#so i’m determined to keep it healthy

[silvermistcosmos]

I miss my long hair so much!!!!!! I cannot wait for it to grow out again.

[joonie-beanie]

Doctor's Orders | [Wriothesley x Reader]

Summary: “Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.” In which a simple tea time turns heated, and you get caught up in the consequence of Wriothesley not listening to his doctor. Content: Smut, Consensual Sex, Oral Sex, Aphrodisiacs, fem!reader Word Count: 7.9k

Sigewinne is evil.

You would have never suspected that such a tiny, cute body could contain so much malevolence. (Although, Sigewinne would personally argue that you’re confused, and that the word you’re looking for is actually benevolence. But, you digress.)

It all starts a few weeks into your employment at the Fortress of Meropide.

You’d spotted a job listing for a “personal assistant” in passing one day, and had immediately become interested thanks to the very generous salary listed on the paper. Seeing the job was located in Fontaine’s unofficial prison had, of course, caused you to have some second thoughts about applying, but at the end of the day, money is money.

Which is how you’d found yourself down on the ocean floor, waiting with a few other candidates outside the Duke’s office.

You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t nervous—waiting there to meet the head honcho of the prison. That when he stepped out to call you inside for your interview—all tall and beefy and scarred—your heart didn’t nervously flutter inside your chest.

…but to your surprise, he’s actually much softer than he appears.

“So,” he says, sitting down across from you at his desk. He folds his arms and smiles at you. “Why should I hire you? ”

Having been through this process before, you had immediately rattled off your qualifications and experiences. A few of which Wriothesley had proceeded to comment on and inquire about further. But it wasn’t until he asked—

“What benefit will I receive from picking you specifically?”

And you’d responded with—

“Errand girl.”

“What?”

“I can run errands for you. I’m sure the guards can be slow, going back and forth. But if you’re my direct employer, I can do whatever you want. Drop documents off, check in on things…pick up more tea.”

—that Wriothesley finally makes up his mind.

“Hmm. Very convincing.”

The next day, you receive a letter with the terms of your employment, and your official start date.

So, since then, you’ve been working for Wriothesley. Which is actually kind of…nice.

Your job mostly consists of going back and forth between the prison and the surface, so that Wriothesley can stay in the Fortress and better monitor his domain. The autonomy the job grants you is very rewarding, and in the same breath, Wriothesley also feels rewarded by how you take care of things without him needing to ask more than once.

Safe to say, the two of you get along.

…which Sigewinne notices.

You, of course, meet Sigewinne on your first day. Wriothesley makes a point of introducing you and showing you where the nurse’s office is located, in case you get hurt, or need to drop something off.

The human-like melusine enthusiastically welcomes you, and, at first, you see her as…someone sweet, and caring. A treasure of the prison.

However, over time, your opinion of her slowly starts to change.

Because she keeps looking at you. Specifically, whenever you’re standing next to Wriothesley.

“Why is she doing that?” you ask him one day, nudging him gently with your elbow. He immediately looks up from his meal, over to where Sigewinne is waiting in the lunch line, her pink eyes boring into you.

“She’s probably just double checking that you’re healthy,” Wriothesley responds, paying her no mind. “I often catch her staring at me, too. You must be growing on her.”

Despite his reassuring words, you can’t help but feel a little…put off…by the look in her eyes. Like she’s plotting something.

The second weird thing you notice is when you walk into the infirmary to drop off some herbs she’d asked for, and find her drawing. At first, you assume she’s doodling, since she seems kid-like a lot of the time.

But instead, when you lean over her shoulder and look, you see that she’s writing words. A big, black “DO NOT DISTURB”...with pink hearts and a few flowers drawn around it.

“What’s that for?” you ask her, forcing a smile.

“Oh! It’s just for a project I’m working on,” she responds, swiveling in her chair to face you. She happily kicks her feet, her eyes darting to the herbs you’re carrying with you.

“Ah, are those what I asked for? Thank you!”

You hand her the small bundle of dried flowers and grasses, watching as she immediately turns and places them on her desk next to some string, and cheesecloth.

“You’re welcome,” you respond, taking a small step backwards. “If that’s all, I’ll keep working on the rest of the tasks on my list—”

“Wait,” she says, grabbing your wrist. You instantly freeze, your eyes going wide as you turn back to face her. There’s a serious look on her face.

“How do you feel about Wriothesley?”

Her question makes your heart skip—heat rising on your skin.

“What?”

She doesn’t bother elaborating or giving you context, just waits for you to respond. You cough a little, feeling awkward, and wondering what kind of answer she’s looking for.

“Well…I mean. I think he’s a good boss. He’s friendly, and devoted to his job. He runs the prison well.”

Sigewinne nods, but doesn’t comment. Just keeps…staring.

Feeling pressured, you force yourself to think of more to say.

“Um…he’s deserving of his title and the respect he garners. I…enjoy speaking with him? Like when he invites me to partake in tea breaks. I dunno…he just kinda reminds me of a big, fluffy puppy. He looks scary but he’s actually pretty…cute, y’know?”

Finally, Sigewinne smiles. She takes your hand in her tiny ones, giving it a squeeze.

“Thank you for answering my question. You can go now.”

You blink at her dumbly, but nonetheless excuse yourself from the room.

Two days later, Wriothesley invites you to his office for tea. And to your surprise, when you walk in, you find Sigewinne waiting there as well.

“Thank you for coming!” she says as you enter the room. You flash her a smile, taking a seat in one of the open chairs around the table.

“Of course!”

“Sigewinne has a tea she wants us both to try,” Wriothesley explains, a fond look in his eyes as he watches the resident nurse flit around—pouring hot water into the teacups that have been set out.

You nod.

“I see.”

“Although, I don’t know why you won’t just steep the tea in the pot,” Wriothesley complains to her, just as Sigewinne places individual tea bags in each cup. “Are we not all being served the same tea?”

She cutely huffs.

“For your information, no we are not. Your and Y/N’s tea is unique.”

“Oh?” Wriothesley leans forward to look into the teacups as the colors from the herbs begin to bleed into the water. “What’s so unique about it?”

“You’ll see,” she responds with a playful look, one that causes Wriothesley to amusedly raise his eyebrows. However, he doesn’t say anything more—simply waiting for the tea to appropriately steep.

“...are you using the herbs I brought you?”

You can’t help but notice the smell wafting from the cup in front of you is a little familiar. Sigewinne nods.

“Wow! I’m surprised you noticed.”

“Ah, so this must be the reason you wanted me to lend you Y/N for a task the other day,” Wriothesley chimes in, his icy blue eyes once again shifting to Sigewinne. 

“Do I get to know what herbs you requested Y/N to bring you, exactly?”

The resident nurse shakes her head, quietly laughing when Wriothesley sighs and deflates back into his chair. 

“It’s meant to be a surprise! I want to see what you think about the taste without knowing the ingredients.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

Folding your hands on your lap, the office descends into silence for a brief moment, the three of you intently watching the teacups in front of you. Then, Sigewinne finally claps her hands and declares—

“Okay, they’ve steeped long enough. Go ahead!”

“Finally,” Wriothesley happily mumbles, reaching forward to pick up the pristine little plate on which his cup of tea resides. He brings the cup to his nose, inhaling deeply, and then takes a tentative sip.

“Hmm…”

He frowns, his brows pinching as he tries to discern the flavors he’s tasting. 

Curiosity getting the better of you, you take a sip from your own cup—wincing as the hot liquid accidentally burns your tongue.

“So?” Sigewinne prompts, staring excitedly between the two of you.

“It’s…pleasant,” you respond, clearly not as big of a tea connoisseur as the Duke. “It has a hint of sweetness.”

“It tastes like a Rainbow Rose smells,” Wriothesley adds, taking another sip. His gaze slides to you. “Did you pick some for her?”

You shake your head.

“No, I didn’t. Or…at least I didn’t pick any fresh ones. I did go to a vendor and purchase something in a bottle that looked like crushed, pink dust.”

Sigewinne cutely laughs. 

“As expected of you, Your Grace. Yes, one of the ingredients is dried Rainbow Rose petals. Do you like it?”

Wriothesley makes a pleased sound.

“I do. The taste is light, but pleasant—like Y/N said.”

“Good! I want both of you to drink up.” 

Sigewinne finally picks up her own tea, and you can’t help but notice the difference in color when compared to yours and Wriothesley’s. She really is drinking something different…but why?

“Aye aye, captain,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne laugh. You smile at the cute interaction between them, and have some more of your tea as well.

Together, the three of you engage in friendly conversation—catching up about recent topics while indulging in tea and a few different snacks that Wriothesley had pulled out for the occasion. As you drink, you can’t help but notice you feel…warm. A heat that spreads out from your stomach, and slowly creeps into your limbs.

You’ve never felt this way before but…maybe the tea is just extra hot today? 

You glance up to Wriothesley and notice that he’s a little flushed as well. Which is…reassuring? You think. Since you’re obviously not the only one affected.

“Oh! Y/N!” 

Sigewinne’s sudden call of your name draws you from your thoughts, and you look over at her. She smiles.

“I forgot to ask, but are you dating anyone?”

“Sigewinne,” Wriothesley gently scolds. He leans forward and sets his teacup on the table, the cup now empty.

His tone practically says “It’s not appropriate to ask questions like that” without actually saying it. Sigewinne pouts.

“Aww, c’mon. We’re all friends here! I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

Hearing that the melusine considers you to be a friend, you decide to grace her with an answer—ignoring the tingling of the taste buds on your tongue.

“No, I am not seeing anyone,” you inform her with a polite smile. Sigewinne nods happily at your answer, which makes your smile waver.

Is she happy you’re single?? Ouch.

“Okay, good,” she says. “I’d feel a little bad, otherwise.”

You blink in confusion at her words, watching her as she pops off her chair and heads towards the door. Wriothesley raises an eyebrow at her.

There’s sweat beading on his brow.

“Where are you going?”

“Away,” she responds. “To give you two some privacy.”

You and Wriothesley glance at each other, mirroring each other’s confusion.

Your tummy starts to ache.

“Why are you leaving us alone, exactly?”

Stopping just in front of the office doors, Sigewinne turns on her heel to face the two of you. There’s a smug grin on her face. 

“This is what happens when you don’t follow doctor’s orders.”

You frown, raising a hand to your chest, wondering why your heart is suddenly racing. 

What’s this about doctor’s orders?

You glance over at Wriothesley…only to see that he’s frozen in shock—his eyes wide with realization.

His pants feel too tight.

“Sigewinne, you did not—”

There’s an edge to his voice when he speaks, his eyes narrowing. He plants his feet on the floor and prepares to stand and confront her, but before he can blink, Sigewinne has drawn her pistol—a tranquilizing bullet hitting him square in the chest, where a little patch of skin is showing. 

He makes a noise of surprise, and quickly flops back into his chair to avoid falling on the floor—his limbs immediately going numb.

“Sigewinne!” you gasp. You’re not sure what’s going on, but the fact that she’d just shot Wriothesley is…

“It’s okay,” she says with a little sigh. “The effect will wear off in a few minutes. And…I’m sorry I scared you. Let me explain…”

She holsters her gun and smiles at you, trying to calm you down.

“As the nurse of the Fortress of Meropide, it is my duty to look after all residents, including Your Grace. And over the last few months, I’ve noticed him becoming more… irritable.”

“Sigewinne…,” Wriothesley mumbles, but the girl waves him off.

“After observing him for a while, I realized that his stress levels were getting high. And as his doctor, I recommended him a way to manage his stress, but he refused. He insisted tea was enough to soothe his nerves, but that’s simply not true. So…when you started working here, and I saw how well the two of you were getting along, I…got an idea.”

Sigewinne glances over at Wriothesley, noticing how he’s begun to shift his boots against the floor. 

Her tranquilizers won’t be in effect much longer. They never work as well on people Wriothesley’s size…

So, she decides to cut to the chase.

Reaching into her pocket, Sigewinne pulls out the DO NOT DISTURB sign you’d seen her making the other day. She holds it in front of her, and beams at you.

“Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.”

“You…you drugged us?” you gape, completely thrown by everything she’s just told you. She immediately gets defensive, her cheeks puffing.

“I medicated you,” she corrects. “And in the end, I’m only acting as a doctor. This all could have been avoided if Your Grace had just taken care of his own needs, as I’d insisted. Since he didn’t, I could only logically assume it's because it’s his preference to have a partner, rather than going at it solo. So, if you want to blame anyone for this, please blame him.”

“Sigewinne—” 

Gripping the arms of his chair, Wriothesley breathes out a heavy sigh and begins to push himself up. You can’t help but notice his face is much redder now, and you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment, the effects of the drugs, or both.

Seeing that Wriothesley has nearly regained his strength, Sigewinne hurries to exit his office.

“Anyway! The effects of the tea should wear off in a few hours, but only if you relieve yourselves. Otherwise, it will last much longer. So I suggest you let loose and indulge yourselves. You like each other! Enjoy this time!”

Wriothesley opens his mouth to say something, but his words catch in his throat the second Sigewinne opens his office door. He doesn’t want anyone outside of his office walls to hear him or know what’s going on.

“I’ll hang this sign on the door,” Sigewinne continues, her voice hushing. “So no one comes in while you two are…busy. Just remove it once you’re done, okay? Have fun!”

With a supportive little fist pump, Sigewinne then closes the door, leaving you and Wriothesley alone.

A few long beats of silence pass, then Wriothesley finally sighs.

"I…apologize for this. I never meant for you to get roped in."

You turn to look at him, only to find that he's standing with his back to you, his hand raising to rub at the back of his head.

You can see his muscles flexing as he does so, and you hate to admit that it causes the heat inside you to grow.

"It's…not your fault," you respond, laughing a little awkwardly. "I doubt it's easy to follow directions when your doctor tells you to jack off to rectify your hardass-ness."

Wriothesley glances at you over his shoulder.

"Have I been acting like a hardass?"

"You've been a little snippy at times," you tell him, smoothing your sweaty palms down your legs. Seriously, your clothes are starting to make you feel claustrophobic…

"Not to me, specifically. But I've noticed it towards some of the prison residents."

"Shit," he sighs, rubbing his temples. You continue to watch him, your eyes wandering the expanse of his back. For a second, you don't understand why he won't face you. Then it clicks.

"...are you…hard? Is that why you're not turning around?"

"It's…pretty bad," Wriothesley admits, his shoulder sagging in defeat. "I don't know what all was in that tea but…as an aphrodisiac, it's doing its job."

"Yeah…," you agree, swallowing heavily. You can feel wet arousal pooling on the fabric of your panties. His office has also started to feel like a sauna, but you're not sure if it's the air that's hot, or your body.

However, you're still not willing to breach the topic of "relief" with him. You haven't reached that level of desperation…yet .

So, you think of something else to carry the conversation in the meantime.

"So…Sigewinne said you like me?"

"Ah, you caught that."

He laughs a little, and begins pacing around the room, still careful to keep his back to you. You can't help but notice his stride is a little…impeded.

"If I'm being frank—yes, I do. You've been…a pleasure to have around, since I hired you. Actually, one of the reasons I picked you in the first place was because of how you acted during your interview. Most people are scared of me and therefore talk cautiously. You're certainly respectful, of course, but…you're a bit playful, as well. And I found that quality to be attractive."

"Ah, so I charmed you," you respond playfully. "Remind me to add that point to my resume later. "Managed to woo the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide". That sounds pretty good—"

"And there you go again," Wriothesley laughs. He steps behind the chair he'd been sitting in previously, and then finally turns to face you—the back of the chair tall enough that his lower half is out of sight. 

"Although, if I recall her words correctly, Sigewinne stated that we "like each other". So, is there something you'd like to say as well?"

Your eyes go wide, and you feel more blood rush into your head. Wriothesley smiles, wide enough to show teeth. 

"C’mon now. It's not fair that I praise you and get nothing in return."

You pout.

"To be fair, I didn't know why Sigewinne suddenly asked me what I thought of you…"

"That’s understandable, but still. I'd like to know what you told her."

Wriothesley maintains his playful demeanor, despite the way his knuckles begin to turn white at his sides—a deep-seated need slowly sinking its claws into him.

You sigh.

"I just…told her that you're a good boss, and are deserving of your titles and the respect you garner…"

You trail off, suddenly remembering the last thing you'd told Sigewinne during that conversation. Wriothesley clearly notices there's something you're leaving out, one of his eyebrows raising.

"And?"

You take a deep breath.

"That you're a cute puppy."

He blinks in shock.

"...excuse me?"

Oh god, you wanna phase through the floor.

"I said that even though you look scary, you're really just like a big…cute…puppy."

For a moment, Wriothesley can only stare at you. Then, he throws his head back and laughs. 

Embarrassed, you plant your palms on your thighs and push to your feet, instinctively wanting to run away…only to realize that your legs have gone weak. 

With a distraught noise, you flop back into your chair. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Wriothesley notices.

He coughs, pulling himself back together.

"Well, I've certainly never heard myself described in such a way before. I can't say I totally hate it, but I'm not sure if I agree with the term "puppy"."

You force an awkward laugh, finally losing steam as the arousal inside you begins to cloud your thoughts. Sigewinne obviously wasn't messing around when making her aphrodisiac…you've never felt so horny before that it has literally hindered your mental and physical faculties.

The office is silent for a few tense moments, but finally, Wriothesley heaves a heavy sigh. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his shoulders slumping as he hangs his head.

"You may revoke your good opinion of me, considering how inappropriate it is for a boss to even consider such a thing, but…I think my dick is gonna explode soon, so I'll just come out and ask."

You swallow, anticipating his next words.

"Would you be…interested in having sex?"

Your body shivers in excitement at the idea, the lustful part of your brain screaming at you to jump him already.

"I…would," you admit, managing to keep it together. Wriothesley's entire body jolts impatiently at your words, but he’s able to keep himself grounded. 

"I don't think I'll be able to survive…this without some relief. And…I trust you. So…"

"So we're in agreement," Wrioslethely supplies, waiting for your confirmation. You nod your head. 

"We are."

In the next beat, he's is crossing the space between you, a "thank god" barely making it past his lips before he crashes them into yours.

Immediately, you’re groaning into him—your arms wrapping around his neck and his hands finding the backs of your thighs. He lifts you from your chair easily—your chests pressing together as he holds you close.

You’ve always been acutely aware of how large Wriothesley is, but you don’t think it fully sinks in until now—as he manhandles you with ease, quite literally carrying you with one arm as the other sneaks beneath your shirt and tugs it over your head.

You’re forced to break the kiss as he does so, but the second the fabric has been discarded, you’re tangling your fingers in his hair and dragging him in for another. 

Your action evokes a pleased little rumble inside his chest.

“You taste sweet,” he mumbles, his palm roaming over the exposed skin of your back. The warmth of his skin against yours makes you ache.

“It’s probably the aphrodisiac,” you reply breathlessly, a shiver raking your spine when you feel his fingers toy at the waistband of your pants.

“Hmm, shall we posit your theory?”

Before you can even think to ask what he means, the room is spinning—too many things happening at once. However, it’s nearly impossible to miss the feel of your pants being shucked down your legs.

When everything settles, you find that you’re no longer chest to chest with Wriothesley, but rather, face to dick.

“Wh—”

Your cheeks heat up as you finally digest the position he’s put you in—your ass in his face, and his crotch in yours—his body now firmly planted in a chair as he spreads his thighs and makes himself comfortable.

“Wriothesley!” you say in shock, your palms gripping his legs for support as you attempt to turn and face him. However, you quickly realize with the position he has chosen, you’re fairly helpless to do anything—completely at his mercy as he locks his arms around your legs and grips your ass in his hands.

“Hm?” he responds nonchalantly, one of his fingers slipping under the edge of your panties. You shift a little, trying to glare at him, but only succeed in having his clothed dick poke you in the cheek. He tenses at the sensation, and you feel his cock strain helplessly against the fabric of his pants—begging for more friction.

“I’m just testing your theory, like I said,” he continues, a surprised mewl tearing from your throat as he leans his head forward and nuzzles his nose in the damp fabric of your panties.

“If you think it’s the aphrodisiac making you sweet, let’s see if it’s also having that effect elsewhere—”

Before you can protest, Wriothesley is tugging the crotch of your underwear aside—his tongue licking a hot, languid strip between your folds. You gasp at the feeling, your nails digging into his thighs through the layer of clothes that he wears.

Above you, the Duke makes a pleased sound, repeating his previous action—noting the way your body writhes against his hold. His fingers grip your ass tighter, his brows furrowing as he presses his tongue inside your entrance—your arousal quickly coating his taste buds.

“Yep,” he mutters after a moment, his voice tight and his throat bobbing as he harshly swallows. “You taste…addicting.”

His words have your cunt squeezing around nothing, although he quickly dives back in and rectifies that problem—stretching your walls out around his tongue. 

“Fuck…,” you pant, your head dropping as your strength wanes. Your muscles progressively start to feel like jelly, thanks to his ministrations. Especially, when he moves his mouth to your clit and begins rolling his tongue around it—a whine escaping you as the desire inside of you sears white hot.

And yet, despite the way Wriothesley presses on—groaning into your pussy as he eats you out—you’d be remiss to forget about the fact that he’s currently affected by the aphrodisiac as well, and has his own needs that need to be taken care of.

So, gathering what strength you have, you manage to push yourself up onto your forearms—your hands moving to the waistband of his pants. You frantically work open the button and zipper of his slacks, and then hook your fingers under the elastic of his underwear, tugging the band down.

…only to have his freed cock immediately spring up and smack you in the face.

Your eyes go wide, and in normal circumstances, you’d expect Wriothesley to laugh at the comedy of what has just occurred. However, too immersed in the way your cunt tastes and feels, and the way your body continues to twitch in his hold, he doesn’t even notice. And, too amazed by the sheer size of Wriothesley’s dick as you finally lean your head back and get a good look at him, you don’t bother saying anything.

No, instead you simply part your lips and take the head of his cock into your mouth—sucking lightly, your tongue teasing at his slit. The groan that’s immediately torn from his throat is involuntary—the sound becoming muffled by your pussy as he momentarily stops to savor the feeling of your mouth on his dick—your tongue flattening on the underside of his shaft as you slowly take more of him into your mouth.

Then, he goes back to eating you out with renewed fervor—your eyes nearly rolling back into your skull when he sucks at your clit.

The room quickly fills with the sound of sloppy and messy oral, your head bobbing up and down Wriothesley’s cock. Saliva drips down his length, his pre-cum smearing against your tongue, and you can’t help but moan.

Everything feels so good—from Wriothesley’s tongue on your cunt, to the way his cock fills up your mouth…

“Fuck,” Wriothesley growls. His fingers move to pull at the folds of your pussy, spreading you open wider. You can feel his hot breath on your skin as he moves his mouth back to your clit, where he then stays—his tongue flicking rhythmically against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

The pace and motion he settles on is one that you know will very quickly damn you, and he figures this out as well based on the way your thighs begin to shake in his grasp. Your body attempts to jolt away from him—trying to escape the onslaught of pleasure he intends to give—but he leaves no wiggle room. He holds you tighter, enjoying the feeling of your mouth on his cock, and how your efforts slowly start to crumble along with your sanity.

“I…,” you mumble the word around dick, trying to warn him of the orgasm you can feel quickly approaching. Your entire body swims with arousal, your head feeling light. 

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he pants. “Let’s cum together.”

You feel his cock throb against your tongue, and, dutifully, you do your best to continue sucking him off—your lips once again suctioning around his shaft. Your actions immediately evoke a pleased groan from the Duke, and you feel his thighs tense in your grasp—his own orgasm quickly approaching.

However, despite your best efforts to continue, everything falls apart the second your climax finally crests.

With a cry, you come undone—your body writhing in his hold. You go brainless almost immediately, the strength in your arms wavering, and Wriothesley’s cock stuffing into your cheek—your hot breath fanning over his length.

Luckily, the vulgarity of the entire situation is enough to push Wriothesley over the finish line—his dick painting the inside of your mouth with his cum. And to his surprise, once he’s spent, you actually pull your head back, close your lips, and swallow.

Shit, he thinks. 

His dick is just starting to soften, and yet somehow, it’s also already getting hard again.

There’s a few beats of quiet that are filled only with the sound of you and Wriothesley panting. Then, once he’s caught his breath, he says—

“Let’s get you right side up.”

—and the world spins again.

Honestly, the fact that he can manhandle you this easily is criminal.

“You okay?” he asks, sitting you on one of his thighs. He brushes a few stray hairs from your face, staring at you with a hint of concern.

You nod your head, grateful that the carnal desire you’ve been afflicted with is clearly less, now that you and Wriothesley have both gotten off. But…even despite that, you still feel hot and tingly. Like you want more.

You glance down at his lap.

“Mmm. Seems like you’re in the same predicament as me.”

“Think you can handle another round?” he asks. You meet his eyes, playfully raising your eyebrows.

“I’m almost tempted to say no, and see what you do.”

