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centaurianthropology · 2 days ago

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Thoughts and Probably Overly-Thorough Analysis on Adaptation in ‘Murderbot’ Episodes 1 and 2

After discussing adapting a very internal book series to the screen in this post, I was excited to actually get to watch how the show tackled visually trying to tell the story, especially given that the episodes are only approximately 30 minutes long. That is TIGHT, and requires some tight scripting to establish the world, the characters, and the stakes.

So, non-spoiler thoughts above the cut: I liked it! I feel like the vibe is right, while changing some necessary things to better establish the world and several important concepts for non-readers. The first scene felt a little clunky as far as pacing/info-dumping/character intro went, but after that I do feel like the pace evened out into something I genuinely found enjoyable. There is a lot of effort to start defining cultures, concepts, and characters, and by and large I think it succeeded. I have a few changes I might question, but we’re way too early in the season for me to feel comfortable judging them. So overall, as someone who has read the books and enjoys seeing how things have to change to adapt to a different storytelling medium? I think it’s overall successful, particularly as the first two episodes are clearly the setup episodes (almost always the hardest episodes to really nail during adaptation).

If you’re looking for a 1:1 translation of the books, and if you’re really sensitive to changing the original, this is probably not going to be the show for you. Luckily, there are great books and audiobooks still there for you! But if you’re open to the changes, if your vision of these books and these character is flexible and you might even be excited to see a different version than the one already told, you will hopefully find it as fun a ride as I did.

By the end of episode two, particularly after some really great scenes featuring Alexander Skarsgard (whose portrayal of Murderbot completely won me over) and David Dastmalchian (Gurathin was always one of my favorites, and he is doing such interesting things to deepen the character), I am hooked.

More spoilery thoughts on the episodes below!

So, what do you have to do in intro episodes? You have to introduce characters, situation and, in speculative fiction, also concepts and setting. And for half-hour sci-fi episodes you’re almost certainly requiring a lot of shorthand, a lot of quick ways to get information across, a lot of info in as little time as possible. Both of the first episodes dropped at once, and that’s honestly good, because they more or less function as the introductory two-parter before the action kicks off.

The pacing is fairly leisurely, focused on introducing us to the world, the characters, and how they got to the place they are for the story. And even after the intros, I do feel like we will probably be devoting more time to giving some of the more underserved characters more expansive moments. But for having to do a lot in about an hour’s worth of television, I think they accomplished what they set out to do with fairly minimal clunkiness.

S1E1: ‘FreeCommerce’

That said the initial scene is a bit clunky. I get why it was necessary. We have to establish several big concepts in a hurry: what a SecUnit is, what they are generally used for, a sense of the Corporation Rim, and the hacked governor module that lies as the basis of the whole story going forward. Those are big sci-fi concepts to front-load, and I do think the scene could have maybe taken one more pass through editing to not make it feel quite so rushed (a few pauses and beats here and there would have been appreciated), but I also understand that the sense was likely to get the information dump over quickly to get on with the story. So, less elegant than one might hope, but not a deal-breaker by any means. Information conveyed, moving on.

The introduction to the PresAux team, in my opinion, goes a lot better. Largely because the writers play it out over multiple scenes and scenarios, giving us perspectives on these characters in three very different situations (at Port FreeCommerce, setting up their base, and facing their first real threat in the story). I think hard-cutting to the actual beginning of ‘All Systems Red’ briefly, before flashing back to show the team having to rent Murderbot is a great choice. We get the nod to the book-readers for the in medias res cold open of ‘All Systems Red’, while still going back to help the non-readers really understand who these people are and how they got here.

Playing up the hippie vibes of the team is smart visual and storytelling shorthand. We immediately get a good sense that they don’t quite fit in with the Corporation Rim. I love that it’s pointed out that their clothing is hand made, that there are patterns and textures, that there is jewelry and accessories and fun bags. Put that against the Company’s sales reps’ tech-bro synthetic aesthetics, and it works! My one wish would have been that the sales reps were all a little more artificially hot, to really drive home how unmakeuped and natural the PresAux team looks. But still, a solid contrast to let us know that these are not your usual group of spacefarers.

And it continues throughout negotiations, leading up to the humming consesus circle. Again, I think this is a great choice, because it serves multiple purposes all at once. We can feel how different their society is to the one that Murderbot understands, and even sets them apart from our culture, which unfortunately is a lot more like Corporation Rim culture than Preservation.

And this, I think, is why amplifying the hippie commune vibes of these characters is such a great choice: we as the audience are mostly in Murderbot’s head, so PresAux comes off the way that it initially sees them. They seem weird, quirky, naive. And yet, I believe that throughout the series both Murderbot and we will have our expectations challenged. Why can’t people be emotionally open, trusting, and kind, even be fairly far-out and kooky, and still be highly competent, intelligent individuals who manage to hold their own under difficult circumstances. In our own particular cultural moment, earnestness and emotional openness and the general hopeful and sweet vibes of the Preservation team is viewed as “cringe”. I think there are probably going to be some viewers who look at them and want them to be some cool, cynical rebel college communists rather than drum-circle having hippies who love decorating their surroundings, embroidering, and jewelry making. But I am very hopeful that, over the course of the season, we are shown how much their culture of openness, trust, and kindness can be a strength. We might be asked to confront our own biases against earnestness and ‘quirkiness’, which could blind us to how competent these people are, much as Murderbot itself was initially blinded.

The scene on Port FreeCommerce serves as our introduction to the vibes of at least some of the individual members of PresAux as well. Pin-Lee is running point in negotiations, so we know they’re someone who either has negotiating, business, or legal expertise (something that is difficult to establish through the rest of the story). Dr. Mensah is clearly in charge, but has no desire to make unilateral decisions. She takes other opinions into account (even if she ultimately disagrees with them), states her philosophical and moral objections to SecUnits clearly, but still acts as a realist: if they are going to do this survey, they have to cooperate with the Company. The hellish compromise.

But because the whole team essentially has to compromise their morals and ethics to do this survey the way that the Company is insisting it get done (renting what is essentially mandatory slave labor), she makes sure that her entire team agrees with her before signing their contact. We see that the team is very cooperative, but Gurathin is a bit of an awkward outsider (though immediately invited to be an insider by Ratthi, so we also get a sense of his open and warm nature), although at this point in the episode we don’t know why he doesn’t seem to fit as seamlessly as the others.

Moving to the survey planet and the team’s habitat is also a scene that pulls a lot of multilayered weight. It establishes all the important components of the habitat, it establishes Murderbot’s disgust of human bodily functions, and further expands on the team and how Muderbot responds to them. These are important moments because these are the initial impressions that will go on to be confirmed or subverted throughout the season. While it’s a bit on the nose to just do a verbal intro of everyone, it’s also a good use of time in a 30-minute episode to just get everyone’s names out there, base-level relationships, jobs, and at least one individual facet of them (Mensah has 80 million seven children, Arada and Pin-Lee are married but might be going through a bit of a rough patch, Ratthi flirts with All The Things, Gurathin is an augmented human, and Bharadwaj is hoarding soap for unknown reasons). We see them decorating their habitat, growing plants inside, playing music (again, more cultural establishment and ways of making both Murderbot and the audience initially confused by this bunch), and being … really sweet with one another, honestly. I felt immediately endeared to them and wanted to know more (why are you hoarding soap, Bharadwaj??). We get tiny character beats like Arada running up the stairs to call dibs on rooms, followed by Ratthi and Pin-Lee, and we get a moment of Pin-Lee pausing as they run past SecUnit to smile at it and seem to try to engage with it, if only briefly. We get Ratthi painting the habitat, and Gurathin fretting over if the paint washes off (they’re never getting their deposit back …).

We also get that Murderbot Does Not Want to Be Here, and see it grappling with humanity as a whole. It seems to find actual human relationships offputting and confusing, but loves the melodramatic interpretations of relationships on ‘Sanctuary Moon’. Reality makes it deeply uncomfortable, but unreality has become its comfort and what it mostly spends its time focused on. Through its avoidance of them and their oddities, we get a sense both of its fear of being found out, and we get a Chekhov’s gun of emotional attachment. It doesn’t want it, but it’s also deeply fascinated by its facsimile. And given how open and loving this group seems to be in general (with one notable and delightfully bitchy exception, love you Gurathin), we can already see how it’s going to be loved whether it wants to be or not.

The final establishment of character, situation, and place, occurs with the return to the cold open of ‘All Systems Red’, now armed with enough information to actually care at least somewhat when Bharadwaj gets attacked by the worm, as well as somewhat understanding why she and Arada might initially not listen to the SecUnit (they know it’s refurbished and all the rest of their Company equipment is a bit shit, they’re scientists excited about their work, the planet was rated safe).

The worm attack works fairly well. The CG of Murderbot jumping down feels a bit floaty, but as soon as it closes in for combat the visual effects are on point, and the pacing of the scene is frantic and fun. The use of the ‘Sanctuary Moon’ clip to give Murderbot a means of trying to comfort Arada to get her walking was great, and it was really this scene that sold me on Alexander Skarsgard as Murderbot. After hearing its snarky internal monologue, hearing the awkwardness of its actual attempts at a social interaction is delightful! Internal-Monologue!Murderbot is quippy and witty and sarcastic. Outside!SecUnit is awkwardness and social anxiety personified. And I feel like this disconnect can really hit home for a lot of people with bad social anxiety.

This is also important to establish the initial character reactions to a majorly tramatic and shocking moment for them. Arada goes into shock, but after that gets forceful and defensive of both SecUnit and her field of study (her lines about animals were actually great, and really set her apart in her own unique way).

Pin-Lee demands action. They can get loud and abrasive, and they clearly need to have control over their circumstances or they start to get very twitchy, but they are also caring, careful to correct themself when they say something that could be genuinely insulting.

Ratthi is concerned for everyone, but also has a base-level chill nature that means he can’t stay worked up to the intensity that others can. It makes him a sweet and leveling presence in tense scenes.

Gurathin has to be useful. He preps the medbay. He stays with Bharadwaj until she wakes up, monitoring her vitals and the equipment, even though there isn’t much he can do. But the equipment is his thing. The tech is his thing, and he’s going to make it work. Which is why, of course, he’s also the first to notice something is off with their SecUnit. Not only is he focused on the equipment (and at this point viewing SecUnit more as faulty equipment than a person), but we find out that he’s the only one of the team who might have actually had prior experience with SecUnits, and whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

Mensah stays cool under fire, staying at the heart of the discussion while taking everyone’s thoughts and feelings into account. She keeps everyone directed, focused, and calm. And then, when she is alone, she falls apart, slipping into a full-blown panic attack over almost losing Bharadwaj. And honestly? I love them giving her a panic disorder. Giving a character a panic disorder while still showing that she is competent, a respected leader, and tries her damndest to push through the panic to reassure and care for her people is a lovely touch.

With these three data points we actually get a good baseline for these characters in their element, out of their element, and in danger. They already feel human and flawed, despite not knowing any of them deeply yet. It also means that we’re already able to read more into their interactions than Murderbot is grasping quite yet. After all, it’s not great at this social thing, and it REALLY doesn’t get them and their culture.

This gets highlighted when it has to come out and talk to the team out of its armor. Again, Alexander Skarsgard does a fantastic job of radiating the incredible social anxiety of a being that would vastly prefer to only ever have to interact with other people safely behind a helmet. Being so exposed, with its feet and its face and its hands all on gangly display in one of the crew jumpsuits, is so clearly an existential nightmare to it. And the more most of the team try to thank it, welcome it, treat it like a person, the more uncomfortable it becomes. The speech is hilarious, but also a great bit of disconnect between its social comfort zone and that of the Preservation team. And in that moment, we realize that, even if some of them are trying to embrace it, to invite it to be more integrated with them, to give it a chance, they understand Muderbot as little as Murderbot understands them.

I have seen some people not liking part of this scene because Arada misgenders Murderbot by calling it ‘he’, but I think this is actually an important part of character building for her, Murderbot, and the story. My guess is that the writers are going to Rule Of Threes Murderbot’s pronouns, as many viewers have likely never encountered someone who uses it/its pronouns. This scene serves as the Introduction: Arada is well-meaning, but accidentally misgenders it because she is reacting to the face she saw (as many well-meaning people can do). Gurathin immediately and vehemently corrects her … for the wrong reasons. He’s thinking of their SecUnit as a malfunctioning piece of equipment, while Arada is thinking of it as a human, so he is dehumanizing it. They are both wrong, but also both a bit right. Arada is right that Murderbot is a person, but she is wrong in immediately defaulting to Human Male when she thinks of it. Gurathin is right in that it has no interest in being human and is, in fact, quite attached to being a construct and having no gender, but he’s wrong in treating it as equipment. I imagine that, per the Rule of Threes, this topic will be Reinforced later, and then Confirmed in a final scene so the audience learns its pronouns properly, even audience members who might initially struggle to use the right pronouns or do the same as Arada by seeing Alexander Skarsgard and making assumptions.

And speaking of assumptions, the audience also gets its first hint that perhaps ‘Murderbot’ wasn’t simply a cool name it plucked out of the aether, but ties much more intensely into the fragments of memories it has. We find out that SecUnits are routinely memory wiped, but a few seconds of something awful have leaked through. It sees people screaming, running, and dying, and it has the feeling it might be responsible. And despite its general misanthrope, it doesn’t seem at all pleased by this memory. If anything, it seems horrified. It’s one thing to idly speculate about killing humans, but another to realize it might well have already done precisely what all the SecUnits on the entertainment feeds do: go crazy and kill all its clients.

Introducing that memory and then having a one-on-one with Mensah is an interesting choice, because it adds layers to the scene. She is clearly trying to thank it again, maybe reach out, but she’s also trying to figure out what’s happening with her clearly incredibly anxious SecUnit. It’s terrified she suspects it’s hacked its governor module, but it’s also afraid she’s getting attached, which could be worse. After all, if it’s done something awful once, there’s nothing stopping it from doing so again.

The memories keep playing even after she leaves, and it says the same line it lifted from ‘Sanctuary Moon’ to itself: “Stay calm; it’ll be okay. You have my word.” It’s honestly creepy, and it’s clearly meant for the audience to read this initially as a threat to the scientists. But looking at it again, considering how traumatized it seems to be by this fragmented memory, the line takes on an almost self-soothing quality. Is it speaking to the people in its memory? The PresAux team? Itself?

The first episode does a workmanlike and occasionally inspired job of introducing us to all the things it needed to. And for all that this first episode is fairly direct in its storytelling, I feel like there are layers that will feel deeper on future viewing after the whole season is out.

S1E2: ‘Eye Contact’

The second half of our introduction to this show had two major jobs: reinforce themes from the first episode, deepen character beats, and get us to the point where the plot kicks off. The show does this by splitting the episode into two subplots that both kick off with the opening scene.

We open in the hopper, and it’s clear from the first scene that this episode will, at least in part, focus on better establishing and characterizing Gurathin. I’m hoping each of the characters gets this treatment going forward, because I really have to commend the episode for how much we learn about him throughout. There are a lot of layers at play, both in the writing of his character and in David Dastmalchian’s performance. This is a guy with anxiety to rival Murderbot’s, even if he can cover it better. He’s trying to keep their conversation out of its purview, because he doesn’t trust it. He doesn’t trust anyone outside of this small friend group he’s got, and he especially doesn’t trust anything coming from the Company. And even though the group thinks he’s being overly paranoid, it’s really nice to see how immediately they confirm that he has good reasons for not trusting the Company, and they all love him (and Ratthi calls him “Gugu”, which … chef’s kiss). We now get our first big hint of what makes him the outsider of the group: he’s not originally from Preservation. As we learn later, he’s almost certainly originally from the Corporation Rim, and whatever happened to him there has fucked him up badly.

Mensah once again comes in as the tempering force. She mentions her conversation with SecUnit. She wanted to see if she could trust it, and she FEELS like she can, but THINKS they should be cautious. I like this slight change from the books, as all the Preservation natives feel the immediate desire to trust and befriend SecUnit, but in this they are a bit more cautious because they aren’t certain if they can trust anything supplied by the Company.

I think this is the benefit of the visual medium expanding out the story. After all, while the audience is able to hear all of Murderbot’s internal snark, they only get the anxiety-ridden, clearly atypical external SecUnit. And even if some of them are now seeing it as a person, they are also seeing that it works for a deeply untrustworthy company that may or may not be deceiving them. So with the information and experiences they currently have, Gurathin is making a reasonable argument for leaving the SecUnit behind.

And from a storytelling perspective, it makes sense to leave it behind. It would be easy for this episode to feel like it was retreading the worm incident from the first episode, but having Mensah and Bharadwaj decide to go alone to survey the blacked out area in the map makes the stakes very different.

And speaking of, though we don’t get a lot of time with her, I am LOVING Bharadwaj. The actress is hilarious, particularly when the character is clearly high as balls on stimulants and pain meds is just fantastic. I also love her little moment later of academic one-upsmanship. Having known so many academics in my life, that was the most real moment of academic bullshit so far. I cackled!

Their plot is primarily used to reestablish Bharadwaj, and to get Mensah into a dangerous situation (and honestly, I don’t think she should have gone alone trying to climb a fucking mountain, but whatever). She ends up having another panic attack, and it’s a good beat to see her trying to force her way through it. She doesn’t want to let the team down. Even while she’s spiraling she’s trying to be so supportive and encouraging to her team. I like that she doesn’t handle this situation perfectly. I like that she struggles and sort of fails, and still keeps pushing. One of the things the show has been consistently good at is giving the characters very relatable flaws. She takes her role so seriously she’s going to put herself through hell to see it done, all while trying to mask how bad it’s getting in front of the people she cares about. This is a good way of reinforcing what we learned about her in the last episode, and setting up an emotional arc for her.

And speaking of setting up emotional arcs, let’s talk about Murderbot and Gurathin, or what I like to call The Best Scenes in the Show So Far Holy Shit.

The scenes between them function on so many levels: comedy, drama, character development, worldbuilding. We have it all right here! Major concepts that will be important later (ComfortUnits, Corporation Rim vs Preservation culture) are established quickly and with deliberate discomfort for both characters. Gurathin weaponizes Murderbot’s deep discomfort with eye contact and social interaction to try to interrogate it and figure out what’s gone wrong, but it doesn’t really go the way either of them wants it to go, because both of them are socially awkward disasters; both of them have conflicting motivations and desires; both of them don’t understand one another and understand one another way, WAY too well.

This leads to scenes that can be interpreted on multiple levels, all while setting up some meaty stakes. Both characters are trying to do multiple things at once, and it’s really fun to see how well or poorly they succeed. Gurathin definitely set up the scene to be at least a bit intimidating … and promptly fumbles it when he realizes that his chair isn’t a swivel chair and he can’t turn and do a cool reveal, but instead drags it around, scraping along the floor. And honestly, part of him not only can’t be intimidating, but doesn’t want to be. Part of him wants to understand this incredibly awkward being he’s now sharing space with. There is a weird earnestness, almost a stream-of-consciousness strangeness to the way Gurathin is written in this scene that I adore, and that David Dastmalchian absolutely nails. He seems even weirder than Murderbot in his own way.

They’re both such messes, and both ready to needle the shit out of one another. Gurathin, especially, is clearly trying to provoke reactions, to test boundaries. It’s almost like he’s conducting a stress test on a computer system, but with a sentient being instead, and his life potentially on the line. He questions Murderbot about its capacity for emotion, for connection, by comparing it to ComfortUnits, but because, again, this is an interrogation conducted by and to the two most cripplingly awkward beings on the hab, it half comes off like he’s hitting on it.

And then there’s the reason for the episode title, and something that is both a deeply dirty trick on Gurathin’s part, and an absolute red flag waved in front of a bull. He orders (likely suspecting that this SecUnit might be capable of disobeying orders) that they maintain eye contact throughout this interaction.

And I think that red flag in front of a bull is the other level he’s trying to work at in this scene. This is a systems stress test, trying to tease out what is happening and where what he sees as a malfunction lies. But he’s also painting himself as a target. He’s pulling out every nasty trick in the book to make sure that, if this SecUnit really is rogue and really is going to go on a killing spree, it doesn’t go after anyone but him. Because as was established in the opening scene: Gurathin may be a paranoid dick, but he loves his weird extrovert friends so, so deeply, and he would absolutely die to protect them.

Because Gurathin, above all things, needs to feel useful.

Murderbot is trying to dodge questions, trying not to give anything away. It’s trying to bear up under the sheer painful amount of eye contact required, and it’s trying to get Gurathin back (you make me look you in the eye? I’ll make you see your friends making out with one another!). And the funniest thing is that they’re basically just inflicting on the other what they already find uncomfortable. Again and again, they parallel one another. It was established twice last episode and hammered home now.

And at the same time, there is a weirdly heart-to-heart quality to this interaction. Because as much as Gurathin is trying to be a hardass, and as much as Murderbot is trying to shut this interaction down as quickly as possible, Gurathin is also just trying to understand, and Murderbot can’t help but explain itself a bit. It’s the awful moment of sympathy with someone you loath because they’re far too much like you, but you just keep reaching out. And that layer of earnestness, of accidental vulnerability on both of their parts, adds such a lovely, bizarre tinge of sweetness to what is otherwise a fairly brutal encounter for both of them.

The choices in this scene are what sold me on the show, from the storytelling to the writing to the performances. The actors fucking kill this scene. Alexander Skarsgard gets to do a lot of subtle facial expressions as the internal snarky narration struggles to emerge under its facade of calm, and its deep levels of social anxiety keep kneecapping it from fully extracting itself from the conversation or getting the upper hand. And David Dastmalchian brings all the conflicting motivations, all the half-aborted gestures of hostility and kindness and awkwardness and paranoia through to make Gurathin feel desperately, earnestly human. I really can’t say enough about their performances; they bounce off one another fantastically.

And of course, these two storylines dovetail at the end of the episode as Mensah finds the Alien Remnant (really cool use of visual effects there!), almost gets eaten by a worm, and everyone realizes that either the maps are glitching out due to the Remnants’ influence, or someone is deliberately hiding them. They try to confer with the other survey team currently on the planet, a small group from a company called DeltFall, but something is wrong. And as the episode closes with bodies strewn over the darkened DeltFall habitat, I think we’re about to see the plot kick into gear.

Conclusions

So, what did I think about the first two episodes overall? They were solid. I want more establishing time with quite a few of the characters (Bharadwaj, Ratthi, Pin-Lee, and Arada especially), but episode two in particular made me confident this show is going fun places. Because the scenes between Murderbot and Gurathin were added for the show; this is new material, and it’s exactly the sort of thing I was hoping we would get from an adaptation. Those scenes struck the perfect blend of humor and danger and sincerity and anger that I read in the books. That was what convinced me that the show really could pull off something new and fun and fresh both as an adaptation of a series of books I enjoy, and as a piece of science fiction media that feels defiantly hopeful and colorful and weird in the face of a fairly bleak and depressing sci-fi television landscape.

Like I said before, doing set-up episodes is incredibly hard to do gracefully in television, and doing sci-fi setup where you’re having to explain places, politics, and concepts as well as characters and situations, is even more challenging. And you’ve got two half-hour time slots to do it in. And with those limitations in mind, I feel like the show currently ranges from Gets-the-Job-Done-Inelegantly-but-Fine to Holy-Shit-I-Want-to-See-More-of-That-Right-Now.

I want to get to know all these weirdos on the same intense level I now feel we know Murderbot and Gurathin, and I feel like we will. Will it be the perfect show? No. It will not. Have I still watched both of these episodes multiple times, and am I super excited to see DeltFall and how much things are about to go to shit? Oh hell yes. I am so excited!

So, yes. There are my scattered thought about this adaptation, where it mostly succeeds and occasionally feels clunky. The cast is charming and occasionally electric, and I am eager to see more.

#murderbot #muderbot tv #thoughts and analysis of the first two episodes #short version: I really enjoyed this #particularly parts of the second episode #and I can’t wait to see where the show goes from here

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twstfanblog · 3 days ago

Note

Can I request Jamil just getting loved on by your Yuu? His repressed ass needs it. Here, get your hair played with. Take a nap on your girls thick ass thighs. Listen to your weird music playlist. Chill tf out

Relaxed Against Your Will

Jamil x Yuu (OC)

Kalim didn't text Yuu often. One part was from Jamil, who claimed it was a distraction that quickly spiraled into something horrible, caused by their joint stupidity. But it was mostly because Kalim just liked telling people things in person. Kalim still texted, but it was more of a useless alarm that he was en route to their location with news. So, Yuu wasn’t all that surprised when her phone chimed ‘Hey Macareana!’ and Kalim appeared. The housewarden had quickly taken her aside, looking around as though he were about to give her secrets of his country’s royal family, which only happened one time, surprisingly enough. Instead, he had asked a simple request of her.

“Jamil’s been…busy lately. I think he needs to take a break, but he doesn’t listen to me when I tell him he can have the night off to relax. I even offered to order dinner in for the dorm and then he got really offended-”

Yuu held her hand up, already nodding her head. The complex dance of getting Jamil to unclench his jaw was one she knew all too well, “No worries, Kalim. I know what to do. Just…Don’t let anything happen to you before next week rolls around. Because I think he’d explode.”

“Yeah…We don’t want that, right?”

“No, Kalim. No, we don’t.”

“Got it.”

So, Yuu did her normal routine of attempting to seduce Jamil into relaxing. Flirtation, mild bribery, and even ‘Pixie-Style’ trickery as Malleus called it. Nothing had worked and the weekend was fast approaching. After another failed attempt, promising Jamil prime cuddles and thigh pillow naps if he came to Ramshackle, Yuu had decided to use more…dire means.

At the midpoint of the NRC basketball team's practice, Yuu had walked into the gym with a smile on her face. Jamil noticed her, sighing but jogging over to greet her with a brief kiss and an annoyed look.

“What are you doing here? You hate the gym.”

“I hate how it smells like sweat. But, I have another offer to make you.”

With an eyeroll and groan, Jamil folded his arms and raised a brow toward her.

“I've set up a hot pot in your room. Azul got our matching hoodies professionally cleaned and I have a wonderful selection of media that I know for certain you would enjoy.”

“I'm in the middle of basketball practice. I have an essay to start. I also still haven't meal prepped for the weekend because someone was threatening to walk around the dorm with ‘her titties out’ last night unless I sat down and read a book for two hours. Sorry, hayati, I'm too busy to spend time with you. We can schedule something at a later date.”

