#but by next week i will have a handful of new insights and will make statements that will be perceived as oddly observant

[doe-eyed-disaster]

Reading the new Vulture article about Neil Gaiman's serial sexual abuse (and Amanda Palmer's complicity) has shaken me, maybe most viscerally in the way it describes the weird kind of normal that victims so often have to construct.

Many survivors of sexual violence do not process their experience as such, not at first. I was one of them. It's such a shock to the system that lots of us kind of just... erase it? Like the tape is fuzzy there or the file got corrupted or the footage is just abruptly missing for that stretch of time. You just go on and don't really account for that lost time.

I got changed and threw out the clothes I'd been wearing in a dumpster, came back to the room, and woke the rest of the band up to start loading the trailer so we could get to the next show. One of the men in that room had raped me only a few hours earlier.

One of my band mates was having marriage trouble and asked us, his friends and me, for advice. I gave him genuinely good insight and helped navigate a tough moment in the relationship. He had raped me less than 12 hours previously.

We played a show with some artists I looked up to. I was in the green room with them and him. He saw how excited I was to be talking to these people and started talking me up as a musician to them. He had raped me only a few weeks prior.

Who do you tell? Who can you tell? Who will believe you? Who will do something, anything, to help you? I wasn't talking to my family. I didn't have other friends. I didn't know anyone in the scene. I wasn't thinking explicitly in those terms, but they lurked in the back of my head, the kinds of things that redirect you out of any critical analysis.

Lots of things went unexamined: why I'd thrown those clothes out; why I was bleeding and bruised the next day; why I was still nursing those injuries weeks later. That sort of thing. I didn't think to wonder why I didn't like to let him out of my sight when we hang out. I didn't pay any mind to how I'd get so anxious that I could barely breathe if he walked behind me or between me and a door. I couldn't bear to think precisely *whose* hands I kept feeling around my waist and neck when I woke up in a panic.

And you just keep on with that fractured kind of normal for as long as it takes, every day that you can't admit it adding interest to the emotional devastation. You wonder sometimes "am I crazy? I must be. Normal people don't feel that way." You deflect when the conversation veers too close. You feel afraid to label your experience *that* way because really it wasn't all that bad and I'm just exaggerating like I do.

And then one day you can't keep up the facade. Something slips. Someone sees something you didn't want them to. Someone comments and then doesn't buy the deflection. The details are different every time for every person, but two things are always true:

* you're gonna grieve hideously for the hideous thing that was done to you

* you're gonna have to deal with the thought that no one might ever believe you

It's a power thing. He had the power to do that to you. To me. To her. To them. That's what made you vulnerable. He wasn't suave or seductive or darkly brilliant. He was just stronger than you, more powerful. That's what keeps you quiet. He'll be able to shut the conversation down, deflect and move on, label you a libellous slut and call it a day with no more inconvenience than wiping off his shoes. He'll have friends that help him find his marks, who make him opportunities. He'll toss you right out and not think twice about doing it. My guy got to do it to me once, and it took everything in me to manage to keep it from happening again without *looking* like that's what I was doing. Sometimes though, when they're rich and powerful, they just get to keep doing and doing and doing. Dozens of times to dozens of women, every one of them living the same fractured reality that I and so many others have woken up into.

If you're reading the accusations against Neil Gaiman and wondering how it went on so long and so far, that's the whole equation: powerful men surrounded by enablers, living in a culture that sees their trauma as fodder for literary awards and ours as something so inconvenient to consider that it's easier to leave us all alone with nothing to console the sense that, even though you can't quite remember it, something terrible happened right where the tape skips.

[nimbus-tatze]

adhd curse and blessing is that i am a really good beginner in practically anything and only get shit as i progress, but this leads to me excelling in things i try out and then seeing an entire new life trajectory in front of me where i start a whole business about the thing i am good at trying out only to realize a lifetime of it would bore the hell out of me and abandoning it just as quick, but by then i will have read several articles and blogs on it, bc hyperfixation, and then when i go back to my regular current life i do it with a new lil outlook on life.

[elikajinnie]

Tokyo Drift - N.R

P: Racer!Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Teasing, Possessive Behaviour, Fluff

Synopsis: In the heart of the underground racing scene, you are a passionate starter, known for your ability to ignite excitement before each race. When you first meet Nishimura Ni-ki, a legendary driver, you are initially intimidated by him. However during the races you capture his attention.

a/n: knowing you have the attention of someone like Ni-ki is exciting tbh.. ANYWAYS i am a HUGE lover of the fast & furious franchise so this was quite overdue!! (inspired by this edit : TikTok - Make Your Day)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"I don't get why I have to be there for every race you do," you said, glancing over at your friend, who was gripping the steering wheel with one hand, the other casually shifting gears.

"Because you're the starter," he replied, his tone like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"There are other starters," you shot back. "I'm not the only one."

He raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he asked, "Do you have anything better to do than attend these races?"

You opened your mouth, ready with a rebuttal, but nothing came. After a beat, you closed your mouth and sank back into the seat.

"Yeah, exactly," he said, smug. "Plus, it's good for you to get out and meet new people."

The music from the radio blared a little louder as he cranked up the volume. You sighed, fiddling with the edge of your shirt.

"And it gives you more insight for the big race next month," he added, his eyes focused on the road ahead as the car sped past traffic.

"But that's weeks away," you mumbled under your breath, shifting your gaze out the window, watching the blur of lights and cars fly by.

"You know you’ll thank me later," he said, his voice laced with confidence as he pushed the car to go even faster.

As your friend parked the car, the tires crunching on the gravel beneath, you stepped out and took in the scene. Despite the late hour, the area was alive, glowing under huge industrial lights that bathed the lot in an artificial brightness. Cars were everywhere, a chaotic lineup of souped-up rides with booming music, others showing off their horsepower, engines roaring as they drifted in tight circles.

"Did you want to be a starter today?" your friend asked, leaning casually against the roof of his car.

You shrugged. "Sure," you replied, though your energy didn’t quite match the excitement of the crowd.

Walking away, you strolled past rows of cars, admiring their sleek designs and custom paint jobs, the polished metal gleaming under the lights. You ignored the catcalls from a group of guys leaning against a low-rider, keeping your focus ahead. Tonight, you weren’t dressed to impress—just something simple, thrown on after your friend dragged you out of the house. But your bandana was tied around your wrist, the familiar black-and-white checkered pattern standing out. It was your signature, the same one you used to signal the start of every race.

The energy around you was electric, the thrum of engines mixing with the bass-heavy beats from the cars parked nearby. You wound your way through the crowd, feeling a strange mix of familiarity and detachment. You weren’t really in the mood to be here, but this scene always had a way of pulling you in.

After a bit of wandering, you spotted some familiar faces—people you knew from past races, ones who recognized you right away. They greeted you with nods and half-smiles, pulling you into their small circle.

After hanging around for a bit, chatting with familiar faces, you eventually found yourself drifting toward the starting line. As the races kicked off, your friend waved you over, a sly grin on his face. "Looks like they need a starter," he said, tossing a glance toward the eager crowd of racers lining up. You could already feel the pull, the electricity in the air calling to you.

With a nod, you stepped forward, positioning yourself between two cars. The engines growled, their headlights casting long shadows across the pavement, illuminating your figure as you stood in the middle. Both drivers stared ahead, hands gripping the wheels, laser-focused on the moment. And then there was you—at the center of it all. The one who would signal the start.

You raised your bandana high, feeling the fabric tight around your wrist. The engines revved in response, their deep rumbling vibrating through the ground beneath your feet. All eyes were on you now. The weight of the anticipation, the intensity in the air—it made your pulse quicken.

With a swift motion, you dropped your hand, and like a spark igniting gasoline, the cars exploded forward, tires screeching and smoke billowing up behind them. The sound of engines roaring filled your ears as they sped past, kicking up dust and gravel in their wake. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face, the rush of adrenaline coursing through you as you watched them disappear into the distance.

The thrill was undeniable. That moment when everything paused, when the world held its breath before you dropped the flag—it was exhilarating, addictive even.

Race after race, you found yourself sinking into the rhythm of it. Standing between two roaring machines, feeling the raw power they held, and knowing you controlled the moment they unleashed it. The vibrations from the engines, the cheers from the crowd, the smell of burning rubber—it all swirled around you, making you forget about the lazy mood you'd been in earlier.

After another race, you dusted your hands off, feeling the faint tremble of excitement still lingering in your fingers. You were enjoying yourself now, more than you’d expected. This was your element—the rush, the control, the fleeting moments where everything slowed before it erupted into chaos.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You stood with a group of women, chatting casually and enjoying the scene, when a familiar lime-green Mazda rolled up to the line. The car was loud and flashy, just like its driver. You rolled your eyes the moment you saw Haruto step out, all swagger and energy, hyping the crowd as if they hadn’t seen him race a hundred times before. He soaked in the attention, pointing fingers at people he knew, already talking trash with the other drivers.

“Here we go…” you muttered under your breath, more annoyed than amused. Haruto was good—everyone knew that—but his ego was twice the size of his talent.

Just as you were about to turn away, a sleek silver Mitsubishi pulled up to the starting line next. It immediately caught your attention. You whistled low under your breath, admiring the car’s perfect blend of black and white racing stripes that seemed to melt into the silver body like it was designed for this very moment.

“No way…” you heard Ryujin, one of your friends, murmur next to you, her voice a mix of disbelief and excitement.

You turned your head to her, eyebrows raised. “What?”

She didn’t take her eyes off the car as she spoke. “He’s racing against Nishimura.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the name. “Wait… Nishimura?” You whipped your head back to the Mitsubishi, squinting to get a better look at the driver behind the tinted windows.

Everyone in the racing world knew who Nishimura was. His rise was meteoric. A few years ago, he’d been a no-name rookie, just another driver trying to make his mark. But that quickly changed. He became a legend on the underground circuit, with a reputation for being nearly unbeatable. But the man himself? You had never seen him in person. You'd only heard the stories—how he drove like he was born for the track, a natural who didn’t play by anyone’s rules.

Now, standing there, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of curiosity and awe. The Mitsubishi was sleek, powerful, but that wasn’t what had your attention. It was the knowledge that the man behind the wheel was one of the best to ever do it, and tonight, you’d finally get to see him race.

The crowd around you buzzed with energy, whispering Nishimura’s name like it carried some kind of magic. You felt the tension rising, a sense that something bigger than the usual street race was about to happen.

You glanced at Ryujin. “This is going to be over quick, isn’t it?”

She nodded, her eyes glued to the track. “You have no idea.”

As Haruto climbed back into his car, showboating as always, you suddenly felt hands on your back as Karina playfully shoved you forward. "Go on!" she giggled, clearly enjoying herself.

You shot her a wide-eyed look of disbelief. "Don’t push!" you huffed, but your feet had already carried you forward, right into the middle of the two revving cars. The roar of the engines surrounded you, vibrating through the air and into your bones. Standing there, between Haruto’s lime-green Mazda and the sleek Mitsubishi, you felt a surge of energy.

With a stern look, you raised your arms to get their attention. "Now I want a clean race! From both of you," you shouted, pointing between them. You narrowed your eyes specifically at Haruto, who was known to pull sneaky tricks when he got desperate. "No tricks, or jukes."

Haruto revved his engine in response, flashing his usual cocky grin, though his eyes darted toward the Mitsubishi, and for the first time, you noticed a hint of stiffness in his posture. He knew this wasn’t going to be an easy win.

"Ready?" you asked, locking eyes with him. He revved up again, the Mazda growling under the pressure, but his attention was split, clearly sizing up the competition.

Then you turned toward the Mitsubishi. "Ready?" you called, and the car’s engine roared to life, a smooth, confident sound that sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t see through the dark windows, but you felt something different in the air—a tension you couldn’t quite place.

With a smirk, you raised your bandana high. "Go!" you shouted, waving it down. Both cars shot off the line like bullets, the roar of their engines drowning out the cheers from the crowd as they sped past you. Dust kicked up in their wake, but you stood your ground, watching as they tore through the track, navigating the turns with precision and speed.

As you turned to walk back to your spot, you didn’t know the effect you’d had.

Inside the Mitsubishi, Nishimura had almost missed his cue. The moment you’d stepped out onto the track, his focus had shifted completely. The fierce concentration he was known for had wavered. For a split second, he’d forgotten where he was, what he was doing, and what was at stake. All he could see was you, standing between the two cars, commanding the moment with confidence and authority. It was enough to throw him off—a rarity for someone like him.

It wasn’t until he saw you pointing directly at him that he snapped out of it, realizing he hadn’t revved his engine. He quickly corrected himself, the roar of the car snapping back into focus as he gunned the accelerator and sped off.

But even as he tore through the turns, effortlessly drifting and leaving Haruto in the dust, his mind kept slipping back to you. He couldn’t shake the image of you standing there,completely unbothered by the chaos around you.

By the time the race was nearing its end, Nishimura was far ahead, his car slicing through the night with ease. Haruto didn’t stand a chance, but the victory was almost secondary. Nishimura’s pulse raced with a different kind of adrenaline, one that had nothing to do with the thrill of the race.

His car roared as it crossed the finish line, its sleek frame gliding effortlessly under the neon lights. The crowd erupted into cheers, but his mind wasn’t on the race. As he pulled his car to a stop and cut the engine, the world seemed to quiet down, everything slowing for just a moment.

He exhaled, unfastened his seatbelt, and pushed open the door. Stepping out of the car, his lean frame emerged, his hair slightly tousled from the speed and wind. The crowd surged toward him, hyping up his victory, chanting his name, but Nishimura’s focus was elsewhere.

His eyes scanned the crowd, searching. It wasn’t the win that made his pulse race—it was you.

When his gaze landed on you, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you. His eyes held yours, a mix of curiosity and something you couldn't quite place, but it made your heart race.

Just as you were about to process the moment, the spell was broken by a familiar voice. "You ready to go home?" Your friend appeared beside you, jingling his keys with a grin. You blinked, startled by the sudden shift, and turned to face him.

You blinked, shaking off the lingering intensity of Nishimura's stare, "Yeah," you nodded softly, a bit dazed, before following him through the crowd. As you walked away, you couldn’t resist glancing back toward where Nishimura had been standing, but to your surprise, he was gone. Just like that.

Huh... where did he go? you thought, scanning the crowd for a sign of him, but he had seemingly vanished without a trace. A strange feeling settled in your chest—curiosity mixed with something else. You shook it off and followed your friend through the throng of people, the night air cooling as the adrenaline from the race began to fade.

When you reached your friend’s car, you leaned against the door and raised an eyebrow. "Did you even race Lucas?"

He laughed, unlocking the car and shaking his head. "Nah, didn’t bother. But I had fun." He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, and you groaned, knowing exactly what he meant.

"Ugh, I did not wanna know that," you said, scrunching up your nose in mock disgust as you slid into the passenger seat.

He chuckled and turned on the engine, the car rumbling to life as he drove off into the quiet night. The ride home was comfortable, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows through the windows.

When your friend finally pulled up in front of your house, you exchanged a quick goodbye. He waved as you got out, and you offered a small smile in return, still distracted. Once inside, you kicked off your shoes, the events of the night catching up to you. A quick shower helped wash away the lingering dust and grime from the track, but it did little to clear your mind.

Finally, you collapsed into bed, your body sinking into the mattress as exhaustion pulled at you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You had been going to more races lately, every weekend like clockwork. The underground scene was alive and buzzing, with each race becoming more intense than the last. But there was one thing you noticed—a pattern that had begun to emerge. Every time you were the starter, Nishimura was there, lined up at the start with his sleek Mitsubishi, ready to race.

At first, you chalked it up to coincidence. But as the weeks passed, it became clear that it wasn’t. No matter where the races were hosted, no matter how different the crowd, Nishimura would be there. And without fail, he’d win. His driving was as smooth and precise as ever, but something about the way his eyes would linger on you just before he sped off—it left you with a strange fluttering feeling you couldn't shake.

You were about to head out when suddenly, the unmistakable wail of sirens cut through the night. In an instant, the entire atmosphere shifted. Chaos erupted as people scrambled to their cars, trying to get out before the cops could close in.

Panic surged through you as you scanned the crowd, looking for any of your friends, but the mess of people made it impossible. Cars were speeding off in every direction, headlights blurring together, and the sound of screeching tires filled the air. Your heart raced, and just as you started to feel the panic rise, a familiar sleek silver car slid to a stop beside you. The window rolled down, and there he was.

"Get in!" Nishimura shouted, his voice urgent but calm.

You didn’t hesitate. Without a second thought, you jumped into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind you. Before you could even get settled, Nishimura hit the gas, and the car shot forward, weaving effortlessly between the other vehicles that were fleeing the scene. You gripped the handlebar above the door, holding on as the car sped through the narrow streets, sliding past cop cars with a precision that left you breathless.

The speedometer arrow kept climbing, the numbers blurring as the engine roared beneath you. You glanced at Nishimura, his hands steady on the wheel, his expression focused yet completely at ease. He was in his element, and you couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly he handled the car, as if it was an extension of him.

After a few intense minutes, the sirens grew distant, and it became clear that the cops had lost track of you. Nishimura slowed down, the adrenaline still buzzing between the two of you, but the immediate danger had passed. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, relaxing your grip on the handlebar.

Taking a moment to steady yourself, your attention drifted to the interior of the car. Everything was sleek, black, and incredibly well-maintained. The leather seats were soft beneath you, and a soft red glow emanated from under your feet, casting a warm, almost intimate light. You couldn’t help but run your fingers over the dash, admiring the attention to detail.

"You like it?" Nishimura’s voice broke the silence, casual yet with a hint of curiosity.

"I do," you said, glancing over at him. He was still looking at the road, but there was something about the way he asked that told you he was aware of more than just the street ahead of him. His attention was on you, even if his eyes weren’t.

"It fits the owner," you added with a small smile.

He let out a quiet laugh, a sound that was rare but warm. "Thanks," he said, his voice a little softer now, as if the tension from earlier had melted away.

"You don’t usually hang around after races," you said, turning your attention back to him.

He glanced at you briefly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I guess tonight was different."

You tilted your head slightly, curious. "Different how?"

His smile deepened, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifted gears smoothly, the car responding instantly to his touch. "I think you know," he finally said, his tone leaving little doubt that his reason for sticking around had something to do with you.

That fluttering feeling in your chest returned, but this time, it wasn’t from the rush of the race or the chase—it was from him.

As the car cruised smoothly through the quiet streets, the earlier intensity of the night had faded into a calm, almost comfortable atmosphere between you and Nishimura. You found yourself feeling surprisingly at ease around him, despite the fact that, up until now, your interactions had been mostly limited to stolen glances and brief conversations.

"You know," he said, glancing over at you as you watched the city pass by through the window, "you don’t have to keep calling me Nishimura."

You blinked and turned to face him. "Oh, right. Is that too formal or something?"

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "A bit. My friends call me Ni-ki."

"Ni-ki?" you repeated, testing the name on your lips.

"Yeah. I’d rather you call me that." His voice was casual, but there was something in the way he said it that felt personal, like he was inviting you into a closer circle.

"Alright, Ni-ki it is," you said, leaning back in your seat as you relaxed. "So, what do people usually call you if they’re not your friends?"

He smirked, his eyes flickering with a hint of amusement. "Depends. Usually something like ‘dangerous,’ or ‘the guy you don’t want to race .’" He glanced at you with a playful glint in his eyes. "But I’d like to think I’m pretty easygoing."

"Right," you said, raising an eyebrow. "You seem so easygoing with the way you handle a car at 100 miles per hour."

He laughed at that, the sound low and genuine, and for a moment, it felt like you were just two people hanging out—nothing more, nothing less. The conversation drifted from racing to random topics, a natural flow of words that felt effortless. He told you about the first time he ever drove a car, how he’d been obsessed with it ever since, and you shared a few stories of your own, mostly about how you had gotten into starting races.

At some point, you noticed the city lights getting closer and realized you were nearing your neighborhood. Ni-ki glanced at you, sensing it was time to ask the inevitable question.

"Where do you want me to drop you off?"

You gave him your address, and he nodded, making a smooth turn onto a quieter street as the roar of the engine softened. The car slowed to a stop outside your building, the night air still and quiet now that the chaos had long since passed. For a brief moment, neither of you said anything.

"Thanks for the ride," you finally said, unbuckling your seatbelt but not quite ready to leave just yet.

"No problem," he replied, his voice softer now, more personal in the quiet space between you.

You lingered for a second, unsure of what to say. Something about the night felt different—like it had marked the beginning of something, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Ni-ki seemed to sense it too, the way he looked at you, his eyes lingering just a little longer.

"Take care," you said, finally breaking the silence.

"You too," he replied, his gaze never wavering. "See you around?"

"Yeah," you nodded, feeling a strange sense of anticipation that you couldn’t explain. "Definitely."

With one last glance, you stepped out of the car and closed the door behind you. As you walked toward your building, you couldn’t resist turning back for a quick look. Ni-ki was still there, watching you, and when your eyes met again, he flashed you a small, knowing smile before revving the engine.

Without another word, he sped off, the silver car disappearing into the night with a smooth, powerful roar.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The past month had been a whirlwind. Your schedule had spiraled into chaos, with personal commitments swallowing up all your free time. You hadn’t even thought about the races, let alone attended one. But finally, a weekend had opened up, and you felt a rush of excitement at the thought of getting back to the underground scene.

Your friend picked you up, their car bumping with bass as they pulled up to your place. You jumped in, the familiar thrill of anticipation bubbling up inside you. The ride was filled with chatter about the races you’d missed, and as you drove closer to the city, you could feel the energy in the air building.

When you arrived at the race area, it was alive with activity, the night sky illuminated by the glow of headlights and streetlights. Cars were parked everywhere, their owners mingling and showcasing their machines. The sound of engines revving and laughter filled the air, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe.

As you wandered through the crowd, taking in the sights and sounds, you spotted Haruto leaning against a sleek, newly polished car. When he caught your eye, he grinned and pushed off the vehicle to approach you.

"How do you like the new car?" he called out as he got closer, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

You stopped, admiring the vehicle as he gestured toward it. "When did you get this one?" you asked, genuinely curious about the flashy machine that had a glossy finish reflecting the neon lights around it.

"Got it last week," he replied proudly, running a hand over the hood. "Pretty ain’t she?"

"She?" You raised an eyebrow, teasing him. "You gendered it?"

He shrugged, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. "What? It just feels right. She’s got curves, you know?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. "Sure, whatever you say, Romeo."

He laughed, shaking his head as you turned to walk away. "You wait until you see her in action! I’ll show you what she’s made of."

You waved him off, your eyes wandering as you continued to explore the scene. The adrenaline was intoxicating, the atmosphere buzzing with energy. You admired the different cars, from flashy sports models to classic muscle machines.

As you continued to roam the crowd, you felt the excitement in the air, but it was abruptly interrupted by a guy who stepped in front of you. He had an easy smile, but there was something off about the way he was looking at you.

"Hey there! What’s your name?" he asked, leaning slightly closer.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to gauge his intentions. "Not interested," you replied coolly, attempting to sidestep him.

He moved to block your path again, undeterred. "Come on, just a name. How about a number then? We could grab a drink later."

You shook your head firmly. "No thanks, I'm not interested."

His expression shifted, irritation creeping into his smile. "You sure? I could show you a good time," he said, stepping a little too close for comfort.

A sense of unease washed over you as his demeanor changed. "Back off," you warned, crossing your arms. But he didn’t take the hint; instead, he leaned in even closer, trying to assert his presence.

Just then, you felt a familiar presence behind you. A voice cut through the tension, deep and commanding. "She said no. You should listen."

Nishimura appeared, sliding a hand around your waist possessively. The gesture was both comforting and electrifying, and you could feel the shift in the atmosphere. The guy's expression turned from annoyance to fear as he realized who he was dealing with.

The guy hesitated for a moment, looking between the two of you, then backed off, hands raised in defeat. "Whatever, man. She’s not worth it anyway," he muttered before disappearing into the crowd.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, turning to Ni-ki. "Thanks, but I had it under control," you said, attempting to downplay the situation.

He raised an eyebrow, concern etched across his face. "Didn’t look like it. I hate seeing people act like that."

You opened your mouth to argue, but the intensity of his gaze made you pause. There was something in the way he looked at you that made your heart race.

"I missed you," he said suddenly, his voice dropping to a softer tone. It was as if the words slipped out without him even realizing it.

The admission hung in the air between you, leaving you speechless. You blinked, taken aback by the unexpected vulnerability in his voice. You’d been excited to see him again, but hearing him say that made something inside you flutter.

"You… missed me?" you finally managed to stammer, your cheeks flushing slightly.

He looked a little sheepish, his usual confidence momentarily faltering. "Yeah, I mean—well, it’s been a month since I last saw you. Of course, I did," he replied, his tone shifting back to its usual nonchalance, but you could tell he was trying to cover up the slip.

"Right," you said, your mind racing. There was an undeniable connection sparking between you, and the thought of it made your heart race even faster.

The rest of the night unfolded in a whirlwind of adrenaline and excitement as you found yourself gravitating closer to Ni-ki. His presence felt like a shield, and you relished every moment spent by his side. Every time someone glanced your way with interest or a hint of aggression, you could feel his posture stiffen beside you, a silent warning in his gaze that made you feel protected.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

One evening, as you both leaned against his car, the night air buzzing with anticipation for the upcoming races, he turned to you, his expression serious. “I have something to tell you,” he said, his voice steady yet laced with excitement.

You tilted your head, intrigued. “What is it?”

“I got scouted,” he announced, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. “They want me to race for them in Japan.”

Your heart skipped a beat, a rush of joy surging through you. “That’s amazing, Ni-ki! You deserve it! This is such a huge opportunity!” You couldn’t help but feel proud of him, your excitement bubbling over.

“Thanks! I’m really excited,” he said, his smile widening. Then, his expression shifted, and he looked at you earnestly. “And I want you to come with me.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, feeling a flutter of nerves and anticipation at the same time.

“I want you to be my starter full-time for all my races,” he clarified, his gaze intense as it locked onto yours. “I can’t imagine doing this without you by my side. You’ve been a huge part of my journey so far, and I want you to continue with me.”

Your heart raced at the thought, excitement and disbelief flooding your mind. “You really want me to come with you?”

“Absolutely. You know how much racing means to me. I need someone I trust out there, and that’s you,” he said, sincerity shining in his eyes.

“I’d love to, Ni-ki!”

His face broke into a wide grin, the kind that lit up his entire demeanor. “Really? You’re on board?”

“I’m absolutely on board! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!” you exclaimed, your excitement bubbling over.

He stepped closer, his arms opening wide, and without hesitation, you jumped into his embrace.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this!” he said into your hair, his voice slightly muffled but filled with excitement. You felt his joy resonate through you, and it made your heart swell even more.

“I know! It’s unreal!” You pulled back slightly, your hands resting on his shoulders as you looked up into his eyes, both of you sharing that moment of exhilaration.

Ni-ki chuckled softly, still holding you close. “This is going to be amazing.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

He shook his head, a playful glint in his eyes. “We’re going to crush it together, right? You’ll be my lucky charm out there.”

You laughed, feeling a rush of determination at his words. “Absolutely.”

He grinned, his confidence infectious. “And I’ll make sure we leave them in the dust.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

When you arrived at Ni-ki’s place, you parked your car, and took a moment to admire the neighborhood. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over everything.

Walking toward the open garage door, your gaze drifted to his sleek car sitting in the center, the hood propped open and revealing the beautifully engineered engine underneath. It was like a masterpiece of machinery, glinting under the fluorescent lights.

“Ni-ki?” you called out, your voice echoing slightly in the spacious garage.

Suddenly, Ni-ki rolled out from underneath another car nearby, his face lighting up with a bright smile. “There you are!” he exclaimed, a hint of surprise and delight in his tone. He stood up, wiping his hands with a rag he pulled from his belt, the fabric stained with oil and grease.

You couldn’t help but widen your eyes, taking in the sight of him. He was wearing a pair of dirty overalls over a white tank top, which was now marred with grease and smudges. The way his muscles flexed as he worked on the cars made it hard to focus on anything else. “You work on the cars?” you asked, trying to divert your attention from how good he looked in that moment.

“Yeah, I like to tinker here and there,” he replied casually, picking up a tool from a nearby bench before rolling back under the car. “It’s kind of become a hobby!”

You hummed thoughtfully, walking around the car to get a better view of his progress. The vehicle was clearly totaled, having seen better days after a recent crash. Yet, you could see the way he meticulously worked to fix it up, and admiration swelled within you. “This one looks like it needs a lot of love,” you commented, kneeling down to peek under the car as well.

“It does, but I can fix it,” he said with a mix of confidence and determination. “It just takes time. Plus, I enjoy the challenge.”

“Have you always liked working on cars?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Pretty much. My dad and I used to work on our old cars together when I was a kid,” he said, his voice slightly distant as if reminiscing about those moments. “I guess it stuck with me. It’s therapeutic, you know? Just me and the car, figuring things out.”

You nodded, understanding how those moments could mean so much. “It’s great to have a passion outside of racing. Do you have a dream car you want to work on one day?”

He paused for a moment, considering your question. “Definitely. I’d love to build a classic muscle car from the ground up one day. Something that turns heads and leaves a mark on the road.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you said, feeling a surge of inspiration at the thought of him chasing another dream. “I’d love to see that happen.”

Ni-ki rolled out from under the car again, this time standing up to face you fully. “You’ll be there to cheer me on, right?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

“Always,” you promised, feeling a warmth spread through you.

