#and more importantly. he wanted to take something from him. to win

[umgeorge]

The Pressure of the Podium: Interview With George Russell

While British success stories in Formula 1 tend to centre around Lewis Hamilton-as well they should; he's a legend-George Russell has quietly been making a serious name for himself. At a fresh-faced 26 years old, he’s one of the younger racers on the grid and, when we caught up with him ahead of the Hungarian Grand Prix back in the summer, was still revelling in the best season of his career. So, how was he finding the season so far? "Its been... I wouldn't say a rollercoaster, but it's been one that we've been climbing," says Russell. "At the start we were at the bottom of the mountain and been steadily getting closer to the top. There's so much excitement and motivation when you're on a team like this, like we have a visible return on everything we've been putting in, that momentum we've been building up."

We were talking shortly after his second F1 victory in Austria, which was a bit of a hairy one. After spending most of the race in third, still a respectable podium finish, Lando Norris and Max Verstappen ahead of him got a little too close to one another, crashing to take them both out the race. It was a far cry from Russell's incredibly convincing first win. But was there a difference to him? "Each win is incomparable. Every race is a completely different scenario. My first, in Brazil, was where I was ahead every lap. I'd done fantastically the day before and the pressure was there. Near the end I had Lewis on my tail and it was a relief to get across that finish line. In Austria I was happy to be in third, and then it all kicked off ahead and the opportunity arose. Every race is different and you never really know how it's going to go, even when you're behind the wheel." With that kind of uncertainty, it has to be hard to prepare yourself for racing at this level. There's the danger, of course, as that crash in Austria and a multitude of other times shows, but none of these guys would be racing if that put them off. Instead, we were more interested to find out if the pressure ever got to him - and, more importantly, what Russell did to cope with it.

"I'm a little obsessive. I try to make sure I've gone through all the preparation possible with my engineers, taken a look at last year's data, gone over the car, the weather conditions; anything I feel I need to be looking for. Once I've ticked them all off I'm at peace, mentally. I know I'm at my peak physical condition. I know every race is going to be tough. But there are nineteen other drivers and hopefully they'll find it tougher than I will. After that, what will happen, will happen. It's out of your control." With that huge amount of pressure every single week, the intense training regime to stay in that physical condition, and the sheer hectic nature of a globe-trotting racing competition, decompression seems like a necessity. Russell, though, seems to want to take decompressing very literally.

"I love being by the sea so I've started free diving, which is a bit of a random hobby, but when I'm out in the water I'm just so focused on my breathing, on being underwater, that I just disconnect from the world. Once beneath the sea, down there with the fish and coral, you're not thinking about anything else except having enough breath to get back to the top!" Russell isn't the only British racing legend around. We've had a long, illustrious line of champions of which Hamilton is only the latest and Russell could potentially be next. For Russell, there's something in the inspiration of champions of old, and having seven of the ten Formula 1 teams based in the UK helps. But for him, the key to British racing success is British racing's green grass roots.

"I remember racing with Lando and Alex, and alongside other racers who didn't make it to Formula 1 but have made professional racing careers. There's definitely something about the grass roots level here that works. But it needs to stay at that level. This isn't the most economical sport in the world, so we need to make sure that we can give kids that don't have the opportunity, otherwise, the funding they need to get behind the wheel and try go-karting." That said, go-karting is never going to be cheap for most would-be podium contenders, and whether it's that or sheer pace, it's an opportunity sadly few kids have. E-sports, on the other hand, is different. "Simulators have advanced so much now. The Formula 1 game is fantastic and there should be ways we can identify talent sooner, instead of just having financial backing to push you through the ranks."

Whether coming from the classic karting angle or from killing it online with photorealistic driving games, kids are going to need to have to contend with one of the most intensely competitive sports in the world - if not the most. According to Russell, though, they shouldn't be afraid of making mistakes; quite the opposite. "The one piece of advice that I try to embrace, myself, is: don’t be afraid to fail. The times I've failed have been the times I've progressed the most, the times I've really pushed my limits. It doesn't matter what you do; failure is necessary. It's how we grow, how we learn about ourselves. There's so much pressure not to let people down, especially with younger people, but you don't want to go through life never making a mistake or knowing where your ceiling is."

And any advice for those of us not thinking of a career in racing? Even shaving a few seconds off a track day would help for a few more bragging rights. "No matter what you're driving, stay relaxed. I've driven with people that have never been on a track before. They tense up, hunch over, and it makes everything erratic. Smooth is fast - smooth with the steering, throttle, and brake. It's not necessarily how we drive in Formula 1, but if you want to speed up on a track day, stay relaxed." Obviously, it’s not lost on Russell just how many kids and F1 fans alike look up to him as a sportsman. He's young, he's hungry, and his experience is starting to pay off. But for Russell, there are other sportspeople in other sports, and one in his own who I'm sure you can guess, that he looks up to.

"I have a huge amount of respect for Ronaldo. He's without a doubt the leader in his field. The same with Djokovic - they're fighters that push their physical performance. Then there's Lewis, obviously. He puts his platform to great use and I admire him for that as much as his wins and what he's doing off the track. I hope to be one of those leaders in years to come." Now he may well get a chance as Lewis will, in 2025, be moving from Mercedes, as Russell's teammate, over to Ferrari. It's a bold move, but on the other hand it means that Russell will soon be able to race his former teammate as an actual rival. Will that be weird? "He'll be wearing a different suit, but I'll still recognise him! We're at different stages in our career, but we have massive respect for one another. For now, I'll see him on the track."

[punch-love]

I know everyone wants hannibal and will to be murder husbands but in the context of the show how satisfying is it that hannibal always wins because he manipulates people's need for a future because he lacks future ambitions and then at the very end. he wants a future and will takes it from him because the only thing will wants from his future is hannibal to be taken from it

[crescenthistory]

hi angel!!!! absolutely adore your blog and especially the way you write for regulus 🥹🥹 makes my heart so happy, like that’s baby boy!!!! thank you so much for sharing with us!!! i have a prompt request but only if you feel so inclined!!! number d8 “where is she?" with regulus, pretty please, like maybe something happens to reader and he is the last to find out (busy w quidditch or prefer things) so when someone finally tracks him down being like your girl needs you, his composure is for once non existent and he is panicking!!!! ughhh hurt/comfort with reg is everything!!! anyway only if you feel my up to my love no pressure ever - love your blog regardless 💗💗💗

hi my love<33 this is hands down the sweetest request i have received, thank you so much for being so kind 🤍🤍 i genuinely appreciate your words so much! as for the request, i adore some hurt/comfort with reg, and this is an idea i've had for a while, so it was so fun to write

Prompt: D.8 "Where is she?"

Words: 6k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, severe injury (happens off screen, explained and treated on screen), lacerations, typical regulus anxiety (overworked), best friends to lovers, pomfrey being a badass, snape is a villain, animal abuse (technically), background marlene, rosekiller, etc.

It was common knowledge that Slytherin quidditch practice was never to be disturbed, especially this close to the final match of the season against Gryffindor.

This was Regulus’ first year as captain and he was determined for it to be written in the history books as a victorious one, to make himself deserving of the title. Playing opposite his brother and his best friends didn’t lessen the pressure much, either. 

He knew he had been pushing the team quite hard, but he also knew that if anyone could handle it, it was them. Evan and Barty funnelled all their chaotic energy into quidditch once they realised just how much it mattered for their mate, and Dorcas had just as much to gain from winning against Marlene as Regulus had against Sirius. Fenwick had had his skull bashed in by enough bludgers in his career to not be able to formulate any complaints, even if he had them. The rest of the team were relatively young players, a risk most others had chastised Regulus for taking, but one that was playing off beautifully – and with those rumours, they wanted to prove themselves, too. 

There really was little problem with this arrangement, he told himself, other than the fact that he was perhaps wearing himself a bit thin when balancing it all with his prefect duties and exams.

And, more importantly, missing you.

You had been the best friend he could have asked for during this hectic year of his, always standing by his side, just as much of a loyal team-player as those on his actual sports team. That unwavering dedication you had shown him over the years that taught him that maybe, just maybe, he was capable of being loved – and most definitely of loving, because Regulus would be damned if he didn’t admit that that was the only appropriate word for how he felt about you.

Not that he had told you that yet, though, and neither had you. It was never the right time, and you both knew, at least to some degree. For now, it was enough. You had each other, always, and it was enough. He told himself as much, at least.

Regulus was trying to zero his thoughts back on his team running through their plays off-broom on the ground, looking for any weakness in their formation, when the cardinal rule of not disturbing practice was broken.

“Black!” A voice shouted as it ran across the pitch from the school. 

Regulus squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the pestering fourth year away, one of those who just seemed to always be there, nameless and bothersome. It was to little avail, though, judging by the sounds of his heavy steps hitting the still somewhat moist dirt on the field.

“Black, I have to–”

“We are in the middle of a practice!” Regulus cut the kid off, letting his nerves get the better of him as he saw most of his players stop in the midst of what had been their best run-through so far. “Unless someone has died, it can wait.”

“But–”

“Has someone died?” Regulus had his hands on his hips, half aware that he looked way too much like his older brother as he regarded the student-shaped owl in front of him with derision. 

“No, but–”

“Are someone in the midst of dying? Like within the hour?”

“N– no.”

“Then you may leave.” The student looked thoroughly confused, clearly not having been properly warned by whoever sent him as a make-shift owl that this was the only response he would be getting from Regulus. He could vaguely hear you whispering poor boy in his mind, always advocating for Regulus’ softer side, but right now he pushed it away as he turned back to his teammates. “Whatever it is will still be there when we are finished up here.”

Regulus didn’t wait for him to go before he began to pretend he was air, attention fully on his team once more.

Barty snickered as he tried to lean his chin on Evan’s shoulder, only to have the taller boy fully shove him off. Regulus shook his head, ignoring the crestfallen student beside him as he tried to increase his energy levels back to where they needed to be.

“Okay, that last round was getting closer to where we want to be. Ready to take to the sky for the last few minutes?”

When he finally stepped foot inside the quidditch locker rooms, Regulus sped through his shower routine. He was eager to get out of there and back to the dorms quick enough to have sufficient time to spend with you before going to sleep. He had half a mind to ask you to sleep in his bed tonight, but he wondered if that might be pushing it since you just did that a few nights ago. Nothing ever happened, of course, you were just the best of friends – and even if you had been something more, it was hard for anything to happen with Evan and Barty in the same room.

You just brought him a sense of peace he found himself craving more day by day. He wished to squeeze out every ounce of it he possibly could.

His hair was still wet, bag thrown about as haphazardly over his shoulder as he could allow himself to without spiralling – which is to say, he still looked perfectly polished to anyone but him. He turned to give the team lingering behind an attempt at an emphatic great work today that ended up falling a bit short from his hoarse voice. Thankfully, everyone else seemed tired enough to accept it without reservation, and Regulus could exit the changing room before all but running towards the Slytherin dorms. 

On his way there, he passed through the Great Hall, attempting to slow his stride to look a bit more composed, but quite ready to throw all of it away for the night just to curl up with you.

“Re- Regulus?!”

Sirius’ incredulous voice sounded behind him, and though Regulus loved his brother dearly, he took a deep sigh at the disturbance, knowing that, with him, it would likely not be a short one.

“That would be me.” Regulus turned around with a sarcastic half-smile, only for it to waver when he saw the expression on Sirius’ face. 

There was an evident tension in his face when he looked Regulus up and down, as if trying to figure him out while a thousand thoughts ran through his mind. Sirius’ lips were pressed tight, as if holding back a severe frown and his eyes were decidedly clouded with worry.

“Reg, what are you doing here?” His voice conveyed more confusion than upset, but both were woven into his tone.

“I’m… on my way to Slytherin? We just finished practice.” 

It was as if Sirius found an answer to his confusion as his face settled into a form of defeat. “You don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” Regulus stared his brother down, heart speeding up in his chest, but he could feel it in his whole body. “What is it, Siri?”

“James sent someone to tell you,” Sirius says, speaking more to himself.

“Tell me what?” Regulus’ patience was worn thin by his pulse straining his skin.

“Uh, it’s Y/N.” Pangs shot through his body, pulling every vein taut. “She– she will be fine, don’t worry, but–”

“Where is she?”

Regulus struggled to make out where Sirius stood in front of him as the world seemed to tunnel around him and his mind was immediately elsewhere, immediately with his best girl, imagining any possible horror that might have overcome you. Had it not been for Sirius’ delivery of the news and the way he looked at Regulus, he might have felt more calm. But he had always known his big brother to be more composed than this.

“The infirmary–”

He didn’t need to hear more before he was running at full speed down the hallway.

Little to nothing registered with Regulus on the way to the infirmary, that he for the first time in his life realised was located painfully far away from the Great Hall. Illogical, given how many students go through there throughout their days. 

He felt lighter than ever as he was entirely certain he had never run this quickly in his life, simultaneously as every limb felt heavy with worry. 

She will be fine is only reassuring if he was concerned you had died – in every other scenario it is the worst thing to hear, because it confidently means you are not fine right now.

Regulus is half aware that he has run through two ghosts, into one student and past a professor – he thinks maybe Flitwick? – but he paid none of them any mind, willing to take the point deductions or even detentions, if only they don’t slow him down. He can deal with everything and anything else later. 

When he finally reached the door to the infirmary, it took everything in him to come to a halt. 

He all but crashed into the door, catching himself with one hand on the doorframe as he breathed heavy, giving himself but two seconds to collect himself, lest he be banned from the infirmary by life by Madam Pomfrey. That was not something he could afford right now.

Still heaving, he opened the door and took two steps inside – before his vision became entirely swamped by that very same woman, standing with her hands on her hips.

“Is she here?” He tried to get out before she could say anything.

“No visitors at the moment,” Madam Pomfrey said sternly.

“Please, is she here?” Regulus couldn’t even think to say your name, but the look on the matron’s face told him she knew.

“She is, and she is alright, but there will be no visitors at the moment.” Her voice was a bit softer now, but she was not relenting and she was not moving.

Regulus’ breath picked back up, and he didn’t register the tears that were forming in his eyes. A choked please was forming on his tongue when–

“Please.”

You beat him to it. Your meek voice sounded from a few curtains down behind Madam Pomfrey. Regulus didn’t hear the noise that escaped him when he heard the soft pain in your usually chipper voice, but the matron did. Still, it seemed to be on your account and not the lovestruck, fear-sickened boy in front of her, that she took a step to the side.

“Only you, and it must be brief.”

Her words were mostly caught by the air that Regulus left in his wake the moment she moved to the side, because as soon as he could he was by the curtain he had heard you speak from behind, ever so gently pulling it to the side.

“Oh, mon amour.”

The sight he was faced with both mended and broke his heart – because you were there, awake and already looking at him, but your forehead and right arms were bandaged and your face bore telltale signs of pain. He could see tear tracks down your delicate cheeks, mascara smudging just barely beneath your eyes. You looked happy to see him, he could see your chest heave a breath of relief, but that was about the only positive thing he could decipher in you at the moment.

At last, his movements were measured and careful again, but for once not for the sake of how he was perceived, but rather to not disturb the space around you, as if that could lessen your pain. He barely managed to close the curtain behind him with trembling hands, giving you a semblance of privacy, even in this infirmary that he had no idea hosted how many others.

There was enough space on the left side of the bed beside you for Regulus to take his rightful place by your side, as close as he dared. His eyes kept jumping all over your body and face, breath hitched.

Your name escaped his lips in a small breath as his eyes widely roamed your form.

He didn’t realise his hand was hovering between you before you reached up to him with your left hand and took it in yours. Your grip was weak and the tips of your fingers cold, but it was still the smooth skin he was used to feeling on his.

Upon your touch, he seemed to be brought back down to earth and the welling tears spilled down his cheeks.

“Oh, Reggie,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay, I’m alright.”

“My poor love,” he whispered back, letting his free hand move up to lightly caress your cheek, brushing some damp hair away. It must have gotten wet when Pomfrey tended to whatever wound was bandaged on your upper forehead. “What happened to you, amour?”

Regulus often referred to you with terms of endearment, you knew you were each other’s person, but the absolute softness of them now broke your heart a little.

“It was…” you trailed off, wincing as you scrunched your brows in confusion and consequently pulled on your bandage. “It was an accident.” The sound that escaped you was almost a laugh, but it was too wet and strangled to truly be classified as such.

“What happened?” Regulus’ voice urged, more desperate than before. He held your hand tighter, bringing it closer to his chest, as if to protect it.

“We were helping Kettleburn – unwillingly mind you –”

“Who are we?” Regulus cuts you off, still seeming rather feverish in his desperation to know what was wrong. You squeezed his hand and smiled at him to calm him down. 

“An unfortunate bunch of us who happened to be enjoying the fresh air by the benches. Me, Lily, Marlene, Snape, Avery and some others we don’t really know too well, mostly fourth years.”

Regulus scowled at the mention of Snape and Avery, but nodded, as if encouraging you to continue.

“Kettleburn needed some help preparing bait. He believed there was a hippogriff in the Forbidden Forest that he wanted to draw out. It worked a bit too well, a bit too well.”

His brows scrunched at that. “But hippogriffs are mainly peaceful unless you disturb them?” Unease was growing in his stomach.

“Yes, that’s what I said as well,” you feel a bout of dizziness come over you, but try and speak through it. “We were down, probably a bit too close to the forest when it came out. I tried to push the bait towards it carefully, keeping my distance. It just wanted food, you know.”

“But?”

“But Snape and Avery freaked. When it took a step closer, just to eat – they let curses fly, kneejerk self defence reaction they said.”

Regulus had to be mindful to not hurt your hand as his fists clenched on reflex. He settled for holding the sheets beside him disturbingly hard instead – he had already pieced together what happened. “You were still in the line of fire,” he concluded, eyes darkening.

“Yes,” you whispered weakly. “It would have been fine, if it had only been a stupefy or something, but Snape shouted something else, some freak hex. It was like being slashed with a knife all over.”

Regulus’ breath hitched as he let his eyes travel from gauze to gauze. His fingers came up to linger near a particularly large bandage that travelled from your shoulder in under your hospital gown. “All over?” His voice was a mere whisper before he finally looked in your eyes again. He found them teary, and his heart clenched painfully.

“Yeah, I– The biggest one is across my stomach. Pomfrey has patched me up nicely, but it was, uh, it wasn’t good.”

He can’t fight the new tears that spill as he whispers my girl before carefully shuffling closer to you to give you a hug, or at least as close to one you could get right now. His cheek is pressed into yours, his hand on the back of your head, and you can hear him cry directly into your ear, drawing tears from you as well. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into you. “So sorry, amour.”

“Reggie, there was nothing you could do,” you try to look at him, but his grip on your head remains steadfast.

“No, I should have been there. I’m so sorry.” He presses a kiss to your upper cheek, and his lips are wet. “I should’ve been there.”

“Reg, there was no way anyone could have known.”

He pulls back slightly, looking you over to see if he was hurting you before settling in with his forehead against yours – making sure to avoid the wound in the top left. When his eyes look into yours, you feel a sense of calm finally wash over your body that had been riddled by the shock of being torn open. A grey safe haven.

“I’m sorry, amour.” He keeps saying it like a prayer.

You try to shake your head, but wince at the action. His hand immediately shoots up to your jaw, to still your head. Protecting you, even from yourself. “You’re not allowed to be sorry, Reg, you didn’t do anything. You can only feel sorry for me, which isn’t quite that hard. I look pathetic right now.”

Your half-hearted attempt at humour doesn’t seem to drag him from his despair as his eyes keep searching your face, flitting from the tears to the deviating makeup. His thumb, ever so carefully, drags under your eye to wipe away some of the mascara there. You lean into his touch.

“They tried to tell me, but I– I didn’t know, so I didn’t listen and–”

“You were at quidditch practice,” you cut him off. “Everyone knows you can’t be disturbed then.”

Regulus looked at you incredulously. “This is disturb-worthy, you – anything with you is always the biggest priority. I’m sorry.”

“One girl versus preparing for the match of your life? Hm, I think it’s good you weren’t distracted.” You are determined to lighten his mood, the sinch of his eyebrows and worry in his eyes were beginning to make you feel sick for him.

“But you’re my girl,” he says in a low voice, stressing the words as if to pour additional meaning. “You’re my best friend, my everything. Y/N, you are everything.”

You struggle to come up with a response to that. Any mask Regulus switches between is completely discarded in this small infirmary section with you. When he holds your face and looks at you, you know what it is.

Unable to speak over the lump in your throat, you just drag his face closer to press a sweet kiss to his cheek, as always.

Except this time, while your lips linger on his cheek, Regulus uses his hand still on your jaw to angle your face towards his. With your lips millimetres apart, he looks from them to your eyes, searching for something, and then back down. He whispers another soft everything before pressing his lips to yours.

For all the times you had thought of kissing Regulus, nothing compared. You never expected there to be salty from tears, you never imagined his scent in your nose to be swirled with the disinfectant covering everything around you – but he was right, it was everything. His lips were unbelievably soft against yours, even as he pushed himself even closer to you, as if he needed you underneath his skin, not just on top of it. The pinky underneath your jaw digs into your skin, and you can feel your pulse beat against his finger.

When Regulus pulls away, your mouths are still essentially connected, slightly parted, just breathing into each other. You open your eyes and find him looking at you with nothing short of love.

“I–”

“I love you.” You cut him off, smiling a bit as he half feigns indignance before it turns soft once more.

