#gives eugene a hug

[hufflepuff3000]

Eugene Roe fanart

[aeoni-sw]

AOI: You look like you need a hug <3

Eugene: Wha—Wait what're you—

AOI: t h e r a p y . Let it out. Just this once.

THEY NEED A HUG GRRRAHHSHFJVWDVS

Drew this on the bus lololol

Enjoy some well needed therapy for Eugene

(im very normal about MUwO. very)

[sonic-tangled-au]

Scene Equivalent Development!

I wrote this up AGES ago on Instagram and yet again totally forgot to post it here! So… uh…here a lil hint of what this scene equivalent is! 👀😅✨

I was super stuck on this for a while but when it finally hit I was like OOOO! Given the Chaotixs are almost always broke imagining how extra broke they’d be in this scenario is hilarious to me. And they have quite the grudge with Sonic… (which honestly I think just about everyone probably does in this au).

I have so many fun interactions in mind for them and the scene! I also just love the idea that the first interaction Miles/Tails probably has with another kid close to his age is him terrified defensively holding out his little zapper deceive (frying pan equivalent!) and Charmy seeing it and being like “HOW MUCH DO YOU GUYS THINK THAT WOULD SELL FOR?!”. Poor little guy just wants to be able to afford cookies <\3

[freebooter4ever]

sometimes i forget that people new here probably don't know teddy's name so missed the irony of this. back in 2020 i named him eugene. and this hockey season i put a r*angers jersey on Eugene. cause i think im funny. ive also started to worry that i pushed my luck and criss crossed my loyalties too much and now both teams are backsliding ;_; but Teddy Gene has been sporting this jersey since the start of the season so i dont think its his fault. both teams have back to back games starting tomorrow before the break and im Concerned :(

[parabelled]

Listen, I’m saying this as someone with C-PTSD, but it kills me at the end of The Pacific when Eugene Sledge’s brother is basically showing off war memorabilia from the more “digestible” warfront, showing off flags, and then we just cut to Sledge wandering off not able to fully integrate back into society after what he’d seen, and all I could think of is that one Charlie Brown Halloween Special that was like:

“I GOT A CANDY BAR!”

“I GOT A LOLLIPOP”

“I got a rock.”

[beholdtheclever-idiot]

I just really want to be hugged the way Eugene and Rapunzel hug after they save each other's lives.

[antiquepearlss]

Eugene get your ass back to the Dark Kingdom, your cousin’s gone emo

The Dark Kingdom has had their descendants for a long time, his cousin Horace was the one who was supposed to be the holder of the moonstone and he left him alone, just like his mother and father did in this cold and boring kingdom, he was forced to learn how to fight, how to manage to react appropriately to royal situations, but the worst one out all of them was the moonstone.

He never asked to be the only last descendent of the royal blood.

He never wanted to have anything to do with the moonstone!

But his "family" would never listen

"this is the best for you Varian"

"You shouldn't be greedy"

"Accept this destiny that has been sealed since you were born Varian"

"G i v e u p V a r i a n"

"...I never asked for this"

"you asked for it when you were born, now just walk, the moonstone waits for you"

I'm finally happy and satisfied (maybe) with how they look bc i was trying to upload them before with only some colors and... it didn't felt right, and also a part of me wanted to leave them without color but a part of me is a bitch that is messy and loves to paint stuff :3

I did some of this for studies basically, bc I found an artist called (gtsleep1200) and auuuoooouuughhhh they inspired me a lot.

So yeah, that and moonstone Varian or moon Varian or whatever!

Also! Zoé is such a good group that you should totally go and listen :3

Cute comments on the tags save me cut comments on the tags save me pls

[venuiscmind]

i was replaying part two and all i can think of is the scene where dina and ellie talk about if anyone is still making movies. imagine ellie doing everything she can to find a camera so you and her can make your own type of movies ?? id explode.

Only on Camera (Ellie Williams x reader smut) 18+

Hiiiiii. Loved the request and has been on my mind ever since you asked for it. Bartender Ellie is still on the way but this just inspired me so much!!! ( also this was written at 3am so pls ignore any errors ooph) (W.C 3k)

Scissoring, tribbing, fingering, oral, making out, spit play (only a tiny bit), squirting, pet names.

read this.

</3.

If you asked Ellie, she'd tell you that she never thought she would be like one of those girls that she had seen on the smut magazines or pictures she had come across in patrols or in scavenges for trading material. The thought had briefly crossed her mind while she was on a patrol with Dina, and she had asked her if she thought 'Was anyone still making movies out there.' but she kept her lips firmly shut. 

Then she had actually discovered those tapes in Eugene’s Library.

Ellie never watched them whenever she returned to the library, but she was a woman possessed. She had to make trips back whenever she was patrolling the creek trails with Dina, and she would always take some weed back with her to trade or to smoke with you. She had even began trading the leaves with the others in Jackson swapping them for little things that she thought you would love like clothes, certain snacks or trinkets you would store in safe places. 

She loved seeing you happy and sometimes wished she could capture these moments of you smiling up at her or hugging her to say thank you forever. Make them permanent and tangible so she could hold onto it for the rest of her life.  

That was when she thought back on those tapes again. Not thinking of the girls or what they were doing on them but of you, and how you would look better on camera than any of them. Clothes on or not.  

And that was how it started. Her signing in at any patrol spot and then begging her partner to give her an hour to turn the place over to find what she was looking for. She began expanding her search to places that weren't necessarily on the patrol route but still needed to be checked out, schools, malls that seemed to be as stocked as could be in the apocalypse, certain houses that hadn't been too badly ransacked and lone stores that could have what she needed. 

Nothing. To say she was getting frustrated was an understatement, but she didn't give up. She wanted to try. So, she kept looking and bribing her partner to look the other way. Then one day it clicked. After weeks of ransacking and mauling properties she looked in the place where it had all started. She tied Shimmer outside of Eugene's library and got to work immediately.  

Finally in one of the drawers she found a handheld camera, still in good condition and as luck would have it still had storage. "Yes." She sighed into her frozen hands and silently thanked the soul of the now deceased Eugene. She stuffed the camera into her backpack and rode back to Jackson with a new stride in her step.  

She didn't bring up the idea to you immediately, but she did bring the camera to show you. Despite her frantic search Ellie wanted to ease the idea of being on tape onto you as gently as possible. But it didn't take long for her to ask. 

It was a rare evening that the both of you had off, Ellie relieved from her patrols for the day and you from your duties in the stables and gardens of Jackson. You spent it how you always did. At each other's respective houses, this time it was at Ellie's, and you had spent the day watching movies and keeping each other warm against the bitter cold of the town's winters.  

You started off watching the first few films side by side, sharing a blanket, then Ellie took your legs and swung them over her lap in the name if making you comfier. Soon after you had simply gravitated towards each other, each movement had you growing closer, negating any space between the two of you until you had gotten close enough to sit in her lap.  

You slid your leg on the other side of hers, so that you could straddle her and hear her ask a simple "you okay to keep going?" Your responses were always the same. A small kiss to her lips and a "yes els, keep going." mumbled against her lips. 

The dim light of the movie, kept Ellie's flushed face visible to you as you stroked the side of her face and leaned in, being met by her halfway as she arched up to kiss you. You always felt so foggy whenever you kissed her.  

Like all the heat in your body would suddenly flare up and you could short circuit. You felt as though your heartbeat had started for the first time and you couldn't get any oxygen into your lungs. But you didn't need any. Ellie was all you needed. With her hands gripping your waist before moving the soft flesh of your ass.  

You moaned into her mouth at the touch, sliding your hands up into her hoodie palming her tits and sliding your tongue into her mouth which was already open and accepting you into her. Your heart suddenly swelled at this, feeling the love the girl under you held for you and only you.  

Ellie leaned back and pulled away from you leaning her head against the arm of the couch, looking at you for a second, lips shiny with a small string of spit connecting the two of you together. She wanted to ask you desperately but didn't to make things weird now especially when she wanted to take care of you. You saw the furrow on her brow and whispered to her "Els, are you okay over there?" looking at the expression on her face. You moved to get off, but she kept her hands firmly planted before opening her eyes fully and settling them onto you.  

"Y-yeah just wanted to ask you about something. You can a hundred percent say no, but I just wanted to see if you maybe wanted to-" "It's about that camera, isn't it?" You cut off your poor girl's rambles feeling she'd never actually ask and keep circling. You looked into her eyes lovingly and smiled softly, continuing to stroke the swells of her cheeks.  

"I want to if you want to els." This caused Ellie to groan under you and offer reassurance of "we can stop anytime you want just say," or "we don't have to you know?". You knew she was assuming and worrying you were doing this for her, but the idea had popped into your head ever since she placed the camera into your hands. You wanted to make sure your love lasted forever. On film and with each other too. You lead Ellie to her bed, hand in hand and sat her down, kissing her before setting the camera up on her desk opposite the bed, facing the both of you before flicking it on and confirming the red dot was flickering. 

You turned to her pulling your shirt over your head and placing it on her desk and heard her breath hitch at the act that she would have this captured on film forever. 

You looked back at the girl on her bed, elbows holding her up as she leaned back on them gazing up at you with her shining green eyes. "C'mere." she said holding her hands out to you beckoning you over.  

You took them and she pulled you down onto the bed, the movement causing you to realise how much slick had pooled between your legs and probably coated your underwear.  

Ellie kissed your cheeks before pulling off her hoodie and her jeans, leaving her in a black wifebeater and her underwear. You took a shaky deep breath as she crawled in the space where your legs were open and lay on top of you, who wrapped your thighs around her middle in response to the intrusion of your space.  

You helped her pull off your pants leaving you only in your underwear. You shivered and pulled her in for a kiss which she gave you but quickly pulled back in favour of getting up and gripping your thighs to pull you closer to the edge of the bed to make sure the camera would get all of what you were giving her making your shriek at the sudden movement. 

You huffed and cried out as she placed a kiss to your underwear. "shh" Ellie placated you rubbing her hands up your thighs to soothe you. She mouthed at you through the garments, listening to you shuffle and moan out at the contact. Her tongue traced around your clit before sucking on the bundle of nerves, making you cover your mouth as your jaw loosened and moans escaped your lips.  

"Ellie, please don't tease I can't take it." you groaned, but the girl was through tormenting you, pushing your underwear aside to taste you properly, spitting on your clit before sucking in your clit again. She slid her fingers against your folds, feeling you shiver against her, as she pushed into you, and settled against the spongy spot inside you. She didn't stay still though, as per your request. She never was good at denying you anything.  

She couldn't get enough of the taste sticking to her tongue and decided she wanted more before shoving her tongue inside of you after sliding her fingers out of you gently. You were so close you sobbed telling her and reached out to pull her short hair closer to your body scratching at the back of your neck. She loved when you did this groaning at the small bits of pain you were giving her she thought while her nose bumped against your clit due to your hips moving.

She hoped the camera wouldn't pick up on the way she was grinding against her own legs folded beneath her, to get some friction from the wetness in her underwear.  

She felt you cream and cum around her tongue, she lapped up as much as she could, tasting the tartness and sweetness of you in her mouth as you came on her lips. She pulled away once she felt you whine, knowing you would be overstimulated too fast if she continued so she kissed her way back up your body, grasped your jaw and you opened your lips before she even said the word "open." 

