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separatetheyolk · 1 month ago

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Like Real People Do | Lewis Hamilton X Male!Reader

ʚɞ Featuring: Lewis Hamilton

ʚɞ absolutely no one asked for this but I give you Lewis Hamilton aftercare

ʚɞ warnings: 18+, mentions of smut but nothing overly explicit mainly just in passing

ʚɞ note: this is a long one. I’ve got a one for Charles finished (though I’m not sure if I like it so may scrap and restart) and Carlos in the works. As with all my male!reader posts this can be read as trans!reader too. Trans masc too but there is he/him, boy and boyfriend used to refer to the reader in this. I’ve read this like ten times but there may still be some mistakes and shit so sorry in advance

ʚɞ wordcount: 3.6k

ʚɞ requests are open!

You trembled on the bed, curled up on your side ever so slightly, twitching and jerking every so often as you came down from your fifth high that night, your brain turned practically to mush, gripping to the pillow set under your head.

You let out a weak cry as Lewis ran his thumb over your abused nipple. Causing the man to pause. Pulling himself away from the session for a moment he checked you over. Studying your body. You looked spent. Utterly spent. Chest heaving for air, tear tracks down your cheeks. Face flushed red and that neck.. that poor, abused neck. “Colour, baby.” He asked softly, moving his hand down from your chest to your hip. Rubbing small circles on the bone in a comforting manner.

You couldn’t form words, your brain couldn’t make the connection to your tongue to work. To your mouth for your lips to move. Instead, you let out a whine. High pitched and exhausted, shaking your head quickly. Lewis took that as you wanted to end the session, nodding softly.

You felt the bed shift beside you, opening your eyes for your gaze to meet your boyfriends. Instinctively you moved to him the best you could with weak legs and trembling arms. Lewis helping you the rest of the way. “You done so well, baby..” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The praise caused you to melt slightly. Letting out a small noise of adoration. “You done so good for me.. so proud of you..”

“I love you so much.. took it all so well..” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head again. You didn’t know how long you spent like that. Your concept of time blurred. But eventually Lewis started to pull away. All too soon in your opinion.

You let out a whimper, moving to grab ahold of him a little more. Hearing a deep chuckle from the man. “Oh I know..” he whispered. “I know you want cuddles. But I gotta get you cleaned up, sugar.” He slipped from the bed, crouching down on the floor beside it so he could see your face again. Taking in every small imperfection on it. Drinking you up like he couldn’t get enough. Like he hadn’t just fucked you for two hours. “Could you be a good boy? Wait here for me?” He asked, tucking some hair behind your ear. “Hmm?”

You could be a good boy.. you wanted to be a good boy. You craved the praise that came with it. Craved that love and affection. Nodding quickly, you watched as Lewis smiled. Pressing a kiss to your temple as he stood. “There’s my boy. You just stay here.. I’ll take care of you..”

You watched as Lewis left the room to the ensuite. Stomach sinking slightly but you done as instructed and stayed put. Grabbing the blankets and pulling them to your shoulders. Not caring that they were dirty. And judging by the water running, you had a feeling it didn’t matter regardless.

Lewis ran his hand under the tap, making sure the water to the bath was warming up. Realistically, he knew it wasn’t the cleanest option. But he had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to stand long enough for a shower. And he wouldn’t be able to carry and wash you at the same time. So a shared bath it was. At this point, he had aftercare on lock. Lighting a few candles he knew you liked, adding some muscle relaxer into the water along with some bubble bath and a lavender bath bomb. Once the tub had filled, he made his way back to you. Stopping at the doorway and lent against the wood, just taking in the sight of you.

Taking in the sight of you curled up on the, admittedly, ridiculously large bed. One leg poked out from under the duvet, hugging one of Lewis’ pillows, face pressed into your own, hair ruffled and messed up. Swallowed by sheets. He almost didn’t want to move you, but he wasn’t exactly keen on sleeping in those sheets tonight.

So, reluctantly, he moved to the bed, hand coming to rest on your upper arm and began to stroke up and down it gently. His hand was rough against your skin. Something you’d always loved. “Baby?” His voice came out almost as a whisper, smiling wide when you opened your eyes. Your own face up lit when you’d realised he was back. “Hey.. hey, sugar. Ready for your bath?”

You nodded slowly, arms held out to the man. And Lewis didn’t need to be told twice. He picked you up with a groan, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bathroom. Sitting on the edge of the tub he double checked the temperature of the water. Pouring some onto your thigh. “How’s that, baby?” He asked, feeling you nod against his shoulder.

He then carefully lowered you into the tub, mindful of your bruised ass. You let out a small whine as it hit the bottom, Lewis whispering quiet “I know..” to you. Once you were situated, he lowered himself into the bath behind you. Leaning back and whispered a quiet “C’mere baby..” allowing you to lean into his chest, rubbing up and down your sides gently. He didn’t immediately move to wash you. Instead he let the two of you soak in the water first. Pressing kisses to your shoulder and the darkening hickeys on your neck and behind your ear like they’d sooth them some. All while keeping his hand moving up and down against your skin. “I got you..” he whispered, rubbing your side gently. “Right here baby..”

You whined quietly, trying to spin round to face him. Beginning to grow upset that you couldn’t. Past that point of exhaustion and now to where any minor inconvenience was enough to upset you. Lewis smiled softly, tucking your legs into your chest and carefully spun you round, letting you go wherever you wanted which you decided would be to straddle his lap, arms wrapped around him. Legs tight around Lewis’ waist. Face pressed to his neck.

Lewis wrapped his arms gently around your waist, loose but enough to let you know he wasn’t leaving. He slid down in the water a little more. Still making sure your head was above it but more of the warmth wrapped your body. The lavender bath bomb began to have its desired effect after about half an hour, drowsy and oh so tired. Just ready to curl up into Lewis’ side wrapped in warm blankets and comfy clothes.

You let out a whine of “Lew..” when he sat up again. The man looking down to you with a smile. “Well, welcome back baby..” he kept one arm wrapped around you a little tighter, the other squeezing body wash onto a loofa that was floating around in the water. “You’re okay.. I got you..” he reassured.

He felt you remove your head from his shoulder, looking around the room to grasp your surroundings. You had a vague idea of what had happened during the time Lewis had been taking care of you. More veiled behind fog than anything. Like the moment Lewis lay down your brain switched off in a completely different way. “You just relax, baby.. just gonna wash you then you can curl up in bed again.” Lewis spoke, keeping his eyes fixed to you. Studying you, making sure your mood wasn’t about to plummet. “Okay? You doing okay?”

You looked to the man for a moment like he was speaking in tongues. Either way, you’d have let him. Whether you understood his self appointed mission or not. You’d trust this man with your life.. this didn’t work without trust. Sex, aftercare, your relationship as a whole. You nodded slowly once you’d managed to grasp what had been said, nuzzling back into his neck.

Lewis wasn’t sure whether that nod was in response to him washing you, if you were feeling okay, or both. Sighing softly. “Darling, can I?” He asked, removing your face from his neck and held the loofa in view. Again, another nod.

He’d started with your back first, then your sides, chest, legs, then used a separate cloth for your armpits and afterwards he rinsed you down. Humming softly as he done so, hand rubbing circles onto the small of your back. He then began to wash himself. Lewis then made quick work of getting out and drying himself, turning back to the bath when finished towel wrapped around his waist. Eh.. you could stay in there while he changed the bedding.

He slipped on some clean boxers and comfy joggers before he got to work. Stripping any and all bedding, throwing it into the corner of the room, rummaging through drawers to find a particular set he knew you liked. Extremely soft to the touch and likely the better choice for not only your bruised arse, but his clawed up back. Finding it with a little bit of trouble. He threw on the fitted sheet, changed the pillow cases, stripped the duvet of its cover and replaced it with the clean one. Picked up any used or unopened condoms, threw them in the bin, set the lube away in his middle drawer and decided that would do for the night. He could do a deeper clean in the morning if you weren’t as dependant on him then.

He rushed downstairs before getting you out the bath, grabbing a protein bar from the cupboard for himself, favourite snack for you, and two bottles of water from the fridge. Setting them down on his bedside table for the time being.

Last but not least, he moved back to the bathroom with some clean underwear, fresh towel and a few of his own shirts in hand. Hanging them up on the hook on the door, Lewis then moved over to pull the plug for the bath, stealing a kiss as he stood back up. He cleared a section of the counter then carefully picked you up from the bath. Not caring about water dripping onto his joggers. He set you onto the cool marble, dried you off and let you pick out which shirt. Then helped you get changed into it along with the clean boxers. “Handsome man..” Lewis murmured when done, kissing your temple before picking you up for the last time tonight.

He carried you back through to the bedroom after letting you blow out the candles, pulled your side of the blankets back with one hand and then propped up your pillows slightly. Setting you down onto the mattress and tucked you in. You watched as Lewis moved to his own side of the bed, slipping between the sheets and wrapped an arm around you. Grabbing one of the bottles of water. “Come here, baby.” He muttered, holding the plastic to your lips. “Drink some of this for me.. there we go.” He smiled softly as you tipped your head back. Lewis tipping the bottle to follow your lead. Making sure not to drown you or waterboard you. That would be far from ideal. Once about half the water was gone, you shook your head, wrapping arms around Lewis and set your head on his chest. With a smile, Lewis shuffled further down into bed, holding you to his side.

Food and your little chat could wait until morning too..

The next morning or well afternoon when you woke up, your entire body was stiff. Whining quietly from the slight pain as you stretched. You turned to the door when you heard shuffling making it’s way up the stairs only now realising the lack of Lewis’ presence beside you. Smiling when the man came round the corner and into the room holding a tray. Seemed to have some form of food and a glass of orange juice on it.

“Hey..” He spoke softly, spotting you half awake. Lewis set the food to the end of the bed for the time being, slipping back to his side of the bed again. “Was gonna come wake you up..”

“Wha’ times it?” You mumbled closely followed by a yawn, rubbing your eyes. “M’ sleepy still..”

“Well that’s probably because you overslept gorgeous..” Lewis replied, turning round to his bedside table briefly to grab his phone. “It’s..” he glanced up briefly as Roscoe made his way into the bedroom, clearly not happy that he hadn’t had access to it at all the night before. He then turned back to his phone, pressing the power button. “Half two.”

“Damn..” you’d slept that long? You weren’t entirely sure what time you’d ended up actually going to bed last night but it couldn’t have been any later than three in the morning. You’d slept eleven hours? “What time did you get up?”

“Around twelve.. had some zoom meetings at one. Something about the car next season I can’t really remember.” Lewis shook his head, leaning forward to grab the tray. “Come on, sit up and get this down you.” He rose the tray ever so slightly.

Reluctantly you done just that. Torso leaving the warmth of the blankets, groaning as you pushed yourself up and whining when your ass bore the weight. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Lewis asked almost immediately, concern rising in his throat.

“M’ just a little stiff n’ my ass is sore..” you told him, shaking your head. “Just the norm..”

Lewis frowned at that, nodding slowly and carefully set the tray on your lap. Not a whole lot of food but just the right amount that you’d eat after just waking up. “You start eating, I’ll grab some painkillers for you.” Lewis spoke softly.

You watched the man turn to head to the ensuite, pausing when you spotted the state you’d left his back in. Usually? You found it hot. Something you both liked.. but this looked like he’d gotten into a fight with a tiger and came out the other end mauled. “Your back..” you practically whimpered. Lewis immediately turned back around, wanting to kick himself for not even thinking about that.

“Nono- no hey..” he rushed back over, moving to sit beside you. “I can’t even feel it, baby.. forgot they were even there.” He quickly took your hands, shaking his head. “No- hey don’t cry..” he squeezed them gently, giving you a reassuring smile. “If it hurt i would have said for you to stop..” he heard something along the lines of “but they’ve been bleeding..” causing him to sigh softly.

“They did, yes. But really not that much..” he watched your face, studying how it dropped, kept your eyes fixed to the food in your lap but that interest in eating no longer there. “Hey.. how about this..” you looked up to him ever so slightly, the man peaking your interest. “You eat your food, have a some painkillers and if you really want to, you can give them a clean.”

You thought about it for a moment, turning your eyes back to the food. “I..” You sighed softly, knowing for a fact he wouldn’t take any other compromise. You loved Lewis.. but sometimes that habit of not putting himself first annoyed you to no end. “Okay..”

With a smile, Lewis stood again. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head before turning to head to the bathroom once again. Coming back with two ibuprofen both snapped in half. “Hand out baby.” He spoke, sitting down on the bed beside you and dropped them into your palm when you’d done as instructed. Throwing them into your mouth and quickly swallowing them down with the juice. Shuddering once you’d managed to successfully get them down.

“That’s it.. you finish eating I’ll clean up a little.” Lewis spoke, soft smile on his face. He grabbed a shirt from the wardrobe to not upset you any further. Just an old one, print practically gone the only remnants being a shiny patch on the cotton fabric where it used to be. What used to be black now washed out to a light grey.

You heard him hum softly, the sound of a washing machine door opening and closing, then the same for the dryer. You heard the beep of it starting up, Lewis coming up thirty seconds later with some pillows and duvet from the spare room. He carefully switched the pillows over with the ones on the bed, being sure not to strain you too much knowing your muscles were sore and then swapped the duvet round, taking them both downstairs. Rustling came from the laundry room of which you assumed was him stripping the covers from the bedding followed by two doors opening and closing, a curse, sound of a tap running so clearly Lewis had spilled liquid detergent and finally the sound of the doors closing and two beeps signalling the two machines had started washing their loads.

After that, it was mainly just standard day to day sounds. Like washing dishes, the odd clatter, sound of the vacuum. After about half an hour Lewis came back up to an empty plate. Instead of taking it downstairs like you thought he would, he simply set it on the table in the corner, nipped into the bathroom and came out with a damp clean cloth. “You really don’t have to if you don’t want to, babe.” He spoke, moving to sit beside you and wrapped an arm around your waist. Pulling you into his side.

“I know..” you muttered, resting your head onto his shoulder and held your hand out for the cloth which he reluctantly handed over. “But I want to.. I caused it, I want to help make it better.” You heard the other chuckle, looking up to him confused.

“I mean, I’d argue that I was the one to cause it. You don’t exactly go around clawing at my back like it’s a norm.” He smirked, looking down to you briefly before pulling his arm away. He pulled the shirt off with one swift motion and then pulled the duvet back, moved to lie down between your legs and hugged your thigh. “But I do like when you do it..”

You smiled softly as the man got comfortable. It wasn’t a regular occurrence for Lewis to be searching comfort from you. Usually you were on the receiving end. Or you’d have to reach out and offer that comfort. You didn’t mind reaching out at all but often you found yourself wishing he’d do it a bit more. You wanted him to know he could come and ask. You were sure he did. You just didn’t know why he didn’t. “Is there anything you didn’t like?”

The question snapped you from your thoughts, looking down to him for a moment before beginning to gently clean the scratches covering his back. “Uhm.. not that I can think of?” You spoke, sounding in thought as you tried to recall anything. “That break after the third was a little short, not enough for me to be like ‘woah no stop’ just more ‘fucking hell already?’ If you get me? Like I was still okay to do it was just a little tired kinda thing.”

You felt Lewis nod against your leg, kiss being pressed to your thigh. “I’ll remember that for next time.. anything you wanted to ask? Anything you want to try?” You felt the man relax against your leg the more you ran the cloth against his back, a small sigh escaping past his lips which caused you to smile ever so slightly.

“I can’t.. think of anything? But if anything comes up I’ll let you know.” The room fell into a comfortable silence for a moment. Neither of you feeling any need to break it as you continued to clean the others back. Eventually, you did speak up after realising you hadn’t asked how Lewis was doing. “What about you? Did you like it? Anything you didn’t? How are you holding up?”

“Me? Oh I’m feelin’ fine babe. Little sore like you but that’s normal. I can’t think of anything that I didn’t like. A few things I’d want to try but I’d like to wait for you to come to me and bring them up.” Lewis didn’t want to pressure you.. he knew that seemed to be a reoccurring theme with other couples. Dom mentions something they want to try, sub agrees purely for the fact it’s their dom without even considering if it was something they’d want. He knew you could stand up, tell him what you wanted, when you wanted to stop. You’d demonstrated that last night. But it was still a fear none the less.

“Alright well.. you can bring it up. ‘M all ears.” You spoke. To some, it may have come up as trying to pressure him. To Lewis? He knew it was simply some reassurance before you’d both drop the subject. Again, the room fell silent. Roscoes snores and the muffled sounds of birds filling the room. Eventually, his back was cleaned. “Alright.. baby you’re gonna have to scooch. Need the bathroom.”

Lewis reluctantly sat up from inbetween your legs, rubbing his face with a yawn. “You need a hand getting there or no?”

“Nah.. I think I got it.” The trip there was slow, you had a slight waddle in your walk. But you did eventually make it. Turning the light on as Lewis got comfortable on the bed. Turning the TV on. Not even five seconds later there was a shout.

“Lewis!” He turned his head to the door, smirk already plastered on his face. Just knowing you’d saw the absolute state of your neck. Then, your head popped from the room. “I’ve got work tomorrow!”

ʚɞ I actually really liked how this turned out?? I was originally going to post Lewis, Charles and Carlos together but I got like 2k words in for Lewis and thought “who tf is going to read like 6k words of just aftercare”.

