#very very happy with how these turned out!!!

[astonmartinii]

you're (govern)mental

pairing: alex albon x fem prime minister’s daughter reader

there’s a new family in downing street, the home of british politics, but one member prefers the home of british motorsports.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

autosport

liked by landonorris, alexalbon and 189,034 others

tagged: yourusername

autosport: there’s a new family in ten downing street, and rumour says they’re big motorsport fans

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user1: deadass are we going to get the prime minister at an f1 race

user2: spending tax payer money on the prime minister watching lando norris bin it turn one at silverstone?

user3: valid imo

landonorris: omg royalty loves us ???

user4: stay in school kids

georgerussell63: lando surely you know the prime minister is not in the royal family

landonorris: there was an election?

alexalbon: we helped you fill out your postal vote?

landonorris: i thought that was my tax form

georgerussell63: we did help you with that as well

alexalbon: we live in monaco?

alexalbon: real question - how are you still alive?

oscarpiastri: i ask myself that everyday

landonorris: is it national bully lando day today?

user5: that’s everyday for user5

user6: is now a good time to confess that me and y/n y/ln used to be f1 twt mutuals

user7: excuse me?

user8: holy lore drop

user9: please tell us who she roots for

user5: let’s just say she was in the trenches for a certain red bull driver in 2020

user10: alex albon stan? her dad has my vote next election

user11: that’s not a good reason to vote?

user12: a better reason that some others lmao

olliebearman: DO I GET TO GO TO DOWNING STREET?

kimiantonelli: i don’t think that’s how that works

olliebearman: well if y/n y/ln likes f1 then she has to like me right?

kimiantonelli: okay mr big head

yourusername: i saw your sprint win at silverstone kimi, very impressive

kimiantonelli: SUCK ON THAT OLLIE

olliebearman: not fair I’M THE BRIT

user13: the prime minister’s daughter mediating a fight between rookies?

user14: oh baby she’s instigating

yourusername: also for all interested - i will be paying for my own ticket and transport for any race i go to! i’m a big girl with a big girl job, i pay my taxes and not yours

user15: omg queen

alexalbon

liked by yourusername, georgerussell63 and 569,023 others

tagged: williamsf1

alexalbon: so happy to announce that i’ve extended my contract at williams, you can't get rid of me that easily

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user16: we won

user17: suicide CANCELLED

user18: *postponed just in case the williams isn’t any good

yourusername: woooooooooo 🥳 let’s go alex!!!

alexalbon: why thank you ma’am

yourusername: you don’t have to call me ma’am alex

yourusername: in fact it makes me feel quite old

alexalbon: can i call you mine instead?

yourusename: 😊

user19: what on earth just happened?

user20: chat are we seeing this

user21: hold on, let me get my notepad out

maxverstappen1: happy for you brother! hopefully you’ll be back up near the front this season

alexalbon: thank you max

maxverstappen1: okay now that’s out of the way

alexalbon: ???

maxverstappen1: what the fuck is happening in this comment section sir?

alexalbon: what?

maxverstappen1: you’re not seriously flirting with the prime minister’s daughter?

alexalbon: trust the process

maxverstappen1: is he going to get himself put on a list?

user22: how has this celebratory post descended into alex albon being put on a government watch list

yourusername: i can assure you the only watch list alex is being put on is my own personal one

user23: can she say that?

user24: well we definitely don’t doubt she runs her own instagram now

landonorris: i have many tiktok edits saved of alex if you want me to send them to you

user25: okay now that’s a comment that gets you put on a watch list

landonorris: i am just trying to be a good friend!!!!

georgerussell63: i am electing to ignore the mess in this comment section as we will go through it slide by slide over dinner tomorrow, but congrats alex, williams are lucky to have you

alexalbon: what if i’m not free tomorrow?

georgerussell63: what do you mean? we ALWAYS have dinner together on tuesdays :(

alexalbon: maybe i am busy?

yourusername: hhehehehehe

this comment was deleted

user26: she got sniped by the uk government lol

georgerussell63: good.

alexalbon: ???

yourusername

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 1,209,577 others

yourusername: back in the big smoke but still a busy woman

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user27: does that include being busy with a certain tall, handsome, funny and charming thai formula one driver who races for williams

user28: you know she’s got like a big deal job

user29: alex albon is a bigger deal (idk what she does)

user30: part time editor in chief full time alex albon enjoyer

liked by yourusername

georgerussell63: if that is the bottomless lasange spot in bank we will be having serious problems

yourusername: are you threatening me?

georgerussell63: i’m telling you to BACK OFF

yourusername: @carmenmundt are you seeing this nonsense?

carmenmundt: i just have to let him get it out, all these formula one boys have strange attachments to each other

georgerussell63: I DON’T HAVE ATTACHMENT ISSUES - ALEX IS MINE

alexalbon: do i get a say in this?

georgerussell63: we shared a throat infection? i can’t believe you’d just cast me aside after that 😞

yourusername: george you are rich enough for therapy, please get some

user31: i came here to appreciate the outfits and have seen people absolutely throwing hands with y/n in this comment section

user31: they’re all verified?

user31: THEY’RE FORMULA ONE DRIVERS?

lewishamilton: they’re really making us look bad in front of the wrong people

alexalbon: please do not rope me into this

yourusername: can you send me toto’s number, i have a complaint to make

georgerussell63: ALEX DON’T LET HER CALL MY BOSS

alexalbon: she’s not calling toto

georgerussell63: oh good

alexalbon: WE are

georgerussell63: i will never forget this

yourusername: i can live with that

user32: also this joking about alex’s flirting getting him on a watchlist but it’s george who might be fucked?

landonorris: @yourusername hey if you come to a race will MI6 kill george?

georgerussell63: why would you ask this?

landonorris: curious…

yourusername: you guys know i don’t have command of like all security in britain right?

alexalbon: and who needs that when i’m right here?

yourusername: exactly

kimiantonelli: george has told me to inform you all he’s going on a social media detox because of your ‘negativity’ and wants to make sure you feel bad

kimiantonelli: no don’t put the end bit

kimiantonelli: stop

kimiantonelli: no i don’t want to tell them to feel bad they should just feel bad

kimiantonelli: why is it still commenting

kimiantonelli: it’s writing what you told it?

kimiantonelli: why are you using text to speech?

kimiantonelli: HAS IT COMMENTED ALL OF THIS

yourusername: how are you people trusted with formula one cars

f1

liked by kimiantonelli, maxverstappen1 and 2,450,287 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, alexalbon, yourusername & landonorris

f1: the first race of the season is here and we’ve got company!

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user33: someone check on george

user34: i know it was confirmed by them and the literal UK government but holy hard launch

user35: the people have yearned for a real f1 power couple

kimiantonelli: @georgerussell63 look who’s here!

georgerussell63: do you mind?

kimiantonelli: oooooooh you’re so angry she destroyed your homoerotic friendship you’re getting alex withdrawls - you want to let me past

georgerussell63: STAY BACK

kimiantonelli: worth a try

georgerussell63: just you wait until someone worms their way between you and ollie

georgerussell63: then you’ll know how it feels

user36: so how long until alex gets to become a sir

user37: points i think!

yourusername: i think we need bigger stakes than that

user38: TELL US WHAT YOU KNOW

user39: ARE WILLIAMS COOKING?

williamsf1: why bother trying to create hype when we can just leave it to y/n

user40: @yourusername if alex gets a win can we declare it a national holiday?

yourusername: i don’t think you guys know how the british government works

yourusername: my dad is prime minister i am not the queen

alexalbon: you’re my queen

landonorris: take this shit elsewhere some of here are lactose intolerant

user41: 2025 is just a simulation at this point

user42: i’m honestly scared at this point

yourusername: thank you for welcoming me to the paddock, i’m so excited to see alex kill it this weekend!

alexalbon: can’t wait to show you what i’m good at

yourusername: you’re good at a lot of things…

landonorris: NOT PARKING

yourusername: that’s not what i was talking about

landonorris: well i can guarantee i am better than alex at whatever it is

alexalbon: i don’t think so and thankfully we’ll never know

landonorris: nuh uh i challenge you

yourusername: ABSOLUTELY NOT

oscarpiastri: btw he has no idea what you’re referencign and is unaware he’s challenging alex to a bedroom activities competition

landonorris: WHAT

alexalbon

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 782,091 others

tagged: yourusername, georgerussell63 & landonorris

alexalbon: best finish ever for williams, got to show off my day job to my lady and gained the prime minister as my dad - do NOT fuck with me on track or you’ll be arrested on entry at silverstone

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user43: alex albon you have to stop, your swag too good and your girl too pretty THEY’LL KILL YOU ALEX ALBON

user44: red bull knew, they tried to clip his wings

yourusername: alex… we can’t do that

alexalbon: so you don’t love me?

yourusername: i do love you, but that’s not how the government works…

georgerussell63: LOVE ???

georgerussell63: wait i’ll let you guys have your moment (begrudgingly)

yourusername: thanks?

alexalbon: i love you too 🥰

yourusername: you going to let me buy you a drink pretty boy?

alexalbon: only if you let me buy you one right back my gorgeous girl

yourusername: what a gentleman

alexalbon: well i’d do anything for you sooooooo

yourusername: right back at you handsome

user45: is george seeing sense for once

user46: i think it’s the podium haze that knocked him out of his psychosis

user47: he needs to donate his brain to science when he dies

albon_pets: sooooo when do we get to meet larry?

maxverstappen1: always asking the right questions - can my pets come too?

user45: i love how everyone else has lost their minds and max is trying to organise a meet up with the downing street cat

user46: i’d argue he’s gone just as insane, he’s talking to alex pretending to be his cats

lewishamilton: there’s nothing wrong with that!

user47: god i have seen what you have done for others

user48: @alexalbon how did you pull it off?

yourusername: more like how did i pull it off

alexalbon: nuh uh you’re the prize here

yourusername: how bout you get on the podium and be my actual trophy husband

alexalbon: @ everyone watch ur backs in china

yourusername: when he’s determined 😮‍💨

alexalbon: well i got you didn’t i?

yourusername: you’re mental pretty boy

alexalbon: you could say i’m govern-mental

alexalbon: am i right?

alexalbon: i think i have a chance in comedy, right?

yourusername: sure!

georgerussell63: she doesn’t believe in you like i do alex…

yourusername: SHUT UP

fin.

note: yes, yes two alex fics in two days but P5? ummm yep that needs to be celebrated!!

[itsraceweekbitches]

NAPKIN CONTRACTS

summary: You and Charles signed a contract as kids to get married at the age of 28 in case you’re both single. Charles makes a joke, but his messages with you get leaked and now everyone believes you’re getting married for real. Luckily, Max comes to the rescue. ✤ pairing: Max Verstappen x reader ✤ wc: 2.3k ✤ tags: fem!reader, childhood promises, marriage talks, fake relationship

215 days left until our 🎂 & 💍!

It’s supposed to be a simple, harmless countdown to your birthday, a happy and exciting celebration, but that ring emoji at the end equals a vicious threat in your mind. 

The whole thing began fifteen years ago, when you and Charles were playing video games in his room during one of your family’s annual extended stay in Monaco. He told you about a movie he saw, where the main characters made a promise to get married if they’re both alone when they’re thirty. 

“I wouldn’t wait that long, though. Thirty is… meh, every movie uses that age,” he began the explanation with a roll of his eyes. “Twenty-nine is too close. Twenty-eight, though–that’s good.”

All you managed to say was a confused “Huh?” before he paused the game and jumped up to run out of the room. After only a minute or two, he returned with two napkins that he put on his desk, then picked out a pen from the drawer.

When you walked over to him to see what he was doing, he glanced up at you with a grin. “I’m writing a contract. If neither of us is married when we turn twenty-eight, we get married,” he stated as if it was something you had both agreed to do.

But you hadn’t, you only listened to his train of thought when he picked the age. “Why on a napkin?” you asked curiously as you looked over his shoulder.

Charles let out a quiet chuckle as he shrugged. “That was the first thing I found.”

You signed it, believing it was nothing more but a game. 

Yet, a decade and a half later, here you are in Australia, looking at the countdown he has just sent you. Sure, there have been occasional jokes about this agreement after breakups, but now it seems to be more than just a joke.

It’s more like a promise. 

Being born on the same day, in the same hospital, brought your families together, and it inevitably led to the two of you becoming best friends. Whenever you were in the same city, you were inseparable, and your close friendship often raised questions about whether or not there was more to the story. 

The internet was full of articles, social media posts and edits that tried to prove the two of you were together, but you both learned to ignore them for your mental health’s sake. At first, of course, his team tried to stop the rumors, but then you just simply gave up. 

A loud banging on your door snaps you out of your thoughts, and your watch begins to vibrate on your wrist too, telling you Charles is calling. With a groan, you pick up your phone and accept the call.

“Geez, calm down, I’m coming,” you tell him with an exasperated sigh.

You jump off the couch and put the device on the coffee table before heading to the door. It’s free practice day, but you weren’t planning on going to the track just yet, the deal was a visit on Sunday. 

The only reason why you came to Australia was to talk to Nicole, who you had met at a race last year. She’s funny, the mother of your best friend’s jokingly-adopted child, it’s only natural to try and be friends with her. 

Before you can open the door, your watch notifies you of another call from Charles, which makes you wonder what’s so important. The moment you open the door, you take a deep breath and start a speech about how he should learn to be patient at his age.

But it’s not Charles that’s standing in the door. It’s a very confused-looking Max. 

“Mmm, okay?” he says slowly. “What did Charles do this time?” 

With a groan, you step aside to let him in. Since he and your best friend get along, you don’t have to pretend like you hated him too, but before that, you followed the Monegasque’s lead in this matter whenever they didn’t get along. Well, officially. Unofficially you’ve been friends with Max since your teenage years without a break.

He climbs over the back of the couch to sit down, then turns to you with a grin you can’t really place. “The countdown?” he suddenly asks.

When you hear his question, you’re mortified, because you definitely did not want anyone to know about your silly little agreement. Once you sit down too, you rest your elbows on your thighs and bury your face into your hands,

“Okay, it is about the countdown,” Max begins, dragging out each word as if he had to think about what to say. “Hey, just because you made some promise as kids, and because you both happen to be single in the year of the deadline–”

“You know about the deal?! How?”

Letting out a laugh, Max nonchalantly waves with his hand. “He told me when we were drunk at a party, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that maybe it’s not such a bad thing. You have absolutely no luck when it comes to relationships, he’s also been single for a good month now,” he explains. 

“Wow, thanks. So?”

“So, you might as well double down and get married sooner,” he suggests with a shrug. A shrug that’s a little too casual to your liking. 

You want to respond, you want to say something—anything, really—but no words come to your mind. You definitely do not want to marry your best friend, it would be too weird, too cliché, yet you have absolutely no idea how to tell him that if he’s serious. 

Meanwhile the always observant Max notices your hesitation and puts the puzzle pieces together. “You don’t want to do it,” he says flatly, his head slightly tilted to the side as he watches you. 

When you nod, he lets out a sigh and leans back and rests his arm on the back of the couch.

“Look, I was just teasing you with the idea of getting married right now. If you ask me, that deal is more like a joke, I’m sure Charles isn’t serious about getting married. He’s just messing with you.”

“You think so?” 

“Yeah, absolutely. But if you’d rather avoid him just to be sure, or you feel like staying away from him, you know you’re always welcome at RBR,” he says with a warm smile.

Drawing in a deep breath, you lean back too and look at the ceiling. You probably just overreacted, that’s all. 

Charles doesn’t want to get married anytime soon, he said it himself last year when he was still in a serious relationship, so nothing pointed in the direction of a change of his mind.

Maybe Max is onto something with that avoiding him solution, maybe some time is what you need to let the panic go. Because you did start to spiral at the thought, which usually didn’t happen to you.

The comfortable silence between you is interrupted by a knock on the door, and you both turn around to look in that direction, as if you could see through the wood. Not a cell in your body is ready to talk to yet another human being, in fact you’re thinking about gently asking Max to leave too. 

But the knocking is followed by the notifications of an incoming call, and Charles’s name flashes on the screens. You let out a tired sigh, which is followed by a thoughtful hum from Max. 

“You’re not gonna answer? He’s probably the one knocking,” he says eventually. 

“Maybe I should,” you respond, yet you can’t get yourself to move.

Rolling his eyes, Max decides to take matters into his own hands and walks over to the door himself. You hear a hushed conversation, but you can’t make out the words, although you can imagine what it’s about.

And sure enough, you can see Charles shake his head as he mutters something under his breath before heading inside. “That was supposed to be a joke, don’t worry,” he announces while he walks around the couch to stand in front of you. 

Meanwhile Max caught up with him and stopped on his side. “That’s exactly what I told her.” You give him a pointed look that draws an exasperated sigh out of him. “Oh, come on, don’t give me that look.”

“It’s a good joke if it stays between us, but if you keep telling about this to random people you meet—”

“Random?” Max scoffs with his hands on his hips. “Thanks.”

“How do we know who else he told this about? Does Pierre know?” you ask, turning to your best friend.

Charles nods in response, but it’s painfully obvious that the accusation hurt him. “But he’s the only one. Beside Max, obviously. And maybe Lorenzo also knows. He found the contract back in the day,” he admits with a sheepish grin.

There’s nothing you could say to that, so you blow out the air you’ve been holding, then lean your head back to look at the ceiling. “Anyone else?” He holds up his hand in an attempt to prove to you he swears there’s no one else. “Good.”

“Buuuuuut—” 

This elongated but grabs your attention immediately, because he usually says it this way when there’s something you definitely do not want to hear. So, you look back at him with a questioning look, your fingertips nervously tapping on your thighs.

“Well, maybe you should see this,” he begins as he opens an app on his phone, then hands the device to you. 

You look into his green eyes, waiting to hear some kind of hint to know what this is about, but he says nothing, only tears his gaze away. With a sigh, you look down at the screen and your brain stops functioning for a second when you read the title of the article. 

CHARLES LECLERC’S SECRET COUNTDOWN

Oh, fuck. 

