#so I just assumed that was how I was supposed to be

[aurumalatus]

𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 2.1k

genre/warnings. princess!reader, knight!kinich, slight enemies to lovers (not really, they just argue but idk the term for that tbh LOL), pixelprincess!au

summary.

ever since he became your personal guard, you've found kinich to be a royal pain in your ass. you've always assumed he felt the same, until the night of your matching ball. now, you're not sure what this burning in your chest means after all.

author's note. this is a drabble as part of a universe that i'm calling pixelprincess (knight!kinich x princess!reader). i don't really have a full fic planned for this or anything, i just have a bunch of small headcanons about them and i love aus so feel free to scream about them with me HAHA. thank you for reading! reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

𝐩𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐚𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

If there’s one thing you can definitively say about Kinich, it’s that he’s not stupid.

Honestly, you could say a lot of things. You’ve heard the rumors just like everyone else, about the fearsome Captain of the Guard who passed training within a single day. They whisper that he holds a dragon’s power in his heart, a fact that strikes fear into any nation that dares encroach upon your territory. His reputation precedes him, and he’s somewhat of a mystery to the general public—most of them envision him as a hero, the key to the nation’s defense.

If there’s another thing you can definitively say about Kinich, it’s that sometimes, you wish he was stupid.

The castle always feels larger during the summer, when the sunlight bathes the interior with gold and the halls bustle with movement during the day. Guards and aides rush in every direction, though none of them seem to spare a glance in your direction; there’s simply far too much to pay attention to today.

The maids are replacing the vases with fresh flora, Brilliant Chrysanthemums and Saurian Claw Succulents that make the room seem brighter, discussing which configuration looks the best. You know them all, of course; growing up within the castle meant that these women had practically raised you. Even as an adult, it’s hard to escape them when they feel like pinching your cheeks and reminiscing on old times.

Sensing the coast is clear, you crack the door open another millimeter, carefully slipping into the hall and blending in with the crowd. The maids, luckily, don’t notice, still fussing over petals and stems. You’d calculated this time exactly—right now, the guard patrol should be across the castle, checking the entrances before the ball tonight. If your information wasn’t wrong, then you should have just enough time to make it to the servants’ passages, and then out to the garden—

“Oh?”

The familiar voice makes you murmur some choice curse words under your breath. Of course, the dark-haired man in front of you is always several steps ahead of everyone. He’s leaning against the stone wall, looking entirely too pleased with himself, as if he knows something you don’t.

“Princess,” Kinich greets, bowing his head despite how you wave him off—you’ve never been one for formalities. “What are you doing here?”

“Just taking a walk.”

You move at a brisk pace past him, but Kinich is faster—he always is, the annoying bastard. Before you can turn the corner, there’s the blade of a greatsword blocking your path. No matter how much you see it, you’re always surprised by the size of the damn thing—you’re shocked he can even lift it as it is. A half-smirk rests on his lips when you gasp.

“Taking a walk away from your lessons? I do believe your teacher’s room is in the opposite direction.”

The annoying thing about Kinich is that he truly knows everything, including your schedules. He’s thorough to a near fault, though you suppose that that’s exactly the kind of person who would be fit for Captain of the Guard. Still, you duck under his sword, unwilling to make eye contact.

“Lessons are tomorrow. I have other plans today.”

Kinich falls into step beside you, and the halls are suddenly clear of people—the crowd parts before you, a stubborn rock among a rushing river. You’re unsure if it’s due to your status, or due to your temper—it’s a well-known fact in the castle that Kinich can get you wound up quite quickly.

“And what might these other plans be?” 

He always has too many damn questions, you think. Silently, you curse your father for assigning him to you. A series of attempts on your life last year had made him paranoid, and he’d been quick to promote the strongest knight as your personal guard. Back then, you’d been fooled just like everyone else into thinking that Kinich was some kind of serious, straight-laced hero. Instead, you’d since discovered that he was seriously annoying.

“Can I guess?” he asks, deftly dodging past the maids carrying bundles of tablecloths and the waiters carrying sky-high stacks of platters. 

“No, you can’t. In fact, you can’t even ask. I should have you executed for that.”

Kinich raises a brow, amused. “The Queen would never let that happen.”

And, unfortunately, he’s correct. Your mother absolutely adores Kinich as if he were her own son, and it irritates you to no end—especially when she heavy-handedly suggests that you make him your groom. The door to the back stairwell falls into view, so you break into a jog as you reach the end of the hall, but he’s right on your heel.

If I can just make it to the stairs…

Kinich steps in front of you again, not allowing you an inch further, and you nearly scream in frustration.

“If I didn’t know any better—”

You scoff. “And you, in fact, don’t know anything—”

“—I would say that you’re trying to avoid going to the ball.”

And, once again, you wish that just once Kinich would let something fly over his head.

Utterly defeated, you collapse into one of the plush chairs nearby, fanning your face. Kinich stands over you, a bit tense, as if he thinks you’re going to try to run again. You won’t; at this point, you’re too tired.

“So what if I am?” you finally admit. “You always complain about them anyway. I find it a little unfair that you’re allowed to and I’m not.”

As great as he is at his job as a guard, Kinich isn’t so great at facing the public, despite how popular he is among them (particularly the women). Whenever he can, he avoids social events like the plague, often volunteering to run perimeter duty as a precaution rather than attending with you. You, unfortunately, don’t have that luxury.

Kinich sighs, resting his weight on his sword. “I don’t complain, it’s just annoying when everyone is so loud and—”

You snap your fingers, interrupting and pointing at him accusingly. “You hear that? What you were just doing? That’s called complaining.”

Realizing he was caught in the act, Kinich rolls his eyes. “How very profound of you. If you put that much effort into your escape routes, maybe you would’ve made it this time.”

Your gaze narrows. “How about I stick a profound fist up your a—”

“Kinich? Is that you?”

The booming voice makes you both straighten up instantly. Kinich smoothly sheaths his sword, saluting to the king as he makes his way down the hall. You’re far less graceful about it, gathering up your skirts messily and quickly curtseying to your father. 

“Your Highness,” you both echo.

If your father notices the tension between the two of you, he doesn’t say so; he looks as jolly as always, even more so because of the event today. He’s the social type, a trait you unfortunately did not inherit.

“Just the two people I was hoping to see,” he laughs, a full-bodied sound that booms from his chest. “I’m glad that the two of you get along so well.”

To your irritation, Kinich smirks, while you offer your father a thin-lipped smile.

“Of course,” you lie, sneakily jabbing your guard in the ribs. He coughs. “We get along like a house on fire.”

“That’s good,” your father says, nodding encouragingly. “You’ll both do well later tonight then.”

Your heart drops at the thought of attending the event. You know how long your parents have been planning this, and how long they’ve been practically begging you to find a companion. It’s all a long-winded scheme to find you a princely partner, and not one that you particularly appreciate—a great majority of the princes you’ve met are far too full of themselves. You truly have no interest in any of them.

Kinich, however, pointedly clears his throat at your father’s wording.

“Both of us?” he asks, enunciating slowly. “I’m not sure I follow, sir.”

You perk up in interest—that detail had been lost on you.

“I invited several princes from neighboring nations today,” your father says, eyeing you with a pitying stare. You try not to feel offended. “I want my daughter to find someone suitable for her, no matter who that may be. Still, I was hoping you could attend with her this time? I know it’s not your favorite, but I would feel uncomfortable with her being around so many strangers alone.”

Kinich’s smirk falters, and he suddenly falls still. You wonder if he’s irritated by the prospect of attending the ball at your side. 

(Distantly, you wonder why the thought of that makes you feel a bit ill.)

The silence grows awkward, and you rock on your heels, searching for something to say. Your guard looks a bit lost for words, likely because he wasn’t prepared for so much social interaction today. You can’t really blame him—if you were in his shoes, you wouldn’t be thrilled either.

“Actually, Your Highness, that won’t be necessary.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull at Kinich’s reply, but you hurry to control your expression, unwilling to give anything away to your father. The king raises a brow.

“And why is that?” he asks.

Kinich gnaws on his lip, an action that is wholly unlike him—you don’t think you’ve ever seen him appear nervous about anything in his life. Still, he meets your father’s gaze head on, coughs once, then says:

“The princess isn’t feeling well. I think it’d be best if she didn’t attend the ball today.”

He nudges your foot just as your father’s gaze drifts to you, and you thank your lucky stars that you did inherit your mother’s dramatics. You throw a hand over your forehead, fanning yourself aggressively.

“Since this morning,” you explain, looking as pitiful as possible, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Thank the archons Kinich was here, otherwise I might’ve fainted earlier.”

And you really do feel guilty when your father’s eyes well up with tears of worry.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he cries, then turns to one of his aides in a panic. “Call the doctor! Have him attend to her immediately. And announce that she’ll be absent from our festivities tonight.”

You force yourself to hide your smile at his announcement. Your eyes flicker over to Kinich, but for once, he doesn’t seem the slightest bit amused—in fact, he still looks troubled. Your father fusses over you for a bit longer, asking a series of questions about what you’d eaten and who you’d been in contact with. You answer as honestly as you can—the least you can do—and then he directs Kinich to escort you back to your room.

The hallway seems to empty out quickly after that display, and then it’s just you and your guard. For some reason, he seems to avoid your eyes. He doesn’t speak, merely offering you his arm, and after a moment, you take it. 

“So, what changed your mind?” you ask, unwilling to let him sit in silence. He looks displeased by your question, but answers anyway.

“Nothing,” he says, expression blank, “I just didn’t think you should go to the ball tonight.”

The tips of his ears are flushed red, you note. Liar. 

Still, Kinich keeps countless secrets that you’re sure you’ll never know, and you suppose it doesn’t really matter why he decided to let you off the hook tonight. Really, you’re just grateful you’ll get to sleep peacefully with no stinking princes breathing down your neck. The thought makes you smile as you finally reach your bedroom door.

“Well, what a shame it is,” you sigh sarcastically, turning the knob, “I could’ve been dancing the night away with the love of my life. Now I might never meet him.”

The corner of Kinich’s lip twitches.

“As if,” he replies gruffly, a touch too fast. “You wouldn’t like any of them anyway. They’re not nearly capable of handling you.”

Your eyes narrow, irritated by the implication. “And you are?”

He raises a brow in response. “Aren’t I?”

It comes out uncharacteristically soft. A switch seems to flip in the room, and you suddenly start feeling sick for real—it’s too hot, too quiet. Kinich’s stare weighs on you heavily, and you get lost in the depth of it. You freeze where you are, bedroom door half-open, and you can almost pick out the meaning in his words when he turns away, clearing his throat.

“Goodnight, princess,” he murmurs over his shoulder. “Sweet dreams, and…get well soon.”

He makes his exit without another word, and you wonder if he’s still working tonight. Is he still going to guard the ball? The perimeter? What if one of the other princesses takes a liking to him—

You huff, deciding you don’t care and slamming the door shut. The ball is bound to be a drag, and you find Kinich annoying, you think as you fall into bed. You’re happy about this arrangement. Overjoyed, even.

Yes, you find Kinich very annoying.

…Don’t you?

[nathaslosthershit]

Some Bad, But a Whole Lot of Good (LS2)

Summary: To the fans, it wouldn't be unreasonable to assume the week after his replacement had been hell for newly dropped Logan Sargeant, but to the people who knew him, they weren't worried. Warning: James Vowles slander, a lot of it, I made Logan yell at him because I want to yell at him

Getting fired a week before your first child was born wasn't on anyone's bucket list. But here Logan was.

He was mad- no he was furious. Sure, the past few months with the team have been miserable, but this was the worst timing possible.

"Why now? Why not the two weeks we were off on break?" Logan asks yells. He doesn't lose his cool, at least not like this, not by yelling at his boss.

"Logan, you have to understand we are in between a rock and a hard place. I am truly sorry but it's a difficult time for us-" Vowles begins to explain.

"A difficult time for you? I am about to have a fucking baby, James. Next week! What the fuck am I supposed to do?" He got up and ran his hand through his hair. "You just had a baby a year ago, I would have thought you of all people would have thought this through more."

"Believe me, we have Logan, we have discussed this at length for a long time now."

"Oh fuck you! You have been thinking about this for a long time and choose now to do something about it? God, James, why do you hate me so much? I know I haven't met expectations, I know I have fucked up, but I still have given everything to this team and this is how you end it?" he finally met his boss'- ex boss' now, I guess, stare.

As Logan looked at his team principal, he tried to see any remorse or sincerity in his eyes but just as he had suspected, James' apology was bullshit, completely insincere. He knew this wasn't going anywhere, he didn't even know why he was fighting.

Formula 1 had been the dream for a while. Logan had let himself sacrifice everything he could to achieve it. He tried to tell himself that he had made it and that he was happy, but it wasn't true. He couldn't face the reality of the dream he worked so hard for not being everything he had imagined.

After meetings about contract termination and how they were to proceed, a sad little goodbye party filled with people that were probably thrilled to have him go, and an actually heartfelt apology and goodbye from his teammate and those he worked closely with, the American left the factory for the last time.

The most difficult part of this whole affair? Telling his very pregnant wife that he was now unemployed, a week until their first child's due date.

After tears, cursing a certain British boss' bloodline, and dissociative silence, Logan sat next to his wife as she suddenly burst into laughter.

He was stunned, she was practically doubling over, at least as much as she could in her current condition. The sight so ridiculous given the circumstances that he began to laugh too.

Several minutes were spent laughing until their stomachs hurt and then trying to catch their breath before either one of them could say another word.

"This is such terrible timing!" she said, wiping her eyes as she continued to giggle.

"Could not me a worse time" he replied as he started to laugh even harder.

"God, we shouldn't be laughing at this! We have officially lost our minds"

"Perfect timing too! Just like everything else"

It was ironic, this was the absolute worse scenario Logan could come up with but this was also the hardest he had laughed in a long time. When was the last time he actually laughed? The last time he actually felt joy about anything involving his job?

As if she could sense what he was thinking, she took a few deep breaths, finally calming down, as she said, "This is insane of me to say, but maybe this is a good thing?"

He knew where she was going, he thought the same, but he needed to hear her rationalize it before he agreed.

"I mean, honey, you were miserable. And I am sorry because I did love some of the people on your team but most of them were jackasses! It was such a time commitment and you have spent so long giving everything to them just for the team to spit in your face. Plus, with savings and such, we have enough to be fine for a while, even with the baby. You finally can put your family and yourself first"

She was right, it was time he admitted to himself how much he had hated his job in the past few months. How miserable it made him. How he could hardly enjoy anything in his life because he was always thinking of how to improve, how to show he still has potential even with the shitty car he was given.

"Im sorry. I- its not fair that I spent so long chasing a dead end dream that I couldn't actually enjoy what I do have. I mean, I could never race again and I would be 1000 times happier with out little family then I could ever be in F1. I will never not put you both first again." He said as he looked at her, held the bump, and genuinely got to relish in what was to come.

The first race weekend since Logan was replaced, he wasn't stewing in his misery, he was sitting in the hospital next to his wife, holding his first born, and the last thing on his mind was what was happening anywhere else in the world outside of the room his entire life was currently in.

logansargeant

liked by alexalbon, jensonbutton, and others

logansargeant New job

user1 hey! so this is insane

user2 unemployment has never looked better

alexalbon This is a crazy way to hard launch fatherhood but good on you, mate!

logansargeant got to keep them guessing

user4 dilf era yes please

oscarpiastri how long is the contract?

logansargeant full time for 18 years, then after there is a bit more leeway, but there is certainly no retirement in my future

user3 replaced right before he had a BABY?! oh that British fuck better watch out

jensonbutton Such a big moment! So happy to see where life takes you, I know it will be great!

