#where i can completely exhaust myself

[tardis--dreams]

Gonna go running tomorrow!!!! Gotta hype myself up because i know once my alarm goes off at 6am i will not be as excited anymore ((((: BUT I'LL GO RUNNING!!!!

[figofswords]

anybody remember the stephanie brown essay I was working on under a research grant fully last summer? yeah it’s not done yet it super needs to be done and I’ve been avoiding working on it for weeks. someone tell me to just do it already

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

one thing abt being disabled/chronically ill that some people don’t get is that sometimes body maintenance that ensures you have the absolute minimum amount of function can also be something that takes away a lot of control and autonomy. you can argue till the cows come home that making those decisions to try and help yourself (or realistically to try to make sure things aren’t worse than they already are) is something that exhibits control and autonomy and stuff, but they can be so limiting in practice because they’re things that take up so much time but have to be done to do anything else

[widevibratobitch]

im so fucking mad at myself and my stupid fucking coping mechanisms and that it took me this fucking long to realise im a people pleaser and not only that but the most pathetic kind - the kind that doesnt *actually* manage to please anyone lol

[running-in-the-dark]

a super fun thing that my brain is really good at is hearing a random fact and remembering it forever. but only if it's bad :)

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[alorz]

VERY dramatic tags

[pibsboots]

I've always had chronic fatigue. I remember being twelve, and an adult mentioned how I couldn't possibly know how tired they felt because adulthood brought levels of exhaustion I couldn't imagine. I thought about that for days in fear, because I couldn't remember the last time I didn't feel tired.

Eventually I came to terms with the fact that I was just tired, and I couldn't do as many things as everyone else. People called me lazy, and I knew that wasn't true, but there's only so many times you can say "I'm tired" before people think it's an excuse. I don't blame them. When a teenager does 20 hours of extracurriculars every week and only says "I'm too tired" when you ask them to do the dishes, it's natural to think it's an excuse. At some point, I started to think the same thing.

It didn't matter that I could barely sit up. It was probably all in my head, and if I really wanted to, I could do it.

When I learned the name for it, chronic fatigue, I thought wow, people that have that must be miserable, because I am always tired and I cannot imagine what it would feel like if it were worse.

Spoiler alert, if you've been tired for a decade, it's probably chronic fatigue.

Once I figured that out though, I thought of my energy as the same as everyone else's, just smaller in quantity. And that might be true for some people, but I've figured out recently that it absolutely isn't true for me.

I used to be like wow I have so much energy today I can do this whole list for sure! And then I'd do the dishes and have to lay down for 2 hours. Then I'd think I must gave misjudged that, I didn't have as much energy as I thought.

But the thing is - I did have enough energy for more tasks, I just didn't go about them properly.

With chronic fatigue, your maximum energy is obviously much smaller than the average person's. Doing the dishes for you might use up the same percentage of energy that it takes to do all the daily chores for someone else.

If someone without chronic fatigue was to do all the daily chores, they would take breaks. Because otherwise, they're sprinting a marathon for no reason and it would take way more energy than necessary. We have to do the same.

Put the cups in the dishwasher, take a break. Put the bowls in, take a break. So on and so forth. This may mean taking breaks every 2-5 minutes but afterwards, you get to not feel like you've run a marathon while carrying 4 people on your back.

Today, I had a moderate amount of energy. Under my old system of go till you drop, I probably could have done most of the dishes and wiped off the counter and then been dead to the world for the rest of the day.

Under the new system, I scooped litter boxes, cleaned out the fridge, took the trash out, cleaned the stove, and wiped off the counter and did all the dishes. And after all that, I still had it in me to make a simple dinner, unload the dishwasher, and tidy the kitchen.

It was complete and utter insanity. Just because I sat down whenever I felt myself getting more tired than I already was.

All this to say, take fucking breaks. It's time to unlearn the ceaseless productivity bullshit that capitalism has shoved down our throats. Its actively counterproductive. Just sit down. Drink some water. Rest your body when it needs to rest.

There will still be days where there is nothing to do but rest, and days where half a load of dishes is absolutely the most I can do. But this method has really helped me minimize those, which is so incredibly relieving.

[pinkhoneyhorror]

I just wish there wasn't always something bothering me... or more something I feel like I need to change to feel love towards myself or feel love from others. I always feel like I'm not good enough but it's because I don't just let myself be me for just a second. I'm too scared. The last time that happened I got my heart broken over and over and was left with nothing. I'm scared of losing everything just for myself. But I know I'm worth it, deep down. I just have to figure out how to do this.

[shittygothbitch]

Okay

[foldingfittedsheets]

So I’m a little embarrassed to admit that when I thought my Switch was broken, my issue with force restarting it was that I mistook the home button for the power button. The advice people gave me should have worked.

When I realized today that the core should have its own button I was able to restart it and everything was fine.

To celebrate, please enjoy a non exhaustive list of other silly shit I’ve done:

When I first started driving a manual transmission car I learned how to drive stick from a single wretched session with my dad where he forced me to start on a hill with my emergency break before I had basic shifting down (I ended up starting the car in third gear on an incline which is an achievement that no one should ever do), and one drive in a parking lot with my buddy Dustin.

Consequently I believed that I must always keep my foot on the clutch when the car wasn’t in gear because no one thought to tell me that neutral counted as a gear.

I drove like that for years, clutch pressed in at every red light. The only reason I ever learned better was my clunker needed a jump and after my coworker had his car hooked up to mine he invited me to stand with him while we waited.

I very hesitantly lifted my foot off the clutch and when it didn’t stall I felt so goddamn silly. Years. I hadn't realized for years that I could be in neutral without the clutch down for years.

More recently I’ve been listening to podcasts in my car. I thought that if I hit the next track button it would skip to the whole next episode and dutifully sat through all the ads.

Then one day I was turning and hit the skip ahead button and realized it only did 30 seconds, not a whole episode. I immediately felt so silly and ridiculous for not realizing sooner that I could fast forward the ads without missing the whole episode.

Finally, the silliest way I've ever injured myself was so stupid that everyone immediately assumed I was lying. I was crawling down the bed toward my beloved in a negative sexual way. Cannot stress enough, there was nothing sexy in this scenario. I'm pretty sure I was pretending to be a cat screaming about licking my own anus. I went to plant my hand on the footboard, I overshot and went somersaulting off the bed, landing flat on my back.

The next day I tried to go into work while moving like a possessed puppet, hunkered over and slinking along trying not to move any muscles because everything was a fiery pit of pain. The managers saw this and called me into the office. "What the hell happened to you? Can you actually work today?"

I opened my mouth to answer and my favorite assistant manager instantly interjected, "And don't lie!"

I stopped and realized that saying I could still work was in fact a lie and got sent home to recuperate. My coworkers were all completely convinced when they heard the story that I'd been up to the freakiest sex shit imaginable and not a single one believed I fell off my bed pretending to be a deranged cat.

[sunniskyies]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 || 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 || 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: - 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Domestic fluff as you both settle back into life together <3 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Ford Pines x fem!reader 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: - 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Literally just fluff, a bit of being a guardian figure to the kids 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2k 𝐀/𝐍: You guys are SO SWEET about the last one, so here's more fluff for you beautiful old man addicts <3

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 > 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 > 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑 > 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒

The kids are in bed— well, mostly. You can hear the chirp of excited conversation through the ceiling. It was late, Stan and Ford’s explanation taking a long, long time. It didn’t help that the retelling got as thick and awkward as wet cement when it came to talk of Ford’s portal, and the events leading up to his departure.

Exhaustion tugs at every battered bone in your body, but you’re so content you might as well be purring like a kitten in front of a roaring fire.

You're curled up bridal-style across Ford’s lap, his arms enveloping you; warm, cradling, completing. He’s donned an old red knit jumper he fished out of his old chest of drawers. It smells like it belongs in a museum, sort of dusty and woodsy. Your face is pressed to his chest, and you feel much younger than your age. It feels like your first day in this house, the two of you huddled on a sagging mattress giggling and talking of futures and other such nonsense; youthful, hopeful, infatuated.

Now the two of you are more than thirty years on, enfolded together like the pages of a book left on an old yellow reading chair. You don’t speak, saving that long conversation for a lick of sunlight and mugs of coffee cupped in hand. No, right now you just sit in silence, Ford’s large hands stroking dust from your hair, a thumb gently soothing the bruise forming on your temple where you struck the wall.

Still unaware of the time except for the inky night hanging in the air, you feel Ford shift. His arms move, body ready to stand up with you. He stops when he notices two large pupils staring up at him curiously.

“You’re still awake, dear,” he smiles, voice quiet. “Let me take you to bed, I must lock up downstairs, make sure nothing vile is seeping through that blasted portal.”

“Ford, no, let’s go to sleep. You can do that in the morning,” you say, trying to ward off the edge of desperation edging into your tone. You can’t help but remember the miserable months of nights in a cold bed while your lover hid away in the basement, sleeping on his desk rather than with you. It has to be different— he’s better now.

Ford doesn’t share your fretting. “No, it’s not stable. Reopening the portal… it’s not safe to leave these things.” He continues to stand up, your body delicately draped over his arms. He seems to notice your expression. “I’ll join you soon, love.”