The article is about what you expected it to be. In a leaked chat conversation Ferrari’s golden boy sent a countdown to his best friend—you, obviously—and the end date is their shared birthday. And what makes it so special is the ring emoji at the end of the event’s name, followed by a message that explicitly says he’s excited and can’t wait.

So, long story short, Charles and you will get married according to this gossip site. Which normally wouldn’t be a problem if it wasn’t the kind that’s usually reliable. 

“How bad is it?” you hesitantly ask as you give him back the device.

Charles lets out a low, humming sound. “It spread like wildfire,” he then admits. When he sees the mortified look on your face, he sits next to you and wraps an arm around your shoulder. “My team is already working on a way to fix this.”

You don’t say anything, mostly because you have absolutely no idea what you could possibly say in this situation. Meanwhile Max snatches the still unlocked phone from Charles’ hand to take a look at the article he has just shown you. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see that shit-eating grin on his face that always annoyed you. “What’s so funny?” you ask him.

Finally, he sits on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, and casually throws the phone to Charles before speaking up. “You have no choice but to spend the weekend with me,” he announces. 

“Ooooor, I’m not going at all. I’ll order some snacks and watch the race from here.”

“What? No,” your best friend protests immediately. “I mean, we want to discuss what to do now.”

Max lets out a laugh, seemingly enjoying this way too much. But the laughter is clearly meant for Charles, and your suspicion is confirmed when he speaks up. “What’s there to talk about? We all know you and Alex got back together like… two weeks after the breakup. You’re taken, mate.”

When you look at your friend in disbelief, you see him shake his head with a pained groan. “Thanks, she didn’t know,” he admits before turning to you. “Listen, I didn’t know how to tell you. I know you like her, but I guess I was afraid I’d screw it up again. I didn’t need a speech.”

“Awkward,” Max mutters as he tears his gaze away to look at the TV on the wall.

Both you and Charles give him a pointed look at this, then you turn back to explain to the Monegasque that you would have been happy to be there if he ever had doubts. You’re not scolding him, you’re just being nice. 

Once you both fall silent, Max lets out a sigh. “Do you have a recent photo with Alex?” he asks, earning a nod in response. “Ask her if you can post it, then post it. And you,” he begins as he turns to you, “need a boyfriend. It can be a fake relationship, and you know what? I volunteer.”

“What?” you and Charles ask in unison.

That you weren’t expecting. A fake relationship with Max? This would be big. Like, social media would explode in seconds, kind of big. You’re not sure if you would be ready for something like this.

Seeing your hesitation, he decides to explain the plan. “We will break up after your birthday. Or not, maybe by that time there will be a real proposal,” he adds with a grin and a wink.

“God, no,” you protest, and he makes a face of exaggerated hurt. “Max, this is sweet and nice, but I can’t do this.”

He shrugs. “It’s your decision, but think it through. There’s no other way.”

The boys leave eventually to head to the track, while you stay behind to think. As painful as it is to admit it, reading the comments and posts only make you realize that Max was onto something. There’s no other way. You have to start a fake relationship with him.

Well, fuck. 

That wasn’t part of the plan for this year. 

note: Thanks for reading. I wanted to keep a kinda open ending for two reasons. One, I want everyone to have their own version of the ending. Two, I have absolutely no idea how this fake relationship would end (breakup? engagement?)

[keerysfreckles]

obsessed — steve harrington

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

summary: the five most recent times dustin henderson has been a "cockblock" - (steve's words) during steve and y/n's relationship

warnings: use of y/n, she/her pronouns, kissing, makeout sessions, some allusions to smut but no smut written, slight swearing, takes place between s3 and s4! (not proofread)

a/n: guys this is only for @keerysbrowneyes if you're not aly.... BACK OFF

masterlist !

⋆ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ୨୧ ˚

steve harrington was, to say it nicely, obsessed with his girlfriend. in the summer of 1985 he was brave enough to ask her to be his, after the duo (plus robin buckley) almost died on july 4th. of course y/n said yes, kissing him eagerly before he dropped her off at her house.

dustin henderson was the first to find out. steve and y/n figured the teenager would be happy about it.

"we're his two favorite people, what could go wrong?" steve's words tried to comfort y/n before the couple told her younger brother the news.

"no. no, absolutely not," a very stubborn dustin paces in front of steve and y/n who are sat on the couch.

"dustin!" y/n can't help but let out a scoff, "what's your deal?"

"i don't want him canoodling you!"

"dude," steve laughs.

"do not say canoodle," y/n responds.

dustin moves on with an eye roll, "how did you ask her?" he points at steve.

steve nonchalantly shrugs, "during summer."

dustin sends him a skeptical look. "was it before or after you guys were kidnapped by russians?"

"after," steve responds quietly.

"dustin," y/n butts in, "can't you just be happy for us? and not give us a round of twenty questions?"

dustin finally stops pacing, sitting on the coffee table in front of the couple.

"you," he points to y/n, "no pda in front of me or the party." y/n nods at his request.

"and you," he points to steve, "don't get her pregnant."

y/n lets out a chuckle into her hand while steve turns bright red, yelling, "dude!"

"do we have a deal or not?"

steve sends y/n a helpless look, making y/n simply shrug, before turning back to dustin.

"you have a deal," y/n states.

"ah!" dustin interjects, while holding out his hand firmly.

y/n rolls her eyes, shaking his hand, making a deal with her brother. steve does the same, before dustin walks down the hallway to his bedroom.

"looks like no little harrington's for you," steve pokes y/n's side.

"oh please!" y/n gasps before chuckling again, "like that was going to happen anytime soon."

during the following month, the couple seemed to take dustin's "instructions" very well. they made sure to keep pda behind closed doors, and if it was in front of the party it was simply hand holding or light forehead kisses here and there. nothing some thirteen year olds couldn't handle witnessing.

1 - september 15th, 1985

"thank you steve," y/n smiles at steve in the driver's seat of his dark red bmw.

"of course. i knew our first real date had to be special," steve sends a smile back, while taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles.

steve pulled his car in front of the henderson household, and was quick to run to the passenger side to open y/n's door.

"you're ridiculous," she states as steve helps her out of the car.

"and you're gorgeous," he responds, before kissing her temple.

steve walks her to her door, like any true gentleman would. y/n turns to steve, and leans up to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

steve tilts his head, "you missed."

y/n lovingly rolls her eyes, but leans up again and presses her lips to his. steve's hands move to hold her waist, and y/n can't help but let out a giggle, causing steve to deepend the kiss slightly.

as he was about to press his tongue past her slightly swolen lips, a creaking sound disrupted their moment.

"ahem," dustin lets out an overly obnoxious cough.

y/n and steve both turn to see dustin, eyes locked on the two, with his arms crossed.

before the pair can get any sort of lecture, steve kisses y/n's cheek, before yelling out a response while running back to his car. y/n follows his lead, and runs into the house past dustin, and down the hallway to her bedroom. now leaving an annoyed, butthurt dustin by the front door.

2 - october 31st, 1985

"why'd you have to pick such a nerdy costume?" steve complains, fixing his brown vest adoring his torso.

y/n turns from finishing her hair in her bedroom mirror. "because you love me and my nerdy interests," she smiles, looking up and down at steve's outfit.

steve rolls his eyes as she walks over to him, running her fingers lightly over the unbuttoned fabric of steve's white shirt. "plus you make a hot han solo," she whispers before kissing steve's jaw.

as y/n pulls away to add her final accessories to her costume, steve grabs her wrist to pull her back to him.

"well you make a hot princess leia," steve smirks before pulling the girl into a kiss.

y/n's hands move to run through steve's soft and tamed hair, making him involuntarily groan against her lips. the kiss deepens as steve bites her lower lip, allowing his tongue through.

"steve," y/n breathes out between mind numbing kisses. "steve," she calls again.

he simply mumbles a response, moving from kissing her lips to leaving heavy kisses down her neck.

y/n blushes as steve starts sucking right below her jaw.

"babe, we have a halloween party to go to," y/n words say something different than her actions, as she only holds the boy closer to her, her hold on his shoulders never faltering.

"we could just stay here," steve kisses down her neck, leaving more dark spots in his wake. he talks in between kisses, "have a nice," kiss "quiet," kiss "night in."

y/n was well aware of the hidden meaning behind steve's words, knowing he'll take care of her when the time is right.

she lightly tugs on his hair, finally pulling his lips away from her neck. she's met with a doe-eyed steve, who's swolen lips are parted and cheeks are pink. she's about to respond, however another voice catches both older teens off gaurd.

"what the hell steve!" dustin calls from the ajar door of y/n's bedroom, pushing it open slightly. he's quick to notice the trail of hickeys leading down his sister's neck, making the girl turn her head to hide behind steve.

"what? it was behind closed doors!" he yells, watching as dustin just shakes his head and grumbles something under his breath while leaving down the hallway to meet with the party.

3 - november 24th, 1985

one thing y/n always found weird, was going to the same school as her brother. she was in her senior year of high school, while dustin was finally in his first. she was just thankful she still had nancy wheeler to talk to, that is when she wasn't being harassed by her brother to join in on his new friend's dnd campaign.

"thank you again y/n. seriously i owe you," nancy flips her reporters notebook closed, finally being able to breath at having the details from the basketball game the previous night.

the two girls bid goodbye, and just like magic dustin is now standing next to y/n as she closes her locker.

"no," y/n deadpans, knowing the next words that will come out of her brother's mouth.

dustin begins with his usual ranting of 'please' over and over again, as the siblings walk down the hallway.

"y/n come on, mike can't make it this week because he got grounded again for talking to el instead of finishing his history work. we need a fill in!"

"dustin, how many times do i have to tell you. i'm not joining your campaign. i don't care about dnd, and i don't want to be in the same room as eddie munson for two hours."

the siblings are now outside, walking towards the large parking lot.

as dustin begins begging again, he cuts himself off at the sight of steve leaning against his car, "what is he doing here? he graduated already."

"picking me up," y/n responds, earning a groan from her brother.

"when will you man up and get a licence?"

"i don't need a licence if i have a boyfriend to drive me everywhere."

"you're impossible," dustin gives up, stopping in his tracks as y/n happily jogs over to steve, greeting him with a kiss on the lips.

"what took so long?" steve asks, his hands rubbing up and down y/n's sides, causing goosebumps to fill her exposed skin.

"nance needed some newspaper stuff, and dustin would not stop bothering me about joining the campaign."

"he's asking again?"

y/n nods, "i guess mike is out and they need a replacement."

"did you say no?"

y/n simply nods again

steve smirks, "good," he leans down to bring his lips to y/n's.

"come on," steve tilts his head to his car, "that means we have a house to ourselves for a bit."

"why can't we just go to your house if we don't want dustin being dustin?" y/n asks while getting into the passenger seat, turning slightly to steve.

steve's cheeks blush ever so slightly, "you're room is just so nice, and comfortable."

"aw, baby you're cute," y/n giggles and leans over the center console to kiss steve's cheeks.

"you missed," steve says his favorite way to get his girl to kiss him, causing her to roll her eyes and grab his chin, forcing him to look at her.

"and you're annoying," but y/n kisses him nonetheless.

before the kiss can progress any further, a heavy knock on steve's window breaks the two apart.

steve sighs, and wipes off any possible lipstick from his cheeks or lips, as he rolls down the window.

"before you bone my sister," steve and y/n grimace at dustin's words before he continues, "how would you feel about joining eddie's dnd campaign tonight?"

steve is shaking his head before dustin can even finish his question, "no way."

"you both suck!" dustin groans while taking defeat and walking back in the direction of the high school.

steve rolls his window up and shrugs, "oh y/n does, and pretty well i may add."

y/n immediately slaps him against his chest as he drives off, however her cheeks are now tinted pink, and it's not because of her blush.

4 - january 9th, 1986

"why did i agree to you helping me study," y/n groans in frustration.

"because you love me," steve smiles while flicking to the next flash card.

"we haven't gotten anything done," y/n argues, "i couldn't possibly tell you anything about certain equations or formulas."

"maybe you're in need of a stress reliever," steve slyly suggests, tossing the flash cards onto y/n's bedside table.

"what do you mean?" y/n's eyebrows furrow, watching steve sit up closer to her. he turns his head kisses right below y/n's ear, nipping at the skin. his hand moves towards her hair, pulling it slightly so it's out of the way.

"steve," y/n tries pushing him off, "this is not going to he-"

y/n's words are cut off as she exhales deeply as steve begins kissing lower on her neck. his other hand makes it's way up her thigh under her skirt. y/n looks down at his hand, making steve move his lips away from her neck.

"do you trust me?" his voice is soft. y/n looks into his eyes, seeing nothing but a home inside the dark brown color. she nods, but steve shakes his head.

"i need you to say it baby."

y/n nods again anyways, "i trust you steve."

steve smiles warmly as he leans back in to kiss y/n. his hand remains on her thigh as hers move to grab his shoulders. the two don't dare disconnect as steve easily maneuvers them. he's sitting back against her head board, while she's placed on his lap, feeling how hard he is between her clothed legs.

steve pulls away, barely, as his breath mingles with hers, "we're home alone right?"

y/n nods, "yeah, yeah no one should be home until later." she leans back in to kiss him again, feeling almost dizzy as steve's warm hands begin to bring her skirt down her legs. he does it so effortlessly, she can't even begin to feel embarrassed as she's almost half naked on top of him.

y/n's hands run down from his shoulders towards the bottom hem of his shirt, playing with the fabric. she begins bringing the material up, making the two disconnect as steve lifts his arms so she can remove his shirt.

y/n can't help but stare at the sight of steve's toned and suddenly hairy chest. she can't resist the urge to squeeze her thighs together.

"you're unbelievable," steve smiles while kissing her again.

y/n takes her opportunity to move her lips away from steve's and trail them down slightly, gently kissing over the three prominent freckles adoring his cheeks, before moving down to kiss his neck.

he tilts his head back and groans at the feeling, while kneeding the flesh of her thighs underneath his hands.

while y/n continues her work on his neck, her hands roam until they find the metal of steve's belt buckle.

she begins fiddling with the accessory, until a large banging sound, accompanied by many sets of feets fill the void of the quiet house.

y/n looks just as confused as steve as he whispers, "you said no one was supposed to be home."

"yeah- yeah my mom's at that school fair thing and dustin's with the party."

just as y/n gets the final syllable out of her lips, dustin barges into her room, without knocking.

"jesus!"

"what the hell dustin!"

steve is as quick as he can be to cover y/n's lower half with a throw blanket from her bed, as she watches dustin searching through her room.

"what is your problem dustin?" y/n now begins moving from steve's lap, however he quietly grips her hip, hoping she gets the gesture. her cheeks turn pink again at the feeling of steve's arousal between her legs.

"mike's atari finally died on us, so we're using mine," dustin easily responds, continuing his search through y/n's closet.

steve and y/n turn their heads at the sight of the party standing at y/n's now open door awkwardly.

"dustin," y/n grits through her teeth.

"yeah?" dustin finally takes a look at the couple in their compromising position. his eyes widen, before he starts yelling out profanities and running out of the room. the party is quick to follow, but not before max mayfield yells out an apology while closing the bed room door.

y/n just sighs, and rests her head against steve's chest.

"i'm sorry," she mutters, while steve begins running his fingers through the ends of her slightly knotted hair.

steve shakes his head even though the girl can't see his actions, "no need to be sorry baby. it's not your fault your brother's an idiot."

a moment of silence passes, until y/n speaks up, "i still want it to be with you. i trust you."

steve swears his heart stopped beating at her words. he smiles like a little kid in a candy store, then leans down pressing a comforting kiss to the top of y/n's head.

5 - march 22nd, 1986

y/n was more than grateful spring break finally arrived. no tests, quizzes or annoying sheets of homework for seven whole days. that just means she gets to spend seven whole days with her boyfriend at his house with an unoccupied pool.

with the party.

y/n absolutely adored the party, even if they were starting to get on her nerves more times than they weren't. she still loved them.

since the incident a little over two months ago, steve can tell y/n has been sexually frustrated. the two have had differing schedules with school and work, and could never find a time alone lately.

they still couldn't on this warm march day in hawkins, as steve, y/n, dustin, max, mike wheeler, and lucas and erica sinclair were all in steve's backyars, enjoying his refreshing pool.

dustin, lucas and mike were busy having some sort of fight in the water. a fight y/n didn't want to pay attention to.

erica was busy soaking on the sun on a faded beach towel.

max was reading in a lounge chair in the shade, content with her book and iced lemonade.

y/n and steve were sharing a lounge chair, as they talked about an upcoming trip they had created for the summer after y/n graduated.

y/n giggled at something obnoxious steve whispered in her ear, as max called out, "hey steve? could i have some more lemonade?"

steve nods at the younger girl's request, "i'll just bring the pitcher out for you."

max yells a 'thank you' as steve walks inside. y/n can't help but stare at steve as he closes the sliding glass door. she stands from the chair, thankful that the party is all too busy to notice her follow her boyfriend inside.

she makes her way into the kitchen, watching steve pull out the cool jar of lemonade from the fridge, as well as a container of watermelon.

"oh hey hun," steve turns and notices y/n walking towards him. "you need anything?"

y/n doesn't respond. she simply brings her hand to lightly scratch at his back, knowing he absolutely loves it, as she places a peck on his tanned shoulder.

she looks up at him in a way that could make steve surrender. he starts shaking his head, "baby everybody's outside. we can't."

she stands on her toes to press her lips to his, "after?" she asks in her softest tone.

steve quickly nods, "god yes," he breathes out as y/n pulls away, only for him to push his lips on her again.

"you're lucky i'm not dustin," max speaks up as she walks in the kitchen, causing the two to split up.

"thanks for the lemonade," she sends steve a look, before walking out with the pitcher in her hands.

steve turns at the sound of y/n giggling, "you're lucky you're cute."

[ari-ana-bel-la]

George and his little one getting caught by the DTS crew as he was busy doing her hair as she just pouts since he "ruined" her hairstyles and wanted a new one

Behind the Scenes

The Netflix crew had been shadowing the Mercedes team all day, capturing everything from Toto’s intense strategy discussions to Kimi Antonelli’s quiet moments as he prepared for his next run. But there was one person they hadn’t managed to get much footage of—George.

