#of work really and i know they talk outside of work

[luveline]

missing spencer x stripper reader these days

—Spencer visits the strip club unannounced. fem, 1.1k

Spencer can’t be clinical about it forever. You’re a sex worker. He doesn’t care, but he can’t ignore it when you look like that. 

You’re standing by the bar slouched backward, your abdomen bent forward, an unsexy position if you were to ask a patron, but weirdly endearing from where Spencer’s standing. Your heels are completely clear. He can see your toes, their painted nails, and the bandaid on the back of your foot where you twist. “Can I have another water, please?” you ask. 

The lingerie is blue. Spencer loves blue. Three pieces, a bra, underwear, and a suspender belt holding stockings the colour of your skin. He knows this is just work, that he’s not being a good friend thinking about how pretty you really look, but it’s not just pretty. His ears start burning the longer he sees it. You shift your weight from one foot to another and your thighs looks soft. 

You take your new glass of water and press yourself flush to the wall. Then you level your gaze and see Spencer watching you, expression jumping from happy to confused to knowing. 

“Hey, Spencer,” you call, hard to hear over the music pounding and the sound of men jeering at to the left near the big stage. “Are you here to see me, or is it a pleasure trip?” 

He clears his throat as discreetly as possible and makes his way to you. The heels make you taller, your legs longer, and the lingerie reveals simple things he doesn’t often think about, the shapes of your breasts, the curve of your sides, your hips leading down… Oh, god, he thinks, feeling sorrier than sorry. 

“You okay?” 

“I came to ask you that.” 

You frown, perturbed. “Why?” 

“You didn’t answer your phone. I just wanted to make sure everyone was still being nice to you.” 

Your frown softens but doesn’t fade. “It’s broken.”

See, he’d believe you, but you used to wear this Tiffany necklace with a soft bevelled heart around your neck until recently, when you told Spencer you lost it, and showed him your second tell. When you’re in pain, your hands tend to strain from you, pushed out and fingers curling. When you lie, you smile too soon, and your eyes catch on the freckles on his nose. 

He pulls open his messenger back and sorts through papers for the black and silver mobile. It’s his emergency phone; should something ever happen to the first, he still wants to be able to contact the outside world. “Here,” he says, offering it to you. 

You’re still. “I can’t take your phone.” 

“It’s a spare. A burner phone? I bought it for emergencies, and this could be one.” 

“Spencer, I can’t…” 

“Please, will you? I’ll get another one.” 

You need a phone. Maybe ten years ago you could get by without one, but you need a phone to arrange bills, talk to your landlord, your boss, your doctor, whatever. Being without one in an emergency could mean bad things. 

You take it, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“It’s not very fast,” he says. “There’s a prepaid sim in there for now, but I can get you a real one.” 

“I can do that. Thank you, Spencer. I’ll pay you back.” 

“I don’t want you to pay me back,” he says with a real smile. 

“I could pay you back… with a dance?” You lean across to tap his elbow. “I saw you looking at me, Spencer Reid. We can go somewhere private.” 

Suddenly, it’s like the air in the room is being sucked out, leaving him, and you, and your beautiful bare skin alone in a tight space. 

He raises the arm you’ve tapped to tap you back. “You’re beautiful,” he says, sure you can see the blood in his cheeks, “but I don’t need anything from you. I want you to have the phone because I know you walk home by yourself most nights, it’s not so you owe me. You don’t owe me anything.” 

He shouldn’t have added that last part. He’s worried you’ll be angry with him for saying something that might embarrass you, but you give him a softer smile. Real, and nothing like the playful fire you’d held when you were offering a dance. “You sure?” you ask quietly. 

“I thought we were friends?” 

“I think so too.” 

“Can I ask you something unrelated?” 

You squint with mock suspicion. “That depends.” 

“Are you cold?” 

You laugh, grabbing his arm as you do to steady yourself on your precarious footwear. “I’m surprised I haven’t got hypothermia,” you say, face tipping gently to your shoulder. “But I don’t think I’d make any money in a hoodie.” 

Spencer doesn’t see how that could be true. You're one of the prettiest girls he’s ever seen, if not the prettiest, and even if you were in a hoodie that would still leave your legs to make money. He’s sure they could. He’s also sure that he shouldn’t say that aloud, instead digging through his bag for the real thing he’d brought you. “Here,” he says, handing you a chocolate chip and strawberry protein bar, “for your rumbling stomach.” 

Those few nights you’d stayed with him, you’d been a little shy and more afraid, probably worried he’d hurt you while you were vulnerable, though he had no intention, but you’d start to let pieces of you through the cracks. You like dancing but not men. You like fresh fruit, the smell of a new car, and buying new clothes. Stripping isn’t, like, easy, you’d said once, sitting cross-legged on his couch with a bowl of soup and that awful shiner, It probably looks easy. People think that the hardest part is being pretty, but it’s not. 

What’s the hardest part? he’d asked, sympathetic and curious simultaneously. The hardest part statistically would be the high rates of femicide and assault. 

It makes you so hungry. It’s like constantly working out every night.

“That’s for me?” you ask. 

“So you can survive your workout.” 

“Spencer, I think you’re the most romantic guy I’ve ever met.” 

He presses the protein bar in the same hand as the phone, ducking his head just a bit, just to see you clearly. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry.” 

You seem to think this is the funniest thing he could’ve said, pressing your face briefly, heart-achingly to his shoulder, before pulling away to beam at him. “Don’t be sorry. You’re the best guy ever. And I had this investment banker come in a few days ago who gave me a hundred dollars to listen to him talk about his new kitten.” 

“I’m surprised I beat that.” 

You spread a hand over his heart. “I wouldn’t worry about competition, Dr. Reid.” 

[lastoneout]

It really is kinda awful how many job listings will just straight up lie to you about what you "need" to be able to do to screen out disabled applicants. Like fucking Safeway will be looking for a cashier and the listing is like "you ABSOLUTELY MUST be able to stand for 8+ hours a day, NO exceptions" as if you can't do everything required to run the check out line sitting down. Old Navy is like "you must be able to understand body language and facial expressions and make eye contact" like sorry dude I think autistic people can sell t-shirts just fine without doing all that, like honestly what the hell does understanding facial expressions have to do with telling someone where the clearance section is. Don't really think the customers at TJ Max are going to go full Purge mode if one employee can only perform a task requiring fine motor skills 15 times a minute instead of 30, like idk maybe you don't need the lines to move thst fast actually. Maybe everyone can chill out and wait a second. I think the people at Starbucks will be okay if the barista isn't great at multitasking and can't make small talk with every single customer while also running the drive through and making 15 different drinks.

It's such horseshit, none of these job require these things but they can just lie and say they do and disabled people will clear out because we know it's just a big neon sign saying "crippled freaks need not apply", even if that sentence is followed by some fake ass fluff about you being an equal opportunity employer. Like you would not be insisting your underpaid cashiers be able to "make eye contact and understand body language" if you cared about not discriminating against disabled people, that wording specifically is straight out of the DSM-5, what you're doing is fucking obvious and pure goddam evil.

The best part too is then you get denied for SSI benefits because you "can" work, they don't actually care that every single job listing is tailor made to tell us to fuck right off. The potential to be able to work and actually being able to be hired are too different things entirely but sure. I can work. If I find an employer that doesn't care that I'm in a wheelchair and can't make eye contact or life heavy objects or that I need to only work 4 hours a day so I still have the energy to take care of myself outside of work and also have to take 10 days a month off for doctor's appointments and unpredictable health flares. And also crucially does NOT require a fucking degree or drivers license. Find me a job like that that and I'd be overjoyed to work.

But trust me, jobs that can accommodate me simply do not fucking exist, and unfortunately for all of us that is very much by design.

[the-offside-rule]

Lando Norris (McLaren) - Two Hands pt. II

Requested: yes

Prompt: this ask

Warnings: smutttt

Part 1

The atmosphere at the Las Vegas Grand Prix was electric. The sun reflected off the vibrant paddock, buzzing with drivers, team members, and fans. Y/n and Tate had just wrapped up soundcheck for their opening performance and were now taking in the sights. It wasn’t every day that you got invited to perform at one of the most glamorous racing events in the world. "This place is insane." Tate said, spinning her phone around to capture the glitzy energy of the paddock. Y/n nodded, shielding her eyes from the desert sun. "Yeah, it’s wild. Let’s not get lost, though."

"Lost? In the middle of this crowd? No chance." Tate replied with a mischievous grin. "But you know what we should do? Film a TikTok." Y/n groaned. "Tate, no."

"Y/n, yes. It’s perfect! We’re at a Grand Prix, we’re musicians, and we have viral audio just begging to be used." Reluctantly, Y/n agreed. She followed Tate to an open section of the paddock, where they started filming. "Okay, when I point the camera at you, you lip-sync the 'Leclerc' part and strut like you own the place." Tate instructed. "Fine." Y/n said, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress a smile. The camera started rolling. Y/n gave her best sultry walk, mouthing the words perfectly as the audio played. "Leclerc! Leclerc! Charles Leclerc-"

She was so focused on the TikTok that she didn’t notice the person in her path until she collided with them. "Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!" Y/n exclaimed, hands flying up to steady the person she’d bumped into. "No harm done." The man said with a chuckle, brushing himself off. "Y/n?" Came the all-too-familiar voice from behind her. Her stomach twisted as she turned to see Lando standing there, arms crossed and his trademark smirk firmly in place.

