#but yeah... not a big fan of the season so far

[slimeyoldman]

1. Rick for sure, I like everyone in the family tho ! My favorite specific Rick's are Toxic(because he's awful and very very short sighted, idk i just think he's interesting in a sopping wet pathetic way.) and Flesh Curtains era(because let's be real how am I going to look at a 30 something grungey drunk and not be obsessed. thats like, some of my favorite people irl.)

2. I don't think it matters! Probably space beth, but eh 🤷‍♀️

3. No not canonically. I think it'd be really fun tho and I like all the theories. Ricks do mess around tho, hes a horndog and the citadel exists, a huge conglomeration of Him, i think it happens more often then it seems to.

4. Tilda. I will not elaborate.

5. Errh idk! A lot i guess. Theyve said before they want the like, classic adult cartoon run time(think futurama, family guy, simpsons), so as many seasons as humanly possible if the writers get their way. I think they step on their own toes a little since they seem to toggle between wanting to be an episodic sitcom, but ALSO a serial scifi thriller. I dont think theyve done badly in that regard so far, but theres absolutely aspects of both that are suffering because of the other's presence.(plot inconsistencies n that kinda thing.)

6. Smash, it would be a bad decision for both of us, but itd be fun !

7. Does the galactic federation count? Probably not since its an organization, but for sure that one. Super interesting stuff u can do with space bureaucracy(bc im boring) and state-sponsored violence. But as for an individual, I really really like Beths mytholog, that whole concept is really cool, and her design is hella badass lol. Also i guess Toxic Rick is a villain too !

8. oof I've tried to figure this out and i dont think i can narrow it down, but i really like Rattlestar Ricklactica, Vat of Acid, and a Rickle in Time.

9. uhh idk the one with the giant incest baby? I didn't enjoy Story Train either tbh. I don't think any of the episodes are like, unwatchably bad, but theres absolutely a few I skip when i rewatch the show.

10. I don't care about story lord like, at all. hes just. deeply uninteresting. Not a huge fan of Mr. Poopybutthole, but i think i just thought we were reminded of him too often.(i liked the intervention episode well enough tho)

11. Oh man this is hard to answer cuz hes just done So Much. Like, guys a shithead. The reckless disregard for innocent bystanders is pretty bad. I think it sucks when he orchestrates situations in which morty has to lethally defend himself, and then totally disregards his feelings(which is literally all the time lmfao). like, the kids 14. His casual manipulation of Beth is super fucked, cuz he knows how much he means to her and he exploits that. yeah idk, guys just a pos all around lol

12. Dated question, luckily no! I think the new voice actors are great :3

13. All the rnm blogs i follow are badass as hell. idk how to pick ill prob edit this l8r

14. Can I say rick without sounding like a total loser. mentally ill, substance abuse issues, ruled entirely by emotions, hedonistic while paradoxically engaging in self-harm/hatred. nihilistic(silly flavor). freaked out by commitment/attachment. the party friend(as opposed to someone you invite for brunch or to meet ur parents). also science is cool.

15. the entire "...couldn't let a dead snake be dead even after it bit his ankle, next time stay in the fucking car!" monologue. and the "a vat of fake acid are you Dying of Dementia?!" fight.

16. i havent finished my brackets yet ill get back to you.

17. same as above.

18. man idk probably. i dont actually watch it in a way that supports them(financially) anyway, but that would suck balls cuz its a fixation of mine.

19. done to death probably but mortys "come watch tv?" quote is my fave. it reads to me as incredibly reassuring. optimistic nihilism. like, "nothing means anything, nothings a big deal, lets chill and enjoy it while we can." ya know? like dying is the same as before you were born, and Everyones gonna do it, but we're here together right now, so lets eat pasta and get a little drunk.

20. i know hes doing his own thing but can i be snowball. hes cool and empathetic and capable of growth, also i wanna see how the dog utopia is going.

20 SHORT-ANSWER* RICK AND MORTY QUESTIONS FOR YOU:

*You can write long answers, if you'd like! Feel free to skip questions, too!

Who is your favourite Rick and Morty Character?

Which Beth is the clone: Domestic Beth or Space Beth?

Do you think that Rick-C137 and Rick Prime were previously romantically involved?

What do you think would be a good name for Birdperson and Tammy's daughter?

How many seasons do you think Rick and Morty will eventually have?

Rick C-137: smash or pass?

Who is your favourite Rick and Morty villain?

Your favourite Rick and Morty episode?

Your least favourite Rick and Morty episode?

Who is your least favourite Rick and Morty character?

What is, in your opinion, the worst thing that Rick C-137 has ever done?

Do you think that Rick and Morty will be affected substantially by having to change the voice actor for Rick and Morty and a bunch of other characters?

What's a good Rick and Morty blog?

Who is the Rick and Morty character that you relate to the most?

The funniest Rick and Morty bit/scene, in your opinion?

Best Rick and Morty season?

Worst Rick and Morty season?

Would you stop watching the show if Justin Roiland returned?

Your favourite Rick and Morty quote?

If you had to be one member of the smith family in the next season, who would you want to be?

[lottiesgrl]

𝗰𝗵𝗿𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗺𝗮𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘆𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗲𝘁𝘀 (𝗹𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗲, 𝗻𝗮𝘁, 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝘂𝗻𝗮, 𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗲)

cw: n/a

𝗹𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗲

❅ lottie is one of the biggest holiday fanatics there is, and she will not shy away from it. she's preparing weeks before it's socially acceptable, however she doesn't mention it to anybody because she doesn't want to have to hear "x holiday isn't for two months" for the twentieth time

❅ however, she prefers decorating for the holidays to actually celebrating, which is mostly due to the fact that her parents are rarely every home for the holidays. she's always seen the holidays as lonely, which confuses you and fills you with sorrow. after all, she deserves to experience the holidays full of the same love and light that she always shows you

❅ this is fantastic news for you, as you have no problem practically moving into her house. the second both your parents give you permission, you're packing the biggest suitcase, preparing to spent the entire month of december living with her 

❅ HUUUGE decorator! i don't think she'd like really flashy decorations, but she definitely likes to put decorations all over the place. one perk of her being incredibly rich is you two have a practically endless bucket list of holiday decor and no budget

❅ she doesn't really care about receiving gifts, as the fact that you'd give your time to spend the holidays with her is the biggest gift she could ask for, but she will be spending far too much money when giving gifts. expect every single item you have ever expected interest in to be under that tree, whether it's $5 or $700

𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗲

❅ nat has never been a huge holiday person. similarly to lottie, she's never had a great family experience during the holidays, so it's safe to say that she's pretty bitter around the holiday season

❅ you're trying everything you can to make the holidays exciting for her. you're pulling out every stop - buying her ridiculous matching pj sets, making her help you put ornaments on your family's tree (since her family never had one), dragging her out to drive-in light displays, etc. you even manage to get her to wear a santa hat, which was a huge win in your eyes

❅ and, ok, she's starting to get the appeal. just maybe. she still has her reservations, but she's starting to open up to the concept 

❅ by far her favorite holiday tradition with you is watching absolutely godawful hallmark christmas films and mocking them relentlessly. you both absolutely drag the shit out of each and every movie you watch. she claims they're all stupid, but you've sworn you've caught her crying at one particularly emotional family scene 

❅ you try to get the two of you under a mistletoe for the entire holiday season. she's conveniently dodging all of the mistletoe you've put up around your houses, to the point that you swear she knows what she's doing. eventually you get so fed up that you sneak one into your pocket, distract her, and then when she looks back you're holding a mistletoe over your heads while puckering your lips. she scoffs but rules are rules, aren't they? 

𝘀𝗵𝗮𝘂𝗻𝗮

❅ shauna, similarly to nat, is not really a holiday person. she doesn't dislike it, necessarily, she just feels otherwise indifferent about it (especially given her short-lived catholic phase) 

❅ she is a big fan of autumn and winter - they're her favorite seasons, and she absolutely loves doing seasonal things such as drinking everything peppermint-flavored and sitting by the fireplace. it fills her with joy when you want to do these things with her 

❅ snow is beautiful to her, but only when she's inside. the second that you drag her out in the snow, she will be complaining about how cold it is (which you counter with "yeah, duh! that's the point!") despite being an avid snow hater, she'll kick ass in a snowball fight. you learned your lesson from the one time you challenged her to one and after a few minutes of complaining, she absolutely pelted your ass

❅ much more of a fan of meaningful, handmade gifts than store-bought stocking stuffers. with every gift she gets (or makes) you, she writes a letter explaining what it is and why she wanted to buy it for you. she also writes a long letter telling you how grateful she is to have you in her life, and how you've made the holidays so much more fun for her

❅ she does NOT play about ugly sweaters. she used to think they were the dumbest thing and that the whole concept didn't make much sense, but after being gifted one by you, her opinion has shifted quite a bit. if there's an ugly sweater contest, she will be in attendance, and she will be mogging everyone

𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗲

❅ oh. my. god. have you seen jackie? she is possibly the most excited person on this planet earth about the holidays. she has so much holiday cheer that it's infectuous. i mean, how can you not feel festive when she's decked from head to toe in tinsel and bows? 

❅ part of me wants to say that she's horrendous at wrapping presents, but let's be real. you'd think she belongs at santa's factory the way she wraps those damn presents. she is so particular about her wrapping paper and she will throw a fit if her bows don't match the color of the wrapping. however, the process of wrapping leaves the entire space looking like a christmas hurricane made direct contact

❅ SNOW!! ANGELS!! she does hate the cold and whines about getting her shoes wet, but that won't stop her from running out the second there's enough to make a snow angel, dragging you with her as she goes. she definitely tries to make your snow angels kiss, or at the very least, draws hearts around them in the snow

❅ the biggest snuggler. the second the temperature drops beneath 40°. she will be wrapped up in your arms (and also about 5 separate fuzzy blankets) for the entire month of december and if you dare to even think about moving, she'll pout at you until you settle back into her. even if you have to get up, she'll stay wrapped in her blankets and attached to you the whole time. so what if she's holding onto you like a koala while you try and make yourself hot cocoa? 

❅ she 100% has to stop herself from getting you up at 6 am sharp on christmas morning. her parents never let her get up before 8 in the morning on christmas, so she feels giddy whenever you get up to presents at an obscenely early time, even if you're still half-asleep as you rip the wrapping off your gifts. you genuinely think you notice her look upset when you tear her wrapping off, but you could've just been imagining things

[inky-axolotl]

I certainly have thoughts about this season so far of Mando (which ya’ll are very much free to fire away at my ask box if there’s specific things you want to hear my thoughts on), but I also want to be careful in how I go about it particularly because the majority of my thoughts aren't... happy with the season. I want to make sure I can separate what are legitimate writing critiques vs. personal preferences and expectations not met.

[acediscowlng]

you ever think about how tentpole fandoms from 00s-2010s shows with huge followings that are going strong even now would just not exist if they were made in this day and age

[amirasainz]

Can we please have more of little alonso? Like when she was born and nando holding her for the first time and the grid are confused where he is?

Or before the grid official meeting her, nanda showing them pictures of her and telling them about something cute she did.

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💚

The newest dad on the grid

Fernando stepped into the paddock for the first time in weeks, his signature confident strut unchanged, but there was something different about him—an energy, a spark, a glow even. The break he had taken from the Formula 1 season to welcome his daughter had rejuvenated him in ways no victory lap could. The paddock, buzzing with its usual pre-race fervor, quieted as drivers spotted Fernando.

“Nando!” came a shout from Charles, who jogged over with a huge grin. “Welcome back! How’s... the baby?!” His face lit up like a kid waiting to hear about Christmas morning.

Max, never far from Charles, joined with a smirk. “Yeah, Fernando, how’s fatherhood treating you? You look—different. Happier, even.”

Fernando chuckled, patting both of them on the shoulders. “Ah, much better than any race, I can tell you that. Yn, my little girl, she’s perfect.”

George approached next, Lewis in tow. “Alright, alright, hold on,” George said, adjusting his perfectly tailored shirt. “Are we finally going to see pictures of this famous Yn? Because the way everyone’s been talking, she’s already an icon.”

“Wait, don’t start without me!” Lando called, sprinting over, followed by Oscar, Carlos, and Pierre. The group was forming faster than a DRS train on a straight.

Fernando, laughing at the commotion, pulled out his phone. “Okay, okay, calm down. Let me show you.” He unlocked the screen and turned it toward them. The photo he showed was of a tiny baby swaddled in a soft pink blanket, her big brown eyes staring up at the camera with curiosity and innocence.

“OH MY GOD,” Lando exclaimed, practically squealing. “She’s adorable!”

“Look at those cheeks!” Charles leaned in closer, his face nearly pressed against the screen. “She’s like a tiny angel! I bet you can't stop kissing them.”

“She has your eyes,” Lewis said softly, his warm smile matching the tone of his voice.

Fernando puffed out his chest, clearly basking in the praise. “She does, doesn’t she? And she already loves motorsport. When I hold her and talk about racing, she doesn’t cry. She just listens.”

Max snorted. “Fernando, she’s like two weeks old. She probably just likes your voice.”

“She’s already your biggest fan, mate,” Carlos interjected with a proud grin. “Don’t listen to Max.”

Fernando swiped to another photo. This time, Yn was asleep, her tiny fist wrapped around Fernando’s finger. The group collectively let out a chorus of “Awwww!”

“She’s so small!” Pierre said, his voice unusually soft. “Like, her hand is smaller than your finger! How do you even handle her without being terrified?”

“It’s instinct,” Fernando replied with a shrug, though the softness in his voice betrayed his own awe. “The moment I held her for the first time, everything clicked. She’s everything now.”

As Fernando flipped through more pictures—Yn in a tiny onesie with a Formula 1 logo, Yn sleeping on his chest during a nap—the drivers grew more animated.

“Does she have a favorite team yet?” Lando teased, nudging Carlos.

“Obviously Aston Martin,” Carlos quipped. “She knows where her dad is.”

Fernando raised a finger. “Actually, she smiles the most when I hum the Spanish anthem.”

“Of course she does,” George said with a laugh. “Your baby, your rules.”

“Does she cry a lot?” Oscar asked shyly.

“Only when she’s hungry or tired,” Fernando said proudly. “She’s very calm otherwise. I think she’ll grow up to be very composed, like her father.”

“Yeah, sure,” Max muttered under his breath, earning a playful shove from Lewis.

The group continued to coo over the photos, and even the normally reserved drivers couldn’t resist commenting. Esteban smiled as he observed from a distance but eventually joined in, congratulating Fernando.

“You should bring her to a race one day,” Charles suggested.

“Yeah,” Lando added enthusiastically. “Imagine a tiny Alonso in the paddock, stealing everyone’s hearts.”

Fernando grinned. “Maybe one day. But for now, she’s better off at home with her mamá. She needs to be calm, not surrounded by all this chaos.”

As the drivers dispersed, Fernando was left with a lingering feeling of warmth. The camaraderie of the paddock had always been special, but now, as a father, he felt it even more deeply. Yn wasn’t just his world; she had somehow become part of theirs too.

