#anw new wave

[grennefoam]

my go-to flavor of benthan is to portray Ethan as extremely tired and reticent; he's a vintage car engine that was forced to keep running because a/people expect him to keep running and working and being responsible and b/he expects himself to be responsible for pretty much everything he can care for. he's both macho and a princess. he's a self-sufficient tool of the narrative. he's larger than life. he's constantly beaten up. he's cursed with competency. he has one (1) rebellious phase and it fucked him up so bad it made him the way he is today. he acts like he's not 5'7. meanwhile Benji is the one bearing the amount of emotional clarity enough to power a team of 5 equally, disastrously, emotionally-constipated people. people thought he was polite and somewhat sane but in fact the most cracked of the two. he's the largest Ethan's simp. he's constantly nervous. he's a great liar. he is somehow more of a mystery than Ethan. he's a key and a magnet to pretty much every single emotionally-constipated person he's unlucky enough to come across. he has either a 0 Luck or a 10 Luck moment and there's no in-between

[loafysainz]

Hey I loved your stories with Lando and the twins being clingy:)

Do you think you could write something where Lando is streaming or getting filmed( like the 24 hour video with angry ginge) and the twins can’t leave him alone. Like they want to help with the workout and sit on his lap the whole time.

:)

NEW STREAMER | LN 4

lando norris!dad x fem!reader!mom

warn: fluffffffffff

anw theyre not twins Noah is (5) & Leo (3), Thank you so much for the req! I hope you like it!!! 🤍

Lando was mid-game, headset on, fingers quick on the controller as he and Max Fewtrell played yet another round of whatever game they were obsessed with that week. His stream chat was buzzing, the viewers thoroughly entertained by the usual banter between the two.

“Bro, you literally threw—” Max was saying, but before he could finish, the door behind Lando suddenly burst open with dramatic force.

BANG.

In came a blur of curly-haired chaos: Noah (5) and Leo (3), charging straight at him like tiny human missiles. Their tiny footsteps pattered against the floor, and before Lando could even turn around, two little missiles launched themselves at him.

“DADDYYYYY!”

Lando barely had time to react before they tackled him. “Oi, oi, what’s this? what are you two doing? It’s way past your bedtime.” he laughed, quickly muting his mic as the two little ones climbed onto his lap like they owned the place.

Noah pouted. “Not sleepy.”

Leo, the youngest one, rubbed his little fists over his eyes, betraying the fact that he was absolutely sleepy but fighting it like a true warrior. “I miss Mommy.” His voice wobbled slightly, and his big brown eyes were already glassy with unshed tears.

And just like that, Lando felt his heart squeeze.

Lando instantly softened. He didn’t even hesitate before pausing the game and wrapping both kids in his arms. “Oh, come here,” he murmured, setting his controller aside to properly hold them. He knew Y/N was off having her well-deserved girls’ trip, but apparently, bedtime was a struggle without her.

“You miss Mommy, huh?” he murmured, pressing kisses onto their soft little heads.

Both boys nodded, Noah sniffing as he clung to his dad’s hoodie. “Yeah. When’s mommy coming back?”

Lando rubbed soothing circles on their backs. “She’s having her girl’s trip. She’ll be back in a few days.”

Leo sniffled dramatically. “That’s so looooong.”

“Oi, don’t be dramatic,” Lando teased gently. “You guys have me! Isn’t that enough?”

Noah wrinkled his nose. “Mmm…”

Max burst into laughter on the other end of the call. “Oh my God, your own kid just humbled you.”

Lando sighed. “Alright, you wanna help me with the game?”

Noah nodded enthusiastically. Leo, already making himself at home on Lando’s lap, rested his cheek against his dad’s chest. “Wanna help,” he mumbled sleepily.

Lando grinned and handed them his spare controller, even though it wasn’t actually connected. “Alright, but we keep it chill.”

The next few minutes were absolute chaos. Noah kept pointing at things on the screen, bombarding Lando with rapid-fire questions. “What’s that? Who’s that guy? Why did you do that? Can I do that?”

Lando answered every single one patiently while simultaneously trying not to get eliminated in-game. Meanwhile, Leo was just pressing random buttons on his fake controller, babbling nonsense as if he was actually playing. Occasionally, he’d giggle in pure delight, making Lando’s heart melt on the spot.

Max, amused, decided to include chat. “Alright, boys, say hi to chats.”

Noah, ever the confident one, waved. “Hello, Chats!”

Leo, though, hesitated before tilting his head. “Umm… who we talking to? What they look like? I can’t see them daddy” His little voice, still holding onto that babyish lisp, made the words even more adorable.

Lando, Max, and literally everyone in chat laughing out loud.

Lando actually had to take a deep breath from laughing. “They’re… um, they’re just watching through the screen, buddy. They’re just like you.”

Leo frowned, like he was trying very hard to understand. Then, after a long moment, he nodded. “Okay. Hi, people in the screen!”

The chat exploded

“THE BABIES ARE HERE EVERYONE STAY CALM”

“Leo is literally the cutest thing ever”

“Noah asking 500 questions per second LMAO”

“Y/N better watch out, Lando violated the children's screen time.”

“They miss their mama :(((((”

Lando, still grinning, let them push random buttons as the game continued. It was chaotic, to say the least—Noah kept trying to actually play, while Leo just mashed buttons with all the confidence of a pro-gamer. Lando didn’t even care that they were losing horrendously; seeing them smile made it worth it.

But soon enough, it was obvious that tiredness was creeping in. Leo’s blinks were getting slower, and Noah, while still trying to act tough, was yawning every few minutes.

Lando glanced at the time. “Alright. One last round, then it’s bedtime.”

Noah groaned. “But—”

“No buts!” Lando cut in, ruffling his hair.

As the game went on, Noah continued to give commentary like a tiny sports analyst, and Leo just… slowly melted against Lando, his chubby cheek squished adorably against his dad’s chest.

Lando stood carefully, cradling Leo in one arm while holding Noah’s hand with the other. “Alright, chat, I gotta go be a dad now. Thanks for hanging out, and I’ll see you all next time.”

Max smirked. “Gotta keep Dad Lando’s rep as the best bedtime storyteller, huh?”

Lando grinned. “Exactly.”

By the time it ended, Lando was ready to sign off. He gave the camera a fond smile. “Thanks for hanging out—Noah, say bye.”

“Bye, people!”

Lando turned to Leo, who was now fully slumped against him, half-asleep. “Leo, say bye.”

Leo, eyes barely open, mumbled, “Bye, screen people.”

As Lando wrapped up the stream, the chat was already buzzing with questions.

“Awwwww Leo knocked out”

“Noah be like ‘one more game’ energy”

“GOODNIGHT BABIES”

“Where’s y/n?”

Before turning off the stream, Lando replied “Y/N’s having a girls' trip, so I’m on dad duty. And these two little spiderman need to sleep before I get in trouble!”

“Alright, bedtime, you little spiderman.”

Noah yawned. “Can we call mommy first?”

Lando smiled. “Of course, mate. Let’s go tuck in and give her a call.”

And with that, he carried his sleeping toddler and led his other sleepy one down the hall, heart full, and already excited to tell Y/N all about their little adventure.

Lando and Noah was quietly talking with Y/N in their shared bed, Leo stirred at the sound of their voices. Still half-asleep, he shuffled closer, rubbing his eyes.

“Mommy,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “I talk to screen people.”

Lando chuckled softly, smoothing Leo’s curls. “Yeah, you did, buddy.”

Y/N’s voice came through the phone. “Did he really?”

Noah immediately jumped in. “Mommy, when are you coming home? I miss you.”

Leo pouted, now fully awake and climbing onto Lando’s chest. “Come home, mommy.”

Lando sighed dramatically, squeezing them both. “Yeah, when are you coming home? We’re suffering over here.”

Y/N just smiled on the screen, watching her boys pile up on Lando. “I’ll be home soon.”

Lando huffed, leaning his head back against the pillow. “Not soon enough.”

The boys continued to mumble sleepy protests, but eventually, exhaustion won over. One by one, they drifted off, little hands clutching Lando’s hoodie.

As he looked at Y/N on the screen, he sighed. “Seriously, though. I miss you.”

Y/N’s gaze softened. “I know.”

Lando groaned playfully, nuzzling his cheek against Leo’s soft curls. “Hurry up and come back already.”

She just smiled again. “Sleep, Lando.”

He yawned, wrapping his arms around the boys. “Fine. But only ‘cause I’m exhausted.”

And with that, he fell asleep, his family safely tucked around him, waiting for Y/N to come home.

END

[hamilton-here]

just want to say you write amazingly! ive been waiting for new lh one shots everyday from u and now i badly want a series 🥹 lol anw can i request a lewis x reader where reader is pregnant and how lewis is holding up with her cravings, morning sickness and how he reacts while reader is on labor and then giving birth i just think he'll be super sweet and helpful but also nervous and about to cry hahaha thank you!!

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝐹𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝐿𝒾𝓃𝑒

Authors Note: Hi lovies! I absolutely loved this request, it’s such a cute theme of Lewis as a father. I hope you enjoy. Also, Lewis P4 in Imola! I’m so happy! Lots of love xx

Summary: As Lewis Hamilton races into his Ferrari debut, you're going into labor. He makes it just in time not for a podium, but for the moment that changes everything: the birth of your daughter.

Warnings: none

Taglist: @nebulastarr @hannibeeblog @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The First Time It Happened – June 2024

The first time it happened the nausea that snuck up on you in the middle of your morning coffee you chalked it up to a bad batch of milk. The second time, it was after sushi with a friend, and you’d blamed the spicy tuna. But by the third wave of queasiness, the kind that didn’t stop after ginger tea or dry toast, you felt something shift in your chest. A suspicion, quiet and undeniable.

Still, you’d waited. Waited until Lewis left for the Monaco debriefs. Waited until you were absolutely sure you weren’t imagining it.

And now here you were. Sitting on the cool bathroom floor, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the stick in your hand like it might change its mind if you looked away for long enough.

Two lines.

Clear as day.

Pregnant.

You didn’t cry at first. The silence was too big for that too full. You just sat there, your back against the tub, one hand drifting to your still-flat stomach as if to ask, Are you really in there? Your heartbeat so fast it felt like it might echo against the tile. And then, slowly, the weight of it all settled over you.

This was real.

A life. A future.

Your baby.

That evening just after 8pm…

The front door clicked open before you even heard the key. You were still in leggings and a hoodie, pacing the living room with your phone in hand, wondering if blurting it out was too dramatic or if you should try to wrap the test in a tiny box or maybe make one of those Pinterest-style reveal dinners with baby carrots and baby corn and -

“I’m telling you; the long-run pace is better than it looks on paper,” Lewis’s voice floated in from the hallway, suitcase wheels scuffing lightly against the entryway tiles. “But they’re worried about degradation in the heat. George thinks—”

He stopped in the doorway to the living room, still mid-sentence, still gripping the handle of his suitcase.

You were standing frozen in the middle of the room, hands behind your back, eyes too wide to play it cool.

“Hey, babe,” he said, confused but smiling. “You, okay?”

You didn’t even try to ease into it. You couldn’t. The words pushed up your throat too fast, too breathless.

“I’m pregnant.”

He froze.

Like, actually froze. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. He hung up the phone call immediately. One hand hovered in midair like his brain couldn’t catch up to his body. He blinked once. Twice.

“You’re…” he said softly. “Wait. Are you serious?”

You nodded and held out the test from behind your back. Your hand trembled just enough for him to see how real this was for you. His eyes dropped to it, and when he saw the two pink lines, a visible breath escaped him.

He crossed the room in three long strides.

And then his hands were everywhere cradling your face, then cupping the back of your neck, then sliding down to your waist like he needed to touch you in as many places as possible to believe it.

“Wait hold on.” He laughed, a little breathless, a little choked up. “I’m gonna be a dad?”

You nodded again, and this time the tears came. Not just yours his too. He kissed you once, twice, then pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“You’re really having my baby,” he whispered, awe in every syllable.

You let out a soft laugh through your tears. “Yeah. We’re really doing this.”

Then his hands slipped down, warm and reverent, to rest on your lower belly the place where everything was just beginning.

“Hi,” he whispered, barely audible. “I’m your dad.”

And somehow, that’s when it hit you more than the test, more than the nausea, more than the doctor’s voice in your head. That simple sentence.

I’m your dad.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and melted into him, your tears landing silently against his shirt. You stood there in the hallway, swaying like you were dancing without music, like time had slowed just for the two of you and the little heartbeat just beginning to flutter between you.

The world had cracked open.

And inside it was the future unexpected, wild, terrifying, and already so full of love. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Two Weeks After the Positive Test: London

The London sky was overcast, thick with that soft grey hue that always made the city seem quieter somehow, like it was holding its breath. The car ride was mostly silent, save for the low hum of traffic and the occasional rustle of Lewis’s jacket sleeve against the steering wheel. His hand kept drifting to your thigh absent-mindedly at first, then intentionally, fingers curling just slightly into the fabric of your jeans like he needed the touch to stay grounded.

You watched him from the passenger seat, his jaw tight with thought. Not worried, not exactly. But focused. He hadn’t spoken much since leaving the flat, but you could read him well by now. He wasn’t nervous about telling his parents. He just wanted it to be perfect.

“Still think we should’ve just called?” you asked softly, brushing your thumb against the back of his hand.

He shook his head immediately. “No. They deserve to see our faces.” A small pause. “And I want to see theirs.”

You smiled, that warm, private kind that came from feeling seen and loved. “Okay. Then let’s do this.”

11:37am the two of you had brunch with Carmen.

Carmen chose the café, of course a charming spot tucked away in Notting Hill with exposed brick walls, hanging plants, and old jazz humming through the speakers. She sat at a sunlit table by the window, looking effortlessly elegant in a cream blouse and high-waisted trousers, her scarf knotted delicately at her throat. Her sunglasses rested on the table beside her espresso cup, and a copy of The Times lay folded neatly in her lap.

When she spotted Lewis through the window, she stood with a graceful kind of urgency, smoothing her scarf as she came to greet him with a tight, lingering hug. “There’s my darling boy,” she said, kissing his cheek. “And you,” she turned to you with a radiant smile, “looking absolutely beautiful.”

You blushed, and she led you both to sit, immediately flagging down a server for fresh tea and pastries.

Conversation flowed easily at first. Carmen was animated as ever telling stories about her garden, teasing Lewis about his ever-changing schedule, asking about your studies and upcoming work commitments. Her laughter came easy, but you noticed the way her eyes flicked between the two of you, sensing something beneath the surface.

When the server brought a second pot of tea and the plates had mostly cleared, Lewis leaned forward and gently touched her hand.

“Mum, there’s actually something we wanted to tell you. Something important.”

Carmen’s entire posture shifted. She blinked slowly, then set her cup down with quiet precision. Her gaze moved from Lewis to you, searching your face.

You reached for his hand under the table. Steadied by him, you smiled softly. “We’re having a baby.”

For a long moment, she said nothing. Her eyes widened not with shock, but reverence and her lips parted in a silent breath.

“A baby?” Her voice cracked slightly, as if her heart had leapt into her throat.

Lewis’s smile was tender. “You’re going to be a grandmother.”

And just like that, her composure melted. She covered her mouth with both hands as tears brimmed in her eyes. Then she stood abruptly and pulled Lewis into a hug, holding him like she never wanted to let go.

“My baby’s having a baby,” she whispered.

You stood too, and she turned to you, wrapping you in her arms, warm and trembling. “You’ve just made me the happiest woman,” she murmured. “This child oh, they’re going to be so loved.”

She held you both, her emotions flowing freely now joy, disbelief, gratitude all tangled together.

“I always knew you’d be a wonderful father,” she whispered to Lewis as she cupped his cheek. “And you,” she turned to you with a teary smile, “are already the most beautiful mother.”

1:09pm you soon went to a Café in Richmond.

The café near Richmond Park had a rustic charm with wood-panelled walls, ivy creeping up the sides of the windows, the scent of roasted beans and warm bread drifting through the air. You spotted Anthony and Linda on the terrace, seated at a corner table with a view of the park’s early spring bloom. Anthony wore a navy jumper over a collared shirt, reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Linda looked effortlessly chic in a trench coat, sunglasses pushed up into her hair.

“There they are,” Anthony called, standing to greet you both with open arms. He pulled Lewis into a solid hug, then did the same to you. “How was the flight? You look good.”

“Just back from Monaco,” Lewis said, brushing off his jacket as he sat. “Didn’t bring home a trophy, though.”

Anthony chuckled. “Still time this season.”

Linda poured you both coffee from the carafe on the table, her smile warm and curious. “So, what brings you two here mid-season? Not that we’re complaining.”

Lewis met your gaze, giving a little nod, and this time, he took the lead.

“We’re pregnant,” he said, voice low but full. “We’re having a baby.”

There was a beat of silence just one heartbeat long before Linda gasped and reached for your hand across the table. “No way.”

You nodded, your smile widening.

Anthony sat back, stunned. “You’re serious?” His eyes scanned Lewis’s face, then yours, as if waiting for the punchline. But there wasn’t one.

“I’m gonna be a granddad?” he said finally, voice cracking just enough to betray his emotion. “You two this is incredible.”

He stood again, this time to pull Lewis into another hug firmer, tighter.

“I’m proud of you, son,” he murmured. “So proud.”

Then he turned to you and wrapped his arms around you with fatherly warmth. “You’ve made this family even richer,” he said quietly. “You’ve given us something to look forward to.”

Linda dabbed her eyes discreetly with a napkin before smiling through tears. “We need to plan a little celebration. Or a lot of them.”

Later that afternoon in London -

By the time the day was done, and you and Lewis had shed your jackets and kicked off your shoes, the flat felt different. Warmer somehow. Fuller.

You curled up with him on the sofa, limbs tangled, and blankets draped over your legs. The evening news murmured softly in the background, forgotten.

“Well,” Lewis said after a long stretch of quiet, pressing a kiss to your temple, “now it’s real.”

You leaned into his chest, resting your cheek against his heartbeat. “It’s been real.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a whisper now. His hand drifted over your stomach gentle, reverent. “But now it feels like the whole world knows we’re about to love someone brand new.”