Wriothesley rolls his eyes, his hands grabbing your waist, and in the next moment, you find yourself slung over his shoulder.

“Hey—!” you protest, attempting to look at him, but he only caresses your ass with his free hand.

“If you have that much spunk left in you, you can handle another round,” he says, carrying you down the nearby staircase, to the floor below his office. “But, I’ll be kind this time and make you more comfortable.”

His boots echo against the metal floor as he walks, and for a second, you wonder where exactly he’s taking you. But, soon after, Wriothesley pushes through a nearby door, and you find yourself in a moderately sized bedroom.

It must be his, you realize, feeling a little silly that you’d never pondered before now where the Master of the prison actually sleeps.

“Here we are.”

Wriothesley gently deposits you onto his bed, and then immediately reaches for his tie. You watch him with bated breath, your heart doing a tiny flip as you realize that he’s finally stripping out of his clothes. He opts to leave on the leather belts encircling his arms and neck, instead focusing the bulk of his time on shedding his suit, and undoing the many buckles on his boots. 

By the time he’s finished—his erect cock once again sitting heavy between his legs—you’re practically drooling at the sight of him.

His lips twitch into a little smile.

“I’m happy to know that you like what you see. However, in the time I spent undressing myself, you couldn’t be bothered to remove what little clothing you have left? C’mon now, are you waiting for me to wrestle you out of them?”

Still feeling cheeky, you flash him a grin.

“Hm, I’d like to see you try.”

Wriothesley immediately cocks an eyebrow, his eyes glinting at the challenge you’ve just issued, and your attitude wavers, realizing what it is you’ve done. You open your mouth to say you’re only teasing—your hands already raising behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra—but it’s too late.

In one swift motion, Wriothesley grabs your ankle and twists you onto your stomach—his weight settling above you as he kneels onto the bed. You shiver when his knuckles brush against your skin—his fingers swiftly undoing your bra.

“You’re just a little brat, aren’t you…” 

He speaks the words fondly, with a hint of amusement, and yet, they still go straight to your cunt. 

“Don’t say things like that,” you respond, instinctively raising your hips when Wriothesley hooks his fingers on your underwear and begins tugging them down your thighs. He stares intently at your backside as he does so, an idea popping into his mind.

“Why? Because you like it too much?”

He discards your panties on the floor along with the rest of the clothes you’d both shed, and then grabs your knees, forcing you to spread your legs, so he can properly settle between them. 

Another blush rises on your face at his words, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. At your lack of response, Wriothesely continues.

“In my understanding, brats tend to like it a little rougher, so…” 

His hands ghost up your thighs, to your hips, and he grips you tightly—forcing your lower half off the bed until you’re propped up on your knees—his cock sitting heavy against your ass.

“...what say we continue like this, hm?”

Bracing yourself on your forearms, you turn your head back to look at him—your body tensing as you watch him fist his cock and drag it downward, between the lips of your pussy. 

His icy eyes catch yours.

“Any objection?”

“...no,” you mumble, your fingers anticipatedly fisting in the sheets. 

Wriothesley nods—

“Good.”

—and then presses the head of his cock inside you.

Immediately, you drop your forehead against the mattress—willing your body to relax for him as he slowly inches inside of you.

His tongue had certainly been enjoyable, but this? Fuck. Nothing compares to the sensation of him slowly stuffing you inch by inch—the girth of his cock positively delicious as he forces your cunt to stretch to accommodate him.

It’s so much that by the time he’s fully seated inside of you, your body is shaking—your breath coming out in quick, desperately little pants.

Seeing your reaction, Wriothesely soothes a hand up your spine, his warm palm settling between your shoulder blades. He decides to start slow—to give you a little more time to adjust to him. 

And honestly, he’d love to take his time in general—to really savor the sight of you beneath him, your cunt swallowing his cock so perfectly, but alas. The effects of the aphrodisiac make him impatient with need, and it’s not long before he’s moving faster—little gasps and whines finding their way past your lips as he begins fucking you back onto his cock.

“Ahh…seriously you’re…so fucking tight,” he curses. His fingers dig into the plush of your hip—his jaw clenching, and his racing heart pumping lust through his veins.

Your cunt clamping on his dick seriously might be his personal slice of heaven.

“Wrio, I—,” you can’t even get the words out, your brain short-circuiting. You can’t think straight anymore—not with his cock rubbing you in all the right spots, making a mess of your insides, and quickly rocketing you towards another—

Wait, no, it’s only been a minute—!

“Fuck! ” 

You choke the word out, your spine curving and your knuckles turning white as your second orgasm of the night is unexpectedly forced out of you—your pussy spasming around Wriothesley’s dick.

The last of your strength officially drained, you collapse forward onto the mattress, your cheek smushing into the covers.

…however, Wriothesley doesn’t allow your lower half to fall along with the rest of you—his hold on your hips keeping your twitching pussy firmly planted on his still-hard dick.

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” he reminds you, his cock continuing to languidly drag between your walls, drawing out the tail end of your pleasure.

You can’t help but whimper at his words, already feeling a bit oversensitive thanks to two consecutive orgasms. Wriothesley does his best to soothe your frayed nerves.

Leaning over you, he gently tangles his fist in your hair—coaxing your head off the mattress so he can kiss you. 

The kiss is messy, but sweet—the angle of your bodies forcing his cock deeper inside of you, his hips completely flush against your ass.

“You’re doing so good,” he tells you, peppering a trail of kisses against your cheek, and across your jaw. His praise causes you to whimper, a shiver raking up your spine when his tongue drags across your skin—his teeth nipping at the nape of your neck.

His actions successfully get you to relax—your body becoming more pliable in his grasp as he once again begins to move. And soon enough, the wet sound of sex fills his bedroom once more.

Wanting to help him cum (and to feel his seed fill you), you do your best to help Wriothesley along—purposefully flexing the walls of your pussy as he fucks you. However, in doing so, you accidentally start yourself down the path of yet another orgasm…

Feeling the familiar, aching pleasure beginning to build inside of you once again, you quickly stop what you’re doing. You think that a third orgasm honestly might kill you, but…it’s too late.

Wriothesley has already noticed your growing arousal, and decides that he likes it better when the two of you cum together.

So, he sneaks one of his hands between the apex of your legs, and begins rubbing at your clit.

The garbled, desperate cry that leaves your mouth immediately becomes seared in his mind for a long time to come.

“No, Wrio, I…I can’t. I—”

Your words come out jumbled, tears beading on your lash line.

Momentarily removing his hand from your clit, he once again reaches forward and grips your hair—pulling your head back so he can kiss you. His lips swallow up your worries.

“You can,” he insists, his voice whispering in your ear, and his hot breath fanning over your skin. 

“I want you to cum with me, pretty girl. You can do it.”

You give no protest aside from a cute little whine, and that's good enough for Wriothesley.

Releasing your hair, his hand finds your clit once more.

He then proceeds to fuck you into the mattress—pursuing his orgasm with abandon. A groan leaves his mouth at the way your pussy starts clamping on his dick once again—tightening up with each pass of his fingers across your clit—your pussy slick and messy with your own arousal.

Unable to think straight, you can only hold on for dear life—clinging to his sheets like a lifeline. You can’t even process the sounds that are coming out of your own mouth—a damned, desperate symphony moans.

To Wriothesley, it all sounds like a siren's cry—beckoning him closer to the edge.

“Shit,” he pants, feeling his cock throb, and his balls tighten. The motion of his fingers on your clit quickens—your toes curling as the coil of pleasure in your tummy continues to wind—so close to snapping.

Sweat beading on his brow, Wriothesley leans forward, curling his body against yours. His teeth nip at the shell of your ear, his husky voice sending goosebumps across your skin.

“So good for me…,” he breathes, his hips smacking into your ass. His broad strokes deteriorate into needy rutting, and the sensation has you quite literally sobbing—his cock now incessantly grinding into your g-spot.

You can’t take it anymore.

Shoving your face into the mattress, you bite the sheets and scream—your entire body shaking as you cum for a third time, your cunt milking around Wriothesley’s cock.

He curses at the feeling, his face burying in your neck. Wrapping his arms around you, he hugs you to his body—fucking inside of you a few more times before finally joining you in ecstasy. 

His teeth sink into you as his orgasms peaks, a heady groan muffled against your skin as his balls empty—pumping you full of his cum.

It’s not until the intensity of his pleasure has died down that Wriothesley ultimately releases you from his hold—your lower half immediately flopping down onto the bed, and his softening cock slipping out of you.

The Duke takes a moment to simply look at you, and how fucked out you are. Your eyes bleary, skin flushed, and the imprint of his teeth engraved in your flesh.

He grunts at the sight, and settles in beside you—his arm curling around your waist as he tugs you back against him. His tongue immediately begins lapping at the bite mark he’d inflicted, attempting to soothe the sting.

After a few seconds, you begin shaking, and Wriothesley immediately pauses, scared that he’s hurt you in some way.

…only to realize that you’re laughing.

“...puppy…”

He props himself up, glancing at you.

“What?”

“You really are like a puppy,” you giggle, your finger lifting to brush a stray tear from your eye. “The way you bit me, and then immediately started licking at it in apology. So cute…”

You break into another tiny fit of laughter, and Wriothesley rolls his eyes, yet can’t help cracking a smile.

“Well, I’m glad to know I didn’t break you, at the very least.”

His hand rubs against your waist.

“...right?”

Finally getting ahold of yourself, you roll onto your back and smile at him, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek. He immediately leans into your touch, and it makes your heart flutter.

“I’m not broken, no. Just…sore. And gross. And sweaty.”

Wriothesley chuckles.

“Well, I think I can rectify some of those issues. I do have a bathroom, with a tub.”

“Wow,” you respond, watching him as he scoots to the edge of the mattress and gets to his feet. He waits a second for you to join him, but you don’t move.

“My…limbs feel like jello,” you admit, raising your arm and flopping it back down bonelessly for emphasis. Wriothesley rolls his eyes, but nonetheless leans over the bed and scoops you into his arms.

You rest your cheek against his chest, admiring for the first time how soft it really is.

“Whatever shall I do with you,” he playfully sighs, carrying you into the adjacent bathroom. He sets you on the vanity, moving over to the tub and turning on the tap for the hot water. You hum.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things you can do. The first of which is helping me into the bath once it’s ready.”

Wriothesley quietly chuckles. Returning to your side, he takes your hand, and brings it to his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Once the tub has filled, the Duke keeps true to his word—once again carefully cradling you in his arms as he seats himself in the tub basin, before positioning you in the space between his legs.

The steaming water immediately soothes the ache of your body, and you sigh in relief—sinking back against Wriothesley’s body. He lightly wraps one arm around your waist, the other resting on the edge of the tub.

For a few long minutes, the two of you bask in silence, simply enjoying the refreshing feel of the bath. 

…then, you start to notice something beginning to grow—pressing at your back.

“...really? Is the aphrodisiac still getting to you that much?”

“No,” he admits after a beat, leaning forward to kiss your neck. “I think this one is actually all me.”

You roll your eyes, but nonetheless crane your head to the side—allowing him access to more of your skin as his mouth begins to wander.

“I thought I made it clear that my limbs are jello right now.”

“I can work with that,” he responds, and you feel him grin. His hand slowly trails down your stomach, and between your legs.

“I’ll do all the work. You just get to make pretty sounds and feel good.”

His fingers slide between the folds of your pussy, and you jolt as he passes over your overly-sensitive clit. But seriously…how are you going to say no to him?

“What am I going to do with you?” you sigh, echoing his earlier words. His chest rumbles with laughter, and he grabs your chin with his free hand—turning your head so he can kiss you.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things.”

The next morning, you find yourself in a back in your clothes, standing beside Wriothesley just inside his office door.

“I’ll go first,” you say, to which he nods. “I have some errands to run anyway. You can wait a minute and then come out after me.”

“Sounds good.”

The two of you stare at each other for a second, before you finally square your shoulders, and reach for the door handle. 

Before you can twist it, Wriothesley catches your wrist. When you look back at him, you find that there’s a blush on his cheeks.

“So, I’ll…see you later?”

His suddenly bashful demeanor causes you to smile. Pressing onto your toes, you cup his cheeks and softly kiss him. He immediately grabs your waist—deepening the kiss.

“You’ll see me later,” you promise. 

With that, the two of you finally separate, and you disappear through his office door.

Wriothesley takes a deep breath at your departure, combing a hand through his hair as he waits for the right moment to make his own exit.

To be safe, he decides to wait a good few minutes. But finally, he opens his door—preparing to venture into the main area of the fortress, and make his normal rounds.

…however, he only makes it a step before remembering the sign Sigewinne had made.

With a sigh, he immediately backtracks and tears the DO NOT DISTURB sign off of his door, crumpling it between his palms.

When he turns back around, he nearly jumps—Sigewinne standing right in front of him.

“So,” she says, a pleased grin on her face. “How’d it go?”

Narrowing his eyes, Wriothesley only stares ahead, and walks past her. She easily follows after him.

“The fact that you’re out and about this early in the day means something likely happened between you and Y/N.”

“No comment,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne giggle. They pass by a few prisoners as Wriothesley makes a B-line for the elevator to the production zone. Once there, Sigewinne squeezes herself in along with him.

As the elevator begins to descend, only a few seconds pass in silence, before Sigewinne asks one last question.

“As your doctor, it’s my recommendation that you continue to regularly relieve your stress. So, are you going to be dutifully carrying out my orders from now on?”

Wriothesley makes a little face, glancing away from her.

“...maybe.”

Sigewinne smiles. 

That’s good enough for her.

[A Dragon's Constitution] ->

[pucksandpower]

Second Heart

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Lewis Hamilton x Senna!Reader

Summary: all you’ve ever wanted was to be able to race just like your Papai … no matter the cost (or in which always going for a gap that exists runs in the Senna family)

You sit cross-legged in front of the TV, shoulders hunched, the remote clutched tight in your little hand. The screen crackles, and there he is — Ayrton. Papai. His yellow helmet blazes under the bright afternoon sun, the car flying down the straight, smooth as a bird on water.

Your eyes don’t blink. The sound of engines growls through the speakers, vibrating all the way to your heart. It’s like he’s right there. Alive.

And so fast. So, so fast. You almost feel like you’re in the car with him, that if you close your eyes, you could taste the gasoline and the rubber, the wind whipping across your face.

“Papai …” you whisper, pressing the volume button louder.

Adriane steps into the room, the clink of her bracelets soft but steady. She pauses when she sees you, arms crossed, one hip jutted out.

“I thought you were doing homework.”

You don’t answer, too lost in the footage. The video cuts to a slow-motion shot of Ayrton weaving through the rain, tires spinning in the spray like magic. They call it genius — what he did at Monaco, at Suzuka, at Donington Park. To you, it’s just your Papai being Papai.

“Turn it off.” Your mother’s voice sharpens now. She hates it when you watch these tapes. You’ve heard her say it before, more times than you can count — It’s not healthy. You shouldn’t keep living in the past. But you don’t feel like you’re living in the past. You feel like you’re meeting him for the first time, every time.

“Just five more minutes,” you plead without looking away.

“No.”

“But I-”

“I said no, agora!”

Her tone makes you flinch. The remote slips from your hand onto the floor with a dull thud. But you still can’t tear your eyes from the screen, where Ayrton’s car crosses the finish line, the Brazilian flag draped over his shoulders as the crowd roars. Your heart beats faster. There’s a strange energy in you, like the buzz before a storm. You push yourself up to your knees, your voice small but determined.

“I want to race.”

Adriane’s laugh is immediate and sharp, like glass shattering. “Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not being silly!” You twist around to look at her now, the words spilling out. “I wanna race, Mãe! Like Papai!”

Her face changes. The air shifts, heavy and strange. You see it happen — the tightness in her jaw, the way her smile falls away like it was never there.

“No.”

“But-”

“No!” She snaps, louder this time, and it makes you shrink back. “Absolutely not. Never.”

You bite your lip, feeling the burn at the back of your throat. But you don’t stop. Not yet.

“Why not?” You whisper.

Your mother exhales sharply through her nose, as if the question alone is an insult. She crosses the room in two quick strides, crouching down until her face is level with yours. Her hands, delicate but strong, grip your shoulders tighter than usual.

“Because racing is dangerous,” she says, enunciating every word like she’s trying to hammer them into your skull. “Do you understand me? It’s not a game. It took your father from us.”

Her voice wavers on the last sentence, but you don’t care. There’s something stubborn growing in you, something you don’t quite recognize yet.

“Papai loved it.”

“And look where it got him,” she shoots back, her voice sharp as a knife.

You blink, stunned by the words. She’s never said it like that before. She sees your expression — hurt, confused — and her face softens, just for a second.

“Sweetheart …” She sighs, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “I know you miss him. I miss him too. Every single day. But I won’t let racing take you away from me.”

“But it won’t-”

“Enough.” Her voice is final, the way grown-ups’ voices get when there’s no more room for argument. “This conversation is over.”

You open your mouth, then close it again. She’s already standing up, brushing invisible dust from her jeans. The TV hums in the background, the commentators babbling about pole positions and podiums.

Adriane snatches the remote from the floor and jabs the power button. The screen goes black, as if Papai never existed at all.

You feel hollow.

Your mother stands there for a moment, the silence thick between you. Then she crouches again, her hands cupping your face this time, thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“Listen to me.” Her voice is quieter now, almost pleading. “I lost your father. I can’t-” She stops, swallows hard. “I can’t lose you too. Okay?”

You don’t nod. You don’t speak. You just stare at her, your little heart breaking in ways you don’t fully understand yet.

“I’m serious,” she whispers, her forehead resting against yours. “No racing. Not ever.”

And then she kisses the top of your head, soft and lingering, as if that alone could erase the conversation, the dream, everything. She walks out of the room, her footsteps fading down the hall.

You sit there for a long time, staring at the blank TV screen, fists clenched in your lap. Your chest feels tight, like something inside you is being squeezed too hard.

You think about Papai. About how he smiled in the cockpit, how the car seemed to dance under his hands, how the crowd chanted his name like a song. He wasn’t afraid.

And neither are you.

You pick up the remote again. Your thumb hovers over the play button, hesitant for just a moment. Then you press it.

The screen flickers back to life, and Ayrton is there, flying through the rain like a miracle.

You smile.

One day, you think.

One day, you’ll race too.

***

The front door clicks shut behind you as you step into the house, dropping your school bag with a heavy thud. You bend down to untie your sneakers, already rehearsing what you’ll tell your mom — how your science project earned a gold star, how you managed to trade a snack with João without getting caught. You have it all planned, down to the way you’ll grin when she offers you that after-school snack.

But as soon as you straighten up, the voices hit you.

Loud. Sharp. Angry.

You freeze, one hand still on your shoelace.

“You have no right — none — to tell me how to raise my daughter!” Your mother’s voice is sharp, like glass breaking. She’s in the living room. You can’t see her from the hallway, but you don’t need to. You can imagine her perfectly — the tight set of her mouth, the way her arms probably cross over her chest.

And then, another voice, familiar in a strange way. Low and hard. “I’m not telling you how to raise her, Adriane. I’m telling you what she told me — how she called me crying because you refuse to let her chase the only thing she’s ever wanted.”

Alain.

Your heart skips. You know him. Everyone knows him. Papai’s fiercest rival — and, in the end, his friend. The man from the stories, from old photographs your mother keeps locked away. Alain, who came to the funeral and cried even when the cameras weren’t on him.

Why is he here?

You step closer, drawn by their words like a thread pulling you tight. You press yourself against the wall and peek around the corner, just enough to see them.

Adriane stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed exactly like you pictured. Her blonde hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, but her face is tight, her jaw locked in anger. Alain stands across from her, looking just as frustrated. His hands move as he talks, fast and insistent, like he’s trying to grab hold of the air between them and shape it into something that makes sense.

“She’s seven!” Your mother snaps, her voice cracking at the edges. “She doesn’t understand what she’s asking for.”

“She understands better than you think,” Alain fires back. “She understands perfectly. She called me in tears — tears, Adriane — because you shut her down without even listening.”

“I listened.” Her voice drops, low and furious. “And I said no.”

Alain scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “You said no because you’re scared.”

Your mother’s eyes flash. “Of course I’m scared! She’s my daughter! You, of all people, should understand-”

“I do understand.” Alain’s voice softens, but only just. “I carried his casket. I watched you cry over him. But that’s exactly why you can’t do this to her.”

Adriane’s face crumples for a split second, so brief you might have missed it if you hadn’t been watching so closely. “He’s not here, Alain,” she whispers, and it sounds like a confession and an accusation all at once. “He’s not here to see this, to say if it’s right or wrong. And he’s not here to save her if something goes wrong.”

Alain’s voice drops, steady and determined. “And you think Ayrton would want you to stop her? You think he would want her to live her whole life wrapped in fear because of what happened to him?”

“She’s my child.” Adriane’s voice cracks like a whip, but there’s something desperate underneath it now, like she’s fighting to keep her footing in a conversation she knows she’s already losing. “And I will not lose her.”

Alain’s eyes narrow. “You’re not protecting her. You’re imprisoning her.”

Your mother stares at him, her breath coming fast and uneven. For a moment, everything goes still — so quiet you can hear the ticking of the old clock on the mantel.

Then Alain steps forward, his hands on his hips. “If you won’t help her, I will. I’ll teach her to kart myself if I have to.”

Adriane barks out a bitter laugh, but it’s laced with pain. “You can try,” she says, her voice brittle. “But don’t expect me to come watch. I refuse to set foot at a race, and I won’t look at her as long as I know there’s a chance she won’t come back.”

Her words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. You feel like you can’t breathe. You press yourself harder against the wall, your chest tight with emotions you can’t name.

And that’s when the floor creaks.

Both of them turn at the sound.

“Meu Deus …” your mother whispers, her hands flying to her mouth. “You’re home.”

Alain’s face softens instantly. He kneels down, arms open. “Come here, sweetheart.”

You hesitate, just for a moment. Then, without thinking, you bolt from your hiding spot and run straight into Alain’s arms. He catches you easily, wrapping you in a hug that feels like safety. Like warmth.

Adriane stands frozen, her hands still over her mouth. Her eyes are wide, filled with a mix of heartbreak and anger and something you don’t fully understand.

Alain pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. “Hey,” he says softly. “I’ve got a question for you.”

You blink up at him, your heart pounding.

“How would you like to come to Switzerland with me?” His voice is calm, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. “You could learn to kart there. I’ll teach you myself. What do you think?”

Your heart races. Switzerland. Karting. Learning to drive. It feels like a dream, one you didn’t even know you could have.

But then you look at your mother.

Adriane’s face is pale, her hands still clutched tight over her mouth like they might stop her from saying something she’ll regret. Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and there’s a kind of pain in them that makes your chest ache.

You know what this means to her. You know how much it hurts.

But you also know what it means to you.

You’ve wanted this for as long as you can remember — for as long as you’ve been able to understand what racing is. And here it is, right in front of you. A chance.

You swallow hard and look back at Alain. His expression is kind but serious, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“It’s your choice,” he says quietly. “No one can make it for you.”

You take a deep breath. Your hands shake a little, but you ball them into fists to steady yourself.

“I want to go,” you whisper.

Your mother makes a soft, choked sound — like someone punched all the air out of her.

“Minha filha …” Her voice breaks.

You look at her, and it feels like your heart is splitting in two. “I have to, Mãe.”

She closes her eyes, pressing her hands tighter to her face. For a moment, she just stands there, trembling. Then she drops her hands and wipes her eyes with quick, angry swipes.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice raw and broken. “Okay. Go, then.”

The words sting, sharper than anything you’ve ever felt. But you nod. You have to.

Alain gives your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “We’ll call every day,” he promises, glancing at Adriane, though she won’t look at him. “Whenever you want.”

Your mother doesn’t answer. She just turns away, her shoulders hunched like the weight of the world is pressing down on her.

Your heart feels heavy, but there’s something else now too — something lighter. Hope.

You glance up at Alain, and he smiles, soft and warm.

“Switzerland, huh?” You say, trying to sound brave.

Alain chuckles. “Switzerland.”

And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you can finally breathe.

***

Life in Switzerland feels like a dream. Every morning, the mountains rise outside your window, peaks dusted in snow even as the spring sun warms the air. The international school Alain enrolled you in is small, the kids friendly. They speak a mix of languages — French, German, Italian — and though it’s strange at first, you like how every word feels like a little puzzle to solve.

But school is just the beginning of your day. The real magic happens afterward.

Every afternoon, Alain picks you up in his car — a sleek, silver Audi with leather seats that always smell faintly like coffee — and takes you straight to the karting track just outside town. There’s a rhythm to your days now: school, then the track, where the scent of gasoline and hot rubber fills the air.

“Come on, petite championne,” Alain says every day as you hop into the kart, the nickname slipping off his tongue with an easy smile. “Let’s see if you can make me proud today.”