He grinned and stepped closer, wiping his hands on his overalls again, though it only spread the grease around more. “Well, since you’re here, you can help me out! I need a second pair of hands to hold the engine cover while I fix this part.”

“Sure! What do I need to do?” you said eagerly.

“Just hold it steady while I tighten these bolts,” he instructed, moving back under the car again.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The days leading up to the race in Japan had been a whirlwind of excitement and adventure. Ni-ki showed you the sights of Tokyo, from the bustling streets of Shibuya to the tranquil gardens of the Imperial Palace.

As the day of the race approached, however, you noticed a shift in Ni-ki’s demeanor. He became quieter, more introspective, often staring off into space as if lost in his thoughts. You could see the weight of expectations resting heavily on his shoulders.

On the morning of the race, you found him sitting on the edge of his bed, his expression a mix of determination and anxiety. “Ni-ki,” you said softly, approaching him. “Are you okay?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I’m just nervous, you know? This is a big deal, and I really want to perform well.”

You sat beside him, placing a reassuring hand on his back. “You’ve worked so hard for this, and you’re more than ready. Just remember why you started racing in the first place.”

He nodded, but his gaze remained downcast. You took a deep breath, wanting to instill confidence in him. “You’re going to crush it out there, I know you will. Just focus on driving and trust yourself.”

As you spoke, you could see his tension slowly ease, the fire igniting in his eyes once more. “Thanks for always being here for me,” he said quietly.

Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. He blinked in surprise, his cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson. “Win for me, okay?” you said with a warm smile, and watched as his gaze hardened with resolve.

“I will,” he promised, the determination in his voice returning. You could see that your words had reignited the spark within him.

As night fell, you found yourselves in the car, cruising through the darkened streets of Tokyo. The city was alive with neon lights reflecting off the sleek surfaces of buildings, casting a colorful glow that seemed to pulse in rhythm with the hum of excitement in the air.

Ni-ki’s hands gripped the steering wheel with a newfound confidence, and as he navigated the winding roads, you could feel the adrenaline building between you. “Are you ready?” he asked, glancing over at you.

“I was born ready!” you replied, trying to keep the mood light, but the thrill of the moment was palpable.

He chuckled, a mischievous grin breaking through his earlier nerves. “That’s what I like to hear.”

As he drove, the anticipation grew heavier. You could almost taste the excitement as you approached the race venue, the sounds of revving engines and cheering crowds growing louder. You felt a surge of pride knowing you’d be right by his side, supporting him through every twist and turn of the race.

“Just remember,” you said, leaning closer as he focused on the road, “no matter what happens out there, you’ve got this."

His expression softened, and he turned to meet your gaze. “Thanks for believing in me. It means everything.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you. “Always, Ni-ki."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You strolled around the venue, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. The high-end cars gleamed under the bright lights, each one more stunning than the last. You took your time admiring the sleek designs and intricate details.

Trying to immerse yourself in the culture, you remembered some of the Japanese phrases Ni-ki had taught you during your flight. You approached a group of racers and smiled, offering compliments. While some responded with smiles and nods, others seemed confused, and you quickly realized that your limited vocabulary wasn’t enough to keep the conversations going.

As you wandered, you eventually found yourself standing alone, lost in thought about the upcoming race, when a tall guy approached you with a smirk. He started speaking rapidly in Japanese, gesturing animatedly, but you could only catch bits and pieces.

“Sorry” you said, apologizing. “I don’t understand," you added, hoping he would take the hint and leave you alone.

Instead, his expression darkened, and he leaned closer, his voice becoming more aggressive as he pressed you with questions you couldn’t comprehend. When he reached out and grabbed your wrist, panic surged through you, and you instinctively pulled away. However, his grip was too tight, and the pressure made you wince.

Just then, you heard a familiar voice cut through the commotion. “Hey! Get away from her!” Ni-ki stormed in, eyes blazing with anger as he pulled you behind him, creating a protective barrier.

The guy hesitated, then turned to Ni-ki, their eyes locking as they began to argue back and forth in rapid Japanese. You couldn’t follow their exchange, but the intensity of the situation was palpable. You rubbed your wrist, still feeling the remnants of the man’s grip as you looked from Ni-ki to the guy, who had turned an alarming shade of red, clearly taken aback by Ni-ki`s arrival.

Finally, Ni-ki turned away from the confrontation and guided you toward his car, his grip firm but gentle on your shoulder. “Come on,” he said, urgency in his tone.

“What? What happened?” you asked, bewildered, still trying to process everything.

“I’m racing,” he replied shortly, his eyes focused ahead as he led you toward his Mitsubishi.

“Against who?” you asked, glancing back at the guy, who was now standing there with a scowl, his earlier bravado deflated.

“Against the creep,” Ni-ki answered, anger simmering beneath his calm exterior.

Your heart raced at the thought. “Wait, Ni-ki, you don’t have to do this! It’s not worth it.”

He shot you a determined look, his jaw set. “I know. But he can’t just treat you like that. This isn’t just about racing; it’s about respect.”

You swallowed hard, realizing how serious he was. As he climbed into the driver’s seat, you took a moment to collect yourself, grateful for his protective instincts. “Are you sure you’re okay to race right now?” you asked, concern lacing your voice.

He turned to you, his expression softening just a fraction. “I’m fine. I just need to focus. You’ll be right here, right?”

“Of course,” you replied, forcing a smile to reassure him, even though you were still rattled by the encounter.

You took a deep breath, standing between Ni-ki's sleek Mitsubishi and the other guy's car—a flashy, souped-up Honda that glinted under the neon lights. Your heart raced, a mix of excitement and anxiety coursing through you. You could feel the energy in the air, thick with anticipation as both drivers revved their engines, the deep growl echoing around you.

"Are you guys ready?" you called out, trying to maintain your composure as you pointed toward both cars. Ni-ki shot you a confident nod, his eyes locked on the road ahead. The other driver, still wearing a cocky grin, gave you a thumbs-up.

As the cars revved louder, you turned your gaze to a guy standing nearby, holding a walkie-talkie. He was scanning the area, and when he got the go-ahead that the police were nowhere in sight, he shot you a thumbs-up.

Your pulse quickened at the sight, and you felt a rush of adrenaline. You lifted the flag high, your heart pounding in your chest, and with a swift motion, you waved it down. "Go!" you shouted, your voice carrying over the roar of the engines.

Both cars shot off the line, tires screeching as they sped into the dark streets of Tokyo. You watched as they darted away, the headlights illuminating the path ahead like shooting stars against the night sky. The ground trembled beneath your feet from the sheer power of the vehicles, and you could almost feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins as the excitement enveloped you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Ni-ki gripped the steering wheel tightly, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he and the other driver raced side by side through the neon-lit streets of Tokyo. He could feel the intensity radiating from the other car, a flashy Honda that kept trying to tip him off balance.

“Come on, you think you can take me out?” he muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on the road ahead. The guy was aggressive, swerving dangerously close and attempting to nudge him off course. Ni-ki remained focused, expertly maneuvering around the obstacles in his path.

He drifted into a turn, the tires screeching against the asphalt as he counter-steered and weaved through the traffic. Cars honked and swerved, their drivers caught off guard by the reckless speed of the two racers. The other driver tried to play dirty, attempting to crash into Ni-ki's rear, but Ni-ki was prepared for it. He kept his cool, steering away just in time and cutting in front of the guy as they barreled through a narrow alleyway.

“Not today,” he said through gritted teeth, determination fueling every decision he made.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ni-ki noticed a police car trailing behind them, its sirens blaring loudly. His heart dropped as he glanced in the rearview mirror, the flashing lights reflecting the urgency of the situation. “No, no, no,” he repeated, frustration rising within him. He couldn’t let himself get caught—not after everything they had worked for.

The other driver seemed to notice the approaching officer as well, and in a desperate attempt to throw Ni-ki off his game, he swerved dangerously close, trying to shove Niki into the path of the police car. Ni-ki's heart raced as he saw the cop trying to close the gap, the pressure mounting.

With quick reflexes, Ni-ki shifted gears and accelerated, pushing his car to its limits as he turned sharply to avoid a collision. He felt the weight of the Honda trying to force him into a corner, but he countered with another drift, keeping his grip tight on the wheel. The other driver, frustrated and reckless, made a final lunge for Ni-ki's car, but in the process, he miscalculated.

Ni-ki watched as the guy’s car collided with the police vehicle, the impact sending both cars spinning. Metal crunched, and he could hear the screeching of tires against pavement. Ni-ki couldn’t help but glance back, disbelief washing over him as he saw the police car crash into a row of parked cars, sending them crashing into one another like dominoes.

“Holy—” he breathed, shaking his head. The guy had gone too far. He took a moment to process the chaos, his heart still racing, but he knew he couldn’t dwell on it. The adrenaline and excitement of the race was intoxicating, and he had to keep his head in the game.

Ni-ki refocused on the road ahead, determination burning in his chest. He could see the finish line in the distance, the crowd gathering, their cheers a distant roar that urged him forward. With one final surge of speed, he pressed down on the accelerator, feeling the power of the car respond instantly. He was going to win this race—not just for himself, but for you, the one waiting at the finish line.

As he crossed the line, the cheers of the crowd erupted around him, the thrill of victory washing over him like a wave. But even in that moment, he knew he had to keep his cool and stay grounded. After all, he was racing not just against the clock, but against chaos itself.

As Ni-ki crossed the finish line, the exhilaration of victory pulsed through him. He could hardly contain his excitement as he slammed the brakes, his Mitsubishi screeching to a halt. The roar of the crowd enveloped him, a wave of adrenaline and triumph crashing over him like a tidal wave. He hopped out of the car, his heart racing not just from the race but from the sight of you waiting at the finish line, a wide smile on your face.

“Did you see that?” he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with joy as he bounded over to you. He pulled you into a tight embrace, lifting you off your feet for a moment. The thrill of the win felt amplified with you by his side, and he couldn't help but bask in the warmth of your presence.

“I did! You were amazing!” you replied, laughter bubbling from your lips as he set you down.

“Just doing what I do best,” he said with a playful smirk, rubbing the back of his neck in a show of modesty. But the pride in his eyes was unmistakable. He took a moment to soak it all in, the cheers of the crowd ringing in his ears, but it was your smile that made his heart swell with happiness.

As the crowd surged around him, eager to congratulate the victor, Ni-ki turned back to you, his expression softening. “You know, I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, sincerity lacing his words. “You were my good luck charm.”

Your cheeks flushed at his compliment, and you felt a surge of pride wash over you. “I’ll be your good luck charm any day,” you teased, poking him playfully in the side.

The celebration continued around you, people shouting his name and clapping him on the back. Ni-ki basked in the glory, but even as the crowd cheered and celebrated, his eyes kept darting back to you, finding comfort in your presence.

From then, every race he entered seemed to follow the same pattern. Each time, he emerged victorious, his confidence soaring with each win.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Laying on the hood of Ni-ki's car, the warmth of the metal beneath you was comforting as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the city. The vibrant hues of orange and pink painted the sky, creating a perfect backdrop for the moment you both shared. You leaned into Ni-ki, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your side, and you couldn't help but smile as you glanced up at him.

Ni-ki's gaze was fixed on you, his eyes shimmering with a mix of happiness and something deeper—something that made your heart flutter.

As you exchanged shy glances, the atmosphere shifted. The distance between you disappeared, and suddenly, you found yourselves inching closer together. Your heart raced, a mix of anticipation and excitement coursing through you as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice low and tender.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

In that moment, everything felt perfect. You both leaned in, your lips meeting in a gentle kiss. It started soft and sweet, but as Ni-ki pulled you closer, deepening the kiss, it became something more. His hands slid around your waist, anchoring you to him as you melted against him, losing yourself in the warmth of his embrace.

You could feel his heart racing against your chest, mirroring the excitement and passion that filled the air around you.

As the kiss grew more passionate, you felt Ni-ki’s fingers thread through your hair, pulling you even closer. You sighed against him, savoring the moment, the thrill of it all—this incredible connection that had blossomed between you.

Finally, you pulled away, both of you breathless and smiling like fools, your foreheads resting against each other.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he admitted, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush.

“Oh, really?” you teased, a playful glint in your eyes. “You seemed pretty good at racing; I thought you’d be good at kissing too.”

Ni-ki chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m still figuring out this whole romance thing. But with you? It just feels right.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you couldn’t help but lean in for another quick kiss. The sun had fully set now, leaving a blanket of stars shimmering overhead, but the warmth of the moment lingered.

[vivwritesfics]

Steal Your Girl - LN4

Carlos is awful to his girl and Lando wants her. He gets what he wants.

THIS IS NOT A REFLECTION OF CARLOS SAINZ AS A REAL PERSON, ALL THESE ACTIONS ARE VRRY OUT OF HIS CHARACTER

18+ ONLY

Warnings: emotionally abusive relationship! smut! eating out, bj, finishing inside, fucking against the wall

Ex! Carlos sainz x reader, lando norris x reader

5.5k

Yes, I changed this up a lot from the original request, but Bianca and I have spoken a lot about this fic and it was decided that having it a friendship rivalry would make this so sweet so I changed Lewis to Carlos

Carlos Sainz walked into the British grand prix, his hand holding his girlfriends. It was warm for England, and he could swear it was getting warmer and warmer every year. Not hot, not compared to what he was used to.

Although he was now a driver for Scuderia Ferrari, he still had friends in other teams. Like Lando and Max. The year before he wouldn’t have minded being on a team with either of them again, driving alongside Lando in Ferrari or Max in a Red Bull.

But now Carlos was in a truly competitive car and, for the first time since his career began, he was a contender for the championship title.

As he looked at his girlfriend, she gave him a smile. Just a small one, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Carlos kept a tight hold of her as he pulled her through the paddock, heading to where he could see the orange hat on the smaller man’s head.

Lando was always his first stop if he could help it. Carlos loved him like a brother, the two of them becoming the best of friends for the short time they were teammates. Everybody in Formula One had their best friend. He had Lando, Logan had Oscar, Charles had… well Charles was a bit of a slut. He had Max and Pierre at his beck and call.

He let go of his girlfriends hand, reaching forward to smack Lando’s butt. Lando jumped out of his skin, spun quickly on his heel and came face to face with his best friend. His look of shock and horror turned into a grin and he wrapped his arms around Carlos, smacking his back as he did so. He looked to Y/N offering her a tight lipped smile.

Being Carlos’s best friend meant Lando got more of an insight into Y/N and Carlos’s relationship. All of the speculations he saw the F1 and WAG news sights posting, he could reveal how true they were. He wouldn’t; that wasn’t his place. If Y/N or Carlos wanted to come out about their relationship, they could. But he wasn’t going to do it for them.

But he felt sorry for her. He saw the way he treated her, how short and angry he was towards her after the race hadn’t gone his way. Lando had stopped himself from running over and getting between them several times. But, once again, it wasn’t his place. As much as he wanted to run over and grab Carlos, keeping Y/N behind him, he knew he couldn’t.

But he wanted to. Don’t get him wrong, he wanted to.

All Lando could do was watch, try and ask if she was okay without actually saying anything. He was observant when it came to her, noticed the way her smile wasn’t too wide.

I guess I should give some context. The year was 2024, and Lando and Carlos were both in the championship fight. It was intense – one week Carlos would be leading in the points and the next Lando would be. As much as it frustrated the both of them, it never affected their friendship.

The summer break was approaching and the two of them were way too close in the points for comfort. It wasn’t like the previous year where Max was practically a shoo in. You never would have guessed by the way they walked through the paddock together, Oscar joining them on Lando’s left.

He was another contender for the championship. It was only his second year in the championship, and he was fighting with the likes of Max, Lando and Carlos. It was insanely impressive, but not unexpected.

“You two got any plans for over summer?” He asked as they stopped outside of the McLaren hospitality suite.

As much as Carlos was happy to finally be in the competitive car, he still missed McLaren. As much as he loved driving alongside Charles Leclerc, he missed driving alongside Lando. But he loved fighting him on track.

Carlos wrapped his arms around Y/N, pulling her in close. “We are staying in Italy,” he said and kissed the side of her head. The smile Y/N shot in Oscar’s direction wasn’t a happy one. Her shoulders were hunched as she tried to make herself look small, her smile barely there and her eyes not meeting his. Whatever they were doing over the summer, she clearly wasn’t happy about it.

They went their separate ways, Y/N and Carlos heading off to Ferrari while Lando and Oscar headed into the hospitality suite. “Is she okay?” Oscar asked as he walked slightly behind Lando.

It was no secret how Lando felt about Y/N. It was no secret that he liked her. There had been one time where Oscar had physically held Lando back after Carlos had crashed earlier in the day and seemed to be verbally taking it out on Y/N.

Lando couldn’t answer. Because he really didn’t know. He didn’t know if she was okay, and he had a feeling he wouldn’t find out. He steadied himself and led Oscar into the hospitality suite.

***

It wasn’t a good race for Carlos. Y/N watched from the garage as he made contact with the Mercedes of George Russell and spun out into the gravel. “Ah fuck!” He shouted. “Fucking fuck!” He hit the steering wheel and pulled it out of the car, handing it to the steward that came running over. He climbed out of the car, keeping his helmet on as he made his way back to the pitlane.

As soon as Carlos sorted himself out, Y/N threw her arms around him. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered and kissed his cheek. Carlos didn’t respond. He just stared at the track at nineteen cars came speeding past the pitlane.

After the race and the ceremonies, when they were heading back to the plane, Carlos drove them. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel as he sped around cars, at a pace that was, quite frankly, terrifying to his passengers. “Carlos, baby,” she tried to say as she held onto the bottom of her seat.

But Carlos didn’t let her say anything. “Shut the fuck up,” he growled.

Y/N fell silent. If they weren’t driving down the motorway she would have demanded he let her out of the car, but she couldn’t. She just sat there, the familiar feeling of anxiety bubbling up inside of her chest.

If this was how she was going to be feeling for the rest of the championship, Y/N wasn’t sure she wanted to be a part of this world. She loved Carlos and she loved travelling around with him, but it made her feel fucking terrible. He made her feel fucking terrible.

These feelings didn’t stop through the Hungarian Grand Prix or through Spa. They were miserable weekends for the girl sat in the Ferrari garage. In both races Carlos did well, which you may think  would mean he was happy. You’d think he’d be in a good mood and happily showing his girlfriend how much he loved her.

But for both races, a younger, less experienced driver beat him. In cars that seemed to be equal in terms of how competitive they were, Lando Norris beat him.

Although Carlos got a good amount of points from it, Lando had beat him, putting a bit more distance between them in the championship.

It made him vile to be around. The points, the championship, consumed his very being. Not in the way it did for most Formula One drivers, where their goal for every training session, every practice session, every qualifying and every race was to be the best. Carlos was a man obsessed it muttered about it, going back through past races to see if there were any way to take points away from his competitors.

He became snappy and rude to his girlfriend. She couldn’t even say his name without him sending a glare in her direction. Y/N was walking on eggshells around him.

It wasn’t as though she could avoid him. Carlos wanted her at every race weekend; her only respite was the few days she got to spend at her apartment.

During summer break, Carlos gave her a break from himself. He wasn’t crazy obsessive over points as they went to Italy. But that feeling of Anxiety was still in Y/N’s chest. Even as he took her out on the boat, she was still anxious.

When Carlos kissed her, she kept her eyes shut, unable to look at him. His touch was warm, but it still made her shiver. If he knew something was wrong, he didn’t say anything to her.

It was a sign, surely. A sign that she should have left him. But, no matter how anxious she felt around him, there was still a part of her that loved him. She always would love him, at least in some capacity.

Y/N pushed the feelings deep down. She loved him, she really, truly loved him, and she could get through this. They could get through this. As soon as the championship was over, things would go back to normal, she was sure of it.

As if to assure herself, Y/N walked over to Carlos, who had sat himself on the sun lounger in front of the pool, and wrapped her arms around him. She kissed the side of his head and closed her eyes as she pressed her forehead against his shoulder.

After their amazing summer break, Y/N thought maybe things would change between them. Maybe she’d get the old Carlos back, her Carlos back.

Spoiler alert, it didn’t work. Even though Carlos finished ahead of Lando at the Dutch Grand Prix, they still hadn’t quite come level with the points. Lando was still ahead of him and it was all Carlos could think about, all he could talk about.

The drivers went out that night. Well, a few of them did. Max took Lando, Charles, Carlos, George and Daniel out for the night. Everybody was invited to the club, but these were the few that went.

Of course, Y/N went with Carlos. Even with everything going on, she still didn’t want to head home alone. So, she dressed her best and walked into the club on Carlos’s arm.

Lando walked in behind them. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, and that little voice in the back of his head that usually told him that she was his best friend’s girl and he should stay away was suddenly quieter. Maybe it was because of the few drinks he had in his system already, but Lando wasn’t scared about Carlos seeing his lingering eyes.

But Carlos didn’t seem to notice. Maybe he thought Lando was being a good friend and keeping an eye on Y/N, who was definitely stunning enough to turn heads.

For the entire night, Lando stayed close to Y/N. He was behind them when she and Carlos danced together, followed her to the bar and got another round of drinks. And, when Carlos disappeared and Y/N found herself sitting alone in one of the booths in the club, Lando came to sit beside her.

“Hey,” he shouted over the music.

Y/N stared at him, clearly not happy. But she gave him a weak smile, leaning against the table in front of them. “You okay?” He shouted, furrowing his brows. Y/N shouted something back, but Lando couldn’t hear a word of it.

Standing up, he walked over and slid into the seat beside her. “You okay?” He asked and placed his arm over her shoulders. The drink must have been making him brave.

Y/N shook her head. “I want to go outside!” She shouted into his ear.

Standing up, Lando helped her. He shot Carlos a quick text and led Y/N to the smoking shelter outside of the club. Neither of them smoked, but they needed the fresh air, desperately. The smoking area was busy, but not as loud as the club; they could speak without much issue.

"What's up?" Asked Lando as he leaned against the wall.

Y/N looked at him and let out a huff. She folded her arms over her chest and looked up at the stars in the night sky. "I'm hoping you're drunk enough to forget this, but Carlos treats me like shit," she said and turned her attention towards him.

"I know."

Lando hadn't meant to say it, but it was too late to backpeddle now.

"And I fucking hate it," he finished.

Silence hung in the air between them. Y/N didn't quite know what to say. She was speaking to Carlos's best friend and she didn't want to slate him.

And Lando, well he was waiting for Y/N to say something. He didn't want to push and then have to deal with Carlos why she was crying. That wouldn't end well for anyone.

I think you should leave your boyfriend.

But he couldn't say that. It was a decision Y/N had to come to all on her own.

And she did. Just not for a while. Not until the end of the 2024 championship.

It was down to the wire, the deciding race for the drivers championship being the very last race of the season.

As Y/N sat in the ferrari garage she bit her nails, nerves bubbling up inside of her. It wasn't nerves over her boyfriend winning or losing. Well, it was, but more because of what he might've done to her.

Lando was the championship winner. Lando crossed the finish line less than a second ahead of Carlos.

As they climbed out of the cars and congratulated each other, it was clear Carlos was pissed. As he stood on the podium and listened to the British national anthem, he was angry, that much was clear.

Y/N could have left him then and there, but she didn't want to. There was a small part of her that loved Carlos and that didn't want to leave him.

But, after they had headed home that night, after skipping out on Landos offer of celebrating, Carlos was fucking horrible to her.

Never physical, just angry and verbally abusive. He roared at her, spitting in her face as he did so.

Y/N got up and left him then and there. She walked out of the door, not looking back.

There was a lot of speculation online on the couples break up. The news of it only came when Carlos was seen with a new woman, having moved on pretty quickly. Y/N just hoped this girl could handle him better than she could.

When the 2025 season started up, she missed it. But she couldn't even bring herself to watch it on the television.

She missed it, and she was missed.

By Lando, mostly. Although she'd made some friends from her time on the grid, it was Lando who missed her the most. He'd been the one to call her up and make sure she was okay when he found out about the breakup.

Ever since the 2025 season started, Lando had been desperately trying to get her to come to a grand prix. But Y/N shot him down every time. How could she go to a grand prix and face Carlos?

She couldn’t. As much as she would have loved to go to at least one Grand Prix, she couldn’t face Carlos. So, Lando had to find other ways to see her. He was the one who came to her apartment and spent time with her while she was having an emotional breakdown over Carlos. He was the one who brought her snacks and comfort her, watching movies and attempting to make her dinner.

In this time she and Lando became incredibly close. It didn’t feel right, the way she was relying on him for emotional comfort when he was her ex boyfriends best friend. At first, Y/N was scared Lando would just be a rebound, that she was feeling the way she did because she was upset about the breakup.

But, as time went on, she realised it was a lot more than that. She genuinely loved Lando’s company and she wanted to spend time around him. That didn’t mean she’d be going to a grand prix, though.

So, Y/N threw herself into her work. When she’d bought her apartment, she’d been with Carlos, and it was filled with memories of the two of them. She worked oh so hard to make it her own, erasing every memory of him from its walls.

On the few days before the British Grand Prix, Lando was in the UK. He was in Surrey, at McLaren before heading off to London. What was in London? Just the girl he was in love with.

Okay, maybe in love was a strong word. But everybody knew how he felt about her, knew how much he wanted her.

So, he hopped on a train to London (because there was no way he was driving through the city) and made his way to her apartment.

This was the first Grand Prix that he hadn’t been bothering her to attend. It was strange and, in and odd way, it made Y/N want to go all the more. It was too late now, though. She’d never get tickets she could actually afford.

There was a knock at her apartment door. Y/N stood up from her computer and strode over. She pulled open the door, coming face to face with none other than Lando Norris. “Lando,” she somewhat gasped, incredibly surprised to see him. “Aren’t you meant to be at Silverstone?”

“That’s exactly why I’m here,” he said and walked into the apartment. He took a seat at her kitchen table as she got him something to drink. “I want you to come to the grand prix with me,” he said. He’d said it so many times already this year. Maybe the answer would be different now he was here in person.

Y/N let out a huff and Lando knew what was coming. She was going to shoot him down, to say no and send him on his way. But she didn’t. She sat back and stared at him, tapping her nails against the glass of water in front of her. “Okay,” she said and sat up a little straighter. “But I have conditions.”

Lando gestured for her to go on.

“I’ll go if you can guarantee I won’t see Carlos.”

It was an impossible request, but Lando just grinned. He held out his hand for her to shake. “Deal.”

***

It was Lando’s second win at Silverstone, and the home crowd was going wild. Y/N was with the McLaren team. When Lando pulled into Parc fermé, Y/N was waiting at the barrier. She watched as he jumped towards his team, all of them patting him on the back.

And then she caught his eye. Lando pulled off his helmet, placing it on the ground and strode over to her. “Congratulations!” Y/N shouted over the noise with a wide grin.

But Lando didn’t respond. He pulled her close, just the barrier between them, and kissed her.

It was quick, Lando didn’t have long until he was pulled away to do post-race interviews. And then he was on the podium as Y/N waited back in the garage. What had just happened? Lando had won his home Grand Prix but, more importantly, he kissed her. Lando Norris had kissed her.

And she hadn’t minded. Did that make her a bad person? That she didn’t mind kissing her ex boyfriends best friend? Well, more than didn’t mind. She liked it, and she wanted to do it again.

Carlos hadn’t quite believed what he was seeing when he climbed out of his Ferrari, having just missed out on third place. He was in a foul mood anyway from his result, and this certainly didn’t make things better.

There was a feeling of betrayal that settled in his chest. He was ready to tear apart the Ferrari garage and not care about the consequences.

If she couldn’t be with him because of his racing career, what the fuck was she doing here? With him of all people?

He stormed past everybody, his body language aggressive.

But Lando and Y/N didn’t notice. Why should they? Lando was wrapped up in his win and she was wrapped up in him. In Lando.

After the race Lando drove her back to her apartment. She invited him in, cooked him dinner, which they ate with a couple of candles between them. It was romantic, and they were loving every second of it. It wasn’t what Lando had planned for his win; he was supposed to go out to dinner and party. But he’d told those who were set to come with him to go without him, and this was definitely better.

“I want to ask you to be mine, but I don’t want to push you,” Lando had said as they ate.

Y/N immediately shook her head. She reached over, placing her hand on top of Lando’s. “I wouldn’t have invited you in if I didn’t want this,” she said and let go of him.

They didn’t sleep together that night; Lando kept up with the whole not wanting to push her thing. He didn’t want to push her into sleeping with him and then have her regret it later. So, he took things slow, letting her make the first moved.

It didn’t take long for them to get together, Lando as her boyfriend and Y/N as his girlfriend. But it took a long while before she returned to a grand prix with him. Sure, the world had seen them kiss in Silverstone, but Y/N still needed time. She needed to mentally prepare herself for facing Carlos and the rest of the grid again.

It was towards the end of the season that Y/N went to the next grand prix. She joined him in Brazil, proudly walking through the paddock with her hand held in his. When the cameras started flashing, Lando leaned close and kissed the top of her head. That way there would be no doubts as to who they were to each other.

Lando didn’t win in Brazil. But he didn’t care – his girlfriend was there with him and that was all that mattered. She watched him stand third place on the podium, watched him spray champagne on Carlos and his teammate.

When Y/N hadn’t been keeping up with the sport, before she and Lando were together, she hadn’t realised just how close the title fight was this year. She didn’t realise that the Red Bull car was, essentially, a piece of shit, and that the only real contenders for the title was Lando, Charles and Carlos.

She and Lando made their way out of the circuit together, hand in hand. “Well done,” she said and reached up onto her tiptoes to kiss him. Lando kept her walking as she stole his hat and placed it on her own head. “I love watching you race.”

