#watched these for the first time recently… excellent

[marsoid]

RIDING BEAN X GUNSMITH CATS 🚗

[kierahn]

FUELED BY HATE. [ academic rival x m ! reader ]

summary : you were the best in your entire batch while he stays in second place. nick initially thought that the rivalry between you and him would end after graduating, but it seemed like fate had other plans. you recently joined his workplace and stole his spotlight once more. after years of being overshadowed, nick has had enough and decided to finally put you in your place; below him, right where you belonged.

content warning : blackmail ✧; character despises reader ✧; non/dubcon nsfw ✧; cigarette burns ✧; degradation

masterlist !

✩ i’m so sorry for disappearing for almost a year ! i recently started my first year of college, and things have been hectic for me so far. i'll try writing more often now that I've adjusted better :] ✩ this is a draft i left before i disappeared. i decided to refine it before working on newer stuff. ✩ i've also decided to clear out all the requests on my inbox since i want a fresh start. with that, my inbox is open for requests ! (still selective of what i'll write) ──★ ˙ ̟🪿 !!

➷ nick cromwell was a man who excelled in his studies. from the first day he entered the military academy, nick already knew that he was gifted. this easily earned him respect and admiration from the people around him.

but despite his decent reputation and academic performance, nick's name lingered solely in second place throughout the years, never surpassing the name above his.

➷ dark eyes glued themselves on the name tag that was sewn on the right side of your newly tailored uniform; y/n l/n, it read. seeing your name never failed to sour his mood.

you had joined his department just a couple of months ago, yet you rose to the top with ease and easily surpassed him once more. barely a month in, and you already managed to solve a missing person case that had long gone cold. it was a huge feat that set you on a path towards a promising promotion. one that nick highly sought after years of working his ass off.

➷ nick averted his gaze away from your form, a pang of irritation hitting him. he hated you— your voice, your presence, everything. he hated how you were better than him in every aspect.

you were always surrounded by your co-workers who depended on you for help despite being new. everyone seemed to look at you with stars in their eyes, filled with admiration. everyone except nick.

➷ the first day you joined his department, nick slipped out of the bustling room with a box of cigarettes in his hand. he placed one stick in between his lips while his other hand searched for his lighter only to find that it was missing. he brushed his dark locks back with an annoyed sigh. great.

just as nick turned to head back inside, a lighter greeted him out of nowhere, sparking to life and lighting his unlit cigarette. the sudden gesture made his heart skip a beat out of shock, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. nick took a deep drag of the now lit cigarette, directing his gaze to thank the owner of the lighter.

his expression hardened. y/n.

"cromwell," nick watched as you placed your lighter back inside your pocket. he stared, not bothering to hide his displeased expression.

did you remember him from military academy ? that's impossible, you were in different classes and had never crossed paths before. he doubted you knew about his existence.

after a long pause, nick exhaled a puff of smoke, deciding to snap out of his trance. holding the cigarette between his fingers, he returned the greeting. "l/n."

that was his first interaction with you after all those years. a face to finally match the name that had long stirred his competitive spirit.

➷ your feats only kept getting more and more impressive as time went on, and the sight of your constant success ignited something within nick. he knew he had to humble you, to remind you of your place. nick worked his ass off trying to get where he was, it wasn’t fair of you to take that away from him.

he had to be better than you this time even if he had to go the extra mile to ruin you.

he considered a couple of extreme measures: framing you for murder, planting drugs in your desk, or any other nefarious scheme that could tie you to wrongdoing. but, it wasn't enough for him to see you behind bars. that wasn't what he aimed for. he needed to completely ruin you— humiliate you so you wouldn’t dare to step out of line ever again.

it only took him a few drinks between 'friends' to have you all putty in his hands. he didn't expect you to be such a lightweight, but it was convenient for him to set his plan in motion. it wasn't an easy task dragging you around in your drunken state, but nick was satisfied with his work.

you were fully stripped of your uniform, both hands cuffed behind your back, black leather wrapped around your eyes, and a cloth between your lips to muffle whatever sound you were bound to make.

a tripod sat at the edge of the bed, a camera set up to capture your vulnerable state. all he had to do was take a picture and finish up, but that idea didn’t seem to satisfy him. it wouldn't be enough to make up for the years that you have overshadowed him.

nick monitored your unconscious form from across the dimly lit room. the cigarette that sat between his lips illuminated the lower half of his face, dark eyes reflecting the light of the burning cigarette. rising from the wooden chair he had nested himself in, nick stalked towards the bed where you laid unconscious. he placed his cigarette on an ash tray sitting on top of his bedside table. the camera's light illuminated a crimson red color, indicating that it was recording everything.

nick's gloved hand slowly traced a line down your exposed stomach, feeling you shudder slightly at his touch. your still breathing turned frantic the lower his hand slid down your torso. an unsuspected ghost of a smile crept up on nick’s lips as he watched you react to his touch. there was something about seeing you in such a humiliating position, all vulnerable and helpless.