Later, during the drivers' press conference, a journalist asked Fernando how it felt to be back after his short break.

“It feels amazing,” he said, his smile unshakeable. “But not as amazing as being a father. Yn is my inspiration now. Every lap, every corner—I’m racing for her.”

The other drivers in the room exchanged knowing smiles. Fernando Alonso, the fierce competitor, had softened in the best possible way. Fatherhood suited him, and they were all here for it.

[shrimpybbq]

the thought of drew and obx actress!reader sweeping award season with their crime drama😍 maybe it’s about 2/3 seasons too to really get their characters yearning…

Hehe they’re on the red carpet at the Emmy’s with the rest of the cast but they’ve split off together to do interviews. The reporters are ecstatic at getting the main actor and actress of the hottest tv show this year in front of them. Ever the gentleman, Drew has his hand resting on her lower back as he guides them through the interview line ups.

“So Drew! Y/N! How are we feeling? Your show is predicted to sweep the awards tonight - what’s that feeling like?”

Drew looks over and obx actress!reader before smirking cheekily. “I mean… I’m honoured,” he drawled, laughing as he received a playful swat to his chest at the now-famous remark. “No, but really, it’s really rewarding to know that people are liking and appreciating our work. Just a big thank you to everyone who has watched our little show. For letting us put two seasons out as well - it’s amazing to see people have faith in us.”

When the reporter turned to obx!actress reader, she spoke too, “Pretty much just echoing Drew, but it’s been quite intense! You know, you always have hope that your project is going to do well, but seeing the way this has blown up and the love from the fans for us and these characters has been incredible!”

Drew nodded alongside her. The cameras caught the way the pair had subtly begun to lean into each other, though it was clear neither was aware of it.

“And guys, coming from Outer Banks to this kind of show, it must be crazy! You two played an on-off couple before, but now for your characters, the stakes are a lot higher. What would you say has been the most important thing to help you portray this different kind of relationship, especially balancing the really challenging scenes you’re filming?”

Drew reached for the mic first, looking towards obx actress!reader momentarily for approval before speaking. “Yeah, I think knowing each other for so long beforehand was probably the most important thing. We would always debrief after scenes and check in to make sure we were both good, just keeping ourselves in good condition.”

He passed the mic to the shorter woman by his side, turning his attention to her.

“When you’re filming scenes that put you on edge and really push you out of your comfort zone, having people you feel safe with is just so invaluable. Pedro was great with that too, and all the cast on the show really recognised the nature of what we were portraying. Drew and I had a routine that each evening after filming, we would go and get ice cream from this place near the set and just chill. It was really great to just sit silently and eat for a while, you know?”

The interviewer nodded, incredibly pleased with the answers she’d managed to get from the pair so far.

“Ok! So my last question before you go is this - who is the best dancer on the set? Drew, I know you love to show off your dance moves, but there are quite a few great dancers in the cast!”

The pair both thought silently for a moment, before obx actress!reader leaned into the mic, “it has to be Pedro! He loves a quick dance party in between takes.”

“I’m also gonna go with Pedro,” Drew chimed in.

The interviewer grinned widely, thanking them quickly as their publicist began to shuffle the actors over to the next interview stand. The camera caught the pair waving goodbye as they moved over, not failing to capture the way Drew’s hand still rested on obx actress!reader’s back. This time though, her hand was resting on his bicep as she turned to talk to him, their bodies pressed closely together. The interviewer thanked her lucky stars that the pair were so touchy because her editor was going to love this.

[leclsrc]

you know it ✴︎ cl16

genre: porn WITH plot (for once?! everyone cheered), humor, bit of fluff... oh inaccurate depictions of the 2022 season sorry

word count: 7k

Charles is a bit disappointed the pretty girl he harbors a crush on doesn’t have him listed as a Formula 1 crush. He is a lot disappointed that you two can’t fuck.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... degradation, praise, charles is a bit switchy here lol, penetrative sex, a bit of ass play sorry...., oral (m receiving), semi public sex, yeah

title from this. i love u guys im so sleepy

Joris insists there’s some big present waiting for Charles in his car, to celebrate the middle of the season that has, and will no doubt continue to stretch into a period of conflict and strategy woes. He yanks off the beanie sitting on his head, listens to small talk drifting between Joris and Carlos as they all walk toward their cars to alleviate the bubble of nerves in the low of his stomach. 

Sure enough, there’s an unassuming box lying on the driver’s seat. Joris slides into the passenger seat after Carlos drives away with his girlfriend, his grin shit-eating and mischievous. The door is half open when Charles takes the box to inspect it. White, with the Ferrari logo printed neatly on the centre (very classy touch), the sides are signed by different members of his team. He scratches through the seal and pulls the flap open.

He’s been given a quasi-official Ferrari box of condoms.

Thirty-six condoms, at that, small squares neatly lined up next to each other. Talk about a welcoming present. Not a camera, not racing memorabilia, not a new pair of shoes. Just condoms. Thirty-six of them.

“A mid-season pick-me-up,” presses his friend, giddily. The shorter male lounges comfortably on the seat, a blissful look of pride on his face. Laughing with exasperation, Charles wedges the box shut and tosses it carelessly into the backseat, preparing to drive. This isn’t his first rodeo with weird gifts—he’s half-sure he got adoption papers from an especially excited fan once before.

“You are such an asshole.”

“It’s also a congratulations on winning literally every race so far present,” Joris adds. It’s hyperbole but has a ring of truth to it. As the season closes, Charles’ chances of holding up the trophy this year increase. 

Despite himself, Charles has a better outlook on his chances for the remainder of the season, driving-wise. He’s given it his all so far, and the rest looks promising enough. He only hopes he’s right. Netflix also increased the amount of people getting into the sport, so he’s dealing with tons more fans and nosey DMs, but it’s not too much of an impediment to a hopefully stellar season.

Charles makes a right. “Do you plan to use them?” Joris asks then, a teasing tone taking on his voice as he scrolls through his phone.

“No, not really,” Charles says, lying straight through his teeth.

“You’re a fucking liar, you are.” He whips his head toward Charles, observing his stoic side profile. “You’re single, haven’t gotten laid in months—”

“—weeks.” Corrects Charles with a cough, the defense coming at an embarrassing speed.

“��Case in point. And sports gets everyone horny. And if you didn’t know, Mattia actually OK-ed the condoms, so you’ve basically been greenlit by your boss to fuck half the world. Thank me later. I’m proud of myself.”

“Sports gets everyone competitive. Because it’s sports. Which, you’re conveniently forgetting, is my life profession.”

“Loosen up,” Joris whistles lowly. “You think Lewis got seven titles by being a closed-off celibate? It’s practically tradition to fuck around if you’re single in sports. And, for others, being in a relationship is barely an obstacle, anyway.”

Charles hates to admit that Joris is right—because he is. Racing isn’t racing without the extravagant parties that follow, and the girls and guys brought back to hotels for reasons known to everyone. People from everywhere come to the paddock and the clubs—models, influencers, actors. The pent-up energy has to go somewhere, he supposes.

But even if the little shit is right, Charles still maintains a level of dignity. Ergo, he’s steadfast in his belief that he will not be sleeping around or putting this godforsaken box of condoms to any semblance of use while the rest of the season progresses. He just hopes he won’t eat his words.

—

Monza kicks off with a 1-2 and secures Charles with a comfortable lead ahead Max.

He is high on adrenaline all night, toasting and chugging to the win, snapping pictures with Carlos, proud out of his mind. It’s everything he’s wanted and more, a quench to the thirst he’d developed over the season, a slap in the face to his doubters, a kiss on his. He texts his family, friends who aren’t present, some other people who he feels are deserving of a personal announcement, and pockets his phone.

“Now would be a great time to put that gift to use,” Carlos says at some point, when everyone in the garage is kicking back alcohol and slowly preparing to move the celebrations someplace else.

Charles cringes visibly, having almost forgotten about the dreaded gift, and totally forgotten Carlos’ knowledge of it. Even with the recent win, he’s already thinking of the next, the promise of a two-peat, another podium, hell, another 1-2. The condoms were honest to God the last thing on his mind.

They break apart an hour later, when Charles is heading to the hotel and Carlos is headed somewhere else. He’s almost to the exit when someone calls his attention in a curt English voice.He turns and finds Lewis jogging toward him, outside of his race suit and back in the fashionable apparel Charles merely wishes he could pull off.

“Lewis,” he waves, pacing toward him to save the extra few seconds of waiting. 

“Amazing, amazing race, man,” the elder compliments. “You’ve got the best chance at the title here.”

Warmth melts into Charles’ body and he offers praise back, which—praising Lewis is just about the easiest thing in the world. Nerves bleed out of him as the conversation continues, the atmosphere of a finished race a welcome accompaniment to their strategic talk. 

“Headed to a party, yeah?” Lewis asks when they’ve both exhausted the topic. Charles gives a half-hearted shrug, already energized enough from such a momentous win, and he nods in response. “Nah, I get it. Sometimes you just gotta sleep. But hey, if you’re ever free, we should go get dinner sometime.”

—

The “dinner sometime” happens in Singapore. Having gotten P1 beside Lewis and therefore once again high off the adrenaline, Charles claps Andrea on the back and retrieves his phone to view two texts. One reads Put the condoms to use yet, champ? from Joris, and the other Can I take you up on the dinner? from Lewis. One goes answered and the other goes muted on his iMessage.

A little something he failed to remember was Lewis’ plant-based diet, a fact that hurtles back toward him when he can’t find steak on the menu of this classy, hole-in-the-wall type of restaurant. Of course Lewis would know these types of places, he thinks. He’s a millennial semi-hipster with a separate Instagram account for his dog.

Charles ends up ordering pasta, and Lewis beside him orders a cacophony of very vegan, hippy sounding meals, the quantity of which could feed the two of them. “I hope you don’t mind,” Lewis says when the waiter departs, “but a friend is actually joining us tonight.”

“Sure,” Charles says honestly. As long as it’s not some deranged hyperfan, he does well in social situations. Right then, Lewis calls someone over. Charles looks up, squints through the dim mood lighting to try and make out the nearing figure. And then you’re sitting down across them, smiling softly, exchanging hellos with Lewis.

A little something Lewis fails to remember is his “friends” can just as well be called “celebrities,” because he is, after all, a sporting legend. So if Lewis says “friend,” Charles will assume it’s a “friend,” and not a world-famous model whose face is plastered everywhere on and offline.

“Charles Leclerc,” he says blankly.

You introduce yourself, sliding easily into a bout of questions, apologies for missing the race, you’re impossibly jetlagged, it’s crazy. Lewis chips in with something about how he’s already ordered food for the both of you, and this and that, and Charles is hopeless, staring at your face the entire time. He hopes he looks more sexy than aloof or, worse, starstruck, because it’s turning out to be the kind of situation where he looks like the deranged hyperfan, and not the other way around for once.

To be clear, Charles isn’t a fan of you. He just knows of you, because honestly, who doesn’t at this point? You’re talking on and on about how your latest shoot with Jacquemus was a pain because you shot in a tank top in sub-zero weather, but you express it like it’s the most profound topic on Earth.

Lewis turns to him and, in an (eventually successful) effort to include more of Charles in the conversation, goes, “She’s a big Formula One fan, Charles.”

Okay. Common ground. Charles lifts both brows smugly, his eyes flickering back over to you. “Really?”

You meet his eyes and smile, looking downward and blinking owlishly. You’re so pretty, long lashes fluttering as you blink and try to find an answer. Christ, you’re so painfully his type.

Lewis chimes in again—“Really. And not just because she and I are friends. I mean she was into racing before we got acquainted. Honestly. Quiz her and everything”—then excuses himself to “take a call.” (His phone wasn’t even ringing—total bullshit—but Charles is ultimately grateful for it.)

You make a face of shut up toward the departing Lewis, and Charles exhales a quiet laugh at your defiance. You clear your throat and come up with an answer.

“I’m not a big fan,” you say. “I’m more of a casual, ‘every once in a while’ type of fan.”

“That’s what every big fan of sports says,” Charles says smoothly. 

“Is it?” You ask, cocking your head to the side, making a tch noise. You chuckle before going, “Well, if you insist, I’ll be honest. I didn’t want it to come to this, but okay. I am a fan… of Red Bull.”

Charles fakes extreme offense, his jaw dropping as if totally scandalized. You laugh, throwing two hands up in faux surrender. “Not Red Bull,” he says, his tone making him sound even more devastated. “You’re telling me you—don’t tell me you think Max Verstappen is attractive.”

“I mean, a bit!”

Charles makes sarcastic sounds of disapproval, and you laugh. Charles leans forward, and you do, too, both of you smiling. “So you’re into the angry drivers?”

“I’m not into a specific kind of driver,” you say casually, your tongue peeking out to lick over your bottom lip. Your voice is as soft as it is firm, slow and demure, matching the way your eyes glint. You’re impossibly pretty. He almost can’t handle it.

“So who’s making the cut?” He prompts, interested.

“Well, for starters, drivers who are my age,” you say slowly. “I turned twenty-four this year, so anyone within that bracket.”

“Oh?” Charles pretends to delve into deep thought, teasing. “Maybe Stroll? He’s very funny, speaks good English. You can never really say no to a Canadian.”

Your face warms, and you hope your flustered state isn’t too obvious as you shake your head. “He seems fun, but I prefer somebody a bit… a bit older.”

“Older…” he hums. “Pierre, perhaps? Tad bit older, real charming, great driver. I can introduce you. We’re good friends, you know.”

You click your tongue, smiling shyly. You bite your lip and it takes everything in Charles to not turn on his horny gears when he sees you, big eyes and lip bite, look so pretty. “You tease me,” you say meekly. Charles covers a cough with a chuckle and adjusts his position on the seat.

Later, after Lewis comes back in (“Long call, eh? It was about Roscoe.” Bullshit again) and you all get to order drinks, and you’ve departed in your private car, pressing an air kiss to Lewis and waving goodbye to Charles, he turns to the Mercedes driver and hums.

“Next time you have one of these”—he points to the restaurant, gestures to the front door—“dinners, let me know, okay?”

“Ah.” Lewis winks, smirking. “I’ll be sure to.”

—

Understandably, your schedules never seem to mesh well together. Lewis ends up giving Charles your number as compensation.

He stares at the contact longer than he’d like to admit, when he’s marinating in the sweltering heat of Austin. He’s finished much of his work for this half of the day so he’s mostly watching the engineers work on the last bits of modification for Sunday; he cherishest the free time and drafts, reads, and rereads texts, scours Google and Instagram for pictures of, and anything related to, you.

There’s a few new articles about buying a new car (a Benz, much to Charles’ chagrin) and new photoshoots intermittently scattered across Europe, with all sorts of brands. He sees a picture you’ve posted of yourself smiling at the camera and thinks of how pretty it would look as his lockscreen. 