You doubt that. He’ll probably be there ‘till morning, his simple task snowballing as his keen eyes notice the slightest things amiss. “No, that won’t happen. No, no, I’ll join you. I’m rather accustomed to the portal myself after all this time with it.” You dismiss, stretching a leg to try and stand on the floor.

Ford bundles you up closer, “Absolutely not! You need rest, I swear I will join you.” He begins carrying you to the hall. Your fingers clutch the red fabric of his sweater. 

“Please don’t leave me,” you murmur plaintively, the corners of your mouth downturned. You miss the way Ford’s heart stutters, your eyes all hopelessly syrupy and mournful through your lashes.

He hesitates.

“Please? You can stay down there any other night I promise, just stay this time.”

His jaw tightens. “I don’t want that. Not again,” he says firmly. “Okay… I’ll… I’ll come with you.”

You immediately relax again, at ease in the rhythm of Ford’s steps as he carries you to your room. A stupid grin hijacks your face as he ever-so-gently places you under the sheets (he remembered what side of the bed). You watch from your nest of sheets as he gets ready for bed in the soft lamplight, lifting up the duvet for him to slide in next to you.

His arm around you, frothy sheets up to your neck— you think you might die here and now for how perfect everything feels. You feel his nose bump the top of your head as he presses a kiss to your hair.

“If you’d have told me this morning that… that today would be the day I would’ve never believed…” you say, heavy eyelids closing as you're interrupted by a yawn. You feel his chuckle reverberate where you lean into his chest. 

“Go to sleep, sweetness.” He murmurs, tone laced with a smile. There are his hands again, rubbing soft circles on your arm, your hair. He might as well be rubbing in anaesthesia, his touch lulling you to sleep. Darn you Pines.

Before sleep pulls you under, “I’m so glad your back, Stanford,” slips quietly from your lips. Ford’s heart skips again. Arms tighten around you as if you’re a precious photo about to float away on the wind; skin softly creased from a lifetime of loving, hair matte and grey like faded ink from thirty years of waiting.

“I’m more grateful than you could ever know, my dear,”

A stretch trembles through your warm limbs, the aches from last night dulled by a deep slumber and the warm morning sunlight soaking through the window. A thrill passes through you, your arm sliding through the sheets to Stanford’s side and—

A cry pours from you as your hand meets cold, empty space. Your body is jolted upright, perspiration glistening on your forehead. Your heart is hammering, lungs gulping in buckets of air. Where is he? Where is Ford? Did he come through the portal? Did it really happen? You don’t register the wail emanating from you, nor do you register the pound of heavy boots down the hallway.

“____ are you okay?!” Ford exclaims, almost slamming into the door as he hurries in. His hand is tense, hovering above the gun strapped to his belt.

The sight of him— the feeling you get is so overpowering it’s nauseating. Your paralysed limbs untense, body slumping in relief.

“Goddammit Stanford Pines, you just gave me the fright of a lifetime,” you bemoan, uninvited tears swimming beneath the sieve of your hands. You don’t see as his face goes from confused to slack with realisation.

“Oh,” He groans. “Oh sweetness I’m so sorry.” Feeling horrible, he leans on the bed to pull you into him, rubbing your back. “I should’ve waited for you to wake up, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m sorry, I probably scared you half to death.” You mumble, slightly embarrassed. As much as you are connected to Ford, thirty years has changed both of you, and you find yourself —embarrassingly— feeling like you need to impress him, like a teenager with a crush. God forbid he thinks ill of you!

You relish his rumble of a laugh. “I thought a monster slipped by me or something! I’m grateful you're okay.”

“Yeah, well, I think you might’ve just taken a year off my life, Ford.” You roll your eyes lovingly, a few of the last of those silly tears escaping.

After getting up and pulling on some summer-friendly clothes, you slip down to the kitchen to find the morning well underway. The sun is beating through the windows, and Dipper is sat cross legged on the floor reading a book. He’s reading with the cover down, but his furtiveness is wasted on you; you know he's reading A Good Girl's Guide to Murder. ‘Mature murder mystery books’ indeed, Dipper!

At the kitchen bench, Mabel is haphazardly balanced on a stack of books, multiple propped open at once. From the batter congealing the pages together and the fact that most of the books are iced, you know they are cookery books. And a cookbook in Mabel’s hands is either as dangerous as a matchbook to a forest, or as useless as shoes to a fish.

By the looks of it, it is the latter. Although, is there a faint… burning?

“Great Aunt ___!” Mabel squeals, revealing sprinkle-harbouring braces. “I'm baking, look I’m baking! See, I had this great idea to try and substitute the liquids in my Mabel Cakes with Mabel Juice because Grunkle Ford has never had either —can you believe that? Me neither, so I thought I could kill two birds with one stone and make them together… but I didn’t realise the plastic dinosaurs in the juice would melt in the waffle iron!—” You try to cut off the young girl’s 100-mile-an-hour babble, but that girl is unstoppable.

You wince as she holds up two fists of semi-cooked, eye-wateringly bright gobdules of cakey dough. You, pained, notice the half-melted dinosaurs, faces in liquified agony as strings of molten plastic drip from their bodies. Matchbook in forest, matchbook in forest!

“—So now it’s a bit of a Jurassic Park, another reason why I think Grunkle Ford will love it, even if it’s a bit of a.... disaster. But if you think about it it’s more like a Magical Mabel Disaster! And oh, I added extra sprinkles because you can never have too many sprinkles! Do you think the hardened dinosaurs will make up for the uncooked dough? Or should I cook it more? Doesn’t matter, it’ll taste great!”

You give her a wobbly smile, mostly because you fear what might happen if you open your mouth.

“I tried to stop her,” Dipper mutters from between his pages, voice smug and matter-of-fact.

“Oh don’t act like you're so grown-up, you’re reading a little girl's book,” she retorts in a sing-song. Dipper slams his book closed, the tips of his ears matching the cover.

“I think you’ll find it’s very sophisticated and easy to digest—”

You let the twin’s bickering fade into the background as you begin to tidy up the carnage Mabel’s baking attempt has left. Usually, she gets distracted by things quite quickly, leaving Mabel-messes scattered around for anyone to find. You don’t mind it though, all too glad to slide the Mabel Cake into the bin. You shiver. Those plastic faces… they haunt.

Ford was back down in the basement, the sounds of clanging and buzzing drifting up through the weary floorboards. You want to go down there, but that silly part of you doesn’t want to disturb him again today. No— that’s ridiculous! Ford loves your company, you don’t get in his way —it’s not like it was when Bill was around.

Five minutes later, you're standing in the small room in the basement holding a cup of coffee and a salvaged Mabel Cake. You see Ford through the glass, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tools being used and replaced back onto his belt. He’s hauling colossal slabs of metal from the sides of the portal, the machine slowly being stripped down to bone. Like a massive carcass, it creaks and groans as Ford’s tools slice away at its flesh, and you hope he’s staying well out the way each time pieces of it fall to the floor like toppling trees.

After a few moments, Ford seems to notice you through his welding mask, though you can’t see his face through the tinted visor. He perks up though, dropping a massive saw to the ground and hurrying over.

“Hello, my dear! Is it too noisy?” He says as he slips through the door, pulling off his helmet and drawing you in for a sheepish kiss.

“No, just bringing you some of Mabel’s baking efforts— you don’t have to eat it, but she was awfully excited.” Ford surveys the cake with a smile, and you resist the urge to wipe the smear of soot from his cheek. 

“Thank you. For the sustenance, and for, uh, for checking in,” he says sincerely. Is that a flush you see? Your suspicions are confirmed when you set the coffee aside and bring him in for a deeper kiss, blouse-clad arms sliding around his neck, and you feel his pulse thrum beneath his skin.

The relief you feel! You’re not the only one navigating these unknown emotions, that the man who’s mapped the multiverse is also feeling the giddy nerves you are. Your skin prickles where his degloved hands bear your skin.

It feels strange to be held romantically after so long of loneliness. It’s not that you haven’t found love with the kids and Stan, but you could never bring yourself to even look at another in the way you used to look at Ford. Even if you never finished the portal, you would’ve spent the rest of your life alone, satisfied at least in the knowledge of how it felt to be loved, once. It excites you childishly knowing just by his kiss that Ford felt the same, the way he cradles you in his gaze and with his hands as if he’s trying to reabsorb every inch.

When you break away, his eyes open after yours, and he seems to be at a loss for what to say.

“Do you, um, want to go for a walk this evening? You haven’t left the shack yet, and we haven’t truly caught up…” you offer shyly.

“Yes! That would be… splendid! Spectacular. This evening. Perfect.” He blurts. The calm of last evening has clearly floated away in the daylight for both of you.