"I see you’ve taken out my physio, Jon." Lando teased, motioning to the man Y/n had bumped into. "Oh my god, I’m so sorry." Y/n said again, her cheeks burning as she addressed Jon. "No worries." Jon said with a friendly smile, clearly used to the chaos of Lando’s world. "Nice TikTok work, by the way." Lando added, the teasing edge in his voice unmistakable. Y/n shot him a glare before grabbing Tate’s arm. "We need to go." She said quickly, dragging her friend away.

Once they were safely out of earshot, Tate burst into laughter. "That was gold! You walked straight into his team like you were aiming for it." Y/n groaned. “This day cannot get worse.”

"Oh, I think it just got better."

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Back in the hair and makeup trailer, Y/n leaned back in her chair while a stylist curled her hair. Tate, however, couldn’t help but poke the bear. "Alright-" Tate started, her eyes glinting mischievously. "Spill. What’s the deal with you and Lando? And don’t say nothing.' Y/n groaned. "There’s nothing to spill."

"Bullshit!" Tate exclaimed, pointing a comb at her. "Nothing does not constitute blushong like a schoolgirl when you bumped into him earlier. What happened? Did it end on bad terms?" Y/n hesitated, but Tate’s relentless stare wore her down. "It didn't end on bad terms, it just shouldn't have happened." She muttered. "It started in Miami. I was trying to get into this club, but the bouncer wouldn’t let me in. Lando saw me outside, recognized me, and invited me to join him instead."

"And?"

"And we ended up back at his hotel room. Drank way too much from the mini-bar, talked about everything, and... yeah, one thing led to another." Tate’s jaw dropped. "You know, i would have really appreciated if you had told me you had slept with Lando before all of this." Y/n shushed her frantically. "Keep it down!"

"Oh, this is gold." Tate said, practically bouncing in her chair. "Wait. Is he why you wrote Two Hands?" Y/n didn’t answer, instead focusing on the stylist adjusting her makeup. "Oh my god, it is!" Tate exclaimed, laughing loudly. "You’re shameless."

"Can we please focus on the performance? You're like a kid!" Y/n grumbled, desperate to change the subject. "Fine, butafterwards? I am asking every question under the sun."

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The stage lights were dazzling, the crowd roaring as Y/n and Tate took the stage. The beat of Two Hands reverberated through the paddock, and Y/n let herself fall into the music, swaying and singing like the world was watching. As the bridge approached, her eyes scanned the crowd. Her heart skipped when she spotted Lando standing near the drivers, arms crossed, a smug grin playing on his lips. The lyrics spilled from her like a confession:

I want them all to see, you look good on top of me. At this time, at night, I need. Not one, not three.

Her gaze locked with his, and she sang directly at him, her voice sultry and unyielding. Just your two hands on me. The smirk on his face faltered, replaced by something darker, more intense. She smirked as she turned back to the audience, the final notes lingering in the air. The crowd continued their cheers as Y/n and Tate began their dance break, before finally ending in their poses and smiling as the crowd erupted into roars. "Thank you Vegas!" Tate exclaimed before the pair ran off stage.

Backstage, Tate was practically vibrating with excitement. "Okay, wow. You really went all in during that performance. Wonder why?" She teased, winking exaggeratedly. "Shut up." Y/n muttered, though her cheeks were warm.

As they finally landed back in their hotel room, Y/n collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. Tate began rambling on about something random while Y/n's phone buzzed, and when she checked it, her stomach flipped.

Lando Come see me. Room 1208.

She stared at the message until Tate, who had been scrolling through her phone nearby, glanced over. "Oh my god. Is that?" Y/n nodded. Tate squealed, jumping up and down on the bed as Y/n thought of a response, or whether to respond at all. "You have to go!" Tate shouted, landing down beside her friend. "No way!" Y/n said, shaking her head. "Yes way!" Tate insisted. "You’d regret it if you didn’t and you know it. You gotta go."

After much convincing, Y/n found herself standing outside Lando’s door, her heart pounding. She raised a trembling hand and knocked and waited for him to answer, fumdbling with her fingers in anticipation. What if someone were to find her there? What would the media say? Not even a moment later, the door opened to reveal Lando, his grin as cocky as ever. "Took you long enough." He started as he leaned against the doorframe.

But Y/n didn’t let him finish. She grabbed his shirt, pulling him down into a kiss as she pushed him back into the room. The door clicked shut behind her as she kicked it closed with her heel. Their bodies collided, the familiar feel of his hard chest against her breasts igniting a fire within her. She moaned softly as his strong arms wrapped around her, his fingers digging into her hips possessively. "I've missed this." He whispered, his warm breath caressing her neck. "Missed having you like this."

Y/n's hands roamed over his broad shoulders, relishing the feel of his firm muscles beneath her palms. "I've missed you too." She confessed, her voice barely audible. "Missed the way you make me feel so alive." Lando's lips found hers, crushing her mouth in a hungry kiss. His tongue invaded her mouth, demanding and possessive, as if he was claiming her all over again. Y/n responded eagerly, matching his passion, their tongues dancing in a familiar rhythm. The kiss was a battle of wills, each trying to dominate the other, but it was a battle they both wanted to lose.

Breaking the kiss for air, Lando trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. His hands traveled up her thighs, lifting her skirt as he went, his touch sending shivers of pleasure through her body. "You're so fucking beautiful." He growled against her skin, his hands reaching her lace panties. He hooked his fingers into the sides, tugging them down her legs, his eyes never leaving hers. "I want to see all of you."

Y/n stepped out of her panties, kicking them aside, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew Lando loved to watch, and the thought of being on display for him only heightened her arousal. She stood before him, completely exposed, her breasts heaving with each rapid breath. Lando's eyes devoured her, his gaze traveling from her flushed face down to her glistening pussy. "So fucking wet already." He murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Eager, arent you?"

He dropped to his knees before her, his hands gently grasping her thighs, urging them apart. Y/n's breath caught in her throat as she felt the warmth of his breath on her sensitive flesh. With slow, deliberate movements, Lando leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste her. A soft moan escaped Y/n's lips as his tongue swirled around her clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. He teased her gently, licking and sucking, driving her wild with need. His hands held her hips firmly, keeping her steady as he feasted on her, his dark hair brushing against her inner thighs. "Oh, Lando." She whispered, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Don't stop, please."

Lando chuckled, the vibration of his laughter against her sensitive skin sending her closer to the edge. He increased the pace, his tongue working its magic, driving her higher and higher. Y/n's thighs trembled as her orgasm built, her body tense with anticipation. "That's it, baby." He encouraged, his voice hoarse. "Let go, cum for me." His words were all it took. Y/n's body convulsed as an intense orgasm ripped through her, her juices flowing freely. Lando lapped at her eagerly, drinking in her essence, his tongue never slowing until she was reduced to a quivering mess.

As her trembling subsided, Lando stood, his eyes blazing with satisfaction. "That was just the beginning." He promised, his voice low and dangerous. Y/n's eyes widened, anticipation and desire mingling in her gaze. She knew Lando wasn't one to hold back, and the thought of what was to come left her both excited and apprehensive. He guided her towards the bed, his hands roaming over her body, leaving a trail of goosebumps. With a gentle push, he laid her down on the soft sheets, his muscular form hovering over her. "You're going to feel every inch of me." He growled, his voice laced with raw desire.

Y/n's heart raced as she felt the bulge in his pants pressing against her core. She reached down, unbuckling his belt with trembling fingers, eager to free the hard length of him. Lando's breath hitched as she slowly unzipped his pants, his cock springing free, thick and straining. "Fuck, you're beautiful." She whispered, running her fingers along his length, marveling at the way he throbbed in her hand.

Lando groaned, his eyes closing momentarily as he savored the sensation. "I need to be inside you." He rasped, his voice rough. With a swift movement, he positioned himself at her entrance, his tip nudging her wet folds. Y/n arched her back, inviting him in, her body yearning for the familiar fullness. With one smooth thrust, he filled her completely, their bodies joining in a perfect fit. "Yes!" Y/n cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders as she adjusted to his size.

Lando began to move, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm. Each stroke sent waves of pleasure through her body, his cock hitting all the right spots. He moved with purpose, his powerful body driving into hers, his breath hot on her neck. "You feel so good." He grunted, his voice strained. "So tight around me."

Y/n's hands gripped his ass, urging him deeper, her body craving every inch of him. She matched his rhythm, her hips rising to meet his, their bodies moving as one. The room filled with the sounds of their passion—the wet slaps of skin, their labored breathing, and the bed creaking beneath them.

"Harder." She panted, her eyes wild with desire. "Fuck me harder, Lando." Lando obliged, his thrusts becoming more forceful, his cock pounding into her relentlessly. Y/n's body trembled, her orgasm building again, her senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of their union. "That's it, baby." Lando growled, his jaw clenched as he fought his own release. "Cum for me again." His words were like a trigger, sending Y/n over the edge. Her body convulsed around him, her pussy clenching and releasing his throbbing cock. Lando let out a primal roar as her climax milked him, his own orgasm building to an unbearable peak.

With one final, powerful thrust, he emptied himself inside her, his hot cum filling her depths. Their bodies shuddered in unison, the pleasure overwhelming, as they rode out their shared climax. As their breathing slowed, Lando collapsed onto the bed beside her, his chest heaving. Y/n turned towards him, her fingers tracing the contours of his face, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

"That was-" She began, searching for the right words. "Incredible," Lando finished, his eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "Just as I remembered it." Y/n's heart warmed at his words, knowing that despite the time apart, their connection remained as strong as ever. She snuggled closer, feeling his strong arms wrap around her, and they lay there, content in the aftermath of their passionate reunion.

