—or someone—was shifting behind the dome’s inner wall.

Tim sighed, not even looking up. “They’re watching.”

You tilted your head. “Should we invite them down?”

He shook his head solemnly. “No. Let them suffer in their self-inflicted cringe.”

Inside the observatory’s mechanical guts, Damian muttered, “You’re breathing too loudly.”

Cass responded by flicking him on the head.

Steph hissed, “I told you to bring snacks. You said popcorn was ‘too loud,’ and now look where we are. Starving. Cold. Emotionally invested.”

“I am not emotionally invested,” Damian said with the conviction of someone absolutely emotionally invested.

A beat.

“They’re holding hands,” Steph whispered. “Look. Right there. Hand. On. Knee.”

Cass’s voice: “Aww.”

Damian gagged audibly.

Tim adjusted the telescope again. “Bruce is here too.”

You blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Tim just nodded toward the corner of the dome where, sure enough, Bruce stood in a trench coat and fedora like a noir film detective, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Possibly proud. Possibly plotting. Definitely out of place.

You whispered, “Why is he in a trench coat?”

Tim didn’t look up. “He thinks it’s ‘subtle.’”

Another creak. A hushed “Shhh!”

Five minutes passed in silence. Tim showed you the Andromeda Galaxy, soft-spoken and a little breathless as he described the gravitational pull between it and the Milky Way.

Then—

CRASH.

The trapdoor on the upper level flung open. Damian Wayne fell through it like a cat yeeted off a counter.

He hit the floor in a roll, popped up in a dramatic stance, and declared—very loudly—“That was intentional.”

Cass landed beside him a second later in a perfect superhero crouch. “We tripped.”

Damian hissed. “You tripped. I performed a tactical descent.”

Tim didn’t even blink. “Welcome. There’s cocoa in the thermos. Please keep the stalking to a minimum.”

Steph peeked her head down the ladder, grinning and holding her phone up. “I’ve been filming this whole time, by the way.”

Bruce descended the stairs silently like a disappointed cryptid.

You looked around at the chaos, then at Tim, who was now sitting with his head in his hands.

You gently patted his back. “You okay?”

“I was trying to explain redshift,” he muttered into his palms. “Now my little brother has announced his ‘tactical descent’ like he’s a D-list Avenger.”

From the floor, Damian snapped, “I heard that.”

Tim looked at you. “Please kill me.”

You offered him the cocoa instead.

“Same thing,” he mumbled.

Steph flopped onto the blanket beside you. “So... on a scale from one to tragically adorable, how serious is this?”

Cass stated calmly “Eleven.”

Damian made a face that would make the sun turn green as he stated that everything was disgusting. Bruce tried to argue that the kids were simply bonding, which resulted in Damian making yet another disgusted face at them.

You looked at Tim, smiling. “Want to get back to the stars?”

He nodded quickly, tugging you gently back toward the telescope, his hand slipping into yours like it belonged there. “Yes. Away from the goblins.”

“You love the goblins.”

Tim’s smile twitched. “No, I tolerate them. With... grudging affection.”

Behind you, Cass whispered, “He’s so in love.”

Steph whispered loudly  “Like... epic poem in love.”

“Please.”

Tim ignored them, realigned the telescope, and said softly, “Okay. Your turn. Let me show you something beautiful.”

And he did.

(The goblins mostly behaved. Until Damian tried to sabotage the cocoa supply. But that’s another story.)

Damian

It started with an invitation tucked beneath a hardcover book you’d left at the manor: On the Aesthetic History of Violence. Inside, in impossibly neat handwriting:

“You are cordially invited to a private tour of the Gotham Museum of Modern Art. After hours. Dress appropriately.”

Signed only: D.W.

You showed up in a black coat and clean boots. Damian arrived ten minutes early in a bespoke turtleneck and the kind of dark wool coat that whispered money and museum quiet. No cape, no scowl. Just a calm nod and a half smile when he saw you.