“Perfect.” You repeat.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @sleeplessdreamer14, @2hiigh2cry, @taffycandyqt, @papi-machucha, @muffin1304

© sunniskyies 2024, do not repost or translate my work

[requiemforthepoets]

this is me trying 𖦹 OP81

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: growing up, the only thing you know is that you need to be strong, provide, and take care of your sister. but being with oscar, it was different, he made you feel things—that it’s okay to not be fine, vulnerable, and to be taken care of.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i have this fic finished the other day but i was debating on whether to post it or not, but here we are. it’s been a while too since i last wrote for oscar, and this is like a comfort (?) fic idk lol. also, can i just say that LANDO ON POLE FOR THE SG GP!!! 😭🧡 ok, i hope you guys will have fun reading this one. enjoy! :)

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

WARNINGS: not proofread, typos, eldest daughter syndrome, no use of y/n, cursing, unnamed sister, named friend, and parents death

You were sitting in the living room, surrounded by case files and legal books, trying your best to prepare for the court trial that you’ll be doing soon, but your mind was elsewhere. You can't focus on the work that you’re working on in front of you, no matter how hard you try. Your phone buzzed, and you almost didn’t answer, thinking it’s just another work call, but when you saw Blaire, your friend’s name, flash on the screen you quickly picked up, expecting a casual chat.

“Hey, Blaire, how are you?” You greeted her, trying to mask your exhaustion.

Her voice on the other end was hesitant, not the usual warm tone that you’re used to. “Hey…I really hate to bring this up, but I was wondering when you would be able to repay the five thousand dollars?”

Your stomach dropped. “Repay?” You repeated, utterly confused. “What do you mean five thousand dollars?”

The conversation between you and Blaire unraveled quickly. She explained how she had lent the money to your sister out of need, thinking it was for you or with your approval. Rage bubbled in your chest, your pulse quickened, at this point all you can see is red. You thanked her hastily, barely able to end the call before fury overtook you. Without thinking, you dialed your sister’s number, the beeps echoing in your ear like a countdown to an explosion.

“Hello?” Her voice was casual, completely unaware of the storm coming her way.

“What the actual fuck did you do?!” You yelled, not caring if it was late at night. “You borrowed five fucking thousand dollars from Blaire without asking me!? How could you?!”

There was a pause, a brief moment where you could almost feel her shrug through the phone. “Oh my god, can you relax? It’s not like you can't afford it. It’s not that big of a deal, you can just easily pay for it with how big you’re making, it’s barely a scratch on your bank account!” You couldn’t believe what you were actually hearing.

“Not a big deal? Did you spend the money already? Do you have any fucking idea how humiliating it is for me that you did this without even consulting me? You think just because I make good money, I’ll fix every mess you create?” You were seething.

“Well, yeah,” she responded with a laugh, clearly not grasping the gravity of the situation. “You’re my older sister. Isn’t it your job to take care of me, right?”

Your grip on your phone tightened. “I’ve been taking care of you your whole life! I’m working myself to the bone just to make sure you have everything you need, sending you to that fancy school that you’ve always wanted so you can have a better future, and this is how you repay me? By lying and stealing?”

The silence on the other end of the line felt heavy, but your anger has not subsided. She mumbled something that sounded like a half assed apology, but it was already too late for that. You immediately hung up and slammed the phone down on the table, heart racing, pulse pounding in your ears. Anger still swirling inside you like a storm, the words of your sister still echoing in your mind. You can just easily pay for it with how big you’re making. Her carelessness, lack of respect—it hit harder than anything you had experienced before. It wasn’t about the money, you could handle the five thousand dollars easily, but the way she completely dismissed your hard work, as if it was nothing, as if your sacrifice and years of struggle meant nothing—that was what burned deep. It hurts like fucking hell.

You sat down there on the couch, trying to calm yourself down, tears started to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. You didn’t cry. You cannot cry. You have always been strong your whole life—the provider, carer, and protector. That’s who you were. No one had ever taken care of you, not since your parents passed away when you were fifteen and your sister is only ten. It has always been you, alone, against the world, and now, it felt like even your sister was against you.

You didn’t hear Oscar enter the living room until his voice, soft but firm, broke through the silence. “Hey, I heard you from our room. Are you okay?”

You swallowed hard, your body automatically stiffening instinctively and continued browsing through your documents like nothing happened.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry,” you lied, though the quiver in your voice betrayed you.

Oscar walked over and sat down beside you on the couch, his hand gently resting on your shoulder. “You don’t always have to be fine,” he said quietly. “Tell me, what happened?”

You exhaled sharply, your hands trembling as you ran them through your hair. “It’s my sister,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. “She borrowed money from Blaire. Five thousand dollars. Without even telling me. Now, she’s acting like it’s my job to fix it.”

“Five thousand? That’s a lot.” Oscar frowned, his brows knitting in concern.

“I know,” you said, “she doesn’t even care. She just assumes I’ll take care of it, like I always do every time she gets into stupid situations. She thinks just because I earn good money, I’m supposed to fix everything.” Your voice cracked, and before you could stop it, the tears you had been holding back for so long finally broke free. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Oscar. I’m always the one fixing things, I’m always the one who has to be strong.”

Oscar didn’t say anything for a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes filled with understanding. Then, without a word, he pulled you into his arms. You tensed at first, still not used to being vulnerable, but Oscar’s embrace was warm, grounding. Slowly, your body relaxed into his, and the weight of the world seemed to lift just a little as you rested your head against his chest.

“It’s not fair,” you whispered to him. “I’ve always had to be the strong one. I’m tired, Oscar. I’m so fucking tired. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

His hand gently stroked your back, his voice soft and reassuring. “I know. It’s okay to be tired. You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me.”

You pulled back slightly to look at him, your eyes searching his face, “I just don’t know how to let anyone help me,” you admitted, voice barely audible. “I’ve been doing this for so long, I don’t know how to not be the one in control.”

“I get that. But you don’t have to do it all alone anymore. I’m here. Let me be strong for you, too.” Oscar smiled gently, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The idea of letting someone else carry even a fraction of the weight feels completely foreign to you. But as you looked at Oscar, his eyes full of sincerity, something inside you shifted. Maybe, it’s time you let it all fall down, you didn’t have to carry everything on your shoulders all the time.

“What am I supposed to do about her?” You asked, your voice small but steady now.

Oscar sighed softly, thinking for a moment. “You have all the right to be angry and upset. Your feelings are valid,” he said. “She needs to learn that actions have consequences. But at the same time, she’s your sister. She’s young, and sometimes young people tend to make mistakes. You’ve been doing everything for so long that she probably hasn’t learned how to take responsibility for herself yet.”

You nodded, wiping your eyes. “Yeah, maybe. But I can’t just let her think she can keep doing this.”

“No,” he agreed. “But you also don’t have to do this alone. We can figure it out together.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t alone. Maybe you didn’t always have to be the strong one, the provider, the protector. With Oscar by your side, you could learn how to let someone else carry the weight with you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, leaning into him once more. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Oscar smiled, pressing a soft tender kiss to your forehead. “You’ll never have to find out, I’m not going anywhere, my love.”

The next morning, you stared at the screen of your laptop, fingers moving quickly over the keys as you finished drafting the contract. The legal jargon was familiar, comforting even, but the fact that you had to use it against your own sister left a bitter taste in your mouth. The contract was firm, direct, and laid out the consequences clearly: five thousand dollars, to be repaid in installments, with interest and penalties if the deadline is missed. You hated doing it—your heart never felt so heavy—but you knew it was necessary. You had been too lenient for far too long, if she didn’t learn this now, she might never understand the true value of money and the responsibility that came with it. It was time for her to learn the hard truths you had known your entire life.

Oscar was sitting across the table, sipping his coffee, watching you in silence. “You’ve finished it?” He asked gently. You had told him last night that you need to straighten everything out, and told him your plan, in which he quickly supported you.

You nodded, eyes scanning the contract one last time before saving it. “Yeah. She’s not going to like it, but this has to be done.” You sighed, “I’ve been too lenient, too forgiving. I can’t keep cleaning up after her messes.”

“You’re doing the right thing.” He said as he reached over, placing his hand over yours. “It’s tough, but you’re teaching her a lesson she won’t forget.”

“I hope so,” you sighed, glancing out the window, the weight of responsibility pressing down on you once more. “I’ve never been one to ask for anything back, but she needs to learn that she can’t just treat me like this. I want her to be successful, but she can’t rely on me forever.”

Later that day, you booked a flight for her to Monaco, and notified her about the flight schedule. She was studying in Switzerland, and it would be a four hour flight from Switzerland to Monaco. It was time to have this conversation face-to-face. You couldn’t keep allowing her to avoid responsibility just because you were miles apart. This is a conversation that is long overdue.

A couple of days later, she arrived at your and Oscar’s shared apartment. She seemed different—more subdued, perhaps. You could tell the weight of your anger still lingered in her mind. She greeted you cautiously, her eyes flickering to Oscar, who stood nearby, his presence calm but protective.

“Sit down,” you said, pointing to the couch.

She looked at you, clearly trying to gauge your mood, but she did as she was told. You sat across from her, with Oscar by your side, and the freshly printed contract lying on the table between you. The tension in the living room was thick.

“I had already settled your debt with Blaire,” you began, your voice calm but firm. “But this conversation is not just about the money. It’s about respect, about responsibility.”

“I said I was sorry.” She crossed her arms, trying to play it cool.