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@f1fantasys @willowsnook @aerie717 @lifeonawhim @henna006

[mapiforpresident]

Forever

Leah x reader

~~~

The evening was calm, the world outside falling into a quiet hum as the lights in your living room flickered warmly. The two of you were curled up on the couch, just like you always were when the world slowed down enough for you to simply be together. Leah’s strong arms were wrapped around you, her fingers playing gently with your hair as you lay across her, your head resting on her chest.

You could hear the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, a comforting sound that matched your own. Every so often, she’d let out a soft chuckle at the random movie you had playing in the background, but neither of you were really paying attention to the screen. The real focus was each other—just the closeness, the quiet, the love.

You tilted your head back, catching Leah’s gaze, and without a word, she leaned in. Her lips met yours softly at first, but that didn’t last long. Soon enough, you were tangled in each other, kissing deeply, fingers tracing the contours of each other’s faces, mouths moving in sync. You melted into her, the familiar warmth of her touch filling you in a way that nothing else ever could.

But just as you were losing yourself in the moment, Leah pulled back. You blinked, her thumb gently brushing across your lips as she looked down at you, her expression soft but serious.

“We should get married,” she said suddenly, her voice carrying an unexpected calmness. The words hung in the air between you, almost like a question, but also a statement—a suggestion that felt more like a possibility than just a passing thought.

You blinked, not sure if you had heard her right at first. “Wait, what?” you asked, your voice a little breathless from the kiss.

Leah smiled softly, her eyes never leaving yours. “I mean it. We’ve been together for three years now, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it. So... why not make it official?” Her thumb brushed over your cheek, and she added, “What do you think?”

The quiet that followed was almost deafening, the weight of her words sinking in. You had never really talked about marriage before. You’d been so content with just the two of you, building your life one day at a time, that it had never occurred to you how serious Leah was about it. But now, hearing it from her lips, everything clicked into place.

A grin tugged at your lips, and your heart swelled in your chest. You sat up slightly, just enough to look at her more directly. “Leah, you’re serious?”

Leah chuckled, running a hand through her blonde hair. “Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be? I love you. I want to spend my life with you. I don’t want to wait forever to make that official. But only if you want it too. No pressure.”

You took a moment to let her words sink in. You thought about everything the two of you had been through—how you’d supported each other through thick and thin, how your love had only grown stronger with time. It felt natural. Right, even. You had always known that Leah was the one, but hearing her say it aloud made your chest ache with a love so deep that it almost felt like you couldn’t contain it.

“I want it, too,” you whispered, a soft smile pulling at your lips as your hand gently cupped her face. “I can’t think of anything more perfect.”

Leah’s eyes lit up, and before you knew it, she was kissing you again—gentle, sweet, and full of promise. Her lips moved against yours as if sealing the new bond between you, the world outside seeming to fade away completely.

When she pulled back again, her face lit up with a grin so wide it made her eyes sparkle. “We’re going to make this work,” she said, her voice full of certainty. “We’ll figure it out together. I just— I just want you to know that I love you. So much.”

You smiled, brushing your forehead against hers, feeling the weight of the moment sink in. “I love you too, Leah. I always have.”

And in that quiet, cozy space between you, with nothing but the soft glow of the lamp and the sound of your synchronized breaths filling the air, it felt like the world had just shifted, rearranged itself into something even more beautiful than before. The idea of forever was suddenly real, and it was with her.

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

yandere!young justice x magician and sorcerer!reader

BUUUUUUUUUT,the readed is a part of the team,however,shows no interest in them,and it just there because she kinda just has to,and no matter how much they try to get her attention,she never gives them any of it.

(I love your writing btw😼)

Yandere! Young Justice x magician! Reader

The Cave was quiet, as it always was at night, the hum of machines and distant murmurs of the world outside barely touching the stillness that clung to the mountain like a second skin. In this isolated hollow, surrounded by the cool stone walls, you could hear your own thoughts—the whisper of spells, the pulse of magic, the unspoken words you chose not to say.

You never had to explain yourself here, never had to wear the mask of pleasantries or pretend you cared about anything more than the mission. The others, they didn’t understand. They couldn’t, not really. You weren’t like them, never had been. You didn’t need the comfort of their companionship. You didn’t want their attention, their curiosity, or their pity.

And yet, they tried.

Conner was always watching. A silent presence, brooding and intense, always lingering in the background, his eyes following your every movement. He never asked questions—no, that wasn’t his style. Instead, he observed, the way a predator watches its prey, calculating, waiting. He never made an effort to speak, not in the way Wally did with his incessant jokes or M'gann with her quiet warmth. Conner was patient, cold, waiting for something to crack, for something to change.

His silence was a constant reminder. He didn’t need to speak; you could feel his presence, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, always at the edge of your vision, always waiting.

It was unsettling, but you never let it show.

Wally was a different story altogether. His energy was like a crackling fire, unpredictable, always bouncing from one thing to the next. He couldn’t sit still, couldn’t leave you be. "Come on," he would say, leaning over your shoulder as you worked on a spell, his grin wide and carefree. "Show me something cool. You know you’ve got some crazy magic tricks up your sleeve."

His insistence was always accompanied by that grin of his, mischievous and bright, as though his charm could draw you out of your shell. But you never did. You never gave him the satisfaction of seeing you smile, never let him see you as more than just another teammate. It wasn’t his fault—he was just trying to make the team feel more like a family. But you didn’t care about family. You didn’t care about any of them.

“I’m busy,” you’d say, dismissing him with a flick of your hand, returning to your spell. And Wally, ever the optimist, would laugh and zip away, the sound of his footsteps echoing as he left you to your silence.

But it wasn’t enough for him, no. His persistence was a thing of legend. Sometimes you’d catch him watching you, his gaze fixed, a question burning in his eyes. "Why are you always like this?" he seemed to ask with every look. But he never voiced it. Instead, he’d turn away, hoping that somehow, eventually, you’d change your mind.

Then there was Robin. The dark and silent watcher. He knew how to stay in the shadows, how to be everywhere without being seen. His presence was like the night itself—always there, always watching, never truly gone. Robin was the most subtle of them all. He never asked outright; instead, he would drop little comments, observations that always felt like a puzzle, like he was trying to figure you out, piece by piece.

"You know, you could talk to us more," he’d say, casually leaning against the wall as he watched you work. His tone was light, almost playful, but you could sense the undercurrent of something more—something deeper. “We don’t bite, you know.”

You didn’t respond. Of course, you didn’t. The only response he got was the steady flick of your fingers over the spellbook, the quiet hum of magic filling the space between you. He didn’t try to get too close, not like Wally or M'gann, but his eyes never stopped tracking you, always measuring, always calculating. Robin was patient, the kind of person who knew that some things took time, that some people had walls that needed to be broken down slowly.

And you? You weren’t going to let him.

M'gann was the opposite. Her presence was always warm, soft, inviting. She would sit beside you, her legs tucked under her, her eyes wide with curiosity. "You know," she would say with that gentle voice of hers, "I could help you with your spells. I can be a good study partner, if you ever need one."

Her kindness wasn’t forced, never had been. It was natural for her, as natural as breathing. She wasn’t like the others who were driven by some sense of duty or curiosity. No, M'gann’s attention was genuine, a quiet offer of companionship. She was the one who tried to reach you without asking, without expecting anything in return.

But you didn’t need help. You didn’t need her to reach you. And so, you’d quietly decline, giving her nothing more than a polite smile before returning to the words in your book, the pages filled with symbols that had no need for her warmth.

And then there was Artemis. The sharp, straightforward one. She didn’t waste time on subtlety. Her approach was always direct, blunt, like a sharp blade that never hesitated. "You don’t have to be so closed off, you know," she’d say, her voice a mix of irritation and something else. It was hard to tell with Artemis—her eyes were always guarded, her emotions always hidden behind a wall of indifference. "We’re all in this together."

She had a point, of course. But you didn’t care. You didn’t care about being “in it together.” You had your own path to follow, and they weren’t a part of it. You didn’t need to explain that to her, or to anyone. So, you’d give her a nod, a brief acknowledgment that wasn’t really an acknowledgment, and move on with your work.

Kaldur was the calm one, the quiet one. His respect for you was obvious, but it never crossed the line into anything more. He would offer you a nod as he passed, his gaze soft, his presence steady like the water he controlled. He didn’t push you the way the others did. He didn’t try to break down your walls. He simply respected them, kept his distance, and allowed you to be as you were.

But even Kaldur had moments when his gaze would linger on you, just a second too long, like he was waiting for you to finally open up, to let him see more than the cold silence you kept locked behind your eyes.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough for you to feel the weight of their gaze, the quiet pressure of their attention. They thought they understood you. They thought that if they just tried enough, kept reaching out, eventually, you’d let them in.

But you wouldn’t.

In the midst of their attempts, you kept your distance, always lost in the pages of your spells, your incantations, the quiet hum of power that thrummed beneath your fingertips. They were drawn to you, like moths to a flame, their fascination burning just beneath the surface of their words, their glances, their actions.

But you would remain untouched. You would keep your secrets locked away, your magic a barrier between you and the world they wanted to draw you into.

They didn’t understand it, not really. They couldn’t. You were not like them. You didn’t need what they offered. You didn’t need to be a part of their team, their family, their world. You were the silent watcher, the one who kept their distance while they reached out, always hoping that something would change.

But it wouldn’t.