“You’re late,” he said, not unkindly.

“You’re early,” you countered.

His eyes softened like a secret.

The museum had shut its doors to the public at 6:00. By 7:15, it was yours alone. Echoing floors, tall ceilings, marble columns leading to hushed rooms, all flooded in warm golden light. Damian walked you through the Impressionists first. He spoke softly, almost reverently—about oil brushwork, the interplay of light and motion, how Manet weaponized color. There was something about hearing him—Damian Wayne, child of war and shadow—talk about atmospheric perspective like it was something holy.

“Look at the emotional architecture,” he murmured, pausing before a muted Chagall. “The structure of grief in the way the lines collapse toward the left. You can see the subject wants to leave the room, but the room will not let her.”

You turned toward him. “That one reminds me of you.”

He blinked. No quip. No snort. Just...stillness.

A breath. Then another.

You watched the silence settle into his shoulders, unsure if he was flattered or panicking. You were about to joke it off—when suddenly—

“HhhHKKk’CHHSHH!”

A violent sneeze echoed across the entire museum like a grenade in an empty cathedral.

You both turned slowly, as one.

From behind a marble bust in the Romanticism wing, a crackling voice came over the coms: “Sorry—allergies!”

“Stephanie,” Damian said in a voice usually reserved for supervillains and disappointed Shakespearean monologues. “This is why I don’t take them anywhere.”

You barely suppressed a laugh. “You knew they were here?”

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hoped I was wrong.”

Down the east corridor, two distinct silhouettes peeked out from behind a 9-foot sculpture of Artemis. Jason was wearing a museum security badge upside down and holding a clipboard he was clearly using as a tray for takeout. Stephanie—crouched beside him in a trench coat and baseball cap—was whispering into a walkie-talkie with the stealth of a small rhino.

“I told you the mic was too close to your face,” Jason muttered.

Steph hissed back, “Sorry, I sneezed. It’s dusty in here!”

Back in the Impressionist gallery, Damian rubbed his temple like this was all personally offensive.

“And why,” he asked the universe, “is Todd carrying egg rolls in a museum?”

“Because,” came a crisp British voice from the main atrium, “someone has to maintain standards.”

You turned to see Alfred Pennyworth—immaculate in a faux security guard uniform—holding a silver tray of hors d’oeuvres like it was wartime Versailles.

“Would you care for a prosciutto puff?” he asked you, deadpan.

Damian looked like he wanted to dissolve through the floor.

Alfred added, with a glance toward Steph and Jason: “Miss Brown tried to bribe the actual docent with a Crunchwrap Supreme. I had to intervene.”

You took a puff pastry and tried not to laugh.

A voice from the shadows: “Pfft. Amateur.”

From behind a false wall, a gloved hand polished a modern sculpture. You blinked. “Is that... Dick?”

“Richard has infiltrated as a janitorial subcontractor,” Damian muttered, sounding so tired. “He insisted it was ‘part of the immersive experience.’”

“I’m wearing coveralls and everything,” Dick’s voice called proudly from behind a giant steel cube. “Museum chic.”

Damian turned to you, exhausted. “Please believe me when I say, I wanted this to be romantic.”

You looped your arm through his and smiled. “It still is.”

He paused. “Despite the surveillance?”

“Because of it,” you teased. “It’s very us.”

Damian blinked. Then—slowly, reluctantly—smiled. A real one. The kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but was still a rare and quiet thing.

“I loathe you,” he murmured to the empty air.

“Love you too, baby bird,” came Jason’s voice over the coms.

“I have no siblings,” Damian muttered, guiding you toward a post-modernist piece shaped like an unraveling staircase.

From behind the bust, Steph whispered: “Did he just blush?”

Dick whispered back: “I’m so proud.”

Jason: “I’m gonna cry. That’s our boy.”

Steph: “Wait—can we do a slow clap?”