“I love you, belle fille.”

“I know.”

Finally, finally he gives you a genuine smile. It eases your nerves more than even his eyes could, and you feel yourself melting back into your pillow. Unfortunately, comfort makes you even more aware of the pain and soreness in your body, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, mostly to himself it seems.

“I won’t allow that.” You tug your intertwined hands closer to you, wanting to share the comfort with him. “I’m alright, Reggie.”

“You’re wounded and bandaged.”

“And I’m perfectly okay.”

He gives you an as if look, but it’s good enough for you, for now. Then his face twisted into something darker and you saw the same desperation from earlier bubbling to the surface.

“What happened to Snape? And Avery?” His hold on you is still soft and caring, but the rest of his body has grown stiff, mind racing with imagined visions of what went down and of what he would do with them in return.

“Nothing yet,” you said with a careful, measured voice. “Kettleburn wanted to ease the situation first, but since it was technically his fault for bringing us along unprompted, I’m not sure what would be done. Detention maybe?”

“Yeah, Kettleburn’s an idiot for that, but Snape was the one who used an unorthodox and probably dark hex. He has to be dealt with.”

Though you don’t condone how fast some of your friends resorted to revenge and violence, even you had to admit that the idea of Snape knowing magic like that didn’t sit right with you either. There was no situation you could imagine where a slasher spell like that would be moral in combat. 

“I’m sure they will deal with him tomorrow,” you settle on. “Tonight the main priority seemed to be making sure I don’t bleed out on the grounds.”

Regulus’ look was pained as he pressed his lips together. “How did you get in after that anyway?”

“I don’t remember too well.” You truly didn’t, and the flashes that went through your mind were not ones Regulus would be better off knowing about. “Kettleburn shushed the Hippogriff back into the forest – it thankfully didn’t get severely injured it seemed – while everyone else panicked. Lily and Marlene were the first ones by my side.”

You both smile absentmindedly at that. When you first befriended Lily through your study sessions at the library, Regulus had been unsure of how to approach your joint integration into his brother’s friend group, but the girls had turned out to be some of the best friends you could have asked for. 

“Oh!” you exclaim, almost straddling Regulus. “Almost forgot, but you’ll be happy to know that Marlene suckerpunched Snape before they brought me inside with a levitation spell. Pretty gnarly punch, too.”

Regulus’ smiled seemed to be less from gratification and more from endearment from you. “I think I’d like to see Snape get a little more than a punch for what he did to you. But that’s a great start, darling.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at him. “It’s a start. And again, we can deal with all of that tomorrow. I don’t have the energy today.”

“No, no, you are the only priority right now, amour.” Any mirth slipped from his face as he studied you concernedly once more.

“I know you’re “alright”, but you’re not alright” he started. “Could you tell me where it hurt the most?” He looks over you again, as if he can map you out and fight your pain off, spot by spot.

“My stomach and chest got it worst,” you admit. “It’s growing more sore, but Madam said I could get more pain relief in just a little while.”

“Well, she also said I could only stay here for a short while,” he whispers conspiratorially, looking towards the curtain as if he expected it to be ripped back any minute. “Pretty sure we’re way past that.”

“Maybe she heard us crying like babies over a non-fatal injury and figured it was less of a hassle to leave us to it.” You squeeze Regulus’ thigh with a grin and he bites back a yelp.

“She would be wise to do so. Especially because there’s no bloody way I’m leaving.”

You don’t say much to that because you really, really don’t want him to either. You know you are fine, and for his sake you try and seem even more assured of it, but the white panic that soared through your veins those first few minutes is hard to shake. Even though you don’t want him to hold his absence against himself, you don’t like the thought of him leaving now that he was there.

“Has she said anything about a treatment plan? How long you’ll be here? She said you’re fine, so it shouldn’t be too long right?” Though Regulus looks at you as he asks his questions, you know he is already trying to piece together probable answers in his head.

“Most of our first conversation was her narrating what she was doing while I was moaning and not listening.” Your comment was off-handed, but Regulus seemed to wince at the image it painted in his head. “Sorry,” you mumbled bashfully, but he just gave you a smile.”

“Good thing I have the memory of an elephant, then.” Madam Pomfrey’s voice sounded just seconds before she ripped the curtain back and stepped into your little bubble. 

Regulus went straight into autopilot, rightening his posture and schooling his expression. You squeezed his hand tighter, so that he couldn’t pull away, but that had not even been any option in his mind. Pomfrey went through the station beside you at the speed of light, way too familiar and comfortable with these procedures.

“Miss L/N had 5 deep lacerations and several shallow ones,” she begins to recite and Regulus hangs onto every word. “The shallow wounds are almost entirely gone from the treatment already, but the more severe ones will need time to recover. She will have to stay in the infirmary overnight today and tomorrow for observation and continue to receive some medication. Among those are pain potions and salves for the wounds. Rebandage every 10 hours and apply new salves.”

“How will that affect her?” Regulus asked, probably pushing his luck with the matron.

“The pain potions will make her a bit slow and groggy, but she will still be awake. Though she should sleep.” At that she gives you a curt look over her shoulder. “The healing process for the wounds will likely be itchy and uncomfortable and she may develop a fever. We will pay particularly close attention to the stomach wounds in case she develops any infections there.”

“What are the symptoms of infections like that?”

You try and pat Regulus’ leg to say down, boy, but he doesn’t give you the time of day, instead focusing fully on any and all information the matron is willing to share with him. You had half a mind to joke that this was private medical information, but let it be.

Madam Pomfrey turns to Regulus at his fourth question, putting her hands on her hips as she measured him closely. It seemed like she decided on something and the next second she exited through the curtains again. You and Regulus barely had time to exchange a glance before she came back and threw a white coat at Regulus who catched it bewilderedly.

“Seems like I’ve got myself an assistant for the remainder of her stay, haven’t I, Mr. Black?”

A slow smile spreads across Regulus’ face before he hurries on the coat. “Yes, Madam.”

Pomfrey talks you – and now, Regulus – through the new pain potion she is about to give you, giving brief background on the ingredients, application and effect when the door to the infirmary slams open, decidedly louder than when Regulus entered earlier. Her eyes squeeze shut, as if pained by the disrespect and incredulity of students, but finished giving you the potion.

“That is no way to enter an infirmary, Mr. Crouch,” she says through half-gritted teeth as she works. She waves at Regulus to open the curtain to your bed, revealing Barty, Evan and Dorcas, all heaving as if they have been running too. “You seem to be particularly loved, Miss L/N. Please never get injured again, it disturbs my workspace.”

Your friends’ eyes are wide as they take in your form where you lay, still rather pathetically, in your bed. 

“Merlin’s tits, what happened?” Dorcas asks.

At the same time Barty’s gaze flits between you and Regulus. “Who?” he asks, while looking at you.

“I–” you start, but that was clearly the wrong answer because he then immediately turns to Regulus instead.

“Who?”

There is no hesitation in Regulus’ voice. “Snape.”

Barty’s face morphs from shock and concern into pure determination. He stalks over to you in three wide steps, pressing a quick kiss to the safe side of your forehead, whispering a quiet take care, Treasure, before turning around and dragging Evan out of the infirmary. The other boy’s jaw was ticked shut and went more than willingly.

Even you felt a bit bad for Snape in that moment.

Madam Pomfrey, however, only breathed a sigh of relief that they left so quickly.

Dorcas comes up between you and Regulus, sitting on the very edge of your bed. Pomfrey, with Regulus’ assistance return to the work on your bedside station, though his eyes are on you almost the whole time. He has that furrow between his brows that shows up whenever he focuses intently, and you are torn between wanting to kiss it and draw it.

“We met Marls and Lily in the hallway,” Dorcas explains. “They got halfway through their story before Junior took off with us on leash behind us.”

“Sounds like him,” you laugh, trying to hide how the rumble hurts you. “But really, I’m totally fine. Or, I’m relatively good, and will soon be alright.”

“Yeah, especially when you’ve got two nurses to tend to you,” Dorcas teases, casting Regulus a knowing sideways glance.

“Pardon you, Miss Meadows; I am a Healer.” 

You can’t help the snort that escapes you. Despite never wanting to return to this infirmary, you had grown quite fond of the Madam.

“My deepest apologies, Madam,” Dorcas offered with a gleam in her eyes. You could have sworn you saw Pomfrey smile ever so slightly.

“But yeah, Dorc, I’m well taken care of. I’ll be fine.”

“Firstly, just because you’re wounded does not mean you can get away with calling me that.” You laugh once more, happy to not be treated like a dying animal even in such a grave hour. “Secondly, I’m glad. You deserve it, and it was about damn time.”

You pretend to not understand what the last part referred to, but you knew she got you all figured out. You squeeze her leg in a sign of admiration and, perhaps, defeat.

“Thirdly,” Regulus interjects. “You need to either not make her laugh or leave.”

Pomfrey nodded emphatically. 

“Not my fault your girl just finds me absolutely hilarious, Black.” Dorcas winks at you.

“Speaking of someone’s girl,” you drawl, trying to even the playing field, which worked, if Dorcas’ light blush was anything to go off of. “Please tell Marlene I say thank you. I don’t think I got to in the whirl of everything and then everyone was thrown out.”

Dorcas’ smile softens. “I will, babe, but you don’t have to thank her. She’s still a bit worried though, so I’ll tell everyone you’re doing fine.”

“Thanks,” you whisper through a smile, accepting Dorcas’ half-hug before she slips out of the infirmary, which finally returns to its prior quietude.

“That’s enough visitors for today!” Pomfrey explains, clapping her hands together as she is done. “Only staff and patients for the rest of the night.” She shoots Regulus and his white coat a knowing glance.

“Does that mean I can sleep?” You don’t mean for your voice to sound so meek, but the pain potion is starting to work, and the more your body relaxes, the more exhausted you realise you are.

Regulus makes a soft cooing sign, coming back to sit on the side of your bed, taking your hand in his and drawing comforting circles on its back. “Yes, amour. We have prepared the station for when we have to wake you in a few hours for reapplication.”

You groan a bit at the thought of being woken, and both your matron and her assistant laugh a bit at you. 

“Better that than affection, Miss L/N.”

“Yes, of course,” you relent, letting out a heavy sigh. “Thank you. For all of it.”

Pomfrey merely nods before gathering her things and exiting into the rest of the infirmary, pulling your curtain shut behind you. You expect that is the closest she usually gets to a you’re welcome and you accept it heartily.

Regulus shifts into a more comfortable position beside you, back against your headboard, ensuring you are as comfortable and pain-free as possible. He brings your intertwined fingers up to his lips to press delicate butterfly kisses to them. The softness of it all makes you almost want to cry again, but you bite it back, purely because you can’t stand seeing Regulus cry again tonight, and you knew he would.

“Congratulations on your promotion.” Your tire does not hide the coyness of your tone and he smiles fondly at you.

“Thank you. Think she figured it was easier that way – and I have always been a top student.”

“Yeah, yeah, you and your OWLs.” You turn your head more towards him, smiling. “Such a nerd.”

“I reckon you like that about me.”

“I reckon the same.”

You lean forward and he meets you halfway for a slow kiss. The casualness of it makes it feel all the more important, especially when the past few hours of your life has been anything but.

He leans his head onto yours, drawing you as close as he can with your current circumstances.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus whispers again and you shake your head beneath his. Before you can tell him no, he continues. “Not just for what happened to you or not being there. Just, I don’t know. Being slow.”

“Didn’t we just agree you were bright?” you tease, but when you turn to see the sincerity in his eyes, you soften. “It’s okay, Regulus. We were both slow.”

Neither of you feel compelled to delve into the details of it, and it makes you feel more at ease. Even with everything, this was just how it was supposed to be.

“I’m glad I have you.” It is the best way to summarise it; it was enough. He smiles warmly at you.

“And I you.” 

You ignore the strain of some of your bandages as you lean closer to kiss him again, where he meets you enthusiastically – it was worth it.

“Go to sleep now, amour. I’ll be here to ease you awake when the time comes. I’ll always be here.”

And he was.

[unluckiestmember]

Hey so I LOVED your X-Men x sweetheart reader and I was wondering if you could do a similar head cannon of X-Men x kind reader but their reaction to you being good with kids. I just feel like they would have various opinions or feeling if they saw you interacting with a child.

Coming right up!

X-Men '97 X Compassionate! Reader

Characters: Nathan Summers/Cable, Scott Summers/Cyclops, Jean Gray, Remy LeBeau/Gambit, Rogue, Kurt Wagner/Nightcrawler, Erik Lehnsherr/Magneto, Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch, Pietro Maximoff/Quicksilver, Morph, Logan/Wolverine and Jubilee.

Warning: None. SFW.

A/N: So how did you guys feel about Deadpool and Wolverine?

Cable

“Well would you look at that! Seems someone knows how to get along with the kiddies… Oh don’t mind me, keep playing.”

Cable isn’t used to hanging out with children or being around them due to his workload, but he does enjoy the presence of kids that look up to him. He hasn’t really thought about wanting kids because of his fear that the disaster of a future he’s from would be too harsh for a child to be raised, let alone he is scared that something will happen to them.

However, when he sees you being so compassionate with children, it makes him reconsider a little bit! The sight of you and the kids at the local shelter on his base laughing and playing together makes his heart sour. Whenever he finds himself down in the dumps and needs a good boost or reminder of what he’s fighting for, he will just watch you and the children happily running around and realize why he’s the famous freedom fighter the young ones and yourself admire.

Cyclops

“Huh, you’re a natural at this! Makes me wonder how things would be when you become a parent of your own kid.”

When he sees you taking care of children on and off missions, Scott can’t help but stand and watch you with the biggest smile tugged on his lips. The sight of you all happily living your lives without a care in the world makes him remember the civilians he is fighting for. And more importantly, it makes him think of giving the family thing another shot!

Can you blame him? The way you are with children makes him daydream a perfect life away from the mansion raising a family together and properly being there for your child. Though there is hesitance to it all due to the result of Nathan and his last relationship, if you assure him, then he will definitely try to be a father again. Because with you by his side, can he really fail again?

Jean Gray

“Aww! Are you playing nice? Mind if I join in? I’m sure they would love to see my powers in action.”

Jean has thought of having a family with you when everything is settled down. So before she can have this ideal world of raising a kid with the love of her life, she can get a peek into a potential future in the brief moments of you caring for children, mutant or human. Whenever she sees you taking care of a child, usually during a mission, she will assist you in any way and naturally take up a mother role she’s used to having around the mansion.

The team can always find you two trying to make sad or distraught children on missions turn their frowns upside down with some powers or just speaking to them and making sure they are heard. You and Jean are definitely the go to for young ones, and if you both around children confirms anything, it’s that you two would be great parents someday.

Gambit

“Look at you all go! Mind if Gambit takes a stab at this, mon amour? I’m sure I can win their hearts. I won yours, didn’t I?”

Gambit is used to dealing with the younger folk of the world because of his time around them back home. So when he’s around children, he can easily adapt to them by playing some mindlessly fun games, pulling off tricks with his cards or telling some jokes. That’s not surprising though. What’s really surprising is him finding out you’re a pro when it comes to little kiddies!

When he found out you were a natural, he was beyond impressed by you and even let his mind wonder on a more intimate possible future down the line for the both of you. Around children, he’ll have you both as a package deal with you as the caring caretaker and him as the funny guy who will not hesitate to flirt and send signals your way in front of the kids. With how much he’s flirted with you, the kids always mistake you two for a married couple! A married couple… That doesn’t sound half bad.

Rogue

“You got these kids all excited, running and screaming like a bunch of baby banshees! You’re a natural, babe!”

Rogue wasn’t a big kid person on missions. She simply gets the job done and if there are children that need assistance she leaves it to someone who can be more intimate without fearing they’ll hurt them. She stayed this way until you showed off innocently how well you were with younger civilians.

At first when the mission called for dealing with kids, Rogue watched you from the sideline in silent awe of your tender love and care for children that were distraught or needed a distraction. Yet with time, simply watching you gave her the courage to join in and actually help out by giving out free rides on her back or showing off her immense strength. Together you two are a happy fun couple kids love to be around as much as Rogue just loves being around you. Now whenever there’s a mission with the young ones, she’s more than excited to tag along with you and live in the moment.

Nightcrawler

“May I cut in? I can play a mean game of tag!… Really?! Then round up the kiddies because I’m it!”

Because of Genosha, Nightcralwer is just as good with children as you are! He enjoys his time with the little ones around town or during stakeouts because of how accepting they are of him and how much their laughter fills his heart with joy. Now mix your own laughter in because of your handling with them and the blue devil was sure he was getting a slice of heaven.

The both of you are so well together and with others that the team delegates you both to taking care of the children on missions and making sure they’re okay. Around you both, the kids can expect a bunch of games to be played and a lot of memories to be made. Whenever a mission calls for babysitting, Nightcrawler knows exactly who to call on to assist him in having a little bit of fun on the job!

Magneto

“The future of mutants is bright if you’re around to bring such laughter and happiness.”

Though Erik has children of his own, he’s pretty subpar for a caretaker let alone a babysitter of mutant children. He tries his best of course, but the lack of fatherhood he was allowed made him a bit rough around the edges. Luckily he can depend on you to pick up where he lacks and he thanks you deeply for that.

Everytime he takes a moment to look at you with kids just minding your own business and being giddy without a care in the world, it makes him wonder if he’d be open to trying to raise a family once again. He knows with age and with the weight on his shoulders, it may be harder for him. But if you’re by his side, he wouldn’t mind giving it another try and stepping up to the plate to be a better father than he ever was for Wanda and Pietro.

Morph

“Hey, if the kids want to see a few tricks, send them my way, alright? I can throw them for a loop and think there’s two yous running around!”

Morph is decent with children, but they mainly leave that kind of work to you. When it comes to the more emotional attachment, they need a bit of work on that, but if you’re talking tricks and jokes? Then they are the right person to work with on missions dealing with kids!

They use your connection with children to playfully throw you for a loop by shapeshifting into someone and tricking you a lot just to get some laughter in the air. Most of the time he succeeds but there have been a few times where both of you just team up in some funny interactions that are bound to leave the children happy in your presence. Honestly, Morph wouldn’t care so much, but since you’re around? They don’t know- You just bring out that side of them! And they kind of love it!

Wolverine

“Of course you’d be good with the children, what did I expect?… Don’t mind me, I’m just keeping watch. Have fun.”

Children and Logan don’t mix that well. He just finds it annoying to babysit when he already does that with the teenagers at the mansion. Add that with some crying, whining and begging and he becomes pretty livid. Which is why he doesn’t like missions that deal with kids. That is, unless you’re there to help him out.

He finds your handling of children to not only be a big help for him but also a nice change of pace. It’s adorable seeing how kids easily gravitate towards you and how you let them do whatever they want. Whenever they have you pinned down in a game or surrounded, Logan can’t help but laugh at the cute little ambush before he breaks everything up. He doesn’t like kids and he still can’t stand them. But you make them more bearable, so there’s always that!

Jubilee

“Hey, babe! Send the kids over here- I’m gonna do a mad fireworks show for them!”

Jubilee is, surprisingly enough, really good with kids! She’s a lot like a cool aunt to your nurturing parent bit! She thinks it’s cute that you’re good with children and even compliments you around them when she’s not busy with other kids on a mission. The firecracker can rely on you to assist her or even stop her from making whacky moves that could get some children hurt out of pure excitement.

It’s not hard for everyone to know you two are a couple because of how much she calls you by pet names or makes fireworks that send signals to you if not make some look like you. It’s awfully sweet of her and it makes you comment that not only is she a great girlfriend, but she’d also make a great mom. Though, it’s highly recommended to hold that because if Jubilee hears you speak of motherhood, she’ll cringe at the thought. She likes kids, don’t get her wrong! But she could never be a mom!

If you got any requests for X-Men '97 or Arcane, send them my way!

Likes and retweets are always appreciated! I love you all, stay hydrated and have a good day! <3

[s-awturn]

Drivers and their romantic tropes || F1 Grid

cw: insults, rivalry, fighting, superficiality, suggestive behavior, almost obscene — if you squint your eyes — romance, age gap, cuteness, love and blah blah blah

starring: LH44, CS55, CL16, LN4, OP81, MV1

a/n: I've probably found a new addiction? Making headcanons is so much fun, I can feel the obsession with this format coming on. By the way, I'd love to hear your suggestions (it's just a tip,I'm not suggesting anything 🤭

LEWIS HAMILTON - Age Gap

Being Charles' younger cousin gave her some privileges like going to parties and the paddock whenever she wanted or meeting the drivers and other celebrities, and that's how you met Lewis. Of course you already knew who the Million Dollar Man was, but in person it was all better — and damn, he was so much better in person. The attraction between you was immediate and for a long time Lewis denied what he felt, You were much younger than him and you were still Charles' favorite cousin, meaning it was obvious that you were overprotected by the Monegasque. Which reduced any possibility of a relationship between you and the British pilot to zero.

However, there are no forces sufficient to prevent the universe from moving its strings in any way it wants, so it wasn't long before you and Lewis were making out in every free corner, be it the driver's lounge, the Ferrari motorhome or one of the secluded spots at the team parties. Eventually, the attraction between Lewis and you grew to the point where it became something strong and lasting, well, Charles' efforts to keep you away from Lewis were in vain.

You adored Lewis, you loved how he took care of you, how he made it clear that you were his priority, Lewis treated you like no other guy your age had ever treated you.