It wasn’t intentional. He’d just been busy, but not with meetings or car debriefs. No, he’d spent most of the day with his four-year-old daughter, Yn. She was his little shadow, his greatest joy, and today, he had chosen to prioritize her over the cameras.

That’s why, when the Netflix crew entered the Mercedes lounge area, they weren’t expecting to stumble upon a moment far more intimate than any strategy meeting or garage footage.

There, in the cozy corner of the lounge, sat Yn. Her tiny frame was perched on one of the padded chairs, her legs swinging back and forth as she focused intently on the brightly colored picture book in front of her. The book was almost too big for her lap, but she managed, her small fingers tracing over the illustrations as she whispered to herself, completely lost in the story.

Behind her stood George, carefully running a brush through her beautiful hair. His expression was one of concentration, his brows furrowed as he tried to smooth out the little tangles without pulling too hard.

Yn had a small pout on her lips, her nose scrunched up in dissatisfaction. It was subtle, but George noticed instantly. He always did.

“Oh no, what’s this?” he murmured, setting the brush down for a moment to press a quick kiss to her cheek. “Are you mad at me, my love?”

Yn let out a tiny huff, crossing her arms. “You ruined my hair.”

George blinked, then looked at her hair again. Sure, it was a little messy from where he had been brushing it, but—oh. He understood now.

“Ah,” he said knowingly, nodding. “Mummy did it this morning, didn’t she?”

Yn nodded, her lips still pushed out in that adorable pout.

George bit back a chuckle. “I’m very sorry, princess,” he said solemnly, kissing her cheek again. “I didn’t mean to mess it up.”

Yn peeked up at him through her lashes, as if considering whether to accept his apology. George, sensing he needed to sweeten the deal, leaned in closer.

“How about this?” he whispered conspiratorially. “I’ll do your hair again, and I promise it’ll be just as good as Mummy’s. Maybe even better.”

Yn’s pout wavered. “Promise?”

George placed a hand over his heart. “Cross my heart.”

That earned him a small, wobbly smile, and George grinned in return, pressing another kiss to her temple before picking up the brush again.

Unbeknownst to him, the Netflix crew was filming the entire thing. They had stayed hidden, knowing that this was one of those golden, unscripted moments that truly captured the human side of the drivers. They didn’t want to interrupt; they just wanted to watch.

George worked diligently, his hands gentle as he divided Yn’s hair into sections. He wasn’t as quick as Carmen, nor was he as skilled, but he was determined to make his little girl happy.

“So, what are we thinking?” he mused. “A ponytail? Pigtails? A bun?”

Yn scrunched up her nose, deep in thought. “Braid.”

“Ah, a fine choice,” George said, nodding seriously. “A classic.”

He carefully began twisting her hair into a braid, his fingers moving slowly to make sure it wasn’t too tight.

As he worked, Yn continued flipping through her book, occasionally humming a little tune under her breath. The soft atmosphere of the lounge made it feel like they were in their own little world, far away from the noise of the paddock.

“Almost done,” George announced after a few minutes, securing the braid with a small hair tie he had kept in his pocket. “Now, let’s see if Daddy’s work passes the test.”

He pulled out his phone and snapped a quick picture before turning the screen toward Yn. “What do you think?”

Yn’s face lit up. “I love it!”

And then, before George could react, she flung herself into his arms.

George, always prepared, caught her easily, wrapping his arms securely around her tiny frame. He held her close, pressing a hand against her back as she snuggled into him.

“Best Daddy,” she mumbled into his chest.

George’s heart melted. “And you’re the best little girl.”

The Netflix crew, recognizing that this moment was too private to exploit, slowly backed away, shutting off their cameras as they left the lounge.

Some moments were just meant to be cherished—not filmed.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

[auroras-void]

Hmn interesting, I don't have any experiences with psychosis, but I actually also relate to this.

Less so the ominous messages but moreso just in how my brain processes information like this. With the little HUD overlays and weird ponderings of normal objects.

For me it's like, I enter into a new environment, and I pick out a random detail and I write some information about it into RAM, and I repeat for other objects around me until I've built a complete scene and my brain kinda looks like this. I don't literally see a HUD but the way it outlines what my brain is actually processing feels like, spot on.

Especially the sensory ones, like the individual rain drops being highlighted, or the bright spot on the ground getting more attention than the cars and people walking by. A lot of the weird observations too, I look for small little mundane things and find ways that they make me happy, I look for patterns to link them to, fun facts I know, things that would make a good photo, a good sketch or a good poem. All sorts of things.

Sometimes I disassemble them in my mind and turn them in a schematic overlay, or a wire mesh (not as like a 'this isn't real' way (usually), but as in a 'how would I make this in Blender' type way), sometimes its a microscopic view, or I imagine the atomic structures of the things around me, and I have figures from various science textbooks around me. Houses often get blown up into a parts diagram as I imagine foundation, framing, utilities, sheathing, roofing, finish work step by step. Sometimes theres sketch layers and brush strokes.

And then meanwhile there is this larger primary monologue going on in my brain, it doesn't really get attached to objects and observations as much as I see here, (though part of that pattern recognition process includes looking for things that seem like good symbolism for whatever I'm thinking about or what emotions I'm feeling). It often feels like a separate space inside my head that I retreat into, or also sometimes it can be like, my imagination is this plane of existence adjacent to the real world along the w-axis of 4-D space, it's filled with stars and nebula sometimes, but if my thoughts are running wild and I'm under a lot of stress, it actually does kinda spill out like this, but it usually feels less connected to the normal observations, like that hud information is processed and then hastily scrawled over with my main monologue before I can read it. Or like different parts of that hud are being highlighted and clicked on to fit a narrative. (Be it positive or negative)

It doesn't always look exactly like this, especially when that main thread is really locked in on a task, or I'm in a familiar environment where there's little vying for attention, (though if I'm bored I will often start trying to look for things to create these processes almost subconsciously, (and there's *always* something that will, and I can also always just start looking for them in my imagination)). But like, I have experienced this video before, it feels very,, familiar. Like I've even had fairly similar amounts and kinds of observations before, (albeit with different specifics that are more my own voice.)

Noisy environments in particular though do this to me, and particularly bad ones might have so much that it's cluttering the whole "screen", it's what makes them so stressful. Because it's like, each of these loads stuff into memory and starts processes that are all going onto the same CPU thread. Once you have too many going you get performance drops as the processor has to rapidly switch between active programs and you start to run out of DRAM. And it starts putting more and more elements onto the screen making it harder and harder to see or to focus on any of it.

(Worth noting for all of this, that I do have a RAADS-R score of 97, an MQ of 93 and an ADHD diagnosis lol.)

[chaosartic]

Throw away the caution! Part 2 | LN4

word count: roughly 2k

warning: shitty writing, confusing, pinning, mention of alcohol, drinking and getting tipsy/drunk

summary: Lando (annoyingly) has a crush on non other than his best friends younger sister, Y/n Fewtrell. It was his well kept secret. Why? Because he knows how overprotective Max is of you. What happens when Carlos and Oscar find out about it? Will a drunken night out celebrating a race weekend change their relationship?

a/n: I’m so so sorry for the long wait but here it is, the second part! Please still ignore the terrible writing I’m still exploring with my style and such. Check out part one here!

The paddock is already bustling with energy when you and Max walked in. The journalists are trying to get some last minute shots and stories out of everyone. You wouldn’t say that you’re used to cameras being pointed at you or being quizzed by the media. But then again it didn’t surprise you that much when it happened. When Lando joined Formula One some attention also turned to his best friend whenever he was around. And since you normally spend your time during the race weekend with Max, there are some media pictures of you as well.

You stopped a few times along the way to the McLaren garage to talk with some of the drivers that you both know. When you reached the garage, the first one you saw was Oscar. “Hi guys,” he greeted the both of you. “Lando is still in the back,” he mentioned while pointing in the general direction. After a short greeting Max was already on his way to Lando. You however stayed in the front not sure if Lando really wanted you in his driver’s room after all.

“Sooo how do you feel about today?” You ask Oscar. “Excited but nervous,” he admits. “Home races are always… well different with all the fans around. My family is here as well. We’ll see how it goes,” Oscar confesses, getting slightly red around his cheeks. The younger McLaren driver was a bit nervous. At that moment Carlos decided to step up to the two of you. “Morning Carlos,” you greet him. “How was Sydney?” You ask, having just recently seen the pictures of him and Alex there. “It was good. How about your flight? Heard you arrived yesterday,” he said curiously.

“Same old, still don’t like the long flights,” you mention, Carlos knowing from previous conversations about your hate towards long distance flights. “But I’m very happy to be here for the full three days for a change.” You quickly add, gaze drifting towards the garage to see if your brother or Lando were back in the front. “I’ll go and grab something to drink. Do you want anything?” You ask the drivers but both are shaking their heads, no.

Oscar turns towards Carlos as soon as you are out of hearing range. “Am I imagining this?” he asks the Spaniard, pointing towards where you just went and where Lando is. For a quick second Carlos was confused by the younger driver's question before it clicked. “Oh, that. I’m honestly surprised that you mentioned it. And I mean the feelings are there you know from his side at least.” he confesses quietly to the Aussie, his Spanish accent getting stronger the more he tries to keep his voice down. After all, the media didn't need to know about this. “When did Lando tell you?” he asks the Aussie. “He didn’t,” Oscar says. “We spent an evening together at Max’s place. You know just us four and I saw the way he looks at here.” He admits, “he also wouldn’t shut up about her during testing in Bahrain. From what I know they’ve been talking a lot.”

”You don’t happen to know how she feels?” Oscar asks. Both ignore everything that is happening around too caught up in the conversation. “No I don’t,” he says. “I mean we are not that close so I never ask her and she wasn’t around much recently because of her private life.” Carlos adds. Oscar nodes in complete understanding. It would be weird if they just randomly went up to her and asked her about that, or would it? “They would be cute together…” Oscar trails off mid sentence. “Si,” Carlos agrees. They didn’t need to say it out loud, both drivers were on the same page. Try to figure out if you feel the same towards Lando and hopefully, depending on your answer, get the two of you together.

When you came back from getting a drink Carlos and Oscar were gone. Probably busy with preparations. You did spot Max outside casually talking to some McLaren personnel. You look around hoping to spot Lando before the first practice session. But luck wasn’t on your side. When you didn’t see the driver a strange feeling of disappointment overcame you. You could ask your brother if he knows where Lando is. It is the first race weekend after the winter break. Pressure and expectations for the team but especially Lando are at an all time high after the constructors title. Also Lando was the one to invite the both of you to Melbourne. It wouldn’t be suspicious if you ask your brother. At least that’s what you hope. You didn’t need your brother knowing about this strange situation.

“Do you know where Lando is?” You ask your brother, “I want to wish him good luck before the practice session.” “Last time I saw him he was in the garage but I think he went somewhere.” He says a bit unsure, now looking around trying to see if he can spot his best friend. “Oh okay. Well, it’s no trouble. I’ll catch him later,” you dismiss it. The feeling of disappointment only grows within you. It was as if Lando heard his name being called. He suddenly pops up out of nowhere. ”Y/n I’m so happy to have you here,” he exclaimed happily with a bright smile on his face. You know that the smile wasn’t because of you. It couldn't be.

“Just wanted to wish you good luck out there.” You say quickly, giving the Brit a hug. His arms wrap tightly around you for a few seconds before he lets go. Oscar can see the whole scene from a slight distance. The plan he made with Carlos would probably sound more than stupid to anyone else. However Oscar saw your smile when Lando gave you a hug and the slightly disappointed look as soon as he left. You are definitely feeling something for Lando, he was sure of that. And hiding that wasn’t your strong suit.

You spent as much as you could during the whole weekend with Lando. If he wasn't around your brother was mostly there to keep you company. Oscar and Carlos seem to be around her the whole time as well, sometimes directly in conversations and other times in the background. You love spending time with the other drivers so you really didn’t mind them being around.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He did it! Lando is the first winner of the 2025 season. The race was chaotic to say the least but it was good seeing your friend at the top of the podium. You couldn't be more proud of him. It was a bit after the race and you’re currently out with a few of the drivers at a local bar to celebrate the weekend. The night wouldn’t be too crazy, after all the Chinese GP is right around the corner.

You are sitting at one of the tables with some sort of cocktail in your hand. You're not exactly sure what was in it since it was a recommendation from one of the bartenders. No, you’re not drunk, nor was that the goal, but definitely a bit tipsy. Enough to loosen your tongue. Lando is sitting with you just idly chatting about whatever comes to mind.

”So y/n… can I ask you something a bit more personal?” Lando asks you. “Of course you can sillly,” you answer. “Well… it’s a bit weird but I heard Carlos talking to Oscar the other day about you uhm liking someone and I guess I just wonder who the lucky guy is..” he got out. He definitely had more to drink than you did and was already slipping into being drunk. Before he went out with you he was celebrating the win with this team.

You freeze for a second remembering a conversation you had with Carlos and Oscar on Saturday after qualifying. They came up to you and started asking questions about your relationship with Lando, not so subtly trying to get something out of you. Their goal, trying to see if you like the Brit. You didn’t really say anything to them, but your facial expression probably said more than a thousand words and told them exactly what they needed to know. It also wasn’t just a coincidence that Lando heard both of them talking about it. They planned it at the exact moment, hoping to steal some sort of reaction out of him so that one of you would finally carve in and confess their feelings.

You didn’t know what to say. What could you say to that? Sure you could be honest but that would very likely ruin everything. But you don't like lying, especially to those that are close to you. It was a complicated situation. “I… I honestly don’t know what… uhm what to say,” you stutter out a blush creeping up on your cheeks. Lando tilts his head to the side, eyes open wide and looking directly into yours. It was hard for you in this exact moment to read his body language.

“Is it one of the drivers?” he asks slowly. You just nod your head slightly still deep in your thoughts. Lando slowly and shyly took your hand that wasn’t holding the glass in his. His thumb was drawing small, smoothing circles. He took another long sip of his drink. “Can I confess something?” he asks, eyes still looking into yours but a deep reddish blush creeping up his neck. His words are slurred together with an accent thicker than before.

Yet again you nod your head, not wanting to speak too afraid to break the moment. “I- I like you y/n and I have for a while,” he mumbled almost inaudibly with the loud music. “I have for a while,” he added. For a moment you are speechless, not sure how to react. His grip on your hand loses trying to pull away. You could see the anxiety in his eyes slowly coming out through the drunken haze. “I like you too, Lando. Have for a while.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

I hope you enjoy it! Any feedback is appreciated!

Would you like a third part where Max finds out about there confession?

[lorelune]

inversion

|| rin itoshi x reader || E/18+ || angst with a happy ending || wc: 7.2k || ao3 ||

Preemptive grief defines your relationship with Rin. Heartbreak is in the nature of your connection. You are forced to reckon with its end.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: eeeeeee this piece is part of a trade i'm doing with beloved @rabbbitseason :3c they asked for angst + rin and i am here to deliver a bruisy piece 🙂‍↕️!!!! he was an interesting (read: slippery) character to chew!! but very fun as well :3c thank you to @suguwu for beta reading this piece and talking through rin's character as well!!! jun's invaluable feedback rlly helped bring the piece together. please read and enjoy something a bit achey my kind reader 💗

CWs: angst with a happy ending, gn reader with afab anatomy, rin is assumed to be 20+ and playing professionally, f receiving oral, missionary, some possible abandonment issues for the reader

You do not mean to fall in love with Rin Itoshi.

Distinctly, you did not want to fall in love with him. Because he is probably not a good lover, nor does he want to be a lover at all. It’s a poor combination. Being enamored with him is a poor way of being.

It’s unfortunate that you have found yourself in this position— hopelessly in love and irrevocably attached to him. 

... 

Drizzle falls from the sky in a mist. It’s been like this for days, a haze of light rain with thick fog that rolls in during the mornings. You’ve almost gotten used to your hair frizzing up and returning home damp from any outing. 

It’s unpleasant. But then again, everything is unpleasant at this moment, so the rain is the least of your worries.

Rin Itoshi is on your front stoop.

There’s a little cement step there that he sits on. In front of your door, just behind him, is a welcome mat. A large, ceramic cat is set just next to the door. As you walk up to your home, grocery bags in tow, you cannot see your normal, friendly guardian.

Instead, all you see is Rin Itoshi. 

Stopping in the little walkway up to your small home, you let the rain drench you. Rin looks up from the ground with an expression between a scowl and a pout. His hood is drawn up over his head, but his hair still looks wet. The tips of his shoes are soaked through. Even from a distance, you can tell.

You sigh.

“You’re home late,” he says. His words get eaten by the ambient sounds of the city, and the pittering of rain on nearby roofs.

You raise your arms, trembling with the weight of your haul. “Groceries.”

“Hm.” 

You frown and Rin rises. 

He takes your bags, taking them from you and easily looping them on a single forearm. He moves aside so you can slip past him, to your door, now able to see your fat-bodied kitty cat protector (who really isn’t doing much protecting at the moment—) and give him a nod of acknowledgement. 

Rin makes a sound behind you; a huff. He’s amused. You contend with kicking his shin but decide against it.

Like a lost, wet puppy, Rin follows you inside. 

There’s a pair of house slippers for him; there has been for months. The fuzzy fabric of the slippers is patterned to look like big, pink cat paws. You purchased them for Rin as a joke, a gag that you didn’t expect to get a rise out of him beyond a heavy blush, and yet he took to them immediately. His pair sits next to your own slippers like the two belong next to each other. 

Rin shuffles behind you.

(How many times have you done this?)

You turn on the electric kettle and put away the groceries Rin has carried inside for you. You mentally plan out your meals for the week and concurrently catastrophize about what the fuck to do with the man in front of you. 

He leans against your kitchen counter. His outer layer has been shed, all he’s in now is a (somehow, still damp) white t-shirt and his warm-up joggers. Rainwater still clings to his bottom lashes, dew-like. You lean forward, cupping his face to brush the moisture away. His cheeks are clammy, still so chilled. 

(It’s all too tender.)