“Is that your final answer?”

“...” Jamil briefly looked away from her, a million thoughts racing in his mind before he looked back at her, “Yes.”

“Ok. FLOYD!”

The eel in question paused, pulling the basketball away from his open mouth, “Yeah, Shrimpy?”

“Remember that thing I asked you to do for me a few days ago?”

“...Oh!” Floyd's eyes light up, excited as he reached into his pocket and pulls out a small brown object. Giggling, as he winded up and launched it directly at the back of Jamil's head.

Jamil, making the terrible choice to turn around, yelled out at the object hitting him in the middle of his forehead. He stumbles back, hands over his face as he groaned, “What was that!?”

“Avocado pit.” Yuu, unphased, bent down. Grasping Jamil from behind his legs and lifted the Junior over their shoulder, fireman-carrying their mildly bludgeoned boyfriend out of the gym.

Kalim found them a few hours later, smiling at the scene he walked in on. On the vicewardens's bedroom floor were Yuu and Jamil, each in hoodies with snake-patterned sleeves and large headphones. The hotpot station was within reach of both of them even though Jamil had his face firmly squished against Yuu's exposed thighs while she gently carded her free hand through his loose hair. He walks in, smiling as Yuu was kind enough to offer him a slice of cooked beef.

“Glad to see Jamil's relaxing properly.”

“And I only had to give him a mild concussion.”

Kalim looked over their headphones, tilting his head in curiosity, “What are you guys listening to? Music?”

Yuu only smiled, taking her headphones off and handing them over to the housewarden, “True crime podcasts from my world. Have a listen.” Taking their time to hand-feed Jamil while Kalim listened.

“Huh? Are there ‘fake crimes' in your world? He placed the headphones on, tapping the button on the ear.

“-her arms were cut off, her legs were cut off, her ears were cut off, her tongue was cut off, her nose was cut off, her eyeballs were plucked out, her eyebrows were then waxed, her tongue was sliced open, her hair was cut off-”

Kalim slowly removed the headphones, handing them back to a smiling Yuu, “Yeah, this isn't for me…”

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst wonderland #yuu oc #jamil viper #jamil x yuu #requests

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better-setterv2 · 2 days ago

Text

𝒫𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝒫𝑜𝒾𝓃𝓉𝓈

Authors Note: Hi lovelies! Here’s another one-shot. Enjoy. I made changes to race dates to make it a bit different. Also after the performance by Ferrari at Imola…I need therapy. Lots of love xx

Summary: A slow-burn romance blossoms between Lewis Hamilton and new grounded physiotherapist during F1, where healing touches turn into something far more intimate.

Warnings: none

Taglist: @nebulastarr @hannibeeblog

MASTERLIST

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

2024 Barcelona – Day Eleven of Testing

The silence in the motorhome was deafening.

Not the kind laced with comfort or familiarity, the kind that wraps around two people like a warm blanket when words aren’t needed. No. This silence was different. It was sharp. Uneasy. The kind that settled between two people who didn’t quite know what to do with each other yet. It didn’t hum it throbbed. Uncomfortable and persistent, like static in the air that refused to clear.

You stood near the counter, clipboard clutched loosely in one hand, pretending to check his hydration schedule for what had to be the fourth time. You weren't fooling anyone not even yourself. You weren’t reading. The rows of data blurred into meaningless numbers, just a distraction from the heavy energy taking up space in the room.

Across from you, Lewis sat hunched over at the edge of the massage table, elbows resting on his knees, phone in hand. He scrolled lazily, without purpose, and didn’t look up once when you entered. No greeting. No eye contact. Just the blue-white glow of the screen reflected in his unreadable eyes.

You had gotten used to the silence over the past few weeks, or at least you told yourself you had. But today, it hit differently. Sharper. Heavier. It filled every corner of the motorhome, settling into your bones, and for the first time since you joined the team, it made your hands tremble.

The way he was sitting tense and folded into himself told you everything. Shoulders drawn up, jaw tight, neck stiff from more than just physical strain. He hadn’t relaxed once since stepping inside. Not even in his own space. That said something. That screamed something.

You cleared your throat quietly. “Okay. Ten minutes on the Normatecs, then we’ll work through active recovery for your hamstrings. That sound alright?”

Nothing. Not a word. Not even a nod.

You moved automatically, rolling out the compression sleeves, checking the connections, setting the timer. The machine hummed to life with a low, rhythmic buzz just one more noise filling the space he refused to break.

He didn’t help. He never did. Since the first day, he’d made it clear you were to do your job while he did his best to pretend you didn’t exist. He wasn’t cruel, not exactly. Just absent. Disconnected in a way that left you wondering whether your presence irritated him, or if he just truly didn’t care.

You crouched beside him, guiding the first sleeve gently over his leg, careful not to let your fingers linger longer than necessary. You were allowed to touch him hell, that was your job but every movement still felt like a negotiation. Like the wrong brush of skin would shatter whatever fragile boundary existed between professional and personal.

Still nothing.

“Hydration levels are low again,” you said, your voice quieter now. Less clinical. Less sure. “I left a new blend in your bottle. Less sodium, more potassium. Should help with the cramping you mentioned yesterday.”

That made him glance up.

Just a flicker.

His eyes deep, dark, and exhausted met yours for half a second. Flat. Impenetrable. Then they dropped again, back to the safety of his phone screen.

You looked away too, suddenly feeling exposed.

You had to remind yourself again that this wasn’t personal. That you were simply the replacement. The new name in the system. The girl brought in to fill the void left by someone else.

You weren’t Angela.

You hadn’t known what brand of tea calmed him before a race. You didn’t understand his routines down to the minute. You hadn’t sat beside him in private jets or walked beside him through years of highs and heartbreaks. You didn’t know him like she did.

You weren’t his best friend. You weren’t even welcome.

You were the stranger occupying a sacred space.

And the worst part? You got it.

You weren’t trying to replace her. You respected what she meant to him how could you not? Her absence was still carved into the walls of his life, her name lingering in the silence he so carefully maintained. You were just trying to do your job. To help him heal, recover, push forward.

But lately, it had started to wear on you. The quiet. The resistance. The constant ache of walking on eggshells around someone you were trying your best not to disappoint.

You sat across from him now, folding your hands in your lap as the Normatecs began their slow, pulsing work. The rhythmic tightening and release of the sleeves was the only consistent sound in the room, aside from the occasional chime of a text notification on his phone.

Three weeks.

That’s how long it had been.

Three weeks of showing up every morning with a quiet resolve, hoping for a nod, a word, something. Three weeks of swallowing your pride and doing your job with a kind of quiet grace that no one applauded. Three weeks of watching him build walls and wondering if you’d ever be allowed to climb over them.

You’d heard the whispers in the paddock.

“She’s temporary.”

“He’ll bring someone else in by mid-season.”

“He hasn’t said two words to her.”

You weren’t there for gossip. You weren’t there to be liked.

Still, some small part of you a part that refused to go numb ached to prove them wrong. Not for your ego. But because, beneath the silence and distance, you felt something in him. Something raw. Something bruised. Something still soft underneath the hardness of it all.

You didn’t want anything from him. Not glory. Not attention. Not even friendship, if he didn’t have it to give.

You just wanted to help him carry the weight. Even for a minute.

But you were starting to wonder if he’d ever let you.

"Angela was his person. Anyone else was always going to be second best."

"I give it a month before she hands in her notice."

You weren’t planning to walk away.

Not after everything it had taken to get here.

Too many years spent in lecture halls, your head down over textbooks filled with muscle diagrams and case studies. Too many late nights in university labs testing recovery theories on willing volunteers. Too many unpaid internships, too many times you’d had to fight for a seat at the table while people with half your qualifications were handed the room. But you earned this. You built your reputation working with Olympic athletes who pushed their bodies to the limit, MotoGP riders stitched together with pins and sheer will and Premier League players who treated pain like a background hum.

You were damn good at your job.

But this?

This was something else.

This wasn’t just about stretching out hamstrings and correcting muscular imbalances. This was about surviving the unrelenting emotional chill of one of the most intense men in motorsport. And somehow, today felt colder than ever.

Lewis sat across the room, the only sound in the motorhome the soft hiss of the air conditioning and the intermittent tap of his thumb against his phone screen. His expression was unreadable. But it always was. That was part of the game if it even was one. The unreadability. The distance. The quiet disdain that radiated off him like static.

He hadn’t looked at you once since you walked in.

You cleared your throat, keeping your voice professional, steady. “Anything feel tight?”

No response. Not even a blink.

You glanced down at your clipboard, scanning over yesterday’s notes just to fill the silence. “I noticed some stiffness in your right calf during cooldown. You were compensating on your push-off stride.”

Still nothing.

Your heart beat just a little faster, but you didn’t let it show. You shifted your weight, pen tapping softly against the clipboard.

“I can adjust the therapy plan if—”

The sound of his phone clacking against the bench made your sentence die in your throat.

Your eyes snapped up.

He was staring at you now finally but not with interest. Not with curiosity. With irritation. Cold and sharp, like he was already regretting the effort it took to acknowledge your existence.

“You don’t have to talk so much.”

You froze.

Not in fear.

In shock.

It was the first full sentence he’d spoken to you since the first day you met. And it was spoken like a command, not a comment. Flat. Dismissive. Almost bored.

Your lips parted slightly, the instinct to defend yourself flaring, but no words came out. You inhaled slowly through your nose, grounding yourself in professionalism, not emotion.

“I’m trying to help,” you said quietly. Controlled. Precise.

He looked at you again, slower this time, his eyes narrowing. His silence stretched long enough that you started to wonder if he was going to speak at all. And then, with a sigh that sounded far too tired for the hour of the day, he said, “I didn’t ask for help. I asked for silence.”

It wasn’t shouted. It wasn’t even particularly harsh.

But it sliced through the air like a scalpel.

You stood there, clipboard still in hand, spine straightening almost involuntarily. You weren’t one for confrontations not in your professional setting. But something about the way he said it, the complete and casual dismissal of you as a person, made the words rise in your throat before you could stop them.

“Well,” you said, tone clipped, tight but not disrespectful, “if you want to avoid tearing your muscles or aggravating your already overworked hip flexors before the weekend, you’ll need more than silence.”

That got his attention.

He blinked, then tilted his head just slightly, as if genuinely surprised you’d spoken back. Like he’d expected you to nod, apologise, and go mute. His lips didn’t move, but the silence shifted. It felt heavier. Denser. As if something in the room had changed.

You didn’t flinch.

You met his gaze, held it, even when his expression darkened by a fraction. You didn’t back down. You’d worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to let one man no matter how many trophies he had make you feel small.

He didn’t reply. Instead, he leaned back against the bench, arms folding across his chest with slow, practiced ease. Like he was done with the conversation. Like you were a fly buzzing in his ear, not worth the swat.

Fine.

You returned to your notes without another word, pretending to study the page even as a lump formed slowly at the base of your throat.

You wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not for him.

You’d learned a long time ago that in high-performance sport, the ice wasn’t always in the therapy rooms. Sometimes, it wore racing suits and sat across from you like you were the one out of place.

The rest of the session was mechanical. You asked questions basic ones, required for your notes. He ignored most of them. Gave one-word answers when silence no longer sufficed. When you gently adjusted the Normatec sleeves on his calves, he shifted away like your touch was something unwelcome, a necessary evil he had to endure.

You thought maybe the first week had been the worst, when he’d barely acknowledged you, when his eyes would scan the room and deliberately skip over where you stood.

But this was worse.

Now he saw you and still treated you like nothing.

The session ended with no goodbye. No eye contact. Just the quiet sound of a zipper as he pulled his hoodie over his head, grabbed his phone, and walked out like you hadn’t just been in the same room for forty-five minutes.

The door clicked shut behind him.

You stayed where you were for a moment, standing in the middle of the room, arms limp at your sides. Then, slowly, you knelt down, packed away the Normatecs, disinfected the table he’d barely touched, and made quick, efficient notes in his recovery log.

He was gone five minutes before the debrief even ended. You didn’t need to ask why. You’d stopped asking questions you knew he wouldn’t answer.

The ache in your chest was familiar now. Low-grade and dull, like an old bruise still tender if pressed too hard.

But you didn’t press it.

You stood, squared your shoulders, and rolled your tension out of your neck like you’d instructed a thousand others to do.

You weren’t here to make friends. You weren’t here to be liked.

You were here to do your job. And whether Lewis Hamilton wanted to acknowledge it or not, you were damn good at it.

“Hey.”

The voice startled you from your concentration, slicing cleanly through the silence. You looked up from your tablet, where notes about hydration levels and muscle fatigue blinked softly on the screen. Marc, one of the performance engineers, was leaning through the side door of the motorhome, his expression somewhere between teasing and concerned.

“He, uh…didn’t throw anything at you today, right?” he asked, one brow raised.

You gave a quiet laugh, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “No flying water bottles. Just the usual soul-crushing silence.”

Marc stepped in fully, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click. He tossed you a protein bar, and you caught it out of reflex. “You holding up?”

You nodded; the smile you gave him automatic but grateful. “Trying,” you admitted.

He studied you for a moment, then sat down on the edge of the massage table, the one Lewis hadn’t touched today. Or yesterday. Or, if you were being honest, much at all this week.

You’d gotten used to this people stopping by to check on you when they thought no one else was watching. Little signs of solidarity. A spare espresso left on your station with no name attached. A folded towel you hadn’t placed there. A toolbox casually moved closer to block Lewis’s line of sight whenever his glares got particularly cutting.

Even Toto had surprised you once during a track walk. He’d murmured a soft “Hang in there” as he passed by, the weight of his hand on your shoulder more grounding than you expected. It wasn’t pity not exactly. It was more like shared understanding. Everyone here had felt the sting of Lewis’s coldness at one point or another. The difference was that you were now expected to survive it day after day, from a front-row seat.

Marc unwrapped his protein bar, chewing thoughtfully as he leaned forward. “You coming to the team dinner tonight?”

You shook your head. “Still have to finish reports. Adjust the physio plan for Saturday.”

He gave you a pointed look. “You know he’s probably not reading those, right?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you said, voice quiet but firm. “They’re still my responsibility.”

Marc exhaled slowly through his nose, then nodded like that answer was better than anything he could’ve come up with. “If you change your mind, we’ll save you a seat.”

You offered him a small smile, then returned to your notes. He left without another word, the silence resettling around you like a heavy curtain.

Hours passed. The paddock emptied in waves, the once-busy energy fading until all that was left was the occasional creak of a door, the buzz of a security golf cart outside. You stayed. Of course you did.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, a resistance band looped around your feet as you stretched absently, reviewing your schedule on your tablet. The only light came from the hallway, casting a soft golden glow across the otherwise darkened room. There was a stillness now that felt sacred this was the time you usually got the most done, when you didn’t have to brace yourself for the way Lewis would walk past you like you didn’t exist.

Until the door opened.

You startled. Just slightly. Enough that your body tensed before you even looked up.

Lewis.

He stepped inside slowly, hoodie up, hands buried deep in his pockets. His eyes landed on you immediately. You couldn’t read the expression in them only that he hadn’t expected you to be here. Then again, you hadn’t expected him either.

“I thought you left,” you said, voice cautious but neutral.

His gaze moved over you quickly - your posture, the tablet on your lap, the stack of charts on the bench. Then back to your face.

“Could say the same to you,” he replied, flatly.

You started to rise, more out of instinct than necessity, but he waved a hand. Not rude. Just dismissive. Like he couldn’t be bothered with the formalities.

“You don’t have to. I’m just grabbing something.”

He disappeared into the side room. You heard a few soft zippers, the rustle of gear bags. Silence again. Then, unexpectedly, his voice drifted back.

“You shouldn’t work so late.”

You froze.

It wasn’t just the words. It was how he said them.

Not sharp. Not cold. Just quiet. Measured. Almost human.

You blinked, unsure how to respond. “Neither should you,” you said finally, your voice steady but soft.

He emerged a moment later with a folded hoodie and a half-eaten protein bar in hand. He paused in the doorway, eyes on you again.

“You do all this for every athlete you work with?” he asked suddenly.

You tilted your head, unsure if this was sarcasm or something else. “All what?”

He gestured vaguely to the clipboard, the notes, the tracking charts on the wall, the pre-race hydration metrics outlined in neat, colour-coded blocks.

“This level of detail.”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “You’re not just any athlete.”

That made him blink. And for a second just a second something flickered behind his eyes. Not softness, exactly. But a shift. A flicker of recognition.

You stood then, brushing off your track pants, already moving to pack up. “Anyway. I’ll be out of your space in a minute.”

He didn’t move. Just stood there, watching you. Not with the disinterest you were used to. This was different. His gaze wasn’t ice. It was flint. Something waiting to be struck.

“You’re not trying to replace her.”

The words came low. Blunt.

You looked up, startled. “Angela?”

He nodded once.

“I’m not,” you said honestly. “I couldn’t. I wouldn’t try to. I’m just trying to do the job I was hired to do.”

There was a long pause. A breath caught somewhere between you.

“I didn’t want anyone new,” he murmured. It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t even angry. It was tired. Honest.

“I know,” you replied gently.

Your words seemed to land. His jaw flexed once, like he was working through the effort of keeping the rest inside. He looked down at the floor. Then back at you.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said again, but softer this time. Almost like he was giving you a way out.

“If this isn’t worth it.”

You stared at him. Really stared.

“I don’t quit,” you said quietly.

For a beat, nothing. Then barely his lips twitched. Not a smile. But a suggestion of one. A ghost of something real.

He nodded, once. Then turned and left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.

You stood alone in the dim light, pulse thudding in your ears, the silence he left behind now somehow louder than it had been before.

And for the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel so empty.

It felt like the beginning of something shifting.

Maybe not warmth.

But something.

Something real. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

2024 Emilia-Romagna Grand Prix, Saturday

Rain slicked the paddock, soaking into every crevice of the asphalt and turning the air into a clinging, grey fog. It wasn’t heavy rain more of a misty drizzle that fell steadily, like the world itself was holding its breath. The sky hung low, dull and oppressive, as if weighed down by tension. You tugged the hood of your team-issued rain jacket tighter around your face, fingers curled into the sleeves as you kept your eyes down and feet quick. The occasional spray from a passing cart splattered against your ankles, and you grimaced, but didn’t stop.

Qualifying had ended just fifteen minutes ago.

P8.

Not terrible. But not what anyone wanted. Not what he wanted.

The Mercedes garage had been a storm of movement by engineers huddled in muttering groups, mechanics shaking their heads as they toweled off tools, data feeds blinking with too many red sectors. You hadn’t spoken to Lewis afterward. You hadn’t needed to. The way he stalked out of the car, jaw clenched so tight you were certain it would crack, had been loud enough.

Still, you moved through the paddock as you always did quiet, efficient, invisible when needed, but never far. You knew where he’d be: in debrief. And you knew where you needed to be after that.

Inside the Mercedes motorhome, the air was warmer, drier, but no less tense. The murmur of voices in the meeting room filtered faintly through the wall, but you stayed where you always did just outside the door. Clipboard in hand. Post-qualifying protocol ready. Notes committed to memory. You weren’t officially inside those briefings yet. You hadn’t earned that access. But you were close enough to be called on at a moment’s notice. Close enough to hear when the tone of the voices shifted. Close enough to feel the emotional fallout before it even hit.

He hadn’t spoken to you since that night.

The one in the motorhome. The strange, silent exchange lit only by hallway light and unfinished sentences. He hadn’t acknowledged it, hadn’t brought it up but you noticed the difference. Subtle, almost imperceptible. His silences had softened. He no longer recoiled from touch. When you adjusted the tightness of the wraps around his wrist, he didn’t pull back. When you altered his hydration balance by a percentage point, he drank it anyway. He didn’t say thank you.

But he didn’t resist anymore.

It was something.

The door to the meeting room swung open twenty minutes later.

He walked out first fast, purposeful, shoulders squared. His race suit hung open around his waist, the fireproofs beneath it clinging to his damp skin. His face was a careful mask, lips pressed in a firm line, eyes like stone. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. You simply fell into step beside him, matching his stride, clipboard held to your chest.

He didn’t tell you to come with him.

But he didn’t tell you to leave, either.

He led you to the private treatment room near the back of the motorhome, the one reserved for cooldowns, muscle work, or the kind of days where nothing else helped. You closed the door gently behind you as he dropped down onto the padded bench, exhaling hard through his nose.

He didn’t speak, so you did.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you said softly, knowing how little comfort that kind of truth offered on days like this.

He laughed, short and sharp, but there was no humour in it. “Tell that to the car.”

You didn’t reply. Instead, you let the silence stretch for a few seconds enough to let him breathe, to let the frustration settle without feeding it.

“Take your shirt off,” you said finally, voice calm, clinical.

His head turned, just slightly. Eyes flicked to you. It wasn’t defiant more surprised. As if for the first time, he actually heard you. Not the instruction. The voice beneath it.

But he didn’t argue. He pulled the damp black shirt over his head in one swift motion and tossed it onto the chair beside him. You moved to your station, pulling a small bottle of oil and a warm compress from the drawer, laying out towels with quiet efficiency.

You didn’t let your eyes linger. Not on the ink that curved over the strong line of his shoulders. Not on the flex of muscle across his back or the faint trail of moisture that ran along the side of his neck. You’d worked with world-class athletes for years. You’d seen better physiques. Probably. Maybe.

But it had never felt like this before.

You pressed your thumb into his left shoulder blade, slowly working the knot you already knew would be there. He tensed at first habitual but gradually relaxed into the pressure.

“Tight,” you murmured under your breath. “You’re overcompensating on the left side again.”

“Didn’t feel it on the sim.”

“It’s not the sim,” you replied, matter of fact.

His lips quirked faintly not quite a smile, more like reluctant agreement.

You worked in silence. Long, slow strokes. Careful attention. He wasn’t the kind of man who responded to chatter in moments like this. You could feel his breathing begin to slow as your thumb moved in deliberate circles beneath his shoulder blade, coaxing the strain away.

After a while, he exhaled low, unguarded.

“That bad?” you asked quietly.

“I’ve had worse.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. Too honest. Too exposed.

And yet…he didn’t pull away.

He stilled. Then, slowly, his voice found you again. “You take this job very seriously.”

You paused, letting your hands still against his skin. “I take you seriously.”

There was a silence then. A heavier one. Not uncomfortable just charged. His head turned slightly, and you felt his gaze settle on you over his shoulder.

“Why?” he asked. Soft. Sincere. Not a challenge. Just a question from a man who’d stopped expecting genuine answers.

You stepped back, wiping your hands on a towel, heart thudding once in your chest like a warning. You didn’t dodge the question.

“Because you don’t need someone to worship you, Lewis. You need someone to take care of you. And I’m good at that. Whether or not you ever thank me for it.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. His jaw twitched unreadable expression flickering across his face like static. Something passed between you in that second. An understanding, maybe. Or the beginning of one.

The silence stretched again.

Then his radio pinged from the corner of the room. A notification. Reality calling him back.

And just like that, the walls came up again.

He moved quickly, standing and reaching for his shirt. You saw the armour slip back into place: the focus, the distance, the self-protection he wore like second skin.

“Race is tomorrow,” he said, voice low, already slipping back into routine.

You nodded. “You’ll need the TENS on your calf tonight. Ten minutes. I’ll set it up in your suite.”

He paused, then nodded. Just once. Small. But real.

And as he left the room, you didn’t follow right away. You stood still for a moment, hands still damp, heart still racing.

Something was shifting.

And this time, it felt like he’d noticed it too. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

2024 Emilia-Romagna Grand Prix — Saturday Night

The storm rolled in harder.

By the time you stepped out of the hospitality suite, the mist from earlier had turned into a proper downpour. Cold sheets of rain danced across the emptying paddock, bouncing off slick asphalt, bouncing off puddles that had swelled in uneven places. Lightning flashed somewhere beyond the hills, illuminating the track for a heartbeat before the world slipped back into wet, colourless grey.

You pulled your rain jacket tighter and tucked your clipboard under your arm, head down, boots splashing as you made your way back toward the team’s garage annex. The air felt heavier now—not just with weather, but with something more personal, more charged.

You hadn’t been able to shake the moment from earlier. The way Lewis had looked at you, voice stripped bare when he asked why you cared. The way he’d listened really listened when you told him the truth.

You were halfway across the compound when your earpiece crackled.

Static, then your name. Then, “Lewis had a fall. It’s minor. Nothing broken. But…he slipped on the paddock stairs. We need you.”

You didn’t ask questions. Just turned on your heel and started moving faster.

The compound near the entrance was quieter now, most media cleared out, crews huddled indoors. A few security guards stood at the perimeter; shoulders hunched against the storm. You moved past them quickly, ducking into the treatment wing Mercedes shared with a few other teams for emergencies.

Inside, the air smelled of antiseptic and rain-soaked fabric. Dim lights flickered overhead. And there he was.

Lewis sat on the edge of the physio bench, one elbow on his thigh, head tilted forward, rain still dripping from the ends of his braids. His fireproofs clung to his legs, soaked and rumpled. One leg was slightly bent at the knee just enough for you to notice the stiffness in how he held it.

His expression was neutral. Blank, almost. But you saw it the tension in his jaw, the clench of his hands.

Not pain.

Pride.

Someone had seen him fall. That was worse.

You didn’t ask if he was okay. He would’ve lied. Instead, you moved forward and crouched in front of him, rainwater still beading on your sleeves.

“Let me see,” you said, your voice calm, careful.

He didn’t respond. But he didn’t pull away either.

Gently, you rolled up the bottom of his compression leggings, slow enough not to jostle the muscle. The lighting wasn’t great, but you could already see it a faint swell above the knee, the beginnings of a bruise blooming violet and red along the outside of the joint. Not terrible. But enough.

You palpated the area with trained fingers, watching his face more than his leg. He flinched only once.

“No major swelling. No tear,” you murmured. “But it’s a strain. Keep pushing and it’ll get worse.”

He exhaled through his nose, silent again.

“I can tape it,” you offered, reaching for your kit behind you.

He hesitated. You could feel it a flicker of resistance, not to you, but to the idea of needing help. Of being seen needing help.

“Lewis.” You met his eyes this time, tone soft but insistent. “If you limp during the cooldown lap tomorrow, every camera on the track will catch it. Every headline will be about that, not your race. Let me help.”

A pause. The kind that hung in the air like a balancing scale.

Then, finally he nodded. Just once. But it was enough.