Lewis would never admit that he liked how much older he was than you, he loved the way you trusted his experience and maturity, allowing him to take care of you in the best way possible, because there is nothing he loves more than making sure his little girl is completely happy.

CARLOS SAINZ - Fake Dating

Carlos needed a fake girlfriend to calm the media and you needed a miracle to cover your student expenses, so the two of you ended up combining business with pleasure. The two of you made a deal, you just had to pretend in front of the media and friends — everyone had to believe the charade, even family members — you were supposed to accompany him on some races and root for him, post pictures together, and Carlos would pay for everything you needed until you graduated, which was, more or less, another semester and a half. And most importantly, feelings could not be involved.

With everything combined, what could go wrong, right? But of course, everything went wrong the exact moment you realized that Carlos was the perfect boyfriend material.

How could you not fall in love with the guy who opened doors for you? Or who would pick you up at the university gates with a rose? You were getting involved and this went against the agreement you and Carlos had established. You couldn't tell if Carlos also ended up developing feelings in the meantime, he was a difficult man to scrutinize, and it was easy for you to assume that it wasn't reciprocated and before your heart was broken, you broke the agreement, returned everything Carlos had given you — as part of your act — and the money.

What you didn't know is that Carlos was in the same situation as you and it wasn't at all pleasant for him to find a note from you and all the gifts he had given you. You left and left him with just a "sorry, I can't anymore"; and in a few weeks, you didn't know how, but Carlos found you at the guesthouse where you were staying.

And there, standing in the hallway of that modest boarding house where you were staying, Carlos confessed to you, shouting that you couldn't leave him without him trying to win you over. You laughed and kissed him, because the Spaniard didn't need to try, he had already done it.

CHARLES LECLERC - Marriage of Convenience

Your family and Charles' family had been friends for years — really many years — and it only took one drunken night for your father and his to make an agreement, they would unite their families in marriage.

Her marriage to Charles.

And it was all well and good, if you two hadn't hated each other since the first time you saw each other. God knew you tried to be nice to Charles, but he took immense pleasure in being nothing short of unpleasant to you; he loved to laugh at you, he picked on you for everything you did, he handed you over to your parents when you were up to no good, so it didn't take long for you to start hating the boy.

You exchanged barbs at every opportunity you had, you begged your father to break off the engagement, after all you didn't want to marry someone who openly hated you. However, with the sudden death of Charles' father, any chance of breaking off the engagement fell by the wayside, and you were doomed to a failed marriage from the start because you hated your fiancé and it was completely reciprocated.

You tried to propose a deal to Charles, that you two break the commitment, he was adamant, there would be a wedding. And you didn't understand, why did he want to marry you if he hated you? With this doubt, you tested Charles' patience until he confessed that there was never any real hatred, he provoked you because he thought it was the only way to make you notice him.

Taken by surprise, you didn't know how to react other than to move away from him. You were confused by that revelation, both with Charles and with your own feelings; however, there was no distance really, because Charles almost set up camp on your doorstep. It was his turn to annoy you and it was no different, you fought until you ended up kissing. Not once, not twice, but several times until you both admitted that it was never hate, in fact. You two were married in the middle of spring, in a chateau in France,

LANDO NORRIS - Strange to Lovers

It all started with a blind date gone wrong, Lando ended up getting the wrong table and this resulted in the two of you talking until the restaurant closed and you two were asked to leave the place, only then did you discover that he was not the guy you were dating. Not that you thought it was bad, Lando was great! He was funny, witty and kind, he made sure to drop you off at home and took your phone, so what if he got the wrong table? He even had an amazing date with a stunning girl, so in the end, nothing had really gone wrong.

After that meeting, you unfortunately didn't go out anymore because of your racing schedule, but you exchanged messages every day, it didn't matter what the subject was, it could be something about Formula One or the puppy video you sent him. Talking to Lando was easy, it didn't even seem like you met by chance, when you noticed, you had already been talking for almost nine weeks, you had two more dates. On your first date, Lando insisted on taking you to an art gallery that had recently opened in London, on your second date, you took him to karaoke.

When you really realized it, Lando was no longer a stranger, you had his clothes in your drawers and he kept his skin care products in his bathroom cabinet. You and Lando had a firm agreement, to always talk, never go to bed angry, and never hide anything—not that you could hide anything, since you were already so intertwined with each other that nothing could remain hidden between you anymore.

You attended his races, whenever you had free time, Lando would be attending your exhibitions. Honestly, that wrong meeting was the best thing that happened to both of you.

OSCAR PIASTRI - Friends to Lovers

Friends since childhood, they went through all the stages of each other's lives, Oscar had been in your life for so long that you couldn't even imagine what it would be like without him. You supported him when he decided to become a pilot, you watched every race you could and in return, Oscar was at all of his college presentations.

People always thought you were more than friends, but Oscar always gave a shy smile and reinforced that you were just friends, you don't know when or how, but at some point it started to bother you. And that didn't make sense, because you were really just friends.

There was no you without Oscar and there was no Oscar without you.

When he managed to move up to F1, you made sure to buy a box of orange fireworks to celebrate, so what if you were living on the East Coast of the United States? Oscar deserved the fireworks. He made sure to send you a beautiful bouquet of tulips — orange because that was your color all along — a huge breakfast, and a sweet note when you graduated from college.

Little by little, the obligations of adult life, the racing calendar and everything else began to take up all of your time and this decreased the frequency of conversations between you and Oscar. You didn't even notice that you weren't talking to your best friend as often anymore, you only realized that you hadn't spoken to each other in weeks when the news broke that he was dating.

You didn't understand why it hurt so much, maybe because he didn't tell you or because he was dating an old colleague of yours... Either way, it hurt to know that, but you sent him a message, wishing him well. You talked for a while, but it felt strange, something had changed between you.

But you didn't focus on that, Oscar was happy and you were happy for him, so you put the discomfort aside, the important thing was that your best friend was radiant. Your feelings weren't important.

Maybe the boiling point was Christmas, you returned to Australia to spend the holidays with family, completely forgetting that the Piastri were also part of the family, so there was Oscar. You expected to find his girlfriend there, but it was just Oscar, your Christmas present, and his signature shy smile. When you asked where his girlfriend was, Oscar said he didn't have a girlfriend, and when you wanted to know why, his answer was very succinct: she wasn't you.

Your heart raced like an eight cylinder engine when he kissed you and fuck, that was the best Christmas ever.

MAX VERSTAPPEN - Enemies to Lovers

You were Max Verstappen's new teammate at Red Bull and if love at first sight existed, you and Max created hate at first sight. You hated each other so much, both on and off the track. You found Max to be impulsive, disrespectful and arrogant, concluding, for you, Max was a total idiot.

In Max's eyes, you were stubborn, showy, and nosy, completely irritating. You fought over everything, from the current strategy to the can of energy drink, the journalists loved the fight between you, the team tried to pacify in the best way, but you and Max? All it took was a spark for you to start a fire.

Your fans speculated that there was much more behind all the hate.

You don't remember which race it was, but it was in the middle of a chicane where you and Max were racing for first place when your front wings collided, you don't even know who crashed into who, you just remember spinning on the track and hitting the barrier. Max continued the race and took the podium that Sunday. You were furious when you arrived at the pits, just like Michael Schumacher at the 1998 Belgian GP. You were shaking with anger, your engineer tried to calm you down, your manager, but no one could calm your fury.

That was the worst fight you two ever had, it was bad enough that you decided to cut off all communication with Max, you felt like a pawn in his hands, you really thought he had used you to win the race, and you couldn't even explain how frustrated that made you.

This made things very bad within Red Bull, you deliberately ignored Max, you didn't even respond to his provocations anymore, it was as if Verstappen didn't even exist. And it bothered Max more than he would like to admit, it was like an itch that wouldn't go away. You couldn't ignore him forever.

Max approached you in the hotel hallway, he forced you to listen to him. You had to drag him into your room before the other guests witnessed another fight between the Red Bull drivers. None of you knew when or how, but when you realized it, you were tangled up in your bed, uttering insults between groans and pleas; after that night something changed, the rivalry remained as strong as before, in fact even more so, because you were hungry for the title of world champion, and wouldn't let her future marriage to Max get in the way of that. After all, friends are friends, business is business.

gif credits: lewishamiltongifs, bjeanesthings, cielolercs, formulacuties, delulujuls and isolatingmyself.

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO S-AWTURN™ 🪐. I do not allow copying or republication. Any unauthorized publication will be reported.

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[yayll]

~ a little something about you and Dazai working together... or at least trying to ~

"Hold still! God, you really need to be more careful, Dazai, I worr-"

He blinks, and tilts his head, his voice soft yet firm as you both sit on the agency's couch.

"Would you mind looking at me real quick?"

You glance up from disinfecting his wound, and hum.

"Mm, why?"

He sighs, and when he speaks his voice comes out dramatic yet tantalizing, the way he always makes it sound when he knows he's about to say something silly. Something you'll hopefully scold him for! Yum...

"Oh, no reason... Just wanted a little kiss before I inevitably die in your loving embrace~"

You roll your eyes and groan, it makes his stomach do flips. There it is, that adorable shade of pink he loves so much! It matches the one you had on in bed this morning, but that's too naughty to think about now... Dazai hears the way your voice is significantly less strict, and he knows he has you. When does he not?

"Not now, Dazai-"

He interrupts, pouting as he reaches over and twists a lock of your hair in between his slender fingers, twirling it mindlessly while you mend his wound. He gives you a melting expression as his eyes droop enough for you to have no choice but to notice his despair as he whines.

"Mmm, why do you always only call me Dazai when we're at work?"

You sigh as you gently finish dressing his wounds, the fresh bandage mingling with his older ones... He makes a mental note to have you change those later too.

Anything to keep your hands all over him. Desiring him. Always in sight, always on the mind.

"Because we're at work... we're professionals, remember?"

That silly little comment makes him scoff.

"Hmph. Well, everyone knows..."

"Know what?"

"That you and I kiss in the supply closet sometim-"

You fling yourself against his chest and clamp his mouth shut, cheeks burning redder than a tomato. He licks the inside of your palm, causing you to immediately yank your hand away with a small squeak. You can't hold back the way your lips curl into an embarrassed smile as you hiss, and it makes him almost froth at the mouth... Trying to relearn decency is hard when he's this close to you.

"Professionals, Dazai!"

"... We should kiss" He blurts out, face smug.

"No"

"But it huuurtssss!" He's desperate now, resorting to the lowest of the lows so you'll accomodate him against all wishes, not like he has any shame left. He dramatically points at his wrapped up wrist, and slumps back onto the couch as he deflates into deadweight.

Your face softens and you look down, sighing in resignation that your boyfriend might just be a total baby FREAK. His pupils turn into hearts when you speak to him in the way he wants you to.

"Where does it hurt?"

"Who are you referring to?"

"You..?"

He smirks devilishly, and shrugs, feigning ignorance as he looks off to the side, arms crossed. You slowly start to get it, and crack a smirk. You exhale, shaking your head as you give him what he covets for.

"... Where does it hurt, Osamu?"

There it is, the magic word. By the time you're done asking that he's already crawled ontop of you, cornering you on the small loveseat and caging you in between his slender frame. Dazai takes your hand in his, and intertwines your fingers together as he nuzzles your cheek with his nose. His voice is soft, gentle, and talks you through it, just how he did this morning.

"Mmm, I'm not sure anymore... Let's find out together"

Your breath hitches, and you become bashful under him. He looks at you with narrowed eyes, knowing what it does to you, but more importantly what it does to his sick little mind. Leave it to Dazai to turn playful banter into something that will surely leave the two of you a mess... Hopefully you a little more than him. You whisper, a little breathless.

"Oh, now you're just baiting me, huh..."

"Well if I'm bait, then you're biting."

He whispers back, as if sucking the very life force out of you with his eye contact alone. This is how he wins, how he secures heaven for himself every single day, selfishly. He's not hiding anything in his expressions. He wants you for him, and no one else.

You really never stood a chance.

[a-spes]

| DEVIOUS LIES — Part two (8.790 words).

| Summary — Anon Request — When your friend asked you out for a drink, you didn't think much about it. Yet, maybe you should've, because that night ruined your life. It has been two years, and you can't stop think about what you lost. Your job, your friends, your lover, and even your mind was left in that motel room.

| Tags & warnings — Avenger!Natasha Romanoff x Avenger!Reader, AoS!OC x Avenger!Reader, Other Avengers, angst without comfort, cheating, mental health issues, suicidal ideations, self depreciation, mentions of SA&SH, manipulation, toxic relationship (OCxR), revenge porn, use of drugs.

| Author's notes — I don't know how I feel about that second part, i'm not sure i like it, but now it's written it costs me nothing to share. So here we are. I can just hope that I managed to convey, at least a little, the emotions I wanted to. And, most importantly, take care of yourself.

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| Part one. Part two. Part three.

Almost a year has gone by, and it means one thing: in a few weeks, it’s going to be Natasha's birthday, again. The woman is not sure how she feels about it. She never really had a birthday before she joined the Avengers, and despite the years that have passed since, she still feels a certain awkwardness at this time of the year. Especially as the boys tended to do too much.

She could only pretend to match their enthusiasm. A slight smile spreads across her face as she takes a sip from her drink, staying silent. She has been listening to her teammates talking about her birthday’s party for almost half an hour now. She stopped trying to avoid it a long time ago, when she realized how much they enjoyed organizing this stupid party. She can deal with anything they’re going to come up with if she gets to see their smiles in exchange. Her sentence won’t last more than a few hours, but the memories are going to stick with them for eternity, and it has no price.

"Wait, you know what?” someone asked. It was Clint, and by the mischievous smile on his face, the redhead already knew that she wouldn't appreciate the next words that are going to come out of his mouth. “I think we should have the mascot come over again," he added, his eyes not leaving hers. "What? It was funny to have a cartoon version of you running around," he defended himself when he saw her glance darkening.

"You know what? Do whatever you want," she mumbled, “it’s not as if you were asking for my opinion anyway,” she eventually gave in. Sometimes, you have to know how to pick your battles, and that is one she definitely cannot win, not when all the others seem to appreciate the idea.

"That’s such a great idea!” one exclaimed, and this time it was Peter Parker, “Mr. Stark, do you think they would accept to come again?” he asked the man.

"Obviously!" Tony replied without an ounce of hesitation, laughing at the question. The man thought it was a stupid thing to ask, "she likes you too much to miss your birthday,” he explained, pointing at the redhead while saying those words. "What? She pretends it’s not true, but I know she is lying. I can see right through her and, believe me, she’ll be here,"  he explained when he noticed the confused looks of his teammates.

"Who’s she?" a voice asked, cutting short to Tony’s rambling. That’s the question that has been on everyone’s minds, but that no one dared to ask out loud, except for one of them — And it hasn’t been Natasha, it is Steve that spoke first.

On the contrary, the woman remained silent because she didn’t need words to express herself, a silent conversation taking place between the billionaire and her through a simple glance. Even if she already has her suspicions, and is almost sure that she knows the answer to that question, she wants him to say it, refusing to believe it otherwise.

The moment she saw the box, she was intrigued by it, something drawing the woman to the small package that no one claimed as theirs. It’s almost as if it came out of nowhere, no one knowing who left it here, or what may be inside the black box. At first, she thought it was some joke, but she knew they were being honest when saying they had nothing to do with the gift. And if she had expected a lot of things to be wrapped in the red ribbon, she definitely wasn’t ready for a ghost from her past to emerge from it.

A quick glance before she suddenly closes the box again, that’s all it took for the redhead to know who was behind that gift. The only thing she could think about was how — How did it happen without any of them noticing your presence? Despite the appearances, and the smile she was trying to keep on, the woman was shaken — Why would you do that, more than two years after your break up? Could it be that you are that desperate?

"Is everything okay?" Clint asked, being the only one to seem to notice a change in Natasha’s behavior. At least, everyone had enough restraint to not ask the question that burns their lips — What’s inside the box?

She wouldn’t have answered if one of them had asked. She wouldn’t even have opened the gift if she had known that it was from you, and that’s probably why you left it on the table, avoiding giving it to her directly. Smart girl, she thought. At first sight, the woman couldn’t tell it was coming from you but there was no doubt remaining once she saw the content — There is only one person on Earth that cares enough to give her such a gift. A person that constantly looks after her, guessing what the redhead wasn’t telling.

A person that she used to love. 

A person that couldn’t be here, was she? The woman can’t help but glance around but she can’t find your face. What was she expecting anyway? To see you in the corner of the room with a bright smile and your arms open for her to throw herself in a hug? That was stupid, and so is the hint of hope she felt when she opened the box. The others told her many times she has to turn the page, but she doesn’t seem ready to let you go. Even after two years, she is still craving your presence as much as before.

The thought of it puts to shame the redhead who knows she shouldn’t hold on to the past, especially when the past in question has a pretty face and breaks her heart. Even after what you’ve done to her, she has spent hours crying, praying for you to come back. Even after listening to the others assuring her that she deserves better, she couldn’t forget how you’ve always been the most caring, and strong, and beautiful person she has ever met in her life. 

You weren’t horrible. Were you? 

Sometimes, she thinks you are a monster. 

Sometimes, she thinks she is, for not listening to you that day. 

That day, she let her anger speak for her, something she swore she would never do again. When she started to realize that, maybe, she should’ve listened to your version of the events, it was too late. At the time, she couldn’t bear to hear the sound of your voice or see your voice, but after two years, as the memory of it starts to fade away, she surprised herself to miss it. 

Except that Fury had refused to tell her where you were. She tried to ask nicely, to beg, and even to threaten the man, but none of it worked. He said that you needed time, that you’ll be back when you are ready, not before. Despite her frustration, the woman accepted it. After all, she is the one to blame, the one that puts herself in such a situation. She could only hold on to the fact that, one day, you’ll be back. Right? As the days go by, the likelihood of ever seeing you again is gradually diminishing. Some nights, when she can’t sleep, she stays up, eyes fixed on her laptop’s screen — Maybe she could give fate a helping hand? She knows she could find you easily. Yet, despite her urge to do it, she has always ended up closing her laptop without starting the research. 

She has to trust Fury, she repeats to herself. Even if she sometimes disagrees with the man, even if it’s frustrating, she has to believe him when he says that you are safe.

Some other nights, all she can feel is anger, and hatred. The redhead is lost, and scared, again, something she never thought she would feel again the day you two met. What if it was true, and you really cheated on her? Then, you could do it again if she forgives you, because history always repeats itself, and you are no exception to the rules of the universe. She knows how people tend to promise a lot of things that they don’t mean, especially when they are desperate, which is exactly what you’ve been that day. She couldn’t forget the look on your face when she dragged you out of the building, the despair in those bright eyes, glistening with tears. This is the only thing she can remember when she thinks about you. Not the good moments you’ve shared, only the brutality of the end of your relationship. 

You've abandoned her, and so did she.

It has been three since she last saw you, and almost a year since her birthday party, but the woman couldn’t stop thinking about it. She didn’t take the gift, leaving the jewelry in the box, and the box on a shelf. She hasn't touched it since. How could she when just the sight of it was already too much to bear?

Every day, when she wakes up, it is one of the first things she sees, and one of the last when she goes to sleep. If it doesn’t feel right to the woman to take the gift, it doesn’t feel right to throw it in the bin either, so it stayed here as a constant reminder of what she has done. Every time she thinks she is finally over it, the box rekindles her doubts. There are some things she can’t quite understand about the situation, and why you would give her such a gift, two years after she kicked you out, is one of them.

Maybe it was a poisoned gift. Maybe it was a sick trick to make her feel guilty, a way to get her to crawl back to you. Beside these possibilities, she couldn’t think of any others that were likely, and she was afraid to admit that your plan was working. The box was a permanent reminder of your existence, something she couldn’t get herself to give away because of those dumb feelings she was experiencing. Somehow, she was holding on to that last piece of your years together after she threw away everything else with the help of the team.

The pictures, the clothes, the gifts, even your favorite cutlery has been burned a few days after you left them. It is almost as if you’ve never stepped a foot into the building, as if you’ve never existed. The woman was fine with the idea of pretending that nothing happened — She was fine with the idea of erasing every remaining part of your relationship.

Except that black box. It is stupid how she hangs onto that last proof of the relationship she once had with you. She had burned everything, but she couldn’t get herself to do the same with that gift. Maybe because she knew that she could never erase you completely from her life. She surely could pretend, it is a game she is really good at, but you would always be on the back of her mind because memories don't go away as easily as objects do.

Since she had opened the box, doubt had been creeping inside of her — What if? What if she has been wrong the whole time? What if she should have listened to you? Give you a second chance? That day, her reaction had been dictated by anger and hatred, feelings that still inhabit her soul, but have faded over the years. For two years, she had been sure that she made the right choice — At least, that’s what everyone kept telling the woman, and she listened to their comforting words.

But since she opened the box, she was no longer sure of anything. She wasn’t the one that wanted you gone in the first place. She surely needed a bit of space before being able to talk with you properly, but only a few days, maybe a few weeks, not two years, and definitely not more than that. That little box only worsened her doubt because who would be desperate enough to still cling to the person they betrayed, years after the events? A person truly in love. She had kept her doubts for herself before that day. If she is almost sure of the identity of the person who gave her the box, because there is only one person on that planet that cares enough to gift her something so meaningful, there are still a lot of questions to which she doesn’t have the answers — For example, how did you manage to sneak into the building without everyone knowing? She now knows that someone knew the whole time.