She let the liquid pool into her mouth then spat straight onto your outstretched tongue. She pushed her fingers into your mouth and felt you swallow around them. Ellie groaned watching you swallow yourself down with blown out pupils. "That's it." she said watching you, "My fucking good girl." You hummed, suckling on her thumb until there was nothing of you left to devour.  

You leaned up to kiss her then whispered in her ear "want you on me els, please?" You leaned back feeling yourself clench around nothing, aching again to feel her again. Ellie let you wrap her arms around her neck, pressing your tits against hers and kissing up her jawline to try and convince her of something she was going to do from the start.  

"Of course, baby." she whispered, kissing your cheeks back and cradling your head. She began taking off the rest of her clothes as you leaned back, letting her climb on top of you. She grabbed the back of your knees spreading them, moulding you into the position she wanted you in. You complied with her, running your hands down the lines of her abs, completely enamoured with the girl on top of you.  

She sank down slowly biting her full lips between her teeth to bite back the moans that were threatening to escape them. You wanted to hear her though, so you grabbed onto her hips gently to start fucking back onto her, coaxing her voice out of her lungs. She gasped and moaned, feeling your clits bump and your collective wetness start to mix together. "holy fuck." she groaned. She would never get used to the feeling of grinding against you. Every time she did it, she felt like she was living for the first time.  

She looked at you, blushing and trying to keep humping against her without finishing before her and had to close her eyes so as not to cum at the sight of it alone but fuck she was close. "Think I'm goanna cum oh shit-." She said cutting herself off as she felt the heat rise in her core and down to her clit as she felt herself tighten again. "so close els, cum on me please." You begged the girl above you. 

She came listening to your babbling underneath you. Ellie gushed and came just as her clit glided up against you, completely coated in your slick and felt herself float out of her body as her eyes rolled back into her skull. She also felt herself gush and squirt around you, holding onto your hands to keep herself grounded and so she didn't fall off your quivering body. She triggered your own orgasm as she felt your folds shake, squeezing around nothing but her slick.  

Once she finished panting and recovered from her orgasm she got up, remembering the camera was still on the both of you. She turned it off watching the light blink out and went back into bed after grabbing towels to clean you both. She dressed you in a shirt and kissed you.  

"Thank you, pretty girl. Can't wait to watch it." She grinned looking over at you while tossing the camera between her hands, as you blushed and covered your face, before jokingly slapping her arm. 

"As long as we watch it together, I want to see you squirt on me." It was her turn to blush at this, but she leaned in before closing her eyes to kiss you again and say, "Love you baby." in a hushed and enamoured tone. 

"Love you too els." You said fondly, wrapping your arms around the girl, covering you both in her sheets and nuzzling her nose.

[knivesandteeth]

Do you ever think about how Bashir saw every example of his exceptionalism as a reminder that his bodily autonomy was violated and his mind altered against his will, unable to truly excel if he wanted as this could be used against him but also constantly pressured by his parents and himself Be The Best™ or else what was it all for?

Do you ever think how this dynamic relates to him being an Arab man and how many POC have to work twice as hard to be recognised and still have their achievements devalued in the fragile face of white supremacy?

Do you think about how the ultimate fear of genetic augmentation is eugenics and the elimination of traits seen as undesirable under neurotypical str8 white supremacy? And the view of those who are unaltered as lower? And yet Bashir, a goofy, twinky, Autistic MOC who shows these traits very clearly, is seen as one of the only functional, successful augments? How instead of cold, inhuman amorality associated with augments (as Garak accuses him of) Bashir's morality is so so human - every line he skirts and boundary he crosses a desperate attempt to save lives and connect with other people? How he views himself as lower than everyone because of these augmentations and views any accolades as bittersweet, a reminder of the boy Jules who he feels he murdered to live?

Do you ever think about how Bashir constantly lives with the blinding, consuming fire of Kahn noonien-singh above him, unaware he is the gentle shadow at his feet?

Do you ever think about the emotional rollercoaster of Julian Bashir and want to give him a hug?

Or do you only think of yourself?

[poisonlove]

Hey, I'm not sure if you're taking requests, but I'm gonna ask anyway.

(Wednesday Addams x female reader)

Reader gets Wednesday a black necklace with a miniature dagger on it for her birthday. While Wednesday secretly loves the gift, she acts like she does not care for the gift. However, she wears it all the time. One day, when she comes into her dorm, she finds the necklace missing and practically hunts down the whole school to find it. Wednesday almost kills someone to get it. Reader sees her acting crazy to find something, and when she asks what it is, she has no choice but to tell her. It ends cute with fluff at the end

I can't write it myself, so I need help❤️

Happy birthday | w.a

Pairing: Wednesday Addams X reader

Status: request

Advertising: fluffy, wednesday cry

Author: sorry for this end

"Happy birthday, Wed," I say with a small smile on my lips.

We were at the only café in Jericho, celebrating Wednesday Addams' 17th birthday. Enid had dragged her there, promising the gothic brunette that it wasn't a birthday party but something strange she wanted to show her.

As soon as Wednesday walked into the café and saw her friends—Thing, Xavier, Eugene, Tyler, and Enid's boyfriend—she shot a glare at her roommate.

"I told you no party," she hissed, but Enid beamed at her.

"This doesn't count as a party," Enid replied, trying to reassure her.

With a resigned sigh, Wednesday approached the table.

"Happy birthday, Addams," Xavier said, grinning ear to ear.

Wednesday didn't even respond.

Wednesday's brown eyes locked onto mine, staring intensely as if trying to read my thoughts.

"I thought at least you wouldn't be involved," she murmured slowly, coldly.

Embarrassment flushed my cheeks.

"It was Enid's idea," I quickly apologized, blushing deeply under Addams' accusatory gaze.

"You know I hate birthdays," Wednesday said, unfazed.

"Think of it as an event bringing you closer to death," I suggested, shivering slightly.

Wednesday raised an eyebrow, considering it for a moment. "Interesting perspective. Though death is the only event I eagerly await, it doesn't make birthdays any less... unbearable."

I smiled shyly, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, at least you have an excuse to receive gifts."

"I detest gifts," she retorted, a touch of coldness in her voice. "They're just useless symbols of unwanted affection."

"I know," I admitted, briefly looking away. "But sometimes it's nice to receive something just because someone cares about you."

Wednesday stared at me intensely, as if trying to read between the lines of my words. "Feelings are overrated," she declared, but there was a slight hesitation in her voice.

The brunette walked slowly towards me and sat down next to me. Wednesday's Notes of Amber and Wood perfume reached my nostrils, and I almost closed my eyes in appreciation.

Enid approached us with enthusiasm, her blue eyes shining brighter than usual."Happy birthday, Weddy," the blonde chirped, almost screaming. I smiled tenderly, watching as Enid rushed towards Addams and hugged her quickly.

Wednesday closed her eyes, enduring her friend's affection.

"You don't mind if we got you gifts, right?" Enid almost asked with guilt, and Wednesday sighed loudly.

"No," she muttered through gritted teeth.

I chuckled timidly, and Wednesday kicked me under the table, silencing me and making me bite my lip hard from the pain.

"I think the whole school knows that you are a girl who likes things like death and torture..." Enid begins shyly.

"Too much," Xavier comments amused.

"So Ajax and I wanted to give you this," says Enid nervously, handing over a package wrapped in black paper.

Wednesday took the package with deliberate slowness, carefully observing every detail of the wrapping. With a precise motion, she slid a nail along the edge of the black paper, meticulously peeling off the adhesive tape. She didn't tear the paper but opened it carefully, as if performing a ritual. Finally, she extracted the contents revealing a romantic novel.

She looked up in confusion and stared intently at the blonde.

"We thought it would be torture for you to read it," the blonde said, and Wednesday smiled imperceptibly.

"Thank you," she said seriously.

Other gifts followed: Tyler gave her a coupon to order her favorite drink for free for a week, Eugene a jar of honey, and Xavier a book on various torture methods.

Wednesday glanced at me sideways, and I shrugged indifferently. I tried to hide my nervousness and continued to maintain eye contact with Wednesday. The latter, seeing nothing strange, returned to look at her friends.

I sighed with relief: I wanted to give her the gift later without anyone around.

At midnight, Wednesday's birthday party had officially become unbearable for the birthday girl, and she asked to return to Nevermore. We walked silently towards Wednesday's and Enid's room, although the latter had gone to sleep with Ajax.

Silence surrounded us, and the gift I had in my pocket burned with each passing second.

I wiped my sweaty hands on my pants and swallowed loudly.

"What's wrong with you?" Wednesday casually asks in front of me.

How did she notice?

"Nothing," I mutter timidly, nervously chuckling.

We arrive in front of her room door, and the brunette turns to look at me curiously. My eyes fix on her face illuminated by the faint moonlight, making me blush recklessly. I had feelings for Wednesday for some time now and hoped Addams wouldn't notice.

"When you laugh in this way you hide something," Wednesday says seriously.

Damn.

"Um..." I start nervously, my heart beating fast against my chest.

"I also have a gift for you," I say timidly.

"Y/n/n," the brunette whispers.

"It's nothing," I immediately justify, knowing Wednesday's general dislike for gifts, especially fancy ones.

I take the small box out of my pocket and hand it to Wednesday, trembling slightly.

Wednesday takes the box with the same meticulous care she applies to every gesture. Her long fingers delicately grasp the adhesive tape and peel it off with surgical precision. The paper unfolds under her hands like petals of a blooming flower, revealing the content. Her cold, calculating brown eyes rest on the black necklace with the tiny miniature dagger.

Despite her habit of hiding emotions, for a brief but intense moment a spark of interest passes through her eyes. Her expression doesn't change, but there's something in the tilt of her head, in the way she holds the necklace between her fingers, that suggests a subtle almost imperceptible appreciation.

"It's... an innocent gift, I swear," my cheeks turn red. "It's an old family heirloom," I justify.

Wednesday looks up from the gift and stares at me intensely. Her face is a mask of impassivity.

She says nothing but moves closer and hugs me timidly, a surprisingly tender gesture for her. The contact makes me hold my breath, and my heart seems to want to explode from my chest. Then, with a light movement, she kisses me on the cheek.I stand still, almost incredulous at what just happened.

Wednesday withdraws, her face still impassive but with a slight warmth in her cheeks.

She was embarrassed.

"Thank you," she murmurs. Then she puts the gift in her pocket and enters her room, closing the door behind her.

I stand there for a moment, trying to process everything. The silence of the hallway envelops me, but inside me, I feel a whirlwind of emotions. I bring a hand to my cheek, still warm from Wednesday's kiss, and smile shyly.

(...)

Days passed slowly, turning into months, and Wednesday remained the enigmatic and somewhat peculiar figure typical of the Addams family.

Despite the time that had passed, I had never seen her wear the necklace I had given her. Initially, I felt disappointed, but then I realized I couldn't blame her. Perhaps I had overstated its importance, making it something too sophisticated and not suited to her style. Maybe for her, it was simply an object of little interest, if not outright distasteful.

I didn't reveal my disappointment because I harbored deep feelings for her. I wanted to continue being her best friend, as I always had been, even though my heart sometimes fluttered in the face of her coldness.

One day, Wednesday's behavior took a completely anomalous turn, and I began to worry seriously about her.

