#i did have a job interview that stressed me out bad

[alodiaz]

i am a bit unwell rn, so i am going to start working on it slowly but i'd like to thank everyone for their kind words on my 2000s au post! as always mega thanks for the idea @k4thl18n 💚💚💚

here's my rough outline of how it will pan out, time wise! starts in summer break 2005, press release of lawrence buying midland, renaming to racing point, announcement of drivers. livery reveal!! moves onto 2006, pre-season testing at bahrain, lancito and nano meet for the first time but only brief and then they get closer over the season!! i think i'll make this a slowburn, so there might not be any romance until 07, comfort from lance to nano, mclaren era!!

i'm thinking on making this a series that goes up to this year! so part 1 will be 2006 - 2010! then part 2 maybe 2011 - 2015?? and then we'll see from there!

ALSO i will be posting some polls soon just to gauge what you guys might want in terms of either plotlines, characters you want to see, etc.

once again, thank you for the kind words!! if you would like to be on the taglist, feel free to either dm me or just comment on this post <<3 !!

[bsaka7]

jobs r evil job offers are evil figuring out what you want to do is EVIL

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

I'm quitting my job in half an hour.

[admirxation]

彡 𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟏𝐬𝐭 - 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

♡ 𝐬𝐮𝐦. Leon loves getting his secretary to do simple tasks for his watching pleasure (wc: ) -> this idea was given by @elfven-blog

𝐜𝐰 — afab!younger!subordinate!reader x Older!Superior!Leon S. Kennedy. 18+ smut mdni, dub-con/power imbalance, office au, bending over, Leon is pervy in this with making the reader bend over to reach for things, non-consensual skirt lifting, oral/blowjob, praise, titty fucking, and cum -> you've been warned; continue at your own discretion.

You sat at your desk as your fingers poised over the clacking keyboard, scrolling through countless emails and replying to them in a fake, overly nice manner. You were absolutely exhausted after starting this new job; you were thankful to have gotten it considering the current job market, but you couldn’t deny the developing eye bags that were forming. How heavy your eyes were that blinking was considered too dangerous, just in case you smacked your head on the desk and went to sleep. 

It didn’t help that you had such a demanding boss. Leon S. Kennedy, CEO, and the boss you had to answer to as his secretary constantly. 

Leon wasn’t a terrible person. He was quite sweet, and you were thankful for some of the good ways you had picked up on about him. However, you did feel uneasy about some parts of him, especially with the type of things he would be in demand for. 

It starts as just a normal coffee and paperwork—normal for a secretary—then it escalates to helping him with his tie and his shoelaces and giving him a massage on his shoulders because “life is so stressful at the moment”. You didn’t mind entirely; it’s not like you disliked him, but you did have an inclination that those actions aren’t something you should be asking of your secretary and subordinate; you even mentioned this to your friends outside of work, and they felt uneasy about it, but it wasn’t like you were going to quit, that would be ridiculous, especially with the hurdles you had to go through in the interview process; you were sure you could handle a man’s creepiness. At least, that was the original thought before the day's events unfolded. 

You tried your best to keep your gaze down and focus on the task at hand, sorting through your emails until you heard that buzzing-calling sound. 

“Sweetheart, I need you.” 

You heard Leon’s voice through the crackling sound from the box. He had this thing where he would never give you the respect—that he gave other colleagues—and call you by your title and last name; it was always terms of endearment like: sweetheart, darling, honey, but sweetheart was his favourite at the moment. You didn’t think much of it, only feeling that uneasy sense of weirdness as your face always scrunched up when hearing how his tone lingered on the syllables of endearment, but you thought nothing too bad would come of it; you just thought that it was an older man thing, that they didn’t mean it creepily—oh, how naive you were. 

You rolled your chair backwards and opened his office door, seeing him in that smart-fitted suit as he folded his arms. His blue gaze looked upon you as it travelled from the top of your head to your high-heeled toes, taking in how your clothes hugged your frame and how you shuddered when he licked his lips, putting you under his arousing scrutiny. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said in that tantalising smooth-toned voice, deep and warm as whiskey that made you feel a fuzzy feeling within your chest but also one that equally made your gut churn for a moment. 

“Hello, Mr. Kennedy; what do you need today, sir?” you put on that fake customer-friendly smile everyone had in the workplace, ready to just get whatever task he wanted you to finish over and done with. 

“Could you come here and proofread this for me? You’ve got a better eye for these things than I do,” he had in his hand a piece of paper with inked-out printing, some piece of paperwork you would have to check for typos or incorrect calculations… Like you were any good at it. 

You gave Leon a quick nod before you let your heels click against the dark wooden floor, letting the room be filled with sensuality as you approached and let your shadow engulf him; you knew he was watching your reactions as your pupils darted from side to side to read the words and numbers, pretending like you were knowledgeable on the whole thing when matter-of-fact you weren't too familiar despite the basics of the basics.

Leon just stared—for a few moments—as he appreciated the woman that was right in front of him; he couldn’t deny the attraction he felt for you when he looked at your facial structure, the way your hair was styled around it, and the way that blouse hugged around your chest and skirt around your ass, he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about throwing everything off of his desk and pounding right into you as he pins you down onto the hard surface. But, he needed to elongate the process before he got to the ending, which would make him happy. 

When you put the paper down, ready to tell him that you found no errors, you heard the sound of something dropping onto the wooden panels; looking down, you saw a few pencils had scattered and rolled off the desk, seeing that it was obviously not an accident when you saw that sharp and tantalising smirk that felt like it was looming over you in its smug nature. 

“Could you get those for me, sweetheart?” he asked you, presenting that innocent look despite the darkened clouds looming over his gaze, soon giving his true intentions away, but what were you gonna do? Say no? There wasn’t room to say that; he was your boss, and you needed to keep this job, so you let a faint smile curve for forced jollity as you bent over and picked up the pencils with a ‘yes, sir.’

You felt the unnerving casualness that made the air in the room feel thicker, the tension between you two thick enough to cut through with a knife. Picking up pencils is a small gesture, nothing to read into it, but it was quite the opposite with Leon; he made it into something bigger than it was when you felt his gaze stick onto you and make your heartbeat be heard in your ear drums as you kept your knees on the floor while you picked up the pencils… one by one… Until you felt something, something you didn’t think he would be so bold to do.

As you had been picking up the lines of graphite, he had tucked his leather shoe underneath your skirt and picked it up, making your eyes widen. Your heartbeat falls into the depths of your innards as cold sweat starts to rear its existence after the catalyst of Leon’s actions. You felt the tip of his shoe rub against the fat of your ass, and hearing his shallow breath add a hotter tension into the room that made you feel suffocated. All you did was look back as your body shook, feeling the nerves reverberate through you. 

“S-sir… What are you-” 

“Shh…you’re so pretty like this… on your knees,” he lifted your skirt even higher to expose the lacy thong and your exposed ass, “so sexy,” he continued to whisper his seductive praises. 

He sat back in his chair, letting the tip of his shoe press into the fat that made a plushy indentation that made his cock twitch within his trousers; you were so vulnerable, so unknowing, and he just wanted to take you right then and there as he felt your shuddering body to his touch. His smirk only widened when he witnessed you trap your bottom lip into your teeth.

“Oh, do you like this, sweetheart?” He wasn’t going to make you answer; he liked you all nervous and too embarrassed to admit that you liked having your own boss appreciate and want to use your body. He felt like he had won the lottery with how willing your body was for him. 

“Hm, I like having you around… It's so sexy when you walk around the place… but I want more than you just playing secretary,” he watched as your pupils swallowed the colour of your eyes as you looked at him through a shuddering chest from broken breaths, “turn around for me, I wanna see that pretty face more clearly.” 

At your own volition, you quickly obeyed without hesitancy, watching as he opened his legs and the growing bulge that was starting to develop underneath his navy trousers, imminently making you blush as you watched how your body affected him, how just the sight of your panties was making him rock hard underneath the cloth. 

“Now, sweetheart… You’re a good little secretary, aren’t you?” 

“Mmhmm,” you nodded in your timid response as you looked up at him with those ‘fuck me’ eyes.

“Yeah, you are,” he bent over and cupped your face gently and making you subconsciously fit the curve of your cheek in his large palm; all those underlying thoughts of creepiness soon faded away as you felt the heat radiate off of his body, and who knows, there have been people who fuck their boss and get many advantages on top of a new partner. “How about you take care of me… I’ve been feeling so stressed… I’m sure you can help me out with that, can’t you?” his voice was just like whiskey, smooth in its feeling but also a sensation of burning with how warmth pooled around your core and started to soak around your slit as your clit throbbed under the desire to be touched and to touch him. 

“What do… What do you want me to do, sir?” you whispered, almost pathetically, as your pillowy and glossy lips parted as if you knew exactly where this was going; you weren’t completely stupid. 

“I wanna use that pretty mouth of yours for good,” he started to unbuckle his belt and fill the room with the metallic sound that made your pussy throb as he lifted up his hips to pull down the trousers and the boxers, and letting you look in surprise as his large cock sprung out in front of you, inviting and enticing you to be a dirty girl for him. “Be a good secretary and suck it… You wouldn’t want your boss stressed, would you?” 

“No, No, I wouldn’t.” 

Your core fluttered as slick started to press against the lace barrier. You heard Leon’s shallow breaths as your hands collected around the base of his cock, pumping his long shaft and feeling the prominent vein rub against your soft palms, watching as his reddened tip was already oozing and weeping out a pre-release for the anticipation of your warm mouth. You maintained your eye contact as you left a big, wet, long, stripe along his shaft before taking him in and releasing muffled moans as you watched his head kick back. 

“Oh, fuck, yes, g-gods, you’re so good at that,” his fingers started to tangle in your previously neat hair, causing frizzy strands to strike up as he smoothed his palms over your scalp, gently bucking his hips to guide his cock further into the warm and soaking valley of your mouth and throat. 

You softly gagged at the feeling of his fat cock pressing against the back of your throat; you loved this, feeling your glossy lips stretch around him and tasting his salty length as you continued to suck and feel him. 

“A-aah, yeah, you’re taking me so well,” he whispered another praise before he started to feel a little greedy, “Why don’t you take that blouse off… I wanna see those pretty tits.” 

You took your mouth off of him in a loud, wet popping sound that made him shudder as the cold air pressed against his cock; continuing to palm and pump his throbbing length as he watched you unbutton the silk blouse until it became discarded cloth on the floor, soon accompanied by your bra. 

You felt that pleasurable tingling feeling within your walls and a heated coil that was heating up as it tied together tightly when you squeezed the mounds of your chest for him, letting soft whimpers protrude from your lips as you squeezed onto the sensitive buds when looking into his darkened gaze. 

His presence was demanding, yet arousing at the same time; a superior shouldn’t be doing this to their secretary, but let’s be honest, the fantasy has been around for as long as can be remembered; it wasn’t like you were complaining than an attractive older man wanted to use you as a cocksleeve. Of course, there was the little voice in the back of your mind telling you that this power dynamic was wrong; you were his employee, and it was highly inappropriate for him to be treating you like this, but the libido soon squelched the rational down as your heated core was wanting to take him on further. 

You made his head fall back onto the headrest of his office chair again when you continued to leave swirls from your tongue on the tip of his dribbling cock, tasting that salty and creamy precum as you watched his chest fall up and down in broken tandem to his laboured breaths. You could feel your panties become completely soaked when a slow gushing release came down in your finish as you wrapped your breasts around his large cock, and heard his sensual moans fill his office room up. 

“Fuck, aaah, keep going, don’t stop, making me feel so good,” he kept caressing your cheek as he watched you leave kitten licks on the tip of your warm plushy breasts hugged around his shaft. “Such a perfect, sexy girl.” 

You sucked on the tip of his fat cock, watching him bite his lip. 

“I’m so close; stop for a moment,” you obeyed what he needed and stayed there with an open mouth and squishing your tits together as you watched him pump his cock with his fist before covering your chest with his thick, sticky, white load; feeling that coil snap back into an eased relaxation when watching him pant down from his high after covering you with his mark.

🏷️ taglist: @porcelainseashore @angelstargel @localkiss -> check out pinned post to be tagged; if you want to be deleted just message me.

a/n: this was requested by the lovely honey, please give her some love since without her I wouldn't have thought of this delicious concept. Kinktober is nearly over oh my god, I'm lowkey kinda sad but also happy cuz wow 31 days has been a mighty struggle I inflicted onto my myself, in future I'm just doing weekly oneshots if I ever wanna do it again. Anyways I hope you enjoyed this <3

[star-anise]

are we talking about broke therapists yet?

I've been out of things for a couple of years now, which is why I'm willing to talk about it, and maybe the pandemic has helped things a little, but holy shit the counselling and psychotherapy field is not equipped to help its practitioners in the gig economy.

Of all my interests and talents, I pursued a degree in psychology because being a therapist is supposed to be a safe, stable, well-paid job. Every therapist I met who was registered before 2008 worked and lived under that assumption. And oh boy are all the fee structures--registration, supervision, continuing education, conferences--set up for that scenario.

After getting my Master's, I struggled like hell to get a job. It was especially bad because to get my license, I needed a supervisor to take me on. To take me on, most supervisors wanted me to already have a caseload and client base. To get a caseload and client base, I needed a job.

Friends: Every single job I heard back on wanted me to have my license before I could even land an interview.

Professors and career advisors and professional development specialists all advised me very earnestly to just keep cold-calling people on the supervision list, and it began to feel a lot like my parents' friends telling me to hit the bricks and hand out resumes. That's what worked for them, right?

I finally got a supervisor who agreed to take me on, and I'd be able to use her clinic for advertising and workspace, and we were doing the paperwork to send in with my registration, when she called me up and said, "Is this job going to be your only source of income? If you're trying to depend on getting clients and building your practice for your basic needs, this is not going to work out. This has to be something you're doing on top of a basic salary. Okay, so you're not working anywhere else right now? I'm sorry, I can't move forward with this."

Even once I landed a supervisor and a job building my own private practice, I struggled. I have ADHD and am not great at self-promotion, so trying to do all my own advertising, scheduling, bookkeeping, billing, and records management (on top of counselling) was an enormous strain. One my bosses, supervisors, and other senior professionals watched with a slightly critical eye, but consoled me about because in their early days, their clinics had had business managers, receptionists, filing clerks, and accountants, and getting used to doing everything online yourself was a bit of a learning curve, wasn't it?

I counted my pennies very carefully, because I had to pay my supervisor roughly $180 for their services every 6 hours of in-person counselling I did. This meant that to break even I had to charge my clients an average of about $30 (plus room rental and service fees) an hour--and my clients, being people with complex trauma, were frequently poor, disabled, unemployed, and had no health benefits, so even $10 or $20 a session was a lot for them.

Maybe it would have been easier if I could have taken some of those nice comfortable organization positions where they find clients and funding for you and you work 40 hours a week and get benefits and a pension, but I had to be disabled into the bargain, so working 40 hours a week just isn't possible for me. I start passing out from stress and exhaustion. Older colleagues gave me serious-faced advice about approaching my employer and asking them for some flexibility and accommodation in my schedule, and I tried to explain across the gap between us that employers simply did not hire me if I made the slightest noise about the workload. They weren't going to invest in me as a person; they were hiring 40 units of work a week, and if I wouldn't do it there were a dozen applicants after me who would.

At one point I broke down enough to email my licensing body because the Annual General Meeting/Professional Development Conference was coming up, and I wanted to attend, but I could not produce $500 to do it with. Was there some kind of way I could attend anyway? I felt ashamed to have to ask, and then absolutely mortified when the response came from the organization president, who needed to personally sign off on me being too poor to attend the single most important event in my profession's calendar year.

I honestly felt so ashamed all the time at how I was apparently failing to be a successful therapist, failing to be rich and successful, and every time I mentioned it around mentors and bosses, I could feel myself shrinking from a person to a problem to be solved. My closest therapist-friends and I have reflected on how much more difficult, poorly-paid and underworked, our various career starts have been than we were ever warned about. About the classmates and coworkers who couldn't get disability exceptions when they fell behind in their registration requirements, or burned out and left the field, or dropped their registrations and took up as life coaches, or moved their whole family somewhere exceptionally remote or rural because it was the only good job available, or worked for some godforsaken app skirting the bounds of malpractice like BetterHelp.

I like those conversations, because I feel less like an absolute fuck-up in them. There's less "Hey Lis, you were so talented in grad school, I really admired you, what are you doing now?" "Oh, I, uh... am professionally disabled, so I get government benefits, and I... sell embroidery patterns on Etsy now."