You weren’t there for them. You were there because you had a purpose, one that had nothing to do with them, nothing to do with the team, and nothing to do with any of their quiet, unspoken obsessions. You would remain distant, and they would keep trying, never understanding why you remained so cold, so unreachable.

And that, for now, was enough.

(A/n: thank you kind fellow fur🤭😽)

[therealbeachfox]

"Why do we make laser grids like these?" came the chirp from across the table.

"What do you mean?" Otto responded without looking up.

"I mean, instead of a messy random arrangement of lasers that a nimble intruder might be able to jump through, why not a simple grid wall with no gaps large enough to allow a person to pass?"

Otto sighed heavily and looked up from the blueprints he'd been amending and reworking to focus on his nephew. One of his nephews. One of his multitude of nephews because none of his siblings understood the concept of wrapping it up. He was at Mykola's place, so probably one of his. Too young to be Aiden, too old to be Eric. A, B, C... Connor? Conway? Conrad? One of those. At that extra annoying age where they're too curious for their own good, and have started to believe they actually know something, so get real argumentative about it when you prove they don't.

There's a reason why Otto didn't have kids. Or deal with kids. And tried to talk the Boss out of putting kids into his deathtraps. Fucking kids. Ugh.

"Because if we did that, it'd be impossible to get through." he said, hoping it'd satisfy the kid.

"But isn't that what you're trying to do?" Mykola's boy had his head twisted around to try and look at the blueprints from his uncle's perspective and was tracing out the twisting pathways with his eyes. "This whole thing is a giant 'You Can't Get In Here' tunnel. I don't understand why you're leaving holes in the security."

Well, the kid had actually asked, instead of just flat out stating that his way would be better. Otto grit his teeth and settled himself back for a proper lecture. "You're thinking too mundanely, kid." The boy looked up curiously and brushed a tangle of near-black hair out of his eyes. Slightly mollified, Otto continued. "This isn't like designing security for a bank or vault or something. This is something for my Boss. So we're already not designing like we would for the public sector, right?"

"Yeah? Yeah." Con-whatever agreed, though still looking just as confused.

"So, our issue is, whoever comes looking for whatever it is that the Boss is gonna put at the end of this is already going to be uniquely skilled and driven. Not just your average jewelry robbers or beat cops, right?"

"Right, yeah, you're going to be dealing with capes or cowls and stuff, sure. But wouldn't that mean you'd want it all extra locked down?" The kid was now looking directly at him. But with the intense look of someone who didn't understand but wanted to. It was by far more annoying than if the kid had just been flat-out disparaging of the whole process. Now Otto couldn't just tell him to shove off without feeling bad about it. Ugh.

"Well, here's the thing. If this was something the Boss really wanted to keep away from people, he'd have it put in some indistinguishable bank vault lock-box by a patsy that one of us underlings had hired through a third party, leaving two whole layers unaware of who even wanted the thing in there, and at least three whole layers who have no idea what the object even is besides. But he's not doing that, he's putting it at the end of a long tunnel of traps, alarms, and obstacles. Which means, what he wants is for whoever's coming after him to go through the whole thing. Which means it's gotta be at least theoretically possible to get through the whole thing. If you were a cowl and you came across a perfect laser grid that there was no way to squirm your way through and no way to work around, what would you do?"

Mykola's kid frowned down at the blueprints, eyebrows furrowed in tweenage concentration. "Start cutting through the walls, I guess. Either to find a way to cut the power, or to bypass the tunnel all toget-OH! Ooooooh, okay! I see, I see!" Otto grabbed the edge of the table to steady it as the kid started bouncing a little in his seat. "If you make it impossible, the cowls will start thinking outside the box and start looking for ways to end-run around the whole thing. If you make it difficult, but still possible, they're going to be too busy focusing on how to do the almost impossible thing so they're still playing by your Boss' rules instead of making up their own!"

Otto grunted and bit back the hint of a smile that wanted to cross his lips. Last thing he wanted to do was encourage the brat; then he'd be stuck answering questions all day. "Now you've got it. Make it hard enough that they waste as much time getting through it as possible without breaking out their bat-themed metal cutters or retreating and finding another way to come in altogether. Same reason why museums do it this way. Otherwise, the only way to get at shit would be to blow a hole in the floor, and that'd damage way more artifacts than whatever the thief was targeting originally."

"Okay, I think I totally get it. Is that why the HVAC ducts are big enough for sidekicks to get through? In case they can't work stuff out?"

Otto blinked and scowled back down at the blueprints to figure out what the kid was talking about, "No? No! I've got them as small as they can get without leaving the air rank, and we've got mesh grids every five feet just in case they try anyway."

The kid pointed down at one point in the blueprints and traced out a line that went way from one-third of the way through the hallway to right near the end, "Not on this one. And it's got this other branch that leads out to the bathrooms in the laundry mat you're using as a front, even!"

Otto squinted down at what the kid was pointing out. It was a second branch of the air circulation network, focused mainly on the above ground business, but with a few pipes down below ground as federally mandated backups to the system he'd been focusing on locking down. "No. That's not for the sidekicks." He growled and grabbed for an eraser and pencil and got to work grinding out alterations.

"Huh. So what about the-" the kid started.

"One thing at a time. Let me get this fixed, then you can ask the next one, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, okay!" The kid shrugged and grabbed up one of Otto's old notebooks that had the first iteration of designs for the Boss' main vault and started reading while kicking his legs.

Otto just ground his teeth and focused on his work. Only thing worse than a kid was a precociously bright kid with an honest interest in your work. Worse thing in the goddamn world.

He should message Mykola and let him know he needed to get one of his other kids to bring up snacks for the brat. He was at that age where he was going to get hungry long before Otto was done.

"Why do we make laser grids like these?" "What do you mean?" "I mean instead of a messy random arrangement of lasers that a nimble intruder might be able to jump through, why not a simple grid wall with no gaps large enough to allow a person to pass through?"

[keepingitformyself]

especially for tender ones like us

A/N: hehehehehehehehehehehehe synopsis: humor, anxiety, and the salvation of love.

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: fluff.

warnings: no?

MASTERLIST

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

natasha tries not to stumble over her words when she suggests staying in, instead of going out. she does not mean to, but she does. 

how could she not? could you really blame her for wanting a quiet night? something that isn’t so public. she wanted to see you, of course, but she wanted to see you in a space you could be comfortable in, without any of the outside world and free from any distractions.  

you listen intently through the other line, you fight the giggle at catching her little stutter. she can’t see, but you smile widely at the whole thing.

“yeah, we can stay in. i can cook us dinner,” you nod. natasha’s shoulders drop in a quiet sense of relief at your words. her lips curl into a smile. “i’d like that. i can’t wait.”

although this would only be the fourth time you had met up together, to natasha, it felt like the first every single time. 

you continue talking for a little while more. natasha shares details about her day, work, and what she ate during lunch. she tells you how on her way to grab her usual coffee order, an americano, she decided she’d switch her order to a matcha latte after having had you recommend it to her. she tells you, 

“it was good, but not nearly enough caffeine for me to keep up with,” she said, her tone light but teasing. and while it hadn’t become her new favorite drink, just knowing she’d tried it for you was more than enough. her words sent your thoughts spiraling, a warmth blooming in your chest. you were certain that if she were standing next to you, you wouldn’t hesitate to kiss her right then and there.

but you can’t do that so instead, you just fall back on your bed like a high schooler talking to her crush. 

when you finally do meet up the following evening, natasha is buzzing with nerves she doesn't understand. she has taken down whole regimes and has fought aliens from space, yet she seems to draw the line when it comes to facing you. 

she knocks on your door, her other arm clutching a brown bag containing wine and flowers. a reasonable offering if you’re having dinner with someone you want to impress. 

when you answer the door, you're wearing a cream-colored knit sweater. 

“i thought i heard pacing out there.” you joke. 

natasha’s cheeks flush as she tries—and ultimately fails—to fight the smile tugging at her lips. “i wasn’t pacing,” she says, though the slight crack in her voice gives her away.

you step aside and invite her in, and neither of you acknowledges the quiet intimacy of the moment. it feels like more than just dinner, more than just a simple evening in your apartment.

you’re about to cook for her, and somehow, that feels monumental.

natasha’s nerves are a mess, though she can’t quite figure out why—or maybe she can. maybe it’s the way your presence makes her feel unsteady, as though the ground beneath her shifts whenever you’re near.

but natasha doesn’t want to be nervous.

she saw once—a penguin mistaking a sleeping walrus for a rock. the penguin had been caught completely off guard when the walrus stirred, nearly crushing it before it scurried away just in time.

natasha had found it funny at the time, the way surprises can sneak up on you. but now, thinking about it, it doesn’t feel so funny. it feels… unnerving.

surprises are bad for the heart, she thinks. she’s been taught her whole life to avoid them, to anticipate every possibility before it unfolds.

but knowing too much, being too prepared—that can hurt, too.

her thoughts are interrupted by your laughter, light and unburdened, as you guide her toward the kitchen. your smile is so easy, so genuine, and she can’t help but feel how good it is to exist in this space with you.

she offers to help you cook, but you shoo her away instead. you make her watch.

she sits there, with her hands on her lap, and just stares. and she can’t help the look of longing on her face. the kind of thing that suggests she wouldn’t mind this being a constant. 

you made pasta for the evening. nothing too spectacular, but natasha had treated it like you were a top chef and had spent hours crafting everything with your bare hands. 

and then once you’ve plated food for you both and you’ve gotten down to a few bites, you notice the small sigh natasha lets out. the flutter of her eyes as she takes in the meal. 

you smile at her reaction as you move some of the food with your fork. 

“do you like it?”

she looks at you, mid-chew, her mouth stuffed with the food, but she manages a smile. 