You set to work quickly, hands skilled and precise. The room fell into silence, filled only with the sound of rain thudding against the windows and the soft rip of kinesiology tape. Your fingers moved over the muscle with practiced ease, wrapping the joint just snug enough to offer support without restricting motion.

The air between you felt different now.

Not charged with discomfort or avoidance.

Open.

Tentative, real.

He wasn’t resisting. He wasn’t pulling away. And for someone like him, who held his world so close to his chest, that was massive.

When you finished, you smoothed the last strip into place and sat back on your heels.

“All done,” you said gently, wiping your hands on a towel. “Try standing.”

He did, slowly testing the leg, shifting his weight. His face stayed composed, but you could tell he was impressed. Or maybe relieved.

Then he looked at you. Really looked at you. For a long moment, he just stood there, eyes searching yours as if trying to find the edges of whatever it was, he’d started to feel earlier.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said at last, voice low.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift from silence to honesty.

“In a good way?” you asked, not teasing more cautious.

He gave a half smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes but felt more real than anything you’d seen from him in days.

“I don’t know yet,” he said softly.

You returned the smile, just faintly. “Fair enough.”

There was a pause. He turned as if to grab his hoodie from the bench, but then he stopped. The weight of something unsaid pulled him back.

“I’m signing with Ferrari next year,” he said, suddenly, like he needed to get it out before the moment passed.

You froze.

Not just at what he said but at the way he said it. Quiet. Intimate. Like a confession. You hadn’t heard it from the media. No one had. And he was telling you.

Your voice caught in your throat.

“Will you be with me at Ferrari?” he asked, eyes never leaving yours.

You stared at him, blinking once. Twice.

“You haven’t told anyone else,” you whispered, more to yourself than him.

“No.” He said it like a promise. “Not yet.”

You swallowed. Your hands felt strangely cold. “Am I…am I even allowed to be?”

He hesitated then stepped closer. Not much. Just an inch. But it felt like a mile.

“I want you there.”

Your chest tightened. You didn’t know what to say at first. The weight of that sentence landed somewhere deeper than you were prepared for. You’d spent so long trying to do this job perfectly, quietly, without asking for anything back. And now he was offering something you hadn’t dared hope for.

He wanted you.

Not just for a treatment. Not just for race prep. He wanted you.

You nodded slowly. The words stuck behind your teeth, thick with emotion. “Okay,” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “Then I’ll be there.”

His eyes softened. Just slightly. But enough.

And outside, the storm kept raging. But in here in this tiny room filled with rain light and tape and unsaid things a different kind of thunder passed between you.

One that felt like the beginning of something. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

2024 Last race of the season Miami Grand Prix – Sunday Night. Mercedes Motorhome – Final Debrief

The clinking of champagne flutes echoed in the corridor, muffled behind closed doors. Monaco glittered outside yachts bobbing gently in the harbour, floodlights painting gold across wet pavement. But inside the Mercedes motorhome, everything felt like it was standing still.

You stood next to Lewis, just outside the debrief room, watching him quietly as the team finished their final post-race rundown. He hadn’t said much since crossing the line today - P5 after a long, bruising race. Not the send-off he’d wanted. But still, there was a calm in him. A quiet acceptance.

He glanced over at you now, his lips twitching into something soft. “Feels weird,” he said.

You nodded. “End of an era.”

“Twelve years,” he murmured, running a hand over his jaw. “Twelve years in silver and black.”

You looked at the logo on his race suit black now, but the silver star still prominent on his chest.

“Still suits you,” you said gently.

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not for much longer.”

And as if on cue, the buzz started.

Your phone lit up in your pocket. Then his. Then Toto’s voice called from inside the room—“It’s out.”

The press embargo had lifted. The announcement was live.

Lewis Hamilton to join Scuderia Ferrari in 2025.

Through the glass wall, you could already see the team scrolling through their phones, a few shoulders stiffening, some murmuring in surprise even though most of them had known. Still, seeing it official made it real.

Lewis exhaled. Not nervous. Just…letting go.

You stepped a little closer. Close enough that he could feel your presence behind him, even if you didn’t touch.

“They’re going to spin it,” he said, quietly. “They always do.”

“Let them,” you said. “You know why you’re doing this. And you’re not doing it alone.”

He turned to you then, fully, eyes meeting yours with something that felt like gratitude and something else something heavier.

“No,” he said. “I’m not.”

The motorhome around you was moving now people preparing for the inevitable media storm, public statements, clipped interviews. But for a second, in the eye of it all, it was just the two of you.

“You ready to wear red?” he asked.

You gave a small smile, heartbeat steady. “Only if you are.” ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

2025 Preseason – Maranello, Italy

Three weeks until the first race

The first thing you noticed about Maranello was the quiet.

Not silence, exactly there were always distant echoes of movement, clipped Italian voices passing through corridors, the whir of machines in wind tunnels deeper within the complex. But compared to Brackley, this place felt almost reverent. The air was still, like it was listening. Watching. Remembering.

There was history in the walls here. Decades of it. You felt it in the smooth tiles under your boots, in the red banners lining the hallways, in the framed photos of champions and legends — Lauda, Schumacher, Ascari all staring out with the kind of intensity that made you unconsciously square your shoulders as you passed. You weren’t just working for a team anymore. You were stepping into a legacy.

You checked your new badge again, still not quite used to the prancing horse printed in gold beside your name.

Ferrari – Physiotherapist.

It still felt like something out of someone else’s story. But the weight of the lanyard was real around your neck, and so were your footsteps as you turned the corner into the gym.

Lewis was already there.

He stood alone in the centre of the room, red Ferrari training gear clinging to his frame, his back glistening faintly with sweat under the overhead lights. His braids were tied back tight, focused entirely on the punching bag in front of him. Left. Right. Right again. Controlled, powerful strikes. Not angry precise. Calculated. A rhythm more than a release.

He didn’t turn when you stepped in, but his voice met you anyway.

“About time.”

You let out a small, amused breath. “They made me sign five NDAs just to walk past reception.”

That got the barest twitch of his mouth not quite a smile, but not nothing. “Welcome to Ferrari.”

You moved a little closer, your eyes scanning the unfamiliar space. Everything gleamed. The weights, the equipment, even the water bottles looked engineered to impress.

“I still feel like I’ve broken into a museum,” you murmured.

He stepped back from the bag and reached for a towel. “It’s sacred ground.”

“And you’re the new priest?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

He threw a look over his shoulder, equal parts dry and self-aware. “I’m the experiment.”

You set your bag down near the bench, catching the shift in his posture not defensive, just watchful. There was no mistaking the difference in him since last season. He still moved like a fighter, still carried himself like someone who had nothing to prove and everything to protect. But there was a stillness in him now. A quietness that hadn’t been there before.

“So then,” you said, tone light but firm, “let’s make sure you don’t combust under the microscope.”

This time, when he sat, he didn’t hesitate as you stepped in front of him, hands already moving through your practiced checks. His eyes found yours not guarded, but deliberate. As if he wanted you to see the weight he was carrying. Not just from the physical training, but from everything else. The pressure. The shift. The risk.

“You stayed,” he said simply, voice low.

You blinked. “You asked me to.”

“That doesn’t mean much in this business.”

You guided his arm through the first shoulder stretch, fingers brushing the inside of his wrist, where his pulse beat steady and strong. “I’m not in this for the business.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Neither am I. Not anymore.”

There was something in his voice not bitterness. More like exhaustion. The kind that sinks into your bones after years of chasing ghosts through podiums, through airports, through interview rooms where every word gets picked apart by strangers who think they know you.

“You still love it, though,” you asked, quiet. “Don’t you?”

He hesitated, lips parting just slightly. Then he exhaled through his nose, slow.

“I don’t know. I’m trying to remember.”

Your hands stilled on his forearm, eyes meeting his. There wasn’t anything performative in the moment no drama, no weighty declarations. Just honesty. Rare and raw.

Outside the gym window, you could see the edge of the track. Empty now, slick from a light drizzle, but waiting. In just under three weeks, it would roar to life again new season, new car, new team colours. And Lewis would be at the centre of it all. The man in red.

You reached into your kit and pulled out a new mobility band, looping it over your wrist as you refocused.

“We’ll start light today. Test your range of motion, no overload.”

He nodded once. “Lead the way.”

And for the first time since you’d met him all those months ago, back when he barely looked you in the eye unless it was necessary - he followed without hesitation. Without resistance.

He trusted you now.

And as you moved through the stretches, his breath syncing with yours, you felt it. The calm before the storm. The last few quiet moments before everything began again.

Only this time, you were starting together.

A week later

Training in Maranello had settled into its own steady rhythm, a pulse that beat differently from anything you’d known before.

Mornings were for the gym the smell of leather mats, the clinking of weights, the sharp sound of gloves hitting punching bags. Lewis moved through it all with a deliberate intensity, every motion precise and measured, like a man conducting a private ritual. You learned quickly that he didn’t want to be hovered over. Space was his currency. Too close, and he’d shrink inside himself; too far, and he might drift away. The balance was delicate.

Afternoons were spent in the simulator room. The hum of the machines, the glow of screens filled the space. You often sat quietly nearby, not interrupting, letting him immerse himself in every turn, every braking point, every split second that might mean the difference between victory and defeat. When he spoke, it was sparse, clipped a nod, a brief answer. But sometimes, just sometimes, he would glance your way, and you’d catch a fleeting flicker of something like camaraderie.

Evenings belonged to the review sessions. Lights dimmed, the team gathered around monitors replaying laps and telemetry. You watched how Lewis absorbed it all, the tight line of his jaw, the narrowed eyes a fighter learning his battlefield. Your job felt secondary to the mechanics and engineers, but it was no less vital. You knew that without his body, none of the data mattered.

Over the days, you became attuned to the small, unspoken things that grounded him.

The way he liked his towels folded - folded just so, edges crisp and corners sharp. You found yourself arriving before he did, smoothing and folding in silence, a quiet offering to the ritual of his preparation.

The post-ride drink a coconut water blend laced with just the right balance of electrolytes and minerals. It was subtle, but you learned it didn’t upset his stomach the way some recovery drinks did. He never asked for it, but it was always waiting for him, chilled and ready.

You discovered that the TENS unit helped him sleep better when you ran it on his lower back instead of his shoulders, even though he never mentioned it aloud. You just knew the way he shifted, the almost imperceptible sigh as the muscles loosened under the gentle pulses.

He never thanked you. There was no need. His world was built on results, on strength, on silent determination. But you saw it anyway in the smallest cracks of his armour. The way his eyes softened when you handed him the coconut water without a word. The almost imperceptible relaxation in his posture when you massaged the tight knot beneath his shoulder blade. The briefest exhale of relief after a long day.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

His guard fell, inch by inch, day by day. Quiet acceptance. Unspoken trust. The kind of trust that isn’t declared but felt, deep beneath the surface.

Then came the night that changed everything again.

It started like any other evening the team wrapping up in the conference room, Lewis retreating to his suite to prepare for tomorrow’s early start. You lingered nearby, tidying the physio room, when a message buzzed on your phone. Lewis needed you.

The details were vague just that he wanted you to come up. Now.

When you entered the room, you found him seated on the edge of the bed, the harsh white overhead light softened by the low glow of the bedside lamp. His eyes, usually so guarded, were wide and raw tired but resolute.

He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you, really looked, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist.

No more pretence. No more walls.

Just the two of you, suspended in the quiet aftermath of a long day, on the cusp of something neither of you could yet name.

That night, something shifted subtle, fragile, but undeniable.

And you knew that whatever came next, you wouldn’t be standing on opposite sides of the glass anymore. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Maranello – Friday Night

It was nearly ten in the evening when you finally finished logging Lewis’s data. The spacious physiotherapy facility was nearly empty, the hum of machines long gone, and the lights dimmed low enough to feel like the day was finally winding down. Your shoulders ached from the constant motion, from holding muscles in place and coaxing bodies back from the edge of exhaustion. You were folding up your clipboard and stacking your tools, the quiet settling in like a gentle shroud.

Just as you were about to grab your bag, a soft, hesitant tapping broke through the stillness tap tap, sharp against the glass of the physio room’s window. You turned and found him there. Lewis. Not the blazing star on the track, not the man chased by lenses and headlines. Just Lewis, wrapped in a loose grey hoodie and worn-in joggers, the edges of his face softened by the dim light. His usual fierce intensity was replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable.

“I owe you dinner.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the suddenness, by the low, almost shy tone. “Sorry?”

“That night in Imola last year ,” he said, stepping in just enough to lean against the doorframe. “You stayed late. Taped me up. No complaints.”

You shrugged, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I was doing my job.”

“But I didn’t say it then. I should have.”

You studied him carefully. The protective wall of armour of steel he’d worn for so long was still there, but thinner now. More fragile. More...transparent, like glass instead of iron.

“Are you actually going to feed me or is this your version of small talk?” you teased, a half-smile tugging at your lips.

That coaxed a real smile from him a rare, easy curve of his mouth that lit up the space between you. “I found a place down the road. No cameras. No chaos.”

You hesitated, weighing the sudden invitation against the exhaustion pooling in your limbs. But only for a second. “Let me grab my jacket.”

Outside, the night air was cool and still, the streets around the Ferrari headquarters quiet under the amber streetlights. The walk to the restaurant was short, the sounds of the town muted except for distant laughter and the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.

The restaurant was small and intimate, with wooden tables polished smooth and walls lined with faded photographs and old racing memorabilia. The low lighting cast warm shadows, and the rich smells of basil, garlic, and slow-cooked tomato sauce wrapped around you like a comforting blanket.

Lewis didn’t put on a show. He didn’t act like Lewis Hamilton, global icon. He simply pulled out your chair with a quiet dignity, sat with a relaxed posture that surprised you, and asked what you liked without pretence or celebrity.

You ordered pasta, something simple but full of flavour, and a glass of red wine that stained the rim of your glass a deep garnet. He laughed once, low and genuine, when your fork clinked awkwardly against the wine glass as you tried to pour a delicate sip with too much enthusiasm.

Halfway through the meal, as the conversation meandered from mundane topics favourite movies, childhood memories to more personal territory, you looked at him. Really looked. The glare of competition and the weight of expectations had faded from his eyes. What remained was something rare and unguarded.

“You’re different here,” you said softly, voice barely above the hum of conversation around you.

He tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Good different?”

“Honest.”

Lewis rested his forearms on the table, his fingers idly brushing the curve of his glass as if anchoring himself to the moment. “It’s easier when I’m not being chased.”

“You’re still being watched,” you reminded him gently.

He gave a small shrug, almost imperceptible. “Not by you.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you let the silence stretch between you a quiet understanding that needed no words.

“You want someone to see you,” you said after a moment, “not just watch you.”

His jaw tensed, the muscles tightening like a breath held too long. But he didn’t deny it. Instead, he looked at you really looked like he was trying to figure out how he hadn’t noticed you sooner. Like you were the missing piece in a puzzle he thought he had solved long ago.

And maybe, just maybe, he was. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Late Winter, Barcelona Test Week

The Ferrari motorhome buzzed quietly with the calm energy of a team preparing for battle. Warm light spilled from overhead panels, soft conversations murmured around the hospitality area, and the occasional clink of cutlery echoed faintly through the air. Outside, the cool Catalan breeze whispered against the glass walls, but inside, the atmosphere was insulated — a cocoon of focus and quiet determination.

You were tucked away in the corner of the physio room, methodically organising a fresh batch of resistance bands. The subtle scent of leather and antiseptic mingled in the air, familiar and oddly comforting. Your hands worked with practiced ease, but your attention was partially drawn to Lewis, sprawled on the treatment table like it was a throne rather than a place of rehab.

He looked subdued today not withdrawn or tense, just internal, like the world was weighing heavily behind those calm eyes. He scrolled through telemetry data on his iPad, his fingers flicking through stats and lap times, but you could tell his mind was elsewhere.

“Shoulders tight again?” you asked softly, without looking up.

“Mmh,” he hummed in response, a low sound of distraction. “Didn’t sleep.”

You glanced over your shoulder, curiosity mingling with concern. “The new mattress not working?”

He shrugged, eyes flickering to the ceiling as if searching for answers there. “My brain’s loud.”

Crossing the room with your clipboard in hand, you stopped beside him. The warmth of the motorhome wrapped around you both, the faint hum of the air conditioning mingling with distant voices. “Want me to run the TENS unit?” you offered gently.

There was a long pause. No answer came at first, just the soft flicker of the screen and his shallow breaths. Then, quietly, almost like a request you hadn’t expected, he said, “Only if you’ll stay while it runs.”

Your heart caught. Lewis never asked for anything like that. Usually, he tolerated you, allowed your presence as a necessary part of his routine. But this was different. This was an invitation.

You set the clipboard down carefully, your fingers brushing the surface as you leaned in. “Of course.”

You attached the electrodes to his upper back with practiced precision. As soon as the current hummed to life, Lewis exhaled not a dramatic release, but a subtle loosening of tension that you hadn’t realised was coiled so tightly beneath his skin. Your fingers adjusted the settings, the touch gentle and sure, moving over his skin without the flinch or pull of resistance you’d seen in the early weeks. This was progress.

“Tell me what your brain’s saying,” you murmured, voice low enough that it felt like a secret meant only for him.

He tilted his head toward you, eyes half-lidded, soft and searching. “You really want to know?”

“I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

There was silence, but it wasn’t shutting you out. It was a pause, a moment spent gathering the right words from a place that rarely opened so fully.

“I’m starting over,” he said finally, voice quiet but steady. “Again. Thirty-nine years old, in red. Everyone expects me to prove I didn’t make a mistake.”

You could feel the weight in his words not just the physical strain, but the mental and emotional pressure that came with changing teams, starting fresh under the unforgiving gaze of the racing world.

“I know I can still do this,” he added, voice tightening just slightly. “But I don’t know if they’ll let me.”

You looked at him, steady and certain. “You’re not here to ask permission.” Your tone was soft, but there was steel beneath it. “You’re here to win. They’ll catch up or they’ll fall behind.”

His gaze met yours again not fragile anymore, but tender. Vulnerable, but grounded.

“You always say the right thing,” he said, lips twitching into something like a smile.

“I say what I mean,” you replied, matching his quiet sincerity.

Lewis’s smile grew a little, the first true curve of warmth you’d seen in days. You didn’t say it aloud, but it was clear: since the move to Ferrari, it wasn’t just his muscles that had softened under your care. It was the walls he’d built around himself.

And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to see you not as a replacement, but as someone who genuinely cared.

The next afternoon, the physio room was quiet except for the soft hum of equipment and distant footsteps outside. You were focused on your clipboard, ticking off items from your checklist when Lewis appeared in the doorway.

He held out a coffee cup to you your name scrawled messily on the side. Almond milk, one sugar, and a light dusting of cinnamon crowned the foam exactly as you liked it.

You blinked, caught off guard. This was the first time he’d ever brought you anything like this.

He just shook his head, a small shrug that said, no need to make a fuss, without saying a word.

You tried to keep your expression neutral, tried not to smile. But the warmth in your chest betrayed you, and the corners of your mouth lifted before you could stop them.

Over the next few days, this simple gesture became a quiet ritual. Lewis began showing up without being asked, sometimes with your favourite coffee or a carefully brewed tea in hand. He seemed to know exactly when you needed a pick-me-up before exhaustion could settle in or frustration rise.

You started finding small notes tucked between your equipment or slipped inside your notebook. Some were sweet and sincere, little messages of gratitude written in his usual messy, hurried handwriting - “Thanks for having my back” or “Can’t do this without you.” Others were playful, teasing words that made you laugh softly, the kind of laughter that lingered long after he’d left the room - “Try not to burn down the physio room today, yeah?”

Bit by bit, Lewis peeled back the layers he usually kept so well hidden. You saw flashes of the man behind the driver the quiet humour, the subtle kindness, the moments of doubt and vulnerability he rarely let anyone witness.

And in the spaces between those gestures and glances, something began to grow.

It was slow and subtle, almost imperceptible at first, like the first hint of spring stirring beneath winter’s grip.

Something unspoken, fragile a connection weaving itself quietly between two people learning to trust. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Barcelona – Final Day of Testing

The paddock outside was a chaotic symphony of noise engineers darting between trailers with purposeful urgency, mechanics shouting instructions over the relentless hum of engines winding down, camera crews scrambling to catch their last moments of the week. The air buzzed with adrenaline and exhaustion, punctuated by the sharp scent of burnt rubber and fuel.

But the moment you stepped into Lewis’s private motorhome, the world outside seemed to dissolve completely. The warm, muted light inside wrapped around you like a soft blanket, contrasting the frenetic energy just beyond the door. The faint scent of eucalyptus from the diffuser mingled with the lingering musk of sweat and leather, grounding the space in an intimate, familiar cocoon.

You pressed your hands gently along his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingertips tense and then slowly begin to loosen under your touch. The warmth radiating from his skin was steady, steady enough to calm the knot of adrenaline still pulsing through your own veins.

There was an unspoken understanding in the air between you no need for words. He wasn’t Lewis Hamilton here, the untouchable, celebrated champion. He was simply Lewis, the man who had, bit by bit, allowed you into his carefully guarded world, even if only a little.

When you finished, you took a step back, wiping your hands on the towel. You glanced up at him, silently waiting for a response. But instead of breaking the quiet with words, he rose slowly, moving toward you with a deliberate calmness that made your heart beat a little faster.

The space between you shrank in an instant, the distance closing until you could feel the warmth of his breath brush against your skin. You looked up at him, your breath catching somewhere between surprise and anticipation. His eyes locked onto yours dark, unreadable pools that seemed to hold a thousand unspoken emotions.

Almost instinctively, his hand rose, fingers trembling just slightly as they tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was feather-light, the soft brush of his skin against your cheek sending a quiet thrill through you.

You stood frozen, heart racing, as his fingers lingered warm and gentle softer than anything you’d expected from the fiercely driven man you knew. Time seemed to slow, compressing the world around you into a small, fragile bubble where nothing else existed but the two of you.

His eyes searched yours, as if trying to decipher every hidden feeling you hadn’t dared voice. His breath was steady but measured, betraying a subtle tension beneath the surface like he was waging an internal battle, the same storm you both seemed to be navigating in your own ways.

The distant drone of engines and chatter outside faded into white noise, replaced by the soft rhythm of your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Thank you” His voice was a low whisper, heavy with meaning, thick with vulnerability that made your chest tighten in a way you hadn’t expected.

His gaze softened further, shedding the public persona like a worn coat. This was the part of him few ever glimpsed—the Lewis behind the driver’s helmet the man who had slowly quietly let you in.

He took a hesitant step closer, the warmth of his body nearly merging with yours. You could feel the magnetic pull, but this time, the air between you wasn’t charged with tension or uncertainty. It was calm, peaceful, and filled with something unspoken but deeply understood a quiet connection forged through trust.

“I’m not always this...asshole of a person,” he admitted, voice rough with self-awareness. “I’m sorry I pushed you away when you were just trying to do your job.”

He paused, searching your face as if weighing how much of himself he could afford to reveal. “I don’t know how to do this.”

You shook your head gently, stepping just enough closer to close the gap between uncertainty and possibility.

“You don’t have to know,” you said softly, your hand rising to rest over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “I’m here. As your physiotherapist. And, if you want, something more.”

For a moment, his eyes flickered with an emotion you couldn’t quite name a complex mix of gratitude, longing, and something like fear.

Then, without hesitation, he closed the space between you.

His lips met yours in a tentative kiss, soft and questioning at first, as if he was testing the reality of the moment, unsure if it was something he deserved or even wanted to believe in.

But when you leaned in, matching his pace, the kiss deepened an intimate exchange that left you breathless. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, the heat of his body seeping into yours, grounding you in the here and now.

His lips were tender, deliberate, as though every brush and press was trying to say what words could not. You felt it in the gentle tracing of his fingers along your back, in the way his entire being seemed to magnetically draw yours nearer.

When you finally pulled away, breath shallow and heart pounding, a quiet smile curved his lips—soft, genuine, far from the bravado he wore like a second skin.

His eyes, usually guarded and inscrutable, held something raw and real something he’d been hiding for too long.

“Does that feel real enough?” he teased, voice low but laced with warmth, the familiar glint of humour returning to his gaze.

You smiled back, fingertips still brushing lightly over the collar of his shirt, anchoring yourself in this moment of fragile clarity.

“More real than anything,” you whispered.

And in that quiet, shared space inside his motorhome, surrounded by the fading sounds of a racing world, you both knew this was only the beginning -

Of something neither of you could yet name, but both were ready to face.

Because you weren’t just his physiotherapist anymore.

And he wasn’t just the superstar you worked for.

You were something new. Something uncertain, but fiercely alive.

And somehow, in that moment, it already felt like home.

#lewis hamilton #lh44 #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x reader #x reader #lh44 x reader #f1 imagine #lh44 imagine #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton one shot #f1 one shot

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sidsickly · 3 days ago

Text

Obsessive!Reader Blurb

A/n: I couldn’t think of a proper ending or anything so i decided to leave it as it is and classify it as a blurb☝️🤓

side note i also like just started criminal minds I’ve never seen it lol, so forgive me if its shit i only know matt from a few movies.

uh enjoy i may or may not consider doing another part but idk yet

You didn’t know how to stop the growing infatuation with your coworker. Maybe it was the slight exhaustion that paints Spencer's face when he looks over the reports on his desk, probably the way he furrows his brows when he’s thinking too hard–or it was the way the pitch in his voice would raise when given the opportunity to speak about his favorite things.

Nothing made sense if he wasn’t looking at you, speaking to you, giving you any ounce of his attention.

It started with glances from across the room, you were supposed to be working on reports but Spencer was making coffee and talking to Morgan–But why was he giving all his attention to him? Why wasn’t he talking to you? What’s so important that Morgan had to talk to him now? Your grip on the reports tightened crumpling the papers.

The glances weren’t enough, you knew they would get old after a while–Especially when the glances turned to stares and the team started to take notice. With the sudden attention on you from almost everyone but him, you grew more desperate for his eyes on nobody but you.

You knew this was wrong.

For christ sake you hunt these types of people down–and still you waited around after everyone else cleared out. Watching. Waiting. Then he came out, he went straight for his car without even glancing in your direction.

Didn’t he notice you parked in the darkness waiting for him?

Rejection. You were right there, watching his every move and yet his eyes never went in your direction. He didn’t acknowledge you–so when he pulled out the parking lot and started down the road home.. You followed.