My own therapist kept asking if and when I felt like going back to being a counsellor, and I finally told him: I don't, actually. I don't want to go back and do it like I was doing it before. It was a profession I loved to the depths of my soul, and it profoundly did not love me back. I can't even imagine what would have to change, in me or it, to make it have a space in it that could fit me.

All of which I was way too scared to admit to at the time, because the more I let people know I was struggling, the more they hinted that maybe I just wasn't in a place in my life where this was a job I could do, and I needed to take a little break and wait to come back until money and disability just weren't issues for me anymore.

Eventually my cups of doubt and exhaustion did overflow, and I quit. I'm here now, living a much different life. And at the very least, all my years of helping people in bad life situations set me up perfectly for my own. I already knew what form to fill out for financial assistance, which student clinics to access for mental health support, and which government agency would, if pressed, cough out pharmacy coverage for the genuinely destitute. It gave me that much.

I hope this is just me being in extraordinary circumstances, sitting at the intersections of a few different shitty life situations that most people skip right past. Because it's on one level comforting, but another deeply infuriating, if I'm not, and I've just missed it or we've just all been too afraid to admit it to each other.

[lqveharrington]

Behind the Scenes | V.

summary: Being Vox’s girlfriend requires some patience after twelve hour work days.

pairing: Vox x fem!reader

includes: Vox and Velvette bullying one another, VALENTINO BEING A MENACE, mentions of Angel’s job, drinking, fluff, yelling, Vox being a baby, cursing, implications of being a prostitute, suggestiveness, both of them being teases (that’s it, let me know if i missed any!)

a/n: i think writing hazbin fics is my stress outlet 😭

You were Vox’s. And Vox was yours. Every demon and sinner in Pride Ring knew due to Vox taking time out of his busy work day to shower you with compliments in every press interview or host show when you were brought up. Especially when Vox would be the first one to find you after you finished modeling for Velvette’s show, making sure the paparazzi had photos of him praising you with kisses and soft touches.

Of course, you reciprocated every moment… In the public eye. Behind the cameras and screens, Vox was very much loving. But he did work for almost twelve hours each day, which required patience from you whenever he came home to you in a sour mood.

“Do you need me for anything else, Vel?” You glance back at your phone as you pour red wine into your glass.

“No,” She scribbled down measurement adjustments for another model’s design, looking back up at her screen after hearing an electrical shock from your side of the phone. “But do tell your boy toy that you have a dress rehearsal early tomorrow morning, and that you have to be there on time.”

Vox wrapped his arm around your waist, glaring at the young overlord through your phone. “Fuck off, Velvette.”

You feel him resting his head against your shoulder as he presses soft kisses on your neck, your dead heart fluttering. “I’ll be there on time.”

“Good.” She rolled her eyes at your boyfriend’s actions before ending the call.

“What’s your damage today, handsome?” You ask before sipping on your drink, red lipstick staining the clear glass. You watch as he mutters something incoherent, static emitting from his hat. “Vox, talk to me.”

“That bitch Carmilla won’t meet up, and it’s been several days since our last update on Vox technology.” He sighs as he moves around you, his voice crackling with electricity. “Shareholders have been up my fucking ass all morning about it— Valentino keeps trying to get me to watch his stupid porn feels featuring Angel.”

He removes his suit jacket as he complains, walking toward the large living space including a minibar. Vox pulls at his tie and reaches for the whiskey underneath, “Now Velvette wants to be an ass and complain about me wanting to spend time with you—“

“My love,” You hand him a glass from the cabinets, letting your hand linger on his for a bit. “Vel’s my boss, and I’m her best model. She needs me for these rehearsals.”

“You’re really taking her side?” He tilts back his head and downs the drink in one go, pouring another.

You roll your eyes at his childish behavior, “I’m not taking sides, I’m pointing out a fact.” You sit on the stool by the bar, letting him slot himself between your legs. “If anything, I’m listening to you describing your day.”

“Mm.” He let one hand come down and rest on your hip, rubbing soft circles. “Tell me about your day.”

“Boring, tiring. Pretty much the same every day.” You grab his wrist to ensure he doesn’t go any lower or any higher. “According to your assistant, I do have a lot of things planned tomorrow. So that should be exhausting.”

Vox linked your hands together, “Sounds stressful.”

“Not as bad as yours every day.” You press a kiss on his palm. “I was gonna watch a movie while waiting for you, but now that you’re here—“ You shift your wine glass in your hand as he puts his own glass down, letting him trail his hands to your waist. “Want to join me?”

“Of course.” He presses a chaste kiss to your lips before trailing after you. “What movie are we watching?”

“Whatever the first thing I find.” You let Vox sit on the couch before doing the same, swinging your legs over his lap. “You need a new rotation on Voxflix, I’ve watched almost everything.”

“I’ll get on that.” He mumbled as he ran his hand up and down your leg, occasionally squeezing.

You hum and shift your gaze to the television, scrolling through the different movies. “How do we feel about—“

A ringtone filled the air, both of you freezing at the noise.

“Vox—“

“Give me a second.” He let you pull your legs away and pulled the ringing from his screen to his phone, camera-ready voice leaving his mouth.

You sigh but find a movie worth watching, pulling your knees up. Around halfway through, you decided that the movie was meretricious, heavily judging the poorly made movie more than the other ones you’ve watched. You typed your review on your phone, giving the movie two stars before—

“—THEN GET SOME LOW LIFE SINNER TO DO YOUR FUCKING JOB FOR YOU!” You heard Vox scream from the kitchen, making you wince for the poor soul on the other end. “AND IF YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE SHIT I GIVE YOU, JUST KNOW I HAVE YOUR FUCKING SOUL IN CONTRACT!”

You pause the movie and get up, taking slow steps to your hotheaded boyfriend. He shuffled across the kitchen, walking back and forth as his fans kicked on. His white shirt was unbuttoned and his sleeves were rolled up like he was going to commit a crime.

“YOU LITTLE PIECE OF—“

“Vox,” You come up from behind and wrap your arms around his chest, resting your head on his shoulder. “It’s outside of your work hours.”

“Fucking—“ He rubbed his temple as he heard the sinner go silent on the other line. Vox took one hand and laced it with yours, “You’re lucky my wife is generous you ungrateful fuck.” He ended the call before muttering more curses, turning you in his arms so you were facing his front.

You let your hands move up to his shoulders, massaging the heavy tension in them. “Am I your wife now? Is that what you’ve been telling those sinners?”

“Maybe.” He let out a loud groan from the sensation, fans still running. “The fucking bitch in accounting is—“

“You’re not working right now, stop.” You give him a pointed look. “I need you to relax.”

Vox wrapped his arms around your waist, walking you backward toward the living area once more. “God, I’m in love with you.”

“I love you too.” You chuckle as he peppers kisses on your face. You let out a noise of surprise when he pulls you into his lap, hands gripping his shoulders for support. “Vox!”

“Yes?” He pressed kisses to your exposed collarbone.

You sigh in content but grab the corners of his screen, giving him a cheeky grin. “Tomorrow, my love. Velvette will murder the both of us if I show up late with bruises.”

“I’ll pay her to let you have a day off tomorrow.” He slipped his hand up your shirt, sharp claws bringing chills to your skin.

“So now you’re paying to be with me?” You raise a brow, stifling a laugh when he stops all movements. “Am I some kind of—“

“Of course not! Do not finish that sentence.” He pushed you down on the couch, covering your mouth. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You laugh at how protective he is over you from himself. “I know you didn’t mean it like that, I was kidding.”

Vox dropped his head down to your shoulder, “You’re such a tease.”

“I’m the best.” You squeeze his bicep. “But seriously, Vel will have our heads strung outside the tower.”

“Whatever.” He flipped you both over, letting you rest your head on his chest. “I’ll have you all to myself this weekend.”

You hum, pressing a kiss on the corner of his screen. “I’m sure you do, handsome.”

“My love, I will cancel all your plans this weekend if you tell me I can’t have you.” Vox traces his finger down your spine. “Don’t tell me you have any.”

“I don’t…” You turn your head as he runs his claws through your hair. You feel yourself warm as he wraps a blanket over the both of you, flicking the television to play with a snap of his fingers.

“What do we rate the movie today?” He played with the ends of your hair, face pulling a grimace at the movie’s corny script.

“Two stars.” You mumble as your gaze shifts to the television. As the television fades to black in an awkward transition, you see Vox staring at you rather than the screen. “What are you looking at, weirdo?”

“My beautiful girlfriend.” He squeezed your hip. “Who I love very much.”

You let a small laugh slip through your lips, grinning brightly at his words. “I love you very much too, weirdo.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (3)

Summary: Terry get's a lesson in love and shares it with Patrice.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 5,049

Part: 3 of ??

Warnings: Smut (18+)

One. Two.

"Well, James, how you been?" 

"Honestly, Pop. I don't know where to start." 

Wooden spoons banged and scraped across pots on the stove while Marvin scooped red beans and rice into a small ceramic bowl. He'd long shed his work coveralls for an open flannel shirt and khakis to spend some quality time with his only son. 

James was their shared middle name in a long line of Richmond men dating back to their family migration from New Orleans to Fayetteville in the 50s. Marvin was a proud, honorable man. He never said a bad word about anybody, and no one had a bad word to say about him. He taught Terry how to play football, make a pot of dirty rice to perfection, and the importance of ensuring a lady never touched a doorhandle in his presence. He was the reason Terry joined the Marine Corps after a career in the NFL looked unlikely. He was the reason his boy spoke softly and carried a big stick. And he was one of only two people Terry trusted with his heart. 

With two bowls and spoons on a serving tray, Marvin made his way to the kitchen table. He stopped short to get a good look at his son with blue green eyes even more captivating than Terry's. He noted the new frown lines developing on his brow and the lone grey hair sprouting in his goatee. His boy was stressed and confused. He didn't need a conversation to tell him that but welcomed it anyway. 

After sliding one bowl across the table, he took a seat with his signature grunt. "Start at the top. Plenty of time still left in the day." 

Terry quietly thanked his father for his generosity and avoided the question by eating the first bite of his meal. They ate in silence for several seconds until Terry took a deep breath. 

"I think I've been okay. More ups than downs lately, but the downs are pretty damn low. I'm having a tough time sleeping. I'm barely working. I feel like a burden for Treece more than I feel like a man who can actually do something for her." 

"Being a man is about more than what you can do." 

"Yeah, but…" Terry trailed off, trying to gather his thoughts. "It's just - things weren't supposed to be this hard. I gave this country a lot of my time, and I guess I expected to say my goodbyes and roll into my next chapter. Now, my plan b needs a plan b, and I'm out of options." 

"You're not out of options. You don't like askin' for help. Proud like your grandaddy." 

"And you too." 

Marvin chuckled and shook his head as he took another spoonful of food.  "This ain't about me."

The two men shared a laugh, their voices sounding nearly identical as they bounced off the walls. He was the spitting image of his father, both in stature and moral compass. 

"What do you need, James?" Marvin had grown serious again, making Terry avert his eyes to focus on his food. "I'll save you the stress of asking, but you gotta tell me what I need to offer. Is it money?"

"Not much. Enough to pay some bills until the end of the month, and I can have it back to you. I think I have a shot at this job on base if I can get through the second interview."

"How you getting back and forth? I know y'all do the Lyft and Ubom thing these days. Ridin' around with strangers like we didn't spend a whole decade tell y'all not to." 

Terry laughed. "It's Uber, Pop. But, no. Treece is out for the summer, so I'm…using her car when I need it. I don't wanna take advantage of her." 

"Those some of the bills you need help paying?" Marvin's question was answered with a silent head nod and eyes filled with shame. He softened his voice as he reached into his wallet for the cash he had on hand. "It's what you're supposed to do. Ain't no shame. That money is for yourself. Give me til tomorrow afternoon to have more. Five grand enough?" 

"Ah, Pop, I don-" 

"We didn't work as hard as we did for nothing. Plus, it's your college fund money we never withdrew. You're lucky your mother hasn't used it for renovations. She's been eyeing your sister's old room for an indoor she-shed or whatever the hell it's called." 

Marvin sounded exasperated by the concept of his wife's latest project, which amused Terry. They hadn't changed since the day he left. They were just two people who had been in love since the day they met and remained committed to supporting each other through the ebbs and flows of life. 

Standing from the kitchen table, Marvin shuffled around the corner to the garage entrance and returned with a ring of keys and a pile of mail. He tossed them at Terry and returned to his seat. 

"What's this?" 

"Keys to GMC outside. Take it. You might need to run it for a little bit and change the oil, but it works fine. The rest is your mail." Terry opened his mouth to protest and received a glare from his father in return. "I gave you my best speech about askin' for help, and here you go ruining things. Take the truck before I tell your mama."

"Alright, alright," Terry laughed as he raised his hands. "I love you, Pop." 

"Love you, man. I'm proud of you." Not ones for the warm fuzzies of hugs, the two extended their arms across the table for a quick fist bump before returning to their meals. Marvin let his son eat in peace for a few moments before the corner of his lips curled in a knowing smile. "So…Patrice Ellis, huh? That little love letter you wrote in 10th grade finally coming true?" 

"Pop." 

"Ah, come on. It's alright to be in love, son. She's a good girl. Got good folks, too. What's the holdup?" 

In love? The more Terry attempted to negotiate the gravity of the phrase within himself, the more he had to reckon with the idea that his father may not be that far off base.

Terry slowed his eating and looked at his father for help. "You think I'm in love?" 

"Oh, I know you are. You didn't come back to Fayetteville for me, did you?" 

"How would I know, though? How did you know?" 

Marvin stopped eating to sit back in his chair. A fond smile crossed his face as he thought of his younger years. 

"I knew I was in love when I wanted to show up every day and do the work to be with her. It didn't matter if she pissed me off or if we disagreed about decisions. At the end of every day, I can look at her and know I'm where I want to be forever. Plus, I still get a little fired up when she walks through the door all these years later. I ain't much to look at, but your mother is…" 

Marvin let his sentence drop to whistle at the mention of his wife. Terry pretended to take exception but eventually laughed at his father's antics. He quickly relaxed into a contemplative state. 

"I wanna be the best I can for her," he spoke softly. "I get…sad when she's gone for too long. Sometimes, I find myself forcing conversation just to make her look at me because the light in her eyes is the only thing keeping me grounded most days. What does that mean?" 

"You don't need me to answer that, son. Go with what you know." 

Before Terry could seek more advice, the mechanical roar of the garage door made Marvin nearly spring out of his seat to greet his one true love. 

Outside, Patrice was nearly doubled over from laughter in the front seat. 

Diedra "DeeDee" Richmond was the quintessential Southern black woman. Like a prim and proper belle, she wore her color-treated blonde hair big to match an even bigger personality.  She wore heels with every outfit and never left the house without earrings, but she could also drink and cuss like a sailor. 

When she offered Patrice the chance to tag along for her monthly Sister Circle meeting, there was no chance she'd miss the opportunity to ditch Terry and kick it with the upper crust of Black women. 

"And, girl, Rita thinks we can't tell that she took every one of those appetizers out of the damn freezer section. At least go to the Publix bakery. Finger sandwiches ain't that expensive." 

Amid their gossip session, the garage door's chime caught Dee Dee's attention, effectively ending her one-woman show in favor of giving her husband the eye. Behind him, Terry stood with a nervous smile and puppy dog eyes that he directed at Patrice. 

"Marry a Richmond, child. You'll never lift a finger for the rest of your life. Lord knows I love me some him. Hey, baby!" DeeDee advised as she watched Marvin nearly float to the driver's side to open her door. 

Patrice watched Marvin and DeeDee fawn over each other like teenage lovers until the faint pop of her door opening brought her back to life. 

Terry stood in the gap with his hand out to offer assistance. She accepted without protest, letting him gently pull her from the passenger side with her bags in tow and close the door behind her.

"I missed you." 

Terry's admission came in a sweet voice as he dipped his head to place two chaste kisses on Patrice's lips. Only the knowledge of his parents 10 feet away kept her from turning an innocent display of affection into something vulgar. 

Patrice chased his lips once he pulled away, earning a deep chuckle that vibrated her chest. 

"We kissing in front of the parents now?" 

"Too much," he asked, suddenly embarrassed. 

She used her thumb to wipe lip gloss from his bottom lip before rising to her tip toes to kiss his nose. "No. You're perfect." 

Dee Dee and Marvin watched the young couple giggle at nothing in particular with broad smiles and full hearts. 

"Treece, when's the last time you had some of my red beans and rice?" 

Marvin's question made both of them jump like children caught in the act with the realization that they weren't alone. 

"Way too long," Patrice answered, her stomach almost growling at the mention. 