“I love it when you watch me race,” he replied, squeezing her hand.

Ahead of them was Carlos and his girlfriend. Since she hadn’t been keeping up with the world of Formula One, Y/N didn’t know her name. But she was pretty and, if they were happy, then good for them.

Even though he had won the race, Carlos’s body language was tense. Y/N knew him well enough to know that. She didn’t say anything, though, not when he definitely hated her.

It took a few hours for anything to actually come from this. Both couples had decided that they would stay for the night in Brazil, get a good sleep before heading home. They were staying in the same hotel, rooms relatively close to each other.

That was why, when they were away from the prying eyes of fans of the paparazzi cameras, Carlos took a swing at Lando.

It was sudden and terrifying, both girls stood back in shock. Because, really, what could they do? Try and attack two athletes who were definitely stronger than them?

But then a full of fight broke out. They were punching and trying to tackle each other to the floor. Carlos had his arm around Lando’s neck as he punched him, Lando trying his best to get away.

But he was struggling, his face red. That was when Y/N jumped onto Carlos’s back trying to get him away from Lando. When Lando finally got away, Carlos got Y/N off of his back, knocking her to the floor.

Immediately, Lando got Y/N to her feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He spat at his old friend, holding his girlfriend close.

Carlos didn’t answer as he walked off to his own room, his girlfriend following him.

There was a moment where Y/N and Lando didn’t go anywhere. They put some distance between themselves and the Spaniard. Both their hearts were beating erratically, Lando’s breath coming out short.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N mumbled as they started walking again. “I can’t believe he did that.”

Lando held her a little bit tighter. “You don’t have to apologise,” he said as he pulled out their room key. “He’s being an asshole.”

Things only got worse between them as the title fight heated up. Just as it did the year before, it took the right to the end of the season, with tension between Lando and Carlos becoming worse and worse. The media speculated as they watched the two interact, most of the speculations having something to do with Y/N. They were right; the title fight was just a small part of it now.

***

Abu Dhabi, 2025. Carlos was leading for most of the race and looked set for the win. It would have been his first championship win, a dream of any Formula One driver.

But Lando? He was tricky, and he was fuelled by more than a desire to win. Just as Carlos thought himself set for the win, Lando overtook him. Carlos didn’t see it at first, he had already begun waving to the crowds as the orange car crossed the finish line just half a second ahead of him.

Y/N let out a scream in the McLaren garage. The atmosphere was insane, much different to the atmosphere in the Ferrari garage from the year before. Everybody was jumping around and cheering, rushing out to meet Lando.

When he climbed out of his car he jumped at his team, screaming, shouting and crying.

Just as he did in Silverstone, he pulled off his helmet and placed it down by his feet, leaning down to kiss Y/N. This time he didn’t care about the post-race interviews, he kissed her until he was starving for air. It wasn’t sweet of kind, it was definitely too much for the cameras. It was a promise for later, for what was to come.

That night they celebrated, the team out partying. Y/N and Lando left the party before everybody else, alcohol in their systems as they made their way back to their hotel room.

The two were giggling, drunken messes, kissing on the street every few steps. He kept a tight hold of her, hand just a little too low on her back, but not quite obscene.

In the elevator of the hotel, Y/N was pressed against it, with Lando finally holding her ass. He kissed her feverishly, his kiss bruising.

And she loved every second of it.

Lando was impatient to get her into their hotel room. He kicked the door shut behind them and began pulling off her clothes, only breaking their kiss when he pulled her shirt over her head.

"I fucking love you," he said and began kissing down her neck.

She let out a moan, eyes flying shut as she unbuttoned Lando's shirt.

When they pulled apart to undress themselves, Lando looked at the purple bruises he'd left on her neck, grinning as his tongue came between his lips.

He wasted no time in throwing her down onto the bed, her arms wrapping around him as he went back to kissing her.

He began moving down her body, kissing her chest and between her breasts, moving down to where she needed him most. Her breathing became laboured as he kissed her thigh and gently bit it, his manner teasing.

His large hands rested on her hips as he leaned down, licking across her folds. He sank off of the bed, pulling her closer as he began eating her out. Like a man possessed and licked and sucked at her folds, his skills expert.

Y/N moaned and whined, gripped his hair as he held her still. She tried to move her hips against his face, but Lando held her still, keeping her there as he worked. "Holy fuck," she cried, throwing her head back and gripping the sheets.

Lando grinned as he sat up, painfully hard. Y/N grabbed him, pulling him back up to kiss her. "I want you to fuck me against the wall," she whispered as she moved to kiss down his neck.

The chain he wore dangled between them, getting in her way, but Y/N didn't care. It was incredibly hot.

Lando whispered something in her ear and Y/N nodded eagerly. He set his phone up across from the wall he was going to be fucking her against, and pressed record.

Suddenly Lando was up against the wall, Y/N on her knees in front of him. He moaned as she bobbed her head up and down him. His hand rested on the back of her head, not pushing, just holding her as if he wanted to ground himself.

Before too long Lando was pushing her way. If he was going to celebrate his championship win, he was going to do it inside of her.

"Come here, baby," he said as he gave her one last kiss. He picked her up, Y/N wrapping her legs around him, and turned them around, so that her back was against the wall.

Using the wall to keep her held in his arms, Lando reached between them and lined himself up. He pushed forward, sheathing himself inside of her.

"Ready?" He asked, forehead pressed against hers.

Y/N nodded and Lando began thrusting. It was incredible how strong he was as he pushed into her, pulling himself out and pushing back in.

Y/N let out cries and whines and moans as he fucked her. Because it wasn't romantic, the pace Lando was thrusting inside of her was animalistic.

She moved against the wall, eyes shut as she tightened her legs around Lando, coming closer and closer to the edge. Lando was, too, slowing his pace, becoming sloppy.

When Y/N finally went over the edge she fell forward, leaning her entire weight against him. Lando kissed her head and squeezed his eyes shut as he came, painting her insides with his seed.

He pulled out and carried her back to the bed. Picking up the phone he pointed the camera at Y/N, keeping her on full display. "She's my girl now," he said and ended the video, sending it to the man who was once his best friend.

Lando went to the bathroom and ran the bath. He made it warm and filled it with bubbles. As he waited for it, watched the video go through to Carlos, watched as he opened the message.

He turned off the water and walked back out to the bedroom, where his girlfriend was still laying, her breath evening out. She was close to falling asleep, he realised as he walked over and kissed her forehead.

"Come on, baby," he said and gently coaxed her up from the bed.

Rather reluctantly, Y/N followed Lando into the bathroom. She leaned against the door as he climbed into the water, waited until he was submerged, and slotted herself between his legs.

Lando gently washed her, scrubbing the sweat from her skin and the mess between her legs.

***

Carlos wasn't sure when his girlfriend had left. It was just like last time, alone again after missing out on the championship. It was his fault, even if he didn't know it.

When his phone buzzed he picked it up, desperately hoping that maybe he wasn't so alone.

But then he saw the message, then he opened the video.

His face twisted with rage. He threw his phone across the room, the device bouncing of the wall, the screen completely shattered.

He was going to kill Lando Norris.

[cherryxbooo]

I've got you ... always

Summary: Working as a Mercedes engineer has always been challenging, but with men constantly looking down on you, it becomes unbearable. Lewis is quick to put a stop to it, and fight for justice.

Note: First of all, I want to thank all of you for the love you've shown me so far. I really appreciate it! 🤍 The reason I chose this storyline is to address the issue of sexism and misogyny in workplaces. Unfortunately, this still happens far too often, and with this fic, I hope to bring much-needed attention to this subject. Just know you're not alone 🫶

Reader x Lewis Hamilton

Warning: misogyny and sexism

It had been nearly six years since I first joined Mercedes as an engineer.

Six years of intense work, late nights, early mornings, and a relentless pursuit of perfection in the world of Formula 1.

It was my dream job, one I had worked tirelessly to achieve.

But those six years also marked the time I’d spent with Lewis, six years of love, laughter, and challenges with the man who had become my everything.

I could still remember the day we met as if it were yesterday.

A bit of backstory:

I was the newest member of the Mercedes team, fresh out of a competitive hiring process, and I was determined to make an impression.

The first time I stepped into the paddock, I felt like an imposter among the sea of seasoned professionals.

My hands clutched my tablet like a lifeline as I walked into a strategy meeting, trying to suppress the nervous flutter in my chest.

Lewis was already there, sitting at the far end of the room. He looked relaxed, dressed casually in his signature streetwear style, yet exuding an unmistakable aura of confidence.

As I took a seat near the back, his eyes flicked toward me.

I was sure he wouldn’t even notice me, why would he?

I was just another new face among dozens of team members.

But then, he smiled.

It wasn’t one of those polite, obligatory smiles.

It was warm and genuine, as if he could sense my nerves and wanted to reassure me.

That smile was like a silent message:

You belong here.

Over the next few weeks, our paths crossed more frequently.

At first, it was just in passing, a quick hello in the garage, a casual “How’s it going?” during lunch breaks.

But it didn’t take long for us to start talking. Really talking.

It was during a particularly chaotic race weekend in Silverstone that our friendship began to solidify.

A last-minute weather change had thrown everyone into a frenzy, and I found myself staying late in the garage to run some last-minute simulations.

The paddock was nearly empty when Lewis walked in, still in his racing suit, and caught me muttering to myself as I tried to make sense of the data.

“Long night?” he asked, leaning against the workbench with a lopsided grin.

“You have no idea,” I replied with a tired laugh, glancing up from my screen.

He stayed and talked with me for over an hour, even offering a few insights that helped me crack the issue I was stuck on.

By the time he left, I realized that the nervousness I’d felt around him was gone.

He wasn’t just Lewis Hamilton, seven-time world champion.

He was kind, funny, and incredibly easy to talk to.

From that moment on, our friendship grew effortlessly.

Whether it was over post-race debriefs, team dinners, or stolen moments between the chaos of race weekends, we found ourselves drawn to each other.

We bonded over a shared love for what we did, but also over our differences, his world of high-speed fame and my quieter, behind-the-scenes role.

It wasn’t long before I realized my feelings for him had shifted.

I hadn’t planned on falling for him, but Lewis had a way of breaking down walls without even trying.

He made me laugh when I was stressed, listened intently when I rambled about work, and made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t experienced before.

One evening, after a long day at the factory, he invited me out for dinner.

It wasn’t anything fancy, just a cozy little restaurant tucked away.

Over plates of pasta and glasses of wine, we talked about everything from our childhoods to our dreams for the future.

By the end of the night, when he walked me to my car, he hesitated for just a moment before leaning in to kiss me.

That was the beginning of us.

For a long time, we kept our relationship private. We both wanted to protect what we had, to keep it ours without the scrutiny of the public eye.

But as the months turned into years, it became harder to hide.

Fans started noticing the subtle signs, the way Lewis would glance at me during interviews, or how I always seemed to be nearby during race weekends.

When we finally decided to go public, it wasn’t a grand announcement or a carefully curated statement.

It was a simple photo posted on Lewis’s Instagram.

We were in Monaco, sitting on a terrace overlooking the harbor, the golden light of sunset washing over us.

I didn’t even know he’d taken the picture until he showed it to me later that night.

“Should I post it?” he asked, his voice tentative.

I hesitated, thinking of the attention it would bring, but then I looked at him, at the way his eyes softened as he waited for my answer.

“Yeah,” I said with a smile. “Let’s do it.”

The response back then was overwhelming.

Fans flooded the comments with messages of support, and the media couldn’t stop speculating about us.

But through it all, Lewis and I stayed grounded, reminding each other that our relationship wasn’t for anyone else.

It was for us.

One of the things that made our relationship so strong was our ability to communicate.

From the very beginning, we had promised to tell each other everything, our fears, our frustrations, our dreams.

No topic was off-limits.

Whether it was a rough qualifying session for him or a challenging project for me, we leaned on each other without hesitation.

At least, that’s how it used to be.

Lately, I hadn’t been able to keep my promise to Lewis, to tell him everything, to lean on him like I always had.

The reason? Mark, Alan, and Greg.

They were three senior engineers on the team, men who had been with Mercedes long before I joined.

Older, more experienced, and as I had quickly discovered, painfully set in their ways.

From the very beginning, they had made it clear that they didn’t think I belonged.

I still remember the first time I overheard them.

It was during my second week on the job, and I was running a simulation late at night.

They didn’t realize I was in the corner of the garage, headphones off, sorting through notes.

“Hiring for diversity quotas,” Mark had muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Yeah, they want to tick a box, so they bring in the fresh-faced rookie,” Alan had added with a chuckle.

Greg, ever the opportunist, chimed in,

“Let’s see how long she lasts when the pressure’s on.”

"She's better off making us a sandwich."

Their words had stung, sharp and bitter, but I had swallowed my pride.

I told myself that proving them wrong would be the best revenge.

I worked harder than I ever had in my life, triple-checking my calculations, volunteering for extra tasks, staying long hours to ensure that my work was flawless.

And for a while, I thought it had paid off.

At first, the snide remarks tapered off.

They didn’t engage with me much, but at least they stopped openly questioning my abilities.

I had even started to think that maybe, just maybe, I had earned their respect.

But lately, the comments had returned, and they were worse than ever.

It started subtly, dismissive sighs during meetings when I spoke, or whispered conversations that stopped the moment I entered the room.

Childish right?

Then the snark escalated, cutting through my carefully built confidence like a knife.

“Did you even double-check this?”

Alan had sneered last week after a team briefing, gesturing at the simulation results I’d spent days perfecting.

Greg, never one to miss a chance to pile on, smirked as he added,

“Leave the big decisions to people who actually know what they’re doing.”

Then Mark's voice was heard,

"Yeah, go do the laundry or something, whatever you women are good in."

It was always wrapped in the guise of banter, thinly veiled behind forced smiles and casual tones.

But I wasn’t naïve.

There was a sharpness to their words, a deliberate attempt to undermine me that cut deeper each time.

Even Mark, the one who usually played the “neutral” party, had started joining in.

During a debrief on a race strategy I’d helped design, he had scoffed and muttered,

“Well, I guess every team needs its token young genius.”

It was relentless.

Every day, there was something, a comment, a glance, a dismissive laugh that made my blood boil.

But I kept it all to myself.

I told myself that it wasn’t worth causing a scene, especially now.

Lewis had enough on his plate.

His move to Ferrari had been the talk of the motorsport world, and while he was excited for the new challenge, the transition was anything but easy.

here were endless negotiations, media commitments, and the emotional weight of leaving the team that had been his family for over a decade.

I couldn’t bring this to him, not now.

Not when he was already stretched thin.

So, I stayed quiet.

I bit my tongue when Alan questioned my calculations, ignored Greg’s condescending remarks, and pretended not to hear Mark’s muttered jokes.

Each time, I told myself it was just words, that I could handle it.

But deep down, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could.

Lewis was busy.

I kept telling myself that over and over, like a mantra.

Between announcing his move to Ferrari, dealing with the media frenzy, juggling sponsorship demands, and the seemingly endless meetings, he had so much on his plate.

The last thing he needed was me adding my problems to the mix.

But today was different.

The garage was buzzing with activity as we prepped for the upcoming race weekend.

The sound of drills, clinking tools, and the hum of engines filled the air, a symphony of chaos I had grown to love over the years.

I was stationed at my usual spot, hunched over a set of data sheets, meticulously double-checking the aerodynamics report for any inconsistencies.

I was deep in concentration, my pen scratching against the paper, when their voices drifted over.

Mark’s gruff tone was unmistakable.

“What’s the point of her even being here? Probably just a pretty face for the team photos.”

I froze, my hand pausing mid-note.

My heart sank, but I willed myself to stay calm, telling myself to ignore it like always.

Alan, never one to pass up an opportunity, snorted.

“Yeah, but even that’s debatable.”

Their laughter was casual, almost conversational, but the sting of their words hit me like a whip.

Then Greg joined in, his tone dripping with mockery.

“She’s only here because she’s shagging the driver or maybe even the boss. Imagine thinking she got this job on her own merit.”

Mark laughed before adding,

"Maybe we can all ask her for a turn as well, if it's that easy to shag the boss, we might have a chance too."

"At the end of the day, that's all they're good at. Women don't belong in the motorsport world."

The room was filled with their laughter.

That was it.

My pen slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the table as my hands began to shake.

I stared at the numbers on the page, but they were a blur, overshadowed by the burning heat of humiliation rising in my chest.

For years, I had endured their passive-aggressive comments, their dismissive attitudes, their constant undermining of my capabilities.

I had told myself it didn’t matter, that their opinions didn’t define me.

But hearing them reduce everything I had worked for, the late nights, the sweat, the tears, the sacrifices, to nothing more than being Lewis Hamilton’s girlfriend?

It was too much.

I clenched my fists under the table, my nails digging into my palms as I tried to hold it together.

But their laughter, light and cruel, echoed in my ears, shredding the last of my composure.

I pushed back my chair abruptly, the screech of metal against the concrete floor silencing the room for a brief moment.

My vision blurred with unshed tears as I grabbed my tablet and notes, clutching them to my chest like armor.

I didn’t dare look at them, I couldn’t.

My breath hitched, and my chest felt tight, like the walls were closing in.

I needed to get out. Now.

Without a word, I turned and stormed out of the garage, my footsteps heavy and uneven.

I didn’t care where I was going; I just needed space, air, something to stop the lump in my throat from turning into a sob.

As I walked away, their laughter faded into the background, but the words lingered, etched into my mind like a scar.

I didn’t know where I was going.

My feet carried me blindly, weaving through the maze of garages and team trailers until I found myself at the paddock’s edge.

It was quieter here, away from the relentless hum of activity, the chatter of crew members, and the ever-present cameras.

I sank onto a bench beneath the shade of a tree, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath.

Burying my face in my hands, I let out a shaky sigh.

My mind replayed their words like a broken record, each snide comment cutting deeper than the last.

"What’s the point of her being here?"

"Probably just a pretty face for the team photos."

"She’s only here because she’s shagging the driver."

The worst part was that they’d managed to plant a seed of doubt.

I had worked so hard to get here, put in countless hours, and sacrificed so much to prove myself in this male-dominated field.

And yet, in this moment, I felt like a fraud, like I didn’t belong.

“Y/n?”

The sound of Lewis’s voice cut through the fog in my mind.

I looked up sharply, my breath catching when I saw him standing a few feet away, his brow furrowed in concern.

He must have followed me.

My stomach twisted in a mix of guilt and relief.

The last thing I wanted was for him to see me like this, vulnerable, crumbling under the weight of my emotions.

“What’s wrong my love?” he asked, stepping closer and crouching down in front of me.

His warm, dark eyes searched mine, his hands gently resting on my knees.

The concern etched into his face made my heart ache.

“Nothing,” I lied, quickly wiping at my face.

Lewis raised an eyebrow, his expression soft but skeptical.

“Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.”

I hesitated, my resolve cracking under his steady gaze.

His presence was grounding, but I didn’t want to pull him into my mess.

“It’s nothing, really,” I tried again, forcing a weak smile.

“I just… I’m tired.”

“Y/n.”

His voice was low and firm, but there was a tenderness to it that made my throat tighten.

“Please. Talk to me.”

That was all it took.

The dam broke, and the words spilled out in a rush.

I told him everything, the comments, the dismissive attitudes, the years of enduring their quiet but cutting condescension.

My voice wavered as I explained how it had worsened recently, how their snide remarks had crossed the line into outright insults.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You’ve been under so much pressure with everything, Ferrari, the media, the season. I didn’t want to be another problem for you to deal with.”

Lewis listened intently, his face unreadable as I spoke.

But the slight tightening of his jaw and the way his hands gripped mine told me he was anything but indifferent.

When I finished, there was a long silence.

I stared down at my hands, afraid to meet his eyes.

“They’ve been doing this for years?”

he finally asked, his voice low and tightly controlled.

I nodded, biting my lip. “It wasn’t always this bad, but yeah.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to add to your stress,” I said softly.

“You’ve been dealing with so much already.”

Lewis let out a slow, measured breath, his grip on my hands tightening.

“Y/n, nothing, and I mean nothing, is more important to me than you.”

His voice softened, but there was a fierce protectiveness beneath his words.

“You should’ve told me. They don’t get to treat you like this. Ever. No woman deserves this kind of treatment.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Lewis was already standing.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, his expression dark with determination.

“Lewis, what are you doing?” I asked, standing as well.

He glanced at me, his jaw set.

“I’m making sure this doesn’t happen again.”

I reached out, touching his arm.

“Lewis, please—”

“Y/n.” He turned to face me fully, his eyes locking onto mine.

“You’ve put up with this for far too long. I’m not letting it slide, and neither should you. This is your workplace, your passion. You shouldn’t have to deal with people who try to tear you down.”

His words hit me hard, a mix of anger and love wrapped in every syllable.

I nodded slowly, my throat tight with emotion.

“Good,” he said, his voice softening as he pulled me into a hug.

His arms wrapped around me tightly, and for a moment, I let myself melt into his warmth.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into my hair. “Always.”

By mid-afternoon, the entire paddock was filled with noice.

Meetings with Toto were rarely casual, and the tension in the air was palpable.

I stayed out of sight, nerves twisting in my stomach.

When Lewis had assured me earlier that he wouldn’t let this go, I’d believed him.

But seeing the immediate repercussions unfold was a different kind of catharsis.

The walk to Toto’s office felt longer than it should have, every step heavy with anticipation.

Lewis had his hand firmly on the small of my back, guiding me through the bustling paddock.

His touch was grounding, but my nerves still prickled under my skin.

“Relax,” he said softly, leaning closer.

“We’re handling this together.”

I nodded, though my stomach was a tangled mess of knots.

The last thing I wanted was to cause drama, but after years of enduring Mark, Alan, and Greg’s behavior, I couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

When we arrived at Toto’s office, Lewis didn’t bother knocking lightly.

He rapped his knuckles on the door with purpose.

“Come in,” came the familiar voice from inside.

Toto was seated behind his desk, a stack of papers neatly arranged to one side.

His brows lifted in mild surprise when he saw the two of us enter together, but he quickly gestured for us to take a seat.

“This seems serious,” Toto remarked, his sharp eyes flicking between us.

"What’s going on?”

Lewis glanced at me, silently asking if I wanted to start.

I hesitated, my fingers twisting in my lap.

Noticing my reluctance, Lewis leaned forward.

“It’s about some of the team dynamics,” he began, his voice calm but tinged with an unmistakable edge.

“Specifically, the way Mark, Alan, and Greg have been treating Y/n.”

Toto’s expression shifted, his posture straightening.

“Go on.”

I took a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak.

“For years now, they’ve made comments, snide remarks about my qualifications, my presence here. It started when I joined, but I brushed it off because I was new, and I thought I had to prove myself. But lately…”

My voice wavered, and I swallowed hard to steady it.

“Lately, it’s escalated. They’ve been openly dismissive of my work, undermining me during meetings, and even questioning my position on the team. Today, they went too far.”

Toto’s jaw tightened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

“What happened today?”

Lewis’s hand found mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze as I recounted the incident.

“They implied I’m only here because I’m dating Lewis and that I used my body to get my position,”

I said quietly, the words tasting bitter in my mouth.

“And that I didn’t earn my role.”

Toto exhaled sharply, his expression darkening.

“That’s not all,” Lewis added, his tone hardening.

“This has been going on for years, Toto. Years. Y/n didn’t tell me sooner because she didn’t want to cause problems, but that’s no excuse. Those three have created a toxic environment, and it stops now.”

Toto’s gaze shifted to me, his stern demeanor softening slightly.

“Why didn’t you come to me earlier, Y/L/N? This isn’t the kind of behavior we tolerate here.”

I shrugged, feeling small under his scrutiny.

“I didn’t want to be seen as a troublemaker. They’ve been here longer than I have, and I didn’t think anyone would take my word over theirs. Plus, I didn’t want to add more stress to an already intense environment.”

Toto shook his head, his voice firm but understanding.

“You should never have to tolerate that. Not here, not anywhere. The Mercedes team prides itself on being a family. What you’ve described is unacceptable, and I take full responsibility for not noticing it sooner.”

Lewis leaned back in his chair, his jaw still tight.

“What’s the plan, Toto? Because I’m not letting this slide.”

Toto nodded, already making notes on a pad in front of him.

“First, I’ll be speaking to Mark, Alan, and Greg individually. They’ll be given the chance to explain themselves, not that there’s much room for justification here. If their behavior aligns with what you’ve described, they won’t be part of this team by the end of the day.”

A weight lifted off my chest at his words, but the tension in the room remained palpable.

“I want to be there,” Lewis said firmly.

Toto raised an eyebrow.

“Lewis—”

“No,” Lewis interrupted.

“This is personal. They didn’t just disrespect Y/n, they disrespected the team, the values we stand for, and me by extension. I need to make it clear that this behavior won’t be tolerated. From anyone.”

Toto regarded him for a moment before nodding.

“Fine. But let me handle the disciplinary side. You can say your piece, but I’ll deliver the consequences.”

Lewis nodded, satisfied.

“That works for me.”

Toto turned back to me, his expression softening once more.

“Y/n, I’m sorry you’ve had to endure this. If there’s anything else you need, support, time off, anything, let me know. I’ll make sure you feel safe and valued here.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion.

Lewis stood, pulling me up with him.

“We appreciate it, Toto. Let us know when the meeting is.”

“You’ll hear from me shortly,”

Toto promised, standing to shake Lewis’s hand before giving me a reassuring nod.

As we left the office, I felt a sense of relief wash over me.

For the first time in years, I didn’t feel alone in this fight.

Lewis wrapped an arm around my shoulders as we walked down the corridor.

“We’ve got this,” he said softly, his voice full of conviction.

I leaned into him, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“Yeah, we do.”

Toto wasn’t one to waste time.

Within the hour, Mark, Alan, and Greg were called into his office one by one.

The first to arrive was Mark.

When he stepped in, he wore his usual smug expression, likely thinking this was just another routine meeting.

But Toto’s steely gaze and the presence of Lewis, standing tall with his arms crossed by the window, quickly shattered that notion.

“Have a seat, Mark,”

Toto said curtly, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

Mark sat, shifting uncomfortably as he glanced between Toto and Lewis.

“What’s this about?”

Toto wasted no time.

“It’s about your behavior toward Y/L/N,” he said, his voice sharp and unwavering.

“I’ve been informed of your repeated condescension, disrespect, and comments that have no place in this team, or any professional setting.”

Mark blinked, caught off guard.

“What? That’s not true. I—”

“Don’t bother lying,” Lewis cut in, his voice cold and firm.

He stepped closer, his dark eyes fixed on Mark.

“We’ve both heard enough from Y/n and other team members. You’ve been targeting her for years, haven’t you? Questioning her qualifications, making snide remarks about her role here, and today, outright implying she only got her position because of me.”

Mark’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

“I… Look, it was just banter. No harm meant.”

“Banter?” Toto echoed, his tone dripping with disbelief.

“You call undermining one of the most talented engineers on this team banter? You call questioning her abilities and belittling her contributions banter?”

Mark leaned forward, desperation creeping into his voice.

“Toto, I didn’t mean anything by it! I was just—”

“Enough,” Toto interrupted, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

“I won’t tolerate excuses. You’ve created a hostile environment for one of your colleagues, and that is unacceptable. You’ve not only disrespected Y/L/N but also the principles this team stands for. I don’t care how long you’ve been here, Mark. Your behavior is grounds for immediate dismissal.”

Mark paled, his smugness vanishing entirely.

“Dismissal? Wait, Toto, please. I’ve been with this team for years. You can’t just—”

“I can, and I will,” Toto said, his voice resolute.

“Pack your things. Security will escort you out by the end of the day.”

Mark turned to Lewis, desperation in his eyes.

“Lewis, you can’t agree with this. We’re teammates, for God’s sake!”

Lewis’s expression didn’t waver.

“You stopped being my teammate the moment you disrespected Y/n. Pack your things, Mark.”

Mark’s shoulders slumped, and he left the office in silence.

Next was Alan.

He walked in with a similar air of confidence, though it quickly dissipated when he noticed the tense atmosphere.

“Toto,” Alan began, sitting down and glancing uneasily at Lewis.

“What’s going on?”

Toto leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk.

“What’s going on, Alan, is that your behavior toward Y/L/N has come to light. Years of dismissive comments, snide remarks, and today, a blatant attack on her credibility. Care to explain yourself?”

Alan frowned, leaning back in his chair.

“Look, I might’ve been a little hard on her, but it’s nothing personal. She’s young and still learning. I thought she could use a bit of tough love.”

Lewis scoffed from his spot by the window.

“Tough love? Is that what you call undermining her at every turn and insulting her in front of the team?”

Alan shifted uncomfortably.

“She’s good at her job, I’ll give her that. But come on, Lewis, you can’t deny people have wondered if her connection to you played a part in her being hired. It’s not like I said anything everyone wasn’t already thinking.”

Lewis took a step forward, his fists clenching at his sides.

“The only reason anyone would think that is because people like you spread that garbage around."

"Y/n earned her place on this team through her hard work and talent, not because of me."

We didn't even know each other when she joined. And even if, she didn’t have to prove anything to anyone, the way you’ve treated her is disgusting.”

Toto’s expression darkened further.

“Alan, you’ve been with Mercedes long enough to know we value respect and inclusivity above all else. What you’ve done isn’t just a breach of trust, it’s a breach of the very foundation of this team. Your actions have consequences. You’re fired, effective immediately.”

Alan stood abruptly, his face red with anger.

“You’re seriously going to throw away years of experience over a few jokes?”

“Yes,” Toto said bluntly.

“And I suggest you leave now before you embarrass yourself further.”