“You’re cold.” You frown. “Go sit down. I’ll finish making tea.”

“I am sitting down.”

“Leaning isn’t sitting.” 

“Close enough.”

You sigh. “I meant in the other room, preferably with a blanket.”

“I’ll wait.” 

You sigh, “Fine.”

It’s not worth arguing with Rin. 

Rin is so— so— frustratingly single-minded. Motivated in a single direction to a fault. You’ve long since learned that attempting to sway him, regardless of how sensible and sensical of an idea you have, is fruitless. If it doesn’t align with what he has already decided he is going to do, he simply won’t change. It’s something rather immutable about him.

His nature is as stubborn as his thoughts. 

(Loving him is so difficult; you wish that you didn’t.)

Rin grabs two mugs (your mugs) while you fetch the tea. It’s the same selection as it always is— your cup of ginger and honey, and his plain peppermint. 

You only settle once the two of you make your way to the couch, side-by-side, covered in the worn quilt that Rin likes best. It’s a tawny mix of grey and tan yarn. You picked it up from a thrift store years ago. You never would’ve thought that it would become such an integral part of a pathetic, mutual routine.

Rin is stiff beside you. One glance at him tells you that he’s chewing on his words. He doesn’t tend to— to do that. He doesn’t mince anything that flows from his brain to his lips. Your stomach rolls with a sense of unease. 

“Is everything alright?” You ask. 

(It never is, not really, when this routine is being completed.)

Rin looks at him. His gaze is piercing, crystalline. It lances you. “I’m leaving.”

You know this already; you aren’t supposed to.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“... For how long?” This you don’t know. 

“A while.” Rin's hands ball into fists on the tops of his thighs. “Half a year, at least.”

“I see.”

(You feel your world begin to cave in.) 

An eerie quiet settles over the room. The rain patters outside, streaking your windows in droplets, obscuring the greater world. It makes it feel like all that exists is you, Rin, and the lucid knowledge that your connection has nearly run its course. 

You swallow; it’s audible. “Where to?”

“Europe.”

“Europe’s big. Countries—?”

“Germany, Italy, and France,” replies Rin. “Maybe more.”

The back of your eyes sting. “I could visit?”

“I’ll be busy.”

“... Could you not make time?”

(Could you not make time for me?)

“I don’t know.”

“Hm.” You feel something cold and dreadful coat your insides. 

Your tea is cooling down, steam hardly rising from the mug now. You take a sip of it, and hold the mug in both hands, grasping onto the warmth that radiates off of it. The ceramic of the vessel still holds heat, enough to scald your palms. Yet, you don’t put it down. 

This big, unspoken thing lingers between you both. It writhes, swirls, like it always does when you enter this routine. There’s always been an impending end date to your connection, even if neither of you could quantify the time you had left together. Rin's career, his ambitions, his nature to not just excel, but crush and break in tandem, have always floated above your dynamic. 

This thing would immolate eventually.

(And you along with it.)

...

You end up in your bedroom, the gloomy day sliding into a thickly dark night. You’re not even sure if the moon is out. The room only glows with light from a few soft lamps. The spray of them catches the angles of Rin’s face well. Even with age, his face hasn't hardened all that much. He still has pudge in his cheeks that he can’t shake. It makes him look younger, more innocent, like there hasn’t been a thing in him, forever, threatening to devour him as it craves to brutalize others. 

Another part of your routine commences once you enter your soft, kindly-lit bedroom. Sex— of some sort. Today it feels bad. You’re not sure what’s coming other than grief. 

Stripping feels like a funeral march. The drizzle that continues to fall outside may as well be a dirge. 

Rin pulls his shirt over his head and off. It’s a quiet affair today, though typically it isn’t. On a more normal day, when you aren’t witnessing your romantically entangled decay in real-time, there’s banter. You might rib Rin, he may respond with his own barbed remark that you find a bit silly. It’s fun, despite Rin’s perpetually bruised demeanor.

Today, though, there’s no humor. No jesting. All that’s left is the unfathomable depth of— something behind Rin’s eyes and the ache in your chest that you’re afraid will kill you.

You kneel on your bed, left only in a sweater, goofy-looking socks, and panties. The stupid satiny kind that you think is kind of uncomfortable, but you know Rin enjoys. He leaves his boxers on, coming to rest on his own knees across from you.

Your eyes feel damp, you feel stupid, and can’t make yourself look at him.

“Don’t be a crybaby,” he tells you.

You scoff, the sound warbly and your voice watery. “Like you’re any better.” 

(Rin isn’t the crybaby notably. You think he gets close to it sometimes. Maybe that’s just your own wishful thinking.)

(You want Rin to crack; it would make your own fissures less shameful.)

Rin kisses you then like he can hear your thoughts, and kissing you hard on the mouth will extract them from your brain. It does, in a way. He’s warm and familiar. You love him so terribly. 

You cup his cheeks in your palms, still aching from your mug earlier. You don’t care. You couldn’t make yourself care as you lean into him, pitching your weight forward. For all the things Rin isn’t good at, he is good at catching you. He bears the weight of you easily, wrapping an arm around your waist and securing you with a hand on the nape of your neck.

He’s so solid. Bigger than he appears. Firm muscle over firm muscle, he’s so entirely unyielding beneath your hands. There are so many parts of him that contradict each other; it’s what drew you to him in the first place. Rin Itoshi has always been a spectacle for you to untangle and know, even if, at first, it was just to satiate your own curiosity about the foul-mannered, enigmatic man he appears to be. 

Unfortunately, now, you have untangled Rin. The essence of him has been unraveled in your hands, laying across your palms like sheets of satin fabric— the kind that catches the light and almost shimmers in sun rays and moonbeams alike. Rin is so much more fragile than he appears, tough at some angles, but so bruiseable at others. This knowledge is held by you so intimately, you cherish it, what else can you do? 

It’s damning. It’s made you love him.

You stifle a noise against his lips and fall into him more.

In a single motion, Rin has you on your back, laid beneath him while he straddles your hips. He doesn’t stop kissing you. If anything, the leverage has him leaning into you more deeply. It’s suffocating, the weight of his body and him over you. Like it’s bearing down into your soul.

Rin licks into your mouth and you let him.

It’s almost gross when he kisses you like this. Filthy— dirty. He practically plunders the inside of your mouth, running his tongue over the back of your teeth, pushing it against your own, spit dripping out of the corners of your mouth. If you felt like you could be properly romantic with Rin, you might even say it’s a claiming act.

But you can’t be romantic with Rin. Because this doesn’t matter. The physicality you share serves the function of physical release and gratification. You love him and it is useless that you do. These are immutable facts.

(Facts that you hate, despise, and loathe. Why can’t he love you—? Why can’t he— just understand?)

You growl against his lips and shove at his chest.

“Just—” You sigh, turning your head to the side. You can’t look in his eyes or you’ll immolate. “Fuck me already, okay?”

Rin wordlessly presses his forehead against your temple. His hands claw into your hips. He’ll leave bruises, but they’ll never last the six months that he’ll be gone for. You’ll be a distant memory to him by then, you’re certain.

Something awful and far too hot is boiling in your chest. 

“No,” says Rin

“No?”

“No.” He repeats, dragging his nose down to your jaw, then your throat. 

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to yet.”

“Well, get a move on then.” You scoff. The watery quality of your voice has shifted to something sharper, angrier. 

“What’s with you?” He sighs out of his nose and it makes you flinch. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like this—” Rin tugs your jaw to face him and holds you there. You’re stuck looking into his eyes, azure and shiny like polished stones. Full of something you can’t name, lest you break your heart further.

(Your delusions are both damning you and saving you.)

Your eyes water; maybe you are a crybaby. “Fuck off.”

Rin kisses you hard again, flattening himself to you. He’s a cage like this, where you can only take what he gives you and—

(Rin gives you everything. Because that’s how he is with things he cares about.)

You feel like you're melting into the duvet as you desperately claw into Rin’s scalp, raking your hands through his hair. A pathetic noise bubbles up from your throat, pours from your mouth into Rin’s, and he takes it in kind. He always does. 

(He shouldn’t be reliable, but he is.)

It’s hard to think when he kisses you like this. Rin’s physicality is consuming, like he’s attempting to crush you and absorb you into him. It’s an intoxicating type of connection; it’s part of why you linger within your entanglement. In the moments you’re under him, intertwined with him like this, god, touching at all— you can’t do anything but think of Rin and his attention.

You kick him because he’s leaving— he’s leaving you and he isn’t letting you follow.

Rin grunts at the impact, even though you don’t kick him all that hard. You nip him at the same time— 

You’re so angry.

All the dread in you is angry, bitter like bile, and white hot. Preemptive grief, loss that you have to start swallowing before Rin isn’t even out of your arms.

“I hate you—” You tell him against his lips.”You’re awful. You’re the worst—”

Rin breaks away from you in an instant, slamming you back on the bed by the shoulder in a single, decisive motion. It makes your head spin.

“You don’t mean that.”

“And what if I did?” It’s not convincing, your voice is wobbling too much for it to be. You stare up at him, lips curling. 

“You’re being a brat.”

“Oh my god, says you—” You roll your eyes. “You’re the brat here. Just— fucking kiss me—”

“No.”

“Then fucking leave already—!”

Rin holds you steady by the jaw, bowing over your body. You can’t look anywhere other than him. It’s consuming, like you’re being engulfed by a rushing tide. 

“Stop. It.” His words are clipped, filled with his own anger. His grip is too tight; you fear he may crush you. 

“Choke.”

“You’re throwing a tantrum.”

“So what if I am?” you laugh, the sound too high and airy to be comfortable. “If it bothers you so much, just leave already. It’s not like you want to be here. Does passing time in my bed make it go faster for you, Rin? Getting your last taste of this before you fuck off and leave—?”

“That’s what this is about?”

“What else would it be about!”

Your voice breaks and you close your eyes. God, you don't want to cry, but it feels unavoidable now. All of Rin’s attention, potential vitriol, judgment, and rejection is pointed at you. You might as well fucking die.

Rin is quiet over top of you, like a dark, stormy cloud in its last moments before a thunder crack. Heat lightning crackles between the two of you, but nothing strikes the ground yet. 

“It’s better for you to stay here,” he says eventually. 

“Why do you think that?” You sound exasperated.

Rin’s quiet again, then speaks like he’s seated at a confessional, and not over your hips. 

“You shouldn’t be around me too much when I’m playing,” Rin confesses and squeezes your jaw. “It’s bad enough here. All I’ll be doing is playing soccer—”

“And that’s what you want, right?”

“Yes—” Rin admittance hits you in the chest and you have to let out a steadying breath, so you don’t shatter right there. “And you can’t be there for that.”

“Why?”

Rin lets go of your jaw and you open your eyes. 

His own jaw is tight, his bottom lip bitten between his teeth. His eyes are wet, almost like there could be tears threatening to spill into his lower lashes. Maybe you’re imagining it. 

“Trust me.” His tone is a bowstring. You’re both ready to snap. “Please.”

A whine echoes from your throat, out of your control. 

(You love him and you hate seeing someone you love hurt—)

You can’t help yourself. You tug him down by the shoulders and into you, so he can lay over your chest. He lets you, so easily, and tucks his face into the curve of your neck. He hides there, arms wrapping around your middle, so tightly that you’re sure that you’ll ache there the next day. 

It hurts, it hurts— not the pressure on your ribs, but having the atypically unsteady presence of Rin in your arms. It’s not uncommon for the two of you to cuddle, Rin is clingy, especially after sex, but it is odd to see him this visibly upset. It hurts because he’s hurting. It hurts because he’s choosing to leave and telling you not to follow, despite... everything. It hurts so deep in your chest, that you let yourself become so involved and in love with him.

You bury your face in his hair and shake.

...

Rin is bad at protecting people.

It’s a given, knowing his nature and the fact that he had an older brother closely looking out for him for most of his life, makes his ineptitude at protection make sense. 

He clearly wants to be. He has the strength and tenacity to bare his teeth and claw, but you don’t think Rin knows which way to direct his fear and grief— whether to inflict wrath on himself, the aggressor, or the person he actually means to protect. 

You can’t blame him. Some things, Rin only understands in theory and not in practice. Rin is so highly attuned to feelings but so absolutely atrocious at empathizing. You think— with you— he tried. He even succeeded at points, which makes your own heartbreak feel all that more infectious and virulent.

Your back is laid out over your duvet, your legs cradling Rin’s hips. He has three fingers in you, stretching you out with as much care and intention as he can muster. You can tell by the furrow in his brow, the peek of his tongue sticking out from his lips. Pleasure burns in your core, but the sensation is eclipsed by a well of fondness and grief, drowning you.

Rin slides onto his stomach and hikes your legs over his shoulders. He takes one of your hands and places it into his hair. You knot your fingers into the soft texture of it and tug. He likes when you do that, when you try to take from him. Rin shudders between your thighs, huffing a breath into the pudge of them. He nips.

On another night, you’d scold him and give him a playful amount of grief for it.

Tonight, you want him to bite you so hard that you bleed and scar.

(Would he? He’s so scared of hurting you, even if he doesn’t say it. He is hurting you. A sick part of you wants him to do material harm to you, so you’ll have something tangible to remember him by. An imprint of his teeth in your thigh would be too romantic, maybe. Too much to ask for.)

Rin kisses up toward your cunt, taking his time over the outside of it. He breathes in the scent of you, long and hard, a few times. A wishful part of you hopes that he is committing it to memory. 

“Hurry up,” you snap. 

“No.” Rin keeps fucking denying you. Haste would make this hurt less. You could speed things up to the inevitable end where Rin Itoshi has thrown this— you— away and you are left alone. Instead, he prolongs it. Instead he is carving a piece of you out, in the shape of himself, the wound never to fill as cicatrix and heal.

You drag him closer by the hair and grind against his face—

“Impatient—” he says against your cunt with a growl. His arms wrap around your hips, holding you down and in place, keeping you from squirming. 

It’s needed as he drags his tongue over your cunt, dipping the tip of it into your hole before landing on your clit. He laps at it, at you, humming and groaning as you tug at his hair. The motion you’re allowed lets you just barely grind against his face. It’s not enough contact. You want more, need more, but Rin is only giving you so much. 

“God,” you breathe out. “Fuck you.”

Rin practically growls, the vibration of the sound against your sex makes your back arch, a pretty, croaking sound dripping from your throat. He dives into you with more fervor, digging hand-shaped bruises into your hips.

The pleasure comes to you like licks of a flame, just as scorching as they are whimsical. Your toes curl as Rin’s sucks your clit. There’s finesse in his actions. There didn’t used to be, at the start of things, but now Rin knows your body so intimately—

(It feels crushing to know this will be the last time—)

It feels like you’ve been struck.

Never again— this is it—? The last time he’ll be in your bed, between your thighs, in your arms. You’ll never get to share this proximity with Rin Itoshi again. Not this version of him, anyway. You know what the journey that he’s about to embark on will do to him. The Rin that you know won’t exist for much longer, and— 

The version of himself that he’ll return as won’t be yours.

(And he won’t give a fuck about you, will he?)

It feels— like you’re going to die. Preemptive grief for a still-living person feels selfish. And yet, you can’t breathe suddenly, even with Rin, present, between your thighs, lavishing you with (fleeting— fleeting!) attention.

You rip your hand from Rin’s hair and cover your face. You can’t look at him. You can’t. Tears are dripping from the corners of your eyes, soaking into your hairline. Your breathing speeds up, painful and raw. Rin is still between your legs.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, looming over you once more. You can feel his shadow, more than you can see it. 

He grabs your wrists and tries to drag them away from your face. When you don’t budge, he pries them down to your sides. Perhaps it was foolish of you to think that you could hide from him.

“Just—” You breathe, staring into the shadows thrown onto your bedroom wall. “Keep going. Please. Ignore me.”

“The last thing in the world I can do is ignore you right now.” Rin squeezes you, less for comfort and more to remind you that he is there. “Don’t be unreasonable.”

“I just want to get this over with—” Your voice wobbles and you squeeze your eyes shut. A sob is trapped in your throat, breaking in an ugly sound. Your wrist jolts in Rin’s grip, desperate to try and hide the noise. 

You want to hide this from Rin.

If Rin wants to hide the ugly, poisonous part of him that comes out in his career, you want to hide the lovesick one that has infected you. The one that is shattering, in real-time, at the idea of Rin leaving your bed cold, forever. 

“I want to take my time,” Rin tells you. “Let me?”

“And I want you to just get it over with—” You repeat, a sob finally breaking from your lips, fully. Rin noses into your cheek. “Finish breaking my fucking heart already, Rin. Then you can hop on a plane and I can block your fucking number.”

There’s a stall. A beat, then two, followed by a third.

Rin is shaking on top of you.

“Would it be that easy for you?” He speaks with gritted teeth.

Would it?

(No, it would actually be so hard for you to cut Rin off so swiftly. Even if you blocked his number, you’re bound to see him in the news. You don’t even follow football all that closely, but he’s such a household name these days that you’re sure to encounter news of him and his accumulating accolades.)

(If not, you know his teammates. Rin begrudgingly introduced you after the lot of them crossed paths with you enough times. You have a few of their phone numbers. Rin’s mother has your contact information too, from the time that Rin spiked a high fever and you needed her specific oyaku recipe. She messages you photos of her garden now, and asks if Rin’s alright.)

(And none of that is even acknowledging the personal, emotional wreckage that cleaving Rin from your life so swiftly will leave behind.)

“No,” you say. 

Rin takes a steadying breath, his breath too warm against your cheek and down your jaw.

“You said,” his voice maybe wobbles, you may be imagining it, “that I’m breaking your heart?”

You laugh, something horrible and pained. “I thought that was obvious?”

He pauses. “Maybe it was.”

God, he’s so shit at this kind of thing.

“You’re awful, you know that?”

And you cry.

You’ve become so fragile in the past few weeks. Imagining this day, these exact moments of fleeting intimacy, like doing so could prepare you in any way for the pain that’s now tearing through you. The fear of losing him is being actualized, and you’re making it worse, pushing him away like this. But what would happen if you held him closer when it’s so clear that’s not what Rin wants?