You closed your eyes, a slow smile blooming. “And they already love us back.”

Lewis kissed your forehead, and the two of you sat there in the soft hush of your London home not racers or headlines or fame. Just two people, in love, waiting for the biggest adventure of your lives to begin. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

First Trimester:

Lewis learned quickly.

He learned that your sense of smell had evolved into something beyond human a superpower, if one only used for war. The scent of his favourite cologne, the one he’d worn religiously for years (Maison Francis Kurkdjian’s Gentle Fluidity), was suddenly on your personal hit list.

He’d sprayed it on without thinking one morning, humming to himself as he got dressed in the ensuite. The moment he walked into the bedroom, you gagged audibly and covered your face with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Seriously?” he asked, freezing mid-step. “Even this one? This is the softest one I have.”

You didn’t say a word. Just pointed dramatically at the trash bin near the vanity, where the nearly full bottle now lay. Still gleaming in the morning light. A silent casualty.

Lewis stared at it like he’d just lost a championship by one point. But then he sighed, nodded solemnly, and backed away like a suspect being dismissed from the scene of a crime. “Noted.”

He went straight to the shower and scrubbed every trace of fragrance off with fragrance-free soap the same one he ordered in bulk now because even normal smells were dangerous territory.

He didn’t complain.

And that wasn’t the only thing he adjusted to.

He also learned that your cravings weren’t just cravings they were urgent, dramatic, full-body experiences. There was no logic to them, only instinct.

“I want sour cream and onion chips,” you said one night, curled up on the couch like a burrito in one of his oversized hoodies, your knees supported by a pillow and your face deadly serious.

Lewis blinked at the clock. 11:52 PM.

“Okay,” he said without hesitation, already standing and pulling on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers. “Give me twenty minutes.”

You nodded, but then your eyes narrowed. “Wait. I also want peanut butter.”

He paused mid-step and turned slowly. “With the chips?”

You blinked. “Maybe.”

To his credit, he didn’t laugh or question your sudden culinary imagination. He just gave you a little salute and disappeared out the door.

He returned twenty-five minutes later with a bag that had chips, peanut butter, pickles (just in case), and a tub of vanilla bean ice cream because he’d passed it and thought “better safe than sorry.” The moment you saw him walk in; you burst into tears.

Not because you were touched (you were, the ice cream was a sweet surprise), but because the bag had a different logo than usual and you were now absolutely convinced that the chips inside wouldn’t taste the same.

“They changed the packaging,” you sniffled, clinging to the bag like it had personally betrayed you. “That means they probably changed the flavour too.”

Lewis dropped to his knees in front of you, gently setting the snacks aside, and cupped your face in his hands.

“Baby,” he said softly, “I promise you even if they taste different, everything tastes better when you eat it with someone who loves you.”

That made you cry even harder.

He wiped your tears and opened the bag himself, taste-testing one chip like it was a wine pairing. “Still perfect,” he declared, feeding you one like a sommelier presenting the vintage of the year.

You kissed him for that.

But an hour later, you also made him sleep on the couch. Because, apparently, he breathed too loud.

You didn’t even explain. You just shoved a pillow at him and mumbled, “Can’t deal with your lungs tonight.”

He didn’t argue. Just kissed your forehead, told you he loved you, and padded down the hallway with the blanket, dragging it behind him like a sleepy child.

You found him curled up there the next morning, one foot hanging off the end of the couch, mouth slightly open, your half-eaten peanut butter spoon resting on the coffee table beside him.

And you loved him so much it made your chest ache. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Second Trimester:

You glowed.

Not in the glamorous, red-carpet way that people loved to rave about no, this was a softer, deeper kind of glow. A quiet radiance. Like your body had finally stopped fighting the nausea long enough to shine from the inside out. Your skin was clearer, your eyes brighter, and your energy had returned enough that you didn’t dread every step up the stairs or cry when you dropped your keys (well… not every time).

And then there was your belly.

It had popped just slightly, rounding into a gentle curve under your soft cotton t-shirts visible enough now that Lewis had made it a daily habit to talk to it. He never missed a moment. In the mornings when you were still half-asleep, he’d brush his thumb over the swell and mumble, “Morning, baby,” before kissing your stomach and then your forehead. And at night, curled up in bed behind you, his hand would automatically settle over your bump protective, warm, like his body knew even in sleep that you weren’t carrying this alone.

“Hey, little one,” he’d whisper softly, his lips brushing the back of your neck. “It’s your dad. Be nice to your mum tomorrow, yeah? She’s doing all the hard work.”

Sometimes the baby kicked when he spoke. Not big kicks just the tiniest flutters, like bubbles under the surface. And Lewis would freeze, eyes wide, grinning like he’d just won a race.

“You felt that, right?” he’d ask breathlessly, like the whole world had just changed in the blink of an eye.

You nodded every time, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, no matter how many times it happened. Because it was your world that had changed. And Lewis was somehow making the impossible feel gentle and sacred.

Of course, hormones were still a thing. And not always in the magical sense.

Like the morning you walked into the kitchen and caught him biting into the last chocolate croissant your chocolate croissant, the one you’d been daydreaming about since 3 a.m.

He froze mid-bite, half of the flaky pastry still in his mouth, eyes going wide like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Lewis,” you said, voice low and deadly.

His chewing slowed. “Babe…”

“I was saving that.”

“I didn’t know you wanted it,” he reasoned, hands raised in surrender. “You didn’t say anything.”

“I always want it. I’m literally growing your child, Lewis.”

There was a beat of silence as he absorbed your tone a dangerous mixture of heartbreak and impending wrath.

Then, slowly, carefully, he backed away from the countertop.

“I’m going to the bakery,” he said with military precision. “Do not move. Stay here. I’ll fix this.”

You didn’t respond. You just narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms over your belly like a tiny general defending the nation.

Twenty minutes later, you stood at the front door, arms still folded, watching as he returned in triumphant glory holding a paper bag like it was treasure from a quest. Not one, not two, but three chocolate croissants. And a strawberry tart. And a hot chocolate.

“I panicked and bought extras,” he said breathlessly. “And the tart looked nice. And I know your blood sugar dips after 4 p.m. so…”

You stared at him, your heart softening even as your hormones screamed that it wasn’t enough.

And then he added, “Also, I told the bakery owner you’re pregnant and she gave me two free muffins. I didn’t ask, she just said I looked scared.”

That broke you.

You forgave him instantly.

Later, curled up on the couch with a croissant in one hand and his hoodie wrapped around your body like a cocoon, you looked over at him with his hand back where it always went, resting gently on your stomach and whispered, “You’re going to be such a good dad.”

He smiled, turning to kiss the side of your head. “I learned from the best.”

“You mean me?”

“Exactly,” he teased, and you laughed until your belly ached.

And somewhere deep inside, the baby fluttered again like they already knew this was love, too. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You soon had a doctor appointment.

You’d told Lewis he didn’t have to come.

The team was deep into car development mode, simulator sessions were stacked into the early hours of the morning, and the season calendar was a maze of back-to-back races, sponsor events, and media appearances. It didn’t feel fair to ask more of him. Not when you could technically handle it alone go to the ultrasound appointment, FaceTime him during the scan, send pictures, try to describe the sound of your baby’s heartbeat in words.

You told him all this over the phone, trying to keep your voice even, rational. You didn’t want him to feel guilty.

But you should’ve known better.

Because when you arrived at the clinic the next morning, slightly nervous and still sipping on the lukewarm water they’d told you to drink before the scan, you didn’t expect to hear the soft creak of the waiting room door behind you or feel a familiar hand settle quietly on your shoulder.

You turned, heart leaping.

Lewis stood there in a grey hoodie, black joggers, sneakers he’d clearly thrown on in a hurry. His curls were still a little messy from sleep or maybe from a plane nap and he held a takeaway tea in one hand, your favourite order in the other. His eyes met yours, and that soft, crooked smile of the one reserved for you and you only tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You flew through the night,” you whispered, your voice already catching on the lump rising in your throat.

He reached for your hand, fingers slotting through yours like they belonged there like they always belonged there. “Would’ve flown through a hurricane if it meant being here,” he said simply, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You blinked fast, trying not to cry before the appointment even started. But you should’ve known better about that too your heart always ached in the best kind of way when Lewis did things like this. Quiet, selfless things. Like showing up when it would’ve been easier to stay away.

The sonographer appeared then, all warm smiles and gentle energy. “You two ready?”

You nodded, and Lewis gave your hand a soft squeeze as you followed her into the room.

The lights were dimmed. You lay back on the exam table, tugging up your shirt as the gel was applied to your belly cool and unfamiliar, but oddly comforting. Lewis stayed standing beside you, close but not crowding, his fingers laced with yours, his thumb brushing the back of your hand in slow, grounding strokes.

“Alright,” the sonographer murmured, her voice soothing, practiced. “Let’s take a look.”

The machine hummed quietly. The wand pressed to your stomach. And then the grainy, beautiful chaos of the screen shifted, and there she was.

Your baby.

Tiny limbs stretching. A strong, fluttering heartbeat. A wriggle, a kick.

Lewis made a sound a half-laugh, half-exhale like he’d just seen something miraculous. And maybe he had.

“Their so active,” the sonographer said with a smile. “Already got a little personality, this one.”

You and Lewis both let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. Your eyes met, and it was like the world faded just the two of you, tethered to the little life between you.

“Now,” the sonographer continued gently. “Are we finding out the gender today?”

You turned your head to look at Lewis, unsure. You’d talked about waiting. About the magic of surprise. But in that moment, something about having him there about being together in this made you want to know. To name this connection. To put a little more shape to the love growing in your heart.

He caught your gaze and nodded slowly, eyes soft. “Only if, you’re sure.”

You gave a small smile. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

There was a pause. A quiet kind of reverence as the sonographer adjusted the wand, studying the screen.

Then she smiled wide and certain.

“Well…looks like it’s a girl.”

Silence. A beat.

And then it landed.

Lewis let out a breathless laugh, the kind that came from deep in his chest, full of disbelief and wonder. His eyes widened as he looked at the screen, then at you and you saw them shine, glassy with emotion.

“A girl?” he whispered. “We’re having a girl?”

You nodded, the tears already sliding down your cheeks, your voice wobbly but sure. “She’s real. She’s ours.”

He leaned down and kissed you not rushed or dramatic. One hand pressed gently to your stomach like he was trying to memorise every curve, every contour of the life inside.

In that moment, the rest of the world stopped.

Later, as you sat in the parked car, the ultrasound photo between you, neither of you could stop staring. The little profile. The curve of her nose. The delicate fingers you could just barely make out.

Lewis tapped the photo lightly and whispered, “She’s gonna have your nose. I can feel it.”

You laughed through your tears. “If she gets your dimples, we’re in trouble.”

He smiled, still not looking away from the image. “She’s gonna have everything. The best parts of both of us.”

That night, you couldn’t sleep. Not because of discomfort, or hormones but because your mind was full of her. You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, imagining the shape of her laugh, the colour of her eyes, the way her tiny hand might one day wrap around your finger.

Beside you, Lewis stirred.

“You, okay?” he murmured, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Yeah,” you whispered, rolling over to face him. “Just thinking about her.”

He shifted closer, letting you tuck into his side. His hand found your belly, rubbing slow circles the way he always did when he thought you needed calming.

“You know what’s mad?” he said softly, voice barely a breath in the dark. “I already love her. Like so much. It doesn’t even make sense.”

You pressed your hand over his, both of you curled around the little life between you.

“She’s going to be the luckiest girl in the world,” you said.

He kissed your forehead, lips lingering like a promise.

“She already is,” he whispered. “She’s got you.” ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Third Trimester: Three Months Before the Due Date – Nursery Day

The instructions said, “simple assembly.”

They lied.

Lewis sat cross-legged in the middle of what would soon be your daughter’s nursery, surrounded by cardboard boxes, crinkled instruction booklets, and what could only be described as a ridiculous number of screws some of which didn’t even seem to match in colour or size. The half-assembled crib beside him looked more like an abstract sculpture than a piece of functional furniture. A dowel stuck out awkwardly on one side like it was waving for help.

He was frowning like he was in deep negotiation with the wood, mumbling under his breath in a way that made you stifle a laugh. His Ferrari hoodie sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, curls tied up in a loose bun, and one of his socks was slightly falling off his heel. The definition of “man on a mission.”

“I swear this bolt was not in the diagram five minutes ago,” he muttered, holding a shiny, rogue-looking piece up to the light as if it might confess its purpose.

You leaned gently in the doorway, one hand resting on your bump, the other on your lower back for support. A knowing smile curled your lips as you watched him entirely focused, entirely determined.

“Want to admit defeat?” you asked, voice teasing.

“Never,” he replied instantly, not even looking up. “This baby will sleep in a crib built by my hands or not at all.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Or she’ll sleep in the bassinet we already bought. You know, the one that doesn’t come with a 46-step manual and requires a mechanical engineering degree?”

“That bassinet’s a backup. A temporary solution. This” - he gestured at the half-formed crib with a dramatic flourish - “is legacy craftsmanship. One day she’ll point at it and say, ‘Daddy built that for me.’”

You laughed, the sound warm and effortless as you stepped further into the room, walking slowly as your body adjusted to its latest centre of gravity shift something that changed by the hour these days. The baby was nestled low tonight, making every movement feel just a little heavier.

Lewis noticed immediately, abandoning the wrench in his hand as he stood up in one smooth motion, brushing off his palms. He was beside you in an instant, one hand hovering protectively behind your back, the other reaching to intertwine your fingers.

“I’m fine,” you said softly, squeezing his hand. “She’s just kicking a lot. Might be excited about her room.”

He looked down at your belly and smiled like he always did a look that was part awe, part love, and entirely him. “Tell her to hold off on the acrobatics until the crib’s stable.”

The nursery smelled faintly of fresh sage green paint and the lavender candle Lewis insisted made it feel “calming and baby-vibe.” The two of you had spent weeks choosing the perfect shade for the walls somewhere between earthy and soothing, a compromise between your love of clean neutrals and his insistence on “a bit of nature.” Now, bathed in soft afternoon light filtering through the gauzy curtains, the space felt like something sacred.

In one corner stood the rocking chair you’d bought together after Lewis tested nearly a dozen in-store, rocking in each one with exaggerated seriousness while you filmed him and tried not to cry-laugh. A mobile of little clouds and stars hung above it now, slowly turning with the breeze from the open window.

You lowered yourself into the chair with a soft sigh of relief, running your hand over the curve of your belly. She was moving more now big, rolling movements that you could see as well as feel. Lewis knelt back down beside the crib with renewed determination, glancing over his shoulder at you.

“I’m serious,” he said as he aligned two unfamiliar-looking panels. “This is my thing. You’ve been carrying her for months growing her, dealing with all the cravings, back pain, nausea, mood swings -”

You shot him a look. “Careful.”

He flashed you that crooked smile you loved so much. “Which I have completely loved every minute of. Even when you cried because your toast was too dry.”

“You burned it!” you protested, laughing despite yourself.

“It was in the toaster for ten seconds!”

“And it tasted like ash! I stand by it!”

He laughed, head thrown back, eyes crinkling in that way that made you melt. “Well, I’ve learned. Now I butter it before it even pops up.”

You shook your head, heart full as you watched him finally align the last two pieces. He tightened the final bolt with a triumphant click and stood slowly, stretching his arms overhead before wiping his hands on his joggers like he’d just rebuilt an engine.

“Ta-da,” he said, gesturing to the crib like it was the final masterpiece in a gallery.

And it was beautiful. Smooth, clean lines. Not a single wobble. No leftover pieces which felt like a miracle in and of itself. Tucked inside was the stuffed white bunny he’d bought you during a race weekend in Austria the one with the pink bow between its ears and the softest fur you’d ever felt.

“She’s gonna love it,” you said, voice quieter now.

He crossed the room and knelt in front of you, resting his hands on your belly as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His thumbs stroked over the taut skin gently, reverently.

“I still can’t believe she’s real,” he said, his voice soft and raw. “That we’re about to meet her. That this” he glanced around the nursery, “is all for her.”

You ran your fingers through his curls, brushing a strand behind his ear. “I know. Me neither. But she’s almost here.”

He pressed a kiss just beneath your belly button and whispered, “Your room’s ready, little one. And I promise, I’ll never stop making sure it feels like home.”

That night, after dinner when you were too tired to move and your back ached from the smallest shift Lewis helped you into bed, pulling the blankets over you with such care it made your throat ache.

Still, he stayed close always one hand nearby, always checking in.

When your legs got restless or your ribs burned from her stretching into them, he rubbed gentle circles into your lower back, murmuring softly about spa trips in the off-season and how he was already learning baby massage.

One night, around three a.m., the pain in your back was sharp enough to steal your breath. You lay curled on your side, silent tears slipping down your cheeks. You didn’t want to wake him, he had training in the morning, but Lewis stirred anyway, his sleep instincts already tuned to you.

He said nothing.

Just shifted behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pressed soft kisses to your shoulder, and began massaging your spine with slow, steady pressure.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered into the dark. “Always.”

And eventually, wrapped in his arms, your body heavy and sore and loved, you drifted off to sleep again.

And Lewis didn’t move an inch. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Week 38 — Media Day 2025 Melbourne

He was scheduled to be at Albert Park for the Australian Grand Prix the first race of the season, his first race with Ferrari. Just media day, he said. Just a handful of interviews, a few press appearances. He’d be back at the hotel well before dinner, before the city lights flickered on and the night softened the day’s edges.

“You promise you won’t go into labor while I’m gone?” Lewis’s voice was low, almost a whisper as he crouched in front of you, his dark eyes locked onto your bump like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen. His hands gently cupped the curve beneath your shirt as if he could shield your daughter with just the touch of his palms.

You raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, folding a tiny onesie that looked like it belonged to a doll rather than a baby soon to be in your arms. “Promise me you won’t jinx it by asking again,” you teased, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

He exhaled, part amusement, part panic. Then, as if your daughter could hear him, he pressed his forehead softly against your belly. “Stay in there, little one. Daddy’s going to bring you back something special from the paddock. A Ferrari keychain or maybe a hat something to mark your debut.”