Alan glared at both of them before storming out, muttering under his breath.

Finally, it was Greg’s turn.

Unlike the others, Greg walked in looking visibly nervous.

He barely met Toto’s eyes as he sat down, fidgeting with his hands.

“Greg,” Toto began, his voice steady but firm.

“You know why you’re here.”

Greg nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah… yeah, I figured.”

“Then you know the kind of behavior we’re addressing,” Toto continued.

“You’ve contributed to a toxic work environment for Y/L/N and others. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Greg hesitated, glancing at Lewis, who was staring at him with barely concealed anger.

“I—I don’t have an excuse. I guess… I thought it was harmless, but it clearly wasn’t. I crossed a line, and I’m sorry.”

Toto’s brow furrowed.

“You thought it was harmless? You’ve made Y/n feel unwelcome and disrespected in her own workplace. That’s not harmless, it’s damaging. Apologizing now doesn’t erase what you’ve done.”

“I know,” Greg said quickly, his voice trembling.

“I know I messed up, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

“It’s too late for that,” Lewis interjected, his voice low but full of authority.

“You had years to change your behavior, and you didn’t. You don’t get to stay on this team after what you’ve done.”

Toto nodded in agreement.

“Greg, I appreciate that you’re taking responsibility, but the damage has been done. You’re no longer part of this team. Security will escort you out shortly.”

Greg’s shoulders sagged, and he nodded, standing to leave.

“My deepest apologies,” he said quietly before walking out.

By the end of the day, the three men were gone, and the Mercedes team felt lighter.

Word of the firings spread quickly, and several team members quietly expressed their relief and support for you.

Back in the garage, Lewis pulled me into a quiet corner.

“It’s done,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

I nodded, a weight lifting off my chest.

“Thank you, Lew. For standing by me.”

“Always sweetheart,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“No one messes with my girl.”

To all the women facing sexism at work, school, home or online: You are strong, capable, and deserving of respect. Don’t let anyone diminish your worth. Your voice matters, and you are making a difference just by being you. Keep pushing forward.

The end

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - prologue

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, none Wordcount: 5.6K A/N: LILA IS BACK with a new series. this is the prologue, purely here to give people an insight to our oc Izara (who i already love btw), so not as much paige here, but she will make a much bigger entrance come first chapter of the series. again, ty so much for everyone who hyped this up based solely on the synopsis i wrote and ty for your support! i am so excited for this series you guys don't even know!! this one will be a looooong one so buckle up

-

Passport? Check. Silk pillowcase? Check. Laptop? Check.

The list seemed to go on and on, filling out three sheets of paper, both front and back. Some people called it excessive but to me it was necessary. It was better to be over prepared than leave things up to chance. I had been making lists all my life, I wasn’t about to stop now. They have worked for me so far.

Flipping through the maroon moleskine notepad in my hands, my green eyes skim over one page after another - grocery list, changes I must make to my skincare routine, presents to buy next Christmas, wedding registry. There’s a sting in my chest as I stop, my french manicured hand brushing over the soft paper: Vitamix blender, Ginori 1735 cake plate, Baccarat candlestick set.

Inhale, exhale. The pain won’t relinquish. I bring my hand to the soft cotton of my turtleneck, rubbing soothing circles on my chest just like my mum used to when I was little.

“There you go Izara, don’t you feel better? It’s a magic trick, it takes the sadness away.”

The black suitcase is laid out on the floor in front of me, clothes folded neatly in their own nooks. I keep rubbing and rubbing but the sadness won’t go away. So I stop, my fingers carefully flipping a few pages forward. 

Move to The US

Pros

Good career move?

New experiences

Cons

Leaving my family and friends

Boss talked about promotion for me in the next year

Leaving London

Visa hassle

Expenses

Wedding delayed off

Leaving Jasper (pro?)

My memories of the day resurface, the way I was locked in my car, dreading walking inside where my husband-to-be was expecting me. I had spent all day trying on wedding dresses near Soho, my mom and her sister fawning over Jasper the entire day. To everyone he was the perfect man, charming, nurturing and protective. But they didn’t know half of what I put up with. All day I wanted to scream, to throw a fit, tell everyone that they don’t know anything about my perfect fiancé. But instead I kept my mouth shut, and waited till I got into my car to cry. I didn’t like being vulnerable, for my relatives to see me weak. I had told no one about the conflicting feelings inside me, or the way I had applied for an open position to be a social media producer for the Dallas Wings. That very same morning the position had been offered to me.

So I sat in my car with my trusty lists, as usual. The moment I wasn’t sure whether to write leaving Jasper into the pros or the cons, I knew I had to go. It had been gnawing at my subconscious, making me sick to my stomach. Even according to the list this decision made absolutely no sense. But in my gut I knew had to go - desperately so.

“Izzie, are you done yet? We have to leave soon.”

My brother bursts into the room, watching the way I had undone all the packing that I had naturally finished a week prior. Clothes were all over my childhood bedroom, piles of them standing neatly. After calling off the wedding with Jasper I had decided to move back home, not wanting to stay with him and his temper under the same roof.

“What the hell have you done here?” He chuckles, shaking his head as I stand in the middle of the bedroom, notebook in hand, staring at the half empty suitcase.

“I think I’ve gone crazy Kiran,” I admit with a sigh. Two weeks ago when I accepted the job I had been so sure - now I wasn’t. This was insane, mad, completely, utterly unlike me. To get up and move, to disappoint my parents, to disappoint everyone. I just couldn’t stand it anymore, my life here. Every year I grew older I became more and more unsure. Now at 25 I felt like a complete fool, not knowing anything except this wasn’t the life I wanted. Something had to change - I had to change.

My younger brother walks over, wrapping a hand around my shoulder.

“Yes you have.”

I scoff and push him off. “That’s not helpful!”

He chuckles and begins to pack for me, just as neatly as I had done earlier. Guess being high-strung ran in the family.

“It is mad. But that doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do,” my brother mumbles, neatly folding my black cashmere sweater. “I think it’s good Iz, no matter what mum and dad are saying. Don’t mind them. They’ll come around.”

“I wasn’t raised not to mind them,” I chuckle, looking out the window, ours just one of many of the semi-detached houses extending along the road I grew up on. The cherry trees had just bloomed, pale pink blossoms covering the branches, decorating the pavement.

“Funny that, neither was I,” Kiran laughs and finally zips up my suitcase, picking it up and preparing to carry it to the car. “You got everything? Passport? Wallet? Documents?”

I nod with a smile. Even if we didn’t look almost exactly the same (though, we certainly did), it was impossible not to pick up on the family resemblance.

“I have everything.”

-

The drive to Heathrow Airport is quiet. Truthfully, I was far too nervous to speak. I could feel my stomach twisting uncomfortably, a nauseating weight on my chest. I watch as we pass the streets of London, the only streets I had ever known. We pass the red double-decker buses, the abandoned phone boxes, eventually making our way onto the highway.

London is cruel, relentless to its residents, yet simultaneously captivating and thrilling. I had travelled enough to know there was no place like it. Nowhere else I could hop on the Northern Line in the bohemian, eclectic Camden, switch tubes and step out to Canary Wharf, where skyscrapers stand tall above you and the streets are buzzing with men in suits, just in 40 minutes or so. The diversity of the city, the way it could feel like a large metropolis as much as a small charming town all at once, depending on where you were. I loved this city, I always would. But it was time for me to move on at least for now. I wasn’t getting what I wanted, not that I knew what that was in the first place.

“Can’t believe my sister’s gonna be working for the league,” Kiran interrupts the silence. “When you meet Bronny you must tell him hi.”

I let out a laugh, turning to look at him. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s happening anywhere else except your delusions.”

“Hey, you never know!” He scoffs as we pull up to terminal 3, the butterflies growing deep in my abdomen.

“You’re such a guy,” I roll my eyes. “I’m working for the WNBA and all you want is to say hi to Lebron James.”

“Well who else is there, Steph?”

In reality, my brother loved basketball, he was the sole reason I knew the first thing about the sport. But he loved pushing my buttons more - and nothing pushed my buttons further than women being underestimated by men.

“A’ja, Stewie, Sabrina, Jewell? Arike plays for the Wings!”

“Never heard of any of them.”

I smack him on the shoulder as he’s parking the car, making him yelp. He was joking of course, but I wasn’t in the mood. Some would argue I was rarely in the mood to joke around but it’s just how I am. High-strung, intense. It was just me, I couldn’t help it. You know how some people have that spark to them? The kind where they step in the room and the place just lights up? That wasn’t me, and I was okay with it. At least I got shit done.

“Okay sorry,” Kiran whines, rubbing his arm. Neither of us wanted to get out, to face the goodbye looming ahead. So we sit for a while.

“Paige Bueckers was drafted there though, right?” My brother asks, staring at the big sign for Terminal 3 above the sliding doors.

“Yeah, she was.”

“She’s tough,” he says and I nod in agreement. I had followed her college career quite a bit, saw her go through injury and rise to the top again. She wasn’t my favourite player, I preferred focusing on the league - but it was undeniable she was a generational talent. 

“She’s also really fit,” my brother adds, making me snort.

“Kiran, I'm fairly sure she’s also really gay,” I laugh. My brother turns to me with shock written all over his face.

“You really think so?” 

I roll my eyes, “I- well yes. It’s pretty obvious, don’t you think?”

“Damn,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Takes one to know one I guess.”

Another smack on his shoulder, another yelp spilling from his lips. One drunken night years ago I had come out to Kiran as bisexual and now it was his favourite joke in the world. I don’t think he realised I was serious, or that at points in my life I had dated girls as well. Honestly though, I hadn’t even thought about girls that way since I met Jasper. Not that I’d found any girl remotely attractive in the past years, perhaps it had just been a phase.

“You’re going to come back with some 6 '5 American basketball lesbian aren’t you?” He teases, making me roll my eyes.

“We need to head inside,” I laugh, climbing out of the car. I didn’t know much about what would happen, but I certainly wasn’t going to come back with anyone. The time I spend in Dallas would be time dedicated to me, to figuring out who I was, what I wanted. I had no time for love.

I pull the suitcase towards the doors, Kiran on my tail until we both come to a halt right inside. Quickly I check my purse again - passport, phone, wallet, charger, documents. All there. Just one thing left to do.

I turn to my brother and hug him. We had never spent more than a month apart since the day he was born. I had always been the annoying, bossy older sister, ordering him around since he could barely talk. But still, it had all been out of love. I wanted him to be safe and it was my job to protect him. He was my baby brother after all, even now at 23 as he stands 6’0 tall. 

“Take care of yourself Izzie,” he whispers, squeezing me tight.

“You too, and of mum and dad please,” I tell him, holding my breath in as to not let any tears fall, though they’re already burning in the corners of my eyes.

We pull apart, and he smiles at me assuringly. “Call mum when you land, we don’t need her getting loopy.”

“I will,” I chuckle. There’s a few seconds of silence that stretches across us, our green eyes locked in each other’s gaze. We don’t need to say these things out loud, we both knew we loved each other.

“Well, have a safe flight and have fun in Dallas,” Kiran says and waves bye, turning around to walk away. “YEEHAW!” He turns around and yells before slipping out through the sliding doors. Laughing, I watch him, the ache in my chest growing exponentially. It was all becoming real. Me in Dallas, Texas.

A couple hours and a long security line later I’m sitting on the ascending plane, gazing out of the window. I stretch out my legs, glad to be short enough to fit in the seats comfortably. I’m holding a copy of War and Peace by Tolstoy in my hands, simply flipping through the pages, my mind too conflicted to focus as I watch the ground beneath me retreating further every second.

I could see Big Ben, The London Eye, Thames stretching across the length of the city, shrinking until we ascend through a thick layer of clouds, making it impossible to see anything. It’s only then I let myself cry, the first tears after ending my engagement only a couple weeks prior. I had no other plan, I needed this to work out desperately.

-

Jet lag was killing me, but I knew I could never allow it to show. It was the following day of arriving in Dallas. I spent all of yesterday sleeping, trying to let my body adjust to the time difference before my first day on the job. 

Of course I had woken up three entire hours before my alarm went off. So when I get to the first media team meeting of the season, I have already had time to drink two coffees, go to the gym, shower, shave, do my jet black hair just to have a crisis and pin it up in a slicked back bun, do my makeup and send emails and make calls to the wedding venue to cancel it. I was on fire and wouldn’t let a little jetlag hold me down. 

The maroon turtleneck and black slacks I was wearing had already been decided on the evening before as to avoid any clothing disaster. I wasn’t exactly sure how to dress for a job like this - but as I step into the tall building from the busy streets of Dallas I can tell I’m overdressed. Many of the people around my age are dressed much more laid back than I’m used to, wearing hoodies and jeans - and to my biggest shock of all, sneakers.

As I walk across the entryway the sound of my heels tapping on the tiles echo around the building, my cheeks turning bright red. I knew people were turning to stare, but instead of looking back and checking, I rush to the elevator, slipping in through the doors and facing my reflection. Maybe I was overdressed, but I look nice. The gold earrings decorating my ears contrast against my light brown skin and black hair, making them pop. I smooth over my belt, fixing the way the golden buckle of it was sitting on my slacks when a man around my age walks in just as the doors are about to close.

“Hey there!” He greets me, a charming smile on his face and brown eyes twinkling. His friendliness is so intense it nearly startles me.

“Oh, hey!” I reply, turning towards him. For a moment he looks at me, blinking, perhaps waiting for me to keep talking but when I don’t he’s quick to pick up my slack.

“I’m Trey, I do media stuff for the Wings. Basically a glorified cameraman,” he explains lightheartedly. 

“I’m Zari, they just hired me to do social media actually,” I reply, shaking his hand firmly just like my dad always taught me to. There’s a sliver of recognition on Trey’s face as he takes in my words.

“Oh yeah! They said they hired someone new! Didn’t mention you were a Brit tho. Well shit we’re prolly gon’ be working together a lot then,” he says. It’s at that moment I decide that his enthusiasm isn’t fake even though it’s suspiciously intense. Maybe he’s just an energetic guy - maybe he’s just an American.

“I suppose yes!” I chuckle and look over the buttons of the lift. “So, perhaps you know which floor I need to go to then because I don’t?”

“Oh sure thing.” 

Pressing on the number 10, the elevator finally begins to move upwards. I’m fiddling with the rings around my fingers, a nervous habit I had.

“You nervous?” Trey asks, picking up on my queues quickly. Guess I wasn’t as composed as I’d liked.

“A bit,” I admit.

Trey chuckles and wraps an arm around my shoulder comfortingly - or I suppose it’s meant to be comforting but I didn’t particularly find it so. “You’ll do good, everyone’s chill here. Except the boss but you get used to her. You can relax, Zari.” As much as the man’s enthusiasm and touchiness shocked me, I was glad to have someone show me where to go instead of wandering around the floors aimlessly. 

In a corridor full of doors Trey picks the right one, opening it for me. Inside we find a team of 10 people or so sitting around a table, their discussion immediately coming to a halt when we step in, all eyes turning to me. I feel unease settle over me, but instead of panic I inhale and exhale. I knew I could do this, this was the only plan I had. I had never not had a plan B, a plan C before. This had to be it.

“You must be Izara,” a gravelling voice says as a red haired woman, likely in her 50s, stands up. She’s dressed much more corporate, a fitted blazer and a pencil skirt accentuating her curves. I immediately notice her brows, thin and sharp, appearing almost angry. I didn’t have to be told who this was, Trey’s description had been colourful enough for me to know she was my boss.

“Yes, well I go by Zari actually, if you don’t mind,” I say in a friendly tone, walking over in my black stilettos to shake her hand. 

“You kids and your nicknames, oh well. Zari’s fine, but don’t complain if I forget,” she sighs, clearly already bothered. “I’m Linda Halford, the managing media director for the Dallas Wings. We spoke on the phone.” 

Her eyes are blue and piercing, but there’s something about her straight forwardness that feels intriguing in contrast to the excessive friendliness of everyone else I’d met so far. Hell, even the cab driver tried to strike up a conversation after my flight. I wasn’t sure if I liked Linda or feared her - perhaps a bit of both.

“It’s nice to meet you in person,” I smile, sitting myself down on the chair Linda pulls out for me right next to her. All eyes were on me of course, the new girl. I just had to get through the first week and I’d be old news. Good old boring Izara. Just get through the week.

“I hope your travels went well,” Linda says distractedly, scrolling through a document on her laptop. As I open my mouth to answer, she keeps talking.

“Now, there are many big changes this year, and our media team has been… not up to par so to speak,” she glances up at Trey, and a couple of girls sitting next to him who I suppose I would be working with as well. 

“Thanks to Bueckers, we’re about to have a lot more eyes on us. So I hired Izara-” Zari. Just call me Zari. I bite the inside of my cheek not to correct her, she didn’t seem like the type of woman you correct. “and she’s gonna help us. She’s here to innovate, to come up with ideas to boost online exposure and to boost clicks. We need to get active on Tiktok, and whatever the kids use. I need daily content. No more editing videos for weeks before posting them on Youtube, Trey.”

“My bad,” Trey says, making everyone chuckle, his eyes sparkling when they land on me.

Linda looks at him disapprovingly before continuing.

“We are sitting on a goldmine now guys. Paige Bueckers has over 2 million followers on Instagram. She is incredibly marketable, how do we use her best?” Linda asks, everyone going silent immediately, looking around, waiting for someone to bite. Fine, I will.

Clearing my throat I begin. “Well, I think it’s important that while we do use her to get clicks, we don’t make the Wings the “Paige Bueckers team” and repeat the same mistakes I personally think Indiana Fever did with CC,” My voice is steady, sure, even though deep inside I’m not quite certain about what I’m saying. I pause, composing myself - if there was one thing I was good at it was selling things with confidence. Even when I wasn’t. 

“I think we use her for clicks, make loads of content with her but use that content to uplift other players and the whole team. Not just Bueckers, not just Arike, but everyone.”

Linda nods. “Yes, Izara. How do we do that?” Zari. Just say Zari.

I shrug. “A lot of Paige’s fans are young, I’m not sure if some of them even watch the sport at all. So we try to get them intrigued. Not posting purely basketball content, but including some fan service should help with that, incentivise the young girls to get involved with the sport. There needs to be a balance.”

To my shock, when I raise my eyes from the table, Linda is smiling. It’s not the warmest smile, but one nevertheless.

“And this is why we had to hire someone all the way from England, because you guys couldn’t figure this out in this hellhole,” Linda scolds my colleagues. The praise feels good, but I really didn’t want to come off as a show off or soon my only friend in all of Dallas, Texas would be Linda Halford.

“Good job Zari, welcome to the team,” the redhead says firmly before returning to her notes. “Okay tomorrow we are all having a little Dallas Wings get together. The coaches, players, everyone so be prepared to go out after work.”

As I write this down in my calendar I’m interrupted by Linda again. “Izara.”

“Yes?” I ask.

“By the end of tomorrow I’m expecting you to be friendly with Bueckers. You’re gonna be working together a lot, I need you on her good side.”

-

“Thank God!” I groan to myself, kicking off my black stilettos the second I step into my new home. The league had provided me with an apartment until the end of the season. It was modern, nice, sleek but so incredibly impersonal it pained me. It didn’t feel like me at all, the blank white walls, the dull grey furniture. It wasn’t home.

I crash into the couch face first, mixture of jet lag and stress of the first day on the job taking over. Not only was I the new girl, but I was also the English girl. All day I’d been asked if we really eat beans on toast, and if I’d ever seen the Queen - mind you she passed in 2022. 

With too much left to do, I only let myself rest for a few minutes before getting up reluctantly, tiptoeing to my bedroom to start undressing. Throwing on a matching set of knitted cream coloured sweater and pants, I let my hair down, finally feeling comfortable.

Suddenly I hear a loud crash from the hallway, followed by even louder giggles and muffled yelps echoing around the building. Too curious about my neighbours, I step into my slippers and carefully open the door to see what’s going on.

“Bro, it’s not that heavy,” an accented voice groans probably a floor below me. Heavy steps on the stairs are closing in. Two people, I think.

“Lou, you’re kidding right?” Another girl complains, her voice bright.

“You’re too weak, just give it to me,” the other person argues, steps approaching me.

“Ha, no way, you’re just gon’ break my new plates. Ion trust you.”

“Next time you’re getting an at-home deliver- oh hey!”

A brunette girl with her hair down, only in basketball shorts and a sports bra sees me as she turns the corner, meeting my gaze as I peek through my door. She’s holding a cardboard box, full of pans and pots, hair sticking to her forehead from the humidity.

Suddenly the other girl appears, blonde, hair in a bun but other than that pretty much wearing the exact same thing.

“Who you talkin to- oh,” the blonde notices me, her blue eyes so intense my knees nearly buckle. 

“Sorry, we’re being really loud, we’re gonna try and keep quiet,” the brunette apologises. The blonde is still watching me, never breaking eye-contact. Feeling uneasy, my eyes flicker to the brunette and I smile politely.

“That’s fine, I was just checking if you were okay?” I ask. The blonde walks past my door, my eyes lingering for a millisecond on the way her biceps flex as she carries a large and apparently heavy box of plates towards the next flight of the stairs.

“We’re good, sorry ‘bout that,” the blonde answers, her voice now much quieter, less lively than before when it echoes around the halls.

“Okay well, maybe next time you should get at-home-delivery?” I suggest, watching as the girls struggle slowly up the stairs before retreating back into my apartment.

“That’s what I SAID!” The brunette complains loudly. I can still hear them bickering when I close the door, a smile spreading to my face. The first time I’ve genuinely laughed since I landed. 

It’s as if I knew those girls from somewhere, but couldn’t quite place it. Something about them was so familiar. It’s not till I hear them jogging back down for the next batch of boxes to carry upstairs, their voices loud enough to echo into my apartment, when I realise. 

“Paige I’m about to call Bob Bueckers to come help us soon, I’m dead serious.”

“You don’t got my dad’s number.”

“Pretty sure I do!”

Oh. Peeking out through the peephole my suspicions are confirmed. Walking past my door it indeed is Paige and Lou, bringing more kitchenware upstairs. And I didn’t even recognise them. I look down at my knitted set with a deep sigh. So much about being professional huh? I better make a good impression tomorrow.

-

taglist: @wbbgetsmewetter @thaatdigitaldiary @sierrale8ne @lupinqs @lovegalor333 @d3arapril @avvwritesstufff @rosemariiaa @bueckers22 @taylynbueckers44 @unadulteratedcyclepaper @rizzlerbuckets @bueckersfive @wosolipa @bridgetloveswomen @paiges-1vur @slut4uconnwbb @xxloveralways14 @bueckersbitch

[lady-ashfade]

Blood And Pressure

Part four

Yandere!Pjo × Fem!Grisha!reader. (Platonic yandere gods) (romantic!various characters)

-♡ Chapters: Previous // Next

-♡ this is a shadow & bone slight crossover. Reader is a heartrender and that's all really (maybe more in the future!)

-♡ words: 1k

-♡ Please note that all characters are aged appropriately, so all characters are older versions of the book characters. So 17-19 characters for these, you can choose any of them really. Just that they are older teens.

-♡ warnings: short, yandere behaviors, obsession, stalking, slightly sick love, possessive, manipulative, gaslighting, platonic yandere too, blood powers, powerful powers but not godly, and future warnings when more chapters come out.

You’d like to say you could understand everything that was happening but you had not even a small clue. You sat in the big house with your bag in hand while the two adults argue over you.

“I forbid her to leave, she’s not hera’s child,” you sink back while Mr.d points his finger at you, “she belongs here, with me.”

The god fought for you to stay with him, he kept you happy and feed, even made you smile. All for someone else to claim you? It made his blood boil and you could see it on his face as he shouts.

“She’s been claimed and even if we don’t understand, it is how things have to be.” Chiron sounded disappointed but stern. Of course he would stay up for you, like he always does. He hated for you to leave but you wanted so badly to leave them and have friends and he could understand.

“Mr.d,” you step forward to the god, “I’ll make you a promise.”

“And what’s that kid?” He hated how he spoke to you but he was just too heated that he could banish everyone kid from camp.

“I’ll come visit and play cards with you every week?” You try and bargain your time, even when the thoughts made your bones tighten at thinking of being stuck like that again.

He looked down at you with a suspicious glare while he thought it over. He didn’t have a choice but that didn’t mean he liked it. So finally he let out a breath and agreed while rushing off and mumbling under his breath.

The next stop you had was weirder.

The cabin was dark and empty. Cold and you could feel your spine shiver at the lack of heat. You glanced around but found no furniture to even sit on. No one was supposed to sleep here. Hera had no half-blood offsprings because unfaithfulness was not her way, and yet here you stand being claimed by her. And something tells you all the gods had something to do with it. Mr. D seemed to be more jealous when he spoke about the queen of gods. Like she was unworthy to have you.

“I suppose we’ll be needing to fetch some essentials for your new home.” Chiron tried to sound happy.

“Don’t worry,” you hold up your arms that carried pillows as far as you can with a reassuring smile, “I’ll survive.” and truth be told your bed was the one thing you would miss about staying there.

You find yourself walking up to the firepit and staring up at the statue of hera holding her staff. The way her eyes looked…you felt calm, but almost afraid of what it would be like to look in the real ones. She wasn’t someone to mess with while even her husband feared her wrath.

“So, Chiron?” You ask. You continue to stare up at the stone goddess. “Do you know why she claimed me.” there wasn’t much hope he’d share his insight. the centaur kept quiet for a second to consider his next words wisely.

“Just as clueless to me. Maybe we’ll get some information in the morning after a goodnight sleep.” Just as you thought. Not a peep from him.

You nod and turn around and place everything you had on the floor which wasn’t much but you were glad you had all you did. Chiron handed you the blankets with a smile on his face and for a minute it looked like he was going to cry while he looked at you.

So you open your arms wide and pull him into a hug, or what you could reach and he chuckles deeply and pats your head. In all his years you were his favorite to ever walk into this camp and to guide you. To him, camp was nothing without you.

You settled in quickly while unpacking what you could to make you feel at home. You had two blankets, one on the floor and pillows on top and the other over yourself. You tried to pick a place to the fire without burning up or being too cold.

And for the first time you were all alone to your own thoughts.

“Pst” a hushed whisper called out from no where. The voice startled you as you jump forward and grab ahold of the nearest thing, your old book.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a camper.” The voice had no body to go along with it making you confused. Was it one of Apollos children? Whoever they were they didn’t belong here.

“Says the person who stays hidden.”

The person in question lets out a laugh and then you see a figure appearing out of no where. A blue cap was the first thing you notice as they move their hand down with it grasped. A girl with a orange camp shirt, pretty eyes and blonde hair twisted into a braid.

“You grab a book to hurt me? Almost seems like you know me.” She smirked amusingly.

She had been watching you since you arrived at camp two years ago when she could, she grew to now you like no one else did. And now you’re out and into the camp with her she couldn’t let you walk without keeping a eye on you. You arrived with percy, another person she needed to watch so it was easy.

“What’s you name?” You ask the mysterious girl.

“Annabeth, consider me your guide from now on.” She walked further and stood above you. Her wicked smile seemed off just like everyone else you have seen.

“What cabin are you from? I heard some kids saying Apollos kids-” she cut you off by waving the hat in her hand.

“Athena.” You nod.

“And you’ll need me.” You tilted your head at her words and arched your brows. Need her? What was she talking about.

“For what? I mean I’m glad to have a friend but..” taking a deep breath as her eyes glint with something almost dangerous.

“For capture of the flag.”

Taglist: @maria699669 @gorgeourrific-nerd @alliriseabove @targaryenluvs @theaaeht @dabalyuteeeftia @weepingwitchofthewest @iris1587 @tulipmagnoliaisme @ameliashideout @purplerose291 @poppyflower-22 @riaaavm @anonymouslyawesome25 @orionspaperwork @a-cat-loverr @Ilpovi @eatmyassfictionalstyle @theanklebiter-blog @nasyu-kookies

[sulumuns-dootah]

Hello again! Hope you are having a wonderful day!

If it isn’t much trouble, I would love to request something! Could you please do the Kings + Pyong, Paimon, and Bimet with an MC who is a skilled anime style artist and makes their own characters? Including hentai lmao

I hope this isn’t too much! Idk if I have already sent a request that you haven’t answered yet so if I have you can ignore this one lol

I wish you a Happy Halloween! 🧡🖤🎃

WHB kings (+ Ppyong, Paimon & Bimet) w/ Anime/Manga artist

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

A/N: Hi! Hope you enjoyed your Halloween too and got a lot of tricks and/or treats! ^^

Characters: Satan, Paimon, Ppyong, Mammon, Bimet, Leviathan, Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Belphegor, Lucifer

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Satan for some reason loves posing for you as a reference (even for the NSFW works)

Maybe because you get to appreciate every muscle on his body?

Definitelly would ask you to draw him in your style

I've seen bikers have photos of their s/o stuck to their bike mirrors so I think Satan would stick your drawing of the two of you there

Now, when it comes to your hentai stuff... Are you sure that position between those two characters would work?

There's only one way to find out!

And let's be honest... After Satan tries a certain position out with you, drawing is the last thing on your mind by then

    ༺☆༻

Paimon is your fan no.1!

If you're okay with monetising your art, they'll happily handle your Etsy store with stickers, prints and pins

But if you don't want to, they're fine with that too

They're just happy they have such a talented s/o!

Similarly to Satan, they'll love to pose for your art

Paimon also loves to help you out with color palettes

They do tend to steer you towards pastels, but if that's not your style, they'll try to keep within your color schemes

    ༺☆༻

*gasp* Draw him!

Now draw him in his human from!