perhaps this was where you rightfully belonged, below him.

his thumb glossed over your cheek as he stared down to study your sleeping face. now that he had a closer look at you, nick realized how good you actually looked. no wonder people liked you a lot, aside from being reliable, you were also a piece of candy for one’s eye.

his hand unconsciously found itself wrapped around the base of your cock, still soft and limp from the lack of stimulation. even this part of you looked good. he had every right to be jealous.

having initially planned to simply take photos and leave it at that, nick knew he had to improvise. he bent down and coated the tip of your cock with his spit. it helped his gloved hand glide smoothly up and down along your shaft.

your breath hitch in response, and that was when nick knew you were awake and could feel everything.

knowing this, nick quickened his pace, twisting and rubbing with the goal of making you finish in his hand. the gag around your mouth muffled your groans. with the way your cock hardened and twitched in his hand, nick could tell that your body liked his touch.

“who knew you were such a slut,” nick taunted. he noticed how you bit against the gag to suppress your moans, staining the cloth around your mouth with your saliva. “i wonder what our superiors would think if they saw you in this position ?” his other hand ripped the gag from your mouth. he wanted to hear what other noises you could make.

you open your mouth to question who he was, but nick took it as an opportunity to capture your lips in his. he tilted his head to the side to muffle your

this was all to humiliate you, nothing more. he inwardly told himself. but the strained feeling in his pants told a completely different story.

nick groaned as he felt you come undone, staining his hand white with your cum. he pulled away from the kiss, replacing his lips with his fingers as he let you have a taste of yourself. he pinched and pulled at your tongue, stretching the inside of your mouth with his fingers. he coated his fingers with your saliva, dark eyes watching you gag on his fingers.

nick pulled his fingers out of your mouth with a pop and let them hover your rim in a teasing manner. he pushed a finger past the ring of muscles despite your protest, holding you down by straddling your hips as you thrashed around. “shh, you’ll tire yourself out before i can even start.”

the sound of clothes shuffling reached your ears as nick pulled his trousers down with his other hand to free his hardened cock. he could see your chest rise and fall quickly, but you stayed surprisingly compliant. “you’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you ?” nick’s fingers continued to prod at your entrance, teasing you as he rubbed circles with his thumb on your gaping hole. “we can’t have that. you’ll have to beg for it first.”

you gritted your teeth at the thought of begging. there was no way you were going to— nick pushed his thumb inside, making you jolt as your walls clenched around the digit. a sharp groan escaped your lips that were slightly agape as you breathe heavily.

your cock painfully twitched at the lack of sensation. nick wiggled his thumb around inside you, but it still wasn’t enough to stimulate anything. “is that your dick ? pretty small for all that big talk.”

you decided to bite back and insult him. you weren’t going to beg for anything any time soon, instead, you would taunt him into doing what you wanted. hearing the male simply chuckle at your insult, nick pulled his thumb out of your hole and replaced it with his cock, its tip kissing your entrance. “you’re really asking for it. i knew you were a filthy whore underneath that professional bullshit you keep pulling on everyone.”

without warning, nick slammed himself inside. he groaned at the sudden tightness, hands holding you in place, a bruising grip on your hips. “shit, can’t you loosen up a bit ? you’re going to chop my dick off,” he growled, a slight rasp in his voice.

your hole swallowed him whole, dragging him deeper inside as he thrusted in and out of your abused hole. it took him a while to set an actual pace because of how your hole clenched tightly around his dick, but you did loosen up after a while. he made a mental note to prepare you properly next time

next time ?

nick pushed those thoughts away. this was a one time thing, he.. fuck.

nick tightened his grip on your hips out of frustration. he almost forgot why he was doing this in the first place, this was all to simply ruin you, nothing more. he reached out to grab his cigarette off the ash tray, placing it between his lips as he dragged one out to calm his nerves. ‘i shouldn’t be enjoying this,’ he inwardly scolded himself.

he exhaled, keeping the cigarette in between his fingers as he placed his palm against your bare stomach. ‘but, holy shit, how can i not enjoy this. his ass is swallowing my dick like it’s his last meal.’ nick grunted.

out of frustration, he dragged the butt of his cigarette against your bare stomach. you hissed at the burning sensation, your muscles tensing as you bit back a scream of pain. nick’s dark eyes examined the burn marks he had left in your skin, no longer feeling remorse. instead, his cock twitched at the sight of your pained expression.

he continued thrusting into you, your moans acting as a positive reinforcement for him to keep going. nick took the cigarette back to his lips, inhaled, and leaned down to slam his lips against yours. it tasted like ash as nick’s tongue intertwined with yours into a sloppy kiss. his pace eventually slowed down as he felt himself near his climax.