I saw her walking through the school with palpable agitation, scrutinizing every corner, lifting vases, and searching through the garden's grass and fountain. It was clear she was searching for something with an almost frightening determination.

I was so worried that even Enid, usually impassive in the face of Wednesday's eccentricities, seemed unsettled. When I finally managed to talk to her, Enid confided that Wednesday had literally torn apart their room, searching everywhere with excessive fury.

"I swear, y/n, it was terrifying," Enid told me nervously. "I simply asked what she was looking for, and Wednesday yelled at me and pushed me out of the room," she continued, her voice trembling, "and if I had insisted, she would have killed me," she concluded, terrified for her life.

Enid quickly waved goodbye and walked away from me, probably wanting to escape Wednesday's wrath.

It was clear that something serious was happening.

I couldn't understand what could have triggered such a reaction in Wednesday, but the anxiety was starting to affect me too.I decided to walk towards Addams' room, eager to talk to her and understand what was going on.

As I approached, I noticed something glinting in a corner, behind a statue. I raised an eyebrow with curiosity, cautiously approaching. It was the necklace I had given Wednesday.I picked it up and carefully put it in my pocket.

I wanted to meet Wednesday and try to understand what was happening. I also hoped she could give me explanations about why she had thrown away the necklace I had given her; she could have at least returned it.

I walked towards Wednesday's room and raised an eyebrow in confusion, seeing the door half-open, accompanied by a deafening noise coming from inside.

I opened the door slowly and found myself facing a scene of total chaos: overturned beds, the desk turned over with scattered objects everywhere, clothes strewn on the floor, papers scattered everywhere.

I even saw a T-shirt on the window.

It was such complete disorder that it left me speechless for a moment, wondering what could have caused all this in Wednesday's usually tidy room.

Wednesday was hunched over her bed, with Things by her side. "No, Things, I don't care if we've already looked under the bed, help me," she said desperately.

What on earth was she looking for?

"Wednesday?" I called out in confusion.

The gothic girl tensed slowly and turned to look at me. I widened my eyes seeing her bloodshot eyes, mascara running down and marking her cheeks.

She had been crying.

I immediately approached her; why she had thrown away the necklace didn't matter to me now.

Wednesday looked at me with seriousness and anguish, her arms wrapping around my neck in a suddenly needy embrace. The warmth of her body made me shiver, a sensation contrasting with the intensity of the situation.

"Enid told me you were looking for something..." I said, my voice muffled by her embrace."Why didn't you tell me?" I added gently, trying to understand what was troubling her so deeply.

"I could have helped you," I added with a smile that I hoped would reassure her.

Wednesday withdrew slightly and looked at me with eyes reflecting palpable sadness.

"I didn't want... to disappoint you," she confessed, lowering her gaze.

"Why?" I asked, confused and curious about her thoughts.

Wednesday seemed to struggle with herself, a visible conflict in her gaze. After a long moment of silence, she decided to reveal the truth.

"I lost your necklace," she admitted, avoiding my gaze and staring at her shoes with evident discomfort.

So that's what she was looking for...

I smiled broadly and chuckled to myself, confusing Wednesday. The gothic girl stared intensely at me, her eyes darkening at my demeanor, visibly annoyed. Without saying a word, I pulled out the necklace from my pocket, and Wednesday's eyes widened in surprise.

"Where did you find it?" she asked curiously, her tone serious."Behind a statue," I murmured timidly, smiling at the brunette girl.

" I thought you had thrown it away... After all, I've never seen you wear it," I confessed shyly.

Wednesday took the necklace and turned her back to me, moving her braids aside and tilting her neck.

"Will you put it on me?" she asked timidly.

I smiled nervously and timidly approached her, my trembling hands fastening the necklace around her neck over the W necklace that her mother had given her.

Wednesday turned around and looked up to meet my gaze.

"I've always had it... I just didn't want anyone to think I really cared," she confessed quickly.

I knew Wednesday wanted to maintain her reputation as the strange girl at all costs, so I wasn't surprised by her choice to hide it. I looked at Wednesday with curiosity, a small smile creeping onto my lips as I noticed her cheeks blush slightly.

I decided to lighten the mood.

"I'll help you tidy up the room," I said timidly, giving Wednesday a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Never do that again," she said, embarrassed.

"What if I do?" I teased, and Wednesday looked at me calmly.

We began to tidy up the room together; I picked up papers from the floor, sorted some clothes where I found a hoodie I had lent her months ago, while Wednesday organized the desk and her bed.

"Y/n?," Wednesday called me timidly.

I turned with the clothes in my hands and looked at her attentively.

The gothic girl seemed nervous."Even though I kept the necklace hidden... I really care about you," she confessed, and I smiled broadly.

I kept smiling, even though a part of my conscience devilishly whispered that Wednesday was only doing it as a friend. But if she allowed me to be close to her, I would accept it anyway.

"If you lose it again, let me know, okay?" I joked timidly.

Wednesday tilted her head, scrutinizing me carefully.

"I won't lose it again, I swear on Nero," she admitted, and my heart skipped a beat at those words.

She had sworn on her scorpion.

"Good," I said embarrassedly, lowering my gaze to hide my blushing cheeks, my heart beating frantically.

Wednesday observed my embarrassment with curiosity.

"Y/n?," she said slowly, breaking the brief silence. "I'm not good with words, but... thank you. For understanding me."

Her voice was calm but loaded with meaning, and I felt a thrill of emotion run down my spine. It was as if she too was struggling with a part of herself that she rarely showed to others.

"There's no need to thank me," I replied sincerely, lifting my gaze to meet hers. "I'm here for you, Wednesday. Always."

A faint smile touched Wednesday's lips, almost imperceptible but full of gratitude. It was a moment of silent connection between us, a mutual understanding that transcended words.

"I know," she finally said, with a hint of seriousness in her voice. "And I... really appreciate all this. You're the only one who truly knows me."

Those words filled me with warmth.

It was perhaps the first time I heard Wednesday express her gratitude so openly, and I felt privileged to have been welcomed into her reserved inner world.

Oh Wednesday... If you knew what I would do for you. Maybe you would finally let me completely into your cold heart.

[caesium-55]

—seven days. [ vi.i ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore

author's note: i dunno if this is good cuz i have to delete a lot of scenes to make everything fit djsjjj. AND pls listen to two weeks notice by leanna firestone. 🐝 anon shared it to me and AAAAAAAHHH it captures the main vibe of the fic

masterlist.

"New shoes?”

The shoes come in black and it features a sleek silhouette with a pointed toe and a golden heel that is shaped as the letters Y, S, and L. Max is no expert in shoes but he knows how to recognize a luxury shoe if he sees one.

“Pretty lil things, aren't they?” you bring your foot forward to flaunt it.

Max doesn't know if it’s the heels that makes your feet look pretty or if the heels look pretty because you have pretty feet. Contrary to popular belief, Max does not have a feet kink. He just knows how to appreciate the aesthetics of a body part.

“Three years of savin’ and I finally got ‘em.”

“Good for you?” Is that an appropriate thing to say to a woman who just bought nice-looking shoes?

Max sees Daniel hug you after the Azerbaijan GP. You have twinning smiles on your face. Max's curiosity grows. You pull away from the hug and wave goodbye, returning to the garage, to where Max is standing and waiting for you.

“What did you and Daniel talk about?” he asks and if he sounds like he’s demanding, he doesn't mean it.

You stop walking, finally noticing Max's presence. The smile on your face fades a little but it doesn't completely disappear. “Oh, hi? Congrats on the podium today, big guy.”

“What were you and Daniel talking about?” Max asks again.

“‘s not important.”

“I want to know.”

You give Max an odd look, probably questioning why he wants to know so badly. He doesn't know why either. He just wants to know.

“Renault has an open spot in their engineering team,” you finally say, smile growing wide. You’re literally vibrating in excitement as you say it.

Max feels like someone just poured a bucket of iced water over his body.

“Engineer? Why would you even apply in Renault’s engineering team?” he sees your face shift and he wonders if his question is offensive. It does not seem like it is. For Max anyway.

“I’m an engineer, Max,” you're gritting your teeth, Max notices.

Oh, Max realizes. This was why Christian mentioned moving her to the engineering team. He thought you’re going to be their manager or something. Do engineers get managers, too? Max doesn't know.

Max’s world shifts off its axis when he realizes the bigger meaning carried by your words. You want to leave.

“No.”

You make a weird face, “No?”

“No, stay.”

He is perfectly aware that he is in no position to ask this of you. If you want to be an engineer and chase your dreams, you can. No one has the right to stop you. That's your dream. That's your life.

But do you really need to leave?

Suddenly, this becomes like the Daniel situation all over again.

Max isn't sure the exact time you begin holding this much importance over his life that he’s suddenly afraid of your absence. Max still won't consider the two of you friends per se, but he does not want you in Renault. He wants you here, behind him, following him at all times. You don't have to follow Daniel to fucking Renault.

Renault just keeps taking everything from him. First, it’s Daniel, his best friend and teammate. Max will not allow himself to lose you over to Renault and their sucky cars.

“Funny how you think you got a say in this,” you do the thing where you shift your feet lightly so you’re facing Max fully, one hand on your waist while the other rests limp on your side, your head slightly tilts to the right. There's a bulge on your cheek, where your tongue is pressing inside it, and one of your brows is cocked.

“You don't have to go to Renault. You can stay here,” he adds and it almost sounds like he’s pleading.

“And what Max? Let all the money I spent in engineering school go to waste?”

“Do you not want to be my manager anymore?”

“No offense, buddy, but I’ll choose being an engineer.”

Fair point but Max is still hurt anyway. Why are people always leaving him? Is it that hard to choose him and love him? Is he not a good enough reason to stay? Maybe it's because he's not a world champion yet. Maybe it's because he's not someone praiseworthy yet.

“I will win next year. When I become a world champion, I’ll ask Horner to move you to the engineering team.”

Max hopes you believe him.

The 2019 season ends with Lewis Hamilton at the top. Valtteri Bottas is close behind him. After Bottas stands Max Verstappen.

He’ll understand if you're making your application letter to Renault at this very moment. And yet, you come knocking on his hotel door.

“You’re trashin’ the room again,” you say, not ask but say, when Max opens the door and this is like 2018 again when he trashed his entire hotel room for coming in fourth. You even wear the same clothes as last year—a Red Bull polo shirt and a black pencil skirt with the same cream tote bag with peach prints but the shoes are different. “Sour loser much?”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, too,” you reply in a nonchalant tone, not even taking offense that Max has cursed you out. “Lemme see your hands. I have a cold canned beer.”

“I didn't punch the wall.”

Not yet at least. He’s definitely planning to, before you have decided to knock on his door.

“Well then,” you thrust the beer towards him. “Good thing’s beer has multiple purposes. Bruised knuckles? Beer. Bruised ego? Beer.”

Angrily, Max takes the beer in your hands. He really can't deal with you right now.

“Don't worry, man. You’ll be world champion one day. You have the makings of one,” you assure him and your words are too unexpected that Max stiffens. “Not this year but one day.”

“Why can't it be this year?” he asks after a few seconds' pause.

You shrug your shoulders, “Not your time yet, I suppose.”

Then, you turn around and walk away, the loud clicks of your black and gold heels echoing in the hotel hallway until it fades into silence, while Max stands there at the open door, a cold canned beer in his hand.