“Tell me,” she firmly asked the man, leaving little room for discussion.

No one pointed out the thing he has said about the mascot, the subject of the conversation quickly changed after that. Except, while they were talking about which flavor the cake should be, Natasha could think of nothing but Tony’s words — “She likes you too much to miss your birthday”, “she pretends it’s not true but I know she is lying.” So when everyone eventually decided to go back to their rooms, around two in the morning, she stayed a bit longer in the common room in hope of getting some information.

“Sorryy, I can’t, I don’t know anything,” the man replied, indifferent to her tone, “anything at all,” he repeated, chuckling like a child who has done something wrong. 

The woman sighs, pinching her nose as she takes a deep breath, trying to not lash out her frustration on the man. The conversation isn’t exactly going the way she had hoped, Tony refusing to answer her question no matter how many times she has already asked. She even tried to blackmail him, but he was persistent in pretending that he didn’t know anything. When he almost falls on the ground trying to get a few steps back, it has been the last straw for the woman. Gladly, someone entered the room before she could hit him so hard that it would have sobered him in an instant.

"Is everything okay?" the voice asked, and both of them immediately shut up to turn their heads toward the woman who just entered the room, Astrid. She is leaning in the doorway, her gaze alternating between Tony and Natasha.

She hates her. Not as much as she hates you, but she still feels resentful toward the agent. When she smiles, when she speaks, even when she is just here, existing, the woman can’t help but hate her from the depths of her heart. Gladly, she rarely sees her, as an agent of the S.H.I.E.L.D., she is only around when they have outstanding missions. If Natasha had a choice, she would’ve thrown her away with you that day. 

"She wants me to admit that her girlfriend was the one in the costume," he immediately replied, "but sshht, we can’t let her know that!" he added, holding his index finger in front of his mouth for a few seconds before leaving the room giggling. 

"I know what happened," she eventually said when she noticed that Natasha was about to leave after a few seconds when they glanced at each other in silence. "Th- That night, in the motel room~," she added, her voice being hesitant. Those words made the redhead stop in her tracks.

"If you're about to rub in my face how you've ruined my life, you can shut up," she immediately cut her, not wanting to listen to the woman, not if it’s to tell her about how she fucked the woman she loves. Her voice was full of anger, just like the murderous look in her eyes. The only thing that prevented the woman from immediately leaving the room was the thing she saw in the other’s eyes. Her attitude betrayed her emotions, a mix of guilt, sadness, and shame, which aroused her curiosity. 

With a nod, she ordered her to continue.

That morning, as many others, you are woken up by your girlfriend’s gentle touches, her fingers slowly tracing circles on your stomach. A hum of satisfaction escapes your lips before your turn around, nuzzling your head further into the crook of her neck.

How could you have known it would be the last time? How could you have possibly guessed that the routine you’ve got used to would be broken so quickly?

Every morning, it is the same thing, and while the former spy has no problems getting up early, you definitely can’t say the same for yourself. She is always awake before you are and, even if she had never admitted it, you are sure that she takes a few minutes to observe your sleeping form. She loves seeing you so peaceful and calm, being able to have a glimpse of your face without those worry lines, without the marks of your anxieties. 

She is always the one who wakes you up, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. There is no better way to start a day than Natasha’s sweet words and caresses. It’s her fault if you never want to get out of bed, wishing every morning that you could stay in that bed, next to her, for the rest of your life. Sometimes, you suggest that you tell the others you are sick, just to spend a day together, but she just laughs, dismissing your idea.

But all the good things must come to an end, right?

"It's time to get up, milaya," she softly said in your ear, her breath tickling your skin, "Astrid won't be happy if you are late again," she added when the only answer you gave her was a groan of discontent.

"They won't say anything if I am late once, it's okay", you mumbled, her words not being enough to convince you to leave the comfort of her arms. 

Especially when you realize that there is nothing to get excited about the day ahead of you, in perspective, only hours spent in an office, listening to men who think they know everything better than you do. Today, you are supposed to attend an important meeting alongside Astrid, and you still don’t know why you volunteered. The thought of the paperwork and the efforts that you will have to put in pretending that you are actually happy to be here definitely don’t worth your pay.

Except that you’ve lied to Natasha, and she knows it. This is definitely not the first time that you are being late, it happens almost every day, to the point that the day you are in time can probably be counted on your hands. Gladly, when you are coming in the S.H.I.E.L.D.’s quarters, it's Astrid who’s your supervisor, and she appears to also be your best friend. Most of the time, she is kind enough to accept to close her eyes on your delays. Today, you came in only ten minutes late, and the woman was somehow impressed, expecting you to be later than that.

“You’re late, again,” she replied, obviously waiting for an excuse that you don't have. She would know if you are lying to her, and you don't have the energy for that kind of game today, and you could see that the woman neither. She was starting to get tired of every day starting with the same bullshit coming from your mouth.

“I am so, so, sorry,” you said to her for what may be the tenth time since you’ve entered the office. She is walking fast, and you are trying to catch up with the black-haired woman, who is also your superior within the S.H.I.E.L.D. “Please, don’t tell Fury,” you begged, but all she did was roll her eyes, and give you a file when you eventually reached her office. You quickly glanced at it before closing it again, your attention focused on the woman, “Astrid, I am serious. He is going to give me more paperwork if you do. Or worse. Imagine if he forces me to train the new recruits, you know I can’t do that again. Please, …,” you added, looking at her imploringly.

“And what do I have in exchange?” she sighed, turning around to look at you, one eyebrow raised. Despite her serious expression, you know she was trying to not laugh. She may be your boss, but above all she is your friend, and you both know that she would never tell Fury about your delays. Even if she has threatened you to do so a few times in the past, she has never actually done it. Yet, this time she felt like she needed something in exchange, she had covered for you enough time for free, and you were happy to thank your friend with whatever she may want.

“Anything you want!” you replied, desperate but no less honest. 

“Tonight, after work, you pay me a drink, deal?” she asked after pretending to think for a few seconds. In reality, she already knew what she wanted from you. She has thought about asking you out since the moment you met, something you’ve never noticed, always reducing her to the role of a friend, and not keeping up on the clues she was leaving you. Tonight, however, she will be clearer than she has ever been.

“Deal!” you immediately said, accepting the proposal without thinking twice about it. "Thank you. Thank you so, so much. You are the best," you added, kissing your friend on the cheek before leaving the room quickly, a sight that made the woman chuckle.

It is a deal that makes you both happy. You have met Astrid at the Academy, when you were both trainees that dreamed of joining the S.H.I.E.L.D. without even knowing if you were good enough for that. The two of you quickly became close — That’s the kind of thing that happens where you are the only two females of your promotion. Either you hate each other over your dead bodies, or you grow so close that you become inseparable. 

Except that, since you've both achieved your dreams and joined S.H.I.E.L.D, something changed in your relationship. It wasn’t your fault, nor hers, that you had less time to see each other, your jobs taking a lot of your time and energy. Then you've been assigned on a long-term mission with the Avengers, and you’ve spent less time at the S.H.I.E.L.D.’s quarters despite still working for the organization. Then you've met Natasha, and you feel like you’ve slightly grown apart from each other after you’ve announced to her your new relationship. On the whole, you had less time to spend with your best friend, and the promises to make up for the lost time have never been kept, not until today. That deal was the perfect occasion to spend a bit of time together outside of the office work.

You both really hoped that this night would make things back as they were before.

"You know, I love her," she confessed to the redhead, her voice being barely louder than a whisper as she felt tears filling her eyes. "Since the day we met, I have loved her. That's what I told her, that night, when we went out," she admitted, and Natasha felt her heart pounding in her chest, her hands were shaking with apprehension, “but she rejected me. She loves you so much, too much," she sadly chuckled, but the redhead felt no relief when she heard those words because they were not explaining the pictures. She can't cry, not now, not in front of that woman.

"Continue," she ordered, feeling that the woman had more to say than that. She already knew that Astrid loved you, you may be the only one that hadn't seen it, or maybe you were pretending, or maybe you were blinded by your love for Natasha.

"I didn't plan to do that, you know," she started, carefully looking at the spy, "but I was so desperate that night, and I-," she said, except she was unable to finish her sentence, the words stuck in her throat.

The past three years, she had kept the truth a secret. At first, she thought it was better that way. The woman was ashamed of her actions, and she was relieved when heard that you’ve been transferred to another department, and she thought that her secret would be safe. Except that, if everyone acted as if you’ve never existed, her mind didn’t allow her to forget. Every hour of every day, you were in her mind, and the longer she thought about that night, the biggesther guilt became, until the burden was too heavy to bear. Tonight, hearing them argue about you, has been the last straw.

“What did you do?” she asked, sensing that something was wrong. She didn’t like the feeling that was creeping inside of her, “what. did. you. do.?” she asked once again, but more firmly that time, when the other didn’t immediately answer her question. As she saw the hesitation, she reduced the distance between them in a second, her hand gripping the collar of Astrid’s shirt that she pins to the wall abruptly, “tell me. Now,” she insisted as the interaction only reinforced the bad feeling she had.

That morning, unlike the others, you woke up alone. There haven’t been the gentle caresses of your girlfriend to wake you up, nor her sweet words to coax you into getting up. No, that day, it was only yourself, draped into the cold sheets, and it felt so strange, the silence and the loneliness of the room. Sadly, it has not been the exception you’ve wished it would be, but only the first of too many mornings like that.

In the sleepy state you were in, it took you a few seconds to realize that something was wrong, and almost a minute before you noticed that you weren’t home. You couldn’t even recognize the place you were in, only knowing that it looked like a hotel, a shitty one if you might say. The room was small, simple, and not-so-comfortable. There was something in the ambience that gave you an uneasy feeling about the whole thing, but you were unable to say what it was exactly.

Your head is throbbing, and you are definitely feeling nauseous, but you know that’s not the problem. Your physical distress isn’t the cause of the weight on your chest, the one that makes your breath aching, it’s something else that your mind can’t comprehend yet. It’s all these inconsistencies. The missing memories of last night, the unknown room, the fact that you are alone,... you don’t remember drinking that much last night. You may not be the most responsible person that planet has known, but you know how to handle yourself. Usually. 

Could you have possibly drunk that much? 

The day has barely started, but you already know it is going to be a rough one. If only you knew how right you were, maybe you would have taken a few more hours of sleep, enjoying the comfortable peace of your old life a bit longer before joining the chaos. Yet, you had no means to guess that your day would go that way. 

It's a note left on the bedside table that answered all your questions, easing some of the worries that were creeping inside of you. Someone has written the following words : “Couldn’t get you home because of how drunk you were. don’t worry about being late today, I won’t tell Fury. however, had to go on a mission, be careful when you go home. I left you a bit of money, it should be enough to pay for the room and an Uber. Love you.” The message might not have been signed, but you can easily recognize Astrid’s handwriting. A smile spreads across your lips as you are reassured, the situation not being as bad as your mind made it look.

Some memories of last night flew back in your mind, but it’s only a glimpse of what happened, a lot of the events staying unknown to yourself. The last thing you can remember is the conversation you had with Astrid, when she admitted that she loved you and you replied that you too, thinking she meant as friends because you couldn’t see her any other way, not when you were already engaged in a relationship. The rest of the exchange is confused, and you are not sure what’s real and what has been made up by alcohol. Even today, you are still not sure. 

Maybe you’ve really drunk too much that night.

Knowing that you’ve been with Astrid the whole time was reassuring, and you are no longer as bothered by the absence of memories. For a moment, you thought you'd been kidnapped by some weird man. As you regain your composure, your thoughts become clearer and you decide that the first thing you should do is to send a message to your girlfriend. She must be so worried, and your heart aches at the thought that you might be a source of problem for the woman you love.

It is not your kind to not keep your promises, and you’ve told her you would be home last night. It is not your kind either to not answer her messages or calls. In reality, you are quite the opposite, always sending her hundreds of messages when you are out with your friends. The only reason she hasn’t got after you is because she knew you were with Astrid, and she trusted you. However, the sweet messages are going to have to wait because, when you try to turn your phone on, you only encounter a black screen, a sign that you’ve run out of battery. Obviously, your friend didn’t think to leave you a charger.

You sigh, admitting your defeat. Shaking your phone surely won’t change the situation. For the moment, there is nothing more you can do, except hoping that Natasha won’t be too angry. As you are getting ready, your mind is focused on how to earn the redhead’s forgiveness — Maybe you could stop to buy her some flowers? You hate it, when the two of you are arguing. It doesn’t happen a lot, but it’s never pretty, and the mere thought that it might happen was already hurting.

As you definitely couldn’t go back to the compound by yourself, not knowing how far you were and being in a pitiful state, you decided to use the money left by Astrid to call a cab, as she instructed you to do. It’s not before you enter the car that you realize how late you actually were. It is almost one in the afternoon, and if you are not an early riser, like your girlfriend who is always up by six at the latest, you rarely get up after ten.

It has been a thirty minutes drive back to the compound, and the whole time you were thinking about two things: taking a shower, and leaning into your girlfriends’ arms. You are so exhausted, physically and mentally, that you’ve decided to skip work today — You were already so late that it wouldn’t make a big difference anyway. The journey was long, and those thirty minutes felt like hours. 

Soon enough, you started to suffocate into your own mind, then skin. You felt so sweaty, and dirty, that it quickly became unbearable. Maybe it was the effects of the alcohol, or maybe because you’ve slept in a seedy motel, but the only thing you wanted was to get rid of the clothes you were wearing and the uncomfortable state you were in as soon as possible.

When you enter the compound, you find it empty, and so is the room you are sharing with the woman. If you frown, you don’t think much about it. If the building is rarely empty, it sometimes happens when emergencies are called. A whine escapes your lips as you realize that, if it’s true, they are going to be mad at you for not being here when they needed it. You can already feel your mind losing itself to self-hatred thoughts, as you mutter to yourself how stupid you are. You are going to need more than a few flowers to earn their forgiveness. The fact that JARVIS confirmed that everyone was at the S.H.I.E.L.D.'s quarters didn’t, you would have preferred to hear that they went to the restaurant without you rather than that.

Tears brimming your eyes, you quickly put your phone to charge. It is only when you get out of the shower, twenty minutes later, that you saw the missed calls and messages from Natasha. The most recent ones were sent a few minutes ago. There were too many of them for you to take time to read everything so you just sent her a quick text that said: “sorry, my battery was dead, and I couldn’t answer your calls. I’ll explain everything, I promise. see you soon. love you.” A message she saw but she didn’t answer, which is unusual and an obvious hint of how angry she probably is.

Despite your decision to not work today, you still end up in the S.H.I.E.L.D.’s quarters. You are almost running in the corridors, going to the meeting room where you find your girlfriend, and the rest of the Avengers. When you stumble into the room, a deadly silence descends. None of them greeted you, and the only reaction you got was Fury’s nod when you started mumbling excuses for your late arrival. While your eyes immediately landed on the redhead, she didn’t glance at you once of the entire meeting. The sight made your heart sink. You love her, but you have to admit that the spy is scary when she has that stern expression on her face, one that leaves no room for discussion.

The safest decision was to sit on the furthest chair, leaving her space until you get the opportunity to explain yourself. Something that you hadn't had a chance to do before a few more hours, when you stumbled into her in the corridors. You have been lost in your mind, having a hard time focusing on your work. Earlier, when the meeting ended, she immediately left the room, not leaving you a chance to exchange a word with her, and it has been bugging you since.

“Please, wait,” you said, already begging the woman. When she heard your voice, she stopped, allowing you to gently grab at her arm so she didn't go. She could, if she wanted to, and a part of her did want to run away, but the rest of her knows that this conversation can’t be avoided. “Listen, I- I am sorry,” you started once you were sure she was willing to listen to your excuses, “I should have warned you, but I couldn’t, my phone’s battery was dead and, and- honestly? I don't remember much of what happened last night. All I know is that once was enough. It won't happen again,” you chuckled sadly. When you woke up that morning, you promised to yourself that it was the last time you drank that much. A promise you kept, and three years later, you still haven’t touched a bottle of alcohol. “I promise, 'tasha. Please, don't be mad at me for that, or at least tell me how I can make up for my mistake,” you said, and the woman knew she had heard enough.

“Seriously?” she scoffed, breaking free of your grip. “I can’t believe you are that stupid,” she said, as she started to walk away. But if she didn’t want to hear the sound of your voice any more, you, however, weren’t done yet.

"I know I’ve made a mistake, but I am fine, isn’t it the most important?” you asked, starting to follow. Except that, when she heard your steps in her back, she accelerated her pace. “I promise to be more careful next time but, you know, I can handle myself for one night. Well, I might have drunk a bit too much, but Astrid was wi~,” you tried to explain, except she cut short your ramblings. To say, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but the woman quickly cut you. She scoffed again, in disbelief this time.

"You are really stupid, aren't you?” she said, stopping in her tracks, and you almost ran into her, surprised by her sudden stop. A few more seconds passed before she turned around to face you, her posture matching her stern expression. “Do you think I don't know what happened last night, with Astrid? Do you really think I wouldn’t have known the truth?” she added, taking a step forward for every question she asked, and you took one back every time, until your back hit the walls. You would certainly have found the situation hot if she didn’t look like she was about to murder you.

“W- what?” you said, “you are mad because I went out with a friend. That’s the problem? Astrid is the problem?" you snapped, starting to feel frustrated about the whole situation. 

You are tired, and the only thing you’ve wanted to do since you opened your eyes that morning — Throwing yourself in your girlfriend’s arms — was impossible to do. You hadn’t expected the woman to give you such a hard time. You knew she could be jealous sometimes, you’ve already had arguments about that in the past, but you’ve always been understanding because you know that her jealousy isn’t caused by a lack of trust. This feeling is fuelled by her own insecurities and past. Except that, that time, it was too much. The way she wouldn't listen to your excuses is seriously hitting on your nerves.

"Don't you dare to lie to me,” she said. For a moment, you thought she was going to hit you, but she took a step back before she could do that. She was angry too, taking deep breaths in an attempt to ease the feeling. “I trusted you,” she eventually added but her tone was different — The anger left her voice, replaced by pain. “I trusted you and, most importantly, I loved you,” she whispered, turning around to see you one last time. “After everything I have done for you, I can't believe that's how you are thanking me. You know, I really thought you were different, better," she laughed, trying very hard to not throw you against the walls or worse, to cry. The most insufferable was the look in your eyes, the false innocence. She was tired of pretending, she had given you enough chances to tell her the truth, “but you’re not,” but now, she was done trying.

That is the last time the two of you talked. The next time you’ve seen her, she hasn’t been kind enough to let you have a chance to explain things. She was done trying, and so were you. The last words she said are still ringing in your head, even years later. Maybe if you'd chased her once again that day, things would have ended differently, but you haven’t moved. You couldn’t, petrified by the conversation that just took place, you have just watched the redhead walking away without glancing back.

It’s only when you enter the break room that you understand the whole conversation you had with Natasha. No one was here, but the walls had been covered with pictures of yourself. At first, you thought it was a prank from your teammates’ but the pictures were all but innocent. You felt your heart sink when you took down one of the photos to get a closer look at it, and tears in your eyes when you realized that you were nude in those.

It was you, in bed, with Astrid. Your face doesn’t entirely show but you can easily recognize yourself and the bed you’ve woken up in that morning. There were dozens of different pictures, but all showed similar scenes: your bodies against each other as you are obviously sharing an intimate moment. Something that you should only share with one person on that Earth. A person that is definitely not Astrid. 

Except that the more you look at those pictures, the more foreign they feel. You are sure you are the one in the pictures, but you are still unable to remember what happened. Slowly, doubt creeps into your heart — Did you drink that much last night? 

So much that you betrayed the woman you swore to love until the sun dies? 

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. You are suddenly overwhelmed by a bunch of emotions that you can’t describe, but that are definitely not pleasant. It is a mix of confusion, anger, guilt, and disgust. The pictures speak for themselves, and they leave little room for doubt about what you were doing — And you were surely not just sleeping. The woman was on top of you, her mouth closed to your neck, maybe she was leaving soft kisses against your skin, maybe she was whispering sweet things in your ears, you don’t know. But the thing you were focused on was her hand hidden by the sheets, leaving only your imagination to complete the scene. It wasn’t the only picture of that kind: they were all picturing similar scenes. You can easily understand her rage and hatred earlier because you are now sharing those feelings with your girlfriend, just for different reasons.

"What's wrong sweetheart?" a voice said, pulling out of your mind. It was Astrid, who just entered the room. She glanced around before looking back at you, a sad smile spreading on her lips when she notices the tears that are soaking your face. and you saw Astrid entering the room. She looks around, a sorry look on her face. "I am sorry,” she started, and you could feel she was looking for the right thing to say, “I- I sent the pictures to the wrong person. When I realized, I tried to explain to Romanoff but, well… you know how she is,” she explained, shrugging as if she was trying to make you believe she had actually tried to, “she wouldn't listen to me, and they- they did that before I could stop them. It doesn’t please me either," she added, reminding you that you weren’t the only one suffering from the situation. Except she seemed to deal with the situation better than you do. As she talked, she slowly walked closer to you, accompanying each of her sentences with a few steps forward until she was close enough to wrap you in her arms. 

You didn’t get the energy to push her away.