The kart rumbles beneath you, a buzz that shoots from your hands to your heart. The moment your foot touches the pedal, the world falls away. The wind rushes against your face, the engine purring with every twist of the wheel.

Here, in the kart, you feel free — like nothing can catch you, not even the pieces of your life that feel too big or too broken to understand.

Alain watches from the sidelines, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his face calm but focused. He takes notes every time you race, shouting tips when you pull up to the pit lane.

“Don’t wait so long to hit the brakes before that hairpin, you lose too much time,” he’ll say. Or, “You’re getting faster through the straights. Don’t get greedy on the corners, though — you’ve got to feel the grip.”

You listen to every word, hungry to learn. And when he grins after you complete a lap, clapping his hands like you just won a Grand Prix, your heart swells.

By the time you drive home, your body hums with exhaustion, but it’s the good kind — the kind that comes from chasing a dream.

And every night, after dinner, there’s dessert.

“Glace au chocolat tonight?” Alain asks one evening, pulling two tubs of chocolate ice cream from the freezer.

You grin. “With whipped cream?”

“Obviously,” Alain replies with mock seriousness. “What kind of barbarian do you take me for?”

He adds a mountain of whipped cream to both bowls, handing one to you before plopping down on the couch with his own.

As always, an old race plays on the TV. Tonight, it’s Monaco — 1988, the race your father dominated, right up until the moment he crashed into the barrier. The screen flickers as the cars glide through the tight streets, their engines howling between the stone walls.

Alain leans back against the couch cushions, spoon in hand. “See that?” He says, pointing at the screen with a mouthful of ice cream. “Your papa’s line through the Swimming Pool section — perfection. Like poetry in motion.”

You tilt your head, studying the way the yellow helmet zips through the narrow chicane. “How did he do it?”

Alain smiles, scooping another spoonful of ice cream. “He just knew. Ayrton could feel the track better than anyone else. It was like … like he was connected to the car in a way no one else could be.”

You lick your spoon thoughtfully. “Did you hate him?”

The question catches Alain off guard. He freezes, then chuckles, shaking his head. “Hate him? No.” He pauses. “Not really, anyway.”

“But you fought a lot.”

“Oh, we fought.” Alain smirks, a mischievous glint in his eye. “He drove me absolutely mad sometimes.”

You giggle. “Why?”

“Because he never gave up. Not even for a second.” Alain gestures toward the TV, where your father’s car rockets through the tunnel. “Ayrton wasn’t just racing other drivers — he was racing himself. Always trying to be faster, better. It was exhausting.”

He says it like a joke, but there’s warmth in his voice, too. You can hear it.

“And that drove you crazy?” You ask, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it.

Alain laughs, a soft, fond sound. “Completely crazy.”

You curl deeper into the couch, your ice cream bowl balanced on your lap. “But you were friends, right? In the end?”

Alain’s smile fades a little, but it stays, softer now. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “In the end.”

There’s a silence between you, filled only by the hum of the TV and the occasional scrape of your spoons against the bowls.

You glance at Alain, his expression lost somewhere between memory and regret. “Do you miss him?”

Alain looks at you, and for a moment, you’re not sure if he’ll answer. Then he gives a small nod. “Every day.”

You nod, too, even though you didn’t really know your father — at least, not in the way Alain did. But somehow, you miss him all the same.

The race continues on the screen, the cars weaving through the streets of Monaco, chasing the perfect lap.

“You’ll be just like him one day,” Alain says suddenly, breaking the quiet.

You blink, surprised. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Alain replies, nudging your shoulder with his. “You’ve got the same fire in you. The same stubbornness, too, I think.”

You laugh, and Alain grins, pleased with himself.

“You just need to tweak your braking,” he adds with a playful smirk. “You brake like me, not like him.”

“Hey!” You protest, shoving his arm lightly.

He chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “What? I’m just saying! Ayrton would fly into corners like a madman. Me? I was always a bit more … sensible.”

“Sensible is boring,” you tease, scooping up the last bit of ice cream.

Alain pretends to be offended, clutching his chest like you’ve wounded him. “Boring? Sensible is what win me four world championships, thank you very much.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning.

The credits for the race coverage roll, but neither of you makes a move to turn off the TV. These moments — curled up on the couch with Alain, the scent of whipped cream still in the air — feel like they could stretch forever.

And maybe, just maybe, they do.

***

Four years blur by like the laps on a familiar circuit. Days turn into months, and months into seasons. You grow taller, sharper, and faster. The kart becomes a second skin, every turn and apex something you know instinctively, like breathing. The track is your playground now — your sanctuary.

Alain teaches you everything: not just how to drive but how to think, how to be patient when you need to be and ruthless when the moment calls for it. He tells you about strategy and racecraft, how to listen for the slightest change in the engine’s pitch, how to make yourself invisible in the slipstream until the perfect moment to strike.

Some lessons come easy. Others, not so much. Like when he makes you practice for hours in the rain, your hands frozen, your kart slipping through puddles. Or when you spin out during a practice race and Alain doesn’t even flinch. He just waves his hand in the air.

“Again!” He shouts from the pit lane. “You have to get comfortable with making mistakes, petite. No champion gets there without a few bruises.”

And so you go again. And again. Because this — this dream — is the one thing you want more than anything.

Now, after all those years, the day has finally arrived. You’re old enough to compete in the FIA Karting Championship. This is what you’ve been working toward.

But Alain surprises you one quiet evening at home. No ice cream, no old races on TV — just you and him, sitting across the kitchen table with two mugs of hot tea. His face is serious, but kind.

“There’s something we need to talk about,” he says, tapping his fingers lightly against the mug. “You have a choice to make.”

You lean forward. “What kind of choice?”

Alain tilts his head, his sharp hazel eyes studying you carefully. “Your name.”

You frown. “My name?”

“Yes. You’ve been racing locally for a while, but things are different now.” Alain takes a sip of tea, gathering his thoughts. “The FIA Karting Championship is international. There will be journalists, scouts, team representatives. If you race under your real name, everyone will know exactly who you are.”

You sit back, the weight of what he’s saying slowly sinking in.

“You can use a pseudonym if you want,” Alain continues. “Plenty of drivers do it, especially when they want to build their career on their own terms.”

You blink, caught off guard. You’ve thought a lot about racing — how fast you want to be, how badly you want to win. But this? The idea of hiding your name? It’s a curveball you didn’t see coming.

Alain gives you time to think, his hands wrapped loosely around his mug. “There’s no shame in it, petite,” he says gently. “It’s not about denying who you are. It’s about deciding how you want the world to see you.”

The words hang between you. He’s not pressuring you — Alain never does that — but you can feel the weight of the decision anyway.

You toy with the edge of the mug in front of you, tracing the rim with your fingertip. “Do you think … if I use my real name, people will only see Papai?”

Alain shrugs, but his expression is thoughtful. “Some will. There are people who won’t be able to separate you from Ayrton. They’ll compare you to him before you’ve even taken a proper lap.”

You nod slowly. You’ve known this would happen — how could you not? But hearing it out loud makes it more real.

“At the same time,” Alain adds, “it’s not something to be ashamed of. Ayrton was … well, he was Ayrton. If anyone has the right to be proud of their name, it’s you.”

You bite your lip, the edges of uncertainty fraying inside you. “What would you do?”

Alain smiles softly. “It’s not my decision to make, ma chérie. This is about you. Your future.”

You stare into your tea, watching the steam curl toward the ceiling like tiny ghosts. A part of you aches at the thought of hiding your father’s name — like you’d be denying him, pretending he didn’t matter. But there’s another part, quieter but insistent, that wants to know what it’s like to stand on your own. To earn your place without the shadow of a legend following you everywhere you go.

You tap your fingers against the table, the rhythm matching the beat of an engine in your mind. And then, suddenly, the answer clicks into place.

“I think …” You take a deep breath. “I think I want to use a different name. Just for now.”

Alain raises his eyebrows, curious but approving. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, more certain now. “It’s not because I’m ashamed. I’m not. I want people to know one day. Just … not yet.”

Alain leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what’s the plan?”

You grin, the excitement building in your chest. “I’ll race under my mother’s last name. And when the time’s right — maybe after I win a few championships — I’ll tell them.”

Alain chuckles, shaking his head. “You think they’ll like the surprise?”

You laugh, a full, bright sound that feels like relief. “Can you imagine their faces?”

Alain grins, clearly amused. “I can already hear the headlines.” He adopts an exaggerated announcer voice: “The karting prodigy who stunned the world by revealing she’s Ayrton Senna’s daughter!”

You burst out laughing, the tension from the conversation melting away. “They’ll lose their minds!”

“And you’ll love every second of it,” Alain adds with a knowing smirk.

You grin, unable to hide the spark of mischief in your eyes. “Maybe a little.”

He shakes his head fondly, ruffling your hair as he stands up from the table. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Comes with the territory,” you say, beaming.

Alain gathers the empty mugs and places them in the sink, still chuckling to himself. “Well, I think it’s a smart choice. Gives you time to find your own rhythm.”

You nod, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Yeah. It feels right.”

Alain leans against the counter, crossing his arms as he looks at you. There’s pride in his eyes — quiet, steady, and unmistakable. “Your papa would’ve been proud of you, too,” he says softly.

Your throat tightens, but you smile through it. “Thanks, Alain.”

He nods once, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Come on,” he says, nudging his head toward the living room. “Let’s celebrate with some dessert. I think we’ve got tarte au citron in the fridge.”

You follow him, your heart light and your steps easy. The road ahead is still long — there will be races, wins, and losses. But for the first time, it feels like it’s yours to drive.

And that? That’s the best feeling in the world.

***

The drive from Switzerland to Imola is quiet. You sit with your thoughts, the hum of the engine beneath you and the road stretching endlessly ahead. Alain offered to come with you, but you declined. This is something you need to do alone.

It’s not that you didn’t want his company, it’s just … how do you explain to someone — even someone who knew your father so well — that you need to meet this place on your own terms?

For eighteen years, you told yourself you weren’t ready. Maybe you never would be. But here you are, taking deep breaths as you steer your way closer to the circuit where it all ended. Where everything about your life changed before it even really began.

When you finally arrive, the gates to the Imola track feel strangely peaceful, nestled under a canopy of autumn leaves. The air is crisp, and the sky is that soft, pale blue you only get in early fall. You park the car and head toward the Ayrton Senna memorial, your footsteps crunching through the leaves littering the path.

Each step feels heavier than the last, your pulse loud in your ears. You try to steel yourself — this is just a monument, just a place. You’ve been to a thousand race tracks in your life. But this one is different. This one holds pieces of someone you never got the chance to know.

As you approach the monument, you expect silence. You expect to be alone. But then you notice someone sitting there — another figure crouched near the bronze statue of your father.

The man shifts, startled by the sound of your footsteps on the gravel. His head turns, and you recognize him almost immediately.

It’s Lewis Hamilton.

He blinks up at you, clearly not expecting company either. There’s a moment of awkwardness, both of you standing there, caught off guard in a place meant for solitude.

You clear your throat. “I’m sorry,” you say softly. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Lewis waves off the apology, his face softening. “No, no. You’re not bothering me.” He pulls himself up a little straighter, brushing leaves from his jacket. “I always stop by here before Monza. Helps me … I don’t know. Reset.”

You nod, unsure what else to say. There’s something strange about seeing him here — Lewis Hamilton, one of the biggest names in motorsport, sitting quietly in front of your father’s monument like he’s just another fan.

“I came for the same reason,” you admit. “I’m Brazilian. Wanted to pay my respects.”

At that, something shifts in Lewis’ expression — understanding, maybe. “You’re Brazilian?” He repeats, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That explains it. Every Brazilian racer I know carries Senna with them like … well, like a second heart.”

You laugh softly, kicking a stray leaf with your shoe. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

Lewis shifts, resting his forearms on his knees as he looks back at the monument. The wind stirs the leaves around your feet, scattering them across the ground.

“He’s always been my hero,” Lewis murmurs, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “Even before I really understood what racing was, I just … knew he was special.”

You don’t respond right away, your gaze fixed on the familiar features of the bronze effigy — your father’s intense, focused expression captured in metal. It’s strange, standing here with someone who feels the same reverence you’ve always felt but never quite known how to express.

Lewis glances at you again. “What do you race?” He asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.

You tuck your hands into your jacket pockets. “Formula Renault 3.5.”

His eyebrows lift, clearly impressed. “That’s a serious series.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool, though there’s a flicker of pride in your chest. “Yeah, it’s been good so far.”

“Good enough to think about Formula 1 one day?” Lewis asks, a knowing smile on his face.

You grin. “That’s the plan.”

He chuckles, the sound warm in the cool air. “Well, I’ll keep an eye out for you. What’s your name?”

For a split second, you hesitate. But you remind yourself — he doesn’t need to know everything. Not yet. “Just … Y/N,” you say casually. “For now.”

Lewis tilts his head, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, but he doesn’t press. “Y/N. Got it.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, unsure how to fill the silence. But it’s not uncomfortable — just … quiet.

“You said you come here every year?” You ask after a moment.

“Before Monza, yeah,” Lewis confirms. “It’s become sort of a ritual. Helps me feel grounded, I guess. Reminds me why I do this.”

You nod, understanding more than you expected to. There’s something about this place — this simple, quiet memorial — that strips everything else away. The politics, the pressure, the noise. It leaves only the pure love of racing behind.

Lewis stands then, brushing dirt from his pants. “Well,” he says, “I should probably get going. Got a long weekend ahead.”

You nod, though part of you wishes you had a little more time to talk to him. There’s something easy about the way he carries himself — no arrogance, no pretense. Just a racer who loves what he does.

Lewis glances at the monument one last time, his gaze lingering on your father’s face. “He would’ve loved to see how many of us still race because of him,” he says quietly.

Your throat tightens, but you manage a small smile. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

He gives you a nod, something warm and reassuring in his expression. “Take care, Y/N. I’ll be watching.”

With that, he turns and walks down the path, his footsteps crunching through the leaves. You watch him go, the wind stirring around you again, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and autumn.

For a long moment, you stay there, standing in front of the monument, just you and the bronze figure of your father. You don’t say anything — there’s nothing that needs to be said. But in the quiet, you feel a strange sense of peace.

Maybe it’s the years of racing, the laps you’ve turned, the lessons you’ve learned. Or maybe it’s just knowing that people like Lewis exist — people who carry your father’s spirit with them, even though they never knew him.

You brush a hand over the cool surface of the monument, tracing the edge of the plaque with your fingers. “I’m gonna make you proud,” you whisper.

And this time, you believe it.

The wind picks up again as you turn away from the monument, heading back toward the car. Monza is waiting. And so is the rest of your story.

***

The paddock feels like a world unto itself — buzzing with life, engines roaring in the distance, team personnel hurrying from garages to pit walls.

You’re barely a day into your first GP2 weekend with DAMS, and it’s already overwhelming. The DAMS crew is friendly but businesslike, and the constant stream of engineers, mechanics, and journalists passing by your garage is a reminder that you’ve officially stepped onto the big stage.

Your heart pounds as you adjust the collar of your race suit, nerves crawling under your skin. You spent the morning doing seat fittings, debriefs, and media duties, but now you’re finally free for a few minutes before the next round of meetings.

Alain walks beside you, calm and collected as ever, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. He’s been like a steady lighthouse in the chaos of this new chapter, guiding you through the storm with quiet assurance.

“Remember,” Alain says as you both weave through the paddock, “it’s just another race. Keep your focus. Don’t let the noise get to you.”

“Easier said than done,” you mutter, scanning the sea of faces for anyone familiar — or anyone dangerous, like a journalist with too many questions.

Alain smirks knowingly. “That’s why you have me.”

You can’t help but grin, a flicker of relief easing the tension in your chest. Alain’s been by your side for so long now that the idea of navigating a race weekend without him feels unthinkable.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot someone you weren’t expecting: Lewis.

He’s walking toward the McLaren motorhome, surrounded by team personnel and a PR officer trailing closely behind, clipboard in hand. You see the moment recognition flickers in his eyes — he stops mid-step, gaze locking on you like he’s just solved a puzzle.

“Y/N?” He calls, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Alain glances sideways at you, bemused, but you can’t help the small, slightly guilty smile tugging at your lips. You wave at Lewis, feeling a little awkward but genuinely happy to see him.

Lewis strides over, his PR officer groaning softly but trailing after him anyway. “I thought I’d see you around here eventually,” Lewis says with a grin. “Didn’t think it would be so soon.”

You shrug, playing it casual. “Surprise.”

His eyes flick to Alain, standing quietly beside you. “And you … know Alain Prost?”

Alain raises a polite eyebrow, but there’s an amused glint in his eye, as if waiting to see how you’ll answer this one.

You shift on your feet, aware of Lewis’ confusion. “Yeah, he’s … been my mentor for years.” You keep your explanation vague, not ready to drop the full truth just yet.

Lewis frowns slightly, processing the unexpected connection. “You’ve been working with Alain Prost?”

You nod. “Since I was a kid.”

Lewis lets out a low whistle, looking between the two of you with new appreciation. “Wow. That explains a lot.”

Before you can respond, his PR officer steps in, clipboard clutched tightly in one hand. “Lewis, we really need to-”

Lewis waves her off without breaking eye contact with you. “Five more minutes. It’s fine.”

The woman hesitates, then sighs in frustration and backs away to give him space. Lewis turns his full attention back to you, his easy grin returning.

“So, GP2, huh?” He asks, hands on his hips. “How’s it feel to finally be here?”

“Terrifying,” you admit with a laugh. “But also kind of amazing.”

“That’s how you know you’re in the right place,” Lewis says, his tone encouraging. “The nerves mean you care.”

Alain watches the exchange quietly, and you can tell he’s measuring Lewis, sizing him up — not in a competitive way, but in that protective way he’s always had with you. It’s subtle, but you know Alain well enough to see it.

“I’ll make sure to catch the feature race,” Lewis promises, his grin widening. “I’ll be cheering you on.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying not to show how much that means to you. “Oh yeah? You sure you have time to slum it with us junior drivers?”

Lewis laughs, genuinely amused. “Come on, now. I started in GP2, remember? I know exactly how tough it is.”

“Guess I’ll have to put on a good show, then.”

“You better,” Lewis says, mock-serious. “Otherwise I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

The two of you share a quick, easy laugh, and for a moment the chaos of the paddock fades into the background. It’s just two drivers, standing in the middle of it all, sharing a moment of understanding.

“You’re going to crush it,” Lewis adds, his voice low and certain.

Something in his tone makes you believe it — makes the nerves that have been simmering all day settle, if only for a moment.

Alain clears his throat softly, a reminder that time is ticking. “We need to get back to the team,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

Lewis nods, taking the hint but not before offering you one last smile. “Good luck, Y/N. I’ll see you out there.”

You return the smile, feeling lighter than you have all day. “Thanks, Lewis.”

He gives Alain a respectful nod before turning to leave, his McLaren team falling into step around him as he disappears into the paddock.

As you watch him go, Alain leans in slightly, his voice quiet but laced with amusement. “Friend of yours?”

You smirk, still watching Lewis disappear into the crowd. “Something like that.”

Alain chuckles, and the sound is warm, familiar — like the engine note of a car you’ve driven a thousand times.

“Come on,” he says, nudging your shoulder gently. “We have work to do.”

You follow Alain back toward the DAMS garage, the nerves still there but tempered now with something else — excitement, anticipation, maybe even a little confidence.

Because this is your moment. Your chance to show the world what you can do. And with people like Alain and Lewis in your corner, you know you’re not facing it alone.

***

The Bahrain sun beats down relentlessly, the heat pressing against your skin even through your race suit. Sweat clings to your brow, mixing with the overwhelming, heady cocktail of fuel, rubber, and victory. You’re breathless, exhausted — but none of that matters.

You did it. You won.

The feature race trophy feels almost weightless in your hands as you stand on the podium, the sound of the Brazilian anthem thundering in your ears. The cameras flash, the crowd cheers, and for the first time since you entered GP2, you allow yourself to savor the moment. You close your eyes for a second, letting the anthem sink deep into your bones, and think of your father.

When the rose water sprays, it feels like you’ve broken through a barrier — proof to yourself and to the world that you belong here. That you’re not just someone chasing the shadow of a name, but a racer in your own right.

The post-race chaos is a blur — interviews, debriefs, more interviews. It’s not until you’re finally allowed to step away from the DAMS garage, damp with sweat and floral liquid, that the realization hits you again: you won your first GP2 race. The adrenaline still courses through your veins, but beneath it, there’s a quiet hum of contentment.

You round the corner of the paddock, searching for a quiet moment to collect yourself — when a familiar voice calls your name.

“Y/N!”

You turn, and there he is: Lewis, dressed casually in his McLaren team kit, that signature grin stretched across his face. His eyes are bright under the paddock lights, and his presence feels like a cool breeze against the heat of Bahrain.

Before you can say anything, he’s already jogging up to you, wrapping you in a quick, spontaneous hug. The smell of his cologne lingers in the air between you — spicy and warm, like cedar and citrus.

“That was incredible!” Lewis says, pulling back to look at you. “Seriously, you drove like a pro out there.”

You grin, still catching your breath. “You saw the whole race?”

“Of course I did.” He says it like it’s obvious, as if there was no way he could have missed it. “I told you I’d be cheering you on, didn’t I?”

“Guess I didn’t disappoint, then,” you say, teasing.

“Not even a little.” His grin softens into something warmer, more personal.

The way he looks at you — like he’s genuinely proud — makes your chest tighten, but not in a bad way. It’s strange, but comforting, the way he’s here, grounding you in the whirlwind of it all.

“Come on,” Lewis says, gesturing toward the paddock hospitality area. “You deserve a proper celebration. We’ll grab something to drink, at least — water, preferably, because you look like you’re about to melt.”

You laugh. “Thanks for the concern, but I’m not passing out just yet.”

“Still,” he insists, walking beside you. “Gotta take care of the winner, right?”

You follow him, your steps lighter than they’ve felt all weekend. It’s easy with Lewis — talking, walking, just existing in the same space. You can’t tell if it’s the lingering buzz of the win or something else entirely, but there’s a sense of ease between you that you haven’t felt with anyone in a long time.

He leads you to one of the quieter corners of the paddock, where a small group of McLaren personnel are relaxing. Lewis grabs two water bottles from a nearby cooler and tosses one your way.

“Catch.”

You catch it easily, the cool plastic a relief against your palm. “Thanks.”

Lewis leans against the back of a chair, his posture relaxed, but there’s a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. “So … how does it feel?”

“To win?” You twist the cap off your bottle and take a sip. “Like … I don’t know. Like I can finally breathe again.”

He nods, like he knows exactly what you mean. “First win’s always special. But there’ll be more. I can feel it.”

You tilt your head, amused. “You think you’re a psychic now?”

Lewis chuckles. “Nope. Just good at spotting talent.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s no denying the warmth his words spark inside you. You glance away for a moment, trying to shake the strange flutter in your chest.

“So,” he says after a beat, “what’s next? A second win in Spain?”

“I mean, that’d be nice,” you say, grinning. “But I’ll settle for finishing with all my wheels intact.”

“Good plan,” Lewis agrees, laughing. “That track’s a nightmare.”

The conversation drifts easily from there, flowing from racing to random paddock gossip to stories from his early days in GP2. You’re both standing close — closer than two people probably need to stand. But it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. In fact, it feels … nice.

He pauses for a second, watching you with that thoughtful expression he gets sometimes, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on beneath the surface.

“You’re really something, you know that?” He says softly, almost like it’s just for you to hear.

The words catch you off guard, and you feel your cheeks warm under the intensity of his gaze.

“Just doing my best,” you say, trying to play it off, but your voice sounds quieter than you intended.

Lewis’ eyes linger on yours for a moment longer, and there’s a flicker of something between you — something unspoken, but not unwelcome.

Before either of you can say anything more, a loud cheer erupts from a nearby group of mechanics, jolting you both back to the present. You laugh, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers.

“Guess the celebration’s already started,” you say, motioning toward the rowdy crowd.

Lewis grins. “Looks like it. You coming?”

You hesitate, not because you don’t want to celebrate, but because part of you likes this quiet bubble you and Lewis have found.

“I think I might stay here for a bit,” you say, leaning against the wall and taking another sip of water.

Lewis doesn’t move to leave. Instead, he stays where he is, like maybe he feels the same pull to stay in this moment, too.

“You know,” he says after a beat, his voice low and a little more serious, “I meant what I said earlier. About you being something special.”

You meet his gaze, and there’s no teasing in his expression now — just quiet sincerity.

“Thanks,” you say softly, the word not nearly enough to convey what you’re feeling.

He holds your gaze for a second longer, then gives you a small, crooked smile. “Guess I’ll just have to keep watching and see what you do next.”

“Guess so.”

And just like that, the air shifts between you — charged with possibility, like the moment before a green flag drops.