you were also close, whining against the kiss as he slammed into you one last time before he unloaded inside of you. he finished first, pulling away from the kiss and giving a few sloppy thrusts in order to help you finish. seeing your cock twitch and spur, nick pressed the cigarette butt against your tip. the pain from the scalding heat helped you finish, your cum putting out the cigarette’s light.

nick threw the cigarette onto the ashtray and pulled out of you, letting his finished work trickle down your thighs. he detached himself from you, removing his dirtied gloves as he approached the camera that continued to capture everything. “this should be enough to keep you in line.” he muttered under his breath as he ended the recording.

nick took the camera with him as he stalked back towards the bed where his finished work laid in display. the sound of a camera shutter reached your ears and a brief flash of light penetrated the blindfold around your eyes. “you look way better under me anyway.”

[moonstruckme]

Hey Mae! I hope your spring has started off well. Idk if this will make sense, but based off recent circumstances in my life I was just kind of thinking about an idea.. what about a reader with a chronic illness and no one outside in her circle of friends really “gets it” and all she goes through bc they’re not home with her and don’t see her everyday (the flares of pain and weakness and fatigue, the medications, self infections, infusions, appointments, tests, not being able to work or do things for yourself or hang out when you want or live a “normal life” and all the fomo) and they don’t see how hard it is both physically and emotionally. And it really gets to her but the guys do see that and they’re supportive and encouraging when she’s having a hard time with it all. Maybe it’s an especially bad week and things build up and they can tell she’s not doing good and how they handle it. It could be regularly poly!marauders or emt!marauders with their medical pov.

Thank you for requesting angel! Hope your spring/sprummer is going well too <33

cw: reader has unspecified chronic illness that flares painfully, discompassionate/ignorant interactions regarding this, joking about murder

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 933 words

Pain is a lonely thing. This is a truth you know so well you think its flavor is in your bone marrow. Take Remus—you know he gets terrible headaches. You can know this, you can watch his face tighten with the agony of them, you could spend an entire afternoon listening to him describe them to you, but you will still never be able to approximate what they feel like for him. He’s isolated in his experience, and so are you. On your worse days, no one can truly understand you. 

But your boyfriends come the closest. 

Your head is in Remus’ lap on your bed, while Sirius lays next to you and James runs a bath in the next room. On the bedside table is a half gone glass of water, downed with the pills you’d needed upon waking this morning. The boys aren’t making a big deal of it all; it’s as much a part of their day as it is yours. 

“What’s happening in your head?” Sirius asks, prompting you to glance up from your phone. 

“Hm?”

He pouts, drawing a short line over your eyebrow with his thumb. “You’re making this awful pouting face.” 

“Am I really?” 

“No.” He cracks a smile. “I can just tell something’s off. Penny for your thoughts?” 

Wordlessly, you pass him your phone. Remus leans over, and Sirius tilts the screen so they can both read the texts you’ve been exchanging with your coworkers. Remus finishes first. He sits back with a disapproving humming noise just before Sirius sets down your phone. 

“Right,” Sirius says, cooly, “so, shall we kill them?” 

You push air out through your nose. “No.” 

“I’d be very generous. Even let them pick between drowning and assassination.” 

“If you were drowning them,” muses Remus, “would it not still be assassination?” 

“Who are we drowning?” James asks as he comes in, wiping his wet hands on his legs. 

Sirius picks up your phone again, reading off, “Stewart and Liz.” 

“Excellent.” James gives his thighs a decisive pat as he sits by your feet on the bed. “What’d they do?” 

“They’re upset she’s not going to the cinema anymore,” Remus explains. 

James’ eyebrows flick up. “Right. I mean, yes, we’re all upset when she’s not with us.” You turn your face into Remus’ thigh bashfully. Sirius snickers, teasing you with a finger under your chin. “But surely they’ll get on just like the rest of us, won’t they?” 

“They don’t seem to grasp why she can’t go,” says Remus, his voice gentling some. He’s hit the nail on the head, and yet it’s a softening of the truth. Your coworkers—the ones around your age, who’ve decided together that you’d like to be friends and have set up a group chat in pursuit of this—have gone from teasing you about your rainchecks to growing plainly frustrated with them. They get that you have bad days with your illness, but they don’t get it. They think you’re avoiding them. When you texted a few minutes ago that you couldn’t make it to the cinema later today, Liz had asked, If you’re going to sit around at home, can’t you sit around in the cinema instead? It’s not like it takes that much more. and Stewart had said, Guess this means you’ll be wanting me to take your shift tomorrow, right? 

“I’m in favor of killing them, by the way,” Remus says offhandedly. 

That surprises a real laugh out of you. It’s short, and the way your shoulders hitch hurts, but it nevertheless makes you feel a tiny bit better. 

Sirius presses a careful kiss beside your eye. “S’exactly what I’m saying,” he mumbles happily. 