You smiled, smoothing your hand over the swell of your belly. “She’s already got your timing. Fashionably late, just like you.”

“I swear she’s going to wait until I’m halfway through a press conference,” Lewis said, suddenly serious. His fingers brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, eyes searching yours. “Promise me you’ll call if anything happens. Even the smallest thing. A cramp, a sneeze, weird dreams. If your socks suddenly feel too tight.”

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Tight socks? Really?”

“Angela told me circulation changes can be a sign,” he said, sounding entirely too serious for the moment.

You gave him a pointed look, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Okay, I’ll call if my feet signal labor. Deal?”

“Deal.” He leaned in, kissing your belly, then your lips slow and tender, like a promise.

“I’ll be back before you even notice I left,” he murmured against your skin.

“You better not miss this,” you warned, voice soft but full of steel.

He tried to smile, but the tension around his eyes remained. His hand lingered on your face as if trying to memorise every detail. You kissed his palm, feeling the steady warmth of him there, before he finally stood.

With his bag slung over one shoulder, Lewis paused at the door. You watched from the window as the quiet streets of Melbourne stretched out, bathed in early sunlight and the soft hum of morning life waking up. One hand rested protectively over the life growing inside you.

“He’s going to lose his mind when it happens,” you whispered, voice low with certainty. “Like, full meltdown.”

The baby kicked twice.

“Exactly,” you said, a smile touching your lips. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Thursday – 10:07 AM, Hotel Suite, Melbourne

A persistent nudge pushed insistently against your ribcage a heel. A knee? You pressed your palm gently into the side of your belly.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” you murmured. “He’s calling soon, promise.”

Angela was leaning against the kitchenette counter, coffee in hand, her eyes flicking over the latest messages on her phone. “She’s feisty. Just like her dad.”

You smiled, shifting on the sofa as the soft hum of the TV played preseason highlights in the background. The buzz around Lewis’s Ferrari debut was impossible to ignore, but none of it mattered. Not today.

A dull ache lingered low in your back. You reached for your water bottle, the coolness soothing for a moment. Then the sharpness hit not a kick, not the usual stretching or fluttering, but a cramp. Low and fierce, curling you inward with a gasp.

You sat upright fast, breath hitching. Angela was immediately at your side.

“Okay…” you said, voice shaky. “Okay, okay…”

“Talk to me,” Angela urged, her tone steady as she put down her mug and took your hand.

“It’s I think—” You closed your eyes, willing it to be a false alarm, but the tightening came again, stronger this time.

Another contraction rolled through, and you didn’t hesitate. Your fingers scrambled for the supplies and made Angela contact Lewis.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Albert Park Circuit – Thursday, Media Day – 1:12 PM:

Lewis tugged the brim of his Ferrari cap lower, trying to hide the flicker of nerves in his eyes as cameras flashed relentlessly. Media day was a circus every journalist chasing a quote, every photographer waiting for a moment, every fan hungry for a glimpse. But his mind wasn’t here.

“Yes, it’s a fresh start with Ferrari,” he said, voice steady but his heart pounding beneath the calm facade.

“No, we’re not putting pressure on ourselves yet.”

“Yes, the car feels good, but the season is long.”

All the while, his phone vibrated quietly against his thigh. Angela had promised she’d text if anything happened. Each buzz sent his pulse racing.

Free stood just outside the press tent, nodding respectfully as Lewis wrapped up an interview. Then a voice called out from the crowd:

“Lewis baby’s due any day now, right? How are you staying so calm?”

Polite laughter rippled through the gathered media.

Lewis forced a smile, but his hands clenched briefly. “I’m not sure I am calm. I think I’ve just been pretending really well.”

More laughter.

He looked down at his phone, then back up with something softer shining in his gaze.

“Honestly, I keep thinking every buzz in my pocket is the call. I’d leave the track mid-lap if I had to.”

The room chuckled, but he was serious. Every word was truth.

“We’ve waited a long time for this,” he added quietly. “I want to be there. I want to hold her the second she arrives. I want to hold them both.”

Then as if the universe was listening his phone buzzed again.

Angela’s name lit up the screen.

One message.

It’s starting. Get back. Now.

Below it, a photo your hand resting on your belly, your engagement ring glinting softly in the hotel light. Calm. Brave. Real.

Lewis was on his feet before the words were fully processed.

“I have to go,” he said, voice sharp and final.

No PR filters. No waiting for Marc or security. No second thoughts.

He was already gone. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

1:45 PM – Private Hospital, Melbourne:

“She’s moving fast,” the nurse said gently, her voice calm but filled with admiration as she watched your face contort through another contraction, a wave of fire rolling through your body that stole your breath. The sterile hospital room was bright but somehow softened by the soft hum of machines and the quiet footsteps in the hallway. “We’re almost ready, love. You’re doing so, so well.”

You clenched your jaw, teeth grinding together as the pain deepened, your whole-body trembling with effort. Your hand found Angela’s, gripping it so tightly your knuckles turned white, seeking the anchor her presence gave you.

“Lewis?” you gasped between breaths, your voice ragged, as sweat dampened your hair and dripped down your temples.

Angela leaned closer, brushing a stray lock of sweat-slicked hair from your forehead with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “He’s on his way, I promise. He’s driving here as fast as he can.”

Your breath hitched. “He’s going to miss it...” you whispered, panic flaring under the exhaustion and pain. “What if -”

“No,” Angela interrupted firmly, her eyes steady and unwavering as she squeezed your hand. “He won’t. He’s Lewis Hamilton. He’ll make it. He won’t let anything keep him away from this moment.”

You wanted to believe her so badly, but the seconds stretched impossibly long. The nurse adjusted your oxygen mask gently, and the world narrowed to your burning belly, your pounding heart, and the fierce hope that Lewis would walk through those doors in time.

At 2:13pm you were in labor in the delivery ward.

The room buzzed with urgent activity, soft voices issuing instructions, the rhythmic beeping of monitors syncing with your own rapid heartbeat. Your body was no longer your own. It was fire and thunder and fierce determination. You pushed with everything you had, your vision swimming as sweat poured down your back and your muscles screamed.

The pain was unbearable, a force of nature, but beneath it all, a fragile thread of hope kept you steady.

Suddenly the door slammed open.

Your head turned sharply, eyes wide, breath hitching with shock and overwhelming relief.

There he was.

Lewis.

His Ferrari polo was soaked through with sweat, the red fabric clinging to his lean frame. His lanyard hung askew around his neck, and his cap was clutched in one hand, his curls wild and damp from his frantic sprint through the hospital corridors.

But his eyes those eyes locked on yours with a focus so fierce it erased every other sound and sight from the room.

“Baby -?” His voice cracked, disbelief and love tangled in the single word.

Your entire body shook uncontrollably. “You made it,” you whispered, the raw emotion breaking free despite the exhaustion.

He was at your side in three quick strides, dropping to his knees beside the bed. His hand found yours immediately, clutching it like a lifeline, pressing it against his chest as if he could feel your heart beating through his skin.

“I’m here. I didn’t miss it. Thank God, I didn’t miss it.” His voice was thick, a mix of awe and relief, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Your tears spilled over, unbidden tears of pain, of relief, of the wildest joy you’d ever known. He leaned forward, pressing gentle kisses to your temple, then your cheek, finally resting his lips on your hand in a vow of presence and protection.

“I’ve got you. I’m here. I’m right here, love,” he whispered fiercely, as if saying it aloud would make the moment more real, safer.

The doctor gave Lewis a slight nod, a quiet signal as the team prepared for the final moments. “Perfect timing, Dad. Let’s meet your little girl.”

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

3:19 PM – Melbourne Private Hospital:

The pain surged one last time a crushing wave you barely managed to ride through. You screamed, a raw, primal sound that echoed off the walls and into the corners of your soul. Then, suddenly, everything shifted.

A sharp, fierce cry filled the room.

High and demanding and alive.

They laid her gently on your chest, slick and warm and breathtaking in her fragile newness.

The world stopped.

You looked down at her tiny fingers curling around your own, her dark eyes fluttering open, her skin flushed and perfect in every way and all the noise, all the chaos of life, all the months of waiting, faded into silence.

Lewis let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob, his breath hitching as he bent over the two of you, pressing endless kisses to your temple, your cheek, and then the soft, delicate cheeks of your daughter. His hands trembled as he cradled her, as if afraid she might vanish if he held her too tightly or not tightly enough.

“She’s here,” you whispered, voice raw and trembling with emotion.

“She’s perfect,” Lewis said softly, brushing a single fingertip down her cheek, marvelling at every detail like a precious treasure. “She’s perfect.”

In that moment amid the bright hospital lights and the quiet hum of the machines nothing else mattered.

No races, no trophies, no podiums.

Because this...

This was the greatest finish line of all.

One Hour Later – Recovery Room:

The city outside had begun to wake trams clattered past the hospital and golden light spilled across the skyline. But inside the recovery room, time had slowed to something sacred.

Lewis sat in the armchair beside your bed, your daughter curled against his chest, swaddled in a soft cream blanket. His Ferrari polo was wrinkled, stained from the mad dash through the paddock. His lanyard still hung crookedly from his belt, as if it had forgotten it no longer mattered. He hadn’t changed. Hadn’t moved. Hadn’t stopped looking at her.

“She’s so small,” he murmured, his thumb tracing tiny circles over her impossibly tiny hand.

From the bed, you smiled at the sight of him, his body curled protectively around her, his face soft with wonder. “I’m so glad you made it,” you whispered. “Just in time.”

Lewis let out a breath that sounded halfway between a laugh and a sob. “I was answering some media question about tire compounds, and then the door slammed open and there was Free. Said Angela called. Said it was happening. I think I left scorch marks on the hotel floor running for the car.”

“She’s going to love that story one day,” you said, your voice hoarse but full of warmth. “How her dad sprinted off media day like a lunatic just to hold her.”

He glanced at you, his eyes still glassy with emotion. “I was terrified I’d miss it. But I didn’t. I saw her first breath. I heard her cry.”

You reached for him, fingertips brushing through his damp curls. “She waited for you.”

Lewis looked down at the tiny bundle against his chest, like she was made of starlight. He pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head. “You hear that, little one?” he whispered. “You’ve already got your daddy wrapped around your finger.”

Then he turned back to you, leaning forward. He kissed you slow and full of everything words couldn’t carry.

“I love you,” you murmured.

He kissed you again. “I love you more. Always.”

And when your daughter stirred, letting out a soft, sleepy sigh against Lewis’s heart, he cradled her closer and closed his eyes.

“You took your sweet time,” he whispered, voice thick with awe. “But I swear, I would’ve waited forever.” ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Three Days Later – Melbourne Flat:

The Melbourne sun was gentle when they wheeled you out of the hospital. The trees lining the streets had begun to turn amber and gold, early autumn leaves dancing on the breeze like a quiet celebration choreographed just for her arrival. The air was crisp but soft, tinged with eucalyptus and something sweeter maybe relief. Or maybe hope.

You were tired. Bone-deep tired. The kind that lived in your joints and curled behind your eyes. But beneath the soreness and the dull ache in your muscles, your heart was lighter than it had ever been.

Wrapped snug against your chest, in the softest cloud-pink onesie and the little knit beanie Angela had tucked into her overnight bag “just in case,” was the reason your lips wouldn’t stop curling into a smile.

Lewis was meticulous as ever. The car seat had been installed with the kind of precision you’d only ever seen during race weekends checking the angle, adjusting the padding, rechecking whether the straps were too loose or too tight. He hovered around the nurse like a very eager intern, nodding at every instruction and mumbling things like, “Yeah, ISOFIX anchor, got it,” even though you were pretty sure he’d already memorised every car seat safety video on YouTube.

“She’s so cute and small I love her so much,” he whispered, brushing a finger across her cheek as the nurse gently transferred her into the seat.

“She won’t be for long,” you replied, your voice a soft breath.

“Don’t say that” he groaned dramatically, snapping a quick photo with his phone. “I’ve known her for three days. I already miss her being this size.”

You laughed as he slid into the car beside you, his hand covering yours gently. The car was quiet except for the hum of the road and the faint, rhythmic breathing of the tiny bundle between you.

Home.

It hit you halfway there not just the flat itself, but the feeling. Like the whole structure of your world had quietly reshaped itself overnight. You weren’t just returning to a familiar space with Lewis. You were carrying something entirely new into it. A new rhythm. A new centre of gravity. A tiny solar system that now orbited around soft cries, sleepy sighs, and a love so infinite it left a gentle ache in your chest. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Two Weeks Later:

The morning light filtered softly through the half-closed blinds, casting a warm, golden haze over the small flat. It was quiet, except for the faint, rhythmic hum of the fridge a steady, almost soothing drone that filled the background like a heartbeat. Bottles were lined up on the kitchen counter, drying in a haphazard array beside the sink, some still glistening with drops of milk. Three mugs once full of steaming coffee sat abandoned on the coffee table, each one now cold and forgotten amid the chaos.

Burp cloths were scattered everywhere: draped over the arms of the couch, tucked into the pockets of Lewis’s hoodie, stuffed between the couch cushions where they’d slipped unnoticed during late-night fumbles. A tiny pink sock peeked out from beneath a pile of blankets on the armchair. There were diapers unopened but stacked within reach, and a half-empty pack of baby wipes on the counter, crumpled from use.

And yet, despite the exhaustion etched deep into the lines on your face and the perpetual dark circles under your eyes, the flat had never felt more alive.

The walls themselves seemed to breathe softly with the quiet sounds of a new life tiny yawns, soft whimpers, the occasional coo that made your heart swell impossibly large. The TV sat on mute, a faint glow on the screen, forgotten amid the slower rhythm of your days. Outside, Melbourne moved on trams clang-clanged their way down busy streets, cars honked and hummed through steady traffic waves, people hustled with purpose but inside, time had folded itself into a gentler, more forgiving shape.

Lewis moved around the flat with a new kind of careful grace, as if every step was choreographed for a performance only, she could see. He had mastered the swaddle like an Olympic sport, folding her blanket with precision and patience, wrapping her snug as if he were protecting something precious from the world’s harsh edges. He burped her with one hand while multitasking like a seasoned pro, changing nappies in record time, warming bottles while FaceTiming Angela, near tears of frustration because he couldn’t remember if the instructions said five minutes or seven.

You caught him talking to her constantly soft words spilling from his lips like a sacred prayer. He narrated every action in that reverent, gentle tone reserved only for her, the sound of his voice a quiet anchor in the dizzying storm of new parenthood.

“Alright, sweetheart, time for your nappy change,” he murmured one morning, his voice low and tender. “I know, I know it’s awful. But trust me, you’ll feel so much better after this. And yes, Daddy still cries a little during this part too.”

He smiled through the exhaustion, cheeks flushed, and eyes rimmed with sleeplessness, as he gently lifted her, her tiny legs kicking faintly in protest. You watched the way his face softened when she looked up at him, the pure, unfiltered love shining there like a beacon.

She was only two weeks old, yet she already had him wrapped around her smallest finger every sigh, every smile, every tiny stretch was enough to make him fall deeper in love.

And you? You never stood a chance.

You caught yourself watching him often, marvelling at how he could be so completely present despite the chaos how his usual fierce determination had been softened by a tenderness you hadn’t quite seen before. The way he whispered promises to her, traced invisible patterns on her tiny hand, and kissed her forehead with a reverence usually reserved for the most sacred moments.

It wasn’t just the flat that felt alive it was the entire world around you both, forever changed by the quiet miracle you held in your arms. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

3:42 A.M. – Living Room:

You shuffled out of the bedroom, hair wild, eyes puffy, wrapped in the hoodie Lewis had left slung over a chair. The floor creaked beneath your feet, but the rest of the flat was dim and quiet, lit only by the amber glow of the standing lamp in the corner.

Lewis was pacing slowly, shirtless in sweats, cradling your daughter against his bare chest. Her tiny hand gripped his necklace the same one he never took off and her cheek was nestled right against his heart.

“She’s doing that thing again,” he whispered when he saw you rubbing your eyes.

“What thing?” you mumbled, yawning.

“The fake cry. She builds it up like she’s gonna let loose, but then she just doesn’t.”

You slumped onto the couch, face-first into a pillow. “Like father, like daughter.”

He turned with a smirk. “Oi.”

But there was no real protest in it only affection, warm and weary.

You watched him from under the crook of your elbow as he rocked her gently, murmuring soft nonsense in between yawns. His feet moved in slow arcs across the floor, back and forth, as if he could pace the entire universe into stillness.

She shifted in his arms, made a tiny noise, and finally - finally settled.

Still, he didn’t sit. Didn’t move. Just stood there, swaying gently, looking down at her like the world had stopped again. His eyes were tired, rimmed with red. But the way he looked at her like she was made of starlight and answered prayers hadn’t changed for a second.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered over his shoulder. “I’ve got her.”

And in that moment, you believed him completely.

He was lucky the Chinese Grand Prix wasn’t scheduled until another week or so. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Seven Weeks Later – Imola GP Practice:

Lewis arrived with his signature swagger slightly softened still in red, still sunglasses on, but now with something new: a baby pink bracelet on his wrist, handmade with beads that spelled out her name.

The paddock lost it.

Social media exploded with the tag #GirlDadLewis as clips circulated of him talking gently about fatherhood in interviews.

“Sleep’s a myth now,” he joked to Jenson Button, who immediately hugged him.

“I get it now,” Lewis said later in the driver press conference, his tone more reverent than amused. “Why people say it changes you. I look at her, and I just I want to be better. For her. For everything.”

The Ferrari garage gifted him a tiny red onesie with her name and his number on the back.

Toto sent a silver rattle engraved with “To the next generation of Hamiltons.”

Sebastian Vettel texted a photo of his own daughters and simply wrote, “Welcome to the real race.”

Even Max gave him a crooked smile and said, “Don’t let her watch Drive to Survive until she’s at least ten.” ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Race Day – Imola, 19 May 2025:

The Italian sun was just starting to warm the tarmac as you walked beside Lewis through the paddock, the early light catching on carbon fiber and chrome, casting long, sharp shadows across the ground. Everything felt louder on race day — the hiss of tyre warmers, the crackle of radios, the blur of red and black and yellow uniforms darting across your vision. It was a symphony of speed and tension, choreographed chaos.