ʚɞ Not to mention I was struggling to find a way for it to not be repetitive? There’s only so many times I can x, y, z gave reader a bath in one post before it gets a little boring. So I decided to leave them as separate posts and if people want to go back and read the others they can 🤷‍♂️

ʚɞ Honestly no idea when the next of this little mini series will be up. My social battery is six feet under and I’m so goddamn tired lol so give me like a few days see where I’m at

ʚɞ As for requests, I know there was some interest for a one someone left a few days ago, I’ll get to that asap I was planning this one out when the request came through so I decided to finish this one first instead of immediately working on the request so I didn’t forget about it (this took so long to write omg usually I’m able to bash like three posts out in one sitting but this took days 😭)

ʚɞ Anyway I have a strong headcannon that Lewis would call you ‘sugar’ and I don’t know why because whenever I think of that I think of it being said in a southern accent by some guy who works on a ranch not a British guy who drives cars around a track for a living so 🤷‍♂️

ʚɞ This entire post is long enough as it is so I’ll leave it here. Bye now 👋🏻

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averagecygnet-blog · 10 months ago

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one thing I absolutely adore about tgwdlm is how completely and irrevocably a stage musical it is. it HAS to be a stage musical - the medium is so deeply baked into the story that it truly would not translate to another medium.

some reasons why:

the musical style is old-fashioned in a way that screams classic broadway. you can't get away from it, especially in songs like "lah dee dah dah day" and "show stoppin number". and it's not just the music, it's the dancing too - have you ever seen a kickline in a movie musical, once, ever? or jazz hands? gimme a break

along similar lines - all the broadway references! hamilton of course, but also wicked and mamma mia and jekyll & hyde

all the attention deliberately brought to the lighting and set! the performers in "la dee dah dah day" loudly saying "lights down!" when it's over; ted, paul, and emma striking the stage after "show stoppin number"; the lighting panels used as sirens, TVs, showcasing hudgins' alexa, and more; ted wheeling the big meteor prop off the stage after "let it out". they don't let you forget that we're in a theater.

all the hokey ass miming and special effects???? charlotte and hudgins having their guts ripped out is flashy and fun onstage because of the intestine props. emma and ted having blood capsules in their mouths. paul, emma, and zoey violently shaking when pantomiming being in a helicopter. ted running in place, moving forward or back to suggest movement across the road. it's all so fun and consistently reminds you that this is a stage

double-casting as intentional obstruction of the truth. we're used to seeing one actor play several roles in a musical, so when a familiar face shows up in a new costume we assume it's a new character. but it was zoey flying the helicopter to clivesdale, and I think it was zoey in the hospital at the end as well. you couldn't pull that shit in a movie because movies don't double-cast.

the role of the audience, the laughter and gasps and reactions and applause, especially the applause at the end when emma is begging the audience members to let her use their phone and demanding to know why they're clapping; sure movies have audiences too but the presence of the audience as part of the story makes a point about societal ideals as something we all have a part in that a movie just couldn't make in the same way

on a related note - emma's sudden awareness of the stage and the audience as the horror trope where the person realizes they're trapped and will imminently die. she knows she can't escape because it's just a fuckin loop. she knows no one will save her because they're all clapping. you couldn't do that in a movie because in a movie there is a fourth wall, whereas on a stage there's nowhere for the characters to run away. on a stage the characters can look you, the audience, directly in the eye, with no camera or screen between you

I will literally never shut up about that curtain call

god damn what I wouldn't give to watch this show performed live

#starkid #team starkid #tgwdlm #the guy who didn't like musicals #ted spankoffski #emma perkins #paul matthews #tgwdlm paul #tgwdlm emma #tgwdlm ted #tgwdlm hudgins #tgwdlm charlotte #tgwdlm zoey #stage musical #musical theater #musical theatre #broadway #musicals #fourth wall

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merchelsea · 1 year ago

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just maybe - lewis hamilton

pairing: ex!lewis hamilton x fem!reader

summary: lewis misses what you used to be, and what a better way to show it than showing up, drunk, at your house?

author’s note: felt like writing lewis today because not enough people do!

word count: 1,1k

you lay on your couch, your phone in hand, mindlessly scrolling through your Instagram feed for what felt like the thousandth time that day. you knew there wouldn't be anything new, but you couldn't help yourself. you had been in the same position all day, unable to shake off the melancholy that had settled over you.

it had all started because you wanted to watch a romantic movie, a harmless way to pass the time. but as the movie played on, you found yourself crying, wishing desperately for a happy ending like the one onscreen. you and lewis used to have those moments, those beautiful moments that now only existed in your memories.

every scene in the movie triggered a bittersweet memory. they weren't sad memories, per se, but the fact that they were over made them so. you decided it was time to stop torturing yourself, to stop watching movies that made you cry over your ex, and to simply wait for something to happen. but, of course, nothing did.

that is, until you heard a series of knocks on your door. you rushed to answer it, expecting it to be a friend or maybe your sister. but when you laid eyes on the familiar brown ones you had been crying over just hours ago, shock coursed through you.

"heeeeey," lewis slurred, clearly intoxicated. fate seemed to be playing a cruel prank on you.

you stared at him for a few moments before finally finding your voice. "what the heck are you doing here?" you asked, blocking his path from entering your home.

lewis smirked knowingly. "oh, didn't seb warn you?" he said, referring to his friend vettel, who must have sent you a message the moment he knew lewis was drunk and thinking about you.

because that's what happened when he got drunk. he'd think back to your relationship and regret every detail that had gone wrong. vettel always thought lewis would try to contact you, but he never had the courage to do it—until today.

lewis had qualified third in a race after a series of unfortunate events, finally giving him a shot at victory. but, unpredictably, he had to retire from the race on the first lap.

"I missed you." lewis confessed, leaning against your doorframe as if aware of how powerful those words were.

"you don't know what you're saying, lewis," you sighed. you had spent the last seven months dreaming of hearing those words from him, but this was not how you imagined it.

"oh, I know exactly what I'm saying. believe me," he insisted.

"you're drunk!" you retorted.

"and? that doesn't change the fact that I think about you all the time. about us. about what we used to be," he said, refusing to give up.

you stood there silently, thinking he would back off if you didn't give him a hint of what you were feeling. but of course he had other plans. you sighed and stepped back from the door, allowing lewis to enter. he leaned against the closed door, and you couldn't tear your eyes away from his.

"I miss you when I'm at the simulator, and you're not there to beat my ass. I miss you when I go to lunch and forget to eat because I'm distracted by your smile. I miss you when toto speaks german, and we don't make jokes about it. I miss you when I'm walking, and our legs aren't in sync. I miss you when I wear my hats, and you're not there to steal them. I miss you when I see a cat on the streets, and you don't try to convince me to adopt it. I miss you when Max wins, and you're not there to congratulate him."

you were rendered speechless. every word he uttered, as he gazed deeply into your eyes, pierced your heart. you couldn't look away, but you feared that if you continued to stare, you wouldn't be able to let him go.

"I know I seem drunk, but this is the most truthful thing I've said in, like, forever. it's been almost eight months, and I still miss you in everything I do," he finally stood up and, somehow, managed to get closer to you. "tell me you don't miss me, and I'll never bother you again."

you took a deep breath and locked eyes with him. it was clear he had been drinking, but not enough to make him drunk. his little play could fool everyone, but it would never fool you.

you knew you missed him with every fiber of your being, but you weren't sure if it was the right thing to say. maybe, just maybe, he needed to move on, to find someone else who fit into his life.

but then, a voice inside your head reminded you that if he hadn't moved on after seven months without any contact, he probably wouldn't after eight. you couldn't lie to him when he had been missing you relentlessly for seven months.

"I miss you when I'm doing laundry, and I don't find your shirt in the wrong basket. I miss you when I'm taking a shower and don't hear the pre-qualifying comments. I miss you when I see a Mercedes on the road. I miss you when I play uno with my friends, and you don't win. I miss you when you're racing, and I'm at home, but not because I have things to do. I miss you when I'm not missing you because of racing."

you also took a step closer to him. "then let me make you miss me the right way again, please."

as you stood there, locked in a moment of intense longing and emotion, you realized that maybe, just maybe, this was the moment you had been waiting for. lewis had come back, admitting his feelings, and you couldn't deny your own.

with tears welling up in your eyes, you took another step closer to him. in that moment, you both understood that some things were too strong to be denied or forgotten, no matter how much time had passed.

you whispered softly, "lewis, I'll miss you no matter what, so please make me miss you the right way."

lewis' eyes lit up with hope and joy, and he gently pulled you into his arms. as you embraced, you both knew that this was a chance to have a fresh start, to rebuild what you once had. it wouldn't be easy, and there were still obstacles to overcome, but you were both willing to try.

in that moment, as you held each other tightly, you realized that sometimes, fate had a way of bringing people back together, even when it seemed impossible. and maybe, just maybe, this was the happy ending you had been longing for all along.

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saturnville · 9 months ago

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t- shirt, l. hamilton

pairing: he (lewis hamilton) x malika (black fem oc) content: in which wearing his shirt brings her comfort. warnings: 18+ steam + sexual situations and descriptions song reference: t-shirt by destiny's child wc: 1.5k

In-season was her least favorite season. Sure, she enjoyed seeing her partner in his element--world champion and multi-title holder leaving his heart on the track. But, the innermost parts of her, the selfish parts of her, hated when he was gone. It had been over 14 days since she’d seen him and she was losing patience as the days went on.

She could travel financially, but leaving her students behind was not a sacrifice she could make frequently. The life of a professor, she noted. So, while he was in another country with timezone hours ahead, she sat on his side of the bed, propped against a pillow that smelled like his hair products, twiddling the rings around her left finger and staring at reruns of old reality television shows.

The quart of ice cream was long forgotten and she almost regretted finishing her chips so early on in the day. She hummed softly and tapped her fingertips against the remote, the tips of her nails singing an unclear tune.

Her phone buzzed rhythmically along the side table. Her eyes darted toward the screen. Lover flashed across the screen in bright white letters. Her heart leaped as she swiped her phone from the table and answered in one breath.

“Hi,” she greeted cheerfully. She was laser-focused on his face as it came into view. He was looking toward the right and she caught the most beautiful view of his side profile. The sun of the country he was in seemed to do him well as his complexion was deeper but just as stunning as it always had been. His earrings glistened beneath the lights of the bedside lamp. Her eyes traced the tattoo across his neck and wondered how long it’d be until she’d trace it with her lips.

“Hi, pretty girl.” The hat he wore covered his eyes, but she caught a glimpse of them as he adjusted the camera angle. They were so big and brown, just sparkling and full of contentment. Her body warmed.

She smiled bashfully and her cheeks warmed at the nickname. It would never get old and she loved it just as much as she did years ago. She propped her phone against the empty ice cream pint and shuffled toward the headboard. “How was today?”

“It was good, I can’t complain. How was yours?” He then mirrored her actions and propped his phone on a nearby surface. He looked comfy, she noted. Dressed in the sweatpants she purchased for Christmas and an oversized shirt.

“I miss you,” she said shortly. Her husband turned his head and cooed softly, reassuring her that he’d be back with her in due time. His adventures were soon ending, and within a day, he would be right where he was before he left--with her. She wasn’t amused, however. “I know, I know.”

“Cheer up, love,” he tapped the screen with his index finger. “Flight leaves soon; give me a few more hours and I’m all yours. Promise.”

She raised an eyebrow to confirm his promise. He raised his pink to the sky and brought it toward the phone. She did the same. “Promise. Get some rest, I’ll see you soon, alright? I love you.”

She exchanged the same sentiments, blew a kiss, and hung up the phone. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

Her favorite article of clothing gripped her frame in a way that reminded her of his hands. He wore a simple short-sleeved, navy blue tee shirt often, but she swiped whenever she had the opportunity. It cuffed at the sleeves and his scent was etched within the threads. Normally, the sweater fit loosely on him, but with the fullness of her hips and the plushness of her belly, it clenched her sides comfortably in a way that both he and herself enjoyed.

She was wrapped in her favorite gray blanket. It was a recent gift he bought for her at random. She remembered him telling her he was eyeing it when he was out and about and knew she’d love it, and love it she did.

She fisted the blanket underneath her chin and leaned further into her pillow, her eyes trained on the television ahead of her that was playing an episode of Graceland. The show kept her company while her husband handled business.

She hoped he would be home at a decent hour, but it was going on at midnight and she had yet to hear his car entering the garage. She sighed deeply, at least he’d have something for dinner when he came home. She had the intention of sharing a good dinner with him and cuddling the night away, but those plans were diminishing as the minutes ticked by.

Temporarily, she tore her eyes away from the television screen and swiped her hand along the bed in search of her phone. She sent him a quick text.

Malika

I miss you, baby

It took only a few moments for her phone to alert her of a message from him. A smile graced her lips.

Hubby

I miss you too. Packing up the car; I’ll be home soon. Another 30 minutes, baby.

Malika

K, be safe. I love you

Hubby

Love you more.

She then tossed her phone to the side and resumed watching her show until her husband arrived. She didn’t realize sleep almost had its grasp on her until she heard the robotic voice of the alarm system and a key rattling within the door lock. She flicked the blanket off her body and sat up slowly, stretching her tired limbs. She swung her feet over the bed and slowly padded out of the bedroom and down the dark steps.

She followed where the light led and saw her husband leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes staring at the timer on the microwave.

“Hi,” she squealed out softly, making Lewis turn his head. His braids, tied in a ponytail under his cap, swung slowly. He smiled at her, dropped his arms, and beckoned her near. “My gorgeous girl…” he said lowly, running his fingers across her sprawled hair. His hand traveled down her face and his thumb traced her lips. He leaned down and kissed her gently.

“Mhm,” she hummed. She pulled away just slightly and eyed his physique with no shame. Her husband was a good-looking man and she enjoyed basking in his beauty. He tilted his head to the side, noticing her lowering eyes and swaying body. “Sleepy?” Malika nodded. While her day wasn’t as long as his, she was tired. Being a professor wasn’t for the weak and she couldn’t be convinced otherwise.

“Get in bed, love,” he chuckled, rubbing his hands along her arms. She shook her head. “I will when you come upstairs.” She missed him so much and just wanted to be near him.

The microwave beeped behind them.

“I’ll stay down here,” Malika insisted, pulling away from him to sit at the dining room table. “tell me about your day. You raced well.”

His smile was charming as he swirled his food around with his fork and recapped the days he spent away. Of course, there was sightseeing, food tasting, drinking, and fellowship, but it was still work. So, none of the frustrations about the car, the managers, and other stressors were bypassed during their discussion. He even let it slip that a group of enchanted fans had a minuscule concept of personal space, especially about a married man. Malika shrugged. It came with the territory and as long as her husband knew how to handle it, that was her primary concern.

“Well, baby, some people are bolder than others. They can look but never can they touch.” Malika giggled, leaning forward on her elbows. He took a bite and nodded with pursed lips. He’d be damned.

Lewis leaned back in the seat and dropped his hands to his lap. He smiled for what seemed to be the hundredth time that evening. He said, “I feel like I’m talking about me too much and not enough of you. How was your day?”

Malika shook him off, enjoying hearing his voice after only getting a good morning, have a good day, and I love you before they both had to rush out of the door for their jobs. “I like hearing about your day.”

“Nothing arguing with managers and being in a hot suit for hours is amusing, baby,” he chuckled. “how’d that test go with the students?”

Malika’s students had a test over legal precedents and the historical events that prompted their passing and implementation into law. Most of them passed, which fueled her pride but also made her realize that she needed to change her methods in one way or another to ensure the other three students who struggled got the help they needed. The course was difficult and it should have been, but she was willing to make changes once she received feedback from the students.

“They did so well,” Malika gushed. “except three, so I need to talk to them, but I’m glad everything went smoothly. I was nervous, this was the first test I’ve given.” Being a new professor at the collegiate level, (after having dropped out of her doctoral program and then returning), she was nervous about how good she’d be as an educational instructor, but the growth of her students proved that she was great at her job.

Lewis caught how her eyes gleamed with pride as she spoke about and smiled softly. He was more proud of her progress over the last years, seeing that her hard work had been paid off. He took her hand into his as his lips brushed over her knuckles. “Proud of you, my love.” Malika gushed and thanked him. They spent a few minutes going into more miscellaneous details of their days before standing to take refuge in their bedroom.

His eyes followed her frame as he closed the door behind him. “Is that my shirt?” He asked, closing the door behind him. Malika turned over her shoulder with a small smile. She nodded and pulled back the comforters.

“It is,” she replied. “as much as I like it on you, I think it looks better on me.” She turned towards him. “Might look even better on the floor though.” His eyebrows lifted in interest. The look on her face was teasing. Her eyes sparkled with familiar mischief, the corner of her lips was raised, and her eyebrow quipped slightly. Her fingers danced along the hem of his shirt, curling along the edge to lift it, but, his quick strides and strong hands stopped her.

He stood in front of her at the side of the bed. He wasn’t much taller than she was, but the confidence he possessed and his muscular frame gave the allusion that he towered over her. The warmth in his eyes grew hot and flames threatened to burn her insides. She could feel her loins stir with desire the longer their eyes stayed on one another.

“You sure?” he asked, replacing her hands with his own. His palms were warm as they slid up her thighs, slid over her bottom, and gripped firmly. Her eyes fluttered closed and a whisper, yes, came from her. He hummed and hooked his finger around the thin panties that covered absolutely nothing. He pulled. She yelped. “On the bed.”

Malika moved faster than lightning. She brought her hands to her hair and prepared to pull her locs into a ponytail, but her husband’s headshake of disapproval made her arms fall. She’d forgotten how much he loved them. She laid on her back, hair sprawled against the pillows, chest heaving in anticipation, and thighs shaking from the sight of him alone.

He was now above her, pulling the black headband off his head. He tossed it across the room. His shirt followed. Malika couldn’t resist reaching out to caress his skin. Her fingertips traced the large compass in the middle of his chest. They trickled downward toward the waistband of his pants, which they tugged on roughly. “Careful, darling.” His tone was teasing but she wasn’t in the mood for games.

“Just love on me, please.” Always prepared to please, he took her hands in his, brushed his lips over the knuckles, then pulled his shirt over her body, dropping it on the floor. Even though they’d been together for years and love-making was not uncommon, he was in awe every time he looked at her. As a result, she felt shy under his gaze, still in awe about the fact that he loved her, all of her.