“yeah, uh, yes it’s good. it’s so good,” she says, hand over her mouth. 

you continue eating, talking about everything and anything. the night was filled with small moments that would bleed into much deeper ones. you laughed, she smiled, you smiled, she laughed. the kind of things one feels they become when around those who make you tender. 

and you don’t know how or when but you try not to notice how little by little natasha seems to retract a little. 

you decide maybe she needs a small moment for herself and start cleaning up the table. she offers to help, but you wave her off, insisting she relaxes. 

she tries to, but realistically, natasha doesn’t know how to relax. so she sits back and stares at you like she isn’t sure what to do with herself. she isn’t used to this at all. spaces like this–warm, cozy, comfortable.

the impending guilt comes. it’s all so layered. she feels so much at once. the nervousness, the anxiety, the fear of loss, the fear of not being present enough. 

natasha doesn’t know how to be here without sacrificing so much. 

after a while, natasha speaks up. 

“i should probably get going.” her voice too casual to sound like she meant it. she tries not to notice the look of disappointment on your face when you turn around to face her. 

“you don’t have to.” you find yourself saying, not wanting her to leave. 

she hums, something that says she’s already made up her mind. she gets up and gathers her things. 

you follow her to the door, or at least try to—but you pause at the end of the hall when you see her linger near the door, uncomfortably. unsure if she should leave. 

you call her out on it. “you can stay longer if you want.”

natasha wrestles with herself because she really wants to. she looks at the door as if it’d answer for her. 

you’re letting her know. 

natasha feels awkward, clammy hands. she doesn't know what she’s doing. and it’s hard to think of anything else when your eyes are screaming, don't actually leave, at her. 

you look at her carefully, trying to see if you can find any clear indication of what she may be feeling, but it isn’t hard to figure out the redhead in front of you. 

you’ve noted quite quickly how easy it comes for her walls to lower when you’re around. and if there’s anything you’ve learned from that, it’s that natasha romanoff isn’t the trained killer everyone thinks she is. 

sure we all have certain versions we show to certain people. but the natasha you know is anything but rough-edged. the natasha you’ve come to know is actually quite the opposite of what everyone else perceives. 

she’s tender, in her own silent way. too afraid to ever let too much slip away that she’s so painfully aware of everything around her. 

natasha is tenderness wrapped in quiet strength, a paradox of someone who feels deeply but guards herself fiercely. she sees the world clearly—the beauty and the harm—and carries that weight like a constant ache.

like she knows the world hurts more for those most aware of hurt. 

her tenderness isn’t soft; it’s sharp, vigilant, always bracing for the pain that comes with letting others in. you can see it in the flicker of her gaze, the way she hesitates as if expecting the world to hurt her.

and yet, she doesn’t harden. she holds onto that fragile, open part of herself, even when it would be easier not to. it’s beautiful and a little heartbreaking.

natasha looks up at you, then back down at her hands. just above a whisper, she says, 

“i don't know what i’m doing.” 

“that’s the most fun part.” you joke. she smiles, she doesn’t know how to say she wants more time. 

how could she say she feels greedy at this moment? she wants to protect being here with you. we have such little time, she thinks. 

bashfully, she steps closer to you, “i don't want to go.” she says. 

“then don’t.” and natasha almost complies. instead, she takes a step closer, her hand lifting towards your cheek. she’s so close now. 

she kisses you, soft, and shy, but you make her feel sure when your arm circles her neck, deepening the kiss altogether. when she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours, she lets out a shaky breath. 

“maybe i’ll forget my scarf,” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. 

“please do,” you replied. please leave your scarf, please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of leaving. please always come back. “that way you’ll have to come back later for it.”  

and just like that, her quiet uncertainty washes away. 

she takes her scarf off and drops it near the door. you follow her actions, you smile, amusement in your eyes. 

later that night, when natasha gets home, she texts you. 

i forgot my scarf. 

you reply, you’ll have to come get it then. 

[sherewrytes]

Plug Choso

Plug Choso: Who always cleans and pre-rolls your blunts and joints for free every time you buy from him, just to see the smile you give him when he hands them over.

Plug Choso: Always gives you his latest strains to try before anyone else, leaning in close as he says, "I saved this one just for you, ma."

Plug Choso: Who openly flirts with you during drop-offs, running his tongue over his bottom lip and smirking when you catch him staring a little too long.

Plug Choso: Always keeps your favorite munchies stocked in the passenger seat of his Hellcat, handing them over with a wink like he’s been thinking about you all day.

Plug Choso: Who insists on sparking the blunt with you every now and then, just so he can "make sure it’s hitting right," but really, it’s just an excuse to chill with you a little longer.

Plug Choso: Who texts you late at night with "You good? Need anything?" even when you haven’t hit him up, making sure you know he’s just a call away.

Plug Choso: Who swears he doesn’t do this for anyone else, and the way he looks at you? Yeah, you’re starting to believe it.

Plug Choso: Who always shows up smelling good, like some expensive cologne and a hint of weed, knowing you’ll notice when he leans in just a little too close to pass you your bag.

Plug Choso: Who always tells you to hit him up, "Even if you don’t need anything. I don’t mind pulling up just to see you, ma."

Plug Choso: Who makes sure to call you “his favorite customer” but says it with that look that tells you he doesn’t mean it like that.

Plug Choso: Who parks outside your spot blasting your favorite songs, knowing it’ll have you cheesing before you even open the door.

Plug Choso: Who doesn’t let you carry your own stuff when he drops off, walking it all the way to your living room while teasing you about how you always over-order.

Plug Choso: Who lingers at the door like he’s waiting for an invite, running his fingers through his messy hair and giving you that boyish grin that always makes you weak.

Plug Choso: Who tells you, "Let me know when you’re smoking, I’ll slide through," but really just wants a reason to chill with you again.

Plug Choso: Who always notices when you switch up your hair, complimenting it with a "Damn, that’s fire. You just tryna distract me now, huh?"

Plug Choso: Who casually brushes his fingers against yours when handing you something, watching your reaction like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Plug Choso: Who’s lowkey protective, side-eying any guy he sees you talking to and asking, "Who’s that? He treating you right?"

Plug Choso: Who keeps your favorite rolling papers on deck because he knows you’re picky and doesn’t want you going anywhere else.

Plug Choso: Who always makes it feel like you’re the only one on his list, even though you know damn well he stays busy.

Plug Choso: Who always lingers a little too long when handing over your bag, his fingers brushing yours as his dark eyes flicker to your lips. "You sure you don’t need me to stay a while, ma?"

Plug Choso: Who offers to roll up with you at your place, sitting so close on your couch that his thigh presses against yours, his voice dropping lower every time he leans in to light the blunt.

Plug Choso: Who teases you relentlessly, asking, "Why you always smelling so damn good? You trying to distract me while I work?" as he trails his gaze over you slowly, taking in every detail.

Plug Choso: Who pulls up in his Hellcat late at night, texting you, "Come outside, I got something for you," just to hand you a bag of snacks and a pre-rolled joint, his excuse being, "Thought you might need it after a long day."

Plug Choso: Who never rushes when he’s with you, leaning against your doorframe as he watches you sort through your stash, licking his lips as he says, "You really trust me to hook you up, huh?"

Plug Choso: Who shows up at the club unannounced one night, catching sight of you dancing with some random dude. His jaw tightens, and before you even notice, he’s cutting between you and the guy with a cold, "Yo, I think she’s good."

Plug Choso: Who leans in close after the guy walks away, his hand resting low on your back. "What you doing out here letting dudes like that in your space, huh? You know you could’ve just called me if you wanted attention."

Plug Choso: Who stays by your side the rest of the night, his touch lingering on your waist and hips as he “helps” guide you through the crowd, making it real clear you’re with him now.

Plug Choso: Who pulls you into his car after the club, his voice low and possessive as he says, "You don’t need them when you got me, ma. I’ve been making that obvious, haven’t I?"

Plug Choso: Who kisses you like he’s been waiting for this moment forever, his hands gripping your thighs as he whispers against your lips, "I’ve been holding back for you, but you keep testing me."

Plug Choso: Who texts you later that night, "Made it home yet? Let me know. Don’t make me come back and check on you."

Plug Choso: Who stays on your mind long after the weed is gone, making you wonder if this is more than just business for him.

Plug Choso: Who doesn’t just drop off your stash—he stays to light up with you, sitting close enough that his thigh presses against yours. His deep, raspy voice always carries a teasing edge. "You gon’ share, or you just like showing off in front of me?"

Plug Choso: Who runs his fingers along your thigh while you’re mid-hit, smirking when your breath catches. "Relax, ma, it’s just me. You trust me, don’t you?"

Plug Choso: Who, after the club incident, corners you in your kitchen later that week, his broad frame boxing you in against the counter. "You really had me twisted the other night," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Watching you move like that with him? That wasn’t it."

Plug Choso: Who doesn’t even wait for your response before his hand slides to your waist, pulling you flush against him. His voice is gravelly now, his tone all possession. "You know damn well you should’ve been on me like that. What were you trying to prove, huh?"

Plug Choso: Who has your back pressed against the fridge, his lips ghosting over your neck, heat radiating from his body as his tattooed fingers trace your bare skin. "I’ve been real patient with you, Y/N. But you keep making me want to break my own rules."

Plug Choso: Who finally snaps when you whisper his name, his lips crashing against yours, rough and hungry, his hands gripping your hips like he’s staking a claim.

Plug Choso: Who backs you onto the counter, his hands firm as he lifts you up with ease. "You wanna play games, ma? Let’s see how long you keep that same energy when it’s just me and you."

Plug Choso: Who takes his time, teasing you with whispered promises between heated kisses. "I’ve been thinking about this, you know. Every time I see you, you make it harder to keep my head straight."

Plug Choso: Who pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. "You like making me crazy, don’t you?" he says, his voice dark and full of heat. "But now it’s my turn."

Plug Choso: Who doesn’t stop until he’s left you breathless, your body trembling from the intensity of it all. He pulls you close after, his lips pressing softly against your forehead as he murmurs, "Now you get it. No one else gets you like I do, ma."