You don’t know what’s coming next, but for the first time in a long time, you’re not afraid of it. Not when Lewis is standing here, smiling at you like you’re the most interesting thing in the world.

And somehow, you think, this might just be the start of something worth chasing.

***

It’s late in the evening, and the Monaco paddock has fallen into a rare lull. The energy of race day — mechanics scrambling, journalists hounding drivers, engines screaming — has settled into a quiet hum. Most people have retreated to their yachts or hotel rooms by now, leaving only the occasional team member wandering through the maze of garages and hospitality areas.

You sit with Lewis on the edge of the harbor, the two of you tucked away from prying eyes. The water laps gently against the docks, and the principality’s golden lights reflect across the surface like scattered coins. Neither of you say anything for a while, content to let the quiet fill the spaces between you.

It’s been like this more often lately — stolen moments between races, conversations that drift into the small hours of the morning, and the unspoken pull that keeps you near each other, even when there’s no real reason to be.

Lewis shifts beside you, resting his forearms on his knees. “You ever just sit somewhere and wonder how the hell you got here?” He asks, breaking the silence.

You glance at him, the glow of the streetlights catching the sharp angles of his face. “All the time.”

He gives a small laugh, running a hand over his braids. “Monaco’s something else, isn’t it?”

You nod, hugging your knees to your chest. “Feels like the kind of place people dream about … like it’s not even real.”

He looks over at you then, his gaze lingering a moment too long. “Yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Not sure what’s real sometimes.”

There’s something heavy in his voice, something unspoken. And for the first time tonight, the quiet between you doesn’t feel as comfortable. It feels loaded, like you’re both waiting for the other to say something neither of you know how to say.

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. “You okay?”

Lewis exhales slowly, glancing out over the water. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

He hesitates, like he’s not sure how to begin. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately … about the future. About what I want, and where I want to be.”

You shift closer to him, sensing that this isn’t just idle talk. “What do you mean?”

He leans back on his hands, staring at the water like it might hold the answer. “I’ve been with McLaren my whole career. Since I was a kid. But … I don’t know. Lately, it feels like I’m stuck. Like I’ve hit a wall.”

You frown. “What are you saying?”

He looks at you then, and there’s something raw in his expression — something vulnerable. “I’ve decided to leave McLaren at the end of the season. I’m signing with Mercedes.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and unexpected. You blink, trying to process what he just said. “Mercedes?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah.”

“But … McLaren’s your home.”

Lewis shrugs, but there’s a sadness in his eyes. “It was. But things change. And if I don’t take this chance now … I think I’ll always wonder what could’ve been.”

You stare at him, your mind spinning. “Do people know yet?”

He shakes his head. “Not many. Just a few people on the team. I wanted to tell you before it got out, though.”

You chew on your bottom lip, absorbing the weight of his words. “That’s a big decision, Lewis.”

“I know.” He looks at you, his gaze steady. “But it feels like the right one. Even if it’s scary as hell.”

You let out a breath, feeling a strange mix of emotions — pride, worry, something you can’t quite name. “Well … if it’s what you want, I guess it’s the right move.”

He smiles, but it’s a small, almost hesitant thing. “Thanks.”

The silence stretches between you again, but this time it feels different. Like something has shifted — not just because of what he said, but because of the way he’s looking at you now.

“You’ve been there for me a lot lately,” he says softly. “I don’t think I’ve said how much that means to me.”

Your heart beats a little faster. “It’s no big deal.”

“It is to me.” His voice is low, and there’s something in his gaze that makes your breath catch.

He shifts slightly closer, and suddenly the space between you feels impossibly small. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, the subtle brush of his shoulder against yours.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You look up at him, and the world seems to narrow down to just this — just the two of you, sitting on the edge of the harbor, the night air thick with something electric.

And then, slowly — almost hesitantly — he leans in.

For a split second, you think about pulling away, about the million reasons why this might not be a good idea. But before you can overthink it, his lips brush against yours.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll pull away. But when you don’t, he deepens it, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face.

It’s not the kind of kiss that demands anything — it’s the kind that promises everything.

When you finally pull back, your heart is racing, and your mind feels like it’s spinning in a thousand different directions.

Lewis looks at you, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admits, his breath warm against your skin.

You smile, feeling a strange mix of exhilaration and disbelief. “Yeah?”

He nods, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of you move, caught in the quiet aftermath of the kiss. The world around you feels distant, like it’s just the two of you, floating in your own little bubble.

Finally, Lewis pulls back slightly, though his hand lingers on your face. “So … what now?”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound light and easy. “I have no idea.”

He grins, and it’s the kind of smile that makes your chest feel warm. “Guess we’ll figure it out, then.”

You nod, your heart still racing. “Yeah. I guess we will.”

And somehow, even though nothing feels certain — his future, your career, whatever this thing is between you — there’s a strange sense of peace in the not knowing.

Because whatever happens next, you know you’ll face it together.

***

The air in the McLaren garage is thick with anticipation. Cameras are set up, media personnel are adjusting their equipment, and there’s a palpable buzz in the air as the press conference prepares to start. You stand just behind the curtain, your heart racing. You can hear the hum of voices in the room beyond, reporters murmuring to one another, waiting for the big reveal.

The past few months have felt like a whirlwind — a blur of contract negotiations, meetings with McLaren’s team principal, and the quiet, creeping excitement of finally getting the chance to do what you’ve always dreamed of. But now that the moment is here, the weight of it is settling in. You’re not just about to become the first woman in F1 in decades, you’re about to step into the spotlight as Ayrton Senna’s daughter.

You take a deep breath, glancing down at the McLaren-branded polo shirt you’re wearing, the crisp fabric somehow making everything feel more real. This is happening. After all the years of hard work, all the sacrifices, you’re about to make history.

Alain stands beside you, his face calm, but his hand on your shoulder is firm and reassuring. “You ready?” He asks, his voice low, but steady.

You nod, swallowing down the nerves. “I think so.”

“Just remember why you’re doing this,” he says softly, his eyes meeting yours. “This is about you. Not your father. Not anyone else. You.”

You offer him a small smile. Alain’s always been good at grounding you, at reminding you that you’ve earned this, regardless of who your father was. He’s been there through it all — your highs and lows, your victories and failures. And now, here he is, standing beside you as you take this monumental step.

The curtains part, and the team principal, Martin Whitmarsh, steps onto the stage. The room quiets as he approaches the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today,” he begins, his voice carrying through the room. “It’s not often we get to announce something of this magnitude. Today, McLaren is proud to welcome a new driver to our team for the 2013 season. Not only will she be the first woman to compete in Formula 1 in over 20 years, but she’s also someone with a legacy that speaks for itself.”

There’s a murmur of curiosity from the crowd, and you know the moment is coming. The reveal. The truth that you’ve kept hidden, even from the people closest to you.

“Please join me in welcoming, Y/N Senna.”

The sound of your name, followed by your father’s, echoes through the room like a ripple of shock. For a brief moment, there’s stunned silence. Then, the cameras start flashing, the murmurs turn into a roar, and all eyes are on you.

You step onto the stage, trying to steady your breath. The weight of the announcement, of who you are, feels heavier than you expected. But you push through, meeting the gaze of the journalists, the photographers, the team members standing off to the side. You can’t see him from here, but you know Alain is watching from the wings, his quiet support steadying you.

Whitmarsh continues speaking, but the words blur together as your mind races. It’s not until you hear the murmured whispers in the back of the room that your attention snaps back.

“Senna?”

“Ayrton’s daughter?”

“Why didn’t anyone know?”

As the press conference wraps up, and you’re led off stage, the questions start flooding in. Journalists swarm, desperate for a quote, for more insight into the mystery that you’ve kept hidden for so long.

But before you can respond to any of them, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“Y/N.”

You freeze, your heart dropping. You know that voice. You turn slowly, and there he is — Lewis, standing just a few feet away, his face unreadable.

The PR team tries to shuffle you away, but you shake them off, making your way over to him. “Lewis …”

He cuts you off, his expression dark. “You’ve been racing for all these years, and you never thought to tell me? Not once?”

The sting of his words catches you off guard, and you open your mouth to respond, but he continues, his voice low but sharp. “I thought we were close. I thought we were-” He stops, running a hand over his face. “You let me fall for you, and you didn’t even tell me who you really are.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. “Lewis, it wasn’t like that-”

“Wasn’t it?” He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours, hurt and confusion written all over his face. “I get it, okay? You didn’t want people to treat you differently because of your name. But me? I thought we were past that.”

“I didn’t want to use my father’s name to get ahead,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “I wanted to make a name for myself, first. And I didn’t tell you because … because I didn’t want it to change how you saw me.”

“Well, it’s changed everything now,” he snaps, his voice tight with anger. “I thought I knew you, but clearly, I didn’t.”

You take a step back, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. “Lewis, please. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Didn’t mean to hurt me? You’re Ayrton Senna’s daughter, and you never even mentioned it once. How could you keep something like that from me?”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill over. “I didn’t want it to come between us.”

“Well, it has,” he says, his voice quieter now, but still laced with pain. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

You stare at him, your chest tightening. The distance between you feels insurmountable now, like a chasm that you don’t know how to cross.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Lewis looks at you for a long moment, his expression softening slightly, but the hurt still lingers in his eyes. “I need some time,” he says finally, his voice rough. “I just … I need to figure this out.”

You nod, the tears finally spilling over. “Okay.”

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your heart heavy and your world spinning.

As you watch him go, you can’t help but wonder if things will ever be the same between you.

***

The air at Imola is still. The late-summer heat clings to your skin, and the only sounds around you are the distant hum of cicadas and the soft crunch of leaves underfoot as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. You stare at the stone memorial, the bronze relief of your father’s face, the flowers people have left here over the years. Some are wilted, some fresh. There’s even a small Brazilian flag tucked against the base.

You exhale slowly, your hands stuffed deep into the pockets of your jacket. It’s been exactly a year since you first stood here, heart in your throat, hoping to find some kind of connection, some kind of clarity. The weight of the past year presses down on you now — signing with McLaren, the media frenzy, the fallout with Lewis.

And Papai. Always Papai.

You kneel, brushing a hand over the smooth stone, fingers tracing the engraved letters. “I made it,” you whisper. “I’m almost there.” Your voice catches on the words, a lump forming in your throat. “I wish you were here to see it.”

You close your eyes, trying to imagine what he’d say if he were standing beside you. Maybe he’d be proud. Maybe he’d tell you to push harder, go faster, never settle. Or maybe he’d tell you to slow down, to find a way to reconnect with your mother before it’s too late. But he’s not here. That’s the problem, isn’t it?

A soft rustling sound pulls you from your thoughts. Footsteps, deliberate but hesitant, approach from behind, crunching through the dry leaves scattered on the ground. You turn, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s Lewis.

He’s wearing a hoodie, hands tucked into the front pocket, his brows peeking out from beneath a baseball cap. He stops a few feet away, his dark brown eyes meeting yours. There’s something guarded in his expression, but there’s warmth there, too.

You straighten slowly, your heart hammering in your chest. “What are you doing here?”

Lewis shrugs, his gaze flickering to the memorial and back to you. “Monza’s coming up. Thought I’d stop by first … like I always do.”

The tension between you feels like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap at any second. For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence stretching out like a canyon.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” you finally say, your voice quieter than you intended.

He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours. “I didn’t think I’d see you here, either.”

You bite your lip, looking away toward the memorial. “I needed to. Before the race. I … I haven’t been here since last year.”

Lewis shifts, the soft scrape of his shoes against the ground. “I remember.”

The air feels heavy between you, thick with all the things you haven’t said to each other. The words are right there on the tip of your tongue, but they feel tangled, impossible to untangle without breaking.

Lewis is the first to speak again, his voice soft but steady. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About what happened. About everything.”

You swallow hard, your hands clenching into fists in your pockets. “Me too.”

“I was angry,” Lewis admits. “Hurt, too. But … I get it now. Why you didn’t tell me.”

His words catch you off guard, and you glance at him, surprised. “You do?”

He nods slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “I know what it’s like to feel like you have to prove yourself, like the world’s already decided who you are before you even get a chance to show them. I just … I wish you’d trusted me with it.”

“I wanted to,” you say, your voice cracking slightly. “I did. But … it’s complicated.” You look down, kicking at a stray leaf with your shoe. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure out how to be his daughter without being defined by it. And now … now it’s all out there.”

Lewis steps closer, closing the gap between you. “You’re not just his daughter, Y/N. You’re you. And that’s who I fell for.”

The warmth in his voice makes your chest tighten. You blink quickly, trying to keep the tears at bay, but it’s no use. They spill over anyway, and you wipe at them angrily with the sleeve of your jacket.

“It’s not just about the name,” you whisper. “Racing … it’s all I’ve ever wanted. But it’s also what took me away from my mom.” You take a shaky breath, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “She can’t even look at me without seeing him. I haven’t had a real conversation with her in years. The last time we talked was my birthday. And it was just a two-minute call.”

Lewis’ face softens, and he reaches out, gently brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, sniffing quietly. “It’s not your fault. It’s just … hard, you know? I love racing, but it feels like it’s cost me everything else.”

He takes another step closer, his hand lingering on your cheek. “You’ve got me,” he murmurs.

You look up at him, your breath catching in your throat. “Do I?”

He smiles softly, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “Yeah. You do.”

The world feels like it tilts for a moment, everything narrowing down to just the two of you standing here, beneath the shadow of your father’s memory. And before you can think too hard about it, before the doubts can creep in, you lean in, closing the distance between you.

The kiss is soft at first — tentative, like neither of you wants to break the fragile peace that’s settled between you. But then his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepens, the weight of everything unsaid dissolving in the warmth of his touch.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathing hard, foreheads resting against each other.

“I missed you,” Lewis whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

“I missed you, too,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away.

Eventually, Lewis pulls back slightly, his hand still cradling the back of your neck. “So … what now?”

You smile, a small, genuine smile that feels like the first one in a long time. “Now … we go win at Monza.”

He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Damn right we will.”

You laugh softly, the sound light and free, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the weight on your chest lifts.

As you stand there, hand in hand with Lewis, you glance back at the memorial one last time. “I think he’d be happy,” you say quietly.

Lewis squeezes your hand gently. “I know he would.”

And just like that, the knot in your chest loosens. You’re still Ayrton Senna’s daughter. But you’re also yourself. And that? That feels like enough.

***

The crowd roars so loudly that it feels like the earth itself is shaking. São Paulo is electric, the grandstands packed with people draped in green and yellow, waving flags, and chanting. You’ve been in big races before, stood on podiums, and tasted victory. But this … this is different.

This is Interlagos. This is home. And for the first time in your career, you’re leading an F1 race in front of your people.

“Alright, Y/N,” your engineer’s voice crackles over the radio. “Five laps to go. Everything looks good on the telemetry. Just bring her home.”

Your heart pounds against your chest as you navigate the tight curves of the circuit. Every bump, every rise, every dip feels familiar. You’ve studied this track since you were a child. This is where your father was a legend — and now, it’s where you can make your own history.

The tires hum beneath you, vibrations pulsing through your hands and feet. The sky is dark with heavy clouds threatening rain, but the track is still dry, for now. Behind you, Sebastian Vettel is chasing hard in second place, his Red Bull a glimmer in your mirrors, but you don’t think about him. Not now. This is about you. About crossing that finish line first.

Four laps. Then three. Every second feels like an eternity. You can hear the crowd over the sound of the engine, their voices rising every time you fly past the grandstands. “SENNA! SENNA!” they chant, over and over, as if your name — your real name — was always meant to be called alongside your father’s.

“Two laps, Y/N. Gap to Vettel is two seconds. Stay focused.”

Your grip tightens on the wheel. You shift gears, your mind and body moving in perfect sync with the machine around you. The wind whistles past your helmet as you race up the hill toward the final turn.

On the final lap, it starts to drizzle — just enough to slick the track and make things dangerous. Your car twitches as the tires search for grip.

“Be careful, Y/N,” your engineer warns. “You’ve got this. Just stay calm.”

You breathe in. Breathe out. And then the chequered flag waves ahead of you, and the world explodes into color and sound.

“P1, Y/N! P1! You’ve won the Brazilian Grand Prix!” Your engineer’s voice is hoarse with excitement. “That was incredible — you just won at home!”

Your heart leaps as tears spring to your eyes. You punch the air, screaming into the radio, not caring who hears. “YES! YES! WE DID IT!”

The car coasts into parc fermé, the engine humming its final notes as you switch it off. You rip off your gloves and helmet, letting the cool air hit your damp face. The grandstands are still shaking with the cheers of thousands. Your name — Senna — is on every banner, every poster, and every fan’s lips.

You climb out of the car, adrenaline still surging through your veins, and jump onto the chassis. The crowd roars even louder as you throw your fists into the air, pointing toward the sky. The thought flashes through your mind: This one’s for you, Papai.

You jump down and make your way to the barriers where your team waits, already celebrating with hugs, fist bumps, and slaps on the back. You push through the throng of mechanics, your heart so full it feels like it might burst. And that’s when you see her.

Among the sea of McLaren team uniforms, standing stiffly with her arms wrapped around herself, is your mother.

Your steps falter for a moment, shock flooding through you. She’s here. She’s really here. You blink, wondering if the tears in your eyes are playing tricks on you, but no — there she is. Adriane.

She’s thinner than you remember, her hair streaked with more silver now. She looks out of place among the mechanics, but she’s here. Her eyes, so much like your own, are filled with something you haven’t seen in years — pride. And something more. Regret.

For a moment, you just stand there, frozen. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry or run the other way. Then her face crumples, and she takes a tentative step forward, her arms reaching for you like she used to when you were small.

That’s all it takes. You close the distance in an instant, throwing yourself into her arms.

“Mãe!” The word leaves your mouth in a sob, and before you know it, you’re both crying, clutching each other like you’re afraid to let go.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers into your hair, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, minha filha. I was wrong. I should’ve-”

You shake your head against her shoulder, holding her tighter. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

She pulls back slightly, cupping your face in her hands like she used to when you were little. “I didn’t think I could do it,” she admits, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I was so afraid I’d lose you too. But then … then I watched you out there today.” Her voice cracks, and she brushes a strand of hair from your face. “And I saw him. I saw Ayrton. But more than that, I saw you. My daughter.”

You can’t speak — your throat feels too tight, and the tears won’t stop. So you just nod, leaning into her touch as the noise of the paddock fades into the background.

Adriane pulls you back into a hug, and for the first time in years, you let yourself feel it — the warmth, the love, the mother you thought you’d lost. And somehow, standing here with her in your arms, it feels like you’ve come full circle.

After a long moment, she pulls back and wipes her tears, a shaky laugh escaping her. “Look at us. Crying like fools.”

You laugh too, sniffling as you wipe your own face. “It’s okay. It’s a good day to cry.”

A voice cuts through the noise — your team calling you for the podium ceremony. You glance over your shoulder, feeling the weight of the moment settle on you. You turn back to your mother, hesitant. “Will you stay?”

She smiles, her eyes still glassy with unshed tears. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You nod, squeezing her hand one last time before you let go and jog toward the podium. The crowd’s roar is deafening as you step up to the top step, your name flashing on the giant screens around the circuit. The Brazilian flag rises slowly, and as the national anthem plays, you close your eyes and let the moment wash over you.

It feels like home. It feels like peace. It feels like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Later, after the champagne has been sprayed and the trophies have been handed out, you find Lewis waiting for you in the paddock, a grin stretching across his face.

“Not bad, Senna,” he teases, pulling you into a warm embrace.

You laugh, pressing your forehead against his. “Not bad yourself, Hamilton.”

The two of you stay like that for a moment, the chaos of the paddock swirling around you, but all you can feel is the steady beat of his heart against yours.

“Your dad would be proud,” Lewis murmurs, his voice soft in your ear.

You smile, closing your eyes. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I think he would be.”

***

The sun is setting over Monaco, casting the apartment in soft golds and pinks. You let yourself in quietly, the cool metal of the front door clicking shut behind you. Training was brutal today — your arms ache, and every muscle feels like it’s been wrung out. All you want is to find Lewis, maybe curl up on the couch together and recover with some takeaway.

You kick off your sneakers, already untying the knot in your ponytail, when you hear voices from the living room. You pause mid-step.

Lewis is talking to someone — no, two people. You creep forward on silent feet, heart quickening as the voices grow clearer.

“-I love her more than anything,” Lewis says, his voice low but certain. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

Your breath catches. You flatten yourself against the wall, just out of sight. It feels like you’ve stepped into some kind of dream, one where the pieces of your life are rearranging themselves into something both surreal and perfect.

Then you hear your mother’s voice — gentler than it used to be, softened by time and the walls you’ve slowly chipped away.

“You want my blessing?” Adriane says, her words slow, as if she’s tasting them, feeling their weight.

“I do,” Lewis replies. “I wanted to ask both of you. It felt right.”

Both of them? You inch closer, daring to peek around the corner. And there they are — Lewis, sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees, looking more serious than you’ve ever seen him. Across from him sit your mother and Alain, side by side like a pair of mismatched bookends.

Alain leans back, arms folded, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he’s trying not to smile. “You realize what you’re getting into?” He asks dryly. “She’s more stubborn than Ayrton ever was.”

Lewis chuckles, but it’s a little nervous. “Yeah, I know.”

Adriane tilts her head, studying him like she’s trying to see through to his soul. “And if she says no?”

Lewis’ face softens, a quiet kind of love settling into his expression. “Then I’ll still be with her. Because I don’t need her to marry me to know she’s it for me.”

Something cracks open inside you. It feels like standing on the podium in Brazil all over again — overwhelming and humbling and impossibly full. You press a hand to your mouth, as if that will steady the emotion threatening to spill over.

Your mother leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. There’s a moment of silence so thick it hums.

“When Y/N was seven,” she begins slowly, “she told me she wanted to race. I told her no. I thought if I kept her away from the track, I could protect her from the same thing that took Ayrton from me.” She sighs, her gaze dropping to her hands. “But all I did was push her away.”

Alain clears his throat, glancing sideways at her. “It’s not easy,” he murmurs, more to Adriane than to Lewis. “Loving someone who belongs to the track.”

Your mother nods, her eyes glassy. “But you’ve made her happy. You’ve given her the space to be who she’s always wanted to be.” She pauses, blinking quickly. “And I see Ayrton in that. In you.”

Lewis rubs the back of his neck, clearly moved but trying not to show it. “That means more than you know.”

“And you promise me something,” Adriane says, her voice gaining strength, as if she’s gathering all her fears into this one request. “That you’ll never try to stop her. Not when things get hard. Not when it scares you.”

Lewis leans forward, looking her dead in the eye. “I swear. I’d never take that from her.”

Your mother exhales, like a weight she’s carried for years is finally lifting off her shoulders. “Then you have my blessing,” she says quietly.

Alain smirks, slapping Lewis on the back. “Looks like you’re in for the ride of your life.”

They laugh softly, the kind of laugh that comes with hard-won understanding.

And that’s when the floorboard under your foot creaks.

All three heads whip toward the sound, and you’re caught, frozen halfway between hiding and stepping forward.

Lewis’ eyes widen, and then a slow, guilty smile spreads across his face. “How long have you been standing there?”

You step fully into the room, arms crossed but fighting back a grin. “Long enough to hear that you’re plotting something.”

Alain chuckles, standing up and brushing off his jeans. “I think that’s my cue to leave.” He winks at you, patting Lewis on the shoulder as he makes his way toward the door. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Alain,” Lewis mutters, rubbing his palms against his thighs, clearly nervous now.

Your mother rises as well, hesitating for a moment. She looks at you, her eyes soft. “I’ll call you later,” she murmurs, reaching out to squeeze your hand briefly before following Alain out the door.  

And then it’s just you and Lewis, standing in the golden light of your apartment, the door clicking shut behind your mother and Alain.  

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep your voice light. “So … what was all that about?”  

Lewis steps closer, and suddenly the nervous energy from earlier melts away. He takes your hand, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your palm.  

“Y/N …” he begins, and there’s something so tender in the way he says your name that it makes your heart skip a beat. “I wanted to do this the right way. To ask the people who mean the mos to you.”  

Your breath catches as he drops to one knee, right there in the middle of your living room.  

He pulls a small box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a ring that catches the light like starlight on water. It’s simple, elegant, and perfect.  

Lewis looks up at you, his dark eyes filled with love, nerves, and hope. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you at Imola. And I want to spend every day from now on making you as happy as you’ve made me.”  

You cover your mouth with your hand, tears already welling up in your eyes.  

“So,” he says with a smile that’s both warm and a little crooked. “What do you say? Will you marry me?”  

For a moment, all you can do is nod, words caught somewhere between your heart and your throat. Then you finally find your voice.  

“Yes,” you whisper, your smile breaking wide and free. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

Lewis’ grin lights up the room, and he stands, slipping the ring onto your finger before pulling you into his arms. You kiss him, slow and deep, and in that moment, it feels like everything — the years of struggle, of loss, of love — has brought you to exactly where you’re supposed to be.