“I do wish I could go,” you sigh. 

“Angel,” says James, “you don’t have to justify it to us. We know.”

“You can’t control the narrative other people have in their heads.” Remus’ hand lands on the curve of your neck, warm and grounding. “You can try to explain it to them after you’re feeling better, if you want to, but if they decide not to believe you then that’s their problem.” 

Sirius makes a huff of agreement. “Bunch of fucking twats.” 

“Those are my friends,” you argue half-heartedly. 

“Not for long, they’re not.” 

“Hey.” A pillow sails through the air, missing you by a few inches but hitting Sirius right on the side of his head. James’ voice rings with triumph. “She gets to make the kill orders, shit-stirrer.” 

“I’ll stir your shit—” 

“Or,” Remus suggest peaceably, “the bathwater probably won’t stay warm forever.” 

“Oh, yeah.” James looks to you. “Do you still feel up to that, lovely?” 

You weigh things for a moment, but ultimately you nod. 

“That’s our girl.” Sirius presses a kiss between your brows as James stands. “Don’t give those twats another thought, sweetness. You’ll do better without the stress.” 

“Alright, let’s go.” James claps his hands. You take a breath, setting your hands on the mattress in preparation of lifting yourself up, but he stops you with a touch to your shoulder. “Not like that,” he says, reaching over Sirius to slip his arms beneath you. Without any more effort on your part you’re in the air, grounded by your boyfriend’s warm, firm chest. 

You try not to sound too relieved as you sigh, resting your head in the curve of his neck. 

Remus says, sounding amused, “Sweet how you thought he was going to let you walk to the bath by yourself.” “Sweet?” Sirius scoffs. “Insulting, more like. Babe, we’ve just finished discussing how everyone underestimates your bad days. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

[centaurianthropology]

Therapy for Thee but Not for Me: Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms in ‘Murderbot’ (Thoughts on Episodes 1-3)

Having now watched the third episode of ‘Murderbot’, I came away with two impressions: the first is that this is a better show as a binge.  Maybe I’m too used to shows that are an hour long, but I feel like I’ve only just got sunk into an episode when it ends.  But with a binge, I can just move onto the next, and the emotional through-line feels more well-drawn.

Spoilers below the cut.

The second thing is that I think this was really the final wrap episode for the introduction.  We finally get an explanation for why PresAux is not only doing this survey, but aren’t willing to ditch it at the first sign of danger (honestly needed, if we’re going to flesh them and Preservation out further).  And I really like the explanation provided! The notion that there is a bit more dissent in Preservation than we’ve seen in the books is welcome.  Because of course there are some people there who are short-sighted, greedy, or simply ignorant enough to decide that the glamor and faux-prosperity of the Corporation Rim is more attractive than a planetary commune with constant resource struggles. Of course some people buy the propaganda and believe that the Corporation Rim is truly existing in a golden age that Preservation should be lucky to join. That happens in every society, no matter how well it’s doing. It is human nature to want what you don’t have, and to always want more. 

And it’s a great motivation to explain why Mensah and her friends go to this planet, and then stay there even in the face of danger. It both establishes stakes and establishes this group as true believers in Preservation ideals.   They are the most dedicated to the Preservation way of life, whether they were raised in that environment or are a recent convert. 

We also get a little more time with a few underserved characters, particularly Ratthi and Bharadwaj, while elaborating on characters with more onscreen time like Mensah and Gurathin.  I’d still like to spend more time with Pin-Lee and Arada, but I feel like that’s coming soon enough.  I had thought the plot would really kick off in this episode, and in some ways it did (a whole lot of ‘All Systems Red’ was covered in this one episode, plot-wise), but it also felt like the last moment of early-static-state for these characters. 

And a huge part of that early static state is really hammering home how every character does (and doesn’t) deal with mounting stress.  This, like the books, is a show centering emotion.  In the books, it was almost exclusively Murderbot’s emotions, but here we see Murderbot as a part of a tapestry of emotion, one person amongst an ensemble it has not yet accepted that it’s a part of.  And as it has poor coping mechanisms, that just puts it in excellent company with this group of humans with fuck-awful coping mechanisms. 

So before we get into the meat of the action and, I suspect, meet our mystery additional character next episode (who I now suspect might be a ‘Company rep’ or something), I wanted to talk about the coping mechanisms (bad and good) everyone is rocking, and the arcs I suspect they’re setting up.

MURDERBOT: ESCAPISM

Let’s start with everyone’s favorite SecUnit.  Episode 3 really drove home how escapist and purposefully detached Murderbot is at this point in the story.  It is actively resisting caring or connection, wanting to escape every interaction or responsibility to sink into the comfort of its shows. 