"Did we.. ?" you asked, but your voice broke before you could finish your sentence. It felt too difficult to say those words out loud — “Did we hook up? Did I cheat on Natasha?” But the woman doesn’t need the words to be said, she seems to read in your mind the end of your sentence.

"Of course we did, what kind of question is that?" she replied, frowning. She seems to be surprised by your question. For a second, the hand that was slowly caressing the back of your head stopped. The woman pulled back a little, just so she could see your face. "Why? Do you regret it?" she asked, and for an instant she seemed to be genuinely worried about your reaction, "because you didn't seem to last night, when you cried my name,..." she whispered in your ear. You could feel her breath tickling your skin but it wasn’t a pleasant feeling, unlike when Natasha does it.

Everything felt so much. Her voice, her touch, her presence so close to you, was now unbearable. As she remembers the night you’ve spent, a soft smirk spreads on her lips, but you are definitely not sharing her feelings. “Of course we did.” The words loop back into your mind, it seeps in like a poison that quickly takes over your whole being. Soon, you are paralyzed by an awful feeling. It hurts, but at the same time you are not sure you are actually feeling something, your body and mind feeling so foreign to you — If you wanted it, why does it feel so wrong?

At that moment, if you had been able to move, you would have ripped your ears off just so you wouldn’t hear her voice any more, and maybe you would have done the same with your skin. It felt like the only way to get rid of your overwhelming feelings. Suddenly, the reassuring touch of your best friend made you feel gross, and so do her sweet words — But if she said that you did it, and wanted it, then it must be true, right?

You have seen the pictures, they are in your hands, right under your eyes. You can see yourself betraying the woman you love and in those, you really don't give the impression that you didn’t want to. On the contrary.

"No, no, it- it's not that, it’s just…," you eventually managed to say, but you are hesitating and unsure of yourself. There are too many thoughts and words clouding your head, so many ways you could react and yet, none of what you could say or do felt right. "It’s just that I don’t even remember last night,” you admitted, feeling ashamed about it, “I mean, did we- you know,... for real?" you asked softly but you were not even listening to Astrid’s answer, the question was more for yourself in reality. "Sorry, I have to go, see you later", you said, interrupting the woman. Somehow, you regained control over your body, just enough to push the other away and leave the room. You are not sure where you are going, but as far from that room as you can is already a good start.

That's where she found you when she came home that night, sitting on the bathroom's floor, the pictures in your hands.

Your hand is still wrapped tightly around the pictures, but you didn’t notice it. Not before being back home, in the room you are sharing with Natasha — Or were sharing, you thought, unsure about how the situation would unfold. It may be the last time you set a foot in that room that has been your safe place for months. Before you could completely break down, you decided to take a shower, thinking that, maybe, the steaming water would be enough to ease your mind. You took two showers. Then three, then four, and maybe more. You can’t be sure, you’ve stopped counting. All you knew was that it hasn’t been enough to get rid of the uneasy feelings and thoughts. You’ve scrubbed yourself until your skin was so sensitive that even the touch of the towel has been painful — But maybe you deserved it.

The rest of the day is a blur, and you are not sure what time it is. You’ve spent hours on the bathroom’s floor, your left hand clenched around the picture while the right one was holding the towel. Your head was so empty, but so full at the same time. That’s how she found you when she came home that night, and if she had been tempted to wrap you in her arms when she saw your pitiful state, the conversation she just had with the others discouraged her to do so — You didn’t deserve her pity. They are right when they say that you are not the victim: you are the one that cheated on her, and she needs to be firm, stern. You knew how hard it is for the woman to trust someone and yet, you still broke the fate she had put in you after years of making her dream of a better future.

"Oh, so you remember now?" she coldly said to you when she entered the room. You didn’t move, not even your eyes to look at her, but if you did, you would have seen that the woman was leaning in the doorway with her arms crossed. Maybe you would have also seen that her coldness was only a facade, and that she was as close as you were from breaking down. 

You stayed silent, unable to say anything. The words were stuck in your clenched throat, and they aren’t feeling right anyway — How could you defend yourself when you didn't even know what happened exactly? Plus, you weren’t even sure there was something to defend, the pictures speaking for themselves. Even when she started packing your belongings, you didn’t move. For you to move, she had to grab your arm and drag you all the way outside the Avengers’s building by herself. 

She needed you gone, and everyone agreed that it was only for the best. At least for a few weeks, just the time for things to calm down. That’s what she came to announce. The few words that left your mouth were useless, your pleas falling in deaf ears: the decision had already been made, and the sentence was irrevocable. The woman is done with your bullshit. She is done with you, and so you are.

"The pictures, they- they aren't real," she eventually admitted, her voice being barely louder than a whisper as she unburdens herself of this old secret. “I mean, th- they are, but it’s a staging. Nothing happened between us, she- hm, loves you too much to give you away,” she continued, tears filling her eyes as she talks, her voice wavering a little more with each word. "She isn't even conscious in these," she continued when the spy didn’t react. If the black-haired woman thought it was because the other was listening, it was because she didn’t know how to react.

The weight of what she had done left her shoulder, and it was now lingering in the room, where the air was suddenly thick, and almost unbreathable. Natasha felt a weight in her chest that made each breath harder than the previous one. Overcome by surprise, she had let go of the other, stepping back a few steps. Her thoughts were racing, numerous and contradictory, they weren’t coherent enough to allow how to respond in any way. She needed to do something, but she didn’t know what.

“I- I don’t know why I did that. It wasn’t me, that night, you know that, right? That I would usually never ever do something like that,” she started to defend herself when she saw the look on Natasha’s face, “I was so angry, and disappointed, when she refused. I have given her everything since we met, and yet you are the one she chose. I thought that, maybe, with a bit of time she would eventually realize her mistake, … but I was so wrong,” she sighed, and the redhead could see the remnants of that anger in her attitude. A clenching jaw and fists, accompanied with firm words that left no doubt about the resentment she held towards her, and towards you. “That night, I- I wasn’t myself. We’ve already had a few drinks and, you know, it doesn’t mix well with emotions,” she continued, and the woman could feel her anger rising with every word the other spoke. “All I could think about was getting revenge. I wanted to show her she was wrong, that I had so much more to offer than she thought. I wanted her to change her mind, to see me for more than just a friend,” she admitted, her voice being just a whisper as she says the last sentence. “I never thought it would end this way, I swear, you’ve to believe me, Natasha,” and to forgive me. She didn’t say the last words out loud, but she doesn’t need to, her eyes are speaking for herself.

Only, when her gaze met the redhead’s, she didn’t see in her eyes the compassion she had been expecting, only pure hatred, an emotion that had quickly replaced the initial surprise. Not even a word was addressed to her as the other left the room, leaving her alone to dry her tears.

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| Part one. Part two. Part three.

| Taglist — @cd-4848, @chocolatestrawberrykryptonite, @gemz5, @jusnough, @m0nsterqzzz, @marvelwomenarehot0, @mrsrushman, @riyaexee, @takeyaki, @taliiiaasteria.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

from me to you ft. roronoa zoro!

set-up: anon asked me to write angst :) 32 year zoro had lost you two years ago. but when he finds himself back in time, face to face with a 22 year old and and alive you, what will he do?

warnings: none, just some good ole angst; not proofread at all :/

"how did you get that scar then?" chopper asked, tracing another deep scar on the older man's shoulder.

"i was fighting a warlord." the older zoro shrugged, finding comfort in the way the young reindeer marvelled at his story.

"did you win then?" ussop asked next.

the younger version of the swordsman cut in, "ofcourse he did. he's me."

"not to credit you," the older version bickered, "but yes ofcourse, i did win."

"what do you mean 'not to credit you'. i am the reason you even got to that point-"

"yes but you didn't fight the warlord, i did."

"I AM YOU-"

"oh my god, stop bickering with yourself" nami groaned, "when will the rest be back? im growing so tired of looking after you children."

"i am a decade older than you." the older swordsman answered back.

the rest of the crew was out exploring the port town where the sunny was docked. it was about to be sun-down and the two zoros, nami, ussop and chopper waited for the others to return back.

hours passed and the older man had found himself walking around the ship, reminiscing in the old times. somehow, for someone as much of a shitty memory as him, he could recall every stain, every dent. he could recall every place ussop fucked up or luffy damaged or you-

you. you. you.

and now he could hear footsteps on the deck. more importantly, he could hear you. so, his feet moved to their own accord. he navigated through the ship easily, muscle memory taking ahold of his body. taking him to the deck, taking him to you.

the older swordsman stepped out onto the happening deck and there you were.

you - along with the rest of the crew - turned your attention to the green-haired man that had materialized on the deck. and then, the entire crew erupted into chaos. the younger version of luffy comically looked from one zoro to another, sanji stood with his mouth wide apart and robin looked slightly alarmed.

but none of that mattered.

none of them were you.

the twenty-two year old version of you was looking at the older man, mildly amused. you giggled and then poked nami, saying something along the lines of "he looks like a dilf" or something. but the older man didn't care, or more so he couldn't.

it was night yet he could point out every wayward freckle across your cheek. you shivered and he held back from giving you his kimono. you walked over to his younger version and that green-haired boy pressed a kiss to your forehead the same way he wanted to.

you were there.

in flesh and blood, you were there.

and maybe that's why he turned his back on you and walked into that old cabin of his. maybe that's why he locked the door and slumped against the wood with a heavy sigh. maybe that's why he covered his eyes with his palm and tried to blink the tears away.

you were gone. you had been, for the past two years. and he had learnt to live with that absence. learnt to swallow down any memories of you that came creeping up like bile. learnt to only smile in his dreams when he saw you again.

shouldn't he be happy he saw you again? shouldn't he be glad you smiled at him again? he should be, right?

then why wasn't he? why did it hurt him more to see you laughing that it did when he saw your cold corpse?

"uhm-" your voice called from outside, unsure, "zo- zoro? are you in there?"

he pressed his palm flatter against his eyes and sighed, "i'll be out in a minute, please wait"

"are you okay?" you asked softly and when he didn't reply, you asked again, "can i come in?"

wordlessly, he turned around and opened the door. and wordlessly, you crashed against him, hugging the older man.

letting go of whatever restraints he had, he held you against him tightly. he closed his eyes, relishing in the way your warmth felt against him, the way your cheek was resting against his chest, the way your tresses tickled his skin.

"you looked like you could use a hug." you mumbled against him, "it must be insane, to go through this time travel thing right?"

but the older man just pursed his lips tighter, trying to hold onto the love of his life as long as he could. he tried to fight off the welling tears as you let go of him and looked up at him.

"you smell nice. looks like you're actualy showering huh?" you laughed, "and i can't believe you got even more tall. i look like a child in front of you!"

zoro smiled despite himself, "hate to break it to ya, but you stay this size your entire life."

"what?! no!" you laughed again in disbelief, "really??"

he just nodded and you hit his chest playfully. then you said, "well i have so many questions for you. should i ask? please please pl-"

"anything for you." he replied mindlessly.

"look at you, such a romantic. your younger version could learn a thing or two." you paused, "my future version must be really happy with you, huh- wait, we're still together right?"

zoro was silenced. then, he put on a smile, "yeah, we are. and i guess she's pretty happy."

"are you?"

it was a simple question and yet, zoro felt like his being was set ablaze by just those two words. though his mouth felt like it was full of tar, he managed to say, "yeah, more or less"

you cocked an eyebrow, "you know you're a terrible liar."

"i-" he gave you a tired smile, "things have just been hard for the past few years, that's all."

"oh," you gave him a nudge, "but as long you've got me, things will be okay, yeah?"

he scoffed, as if rejecting your suggestion. you met the older man's gaze with confusion, as if asking him if you said something wrong.

his eyes softened, voice barely audible. he asked you, "and what if i lost you?"

"dumbass, you can never lose me. i'm with you, always."

"what if?"

"then..." you pondered for a second. finally, you raised your wrist to the green-haired swordsman's eyelevel. the silver charm bracelet shone dimly in the lit room. you shook your wrist and the soft melody of the charms filled the room, "you can keep this, to remember me."

zoro's gaze was transfixed on the charm bracelet, his eye catching each miniscule metallic movement, "you- you lost this bracelet."

"i did?" you tilted your head.

"i mean- in a couple years you will. we had docked on a summer island and you lost it while exploring the town."

you watched the way the man stared at your wrists and you made your decision, "take it."

"but it's your favourite jewelry-"

"well, if i'm gonna lose it anyways-" you took off the bracelet with little trouble, "then i think you should keep it."

you gave him another smile, delicately placing the dainty bracelet in his calloused palm, "maybe you can give it back to my future self when you're back in the present. i am sure she'd like the surprise of having it back."

before zoro could protest, his younger version barged into the cabin. the younger boy hissed at the older man, "give me back my girlfriend, oldy."

the older man didn't ignore the way you laughed. you took languid steps to reach the younger boy and then you melted in his arm as you laughed.

he loved you then, he loved you now. he knows he would love you beyond this.

and that's all that matters.

roronoa zoro, aged 32, had disappeared for three days. he refused to tell anyone where he had gone. but when he returned, he sported a new chain round his neck with old charms. nobody on the crew bought the chain up, they didn't need to.

because for the first time in two years, the swordsman could crack open a smile when he greeted them.

and that's all that mattered.

💗a/n: definitely gonna be posting sanji's part as soon as im done with it! sanji's part

[senblades]

I've had a realisation,

So, we all like to dunk on Akechi for having a stupid plan- which, well, yeah; but I think that a lot of people (whether they like Akechi's character or not) tend to miss the point:

That being, that the holes we all poke in his plan; "Why didn't he just kill Shido at the start?" "There's no way he'd live/be free after that," "His plan to ruin Shido's reputation would never work," are actually far more revealing as to Akechi's priorities, than they are of him just being 'stupid'.

For starters, "there's no way he'd live/be free after that." -as a fandom I think we've all already come to the conclusion that Akechi's regard for his own life is spotty at best. I wouldn't necessarily say that he wants to die by the time of the third semester, which really just adds to the tragedy of the whole situation, but I digress. Point is, the kid needs therapy, moving on.

"His plan to ruin Shido's reputation would never work," Ah, now this is where I think some cultural differences start to come in to play- I won't say much, since I'm relatively uninformed, but by the sounds of it, revealing that Shido has an illegitemate child is actually the kind of thing that would make a lot of people raise their eyebrows. And, more importantly, the kind of thing that would really throw his "easy election win" into some serious jeapordy. (AND, it's never exactly stated that "revealing himself as an illegitemate child" was Akechi's tactic to ruin Shido- more of a "hey, Shido, guess who it was that ruined you, you piece of shit?"- which, well, more on that mindset later)

Next, "Why didn't he just kill Shido from the start?" This is where I think a lot of people get tripped up. To my memory, there is not a single point in the engine room where Akechi says that killing Shido is the cornerstone of his plan (localisation differences notwithstanding. I'm sure someone will come yell at me (/lh) if this is the case). Now, to be fair, Akechi in the engine room is really just him giving a very desperate powerpoint while he sharpens his sword- so I don't doubt that he's skimming over a couple points. But, you'd think that Akechi would remember to mention that if that really was his main goal.

Okay, so Akechi doesn't want to kill Shido. Cool, follow-up question, "Why didn't he just give Shido a pshychotic breakdown from the start?" That's the kind of thing that would have ruined Shido's reputation, too, right? And, it would have been before he would have had the means to try and cover it up. Well, finally, I can get to my point:

Akechi needs Shido's disgrace to be loud, because he needs everyone else to care, too. Akechi's revenge isnt just against the man who left him and his mother for dead, but also against the society that continued to leave him for dead, again and again; the society that only lauded him as something special if he slapped some pretty wallpaper over the past he had absolutely no control over.

Looking at it like this does a lot of things:

First, it really amps up the whole "the PT's justice and Akechi's justice foil each other". Akechi's revenge is also a vehichle for revolution, since it is, in essence: "Look! Look at the man who you lauded as a saviour! Look at me, the man who brought him down. Aren't we both disgusting, in your eyes? Take a look at yourselves. Aren't we all the same?"

That leads pretty nicely into Akechi as a pawn for Yaldabaoth, too. Akechi wants to make sure he and Shido go out with a bang, and leave a shitshow in their wake. That's prime God of Control real estate! It's also prime "metaphor for Ruin" real estate; you get the point.

And, finally, an interesting point comes from all of this. That being, that, well- the only reason that Akechi's plan wasn't going to work, is that he placed too much stock in the idea that Shido has any concept of loyalty or gratitude. Shido, as we all know, is an absolute piece of shit- and still, Akechi had believed that maybe, just maybe, his father would feel bad for being terrible to his son.

(I'm not going to go on too big of a tangent, but that is an interesting insight into Akechi's idea of Justice, and into what his personas might represent. Contradiction, as ever, is the name of the game, and Akechi simultaneously believes that there's no way to get anywhere in life without force and violence, and that there is also a fundemantal truth of what is good and fair within human hearts)

The message of this, I'm pretty sure, is not: "Akechi failed because of that lingering belief in humanity" (wouldn't that be one hell of a heel-turn lmao), but rather: "Akechi, with his distorted (ha) priorities, was never going to be happy in any quest for vengeance, even if his plan succeeded entirely"

tl;dr, Akechi needs therapy. Wait- Maruki, no! Not that kind of therapy!

[arieswritez]

yandere mark nsfw alphabet😳😳 loved the idea

cw; DARK CONTENT! MDNI!!! rape, breeding/baby trapping, dacryphilia, asphyxiation, abusive 'relationships', edging, predator/prey dynamics, nipple play, kidnapping, food tampering, mentions of suicidal ideation, threats of violence, implied death, manipulation, victim blaming, branding, mentions of incapacitation.

about; nsfw alphabet ft. cray cray mark x gn! reader xx a/n; a couple of u asked for this so here it is :D not edited & straight off the dome so excuse any grammatical errors. will edit if necessary xx

A= Aftercare

'aftercare' with yandere mark is patronizing and condescending. a lot of shushing, wiping your tears, and asking why you're so upset. you asked for this with all your fucking cock teasing. it couldn't have been that bad, i mean, he did make you cum! why can't you just let good things happen to you? ;(

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

mark loves your eyes <3 it's the first thing he's noticed from you. how they seemed to gleam and widen while you gave him your undivided attention. he can't count the amounts of times he had to excuse himself and jack off in the bathroom: imagining how your eyes would water with his cock stuck down your throat. or the way your eyebrows would furrow while he jack hammered into you.

C= Cum

yan mark definitely likes marking you with his cum. he likes to see it dripping off your face, along your belly, your thighs, but most importantly, he loves it when he watches it drip out of you. whether you can get pregnant or not - and good luck if you can - there's just something primal about cumming inside of you. marking you in and out.

D= Dirty secret

he's a masochist just as much as he's a sadist. his little obsession with you caused him to get a tattoo of your name <3 right at his adonis belt 🥺 so everytime he's in too deep,, your hands desperately try to hold his hips back,, and your blunt nails dig into the curved lines of your name. it never fails to make his eyes roll into the back of his head 🫶🏽🤭

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

canon typical mark is (was) a blushy lil virgin but yan!mark has a tad bit more experience. he's attractive, he's funny, he knows how to play into the slightly awkward charm that got you to lower your defenses. so it's safe to say it isn't hard to find random hookups every now and then.

it's not all about his experience. he just knows what you like.

you may not know it, but he's. . done his research. and by that i mean, he's logged into your computer or your phone and looked through your browser history. he knows what kind of porn you like. and some of those things are borderline freaky. here you are, acting all innocent, like you wouldn't hurt a fly. or high and mighty like no one would ever dare snuff out your flame.

who would've known you were such a desperate slut?

but that's okay! because he's willing to do anything to satisfy you. . or humiliate you by making you cum. he feels it takes you down a peg, when he pins you down and makes you cum even though you don't want to. even though your mind is racing a mile a minute, trying to hold your climax back while he plays with your clit/cock.

unbeknownst to you, he's watched you masturbate. knows the right amount of pressure & speed that gets your toes curling. he knows you so well & he can't wait to learn more about you 💕

F= Favorite position

mark loves watching you squirm beneath him. most importantly, he loves taking you down. he might even make you think you can get away. the chase, the constant cat and mouse you'd subject him to used to be torture. your teasing, the occasional sliver of skin as you stretched, the way you'd lay your head on his lap as the two of you watched television, the way you'd grin when he blushed. . and the wrestling. god, the play wrestling.

he used to let you win. but now. . now this is real. there's real consequences. so he makes you think you can kick him off while you flail. maybe even lets you get up and run. your elbows are all scuffed during the struggle and he's given you a busted lip, but he lets you think you've won.

god knows he'll catch up eventually.

the games he'd play made you cocky. you thought you were stronger than him instead of considering that it was just him playing nice. so he loves to watch the look of defeat, of deception, anger, and disappointment towards yourself when it's revealed he could've had his way with you all along.

he loves to be on top.

but sometimes,

sometimes,

he likes it when you're on top. some things never change. and lets just say he didn't always let you win play wrestling just because he was trying to be a gentleman. but because he liked the way your weight felt on top of him as you grinned triumphantly, pinning his wrists down.

now, of course, things have changed. he can't let you have all the control. pity. but he forces you to ride him: his hand wrapped around your throat. he could really hurt you if he so much as wanted to. . something he hisses into your ear whenever your pace so much as falters. he makes you work for it. and it takes longer to make him cum when you ride him. fear makes you clumsy, makes your legs shake more, and you're sore and achy and tired, which makes it all the more fun.

so i think his fave is when he forces you to be on top :)

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

yan!mark teases you a lot. comments on how many times he's made you cum, pinches your nipples just to hear you squeal. he's only ever quiet and serious when he's in a bad mood.