But this time, the cameras weren’t just chasing pole positions or new parts.

They were chasing a Ferrari driver with a baby on his chest.

Your daughter miraculous calm was curled against Lewis in a cherry-red carrier, fast asleep despite the whirl around her. A tiny set of protective Ferrari headphones covered her ears, and her white onesie bore the words “Team Daddy” in bold script, stretched just slightly across her tiny belly.

Lewis had never looked prouder.

His fireproofs were unzipped to his waist, the sleeves tied around him in a practiced knot. His black long-sleeve clung to the muscles in his chest and arms, and his signature braids were tucked under a cap pulled low over his brow. One large, careful hand rested protectively on the carrier, as if instinctively shielding her from the intensity of Formula 1. And despite the flashing cameras, the microphones shoved in his direction, and the chaos around them he walked with ease. With purpose. With peace.

You stayed close beside him, your hand brushing against the small of his back whenever the crowd pressed too close. You weren’t working today. No interviews, no backstage access pass dangling from your neck. Just a camera slung casually at your side for you, not for the world.

And she was the reason.

Wherever Lewis walked, the paddock softened. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Jaws dropped.

Lando stopped mid-interview and grinned like a kid at Christmas. “No way. No way. That’s the paddock baby?”

Carlos literally gasped. “She’s wearing team headphones? I’m going to cry.”

Even Toto, usually all business and polished steel, paused to nod. His usual sharp expression eased into something fond, something close to reverent. “You’ve done well, Lewis,” he murmured before moving on.

“She’s really here,” Charles said softly when he caught sight of her. He approached gently, like any sudden movement might wake her. “Bro, look at her!”

Lewis turned slightly so Charles could see her better, adjusting the baby headphones like they were made of gold.

“She slept through the flight, through breakfast, but wait until she hears an engine start,” he said, his grin wide and boyish, lighting up his whole face.

You smiled, brushing your fingers gently over the exposed skin of Lewis’s wrist. “I think she loves it already.”

Lewis looked down at your daughter, his expression softening into something so raw, so open, it nearly broke you.

“She’s gonna be a paddock baby,” he murmured, voice just loud enough for you to hear. “Just like her mum.”

You laughed, nudging his side. “Only if she gets my patience and your stubbornness. Not the other way around.”

Behind you, Angela hovered with practiced care present but never imposing. She shot you a quiet thumbs-up when your daughter shifted and let out the tiniest sigh in her sleep. Someone probably Fred had already printed and taped a sign to the side of her stroller: Welcome to the team, Little Hamilton. A Ferrari teddy bear had mysteriously appeared in it, too.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Build-Up to the Race – 1 Hour Before Lights Out

The hospitality suite had been turned into a soft bubble of calm.

The blinds were drawn just enough to mute the glare and your daughter dozed in her bassinet beside the couch, the hum of the paddock a distant lull in the background.

You sat barefoot, legs tucked under you, watching the minute hand on the clock move with slow inevitability. Lewis stepped back in wearing his full race suit now, the red fitted like armour but his face, when he saw the two of you, was nothing but warmth.

The second he crossed the room, your daughter stirred. Her tiny fists opened like flower petals, eyes fluttering.

“There’s my lucky charm,” Lewis whispered, crouching beside her and pressing the softest kiss to her forehead.

Then he leaned toward you, resting one gloved hand on your thigh as he kissed you next. “And my other lucky charm.”

You grinned against his lips. “She’s already more famous than both of us combined. You know that, right?”

He shrugged with a crooked smile. “Good. She deserves it.”

He stood, stretching his fingers inside his gloves, but paused when his gaze caught on hers again wide eyes blinking up at him from beneath the blanket.

“I’ll be watching from the pit wall,” you said gently, sensing the shift in him. The focus. The nerves.

Lewis nodded once. “You’ll watch, right? Every lap?”

“Every single one,” you promised, reaching out to straighten the edge of his collar. “She will too.”

She stirred again, one tiny hand twitching toward him.

Lewis bent low, nose brushing hers. “Wish me luck, baby girl.” ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Race – Imola Grand Prix 2025:

It wasn’t a perfect race.

But it was breathtaking.

Lewis fought for every inch of track like it was made of glass. Every lap was a masterclass from his electric start to that incredible overtake on Kimi, a move so sharp even the commentators gasped. He defended like his life depended on it, shoulders taut, steering wheel twitching like it was an extension of his soul.

But the Red Bull and McLaren’s were rockets today, and Charles frustrated but smooth had played his absolute best.

P4.

Just one step off the podium.

You were already waiting with her in the shadows of the Ferrari garage, bouncing gently on your heels as the engines cut and the cooldown lap ended. Sweat dampened your collarbone. Your daughter stirred lightly in the carrier, eyes blinking in the half-light as the tension crackled through the air.

And then Lewis appeared.

He climbed from the car slowly, peeling off his gloves, his shoulders heaving. He nodded to the crew, gave a brief hug to his race engineer but his eyes were searching.

For you.

He spotted you instantly, like he’d known exactly where you’d be.

And then helmet still on he walked straight to you, unbothered by the cameras, the crowd, the chaos.

He dropped to his knees.

Lifted his visor.

She blinked at him, still groggy but curious and made a soft cooing noise that broke something loose in your chest.

“Hey, little one,” Lewis said, voice hoarse. “Daddy didn’t win. But I raced for you today.”

She yawned slow and sweet, one tiny hand curling.

You were crouched beside him, your arm sliding across his shoulders, fingers pressing into the damp fabric of his suit. “You came fourth,” you whispered. “That’s still incredible.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against her blanket-covered belly. “I just wanted her to see me up there. Just once.”

You tilted his face up and brushed your thumb along his cheek, catching the salt and stubble and stinging emotion in his eyes. “She saw something better. She saw her dad fight for it.”

For a moment, the world around you blurred. The crowd faded. The cameras, the reporters, the roar of mechanics it all softened under the weight of that quiet, perfect moment.

And then the flashes returned. The shutters clicked in bursts.

One photo made it onto social media within minutes.

Lewis Hamilton with sweat-slicked, eyes glassy, still in his fire-red Ferrari race suit cradling his baby daughter in one arm, her tiny hand gripping the edge of his collar. In the same frame, you - hair loose, face open, forehead pressed to his were frozen mid-kiss.

The caption read:

P4, but winning where it matters most. Lewis Hamilton - Girl Dad.

[kaorucup]

Saving A New Wish: One Show with All (Fairly) Odds Against It

Fairly OddParents: A New Wish is a sequel that managed to surprise almost everybody.

At this point, everyone knows the story of how this popular Nicktoon ended up falling off.....hard. So obviously, when A New Wish was initially announced, no one really expected anything good to come out of it.

Fast forward to now, and there's been a new wave of fans that love this series— including me! Maybe like me, some fans out there started caring about FOP was directly because of this sequel! Whether fans started enjoying since the pilot leaked or since Peri made his first appearance, they've all shown the same amount of love they have for A New Wish.

However, there's been many fans, old and new, around the world that have been waiting to be able to properly watch the series. A New Wish is a co-production with Nickelodeon and Netflix, meaning that the latter has the worldwide distribution rights to the series.

Before I mention something very important to this post, let me share a very important story from Ashleigh Hairston, voice of Hazel and co-executive producer:

(If this image should be removed, please let me know.)

There's an important part of this story I'd like to highlight too:

To give a quick idea of how Netflix renews its shows:

Netflix will see how many users actually complete the entire first season, so it would unfortunately matter if the show gets 50 million viewers. Why? Because if only less than 50% of those viewers watch every single episode, the show will not be renewed.

Basically, it's up to Netflix to choose whether the show gets cancelled or renewed.

If you're like me, a person who is worried about another good show being cancelled, you'd support this show. A New Wish is a show made with love, and while it's not perfect, it's one of my favorite shows already. So even if you're interested in this show or not, you can try supporting the show by:

-Watching it all for the first time if you're new!

-Rewatching it all, including episodes you may have missed

-Same as the last, but in your second language's dub!

-Leaving full episodes on as background noise (Just remember to tell Netflix you're still watching, views are views!)

-RATE POSITIVELY IF NETFLIX ASKS YOU TO!!!

-Posting anything with FOP with the hashtag #GreenlightFOPANWS2 and tag @nickelodeon , @nickanimation , and @netflix!!

I truly hope this show gets a second season!! I mean, listen to Peri! You're in for a great time anyway, so please watch every episode on Netflix on NOVEMBER 14TH!!!

(11/5) AN IMPORTANT THING YOU CAN DO IF YOU'RE RESUBSCRIBING TO NETFLIX OR MAKING A NEW ACCOUNT:

PLEASE DO NOT USE YOUR NETFLIX ACCOUNT FOR ANYTHING ELSE UNTIL NOVEMBER 14TH!!! LIKE THE POST SAYS, SHOW NETFLIX YOU CAME BACK FOR ANW

[synthetickitsune]

svt ot13 + daredevils //don't ask me what this is idk either we're just having fun on this blog - but anw happy burstday ig lmao; inspired by the new burstday ver. concept clips

Where are you?

What led you here?

Your heavy, fast steps, your panicked breathing, the rustling of your clothes, it all echoes in the empty space. The walls are slick with moisture.

It doesn’t feel like you’re alive anymore. 

It doesn’t feel like the real world.

And if it isn’t the real world - where are you?

The realization, acceptance, settles into your bones. There’s an empty place where the notion of home should be. But you’ll remember. You’ll remember you forgot. 

Your senses feel heightened and on edge. You’re running on pure adrenaline or you’d be paralysed, crying somewhere in the corner you crawled into.

But you’re running.

What towards - you don’t know. You just know you need to move, don’t stop, don’t listen, don’t overthink. Get moving or you’ll die.

Your lungs burn and your body is freezing.

Still you run. 

The shadows shift, light is revealed. Fire. You need to go towards it or the darkness will swallow you and spit you out.

You run.

You don’t know them, yet at the same time you do. You think. There’s something tugging at your mind, something gnawing at you. Like you’ve seen them before. Or some version of them.

At this place, there’s no guarantee they’re your friends. 

So you make the choice - it’s strictly flight or fight, no bargaining.

You keep running forward.

Seungcheol is the first encounter and you think it’s fitting. Somehow. He follows you without a chase. It allows you to slow down into a fast walk. You’re panting, gasping for air. He just watches. You don’t take a break. His eyes stay on yours. It feels uncanny. His expression doesn’t show anything. You make a turn but before you can finish it, you hear his heavy footsteps and instead run forward. Only for a few meters because he doesn’t run after you. He matches your pace but stays a couple steps behind. His eyes betray nothing. He’s steering you somewhere - where? You don’t know. You don’t know if you should fight against him or not. You don’t dare to stop. He looks like he could pounce any second. You keep moving and he keeps cutting you off. A corrupted guardian dog without a flock to protect. But you’re not one of his sheep. Not what he’s meant to keep. He won’t protect you. Yet it feels like Seungcheol doesn’t mean harm either. He seems to pity you, if anything. Like he’s aware of your situation, like he knows what you don’t. It’d be easy to ask, but you don’t. Speaking doesn’t feel right. Some things can’t be solved with words. You reach another dead end. He stands in front of you, unmoving. Arms crossed over his chest and a quirk to his brow. The road continues but your life won’t if you take it - that’s what the look in his eyes says. The look in yours says you won’t give up this time. You’ve let this go on for too long. It feels like eternity that you’ve let him herd you - and maybe it was. Who knows how the time flows in this place. So you duck under his arms and run. With every push off the ground you feel your muscles straining. Like they’re set on fire. Seungcheol follows. His steps get louder and louder and louder. Then, slowly, without you noticing until it’s too late, they get quieter… quieter… The light changes. 

Joshua turns towards you slowly. The moment his eyes meet yours, you’re hit by a wave of dizziness so strong you stumble and have to lean against the wall before you fall. It’s not more than a second, yet you lose track of him and yet he’s gone. The place is veiled in smoke. It doesn’t choke you, but it’s not easy to breathe either. The corridors are narrow and twist in strange, disorienting directions. Every crossroad is a choice that feels wrong. Sometimes you don’t realize all the possibilities until you’ve already taken the first step. But you don’t turn back. Joshua’s always waiting there. Sometimes no more than a brief flash, sometimes he stands watching you with eyes that seem regretful - or hopeful? The feeling changes with each flicker of the fire that burns everywhere. You’re not sure if he wants you to follow him or not. If you should or not. If he’s the white rabbit to lead you where you should go or a siren to make you stray from the right path. You need to focus anyway and push forward. With nothing to rely on, you go with what feels right at the moment you’re faced with the choice. You don’t let him distract you. His face twists from dazed to almost scared. You wonder how they got here. Is this how you’ll end up too? You don’t have the time to think. He’s getting closer. Does he not want you to leave? Are they supposed to stop you? With each new corridor he seems to be calling out to you. The smoke filling the area grows thicker. It feels like it even if you can’t tell if it’s real or just a trick. He’s the beacon shining through. You pass by, looking down, and Joshua finally pushes himself off the wall. Running doesn’t feel like a choice. It doesn’t feel wise to turn away from him. The look in his eyes is predatory. You body wants to stay put but you know better, even if it’s hard to break free of the spell. Careful not to get trapped against a wall, you keep backing away from him. The smoke is real. His eyes speak of relief, or perhaps longing when you’re whisked away.

You don’t get any time to shake off the feeling of ash and soot sticking to your skin before Jun jumps you. You manage to dodge, but the spikes on his clothes catch on your clothes and you fall anyway. At this point you’re used to running before thinking. So far it seems to be leading you somewhere. He’s a blur. At least he keeps his distance, even though you can tell it’s just a matter of time before he stops. Like a hunter focused on his prey, his eyes are glued to you. You struggle to really see him. He’s a blur of motion, you only catch a sharp image of him when he pauses to analyze your next move. He’s too quick. He’d have no trouble to catch you and… what exactly? What happens if they catch you? You can’t settle for uncertainty. You need to keep moving. Something tells you not to take your chances, and so you avoid Jun’s hand when he makes a swipe at you. You’re not quick enough to dodge the other one - or maybe his focus allowed him to predict what you’ll do and how. You leave the jacket in his hand and do your best to get your balance back immediately. He’s hot on your heels in seconds. A starving beast locked onto his prey. Chills erupt all over your skin. It’s much colder here than it seems with the flames bursting everywhere. What’s up with that? No time to think. No time to catch your breath. He’s soon by your side again. Is he trying to tire you out? His smirk is sinister and you expect another attack that doesn’t come. Not the way you think it will. Jun’s getting closer, the spikes on his clothes scratch against your bare skin. But there’s only a solid wall on the other side. You can’t stop. You can’t go back. Only push through and hope. The moment concrete is replaced by damaged mesh, you push against it and fall. And keep falling.

Hoshi’s face flashes in front of your eyes before you open them. The ground is sandy. It will be harder to run. But you’ll have to. In front of your eyes, in perfect sync, Hoshi collects himself from the ground too. While your movement is groggy and tired, his is fluid. He’s looking at you like you’re a rival. Or maybe a ray of hope. The light’s playing tricks on you again. You get up. The darkness is too deep to know what lies around you. The best option is the path behind him - and that’s the issue. You stand up, roll your shoulders. It seems you somehow avoided injury. But where you’re like a young bird barely learning to stand, he’s ready for anything you could throw his way. There’s never an easy way out. You need to face him. Trying to fake him out doesn’t work. At all. While you have to mind your body and preserve it, he’s moving with reckless abandon. You wince seeing the sharp way he changes direction, more so for the health of his joints than the consequences of your awkward reactions. You can’t take him on in a fight. Hoshi’s stronger, that much you can see. He’s equipped for a fight. Unless you take advantage of his hunger for action… So you keep trying to escape. Again and again. At some point you think you must’ve tried everything. He doesn’t actively attack - but he won’t back down from your challenges either. His reactions are pure instinct, pure reaction. It’s unpredictable and dangerous. And it’s working against him. His body can’t keep up. Instincts don’t take his limits into consideration. You’ve tried to pull off this kind of fake stunt and it never worked until now. He swipes for your feet, all you need to do is jump over him and bolt. You do. He grabs your ankle, twisting his body more. But he has no strength in his broken and tortured body to hold you back. It’s a bittersweet goodbye.

Just when you think you’ll finally get a chance to breathe, Wonwoo appears. Too close. You jump back. You expect an attack, maybe a threat, something. All you get is a stare you can’t decipher. You don’t let yourself get distracted and keep your sight set on him. He doesn’t chase, there’s no need to run. For now. He follows, though. It’s harder than running away, navigating the space while keeping track of him. He’s fast. Getting away and getting closer. Almost like he’s unsure of what to do with you. Then something explodes right next to your knee. The stack of wooden planks there is turned to splinters by Wonwoo’s foot. That makes you run - more like take a few quick steps before you’re forced to stop by his presence right in front of you. What would happen if you touched him? You don’t try. Instead you sidestep him and continue in a different direction. He doesn’t harm you. He doesn’t even try. It seems impulsive, the way he acts. It keeps you on edge. You try to steer clear of paths with rubble, anything he could destroy. The scratches and cuts on your skin don’t hurt. Adrenaline keeps the pain at bay. Wonwoo’s strength seems limitless. You barely duck before the rusty barrel he sent flying can hit you. He always looks like he’s preparing for something. To run at you, to attack, to destroy. Like he’ll go insane if he stays still. And then he just towers over you. As if assessing you. His dark eyes reflect your image back at you. As if you’re asking yourself what are you going to do. But you have no answers. He’s always ahead of you. You can’t compare. Maybe you shouldn’t. You only need to survive this. You’re on edge, trying to keep silent while he rages. You could be the next target. Some forces are out of your control. It’s better to stay out of their way. You stop when Wonwoo doesn’t follow you. There’s nothing but ruin and fire behind him. His eyes study you. You almost tell him to join you. Then you think better of it.