Not surprisingly, and paralleling the book, this is setting up the arc of caring.  Next episode will probably feature Mensah saving it from the other SecUnit, and the shocking (for it) realization that she is willing to risk herself to save it.  This is the major turning point in their relationship, and in its understanding of people.  At this moment in episode 3, we are really seeing the last active resistance to this: it doesn’t think of itself as a person.  It doesn’t want to hear what Mensah has to say about her worries or her fears.   I know some people have seen this scene as trauma-dumping, but I didn’t read that at all into that scene.  Rather, I saw Mensah trying to make a connection.  She has decided that Gurathin is wrong: this SecUnit is a person, and it has emotions and thoughts and feelings.  And as she stares down the barrel of a very bad situation, she is trying to make it care.  She is reaching out, explaining her fears because she wants it to see her and her friends as people.  She wants it to understand why they can’t just back out, can’t turn tail at the first sign of danger.  She is trying to forge a connection.

And Murderbot isn’t there yet.  It’s avoidant, angrier in this episode than it was before, it’s on edge after both Ratthi and Gurathin seem convinced that it’s more than just an ordinary SecUnit.  It knows it’s not faking being an ordinary SecUnit well, and it wants out. 

And more than that, it is self-soothing the anger and the resentment and the fear that defines its existence at this point with its shows.  I think it’s interesting that, instead of ‘Sanctuary Moon’, this episode introduces us to a much grimmer show, ‘Strife in the Galaxy’, which explicitly shows constructs like SecUnit being tortured (although it points out that this doesn’t seem particularly realistic) and stressing their own struggles and individuality.  And it considers this an inferior show.  Why?  Because it cannot imagine doing that.  At this point it can’t imagine being as defiant as the (ComfortUnits??) constructs in the show.  It’ll enjoy the unrealistic aspects of ‘Sanctuary Moon’, but I get the feeling that the unrealism of ‘Strife’ strikes a little too close to home to be good quality escape.

But it keeps watching.  Because if it keeps just burying itself in media, it never needs to care.  It never needs to feel deeper, more complicated, more dangerous emotions about real people who could be in real danger.  It can just … exist, comfortably numb, and bide its time.  For what?  Unclear, probably even to Murderbot. Carin will be thie thing that motivates it out of this static state, but that is terrifying, and it is resisting that with every single minute of entertainment it’s downloaded. 

DR. MENSAH and PROF. BHARADWAJ: AVOIDANCE

These two feel like parallel characters right now. They’re both older women, both feel a weight of responsibility, and both feel like they’re doing the same thing: pretend everything is fine, act strong when everyone else can see you (and rely on you), offer help wherever you can, fall apart only when you’re safely alone.

They tackle it differently.  Mensah is, to her team, the consummate professional.  We see her fears and doubts only through SecUnit’s spyware or because she’s chosen to talk to it late at night when everyone else is asleep.  And why did she choose that?

I’ve seen some people, as I mentioned, say that she was trauma dumping.  But I read this as an attempt to reach out to the only other person, in her mind, who was sort of in her same position.  Because they were both being relied on by everyone else.  Because if they faltered, everything could fall apart.  I read her talk with Murderbot as a way of expressing how much this mission actually means to all of them, why it matters, why it might even matter to their SecUnit, and I genuinely think she was hoping for it to share its own fears and struggles in return.  She wasn’t dumping; she was opening up in an incredibly vulnerable way to a person that at least one of her friends thinks is a potential spree killer.  But she looks at this person, and she sees someone in a similar position of responsibility, equally unable to share its frustrations and fears. Reaching out was a risk. She knows it’s spying on them. But she also believes that it is more that was it was built to be, so it was worth the risk to try to connect on a deeper level.

And it still can’t reach back.  She’s left wanting.  Like everyone elose in the episode, she fails at dealing with the stress well. She does the best of all of them, in my estimation, but she still fails, because at this point in the story they all need to fail. They all need a hole they can climb out of.

Bharadwaj certainly isn’t doing any better.  She, like Mensah, is holding it together by her fingernails.  But while Mensah has the leader persona she wraps around herself, Bharadwaj has jokes and energy and exuberance.  She has an indomitable spirit, right up until there’s no one to perform for.

And then she breaks down crying, and who wouldn’t?  She almost died.  She, of everyone, was the closest to just suddenly losing everything, and how do you process that?  How do you deal with the sudden and undeniable reality of your own mortality shoved so brutally in your face?  Of course she’s not dealing well.  And of course she, like Mensah—like everyone else who wants to be there for their friends and never let them know how much they themselves might need help in turn, like everyone else who is used to being the strong, steady, reliable, fun one—ends up hiding it.  And Gurathin stumbles into it, but he can barely process his own trauma, let alone anyone else’s.  He tries to reach out as best he can, and it’s not what she needs, and it fails them both.  There is a surprising level of tragedy underling this episode that creeps out slowly on viewing it again.  I really appreciate that, as on-the-nose as the writing can seem, this show is actually working at several different levels, and Bharadwaj trying and failing to deal with the sudden and immense trauma she’s experienced is one of them.