"Then have dinner with us. We'd love to have you." 

Patrice looked toward Terry for confirmation, making Dee Dee cackle as she started up the stairs into her home. "Child, forget him. Terrence don't run nothing 'round here! Come get this food."

Terry's eyes grew wide at his mother's dismissal while Patrice dissolved into an uncontrollable fit of laughter at his expense on her way into the house. 

"Oh, that's funny," he asked, following her lead. "That's the last time I let y'all hang out unsupervised." 

Three extra hours at Terry's parents' house wasn't enough for the tandem to abandon their new night routine. 

Patrice stood at her bathroom sink, scrubbing the day from her face while Terry made himself comfortable on her closed toilet lid. Sometimes, he read something from Patrice's bookshelf, both preferring to simply exist in the same room. Other times, he watched baseball on his phone and attempted to provide color commentary despite Patrice not showing interest. This time, though, he sat with relaxed shoulders and low eyes while she moved through her beauty routine. 

Something about the sleepytime body wash had him laser-focused on how her legs looked a mile long beneath her nightshirt, oiled to perfection and glistening under the warm vanity lights. He wanted to reach out and touch her. Maybe pull her closer by her thighs and whisper every single nasty thought on his mind below her navel until she promised never to leave his side. 

But, he shook his inner man loose and leaned forward to re-engage with her as she called his name. 

"You know you should use a gentle exfoliant every once in a while. It'll help your breakouts. Use some of my sunscreen, too. It's dangerous for you to let the sun hit your face with no protection."

Blah, blah, blah. Everything she said sounded like a chorus of 1000 angels to him. She could've revealed the cure to cancer, and he would be too lovestruck to notice. 

Knowing his restraint was dwindling, he stood abruptly and stretched his arms above his head with a yawn as she added moisturizer to her face.

Patrice watched him take up space behind her through the mirror, shifting so he could leave something to remember him by on her shoulder and neck. 

"Good night," he spoke between kisses, the words muffled against her skin. 

"Already? It's not that late, is it?" 

"I promised Corey I'd help him with football practice at Francis tomorrow morning."

"He'll run you ragged if you don't speak up." 

"I'll speak up. I promise." 

Using what little space she had, Patrice turned to rest her backside on the counter and face Terry. She used her index finger to hook his gold herringbone chain and bring him down for a kiss. Or kisses. It'd been so long since they could have each other in this way. Time and experience, both together and separately, had them maneuvering like professionals. Each kiss was teasing and sensual in equal measure. A tangible mastery of retreating and aggression made the pursuit of one another worth the wait. 

They'd lost track of their exhibition until Terry's phone buzzing against the toilet seat jolted them back into reality.

Patrice flattened her palms against his chest to create some separation and end what would surely turn into blurred lines if they weren't careful. "Good night, TJ.  Grab that exfoliant out of my shower before you leave. It's in the caddie." 

Terry took the gentle redirection in stride, smiling at her through the mirror before turning to do as she had asked. Patrice used what little focus she could muster to secure her headscarf to her head, desperate to extend her box braids for one more week. 

"What's this?" 

"What's what?" She didn't bother to look away from her task until the low hum of her vibrator caught her attention. She whipped her body around, too stunned to reach for the bright pink toy that had Terry smirking as he examined its buttons. "That is my personal property for personal and private use." 

"When's the last time you used it?" 

"It's been a while. A month or so." Mostly true. She couldn't say she hadn't thought about it more recently.

"Since I've been here?" 

She shrugged. "Kinda hard to get comfortable when there's a person on the other side of the wall." 

The mere sound of the only thing to touch her in two years made the hair on her arms stand at attention. Her eyes darted between the toy and Terry, who made himself familiar with each speed and pattern, cycling through dirty thoughts and intrigue as he held the device against his arm to get a feel for the intensity, 

Setting one? Bearable. A softball. Setting three? Maybe she'd call out his name from the pleasure? Setting seven? Surely, she'd hang on to him like a wet t-shirt on a Playboy model while she rode the crest of her orgasm. 

The possibilities excited him to no end. He needed to test each and every theory.

In two clicks, he returned the toy to its original setting and then off completely, holding it in one hand while taking slow steps to close the gap between him and the only person on his mind. 

She shifted her weight nervously as he approached, unsure how to respond until he towered over her with a look she knew all too well. 

Desire. 

Their senses were heightened. Everything felt surreal, almost as if one misstep could send them flying through a portal back to a more disappointing reality. 

Terry could smell the faint hint of mint on Patrice's breath before dipping his head to nip at her bottom lip with his teeth. She responded like he knew she would by making him work for his prize. Patrice never let him intimidate her. Not for their first time together all those years ago, certainly not now. 

He chuckled before leaning in again, this time leaving a trail of short kisses from her jaw to her clavicle. He inhaled deeply, breathing in vanilla and the subtle spice of his cologne from moments earlier.

Suddenly, Patrice felt weightless. Her feet dangled briefly and without warning as Terry took her from standing to sitting on the cold, hard counter before she could protest. 

Patrice fought for stability, using the peaks and valleys across the expanse of his muscled arms as her anchor in the dizzying experience that was his affection. Her lips parted to draw in sharp breaths and release airy sighs of approval in a feeble attempt to remain present. At the same time, he kissed his appreciation wherever his lips saw fit. Her legs acted under their own power to spread wider and make room for whatever came next. 

Her hands left a trail of tingles as she dragged them from his arms to the back of his head, down the sides of his face, over his tank top, between his pecs, and, finally, into the waistband of his shorts. 

Surprised by her touch, he lurched forward to grab her wrist. "Not this time," he whispered, unsure he meant what he was saying. 

Patrice nodded in understanding, earning a sloppy kiss for her obedience. 

There was no discerning where his mouth ended, and hers began. They were on one accord, hungrily tasting, exploring, and consuming each other without holding back. 

Then, the low hum returned. This time, it was closer than Patrice remembered. 

Cold silicone soon caressed her inner thigh. A low whimper escaped past her lips as she made eye contact with Terry. He leaned close enough to speak against her mouth. 

"You trust me?" 

"Mhmm," she answered, fighting to keep her eyes open as he moved further up her leg. 

"Let me take care of you, then. Take these off for me." 

Trembling fingers latched onto her boyshorts, pushing them to mid-thigh for Terry to take care of the rest. As quickly as he was gone, he'd returned for another taste of her tongue. Languid and unhurried, he used the time to relax her while slowly inching the vibrator to her center. 

Initial contact made her hips buck forward, and her head softly hit the mirror behind her. Terry chased her with sloppy kisses at the base of her neck. 

The slow and steady setting was enough to get her wet and sticky. Terry'd be lying if he said the thought alone didn't have him wanting to renege on his early statement and dive in with reckless abandon. But, he remained steadfast in his pursuit of her pleasure. 

Once the initial shock had worn off, Patrice ground her hips slowly, making small circles while the vibration worked to settle her nerves. Terry took a break from leaving praises in the form of kisses on her throat to smile at his girl. 

"You're beautiful. You know that?"

She gripped his chin and pulled him closer for a fiery kiss that he let her lead. "Yeah. But, I love to hear you say it." 

"Good," he answered, grinning at her confidence as he upped the intensity on her vibrator. Her eyes clamped shut as her entire body tensed. "Stay with me." 

A deep, steadying breath turned into a silent scream as Patrice gave in to the natural urge to hold her breath. Terry used his free hand to sneak up her tank top and grope one breast while pressing his lips to her ear. 

"Breathe, baby. In and out." He modeled the behavior until she found the strength to match his tempo. "There you go. You feel good?" 

"Yes, yes," she whisper-chanted to the ceiling, her head thrown back in unimaginable euphoria. 

"I want you to feel this good every day. You deserve it, right?" 

A twisting, turning feeling at the pit of her stomach forced her to draw in a deep breath to steady herself. Her answer came in a soft moan. "Right." 

"Damn right." Pressing his forehead to hers, he zeroed in on each of her features twisted in unthinkable pleasure. 

She kept her mouth open to sigh and moan as she saw fit. Her nostrils flared in a rhythm as she tried to force herself to breathe through every peak and valley of the moment. Her brows were knitted, and her eyes closed as if she were too afraid to look at him. He wondered what she was thinking. 

Did she want him inside of her as much as he wanted the same for himself? Was she yearning for more pressure? Could she feel how much he loved her?

"Don't get quiet on me. I want everything. Let 'em hear you. You need more?" 

A quick glance down helped him reposition the vibrator on her already sensitive bud, earning a guttural curse as appreciation for his good deed. 

"Fuck! Don't move. Please don't move." 

Terry obliged for the moment, too entranced by his view of her flower on full display for his viewing pleasure. Glistening. Wet. Beautiful. Appetizing like nothing he'd ever seen before. He pulled the toy away and replaced its presence with his thumb. Slow circles and firm pressure made her want to close her legs to escape the overwhelming stimulation, but her attempt was futile. She was at his mercy. 

"Damn," he whispered to himself, enamored by the way her body reacted to his touch. 

Every revolution around her clit brought with it more wetness at her entrance and indentations in his arms from her nails gripping for dear life. 

It wasn't enough to touch her. He needed to taste. 

Using his middle and ring fingers, he teased his introduction with gentle brushes against her inner lips. She keened for more against his mouth as she held his face close. He granted her wish and pushed into her slowly, immediately feeling her warmth envelop his long digits. 

Their mouths hung open, breaths being traded between the two as he set a slow pace. Not enough to bring forth a release. Just enough for Terry to get what he came for. 

Removing his fingers left him with a coating of clear arousal nearly dripping to his knuckles. Patrice watched him as he smirked at the sight, examining it like a jeweler appraising precious diamonds. 

When he'd seen enough, he put both fingers into his mouth and closed his eyes to savor the taste. Patrice's mouth hung open as if waiting for her turn to experience the wonders of her juices. 

Had she closed her eyes for even a second, she would have missed Terry extending his tongue from his mouth to allow a mixture of his saliva and her essence the chance to slide from his tongue in anticipation of a new host. 

Something profound and hungry within her made her lean her head back and hold her tongue out to receive all that he had to give. It excited her, delighted her, and aroused her like never before.

Like a lewd work of art, spit connected their tongues in what would otherwise be seen as an infraction among more proper circles. But fuckin' wasn't proper, and all forms of affection were welcomed in their home. 

Almost immediately, Terry rushed to reward her with a wild and frenzied kiss that nearly surprised him. 

Primal. Carnal. Intense. Fucking disgusting. He loved every minute of it.

The race was on. Terry kept their lips connected as he returned the vibrator to her clit, dialing up the settings to a level below their max. 

Patrice's moans and his couldn't be distinguished from one another. Her hips bucked wildly. Her fingernails left marks in their wake as they scratched at his arms and back. Her body twitched and seized in anticipation of the inevitable. 

"Oh my - fuck!" Satisfied tears slid from the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks to her man's awaiting lips. "Terrence!" 

Terry remained locked in. A man possessed. A one-track mind focused on nothing other than completing the mission. 

The first stage of her orgasm came without a warning. Heat washed over her as if she'd stepped outside at high noon, making her skin almost unbearable to live in. Her toes curled, her voice caught in her throat despite the intense desire to release a scream from the depths of her soul into the atmosphere. 

She thanked Terry and God in Heaven for blessing her with the opportunity to touch the moon and the stars without ever leaving her home. Terry used his free hand to grip and massage her thighs, knowing that the best was yet to come. 

Patrice's voice began to climb as the main event approached. Shallow breaths gave way to loud gasps for air, which came rapidly while she did the same. She was suspended in a beautiful bliss and already sad about the prospect of coming down. 

Her lover reveled in the opportunity to see her unraveling at the seams. 

"I'll always come back to you, beautiful. No matter what, okay? Look at me." His request earned intense focus from Patrice under hooded eyes. "You're so pretty. Say it back to me. Tell me you're pretty."

"I'm so pretty!" Impending release sent all her words out in one breathless sentence. 

He smiled at her compliance. "I know you're close. Hold my hand."

Her fingers scrambled against the counter, filling the spaces between his fingers and gripping with enough force to turn her knuckles a lighter shade of brown. 

"That's my girl. I love you," was all he could manage before Patrice let out something akin to a squeal, turning his declaration into background fodder. 

Sensitive, overstimulated, and completely spent, the after-effects of her release had her panting to recover. Her ears rang with a heady feeling that could only be compared to a few puffs of homegrown bud. 

Terry held her through it all, propping her up while her body sagged against him for stability. He put aside the vibrator to run his palms up and down her legs while he showered her temple with whispered praises and sweet kisses. 

He waited until her breathing was even before gingerly pressing his forehead to hers. "You good?" 

His smirk was incredibly smug. He was proud of himself, and for good reason. She was open to giving credit where credit was due. 

"You can never leave this house without me again. I hope you're happy." 

"That's the whole point. My granny taught me some things during them summers down in New Orleans, you know?" 

"Oh, so this is some magic shit?" 

"Family business, baby. Gotta have the last name to find out." A playful glint in his eyes and a squeeze to her waist made Patrice's stomach feel butterflies that she thought would never return. Terry tapped her nose with his index finger and stepped back. "Stay put. I'll clean you up." 

Patrice scoffed. Stay put. As if she could go anywhere. As if she wanted to go anywhere.

Like the perfect gentleman, Terry was tender with his care. A warm towel to soothe sore muscles and ensure a thorough cleanup was mandatory. The extra loving was complimentary for only his favorite lady. 

"Stay with me tonight," Patrice requested as he slid her panties back up her legs. 

He shook his head and smiled while prompting her to lift her hips. "I don't know if that's a good idea, Treecey." 

"I just wanna be next to you. Nothing more." 

Terry regarded her doe-eyed plea with a small smile as he helped her off the counter. He pulled her into an embrace, fiending for one more kiss. She obliged happily until he'd had his fill. 

His hands slid from her sides to her ass for a generous squeeze before answering. 

"Okay. Whatever you want. Let me handle something real quick, and then I'll meet you there." 

Patrice accepted her victory with a silly happy dance before turning to make enough room in her bed for an extra person. Terry sent her on her way with a light tap to her ass, amused by how something as simple as sleeping next to each other was exciting for her. 

Once she was safely out of the bathroom with the door shut behind her, he finally found time to take a deep breath and compose himself. The actual test of his strength was in the next room, and he couldn't risk the trust he'd worked so hard to build. 

After adjusting his shorts, he picked up his phone and sat on the toilet lid, hoping that watching dog videos or Nationals highlights would clear his mind.

He had every intention of opening the web browser on his phone until he noticed a series of messages from an old friend.

From: McBride 

You check your mail? 

Trial against chief starts in two weeks. Gonna need you to testify to take him down

Know you said you weren’t coming back

Do it for Mike

---

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @oniccah @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @deja-r

[fluff-n-cookies]

Thinking about yandad Dabi and his child who's now around 9-11 years old. Your writing has absolutely captivated me <3

Dabi starts getting more possessive, more protective, and certainly more assertive. He's your dad, after all—you HAVE to listen to him, no? It's too dangerous to go outside without him keeping an eye on you, you're still so tiny and fragile. He'll be damned if his kid steps foot out of the apartment without his say so, no ifs or buts.

After a long day of setting people on fire and committing various crimes, Dabi just wants to scoop you up into a bone-crushing hug and plop down onto the couch to snuggle his baby, paying no mind to your complaints.

While he's soft and affectionate towards you, it's a completely different story when it comes to others. Dabi is ruthless and aggressive, destroying anyone and anything that may try to take you away–much less harm you. It doesn't matter how small, Dabi will turn it into ashes without remorse. If you somehow figure out about his actions and try to make a run for it? He'd be crushed, obviously–Dabi can't stand the thought of you fearing him. Rest assured, he'd track you down and bring you back home, suffering you in cuddles while scolding you. He's your dad–you need to listen to him.