“Sorry doesn’t fix this,” you snapped, your patience was already running thin, barely hanging on by a thread. “I have been providing for you because I want nothing but the best for you. But what you did was careless, and you disrespected everything I’ve done for you. You didn’t even ask me before borrowing that money, and then you just blatantly assumed I would handle it. You do this every time to me, you always get me into awkward and humiliating situations.”

She bit her lip, her attitude wavering. “I know, but you make so much—”

“That’s not the point!” You cut her off, about to lose your cool but Oscar had managed to calm you down by softly caressing your back. “Yes, I make good amount of money, but that money just doesn’t magically appear. I have worked hard, harder than you can imagine, to get to where I am. Do you want to know what’s worse? What’s worse is that you’re not even thinking about how hard it is to earn that money, how I burn myself off everyday. So I’m making you earn it back.” You slid the contract towards her.

“What’s this?” She looked down at it, then back at you, looking all confused.

“It’s an agreement,” you said. “I’ve decided to give you the five thousand dollars. Consider what you bought from that money as a gift, because I know you’ve been doing well in school, and it’s been a while since I’ve given you anything. But this will never happen again. You owe me that money, and you're going to pay it back. Every cent of it, with interest.” Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to protest, but you cut her off before she could even speak.

“This is not negotiable. I’m still going to support you, I’m still going to pay for your tuition, but you need to learn how hard it is to earn this kind of money. You’re going to work for it, and I'll expect proof—payslips, records—everything. If you miss a payment, there will be penalties added, and if you refuse or try to make a fool out of me, I’m not afraid to take legal action.”

“You’d sue me? Your own sister?” She stared at you in disbelief.

“Yes, I would,” you said coldly. “I don’t want to, but you’ve left me with no choice. You are already eighteen and will turn nineteen in two months, you are already capable of knowing what’s right and wrong. You need to understand that I’m not going to bail you out every time you mess up, this is your responsibility now.”

For a long moment, she didn’t say anything. Her face was a mix of shock and anger, but you could tell the gravity of the situation was already starting to sink in.

“I’m not trying to be harsh,” you said softly, leaning forward. “But I’ve been in your shoes, and I know firsthand how hard life can be. I have shielded you from that, and maybe that was my mistake. But if you’re going to succeed in this world, you need to understand that nothing is free, nothing in life is free. Everything comes with a cost.”

Oscar then leaned forward, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “Look, we’re not doing this to hurt you,” he added, tone gentle but firm. “But this is a wake-up call. You need to understand how your sister has worked so hard, and how important it is that you start contributing. No one’s saying you have to do it alone, but you have to start doing something.”

Your sister’s eyes shifted between the two of you, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of guilt in her expression. She glanced back down at the contract, and you handed her a pen.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll do it. I’ll pay you back.” Her attitude and defiance slowly faded from her face.

“Good.” You nodded, “then sign it.”

She hesitated for only a moment before scribbling her signature across the bottom of the contract. You felt a strange mixture of relief and sadness, knowing you had to be this tough, but also hoping it would be the turning point she needed.

“You can stay with us while you’re in Monaco,” you told her, “but I expect you to find a job as soon as possible. If you fail to keep up with your end of the deal, there will be consequences. Understood?”

“Understood.” She nodded, though her expression was still a mix of resentment and defeat.

You exhaled, feeling a small sense of relief wash over you. This wasn’t easy, and you hated having to be this strict with her, but it had to be done. Oscar wrapped his arm around you, his touch grounding as soon as you watched your sister head towards the guest room.

“You did the right thing,” he said quietly.

“I hope so,” you whispered, leaning into him. “I just want her to grow up.”

“Don’t worry, she will.” Oscar assured you, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head. “With you as her sister, she doesn’t have much of a choice,”

Later that evening, the apartment finally fell quiet, dinner was definitely awkward and quiet, but with your sister already tucked away in the guest room, the weight of everything you had said and done began to settle in. You were sitting at the edge of the bed, heart heavy and mind replaying what had happened earlier over and over. The way your sister had looked at you—hurt and angry—it cut deeper that you were willing to admit.

You had always been strong, but this strength had come with a cost. Now, sitting in the stillness of the night, the reality of your actions hit you like a tidal wave. It wasn’t just the contract or the money, it was the fear—the fear that in trying to teach her a lesson, you might have pushed her too far. That in being the disciplinarian, you had damaged something that might never fully recover or heal.

Oscar entered the room quietly, sensing the shift in your mood. He sat beside you, his presence had always been comforting, but it wasn’t enough to stop the flood of emotions you had been holding back.

“Was I too harsh, Osc?” You whispered, voice barely audible.

He frowned slightly, tilting his head to look at you. “No, you weren’t. She needed to hear all of it.”

“I know,” you replied, voice trembling. “But what if I lose her because of this? What if she hates me for it?”

You felt your tears welling up again, but this time you couldn’t stop them anymore. They spilled down your cheeks, unchecked, as you finally let go of the tension and frustration you had been carrying.

“I’m not being harsh to punish her, I just want her to understand how hard life is, how much I’ve sacrificed. But what if all she sees is me being cruel?”

Oscar pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you as you broke down. You rested your head on his chest, sobs coming in waves, guilt and fear crashing over you. You had always been strong for so long—too long—and now, it felt like everything was unraveling.

“She’s my baby sister,” you choked out between sobs. “I don’t want to lose her. But I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want her to think I’m just some heartless person who only cares about money.”

Oscad held you tighter, his voice calm and steady as he spoke. “She won’t hate you. Not forever. She’s upset now, sure. But she’s young, and right now, she probably doesn’t understand why you’re doing this. But she will, trust me. One day, she’ll look back at it and realize that you did this because you love her.”

You shook your head, your chest tightening with the weight of your emotions. “I feel like I’m always the one who has to be the bad guy. I never get to be the one who’s just there for her, to support her without judgment.”

Oscar stroked your hair gently, his voice soothing. “You’ve done more for her than anyone else ever could. You’ve given her everything. You’re not the bad guy, you’re her protector, even when it means being tough on her. Yeah, maybe this will cause a rift for now, but it won’t last. She’ll come around, she’ll see that you’re doing this because you care.”

You pulled away slightly, wiping at your tear-streaked face. “What if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” Oscar said firmly. “But even if it takes time, you can’t keep beating yourself up for doing what’s right. You’re teaching her a lesson that no one else will. You’re giving her the tools to grow up, to be responsible. Sometimes, that means being tough. That’s tough love.”

You nodded, but the guilt still gnawed at you. “I just wish I didn’t have to be this person all the time. The one who fixes things, who keeps everyone in line.”

“I know. But you’re not doing this alone anymore, okay? I’m here. Whenever it feels like it’s too much, rest on me. You can always rest on me.”

You leaned into him again, his warmth easing the ache that you’re feeling inside of you. “I just hope she understands someday,” you whispered.

“She will,” Oscar said softly, kissing the top of your head. “And until then, you’ve done what you needed to do. You’ve set her on the right path, and that’s what matters.”

As the tears slowly subsided, you felt a flicker of hope, knowing that even though this was hard, it was necessary. Even if your sister doesn't see it now, you could only hope that one day, she would understand that everything you did was out of love.

The weight on your shoulders became a little lighter, knowing that Oscar was right. Even if it took time, even if there were still battles to fight, you knew you weren’t facing them alone anymore, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to breathe. You had done what needed to be done. Now it was up to your sister to follow through.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Tim Testing

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: After transferring to the Mid-Wilshire division because of toxic male officers harassing you, you find yourself partnered with Tim Bradford. When you are injured during a Tim Test, you hide the injury so he doesn't think less of you.

Warnings: angst to fluff, misogynistic comments and actions toward reader (from police officers), reader is injured and passes out, Tim is a softie

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

A/N: This was such an amazing request!! Tim (and everyone at Mid-Wilshire) would be so welcoming after dealing with something like this, so I really enjoyed writing this one. I hope you enjoy and please feel free to let me know what you think!🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

You knew from the beginning that it would be different for you, that being a female cop would have its pros, cons, and tough moments. What you didn’t expect was the men who were supposed to be your equals harassing you and making each moment far worse than it should have been.

Between the crass comments about how your uniform fit, questioning whether it was your time of the month whenever you tried to stand up for yourself, and their inability to trust you in the field, you learn your place quickly.

“I’d like to request a transfer to a different station,” you tell your commanding officer.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because there is no respect, no trust in this station. Looking over my shoulder while I’m trying to work, and having to defend myself against the very people who are supposed to have my back is exhausting and it makes me unable to do my job.”

He sighs, rolling his eyes as he slides a form to you. “Your decision. Though showing how weak you are by moving around every time things get hard, or your feelings get hurt isn’t plausible.”

“And you had to ask why,” you mutter, snatching the paper off his desk and walking out to fill it out in private.

“Hey, princess, before we leave on patrol I need to know you don’t have your gun at the front of your belt,” someone calls. “Don’t want to risk getting killed by your poor aim.”

You remain silent, which makes them quit or spurs them on to push you further. As if your day isn’t going poorly already, they take your silence as a weakness.

“Just her gun? You should be more worried about how her attitude changes if her bra rides up or her hormones spike,” a second voice adds.