The moment you meet Woozi’s eyes, it feels like you’ve seen it all before. The fire, the explosions. The choices that led you here. It feels like a deja vu. Like you’ve run those streets before. Flames bursting from cracks in the walls, the ground, swallowing you whole. Burning forests to make nature rise anew. Maybe there was a reason why there was only rubble, no obstacles to fully stop your progress. Woozi doesn’t hold your gaze long. He seems deep in his own thoughts. His own memories. A lonely deity with nothing but time and the burden he carries. You remain cautious while you walk through his domain. He’s always there. Not unlike your own shadow. Quietly watching without a word, sound, much movement. Always looming and watching over your shoulder. You feel his eyes on you constantly. It’s like you carry his weight on your back - the pressure of him following you without a word. Like he’s taking note of all your decisions, judging them. There are only miniscule changes to his expression each time, but that only makes you more self-conscious. It’s hard to tell what he really thinks. Sometimes he seems almost proud of you. Other times his head tilts slightly like he doesn’t agree. It might be all in your head. Are you making the right choices? Wrong? Does it matter? What does it matter to him? Besides, what he considers right might not be what’s right for you. Yet he keeps it up. You feel yourself getting angry. The flames around seem like they could get stronger. You finally snap and turn towards him, find yourself just an inch away, face to face. He lazily looks up at you and raises his head. Was he waiting for this? There’s a challenge in Woozi’s gaze. Like he’s been waiting for something to happen. It’s not worth it. You need to get out of here and for that you need to pick your fights wisely. You stop turning back to see what he does, if he’s there. You stop trying to see and guess what he thinks. It doesn’t matter. It’s your own journey anyway.   

This place feels off immediately. At this point you’re used to only slowly realizing you’ve entered a new territory. Not this time. It’s too silent. The flames seem like somebody turned them down. Somehow it makes you want to push yourself and run. You know you shouldn’t, so you don’t, but instincts tell you it’s not wise. The deeper you go, the more unsettling the place is. You see Minghao in your mind. Sprawled on the ground somewhere. You snap your head back, you look all around. He’s nowhere you can find him. The knot of anxiety in your stomach gets tighter, twists more painfully with each step. You force yourself not to panic. Walk slowly, quietly. Breathe smoothly, deeply. You need to recover. In your head, Minghao’s still dreaming. It’s dark but you keep walking. He’s watching. In the next flash of his face in your mind, he’s wide awake, watching you from up close. Your shoes squeak when you stop mid-step. You’re still alone. No matter how intently you listen, how much you look around, how much you feel around. What if he’s invisible. Or just a ghost haunting this place. Memory of a memory. You need to move. Creeping around like a thief. The visions make you jump. They feel real, tangible. You could reach out and touch him. Sometimes he’s still asleep. Other times he’s watching. Closer and closer. As if his mind is also both anchored in a real place and somewhere else. Like yours - watching the path in front of you and brushing past some part of Minghao’s consciousness. Then it all changes. You need to stop and lean against the wall for support because the image is so clear it feels like you’ve been brought into the vision. His eyes peel open slowly. Unfocused. Tired. It’s hard not to feel sympathy. Then he sees you and you know it - now’s the time to run. And so you do. Blindly. Stumbling forward, slamming into walls, avoiding the fire that’s getting wilder like a miracle. Your sight returns eventually once you reach the edge of his domain. You feel his gaze stabbing you in the back.

You desperately needed that respite, you discover. Because Mingyu doesn’t give you any space to breathe. The moment he sees you, you know - the hunt is on. You run so fast you feel like you’re flying. Jumping over the flames, sliding around corners just to get away from his sight. You need to lose him. Yet he follows. He seems angry at you. Well, perhaps just angry but you can’t help but feel responsible. Maybe he’s just focused on the chase. Either way, you want to get out of his way fast. You take any chance you can to hide for a while. To try to catch your breath and sneak away, or come up with a plan. But his anger doesn’t let you think. It weighs on you. Why? It shouldn’t matter. You don’t know him, or barely, or knew him once. It doesn’t matter. Yet it feels as heavy as his footsteps drawing closer. You need to run again. He destroys what’s in his path. Of course Mingyu would realize you’re hiding. It scares you further, but the fear doesn’t clear your head to get answers, ideas, anything that could be useful. The spots offering cover are getting scarce. You’re desperately trying to avoid him. Yet you also need to find a way to get out. He’s always hot on your heels. Sometimes you catch his eyes and he looks just, well, playful. Not malicious. You wonder which of the two is a fake. If he’s pretending at all. Two things can be true at once. Although you suppose Mingyu does enjoy this. The better you get at his game, the more elated he seems. There’s barely anywhere left to hide though. And you can’t beat him when it comes to endurance, that much is already clear to you. You wrack your brain for a way out. There must be one. Lack of air makes it hard to think. And then you stumble, barely stopping the fall but you see it. The hole in the wall. Looks like someone kicked into it and created an opening. Like a rabbit diving into safety you rush through before the big bad wolf can catch you.

You hiss in pain and check the damage. You skinned your forearms but nothing too serious. No wonder when you no longer have a jacket to protect yourself with. There’s laughter resonating through the place. The voice can only be Dokyeom’s. You raise yourself to your feet quickly. There’s no time to pick a path to run, no way to run without passing by him. So you take a stance, trying to guard yourself. He smirks, coming closer. You don’t sense any aggressive intent from him, though. Of course it could be a trick. You remain cautious, but his body language is relaxed. He comes close, but all he does is inspect you, turning his head, circling you. He’s much faster. You can turn fast enough to keep him in your visual field. He doesn’t do much. Only pokes at your ribs that unsurprisingly hurt too. You walk away. Try to. He follows and seems to have a lot of fun messing with you. The ground glitters. The fire seems to change color. The longer you stay in this place, in these different locations, the less you trust your eyes. Maybe you’re out there dying somewhere and they’re just hallucinations. All of them. Dokyeom seems to actively try to lead you. Sometimes it’s a dead end. Sometimes it’s a place you have a good feeling about. The more you take his suggestions into consideration, though, the more he seems to try to lead you astray. His grin is growing wider. More sinister. He jumps out from behind corners to scare you. You want to get rid of him but he sticks with you. Won’t let you leave his side, forces you to stay in his orbit. You run and he follows, you pretend to go along and then change your direction, he blocks your way. He likes to watch you, lean closer to you and study you. Strangely you don’t feel scared. Perhaps you’ve already gotten used to worse. Unexpectedly, the way he leads you down opens into a brightly lit room. You give him a questioning look but he just slightly bows his head to you, hand on his chest. You return the gesture. You think you’ll miss him.

The room is lit with more than just fire. Seungkwan sits at the table and looks like he’s been expecting you. The candles look almost foolish compared to the wild flames you’re used to. He watches you come closer to the table. There’s multiple portals decorated by long dead flowers and vines, dried and discoloured into hues of sepia. It makes you feel almost nostalgic. You decide to stay, and so Seungkwan motions towards the empty chairs. You take a seat opposite to him. He props his elbows on the table and watches you. The candlelight dances in his eyes. You realize you haven’t spoken a word in all this time and neither did any of them. It doesn’t feel like it’d be appropriate to start with it now. At moments like this you almost miss the uncomplicated encounters where all you had to do was run, find a way. This feels way more like a confrontation than any other time. He’s simply watching you, mirroring you. If you lean your body towards one side, so does he. Your face betrays your confusion and it paints his face too. It makes your eye twitch slightly. It’s all the more annoying that he’s acting confused, clueless. He was here waiting for you, what does he have to be confused about? Your breathing gets heavier, your muscles tense. He deflates, draws back. You blink. You think this is the first time you’ve seen any of them get… scared? Them. Being afraid of your anger… What a joke. Some part of you enjoys seeing him like that. Then you stop. Isn’t that just natural? Haven’t you cowered and abandoned thinking in the face of anger? You don’t want to be like that. Why do you blame him for his confusion and fear? You don’t school your expression. You let the emotions pass. Seungkwan didn’t trap you here. He didn’t lead you here. And as tension leaves your body, you sigh. What’s the point? You’re just tired. His eyes meet yours like he’s checking if you’re just faking it. You’re not. There’s a place you forgot. You want to return there. Seungkwan sags back in his seat too. And as he exhales, the candle is blown out. Darkness overtakes you. You feel a breeze on your skin.

The light is blinding. You shiver in the cold air. Vernon is already looking at you when you finally get used to the light without a source. The fires burn as if they were calling for help, distant stars to be seen in the sky. He’s just waiting. You don’t pay any attention to his gaze on you. You want to be gone already. You walk up to him, join his side and walk with him. It’s peaceful, strangely enough. The silence feels natural. Your lips feel stuck together but you make no move to try to part them. Finally you can breathe in some fresh air. He leads you somewhere, another crossroad where no answers are given. The roads look the same. Yet he looks at you expectantly. How are you supposed to blindly choose a path that you’ll walk for the rest of your life? Once you choose, you know you can never go back. You imagine flipping a coin. Then you just walk. It doesn’t matter, you’ll have to bear the consequences either way. This time you’ll blame fate if it doesn’t work out. The corner of Vernon’s lip twitches up like he’s trying not to smirk. Were they all this… human? Did you get better at recognising it or have some of them just lost their minds in this strange limbo. Another crossroad. This time you stop and spin until you feel dizzy and walk as forward as your body allows you. Path is chosen. Vernon openly smirks. This road is more desolate. Debris and barbed wire littering the sides, creating obstacles. You walk, carefully climbing over the ruins where necessary. You notice the holes in his clothes and scars on his face. He seems to have no difficulty navigating here. Another fork in the road. This you face slightly out of breath. Vernon stops once more and gives you a look. Like he’s expecting more ridiculousness. This time, you simply choose. You can’t leave it all up to other forces. You’re trying to get out of here, the effort should be yours. The decisions and responsibility should be yours. Vernon takes the lead once you pick. The destination is a slightly preserved ruin of some building. Walking in is your own decision that you follow through alone.

Wind blows past, you cross your arms over your chest and try to rub some warmth into them. Dino looks up and he looks like he’s seen a ghost. Another new reaction. Another thing to throw you off from what you’re used to, from what you’ve learned to react to. He gets up, his hair blowing in the wind. You take a step back. He laughs without a sound, without humour. Chills run through your body. You can’t turn back where you came from, that much you know. This place isn’t ideal. There’s nowhere to hide, there’s no big open space to evade each other either. The stairs at the back wall seem to lead to another floor but what state that will be in, you cannot tell. He follows your line of sight. He rubs his neck. It makes him uneasy, you think. He frowns, as if trying to remember something. What is he trying to recall? Does he have the same questions as you? You want to offer him some sympathy, really, you do feel it, you suppose. But survival takes precedence. You can’t save someone from drowning while your ship is already sinking. He looks torn but he’s also leaning forward, so your instincts are already screaming at you to run. Or at least prepare to. Like that’s not what you’ve been doing this whole time. He takes a step towards you, you take another back and to the side. There's a pile of rubble you’ll have to jump over or something but so will he. Dino hesitates seeing you back away from him. He leans back but doesn’t move. There's a certain desperation underlining his expression. You think if he catches you, he won’t hurt you. But you can’t be sure him keeping you here won’t be worse. Or better. Either way, you’re not ready to stay. Perhaps he senses this and that’s why he dashes forward. You already expect it, reading him just like he reads you. He’s clumsy, even though he makes up for it by recovering quickly. You’re luckier. You reach the stairs before he reaches you and run up into the light and cold wind. You think you hear him scream. But it might as well be the wind howling. 

It’s cold. No more smoke, only cold mist that leaves traces of moisture on your skin and clothes. Like dew on grass on chilly spring mornings. You breathe out little clouds that seem to linger in place. You’re tired. The cold pierces right to your bones, making them twice as heavy with exhaustion and chill. You feel like you can’t walk anymore, so you just try to keep standing. He’s in front of you, Jeonghan. Waiting. You force your eyes to stay open even as it feels like they’ll turn to ice. He walks forward. He looks peaceful, gentle smile on his lips and eyes brimming with sincerity. Still the hairs at the back of your neck rise. He seems bathed in pale blue light, halo around his head and shadows trailing behind him. Is he here to save you or torment you? He draws closer and closer until there’s just a breath of air separating you. Heavy white mist trails behind him, like smoke from incense. Jeonghan circles you. So close you feel the cold radiating off of him on your skin. He moves without a sound, but you hear his heartbeat. It takes you a while to recognize it for what it is, but the stable, regular beating can’t be anything else. You don’t know why it makes you tremble. He’s in front of you again. Your breathing stops when he leans even closer, almost touching you. Too close for comfort, yet when he moves away you feel equally as distressed. Jeonghan’s piercing eyes watch you. You feel exposed. Like he’s reading through everything - your encounters, your life. You did have a life before, right? What happened to it? He looks patient. Merciful, almost. Something between mercy and pity. You don’t have the strength to duck or evade when he lays his hand on your head and your body slowly collapses to your knees. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make you move. Just keeps his hand there. And then - he pats your head. Gently, softly. You breathe out all the air in your lungs. All the tension you held onto. He seems a little amused by it. Also tired. Just like you are. His palm presses against the top of your head and makes you tilt it back. Jeonghan leans down. His eyes read yours. You see your reflection so clearly in his eyes, like they’re just ponds of clear water. He blows at your face and you feel yourself dissipate into nothing. Ashes and dust carried by the wind. Returning to the stars. 

You wake up drenched in cold sweat.

You gasp for air. It feels like you’ve been drowning and only now can breathe again.

The surroundings are unfamiliar. Cozy, homely. But you don’t recognize this place. You feel like you should but there’s a sense of emptiness inside you.

Maybe with time.

You look yourself over. 

You’re naked. No sign of any injury. No matter how much you check your arms - why your arms? - you can’t find anything. Not so much as a bruise, nothing.

You get up from the bed and look at it. Still nothing. You don’t recognize anything.

Yet your body seems to remember. You walk into the bathroom without hesitation and stand in front of the mirror. 

Thirteen different faces flash in a second where your own faces should be.

You gasp and jump back.

There’s just your own reflection looking back at you now.

But it feels like you’re not alone. Like all it’d take is one mistake and you’d meet the men.

They seem familiar. Like you’ve seen them before. Or some version of them.

[4ranghaes]

heyy can i request bsf since diaper! myung jaehyun and fem! reader which they're finally meet each other after a long time and decided to hit the club then some guy try to talk or flirt with her and suddenly jaehyun become so protactive as if she's a child but obvi jaehyun got a crush on her (spoiler: he always stalk her social media and thats how he got his crush on her although its been awhile since they met) idk the thought of unserious jaehyun become protactive is cute tho hehehe. anw thank you in advance!! love ur writing sm!!

myung jaehyun x reader [fluff, fem!reader, jealous!bsf!myungjae]

a/n - hiya anonnie, of course!!!! i hope you enjoy💓💓

00:24 - “for old times’ sake?”

jaehyun rolled his eyes, getting up off the sofa, your relentless begging having worn him down, “fine, fine. there’s a club a couple streets down from here. i’ve been with the boys a couple times, it’s good.”

“yes! jaehyun thank you! thank you thank you thank you!” you cheered, jumping up and down, kissing your friend on the cheek before running to his bedroom to check your appearance.

riwoo gave him a knowing look, jaehyun just rolling his eyes as he shrugged him off. “stop looking at me like that.”

riwoo held in a laugh, shrugging, “just thinking about how you almost bit sungho’s head off when he complemented her earlier. hope you enjoy the club!”

the boy shook his head, watching you emerge from his bedroom in a totally new outfit; short skirt, small top, and one of jaehyun’s mesh overshirts hanging over top. he swallowed, his mouth hanging open.

“is this okay?” you asked, posing in the doorway.

jaehyun just nodded quickly as you cheered, “come on, let’s go then! it’ll be too expensive past 1am.”

“o-okay,” he stuttered, gathering his keys and shoving his essentials in his pockets, waving goodbye to riwoo.

“i mean don’t you think it’s fun? the last time we saw each other we were still bathing together, and now we’re clubbing!”

myungjae chuckled, “yeah our mums would be so proud.”

you laughed, walking close to him the whole way to the club, your arms touching as the alcohol you’d steadily had throughout the night seemed to hit you. the two of you had been planning this meet up for months, and finally you’d arrived in yongsan last night, the dorm door being flung open to jaehyun’s wide smile - the same one you recognised from all those years ago.

jaehyun watched now as you, a grown woman, stood ahead of him in line for the club. he’d always had a crush on you, even when he was 5 and you were 4, running round the back garden naked together, bathing together, walking to school together - he’d liked you. he’d kept up with you online of course, even over the years of various moves separating the two of you, he watched from a distance as you grew and matured. his heart fluttered opening the door for you yesterday - he didn’t want to admit it, but he still liked you now.

“okay, drinks, or dance floor?” you shouted, mouth next to his ear as the two of you entered the club, surveying the scene.

“why don’t you get a table and i’ll get some drinks?” jaehyun offered, holding your hair back with a gentle hand as he did the same to you, “i’m not drunk enough yet!”

you giggled, nodding as you found an empty table, guarding your territory. jaehyun tried to be quick with the drinks, glancing back over to you several times to check you were safe.

“two jack cokes please,” he ordered, leaning against the bar as he quickly looked back to where you were. now with a man? he strained his neck, squinted his eyes, trying to get a better look. he could feel his anger rising.

“here you are,” the bartender said, snapping him out of his daze as he handed over two cups. jaehyun took them quickly, rushing over to where you were.

slamming them down on the table, he looked up at you expectantly.

“oh myungjae!” you exclaimed, “this is jinyoung.”

“you two know each other?” he asked with furrowed eyebrows.

“no,” jinyoung shrugged, looking at jaehyun with competition in his eyes. jaehyun narrowed his eyes at him. jinyoung pointed to the drinks as you took your cup. “didn’t get me one, mate?”

“well, we actually just came out the two of us so…”

“oh i can get you one!” you smiled, jumping up from the seat before jaehyun shoved your body back down.

“he can get it himself, y/n,” jaehyun said, not taking his eyes off jinyoung.

“yeah, don’t worry darling,” he spoke, smiling at you, “i’ll buy your one too, hey?”

jaehyun was mouthing curses after the man as he sauntered over to the bar.

“what are you doing?!” jaehyun exclaimed, grabbing your arm.

“what? he’s nice!”