A/N: Had to finish this right after the news he is testing for indycar in november dropped!!! U-S-A U-S-A!

[olderthannetfic]

Something I need white people to stop doing in fandom: assuming anyone who is writing villain-centric fic is white. I'm black. I'm allowed to explore villains' backstories, psychology, etc. if I like. It doesn't render me white. I know, some people are just trying to shit on women so they throw "white" in front of the word women before they say "writing about villains is some white women shit". I know some people are just mad anyone writes about villains at all. For them, calling it a straight or white or straight and white woman thing is a way of not saying what they're actually thinking, which is that no one should do it.

But I would respect people a lot more if they just said what they meant. Just say you hate something. Don't assign a race or gender or orientation to what you hate. Say what you mean. Yeah, you'll get less fawning reblogs. You'll also be significantly less transparent and pathetic to actual black people reading your post.

This goes double for when someone is talking about a black villain. I can humanize him and give him a backstory instead of the ??? canon gave him. I can humanize him. And you know what? I like it when someone does that and they're white. If a white person humanizes a flat black character and sympathizes with them and treats them like a person, that's good, actually! Yes, even if it's the dreaded straight white woman of myth and legend doing it. Especially if it's her, even. I want to live in a world where a straight white woman pours her heart into writing a black man. I like that a lot. That means she's moved past the racist idea of scary black men and is viewing us as people.

Is it supposed to be woke or progressive to tell white women not to humanize others? Bc if so, my follow-up question is simple: how?

--

I always feel so bad for the black girls in fandom who are into... like... Reylo or Phantom/Christine or some bog standard problematic het like that. The amount of shit they get, man...

(It happens with lots of other things, obviously. I've just personally witnessed some truly reprehensible incidents involving shippers of those.)

[00kittenz]

── piece of cake ! ( lhs ) 🍰

๑ You and Heeseung attempt to bake together as a fun, cutesy bonding moment— but things don’t end up going quite exactly as planned…

pair: bf!heeseung ㅊ gf!reader | warnings: fluff, smut, my very weird and bad sense of humor lol, #epic fails, hee is sooo babygirl in this, praise, lots of kissing, mwah mwah, soft dom!heeseung, fingering, piv, breeding kink, grrrrreer lovey dovey relationship :3 | words: 2.0k

this was supposed to be short n sweet but it got a bit longer than intended oop- i think this might be the cutest thing i wrote yet ahhh

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“ten..nine..eight..seven.. six,” you slowly count the minutes passing by from pure boredom, eyes squinting at the pink clock that sat on the milky colored walls of your kitchen.

you tapped your acrylics on the marble of your countertop, double checking all the ingredients you had set out for tonight’s adventure. you and your boyfriend, heeseung, decided to have a baking date tonight. it marked your one year anniversary yesterday, but even so, heeseung still wanted to celebrate for the entirety of the week. so today is essentially part two of your anniversary !

“comingg !” you sang, hearing sudden knocks from the front door, knowing that it was none other than your boyfriend. he’s the only one who knocks on your door like he’s making a beat. soon as you open the door you’re met with the most handsome face and the brightest smile, and although you were delighted to see him you couldn’t help but state the obvious.

“why’d you show up so late ??”

“blame jake and jungwon for that, just as i was about to leave they kept yapping my ears off about any and everything !” he attempts to defend himself, wiping the iffy look on your face with a sweet kiss.

“hmm.. really, you’re blaming other people now ? sounds more like an excuse to me,” you playfully combat, giggling against his broad chest once he caged you in his arms.

“psshhh, what excuse— you know how they are !”

“i’m just teasing babe,” you left his hold with a lingering smile, “i’ll forgive you this one time, but only because i missed you.” with that you walked over to the counter of all your supplies, pulling him along with you.

“well damn, you weren’t playing around. you’re super prepared baby.” heeseung rubbed the sides of your hips as he came up behind you, eyes glazing over the ingredients you had laid out all prettily, it seems you doubled up on everything in case you made any mistakes.

“mhm, i might’ve overdid it just a little bit.. but you can never have more than one thing !” you try to justify your overconsumption, you tend to go overboard when it comes to certain things.

while you were out food shopping, there were far too many different varieties of decorations, you can never decide on anything so you just went and bought a whole basket full. but you’re slightly regretting that choice now considering all the money you just spent…

“c’monnn, let’s just hurry !” you stop rambling and get back to business, feeling his kisses lace the crown of your head once you turn to face him. “i wanna make ittt.”

“make what ? our kids ?” “i’m ready whe—” he pauses once his eyes found yours, blankly looking at him. he knew that look was everything but blank. “okok sorry, let’s start..” he awkwardly brushes the conversation to the side, picking up a box of cake mix.

“i’m assuming we’re gonna make the cake on this box ?”

“yup ! a strawberry, triple layer cake.” you say excitedly, peeking at the box he was holding.

“i can’t wait anymore, i’m hungry, let’s gooo !” you express like a hyperactive child, unable to contain your excitement for the delicious dessert.

it was a great idea to actually wear aprons for this event. you initially had the idea set and stone because you wanted to look like a professional baker like on the tv shows. you had to fully commit to the bit, go big or go home ! but, you definitely needed it for more than just the look of it. you two made a mess.

“look, there’s frosting in your hair !” you laughed hysterically at your lover. god knows how the icing even got in his hair in the first place.. “you aren’t even the one frosting the cake, how the hell did it get there ?!” you hinted at the fact that the needy boy was holding you almost the entire time as you started frosting the first layer of the cake.

“i dunno, it’s your fault then, you’re the one doing it !” he spoke against your neck. shivering goosebumps danced across your skin at the feel.

“maybe if you weren’t breathing on my neck 24/7 then you would be the one icing !” you sassily retorted at his laziness, handing him a crate of strawberries. “here, cut these into slices.”

you could hear him groaning at the task you just gave him. “but baby, i wanna hold you still.. can we wait a little ?”

“hee, no, you’ve been holding me since you got here !” your hands lazed on your hips. “get to work, chop, chop !”

“ugh, okay..” he pouts, looking over at you with those precious bambi eyes that was almost about to make you fold in a second. he retrieved a small fruit from it’s catering before taking a knife to it's redness. “babbeeeeee...” he whined.

“no, heeseung.”

“fine, then can you at least hold me this time ?” he pleaded with you, his smile coming into spotlight once he felt your arms wrap around his fit shape. “thank you.” he mumbled continuing on his mission with the strawberries.

๑ ๑ ๑

“sooo, what do i do now ?” he asks, caressing your arms looking back at your watching figure.

“you place them NEATLY on the frosting.” you answered him, placing a kiss on his clothed back, praising him of his quick hands. “you’re doing a good job so far baby.”

“okie dokie.” a small smile hid the big grin that heeseung tried to contain at your praising words.

“good ! now take the frosting—” you left his figure, reaching for the tube of frosting and placing it in his hand. “and gently spread it across the strawberries.”

“go on, do it.” your brows knit together in confusion. why was he just standing there not doing anything ??

“uhh, are you gonna hold me ?” he cocks his head to side, giving you yet another look that you just can’t refuse.

“okay ! damn, so needy.” you shook your head, going back to the warmth of your insatiable boyfriend.

it’s been a while since your little strawberry arranging, now you’re just finishing off the cake with some decorations. considering how long it took you both, the cake ended up looking absolutely phenomenal, you could just picture the strawberries layered with the frosting in your head. you couldn’t wait to get it inside your tummy.

“okay, now add the strawberry on top !” you proudly announce after applying your colorful sprinkles around the rim on the cake.

heeseung, just as happy as you are bounces in place before placing the fruit gently on the glob of icing that sat in the middle of the delicious treat.

“FINALLY,” he shouted, he was ready to just eat it whole. “it’s so pretty !” the two of you share a high five. taking long looks at the cake in awe. mouths drooling for a bite but eyes savoring the look of the treat before the two of you ruin it. you made sure to snap a couple pictures of it to post on your story later.

“hmm.. should we eat it now or wait a bit ?” you ask with hesitance, although you were very much looking forward to devouring it, you still couldn’t bring yourself to actually cut it just yet.

“it looks really tasty, but.. i think i wanna eat something else.” he shamelessly admits, hoping that you’d catch his drift. and, you most certainly did…

๑ ๑ ๑

“hmph,—” your grasp on his wrist tightened at the pressure he was building between your legs. the way his fingers pumped through your folds, how his thumb gave attention to your pulsing clit. your mouth went permanently agape, losing yourself in the blissful feeling of his touch. “hee— yes ! fuck..”

heeseung watched as your teeth captured your bottom lip, the blood rushing around the bruised flesh.

he then captured each of your thighs, on his shoulder, both masses prettily caked on eachother squeezing your cunt between them; his fingers still stretching you out.

“you’re so fucking perfect baby,” he pampered your plushy thighs, kissing them all giddy-like, a mischievous grin on his face. “but you already know that, right ?”

you rapidly nodded, you didn’t wanna speak nor protest, it was like you didn’t know how to breath anymore, you felt so high and small under him, he was like a drug. and it left you with nothing but chilling goosebumps.

“go on, come,” “come so i can give you what you really want.” his pace quickened leaving you entirely unstable, you were shaking, whimpering, your dewy cunt was throbbing around him. “you want it don’t you?”

“yes..—” your voice was hoarse and forced, you’ve become a groaning, dripping mess for him and he adored every bit of it.

heeseung softly bit around your skin, leaving small reddish and purple love bites around your legs.

“oh! baby, i’m—” your orgasm cut you off, heeseung loved whenever you climaxed because of him. how lazy and defeated you look after, the way you gasp and cling for air. “coming..”

“dont worry, i know.” he joked, grabbing your waist, pulling you back up onto your ass. “well kitchen sex is now off the bucket list..” he licked the sides of his fingers, eyeing you directly.

you were mesmerized by him, he had you right where he wanted you. “but i’m not done yet, fortunately enough for you. baby girl.”

๑ ๑ ๑

“babe, you’re fucking swallowing me.” heeseung groaned, pulling at the waistband of your skirt in a tight manner. “pussy still hungry for me ?”

“please..” you whined at the friction of his manhood colliding with yours. like a match made in heaven. “i want it..”

he wasted no time in fastening himself further inside you, he wanted you no more than you wanted him. he needed you the most right now. not only has he been craving to be with you all day, but this whole week meant everything to him. heeseung feels more than lucky to have you, he wants to cherish this anniversary as if it’s a once in lifetime experience.

his large hand pressed on your lower back with every stroke he landed in you. you felt every curve and inch of his length, how it made you see stars the minute his tip kissed your G. “fuck..” he landed a sharp slap onto your ass.

you couldn’t help but grind yourself against him. there was a tense burning sensation sprawling throughout your entire body. it only made you urge for more, like nothing was enough, even though you were in utter utopia. you were a mewling, shrieking mess.

“heeseung ! ugh, please ruin me..hmm please..” your arm reached back grasping at his thighs.

“you’re driving me fucking crazy, y’know ?” he airly chuckled, throwing he head back. the feel of your slick creating sticky vines across his skin whenever he’d pull out. the sound of it, the look of it. all of it turning him on even more.

your back arched at the thought of maxing out around his thick shaft. the praise you’ll get since you’ve done so well for him.

“i love you..” you mumbled bittersweet nothings one after another.

“shit, loosen the fuck up.” his hands entangled your sweaty hair, gripping it in a careful but semi aggressive manner. “oh fuck- i’m gonna come.” he began to thrust into your messy cunt relentlessly, pounding you into oblivion.

“hee— mm’nside please.. !” you slurred, drool heaping out the corner of your mouth.

“inside ? huh? you want my babies, princess?” “you do, don't you? want me to fill your fucking pussy with my seed.” heeseung chuckled at your pleading and begging for his cum. he was tired and worn out as hell, but soo turned on by you, by the thought of you bearing his children.

“ngh~ yes, yes hee!”

“happy anniversary, baby.” his length pumped into you filling you up, not an empty fucking crevice in your soppy cunt. like the frosting to a cake.

“mm, thank you .. baby.. ”

forget all that romeo and juliet cliché love shit, you two were better than that, at least you thought so. you two were...

y/n and heeseung ??

that had a ring to it.. most definitely.

ヾ(・ᆺ・✿)ﾉﾞ

guys why do i feel like my smut has been worse HELP- idk, could just be me overthinking again butttt i hope some of you liked it hehehe ;D <3

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello Miss Raven!! So it’s unfortunately a pretty well known fact that the TWST English translation has a bad habit of botching important dialogue and lore, and even removing lines altogether, and I saw a reblog a day ago regarding that.

The original post was a fact sheet on Leona & how he interacts with women (alongside other stuff but that’s besides the point). And the reblog I was looking at was saying that the English translation just makes it sound like he’s a feminist, when it’s implied in the original JP game that the beastwomen tend to be more aggressive, giving Leona a reason to be afraid of them. And that reminded me that on the TWST fandom wiki under Leona’s trivia he said he’s intimidated by them, and every time I see that I remember that just can’t seem to find that detail at all anywhere in the English game.

So I wanted to ask you what did the original JP game say about how male and female beastmen interact with each other and why Leona would be cautious around them? Because this is a piece of info that I really would have liked to see in ENG, and I’m kind of annoyed I didn’t know about this before.

I believe this is the Leona lore post you’re referring to? Both TWST wikis (the fandom one and the .gg one) state the same trivia point about Leona being “intimidated” by beastwoman. I’m assuming this is where the reblogger picked up the idea of beastwomen being more “aggressive”, and this being Leona’s reasoning for being “intimidated” by them.

In a nutshell, the claims of Leona being a feminist only in EN + beastwomen aggression and Leona being intimidated by that is not true. The “Leona is a feminist” take was around long before the official English localization, and that’s because the Japanese text also has Ruggie (Leona Ceremonial Robes vignettes) and Cater (Cater’s School Uniform vignette) commenting that Leona is “nice” and “respectful” to women. To claim that they made Leona feminist in the localization is false. They never use the word “feminist” in JP or EN though; the label came from the fandom interpreting this bit of lore as Leona being more considerate of women.

As for the reasoning! Leona states in his Ceremonial Robes vignettes that “[Beastwomen are] already way stronger than us. Goin’ against them only brings more trouble.” I believe that someone probably misunderstood that second line of dialogue as Leona fearing the strength/aggression of beastwomen. He never actually indicates or implies that he feels that way. However, these vignettes being cited for the trivia on the wiki likely led to some confusion.

So if Leona isn’t afraid of beastwomen and their physical fitness, how is that second line supposed to be interpreted? Well, let’s think about his character. Leona is a smart guy. He dislikes having to put forth effort into pointless things, especially if he can plan ahead and avoid it. As I tend to say whenever I talk about his Big Brain Cells, Leona likes to work smarter, not harder. Again, look at this line:

“Goin’ against them only brings more trouble.”