He’s trying (emphasis on the word trying) to prepare himself snacks so he can eat while sim-racing. It's the off-season right now and his mother and his sister have decided to visit his place in Monaco and stay for a few days before they fly together to Belgium and spend the holidays there. Daniel’s name appears on the notification bar of Max’s phone.

daniel: is [name] in monaco rn or did she go home for the off season

max: why would she be in monaco right now

daniel: she lives there

max: [name] lives in monaco?

daniel: you didn't know??

daniel: she’s been living there since last year

daniel: ever wondered why she comes by our building a lot?

max: how am i supposed to know

daniel: she's your manager

max: well we don't exactly talk about where we live

daniel: i cant believe you

daniel: shes been living there since she was my manager

max: that long???

daniel: i cant with you sometimes

daniel: neways do u have her number?

daniel: i think she got it changed a month ago and i forgot to ask her

daniel: she's not answering my messages in ig

max: yeah yeah i do

daniel: great

daniel: can u call her and ask if she’s in the country?

max: ok

daniel: cool cool

daniel: appreciate it,, man

You answer the phone on the second ring.

“Need anythin’, man?”

When will he hear you call him Max rather than man, dude, bro, big guy, big boy, darlin’ (teasingly), or loser?

“Hi [Name]. I’m calling because, uh, Daniel messaged me,” he begins. “He said you’re not replying to his messages on Instagram.”

“Oh, my bad, my bad. I’ll check it out later, still out playin’ ball right now.”

“He’s asking if you're in Monaco right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, I am. Flight’s still next week. Why’s he askin’?”

“Okay,” he doesn't know what else is there to say. “I didn't even know you live in Monaco.”

“Well, I do,” he hears someone yelling your name. “Aight, anythin’ else you wanna know?”

“Nothing. Nothing else.”

“Okay. Stay safe out there, my guy.”

“You, too.”

The call ends and suddenly, the world feels too silent.

max: yeah she's here

max: she said her flight is scheduled next week

daniel: perfect

daniel: i have her christmas gift with me rn she better be there when i land

daniel: i have to wrap this up on the plane

daniel: do you know how hard it is to gift wrap smth during a flight

Max’s brows furrow. Perhaps he has underestimated the depth of their friendship. They're close enough that they give each other gifts. Or at least, she’s close with Daniel enough that he buys her gifts.

max: safe travels daniel

Daniel arrives a day later, which coincidentally is the same day Sophie, Max’s mother, and Victoria, his sister, landed in Monaco as well. Max’s mother adores Daniel, which is not surprising because everyone adores Daniel.

“Join us for lunch, Daniel,” Sophie invites him. Max and Victoria stand behind her. The three of them are heading out for lunch when they come across Daniel, who is also heading out, at the lobby of the apartment building.

“Sorry, Sophie, but I have an appointment today with [Name],” Daniel scratches his nape and smiles apologetically. Sophie perks up at the mention of [Name].

“Max’s manager?”

“Yes, Max’s manager,” Daniel nods enthusiastically.

“Invite her, too! I’ve always wanted to meet her. She sounds like an amazing girl from what Max has told me.”

Max groans, “Mom, please.”

He may or may not have talked about [Name] during his calls with his mother. Mostly, it's complaints. His mother has laughed at him, used to hee son's constant complaining. Despite that, she still thinks [Name] is good for her son. It's good that someone is able to rein you in when needed, she said.

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll love it. How about I call her and we’ll meet you at the restaurant in a few?” Daniel says.

Everything is settled. Max has reserved a private room for the whole lunch meeting so he can enjoy the privacy of lunch with his family. Less than an hour later, you arrive with Daniel.

Max almost drops the fork when he sees you walking towards them, just a few steps behind the grinning Daniel.

You look different than usual. Max is yet to decide if it's a good type of different or not, because when his eyes land on you, he feels like a thousand elephants have begun a violent rampage in his chest.

You’re not wearing the usual Red Bull polo shirt—perhaps that's why Max feels odd because he’s so used to seeing you wearing it—and instead, you were in a bustier jumpsuit with a white long-sleeved button-up shirt under it.

It looks a little too tight in Max’s opinion, hugging your body in a way that Max thinks you cannot breathe. He can't even breathe when he looks at you right now.

Daniel and you stop in front of the table and Max’s mother stands to kiss you both on the cheek. Max then notices that you’re carrying two bouquets in your hand. Funny how they're so huge and colorful but for some reason, he hasn't noticed them since you walked into the room.

“For you, Ma’am,” you smile as you hand the bouquet to Max’s mother, who gasps in delight. “Welcome to Monaco.”

Then, you turn to Victoria and hand her the other bouquet, “For you, too, Miss Victoria. Welcome to Monaco.”

“Please, have a seat, you two. We’ve already ordered for you," Max's mother says. You and Daniel sit down.

You and Daniel quickly engage in conversation with Max’s mother. Victoria elbows Max, leaning over his ear to whisper, “You have a good manager, Max.”

“You just like her because she got you flowers," Max whispers back.

Victoria chuckles and the Verstappen siblings join in the conversation.

Lunch is a pleasant event. Everyone loves the food. Everyone laughs. Everyone is having a good time. However, good things always come to an end. Daniel has to leave early because he has an appointment. Max is supposed to drive Victoria and his mother to the department store because they planned on shopping together as a family and buy gifts for their relatives in Belgium. But since Daniel left and he was your ride going to the restaurant, that means you have no ride going home.

You insist that you can hail a cab or even walk to your apartment since it’s “just three streets away” but Max notices that your smile looks too forced and Max calls bullshit. Max may not know where you live but he knows you're lying. Thankfully, his mother seems to share the same sentiments and push you towards Max.

“Don't worry, honey. He’s a good driver. You're in safe hands.”

“I’m really fine, Ma’am,” you try again.

“Call me Sophie,” she says, her hand comes up to your shoulder and you flinch a little. “You take good care of Max. It's the least he can do for you. Also, I’m a woman, honey. I know the pain of walking a good distance in heels. Don't subject yourself to that pain.”

You don't protest any further and the four of you hop into Max’s car. Max drives Sophie and Victoria to a department store and drops them off. He kisses his mother’s cheek as they bid a temporary goodbye. Afterwards, he instructs you to type down your address on the GPS so he can drive you to where you live.

When he reads the address you input, he snorts. You whip your head around to give him a dirty look.

“Three streets down,” he says, amused. “Really?”

“Shut up, ‘s just on the other side of the city.”

“It's still far.”

The first few minutes of the drive is silent. You sit on the passenger seat with your earbuds in and legs crossed, leaning most of your weight against the car door so your back posture sort of resembles a person with mild scoliosis. Max hears you hum along the song you’re listening to, your fingers tapping along the rhythm.

Max taps your shoulder. You turn to him, pulling off one of your earbuds.

“Somethin’ wrong?” you ask.

Why do you always assume something's wrong when he calls your attention? Does he really only talk to you when he has a problem?

Max gestures to the AUX, “You can connect your phone to my car.”

You gasp dramatically, a hand pressing on your chest, “You’re givin’ me AUX privilege? Truly honored.”

Max rolls his eyes.

“But I don't think you’ll like what I listen to,” you add.

“Try me.”

El Alfa songs have electrifying and infectious rhythms and Max may not understand the lyrics but not understanding the song lyrics can't stop a person from enjoying a song. El Alfa songs are the type of songs that you’ll hear in parties and in the streets.

“By the way,” Max begins. The song changes into something else—Sofia, the title reads, sung by Alvaro Soler. It's a whole different vibe from the previous song. “Thank you for giving my mum and sister flowers today. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“Just trynna be nice,” you say nonchalantly. “Glad they liked it.”

“Also, you look nice today.”

You slowly turn to him. You have this weird expression on your face like you have an aneurysm but also indigestion and mild stroke.

“Did you eat somethin’ weird at the restaurant?”

“No, I didn't.”

“Then why are you playin’ nice?”

Max rolls his eyes, “I can punch you if you want.”

“Yeah, right, as if you can. Your mother raised you too well to throw hands to the ladies.”

Max closes his mouth.

“See? I’m right,” you continue. “You’ll fight any man on the grid but you won't fight me even though I annoy you every day. You're not like your father, Max.”

Max clears his throat awkwardly. He does not know how to respond to you. You're too… too… honest.

“But thank you,” you say. “Borrowed this from my roomie ‘cuz I don't own any nice clothes.”

You wear branded clothing way too well for someone to think otherwise.

The song switches. Danza Kuduro starts playing. Max knows this one. He watched Fast Five.

Max stops the car outside the apartment building, but instead of hopping off, you rummage through your tote bag—still the cream-colored one with peach prints, it looks so worn down now—and pull out a….it looks like a beaded bracelet but it's not closed on the ends.

“What's this?” he asks when you hand it to him. Red and navy blue beads—the color of Red Bull.

“Consider this as my gift for the holidays. I made Daniel one so it makes sense that I give you one as well.”

Oh. Max blinks at you then glances down at the little thing in his palm. Something warm blooms in Max’s heart.

“That's very thoughtful of you.”

Panic follows. His head snaps up.

“But I haven't bought you anything.”

“That's okay, man,” you smile and open the door. “Thanks a lot for today.”

You step outside and close the door after you before Max can even utter another word. Max watches as you jog inside the building. He shakes his head when you disappear from his vision, hangs the beaded keychain with his keys, and drives back to where he drops his mother and sister off earlier.

Sophie notices the keychain and compliments it. She asks his son if he got into the hobby of creating things out of beads. Max shakes his head and tells her that the keychain is a gift from you.

His mother visibly lights up, “You should get her a gift!”

Max gets into thinking. Yeah, he should.

He meets you a day before your flight to Texas in the lobby of the building where you live. You gave him a keychain. It's only appropriate that he gives you keys. (You don't seem very happy with the gift though for God knows what reason but Max is adamant on giving it to you and will not stop at a no.

“I want you close,” he says, surprised by the sincerity that exited his mouth.

“Well, I don't.” Your words sting a little. Max ignores it.

He ends up giving you a different key. You say the other key is too expensive. Max is not thrilled but it's still a key and this certain key, you accept. So Max is happy.)

Max flies to Belgium a few days after you and celebrates the holidays with his mother's side of the family. He calls your cell in the middle of the night, Belgium is six hours ahead of Texas so Max is sure it's around four in the afternoon from where you are. He does not expect you to answer as quickly as you did.

“Somethin’ wrong?” your voice sounds rough like you’ve been asleep.

“Hi, uhm,” Max clears his throat. He’s a little tipsy right now and his words are flying around in his brain. “Happy holidays.”

There's a pause.

“You called me for that?”

“Can you stop being mean? It's the holidays.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Kinda?”

“Well then,” Max hears a ruffle of sheets and suddenly, he feels bad for waking you up. “Happy holidays to you, too, bud. Appreciate the effort and the money you spent on making this call. International calls are expensive as fuck.”

They're not. At least, Max thinks they're not.

“Can I get your Instagram? The one you use to talk to Daniel?”

“My priv? Why?”

“Because I just want it.”

“Brat. You can’t follow that account usin’ your public account. PR has access to your account and they’ll see my shit. I don't want them to see my shit.”

“Then, I’ll make a private account and we’ll follow each other.”

He hears you sigh.

“You promise not to give PR access to that account?”