(Btw sorry about how long this became didn't realize I was ranting)

omg hi???? thank you for gracing me with this masterpiece??? wtf???? (lovingly)

For those who don't know, this post is related to these

Pt 1, Pt 2

and this is all so fucking true. I plan on making a longer fic on this (sorry to say that I haven't drafted it yet, I'm working on overhaul posts)

but he's so paranoid, so utterly terrified 24/7, he dead bolts all the doors and windows at night and only lets you go outside between 11 AM and 5PM unless it's for school.

speaking of which, he hates them for giving his baby so much homework and taking away from their time together buuttt he genuinely believes you need to get your education, don't skip out on highschool like he did.

and he does this thing, this god awful thing, after dinner, after your daily shower, and after getting you all nice and snuggly for bed and into your cat pajamas. he'll do this thing where he'll hold you tight to his chest while he flicks through the news channel.

now normally this would be fine, perfectly fine, if I weren't for the fact he either goes to true crime channels where they display the horrific acts of villains (himself included) live. he tells you that the world is a horrifying place, that that's how he burned himself, how painful it was, the scorching flames. he doesn't mean to traumatize you, it's just to warn you!

either that, or he'll go to news channels covering endeavor's problems, scandals, recent missions, interviews. please don't ask who that strange man with eyes like yours is. he'll hold you tighter and say in the lightest voice possible. "he's a bad man, don't you dare go near him, he'll hurt you like he hurt me."

don't say anything else after that.

he's just tired, so tired, and you're there, right when he gets home after running "errands". you're his reminder of what he's working towards, this future with no heroes and no pain that he's trying to build. the revenge he longs for and the aftermath where you thrive. really, you're the reason he gets up in the morning these days, the reason he stopped smoking in the house, the reason why there's no more beer in the fridge, only tenderly made lunches that he makes every Sunday to prepare for the week.

you're like this stress ball, this hit of Serotonin and Dopamine and what not. every time you smile he can feel his heart clenching. when he looks at you, he sees the boy he once used to be, happy. you're so happy, so pure.

he refuses to let you go out much, his reasoning being that the world's a terrible place. when you ask what's his job, what he does at "work" every day, he only chuckles.

"Oh baby, I'm trying to makes this world a better place, my job is to try and stop all the bad things from happening. I'm a type of... Freedom fighter, really."

and he so, so, so so so so so so sweet to you. you have never known Dabi, ruthless arsonist and serial killer. you have never known Touya, a boy lost in his own insanity and deprivation of paternal love. both are vicious, people, downright insane. one's a criminal the other's incapable of ever recovering from his own madness and fury.

the only person you know is your Dad, Dad's a nice guy, he plays doll house and dress up with you and watches cartoons with you every morning before school. he lets you wear his jacket when you're cold and left yours at school in your cubby, and he takes you out for donuts or ice cream monthly. sure, he doesn't have money, he can't buy you that many toys and sometimes they turn the light off because he missed too many bills, but he loves you. that's all you need to know.

Dad is a kind person, he's not Dabi or Touya, he's definitely not a hero. he's your dad.

And Dad does the best job of gas-lighting you to hell and back. you want to go outside after 5 or before 11? welp, he's not coming with you, sorry honey, maybe tomorrow. what do you mean you'll go anyway? the boogeyman'll get you! (it's him, he's the boogeyman, he knows you won't last a second out in the real world with your loving father's help and he's going to exploit it the moment you start to show independence.)

but it's very unlikely that Dabi would ever even get the chance to do this when you're 9-11 years old, you know why? because you'll be in Endeavor's custody by then. I refuse to elaborate since then I'll be spoiling the plot of Part 3 and I don't want that.

P.S. you wanna be tagged?

[ts1m1kas]

Original Ask: I would like to request a Jenson Button x driver!reader they have been rivals since their karting days and Jenson has been crushing on reader for years. He flirts with her every chance he gets but she's completely oblivious to it since she thinks he's just doing it to distract her from the race and she hates him for it since she's not taken seriously by the drivers and reporters because of it. So Jensen wins the championship and he throws a big party with the team. Reader attends to congratulate him so they partied and they have a heart to heart conversation in which they finally confess their feelings to each other.. (anonymous)

Word Count: 1120 words

(author's note: i can't tell if this is bad or not, i've been slightly stressed out due to my job so i hope the jenson girlies enjoy this 🥹)

When Jenson began carting at a young age, he thought he would walk away with trophies and medals. He did get both of those things, but he also developed a crush on a girl who was convinced he hated her.

Y/N L/N was the bane of Jenson’s existence. He would say his rival if anyone asked him what she was to him, mainly because he was far too embarrassed to admit that he was completely and utterly in love with her.

Both Jenson and Y/N had successful carting careers and, despite their rivalry, made it to Formula 1 at the same time. Jenson signed with Williams and Y/N signed for Red Bull. Although the pair were much older now, their childhood competitiveness had followed them into F1 which caused many disputes between the two drivers.

Their careers in motorsports flourished and Jenson moved to Brawn GP, where he would unknowingly win the Championship. But the longer Y/N stayed in Formula 1, the more unbearable the reporters became. Question after question about her and Jenson, their ‘relationship’ and if being a female driver was more difficult.

It was the final race of the 2009 season and the Abu-Dhabi air was stifling. Y/N stood outside the Red Bull garage, holding a microphone for the interview that was about to begin.

“So, final race of the season. Are you nervous?” The interviewer asked.

“Well, I’m nervous before every race if I’m honest. The last race of the season is worse though because the stakes are always so much higher.”

“How do you feel about Jenson’s position in the Championship? If he finishes in the points this race he’s pretty much guaranteed a win?”

“What does Jenson have to do with me? I’m glad he’s performing well but that doesn’t affect me at all. I’m my own driver, not an extension of Jenson.”

“Right, sorry I apologise.”

At that moment Jenson walked past and was caught by the cameras. When he realised it was Y/N being interviewed he turned around and smiled at her.

“You look gorgeous today Y/N, it's gonna be hard for me to concentrate on the race knowing you look that good!” Jenson shouted over at her, throwing her a wink at the same time.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably on the spot, she knew all too well what was coming.

“Do you think it’s fair that your gender can become a distraction for the other drivers, especially ones who have important races coming up?”

Jenson was mortified, he didn’t realise that his stupid joke was going to cause the interviewer to ask such an inappropriate question.

“I was only joking around, she isn’t actually a distraction to us. Y/N deserves to be here as much as the rest of us-”

“I’m finished with this interview, thank you for having me,” Y/N stated, passing the microphone back to the interviewer. She disappeared into the garage, leaving Jenson outside with an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

Before they knew it, all the drivers sat in their cars, lined up and ready to race. The lights went out slowly and they set off. It was an exciting race throughout and by the end, Sebastian came out on top, followed by Y/N and then Jenson.

However, the amount of points gave Jenson his first Championship win, and he couldn’t be happier. Of course, all the journalists, reporters and interviewers forgot to congratulate Y/N on her P2 finish. She was overlooked. Again.

Celebrations were in full force for Jenson’s win. His house was packed with drivers and team staff and the sound of music and cheers filled the room. Drinks were flowing and the evening air was cool as it seeped into the room through the open patio doors.

Y/N had turned up to the party, but only because Sebastian had forced her. Part of her was cheering for Jenson but another part of her remembered how he had toyed with her feelings all those years. She moved through the masses of bodies and grabbed a drink.

Eventually, the pounding of the music and heat from the people became too much and Y/N headed outside onto the balcony. She took a deep breath, allowing the bitter air to fill her lungs. Gazing at the sun that had begun to set, she didn’t realise she was no longer alone on the balcony.

“Congrats on P2, you drove incredibly,” A voice said, cutting into the silence.

Y/N spun her head around, her face dropping when she realised it was Jenson.

“Oh, thanks. I should be congratulating you though. How does it feel to be a World Champion?”

“Pretty good, I’m not gonna lie. While I’m here, I just want to apologise for earlier. I didn’t think before I spoke and I didn’t realise that my stupid, distasteful joke would make you be treated like that.”

“It’s fine, I’m used to it. It’s nothing new, questions like that have been asked since our karting days.”

“It’s still not right. Especially when everyone thinks my feelings for you are just a joke.”

Jenson froze after he realised what he said. Y/N’s eyes widened as she looked up at him.

“You- You like me? You’re telling me that you’ve been telling the truth all along?”

Jenson scratched the back of his head awkwardly, “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you, but yeah. I like you. I have since our first kart race. I knew the minute we built up our rivalry that I wanted to be more than friends. But all this time I thought you hated me. So I kept quiet-”

“Jenson.”

“I didn’t know how to speak to you about it. I also thought you would reject me and I didn’t want the media to scrutinise you more than they already do. I just-”

“Jenson!”

Jenson stopped his rambling at the sound of Y/N’s raised voice.

“I like you too. I can’t believe I thought you were pretending to like me all along.”

Staring intently at each other, Jenson leaned down and closed the gap between the pair. He captured Y/N’s lips in a soft kiss and she smiled into it. When they finally pulled away, Y/N wrapped her arms around Jenson’s middle and squeezed, enveloping him in a hug.

Jenson leaned his head onto Y/N’s and the pair stayed tangled in the warm embrace of each other as the sun finally disappeared and was replaced by the moon. Stars twinkled in the sky, but nothing shined brighter than the smile on Jenson’s face as he looked down at the girl he had pined for all those years.

[hwhimsypc]

Too Busy Being Yours

Keigo Tamaki (Hawks)/Reader

Note: first smut (except that one omegaverse i did with my friend on Ao3, but please bear with me, this is probably bad.) Anyway!

Warnings: 18+ (pretty vanilla), Not proofread

Summary: You don't like Hawks, until a late night of unexpected, Passionate events take place.

Word count: 1857

Enjoy!

Your heels click on the floor as you try to follow Hawks’ quick steps. His long legs makes it difficult to follow him while wearing stilettos. The pile of papers are tightly pressed against your chest, as you desperately try not to drop them. You’re barely looking where you’re going, and almost hit two people. Hawks is pulling you along by your arm, and he’s the only reason you haven’t hit anything yet. 

“Can you slow down?” You hiss between your teeth. He turns his head, a cocky smile perched on his lips. 

“Can’t keep up?”

You roll your eyes. Hawks was always teasing you in the worst situations possible, when you were least in the mood for it. 

“I told you we had to leave earlier.”

“Whatever you say.” He turns back. You’ll be there soon. 

Hawks always had a tack for being late. Being his assistant was by far the most stressful job you’ve ever had. And his constant jokes and cheerfulness were draining sometimes. Even if it was uplifting when you’d had a bad morning. 

You finally get to the interview, in a small apartment on a street corner. You stop to catch your breath, sweat immediately collecting on your brow. Of course, Hawks was irritatingly unaffected. 

“See ya later, darling,” he winks, and you shake your head, ignoring him. You were stressed. This interview gave you a bit of time to focus on all the paperwork you were behind on. 

You of course, don’t see Hawks’ smile quickly fading when he realises you weren’t really affected by his teasing. Funny. He wasn’t used to that. 

Hawks rising in popularity meant more paperwork for you. And paperwork for a top 3 hero wasn’t something that could wait until morning. A headache had been forming behind your forehead for the past two hours and it was simply getting too hard to ignore. You sigh, pushing out your chair, getting up to get yourself another cup of coffee. Was this your fifth today? Your seventh? It doesn’t matter, anyway. The only thing filling your brain is heroes, interviewers and media. The tiredness wasn’t allowed to nudge its way in. You couldn’t afford that. 

You’re so lost in thought, you don’t feel the presence sneaking up on you. Only when two warm hands grab your shoulders and you shriek, heart jumping in your throat. 

“What are you doing here so late?” And oh, it’s just Hawks. You groan, pushing his hand away. 

“Fuck off.” 

You turn to walk away again, suddenly forgetting what it was you came for. But Hawks isn’t giving up so easily. 

“Aww, come on, humour me.”

You’ve had enough. 

You turn around, grabbing his collar in anger. Of course, he doesn’t budge an inch. But it certainly feels good, and you’re tired and irritated, frustrated and angry. And you just… explode. 

“Don’t test me! This has been too long of a day… a week… a month… a year for that matter. You’ve tested my limits every day, for however long I have worked for you, I’m so fucking sick of being your plaything. You don’t respect me, you don’t respect my work-”

“Y/n.”

“You don’t seem to care for how I’m doing, just constantly putting more pressure on me. You never take a moment to stop and think. Maybe you’re not the fucking only person in the world.”

“Y/n.”

“Maybe, for just a second, could you care about someone that isn't you. And maybe, just maybe, would you think it isn’t my job to take care of you when you’re alone or sad, I’m your assistant for god's sake, you big!… fucking!… man baby!”

“Y/n! Oh my god, listen!”

You push him back. “But you never listen to me!”

Hawks’ eyes are wild. He looks flabbergasted, as surprised as you’ve ever seen him. But his open mouth slowly forms into a smirk. Your stomach drops. Whether it’s in anticipation, fear, or maybe even excitement, you don’t know. 

“Oh but I do. About the things that are important.”

You tsk. “What things?”

He looks too smug, as he starts to speak. 

“I know that you deeply hate the guy from block 1.”

You stare at him with wide eyes. 

“I do not-”

He laughs. “Don’t play smart. You frown everytime he opens his mouth during meetings, and always object when he has an idea. It’s obvious.”

Obvious, yet only you’ve noticed. 

It’s your turn to look flabbergasted now. 

“Okay, so maybe he’s not my favourite person in the world, you’re right about that.”

Hawks smiles. 

“And you never wear your hair up. I take it you don’t like the sensation.”

It had never really caught your attention, just how much notice Hawks took of you, compared to how little you took of him. You’re borderline speechless. This always happens to everyone around you. His fans, coworkers, but never you. You 're never affected. The man takes notice, and he suddenly seems closer than before. 

“Cat got your tongue?”

If this were five minutes ago, you would’ve sighed and rolled your eyes. But now, you’re silent. 

“I just- I didn't know.”

His fingers find Your neck and goosebumps travel through your whole body. 

“Didn't know what? That I like you?”

Your immediate reaction is of course, denial. 

“That doesn't make any sense. Why would a pro hero be into someone like-”

But you don't get to finish, as he suddenly pulls you close. 

“I’m going to kiss you. That okay?”

 You’re so surprised that you just freeze, staring up into his big, owlish eyes. You can’t tell what kind of emotion hides behind them. 

“Okay,” you whisper, feeling the desire pull in your chest, more intense than you’d ever experienced. Before you get to take another breath, Hawks lips are on yours, soft and wanting, like this is the last time he’s going to kiss you. You really hope that’s not the case. 

Breathing is the last thing on your mind as your mouths passionately move together. You’re clutching his shirt hard, and you can feel his erection growing against you. 

“I wanna eat you out,” he says, biting your earlobe. The surprisement from all of this has still not entirely passed, but you’ve decided to just go with it. 

“Please,” you moan, and it comes out a lot more desperately than you’d anticipated. You clumsy move towards your desk, his lips sucking eagerly on your neck as you both try to unzip your skirt. He hits a spot on the end of your neck that feels incredibly ticklish and good, and you moan a bit too eagerly as he desperately pushes all of the papers off of your desk in one swipe. 

You feel a stab of irritation in your chest, and is about to give him a piece of your mind, before he pushes you down with practised ease. His incredible strength really comes to sight in a situation like this. It turns you on a lot more than you’d thought it would. you seem to get surprised a lot today.

“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”

You’re pretty sure he’d be able to spread them just fine himself, but you still listen, flinching a bit when the cold air hits your aching cunt. You’re so wet already that it’s almost embarrassing. 

He grips your thighs securely, kissing up your inner thighs. You’re so wet that you can feel the slick dripping down to your asshole. 

As soon as he gets started, Hawks is unstoppable. He eats you out like he’s starving. You’re too gone to be embarrassed about the wet squelching sounds, as he eagerly sucks your clit with the confidence of an experienced man. Your legs are shaking, and you’re sure that there will be marks tomorrow from where his fingers grip your thighs tightly. 

“Don’t, ngh- don’t stop!” you loudly breathe out, voice trembling as you, to your utmost surprise, suddenly cum. Everything feels overwhelming as he stops, lifting his head, his whole underface covered in your wetness. 

“You’re acting like I would ever,” he says, a bit out of breath. You can’t deny your attraction to him anymore, especially in a moment like this. “You taste too sweet,” his voice drops an octave as he leans closer to your face, breathing against your lips. “You can’t imagine how long I've wanted to do this. I could go on all night, until you’re completely dry. And then in the morning, I want to fuck you until my body gives out.”

That would take a while, especially with the incredible stamina he has, you think, feeling as if you’re in some kind of pleasant haze. 

“You don’t know how feral I am for you, y/n. It’s scaring even myself.”

You stare up at him in surprise, suddenly unsure of what to do. But you don’t need to be sure about anything, as Hawks leads you through it. 

He pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you, as you wonder how you’re even able to take this. On an uncomfortable desk at that. But true to his word, you’re riding him like you’ve never ridden anyone ever before in his apartment a few hours later as the earliest sunlight start to stream through the curtains. 

Hawks face is pulled back in pleasure as he slides his hands up your hips, shamelessly studying your bouncing breasts. 

“You’re so good for me,” he grumbles, and you let out a pleased whine at the praise. The sheets under you are soaked, but with the way Hawks is praising and caressing you, you feel like you could go on forever. 