It’s likely Leona just wanting to appease his sister-in-law to avoid having to deal with the fallout of not fulfilling her request. It would otherwise be a pain to deal with—and we’ve seen Leona act in various ways to avoid such pains. For example, he goes to Playful Land with Jack to make sure his dorm member comes back alright (or else Leona is responsible for the consequences), purposefully not choosing a vice dorm leader so he doesn’t have someone to challenge his authority, and generally has convenient excuses prepared to get out of things he doesn’t want to do.

If we want to think of it from another angle, this better fits what we already know of Leona’s cunning. He knows when to call it quits and make a strategic surrender. The most notable example of this occurs early in book 6, when he stops fighting Styx agents and willingly gives himself up to them. He also throws in the towel in book 2 and refuses to play because he already knows that his team is destined to lose to Malleus since they didn’t succeed in eliminating him beforehand. In the situation with Leona’s sister-in-law asking for a picture of him in his robes, Leona is acquiescing because that’s just the smart thing to do. Why even argue if he knows it won’t be fruitful? It’s wasted effort.

I would like to add that physical strength isn’t even the only factor here. Ruggie points out in one of his Chats that “Girls have both the grit and the camaraderie to triumph when the goin’ gets tough.” Grit refers to courage or resolve. The latter, resolve, lends credence to the idea that beastwomen are also determined or strong-willed. In which case… yeah, I don’t think they’d back down from an argument/verbal fight or a physical one.

If we circle back to the previous paragraph, it supports the interpretation that Leona giving in to what his sister-in-law wants is the result of him wanting to avoid a pointless and prolonged fight if he refuses. Cuz like… why waste that time and energy to come out of it with nothing, right?

If it was true that Leona listens to what women day only because he’s actually scared of beastwomen, then that doesn’t explain his interactions with non-beastwomen. Why would he agree to attend a party for an enchanted portrait (Rosaria), which has no means of harming him? He agreed to the proposition as soon as he heard Rosaria is a lady; there didn’t need to be a threat or significant verbal pushback for him to go. As Leona states in Cater’s School Uniform vignette, “Portrait or not, I respect ladies and Rosaria is a lady.” (I think the reblogger may have been confused and was actually referring to THIS line being made “more feminist” in EN. In JP, Leona says something closer to, “Even if it’s a portrait, a woman is a woman.” JP does not have the “I respect ladies” portion.)

Sooo, in conclusion… Leona agreeing to do as his sister-in-law says does not necessarily mean he is intimidated by beastwomen; as I’ve explained, there is an alternate explanation with evidence in canon: he wants to avoid pointless hassle.

I hope this helps to clear things up ^^ I know the localization isn’t exactly perfect, but let’s take care to not assume changes or mistranslations!

[saffusthings]

Baby I Can Feel Your Halo

oscar piastri x personal assistant! reader

summary: the one where the world gets to become familiar with a new name: Y/N L/N. word count: 8.4k warnings: awkwardness, my attempt and poetic writing, poor understanding of how film and media works, Lando as a bit of a side character, poorly edited writing a/n: i can't tell whether this is half decent or nonsensical. inspired by That Viral Interview. i have a soft spot for this part of the story, so i hope you guys are able to like it too.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

She’s going to kill him.

Clicking her phone on to check the time for the umpteenth time as if it will make this stupid elevator go any faster, she lets out a huff. The tapping of her shoe acts as a placebo, perhaps. Or maybe this elevator is actually getting slower-

When the metal gates finally part, she bolts. As gracefully as one can, she awkwardly half-run, half power walks past the hall of doors until she reaches Room 307.

She doesn’t even pretend to knock. Glancing at her phone one more time - 27 calls - she slips a plastic card from the lanyard around her neck. When it beeps, flashing green, the door opens with a click, allowing her to storm in.

To her credit, she at least waits for the door to close before she yells.

“Oscar Jack Piastri!”

Oscar wakes to a fire. Or at least that’s what he has to assume is happening, considering someone is screaming his name at full volume. Eyelids barely open, he immediately sits up in bed. “M’awake! Jesus, give me a second,” he mumbles, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Tossing him his pants that had been hanging in his closet, she goes around, picking up any stray items. “Put some pants on,” she grumbles. “C’mon get up, we’re already-”

“-running late,” he says defeatedly, eyes landing on the bedside alarm clock. 

When he finally steps out of the bathroom, his brows are scrunched in confusion. She’s typing something on her phone, and definitely not trying not to look at him.

It’s been over a week since their almost-kiss in her office. She’s no rookie, she’s been more than professional since, knowing she can’t risk this. But a small part of her can’t help but think of how close his lips had been to her anytime she’s standing close enough to smell his familiar cologne. 

She’s interrupted from her thoughts by the sound of Oscar’s voice, her thumb still hovering over her phone from her long forgotten text.

Trying to get the swoop of his hair to land in some sane looking way, he gestures to the pine green spread out for him on the bed, the one she insisted he wear. “You sure about this?”

He watches her as she knits her eyebrows together as she gives him the once over. “Yes. You look good in green,” she explains, still entirely absorbed in sending an e-mail to their media liaison.

It’s only once he’s finally dressed that she gets up and gives him a look over. Her lips purse before she motions for him to stand closer. “C’mere.”

She aligns the seams that are supposed to trace along his shoulder, before using her hands to smooth out any wrinkles in the soft fabric. She stands back for a moment, before coming closer again, and pulling his sleeves up just a bit in a way that exposes some of his forearm. Assessing it one more, and seeming content with how it looks, before doing the same to his other sleeve.

Entirely unaware of the chaos his cardiovascular system seems to be undergoing, she gives him one last look over, and wipes a bit of excess moisturizer that had been left on his nose.

“There we go,” she says with a small smile. 

Grabbing her things, she stands at the door before looking back for him. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, patting his pockets and searching the hastily made bed. “Just…”

“Good to go,” he announces, swiping his phone off the bedside table, and tucking into his pocket before following her into the hall. “Where are we headed?”

“They’ve set up in one of the conference rooms near the swimming pool” she says from over her shoulder as they make their way down. “It’s some Australian channel looking to do a segment on their hometown hero, so it should be a safe set. Of course, if they veer off course, let me know and I’ll take care of it. ”

“Will you be there? Or are you headed back to the office?” Oscar asks. His tone makes it difficult to differentiate whether he's nervous, wary, or doesn’t want her to be there, but he hopes she understands anyway. 

“Yep,” she replies, smiling. Oscar wonders why his chest feels warm. 

“That’s my job, remember?” 

When he gets to hair and make-up, he can’t help but feel more than a little lost. Not because of the makeup, certainly - god knows Hattie has tested more than enough ‘smokey eyes’ on him - but rather because when he sits in the chair, the woman immediately asks what kind of look he wants to go for.

Huh?

He looks over to Y/N with desperate eyes. 

Help me, please.

She’s quick to walk over and greet Lindsay, his stylist for today, with a warm smile. Once she’s sure that the stylist is okay with taking recommendations, the rest of it comes easily.

“We’ll wanna do some powder to counter the glare from the studio lights,’ she suggests, glancing at the woman for approval. Tilting Oscar’s face, the two women survey him analytically.

“It’s up to you if you want to add a little warmth, but no blush or color corrector or anything like that. And then his hair looks good like this, so we don’t need to do anything there. How does that sound?”

The elder woman nods in agreement before pointing at different parts of Oscar’s face and mumbling somethings to Y/N who nods along thoughtfully. 

Finally, he’s left at the mercy of his stylist, as Y/N walks away.

Once the mic checks are complete and the people behind the large lights give the go ahead, one of the employees counts off the seconds before the cameras start recording.

Oscar spends those seconds looking over to wherever she is. She’s stood by one of the people carrying a large white panel, watching on to make sure everything runs smoothly. They’ve done this dance probably dozens of times, but the buzzing lessens once he assures himself that she’s still in the vicinity. 

He watches her nod, giving him a reassuring smile, and then, Oscar is ready.

“And cameras are rolling 5… 4… 3… 2… 1.”

“We’re here now with Oscar Piastri,” the host says with a warm smile, “now in his second year of representing Australia in the highest level of motorsport - Formula One. Thank you so much for joining us, Oscar.”

“Of course, thank you for having me,” Oscar smiles, that polite cat smile that’s become associated with his name. “Just Oscar, is usually fine though,” he jokes, never one to feel too comfortable with high praise. The host laughs good naturedly, “Oh, the boy’s got jokes now, does he?“ Oscar seems to glow in the spotlight. Something about him, even in front of  the cameras, seems to radiate comfort, familiarity. Even on TV, even with his rising stardom, his laidback posture and the crinkle around his eyes when he smiles suggests that he could be the boy next door, that he could be your boy next door. The cameras are not the only thing focused on him. “So Oscar, not sure if you remember, but you did a sit-down with us last year as well.” “Of course. I don’t forget that easily, Mick,” the driver replies easily. “I’m not that old.” “No, no, in fact, you’re quite young aren’t you? Only 23 and already in your second year of Formula 1.” “Yeah, feels a bit strange when you say it like that,” Oscar chuckles, “but yeah. It’s been a bit of a wild ride.” Mickie smiles. “One year closer to retirement, I imagine?”

“God no,” Oscar scoffs, shifting in his seat to get a bit more comfortable. He looks more relaxed this way, more open. “I’m not leaving without a championship, so you’ll be seeing me around for a while. Sorry to disappoint.” Laughing good naturedly, the older man shakes his head. “Far from it. You’re a hometown hero. You’ve got everyone here rooting for you,” he tells him, gesturing to the crew around them.” Smiling gratefully, Oscar nods. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty lucky with all the support. That always makes a difference.” “I’m sure it does. Who would you say are your biggest supporters?” “My parents, for sure. I’m sure there’s a clip of my mom talking about my… let's call them oddities, as a child,” Oscar laughs, referring to his habit of make-believing as a car around the house, or how he wanted car magazines read to him instead of bedtime stories. “If they hadn’t put up with me through that, there’s no way I’d be here now.” It’s clear as day that beneath the thin film of humor, there’s a chasm of sincerity. He really does love his family - always making time to call them during long trips away or even just because. Working on media with Oscar is (usually) pleasant for that same reason - you don’t have to give him PR-written responses or pre-plan his anecdotes to make the audience fall in love with him. He tells the truth, and they can’t help but fall in love all on their own. “I’ve also got other supporters too. Silent supporters, I guess you could call them, since you all don’t see their faces as much. But my sisters, my team, Y/N, the fans - they are the reasons I get to live my dream everyday.” Mickie nods in acknowledgement. “Of course. Though I see we’re name dropping now,” he teases. Oscar looks up at him, mild panic hidden behind his eyes. He’s only just about to adjust his cap - a predetermined signal to Y/N that he needs her to intervene somehow - when Mickie interrupts his train of thought. “You mentioned Y/N as one of your supporters. Could you tell us a bit more about that?” When Oscar looks at the man with the salt and pepper hair, he doesn’t see the usual malice or hunger that many reporters would have if they had been in the same position. Mickie has been good to him and his team in the past - not coming off as a dog with a bone, but instead as an easy conversationalist who happens to be genuinely curious about Oscar and his life. The young driver recovers easily from his momentary scare. “Oh, yeah. Y/N’s definitely one of my greatest supports. I’d tell you all that she works for me, but I think she might poison my coffee if I did that.” The two share a laugh, easing Oscar’s nerves a little. He subtly adjusts his watch instead.

It’s alright, I got it.

From behind the cameras, Y/N takes a small breath of relief. Though she’s pleased the conversation didn’t take a turn for the rumor mill, she’ll still be a little on edge anytime her driver is in the media’s playpen.

“Alright then. Without risking your coffee, what can you tell us then? That’s not a name we’ve heard too often around the paddock.”

“Yeah, I mean. It’s a shame too - she’s supposed to be my assistant, but with how much she’s involved in everything, we might have to come up with a better title for her,” Oscar smiles easily. Mickie gives him a smile, straightening his notecards into a neat stack. “Is that so? Must be high praise, coming from a big-shot like yourself.” The air is pleasant, the conversation flowing naturally. Even as an observer, the scene could almost be mistaken for a casual chat in a living room somewhere. Oscar shakes his head. “Not enough, actually. When I say I wouldn’t be here without her, I mean it literally. If she hadn’t come to my rescue this morning, I’d probably still be in bed!” Mick leans over, laughing. “Glad to see how much you value our time here together, Oscar!” “Even if I did, I value my sleep more,” Oscar deadpans, a sly smile on his face. “I don’t envy her job, not in the slightest.” “Fair enough, fair enough.” The conversation makes its own way from there - Oscar’s goals for this year, what people can expect from the team this season, how the new car has been. 

“So what I’m hearing is that we have a promising season ahead?”

“I mean, every season looks promising at the start really, but yeah, I have a good feeling about this one. Cautiously optimistic, we’ll call it.” “Well I’m sure I’m not the only one when I say that I can’t wait to see what you have in store for us this season, Oscar.” “Wow, no pressure there. Thanks, though.”

The two share a laugh. It’s getting closer to the end of the segment, but with some time remaining. Mickie decides to take the conversation in a different direction. “Now that we’re done with all the shop talk.” he starts. “I was wondering if you could tell us what Formula 1 has been like for you personally. Last time around, during your rookie season, you mentioned that the intensity of the training and the magnitude of the races were some of the things that took some getting used to. Would you say the same is true now, or have you gotten used to it?” Oscar nods, thoughtful. “Yeah, I mean, your rookie season is always an adjustment. It took me some time to get used to that stuff, and I’d say I’m better at it now,” he answers honestly. “But that doesn't mean there aren’t still things I’m learning to get used to.” “What kind of things?” “As you can probably tell, the time zones are one thing,” he laughs, animatedly gesturing to where his eye bags would be. For a second, there’s silence as he’s given a moment to think, before he finally speaks again. “I’d say the people, too.”

“The drivers, the teams, or the fans?” Mick asks curiously. “The fans are pretty great,” he tells him. “But I think I meant like the drivers and their teams?”  Oscar tries to explain. “Like, you have to understand that there’s so many people in this complex machine that is Formula 1. And every single person that’s there, is because they’ve got this insane drive to win - that includes the drivers, of course, but the engineers, and the strategists, and the trainers too.”

“Tell me a bit more about that.”

“I mean, like, even in Formula 2, with Prema, there was a certain level of friendship and camaraderie that gets overshadowed in Formula 1, because of just how competitive everything is,” he explains, gesturing with his hands. “It’s crazy how the drivers flip a switch for lights out or the chequered flag, because that’s what comes with competing at the highest level.”

The host nods, making an effort to understand.

“Would you say it strains relationships then? This sort of… dual personality that you and the other drivers have to have?”

“Honestly. To some degree, I imagine it has to. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly with one another.”

“You’d mentioned earlier this year, in an interview with your company Quadlock, actually, where they asked you if you had any mates on the grid, and you replied with…” Oscar chuckles shyly, recalling the moment. “No friends, only enemies,” he quotes himself. “Exactly,” the older man chuckles. “Would you say the same is true for you now?” “The honest answer would be yes and no.” The man sitting across from Oscar raises an eyebrow at this, intrigued. “When you live in that bubble with people that are, at their core, just as competitive as you are..” he trails off, contemplating how to phrase it. “Let’s just say it has an interesting way of showing you who your friends and your enemies are.”