I think both Mensah and Bharadwaj are being set up for arcs of being able to accept help as well as give it. Mensah’s biggest struggle in the books is even admitting to those she loves that she’s not doing well mentally, and I think we’ll see echoes of that here. Bharadwaj ends up as more or less Murderbot’s therapist (while couching it in ‘making a documentary’), and while I’m not sure it’ll play out precisely in that format, I want to see them all connecting on that level. The human characters act as mirrors for Murderbot, and both Mensah and Bharadwaj are just as avoidant of their trauma as Murderbot is in its way, and just like it, they are going to fail to keep it all together. They are going to have to reach out, but that won’t be weakness. Acknowledging their needs, their fears, their broken parts to those they love will eventually help them mend those broken bits in ways they never could have managed alone.

DR. ARADA, PIN-LEE, AND DR. RATTHI: PHYSICAL COMFORT WHILE IGNORING THE EMOTIONS UNDERLYING EVERYTHING

It doesn’t surprise me that the ill-advised throuple is all about trying for physical comfort while ignoring the fact that this comfort is built on quicksand.  One thing this episode really nails is that this arrangement was built on shaky ground, and they can all feel it but none of them are directly discussing it. I feel like this relationship is serving as a metaphor for all their myriad issues of dependence, distrust, poor communication, and an inability to simply discuss contradictory needs.

Pin-Lee has been hiding innocuous things like their video game habits from their wife (likely because they think Arada wouldn’t approve of them playing violent video games).  Arada is trying to fill relationship troubles with a third person, hoping things work out better than the last time, all while clearly not addressing the root issues she and Pin-Lee are facing.  And Ratthi, forever happy to be here, is ignoring the fact that his presence in this arrangement is both more complicated and less helpful than he might hope. 

I also like that we can contrast this disaster trio with Mensah’s clearly stable, clearly long-term, clearly loving arrangement with her marital partners.  Because they might not have wanted her to go, but they still love and support her.  They still have seven children together, whose picture acts as the centerpiece to her room.  If the show goes on for more seasons, we’ll certainly see more of Mensah’s family, but it’s nice to establish the norm of multiple marriages in Preservation society this early, and how healthy and stable they are, especially in light of the disaster throuple that is Arada, Ratthi, and Pin-Lee.

I love Ratthi’s self-doubts in this episode, because I think it highlights how much he’s trying to use his friendliness, his supportiveness, his Golden-Retriever-of-a-Man-ness to cover his self-doubt and even flavors of self-loathing.  There is clearly a lot about himself he doesn’t quite like, that he struggles with.  He is naturally sociable, naturally flirty.  He loves a good time, loves to trust people, and (if he’s true to his book counterpart), loves to love all different sorts of people.  But he struggles with commitment.  He struggles to live up to the standards he’s setting for himself.  So he’s too hungover to do weapons training.  He’s too eager to get the survey equipment and almost runs into danger.  He so earnestly wants to be there for everyone, so of course having sex with his friends seems like a great idea.  After all, for him, sex and friendship go together great.  I don’t really think he’s yet dug into the fact that Pin-Lee and Arada are sort of using him to paper over the cracks in their own foundation, and I’m interested to see how he reacts to realizing that’s the case.

His arc is a little difficult to see right now, but I imagine it’s going to be someting about finding himself. He’s a great guy; he’s eventually going to be SecUnit’s best friend. But who is he when he’s not being what everyone else needs? Who is Ratthi just on his own? I hope we (and maybe he) get to know that.

Pin-Lee has a little more definition to them after this episode, and I hope we keep getting more.  They’ve been built up quietly in the background, doing a lot of necessary plot work because it fits their personality rather than their job. They’re the one analyzing the satellite data for patterns in the outages, and this tells the audience a lot about their need for everything to make sense and fit neatly. They are a lover of patterns and order.  They are almost certainly the one who pushed for the throuple contract (because of course Pin-Lee needs a contract).  They see offering up another throuple as a means to fix things that frankly need honest discussions, but a contract is easier than a discussion, and one discussion may lead to another.

It’s clear Pin-Lee loves their wife, but seems to fear their wife doesn’t love them nearly as much. So they hide parts of themself they think Arada might find objectionable. They blunt their edges. I think a lot of Pin-Lee’s arc is going to be shifting further into the Pin-Lee from the books as they gain confidence. But that requires them to work through their issues with their wife. It requires trust rather than contract, accepting that they won’t always see the patterns and have control, and being okay with that. I wasn’t sure about combining Pin-Lee and Overse at first, but the more I look at it, the more interesting of an arc has been set up for this character, going from an amalgamation with more Overse into more of a book-true Pin-Lee, specifically by embracing many things Pin-Lee struggles with. 