You followed from a distance trying not to draw attention to yourself. Your heart was pounding out so hard you could hear it in your ears, the radio drowned out as your grip tightened on the wheel. Your whole body felt like it was vibrating as you drove then– he turned.

You’d lose him now if you didn’t speed up. So you pushed on the gas a bit more and made the same turn.

Where is he?

Your eyes scanned the road as you slowed down, it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds since he turned so where did he go?

He was gone.

His car was nowhere in sight.

This only caused desperation to take over, but it was already too late. You pulled over for a second trying to collect yourself. This was wrong, it was all wrong. But it was his fault. If he wasn’t so careless you wouldn’t even have the chance to follow him, if he paid more attention to his surroundings he would’ve noticed the way you watch him, If he wasn’t so kind to you he would’ve noticed the scribbles of his name in your notebook.

—--------

You drove home feeling defeated. Was this anger? Sadness? You couldn’t place your feelings as you pulled into your complex parking lot, you lazily parked your car at the far end before putting your forehead on the wheel. A few minutes pass and the silence of the night begins to eat at you, snatching up your bag from the passenger as you slide out the car.

Filled with defeat you drag yourself into the building, lazily bringing your keys to the scanner to open the door. Letting the door slam as you make your way straight down the hall, fumbling with your keys you take a turn down another hall trying to grab your apartment key. Tossing your bag on your shoulder as you reach the door wasting no time to unlock it, pushing inside with a soft groan you toss the bag onto the floor.

Slipping out your shoes you can’t help but notice the small draft in the room, shutting the door and scanning the room. Did you leave the windows cracked open? Odd. Usually this would set off an alarm in anyone's head–But your mind was elsewhere filled with nothing but him.

You drag yourself to your room, flicking the switch by your doorway and you stop in your tracks. When did the light go out? You raise a brow at this–You could’ve swore it was working this morning.

“Apartment break-ins are far less likely than house break-ins, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t lock your windows.”

You froze.

“Especially if you live on the first floor.”

Your eyes are wide, finally noticing the shadow by your bedroom window. A tall, slender man stood in your room–You recognized him almost immediately, the dark hid his features but you’d recognize his voice anywhere.

“Spencer?”

BOO

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #fanfic #fan fiction #x reader #blurb #sid’s impala

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ctrl-alt-tahu · 1 day ago

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Andor: What I want next from Star Wars

A break from your regularly scheduled Bionicle posts: I watched season two of Andor, and just reading the #Andor tag on Tumblr isn't enough--I need to contribute. The cut below is for spoilers.

I liked it! It wasn't perfectly, but I really liked it. I like Star Wars. I like most Star Wars. I'm not "oh, this was Star Wars, but done well snobbish"--I like Ahsoka, and Obi-wan, and The Book of Boba Fett, and Resistance. In general, I like Star Wars.

But just because I am super-talented at suspending my disbelief and immersing myself in whatever story it is I'm watching while I'm watching it doesn't mean that every story is equally good, and the reason I've gone down this fandom rabbit hole the past three-four weeks is because Andor is good. I've seen a lot of complaints--this being Tumblr--about how the show handles this character or that (mostly Cinta and Bix)--and I don't think that the show is perfect, or those criticisms invalid, but I *do* think they stem--at least in part--from the show being too short! I want more of it. It was planned for five seasons and then the last four of them got compressed down to one and it shows. I think what we got is largely superb, but for anyone not named Cassian Andor--and, honestly, even for him--the show does yeoman's work in implying rather than telling.

That's not necessarily a bad thing: I think Andor is the rare Star Wars property that's more about ideas than it is about characters: it's not about telling a new story with your action figures or even about exploring the sandbox; it's about fascism and freedom and resistance. The characters are subordinated to this more than usual with Star Wars, and that allows the truncation of four seasons into one far more gracefully than you might expect--but it also means that telling you what happens to Wilmon or Vel or Perrin or Leida or even Kleya or Mon Mothma is subordinated to "this is what a rebellion looks like."

That's not an absolute: this is still a story about characters, and the writers and actors do amazing jobs of making us care--deeply--about characters who, this season particularly, may only get two-to-four scenes. It's frustrating that the show was shortened. Frustrating that it was 12 episodes instead of (say) 18. It leaves you wanting so much more. But, look--Tony Gilroy is over it and this is all the Andor we're getting. Could they do more stuff set in the gaps and get me into it? Sure. Assuming they don't, though, can I pretty please with cherries on top ask for a spiritual successor? I doubt it would be the same, but you can't tell me that Tony Gilroy being done has to mean the entire team of writers is done. Get Beau Willimon or someone from the team to give a try.

Anyway, I'm not realistically trying to pitch Lucasfilm's next endeavour--God knows Disney will do what it wants. But what *I* now desperately want is the post-Battle of Yavin continuation for the surviving characters. Quite apart from Andor-withdrawal symptoms, the gap between ANH and ESB is one that has been tried in SO MANY comic books and novels and not ONE of them has ever landed for me--the gap between ESB and ROTJ is less alien to me than this one.

There should also be abundant material: the Rebellion wins this one-in-a-million punch... but the Empire isn't knocked out. Three years later, the Rebels are on the run, hiding somewhere far worse than Yavin, and the Empire has Super Star Destroyers. A show what happens after victory would be compelling: think of how the Cold War immediately followed victory in WWII, or how Reconstruction went wrong after the Civil War.

And there's a huge power vacuum--for both Rebels and Imperials--after Yavin. On the Rebel side, think of all the losses at Scarif and Yavin--and on Alderaan. Bail's absence alone probably throws the Rebel Alliance into chaos. On the one hand, they're riding high on victory, but they're probably undercutting themselves: they're the dog that caught the car. What on earth are they going to do with it?

Keeping in mind that the Rebels are an alliance, some of the earlier fault lines probably pop up again as they have to go to ground after the sugar high of the medal ceremony. Maybe some of them think the war is over: the Emperor showed his hand by dissolving the Senate and destroying Alderaan, and all they have to do is get a parade going on Coruscant. And then some enterprising Imperial Captain with no more than a couple small cruisers strafes Yavin and drives them away.

(You do keep Han/Leia/Luke away for most of this: this isn't about them, but they're going to be more of a presence than in Andor. Think something in the ballpark of Vader in Rogue One.)

(Also, if you want some imported EU content as I always do, then maybe THIS is where you insert Garm Bel Iblis splitting with the main rebels who will form the later New Republic.)

Anyway, there's a story to be told in the two years that follow: plenty of scope to see what Vel, Wilmont, and Kleya are up to now. I am deliberately NOT saying Bix. That doesn't mean she has to be written out completely, but I think bringing her back in means bringing up Cassian's unknown kid and that's just... not the story I want here. If she appears at all, it should be just as a contrast: how the active militancy isn't for everyone, but there is a home front that it's being done on behalf of.

I think this story could mirror Andor in having a run-up to the second Death Star the way Andor ran up to the first one. That means what the Ghorman Massacre was to the first show, "many Bothans died" would be in the second one--i.e. the set piece of the final season (just don't chicken out, Lucasfilm: this is my fantasy, so it can actually run for four seasons if I want it to).

And if you want a real twist on things that's just barely scratched at in Andor, you could have a whole subplot on "what do we even do with Luke Skywalker?" Like... the farmboy is a poster child: innocent upbringing, starry-eyed hero who saves a princess out of nowhere and takes down the Death Star. What do you actually DO with him if you're Mon Mothma or General Rieekan? Is Luke always being sent off on publicity stunt type missions? You can't let HIM get his hands dirty--the last thing you want is your new hero to get sullied with "Luthen Rael" stuff. What happens when he first reveals he's carrying a lightsaber? Is there a ripple of religion (not even really noticed by Luke) as people start hanging on his words?

And the rebellion does have to consider what hard, Luthen Rael stuff it should be doing. After the Death Star, the Rebellion is out in the open, more eyes on it than ever before--after Alderaan, even with Imperial propaganda, there are more persuadable ears than ever. And the thing that Palpatine is going to want more than ever is to find some new atrocity to pin on them--ideally, some new atrocity the Empire can actually trick them into committing.

Meanwhile, on the Imperial side, the power vacuum is probably insane. How many of the Empire's best and brightest were on the Death Star? How many Imperials would now be using it as an opportunity to consolidate power or liquidate rivals? And don't forget: the Senate just got dissolved at the same time that Tarkin leaves a hole at the top of the Imperial military. There's probably even a window where Vader is presumed dead.

Canonically, we know that Vader ends up filling a big chunk of the gap that is left: this is when he becomes the Supreme Commander. His return after being presumed dead, which for our point-of-view Imperials (gonna need some new ones) probably coincides with his public appointment as the Supreme Commander, is like a military coup--and there's probably some old school Republic sorts who think that's exactly what happened: kindly old Palpatine has just been turned into a figurehead and doesn't even know it.

Dedra could plausibly reappear as a point-of-view Imperial. Not as an ISB supervisor, I think, but with Krennic dead, Partagaz dead, Heert dead... anyone who gave a crap about her in any sense is no longer around, but the Empire needs bodies. The Emperor immediately starts planning a second Death Star (stockpiled supplies and all the kinks worked out with the first Death Star are how we'll make sense of the second one coming along fast enough for RotJ--that and the Emperor really only needing a shell of it with a working laser, rather than a whole moon-sized space station).

She's not invaluable, but Dedra is valuable enough to get her sentence commuted to some kind of indentured servitude working on the new Death Star, and while she isn't happy, she takes what the Empire offers, because of course she does.

That's... about all I've got so far. I don't expect we'll ever get something even remotely in this ballpark, and that's okay: I don't have to actually get more for Andor to have been good... but it's a fun exercise to start sketching when I have Star Wars on the brain. And you know... Disney left those characters alive and they're not going to stop coming back to the Original Trilogy, so I may as well lean into it.

#Andor #Andor spoilers #andor season 2 #Star Wars

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sunbedo · 1 year ago

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Hey guys. gay rights

#i already made the sonic one a while bc yknow. kinnie stuff youve all seen my blog theme #but then i was wearing my Fearless Year of Shadow(tm) shirt along with it and my irl bff was like.#'why are you wearing a sonic bracelet with that shirt if you love shadow so much 🤨' *#(he doesnt know much about sth stuff but ive infodumped abt shadow and his backstory to him many times)#and i was like 😭😭 BECAUSE I DONT HAVW A SHADOW KANDI BUT I WANNA MAKE ONE. I WILL SOON #so. now i do!! taking my ad/derall on the weekends always make me want to make more kandi. its great!#and yknow what else it makes me want to do...... talk more on here >:3333 #me and my dad are gonna go to a local jazz festival this afternoon bc our jazz combo is playing at it!!#itll be fun. my dad said hes gonna get some food from this really good breakfast place on the way thwre #which is not the best part. the best part is outside the shop there is a wonderful kitty cat who hangs around the parking lot #bc hes owned by the ppl who own the bar right next door #its so great. everybody knows him (the cat) and loves him. the v/ape shop next door has a tip door set up for him even though the #bar owner ppl take care of him and take him to the vet nd stuff. my dad found a faceb/ook page somebody made for him #and apparently it just has pictures of ppl at the bar holding him. its so great and hilarious. this cat is so loved #by the v/ape shop people. by random people at this beachtown bar. by the breakfast shop people.#anyways uh. this post was abkut kandi wasnt it 😭😭😭 lol #cherry chortles #anyways the add/er/all also usually makes me want to look at and sort through my pkmn card collection. so imma do that #because my dads friend (and my friend too i guess! me and him exchange cat photos bc he has this adorable chunky cat named gremlin) that we #play bar trivia with on tuesdays (dw its not really even a bar. its mostly a restaurant) asked me abt my pokemon card collection #bc the final question was to put a few franchises (it was like. dora the ecplora and spide/rman etc. and pokemon) in order of revenue #and obvs pokemon was the top. bc of factors like the trading cards so thats how that came up #we didnt bet any of our points btw but we almost! got it right! the order was pk/mn dora spidamen friends (the tv seies) but we had spidman #as second. but we still won!! our team is on a two game winning streak!!! we always split the money so next week ill get another 8 dolla >:3 #wow i havent hit tag limit yert #lol. yall'll open the 'see all tags' thing and boom. do you love the color of the sky type shit 😭😭😭#sorry that sounds too much like aave. i (white baby) cant be sayin that #cherrys kandi #okay well i had a tag with a verse from the ultimarw showdown bc i didnt know what else to say #but with my kandi tag and these two tags i have hit tag limit. thank you folks ill be here all night

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phagodyke · 3 months ago

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crying in the work bathroom again I shouldve just booked the whole fucking day off in the first place it was stupid to think I could work after

#still on edge i cant fucking relax and i feel so pathetic and stupid and i want to go home Now #and it doesnt help that the work im doing is boring and menial and not even my own work its for another dept and im tired of feeling so #useless and incompetent and not belonging in any of these fucking teams and it doesnt even matter nothing i do fucking matters #its not even that big a fucking deal its a rly common fear and all this aftermath is a natural response to dealing with it #im just handling it badly. like i do everything in my fucking lifeeeee 👎#alright. setting a 10 min timer so my eyes dont look red anymore and then ill go eat lunch #and i only have 2 more hours of work anyway and i can put headphones on while im typing this shit in the spreadsheet #and i can cry properly when i get home. god this is making me feel like a fucking high schooler all over again i havent had to lock myself #in a bathroom stall to cry in a long time #.diaries #just a shitty dayyyy tomorrow will also suck and so will friday and the weekend bc ill probably have to cancel plans and stay home #but bc im having a difficult time n in a vulnerable state of mind ik im at risk of triggering my rsd which would be. very bad #last time i got triggered it took me months to get past it. if anything im just worried bc idk if i can restrain myself from harming rn #and its not that big a deal if i do but its been a while man. and itd be nice to keep my 2025 clean streak i havent had to so far #well ill cross that bridge. thinking abt my slow cooker at home.... pasta sauce save me.......#.vent #anyway sorry just gotta get it out. cant even have lunch w my friend today bc hes too busy so as always im alone while in distress #the universe loves isolating and alienating me when im already struggling just another reminder im asking too much #okay okay okay i need to leave this fucking bathroom

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autumnmatt · 8 months ago

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𝘨𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺.

summary: matt is playing fornite with his two brothers and he gets to loud when he keeps losing, causing his girlfriend to wake up from her slumber.

classification: fluff

warnings: kissing, pet names, suggestive language, use of y/n

it was about 3 in the morning and you were fast asleep in yours and matts bed, snuggled up in a blanket with matts stuffed pug mr. wrinkleton tucked under your arm.

matt on the other hand was in the middle of a very intense fornite match with his brothers nick and chris. there were about 10 people left in that match and your boyfriend was very determined to win.

all was going good during the game play until him and his brothers came across this very sweaty team. “on me on me!! these kids are good I need backup quickkk” matt yelled to nick and chris through his headset.

he then faced one of the opposing teammates but of course he lost the battle between them and got knocked. “FUCKKKKK” he screamed out of frustration. nick also got killed a little while after matt did by the same person.

y/n wasn’t that much of a heavy sleeper so when he started to yell out, she shifted in bed a little opening up her eyes to see what the yelling was coming from.

she looked up and saw the bright screen in front of her with fornite being played along with her boyfriend sitting in his gaming chair banging on the desk from just getting killed. she puts the blanket over her head and closes her eyes in an attempt to fall back asleep.

“CHRIS DUDE YOURE SO BAD THOSE KIDS WERE ASS” matt yells, slamming his controller on the desk making a very loud sound that could be heard throughout the room.

y/n tossed and turned once more slowly losing the battle of getting back to sleep. so she got up, yanked the covers off of her body, and started sleepily walking over towards matt, dragging her feet with every step she took.

once she made it over to the chair where he sat she stood there, waiting for matt to realize she was standing here. and once he did he could see the pout forming on her lips, instantly feeling guilt for being so loud so late at night.

“oh baby I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” he frowned, muting his mic and taking his headset off then holding his arms out to her and patting his lap, inviting her to come sit down.

she straddled him and rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the comfort of his warm body and taking in his familiar scent, the scent she loved most.

“go back to sleep baby, I promise I’ll keep it down”. he said and kissed the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her so that he could still have access to the controller also slowly rubbing up and down on her lower back.

“come to bed with me.” she groaned into his shoulder. she was already strarting to fall back asleep.

“of course I will baby.” he smiled taking his hands off the controller putting the headset on one last time to tells his brothers his was going to sleep. he shut of his computer, put his headset and controller up and gently picked her up to bring to the bed.

you wrapped your arms around his neck to prevent yourself from falling out of his arms. your face now buried into his chest.

he set you down on your side of the bed before walking over to his pulling the blanket over the both of you and situating the pillows so they were at a comfortable position under your heads.

you faced him for a few seconds to say your goodnights. you kissed his lips lazily before speaking. “goodnight I love you.” you spoke up, resting your head onto his chest and wrapping your arms around him.

“goodnight I love you too baby”. he said before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him. he kissed your forehead before you slowly drifted off to sleep in each others arms.

a/n: AHHHH I think this is so cute. my 2nd story on here, thank you so much for the love on my first story and definitely send me some requests. hope you enjoyed this fic, love you all!!!

taglist: @stayingstromboli @conspiracy-ash

respond to this post to be apart of my taglist!

#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matt stuniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo icons #cute #fluff #fanfic

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kateschi · 1 month ago

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don't make it weird

synopsis: you fix things. he breaks things. somehow, this feels like the beginning of a very complicated maintenance schedule.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!support!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: i CAN'T with this man i love him

the door slams open hard enough to rattle the tools hanging on the wall.

you don’t look up right away.

mostly because you’re elbow-deep in the exposed wiring of a damaged support item, but also because you’ve worked in this repair shop long enough to recognize the type.

heavy boots thud against the worn floor. there’s the distinct scent of burnt fabric, metal, and something sharper—nitroglycerin.

it’s a pro hero. and a pissed-off one, by the sound of it.

“oi.”

you sigh, wiping your forehead with the back of your wrist before finally glancing up.

and there he is—bakugou katsuki, standing in the middle of your shop like he owns the place, shoulders squared, posture tense.

he’s still in his full hero gear, minus the gauntlets, which he holds in one hand.

they’re charred, the inner mechanisms partially exposed, the reinforced metal plating dented in places you’re not sure should even be possible.

he shoves them onto the counter with a thud, red eyes locked onto yours.

“can you fix ‘em?”

you lean back against your workbench, wiping grease-streaked hands on your coveralls as you take him in fully.

he’s scowling like someone just insulted his entire bloodline, arms tense, jaw set. there’s a thin cut just above his brow, a smear of soot along his cheekbone.

you doubt he even noticed.

you, on the other hand, are just exhausted.

“you’re bakugou, right?”

his eye twitches. “obviously.”

“then you should know your gauntlets aren’t exactly easy to repair.” you tilt your head, dragging your fingers over the jagged edges of the damage. “who worked on ‘em before?”

bakugou crosses his arms. “support team at my agency.”

“uh-huh. and they kicked you out, didn’t they?”

a muscle ticks in his jaw, which is all the confirmation you need.

you exhale sharply through your nose, finally pulling his gloves toward you for a closer look. the weight is familiar in your hands, but the extent of the damage isn’t something you see every day.

“gonna take a while,” you tell him, rolling your shoulders before reaching for your tools. “come back in a few days.”

bakugou scoffs, a sharp, irritated sound. “the hell kinda shop is this? don’t you people do rush orders?”

“I do if I like the customer.” you flash a too-sweet smile, tapping a finger against the metal casing. “you’re not there yet.”

his scowl deepens, fingers twitching at his sides. for a second, you think he’s going to argue, but then he just clicks his tongue and turns on his heel.

the door slams behind him.

you shrug and get to work.

two days later, the bell above the shop door jingles violently, more from force than necessity. the entrance swings open with enough momentum that it nearly slams against the wall.

you don’t bother looking up because you already know who it is.

heavy bootsteps echo across the floor, purposeful and impatient.

the smell of burnt fabric and faint nitroglycerin lingers in the air, mixing with the scent of oil and metal shavings.

you keep your eyes on your workbench.

“shop’s closed,” you say, voice even, fingers steady as you adjust the wiring on a half-repaired gauntlet.

“don’t care.”

of course he doesn’t.

you finally glance up, finding bakugou katsuki standing in the middle of your shop like he owns the place. his gauntlets—still charred, still in desperate need of repair—hang at his sides.

his eyes are locked onto you.

you nod toward the stool in the corner. “sit there and shut up.”

he grumbles something under his breath—probably about your damn attitude—but he listens, dropping onto the stool with a barely contained huff.

you feel him before you see him. it’s like sitting next to a live wire.

he’s not a man built for stillness, and it shows—the way his fingers drum impatiently against his thigh, the restless flex of his arms, the slight bounce of his knee.

minutes stretch between you, the only sounds filling the room being the quiet hum of machines and the precise clicks of your tools.

then—

“how the hell did you end up doin’ this anyway?”

you pause, fingers tightening around a wrench before shifting slightly to glance at him over your shoulder.

“you mean fixing broken things for stubborn heroes?”

his eye twitches. “s’not what I meant.”

a lazy shrug. “I like making things. always have. didn’t wanna be a hero, but I still wanted to help.”

bakugou hums lowly, head tilting slightly, like he’s actually thinking about it.

which is impressive, considering patience isn’t exactly his strong suit.

another stretch of silence follows, longer this time.

then—

“they done?”

you click your tongue. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

the words spill out before your brain catches up.

and the moment they do—

you freeze.

across the room, bakugou stiffens like a live grenade, head snapping toward you so fast you half expect to hear a crack. his eyes widen, flickering with something unreadable—shock, maybe? amusement?

you’re not looking close enough to find out.

you clear your throat, face heating. “I meant your gloves are cute. functional. whatever.”

a slow shift.

his lips curve, the corners twitching upward into something dangerous, something smug.

“you think I’m cute?”

“no.”

he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, amusement flickering behind his eyes. “you just said—”

“I said the gloves—”

“uh-huh.”

“shut up.”

his smirk widens, but—for once—he doesn’t push further.

and when you finally hand over his gloves, he flexes his fingers, testing the fit, and grunts.

“not bad.”

which, coming from him, might as well be high praise.

he keeps coming back after that.

sometimes his gauntlets are actually broken. other times, you’re almost positive he just finds an excuse to show up.

a busted strap here, a dent there—things that a hero like him could fix himself if he really wanted to. but he doesn’t. instead, he plants himself in your shop, arms crossed, shoulders squared like he belongs there.

you don’t call him out on it.

mostly because it’s kind of nice having him around.

not that you’d admit it.

one afternoon, he leans against your counter, his weight making it creak slightly under him.

his arms are crossed, biceps straining against the fabric of his black tee, and his gaze is unreadable—steady, but not as sharp as usual.

like he’s thinking too much about something.

“oi.” his voice cuts through the quiet hum of your workspace. “you ever take breaks?”

you blink up at him from behind the goggles perched on your head, adjusting the strap absentmindedly. “what?”

“you’re always here.” his brows pull together slightly, a crease forming between them. he looks almost… annoyed. “you ever get out?”

you snort, grabbing a screwdriver and turning back to your work. “and do what? go on a date?”

there’s a pause.

a long one.

the air shifts, charged in a way that makes your fingers tighten around the tool in your hand.

you frown, glancing up just in time to catch the way his jaw clenches.

his gaze flickers across your face, something unreadable swirling in his red eyes before he schools his expression again.

“…you got a problem with that?”

you arch a brow, waiting, watching. “you got a problem if I do?”

his scowl deepens, and his weight shifts slightly, like he’s uncomfortable. his fingers flex against his bicep, a sign of irritation—or hesitation, maybe.

“no. just figured you’d be too busy fixin’ shit for idiots heroes.”

you tilt your head, smirking slightly. “so you admit you’re an idiot?”

he clicks his tongue, sharp and quick. “I am not one of them. plus, that ain’t the damn point.”

“then what is the point, bakugou?”

his gaze snaps back to yours.

there’s something behind his eyes now—determined, stubborn, a little reckless. his lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something, but he hesitates, just for a fraction of a second.

and then—

“you got plans tonight?”

your brain short-circuits.

you open your mouth, then close it, blinking. “you asking me on a date?”

he exhales sharply, like he’s already regretting this, like you’re the one making things complicated. “I’m askin’ if you wanna grab dinner. don’t make it weird.”

you stare at him for a second, screwdriver still clutched in your hand, the weight of his words settling in the small space between you.

it’s not exactly romantic.

but, somehow, it’s so him.

your lips twitch, amusement bubbling up despite the way your heart has decided to trip over itself. “alright, dynamight. you’re paying.”

bakugou scoffs, rolling his eyes, but there’s something almost…relieved in the way his shoulders relax a fraction. “yeah, yeah. hurry up.”

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

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wethotcrazy · 5 months ago

Text

NEVER GO HUNGRY EVER AGAIN

pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

word count: 1727

hii it's been a while since my last fic and im stll on a high since the abu dabi gp, so heres a cute little lando fic. also just finished my first semester of uni hopefully i can be more active.

The soft glow of the monitors illuminated Lando’s face as he leaned forward, laser-focused on his game. His fingers danced across the controller, jaw set in determination. Voices of his friends buzzed through his headset, a mix of banter, callouts, and the occasional burst of laughter.

“Lando, mate, you’re absolutely throwing right now,” Max’s voice rang out, feigned frustration clear in his tone.

“I’m not throwing! I’m playing the long game,” Lando shot back with a grin, eyes still glued to the screen. “It’s called strategy, ever heard of it?”

“Yeah, the strategy of losing,” Ria quipped, drawing a chorus of laughter from the team.

“Alright, alright, just watch this,” Lando said, leaning even closer to the screen. His tongue poked out in concentration, the telltale sign he was locked in.

Time slipped away unnoticed as he navigated the game’s twists and turns. The familiar rhythm of the stream chat’s messages scrolled rapidly on his second monitor, but he was too deep into the game to glance over. Hours must have passed, but Lando’s mind was too preoccupied to register the growling in his stomach.

Then, a knock.

“One sec,” Lando muttered, sliding one earcup off his head. He glanced toward the door, his brows furrowing in confusion before realization dawned. He leaned back in his chair, eyes softening. “Come in!”