Am I seeing you soon? He texts finally. He hopes it’s enough to let you know who he is.

Hopefully is the reply. He smiles the whole day.

—

You’ve been texting and calling almost everyday, conversations stretching continents. He only sees you next in Mexico, Friday night, at a club Lewis has rented out for a crazy price that will no doubt be replenished in days anyway. He’s dropped to second here, but the thrill riding in him makes up for his disappointment. The place is so crowded—everyone and their mums seem to have been invited here—room blinking purple and blue, each step vibrating with the heavy bass of EDM. He catches you right as you exit the washroom area, and you look pleasantly surprised to see him.

He saw you earlier, when you were doing shots of tequila and chatting with with Bella and Lewis, but just as quickly as he spotted you, you’d dipped back into the sea of people. Now is better, he thinks. You two are alone.

“Charles, hi,” you say casually. You’re wearing a tight top and a short skirt that, despite Charles’ best efforts, always cast his gaze downward. He wonders what’s underneath, hungers to get his hands there. But he’s nothing if he’s not patient, willing to play the long game.

He takes a step forward, his gaze steady on you. Charles isn’t the tallest driver, but he’s got a big presence. You swallow, taking a step back to accommodate him. He smirks. “You look pretty.” 

“You flatter me,” you say thickly, smiling, inviting him closer. The air is hot around the both of you—when your eyes flit around, they see nobody. You’re alone together. His eyes pierce into yours so deep you feel like breaking eye contact, exhaling as you take another step back—evidently, you’re distracted, because you stumble.

His arm circles around your waist, and once you steady, the hand moves down to your hip. It stays, a reminder of what you might be getting soon. You smile curtly, wondering what this might look like to a bystander, a stranger. Somebody might want to piss and walk in to see the strongest world champion contender’s hand on Chanel’s poster girl’s waist.

“Is this okay?” He asks softly against your ear.

“More than.” You say, breath shaky. “It’s more than okay.”

He chuckles. “Good. I’d hate if we couldn’t fuck before Abu Dhabi.”

Your finger traces down and wraps around the belt loop of his jeans. “Who said anything about fucking?”

Charles exhales a laugh, his lips curling upward into an amused smile. “Ah? I can’t fuck you, then?”

“I’ll let you fuck me when you’re holding up the world champion trophy,” you say sweetly, tugging him closer. “That’s okay, right?” You stare up at him, blinking, pouty. He wonders, is this how you might look with your lips wrapped around his—

“That’s about a month away.” His composure barely wavers, his hand traveling lower, blunt nails digging into your ass. Your breath hitches. 

“I’m aware,” you say lowly. So be it, Charles thinks—he’s got thirty-six condoms for a reason.

“Define fuck,” he says, voice rough.

“Penetration.” You’re quick with it, cocking your head to the side. You lean back confidently, testin him, eyes batting flirtatiously. 

It’s time he get a little creative.

—

Daytime weather is hot and the paddock is swarming with people, but Charles has his sights set on somebody sitting in the Mercedes hospitality. He manages to get out of morning meetings earlier, wedging himself out of the room and passing by a mirror to fix his hair with admirable concentration. He’s in the middle of combing through it when a force tugs at the hem of his polo, causing him to stumble backwards.

“Uh—Carlos? What the hell?” He asks, brow raised defensively. Facing him are Carlos, Joris, and Pierre, arms crossed over their torsos and amused expressions on their faces.

“What are you doing?” Asks Pierre, cocking his head to the side.

“Fixing my hair.” 

“Pussy appointment?” Joris interjects; the vulgarity of his statement earns him a poke on the side from Carlos, who clicks his tongue.

“Wh—I don’t—”

“You are shit at lying, mate,” says Pierre, his lips curled into a devious smile. “Who is it?”

“It’s nobody,” he lies.

“Charles,” says Lewis suddenly from behind them, waving his arms to get the former’s attention, “are you going to go over and say hi?”

Hook, line, and sinker. He’s been caught. “Well, well, well,” Carlos starts, mischievous.

“Guys—” Charles says, attempting to make an excuse.

“Looks like your vow of celibacy isn’t so far off after all,” Pierre adds. “That one over at Mercedes is going to break it, eh?”

“Yeah.” Joris says, smirking.  “Lucky George, huh.”

The three face him, incredulous. “I was kidding,” he fibs, once he realizes his epiphany is wrong. “Kidding.”

Charles walks off, and ends up seeing you right where he expected you, sitting beside Lewis in a tiny dress with your hair pinned up into a bun. Almost naturally, your words fall into the flirtatious back-and-forth you’d started at the dinner, hyperaware of the cameras snapping your pictures. At some point, the Brit excuses himself to “take a call” (again, bullshit) and leaves the two of you alone.

“See anything nice on the paddock?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” you say with a teasing smile, head cocking to the side to gauge his reaction. He chuckles.

“Did you get a picture with Max?”

“Only a ton.” You pause. “And Daniel, too.”

“Ah, you’re just crushing on the whole paddock, now are you?” He pokes his tongue into his cheek, leans forward.” Uh, Checo?”

“Pass,” you say with a nose scrunch. You’re so fucking pretty.

“Lewis.”

“God, pass. He’s not ugly, but he’s my brother at this point.”

“Pierre.”

“Horribly French, but… smash.”

“Are you not into the French?” He smiles. “Good to know. Hmm—Carlos.”

“I’d be stupid to say anything other than smash.” You narrow your eyes, licking over your lips. “I’m into the Ferrari guys, is the thing.” His gaze travels to your crossed legs, long and disappearing into the hem of your dress.

He smirks. “Are you?”

“I really am,” you hum.

“Are you staying long? All weekend?”

“Yeah, I’m free from work for now,” you say casually. “Any recommendations on what fun things I can do here?”

“I can think of…” he says, smirking a little. “A few.”

—

Stupid places to have sex, number one: a motorhome.

Still, Charles is crowding you up against the wall of the room, swallowing the whimper that leaves your mouth with his own. And still, this isn’t sex. At least not the kind he wants the most. He mentally praises Carlos for being able to decipher the typo-laden text he’d sent out on the way here, one hand around your waist, the other barely capable of typing with how fast his brain ran. Clesr the fuckng room npw now npw it read. Thank God.

Your mouth tastes like champagne, and everywhere else smells divine. Your hands roam impatiently over his shoulders and you make muted noises of frustration at your inability to pull his shirt off. You settle for letting your hands crawl underneath it, stroking over his abs.

“D’you remember what I told you,” you pant, his lips insistent on your neck, “at the club?”

“Yeah,” he says, grunting at the memory.

“Okay.” You breathe. “Let me suck you off.”

“Fuck,” he groans. “Jesus. Okay. Fuck.”

You giggle, and he watches intently as you drop onto your knees, looking up at him through thick lashes. You’re insistent, pulling the zip of his jeans down and tugging his cock out. It’s pretty, thick like the rest of him, already hard. 

He’s at his limit, having you here like this, on you knees and stretching your lips around the tip of his dick. Your eyes barely leave his, fluttering as they tear up when you take him in your throat.

He throws his head back, squeezes his eyes shut, lets a hand unpin your bun and thread itself into the untangled hair. If he looks at you, he’ll see your head bobbing up and down on his cock, and he genuinely needs to hold off the orgasm first.

He rocks forward into your mouth and feels your throat close up around him. That’s enough to weaken his resolve, send grunts out of his throat that he can’t keep quiet.

“Oh, shit,” he says, feeling every part of your mouth and throat around him, warm and tense. He can’t help but thrust harder, steady but not too rough, growing more aroused with every sound of you choking on him.

His gaze flickers toward you. You’re teary-eyed, lips dotted with spit, choking yourself on his cock. Just for him, here in public. You pull off, blinking tears away from your face and looking up at him smilingly.

He laughs, guiding his cock back into your mouth, watching the way your brows knit together, pleading, almost. You're at his mercy, he thinks, thrusting harder, listening to your coughs. He loves seeing you like this, innocent face messy and slick with spit and precum, eyes big and needy.

“You like that?” He grunts. “Look at me.”

You nod the best you can. Yes, you want to say. Give me more, I love it.

“Yeaaah, fuck. I know you do,” he says through his teeth, staving off his orgasm the best he can before he releases all over you. The image alone of streaking you with his cum, claiming you all over-eyelashes, tits, cheeks splashed with cum-is enough to send him closer to the edge. “Gonna cum,” he grunts.

You moan around him, the vibrations causing his eyelids to flutter. You shake your head, pulling off and wrapping your hand around his dick, stroking slower. “Not yet,” you say sweetly, watching him throw his head back in pleasure and frustration. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, exhales shakily.

“Shit.” He whines. “Come on, baby. Make me cum.” He cups your jaw, stares down at you.

You stroke him faster, lip between your teeth. “Okay,” you say with a smile. “Cum for me, Charles.”

He stops staving himself off, falls into the pleasure and relief of your hand around his cock until he’s tense all over, knitting his hand into your hair and pushing you backwards so he can press his tip on the flat expanse of your tongue and let his cum shoot there. It drips from your tongue and lips onto your chin and you giggle, swallowing it, scooping up the rest to push into your mouth.

You stand, licking your lips slowly. “I owe you,” he pants, zipping himself up. Already he’s thinking about what he can do to you in return. Tease you, like you did him, bend you over his lap or sit you on it and make you whine and writhe and wait and cum. 

“I’ll hold you to that, champion,” you murmur, kissing his cheek and slipping back outside.

—

Ferrari’s advice is shit and despite his good mood and quick-witted driving, Charles finishes in fifth—not too shabby, but disastrous for his overall standings.

He suffers through a horrible debrief where attempts to defend his honor go unheard, his mood wilting and wilting until he’s at the media pen and ushered in front of some network he hasn’t heard of. They’ve probably paid to get a good seat here.

He’s in a shit mood, he hasn’t seen Joris or Pierre or you in hours, and has only faced red-faced frustrated superiors and now, wide-eyed journalists with loose mouths. The media’s done the mandatory speculation between the two of you, so he already expects questions of that variety, but it’s still hot and angry when he does.

Are you banging the Marc Jacobs model? The Irish reporter asks with a wink, so very unprofessional and not at all belonging to reputable media. The hot leggy one who has fuck me eyes?

Charles clenches his jaw, rolls his eyes, says fuck off mate and shoves him backward a little, then walks away and readjusts his cap. The clip makes Twitter and he feels even worse with the amount of troll accounts telling him to Jeez, take a joke.

After the ordeal, in your hotel room, you sigh softly and run your hands through his still shampoo-smelling hair. “You didn’t need to do that,” you say, a bit strictly. He knows you’re grateful, though, and a bit proud.

“I wanted to,” he insists softly. He forgets to leave before morning; when he does, he forgets his official Ferrari shirt hanging on the seat, leaving in a spare one instead. It’s got his number across the back. You don’t tell him.

—

In between Mexico and Sao Paulo, he manages to catch a flight to New York to peek into one of your photoshoots. It’s for Chanel and he’s half-sure he’s taken more pictures of you than the official photographer did. At this point your vague relationship status has caught onto headlines everywhere, and he doesn’t miss the curious murmurs from paparazzo that follow him as he enters your apartment later to greet you.

You’re in a pair of shorts and a tank top when you open the door, greeting him with a tight hug and leading him inside with a loose grip.

“Wine?”

“Please.” He eyes the wide area, the big floor-to-ceiling windows and the art on the walls. “Hungry?”

“Mmm.” You hum, sliding a glass toward him. “Starving.”

“Pizza?”

“Something else.” You smile. He tears his eyes away from your tits, poking out of the thin cotton, and coughs.

The both of you end up on the couch, your legs draped over his as you talk about racing.

He’s ranting about how he’s neck to neck with Max now, and the final verdict will likely be decided at Abu Dhabi, a fact that sends nerves all through him. You’re listening, you really are, but it’s difficult to keep listening because his hand, big and rough, is stroking your bare calf as he talks absentmindedly. 

You offer the occasional mmm-hmm and uh-huh and even the oh really to sell it, but he doesn’t seem to be conscious of how many sparks are coursing through you because of his hand on your leg. He just talks and talks, accent curving into curse words elicited by the competition.

And his voice, rough and deeper when he slides into Italian phrases, gets in your head, reminds you of the way he’d moaned when you had his dick in your mouth. You like that? he’d said, panting, heavy, hot. His hand remained in your hair, controlling you the same way you did him. Fuck.

When you blink, he’s stopped talking, and has likely noticed your wandering imagination if his teasing smile is anything to go by. You cough, clear your throat, adjust your thighs. You’re thinking—you can’t stop thinking—about what happened in Mexico, not just in the motorhome but in the club where he’d let his hand sprawl over your ass and stay there, possessive.

The tension rises. I owe you. He really does. You reach over and grab your phone from the coffee table, snap a few pictures of him. “—Hey!” He protests, scrabbling to grab it from you while balancing his half-full glass. “I look god awful.”

You stand up, review the picture. He looks so impossibly handsome. “You’re right, you do,” you say, pouting. 

He reaches over again, chuckling, and you avoid him. “Foul play!”

“Tch. At least show it to me,” he says defeatedly, so you do: presenting your screen to him.

Quickly, he makes a grab for it, but you just escape his grip, ending up right in front of him and leaning over. You’re losing your balance, digging your toes into your carpet to maintain stance. He spares a glance at your shorts, riding low on your hips, showing a bit of thin lace.

Charles tugs you forward by the hem of your top and then takes your wrist into his grip—the force of his grab makes your tits shake underneath your flimsy tank top. It’s dragged down so far your tits are spilling out. His eyes flicker down to them, dark, and a pretty smile spreads across his face.

“Come on, give it,” he challenges, eyes narrowing a little. You bite your lip, inwardly liking this a little too much—being at his mercy, trapped in his strong grip. You’re flustered and it shows.

He wrestles you onto his lap with ease, his arms steady around you. You stare downwards, dark eyes meeting his, hand on his broad shoulder for leverage. He’s so pretty, you think, so hot and handsome and you need him right now. Through his jeans you can feel how thick he is, his dick growing, getting hard and huge under you. It feels big even through a few layers—you can’t help but imagine how it might feel inside you.

Your phone clatters to the carpet behind the couch. “I win,” you say breathlessly.

He grabs your hips and jerks his upward, letting his stiff dick press up even more against your shorts.

“I think I’m the winner here,” he says gruffly, hands feeling you up all over. He thumbs at your chest, rubbing over your tits. You shiver—it feels good having him on you like this, your mind turning to mush.

“Shut up,” you laugh, shakily. A hand wanders in between your thighs, another coming to squeeze your barely-covered ass. You can’t focus on much, just his hands roaming everywhere and his hard dick pressing against your core. He shoves your hips downward again, his cock hard and perfectly against your pussy.

“You feel that?” He asks; it leaves him in one low breath.  

“Yeah,” you say, whimpering. “I want it.”

He grinds up against you again, his thumb teasing the hem of your shorts. Closer to where you want it. “Don’t think you could even take it, baby.”