You tear your wrists from Rin’s grip, taking a great amount of effort to flip and attempt to crawl across the bed. Crying like this makes you feel awful and ugly; you want nothing more than to hide. Rin is frozen, motionless, above you at first, letting you writhe until you get onto your tummy, squirming and clawing your way out from under him.

Then, he bears his weight down on you. He gathers your wrists up again and pins them to the bed on either side of your head. It’s a single moment of strength that immobilizes you flat all over again.

“Rin!” You mean to shout it, but instead, it’s a cracking sob that you have to muffle into the duvet.

He gathers your wrists in a single hand, and pets your hair, like you so often do for him. He rubs circles on your shoulders as you wail into the duvet. Bucking him off doesn’t work, he’s an unrelenting presence, sitting on your lower back, almost laid over you. It’s hard to breathe.

(A sick part of you likes this. Knowing that your blatant pain and struggle are being acknowledged by Rin, held and quelled by him, soothes the part of you that craves his attention so terribly. You love him so much, you feel guilty for these feelings just as much as you feel elated by the touch and care he is providing you.)

“It’s okay,” he tells you. He is not a being meant to comfort, the words sound wrong coming out of his mouth. “It’s okay.”

“You know it’s n-not!”

A fresh wave of tears pours from you. You’re soaking the mattress. 

“I’m sorry,” he doesn’t apologize either. “If I could give you what you want, I would.”

The sob that you scream into rumpled bed sheets is like thunder that splits the sky.

...

Rin fucks you like he loves you.

He kneels between your legs, holding your hands, thrusting into you at an unhurried, almost reverent pace. Slow and deep, busting up your insides. You’re stretched around his pretty cock beautifully; he told you so. 

Each cant of his hips knocks a teary breath out of you. You— you haven’t stopped crying. You’re not sure that you ever will.

Rin kisses you despite the tears and snot, licks your cheeks and mars your neck with mark after mark. His teeth dig into fragile flesh, biting and sucking like he could be eating you, rather than bedding you. It’s a shift in his demeanor— he’s not normally this desperate. Maybe your shattering has made him more lucid to your coming loss. 

His hands slip up the backs of your thighs, resting behind your knees. He bears his weight down on you, folding you in half easily. It pushes his cock deeper in you, maybe too deep, but you relish the pain anyway. The pressure of him forces a sound of you, aborted and frail. When you try to cover your mouth, muffle yourself, Rin is pulling your hand away to kiss you. 

Rin swallows down every sound, every breath, every bit of you that he can. You press back at him with as much desperation as you muster. He takes and takes, regardless of your tears and jagged edges. 

He curses under his breath, tilting his forehead against your own.

“C-Close?” You ask, another involuntary sound being punched out of your lungs. 

“No—” He shakes his head.

“Are you lying?”

“No—”

“I’m unconvinced,” you manage to grit out, a bubbling sob creeping up your throat just after. 

Rin growls, something in his chest, and thrusts harder, like he’s trying to carve out your insides. 

“I—” Rin’s words choke off, pressed against your lips, a frantic edge to it. “I don’t want to be done yet.”

You both freeze.

Rin’s as deep in you as he can be, his hips pressed to your pelvis. Every bit of his weight is bared into you, into your cunt and flesh. He’s breathing in deep, hurried breaths, sweat beads on his brow. You’re grasping his shoulders, digging your nails into him as his words hit you.

“You—” You laugh and cry in the same breath. “You don’t mean what I think you mean, do you?”

His grip on you tightens. His expression is cloudy, his focus solely on you (what a terrifying thing to be on the receiving end of—)

You continue speaking, feeling a creeping amount of panic, “You— you mean sex right? You want to k-keep going?”

“If I said yes to that, I’d be lying.” Rin thrusts into you, hard and fast. You arch your back against the duvet. 

“S-So you don’t want—”

“I want to keep fucking you,” Rin corrects, easily. He pushes you down into the mattress like he’s trying to crush you, pulverize you. “I don’t want to be done fucking you.”

“God,” you hit his shoulder with your fist and the force of an angry kitten. “You fucking suck, Rin.”

“I’m sorry—”

“ — Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

He kisses you again, this time softer. More kind, but still like he wants to eat you. 

You finish like that, with his lips laid over yours, with the tempest of loss having consumed you. Rin heavy over your body and heart, pleasure having snuck up behind him enough that tension has coiled in your gut. Your orgasm washes over you slowly, in waves, and you’re sucked down into the sensation with darkening vision and curling toes.

Rin kisses you through it, cursing as you tighten around him. He didn’t— he didn’t use a condom.

“Inside—” You beg him. “Inside— please, please—”

Rin listens to you, bowing over you and pushing your knees up to the sides of your skull. A choked sound leaves his lips and you swallow it down with your own keen. A gush of warmth follows, and you shiver with the heat and fullness of it.

Rin fucks you through his orgasm, muscles drawn tight as he fucks you deep and slow. He only stops when his cock is too soft to continue, and you’re both shivering from overstimulation. 

His cock drags out of you, wet and chilling in the still air. You whine at the loss, the panic and grief of this all hitting you again.

You don’t have much time to spiral, as Rin is gathering you up his arms, rolling away from the soaked sheets. He holds you tight, chest-to-chest. His hand is in your hair, and he grabs yours and places it on his own. Reflexively, you scratch his scalp and tug him closer.

You’re both quiet for a long time. The rain hasn’t stopped, dribbling on, but it doesn’t feel as grim now, more sedating. Your eyes go half-lidded.

“Can you clarify?” You ask Rin, peeking up at him. “What you meant before?”

(“I don’t want to be done—”)

“Hm.”

“God—!” You laugh, headbutting him. “You do suck.”

He squeezes you, so hard that a sound is forced from your lips. 

“So you want to keep fucking?”

“It’s more than that.”

“Fuck, Rin—”

“Shut up.”

“Still figuring it out?”

“Something like that.” He muffles the words into the top of your head.

You’re not sure where your grief sits then. Maybe it’s gone, and your release was just that— release. It makes you laugh again, into Rin’s chest. You squeeze him like doing so will keep him here, in this moment, for a little longer. 

Rin wordlessly squeezes you back even harder.

...

You and Rin don’t talk much once he goes to Europe.

You lose your mind right after he leaves, obviously. Screaming, crying, not throwing up, but pretty close to it. His house slippers get thrown in the back of a closet (rather than in the trash because, despite everything, you have hope—) and you rot for several weeks.

It takes a while for you to be close to normal.

Your routine with Rin had been a regular occurrence. Maybe once a week, sometimes twice. Not having it to count on unmoors you and makes you lonely in a way that feels unwelcome and raw. There’s a piece of you missing, just like you knew there would be.

You get a few texts from him. A photo or two of monuments he encounters with a few choice words—

[Rin]: I thought you would like this

You’re going to fucking kill him.

You’re never sure what to reply, so you tend to keep things brief. Your last encounter made you question your understanding of your relationship so profoundly that you don’t know how to proceed. There’s... certainly more than you expected, but upon Rin departing for Europe, so much had been left unsaid. How do you begin to broach that— is it even your place to?

You don’t bring it up. You don’t call him, you leave the wound he left alone, and it aches a little less each day. Still gaping and empty, but less raw maybe.

It’s late one evening when you receive a call from a random, international number.

You ignore it at first, thinking it’s spam, but they recall you several times, and you pick up on the fourth attempt.

“... Hello?” You ask into the receiver. 

“Oh, hi! Is this [name]?”

“It is— who is this?”

“Oh, it’s Isagi— I’m one of Rin’s teammates from Bluelock. I’m not sure if you remember me, but we’ve met a few times!”

You have— Rin has a serious chip on his shoulder about Isagi, which has been made to be an incredibly comical fact when realized Isagi is one of the most genuinely kind, polite people you’ve ever encountered. 

“Oh yeah, it's nice to— um, hear from you. What’s up?

“Ah, yeah! I apologize for the abrupt calls. I’ve got something to ask you that’s kind of time-sensitive— if you have a minute.”

“Yeah, I’ve got time.” You swallow. “Is... everything alright? Is... Rin okay?”

“Oh, yeah! He’s totally fine. Maybe a little hungover, but fine.”

You straighten up and withhold gasp. “Rin drank?”

Rin has refused alcohol the entire time you’ve known him. He swears it affects his performance. 

Isagi laughs on the other side of the line. “Oh man, you don’t even know. I’ve never seen the guy with any alcohol in his system before either, and I kind of get why. He really is a lightweight.

“I imagine... and this has to do with why you called?”

“Yes, actually—” Your phone chimes with a new message from Isagi. “Is this you in the photo?”

The photo is of another phone, specifically of its lock screen. The time on the photographed phone screen reads [01:11]. The lock screen is a photo of you.

You’re sleeping, clearly, face half-smushed into one of your pillows. Mascara smears under your eyes and hickeys are bruised up and down your throat. From the location of the marks and makeup, you know this is from the last night you saw Rin. Your chest feels tight. 

“What the fuck.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah, oh my god.” You had no idea Rin took this photo— and it’s his fucking lock screen? That fucker only had the generic, preloaded graphics displayed on his phone the entire time you knew him. 

“I thought so— sorry, it’s kind of insane for Rin to have a photo like that—”

“It is, yeah.” You run a hand over your face, switching your phone to speaker and rubbing your cheeks. “How does this relate to you calling?”

“Well,” says Isagi, “Rin’s been playing like shit.”

“He has been.” Oh my god, has he. Like actual garbage. You’re not sure you should admit that you watch Rin’s games religiously, because at this point it’s a bit pathetic of you. But you do watch them live if at all possible, otherwise you purchased some stupid European streaming service to catch the recording as soon as possible. And because of this, you know he has been playing sloppily. You’ve been... blaming jetlag. Or something. Adjusting to the European diet or whatever.

(Not the vestiges of your relationship still, miraculously, affecting him in any way.)

“It hasn’t been great. We won our match yesterday, but barely. And we went out drinking which was good for morale! But maybe not great for Rin. He drank a bit too much and got a bit weepy.”

Your stomach drops. You can see where this is going.

“He kept talking about missing someone but didn’t say any name. And when we saw his lock screen... we kind of put two-and-two together.”

“Great deduction. Aren’t you known for that?”

Isagi laughs, sounding good-natured. It makes you smile. It’s nice to know Rin hangs out with good people who aren’t all dour and weird like him. 

“Something like that. Anyway, his birthday is in a few weeks, and me and a few of the other guys thought it would be a good gift for him to fly you out and surprise him.”

You stay silent, attempting to suffocate the spark of hope that traitorously stirs in you.

“Isagi.” You fold your hands and put them vertically to your lips. “Have you met Rin?”

That makes him laugh, “I have, I’m probably around him too much. But he’s been weird since we started the season here. If you visited, the team would cover everything. Our coach even offered to arrange rooms for you at the hotels we’ll be at. If you don’t want to room with Rin, anyway—”

“Rin and I aren’t together.”

“Damn.” Isagi clicks his tongue. “Does he know that?”

Maybe you’re an idiot. Maybe Rin’s an idiot. Maybe you’re both idiots. 

“I should ask him, maybe.”

“He’s never been the type to do things in halves, you know.”

“Trust me, I’m very aware of that.”

Isagi whistles and you shake your head. 

“You don’t have to give me an answer right away. If you could let me know in the next few days, that would be great. You’ve got my number now that I’ve called, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll be in touch.” You swallow. “Thanks for reaching out, Isagi. I appreciate it. And— thanks for keeping an eye on Rin too.”

“Yeah, yeah. Someone needs to while he’s here. Let me know what you’re thinking, feel free to call if you need anything too. Or want me to spy on Rin for you.”

“Will do,” You laugh, light-hearted for the first time in weeks. You exchange goodbyes and you drop your phone onto your lap.

...

Oh my fucking god.

You know several things immediately— you want to go. Desperately, actually, especially with the knowledge that stupid fucking Rin Itoshi has you as his fucking lock screen? You need answers, if nothing else. You won’t settle for a very sad, weepy fuck this time around. 

You also know that you should not surprise Rin. 

So, you act before you can convince yourself better of it. You scroll to your messages with Rin and craft.

[you]: hey, i hope you’re doing alright. your teammate (isagi) just called me and invited me out for your birthday to surprise you. but i know you well enough to know that if i surprise you like that you will either kill me, isagi, yourself, or all three of us.

[you]: i wanted to touch base before i gave isagi an answer

[you]: i’d love to see you

[you]: and we should talk too.

Rin almost immediately sees the message— the freak has read receipts on. A bubble indicating he’s typing appears, then disappears.

A call from him comes in. You nearly drop your phone as the screen lights up your face and vibrates.

With a steadying breath, you answer.

“Hello?”

“What did Isagi tell you?”

You snort. “That your play sucks and that you’re a weepy drunk.” 

“He sucks. Don’t talk to him again.”

“I have to, so he and the rest of your team can buy me tickets and a hotel room—”

“If— if you want to come, I’ll buy your ticket. And why would you need a hotel room?”

“So I have somewhere to sleep.”

“Is my bed not good enough for you?”

“Are you implying that I’d sleep with you?”

“...Yes.”

“Damn,” you fall back onto your couch with a laugh. There’s an odd coil of relief that’s unspooling in your chest. You could cry again. “Is that alright?” 

“I— I wouldn’t want—” Rin so rarely loses his words, it shocks you to hear when he does. “Yes. It’s fine. I can meet you at the airport too.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet?”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

There’s a poignant moment of silence that passes between you two. You can imagine Rin now— it’s the morning where he is. He probably is nursing both a bottle of water and that electrolyte drink he prefers— he likes the blue flavor the best. He’s probably in his warm-up clothes, preparing for his meticulous morning routine. 

“I’m excited,” Rin says, stilted but there. “To see you again.”

Something warm burns in you, frail but burgeoning.

“So am I.” You wipe your eyes and laugh. “Don’t break my heart again, Rin, I swear to God.”

“I won’t.”

He says it with enough conviction that you believe him. 

[arandomao3user]

Incorrect quotes TIMBERN again, because I said so:

—

Tim: Bern.

Bernard, half awake, it's two in the morning: Hm?

Tim: Will you love me forever?

Bernard: Odd question—

Tim: Usually people say they'll love someone till the day they die but, maybe I don't wanna stop being loved when I die. Maybe I wanna be loved for all eternity no matter what happens. Maybe I wanna be loved even when I die, even after.

Bernard: Mm, that's nice babe. Sure, I'll love you even when we're ghost, having... Freaky ghost sex.

Tim, kicks him under the blankets:

Bernard, snickering:

—

Random reporter at a gala: Mr. Drake-Wayne! Mr. Drake-Wayne! It seems you've brought a plus one tonight! Who is he?

Tim, committed to a bit here, looking over at Bernard: Huh? Oh... Oh. Oh, I have no idea.

Tim, without hesitation or pause, throws himself at Bernard and they begin making out:

Bernard, also committed to the bit, making it the sloppiest make out session possible right in front of the camera:

The camera zooms out to see Dick's horrified face and Bruce's tired expression:

(That's how Tim came out as bisexual to the public.)

—

Bernard, with Tim, walking at night: This is romantic— well, as romantic as Gotham can get.

Tim, holding his hand: It is, and Gotham is very romantic, for your information. I rather like the aesthetic.

Bernard: Well, I for one, like your aesthetic.

Tim: Oh? And what is it you like about it?

Bernard: The eye bags and pale skin, really, brings out the sickly Victorian attitude—

Dick, getting throw from the rooftops and crashing into a nearby wall:

Jason, running out from the same direction, shooting rapidly into the darkness: HI TIM!

Tim: I f#&-#%@ hate this family.

—

Bruce, formally meeting Bernard for the first time: And what exactly are your intentions with my son?

Tim: Bruce, really?

Dick: It's our responsibility, baby bird, only the best for you.

Jason, who was dragged here against his will, reading in the background: I don't care about any of this bulls-#t.

Bernard, making direct eye contact with Tim:

Tim, trying to telepathically tell him no in every language he knows:

Bernard: My intentions are simple sir, to love him, be with him forever, and show him the appreciation he deserves.

Tim, pinching the bridge of his nose:

Bernard: And also find a pair of handcuffs he can't get out of—

Tim: BERNARD!

Bernard: That's not what you called me last night—

Tim: ONE JOB! You had ONE JOB!

Bernard: I think I did that pretty well last night—

Dick:

Jason, slowly looking up from his book:

Bruce, feeling his last functional brain cell imploding:

—

Kon: So, what's Bernard like, is he a good guy?

Tim: Oh, yeah, he's great! We attempted to summon the Jersey Devil last night before making offerings to Dionysus and then sent videos of ourselves singing along to Chapel Roan to Ra's Al Ghul and I made sure it'd play on all his devices, he won't be able to turn them off anytime soon.

Kon:

Kon: Is... That's...

Tim: Romantic, right?

Kon: . . . Y'know what? Good for you, happy for you, buddy.

Tim: Thanks! We're gonna make calzones tonight and genetically modify garlic.

Kon:

—

Alfred: I hear you wish to be a chef some day.

Bernard: Oh, yeah! I love cooking, kinda always have, it's like a break from regular Gotham city chaos.

Alfred, just glad he finally has someone to pass down family recipes to: Yes, my boy, it is.

—

Tim, half asleep, stumbling out his bedroom at four in the afternoon on a weekend:

Bernard: Hey, sleepy head!

Tim, stumbling right up to Bernard, throwing his arms around him:

Bernard: ???

Tim: What if the churozzle is-tha mcgraffle?

Bernard: . . . What?

Tim, promptly falls asleep against Bernard:

—

Bernard, making a TikTok: I was nice to the exchange student ONE TIME in high school.

*The camera zooms over to Tim, dressed in Grinch footie pajamas, there's a smudge of SOMETHING on his cheek, his eyes are glazed over, the television is playing some old Care Bear rerun, he's hunched over, hair in the messiest bun known to man, and he's eating cereal that's so soggy that the fruit loops have become one with the milk, creating an odd, pastel rainbow liquid slop.*

—

The paparazzi waiting for the Wayne's to show up to a very, very important, high class social event and charity gala in Gotham that the Wayne's have been attending for generations, not even Bruce has ever appeared as anything less than well behaved:

*The Wayne's limo arrives, Alfred calmly walks around, opening the door*

Damian, falling out as soon as the door opens, scrambling back: DOWD YOU DEFILER! DISHONOR TO YOU! DISHONOR TO YOUR WHOLE FAMILY!