“And has it?” Mick asks genuinely. “Shown you your friends, I mean?” Oscar takes a breath before replying. “I mean, of course. There’s Lando, y’know - as my teammate, he’s always my greatest competitor but also the only one who can kind of understand where I’m coming from. Logan, also - you know we grew up through the lower Formulas together. He and I have been teammates in the past too, so it’s nice to have an old friend on the grid. Y/N too, y’know - we’re pretty close in age, and she’s really been there for the highs and the lows.”

“We’ve seen you interact with Logan and with Lando, but what would you say your friendship with Y/N is like?”

“I mean, we work together, so a lot of it comes from that,” he shrugs, not wanting to slip up and say the wrong thing. He signed up for the spotlight, but putting his assistant, his friend there without discussing it with her would be unfair.

“We work in tandem, you see - she takes care of everything outside the car, while I take care of everything in it.”

The interviewer hums thoughtfully. “That sounds like a dynamic that requires a lot of trust, I’d say.”

“Maybe, but she hasn’t let me down even once in two years.” For a moment, for a fraction of a second it feels like Oscar’s eyes glance in the direction of where she’s standing with the tech crew, but it must be a trick of her imagination. They’re standing in the shadows, and it’d be a stretch for her to think that he could even see her in the first place. “Not even once.”

“Would you say your friendship complicates this dynamic, or simplifies it?”

“Helps, definitely. Easier to get out of media duties that way,” Oscar jokes. Mickie laughs easily at that, before focusing on the subject once again.

“Really?  You two don’t face any challenges with that? I’d imagine with the other drivers that that boundary is a bit more clear, what with them being your competitors and all.” Oscar lips press together, his tongue subtly running over his lower lip to soothe the pressure. “I think maybe if it were someone else, then it would be. But not with her.“

Looking over to the armchair, he can see that the other man looks surprised. 

“You seem quite confident in saying that.”

“I am,” he says bluntly. Why wouldn’t he be?

“And what inspires that confidence?”

“Just who she is, really, “ Oscar answers with a shrug. On the other side of the room, Y/N waits for a signal that never comes. 

What the hell is he doing? 

This was most definitely not one of the agreed topics for tonight’s show.

“How do you mean?” Mickie can’t help but inquire.

“I mean the obvious thing to say here would be to say that we’re close in age,” Oscar starts, gesturing. “But it really is more than that. I’m lucky to work with an immensely talented team, especially with all the fresh talent McLaren’s brought on board this year.”

“Of course.”

“But as for her in particular…” The blonde seems to think for a minute. “I think, that in order for someone to understand how we work, they’d have to understand how she works,” he muses.

“And how’s that?”

“She’s like the light you need in order to see. With her perspective, her input,  the fundamental way in which she operates - things make sense. She makes things make sense, really - whether that’s logistically, or with the car, and especially with me.”

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can even know what he’s thinking. The tricky thing about this cozy lounge setup that he’s seated in is that, from her,  it looks nothing like the studios and press conferences and media pens that they’re used to. Here, there are no clambering reporters, no flashing cameras, no microphones shoved in his face.

It’s easier to forget that the world is watching.

“It’s a bit unfortunate that the fans watching this don’t get to see her as we do,” he says with a serious expression. “Because it’s hard to describe her personality, or even just her role if you haven’t existed in her orbit. There’s this… this spark that ignites with everything she interacts with.”

Oscar finds himself thinking of everything that happened on the road so far, every step that led them here. All he knows for certain is that his confidence is not unfounded. Sure, things were… less than ideal at the moment, but they’d go back to normal. He knew they would, he was sure of it.

Not so much because Oscar had a plan, but rather because he didn’t know what to do if they didn’t. They’d figure it out - that was their thing, after all.

He’s disturbed from his thoughts by the voice of another.

“A spark?” the older man prompts with a smile.

It’s almost frustrating when the words don’t come fast enough to keep up with his mind.

“When you’re expected to function at the highest levels, there’s a lot of moving parts underneath the shiny cover that no one really tells you about. Y/N has this intuitive sense and this unlearnable skill to take apart the most challenging complexities and put them back together into something wonderful.”

The studio falls silent. 

“She sounds lucky,” Mick offers sincerely.

Oscar laughs dryly. “The way I see it, I’m the lucky one. McLaren certainly is.”

Mickie’s expression is open, leaving the silence available for him to fill.

Oscar, on the other hand, isn’t quite sure how they ended up here. Talking about Y/N wasn’t a preplanned part of the segment, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s surprisingly nice to talk about something besides how hot it is in the car or the rabbit food  athletes have to eat or his opinions on the championship standings. 

And it probably doesn’t hurt that talking about her is really quite easy.

“It’s an incredible gift to meet someone who complements each of your strengths and your weaknesses completely. And if that person happens to be someone who can somehow challenge you and support you simultaneously, then there’s nothing more that I need.”

The boom mic edges closer to the stage setup, careful not to enter the cameras’ parameters of visibility. There’s a shift in tone that’s apparent, something curious and authentic that seems to wash across the studio and everyone in it.

“Will we be seeing this dynamic duo in action anytime soon then?” the interviewer asks, charismatically guiding the conversation towards its conclusion.

“I sure hope so. Maybe you guys can finally convince her to do some of those McLaren challenges with us,” Oscar smiles widely, that dorky, lopsided smile of his. “Trust me, I tried, but somehow she won’t let me drive her around for a Hot Lap. Wonder why that is,” he shrugs, before both men share a laugh.

A hand in the dark silently signals for them to wrap up, indicating that the segment must come to an end.

“Well then, Oscar I see we’re being told to wrap,” he smiles, glancing over in the direction of the crew. Both men begin to go to stand up, extending their arms for a friendly handshake.

“Thank you so much for joining us once again. As always, it was a pleasure, and I know I speak for everyone here at Down Under Daily when I say that we can’t wait to see what the future has in store for you.”

Oscar nods, smiling, giving the man a firm handshake. “Thank you.”

Once the segment wraps up and the overhead lights come back on, the studio buzzes with the hum of activity. Uniformed crew members unpack and disassemble various machines and setups, beginning to clear out the studio. Oscar glances around, but his gaze keeps drifting back to Y/N, who stands a few feet away, chatting with one of the technicians. Her laughter cuts through the noise, bright and genuine, making something warm unfurl in his chest.

“Hey,” he calls out, a casual attempt to draw her attention. When she turns, their eyes lock, and for a moment, the world around them blurs. There’s something in her expression that sends a jolt through him, a flicker of recognition and a hint of something deeper.

“Hey,” she replies, her smile easy but layered, like they’re sharing some inside joke that only they understand. He shifts slightly, suddenly a bit squirmish under her undivided attention.

Not that he gets squirmish, of course. Oscar is the picture of cool and collected.

As her eyes scan him, she notes the slight flush of his skin, the way the muscles of his face are tense ever so slightly. It’s honestly a bit refreshing to see someone who isn’t always unfazed by it all, she thinks. She does her best to offer him a reassuring smile.

“That went well,” she comments, her voice carrying a lightness that contrasts with the tension simmering beneath the surface. It’s the kind of praise that makes him feel seen, but also a bit exposed.

“Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without you,” he responds, his tone sincere. Oscar isn’t one of those fools who thinks the whole orchestra runs around him. Even  if it did, his mother didn’t raise him to be any bit unappreciative to everyone who works behind the scenes for his successes. He knows she’s more than just an assistant; she’s the one who keeps everything in motion, the anchor in the chaos.

Her gaze lingers on him, and for a moment, the air between them thickens. He’s acutely aware of the distance that’s very much there, yet it feels charged, like static before a storm. “I just do what I can,” she says softly, brushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear—an action so simple, yet watching it feels intimate.

Oscar looks away.

The moment stretches, and he senses a shift, a palpable tension that neither of them is ready to address. Memories of their almost-kiss hang between them, unacknowledged yet ever-present. He wonders if she feels it too, this strange blend of familiarity and hesitation.

The silence is uncomfortable in a familiar way, like the awkward pause that occurs when you can’t decide who should speak first. Oscar even opens his mouth to try to say something - though he’s not sure what - Y/N beats him to it.

“How’re you feeling?” she asks, her tone casual, but he detects a deeper curiosity behind her question.

“I guess just… figuring things out,” he replies, glancing down for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. There’s moments in the midst of the whirlwind of fame and fortune where it all truly feels surreal. Young Oscar always aspired to go fast, to push himself to the limit, to win, but this?

The spotlight, the admiration , the respect, the expectations? It was almost overwhelming, a heavy medal hanging around his neck that he’s still not used to wearing. Especially with the number of people that work day and night to give him a fighting chance at making his childhood dreams into reality, there’s no greater expectation than the one Oscar places on himself.

“Trying to get it right still, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, nodding, her eyes searching his. There’s an intensity in her gaze that makes his heart race, as if she’s peering into the part of him he keeps to himself. Briefly, he wonders if she can read his thoughts sometimes.

Like on one of those teleprompters they use for broadcasts and award shows.

He wants to say more, to delve into this strange thing swirling between them, but the words feel stuck, caught in a web. The awkwardness between them might as well be a loose screw in his car - keeping him at the edge of his seat as he navigates the clunkiness that replaces the flow he’s used to. “I keep waiting to get used to it, but it never seems to happen,” he says finally, hoping to keep the conversation light.

“True,” she agrees, her smile faint but genuine. “But you manage.”

“Most of the time,” he admits, letting out a soft laugh that feels half-hearted, both playful and tinged with something meaningful. Oscar may have grown into this suave, clever, mature personality that he’s recognized for, but there are times when he still feels like the lanky teen with the acne and the too-short hair that climbed into a Formula car that very first time.

As the crew clears the set, Y/N steps back, her focus shifting to the flurry of activity around them. Oscar feels the space between them widen, the moment suddenly dissipating like a whisk of smoke. He wants to reach out, to anchor her back to him, but the tide of reality keeps them away.

“Ready to head out?” she asks, her voice interrupting the stream 0f his personal thoughts. 

“Yeah,” he replies, an uncharacteristic hesitation slipping into his tone. He can feel the warmth radiating off her, and the longing rises within him, a familiar ache that refuses to fade. He elects to ignore it, in favor of using long strides to catch up with her quick ones to follow her out into the hall.

Oscar steals a glance at Y/N, her profile illuminated by the fluorescent lights, and he wonders what it would be like to bridge that gap. He recalls what it had been like the last time he'd been in such proximity to her - felt the warmth of body, the coolness of her breath, the ghost of her lips. For now, though, he settles into the silence, allowing the moment to hang between them.

Y/N leans against the small counter in her hotel room, the yellow light from the lamp seeming to warm the place. She stares at her phone, buzzing with a handful of messages, but her mind is tangled in thoughts of today’s interview. Hearing him casually mention her, smiling as he spoke, had left her feeling a mix of pride and confusion.

As she pours herself a cup of hot tea, she replays the almost-kiss in her mind - the way his breath had caught for just a moment. It felt like a line had been crossed, but they hadn’t addressed it. It hung in the air between them like an uninvited guest, and the last thing she wanted was to ruin the good thing they had.

Her phone buzzes again, the sixth time in the last half hour. This time, however, the contact name reads: Oscar. “How’s your evening?”

“Trying to figure out the chaos that is my notes,” she replies, glancing down at loose pages, and spiral books that are splattered across the coffee table.

“You always have chaos in your notes. It’s part of your charm.” His teases, knowing full well that no matter how chaotic her notes were, they were somehow still always loads better than his hurried scrawl.

The tone of the conversation feels light, teasing, friendly - but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t feel like something more—an unspoken understanding that neither of them wants to acknowledge.

“Charm, huh? I prefer to think of it as organized chaos.” She takes a sip of the warm herbal tea, now having cooled down to the temperature of her liking. It’s grounding these little rituals - which reminds her that she still needs to change out of her work clothes, maybe shower and do some skincare…

“Sure, if that makes you feel better,” he replies easily. Even just reading the words, she can practically hear the laughter in his voice. 

A moment later, he decides to add, “I was just about to put something on the TV. You in?”

In a hotel room just a ways down the hall, Oscar’s heart rate increases. What the hell are you doing? He chides himself. He feels stupid - things were already weird, and now he probably just made them even weirder.

Relax, he has to tell himself. This isn’t new - in fact, this is normal. Like before - friends, just relaxing together after a long day of work. Airplane games of monopoly, friday happy hours, movie nights - all of this was perfectly normal. Right?

Thumbs still hovering over her keyboard, she hesitates. The idea of sitting together, sharing popcorn and laughter, sounded nice, but there was the lingering possibility that things would be strange instead.

Instead she types out, “Maybe. What are you watching?”

She could use a night off, after all.

“Something mindless, one of those cable shows they have on this thing. You know, to balance all the brainpower we exert during the week.”

She had to admit, he did make it sound inviting.

“Mindless does sound good. I’ll join you.”Oscar props himself up a bit better, leaning back on his elbow. The smile on his face is lit up by the blue light of his phone screen as he reads her reply. Forcing himself out of the unexpectedly comfortable position he’d evolved into, he gets up, phone in hand, before starting to work to make his hotel room look a tad more presentable.

He was not having a repeat of this morning.

He types out a reply. “Great. I’ll set it up.”

There is a brief pause, and he wonders if he should clear the air, just in case. He really does just want to have a relaxing evening with her - it had been a long time since they last had the chance. Conjuring up some courage, he types out another message to her. “So, about the interview…”

Reading that, Y/N’s heart races. She didn’t want to overanalyze his words, but it was impossible not to. She decides to go for the safe answer. “You did well. Really.” So maybe he was just overthinking it. The praise lifts some of the weight off his chest.

“Thanks. Felt good to share some insights. And the part about you… well, it was true.”

Had he really meant all of it?

There’s a fluttering sensation in her stomach. “Just doing my job.”

“No, really. It means a lot to me. You’ve been here through so much of it.”

The sincerity of his words has her forgetting this tension for a moment, allowing it to slip into the back of her mind. They had a rhythm, a friendship built on shared experiences, but now it felt precarious.

“I just want you to succeed, Oscar,” she tells him, words honest. “That’s all.”

“And you’re doing your part brilliantly. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His words hang in the air, thick with unspoken feelings. He’s said those same words a thousand times before, but for some reason, this one makes her heart skip. She shifts her weight, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. 

“So, movie?” she suggested, wanting to steer the conversation away before she can get too caught up in her own messy thoughts..

“Right. I’ll get it ready.” 

Rustling the duvet to make it appear slightly less misshapen. One of his hands seeks the remote to see what’s on at this time, and tries to pick the most tolerable option. Happy with his choice, he stalk over to the other side of his room, the show in the background acting as welcome background noise.

He then pulls out two packets of microwaveable popcorn from the welcome basket that had greeted him when he checked into the room, popping each of them into the microwave so the snack would be warm by the time she arrived.

Y/N stands outside the door to Oscar’s hotel room, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. Sure, she could use her emergency key card, but she decides that knocking feels less criminal. She knocks, and immediately the door creaks back to reveal his familiar face. His hair is mussed up, loose locks flopping to one side or the other. Her eyes are fogging with sleep, but  the smile he wears is warm and  sweet.

“Hey! Look who made it,” Oscar teases, stepping aside to let her in.

“Thought I’d save you from another night of mediocre cable,” she replied, a playful smile on her lips. 

She hopes it comes less nervous than she feels.