“You’re on your own today,” you reply. “I’m on desk duty.”

“Finally, someone put you where you belong.”

The men laugh as they walk toward their shops, and you take a deep breath as the quiet settles over the station. Once your paperwork is complete, you take it to the captain. You can only hope it goes through quickly before you get fed up and quit forever.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your commanding officer yells your name as you walk in, intercepting you on your way to the locker room. 

“Your transfer just came through, you’re expected at the Mid-Wilshire division for roll call first thing in the morning; today’s PTO while we complete the paperwork,” he informs.

You accept the paper he hands you and pretend not to hear as he adds, “I hope they know what they’re getting into and have the patience to deal with you.”

Smiling as you empty your locker, you hope things are looking up. Although, you know it will be hard to open up to new people and trust new cops, even if they are different than your previous team.

✯✯✯✯✯

Entering the Mid-Wilshire station, you cross your fingers that transferring was the right decision. Sergeant Wade Grey is your new commanding officer, and your day (and your future) relies on this meeting going well.

“Sergeant Grey?” you ask, knocking on his open door.

He looks up, smiling as he beckons you inside. Saying your name, he opens a folder and compliments your arrest record. “I was surprised to hear you asked for a transfer, it seemed like you were doing well at your previous station.”

“The environment was making it difficult to do as well as I know I can, sir,” you answer.

Grey nods. “I can understand that. Our people are good, though, so I expect you will fit in well and succeed in all you do here.”

“I appreciate that, sir.”

“And you can drop the ‘sir,’ we’re not as formal as some other stations.”

Blinking in surprise, you look away from Wade when another cop enters the small office. 

“Sergeant Bradford, I’d like to introduce you to your new partner. I will warn both of you this is likely a temporary partnership, but one I trust will do you both some good.”

You smile at Bradford, who tilts his head to the side as he looks you over. It’s clear that he isn’t thrilled about having a partner, having grown used to working alone since becoming a sergeant. As long as he doesn’t treat you like a boot, or worse, like a girl who doesn’t have what it takes to be a cop, you can survive working with him for a few weeks.

What you don’t see, though, is that Tim can look at you and tell you’re a good cop. He reviewed your paperwork and arrest record with Wade yesterday, and he’s impressed by you. You’re good, but you have the potential to be better with the right help. And, for some reason, Wade is convinced that Tim can give you the push you need to be your best.

“Okay, let’s go,” Tim says, turning away as Wade tells you to have a good day.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim acknowledges that you’re not a rookie but warns you from the beginning that you still have something to prove.

“I know you’ve been a cop for a while, but I haven’t seen you in action. Your records are admirable, but I need to see proof that you’re still that good,” he explains. “So, I will test you and challenge you while we’re riding together, but don’t view it as starting over, more like proving grounds than qualifications.”

You nod, remembering something Wade muttered about “Tim Tests,” which you’re sure are unique to Bradford.

“I understand. I’ll do my best, and I want to learn to be better.”

Tim doesn’t reply, and you raise your guard, unimpressed with how shut off he is with you. In general, your past has made you wary around men; after Tim’s insistence that you have something to prove, you are determined to hide everything that could be taken as a sign of weakness. You will do whatever it takes to show you are a good cop, worthy of respect.

Slamming on the brakes, Tim yells, “We’re being ambushed; what do you do?”

“Radio for backup, stay in the shop, stay low, and fire only if necessary,” you answer, nearly robotically, as he catches you off guard.

Tim eases back onto the road, ignoring you once again.

✯✯✯✯✯

Just before your scheduled lunch break, something which you haven’t actually enjoyed in far too long, Tim parks between two old warehouses.

“There’s a suspicious package in the gray building, you’re riding alone and need to check it out,” he explains. “Radio any information as you find it.”

You switch your radio to a private channel with Tim, accepting the call as you exit the shop and enter the building. It’s dark and wet, but you refuse to accept any comments or disdainful looks from Tim if you fail this test, so you will find the package and impress him as quickly as possible.

“7-Adam-9, located suspicious package: brown paper bag situated between steel beams,” you radio.

“Dispatch, requesting additional information,” Tim replies.

You sigh, moving forward to look at the bag because you can’t touch it. When you move, the beams sitting upright in the warehouse shift. Stepping back a second too late, one side of the heavy structure hits the back of your shoulder, shoving you forward into the crate holding the package.

Pain radiates through your shoulder as you move to the side, pulling yourself away from the mess you made with a sharp inhale.

“7-Adam-9, false alarm. Suspicious package is empty. Code 4.”

“Copy 7-Adam-9.”

Taking a step toward the door, you hiss in pain as the pain moves from your shoulder around to your ribs, where you fell against the crate. It seems likely that you broke something or at least got a deep bruise, but telling Tim would be like admitting that you’re weak. So, as you level your expression and cover your pain by walking normally, you decide to hide your pain.

Being labeled weak or incapable, or as before, giving Tim a reason to view you as less than is not an option anymore. Buckling your seatbelt, you press your lips together to keep your pained sounds muted, and the feeling of the seat on your shoulder makes you count down the minutes until you can get out of the shop.

✯✯✯✯✯

As the day goes on, your pain grows in intensity. Each breath causes immeasurable pain, and your stomach turns when you move your shoulder in any direction.

“Wade’s going to ask me, so how’s your first day going?” Tim asks, turning down a residential street to respond to a noise disturbance.

“Fine,” you answer quickly, clenching your jaw to stay quiet.

“Good,” he replies, though his voice sounds different. “Glad you found a station that works for you.”

You can’t tell if his comment is passive-aggressive, implying that you are the issue rather than the station you transferred from. The overbearing pain you’re feeling makes it nearly impossible to care.

“You take point on this one,” Tim offers as he parks by the curb.

“Yes, sir.”

Asking questions and explaining the city’s noise ordinances to the tenant, you’re momentarily distracted from your pain. The moment you turn to return to the shop, though, you’re reminded that your new position isn’t quite as enjoyable as you were expecting.

“Take us back to the station,” Tim says, tossing the shop keys to you.

When you raise your hand to catch the keys, your shoulder screams in protest, and you close your eyes momentarily to hide the pain.

“You alright?” Tim asks.

Nodding, you release a sigh when Tim climbs into the passenger seat, too easily convinced by your answer.

✯✯✯✯✯

After a quick meeting with Wade, discussing your new role, and signing a few documents, you head for the locker room. When you pull your shirt off, you glance in the mirror, surprised to see the size and color of the bruise; your entire shoulder, over to your neck and down around the front of your ribs, is a sickening purple. The yellowish tint around the edges is a sign that it will only worsen before it begins to heal. Attempting to raise your arm again, you feel something shift under your skin and step into one of the bathroom stalls, kneeling as you try to keep yourself from being sick. When you lean your head against the metal wall, the coolness is soothing, and as you finally let yourself acknowledge the pain, it becomes all you can feel.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim opens Wade’s door, furrowing his brows when he sees you’re not there.

“She left a few minutes ago,” Wade answers.

“Her car’s still here.”

“Must be in the locker room then.”

“Why’d she transfer?” Tim asks, stepping inside to close the door.

“I don’t know, Bradford. You’re going to have to ask her.”

Tim nods, turning away to search for you. He knocks on the locker room door, and when no one answers, he opens it and says your name. Once again met with silence, he steps inside and looks around. Your locker is open, but you’re nowhere to be seen. As he rounds the last row of lockers, he sees someone sitting on the floor in one of the bathroom stalls.

Tim says your name, knocking on the door. It opens at his touch, and he catches it before it hits your arm. Kneeling beside you, he looks across your face, pressing his hand behind your neck as he tries to find the source of your unconsciousness. His hand dips to your upper shoulder, and you groan, opening your eyes.

Tim ignores you as you wake, gently leaning you forward as he surveys the bruise where it’s visible past your tank top.

“Stay awake,” he says, moving you again. “Just your shoulder?”

You nod, and he demands to know: “Home or hospital?”

“Home,” you whisper. “But I can-“

“Obviously you can’t,” Tim snaps, his arms gentler than his voice as he lifts you from the ground.

✯✯✯✯✯

You stay conscious, fighting against the pain as you give Tim directions to your home. After getting you inside and as comfortable as possible, he leaves your side to gather a few things before returning. He gives you a glass of water and a few pain reliever pills, waiting until you’ve taken them to lay an ice pack across your shoulder. You take a deep breath at the cold before catching yourself.

“What else hurts?” Tim asks.

“My ribs,” you admit.

He leans you back gently, pushing your tank top to your sternum as he surveys the darkening bruise across your lower ribcage. Gently moving his hand across your skin, he doesn’t feel anything obviously broken, apologizing as you whimper at the pressure. Pulling the first aid kit he brought from your kitchen to his side, he places several cooling packets over your ribs. 

Satisfied that he’s done all he can do for you, Tim moves to sit across from you, making himself comfortable in your living room.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“I’m not leaving,” he answers quickly, “what if you collapse again?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Tim silences, closing his eyes as he leans back. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You’ve heard that question dozens of times, but previously, it was asked in a much different tone. Always an accusation that you hadn’t handled something correctly or that you should have let someone else do whatever it was that needed to be done. 