Alfred: “If you start clapping, I am tasering everyone and leaving.”

Back in the gallery, Damian took your hand and placed it over his heart. “Ignore the interlopers. This painting reminds me of you. Bold color. Sharp lines. Impossible to look away from.”

You smiled, a little breathless. “Now you’re being romantic.”

He tilted his head. “You started it.”

Behind you, Steph sneezed again.

Damian didn’t even flinch. “I will burn this museum to the ground.”

[heartkaji]

currently thinking about what it’d be like to have fratboy! gojo & getou voicing over your grwm makeup videos for tiktok

“suguru what the fuck is she smiling at.”

“i wouldn’t be smiling if i was this chopped.”

heaven forbid you give the camera a little smile & wave before beginning your routine. the video begins & satoru’s taken it upon himself to narrate the video in a sassy twink voice, its obnoxious pitch blaring through the speakers as the video plays.

“and now guys i’m applying my rhode skin hydrating fluid to give myself that clean girl glow—hailey please sponsor us.”

“wait isn’t that just moisturizer?”

“girl i don’t know i use two in one spf and cream.”

“oh, period.”

you can hear the sounds of linen shifting as you finish your skincare & dive into your makeup. you start off with foundation, flashing the bottle at the camera before dabbing some onto your skin.

“now some face coverage. gotta hide them pimples you feel me?”

“why this girl got so many pimples.”

“mm..not very feminine.”

satoru clicks his tongue, tone nothing less than judgy. the video continues as you press more foundation to your cheeks: “more concealer…and more…and—bro all this concealer for what? y/n if you’re not careful you’ll conceal your destiny.”

“yo you sound like an african parent.”

“i love jollof rice.”

after dabbing your face you’re dusting bronzer across your temple, cheekbones brushed as well to give yourself a more ‘lifted’ look.

“oh that’s bronzer! okay i put the bronzer…to look darker than i already am…? suguru why is she blackfishing.”

“it’s giving monkey,” a pause. “wait can we edit that out?”

you apply a lighter shade concealer to your under eyes. “oh that’s a lighter skin color. why’s she racially confused?”

“maybe she’s just mixed?” “fairs.”

you continue to apply all sorts of creams to your face, different brushes & blenders dabbing against your skin. from the speaker you can hear the muffled sounds of gojo and getou bickering over what’s going on your face & what’s not. satoru clears his throat:

“yesss get it james charles. we got no idea what the fuck she’s doin’.”

“y/n is actually lowkey ugly when you look at her too long.”

“that’s not ridiculous to say it’s not ridiculous to say that.”

a breathy laugh is muffled by the speakers, & suguru takes over as you begin your lips.

“oh that’s that lip shadow thing. alright alright, we apply the lip shadow—girl nobody wanna see them crusty ass lips stop puckering that shit looking like a love island UK contestant.”

“WORDDD.” at this point you can hear gojo wheezing in the background, clapping his hands frantically as he slaps suguru’s back repeatedly.

you can hear the grin in satoru’s voice as he speaks: “yo y/n, on some real shit drop the lip combo i need that.”

“fruity ass. i’ll just stick to my vaseline extra shine.”

“bro, that’s why bitches don’t kiss you.” “shut the fuck up.”

you flash a container of powder to the screen, hand behind the product to reveal the name as the camera settles.

“oop—now we’re powdering our face with LA ROCHE PUSSYYYYY.”

“bro can you read? it’s posay”

“nobody give a fuck.”

the video continues & you flash a pen-like bottle at the screen before unscrewing the cap to reveal a wand. gently you apply your mascara, & satoru excitedly takes the mic once again.

“now we’re doing our lashes with maybellineee. maybelline please sponsor us.”

“yo stop begging for sponsorships are you poor?”

“man can i network in peace? if you shut up i’ll give you head.”

“fuck yeah. love you bro.”