“you don’t know him!” jaehyun yelled, looking at you exasperated, “you’re not taking that drink either.”

you rolled your eyes, brushing him off and walking to the dance floor. you looked back to jaehyun, still stood against the table, tilting your head in invitation as you started to dance. jaehyun stood watching for a while, fighting a smile on his face as he watched your body move. eventually, he downed his drink, making his way over to you. a smile spread across your face when he reached you, jaehyun’s hand moving to your hip as they moved with the music. jealousy was never a good emotion, except maybe when he needed to make a move.

“you’re gorgeous,” he spoke, not taking his eyes off you. you read his lips, barely able to hear him over the blaring music. you stopped for a moment, before looping your arms round his neck.

“you’re not too bad yourself, myung,” you laughed.

jaehyun broke into a smile, “really?”

you nodded, “really.”

he eyed you cautiously before beginning to move in. he was slow and steady, before realising you were also moving towards him; he smashed his lips to yours, letting out a disbelieving laugh into the kiss. you smiled into his lips, body still moving to the song.

jaehyun pulled away, grinning like an idiot as he started to dance with you. you laughed, grabbing his face to pull him again, starting to make out with him.

“you’re not just drunk right?!” he exclaimed, pulling away suddenly.

“barely drank at all,” you yelled back, dragging a hand through his hair.

you saw jinyoung making his way through the crowd towards you with a smile as you rolled your eyes; you only interacted with him to make jaehyun jealous in the first place.

“kiss me again!”

“huh?!”

“again, jaehyun!”

[cheri-2047]

Helloooo do you write for aventurine from hsr?

If you do, would it be possible to request an aventurine x gn reader where he tries to comfort the reader who has religious trauma? If that's a little too complicated then something like aven trying to comfort the reader when they were suddenly reminded about their trauma from parents.

I'm really just desperately trying to make myself feel better 😭 anw the decision is still up to you <3 I hope you have a wonderful day and I hope that you stay safe and healthy, take care!! 💞💐

IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG 😭 I LOST MOTIVATION TO WRITE ANYTHING 😞😞 I’d love to write this for you but I’m not so sure on what religious trauma is so I focused on reader getting triggered by their parents instead, I hope that’s okay. Please don’t hesitate to comment if I mischaracterized him, this is based off what I see online since I don’t play hsr, thank you!

Aventurine comfort:

TAGS: slight mentions of self harm, hair pulling (out of stress) angst, fluff and comfort at the end

CHARACTERS: Aventurine

You were on your way home after meeting up with your parents. It’s been awhile since you last saw them so you thought you’d pay them a visit.

They welcomed you with open arms and were very glad that you came over, your mother excitedly sharing new stories of what’s happened while you moved away and your father just simply listening to you two.

Everything was smooth sailing, you had fun with them, sharing laughs and all until it all went down the drain.

“haha…” you chuckled it off. You hated hearing about the incident that had happened. Your parents brushed it off by now as a joke, but to you it was anything BUT that.

you continued to catch up to them, holding up a smile to get away the memories that ran through your brain.

stop stop stop

You clenched your hands tightly, continuing to laugh along with the “jokes” your parents made. You couldn’t stop thinking about it now, everything that happened, everything that you worked so hard to forget, all of it GONE just because of a few simple words.

“I might be home a bit late sweetheart, please don’t stay up waiting for me. Love you”

Your phone buzzed, a message from your boyfriend, Aventurine.

perfect.

You took this to your advantage, deciding it was a good excuse.

“Ah I need to go home, sorry mama, urgent things at work.”

You made a white lie. You knew it was a bad thing to lie, it would make you a sinner, but you would do anything right now to get away from that so called ‘home’

“I hope you visit again, we love you”

Your father kissed you on the forehead, before both waving off.

You quickly shuffled to your car, driving as fast as you can away from your parent’s home. You were thankful for your boyfriend’s text, not only can you have alone time but you also were able to lie with getting home.

You drove faster, the music louder, anything to try and get the flooding memories away. You clenched the wheel tightly, taking rough turns, completely ignoring your surroundings.

shut up shut up shut up shut up

please.

You reached your home, running to your bedroom, your safe place.

You opened the television, had your snacks around you and all but for some reason, nothing would work. The thoughts still lingered at the back of your mind, the unspoken memories, the things you’ve tried to hard to forget.

Little did you know, you ended up spiraling. Your eyes on the TV, your mind elsewhere. It all came back too quickly, too much for you, the way you were treated, the rules you were forced to have, the life you so desperately wanted to escape, and it felt like you were back. “…y/n… y/n? Hey hey-“

you got started by the sound, only to realize you had been pulling your hair a lot,

“ah- y-you’re back earl-“

He wrapped his arms around you tightly, Aventurine pulled your hands away from your hair,

“Shh, shh… there there”

he rubbed his hand on your back, you leaned into his touch, before looking down to see blood on your fingernails. “What happened?”

Aventurine pulled away, cupping your cheeks and rubbing your hand, careful not to touch the skin you picked.

You didn’t even notice it, but you were crying. You had tears run down your face as if your eyes were waterfalls.

“I visited my parents today”

“mh…did they do anything?”

“they just…mentioned something and I got triggered and started spiraling I guess…”

as you spoke, aventurine started to wrap some bandages around your fingers.

“What did they say?”

(cutting this part off here so you can like…. Explain to him ykyk. He doesn’t know much of your trauma so u explain that you went through that before)

“Oh sweetheart…”

he wiped your tears and kissed you on the cheek, before hugging you and hurrying your face into the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t know that’s ever happened, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to remember…”

he frowned and pulled you closer,

“I’m sorry…. If you’re up to going to your parents again, I’ll be here to accompany you. If you don’t, then that’s alright, I understand.”

he kisses the top of your head multiple times, hoping to sooth you with his affection.

He intertwined his hand with yours as he continues to speak reassuring words. “I am always here for you, alright my dearest? If you feel triggered by anything ever again, please don’t hesitate to tell me. I’m never ‘too busy’ for you or any of that. I love you”

you smile as he tells you how he has your back and how he will never leave and swear to always protect you. As you stop crying, he starts to clean up the snacks you left and comes back with more of your favorite foods.

“I got some before I left work”

he chuckles, lying next to you on the bed as you two stayed in the comfort of each others arms.

“I love you, I always will and I will never stop.”

He presses a kiss to your lips, pulling away to see your smile, which makes him smile as well.

A/N: OKAY… so I tried to make it like him as much as I could, I think he’s the type to gen take things seriously in scenarios like this, and the part where he like… pushes(?) your head to his neck for comfort, that means a lot since I hc him to not like being touched there or anyone touching him there either, so yeah. Thanks for requesting and I hope this is ok!! Comments are appreciated (for tips, if I mischaracterized or just to say hi) I hope ure okay dude, if you want more of these feel free to request

[purinfelix]

by midnight ⋆⭒˚｡⋆⊹₊ ⋆

pairing: carlos sainz x reader summary: you find yourself at one of the hottest parties on campus, eager to land a kiss before New Year strikes to avoid bad luck warnings: none w/c: 2.3k

a/n: i can't believe this is my first proper carlos fic even tho he's my fav driver - also is this a uni au ?? college au ?? sort of idk ... anw hope you all enjoy this and i wish you all a happy new year !! <333

As you stood in the corner of the dimly lit room, with no company other than the half-empty glass of red wine you’d been cradling for the past hour, you were beginning to question what you were doing at this New Year’s Eve party in the first place.

Of course, your mind was quick to point to the obvious reason - you had come because your friend asked you to. Because she had burst into your dorm room about a week ago with a sparkle in her eye and an invite to a party hosted by what she referred to as ‘high profile university elites’, which you understood as ‘popular kids who were yet to realise they’d already peaked in high school’. Nonetheless, her eagerness and incessant begging had somehow convinced you to trail along with her to the party and the numerous shopping trips preceding it.

You had to admit, there was a tiny part of you that was excited about it. You enjoyed going out and the occasional dance session but after an extremely stressful university semester you weren’t sure you could handle any more chaos or drama. But it was something different, something interesting - something to look forward to in the break routine your life had become. Especially since your friend seemed very insistent on the possibility of you meeting some new “hot singles”, and whilst the dig at your uneventful love life didn’t go unnoticed you let it slip considering it wasn’t entirely untrue.

Maybe it was this possibility that had urged you to tag along with her, despite not knowing any of the hosts or people she had listed out. However, if it weren’t for her constant reassurance that she would be at your side the entire night, you probably wouldn’t be standing at the front door of whatever unlucky house had been chosen to host the event, so dressed up you felt a little silly. Your hands trembled slightly at your sides and you felt stupid at how nervous you were. But, as the door opened for you by a boy who looked like he had already had too much to drink from his crooked tie, you swallowed your nerves and reminded yourself that even if you knew no on else, you had your friend to lean on.

At least, until a mere hour had passed into the party and she was nowhere to be found. She had told you she was going to go introduce herself to some other people and that she’d be back to meet you in the corner where she had left you. And the last you saw of her she had been standing a little too close to a guy you vaguely recognised from one of your marketing lectures, and hand ultimately decided best to leave her to enjoy herself - even if that meant awkwardly taking up space, biding your time, and avoiding eye contact with anyone.

Your friend had discussed at length, and much to your dismay, about how this wasn’t just any old New Year’s Eve party like one thrown at a frat house. Rather this was one organised by your university’s wealthiest, most popular, most talented students - which had been one of your biggest turn-offs from it initially. And as you leant against the corner of some vintage-looking wallpaper, you couldn’t help but observe the atmosphere that reeked of elitism, snobbery and daughter laughter. People around you chattered away without cares in the world, donning clothes that surely came from stores you weren’t wealthy enough to know of. Others danced in the centre of the dimly lit room, some moving with elegance and others waved their arms around, drunk on a mixture of whatever expensive bottles their peers had brought.

But, to your surprise, there was something - or rather someone - that managed to catch your eyes from the other side of the room. It was what seemed like the only other person not involved in some sort of conversation, dance circle, or the lips of whatever partner they had brought. And it seemed he had noticed you too by the way his deep brown eyes had locked onto yours, even in the shadowy lighting from where he sat on the cough. He was handsome, there was certainly no denying it, especially not when the eye contact and the slight quirk of his lips alone were enough to make your heart rate quicken. You took a shaky sip from your glass, watching as he ran a large hand through his dark hair that was styled in a way you could only describe as ‘princely’, the gold cufflinks on his shirt sleeve flashing as he did.

He’s way out of your league and your tax bracket, you remind yourself. But there’s something about the way this handsome stranger is looking at you that makes you feel compelled to him. Almost like he’s cast an invisible string around your waist and is slowly pulling you towards him. A grandfather clock in the corner tells you there’s less than half an hour until midnight and the strike of New Year’s, and until you can get out of here without missing too much. Half an hour to work up the courage to go up to him, talk to him, to do anything other than stand her paralysed under his intense, yet insanely attractive, gaze.

Your feet unstick themselves and go to take a step in his direction, until your friend appears suddenly around the corner, her hand already on your wrist. She’s talking to you about some people you “just have to meet”, half dragging you with her to the kitchen. But your eyes are still stuck on him, and he watches you go with an expression that’s equal parts amused and disappointed that your charged staring competition didn’t last longer.

You find yourself in a circle with three other people, forcing a smile on your face and trying your best to act as if you care while your friend introduces you to them. One’s an engineering major, the other in medicine, and the last you can’t even bother to remember, your brain busied with plans on how to get back to the lounge, and the handsome stranger. You nod incessantly as your new company drones on about final exams and papers, eager to have the conversation done with you.

“Well, seems like there’s not much time left until midnight,” one of them says, which catches your attention, and your friend laughs along.

“And you know what they say about a New Year’s kiss, hm?” she chimes in, “that failing to lock lips with anyone after the countdown will bring in a whole new year of loneliness!” She nudges your arm and you swallow the urge to make some excuse, settling on rolling your eyes with a resigned smile.

“You found the lucky guy yet?” the engineering major says, looking directly at you with a suggestive sort of look.

As if summoned by the question, you spot something out of the corner of your eye. A familiar tuft of dark hair snakes its way around the kitchen hallway - it’s him. Now that the two of you are standing you truly get a sense of how tall he is, and you can definitely see that the dark suit he’s wearing is doing his figure justice. He moves quickly, purposefully, as he pours himself another drink and is already making his way out of the kitchen. Though, not before looking back and shooting you a quick smile. The sight renders you incapable of speech and basic function, as you go to take a sip of your own drink and instead spill your glass’ remains onto your dress.

Your little circle erupts into groans and worried cries, your friend trying her best to laugh off the total fool you’ve made of yourself in front of them. Luckily though, it seems the handsome stranger didn’t stay long enough to witness your little accident, so you don’t mind too much as your friend ushers you off to one of the bathrooms, pushing past bodies that move along to the pulsing music. Your head throbs as your friend shoves you in and shuts the door behind her.

“I can’t believe you,” she sighs, grabbing handfuls of toilet paper and throwing them at you as you sit on the closed toilet seat, “that was so embarrassing, and you’ve completely ruined the dress we spent ages picking at.”

You clearly couldn’t care less as you dab at the large stain on your dress with indifference, as she paces back and forth and waves her hands around to express her frustration.

“It’s really not that big of a deal, they all seemed like assholes anyways,” you mutter. Your quip seems to calm her down as she takes a seat on the bathtub rim. She takes a moment to glance at her phone in her hand before letting out a tired sigh.

“And now there’s less than three minutes until midnight and neither of us is getting a New Year’s kiss.”

“There’s nothing keeping you in here with me, you know,” you say, a smile in your voice as you watch her expression turn hopeful.

“You really wouldn’t mind?”

“I mean, I don’t really want to spend New Year’s Eve alone but I don’t want you to as well, I think I’ll manage.”

She lets out a squeal, pulling you in for a quick hug whilst being careful not to get any of the red wine you’ve spilled on your dress onto hers.

“I’ll meet you outside in half an hour,” is the last thing she says to you before turning and leaving the bathroom to rejoin the crowd that’s formed to count down the seconds until midnight. It’s almost funny that you’re alone once more, only now with a gigantic red stain and under the harsh white light of this lavishly decorated bathroom. Sitting back against the toilet, you close your eyes and try your best to enjoy this moment of peace, and ignore the fact that this may just signal another year of loneliness - as your friend mentioned. You can hear the partygoers outside getting ready, pulling out tiny confetti canons and ushering others into the lounge.

“10!”

“9!”

Suddenly, the door opens and you jerk up to scold your unwelcome intruder. That is until you notice it’s him, the handsome stranger. He looks equally surprised to see you until you realise he probably wasn’t expecting anyone to be sitting alone in the bathroom during the countdown to New Year’s. Your throat is dry but you still manage to croak out some form of a response.

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he says, and you notice he’s almost panting. You gesture to the stain on your dress with an expression that says “duh”.

“Oh, right, well I just wanted to get away from all the chaos and loudness, you know.”

“8!” The crowd outside keeps going, and they seem to be getting louder.

“You didn’t find any lucky girl to kiss when midnight struck?” you say, trying your best to make light of how insanely awkward this interaction is. He rubs the back of his neck and looks down at his feet shyly.

“Well I did, she was standing in the corner of the room all alone,” he takes a couple of steps towards you and his voice is sheepishly quiet.

“7!”

“She sounds like a loner,” you retort and he lets out a dry laugh. You’re trying to play it cool and act as if you’re not dying to just kiss him already, because you know that’d be too forward, especially for someone like you at a party like this.

“Well, I thought she was beautiful, at least until she got dragged away by her friend.”

“6!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but then I saw her later in the kitchen talking to some guys and figured she’d be more interested in them.”

“5!”

“I’m sure they were boring,” you decide to play along with his game.

“Really?”

“Yeah, and I’m sure she would’ve much rather been talking to you instead of them, and hearing her friend talk about how if she didn’t kiss someone by midnight she’d have to deal with another year of being single,” this catches his attention, his eyebrow quirking up alongside a smirk spreading across his face.

“Really?”

“4!”

“Yep, until she spilled a bunch of wine on this dress she bought and ended up in the bathroom trying to clean it off.”

“3!”

”Sounds unfortunate.” He’s towering over you now, looking down at you with a softness in his eyes and a playfulness in his tone.

“Extremely.”

“2!”

You finally find the strength to stand up too, and almost immediately his hand finds its way around a strand of your hair, twirling it absent-mindedly. It moves to your cheek, then your chin, which he cups softly so that he can look into your eyes properly. You feel on fire underneath his touch. At this distance, he’s breathtaking. His eyes are almost enchanting and you feel tiny underneath their gaze, swallowing a lump nervously. He watches you intently, eyes flickering between his own and your lips - it’s clear what he’s thinking.

“1!”

The crowd outside erupts into cheers and the popping of confetti canons, but you’ve forgotten about them immediately as his lips crash into yours with a passion you realise haven’t experienced in a while. It’s not forceful though, it’s too perfect to be anything else. His hands snake around your body and support you - almost lifting you up into him, and you let him, your body turned to jelly under his touch. All the night’s eye contact, the silent messaging, the tension, has been squeezed into this single kiss and it just about knocks you off of your feet. Finally though, your lips separate, and you feel so dazed you can hardly form words.

“Carlos,” he says heavily.

“Huh?” you mumble, mind still processing.

“My name, my name is Carlos.”

“Oh, right, Happy New Year Carlos.”

[sincerelyverena]

Hello!:D

I see your request post and I want to ask, can you write the reader cockwarming Oliver while he was studying in the library? Anw please stay safe and hydrated <33

this is the first oneshot that ive written after my hiatus and i enjoyed every single second, thank you for your request, anon! light, love and peace 🤍

⟡⁺ WRITE MY WRONGS

. . . OLIVER QUICK X GN!READER ‘i've gotta right my wrongs with you is where i belong.’ @ajs-222 @michael-loves-chickens @surazim @soocore @fedyascoffin

inbox is always open to requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒a midnight study session with oliver takes a hot and heavy turn.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒smut ﹐kind of an established relationships ﹐sexual friends with benefits ﹐dom!oliver ﹐reader is kind of a goody two shoes ﹐in a library? have some decorum ﹐not sponsored by oxford

THANK YOU TO MY WONDERFUL BETA READER: @immortal101

Surprisingly, the library was dead silent at this time of night. In the light of finals approaching, you had expected for the media centre to be scattered with a few of your peers here and there. You were intent on studying in the comfort of your dorm, having loaned out the books you had needed, but Oliver had asked you to come around and help him out with some material he’d been struggling to learn. Begrudgingly, you agreed.