When you look back at Tim, his eyes are on you, and you shrug. His eyes narrow as his gaze intensifies, demanding your answer.

“The last station that I worked at made me nervous to tell people things, especially other cops. All of the guys that I worked with harassed me constantly, and they tried to convince me that I wasn’t a good cop because I was a woman. So, I have trouble trusting other police officers with personal things. During your Tim Tests, I thought that if I acknowledged something had happened, you’d see me the same way.”

“Which way?”

“Weak, incapable,” you answer, trailing off.

“They were bad people,” Tim explains. “They may have been okay cops, but no one deserves to be treated like that.”

You nod, licking your lips as your gaze drops to the blanket across your lap.

“Want to tell me what happened today?” he pries.

“The steel beams around the bag?” Tim nods, so you continue, “They fell. One of them hit my shoulder and knocked me forward.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You couldn’t have known that would happen. Besides, you helped me. My last partner would have found a way to blame be.”

“Like I said, bad people. But you… you’re a good person and a good cop,” Tim continues. “I’ve known that since you walked in, but I needed to know that you knew. Getting hurt or being unable to do something on the first try doesn’t make you less of a person, or a cop. Being a woman doesn’t either. And if they didn’t see that, it’s their loss.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, looking into his eyes.

“And my gain.”

You furrow your brows at Tim, but he leans back and closes his eyes instead of elaborating.

[landosjpg]

fall back together | ln

the one where your ex-boyfriend invites you to spend a few days with him, but you two still have feelings for each other.

lando norris x fem!reader

word count: ~2.5k

warnings: pining, the tiniest bit of fluff i believe, language, smut, oral (f recieving), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), cockwarming

note: ehhh i don't really know how to feel about this but i wanted to post something, once again not proofread! also i have a looooong flight later this week so pls send in some requests so i can entertain myself during it! <3

you and lando had dated for a little over two years when you decided to call it quits. it wasn't messy; you two had mutually decided to stay as friends. and for the few months that you had been just that, it had worked well so far.

that's why lando had decided to invite you over for the monaco grand prix, insisting that you should spend a few days prior with him so you two could catch up and spend some time together.

as friends, of course.

it took him a few days to convince you, but you finally agreed. and that's why you found yourself walking down the corridor that led to his apartment, suitcase in hand. you could hear his giggles already from the other side of the hall, the sound bringing a smile to your face.

as you opened the door with the keys that he had insisted you should keep after breaking up, for emergencies (even when you lived in a total different country), you heard him talking.

"hey, chat!" you heard him say. you should've guessed he would use his days at home to stream like he used to. "guess who's here!"

you smiled as you walked to the room he was in. the fans had always loved you; you saw the edits they made of your relationship, how everyone used to lose their minds over the way you two looked at each other when you decided to make an appearance on one of his streams.

utterly in love.

and of course, you saw how everyone couldn't believe it when he had announced the end of your relationship.

it's not like any of you had expected it either, but you knew it was for the best or the relationship would consume one of you. but you were happy you had managed to make a friendship work, not really wanting to lose lando. and of course, his fans were excited to see you again.

he turned his chair around as you entered the room, his smile widening as soon as he saw you. you walked his way, happily waving at the camera. normally, he would grab your waist and pull you into his lap.

but this time he didn't.

so you stood there, right next to his chair. and as much as you knew that was how things were, it didn't fell completely right to you.

"i think i'm gonna head to bed," you interrupted after a few minutes in which you talked with him and with the viewers, answering a few questions just like you used to do before everything went down.

but after a long flight and a taxi ride to his house, you felt exhausted and all you wanted was to lie down and call it a day.

lando reached to mute his mic before he could answer you, turning to look at your face as he spoke.

"take my bed, i'll sleep in the spare room," he said. you were certain that the fans would try to decipher what you were saying later, but you didn't really care.

you thought about what he was proposing. it would feel weird, sleeping in his bed without him, so you weren't really convinced about it. and he must had seen it in your face, because before you could say anything, he added:

"come on, y/n". you're tired and the spare bed isn't even made," he looked at you with soft, pleading eyes.

you knew he still wanted the best for you, so you sighed in defeat and accepted his offer with a nod of your head.

after saying goodbye to the chat, you left the room to get ready for bed. as you went through your daily night routine in the bathroom, you noticed how everything you had left there behore the break-up was still in its place.

it looked like you had never left.

you tried not to think too much about it, there could be multiple reasons why he had decided to keep all your stuff. he definitely had moved on, right? it had been months since you two ended things.

you brushed it off, not really wanting it to get to your head and then walked to his room. everything was just like you remembered. damn, he even kept some pictures of you on his wall.

with your pajamas on, you climbed into his bed and covered your body with the soft sheets, the smell of him quickly washing all over you.

you rolled around with a sigh, the bed feeling way too big now that he wasn't next to you to wrap hismself around you. you were unable to sleep as your mind filled with all the nights spent in that exact same mattress between laughs, kisses and endless conversations.

you missed the feeling of his arms around your waist, the sound of his snores and the warmth of his body enveloping you every night.

with your mind racing with all the memories that wouldn't leave your brain, you realized it had been hours since you got in bed when you checked the time on your phone. the house was completely silent by that moment, so you figured lando was already asleep.

you sighed and got up, wandering to the kitchen silentely to not wake him up, with the intention of making yourself a tea that would hopefully help you sleep.

୨୧

sat on the counter, you contemplated the city lights with a warm mug of tea in your hands. the only light that illuminated the kitchen was te one that came out of your room. lando's room.

you were lost in your own thoughts, so you didn't notice his figure walking towards you.

"is that seat taken?" his voice made you jump a little in surprise, swearing under your breath as you turned to look at him, simply shaking your head in response. "sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he added with a chuckle, sitting on the stool right next to you.

you didn't really know what to say, so silence fell between you two while you just stared at each other. despite of it being dark, you could appreciate his messy curls, the spark on his eyes and the sly smile that beautifully decorated his lips.

"can't slep?" his voice was low and tender as he brokw the silence.

"bed feels too big."

at your answer, he just nodded. he kept quiet for a few seconds, pensive, and you could see that he was wondering wheter what he was about to say was appropriate or not.

"you know, as much as it hurts... i'm happy that you're moving on," he finally broke the silence, his words hitting you like a truck.

"i'm not... what do you mean?" you asked in confussion, but your mind was more focused on the fact that the possibility of you moving on hurt him.

"i've seen the pictures."

despite of the sadness that his whisper hid, you knew he wasn't mad at you. he had always said that he wanted you to be happy, whether it was with or without him.

silly of him to think that anyone else could ever make you as happy as he once did.

"just a friend," you mumbled, knowing that he was talking about the guy in your latest posts. but he was nothing more than a friend to you, not even close. "not really my type," you joked, earning a little smile from his lips.

once again, the silence felt deafening as he didn't give you an answer. your nerves were starting to kick in and so, in an attempt to try and make it feel less awkward between you two, you gazed back to the window.

"do you ever miss me?" he whispered again seconds later, the simple question making you freeze.

the answer was easy: yes, like crazy. but you couldn't just say that.

as he waited for you to reply, you felt his eyes on you, curious about what you would answer. and you swore he could hear your heart racing in your chest.

"sometimes, yeah," you finally decided to give him the truth.

or part of it, because confessing that it hadn't been a day in which he didn't cross your mind at least twice a day made you feel too exposed and vulnerable.

you halted when you felt his hand creeping up your legs slowly, stopping when he reached your thigh.

"i miss you, too," his murmur sent you a shiver down your spine, and he was looking up at you from where he was sitting, with puppy eyes.

you knew damn well what those words meant, and you felt your heart breaking at your own answer.

" i don't think it's a good idea, lan," you murmured, not able to hold his gaze for long.

"i know", he uttered, and you felt him sigh, but his hand stayed in your leg. "i'm sorry."

when you heard his simple apology, you closed yout eyes and tried to keep your tears from falling down your cheeks, but you failed miserably.

you knew he was apologizing for not being his best self during the last weeks of your relationship. at first, you had tried to convince yourself it only was a rough patch, but it was burning you down.

and, when you asked him for some time, he agreed. he knew he hadn't been the best boyfriend to you during that time, and he hated seeing you suffer because of him. so he ultimately decided to set you free.

"i'll never take you for granted again," he whispered, his hands cupping your cheeks and wiping the tears that fell down your face.

you hadn't noticed that he had stoop up from the stool and positioned himself between your legs, but having him so close again made your heart feel warm. and you looked down, knowing that if your eyes met his green orbits you'd throw yourself back right into his arms.

"lan..."

"i swear, y/n," he interrupted you; you could see his eyes were also watery, tears threatening to come out as well, but he held them back as he kept talking. "i know i fucked up, but it won't happen again."

closing your eyes, you sighed. your fingers softly wrapped around his wrist as you kept silently crying.