His mouth drops open, and you can tell that he’s about to cum. You increase your pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin getting impossibly louder. You just hope the neighbours won’t complain tomorrow. 

It’s incredibly thrilling, having the famous pro hero in the palm of your hand like this.

“I’m going to cum,” He warns, and not even a second later, warmth suddenly fills your belly as his white seeds coat your walls. You cum yourself only seconds later, resisting the urge not to scream as you feel his cum dribble down onto the sheets, your body spasming with the shocks. You hold back a wince at the distant thought that you’d maybe scratched his back a bit too hard. You’ll have to remember to ask him later if he’s okay. But for now, you can barely keep your eyes open. 

“Can we stay like this for a little while?” He asks, and you nod faintly, resting your head on his shoulder. Not a single thought passes behind your eyes, only the warmth of your bodies sticking together and Hawks, Hawks, Hawks. 

You didn’t care about the mess. Right now, you only cared about him. And that was enough.

[tch8mnis]

OPPOSITES ATTRACT - JAMAL MUSIALA

summary: while she’s bold and outgoing and he’s quiet and reserved, they were bound to crack at some point right?

thank u so much for the request @amirareads i hope i did this justice!!

genre: angst (mostly just arguing), fluff, happy ending

“i just think you need to calm down a bit on the social media! why are you twisting my words?”

“i’m not twisting your words jamal but your trying to control my life and how i present myself because you only care about yourself!”

the argument had been ongoing for hours. days even, which is why the tension between the two is so high. ultimately, the two never fought until recently.

the problem was, they were just extremely different.

jamal never liked for his private life to be too much in the public. although it was difficult considering he’s one of the best young footballers in the world playing for one of the best clubs in europe, he did a pretty good job keeping his private life private.

y/n was the complete opposite.

the internet loved her despite having her own job outside of social media. during the euros, she was labeled “the princess of germany” or “the wag of the tournament”. everyone loved her.

after the amount of attention she gained, she started receiving brand deals. vogue wanted to interview her and she even became a fashion nova ambassador. her life totally changed after that and she would say it changed for the better.

jamal would disagree.

don’t get him wrong, he was over the moon with how happy y/n was. he loved the fact that people were starting to see her in the light he saw her in.

but then it got too much.

he couldn’t ignore the amount of thirst comments he’s seen in her comments from random men, especially other footballers. that pissed him off.

so was it jealousy? maybe. he wouldn’t deny it.

but then with the amount of deals she was getting, some of them required her to go to events. a lot of them.

jamal was a laid back type of guy. he didn’t mind going out with his girlfriend, of course not. but it got to the point where it was overwhelming for him. it felt like his private life was now becoming public the more attention y/n got and he didn’t know how to deal with it.

he didn’t want to blame his girlfriend because it really wasn’t her fault but it became stressful.

which is how they got here.

the pair were seated at the secluded part of the restaurant having dinner. it was their 2 year anniversary which was extremely special to the both of them.

they were enjoying their time together until jamal brought up the topic that’s been bothering him for the past week.

and then, the arguement started.

it wasn’t quite classy for them to argue in a restaurant but here they were.

“that’s not what it is, though.” jamal groaned dragging his hands down his face. he was starting to get a headache and trying his hardest not to cause a scene.

y/n furrowed her eyebrows before leaning in a bit. “well help me understand then because that’s what it sounds like.”

the boy sighed. he could feel the guilt brewing in his stomach for starting this whole conversation in the first place. he should’ve just kept quiet.

“it’s just….” he started, softly grabbing the girl’s hands across the table. “you’ve started to become more of a public figure or whatever and that’s not a bad thing at all but it feels like it affects my private life a bit which i’m not really comfortable with i guess.” he tried to explain, watching his girlfriend’s reaction carefully. he truly didn’t know how to explain it without sounding selfish.

y/n scoffed, pulling her hands away from jamal’s leaving his cold tense. “are you kidding me? i get that you want to keep your life private, trust me i do and you can keep doing that but you can’t blame me for that. it’s like your saying you want me to stop doing these brand deals and events that you claimed to be happy about.”

“that's not what im saying-"

that's exactly what you're saying!"

“no it’s not, fuck! i can’t do this right now” he snapped before pushing his chair out and gathering his stuff. y/n watched in confusion as he placed his card on the table and stood up from his seat. “im going back to the house, if we keep arguing im gonna say something i’ll regret and i can’t do that.” he murmured turning on his feet and walking away, leaving the girl sitting at her seat with tears in her eyes.

she hadn’t even knew what just happened. one minute they were smiling and reminiscing old times and the next her boyfriend was walking out leaving her alone in a restaurant with no way to get home.

y/n thanked her uber driver before opening the door just to see her and jamal’s house come into view. she can see his car parked in the driveway meaning he arrived home.

after he left her alone.

her heart was still aching from the argument. they’ve had a few arguments here and there in their relationship but never to the point where he walked away from her like that. she sped up her walking towards the door feeling her throat close up as the tears continued to spill. she pulled her house keys out her bag and opened the door quietly. the house was dead silent which made her second guess jamal’s presence but then his car keys sat on the kitchen counter told her he was there.

she slipped her heels off and left them at the door before walking up the stairs, pausing when she was at her bedroom door. the lights were off but you can still see the clear figure of someone lying in the bed.

that figure being jamal.

he was sound asleep, soft snores coming from his mouth. she quietly slipped into the room, pulled her pajamas from the closet and walked right back out towards the guest room.

there was no way she was sleeping with him tonight.

after changing she slipped into the very unfamiliar bed and closed her eyes trying to fall asleep. it was difficult. of course it was. she never slept without jamal right next to her unless he had an away game she couldn’t make it to. but other than that? this was totally new for her and she didn’t like it.

she finally fell asleep when the sun started to rise and only slept for about 3 hours before waking up again. her eyes still burned from the tears she cried the night before. she slowly got out of bed and went to the bathroom where she brushed her teeth and took a shower, then walking downstairs to cook breakfast.

it was obvious jamal was still asleep. training started later on in the day today so he was able to sleep in.

was she still upset? of course she was, but she was still going to cook for him. she would never not feed him despite what situation they were in.

she settled for some basic pancakes with eggs and bacon. it was jamal’s favorite.

a part of her didn’t want to give him anything at all after yesterday, but she couldn’t do that.

eventually jamal woke up and walked downstairs after getting himself together to see his girlfriend making 2 separate plates of food.

the sight of y/n made his heart clench. he regretted everything that went down yesterday. he had time to reflect on everything and realized he was being incredibly wrong and selfish and it only made it worse to walk out the way he did.

if he could go back and change what he did, he would.

he quietly walked over to where she placed his plate of food and sat down, watching her walk over and sit next to him. they both ate in silence but it wasn’t the awkward silence.

it was more of a calming silence. you wouldn’t be able to tell something went down last night.

but it did. and they had talk about it.

after they finished eating she gathered both their plates and walked to the sink getting ready to clean them and that’s when jamal began to speak.

“i know your mad about yesterday..” he spoke with a shaky voice. “and trust me you have every right to be. i had time last night to think about everything and realize how wrong i was and im really sorry about that. my intentions were to never blame you or anything like that i was just being selfish and only thinking about myself and i regret it so much bc your the thing i care the most about in this world and leaving you at the restaurant alone at night will haunt me for days because i really can’t believe i did that. you mean the absolute world to me and im really sorry.” by the time he was finished speaking, y/n was already done with the dishes and listening to him speak.

she stood there for a while before walking toward him. he followed her figure until she reached him and watched as she wrapped her arms around him. the second she did, his tense body relaxed and wrapped his hands around her waist to bring her closer.

“i’m so so sorry, please forgive me.” he begged into her neck as she softly scratched the back of his neck. she was upset but she could never stay mad at him. she loved him too much.

“it’s okay i promise.” she hugged him tighter, wanting to be closer to him. he then pulled away and leaned in to place his lips on hers, feeling the tension slowly drift away between the two as their lips moved together.

when they ran out of breath, they both pulled away and jamal leaned his forehead against hers.

“i love you”

“i love you too.”

author’s note: omg this was supposed to come out last week i’m so sorry for the delay but i hope you enjoyed regardless!

[thejujvtsupost]

My Clothes Look Good On You

I’m getting back into the swing of writing, so it’s probably not my best work but it’s a start. Smut starts next part.

Lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist 💗

Notes: F!reader, Pro boxer!Toji, light age gap (Toji is early 30's and reader is mid 20's), pet names (angel, baby, sweetheart), reader is smaller than Toji, getting together, reader is a medic/nurse, light violence (boxing injuries)- the usual series notes.

The texts started not even a day after you met Toji.

Usually stuff like ‘You should come to the gym tomorrow, I can show you a few things.’ And ‘You working for my next match? It’d be nice to have a good luck charm.’

You weren’t expecting anything like this from him, you thought giving him your number was for medical advice or something professional. So his flirting and interest in you was a surprise- one that had you blushing, but you didn’t think he was too serious about it.

And to Toji’s credit, he was nothing but sweet and respectful. It didn’t matter how busy his typically packed schedule was, he was always checking on you, trying to learn more about your life.

“Why don’t you come by the gym after your shift? We could get somethin’ to eat.”

‘I can’t 😕 I’m stuck filling out applications. Maybe another day?’

The reminder of your unemployment stressed you out further. It wasn’t his fault, he didn’t know you lost your main job after the match. You told him a lot about the work you did with Shoko, but the few hours you had at the clinic weren’t enough to sustain you and everything was going wrong. Your savings were drying up.

‘Whatcha applyin for?’

‘The usual. I’m running late but I’ll talk to you later!’

You didn’t give any specifics, it was embarrassing enough that you got fired. You managed to get an interview at a different hospital, a welcomed change from the countless application denials.

Honestly, fuck Mother Nature.

The interview didn’t go well at all. You had thought there was hope with this job, but at the end of the interview the boss outright told you that they would be going a different direction. You left quickly after that.

Asshole.

The rejection stung. To add insult to injury, it was absolutely pouring rain. Of course you weren’t prepared, too focused on the interview and your clothes were getting more soaked by the minute.

“Fuck!” Your phone was dead, your wallet at home, failing to notice the essentials were missing while worrying about what questions you might be asked was your own fault. You should have paid better attention.

You took an Uber there, so your only option was to walk home, already out of the way of the train station. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too bad…

The rain was a bitter cold, and your entire body trembled with the pain of the wind whipping against your shaking form not twenty minutes into your trek. The world swallowing you whole would be a blessing.

Or, maybe the real blessing was the gym you recognized up ahead. For the first time in a while, you felt a glimmer of hope.

It would be warm in there, and maybe you could borrow a phone to call a cab. You doubted Toji would still be there, but surely someone was still working out, right? It was worth a shot.

Increasing your pace until the door was at your fingertips, and pulling it open- it was unlocked. You could cry. It was warm, and most of all, dry.

You peeked your head into the main room and saw a few people doing their thing, until your eyes landed on Suguru.

He saw you out of the corner of his eye and smiled, about to welcome you in (under the assumption Toji had invited you) until he saw the state you were in. Shivering, wet and probably bound to get sick.

“What the hell? Don’t tell me you walked here, you should’ve rescheduled or something.” He pulled a few towels out from a large cabinet full of them and offered them to you. “Toji’s not worth getting rained on.”

“Toji’s not what now?” The sight of Toji with his bag on his shoulder to go home made you smile a little through the chatter of your teeth. “Woah what the hell?”

“That’s literally what I said, I can’t believe you didn’t at least send someone to pick her up before you dragged her out like a needy bastard.”

Toji ignored him and took a towel to help get some of the water out of your hair, it was a welcomed gesture. “‘Thought you were workin’ sweetheart, don’t tell me you quit your job to come see me, it’ll go to my head. What were you doing in the rain like that? You’re soaked.”

You knew he was teasing you lightheartedly, but the mention of your job had you nearly tearing up with the stress. “About that…”

Suguru took that as a cue to leave you guys alone, “C’mere, you’re gonna get sick.” A much larger hand took yours and led you to the locker room. “I have some clean clothes in my locker and you can change in the bathroom.”

“Oh I couldn’t-” the protests started as soon as he pressed shorts and a shirt over to you.

“Yes you can, I’ll get a bag for your wet clothes.”

Truly, you were freezing, you hadn’t stopped shivering and you probably wouldn’t any time soon. You sighed in resignation and changed in the aforementioned bathroom, cringing at how huge his clothes were (but enjoying the scent secretly.)

Toji was waiting with a spare jacket you slipped on right away and a plastic bag for your wet clothes, but when he saw you dwarfed by his he laughed. “Holy shit, you’re s’cute. C’mon, you look like you need cheered up. I’ll take you to mine and order takeout. Sound good? Then maybe you can tell me what’s got you down too.”

And you probably shouldn’t go with a man that you hadn’t known for too long, but you were hungry and wearing his clothes and tired, and maybe a little weak to his smile-

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” You tried to look grateful, but you couldn’t muster too much emotion other than sad.

Once again a large hand took yours and this time led you to his car in the parking garage.

He waited until you were full and warm with your phone on the charger and the tv low in the background before he started asking questions.

Well, more like he was looking at you with concern and you cracked. “I got fired.”

“What? Today? What happened?” The way he sounded ticked off on your behalf made you feel even warmer. Seriously, you can’t be giving in to his charms, but… he was sweet with you and considerate…

“Three weeks ago… after the fight I ran into my boss. I was wearing clothes with the logo of the clinic I work at with Shoko and moonlighting is against the rules but it’s hard with what I was making at my day job. I needed the money from working a second one and I got caught and the stress is so much to handle I don’t know what I’m gonna do if I can’t find someone hiring!” It all came out of you like word vomit and (more than) a few tears of frustration followed.

“Aw sweets, you should’ve told me you were looking for a job, I could’ve helped. Working that many hours isn’t good for you. But they were dead wrong t’fire you like that.” He wiped your tears and his other hand rubbed yours soothingly and it was nice to be touched gently after several weeks of constant stress.

You sniffled and took in a breath, getting that off your back helped more than you thought it would, Toji’s hulking, kind presence was a balm to a wound. “It’s been a lot to handle, I thought today’s interview was going really well until they rejected me at the end. Didn’t even wait to send me a half assed email, just told me outright. I thought they liked me for the job I don’t know what I said wrong.”

“I don’t know sweetheart, they’re crazy not to hire you. Maybe they were scared of how good your resume looked.” His joke made you let out a giggle and a sigh.

“Thanks for cheering me up, and sorry if you had other plans. It’s Friday night and you’re stuck with me crying on you.”

Toji’s brows furrowed, “Who said I was stuck? The only plan I had was text you enough to bother you and get takeout.”

It was your turn for your brows to furrow “It’s literally Friday night, you weren’t going out?”

Suddenly the floor was super interesting to Toji and he scratched the back of his neck with his free hand before looking at you again.

“I thought I was being pretty obvious about it, but I’m not interested in going out unless it’s what you. ‘Don’t want to rush ya, but I’m kinda trying to win you over here. Y’know? Woo ya, that’s what the kids call it these days I think.” His cheeks were flushed red and it was endearing.

“Woo me, huh? You’re sweet, you know that?” You really didn’t think he was serious before, and now he truly had your heart fluttering.

“So… is it working so far?”

You leaned forward to kiss him softly on the lips, chaste but sweet. “What do you think?”

Toji pulled you in for another kiss, unable to let you go so soon. “Can I take ya on a date?” He pulled away panting.

“I think I can pencil you in.”

That night you slept better than you had in ages. Toji’s bed was comfortable and he was warm, holding you all night. You woke up before him to pee and crawled back in bed, you shouldn’t be acting so boldly, you weren’t even technically together yet. But Toji made it hard to not want to be around him. No one had treated you so sweetly in years.

“Wow, leavin’ me all alone like that. Cruel.” Toji was awake when you came back, evidently.

“My clothes are probably done in the dryer, I should get out of your hair.”

Strong polar bear arms wrapped around you tight, “Nah.”

Your lip lifted in amusement. “Nah?”

“Nah. It’s only four, go back to sleep. Gotta eat breakfast first later anyway. And I was gonna invite ya t’the gym with me, got something to show ya. If you want, at least.” He finally peeked an eye open to check your reaction, not wanting to seem too clingy or pushy.

The way he sounded content to keep you (while not making you feel held hostage) made your heart feel warm and gooey.

“If you’re sure… I don’t wanna interrupt your day.” By now your protest was only half hearted. How could you not want to stay with him?

Toji adjusted the blankets and his arms tightened, slowly pulling you closer to cuddle in case you wanted to pull away from him for personal space. “So sweet. You are my day.” He kissed the top of your head to reassure you that you weren’t a burden.