And now his human form hanging out with Minhyeok!

Ppyong loves seeing your creations come to life and even offer insight

Oop, Ppyong is off to human world to get some human energy! Could you draw something for Minhyeok?

Don't worry, Ppyong will make sure to save some chocolate for you for your hard work ^^

Oh, but you might wanna hide your NSFW art a secret

Especially if you sometimes draw other demons without their knowledge

Or they'll know very soon since Ppyong can't keep a secret for the life of him

    ༺☆༻

Oh, you're an artist?

Okay, here's a set of some of the most expensive art supplies you might need

Also, here are the keys to your new gallery

If you don't want your art display, that's okay too...

You can just turn the space into your studio

Mammon is happy to have such a talent around him

He's secretly hoping you'll draw him too, but doesn't want to outright ask because he understands you can't force art

Seriously though, if you need anything, he'll do his research and get you the best stuff out there

    ༺☆༻

If you don't make money from your art, then Bimet will make you to

Open commissions, sell merch, auction your stuff off...

Only a idiot wouldn't be selling their art when it's this good

Congratulations, you've got yourself an agent

No discussions!

And go to bed early tonight! You have a showcase tomorrow and it needs to be installed as early as possible!

Also, take a week off for the next Tartaros Con! You'll be having a booth there!

You might be complaining now, but once the money starts rolling in, you'll have Bimet all putty in your hands

At some point, even Mammon might get jealous of how much attention you're getting from Bimet

    ༺☆༻

Just like with anything else, Leviathan will pretend to not be bothered

But on the inside, he's kinda jealous

How dare you have a talent he doesn't?

A great way to make him warm up to you in that regard would be "accidentally" forgeting a study of him somewhere where he finds it

From that point on, he'll be more okay with you and sometimes would even ask to see your creations

Just maybe, ask for permission the next time you want to draw him

What if you accidentally draw him on a day when his outfit isn't as nice or hair doesn't stay as it should?

Asking him also has the added bonus of being able to draw him naked :)

    ༺☆༻

Wait, that means you can draw anything, right?

Okay, how about you draw Bael in a funny outfit?

Hm... How about Princess Leviathan in a tall tower and the brave knight Beel coming to save her?

I know you expected Beel asking you to draw something NSFW, but nope

This man is an endless shitpost generator and there's so much stuff he can come up with before he even gets to anything remotely dirty

R.I.P. to you if those drawings get leaked though

Now you've got some angry kings and nobles banging at your door and that lovable bastard is gone as always

    ༺☆༻

Yes, Asmo loves your NSFW artwork

Still, I can also imagine him also appreciating your SFW works

And it's not even in the 'haha you're so funny, let's fuck' kind of way

I'd kinda like to believe that showing him your art would flip on the 'best dad' switch and he'll want to put it up on a fridge

Oh, but maybe you might wanna practice drawing bodies to help you with different angles and such?

Yep, here it is...

The Asmo we expected will now wear even less of his sheet so you have a nice view of his muscles and body to get a good idea of how they work

Also, good luck showing him your hentai art, because he will suggest more pleasurable positions fro your characters

And yes, he will try to show you in praxis

    ༺☆༻

Oh hey, that's cool! Belphie loves anime!

If he sometimes gets an interesting dream, he'll share it with you and maybe you can base a story on it

Whenever he wakes up, feel free to share what you've created in the meantime

Belphie will give you his honest opinion and what you could improve - if there is anything

If there's a convention happening and he's going there, he'll take you with him and even encourage you to set up a booth

Also, if you draw you two together, he'll have Beleth frame it and put it up on a wall soemwhere where he can see it whenever he wakes up

    ༺☆༻

Proud dad just like Asmo

You have a talent and you should show it

Another king who will give you a space to either turn into a gallery or your very own studio

If you're not against it, Luci would also like you to hold art therapy sessions in the psychiatric ward of the hospital

Oh, also one of your biggest fans becomes Gamigin once he sees you draw Lucifer as he's posing for your studies

You better learn how to draw dragons fast :D

Also, yes, Jjok is gonna be as annoying as Ppyong when it comes to your drawing

[thebroccolination]

THAMEPO'S RELATIONSHIP (AS OF EPISODE 4)

Back when the teaser (made as an appeal to sponsors) aired in part two of GMMTV's 2024 showcase, and especially after the trailer (cut from the actual series) aired, I thought ThamePo looked like it would become one of the strongest series GMMTV has ever made.

So far, even though we're only four episodes in, it's well surpassing my expectations. Apparently, it's a passion project that the director had in the making for five years, waiting for the right casting to come along, so based on that alone, it's a series made with love. And I have a soft spot for passion projects. <3

Still, the top criterion I judge all series by is the quality of the writing, and since ThamePo's director is also a seasoned screenwriter who developed the script, this is one of the strongest aspects of the series so far.

Over the past four episodes, we've seen our protagonist's flaws (people-pleasing, projecting, temper) and strengths (resourcefulness, observational skill, cleverness), what he wanted (to return to the creative working world) and how it's changing (to reunite MARS). We've met the public version of Thame, the shallow version of Thame that Po misread, and the private version of Thame trying to make amends with his friends. We've met three of those friends (Jun, Dylan, and Pepper) and have hints about the fourth (Nano), and each friend we've met has given us more insight into the kind of person Thame is and what he's done to try and protect his group as the leader.

Since the main conflict of the story appears to be Thame being forced to choose between his band or his new boyfriend—

—Thame's relationship with Po has to move at quite a quick clip so he's emotionally invested enough in their relationship that it's a difficult choice. He's already extremely attached to his friends, so I'd argue one of the biggest challenges in the writing was having him fall in love with Po convincingly fast without it feeling forced by the hand of the screenwriter.

And daaamn has that been well-accomplished, in my opinion.

First, Po gets his Y/N moment.

It's established in the first episode that Thame saw Po at a fanmeeting once and remembered him because Po did something kind for someone when he didn't have to. Presumably because Thame's in a fairly cutthroat industry where people are constantly vying for his attention, maneuvering him like a chess piece, or flat-out ignoring him, that small act of kindness was probably one of the bright points of his day, week, or even month. Especially as things started falling apart with the other members.

In that same episode, we see Po projecting the heartbreak from his previous relationship onto Thame.

And in return, Thame—who spends most of the next episode docilely doing whatever he's told to do by the company—allows some of what he's hidden to show out of frustration presumably brought on by being so thoroughly misunderstood and chastised by a stranger he used to think well of and now suspects of being a sasaeng.

Because both characters are in such vulnerable places emotionally, it translates well to the narrative when they start to depend on one another.

On Po's end, his recent breakup has left him feeling foolish and exposed, taken advantage of by a man who refused to acknowledge Po's sacrifices or show any true appreciation for all the work Po did to see him succeed.

Meanwhile, Thame is alone in every way that matters.

His parents are neglectful,

his friends abandoned him,

and his boss is manipulating him.

At the start, Po is quite literally the only ally he has.

It's because Po kept at him to be honest, to be sincere, that Thame woke up and decided to fight for himself.

And because Thame is doing something for himself for a change, that's what wins back his closest friend Jun.

What I love about this whole narrative is that it's already established from Po's previous relationship that he's the kind of person to give himself entirely to a cause for someone else's benefit. He helped Earn to his own detriment, he picked up a small child so she could see, and he's risking his job to help Thame find happiness and peace.

So it's entirely in-character for him to, say, go through a whole room filled with boxes of rejected song lyrics trying to find one piece of paper that he had to tape back together. Only for it not to matter, because Thame mended fences with Dylan on his own.

I'd argue this is what makes Po think, Maybe I'm too emotionally involved in this. Especially after Jun has point-blank told him that Thame would never be interested in him that way.

We see the moment Po doubts his enthusiastic support of this whole project.

And it's clear that this could have been where it ended for Po.

Until Thame, observant and kind and the polar opposite of Earn, says exactly the right thing to him.

Because that was the major breaking point for Po in his relationship with Earn. He was made to feel disposable. Extraneous. Unnecessary. But Thame recognizes the work he's done, the effort he's put in. He may be reuniting the group for his own satisfaction, but he's not so selfish that he can let Po's contributions go unobserved and unappreciated.

Then, y'know. Thame talks to Po until he falls asleep—

—and serenades him in the morning.

And the thing is! Knowing all we know about Thame—that his parents don't seem to care about him, that he's been isolated from his friends, that he's been made helpless in his own career for so long after being manipulated into signing contracts that restrict his freedom—it makes sense for him to be the one pursuing Po this hard. Just as much as it makes sense for recently heartbroken Po to be interested and yet hesitant.

Setting all of this up in four episodes while covering the entire backstory of MARS and their gradual reunion is a feat of excellent writing. We have a reason to care about Thame and Po's relationship, because it's been clearly shown to us that they bring out the best in each other and that they're willing, even at this early stage, to take risks for each other. We've also got reason to care about MARS, because they seem to be more family to Thame than his own, and they're his current priority.

I'm genuinely thrilled to see such solid writing come from a GMMTV series because as I've said before, they seem more and more recently to chuck first drafts on an assembly line and just assume the fandom will watch anything regardless of the quality as long as certain khuujin are cast as the leads (which, y'know, isn't untrue).

While I enjoy some GMMTV QL series as mindless fluff to watch with friends, there are very few I'd say are written well. Apart from ThamePo, only five other series I've seen have what I'd consider well-executed scripts: Pluto (2024), Be My Favorite (2023), Dark Blue Kiss (2019), SOTUS S (2017), and SOTUS (2016). Sadly, I think Not Me (2022) was on track to be one of the best with its first half, but the production was infamously neglected with episodes cut by GMMTV at the last minute and the script deprived of major edits that left the second half almost shallow by comparison. (Of course, Not Me had a host of censorship issues as well, so we may never know how much that interfered with the quality. It's still an incredible series for its ambition and for Nuchy's directing, and I'll be mad every day of my reincarnation cycle that it didn't get the writing support it deserved.)

Otherwise, nearly every GMMTV series I've seen has at least one major basic storytelling flaw (no character arc, a sloppy resolution, unconvincing setup, weak characterization, excess filler, etc.), and they seem to be first drafts with very little depth. With that in mind, I hope to see ThamePo do well enough that it sends a message to GMMTV that they should focus more on the writing of their series. I think based on what we've seen in the first four episodes and in the trailer, the script quality is reliable, and ThamePo's relationship may be one of the best-written we've seen yet. <3

[fruittt-punchhh]

Pop My Cherry!

all parts

Synopsis: your dad's best friend is none other than Toji Fushiguro, and you can't help but wonder what he could do with his hands.

Characters: Toji Fushiguro x reader. Geto x reader a little bit, kinda not really. Nobara x reader (kissin’ n stuff)

Content: Minors Do Not Interact! smut, afab! reader, fem! reader, dad's best friend! Toji, suggestiveness, cursing, inexperienced (ish) reader, reader is a virgin but has done things ya know, female masturbation, male masturbation, mutual masturbation, getting caught in the act, reader smokes weed, alcohol usage, pet/ affectionate names, age gap (reader is 24, Toji is in his 30s), Toji calls reader (doll, slut, bitch, etc.), big dick! Toji, cunnilingus (f! receiving), jealousy, Nobara and reader kiss and stuff, sending nudes (if that makes you uncomfortable just scroll through!), public sex if you squint really hard.

TW: karaoke lmao

Word count: 7.5k (ur welcome)

Notes: why hello again cuties!🫶😭thank you for all the support. Please enjoy this part! Next part is currently in the works so it’ll be up soon-ish. As always, let me know what you think! much love, fruit punch🧃

You awake in the morning to an empty house. Toji must still be working, and your dad and brother were packing to leave already. You stretch and yawn as you place your feet on the floor, hips still aching from the rough treatment from Toji last night. You put on your house shoes as you shuffle into the living room.

“Hey, y/n! Thought you’d up and died in there, haha,” your dad says, reaching to give you a hug.

You three discuss the fishing trip, school, and your dads next big project at work. You woke up pretty late, so they were almost out the door by the time you caught them. You all exchanged goodbyes and I love you’s before you head back to your room.

You decide to clean up the mess that you had made last night, throwing your sheets in the wash along with your bikini. You try to distract yourself from the thoughts that flood your mind. You turn up the music playing in the speaker as you decide to tidy the rest of the house. You knew you’d have a busy night ahead of you, and you definitely wanted to come home to a clean house.

————————————————————————

You finished the rest of your drink as you started to curl your hair. You had previously planned to go to the club with some college friends that lived in the area. It was Saturday night, and after your experience with Toji last night, you knew you needed to get fucked up. With no new texts from him since yesterday, you figured it’d be best to forget it ever happened and just try to get laid tonight if you could manage. You swiped left to delete the messages, hoping your drink hits your system quickly.

Everything with Toji was perfect- thinking about it for longer than you had to was making you sweat. But you couldn’t help the nagging feeling of guilt deep in your core. It would crush your dad to find out that you were into older men, especially when those older men were very close to him. Plus, you and Toji were in two totally different phases of your life. You had plans to go to graduate school and well, he just sat around and drank and when he wasn’t drinking he was at work doing god knows what. You still had no insight as to what his profession was (if you can even call it that), but you knew he made enough to go out to clubs, bars, and casinos most nights of the week.

You knew Toji had a gambling problem from your father, but he made it seem like he had plenty of money to spare. Toji didn’t seem like he was rich by any means, always wearing the same cycle of workout clothes, jeans, and sweats. You don’t recall ever seeing him dressed up.

As you finish the last few curls in your hair, you run to your dresser looking for the package Toji left there yesterday. It had a fishnet bra, panties, and stockings. You really just wanted the stockings to go with your black skirt and black bra combo, but the full set was ridiculously on sale. You just had to get it. It hugged your figure in all the right ways and made you feel, for once, really fucking sexy.

You had no intentions of leaving the club without someone with you, so you decide to take a tasteful nude just in case you want to use it as a bargaining chip later. You continue with the rest of your outfit, opting for black platform boots instead of your regular stilettos. All that was left was your makeup, a shot or two, and you were good to go.

You finish the last coat of your mascara, and as you wait for your lash glue to dry, you order the Uber. Your dad had to return to work back in the states, and your brother went back to campus early. It was just you in the house. You decided to blast your music, dancing as you await your ride. You looked pretty damn good and you were ready to get laid, or at least find someone to dance with at the minimum.

————————————————————————

You walk into the club — the music was so loud you felt the bass in your heart and your ears were rattling. The DJ was doing a great job, and you knew just the thing to get you back into the dancing mood.

“Who wants shooooots?” You yell to your girlfriends, and a few random patrons at the bar. You order shots for everyone, including two for yourself. The liquor burned on the way down but you knew in just a few minutes you wouldn’t have a care in the world.

You finish your other drink as your friend convinces you to join her on the dance floor. You two take turns guessing how big everyones dick is, far too drunk to care who can hear you.

“Oh his is definitely bigger than average and he looks like he knows what to do with it,” your friend Nobara giggles, blushing as she covers her mouth. She points to a tall, pink haired man behind you, with little scars near his eyes.

“Ohmygod! Okay, n-nobara you’re literally so right bitch,” normally Nobara would never let you address her as that, but you were all too fucked to care. Your other friend mentions that the tall black haired man with the plugs looks like he’s hung, to which you agree. They dare you to go get his number, and you wouldn’t mind finding out if your speculations were true.

“Hi, I’m y/n, -sorry, s-so loud in here, hah” you yell, grabbing onto his sleeve for support.

“It’s okay pretty, I’m Geto. Nice to meet you,” he says in your ear, making shivers run down your spine. You knew he was hot but you didn’t expect his voice to turn you on that much.

Feeling all confidence being thrown out the window, you ask him, “my friends dared me to get your number and you are really cute. You can give me a fake one if you want!” You beam up at him. He was quite excited to exchange information. His phone was on a charger somewhere, so he puts his number in your phone.

“Ohmygod, you got it?!” They scream. With happy giggles they order another round of drinks for themselves and a shot for you, to congratulate you on your stunning victory.

At this point, your vision was hazy and you were far too sweaty for your own good. The DJ had started playing some of Charli XCX’s new album ‘brat’, the title of which you felt was a very applicable name for yourself.

“Holy shit-“ your other friend starts.

“S’up?” You yell.

“I know we stopped playing a while ago, but he looks like he’s got the biggest dick of them all”

You turn. Trying your damndest to keep your balance, you look towards the entrance to see none other than Mr. Fushiguro.

You knew you were fucked. He had left you on read and you hadn’t seen him since. You were confused about the relationship between you two, especially since you were back to university in a few days. You pray to god that he doesn’t notice you and turn back around, trying to shuffle more towards the middle of the dance floor. You mutter a halfhearted ‘yeah’ to your friend before you spin her around and start dancing to the next song.

Geto appears behind you and he grabs on to your waist, asking if he could dance with you and your friends. You yell back an ‘of course!’ as you all start jumping to the music.

He walked in the bar, looking to occupy his favorite seat for most of the night. He came here after he was done at the casino, usually to get a couple drinks, listen to music, and maybe get his dick sucked in the bathroom if he was lucky. He had been feeling much too antisocial lately, opting to drown his sorrows in another drink instead of another woman.

He looks through the crowd as he sees someone he never expected to go on stage.

The song comes to an end as the dj yells ‘karaoke anyone?!’ You had just finished yet another shot Geto bought for you as your friends are pushing you to the stage. You try to plant your feet flat on the floor to no avail as your balance was questionable at best. Before you know it you’re on stage, grabbing the microphone, looking out at the crowd and seeing nothing but blurry faces.

You tell the dj to play the song ‘Guess’ by Charli, just to keep the vibes going. You hear the beat come in as you start to dance on stage, currently unaffected by the hundreds of eyes planted on you and your movements. You were a shitty singer so thankfully, this song was more talking than anything.

‘You wanna guess the color of my underwear.’

‘You wanna know what I got going on down there.’

You chant as you hear your friends screaming in the crowd for you.

‘Is it pretty in pink or all see-through?’

‘Is it showin’ off my brand new lower back tattoo?’

You spin around, lowering your skirt just a hair to reveal the little heart tattoo you have on your lower back. It definitely wasn’t a new tattoo by any means, but it fit the song nonetheless. You spin around, seeing Nobara shout for you near the front.

To your surprise, you also see an all too familiar face approach the front of the stage. Toji looks up at you and you swear you see him sweating. He has a cigarette in between his lips and a drink in hand, not even dancing to the music. He was too entranced by your presence on the stage to think about anything other than you.

‘You wanna put ‘em in your mouth, pull ‘em all down south.’

‘You wanna turn this shit out, that’s what I’m talkin’ about’

You failed to pull your skirt back up from earlier, leaving little to the imagination as your fish net panties peek through the top of your skirt. You feel the beat drop as the hook comes in, charli’s voice saying the words for you this time around as you continue to dance. You sway your hips and the crowd is going wild for you. You know the beat drop is coming so you start to jump. You repeat the chorus from earlier, dancing as slutty as you can for the man in front of you. Your tits were bouncing as you jumped and you had to put your hand on top of them to keep them from escaping.

The bridge is coming as you drop to your hands and knees, crawling towards the black-haired man in front of you. He takes a final puff of his cigarette before he’s putting it in between your lips with a smirk. He takes a drink as you take a puff, blowing out the bitter smoke as you continue.

‘Guess.’

The crowd goes wild as you see everyone, excluding Toji, jumping up and down to the beat. He has a thumb tucked into his belt as he bites his bottom lip, eyeing your figure up and down. You and the crowd chant to the bridge.

“Guess. Guess. Guess. Guess. Guess. Guess.”

You finish your little dance as the outro plays. The part you had to sing was practically over, so you head to the stairs on the side of the stage.

You meet back up with your friends and they are all but losing their shit.

���Y/n that was so fuckin’ good!’

‘Okay girl who knew you had it in you??’

‘I’m deeeeeead, you looked so fucking hot up there!!’

You fan your audience away, telling them ‘please, no paparazzi’

You feel Geto come up behind you as he congratulates you, telling you your performance was amazing. You thank him with a smile as he goes to find his friends in the crowd.

Toji must have missed you when you rejoined the crowd because he was no where to be seen. At this point, you’ve had so many drinks you can’t count. You feel a buzz in your pocket from an unknown number.

You assume it must be Geto. You search the crowd for him, spotting him in the back. You shoot him a smile as he does the same.

You remembered the picture from earlier, hoping this might signal him to take you out of here.

The nickname rings an all too familiar bell as you try to forget the ache in your stomach. You send him the picture with a heart emoji. You search for Geto again, hoping to see his reaction. You catch his eyes again as he turns around, continuing to dance with his friends. Odd. But not out of the ordinary.

Whoa. It must have worked. You anxiously await the clock as you dance to the last song of the album.

You start to push yourself through the crowd as you head towards the bathroom. You see Geto to your left, and he hasn’t moved-only greeting you with a smile and a sloppy wave. Weird. Maybe he was just waiting for you to see if you were down? Who knows, you think, as you finally make it to the bathroom.

It’s dimly lit with only red LEDS along the ceiling. It’s a family bathroom (in a club yeah right) so the door (thankfully) has a lock. You put your back against the wall as you wait for geto.

You continue to bob your head to the music as the door opens. Before you can turn your head to greet him, you are slammed against the wall with a hand up your shirt. That’s when the all too familiar scent of pine and liquor hit your nose.

“Toji?!”

You find it hard to push him away as he is grabbing every inch of your body, so possessively and full of want. He grunts in your ear as you hug him back, scratching down his back underneath his slutty white tee.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, doll. Getting up on stage, dancing like a fuckin’ stripper in front of everyone. You were makin’ me lose my mind.”

You feel so embarrassed, knowing that toji was witness to the whole performance.

“And you really think you’re slick, huh? Sending me pictures like that and thinkin’ I won’t fuck you right here in front of everybody on the bathroom floor.”

Sending pictures? Oh shit. There’s no way, I mean it had to be Geto. You didn’t recognize the area code and there were no previous messages. But that would explain his distant behavior earlier.

“I-I’m sorry, I thought I-I was sending them to some-someone else.”

“Yeah I know you did you slut. These tits and this pussy are just for me, ya’ got it? Thought you woulda’ learned that by now, seein’ as I made you squirt all over me yesterday.”

You face burns as he rubs you through your fishnet panties. You whine underneath him, desperately holding onto his arm for stability.

“I’m sorry, T-Toji. I can take some mo-more for you if ya want”

“Oh there’s no ifs. You’re going to.”

Toji crouches down and suddenly has you in the air above him. Your back is still to the wall as he lifts your right leg up, bringing your wet cunt level with his face. He throws your leg over his shoulder and scoots your left leg out, making you spread yourself in front of him once again.

He wastes no time devouring you through your panties and he doesn’t even give you the decency of pulling them to the side. He slides his tongue through the holes of your panties, drawing out cry after cry from you. All the liquor has made you too horny for your own good as your orgasm fast approaches. You thread both hands in his hair as you pull him close to you, desperate to cum.

“T-Toji, fuck, m-cumming”

He pulls off of you and drops your leg down onto the floor. Did he really just edge you?

He’s pulling your panties down your plush thighs and shoves them into his pocket. You think he’s going to finally have his way with you, until he starts standing up.

“I’m keeping these. You know better than to wear something so slutty in front of me and not expect me to devour you.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little flattered, knowing he liked your outfit and everything you had on underneath. He kissed your cheek as he pulls back to whisper in your ear.

“Good girls get to cum, but you haven’t been that good have ya’? That’s for tryin’ t’show those pretty tits to some other bitch. Just know the only reason I’m not fucking you right here right now is because I wouldn’t want to pop your cherry in the club bathroom. You’re a slut, but you’re not a whore,” he says, giving your ass a hard slap as you yelp.

“Now get the fuck outta here. I’ll find you when I’m ready to leave, yeah?” He says as he turns you around and pushes you out the door. You’ve barely maintained your balance as you’re shuffling out the door as you hear it close and lock behind you.

Toji shuts the door and locks it and immediately has his pants around his ankles. Seeing you up on stage, showing everyone your tattoo that he had never managed to see, while you sway your hips directly in front of him. He saw the fishnets peeking out of your skirt and your top and he knew he had to see what you had on underneath, just as the song implied.

He decided to text you instead of approaching just in case you wanted nothing to do with him. You responded quickly, obviously very drunk, and sent him a picture that nearly had him poking someone’s eye out with his raging hard-on. He had to taste you, even if just for a moment.

His hands are working on his length furiously. He brings your panties up to his big nose, smelling them with a grunt. Covered in perfume, sweat, and your wetness. He spits on them, bringing them down to his hard cock.

He doesn’t want you to leave without him, and he’s scared you’ll go find the younger, raven-haired man to accompany you instead of him. He runs his hand over his slit, rubbing his precum all over the tip. He’s coming closer to his orgasm as he rubs your panties up and down his length. He pulls out the picture you sent him earlier before he’s accidentally cumming all over his phone screen, paying tribute to your slutty thighs and big tits as best he can. He washes his phone off and buttons his pants before he’s back on the dance floor.

You were pretty short, so Toji had a hard time locating you. He was about to ask the bartender if he’d seen you, when he catches you traipsing out the front door with a couple of friends. Were you leaving?? Surely not after the interaction you two just had.

Had he really just edged you?? In the club bathroom nonetheless. You needed a smoke break and a break in general from the flashing lights and loud music. You take Nobara and another friend outside as you pull out the joint from behind your ear. You weren’t sure if you wanted to smoke tonight, but the adrenaline rush from being on stage on top of the feeling Toji left you with was enough to seal the deal.

Toji heads towards the door, hoping to catch you and offer you a ride home before you’re gone. He had only a few drinks and would be sober enough in no time. He grabs your arm as he sees you light up your joint.

“Where d’ya think you’re going, huh?” He whispers in your ear as he pulls you close to him by your waist.

You take a deep breath, letting the harsh smoke enter your lungs and praying it will fix all of your problems. You felt a large hand on your arm, thinking it might be a security guard ready to chastise you for smoking so close to the entrance. Until that hand becomes two hands on your waist and you feel an all too familiar length being pushed into the softness of your ass. Toji had really followed you out here. Did he think you were leaving or something?

“N-nowhere, I just needed a smoke after-“

“After what?”

“Uhm, the song, that’s all,” you say, blushing as he takes the joint from your hand. You look at him surprised, not expecting the old man to be okay with smoking weed. He takes a long puff as he brings his lips to yours, blowing the smoke into your nose and mouth as you kiss him back with fervor.

“Um hello? I’m right here lovebirds,” you hear Nobara say to your left.

“Jesus, s-sorry Nobara”

You pull away from Toji and you let him keep the blunt.

“Why don’t ya’ lemme’ have this? Wouldn’t want ya’ killing all your brain cells before your last semester, right? I’ll get you some more drinks when we go inside,” Toji murmurs in your ear, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Are you gonna’ introduce me to your friend here or are you two just going to fuck in the street?”

Nobara says, snapping you out of your trance for the second time that night.

“S-sorry, this is… T-Toji, the one I was telling you about,” you say as Nobara’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.

“This is Toji? Like the Toji?” You wish Nobara wouldn’t lay it on so thick, as if you hadn’t spent all day on the phone telling her every detail about your escapades.

“Yeah, that Toji. I’m her dad’s best friend, isn’t that right hun?”

If you thought Nobara’s eyes couldn’t get any wider, you were wrong. She somehow hadn’t put two and two together that the Toji you were fucking was also the Mr. Fushiguro that your father was friends with.

“Ohhhhhhh. Ohhhh, okayyyyy. Everything is connecting now, haha. I think I might head back inside and leave you two to it. Come find me when you get back inside y/n”

“Of course, we’ll be back in just a second! You still owe me a dance,” you can barely get the words out before Nobara is closing the door and Toji is turning you around.

“Let’s sit, yeah? I’m sure you’re exhausted from shaking your ass for everyone.”

Toji pulls out a chair only for himself as he watches you sit across from him.

“Silly girl, your seat’s right here,” he says looking into your eyes as he pats his lap. You regrettably get back up and go to sit on his lap, knowing that your lack of panties would not help your arousal. You sit down and immediately feel a large rod underneath you, lined up with your cunt so perfectly, you could sit here forever.

“That’s right, good girl. Now try not to make a big mess on me, okay? These are my good pants and according to you we’ve still got some dancin’ to do,” Toji says with a smirk. He’s finished nearly half the joint now, and you can tell his high has definitely hit him. His eyes are two lines as you attempt to make eye contact with him.

“Somebody’s hiiiiiiiiigh,” you say in a singsong voice, giggling at him as you do so. He keeps puffing until you feel him shaking underneath you. You look back to see Toji giggling too. Scratch that, he was full on laughing. He was slapping his knee and everything like some old fogey. He couldn’t put the joint down now, not while there was so little left. But you were right in your assumption. Toji rarely smoked, preferring to drink when he got off work. Yet here he was, toking on the weed like it was a cigarette and he felt like he might have fucked up. He wanted to think of something sly to say back to you, but his mind was empty except for thoughts of you, as always.

“Hell yeah I’m high,” he says, giggling like a little school girl. “Wanna get back inside? I still never rewarded you for your stellar performance earlier.” Curious as to what reward he had in mind, you stand up and grab his hand. The two of you walk back inside as he leads you to the bar.

“Let me get a vodka cran’ for my lady, please”

Your lady? You were loving this special treatment, wanting to bask in it all night long. He hands you your drink as you chug it, not wanting to waste one of your hands holding a drink when it could be on Toji’s body. You two make it back to the dance floor and you find Nobara talking to a tall, fit woman with a long white braid on her shoulder. The braid was hanging in her face and you wondered if she could even see walking around in a dark night club like that.