“I hate you,” you say. “You know I can.”

He laughs. “We’ll see, yeah?” You find a rhythm of grinding down against his cock, nestled right against your ass. He’s everywhere and you can’t handle it anymore, finding yourself craving him more and more.

You moan against his neck—and then come to your senses. “No.”

He smirks when you pull away. “Tempted, were you?”

“Not…” You pause. You’re sweaty, flushed all over, and your panties are sticking to you from how wet you’ve grown. “Not very.”

—

Abu Dhabi is a son of a bitch.

It comes with meetings, meetings, debriefs, calls, meetings. Everything is riding on the night’s race, the flurry of social media a welcome source of anxiety for him as he watches the hours whiz by. You’d missed seeing him, understood he was busy; you send a selfie to compensate and it gets him calm enough to last the pre-race buzz.

Time speeds by with lunch, coaching, drills, talks with Carlos and Mattia and even Max, who displays support as strongly as competitiveness. Before he even realizes it, he blinks and he’s in his suit, adjusting his balaclava, inhaling, exhaling. Everything is just the way he likes—needs—it to be.

He drives himself to P2 behind Max, eyes shut.

All else seeps into him, natural method, natural routine. He flexes his thumbs. Through the team radio his engineer goes good luck, and Charles’ practice bleeds into his subconscious. The air is heavy, with tension and excitement, the division of blue and red. Everyone’s eager to see who claims the title. 

The lights go off and everything is left to skill, blurring into noise and turns and expletives yelled into the team radio. He can’t even feel himself think, turning with dexterity and overtaking with the kind of vengeance he hasn’t let out in a while. 

For all his trying, Max keeps up just the same, keeping a neck and neck level for the relative entirety of the race. They’re milking out the last few laps together, and Charles feels every fibre of his being work toward this, just this, nothing but this right now. Nothing but the finish line.

You got this, Charles, says the engineer, voice heightening. Maiden world championship.

He nods to himself, trusts his instincts and when he catches sight of the finish line, he thinks: he’s the best driver on the grid.

So he revs faster, and the rest descends into—

Absolute fucking chaos.

—

He’s smiling when he approaches the reporter, who’s already holding the mic with wonder. He asks for a message in Italian, then reminds him—and the crowd—that, in case he forgot, he’s world champion. Charles thinks he genuinely can’t ever.

“What are you doing to celebrate?” He asks then, smiling.

Sweaty, with damp hair and shiny skin, he smirks and leans closer. “Someone, I hope.”

—

“Hey there, champ.”

You’re already leaning against his hotel room door when he gets there, after the chore of wrestling himself free from the rest of the team pressuring him to get drinks. Carlos helps out, babbles something or other about Charles being “busy with something else”—which isn't wrong, not at all. He offers a smooth wink, bending down to kiss you.

Your mouths meet, softly first then increasingly messy as he pins you against the door. You push away, breathing heavy. “I don’t know what you’re into, but I don't want the top floor of this hotel seeing us fucking.”

“I wasn’t into that, but now that you brought it up…” You swat his arm and he laughs, unlocking the door and pulling you inside. You’re clinging onto him—his arms, his chest, anything, kissing up his neck and jaw. He groans at how needy you are. All for him, he thinks. Probably soaked through your panties and it’s all because of him.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he says gently, voice low as he leads you to the bed. He catches sight of your shirt and a brow raises. “Did you buy that?”

“Hmm?” You look down, following his gaze and blinking. The shirt you’re wearing is loose, hanging off your shoulders and hastily tucked into your miniskirt so it looks like you actually have trousers on. “Oh. No, this is yours.”

“Mine.” He smiles a little. “You look so good in it, princess.” His hands mindlessly grope at you, hungry, sneaking underneath your skirt to feel at the lace there. 

In retaliation, you lean forward, unbutton his jeans and tug at it.

“You left it at one of my”—you gasp, feeling his finger sneak its way beneath your panties—“my hotel rooms.”

“Pretty girl, pretty shirt, pretty lace, yeah?” He tugs, lets the garter of the skirt loosen and fall off your hips on its own. “Red.”

“You take too long,” you groan.

“You’re just eager,” he laughs, thumbing at your clothed cunt.

You’re so wet, evident even in the lazy circles he rubs over your entrance. You’re aching, desperate, begging almost. So he gives you what you want, maneuvers you onto his lap and pushes your (his) shirt up to stuff your mouth with it.

It won’t work for long, but it’s enough. He pushes your panties to the side and pulls his hard dick out. You’re sitting against it now, leaking slick onto it, at his mercy, branding his name and his number across your back. It’s hot. 

He stares at the way you rock softly against him, hungry eyes meeting yours. “You’re so pretty, baby. Ruined.”

“Fuck me already,” you say, voice throaty, innocent.

“Can you take it?” He asks, teasing you, slapping his dick against your clit softly. You whine.

“Please,” you insist. “I want it. Make it fit.”

He’s a massive tease with it, his breath fanning against your skin, hands sticky on where they’ve hiked your shirt up. He lowers you, slower, against the tip of his dick and he watches your eyes flutter when you sink onto it. After ages of waiting. Your grip’s like iron on his shoulders, moans leaving you in quiet bursts of pleasure. 

You’re far away, dumb from the feeling, you barely register the way he shoves the shirt back into your mouth to keep you quiet. “So fucking tight, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. It’s muffled, barely intelligible. “For you.”

You’re only able to take it because you’re so wet, so turned on, face and brain filled with nothing but pleasure. He can’t take it.

“Mmmfh,” you say, muffled by the bite of cotton in your mouth. You’re sweaty, flushed, overstimulated—you don’t know where to focus. On his lips against your jaw, his hand on your neck, the way your pussy swallows his aching dick. “It’s so big, I—”

“You okay?” He asks, breathily. Smiling. He’s in control, but still he sounds whiny—almost, if not as desperate as you. “You’ll take it all for me, won’t you?” 

“Oh god,” is all you muster, letting him stretch you out even more, gushing all over his cock. “I, I—”

He moans, his grip tight against your waist, watching his dick bury itself in you. “You’re getting me so full,” you whine. “So deep, I feel it—” you taper off into a moan again when he presses hs thumb to your clit, distracting you from the stretch as he finally, finally bottoms out.

“Good?”

You nod. So good, give me more.

You grind against him, let the shirt fall out of your mouth. “You’re getting my dick so wet,” he comments, breathless. “So pretty for me, too.”

Growing antsy, he attempts to move, but you whine. Your turn to tease, you think, after he was a dick to you just now. “Not yet,” you say, lip caught between your teeth. His hands are tight around your waist. Desperate.

You squeeze around him, watch his brows knit together, a grunt leave him in a frustrated exhale. “You wanna fuck me?” You tease against his neck, blinking innocently.

“Yes,” he replies, not missing a beat. You pout, like you’re empathizing with the problem you’re causing; you grind slowly against him and he lets out a guttural fuuuuck. He’s so big, so hard—you can feel every inch of him inside you.

“Tell me again, Charles,” you say with a giggle. You’re so hot like this, face flushed and timid, hips moving slowly. He could cum just from the way you bite your lip, the way a whimper slips out of you when he hits the right spot.

“—Yeah,” he says, sweetly. “I want to—please, let me fuck you. C’mon, baby, can I?”

“Aww,” you tease. 

“Can I?” He asks again, voice deep and thin with the need to fuck you, thrust up into you and make you the dumb one. His face is flushed and desperate. “Can I move, baby? Let me, please.”

You’re not stupid. You know—if his flushed, pleading face and big green puppy eyes are anything to go by—that he’s going crazy, growing antsy. But you’re not complaining.

“Hmm,” you say, feigning genuine thought. “I don’t know, Charles. Feels good just like this. And you want to make me feel good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Yeah.” You repeat, staring into his dark eyes. He’s frustrated, desperate, flushed all over and sweaty. His fingers dig into your hips. “I’ll make you feel really good, baby, if you let me.”

“Go ahead,” you say softly, “fuck me, please.” And he’s thrusting upwards to meet you halfway. It’s knocking you out, almost, the pleasure of it, the dizzy onslaught of euphoria. He’s stretching you out so well, whining softly into your neck and yeah, you two have waited far too long to have this. You 

“Fuck,” he grunts, lids squeezed shut and head rolled onto your shoulder. “Go on, baby, ride it, make me cum.” He cups your jaw, reaches his thumb into your mouth. It’s too much, all of it. He makes you suck on it while thrusting up, dizzying you with his cock.

He grabs handfuls of your ass, teases his thumb at your tighter asshole just to watch your eyes flutter, feel your cunt grow wetter. “I’ll fuck you even fuller next time,” he says; the implication gets you hot.

You bounce harder, chasing release as his thumb teases over your ass, the tip of it just thrusting in enough to elicit strings of moans out of you. “Come on, ride me,” he goads. “So good for me.”

“Fuck,” you pant, “cum in me, please.”

You cum first, writhing around him and riding your orgasm out in lazy grinds over his hard cock. You want to see him cum, see his eyebrows knit and his mouth release pretty whines, feel him claim you inside, hands hot and heavy on your ass. He does, with a guttural fuuuuck, shoving his dick up in you to the base and spurting all his cum in you.

He thrusts, watches his cum leak out of you, fucks it back in, in a vicious cycle. You shiver, blinking coquettishly and watching along—and then you’re both crumpling over each other on the bed behind you. You pant heavily against his chest.

“Hey.” He muses out loud, drumming against your skin.

“Yeah?”

“I have thirty-six condoms we need to go through. Wanna go on a date?”

[goldenwilliamson]

Could you do one with leah x reader where reader is a new signing and she catches Leah's attention and Leah, all cocky, asks her out repeatedly, but the reader was warned about Leah's fuckgirl fame and always turns her down, but obviously ends up falling for Leah in the end, pure fluff please ;)

Pd: you write soo goooodd

bad idea right? | leah williamson

pairing: leah williamson x reader

a/n: thanks for the ask!! i had fun with this one. reader is australian obviously inspired by kyra's signing after the world cup, but with a very different vibe to KCC's annoying little sister energy hahaha. also this is an ideal world where ACL's don't exist and leah was in training at the start of this season.

summary: reader signs at arsenal and leah has her sights set on her, but reader tries her best not to let herself fall for leah.

word count: 2.9k (got a little carried away with this, but i loved it)

When you got your call up for the World Cup, you had expected that some clubs might take an interest in you, along with all the other younger Australian players who hadn’t yet gotten the chance to play in such a large tournament. What you didn’t expect however was that the club you grew up supporting would be making a deadline day signing for you. When you heard that Arsenal were interested after the World Cup, it was just the cherry on top of what was the most surreal experience of your footballing career so far. Obviously with Steph Catley and Caitlin Foord already being at the club, you had felt entirely comfortable about making the transfer. You had already been playing in the WSL for a few years, but you’d always told yourself that if Arsenal ever came knocking, you would go there without a doubt. 

Being such a fan of the club and playing against Arsenal in the past, you already had preconceptions about many of the girls. Before you had your first training, Steph and Caitlin had come over to your new flat to help you settle in and put together some furniture, and you took it as an opportunity to get all your final questions out of the way. You had already spoken to them endlessly about the culture of the club for the players, but you hadn’t spoken too much about the other girls. All that they had told you was that you would fit in well with the team, and that was good enough for you at the time. 

But now that your time for actually joining the team was getting very close, you decided you wanted to learn more about some of the girls you would be spending the majority of your time with for the foreseeable future.

‘What’s Kim like as a captain?’ You asked first, and both Steph and Caitlin sung her praises while explaining that underneath her hard front is a big softie who wants the best for everyone. 

‘I’m not going to lie, I’m nervous about not clicking with anyone,’ you said next. 

‘I can’t imagine you ever not getting along with anyone,’ Steph said, ‘You hit it off with everyone you’ve ever met.’

‘True, I reckon you and Leah will get along well but,’ Caitlin adds. 

‘Really?’ Your voice is higher when you say this, a little surprised. 

‘Oh yeah, she’s going to love you. She’s already spoken to me about how she’s excited you’ve signed,’ Steph says and you feel very flattered. Leah is a player you’ve admired for years, and a defender you’ve dreaded coming up against in games. Even though you’ve played against her, you wouldn’t expect her to have noticed you, let alone be excited about you joining the team which she cares so much about. 

‘What’s she like?’ You ask, genuinely curious. 

‘She’s somehow managed the perfect balance of being super fun and lighthearted, but also stern and serious,’ Steph says. 

‘Is she single?’ You find your mouth moving before your brain has the chance to tell you not to say that. Both Steph and Caitlin laugh at your forwardness, but they don’t seem all that surprised. 

‘Leah is undateable, she meets a lot of girls, but they never stick around for long,’ Caitlin says truthfully, and for a moment you feel a bit of disappointment.

‘Because she’s not a good person?’ You ask, unsure about why no girls would want anything with her. In your eyes she’s a catch. 

‘No,’ Steph says quickly, ‘She’s an amazing person, she just doesn’t want them to stick around for long, it’s always more of a one night thing for her.’

This surprises you, and it does make you see her a little differently. In the media she seems very mature, being the England captain and all. You can’t really imagine her going out, meeting girls, and having one night stands, but then you remember you really don’t know the girl at all.

A few days later you arrive in London Colney for your first training session of pre-season, carpooling with Caitlin and Katie. You’d already met Katie a few times now, which made your arrival feel a bit smoother. You don’t take it for granted having Steph and Caitlin around to welcome you and make sure you’re connecting with the other girls. 

Before you go into the first meeting of the season with Jonas, you get to meet all the other girls. While someone might find this overwhelming, you are unbelievably excited to finally be introducing yourself and meeting all these players you respected so much. 

Everyone greets you warmly with a hug and kind welcoming words. When you approach Leah she flashes you her fantastic smile and you can’t help but mirror her expression. You keep in mind but that she is used to being able to charm girls, and you try not to fall victim to it. 

‘Hello, mate. I’m Leah,’ she says in her relaxed voice, giving you a hug hello. 

‘Hey, good to meet you,’ you say.

‘Likewise. I’m so glad you’ve signed, you’re going to be a great addition to the team,’ she says and you thank her graciously, feeling good knowing you have a little bit of support behind you, from Leah Williamson of all people. 

From your first meeting, you can see what everyone else sees in her. She’s a beautiful girl, there’s absolutely no denying that, and she carries a confidence that radiates off of her. It’s both incredibly attractive and intimidating at the same time. You know immediately you can’t let yourself go down the rabbit hole of developing a crush on her, because you know all too well that it would consume you completely. So for the first few weeks at the club you don’t spend too much time with Leah. You don’t avoid her, because you don’t want to be rude, but you don’t let yourself go as deep as you normally would want to. Usually when you find yourself around someone attractive you’re asking questions, trying to get to know them. You decided the less you knew about Leah the better. 