There was a brief sound of shuffling, the slight thud of a hip bumping the door before it slowly creaked open. Y/N stepped in, balancing a plate of food in her hands with the focus of someone carrying a national treasure. The chat’s speed doubled as her side profile came into frame, and messages like "OMG it’s Y/N!" and "Wifey alert 😍" flooded the chat box.

“Brought you dinner,” she said softly, walking toward him with careful steps. The aroma hit him before she even reached his desk, and his heart swelled with warmth.

“Oh, you’re a legend, babe,” Lando said, quickly sitting upright and scooting his chair back to give her space. He took the plate from her, eyes wide with admiration as he gazed at the meal she’d prepared. “This looks amazing.”

“I was worried you’d forget to eat,” she teased, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her smile was soft but knowing—she’d seen him get lost in games like this before.

Lando’s eyes didn’t leave her face for a second. His gaze flickered to the chat, catching sight of the flood of adoring messages. "The way he’s looking at her, I’m sick 🩸" and "That’s the look of a man in love" filled the stream.

“She’s literally the best ever, chat,” Lando said, his voice warm and unwavering. He reached up with his free hand to gently squeeze Y/N’s wrist before letting her go. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world, I swear.”

“I’ll get you a drink,” Y/N said, already turning to leave. “Wait here.”

“I—” Lando started, but she’d already slipped out of the room. He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head before glancing at the camera. “Chat, I’m telling you, I’ve won the lottery. She’s just…” He trailed off, unable to find a word that felt big enough to encompass it all. “Yeah. She’s perfect.”

“Bro, you’re down so bad,” Max’s voice cackled through the headset. “Not even hiding it anymore.”

“Why would I?” Lando shot back, eyes sparkling with pride. He lifted a piece of the dinner—some kind of stuffed pasta—and popped it into his mouth. His eyes widened as soon as he tasted it. “Okay, wait, hold on.” He covered his mouth as he chewed, glancing at the camera like he’d just uncovered a world-class secret. “This is actually insane. I’m eating like royalty right now.”

“Imagine getting home-cooked meals while streaming. Must be nice,” Ria sighed dramatically.

“Couldn’t be me,” Aaron added with mock bitterness. “I’m over here eating cold leftover pizza like a peasant.”

“Jealousy’s a bad look on you, mate,” Lando grinned, taking another bite. He’d meant to savor it, but he’d already eaten half before he realized it. “Chat, she’s turned into a whole chef since moving in. Two weeks ago she’d barely step into the kitchen, and now look at this. Look at me.” He gestured toward himself with his fork. “I’m living like a king.”

The chat’s pace somehow sped up even more, hearts, fire emojis, and "Y/N for president" messages flooding in.

Y/N returned with a cold drink in hand and set it beside him on the desk. Her eyes darted to the chat for just a moment before glancing at him, eyebrows raised in suspicion. “What did you say?” she asked, hands on her hips.

“Nothing incriminating, I promise,” Lando said, eyes wide with faux innocence. “Only that you’re basically a professional chef now.”

“Mhm. Sure,” she said, rolling her eyes, but the smile on her face gave her away. “Just eat it before it gets cold.”

Lando’s face broke into a grin so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes. He glanced once more at the chat. "Lando’s done for, he’s a goner," one person wrote, and he had to admit… they weren’t wrong.

He raised his glass to the camera in a mock toast. “To all of you wishing you had what I’ve got,” he said, eyes flicking back to Y/N as she disappeared through the door again, “I’m sorry, but it’s mine. All mine.”

A couple of months into living together, it had become a routine for Y/N to bring Lando food during his streams. It started as a simple act of kindness but quickly became a beloved ritual for both of them — and for Lando’s ever-watchful chat.

Tonight was no different.

Lando’s camera captured him in his element, leaning forward in his chair, controller in hand, eyes narrowed in sharp focus. His headset covered his curls, his tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth in classic 'concentration mode.' On his second monitor, the stream chat moved at lightning speed, viewers spamming “LAN-DOOOO”, “HE’S SWEATING”, and various emotes of fire, skulls, and crying faces.

“Lando, you’re one shot, man,” Max’s voice rang in his ear, sharp with urgency.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah—I got it, I got it,” Lando muttered, hands moving rapidly on the controller. “Just cover me for like... five seconds!”

“Five seconds too many,” Ria chimed in. “I’m not your babysitter, Norris.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Lando quipped, grinning as he slid his character behind cover.

Then, it happened — the knock on the door.

“Yo, hold on. Hold on. One sec,” Lando said, throwing a quick glance at his door. A slow grin crept onto his face as he realized what time it was. “Chat, you know what’s coming,” he said, sliding his chair back.

“It’s timeeee!” one person spammed in the chat.

“WIFEY ALERT 🚨,” another user wrote, followed by a sea of heart emojis.

The door nudged open slowly, and in came Y/N, balancing a plate with one hand and holding a drink in the other. Her expression was one of mock seriousness, eyes narrowed like she was on a high-stakes mission. The second she stepped into frame, the chat went wild.

“SHE’S HEREEEE” “THE QUEEN HAS ARRIVED” “HOLD ON, SHE’S CARRYING SNACKS??” “I’m so single it’s painful”

“Dinner delivery for one Mr. Lando Norris,” Y/N announced, placing the plate in front of him with a flourish like she was a waiter at a five-star restaurant. “Sir, your steak and garlic butter potatoes. Compliments of the chef.”

“Oh, you’re too good to me, babe,” Lando said, eyes wide with dramatic awe. He glanced at the plate like it was a priceless treasure, then looked at the camera, pointing at Y/N. “Chat, look at this. Are you seeing this? Chef Y/N at it again. Tell me I’m not the luckiest guy in the world.”

“You’re not,” Max’s voice cut in, laughing. “I’m still here eating microwave noodles, mate.”

“Skill issue,” Y/N shot back casually, leaning down to glance at Lando’s second monitor. The chat’s speed had tripled. Her lips twitched into a smile. “They’re calling you a simp, by the way.”

“I am a simp,” Lando declared without hesitation, holding a fork like it was a scepter. “And I have no regrets.” He stabbed a piece of steak and stuffed it into his mouth, eyes closing in exaggerated bliss. “Oh, my days. This is illegal. You’re ruining me.”

“Man’s got his priorities right,” Aaron’s voice chimed in through the headset.

Y/N’s laughter bubbled out, light and melodic, and she shook her head. “Don’t choke on it, simp. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” She leaned in and tapped a quick kiss to his cheek, which sent the chat into meltdown.

“CLIP IT, CLIP IT RIGHT NOW” “THE KISS. THE KISS. WE’VE WON.” “I’m crying. They’re so in love it’s disgusting.”

Lando’s cheek flushed pink as he glanced back at the camera, his grin stretching wider than it should. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m done for,” he said, rubbing his cheek where her lips had been like he could still feel it. “But you’d be too if you had Y/N bringing you garlic butter potatoes, alright? Don’t be jealous. It’s not a good look.”

“You’re insufferable,” Ria sighed. “But also, I’d like to formally request a plate.”

“Tell Y/N I’ll pay her to ship it to me,” Max added.

“She’s not taking requests,” Lando shot back, grinning like a man with the world’s greatest secret. “This exclusive menu is mine and mine alone.” He held up the plate to the camera, displaying the perfectly cooked steak and crispy golden potatoes. “Look at that. The chat’s in shambles. They’re losing it. I would be too, honestly.”

He glanced toward the door, his grin softening as he caught sight of Y/N’s figure passing by in the hallway. “Yeah,” he muttered to himself, eyes trailing her for a moment longer before turning back to the camera. “I’m absolutely done for.”

“Somebody save this man,” Aaron’s voice cackled, but Lando didn’t even hear it.

“Don’t want to be saved, mate,” Lando said, mouth full of potatoes. He raised his glass toward the camera like he’d done a hundred times before. “Cheers to being a simp, yeah? I’ll happily stay down bad forever.”

#f1 #formula 1 #lando norris #formula one #ln4 #f1 imagine #lando norris imagine #lando x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x you #ln4 mcl #mclaren #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fluff

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moonlightwritingf1 · 5 months ago

Text

Straight to you | LN4

✨summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N, captivated by photos of her friend Lando Norris at a gala, sends a bold, flirtatious text that shifts their dynamic. Days later, Lando surprises her at her apartment, confessing his feelings and revealing he can't hold back anymore.

✨pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

✨word count ━━━━━━━ 1.2k

Y/N stretched out on her couch, a glass of wine in hand as her phone screen illuminated her face. She had spent the past hour scrolling through social media, and her feed was flooded with pictures and videos from the FIA Gala in Rwanda. And as much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t stop scrolling through them.

Lando Norris was everywhere: standing proudly with his team, laughing with his peers, and posing for the cameras. But it was one photo in particular that had her captivated—Lando in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, grinning like he knew he owned the room.

She sighed, smiling softly to herself. Over the past year, Lando had gone from a casual acquaintance to someone she truly valued. They’d met through mutual friends at a gathering in London, and their banter had been immediate and effortless. They weren’t best friends by any means, but their connection had grown naturally over time.

He had even invited her to a few races over the past year. At first, she’d assumed it was just because she was someone fun to have around. But there were moments—small, fleeting moments—when she caught him looking at her in a way that made her wonder if there was more to it.

The truth was, she found him attractive. Too attractive, in fact. But it was a line she’d refused to cross, afraid of ruining the friendship they’d built.

As the picture of Lando lingered on her screen, she opened their chat.

Y/N: Congrats again, Lan! You were incredible this season. So proud of you.

She reread the text twice, debating if it sounded too sentimental. After all, they didn’t exchange heartfelt messages often. Usually, it was teasing, inside jokes, and the occasional check-in. But tonight, pride for him outweighed her hesitation, and she hit send.

The reply came quicker than she expected.

Lando: Thanks, Y/N. Means a lot coming from you.

She smiled, staring at the screen. She could stop there, but the wine in her system and the tuxedo picture still sitting in her camera roll gave her an unexpected burst of boldness.

Y/N: Also… you looked insanely hot at the gala. Just saying.

The moment she hit send, her eyes widened in horror. “Oh no,” she muttered, setting her wine down and pressing her hands to her cheeks, which were now burning.

Her phone buzzed almost immediately.

Lando: Hot, huh? Didn’t know you thought of me like that.

She groaned, biting her lip as she typed back.

Y/N: Ignore that. I didn’t mean to send it.

Lando: Yeah, right. Totally accidental.

Y/N: Lando.

Lando: What? I’m just saying, I don’t mind. In fact, I think we should talk more about how hot you think I am.

She couldn’t help but laugh, even as she shook her head.

Y/N: You’re impossible.

Lando: And you’re blushing. Don’t lie.

She threw her phone onto the couch, but when it buzzed again, curiosity got the better of her.

Lando: For the record, I thought you looked pretty hot at Silverstone this year. Just saying.

Her heart skipped a beat. Was he flirting? No, he had to be joking—right?

Y/N: Are you flirting with me, Norris?

Lando: Maybe. Is it working?

Her stomach flipped, but she decided to match his energy.

Y/N: I don’t know. Maybe try harder next time.

Their playful exchange continued for another half hour, and while neither of them outright said what they were really thinking, the subtext was undeniable. By the time she went to bed, she couldn’t stop smiling, even if part of her wondered if they’d crossed a line.

Two days later, Y/N was in her tiny London apartment, halfway through cooking dinner, when a knock on the door startled her. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Wiping her hands on a towel, she walked to the door, pulling it open cautiously.

“Lando?” she asked, her voice filled with disbelief.

He stood there, suitcase in one hand and a small smile on his face. He was dressed casually in a hoodie and joggers, his hair slightly messy from what she assumed was a long flight.

“Surprise,” he said, his tone light.

Her mouth opened, then closed as she tried to process what she was seeing. “What are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to go to Monaco after the gala?”

“I was,” he admitted, stepping inside as she moved to let him in. “But I decided London sounded better.”

She closed the door behind him, her heart racing. “Why?”

His suitcase hit the floor with a thud as he turned to face her. The playful glint in his eyes softened, replaced by something more serious.

“Because you’re here,” he said simply.

Her heart stopped for a moment, and she struggled to find the right words. “Lando, I—”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he interrupted, taking a step closer. “That night, the things we said… it made me realize I’ve been holding back. And I don’t want to do that anymore.”

She blinked, her throat dry. “Holding back from what?”

“From this,” he said, his voice quieter now. “From telling you how I feel. I thought I could keep it casual, keep pretending we were just friends. But I can’t. Not when I know you feel something too.”

Her breath caught. “What makes you so sure I feel something?”

He grinned, leaning in just slightly. “You called me hot. Twice.”

She let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But I’m also here. For you. So tell me, Y/N… do you feel it too?”

She hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yes. I’ve felt it for a long time. I just didn’t want to lose you.”

His smile softened, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “You’re not going to lose me. If anything, you’re stuck with me now.”

Before she could overthink it, he closed the distance between them, cupping her face and pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was everything she’d dreamed of—soft yet urgent, full of all the feelings they’d both been holding back.

Her hands found their way to his chest, gripping the fabric of his hoodie. The kiss deepened as they moved toward the couch, their hands exploring, their whispered confessions tumbling out between kisses.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” he murmured, his lips trailing down her neck.

“Probably not as long as I have,” she shot back, pulling him closer.

“Wait,” she murmured again against his mouth, pulling back slightly.

“What?” he asked, his voice husky.

“You came all the way to London for me?”

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I’d fly to the ends of the earth for you.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and she pulled him back into another kiss, this one even more passionate than the last.

That night, months of tension and longing melted away as they finally let themselves feel everything they’d been suppressing.

Hours later, they lay tangled together on the couch, her head resting on his chest as his fingers lazily traced circles on her arm. She looked up at him and smiled, their embrace a quiet testament to their closeness.

“I’m glad you came,” she said softly.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

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rayaswrittings · 2 years ago

Text

I just want to feel

Pairing: Colby Brock x Fem!best friend!reader

Summary: your best friends, Sam and Colby, ask you to be in one of their Q&A videos, but there’s alcohol involved… a lot of it.

Warning(s): SMUT! Mature Language, mature themes, kissing, alcohol, unprotected p in v, Friends to lovers trope :)), choking etc.

This is a long writing so I’m sorry for mistakes!

“Are you sure I should be in the video? I mean, your fans barely know about me” You ask for a final time as Sam leads you to the living room, his recording camera already set up in front of the couch where Colby had been sitting. The two of them were wearing all black so you did too, a black off the shoulder sweater that was old. It was one of the main things you’d leave at Sam and Colby’s in case you ever crashed for the night.

While most people would kill to be in their videos, you never really saw the point. You were somewhat camera shy and a complete nobody. Why would anyone care to see you on the screen? Not to mention all the random internet ships that come with it all. You grew up with Sam, which means you ultimately grew up with Colby as soon as they met. You were only a teenager and now that your adults, you stay at theirs from time to time when your out with friends and get wasted at a party.

Colby would always come and get you from them.

“Our fans will love you. Just be honest and chill, okay?” Sam nods toward Colby and you walk past him to sit next to the dark haired boy, his strong cologne filling your nose.

“Don’t be nervous, at least we have alcohol” Colby’s comment made a small laugh escape from your lips, and you shook your head at his playful smirk. He was right. Alcohol always calmed you down and made your anxiety a little bit less of what it usually was.

You watch the blonde lean forward to turn on the camera and Colby does the same, although you sit back and watch them do their intro. You’d only been in a few other videos of there’s as a small guest but they always made it known to their fans who you were. After all, you all basically started off nobody’s together.

You remember the last morning you had left for school with Sam in freshman year. It was the last day you’d left alone with him for the rest of high school. Your parents were close to each other so you and Sam had practically known each other for most of your lives, but that day, when he met Colby, it wasn’t just the two of you anymore.

The three of you would take the bus together every morning and walk home every afternoon, spending almost every second in between still with one another. It was perfect. Your group was so refreshing, it felt so right.

Your first argument was when you were in junior year, at a party you knew you shouldn’t of been at.

At the time, you’d been talking to this senior, James. He was the captain of your schools swim team and fairly muscular for his 17 years of age. That night at the party was the first time you’d really done anything, he kept handing you shots and like an idiot, you took them. Looking back on it now, you know it could’ve been avoided, but you also trusted the boy you liked. You truly wanted to just fit in with his friends.

That was until he tried to to undo your crochet top in the middle of the dance floor, whispering dirty nothings into your ear that made you feel disgusting.

When you told him off, he got angry with you, grabbing your arm and trying to pull you away so he could get you alone. People were starting to stare and you were starting to get embarrassed, like you were some random slut he’d been taking upstairs.

But then he was ripped away from you, and in only a matter of seconds, Sam’s hand was laid on the small of your back, checking you for bruises the boy might’ve given you. He was trying to talk to you, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the chaos on the floor.

“Colby, get off of him!” You scream, noticing the blood coming from James’s face. Colby was on top of him, punching him the hardest you’d ever seen anyone punch, not sparing him anything. Sam held you back when you tried to get close, they saw what he did to you and there was no way in hell they’d let it slide.

The sound of police sirens fill the street and everyone is quickly running out of the house, and finally Colby stands up. He wipes his now busted lip before looking back at his two friends, but you couldn’t take your eyes off the bloody mess laid on the floor.

You hated blood.

“Y/N-“ you push yourself off Sam and past Colby, looking out the window to watch the police cars pull in front of the house. It looked like a murder scene, and you were so in shock you couldn’t even think straight. “Y/N, we have to go” Colby tries to grab your arm but you quickly pull it away, and now he’s able to see the tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Get out of here!” You can hear the officers radio the closer they get, and all you could think about was getting Sam and Colby out of there. “Go! Please just go!” Your pleading words make it almost impossible to not listen, and with only a few more seconds, your friends were gone.

That was the day you realized the severity of your friendship— or at least you and Colby’s friendship. The fact that all of you would do anything for each other, whether that was beating up an abuser, or putting your life on the line for the other person.

Ever since then, you and Colby had this undeniable tension between the two of you. It was weird, like something you couldn’t figure out. It was only made purely visible that night.

You’d never even kissed Colby, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about it sometimes. Your usually able to hide it, your desire for the boy, except when your at parties.

Whenever you drink, it’s like everything has to come out the way you think it. Nothing like liquid courage, huh? That’s the exact reason you didn’t want to do the video.

You never stopped thinking about that night.

“Y/N?” You blinked at the touch against your arm, and Colby was looking at you with a slight confusion on his face. “You okay?” You notice the camera’s recording light and nod, sitting up with a smile. “I think it’s time to get drunk, huh?” He nudged you and you nod with a laugh “first question!”

One of your other friends was there reading the questions for you, and even though you thought you’d start off light, she did not give you a break.

“What’s the worst doing the dirty experience you’ve had?” Sam and Colby stare at each other for a second until one of them laughs, shaking their head with the dumbest response. Sam, of course makes a joke out of it but Colby has no shame in what he says, as always.

“One time I had a girl use a lot of teeth, and uh… we never talked again. It was very awkward” Sam hisses at the statement, which makes you laugh too. “What about you, Y/N?” Colby turns to you and your face almost turns red from the sudden eyes on you. Everyone in the room and the camera was waiting on you now.

“Uh… I guess the last time I was talking to a guy. I had to fake the whole thing and he finished quick so it just felt so awkward and it was silent the rest of the night” Colby and Sam raise their eyebrows at you but are laughing at the same time. They knew who you were talking about.

“Colby, why do you post with girls on social media and never tell the fans what’s going on?” The question takes all of you by surprise and Colby’s eyes go wide. That was exactly what happened with you and why you didn’t want to be on the channel that much anymore.

“Umm…” He laughs nervously, looking over at you for a split second. “Because sometimes, I don’t know what’s going on, alright? I’m just posting the post and maybe it turns into something or maybe it doesn’t?”

“It’s not like their your girlfriend” Sam interjects and Colby nods agreeably.

“Let’s just say if I had a girlfriend, you guys would know” After you guys are done with that question, your kind of sitting back and watching the two answer at that point. Except they had to drink once so you did too, now you were all one shot in.

“Colby, why do you have a pair of handcuffs in your room?” Everyone’s face is in shock in the room as they look at Colby, waiting for his answer. He laughs nervously again, looking over at same with wide eyes before sitting up.

“I uh… you know I-“

“Might have to drink on that one, huh?” You tease and he rolls his eyes at your words with a laugh, closing the alcohol bottle he was about to open.

“No, no. I um… I use them for personal fun. Yeah, that’s-“

“What the fuck does that mean” You and Sam burst out laughing but your friend shakes her head. “Judge says no. Drink!” Sam hands him the bottle and Colby’s face is now turning a slight red. A tint only you could see because of how close you were.

“I’ve used them for sexual fun” He says just as he’s about to pour the shot, but your friend rolls her eyes and nods that he doesn’t have to drink.

“That was luck” Colby nudges your arm and shrugs, that annoying smirk of his only making you laugh.

“Name two dirty kinks you have” The girl reads and all three of you are wide eyeing the camera. Sam curses under his breath and Colby is still in shock. It was still so early in the game, already?

“Wait, I’m not answering that. I already said one, right?” Sam agrees to Colby but the judge shakes her head. “Just one more then? I already day said one!”

“You go first, Y/N” Sam cuts off his clearly pressured friend and they both turn to you, but your face is an even deeper red then Colby’s now.

“Um… I don’t—I mean it’s been a long time so I don’t really know…”

“Oh come on, Everyone has them” Colby teases and you glare at him, letting out a sigh as you sat back on the couch.

Apart of you was afraid to tell them, because you’d never really been that open with them about sexual preferences. Sam wasn’t the one you were worried about, him and Katrina were perfectly locked in with each other and you knew whatever you said didn’t matter.

But with Colby, there was always this unspoken tension between the two of you. One you tried to ignore but always failed terribly when you’d see him make out with another girl. You were afraid he’d see right through you if you answered the question, and if there was one thing you couldn’t ignore,

It was the way he’d look at you.

“I think… I think choking is attractive, but like not too aggressively, you know?”

“So your submissive?” Colby’s words go through your ear and straight down. He was clearly trying to get to you with that question, and there it was again.

The tension between the two of you.

“Sometimes” You try to cover it up but you can feel his eyes piercing right through you, his smirk showing the small of his pearly white teeth that always made you blush. “What about you then, hmm? Mr. Talk shit” You push his face and the two of them laugh, but Colby is no longer embarrassed to say it.

“I like to be Dominant” He says to the camera and Sam blows air from his mouth, shake his head in disbelief. Colby isn’t looking at you on purpose. Oh god, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

You lean back on the couch, scratching your nose to try and hide your burning hot cheeks from everyone’s eyes. It was like he was doing it on purpose. He was so clearly teasing you.

And you wished it wasn’t working, but it’s been so long that it’s impossible for your stomach not to twist into multiple knots.

Or at least that’s the excuse you gave yourself.

After many more questions and many more drinks, the alcohol started to take a toll on all three of you already. You had only had three shots and even the camera was hard to focus on. Sam and Colby’s eyes had been getting red but yours were harder to see because of your eyelashes.

“Who do you think is the most attractive clubhouse member besides Kat” Colby and your own eyes go wide and you both stare at Sam. Obviously he couldn’t answer that, but neither could you, right?

“None! Sorry, gotta drink to that. Can’t answer cause it ain’t true” Sam sasses the camera while opening the bottle. Colby laughs, both of you applauding your friend.

“Yeah, I’m gonna drink to that one as well” Colby reaches down to grab the other bottle from the floor, pouring it into his shot glass. “I can’t answer that, but I do have someone in mind” he cheers to the camera and his words alone make your stomach twist once again. It definitely wasn’t you, but saying something like that… after the other questions..

“What about you, Y/N?” The girl asks as the boys down their own shots. She raises an eyebrow, “might as well give us something here, right?” As much as you wanted to decline and run away embarrassed, you could feel the liquid courage increasing.

The way everyone looked at you, they all knew who it was. You leaned back with a huff, you could feel Colby’s eyes on you the entire time you were stalling, but when you looked at him, his eyes pierced through you.

“I think… I think I’ll drink too” Sam and Colby boo at you when you pour the shot. You couldn’t do it. He didn’t either so that must mean he doesn’t… feel the same, Right?

“I can’t even see the camera anymore, dude” Sam laughs at Colby’s words. Sam has more shots then the two of you so you’d imagine he’d be the one saying it, but of course it was Colby.

Maybe that’s why he was looking at you like that..

Towards the end of the video, all three of you were pretty drunk. Sam was the least, you were in the middle, and Colby… Jesus. Colby was so drunk.

“Fuck, man” Colby lays his head on the end table for just a second, you could tell his head was spinning. You rub his back, his body temperature is very warm. You look over to Sam and nod toward the camera, and Sam immediately understands.

“Maybe we should take a small break?”

“Where are you going?” You ask Sam, watching him put on his jacket and grab his keys. You finished the video about 30 minutes ago and Colby was on the couch watching tv, while you had just changed into night clothes which really were only comfy shorts and a crop top like usual.

“I have to go stay at Kat’s tonight. We’re heading to her parents tomorrow morning” You hum, pouring a glass of water for yourself and one for Colby. You had forgotten Sam was going away for a few days. “Try not to have too much fun while I’m gone” You stop and look at him with slightly furrowed brows, but he’s just raising his eyebrows with a shrug, leaving you with the confusion of his statement.

He doesn’t… he can’t know, right? You weren’t that obvious.

“Water?” Your voice is enough to catch Colby’s attention from the tv. He was watching some random scary movie it looked like but you’d never seen it so you weren’t completely sure. You hand him the water and take a seat next to him, leaving a gap between the two of you. You had thought the tension would be gone by now but it clearly wasn’t, you could only hope it was just your overthinking.

“What’s up with you? You were being weird the whole video” His question makes you somewhat relieved. Maybe he didn’t suspect anything, maybe it really was all just in your own head—but how were you meant to explain you couldn’t focus because of how badly you wanted him. Even now, he was leaned back on the couch, his hair messy from running his hands through it and his tattoos on full display for you to look at. Jesus, it felt like torture.

Why did you have to get drunk?

“I just didn’t feel good” You shrug, looking over at the tv and tilting the glass of water toward your lips. You can feel his eyes on you, waiting for you to give him a real answer but he doesn’t push you. He only takes a sip of his water, turning back to the movie.

“Are you going home tonight?” You glance at the clock, it’s already 11. Should you? You have a room here, you didn’t really need to.

But did he want you to?