Plug Choso: Who’s got you sitting on his lap later, still catching your breath, his hand tracing lazy circles on your thigh as he lights the blunt for you. "Don’t forget who’s really got you," he says, holding the joint to your lips.

[thurisazsalail]

I am so glad i had friends and people who looked out for me when i was in my teens and they were in their 30s-50s

I discovered lots of cool stuff i never would have been exposed to in my own age group and family

I probably wouldn't have bothered to read much because i got so much blatant hatred for it (and the things i learned from reading)

I probably would have thought a lot of really fucked up stuff was *normal*

And of course you know, all those other 17 years olds DEFINITELY have enough life experience to be out in the world and say that things are different, that they can be different, that choices are made and have to be made, but great changes are possible

But yeah, prob should have stayed only talking to people like 2 years older than me so i could definitely have gone on thinking that i existed to work and my parents are right, that i need to get pregnant asap or else i'll die at 19 from not being able to afford to eat, when a kid would guarantee me a mother's role in society

Yknow, fundie shit

You know who else says i shouldn't have been talking to anyone outside my approved safe group?

The fucking evangelical cult

Get the fuck outside.

Touching grass isn't good enough for some people. They need 6ft of full body contact with the dirt.

'all age gaps problematic' people are so wild. "what can a 19 year old and a 28 year even have in common??? what do they talk about??" BITCH THEIR HOBBIES???????

[maxarchive]

Listen to the full interview here.

Now, just as the championship was starting to get to a really tense point around Austin, there was this big controversy about driving ethics between you and Lando. The drivers had a big conversation with the FIA after that race about the guidelines and it felt in some ways that it was a consequence of what had happened in Austin. How did you feel about that? Did you ever feel like they were singling you out?

You know, honestly, I don't, even if they would have done or did, I, first of all, I don't care because I drive to what I think is possible and what is allowed in the rules. And if the rules are written like that, I will use the rules. I'm just not the type of person that I think, if that would have happened to me the other way around, you know. There is then other people commenting on, other drivers commenting on that were not involved in that whatever incident or whatever you call it. I don't think I would have been the person then to complain so hard because I would just think to myself that, okay, if that's the rules, that's how we do it instead of screaming that we need to change the rules. Because the problem is, if you make less rules and then something happens, then they will start screaming for more rules. Now we have the rules, maybe not perfect, but it will never be perfect. Because if we get to a certain rule set, there will be another incident where someone is not happy about and then they start screaming that the rules are not correct again. It's the same in football. If there's a foul and there are some clear rules about certain things, it's not always that the right decision is made on it, or is it a penalty given or not? Or was it offside or not? That's why you can never, at the end of the day, do it right. Do I think that consistency in the penalties can be better? Yes, for sure. But that only comes with, I think, stewards that are paid, you know, professional stewards. Not that I think that the stewards that we have right now, you know, they're doing their very best to what they have, you know, but I do think that, you know, in a sport like this, like you see in other sports as well, that when you have a paid board of stewards, I think it just works way better.

You said something very interesting there about the rules that you were always driving to the rules. And that's the fundamental point. I think no one said in Austin or thought that you'd done anything against the rules. But there was this particular kind of defense, you know, the kind of race to the apex, trying to be ahead and all the rest of it that people are talking about now. Do you think that just taking a step back from that particular incident, do you feel that that's the right way to go racing? Would you choose to do it that way if those weren't the rules? How would you like to do it?

Like I grew up with go-karting, where it's not about who is ahead of the apex or not. I think every driver is anyway a little bit different. I remember from go-karting as well with some, you just knew that if you went around the outside, you could hang it around the outside. And with some others, you couldn't because they would push you off. And I think you need a little bit more freedom on that. Because when... When it's that clear rule that you need to be ahead or alongside fully to the apex, you will create other issues with that, right?

So would you naturally want to give someone room on the outside on the exit if you were racing?

Well, me personally, I don't race like that.

You don't... What, sorry, what do you mean?

Well, it's like when I... So when I race with someone, I would... Well, he will not be able to overtake me around the outside.

Okay. Why?

Because that's how I grew up racing.

Okay. So you always think it's okay to go to the edge of the track and force someone off?

Yes, but I've raced against other people in go-karting that would give me space. You know, it's like, it's just a driver-related thing, that some drivers are just a bit more passive, you know, in racing. And that's just how they are. And some I know that even in F1 I can't hang it around the outside because they will push me off. It's just, it's like a bit more of like a racing, I would say, instinct.

So I think if you were to play the devil's advocate, how would someone ever overtake you? Because you will always go to the inside to defend.

It depends on the track layout. I think the main problem is that when you have so much tarmac on the outside, you, even if you lock up a little bit, you just run a little bit wide. But on old-school tracks, you normally never really have these kind of issues because it just doesn't happen because people are a little bit more tentative on the brakes. Also, the guy that is trying to overtake knows that if he makes a mistake and locks up, he's in the gravel and his race is done. You know, so that's what I think is the problem is the track layout is letting us do these kind of, like, you then have questions with some moves. Where if you go to, like, Suzuka or even Red Bull Ring in turn four, the downhill right-hander, where sometimes, you know, it's very rare that there is any, like, question mark move that has been done there because if you make a mistake and you brake too late, you go off in the gravel and you're penalized anyway. And I think we have to try and go back to these kind of things that when a driver goes off the track, there's a harsher penalty with just natural, like, track limits.

So you would never give someone in the outside room on the exit of the corner if you were racing?

Well, that's just normally the case, yeah.

Yeah, okay, cool.

And, of course, when the track is naturally the limit with the gravel being there, then no one even want to go around the outside because they know that. So you then try to go for a cutback or, you know, set yourself up in a different way.

[ganxiously]

This is the part of the helicopter crash fic I started writing today. I don't know if I'm going to post it to ao3 but I did want to share it here. Now, this first update is angst so read at your own risk, but it will be a happy ending, I promise. This is Tommy's pov and I'll be back with Buck's side of things and the aftermath as soon as I have finished writing them ��

The silence is stark in the aftermath and Tommy’s ears ring like they are still expecting the screech of the altitude alarms or the roar of metal crashing into rocks and trees. He’s not sure what happened, one moment he was flying his helo back to Harbour and the next, the altitude alarms started going off one by one. He had tried to fix it, tried to pull the bird up even as it became amply clear that nothing was working. They had dropped fast, swinging this side and that with the wind and then his tail had hit the cliffside, sending him and his medic rolling down the mountain in a 30-tonne metal can. He doesn’t know what happened to her, Amy, a new recruit with a penchant for keeping to herself. That’s why they worked together so well, a good thing until it led them here.

“Amy?”, he manages to ask, his voice coming out hoarse. “Medic Garcia?”

There is nothing. Not even the sound of feeble breaths. Tommy swallows the burgeoning feeling of grief and panic and tries to think of a way out. It’s dead of the night, the scenery outside the broken glass of his wind-screen pitch black, the flickering lights of the city not even visible from where he’s landed. He tries to move himself and then immediately freezes as the pain threatens to take away his consciousness. 

This is bad, he thinks. I don’t know how to get out of this one.

He is still strapped into his harness and beneath that, his flight suit is soaked with blood. It feels tacky and slippery against his skin, enough of it that he knows wherever it’s coming from, it’s not good news. It’s not survivable. His legs are pinned and he’s pretty sure the wet feeling around his eyes is blood. His ribs hurt and when he tries to move his hands, his shoulders refuse to bear the weight.

Oh, I am definitely not getting out of this one.

The realisation hits like G during a rapid climb and for the first time in long while, Tommy’s scared. He is terrified, as terrified as he hasn’t been since he was a wet-behind-his-ears boy seeing war for the first time. He thinks his hands would shake if he could move them that fast, his breath would stutter if it already wasn’t, wheezing past the damage, past the blood and tickling at his lips.  He doesn’t want to die like this, the thought occurs to him. He doesn’t want to die at all. He wants to turn back time and return to those scant months when he had been, for once, truly happy. He wants . . . he wants Evan. Beside him, holding his hand, his fingers tracing the lines on Tommy’s palm as he talks about anything and everything that comes to his mind.

Maybe that is the thing about impending death. Its finality, its loneliness puts things into perspective really fast. When he had all the time in the world, he had faltered, he had a thousand and one excuses ready as to why it was a bad idea. Now that Tommy’s out of time, there is not one that seems to hold up to reason. He wants Evan, he loves Evan and he should have told him that when he still had the chance. He should have spent every second he had left loving him.

He somehow manages to take his phone out of his pocket, surprised to see that it’s still mostly intact, except for the one thin crack down the middle. He thumbs it open and there he is, brushed golden in the sun and laughing at something Tommy had said. It’s a damn shame he can’t remember anymore what that something had been. There’s no cell service on his phone, which is bad but it also relieves him. He doesn’t have to make a 911 call, only to tell them they are already too late and like this, he won’t give in to the urge to hear Evan’s voice one last time.

He opens their message thread like he has done so many times these past couple of weeks, typing and deleting messages that never seem to be able to convey his complicated thoughts. He clicks on the typing bar, watches the keyboard pop up and then just keeps on staring, looking at the bloody fingerprint on his screen as he tries to think of what to write. What last words do you text your ex-boyfriend who you broke up with? That I’m sorry and I think I’m an even bigger asshole than you probably think I am?