“Trust me, you’re in for a treat. It’s ‘Chef’s Disaster’ tonight. Guaranteed chaos,” he says,  leading her to the couch.

When she glances at the television that’s playing, she finds scenes of various chefs - forgetting ingredients, leaving the stove on too high,  accidentally dropping their dishes.

“Ah, the best kind of TV,” she laughs, settling in beside him. The pair of them end up on opposite sides of a generously-sized, two-seater couch. Her mind begins to whir, trying to figure out if she’s sitting too far, if it’s too late to scoot a bit closer, would that make things weirder? But when she looks over to Oscar, his relaxed figure sprawled across his side of the couch, the knot in her chest loosens a little. She allows herself to get more comfortable, curling up on her seat. Finally breathing a little bit easier, she allows herself to lean back against the cushioning.

The show flickers on, and they immediately fall into a comfortable rhythm. Y/N reaches for the bowl of popcorn he’d prepared, gathering a handful of pieces to then to slip into her mouth.

They watch as the chefs try to organize their chaos into something presentable, laughing as they watch one of the younger contestants put an unseasoned chicken into the oven.

What happened to salt? Pepper? Common sense?

In the darkness of the room, their faces are lit up only by the glow of the changing scenes flickering across the TV screen. With a subtly yawn, Oscar stretches his arms, before one coincidently drapes itself across the back of the couch, right behind Y/N’s shoulders. He can feel how her hair tickles the skin of his forearm, but it only makes him smile. He’d missed this - time together, the two of them. Life had a funny way of making people feel so close and so far all at once.

When she can’t help but giggle at someone who’d forgotten to put the lid on their blending before powering it on, Oscar can’t help but look at her.

Even at this awkward distance, even with her too far to touch - he feels lucky. He’d be happy to stay like this - to only hear her laugh instead of causing it, to watch her smile from the sidelines -  just to get to be in her orbit at all. 

He wonders if the world might stop spinning on its axis if that wasn’t the case.

His certainly would.

“Okay, chef,” Oscar said, nudging her. “What’s your go-to dish?”

Turning to glance at him, she can’t help but smile. Oscar’s smile is contagious like that, she supposes.

She hums, thinking over his question for a moment.

“Honestly? I make a pretty decent chicken alfredo. You’d be impressed,” she replied, a hint of pride in her voice.

“Pasta, huh? Fancy,” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows at her. His heart does a strange fluttery thing when she laughs. “The only thing I can make reliably is scrambled eggs,” he admits, chuckling.

“Hey, scrambled eggs are a classic! Hell, all the eggs I make end up scrambled. But you should branch out,” Y/N says with mock seriousness, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I should give you cooking lessons sometime.”

“Deal,” he says, his tone shifting slightly. Raising his hands defensively, he adds, “But no promises on the outcome.”

As they watch the chefs struggle with absurd challenges, the initial awkwardness begins to fade. They exchange jokes about the contestants, their laughter echoing off the walls. They laugh until their stomachs hurt, adding in their own commentary until there are tears in their eyes and their cheeks hurt from laughing. “I actually hate you,” she wheezes, throwing her couch cushion at him. “My nonexistent abs hurt, you asshole. Can’t you be a little more considerate?”

He catches her projectile weapon with an exaggerated ‘oof’, defending himself. “I was just providing valuable insights, really.”

The silence that settles thereafter as they try to catch their breaths is comfortable in the way that graceful snowfall is - familiar and calming, peaceful.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever cooked?” he asks, turning to her.

Y/N has to hold back a giggle, recalling a memory. She can’t remember how long its been since she was able to let loose like this. “I once tried to make soufflé. I think by the time I was done with it, it fell under the legal definition of what the pros call, ‘hazardous materials.’”

Oscar bursts out laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s a tragedy! You should’ve brought it here as a surprise.”

“I’m sure. Next time, I’ll bring my ‘signature’ dish,” she replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

Tilting her head back, she lets her eyes slip closed for a second just basking in whatever this is. It’s difficult to think of the right word for it, but quite frankly, she doesn’t care. She just wants to bottle it up and keep it with her forever. Just as they start to find that comfortable groove, a sharp knock interrupts them. Immediately, they both lift their head to turn to look in the direction of the offending sound.

“You expecting someone?” Y/N asks, her heart sinking slightly. She tries to push the feeling away. “Who is it?”

“Probably someone who doesn’t know the meaning of ‘do not disturb,’” Oscar grumbles, shaking his head as he gets up to walk over to the door.

He stands up and walks toward the door, leaving Y/N to focus on the flickering screen. But her mind drifted back to the lingering tension between them, their easy banter feeling suddenly fragile.

She nervously fixes her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ears. Making sure she looks professional enough - and not like they were sitting a mere centimeter apart - she turns toward the door. Finally, he slides the pin aside, unlocking the door as he pulls it back.

“Who is it?” she asks him quietly.

There’s a pause for a moment, before Lando’s familiar voice calls through. “It’s me,” he replies, and Oscar seems visibly annoyed. Lando peers over Oscar’s shoulder, noting Y/N perched on one of the couches in the room.

Good, both of them were here. That’d make this a bit easier.

“You need to see this,” Lando tells them, careful to keep his tone even. Oscar nods, stepping aside and opening the door wider to allow Lando in.

“Yeah, of course. Come on in,” she replies at the same time, making sure she looks presentable. Hopefully whatever Lando has to say will save her from whatever awkwardness was probably about to ensue.

Lando pushes into the room and instantly notices that the vibe is… something. It’s *very* obvious that he’s interrupted something, but he doesn’t comment on it. 

Interesting. He files the information away for later.

Instead, he holds his phone out in front of him, a news article pulled up on the screen.

“What is it?” Oscar asks, his gaze flickering between Lando and the screen.

Lando points to the small picture in the article, and Oscar’s jaw clenches, the muscle on the side of his face visibly pulled tight. Lando observes his teammate’s reaction, before he looks over to meet Y/N’s eyes. 

“You might want to read this,” he says gently, his voice low. “You’re mentioned in it.”

That doesn’t sound right.

“I- What?”

Lando briefly wonders what the likelihood is that the ground will physically swallow him whole. Or that he might turn invisible. Or anything that means he doesn’t have to explain this.

“I don’t-“ He cuts off, struggling to put his words together, sighing. “I don’t know how they got their information, but some of these details…”

Seeing Lando - normally smiley Lando - looking so painfully neutral despite the anxiety that flashes in his eyes, feels deeply unsettling. Like dark clouds at a wedding or an empty chair at a birthday party, seeing Lando like this feels ominous, wrong.

He hands her the phone, watching her as she takes it and begins to scan the text. Words and letters blend into a blur, her eyes reading through the article - speculation after speculation on her current health status and how she got hurt. It reads less like news and more like pure gossip tabloid rumors. 

There’s an odd sinking in her chest, some muscle winding itself tighter and tighter.

She can’t stop reading it, standing eerily still. Hidden amongst this clear violation of the privacy she’s held sacred for so long are some very specific facts that only Oscar and a select few other people should be able to know and recognize. 

“This is-“ she starts quietly, her breath hitching in her chest.

It’s quiet. “This is bad.”

Her eyes continue to scan the article, and her mouth goes dry. Even when she knows it’s all mostly bullshit, there’s still a part of her that feels a little violated, like there’s suddenly not enough oxygen in the room. This is her life - her past and her trauma put on display. The most traumatic years of her life suddenly available for the whole world to read about. 

She reads it yet another time, uselessly hoping for something to change, for the words to transform or dissipate like the final wisps of a nightmare.

“One has to ask—can you really call it a "dream job" when it lands you in the ER? Y/N L/N is clearly in need of a reality check. Whispers from insiders paint the picture of a young woman entangled in a life of chaos, fueled by impulsive decisions and reckless relationships. Is she simply a victim of her surroundings, or is there a more troubling narrative at play? Recently, Y/N was hospitalized with troubling injuries: extensive bruising and a suspected concussion, allegedly the result of a wild night that spiraled out of control. Sources suggest her aggressive tendencies may have exacerbated the situation, raising alarms about her behavior and its implications for McLaren. As Y/N navigates her tumultuous life, her influence over rising star Oscar Piastri comes into question. McLaren must now confront the uncomfortable truth: her erratic behavior could endanger Piastri’s career and the team’s reputation. The last thing they need is a scandal, especially when they’re striving for excellence on and off the track. The team's efforts to sweep this under the rug hint at deeper issues within their camp. Insiders are growing increasingly concerned that Y/N’s instability could tarnish McLaren’s hard-earned image, especially as rumors circulate. As Y/N begins her recovery, the pressure mounts on McLaren to manage the fallout. Fans and sponsors alike are watching closely, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. Ultimately, the future for Y/N is uncertain. Will she take this opportunity to change her trajectory, or will she continue to spiral, jeopardizing not only her own future but also the stability of McLaren? The racing world waits with bated breath, knowing that every decision could have lasting consequences.”

Lando’s expression is sympathetic as he watches her pale. Something guilty settles in his gut - he knows he didn’t cause this, but he doesn’t know how to protect her from it either. Lando has always held loyalty so close to his chest - growing up famous at such a young age forces you to learn that lesson quickly.

It's easy, then, to understand why Lando is the way he is. He's known for his friendly personality - his charismatic charm and his easy laugh - but there are a select few which Lando considers his closest friends. Those are people he answers even in the middle of the night, the ones he’d fly across the world to be there for.

But Y/N is standing in front of him like the very ground  has been pulled from beneath her feet and he can’t do a fucking thing. 

“Um, it’s- it’s okay,” she stammers, voice shaky. She tucks her hair behind her ears again, but they were never loose in the first place. A fragile mask of calm slips over her face, a familiar trick she’s performed thousands of times before

“I can take care of this. I- I’ll take care of this.”

Her heart feels like it’s stuttering in her chest but she knows better than to show it. Taking a short breath, she whirls around to make a beeline for her office. She’ll need to make a few calls, send emails to various liaisons and communication personnel, maybe reach out to HR and PR too-

“Hey, hey, stop.” Oscar reaches out and gently wraps his fingers around his bicep, spinning her around gently to face him. His eyes are worried as he searches hers for something true. He’s seen her upset before, but now her face is pale in a way he’s never seen before.

“Oh, right,” she chuckles awkwardly, suddenly remembering. “Lando, your phone.”

She holds the phone with the article displayed on it for Lando to grab, but she eyes the device like it’s very presence is toxic. She chuckles, but the sound is high pitched and forced. “Sorry, almost forgot!”

Lando slowly takes his phone from her, his eyes flickering between his friends for a moment.

“No worries, s’fine,” he says carefully, his eyes not leaving her face. “Are you actually okay?” That’s a stupid question, you idiot.

“Me?” she asks, as if caught off guard. “Yeah, yeah! I’m fine,” she answers, waving him off.

Oscars expression is stern, unconvinced - and he doesn’t bother to hide it.

“You seem a little, uh, upset,” he says delicately, his gaze flitting to her shaking hands. He immediately looks away, not wanting to draw any attention to it. He doesn’t want her to feel exposed.

“No it’s-” horrible, she wants to say. Instead, what comes out is, “It’s okay. I’m just trying to figure out what I need to do, that’s all.”

He hesitates, his brows furrowing at her attempts to downplay what’s happening.

“And your first thought is to go work?” he points out, a small hint of accusation in his tone.

It’s like she doesn’t even hear him.

“I’m going to fix this,” she tells him, giving both of them her most convincing smile, even as the corners of her mouth threaten to twitch downward.

Breathe.

And with that, she sees herself out of the room, already planning each action she needs to set into motion. She’s going to fix this.

a/n: thank you for reading this far! feedback means a lot to me. your likes, comments, reblogs, asks - that's the only way i can tell if you like the story so pls pls pls! all the feedback!!!

[pomefioredove]

Heyy!!! I really liked the young reader (13-14) telling the OB crew that they see them as an authority figure. Can you do it with the first year's please? I hope this doesn't go against any rules thank youu!!!

assuming this is similar to this, which has ace and deuce, so I'll just write for the others :)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ brotherly (encore)

type of post: headcanons characters: jack, epel, sebek additional info: platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

Having been torn from your home, separated from your family and friends, and spit back out in a new place with new people, isn't really as fun as it sounds.

After months at NRC, though, you've managed to make yourself a life here. A new home, new friends, even new family.

Now, sitting close to the person you've become fondest of, you let slip that you seem him as a brother.

His reaction?

should not have said that to Jack. it's not that he doesn't like it, it's that he really does. he puts a lot of value on family, after all, and even before you said this, he considered you a part of his own. this just makes it feel real

now, he just will never leave you alone. making sure you stay out of trouble, insisting on carrying your things and helping with your homework, living for your happiness. it's sweet, maybe a little overbearing, but I suppose that depends on how you look at it

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

you and Epel had always been close. even Vil and Rook have commented on how the two of you are practically inseparable- it was only a matter of time before someone said it

is- is he crying? of course not!!! he's not some sap!! just 'cause you told him he's your best friend and you look up to him as a brother, which is affirming in its own way, doesn't mean 'nothin! he just has something in his eye!

(he's completely over the moon)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Sebek has always been the one to look up to others, not the other way around. his first reaction is to tell you that you should be praising Malleus, or perhaps Lilia, not him. you're wasting your breath!

of course, he thinks about it all day, and then some. it's just that you think he- the youngest of the group, the very last to get his magic- is someone worth looking up to? could it be possible that you hold the same affection for him that he does for others?

and when you confirm, he can't help feeling a little smug

he vows to use his skill as Malleus' guard to protect you both

[fight-for-what-you-love]

♪ Worldwide - Big Time Rush

I'm gonna be honest- these episodes kind of fell apart while I was making this. The more I re-wrote the story for it's second draft the less this version made sense and the less interested I was to work on it. I have not much else to say except sorry this part is kinda iffy and sorry it took so long. I promise you I'll make up for this in the next episode I PROMISE

Notes on both episodes under the cut!

Sweden Sour

* (I think it’d be really funny if Cody just doesn’t talk at all this episode. Not a word. Just nods and head shakes and depressed faces.)

* Cody’s incredibly depressed after Noah’s elimination. Sierra’s over the moon, though. She sees Cody depressed and gives him a tight side hug, petting his head. She tries consoling him with “I know you’re sad, but it’s ok! At least I’m still here~.” Cody starts sobbing, head in hands. Heather is sick of this already.

* The teams get their “ibuilda” pieces and the Amazons argue on what it’s supposed to be. Cody stares at the pieces for a few seconds before the light briefly re enters his eyes. He starts building. Courtney tells him to stop but Heather tells her he’s obviously got it, so let him work. They start helping him build… something.

* Once the Amazons are done, Heather, Sierra and Courtney take a step back to see what they’ve built. It’s a giant wooden Noah head. Their faces drop. Heather is filled with murderous rage.

* We built Noah’s face (We’re gonna take first place) Cause we built Noah’s faaaace

* Tyler’s jumper would be white.

* Cody doesn’t sing in this number. Chris notices and stares at him threateningly. He reluctantly hums the chorus and Chris takes what he can get.

* (Alejandro takes off his shirt to pull the boat like a freak. Duncan is unfazed and Tyler will deny it if you ask him if he blushed.)

* Sierra hits Noah’s Head hard enough it falls over on its side and suggests sawing off the side to ride in him like a boat. Heather and Courtney agree to this. Cody has no comment.