“I was planning on staying but if you don’t want me to-“

“I want you to stay” Your stomach twists, with excitement and somewhat nervousness at the same time. He was being direct but he wasn’t even looking at you. You wanted to stay and watch the movie with him, but the more you looked at him, the more the drunken side of you just wanted to kiss him.

You wanted him.

“Come here” You hesitate for a few seconds before placing your drink back on the glass table in front of you, moving to sit closer to the boy. His arm was laid on the back of the couch and he opens the blanket he’d been using to you. He wanted you close.

Your practically curled next to him by the middle of the movie, head laid in the crook of his neck and your legs sitting on top of his own. Not much had been said all movie, but Colby was getting more and more touchy as it went on.

His fingers traced shapes on your bare legs under the blanket, the cold metal of his rings sometimes brushing against your skin. He made it seem so normal, like it was an every day thing the two of you did together.

But this only made you so much hornier.

His scent radiates from his neck, and it was almost as if you wanted to kiss his neck right then and there. It was so alluring—He was so alluring to you.

And he knew it.

“Do you want to tell me why you were really acting weird today?” He asks again, looking down at the tent his hand made under the blanket while he caressed your leg.

You bite your bottom lip, looking at the blanket as well. You could feel the tingling feeling between your legs as his hand touched you farther, as if he had been testing the waters before actually saying anything.

“Colby…” You can’t help but pull your legs even closer together, and that alone is all he needed to tell him how you felt. “Not everything needs an explanation. It’s just… complicated”

“Complicated, huh?” He hums sarcastically, in a knowing form. You bite your lip as you watch him rub his temple, frustration radiating off of him. “You know, For the longest time, I tried to let this whole thing go out of respect for you, Y/N” He mumbled, his voice low and husky with passion. God, he sounded so hot. Even if he was upset, you just couldn’t help yourself. “I always thought it would be you and Sam” He lets out a huffed chuckle, still keeping his eyes on his lap. “But I want it to be me”

What?

No. He isn’t… he doesn’t mean what you think, right? Colby Brock isn’t confessing his feelings for you, right?

“Colby, what’s wrong with you?” His body tenses when you ask that stupid question. What’s wrong with him? Like you didn’t know.

“What’s wrong with me? What about you?” He finally turns his head to look at you, his drunken, sad and very horny eyes staring lasers into yours. “You can’t seriously sit here and believe yourself when you ask me that question” You couldn’t think. You didn’t even move for awhile because of your lack of words or thoughts for that matter. You wanted to give in, but you were also so terrified of if it wasn’t real.

“Colby, I’m not the person you want. Trust me, you will figure that out soon enough” He scoffs as you get off the couch, trying to at least relieve some of the tension between the two of you. Colby was so tired of waiting, but you were just too scared.

“How do you know what I want? You’ve barely spoke to me the past few weeks!” The boy calls after you when your walking away from the couch, his voice only makes you stop. “You’ve been weird for weeks, Y/N. Don’t ask me what’s wrong with me when you can’t even tell me how you feel”

“Colby, I don’t know how I feel!” You turn around with frustration, staring at the back of his head. He was still sat on the couch, and part of you hoped he stayed there—but another part wanted him to go after you. “I haven’t just been distant because of you-“

“That’s such bullshit and you know it” He stands, turning to look at you. You were far too drunk for this. You could feel the unnecessary tears already filling your eyes, you didn’t want to argue with him. “Look me in my eyes and tell me that—then I’ll let it go”

“Can we please just talk about this tomorrow-“

“You know what I think? I think your just scared of feeling weak. Your scared of letting someone in, Y/N. And the past few weeks we’ve been getting closer than before, that’s why your distant now. That’s your biggest weakness” Colby scoffs, grabbing his jacket off the couch and slipping it on with ease. You furrow your eyebrows as he walks toward you, and past you.

You grab his arm, “Colby, your drunk. Don’t go out, Please” he’s avoiding your eyes but you can see the chisel on his jaw, clenching with what you thought had been anger. “I don’t know how to do this, Colby. I… I can’t even bring myself to say the words I want to say to you” He tears his arm away from you, snatching his keys from the countertop. No. You couldn’t let it end like that—not when you have so much to say. “Okay, fine!”

“You want the truth, Colby? For years all I felt for you for you, all in silence because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship with Sam and Each other. I watched you with other girls since we were juniors! I couldn’t stand you, but yet I also couldn’t stand to be without you. Everywhere I go, I always want you with me—and when i’d see you with other girls, it would make me feel stupid, like my feelings meant nothing to you even if you didn’t know”

“How was I supposed to tell you that? How was I supposed to tell you that even after everything that’s happened, I still can’t stop loving you!” Your confession slips like words of anger said in an heated argument. Colby still wasn’t looking at you, which only made your heart ache even worse. You just poured your heart out to him—couldn’t he at least look at you?

“When you got put in the hospital during senior year, I was there every fucking second with you! I cried, Colby! I was a mess for days, and Sam was the one who had to juggle the two of us!” You remembered that day like it was yesterday. The day you’d gotten into a huge argument with Sam about your feelings for Colby. Sam always knew of both your feelings, but he didn’t say anything to the other. If you were going to admit, it had to be to each other. “I’m usually so good at hiding how I feel, but I’m getting so tired of it. The Same repeating cycle I just-“

“Why didn’t you just tell me, Y/N. Why didn’t you-“

“Are you serious? After all those talks we had about you not caring for a relationship and not wanting a future with someone? You were practically telling me no! I wanted to tell you but then you started going to parties more and kissing girls and-“

“Y/N”

“It hurt me, Colby. That’s why I didn’t tell you. It would physically hurt my chest to see you kiss another girl after flirting with me for DAYS. You played with my head and I know I played with yours too but-“

“Y/N, I’m-“

“No matter how hard I try or how many guys I find, there’s nothing for me. I can’t… I can’t move past you and it fucking sucks” You hadn’t even realized he moved until you were done talking. He was close now—close enough to hear his breathing if you’d been quiet enough. Your heart shatters with every passing moment that’s goes silent. You knew you couldn’t be the same after this, so you begged in your mind for him to say something.

Only he didn’t say anything, and for a moment you actually thought he’d leave you there alone.

But you two were meant to love each other, Remember?

A silent moan escapes your mouth as he crashes his lips into your own, the sound muffled by his. The kiss is filled with so much passion it could make one’s heart explode if you weren’t too careful, it felt like the two of you had been waiting years to do this.

Which you were.

After the first kiss, the two of you didn’t waste any time. Colby pulled you up, your legs wrapping around him as you continued to make out with the dark haired boy. His large hands cupped your ass, and soon enough you felt your back hit the cold wall. One of your hands were laid on the side of his neck while the other held the back of his hair, tugging on it slightly.

It had only been a few seconds ago you were sitting watching a movie—how in the hell did you both get here so quick?

He carried you to the couch, sitting down so you could straddle his lap instead of holding yourself up against his waist.

His hands release your ass and move up your back, slipping under your shirt to unclip your bra.

Colby smirks against your lips and removes his hand from your shirt, lifting your chin to pull away from the kiss. “Dirty girl” You hum as his lips attach to your neck, his comment making you all the more wet then you already were. You didn’t put a bra on—and Colby seemed to have really liked that you didn’t. “You make such pretty sounds—wish I could’ve heard them sooner”

You can feel the hardness under you, and the more you grind on him, the more you can feel his grip on you tighten. It didn’t hurt—it just turned you on even more.

“Colby, Please” You plead breathlessly. You wanted him to do more then just kiss your neck. You wanted him to take you to his room, to do everything he’d do to someone else. “You don’t have to be gentle with me” you tug his hair gently, meeting his lust filled eyes. You were desperate for him and you didn’t care, you’d waited since junior year to have your way with him—to have him want you.

“I’ll leave marks all over you, Y/N” he says in a slightly warning tone as if he didn’t want to completely destroy you in that moment, but you shake your head, grabbing his hand that slipped to the waistband of your sleeper shorts.

“I just want to feel something” You say in a tone he’d never heard you in before, one that made him want you even worse then before. You slip your hand off his own and place it on his chiseled chest, feeling the crease of his abs all the way down until you reached his belt. You wanted him, you just wanted him to know that. “I want to feel you, Colby. I want you”

“You want me to treat you like everyone else?” You hesitate but nod after a few seconds, slipping off his lap to stand to your feet. He stands in front of you, his height making a clear difference above you. His expression hadn’t changed yet, he was so hard to read. “I won’t do that, Y/N” Before you could say anything, he was already picking you up and wrapping your legs around his waist again, crashing his lips back into yours as he made his way to his room.

This man… you didn’t know how to describe the feeling you had when he kissed you, but it was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. He was so different from everyone else you’d been with, and you didn’t know why.

You did. Deep down you knew why he made you feel the way he did. Colby was the only guy you truly wanted. Even when you had a boyfriend, you still wanted him instead.

He drops you onto his bed, removing his black wife beater and throwing it to the side, revealing his tattooed body you’ve grown to love looking at. He looked so good in this lighting, and the way his hair fell messy over his forehead—you couldn’t stop your thoughts from running wild.

“I want you, Y/N. I need to know I have all of you—that your only for me” You pick your head up to look at him briefly, fingers playing with the string of his pants. “I won’t treat you like some random slut when your not”

The feeling of his fingertips brushing against your skin made you shiver, it made you feel as if this might’ve not been real, maybe a dream after all. But after seeing his face and feeling his hand stop just above your waistline, everything felt at ease.

“I’ve always been yours, Colby Brock” That was all he needed to hear, all he needed to give into you.

And soon enough, here you were again, pinned against the bed while Colby’s hands grip your waist, peppering sweet kisses against your neck. You almost couldn't hold it in.

Your hand slowly found its way to the back of his neck, running your fingers through his hair as his wandering hands went right under your shorts. You knew what you were doing with the outfit, and it only made him laugh just thinking about it.

“Please, Colby. I don’t want you to hold back… I want you to give me all of you” you were smirking to yourself, biting your nail like this was somewhat funny to you. Colby didn’t see the appeal, if he was going to fuck you, he was going to ruin you for anyone else.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N” He tells you with a sharp tone, moving to place his hands against the beds cloth, closing you between him. You smirk, looking him up and down once before looking back to his face.

“I’m tired of waiting” The two of you laid there, staring at the other for what felt like forever until He finally gave in, cursing himself under his breath before he grabbed your neck to pull you into a rough kiss. Your body is flush against his as he completely explores your body with his hands. You could feel his growing erection, you could feel his hunger for your body like he felt yours.

“Colby” You mumble in a breathless moan. His lips remove from yours and move to your jaw, hungrily peppering wet kisses down it, all the way to your neck.

“You are so fucking hot, Jesus” He groans against your ear, placing soft kisses on your sensitive skin. Your moans are what encourage him the most. Hearing your sweet whimpers in his ear as he sucked on your neck felt like a dream. Believe god, he’d had that dream many, many times before.

“I’ve waited so long for this” Your breathless under him, gripping his hair between your small fingers. You could feel his cock pressing against you, begging for your tongue. It was big—he was so fucking big. It should’ve scared you but you were more intrigued, grinding your hips against his to gain some friction with the little time you had before he stopped your bratty movements.

“I know you have” He teases and you only roll your eyes, grabbing his hand that held you steady against him. You could feel his lips brushing your skin, he wanted to mark you, and you wanted him to. You wanted Colby Brock to let everyone know you were his.

“Nothings stopping me from walking out that door” You hum, holding his head and slightly pushing it down so his lips reattached to your neck. “I’ll find someone else—someone who hasn’t played with me for years” A grunt escapes his mouth as if he had been fighting with the feeling, shaking his head between your neck before meeting your eyes again; your bratty, untamed eyes.

“You’ve waited so long I thought? So long your body even reacts when I look at you” He’s so obviously joking and you love every second of it. Every word of degradation is like music to your ears, like a forbidden kink you didn’t know you had. “This is what you wanted, huh? All those looks you’d give me after I’d make out with randoms—you were so jealous, Sweetheart” Your ears are perking at his every word but your eyes were filled with annoyance. Colby knew now so why would you hide it? Hide your jealousy? “All those times, you could’ve just told me you wanted me and I would’ve given it all to you. Nobody else”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling you closer to his body then before with a smirk, shrugging your shoulders. “That doesn’t matter. I have you now” His eyes. Oh god, his eyes were so hungry. At first you didn’t know what to think but it only took you a few seconds to realize once his large arms were wrapped around your thighs, pulling your body close to him.

His chin sat against your stomach, staring up at you like he had been waiting for you to say something. But you didn’t know what he was planning until his thumb was ghosting around your clothed clit, that same smirk pulling at his lips as he watched you.

He slips your shorts off with ease, along with your black lace underwear, tossing them both to the side.

“Fuck” You breath heavily, leaning your head back against the sheets, not even realizing the boy under you was now fully under you. “S-shit!” Your hand fell clasp over your mouth to silence your moan, eyes falling back on him under you. Except now, his face was pressed into your dripping wet cunt, and his fingers teased what his mouth didn’t. “Fucking hell, Colby” You mumble under your unsteady breath, trying your hardest not to moan because he had just started and you didn’t want to seem weak.

But holy shit, this boy knew how to use his tongue.

Your hand fell atop his head in hopes to gain some sort of stability but that quickly failed, given how badly he was attacking your clit. His mouth was warm against you and you already knew you’d come soon. It was like he knew your body inside and out.

“I know your not holding back on me, are you?” His words vibrate against your cunt making you jolt, thankful his arms held you down so you wouldn’t squirm. Colby was in pure bliss under you, relishing in your sweet taste that so effortlessly painted his tongue. You were wet, your cunt was begging for more even if you were a crying mess above him, like it finally found what it had been longing for.

“I can take it” He chuckles at your attempt at retaliation but still manages to one up you, slipping two of his large, slender fingers inside you. “C-Colby, let me-“

“No” He only uttered one word but it was enough to make you listen like a trained dog, allowing your legs to tremble against his face. You could’ve taken it had you been prepared, but it had been far too long before any guy had done this to you.

“You taste so fucking good, Y/N” His fingers curl against your spongy walls, pushing his tongue against your clit quickly as your moan’s increased. It was so clear you were already on edge, about to let go without it being over five minutes. You find your pride slipping from you in a matter of seconds, begging the man to let you come as your fingers tug his hair. You couldn’t hold on, your legs were far too weak.

“Please, please—Colby, please” His ears are perking as you moan his name, begging for him, moaning for him. Normally, he’d take his time with you but now? He needed to release all that tension between the two of you from years ago, he knew he couldn’t last much longer. He needed to be inside of you, and for that exact reason is why he only sped up under you. “G-gonna come..!”

Your mind tried to come up with some sort of reason as to how you got yourself here, How you got your best friend between your legs, and definitely how you were about to fully submit yourself to this boy while your true feelings for each other were unknown. He was thinking the same thing; how did he get so lucky to have you above him?

“Let go for me, Pretty girl” In only seconds, you’re coming undone above him, legs almost falling weak as they shook from your release, sending shivers throughout your entire body. Colby’s still torturing your body, pumping his fingers into you at a faster pace. It was clear, he was trying to kill you.

“Colby!” You cry, gripping his hair with a begging tone. You couldn’t take it much longer. You had to push him away. Finally, after what felt like forever, he removed his tongue from you, letting his fingers slip from inside you. His strong arms are the only thing that held your legs still, and you could see your release painted on his chin once he looked up at you. “Holy shit” You curse under your breath, chest heaving as he stood to his feet. You look at the large man above you, noticing once again how he towers over you.

He bites his lip, admiring your perfect body that had been on almost full display for him. He leans down when you notice how hard he is, lifting your chin with the hand he hadn’t used on you.

You watch through your eyelashes as he sucks his finger clean from your release, biting his lip with a silent chuckle at how lovingly you looked at him. You grab his hand, pulling it closer to you until his other finger was pressed against your lips—to which you copied his action from before, staring into his dark eyes as you did.

“Good girl” He knew you liked that. It was so obvious—the way your legs clench together at his praise. He pulls his hand away and moves it to your neck, pressing a soft but sloppy kiss to your lips. You could taste yourself from him, and God… it was so fucking hot.

Your hand feels his body effortlessly until you reach his aching print, a small smile pulling at your lips against him.

“Let me” You mumble breathlessly, placing your hand over his cock. You could feel how desperate he had been for you, how badly he wanted you in that moment. His hand wraps around your throat firmly, pulling your lips to crash back into his own. He was so rough and impatient—you loved it.

“I need you. Right here, Right now” His voice is deep and makes your skin shiver, the way his hands touch you so delicately but with control. His room was slightly dark, only lit by the strip of LED’s above his bed frame.

“I want to be yours, Colby. Make me yours, please” Your words make his and your own stomach twist into knots, he almost felt bad. He waited so long to make the move, afraid he misread the signs, but he’d never admit that. You allow your hands to travel down his bare abs, feeling every chisel between the pads of your fingertips. When you reach his belt, you’re quick to help him tug his pants off, watching him with the most admiration.

“After we do this, everything will change” He looks at you once more, both of your hands laid on the waistband of his underwear. You lay your free hand on the side of his neck and use the other to touch him lower—right where he wanted you the entire time.

His breath shutters at your bare touch, something he’s wanted for so long was finally right in front of him. You were all he wanted and he prayed you ensue him just as much.

“I love you, Colby. There’s no change in that” You tell him truthfully, watching his eyes soften just before you pulled his face down to kiss his lips. Except this kiss had much more

meaning—the kiss after you’d admit your feelings for one another.

He leans you down, closing you between his large body and his bed, your hand is still pressed into his print, but he’s already slipping his underwear off by the time you can notice.

Fuck. He was going to ruin you.

Your hands cup his face when his tip presses against your entrance, slick coating it by the second. You wanted him for so long, you didn’t care if it hurt at first.

You just wanted him.

From the moment he pushed inside of you, the only feeling you could endure was love. He was slow, gentle to help you get used to his size. The boy peppers kisses to your neck as he pushed further, comforting your slightly pained moans that slip from your lips without warning.

“Mmm” You let out a soft moan once his tip is past your entrance, the hard part was now over. You look at him with your lips parted, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip. He pushes your hair out of your face before kissing you, and you weren’t prepared for when he pushed into you fully with one snap of his hips.

Your toes curled and your nails dug into his skin desperately, the feeling was almost indescribable. You just felt… full.

“Oh my god” You moan against his lips, throwing your head back as he strokes you slowly, massaging your thigh. You looked so perfect like this, so pretty in this light. Your body was almost bare for him, and your body was welcoming him with open arms—he couldn’t get enough of you. “Colbs…Colby” one of your hands release his shoulder to grip the sheet underneath you, teeth catching your bottom lip between them.

“Starting to feel good?” He hums while you nod, moving his head down to your neck, placing sloppy kisses against it. His hips find a steady pace at first and gradually work their way up, starting deep, then fast to your skin. “God, you feel so good” one of his hands travels up your body until it reaches the shirt covering your upper half, just wanting to rip in off of you.

“Take it off, baby” Your breathless words are too late when he’s already slipping it off your now fully bare body, completely discarding it to the floor next to him. Jesus, you were so perfect.

“You are so beautiful, Y/N” He presses a kiss to your lips before moving down your body, trailing his wet tongue down until he reached your nipple. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, the curves of your body… you were practically made for him. A shuddered moan escapes your lips when he swirls his tongue around your hardened nipple, kneading the other with his free hand.

“Mmm!” Between the stokes of his hips and the sensations he brought to your skin, you couldn’t hold much in. You were sure you were being too loud but the two of you didn’t care. It was just you and him, nobody else.

His strong arms capture your thighs, pulling one of your legs to rest against his shoulder. “Colby! I can’t… oh my gosh” Your little voice is projecting off the walls of the empty room but you don’t care, only worried about the boy above you. Your head was still slightly spinning from the drinks you endured earlier that night and it only mixed with your horny mess of a body, begging Colby for more. “It’s so good… fuck! You’re so fucking good!”

“Look at you. Such a fucking mess under me. You needed me just as much as I needed you” He grabs the back of your head, pulling you up slightly so you were at an angle you couldn’t look away from him. His big eyes were burning holes into your own, hips rutting into you like he had something to prove.

Which he did.

“Gonna come…! Colby, I’m gonna come!” Your a whining mess under him and he loves every second of it, pushing his hips into you faster then before. Your small body was like a toy in his hand and you were at his every command, doing everything he said.

“Come for me. Want you to scream my name so the whole neighborhood knows who’s fucking you this good—so ever man knows your mine” You knew it was a bad idea but who were you to decline that request? You were already screaming as it was. “My dirty girl, Your so fucking hot like this”

“I’m coming! I’m—oh my god I-“ Your voice is cut off by your loud moan, leg shuttering against his shoulder as you felt your release threatening to push over. His tip was kissing your cervix repeatedly, and you knew you couldn’t last much longer. “Colby…!” You cry out, pressing your hand to his chest as if that was going to do anything. Your orgasm finally tipped, and you felt it hit you like a truck.

“That’s it, Baby. Good girl” His thumb rubs circles against your clit as he ruts into your harder, watching your liquid spurt from between the two of you. “My god, Y/N. So fucking good for me”

“Colby… please—Jesus-“

“You can whine all you want, but your body is calling mine for more. You want more” You grip his large arms until your knuckles turn white, scratching along his tanned skin. You curse at him, not wanting to hear his teasing any longer. “Fuck me? I’m only giving you what you want” You look at him with an angry look for a second before completely switching, a smirk pulling at your lips. Jesus, you were nasty, huh?

He pulls out of you all at once making you whine, not able to protest before he’s already flipping you over onto your stomach and pushing your ass in the air. You giggle, stretching your arms in front of you as you arch your back against him, begging him to forgive you. “I was only joking, Pretty boy” You hum, looking back at his face.

He doesn’t say anything and grabs your hips roughly, pulling you back onto his length that so easily slipped inside of you. Your eyes roll back almost instantly as he bottoms you out, pushing his cock as deep as he could reach inside you. “This is what you wanted? Then fucking take it” He growls against your ear, slamming himself into your harder than he had been before. You couldn’t even think straight, you were already so fucked out you didn’t even remember what it felt like to not be fucked.

“fuck! Right there! Please, Colby—fuck me right there!” Your begging voice is music to his ears, your hands gripping the ground under you as he pushed himself against you. “You’re so deep… so fucking good to me, baby” He hums, leaning against your body so you were entirely pressing against him, his tongue running along your skin. Once again, you could feel his sloppy kisses against your shoulder and your neck.

“Nobody can fuck you like I can, Pretty girl. Your mine. You’re all fucking mine, you hear me?” You cry out a yes, the sound of your skin slapping against each others being the only thing that could be heard. “That’s it, just like that, my love” He praises against your ear, holding your hips to press into his.

“Colby, I’m gonna come… oh my god” You whine into the sheet, feeling the pressure building up fast inside you. He’s a grunting mess above you so you knew he was close as well, he was only holding out for you. “Come with me. Please, don’t hold out on me”

The snap of his hips slow down the closer he gets, and now your body is flush against his own, rocking back and forth to his pace with his face buried in your neck.

“I fucking love you, Y/N. My girl, come for me and only me, yeah?” You moan at his words, throwing your head back against his chest as his fingers circle your sensitive clit. you couldn’t hold it anymore, and neither could he. “I’m right behind you”

Drunk sex always felt way too good but usually it was faster and much sweatier, this felt far too different. Even if your hips moved fast against his, it still felt like everything had been in slow motion. The way his hands held your delicate body in his embrace as he thrust his hips up to meet your own, how his lips parted in anticipation to kiss yours, Colby was so hungry for you—his body, was hungry for you.

“Colby… Colby!” His name rolls off your tongue in a beautiful moan. You can feel his slight hesitance but the eyes you give him are enough to tell him exactly what you wanted. You wanted all of him, just as you said.

“Fuck…!” He curses under his breath, your moans filling his ears as you clenched down onto him. He continues to coach you to it, and with one last snap of his hips and circle to your clit, you felt your body release it’s everything onto his. He shushes your loud scream while silencing his own grunts, fingers digging into your hips to pull you close, painting your gummy walls with his white, hot release.

For awhile, All that was heard was your heavy breathing and the sounds of the tv in the other room, and you soon found yourself collapsed next to each other on the bed. Your chests were heaving horribly, and the sweat that drip from your foreheads were now everywhere. You look over at the boy next to you, only to find he had already been looking at you, both of you breathing heavy—lips parted.

It only took a second for one of you to start laughing, and Colby leaned over to kiss you again, this time staying there for the longest he could.

You hum as he pulls away just a tiny bit, still close to your face. Your eyes are shut, relishing in the feeling you had. How do you go on from this? Clearly you two loved each other, but you prayed it wouldn’t be weird…

“Come here” He lays his arm out, pulling your body closer to his so you could lay your head against his chest. The room was hot and smelled of pure sex but neither of you complained. You were just happy.

“Colby…” You mumble after awhile in silence, tracing the tattoo on his chest for the 2nd time. He hums in response, the tips of his fingers brushing through your soft hair. You almost feel bad, as if you’re about to ruin the amazing night you had—but you had to say it. “Where do we go from here..?”

Your voice is low and nervous, so focused on the negative that you couldn’t even see the obvious answer. Colby made it clear what he wanted. He couldn’t go back to normal with you—not after this night.

“I want you to be my girlfriend, Y/N. I’ve always wanted that” He pushes your hair away from your face, placing his finger under your chin to lift it. “Please tell me that’s what you want too”

Your eyes soften at his hesitant tone, grabbing the hand that sat under your chin to intertwine your fingers. Of course you wanted that. It was all you ever wanted.

You nod

“Sam is going to be so happy”

Just a little something different 😉. See y’all whenever :))

#sam golbach #sam and colby #sam and colby smut #sam and colby fanfiction #colby brock #colby brock smut #colby brock fluff #colby brock angst #sam golbach smut #sam golbach fanfic #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fic #colby x reader #Colby x reader smut #colby brock x reader #youtuber #smut #best friends #friend to lovers

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dontforgetukraine · 9 months ago

Text

Ukraine Donation Guide Master Post

(Ver. 2 updated Aug 13th, 2024) I will be reformatting this and adding more in the future when I have time.

Also a quick note, all of the groups I have found through twitter have been around long enough for them to be vetted by each other and the brigades they work with. In fact, a lot of these groups collaborate with each other too. Those that are in the fight for Ukraine have been diligent in calling out those that are grifters. Word spreads around quickly if an organization doesn't show up with what they promised. They also use their social media (often Twitter) as a means of transparency for their work.