“I love you,” he whispered against the shell of her ear as he gave her everything she wanted. The intensity, the passion, the desire. It had her writhing and shaking beneath him, all a beautiful sight to see. Her mouth was open and her lips damp from her tongue darting out to moisturize them. Her neck stretched as she struggled to stay still, her skin decorated with small marks that would bruise by the morning. And her eyes, her big brown eyes were glossy as her end was near. “My pretty girl. You love me, baby?”

Words were caught in her throat and all she could manage was a nod. Lewis tsked. “I asked you a question, love.” He slowed his movements, which pulled a sorrowful sigh from her. His eyebrow quipped.

“Yes, yes! I love you, baby! Always…”

Her confessions brought him to an end he wasn’t expecting to reach so quickly. Malika whimpered quietly as her husband worked her down from the high she rode. Slowly, her eyes opened and he smiled dopily, caressing her lover’s face with trembling hands.

The gaze they held was filled with so much love and adoration. They looked like the lovesick teenagers they were when they met years ago, so enamored and full of one another. After some time, she said hoarsely, “I’m glad you’re home.”

He pressed his lips against her cheek. “Me too, baby.”

Surrounded by the remnants of their love-making, they found solace in each other's embrace. With whispered words of affection and tender caresses, they whispered sweet nothings to one another before fatigue covered them like a blanket. They held to each other tightly, refusing to loosen their grip. Their love would always be their sanctuary, the stronghold that kept them bound together, always.

#saturnville #black!reader #black reader #black oc #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x black reader #f1 x black!reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #lh44 #team lh44 #lh44 x reader #sir lewis hamilton #Spotify

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therealslimshakespeare · 11 months ago

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Those Who Can || integrated Female Air Force series

Introductory part 1: Flintenweiber, or “Rifle Broads”.

Summary: The American War Effort had conceded to the enlistment and commissioning of women into the Air Force at semi-integrated status. Deemed a more reliable if not safer combat post, the going rank of officer in the Air Force was intended to secure fair treatment and combatant status for these women, as it had for their male counterparts. Like most things in war -or life if one is a woman- such recognition must be fought for.

Authors Note: this is an Au, obviously, and I intend for the de-segregation in the force to not be entirely full, in fact in some ways they would mirror that of the Tuskegee Red Tails where they were held back from many opportunities and placed at a disadvantage, to say the least. However, as this is primarily a POW fic that aspect only effects their reception into the Stalag and the timeline of their crashes.

Inspo: thanks to all of y’all who contributed with suggestions and advice on this fic. I want to say that I based a great deal of the brutal treatment and indignity heaped on these fictional OC’s on the true and horrific treatment of the Soviet Female Soldiers taken as POWs. Taking into consideration that American ties would give these OC’s some leverage, I have moderated these horrors if anything, however as I intend for these girls to be some of the first of their kind, they in many ways endure the brunt of the cruel initiation. If you’ve got any questions or suggestions about this, have at the inbox.

Warnings: 18+ for disturbing content. War, brutality, cruelty, and references to sexual violence. Specifics: a woman’s head is forcefully shaved, a woman is kicked to death, a dog turned loose, concentration camps, brief infighting between Soviet’s and Americans, past tense illusions to rape which are underplayed and may be consequently more disturbing to some. Quite angsty ok?? It’s women at war. Rampant misogyny by Nazis.

Familiar faces: Gale Cleven, Benny Demarco, John Brady, “Hambone” Hamilton

Original Characters: Lt. Maureen Kendeigh (bombardier), Lt. Colonel Ida Brady, Lt. Tallulah Smith

If Maureen Kendeigh heard the word “degenerate” used one more time in regards to her profession, her sacrifice and skill, -she just might do something regrettable.

By this point she was ready to get off this cattle car and go back to talk with Interrogator Glasses about stupid and unnerving shit like why the clock in the mess hall at Thorpe Abbots had a broken arm. Her distressed inner monologue of “how did he know that??” at the time was preferred to this newest method of demoralization: death by aspersion and suspense.

It was nice to be back with the girls, ones she knew and ones from other squadrons. But that held a misfortune too, the fact that it was just the girls, still not a single male crew member in sight. Apparently the Gestapo and the Luftwaffe were having a spat over who got to keep them, these Flintenweiber: “Rifle Broads”.

In the meantime Maureen and her fellows got punted back and forth between the two institutions like unwanted stepchildren. First the horrible isolation but humane treatment of the Air Force interrogation cells. Then back to the prison where all bets were off and the hope of safety came from a herd-like defense of each other against the ever more erratic guards. In these holdings, if one of their members hadn’t been executed by a pistol to the temple by end of day, it was considered a successful defense by the whole. All other atrocity, indignity and assault were unbearable’s that required bearing for the time being until the Luftwaffe took them back.

And then handed them back over.

And on and on it went.

It was effective, Maureen gave them that, after each hosting by the Gestapo, the girls were softer, tenderized and more susceptible to any deal that might procure them a shred of honor and safety. Only Ida Brady, the most senior amongst them at the incomprehensible rank of Lt. Colonel, had held ranks together, spine of steel and bearing more terrifying than most men’s, she’d fought for every grueling respect of rank they had been afforded. Even if it landed them in harsher conditions, worse interrogations -anything to ensure that what happened to her girls were considered as war crimes against lawful combatants when the time came for justice.

But they’d been collecting the downed girls and holding them apart like prized anomalies while conflicting orders came in from Berlin, and while the Red Cross fussed regarding combatant status. Now they had a tidy number collected, well over twenty by the time Maureen saw Ida Brady pushed into the cell, having been downed with a significant portion of them after Munich.

But now they hadn’t seen Brady in over a day. Not since they’d been loaded on this rail car headed to god knows where by soldiers with the dreaded lightning bolts on their collars.

The SS.

With Brady missing, Maureen supposed that made her and Lieutenant Smith a leader of sorts. Most of her “leading” currently took the form of not responding to a single vile threat or taunt by the guards mingling amongst them in the ever rocking car. Ida would be proud of her emotionless detachment at one guard’s suggestion to let the dog loose and see who it chose to maul.

Lieutenant Smith -tender hearted Tallulah with the bronzed skin and knack with animals that rivaled Snow White’s- had made the cryptic observation in Maureen’s ear that she’d never known a dog could be trained away from the throat to go for the breasts instead.

As of last Sunday they now knew, and none of them were likely to forget.

“I’ll be faster next time,” Smith had mumbled in a simmering rage, “I’ll be faster. I’ll have my fist down that cur’s throat before they finish slipping the leash.”

It was a nice sentiment, would’ve been made more so if Maureen wasn’t so sure it would land dear Smith with a bullet in her head. Would be made more so if Sergeant Forsyth had lived from her injuries long enough to benefit from it. Lots of things would be made nicer by heavier coats and the presence of drinking water.

One of the new ones, a terrified little replacement who wore her ordeal on her face, made the rookie mistake of asking for a drink. She’d been given the predictable initiation of being pissed on by a guard in answer and now she bore her thirst as doggedly as the veterans.

When the train cars rolled to a halt, and the great door was hauled back, sprawling out before them appeared the most idyllic scenery one could ever hope for. A crystalline blue lake, dotted on its border with charming structures adorned with red tile roofs, a quaint church of the same, lush fields and sparkling water and deep forest for miles. Maureen did not think they would haul them so near a town only to execute them. But then what did she know?

Nothing, not even where she was.

When they had lined the girls up, some in worse shape than others and a motley collective group from various military branches, they hauled off Ida Brady to the head of the pack, her bruised face considerably more busted than when she’d been loaded on. Maureen could see her craning her neck as she was drug past, counting down her flyer girls, looking for any missing from the trip.

They were marched, four abreast and with guns at their backs, down a wide and well traversed road into town, past cottages on its outskirts with little garden plots and clothes blowing on the line. Maureen was reminded of the idyllic countryside she had landed in with her chute before being seized and hauled off. There were women and children in row boats on the lake and the path they took through the woods was more peaceful than ominous. A traitorous sort of hope began to bloom in Maureen’s heart.

That was dashed when the tree line broke and out before them stretched what seemed to be miles of wire. And beside it a sign, welcoming them to Ravensbrück -a concentration camp. A camp for civilians, a camp to never return from.

Their new guards were ready for them, smiles on their faces and whips in their hands. Among them were a few remarkable for their sex, they were women too -if women who enjoyed such craft could still be called that. And for all the horror inflicted on them by their male captors so far, there seemed to be a general presentment amongst the arriving girls that the finer arts of terror had not yet been endured.

Standing for hours in the infamous square inside the compound, roll call and registration took on a form of torture yet unheard of. Round and round it went, repetitions of ranks and serials over and over and each time they were met with two alternatives. Renounce the ranks and be admitted as civilians with no further targeted harassment. Or-

“If you insist on being special, we will be forced to make you special.” as one officer put it to Brady’s stone cold face. “Ask your Soviet compatriots, the ones who wanted to be special like you. They claimed to be officers too, and now they service officers in Buchenwald. They have not left their beds in months. Special, no?”

“I’m not ‘claiming’ a goddamn thing.” Brady would go round and round with them in turn and up and down the line was the echo of ranks and serials.

Nothing but ranks and serials.

The minute they dropped one or the other, they’d be freed from this standing purgatory, and they’d be as good as dead. They might wish it were so anyway, if the threat was carried out but they’d suffer as officers, with honor. Whatever that meant this far from home and any appreciation of it. A fresh batch of guards relieved the first and the banter continued, even through roll call of the general camp where a mass of the most miserable specters of female kind poured out of the huts and were made to await the call of their one single number.

A serial for a serial. Maureen would keep hers. By dawn she had kept it, as had all but one of her group, a navy nurse with a broken leg who’d succumbed to the allure of a chair.

Civilian status for a seat.

Maureen thought a drop of water might be her own undoing were it offered, but one look at Smith's cracked yet unmoving lips cemented her in her own determination. As did Ida Brady’s talk, straight back in front of her, trousers bloodied on the inseam but not a cringe to be discerned in her stance.

By morning roll call for the entire camp, their guards were tiring of them, or else thought a new method of persuasion more likely to bring success. Off they were marched to their new billet to “meet their Allies” and what Smith wouldn’t give to have her brass knuckles back when met with a hut full of Soviet soldiers. Females, if females could have shoulders like that. They were impressive women with murder on their faces at the intrusion of a new gang of American blowhards.

“Did you give up already?” The one with the most English taunted and for the first time since capture, Maureen saw Ida Brady’s spine bow backwards just a fraction -a pacifying gesture in the face of the Russian’s nose to nose staredown.

“Hey, we’re not here to make trouble.” she insisted, cool and stern. “Did you?”

“We’d rather die.”

Brady gave a sharp nod, “Then we’re Allies in that, too.”

“Your precious Red Cross won’t come for you here.” That likely verdict seemed to bring the woman satisfaction, and Maureen wondered how many months, weeks, hours of this grueling place it would take before she too took savage satisfaction in another’s misfortune. How long before all better impulse to be glad for others was stamped out and all that was left was crowing self preservation. “You are not the firsts. There were others, Americans, like you, they are now wearing the ink of field whores- or they are dead.”

“One might assume the same of your predecessors.” Brady pointed out mildy, and both groups shifted behind their leaders, ready and tense.

“Anyone who accepts-“ the Russian warned, “-we kill.”

With that incentive clear, a tentative peace was made, which included a few trying to fraternize, converse and share news. There was little that aligned to create any cohesive figure, despite their shared experiences and sufferings.

When night fell they were hauled out for roll call amongst the masses, and together after hours of waiting to be called upon, they answered with their ranks and serials, each in their own language. The Russian who had confronted Brady was beaten so badly she did not rise again after it. The guard left her lying there and asked Brady herself what her occupation was.

“Lt. Colonel in the United States Air Force.”

The unfortunate rookie who had so ill advisedly asked for water on the train stood beside Brady; and got a bullet to the head for her superior’s answer. What Colonel Brady thought of her judgment being given to another did not show, her face white and her lips sealed, only the speckle of blood on her profile stood in stark relief in the early morning.

“Kneel.” a very shiny Luger barrel was pressed, still smoking to Brady’s temple.

She did so, braced for the inevitable execution. A soldier's death, it’s what they’d signed up for. The Kommandant waved over one of the female guards and spoke to her in German. She took off at a run to one of the buildings with a bright smile, and Ida Brady stayed kneeling, the splattered brains of the unfortunate dripping out of her hair and into the leather of her jacket, a mockery of her own upcoming fate.

The female guard returned with scissors. “Your poor hair, so pretty. Now it is ruined.” the Kommandant bemoaned, gloved fingers sliding though Brady’s wet tresses, “See what happens to beauty when you pervert the order of things? Now it must be sacrificed. Perhaps then you will see how ugly you are become.”

Maureen felt Smith’s restraining arm before she had even registered her impulse to charge forward, caught about the middle she strained against her friend's surprising strength and in the end was forced thusly to keep ranks and watch with the rest as the Nazis fucks scalped the Colonel of her femininity with a pair of sheep shears.

Dribbling blood down her face and shaking with rage, Ida was in better shape than her Russian counterpart. When her ordeal was over, she rose again, even if she swayed dangerously upon doing so.

And when asked, she had her serial at the ready.

Crowded back into the hut, Maureen and Smith watched the Russians hopelessly fuss over their insensible leader, knowing all too well how likely it might be that they could be found doing the same tomorrow, in a week’s time, who knew. For now, Brady sank down against the wall with the rest of them, the scowl of her formidable brows deflecting any potential commiserations for her battery.

When the navy nurse was pushed into their hut next evening, a dead silence greeted her. One of the Soviets, a sniper by her markings, came up to her and unceremoniously tore open her shirt. If the girls had doubted the Russian’s warning about “wearing the ink of field whores” upon their skin as mere hyperbole, such speculation was removed. It was a dreadful tattoo, large and damning as was the reaction it elicited amongst the servicewomen.

By the end of the night there were two dead bodies on the hut floor. And it didn’t seem to matter who had killed which. One had died for honor, the other for giving it up. And in the end? Where was this ephemeral honor? Ida Brady could only find it in the tense faces of her girls, lining the room from their places along the wall, waiting for another roll call or worse.

But in war, as in peace, sometimes the dead sent favors and in this instance it came to them with screams of:“Amerikaner Soldat!” in the middle of the night. They were marched out to the square and stood to attention once more in the sweep of the spotlight, all the while were shouts of “Amerikaner Soldat!”

All they knew was the bitter waiting in the gray dawn chill and the choking anticipation of some sick, final joke, or some methodical mass execution. Maureen wished she could knock her shoulder into Ida’s one last time and tell her she’d been a rock -she was a rock- but Brady stood there in front alone, as was her privilege and her curse. Talullah Smith would not meet Maureen’s side eyed glance for a farewell. Maureen wished she had less of a roar inside her, wished she could step off calmly into whatever was on the other side but the idea was repulsive, even after all she’d endured, and she looked about in vain for some semblance of the same revolt on her fellow’s faces.

What came instead was the dreaded whistles and the order to march. They were marched right out of the gates and down the idyllic lane they’d been marched up days ago, back through town to the railway station. There the soldiers herded them back up into a cattle car that smelled more of death than livestock, and then the train pulled away, hurtling south -perhaps the only one to do so with living cargo.

There were no guards inside the car, only the cramped space to keep them docile and the lack of promise that the great door would ever grind open again.

“The hell do you think happened?” Maureen hissed to Ida, finding her superior propped up in the corner in a suspiciously casual pose that she suspected hid a limp and unfathomable fatigue.

“Haven’t got a clue, Kendeigh.”

“Maybe someone got word out.” Maureen suggested, thinking of their predecessors, thinking of the useful dead.

“Or we’re headed to a nice rural dumping ground.” was all Ida would speculate. “Or brothels.” she added after a long minute.

Maureen chewed her cheek and kept peering out the slats at the beautiful countryside flashing past. “Well, at least they’ve ensured you’ll be least wanted of the bunch at such an establishment.” she joked and watched with the careful precision of a trained bombardier as her mean joke landed and Ida Brady’s legendary eyebrow ticked up in something that might have been amused disbelief, had she any energy left for such a display.

“Pistol whipped in the mouth and still no respect for rank, Kendeigh.” Brady observed and it was so like her brother John’s flat lined humor that Mauren’s heart throbbed with something alarmingly akin to sentimentally. For John Brady -and all the other lucky souls still at Thorpe Abbots, God willing. “I’m not laying on any damn beds for them.” Brady suddenly broke the silence again in a low voice, one Maureen knew was meant between officers only.

She pitched her head closer in agreement. “Me either.”

“I don’t care if they shoot me first,” Ida went on, as if reciting it to herself, “-and I don’t care if they shoot all of you first. I’m not going to.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.” Maureen agreed again, vacillating briefly in her intent before proceeding to say, “That Sergeant -she wasn’t your fault. The nurse either.”

“I know that Lieutenant.”

“I know you know,” Maureen muttured, “but some stuff bears repeating. Places like these, we’re liable to lose our bearings without a little repetition.”

“Mm.”

Maureen shuffled beside her and wracked her brain for pleasant conversation, something besides the Soviet girls they’d abandoned and the skeletons they’d seen at Ravensbrück. “Ya know,” she remarked tiredly, “if someone in here’s hydrated enough to pee, I might be ready to drink it.”

Brady slowly turned from her view out the slats to give Maureen a blank faced stare. “Should I make an announcement or are you hoping to keep that between us?”

“Oh hell, Colonel,” Maureen grinned, mischief bubbling to the surface at the first chance, “I wouldn’t trust anyone else but you, liable to get stds from this lot.”

“Kendeigh.” Ida hissed warningly but there was that disbelieving wobble to her stern mouth, “That’s not funny -not with where we’ve come from.”

“It kinda is.”

“It’s not.”

“It is- a little. Admit it, a little.”

“It’s not.” And still her cheeks were pink with suppressed amusement, just like John’s got when Maureen pressed him on a dig about basic training.

“You sure you’re ok?” she ventured again, eyeing Brady’s extensive injuries visible above her clothes.