Unsure what to say to that, you rested your head over his heart and tangled your legs with his— and you think, Is this what people mean when they talk about butterflies in their stomach?

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🏷️: @pelicanpizza @tadabzzzbee

[elfven-blog]

So hear me out. You find yourself curiously exploring Leon's desk and files while you think he's gone. He catches you. Bonus points for Stepdad/Stepbro or just older RE6/Death Island Leon 😩❤

Hope you enjoy anon!

Don't read what's not yours.

Summary: Your stepfather finds you reading confidential files in his office. Stepdad!Leon x F!Reader CW: MDNI, 18+, stepcest, reader called puppy, daddy, eating out, p in v, breeding, spanking Word count: 1.6K

With your mother gone for the weekend to visit your grandparents, and you able to weasel your way out of it by saying you had interviews for some new job. In actuality you just wanted the time with your stepfather alone. It was a rare chance to be given the time to spend with each other, often meaning you had to sneak around to keep your relationship secret. The sneaking around did add to how hot the entire situation was and sometimes you felt bad, but your mother didn’t love Leon the way you did.

You wanted to do something nice for him, he had been busy with work and often came home with a small taste of whiskey on his tongue when you kissed. Stressed about some project he couldn’t really share with you. But this had also led to him spending hours in his office even on his off time too, which meant it looked like a hurricane had spent it’s time whirling through. With the rest of the house spotless, you opened the door of his study.

With a frustrated noise and a rub of your eyes, you started to sort out what was rubbish and what was needed. Once the floor and bins were sorted you started moving the stuff on his desk. After the entire room was clean, you took a seat on his office chair just for a short break you thought. But then some of the files caught your attention causing an internal battle on looking at them. Your hands reached for the files that were open, your eyes scanning at the words.

Unfortunately for you, being enthralled in the files of secret meetings and evil scientists creating world-ending viruses meant you didn’t hear as the door went. It also meant you didn’t hear your stepfather call out to you, and you definitely didn’t hear as he walked into the study. Leons eyes darkened as he watched you read what was on his desk. He would have been thankful for you cleaning up the space if you weren’t reading confidential information.

“Now what is this? My sweet pup misbehaving?” His low voice caused you to jump and shoot out of the chair as you tried to sputter a response, your eyes watching Leon as he stalked forward. His hands either side of you on the desk as he leaned over you “I don’t remember you becoming my little secretary, you have no right to read those”.

It would be a lie to say the way he spoke to you in that deep voice did anything but turn you on. You were trying to focus as he lectured you on why reading those files was dangerous, and the look in his eyes had you squeezing your thighs together. Which the older man picked up on almost immediately. An idea of punishment flashing through his mind, before had you turned around. Chest pressed to the desk, and your wrists in one of his hands on your back.

“Okay, you wanna fuckin look at things not meant for you? Well then doll face, daddy can’t let that go unpunished” His words shot straight between your thighs, slick gathering in your panties. Leon shoved you trousers down your thighs, his hand massaging at the soft skin of your ass. “And you’ll take whatever I give you” He watched as you pressed your ass into his hand and tried to nod against the desk.

His hand dipped to stroke at your pussy lips first, tutting as his fingers circled your clit. “Already so wet? I aint even done anything yet, sweet girl” when he pulled his hand away, a whine slipped from your mouth before you could stop it. Leon squeezed your wrists almost painfully “Punishment first pup”.

There was nothing for a moment, and you couldn’t move your head from its position to see what he was doing. Then there was a sudden stinging sensation in your ass and the loud smack ringing through the room. It was quickly followed by a few more stinging slaps to your ass before he massaged the soreness for you. “There we go, there’s my good puppy. Just gotta remember your place”. You think he’s done before another loud smack rings out, His hands starting to cause the soft skin to turn red.

Leons eyes focus between your legs, his eyebrow raising at the sight of your soaked pussy and how its dripping down onto the floor below you. “Awe sweetheart, she’s crying! Reckon daddy should apologise to ‘er” His voice is teasing as he speaks to you, his hand dipping below again to stroke at your lips. A groan leaving him from the feeling of how wet you are.

“Please daddy, ‘m so sorry, won’t happen again” your voice is whiny and desperate as you beg him, your legs shaking from want. You expect to feel the head of Leon’s cock stretch you out, but instead his lips attach to your clit, and he lets go of your hands so you can steady yourself on the desk while he devours you like a starved man.

His hands keep your thighs spread so he can suck at your clit before his tongue moves to lick into your hole, with a moan you press your hips back against his mouth so he can fuck his tongue into you with ease. Your hands dig into the desk, leaving small grooves in the wood and you try to close your legs before Leon moves his mouth away to bite at your inner thigh and it has you keeping them open for him.

His mouth moves to press wet kisses to your clit again as he uses his tongue to toy with the swollen bud in a way that has you leaning your entire body weight on his desk. When he moves back to lap at your clenching hole, he makes sure to hold you still and presses you forwards, the edge of the desk digging into your stomach while his tongue fucks you open. One of his hands moves around your thigh to rub at your clit.

With his tongue squelching into your warm cunt, and his fingers circling the sensitive bud of your clit it causes your thighs to shake as your knees nearly give way and your orgasm gushes onto your stepfathers face. “Oh god, daddy!” you push your hips back against him, so you can feel the stubble on his chin as he helps you through your high. He helps you lean back onto the desk as he pulls away, he has you hanging over the edge with just your legs dangling so your body is entirely supported by the desk.

You feel Leon place his one of his hands on your hips, hear the schlick shlick shlick of Leon pumping his hand up and down before the tip of his cock slaps against your clit, making you whimper. Your clit pulses with arousal as he drags his cock through your dripping cunt before he nudges at your hole and then he’s sinking in. Your pussy welcoming him in inch by inch as he easily bottoms out.

“Such a sweet girl when you wanna be, daddy’s gonna reward you so well for taking your punishment” He thrusts into your sloppy pussy, a hand going around to play with you clit before he slaps it. You moan at the feeling, and Leon continues rocking his hips, so his cock buries deeper into your swollen cunt. With the way he’s slapping your pussy at the same time, it’s not long before you’re dripping again and clenching down onto his cock. “Gonna breed my sweet pup, fill ‘er up good”.

“So good daddy, feel s’good, thank you thank you” you mumble empty-headed praises as your stepfather humps his cock into you until the weeping tip grinds against the opening of your womb. Your words have Leon leaning down so he can suck a mark into your neck, his tongue soothing over it afterwards before sucking another right next to it.

“She wants it so bad, just sucking me in like this. Don’t ya think? Wants a nice fat load, deep in this pretty pussy” Your eyes start to roll back as he whispers into your ear, his cock grinding on the soft spot in your cunt again and again. He continues stretching your pussy out, your thighs trembling again as he ruts into you.

Your pussy walls flutter around his thick cock, sucking him in when he pulls out just so he can bottom back into you. His hips pick up the speed, the desk scraping against the floor. He pulls out and you whine at the empty feeling before he shushes you, his finger moving to circle your clit again while he fucks his fat dick into your swollen cunt. Spit gathers and drools down your chin, landing on one of those files you were reading.

“Such a messy girl, my messy girl” Leons pounding your pussy harder and harder, your belly tightens with an impending orgasm as he continues fucking his cock into you. His hand bruises into your hip “Fuck, you can take it, take it”.

He ruts his hips into your squelching cunt allowing him to grind the head against your cervix until your writhing in his hold and his hips stutter. With a scream you cum again, pussy squelching as you gush around Leons cock. “That’s it, pup, let daddy use you, gonna feel you up”. His hips press flush against your ass as he leans against you, slowly humping as hot thick ropes spill inside you. Your both panting as you stay there coming down from your highs.

“Seriously though puppy, never read daddy’s files again”.

[infamous-if]

RO reaction to MC just bombing on stage? Just having a bad day and singing/performing terribly? But sitcom level terrible. How would they break the news? Would they tell them?

This is so funny omg

The song ends and you do a quick bow, trying to catch your breath. That was good, right? You glance back at your band members, who are all weirdly looking away. When Rowan catches your gaze, he quickly turns his head, suddenly interested elsewhere. You shrug. Meh. It was good to me.

You and your bandmates get off the stage and you beam when you see [RO]. "So? What'd you think?"

Seven (no hatred): Seven makes a face that's a cross between a grimace and a flinch. They put their hands on your arms, rubbing it affectionately. Oddly enough, it feels like Sev's trying to make you feel better about something. "You know I always think you're great." You can't help but pick up on the emphasis on the 'I.'

"So it was good?"

They narrow their eyes comically small and nod slowly. "Ye...aa...h?Yeha.....aeah...." As if giving up on the pretense, they shake their head. "No. It wasn't. Do you have a stomach ache perhaps? Heart burn?"

"What? No. Why, that bad?"

A shrug. "If I suck, I'd like to tell myself it's for a reason so I can feel better."

"If?" you say.

Seven grins. "Hasn't happened yet."

Seven (during-hatred): "That was fucking embarrassing."

G: G beams and puts two palms on your shoulders. "I really appreciate your dedication to the bit."

You tilt your head, confused. "What?"

G's brows furrow, and then they drop their hands. Then they realize something and huff out a laugh. "Wait. That wasn't a joke?"

Panic rises within you. "No?"

G's cheeks balloon--as if they're trying not to laugh--before the effort fails and they double over. "Oh my god. Seriously?"

"G?! Are you laughing at me?"

They can't stop their laughter and they put a hand on their cheek, awed and amused all at once. "That was terrible. I thought you were kidding! Holy shit, I need a copy of that performance for posterity."

Victoria: "Um." Victoria averts her gaze, looking a bit awkward. "I'm going to tell you because I care about you: it was kind of horrible."

"Kind of?"

A flinch. "Very BUT." She puts her hand on your cheek. "This is just one performance. You'll do great tomorrow! Maybe you were just stressed..."

"I thought it was great..." you mumble.

She makes a face, dropping her maternal act a moment. "Seriously?--Oh." She shakes her head. "Sorry."

Sebastian: Sebastian stares at you blankly, though he looks a bit guilty. "I don't have enough experience to have an opinion."

You shove him playfully. "Just tell me."

Sebastian's throat bobs and he says: "It didn't sound great but I don't know enough to feel confident in that claim."

You frown, feeling both hurt and confused. "Why do you sound like you're in a job interview?"

"You know, I think this conversation would be more beneficial to your progress with someone else..."

August: August tilts their head. "Are you asking seriously or is this supposed to be a joke?"

"What?" "Oh. So serious then." They thin their lips, teetering on the heels of their shoes as they think. "It was bad."

"What?"

"Yeah. Terrible, actually." August smiles. "But that's okay. We all have bad days, don't we?"

"The thing is, I thought I did great..."

Their smile drops. "Oh..?"

Orion: Orion doesn't look up from his phone and you frown, tapping him. "Hello?"

He meets your gaze and waves his phone. "Sorry, I was just on Indeed looking for another job." "What? Wait, the performance was bad?"

He looks momentarily horrified, and then helpless, and then disappointed. "The fact that you can't even tell worries me greatly."

You frown. "I thought it was good."

He shakes his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose in resignation. "This is my fault. I've been coddling you too much."

"You think what you do is coddling?!"

[dpr-stay]

Cupid | LH44

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, reader is a press officer, don't think gender is stated specifically, implied sexual content, second chance romance, she is not edited, zhou guanyu does not crash, and there are swears.

WC: ~7.7k (kill me now)

I literally hate this, im so sorry. I haven't edited it because it's late but I hope it's not bad. I'll edit it tomorrow. also how is it so longgg, it was supposed to be 5k at best. (why have i written two fics about exes having dinner?)

Being Valtteri Bottas’ PR Agent was a wild ride. From being hired by him in his early days at Williams, to his successful years at Mercedes, and now at Alfa Romeo, you’d gotten to know the man through all stages of his career. You’d been there to field off questions about his declining performance at Mercedes and had been the first one to slam open the door and start yelling at him after the ‘cheated-on-his-wife’ rumours started floating around.

However, the paycheck was good and, when he wasn’t causing you to spend many nights in meetings about his public image, you didn’t mind the guy, happy to have to follow him around the world for most of the year.

The whole Formula One thing was also a bonus, you having been hooked on the sport after your Dad introduced it to you at an early age. You’d spent countless hours watching your dad watch the car’s speed by on his tv set, finally deciding to pay attention to the race after a few years. And boy, did you love it. 

You’d spent many an early birthday present forcing your parents to take you to the Grand Prix nearest to you, saving up for months to be able to afford the tickets and the travel. Something about the sport just intrigued pre-teen you, nothing to do with Michael Schumacher at all.

So, when the chance to be a F1 driver’s personal PR agent had landed on your advertisement agency’s desk, the place you had worked in the early days of your career, you had snatched it up quickly. The work started well before the start of the 2013 season, you having to meet the man himself and quickly getting adjusted to the many people you’d need to know to network for the guy. 

You’d also met Maldonado’s PR agent, one from the Williams team, who quickly brought up the ideas of doing interviews and press releases between the two drivers. You were swept into the world of the sport, beginning to get into the swing of things. 

Years passed, as did teammates, and Valtteri got signed to Mercedes alongside Lewis Hamilton. You didn’t know if your employment would carry over to Mercedes, but a team shirt and a letter letting you know about when Valtteri’s responsibilities started being mailed to your house confirmed it pretty quickly.

The atmosphere at Mercedes was more professional, though the team still treated each other as family. You’d often see engineers leaving together, going to go get drunk and celebrate Lewis’ common wins and Valtteri’s less common, but still happening, wins. 

You’d often spend hours at a time bargaining for spots for Valtteri in interviews and in PR related spots, and it worked. He was a well-known man, your job was practically done. The bosses were (finally) appeased, Valtteri was happy, and you could finally relax after years straight of stressing about social media and whatever the hell a vine was and if that was still relevant.

And then you’d gone and got yourself trapped in an elevator with Lewis Hamilton. 

Being a Mercedes employee, though only temporary, you’d met Lewis often during interviews and team meetings. However, you never really know a person until you spend five hours sitting opposite each other in a broken-down elevator, only being able to see each other by the light of your phone's flashlight, waiting for some sort of help as there was no signal.

Your conversation had started off hesitantly, you incredibly intimidated by the several-time world champion and him having a fleeting idea of who you were. The conversation had eventually fizzled out till the lift jolted, and a creaking sound echoed into the cavern of the contraption.

Your telling groan that you couldn’t hold back elicited a concerned “You alright?” from Lewis and then you eventually had to tell the professional F1 driver, who raced cars at over 200km/h every other weekend, about your fear of small spaces.

He hadn’t judged you for it, something which you thought was rather nice, and had even tried to adjust for you, moving to the very other side of the small box. Granted, your feet still touched, but you thought the sentiment was nice. 

He was more down to earth than you expected, you knew he wasn’t a prick but you weren’t expecting him to be… kind. Soon enough, after a few more questions about why you were afraid of small spaces and other questions, you both had spiraled into boundless conversation. 

You had talked about things you’d never talked about with someone, let alone a practical stranger, his soothing accent making it easier to open up to him. Things like the future and where it would take you, uncertainties about both your careers, even relationships, the type of conversations you only have trapped in a suspended metal box in the dark. 

Lewis was a fantastic person to talk to. He’d listen when he needed to and returned your conversation with equal energy, as though he actually wanted to be part of the conversation. For some reason he had decided to trust you and had talked freely to you, showing you a side that you doubted many people had seen.

Maybe it was the fact he couldn’t see your face or maybe you just gave off a trustworthy vibe. You didn’t know. All you knew was that, all of a sudden, you were one of Lewis Hamilton’s most trusted confidants. 

Even after someone had finally realised you were missing and exactly where you were, calling more firemen than necessary to bust open the lift though you supposed that’s what you were supposed to do when a ‘Sir’ was trapped in an elevator, Lewis had asked for your phone number and had continued to text you.

You’d met up a few times over the season, quickly becoming incredibly close friends who told each other everything. You’d had to deal with a few teases from Valtteri, who’d shut up when you reminded him who controlled the public’s opinion of him. 

During the off-season Lewis had invited you to come to his house for dinner. You’d went, it was lovely, and then you’d unknowingly experienced the moment of truth in your weird friendship/developing relationship. 

You’d been sitting at Lewis’s dinner table, eagerly chatting to the man about your family, leaning in closer and closer until the both of you were nearly leaning over the table. He’d cooked for you, an act you found incredibly sweet for the multi-millionaire who probably had ten private chefs on speed-dial, and you’d spent the evening wining and dining. 