Arada is the mystery to me right now.  She’s very caring, very focused on being kind and fair.  She’s the one who first has clearly decided that SecUnit is a person.  She’s the one who insists that the worm that tried to eat her was simply an animal doing what animals do.  She’s the one who makes certain people are validated, supported, given gifts of embroidery and windchimes.  She’s the heart of the group in many ways.

But who is she beneath the care?  I feel like we haven’t gotten to know her as well as the others quite yet, and I really want to learn more about her perspective.  She brings a great, solid base of caring to the equation, but she can also clearly blind herself to her own more selfish impulses. There isn’t a deliberately selfish or cruel bone in her body, but there is a part of her that happily believes that if she wants something, her spouse wants it too. If Pin-Lee doesn’t openly object, then Pin-Lee is trilled to be a part of whatever Arada wants. It’s a very ordinary, human flaw, to overlook someone else’s discomfort in your own excitement.

I want to see that dug into, more explored.  I want all the awkward, painful bits of Arada to come out the same as we’re getting for the others.  Of everyone, I feel like her shitty coping mechanisms are perhaps the least defined, and I am eager to see them laid bare. I think her arc has yet to take shape, and I am eager to know where she’s going.

DR. GURATHIN: HYPERVIGILANCE AND HYPERCOMPETENCE

Oh boy, the king of shitty coping mechanisms came into fairly sharp focus in this episode, didn’t he?  He only really got three scenes, being kept on base with Bharadwaj, but each of them hits hard for different reasons.  His argument with Mensah about going to DeltFall drives home his hypervigilance, and how it turns him inward to the point of paranoia and bringing out his own worst impulses. 

He is fiercely protective of this group of friends, these very few people who he cares about, and is willing to do some fairly shitty things to keep them safe. And even so, everything feels like it’s slipping out of his control (and he needs to be useful, and he needs to have control).  His better nature can still be reached, particuarly by Mensah who is still able to talk him down. This episode makes it clear how much he puts Mensah on a pedestal as The Best Person (it’s funnily enough similar to what Murderbot does after ���All Systems Red’ in the books).  So he caves, and she and the team leave, and he’s left alone with Bharadwaj. Does he think it’s a good idea? No. Does it matter? Not really, but also on a personal level it matters very much, because it leaves him in a position to stew in his own insecurities and fears. And he’s got more than his fair share of both.

In the scene with Bharadwaj we see his second major coping mechanism: the need to be useful.  He can’t talk to her about her experiences.  He doesn’t understand them and is painfully fucking awkward at the best of times, and he knows it.  But he offers up the trauma modules he has that clearly helped him at least a little.  It’s what he’s got, and it’s what he’s comfortable offering a friend in need.

She turns him down.  And this triggers his final scene in the show, and one that plays on multiple layers.  The first layer is SecUnit’s layer, the one we’re presented when we listen to and believe its voiceover, and that is that he’s being creepy.  He’s going into Mensah’s room without her permission; he looks at the photo of her kids and he smells her pillow.  That’s creepy, right?  Right?

But if you watch the scene on mute, without the color commentary, it feels a lot more like a poor attempt at self-soothing in the face of a breakdown.  Gurathin’s backstory is not very clear at this point, but I think it’s safe to assume his relationship with his parents is a far cry from Mensah’s loving family.  So there is comfort in seeing the photo of her children (and if he and Mensah have been friends for six years, he probably knows the kids at least a little).  He’s clinging to this ideal of Mensah as what he wants to be, as much as he has a crush on her: to him she’s competent, caring, effortlessly balancing the needs of everyone.  She’s a good mother, a good friend, a good leader.

And in the face of the fear of losing her, of losing all his friends to unknown and uncontrollable dangers, he falls apart.  In this place where he maybe feels just a little safe, he completely collapses. It’s not pretty and it’s not great and it’s absolutely bordering on inappropriate.  Yes, it sure does look like he smell her pillow (not great, even if she never finds out), but after that he mostly just shatters.  He’s sobbing by the end of the scene, and the narration just doesn’t quite notice it, and because the audience can’t hear it, it’s easy to miss.  There is an enormous disconnect between what SecUnit thinks is happening in that moment (tawdry, one-dimensional creeping) and what is actually happening (understandable, still inappropriate, badly maladaptive, but deeply human breakdown). 

He, like Bharadwaj, is having his coping mechanisms fail him.  He’s not useful.  He’s hypervigilant to the point of paranoia, and it’s NOT HELPING.  It could easily drive a wedge between him and his friends and he can’t help it because it’s what he knows how to do.  He protects what little he cares about.  There is an obvious ruthless, selfish streak to him that remains from the Corporation Rim and whatever was done to him there (and the more hints we get, the more sense we get that it was BAD). 

Interestingly, I’m not sure where Gurathin’s arc is headed. He’s one of the best developed characters at this point, but it’s all not great. He’s got a lot of room to grow, but in what direction? I’m not sure, and I’m honestly excited that I’m not sure. It makes more of a mystery, trying to figure out what the writers are planning on doing with him aside from making him a narrative foil for Muderbot.