“Yeah?” Ida looked nonplussed, “I mean -what’re you ranking as ok, these days, Lt. Kendeigh?

“It’s just,” Maureen bit her own busted tongue briefly as a spur to get it out,

“-you’re bleeding a lot, Ida. Couldn’t help but notice.”

Ida Brady didn’t even glance down at her trousers or make a motion to feel her lacerated scalp, instead she answered in the same, almost bored way she always did, “Yeah, Candy, it’s called being a good Catholic.”

Maureen blinked. “Oh. Oh Shit.”

“You know, maybe some of you girls had the right of it,” Ida actually winced before staring back out the slats, “go off and do it ahead, in peacetime. But here I am, twenty seven and as sacrosanct as the Virgin Mary, dropping into occupied territory. What could go wrong!” To her credit, her snort was wonderfully genuine.

Maureen kept after her, “You signed up to fight, to get fought against. We all did -never this.”

“Mm, well, couldn’t choose a better gang to get put down with.” Brady smiled, begrudgingly raising an imaginary glass of her own to Maureen’s already raised one.

“To bitches who bite back.” Maureen toasted.

“To bitches who bite back.”

——————————————————-

Two cases of MIA troubled John Brady the most: Egan, who he had seen jump first after their dispute, and Maureen Kendeigh who he had learned from Blakely had jumped over Bremman. That’s two flyers who should’ve been here by now, before him even, in the case of Kendeigh, and yet they weren’t.

He went round and round the argument with Cleven and Crank and Hambone, all three downed from separate missions yet here together - proving his point. Cleven held staunchly to the belief they were being kept segregated, as befitted their ranks and sex. They could be one sector apart and not hear of them. It was the only hopeful response, it was a leader’s response. There had been women downed before Kendeigh, not many but a few of the escort fighters, and none of them had showed either. Brady wasn’t sure that was a good sign at all.

“So where’s Egan then?” he’d always hit back with, “They mistake his shoulders’ for a dame’s?”

“I dunno John.” Cleven would reply with that newly blank gaze of his somehow enhanced by the twin cuts on his cheeks.

Demarco took Brady aside when he arrived to tell him that whatever had happened to Cleven in interrogation wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t ethical. Those cheek scars weren’t both due to flack. Like a dog with a bone, Brady took this already suspected information about his stoic superior and ran with it, pointing out hotly to an uninterested Demarco, “if it’s happened to Cleven, what about them?”

“What can we do about it?” Was Cleven’s demand that always wrapped up the little circular arguments as they sat huddled in their hut. “Red Cross knows they’re not here, no colored flyers either. They know where they are. What can we do besides ask after them?”

He was right, there wasn’t anything, but still, like a presentiment hung over him, Brady found himself leaning on the wire each time a new batch was marched in, counting heads and scanning faces.

“Ida hasn’t even been shot down, John.” Crank kindly reminded again and again.

“As of two weeks ago.” John snapped.

As of two weeks, and then as of three, and then it became four and -where the hell was Kendeigh? Gale had stopped arguing when the subject came up, apparent but impotent fury slowly racking his wiry frame, face gone wane already above his grimey fleece collar. Winter wasn’t even here and they were fading.

And then it happened, what John had been waiting by the fence for, and boy was there a crush at the wire to see them marched in when they came up the muddy enclosure through the gates.

“The fuck are they bringing the women here for?”

“They don’t belong in here, bastards!”

“Ar’those Brady’s Banshees?”

“They’re not gonna hold ‘em here are they?”

Like he’d been reanimated by the presence of a cause, Major Cleven cut his way through the rabble to the front, addressing the German officer escorting them.

“Hey, hey you can’t bring them in here. They’re women, they belong in their own section.”

“If they are women,” the Commandant pointed out, not unkindly, “then perhaps your country should have recognized that before enlisting them? They belong here.”

Cleven shook his head, vehement in his conventions and rules, “It’s not right, you know it’s not.”

“Then tell your Lt. Colonel to stop fighting for combatant status.” he jerked his chin towards Ida Brady and Gale’s eyes widened at her injuries and tufted hair, “The SS had them tucked away at our most prestigious female camp. But they would not accept. They want to be men.”

“Combatants!” Gale argued the point Ida had been making since her feet touched occupied soul.

John Brady yanked his arm, whispering urgently in his ear, “She’s makin’ sign to me, torture, she says. Don’t fight it, Buck.”

Cleven searched the battered faces, some he knew like Ida, T.Smith and Maureen, and some from other squadrons, -ones who must’ve been damned unlucky to get captured considering their safer postings.

“If it can happen to you it c-“ John Brady was a bit of a pain in the ass, Cleven had found, but he had never found him to be wrong.

“Roger, loud and clear, captain.” Cleven warned him his point was made with a bite in his own tone.

“Have we come to an understanding?” The Commandant, amused by the fluster his female charges had caused, it was ample proof that women could never be fully integrated, not even by a society so pervertedly equal as the American’s. “Ja? Sehr gut. It wasn’t like you had a choice anyway, was it?

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Feedback is a writer’s life blood, let me hear your thoughts and screams, they mean so much to me.

We have so many prompts already thrown around for this AU, I can’t wait to explore them, and I welcome any more if you have them.

Taglist (if you’d like to be added please drop a note below):

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

@storysimp

@javden

@sexualparkour

@jointherebellion215

@sunny747

@ask-you-what-sir

@xxanaduwrites

@pretty4u

@yorkshirekiwi

@waitedforlove743

@elvismylove04

@blikebarbie92

@luminouslywriting

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mmmcchicken · 4 months ago

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I'm dropping (a bit old) john laurens yap here. Please correct anything you must + provide the source.

and we know very limited about John but whatever !!

Laurens was described by Hamilton to have honey blonde hair when clean. His hair was generally said to be light brown/blonde. As seen on portraits, he had soft features, blue eyes, and a big nose. He was described to be very handsome, and IMO I agree!! We don't know exactly how tall he was, but he was most likely over 6 feet. One day before Laurens' 15th birthday, his father wrote to James Grant; ''my Little Jack, now as big as I am...'' (Jack being John's nickname). We don't know Henry Laurens' height, but if he was as tall as Henry at 15, he certainly grew to be taller. In 1778, Henry wrote to John ''A Taylor has cut off as much of your Scarlet as will make he says a Wascoat for 6 feet 3 inches...'' which suggests that John could have been 6'3. It's not clear what exactly Henry means in the letter but as said, John was probably over 6 feet. Laurens was one of the strongest abolitionists of the time despite coming from one of the bigger slave plantations and growing up where slavery was normal. John could speak English, French, Italian, Greek, Spanish and Latin. We know that he was fluent in English and French but we don't know about his fluency in the other languages.

Laurens got Martha Manning pregnant and ended up marrying her out of pity (supposedly to protect her reputation too and to keep illegitimacy of their child.) He wrote to his uncle ''...Pity has obliged me to marry...'', When Laurens left for war, he left his pregnant wife in another country. When John was chosen by congress to be a special minister to France and had him travel there, Martha traveled with their daughter to reconnect with him upon hearing about his arrival in France. But John supposedly made no effort whatsoever to visit them; he completed his mission and went back to America. Martha later died during the trip and their daughter, Frances, was sent to live with her aunt.

John Laurens is believed to have been gay... The man didn't seem to express any attraction towards women, though I think his sexist beliefs played a role in this, as well as his lack of effort to humble his wife. His letters to Alexander Hamilton, and Francis Kinloch also suggest he had an eye for men... ESPECIALLY Kinloch's and his correspondence.

Henry Laurens wrote ''Master Jack is too closely wedded to his studies to think about any of the Miss Nanny's''. But it's important to note that he was a teenager at that time and not every teen develops those feelings at the same time. But I would imagine that since he was as tall as his father at 15, he was early in puberty... Romantic/sexual feelings usually come with puberty, but what do we know? Anyways. John expressed a lot of sexist opinions, even towards his own sisters, which can be read in letters. Most men were sexist, but John seemed to be more ''strict'' on the subject... This definitely plays a part in his supposed ''homosexuality''.

John hid the fact that he had a wife and child from Hamilton for nearly two years. Why? The reason is unknown. It's only up to debate. My guess is that he just wanted to try to ''forget'' them in some way, seeing as he literally left them... Why would you bring up that you have a family that you abandoned? But maybe it was because he never found the right time to tell him, or was it to get a better chance with Hamilton? We will never know, sadly. But what we DO know, is that Laurens referred to his wife as ''dear girl'', and Hamilton, and supposedly ONLY Hamilton, as ''Dear boy''. We know for a fact that Hamilton was close to Laurens and was special to him, but why did he call his wife that? Out of pity? He didn't necessarily show any real attraction towards her... But whatever the reason is, it's kinda cute.

We know that Henry Laurens was emotionally manipulative of John, which is like read in letters... So there is no denying that, really. BUT John was close to his father, attachment issues tsk, tsk tsk... But jokes aside, when John told his father that he wasn't super interested in becoming a lawyer or merchant like his father wanted, Henry wrote this to his brother; ''if he enters upon the plan of Life which he Seemed to pant for when he wrote the 5th. July, I Shall give him up for lost & he will very Soon reproach himSelf for his want of Duty & affection towards me, for abandoning his Brothers & Sisters, for disregarding the Council of his Uncle, & for his deficiency of common understanding, in making Such a choice_ if these reflections prevail not over him, nothing will_ he must have his own way & I must be content with the remembrance, that I had a Son.'' Basically, Henry said he would disown John if he pursued his interests in medicine. So, John ended up becoming a lawyer/statesman to please his father. There are more examples of John trying to please his father, but let's not take that now... HOWEVER, after John had died, Henry wrote of him in response to John Adams' letter; ''Thank God I had a Son who dared to die in defence of his Country'' ... We get a lot of mixed signals from Henry... Though I do believe he loved him, at least somewhat.., even if he was controlling/manipulative. Henry wasn't too nice to his other children either, but since this is about John I'm not gonna talk about that.

John's brother James died at the age of 9-10 (1765-1775)

James, or Jemmy, was supposedly scaling the outside of their house and tried to jump to the landing outside of John’s window but fell. He received life threatening injuries and cracked his skull. The doctors had figured that the injuries were too severe to save him and John described it to his uncle four days later; "At some Intervals he had his senses, so far as to be able to answer single Questions, to beckon to me, and to form his Lips to kiss me, but for the most part he was delirious, and frequently unable to articulate. Puking, Convulsions never very violent, and latterly so gentle as scarcely to be perceived, or deserve the Name, ensued, and Nature yielded."

Since John was supposed to watch over James during this time, John felt guilty and as if it was his fault. James' death was very difficult for John, and it weighed heavily on him.

Henry did little to alleviate those feelings of guilt, which suggests that he either didn't care enough, or that a part of him also blamed John. (I am not saying he 100% did, but it would not be surprising if he so did, considering how he treated John.)

He could also have been in too much grief to console John... Which, as said, would not be too surprising considering his treatment of John. But nevertheless, he did not do much to help John and John's guilt.

TW: mentions of suicide.

It is highly speculated that John was suicidal. We have a couple of written exchanges where John discusses suicide with friends and family. In February 1774, John wrote to Henry Laurens about two men who had attempted suicide. We don't have the whole letter, but here is a part of Henry's response; ''...But, my Dear Son, I trust that your opinion on that Question is So firm, that you are armed with Such irrefragable proofs of the Impiety as well as Cowardice of Self Murther, as puts you out of danger of being made a Convert to Error...'' (Not gonna put all of it). Another time, when John was a prisoner of war and didn't handle imprisonment well, Hamilton wrote to John ''For your own sake, for my sake, for the public sake, I shall pray for the success of the attempt (of being exchanged) you mention; that you may have it in your power to act with us. But if you should be disappointed, bear it like a man; have recourse, neither to the dagger, nor to the poisoned bowl, nor to the rope.'' It is clear that Hamilton (and Henry, despite how he treated John) were worried about John's thoughts of suicide. John's last letter to Hamilton was probably one of the, if not the, most emotional. He wrote ''Adieu, my dear friend; while circumstances place so great distance between us, I entreat you not to withdraw the consolation of your letters. You know the unalterable sentiments of your affectionate Laurens.'' John died about a month later. On the day of his death, John and his men surprised a troop of British soldiers that outnumbered them. Instead of retreating, John chose to immediately attack. He did not really actively end his own life, though it seems as if it was planned or that he was trying. Which is just sad. Also, it's not sure that Hamilton's last letter to Laurens ever got to him before he died. (In that letter he tells John to quit his sword and come to congress with Hamilton)

I don't know what else to add actually but here you have it!! This is as accurate as I can get it, especially cause it's like mostly based on letters... Uhm. But yay!

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desmon1995 · 15 days ago

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Derailed: The Anthem of Anxiety

Derailed this is more often than not held as at least one of the top five songs from the album and I wanted to make an ode to it to analyze I think why it's easily one of the best songs that shows that LMM and Eisa Davis are masters of their craft.

*Derailed* hits like a warped reflection of one of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s iconic madrigals—the kind where overlapping voices collide into a storm of sound and emotion. If it had a kindred spirit, it might be *Blackout* from *In the Heights*, but twisted into something darker, more unhinged, like anxiety given a melody.

What makes *Derailed* particularly striking is how it opens from Cleon’s first-person perspective, recounting the moment her life was literally and figuratively derailed at a train in Dekalb. If we assume the album takes place in the same gritty 1979 as the film, it’s tempting to link Cleon’s story to the infamous 1961 train derailment at Lincoln Highway and Fourth Street. The idea of her being a child caught in the chaos is a chilling one, though history complicates the narrative—this wasn’t a passenger train, and the only children involved were in cars nearby, not on board. Still, the imagery of that disaster looms large, adding an eerie layer of plausibility to Cleon’s backstory.

The crash out Cleon is having is understandable considering she saw one of her inspiration Cyrus gets shot in the head and she managed to actually witness Luther committing the murder.

(also note the Davis stated that she sprinkled some Hamilton references throughout this song and the world falls down is the first one).

I think this is where one of the more compelling parts happens because Luther and by extension his gang begin to rally everybody around the idea that the Warriors are the ones who diced Cyrus.

Musically, we can hear just how powerful Luther's voice is because this song shifts into being a Black Sabbath styled riff that has the honor of being the first time Rock being introduced into the album.

I wanted to hone in on this that Luther and by extension the cops are defined by rock and roll/metal is another really clever use of thematic storytelling.

For those who may not know, these genres WERE CREATED BY POC, primarily African Americans with Chuck Berry being the father of rock and roll along with big mama thornton, and heavy metal owing its creation to Jimi Hendrix.

Luther and his gang were given a seat at the cookout and metaphorically and literally used that opportunity to devastate said community with a full-blown hate crime while simultaneously appropriating something from that culture as if it's theirs.

Tangent asid, Luther takes advantage of all of the chaos and blames the Warriors which all of the predominant male gang members just follow because at the end of the day the loudest white voice in the room will always be a guiding voice unknowing or not in a very eurocentric country.

if you watch the movie, Cleon is literally being attacked by the Rouges and Griffs because she can't really see a place to escape and as she's being overpowered she yells for the Warriors to escape.

I do find an interesting that both Swan and Ajax are both the ones coordinating the girls through all the chaos with Ajax telling everybody to stay down and Swan trying to find an opening for them to escape.

Cochise seems to be the primary muscle during this portion as well.

Something I didn't really noticed until I actually looked at the lyric video today was that in the background you can hear the other gang saying things like " Cyrus GOES DOWN and Sirens" which is really neat.

Derailed is also super important because it's the one that introduces all of the motifs of the various characters.

Ajax near the end laments that she hates running, Luther as I said, is in the background yelling that Cyrus went down which foreshadows his own song going down, and then there's Fox's character Arc.

Fox’s melody and lyrics here are both reprised in Reunion Square, where the words ‘we’ and ‘us’ are changed to ‘I’ as Fox fights the cop; interesting to note that the cop also sings this melody underneath Fox in Reunion Square, harmonising to show that he, too, has only one goal – survival – in that moment.

Pippa Soo is the phenomenal actress that plays both Eliza Hamilton and Fox, and in many ways these characters mirror one another since both of them want to keep their loved ones alive but Fox sort of pulls a Philip Hamilton because Fox starts off as being kind of the most haughty of the Warriors and as noted on the reddit, she even speaks in a much more sultry voice during her Cypher verse and to make yourself seem on the level as her older sisters (she seems to be trying to emulate Ajax).

Another thing that I want to comment on is the Griff's " WHO WILL SAVE US"

This cry could be said to draw a comparison between Cyrus and a messiah figure like Jesus.The vision she shared with the crews of the 5 boroughs promised them a city they could feel safe in if they trust in each other, similar to the promise Jesus makes to deliver the Israelites to a land of milk and honey if they trust in him (Exodus 3:8 KJV). She also encourages them to view each other as brothers and sisters under this new truce and to protect each other accordingly – also similar to how those who follow the will of God are viewed as brothers and sisters in the eyes of Jesus (Matthew 12:48-50). Overall, this vision promised some form of salavation for the crews of New York just as a messiah promises salvation to their people.The fact that the Riffs ask who will save them now suggests they viewed Cyrus as their messiah for a promised future and that without her, that future is lost.

Masai largely echoes the sentiment later on in " Still Breathing" were after he finishes beating up Cleon he ends up puking his emotions out.

It's been talked about the death, but I feel like at that point Cyrus and the fact that you was a woman did it register she ended up becoming something completely non-binary, a symbol.

While the way her game went about it was completely wrong, it shows that her spirit can metaphorically be embodied by anybody regardless of who they are but it seems like most of the gangs saw her as more than your average woman which mistakenly causes them to revert back to punching down on others like marginalize women.

The song ends with Luther chanting his iconic "Warriors come out and play" as the Warriors run away through the cemetery.

Although you can't see it, in the movie Cleon completely dismantle Luther which again foreshadows what's about to happen to him later on.