When you finally pull away, breathless and giddy, Lewis leans his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your face.

“Guess Alain was right,” he murmurs, grinning. “This really is the ride of my life.”

You laugh, pure and full, wrapping your arms around him tighter. “Buckle up, Hamilton,” you tease. “It’s only just getting started.”

[bunnis-monsters]

Legend of the Drider(Pt2)

Male!Drider x Fem!Reader

Kofi Request

Pt 1

summary: the aftermath of mating with the drider of myth

wk: 800+ words

Life with your drider lover was surprisingly… fulfilling,

After successfully being able to carry his clutch of eggs, he was happier than ever with you. Since mating with you, he had been treating you like a princess.

No… a queen.

Although he had already mated with you, the creature was a traditional man, going about the courting process one normally would in his culture.

The first thing he did was find an abandoned cabin. You needed somewhere safe and comfortable to live, especially as the fall started to change into the unforgiving winter. Being high up in the mountains meant it was rough, and he wanted his mate to be warm and happy while carrying his clutch.

The cabin wasn’t anything special, and you’d have to do some renovations before it would be livable. Thankfully your mate had collected many trinkets, coins, and random wallets containing large sums of money. It was a courting present to you, and it all went to repairing the cabin.

Once it was livable, he was determined to keep you under him and warm at all times. He was almost like a cat, trying to lay in your lap and rub his scent on you.

“Heavy…” you whimpered, causing him to slowly skitter back a bit. He lowered himself, sitting on the ground so his torso was level with you on the couch.

“Better?”

You nodded, kissing his cheek.

Sex was a common occurrence, and he had the strange urge to tie you up and stuff you full of more eggs. He knew you were already carrying his clutch, but the scent of your pregnancy hormones made him go wild.

Feeling his fangs press against your neck, you let out a soft mewl. He loved giving you a low dose of his aphrodisiac venom to make you squirm while he pushed his cock into you.

His hands stayed on your belly, rubbing gently while he kissed the bite marks he had left on your neck, lapping up the little pinpricks of blood.

“Such a sweet thing… how I adore you.”

He was soft and sweet with you, always making sure your pregnancy cravings were taken care of and you felt loved. His heart swelled with pride to see you so content and well taken care of, proving that he was a good mate and providing you with everything you needed.

It was easy to take your college classes online, and even though your lover got a bit sulky when you said you eventually wanted to follow your dreams and become a photographer, he did everything in his power to make it happen.

While your babies grew in your belly, your lover began producing tons of spider silk. He confessed that he learned to knit from one of the females, and started making little sweaters for all of your babies.

Some baby driders came out fully independent, which made you sad to think about. You had severe pregnancy hormones and you wanted to mother some baby spiders damn it!

He reassured you that his species required motherly care, and that because he had mated a human, the babies would be more human-like.

The cabin became less like a place to live in and more of a home. Your lover hunted at night, and slept through most of the day. He was such a clingy thing, curling with you and whining if you got up to pee at night. He hated being away from you for even a second… especially as his paternal instincts started kicking in.

Recently he had been aggressive towards any other creature that dared to come near the cabin, and started building a nest out of his silk webs so you’d have somewhere comfortable to give birth.

As your due date drew nearer, he grew more possessive and territorial, making sure to scent and mark you. It wasn’t often that you had any time for yourself, he was inconsolable when you experienced even the slightest pain.

“I don’t want you to be in pain, love. I’m so sorry, I know it’ll hurt to give birth… I wish I could make it all go away.”

He was with you for the whole process, his hand in yours as you gave birth to 3 healthy drider babies. They were small, with the cutest little spider legs and chubby cheeks. Each fussed and cried as they entered the world, already seeking comfort from you, their mother.

From that moment on, everything seemed to click into place. Your little ones nursed as you teared up a bit. You had brought these little ones into the world, and your lover couldn’t be more happy with it.

“Do you think I’ll be a good mother?”

Your question was met with a chuckle. Your love leaned down to nuzzle against you, his eyes half lidded with contentment.

“I don’t think so, I know you will.”

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat

[alexiapp]

Next Step With You

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: You and Alexia finally have the talk about Kids…

Note: I’ve been gone for so fucking long because of how insanely busy i’ve been but, i’m totally hoping on posting constantly and not keeping empty promises 😭..i’ve had an insane amount of writers block also so keep that in mind!! This isn’t my best work but it’ll have to do !

You never thought that you would be in love. You thought you were unlovable or maybe incapable of finding your ‘true one’. You presumed that maybe it was your strong personality or your high standards that caused these problems. You always had trouble with relationships, and had a couple horror stories when it came to your past love life. You always that you were the problem, until you met Alexia. She made you feel something that you never thought you would be able to experience. You felt giddy inside, and content. There wasn’t a dull moment between her and I.

Alexia was charming, and very charismatic and she also has a strong personality which drew you into her. Recently you guys have been entering a new chapter of your relationship. This year would be marking the 4th year you have been together. You couldn’t see your life without Alexia, it just wouldn’t feel right. You wanted to bring new milestones to you guys relationship. Everything you envision had Alexia in it.

You wanted to add an addition to you guys relationship badly..You wanted to build a family between the two of you. You only started feeling this way until you saw how attentive Alexia was towards kids, it always made you wonder how she’d be if you guys had kids. You knew deep down in your heart that Alexia would be an amazing mother, but you didn’t know if Alexia wanted to take that next step with you or if she was even ready. It’s something you’ve been hesitant to bring up, these loud thoughts always stayed in the back of your mind. You don’t wanna scare her away..imagine how crazy you’d looked if she didn’t feel the same way..i mean what if she thought you were a total nut case. This steered you away from Alexia, making you kind of cold and distance.

This situation made you second guess a lot of things. You took an immature approach, usually the average person would talk it out with there significant other in an healthy manner, but you being you, were quite stubborn and decided to isolate yourself. You started declining her offers to go out when she put the idea out there. You guys once long text messages turned into short and brief on your end no matter how hard the poor woman tried to carry the conversation.

You assumed Alexia didn’t notice how cold you’ve been ..Oh boy were you wrong. She was was in deep stress her mind was constantly racing wondering what she could’ve possibly done wrong. Trying to remember moments where she could’ve possibly said the wrong thing that might’ve hurt or offended you in any way. She was determined to get to the bottom of this and handle it quickly, she genuinely couldn’t take not having you around any longer.

After settling down and drowning in her thoughts she decided the only way to get your attention is by catching you at in unexpected moment. She decided she’d venture to your apartment without giving you any head’s up. She didn’t want you to find another excuse to brush her off and ignore her, she wanted to talk to you and get you back. She was determined and ready to do whatever it takes.

The determined blonde quickly grabbed her phone and car keys headed straight for your flat ready to corner you.

You were brought out of a day dream when you heard a knock on your apartment door. You got up and walked over to your door with confusion written all over your face. You weren’t expecting a visitor or any packages. Shock washed over you when you were met with a very agitated and worried blonde. The last person you wanted to see.

Your once confused face was replaced with a very shocked expression.

“Um..hi?” you muttered out in surprise at what you were faced with.

“Why have you been ignoring me” Said the hazel eyed woman as she pushed through into your apartment door.

“i..i haven’t been, i’ve just been very busy i-“ you said as you staggered your words.

“Don’t like to me, you know how much i hate when people lie” the blonde woman said cutting you off in your lousy excuse as to why you haven’t been very present in you guys relationship.

“You’ve been brushing me off, you’ve been texting me less and less. I want to know what i did wrong so i could fix it”. She said with fury in her voice.

“There’s nothing you can do, to stop me from me feeling how i feel right now Alexia” You said nervously.

“Then what is it! I need to know what it is so we can fix it. I want us to fix this” she said waving her hand between you and her.

“I feel like if i tell you what it is, our relationship would be over” you said with a meek expression.

“amor whatever it is we can try and get past it, i just have to know” she said gently as she walked towards you grabbing your hands as a form of comfort. She could tell you were nervous about what you wanted to say next.

“There’s things that i want to do in our relationship that you might not be ready for Alexia, and i don’t want that to jeopardize what we have.” You said conflicted on weather you should open up to her or not

“Hey, no matter what is bothering you, we can fix it and hopefully move past it..i promise” she said as she rubbed her thumb across my hand.

“I want us to have kids..i want to have kids with you, and i didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to scare you off i didn’t want you to think i’m so crazy person. I see myself starting a family with you..” You said with fear in your voice. You were almost quivering with fear on how she would react. You were shut down when you heard the woman in front of you hysterically laugh.

Oh no…she thought you were a joke, she must think you’re a loser..you told yourself, emotions bathing in a pool insecurity. You broke your hand away from her turning away in rejection. “ I knew this would happen, i just knew you wouldn’t take me seriously” you said with hurt and regret in your voice.

You turned your body away from her not wanting her to see how hurt you truly were.

“I’m sorry, come here” she said trying to make you turn towards her.

“i’m not laughing at you about what you said, i’m laughing because why wouldn’t you think i want that also?” she said chuckling lightly. She placed her fairly large hands on her face cupping your cheeks softly and said “why would i want to do that. There isn’t anyone i wouldn’t rather start a family with” she said shaking her head at your ridiculousness.

“I just thought that maybe you’d think that we’re moving to fast, i was just scared” you said looking into her hazel eyes.

“vale, firstly their isn’t anyway i could see life without you..let alone my future with you not being in it, if you told me how you felt ahead of time this wouldn’t be our outcome” she said has she brushed her thumb against your cheekbone

“Amor, you have to communicate with me when you’re feeling this vale ?” she said shaking her head to try to get me to understand. Which i nodded in response.

I leaned in and pecked the blonde’s lips, you were suddenly thrown over her shoulder, making you giggle in surprise “Let’s practice making that baby sí!” as she carried you to your apartment bedroom.

I’ll grammar check later !!

[unoislazy]

Your Touch

Mizu x Reader

Summary: Mizu is touchstarved. That’s it, that’s the entire thing.

A/n: Next story will hopefully be “Caged Bird” part 3, then I will finally post one of the asks that I took an interest in.

————————————————————

You looked at Mizu, her dark hair pulled up into the high bun it was always in. The loose curl that she always kept out no matter what the occasion, lightly bounced as she walked by, focused on whatever task she had to finish.

You watched and looked on with curiosity, you wondered if she had ever done a different hairstyle on her hair before. You thought a braid might compliment her features, or even half up, you had many ideas and suddenly you were determined to try them.

Well that would require Mizu’s permission first.

“Hey Mizu.” You began, drawing out each syllable of her name to quickly pass on the hint that what you were going to say wasn’t serious.

She paused for a moment, putting down a large box and wiping her brow before looking at you. Her eyebrow rose ever so slightly, her curiosity was piqued despite her not saying a word.

“Have you ever worn your hair differently?” You asked. She simply stared at you for a moment before shrugging,

“A few different times. I just can't really afford to when I’m doing ‘samurai’ things.” She said in air quotes. She never enjoyed calling herself a samurai, for one thing most of the time she purely acted out of the name of revenge not honor. Another, she’s a woman.

Personally, you didn’t really care about the rules of a samurai, you respected them and their ambition but the ones you had met in the past were more focused on their honor over anything else. It had only hit you when you had met Taigen, he was so obsessed with reclaiming his honor like a disowned child that he practically abandoned his engagement. You didn’t understand it, what good is honor if it can be taken away so quickly.

You looked up at Mizu who seemed to be deep in thought. You figured she was just thinking of the different styles she had done before, but her face held a certain sadness as she thought. You began to realize that there was a story attached to the topic of hairstyles that you knew better than to bring up.

“Have you ever braided your hair?” You asked, regaining her attention. She thought about it for a moment before shaking her head. It wasn’t a common style for the time so you weren’t exactly that surprised.

“Would you like to try one?” You asked. You had definitely piqued her interest, her eyes shifted ever so slightly wider as you patted the spot in front of you.

She obliged, sitting down and facing away from you, her legs in a crossed manner with her hands peacefully resting on her knees.

She almost seemed a bit eager to try the hairstyle which honestly excited you a bit, it’s not often Mizu openly gets excited about something, especially with her very subtle expressions.

She sat before you, her slim figure not too far away from you as you gently reached up and grabbed the hair tie that seemed to hold Mizu’s entire hairstyle together. You’d never understand how she did it with so much hair, it never made sense to you. Her sleek dark hair unfolded, a healthy glow could be seen throughout it, she took care of it despite it being up all the time.

With one hand you ever so gently began to rake through her hair, making sure there were no knots that might get in the way of the process. Because of this, you noticed Mizu stiffen for a moment, a shiver could visibly be seen going throughout her body.

Having seen this your hand jerked back, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. Before you could say anything she turned her head just enough to look at you from over her shoulder and said in a low tone,

“Keep going.”

You paused for a moment as her words sunk in. The way she spoke to you was no different than any other time and yet for some reason… it felt different. You decided to pay no mind to it as your hand returned to her head, slowly dragging it through and sending shivers throughout Mizu’s body yet again.

Despite this, she sat calmly making no other movements other than the occasional twitch here and there as your hands glided through her hair. Having her hair done was a pleasure she never thought twice about, but the way you so delicately pulled at her hair, twisting it and shaping it as if she was some piece of art, it made her feel cared for in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

You carefully separated her hair, overlapping the pieces in a rhythmic manner, cautiously pulling the groups of hair but never hard enough to hurt. It didn’t take long before you had finished, you tied it all together with the hair tie that she used before, letting go of your work.

“How does it look?” She asked, now turning to fully face you. There was almost some sort of innocence that shone through Mizu's expression, one that seemed to say she genuinely cared how she looked. It was kind of sweet to see her usually stoic and harsh exterior break for a moment, it showed you who Mizu really was even if it was for only a few seconds.

You had seen Mizu with her hair down before, maybe not often, but you had seen it. Something was missing.

You stared at her for a moment, a confused look riddled your face before it hit you, the curl.

You gently reached your hand up towards Mizu’s face, one finger looping around the curl that had been hidden away underneath all of the other pieces of hair. Not expecting this, Mizu froze, letting you do what you needed to do but also not knowing how to react otherwise.

Once you had fixed the curl, you moved back a bit to reassess your work. You smiled, finally happy with how it looked.

“Perfect.” You said, proud of the work you had accomplished. Mizu was happy enough just taking your word for it but she was still curious to see how she looked. She drew her sword partially, only just enough to be able to see at least a little bit of her reflection on it. From what she could see, she truly didn’t mind the look.

“So, what do you think?” You asked, patiently waiting for her answer. You watched as a very small smile graced her features as she said,

“It looks good.”

She put her blade away, turning to look back at you as she brushed a few loose strands out her face.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be so… gentle.” She admitted quite plainly. Her hands rested on her lap as she thought back to a time when someone else had done her hair.

“Anytime my mother did my hair, gentle didn’t seem to be a word in her vocabulary.” She joked, a melancholic yet reminiscent look made its way onto her face as she thought back to the many times her mother had scolded her for looking to feminine.

“Being rough will only get you so far.” You responded, not really realizing how that sounded. It earned a small snicker from Mizu but it still went over your head regardless. It had got you thinking, the blue eyed woman constantly trained, having faced the several hardships in life at such a young age that no one would even dream of facing. She had to be tough in every way possible if she had any hope of surviving.

But you were determined to show her, in your own way, that you can let your guard down every once in a while.

“Let me see your hands.” You ordered pretty out of nowhere.

“What?” Mizu responded, clearly taken by surprise by your sudden demand.

“Let me see your hands.” You repeated, putting one of yours out and gesturing for her to place hers on top.

Her eyebrows wrinkled with uncertainty, having not a singular clue what you were planning to do, but she still did what you told her to anyway. Her confused expression remained as she placed her hand on yours, her palm facing towards the sky. With your free hand you gently traced the lines on Mizushand, slowly going over each callous that you could see. Just as you had expected, her hands were coarse and rough, tense from constant overworking and pressure, or maybe they were tense because she wasn’t used to the feeling of someone else, you couldn’t tell.

At first she didn’t know what to do except watch your hands.

“What are you doing?” She asked, confused what the point of this was.

You continued to trace lines and pointless circles around her hand, occasionally gently massaging different points.

“You’re really tense.” You pointed out, “I figured this might help you relax a bit.”

Mizu sat still for a bit as you continued, still not easing up in the slightest. Having her hair done was one thing, she had it done before so she knew at least somewhat how to react, but this was something different. You looked up at her, noticing her unbroken stare before smiling at her.

“Relax.” You calmly instructed her.

She closed her eyes, eventually relaxing into the feeling of your touch just like she had done before. She had truly forgotten what it felt like to be touched in a way that didn’t result in a bruise or broken rib.

You continued your motions, occasionally putting slight pressure on different areas. However in one area you had put just a bit too much pressure, resulting in a noise that sounded like a moan escape from Mizu. You immediately stopped, taking your hand away as you apologized,

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

You looked up at her, ready to continue apologizing but you were met with a serious yet… almost affectionate gaze as she said,

“Don’t stop,” She began, her voice was quiet and relaxed so at least you knew your work was paying off.

“It feels nice.”

There it was, that feeling again. You averted your gaze, not able to handle making eye contact with her while also processing your very wild feelings at that moment. One thing about Mizu was she never truly realized just how attractive she was, she always deemed herself a demon or a monster because that’s what she was taught to believe.

But you saw past that and because of that, things that Mizu didn’t even think twice about doing, would nearly send you into a coma just because it was her doing it.

She had no idea the power she had over you just from a few simple words, and you had no idea the power you had over her just from a simple gentle touch.

You continued on like she had told you, smoothing out the tension in her hand the best you could without any prior training on the subject. Eventually you had switched over to her other hand which was somehow more coarse than the first. You couldn’t help but admire the amount of time and strength that went into forming such things.

As you continued, you could tell Mizu was refraining from making any noises. In all honesty, it was nothing you hadn’t heard before, she’s been in pain enough times around you for you to get used to her whimpering and groaning.

Except this time was different, usually the noises she made were from a place of pain and discomfort.

However, this time, they seemed to come from a place of pleasure.

Caused by you.

“It’s okay.” You began, refusing to look up at her. “The more you let out the more I know I’m doing the right thing.” You encouraged, and sure one could say it was for a selfish reason but really who could blame you.

You could hear her continue to refrain, but over a small amount of time you could hear her a little bit more. Your heart raced as you continued, the act you were partaking in was nowhere near as sensual as it sounded and yet it still felt so intimate. If anything that’s all you wanted it to be, but that was a line you’d dare not cross, at least not yet.

A little more time had passed, you had eased out all the tension you felt in her hands and let go of her. Almost immediately she began to miss your warm and gentle embrace, having returned to her harsh and cold reality. But really, it wasn’t as cold as she had thought because you were still there, right in front of her, looking at her as if she was the only human to have ever existed.

“There now, do you feel better?” You asked quietly, a bit sheepish considering the amount of thoughts that had crossed your mind that you would never say out loud.

Mizu rubbed her hand absentmindedly, her face seemed a bit glazed over like she had been so lost in her thoughts and she wasn’t ready to be a normal person again. Once she had finally, fully, snapped back to reality she nodded.

“Thanks.” Was all she said before you two sat in silence. The tension was practically thick enough to cut through but neither of you wanted to be the one to take that leap, not without knowing for certain it was one they could even take in the first place. Up until now, sure you two had been close, but you had never gotten so close physically. You wanted to, she wanted to, but neither of you wanted to own up to it. She claimed she didn’t need distractions, and you claimed it was a feeling that would flutter away just as quickly as it came.

Well you were both wrong.

You both sat there, not looking at each other, not saying anything before you decided to gain the courage to say,

“Mizu?” You practically whispered. She looked towards you, finally taking her attention off of her hand which she continued to rub, trying to emulate the feeling of your touch but to no avail.

“Yes?” She responded. You very slowly inched a bit closer to her, not trying to make your idea or intention too obvious but she already had a few possibilities in mind on how this might unfold.

None of which she was complaining about.

“Can I… can I touch you again?”

That was all you asked. Sure you had literally just put down her hand but it was the fact that you had even asked that sent the same shivers down Mizu’s spine. She went quiet for a moment, not knowing what to respond with.

She truly had never been asked for permission to do anything before, not in this regard at least, and it shocked her a bit.

It somehow became the most intimate question you could’ve asked.

She nodded, not saying a word as she continued to look at you. It was as if she was trying to memorize your features, as if she was trying to burn them into her retinas so she'd never forget.

Your hand very carefully went towards her, cupping the side of her face as if it would break with too much pressure. She slowly began to lean into your touch, the warm feeling returning quickly as she let her harsh exterior down yet again, feeling uncommonly safe because of your touch. From this position she looked towards you, her hand making its way up to your face, and brushing a few hairs out of the way before asking,

“Can I kiss you?”

Her voice was raspy and low, just above a whisper. She waited patiently for your answer as you both sat in silence before you nodded in response. With that, her hand that had brushed the hairs from your face, slowly made its way to the back of your neck as you both leaned forward and-

“Hey, I found this place that sells food down the road and I- Oh. You’re here.” Taigen had barged into the room, not a singular care in the world as he looked at Mizu with his usual disdain. By this point you had already jumped back from her, being startled by Taigens sudden presence while in such an intimate moment.

With a cold glare Mizu looked towards Taigen,

“What do you want?” She spat. She could get over him annoyingly asking for a duel every now and then but ruining this one moment for her was too far. She finally felt safe and warm in someone else’s embrace and the same man who ruined everything else for her had to come back and fuck something else up.

Before either of them could say any other ‘kind’ words to each other you very quickly made your way to exit the room, not wanting to think about the awkward moment any more than you’d have to.

“I’m going to go… find some things for Ringo. I’ll see you later Mizu, bye Taigen.” You said, very quickly making your way out of the room, leaving both Mizu and Taigen together. Mizu had watched you leave with a certain sadness that you could only really see in her eyes, the rest of her face remained as stoic as ever as she turned back to Taigen.

“New hair style? You look oddly feminine wi-“ The man began, pointing towards her still braided hair.

“Say another word and you’ll lose an arm.” She threatened.

“Noted.”

[munsster]

Hi I just read fixer user and I loved it! I was wondering if you could do a part 2 💖💖

an act of true love

A/N: (your pfp made me scream and curl my toes) an unexpected amount of ppl rlly enjoyed this dynamic. i suppose i have found my people 🤭 (gif creds: @kingofscoops)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader (Season 3)

Summary: In the dead of winter, there’s absolutely nothing that could keep you warm. After all, only an act of true love can thaw a frozen heart. 1.5k words

Warnings: fluff, mutual pining, pet names (sweetheart), mention of toxic ex boyfriend, cursing, gross flirting

Steve can hear you shivering through the receiver and your stuttered breaths crackling through the cord. You’re begging him to come over and fix your radiator in the middle of a snow storm. The roads aren’t closed yet, but a thin white powder blankets his front lawn and the top of his beemer and he can see the flakes whipping through the stream of light pouring from the streetlamp. So, he piles every blanket he has into his passenger seat and braves the drive to your house.

Does he know how to repair a busted radiator? No.

Is he determined to do anything you require of him? Every single day for the rest of his life.

He’s crouched by the window of your living room, looking for any telltale signs of wear or leaking. You’re standing just behind him, bundled in two blankets and holding a spare flashlight. He’s quiet as he tinkers, but your mind is racing watching his soft toned arms through his cream thermal and his back muscles working when he turns over his shoulder to glance at you with a dashing smile. You nod quickly when he says something, though you’re not exactly sure what.

“Sweetheart?” he coos, raising his brows when you recoil under his gaze.

“Sorry, I didn’t… I wasn’t listening,” you say with a chuckle. He grins, dropping his head in understanding.

“Sorry, I know it’s boring,” he says, “but has it been making noises or anything?”

“Oh, yeah! It kinda groans when I first turn it on and it sounds like it might explode for the first couple minutes. I guess I’ve tuned it out by now.”

“That’s probably not a good sound then,” he teases, turning back to the radiator with a puzzled look.

“No, probably not.” You shuffle off to the kitchen, setting a kettle on the stove and humming softly.

After half an hour of tinkering and a roll of tape, Steve stands and wipes his hands on his jeans.

“That should do it! It’ll probably take a sec to heat up again,” he sighs, and you emerge from the kitchen, balancing two hefty mugs brimming with whipped cream. “Ooh, what’s this?”

“Hot cocoa. Secret family recipe,” you tease. In actuality, it’s just the standard package of chocolate powder and sugar. The secret lies in the healthy dash of cinnamon you mix into it.

“Secret, eh? Guess that gives me a reason to come see you more often,” he hums, following you to the couch and taking one of the mugs from your hands. It warms him up nicely, and he knows you gave him the bigger mug on purpose when you smile triumphantly. He takes a sip, moaning at the sweetness. You giggle at the whipped cream kissing his top lip.