“Ohmygod, Toji?!” She exclaims, running up to him to hug him, nearly pushing you over out of excitement. You don’t know why, but seeing him hug her back sent you fuming. You felt as if everyone could see the smoke coming out of your ears. You knew Toji wasn’t your boyfriend or whatever, but you still had some sort of feelings for him, even if they were only rooted in lust.

“Mei, h-hey, how’ve you been? It’s been a while!”

You’d never seen Toji say anything exclamatory in his life, except for when he was laying with you. You watch the two of them catch up as you grab Nobara by the hand and walk away.

“Are we leaving?! I found this cute girl and I was just about to go talk to her!” You assure her that while you weren’t leaving, you had a new mission: make Toji jealous.

Nobara suggested you go grind on Geto, which seemed like an excellent idea, if you weren’t scared for what Toji would do with him if he saw you. Besides, he was absolutely no where to be found. You checked your phone to see a missed message from him.

‘Hey, y/n, it was super nice to meet you! Had to go home, and you looked pretty occupied with your friend in the white shirt, so I didn’t wanna bother you. I’d love to get coffee sometime! x’

Jesus, you were such an asshole. You text him back, letting him know you were too fucked up to come up with a coherent response and that you would say something back that actually made sense tomorrow. You let Nobara know the bad news, but she is quick to come up with another plan.

“You definitely don’t have to, but you could grind on me if you want… or kiss me. It doesn’t have to be anything crazy, you know I’m always down to help out a friend,” Nobara stammers as you watch a faint blush creep up her cheeks.

“Oh, Nobara, don’t be embarrassed. I’d love to. I’ve always thought you were cute, but you’re too good of a best friend to try and date I think,” you admit. You definitely found yourself looking at Nobara’s curves all too often when you were at the gym together.

“No, I totally agree! I mean you’re hot as fuck, but if we broke up someday I don’t think I’d be able to look at you ever again,” she says, inching closer towards you.

You wrap your hands around her waist, bringing her even closer to you.

“Soooooo……”

“Sooooooooooooo….”

You both say, trying not to make this mission any awkward than it already was. You hear the next song come on and the beat was shaking the floor. You take this as a sign to step even closer to Nobara as you put your lips on hers.

You two were moving with the music and the bodies in the crowd, as you run your fingers through your hair. You two were full on making out now, laughing in between breaths as you try your hardest not to take Nobara home instead of Toji. You didn’t really care if Toji noticed or not since you were having the most fun you’ve had all night wrapped up with Nobara in this way.

She sucks on your lip, pulling away to ask if she can touch your butt.

“Nobara you touch my butt all the time,” you say, giggling, looking up at her puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah, but this is different. You can totally say n-“

You grab Nobara’s hands and reach them behind you as she grabs a handful of you under your skirt. You kiss her back as her eyes are wide open. You continue this for a while, switching places with her as you grab on her body, not wanting the moment to end.

Toji tells Mei he’ll see her later as he goes to close his tab. He had already spent far too much for his liking, and you were way too drunk to have anything else tonight. The drink he got you earlier was just straight cranberry juice, little did you know. He thanks the bartender as he puts his card back in his wallet, turning around as he felt the wind get knocked out of him.

He saw you in the crowd, tongue shoved down some red head’s throat. She was grabbing your ass as you knead her tit, giggling as you two whisper to each other.

Nobara just admitted you may actually have the biggest dick at the party, to which you can’t help but giggle. Being edged earlier made you feel all too eager for things to move further as you hear someone’s throat clearing to your right.

You pull away from Nobara and look beside you to see Toji sitting on a bar stool, a cigarette trapped between his teeth as he grabs both of his legs, trying to keep himself from standing up.

“Havin’ fun?” He says with a glint in his eyes. Not to be a perverted boy, but he could watch you do this for hours. The way you had your friend melting under your touch, gasping for more than just a kiss as you teased her for the sole purpose of making him jealous.

Nobara looks at you with a grin on her face. She leans in for another peck, as she turns away, “Looks like it worked. That was fun, we should try it again sometime. I think I might call an Uber. Getting late,” she says, yawning. She seems totally unfazed, as if you two weren’t just swapping spit for the last few minutes.

“I can ride with you!” You say before she’s interrupting you, telling you to stay with your man. You wouldn’t exactly call him that, but one thing you never did was start an argument with Nobara.

She mouths to you, “let me know if he’s good or not,” winking as she heads for the door.

“Who’s that little redhead? I like her, seems feisty. I like ‘em with a lil’ bit of attitude,” he says, smirking as he puts out his cigarette. He stands up, having had enough of his private show.

“Her name’s Nobara and she’s my friend. Who the fuck was that girl with the braid?”

“Seemed like more than just a friend, your tongue in her mouth and all.” Toji tried so hard to not let on that while he was extremely turned on by the sight, he was also entirely too jealous for his liking. Jealous was not an emotion he frequented. If he even though he might get jealous, he moved on to the next bitch that was fawning over him. But here he was, seeing red as he awaits your response.

“She is just a friend. But you still didn’t answer my question, ya’know.”

“Her name’s Mei. Old coworker. Haven’t seen her in years and last I heard, she was missing. You’ve never been excited to see an old friend?”

Oh. You thought she was definitely an ex-lover, given their tight embrace. Toji didn’t come off as the touchy type, so watching him hug her back so eagerly made you livid.

“No I have, but you look like you wanted to fuck her, I mean what is your-“

“Doll, if I wanted to fuck her I already would have. I’ve only got eyes for one person right now, if ya’ couldn’t tell.”

You walk towards him, hands clasped in front of you as you ask who this person might be.

“Probably the girl I just jacked off to in the bathroom, I think. She sent me this slutty picture and I came all over my phone as soon as I pulled up the pic,” he says, grabbing you by your hand.

Had he really cum to that picture? You didn’t think you looked all that hot, and knowing Toji, you figured he needed to watch a thirty minute gangbang video in order to get his nut off.

“Wooowwww. I mean even I need a video to cum, but you’re over here cumming to a picture? Pathetic.”

You had no idea what you just said. He yanks your hand as he quickly makes his way towards the exit.

“T-Toji I’m joking, please s-slow down! Where are we going??”

He doesn’t answer as he drags you along the street. You figured you’d get an Uber in case Toji was just being dramatic, but he snatches the phone out of your hand before you can even unlock it.

“Don’t want’ya sending any more pictures tonight little girl. We’re going to mine, pick up the pace before I carry you,” he finally says. You tried your hardest to keep up with the large man in front of you, but his stride was so big. You had short legs and you were ridiculously drunk. You try your hardest to plant your feet, forcing him to turn around. It had started sprinkling at this point, and you raise your hands above your head to keep the rain from ruining your pretty face of makeup.

“Toji, you’re too fucking fast. And you don’t have to hold my hand, you-“

Toji has had enough. The rain was picking up and like he said, these were his good pants that he did not feel like dry cleaning.

You watch Toji get into a stance as if he’s about to tackle you, picking you up under your butt and throwing you over his shoulder like a rag doll. He holds the back of your knees with his large hand as he starts to walk towards his apartment. He kept an apartment downtown due to how often he was out at the casino too late in the night to spend $50 dollars on an Uber back to the condo.

You don’t even care to protest as you’d rather have the rain hitting your back anyways. It was cool to the touch and you didn’t really mind letting this man have his way with you. You did want to play fight with him, lightly hitting his butt as you let out, ”nooooo, please don’t take me and do whatever you want to me sir”

He responds only by giving your ass a light smack before he kisses it. You couldn’t help but call him a pervert, and the sound of that word leaving your lips had him rock hard again. He was a pervert to an extent, but only for you.

———————————————————————

He plops you down at the front of his door, motioning for you to go inside after he unlocks it. You stumble in, reaching for the light switch, flicking it on as you hear Toji hiss behind you. He fumbles for the switch, turning it back off quickly.

“Too fuckin’ bright, Jesus”

He grabs your hand and walks you to the bathroom. His apartment was clean, and pretty cozy. He didn’t stay here often, so you noticed the dust covering most of his appliances. You turn on the bathroom light and turn around to ask him what his plans were for you.

“My plans? Get this makeup off and get in the bed,” he says, fumbling through the shelves to find a washcloth. You cross your arms and pout as you grab his arm.

“But Toji I want it. Want you, please”

He grabs a new bar of soap from underneath the sink and turns the warm water on, giving it a moment to heat up. He puts his hand on the counter and gives you a stern look.

“Look, y/n. You couldn’t possibly understand how bad I want you, too. But you’re too drunk and I’m the highest I’ve been in a while. Last time I checked, you were still a virgin. Doesn’t mean I plan on going easy on ya’, but we need to wait.”

You continue to pout, poking your bottom lip out. Maybe you can convince him with your mouth, and not your words. You reach for his belt buckle as you stand on your tiptoes to kiss him.

He kisses you back, hesitantly at first. You moan into the kiss, unable to control yourself. As soon as that first moan leaves your lips, he’s pulling away so he can run his hands under the warm water, adjusting the temperature so it’s not too hot.

He brings his wet hands to your face, making sure to cover every inch of your skin so this process wouldn’t take any longer than it already has.

“Keep making noises like that and I won’t be able to stop myself. Shut up and lemme help you, then we’ll get in the bed. I can sleep on the couch if ya’ want”

You couldn’t seem to take no for an answer, as you let out the most earth-shattering, loud moan you can muster. Your mouth is stuck in an ‘o’ shape as you moan Toji’s name, trying to see how far you could push the man.

Hearing that from your mouth made him feel like his cock would explode. He puts a hand over your mouth and pushes you against the wall, making your head hit the wall a little too hard for your liking.

“Have ya’ lost your fuckin’ mind? I have neighbors ya’know? I already told you no, and if you can’t take that as an answer, you’re gonna be the one sleepin’ on the couch.”

You look at him with wide eyes as he removes his hand from your mouth. He kisses the top of your head, muttering an apology for hitting your head on the wall. He grabs the soap, letting it run under the water before he lathers it up in his hands.

He brings his hands to your face and starts washing your face for you as if you were inept.

“I can wash my own damn face, Toji”

He laughs at you, still very high from the joint he stole earlier.

“Yeah, not before you poke out your own eye with those nails. Just lemme’ take care of ya’ then we’ll get in bed.”

You huff as you let him continue. You enjoyed seeing a more gentle, domestic side of him. Albeit in odd circumstances, it was still an unexpected surprise. He tells you to rinse your face off and gives you the washcloth to dry your face.

“Just throw the lashes away, I’ll get ya’ some new ones tomorrow.”

“What, these old things? They’re all natural,” you say with a fake accent. He simply reaches up and takes the pair of lashes off, dropping them in the trash.

“How do you know to do this shit anyways? Lots of experience?”

He glares at you as if you just asked if the sky is blue.

“I wash my own face woman. Makeup is just another layer of shit to wash off.”

You somehow find yourself agreeing with him as you finish wiping the water off of your neck. You start to take off your jewelry as you watch him pull his pants down as he whips out his cock.

Well, you don’t know if you should call it that, given that he was almost entirely soft now. He flips the lid of the toilet up, taking care of his bladder right in front of you. You look him up and down with questioning eyes.

“Ewww, you could have waited!”

“You’re the one starin’, doll. Look who’s the pervert now,” he says, cleaning himself off and only pulling up his boxers. “Let’s get in bed,” he says, leading you by your lower back to his bedroom.

He’s taking off the rest of his clothes on the way, leaving them scattered in the hallway. You wanted him taking those clothes off in other circumstances, but you follow his lead, taking everything off except your bra (since someone still had your panties).

“Whoa, gotta let me know when you’re getting undressed next time. Got me sweatin’ over here,” he says, trying to think of his most annoying coworkers to help his chub go down.

“You think m’sleepin’ in this? Pssshh-,” you say, laughing as you try to unclasp your bra. Your nails were too long and it was only making it more difficult.

“Here,” he starts, making his way behind you to help you take it off. He tries his best to avert his eyes, somehow feeling guilty for admiring you when you two were supposed to be strictly going to bed right now.

“I know we’re not fuckin’ tonight, but you are so goddamn perfect f’me,” he admits, letting out a breath as he watches you walk ahead of him, hips swaying so tantalizingly back and forth. Hair cascading down your pretty back. Tits so big he could see their outline from the back. He clears his throat, mentally cursing himself for jacking off earlier. If he would have just let it go down, he’d probably be fine right now. But cumming to that picture and thinking about cumming on those tits forreal had him feeling like a creep.

You wait for Toji to join you near the bed. You don’t want to overstep and you didn’t know what side of the bed he slept on. He asks what you’re waiting for, and when he hears you mumble ‘you’, he smiles so bright. You’re both totally naked now as you climb under the sheets, shivering at the cool linen brushing against your warm body. Toji sat across from you, not touching you anywhere.

“Ya’know, seeing you makeout with that girl was hot n’all, but you really pissed me off doing that.”

Pissed him off? That was not your goal at all.

“What, w-why? I was jus’ tryin’ to make you jealous is all,” you admit.

“Yeah, well it fuckin’ worked. Don’t do that shit in front of me again unless you want to see me go to prison.”

Oh. He was really serious. You could only imagine what he’d do if he saw you grinding in Geto’s lap. Thank god for Nobara.

You scoot towards him, “M’sorry, I won’t do it again, promise. Now can we cuddle please? So cold, baby,” you huff. He wraps his arms around you as you bury your head in his chest, entwining your legs with his.

“You’re lucky. Don’t do this with just anybody. And it’s takin’ all my strength not to bend you over and break you right now. Only reason I’m not makin’ you cum right now s’cuz I wanna’ give you a break before tomorrow.”

You mumble an ‘awwww’ as he tells you to shut up and go to sleep. You thank him for the second night in a row, only earning a ‘mmmhm’ from the man beside you. He’s already drifting off to sleep, exhausted from the night of work before and the long night he’s spent with you. You shut your eyes, trying to steady yourself as you feel the room spinning around you. You take a few deep breaths and finally fall asleep, knowing you needed all the rest you could get for the day you had ahead of you.

@scorpiosugar @theobsidianempress mwahahah

[delicatebarness]

the manuscript | prologue

Summary: The first encounter.

Warnings: Age Gap. (Dr Barnes: late 40s & Reader: 18 in this part)

Word Count: 837

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A/N: Oh, hello Dr. Barnes. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list!

The university loomed before you, the ivy-clad walls and gothic spires stood as testaments to the centuries of academic excellence. Renowned for its rigorous standards, the prestigious institution drew in the brightest minds from across the globe. You stepped through the grand archway, the air humming with the energy of countless scholarly pursuits, each echoing through the hallowed halls. 

You haven’t long turned 18, now a freshman, driven by a passion for creative writing. Your nights were spent hunched over notebooks, pouring your heart into stories and poems. Determined to make the most of this opportunity, you reflected on your talent that earned you a place here. With the best and brightest. It was a new chapter of your academic journey, and it started today.

Dr. James B. Barnes is a brilliant literature professor yet, reserved. His reputation preceded him– known for his profound insights and standards, he was feared and revered by his students. As you approached his office, your heart began to race. 

Tucked away in a quiet corner of the library, stood a heavy oak door with a brass nameplate glinting in the dim light. You took a deep breath and knocked firmly. Creaking open the door, you revealed Dr. Barnes. Sat behind a cluttered desk, his gaze lifted from a pile of papers, meeting yours. Piercing yet thoughtful, there was a moment of silent assessment. 

You felt the weight of his scrutiny as you stepped inside. The room smelled of leather with a faint trace of whiskey. 

“Good afternoon,” you begin, trying to steady your voice despite the nerves. “I’m going to be joining your advanced English literature class.” 

“Ah, yes,” he responded, his tone measured. “You must be the freshman. Please, have a seat.” 

You took a seat in the heavy leather chair opposite his desk. The two of you exchange a few professional courtesies, keeping the conversation brief but charged with mutual respect. You could sense that he had recognized your passion, and you were determined to prove yourself. 

~

A week later, you found yourself attending his class, surrounded by fellow students. His presence was commanding as he stood at the front of the room. A masterful blend of critical analysis and profound insight, his lectures were delivered with authority. 

Your hand raised after a particularly challenging lecture, Dr. Barnes acknowledged you with a nod.

“Yes?” 

“I have to disagree with your interpretation of his work,” you say, your voice clear and confident. A stark contrast from your first meeting with him. “I believe his use of fragmented narrative serves as a challenge to the notion of a singular, authoritative voice, rather than to obscure meaning.” 

The room fell silent, all eyes turned to you. Dr. Barnes regards you with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. 

“Interesting perspective,” he replied, keeping his tone cool. “However, I would argue that the fragmentation serves more to reflect the chaotic nature of postmodern existence.” 

You don’t back down. “Isn’t that chaos a direct challenge to traditional narrative structures? He seems to be inviting readers to find their own meaning within the disarray.” 

Your heated debate ensues, intellectual electricity cranking the air. Your classmates watched, their gazes swapping between you and Dr. Barnes like they were at Wimbledon as you exchanged arguments. 

Initially, he was annoyed by your boldness, yet you caught a flicker of intrigue in his eyes. You thrived on pushing boundaries and testing limits, in particular, with those you found intellectually stimulating and authoritative. Leaving everyone, including Dr. James B. Barnes, captivated.

“Your argument is well-crafted,” he concedes, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “I look forward to more discussions like this.” 

As the weeks passed, Dr. Barnes’ class quickly became the highlight of your week. A battlefield of ideas in each session, a place where you could push your intellectual prowess. Dr. Barnes, though initially reserved, seemed to relish the debates as much as you did. 

One chilly autumn afternoon, you lingered after another stimulating class as the other students left. The room fell quiet, as though itself was in thought and reflection. Dr. Barnes noticed and approached you.

“Good work today,” he said, his tone less sharper than usual. “You’ve brought a new energy to these discussions.” 

“Thank you,” you smile, a rush of pride coursed through you. “Your classes challenge me in ways I never expected.” 

He nodded, “To challenge and to inspire, that’s the point of academia. Keep questioning, you could go far.” 

You smiled again, your cheeks becoming flushed. “I’m glad you’re not tired of my questions yet.” 

“On the contrary,” he said as he leaned closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that caused your heart to race. “I find them… refreshing.” 

The flicker of something unspoken passed between you, a deeper connection yet to be explored. His words echoed as you left the lecture hall, the promise in his eyes lingered. 

What were the boundaries between student and teacher? And, could they transform into something more profound? 

- - -

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[whenmemorydies]

The legerdemain of racism: demands for season 4 of The Bear

Alright folks, this one has been sitting on my chest like a fucking elephant for the last week. It's a long one (when are they not, I'm sorry lol), so if you'd give me the grace of your time and eyeballs, lets have a cup of tea and do this.

Legerdemain: the magic trick

In 3x07 Legacy, we're introduced to the concept of legerdemain (French for 'sleight of hand') in the form of notes and drawings, etched into one of Carmy's notebooks:

Other possible definitions of legerdemain include:

'the skilful hiding of the truth in order to trick people';

'skilful tricks done as part of a performance'; and

'cunning, deception or trickery.'

There have been important discussions on this app about the concept of legerdemain in The Bear, and how Storer, Calo and co. appear to have peppered season 3 of the show with references to their own use of the concept in breaking the fourth wall, to comment on filmmaking, on cooking, magic, and perhaps, using the legerdemain of season 3 as a distraction while they take a dish their industry further in season 4.

Have a look at the below metas for some helpful background to what I'm talking about here.

Fourth Wall/Magic Trick Metas for The Bear:

@brokenwinebox's Fourth Wall (being broken)

@brokenwinebox's The New Paradigm

@thoughtfulchaos773's meta on the fourth wall

@currymanganese's Richie's journey is not over (on Richie being the author avatar for creator Chris Storer

@currymanganese's masterful consolidation of fourth wall analysis and their speculative analysis on the role of the Faks

@ago0112's analysis of the blurring of fact and fiction during the Ever funeral service

My post Richie and the viewer.

See also this beautiful reblog thread discussing how the creative decisions involved in season 3 have elicited sympathetic responses in the audience that mimic the emotions of the characters on The Bear, possibly contributing to a division in how this season has been received generally. Shout out to @moodyeucalyptus, @vacationship and @greekyogurttragedy for this generous and thoughtful discussion. And this insightful breakdown on the treatment of characters of colour this season between @hwere and @mxmajor + this discussion on the sidelining of Black grief this season with @melfinawins , @suellenalmeida and @moodyeucalyptus.

An ache: POC on The Bear

After I finished my first watch of season 3 (which was an ill-advised binge while recovering from the flu), I felt like I had sat through a year's worth of television. This was purely for the fact that I was emotionally SPENT by the end of it (still didn't stop me from wanting to rewatch the entire thing immediately - I didn't, thank god. Shout out to my nervous system for threatening a revolt and stopping me). Anyway this is to say, I had to really stretch my memory to recall a lot of the content in this season's early episodes. One that stood out though was the beginning of 3x02 Next.

3x02 begins (hilariously) with Syd and Papa Adamu fighting for bathroom time and then Syd leaving the apartment for work. As Syd makes her way to work, we hear Eddie Vedder's cover of "Save It For Later" playing, which @brokenwinebox has referred to in the context of the fourth wall.

We then leave Syd but get a tour of early morning Chicago with documentary-style footage of an array of workers beginning their daily grinds, preparing the city for its day. These workers are diverse in lots of ways including cultural background and employment, running the gamut from food service, hospitality, newspapers (shout out to the Chicago Tribune which will give The Bear its first review in 3x10 Forever), sports, etc.

What is striking about this beautiful opening to 3x02 are the lyrics of "Save It For Later" that are playing as we see all these hardworking people pass by on our screens:

We hear Eddie Vedder sing, "run away, run away and let me down" over and over while diverse, working class folks wave at us, the viewers. And if I'm being honest, in relation to people of colour and Black folks being represented on this show, this is a good chunk of what season 3 ended up feeling like for me (and undoubtedly, for a lot of other BIPOC viewers too): racialised people waving, hailing the creators behind this show, and screaming DON'T LET US DOWN, DON'T RUN AWAY FROM US. WHY THE FUCK SHOULD WE SUFFER LIKE THIS?

And then we get the remainder of 3x02, which myself and others have described as having two too many Faks and one too many unnecessary conversations about Claire in lieu of the attention that should have been paid to Marcus and the loss of his mother. Where the fuck was Chester, who looked after Mrs Brooks when Marcus was in Copenhagen? I needed to see their sweet friendship in that episode and was actually blown away when we got none of it.

And things got progressively worse from there.

In this pre-season 3 meta on The Bear, I spoke about how part of the tragedy of Carmy's fridge spiral was the (white) saviourism of his speech to Tina ("I failed you guys") which rubbed me all sorts of wrong ways given that the largely POC crew rallied and turned Friends and Family into a success while our man was stuck in the fridge. White saviourism can also be described as the trope of the 'white man's burden' (itself named after the Rudyard Kipling poem written as a justification for European imperial conquest of the Global South).

I'm not saying that the white saviourism here is intentional or that Carmy would even identify his behaviour in this way (unconscious biases are just that - unconscious - after all). But Carm is the product of the fine dining industry which is predominantly white. His access to those fancy kitchens was predicated on the fact that his family owned their own restaurant to begin with. That access would have been dictated by privilege and power which are inextricably tied to things like race, class, gender, ability etc. Marcus got his start in the culinary world via McDonalds while his single mum busted her ass looking after him. As far as we know, Syd had no connections in the culinary world before she embarked on her career and she's got the imposter syndrome to show for it (this is part of why I will fight to the death anyone who slags her off, she's too precious to me). 3x06 Napkins gave us huge insight into Tina's journey to fine dining which was also not easy. Likewise in 3x07 Legacy when Ted Fak (?!) gives Sweeps the latter's "I know who you are" moment. I'm still waiting on the origin stories of Ebra, Manny and Angel.

These differences between Carmy's journey and those of the characters of colour on this show matter and it was heartening to me to know that the writers of The Bear thought they mattered enough that they made them canon. These stories make it clear that of all of the people at The Beef and then The Bear, Carmy is likely the person with the most race and class privilege. And sometimes, the man acted like it! (e.g. Carmy disregarding all the work put in by the largely POC crew after he got locked in the walk in, dismissing their victorious service led by Sydney and Richie in 2x10 when he talked to Tina. He'd do this again when he spoke to Sydney in 3x01 and she has to remind him that everyone helped get the restaurant through Friends and Family).

Let me be clear: I wasn't and am still not mad that Carmy becomes an entitled, privileged little shit when the shit hits the fan. This is all in character for him (he's been this way since season 1 folks - recall 1x07 The Review).

I even expected the white saviourism to shoot itself into the stratosphere in season 3 while Carmy entered Michelin Mode. Because that is how this white man has been trained (in a largely white industry) to operate in a high pressure culinary setting that prioritises the reputation (and the glory) of the EC at the cost of everyone under them. Add to that Carmy's clear trauma, his learned behaviours from dealing with an abusive mother and absent father, his discordant relationships with his parentified siblings, his psychotic ex-boss, his grief...I was certain the man was going to be a hot, dysregulated mess for at least part of this season. And he was.

BUT...

What I wasn't counting on was the overabundance of the Faks (I am still not over John fucking Cena taking up screen time on this show OR that it was Neil and Ted at the end of 3x08 Ice Chips, visiting Nat and Donna after Nat's delivery), and the overabundance of Claire content, while we had the season running away from our characters of colour.

Sydney spent most of season 3 mediating between two dysregulated white guys (Richie and Carmy - though her character didn't do this without a fight, a la "I'm not your fucking babysitter" in 3x03 Doors) and being subjected to Carmy's tirades all through service and prep, without much exposition at all about her and her motivations for staying at The Bear (we get a glimpse - a beautiful one that absolutely devastated me - just before her panic attack in the season's last episode 3x10). We even had Marcus in 3x03 Doors (this particular choice PISSED me all the way off given the absolute lack of care given to this character and the passing of his mother in the same episode) pushing both the Magical Negro trope and the white man's burden trope as he tells Carmy to "take us there Bear": a plea to Carm to make the restaurant work for the crew's sake. In 3x05 Children, we get Carmy treating Ebra like an actual Magical Negro in one of the few exchanges between the two of them this season, when Carm asks Ebra, "Am I fucking this up?" about, well - in a moment I'd like to think was fourth wall knocking - this entire season/the operation of the restaurant.

@kensatou in this brilliant gifset (of one of the funniest bits this season) also points out how the restaurant is contributing to the gentrification of its neighbourhood, further driving the restaurant and us viewers towards an increasing whitening of the world of The Bear.

Then we've got one of the most frustrating aspects of racism and misogynoir associated with this show and a seemingly bewildering response from the cast and crew in tackling it: the INSISTENCE at different points in time by some fans of the show, the cast and the crew that Sydney and Carmy are platonic and nothing more. All the cues and subtext in the show itself, be damned. I won't go through all the arguments as to why this is bullshit but will say, many folks have talked about how many m/f platonic relationships there are on this show (Richie/Tina, Richie/Sydney, Marcus/Sydney, Marcus/Tina, Richie/Nat, Michael/Tina, Carmy/every other woman apart from Sydney etc). There’s no shortage so why are folks so pressed with Sydcarmy? *cough* anti-black racism and misogynoir is why *cough*. Anyway...there's been LOTS of exposition about this on Tumblr by folks much more well-versed in this discourse than me. Just search the #sydcarmy hashtag for that brilliance.

Some (including me) have wondered why the cast and creators don’t directly address the obvious racism behind calls for Sydcarmy to only be platonic, or at the very least, just tell people calling for this to watch the damn show and see. Instead Sydcarmies were met with official denials of any kind of romantic relationship between Syd and Carmy right up until premiere of season 3. I know I personally felt that the insistence by the cast and crew to actively deny any romantic relationship between a Black woman and white man on this show was frustrating to the n'th degree. But then I jumped on Tumblr, as we do, and fell into the fourth wall, magic trick and legerdemain discussions and I got thoughts...if you're still here, I promise I'm almost at my point lol, stick with me.

Racism as the sleight of hand, white supremacy as the deception

The singular Toni Morrison famously described racism as a distraction (tres legerdemain-ish, n'est-ce pas?):

"The function, the very serious function of racism is distraction. It keeps you from doing your work. It keeps you explaining, over and over again, your reason for being. Somebody says you have no language and you spend twenty years proving that you do. Somebody says your head isn’t shaped properly so you have scientists working on the fact that it is. Somebody says you have no art, so you dredge that up. Somebody says you have no kingdoms, so you dredge that up. None of that is necessary. There will always be one more thing."

The above quote is from a talk that Ms Morrison gave at Portland State University in 1975 entitled "Black Studies Center Public Dialogue, Part 2". You can listen to the talk in full here. A transcript of the talk can also be found here.

What if, the racism driving the anti-Sydcarmy antagonism and the cast and crew not addressing it or letting it fester is the point. Racism doing what racism does: distracting and deceiving. What if the pay off from this sleight of hand is that in season 4 we get what we know is destined to happen? An outcome based on the cues and clues that are littered throughout this show for anyone with a modicum of media literacy and without the blinders that a racist worldview grants: Sydcarmy.

And what about what Morrison said next in her talk,

"The distraction is no different than bombing Cambodia to keep the Northern Vietnamese from making their great push. And since not history, not anthropology, not social sciences seem capable in a strong and consistent way to grapple with that problem, it may very well be left to the artists to do it.

For art focuses on the single grain of rice, the tree-shaped scar, and the names of people, not only the number that arrived. And to the artist one can only say, not to be confused, [sigh] not to be confused.