You didn’t realise that Leah had noticed the way you hadn’t been giving her as much time and attention as you’d given some of the other girls, and the way that you had bruised her ego. One day Leah and Jen were peddling on the exercise bikes in the gym next to each other while you ran on the treadmill on the other side of the room. Leah watched you like a hawk as you took your long, easy strides. 

‘She’s great isn’t she?’ Jen said, following Leah’s line of vision.

‘Oh god yeah, she’s gonna be our secret weapon going into this season,’ Leah says without a beat. She’s been watching you every day, witnessing how well you’ve managed to establish yourself within the team already, earning respect from all the players. She would be very surprised if Jonas didn’t start you in the upcoming games, because you're the perfect number 9 that the club has been needing. 

‘Lovely girl too,’ Jen observes and Leah nods.

‘I haven’t gotten to know her that well, I don’t think she’s too interested in me,’ Leah says, and even though she tries to hide her contempt, Jen reads her like a book.

‘Finally someone who’s not interested in you, whatever will you do?’ The naturally sarcastic Scot makes fun of Leah’s obvious dissatisfaction with her ability to have you in the palm of her hand. 

‘Shut up,’ Leah pushes her shoulder. 

‘You’re seriously crushing on her aren’t you?’ Jen says.

‘I wouldn’t call it a crush,’ Leah scoffs. She would never admit to having a crush on someone, it’s not in her nature at all. When it comes to dating she has always preferred to be detached and aloof. 

‘What would you say then?’ Jen asks.

‘I guess you could say I’m intrigued by her,’ Leah says, immediately cringing at the way it sounds coming out of her mouth.

‘Alright stalker, don’t go following her home now or anything,’ Jen says, unable to contain her laughter seeing Leah in this new position. As Jen makes this comment you step of the treadmill and pull off your headphones and Leah quickly shushes Jen. 

‘How was the run, Y/N?’ Jen calls out to you from across the room, and you smile, striding in the direction of her and Leah as they continue to peddle. 

‘Yeah not too bad,’ you nod, ‘How are the bikes treating you guys?’ 

‘I think I zoned out watching you running over there,’ Leah says, and you don’t know whether or not to interpret it as a flirty or not.

You laugh lightly and shake your head, ‘Glad I could be of service.’ 

‘You do look proper graceful for someone doing sprints,’ Jen says.

‘Well now I know who to come to when I need a pick me up, thanks girls,’ you look at them both, your ego boosted. You had no clue how you looked running on the treadmill, but you couldn’t have imagine it was anything impressive, or graceful. You tell the girls you’ll leave them to it as you turn to walk out of the gym, thinking over Leah’s little comment for quite some time. 

A few days later you’re invited round to Beth and Viv’s place for a little dinner. It’s not a huge group there, just yourself, Steph, Caitlin, Leah, Jen, and Kim Little. Despite being one of the younger girls in the squad at 24, you’ve found yourself feeling most comfortable around the girls a little older than you like Jen and Beth. Even Viv who was notoriously introverted had made an effort to get to know you. 

The night is lovelier than you could have expected, chatting with all the girls with ease, like you’ve known them all as long as you’ve known Steph and Caitlin. At one point you decide to go into the kitchen to refill the water jug, and when you’re standing over the sink, Leah slips into the space with you. 

‘What are you after?’ You ask casually.

‘You,’ Leah says and you turn around to look at her with a confused look on your face.

She’s leaning against the kitchen bench, eyeing you confidently, but you’re determined not to let her work her ways on you. 

‘Whatever for?’ You ask innocently, turning back to watch as the water fills the bottle in your hand. 

‘Why’ve you been avoiding me?’ Leah says as you flick the tap off. To buy some time you rest the bottle on the bench and grab a tea towel, wiping off the water that spill down the sides of the bottle.

‘I didn’t realise I had been,’ you shake your head, not looking at her as you lie through your teeth. 

‘Maybe it’s in my head then,’ Leah shrugs.

‘Maybe, but I’m sorry if I haven’t been giving you enough attention,’ you say sarcastically, knowing that your words would cut deep for a girl who usually has her ways with girls. 

‘That’s alright, why don’t I just take you out for dinner, that way I’ll have you all to myself,’ Leah suggests and you scoff.

‘Sorry, as fun as this is, it’s not really me Leah. I’m not interested in being another notch on your bed post,’ you say, and while you might feel rude saying this to anyone else, you feel like you could chip away at Leah’s ego all night and she would remain confident as ever. 

Leah sighs with a smile on her face, ‘Worth a try,’ she says and you two walk back to the table, acting like nothing ever happened. Jen Beattie is the only one who catches the smirk on your face and the ever so slightly defeated look on Leah’s. 

She tries again a couple of days later after training, asking what your plans were for the night.

‘Going home,’ you say, stating the very obvious fact after a long and tiring training session. 

‘Want some company?’ Leah asks. While you would’ve said yes to company, feeling like anyone being around was what you needed to settle into your new home, you knew you couldn’t say yes to Leah.

‘Uh, not tonight, I’m going to go home and fall into bed,’ you say.

‘Tomorrow then?’ Leah offers and you shake your head at her persistence. 

‘You’re relentless,’ you say, smiling at the cocky look on Leah’s face. Slowly it’s getting the better of you. 

‘I prefer the term driven,’ she says and you laugh. 

‘Don’t let me stop you, it’s doing wonders for my confidence,’ you say.

‘Oh don’t worry, I won’t,’ Leah assures you as you part ways walking towards your cars. You ignore her once again, but of course she occupies your thoughts the whole drive home, and the rest of the night. 

There is even a moment after you eat your dinner that you consider asking her to come over, knowing exactly what would happen if she did. You groan out loud, realising that she had already won this battle. That’s why the next time she tries her luck, you fold. 

It was the perfect setting, all the Arsenal girls and the Matildas that lived around London were out at a bar celebrating Caitlin’s birthday. Leah was of course locked in on your every move, and you knew it. Every time you glanced in her direction, she was already looking at you. It was driving you crazy, making you feel all hot and bothered. As if dancing was the cure for your overwhelming feelings, you remained among the girls throwing their hair and arms around to the music. 

A classic ABBA song comes on and Leah makes her way into the people moving on the dance floor, subtly making her way towards you. It’s unsurprising when you feel her hands on your hips, you’d been waiting for it at this point. The music is loud in your ears, drowning out any remaining inhibitions. You turned to face Leah with a look of defeat, as if you were forfeiting to her. You let your arms fall around her neck as she stabilises herself with her hands on your hips. She leans in close to speak directly into your ear and you can feel her breath on the top of your neck, sending a small shiver up your spine.

‘You’ve been driving me nuts,’ she says, giggling slightly with her admission. 

You lean into her now, planting a tantalising, gentle kiss on her neck before murmuring, 'I still don’t want to be just another notch on your bed post.’

Leah pulls back and looks at you with a face that tells you that you can believe her when she shakes her head, ‘This isn’t about that, I just want to know you.’ 

‘Do you say that to all the girls?’ You ask, still harbouring some slight concerns about Leah’s notoriety when it comes to her sexual partners.

‘I haven’t felt this way about anyone in a long time,’ she says. Even though you really don’t know her all too well, you know her words are genuine, and you know that you feel the exact same way. There was no denying the chemistry between you both, and the similarity in your personalities. You remember the way Caitlin and Steph had predicted you two would get along, and you know it’s true now.

‘Me neither,’ you tell her honestly, and you can see from the grin on her face that it was exactly what she wanted to hear. 

‘How about we get out of here and go find some food,’ Leah suggests and you nod eagerly, dying to step out into the fresh air with her to speak freely without trying to talk over the music. 

‘Great idea,’ you say. With that you and Leah say your goodbyes, not feeling too guilty about leaving as it was nearing midnight already at this stage. When you step out into the night it feels like you’re back in the real world, and your feelings about Leah were still very much there. 

She takes your hand in hers and leads you up the street and the two of you walk until you find some fried food to sink your teeth into. You talk the night away and get to know Leah behind the persona she has created. This Leah is endlessly caring, a listener, a deep thinker, incredibly witty, and much more vulnerable.

That night you two end up back at your North London flat to save her the trip out to her house in St Albans. To your surprise, you don’t sleep together, but you’re pleased with that. Part of you was still waiting to see what Leah’s intentions were, and she proved that she really did just want to spend some time with you. You were happy to give her your attention now.

 ’You’re nothing like how I expected,’ you admit to her as you lay face to face in your bed, your legs stacked on top of each other. 

‘Better or worse?’ Leah asks, smirking at you in the darkness of your room.

‘Better,’ you say with a smile, leaning in to finally kiss her properly. It’s gentle, but there is clear passion behind it. You hum, satisfied as you pull away, ‘Definitely better’.

[woofs-silly-ships]

Oh. Oh holy hell

HEAVY WARNING FOR THE HAZBIN LEAKS. PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DO NOT BE MAD AT ME IF YOU WILLINGLY CLICK ON THIS AND GET SPOILED.

Tw: Mentions of Poison/Angel Dust’s abuse, Aphobia (from Viv and Hazbin, not me. Frick Aphobes or any kind of queerphobe /srs)

This is almost certainly real and that makes me

I think I feel worse than when the Poison leaks happened

And that was bad

Yet I think this might be worse… because at least some survivors do relate to and find comfort in Poison and Angel as a whole. At least people knew he was suffering from and dealing with this abuse. This… people couldn’t have seen this coming.

Alastor and Rosie’s relationship was one of the few actually well written ones in this freaking show. And they just screwed it the hell up

Alastor being owned by/selling his soul to Lilith made so much sense. Of course Lilith would care about his child’s dream, of course she would hide him away in heaven after a (likely) bad fight with Vox, of course if he was in heaven nobody could find him, of course he’d be so fearful of the literal Queen of hell.

If Alastor is owned by Rosie, why the hell would he actually be genuinely comfortable around her as shown in season one? Rosie wouldn’t give a shit about the hotel as well, I’m sorry but like huh??? She has 0 relation to the founders or guests besides Al??? Also there’s no freaking way that Rosie would be able to hide Alastor IN HELL FOR 7 FREAKING YEARS AND AVOID ALL DETECTION. If Vox’s cameras didn’t catch him in a HEAVILY POPULATED TOWN, there’s literally no way some random diner didn’t catch a glimpse of him or something??? And Al is probably on the level below Rosie power wise, there’s no way he wouldn’t have rebelled at some point, even if he lost???

But yeah, I’m beating around the bush here. Elephant in the room time.

The whole song and animation and everything leans WAYYYY too into the aspect of Alastor being Rosie’s pet, and that creeps me out so much. Because it again feels fetishized. Way too reminiscent of pet play and such, which I already don’t like on its own but I’m not getting into that. I wouldn’t even have an issue with it if

1. Rosie was portrayed as an actual big bad and not “secretly silly”, same issue as Val

2. ALASTOR WASNT FREAKING ASEXUAL. AND ROSIE WAS LITERALLY THE ONE TO CONFIRM THAT IN CANON (the “ace in the hole” scene was one of my favorites and now it’s ruined for me. Of course.)

I know k!nky asexuals exist and are completely valid and yall are awesome, and I’d be fine seeing that represented if, you know, ALASTOR WASNT SHOWN TO BE FREAKING SEX REPULSED?? HAVE WE FORGOTTEN ABOUT THE FREAKING

^^^ THIS???

AND GOING BACK TO WHAT I SAID BEFORE: AT LEAST SURVIVORS WHO RELATE TO ANGEL KNEW THAT HE WAS A VICTIM LONG BEFORE THE RELEASE OF POISON AND S1. MANY FELT BETRAYED BY IT AND THATS VERY VERY VALID, BUT IT COULD HAVE BEEN FAR WORSE (as in, Addict could’ve never existed, Angel fans including survivors could’ve had no idea of what he was going through before being thrown into the mess that is Poison). THERE WAS ABSOLUTELY NO FORESHADOWING OF THIS WITH ALASTOR. IVE SEEN SO MANY ASEXUALS LOVE AND RELATE TO AL AND TAKE WHAT LITTLE REPRESENTATION THEY GET IN STRIDE, AND IM SO SCARED TO SEE THEM DEAL WITH THE FETISHIZATION OF THEIR SEXUALITY. THAT WILL HURT ME MORE THAN WHATEVER THE PLOT DOES. IF YOU ARE ASEXUAL AND RELATE TO AL THEN I AM SO FREAKING SORRY FOR YOU, ESPECIALLY IF THIS ENDS UP HURTING YOU AS MUCH AS IT DOES ME /GEN

ALSO, APPARENTLY VIV IS DOUBLJNG DOWN FROM POISON BECAUSE THERE’S SOME CHEERY UPBEAT AH MUSIC BEING SUNG ABOUT ALASTOR BASICALLY BEING CHAINED AND ABUSED FOR THE MAJORITY OF HIS AFTERLIFE AND ALSO BASICALLY BEING SHOVED INTO A PET-PLAY KINK LIKE THING AS AN UNWILLING AND UNCOMFORTABLE (AND ASEXUAL) PARTICIPANT

Urghhh, I’m sorry I just really needed to get that out. Posting this on my selfship blog since it’s more contained and I have 2 Hazbin f/os anyway

Since I’m here anyway, yeah my Hellaverse AU won’t have any of this crap. Alastor will be owned by either Lilith or Roo, whichever one makes more sense when S2 comes out and we see more of Lilith and see if Roo was scrapped or not. Right now he’s owned by Lilith in the AU and his relationship with Rosie is exactly like in S1: genuine and comfortable. I’m sorry but I’m not letting Vic’s awful plot direction here ruin one of the few good relationships in the show.

And I’m sorry if any of this is exaggerated by accident, I’m just, er, very passionate about minorities being disrespected this badly and this is kinda just me dumping my thoughts and rage into writing /gen

On a small but light note, the other clip is actually really cool!! Makes sense for Heaven to have Goitia as well as Hell, and as long as this bird doesn’t turn out Stolas then I’m pretty happy with this :D

[stepintothelimelight]

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄SHE CAN GO HOME, BUT SHE’S NOT GOING TO

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　° i would do

anything

you want me to…. ✧ ⁺ ┊

PART 4 of the Spitfire Saga

TRAILER: A home race that doesn’t feel like home anymore

(2018!f1grid x fem!Genz!driver!reader, max verstappen x reader (platonic), lewis hamilton x reader (platonic) sebastian vettel x reader (platonic))

For more Spitfire content go to my account and it’s my pinned post since tumblr hates me and won’t let me link anything :)

WARNINGS: FAMILY ISSUES, mentioned child abuse, swearing, gratuitous hurt/comfort, reader’s birthday happens before the gp, mention of a suicidal thought, ANGST, barely edited :)

fc: an assortment of female celebs

Aaaaannnnd ACTION!

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

f1

f1: 🇺🇸🦅💥💥💥HOME RACE FOR Y/N L/N 🇺🇸🦅🦅🦅 

 American fans - be there or be 🟦

📍Circuit of the Americas

tagged: yourusername, mercedesamgf1

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo and 637918 others

view 2672 comments 

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

yourusername just shared a story!

this story is no longer available

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

You arrive early, per usual, to make sure you have time for every fan, and maybe to catch a glimpse of Taylor Swift, who will be singing the national anthem today.