* Duncan and Alejandro don't bother bending over backwards to please Tyler. Duncan makes himself captain and no one argues.

* When the Amazons go to pick a captain, Courtney grabs the hat and declares herself captain without input. Heather tries to argue but Courtney argues back- Cody is in no condition, no one trusts Sierra and Heather took control the last challenge so this time she’s in charge. Heather reluctantly backs down.

* Amazons catch up to team Chris in the water. Alejandro sees them approach and makes note of Cody’s face, making fun of him for being so upset about “the Noah thing”. Cody furrows his eyebrows and points furiously at Chris’s boat. Courtney agrees that yes, they should shoot their boat.

* It doesn’t matter who wins the challenge since it’s a non elimination round, but I want to say the Amazons persevere. The massage helps Cody enough that he’s not stone faced next episode at least.

Aftermath III (Aftermath Aftermayhem)

* Gwen, Owen and Noah are introduced together. Gwen walks out first and Owen, hugging Noah to the point of lifting him off the ground, walks behind her.

* Geoff asks what all that’s about and Gwen responds that Owen refused to let him go until Noah “understood just how sorry he was”. Noah insists he forgives him, but Owen still won’t let him go.

* The Owen square is replaced by the Tyler square. The prompt is survive. (The hosts throw a bunch of debris at the contestant for thirty seconds and if they dodge everything they move on.)

* (For brevity’s sake, assume all of the contestants that participated in the board game in the original episode participated here [with the exception of Tyler, who is replaced with Owen]. They all get eliminated the same way as well, Noah getting got by aliens, Owen falling down the booby trap square and Beth making it to the final question.)

* When Beth gets stumped on the last question (What was Duncan's band called) Noah yells at her, frustrated: “Oh my- It’s Der Schnitzel Kickers, Beth!!” Confetti and balloons fall from the ceiling.

* (He knows this because Cody had mentioned it in a conversation after the London challenge.)

* Noah initially complains about winning the game, but Owen reminds him that he gets to see Cody again and he shuts up immediately.

* “Noah wins!” “Wasn’t he disquali-” “NOAH WINS!! Let’s wrap it up. We’re done here.”

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt behind the cut for Derpsheep; obligatory sugar baby Kon. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kon laughs sheepishly, shakes his head, and then leans down and presses a kiss against the corner of his mouth. Tim boils alive. Like. Just a little. Then Kon straightens back up and gives him another grin before looking back down to the bag and digging into it. He comes up with the chocolates first, since they’re what Tim put on top, and grins wider again at the sight of them. 

“Dude, how much are you paying in shipping?” he asks with a laugh, shaking his head again. 

“Not that much,” Tim lies. It wouldn’t have been that bad if he hadn’t sprung for expedited, so he figures that counts as true. Like, arguably. From a certain point of view or whatever. 

Look, he’s spent more on less important things. 

Kon laughs again, then puts the chocolates in his coat pocket and pulls out the jewelry box, inspecting it curiously before flipping it open. 

“Oh, sick,” he says, looking delighted, which makes Tim feel as good as nailing a landing on the edge of a skyscraper, and then frowns again. “But how much was–” 

“You can’t tell me not to buy you things anymore,” Tim interrupts him as politely as he can. Kon pauses, then flushes again and ducks his head a little, smiling helplessly. 

“Okay,” he says, then bites his lip and stares down at the bag. “Um . . .” 

“Yes?” Tim asks. 

“I can kinda, uh . . .” Kon trails off, then looks embarrassed. “I mean, it feels like . . .” 

Right, Tim thinks. TTK probably does take away some of the element of surprise from unwrapping presents. 

“It’s fine if you don’t like it,” he says. “I just found, well . . . an option that wouldn’t wilt over dinner.” 

Kon looks very embarrassed. 

“You really didn’t have to,” he says, a little stilted. “I mean–you already . . .” 

Tim tilts his head. Patiently puts on what he’s decided to make his “you can’t tell me not to buy you things anymore” face. 

Kon turns red again, then pockets the jewelry box with the chocolates before pulling out the last gift to look at too. He opens the box gingerly, and stares into it for a long moment before taking the actual gift out. 

Tim really hopes he likes it. 

“You really didn’t have to,” Kon repeats as he turns it by the stem, his face still all flushed and his eyes and voice both just barely soft. 

It’s a slender little branch of blue orchids, all shiny and pretty. The company that makes them lacquers real flowers and then accents them in gold. So it’s still obviously an actual flower with the petals all visible under the lacquer, but the stems are gold-plated and the petals are edged in more gold, and the flowers themselves are preserved by the lacquer, so . . . yeah. 

He could’ve waited for the cul-de-sac and just started giving Kon fresh flowers like he’d originally planned, Tim guesses, but he’d stumbled across the site while looking for gift ideas and kinda just . . . gone from there, pretty much. He’d actually seen roses first, but the orchids had felt a little more . . . creative, maybe? And likelier to be to Kon’s tastes, given how obviously fondly he remembers Hawaii–and misses it, maybe, though that might be assuming a little much on Tim’s part. 

Even if it, unfortunately, doesn't miss him. 

It’s just . . . a hypothesis, really, that Kon misses Hawaii. Just going by certain things Kon’s been willing to say and show in front of Tim Drake, and hasn’t been willing to say or show in front of Robin or the team. 

So when Tim had seen the orchids, well . . . 

Blue orchids are a rarer color, apparently, and he’d just thought–well, Kon’s eyes are blue, and so is a significant percentage of his suit. And so is, obviously, the sky he flies in, and the water he might miss. And blue orchids are supposed to be symbols of rarity and uniqueness, so, uh–maybe it’s a bit much, but he’d just thought . . . 

Kon clearly wants to be seen as someone unique and individual, and clearly deserves to be, so . . . yeah. Well. 

It’d just fit, he’d thought. 

They’re supposed to represent sincerity, too, but that’s a whole other thing.

[biowho]

Shadow Dragons Blurb anon - YES that's exactly the one I mean! The little backstory bit when selecting the faction?

Fantastic! (I put the og question in this for anyone else who's confused)

I'm going to break down every part of it because I'm not sure how long you've been playing Dragon Age or how much preexisting lore you know, and I'm wording this like you've never played a DA game before (sorry for any redundancy) Also this is just my take on it so keep that in mind xx

Rook risked everything to liberate the incident people of Tevinter, even though it would anger the ruin elite -> Tevinter was built on and functions upon the back of their slaves' labor. Without it, the empire is nothing. This makes the Shadow Dragons as a concept and an organization a threat to the empire's power

The foundling Rook was adopted into a military family and joined the Shadow Dragons to fight from the shadows for change in Minrathous. -> A foundling is someone who was abandoned as an infant or a very young child and then cared for by the people who found them (which gives the 4 race options an explanation as to why they're in the city...or at least the player the ability to infer one themselves) Minrathous is the capital and largest city in Tevinter and where all the big decisions get made. The military aspect of the Mercar family to me implies Rook's adopted family are Soporati, which is one of the lower classes in Tevinter - members of this class often serve in the military. (The family's rank would be higher if any of them are mages, how many generations of mages the Mercars' have would raise the rank even higher. Personally, I'm interested in what happens if you play as a mage Rook and if no other Mercar has magic and if any of them will be seen outside my AO3)

While guarding a visiting dignitary who was investigating a slavery ring in the nearby city of Nessus, Rook concluded that the mission would fail without throwing caution to the wind. -> Rook was on a job for the Shadow Dragons where they were ment to act as a bodyguard for an unknown man of high rank (my fingers are crossed that it was Dorian) I believe Nessus is a typo and it's supposed to be Nessum, the city featured in Absolution. Whoever the dignitary was, he wasn't able to get the information he needed to uncover/stop the slave ring one way or another so Rook overstepped themselves, disobeying orders to just guard the dignitary to get him to the information he needed by putting him in danger

Alone, they snuck the dignitary deep into Venatori-controlled zones and brought him back, along with the rescued slaves. -> Venatori are blood magic and red lyrium (both not good) using mages which are rotting Tevinter from the top down, They're the main antagonistic force against everything the Shadow Dragons stand for. So, not only did Rook disobey their orders, they led this important official through very dangerous spaces that, if they had gotten caught, would have gotten both of them killed and compromise a part of if not all of their faction. However, the risk of getting the dignitary closer to the ring paid off and every slave was freed, and the dignitary was returned unharmed

These actions brought Rook to the Venatori's attention, and the Shadow Dragons decided to keep Rook out of sight. -> Rook's on a shit list now. The opposition knows what they look like/who they are and has been effectively taken from the shadows and put under a spotlight. I'm assuming the Viper, the leader of the Shadow Dragons, made the call to shelve Rook so no other job would be compromised by them being recognized

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Hello! I don't know if requests are open, I'm sorry, but I have a request 🥹 You can ignore it if you want!

Imagine the reader dyeing her hair, and Logan doesn't really understand the concept, but thinks she looks really pretty, and then she asks him to dye the back part where she can't see 😭❤️‍🩹 just cute and loving

My requests are always open!

Logan always loved your hair. He thought you always had it so pretty, even when you just woke up and it was all over the place. He loved whatever shampoo you used it always made it so soft and smelt sweet. You changed your hair often and it always turned out amazing, Logan just assumed that you went to the salon to get your hair done, he knew that you did your nails at home you said it was too expensive to go out and get them done professionally so you just did it at the house. He hated the smell of the polish, but he did love seeing you having pretty nails, so he put up with it and sometimes he even helped paint your right hand. However, he had just assumed you got your hair done professionally, he never saw you do your hair at the house at it just looked too well done for an amateur.

He has been getting upset with you lately, and he didn't know how to tell you.

He always wanted to be the one who took care of you. He wanted to provide for you, no matter the cost or what it was. He just wanted you to have whatever you wanted in life, but you kept denying his offers to get your hair done. He was about to just make an appointment at some random salon and drive you there for it so you would stop arguing with him over dumb stuff like money.

.

.

He just got off work and was walking into the house, ready to not back down from the fight he knew was coming, but as he was walking into the house, a strong smell overwhelmed his senses. He groaned and scrunched up his nose "the fuck is that smell??"

You nearly jumped out of your skin hearing Logan so soon. "Logan! You weren't supposed to be home for another hour!" You rushed back to the bathroom to try and clean up some of the hair product you've been using and to open the window to air out the room as best as you could.

"What is that smell?" Logan asked again, still not knowing what he was smelling. You cringed slightly and turned to him with the bowl of hair dye in your hands. "I was doing my hair, just a touch-up, but I-I thought you weren't going to be home for a while, so I thought I'd have time to air the house out. I know you're sensitive to smells and just assumed that the dye would be too strong for you."

Logan felt his heart swell slightly, hearing that you took his enhanced smell into consideration. "Do...do you need help?" He asked sort of bashfully. He took the bowl from your hand gently and mixed the dye with the brush. He cringed slightly from the smell, but he was ready to push through it to help you.

"Could you get the back for me? I don't think I got all of it" you turned around and showed him the back of your head and he bit back a laugh when he saw you missed a section of hair.

"Yeah, I got it, baby." he just told himself that he was painting... sort of? He really didn't know what he was doing, but he didn't want to mess up, so he just really lathered the dye on your hair and tried to not get it all over your skin. When he was done, he set the bowl down and tapped your shoulders, "Okay, I think I'm done now what?" You explained that you needed to set a timer and that you'd wash it out after it goes off. He nods and sets the timer for you.

He likes to think he is a patient man after living all of his years, but those 30 minutes felt like 30 years. Once the timer finally went off, he helped you wash your hair and watched as you dried and styled it. He was always excited to see how you ended up doing your hair but this time he was even more excited to see how it turned out and once you showed him how it turned out he couldn't help but feel pride knowing he was the one who helped you.

Taglist:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

[f1girliefics]

Hearts in Conflict

Lance Stroll x Mob!Reader

Warnings: Arranged marriage, Mob stuff (violence, murder, blood and guns) angst with a happy end

Summary: Your arranged marriage was something you never wanted, but much like with anything in life, you will deal with it one way or another.

A/N: People like to say how Lance's father is like a Mobster/Gangster, well I turned the tables.

You were supposed to take over your father's empire, not marry a rich boy.

You were supposed to become the next boss, not the wife of a spoiled brat.

And yet, your father decided to marry you to a Stroll.

Lance Stroll, is a Canadian and Belgian racing driver competing under the Canadian flag in Formula One. He has driven for Aston Martin since 2021.

According to Wikipedia at least.

But in your eyes, your father's latest attempt to have you marry someone.

You made 3 boys run already, you don't know why he insisted on this stupid idea.

"You will marry Stroll and it is final."

But you also didn't want to play the part of the spoiled princess who refused to get married.

You let out a long sigh as you entered the restaurant.

You tried your best to put a smile on as you sat down at the table, Lance wasn't here just yet.

But he arrived only two minutes later.

"Hi," he said and you smiled.

"Hello, I'm Y/N Y/L/N."

"Lance Stroll, please call me Lance."

He was respectful, a gentleman. But even so, you didn't want a husband, you didn't need one.

"How do you feel about what our fathers arranged?" you asked him after long conversations. You wanted to get to the point.

"I'm not going to lie, I didn't like it. I thought you would be a brat who just wanted my family's money. But now that we spoke, I realize that is not the case, and I assume from your question that you didn't want to marry me either."

"I wanted my father's company, not yours. But he is relentless about me needing a husband."

"I heard you drove away 3 potential candidates."

"Christopher Crooke, a playboy wannabe with a cocaine addiction. Stephen Fringo, a Spanish asshole who thinks women belong in the kitchen and just last month, Alfred Smith, an American asshole with three baby mamas and millions in credit card debt. I wouldn't really say they had potential."

"And what about me? What do you think about me? Be honest and I shall do the same."

"You go first," you said hoping he would do it so you would know how hard to go in on him.

"Alright, if the Lady wishes. I think you are stunning, that is the first thing I noticed, you are beautiful and smart. Very smart. I'm trying to figure out what the problem is with you, you are strong, independent and clever. There has to be a but. I'm looking for that. So, you go then, what do you think of me?"

"My first impression was almost the same as yours. Handsome, but the moustache does nothing for you. I thought you would be a spoiled brat and to a certain degree, I was correct. But I'm the same, I'm riding on my father's name just as much. I know you don't do drugs, you wouldn't be able to be an F1 driver. No baby mamas or recent girlfriends. Your lisp is annoying and cute and the same time. For me, your but is that you are way too normal. Rich, yes, but way too normal. For you, my but will be when you realize what my family business is because it is not cars and corporations." you smiled as you stood up. "I'm looking forward to our next meeting. I have to leave now as I have another meeting to attend. Good day." and with that, you left.

Leaving Lance sitting at the table, stunned.

He liked you.

And he had to call his father.

---

"Mobsters?! Are you kidding me, Dad? You want me to marry someone that kills people?"

"They don't kill people. They just blackmail them."

"That's even worse!"

"Her family is rich and influential. Just the mention of their name brings fear and respect in people. Word about your marriage with her will spread like fire and then our name will become one with theirs. This is a chance you won't turn down, Lance." Lance looked at his father in disbelief.

---

"So, how was your meeting with Lance?" your father asked as your order arrived. You waited until the waiters were gone.