"please," his whisper made you sob, wanting nothing more than to go back in time and never let go of him. "i promise."

as you took in his words, your hand slid to his neck and he rested his forehead against yours. your breaths were mixing together and you nodded your head slightly, giving him your final answer with that small gesture.

before you could think about it, his lips were on yours. soft, just as you remembered, and you could taste both your tears on his lips. he kissed you slowly, tenderly, as if he didn't want you to slip out of his fingers again.

and you knew he didn't.

"i've missed this," he sighed in between kisses, pulling you a little closer, his arms now wrapped around your waist. "i've missed you, baby."

at the sweet pet name that you never thought you'd be hearing from his lips again, you exhaled with a smile.

"want to join me in bed?" you asked in a whisper, your fingers softly brushing against the skin of his neck. you wanted nothing more than to sleep next to him again, so close that one would think you two were literally attached at the hip.

"you're inviting me to my bed?" he chuckled as his arms went lower on your body, pulling you closer and picking you up from the counter.

"our bed," you corrected him with a giggle of your own.

he planted a soft kiss on your lips and walked you back to his room, wrapped in his arms. he lied you down on the mattress gently, keeping his body over yours. your gazes locked for a few seconds before his lips attacked yours hungrily, the tenderness of the previous interactions now long gone.

your hands roamed all over each other's bodies, clothes soon flying everywhere as both your breaths got heavier.

he started trailing small, wet kisses down your breasts and torso, his hands carefully pulling your underwear down your legs. he spread your open for him and positioned himself between your thighs, looking up at you from the edge of the bed.

you slightly nodded, giving him permission to go on. a long sigh left your lips as soon as you felt his lips pressing a soft kiss on your sensitive bud, and your fingers instinctively got lost in his curls, urging him closer.

"you're so gorgeous, baby," he mumbled, his hot breath against your slick making you moan softly.

you felt his tongue flatten against you and he started licking your cunt as if he was starving. a smug expression plastered on his face when your back arched as his lips found your clit again and he sucked, fingers tugging on his hair.

"fuck, lando..." you stuttered, your legs closing around his head as you felt the knot on your lower stomach about to snap. a small groan escaped his lips, his hands gripping around your thighs, surely leaving small bruises on your smooth skin.

soon, the warmth of his tongue on your pussy felt too overwhelming and your orgasm didn't take long to wash over you, leaving you a moaning mess under his touch.

as you came down from your climax, he got rid of his boxers and hovered over you again, his lips finding yours once more. as you tasted yourself on his tongue, you hummed contently into the kiss, your fingers finding their wait to his curls again.

"you alright, love?" he gently asked, taking a minute to look into your eyes.

"need you inside of me," you panted, your legs hooking at each side of his body as you pulled him closer.

he locked his lips with yours as he teased your folds with his cock, both of you moaning into the other's mouth at the friction. he positioned himself at your entrance and slowly pushed inside of you, letting you adjust to his size.

"so fucking tight for me, baby," his voice sounded breathless as he started thrusting into you without a hurry.

he took it slow, his movements almost lazy but deep.

and god, did it feel good.

you held each other tightly as he kept that slow pace that you two seemed to be enjoying. he reveled in the way your sweet moans filled the room and your nails drew crescent moons on his shoulders, your face contorting in pleasure as he stretched you out deliciously.

feeling your second orgasm starting to build up, your pussy clamped down on him, drawing him even deeper inside of you; which resulted in a low grunt from his lips.

"baby, i'm gonna... fuck..." you whimpered, unable to even form a proper sentence as the pressure in your lower stomach increased again.

"look at me, love," he groaned, and you did as he had asked.

with your gazes locked in each other's, it only took the two of you a few strokes to come undone, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you felt him cumming inside of you and leaving you weak under his body.

he collapsed on top of you, a little winded as he left a sweet kiss on your lips before moving to lay down on the mattres, pulling you with him.

"i love you," he uttered, his arms wrapped tightly around your body as he kept his cock buried deep inside of you.

"i love you, lan," you mumbled, your face finding the spot between his jaw and his shoulder as you caught your breath, feeling yourself slowly drifting off to sleep with your nose nuzzled on his neck.

[sunsetchicane]

tired eyes [CL16]

charles leclerc x PhD student!fem!reader

word count: 3k

summary: The one where you're exhausted from your studies but you still really want your sweet boyfriend.

warnings: 18+ content!! minors DNI!! sleepiness, mentions of school/exams (lol), kissing, smut, oral (fem receiving), unprotected p in v (use a rain jacket PLEASE), tiny bit of swearing maybe? praise/worshiping kinda..., unedited :|

author's note: Smut with a fragment of plot. Oops. I'll see myself out. Feedback is really appreciated so please leave any comments/questions you have!!!! [xoxo elle]

It had been a long day. No. It had been a long semester. Your last exam week is finally over. After countless hours of attending class, completing assignments, and studying, you made it to the end of your last year of school. You’d officially earned a PhD.

And you were exhausted.

All but falling into your apartment, you arrive at home in the mid afternoon. Dropping your bag onto the floor, you make your presence known to your boyfriend. Charles texted you earlier that day to tell you he would be dropping by to see you when you were done. This morning, you had been really excited about seeing him and maybe even doing a little celebrating. But that was no longer an option, seeing as you can barely stand up on your own. 

“Amour?” Charles' voice rings out from the kitchen.

Tired legs guide you towards him, your eyes drooping and shoulders sagging. When you turn the corner to find him huddled over a small cake, you nearly drop to the ground. He hears you rustling about and turns to you with a huge smile covering his face. His dimples pop, making you melt a little. But, you can’t miss the bags that he too is sporting under his eyes or the way his hair is messy in the truly unkempt way. He looks nearly as tired as you feel.

“I have a gift for you.” Charles says, his voice strained but joyful. Momentarily, he turns away from you to pick up the cake. Once he has it in his hands, he approaches you carefully.

It’s a small, round cake, just big enough for the two of you. The frosting is pink and there are little edible flowers scattered across it. On the top in red, looping letters is congratulations doctor.

A cracked breath leads to a sob. Tears drop quick and hot against your skin.

“Thank you,” You choke out, a hand reaching towards Charles’ face. You can’t see him through your tears, but his concern is palpable. He sets the cake down on the counter, discarding it for the moment being.

Charles’ arms wrap tight around your waist, drawing your body flush to his. Your arms loop under his, resting against his broad back. With your face pressed into his chest, you allow yourself a few moments to just let it all out. It’s been a long road to get here and you’ve finally done it. Charles has been your biggest supporter. You couldn’t be happier to share this moment with him. This is everything to you; he’s everything to you.

Once you’ve cried all of your tears, you take a shaky breath. Your nose fills with the scent of him. A chill runs over your shoulders and down your spine. His grip on you hasn’t loosened. Gently, his fingers flex against your body, lulling your muscles to a relaxed state.

Clarity falls over you as the haze in your eyes disappears. It wasn’t just you who had a long day. Charles was obviously exhausted too, but here he was, taking care of you.

“Charles,” You mumble, turning your face to the side so you can look at him. 

“Hmm?” He hums while looking down at you. His hands have started to move up and down your back, caressing you gently. 

Pushing yourself up onto your toes, you press a sleepy kiss to his soft lips. His unshaven stubble rubs pleasantly against your face, making you feel perfectly at home. This is your Charles.

One of his hands comes up to rest against the back of your neck, adjusting the angle of the kiss to pull you deeper. Simple, languid sighs escape your lips while you kiss gently. Everything about it is perfect, slow, sensual. 

In no universe would you ever grow tired of his kiss. Charles was made for you, and you for him. It’s never been this way with anyone else. Even when you’re both too tired to say anything, you know exactly what the other needs.

And right now, you need him.

“Charles,” You say against his lips, your hand dragging its way around the hem of his pants. “Can you take me to my bed, please?”

Kissing you lightly, he nods his head. Gently, he guides your legs around his hips. Holding you with kind but firm hands, he exits the kitchen and heads for your bedroom. 

Your head is tucked into the crook of his neck, blocking out the world around you. You listen to him pad across the apartment, open the door to your bedroom, and then close it. 

Gently, he crawls both of you onto the bed. Your head hits the pillows and you let out a sigh. The cushiony warmth of your bed surrounds you, filling you with a relief like none other. Charles leaves you for a split second to turn on your bedside lamp. It casts a warm glow over the room and across Charles’ face, which hovers above you. 

With sleepy eyes, you gaze at his beautiful face. Even when he’s exhausted, he still looks like an angel. It’s not fair how gorgeous he is. 

Reaching up, you trace along the edges and curves of his face with soft fingers. His eyes slide closed while he relaxes into your touch. It’s so peaceful to be here with him, to be met in this place by him. 

Allowing your hand to slip around his nape, you pull him into another kiss. His response is immediate. A hand latches onto your hip, pulling it up to press against him. Your back arches and a gasp escapes your lips. Charles takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You desperately love the way he feels against you. There’s an indescribable friction between you, like a match to a matchbox. Alone, you don’t live up to your full potential, a crucial piece missing. But when you’re together, there’s warmth and flame.

Tentatively, Charles rolls his hips into yours. Sighing into his mouth, you wish you could articulate to him just how much you loved it. He does it again, sending your mind spiraling.