H= Hair

mark's trimmed but not necessarily shaved.

you, on the other hand, have to be shaved. not because he finds it unattractive (if anything, it makes him feral. makes him feel like you're something meant to be conquered, something to be domesticated. controlled.)

hence his decision to have you shaved at all times. it's about control.

he forces you into the bath tub and watches as you shave, making sure you're all pretty for him. no, you don't get a say in the matter. you're his little doll. he'll do whatever he wants to you.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

mark is rough. depending on the situation, he may start off slower, softer, easing into you while his words are pure venom. he's grinding into you, making you hiccup, because this type of 'love making' should be reserved for couples. not whatever the two of you have got going on. but of course, he speeds up. roughing you up the more into it he gets.

he's rough regardless of who the object of his affection is, but he's definitely rougher if you're on the masculine side. yan!mark doesn't like to be challenged. he doesn't like talk back. he doesn't like you running around thinking you're big and bad. so he has to knock you down a peg. force you to understand he's stronger than you.

he chokes you out, squeezing your throat until your vision spots. he likes to watch your face change colors. and when your mouth opens, desperately trying to suck in air, he spits onto your tongue 💗

likes it when you - confident, and tough, walking like nothing can ever hurt you - beg him to let you go. beg him not to kill you.

because, sometimes, you fear he just might.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

he does! but when he gets you, there's really no need for that <3

when he hadn't kidnapped you, he'd masturbate all the time. it was the only way to relieve himself. like i rambled about before, he'd steal your underwear and cum into them, use them as tissues to wipe his abdomen clean.

secretly takes pictures of you - upskirts if you wear 'em,, or just candids. cums to your most mundane selfies.

if the two of you were close before he kidnapped you, debbie would send you all types of homemade treats. sweet or savory, whatever it was; you loved debbie's cooking. what you didn't know was that mark would add a little bit of his own . . twist to them. when you'd steal bites of his food, you always wondered why his tasted differently to yours.

and the way he'd stare at you as you ate, jesus.

you thought he just liked the way you'd wolf down whatever his mom cooked. turns out he just liked watching you eat his cum.

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

BREEDING!!! whether you can get pregnant or not, he loves the idea of claiming you for a lifetime. of changing your life and forcing you to carry his child. watching you grow round and hormonal. he knows he'd have to keep you on a tight leash; lest you do something you'll regret in order to escape your fate. but it'll be worth it. because after nine months, you'll have another life to look after. you'll be on edge all the time, protecting a fragile, little life, because you can't trust mark to do it.

after all, if you're really bad, he can always get rid of it. start all over again. and you wouldn't want that, would you~?

dacryphilia.

there's nothing like watching you cry. when you'd confide in him about your troubles, when you'd cry on his shoulder, seek solace in his company for whatever reason, and cry. . it'd be really hard to hide his erection. the first time you let yourself cry in front of him was a day he'd never forget. he couldn't stop thinking about it since. wonders if you tear up when someone fucks you. (you do. you will)

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

mark doesn't care where he takes you as long as he's got you. it can be in public or not, just as long as he takes you to the secondary location he'll keep you prisoner in. if it's in the au where nolan & him team up, there will be a compound with all the rebels. you'd be at the top floor in a comfy little penthouse. a gilded cage overlooking the remains of your burned city.

i think he'll first want to fuck you in a place where there'll be no interruptions. if it isn't in the au where him & nolan conquer earth, he knows how to play his role. doesn't want to risk being found raping you. he'll most likely fuck you in a place you hold dear to your heart. your bedroom, could be an example.

because wherever that safe space may be, you won't be able to stand being there without thinking about him.

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

he likes it when you act so sure of yourself. when someone's a bit cocky and bossy. it's nice to break you.

it is a whole lot easier when someone's shyer, though. wallflowers always blend into the background.

no one misses them when they go missing.

N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

there's almost nothing mark won't do to you, sorry ;( even if he doesn't like it. . even if you both don't like it. . he'll always find a way to humiliate you if you've been bad. so it's advised you be on your best behavior if you really don't want him to do some fucked up shit to you. & believe him: it hurts him more than it hurts you!!

all he's ever wanted was to own you.

you were meant for him.

so why fight?

you both know you're not getting out of this alive

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

mark doesn't always give head unless it's to put you in your place. just to show you that he can make you cum and theres nothing you can do about it.

but he makes you choke on him all the time. he's impatient, forcing your head down and hiking his hips up to meet your face. if you've pissed him off, he'll pinch your nose and hold you down. loves to feel your nails dig into the bulk of his thigh. sometimes, you'll make him bleed. he doesn't care.

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

mark doesn’t last very long BUT he’s got a very short refractory period and can go for countless rounds. by the time you cum once, he’s already cum like three times and he’s ready for more. by then, he’s already fucked dumb. so your next orgasms will be forced out of you, roughed up and overstimulated as his cum leaks out of you, his cum acting as lube and making the slide intoxicatingly easy.

Q= Quickie

basically non-existent. he loves giving you his undivided attention. and he never stops after one round ;(

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

he loves trying new things with you. he's spent so much time fantasizing about you that he doesn't even know where to start the first time he gets his hands on you. he'll most likely force fuck you more than once in a day the first time he gets the chance to.

S= Stamina

(see pace <3)

T= Toys

loves using toys on you. if you’ve used them before him, he’ll force you to use them in front of him. it doesn’t take long before he takes control: grabbing them and fucking you with them. edging you. if you cum, then it’s only fair he cums, too, right? and you don’t really like that much ;( so best hold it in <3

U= Unfair (how do they tease? edge?)

mark loves to tease and edge you.

you say you hate him. you can't stand him touching you.

you bite and you snarl, kick and punch, yet when he has you pinned, edging you for hours on end. . you end up breaking. begging him to make you cum. of course, he coaches you through it. tells you he'll leave you alone once you cum, he promises. yet he drags it out for so long. hearing you ask to cum instead of asking him to stop is music to his ears.

except, mark is a liar. you shouldn't trust him.

he just ends up overstimulating you after you cum😒

V= Volume

lots of whispering and hissing, talks very quietly and carefully. you'd think he'd be loud. . but he's not. and despite the fact that he may say vile, disgusting things to you, he whispers them to you so nicely. . if he were saying anything else it'd be sweet. he's so patronizing ;( whimpers in your ear when he's close.

W= Wild card

really into pain.

since he's got his powers, it's not very often that he feels pain. sure, there are some fights with villains - while he's out playing the perfect hero in the mean time - that give him a few flashes of pain. but that's once a blue moon.

nothing compares to you.

you fight him like you're afraid he might kill you. and he might. but it's never his intention ;( he knows what kills and what doesn't (trust him) &, believe it or not, he doesn't want to lose you. but you fight him with such intensity he has to manhandle you more than he'd like.

your hits are surprisingly hard. you claw at him and punch and kick, and he's thought about breaking your legs more times than he can count - he still might if you catch him on a bad day - but then that'd leave you completely immobilized and that's really no fun. because he likes it when you make him bleed. he likes it when your hands slap against his face and when your nails try to claw his eyes out. he wears the bruises and the cuts you give him like badges of honor and he loves to bite his busted lip when he's close to cumming.

he loves it when you hurt him. and he loves it when he ends up winning, anyway.

X= X-ray (size)

5-6in & THICK. really pretty w/ plump balls. he cums SO much.

Y= Yearning (sex drive level)

he's got a HIGH sex drive.

you've teased him for so long he doesn't think he'll ever get enough of you. and there's nothing you can do to stop him. if the two of you weren't close - if the two of you weren't friends, etc. - there's nothing you can do to lay low. you'll catch his attention sooner or later and he'll weasel his way into your life before you even realize it. his intentions would appear pure at first. he'd be so caring, wondering if you're doing okay, and protective; who were you talking to? i don't think they're good for you~

and you listened. because it's mark you're talking about. but if you truly knew him, you'd realize his accusations were actually projections.

Z= Zzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

falls asleep fairly quickly after he's wrung himself dry. but that's only IF he's already taken you hostage. if he so happens to assault you while the two of you aren't where he'd like to keep you, he takes you there, first. coupled with his strange idea of aftercare, he is fairly affectionate. or as affectionate as you'd expect him to be, anyway. always with a hint of menace: he'd hold you tight against him, an arm around your waist and the other wrapped around your throat. making sure you don't so much as think about straying away from him 💗💗

[theirnamesarekiklo]

Cold

Tired and damp, the sweet sweet girl could only hold herself

pairing: !Twin Sister! Reader x Sully Family

a/n: this is kinda like at the end of the movies where the whole battle takes place also this was not corrected at all I literally js pulled this out of my ass 😭 (LITERALLY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE LIKES I CANT BELIEVE THIS)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: a lil talk abt suicide, very faint injury desc

⋆★⋆★⋆

Deep pants all around, the only thing on their mind was that they were safe and together. But something deep and churning kept place in Lo’ak’s stomach.

The most common thing between twins in Na’vi culture was that they were more connected than most. They had this special bond that most siblings didn’t obtain. Ever since Lo’ak and his twin sister had been born under the same light, they could feel one-another. They felt each other’s losses, wins, and they especially felt eachother’s heart. So imagine how his heart dropped as soon as he felt alone.

So utterly alone and cold, he felt.

“Dad, where’s y/n?” and everyone’s breath hitched.

— ⋆⋆ —

Gasping for air, she had managed to drag herself on the rough rock, but she couldn’t care less now that she had bigger wounds to tend to. Wheezing out raspy breaths, her shaking hand rested softly on the edge of the blade, the same blade that had pierced her heart. The wound was the biggest one there, despite the bullet hole lodged into her skin.

She wasn’t sure how she felt exactly. Her legs were numb, one of them clearly in no condition to walk with, her face had been covered in dried gore that not even the water could wash off, and her arms were covered in several deep gashes, bruises, and burns. Swallowing the rising blood, she took one more deep breath before her hand gripped the knife, obviously not being enough as the removal was simply worse than the actual wound.

The gruesome scene was surely something, and she was sure that the other guy (who she hadn’t bothered to even learn the name of) had looked worse when she was done with him, but that didn’t stop her from meeting the same fate as he did.

Letting out a scream that truly screamed bloody murder, the girl could only sob and heave and clutch her torn skin that she was sure would get infected if she had even managed to get out of here. What would take her first? Dying of blood loss or dying of infection? Taking a peek at the sky, Her vision was already clouding over. Wincing as she tried getting just a tad bit comfortable on the rock, blood started pooling at the edges of her lips.

Was her older brother okay? She was sure the bullet only grazed him, she took the bullet for him before getting dragged back by the same guy she killed. Most importantly, was her twin brother okay? Was he breathing better than her? Did he carry the same feeling she did at this moment? At this moment, she could recall all the sweet memories she and him shared. They were born together, and she sure was hell glad they didn’t leave the same way, although she wished more than anything that they were right there with her.

Choking out a sob, the girl felt a chill of acceptance run through her. She wouldn’t make it out of this. Even though she was still young and hadn’t completed her Rite of Passage, she knew she was going to die. Curling up into a ball, she felt cold and as if all the thoughts in her head were simply vanishing, the only thing repeating itself were comforting nothings. Clutching at her chest, her slightly parted lips were releasing slow, tiny gasps. Taking one more look at the looming eclipse, she choked back a cry and whispered one last promise to ewya, leaving the world the same way she came into it.

— ⋆⋆ —

“No No No Y/N!”

As the wailing begun, Jake couldn’t help but want to simply shoot himself in the head right now.

Taking one look at her daughter once more, he turned around and crouched down. Taking some shaky gulps of air, he felt as if his world was suddenly closing in on himself. He’s been through this before, only he wasn’t experiencing it directly. Turning his head to take a look at Lo’ak, his heart broke into a million pieces right then and there.

Bringing her hand to his heart, his hands were already covered in her drying blood, trying to gain that silly warmth that everyone felt cover them if they had ever been around her. Whimpering tiny delusions to himself, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was some sick joke or some type of revenge for all the wrong doings he’s caused in his life. Meeting the eyes of his father, he could tell this was taking somewhat of the same toll on him too.

Trying to let out a few words, only a squeak could be heard before he ran his hand over his face and his his face away from the rest of the grieving children. He had let her die cold and alone.

He had let the sweetest person he had possibly ever met, the one who could do no bad, die stuck in her head and fighting. He wasn’t there to comfort her, caress her face as a distraction from the pain, nothing. If only he had been there sooner, if only he hadn’t betrayed Miles, if only he decided to follow the rules. His babygirl was gone, and the only thing he could do was cower and cry into his hand.

Kiri, who was simply sobbing to herself, truly not even there at the moment, held spider’s hand so tight that he was sure she would break it, but he wasn’t paying attention to that as he shed a wave of tears himself. She was one of the first people to truly accept him into their family and made him feel as if he belonged. Tuk, that poor child, tried laying her head on her older sister’s chest, trying to find a heartbeat, something, to prove that she wasnt really gone forever.

Neytiri, at this point blubbering thing to herself, only calmed down as she took in the peaceful expression on her daughter’s features. She had always been calm, but sometimes the way shadows hit her face showed nothing but a mask. Her eyebrows were always a little tense, but now they rested easily. Her baby, My baby, she thought, was gone. Bringing her face closer to hers, she laid her other hand right onto her cheek. They’ve held each-other like this many times, and to believe that this would be the last was a punch to the gut.

Tsireya, who was weeping right next to Lo’ak, couldn’t help but remember how sweet she was. She had a heart for many, even her brother, who had gone to extreme measures to simply make sure that they hadn’t felt welcome. She recalled the funny and heartwarming, sometimes sad memories that her twin had shared with her, and that only brought more tears to her eyes.

— ⋆⋆ —

The clan was silent.

Both y/n’s ilu and ikran had gone wild, suddenly scurrying off but not without a tiny fight with a few of the men, trying to keep them stable.

Ao’nung, who had seen the whole thing go down, was sure of his reason as to why these things were happening, but he didn’t want to believe himself. He was cruel, desperate to relive himself of these feelings he felt around the doe-eyed girl. Now, as he stood there, rigid and hardly breathing, let out a gasp as he could see a group in the distance.

As people started whispering, they were cut short as his mother let out a tiny noise at the sight of them. Peeking around a shoulder, he felt his heart drop down to his stomach. She was there, only not in the condition he hoped and prayed for. She was limp, pale, and completely rid of life as her father carried her in his arms, obviously not ready to accept the fact that she was dead.

Huffing out a “no”, he ran off, shoving people out of his way as his parents focused more on the sobbing daughter that was shown possibly the first heartbreak she had ever experienced. Her oldest brother didn’t know. How would he possibly react to the news that the girl he promised to protect since the moment she was born, was gone?

—…

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Laswell and Nik watch Price play a Rugby match. Part 2.

cw: brief mention of injury, hand job right at the end.

Look, I just love the idea that Nik, Laswell and Price are good friends outside of work. I want to write more of it. All my work is self-indulgent but this is PURE self indulgence.

The plastic chairs were damn uncomfortable and Laswell was pretty sure she could have managed an extra pair of socks inside her boots, but the atmosphere was contagious. Jubilant, loud; people stamping their feet and blowing on their hands in the cold, old comrades meeting again after a long time, families gathered to see fathers, sons, husbands, play.

Plus, she had promised, hadn't she? And seeing her long term friend do something that didn't have the threat of a bullet mixed in was an opportunity she felt she deserved as much as he did.

"Here, Laswell."

A plastic cup of beer appeared in front of her face between the large fingers and thumb of her companion for the day, and she took it in two gloved hands. "Thanks, Nik."

"It tastes very bad," he informed her as he swung his leg over the chair next to her and fell into it heavily, taking a swig of his own with a grimace. "Da. Like barman pissed into a cup."

"Really selling it to me," she chuckled before taking a sip, nose wrinkling. "That is... quite the aftertaste."

Nik shrugged. "It is all part of the experience, and," he ferreted through his jacket, lifting his ass off the seat, and pulled out his hip flask, "ha." He offered it to her first, to which she shook her head, before he unscrewed the cap with his thumb and dumped a generous helping into the top of his drink. "How long?"

"They headed in from their warm up about ten minutes ago."

"Ah, he looked good, no?"

Laswell nodded, her eyes crinkling with her smile as she noted the blush of pride on Nik's face. John Price had, indeed, looked good. He had been rosie-cheeked and energetic through all the drills despite the cold, keeping up with the younger members of his team without any apparent issue.

And, perhaps most importantly of all, he had been laughing and grinning throughout, exchanging banter, and pausing to talk with someone he recognised in the stands, only ending the conversation with a handshake and bump of the shoulders when his coach - a Major something or other, according to the introductory leaflet - bellowed at him.

It was John's boyish glee that had caught Nik's attention more than all the tight woven shorts around thick thighs, the bulging biceps and full chests stretching through Underarmour base layers, and she had watched his eyes blow wide as he fidgeted in his seat, desperate clearly to be closer and bask in John's happiness rather than observe it from afar. She'd sent him for the beer to cool off.

It was an interservice friendly. Navy versus army. A pre-season warm up before the international competition began and the British armed forces would field a composite team of the very best. "Will they win this one?" Laswell asked, chancing another sip of beer and regretting it the moment it touched her tongue.

"Da. The Navy have uh, what to say, fast backs, but their forwards have bad... set pieces."

"Did you understand a word of what you just said?"

"Nyet." Nik grinned. He loved listening to John talk about the game and absorbed every iota of information he could to share in that passion. That didn't mean he was any better than Laswell in understanding what the hell was going on.

"Do you think he'll be selected for the internationals?"

"He has already been asked for his availability."

"Of course he has. Annoyingly, I don't think I've ever encountered an activity that John Price doesn't excel at."

Nik huffed a laugh. "He is an overachiever. Although, not such a good cook. I have never seen someone turn custard into rubber before."

"Aha! A weakness. I will store it for later use."

They lapsed into a momentary pause and watched the crowd find their seats. Nik checked his phone, and then nudged Laswell for a selfie to send to John. They toasted their crappy beers and Laswell conjured her cheesiest grin with a thumbs up. Nik sent it without filters, because he was brutal like that.

Nik (10.15): [image.jpeg]

JP (10.17): good-looking pair of muppets 👍

Nik (10.18): are you feeling ok?

JP (10:19): hammies tight but physio happy.

Nik (10:19): I will help with that later

JP (10:20): countin on it 👌💦😜

"You better not be sexting while I am right next to you, Nikolai."

Nik smirked at her and shook his head once. "He is fine. Nervous."

"You got 'nervous' from that?"

"Da."

"Nervous for a Rugby match but doesn't even bat an eye at leaping from a Hercules into an active firefight with a single page's worth of intel..."

"He feels out of practice. He missed the start of the tournament due to work."

"Ah. Story of our lives, Nik." They missed so much living due to work. Kate had missed the birth of both of her nephews, her brother-in-law's wedding, her sister's fortieth birthday party. So many big life events that would never repeat. But that's what made things like this special. It may be a forces match, but John was choosing to do it. He enjoyed it. Sharing in that enjoyment, that moment of happiness, that was special too.

"They are coming," Nik said like an excited boy on Christmas morning, having spotted the players at the mouth of the changing rooms. He stood with the rest of the crowd and Laswell rolled to her feet too, joining in the cheers and clapping as two lines of outrageously built men jogged out onto the pitch.

Nik and Laswell stood in respectful silence as the band played through the national anthem and the two teams lined up to bray along with it, hands on chests. The British national anthem was a damn drone, but at least it allowed everyone to pull it off. They sat down after the applause, when the two captains met with the referee in the middle of the pitch for the coin toss.

John tried to make the glance into the stands discreet, but the smile when he spotted Nik and Laswell - due to Nik's not so discreet full-armed wave - was difficult to hide. Hands on his hips, he looked down, scuffing the grass with his boot bashfully before turning to listen to the referee outline his expectations.

Sometimes she forgot about the sixteen year age gap between them; he was so brilliant at it all, so driven, so focused and relentless, he was her peer and her equal, but she had already been at the game for twelve years when he enlisted at 16. Whatever she felt in that moment at seeing John so pleased by their presence, his cheeks dimpling in that full-hearted grin he had, felt annoyingly maternal. She necked some beer.

Nik leaned in. "He will choose to receive."

"Mhm."

"Laswell," Nik said, feigning shock as she hid her smirk against her plastic pint.

The navy took the ball with them, the ref jogged backward with his hand in the air, and the two teams lined up. John was the 'fly half', which Kate understood to mean he was the decision maker of the team. It required effective leadership and communication to connect the forwards with the backline and navigate the enemy defence. The perfect role for one Captain Jonathan Price if ever there was one. Which explained the bright yellow captain's band wrapped around his bicep, clashing with the green and white jersey with its big number 10 on the back.

A single peep of the whistle marked the start of the game and the navy's number 10 put their boot to the ball, the rest of the team surging down the pitch behind it. One of the backline received the ball and immediately shipped it out towards the wings to begin making progress in the opposite direction.

The difference between American football and Rugby had always struck Laswell; the ball was the same-ish shape, there were set pieces for different scenarios, but that's where the similarity ended. Rugby was about keeping play moving. It was a relentless, brutal battle down the pitch, with hits that made her teeth shake and no padding between bodies and the impact.