Your phone call with Seb last night quickly turned into him and Hanna knocking on your hotel room door and enveloping you in their arms. You fell asleep between the two of them, a comfort show playing on low volume in the background.

You hate that it caught you off guard. A small, stupid part of you actually believed that your family - your mother - could love you like they - like she- was meant to. 

It was supposed to be fun. You dressed up, treated them to one of the nicest restaurants in Austin. The second they arrived, though, it all turned to shit. 

At least your fans are majorly little girls and they couldn’t care less if you’re having widely photographed, public arguments with your older brother after a family dinner turned sour. 

Miraculously, you get into the paddock unscathed by prying questions into your personal life. You just get set up in your drivers room for Qualifying and try to put it all behind you. You don’t see Taylor, and unlike any other day, you don’t have the energy to face the paddock.

As you rearrange your hangers for the hundredth time, there’s a knock on your door. You sigh. Most of the team knows that you like your private time before any event, especially your first home race. 

“Yeah?”

The door opens slowly. It’s Lewis. Since the beginning of the season, your relationship with him has definitely developed. He’s good friends with Seb and you have a sneaking suspicion that he has told Lewis to keep an eye on you where Seb can’t. He’s become a sort of mentor-slash-friend and you couldn’t be happier, especially since you’ve both signed on for another few years at Mercedes. 

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you say. 

Lewis sent me this. 

“Did you hear about Taylor Swift?” You exclaim. “How cool is that?”

He grants you a trademark half-smile. 

“Consider it a belated birthday gift.”

You eyes widen and your mouth drips open.

“It was you?”

He shrugs.

“It wasn’t very hard to convince her.”

You hurry over to him, hesitate for a second, then hug him gently. You’ve never hugged him in a normal setting. You break off of him and stand there, not quite knowing what to say next.

“Home race,” He says awkwardly. Lewis is hardly ever awkward. “Big deal.”

“Yeah.” You don’t mean to sound annoyed. Or tired. Or defeated. 

“Family coming? I’d like to meet them. I don’t think I have, yet. “

That’s true. Your mother has been to two Grand Prix since the start of the season and your father and brother one, respectively. They’re busy people, but after last night, some part of you wonders if your mother intentionally schedules conflicts so that they can never make it. 

That’s stupid, she says in your head. We love you. You’re the one who makes this whole thing impossible. 

When they have shown up, you’ve kept them as far away as possible from cameras, and Lewis draws every camera in every room he steps foot in. Maybe your brother is right. Maybe you hide them because of some secret shame you hold for them. The only thing you’re ashamed of is how complicated your relationship with your family is. 

“No. I-“

What?

Sent them home? 

Told them to never show their faces around the paddock again?

Cried into Seb’s chest all of last night wishing I was dead because of how horrible they make me feel?

“Couldn’t deal with them today,” you say decisively. The media might see you as a stone cold bitch, so why not Lewis, too. 

“They’re your family.”

“They hate me,” you whisper, turning back you your hangers. You’ve never said it out loud. Not to Max or Charles, not even to Hanna last night when she was helping you wash your face through swollen eyes and a runny nose.

“I’m sure they don’t-“

“You’ve never met them. My mom hates me. She loathes me and for the life of me I can’t figure out why. I have given her everything and she still don’t bring herself to even like me a little bit. The rest this I’m too independent, too liberal, not liberal enough, too opinionated, too young, too smart, whatever. My dad and his side wish I went to university and my mom’s side tries to chase the fame. It sucks. It didn’t use to be like this, but it is now.”

You spare a glance back at him. He’s wide- eyed. This is probably the most he’s heard you talk without cracking a joke or bursting out laughing.

“Have you told Seb? Or… Max, Charles?”

“Seb, yes. Max would order a hit on my entire family if I told him this type of thing and Charles would hide the evidence.”

What you told Charles at Christmas, he didn’t acknowledge then and there, but he was noticeably cold to your mother when you brought her to see him.  

Lewis studied you, then a look dawns on his face. It’s a mix of dread and fury, but he schools it quickly.

“Y/n,” He says in a very serious tone. “Don’t lie to me.”

Your brow furrows.

“Do they - does your mother or your father hit you?”

It wasn’t the question you’d expected, but it still makes your blood turn cold.

You think for a second, contemplate his expression, run the risks of him exploding if you tell him the truth. 

“No…” you trail off. “Once. I made her mad when I was fifteen and-“ you raise your own hand and slap your face. “Never after though.”

She cried into your shoulder for hours after, telling you just how sorry she was, how she would never dream of laying another violent hand on you again. 

Lewis’s mouth opens then closes. You purse your lips. 

“I don’t need my family,” you whisper. “And I don’t need you to worry about me. I’m fine.”

He gives you a look, one that says:

There’s no way in hell I believe you.

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

chalmaxy/nship

chalmaxy/nship: Max and Charles (+Pierre) teaming up to cheer Y/n up 😫 they are sooooo whipped for her (even tho they pretend they hate each other 🙄)

tagged: max33verstappen, charles_leclerc, pierregasly, yourusername, f1

liked by lestappenforever and 4773 others

view 627 comments

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

The video starts with the camera fixed on a very angry - looking Y/n. Her brow is set and her mouth is distorted in a flat line, which of course, is to be expected. She was obviously off her usual top-five worthy game today and has earned herself a starting position of P20.

The interviewer asks her a series of questions that she responds to very flatly and emotionlessly, so much so that her press officer elbows her in the side more than once to get an actual, genuinely not sarcastic answer out of her. 

And then -

“Do you think your family issues are the reason you’ve performed so miserably today?”

She stops. Pauses, opens her mouth then closes it again. 

“That,” she drags out bitingly. “was an incredibly stupid and insensitive question. Every question you’ve asked me today has been either completely patronizing or borderline inappropriate.”

She shoots a look at her press officer, shakes her head slightly, then leans into the microphone.

“You’ll understand why we’re choosing to cut this interview short.”

And then she turns and leaves the media pen.

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

mercedesamgf1

mercedesamgf1: AAAAAaaaaaannnnnddd she’s done it again! A home race win is yet another thing our Spitfire can check off of her bucket list 💪 

tagged: yourusername

liked by yourusername, f1 and 63720 others 

view 67199 comments 

user6: Admin really said yes she’s a spitfire yes she’s OUR Spitfire 

user7: did anyone else notice how down Y/n seemed up on the podium tho

⮑ user11: Yeah, definitely not the energy we’re used to up there

yourusername: 🖤🖤

⮑user12: girl I need to know the tea behind the story and the tweet 🙏🙏🙏

user7: Call me crazy but she’s the biggest talent of her generation, not Verstappen 

⮑ user8: you’re crazy

⮑user9: @/user8: did we not just watch the same race? 

user10: she’s making the sport annoying.

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

yourusername

yourusername: Great home race win guys! 🇺🇸💥💥🦅💥 lovely to share the podium with maxie and lewie

tagged: mercedesamgf1

liked by max33verstappen, charles_leclerc and 738291 others 

view 7329 comments

max33verstappen: Get ready, I’m coming to get you in an hour to celebrate 

⮑yourusername: I can’t drink here dumbass

⮑user13: MaxY/n confirmed???

taylorswift: So glad I finally got to meet you in person! 

⮑ user14: TAYLOR SWIFT WAS THERE AND Y/N DIDNT EVEN MENTION IT???? OH SOMETHING’S WRONG WRONG

⮑ yourusername: 🖤

user15: U go Spitfire!!

user16: Y/n is such a bitch. 

lewishamilton: This is starting to sound redundant, but congrats Y/n!

user17: I still can’t get over how rude she was to that reporter 

⮑user18: EVERY reporter is rude and/or patronizing towards her. She deserves to bite back once and a while

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

True to his word, Max knocks on your door. You get up from the spot you’ve been staring out the window and open it.

He’s dressed up, ready to go out drinking, you suppose. You’ve changed into your pajamas and tied your hair up sloppily. 

He arches his eyebrows.

“Ready to celebrate?”

You shrug. 

“Not really in the mood. Plus I can’t drink here. You go ahead, tell the team to send me the bill and I’ll pick it up.”

You go to close the door then. He kicks his foot between the door and the doorframe. 

“Come out. It could still be fun,” He offers. “It’s your home race. I’d be happy if I won at spa.”

He raised his eyes brows at you and you look down guiltily. You should be happy. You’ve broken a record of some kind, you’re pretty sure, and every other driver dreams of winning his home race. 

“You’d be happy because your family would be there to see it,” you say bitterly. “Because then you’d be able to prove to them it wasn’t all for nothing. That you’re not selfish or - or something.”

Max closes the door when he hears your voice tremor. There’s a hard concern in his eyes. 

“Go, Max. You should celebrate.”

“I don’t want to anymore.”

You look him up and down. He’s gelled his hair and put on a non redbull shirt. Obviously he’s gearing up for a big night of celebrating. 

“Tell me,” He says. “You can talk to me. I’m not a stranger to family issues.”

You scoff and flop onto your bed. 

“It’s not a big deal.”

“You love partying. It’s a big deal.”

It’s quiet, except for his slightly heavy breathing. Here’s Mad Max Verstappen, standing at the foot of your bed begging you to confide in him with his eyes. His big, sad, droopy eyes.

You cover your face with the your arm.

“I can’t believe they actually left,” you choke out. “I told them to go and they just … left. The first time my entire family could muster up the time and effort to spend an entire weekend supporting me and they decide to just go home.”

Max moves towards you, hesitates, then settles himself on the floor next to your bedside table. 

“Why?”

You huff. 

“I don’t know. I push them away. I get on my mom’s nerves. I try too hard to impress my dad. Did you know,” you take a deep breath. “Did you know my mother hasn’t told me good night or I love you in five years?”

He sits and stares out the window. 

“Why doesn’t she love me, Max?”

It comes out more pathetic than you wanted it to. Max is probably one of the only people who might get it, just a little. 

“Schat…” he trails off. “I don’t know.”

Max is two years older than you. Sometimes those two years feel like a lifetime. You wish he was a lifetime older than you so he would know.

“Maybe…” He trails off. “Fuck. Maybe some people just aren’t made to be parents.”

You squeeze your eyes shut to try and push down the sobs building in your chest. Max, thankfully, doesn’t react when you let out a soft gasp and sniff wetly. He just sits there and stares out the window

Eventually, you curl up in your bed and Max sits a on the other side (on top of the covers, a safe two feet away) and turn on Star wars (The prequels - he’s a huge nerd, surprise, surprise).

Maybe some people aren’t made to be parents.

Maybe some people aren’t made to be daughters. 

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

✧ ⁺ ⁺ Yelled down the hall

but nobody answered ┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

Aaannnnnnddd scene!

DIRECTOR’S CUT: A short and sad angsty hurt comfort type of thing… next chapter i swear will be happier !!

Want to join the taglist? drop a comment below or message my inbox

🏷️ @octavikravecell218 @laura-naruto-fan1998 @sugarrush-blush @scarletwidow3000 @umm-i-love-u

@tallrock35 @itsjustkhaos @dullwaterlily @demande @delululeclerc

[fleur-bbyy]

I WANNA FUCK YOU LIKE AN ANIMAL

rating: 18+, minors DNI. ageless blogs are blocked.

warnings: sex sex sex, porn!au, no quirks, fake stepcest, fake stuckage, afab reader, reader is described to have a big ass, sex work, only fans mentions, breeding kink, pet names, use of oniichan, daddy kink, lots of porn barely any plot, all characters are aged up to 21+

katsuki is an ass man and no one can convince me otherwise.

part two.

“hey! what’re you doing step-bro?”

you were trying your best to play up the horrible script you were given. especially since you were hungry and had been on this set for five fucking hours already and you’re just now getting to the fucking. after what felt like an eternity of makeup, wardrobe, and pictures taken for the cover you were just ready to put your tits back in your tiny tank top and stop with this corny-ass scenario. stepcest stuckage.

of fucking course.

you were coming up on a year in the porn industry after being scouted from amateur sites and quickly shooting up in popularity as a pro. you were one of the many amateurs who had become pro in the last year and shot up fast in rankings, being dubbed a member of the “golden eight.” you had shot multiple times with six of the other seven, even becoming good friends with most of them and doing side stuff on your onlyfans with the burly red-head that people seem to adore seeing you with. occasionally filming some with the pinkette girl, too.

this was your first time shooting with the last out of the other seven, katsuki bakugo. famously called ‘dynamight’ because of his explosive personality and his ability to give equally as explosive orgasms to men and women both.

“cut! luxe, arch your back more baby. really need’ta see that ass pop.” your director shouted as your coordinator came to position you in a way that pleased him. luxe was your stage name when you were still amateur, and it just always stuck around. nobody in your agency wanted to change your name as luxe was synonymous with the girl that had a ‘fat, peachy ass’ and could ‘squirt buckets.’ you rolled your eyes at the camera that was positioned in the front loading dryer you were “stuck” in. they insisted it’d be best to catch your reactions close up.

“dynamight! you still good back there?” the director shouted once again as the coordinator finished up her work.

“yeah, just hard as a fuckin’ rock and ready to get the fuck on with it.”

“wouldn’t expect any less from you!” you were graciously warned about the blonde’s brash personality, even going as far to meet up with him a time or two before the shoot just so you’d be aware. and boy, were they right. always shouting obscenities and such vulgarity that is made seasoned pornstars blush, but you both seemed to get along due to your shared hatred of corny, half-scripted shoots and directors who think they have the next big video. dynamight was known for being a rough dom. always keen to leaving bruises with how hard he’ll grip the hips of whoever he’s getting down with and extremely fond of hickies. unfortunately for the two of you, he wasn’t allowed to mark you up this time.

you huffed loudly as your director kept going on and on about how great this was gonna be and how amazing it is to have two of the top stars in his video.

“yeah, yeah, fantastic. now can we get on with it? his viagra’s gonna wear off before he gets any action and my pussy will dry up so fast the sahara will be envious.” you half-yelled so you were able to heard from the your confines in the dryer. you heard the blonde behind you laugh, lightly brushing one of his rough hands against the exposed skin on your ass, sending a shiver down your spine and into your aching core.

the camera-man finally started filming and you saw the red light of your camera that was catching your face light up as the director gave the thumbs up. you once again repeated your corny-ass mandatory lines and you finally felt his fingers push your soaked panties to the side. you relaxed a bit, knowing that everything from here was basically free reign for the two of you. only a few more required lines from him.

“look how wet you fuckin’ get from your oniisan. only dirty fuckin’ sluts act like this.” he slapped your under-stimulated clit and gently moved his fingers up and down your soaked cunt. you moaned loudly. genuinely mewls and whines escaped your lips as he kneaded the fat of your famous ass. you couldn’t tell if you were just so needy or if your colleague behind you was just that fucking good.

it didn’t help that he was pretty fucking attractive, either. you were practically swimming in your juices the first time you met. ready to drop your pants and give it to him like you were on the casting couch.

you felt his cockhead circling your tight entrance as you whined for him. big, genuine whines. you had never been so eager to be fucked on camera, something about him enamored you. you felt the smallest little bit of his fat tip slip in your folds, but he stopped there.