The pain in his body notches up, so spread out that he barely knows where it originates from and he grits his teeth with an effort to keep himself from screaming. Eventually, it passes and Tommy takes the opportunity to click on the voice message button to the right.

“Buck.”

He hates that name on his tongue. 

“Evan.”, he starts and then stops again because it still doesn’t feel enough. It doesn’t feel like it encapsulates everything Tommy associates with that name — the warmth, the safety, the incredulous how is he real? and the helpless adoration that he just can’t seem to keep at bay no matter how much he tries. So, he gives it one more shot, “Evan. My Evan. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about a million things.”

A cough stops him, the movement jostling him enough that pain rips through him anew and he is left gasping and sobbing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stay away. I’m sorry I didn’t leave earlier and I’m sorry I left when I did . . . I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He swallows the blood in his mouth or at least, he tries to but all of it comes out with the next cough.

“I should have stuck around. I should have stayed and I should have loved you as long as you let me. I should . . . I should have told you I love you. Even—even if you don’t and that’s okay. You should— you shouldn’t love someone like me but that was no reason to not tell you I did. I just . . . I should have loved you as hard as I could while I still had the chance, Evan. You, at least, deserved that.”

He’s getting colder by the second and the part of his brain that still works, tells him that he is going into shock. Tommy’s running out of time and he’s running out of time fast.

“I don’t want to die.”, he manages to say through the sobs racking through his throat. He thinks he should feel pain but there isn’t anything beyond numbness anymore, “I don’t want to die and I don’t want to go through death alone. I want you . . .”

No, but that’s not right, is it? He doesn’t want Evan in this mess. Evan doesn’t deserve to get hurt again just to accompany Tommy in his last moments. He should be far away, happy, healthy and at peace. Maybe it is better that they broke up. If this was always supposed to be the end, it is surely better that Evan no doubt hates Tommy a little bit now. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Evan will leave a flower on his grave one day.

“I really wanted to be your last, you know?”, he finally says after a minute of silence, the words spilling out almost conversationally, long after he thought he’s run out of things to say. “But more than that, I wanted you to be my last and I’m happy that I got it, even if it’s not in the way I wanted it to be.”

And it's so fucking typical of him, isn’t it? He is being so selfish right now, ruining Evan’s life like this just so he can get some things off his chest. And he knows Evan, he knows what this message will do to him. Evan will go through life with the burden of Tommy’s regret on his shoulders and he hates how tempting that thought is, that if not in his heart, Tommy’s existence will at least have a place in the scars he carries for the rest of his life.

Here lies Tommy Kinard. He’s the bastard that broke my heart once upon a time.

But no, he can’t do that to Evan. He’s been selfish when he kissed Evan the first time, when they decided to give it a second try and when he hurt Evan to protect himself. He’s been selfish every moment that he managed to steal in between.

“Nevermind.”, he breathes out, smiling through the blood that’s threatening to choke him. “Nevermind, Evan. You— you don’t need to know all that. You should forget me. Forget there was ever a Tommy Kinard who loved you. Live a happy life and maybe . . . maybe in our next one, I’ll get to keep you. I’ll delete this now. I would have deleted myself out of your life too if I could’ve but this will have to do. I’m really outta time here, kid.”

He tries to blink away the blind spots around the edges of his vision but he’s fading fast. He fights against the unmoored feeling that is taking over, tries to swipe his screen in hopes of deleting the message but his hands are too slick and too weak to do anything anymore. The phone slips from his grasp and falls with a thunk somewhere near his feet, not that it matters. Not when he can barely remember what he was doing with the phone in the first place. Something to do with Evan. Maybe.

He huffs at his uselessness.

“Evan.”, his lips shape the word with care even though his voice doesn’t quite manage to colour it fully but it’s enough. It’s enough to have that be the last thing he speaks, to be the last thing he thinks about. The name washes away the cold like dawning sunrise on a crisp winter morning and Tommy is at peace, he is content.

“Tommy?”

That’s Evan’s voice. He has to go. He has to answer. He has to—

[kazutora-kurokawa]

Can I ask a wuestion?

What iif tenjikud girlfriend beaten up by their enemies after their rough fight. I wanna know see their reactions. Especcialy İzana and ran

Tenjiku When Their Girlfriend Gets Hurt By A Rival Gang

♡ SFW, angst, fluff, fem reader, violence against reader and random gang, murder but not anything detailed, Tenjiku members getting their getback ♡

note: yes anon, you may ask a "wuestion" lol

note 2: I've been ultra busy lately, essays, research papers, group projects, applying to jobs and all that jazz lol, things have been good tho

note 3: I put Ran and Rin together, scenario works for both regardless of which brother you're with

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Izana

🎴 Whoever hurt you must've had a death wish, you think Hanma is the grim reaper? Nothing compares to Izana running full speed at somebody

🎴 He tracks each of them down and essentially tortures them (as he should)

🎴 He refuses to kill anyone, he just beats them so bad that they wish they were dead

Kakucho

🩷 Kakucho is usually a very calm man, but as soon as he saw you, limping and covered in bruises, it was over for the bastards that messed with you

🩷 Launches a full fledged attack against the other gang and beats the shit out of their leader, then proceeds to use the leader's body as a weapon to beat the shit out of the other members

🩷 Once he's done he rushes home to take care of you, you're his top priority afterall

Ran & Rindou

💜 Whether you're with Ran or Rin, everybody knows that you have both rulers of Roppongi backing you up

🩵 So when you get jumped by a gang that has beef with Tenjiku, everyone in that gang's general vicinity knows it about to be a bloodbath and vacates accordingly

💜 They pull up on them, straightfaced and ready to pop off on whoever hurt you

🩵 Rin's putting them in leg locks and Ran's breaking faces with his baton, they're a duo at heart and tag teaming is their specialty, especially when they're standing up for you

Mochi

🍡 Shion is really gonna be calling him a gorilla the way he went apeshit (I'm sorry that was corny af lmao)

🍡 He's baffled by the audacity those motherfuckers had to put their hands on you knowing you were his

🍡 Puts every last one of them in the hospital, then beats the shit out of the person he had assigned to watch over you because what the fuck were they doing and why did they leave you alone 🤨

Mucho

💙 As soon as you call him and tell him what happened he has Sanzu pick you up and goes to take care of the 'problem'

💙 Comes home with blood on his clothes and acts like nothing happened

💙 He doesn't talk about what happened while he was gone, and you don't bring it up either. You have a shared silence about these types of things

Shion

🩸 Turns into a certified attack dog, but on the outside he tries to stay cool, calm, and collected so he can focus on you

🩸 Gives you all his attention and affection, vengeance can wait because his girl is hurting (future husband lowkey)

🩸 Once he thinks you're okay enough for him to leave you alone, he's speeding to the rival gang's hideout and bodying everybody, zero fucks given

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies @manji-hoe @southside-otaku @xxchthonicreaturexx @evergreen-endo @hanmaslilslut @dystop4in14nd @mysouleaten @mdsbabygirl

[donnedulac]

I can’t talk abt Spanish but I can talk about Portuguese (and in this case the situation is basically exactly the same).

True language, language as spoken, will always be “made” by the speakers, and regulatory agencies cannot really control it (and personally I believe the majority of their decisions are half brained, and I do resent their control over official language).

On the other hand, ppl who say this is an easy change to make and implement need to take a wider look around themselves and into their language community. It might be easy to do if you’re a person who spends your time online and is entrenched in these discourses. I’ll refrain from commenting on Spanish speakers, but I know for a fact this change would be massively complicated for the average Brazilian. Changing the gender of the article, noun and adjective to an invented third ending and keeping that consistent would necessitate an overhaul of a person’s internalised language norms. This is relatively achievable through writing, which is much less automatic than speaking and allows for revision before it’s turned into communication (no surprise then that these third gender forms usually arise from and see a huge part of their usage on the internet where written communication is the norm). Your average speaker however is too preoccupied working 10 hours a day, probably doesn’t know what non-binary means, and many will not show any sympathy to it once it is explained. Even a lot of those who are sympathetic just will not see the point in putting the effort in. Do realise that it is frustrating to be told you need to change the way you speak and write, whether you’re being told that by a regulatory agency or by the intelligentsia in university campuses (where a lot of this discourse flourishes outside the internet, in Brazil at least).

One can use language however they want, including for activism if they so wish. It is disingenuous though to present these alternatives to English speakers as if they’re the norm and not just a specific community’s dialect. It could be deleterious to language learners, for instance - they need to know how a language is *actually* spoken. And if wider change is the goal then a much more realistic outlook into who the speakers are and who you aim to reach is direly needed.

here you have a perfect explanation of how neutral pronouns work in spanish <333

[blossoms-phan]