Remember: When considering on whether to donate, always use your best judgement and donate to those you trust if you do not see what is listed is up to your standards.

Multi-Purpose

United 24 has various fundraisers dedicated to defense and drones, medical aid, rebuilding Ukraine, humanitarian demining, and science and education. You can pick which one you want to contribute to under their various projects.

Liberty Ukraine uses funds for humanitarian aid, medical supplies, protective gear and equipment, and rehabilitation therapy. You can choose which campaign of theirs to donate to.

Come Back Alive is a charitable foundation that supports Ukraine's military with competent assistance while also focusing on security and defense. They also have projects that use sports to help veterans rehabilitate. You can choose which campaign to donate to.

Serhiy Prytula Charity Foundation works to help both civilians and Ukraine's army. You can choose to donate to an active project or any of their general campaigns. Civilian aid campaigns cover temporary housing, supporting crisis and emergency responses, schools, demining, and healthcare. Military aid campaigns cover drones, optics units, communications equipment, and support of air defense teams.

Food Aid

World Central Kitchen works with local partners wherever they are providing food aid. They make sure meals and meal kits are what the local population eats. Even though there is no separate fundraising campaign for Ukraine (that I can see), they still do great work.

Animal Rescue

Hachiko Foundation works to help displaced pets and strays in frontline areas. They help with veterinary care, outdoor shelters, setting up feeding stations, and rehoming animals.

Medical Aid

Hospitallers (Website) is a volunteer organization of paramedics that was founded in 2014. They evacuate the wounded, provide medical aid on the frontlines, assist in rehabilitation, and transfer of the deceased to burial sites. They are also supported by Ukraine Charity. Visit Hospitallers' website to see how many they have evacuated, different methods you can donate, and more information about them.

Other

Saint Javelin (Twitter; Website) is a great place to get apparel, gear, and other cool loot to show your support for Ukraine. They don't take donations, but instead raise funds through their shop with a portion of their sales going towards humanitarian aid and critical items needed by the defenders (generators, pick-up trucks, medical supplies etc). Part of their shop has items made in Ukraine to support Ukrainian businesses. Overall, their products are high-quality. I include them due to their impactful presence in the Twitter community I follow and how they make Ukraine visible in an alternative way. Consider buying someone a gift from their shop.

The Kyiv Independent (Twitter; Website) is a great English language resource for news about Ukraine. I include them because I think supporting good journalism is incredibly important, especially now when the information space is fraught with Russian propaganda, misinformation, and disinformation. My followers have probably noticed I've pulled a lot of quotes from their stories in an effort to amplify Ukrainian voices and experiences. Look on their website for more information on different way to support them, such as their Patreon.

---

If you're on twitter, there are a number of groups and people that fundraise for Ukraine and for specific units fighting on the frontlines. If there is no official website, a PayPal for donations is listed in their profiles. When considering on whether to donate, always use your best judgement and donate to those you trust if you do not see what is listed is up to your standards.

@/Teoyaomiquu almost always has a fundraiser for Liberty Ukraine with a specified purpose. At the time of writing this, he is currently raising funds for engineering equipment such as excavators. One such excavator is already in Kursk. Follow him to stay up to date with what he's fundraising for.

Dyga's Paw (Twitter: @/dzygaspaw) is a smaller group that has recently raised funds for starlinks, drones, batteries, and Ecoflow generators. You can look at the fundraising campaigns they currently have on their website.

@/DefactoHumanity represents and founded Planet of the People with their website U(a)nited for Freedom. She frequently posts updates about their fundraisers and what their partners need. They are known for providing Frontline medical aid supplies, protective equipment and other military aid, technical equipment (starlinks, drones, scopes, etc), and infrastructure equipment (generators, vehicles, power stations, etc). They even have a merch store of the battalions they partner with if that's your jam. Here is their link tree if you wish to explore more. And in case you're curious, there is an article bout the founder here.

@/wilendhornets (Website) specialize in making high quality drones that have gotten a lot of praise from Ukraine's army. They have attracted a lot of media attention too. Check out their website for the list of articles that have been written about them. Their Twitter is very active with strike footage.

Ants Kitchen Hub (@/ants_kyiv) is a volunteer kitchen that makes dry rations for the Ukrainian army. They are more active on their other social media. To learn more about them, check out their link tree.

@/frontlinekit (Front Line Kitchen) is represented by Richard Woodruff. Originally they made shelf stable food for the Ukrainian army, but now their fundraising has branched out to other campaigns such as raising funds for medical supplies and drones. They are a well known group that many battalions have come to for help.

@/bekamaciorowski (Rebekah Maciorowski) is as combat medic and nurse who helps provide medical care to soldiers and civillians at the frontlines. She raises funds for medical supplies and other equipment, but also helps train soldiers in first aid. More of her social media that features her work can be found in her link tree.

@/UkraineAidOps (Website) is another organization battalions frequently go to for help. They fundraise for all sorts of equipment from medical supplies to drones. If you're interested, they also have a shop with patches from different brigades and flags signed by soldiers. Their shop also includes a separate section called the Victory Gallery where artifacts from the war are turned into art. This includes shells that are painted on, scrap metal from downed enemy planes are turned into keychains, and pieces of a rocket are turned into lamps.

Chris Garrett is the co-founder of Prevail. His organization deals with humanitarian demining as well as training for trauma care, training of bomb disposal, and education to the public. Prevail works with local agencies in Ukraine as well as the army.

Project Konstantin (Twitter; Website; Linktree) is still going strong after the death of their founder, British paramedic Peter Fouché. His digital ghost can be found here. They collaborate with the military, thus giving them an insight into what is dearly needed. They often raise funds for starlinks, personalized first aid kits (IFAKs), generators, portable power stations, and other nonlethal military equipment. I regret forgetting them the first time this post went around. Visit their website to see everything they have done and more. It has more information on what and how they do it than this post can cover.

One Team One Fight (Twitter; Website; Linktree) has some of the original members that worked for Ukraine Aid Ops. They formed their own group after differences with the previous one, and are still helping Ukraine. They are very visible on various social media showing what they have accomplished in their deliveries to various brigades. They're another group that seeks to bring starlinks, drones, medical supplies and protective gear to the battalions that come to them for help. Check out their website for more information on their current fundraisers, their achievements, and received recognition.

NAFO 69th Sniffing Brigade (Twitter; Website) Another small group that focuses their funds on delivering drones, generators, vehicles, and saving the occasional furry companion. They are very diligent in their updates for their fundraising campaigns. Check out their website for more information and the articles written about them.

Postmaster General Boomer (Twitter; Website) focuses on humanitarian aid, animal aid, and logistics. Boomer is the beloved pet of one of the founders and the secret boss/mascot. They have many transparency reports and are diligent in reporting the various "tours" they do in getting supplies where they are needed to go. They are based in Germany but have built up many connections during their existence. They have also worked closely with Ukraine Aid Ops.

I am sure I have forgotten some, so please reply or comment with any more I should add to this master post. I will edit and update as I see and evaluate more.

Last updated: Aug. 13th, 2024

Version updates listed below

August 13th, 2024 Added:

Hospitallers

Saint Javelin

The Kyiv Independent

Project Konstantin

1 Team 1 Fight

NAFO 69th Sniffing Brigade

Post Master General Boomer

#Ukraine #Master Post #fundraiser #donations #links #resources

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luvth0t · 1 year ago

Text

RIDICULOUS ━ L.N

in which lando can longer cope with you laughing at the mere idea of being with him, and you realise it wouldn’t be that ridiculous. but it may be all too late.

warnings; nswf, smut, unprotected sex, friends to lovers, lando in the friend zone, implied that reader is a year or two older than lando, little bit of angst, choking, soft dom!lando, silly reader, overstimulation i guess, lotta praise, oral, fluff at the end if you squint

lando was infatuated the moment he met you.

it took a while to realise how strongly he felt, considering he met you at arguably the most chaotic time of his life.

his first year in f1, carlos his teammate; meaning you were around every race from the start, to this day.

he wanted his own photographer after a mere few interactions with you, but quickly realised he only cared about photos because you were the one occasionally taking them.

carlos signing for ferrari meant lando was losing two people; his teammate and you. his friend.

he’d jokingly asked you to jump ship, work for him instead. if only you knew how serious he was being.

you never looked at lando the way he looked at you. he was like a friends annoying little brother, one you couldn’t help but pity and adore.

he made you laugh, was fun to be around. a change from the personality’s you would come across in the paddock. it was no shock to you that carlos built a bond with him ━ as did you.

since joining ferarri you didn’t see the brit as much as you’d like, not that carlos’ new teammate was a let down. charles was lovely. you didn’t feel invasive taking shots of the pair of them.

but you still kept it touch. occasional group outings, dinners and celebrations. you weren’t oblivious to the way he always made time for you. but you were naive to the deeper meanings.

his flirtations were nothing of concern, to you it was a running joke. amongst many of you; you didn’t think lando actually wanted anything from you beyond platonic.

he could handle rejection. but being laughed at? he could only cope for so long.

“he begged me to invite you tonight,” carlos’ words were teasing, directed towards you yet his eyes rested on lando; out for dinner with a few other team members from mclaren carlos hadn’t caught up with in a while.

melbourne was one of your favourite races for this very reason, having to get here so early meant you had time to catch up with those in the paddock away from the craziness.

lando’s eyes lifted from the menu he was reading; scoffing immediately, already prepared to jump on the defence ━ not giving you a chance to speak.

“i was making sure you hadn’t forgotten anyone, y/n included.” lando corrected, flashing you a grin in the midst of his explanation, one you mirrored.

“i’d like to think my presence would be a given,” you huffed back at carlos; and lando felt a fool for allowing his heart to jump at the prospect of you also defending him.

“of course it is. just saying, lando was set on making sure you’d be here.” carlos smirked; eyes now on his own menu, pretending as if he wasn’t attempting to stir the pot.

“he misses you,” an engineer spoke up from besides lando, nudging the british driver who could only roll his eyes; not at all unfamiliar with being targeted with such banter. he copped it a lot worse when you were all on the same team.

“mhm, misses me. not carlos.” you grinned; practically bragged ━ nudging carlos this time; you’d grown a talent it seemed for redirecting the topic of conversation. trying too at least, and the way lando smirked made it clear he appreciated your efforts.

he’d nodded as well, confirming your words. in no way ashamed to admit he missed you more than the spaniard, while it didn’t seem like there was any truth to his words with the playful smile on his face; the assumption couldn’t be any closer to the truth.

“if you miss her so much you should go out for dinner just the pair of you,” carlos challenged quickly; earning an eye roll from yourself and a small giggle at the idea ━ oh the shit show that would be, you and lando out for dinner. you could read the headlines now.

lando caught the way you laughed, you however missed the way his eyes snapped to you in the moment. the way his smile faltered, merely from watching you completely dismiss and laugh at the idea of spending just a single dinner with him alone. what’s so funny about that? could it really be the most absurd idea? no matter how many times you reacted in such a way it always stung.

he recovered almost instantly however, like he always does.

“wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings, know you don’t like to be left out.” lando mused; earning another laugh from you ━ one that was music to his ears, hearing you laugh at his jokes was always enough to have him holding his chin a little higher.

“oh i’d be more than happy to see you finally get out of the friend zone.” carlos regretted his words the moment they left his mouth, catching the way lando’s smile fell and jaw tensed ━ quickly realising his teasing may have gone too far.

your lack of reaction killed lando more than carlos’ words did, the way you barely battered an eyelash ━ completely unbothered while he sat here trying to not pop a blood vessel. he wanted to defend the relationship or friendship you had, but there wasn’t much to defend.

because carlos was right, he was painfully stuck in the friend zone.

“how much longer till you realise these jokes got old two years ago?” you sounded awfully unbothered as your gaze remained on your menu, only looking up when another engineer spoke up.

“it’s just a joke?” he’d asked in full seriousness, eyes flickering between yourself and lando. he wasn’t on carlos’ side of the garage, always working on lando’s side. he barely interacted with you; only heard things through the grapevine.

“obviously.” you spoke as if it was…obvious, and the laugh you let out would’ve softened the blow of your words had lando not already heard this a thousand times.

“ah, ah, ah. don’t forget about silverstone.” carlos simply couldn’t keep his mouth shut; bringing up the night where everyone was convinced you and lando spent the night together.

which would be valid if you actually had, but you hadn’t. you went home together purely because you both were tired. he dropped you at your hotel room, didn’t even come inside. somehow no one believed either of you when you squashed their suspicions that ‘lando’s wish had finally come true.’

“don’t be ridiculous.” you scoffed, shaking your head ever so slightly. lando’s silence would’ve been deafening if others weren’t jumping in to speak, and maybe you would’ve noticed his lack of input if you spared him a glance.

he was managing to muster a fake smile, it was almost painful. any amusement he was clinging too had vanished, wanting the conversation to be over with.

“it’s not ridiculous.” carlos huffed; and lando almost wanted to nod in agreement. thank him even. because it wasn’t ridiculous, he didn’t think so at least. it made sense to him. you made so much sense to him.

“it is.” the nail in the coffin, lando couldn’t keep smiling anymore. you sounded oh so certain, all the while the smile hadn’t left your face. “come on now,” you added in exaggeration at carlos’ unconvinced face.

lando wasn’t sure what you said next, he didn’t want to hear it. he couldn’t figure out why hearing all of this was suddenly unbearable, but before he knew it he was not so subtlety excusing himself ━ something about getting another drink, before standing up and bee lining to the bar.

the abrupt departure didn’t halt anyone else’s movements, conversations continuing and carlos joining in a debate with his cousin and his old mclaren press officer; while your attention got stuck on lando’s full glass ahead of you.

he didn’t need another drink.

you watched as he weaved through the crowds, the way he failed to smile at anyone he passed by; the tension clear in his jaw; it almost appeared as if he was scowling.

it was funny, because your first thought was if you offended him. but you couldn’t figure out what possibly could have; it was laughable how unaware you were of his feelings.

“i’ll be back,” you excused yourself, standing up and following in lando’s directions without any hesitance; a slight frown on your face as you dodged people left and right to get to the bar.

you weren’t sure why the prospect of upsetting him upset you so much, but the sudden urgency to check on him was too powerful to ignore.

“rude to not offer a girl a drink you know?”

lando’s eyes only shifted towards you for a mere couple of seconds when you made your presence known. he could count on one hand the amount of times he wished to be alone when you were near, but this was one of them.

he was drained, unable to fake any more smiles or shrug off any more comments. blame it on the jet lag.

“apologises,” he hummed; not offering you another glance which had your suspicions confirmed, your furrowed brow showing concern not that he could see. his blue eyes were focused ahead on the busy bartender.

“you good?” you internally cringed as the words left your lips, unable to figure out a way to address the sudden mood without sounding overbearing or overstepping.

you watched as his shoulders tensed; as his eyes strategically continued to avoid you, only making the pit in your stomach feel deeper, as if it could swallow you whole.

“peachy.” his sarcasm was clear, and while it would usually be a relief it wasn’t laced with the usual humour. it was blunt, dismissive ━ and if you had any doubts left about being the reason for him running off, they were now squashed.

“did i say something━ did carlos say something?” the questions stumbled out of your lips in concern, biting down on the inside of your cheek. “i’ve tried to tell him to lay off with the jokes, it’s stupid i know.” you began to ramble.

lando finally let his gaze land on you, and the sight of your sympathetic eyes and worried frown had him feeling guilty. which was ridiculous, but suddenly he felt an urge to reassure you he was fine. that you hadn’t said anything.

but you had.

“it’s not the jokes,” lando cut you off; hands running over his head, even letting out a laugh at how pathetic he sounded. he was going to continue, explain it further; but he stopped himself.

he couldn’t. it was a can of worms that must remain shut.

you stood in silence for a moment, under the impression he’d keep speaking. but he didn’t. leaving you with no explanation; just further confusion.

“no?” you hummed; eyebrows raising. “because i totally get if it is. it’s ridiculous how they keep going on━” you were rambling again, trying to make the situation better. attempting to ensure he felt heard, that he could speak to you about what was bothering him.

so oblivious to the fact you were just digging yourself a deeper hole.

there was that word again; ridiculous.

“is it? is it really that ridiculous?” lando couldn’t stop the question from flying out of his mouth; only now turning to properly face you; in time to catch the dumbfounded look on your face from his question.

it took a few moments to try understand what he meant, coming up short as you stared at him clueless, lips parting to try come up with something to say but falling short.

“is what?” you mumbled, suddenly all confidence was gone. almost scared to hear the answer; purely because you recognised the doubt and regret illustrating his face.

but lando had nothing else to lose, you’ve rejected him in front of everyone else without realising. what’s once more?

“us. dinner us two, having gone home together in silverstone. this?” lando sighed out like it was obvious, hands waving between the pair of you.

because to him it was so obvious. the amount of times he’s almost asked you to join him for a meal, just the pair of you.

maybe if he had you’d see what he saw.

silverstone meant so much to him, having expected nothing from you but he thought about the taxi ride back to the hotel more than he’d like to admit. he could’ve sworn you’d been flirting with him that night.

he even thought it would’ve been the start of something.

optimism was a curse however, because stupidly lando thought perhaps after finally expressing his feelings that maybe you’d reveal your hidden reciprocation. that maybe you were scared like him.

but instead all he could see was shock. and confusion. and fuck, was that sympathy?

“what?” it was a weak response, but all you could muster. you were attempting to find any other explanation for his words, to figure out what he could be implying.

lando had to laugh, shaking his head as he faced the bar again; hands running over his face as you quickly realised he was being fully serious.

“it’s not━ we’ve never━ i mean it would be weird.” word vomit, you didn’t know what you were saying; usually so careful with your words you knew the moment lando looked at you in shock and offence you’d be haunted by that very sentence. “not weird━ but,” you attempted to fix your mistake, eyes screwing shut.

another laugh from him beat you to it however.

“ridiculous. i got it,” lando spoke through a breath, sounding incredibly defeated which had your stomach dropping.

you struggled to find words to assure him, still attempting to process what he’d just told you. you hadn’t ever looked at him in that way. he was always just… lando.

“lando…” you trailed off with a frown, only now starting to realise the position you both were now in.

the awkward tension was growing quickly and you’d never despised something so quickly. you refused to let this be the bitter end to your friendship.

“it’s fine. just drop it.” lando huffed, standing up straight; eyes finding yours once more. he didn’t want you to feel bad, he’d accepted long ago that his chances of you feeling the same were slim.

you can’t apologise for how you feel.

“no we should talk about it,” you disagreed, so much concern and care in your eyes it almost made him sick. he didn’t need that from you. and the last thing he wanted to do was talk about how he’d spent years pining over you.

he’d kept it secret for a reason, to avoid this.

“i’ll pass,” lando hummed; the half smile he mustered up did little to comfort you as he licked his bottom lip and glanced around the room. “i’m gonna head up,” he cleared his throat.

you’d gone to express your dismay with such thing, but he was walking off before you could get another word out; left alone at the bar dumbfounded and suddenly in need of a drink.

it would be quite sad to admit that one revelation could change your whole weekend. but it did.

you’ve never had trouble sleeping, in fact the jet lag usually knocked you out. yet you’d spent the best of your time in melbourne thinking through every word lando said. looking back on every damn interaction the two of you shared.

you felt like an idiot. because suddenly it made a lot of sense, what you failed to realise in the moment fell together piece by piece.

an insight into his intentions for the effort he’d put into the friendship over the last couple years was eye opening, and while you were unsure as to how you hadn’t assumed such thing sooner, you found yourself asking the question how it made you feel.

you’d be lying if you didn’t have a few moments of giddiness as you recounted certain times. how he drove you home from pre-season testing one time because you didn’t feel well. how he always got you flowers for your birthday.

suddenly your mind was consumed with the thought of lando every waking second. from the moment you entered the paddock on thursday you were looking for him. which didn’t make sense considering you had plans to avoid him.

you didn’t want to make things worse than they were. but for some reason he was the only thing on your mind, to the point it was becoming an issue as you tried to go about your work.

not once in your career had you been pulled up on anything, so when carlos questioned if you were okay friday afternoon ━ claiming you had been slacking, you knew you were fucked.

there’s no way you felt the same. surely not.

you had to stand by what you said. it’d be weird?

he was lando. annoying lando who couldn’t grow a speck of facial hair and flinched at the sight of fish.

except saturday, when you finally laid eyes on the driver again, it was cruel slap in the face of reality when you realised that was almost 5 years ago. you’d both changed. lando had changed.

you almost spiralled when you found yourself admiring the driver. had his mclaren top always been so tight around his biceps? had his skin always been so sun kissed? not to mention the way his curls sat atop his head.

you suddenly felt insane. you’d never looked at him in that light, never thought what if. but his confession had you a mess of thoughts, one’s you had to run away from. causing you to spend the rest of the weekend hidden away in ferrari’s hospitality.

you could only hide for so long, carlos had won ━ which was enough to get your mind off of the british driver for a whole 4 minutes until they were up on the podium together.

work was your priority however, but you couldn’t help but notice just how nicely lando photographs. you only ever focused on carlos, considering he paid your wage. but as you took shots and shots of the pair interacting before and after the podium from afar you couldn’t help but note how lando was practically glowing.

your head was a mess, and as you now stood in a random club in melbourne, you had no idea what your next move was.

you couldn’t exactly deny going out to celebrate when carlos had won. so your next wish was that lando simply wouldn’t be in attendance.

but he was, and your eyes hadn’t left him all night.

still having not spoken for days, you couldn’t shake the urge to congratulate him. yet for some reason you were scared, you didn’t trust yourself. fearing you’d say something you’d regret. which was a foreign feeling. lando was usually the easiest person for you to talk too.

however you could only stand in the corner with a drink as your only company for so long. a sudden wave of confidence washing over you, or more so desperation to stop being so childish, causing you to down your drink before setting off towards the british driver.

it was when you were only a few metres from him that you realised you should probably have a game plan, and if he hadn’t locked eyes with you there was a high chance you would’ve backed out. turned around and walked away.

instead you were left to improvise.

“good job today,” you smiled widely when you got into ear shot; unable to shake the tightness in your chest, feeling suddenly out of breath as if you had sprinted over here.

lando appeared much more relaxed than he had last time you spoke. which made sense. he’d put it on the podium, why wouldn’t he be in a good mood?

“thank you,” the driver grinned, unable to be stumped when he was still running high off adrenaline. plus, he figured you would pretend the other evening never happened. which he would happily take.

your script ended there however. you had no idea what to say. or where to look, since when was eye contact with lando hard?

“impressive from carlos,” lando managed to fill the silence, and you could feel the relief at the fact he’d saved you from creating an awkward silence.

“yeah, yeah i know. very proud of him. i’ll never complain about pain again.” you spoke through a dry laugh; one he mirrored, your lips pursing as you attempted to think of something, anything, to fix the mess you found you guys in.

to apologise for your rudeness? to explain your mindset? to just talk. you needed to talk to him, for your own sanity.

“look i just wanted━” you finally built the courage up to speak, but were interrupted as a blonde woman slid next to lando’s side, handing him a drink while doing so.

it shouldn’t have shut you up so quickly, but it did ━ eyebrows raising as you attempted to figure out how to respond to the image in front of you. one you’d never seen before actually.

“line was long,” the girl hummed in explanation, and you only just caught lando’s sorry eyes as his attention turned to the girl next to him.

he would be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate the lifeline that was the blonde he’d just met 20 minutes ago. he did not need to hear your reasonings as to why you should just remain friends, not tonight.

“i’ll um, i’ll talk to you later.” there was no way you’d try get your words out again, not when you barely spoke up the first time. yet for some reason, you’d hoped lando had insisted you could speak now.

instead left to watch as he nodded and offered you a small smile; practically sending you off on your way.

embarrassment was the one word to describe how you felt as you made your way to the nearest booth, attempting to hide away and let the darkness swallow you whole.

apart of you felt you should be grateful, maybe being interrupted was a saving grace. god knows what you were about to say, you definitely didn’t. but right now you found yourself in the same position as you were 5 minutes ago.

it felt selfish. lando had practically admitted to having feelings for you, that’s what you gathered at least, and you’d been unaware for years.

you’d been slightly uncertain in your feelings for five days and you felt as if you were losing your mind. you had no right for an explanation really, but you needed something. attempting to decipher everything to do with the main man of mclaren was giving you a headache.

although your vision became a bit clearer as you sat and watched him interact with the girl who’d placed the drink in his hands.

it suddenly made sense why you hadn’t seen him like this before. his attention was always on you, his efforts and time focused towards you if you were in arms reach.

which you couldn’t help but feel grateful for as you sat and watched your new personal hell.

you didn’t want to label it as jealousy. because that would be ridiculous, but it was beginning to be hard to watch the way lando whispered in her ear and grinned widely as he earned a laugh or two from the girl.

were you mad at the sight or mad at your own reaction? you weren’t sure. it felt wrong, to feel so strongly when only a few days ago you’d laughed in his face about the prospect of being with him.

what was it they said about you only want what you can’t have?

“it should be illegal for you to be sitting here moping after i’ve won.” carlos’ voice snapped you from your thoughts, being met with the driver who slid into the booth opposite you, a sheepish smile forming on your features.

“i’m not moping.” you huffed, leaning back in your seat ━ attempting to look and feel relaxed, allow your tense shoulders to loosen, glancing back to lando once more before your attention was on the driver ahead of you.

“you have been all week.” carlos disagreed, eyebrow raising as you frowned; not having a reply because he was right. and suddenly you felt horrible.

“i’m sorry━ that’s the last thing you need with the couple weeks you’ve had,” you sighed, head falling into your hands. it was as if you suddenly couldn’t do anything right.

you missed the way carlos smiled, having looked at the direct reason of your problems moments prior.

“don’t apologise.” carlos dismissed, assuring you it was fine; and when you peaked up through your hands, the smile he was flashing you was enough to put your mind at ease. “i’m assuming lando said something.”

there it was. lando. again. back in your head. as if you ever got him out.

you only sighed, head falling back this time as you now stared at the ceiling. of course carlos knew.

“you knew?” you huffed out, it clear you already knew the answer.

“everyone does.” carlos chuckled, and you wish you too could take amusement from the situation. how comforting, this whole time you’ve either appeared as an idiot or the biggest bitch.

“why wouldn’t you tell me?” you practically whined, looking back at the driver once more; watching as he put his hands up in defence and innocence.