The navy was playing aggressively, forcing the army's backline to reset. Every time the army's scrum half dug the ball out of the breakdown - which was what Laswell understood the huge pile of bodies on the floor to be called - John was there to receive it. He was agile, twisting, turning, everywhere at once; a testament to his own hard work to maintain his fitness and mobility.

One of the navy forwards was too slow off the mark and slammed into John once he'd passed the ball, bringing him to the ground hard with a shoulder to the gut. Nik was halfway out of his chair on instinct, and Laswell reached out a hand for his forearm. "It's part of the game, Nik. An honest mistake." The ref blew the whistle. Free kick.

John rolled to his feet, tugging the legs of his shorts down from the creases of his thighs before plucking the ball from the ground. He chose to kick into touch and gathered his team before the lineout. They hunkered down, listening intently. Laswell could hear his voice in her mind, imagined his tone, and when she glanced off to Nik and saw the look on his face, she knew he was doing the same.

John set the backline, barking over his shoulder and gesturing with his arm to get them in position, once he was happy, he indicated to the scrum half to take the throw in. The ball sailed over the heads of the two lines and found the hands of the army's flanker, who knocked it with practised ease into John's waiting palms. It sailed down the line quick, John sprinting behind the line. The navy thought they were going for a try at the wing and sent their players down to meet it. John cut in halfway and took the ball through a gap created by their miscalculation.

The hulking opposition forwards couldn't catch him once he had the space to open up with long strides, and he pushed one optimistic player off him like he was nothing. Laswell heard Nik breathe something in Russian, leaning forward in his chair, only to leap up the moment that ball touched the try line. She stood with him to clap and he threw an arm around her shoulder jubilantly. "He is so good, did you see? Like a jet, I cannot--" she missed the rest, because he was too busy celebrating, half his beer splashing onto the ground.

An orange five appeared on the scoreboard at first, and then John turned it into a seven when he kicked the ball over the middle bar between the two posts. "A conversion, Laswell," Nik informed her, toasting the scoreboard as it ticked up.

John's try seemed to turn the tables. Now that the army's side had seen the defence clinically dissected, it was like they were more confident in picking those holes. Seven turned to fourteen, fourteen to twenty-one. The navy managed to land a try shortly before half time but their fly half, John's junior by about fifteen years, missed the conversion kick, leaving the scoreboard at twenty-one to five.

Nik topped up their drinks while the two teams disappeared off the pitch, and returned with a flushed face after a suspiciously long time away. "You snuck into the changing rooms, didn't you?" She asked as she took the beer.

"Da," Nik confessed, shifting in his seat. "I did not stay long. He had a briefing to do."

"Of course he did," Laswell said, chuckling. No doubt Nik had gone to admire John in his kit up close; all that clinging lycra and polyester around John's frame. For a man, John had one hell of an ass. She was surprised Nik wasn't foaming at the mouth every time John bent over to receive the ball from the breakdown.

The second half started shortly after Nik's return. The army started with the ball this time, kicking it into the second half and chasing after it to shut down the offence before they could make ground.

The navy had apparently had what John would call a bollocking, because they were back to their form of the first twenty minutes, hitting hard and punishing gaps. Nik frowned as John was tackled for the third time in ten minutes. "They are targeting him," he growled.

"Oh yeah," a man to their left chimed in, "reckon their skipper told 'em to break that one's legs."

"Nik, it's trash talk," Laswell warned as the big Russian suddenly coiled with tension. "They will try to close down any advantages. He's one of them."

She, perhaps, spoke too soon, because the next hit made John stay down a bit longer, and he disappeared under a pile of bodies that dwarfed even him. When he finally got to his feet, there was blood streaming from his eyebrow. The ref blew his whistle and pointed at John's face, then the sidelines. He didn't even argue his case, chucking his armband to the scrum half's hand before jogging over to the medic, replaced by a sub.

Nik had been on his feet throughout, and now tracked John to the sidelines with his eyes, no doubt scrutinising his gait for abnormality. "It is superficial," Nik said, perhaps convincing himself not to vault the stands. "He will go back on."

"After being kicked in the head?"

Nik frowned, arms folded over his chest. He wasn't happy about it either.

As predicted, John returned to the pitch at the next blow of the whistle, his head wrapped in bandages and tape. The army had put up a valiant defence while he'd been off, and did so for the rest of the game, allowing only one more try to sneak through and returning it threefold. The final score at the end was forty-two to twelve in favour of the army, and the boisterous celebrations on the pitch carried on through the sportsmanlike cheers exchanged by both teams, followed by handshakes and cheers for the ref.

Nik and Laswell picked their way through the stands to the main bar to wait for John to emerge from the changing rooms. Another thing she quite liked about this sport in particular was that the players cleaned up in shirts and ties before they were allowed out. She had thought it was a services thing, a hang up about order and respectability, but no, they even observed the rule at club level. It was about respecting the clubhouse, the fans, the game and each other.

It took John about thirty minutes to arrive, his white shirt and green tie neatly pressed, wool trousers belted at his waist. Nik was on him in seconds, one hand taking his jaw, tilting his head left and right, to inspect the cut through his eyebrow. "Nik," John said through a soft laugh, "s'olright, been checked over."

"For concussion?"

"Yeah. Just a stud scrape. Nothin' dramatic."

Nik's hand slipped around the back of John's neck and Laswell could see the desperate desire to kiss his partner flash over his face, but in the end he only nodded and drew away. She sighed. So much had changed, and yet so much stayed the same.

"Kate, you made it," John said, that Quokka-smile in place and big arms enclosed her in a hug.

"Oh, I was in the area." She returned the embrace and then pushed the pint of bitter into his hands. "Well-earned, I think."

"Huh, yeah, 'm fuckin' knackered," he admitted, wiping the foam from his moustache after he took a sip. "A few of the lads want to do a crawl through the local bars, but I'm gonna turn in. Monday's chocka."

"I don't blame you," Laswell said, hopping onto a stool. "I thought you'd play soccer, you know."

"Rugby is a gentleman's sport and the captain is a gentleman." Nik sat next to her, his elbows on the bar. "Soccer is for thugs and idiots, no?"

"Hoohoo, shit, don't let Simon hear you say that, Nik," John said, leaning his hip against the bar at Nik's side. "You'd have to sleep with one eye open."

"So, the Liverpool scarf is just for show." Laswell recalled the tattered old thing hanging up in a frame in John's office. It sat right next to his medals of valour and a photograph of the 141 in Belgrade.

"Naw, once a Red always a Red."

"That means something very different where I am from," Nik said lightly.

Laswell chuckled low in her throat and John threw his arm around Nik's shoulder for a squeeze. They stayed until the man of the match was announced and, unsurprisingly, John had been selected by the team for his try.

He received the award in the same understated way he did his medals; a thank you to his team and to the panel, then 'all the best' before heading back to his drink. Once again Laswell watched Nik swallow the desire to demonstrate the affection bubbling beneath his skin. She was glad for Nik that John would require plenty of care this evening; an opportunity to dote to his heart's content.

Despite the generally positive experience, she was glad to flop into the backseat of Nik's hired Audi, watching the streets of London flit by as they left the pitch behind. By the time they dropped her off at the hotel, John was struggling to keep his eyes open, slumped low in the front seat, his arms folded tightly across his chest as if to hold himself together. She exchanged a look with Nik in the rearview mirror, the creases around his eyes betraying his knowing grin. John was clinging on for her benefit. Sweet, but unnecessary.

She opened the door but leaned forward to squeeze his shoulder before stepping out. "Well done today."

"Cheers," he said sleepily, one of his big paws parting over the top of her palm. "Thanks again. 'ppreciate it."

"Any time, John. I enjoyed myself. See you soon."

She patted Nik's shoulder too and he touched her wrist in return, before she left them to head to a well-earned rest in their Premier Inn. Hopefully a kiss too, or Nik might just implode.

--

Nik managed to convince John into a bath with the promise of a glass of whiskey. Without it, he would be stiffer in the morning and not in a way they could enjoy.

Once John was settled amongst the bubbles, Nik sat at the side with a pillow beneath his rear, one hand in the water to stroke whatever part of John happened to be near, while the other held a novel open against his thigh.

"Thanks for comin' today," John said in the comfortable quiet. His voice was soft, his eyes lidded. He had sunk lower, the waterline lapping at his collarbone.

"Of course. I enjoyed watching you in your element, John."

"It was the... uh, first time someone's come t' see me play."

Nik let the novel fall closed and twisted, resting his chin on the edge of the tub. "Have you not invited the sergeants, or the lieutenant?"

"Ah, they have better things to do 'n come and watch me play rugger at the weekend."

"I think you underestimate how much your team loves and admires you."

John hummed in the way he did when he wanted to argue but knew it was a losing fight. Nik got that noise more and more these days when it came to John's perception of other's opinions of him. He had an accurate and pragmatic understanding of his own abilities when it came to work, but that didn't seem to translate into a sound understanding of how much he was admired. The hum was a step forward towards acceptance, in Nik's opinion.

"You will invite them next time."

"Oh will I?"

"Da. And they will feel honoured by the invitation."

"What if I get my arse kicked? Almost did today."

"Then they will be there to pick you back up again, as they are in the field."

John fell silent, heaving a sigh through his nose. Nik gathered his legs underneath him and slipped his second hand in the water to caress the aching body within it. He ran the backs of his fingers over John's chest, down the valleys of his abdomen to the v-shape dips of his hips, and finally to his thighs.

"How are these?"

"Sore. They'll be fi--mm, Nik...'

"Is good?"

"Mmhm."

Nik rubbed his thumbs in firm circles, feeling knots and tension pop beneath them, and watched John's expression melt back into relaxation. He moved from one leg to the other, working his way up slowly across the large expanse of muscle to John's hip.

"Enjoyin' yerself?" John asked, an eye popping open to study Nik's face.

"Da. Watching your legs today was... hm, it made me want to spread them in the shower and demonstrate my admiration."

If it wasn't for the warm water, John would have flushed, but Nik was content by the shy smile he got instead. "In front of the entire team, eh? Filthy git," John mumbled.

"If you would enjoy others watching me make love to you, then I would consider it."

"Fuckin' 'ell, Nik," John said, scrubbing a hand across his face. His body betrayed him though, because the mere thought of it has caused his prick to harden enough to peak just above the surface. Nik tickled up the inside of John's thighs to his sac, fingertips stroking the heavy weight of it in the warm water. John's knees tilted out to give Nik access and he reached for Nik's chin with one wet hand, guiding him down for a kiss.

Nik kissed greedily as he played gently between John's legs, revelling in the vulnerability of his lover's exhausted body surrendering to the tenderness he offered. His tongue swept into John's mouth, licking the taste of whiskey from his teeth, the tip brushing the ridges of his pallet, sucking his tongue, his lips, before sinking lower to kiss his neck.

John made soft noises of pleasure, his heels skidding across the ceramic of the tub, damp fingers winding into Nik's hair. In the warmth of the water, his skin was soft, sensitive, and Nik knew how to touch him. Had spent many a night learning what made John moan and sigh, how his entire body was a map of erogenous zones desperate for a gentle hand that Nik was more than willing to provide.

When Nik encircled John's prick, stroking slowly back and forth, John let out a pleased sigh. "Fuck, Nik... Dunno whether I have the energy."

"You do not need it. Let me look after you."

"Would prefer t' give as good as I get. Ahh, fuck, Nik..."

Nik soaped his hand using the pump at the side of the bath and returned to John's eager prick. Tired he may be, but his body yearned for Nik as much as Nik's did for him. Nik kept a firm pressure, squeezing a little former on the upstroke, precum splashing over the edge of his fist. "John, you are so beautiful... You are so desperate for me."

"Yeah, Nik, haa, ah, god fuck, I'm close already..."

"Come for me then. Do not hold back. I will have you tomorrow, spread your legs and take what I want..."

"Fuck..."

"I know you wanted me to take you in that changing room, your blood running hot--"

"Ahh, Nik, fu--"

"--I know you wanted to touch yourself in the shower, thinking of me--"

"Mm, yeah, yeah, please, Nik..."

"I know what you need, I know how you ache for it, how you want to be filled by my cock and fucked well."

John latched onto the edge of the tub as he came, his thighs and stomach pulling tight, head pushing back as his cock pulsed in Nik's hand. Nik slowed his stroke, milking out the aftershocks as John gasped.

Nik kissed him lightly on the lips as his pleasure faded to throbbing embers, releasing his softening prick to rinse his hand. "Beautiful."

"Just nutted to dirty talk. Not sure beautiful's really the word."

"You do not see yourself as I do," Nik replied, admiring the brightness in those blue eyes, the ruffled hair, the flush. Beautiful was too empty a word for the majesty of John Price, but it would suffice for now. "Time for bed, John. Come."

Nik helped John out of the bath, teasing him about his shaking legs as he helped dry him with a second towel. John slipped naked into the soft, clean sheets Nik wasn't complaining; it would be easier to tease him open tomorrow morning. He was asleep and snoring softly before Nik had even switched the lamp off, the pillow clutched under his head.

Before Nik could sleep, he worked himself over to a swift and gutless orgasm that would allow him to sleep, knowing full well he would be satisfying himself in John come the morning. He fell asleep admiring the peaceful lines of John's face, eternally grateful he had the honour of calling John his.

[green-swan]

cigarette or zoot? (pt. 1) | joost klein x f1! driver (fem!reader)

in which london and smoking are synonymous with meeting a cute dutch artist

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when AVROTROS approached her about eurovision, she thought they made a mistake. max was dutch. she wasn't. her lithuanian roots were deeper than any other identity she could've carved for herself. in the end she agreed; going in their cars with max around the city of malmö, visiting a few eurovision parties and most importantly, interact with joost klein (whom she didn't know, mind you) and teach him how to use an F1 simulator. this was going to be a heavy week. thank god it was in a month, right now she had a race to win.

first came the party - london was a welcome destination for the young driver. she thrived under the busy nature of it even in what some would call late, and others early, hours. she couldn't say the same for crowds though, the moving mosh of strangers all too close to each other and trying to show their superiority (the latter was aimed at men to be fair). she did see silvester, and the two had a lengthy conversation that didn't come to a conclusion but rather stayed at "what the fuck, let's make lithuania internationally famous!" she had hoped for a good place in eurovision, if not victory, while silvester (silvestras sounded more like home) had voiced his wish for her to win the upcoming miami grand prix and not only become the first female to do so, but also the first from lithuania. the pressure was on.

unfortunately, she lost silvester after getting a drink, so what really was the point of staying in the now airless room? she grabbed her drink and went to the rooftop that really should've been closed. her short frame slumped against a railing and she lit a cigarette, making it a point to hold it between her thumb and index finger. it was quiet, and london shimmered in different shades of yellow and white. so many people, some praying, some arguing, some alone. it felt peaceful despite the harsh wind that threatened to put out her cigarette.

"cigarette or zoot?" an accented voice sounded out, breaking the howls of wind. she turned around, spotting a man in what would've been a formal outfit had it not been for the pyramid-shaped shoulder pads on his blazer. joost klein, the man she was meant to interact with in front of cameras later that month. "cigarette," she answered, "though they call them something else here," she finished with an unsure smile. "i thought we couldn't bring tobacco in here?" he questioned, with a miscievous undertone in his voice. "they didn't check me, so it's on them," the driver shrugged, "why? you want one?"

"god, yes please!"

she took out another one from her pack, put it in between her glossed lips (joost thought that the gloss suited her) and lit it before giving it to the dutch man. "you know, i once tried eating a cigarette," he started, earning an incredulous look from the shorter girl. "what? did it taste good?" her curiosity was cute, "what do you think?"

"i once nearly swallowed jet fuel," she said with sympathy, "i get it."

joost knew who she was, well vaguely. the only female formula 1 driver and the only lithuanian on the grid. so why did AVROTROS want him to interact with her in addition to her dutch teammate? by that point, the wind had calmed down, an eery silence on brink of errupting had it not been for the music blasting from downstairs. she hummed a few lyrics before he spoke up, startling her heart as if she'd forgotten that he was indeed still there.

"can i take a picture of you right now?"

"why?"

"you're pretty. you look really beautiful in this moment, and i want to capture it."

she thought for a moment. "okay, if you let me take one of you after." he smiled. (he was so going to convince her to be on the cover of his next album)

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note: jumping on the joost klein bandwagon (hehe been a fan for a while! got tickets for his europapa tour so i've been riding on cloud 9). i also love formula 1 and so thought why not combine them?

as the first paragraph indicates there will be (probably short and sweet) chapters and maybe extra ones after if this goes well <3

[verstappenf1lecccc]

hiya could you write something with Charles x reader where they get into a fight and he then gives her the silent treatment for a few days she tried to talk to him but he blanks her, she eventually cracks a few days later cause she thinks he doesn’t love her anymore and gets really upset infronto of him. But they do make up in the end make it angsty but with lots of fluff and makeup..

thank you for this ask!! I love for angst hope you like this first part!!

Invisible

3,797 Characters 693 Words 🎀

"Prick," the word flew so fast out of your mouth, it almost made you take a double take. You've never been one for profanities; your mother once heard a loud "fuck" come out of your lips and had soaped the hell out of your mouth. So when you did curse, Charles knew it was serious. It had been a week after Charles had revealed that he had decided to renew his contract with the Scuderia, safe to say, you were disappointed.

You've spent the entire winter break trying to convince Charles to move to Red Bull; this didn’t come out of thin air, it came out of Horner offering Charles a seat for the next season, to which Charles had hurriedly said, "I’ll think about it." As his wife, you really were concerned for his well-being and career. The Scuderia was not where it should be or where it was with the likes of Kimi or Michael. You just wanted Charles to have the opportunity to display his true talent. Especially after hearing Fred calling him a "washed-out nepo baby," your blood was boiling since you've heard that. Being with Charles was something you'd never thought you'd be capable of, but with years of convincing and efforts made by him, you couldn’t hold back and fell deeply and madly in love with him.

This was what ignited the first major fight in your relationship. A simple comment that you had made had pissed Charles off; he couldn’t understand why his wife, of all people did not get why he wanted to stay with Ferrari. It was more than a job for him; it was his whole existence.

He wanted to win a championship with Ferrari for Herve and for Jules more than anything. Your comment on how you thought his goal was unachievable with the team made him wonder if you doubted his moves and, most importantly, doubted him. Charles was never a yeller; he was always silent whenever you both had disagreements, always making sure you got your point across before he started. He was never a bad communicator, always making sure he didn’t make you feel less than or below him. But the Charles in this argument was not like the perfect husband he prides himself in being. This Charles was a proper prick, probably the worst he’s ever been.  You knew you had done something to upset him; you could tell from how fast he drove the car, how white his knuckles were, how he didn’t even spare you a glance as you got in the car, how he didn’t remind you to wear your seatbelt, and most importantly, how sharply his jaw was clenching.  You knew you were in for a huge fight; you were just wondering what you had said or done to make him this pissed.  The car rolled to a halt; Charles had just uttered his first words of the night, "go up", no mon angel, no love at the end of his sentence, just blunt words filled with bitter emotion.  You hurried up the stairs, almost tripping over your dress, the dress you wore for him.  When Charles finally entered the bedroom, he failed to notice your slightly shaking figure or your red eyes; all he saw when he saw you was failure.  He’d walked right past you, almost as if you were a wall; he knew what he was doing, he knew that you hated arguments but hated the silent treatment even more, it reminded you of your childhood and of never knowing what you were doing wrong to upset your mother.  That night the bed felt cold, even though you both were sleeping in it, the bed lacked the cuddles and warmth that emitted from the kisses you both often shared. It felt wrong; you tried to move towards your husband but you felt him move away, that was all it took for you to softly cry into your pillow.  You felt like your whole marriage was crumbling right before your eyes and you could do nothing to fix it. All because your husband had decided that you were invisible.

[wittlesissyb4by]

Alphabet Soup

She really could steep so low when she was angry. He wasn’t suggesting she was dumb. He was just saying he’s smarter than her. Logically, there’s gotta be one above the other in a relationship, doesn’t there??

Ryan always prided himself on his intelligence. Constantly correcting people’s grammar, inserting a fun fact, discussing philosophy at length, and the only reason people spaced out when he started relaying the Socratic method of question and answer was because they couldn’t possibly match his intellect. But, most importantly, he always had to let Wren know when she was wrong, he couldn’t have her going around embarrassing him with inaccuracies. Just the other day she said there’s “got to be a million mosquitos out tonight”, and obviously there couldn’t possibly be that much. As smart he was, he couldn’t understand why she would get so butthurt about him correcting her in front of all of their friends. 

“You treat me like I’m stupid, Ryan! All the fucking time. I’m a doctor for crying out loud! I may not know everything, but I’m not an idiot!” She was white hot, taking sharp breaths to keep her blood from overheating. “And you know what? Not that it matters or I would ever fucking care, but do you ever think maybe, just maybe, I could know a little bit more than you about certain subjects? Like, everyone has their strengths Ryan…”

She looked at him expectantly, glaring into his soul, could he just admit he was wrong about something for once? Ryan could have kept himself from smiling–if he was just a smidge less smug. “I’m sorry, but in the years we’ve been dating, I just haven’t found something you’re smarter than me at. And if you really believe in hypnosis, you may be dumber than I thought…”

Steam erupted from Wren’s ears.