Ever since Oliver had accompanied your crowd — thanks to Felix — you had been one of the only ones in your social circle to have the dignity not to perceive him as a total outcast. Now, Oliver had ditched the glasses you considered to be cute and had taken on a completely new persona to fit in with the others. Maybe that was how he found the confidence to finger-fuck you in the back of the pub the other week.

That memory alone caused you to press your thighs together absentmindedly as you stalked the aisles of the library. The illumination was low, curtains drawn together at once to black out the moonlit sceneries of the college. You filled up your lungs with the scent of books, a couple of picks of parchment and leather you believed would help Oliver tucked into the fabric of the book bag around your shoulder. And you loved the smell of books.

Oliver was perched along the long wood of the table in the back of the library. Legs tucked underneath his chair. Papers are sprawled in front of him. He ran an anxious hand through the brunette tufts of his hair, scrutinizing the media in front of him with a careful eye.

“Oliver.” You prompted, causing his head to rise. The suppleness of his lips curved upward, almost foolishly at the side of you. “[Y/N].”

You approached him at once, wordlessly reaching into the book bag by your hip. You pulled out a few books of your choice on the topic Oliver was struggling with, placing each book atop the shiny, wooden table he leant over in a clean, neat pile. “Thank me later, Ollie.” You pronounce your words with each voluminous thud of the documents.

 “Oh, you didn’t have to.” Oliver raised a hand to scratch the back of his neck, he stared up through the fullness of his lashes. He seemed almost embarrassed that he needed your help.

You waved away his words, feeling slightly flustered at the sincerity of his words. “Don’t mention it, it’ll help you after all.” With a drag of your fingers, you pulled out the chair beside Oliver with a low creak of the legs towing against the ground. Sitting down, you incline a finger toward one of the notes Oliver had haphazardly jolted down. “And that’s wrong, by the way.”

Oliver leant back into the foundation of the chair behind him, stifling a groan by dragging a large palm down his face. He peeked out at you behind his fingers. “I think you need to reteach this to me from scratch.”

‘’ Well, that’s what I’m here for. ‘’ You were starting to realise how little Oliver actually knew. 

At once, you cleared your throat. You inclined a little bit forward, toward the cluster of papers that would make any educated person’s head spin. But you were accepted into Oxford for a good reason, and luckily for Oliver, this topic was a speciality of your own. Your words escaped you without hesitance, without doubt. 

You snatched one of the books you bought as a reference, eager to explain your viewpoints by pointing to various excerpts that Oliver could reference. But Oliver wasn’t looking at your hand, he was looking at you.

The book was slammed shut, and you caught your breath. “Any questions?”

Oliver stared at you, looking as if none of that information even set in. But you were none the wiser. His lips curved upward into a wide, sprawling grin as a husky laugh rumbled from the hue of his throat. “You know you’re brilliant, right?”

You laugh alongside him, shaking your head. Feeling giggly at the prospect of him complimenting you in that fashion.

You return back to the mini-lecture you were in the middle of, referencing the small sprawl of notes he had written prior. You inch over once more, shifting to the edge of your seat to reach his notebook placed specially over Oliver’s far side. Cursing a little under your breath, you lose your seating as you hear the chair shift under the curve of your ass.

That same ass that would’ve hit against the hard, wooden ground if a gentle arm didn’t steady the crook of your hips. Your fingers had met the flimsy paper of his notebook the moment you met the concealed heat of Oliver Quick’s bruising stare.

“You ought to be more careful, you know?” Amusement flittered through Oliver’s hues. His fingers, pressed against the curve of your hip, refused to fall away. It burnt through your skin, leaving you helpless to the feelings that circulate within. 

A soft, supple smirk crossed your lips. “All in the name of your education.”

“Maybe sitting on my lap would stop your fidgeting.” It came across as a joke, the way Oliver’s eyes crinkled after he said it. But you knew damn well, it was a suggestion. An offer, almost. The fashion in which he stared into you, a wordless plea. And the thought of moving your ass against the top of his thighs was ever so enticing to think about.

It was enough for you to rise yourself to your feet. “There’s only one way to find out.” You played along with his teasing nature, shuffling through the slight space between chair and table to reach him. Feeling the warmth of his legs through his pants. You shivered.

Oliver watched you intently as you plopped yourself atop his legs, his arms snaking around your hips to hold you in place. To place you against him. A foreign warmth filled you up, from head to toe.

“There you go,” Oliver whispered in the crook of your ear, the sound was throaty. Deep. Intense. He adjusted himself against you, shifting your body weight atop him as he got comfortable. And in the midst of that, you felt a familiar sensation press willingly against the centre of your cheeks.

You turned your head toward him at once, ignoring the blooming heat in your stomach. “Oliver!”

“What?” God, of course, he was smirking. 

You continued to scold him. “We’re supposed to be studying.”

“Or maybe as a bit of motivation,” Oliver purposefully lowered his voice once more, although nobody was really intending to walk foot into the study sanctuary at one in the morning. His eyes were filled with the similar inferno you felt ablaze in your core. “I could slip my cock inside of you and let it fill you up until we’re done.”

A soft groan escaped your lips, looking quite unamused with Oliver thinking with the wrong head. But the idea did seem bearable, as long as it wouldn’t get in the way of you playing teacher. You stared as he watched you for a couple of beats, unable to allow your mouth to quirk upward.

“Fine, I’ll play.” You turned back around, hearing Oliver’s chest rumble with another laugh.

The sound is cut off with the sharp hue of his flier unzipping. Pure, honeyed anticipation burnt underneath your skin as you felt Oliver’s hands return to your hips. Fingers rubbing soft circles into the curve of your skin before pushing down the thick fabric of the sweatpants you had lazily tossed on the half hour prior. 

“So,” Oliver drawled, with an air of casualty, as if he wasn’t preparing to sink his cock inside of you. His fingers pushed down the undergarments you wore, the cold air slapping against bare skin. ‘’ Where did we leave off? ‘’ “Right.” Your words fumbled slightly at the feel of his hands, guiding your hips to buckle upward. You could feel the heat of his length press against your entrance, and you bit down on your lip. Reminding yourself to focus.

Eyes cast upon the books strewn before you, you had continued to speak. Even as Oliver gradually sunk himself into you. You lowered your head slightly, back arched the slightest as you willed to take him further. Oliver was warm. He was perfect.

“God, you fit me so perfectly.” You praised his length without shame. You tore your gaze away from the stack of books before you, feeling Oliver’s knuckles rake against your bare hips. Trailing. Teasing. You’re unable to help but shift yourself against him, mewling at the pleasure that came with it.

Before you could even consider moving again, Oliver’s knuckles extended to long, nimble fingers. He grabbed you at once, holding you still and in place. A grin was visible on his face, eyes crinkling, taking amusement out of your desperation. “I didn’t say you could move yet, [Y/N].”

“You’re such a fuckin’ tease.”

Oliver continued to trail his knuckles against your hips. “I know.”

You continued to take him in. Hot and hardened inside of you. And studying while being stuffed with Oliver Quick’s cock was a different game completely. You had attempted to continue to explain the concepts to him, who listened intently as if he wasn’t balls deep inside of your heat that second. Your voice wasn’t a stranger to shaking or drifting off, resisting the urge to buck yourself against him. To seek the pleasure hung over your head.

Whenever you went long enough into a quiet, pleasurable silence, Oliver would do the same thing. His knuckles raked toward the top of your ass lightly before his palm clasps over one cheek, squeezing it between his fingers threateningly. But this time, he leant over, mouth at your ear. Then your cheek. Lips hot as Oliver pressed wet kisses down your skin, reaching a patch at your neck that made you involuntarily moan. Fingers curling around the book you held.

“I think you’re in need of a study break, arent’cha?” Oliver mumbled into your skin.

“We’ve barely gone over the —”

Before you could even finish your protests, Oliver reached forward to shove the material on the table to the floor in a flurry of papers and books. He snatched your waist in between his two, large palms, standing to his feet and keeping his length deep within you as he swept you off his lap. You slam against the wood of the table, to the point you can almost feel it splinter underneath your body. Then Oliver pulled out.

Before he drove back into you.

WORD COUNT: 1.8K MASTERLIST REQ ME!

[ermespop]

Requests you say? Hmmm

How about something platonic with Yamaguchi or Ennoshita? Or any of the Haikyuu guys you feel comfortable writing for. I'm talking like almost sibling behavior less the fights and bickering, maybe the reader has always been by his side and functions as an opposite force to his negativity by cheering him up on her own way

I suck at asking for things, sorry /⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\

YamaguchixReader (platonic)

warnings: idk, cringe? what's the pace of this? it's so empty Im upset with it

the day was nice outside, the sun was dimming and it was warm, there was still time before it got cold. school was over, now everyone was going home. the day was nice outside, until a little group of boys had to ruin it.

"hey, ugly-face, where's your bodyguard? did he get tired of you?" one of the snotty brats said.

well, thank goodness tsukki wasn't there to hear that. too bad he wasn't there to tell them off either...

"that's... that's n—" Yama cringed at his own quietness, can't even defend himself, wow. how useless.

"hey now, why don't ya ask me that? I'm standin' right 'ere." a kid spoke up to defend him.

'ah, what?'

she had a flowy, flowery blouse and some fresh shorts, looking like the little lady she is. and with the confidence to defend someone in need like a little lady would.

"what're ya? dumb? I'm telling ya t'leave him alone!" she ran after the kids, kicking up dirt and barking at them. she stood with her chin high, proud of scaring the meanies; very lady like.

'is she crazy or something?' the green haird boy sweatdropped. 'she better not have rabies… that's something tsukki would say'.

"hey, sparkly!" she turned around and faced the shy boy.

'is that supposed to be me?' "h-hello, please don't bother me too" the boy hid behind his backpack.

she tilted her head a little too far to the right, it looked like it was a bout to drop to the floor. "what's yer name, or do ya like sparkly?"

with curious eyes he peeked from behind his bag, "i'm yamaguchi tadashi".

"nice t'meet ya, dashi" her smile was so bright he thought he would go blind.

"um, yeah," he smiled, letting his bag fall to his feet. "nice to meet—"

"PRINCESS!" a man called from outside the school gates, "c'mon, we gotta run to surprise mommy!"

"ah, sorry," she bowed and started walking backwards. "see ya tomorrow, dashi!" she yelled, waving at her new friend.

author's note: I'm sorry I got carried away and ended up writing something completely different from what you asked😢 AKDHAKDHAK not that I like this piece of poopoo anw this took way longer than it should have for something I'm not satisfied with :'|

[chibi-celesti]

Interlude 02-Book 01: Dia Rosa Rudje-Ar Prasrity Fowrlle

Ar Prasrity Fowrlle Gfine anw Revatail

(A moment of Peace)

Synopsis: On the eve of the Unbirthday Party, Meryu tries to bide her time to calm her soul and worries over what may happen next. What she didn’t know was that someone else was watching her from the shadows.

A special interlude dedicated to a moment between two people who don’t know each other yet, but one day will soon.

~Twisted Tonelico~

Shortly after returning to Ramshackle, Meryu and the boys settled down for the evening. While Ace and Deuce passed out on the sofa, Meryu was still awake; opting to spend time outside to calm her frayed nerves. 

The evening was cool, calm even. Meryu still couldn’t believe this is what the land beneath felt like. She remembered her guardian Shurelia telling her tales of what their world used to be like back in Platina. Those were things she could only imagine in her dreams back then. But now, seeing it and feeling the caress of the wind on her body was therapeutic. And real.

But then there's tomorrow…

Tomorrow will be my first Unbirthday Party here. And my first formal event without Lady Shurelia to guide me… she thought to herself. I wonder how she would react to me being in an all boy's academy? A smile appeared on her face. She'd probably have a panic attack and tear Mr. Crowley a new one.

She laughed to herself at the image. A fiery, livid Shurelia shouting at the magnanimous Head Mage, and two seconds away from ‘Ka-Boom'-ing the man to bits.

As Meryu continued to think about her guardian and only true family, she started to whisper a little tune to herself.

(~Lyrnya grrena anw bale,

Bautifal ciel burle~)

She swayed with the wind, whispers turning into humming to herself without a care, not minding if a soul were to see her and mock her for her naivete.

(~Was yea ra chanti fowrlle en hartes grlanza fhyu~)

(~Hyma en chs fedyya bexm, iasien sol dea houd frawr chiess herr~)

The longer she swayed with the wind, the more it enticed her to dance with it; the more she danced with the wind, the more her humming became singing.

~Mea eux na idesy sor, den~

~Was yea ra vit yora riura won manafaln dor~

(~Was yea ra vit waath oz hartes dor.~)

She sang of beautiful days, warm and hopeful tomorrow's. Not just for herself but for the world. It was something she always did.

~Mea oriye na idesy sor, dea~

~Was yea erra reen yora hynne tek manafaln ciela, an mean.~

(~Was yea erra reen dilete oz hartes ciela~)

Her little soliloquy was a performance that enamored the trees, the wind, and a few critters that traversed the campus. All either accompanied her in her song or swayed to the melodious waves of each lyric.

Her performance even caught the attention of someone who hid in the shadows. They have never met this young woman before, but it felt as though they have. Something about her voice sounded familiar to them, but they couldn't quite put their finger on it.

Curious yet mesmerized by Meryu's dance and voice, they felt like they were placed under a spell, but they did not fear. In fact, they loved it. A sudden sense of Déjà vu sent shivers throughout their body.

The shadowy figure couldn't help but hum along with the young woman's song. A part of them longing to reach out and dance with her like the wind is. But their feet were rooted to the spot; they couldn't move at all, afraid of disturbing her performance and scaring her off.

And just as she was at the precipice of her song, someone else's voice cut through and disturbed the peace. The stranger quickly hid themselves further into the shadows at the same time.

“Minion, it's late! We can't miss the Unbirthday Party, remember?”

Meryu halted in her steps, turning to the culprit that called her name, annoyed she was disturbed. “I'll be there in a moment, Grim!” Once Grim was back in the Dorm, she sighed in lament. He's right, I need to get some rest… She starts walking back to the front entrance, giving the stars one last glance before walking in the building.  I hope you're ok, Lady Shurelia.  I miss you so much…

In her ascension to the door, Meryu had sung to herself one more time.

~Wee yea ra hymme yanje revm,

Sol ammue zaarn, wi innna near burle.~

~Wee yea ra hymme yanje revm,

Yor irs, wi dor yeal folten…~

She closed the door, ignoring the silent tears falling down her face.

‘So this dorm is now inhabited?’ The stranger thought. They felt disappointed that their favorite place on campus is no longer vacant. They inwardly sighed. ‘Looks like I will have to find another place for myself.’

In a blink of an eye, they vanished  with not a single trace of their presence left behind, except for a glimmer of glowing green lights.

And the echoes of the Reyvateil’s lullaby from their lips.

[audreyhardmeyerbloh]

Introduction to BLOG

People learn something new every day. But what's changed is that learning doesn't just happen in a classroom anymore. Learning is facilitated on so many different online platforms, spheres, and digital media. Last week I learned color theory on TikTok. This week I discovered the Third Wave of Feminism on YouTube. And when I was a kid I was “taught” racist, sexist, and violent concepts from some of Disney's classic movies.

Learning doesn't always have to be intentional. Understanding the world around us comes from consuming what we read, watch, and listen to, specifically digital media. Movies are classic forms of media that teach us about ourselves, people around us, and societal implications as a whole. Not all media is created to benefit the impressionable minds of those who watch it. In this blog I will be talking about how classic Disney movies perpetuate cycles of  racism, sexism, and violence via digital media.

 Generation after generation, young children are continuously exposed to timeless Disney films through digital streaming. These Disney films have had a significant impact on my and other worldviews and perceptions, both positively and negatively.  However, ideas and concepts that children absorb form the foundation of their adopted beliefs, which ultimately define who they are. Normalizing discriminatory or stereotypical perceptions as a child can be harmful to the child's future and others around them. As Anwe Karma says in a media analysis, "children in their formative years, gravitate toward characters they identify with the most... fairy tales become a vessel through which children discover the intricacies of proper conduct" (Karma, 2023). If our core internalized beliefs are created from racist depictions from Disney movies, this creates quite the issue.

This can be extremely harmful to newer generations if intolerant media is continuously shown to young children. How will these cycles ever break if these “classics” are consumed year after year? Some Disney movies perpetuate inequality, and young children internalize these actions and behaviors. As Natalie S Wellman says in her analysis, “ those in media are gaining a wider platform to influence others... companies use the fictional world to influence the real” (Wellman, 2020). The Disney corporation is using fictional characters, princesses, and plots to influence how we create perceptions of right and wrong, normal or abnormal, etc.

We have grown up with the same ideas, concepts, and princesses that our parents and grandparents did. Some of these themes and concepts contribute to harm, violence, and false narratives that must be rejected and never again be accepted. Digital media has the potential to purposefully or inadvertently perpetuate racism, sexism, and other forms of discrimination by allowing them to resurface in the minds of impressionable young people. We need to produce and distribute inclusive digital content and representative of all people, regardless of identity, to break this cycle of exclusivity. One way to do this is to address the false narratives that have been created in these classic Disney movies (1930s-1990s) and explain how they can negatively impact viewers.