“kisses babe.” the sound of a wet kiss echoes through the speakers; followed by boyish giggles.

“and now we’re done! oh no we’re not. oh my gosh this is so much makeup. am i watching an asian makeup transformation video?”

“wait satoru don’t say that you’ll make her insecure.”

“sorry y/n,” “sorry.”

the audio goes silent as you continue with your makeup in peace.

“y/n’s forhead is so big.”

“bro i’m saying.”

“satoru is my forehead big, check it.” the audio dies down to mattress shifts & stretches of linen before gojo’s voice comes through:

“nah you’re good. sexy ass forehead.” if you hold your phone a little closer, you can hear the smack of lips against suguru’s temple.

“babe don’t gas me i knew i was tea,” suguru begins, “y/n on the other hand…”

the audio picks up the sound of getou shuddering. the video continues & soon you’re spraying your face, posing into the camera as you conclude your makeup routine & begin to get up from your desk.

“YESSSS WE’RE DONEE”

“PERIOD FINALLY!!!”

“wait why is she shaking her ass.”

“bro get this ghetto bitch off my screen.”

KAISEN UNIVERSITY

#GO PANDAS !

HEARTKAJI 2025. do not steal, edit, translate, or re-upload.

[dearlenore]

BED CHEM • S.REID

SUMMARY: the team is watching a video detailing Penelope’s concert experience when they notice you talking and singing about a certain boy genius on stage

PAIRING: singer!fem!reader x spencer

tags: fluff, reader is hyper feminine, reader wears revealing clothing reader wears makeup, sabrina carpenter inspired, mentions of pregnancy (Juno) dirty jokes, flustered spence for you

a/n: editor is occupied for the foreseeable future</3

w/c: 1.3k

PT2

The BAU’s conference room buzzed with quiet conversation as Penelope practically skipped to the front, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Okay, you guys are NOT ready for this,” she squealed, dramatically spinning around to face the team. “So, picture this: I’m at the concert, having the time of my life, and then—oh, it gets better—SHE PULLS OUT MY FAVORITE OUTFIT! She hasn’t worn it in forever, but THEN—”

“Penelope,” Hotch interrupted, rubbing his temples. “A point would be helpful.”

“I am getting to the point, oh fearless leader,” she huffed before connecting her laptop to the large screen at the front of the room.

The screen flickered to life just as Spencer walked in, hair still slightly damp from a rushed morning routine, a mug of coffee in one hand and a case file in the other. He yawned, blinking sleepily.

“Good morning,” he mumbled, dropping into his chair.

“Oh, great, perfect timing, Doctor Reid, because you, my dear genius, are going to want to see this,” Penelope chirped, clicking a button.

The video loaded, showing a stage bathed in bright lights and a familiar figure at the center. The moment Spencer realized who he was looking at, his stomach tightened.

You.

The headline above the video made it even worse.

‘America’s Sweetheart Has a Boyfriend?!’

Spencer stiffened, shoulders squaring as he desperately tried to keep his expression neutral. It didn’t work.

“Ooooooh, this is gonna be good,” Emily murmured, leaning forward with a grin.

The video played. The intermission segment of your concert, where you spun a game wheel, laughing into the mic as you introduced the next topic. The wheel landed on Bed Chem. The audience erupted into cheers, but instead of launching into the song, you tilted your head, suppressing a mischievous smile.

“Okay, first of all, this is a really obscure one, hear me out,” you prefaced, placing a hand over your mouth as you laughed. The crowd quieted just enough to listen.

“You know that one FBI guy who was on the news this week? The tall one with the brown hair?”

The arena roared in agreement.

JJ turned to Spencer with wide eyes. “Oh my God.”

Spencer paled. “Oh my God.”

Morgan smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Go on, Pretty Boy, let’s hear what she has to say about you.”