“Hm. I promise.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever. Send me the details and I’ll follow you when I wake up, aight?”

Max giggles, “Okay.”

“Anythin’ else?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Aight, I’ll continue my nap. You enjoy yourself there.”

“Okay.”

Then, COVID happens.

[shintaru]

lookism | Cuddling head canons pt.4

Pt.1, pt.2, pt.3

Her vocals… my body just levitated and my soul left earth DG

Likes when you play with his hair & hands

loves when you lay on him or sit on his lap but he won’t admit that

will only cuddle with you once he’s sure he can trust you

let’s sleep over so he can fall asleep holding you

Big spoon

Eugene

Likes to be in control

loves being a little mean when it comes to cuddling just to give in and cuddle with you afterwards

will give you no choice but to cuddle with him when he feels like it. You have no other options.

let’s you sit in his lap when he reads

Big spoon

Ryūhei/Nōmen

Likes being a tease

loves having his hands on or wrapped around you any chance he gets

will get handsy, tries slipping his hands under your shirt or skirt

let’s you wear his clothes even though he’d prefer you wearing nothing

Definitely big spoon

Magami kenta

Likes being the big spoon

loves when you lay on him

will lay on your stomach

let’s you hug him from behind

Will fall asleep with his head in your lap

Seonji Yuk

Likes laying his head on your lap

loves sharing sweets with you while snuggling up to each other, this man needs a lot of comfort 😭

will be an asshole sometimes without realizing but he feels bad about it later. Ex harshly rejects cuddles if he is in a bad mood, ignores you without realizing when he is stressed or stuck in his head

let’s you sleep in his clothes

Alternate spoon

Dedicated to @eugueen @koiiiiijiii

Me vibing to the song while writing 😭😭 I can’t play music and write I’ll either want to dance or I start daydreaming

[wolfnanaki]

Can you sum up the Goodbye Volcano High vs Snoot Game controversy? I don't know shit and you seem like the most knowledgeable person on it.

Okay. Summary time.

Developed by Canadian indie worker cooperative studio KO_OP, Goodbye Volcano High is a cinematic narrative/rhythm indie game about a group of dinosaur teenagers dealing with the impending end of the world from an asteroid. It features predominantly queer characters; the main character is an AFAB nonbinary pterodactyl named Fang.

GVH was revealed as part of the PS5 reveal lineup back in June 2020. From there, it experienced a few delays due to COVID, rewriting the story after the original writer was let go, and dealing with anti-LGBT harassment. It finally came out in late August 2023 to positive reception and some awards. It didn't sell a billion copies but it's been gradually growing its fanbase for over a year now.

A few days after GVH was first revealed, a group of 4channers, under the developer name "Cavemanon", decided they'd do their own visual novel using GVH's characters to spite GVH before it even came out. This VN, Snoot Game, came out in June 2021. It's a story where a featureless human male named "Anon" becomes Fang's friend and eventually boyfriend. It has an extremely anti-trans narrative, along with racist humor, promotes eugenics, has a school shooting ending if Fang doesn't detransition, and more.

Snoot ended up becoming very popular and spread around the internet, developing its own fanbase across social media. The worst parts of its fandom downplay Snoot's harmful rhetoric while harassing GVH's fans and developers. When GVH came out, they shared a pirated copy, called it the worst game ever, and encouraged people to support Snoot instead. I spoke out about all this and got doxed.

Snoot's success lead to Cavemanon hijacking a fan project from its original developers and making it into a spiritual sequel sold on Steam, called I Wani Hug That Gator!, released in February 2024. A few weeks after it came out, a former developer released a dossier speaking out about Cavemanon's working conditions, lack of compensation, and extreme right-wing views, to which Cavemanon responded with a hitpiece attacking everyone involved in the doc and linking my dox on Kiwifarms while mocking me for being trans.

To this day, mainstream gaming press outlets have refused to cover this story in any meaningful way, and Cavemanon has not faced any consequences for anything they've done. Wani has sold very well on Steam, and Cavemanon has opened their own web store and patron-supported developer blog, where they give terrible game dev advice and rant about "grooming operations" and the like.

So... that's it, really.

[mikavlcs]

Absence Persistent

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Summary: You’re physically affectionate with everybody except for Wednesday, and she’s determined to find out why.

Warnings: soft/ooc!wednesday, yes that is indeed a warning

Word count: 2k

Notes: another late post lol. this a joint request, hope you guys enjoy! (especially you mom)

Masterlist

Physical affection was something that, for the most part, annoyed Wednesday.

Contrary to what many believed, she did not hate it (though if you asked her, she would certainly say she did). She simply didn’t crave it the way so many others did. It was fine in small increments but after a while, it made her uncomfortable.

So while she wasn’t against the very occasional, short-lived hug from those she was close with, it was just something she deemed unnecessary. Something she could easily live without.

Wednesday still tolerated it from a select few people. Namely her family. Her mother was still kind enough to stay at arm’s reach most of the time, but her father was overbearing even when he was trying to tone his affections down. Pugsley was allowed small 10-15 second hugs because he was weak and he needed it.

Enid somehow wormed her way onto that list of people, mostly because she just couldn’t help herself. She was allowed a maximum of 30 seconds worth of physical contact per day, and once that was spent, Wednesday had no qualms about shoving her off.

Though you were close with Enid, you fell into the same category as her mother—seeming to understand and respect her need for personal space.

It was one of the things that drew her to you at first, something that eventually made her (marginally) more willing to close the gap between you two emotionally and allow you behind her walls piece by piece.

She was half convinced that after confessing your feelings, you would switch on her. That you would want to hold hands or hug or, god forbid, cuddle.

However, that didn’t happen. Even after your romantic relationship with her began, you never expected affection from her. You still maintained that distance.

When you sat next to her during class or lunch, you made sure there was ample room between you so your legs or arms never touch hers. While studying, you sat across from her, textbooks and worksheets taking up the void between.

It was amazing, easily one of her favorite parts of your relationship. The fact that you respected her space without any complaints only made you more attractive in her eyes.

Aside from the occasional kiss, you existed in a completely separate space from her. Always. And she liked it that way.

But then her own mind started to betray her.

It started small, with an insignificant observation. Wednesday had always known that you enjoyed being touchy with people you cared for, but over time she began to notice just how much casual physicality you had with your friends.

Walking shoulder to shoulder with Yoko between classes, getting piggybacks from Xavier, giving high fives and fist bumps to Ajax, leaning against Bianca during conversation at lunch, ruffling Eugene’s hair while harvesting a hive together—the list was endless, and it was frequent.

And only when she noticed this did it occur to her that you had never so much as brushed against her before, not even accidentally.

Wednesday found an ache forming with each subsequent act she witnessed, the gratefulness she felt about you keeping your distance slowly souring.

As embarrassing as it was to admit, Enid was a particular point of contention in this aspect.

See, Enid shared your propensity for physical affection. It was one of the reasons why you two were such close friends.

You and Enid were always physically connected in some way when you were together. Linking arms, holding hands, resting your head on her shoulder or on her lap while you gossiped about whatever trite drivel Enid put on her blog recently.

Wednesday hated it. She hated having to be subject to your constant physicality, seeing the two of you so unabashedly happy to be in one another’s presence, to see you so open in displaying it. But worst of all, she hated the way it made her feel in turn.

Jealousy wasn’t something Wednesday was used to feeling, especially toward someone as non-threatening as Enid. But the feeling itself wasn’t even the worst part, it was the way it fed into her burgeoning insecurity.

The desire to feel your skin on hers spread like a malignant cancer, slowly poisoning her mind, body, and soul.

She grew to hate the ever-present space between you two, silently wishing you would bridge the gap and brush your shoulder or arm against hers in the halls, intertwine your fingers between hers while studying, or wrap your arms around her in the solitude of your dorm.

Anything to alleviate the growing want within her.

But she could never find the words. Try as she might, Wednesday just couldn’t find the right time, the right place, the right circumstance. And on the rare occasions that she did, her voice caught in her throat, whatever words she had on her tongue dying in the face of the seemingly insurmountable chasm between you and her.

So she could only sit, wait, and watch from across the rift until her emotions finally boiled over and pushed her into action.

-

Weekly study sessions were something Wednesday routinely looked forward to.

It was a tradition that began mere months after she met you. At first, she simply needed a study partner and no one else was willing to go at her (completely reasonable) pace except for you.

You, who said that very first day that you would always go at her pace, a sentiment that you continued to echo even now, months into your relationship.

Usually, these sessions would be in the Weathervane, tucked into her favorite booth in the back corner together for hours on end, talking about so much more than schoolwork. But recently, having the table separating you from her was agonizing; it was like a physical manifestation of the distance between you.

She couldn’t deal with it anymore, so she began inviting you to study in her dorm. It wasn’t quite as pleasant as the café but she was willing to sacrifice comfort to get even an inch closer to you.

And yet, she was no closer than before.

Because even now, you were staying away from her. Keeping the books between you as you sat across from her on the floor. Even without the physical barrier of the table, there remained an immovable expanse of space between you that she just couldn't get rid of.

You were so close yet still so far and Wednesday could no longer take it.

“Do you not care for me as much as you do your friends?” Not the most articulate way to put it, but it was to the point, and it effectively got your attention.

Your head shot up with a whiplash-inducing urgency, brows furrowed and eyes wide with a concern that permeated your tone. “What? Of course I do, Wednesday. Why would you think I didn’t?”

“It’s just-” She cut herself off, her point not quite coming together correctly. Wednesday never struggled with her words. She was a writer, after all. So the sudden trouble she was having annoyed her greatly. Stubbornly, she started again. “You always…touch them. You said yourself that it’s how you show that you care for someone, but you never touch me. You never show me that you care for me like that.”

“Wednes-“ you began, but she didn’t notice, plowing on with her thoughts.

“Did I do something? Have I upset you? Do I repel you somehow?” The way her voice shook at the end nearly made her look away, the sudden show of insecurity exceedingly humiliating. But she needed to know what was wrong.

“No, no, you haven’t done anything to upset me,” you said, shaking your head quickly. The words did little to ease Wednesday’s mind.

“Then why don’t you show me the same physicality you show them?” she asked, voice lowering to a near whisper.

“Well, I’ve seen how uncomfortable you get whenever Enid tries to touch you too much. So I tried my best to avoid any contact with you so you didn’t begin to resent me for subjecting you to something that you hate,” you sighed, posture deflating slightly. “I just didn’t want to do anything to drive you away from me.”

Conflicting emotions coursed through Wednesday.

The revelation that you were constantly abstaining from something you loved for her was…undeniably sweet. But it was also terrifying—the fact that you were willing to change something so fundamental to yourself as the way you showed love for her perceived comfort.

Wednesday had never met anyone outside her family that cared for her so much that they would alter their behavior for her benefit. And, admittedly, she wasn’t sure what to do now that she had.

In the end, all she could muster was a distantly mumbled, “I see.”

Almost immediately, she was swept back into her head, conflicted again.

On one hand, this was completely uncharted territory. Hugging Enid of her own accord once was one thing, but wanting to do things like that with you constantly was something else, something unfamiliar. Something that, if she was honest, she wasn’t sure she was aptly prepared for.

But she was Wednesday Addams. She had stood up to Tyler after his betrayal, faced Thornhill alone in the crypt, looked Crackstone right in the eye during the final battle without fear. She prided herself on never letting insignificant feelings like fear stop her from getting what she wanted.