Cass, dragging Jason out who's waving a gun around, yelling for the first time anyone's ever heard in public: YOU CANNOT SHOOT HIM! TIM IS RIGHT THERE! BERNARD, GET OFF HIM!

Stephanie, cackling like a mad man with her mouth full of popcorn, this is pretty much the only reason she came:

Dick: STOP MAKING OUT OH MY GOD WE DIDN'T EVEN LET YOU TWO DRINK THAT MUCH BEFORE COMING HERE OH MY GOD! TIM DON'T PUT YOUR HAND THERE!!! MY BABY!!!

Duke, getting out to stand to the side: Can we just f#&#@# leave them?? They ain't stoppin' anytime soon and I really don't wanna be around when this progresses.

Bruce, casually getting out the limo, giving Alfred a tight smile as he passes him, going to meet with Barbara and Jim:

Jim, absolutely horrified: By God, Bruce, what happened?

Bruce: Tim turned 21 today, so Alfred sat him and his boyfriend down before we came here for a few rounds of drinks. Unfortunately, we miscalculated how much of a lightweight they both are... And how they might act while drunk.

*The paparazzi cameras zoom to Bernard and Tim passionately making out in the back of the limo...*

Kon, who is here with a less than impressed Lex Luthor: GET IT, TIM!!!

—

[ruins-of-tragedy]

What makes me go feral about every thing here is, beneath all that contempt and rage and frustration, Shauna is still just a kid who craves understanding. Who wants someone to realise what it's like to be in her shoes. Someone who can relate to her suffering. Since she won't do it herself.

Shauna Shipman has always had a bleeding heart. Her interactions with Javi and honestly even Jackie prove it.

She felt so much for her best friend but could never make sense of those convoluted thoughts. Or, more accurately, probably didn't allow herself to since she didn't know how. Kept burying her feelings because it was easier to deal with it all then.

However, that's where she was wrong.

Her complicated relationship with Jackie exists because every emotion she put a lid on, came out one way or the other. All she can now feel is guilt over it, but that won't get her anywhere. They are still out in the wilderness and Jackie is dead.

And then, Javi dies.

He meets his end in Nat's stead. The same Nat who gets made queen after escaping Shauna's blade, while Shauna had to butcher a kid she cared for. Much like the bond she had to sever when her own baby boy didn't make it, because they are out in the wilderness.

After going through all of this, after the place they have been stranded at has already taken so much from her, Shauna's only way of coping is to be recognised for her efforts. Maybe people will acknowledge everything she has lost then.

But Nat is still queen. And she barely had to sacrifice any piece of herself. In Shauna's eyes, this is an injustice. It keeps turning her already mutating grief into an anger. That festers and festers and keeps marinating, while the people around still don't see how much she has had to let go of.

They are incapable of doing so. Which, to her, means they can't even be bothered to acknowledge all that she is owed.

They are happy, and Shauna grows bitter. And she still doesn't receive the validation she so sorely desires. So, with Melissa beside her, she does what she can to force it her way. This leads her to become their next queen. But why she aches for it at all, never occurs to her. There's too much going on.

They are in the wilderness still. In tune with the wild, but not with themselves.

After all is said and done, Shauna Shipman is just a teenage girl who doesn't know how to process her emotions. And I think, once she grows up, she realises there's too much that needs sorting through. Is scared that if she starts, she will never stop. Definitely downright terrified of the truths it could reveal and how all of them will leave her shattered.

So, she turns into the blade she has had to wield... because the bleeding heart within can be taken away and placed as an offering to the wilderness.

The tragedy here for me is that Shauna won't let herself have what she not only so direly needs, but has also so desperately wanted for as long as she has been alone.

Making everyone, her teammates and husband and even her daughter, complicit in her actions is how she attains these means to her end. All the while though, she still has them away at arms length.

And it keeps hurting all those who matter to her. Even her very own self.

thinking about shauna listening to jackie talk about jeff like he never even mattered when shauna is pregnant with his baby because she just wanted something jackie had and wanted to be wanted by someone who wanted jackie and now jackie doesnt even care anymore and shauna is stuck with this forever. and then jackie dies and then the baby dies but not before shauna has to give birth to him in the wilderness in winter surrounded by people who eat the dead and now fucking jeff sadecki is the last thing she has of either of them and what the hell is she supposed to do with that? she's stuck with him forever.

thinking about shauna beating lottie almost all the way to death to get all of that rage out of her and then when that rage is out of her they give her a knife and tell her to slit natalie's throat, and then when natalie runs and shauna is let off the hook for one thing for once they give her the knife again and tell her to cut up javi, the closest thing to a baby, so they can eat him, and now she's stuck with this, too. and all that rage she burned off didn't go anywhere, really. it's still right there.

and then im thinking about shauna watching lottie and everybody else crown natalie the queen for virtue of not dying, which is the same thing everybody has been doing, except for jackie and the baby and javi who all took chunks of shauna with them and left her with nothing but a knife.

im thinking about shauna who watches everybody gossip and laugh through the springtime knowing that when winter comes she will be the person who will have to cut them all up one by one so the rest of them can live and its very easy to see why she isnt friends with any of them anymore by then. she looks at them and she sees cuts of meat and how is she supposed to look at anybody normally ever again after that?

and its cruel, of course it is, everything she does to coach ben. it's not his fault, it's not about him at all, really, except that he is exactly the problem. he's innocent. he judges them. he sees what they have had to do to survive and pretends he never profited from any of it. pretends to be above it, uninvolved. he judges them. he judges her.

and shauna needs complicity from these people. she needs somebody else to know what it feels like to hold the knife. she needs people to be stuck with those guilty votes forever. tai with the gun and melissa with the knife and natalie at the butcher's table so that she's not the only one. and so ben is the sacrifice.

i saw somebody say that shauna doesnt want natalie to have to feel the pain of butchering a person, thats why she puts the cloth over his face. but that's not true. she *needs* natalie to know the pain of it, the guilt of it, the weight. The cloth is a lie she told herself would make it easier but she knows that Natalie is about to know what the inside of this man's joints look like either way and that she's going to be stuck knowing that forever.

they are going to be rescued someday and everybody will say "we did what we had to do to survive" and shauna needs to not be the only one who really has to mean that when she says it. and i guess she has that now. or she's about to.

[neeeooon]

HII HELLOO HI HI HI HOW ARE YOUUUU

CAN WE GET LIKE PART 2 FOR BLLK BOYS FINDING OUT ABOUT THEIR KID, LIKE AS I. CONTINUATION WHAT HAPPENS AFTER MEETING THE KIDDO

YESSS i added the boys u guys voted for most!! (reo has his own oneshot here!!)

when they find out they have a kid, cont.

ex-husband!bllk x fem!reader. angst, (most get) happy-ish endings! chigiri, shidou, and rin’s kids have names

itoshi sae

-> the three of you sat at the table, you and your son on one side and your ex-husband on the other. your son was wiggling around in excitement, eager to jump on and hug his father, but you’d warned him against it. you knew how sae felt about touch and didn’t want him to be even more uncomfortable around his son

-> “does he have to use the restroom?” sae asked when he noticed your son’s restlessness. you shot him a glare. “he’s not a dog. he’s excited to meet you, that’s all.” “oh.”

-> if the comment made your son feel any sort of way, he didn’t show it. “are you really the soccer player from tv?!” sae looked at you before nodding once. it set your son off again, causing him to tug on your sleeve in excitement. “see, mama, see! i told you it’s him! i told you he’s my daddy!”

-> you opened your mouth to explain that it wasn’t that simple, but your son continued as he danced around the kitchen. “and he’s here, which means you’re getting back together!” “huh?!” “and i’ve always wanted a little brother or sister!” “okay, calm down.”

-> you wanted to give your son some alone time with his dad, but it was clear that sae was getting overwhelmed by the hyperactive child. it was strange how his son reminded him more of his brother than himself from when they were young

-> after putting your son down for a nap, you retook your spot across from sae, who was staring very intensely at his clasped hands. you felt a pang of… something as you watched him, and your voice came out extremely soft as you asked, “how are you feeling, sae?”

-> he struggling to meet your eyes right away, but when he did you could see unshed emotion in them. “i don’t… know what to do. he’s mine. my kid. i have a kid. my parents are grandparents. my brother’s an uncle. and i had no idea.”

-> “you didn’t exactly give me the chance after you left me, after you told me how much you regretted us. me. but he’s here now, and he wants you to be his father, so let’s not play the blame game.” sae seemed a bit taken aback by your harsh tone, completely contradicting how quiet you were a moment ago. “you’re right. i’m sorry.” “don’t be sorry. be here. be his dad.”

-> sae couldn’t stay in town long, but he promised your son that he’d visit as soon as he was available. there wasn’t a smile on his stoic face, but when your son ran forward and hugged his legs, telling sae he loved him, sae patted the boy’s head and said, “i’ll see you soon.”

michael kaiser

-> your daughter happily ate her choco bears, unaware of the tension at the table. you sat across from kaiser, who was picking at the skin around his fingers to the point where if you didn’t mention it, you thought he’d start bleeding

-> you don’t know what compelled you to reach over and cover his hand with yours, but kaiser looked as surprised as you did. stammering for some sort of explanation, you gave up and went to pull your hand back until he grabbed it. neither of you said anything as you turned your attention back to your daughter

-> she raised a quizzical brow at her dad. “you look old.” you choked on a laugh as kaiser choked on air. “i’m not—! okay. how old are you, again?” your daughter humphed and admired one of her choco bears. “mama said i’m not supposed to give my age to strange men.”

-> you thought the comment would offend your ex, but he only scoffed. there was a slight, amused grin tugging at his lips. “well, your mama is right.” at the sudden softness of his voice, your daughter sank down into her chair and avoided his eyes. “… you’re my papa, aren’t you?”

-> kaiser swallowed hard. “yes.” “why didn’t you come to my birthday, then?” your heart broke, and the way kaiser’s fingers tightened around your hand showed you that his did as well. “i didn’t, um… i’ll be there for your next one, if you’ll have me.” “will you bring me more choco bears?” “all the choco bears you could ever dream for.” that wins her over. “okay!”

-> she lost interest in the conversation after that and tuned you out while she played a game on your phone. though she wasn’t paying attention, you kept your voice low as you leaned closer to your ex-husband

-> “i’m sorry for never texting. it was wrong of me to keep her from you.” kaiser squeezed your hand in return, trying to show you an ounce of comfort. “it’s not okay, but it’s the past. we can’t change the past, we can only… move on.” the kaiser you knew would never say something like that, and it left you reeling

-> “i want to be in her life, y/n.” “i want that, too. i want us to start over, micha. can we try? as her parents? as friends?” his smile is pained, but his voice is determined. “yes.”

isagi yoichi

-> thankfully, isagi didn’t fight you anymore that day and went home. you got his number from bachira, texting him a time and date to officially meet his daughter

-> “mama, what if he doesn’t like me?” after you told your daughter what was happening, her smile faded into a pout. you quickly hugged her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “no, baby, don’t think like that. he won’t hate you!” “but what if—“ “if he hurts your feelings, uncle bachira and i will hurt his much worse.” you made a silly face to make her laugh and tickled her side before sending her to bed

-> isagi was prepared when he arrived at your house the next morning with breakfast and flowers. peeking around your legs, your daughter gasped at the sight of the sweet pastries. she was on the shyer side, so while you could tell she wanted to grab them and run to share with her ‘uncle,’ she wouldn’t move unless given the go-ahead

-> you took the items from isagi’s hands and offered him a polite smile. “thank you.” as you reached for the flowers, you handed the box of pastries to your daughter and scoffed when she darted into the kitchen with her goodies

-> isagi awkwardly rubbed his nape, still standing in the doorway. “i want to apologize for how i acted yesterday. i was shocked and angry and i took it out on you.” you shook your head and stepped aside for him to enter. “i… understand. why you were angry, i mean. that doesn’t mean i appreciate getting yelled at, but i know that if i was in your position, i’d be upset, too.”

-> “then why not tell me? why keep her from me all these years? i would have loved being a dad, y/n.” something in his voice caught, and the sound felt like driving a knife through your chest. “i know things got all fucked once we got married, but you were my best friend first. i should have checked in on you. i should have paid closer attention. i should have at least sent a text, making sure you were alright.” “yoichi—“i’m not saying it’s all my fault, and i’m still pretty pissed at you for keeping this from me, but i made mistakes, too.”

-> brushing off the silence that fell between you, you put your differences aside and beckoned isagi into the kitchen, where your daughter was drooling over a chocolate croissant. “you can eat if you’re hungry,” isagi offered with a smile, and your daughter didn’t need to be told twice before devouring the pastry

-> “are you really my dad?” isagi choked on his muffin. “um, yeah..” “okay. are you gonna live here now?” “sweetheart—“ “i work a lot,” isagi began with a gentle look. “but if your mom lets me, i’d love to be around more. maybe take you to or pick you up from school.”

-> your daughter loves school, so the fact that he mentioned it all on his own made her eyes sparkle. “really?! and we can go to the park after!” “if that’s what you want—“ “and eat more yummy pastries!” isagi was laughing now. “okay, and eat more pastries. that sounds like a plan.”

shidou ryusei

-> “this is miss poofikins!” your daughter said as she shoved a teddy bear with a tutu into shidou’s arms. “and this is princess buttersquash!” a yellow unicorn. “and that’s fred!” fred was a green monster plushie that you actually got from a pet store, she loved it too much to let you leave without it

-> shidou, slightly overwhelmed, graciously accepted the toys and held them close to make sure none of them fell on the floor. “wow, sachi. i’m so jealous!” your daughter beamed and ran off to grab more from her collection, leaving you alone again with your ex-husband

-> “listen,” you began slowly. “you don’t have to stay. you can walk away now if this is too much. i can handle her on my own—“ “don’t.” you waited for him to continue. “she’s… y/n, i want to be apart of her life. of both your lives. i wasn’t talking out of my ass when i said i’ve changed since we were married.” “… i know.”

-> still holding all three plushies with his arms and chest, shidou reached out and grasped your hand. “i’m serious, y/n. i want this, more than anything. fuck, more that soccer, i think.” you didn’t know why, but your eyes began to ache with incoming tears. “ryu…”

-> his arms were around you before the first tears fall. you laughed when sachi’s plushies pressed between your bodies, but slowly hugged him back regardless. “i’m so sorry, ryusei. i’m so sorry for keeping her from you. for believing that, that,” you couldn’t think of a word insulting enough to describe all you felt for your mother, so you settled with, “bitch.”

-> his laugh rumbled through your body. “whatever. let’s not waste anymore time. i’m here now, i’m all in, if you’ll let me be.” “i will. i want you here with us. with me. i can’t… i don’t want to do this alone anymore.”

-> you felt his lips against your temple, and though there was nothing romantic about the kiss, it made you feel warm inside. “let’s go check on our girl, alright?” you hummed and squeezed shidou once more before letting go. “yeah.”

chigiri hyoma

-> “so…” “so.” “… why is your hair so long?” “😐”

-> you can’t help but snicker at the conversation going on between your son and his father. despite his young age, hikari has a large personality, and you can tell chigiri sees himself before the injury in him

-> “so you, like, play soccer?” “why do you talk like you’re twelve? you’re only six.” “yeah, six inches deep in your—“ “hikari! you really need to stop hanging out with those fifth graders.”

-> despite himself, chigiri laughs. “do you even know what that means, kid?” “…” you rub the ache from your forehead and sigh. “well, i’m at a loss. where do you boys wanna go from here? we fighting for custody, or will this be civil?”

-> chigiri shoots hikari a look before blinking at you. “um, is he allowed to hear this?” “he’ll find out eventually, might as well get his say.” “but he’s six.” “six inch—“ you cover his mouth with your palm. “are you gonna come around, or am i doing this alone?”

-> your bluntness surprises your ex-husband. “i’m in this.” “good,” you nod, posture slouching. “‘cause i am so tired, hyoma.”

-> it’s getting late, so you excuse yourself to tuck your son into bed before you can return to your conversation with your ex. “mom?” “yes, hun?” “do i have to change my name to chigiri hikari? cause that sounds dumb..” you chuckle and give him a kiss on the forehead. “no, you don’t have to change your name. tell me, though… how do you feel about having him around more?”

-> hikari doesn’t hesitate. “well, he’s fun to make fun of, and he’s my dad, right? he should be around… and you won’t be lonely when i’m not here if he’s around.” “oh, honey, don’t worry about me. all i want is for you to be safe and happy, okay?” “okay. g’night.”

-> you find chigiri exactly where you left him. “i have a spare bedroom, if you’d like to stay. i don’t know what your situation is like right now, but if you want to stay and help raise your son, rent is due on the 11th.” “rent?” “mhm! i pushed him out of me and have been providing for six years. you can pay rent.” “… i’ll have your check ready in the morning.”

BONUS! itoshi rin (i had a few reqs for him :p)

-> “will you come play more tomorrow?” your daughter asked. rin’s soft smile fell, but only for a second. “i actually have to fly back to work tomorrow.” “oh..” “but how about this weekend?” she lit up. “really?!”

-> you smiled as you watched the two interact. they’d gotten so comfortable with each other so quick, and your daughter even asked rin to hold her when her legs got tired from standing

-> you weren’t surprised when you checked on them after cleaning up to find emi fast asleep in her dad’s arms. the sight made you want to cry, and you were overcome by a wave of guilt that left tears in your eyes

-> when rin noticed your presence, he gave a small finger-wave, trying not to move too much with the six-year-old in his arms. “hey,” he whispered when you moved to sit on the floor beside his legs

-> “how was it today?” you asked him, fingers toying with the end of your daughter’s navy blue dress. he hummed. “good. she’s a great kid, y/n. you did good.”