Luther for whatever reason has headcannoned the Warriors is being a bunch of weak little girls that are running away for their lives but in actuality they're a pride of lionesses the know how to maneuver their way through tough situations even when society is beating them throughout the night.

He finds out the hard way when he and Crosby ride into their den on Coney Island and Swan gives him a one-sided beatdown.

And that's the analysis.

Derailed is incredibly loaded in a good way and out of literally any musical number I've seen for a while does a great job of establishing everything without beating you over the head.

#warriors musical #lin manuel miranda #eisa davis #Derailed has me in a chokehold

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ilovemenlolz · 4 months ago

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! MY INTRODUCTION !

Hello hello there !! Thanks for dropping by :D

My name is Nathan, but I go by Nikou / N as well!

• I use he/they pronouns, as well as any neopronouns ! (I'm trans as well :D)

• I am a minor, so please act accordingly around me .

• I have autism, I apologize in advance if I come off as rude / overly annoying at times ... I'd also prefer to have tonetags used while talking to me ! /nf

• I'm an artist, but I also enjoy singing, voice acting (not professionally.), acting in general, analyzing, and I write! I'm not sure if I'll ever post my works here, as I ... Am really not confident in my ability to write characters that aren't my own. But-- Who knows !! I'll definitely post an analysis or two at some point ... hopefully ......

(Current) hyperfixations ! :

Danganronpa Despair Time, Tetro Danganronpa Pink, Alien Stage, Moriarty The Patriot, Ace Attorney.

Other interests include ! :

Bang Dream! Girls Band Party, Project Sekai: Colorful Stage, vocaloid, OMORI, Pokemon, Process of Elimination, Project: Eden's Garden, Danganronpa Another, MILGRAM, Total Drama Island, Steven Universe, Genshin Impact, Death Note, Blooming Panic, SeekL, A Date with Death, Sims, Doki Doki Literature Club, Mouthwashing, Holostars, Hololive, VShojo, Meadowlark, Dungeons and Dragons, Cradle (on book 6 currently), The Golden Idol, Escape The Night, Ramshackle, musicals (Hamilton, SIX, Heathers, Mean Girls, Ride The Cyclone, ect.), true crime, and probably some more things that I forgot ...

Content creators I enjoy watching ! :

CarynandConnie, Smosh, Shooshimooshi, Save Data, FunkyFrogBait, Kubz Scouts, Rotten Mango, Game/Film Theory, CyYu, Amalee, Markiplier, Dropout . . . there's so many those are the main ones rn ..

Music I listen to ! :

Mitski, Will Wood, Jhariah, TV girl, The Crane Wives, Will Stetson, Laufey, Rio Romeo, Yaelokre, Steven Universe soundtracks, Mother Mother, Liana Flores, Ricky Montgomery, Bo Burnham, Sushi Soucy, Jack Stauber, vocaloid, musicals, MARINA, Pomplamoose, Miracle Musical, Kaden Mackay, Ado, Phantom Siita, ATARASHII GAKKO, Mori Calliope, Emei, Random Encounters, Leo., Shayfer James, Lemon Demon, Fish in a Birdcage, Beabadoobee, Chappell Roan, Penelope Scott, Conan Gray, YOASOBI, and. Again. A lot more. My Spotify is linked below if someone's actually curious as to what I listen to / check out my oc playlists (#shamelessplug)

Characters I kin ! :

Refer to list above .

(Akito and Ena Shinonome, Furina, Shiho Hinomori, Chiba Airi, Ace Markey, Charles Cuevas, Monika (ddlc), Miles Edgeworth, Shidou Kirasaki.)

OTHER PLACES WHERE YOU CAN FIND ME ! :

The easiest way to reach out to me is through discord, nikou.nathan .

↓ MY YOUTUBE !!! I post skit animatics (for now?)

DNI criteria + what makes me uncomfortable.

DNI:

Anyone under 13.

People who are: racist, homophobic, transphobic, ableist, ect.

Things that make me uncomfortable:

Graphic descriptions / imagery of pills and needles.

NSFW jokes made about me. (In general, I don't mind them much. Depending on the situation.)

Telling me to end my life if you are not a very close friend.

All in all, I'm just a nerd . And a loser .

Don't be afraid to shoot me a DM anywhere, or ask to be mutuals / friends !! :D I'd love to !!

! THANK YOU FOR READING <3 !

#introduction #looking for moots #looking for mutuals #looking for friends

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historyisdefgay · 7 months ago

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LAMSSSSS

Idfk understand how people say Laurens and Hamilton were “platonic” like there is so much proof they were more than friends!!!

First of all the way Hamilton ended his letters to Laurens WAS NOT PLATONIC;

April, 1779- Yours.

May 22d.1779-Affectionately Yrs.

September 11, 1779- Yrs most sincerely

January 8 1780- Adieu God preserve and prosper you

March 30, 1780-Yr. Affectionate

June 30, 1780- Adieu God bless you.

September 12, 1780-Adieu

September 16, 1780-Adieu, be happy, and let friendship between us be more than a name

February 4, 1781- Adieu

August 15, 1782- Yrs for ever

Yes some of these are regular ways to end a letter but he also referred to Laurens as “my dear Laurens” now I may be being delulu but that’s GAY, cause he didn’t refer to his other friends like that 😐😐😐

And can we talk about his letter he wrote April 1779

HE LITERALLY YAPS ABOUT HOW MUCH HE LOVES LAURENS LIKE 😭😭😭 they were so cute help.

And the way Laurens last letter to Ham he said how he was sad about Hamilton stepping down from public service proves he cares about him even though they’d barely talked that year, than HAMILTON RESPONDS WITH THAT HE WAS HAPPY TO GET LAURENS LETTER. Than Hamiltons like you should do politics with me AND THAN ENDS THE LETTER WITH “Yrs for ever” an than there’s a chance Laurens never got this letter 💔💔💔 that’s the worst part

BUT THIS IS MY PROOF THEY HAD SOMETHING I LITERALLY HAVE LIKE 4 PARAGRAPHS IM MY NOTES ON MY PHONE YAPPING ABOUT THIS😭❤️❤️❤️

#historical lams #history #alexander hamilton #john laurens #amrev fandom #cute asf #hamilton musical #hamilton ships #history nerd #historical hamilton

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gracehosborn · 10 months ago

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Super Random Food For Thought:

@icarusbetide’s Edward Stevens AU post earlier got me to reread Stevens’ earliest surviving letter to Hamilton from December of 1777. Every time I reread this letter (and often, which I shall explain), I’m always struck by this one portion:

Why have you not written me a single Line since our Separation? Has your Anxiety for publick Affairs entirely eradicated from your Mind all remembrance of your private Concerns? Or have you forgotten those Vo⟨ws⟩ of eternal Friendship, which we have so often mutually exchanged? I am perfectly at a Loss I assure you, my Dr: Hamilton, to account for your Silence. I have written you frequently, and, as I know that you was at a Distance from New York, enclosed your Letters to some of our common Friends in that City, and requested them to transmit them to you.

“To Alexander Hamilton From Edward Stevens [23 December 1777],” The Papers of Alexander Hamilton, Volume I: 1768-1778 Ed. Harold C. Syrett, Columbia University Press, 1961, pp. 369-371. [Founders Online Link]

All I’m left to always ask is: what happened here? Did Hamilton in fact write to Stevens and his letters just miscarried across the Atlantic? Did Hamilton intentionally not write to Stevens? If so, why? Stevens left for Edinburgh after graduating from King’s College in 1774 to pursue further education, so this places this letter about three years later. That’s a significant amount of time and explains Stevens’ emphasis on Hamilton’s silence as seen above. We have later letters that Stevens wrote to Hamilton, but beyond Hamilton’s initial surviving letter to him (the famous “I wish there was a War” letter), there are no other letters written from Hamilton to Stevens that were printed in The Papers of Alexander Hamilton (see here).

The reason I’ve read this letter so many times is due to TAI which may be a bit silly. This letter is grouped with a couple of others in what I like to personally refer to as the “pillar letters” that have informed my creative decisions for the main arc of Volume I and to that end, part of the larger arc for the rest of the series. A few of these include the previously mentioned war letter, Hamilton’s letter to Laurens of April 1779, a letter Hamilton wrote Robert Troup in 1795, and some others but this is besides the point.

Of course, The American Icarus is fictional and thus I’ve decided that Hamilton simply ignoring Stevens is an interesting take to explore and build part of a character arc from, but historically speaking, I just have too many questions.

The fact that Stevens (more than once) addresses Hamilton as “my dear Hamilton” in this letter I s also interesting to note, but there’s not really much to conclude there. This post in its entirety is inconclusive, but as I said at the top this is just my food for thought.

#grace’s random rambles #alexander hamilton #the american icarus #TAI #edward stevens #amrev #amwriting #historical letters #the papers of alexander hamilton

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crazychaoticizzy · 1 year ago

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Good Grief

Sometimes the things that seem good for us is what gives us the most grief, and that is why we should always think through our choices.

Or, when the love you once shared begins dwindling away, when he begins putting his work above everything else, what do you do?

ERWIN SMITH X READER

CONTENT: canonverse, part 1 is mostly fluff and exposition, angst, fade to black, teenage pregnancy and marriage, unplanned pregnancy, smut (later, not between minors), angst with a happy ending (depending on how you look at it, MINORS DNI

CURRENT WORD COUNT: 26,180

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this was an idea I had while listening to the Hamilton soundtrack, so that is where some inspiration is taken from. I also used a lot of music references (especially Leanna Firestone) while writing and slipped a couple lyrics into the story. this story has taken me a long time to complete, and i thank everyone for their patience while I finish it I hope you all enjoy this and please leave likes, comments and reblogs <3

Part I - 15.6k words

Part II - 10.5k words

Part III - coming soon

My pain’s a testament to how much you meant to me I know it wouldn't be this hard if it wasn't good grief I hope you know that I loved you more than anything I hope you know that I love you more than anything And it wouldn't hurt this bad if it wasn't good grief -Leanna Firestone

#izzy’s imagines ❀#attack on titan #aot #erwin smith #erwin smith x reader #erwin smith x you #erwin x reader #snk erwin #attack on titan erwin #commander erwin #aot erwin #erwin smut

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luxaryllis · 1 year ago

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It's Quiet Uptown

Note: Okay, I know I have a bunch of requests in my inbox, and I'm so sorry BUT!! I got into a Hamilton phase and now, you all are gonna have to bear with it with a songfic.

Also, for the sake of this fic (and for my convenience), I'll refer to Vil's father as his stage name, Eric.

This takes place at the first alternate ending of my Vil's Younger Sibling fic. Find that here, but it's part of a series, so keep that in mind!

(tagging: @dr3amscap3)

Warning/s: Angst no fluff, Death, Slight spoilers for Chapter 6, Canon divergence, Spoilers for Chapter 5, My attempts to change some lyrics to fit the situation

Vil's fingers press on the piano keys, his hands already knowing the notes and chords of every part of the song. Every cue to step on the pedal. From his posture to the elegance of his fingers, nobody would have thought that Vil was grieving.

There are moments that the words don't reach

There is suffering too terrible to name...

It had become almost habitual at this point, keeping up a mask to hide his true emotions. It was a skill actors and models always had to have, after all.

He just has to look perfect. No emotion, not even a flicker, not even the tiniest amount of weakness must be shown. Nothing must be out of place.

He is perfect. He needs to be perfect. He is fine. He's moved on. His past is behind him. He needs nothing else, no one else.

He is whole...

The door opens, a small creak and a set of footsteps signifying the entrance of someone. Weary and puffy purple eyes look at Vil as he plays the piano. The sight was normal all the time, but Eric can't help but feel that something was missing.

In the Schoenheit household, the sound of piano chords was always accompanied with the sound of violin strings. Vil and his younger sibling would always be playing music together. And Eric loved coming home to hear the sounds his children would make together.

But [Name] wasn't here. They no longer are here, and perhaps that is why the sound of the piano on its own never felt right. The violin in the corner of the room is untouched, left in its case all in the back of the room.

Eric walks closer to Vil and the piano, listening and lightly humming along with the music. The two stop for a moment, expecting a certain violinist play a wrong note or add a new melody. [Name] always changed the line, they changed the melody every time.

But there was nothing. Just silence.

Vil buries his face in his father's chest, his tears soiling Eric's dress shirt, but the man couldn't care less. Eric pats his son's back, running a hand through his hair in the hopes of soothing his eldest son.

You hold your child as tight as you can

And push away the unimaginable

Eric doesn't cry. He can't cry. Not right now, when Vil need him to be strong. It tires him to cry, but it tires him even more having to acknowledge the truth every day.

There are moments when you're in so deep

It feels easier to just swim down

...

The Schoenheits give up their crown

And learn to live with the unimaginable

Vil heaves a sigh as he walks around town. Eric had pushed him to take a stroll, perhaps to try taking his mind off of everything. Eric had a waver to his voice that made Vil know that his father only made him go out the house so the man could cry on his own.

I spend hours in the garden

I walk alone to the store

The hustle and bustle of the town was normal, everyone was living their lives. The townspeople had gotten used to having the Schoenheit family just nearby, and mostly left them unbothered. It was a slow and silent day, to Vil at least.

From one of the houses nearby, a certain wolf beastman looks out the window, seeing the model walk past. Jack can't help but frown a bit, watching how Vil walks and stands tall, but his eyes have a faraway look to them.

And it's quiet uptown

I never liked the quiet before

Vil plops down a bouquet of [Name]'s favorite flowers by the tombstone, taking a clean rag and wipes the grave meticulously. There was barely any dust or dirt on it, thanks to Vil's weekly visits, but he couldn't stop himself.

I visit their grave on Sunday

Placing some flowers on the floor

At the very least, Vil could still pamper his younger sibling the best he can. The actor blinks multiple times, the tears in his eyes making it hard to see his surroundings properly. A Purple Emperor butterfly lands on the flowers on the floor, resting its wings.

...

And I pray

That never used to happen before

Vil sighs, burying his hands in his pockets, burying the lower part of his face behind his scarf. He mumbles to himself, whispering apologies and reminiscing memories of [Name]. Vil can't help but manage a pathetic chuckle. He would always scold them for mumbling and hiding their face.

If you see him in the street,

Walking by himself, talking to himself,

Have pity

Vil always told [Name] to be proud of who they are.

But Vil can't even follow his own advice, for once. Not when guilt and self-blame eats him up on the inside.

"[Name], you wouldn't like things right now, it's too quiet right now..."

He is working through the unimaginable

...

Eric walks through the city, trying to ignore the press and paparazzi following him incessantly. The man, for the first time in what feels like the longest time, wishes he had bodyguards with him or that he had simply not gone out at all.

His hair has gone grey, he passes every day

They say he walks the length of the city

But he knew that he had to leave the house. If he hadn't, then he would have been stuck in his youngest child's room, looking through every picture for the millionth time that day.

He looks across the street, seeing a father lifting up his daughter, a proud smile on his face as he plays around with his children, his wife laughing and taking pictures of the moment. Eric feels a pang in his heart, wishing that family nothing but happiness.

Eric remembers the first time he held Vil, the first time he saw [Name]. He remembers his children's first words, their first steps, he wouldn't even need a photograph or a video to remember it. When he saw [Name] smile for the first time, Eric remembers his exact words and thoughts in that moment:

"You knock me out, I fall apart"

Can you imagine?

...

"Look at where we are, look at where we started." Rook places a hand on Vil's shoulder, looking at him in concern.

Vil looks back at him, keeping back his emotion. He must be perfect, and not a single speck out of place. But the hunter could see and hear very clearly, how Vil was clearly too stressed for anything. It was a wonder how the dorm leader could handle going back to school like this.

"The students don't deserve me, Rook-" Rook shakes his head and gently shushes Vil. He can't bear seeing his Roi du Poison so anguished, but knows that there isn't much he can do. Despite this, he tries anyway.

"Shh, hear me out, that would be enough."

Vil huffs and shakes his head in return, his thoughts spiraling back to the VDC tournament. His foolish decisions that led to his sibling's death.

"If I could spare their life... if I could trade their life for mine..."

Vil trails off and glances at Epel, who was despondently playing with his food. Normally, Vil would have scolded the first year for doing so, but he didn't have the heart nor the energy to do so.

Rook sighs and makes Vil face him, holding him by the shoulders, trying to comfort his friend.

They'd be standing here right now, and they would smile

And that would be enough.

"I don't pretend to know the challenges you're facing. I know there's no replacing what was lost, and you need time."

"But don't be afraid, you'll know when you're ready. Just let me stay here by your side. That would be enough."

...

Vil briskly walks over to Epel, who was going back to the dorm from club time. The dorm leader had been trying to talk to the first year for a while, but it's been hard getting Epel to speak or even look at Vil for more than three seconds.

If you see him in the street

Talking by his side, walking by his side

Have pity

"Epel, do you like it right now? It's quiet right now.."

He is trying to do the unimaginable

But Epel ignores him, walking faster and faster until he starts running to the mirror, leaving Vil alone in the hallway.

...

Epel walks as Vil tries to catch up with him. The first year's blue eyes gaze at the wall and the floor like it was the most interesting in the world. He can't bear looking at his dorm leader.

See them walking in the hall, staring at the wall

Taking in the glances full of pity

Not when Vil looked so much like [Name]. Not when looking at Vil reminds Epel of the friend he lost too quickly.

Then a butterfly flutters nearby, and Epel glances at it. His meemaw always told him that butterflies symbolized the dead, and he tears up. He could hear [Name]'s laugh from when they messed around when [Name] was staying in his house. And then he heard their scream, when the rubble fell down and crushed them under it.

Epel stops walking, his gaze distant but fixated on the butterfly fluttering around him. Vil takes this as a chance to try speaking to Epel, but the first year beats him to it.

"Look around, look around, [Name]..."

It was an absent-minded murmur on Epel's part, but it brought Vil to tears as well. The two didn't speak, only stood next to each other, watching the butterfly land on an apple tree, eating an apple that fell to the ground.