And Wednesday would be appalled if she allowed herself to be defeated by something as menial as this.

Fingers twitching, she braced herself to reach out to you, but you were already moving before she could.

Her eyes followed you as you stood, abandoning your open textbook on the floor and offering her a hand. She stared at it for a moment then slowly brought her hand to yours, inhaling against the electricity that coursed through her as you pulled her to her feet. You tugged her over to her bed and laid down, pulling her down with you.

You took a moment to situate yourself into a comfortable position on your side before winding your arm around her, softly pressing her back to your chest.

Wednesday was frozen, tense in your arms as she took in the situation.

The newness of it was overwhelming in a way she couldn’t hate. Her heart raced at the sensation of having you literally wrapped around her, your hold on her waist tender and firm and entirely disruptive to her state of mind.

Any coherent string of thoughts was muddled by the feeling of your thumbs stroking her stomach, the way she could feel your chest rise against her back, the steady beat of your heart reverberating through her, contrasting her own.

“Relax, Wednesday.” Your words vibrated against her back, and she found herself complying before she even fully realized what you said.

She allowed the feeling of your all-encompassing embrace to still her turbulent thoughts, letting your warmth seep into her bones and calm the frantic beating of her heart.

Minutes passed before she dared to slip her hand down yours, interlacing her fingers with yours like she wanted to do for so long. A soft breath against her neck made her shiver.

Wednesday wanted to stay in this moment as long as possible but again, her body began to betray her. Exhaustion weighed down on her, drooping her eyelids with an alarming frequency. Staying awake was becoming more of a challenge by the second, but she was determined to escape the hold of her sudden enervation.

As if you had a sixth sense about her situation, you shifted lightly, slipping one of your legs between hers.

“Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up,” you murmured, the light slur in your words indicating that you too were close to succumbing to the call of slumber.

“Promise?” she asked, uncaring of how childish the question was.

The soft laugh you let out tickled the hair on her neck. You tightened your hold on her waist, properly resting your forehead on the back of her head. “Yeah, I promise.”

Satisfied, Wednesday closed her eyes, the bliss of your touch being her last thought before she was finally lulled into a dreamless sleep within your embrace.

[emjayewrites]

Private Landing (Lewis Hamilton) (14.3/15) - Part III

SUMMARY: In the high-speed world of Formula One, Lewis Hamilton subtly introduces a mysterious partner via Instagram after a slight mishap during an interview. Sparking media intrigue, everyone wants to know: who is the enigmatic figure that calls herself Mrs. Hamilton?

INSPO: this post

PAIRINGS: Sir Lewis Hamilton x Aurora "Rorie" Phillips-Hamilton (faceclaim is Justine Skye)

WARNINGS: drama, angst, sexual content, formula one b.s., pre-established relationship (with flashbacks). RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: @a-moment-captured, @boujiestpoet, @avngrsfangirl, @cocobutterqwueen @yeea-nah @alika-4466 @scorpiobleue @certifiedlesbianbaddie @motheroffae @perfecttrashface @saturnville @weetjy @lewlewlemon44 @cranberryjulce @chaoticcoffeequeen @periodjosh @melanin-queen369 @niahxo @purplelewlew @f1-football-fiend @imjustheretomanifest @gg-trini @kinggbl @iamryanl @mitruscity @nichmeddar @xoscar03 @eugene-emt-roe @cherry2stems @louvrepool @tremendousstarlighttragedy @ggaslyp1 @lewisroscoelove

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist.

CHAPTER 14.3: Waiting Game

A month and a half later...

Since the end of summer break, the season had gone from promising to frustrating. The Mercedes was temperamental at best, leaving Lewis fighting for points rather than podiums. Azerbaijan and Singapore had been particularly shaky - a P9 and P6 that had him questioning if his decision to leave Mercedes was premature. But watching George struggle with the same issues confirmed what he already knew: it was time for a change.

At least things at home were peaceful. With Rorie entering her eighth month, they'd decided to base themselves in LA until after the baby came. Their daughter was active as ever, especially during Lewis's races, leading Rorie to joke that she was already a motorsport fan. Marian had practically moved in, bringing that particular brand of Black mother energy that meant Rorie was never allowed to lift a finger, while Aaliyah kept Lyric entertained with endless art projects and dance parties.

The sibling situation had evolved too. Athena was a constant presence in the paddock now, her F1 journalism career flourishing. Aaron had made genuine efforts to make amends, even flying to Singapore just to have dinner with him after the race. And Azariah... well, Azariah had proven to be exactly the kind of big brother Rorie deserved - protective, wise, and unfailingly kind.

Martin, on the other hand, had faded into the background. His attempts to control the narrative had backfired, leaving him on the periphery of his children's lives. It was his loss, really.

The upscale vegan restaurant in Austin was quiet as Lewis made his way to where Azariah and Aaron sat at a corner table. Both men stood to greet him, the handshakes and hugs feeling natural now.

"How's our sister?" Azariah asked as they settled in.

"Ready to not be pregnant anymore," Lewis chuckled. "Your niece is giving her a workout."

"Still not telling us the name?" Aaron raised an eyebrow, signaling for drinks.

"You know what? I'm gonna tell y'all something, but it stays between us," Lewis leaned forward. "We're announcing it soon anyway, with some maternity shots we took." Both brothers perked up. "Her name is Larke Atlas Hamilton."

"Meaning?" Azariah asked, intrigued.

"Larke means 'song bird' - for music, obviously. Atlas is for carrying the weight of the world, being strong. Plus I love mythology."

"Wait, you named her?" Aaron asked.

"Yeah, named both of them actually. Lyric and Larke."

"The L name legacy, huh?" Azariah grinned.

"Just something small, you know how it is," teased Lewis as he took a sip of his water.

"For real though, what if y'all had another one?" Azariah asked. "Just hypothetically. I'm curious now."

Lewis thought for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Lennon, after my favorite Beatle."

"Nigga, what?" Aaron laughed. "You really got it all picked out?"

Lewis shrugged. "I got names for at least ten kids."

"And all their names begin with an L?" Azariah asked, flabbergasted.

"Yeah, check this out - Lyric, Larke, Lennon, Lyanna, Locklyn, Ledger, Landen, Luca, Loyal, and Liberty."

They all burst out laughing.

"By the way, that investment opportunity we discussed for Mission 44? The numbers are looking good," Aaron shifted topics, and Lewis appreciated how his brother-in-law had grown into more than just Martin's angry son.

The conversation flowed easily between racing, business, the announcement of him being a co-chair for next year's MET Gala, and family. Lewis found himself studying these two men who'd become such an unexpected but welcome part of his life. He'd been ready to throw down with Aaron in Barcelona. Now here they were, sharing meals and making plans.

When a nearby diner's phone rang with Martin's signature ringtone, Lewis noticed how both brothers tensed slightly. Some wounds were still fresh, some patterns hard to break. He understood that better than most - the complicated dance of fathers and sons.

"You know," Azariah said thoughtfully, pushing around his quinoa bowl, "it's weird how life works out. A year ago, we didn't even know Rorie existed. Now I can't imagine our family without her."

"Speaking of family," Aaron added, his voice careful, "Mom's been asking about meeting her. For real this time."

Lewis studied both men carefully, thinking of Rorie at home, their daughter kicking away while Marian fussed over her. His protective instincts kicked in - they'd been through so much in the last year with Deja's betrayal, the court case, all of it.

"I'll talk to Rorie about it. But no pressure, yeah? She's got enough on her plate right now."

They nodded in understanding, and Lewis felt grateful for how far they'd all come. From that tense first meeting to now sharing their unborn daughter's name, planning investments together, building something real. Sometimes family wasn't what you were born into, but what you chose to build together.

And watching these brothers who'd chosen to build bridges rather than walls, Lewis knew they'd made the right choice in letting them in. Larke Atlas Hamilton would be born into a family that had learned the hard way what really mattered - and was stronger for it.

_______________________________________________

Qualifying had been a disaster.

P8. Fucking P8.

Lewis sat in his driver's room, still in his race suit, the urge to put his fist through something growing stronger by the minute. The car was a mess - unpredictable, temperamental, like trying to tame a wild animal that had no interest in cooperating.

He wanted to break something. Specifically, he wanted to break this fucking car that had been giving him hell all season. Five world championships together and this was how it would end? With a car that couldn't decide if it wanted to understeer or oversteer, that ate through tires like they were snacks, that…

His phone buzzed - a video call from Rorie. He took a deep breath, centering himself before answering.

But before he could say anything, Lyric's face filled the screen. "Dada fast!"

Despite his mood, Lewis felt a smile tug at his lips. "Not fast enough today, big man."

"You did great," Rorie's voice came through, the camera shifting to show her lounging on their LA couch, bump prominent under one of his hoodies. "That last sector was intense."

"The car's fucked," he said bluntly, then quickly added, "Sorry, Lyric, don't repeat that word."

"I know you're frustrated," Rorie said softly. "But tomorrow's another day. And your daughter's been doing somersaults all through qualifying, so at least someone enjoyed the show."

Lewis laughed despite himself. "Already my biggest critic, huh?"

"More like biggest fan. She goes crazy whenever Bono comes on the radio."

The rage that had been building started to dissipate. Yes, the car was a nightmare. Yes, P8 was nowhere near where he wanted to be. But watching his pregnant wife trying to make him feel better while their son made race car noises in the background… some things were more important than qualifying position.

Still, as he ended the call with promises to FaceTime later, Lewis couldn't help but glare at his reflection in the mirror. Nine races left in this chapter of his career, and right now, the ending wasn't looking like what he'd imagined.

His phone buzzed - this time a text from Toto: "My office when you're ready."

Lewis closed his eyes, leaning back against the cool wall. These conversations were getting harder. Years of championships, victories, making history together... and now they couldn't even get the fucking car to behave for one qualifying session.

Another buzz - Aaron this time: "That car looking rough bro. But tomorrow's another day. Athena's got some intel about Ferrari's tire strategy if you want it 👀"

Despite everything, Lewis smiled. Who would've thought Aaron would become one of his biggest supporters in the paddock?

His mind drifted to Rorie and Lyric back in LA. To Larke, doing her qualifying analysis via kicks. To the future beyond Mercedes, beyond this frustrating season. He'd announced his departure early, to be transparent with the team and fans. But damn if these last races weren't testing his patience.

"Fuck it," he said. Tomorrow was race day. He'd started from worse positions, fought harder battles. And at least he had something many drivers didn't - a family waiting for him, win or lose.

Still, as he headed toward Toto's office, Lewis couldn't shake the feeling that this car had one last surprise in store for him. He just hoped it would be a good one.

The Mexico City paddock buzzed with its usual energy, but Lewis felt disconnected from it all, like he was watching himself go through the motions. The Austin DNF still stung - another race, another technical issue, another reminder that this wasn't how he'd imagined his final season with Mercedes.

"How's the car feeling heading into the weekend?" Will Buxton asked, microphone extended.

Like a fucking nightmare, Lewis thought darkly. "It's going," he said instead, maintaining his media-trained smile. "We're always working to improve, always pushing forward."

Between interviews, he found himself gravitating toward the younger drivers. Franco Colapinto's enthusiasm was infectious, the Argentinian rookie's eyes lighting up as they discussed racing lines through Turn 1. Ollie Bearman reminded him of himself at that age - hungry, determined, full of dreams about what F1 could be.