-> your exhale was shaky as you dropped your face into your hand. “i feel so awful, rin. how did this happen to us? i should have been the bigger person, not for me, but for her. she didn’t deserve to lose all these years with you just because i wasn’t brave enough to reach out and—“

-> the feel of rin’s fingers grazing your jaw shut you up. his eyes are intense and glimmering as he stares down at you. “don’t. there’s no point anymore. i’m here now, that’s what matters. that and her.” you nod and sink into his touch. “that and her.”

pt 1 // pt 2 // pt 3

[c-nstellati-ns]

APOLLO, GOD OF MUSIC ... — conquest x medic!superhero!m!reader prt.1

you were retired, for gods sake. why in the hell would everything go to shit exactly when you were on vacation? you struggled to even comprehend the fact that there were more than one invincibles flying around, and now the city was falling apart all around you? retired or not, there were people who needed help and that's what you planned to do, no matter how reluctant you were about it. ... so how the hell did you manage to get yourself wrapped up with the very alien who was turning this city into a fine dust?

> author's note — this is incredibly self-indulgent and the first time i've written in literal months LOL so sorry for being inactive for so long !! this was inspired by dj subatomic supernova from NSR, lucio from overwatch and luna snow from marvel rivals ... i love me a silly guy who makes music and heals people via that music :-) not that subatomic heals people ... more like ........ he tries to kill them via music and his planets ........ but whatever !!! this is irrelevant !!!!!! ( i was gonna have this be smut originally but i like where i ended off to continue into a part two soon ^_^ so sorry if anything is bad i am very rusty ... feel free to send me some thirsts in my inbox if you'd like! ) > word count — 1.6k > featuring — our fave viltrumite, conquest <3 > cw — intentional lower case, canon typical violence, unspoken death threats? nothing much really its mostly establishing how your relationship came to be before things get steamy LOL so sorry for the bait

MDNI. 18+ ACCOUNT, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

you had parted ways with the GDA some time ago, marking it off as a need for something new. you could only fight so long, for so much. you had been in the spotlight ever since your powers had finally developed, being someone who could virtually heal anything with the power of music. it was rather silly in your eyes but it made you and anyone you wanted to protect virtually invincible. any wounds or injuries would mend in seconds in your presence, people feeling safe around you, other heroes feeling energised to keep on fighting. at some point, you felt the same way until… you didn't. it had only been a matter of time, after all.

the GDA was desperate to keep you so you kept their number just in case things were to happen. that is, until something finally did happen. it was a random tuesday, you think. you had been on the way to your hotel in the city for your little vacation, you had been waiting for so long for it. tapping into your savings from working with the guardians to afford it. you were happy, life was good. you had a nice car, a nice place far from the city, a couple dogs, cats, and one snake that you loved dearly. you were single, not that you minded much actually.

so what exactly happened? how the hell did your car end up split in half by falling debris and cradling the lifeless body of some innocent civilian that got extremely unlucky? you could barely wrap your mind around it.

it was hard to try and keep your music up enough to keep yourself safe, but to try and sweep in and aid those who were helpless was something else entirely. you let out a loud groan of frustration as you carefully set the body down somewhere undisturbed, making a mental note to come back for it later. you had to keep up, getting as many people out of there as you could, but there was always the few that escaped your grasp, all falling victim to some horrible fate that no amount of healing nor music could help. you couldn't get distracted.

you were glad you had kept the equipment the GDA had made for you, even gladder to have kept it close. the music coming off of the holographic speakers around you was loud, a beacon of hope in the midst of the destruction around you, but it kept people safe and you kept playing. you kept far away from the fighting as much as you could, ushering innocents away from their very close deaths. of course, you were putting a big ole target on your head with how loud it all was, but you couldn't care less. sounds waves were blasting anything that came your way, cracking open asphalt that trapped some poor kid underneath it all. you could spot the blood pooling next to him, his mother probably. you grimaced and carried him away, making sure to heal whatever cuts and bruises he had. thankfully, unharmed physically. mentally… you wouldn't wish that on your worst enemy.

you were doing your job well, keeping things somewhat peaceful until you spotted a stray arm sticking out of some debris. you quickly flew over, pushing off any concrete that held this person down. your heart beating frantically in your chest, you dug as much as you could, hoping that they didn't die before you got there. you grabbed at their hand and pulled as much as you could, using your sound waves to blast at the concrete as you did so. you let out a sigh of relief as you felt the warm from their palm, squeezing it in reassurance. you passed your fingers over their wrist, trying to find their pulse but no dice. so you used your powers to heal whatever injuries they might've sustained, a soothing melody that has the person feeling mushy.

"hey, are you okay?!" you shouted over the chaos around you, hand reaching out to grip at their shoulder. you pulled as hard as you can, thinking to yourself, holy fuck this guy is heavy as hell. you were about to yell again until the hand grabbed at your own roughly, your joints creaking in protest as it did so.

"woah--" you couldn't even finish your sentence before a giant man emerged from the rubble in front of you. he was much, much taller than you, and built like a fucking tank. if you weren't scared shitless, you would have asked him where he worked out. your jaw dropped, staring at the stranger before you.

conquest was having fun with this. he was having fun with all of this! this planet's defences were as measly as he had imagined, so it wasn't a surprise when the creatures that inhabited it were squished by a simple rock to their soft spots. but he was pleasantly surprised by its defender. a halfbreed viltrumite, weak like all those other flesh bags, but much more resilient. the worm even got him to bleed, which was a surprise in itself.

so who was this, mending the little scrapes and bruises that his body has yet to heal? why did it feel… good? like a warm feeling throughout his body, a hum of a familiar tune that made him want to… sleep? what the hell was this? it feels odd, he feels light. lighter than he would when he's flying, it was something else entirely. the touch was soft, much unlike he's ever felt before. a gentle squeeze, a faint hold. it was a strange combination, nothing like he's felt before. he let out a rough grunt, grabbing at the hand that was given to him, rising from the rubble he was buried underneath.

conquest brought up the creature that had healed him by the arm, thick brows furrowed as he stared down at it. it was fearful, trying to wrestle out of his iron grip and escape. but the viltrumite was curious about it now, who exactly was this worm? and was it so stupid to not know its own enemy?

you were gonna throw up. of course, of course you healed the wrong person. just your luck that you had healed THE VERY FUCKING THING THAT WAS CAUSING ALL THIS DEATH AND DESTRUCTION IN THE FIRST PLACE. you let out a pained noise as his grip around your wrist tightened, trying to just get away. you could keep yourself safe when fighting anything but a viltrumite? this was something else entirely.

you were smarter than to try and use your offensive powers against him, so instead, you allowed yourself to play a somewhat scattered melody to heal the broken bones within your hand and wrist. he tilted his head to the side, examining you like a piece of meat. i suppose that was what you were now. a stupid, musical adept piece of meat for him to tear into.

closing your eyes, you couldn't believe this was the day you would die. you didn't even get to take your vacation.

… but nothing happens? it's been a couple minutes, he should've killed you by now. you crack your eye open and take a look at him, startled by his one eyed gaze. his pupils are slits, examining you like you were some foreign… thing. and then he smiles. it's an unsettling one, but he grabs you by the waist, a much gentler hold than what he had on your wrist.

"you're the foolish one who helped me, aren't you?" his deep voice rings out over your healing melody and the rumbling chaos around you both.

you're speechless for a moment before nodding frantically, looking around for anything, anyone. unfortunately, no dice. it was just you, him and the fuck metric ton of dead bodies that he caused around you.

"hmm…" conquest mutters to himself. it was a strange feeling, the closer you were to him, the more that strange warm feeling seeped deep into his bones. he couldn't help but let out a deep purr that rattled you silly. he was like a big cat to you, a big, murderous psychotic cat. with his arms around you, it was… comforting? in a really, really fucked up way. you swallowed thickly as you stared up at him as he smiled down at you, what the fuck is going on?

"what is your name, worm?" the stranger asked, examining your face closely as he spoke. your mouth was dry, gaping like a fish out of water. his arms was tightening around you the longer you took to answer him and you stammered out your full legal out of sheer nervousness. he didn't seem like a patient man at all.

he repeats it under his breath, it rolls off nicely on his tongue. his arms lighten around your waist, your ribs definitely bruised after all this. you let out a groan, brain too scattered to make a coherent melody to heal yourself. instead, you looked back to him as his grin widened. crooked teeth and a prominent scar, you would have called him handsome if you weren't actively in danger of being ripped apart by this alien.

"… perhaps lord thragg wouldn't mind if i kept a pet, hm?" conquest purrs, that metallic hand reaching up and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "a healing songbird, doesn't that sound nice? my little songbird." you barely have enough time to speak before he takes off with you in his arms, away from the destruction and chaos that he caused.

mark was clueless as to why conquest had disappeared all of the sudden. in a blink of an eye, he was alone, beaten and bruised on the ground. it gave him time to breathe but it was nerve wracking to think about.

What the fuck just happened?

all works belong to c-nstellati-ns ⓒ 2025. do not steal, repost or feed into AI. ask before translating.

[terriblesoup]

Passing through

A/N: I was watching pride and prejudice because of course I was, and I wanted to write this because of one specific line.

as always, fluff.

Sylus wasn’t supposed to stay this long.

It had started with something simple, an excuse, really. He had meant to return a book he borrowed, just a quick visit, nothing more. But she had smiled when she saw him at the door, eyes bright with that soft kind of happiness that made his chest feel strange, and somehow, that quick visit had stretched into hours.

The afternoon had been slow and golden, the kind of day that felt suspended in time.

She had been making tea when he arrived, the scent of honey and citrus lingering in the air, wrapping around him like a welcome. Her apartment was small but warm, cluttered in a way that made it feel lived-in. There was a blanket draped over the couch, a stack of books precariously leaning against a windowsill, a mug left half-forgotten on the kitchen counter.

He liked it here. More than he should.

It was raining by the time she pulled him into the kitchen, insisting he help with lunch. Sylus didn’t argue, though his version of “helping” mostly involved watching her move around the space with practiced ease, sleeves rolled up, hair pinned loosely.

She told him stories while she cooked, unprompted, effortless, like it was second nature.

"Did I ever tell you about my upstairs neighbor?" she asked at one point, slicing through a bell pepper.

Sylus, leaning against the counter, shook his head.

"Oh, you're going to love this one." She grinned. "They once blew up their kitchen trying to impress someone."

His eyebrows raised slightly. "Blew it up?"

"Not literally. But close enough. They wanted to cook a romantic dinner, except they didn’t actually know how to cook, so they ordered takeout and tried to make it look homemade."

Sylus smirked. "And?"

She set down the knife, already laughing. "They thought the meal needed a little something extra to seem authentic. So they put some garlic in a pan, except they had no idea what they were doing. Somehow, they managed to set the entire thing on fire."

Sylus huffed a quiet laugh. "Rookie mistake."

"Oh, it gets worse. They panicked and threw water on it. You can imagine how that went."

He could. The flames must have shot up, smoke billowing out of the windows.

"Something actually flew out of their apartment," she continued. "A toaster. Out the window. Just-gone."

Sylus blinked. "Why would a toaster-"

"I have no idea!" She grinned, shaking her head. "To this day, it remains a mystery."

She turned back to the stove, stirring something in the pan. He watched her for a moment, the way she smiled to herself, the way she enjoyed telling these stories.

She made the simplest things feel full.

And Sylus, who was never one to linger, who always had one foot out the door, found himself staying.

The rain turned heavier in the afternoon, hammering against the windows, washing the city into a watercolor blur.

She made a space for them on the couch, piling blankets and insisting that bad weather was an excuse to be cozy. Sylus had rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue.

They played chess. Well...Tried to.

She got distracted halfway through, stacking the pieces instead of making actual moves.

"You realize this isn't the goal, right?" Sylus asked dryly, watching as she carefully balanced a knight on top of a bishop.

"It's my goal," she countered, fully focused. The tower wobbled dangerously.

Sylus smirked and very deliberately nudged the table.

The pieces toppled. She gasped in betrayal. "Sylus!"

He leaned back, satisfied.

She huffed, nudging his arm. "You're terrible."

"You were asking for it."

"That’s debatable," she muttered, but she was smiling as she started picking up the fallen pieces.

The hours stretched. The rain softened.

She read aloud to him, voice lilting, warm. He didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until she nudged him with her foot. "Are you falling asleep?"

"No."

She laughed softly, not calling him out on the lie.

The world outside faded.

Inside, it was quiet.

Inside, it was safe.

By the time Sylus finally stood to leave, it was late.

The rain had stopped hours ago. The city beyond her window was quiet, the streets slick with silver light. He reached for his coat, draping it over his arm, turning toward the door.

And then-

"So soon?"

He turned back.

She was still curled up on the couch, knees tucked under her, book resting in her lap. The glow from the nearby lamp cast her in gold. She wasn’t pleading, wasn’t even really asking. Just looking at him with wide, expectant eyes.

As if he had never really planned to leave.

Sylus swallowed, fingers tightening slightly on the doorknob.

He was good at leaving. It was second nature, slipping away before things became too real, before anyone could ask him to stay.

But she wasn’t asking.

She was just waiting.

She tilted her head. "Stay."

Not a demand. Not a request. Just a truth.

Like she had already decided he belonged here.

Sylus hesitated.

Then his grip on the doorknob loosened. His coat slipped from his arm, landing in a quiet heap on the chair beside him.

She smiled, soft, knowing. And without another word, she patted the empty space beside her.

He sat down.

Just for a little longer.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

A/n: I feel like I should do a pride and prejudice au for a fic, a bit long maybe.

[imreidswifey]

request!

fem!reader who's just so so enamoured with how pretty Spencer is and she often just stares at him for long periods of time (not in a weird creepy way, like she zones out and doesn't realize how long she's staring). Spencer notices when she does this and he gets all flustered every time. like to the point where he can't focus on whatever he's doing. Then when they're alone Spencer let's her just look at him and like, trace his facial features and stuff? like they're having a conversation on the couch and r is just tracing Spencer's jawline or the bridge of his nose with her fingers?

apologies if this isn't a very good idea, if i was dating Spencer I'd be doing this all the time!! he's so pretty omg.

-🪲

𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

w/c: 5.2k

a/n: AHHHH THIS IS MY FIRST REQUEST EVERR!! Im actually so happy y'all dont understand 🤭 thank you so much 🪲! This req was literally perfect and was a dream to writee i actually like love u so much and I hope I did what you wanted with this prompt!!

———

Spencer Reid had the kind of beauty that made my heart ache.

Not in a fleeting, superficial way—but in a way that settled deep in my bones, in a way that made everything else in the world seem dull in comparison. It was unfair, really, how effortlessly stunning he was.

I didn’t think he realized it, which only made it worse.

It was everything—the soft, golden curls that always seemed to fall perfectly into place no matter how often he raked a hand through them. The sharp lines of his cheekbones, the way they caught the light when he turned his head just so. His hazel eyes, warm and thoughtful, always filled with something unreadable yet captivating.

I was enamored. Absolutely, irreversibly enamored.

And I had a habit.

A terrible, unbreakable habit.

I stared at Spencer Reid. A lot.

Not in a creepy, overbearing way—I didn’t gawk or leer. It wasn’t intentional, either. I just… got lost in him sometimes.

It happened when he was deep in thought, tapping his fingers against his chin while reading some obscure book that no one else in the team could decipher. Or when he was talking, completely oblivious to how mesmerizing he looked while explaining quantum physics or behavioral patterns.

It was never on purpose.

But Spencer noticed.

Every single time.

———

I was supposed to be working.

I really was.

But Spencer was sitting across from me, brow furrowed in concentration as he flipped through a case file. His glasses—those damn glasses—were perched on the bridge of his nose, the thin gold frame complementing the warm undertones of his skin.

I was done for.

I didn’t realize how long I’d been staring until Spencer suddenly stopped moving.

I blinked, snapping back to reality. His hazel eyes met mine, slightly wide, as if I’d caught him off guard—though, in reality, he had caught me.

Again.

The air between us shifted, crackling with something unspoken. Spencer’s fingers twitched against the pages of his file, but he didn’t turn away.

Instead, his blush started to rise.

I knew the pattern by now—the way it crept up his neck, painting his cheeks a soft, rosy hue. The way his lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite form the words.

I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. “Spence?”

He cleared his throat, breaking eye contact far too quickly.

“You’re—uh—” He gestured vaguely, struggling. “You’re doing it again.”

I tilted my head, feigning innocence. “Doing what?”

His jaw clenched slightly, and he let out a breath through his nose.

“You know what.”

A small laugh escaped me.

Before I could tease him further, Hotch’s voice cut through the moment.

“You two.”

I jumped, realizing that everyone was staring at us. Emily raised a knowing brow, JJ bit back a smirk, and Derek—of course—was grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

Spencer, on the other hand, looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“We’re moving forward with the profile,” Hotch continued, eyes narrowing slightly. “Unless, of course, you’re both too… distracted.”

Spencer made a noise in his throat—something between a cough and a strangled squeak—and immediately buried himself in his notes.

I felt the warmth of amusement bloom in my chest.

I really needed to get better at hiding my staring.

———

It wasn’t until later that night that I got the chance to properly admire Spencer without the weight of an audience.

The two of us were curled up on my couch, the soft glow of my reading lamp casting a golden hue over everything. A book lay open in his lap—something about classical philosophy—but neither of us were really focused on it.

Spencer was talking, his voice low and soothing as he explained something about Socratic irony. I was listening—really, I was—but my hands had a mind of their own.

Without thinking, I reached out, my fingertips ghosting over the sharp line of his jaw.

Spencer inhaled sharply, his words cutting off mid-sentence.

His gaze snapped to mine, hazel eyes wide and unreadable.

I didn’t stop.

I traced the curve of his cheekbone, my touch feather-light, barely there. His skin was warm beneath my fingertips, and I could feel the way his jaw tensed slightly, as if he wasn’t sure whether to lean into my touch or pull away.

He didn’t pull away.

Instead, he swallowed, throat bobbing slightly.

“You—” His voice was barely a whisper. “You do this a lot.”