“i thought you knew.” carlos claimed, sounding so honest you couldn’t question him ━ nor blame him. you shouldn’t have needed someone to spell it out for you. plus, you’re not sure what you would’ve done if you did know.

because it wasn’t like you were handling the current situation very well.

you had no answer, just left him to watch as you sat wallowing in self pity. you should’ve never chased him to the bar.

“he’ll be fine. look at him, moving on already,” carlos attempt to comfort you was more like a punch to the stomach ━ because you had to stop yourself from glaring at him. had to stop yourself from spitting out how that wasn’t what you wanted.

you didn’t want that at all, and that thought was suffocating. you were in no place to come to terms with your feelings, but right now they seemed to be demanding to make themselves known.

“i need air.” you huffed as you stood up, thankful that you had taken notice of the smokers exit not too far from you.

the crisp air felt like a soothing blanket, hitting your skin the moment you got outside. the balcony was empty and finally you felt as if you could breathe; allowing your arms to rest against the railing as the music became muffled and the sound of melbourne’s night life filled your ears.

it felt stupid, staring across the city skyline as if it would answer your questions. maybe the stars could align and write out a solution for you, tell you what to do.

but with every passing second you didn’t find any clarity or idea on what to do, how to feel. you shouldn’t want him. you haven’t wanted him before. it isn’t fair to suddenly feel so drawn to him after unknowingly rejecting him for so long.

but it was the reality. you’d been exposed to the idea of lando wanting you; and with every passing moment it became clear to you it wasn’t weird. it sounded fucking incredible.

the music suddenly filled your ears again, moments later becoming muffled as you became aware someone had joined you outside. it wasn’t till they spoke that you tensed up.

“it’s cold out here,” his voice was instantly recognisable, you didn’t need to look at him to know it was him.

“too hot in there.” you hummed simply in reply, feeling his presence next to you as he joined you in observing the city skyline; although you could feel his eyes burning into the side of your head.

falling into a comfortable silence was the last thing you expected, both too scared to speak up and face the inevitable. if you could stay like this forever you would. it was the first few moments of peace you’d known all week.

“we can pretend the other night never happened. i don’t want things to be weird.” lando spoke, words so soft as if you’d break. as if he needed to be careful with you.

his whole demeanour had you frowning, turning to face him. he shouldn’t be fixing this mess, nor prioritising your feelings over his. not when both of you had neglected his for so long.

you parted your lips to disagree, to tell him that was the last thing you wanted. you wanted to talk about it. it’s all you needed to do.

but quickly you realised that was contradicting your initial thoughts.

“if that’s what you want,” you spoke through a breath; unable to understand how you still couldn’t find the right thing to say when this very conversation has been the only thing on your mind all week.

it was lando’s turn to stay quiet, you watched as he thought through what to say; practically seeing his mind tick.

“i just want to know why it’s so ridiculous to you.” lando practically blurted the question out, as if he was almost afraid he wouldn’t say it ever if he didn’t now. it’d been weighing on his mind, it killed him that he had no explanation as to why you were so against the idea of him in anyway that branched further than platonic.

and while you wanted to give him an answer, you didn’t have one.

“i don’t know.” you answered truthfully. “i never looked at you that way lando i…” you trailed off, eyes getting lost in his when you realised just how close he was. your admiration these past couple days from afar was one thing; but up close was a whole new ball park. “you were like this little kid, i don’t know,” you struggled to articulate your thoughts.

“yeah five years ago,” lando’s response was quick and blunt; even with the chuckle that escaped under his breath, it didn’t lessen the intensity in his eyes that were now pouring into yours. it was as if he’d been wanting to say such thing for years. he was challenging you.

you’d gulped at his words, because he was right and you’d only come to terms with such thing these past few days.

“yeah.” you mumbled in agreement, suddenly feeling small under his gaze; it was all so new. you’d been in this position with lando countless of times, why did you suddenly feel as if every nerve inside of you was being set alight? why did you feel as if you couldn’t dare look away from his eyes.

you could spot the moment lando realised the change in your behaviour, the way his eyes flickered across your face; his lips parting ever so slightly as he took a breath.

he recognised the look on your face, purely because it’s how he would always look at you.

“it fucking sucked you know? having to sit there while you laugh at the idea of spending the night with me. even just going on a date with me.” lando hummed, voice barely above the whisper because with the minimal distance he didn’t need to speak any louder. although if he spoke any quieter you’d be worried you wouldn’t hear him over the sound of your rapid heartbeat.

you didn’t know what to say, head tilting aside ever so slightly as you watched him take a step closer; dangerously close now yet for some reason you found yourself leaning further towards his frame ━ and the moment you let your eyes flicker to his lips you knew you were done for.

“m’ sorry,” you mumbled; eyes pouring into his once more as if that would ensure he knew you meant it, but he didn’t want nor need an apology. but god would he love an opportunity to change your mind.

it was as if you could act without thinking again the moment his hand cupped your cheek, lips pressed onto yours in a rush that had your hand moving to find a grip in his shirt.

you didn’t know how to describe it, but suddenly everything made sense as your lips moved together in perfect sync.

the moment almost came crumbling down however when lando pulled away only a few moments later, heavy breaths as his hand remained on your cheek; eyes looking down at you as if you were gods greatest gift to earth.

but as much as this felt like heaven, lando knew he couldn’t risk this just being a one time thing. he refused to get a taste of you just to be starved again.

“if you don’t━” lando barely got his words out, you had him read; could see the doubt beginning to creep in. as much as he hated being vulnerable it was almost self perseveration.

thankfully however you didn’t give him much time to worry, shaking your head before tugging him closer to you ━ reconnecting your lips with such certainty lando had no room to fear or doubt you.

it was all he needed, the lid was off and he finally could act on his wants ━ hands moving to grip your waist as he trapped you between himself and the railing, lips moving against yours without a care in the world that anyone could walk out and see.

it was as if the kiss was the answer to all your questions, suddenly it all made sense. lando made sense; you felt stupid, how had you denied yourself of such thing for so long?

your hands were tangled in his hair, his were clutching your sides for dear life ━ large hands pawing at your waist then your hips, having to stop himself from getting too greedy and travelling any further.

so caught up in him you quickly realised you needed to breathe, pulling away momentarily; yet you had no time to recover as lando only busied himself with peppering kisses on your jaw.

naturally you tilted your head back, a sigh of content escaping you as you invited him to explore more of you. and lando was not going to ignore such thing, soft kisses now pressed to the skin of your neck.

suddenly you were incredibly aware of the closeness, the way his body was pressed against yours; the cold railing behind you doing little to cool your hot skin; his knee pressing between your thighs having your eyes fluttering shut.

heaven was the only way to describe it.

but really you were on the smokers balcony of a crowded melbourne club, a reality that hit the pair of you as the door swung open and laughter and chatter was suddenly heard.

your eyes flickered to the group who appeared, lando regrettably lifting his head and glancing over his shoulder. the group was unbothered by your presence, you weren’t sure the pair of you were even noticed.

lando’s grip had tightened on your waist ever so slightly, as if you could slip away from him like the moment had.

“we should get out of here,” you spoke through heavy breaths as your eyes met his, watching as his lit up with both relief and eagerness. he only nodded, taking a step backwards as his hands ran over his now crinkled shirt.

the pair of you may had gotten yourselves together in those few seconds, but as you worked your way through the crowded club towards the exit, it was quite clear what had occurred.

the elevator ride only caused swollen lips and messy hair, and you struggled to keep your hands off of him once in the back of a taxi ━ kissing him was addictive, that’s the only thing you could think of right now.

the silence wasn’t awkward as you stumbled into his hotel room; only the sounds of quiet laughter as he struggled to find his room key. small curses escaping his mouth as he failed to move in the urgency he was currently feeling.

it was messy the way you both discarded your shoes and belongings, a few words and mumbles exchanged before he was tugging you into his chest again ━ lips once more reconnected.

the space allowed you to wrap your arms around his neck this time, body practically melting into his hold. you wanted to apologise again, explain your thoughts over the last few days, how your change of heart had occurred.

you weren’t even sure it was a change of heart; more so just now thinking about new possibilities.

but lando seemed to be the thing that could put those thoughts at bay, finally your mind was silent ━ all senses consumed with the man in front of you.

you weren’t sure which wall he’d backed you against but you didn’t care; welcoming the familiar feeling of his lips on your neck once more ━ taking the few seconds of your brain not being foggy to tug on the end of his shirt before trying to push it up his body.

he got the memo, ridding himself of his shirt and you could feel your breath get caught in your throat at the sight of his toned torso.

“what do you want?” lando’s question was matched with an intensity that almost had you squirming, his knee pushing between your thighs once more as you peered up at him.

you were suddenly lost for words, unsure how to vocalise what you wanted.

him. just him. anything he had to offer.

the feeling of his finger running up the side of your leg gave you plenty of ideas; but you were too flustered to articulate such thing.

the sight of you dumbfounded had him letting out a breathy chuckle, eyebrows raising in expectance ━ yet somehow it just had you squeezing your legs together.

“anything.” you mumbled, cheeks a tint of pink as he only smirked at your answer; you hadn’t realised how desperate you sounded. you weren’t sure you’ve ever sounded so needy.

“gotta be more specific pretty,” his grin told you he was revelling in your flustered state. how could he not? his mind was running wild with plans to have you a needy mess all for him.

the term of endearment was new, a boundary that had never been crossed in your friendship; yet it sounded so natural. what wasn’t natural was the way your heart seemed to flutter at the compliment.

“want me to touch you?” lando was almost mocking you as his hand moved to push your hair back out of your face, cupping the side of your head while doing so to ensure your eyes stayed trained on him ━ and the mere act had you falling further into submission.

it was pathetic, you were somehow able to identify such thing ━ standing here with parted lips and wide eyes, having nodded at his words almost too eagerly. you needed to control yourself, at least for now; he’d barely touched you yet.

“what do you want?” your words were no where near as confident as his, but you weren’t complaining; the confidence suited him, it only had you wanting him more.

you watched as his shoulders lifted in a slight shrug, attempting to keep your mind off his finger that was dangerously close to the hem of your skirt.

“want to ruin you so you’ll only ever think of me if another man touches you.” lando was honest with his answer, you hadn’t expected such words to escape his mouth. such bluntness, what sounded like a promise had your knees feeling weak ━ the idea sounding perfect to you.

but he wasn’t finished.

“want you to cum on my fingers.” he added quietly, your legs spreading ever so slightly as his hand finally ventured under your skirt. “then my tongue,” he practically chimed; head ducking down to your neck now, his hot breath fanning your skin.

thinking was only getting harder, his words were turning your mind into a puddle, much like the state of your undergarments.

“then my cock.” he concluded before paying extra attention to the skin on your neck, kissing intently as you let out a shaky breath.

attempting to process such words from him was difficult, but you were quick to figure out it sounded incredible to you.

“hm?” his hum was a taunt, head lifting to look at you once more, watching as you nodded quickly.

“please,” you practically whimpered, god you’d get on your knees and beg. lando almost groaned from the word leaving your lips alone, the way you were looking up at him with doe eyes had a grin forming on his face, one you mirrored for a brief moment.

the man couldn’t believe his eyes, a sight he’d dream of too many times was in front of him in the flesh and he wanted nothing more but to make sure you too would never forget these moments.

his lips returning to yours almost had you failing to notice the way his hand slipped under your skirt, finding your soaked panties with ease. he groaned into your mouth as he realised how wet you were, your only reply a slight tug on his curls.

light and teasing touches were only tolerable for so long, you could deal with his fingers dancing around your clothed folds while his lips stayed on yours ━ but when he pulled away your breaths became irregular, clinging to every ounce of patience you had.

you were about to whine when his hand pushed your panties to the side, slipping a digit inside of you without warning was enough to have you choking out a moan ━ hand flying to grip his bicep to ensure your legs wouldn’t give out on you.

lando was watching you as if you were gods gift to the earth, thumb settling on your clit naturally that within seconds of him getting to work your eyes were fluttering shut ━ head falling back against the wall.

“you’re soaked baby,” his words were barely audible; too in awe of you, but you still managed to catch them as you nodded ever so slightly.

“for you,” you breathed out ━ not that it needed clarifying, but the reassurance had the driver smirking proudly, even rewarding you as suddenly a second finger slipped inside of you.

for him. lando would never had thought that would ever be possible. if he wasn’t so focused on getting you off he’d be replaying those words in his mind again, and again.

suddenly it was becoming hard to keep quiet, strings of moans and whimpers escaping you in succession, causing lando’s pants to feel incredibly tight. but that was the last thing on his mind, holding you against the wall with the only goal of having you come undone in his grasp.

his name sounded heavenly as you moaned it, so much so lando thought no one else should ever speak it again ━ nothing would compare to that.

“look at me.” lando’s demand was so calm you almost missed it, eyes still fluttered shut as your thighs squeezed around his hand. despite hearing him you couldn’t act, control of your body slipping away ever so quickly with the way his thumb was circling your sensitive bud.

lando’s breathy laugh wasn’t enough to capture your attention either, his touch was all your mind could focus on. so it was when his free large hand trailed up your body to wrap around your neck that your eyes fluttered open.

his eyes were inquisitive, clearly attempting to gage a reaction to the action which had your lips parting despite having no pressure applied. however it was the way you clenched around his fingers that told him enough.

the slight squeeze of your neck was enough to draw a moan out of you, and lando could only hum in content. you were fucking perfect.

it was quickly becoming overwhelming, pleasure suddenly building so quickly ━ eyes pouring into his as you struggled to form words.

“close,” was all you managed out; lando’s nod was in sync with his curled fingers ━ your nails digging into his skin as he brushed the spot that had your legs almost giving out.

you were holding onto him for dear life, moans growing louder and whinier as your vision started to become starry despite having your eyes open.

“let go baby,” his words were enough to push you over the edge, releasing onto his fingers as you practically panted his name like it was a prayer.

lando had concluded a long time ago that he couldn’t fall for you more than he already had; but as he watched you come undone, he realised he’d been wrong. your beauty truly knew no ends ━ and he was only now more eager to watch your face contort in pleasure again and again.

admiration filled your own eyes as they opened once more to peer up at him, flushed cheeks and a sheepish smile spreading on your face as you attempted to catch your breath.

“you’re incredible,” lando couldn’t stop the praise from escaping him, and watching the way your smile grew had him feeling no regret either; no shame like he usually would when a compliment perhaps too sentimental slipped passed his guard.

however this time it was reciprocated, you could see the meaning behind it ━ not dismissing it as a friendly comment, instead it had your already flushed cheeks reddening further.

“you are.” you spoke like it was obvious, even letting out a small giggle ━ sounding somewhat out of breath but such thing was granted. your arms moved to wrap around his neck again, both to ensure he stayed close and because your only strength was in your arms.

your legs already felt like jelly.

he’d read the situation with ease, because suddenly his hands were hooked under your thighs ━ halting you up as your legs instinctively wrapped around his torso.

your skirt was bunched at your hips, ruined panties almost shameful. your hands spread out against his toned back, unable to help yourself from feeling as much of his flexed muscles as possible.

messy kisses were exchanged as he moved you through the hotel room, lips lazily moving against each other before your back was hitting his plush mattress.

the sight above you rendered you speechless, no shame in your eyes raking over his frame as he stood at the foot of the bed ━ you quickly felt overdressed.

your own hands found the hem of your shirt, peeling it off your body, no bra meaning your upper body was exposed to the brit.

you could visibly see him gulp, his eyes dancing over your half naked frame as he took a few deep breaths; tongue flicking over his bottom lip. the man even shook his head in disbelief, unable to help himself when you invitingly leant back on your elbows.

he was on top of you within moments, situating between your spread legs as his head found the exposed skin of your chest, open mouth kisses pressed to your neck, slowly making their way to your breasts.

“you’re fucking beautiful.” he’d practically grumbled, your fingers finding his curls once more you could only whimper as his teeth tugged on your skin momentarily.

“want to make you feel good,” you whispered, unable to ignore his hard on pressing into your hip ━ the feeling had you squirming, keen to feel more of him.

he’d shushed you however, not being derailed as his kisses moved to your stomach now, your head hitting the pillow as you tried to control your breathing ━ left to stare up at the ceiling momentarily.

“i feel amazing,” lando spoke matter of factly, his hands spreading over your thighs as he parted them to his liking ━ your eyes flickering down, not expecting to meet his blue ones.

he looked like he was ready to devour you, it made your core practically ache ━ offered no relief as your legs could only squeeze against his hold.

he was quick in removing your skirt, and your panties ━ having you bare for him before he was hooking your legs over his shoulders. but his urgency seemed to still there, kisses pressed to your inner thighs instead of your glistening cunt.

“lando,” you’d whined, using all your strength to ensure you could keep your eyes on him, a pretty sight that was rendering you impatient. “please,” the plea left you in desperation.

you could still feel his breath on your thighs, not where you needed him, and when you heard him chuckle lowly your eyes had to press shut to keep your composure.

“oh baby,” he dragged out; cooing so sweetly your eyes narrowed when they met his again. “needy little thing,” he commented; quirking an eyebrow your way and you couldn’t argue, only pout.

he wasn’t wrong, much to your surprise. you’d never found yourself in such position, needing and craving someone so badly. depending on someone else for pleasure was practically foreign.

“not gonna make you beg,” lando ended your torture, if you could even call it that, mouth connecting with your cunt and your jaw dropped as his tongue quickly found your clit.

you were already sensitive, back arching immediately as you moaned out softly ━ hands flying to find his curls again.

pure ecstasy was the only way to describe the feeling, his tongue working so perfectly that you were fighting to not press your thighs against his head ━ body moving with every action, his hand moving to press down on your hips and keep you in place.

your eyes caught his own for a mere few moments, seeing him look up at you however had your own eyes rolling back; too sensitive to stay cool with the onslaught of pleasure.

he was everywhere, consuming every one of your senses ━ tugging on his curls your only outlet as you moaned and shook.

you weren’t ever sure you’d be able to cum from head alone, but you were about to find out ━ pathetically close already, stomach tightening having barely recovered from your first orgasm.

you forced yourself to gaze down at him again, wanting to see his head between your thighs ━ watch the way his arms flexed as he held you in place with ease.

his tongue was flicking between your folds, then paying attention to your clit; never missing a beat, it flood over you suddenly.

you could no longer hear the sounds you were making as you came again, back arching off the bed once more ━ seeing stars, lando sure to catch the sight as you came undone for him again.

it was a blur the next few moments, not present as lando shifted your legs off of his shoulders and back onto his knees, but once you realised the sight in front of you it didn’t take long for you to push yourself up the bed so you were sitting up.

“you good?” lando’s voice was soft now, ensuring you were okay; not oblivious to your tired body. you nodded however, a lazy smile spreading on your lips in reassurance, hooded eyes taking him all in. you just wanted to feel all of him.

“perfect,” you breathed, leaning forward to connect your lips without another word. it was greedy, a few moments of no contact and you were drawn to him again. you just wanted more and more, and the way lando’s hands flied to your waist showed it was truly reciprocated.

you pushed him slightly to sit down, switching positions so he was resting against the headboard now ━ it didn’t take much force, he was letting you guide him, hands delicately roaming your fatigued frame.

climbing into his lap your hands made quick work of his pants, unzipping them and moving all material out of the way to finally free his hardened cock.

lando moaned into your mouth the moment your hand wrapped around his length, pumping a few times was the relief he’d been ignoring since you entered the hotel room.

he struggled to kiss back for a mere moment, causing your eyes to flutter open, lips curving upwards at the sight of his face contorted in pleasure.

fuck you could get used to that image.

“come on baby,” lando rasped out as his hands found a home on your hips ━ guiding them upwards ever so slightly. “fuck yourself on my cock yeah?” there was a slight smugness in his tone; the type that had you falling into submission once more, despite him vocalising your plans.

your arms moved to hold onto his shoulders, enough to help steady you as you guided your hips on top of his, lowering yourself down onto his cock.

the pair of you gasped in sync, your forehead resting against his as you took him all in at once, jaw going slack from the stretch.

you stilled, needing time to adjust to his size ━ and lando had no complaints, the feeling of you wrapped around him having him content.

“you feel fucking incredible,” the driver rasped, lips brushing against yours as he spoke; and you could only whimper at first, a few deep breaths escaping you.

“so big,” you mumbled; having to swallow intently before mustering the energy to begin moving ━ eyes pouring into his as you began to ride him.

the closeness and intimacy would usually scare you; heck, it would normally terrify him. yet somehow it felt right, as if this wasn’t the first time between the pair of you.

your nails dug into his skin once more as you shifted up and down, lando’s hands only on your skin to ensure he had a hold on you ━ letting you set the pace as he watched, jaw tense and eyes adoring.

“fuck lando,” you whined when he’d bottom out once more, hitting a spot so deep inside of you that your toes were curling ━ the sound of his own grunts and moans only adding to the pleasure.

“doing so good for me gorgeous,” his praise only encouraged you, words so delicate. you sped up as much as you could, not too fast but with more urgency than before; as much as your sore body would allow.

it wasn’t long before you started to tire, your moans grew whinier but you didn’t need to say anything ━ a choked moan escaping your throat when his hips suddenly thrusted up to meet your movements.

you hadn’t thought you could feel more full but you were wrong, and lando didn’t relent as he started fucking up into you.

you were like a doll in his hands, as he started to practically move you up and down his cock; his own hips continuing to thrust up you couldn’t keep up, eyes screwing shut as your mouth fell agape.

“fuck lando fuck,” you were practically chanting; a string of curses and his name; it all felt too good. fucking perfect, you couldn’t comprehend any of it.

“take it baby.” he grunted, and you nodded so quickly as if you’d ever disappoint him, fingers reaching to his back and nails dragging across the skin ━ his thrusts harsh, not slow but not too quick that you wouldn’t have time to feel every inch of him.

your head was thrown back, exposing your bare chest further to him ━ which lando made the most of for the time being, lips ducking down and attaching to one of your nipples for a few moments.

but as your sounds got louder he needed to be able to see your face clearly, hand moving up your back and tangling in your hair to force you to look at him.

“open your eyes princess,” he practically demanded, and at this point you’d do anything he said without question; eyes fluttering open to look at him.

his stamina was impressive, not surprising, still bouncing you on his cock as if it was nothing ━ but the way his breaths got shaky and his hooded eyes revealed he was feeling the pleasure like you were.

“who’s making you feel this good?” lando’s question escaped him without much thought; he just needed to hear you say it. wanted to revel in the fact he had you in such a state. your praise and reassurance held such a high value to him.

“you, lando, you,” you whined out in response ━ and you felt his hand move back to your hip, needing to use your own strength now to keep your head upright. “feels so good,” you told him ━ squeezing him as you did so.

he’d groaned at the feeling, almost having cum on the spot; thankfully he didn’t, because he needed to see you fall apart one more time.

“want to cum again yeah? that you want?” his mouth seemed to know no ends, the taunting only making your stomach grow tighter as you nodded to the best of your ability.

his breaths were heavy now, hands travelling to your ass as he used that as his grip of your body instead.

“wanna hear you say it,” lando grumbled ━ head ducking into the exposed skin of your neck, more kisses pressed onto your skin and the thought of marks being there from the amount of attention he’d paid to it was the last thing on either of your minds.

you were struggling now, too fucked out to process his words as quickly as he’d like ━ so much so a harsher thrust upwards had you aware you needed to answer him, yet you already forgot what he said.

“too fucked out to form words baby?” lando teased now that he knew he had your attention; and he chuckled once more when you shook your head quickly. “want to hear you say it.” he repeated, eyes piercing yours.

“wanna’ cum again,” your words were laced with desperation, needing to take a breath between sentences as his cock spread you open. “please let me cum,”

the british driver’s hum of satisfaction turned into a moan of pleasure at your plea, sounding and looking so pretty for him, it was clear you’d done enough as you felt his hand snake down between your bodies to your clit.

your vision went white practically immediately, almost yelping from how sensitive you were; thrown over the edge with little warm as you came on his dick ━ practically screaming his name as you did so.

lando came inside you merely a few seconds later, jaw slack from the sight of you and the way your walls squeezed him once more ━ only now was his thrusts sloppy as you both rode out your highs.

you were practically limp in his lap, forehead pressed against his shoulder as his own head rested against the headboard; heavy and irregular breaths filling the silence.

his hand moved to your head, fingers running through the strands of your hair comfortingly, the action causing you to hum in appreciation.

both of you were content with the silence, purely because neither of you knew exactly what to say. what to do. this was unexpected, to say the least.

you sat up straight after a couple minutes however, eyes meeting his ones; noticing the lack of intensity and confidence they held prior.

he was studying you as well, attempting to not spiral into a ‘what now.’

this meant a lot to him, he wouldn’t put that on you ━ that wouldn’t be fair. but you already had a good idea.

“i was wrong.” you finally managed to say what had been on the tip of your tongue, offering a small smile as his eyebrows raised in question.

he didn’t fully understand.

“about this. us. not making sense. being ridiculous.” you clarified, and the realisation washed over his features. you could feel him tense up slightly beneath you ━ shaking his head quickly.

“we don’t have to talk about it right now,” he assured in certainty. he didn’t want you to feel obligated to protect his feelings because you slept together.

which you appreciated, it was cute. he was thoughtful ━ which shouldn’t be a surprise.

“i’m not promising anything,” you clarified, dismissing him this time; you didn’t feel obligated at all. you weren’t saying you’d be his girlfriend and expected flowers when you woke up, but you needed him to know you no longer stood by what you said. you were also relieved to be able to articulate your thoughts. “but i was wrong.” you hummed.

a lazy smile spread on his features at that, acting like a catalyst for your own. a mumble of an okay and laughter was exchanged, before his lips were on yours again; a gentle kiss this time.

one you could certainly get used too.

━━

a/n: 615 days later and i’ve finally finished another fic. hope y’all r still there 😀😀

incredibly sorry for my inactivity and special shout out to everyone who has continued to support me despite the radio silence??? i love u

anyways i don’t love this but the fact i had the motivation to see it through was enough. hoping it’ll ease me back into writing and getting back up to standard, so apologises that it’s a little rusty 🫶🏼🫶🏼

what hasn’t changed is that it’s currently unedited and the ending is rushed hehe

as always feedback is always very much appreciated love u all mwahhh xoxo

#f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #x reader #f1 #lando norris angst #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris fic #lando norris one shot #f1 angst #f1 one shot #lando norris #lando norris imagine

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