“say it.”

“w-what?”

“say it. tell me you’re my little whore. oniichan’s personal slut. just using you to keep my dick wet.” he gripped your hips with his strong hands to keep you from throwing your hips back onto him, not like katsuki would mind. he thinks you’re pretty and sexy and has been waiting so long to sink his dick into your pretty folds. he’s fucked his right fist so many nights to your videos on your onlyfans, loving that you weren’t staged to do anything. that it was just you.

he’s also admitted multiple times on his social media that he is definitely an ass man and practically creamed his pants when he got the call that you were shooting together.

“fuck yes! i’m your whore, oniichan! please please please fuck me!” and with that he roughly slapped your ass and unceremoniously slammed his length into your cunt, resulting in a loud moan from you that could probably be heard from the main audio system. he let a rough growl escape from his throat and smirked when your pussy tightened around him. your walls were so warm and inviting, like his cock was made for you.

“fuck yes, baby. look at you taking your brother so, so good hah slutty pussy suckin’ me right in fuck. you wanted this didn’t you?” his movements were quick, rough, and calculated. the man inside you had turned animalistic as soon as his heavy, aching cock got a kiss of your sweet insides. almost immediately finding that spongy spot inside you that made you feel like you could let go already. he bullied his fat cock into your tight hole like he owned it. like you were his personal fucktoy.

“ohmygod yes… fuck please please please.” you babbled, not having to do much work to play your reactions up for your camera. he genuinely just felt so good, so perfect inside your warm cunt. it’d only been a few moments and you were already drunk off the way he slid in an out of you, fucking you like you’ve never been fucked before.

sweat was already slicking up katsuki’s body and sparse blonde hairs stuck to his now-shiny forehead. the sight of his thick cock disappearing inside the co-worker of his dream’s pussy had him feeling like he could bust his nut already. his ruby red eyes bore into you, watching the way your ass jiggled every time his pelvis met the area where you butt and thighs met. he wished he could see your little fucked-out face. he so desperately wanted to watch as your pretty mouth let out those whiny and desperate moans, just for him.

just for him.

he usually didn’t, but he was definitely watching this video once it’s out, so desperately wanting to know what your sweet face looked like as he fucked you like a feral man.

“atta girl, little minx aren’cha? i bet you got stuck here on purpose just so you could get your step-brother to fuck you senseless.” he fucked into your dripping pussy harder after the director gave the green light, he too looked like he could bust in his jeans just from the sight of two attractive people fucking before him. it filled katsuki’s already full ego even more.

“god yes daddy wanted you s’fuckin’ bad!” daddy. the five letter word replayed in his head over and over again. it filled him with such an animalistic possession to know that you did do some research of your own, how else would you have known he goes crazy over that little name?

“oh fuck, callin’ me daddy now, eh? you filthy fuckin’ girl- oh shit!” he had to throw his head back from the pleasure as you threw your ass back against him, fucking yourself on his cock. your mewls growing louder as you split yourself open on him and he felt your already-tight walls begin to clamp down harder, squeezing his dick just right. he used the hand that wasn’t pushing your thong to the side to reach around and rub circles on your swollen, neglected clit.

“please daddy… i need to cum fuck i need to cum!” you loudly moaned, almost at a pitch similar to screaming. katsuki’s shit-eating smirk only grew louder. the two of you were so engrossed in each other that you both didn’t notice the director yelling cut and the clapperboard being used to signal the end of a take. you didn’t even realize that you had strayed away from your directions.

“c’mon babygirl… cum on this cock fuck! wan’ you to make a mess of your oniichan. keep fuckin’ yourself back on me like that and daddy’ll paint your insides white ngh shit.” the mix of his thick dick, skilled fingers, and word choice making the fire burning in your belly to engulf your body in heat. clear liquid gushing from your pussy and warming katsuki’s pelvis and legs. he looked down just as the last bit of liquid shot out from your spent sex.

“oh god baby, YES,” he groaned deeply and continued thrusting into you, chasing his own release. he used your body ruthlessly, like an animal in desperate heat, “fuck baby… ‘m cummin’ ‘m cummin’ please god let me cum inside please please.”

you’d never heard the rough dom whimper before, but the sound was music to your still-ringing ears. you let out a “yes yes yes” to let him know it was okay to cum inside. with a few more sloppy, rough thrusts, he was spurting his white hot seed inside your perfect pussy. you were both out of breath, sweaty, and fucked out. he still wasn’t fucked out enough and managed to give your ass a few light slaps, still enamored with how it shook and jiggled. you collapsed inside the machine, legs drooping and letting your ass fall once he pulled out. you were trembling and so exhausted you could probably fall asleep inside this uncomfortable-ass dryer. ready to dream about the best dicking you’ve ever had in your goddamn life.

after you both got cleaned up and half-chewed out by the director for going off script and ‘ruining his shoot,’ it was time to finally relax and go home. your bathtub practically screaming your name from home. before that, though, you met katsuki in the stars only lounge.

he wore a muscle tank that showed off his beautiful body that he’d spent years sculpting in the gym and a pair of classic grey sweats that showed off the imprint of his half-chub, you assumed the viagra still hadn’t completely wore off.

“can you believe the fucker had the audacity to say we ruined his shitty video? if anything we made that half-assed shit better.” you could tell he was prideful of his work due to the emphasis he put on his words. you lightly laughed, watching him scroll on his phone to catch up with the world since you both weren’t allowed it for a few hours. you saw his strong hands tracing lazy circles on his thigh.

“we should’ve wrote that script, shown them how it’s really done. we’re the ones that know how to trend on the hub, anyways.” it was his turn to let out a laugh this time. you sat down next to him on the black couch, still eyeing his cock and fingers that you already wanted back inside you. your gawking not going unnoticed by the blonde.

“see somethin’ you like?” he looked at you through his eyelashes and smirked.

“hell yeah,” your eyes traced his body, admiring every curve and detail, “i think it’s quite unfair that you got to see this hot bod and all i got to see was the inside of a dryer.” he gave you an amused look and gestured down to his semi-hard cock.

“whaddya say about round two in my trailer?”

the company ended up using the video the two of you supposedly “ruined,” it was trending in the top ten for a month straight due to its ‘raw intensity’ and ‘believable passion.’

you and katsuki were now in high demand to work with each other, jobs that you never denied. :)

part two.

[greynatomy]

protective

arsenal x reader

some family dynamics with reader and the team

———

You signed your first professional football contract when you were seventeen with Arsenal. Ever since then, your teammates became very protective of you. You were assigned to live with Lia, who instantly took you under her wing.

At the time, Lia and Caitlin had been together and became your team parents. They would make sure you’ve packed everything you needed for away games, packed you lunches, whatever parents did and you very much enjoyed the attention. Even when you went on loan for a season all the way to California for Angel City, they made sure to get Christen’s phone number to make sure you were bing taken care of.

What you hated though, was how protective they were of you and that protectiveness passed onto the rest of your Arsenal teammates and when you were called up to the Lionesses, Leah and Beth’s protectiveness passed onto the rest of your national teammates.

Fast forward four years later, you’re now twenty-one, still living with Lia, minus Caitlin. You loved to call yourself a child of divorce, the ex-couple finding it amusing.

Right now, you and Lia were walking into Emirates Stadium to get ready for the match. You walk over to your cubby right next to you other mom.

“Hey, babes. Did you take a nap?” Caitlin pulls you into a hug, kissing the side of your head. You only nod, still feeling the sleepiness.

You get ready in your game kit, putting your warm up shirt over. Grabbing your hairbrush and some hair ties, you walk over to where Steph is, sitting on the ground between her legs, where she starts doing your hair, no questions asked, on of the perks of being the team baby.

Running onto the pitch, you start to warm up, partnering with Kyra. Couple minutes in, the fans started cheering, louder than any cheer you’ve heard just during warmups.

“Hey, isn’t that the girl you’re always watching?”

“What? Like I’m some stalker?” Your eyes wide, not sure what Lia meant when she walked up to you.

“No, like movies and that show she did. What was it? Wednesday or something?”

You look up to where she’s pointing on the big screen, seeing none other than Jenna Ortega. Your eyes instantly lights up, not knowing she would be at your match, or even in England.

Before your teammates knew it, you were up in the stands giving her a big hug.

“That doesn’t look like a very platonic hug, doesn’t it?” Katie asks Caitlin.

With her brows furrowed, she walks over to her ex-girlfriend asking if she’s seeing the same thing.

“She needs a good talking to.”

“Her or the girl?”

“We’ll talk to our kid and make Leah talk to the girl.”

“Ah. Good thinking.”

Walking towards where you were on the stands, they both call you over, saying it’s time to go back through the tunnel.

“Well, those are my mums. I’ll see you after the game so don’t go anywhere.”

You give Jenna a crooked grin. She lifts a hand up to cup your cheek, giving it a little pinch.

“You’re too cute. I’ll be sure to stay here.”

“Okay. See you later!”

Giving her a quick hug, you run off to Caitlin and Lia, them wrapping an arm each around you.

“Who was that?”

“Yeah, when’d you get a girlfriend?”

Your eyes go wide and purposefully ignore the questions, running away from them.

———

The match starts with Arsenal’s possession. Everything’s been all back and forth so far.

Meanwhile, Leah makes her way to the stands where your very popular guest is sitting.

“Mind if I sit here?” Leah asks, pointing at the empty seat next to the brunette.

“No, go ahead.”

Getting comfortable, the two watch the match, not really acknowledging each other. Leah, the great speaker that she is, is having a hard time to give the apparent girlfriend of her little cub the ‘talk’.

“How rude of me. I’ve not introduced myself. I’m Leah.”

“Jenna.” She shakes Leah’s hand that was held out to her.

“It’s very nice to meet you Jenna.”

“You as well.”

“Okay. Now, I saw that you know our baby gunner over there.”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, yeah. We’re close.”

“How close would you say is close?”

“I’m not comfortable sharing things about my private life.”

“Uh, how do I put this, I have been given a job by her mums to basically find out more about you.”

“You know her moms?”

“Well team mums. I’m like the big sister, so I guess I’m trying to give you the ‘talk’ which is not going so well right now.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I thought you were a fan.”

“It’s all good. The whole team is just very protective of Y/N. We’ve known her since she was seventeen and filled in familial roles for her.”

The two were chatting it up, Leah getting to know the actress and paying attention to the match going on. Disappointment ran through both Leah and Jenna when the opposition scored in the twenty-fifth minute.

After that, everything’s been going back and forth, not much else happening. The Arsenal fans were losing hope once the ninetieth minute came. However, on the ninety-second minute, you stole the ball from your opponent, dribbling around her. Everyone was on the edge of their seat. You kicked the ball through their legs and shot a banger right passed the keeper’s gloves, equalizing the match.

You ran towards where Jenna was seated, seeing Leah next to her, but not thinking much of it, and sent a kiss her way, making her blush. Leah pretends to grab it and put it into her pocket making you laugh as you celebrate with the team.

Just two minutes after that, you sent a pass to Alessia, who makes it into the back of the net, giving you the lead. You run up to her and jump into her arms, screaming. The final whistle blows not long after, sending the fans cheering.

Leah as Jenna to follow her as she was going to the pitch, wanting to celebrate with her teammates. You, on the other hand, went to where Jenna was seated, not seeing her anymore, when hands cover your eyes.

“I can’t see!”

“You’re so cute.” You recognize the voice making your turn to face her.

“Jenna! I thought you left!” You wrap your arms around her waist, hers around your neck, standing up straight, her legs lifting off the ground because of your much taller form.

“I told you I wouldn’t.” You let her go, but keep your hands on her waist.

“Babes, you’re needed for an interview.” You tune to your right to see Lia and Caitlin.

“Ugh.” You throw your head back, not wanting to do an interview.

“Off you go. Don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

“Wait for me again?” You ask Jenna, getting a nod in response.

Once you leave, Caitlin and Lia step closer to Jenna.

“Hi, I’m Lia, this is Caitlin. What are your intentions with Y/N?”

“Well, when she’s done, I intend to take her to this restaurant she’s been wanting to try, but not without me, so I’ve reserved a seat for us there. And for the future, the same thing I’ve been doing which is to be patient and love her all the same, even more.”

“Woah, you’re good.” Caitlin didn’t expect that response.

“Yeah, I’ve tried to give her the talk, very likable person she is.”

“Hey, guys! What are we talking about?” You join back with them after your interview.

“Your girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend? I-uh-d-don’t have a-a—”

“They figured it out.” Jenna interrupts your stuttered response.

“Fine. I have a girlfriend. It’s so cool right!” You give everyone your famous bright smile.

Caitlin and Lia wrap an arm each around you, walking towards the tunnel.

“We still have to give you the talk thought.”

“What? No, please don’t!”

[babyseraphim]

1910's music: Edwin Payne style

Hi ya’ll! Friendly music teacher/opera singer here to answer a question that pretty much no one has asked (except me): what music would Edwin have listened to/enjoyed when he was alive?

I’ve separated this into three different genres (classical, jazz, and pop), so the entire thing is pretty long. I've also tried to give references for any additional information provided, but most of it is coming straight from my brain after years of music history classes, so feel free to correct me if I get anything wrong.

Classical Music

So, the first thing to know about me is that I’m a big pianist!Edwin truther, and I'm going to be talking about it a lot in this post. It was extremely common for families (especially wealthy families) to have their children train in some sort of instrument from an early age back then, so learning music was something that Edwin likely would have been forced to do.

There are some classical pieces that I have already heard mention of amongst the fandom, so I will stick them in the 'honorable mentions' section, but I want to feature some music that I haven't seen mentioned in conjunction with Edwin's character yet. 1. Erik Satie's Trios Gnosiennes (1893)

So, I've always associated the first three Gnosiennes with Edwin not only because they're so hauntingly beautiful, but also because they're rhythmically very different than a lot of other classical music of his time. The Gnosiennes are largely played in 'free time' (with no time signatures or bar lines), which is a bit unusual for the genre (though modern classical music has a lot more of it). Satie's music really pulled away from a lot of musical customs, spurning traditional forms and tonal structures in favor of more creative options, and I think Edwin would have really enjoyed it.

Edwin's possible interest in breaking musical customs will come back a lot throughout this post, but given that he is often characterized as going against the social grain (whether he was trying to or not), I think he really would have enjoyed Satie's works as a whole. However, Trios Gnosiennes just really speak to me for his character.

2. Igor Stravinsky's The Rite of Spring (premiered in 1913)

The Rite of Spring was a Russian ballet that Stravinsky was commissioned to write for the Ballet Russes company. The work was known for its dissonance and barbarity, and the dancing was described as 'jerky' and 'hedonistic'.