“I hope I’m reason enough,” you say with a faux pout. He sits close enough to share the pile of blankets with you, your thighs pressed against one another in the captured heat.

“Duh, you’re the main attraction,” he huffs, “Your hot chocolate is like the flashy side show. It’s pretty neat but not quite as cool as the reason you bought the ticket.”

You giggle into your mug, face hot in the bellowing steam. Or because of his dimpled cheeks. Or the way his eyes swoop over your face. Or maybe the way he came rushing to your rescue in a storm without a second thought.

“Any new Brad-related developments? Or is he still giving you shit?” he says, swallowing a warm gulp of liquid chocolate.

You groan, head lulling back against the couch. “He keeps calling to say I’m a cold hearted bitch and then immediately hang up. I think he forgot that he’s the one who broke up with me.”

“Right, right. Why’s that again?”

“Something about his family’s values. And how he hates my friends,” you say, “I just remember getting mad because he seemed so jealous and mistrusting. Honestly, in hindsight, he was really childish about the whole thing.”

You shrug it off, but it snaps his heart in two all over again. He doesn’t even want to know the gorey details because he knows it’ll boil his blood. Just knowing that asshole said something like that to you makes his fists ball up in frustration. But he thinks of what you said. What did Brad have to be jealous about; he had the entire world and Steve never bat an eye. Not to you, at least.

“Jealous?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, he’d give me all these ultimatums where I’d have to choose between you and him. So random,” you huff. Though, maybe he was justified in some way. You and Steve have been this close since the day you met. Any love interest would feel threatened by his charm and that smile.

“Oh… weird”—He watches you take a cautious sip from your mug like maybe you regret saying anything at all—“Yeah. That’s random. Had no idea I posed such a threat to that guy. He seemed so… self-assured.”

You stare blankly, shrugging when you mutter, “you can call him a narcissistic prick, i don't care. And yeah, I was kinda surprised the first time he brought it up, because a big part of why I was attracted to him was for his confidence” you chuckle, “No idea what went wrong!

Steve absentmindedly squares his shoulders, sitting up straught on the plush cushions trying to make himself look strong and reliable and confident. You sip your hot chocolate and look at him funny.

“Are you okay?” you say, holding in a laugh.

He nods. “Oh, yeah. I’m just super confident ‘s all.”

You snort, choking on the sip you’d sucked down, pinching your eyes closed when he lurches forward with a worried look slapped across his face.

“Shit, here, let me help,” he huffs, setting his mug aside and wiping the drips from your chin with his sleeve, “Oh, god, are you hurt???”

You cackle with tears pricking in your eyes when he carefully takes your mug and places it next to his. You pat dry your neck, and he watches you softly.

“Stevie, you’re so sweet.”

His heart flutters in his warm chest when you smile at him.

“Well, I dunno about that.”

“No, seriously. You’re so caring and thoughtful, I’ve never met anyone like you,” you whisper.

He takes a shaky breath in.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

You nod heartily and grin wide, and you notice he’s staring at you. So you kick his calf under the blanket.

“Hey, ouch!”

You giggle, but he’s quick to grab the crook of your knee and tug you close so you’re laying flat on the couch. Your hands cover your face when he tickles your sides and leans over you playfully. He’s almost glad you can’t see him blushing or feel his heart racing or hear his head booming with thoughts of you. He gasps when you plant your socked foot on his thigh, but he holds your elbow gently to keep you close to him while he leans over you.

You’re laughing, and he can confidently say it’s his favorite sound. You palm his chest, and he takes a deep breath in. Your eyes flick open because you’ve never felt someones heart beat so fast and so warm just beneath your fingertips. He’s flushed and pink but he looks like a prince in the orange lamplight. And he’s so close to you.

Your fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, barely grasping, and you crane your neck towards him. You watch his honey eyes draw over your lips just before he leans in and kisses you.

His hand molds into your side, melting over the exposed skin like hot syrup. You press into his hold and smile with your fingers drawing up and across the back of his neck.

But the kiss short lived when he pulls away, shoving a hand through his ruffled hair.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Steve huffs, standing and backing away, “I don’t know what I’m doing. I should go!”

He crosses the floor in a daze, forcing his feet back into his shoes before you even can sit up and call after him.

“Steve, wait!”

But he’s shaking his head and reaching for the ice cold door handle with his jacket barely slung over his shoulders. He whips the door open, and you can see the pure white snow floating down in sheets outside.

“Keep the blankets! Just call me if the radiator breaks again, and I’ll see you!”

The door slams shut.

You tut, hand coming to your lips as you look around at the scene before you. The abandoned mugs on the coffee table, his blankets folded over the back of the couch, your repaired radiator whirring softly in the corner. The absence of Steve. What would the kids say. You know they’d lose it, but would they be upset if you ended up together. Would they realize they changed their minds and you’d jeopardized not only your friendship with Steve but with the entire party.

What if everything changes?

Oh, but what if nothing changes: you and Steve tip toeing around each other, the kids scheming and giggling at your misfortune, but now changed by the fact that you’ve kissed Steve. And he kissed you back. And you like him so much.

"Oh, god.”

more like this

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[galene-gothic]

𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎?

୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ I hope this reading found you in good health, every reblog is appreciated and thank you for everything :) ˖♡ ˎˊ˗ ꒰ 🐇 ꒱

˗ˏˋ༻ʚ♡︎ɞ༺ˎˊ˗             PAID SERVICES (summer sale and offers)

︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 1 ꒱

This is interesting, your future spouse is going to love how stubborn and prideful you are. There will be times when you’ll be fighting with them because you’ll get angry or upset about something but your anger will suddenly die down, however, you’ll be too stubborn and prideful to make your anger seem inconsistent so you’ll continue acting like you are still upset 😭. This is going to be frustrating at times but they’re going to love it regardless. I feel like you’re going to be really raw in your expression to them. If you’re feeling clingy, you’ll cling onto them. If you feel like you’re not getting enough attention, you’re going to do whatever it takes to get it. However, you are also going to understand the limits of what’s healthy and what’s unhealthy. For example, you wanted their attention so you’re like “you don’t even love me”, after a while, you’re going to go “I’m sorry, I just wanted some attention from you.” THEY ARE GOING TO MELT ON THE INSIDE. They’re going to be like “aww, ____ is so adorable!” There are also going to be times when despite how prideful you are and how you don’t act like you’re unconfident in front of others. When with them, you’ll be like “do I look good?”, “does this look good?”, “I don’t feel good today.”, etc. There are going to be times when you’re going to be really vulnerable, you’ll just have your face buried on their chest and be sulking over how bad your day went, how something deeply affected you, how you’ve been feeling recently, so on and so forth. Due to how prideful you are, being able to see this side of you is going to be a privilege, they’ll feel honoured and will adore you so deeply. I wonder if the both of you will mutually have all love languages, like the primary ones seem to be quality time and acts of service but you still want to love heartily which includes everything - the former two, words of affirmation, physical touch, grand gestures, keeping check of little things, and going above and beyond. They will want the good, the bad and everything in between when it comes to you. They’ll also feel like you love them for who they truly are. The both of you are going to be givers and a deep intimacy will come about due to understanding each other. If you’ve ever been at a point in life where you’ve cried due to giving too much, not receiving enough, not experiencing the main course of love instead only getting the appetiser, wondering if you’ll have to change your giving personality in order to receive love, so on and so forth, it’s only further confirmation that you deserve the best love and this person will want to give you that. They’ll also be so grateful to you for all of it because they’re not used to receiving properly either. They’ve experienced similar feelings to you in the past but two givers will come together, magic is bound to happen. I’m so happy for you 💗. ‘POV’ by Ariana Grande is playing right now. That’s how they’ll feel towards you.

Actually, that is also how you’re going to feel towards them. A certain intimacy comes about when someone understands and chooses you, that’s what you’ll both have, and I think that’s beautiful. You also seem to have a lot of sexual energy. The moment you’ll see them, you’ll want to do it 😭. I’m sorry but I’m genuinely getting that happening. You’ll just randomly get urges. I’m getting you wanting to do it like ten times a day… I’m sorry. If you’re a woman or girl, you should try to take note of how you think, feel and act during ovulation right now. Your sex drive is going to be a lot stronger at that time. They’ll love how determined you are as a person. When they’ll first meet you, you’ll sort of sweep the rug from under their feet. They’re going to feel scarily attracted to you. There’s going to be a lot of sexual tension between the both of you right from the beginning. They’ll also love how you make them have revelations. They’ll feel like the both of you meeting was just divine intervention. You’re going to change them deeply and at first they’re going to be repulsed but it will all just add to the storyline xD. I mean, who doesn’t like looking back at their life and thinking that it’s movie-like? No one will compare when it comes to you. They’ll be so glad to share their life with you. Also, another thing that is coming through is that you’ll sometimes give up on what you want to benefit others, they’ll notice it and appreciate your compassion. They’ll still want you to put yourself first though. They’ll deeply care about you. There will be times when they’ll have to put up with your hostility, lack of proper communication, etc. but they’ll love how even when you’re struggling, you try your best to assure them. They’ll find your way of speech to lack assertion (outside of the stubborn, prideful lash outs xD) but they’ll love how this allows you to talk your way out of conflicts. They’ll also love how curious and mentally stimulating you are. You’re someone who values a mental connection deeply. In fact, much like your love languages, you desire it all even in the matters of heart, soul, physicality, etc. because you don’t want love to be a finite feeling in your life. They’ll love how talkative you are with them and how chatty they’ll be able to be with you. They’ll love your witty remarks, your vigilance and regard for details. Supposing, you’re in class, you’ll notice when someone has not brought their pen and well, depending on who you are, if you have an extra pen, you’ll either give it to them or just choose it ignore it 😍. You’ll be communicative and also your curiosity will give way to seeking knowledge in some form, so there will be times when you’ll just know a lot of things and you’ll talk about various different things with each other. Also, you might jump from one topic to another and back to the first topic again, they’ll find it all very adorable. They’ll love you dearly. I hope that you enjoyed the reading, much love and take care, until next time 💕.

︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 2 ꒱

They’re going to love how hardworking you are. Also, how you have the understanding that everyone has their own set of values and skills that they bring. They are going to love how you place your trust in them as well. Also, how the both of you will a team with each other. Also, how the both of you interact with others as a unit? You will be the couple who is attractive due to how amiable and friendly you are while still remaining a unit and THEY ARE GOING TO LOVE IT! You’re both going to teach each other a lot and likely, both you and your future spouse are already into self improvement and skill development, and they’ll love how you encourage each other on your paths. You’ll also be the couple who teaches others outside of the relationship. You’ll just be a very respectable and well reputed couple. They’ll love how much you value your connection with them as well as other people. You’re going to be committed to yourself, your growth, your career, whatever it may be but you’re also going to have a strong and committed relationship with them where you’ll notice the details and actually truly value them, they’ll love that. You’re likely going to be skilled at whatever you do when you’re with them. They’re going to think that you’re naturally competitive, not in a way where you’re competing but in a way where you’re so focused on getting it, doing it, having it and being it that you just win the competition? Also, the both of you are going to have a really stable relationship because you’ll be a very stable person and they’re going to love that they’ve had the privilege of finding peace in a person, peace in their house. Even though you seem to be successful, well reputed, meeting important people, skilled and still willing to learn, still actively trying to develop skills and knowledge, you’ll still be trying to maintain a community, will be kind to people and might either volunteer, donate or just find a way to give away your kindness in one way another, and they’ll love that. You’ll be expressive with your love for them through actions, they’ll also do the same and they’ll love how you seem to value each other enough to do things for each other, to tangibly let your actions speak for yourselves xD. You’ll both have lovely conversations and will even attend many gatherings. They’re going to love how the both of you are a family, a strong one at that. There’s just going to be understanding and communication with one another. I’m getting the both of you making love and just laying there, having conversations while laughing together. I wouldn’t be surprised if you guys go raw a lot because you seem to be materially successful and will be quite happy to grow a family together. Not to mind, this card has an image of someone literally planting a seed, not sexually but they’re planting a seed. They’ll feel like your relationship is one that only continues deepening and they’ll love that. They’ll always come back home, they’ll always want to. They will love how they love you so much and feel so homesick that they can barely even spend nights elsewhere, like if they do business or have to travel, they won’t be able to wait until they get home. Your family together is going to be a safe and happy one, you’re going to be a unit as well as individuals who continue learning and growing.

You’ll also maintain a strong community, be focused on your endeavours and be good people, they’re going to love that they found you who they could develop such a lifestyle with. THEY’RE GOING TO BE SO GRATEFUL FOR YOU. Aww, this is adorable. They’ll be the happiest when they’re at home with you, they won’t even bother to go out but of course they’ll enjoy going out as well, they will also love how good you look as a couple. When you’re out in gatherings together, they’ll feel really confident and happy. Not gonna lie, showing you off is going to be fun for them xD. They’re going to love everything about you. You’re literally going to be their dream person. They’ll feel like their wishes were fulfilled with you just coming into their life, you becoming their spouse is going to feel surreal, something divine, something so dreamy. They’re going to love how their partnership with you is a happy one. Also, your ability to be satisfied with everything in life and maintain gratitude. You two, truly will bring out the best in each other and they’re going to love you for that. They’ll feel so content in your connection. They will feel like you treat them as your own and still put in a lot of effort into your connection (it’ll come naturally to you too) despite how you seem to have it all in life. They’ll love how you genuinely want and love them instead of wanting them out of desperation or need. They’ll thank their lucky stars for you xD. THIS IS SO CUTE, I’M GOING TO CRY! They’ll feel like you’re quite hard on yourself and they’ll not like that but they’ll still love you for it. They’ll love how when you do something that’s not moral according to you, instead of justifying it like most people do, you self loathe for a while instead. They’ll wish that you were kinder to yourself but at the same time, they’ll be glad that they at least have the excuse to pull that “you’re insecure, don’t know what for” kind of rizz on you AHAHAHA. You’re quite indecisive, they’re going to find it so frustrating yet so endearing. Like, you could have to choose between two drinks and you’ll just be standing there awkwardly, unable to pick 😭. That audio came through “you are my sea. you are my sunshine, the stars, the moon.” You could both develop a breeding kink regardless of whether you act on it or not. MOVING ON, they’ll love the way you express yourself and how the surroundings are immediately fun when you’re there. No matter how old you’ll get, there will be something young about your love and the fun that you’ll have together. You’re going to make them so happy and they’ll love how happy they will make you as well. There’s a radiance about both of you that comes from knowing and being your most authentic selves, pursuing goals, developing a stronger character, etc. which is why both of you are called to self expression, connecting with your sense of purpose, authenticity, inner power and abundance before you even meet each other. However, meeting each other is going to make the both of you even better, happier and radiant. They’ll love how happy you make them, how childlike the dynamic gets between the both of you sometimes. They’ll just love it all. The affection that they’ll hold for you knows no bounds, it’s ever growing. I hope that you enjoyed the reading, much love and take care, until next time 💕.

︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 3 ꒱

I have no clue what to say or how to start. Is this my loner pile? I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve experienced at least one loner phase. There’s some sort of a withdrawn energy to you. Despite this, you are extremely emotional and passionate to the point your shadow traits could include controlling. You’re also quite moody or are going to be at that time. They’re going to love that they can see this side of you. The side where your inner feelings come out in front of them xD. They’re going to love how compassionate you are towards yourself and others. Despite your withdrawn energy, you can be extremely over-giving. By that time, you’ll have learned enough self compassion thankfully. You will be a very fair person. You’ll be like “well, my actions led to such consequences”, you’re going to look at others like that too “their actions led to it”. They’ll love how external factors cannot sway you because of the isolation that you’ll have experienced at some point that will have made you extremely wise and rooted in yourself. They’ll love how balanced you try to be. I’m getting you being a more possessive pile though. You’re the type to get moody when you miss your lover. Seeing an interaction with anyone else could make you a little cray cray but yeah it’s not a crazy lot, just enough for you to playfully have a banter which leads to them making it up to you. They’re going to love how you’re actually going to think about them. You’re going to see and treat them like a partner, someone who deserves well. I’m getting a weird jealousy energy from this pile. “Go to your other girl” kind of thing that leads to bonding and makeup sex? xD. Your jealous side is going to be so sexy to them because they’ll want to be yours. “Oh my god, ___ is trying to claim me as theirs. I’M SO HAPPY THEY CARE!” AHAHAHA. The jealousy and demanding energy is not something unhealthy so it’s good. It’s not like the main energy of your relationship but it’s still very much present. They’re going to love your mean comments here and there 😭. You’re going to say something mean and they’re going to adore you even more for it 💀. You’re someone very emotionally closed off whether you realise it or not. I’m not picking up on a rude personality but you might be the type to give out love, abundance, smiles, etc. as if you have it all even when you don’t. You are the type to pretend to be happy and doing well even when you’re not. You’re also quite a hard-worker who carries it all within yourself. They’re going to love how they can see this side of you where you are doing your best but help ease out your burdens. This is giving heavy black cat and golden retriever energy. Funnily enough, I’m getting that on the outside, you’re more soft like a golden retriever but are a black cat on the inside. They’re going to really admire you. They’re going to see the sacrifices that you’ve made and still continue to make, without even complaining :(. This is so sweet. You might often feel like people don’t see all the things you’ve done for others, they’re going to notice it all. In fact, it’s usually very noticeable even to others, they just choose to ignore it. Your person is going to notice the smallest to get biggest of your sacrifices. You’ve experienced a lot, haven’t you? You already have actually. By that time, you’ll have experienced much more. You’ve always overcome every situation. You’ve overcome major moments of instability, grief and personal losses, and continue doing so. They’re going to admire and love your resilience. They’re also going to love how you don’t fear instability even when you try to maintain stability because you know how to work with circumstances at hand. They’re going to love how you are a ride or die and there for your close personal connections through thick and thin.

People who know you the most are the ones who respect you the most. You’re someone who is able to find solace in your own soul :( OH MY GOD, this is a very emotional spread and I’m so proud of you. Keep going 💗. They’re going to love how you don’t let bad experiences change how good you are as a person. They’ll love how much you persevere and try to do things by yourself. Honestly, you try to do everything by yourself because you’re used to it. It could be because you were an only kid, come from a less privileged background, parents having undergone a bankruptcy/health issue, the passing away of a family member, being the eldest kid, etc. I feel like when you were younger, even when you wanted and needed help, you didn’t get it but you still made it by yourself so you’re just used to it and by then, you’ll have mastered it. They’re going to love it because it’s something they’ll admire and adore about you, how much you take onto yourself with grace without complaining or boasting. They’ll know that it’s so natural to you that you don’t even know how big of a thing it is. Many of you, in fact, most of you in this pile had to grow up too early. They’re going to adore how they can help you and how you actually try to rely on them once in a while. You are someone very emotionally soft. You’re a really deep feeler but it’s only coming through now because it takes time to get to this extremely deep part of you. Most people won’t ever get there even with time because they won’t be able to understand a person like you without feeling inferior to you :(. You could be someone who is ‘have it all’ in front of others and a tougher person (with a soft aura somehow because being soft and loving is the toughest thing in this harsh world where everyone is trying to put everyone down) but when you’re at home by yourself, you have a more emotional way of dealing with your emotions, you cry, you listen to songs, you think deeply, you grieve, you forgive, you grow, you relapse but you always come out stronger. Well, to be fair, you carry so much upon yourself, you always have, of course you need to let it out somewhere. You also love people deeply. You take relationships of all kinds seriously and I can tell this with utmost guarantee that you’re someone who is respected by those who know you the most. Anyone who loses you, never forgets you and losing you is likely the biggest loss that anyone will ever experience. Your person is going to love it all, everything about you, I’m so happy for you. You deserve this deep level of love and you’ll receive it. You’re one of those people who has been the same since childhood, of course you’ve grown a lot and learned a lot but for you, you keep on coming back to yourself as a child, that’s the essence of you. You were extremely grown yet loving and emotional as a kid yet you also had a high level of maturity, wisdom and rationality. You had your priorities in place as a kid. You’ve always been a good person is what I’m getting. It’s just etched onto your mind, body, soul and heart. At some point in life, you were close to straying from it but you never did. You just couldn’t because how do you deny what makes every inch of you? There’s never been anything wrong with you. Have you made mistakes? As a human, yes but please never change. Actively get better but… there’s never been anything wrong with you. I’m crying. Thank you for being you. This is how your future spouse is going to feel about you as well. They’ll get to see your hardest and softest parts, and they’re going to love it all. They’re going to love you for you. I hope that you enjoyed the reading, much love and take care, until next time 💕.

[wastelandresident]

Rescue / Lestappen

Charles can tell his friend is in an abusive relationship, so he makes up his mind to get her out of it. But a few months into having her in their home, he gets a little confused about his feelings.

Charles wasn't blind, he noticed the signs. 

It all began with the way she interacted with her boyfriend when they were in public–she tried to look small, always looking apologetic as if she had done something wrong if he as much as looked at her way, and she seemed generally nervous every time he touched her. It wasn’t healthy, no woman should act like that in the company of someone they supposedly loved. 

But then they met in a store, and the sleeve of her jumper slid up her forearm, revealing a bruise on her wrist that was unmistakably the sign of someone grabbing her with enough force to leave a mark. When she noticed the way he was looking at it, she quickly pulled down the jumper and said goodbye. It broke his heart, because she was so kind to everyone, she surely didn’t deserve to be treated like that. 

The breaking point arrived at a party they both attended. She was wearing a turtleneck sleeveless shirt that covered up most of her neck, but he was looking at her at the right time and noticed the way she pulled away the neck of the shirt to rub her throat. It was bruised, purple marks showing the way she had been probably strangled by her boyfriend. It took every ounce of willpower not to confront the guy or her, so instead he went to find the only person he trusted with this in another room.

Max looked surprised when Charles grabbed his arm and dragged him away to a quiet corner, looking angrier than he had ever seen him. “What is it?” he asked. 

“I’m going to kidnap her.” The Monegasque looked sure of himself, determined to do exactly what he was planning, but his boyfriend looked utterly lost and gave him a questioning look to get him to tell him who exactly he was talking about. “Y/N. There are bruises on her neck! We can’t let her stay with him, we have to do something.”

“And how exactly are you planning to do that?” Max wondered, honestly interested in the plan–if he even had one. 

This seemed to make him stop and think. The wheels were clearly turning in his head as he thought about it, probably going through dozens of possible conversations and scenarios. “I’ll spill my champagne on her, then I’ll ask Kika to help her in the restroom. I’m sure another woman helping her wouldn’t ring the alarm in her boyfriend. Then I’ll go into the restroom, talk to her, and convince her to come with me.”

The Dutch raised an eyebrow at this. “And?”

“And what?” Charles asked, looking confused.

“You get her to come with you,” Max began to explain, keeping his tone firm, but kind. It wasn’t condescending, yet his boyfriend knew it perfectly well it meant he had his doubts about his idea. “To where? And what then?”

“To our place, obviously.”

“Without asking me?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m asking you now.”

With a sigh, he folded his arms over his chest. “Okay, she comes with us. How will she start a new life without leaving Monaco? I’m sure she’ll meet him again sooner or later, and who knows what he will do then.”

“Then she stays by our side and we will protect her,” he replied, sounding utterly confident. 

“Charles.”

This drew an annoyed huff out of him. “What? We can’t leave her in that relationship! She’s obviously afraid to leave him. Let’s help her,” he tried. 

The thing is, he was perfectly aware of the fact that Max was smitten with him and always had a hard time saying no. So, when he let out a defeated sigh and ran a hand through his neatly combed hair, he knew he won. “Okay, fine. Pierre and I will keep her boyfriend occupied while you and Kika deal with her,” he said. 

“Thank you,” he said with a smile before leaning in to give him a quick kiss on the lips. 

Max took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Try not to screw it up. The last thing I want is a fist fight with her boyfriend.”

“It will be fine. I'll give you a call when we're far enough.”

“Okay, good luck.”

Knowing he had help, he was becoming more and more sure of the success of this mission. They looked for Pierre and Kika to quickly fill them in, and while the other two men left to mingle with the group Y/N’s boyfriend was chatting with, Charles was busy picking up a glass of champagne with his partner in crime before heading out to find her. She wasn’t hard to spot, and they didn’t hesitate to walk her way with wide smiles on their faces. 

Kika was ready to do most of the talking, acting like it was her idea to find her, and after a few minutes of pleasant conversation, Charles finally found the perfect reason why he poured his champagne at her in the face of a poor guest who happened to bump into him. With an exaggerated move, he acted like he lost his balance, and the champagne flute turned her way just enough to spill the drink on her shirt. She looked a little distressed, and they looked at each other for a moment before she started to panic. 

“It’s okay, why don’t we go to the restroom and clean it up? It’s no big deal. I’ll help,” Kika offered with a smile. 