What The Hell. like genuinely do we realize. just their cadence of speech and the way they carry themselves now is so different to the way it was years ago, and that shows itself in everything from videos to what they post on social media to what they’ve been doing on stage for the last few months but like. god. i hold ii as a stage show and the whole era like very close to my heart it really hurts to know how much dan struggled in that time and that it was supposed to be the end of Dan and Phil (it wasn’t!!) but I’ve been thinking about just how completely different ii and tit are as stage shows and the way dnp perform them and it’s like i saw someone wondering about the acting in ii and though it was heavily dependent on audience participation a lot of the show was also acting and it’s not that they didn’t do it well! they’re great performers and maybe I don’t remember bc I wasn’t super into the phandom ar that time but it just felt like they were a lot stiffer performing it and that they didn’t really let themselves mess up or be silly a lot (outside of what was scripted I mean). someone lmk if you have different thoughts on this bc I haven’t rewatched it in a while this is just a ramble but i am so so happy about everything that tit is and that I got to experience this version of them as a longtime fan because it is so, so evident that they are really in the dgaf era, being unapologetically themselves, no one can tell us what to do and just having the most fun ever- that all comes out through the way they carry themselves on stage, improv silly little things for fun, genuinely laugh and smile through it all and dan calling phil babe. that’s the whole reason I started writing this like. cheers dear. it’s okay honey. we let ourselves phannie out over those moments as well but this feels so different?? and we haven’t even gotten audio yet but idk how to explain this I just feel like if phil had messed up a line years ago it would’ve been like a more performance level reaction y’know, like an eye roll and a this guy which dan still very much does, but just genuinely letting an “it doesn’t matter babe” slip out like????????????? they’re literally just boyfriends partners in life actual soulmates who live and work and do everything together doing this stupid silly fucking stage show together every night and dan can just call him babe and they move on and do the show talking about them sharing a bed and the ways they’ve supported each other through this whole thing and how they’ve gotten to this point of beautiful shared authentic fun with their audience and fucking press their hands together and go back to back after that song like this has no fucking clear point to it and yet im losing my mind. does anyone hear me

[bidisasterevankinard]

sentences sunday

I was tagged by @diazsdimples @midsummersmorn

guess what? I have sequel for this fix it mpreg (more likely 1 out of 3 sequels)

“Evan?”

His husband hums, still reading the wikipedia page, so Tommy takes the laptop from him, sitting it on his nightstand. 

“Hey, I was almost done,” Evan pouts and Tommy giggles, kissing this adorable face. 

“Sorry, babe, but I have something important I want to talk about with you while I am still brave enough.”

Evan rapidly blinks and Tommy grabs his hand, kissing Evan’s shoulder and then sitting on the bed, facing Evan and moving Evan so he faces him.

“Evan, you and Dany are the most important people to me. My greatest happiness,” his husband blushes and smiles and Tommy again asks himself how this sun hadn’t blind him yet. “For years, I was alone. Too lonely not just outside, but inside my body. Alone and scared. Scared to love and let people love me because it felt like I don’t deserve forever. Like I don’t deserve to keep happiness. Maybe not even feel it at all,” Evan nods, remembering their thousands of conversations after they got together, especially during therapy. “It took me a while to believe that you will stay. That I can keep you and Dany as long as I’m willing to work for it with you,” Tommy can’t stop himself from kissing his husband at this moment. “I have everything I wasn’t brave enough to dream and more than young, scared and pretty asshole Tommy deserved. And I promise it’s enough. But recently, I can’t stop thinking that maybe our family can have another little person?”

Evan adorably giggles, kissing his nose, “Tommy, are you asking about putting another baby in me?”

Tommy shakes his head in exasperation, but hugs Evan’s waist, “yes. I want another baby, because I think now is the best time as ever. I’m soon to be 45 and you are almost 36. I have only a year before I can go to retirement with a full pension. And my friend in the academy told me they would be happy to give me a job there. It’s a good schedule, not like shifts and I still will have good income, so money won't be a problem. Plus you think about applying for Lieutenant soon, as Bobby now actually thinks about retirement in a year or two as Athena planned hers too. And you need to study a lot for it. But before that we can grow our family and you would have time to grow in your career, studying during pregnancy, if you would want to do it again.” 

Tommy swallows, thinking if he's too selfish to add the next part or not. But he remembers he and Evan promised to have full open communication so he continues, but almost in a whisper.

“I also would be really happy to have a chance to share this experience with you,” he looks at Evan who nods to him with a sad smile. “We both know why I wasn’t here for you with Dany, and I left it behind. We left it behind, but I,” Tommy kisses Evan’s knuckles, “I really wish to have this experience with you.”

Evan, with wet eyes and one of the most bright smiles Tommy ever saw, kisses him before saying, “look at my browser history.”

Tommy frowns, but does as he is told.

And what he sees makes him chuckle with tears of joy falling from his eyes.

how to ask your husband about second baby

recommendations how to ask your husband about trying for second baby

how long it takes to get pregnant after stopping birth control

second pregnancy. what to expect

how to prepare your house for coming of second baby

how to prepare your oldest kid for coming of new one

Np tagging @powersuitup @hippolotamus @wikiangela @quintessenceofdust88 @theotherbuckley @weewookinard @queerbuck @repressedqueen @racerchix21 @typicalopposite @mmso-notlikethat @devirnis @loucifersbitch @lavenderleahy @bewilderedbuckley @bekkachaos @pirrusstuff @evansbuck-ley @desert--moonchild @actuallyitsellie @hyperfocusthusly @leashybebes @half-oz-eddie @bi-buckrights

[urlocaldesertdweller]

Hi hi !!!

Hope you’re doing well. Being loving your writing lately. 💞 keep up the amazing work !!

If you’re taking any requests. Could I please ask for a part 2 for Sentinel x Racer reader. I really liked the idea. Especially how you wrote it from an almost canon perspective of how it started from him just being irked that we were as popular as him lol 😂 It’d be cool to see how you continue the idea with maybe even Orion and D-16 in there.

Of course there’s no rush or pressure. Take care and I hope you keep doing what you love.

-anon

Tf1! Sentinel Prime x Cybertronain racer! Reader

THANK YOUUU!!<333333 for the compliments and ideas of my older stuff!!

(sentinel being possessive, daresay yandere, manipulation i think?)

As we know and knew, Sentinel loves to think of himself much higher than most other bots in comparison. He is a Prime after all!

However you became an exception.

An exception that would be way more special to Sentinel than he’d like to admit.

Although we know he likes to do subtle touches in public. He prefers to keep the relationship outside of business, he claims it just makes things messy for both of you. Considering you are both still highly beloved icons.

Another part of him is to protect you, when an enemy of sorts would use someone close to him to get him in a weak spot but he’ll rather die than admit he is afraid butttttt.

The media in public is so entertaining to the two of you when they talk about this “odd friendship” between The Sentinel Prime and Iacon’s best racer. A good chuckle can be shared when they describe it as nearly a mentor and trainee thing going on.

Going back to the difference of him in public and in more private quarters.

Of course the high and mighty Prime ego never falters. Its mainly the affection from touches and words coming from his lips.

The transition can be overall sudden at the very least. From being the very casual friendly Prime façade he uses for nearly everyone below him, to him sweet talking you. At times it almost feels like Sentinel is trying to drag you away from post race interviews just so he can lay his servos on you.

He almost seems pent up at times. Desperate is a word he hates but it makes things so much more interesting! Although he feels rather dominant in this odd relationship, you know some of his own weaknesses.

Whenever he leaves to “fight and fend off the quintessons, and retrieve the Matrix of Leadership” you found a very consistent pattern of him being nearly weak in the knees for you when he returns.

Tried of keeping this act up for all of Iacon. All he wants to do is rest in your arms, seeing you, hearing you, feeling you. And there you’ll sit awaiting for him, for him to rest his helm on your lap. (Totally thinking about the Jayce and Mel pose from Arcane season 2, episode 1)

Needless to say you have a very special and deep connection, where Sentinel can get to a level of weakness to you and only you. You cant help but find some power within that.

At times you can toy with him, denying your sweet love and affection. When he’s tired hell whine and beg, which is very rare. When he’s not? He’ll only tolerate so much before he’ll take you in his servos himself. Reminding you who has the power in this relationship.

When he is present in Iacon he’ll try to attend everything that you are involved in, races, trainings, interviews, meetings, speeches. Though he’ll be very supportive of your racing career, he doesn’t want the public to see a pattern.

But his support can go a little too far..

At times he still intentionally rigged a race or two just to see his lover win yet another race. From adding sudden obstacles that trigger just for the other competitors, to allowing short cuts just for you<3

If you eventually catch him he’ll try very hard to appear that he never did such a thing! From the innocent optics and gentle calm voice. He loves watching you get feisty at times. It’s what made you so interesting to him.

Speaking of your racing career, of course you have tons of fans. Dare to say you have nearly an equal amount of fans compared to Sentinel! It was one of the other reasons Sentinel wanted you.

Of course some of these fans were none other than Orion Pax and D-16. A pair of miners that get excited just like that rest when you are available to have one on one times with your fans!

Somehow through Orion’s tricky trouble making and dragging D-16 through it all. They seemingly managed to see you last minute out of breath and nearly caught by other bots, Darkwing.

You couldn’t help it! They were so charming that you stopped Darkwing from getting rid of them. To which he stomps off grumbling “miners.” under hist breath.

Orion was extremely thankful that you were even kinder in person! And D-16 was in shock from the whole entire thing alone. With each a firm and warm handshake, they both admired the action of being touched by the best Iacon racer ever.

Their compliments and praise seemed to be never ending. Even after to tried to make room for causal conversation. You couldn’t help but feel a bit of flirt from Orion? Honestly it didn’t get to you though, you are nearly always flirted by your fans. Which for along time you knew how to not let it easily get to you.

Orion and D were an adorable pair, their wonderful personalities made you smile and laugh. In fact the whole deal made you stay overtime, but it was worth it to the very end.

By the time you return to your shared private quarters with Sentinel he looks less than amused.

Turns out Darkwing snitched on you, told Sentinel that some “cog-less miners” were keeping you on overtime with your schedule one on one times with the common bots of Iacon.

Sentinel looked of a mix of emotions to say less.

But you knew right then and there it was less about the cog-less miners and more about the flirting. Since Sentinel was already pretty possessive alone with the relationship between you and your fans.

You’d try to make light of it, saying it was only just some quick praise with two fans. Then Sentinel would take your wrist in his servos tightly and pull you close.

Sentinel would scold you, as he wraps his other servo around your frame enclosing you within a cage of him.

He says this is only for him to “protect” you. Though you are perfectly capable of protecting yourself. And no more one on one times unless he is there to watch you closely.

His once tight servos lets go to cradle your fave plate lovingly. He stand to guide you to your shared resting quarters. His servos forever attached somewhere on to you, like a leash you never knew you wore.