"Any advice for managing the altitude here?" Ollie asked during a quiet moment.

Lewis actually smiled genuinely for the first time that day. These conversations felt real, unlike the endless questions about the car's performance that made him want to scream in frustration.

"Lewis, can you talk about the development direction for these final races?" another journalist called out.

I'd rather talk about how this car seems determined to break my spirit, he thought. "We're focused on maximizing our package," he said diplomatically. "Every race is an opportunity to learn."

His phone buzzed - a photo from Rorie of Lyric watching his Austin race replay.

"My boy," Lewis muttered under his breath, before turning back to the next interview.

"What are your expectations for this weekend?"

To get through it without this car finding another creative way to fail, his mind supplied. "We're taking it one session at a time," he answered smoothly. "Mexico always presents unique challenges."

The contrast between his internal monologue and his measured responses was giving him whiplash, but years of experience had taught him how to maintain the façade. As he watched Franco and Ollie's excitement about their first Mexican GP, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia for when it all felt that new, that full of possibility.

His final Mexican GP with Mercedes. Another last in a season full of them. At least Aaliyah and Lyric would arrive tomorrow - having his son in the paddock always made everything better, even when the car was determined to test his last nerve.

"You're finally escaping these Mercedes media days soon," Ollie joked during a break between interviews, both of them hiding in a quiet corner of the building.

"Trust me, they don't get easier. No matter the team," Lewis chuckled, though his mind was already on his next commitment - a sit-down with Sky where they'd inevitably ask about Austin.

His phone lit up with a text from Rorie: "Liyah and Lyric’s flight is confirmed. Lyric's already asking if we'll make it in time to see 'Dada's silver car.' Also, your daughter is doing backflips. ❤️"

That brought a genuine smile to his face, one that didn't go unnoticed by the next journalist who approached.

The Sky interview was exactly what he expected. Ted tried to get technical about the DNF, while Naomi probed about his emotions heading into these final races.

"It must be bittersweet," she pressed.

"It's definitely emotional," he answered diplomatically. "Mercedes has been such a huge part of my journey."

Franco caught his eye from across the room, the rookie giving him a sympathetic look. These kids understood more than people realized - they'd grown up watching his battles, his victories, his dominance. Seeing him struggle with this year's car must be strange for them too.

Another text came through - a picture of their at-home ultrasound machine and sure enough, Larke was doing somersaults in Rorie’s stomach.

This time he couldn't suppress his laugh, earning curious looks from the media gathered around him.

"Care to share the joke?" someone asked.

"Just my baby’s recent sonogram," Lewis replied, feeling more like himself for a moment. "May have a little gymnast on my hands."

As the day wound down, he found himself back with the rookies, their energy somehow making this endless parade of interviews more bearable. They talked about their karting days, their dreams, everything except the current state of his Mercedes.

It was refreshing. Almost enough to make him forget about the mechanical time bomb waiting in the garage.

Almost.

_______________________________________________

Lewis spotted them first - Lyric running ahead of Aaliyah, his little Mercedes cap slightly crooked on his head.

"Dada!" Lyric launched himself forward, Lewis squatting down to catch him.

"Oof," Lewis exaggerated as he lifted his son. "Getting too big for this, big man. What's Mama been feeding you?"

"Pancakes!" Lyric announced proudly, making Aaliyah laugh.

"Of course she is," Lewis grinned, adjusting Lyric on his hip. "How was the flight?"

"Your son gave a full race analysis to everyone in first class," Aaliyah shook her head. "Complete with sound effects for when 'Dada's car went night-night.'"

"Car sleeping," Lyric nodded seriously. "Like Roscoe!"

"Exactly like Roscoe," Lewis chuckled. "Ready to see the garage?"

"Franco!" Lyric suddenly called out, spotting the Argentinian driver approaching.

Lewis watched with amusement as Franco jogged over, but the moment the young driver caught sight of Aaliyah, his whole demeanor shifted. The confident swagger that emerged was something Lewis hadn't seen from his usually focused rookie colleague.

"You must be Rorie's sister," Franco smoothly transitioned from high-fiving Lyric to extending his hand to Aaliyah. "I've seen you in some of Lewis's Instagram stories. I'm Franco."

Lewis's eyebrows shot up, still holding Lyric who was babbling about wanting to see the "silver car." The confidence in Franco's tone was unexpected - this was the same kid who'd been nervously asking him about racing lines just hours ago.

"Aaliyah," she replied, her hand lingering in his just a moment longer than necessary. "Nice to meet you."

"You know," Franco leaned slightly closer, his accent somehow thicker than usual, "I could give you a tour of the paddock later. Show you where all the real action happens."

"Is that right?" Aaliyah's lips curved into a slight smile.

"Among other things," Franco winked, managing to make it charming rather than cheesy. "Maybe we could grab dinner after? I know this amazing place in the city..."

"Franco come see car?" Lyric interrupted, completely oblivious to the flirting happening in front of him.

"Of course, pequeño," Franco said, but his eyes stayed on Aaliyah. "Maybe your beautiful aunt would like to join us?"

Lewis bit back a laugh. The boldness of it all - hitting on his sister-in-law right in front of him. The kid was twenty-one and Aaliyah was twenty-four, and yet here he was, shooting his shot with the smoothness of a veteran.

After Franco reluctantly headed off for his media commitments, Lewis couldn't resist. "Just got here and got the whole paddock in a tizzy."

Aaliyah scoffed, adjusting her bag. "Don't start, Lew. He isn't really my type anyways."

But Lewis caught her glancing back in the direction Franco had disappeared, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Mhmm," Lewis smirked. "Lies."

"Whatever," Aaliyah rolled her eyes, but her slight smile told a different story. "I can't wait to tell Rorie about these thirsty F1 drivers you work with."

"Pssh," he blew out a raspberry and rolled his eyes at her. Aaliyah was undoubtedly going to call Rorie later and have a venting session about what just happened, but from the way Aaliyah was looking at Franco – she was just as interested in him as he was in her.

_____________________________________________________

The garage screens showed Franco's Williams dancing through the final sector. Lewis paused, balaclava in hand, to watch the young driver push through Turn 15.

P10 - not bad for a rookie in a Williams.

He waited near the Williams garage, watching Franco emerge from his car with that unmistakable rookie enthusiasm. The moment Franco spotted him, his eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas.

"You were watching my qualifying?" Franco's accent was thick with excitement. "That's so cool, man."

"Not bad out there," Lewis nodded, then decided to seize the moment. "Listen, about Aaliyah..."

Franco immediately stood straighter, all attention.

"She's a free spirit," Lewis started, placing a hand on Franco's shoulder. "Vegetarian, loves Legos more than people most days. Takes her coffee black but her tea with honey. Can't stand pretense or games."

"You're giving me intel?" Franco's grin was infectious.

"I like you, Franco. I do." Lewis's tone shifted slightly. "But let me make this clear: Aaliyah is my sister, and if you break her fucking heart..."

"It's my neck?" Franco finished, still grinning but with understanding in his eyes.

Lewis chuckled. "You catch on quick."

"I sometimes do," Franco chuckled.

"I usually wouldn't help a driver get with her," Lewis continued. "Lando was bothering me about it before, but I think you're alright, Franco."

Franco's face scrunched up in disgust. "Lando? He wouldn't know what to do with a woman like Aaliyah."

Well, damn…

Lewis raised his eyebrows, impressed and amused by the kid's confidence. Before he could respond, the sound of children's laughter filled the air as Lyric and Laura came tearing around the corner, Aaliyah in pursuit.

"No running in the paddock!" she called out, but she was laughing too as the kids circled Lewis and Franco before darting off again.

"She's so good with kids," Franco said in awe, watching her chase after them.

"Yeah, she's a great aunt," Lewis replied, studying Franco's expression. The kid was already smitten. This would either be highly entertaining or complete chaos.

Probably both.

______________________________________________

Aaliyah Phillips turned heads without trying. At 5'7" with a slim waist, wide hips, and the kind of curves that made men walk into walls, she was used to the attention. Her straight black hair fell to the middle of her back today, though she often let it free in its natural curls. While she didn't have her sister's designer wardrobe or brother-in-law's fashion empire connections, her simple high-waisted jeans and cropped white button-down showed she understood how to dress her figure.

But what people didn't see was the woman who spent weekends building intricate Lego Architecture sets, who had an entire room in her Jersey apartment dedicated to magnetic tiles and architectural models. The entry-level architect who stayed late at her firm sketching designs for her dream home - a modern Pueblo Revival style house she hoped to build someday in Arizona or New Mexico, all clean lines and adobe walls with a courtyard full of succulents and desert wildflowers.

"Aaliyah! You look so good girl," Lando's voice interrupted her thoughts as she made her way through the paddock. His attempt at smooth came off try-hard, as usual.

"Thanks, Lando," she replied politely, though her mind drifted to a different accent, one that actually made her stomach flutter.

"We should grab dinner sometime," he pressed on. "Or we could–"

"Still not interested," she cut in gently but firmly. Lando was alright, but his cockiness felt forced, unlike Franco's natural confidence that seemed to flow as easily as his Spanish.

Franco. She hadn't meant to let any F1 driver catch her attention – she'd seen enough through Lewis and Rorie to know how complicated that world could be. But there was something about the young Argentinian that made her want to break her own rules. Maybe it was the way his curls fell into his eyes when he talked, or how he'd managed to be smooth without being arrogant, or the genuine enthusiasm he showed when talking about his passions.

The Mexico City paddock buzzed with pre-race energy as she found her way to the Mercedes garage. At twenty-four, she was established enough to know what she wanted - and what she didn't want. Lando's manufactured swagger wasn't it. But Franco...

"Earth to Liyah," Lewis's voice broke through her reverie. "You good? Or still thinking about a certain P10 qualifier?"

She rolled her eyes at her brother-in-law, but couldn't help glancing toward the Williams garage where Franco was preparing for his first Mexican GP.

Maybe it was time to take a chance. After all, she was single, and that accent was something else.

Aaliyah settled into a chair, Lyric bouncing on her lap as they watched Lewis prepare for the race. Her architecture brain couldn't help but appreciate the engineering marvel of these cars, even if most of the technical talk went over her head.

"Aunt Liyah, look!" Lyric pointed excitedly as Franco's Williams rolled past their window. She tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach when the Argentinian driver glanced up, his smile visible even through his visor.

"Still not your type?" Lewis teased as he stopped by before heading to the grid.

"Don't you have a race to focus on?" she shot back, but her smile gave her away.

The race itself was chaos that somehow made sense to everyone except her. Lyric seemed to understand more than she did, cheering at appropriate moments while she mostly just followed Lewis's silver car and, occasionally, a certain blue Williams.

"Remember what Mama says," Lyric told her seriously during a pit stop. "Always bet on black."

Aaliyah burst out laughing. That was such a Rorie thing to say - her sister had probably been teaching Lyric that since birth. But watching Lewis fight his way to P4, she had to admit the saying held true.

Franco's P12 wasn't bad either, though she pretended not to notice how many times she'd checked his position throughout the race. The way he handled the car through those tight corners was actually impressive, not that she'd admit that to anyone.