“Jesus, you are the most arrogant asshole I have ever met!”

“What??” Ryan scoffed exaggeratedly, throwing up his hands as Wren stormed off, “I’m just saying that that hypno bullshit is a bunch of crap! I don’t care how many so called ‘studies’ you try to show me! There’s no way you could possibly think that works!!”

Wren stopped in her tracks, clenching her fists. She wanted to just go into the room, slam the door, and make him sleep on the fucking couch, but she just couldn’t let him win this one. She couldn’t let him even think he had her beat, even if it was just in his own fucked up head. 

Letting out a hefty sigh to maintain her composure, she pivoted on her heels. “How about this…” She said through gritted teeth, “you think you’re sooo smart? Well we’ll see. I’ll bet you that in one month, I can drop your IQ down to less than 20.”

Ryan had no choice but to absolutely guffaw at the proposition. “Are you kidding? Twenty?! Wren, my IQ is at least 140, no way you could actually lower it. Much less by that much! I mean, Twenty?! That’s like, the average IQ of a todd–”

“Do we have a deal or not?!” Wren interrupted with rolling eyes.

“Well you haven’t set the stakes, young lass.” He said with a swaggering smirk, “What do I get if I win?” Ryan replied, crossing his arms.

It was Wren’s turn to scoff. “Pshh, I really don’t care…cause you’re not going to win. Name your prize.”

“Blowjob.” Ryan said almost without a thought, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even gotten one. He had no idea why.

“Fine.” Wren said without even blinking.

“Every day.”

“Sweetie,” she said, softening her tone as she brushed a hand to his cheek, bringing her face so close that he could feel her breath on his lips, then let out a whisper, “If you can maintain an IQ above 50, I’ll give you three of them! Every day. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

Ryan laughed, unable to find this preposterous notion any more amusing. “You’re really that confident?”

“If you agree to my methods without putting up a fuss? Yes. I absolutely am. I bet I can make you so stupid in just a month that you won’t even remember the fucking alphabet by the time I’m done with you!””

Ryan grinned from ear to ear. This was going to be the easiest bet of his life. His balls would never be full. 

“You’re on.”

******

Ryan scoffed at the patronizing nature of it. Was she really going to make him use his left hand?

“You have to color while you listen to the tape.” Wren told him when she placed a crayon in his hand. She sat him down ‘criss-cross applesauce’ in front of a little table with a coloring book on it. Wren flipped it open to the first page, which had a big letter ‘A’ on it. 

“Now Ry-Ry, can you tell me what letter this is?” She asked in a sardonic tone. 

“It’s an A.” Ryan grumbled, rolling his eyes. 

“And can you tell me what ‘A’ stands for?”

“Apple, asparagus, aardvark, apostesism…”

“Very good, Ry-Ry!!” She clapped mockingly, pulling out a large set of headphones. “Now you just sit here and color your wittle pages while you listen to this lovely music! I’ll be back to check on you in a few hours…”

“Hours??” Ryan repeated incredulously. Was she really going to make him sit and do a fucking coloring book for that long? There were much better things he could be doing with his time. But he had to play her game. A bet was a bet, and he planned to prove her wrong. 

She tapped something on her phone and the music kicked on shortly after. Much to Ryan’s chagrin, it wasn’t even good mysic like Bach or Tchaikovsky or even Tame Impala, it was some nursery lullaby bullshit, but with a weird reverb effect added to it. He could also hear faint little voices in the background, but they were too drowned out by the other noises for him to discern what they were saying. He could only pick out certain words like ‘baybee’ and ‘diapers’ and ‘poo poo’s”, which made sense, because it was nursery rhymes. 

He found himself zoning out, but that was just from the sheer boredom of it all. He was better than this. He’d submitted dissertations on complex epigenetic interactions of the human genome, and now he was just coloring the letter A a hundred times over. 

How was she going to make hom forget the alphabet if she was ‘teaching’ them to him? Maybe she was just exaggerating, it’s literally impossible to forget something that’s been embedded in his brain since before school even started. 

After what felt like an eternity, she finally came over and tapped him on the shoulder, removing the headphones. His mind was a little hazy, but again, it was probably just from the lack of any complex thought for the first time in his life. She shooed him and allowed him to resume his more age-appropriate activities. 

*****

The next day went much like the first, except instead of ‘A’, he was doing the letter ‘B’. 

“Boredom, beneath, balderdash.” Ryan sighed, listing off words to convey how ridiculous this whole thing was. 

“And…” Wren said, placing something down on the table next to the Crayons. “ Bottle.”

Ryan chuckled heartily. It was an actual bottle. A baby bottle, with a little nipple and everything. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“Do you give up?”

“No.” Ryan said quickly, “but i’m not drinking…whatever that is. Especially not out of that!”

Wren just shrugged. “You don’t have to, but it’s there if you get hungry.”

She put the headphones over his ears once more, clicked them on, and left the room. 

Ryan was already over this whole thing, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of quitting. He swirled the blue crayon through the loops of the big B’s while the music played. The little voices seemed to be louder this time, but it still wasn’t worth paying attention to. 

About halfway through his 4 hour session though, Ryan’s mouth felt a bit dry. Something at the back of his throat was pulsing. His cheeks felt empty.  For whatever reason, he needed to have something in there. 

At first he bit his nails. That was nice, for a little. But that soon turned to his finger tip, and eventually his whole thumb. 

After another hour of suckling his fingers, he looked to the bottle. He was hungry, and Wren refused to give him cheerios and goldfish like she did yesterday. 

He picked up the bottle, pressing the rubber nipple to his lips. Jesus that felt good! He gave a little suckle, then another, then gagged. The liquid wasn’t milk, it was…something else. It tasted awful. But he couldn’t stop drinking. The nipple felt too good in his mouth, it was worth putting up with the disgusting flavor. 

He finished every last drop. 

Wren had to practically pry the bottle from his hands when it was time to remove his headphones. Ryan couldn’t explain why he was so attached to it all of a sudden. Why was he getting so angry and flustered over such a silly thing?

Thankfully, Wren had an alternative ready, another ‘B’ word:

Binky. 

******

Ryan sucked on it the whole night. His cheeks ached in the morning, but luckily a fresh bottle helped to ease the pain. 

His brain felt fuzzy, but it was probably because he didn’t sleep that well. He was too busy worrying about the binky possibly falling out of his mouth while he slept. 

The lack of sleep was also why he couldn’t think of complicated ‘C’ words. He could only come up with ‘Car’, Cat, and whatever the word is for the thing you put water and juice in. 

Luckily, after his hypno session, Wren had the perfect thing to help him sleep better: a Crib. 

******

Something happened that night. Maybe his bottle leaked, or maybe it was the ceiling. But when he rolled over from his cramped position in the undersized crib, the sheets were warm and wet. 

Wren assured him that this happens all the time but, just in case, she had something for him to wear. 

Ryan threw an absolute fit when he saw what it was. She was holding up a big giant diaper. 

He tried to tell her off, but his mind was too foggy to form a coherent argument. He really wasn’t sleeping well. 

Still, he tried to fight her when she took his hands and laid him down, but his arms and legs didn’t seem to want to cooperate. It felt like he was moving through molasses. 

She had him on his back. He stared at the clouds on the ceiling. Were those always there? Or was that just his vision? No, they had to be new. His whole room was starting to look different. Another large cloud floated into view. But it wasn’t a cloud, it was a diaper. 

His mind was back. She wanted him to wear a diaper. Absolutely not! This was perposter— prepos—perslweterous. 

“D’awww!! Don’t be scared!!” Wren cooed, it sounded like angels singing. “It’s just a wittle diapurr!! You’ll get used to them!”

Ryan felt something screaming inside him. Something deep down. But then Wren said “look! It has the ABC’s printed on it!” And that made him feel better. He recognized those letters, even though he couldn’t think of much else. 

But the padding felt weird when she slid it underneath him. Not bad. Just…weird. Different. Like something wasn’t right. 

He started squirming on the floor, flailing as much as he could, but even in his foggy vision he could see that his arms were only making minor twitches. 

So he did the only thing he knew he could do: he started crying. C-c-Crying. That starts with a C! He knew that for sure. He was so smart. 

He felt the tears slide down his face, one after another. He could hear his wails, could hear how ridiculous it sounded, but he didn’t want to stop. That is, until something rubbery entered his mouth. Then he immediately stopped crying, and felt instantly better. 

He suckled the binky while Wren made a cloud of powder between his legs. He watched as she pulled the diaper up and taped it on. It was hard for him to explain—especially now—but he felt this amazing sense of comfort once it was on. He really liked it. Which may be why something warm and sticky formed inside the diaper almost immediately. 

He spent the rest of the day coloring in ‘D’s’ while wearing his diaper. 

A few times he had to get up to use the restroom, but Wren insisted the headphones needed to stay on, even if his diaper was down. A very agitating song played the entire time he was on the toilet, and the words that the voices used were not very nice. It made him feel bad, very bad, almost guilty for doing something so silly as using the potty. 

Ryan didn’t get a bottle that night, just some chicken nuggets that Wren had taken the liberty of cutting into tiny pieces for him. 

When he was done, she took him by the hand to his new room. He didn’t know why, he didn’t need her help, but without her he probably would have gotten lost. Not because he was dumb, but because he just wasn’t used to sleeping in the guest room. 

Wren stopped in front of his new crib, making a show of checking his diaper. Another absurd display, just because he was playing her little game and wearing this stupid garment didn’t mean he would actually use it. So when she was finally satisfied that every square centimeter was not wet or ‘messy’, he climbed into the crib. 

When he laid back on the plastic mattress, he noticed there was a new mobile hanging above him. It had little geometric shapes and symbols that he didn’t feel like naming right now because he was tired, he could definitely do it if he wanted to though!

She placed his binky in his mouth and he gratefully accepted it, he was terrified of having to spend the night without something in his mouth.

Wren clicked a little button and the dangling shapes on the mobile started to spin. It was mesmerizing, even more so because it played a happy little tune from the speakers. The very same tune that played through his headphones earlier that day.

 ******

Ryan’s diaper was plump and swollen the next morning. His mind wasn’t as fuzzy, so he must have finally gotten a good night's sleep. 

Wait, his brain said, finally catching on to what was happening. He was in a diaper, and he’d wet it. Several times by the feel of it. 

Wren was smiling when she came through the door, even though Ryan was spewing vitriol. The words were coming easier to him again, but so was the gravity of his situation. Had she really been making him wear diapers and drink from bottles??

Wren continued to smile like a mother letting her little one get his tantrum out. Ryan hung over the bars of the crib, he was too scared to climb out himself, but he wasn’t scared to call Wren all sorts of names. 

After almost a minute of Ryan’s blabbering, Wren had had enough. She clicked a button on her phone which made the little mobile over Ryan’s bed start whirring again. Playing that tune that Ryan was really starting to grow attached to. 

Suddenly, Ryan didn’t even feel like calling Wren a bitch any more. He wasn’t even sure what that meant. Instead, he let out a hefty sigh, and brought his thumb to his mouth. He couldn’t find his pacifier. 

“How’s your diaper, little one? Did somewon have an uh oh’s last night?”

Even though Ryan was calm, he still felt this combative stirring rising from his chest. Something was wrong. He knew he wasn’t supposed to wear diapers. He knew he was too old for them. And he definitely knew he wasn’t supposed to pee in them. He shook his head ‘no’ in an exaggerated fashion. 

“No? You didn’t have an accident?” Wren tisked, squeezing the saturated padding, “what is this then?”

Ryan could feel shame welling up inside him. He was a grown man and he’d pissed inside a pair of pampers. He couldn’t even remember doing it. It was all while he was asleep, while those stupid songs were playing. He would do better. This would never happen again. She might have had an upper hand on him, getting him to agree to the diapers and cutesy shit, but he was not about to—wait. Was that a bottle??

He made grabby hands at the little container of off-white liquid, practically spilling some when he snatched it away from her. 

She let the bars of the crib down, allowing him to clamber out, rubber nipple not leaving his mouth. He would have walked, but he felt it was easier to scooch around on his knees.

About halfway through the liquid, Ryan felt something stirring in his tummy. 

“What is it, dear?” Wren asked sweetly, placing her hands on her knees while she smiled down at him. 

“I have to go potty.” Ryan said, unsure why he said it like that. 

“Oh?” Wren asked, looking overly surprised, “is it #1 or #2?”

Ryan couldn’t understand why she was talking about numbers right now. Wren giggled at what must have been a perplexed look. 

“Do you have to go pee pee or poo poo?” She clarified. 

“Poo poo.” Ryan said, feeling his face flush. Something told him this was a weird conversation with a little too much information, but he brushed that away. 

“D’aww! You need to make poopies?!” Wren exclaimed exaggeratedly, “well you don’t wanna have to go all the way to the bathroom do you? It’s a pretty long way…”

She was right. It was a long way, and his legs did feel tired…

“Hmmm…mayybee…” she said, deep in thought, tapping her chin, “maybe you could just use your diaper?”

The very thought was revolting. She wanted him to make a stinky poo’s all over himself? “Na uh! No way!” 

She dangled the binky in front of his face, “I'll give you a little present if you make a present for Mommy!”

Ryan immediately agreed, and he got to suck on his binky the entire time he was crouching down, pushing a warm load of mush into his pampers. 

Wren was so proud of him. She clapped and cheered and giggled uncontrollably, even while she pinched her nose and teased him about the smell. 

But with the warmth came a deep sense of displeasure. Disgust. A part of Ryan’s brain was ridiculing him for what he just did. The words were coming back to him now. 

“You’re doing something to me!” Ryan shouted. He knew it was wrong. Something was happening to him, he couldn’t figure out what, but he knew that the normal him wouldn’t like it! “Stop all this right now! Whatever it is you’re doing isn’t fair! You’ve got me shitting myself! I’m not doing this anymore! I’m not gonna—“

“Shhh…” Wren smiled, placing a hand to his droopy diaper. “Don’t be sad!” She whispered softly. Her voice was like honey, l angelic, the greatest sound in the whole world. “I’m your Mommy, remember? I’m right here.”

Ryan could feel his anger and shame evaporating from his body. 

“Do you want me to stop all of this?” She asked, rubbing her palm against the bulge of his diaper. “Do you want me to take your binky away?”

Ryan’s eyes immediately went wide. Why would she even say such a thing? Why would she need to take his binky??

“Nooo you don’t want that do you?”

Ryan heard himself whimpering, felt his head shaking. 

“And what about your diapers? Do you not like your diapers?”

No. He didn’t like them at all. They were sweaty and itchy, but they were also sooo soft…

“Do you think you should stop wearing them?”

His head moved up and down. 

“But what if you have another accident? What if you wet the bed again? That would be really embarrassing, wouldn’t it?”

It would. She was right. It would be embarrassing. 

“But if you wear a diaper you don’t have to worry about that do you? All your messes go in there! You don’t even have to walk all the way to the potty! You can use them any time, anywhere!”

She was making such good points. She always made good points. She really was so smart. 

Still, some weird logical part of his brain was firing again. 

“But I’m a big boy!” Ryan whined around his binky. 

“Oh?” Wren asked, shaken. “Do…big boys have accidents?”

Another great point. 

“And big boys surely wouldn’t use diapers, even on purpose!” Wren said, turning into a very scary tone. “But what did you just do, Ry-Ry?”

Ryan’s face flushed. “I pooped them.”

“You did what?”

“I made poo-poo’s…” he could feel the tears welling up again. He wasn’t even sure why. All of this was so confusing. 

“Awww! Don’t be sad!” Wren cooed, switching to that heavenly tone once more, “good baybees use their diapurrs all the time! Like you just did!!”

Ryan smiled, a flood of warmth seeped through his chest, and maybe also into his diaper as well. 

“And baybees that are good get to make a different type of mess, too!”

Ryan wasn’t sure what that meant, but Wren started rubbing the front of his diaper, squeezing it, massaging it, and that felt really good. 

“Tell me you’re a good baybee!” She said, rubbing faster. 

“I’m a good baybee!” Ryan squeaked. 

“Tell me what you did in your diaper.”

“I made pee pee’s and poo poo’s”

“Do you like making messies in your diapurrs?”

“Yes”

“Yes Mommy.” She corrected.

“Yes Mommy!”

“Which do you like to use better? The pampers? Or the potty?”

“The potty.”

She stopped rubbing. 

Panic coursed through Ryan’s veins. He was so close!

“Pampers!!” He corrected, “I prefer peeing and pooping pampers!!”

The rubbing started again. 

“Every time you poop your pampers, Mommy will give you a reward!” She said. 

Ryan nodded, moaning and groaning while Wren rubbed his defiled diaper. It felt so wrong, so disgusting, but he couldn’t stop her. He couldn’t tell her no, because it also felt so good!

It felt even better when he started spasming, and another warm load leaked into the padding. 

Wren patted his padded butt. “Such a good baybee!”

Even with her kind words, a huge rush of shame hit Ryan in the face. His horniness was gone, the haze was lifting, his complex thoughts were coming back, and so was his attention to this disgusting diaper! 

“Wren what the fuck are you doing to—“

But he couldn’t hear himself say the rest, because the headphones were back on his ears, and that lovely tune was playing again. His mind melted away, but before it did he could see her place the book in front of him again, a giant letter ‘E’ emblazoned across the page. 

“You just stay right here and finish your coloring” Wren said, even though he probably couldn’t hear her. He was laying down flat on his tummy, swishing back and forth in his pissy, poopy pamper, smiling and humming the little tune to himself.  “I’ll be back in a few hours to change your diaper.” She continued, patting him on the bottom, “Then we’re going to learn a new ‘E’ word: Enema!”

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

21 Letters to go! What else could be in store for little Ry-Ry? This is one of my favorite stories I've ever done, so if you would like to read the rest, head on over to SubStar! It's available for all tiers! Credit goes to @dj-kinkster for his help and ideas on making this story a reality!

[lokideservesahug]

Bordering Professional

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Ferrari/ Future Team Principal!reader

Notes: For some reason, my thoughts are consumed by Charles Leclerc and Ferrari/ Future team principal!reader (+a moodboard)

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Charles Leclerc meeting his future team principal... Or so the rumours say. Fred Vasseur is good but this rising star is better. You're not only extremely talented and overwhelmingly intelligent, but you're also incredibly captivating. Cameras have caught drivers stopping to catch glimpses multiple times. From Lewis readily talking to you whenever you visit the paddock (in what he claims is getting to know his future team better) to the time Max faltered for a moment in his post qualifying interviews as he caught sight of you in that outfit that accentuated your features all to well. You're captivating and everyone knows it.

You know the effect you have on many. And if it isn't your brains or beauty turning heads, your family name certainly is. Being one of the last to carry the Ferrari name is certainly a burden but you pay it no mind. People can't even complain about nepotism when you help the team so much and half of the paddock follows you around like lost puppies. Making life much easier for all.

Charles finds it quite professionalism quote infuriating (when it doesn't get him going, not that he'll admit that). Your sheer refusal to blur any lines with him or anyone else in the paddock is infuriating but keeps a small part of him happy, knowing that he doesn't have any competition or at the very least it's all equal.

You're there in Monaco when he gets the win. All bright smiles and Italian praises thrown at him. But they all blur into insignificance when you kiss him on the cheek. It's a quick peck. Nothing more. But gosh does it send him reeling. Charles wants nothing more in that moment than to swoop you into his arms and kiss you senseless. He's brought back to reality by the feeling of Fred engulfing him in a hug and he tries to rationalise his thoughts. "It's just the adrenaline" he tells himself.

He never thought a moment could top that. And whilst he doesn't want to compare two of the most joyous moments in his life, Monza 2024 is certainly up there with Monaco.

He wins. In front of what many would call his second home crowd. He wins in front of the Italians, the Tifosi but most importantly, you. Your professionalism bleeds into all aspects of your life. You don't show much emotion unless you need to, most people can count the times they've seen you smile even the slightest on one hand. Yet he's met by another one of your big grins. And as he realises two of the happiest moments of his life also being you a lot of joy, Charles can't help but fall more and more in love with you. You give him a tight hug and whisper "Well done Charlie." To which he just grins. He takes in your feautures, trying his hardest to commit this moment to memory. He almost swears he can see tears in your eyes as well but he's pulled away before he can come to a definite conclusion.

That night he stays a bit later, wanting to soak up the last bits of energy at the track before he hits the streets of Monza. He finds you and does something that he'd only dreamed off. He kisses you in an adrenaline filled haze, desperate to show his appreciation and affection for you. Charles didn't think far ahead, but as the kiss goes on, he's surprised that you didn't pull away and hit him. After a few more moments you both pull away. He expects to be lectured about how unprofessional it was, about how it ruins the both of your careers and images. But instead he's just met with a quick peck (the same type as the one you gave him at Monza) but this time on the lips. His eyes widen as you chuckle slightly and turn on your heel. "Well done Il Predestinato. See you in Baku."

And as he watches you walk off, Charles' suspicions are confirmed. He knows he shouldn't, you're probably his future boss and at the very least you're his co-worker. Heck your family surname is surrounding him, his suit is brandishing the logo of the company you'll one day inherit.... But Charles doesn't care. He just knows that he's completely and irrevocably in love with you.

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Sorry for how random this was... Also I tries my hardest to make it gender neutral. Idk where this came from or why but I hope you like it...

And please send any asks if you want to, or want me to elaborate on this...

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee @thatgirlmj