Citations:

Wellman, Natalie S. (2020) "Disney's Portrayal of Women: An Analysis of Female Villains and Princesses," Concordia Journal of Communication Research: Vol. 7, Article 4. DOI: https://doi.org/10.54416/SEUY6814  Available at: https://digitalcommons.csp.edu/comjournal/vol7/iss1/4   

Karma A, Bhad A (2023) "Disney Setting and Changing Gender Stereotypes," Global Media Journal, 21:66. 2-Dec-2023, DOI: 10.36648/1550-7521.21.66.402

[notafunkiller]

hello just wanna talk and ask… is it crazy that i miss sebstan?😂💀 i know IT HASNT BEEN A WEEK SINCE SDCC AND IM CRYING FOR MORE UPDATES

now i know what this fandom felt when he stops being active in sm.

anw i cant wait for a different man + the november (comic con?) thingy but idk if at the time im going to be active in this fandom as i prob gonna be super busy around that time.

ive been feeling this way ever since before the sdcc😂 but i thought it was just some girly hormones BUT NO! everyday i woke up hoping something to pop up and its always surprising or nothing🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

anwys i have a theory… so apparently yesterday (my local time) was hngd (i actually dk what that is bcs im a loser) but its actually happy national girlfriend day… now what if she posted the flowers bcs of hngd (but she did it a day early) JUST WHAT IF?! brain rot theory here… bcs it doesn’t make sense she posted random flowers (unless she did it to lure people that seb is the one who gave her bcs of the sudden pregnancy rumours or number 1 in Netflix congratulations or whatevs)

just theory bcs theres a lot of hngd in my story ig😂 and i was like “WAIT? WHAT IF SHES REFERRING THE FLOWERS TO THIS?” bcs yknow her :) shes brewing smth there but cant really say for sure righttttttttt~

but if i were to guess, the pregnancy baiting seems a lot more fitting bcs she posted a pic of her tumtum and then mentioning abh then the flowers and lastly the sport pregnancy news. R U W ME?!😂😂 (ps where does the pregnancy rumour even starts? like why and how AND WHY?🤡)

hihi and goodnight and im sorry for the random exaggeration talks there (i have nobody to talk to abt this fandom)

Hi, it's totally understandable to want content.

She wanted to ride the wave of attention after comic con (esp since people talked A LOT about Flo and him) It's always a schedule with them/her. Flowers, dogs etc

I'm glad you feel free to talk here.

[maximotts]

hiya motts!

i wanted to share a scenario ive been thinking abt lately,, and it's just where you and wanda build a pillow fort together and just snuggle or read books together inside, i honestly think it's pretty cute and cozy & i couldn't stop thinking abt it recently hshshswhs 💞

anw thx for listening! i hope ure havin a great day <33

(also i was also wondering if i could be 🍊 anon by any chance if thats fine with u !)

HELLO IM HERE WITH THE FIC! Thank you lil orange for this adorable little idea and I'm sorry I've taken so long to reply!! Again this is unedited because I started typing words and didn't stop so uhm.. we'll just go with it

words: 1.5k

wanda maximoff x reader; fluff, just some coziness with our fave post-AoU gal, emo Wanda, pillow forts, mentions of HYDRA/Wanda's sad childhood, crushes no one will admit while Pietro plays the background matchmaker

“I can make whatever fort you want in two seconds, you know? I could build it in front of you even…” Wanda trudged down the stairs with more pillows from who knows where, grabbing as many as she could because you’d insisted on maximum pillowy softness, whatever that meant. 

You popped out with a gasp, your head poking from under a disorderly pile of blankets and couch cushions. “That’s not fun, Wanda! Doing it ourselves is the only way to go.” Wiggling out from under the mess you’d made in the living room, you took some of the pillows from her… only to dump them in a new pile next to your current one. “Gotta stay organized for the build!”

Wanda huffed at the sight, wondering how you were going to make sense of your building materials, if you could really call them that. She let you pull her along, but as you started placing cushions here and there, Wanda just stood still, admittedly lost on how to even start. 

After a few minutes of waiting around, you realized Wanda hadn’t taken even one step and you frowned at her. “It’ll go faster if you help me.”

“I don’t really…” The brunette dropped her eyes to the blankets at her feet, rubbing her arm nervously. She’d never really made blanket forts; they were on TV and she knew the general idea, but growing up orphaned in a war-torn country meant she was lucky if she and Pietro had one single blanket from night to night. With HYDRA, there was no such thing— life was only her cell and the experimentation chamber until she got her powers and once she did, she was watched 24/7, given things to hold only when Strucker was around to instruct her what to do with them. She hadn’t been in America long and after the Ultron incident, she had to keep a low profile which meant going out, making friends, exploring her new surroundings was off limits. 

Pietro was great at making friends with his new teammates, gaining their trust quickly, but Wanda had been in their heads and for that they were rightfully wary. Not mean, but she didn’t get invited to outings nearly as much as her twin— being mostly quiet didn’t help, not when she preferred sitting and watching others instead of taking the leap and joining in. For all her powers, an outgoing nature was not one of them; that was always Pietro’s thing. You were his friend first too, hanging out with him at meals and after missions, but unlike most of the others, you talked to her as well. Even if you found her without her silver-haired brother, you still waved at Wanda or sat next to her and asked about her day.

And so she started gravitating towards you as well, seeking you out if she wanted company or a break from Pietro’s non-stop rambling. Sometimes the two of you were silent and others Wanda opened up, asking you questions about your home or teaching you about hers. That’s how you learned just how little she’d had the opportunity to do and when you’d resolved to give her those experiences, no matter how small. 

Which is also how you’d become familiar with the look Wanda wore now, unsure and retreating in an attempt not to appear upset or uncomfortable.  You weren’t a mind reader, but somehow in your short time together, you’d grown to know her well. “There’s no right way to do it, I promise. Here, you can help me lay the foundation.”

You took her hand and brought her around to the half-constructed ‘foundation,’ a layer of thick couch cushions Wanda recognized from Natasha’s room. “Isn’t she going to miss these?”

“We’re going to give them back. Also, that woman never rests. I doubt she’s ever used that couch,” You shrugged, leaving out the part that this was not your first time taking your teammate’s furniture. Wanda thankfully didn’t argue, instead following your lead and laying out various cushions until it reached out multiple feet from the edge of the couch. “Now, true building begins!”

Wanda helped you arrange stacks of pillows into makeshift walls, drape sheets over sides of the couch, even had the great suggestion of grabbing a long baton from the training room for a true tented feel. She didn’t realize she was smiling until her face hurt, tossing a square pillow at you as you joked about her lopsided drapery skills. “You said there’s no right way! This is my way and I think it looks… just fine!” 

“Right right, we’ll see how long it stays up then.” She finally understood what you meant when you said maximum softness as you started throwing pillow after pillow against the floor of the fort, making such a thick place to lay on, Wanda was afraid she’d never want to get up when she sat down. 

The two of you took a step back to gaze upon your handiwork and truly, Wanda couldn’t help but feel proud at what she’d done. “Building it ourselves was fun.”

You turned to look at Wanda, her small smile as she looked at the fort making your heart swell. Seeing her happy, even if it was just for an afternoon, was always the highlight of your day especially if it was something you’d done together. “Told you so! The most fun part is enjoying the fruits of our labor though,” You grabbed the snacks the two of you had chosen earlier and ducked under the fort cover, settling in with Wanda right on your heels.

She chose to sit right next to you, close enough that she could promptly lean her head on your shoulder. Thankfully Wanda remembered the remote and the movies you’d planned to watch because as she toggled through the various screens, you were still frozen with the shock of her laying against you. She smelled so sweet, you wanted to cry or hug her or anything to keep her close like this forever. So many weeks ago, Wanda made a passing comment on affection, casually mentioning how she valued physical touch in reminding her loved ones that she cares. When you pointed out how little you’d seen her touch anyone, Wanda’s face instantly fell.

My only family is Pietro and the others, well… I don’t think most of them trust me enough to let me close to them, much less touch or hold their hand. 

You’d assured her then you weren’t afraid of her, that you would never shy away from her for something meant to be a kind gesture. She said thank you and that she appreciated your honesty and that was that before she switched to a completely different topic of conversation. Since then, you’d noticed every time Wanda squeezed Pietro’s arm or gave him a hug after returning and while you understood her hesitancy, you found you were a little jealous. You wanted to know what it felt like to be on the receiving end of Wanda’s affection, yearned for it even, but you’d never voice such a thing.

So this, today, whatever resting her head on you meant, you felt as though you could melt right into the floor. Pietro made you swear not to say a word, but learning of how much she talked about you, that she didn’t think you were annoying or pushy, but instead a welcome comfort, was the most pride you’d ever felt in your time being an Avenger. If you could spend the rest of your days showing Wanda your favorite things and helping her find some of her own, you’d be overjoyed. 

“Your thoughts are loud again.” Wanda looked at you quizzically, turning her head to search your expression.

“W-What—” She swore not to read anyone’s mind without permission anymore; but she’d told you if someone thought really intensely, she couldn’t help but sense it. Just like hearing a conversation as you walk down the street, it wasn’t something she could stop. This wasn’t the first time Wanda had called you out for your loud brain, mortifying each time you realized your feelings for her were overwhelming again. 

She never told you what she could hear, scared you might panic if you were aware she could particularly tell whenever your thoughts uttered her name. It was fine, she could wait patiently until you were ready to tell her about your crush yourself and she could say she liked you right back. “If you’re thinking about my side of the fort, don’t. Shut up and watch the movie.”

[yonemurishiroku]

So I was gonna just post this myself but then I thought: nah it's s mermaid au so it has to come via yone's ask. that's the law

Nico is a prince, Jason is his deeply devoted naval captain. One day Nico is sailing out on the seas and he disappears. Jason obviously is distraught, and goes to look for him. (Idk why he wasn't with him in the first place maybe he had a cold or smth) After many months he finds the spot Nico's ship was last seen and he is lulled beneath the waves by the voice of a siren. This siren (Percy) had taken Nico and was keeping him in his underwater palace, and Nico had fallen in love with him. To twist things further, Jason realises Siren!Percy is actually his first love whom he lost at sea 15 years ago.

Idk if it ends with tragedy or polyamory or both. Do they break the spell on Percy or do they all become fish people ever after? I don't know but I thought you might enjoy <3

From Feb 6 to May 20 because it's Mermay!!!

No that's just a lie I'm so sorry I got carried away. adksadkasda pls know that my love's present even when I'm not. 😭😭😭

Firstly just let me say a million thank yous because I indeed love this. Well I've always loved Perjasico. Moreso when it's just a mess and none of them is requited---- I love you too so there's that

This prompt hides so many things. I'm delusional just looking at it.

I like the way you make it that Percico, compared to Jasico, appears very fabricated - idk if it's your intention but just let me explain.

As it is, I'm assuming Nico and Percy come together because Percy uses his siren magic (sinking his ship, luring him to the palace, etc...), which implies that the feelings might not be completely willing from Nico's side. There's the interference of magic - and I'm all for magical but untruthful love (hello Jason and Piper----)

On the other hand, let's just say that I prefer more complicated feelings, I think it should be that Percy only keeps Nico because he feels lonely. As in: his requirement for Nico's presence stems from loneliness, not fascination/infatuation. This implies that Percy isn't technically interested in Nico as a person - he's only using him to abate his painful isolation. That's why he's actively using his magic to bind him.

Now, to complicate things further (because I've always been in love with emotional baggage), I think Percy should become a siren because of the heartbreak over Jason.

Now, here's the fun part. What if Percy was a merman who - in a typical The Little Mermaid fashion - came to the land for Jason? Their story was of that Disney movie - a merman overcoming difficulties, signing a contract to reach his love. And they did have their happy ending!

But then that happy ending all broke up because of some reason. I have yet to come up with one but I just need it. Idk maybe there was a strife/ a misunderstanding/ idk! and Percy fell into the ocean, subsequently suffering the curse of heartbreak and becoming a siren - as the witch's way for the sea to reclaim its child. to say that the people on land are nothing good. only the sea would love you.

And now, 15 years later, it all came back to Jason, now with his new love in danger.

I'm vibrating with joy and I'm not even ashamed (I'm so sorry Jason).

But wait. All of this just makes Percy the antagonized antagonist of a Jasico story. Eh. Where's the fun in that? So anyway. I say we put Nico in as the reason for Jercy's breakup.

Yes, I'm having too much fun with this.

Anw. I have yet to come up with one logical reason.

I have some dramatic ones though - like maybe Nico had a crush on Percy when the two were together and something happened that made him the indirect catalyst to a fighting (bc here I'm assuming Jason has his own duties of serving the prince (or the royal family at least) which means Nico has some semblance of power over him)).

Jesus Christ this is all a mess and I'm still cackling. I haven't even touched the ending yet. I just want them all in pain and in blood. jasdhadka

Anyway this is everything I can come up with in the mean time LMAO Your idea never fails to enrapture me 😭🥺🥺🥺 I'm just too incompetent to reply on time askdjakdaajdsahk i love u with everything in me

[thenamesmobu]

"An Unfortunate Encounter"

[2/2] Forced Showdown

Devin's POV

DEAR GOD, I AM SO SORRY THAT THIS IS WEEKS LATE JXJSHD AAAAACCKKK WRITING FIGHT SCENES IS SO HARD. I'M SORRY CALLIX HDJDH. Aaaa I'm dividing this oart into two because holy CRAP is it tedious to write. Anw, CW//: this fic contains violence because y'know, two guys beating the life out of each other. Aa enjoy the fic<3

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A fight it is then.

BOOM! Beams of light were blasted towards the intruder. The blast had caused abit of an explosion, obscuring what aftermath it had cause. As the dusts settles, Devin waits to see the results of his attack, expecting the entity to stay there injured. The two large pair of hands shrunk by a little as they follow its user to investigate the aftermath.

...Nothing?

How is that possible? He could've sworn he hit the target precisely. Two people can't hallucinate the same thing, right? As the Narrator continues to observe the after math, he suddenly felt a gust of wind behind him. As he turned, he was kicked hard to the side and was knocked back quite the distance.

"Blasting someone who'd just arrived at your doorstep wasn't a nice way of greeting them" The intruder commented.

The Narrator grunted as he gets up on his feet, with his yellow orange hands assisting him. His orange hands disappeared after he was knocked back. "You..." He was irritated.

"Why don't we settle down and talk, hm?" The intruder offered with a sarcastic smile. "If you don't hurt me, then I won't hurt you–" Just then, he was cut off by the impact of a printer crashing into him. "Stop playing with your tricks!" The Narrator yelled, now with yellow hands added appearing with the yellow orange ones. He flexed his orange hands to summon an array of box cutters and aimed it at the intruder. With a snap of a finger, they were launched towards the target.

The intruder saw this and began to dodge his attacks as best as he could. Though he managed to get some bits of cuts here and there, he was mostly unscathed. "Aren't you a rude host?" The intruder taunted. He smirked at the sight of his attacker growing irritated after his taunt. The Narrator growled in frustration. The intruder's smirk grew wider as he stares at him. Though as he continues to do so, he could see an orange glow coming from behind him and hearing something charging up. The intruder evaded it again, but was hit by a punch as he dodged. The Narrator had done that on purpose to distract him.

Nathan was pushed back by the punch, but then he landed on a soft surface. For a split second, he thought he was safe, until he feels the soft surface squeeze him. It was one of the hands. It lifted him up and brought him near to Devin with his orange hands behind him. "You're a new one" He said. "I've never met any anomalies such as you, but that won't discourage me in getting rid of you" Right as he said his words, the familiar orange beams began to charge up. Nathan refused to go down so easely.

Devin suddenly felt his hand shaking for unkown reasons. It wasn't even a second later that his hand was pierced from the inside from the individual that he was holding. A dozen black inky spikes stabbed through his hand. The shocking pain sent waves through his body. All of the existing hands disappeared as Devin clutches his wrist and fell to his knees. He grunted in pain as he realized too late that he had let the intruder go. Looking up in horror, he was immediately kicked in the guts, he was thrown up in the air. Before he could process it, he was violently kicked again towards the ground.

The landing was horrible, he was slammed face first onto the concrete floor. "Are you done with your playfighting?" Nathan asked, he sounded exhasperated by this nonsense. "All I ask from you are directions, how hard is it for you to fufill such—" BAM. A hand slammed right from above Nathan's head. No warnings, no sound, it just appeared. Slowly and shakily lifting himself up from his rough landing, Devin stood up. "Don't think I would fall so easely..." Devin said in between his puffs of breath. Before he could continue, he took notice of the black substance oozing from his hand. It formed a puddle surrounding his hand, it then quickly formed what looks like a jaw and SNAPPED close. Devin shoutted in pain as he clutches his wrist again.

The hand that once smashed the intruder disappeared. Devin grunted in pain and fell to his knees, he slowly turned his gaze to in front of him with hate in his eyes. The intruder's body was contorted, broken, and damaged. It stood up, the cracks of its body bled out the black substance that bad chomped his hand. Its eyes were rolled back, it formed an eerie smile that drooled the same substance. As if repairing itself, the once bled out and spreaded substance that covered the floor began to gather itself and reformed the body as best as it could. Once all the goo were back together, it looked as if it was ready to fight again.

Oh, so they've made a new model I see

"FINE THEN! If THAT is how you want to play, then SO BE IT!"

The figure dashes towards Devin with its arms now morphed into a pair of scythes, ready to slice Devin into pieces. The man thought fast and clamped himself with a pair of hands to protect himself. He grunted at the harm recieved by the attack. Now airborne with a big hand lifting him up in the air, Devin is taking this fight far more seriously now. With one hand in front of him, he summons the orange hands behind him and blasted his Sunbeams at the intruder. It evaded the attack swiftly as it makes its way reaching Devin. With the yellow hands following the intruder in pursuit. It slammed itself onto the ground whilst forming a fist, a multitude of office drawers began to protrude from the ground and it chases after intruder. Inspite of the attacks being sent, it manages to full on leap into the air and took a hold onto the hand that was carrying Devin. It stabbed through one of the hands that clamped him up again.

Devin lost his balance and fell. His yellow hands cushioned his fall. When he looked up, he saw that his two other pairs were being tied up by the intruder. They were restrained by a web of the black substance. The web tightens, further constraining the hands. Devin feels the pain in his own hands and shouted again in pain. The two pairs then vanished. Whatever this thing was, it turned its attention back to Devin. He braces himself.

The intruder shoots its own arm like a grappling hook to reach him. Devin blocked the attack with one of his hands that he just summoned, making the Intruder reel it in and smashing itself againts it.

..

==================================

I'm so tired bruh💀

Nathan belongs to @callixspod