On screen, you ran a hand through your hair, adjusting your sparkly red lingerie costume, the curve off your hips and thighs on full display, looking half-amused and half-mortified. “Okay, I genuinely believe—God forgive me if he’s got a girlfriend—but I could take him… Not in a fight, though. He could make me Juno.”

The crowd lost their minds. You smiled, nodding as if you were confirming an inside joke. “I mean, look at him! He’s got that whole cute, unapproachable genius thing going on, but I bet you, under all that statistical analysis, he’s really good in bed. Guys we would have the cutest babies.” You shook your head dismissively and walked towards the back of the stage, your glittery eyeshadow and gloss shining in the spotlight.

The audience howled,

The room went silent.

Then, chaos.

“OH—OH MY GOD,” Emily shrieked, slapping the table. “Reid! You have the most famous singer right now after you”

JJ was laughing behind her hand. Even Rossi looked mildly entertained.

Meanwhile, Spencer stared at the screen in pure horror. “I—what—I don’t—” He ran a hand through his hair, completely at a loss.

Penelope clutched her chest dramatically. “Spencer, how DARE you not tell us you’re a muse for America’s sweetheart?”

“She’s not—I mean, we know each other, but—” Spencer was floundering, his ears turning pink.

Emily grinned wickedly. “YOU KNOW HER? And you never told us? After all the times I paid full price for concert tickets?!”

Spencer’s face was burning. “I—”

“Hey, let’s not forget she did say she could take you,” Morgan teased, nudging his shoulder. “Not in a fight, though.”

The teasing continued, but Spencer had stopped listening. His gaze was still locked on the screen, on you—smiling, laughing, looking effortlessly radiant under the stage lights.

Hours later, the teasing hadn’t stopped.

If anything, it had only gotten worse.

Ever since Penelope’s infamous concert video, the team had been relentless. Any time Spencer so much as breathed, someone found a way to bring you up.

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” Derek grinned as Spencer entered the bullpen, holding a coffee cup. “That statistical analysis and good in bed working out for you?”

Spencer groaned. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Emily piped up, spinning her chair around. “I mean, America’s sweetheart just exposed her FBI crush to a stadium full of people—and we had to find out from a viral video?”

“I still don’t get why you’re all so invested,” Spencer muttered, sinking into his chair.

JJ smirked from her desk. “Oh, we’re not invested—”

“We’re just waiting for you to admit why she thinks you’re good in bed,” Emily finished, grinning.

Spencer opened his mouth, ready to argue, but a new voice interrupted.

“Guys,” Hotch sighed, stepping out of his office. “Leave Reid alone.”

Spencer exhaled, relieved—until Hotch added, “For now.”

He knew.

They all knew.

It was inevitable at this point. He couldn’t hide it anymore—not when Penelope had somehow dug up even more videos of you talking about him, not when Twitter was obsessed with connecting the dots between your song lyrics and a certain “mystery genius.”

Not when you’d literally texted him this morning:

Y/N: Babe, I’m sorry, I didn’t know they were recording the concert. I can take it back if u want😭

Spencer: That won’t be necessary.

Y/N: thank God, didnt wanna have to explain the whole “I could take him” line…

Spencer: …

Yeah. It was time.

—

Later that evening, the team sat around the round table in the conference room, finishing up paperwork from their last case.

“So, Reid,” Rossi began casually, flipping through a file. “Any fun weekend plans? Or will you be locked away with your books?”

Spencer sighed. “Actually…” He set his pen down, taking a deep breath. “I was planning to spend the weekend with my girlfriend...”

Silence.

Then—

“WHAT?”

Morgan nearly fell out of his chair. Emily’s jaw dropped. Penelope let out an actual squeal.

JJ gasped. “Wait, wait, you mean actually—”

“Yes.” Spencer sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’ve been dating for a while now.”

Rossi just chuckled, sipping his espresso. “Called it.”

Morgan gawked. “Hold on, hold on—you’re telling me you’ve been dating a literal pop star, and you just forgot to mention it?”