Now, do I think that Edwin would have particularly enjoyed the sound of the the Rite of Spring? Maybe not, but I imagine he likely would have respected its departure from the musical decorum of his time (the piece later went on to be considered one of the the earliest examples of modernism in music). The first public showing of The Rite of Spring caused the theater to break out into a riot partially due to the fact that they thought the music/dancing was a work of blasphemy, and I just think Edwin would have found that hilarious.

3. Gaetano Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor (1835), particularly Spargi d'amaro pianto (the famous 'mad scene' aria)

I don't think Edwin would have been a fan of opera as a whole, but I do think that this work's entertaining twists, literary origins, and technically challenging composition might have caught his eye (I even went so far as to sing through this aria a few nights ago because I was curious, and yeah, its really fucking hard).

Lucia di Lammermoor is a tragic opera based on the 1819 novel The Bride of Lammermoor by Walter Scott, which was based on the real life story of a woman named Janet Dalrymple. Lucia was performed at the Met nearly every season from 1903-1972, and I imagine that if it was doing well in America, it must have been doing numbers in Europe.

Honorable Mentions - Claude Debussy's Clair de Lune and Deux Arabesques - Frédéric Chopin's Noctures (particularly Op. 9, No. 1) and Études (particularly Op. 25, No. 11) - Erik Satie's Trios Gymonepdies

Jazz Music

So, this is where my pianist!Edwin headcanon starts to diverge from the pretty much all of the other music-related headcanons I've seen.

Technically speaking, 'jazz' as we know it didn't really exist when Edwin was alive; he died literally one the cusp of the the Golden Age of Jazz, which is a huge fucking bummer. Jass (as it would've have been referred to in the 1910's) mostly consisted of ragtime and early blues, and was considered to be a 'fringe' style of music (pretty much entirely due to racism). As far as acceptability went, being a teenager with a love for 'jass' in the 1910's would have been the social equivalent of being a teenager with a love for ska or punk music in the 80's (the parallels!!!)

I think its pretty well argued within the fandom that Edwin is a bit rebellious when it come to authority and societal standards, and even though I think he was probably less of a little shit while he was alive, there's no way he was just totally fine with living inside the lines. I posit that, as a rebellion, he would have spurned classical music and became a ragtime pianist (which was one of the main precursors to jazz as we know it today). I actually wrote a fic about this way back when I first joined the fandom, for anyone who's interested!

1. Scott Joplin's Sugar Cane Rag (1908), Fig Leaf Rag (1908), and Paragon Rag (1909)

Scott Joplin (the King of Ragtime) was the most famous ragtime pianist of all time, and one of the driving forces behind creating the jazz genre as we know it. I guarantee that you guys have heard his most famous song, The Entertainer, at least once, and have probably heard his Maple Leaf Rag as well. If Edwin was into ragtime, then its a sure thing that he would have been a big fan of Scott Joplin's rags. I picked the three that I thought suited him best.

2. James Scott's Frog Legs Rag (1906) and Sunburst Rag (1909)

James Scott was also a famous American ragtime composer, and both of the listed songs would have been released when Edwin was pretty young. He probably wouldn't have been old enough to play them for a few years, depending on his training, but thinking of a little 12 year old Edwin learning to play these (as well as Scott Joplin's rags) in his free time just fucking tickles me. I love it so much.

3. Davy Peyton and Spencer Williams' I Ain't Got Nobody, recorded by Marion Harris in 1916

I Ain't Got Nobody was an early jazz standard from 1915 that eventually developed into a multi-genre standard (meaning that it was considered a standard for multiple genres, ranging from jazz to pop to country). I don't have a lot of reasoning for this one other that I think that Edwin would have just really liked Marion Harris' voice.

Honorable Mentions - Euday L. Bowman's Twelfth Street Rag (aka the Spongebob song) - Artie Matthews' Weary Blues

Pop Music

So, a disclaimer here. My music degree required me to take jazz and classical music history classes, which did not cover pop music of the 1910's, so I have fewer historical insights to offer about this genre. However, whenever I think about these songs, I always picture Edwin listening to them through a phonograph while doing homework on his bed, like a teenage girl listening to Sabrina Carpenter or Chappell Roan while studying (I know that's silly, but I think its just such a fun visual). 1. Leo Friedman's Let Me Call You Sweetheart, recorded by the Arthur Clough in 1910

Let Me Call You Sweetheart was one of the highest charting songs throughout the early 1910's, and the most popular version was recorded by a group called the Peerless Quartet. Edwin doesn't really strike me as a quartet enjoyer, though, and this version by Arthur Clough was released the same year. I think he would have enjoyed the tonal quality of Clough's voice much more.

2. Grace Le Boy's The Good Ship Mary Anne, recorded by Nora Bayes in 1914

Nora Bayes was a very famous vaudeville performer of the 1920's, and lot of her biggest hits were recorded shortly after Edwin died (like, literally 1917-1925). I wrote a snippet for a fic that got left on the cutting room floor a while back about the song itself providing a positive association with the term 'Mary Anne', and I still stick by that. In this song, the name 'Mary Anne' only refers to a ship.

3. Irving Berlin's Alexander's Ragtime Band, recorded by Arthur Collins and Byron G. Harlan in 1911

So, this song could technically go under the jazz section, but I'm going to put it here, and I'll explain why. Jazz is an art from that was created and popularized by black musicians, which is why it was seen as such an undesirable art form for such a long time. People liked the music, but they didn't like that it was made by black artists. Alexander's Ragtime Band originated in Tin Pan Alley and was one of the top charting songs for much of 1911 (first in America, then overseas), but it was created by a white artist that was simply 'jumping a trend'. Strictly speaking, genre-wise, its not even a ragtime song—it's a march. It's just about ragtime.

I honestly don't really even like this song that much, and I'm not sure Edwin would have very strong feelings about it either. However, it was an extremely pivotal song for the time period, and likely would have been inescapable (or as inescapable as music could be back in the 1910's, given that music required either records or live performances). Think of it as the equivalent of a pop song that you could really do without, but its so popular that it keeps winning awards and playing in every Forever 21 and H&M within a ten mile radius.

Honorable Mentions - Gus Edwards' By the Light of the Silvery Moon, recorded by Ada Jones - Percy Wenrich's Moonlight Bay, recorded by Dolly Connolly

~~~~

I hope you guys enjoyed this! I also made a playlist, if you'd like to take a look (I couldn't find all the songs, and not all of them are time period accurate, but I tried my best).

If ya'll liked this, I might make one for Charles and dive into ska and Rude Boy culture a little bit. Feel free to send me any questions or ideas you have about all this stuff, too! I love talking about it.

For the people who asked to be tagged: @likemmmcookies @edwinspaynes @asnottoldbyginger @rexrevri

@l-nightmare @ricebees @aroacespacerock @haledamage

(plus i'm tagging you, @laiqualaurelote, because I feel you would appreciate this)

[thestargayzingheroine]

Why A Better World is my favourite "Evil Superman" Story

So in the last two decades or so, there's been a notable amount of dark and edgy stories around superheroes turning evil and whatnot and most of them really love to do their own expies of Superman. I've never been the biggest fans of these kinds of stories.

And then there's the actual stories of Superman and other heroes being outright villains or at least just massive assholes. In recent years, this has been largely thanks to the influence of media like the Injustice Games or the Synderverse DC movies. It's... honestly become a trope I am tired of.

Because you know the damnest thing? There is a story that does all these ideas really damn well and arguably better. It is the two-parter from the Justice League cartoon "A Better World".

Now, I am aware how most people favouring the DCAU has become a bit of toxic nostalgia at times and it's something I myself am trying to work through a bit. But in this case, I do think it's the best idea of doing an evil DC story, much better and more interesting than the Crime Syndicate, who if you ask me are not very interesting, though I do remember liking the Crisis On Two Earths movie a lot, which funny enough, was originally going to be this two parter before various things led to it being canned and then later repurposed as a direct to DVD movie.

Anyway, my main crux of why I love this story is simple... The entire Justice League turns evil... and the reasons are very much in-character for all of them. You look at the scene with Justice Lord Batman for example.

As fucking evil as the Justice Lords are... Batman can't quite fully hate his alternate self for his reason for taking part in all this being basically one-step further than his own mission, that no child should ever go through what he did. Hell, I recall reading that the reason the writers had Batman drop his batarang at the end of this scene... was because he genuinely wouldn't be able to come up with an argument to that.

Superman likewise kills Lex Luthor because yeah, Luthor literally exploited the flaws in Democracy and became president of the US, threatening to kinda basically start world war 3. It's obviously horrible... but Superman is a character whose main motivation is making the world a better place. And if people who abuse the systems of power of the world are hurting people, why shouldn't Superman put a stop to that?

And yeah, Superman should obviously never kill, he's the most paragon of paragons of the DC universe, a man committed to always being better than the villains he fights... but this is him pushed to his most logical extreme. Hell, the main Superman knows this and its why Lex used his knowledge of this alternate universe as part of his plan in the season after this, to goad our Superman into crossing the line because yeah, there's a part of him that could go this far.

But right as Superman is about to apparently finish him, the big guy says this.

"I'm not the man who killed President Luthor. I wish to heaven that I were but I'm not."

Because Superman like everyone else, obviously would have those same thoughts and same urges. He's human.

I've kinda gone off Injustice a bit because to be honest... the injustice games were kinda just this but a bit too edgelordy. Hell, in A Better World, Lois Lane still lives and the whole genesis of it doesn't revolve around her getting fridged.

So yeah, A Better World is probably one of my favourite mirror universe stories because of the fact that well... it really is like looking in a mirror and seeing just how easy the greatest heroes can become evil and how they wouldn't be massively out of character doing so. But also it reminds us that as much as this darkness can tempt some of our finest, the ones who don't go down this dark path are stronger in heart than anyone else. Because when the world becomes a dark and horrible place, it becomes very easy to be just as dark. But even though it can be hard to still try and be a good person even in dark times, it's ultimately worth it. Because good always triumphs over evil.

[hadesisqueer]

Okay, so I finished JWCT and-- it was a great season.

Ben was awesome this season. All the mentions to how much he'd grown were funny, and the Big Ben joke was as well. I really liked him and his moments with Darius and Yaz, most of all with Yaz; I always enjoyed their friendship, and I loved how they talked about their feelings again. Also-- he has a girlfriend? A girlfriend?

Kenji's moments confronting his father and not letting himself be manipulated again were among my favorites this season. His conflict with Darius and their brotherly moments were cool to watch. Darius' whole arc, his grief and guilt over Brooklynn's supposed death was among my favorite arcs this season.

Yaz and Sammy were awesome in general, both individually and as a couple. Yaz is my favorite character, and I loved her arc. As someone with PTSD myself, I am very pleased with how the show didn't shy away from it and fully saying "PTSD". Personally, I am pretty happy that Yaz's PTSD was handled so realistically and with such care. Sammy was a badass this season, and her feelings and anxiety while dealing with Yaz apparently pulling away, her grief over Brooklynn's supposed death and the fact that her parents for some reason don't talk to her were handled realistically. I specifically wanna know what happened between her and her parents, because she adored her family and her family adored her as well back in CC; I really wonder what the conflict is that they're not talking anymore. Yasammy as a couple is awesome as well, as I said: their conflict is handled very well and you can understand both sides. The resolution was great and their moments in general were awesome. They're still easily the best couple of this show (not that it had a lot of competition), and probably one of the best in animated media in general. I love them.

Brooklynn being alive at the end? I think everyone called it, lmao. My girl is far too cool to just die, sorry, she can't die. I can't wait to see the others find out and their reunion.

Now, my thoughts about the other ships this season-- Brookenji and Dinostar lmao? I cheered when I found out Brookenji broke up; I was never a fan of the couple, sorry, it was TOO forced. Now, the whole Dinostar thing-- I was a bit suspicious of the way Darius was acting about Brooklynn and all, but I didn't think they were actually gonna have him admit he was in love with her, so that took me by surprise. I know they said it was unrequited, but yeah I don't buy that. I'm predicting it: it will turn out that it's not unrequited, that Brooklynn actually has feelings for him and they're going to pull a love triangle between her, Darius and Kenji. Pfff, it's like I'm seeing it. I'm really not a fan of love triangles tbh. But if it happens (and it's probably gonna happen, I can see it coming), I hope it ends up with Dinostar endgame instead of Brookenji. Like I already said, I really don't like Brookenji. And I've always been more neutral with Dinostar (and Benrius; I like, them too but don't pay them that much mind). I liked Dinostar platonically a lot, and while I didn't care much of it, I also never minded the idea of them becoming a couple. In fact, Brookenji took me by surprise while watching the show because to me if they were gonna pair Brooklynn with someone, I always thought it'd be Darius rather than Kenji, because I thought they made more sense. So, yeah, if it's Brookenji or Dinostar, Dinostar all the way for me lmao. Still not looking forward to the love triangle if it happens lol.

Also, Bumpy being a mom. Fave moment of the season.

Anyway, I need a second season. Like, right now.

[hypertechnica]

i just finished watching season 3 of house. eric foreman is the best and most underrated character and i will not be taking questions on this.

like yeah, im a huge Big Three (house, wilson, cuddy) fan too, and the shipping aspect is obviously going to be the biggest thing people talk about (it’s tumblr) but if we can look beyond shipping for like one millisecond foreman is such an interesting character and i don’t see anyone talk about him!!!!! he’s an analytical ‘straight man,’ he’s friendly and desires human connection yet pushes people away the moment they start to get close. he doesn’t outwardly care about what people think yet still craves to be the best because if he’s not the smartest person in the room he’s worthless.

he’s morally grey. he’s pinned between his strong sense of justice and his desire for cold scientific problem solving. he’s primarily ethical yet not afraid to prioritize himself over others, even if callously. he has principles. he’s horrified at the side of his personality house brings out in him. he has a complicated relationship with religion and his family. he has imposter syndrome due to racism and classism in the medical community. he has internalized so many biases and when they show, it’s not pretty. he spends 3 seasons simultaneously loathing house and envying him. cameron wants to fix him, chase wants to be him, wilson (and cuddy) want to fuck him, but foreman? he wants to study this man like a lab rat. and possibly strangle him. he’s the ideological bridge between cameron’s ethics and chase’s fuck-all attitude. he tries so hard to be a healthy functioning adult and in many respects he succeeds but he will always be haunted by his chronic loneliness and inferiority complex (one which he hides well with his ego.) he’s just like house and he hates it. he’s a vindictive jerk, but he’s a really good person at heart. he tries very hard to be, anyways. and he’s the only one of his colleagues who actually took the initiative to stop enabling house and just quit. the others will bitch and moan about it but he was the one who actually prioritized his mental health over remaining psychologically obsessed with him. (will that last? no idea, i know he comes back later but shh. spoilers. him folding and coming back would be great though lol)

his character arc so far has been amazing and i hope seasons 4-8 do him justice 💥💥💥