She looked uncertain for a moment, but then she agreed and so the two of them left. Charles waited a minute, but then he went after the girls, not bothering to check if anyone saw him enter the ladies’ room. The panic in Y/N rose to an even higher level, but he was quick to raise his hands to calm her down. “Don’t freak out, I just wanted to talk to you in private.” 

“I don’t think… It’s not… He’s gonna–” she began, her voice broken and terrified. 

Kika gave him a worried look, finally understanding how bad the situation was, and Charles didn’t hesitate to move over to her. “It’s okay, Max and Pierre are making sure he’s occupied. Look, I saw your neck, and I remember seeing that handprint shaped bruise on your wrist a month ago, and I’m not blind, I can see the way you act around him. Is this really how you want to live your life?”

“He’s not that bad, it’s just that sometimes he has a bad day, and–”

“Y/N, please,” he tried. “Leave him. If you come with me now, you can hide at our place and we’ll figure out how to get you out of this relationship for good. We’ll protect you, okay?”

She gulped loudly, then she licked her lips as her eyes moved over to the other woman, as if she was waiting for someone else’s opinion. “I know it’s hard to leave, I know you must be afraid, but we’re here to help. Nothing will happen to you, we promise,” she said with a kind smile. 

Charles’ heart broke when he heard her talk about how she shouldn’t do this, how she shouldn’t doubt that he loved her, how impossible it was to start a new life, but he didn’t give up, he kept telling her it would be okay, and eventually they managed to convince her to go with them. So he left, moving to the elevator to get to the parking garage, while Kika and Y/N followed him a few minutes later. Once he noticed the two women approaching the car, he sent a message to Max to tell him they were leaving, and he got into the car with the damsel in distress. 

The car ride was silent–the kind of thick and heavy silence that felt like being wrapped in a weighted blanket. It made Charles nervous, forcing him to wonder if it was even a good idea, if her boyfriend would put the pieces together and confront them. But even if that happened, he was just some random guy from a rich family, someone his parents ignored most of the time. No connections, no fame. Him and Max? The whole world knew who they were, and there were F1 fans everywhere, he was sure he could pull a few strings to get the guy out of the picture eventually. 

The silence was broken by her heavy sigh, one that drew a questioning hum out of him. When he briefly looked at her, she bit on her lower lip and gulped, eyes shiny from the tears she was trying to hold back. “I only have my bag with me, but I don’t have any spare clothes or… I should just go home. I will tell him I didn’t feel well, but I didn’t want to bother him either,” she mumbled as she unlocked her phone, clearly ready to either message her boyfriend, or call him to apologize for leaving. 

Charles slowly reached out and gently put a hand on her wrist, making sure he didn’t startle her. “I’ll give you something to sleep in, then tomorrow I’ll go and buy you some new clothes with Kika, okay? And if you need anything else, just write a list, we’ll get everything,” he assured her with a smile. 

“This is too much, if he finds out I left…”

He squeezed her hand a little, hoping this gesture could make her focus on him. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re safe with us, and we’ll figure out what’s next.” She nodded, then looked out of the window, lost in her thoughts as she watched the buildings pass by. Taking a deep breath, he considered whether or not he should ask what was on his mind. But his curiosity was stronger than his common sense, so he went, “How long has this been going on anyway? Him treating you that way, I mean.”

She turned to him with a surprised look on her face, but then her gaze shifted to her hands that were anxiously gripping her dress. “It’s not like that, he’s not a bad person,” she muttered. 

“Y/N, come on. No one should treat you like he did, you deserve much better than someone like him,” he said softly, forcing himself to stay calm. 

“Do I?”

This was like a slap across his face. It wasn’t some hopeful question as if she was trying to figure out if she truly had a chance to find someone better. Instead it was something sadder, more depressing, a question that told him she didn’t think she was worthy of being treated better than that. He had known her before she started dating her boyfriend, he knew how different she had been back then, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t pinpoint the time when things changed so drastically for her. 

“Yes, you do,” he assured her. 

Two hours later she was curled up under the comforter in the guest room, hopefully sleeping peacefully, but most probably crying and thinking about her escape and the possible consequences. Charles didn’t want to bother her, after all he had assured her that if she wanted to talk, or if she needed company, he would be in the living room. Max arrived half an hour after them, but they agreed not to talk about her before they were sure she was asleep, because the last thing they wanted was her overhearing their conversation. So he sat in the simulator, occasionally checking on his boyfriend since he wasn’t streaming at the moment. 

Once they peeked into her room and made sure she was asleep, the two of them discussed what to do now. Charles wanted to buy her the essentials the next day, inviting Kika to make it less suspicious, then he also wanted to find her a therapist, because after their conversation in the car he was sure she could use it. Max was okay with everything, but there was one little issue that had to be talked about: the upcoming race weekends. 

He didn’t trust her judgment enough to leave her alone in Monaco, afraid she would go back to her boyfriend despite their best effort to help her, but Charles had thought about that too and already sent a message to the right person at Ferrari to get her a pass for the triple-header. 

Three months later things seemed to be a lot better. Charles could see the woman she had been before picking the wrong partner, and while she insisted on finally moving out after selling her old apartment and buying a new one that her ex didn’t know about, the Monegasque was usually against the idea. They had settled into a comfortable rhythm together, and he didn’t feel like letting that go just yet. Max thought differently, he tried to convince his boyfriend that she wouldn’t be that far away from them, they could meet whenever, and she could even go to some of the races with them, but it was futile. 

“Are you ready?” Charles asked as he stopped in front of her room, his fingers playing with one of his bracelets as he looked at her.

Picking up her jacket, she walked over to him with a big smile. “Yes, we can go now.”

Since Max left the day before to film another challenge with Red Bull, it was just the two of them until Charles also had to travel to the next race, and he wanted to use this time to have fun with her. The two of them had gotten close in the past months, reviving their friendship that was lost because of her past relationship, but things weren’t weird, the conversations were effortless and lighthearted, and some even confused their banters with mutual flirting. 

Deep down Charles knew he shouldn’t get this attached to her. There was something about the rumors, about the occasional articles that included photos of their nights out, that made him think about what exactly he was doing. Max never complained, he never said a word about this, but he could tell it bothered him. And he had every right not to like it. Yet every time he looked at her, he remembered that small crush he had had on her back in the day, way before he and Max got closer than expected. 

“What got you thinking so hard?” she asked with a small smile as they sat in his car in the parking garage. 

He got so lost in his thoughts that he completely forgot how to function, so he just sat there in the driver’s seat and stared out of the window. It was only her voice that brought him back to reality, and he turned to her with a sheepish smile. “Nothing, I just… I don’t even know.” 

The Monegasque fell silent, his head full of questions and ideas, but once again he got lost in the noise. He didn’t even know what he was doing until he felt his lips being pressed to hers, a hand instinctively moving to the back of her head to keep her close. At first, she returned the kiss, but then she placed a hand on his chest and gently pushed him away, her eyes wide from the confusion. 

“Charles, what are you doing?” she asked quietly, her hand covering her lips as she leaned against the door to be as far from him as possible. 

“I have no idea,” he admitted with a sigh. “Look, I’m sorry. I crossed a line I shouldn’t have.”

But she just shook her head, chest heaving from her panicked, heavy breathing. “No, it’s–it’s my fault. I really need to go,” was all she said before quickly getting out of the car and heading to the elevator. 

Charles cursed under his breath for being this stupid, then decided to follow her so they could sort this out like adults. He had to wait for the elevator to return, but he could only hope she went back to the apartment, and didn’t leave the building to go for a late night walk alone. Five nerve-wracking minutes later he was finally inside his home, moving to the guest room without hesitation since the lights were on. And when he looked inside, he found her packing a suitcase. 

“Y/N, don’t do this, let’s just talk about what happened,” he tried, but she only shook her head at this. So, with a sigh, he walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder to make her look at him. “I’m sorry, okay? I–I don’t know why I did it, but I know it was a mistake. Just don’t blame yourself, it’s all on me,” he clarified. 

“I shouldn’t have… I think I just shouldn’t have been so nice to you, I should have kept my distance, I should have moved out a long time ago,” she said, already sobbing. “It’s definitely my fault, I’m sorry.”

It was only now that he realized she was terrified. She was back to that woman she had been a few months ago, the quiet scaredy cat that alway assumed she had done something wrong, and who expected some kind of punishment for it. “Hey, look at me,” he said softly as he placed a finger under her chin to tilt her head up. “I was the one who kissed you, not the other way around. I’m the one to blame, not you. Do you really want to move out?” She nodded, her cheeks wet from the tears that kept falling. “Alright, I… I guess I will help you move, okay? Will you let me do this?”

Shaking her head, she let out a sigh. “I’ll call a friend to help, if you don’t mind him coming here. I’ll see if he can jump in tonight. The sooner the better.” Charles licked his lips as he watched her, his green eyes focused on her, taking in every little movement that could tell him about how she felt. It looked like she truly felt better now, her mind made up about the plan. “Please?”

He nodded, knowing perfectly well there was no reason to fight. “Sure, sure, it’s okay. I just… Weren’t the three of us good here? I like what we built up in the past months and–” he began, but was interrupted by her putting a hand on his arm. 

“Max will be thrilled that I’m out, believe me,” she said with a sad smile. “And I need some space. I need to be away from you, I need to clear my head. Maybe one day we can talk again, but that… I don’t know, it seems a little far away.” 

His chest tightened at the thought. Did she really want to leave for that long? Was she really planning to avoid him? It was worse than he thought, and he didn’t think he could let her go so suddenly. Maybe he had feelings for her. Not the same ones he had for Max, but still, he had a soft spot for his friend, something that could be a little confusing. With a sigh, he took a few steps back and ran a hand through his hair as he thought. Maybe she wasn’t the only one needing a little time. 

When she saw him nod and leave the room, she made a phone call that he partially listened to, so he knew she called that friend of hers. Then she returned to packing her things, and he could do nothing but sit on the couch and stare at his phone. Should he tell Max that he had kissed her? Or should he only say that they agreed she would move out tonight? In the end, he decided not to cause drama. It wasn’t like there would be anyone between the two of them after the kiss. It didn’t mean anything. It was just a mistake. Something that would never happen again. 

[coco-loco-nut]

Look for the Light

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Best Friend!Reader

Summary: You are Oscar’s best friend, but when you get sick, how is he going to cope

TW: cancer, death, grief

You will probably cry, I did while writing it at 3am

Based off of the song from Only Murders in the Building

requests are open! masterlist

———————————

Being Oscar’s best friend was the best thing you had achieved in your life, and you made sure the both of you knew it. You grew up a few houses from each other and from the moment you both met, you were inseparable. Spending your childhood on the beach, playing and having adventures of a lifetime. He never minded going to explore with you, especially the lighthouses, they fascinated you. The silent call, the notion of looking for safety, looking for the light. Oscar adored that about you, it’s why he always wanted to spend time with his best friend.

That didn’t stop when Oscar started karting, in fact, you were his number one supporter. As his career took off, he never missed a chance to hang out with you, nor you with him. Some of his friends back home throughout the years teased him about your relationship, but both of you knew that there was nothing more to it other than the tight knit bond, once that was more akin to siblings than romantic.

It was one early fall weekend that you both were on the beach, near your favorite lighthouse when you collapsed. It shifted your worlds forever. Oscar became more reserved and you spent more and more time in the hospital for treatments.

It was cancer, caught early and quickly curable, plus, you were young and healthy, at least that’s what the doctor said. That’s what you all thought. The doctor was right, at least the first time.

You stopped going to his races, falling out of the racing world’s eye, but the bond between you was stronger than ever, especially as his career took off even more. When you ended up in treatment for the second time, he was even more determined to spend time with you. Even now, he sits by your bedside watching a race. He looks at you closely, your skin losing some color and the adventurous spark dimmed in your eyes.

“I love you, Y/n. I’m scared, I can’t lose you,” Oscar admits one day. You both knew what he meant. You are basically his sister.

“Os, it’s ok. I am too, but we gotta be brave,” you choke a little, tears welling in your eyes. The spark in your eyes has all but dimmed out, you find it harder to get through each day.

Oscar is getting his first real shot at F1, but he doesn’t want to miss a moment with his best friend, the one who he has vet every girl he’s dated, because if anyone knows him best, it’s you. The one person he can keep private from his public life, he can hide your pain and suffering from his crazy world.

“It’s not fair,” his eyes well up. The air is thick, the looming darkness has been settling in, the both of you don’t want to acknowledge the truth of it.

“Oscar,” your frail hand grabs his. “I love you, you are my brother, my closest friend, and I am incredibly grateful that you are in my life. Now, adventure is calling, so go and be brave,” you give him your best smile, not wanting to waste his F1 Australia debut, in Melbourne nonetheless, worrying.

“Y/n, I’ll wait by the shore for you,” he says, and you squeeze his had tighter.

“My love is a lighthouse, look for the light,” you whisper. He glances at the clock and with a heavy heart leaves the room to go to the track. Socials think that he is just going charity visits this week since he is home, but the man is so reserved even Lando can’t get him to talk. He calls every night, and you demand to have the races on while you write in your notebook.

Your family is in the room with you, you had taken a turn for the worse overnight but you didn’t want to worry Oscar, not when the race in Melbourne was today, not when you knew what it meant to him. You finished the poem you were writing as there were ten laps left, the strength to write leaving you.

Your mom tried not to cry as she took the notebook and pen from you, your dad slipping beside you in the bed, holding onto his baby. Your mom called Oscar’s mom, who immediately picked up, knowing what the mid-race call meant.

“It’s time. She wrote to Oscar, and I don’t think she will make it past his media right after the race,” your mom chokes out, tears flowing as she hangs up and gets on the other side of you.

“Look Mom! Oscar is in the points, he made it to P8,” you smile at her weakly, your dad filming your reaction to Oscar crossing the line, but he quickly stops it when your monitor blinks irregularly. A nurse rushes in, having talked with you and your family about this moment earlier in the morning. She pushes medicine so you will be able to step into the light without pain, without suffering.

“It doesn’t hurt, I promise. Tell Oscar I love him, and thank you for every moment. I love you both, thank you for choosing me as your child and loving me forever. I will love you beyond my last breath. Look for the light. Will you sing the song to me?” You ask your mom, tears streaming down your face with a small smile.

“Hush little one, let me sing you to sleep. Moonlight has come so drift off to a dream. Sail from the day to the wonders awaiting you out there, in the deep. Off little one, chase the wind on the wave, adventure is calling so go and be brave. But if you get lost as your tossed in the dark of the sea, look for me,” your mom sings the haunting lullaby, watching your breathing slow. On the TV, the camera pans to Oscar celebrating with his team. Your eyes glimmer with happiness for the last time.

“No, baby, no,” your mom pleads, your dad pulls you tighter into him. With the last bit of energy you can muster, you squeeze their hands as your eyes close and a shuttering breath leaves your body. The screams of a mother can be heard over the flatline. The nurse unplugs your machine as another makes a phone call to Oscar’s mom, something you asked a while ago privately, knowing your parents would be too distraught. The nurses follow your wishes with heavy hearts.

———

Oscar gets back to his driver’s room with a large smile on his face, having just celebrated with the team and gone through media. The first thing he sees is his Mom’s tear stained cheeks and he drops his helmet.

“No,” he whispers.

“She’s gone, Os,” his mom cries, pulling him into a hug. His body wracks with sobs. Lando sees the two and quickly leaves, having intended on congratulating his teammate, but now going to inform the team that Oscar won’t be doing press. Lando wasn’t sure what happened, but he knew it had to be personal and that was enough.

“She’s not gone, she’s not,” Oscar says after a minute. His mom wipes a tear off and looks at him with a mix of pity, sorrow, and compassion. “NO,” Oscar yells, his grief taking over, he slumps on the couch, sobbing more. The light house trinket you gifted him years ago sits on a table, a glint of sun shining off the top, as if to provide a comfort, a goodbye.

“I’m sorry. She asked me not to talk you it got worse last night. Her mom called during the race to let me know,” his mom says gently a few minutes later. Social media buzzes as pictures of Oscar’s tear stained face as he left the paddock spreads and speculation grows, but he stays silent.

The funeral is quick, small, near the beach that is home to your favorite lighthouse. It’s more of a memorial, your family having chosen to go with a closed casket burial because you didn’t want to be remembered in that state. So here Oscar is, outside Cape Otway, sitting on a rock, your unopened letter in his hand. It’s two pages, and he hasn’t had the strength to open the folded pages. He looks at the sunset, it’s rays washing over him. The ocean seems to tell him to open the letters.

Oscar,

Words cannot describe how proud I am of you. My best friend achieved his dream, what more can I ask for? More time? No. It’s odd, writing a letter about my own death. I can only assume how you feel. I’m sorry that I left you, but I never truly did. I’m in the light, I went peacefully and painlessly, surrounded by love. The sunset you see, the stars shining on you, a ray of sunshine bouncing off of something, that’s me. Don’t wait forever by the shore for me, you don’t need to weather each storm, standing by until I return. I will always be with you. Don’t be afraid to grieve, share my light wherever you go, keep me with you and alive in spirit. I love you, my best friend and brother.

Your lighthouse, beyond my last breath,

Y/n

Oscar moves your letter behind the next, his eyes looking at the poem, this one’s writing significantly harder to read. Your weak state evident in the messy lines, but it’s perfect to him.

Os- I finished the lullaby, find comfort in it when you miss me. Look for the light

Hush, little one, let me sing you to sleep

Moonlight has come, now, drift off to a dream

Sail from the day to the wonders awaiting you out there

In the deep

Off little one, chase the wind on the waves

Adventure is calling, so go and be brave

But if you get lost as you're tossed in the dark of the sea

Look for me

I will wait at the shore for you

I will weather each storm standing by 'til

Safe, you return from the night

My love is a lighthouse

So look for the light

The light

I will wait at the shore for you

I will weather each storm standing by 'til

Safe, you return from the night

My love is a lighthouse

So look for the light

The light

Oscar sniffles, carefully pocketing the papers. He pulls out his phone and watches the video he hasn’t dared to open until now, the one your father sent to him, a smile gracing his face as he sees you cheer as he crosses the line, but it drops as he hears the beeping before the video cuts. He looks up at the lighthouse for a minute, taking a picture for his personal memorial, before returning home. He changes his helmets to include a lighthouse, refusing to put one on that doesn’t.

The drivers and the McLaren team notice a shift in the driver when he appears in Baku. Lando takes it upon himself to try and get information from Oscar but fails. Instead Oscar turns to Pierre, Mick, and Charles.

“Her name was Y/n, she was my best friend, my sister. She died shortly after I crossed the finish line in Melbourne,” tears sting the young drivers eyes as he lays out his grief to the two drivers who know his pain better than anyone. Mick encourages Oscar to share the good, not the illness. It isn’t much, but the driver’s spirit has lifted a little bit, and the four agree to share their grief with each other more often, finding a healthy outlet with each other.

Lando only praised his teammate for his strength when asked about that Melbourne day, and reiterated that private matters were just that, private. Shortly after talking with the other three, Oscar sat Lando, Andrea Stella, and Zak down and let them know the basics of what happened.

“I’m sorry man, I didn’t even know you had someone that close to you,” Lando put a hand on Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar looks at the sunset with a sad smile.

“It’s ok, she’s here,” Oscar says, a hand over the lighthouse on his helmet.

oscarpiastri 2 April 2023 • I will wait by the shore for you, look for the light

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[tarotwithavi]

Stop making excuses

Every day, many of us dream big. We think about the things we want to achieve like getting a good job, becoming healthy, starting a business, or learning a new skill. But often, these dreams remain just that , dreams. Why? Because we make excuses. We tell ourselves, "I'm too tired," "I don't have enough time," "I'm not good enough," or "It's too hard." These excuses become walls that stop us from moving forward. But the truth is, we are capable of so much more than we think. We can do anything and everything if we stop making excuses and start believing in ourselves.

The world is full of people who faced challenges but still did amazing things. They weren’t different from us. They didn’t have extra hours in a day or superpowers. What they did have was determination. They chose to see obstacles as opportunities, not excuses. When life got tough, they didn’t give up; they pushed harder. They knew that doing their best was the only way to reach their goals.

When we make excuses, we limit ourselves. It’s like tying our own hands behind our backs. Imagine wanting to run a marathon but never training because you keep telling yourself, “I’m not a runner.” How will you ever know your true potential if you don’t try? The same applies to every area of life. Whether it's learning something new, starting a project, or making a change, the first step is to stop the excuses and start taking action.

Excuses are comforting because they keep us in our comfort zones. But remember, nothing great ever happens in the comfort zone. Growth happens when we step out of it, face our fears, and challenge ourselves. Yes, it might be scary, and yes, we might fail. But every failure is a lesson. Every setback is a chance to come back stronger.

So, next time you catch yourself making an excuse, pause and ask: “What if I tried instead?” Replace “I can’t” with “I can” and “It’s too hard” with “I’ll try my best.” You will find that your mindset changes, and with it, your actions. Instead of avoiding challenges, you’ll start seeking them. Instead of saying, “I don’t have time,” you’ll make time.

Believe in yourself and your abilities. You have the power to do anything and everything. Your only limit is the one you set for yourself. Stop making excuses and start doing your best today. The world is waiting for you to show what you can achieve. Remember, the journey to greatness begins with a single step and that step is choosing not to make excuses.

[cubbihue]

Hi! I’m delighted with your “itty bitties” au. It has a lot of details that very laconically come together to form a single complex beautiful mosaic. It makes me want to discover more and more pieces to fill in the empty space.

And you are making a great job answering so many questions a day! Don’t forget to have a rest!

Ok! Now to the questions. One block at a time.

How is it determined how much food a fairy is given? What effect does food have on a fairy besides preventing death from hunger and restoring strength?

Do Wanda and Cosmo receive any benefits since they work on organizing raw materials for food and also constantly have to grant their godchildren’s wishes?

WAAAA!! OMGGG BITTY TIMMY AAART AHEHHEHHE!!!!

Okay since the questions are big, I'm putting them under the Readmore! This is mostly worldbuilding ramblings for Itty Bitties haha!

Anything that's plot relevant WILL be brought up again btwww!! So if you skip this post you will not be missing anything!!

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

>How is it determined how much food a fairy is given?

Fairies are given equal amounts across Fairyworld!! Food is a necessity for them, and since collecting the food is so difficult, they have a UBF system in place (Universal Basic Food). This UBF system is shared across all courts! It's the one thing everybody can agree on!!

There's also stores for food, but fairies rarely run out of their own UBF amount. Those stores are mostly for food enthusiasts, like bakers. Fairies can also eat out at restaurants, where they pride themselves on quality of taste in the foods.

Fairies can choose between prepackaged UBF plans, or raw UBF plans- depending on whether they like to cook their own food, or would rather just have it pre-made for them! Wanda loves cooking, so she's on the raw UBF program! But Timmy's on the prepackaged plan because he's very lazy haha.

>What effect does food have on a fairy besides preventing death from hunger and restoring strength?

Nothing much really! If anything, food is just something to keep a Fairy's lifespan going and keep them healthy. There's some connoisseurs who enjoy tasting or enhancing the flavors though.

Sometimes, there is food that is especially potent with a child's emotions. If consumed, those emotions are shared into the Fairy! For example, a Fairy that is extremely angry can consume a potent chocolate bar, and immediately feel the calmness that a child had once experienced.

These foods are usually out of reach for the Common Fairy though. A very small amount of potent food is shared in the UBF system, but the amount is uneven across the courts. It's a constant political debate for Fairies.

>Do Wanda and Cosmo receive any benefits since they work on organizing raw materials for food and also constantly have to grant their godchildren’s wishes?

Since Fairy Godparents use a lot of magic, they get double the amount of the UBF! They're allowed to pick the food they want, allowed as much potent food of their choosing, AND are the only Fairies allowed to eat core wishes.

Unlike Potent food, core food are highly valued as it's the pure desire a child would have. It's near impossible to retrieve, and is viewed as the ambrosia of food for Fairies. Although Fairy Godparents are only allowed to eat the core wish of their own godchild.

Cosmo and Wanda are in the process of eating Timmy's Core Wish, and many Fairies are very jealous of them because of it.

There's a lot of benefits that comes with being Godparents. That's why the training to get there is hellish, haha. Only the most toughened Fairy approved by Jorgen Vonstrangle can become a godparent!

[msschemmenti]

fun police - 2

eventual emily prentiss x reader / bau x reader

a/n: another fun police installment :)

everyone was in the office today, no one out on cases and this was going to be as good a time as any to introduce their new addition to the rest of the team. after some negotiating emily and y/n had scheduled their first session for tomorrow morning. she planned to say all the right things to get it over with and hopefully keep the young woman’s attention off of her for as long as possible.

“could you all join me at the roundtable?” emily called as she exited her office. y/n had found her way down to her office before everyone started filtering in and emily thought it best to ease them into this new idea.

“do we have a case?” tara asked looking from garcia to emily as they all sat around the table.

“no, we don’t. i just wanted to make you guys aware of a new thing happening.” emily vaguely said crossing her arms with a sigh.