“To be fair,” Spencer muttered, “it was classified information until about a week ago when she publicly humiliated me on stage.”

Emily shook her head, still in shock. “Wait—how did this even happen?”

Spencer hesitated, then pulled out his phone, scrolling through his photos until he found one he’d taken months ago: a candid shot of you sitting on his couch, curled up in one of his sweaters, reading a book. You had a mug of tea in your hands, and the look on your face was one of pure, quiet contentment. Another displayed you at the park, feeding bunnies.

The team stared.

“She likes books,” Spencer explained simply. “I like books. It wasn’t that complicated.”

Morgan threw his hands up. “Not complicated? You’re dating America’s sweetheart—that is, by definition, complicated.”

Penelope was practically vibrating. “Oh my God, wait, is she coming here? Can she visit? Can she sign my vinyl?”

Spencer smirked slightly. “I don’t know… depends on how much more you all tease me.” He shoved his hands on his pockets.

The team erupted into protests.

“Come on, Pretty Boy, you can’t just drop a bomb like that and not deliver!”

JJ grinned. “Seriously, Spence. You have to bring her in at some point.”

Spencer shook his head, amused. “We’ll see.”

But as he looked down at his phone—where a new message from you popped up (Y/N: Tell them I say hi, genius)—he had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before you made your grand entrance.

[no-144444]

carpet confessions- l.hamilton

summary: you surprise lewis on the red carpet, he surprises the world with some news

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem! reader

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Lewis had no idea you’d be there when he pulled up to the stupid livery launch thing. He had no interest in it, other than sitting there and being perfectly polite. You were supposed to be his plus one, but you’d been called overseas for work as the Indycar season started, so you couldn’t make it. 

Or so you thought. 

As things wrapped up with Daytona, the interviewer you were filling in for recovered from the flu quickly, so you rushed back to London to be there with Lewis. 

You stood on the red carpet with a gorgeous long red dress on, perfect for his new team, ready to ask some questions to the drivers. Lewis and Charles showed up in style, posing with Fred as they got out of the car. He looked up to pick a camera to look at, and all he saw was you, 20 metres down the carpet. His jaw dropped and he rushed over, forgetting about the photo and just rushing up to you. He wrapped his hands around your waist as he pressed his lips to yours, the crowd going crazy. 

“Couldn’t make it?” he pulled back, sassy as ever. 

“Things change,” you shrugged, smirking. 

“I am so glad to see you,” he smiled, taking your arm and starting to walk up the carpet. . 

“Woah mister,” you stopped. “I’m not off the clock,” you pointed out the big SkySportsF1 camera in front of the two of you, which had in fact video your entire greeting, broadcasting it to many screens. “So, Sir Lewis Hamilton, how are you feeling about tonight?” you asked, going straight into interviewer mode. 

He rolled his eyes but kept his arm around your waist and smiled. “I’m feeling good, very excited to start this new chapter. How are you doing Mrs. Hamilton?” 

Your jaw dropped as you lowered your microphone. “Lewis!” you scolded. “I thought we weren’t telling people-”

He grabbed your mic and lifted up your left hand, showing off the engagement and wedding rings there. “We got married over the break!” he cheered into the mic as again, the crowd on the carpet went wild. You just chuckled along with him, shaking your head. 

Lando came up behind you two, grabbing the mic off of Lewis and adding his own news. “Lewis cried the whole way through his vows!” he shouted into the mic with a cheeky grin as Lewis rolled his eyes, then he gave the mic back to you and ran. 

“Oh and he almost dropped the ring,” you told the camera before Lewis pulled the mic out of your hand.  “Yeah, yeah, enough. I’m going to commandeer this lovely interviewer from you, if you don’t mind Sky, and I’m going to enjoy my night with my wonderful wife,” he smiled into the camera, then waved, and whisked you down the carpet.

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ferrari masterlist