You had both finished your main courses, talking about everything and anything when a loud bang had come from the upstairs of the man’s house. He glossed right over it, ignoring the loud sound. You had been about to comment on it but, at his nonchalance, you deigned not to. 

The conversation had continued, you both moving from his table to the couch he owned, which probably cost more than your salary earned you, when another loud sound, which sounded suspiciously like a bark, reverberated through his open-plan house. 

He sighed loudly at your questioning look, deciding that he couldn’t ignore it this time. He opened his mouth to speak but, before he could utter a syllable, the tapping of claws sounded against the stairs located, conveniently, in view of his living room. 

You looked up and there stood one of the largest Bulldogs you had ever seen. It was almost majestic, the way that he stood there on the steps, panting as though he’d just run a race. His brown coat was shining in the twilight glow, his muzzle a white colour in comparison to the rest of his body.

He took a few steps down the stairs, tripping on one before regaining his posture. You could only watch in wonder, mouth agape, as the beautiful beast padded down the steps and took a turn, approaching you head on.

The dog was a thing of beauty, his droopy face conveying no discernable emotion except from being tired. He slowly made his way to the couch, you doing nothing but watching as he trotted along the hardwood floors. You didn’t catch Lewis staring at you warily as you were only focused on the thing that younger you would’ve fought a clan of savage chipmunks in order to have.

The dog eventually made his way in front of you, plopping his behind down on the carpet and staring up at you questioningly. You didn’t know what emotion your face was conveying, you only knew it was very silent.

You cautiously reached a hand down to rub between his ears. After a second of your rubbing he made a gruff ‘woof’ sound and you couldn’t help it, an entranced whine releasing from your throat. Collapsing onto the floor beside the dog, you forgot about Lewis, focusing completely on the magnificent specimen of a dog. 

Roscoe, as you’d soon come to know via a fond Lewis, took to you as soon as you took to him. Within a minute the dog was letting you handle him as much as you’d like, rolling over on his back to let you get his stomach and vigorously licking your arm as you pet him. Praises spilled from your lips abound, making sure to let the bulldog know just how much of a good boy he was.

At a cough you turned from your spot on the floor to face Lewis, the radiant grin he had on his face making you feel as though you’d passed a test of sorts. Roscoe also turned to look at Lewis before turning back to you and huffing. 

He moved forward, stepping on your legs, trying to sit on you, before falling off the slope onto the carpet. You then picked him up and cuddled him, trying to keep eye-contact with Lewis as you did so. Lewis’ eyes had turned into half moons as he watched you love on his dog, his smile consuming his face.

“I’m glad he likes you, I don’t know what I would’ve done if he didn’t.” He admitted, placing his drink on a wooden table that stood beside the couch. He then slowly slid from the couch onto the floor beside you, leaning his body down till he was face-to-face with Roscoe and gave the dog a kiss.

“He’s got good taste.” You commented and Lewis released a laugh, glancing up at you.

“Me or the dog?” He asked after a second and you paused, overdramatically placing a finger on your chin and tilting your head as though you were thinking. You then shrugged and he laughed again, you not missing the incredibly familiar twinkle in his eye as he looked at you.

After that, you’d found that Lewis was a lot more eager to meet at his house. Roscoe, accompanied by the sheepish man, was bowling you over nearly every time the door was opened to you. Lewis had also made the trip to your house, though you doubted he’d seen a house as small as yours within the last ten years. He seemed to like it though, settling in quickly and even staying there when you were at work. The off-season had continued like that, casually building your relationship between his training and your many meetings with Alfa Romeo, trying to settle the discussions about your contract after Valtteri’s move.

You’d finally gotten somewhere just before the season started after having to plead to not be replaced by an inside hire, Valtteri backing you up and stating he wouldn’t race without you. Alfa Romeo had accepted and then you finally had the contract you’d wanted. 

You’d left the meeting, Valtteri in tow, before turning around and hugging the man for having your back before you both said goodbye and made your way home and to the gym respectively.

The uber ride you’d hired was peaceful, the man staring straight ahead as you looked out the window, your small apartment building coming into your view. You smiled as you saw it, thinking of the Lewis you’d left in bed that morning, having to pull yourself out before him to go to your meeting. 

The climb up the steps (the elevator didn’t work which Lewis hadn’t complained about when you’d explained it in embarrassment) had seemed to take forever no matter how fast you climbed. When you’d finally made it to your floor, you had to practically drag yourself across the hallway to your door, unlocking it with force after the lock had gotten stuck.

Immediately you could tell something was off, the place seemed colder than that morning and it didn;t have to do with the fact the thermostat had broken a few months ago. All the lights were off and there was no noise coming from within, a telltale sign that Lewis was somewhere within whether he was listening to music or talking to someone. 

That was ok, though, he might’ve been at a meeting like the one you’d had, though you doubted there would be less than 7 zero’s on his contract. But that’s the difference between a big team and Alfa Romeo, you work with what you get.

You looked to the side table, placing your keys in the bowl, noticing the absence of Lewis’ keys. But that made sense if he was at a training session or a meeting, so you continued into the apartment, losing components of your outerwear as you went. 

You’d lost your scarf and blazer as you’d made your way to your bedroom, prepared to change from your business outfit into one of Lewis’ many shirts when you opened your closet. A quick rummage and you couldn’t find any. Weird.

You checked again before moving to another part of your closet and noting the lack of his hoodies or jumpers, which was even weirder as you’d stolen a few of them last week. You turned and moved to your dresser, an old antique wooden piece you’d picked up from an op-shop a few years ago after seeing it and falling in love.

You’d opened your drawer specifically for pajamas and found everything you’d acquired through your time of living independently but Lewis’ shirts. Moving to the many drawers Lewis used specifically when he’d stay over, a small inkling of panic settled in your stomach however you ignored it and opened the drawer.

Nothing. There was nothing left in the drawer. You quickly opened all his other drawers, almost pulling them out of the dresser with the force you were applying. All of them were empty. This caused the inkling to grow to an uneasy pool. Maybe he’d taken them to wash them at his place?

You stepped back from the dressers, incredibly confused and vehemently denying the growing panic in you. You walked, not ran, into your bathroom. The lonely toothbrush sitting on the counter sent a strange feeling, almost like adrenaline, rushing through you. Opening the cupboards under the counter you noted the loss of his extra face wipes and the moisturizers he insisted on using. 

You ran to your kitchen, not seeing anything off, before slamming into the back of the couch in your open plan apartment in your haste to get into the living room. The action caused pain to ring through your shins but you barely registered it, the missing cd’s that normally sat on the table your tv was balancing on that he had insisted were better than Spotify the only thing you were focused on. 

A quick look down the hallway to the door of your apartment only furthered your dread, noticing details you hadn’t seen before. The missing stack of shoes that he normally toed-off at the door and the missing extra wallet he left on the side table in case someone broke in almost confirmed your fears.

But what really set in the fact that he’d packed up and left was the missing leash that normally hung from a hook you’d installed specifically on the back of your front door. The inscribed ‘Roscoe’ on the hook seemed almost mocking from your place on the couch, but you couldn’t really acknowledge it, the tears filling your eyes blurring your vision.

You stood up from the couch and stormed back into the bedroom, slamming the open drawers shut, not hearing the splintering of the vintage wood. You picked up your phone from your bed that you’d tossed earlier in your haste to become relaxed, and opened your messages.

He hadn’t sent anything to you explaining his leaving and when you went to send a text (‘??? Where are you’) the message that you’d been blocked popped up at the bottom of the screen. You could only stare at the screen for a second, the implications of what he’d done sending emotional shockwaves through you. 

You barked out a sardonic laugh, your hand flopping from its position in front of you to be held uselessly at your side, your phone slipping from your grasp onto the floor. The world went still for a moment before you lifted a hand to cover your vision, the tears slipping from your eyes wetting your hand.

You sat alone on your bed that had, not even 24 hours ago, contained what you had thought was your future. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be angry at this point, the grief for something that was evidently never meant to be controlling your thoughts. A long deep sigh left you before it was interrupted by a sob. And then another sob.

You ended up falling asleep alone that night, still dressed in the smart pants and white shirt you’d worn to your meeting. Your only lullaby was your sobbing, not the sound of his gentle humming, something which you kept reminding yourself of. 

Valtteri had commented that you’d seemed sad the next time he’d seen you but neither of you had addressed it past that, him knowing when to keep his mouth shut. He especially knew to shut up after the intense glare you had fixed him. 

The season had started again and, while you were prepared for your duties as a PR agent, Valtteri’s full calendar being proof enough for that, you weren’t sure you were prepared to see Lewis again. Especially after the news that he was already seeing someone else had come out a week before the first race.

You’d returned Valtteri’s knowing glance with as much strength as you could muster and promptly ignored his further pitying look, choosing to feel sorry for yourself at home that night. You’d also ignored his attempts to try to get you to talk to Tiffany, you liked the woman but you didn’t think you should burden her with your ridiculous, because that’s what it was looking back, delusions that you could’ve been something more than just a summer fling to Lewis Hamilton.

You’d successfully managed to avoid Lewis the whole first couple of races, eventually beginning to see fleeting glances of him throughout the paddock. Seeing him for the first time with his partner had hurt but, looking at her, you couldn’t exactly blame him.

She was gorgeous and, after you’d done a bit of searching, was exactly his previous type. She was wealthy and had a respectable job, someone worthy of being with him. You’d made sure to avoid him after that.

You kept on at work though, determined to be the best goddamn PR Agent Alfa Romeo had ever seen. And you were succeeding. Valtteri was getting brand deals and after more positive press around him and his dedication to the sport regardless of his company, you were finally able to relax. 

And by relaxing, you meant getting wasted at a bar. In fairness, last time you’d relaxed you’d ended up more broken hearted than you’d ever been, so releasing some steam at a bar had seemed an appropriate route.

And it was, being able to drink away your sorrows and spill your guts out to a bartender in a small rundown pub in the middle of Canada was the perfect way to unwind. You hadn’t told the whole story of course, you resented the guy for what he did to you but you didn’t want to tarnish his reputation, but it was nice to tell it to some random person who probably didn’t even understand the way you were switching between Swedish, English, and Finnish. 

You’d woken up the next morning with a heavy weight off your shoulders and a nice Canadian man in your hotel bed, sending him off with a promise to call before promptly adding his phone number to your phone. Valtteri could tell something had changed when you’d walked into his driver’s room the next day, prepared to tell him about his schedule. You greeted his questioning look with a smirk and he shook his head, a disbelieving look on his face.

You’d found that you hadn’t thought about Lewis the whole day, when you’d settled into your hotel bed the night after the race. A warm feeling had spread through you at that, the knowledge that the man no longer consumed your thoughts making you feel good inside.

The next race weekend you were ready to go, the British GP making you pumped. You weren’t so pumped when Valtteri DNF’ed and were mentally preparing answers for the Finn as the race continued, briefing him on every response you could think of in relation to the gearbox issue. Zhou Guanyu did well in his race though, so the garage was quite excited for him, even though Valtteri hadn’t finished.

When the interviews had rolled around after all of the celebrations, you were following Valtteri on the walk to his first interview, eventually stopping to the side of him as a mic was held in front of him and the cameras had started rolling. 

Typical questions such as if he was happy for his teammate and if he was happy with the car were asked, some weirder questions such as if he thought the car’s not-working had to do with some obscure political issue before eventually the interview was wrapped up and the Finn moved on to his next interview, you following him.

You could see other drivers beginning to arrive in the area, being interviewed before you quickly looked away, not wanting to see if he was close. You’d managed to avoid him thus far today, how hard could a few more hours be?

You’d thought that before you heard the faint but tell-tale bark of Roscoe and you had to force yourself not to turn around and run to the dog. Lewis had mentioned bringing the dog to his home race at some point while you were together, so you weren’t exactly surprised at Roscoe’s presence. 

Valtteri’s interview was continuing in the background of your mind as you thought over the nights you’d spent cuddled with Roscoe and Lewis. Did you miss him or Lewis more? Did Lewis even miss you?

Valtteri nudged you in the side, his eyes wide and you snapped back to reality, staring at the interviewer.

“Pardon?” You asked, politely trying to make it seem as though you just hadn’t heard them and were paying attention.

“I just asked if Valtteri preferred Mercedes or Alfa Romeo.” The interviewer filled in and you turned to Valtteri, a questioning look on your face. Surely he could handle that question? He vehemently shook his head. Alrighty then.

You brought out both your hands in front of you, prepared to gesture out an answer for Valtteri to say. But before you could a large force had pounded into your back, knocking you to the floor and landing on top of you. The weight was heavy but it was warm and… was it licking you? “Roscoe! Oh my god, I am so sorry!” A voice came from behind you.

Oh no.

While you had been mentally preparing an answer for Valtteri, Lewis had been walking around the media area, Roscoe in tow on a leash. The dog had been restless ever since he’d entered the pen, Lewis echoing that sentiment as he saw a brief glimpse of you. He wanted nothing more than to run to you but he couldn’t with media responsibilities weighing him down.

Eventually the interviewer’s fill of Roscoe was full and he was able to do a little bit of wandering around the area. Lewis had handed the leash of the now-agitated Roscoe to Angela as he went to go answer some more questions, the press incredibly curious about the dynamics of the car.

Angela, bless her soul, had tried her best to wrangle the dog, but his continuous pulling and barking was beginning to annoy some of the media. Seeing this, Angela had decided to just let the dog pull her away, Roscoe almost dragging her as he went. 

He had pulled her almost completely across the room before he got too violent and managed to rip the leash from her hands, leaving Angela stumbling in the dust as he began to run. Lewis had watched this happen, and continued to watch in horror as Roscoe ran up behind you.

One gigantic leap and you were pushed to the floor, the big bulldog nuzzling into your neck. The world seemed to almost go quiet before Angela ran over, trying to grab the collar of the rabid dog, asking if you were ok.

Lewis had started to move over, dismissing the reporter who he was talking to as he made his way to his dog and his ex-lover. He saw you roll over on the floor, a small sad smile on your face as the dog began slobbering over you. A few more steps and he was in front of you, scolding Roscoe and apologising as he effortlessly grabbed the dog’s collar and pulled him back.

You tried not to look in his eyes, knowing all your effort of trying to get over him would be null if you saw his face. You ignored the hand he extended, instead smoothing down your clothes as you sat on the floor, only pulling yourself up when he awkwardly lowered his hand, framing it as if you just didn’t see.

He knew though, he’d developed the unfortunate skill of reading you.

You didn’t look at him as you assured him you were fine and that he should continue with his interviews, only sparing a glance at Angela who looked at you with a regretful hint in her eyes. You didn’t want to think about that more than you had to, waving them off to more interviews. 

You turned around before you could see Lewis leave, thankfully not seeing the longing he had displayed over his face as he turned away, back to his interviews. 

Would you have been able to hold it together if you’d seen the look he’d shot you? No. Were you when you watched it back after the weekend? Also no.

You turned back to Valtteri, cracking a quick joke, before he got back to his interviews. You spent the rest of that day picking gravel out of your palms, trying to forget about the whole interaction. You wouldn’t let this break your progress, the handsome Canadian man in your contacts getting a ring that night as you tried to distract yourself.

After a few days of you cursing Roscoe for trying to see you while also feeling as though you should arrange some sort of custody agreement so you could see the beautiful beast, a notification had popped up on your phone. It was a recommended tweet, a news article about how Lewis had apparently split from his “new fling”. 

That sent you spiraling, questioning why on earth the algorithm had thought to show you this and wondering what you’d done wrong in your past life in order for this to be what was happening to you.

You’d only become more confused a day later, when Angela had sent you an email, saying that Lewis would like to meet up and apologise because of the media backlash. The thing was you’d seen no media backlash, people just finding the dog's enthusiasm funny. 

If there was any sort of trouble, you’d have seen it, it was your job after all, so you were left sitting on your couch, pondering what was the point of the meeting she was trying to set up.

You’d aired the email for a few days, wondering what you should do. You wanted to say yes, to talk to Lewis again and ask him what had happened, but you didn’t want to get hurt again. And you knew you’d be hurt when you saw him doing perfectly fine without you.

The fact that Angela was waiting for you to respond didn’t cross your mind till you received a text from an unknown number, politely asking you to respond. The older woman had waited till she knew you’d read the text, about five minutes, before sending a more desperate text. That had your eyebrows raising unwillingly, confused about why she had sent three “please”’s in one paragraph.

Regardless you fell victim to knowing how hard it was to try and manage a driver's personal and professional commitments and said yes. Only because you felt bad for Angela was what you kept telling yourself.