After the race, she found herself lingering in the paddock, ostensibly helping Lyric collect signatures on his little racing suit. When Franco approached, still in his race gear with curls damp from the helmet, she blamed the Mexican heat for the sudden warmth in her cheeks.

"Get any good signatures?" he asked Lyric, but his eyes were on her.

Maybe her sister was right - sometimes you had to bet on what felt right, even if it wasn't part of your careful plans. And this curly-headed rookie with the smooth accent and genuine smile definitely hadn't been part of her plans.

"There you go, campeón," Franco handed the marker back to Lyric after signing his suit.

"Actually," Aaliyah said, surprising herself with her boldness as she took the Sharpie from him. "Give me your hand."

Franco's eyebrows rose but he extended his palm, a slow smile spreading across his face as she wrote her WhatsApp number in neat architect's handwriting.

"About that dinner you mentioned..." she started.

"I know the perfect place," he finished, studying the numbers on his hand like they were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. "You coming to Brazil?"

"I can go," she replied casually, though she'd already arranged two weeks of PTO from the firm to help her sister and Lewis out with Lyric, but aunties need some down time too.

"Lucky me," Franco grinned, that accent somehow getting thicker. "I'll text you later about dinner, yeah?"

"Yeah," she replied, pretending not to notice Lewis and Lyric making exaggerated kissing faces behind Franco's back.

As Franco walked away, clearly trying not to look too eager to program her number into his phone, Lewis sidled up beside her.

"Smooth moves, sis," he teased. "Very smooth."

"Shut up," she laughed, but she couldn't help watching Franco's retreating figure. "Why are you always in my business?"

"Because I can be, and this is very entertaining."

The Las Vegas strip had been transformed into an F1 circus, neon lights competing with camera flashes as Lewis navigated through what felt like half of the world's population crammed into the paddock. His custom bedazzled Tommy Hilfiger tracksuit caught the artificial light, the matching Timbs completing a look that screamed Vegas baby - even if his mind was firmly fixed on Los Angeles.

Nothing.

He checked his phone for the hundredth time. Still nothing from Rorie. The helicopter was on standby, ready to whisk him to LA the moment she texted that their daughter was ready to make her debut. Toto had already arranged everything - Mick was ready to step in, though there were whispers that Kimi might even drive. Because fuck a race when his baby girl was being born.

"Lewis," Bono called out, trying to get his attention during the pre-race briefing. "The tire strategy…"

"Sorry," Lewis muttered, eyes still glued to his phone. "Just…"

Bono's expression softened. "How about this - you focus on the race, and I'll keep you updated if Rorie calls or texts. Deal?"

"Yeah, okay," Lewis agreed, though his hand still twitched toward his pocket. "Thanks, man."

The paddock was a maze of VIP areas and pop-up clubs - because only Vegas would turn an F1 race into a full-blown festival. Under normal circumstances, Lewis would have been living for this energy, this spectacle. But right now, all he could think about was Rorie at home, their daughter seemingly content to keep everyone waiting.

"Any news?" Toto asked as he made his way to the garage.

"Nothing," Lewis shook his head. "Larke's taking after her mama - showing up whenever she damn well pleases."

After another meeting, he made his way to his driver's room to get ready for the race.

Lewis pulled his race suit on, phone pressed to his ear. "Anything? Any contractions?"

"Nope," Rorie sighed. "I'm bouncing on this ball, drinking this nasty labor-inducing juice from TikTok… nothing. Though these celebrities showing up to Vegas are wild-"

"I don't care about that, Rorie, honey. I'll say fuck this race if you're going into labor." The sound of her laughter made him pull the phone away from his ear, staring at it in disbelief. "Rorie, I'm serious," he said once her giggles subsided.

"What if you're driving?" she asked.

"Bono is on baby watch and he'll tell me over the radio. I'll stop like I'm doing a pit and just leave."

"What- Lewis, you can't leave in the middle of a race!"

"Like I said, I don't give a fuck. Besides, this car is ass and I'm not missing her birth like I did Lyric's."

"Lewis…"

His jaw tightened. He hated that being an F1 driver meant missing important moments. Missing Lyric's birth because of a race still haunted him. Yes, he'd made it to the hospital while Rorie was still there, but he should have been the one holding her hand, telling her to push, feeding her ice cubes, even being the target of her labor-induced rage.

"Sweetheart, I know how you feel but trust me when I say this, I think she's waiting until you're officially done."

"Rorie, your due date is tomorrow. You could go into labor any time today," he pointed out.

"She's stubborn. More than you, actually. Trust me. When you are done with your last race and it's the end of the season - Larke will be here."

"You sure you're okay?" Lewis asked for the third time.

"Yes, baby. Go race. Win something for our girl."

"I just… I need you to promise me you'll tell someone to call if anything happens. Even if it's just a twinge."

"Lewis Hamilton," Rorie's voice took on that tone he knew well. "I have your mother, my mother, my sister, and about fifteen other people here watching me like hawks. Trust me, if this baby so much as hiccups, you'll know."

"Okay, okay," he conceded. "I love you. Both of you."

"We love you too. Now go show Vegas what you've got."

After hanging up, a knock came at his door. "Lewis? It's time," Rosa called.

The walk to the garage felt surreal, Las Vegas lights reflecting off his visor as he settled into the car and then lined up in his spot on the grid.

Lights out, and away we go.

The start was clean, Lewis immediately picking off two cars into Turn 1. "How's the grip, Lewis?" Bono asked.

"Anything from Rorie?" Lewis countered.

"No mate, nothing yet."

Lewis groaned, both from the lack of news and the understeer he was fighting. "Car's pushing wide in Turn 6… Should we add a crib mobile? I feel like we forgot a crib mobile."

Despite his distracted mind, he was flying through the field. Another overtake into Turn 1. "Nice move, Lewis!"

"Thanks. Do you think we need a humidifier? The nursery might need a humidifier." Another pass, up to P5 now. "And maybe one of those sound machines? Lyric loved his sound machine."

Bono's chuckle came through the radio. "You're doing brilliant, mate. Just brilliant."

P4.

P3.

Lewis barely registered the positions, too busy mental shopping for the nursery. "The changing table - did we get enough supplies for the changing table?"

"Box this lap, Lewis," Bono managed through his laughter. "Whatever you want, mate. You're absolutely flying out there."

As Lewis hit his marks in the pit box, he was already planning his next Amazon order. Somehow, racing while planning for Larke was bringing out his best driving.

10 more laps.

5 more laps.

Then the final lap.

The fireworks exploded over the Vegas strip as Lewis brought the car home in P2, George just ahead in P1. The garage was erupting - their first 1-2 of the season, and in Vegas of all places.

"Anything from Rorie?" Lewis immediately asked over the radio.

"Nothing mate, but bloody brilliant drive!" Bono's voice was gleaming with pride.

Lewis placed his forehead against the steering wheel, then gently banged it a few times. "Yeah, yeah… thanks man."

The crowd was deafening in parc fermé, casino lights mixing with camera flashes as he climbed out of the car. George was already there, grinning ear to ear.

Maybe Rorie was right. Maybe Larke was really waiting for his final race with Mercedes. Their stubborn little girl, already showing that Hamilton determination before even making her debut.

"Lewis! What a drive!" George pulled him into a hug. "The old Mercedes magic is back!"

"Yeah," Lewis managed a genuine smile, pride in their team's achievement breaking through his baby-focused thoughts. "Hell of a way to light up Vegas."

But even as he went through the motions of celebration, his thoughts kept drifting to Rorie and their baby. Their daughter was definitely taking after her mother - making her own plans, everyone else's schedule be damned.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

Next is the final chapter then there's the epilogue.

Do you like my work? Buy me a coffee to support

[kumimi3]

❪ LOOKISM BOYS<33 ❫ ❮ little sweetheart (child!reader) ⟡ ↳ platonic!Harem (workers version)

- Who knew a young child is involved in such a criminal association such as the workers? Who knew the young sweetheart has captured many of the workers hearts’ as well?

- Your presence was sudden, having been introduce by none other than Charles Choi, giving everyone a brief notice that you are welcomed by the elite CEO himself, that must mean something. You’re special.

- You play such big parts in the worker’s plans despite being young(around 13-14 yrs old), earning Eugene’s approval, praising you for your logical intelligence as he pats your head in soft caresses

- Yuseong, his younger twin, has taken a liking to you as well, offering to let you play with his toys whenever you visit the company--Which happens ever so often, but nobody complained, in fact, they preferred your presence over anything else

- It didn’t matter that you were childish, it was a part of growing after all, a reason why Eugene lets you run rampant inside his company like it’s a playground. Eugene creates rules for safety measure, but other then that, he gave you the privilege to do anything, even going as far as to enter the room when there’s a meeting.

- Samuel acts ever so stoic and dull on you, scolds and huffs at you like a tired father, yet he hopes you know that he only means well. He takes pleasure in being your bodyguard, pretending to act as if it’s nothing when he hears your arrival, yet he is always at the entrance, eager to meet your doe eyes as you open your arms to hug him, to which he complies

- He has taken you to rides before, often being assigned to take you to the private and luxurious school Charles Choi has transferred you in, but he didn’t mind it, even when he clicks his tongue in feigned annoyance, yet he still assists you, even going as far as to show off in his 100 million car. He has grown to like you alot, to the point he lets you play around in his cars

- “Oi! You scratched the new leather seats I got.” “I’m sorry Sir Samuel, I didn’t mean to!” “... It’s fine, just keep still next time, brat.” If it were someone else, they would’ve been 6 ft under.

- Neko gushed at your cuteness, ignorant of the fact that a young teen managed to enter the private area filled with blood and gore--She definitely hides you from the treacherous games, but yet she wanted you to stay.

Ryuhei Kuroda kept pinching your cheeks and teasing you for your height since the day you came, thinking of you as the child of him and Neko, such childish dreams, but he made it obvious all the time

“Yah, Neko~ Our baby Y/n is here!” “Want your papa to buy you a toy or something? Oh, right…. Yeah, I’m your papa!"

Now gun and goo, even with a child, they are still so careless

Goo screams your name from a mile away throughout the entire building, opening his arms wide as he runs towards you, holding you up in the air as he twirls the both of you around

Being given mission by Charles Choi, the infamous pair are always there by your side, protecting you from any harm as you complete your quests for the workers affiliates

Gun, as with his calm demeanor, it’s relaxing to be with him, receiving soft pats and short praises from him many times, not to mention his liking towards carrying you

Whenever you’re with him, he doesn’t waste no time to hold you with one arm and resumes to his schemes, he may be quiet but he’s really great with the littlest of details

You don’t like pickles on your burger? He’ll get rid of it before you can even see it. You gushed about a pair of toys 2 week ago? It’s inside your bedroom now. You only like a certain color in a pack of gummy bears? He’ll pick them himself so you wouldn’t have to &lt;3

Goo is vocal with his wants, always whining that you should call him “Big brother/Oppa” instead of ‘sir’! Spends millions on you, from the headband on your head, to the custom made designer shoes you wear for school.

He’s a maniac, he’s a psycho, but he just couldn’t help but feel at ease with you, for once he’s not meeting new members just as a nutcase like him, you were a breath of fresh air for him

They all protect your innocence from the illegal work they do, they’ll protect you from being ruined, not matter what, you’re their little baby after all &lt;3

Little do they know you’re just as deranged as them lol