They are trying to do the unimaginable

...

Every class he goes to, Vil always notices the Purple Emperor butterfly following him. Some of the other students have pointed it out, Rook especially. The hunter would say that [Name] was always watching over him.

There are moments that the words don't reach

There's a grace too powerful to name

But Vil won't believe it ⸺ he can't believe it, rather. Why would [Name] watch over Vil, of all people? It was a foolish thought, after all. Vil was the reason why [Name] died. So why would they follow him when they could simply rest in the peace that reached them too soon?

We push away what we can never understand

We push away the unimaginable

...

Vil watches [Name] as they play with the butterflies that float around them. The younger Schoenheit had a ghost of a smile on their face as the beautiful insects fluttered about them. And Vil eyes the scene with wide, unbelieving eyes.

They are standing in the garden

Vil by [Name]'s side

The older Schoenheit slowly walks over, hesitantly approaching his younger sibling, who was acting like nothing had happened. Like it was all a dream.

As though sensing their older brother's presence, [Name] turns around, the small smile on their lips still there. And they do something Vil never thought was possible.

They take his hand...

[Name] opens their mouth to speak, looking up at Vil with a sad, accepting smile.

"It's quiet uptown."

Vil's eyes widen and the dam of emotion is released once again. He falls down to his knees, clenching his eyes closed as tears run down his cheeks, ruining his makeup. Gently squeezing his younger sibling's hand, he presses it against his cheek, trying to prove to himself that [Name] was indeed here.

Forgiveness. Can you imagine?

And for the first time in a long time, Vil smiled. Happy tears fall down his face and he looks up at [Name]. Then he notices a small flicker in [Name]'s expression.

Their eyes darken.

Their smile turn into a smirk that looked almost evil.

And then Vil realizes where he was.

Forgiveness.

Vil quickly jumps away, narrowly dodging a pile of rubble that fell right where he was a second ago. The Schoenheit rubs his eyes, wiping away the tears and gets his magic ready to defend himself.

Vil isn't in a garden. He isn't in home. He's in STYX, getting tested on because he overblotted and survived, though Vil wishes he never did. His heart aches, and he can't help but curse the Shroud brothers in his mind for bringing sweet [Name] into this.

He curses the world for having the gall to create a version of his younger sibling based on his memories just to attack him. For getting his hopes up, for getting him to think that [Name] was still with him. For making him go against his sibling once again. For making this the last time he'll see [Name] 'alive' and well.

Can you imagine?

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst platonic #twst sibling reader #twst angst #vil schoenheit #vil angst #gn reader

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royallyprincesslilly · 2 years ago

Text

Title: True Peace {One-Shot}***

Lewis Hamilton x Undefined FWB Best Friend Reader

Warning: Fluff, 18+ Mature Content, NSFW, SMUT, Male & Female Receiving, Mild Crude Language, No Glove Lovin, Mild Angst

Words: 3.6

Summary: Lewis' tension and stress levels are at an all time high and it has him in quite a mood. Luckily there is one person he can always count on.

Note: While writing this I envisioned reader from “One Night”, so there are slight references to that fic relationship. You guys are free to envision anyone you like or even yourself.

As always, thank you for reading. I appreciate it.