I smiled, letting my fingers trail along the bridge of his nose, then down to the corner of his lips.

“I know.”

Spencer’s breath hitched.

His hands clenched slightly against his lap, as if he was holding himself back. His blush deepened, spreading across his cheeks like wildfire.

I leaned in slightly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Do you want me to stop?”

For a moment, I thought he might say yes.

But then—slowly, hesitantly—he exhaled and shook his head.

“No,” he murmured.

That was all the permission I needed.

I took my time, memorizing him the way I always wanted to. My fingers traced the sharp planes of his face, following the path of freckles that dusted his nose. He stayed perfectly still, his breath uneven, his lips parting slightly at my touch.

“You’re beautiful,” I whispered.

Spencer closed his eyes for a moment, his lashes fluttering against his cheek. When he opened them again, there was something raw in his gaze—something vulnerable and breathtaking.

“You really think that?” he asked softly.

I let my thumb brush against his cheek.

“I know that.”

Spencer exhaled shakily, his hands finally moving. One of them lifted, hesitating before resting over mine. He held it there, pressing my palm against his cheek, as if grounding himself in the moment.

And then, in the softest voice I’d ever heard from him, he whispered, “I like it when you look at me.”

My heart clenched.

I smiled, leaning in just a little closer. “Good.”

Because I wasn’t going to stop.

Not now. Not ever.

———

Spencer Reid didn’t need words to be poetry.

He was poetry in the way he blushed, in the way he stammered when I caught him off guard. He was poetry in the way he let me trace my fingers over his skin, in the way he closed his eyes and melted into my touch.

He was poetry in the way he let me look at him.

And I never wanted to stop reading.

———

Tyy 🪲 for requesting this!!!

[rdng1230]

In the movies, everything grows quiet when you see the love of your life across the room. Not this time.

Seeing Tommy tilting his head at another man just makes everything louder, drowning out hope, conversation, reason.

And whatever residual sense he had from the first glance is utterly demolished when the stranger leans forward and pats, no caresses Tommy's face.

Suddenly there's another shot glass in his hand and Ravi's clinking it with his own. "Umm, Buck you know you're staring right?" The sound barely reaches him over the din.

"Right?" Ravi calls again, and this time it's accompanied by enough of a shoulder nudge to snap him back into the bar. "Shit." He stares down at his own feet and clears the walkway he's probably been blocking for at least a minute.

Back in their booth, Buck leans onto the table to keep himself upright. Ravi is better company than he would've thought, keeping him pleasantly distracted and filling him in on all the war stories from his transfer over at the 122. Their gangling probies, crafty paramedics, and the gruff, but solid Captain keeping them (mostly) out of trouble.

It's a funny thing, to hear about other houses and see how they tick. Firefighting is Buck's calling, but his life could've gone so differently had he been assigned elsewhere.

"Speak of the devil!" Ravi calls, hauled out of his chair by none other than Tommy's... ok admittedly handsome stranger. "Panikkar, you don't call you don't write??" They exchange a handshake and a pat on the back and Ravi sits back down, scooting his chair in so the man can stand closer without blocking everything.

"Buck, this is Captain Deluca of the 122. Cap, this is Evan Buckley of the 118." Ravi waves his arms in between them and Buck has to fight biting off his own tongue when the Captain extends his hand. "Sal is fine, heard a lot about you golden boy."

"Wish I could say the same." He fires back, a little more forceful than he means to. "Well that answers that question." Sal says under his breath, taking the seat next to Ravi without being invited. Maybe that's this guy's deal, taking other people's.... everything. Without asking.

"Do I need to guard my ankles?" Sal laughs and the familiarity turns Buck's stomach. Is that what he is to Tommy now? A joke to tell his new flings? Only the way Sal caught Tommy's cheek earlier, he doubts that their relationship stops there.

"Easy, easy Buckley, we've got T minus 3 minutes before my boy over there realizes that his boy is over here. So let me be very blunt."

"All due respect Captain, I don't think you have another setting." Ravi giggles into his shot glass before tossing it back. Sal rolls his eyes at his former employee before continuing.

"He fucked up. He knows it. I know it. You know it. And this is the furthest thing from fair and you're well within your rights to tell me to fuck off, but I swear I can't handle his sad little kicked puppy face anymore especially when he's the one who did the kicking."

Buck's jaw falls open, leaning in closer to Sal like he's afraid he's misheard. "So here's what's gonna happen hotshot. I'm gonna grab the next round, and then flyboy is gonna handle the one after that. I suggest it be you he bumps into and not some rando. Up to you though."

He stands up and claps their mutual lightweight friend on the shoulder. "Good seeing you Ravi." Sal turns his eyes towards Buck and smiles, and he's happy to see the malice in Sal's smile isn't there at all, it's amusement, and maybe just a dash of commiseration. "Don't let him go kid." The graying captain joins the fray on drunkards, tossing a "Trust me." over his shoulder.

"You gonna take his advice?" Ravi finally asks once he realizes Buck has completely stopped paying attention to the story he had been in the middle of when Sal arrived. Buck feels glued to the vinyl seat, his head on a swivel waiting for Tommy to be in sight. "He-he dumped me." Buck finally gets out.

Ravi's shoulders slump like he's disappointed with the answer. "But you miss him?" He prods again, staring at him with kind and inquisitive eyes.

Words are entirely insufficient for the answer, so instead Buck just nods. Ravi points his finger onto the table, drawing his case to a close. "Well Tommy clearly misses you. Cap can be an asshole, but the upside is the man doesn't lie. Tact and him are like oil and water."

Ravi sucks his teeth and takes another shot. "Hey man it's your choice."

Buck tosses back a shot himself for luck. "I think I need another drink." He gets up awkwardly, positioning himself to be just a little too bump-into-able. It's not long until a familiar form collides with his shoulder.

"Tommy." He breathes out, a thousand pounds instantly lifted off his shoulder.

"Evan." His ex breathes out without thinking, not daring to pull away from the hand that's taken his.

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

„But what if a kid identifies as a cat?“, used as an argument against trans rights, feels like the type of argument you’re not really supposed to think about - because if you do, it falls apart really quickly. 

I think it’s supposed to evoke some horrible mental image of doctors operating on a toddler to turn them into a kitten or kids using the litterbox and eating cat food or something. In some sort of „If we allow a child to choose their own pronouns and name and put on clothes they’re happy in, we will also have to allow that“ way. 

But what exactly are we talking about here? A kid playing pretend that they are a cat? In that case, that’s just ridiculous. There’s zero comparability between that and being transgender. Kids pretending to be cats (or pirates or vampires or horses or trees or horse-trees who are also pirate-vampires.. young kids come up with wonderfully creative in-game universes!) are just tiny humans playing games. That is an important part of childhood that helps them develop valuable skills like empathy, creativity and problem-solving, and doctors are aware of this. They’re not suddenly going to prescribe kitty hormones to kids for going through a very very common developmental phase. 

Plus, I don’t think kids really routinely ask for that either. I’m sure there are individual anecdotes of kids actually trying out the litterbox while playing cats (even if it’s just to provoke a reaction from adults, which is also a normal way kids learn and explore) - but kids who play pretend that they are a cat do not persistently identify as a cat. They do not have an enduring inner feeling that they genuinely are a cat or should be a cat. They do not want to persistently be treated as a cat. As soon as the game is over, they’ll step out of character. That’s more comparable to putting on Halloween costumes than to being trans. 

So, are we talking about kids who genuinely and persistently have the inner feeling of being a cat? Well, in that case.. doctors also wouldn’t operate on the kid. Maybe we could help the kid feel more comfortable by letting them choose a name that feels more cat-appropriate or in other ways changing how we talk about them. We could help the kid find safe ways to express what they feel. But that would be all. There is no approved surgery for that. That just isn’t a thing right now. 

And if it ever becomes a thing, well, I’d guess that’d only be the case if a lot of scientists and doctors agreed that there is 1. ample demand for such a surgery and 2. a greatly improved quality of life for the patients undergoing the surgery and 3. a way to perform such a surgery where the benefits outweigh the risks, and if all that is given, I’d be all in favor of it. It’d be weird to be against a potentially lifesaving treatment, just because it’s for something you may not fully understand. 

But that’s hypothetical, of course. Using a made-up surgery to somehow argue against trans rights is just plain silly. So now we are left with… what exactly? The mental image of a kid realizing something about themselves that we may not relate to? The mental image of a kid asking us to respect the way they feel, even if it may be a rare experience? 

I don’t think that’s such a horrible image at all. Certainly not one to be so scared of that we should punish trans kids for it. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[justagirlswrld]

AITA FOR GOING THROUGH MY BOYFRIENDS PHONE?

a/n- i’m a mark grayson groupie 😥☝🏽. first attempt at smut, hope yall enjoy.

warnings: sorry for errors it’s 1 am. unprotected p in v. things that happen in sex happen in this. feed back welcome :).

You felt insane as you laid under your thick comforter and pretended to be asleep. It was going on 1 am and you initially had been tired from beating up criminals all day, now your mind raced too much to even think about sleep.

You focused on keeping your breathing shallow and your body relaxed when the bathroom door swung open and you assumed Rex walked in. Your suspicions were confirmed when he began singing a low tune, trying not to wake you, you guessed.

When the bed finally dips from Rex’s weight you focus on keeping your voice from hitching. He slings an arm around your waist above the covers then falls asleep on his stomach. You stay in your original position with your arms folded beneath your head for what feels like forever.

You gingerly begin to sit up when you hear Rex’s light snores. You turn towards him as gently as possible. Your eyes search his beside, only guided by the moonlight as you look for what’s keeping you up at night: Rex’s phone.

You and Rex had been dating for a year since meeting one faithful day a year ago. The Guardians of the globe were getting their ass handed to them before you stepped in. You hadn’t thought much of him the first time you saw him in his orange suit but things changed majorly when he got undressed.

You became fast friends with Eve even though she dated Rex before. “Our experiences may be different but the Rex I knew was a cheating asshole. Rex doesn’t know how to have just one.”, Eve says to you one calm day over lunch. You waited for her to start smiling or laughing or for a last minute just kidding but neither came. Her words were keeping you up at night so you had to know.

You felt a little twinge of guilt because you weren’t usually this invasive. You knew you’d hate it if someone did this to you but…you couldn’t shake the little devil on your shoulder telling you to look through it.

You finally spot Rex’s cracked phone in the darkness, poking out from under your white pillow. You slyly reach over his still frame and very slowly pull the phone from under the pillow.

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you hold the phone in your hand, It feels like that one time you had to fly a ticking bomb into space.

You type in the password you discovered by looking over his shoulder and watching him pin in earlier in the day. Rex will be so distracted by his phone you could stab him in the back and he wouldn’t notice, so it wasn’t surprising you were able to peak over his shoulder and get the information you needed.

When the phone unlocks you swear the devil on your shoulder is jumping around in happiness. It’s like you can whispers of gooo throoouuggghhh hisss textsss.

So, you do. Making sure to keep an eye on Rex’s slumbering body.

You let out a shaky sigh as you finish going through his messages , nothing incriminating there.

You begin switching to his photos, thinking that maybe you were overreacting. Until your eyes are looking at a picture of a girls fat ass. Your eyes bulge, you swear they almost pop out the socket as you swipe through the photo library.

It seems like the photos of the girls are endless. Ass, boobs, even girls spreading open their- you throw the phone on the bed as tears well in your eyes. You throw the covers back and stomp over to your closet not caring how much noise you make. “Babe, can you keep it down.”, Rex’s raspy voice says as you pull on your sweats, “you’re sniffling sorta loud.”

The covers rustle as you slip on your uggs and you hear Rex let out a tiny “oh,shit”. He’s scrambling to get out of the bed as your walking to your bed room door, “Babe, it’s not even like that-it doesn’t even count as cheating because it’s just pictures and…a little bit of texting.”

You turn to look at Rex down your nose as he keeps digging his hole, “Y/N, if you wouldn’t have looked in my phone it wouldn’t of mattered- it’s like initiation to be my girlfri-“. You groan and cutting him off, “Be gone when I get back.”

You give Rex a look that could kill before walking out the door and slamming it behind you. As soon as your out the lobby of the apartment complex you take to the sky’s going the only place you can think of in your time of crisis.

You knock on Mark’s bay window hoping he’s not sleeping. You float in the night air for a moment until Mark’s head is poking through the window with that goofy smile on his handsome face. “You know you can use the front door?”, He pushes the window open and you easily glide through it, dropping on his couch.

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting.” You’re only saying it to be polite, you notice the knocked over cups of Ramen and the half drunk gallons of Mountain Dew on the coffee table. Mark seems to notice too as a blush begins to bloom on his fair cheeks. He zooms over and grabs the trash from the table and throws it in the bin, he’s back over to you in a second.

“No-I was just-“, Mark’s words are cut off by the gunfire coming from the video game on the TV. You watch as it replays Mark’s solitary character being shot then tea bagged over and over until he exits out the game with the controller.

“Did I get you killed? i’m sorry.”, Mark sits beside you on the upscale couch, you wonder if his mom picked out his furniture for his apartment. “It’s cool. I sucked anyway…”, he trails off, slender fingers tracing patterns on the couch before looking up at you with big, brown eyes. “What are you doing here at two in the morning, anyway?”

You slap your hand against your head, “I completely forgot about the time-,” You contemplate telling Mark about happened with Rex but you decide against it. “I couldn’t sleep and figured you’d be up.” You look at him through thick lashes, “I hope that’s okay.”

“Ye-yeah, it’s fine. You wanna watch a movie or somethin’ ?”

The movie ends up being nothing but background noise as Mark lays between your thighs, feet almost hanging off the couch. He’s wearing nothing but loose, green basketball shorts so you can feel his hard dick through your thin sweats.

You mewl when his warm, mouth begins sucking on your neck. He switches from licking to sucking around your throat as you rub your fingers through his thick, black hair. His large hands begin to sneak up your shirt before twisting in the material instead, your hands doing the same to the hem of his shorts. Mark stops his ministrations and lays his face in the crook of your neck as he breathes heavily.

“Everything okay?”, You ask breathlessly, fingers scratching along his scalp. “What about Rex?”, his breath on your neck sends shivers down your spine. “We broke up.”, Mark looks up at you, his smile returning. “That’s why you came to see me.”

You bite your lip coyly, wrapping your arms around Marks waist so his hips are flush against yours. You begin to grind slowly against his still hard cock. It doesn’t do much but the feeling is enough to bring a warmth to your skin. “Is that a problem?”

He’s hovering over you now, using both hands as support. You watch the muscles in his biceps ripple as he begins to grind back into your clothed center. “I don’t have a condom…but Viltrumite’s can’t contact human diseases.” He moves down to his forearms, his breath warm on your face.

“I’m good too and me and Rex haven’t had sex for months.” Mark takes this as permission to stop his hips and you almost whine at the loss. He kisses you hard instead, this lasts for a moment as his hands roam your stomach, your waist and over your breasts.

Mark sneaks his nimble fingers into your bra. He rolls one hardened bud between his pointer finger and thumb, eliciting light moans from your pretty lips. He cups your other breast in his large hand, massaging the fat in a relaxing way.

In record time you’re sitting upright with Mark kneeling in between your legs. He pulls you to the edge of the couch and pulls your underwear and sweats down in one motion. He groans when he gets a glimpse of the moisture between your thighs, eyes flicking up to meet yours as he parts your legs.

“This okay?”, You stutter out a yes and without taking his eyes off you Mark licks a tentative stripe up your folds. You whine as he soaks his fingers with the wetness collecting between your lips. Once his fingers are to his liking he slowly pushes both long digits into your flaming center. Mark is looking for then slowly swirling your clit once he finds it, he’s slowly twisting his fingers in and out of you and the sound of your wetness joins the voices on the TV.

You grip the arm of the sofa as his rhythm turns fast and rough, eyes snapping closed in bliss. Your hips buck when he replaces the finger on your clit with his tongue, you toss your head back and pull his hair with your weak hands. You bite your lip as he watches you watch him from between your thighs.

Mark removes his mouth from your throbbing cunt for a moment, “Let me hear you baby…you’re making me so hard.” You can’t help but to moan at his words. Marks mouth returns and continues, fingers brutal.

His fingers are knuckles deep in your spasming cunt and that band in your stomach is ready to snap when Mark pulls his fingers from you and stuffs them in his mouth. Moaning around his own fingers like they were dipped in honey.

“Maark”, You whine and he shushes you while rising to his knees. Mark pulls you farther down the couch so you’re slumping. He pulls his shorts down his hips and his dick springs free. The sight makes your toes curl. He’s a perfect specimen, you lick your lips to stop your mouth from watering at his long, thick cock.

Mark runs his pink tip back and forth at your weeping entrance, “Fuuuck, you’re so wet.” He slowly pushes into you. Marks hands are against the back of your thighs for support, your legs folded. There’s a heavenly stretch as he bottoms out.

You two stay that way for a moment, Mark getting used to the feel of your gummy walls squeezing around him. You’re biting your bottom lip to keep from moaning and Mark kisses you rough and wet, “I told you I want to hear you.” He pulls out partly before sliding back deep inside you. He creates a pace that has your eyes rolling back and your mouth hanging open.

Mark curses and moans as he watches himself disappear between your leaking folds. The movie ended long ago, the sound of you and Mark’s heavy breathing and the squelching of where your sexes met echoed in his apartment.

He closes your legs now, angling his hips where he can push up into your cunt. His index finding your clit again.

After a few deep strokes the band in your stomach snaps and your toes curl. You whimper Marks name as he fucks you through your orgasm. He babbles on about you being ‘so pretty’ and how ‘your pussys so tight’. His hands move from your trembling thighs and ghost over your breasts and neck to hold your chin as he kisses you.

You squeeze around Mark and to his surprise that has his him coming deep inside you while he moans into your mouth. You think you might come again from the husky sound alone

His hips stutter and you rub his back with sweaty hands as he pulls out of you.

Mark lays with his head in your neck for a moment as you two try to catch your breath. Mark unexpectedly nips your ear causing you to laugh and push him off you before sitting up, “I should come here more often.”, You say with a smirk.