"He is my type, Dad, you know that. He has a certain boyish charm."

"So? Will you marry him? I mean you did check his background already. He is clean. No baby mamas, drug addictions or prior arrests.”

“He is a brat. Rich. And handsome.”

“You must like him. You called him handsome twice already.” Unfortunately, your father did have a point.

You hated it when he had a point.

—-

Your next meeting with Lance was set for Saturday. You told your assistant to set a date, but you were informed that Lance will have a qualifying race. So, you decided to fly to Australia and meet him, well truly, it would be a surprise for him.

His father knew about and encouraged you to meet with Lance, so he gave you an all-access VIP badge.

You even got yourself a guide who showed you around.

It was all very interesting, you got to see the Ferrari paddock closer and even caught a glimpse of Max Verstappen himself.

And you got to ask many many many questions.

But soon, you found yourself in an air-conditioned room with a cold drink in your hand as the qualifying began.

You were lucky enough to be in a good spot where you could see the start line.

You wouldn’t say you were a fan, but you did enjoy it.

Even if Lance didn’t qualify high on the board.

You enjoyed the vibes. It was all so fast, everyone in there.

But you also noticed the smug behaviour of many people.

Influencers were invited to advertise the event and F1 as a whole.

You did not like that part.

Pretending to be interested only to receive free tickets? You paid for your own even if you got it as a present.

You smiled when you saw Lance enter the room you were in.

"Why are you here?"

"Harsh. Your father invited me." technically you weren't lying per say.

But it was also not the truth. "And I did want to see you."

"I know about your family business."

"Why did you say it like that?"

"Because you are a murderer."

"Harsh, again but also false. I have never killed anyone."

"Then you ordered someone to kill them, don't play with me. I can't believe my father set me up for this!"

"Well, believe it or not, we will be married by the end of the summer break."

"Over my dead body." his voice was cold, it excited you. You liked it possibly way too much.

There was a fire in him.

"You can either continue to deny the facts or accept them. Believe me Lance, I will not leave just because you wish it. The decision is out of our hands."

"My father will hear about this."

"Alright Malfoy, do as you please." You put your sunglasses back on and continued to sip your drink.

---

You went wherever Lance went, following him almost like a shadow, all part of his father's plan.

He told you to just keep trying and be stubborn because his son is a very stubborn man as well.

No matter what Lance threw at you, you simply smiled and continued.

You didn't give up but you did start to notice changes in your future husband.

Lance slowly but surely warmed up to you.

You even had dinner one time. And it was very nice.

It started to feel like Lance was slowly accepting the fact that you two were to marry. And so every effort you made didn't meet with a brick wall.

You asked him on dates and he did the same. He showed you his hobbies.

One time, he asked you to go biking with him.

It wasn't really your thing, but you did end up going.

He fell. And he fell hard.

And it was all your fault.

You were being playful and it caused him to lose balance. You didn't push him or run into him.

But it was your fault still.

You sat in the corridor of the hospital waiting for his doctor to get you when your phone rang.

It was his father.

"Sir?" you tried to hide it, but it was obvious from your voice that you have been crying.

"Y/N, what happened how is he?"

"It was my fault. He fell during a bike ride, he hurt his hands... The doctor is in there with him, I don't know what's going on." you took a deep breath. "I'm so scared."

"Darling, it will be fine, I'm going there right now, please call me as soon as you hear something."

"I will." you ended the call just as the doctor came to get you.

"How is he?" you asked, desperate for any answers.

"The scans showed I had a fracture and displacement in my right wrist, a fracture in my left wrist, a partial fracture in my left hand and another fracture in the big toe on my right foot. He will have to undergo surgery."

"Fuck." you said and took a deep breath. "Can I see him?" the doctor only nodded and left you alone.

"Lance?" it was terrible seeing him in hospital. Your heart broke into a million tiny pieces.

"Why are you crying?"

"This is all my fault. I was so stupid." you admitted as more tears fell. "I ruined your life, your career. I will speak with my father, arranged marriage or not."

"Slow down. This wasn't your fault. I ran into that curb and fell. I should have been looking where I was going. You didn't ruin anything, Y/N. And secondly, why would you talk to your father?"

"I feel so bad. I made you fall." he rolled his eyes as you continued to cry.

"Please, don't cry. You were laughing so beautifully only a couple of hours ago."

"How can I laugh at this, Lance?"

"Come on now, I will be fine! The doctor said it will all be good, I will have the surgery tomorrow. Please calm down, everything will be fine."

"Your father is on his way, he will be soon. I'll... I'll get myself something to drink." you said and he nodded.

Hoping you would be back soon, but your pain and guilt took you over. Instead, you wrote a small letter and asked a nurse to give it to him in about three hours.

And you left.

You walked out of that hospital with the guilt of ruining a life.

---

What's better than a pity party?

Being alone, with an ice cream and Bridgett Jones playing on the TV.

Running away was not your style. But what more could you do?

You left for Greece, got on one of your father's many yacht and cried yourself to sleep every night.

They tried to call you, look for you but couldn't find you.

You only picked up the phone for your father.

"Lance was here today. His surgery went well but he is looking for you. He says he won't give up."

"How he used to hate me. He should be happy the wedding is off."

"I really don't think the boy will give up, Darling."

"Okay, can you set up a date for me?"

"What's your plan?"

"Show him the real me."

"Poor boy." your father said before he hung up the phone.

---

Throughout your entire life, you looked up to your father.

You never knew your mother but it was okay. Your father was enough.

Even as a young girl, he taught you stuff no one should know let alone a 5 year old. He always had a plan and he loved you.

But no 5 year old should have a panic room attached to their bedroom in case her father's enemies found him.

But it was your life.

When the idea of marriage came to play your father had a lot of options for you.

He allowed you to choose.

Lance Stroll caught your eye. He was so different, yet similar to you.

Many people didn't like him, thinking he was only an F1 driver because of his father. Something you could relate to. People often said how you are leaning on your father too much.

Not exactly the words they choose.

He was handsome and the world of professional drivers excited you.

And so, you went on a date with him.

That stupid date now turned your life upside down.

Falling in love was the goal. But after you ruined his life, you knew better than to keep going.

So, you set him free. No arranged marriage.

And yet, he kept looking for you.

Much like now, as he entered the restaurant, looking everywhere for you and he finally found you.

He wanted to run to you but one of your bodyguards stopped him and made him sit before they left you alone.

"Why are we here? I was hoping you would come home." he said as a waiter placed your drinks in front of you.

"Lance, I know you didn't want this marriage. So, I made it... dissapear."I know this is all because you feel guilty about my injury but it wasn't your fault and I'm fully healed now. You didn't ruin my career."

"But I could have. I could have and it was just such a simple moment, Lance. Such a tiny mistake on my part and-"

"I'm not a child! I'm sick of you, my father and the entire world pretending that I am one! I fell because of my own stupidity. I was watching you when I should have been watching where I was going. All because I fell in love with you and your smile just... It just made me so happy. Because in that moment, on that small country road, I wasn't a rich kid who drives in F1 and you weren't the daughter of a powerful Mobster. We were simply a man and a woman in love." you felt a tear run down your cheek as he let out a long sigh. "How dare you spend all those months smiling at me and then during the first problem you run away?"

His words hurt, but only because you knew he was right.

"One night when I was only fourteen, I thought it would be fun to sneak out with my friends. There was a boy I liked, Jake, he was older as well. He was nothing like you, Lance. He was... aggressive. I didn't see it then, but during that night, he tried to drug me and kill me. Apparently, my father was the reason his father died, so he decided to kill me to hurt my father. Everyone I ever knew only cared about me for my money. I know you understand that. I never knew love and it fucking scares me. Of course, I ran Lance. The first time I have ever felt love and I ruin it? Scares me so much. I rather lose you than have you hate me like others do."

"We are in the same boat, you just didn't notice me yet. We do have a lot to talk about but please, do not push me away. I'm only here to beg you to not leave me, we don't need marriage in the mix. Just please... give us a chance. I love you."

"I love you too. Fuck I do..."

You looked into his eyes and all of the plans you had for the night went out the window.

Your pity party was long over.

You wanted this man.

And you always got what you wanted.

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

another theme between spop and gravity falls that i want to point out is one of the characters being shelved for most of the series, and revealed to be alive towards the end. Micah and Ford.

only difference being:

1. Foreshadowing

from the first episode, we see that Stan has some sort of a secret and that he's working towards something.

and throughout the series, we get hints that indicate the existence of a twin brother, one episode even straight up SHOWS Ford (but viewers were led to believe it was Stan).

Micah, on the other hand? the only scene that could be proof of him being alive is during the fake reality in s3 finale.

Micah: Angie, Angella wait! I'm not-

people assume that Micah was trying to tell Angella that he's not dead, but we have no way of knowing for sure. it could have been anything.

so basically, there's no foreshadowing that Micah was alive and i'm pretty darn sure that the writers only wrote him in so that the viewers would forget about Catra killing Angella. Glimmer just needs one of her parents, it's not important which one.

but that's just before. what about after? do these characters have any importance after they are finally revealed to be alive?

2. Plot Relevance

even before the big reveal, Ford was a very important part of the plot. he was the mysterious author of the journals, he was the missing puzzle piece in Stan's life, his connection with Bill was clearly seen in the structure of Mystery Shack.

and after he emerges from the rift, he is even more relevant to the plot. especially because of his history with Bill and his knowledge about the supernatural. even though Stan is the one who defeats Bill in the end, it could not have been done without Ford.

not to mention, his relationship with Stan is essential to the plot. they are a direct parallel to Mabel and Dipper, and the entire series is about familial relationships.

the show just wouldn't be the same without Ford, because he was always one of the main characters, even before he was officially introduced as a character.

and how about Micah? he literally plays no role in the narrative after he is introduced.

one similarity between Ford and Micah is that they were both stranded in an unfamiliar place for years, with no connection to humanity.

but the difference is that while this is used for comedic purposes with Ford, it is also given enough emotional importance, especially when it came to his trust issues and his relationship with Stan.

whereas with Micah, it is solely used for comedic purposes and we never see how being forced to survive on a deserted deadly island has affected Micah's psyche or his relationship with people.

coming back to my point, Micah doesn't even seem all that bothered after learning that Angella is dead. he is shocked and sad for a moment, and then that is completely forgotten.

reconnecting with Glimmer? everything is settled with just one generic emotional speech and a hug.

reconnecting with his sister, Castaspella? barely touched upon.

like Ford, Micah had history with a master manipulator - Shadow Weaver. they could have expanded on this, shown us how Shadow Weaver's treatment of Micah had an impact on him.

but no, apart from him being all "you can't trust Shadow Weaver!" he provides no new insight. if anything, he just got in the way of Shadow Weaver trying to do something good for once.

other than that, he's just a silly goofy dad who wants to bond with his daughter. that's it. he has absolutely no relevance to the plot other than making a fool out of himself, and kind of forming a connection with Frosta.

we're supposed to believe that Micah was this powerful sorcerer and the king of Brightmoon, when even the writers don't give him the respect that he deserves.

newsflash: you can make a character funny and important to the plot. Ford had his fair share of comedic bits, but that didn't take away from his emotional moments and his role in the narrative.

[yellowbrokenblue]

His favourite employee

CEO!Harry x secretary!Y/N

cw: smut, feral dom!Harry, degradation

It was 11pm. Hours past the time she was supposed to be home already. In a normal life she’d be tucked up in bed, ready to go to sleep. But instead she was here, her laptop open, cramming in as much as she could before she was back in the office at 8am tomorrow morning.

But she had to. She simply had to.

The look on Harry’s face tomorrow when he realises how much work she’d managed to complete would all be worth it, even if it meant doing overtime he wasn’t aware of.

“Y/N?”

Crap. She hadn’t even heard the door open. She’d dismissed the footsteps in the hallway as the buildings janitor, but her boss walking through the door had given her a fright.

“Oh! Uhm… Harry, hi…”

Harry chuckled, “Calm down, Y/N. Don’t look so frightened. It’s only me.”

Only him.

Only him was the understatement of the century. Harry Styles was the pinnacle of man. Gods best creation. You didn’t get any better than Harry Styles, it just wasn’t possible.

“What are you doing in here so late?” She asked him.

“I forgot my apartment key.” Harry said, “But I should be asking you why you’re in here so late, you were supposed to finish three hours ago.”

“I know…” She said, “But I just had so much I wanted to get done.”

“Is that right?” Harry asked, “Hm.”

He put his keys in his pocket, walking over to her desk and taking a seat on the edge of the table.

“You seem to do a lot for me around here, Y/N.” He said, “Isn’t that right?”

“I’m just trying to do my job.” She smiled in return.

“What you do for me, Y/N, is far beyond what I ask of any employee. We both know that.”

The room felt like it was one hundred degrees hotter with him sitting this close to her. Her breathing had gone too fast, and she was sweating buckets. Simply from his presence.

“I just have the companies best interests at heart. I have your best interests at heart.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think that is the only reason, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You think I don’t notice, but I pick up on everything. I know you’re the first one in every morning, patiently waiting with your eyes on the door waiting for me to walk through. You’ll make any excuse to come and see me in my office, and you’ve taken on some of my personal assistant roles just so you can pick out my lunch every afternoon.”

She swallowed.

His eyes were stuck on hers. And she was sure he could tell that her heart was beating out of her chest.

“Of course, I can’t forget the cute little outfits you wear every day, Y/N. Not to mention that you’re always in a skirt.” Harry said, quieter this time, “And correct me if I’m wrong, but I can’t help but assume that is wishful thinking for that to be if something were to happen between us… It would give me…” Harry’s hand reached for the hem of her skirt, his fingers sliding underneath, “Easy access.”

Her breath hitched. Four years working for Harry’s company and he had finally touched her. This was all she’d ever wanted ever since her interview when she was 20 years old.

“Don’t look so nervous, Y/N.” He said, “I know how it feels to lust for someone. To spend every waking moment thinking about their body, to imagine them whenever you’re with someone else, just wishing it was them instead. To picture them when you touch yourself.”

Harry’s hand was sliding further up her thigh underneath her skirt. Her legs were pressed together with as much force as she could muster. Harry couldn’t know how wet she was in this moment, it would be embarrassing.

His thumb grazed the elastic of her panties.

“Tell me, Y/N.” He whispered, sliding off of the desk so he could talk directly into her ear. Her whole body shivered when his lips brushed against the skin of her earlobe, “Who is it you think about when you touch yourself.”

“Harry…” She breathed, “What are you-”

“Answer the question, Y/N.” He said, “You’re always a good, obedient girl when I ask you work related questions during office hours. And I expect the same from you outside of working time, even if we are in the office. Now, I’ll ask you again. Who do you think of when your hands are buried in your wet little pussy.”

She inhaled a sharp breath, not expecting the sudden change of his language. Her heart was racing, and his thumb was itching closer and closer to her desperate cunt.

“You.” She gasped, “You, Harry, I think of you.”

He smirked.

“Have you ever thought of me when you fucked another man?” He asked, “Have you ever said my name when you fucked someone else.”

His thumb brushed over her throbbing clit over the fabric of her panties.

“Oh!” She moaned, as his thumb pressed against her.

“Tell me.” He said again. “Tell me you think of me when you’re with other men.”

“I think of you all the time, Harry. Any time I’m with someone.”