You don’t waste your energy fighting the fever; you must only fight the disease. And the disease is not racism. It is greed and the struggle for power.

And I urge you to be careful. For there is a deadly prison: the prison that is erected when one spends one’s life fighting phantoms, concentrating on myths, and explaining over and over to the conqueror your language, your lifestyle, your history, your habits.

And you don’t have to do it anymore. You can go ahead and talk straight to me."

Now Morrison was speaking directly to Black artists, creators and thinkers when she gave the above talk but I would argue that all creators who are telling stories that feature people of colour, or people from communities that have been systemically discriminated against for whatever reason, have a responsibility to heed her call. Speak DIRECTLY to the communities you are representing in your work. And if you are doing your damn job properly in 2024, that is ALL OF US, in some shape or form. What Morrison is asking folks to do, is de-center the white gaze.

Ok so bearing in mind the above, back to the fourth wall, the magic trick and an invitation to believe. Recall this screenshot from 3x09 Apologies:

@currymanganese has theorised that Richie is the author-avatar for The Bear creator Chris Storer. Storer is partners with Gillian Jacobs (the actress who plays Tiff, also pictured here) in real life. In essence, we are looking at some version of "mom and dad" of this show (ideally, we'd have an avatar for showrunner Joanna Calo in here instead, but I'm working with what I got). After Tiff says "Well, I know my demographic" in the above scene, Richie/Storer stays looking at the camera long after Tiff turns away from it.

Let’s be real, in any other circumstance, if two white people were looking me dead in the eye and saying they knew who their demographic was, I’d be worried lmao. I'm still worried because for a white showrunner like Storer to even begin to understand just HOW paradigm shifting what I'm going to suggest below is, would be huge.

But...what if the demographic is us? The viewership that was drawn into this show by the unapologetic and unambiguous representation of Black characters and characters of colour in season 1 of The Bear? A show that had Sydney making stew and plantains for the family meal from the jump in 1x01 System, that had Tina calling Carmy a puta while next second claiming no Inglés, that had Marcus, Sydney and Sweeps code switching to AAVE with no explanation to anyone; that had Marcus lovingly applying Palmer's Cocoa Butter (iykyk) to his bedridden mother's hands? A viewership that includes many people of colour who have been so frustrated by the sidelining of the characters of colour this season because of the show's focus on Carmy, the fucking Faks and Claire?

Now there has been some analysis on the purpose of the Faks and Claire which has lightened my heart somewhat. But the treatment of racialised characters this season still doesn't sit completely square with me.

Do Storer and Calo have what it takes to do what Toni Morrison commanded and not be confused? To go ahead and talk straight to us in season 4?

Will they make things square like Carmy alluded to in his description of what he wants his legacy to be, in 3x07?

As much as I went into my issues with this season here in this post, I am hopeful. I love this show. I love how it deals with grief. I love the symbolism and the quality of the writing, I love the acting, I love the cinematography. I love the music. This thing is a veritable feast. And I know it can be yet greater, if it heeds Ms Morrison's demand.

There's glimpses that its doing this and hopefully, will take the thread and run with it head-first into season 4: at the end of 3x10 Forever who is it that brings all of us viewers back to the idea of chosen family (what the showrunners have said the show is actually about)? Which character is seen remembering the original crew of the Beef and their trajectory to the end of season 3? Who has refused to run away from them all throughout the show (and when she did, she came back)? Whose arrival at The Beef kickstarts this whole ride in the first place? Its the CDC of The Bear: Sydney Adamu.

If Storer and Calo want to take this legerdemain shit seriously, then season 4 needs to centre Sydney as the main protagonist. It needs to return to its characters of colour. It needs to paradigm shift the fuck out of this show.

We already got Ayo directing the season premiere for season 4. I am cautiously holding out hope for more of the same next season. Listen, I know I am asking for folks to suspend maybe everything we know about systemic racism in the entertainment industry here lol. But if this season has been about the suspension of belief and distraction, maybe Ms Morrison’s words are more prescient than ever. And if these showrunners are committing to the bit as hard as I think they are, maybe the final season of The Bear is going to be its best yet.

[yallthemwitches]

The Sound of Silence

Minerva always had a soft spot for Potter. Maybe that's why when it was time to choose a Head Boy alongside Lily Evans, he was was clearly the only option--- A series of vignettes of James and Lily's seventh year through McGonagall's POV.

AN: Posting this one a day early because I won't have time tomorrow (sorry) Written for Jily Week 2024, Day 5: Matchmaker (hosted by @kay-elle-cee and @sunshinemarauder)...Fully dedicate this one to the many teacher meetings I've sat through where we all devolve into gossiping about students. AO3 Link Here

I.

They sat around a circular table which always reminded Minerva of a story she heard as a child. Her colleagues had shuffled in slowly, still rosy with summer and the ever rejuvenating feeling of silence after a school years worth of endless noise. 

Filius sat next to her, pulling out a pipe and stoking it with a flame emitted from his short stubby finger. He sighed and a puff of smoke wafted into the middle of the table. 

“Here we are again—” he said to no one in particular. Minerva just clasped her hands on the table and waited for the final stragglers to trickle in.

Albus sat on the other side of the sphere and regarded his staff with half-amusement. Many of them had been long friends—giving centuries of their lives to the school. How many powerful witches and wizards had they watched slip out of these doors with their collective spirit within them? If the thought wasn’t so saccharine, Minerva would have perhaps felt a little proud. 

Albus cleared his throat and the staff settled. At this point they needed no commencement speech on why they all were called from their little parts of the castle to assemble, nor did they want one. The golden rule was short meetings were the best ones.

Horace spoke first. He always did. 

“Obviously I think there’s no arguing that Lily Evans should be the first pick.”

There was a rumble of agreement. Even Filius made a reluctant nod. He never willingly wanted to agree with Horace on much of anything.

“That’s a fine choice Horace, but are you not worried about the matter of her blood status? I’m sure you are not ignorant of the current news and I can imagine your house is quite…vocal about these happenings.”

McGonagall heard a snort from Filius which was hard to miss seeing as it bounced his whole body slightly off his chair. 

“Oh, Albus, must we always make these things so political,” Horace whined, “Evans is a brilliant witch…the best of her year—I’m sure we can—we can—” He teetered off, not knowing how to finish. It wasn’t a secret that despite his affinity for the muggleborn, his house was not so keen to accept her. They all would be idiots to disregard the dangers of putting someone of her status in charge in the current climate. 

But Albus didn’t press further. It was never his nature. “Then it’s settled. Lily Evans is Head Girl.” There was another mumbled agreement. Horace’s face was pink and slightly sweaty, but he nodded all the same.

“So onwards to—” 

There was a shuffle of teachers. Sybill spoke first:

“Oh, Oh! I choose the Delile boy. His tea leaves have always shown potential.” A couple seats down, Pomona snorted. 

“Colin Delile? That boy tried to eat a handful of nightshade thinking it was mint last year—”

“Well, I vote for Ambroise Cunningham: smart, good quidditch player (“mediocre quidditch player,” Minerva thought) and has a good head on his shoulders!” Interjected Rolanda.

There were some nods in agreement but Filius started to tut. 

“Are you all forgetting that Cunningham and Evans dated two years ago? They’ll kill each other!”

“Oh, I would hardly call that dating,” Horace scoffed.

“They certainly looked like they were dating when I found them in the charms broom closet that October!” Filius shot back. 

He had a point. She wouldn’t call Filius her friend per se but she had a fond appreciation for him being insightful when it came to the students’ lives. He was very discreet, perhaps with the help of his size, but he always was up to date on each of their lives. 

Minerva mulled a thought around for a minute while drowning out the verbal quidditch that was occurring for the rest of the staff. It was a gamble, certainly. But she had never been the one to shy away from a challenge. 

Raising her voice above the riffraff she called out, “I say James Potter should be Head Boy.”

The room went silent. Around the table, every set of eyes peered at her with mixtures of shock.

Chaos erupted. 

“Potter can’t keep himself out of detention to save his life,” screamed Aurora.

“That and his little group were growing muggle drugs in the west greenhouses!” Pomona chimed in. 

Albus didn’t even try to get order. He just continued to stare at her with an expression that twinkled beyond the room.

Minerva huffed. “Well, can any of you deny that he is brilliant?” Everyone paused. A wave of indecision rushed through the group. 

“And we know he’s a good leader. The Gryffindor team has won every year since he became captain.” Horace grumbled something under his breath but she ignored it. 

“---And, we are going to need someone who is willing to help, Hecate forbid, if there is an attack of some sort due to all this Dark Lord bunk. He might be scrappy and a fool sometimes, but he’d be able to hold his ground for the others.”

There was a hesitant noise of agreement around the table. People shifted in their seats, not able to find fault in her logic but also not enjoying its outcome. 

“And what about Evans then?” Horace had his arms crossed against his chest. “Potter has been tormenting the poor girl for years. They would be rubbish, absolute rubbish—”

“Ah, shut it Horace,” Filius scoffed, “We all know those two have been clouding up this school with sexual tension for a better half of a year now.” More nods all around. 

Minerva had hoped that no one would make the romance argument, but it couldn’t be helped. Potter and Evans had been making all of their lives unbearable, with their oblivious pining and rowing. It was like watching an ouroboros eat itself the way the two provoked each other. There was a small part of her that even hoped that matching the two together would end their purgatory. 

“Ah, the ancient magic of young love,” Albus mused to himself, stroking his beard. “I won’t deny that I like the idea. Are there…any others who seriously denounce the decision to make Potter Head Boy?”

Horace made a few grumbles, but ultimately kept quiet. He knew once Albus made a decision, he wasn’t easy to sway. 

“Then it’s settled, Lily Evans and James Potter.”

“Hecate help us,” Pomona mumbled under her breath. 

II. 

She watched as they shifted next to each other uncomfortably. Both of them dawned golden badges with encrusted initials on them that looked too heavy to be pinned to their robes. She had honestly expected more hiccups on the first day back, but something had already seemed to have shifted between them. Evans actually smiled when Potter offered her some dessert, took it from him and blushed when their hands grazed. She said something and James let out a laugh that made her smile as well. 

“Now, that’s interesting.” Filius whistled, sitting next to her at the great banquet. “Maybe your little matchmaking stunt was unneeded.” He side-eyed her and she didn’t entertain his amusement.

She looked back at the young couple. Potter had begun to explain something with extreme animation. He waved his hands around and Lily actually laughed at his antics. When he finally finished whatever he was saying, his hand rested on the bench between them and Minerva swore she saw Evans place hers on top of his.

“Oh Merlin, what have I done.”

III. 

“I think we have Miss Evans to thank for his rehabilitation. That girl can do anything,” Horace chortled at lunch a week later. 

“What are you talking about? He blew up the Slytherin bathroom just yesterday.”

“Well—he would have done it six more times already if it wasn’t for her influence!”

No one could argue that there was a great change between the two Heads. Horace wasn’t wrong, Potter was being better behaved this year and in turn Evans had started to cozy up to him more and more. Even at that moment, they entered the great hall together. Potter had both of their bags slung over his shoulder and his eyes were glued to her. As they sat, Evans pulled his glasses off in a fuss, cast a cleaning charm on them, then put them back on his face. Her hand lingered to push some of his unruly hair away and he made a dopey swooning smile. 

“It's like watching a dead body be reanimated,” Filius nodded towards the two. 

“You’re being dramatic.” 

“Don’t act like you aren’t seeing this. At this rate they’ll be married by graduation.”

She looked over again. They were sitting so close that their shoulders were touching. Black was engaging them in conversation with a lively reenactment of some muggle movie they had watched, but the couple seemed to be hardly listening. Slowly, like attempting to touch fire, Evans leaned her head onto James shoulder—slightly hovering it in indecision for a moment before putting her weight fully on his. Potter perked up, then dared to place an arm around her waist.

Filius let out a low whistle. Horace moaned.

“I was really hoping she would get with one of the Black boys..” Horace mumbled, “ blood purity aside, I do think they would be better suited…”

But he got cut off by Pomona who came half sprinting down the table. 

“Are you seeing this?? Potter! Evans!” 

VI. 

Christmas break was already upon them, which meant all of the professors were stretched too thin to think. Heads of house always had the worst of it. On one hand that meant she didn’t have to see Horace chortling around the castle half as much, but on the other she now had the Gryffindor house and the two Head students to preside over. As she walked, she mumbled to herself about how she would never offer up a Gryffindor into the Head position again. 

She mounted the stone steps towards the Heads’ office, trying to balance all the rolled parchments in her arms. Entering the small elaborate passage, she could see the light of the office was on. 

As she approached the image of them became more clear. Potter was elongated over the couch with his feet dangling lazily over the edge of the armrest. Evans laid between his splayed legs and over his torso. Using her forearms, she propped up on his chest and seemed to be drawing small circles into his shirt. Potter fiddled with her hair, twisting it through his fingers as though it was a snitch evading being caught. 

They spoke in low tones so she could hardly make out what they were saying. Potter said something to make her laugh tinkle into the cavernous room before tugging lightly on her to become eye level. Minerva watched with a sinking feeling as her two Head students locked lips, and proceeded to not break away from each other for a long time. 

She stood there in the passage, feeling a bit sorry for herself for being in this position: busy, overworked, trying to teach a class while helping Albus get a counterforce together...and now apparently being too sheepish to tell her Head Students to stop snogging long enough to take some of the work off her hands. 

With a little shriek from Evans, Potter flipped them over so he was now hovering over her while a hand disappeared somewhere Minerva did not want to guess. Admitting a sort of defeat, she spun on her heel and left the way she came. 

V.

The morning of the last day of school started like all of the other 200 times she’d done it. She woke up, made herself some tea, shifted into her cat form and curled around her bedroom window. 

A knock rattled the door. She lifted her head and hoped that whoever was bothering her would take the hint. Another set of knocks, and distinctly not Albus’ typical rap. She did a cat’s equivalent of a sigh and changed herself human again. 

She opened the door to find Potter looking out of breath and somewhat sheepish. Not a good start. 

“Good morning Minnie,” he beamed at her. 

“Mr. Potter, can I help you? It’s 6am…”

Potter ran a hand through his hair. On a glance over he looked suspiciously put together for the time of day. 

“Er, yes actually. I’m hoping I banked enough goodwill with you to ask for a favor?” Even he sounded unsure of himself. She didn’t know what it was about him, but he always knew how to hit her soft spot. 

“I don’t know about this goodwill, but I’m listening.”

He let out a relieved huff then suddenly became very animated. “Brilliant—ok. I can’t really tell you right now, because it's kind of a secret, but I would really really love it— and be forever grateful to you— if you kept students away from the lake this afternoon.”

Minerva blinked at him. There was no bone in his body that was not being sincere, she could see that, but how often had he looked the same when he wanted to do one of his little stunts. 

Seeing her pursed lips, he continued. “I swear. I solemnly swear it's not a prank. Just please.”

“Ok.” 

“Wait, what?” he blinked at her like she had grown two heads.

“Don't make me regret this decision Potter.”

“I won’t— would never. Ah, Thank you Minnie! You’re a doll!” He turned and bounded down the stairs.

XXX

It turned out to be quite difficult to keep students away from the lake, but she managed. The clock was ringing 3pm and she was starting to wonder how long she was supposed to keep things up when she spotted them. Potter and Evans were walking hand in hand. They both hadn’t changed into their regular clothes yet and Evans was talking softly. Potter looked like he wasn’t hearing a word of it. Honestly, he looked wrecked. Whatever was on his mind was clearly eating him alive—not at all the same collected boy that had knocked on her door that morning. 

The lakeside was cleared as promised and they walked beside it before stopping and looking out at the mountains far away. It struck Minerva this would be the last time she would see these two in this setting. The next time they would meet they would be equals, fighting what now felt like an impossible war. She savored the moment of seeing two people in love, unaffected for perhaps the final time by death and sadness. 

Potter turned to Evans looking like he was about to combust. Evans must have noticed because her brow furrowed and she placed a hand on his chest, which he immediately grabbed and held in both hands. Very shaky, he lowered himself onto one knee. 

She waited for noise. For some sort of big show that Potter and his mates set up for the occasion, for students to come bursting at the seams of the castle to ruin the moment, for even just the sound of a yes.

Instead, there was silence. A blissful, pure silence. She must have blinked and missed it because Potter’s arms were wrapped around her now, lifting her off the ground. Tears poured from both of their eyes as they in turn tried to wipe the other's face—opting finally for kissing each tear off each other’s cheeks. There was no noise—just sweet relief. 

For a split second, the two reverted back into their eleventh year selves. Small, unsure, and holding onto each other tightly against the weight of a world still unknown to them. It was the first time in a long time she wanted to cradle something in her arms. To tell them it was going to be alright; to keep them whole.

[tinytinyblogs]

🩵💕love love LOVE the 'out? I don't think so' series and was wondering if you would do a yandere ot8 x reader fic or headcannons or something where they have kidnapped reader and reader tries to escape. What will skz do when they catch them in the act? What kinda precautions would they take in the future and would they punish you for escaping? Sorry this sounds like an interview😅

Where do you think you're going, darling?

Running away doesn't seem like a good idea, because in the end, they will always come after you.

⚠️ Yandere theme, unhealthy obsession, Kidnapped and a lot more⚠️

ChanMin, BinHyun, HanLix, SeungIn

💬 Thanks for the request, darling. This is going to be a series that I'll post once a week. I hope it meets your expectations. If there are any shortcomings, I apologize deeply.

Stray Kids Masterlist

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Chan

Chan rarely rested; his obsession drove him relentlessly. He took his twisted sense of responsibility seriously, especially when he dragged you to the place he believed you belonged—his captive. But that night was different. After countless sleepless nights fueled by madness, he finally crashed into a deep, haunted sleep. That was your moment. Heart pounding, you crept through the suffocating silence, every step a prayer that the floor wouldn't betray you. The door loomed ahead, and with a final, trembling breath, you slipped through. You ran, adrenaline pumping, terror biting at your heels as you hid, desperate and trembling. The next morning, Chan awoke, disoriented from the depths of his deranged dreams. His eyes fell on the ajar door of your room. A chill ran down his spine as he pushed it open, staring at the empty space where you should have been. His eyes widened, then narrowed with a cold, simmering rage. His hand clenched into a fist, knuckles white. And that was the moment he snapped.

From that day forward, he became a relentless hunter, his every waking moment consumed with finding you, dragging you back into his nightmarish grip. You had escaped his grasp, but you had awakened the beast within him. Now, he was coming for you, and nothing would stand in his way. Chan was a smart guy—you knew that well, which was why you were haunted by an uneasy feeling as you sat in the corner of the room where you were hiding. Yet, as if manifesting your worst nightmare, he appeared. He stood there, no smile on his face, observing you with cold, calculating eyes. He closed the door and walked closer, squatting down to your level. "You know, darling, it wasn't very smart of you to run away," he said, his voice more menacing than ever. Those were the last words you remembered before everything went dark. When you finally awoke, you were in a dimly lit room, Chan sitting not far away. The scene felt eerily familiar, like déjà vu—the same sinister feeling you had the first time he kidnapped you.

Even in the darkness, his eyes felt like lasers burning into your soul. "You scare me, you know that?" His voice dripped with a chilling mix of anger and relief. He took a deliberate, menacing step closer, then sat on the bed where you lay, utterly vulnerable. "It's not so nice of you," he hissed. He gripped your hand with brutal force, his fingers digging in painfully, as if trying to meld his fear and fury into your flesh. The intensity of his emotions—terror, rage, relief—poured out, overwhelming you. You couldn't hold back the sobs; crying was the only thing you could do. Through your tears, you noticed the sinister changes in the room. The window was now fortified with thick iron bars, turning it into an impenetrable cage. The door was covered in multiple locks, each one a new barrier to your freedom. The room had become a twisted fortress, a stark testament to his obsession with keeping you captive. For several agonizing days, he kept you tied to the bed, the ropes cutting into your skin, a constant reminder of your captivity. His paranoia and rage transformed your existence into a living hell far worse than before. Every day, he would stand over you, his eyes burning with a mistrust so intense it felt like a physical force.

He made it clear with every look, every word, that he no longer believed a single thing you said. His touch, once merely controlling, now turned brutal. He gripped you with a force that left bruises, his actions driven by a volatile mix of fear and anger. It was as if you had unleashed a monster within him, one that thrived on anxiety and dread. He couldn't stop thinking about what could have happened if he hadn't found you. Every terrible scenario played out in his mind, feeding his obsession and deepening his madness. He stopped sleeping properly, too consumed by the thought of you slipping away again. When he did sleep, it was right beside you, his body a constant, oppressive presence. He kept one arm draped over you, fingers twitching even in sleep, as if he feared you might vanish if he let go. The room became a fortress of his making: the windows barred with thick iron, the door secured with multiple locks, each one a testament to his desperation to keep you contained. You felt his breath on your skin as he slept, each exhale a reminder that you were never alone, never free.

His nightmares became your reality, his fears and anxieties shaping every moment of your existence. He would wake up in a panic, shaking you awake just to make sure you were still there, his eyes wild and frantic. And through it all, you cried. Your tears were the only outlet for the terror and despair that consumed you. But even your cries seemed to fuel his madness, making him grip you tighter, hold you closer, as if your pain validated his twisted need to keep you under his control. His love had turned into a prison, and his obsession, your endless nightmare.

Minho

That day, Minho's arrogance reached new heights as he seemed to believe you had succumbed to his control entirely. He underestimated your resilience, assuming you had resigned yourself to the grim fate he had imposed upon you. But in the moments when he was absent, when the oppressive weight of his presence lifted just slightly, you saw a glimmer of hope—a chance for escape, however slim it might be. Clutching the hairpin you had managed to keep hidden since your last captivity, you meticulously worked at the lock with trembling hands. Each click of the mechanism felt like a victory, a step closer to freedom. Finally, with a soft snick, the door swung open, and a rush of adrenaline surged through your veins. You moved swiftly, silently, every instinct screaming at you to flee, to put as much distance between yourself and Minho as possible. The hallway stretched out before you, a dark labyrinth of uncertainty, but you pushed forward, driven by sheer determination. As you ran, the memories of past escape attempts flooded your mind—the fear, the desperation, the agonizing uncertainty of what lay beyond the confines of your prison. But this time felt different. This time, you refused to let fear paralyze you.

With each step, you felt a surge of defiance, a newfound strength coursing through your veins. You were no longer the helpless victim Minho had made you out to be; you were a survivor, fighting tooth and nail for your freedom. The hairpin remained clutched tightly in your hand, a symbol of your resilience, your refusal to be caged. You used it to overcome every obstacle in your path, picking locks, jimmying windows, anything to put distance between yourself and the suffocating grip of Minho's control. And as you finally broke free from the confines of his lair, you vowed never to look back. When Minho returned home, plastic bags dangling from his hands, he dropped them unceremoniously to the floor the moment his eyes locked onto the front door. With a sense of urgency, he rushed inside, scouring every corner of the house in search of you. But his efforts were in vain; you were nowhere to be found. His frustration boiled over, his hand clenching into a tight fist as he slammed it against the wall with a primal scream. Blood trickled from the wound, but he hardly noticed, consumed by the overwhelming sense of failure.

He became consumed by the hunt, forsaking sleep and sanity alike in his relentless pursuit of you. He tracked you tirelessly, driven by a desperation that bordered on madness. Each passing moment without you felt like an eternity, a torment he couldn't endure. Failure was not an option; he couldn't bear the thought of losing you again. And then, one fateful night, as you lay sleeping, unaware of his presence, you opened your eyes to find him sitting beside you, his gaze fixed on your slumbering form. There were no words exchanged, only the weight of his silent observation hanging heavily in the air. "Do you sleep well?" Minho's voice was as cold as ice as his hand grazed your cheek, leaving a chilling trail in its wake. There was no warmth in his touch, only the stark reminder of his possessiveness. "Are you sleeping well without me?" he asked again, his words laced with a bitter edge. It was almost as if he couldn't fathom the idea of you finding solace in slumber without him by your side. His grip tightened on your chin as he continued, his voice a venomous whisper in the air.

"I can't sleep when you're away. It's time to go home, darling, back to where you belong. And I swear, this time there's no way out." The determination in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, a premonition of the ordeal to come. He dragged you back to the place he called 'home,' though to you, it was nothing more than a prison of your own making. As he threw you into the room with no window, the darkness enveloped you like a suffocating embrace, leaving you gasping for air. With a roar of frustration, Minho unleashed his fury upon the room, his hands becoming weapons of destruction. Objects shattered against the walls, the sound of breaking glass echoing through the empty space. He didn't care if his own hands bled in the process; all that mattered was his need to exert control, to assert his dominance over you. You cowered in the corner, your body trembling with fear as you watched the chaos unfold before you. The air was thick with tension, every breath a struggle against the suffocating atmosphere of fear and despair.

After what felt like an eternity, Minho's rage began to subside, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he surveyed the wreckage he had caused. Slowly, he approached you, his footsteps heavy with the weight of his own anger. With a brutal grip, he seized your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "If you ever run away again," he hissed, his voice dripping with malice, "I swear, I'll break your legs, darling. I hate the thought of hurting you, but if it's necessary, I will." The threat hung in the air like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over any hope of escape.

[ilovecookies12]

Yandere Head Chef x Chubby reader

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Note:This is My first time posting one of my stories here in Tumblr so hope you like it, And if your under 18 Years old PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS, but if you are above then your free to read.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Warning: Swearing and mention of NSFW

Chapter 1

“(Y/n)! Oi!” Shouted By a Man On his 40s, preparing the order a customer just ask for, his Face scowled in annoyance as he sees you cutting the vegetables into horizontals not Sideways Like he ask for, “Are You stupid or something? How the Fuck are you going to make a normal curry with this shit” He stated, taking your hands off Your work and continue to show you how to properly cut it, “like this, hope your small Ass brain Could Fit this Information” He scowled, Walking back To the order before setting it To The waiters window.

You were (Y/n) an 19 Year old Collage student who took the Course Of culinary, Hoping to be a chef one day, So you decided To take The job as an Kitchen Porter hoping to gain Some insights on how To handle a kitchen, Well you were Expected to do Task all around the kitchen by helping on miscellaneous things That Keeps The kitchen Running, You were not supposed to be helping a chef to prepare food especially the head chef, However he keeps insisting that you should help him, It was Weird how he ask for you specifically always, having 10 Different professional chefs in the Same kitchen but still he chooses you, Others Might find it weird but for you was Quite the opposite, You find it as a great opportunity to learn things even if his Words might hurt you sometimes.

A girl with bright curly hair approach you, a smirk hiding in her face, nudging your shoulder as she whispered “bet that old guy really want a taste of a girl like you”, you gaze upon her with disgust, “did something ate your Brain or your just having a fucking Aneurism, Girl that man just insulted my work and your saying he has a Thing for me” I whispered, taking the Broom next to her.

She was the sous chef aka your friend since you came here, you could simply describe her as a hardworking, kind hearted and a little bit crazy, She keep Shipping me with The Head chef, saying things like age is just a number or She approved on being the aunt for our wedding, Her name was Isabella De La Cruz, A Filipino OFW who became a resident after marrying the owner of this restaurant, talk about luck.

“like for real, the way he looks at you is different, I know that man for 5 years and it’s the first time I see him Be this Close and even choose someone to help him” she whispered, Leaning over you, who was currently sweeping the floor while she was helping a new Fry chef how to handle the deep fryer, you rolled Your eyes, “Just do your job” You muttered, Finishing your Task.

As the night Progress, Customers flood in, you never really notice how Andrew the head chef, Looks at you, his gaze roaming around your form as you help the others diligently never once complained how they treated you especially him,

You were different.

Just like the first time he laid his eyes upon you, a working student that he expected to be sensitive and always tired same with the others who resigned the job you were taking, he thought that your not going to last for a week but his mistake, You were still here for about a year now,

The way your curves fit perfectly with that white uniform, Your hair were frenzied in a ponytail, You were somewhat glowing in his gaze, he never experienced such things before especially the part were his heart skipped a beat whenever you stepped closer to him or when you accidentally touch his hands during your task, he likes the feeling of it.

That’s why sometimes he’ll find a way to somehow feel your skin Against him by asking for you to aid him during preparations.

He also liked seeing your expression whenever He speak degrading words at you, imagining how would you react as he fuck you behind, smacking that thick ass of yours while your juice soaked his dick inside.

A perfect wife for perfect man like him.

[adore-laur]

RENDEZVOUS

— a steamy flashback from the dadrry universe about harry as your fiancé 💍

——

After another shot of vodka went down the hatch, you still didn't qualify yourself as drunk. Tipsy was the more accurate feeling since every shot you had taken in the last ten minutes hadn't quite affected your bloodstream yet. The fifth one was being poured already. Or maybe the sixth. It didn't really matter since letting loose was what bachelorette parties were made for.

The event was being held in a small theater in downtown San Francisco, occupied by you and your friends, to celebrate the last few weeks before you officially became a married woman. A drag show was the extravaganza for the evening, and it was currently the intermission, so everyone was out of their seats drinking and catching up with each other.

You and Harry had needed a getaway amid the final phase of wedding planning. The both of you were staying at the Ritz-Carlton for the weekend, and it was nice to take a breather from the stress of the big day coming up. In the weeks leading up to the mini vacation, you had decided it would be perfect to have your bachelorette party in the scenic city. Most of your friends lived in surrounding areas, so you sent the invites out and hoped everything worked out. It clearly did because everyone was buzzed and having the time of their lives. 