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! ❤️❤️

***NOT Edited/Proofread***

~~~~~~~~~~~~

To say he was in a bad mood was putting it mildly. He was in one of the worst moods he'd allowed himself to be in for a while. It had been a shit week, with shit results where he'd had to take more than enough shit. It was too early in the season to be dealing with a repeat of seasons past. He was beyond tired, beyond annoyed and just feeling done.

It had been a while since he'd felt these emotions and the last time he found himself in a funk like this it was you who sat with him for an entire night until the sun was bighting the sky the next day playing video games with him, not letting him beat you in MK, Street Fighter or DC vs. Marvel but then peacefully taking all the Ls when he won every F1 driving round.

Then when he got tired of playing you listened as he vented everything that was weighing on him until there was nothing more to say and he fell silent leaving only the sounds of the city outside trying to burst the bubble of peace and contentment. Then you'd both fall asleep on the couch watching cartoons.

After your relationship changed after that one night, one afternoon and several nights, mornings and afternoons since, it ended with you gently sliding onto his lap and hug his head to you while letting him squeeze you as tightly as he wanted. After venting it always left him feeling hopeless and vulnerable and needed to anchor to something. It was you he anchored to. You he found solace in.

It was comforting and dangerous all at once. It was a danger neither of you needed, let alone him. It was that reason he did not call or text you to come over even though he could feel himself ripping apart at the seams. It was like drowning and then pointedly ignoring the lifebuoy in front of you. It was stupid but sometimes there was necessary stupidity.

Sighing, he turned off the water in the shower but stood there for a few more moments letting the water drip from his body. The shower was supposed to relieve some of the weight bogging him down, but it barely worked. He still felt encumbered by more than his body weight, it was the weight of all his ambition and expectations and disappointments.

Did he expect too much from everyone? From himself? Did he want too much?

They were questions he'd asked himself many times before, questions he never seemed to be able to answer. After he'd slipped into his walk-in closet, he went through his routine though every motion took more and more effort. By the time he'd finished and slipped on a comfortable t-shirt and grey sweat shorts he was ready to just get lost in something distracting and probably bad for him.

Planting himself on the couch in front of the tv, he let the light of the screen light up the room while he silently scrolled through his social media. Again, your face popped into his mind as he looked at the messaging button. He knew the last thing you'd spoken about in DMs. It was barely three days ago, and he'd been the worst texter with one or two word replies. You hadn't called him out on it so hopefully you hadn't taken offense.

Just then he heard the sing-song tone of his door opening while his phone lit up with the alert that someone had walked inside. There was a limited amount of people who had keys to his house, but everyone would have called or texted before they came. They knew and respected his rules.

"Lewis?"

At the sound of your voice his belly flipped and heart rapidly thudded. It was a reaction that had only intensified over the months since your relationship drifted to the other side of platonic.

"Lewis? I know you're here. Find my big dick bff with benefits pinged you here."

He was tempted to snort but his mood wouldn't allow him. When he saw you appear you had both your hands filled with bags. You smiled then walked to the kitchen.

"I cooked your favorite dish earlier and thought through the goodness of my heart I would share and not eat it all."

You placed the bags on the large island then started unpacking the glass containers. His eyes raked over your back taking in the way your tight skirt hugged your hips and showed every curve you possesed. You were bad from the beginning but now you were fine as fuck. He felt his body come alive and knew just what distraction h was going to have.

"I know you don't like people showing up unannounced, but I am using my exception card to veto that shit outta here and if you don't like it oh well, I'm already here."

You walked across the kitchen to put the bags away in a drawer and he watched you bend over. For the love of God, you looked so good. Over the last several months, he's gotten very well aquatinted with your body. He knew every inch, every dip, curve, and slope. He knew your reactions and knew everything you needed before you even said a word. He had new admiration for your body, new love for it.

With a sigh, he stood and sidled across the room to you. Before you could move, he was right behind you. Your signature scent bombarded him, Lotus, Peony, Lemon Verbena, and lite notes of vanilla. Your scent was all over this place but long gone from his skin. It was time to rectify that. Inhaling deeply, he let your scent wrap around him like a cocoon of comfort and warmth.

"How much can you handle tonight?"

Your body stiffened letting his hand rest against your belly. A thought of breeding you attacked him and that thought made him so much harder he was sure he could poke a hole through his shorts. He felt you lean your back against his chest giving him your weight. He didn't feel encumbered though, he liked the feel of you against him especially in a nonsexual capacity.

"Uh--we--well it depends," you purred, your voice hinting at your playful mood.

He turned your head to the side then brushed his face against the side of your face, his lips lingered against your jaw. He then pushed you forward so your front and face were pressed against the wall while he pressed up against your ass making sure you felt every hard inch of him. Your moan was wanton and matched the rising desire within himself. He could envision the way you looked right now--eyes closed; teeth sunk into your bottom lip.

God, you'd always been perfect to him. The perfect fit for him in more than one way, hell all ways. Shaking his head, he suppressed any thought like that. He would not go there, would not entertain any thoughts as such because that was not how tonight would go. It wasn't what tonight was for.

"Fuck, you're so hard," you mewled.

He grabbed the back of her neck.

"Tonight, you only say these words. Yes, No, Please, Deeper, I love your dick, Fuck me harder, I'm cumming. Understood?"

"What about--."

He cut your words off with a sharp slap across your ass. You gasped, flinched and moaned all at once.

"Lewis--."

For further emphasis on what you'd done wrong, he hiked your tight skirt up around your hips then groaned when your bare ass was revealed to him. He then ripped your thong off of you and finally cupped your sex. Again, you gasped.

"Again. Yes, No, Please, Deeper, I love your dick, Fuck me harder, I'm cumming. That's it. I've had a horrible week and I'm beyond frustrated, and I'd hate to obliterate that beautifully tight pussy. So, you're gonna obey me and take every inch of this long thick dick. Every fucking inch. Understood?"

You whimpered like an injured cub and the hardness in his pants impossibly increased. He was going to completely wreck your shit whether you obeyed or not. He squeezed your sex tighter dipping two of his digits inside your molten lava core. You released a high-pitched sigh as you bared down trying to take more than he gave. Naughty girl, he thought and chose to reward that naughtiness by adding a third finger.

"Mmmm!"

"Understood?"

"Yes," you panted.

"Good girl. Now get on your knees and put this dick down your throat."

Pulling his fingers free he watched you turn and drop to your knees. He dipped his fingers in his mouth and licked your juices savoring the sweetness of you. He noticed you watching and offered you one of his fingers to finish off. You seductively licked and sucked his fingers clean giving him a preview of what his dick was in store for.

"Get to it. This dick ain't gonna suck itself."

You pulled his shorts down along with his boxer-briefs and watched his dick bob in the air before you. Grabbing him with both hands, you jerked his need in both your hands moving in different directions. A low sigh escaped him as he watched you prepped him. Your hands felt so good, soft and gentle, but powerful. When you guided him to your mouth he watched as you circled your though around his head then suck it between your lips only to pull it free seconds later.

"Gah!"

He should have expected this. You'd always been a tease. It was what you enjoyed. You liked driving him crazy, liked seeing how far you could push him before it was too far. You even liked when he was too far gone. The feel of your lips sliding down his shaft brought him back to the present. You lowered your mouth down his length until he'd disappeared completely in your mouth. For show, you wiggled your fingers in the air as if to say, "look no hands".

Cheeky little minx, he thought.

Thrusting forward, he lodged himself in your throat then held your head still when he felt you retreating. Your eyes locked and understanding shined through. You shook your head while opening your mouth wider and the feel of the angles in your throat sent his head back. You slurped his flesh then bobbed on his dick never letting him escape the tight confines of your hot and hungry throat.

"Fuck, Y/N!"

He released your head and lifted off his shirt. The short reprieve allowed you to pull your lips off of him, however seconds later you'd brought them back to wholeheartedly suck on him. With your hands attached to your lips the suction of your mouth and swirl of your hands drove him so much closer to his release. He bit into his bottom lip then drove forward fucking your mouth with quick, deep strokes. You took everything he gave no matter the speed or the force and the sight of it only made him want you even more.

"Shit!"

Pulling from your mouth, he squeezed the base of his dick hoping to stave off the strong urge to cum across your lips.

"Come here."

You stood and he instantly went to the zip at your hips. He yanked them down then completely ignored the buttons on your blouse and ripped it open. You didn't complain or argue. You stood before him in just your bra now and a look of complete seduction on your face. He couldn't hold himself back anymore.

Dipping down he lifted you, hoisting you onto him. You wrapped your legs around his waist as his lips claimed yours. The urgency of his kiss matched yours and together it made a sweltering amount of hunger. You sucked his tongue as he walked back to the living room.

Standing before the large sectional couch, you held yourself onto him with the sheer power of your thighs around him. Once he unhooked your bra, you allowed the garment to fall from you and his hands cupped your mouth-watering breasts. Using his thumb he swiped across your nipples, thoroughly enjoying the way your back arched and you jutted them out to him every time he did it. He couldn't get enough of you.

Lowering you to the couch, he looked over you pressing the way you looked to memory. Perfection wasn't the right word. He needed one that meant so much more.

"Flawless."

You smiled then beckoned him forward. He dipped down hovering over you and kissed you once, then twice before he kissed a trail down the center of your body to your dripping core. After placing a sloppy open-mouthed kiss right against your clit, he went to work. He didn't plan on going slow or teasing you until you begged him to fuck you, no he planned on ruining you right off the bat.

Slurping your flesh, he flicked his tongue wildly across your clit then delved it inside of you. You gasped then gripped his free hanging braids as you rocked across his mouth.

"Mmm, yes, yes, yes! Fuck yes!"

He bit down on your clit, it wasn't enough to hurt but enough to send a jolt through you.

"Ah, Lewis!"

It was a reminder to you about your words but when you wrapped your thighs around his head, he knew you liked the bite. Fuck, he thought. You were too perfect for him. You loved mixing pain with your pleasure just as much as he did. Prying your legs apart, he pressed them down to the couch then slammed into you. Your scream echoed throughout the open concept first floor of his home, and it fed his ego even more. The euphoria he felt being inside of you nearly had him spilling his seed on contact, but he fought the urge with everything in him.

"I love your fucking dick!"

You reached for him pulling him completely into your body. A growl escaped him as you clenched around him tempting him further.

"Fucking hell!"

"Fuck me harder. Fuck me Lewis!"

That was just what he did. Flicking his hips forward, he slammed into you hard enough that your breasts swung. With another thrust then another he rocked into you with reckless abandon increasing his speed until he was jackhammering into you.

"Fuck! Yes. Yes. Yes!"

You gripped your breasts as your back arched off the couch. He could see the goosebumps prickling your skin telling him how close you were.

"Does princess love this dick?"

"Yes!"

"Does princess want more?"

You nodded unable to form words.

"Beg for it."

You whined as he ground his hips into you.

"Pl--pl--please. More--please fuck me deeper."

He spanked across your clit making your body jolt.

"I'm cumming Lewis!"

He watched you cum all over his dick and he lost it then. Before you came down, he flipped you onto your knees so your chest was pressed against the back of the couch with your ass poking out to him. After gripping your rounded derrière, he lifted then released allowing it to rise and fall as it willed. He loved your ass, and you knew he did. He watched you gyrate sending your ass bouncing against his needy shaft. With every bounce he became more and more mesmerized.

How could you still get him like this after all these months? How hadn't he gotten tired of your tricks? It still felt like the first time, still felt new like something he never wanted to stop doing. You were it.

Without wasting anymore time, he propelled himself forward filling you once again. Just as he was about to move you beat him to it. You bounced on him again flicking your hips back and forth fucking him, taking from him what you needed. A heavy-handed slap landed across your ass making you flick your head backward. Grabbing the back of your neck, he pulled you to him and held you right there and lost himself in you and the ecstasy you gave him.

"Yes, Y/N. You have no fucking idea what you do to me."

"Harder!"

Obeying, he gave you every fucking thing he had and when you screeched and braced your hand over his, he knew you'd begged for too much. Yet still, you took it and whimpered the entire time. Soon he was chasing his release and lost in the sensations he felt, lost in the stress and disappointment that was leaking out of every pore of his body. You were infusing him with so much more, pleasure, peace, harmony, contentment, joy, and so much light. The heaviness he'd felt all week melted away, the tension his body held on to faded making him feel nimble and carefree.

Somehow you felt like salvation. Biting down just where your neck and shoulder met, he lost all control and shattered filling you with every drop of his seed, every single drop. As you screamed, he burrowed deeper and deeper inside of you wanting only to remain right where he was for as long as he could. Every worry he'd had before was gone and replaced with you, a hunger and need he knew he would never be able to satiate.

"Aaah!"

Your moans and pants melded together as you both relished the intoxicating pleasure your coupling brought. He reluctantly pulled from you and tumbled to the couch but seconds later you'd crawled over him and slipped him back inside of you then laid your head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around you then sighed as if he'd found his peace.

Slowly, he expressed everything in his heart. He told you everything he'd kept in this entire week, all his frustrations, his worries, his stress--everything. You said not one word, you listened while rubbing soothing circles onto his neck urging him to continue until he felt better. He didn't know how you knew he needed you, but he was so fucking thankful to have you in his life. He was so grateful that when the context of your friendship changed nothing else had between you.

When he finished, several minutes of silence stretched. His body relaxed even more, and his thoughts slowed until he felt more like his usual self. After a few more minutes of silence, you kissed his chest right over his lion tattoo.

"You are this lion. Strong, powerful, commanding, brave, unique, caring, ambitious. It is your perfect spirit animal."

Again you kissed his chest. "You are powerful beyond measure. Don't every doubt that Lewis."

You lifted your head, cupped his chin forcing him to look at you. His throat became tight with emotion that you easily dug up in him.

"You do not expect too much from people. You expect the levels you give to everyone around you--100%. You expect what you give of yourself--loyalty, dedication, everything. Everything you expect from yourself is not too much, it's called ambition, it's called drive. You have all of it babe. You have the vision, you have the ambition, you have the will and drive. Everything you deserve will come to you, every greatness in this world and this life plus the next is coming love and I will be there every single step of the way. Every boulder you have to push I have your back and I'll push it with you."

No matter how many times he swallowed the lump in his throat wouldn't go down and he knew he must have looked so open and vulnerable right now, but it was a level of vulnerability he was comfortable showing only you.

"So--I don't want too much?"

"Fuck no. You should want it all cause that is what you deserve. Every motherfuckin thing."

He smiled, grabbed your face and pulled your lips to his. There was no hurry in this kiss, he wanted you to know how much he appreciated you, how much he truly cared for you. Slowly his tongue swirled around yours as one of his hands roamed down your back. You moaned against his lips quickly getting into the kiss. You nibbled his bottom lip and wrapped your arms around his neck.

His heart beat so wildly the vibrations went all through him. Three words pounded in his head. Three words that he'd often felt near bursting to utter but had restrained himself every time. Those three words were at the tip of his tongue right now and at not one of his brain's finer moments he let them lose--against your lips.

You pulled back from him with your brow crooked. "What was that?"

He laid there frozen in place as his mind ran through a plethora of scenarios, reactions and endings. He had no confidence in any of them though. Sighing he smiled softly.

"Thank you."

You snorted. "For the fuck?"

"For being the only place I can find true peace."

You held his gaze for a few moments then you gently clutched his chin before you softly kissed him.

"Anytime. You know I gotchu."

He held his pinky up and you rolled your eyes. "So childish," you replied as you hooked your pinky with his. Both of you then kissed the other's pinky sealing the unspoken vow between you.

Forever whenever you need me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfiction #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagine #true peace one shot #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton imagines

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agendabymooner · 1 year ago

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melody || lh44 x ofc (2)

Summary: With her sharp eyes focused on her audience, a burlesque performer who went under the name of Melody returned to Rythme Romantique, an entertainment lounge which exclusively caters to the wealthiest people of Monaco — or in this case, to the people with a status that are recognized by all. Her three exclusive performances were meant to be a closure for her connections in the principality. Still, a certain Formula One driver saw it as an opportunity to reconnect with his former flame after two years of her absence. Felicity Vos learned that this was a rich man’s world and that he could do whatever he wanted, but she also realized that the agreement they settled on years ago was corrupted the moment he expressed his love for her.

Chapter summary: Melody might've been what they expected, but Felicity was what they got. OR Felicity Vos attended the Monaco GP qualifying day that ended up with Melody asking Lewis Hamilton about the true intentions of his visits.

Content warning: Age gap, use of explicit language, refers to smut (nothing graphic nor mature), mentions of past sugar daddy/baby relationships, no beta - we read poorly, possessive!asshole!Lewis mentioned, burlesque (2010) movie vibes, fictional ex (Penny Brooke), angst

Note: Here's something before I start updating my masterlist :'] enjoy xx (ALSO NOTE: character directory is now available from my masterlist hehe)

masterlist

ii. this is what makes us girls

"we all look for heaven and we put love first."

THE FAST LANE DAILY

BURLESQUE PERFORMER MELODY MAKES SURPRISE APPEARANCE AT MONACO GRAND PRIX, SPARKS SPECULATION

Monaco - The glitz and glamour of the Monaco Grand Prix took an unexpected turn when renowned burlesque performer Felicity Vos, known by her stage name Melody, made a surprise appearance at the F1 paddock during the Qualifying race. The 28-year-old artist, absent from the racing scene for two years following her breakup with F1 driver Lewis Hamilton, left fans and spectators wondering about her sudden return.

Melody, whose full name was revealed after her highly publicized split with Hamilton, had been a prominent figure during their relationship. Speculations arose that their breakup might have been influenced by the events surrounding the controversial 2021 Abu Dhabi race and rumours of Hamilton being seen with another woman shortly after. However, the true reason behind their separation remains unknown.

Coinciding with her three-night performances at the exclusive entertainment lounge, Rythme Romantique, in Monte Carlo, Melody's appearance at the Monaco GP attracted attention from both fans and fellow drivers. Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc were spotted entering the venue, leading to speculation that they were there to support Melody, whom they had not had the chance to watch perform during her relationship with Hamilton.

Melody's last public performance before her breakup was an impromptu rendition of Christina Aguilera's "Candyman" after the race in Silverstone in 2020. The incident garnered significant attention from fans and ultimately led to her final performance in Monaco before the split in 2021.

Surprising everyone, Melody was discovered in the paddock as a Mercedes and Lewis Hamilton’s guest. This unexpected reunion has fueled rumours of a potential reconciliation between the two, especially considering Melody's two-year absence from social media and her reported performances in exclusive venues across Switzerland, the United States, and France.

While some outlets have reported on Melody's performances in various locations, her appearances at Rythme Romantique were the only confirmed shows during her hiatus. The sudden appearance at the Monaco Grand Prix has left fans eagerly awaiting further updates on her career and personal life.

As the Monaco Grand Prix continues, all eyes remain on Melody and her unexpected return to the racing world. Whether this signifies a rekindling of her relationship with Lewis Hamilton or simply a triumphant comeback to the stage, one thing is certain: Melody's presence has injected an extra dose of excitement into the already thrilling atmosphere of the prestigious event.

Her blazer should have been removed when she left René’s Mercedes E-Class, but her nerves were getting in the way of her ability to think straight. She had been staring at the same thing for a minute before her new friend pulled her out of the vehicle, telling her that they had to leave so René could drive back to the lounge.

The server from her former employer’s lounge was a welcome face if you were to ask Felicity. She hadn’t met her before, mainly because she hadn’t been there since leaving for Lewis. That and her final performance in 2020.

Esther Edison was an employee of Rythme Romantique for over a year only. From what Felicity had learned, Esther was four years her junior. She had recently moved to Monaco hoping to get her master's at the private university in the principality— all while working at the lounge to earn enough money to live on. Living in Monaco wasn’t expensive, after all.

Felicity immediately took her in as a friend and acted as if she was a mentor — telling Esther everything about her experience living in Monaco at the ripe age of twenty and giving her tips, such as which stall at the farmer’s market had the best prices and quality. She’d only met Esther yesterday, and now they’re attending the Grand Prix together. René would have come along had it been that he ran the lounge on behalf of Lita, the owner.

Esther knew Felicity before the woman in question arrived in Monaco. Well… she already knew who Melody was and her significance in Monaco’s exclusive lounge. But her extensive knowledge was discovered when people spoke about their excitement for the one who broke Lewis Hamilton’s heart — the hottest topic of Monaco. Esther learned about Melody’s connections to the well-acknowledged racing event in Monaco after a customer asked her if Melody would make it to the race. She had to approach René to ask about the matter, to which René rolled his eyes at the idiocy of the man who asked and told the girl to shrug off such questions.

So to be friends with Felicity was an honour. It wasn’t every day that she gets trusted with information that no one knew about— especially how Felicity’s relationship with Lewis was meant to be financially beneficial only, but with a hint of intimacy. It was information that no one knew but René and Felicity, so it was natural for Esther to keep her mouth shut about the matter as it was meant to be a past affair.

Esther could understand why Felicity hadn’t wanted to attend the race. Everyone knew who she was in this stupid place — Monaco was small, and everyone knew everyone. Felicity was a part of the 1% that wasn’t recognized until Lewis Hamilton decided to put her into the limelight.

She wasn’t used to the fame he had, preferring to play the feeble and shy girlfriend while he had his arm around her. But now Felicity had no one but Esther. She didn’t have Lewis. She didn’t have anyone to protect her while she played the role of a good loyal girlfriend.

Esther could tell that Felicity still didn’t feel as comfortable with having cameras shoved on her face as she did back then. But Felicity’s expression didn’t give it away, not wanting to give journalists the pleasure of writing about her vulnerability as she entered Lewis’ realms once again.

Her blazer was long discarded, her gold necklace wrapped around her neck while the lanyard of her paddock pass screamed her importance to this race weekend’s competitor. Felicity would often lean over to talk to Esther. At the same time, she’d show indifference at the cameras pointed at them, telling the younger woman how everything operated during the weekend.

The performer could just tell that there will be certain gossip websites and social media accounts that would talk about the lack of brand on her body. They would certainly talk about how she wore a jumpsuit that came straight from Zara and how her red half crest shaped handbag came from some Kate Spade outlet store from the 2018 collection — and how she’d still have the audacity to wear it still to this day. Being Lewis Hamilton’s other half taught her about the disappointment that the media — British media especially — would express towards the middle class woman clinging to his arm. Nobody liked the quiet girl who didn’t care to answer their provoking questions. They certainly didn’t like how her confidence evolved as much as her outfits did the moment Lewis had hired a stylist/personal shopper for her.

So, really, she could just exist for doing fuck knows what and they’d still write something so condescending about her. There was no point of appeasing them when they’ve already made up their minds about her existence.

They eventually found themselves inside the paddock area. Esther certainly noticed the looks people gave them, but mainly to her company. Felicity had noticed, too but decided to get a refresher rather than comment. She’d been looked at so much today that it was too late for her to speak about it.

“I understand why you’d dressed up like this,” Esther chuckled quietly as she gestured at her outfit and Felicity’s, her hand moving towards her Shirley Temple as she sipped on it. Esther wore a cream airy top and a pleated black knit skirt, her feet heightened by a pair of silver kitten heels and her gold hoops shining under her jet black bob. Her fingers were shining due to the gold rings wrapped around each of them. She then continued on, “These people can stare and come to their own conclusions fast.”

Felicity had to laugh at that. “That they can,” she agreed while her eyes glanced up at the people in the paddock. “They can tell the difference between wealthy people and those who can act like they’re well-off. They won’t tell you how but they just know.”

“You survived two years of this,” Esther scoffed, “I don’t know how I’d be able to.”

The performer merely shrugged as she sipped on her virgin margarita, “I performed in front of wealthy people for four years before him— I knew the type and somehow managed to mimic their appearance. The hard part about pretending was the lack of material to use as a prop.”

“He practically handed that to you,” Esther pointed out, to which Felicity nodded. “I hardly think you pretended.”

“How so?” The blonde was curious. Nobody ever made any form of observation about her — not even Lewis himself. He hadn’t cared enough to tell her everything he noticed, she supposed.

Esther shrugged before setting her drink down, “You acted more naturally wearing those clothes— I’ve seen the photos— and you looked as if you’re born into those clothes and jewelries he bought. You said that you know the type. And of course you do, it’s because you were living her life. But… I suppose you were more into the music and dancing than you were into the costumes and gems that you wore on stage. Maybe that’s why you said you pretend.”