“Do you sit in the office all day, doing the little jobs I give you, just imagining you were in my office instead?” He asked, “Do you ever imagine yourself bent over my desk, Y/N?”

He knelt down in front of her, and began to peel her underwear down her legs.

“I find that so hot, Y/N. The fact you sit and type your emails, just wishing my dick was inside you.”

“Harry…” She breathed, feeling his skin on hers.

“Pull your skirt up.” He said.

She looked at him, not quite believing her eyes. Harry was kneeling in front of her, pulling her soaked panties off her legs, looking like he wants to devour her.

“Who were you emailing?” Harry asked, sliding the panties off her legs completely, before looking back up at her.

“What?”

“Your emails are open on your laptop. Who were you emailing?”

“Just the electrician to fix the lights in the bathroom…” She said. “And then I was going to email the postal compan-”

She was caught by surprise by Harry placing his lips on her thighs, letting out a loud gasp.

He kissed up her thigh, towards her aching core.

“You’re so wet.” He hummed. “Who knew my words could turn someone on so much.”

Her breathing sped up, her hands shaking while they gripped the sides of the chair.

“Show me where you want me, sweet girl.” He said, pulling his head away. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

She shakily took her hand off of the side of the chair, moving it towards her throbbing pussy.

“That’s it, Y/N. Touch yourself where you want me to touch you.”

Her hand traveled towards the heat between her legs. This was embarrassing, she knew that. But at this point she didn’t give a shit, she’d do anything if it meant she could have a small part of Harry as an end result.

Her finger touched her clit gently, resisting a moan.

“Now touch yourself.” He said, “Touch yourself the way you to when you’re lying in bed at night thinking of me.”

That sentence alone made her want to combust. The things this man were doing to her with his just words were insane.

“Do it, Y/N. Do it if you want me.”

She listened. Of course she fucking listened.

She placed two fingers on her throbbing bud and began to move them in slow circles. She’d always start slow, moving her fingers at a steady pace to create intensity, and when she grew hungrier, she’d speed up the pace.

Harry watched her fingers move against her clit, covered in the wetness of her arousal. His dick was rock hard in his pants as she watched her head throw back against the chair with a loud moan.

“That’s it, Y/N.” He said, “Oh, you have no idea how this makes me feel… Watching you jack yourself off like this…”

“Oh! Harry!” She moaned, her hands moving faster.

He was almost drooling watching her. Between her fingers in her pussy, the moans coming from her mouth and that look on her face, he was loosing it all together.

“Stop.” He said bluntly.

Her hands stopped moving, and she looked at him. Nervousness was present all over her features. She went to pull her skirt back down, but she stopped him.

“I think it’s time for you to finish some of these emails, huh?” He smirked.

He teased her while he spoke, running his hand from the bottom of her thigh all the way to half an inch below the ache between her legs.

“And while you get your work done like the good little employee that you are… I’ll sort out your payment.”

His eyes stared hungrily at her dripping pussy.

“And maybe if you finish the email, I’ll let you cum.”

“Harry, please.” She moaned. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“My sweet girl. If you don’t type out that email you won’t be cumming at all. And if you don’t cum then I’m going to get you to sit your cute little ass on that chair and watch me jack off on your desk wishing that my cock was inside you instead of my own hand.” He said, “Now, we don’t want that to happen, do we?”

“No.” She replied.

“No, sir.”

“No, sir.” She corrected herself, swallowing.

Harry’s attention turned back to her pussy, his lips kissing up her thigh.

“The emails, Y/N.” He reminded her.

He slowly heard the keys be pressed on the keyboard, her legs twitching as his mouth moved further and further upwards. However the cry that left this girls mouth as his tongue came in contact with her clit was a sound that would be engrained in his memory for the rest of his life. Fuck porn, all he needed to jack off from now on was the memory of the sound she made as she fell apart at his touch.

“Harry. Fuck.”

His tongue moved in circles on her clit, pressing down hard.

That was until he heard the keys stop moving. So he stopped moving too.

“If you stop, I stop. You know the rules, honey.”

“Harry, please.” She begged, “Need you so bad.”

“I said you know the rules.”

“Please, Sir.”

“Type, Y/N.”

The keys moved on the laptop again. But she wasn’t entirely sure that the words being typed were actually words at all. But as soon as the keys started to move again, Harry kept his word, returning to his own work.

He moved faster, his mouth attacking her sweet pussy at a rate he didn’t think he’d ever went at before. Licking and sucking at her perfect clit while one hand palmed the erection in his pants to try his best to ease some tension.

His tongue moved away from her clit and he replaced it with two fingers, rubbing circles on her swollen bud while his mouth attacked her entrance, fucking her with his tongue.

“Fuck.” She screamed, “Fuck, I’m so close. Please, I need to cum. I’ve finished typing the email. Sir, make me cum, please.”

He kept going. He didn’t give a fuck if she’d finished the email or not at this point. The only thing on this man’s feral mind was to make her cum all over his face. He wanted to taste her sweetness while the sounds of her crying his name filled the office they were in.

When she soon cried out that she was cumming, he made careful care to make sure he was lapping up every sweet juice from her pussy. He was so feral over this woman it was becoming a problem. His dick was so hard he felt like he was going insane.

“You taste so good, my sweet girl.” He said, “Do you know how it makes me feel to hear you scream my name over and over again? Makes me so fucking hard, Y/N.”

He stood up and took her hand and pressed it against the bulge in his pants.

“I think it’s time we deal with this, hm?”

She nodded in agreement.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me already, let’s keep this up, okay? You’re going to go into my office, and by the time I get in there I expect you to be stripped and waiting for me, understood?”

She nodded, eyes wide as she looked up at him. However wasted no time going into his private office.

Fucking Harry in his own office had always been a fantasy of hers, and now it was finally coming true.

Harry on the other hand couldn’t think straight. The amount of lust and desire he had in this moment was clouding any thoughts he had apart from how badly he wanted to fuck her right now. When he made his way into his office he was completely stopped in his tracks by her. Her clothes were sprawled over the floor of his workspace, and there she was, leaning against his desk like someone sent from his own personal dream girl wonderland.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He said as he walked over to her, “I have wanted you naked in my office for so long, Y/N. Every time you come into work and let me see these gorgeous tits through one of your revealing little dresses or shirts it makes me so hard.”

He took one of her breasts in his hand, placing his lips against it, while he snaked his other arm around her waist to pull her closer to him.

He sucked several deep marks over both of her breasts, mumbling about how hot she was, and how perfect her tits were.

He began to mindlessly grinned his erection against her while he kissed her naked body, groaning into her skin.

“Harry.” She moaned. “Please. Please fuck me.”

“You want me to fuck you, huh? You want my dick?”

She nodded, desperately.

“Turn around and bend over my desk.” Harry demanded, unbuckling his belt, and sliding his pants down his legs.

He watched as she bent over for him, her perfect little ass in the air just for him.

“Oh look at you, Y/N.” He said, “Bent over my desk for me like this. So obedient, hm? An obedient little whore.”

He took his rock hard dick in one hand, pumping it a few times to get himself ready.

She moaned at his words.

“Do you like that, Y/N? When I call you a whore? Are you my little slut, Y/N?”

She moaned, desperate for him.

“Yes, Sir.” She cried, “I’m your whore.”

Without any warning, Harry pushed his dick inside of her, moaning as his cock pushed into her cunt.

She cried his name louder than ever before as he tore her open. He was so fucking big that it was slightly painful, but she didn’t care. It was the best pain she’d ever felt in her life.

“I’ve never fucked anyone as tight as this, Y/N. But I’ll loosen you up in no time with you bent over my desk like this.”

“Harry you’re so big.”

“But you can take it,” He said, “Be a good little slut and take my cock like a good girl.”

He groaned as his cock pushed all the way into her, giving her a few moments to adjust to his size.

“Wanna stay like this forever,” He groaned, “My fat cock buried in your sweet cunt.”

She moaned loudly.

Harry took both of her hands, using one hand to hold her wrists behind her back, his other hand holding onto the desk for extra support.

“I’m gonna start moving now. But you can take it, can’t you? A good fuckin’ slut for me.”

She cried out when his hips started to move, her head falling backwards with her wrists still restrained behind her back.

“Oh you’re so tight, Y/N. Gonna fill your pussy up with cum in no time.” He groaned.

“Oh… God, Oh fuck, yes!” She moaned as the speed of Harry’s hips increased, crashing against her in a desperate, rough manner.

He dropped her wrists, and her hands grabbed onto the desk, and instead grabbed a bundle of her hair, wrapping it around his hand, pulling her head backwards. She cried out with pleasure as he fucked her harder, the whole office filled with nothing but the sound of their skin hitting one another, and their bordering pornographic moans.

“Fuck, Harry.” She cried, “I’m so close.”

His mind was foggy. The only real thing in his mind right now was the feeling of his dick inside her, how he wanted to feel her cum on his cock and how he wanted to fill her pussy up with his release. He was feral for her.

“You make me crazy, Y/N,” He groaned, “‘M gonna fill you up with my cum.”

“Keep going, just like that.” She moaned, “I’m so close.”

He knew as soon as she had reached her orgasm. Y/N cried out with these heavenly moans as her walls clenched around his cock, cumming all over him.

The tightness of her made Harry unable to hold on for much longer, reaching his own release, moaning into her shoulder as his cum dripped down Y/N’s legs, his cock still inside her.

“Harry…” She moaned.

“I know, gorgeous. I know.” He said, “So fuckin’ perfect, you know that?”

He pulled out of her, ignoring the state of mess that the office was now in.

“How am I supposed to go to work normally when I know I’d rather be fucking your pretty little cunt every day, hm?”

[juppl]

TWST HC Silver x Gn!Reader

I love the idea of trying to pursue Silver or even just trying to just be friendly with him. But everything, whether it be plant or animal is getting in your way and trying to stop you from achieving it.

You’d plan to surprise Silver with a lovely arrangement of flowers all nicely wrapped in a bow only to be immediately drowned by a dark cloud of rain. The lord of malevolence unknowingly ruining your plans having to coincidentally be in a sour mood. Unfortunately all the rain and wind had the bouquet completely torn and destroyed, leaving you hung with sadness.

Another time, you had been blessed with the opportunity to be given a tour of the NRC stables by Silver himself. Only for the problem being that the moment Silver’s back was turned, you had been immediately bit by his own horse. This initiating a physical brawl between you and it.

“Is something wrong? I thought I had heard some noise earlier.” Silver trailed off as he noticed your now disheveled hair and clothes, only to be met back with a wide reassuring smile from you and… his horse? “Nothing! Just a pretty big wind passed by is all.” You laughed as your arm remained resting around the horses neck, the two of you seemingly putting aside your fighting to put up face. Silver could only hum in response before continuing to show you around, strange he hadn’t felt any sort of wind earlier.

Or what about when you spotted Silver walking just ahead of you, giving you thought to catch up and say ‘hi’. But, a small squirrel who just happens to be quite fond of silver itself, decides to stop you in your tracks.

“I’ll kick you to the next fucking plane if I have to.” You sneered at the rodent as you had basically hunched down to whisper loudly in its face. The only response you got was a string of squeaks and clicks before getting an acorn thrown at your forehead, it leaving a small red bump. “You little-!”

No matter what you tried, big or small, it all went up in flames, snow, or just plain out ripped to shreds (that including you):

Your tray of baked goods were quickly stolen after being left out on the windowsill to cool. -Grim

The notes you made to help Silver study ruined by a spilled potion incident. -Ace

You had burned your hand by accidentally being knocked over while trying to deliver a hot bowl of soup to a bedridden Silver. -Sebek opened the door on you too hard…

A loose branch had swung and hit you in the ribs when you tried to alert a sleeping Silver in the botanical gardens. -Tree

And a nice flower crown you had just made had been stolen and given to Silver without your credit. -That stupid squirrel

You sighed to yourself, slumped in your own infirmary bed. Drooping in your own self pity and sadness. It just wasn’t meant to be, you supposed as you tried to itch at the bandages over your hand. It’s fine, there are other fish in the sea that are probably easier anyways. Even if this one was really pretty and nice and so special in your eyes, you sniffled as small pitiful tears prickled your eyes.

“Hey! Henchman, you have a visitor!” Grim stated as he patted his paws against your stomach. “Hm? ..!”

He was like a the sun rising above the horizon, filling the dark sky with beautiful rays of light. “Um, sorry if I came at a bad time. I’ve brought soup…” Silver said softly as he held up a plastic bag of warm food. Your mouth gaped, shaking your head quickly in response. “No! No, it’s ok come sit!” You eagerly invited as your feet practically kicked in joy while you laid in bed.

“It’s not much, but I thought it would help with getting your strength back up for now. I know it’s probably not as good as your soup, but consider it thanks for taking care of me for a while.” He smiled down at you as he unpacked the contents of food from its plastic container. This was probably the most you’ve ever heard him talk in all seriousness, “But- How did you know—?”

“Sebek told me. I didn’t want your kindness to go unnoticed so I assumed that the best way to pay you back was to take care of you in return.” Silver explained before holding up a spoonful of soup to your mouth, unknowingly drinking it right up. He flashed another soft smile only to realize you had completely passed out. “Uh— wait! (Y/n)?? (Y/n)?!..”

[ihopesocomic]

I just rewatched the My Pride video essay and nothing gives me more satisfaction than how much yall shit on Powerstrike as she should be, specially on the fact that she's supposed to be a sympathetic villain. It's just-- not well done at all even if they didn't tried to make her sympathetic.

One could argue that abusive parents believe they actually love their victims but man, even her monologue about how she feels weak for loving Nothing so much, the scene is only targered at Powerstrike's feelings. That's pretty much saying "Well yeah, she's a piece of shit to her own disabled daughter and favors her able bodied children BUT SHE FEELS BAAAAD :["

Anyways, I'm just glad that essays like yours exist so that you can open the eyes of anyone who ate up any of the BS from media like MP, me being one of them aside from the "I lOvE yOu So MuCh It HuRtS" when I was younger and stupid

Unfortunately the majority of people who see our video don't even watch it and just leave a comment assuming everything that's in it. Its quite annoying LOL but the few people who DO watch it have had a good reaction to it. I'm glad we could make people understand the problems MP has (tho a lot of people already felt the way we did, they just felt validated)

Powerstrike could've been a good character. Setting aside how RJ and I think her plot should've been given to Sharptongue, she could've shown as an example of how condescending she is. Because she IS condescending. Nothing kiiiind of calls her out, but then she gets emotionally beaten down again and carries on like it never happened.

It would've been fun to give the Golden Grove pride the dynamics we thought the pride in MP was gonna have, like making Watchful an oppressive grandmother, but it was important to us that Hope's main source of abuse came from her mother. And Watchful being there would've made things easier for Hope because Watchful is a higher authority than how Vicious views her sisters.

Our audience has picked up that the more Hope becomes independent, the worse Vicious gets. And if people think that's "random", it makes sense if you had a parent or guardian like that. She wasn't indoctrinated, like people tend to make up about Powerstrike. She just was manipulated by Jasper, but he was nurturing thoughts that were already there to begin with.

And most importantly, she won't be forgiven. And even if we make her sympathetic, we don't want people to think she deserves to be forgiven by her kids. This is important to show in media that sometimes parents don't deserve to be forgiven even if they feel bad about what they did. - Cat