Eventually the day had come and you were dreading it, lying on your couch until the last second possible. The thought of canceling had popped through your head multiple times but it was too late now. The only way you could back out is if an emergency happened or you died on the way to the private restaurant Angela had insisted on booking, saying that even though the meeting was supposed to be platonic, it shouldn’t be aired to the public.

A deep sigh left you as you pulled yourself up and walked to your bedroom, dressing yourself in business clothes. You wanted to put effort in, but knowing that you’d definitely be embarrassed if you showed up glammed out and he showed up in a shirt and jeans, you decided against it. It was a business dinner anyway, simply to smooth over a wrong that had been committed against you. 

But it wasn’t a wrong, it was Roscoe pushing you over, which could hardly be considered a wrong and was more the dog testing the things he could get away with.

The real wrong was what Lewis had done to you. You hoped that you could get through the ordeal without talking about it, showing up and then posting a picture to Lewis’s instagram or something about how it was all good to appease the critics.

Except there were no critics, it was just Lewis wanting to have dinner with you. Or maybe it was just Angela trying to meddle. Maybe he was going to try to apologise for him ghosting you? You didn’t know if you would accept it.

You might’ve been able to accept it if he’d been honest from the start, telling you that he wouldn’t want you past the end of the break so you could quickly shut down the relationship before it started and move on with your life.

A thought that’d you always try to flush from your mind sprung to the front of it as you wondered. Maybe you were being too harsh. You’d never explicitly expressed what you were, maybe you had just been overthinking it the whole time you were together. Or rather, not together. 

But that would’ve been unfair to you anyways, you reassured yourself. Him letting you get a taste of his future before exempting you from it was a cruel thing to do to anyone.

A ring from your phone let you know that you should’ve been out the door at this point. You quickly cursed before grabbing your essentials and running to your entryway, pulling your shoes on, before grabbing your keys from the side table. 

After locking your door, you ran down the stairs to your apartment building and hailed a taxi. Luckily traffic wasn’t too bad, so you were able to arrive at the restaurant on time, quickly hurrying inside and getting led to your table.

You never had to worry about being late though, as Lewis wasn’t there when you got to the private booth. It was fine, he came from the other side of town so he’d probably only be a few minutes late.

It was about twenty minutes later you’d sighed and decided to ring Angela. Ironically, she didn’t pick up. You couldn’t help the bark of a laugh that left your throat, shaking your head at the sad reality of your situation.

Ghosted by two members of Mercedes. Maybe it was a good idea for Valtteri to move when he had, otherwise they may have just stopped picking up the phone. You gave him ten more minutes before trying Angela again. The same response. 

At this point you were sick of being made the fool of. Perhaps it was your fault for believing your dispute could be resolved, your fault for believing you were worth showing up for. You stood up with a pressure at the back of your eyes and began the walk from the private booth all the way at the back of the swanky restaurant to the exit.

Before you got even five meters from your table, the door to the restaurant slammed open. Everyone turned to stare at the heavily breathing world champion as he took a second to recoup himself. He didn’t let himself look at anyone in the restaurant as he straightened his suit and turned to the host, who looked a little shell shocked. A quick exchange later and the host stepped back from the little podium he was stood behind. 

You quickly scampered back to your seat, making it just in time and plastering an unimpressed look over your face. Looking back up, you could see Lewis scanning all the patrons of the premises before his eyes paused and locked onto you. 

The simple action of making eye-contact, a luxury which you had refused yourself during your bump with Roscoe, sent a lick of emotion down your spine. You couldn’t exactly read his face, you didn’t know what he was choosing to display or doing unwittingly after being played by him for months, but you believed he was relieved. 

When he arrived at the table he waved off the host with a small ‘thanks’ before sitting down in the seat opposite to you. It was silent for a few seconds, you both continuing eye contact. You were trying to find anything you could recognise in his eyes while he was just looking at you, at your face. 

“I’m sorry for being so late.” He spoke finally, a slight tilt growing at the corners of his lips. You didn’t respond and the awkwardness won him over after a few more seconds, something that was quite uncharacteristic of him. He coughed.

“The lift wouldn’t work, I’d left my keys, then no one would pull over. I tried to call you but my phone died, so I just ran trying to get here.” He said and averted his eyes, a mannerism you’d recognised as a nervous tick the couple of times you’d seen it. You didn’t know how to reply so you let your emotions take hold.

“Your call wouldn’t have gone through.” You said blankly and he looked back to you, before chuckling awkwardly. You didn’t find it funny.

“You would’ve had to unblock me first.” You needlessly elaborated, getting some sadistic enjoyment out of the way the man squirmed. He continued his awkward laughing, you joining in to laugh sardonically.

You didn’t know where this feeling, of needing him to a sliver of the uncomfortableness he’d caused you, had come from. The feeling you got from his discomfort wasn’t pleasure though, it felt empty as though it was pointless in the long run. You supposed it was, he wouldn’t remember you in a few years and your small petty actions wouldn’t even matter when he married the princess of some country. 

He cleared his throat, drawing your attention from your musings to his face.

“I wanted to apologise.” He stated bluntly and you raised an eyebrow. Yeah, no shit. He caught your expression and winced. 

“I should’ve had Roscoe on a tighter leash and not have given him to Angela. It was my fault-” You tuned him out as he continued, shaking your head in disbelief. Yeah sure, it was why the meeting had been arranged, but you’d genuinely thought he might’ve talked about the elephant in the room at some point. Maybe you were judging harshly though. Maybe after a few minutes he’d start talking about the model he’d piped the other day or the Albanian billionaire who wanted to be his sugar mommy.

You’d forgotten that he could read you like a book and had stopped when he realised you were no longer paying attention. He reached over the table to wave a hand in front of your eyes, an action that was very rude, and you reacted accordingly. You turned to face him, affronted, and he smiled at your expression before his face turned serious and he breathed a deep breath.

“I didn’t know if you’d want to talk about what had happened.” He said finally, staring down at the table, and you scoffed, crossing your arms in front of your buttons. You started to talk, the words leaving your mouth before you could properly think about them, hurt blurring your thoughts.

“Of course I would love to recount the time I came home and I found my place ransacked.” You said, the fakeness of your enthusiasm leaking into your words causing him to flinch.

“I’d love to talk about the messages I sent you before I realised I’d been blocked. Sure, let’s talk about how, not even two weeks after telling me you thought we’d have a future together, you’d completely left me, without a word of discussion.” You finally let out, almost strangling your throat closed so as to not let more of the hurt out. This was a work-related dinner after all and you didn’t want to draw more attention than Lewis already had.

His face had fallen, an incredibly unfamiliar look coating his face and you tried to stop yourself before you spoke, trying to tame the biting uncertainties in your head.

“Was it because I’d moved companies?” You questioned and he looked up. “Should I not have followed Valtteri?” Your question floated in the air and he shook his head, a sorrowful expression taking over his face.

“Then why?” You asked after a second and he paused, not responding. You, tired of his silence, thought about all the reasons you’d gone over in your head, and settled on the one that made the most sense to you. Looking back, it was probably the most unrealistic, but it made sense to the angry and sad mindset you had.

“Was it because I couldn’t afford everything?” His head snapped up, shock colouring his features. “I could’ve moved to a new apartment if it bothered you, having to stay over at my place. I knew you didn’t do a lot of things that break because I couldn’t pay, but you could’ve told me if you wanted to. I do have a savings account I could’ve dipped into.” You said quietly, looking down at the table, all the fight having been sapped from your body. 

You were tired. You didn’t know what the time difference was between you and Canada, but you were sure that you could set an alarm and wake up to spill your guts to the stranger, it was better than telling anyone you knew. 

Lewis called your name but you didn’t look up from the table, hoping to not see any form of confirmation in his eyes. He reached a hand over the table, this time to not be rude but to lift your chin up and look in your eyes. He contemplated for a second before speaking softly.

“I thought it was what you wanted.” He said and you reared back, completely shocked before he continued.

“You kept going to meetings with Alfa Romeo and I thought it was your subtle way of telling me to fuck off. You know, that you had more important things to worry about than a driver from your old company. We’d never talked about what we were and I just thought…” He paused for a second here, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked at the wall before looking back into your eyes.

“I thought I could bite the bullet, leave before you could tell me to go. And it worked in the end, you’ve been doing exceptionally well. I haven’t seen a bad story about Valtteri in months.” He said and withdrew his hand as he leaned back against the chair behind him.  You processed his words for a moment before he cleared his throat, drawing you back to look at him.

“I would never, by the way.” He disclosed quietly and you tilted your head. He continued. “I don’t mind if you have the money or not, for that break your apartment was the best place for me.” 

The use of the present tense threw you off for a second, leaving you to rearrange yourself in your seat and clear your throat as you thought of a response. You couldn’t, opening your mouth but no words coming out. He’d stunned you into silence. You finally found your voice after steeling yourself for a second. “W-what about umm… what was her name?” You asked, a stutter permeating your words. He just sighed, letting his head fall slack to stare at the table. 

“It was a mistake.” He said quietly, and guilt for the poor girl rushed through you. “I thought that after I’d let you go I should at least try to find something as a replacement.” He looked up at you.

“I couldn’t though, no one could match to you. But I couldn’t leave her without a reason.” 

He leaned further back in his seat, his voice terse as he spoke. “She gave me plenty of reason after I caught her in bed with her ex.” You winced at the tone of his voice and gave him a second to collect his thoughts. Even if he was trying to break it off, it’s never a good feeling to be cheated on. 

You spoke up after a second, trying to clear the silence between you and deciding he should know about your fling after you’d ended if this dinner was going to way you thought it was.

“I met a man in Canada.” You said hesitantly and you saw his shoulders drop.

“Oh.” He said quietly, before shaking himself out as if he was a cat and plastering a smile on his face. Lewis made eye-contact and asked you a question.

“What’s his name?” Fake-enthusiasm permeated his question, as though he was trying to hide his disappointment. 

You didn’t want to address that, though you knew you had to. Could you take him back? You didn’t know for sure if he would leave you again, which scared you. The whole idea of taking him back scared you, though the thought of more time with him that wasn’t spent trying to avoid looking his way made you hopeful. You tried not to feel that way, knowing that you shouldn’t base your happiness on the man.

But he had apologised and explained his reasoning. As much as you wanted to curse him out for not talking with you, it did make sense. Feelings of inadequacy were present in every person, no matter how remarkable they were.

Look at you, already being hypocritical over your own words. You’d said you didn’t know if you’d take him back, but now you were already planning it. Was that pathetic? You didn’t like to think it was, but maybe you were wrong, ignoring your dignity in favour of the man.

God, if only the world was more simple and less complicated. If only you hadn’t gotten locked in an elevator, if only Roscoe hadn’t been as adorable as he was, if only you’d said no to this dinner. If only you’d just talked about your feelings from the start instead, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

Too late now though, you supposed, snapping back to the present and leveling eye-contact with Lewis. You contemplated your words, knowing they’d probably either be the start or the end of your time with him.

“I don’t remember.” You said finally, staring at Lewis’ face as a smile that he tried to contain spread over it.

“You don’t remember his name?” He asked, almost trying to confirm his words and you shook your head. He couldn’t control his smile, trying to mask it behind a cough. You only started to grin in response, looking into his eyes as they slowly turned back into half-moons.

A cleared-throat startled you both out of your bubble and you turned to the waiter, who looked as if he had just watched a soap opera play out in front of him. He awkwardly held out menus to the both of you and you quickly accepted them, apologising for making him stand awkwardly for so long.

When he’d left you both had looked at each other and exchanged smiles. The dinner had continued and it was as lovely as Lewis himself. That is to say, very lovely. 

After paying and making the walk to Lewis’ house, you both stumbled into Lewis’ abode, not able to keep your hands off of each other. However a large obstacle had stopped you from taking it further, namely the heavy weight of the british bulldog that decided to settle himself on top of you the second you’d walked through the door.

You could barely hear Lewis’s laughter over the sound of Roscoe licking the side of your face, you muffling your own laughter into the carpet. 

When you’d next seen Valtteri, he’d only taken one glance at your neck before shooting you a smirk, the knowing glance he had on his face making you roll your eyes as you pushed him to his interviews.

i got stuck halfway through but i just wanted it overrrr. Hopefully it's not too bad, let me know in the comments.

[vro0m]

Can you link me to where you talked about VER vs HAM’s codes??? Idek what that means but I’m intrigued.

It was in the 2015 Abu Dhabi GP review. For context it was the last race in Max's first season and he gave an interview.

Tl;dr : essentially Max was aware but not worried about the mistakes he was making. About the conflicts he ran into with other way more experienced and established drivers, he said he was defending his seat and that was normal. My theory is that Max knew the cultural codes of F1. Hence he felt entitled to the seat, the on track moves, his entire behavior, no matter how criticised he was for it. He was confident and unapologetic about it because he knew how he could be confident and unapologetic in that world and for it to be okay. He knew how it worked because he'd been immersed in that universe from his birth and what he didn't know his father could explain to him. Also something something about nobody holding him accountable.

In comparison, Lewis was fucking stressed the first few years because he's not from this world and neither he nor his family knew how to navigate it. That's also why Anthony would say "do your talking on the track" because that's the only place they could do their talking at all, unlike the likes of the Verstappens. Which is also basically what he's saying in that video from earlier.

Here's the full developed explanation from the review under a cut because it gets a bit long :

He talks about mistakes he’s made and he’s not miffed about them, he says it’s part of the learning process. He talks about his altercation with Massa after his big crash in Monaco when Massa said he should be penalised and Verstappen was like “mind your own business” basically and he says no hard feelings but you have to stand up for yourself especially at the beginning of your career. Also in Singapore when he refused to let his teammate back in front. He says he didn’t want to move because he was enjoying the race and fighting for a position and he’s pretty sure it wouldn’t have made a difference in the end. When asked if he then thought he was in trouble, he says it just drives him to do a better job. He says he thinks in the end a lot of people agreed with him and it’s a validation that he did the right thing. When asked where he can improve now, speed, consistency, technical feedback, he says everywhere. 

Okay so. Why did I mention it? Well it’s all purely my opinion so as always you’re welcome to disagree but I see a very stark contrast in attitude with Lewis at his debut. Simply because Max doesn’t seem to feel like he has anything to prove. He seems to feel like he’s entitled to being here. Which is good on him, btw, I’m not questioning whether it’s based or not. But he’s there, he’s confident, he knows there's learning curve but that’s normal to him, he’s defending his spot and he’s very transparent about that, he’s not worried about his position in this sport. It gives him confidence and self assurance and even cheekiness. That’s the privilege of his position as, first of all of course, a white man, and also as a nepo baby. And, well, there's nothing he can do about being white and a nepo baby so to be clear I’m not holding it against him, he’s using the cards he’s been dealt. It is what it is. But in comparison when you think back to rookie Lewis… That boy was stressed out. He had to make it count. He had to prove himself so bad. There was so much pressure. And that’s the cards HE was dealt. 

In sociology, I once heard about study results highlighting that children from higher socioeconomic classes did better in school not necessarily because they had better abilities but because they understood the specific language used in school. They understood the logic of it, the way it worked, the rules, because the same language and same logic and same structure was used in their homes unlike the homes of families from lower socioeconomic backgrounds. I feel like it’s the same thing. Max had a good understanding of the F1 codes from the start. He knew the politics of it and how the game was played. And where he might have not known, his dad did, and could tell him. Lewis struggled terribly in the first few years, especially with the PR and politics part, remember? He hated it to the point it made him consider quitting. Because he didn’t have the codes, he wasn’t born in it. And his dad couldn’t help with that, which is why he used to tell him to do his talking on the track. Because they simply didn’t have the status, nor the connections, nor the knowledge, to do it in the offices and dinner parties like the Verstappens.

Also it’s interesting to note that part about Max saying in the end people agreed with him so it validated that he was right. Because that’s a thing I’ve mentioned several times before, not in this rewatch but on my blog, that nobody ever holds him accountable for his mistakes or when he showcases dangerous driving and I find it to be a problem because that means he doesn’t question himself about it and has zero reason to change. First of all, sometimes it’s been actually genuinely dangerous for other people and second of all I worry (yes) that it might hinder his development. Because listen, whether you like Max or not, as far as driving goes, he has the stuff. It’s undeniable. I agree with the journalists this season saying straight away he would definitely win a championship at some point. The way it happened fucking sucked but if that hadn’t happened he’d still have won titles sooner or later. There’s no doubt. But I wonder if he’s living to his full potential not being questioned that way. Although maybe him not being completely complacent with himself is enough, idk. I guess I’ll see where I fall on that by watching his career develop.