Felicity listened to whatever it was that Esther said, almost as if she was nodding to herself as she recalled everything that had to do with her relationship with Lewis. Wearing those things never felt right despite looking great in them, but it was only because they were all handed to her as if they’re grand gestures— not something done spontaneously. She looked great in those costumes that were tailored for her, but she never cared about them while she was performing in front of a live audience. She could get lost in the music and the 4/4 beats while she was being stripped naked, for all she knew.

But not once did she ever care about how she acted or what she wore while she got lost in the rhythm. She only found herself feeling more conscious about her being whenever her happiness drifted away from her heart. She couldn’t pretend in front of Lewis either as she got lost in his eyes and presence, not caring about what others thought of her while he was singing her praises and admiration.

So no, she wasn’t pretending to be one of them, really. She could only feel like it whenever her doubts and insecurities would take over her euphoric senses while those things that she loved the most were long gone.

“You’re the only one who saw a lot,” Felicity told Esther with a grin, leaving the server to cock her head in confusion as the singer went on, “you saw more things about me than he did. It’s amazing.”

“That’s men for you,” Esther scoffed haughtily, now stirring her drink as she continued, “the only thing they see in you is the part that they’ve already branded. They only see themselves in you.”

Peering down on her watch, Felicity hissed quietly in annoyance as she looked at the younger woman, “We’ve three hours before the qualifying. Would you like to walk around and know more about the place? I can also tell you some gossip that I’ve learned about the drivers and other crew members two years ago.”

“Shit, you have those?” Esther’s eyes lit up in excitement as Felicity smirked and nodded. “Hell yes. Wait— are you okay with it? Talking to the drivers and all?”

“Who said anything about talking to the drivers,” Felicity stood as she chuckled, “if there’s anything that I’ve enjoyed about being silent it would be the amount of stories I can hear from people who talk loud. You can’t hear detailed gossip from a person when you’re around a chatty crowd, can you?”

Their trip around the paddock and other areas was something of an adventure. Felicity was glad to have Esther as a companion, seeing as she had some things to talk about that had nothing to do with the lounge. René would often discuss the lounge as much as he could with Felicity and she didn’t want anything that had to do with that as of this moment. Too much had happened last night at that place; a change of scenery was what she longed for regardless of the fact that the track was her ex-lover’s territory.

Then their trip as a duo was interrupted by an Australian man who had the widest grin on his face. Daniel Ricciardo came across Felicity and Esther and he hadn’t let go of them since. Esther laughed at Felicity’s indifferent remarks, enjoying the presence of Ricciardo. Felicity didn’t mind Daniel; she was just annoyed by the fact that she couldn’t even walk a few feet away from him without being called “Candygirl” aloud and catching the attention of the people around them. It didn’t help that he would reenact her swing dance moves to relive her wild act, either.

How he didn’t have a seat in the grid baffled Felicity to no end. Felicity knew how good of a driver he was, so to be left without any seat by McLaren was a shame.

She knew that there was something about Zak Brown that screamed wrong. She didn’t know that sacking Daniel Ricciardo was what he did wrong.

Regardless— Daniel’s role as a reserved driver also gave him more time to spend with the woman that he now declared as his friend. For the past hour, he’d been confirming Felicity’s gossip and would often extend more to the rumours that circulated in the grid.

“He had an affair was what they said,” Daniel’s eyes widened while he subtly cocked his head towards the direction of the person they were speaking of. “Something told me that he goes to therapy though. No one could be that happy after getting laid— have you seen his fucking face? That’s antidepressants, if anything.”

But their tour around the pits ended when they came across the Mercedes hospitality. George Russell had gotten a glimpse of Daniel when he stepped out and immediately yelled, “Oi, Ricciardo! Spying again, are we?”

“You fuckin’ wish, lad,” Daniel scoffed before gesturing towards the two women with him, making George turn and his mouth gaped at the sight. Yeah, he’d seen her yesterday and was one of the bastards who got scared of her aura. Esther nearly laughed at the reaction. “I’ve two women who are expecting their welcome gifts from Mercedes but it turns out that you lots are shit at being hosts.”

George had immediately spoken up, “Oh… shit. Yes, sorry. Angela’s been telling us about contacting—“

Turning at Felicity with a sheepish smile, George then gestured, “I’ll take you to Angela. Really sorry about that. She mentioned something about calling you but clearly nothing worked.”

Felicity didn’t show any signs of being annoyed at his constant apologizing as she waved it off, offering Daniel a quick nod as she said, “Thank you for the tour, Ricciardo. Had to recall everything m’self but you’ve been a helpful lad.”

“Anything for Miss Candy herself,” Daniel winked.

Felicity rolled her eyes, nudging Esther when she heard a giggle before they both stalked off, following the British man towards the Mercedes garage as he prepped for the day.

There, she hadn’t warned Esther about the possibilities of coming across the man who sat in the corner booth all night while Melody was on the stage. Felicity hadn’t told Esther about the vulnerability she might show as they both come across the man who destroyed one too many possibilities of accepting the words of love and admiration that would be passed down to her in the future. Felicity hadn’t told her new friend about not being able to trust any man after she found him in their bed in Monaco with a woman that wasn’t her.

If she had, Esther would be in for a wild weekend. God knows she’d be able to react to that— seeing as she already had gotten a gist of their relationship through some news outlets from Britain and elsewhere in Europe.

As if they were summoning him, Lewis Hamilton managed to find Felicity as he walked towards his pit area with nothing but confidence in his system — not even catching a glimpse of her until she turned around, her eyes trained at his own pair before he froze in his tracks.

So much for avoiding drama.

“Honey,” Lewis uttered her name like it was familiar. She almost shuddered. Being called by Mel was one thing but being referred to as Honey was another.

He always told her that she was sweet like honey. It doesn’t help that your body is just as sweet as the noises you make, he praised her more than twice.

“Hamilton,” Felicity addressed him, face still showing little to no emotion as she introduced her friend, “this is Esther. Este, this is Hamilton.”

Lewis wanted to cringe so bad. He never was Hamilton to her. He was always Lewis or Darling. In some cases, he was also Sir. Nobody used his surname more than his father did. He didn’t want Melody— or wait, Felicity to use that on him.

He still continued to shake Esther’s outstretched hand, regardless, giving her a polite smile and a murmur of, “Pleasure to meet you.”

Then he continued to look at Felicity as if she was the only woman to have existed today. “I hadn’t expected you to come.”

“You’d still be in the lounge tonight if I didn’t go, regardless,” Felicity told him as if he was a bother to her, “so there’s really no winning.” He never was bothering her. She was always fond of his company, without the money or not. She always craved his attention especially when the abrupt end of her job gave her more time to spend with nothing but fuck all. She always found a way to get his attention and his time. So for her to express her feelings like this… yeah… this was all Lewis’ doings.

“Right, I will be,” Lewis nodded before he rested his helmet on his hip, looking down at her clothes before he peered up at her. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“I bet,” Esther scoffed quietly. For someone so polite, Esther was sure she already didn’t like him. Was it because of the stories she had heard, Esther couldn’t tell. There was something about him that she couldn’t simply shake off.

A call of his name had them all turning towards the entrance, a hint of blonde popping out as his physiologist stepped out of the garage. “You have to go.”

“Ang, I’m still talking to—“ Lewis gestured to Felicity and her friend but Angela Cullen wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“You can still see them later,” Angela insisted, before she smiled at Felicity. “You’re looking beautiful as ever, City— Lewis has to go, though. Come on now! Don’t be stupid!”

“On it,” Lewis grunted before he gave Felicity a genuine smile, “Will I see you later? Mel?”

Felicity stared at him for a moment. He wasn’t making it easier for her to just move on. He was pushing his fucking luck.

But she nodded regardless before she offered him a quick, “Good luck, Hamilton.”

Lewis walked away from the two with an unsettling feeling. He wasn’t quite sure how he ended up feeling that way, but he was certain that being called Hamilton all while her face showed indifference and uninterest did a lot of things in his body that made him wish for more. Was this what she felt whenever he’d shake her off after she asked for his attention? Was this how they drifted apart in the first place?

Their Mercedes hospitality experience should have been more pleasant, but it wasn’t even halfway through the qualifying when a hint of dirty blonde hair sat herself next to Felicity while requesting a cocktail.

Penny Brooke was an American model, and if there was anything she was also known for (at least to Felicity’s knowledge) she was the reason why Felicity had proven to herself that Lewis Hamilton wasn’t as true to his words as he sounded. After all, the performer had seen her and Lewis at the bed and on some gossip website after his defeat in Abu Dhabi.

Now she sat there with every single Fendi and Bottega Veneta she probably could’ve gotten her hands on. She smirked at the performer’s direction like it was either practiced or was something that showed her happiness.

Felicity didn’t blame her; she remembered the first time she had gotten her hands on a Chanel bag — one that came straight from her pocket. She still proudly displayed it on her closet, to this day. She’d show a logo if she couldn’t afford the subtle luxuries.

Still, the next thing that followed her entrance almost had Felicity pitying her. Two years and she still wouldn’t let go of the five minutes of fame she’d gained from being Hamilton’s thing.

“Still can’t afford Westwood without Lew?” Penny giggled. Felicity hadn’t looked at her yet her eyes rolled at the annoying tone of her voice. The bartender’s eyes narrowed a little bit before he settled the glass of strawberry Italian soda in front of Felicity. “The sales rack clearly isn’t cutting it, no?”

Felicity sipped on her drink before she replied, “‘s much as your low-level dignity isn’t.” She sent a quick smile in Penny’s direction before she turned back at the shelf in front of her. “I might be as poor as one can be but then again, decorum isn’t something you can buy with money… or fame for that matter.”

She then added, “Not that you would know.”

Penny was relentless. She continued on, “I’m surprised you’ve managed to find your way around the paddock. Those pictures of you from back then clearly showed how clueless you are about everything in here. Don’t tell me you’ve a tour guide, too?”

“I lived in Monaco, darling,” Felicity murmured, her voice enough for the woman next to her to hear, “I know which street I’d most likely be mugged in and which man would like to take me on a ride around Monte-Carlo. There’s really no tour guide needed.”

“How’s it like coming back?” Penny asked. Her questions and everything that she was saying were nothing of a genuine interest and Felicity could tell that the American was trying to rile her up. It wasn’t working. “I heard you had a sold out crowd last night.”

“I’m surprised you’re hearing well.” Not well enough to not pick up the ‘fuck off’ tone of my voice, Felicity almost scoffed. “Well yes, that’s what happens when you’re famous.”

“And when you’re famous because you were a Formula One driver’s unlabelled whore for two years straight,” Penny giggled, sipping on the cocktail that was then served to her. Felicity’s ears tinged with irritation as she hadn’t given Penny a glance, her eyes now settled at the second round of the qualifying race. Lewis was still at the top three, and the woman next to her was trying to chat her ears off about him. How did she even manage to find her way back here? Was she invited by him, too? At the only time Felicity would ever make her presence known to the paddock? Seriously, Hamilton.

“Whore is too generous,” Felicity bit back, “but I supposed it’s better than tainting his image as a loyal partner, don’t you think so?”

She knew better than defending herself to someone who didn’t know half the story. What mattered was that Felicity and Lewis knew the entire truth.

Felicity hadn’t even shared a bed with him until their fifth month together— she could remember that all too well.

It was at the Canadian Grand Prix, when she had a spat with her mother who hadn’t seen her for four years. Her mother expressed her disappointment over the stories that she’d been hearing from other relatives and friends about Melody’s public relationship with Lewis. She cried too much that night after hearing her mother state that she hadn’t given birth to a pitiful girl whose body had already been seen by countless people.

When Lewis was asked where his woman had gone off that night rather than partying with them, he shrugged for a moment before ringing her phone. After she missed four of his calls, he called it a night before he sobered up and headed back to their two bedroom suite. It wasn’t definitely the empty bottles of spirits that had him worried, but rather the sounds of her pained sobbing that led him to her bedroom. He watched her cry her heart out while Roscoe tried to lick her tears away. Roscoe hadn’t even left her side even if he watched Lewis return from the party. That night, Lewis took her to his bed with Roscoe still in tow, sighing and praying to whichever God was up there to tell him how to make things better for her.

It wasn’t anything intimate, but if anyone’s heard that she was on his bed they would’ve assumed otherwise. But they didn’t even spend the night under the sheets and all over his place in Monaco until the seventh month — when it was her birthday. He looked wonderful but he swore that nobody looked as beautiful as she did with the expensive Bulgari necklace he bought her. The green stone definitely hadn’t helped as it weighed her head down against the pillows.

Even then, intimacy was only shared between the two. Nobody else. Lewis hadn’t looked at anyone, not when he already had Melody in his side. Felicity couldn’t find herself to look at someone else, no matter how much the grid had tried to get a look at her. She always had her head down, only navigating her feet back to Lewis every time.

So Felicity wondered why Penny Brooke, the woman who warmed Lewis’ bed temporarily after the man expressed his love for the performer months before, would insinuate that she was the one who seduced and got him and every other man sexually involved. She hadn’t chased anyone but Lewis. Penny Brooke didn’t know that obviously.

Felicity scoffed aloud, catching the eyes of the bartender who was keeping an eye out on the patrons and the two. He approached the woman and asked, “Would you like anything else, mademoiselle?”

“Merci, mais non,” Thank you, but no. Felicity smiled gratefully at the man. The bartender nodded before turning away, not before eyeing Penny slightly.

Esther had returned from wherever she went, her hand clutching her purse before she sat next to Felicity. She looked up to see the Q3 coming to an end before her eyes widened at the sight of Penny. She then continued to ignore the woman before telling Felicity, “René phoned me and said that he’ll be picking us up soon. I think he just replenished the drinks and fruits for tonight so it won’t be long until we go.”

“Right,” Felicity managed to sip the last of her Italian soda before settling the glass down, standing up to slip on her blazer. She looked up at the screen for a moment before muttering, “Good job, Hamilton.” He landed on the pole for tomorrow. She’d have to give him four to five hours before he shows up at the lounge tonight.

Turning to look at Penny, she merely offered a curt nod in her direction before she walked out of the place with Esther. Not wanting to give any more reason for journalists to press the drama to the public.

Lewis would have to wait later.

THE FAST LANE DAILY

BURLESQUE PERFORMER MELODY MAKES SURPRISE APPEARANCE AT MONACO GRAND PRIX, CONFRONTS LEWIS HAMILTON'S ALLEGED NEW FLAME

Monaco - The Formula 1 paddock at the Monaco Grand Prix witnessed an unexpected turn of events as renowned burlesque performer Felicity Vos, popularly known by her stage name Melody, made a surprise appearance after a two-year absence from the racing scene. Speculations were rife about her motives for attending the prestigious event, especially considering her past relationship with F1 driver Lewis Hamilton.

Melody, 28, had been in a high-profile relationship with Hamilton for two years before their breakup. While her true identity remained concealed during their time together, the public learned her full name following their split. Rumours circulated that their relationship had soured due to the controversial events surrounding the 2021 Abu Dhabi race, where Hamilton's championship win was marred by controversy. Additionally, reports emerged of Hamilton being spotted with another woman shortly after the race, fuelling further speculation about the cause of their breakup.

The Monaco Grand Prix proved to be a dramatic setting for Melody's return, as she unexpectedly crossed paths with the woman who was allegedly seen with Hamilton before their separation. Identified as British model Penny Brooke, the encounter between the two women was tense, leaving onlookers intrigued about the nature of their interaction. While some speculated that Melody had planned her attendance to keep an eye on Hamilton, others questioned whether Penny was still involved with the F1 driver.

Observers noted that Melody's demeanour during the encounter was marked by indifference rather than anger or negative emotions. She engaged in conversation with a younger woman accompanying her, whom many assumed to be either her sister or a close friend. The nature of their discussion remained undisclosed, leaving fans and media outlets to speculate about the possible motives behind Melody's appearance.

The surprise appearance of the burlesque performer has sparked renewed interest in her personal life and reignited discussions about her past relationship with Hamilton. Fans and followers eagerly await any further developments that may shed light on the nature of Melody's presence at the Monaco Grand Prix and her encounter with Penny Brooke.

As the racing weekend progresses, all eyes will be on Melody, Lewis Hamilton, and Penny Brooke, as the trio's intertwined lives continue to captivate the public's attention.

Her siren eyes swiftly glanced at the corner booth as her voice softly sang.

“There’s things I wanna say to you, but I’ll just let you live.”

The piano player was definitely eating this up. Nobody loved Norman Fucking Rockwell more than the Rythme Romantique’s pianist and it was showing.

“But if you hold me without hurting me, you’ll be the first who ever did.”

Her ex-lover was definitely inside the booth. But he shouldn’t be here, hearing her speak about him and the way he held her when she cried in his arms for the first time.

“Hold me, love me, touch me honey. Be the first who ever did,” she sang, her tone jumping an octave for a moment before it descended back to its normal tone.

Everyone in Monaco loved Melody’s art. It wasn’t just the stripping of her coats or the unclipping of her garters that did it for them, but the way she'd put her heart into these songs definitely made a lot of money in one night.

Truthfully, she didn’t mean to allow two of her tears to flow while she sang. She simply thought too much about Lewis and how good they were together. She hadn’t felt her heart ache this much ever since she left Monaco two years ago. Coming back just to see your ex in the same city would do that, she supposed, when you’ve pretended that you haven’t cared for him and what he did just as you departed.

“One for the money,” she sang, feeling her heart breaking. “Two for the show. I love you honey, I’m ready— I’m ready to go.”

“How did you get that way? I don’t know,” she spoke to him indirectly, making sure that each one of her words was being taken in like a love letter he once wrote her.

“You’re screwed up and brilliant— look like a million dollar man, so why is my heart broke?” The musicians reached the coda as the rhythm descended from the high. Her voice nearly cracked at the final chorus, thanks to him.

“This seems pretty sad in comparison to the first half, no?” She laughed like a bombshell on display— her legs shining under the warm spotlight as the audience laughed dumbly— not even caring about the question when her voice brought them into some sort of space they haven’t been brought to before. “Candyman was merely a nod to my good friend who only brought it up for a good time. It takes you places higher than a sugar rush could. Our atmosphere dimmed a little for tonight, but it’s alright. I live to impress all of you with the grand finale.”

“Merci beaucoup pour cette agréable soirée, et j'ai hâte de chanter mon cœur demain soir ici au Rythme Romantique. Bisous,” Thank you very much for a pleasant evening, and I look forward to singing my heart out tomorrow night here at the Rythme Romantique. Kisses. Melody’s face feigned innocence as she blew a kiss and bent over to pick up her white fur coat, allowing the strands of pearls to dangle off her body for a moment before she covered her figure with the coat. Walking down the stage, everyone hollered and cheered for her while she waved. But the moment she’s reached the bar, René had already nodded towards the booth as she murmured a thank you to him, her kitten heels making a clicking noise as she walked towards the enclosed booth.

Then it was silent again.

“What would’ve happened if I hadn’t shown up,” Lewis leaned against his seat with a grin, sipping on his alcohol-free tonic. “I can just imagine how shocked you’d be if this place is empty.”

Felicity huffed, sitting across him as Esther stood by the entrance with her rum and coke. Felicity murmured a thank you, watching as Esther winked at her way before she left with a glare directed at the Mercedes driver.

Sipping on her drink, she sat the glass down and smiled sarcastically, “You’re predictable.”

“Really?” Lewis raised a brow with an amused smile.

“It’s no wonder why you reacted the way you did when you lost against Max all those years ago,” Felicity added, watching his smile falter. She continued regardless, “Which begs the question… I thought that you’re smarter than that, Lewis?”

His face showed nothing but confusion. She elaborated to get this in his head, “Penny Brooke made her presence known to me earlier today. Did you beg me to attend your race just so you can rub your relationship with—“

“Felicity, we are not together,” Lewis stated firmly. He wasn’t about to let it come down to that because of some woman. Again. “She’s not my guest.”

“Yet I’ve heard a lot about how she tends to be in the same area as you are,” Felicity pointed.

“I’ve told her to not speak to me nor come because it was over as soon as I kicked her out,” Lewis explained, his tone turning a little defensive. “Can’t exactly stop her from coming.”

“I think a restraining order normally follows whenever someone refuses to oblige,” Felicity told him quietly. It wasn’t even pathetic anymore. It was rather concerning.

Lewis scoffed, shaking his head as he sipped on his tonic. “I can’t do that if her father’s company’s a sponsor of the team. Last I heard she’s a daddy’s girl.”

“I pray for your poor soul,” Felicity snorted quietly, not wanting to show her amusement. “Is this why you haven’t done anything about it?”

“It’s either the team loses the money or I get a lot of hell from her,” Lewis rolled his eyes. “Choosing the former would simply risk their title.

“These girls—“ Felicity decided to face the music, not knowing what he really wanted in these visits. Did he want one more night with her? Did he want to simply talk? What did he want? Felicity chose to confront him instead. “They all came from money and had connections that could get them places. These women have the luxuries that led them straight to you, Hamilton. You’ve to pick one of them at some point. They won’t be chasing after you soon enough.”

Lewis laughed like it was a joke. A fucking joke.

He then replied quietly, “Yet I’m choosing the one who never asked for any of that from me. I’m still trailing after the one who only asked for a handful once and was already satisfied with asking once. That tells you a lot about who I want, no?”

Felicity couldn’t act like Melody as of this point. The way her fist gripped on the edge of her seat while she listened to him should have told him enough.

The way her eyes threatened to cry again while her eyes were trained on the table should’ve told him not to push any further. She wasn’t the seductive siren at the stage in front of Lewis Hamilton. Not at this point. Right now she’s merely Felicity Vos— the woman that followed Lewis around like a lost puppy and a dedicated lover that he hadn’t noticed until she performed during that one night in the UK.

“Yeah, it tells me a lot,” her voice nearly cracked as she looked up, eyes showing nothing of malice as she spoke, “it tells me that you don’t know that you’ve got a good thing until they start slipping through your fingers.”

She hugged her coat tightly, goosebumps rising as she pleaded, “Tell me what you really want, Lewis. You didn’t have to explain yourself and why she was there at the same time as I was. You wouldn’t have bothered buying the expensive seat just to see me if you didn’t want something so please… what is it—“

“I’m planning to retire soon.”

As soon as those words slipped out of his mouth, her whole bravado did as well.

“What?” She asked as if she hadn’t heard him the first time. She did. She just wished that what she heard was right.

Being with him told her a lot about his ambitions. He said he wouldn’t stop racing until he’s reached his eighth— maybe tenth victory of his career. She watched him win his sixth championship— and his seventh and each time he swore that he’d get one more. One more then I’ll consider retiring.

So this was just a fucking joke. Lewis wouldn’t retire this early if he didn’t know that he’d win the championship this year.

“For two years I’ve been trying to get that eighth trophy,” he sighed, exasperated from the race today. But he wasn’t about to waste his time being exhausted while his time with her was running out. “I wasn’t able to get my hands on them because nobody’s trying to tell me how close I am. Nobody’s told me how I should push through because something was a close call.”

Felicity was frozen in her seat, having no choice but to listen in. She couldn’t say anything, so she allowed her ears to communicate with him and what could possibly be bullshit.

“I don’t think I’m coming back after next year,” Lewis shrugged. “Toto’s been asking me about my next step in my career. I told him—“

“That you’re planning to cock it all up for the younger you?” Felicity’s mouth gaped open as she scoffed in disbelief. She stood and leaned forward enough to poke at his chest. “You’re giving up because you don’t have anyone to mollycoddle you when you manage to cock up the race? Because Angela won’t do it? Because you won’t allow anyone from the line of women to do it for you? God Hamilton—“

“Fel—“

“Don’t ruin your dreams for someone who didn’t want to be a part of it,” Felicity spewed out, her forehead creasing as her scowl deepened. “This goal is about you— stupid fuckin’ prick. Have you gone bollocks?”

“Retiring because of your cock— absolutely stupid comin’ from you,” Felicity sat back on her seat, glare hardening as she huffed. Lewis had completely forgotten that she was from Birmingham up until now. Her mouth was filthy, but she still radiated the energy of an angel.

“It’s not just— gah!” Lewis almost slammed his head against the table. He wasn’t even able to defend himself. “It wasn’t just about you warming my fuckin’ bed, Felicity. You know that!”

“Was it?” Felicity was fuming as of this point and if anyone else would see— they’d be in disbelief. Her pale skin didn’t look as red as it was now. “Do not make such decisions because the one that you had isn't there anymore, Hamilton. Don’t give up on your goals because you don’t want to look for another one of me.”

“I’m not looking for another one of you,” Lewis sputtered, his voice sounding more and more angry as he went on. “I’ve never looked for another one of you after you blocked my number. It’s just… the rhythm isn’t there anymore.”

“Lewis… I gave myself up for you. You’ve put Melody’s name in Felicity’s shoes and I let that happen,” Felicity told him, her eyes glimmering under the dim light as she continued, “you told me that you wanted me to be there before, during and after you race. I did that because I needed the money and help - I craved for you soon after. But the moment you uttered those fucking words— I wish you didn’t. I wish you just cared about giving me that money— not anything else. Because I allowed you to be the biggest part of me that I wasn’t able to get rid of. That was my biggest mistake.

“And I hope you don’t do the same— making me a big part of who you are now,” Felicity paused, pulling out the handkerchief from her brassiere as she dabbed her tears away. She looked up, “Don’t retire because I can’t be there with the arms and chest to rest on anymore. You’ll do more harm than good making it all about me.”

Lewis watched the sadness in her eyes, wondering how permanent it looked. The sadness that she showed while she sang wasn’t for the money and the show, after all. It was all for him. He only realized that now.

Watching her stand up, she cleared her throat to avoid having to speak with a shaky voice. She then gave him a small pitiful smile and bid her goodnight, turning away as she exited the booth. The looks that René and Esther gave her told her enough.

Tomorrow was going to be another day of heartbreak, should she let Lewis go on and on about wanting her all over again.

She wasn’t even sure how she would be able to control her emotions now that indifference withered away and her heart continued to ache.

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