“I need you,” You whisper to Charles as he peppers kisses down your neck. You ghost your hands down his back, letting them come to rest on his lower back. Too tired to pull him closer to you, you let him move at his own pace. Charles hums into your ear, his body pushing down against yours. His weight on top of you feels heavenly, exactly what you needed today–what you need everyday.

Charles’ languid movements accentuate the tenderness of the moment. It’s not lacking passion by any means, but everything about right now expresses the deepness of the affection you hold for one another. It’s slow, sensual, and sleepy. 

His kiss works over your lips like the sun over a cool summer’s day. His hands flit over and caress your body like the tide ebbs and flows over the sand of the beach. Charles feels like your personal perpetual light source, constant and intimate and warm. The chill of exhaustion is thawed by simply being in Charles’ presence. Love flows freely through your tired body, bringing a pleasant flush to your cheeks and warmth to every bit of you.

“Amour. Mon amour.” Charles whispers while his lips drag down your jaw. Sighing, your hands knead gently at the lean muscle of his back. Feathery kisses are placed everywhere by your boyfriend as he works his way around your body. Your skin bursts out in goosebumps wherever his lips land.

Silently, you watch as Charles leans back, his weight disappearing from on top of you. You’re about to object when he begins to slip his shirt over his head. The fabric creeps up his torso and you watch in quiet pleasure as he exposes himself to you. 

“Like what you see, baby?” Charles teases, his voice soft but gravely. 

“Mhmm,” You mumble, not having the energy to tease him back. Reaching your hands out to rest against his bare waist, you’re desperate to have his warm, smooth skin against yours. Charles slides his hands slowly over yours, then down your wrists and up your arms. With strong arms, he lifts you toward him. You oblige, sitting up in front of him. He kisses you once softly while his fingers find the bottom hem of your shirt. Gratefully, you let him slip off the shirt, your bra quick to follow. A small pile of your laundry twisted with his has begun to grow on your bedroom floor.

Gently, Charles holds you in both hands while leaning you back down against the bed. His chest is flush with yours, the skin to skin contact making you blush and sigh. Closing your eyes tight and pushing your head back into the pillows, you wonder how your body is even registering how good this feels while you’re so tired. But you’re not complaining.

“So beautiful, baby.” Charles says, causing you to open your eyes to peer into his green ones. His lips drag down the column of your throat in an open mouth kiss before he gets to your chest. Lazily, he takes one of your breasts into his mouth, his warm tongue swirling around your sensitive nipple. A pinched gasp exits your throat while your hands fly up to tangle in Charles’ fluffy hair. His hands hold fast over your ribs, applying the perfect amount of pressure while he languidly has his way with your chest.

Watching him with silent wonder, your eyes rarely fall away from each other.

“Wanna,” His lips unlatch from your nipple which is stiff with your arousal.

“Make,” He presses a kiss to your sternum.

“You,” His tongue drags down your stomach.

“Feel,” He nips softly at the soft skin of your waist.

“So good,” He presses a soothing kiss to the bite he left.

Absentmindedly, you find yourself nodding, completely transfixed on the man between your legs. He’s everything you could have asked for and more. Sugar sweet, gentle, kind, passionate, funny. There hasn’t been a moment when you were with Charles and there wasn’t joy to be felt. Even on the shittiest days to exist, like today, you both know exactly what the other needs. You complete each other in more ways than one. But right now, you’re desperate for him to complete you in a very specific way.

Charles has made quick work of both your pants and underwear. Lifting your lower back with a hand, he slides a pillow beneath it so you’re already arching upward. 

“Comfortable?” Charles asks while his lips glide over your thighs and his hands pull them both over his shoulders. Nodding at him, you watch as best you can as he finally moves his face over your center. Hot breath fans over your sensitive skin, making you groan and arch, your head pushing back into the bed. 

“Charles,” His name rolls from your mouth like a prayer when his tongue passes through your folds. Soft hums rumble Charles’ chest when he takes you into his mouth. The vibrations shoot straight through you, causing you to clench your body and gasp. 

Your boyfriend goes about his work between your thighs. His tongue circles perfectly around your clit and teases your entrance every once in a while. Flurries of pleasure run rampant in your body, collecting low inside of you. Charles brings pleasure with every touch, every flick of his tongue, every squeeze of his hands on your thighs.

When you feel a finger push inside of you, pumping slow and hard, your body jolts with pleasure. Back arching, you bury your fingers into Charles' hair while letting out a sharp moan.

“That’s it, baby.” Charles says while briefly pulling his lips away from your cunt to press kisses along your sweat and slick soaked thighs. “Such a hard working, good girl. You deserve this.”

His words make you clutch his hair in your hands and moan. Charles returns his tongue to your clit, working it in the way that only he knows how. The sensation of his fingers curling inside of you in tandem with his lips on your clit has you clenching. Your tired body comes alive with the buzz of your impending orgasm. 

“Please, Charlie, feels so good.” You beg quietly, your voice coming out tired and needy. Charles speeds up and adds another finger inside of you. He sucks mercilessly on your clit as you unleash a string of stuttering moans and curses.

“So close, baby.” You mumble, unable to speak any louder than a whisper. Charles hears you anyway, both your words and your body telling him how close you are. 

“Taste so sweet, my girl.” Charles says while coaxing you to the knife’s edge. With a few more swirls of his tongue and pumps of his thick fingers, your pleasure bursts and releases to your entire body. Shaking and gasping, sparks fly behind your closed eyes. Your legs attempt to snap shut, but Charles’ body stops them from moving. He continues to stroke in and out of you while your body crescendos.

Once you’ve settled back into your own body after the life-altering orgasm you just experienced, your breathing is ragged and you’re still desperate for Charles. Gazing at him with hooded eyes, you don’t miss the way one of his hands is now stuck down his boxers, moving just slightly. His eyes are on you while he pumps himself. 

Grabbing his arms with your exhausted and fucked-out hands, you try to haul him back on top of you. Obliging to your wishes, Charles’ hand leaves his boxers so he can crawl up to hover over you. His lips are quick to find yours, letting you taste yourself on his swollen lips. Kissing him slowly, you slip your hands down over his chest and stomach. Without a second thought, you hand pass under the hem of his underwear to wrap around him.

His sharp sigh against your lips has you smiling sleepily. His forehead drops to the crook of your neck as your hand works up and down his erection. His breathing grows choppy as he rolls his hips into your hand, trusting softly. 

“Need you inside of me,” You whisper into his ear. His hips stutter as he groans into the soft skin of your neck. Together, you push his boxers down his legs, the final piece of clothing joining your small pile. 

Charles’ hands run down your body, caressing your curves as he goes. One of his hands props himself up over you, while the other knocks your bent knee to his hip. Reaching between your bodies, you line him up with your entrance. 

You groan in unison as he slides home. Charles takes his time as he pushes into you, relishing the warmth and the tight squeeze of your walls. Ever since you got on birth control, condoms have become a thing of the past. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of having not a single thing between the two of you. 

Charles pulls out painfully slow, gliding against you in a tortuous way. The pleasure that trails his moment feels so full and complete, it has your stomach tying in knots. Your fingers dig into his back, your back arching at the sensations fluttering around in your body.

Then when he pushes back in, your world is set on fire. He dives slow but hard into the one place inside of you that nearly makes your scream. Your entire body cries out to him, clenching and singing at the way he feels.

Over and over again, he works himself in and out of you. His pace is sensual and lovely, but equally as damning.

“You’re so tight, baby.” Charles praises breathlessly, his hand tightening around your leg to pull it higher. The angle switches just slightly and he hits a new spot inside of you.

You chant his name, begging him for more, more of whatever he’ll give you. He praises you and you bask in the grunts and moans that spill from his gorgeous lips. Together, you find the perfect rhythm that has you both shuddering and struggling to keep from coming undone. 

When Charles guides your leg to wrap around his waist, he uses his free hand to reach between you and resume circling your clit. Moans wrack your body as your legs shake around Charles’ body. You clench around him and feel his pace slipping.

“I’m so close, mon amour.” He tells you while frantically circling your clit, obviously determined to pull you over the edge with him. And it works. Just as soon as you reach your climax, Charles follows, pumping in and out of you sporadically. 

Stars spill over your vision as your body buzzes with your orgasm. Charles’ body has flopped down on yours, the perfect thing to pull you back into reality. Lazily, your fingers move up and down his warm back. Exhaustion creeps in once again, threatening to pull you into a luxurious sleep. Charles isn’t helping, his lips pressing his signature soft kisses against your sensitive neck. Everything feels so comfortable and incandescently happy, lulling you toward the peaceful state of sleep you’ve been wishing for. Your hands draw still against Charles’ back while your eyes begin to flutter closed.

“Wait, mon ange. Wake up, beautiful, we have to get you cleaned up.” Charles says while he takes your face in his hands. Groaning, you try to ignore the soft kisses that he leaves on your skin in attempt to keep you awake.

Suddenly, you’re being pulled from the warm comfort of your bed and into the arms of your boyfriend. Curling up into his chest, you flop lazily against him while he brings the both of you into the bathroom. 

“I’ve got you, baby.” He whispers into your hair just before you hear the water of the shower turn on. “I’ve got you."