“new thing? what does that mean?” jj asked suspiciously.

“well it seems our team has been flagged for our lack of self-care. i’m assuming they took a look at a variety of things like number of vacation days to working days, our case loads and things like that. and since we’ve been flagged, we’ve got the pleasure of a personal wellness agent who will be working with all of us to establish healthy coping mechanisms to rely on during tough times.”

the room was bathed in silence. shock washing over everyone’s faces and emily rubbed her temples in anticipation. she readied herself for the questions she could feel forming but was interrupted by a knock on the open doorway. she looked up and met y/n eyes.

“i see you’ve queued me up pretty nicely.” y/n smiled tentatively as she eyed the faces in the room.

“everyone, our personal wellness agent y/n y/ln. i’m sure she can explain a bit more about this process.” emily gestured welcoming the younger woman into the room.

“of course! hi everyone, as your lovely unit chief said my name is y/n and i’m here to help. i’ve been hired on to make sure that the most hardworking team in the FBI is taking care of themselves.”

“oh that’s nice.” garcia smiled at the praise.

“flattery will get you far with this group,” rossi mumbled from his seat.

y/n rolled her eyes humorously before continuing, “as i’ve explained to your section chief, i’ve found that for teams like this individual meetings or wellness sessions seem to work best. it’s completely up to you how we spend our time but we’ll be working toward building in self-care where you can.”

“and if we don’t want to participate? not in defiance or anything, i just think i’m pretty well adjusted.” tara asked crossing her arms.

“then i’d unfortunately have to do my least favorite part of this work, report my findings and determine who is and is not fit for the field. and i’d really hate to do that.” y/n smiled sweetly causing the room of agents to groan. “no need to sound so excited. we’ll do whatever you like, you just gotta spend a lil time with me.”

“how soon can we get this over with?” rossi asked.

“we can start as soon as you like, except for tomorrow morning. that slot’s already been claimed.” y/n gestures to emily with a smirk.

“ohhh,” the agents choruses teasingly, causing emily’s cheeks to heat.

“alright alright, now you know. i expect you all to cooperate.” emily dismissed and headed back toward her office.

“i’m just down the hall if anyone feels compelled to come chat.” y/n grinned and waved before heading back down to her office. leaving the group of profilers more than a little irritated.

“well this sucks.” luke grumbled. “mandatory wellness time. is spending time with roxie not enough?”

“afraid not newbie. you all having to do this doesn’t surprise me, i don’t get why i have to do it. i’m probably the most zen person in this whole building. i prioritize me almost 75% of the time now. i’m very well thank you very much.” garcia rambled.

“do you think she’d accept me asking to take a nap in her presence as my wellness session?” tara asked the group.

jj shook her head at the groups adamant distaste for the new setup, “oh come on guys, it can’t be that bad. i mean she got emily to agree. and of all of us— she’s the least likely to take a even a minute for herself.”

“you’re right jj, but im not sure she agreed solely for the health benefits if you know what i mean.” rossi hinted.

“oh yeah, i’ve got a feeling she was thinking with more than just her brain.” tara nodded in rossi’s direction.

“emily being seduced into participation?” garcia gasped, scolding the profilers.

“can you blame her? we all saw our wellness agent right?” jj asked with a knowing shrug. “i’m just saying, we should all suck it up and do our little wellness sessions. it could be fun, who knows.”

“well wants first? i mean second…” garcia asked looking around the table.

“why don’t you go miss ‘im the most zen in this whole building’? should be pretty easy for you.” luke teased.

“i know you’re being annoying but i don’t care. i will go second and ill make a chart to keep track of the schedule.” garcia glared.

“great, im sure y/n would love that.” tara smiled with a shake of her head.

-

her session came a bit sooner than she would’ve liked. but she’d prepared for this mentally. anticipated all the questions y/n might ask and gone through the appropriate answers that would eliminate the need for this to happen again. she’d told y/n to meet her in her office similarly to how she did her first day. starting her morning being interrogated wasn’t ideal but it definitely didn’t hurt that y/n was…attractive. but that wasn’t important and she was trying very very hard to remember that when the younger woman knocked on the door frame of her office.

“ready to get started?” emily quickly, motioning for y/n to step into her office.

“wow, not even a good morning? you’re failing already, section chief prentiss.” y/n tsked as she sauntered over to the couch in the office.

emily gaped at the woman getting comfortable on her couch. “i’m failing already? doesn’t sound like you have high hopes for this at all.”

y/n didn’t even flinch at emily’s accusatory tone, “i’ve read your file. my expectations for your self-care practices are pretty low. now let’s get started, come relax on this nice couch so we can chat.”

“i’m relaxed plenty over here. start your questioning.” emily refused, straightening her back defiantly.

y/n eyed emily, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “if that’s relaxed, what does it mean to you as an individual to relax? define it in your own terms for me. because i’ll be honest— you don’t look relaxed at all.”

emily scoffed indignantly, “i know how to relax,”

“i didn’t say you didn’t, but im just curious. just humor me, what does emily prentiss do to relax?”

“i relax. i nap. a warm shower is always nice. i eat. i read. i do very relaxing things.” emily listened.

“almost everything you just listed is a basic necessity. and im struggling to believe you’re picking up a romance novel instead of a case file.” y/n spoke eyeing the older woman and when emily only grumbled y/n chuckled and continued. “how do cope with stress?”

“perfectly fine-ly.” emily quipped.

“uh huh, let me guess. a bottle of wine stashed in a drawer somewhere. and when you’re really struggling— puff through a pack of cigarettes?” y/n guessed and watched as emily tried to mask her facial reactions. she may not be a profiler but she had lots of experience reading clients for filth when it came to taking care of themselves.

“uh-“ emily started but the red of her cheeks was all y/n needed to know.

“okay, i have another questions. what activities bring you enjoyment?”

emily’s eyes raked over y/n involuntarily, and she found a way she’d be able to take back some control of the situation. “i don’t think that’s appropriate for work.” emily smirked.

“oh ho ho, i see agent prentiss. and how often do you do this task?”

“probably more than you can think of.” emily bluffed and ran her hands through her hair.

y/n’s eyebrow seemed permanently posed under her eyebrow at this point. this woman was going to do anything she could to get out of this. and as stubborn as emily was, she was just as frustratingly beautiful. “ah now agent prentiss, i thought you of all people would know not to judge someone by their looks. trust me, im well acquainted with the task you’re alluding to.”

and just like that— the ball was back in y/n’s court and emily was a blushing mess. also didn’t help that as soon as that image was in her head, that’s all she could really think about.

as y/n watched emily rub her reddened neck nervously, y/n chuckled sweetly and rose from the couch. “you know what, this was a very informative chat. same time next week?”

“next week?” emily squeaked.

“yeah, hun. next week. i’m gonna give you some homework too. next time we meet, i want you to have done at least four things to relax that aren’t basic needs.”

“homework?” emily spluttered in disbelief.

“yeah. if you’re good, there might’ve been a prize waiting for you.” y/n teased before heading out of emily’s office. “four things agent! just four.” y/n called over her shoulders as she headed out of the bullpen.

well that certainly didn’t go as well as emily had planned.

[orimuraa]

꒰♡꒱ Dear. My darling - OT7

(synopsis) ༊*·˚ it was so painful for enhypen not to miss youೄྀ

ot7 enhypen x fem!reader ༊*·˚ HEAVY angst ༊*·˚ main character death ༊*·˚ enha dealing with your death ༊*·˚ death, crying, mentions of sickness ༊*·˚ wc 1.8k

jiji’s note: i’m so sorry for the heart wrenching angst. i’m in a mood rn and this is what came out of it. pls do not read if you have trouble reading about loss of a loved one. if you are struggling with something like this, my inbox is always open <3

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧

𝑳𝒆𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒈 - 이희승

wow. you were really gone. it’s been weeks since you left this cruel world and heeseung hasn’t been able to realize that you really were gone. you didn’t deserve to leave. you were the purest person on this earth and heeseung was the luckiest man on earth to have you. you were so, so, so strong up until your final breath. you had fought so hard to stay awake everyday and heeseung was right there with you on your hospital bedside. you had asked him, “when i leave, promise me that you won’t miss me too much okay?” and he wanted to promise you that and so much more. that it would be okay. that you would make it out well and healthy. but you both knew that that was just a fantasy too far out of reach. the doctors had told you and heeseung that your condition had only gotten worse and your days were limited now. heeseung took a whole month off of work just so he could stay by your side every minute of the grueling days. the sound of your labored breathing was like a stab to his heart each time he heard it. your were in so much pain and he couldn’t do anything to fix it.

the day you left him, a part of soul left him as well. you were his everything. he treasured you so greatly and to think that he wouldn’t be able to see you anymore hurt like hell. he hadn’t realized he was crying until he felt his tears drip onto his pants. how could he keep his promise to you when all he could think of was just missing everything about you? but he was determined to live till the day that you and him would be able to reunite with each other without any pain or care in the world. he knew that you were doing so much better now that you were free of your pain and that you would always be with him. always.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑱𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈 - 박종��

it took a long three days for jay to finally realize that you were gone and that you weren’t coming back. the world had been so cruel to you and it resulted in you having to stay in the dreaded hospital for your last days on this earth. the hospital was the place you had despised most. knowing fully well that your illness was incurable, you had told jay, “promise me you won’t be too sad” how could he not? the love of his life was bound to this hospital bed and the life in your eyes was slowly fading away. the bright smile you always wore had become a rare sight nowadays and jay’s heart was shattering with each and every awful day that passed. on a cold afternoon, you took your final breath on this world with your loving boyfriend right by your side, whispering how he would find you in every lifetime just to be with you again.

jay didn’t know how long he cried for but what he did know was that his tears couldn’t bring you back. he knew it was selfish of him to wish that you were somehow still alive knowing that you were probably free of any pain you were in when you were on earth. he hated how he couldn’t keep his promise with you. he hated how you wouldn’t be there to brighten up his world anymore. when you left, you took jay’s soul away with you. you were his everything. how could he live without you?

𝑺𝒊𝒎 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒚𝒖𝒏 - 심재윤

jake dreaded every passing day, knowing that your condition was only getting weaker and weaker. a couple months ago, you were diagnosed with an illness that was incurable. that was jake’s worst day of his life. now, in the final days of your life, he was here with you, right beside your bed. he made sure that your hospital room looked nice and neat just the way you like it and he never left you alone. everyday, you would tell him just a little bit more how much you loved him. he knew the reason. he knew it was all because you were slowly fading away. he could see it in the way your eyes never twinkled anymore, and the way your smile was never quite full. every little word that came out of your mouth was filled with so much pain. he also knew that the best thing for you was to just be able to rest. to be free of this cruel and awful world that had cursed you, the purest of angels. you deserved nothing like this, yet look where you were now. stuck to a hospital bed, slowly and painfully losing your life.

the day you let go, jake couldn’t accept the fact that you were gone. his friends had to come and pick him up from the hospital just for him to attempt to run back in, saying you needed him next to you. the truth was, he needed you next to him. he cried himself to sleep every night since that day, missing you more and more as the time went by. jake knew that you wouldn’t have wanted him to be this miserable. he could just imagine you wiping his tears for him and telling him not to cry too much for you. but how could he not when his light in this dark world just went out? he couldn’t bear thinking of what life would be like without you. he just couldn’t.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒏 - 박성훈

sunghoon felt like his heart was just ripped out. seeing you take your last breath in that god awful hospital room was so heartbreaking for him to witness. the way your eyes had so much pain in them but the smile you tried to put on for him is something he could never ever forget. why did you have to be cursed by this world? why was it always the purest of people? you were nothing but an angel to this world yet you still got sick, limiting your time with sunghoon.

exactly a month after your death, sunghoon wrote a letter to you. he wrote it because he wasn’t sure how else to cope on this day. he wanted to let you know that he was trying so hard to be strong for you, but it hurt so bad. he missed you so much. the way your eyes would crinkle into little crescents when you smiled, and your warm, infectious laugh, he would never be able to experience this ever again. he held so much guilt in his heart for not being able to keep your promise to him. he promised to you that he would try his hardest to move on just like you wanted for him, but he just couldn’t. he didn’t know how to cope with anything at the moment and he certainly had no plans of moving on. he just couldn’t keep his promise.

𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒐𝒐 - 김선우

seeing your brightness slowly fade into darkness was sunoo’s nightmare. he hated how he had to watch the brightest person ever slowly get consumed by the dark. your illness was a mystery to the doctors and it had been a surprise. it happened so suddenly and sunoo had no idea how to handle it. he stayed with you everyday and made sure that your were never alone, knowing deep down that these were probably his last moments with you. on the day of your passing, sunoo cried and cried and cried. he felt so helpless and heartbroken that he was afraid he would never do anything else in his life except cry. cry for you. you would’ve never wanted him to be this devastated but it was something you couldn’t control. he knew that if you ever saw him now, you would break down at the sight. he was a wreck since you left him. he wasn’t sure how to move on or just move to the next step from there. a part of his soul died the same day you did, leaving him with half a soul, and a broken heart.

𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑱𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒘𝒐𝒏 - 양정원

you were so young. you didn’t deserve anything that happened to you. the doctors had diagnosed you with a sickness that was limited your days on the earth after an accident you had. jungwon never left you alone and always made sure to be with you every second you were awake, savoring his last few moments with you. it was supposed to be any day now where your body would give out and jungwon would lose the one person in life who made life worth living for. before you passed, you had told him, “i want you to be happy when i’m gone. i don’t want you being stuck on me and not moving on. please promise me that” and at the time, he was willing to do whatever you wanted since it would be your last wish, but now, he hated the idea of moving on from you. there was no way he could ever let you go.

𝑵𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂 𝑹𝒊𝒌𝒊 - 西村 力

having to deal with your passing at such a young age was so hard for ni-ki. you had gone down with an unknown illness and the doctors said that your days were limited now. ni-ki was with you every step of the way up until your death. he loved you so much and he just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. the day you had passed away was the hardest thing ni-ki ever had to go through. you were such a bright and bubbly person so him seeing you so lifeless and low made his heart break. you would always re-assure him that you were doing fine and just a bit tired, but ni-ki saw right through it. he knew how much you were struggling because you still had so much you wanted to accomplish in your lifetime. you and ni-ki had once shared your dreams for your futures to each other and it now pains him to realize that you would never be able to love out your dream.

a week after your passing, ni-ki and his hyungs went to go get flowers to honor you. jake had told him that maybe he just needed to write a letter of closing to you. to let you know how proud he was of you for fighting so hard for so long. he had so much he wanted to say to you but the realization that he would never be able to talk with you again really struck deep. he knew he had to recover for you, but he would never move on. he promised himself that he could never love again. he felt that he would be betraying you even if you wanted him to move on after you were gone. but god, he would miss you so much. but at least now, you were in the stars.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧

i'm sorry for the heavy angst :( it was rlly hard for me to write as it just reminded me of my grandma's passing but funny enough, i think this helped me get out some emotions i didn't know i needed to. if you're ever struggling, i want my inbox to be a safe space for everyone to just come and vent if needed. i want to be a safe space for people in need. tysm for reading everyone. feedback is very appreciated <3

[bruisedboys]

please write for tmr!thomas i beg of you

tmr!thomas x reader | established relationship, fluff and hurt/comfort, 1k words (set in the scorch trials!)

you, thomas and your friends find sanctuary from the scorch with the right arm. unfortunately, they don’t provide any sanctuary from nightmares.

“Are you awake?”

Thomas feels you shift under his arm. You’re curled into his side, arm slung over his chest and thigh pressed to his. He hums.

“Yeah, I’m awake,” he murmurs back. “What’s up?”

He feels your hand glide across his stomach and your fingers curl around his hip. It makes him shiver.

“Nothing,” you hum. “Just thinking.”

Thomas huffs. Typical you, keeping yourself awake for no good reason. “Stop thinking and go to sleep then, sweetheart. You need rest.”

You muffle a giggle in his shirt. It warms his chest all the way through. “You’re mean.”

“And you’re keeping me up,” Thomas says back, only half serious. “Go to sleep.”

Eventually you do as he says. These days Thomas always always has waits for you to fall asleep first before letting himself drift off. It makes him feel better about himself. He does everything in his power to make sure you’re safe and healthy and happy, but it’s hard when you’re on your own in a sick world, running from a government organisation that wants you for your blood.

The Scorch has been unforgiving, but you’ve braved through like you always do, never once complaining, always making sure the rest of the group are okay. Thomas thinks someone as lovely as you doesn’t deserve to live in a world like this. It’s half the reason he’s as determined as he is the find somewhere safe.

Well, you’ve found sanctuary for now, at least, with the Right Arm. You and Thomas are sharing a tent with the rest of the group — Minho, Newt, Frypan — none of whom seem to be willing to seperate from each other, despite the spare tents the Right Arm offers. It speaks volumes about where the real safety net is.

Eventually Thomas falls asleep too. He’s not sure how long he sleeps until he’s woken by you. You don’t mean to wake him, he thinks, but he’s a bad sleeper at the best of times, and he’s got a sixth sense for this kind of thing, anyway.

He blinks his eyes open sluggishly. It’s dark, but the campfire still flickers outside the tent, so he can just make out your figure. You’re sitting up straight, stiff as a board. Panic slices through his heart like a cold knife.

“Y/N?” He murmurs. He finds your thigh under the sleeping bag you’re sharing and braces his hand on it to help him sit up. “Baby, are you okay?”

Thomas’ eyes slowly adjust to the light until he realises, with a pang in his chest, that you’re crying. Thankfully, you don’t seem to be in any immediate danger. Everyone else is still fast asleep, and everything’s quiet outside the tent. Still, he doesn’t like the way your shoulders are shaking.

“Sorry,” you gasp. You’re holding your face in two clammy hands, fingers cruel where you scrub at your tears. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I just—“

“Bad dream?” Thomas asks gently. He can guess well enough. He’s had his fair share, and while he’s not an expert on the human mind or anything, he can see that you’re pretty shaken up.

You nod. Tears splash down your front. “Yeah,” you mumble. “Sorry.”

Thomas frowns at you as he brings his hand to your shoulder.

“Stop apologising,” he says, squeezing you gently. His drags his thumb across your collarbone, soothing. He doesnt want to think about what you’d’ve done if he hadn’t woken up. Would you have suffered all by yourself? The thought alone feels like a bullet to his heart. “It’s okay, babe, really. Can I give you a hug?”

You nod viciously. Thomas makes a pitying sound from deep in his chest and wraps you up in a hug, sliding his hand to the nape of your neck to encourage your head over his shoulder. You’re shaking like a leaf, your cheek damp and warm where it presses to his neck.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs to you. It’s all he can say, really. He can’t tell you it wasn’t real, because the chances that you had dreamed about something very real, and equally horrifying, are high. He strokes your hair, feeling a little useless but a lot sorry. “I’ve got you.”

Somebody stirs across the tent. Thomas watches over your shoulder as that somebody sits up.

“Thomas?” It’s Newt. His voice is raspy with sleep but he sounds concerned. “Is everything okay?”

Thomas feels something akin to a rush of gratitude for his empathetic friend. If anything was ever to happen to Thomas, he at least knows for certain Newt would take care of you.

“Yeah, Newt,” he says. “Everything’s fine. We’re good. Just a nightmare, I’ve got it.”

Newt hums and his lanky figure drops back to the tent floor. Meanwhile you’re sniffling over Thomas’ shoulder, your hands screwed into the back of his shirt.

Thomas can’t be sure if Newt’s still awake, but he doesn’t really care if his friend hears him or not. He’s past being embarrassed about how much he cares for you. Thomas draws back and takes your face in his hands.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks you.

“Not really,” you whisper back. Your anguished tone breaks Thomas’ heart clean in two.

“Okay. That’s alright,” Thomas tells you, as kind as he can when he’s up to his ears with worry. He swipes his thumbs over your cheeks, rubbing away your hot tears. He gives you a reassuring smile. “Do you want some water?”

You nod. Thomas reaches behind him to pull his metal flask from a meagre pile of supplies. He unscrews the lid and encourages the bottle into your hands.

“Here, babe,” he says softly. “It’ll help.”

He steadies your shaking hands with his own and helps you have a few gulps of water. When he returns the bottle to it’s place you’ve calmed significantly. Your cheeks are still damp and sticky but your tears have ebbed, at least.

Thomas smiles at you. He’s sure he looks sick with concern but he tries not to let it show, thumbing your cheek with as much tenderness as he can manage. “Let’s lie down, yeah? C’mon, sweetheart.”

He tugs you down with him. You slump onto his chest and push your hand under his shirt. You’re really warm, but it gives him goosebumps anyway.

“You’re safe with me,” he promises. It’s a promise he doesn’t plan on breaking, ever. He rubs your back. Big, rough sweeps that have you going lax in his arms almost instantaneously. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I promise.”

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed, and feel free to send more reqs for thomas!

[makethemhoesmad]

liability(pt. 3)

pt 1. pt 2

only a couple months late, but here it is!!

i’m thinking there will be one more part, hopefully coming sooner

thanks to @imaginespazzi, @azzibuckets, @patscorner, and @barbspeaks for dealing with my copious amounts of yap

—

“it’s for the better,” paige says, for the third time. the first two times, she’d whispered it to herself, trying to make herself believe that it was true. now, she said it to nika, who had witnessed azzi’s erratic flight to and from paige’s place, and wanted to know what had happened.

“thats what she said? verbatim?” nika questions. that’s not the azzi she knows. the azzi she knows is the one that would fight, tooth and nail, to keep her and paige together. that, even if they were separated for years, decades, lifetimes, she would be determined to find her way back.

“yes, nika i told you it was crazy. i announce that im staying another year to play with the people i love and.. oh.” paige breathes out the last word, tucking her head into her hands as she realizes something.

“what, paige? why’d you say oh?” nika inquires.

“she thinks i should have left,” paige murmures, standing up. she begins to pace the room, speaking quickly to what seemed to be only herself, forgetting nika was even there.

“she must think that i’m wasting my career by staying here, she must think that it’s her fault and that she’s the one ‘ruining my career’ in her mind. typical azzi. she’s on a spiral right now, she’ll come down, probably. probably.” the last statement seems to bring paige back to reality, and tears start to well up in her eyes. she looks to nika, sniffling and asking, “how am i supposed to make her see that she’s not, and never will be a liability.

~

in another room on the same campus, yet somehow seeming miles away, azzi is alone in her room, curled up under her blanket that still smells like paige, in paige’s hoodie and paige’s sweatpants. she’s giving herself only tonight to grieve for what she killed, and then she’s going to try and move on. that’s what she keeps telling herself, to justify the way she’s sobbed on and off all night. she’s about to start another round when she hears a loud knocking on her door. grudgingly, she sits up and trudges out of her room, opening up the door.

“paige, what are you doing here?” azzi gasps, even though she knows full well why exactly paige has just knocked on her door a mere five hours after their breakup. 

“az, we’re still teammates. we have practice in two hours i don’t want you to ever think that you’re holding me back. i’m doing this because i love you, but also because im doing this for me.” paige says, her eyes glistening. azzi wants to take her back, right there. but she shouldn’t, she can’t. so instead, she says something she’s sure to regret.

“you know, paige, if you had just stayed healthy, this wouldn’t have been a problem.”

paige recoiled at azzi’s words, shocked at the harshness in her voice and the statements she made. in a moment of what she will eventually remember to be nothing but complete stupidity, she fires back.

“damn, i mean, if you hadn’t insisted on continuing to play after you fucked up your knee, you might’ve been able to figure it out instead of hurting it worse.”

“don’t do that, paige.” azzi says, her face going scarlet. “you do this when you get mad, hurt people’s feelings and don’t mean it.”

“i could say the same about you, azzi. we’ve played almost zero games together, and that’s the reason i wanted you here in the first place. it’s almost like i want to play basketball with my girlfriend, you know?” 

“ex girlfriend,” azzi corrects quickly. she slams her teeth together, trying to trap the words back into her throat. why did she need to correct her so quickly?

“so that’s what we’re playing at, then? we’re playing pretend? we’re gonna sit here and we’re gonna act like we haven’t lived in each other’s skins for five years? our families are best friends, azzi. we can’t lose all that because you got insecure”

and azzi doesn’t know how to answer that. she doesn’t have a rebuttal, doesn’t have a defense or a witness. it’s just her, her thoughts, and her now seemingly unexplainable reasoning to break up with paige. right now, really all she wants to do is fall into paige’s arms and cry until she feels better, because paige always makes it better. something tells her that paige might not want to hold her, right now, though. so instead, she takes a deep breath, firmly points towards her door, and demands, “out.”

ironically, if azzi had in fact just thrust herself it paige’s arms, they’d probably be reunited right now. but instead, paige is standing outside azzis apartment door, debating whether to speed home and put on her gym clothes and wait for azzi to leave for practice outside her door, or corner her after practice. corner her, paige thought, speed walking to her car and grinning.