Your throat hurt from loudly cheering on the drag queens who had just performed. The tiara on your head with a tiny veil attached was slipping off, and the bride-to-be sash across your body was getting wrinkled, but you couldn't care less. Happiness and love exuded from your friends who had come to carouse with you.

Harry had proposed a little over a year ago after he cooked a fancy New Year's Eve dinner and led you to the backyard at midnight to get down on one knee, popping the question with shaky hands and watery eyes. You were incredibly thankful it hadn't been a grand display in public. It had been just you and him at home under the string lights, with butterflies breaking loose in your stomach.

In planning the wedding, you had vowed to him that you wouldn't be a bridezilla. You'd allow him to have equal insight and let him completely take the reins regarding the food that will be served since it's his forte. Overall, the process hadn't been too draining. You worked well as a team, and he was always open to suggestions and last-minute changes of plans. The final touches would be put together once you came home from the trip. Then, it would finally be time to marry him.

"Did you leave Harry alone in the hotel room?" asked your friend, pulling you from your thoughts.

"Yeah, but I'm sure he'll find something to do," you said. "He can never sit still for too long."

She carefully fixed your tiara. "When's his bachelor party?"

"Next weekend. He's having it at the restaurant he works at."

"Not at the strip club?" she teased, wiggling her eyebrows.

You laughed. "He's mature enough to understand that I find it suspicious when guys go there for their bachelor party. Some call it their last night of freedom. How weird is that?"

You had nothing against strippers, but you thought it was reasonable that you'd rather have Harry spend his night somewhere else to celebrate his, you know, commitment to you.

"You're marrying such a gentleman. It makes me jealous," she said with a playful nudge. She wasn't wrong, so you just shrugged smugly and sipped your fruity cocktail.

Gasps and excited clapping suddenly stole your attention. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at the stage, watching the red velvet curtains draw back once again. Shuffling to your table, you smoothed down the back of your dress and sat.

The lights dimmed as people who worked at the venue began rolling a black piano onto the stage. You wondered what it would be used for since the drag queens earlier had strictly danced and lip-synced to music booming from the speakers. Other instruments were also being brought out—guitars, drums, and even a saxophone.

Growing more confused by the second, you turned around and stared at your friends around the room to see if they knew what was happening. All you received were mischievous smiles.

Before you could ask questions, you were abruptly pulled out of your seat and led to the front of the stage as people situated themselves by their respective instruments. You leaned into your friend and asked, "What's going on? This doesn't look like a drag show is about to happen."

She smirked and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. Let's find out."

You didn't reply because the band started playing jazzy music as the stage lights turned on, revealing quite a modern setup for what you knew was definitely not a drag performance. A spotlight shone, and it began to move toward the left wings, where a silhouette of someone was waiting.

"Please give a warm welcome to Harry Styles!" introduced the saxophonist.

You just about choked on your Mai Tai.

Your vision finally focused on Harry as he strutted out wearing yellow trousers and a button-up under a suit jacket. A tiny microphone was clipped to his collar, and you couldn't even begin to guess what he had planned tonight. He gave you no inclination that he'd be here. No subtle hints had been dropped in conversations with him, and no sneaky clues had been given by your friends. It was actually shocking, considering he was usually awful at keeping secrets.

Everyone cheered for him; whistles and encouraging hollers were thrown his way as he held his arms out and walked toward center stage. You were too taken aback to join in as you watched him cut the band off with a gesture before facing the room with his hands behind his back.

Was his hair parted down the middle?

"Thank you, thank you," Harry said with a bow, his deep voice echoing throughout the theater. "It is so great to be here hosting a bachelorette party for the first time."

Wow. He had jokes up his sleeve, apparently. Was he about to do a stand-up routine?

The applause and praise continued as you shook your head in disbelief, letting a huge smile take over your face at the unexpected surprise.

"This is new territory for me," he said. I'm very excited to step back from my chef duties and do some comedy tonight."

There was no way he was going to do a comedy bit. You couldn't believe he crashed your party with a fancy suit and a routine ready to go. He was talking to your friend group in the audience like he was giving a Saturday Night Live monologue. You were going to lose it if he started playing the piano.

"You see, my fiancée and I go way back. We met about three years ago at a bar." He finally looked at you. "I ordered a lemon drop martini, and she ordered a strawberry margarita."

A stagehand brought out a clear martini and set it on the piano, and another one came down the stairs and placed a pink-colored margarita on your table. Your face heated at the simple yet thoughtful act.

"We talked for hours until I drunkenly asked her on a date. You know what she told me?" A plethora of whats were screamed from the crowd. "She said, 'Ask me again when you're sober!'"

Everyone laughed, and you hid your face in your hands. That wasn't even a joke; you had genuinely said that to him. You were blown away that he remembered such a tiny detail.

"Ultimately, I'm a very serious partner," Harry continued as he began sauntering toward the piano, "and nothing says serious partner like learning how to play the piano to impress my fiancée."

Taking a sip of your margarita, you glanced behind you. Some of your friends were recording him with their phones, and you were glad this could be something you could watch repeatedly.

Harry sat on the bench and exhaled. "Ooh, that feels good."

You had to wave one of the fans the drag queens gave out to cool down. He looked unfairly handsome, he was playing the goddamn piano, and he kept giving you secret looks that made you sweat.

"Now... I don't know if you've heard, but I'm not a boyfriend anymore." He stared straight at you. "I'm a fiancé now." Whistles from your friends caused him to proudly smile. "I'm also going to be dad," he casually blurted. "We're going to have a baby."

The entire room gasped, and you gaped at him with wide eyes. "We're not," Harry added after a short pause. "Wouldn't it be crazy if we were, though?" Your friends were now shaking you and battering you with questions. Harry smiled before his face dropped comically. "We're not."

He teasingly raised eyebrows and smirked at you as if to signify that you were actually pregnant, although you were drinking alcohol. Hopefully, everyone knew that you'd never be that stupid. 

The girls were gawking at you, but Harry rolled his lips in and shook his head to remove the confusion. He continued playing the piano, and your cheeks hurt from laughing so much. He was doing such a great job, and you were genuinely trying to figure out how he had pulled all of this off.

"I love my fiancée; she's my best friend," he said smoothly. "She's hilarious, honest, caring, fuckin' beautiful"—he trailed off and furrowed his eyebrows—"and, uh... good in bed." You rolled your eyes as he puckered his lips at you, more cheers filling the room.

"Yeah, that's right." He blew out a relieved breath. "I'm so grateful she doesn't live with her mother anymore."

"Oh my God, Harry!" you yelled with a surprised laugh.

It was a more private joke that no one understood fully, but it was funny nonetheless. You had used to live with your mother when you started dating Harry, and you always had to be quiet when he'd come over because, in his early twenties, testosterone needed to be having sex with you at the most inconvenient of times.

He winked at you before resuming. "However, for me, it's not about how my fiancée is in bed, even though I'd consider myself very lucky in that department. It's about her soul and her heart. And in all seriousness," he added as the laughter died, "I truly believe her soul is my love language."

Coos and squeals echoed at his statement, and you shyly smiled. You were the one who had taught him about all the different love languages; he had told you once that he thought your entire soul was what his was.

"Maybe some of you aren't convinced I'm a serious partner. You may be asking yourself: Did he really take secret piano lessons to do this? Well, if in doubt, just ask the maid of honor."

Your head whipped toward your maid of honor, sitting at a table behind you. She waved with a proud smile, and you gasped when you realized he must've done piano lessons with her since you knew she had played the instrument for several years.

Harry hummed loudly while closing his eyes, bringing your attention back to him. "I love being here in San Francisco. So much history."

The band behind him cheered as Harry dramatically sipped his martini. You'd never seen him so in his element with something besides his job. The confidence in the delivery of his jokes, the comedic timing, the professional stage setup—it was something you'd never forget.

"I've learned so much this week. Here's a few secrets about the hotel we're staying at," he said gaily. "Did you know they gave us the haunted room because of how pale I am?" He shook his head with a boyish smile. "That is funny."

You chuckled at the awful joke because he was actually paler than usual. It was the end of January, and he hadn't gone outside much since it'd been cold and gloomy by the coast where both of you lived.

"The bed in there is so creaky that it sounded like that one night in Mexico!" 

Shocked gasps and bursts of laughter rippled throughout your friends in the audience. It was a harmless joke about how you had all gone on a couples trip a while ago, and your friends had heard you and Harry getting down with it in the hotel room. It had been terribly embarrassing.

Harry laughed. "Everybody thinks we're a couple that has a lot of sex. We don't; that's why she sleeps in a different bed than me at home."

Okay, now that wasn't true.

"Except tonight!" he shouted cheekily while pointing at you. "I mean, I think I'm just about ready to take her home with how she looks right now."

The girls at your table nudged you, and you began to get flustered. He was giving you that look again.

Harry cleared his throat and stopped playing the piano. "All jokes aside, thank you so much to everyone for celebrating with her tonight. You've all been wonderful friends over the years, and I can't wait to see you all at the wedding. It'll be terrifying, but I'm so ready. Also, thank you for bearing with my terrible jokes. Have a good rest of the night!"

You applauded along with your friends, some of them throwing leftover confetti from the drag performance earlier toward him. He brought his hands together and bowed politely as the band played a closing song.

Harry's cheeks were as pink as your strawberry margarita when he walked down the stairs with one hand behind his back and the other adjusting his suit jacket. He locked eyes with you and pursed his lips, trying to hold back a smile. Everyone stood from their seats to greet him, and the band came down holding bouquets of white iris flowers, passing them out to each of your friends.

You met Harry halfway and instantly wrapped your arms around his waist as he tilted your head up for a messy kiss on the lips. He coaxed and smacked kiss after kiss out of you until your friends started making fake gagging noises from behind. He eventually pulled away and removed his hand behind his back to hold out a bountiful bouquet of red roses that matched the color of your dress.

"For my lovely fiancée." He gave you the bouquet and then turned your head so his mouth was by your ear. "I've got a taxi picking you up after this is done."

You nodded and ran your fingers across his stomach. "Sounds perfect. That was so incredible, Harry. And the piano? I'm impressed."

"It wasn't too much?" he asked, shyly rubbing a knuckle under his eyebrow. "I didn't know if you'd appreciate me crashing your girls night."

"Are you kidding? That was the best thing I've ever seen. I'm so proud of you."

Harry blushed, and you lovingly pinched his cheek. "Thanks. I was nervous because your friends always make fun of my jokes. I thought they wouldn't laugh."

"We were cracking up. You did so good," you complimented. "How did you keep it a secret from me? I had no idea."

"I'll never tell," he said with a cute shrug.

You lightly slapped his chest. "I'll get it out of you one day. Are you staying for the rest of the show?"

"It's your night, baby. Go enjoy it with your friends," he said. "I'll be waiting in the hotel room. You should stop by for a little rendezvous."

Your tipsy mind missed his attempt at a joke entirely. "We're staying in the same room, though."

"Bloody hell," he said with a laugh. "How much alcohol have you had?"

"Excuse me, not even a lot. Mind your business. I'm having a great time."

"I'm glad you're having fun. That makes me happy." Harry adjusted your tiara and then softly pecked the corner of your mouth three times. "I'll see you back in the room, okay?"

"For our rendezvous?"

"Our top secret rendezvous," he murmured against your temple. "Don't go around telling anyone, all right?"

"Sure thing," you replied while squeezing his sides. "You can go now."

An offended scoff escaped him, and he cradled the back of your head and leaned in. "Watch your mouth. I expect you to behave when you get back."

You puckered your lips and hummed contemplatively. "But it's my special day; you said so yourself. I can say whatever I—"

Harry cut you off by pressing his lips to your bottom one, biting it with his teeth before pulling back. "I love you so much, but that attitude isn't going to fly with me tonight."

You rolled your eyes. "Okay, dad."

"I'm leaving before this gets weird," he said with a smile. "Be safe, have fun, and call me if you need anything."

"Now you literally sound like a dad."

"Shush," he said. "I love you. I'll see you soon."

You pecked his lips one last time, tasting the sour lemon residue from his martini. "Love you."

"Have fun, ladies," he called out to your friends. "Take care of her, yeah?"

They all nodded, and Harry hugged you before heading to the stage to shake hands with the band. Soon after he was gone, the lights in the theater dimmed again, and the curtains opened for the final portion of the show. You headed back to your seat, feeling exceptionally giddy.

The rest of the party went by in a flash. Wigs, pop songs, and glitter invaded your brain, and now you were ready to return to the hotel. The tone he'd used earlier had made a shiver run down your spine. Low, insinuative, and almost impatient.

It was a tone that suggested you were in for a treat when you got back.

——

The key card swiftly slid into the slot. Two chirp-like beeps sounded, indicating that it was unlocked. Opening the heavy door, you stumbled inside the hotel room in the black heels you had already started to unclasp in the back of the taxi. There was confetti stuck to the bottom of them, and it nearly made you slip on the hardwood floors. That, and there was also a trail of rose petals and tea light candles weaving throughout the presidential suite that you didn't remember seeing when you had left earlier. 

You giggled to yourself as you followed the trail to the bedroom. Oh, Harry. You had almost forgotten he was here.

When you walked through the doorway, the king-size bed came into view. So did your fiancé. Harry was sitting pretty on the silk sheets with a flute of champagne in his left hand as he looked out the window at the San Francisco skyline. He was wearing the same outfit from his surprise act not too long ago, but his hair had become messier, and his eyes were glassy from the bubbly liquid you noticed was already half gone from the bottle on the nightstand.

You crawled toward him on the bed, setting your bouquet down. "Hi. I'm back."

His gaze was focused on you. He granted no response as his lips took a sip of the pale and fizzy drink he held so delicately, the gold engagement band on his ring finger gleaming from the moonlight illuminating the room. A low groan escaped his mouth when you straddled his thighs and applied pressure to his already hard cock. He wasn't saying anything, but you knew exactly what would get him to speak.

"What's got you so hard, baby?" you asked softly, tutting. "Were you thinking about me?"

His lips twitched as he finished the champagne and set it on the ground beside the bed. "Like you don't fuckin' know. Look at yourself, darling. It's honestly a shock that I wasn't on my knees for you at the theater."

Your hands rubbed up and down his thighs. "I had a feeling you'd like this little number."

It had been a struggle to get through the door to leave since his touch had been all over you the second you put on the red satin slip dress.

"What about me? Do you like my outfit?"

Such a narcissist, you thought to yourself. You ground against him, and he let out a breathy moan. "I do. Apparently, no boxers are part of the get-up."

Harry closed his eyes and smirked. "I might have no boxers on, but there's something else you might find. I went and did some quick shopping while you were gone."

Your slowed thoughts tried to catch up to what he could have been hinting at. "Shopping, huh? What did you buy?"

His large hands kneaded your ass. "Take a look."

He leaned forward and guided your hand to the button of his trousers. You quickly flicked it undone as he removed his suit jacket and began undoing the button-up. His body lifted on the bed so you could slide the garment off easier, and he hissed when it brushed past his cock.

Slowly but surely, his legs underneath were revealed, and your face heated to a thousand degrees. Fishnet tights. His leg hair and tiger tattoo peeked out from under the crosshatch material stretched tight against his skin. The redness of his cock looked painful from its restraint under them.

"I might've bought a little something too," you admitted as you scratched his skin through the thin fabric.

"Yeah?" He jerked his hips when your fingers grazed the head of his cock. "Show me, then. Go on."

You sat on your knees and lifted your dress to reveal the baby pink garter around your upper thigh. "It's your favorite color."

Harry licked his lips as his fingers delicately rubbed the lace. "I see that, sweetheart. Anyone particular on your mind when you bought it?"

"Was there anyone on your mind"—you snapped the waistband of his fishnets—"when you bought these?"

He bit his lip. "You're the only one I think of. The only one I would wear these for. I would crawl on my knees to you wearing them if that's what you wanted."

"Is that so? Quite the visual."

"I'll do it if you want me to." He paused, a smile slowly creeping across his face. "We can practice the garter toss for our wedding."

You made a noise of protest. "We are absolutely not doing that in front of our families. It'll be so humiliating."

"Don't have to, because we can do it right now," he suggested. A nip was given to your neck before he climbed off the bed and grabbed a chair.

Your eyebrows arched. "What are you doing?"

"We're doing this the traditional way," he explained with a nonchalant shrug. "I have to go under your dress and take it off."

"Will you be nice, or will you tease me?"

"Which do you prefer?"

You swung your legs over the bed and sat in the chair. "I prefer the way that gets you inside me as soon as possible."

"Well, I'll let you know once I'm between your thighs," he said, kneeling on the carpeted floor and waving his hands for you to spread open for him.

"No tickling, or I'm staying in another room," you warned as you slid off your heels and parted your legs.

Harry started crawling toward you with his tousled hair and day-old stubble, only wearing his fishnets and unbuttoned dress shirt. He never broke eye contact with you until he reached where you were sitting.

Your satin dress was then lifted over his head. You could instantly feel his hot breath against your legs, his lips grazing every patch of skin he could find. He left an open-mouthed kiss over your underwear that was already damp, and you moaned when his facial hair rubbed against your inner thigh.

You suddenly felt his teeth grab the garter as he pulled it down to your ankle. He took it off the rest of the way with his hand, bringing it over your shoe and moving out from under your dress. He stuck it between his teeth again and removed his button-up. Green eyes stared at you, and you clenched your legs under his intense stare. His tattooed torso was on full display. He was so, so beautiful.

Harry grabbed the garter and slid it on his bicep before saying, "Stand up."

You got up and switched spots with him, standing in front of him while he sat in the chair. He crossed his legs, his thighs thickening even more under the fishnets. You walked over and parted them so you could straddle him. The chair was thankfully wide enough to fit both of your knees on either side of him. You could almost feel his cock throb as you started desperately grinding against him to offer relief.

"Baby, slow down. Shit, slow down," he said quickly, his hands gripping your waist. "I need to last. You'll make me come right now if you keep doing that."

Slowing down, you took your time with each grind on his thigh. The pressure of the muscle felt like heaven as your core clenched around nothing. "Is that better?" you asked, raising your dress to see how his body reacted underneath you.

"Yes," he choked out, his neck straining. "I need to be inside you so bad."

"How bad?"

"So bad. I'm fuckin' throbbing for you. Please get on the bed."

You squeezed one of his balls through the fishnets, his hips bucking. "Where does it ache? Tell me how to make it better."

"Get on the bed," he gritted. "I'm not going to ask again."

There was the dominance you wanted. You nipped his earlobe and crawled off his legs. He immediately stood, hissing as he palmed himself through his tights. You helped him take them off.

"Top or bottom?" he asked while closing the curtains. "My fiancée's choice."

"Neither. I want it from behind."

"Say less." He turned around, gripping his cock and squeezing it once. "On the bed. Now."

You quickly slipped your dress and underwear off and knelt on the bed, facing the headboard. Harry got in position behind you, his cock resting on your lower back. He moved your hair to one side and whispered, "On all fours."

You placed your forearms on the bed and arched your back so he had a good angle. "Open your mouth," he commanded. You tilted your head up and to the side as he leaned in to spit in your awaiting mouth. His saliva pooled on your tongue, and you swallowed it down willingly. "Good girl."

Harry then reached his arm out to hold onto the headboard. The engagement ring on his finger caught your eye, as did his veiny hand that tightly gripped the burgundy wood.

The first thrust was divine. Searing pressure filled your walls, and Harry whimpered into your neck at your instant clench around his cock. He continued deeply thrusting into you as he took the garter off his arm and put it around your wrists so that they were restrained in front of you. Your hips burned. Harry's other hand squeezed your breast.

"Go faster," you said as his hand trailed down to your stomach, his long middle finger lightly grazing your clit.

He pounded harder, his skin slapping as the headboard creaked from the force. He was hitting all the deep spots, his pelvis meeting your ass each time. Your hands gripped the sheets when he glided his fingers up and down your dripping core. His head was nestled in your neck, muffled groans and pants leaving him when you pushed up your hips with each new thrust.

He removed his fingers that were coated with your arousal and spread his palm on your lower stomach. "Can you feel me there?"

You nodded fervently, crying out when a deep trust had you literally feeling him in your stomach. "Holy shit, Harry. I feel you. Please don't stop."

He pressed down and rubbed your stomach, the knot from your orgasm growing and bubbling up quickly. In one swift movement, he brought you to a sitting position as his cock continued stretching your wet walls. His thighs were touching yours, and you could feel them tense and tremble as you got closer, clenching hard around him.

"I'm going to get your name tattooed on my thigh right here," he said, taking the garter off your wrists and moving one of your hands to touch his right thigh. 

You were too submerged in ecstasy to reply to his random confession. A couple more thrusts had you blindly reaching back to grab his hand so you could come. He held it tightly as you unraveled, arching against him from the pleasure leaving you.

"That's my girl," he said in your ear. "My love, my love, my love. So gorgeous, coming for me like this."

Your ears were ringing, and Harry eventually spilled inside you while you still clenched from your remaining orgasm. You felt his warm release shoot inside you, his hand still holding yours and his body falling on top of you as he groaned hotly against your cheek. Heavy breathing was coming from both of you. Harry finished coming but kept his cock inside you, with throbs and twitches happening every so often.

"If we weren't engaged already," he started, "I'd propose to you right now because that was the best I've ever felt. Wow. My body feels all tingly."

You groaned, his dead weight on top of you making it hard to breathe. "Get off me. You're sweaty."

Harry rolled over and stared at the ceiling with his hands clasped on his stomach. The dim light illuminating the room and the perspiration glistening on his skin accentuated the carved outline of his abs, and you couldn't help but trace them with your fingertips.

"Shower?" he asked.

"Please."

He got up and carried you toward the bathroom. Everything in there was white marble, and the brightness hurt your eyes. The shower was small but comfortable enough to fit both of you. You already took one in the morning, but it would feel nice after a long, eventful night. It would also help you sober up as much as possible so you don't suffer through a terrible hangover tomorrow.

After laying down a towel and setting you atop the sink, Harry turned on the shower. He took off both of your engagement rings and then stood in front of the mirror. He inspected his stubble while he waited for the water to heat up.

"Should I shave?"

"Why?" you asked with a sharp tone that had him immediately raising his hands in surrender.

"All right," he mumbled with a teasing smile. "Blimey, woman. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"What are you even saying?" you asked languidly. "I hate it when you speak old-timey British to me."

"Are you cheesed off at me now?"

"You're literally speaking gibberish." You hopped off the counter. "I'm getting in the shower. Goodbye."

Harry followed you and dove under the hot water, trapping you in a hug from behind. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" The soft skin of his stomach against your back had you melting into him.

"I don't want you to divorce me before we get married," he explained, kissing your jaw. "I'm just playing it safe."

"Harry, you're the only person who can annoy me and make me endeared at the same time."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Yes," you replied, picking up the shampoo bottle you brought and handing it to him. "It makes me want to marry you right now."

He spurted a dollop of shampoo into his palm and began massaging it into your scalp with gentle and soothing motions. "I can't wait to marry you, either. Gonna treat you like a gentleman."

You lulled your head back, resting it on his collarbone. "You already do."

"I'll do it even more when I'm your husband, though. Make dinner for you every night and take you out on the town." He gravitated one hand toward your stomach. "Give you so many babies."

"Not so fast," you interjected with a dreamlike smile. "No babies anytime soon."

Harry filled the shower cup with water and poured it over your sudsy hair. "I hear you. Just know that I'm ready whenever you are."

"Let's get married first. I want you all to myself for a while."

"You always have me. That'll never change."

You turned him around so you could wash his hair next, opting for the same shampoo since he liked to steal it for himself anyway. After a prolonged yet comfortable silence, you asked, "Were you serious about tattooing my name on your thigh?"

"I'm dead serious," he replied. "I might even do it at my bachelor party. I work with a guy who's coming, and he does tattoos in his free time."

"But why on your thigh? It seems like a risqué place for it."

Harry turned his head and gave you a blank stare. "Would you rather me get it in a corny place like over my heart?"

You laughed, lathering shampoo in his curly hair. "No, not really. I guess you're right. It's kind of a secret spot for only us to know."

"Not unless I wear shorts all the time."

"Yeah, but thankfully, you wear pants every day at work. I don't want your coworkers to see that."

"Why not? I can't show you off anymore?" he teased, reaching back to pinch your side. "Wow, you propose to a woman, and suddenly she wants to be anonymous."

"Shut up," you muttered through a smile. "I honestly don't care. Just please don't get it inked in an ugly font."

Harry moved under the shower head, closing his eyes and slicking his hair back. "Well, it's a good thing I was going to ask if you'd write it out for me."

"Seriously?"

"No," he said in a deadpan manner, spitting out some water that had gotten in his mouth. "I'm thinking Comic Sans."

Poking the soft skin under his belly button, you said, "You think you're so funny now because you did a five-minute comedy routine."

He didn't provide a retort, but you saw him grin as he washed the rest of the shampoo from his hair. His nose was scrunched while he scratched his scalp and cleaned the foamy residue off his face.

After a peaceful moment of nothing but the sound of the shower water beating down, Harry opened his arms and brought you in for a hug. "I love you. You know that?"

You kissed his collarbone. "Where did that come from?"

"Dunno." He shrugged and cradled your head with his hands. "It hit me that we're getting married in a month."

It had been hitting you as well. You'd been waiting so patiently for the special day to arrive. "I love you," you said quietly. Thank you for tonight and every night. You make life worth living."

"Are you trying to make me cry?"

"Yes."

"Cool."

It fell silent as you stared longingly at each other with growing smiles. Harry slowly started getting closer to your face, his dimples carving deeper until his eyes crossed from how near he was. His forehead dropped against yours, and you rolled your lips in when he attempted to steal a kiss from you.

"How about another rendezvous, but this time we get in bed and fall asleep?" you suggested, reaching around him and shutting the shower off. Sporadic drips and exiting warmth greeted you.

He pouted. "Only if you kiss me."

"We've done enough of that today."

"You're really not going to kiss your fiancé after I just told you I'd give you babies? That's dire."

You laughed and admired a water droplet cascading from his pointed nose. "If you blow dry my hair for me, I'll reconsider."

Flinging the shower curtain open, Harry yanked a fluffy towel from the hook on the wall, then gently wrapped it around your body before grabbing one for himself and tying it low on his hips. The blow dryer next to the mirror didn't have a long cord, so you sat on the counter for easier access and squeezed any remaining wetness from your hair into the sink. Meanwhile, Harry covered the top of his head with a towel. He looked like the Virgin Mary.

You gave him a comb, and he took the blow dryer with his other hand, turning it on and gesturing at you to ensure it wasn't too hot on your skin. For the next ten minutes, the sound of the loud dryer filled the space. It would have been a stressful sound in any other situation—trying to dry soaking wet hair from the pool before dinner reservations or untangling knots from yesterday's sleep. This time, it was relaxing. Domestic. A moment in time.

The soothing scratches Harry gave to your head as he combed through every citrus-scented strand could have put you to sleep. The hotel room's air conditioner was cold and crisp, but occasionally, he'd lower the dryer so it blew warm air on your arms.

Before you knew it, the dryer clicked off, and peaceful quietness surrounded you. Harry's hair dried much quicker than yours, so he took off the towel on his head and tied some of his damp curls up in a ponytail for the night.

His hands planted themselves on either side of your legs. "Kiss time," he whispered, his arms taut.

You slid off the counter, finding yourself trapped by his body—not that you minded. Grabbing his left hand, you raised it to your lips to kiss his ring finger, then put his gold engagement band back on.

"My mouth is up here."

You grinned. "And? What about it?" Harry annoyingly pushed his forehead into your cheek, grumbling something incoherently. You pushed it away and asked, "What did you say?"

"I said I think I'll die if you don't kiss me," he repeated dramatically.

"What kind of kiss do you want?"

He once told you that he had favorites for different situations: a nip, tug, peck, tongue, or the type where you both smile so big that the kisses become messy and mixed with giggles. The latter was your personal favorite.

He hummed, his nose wrinkling as he pondered. "The one where you do all the work."

You laughed softly. It wasn't necessarily a joke he was making; he genuinely enjoyed it when your lips moved against his. Sometimes, he just wanted to be kissed silly. It was never awkward, nor did it feel like a chore. He was the most kissable person to roam the earth, so resisting was hard.

"Okay," you said, draping your arms over his shoulders. "Only for a little bit, though. I'm exhausted."

Harry nodded and lifted you, setting you on the counter again. Your legs circled around his hips. "I'll return the favor tomorrow," he said.

The towel on his waist was hanging on for dear life. His eyelids were lazily drooping from tiredness, and his skin was flushed from the steam. How could someone look so pretty in hotel bathroom lighting?

Your hand on his cheek gently guided him to your mouth. His lips were damp and plush from the shower, parting naturally with each of your doting kisses. With his nose nudged against yours, pleased hums came from his throat as you alternated between his top and bottom lips. Kissing him never gets old. It could be soft or rough, long or short, brought about by love or annoyance. It was a cure all the same.

After a slow and innocent onslaught of kisses, you pulled away before you ended up making out with him until morning. Bruised, aching lips could wait.

Harry whined in protest. "That was only, like, five seconds."

"Guess what?" You trailed your fingertips along his neck. "You have the rest of your life to kiss me."

He yawned while shaking his head. "That's not enough time. Give me forever."

"I'll try," you said fondly, sliding your engagement ring back on.

You would until children of your own were born, which required you to share that love. Until your children's children withdrew even more of it. Yet, despite that, Harry would always be the first person you had given your heart to completely. He had never taken advantage of it. He had never made you doubt his love for you. It was the kind of love that was immortal. It would never die out and would remain the greatest feeling you'd ever felt in this life and the next.

If evermore was attainable, you liked to believe it was made possible by loving him.

——