CONCLUSIONS

I really like that the show is being bold in its choices to show the uglier, more maladaptive sides of these people. I like that it’s trying, with only about twenty minutes an episode, to actually make them believable people having believable responsives to an incredibly difficult situation.

That’s what I ended up really taking away from this continuation of the series, after watching it back to back to back with the previous two: we now have an idea of most of these characters’ stress responses, how good or often bad they are.  They are all so eager (except SecUnit) to help one another, but they are all trying desperately to hide how much they need help.  They are kind and caring, but still painfully human. 

With Mensah reaching out to SecUnit, with the first tentative attempt to make it care, I think we as the audience have also been positioned to see these people as their own raw selves, and to learn to embrace them, to care, just as much as Murderbot will begin to care about them.

I am still really liking this show.  I still want to see where it’s going.  If anything, I wish that each episode was just a few minutes longer, because a lot of moments are surprisingly subtle, undermining the narration, and acting as contrast to the way SecUnit currently perceives the world.  Would it be better if those moments had a bit longer to breathe, or is their subtelty and the need to watch the show a few times to catch everything part of the charm?

[ittybittyfanblog]

Ok, so another fic blurb! (loosely inspired by the recent banner hehe) | press here for filth

What if...... Sylus, the beast tamer, the liberator of the caged and broken, has a pet of his own? 

What if, in this scenario, you are the beast in question—his wild, fickle, untamed little plaything?

He doesn’t mean for it to happen. He caught wind of a trafficking ring auctioning hybrids of varying types; a setup he knows all too well, having freed countless creatures from similar fates on planets far away. And it's only supposed to go about one way, bringing along the kind of chaos he excels at: quick, efficient, brutal.

He will play the instigator, the matchstick to the pyre, and watch as the oppressed tear their captors apart. Blood will spill, chains will break, and he will revel amidst the pandemonium, a spectator to the glorious enactment of rightful vengeance.

But then—he sees you.

The runt of the pack, small and unsure, trembling in the eye of the storm he unleashes. Hackles raised, little fangs bared – not in defiance, but in fright.

You don’t fight. You don’t flee. You only flinch at the sound of slaughter, shoulders drawn tight, tail coiled around yourself like you can somehow disappear from it all. There’s something about the way you cower at the roar of violence, how you huddle in on yourself even as freedom crashes down around you, that makes something in him snap. Something visceral ignites in him.

An unfamiliar, wretched need to protect curls inside his ribs.

He can’t leave you here. He won’t.

And before he can even think to stop himself, his body moves on instinct, eviscerating anything in his way, cutting a clean path to where you stand frozen in fear. His hands find you, steady. Certain. 

He doesn't let you look – doesn’t let you see the finale of the insurrection that has made you shake in fear. The next thing you know, you’re in his arms, pressed against the unyielding heat of him as he makes a swift exit.

And the next thing he knows, you’ve already claimed him as yours.

It’s different this time, you think. You barely know this man, your unforeseen savior, but something about him calms the noise in your head, stills the frantic pulse in your throat. An inexplicable sense of security settles deep in you, and you swish your tail in contentment, loop it possessively around his leg. Pressing your face into his neck, just breathing him in. Marking him in your own way. 

Warmth. Steel. Something sharp beneath it all.

Something dangerous. 

Powerful. 

Safe.  

And when you burrow deeper, seeking, instinctive, Sylus exhales like you’ve punched the air from his lungs.

He knows he can’t let you go.

His pretty beastie. His precious, skittish thing.

He doesn’t call you a pet. That word is foreign on his tongue, wrong, too close to what he stands against. And the last thing Sylus wants is for you to feel like you’ve simply exchanged one owner for another. No, never that. 

But then you look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes—innocent and somehow sly at the same time—pressing your body against him like you want to nestle under his skin.

You, his restless little distraction, his playfully insistent creature; always demanding his time, expecting the infamous leader of Onychinus (not that the title means a thing to you) to indulge you.

And he does.

Because he never gives you a reason to think otherwise, never denies you anything. Always so willing, so devoted to your happiness.

____

It starts small.

Or maybe that’s what he tells himself.

Maybe it starts when he catches you preening in front of the mirror, grooming yourself with little licks, arching your back, testing the stretch of your limbs... and something about the way you move makes him clench his jaw and avert his gaze. 

Maybe it starts the first time you crawl into his lap without a second thought, tail curling idly around his wrist as you press close, heedless of the tension thrumming beneath his skin.

Or maybe it starts when you purr for him, soft and endearing and so achingly sweet, whenever his hands find themselves mapping the smooth expanse of your back. 

He shouldn’t touch you the way he does.

It’s indulgent, the way his fingers trace your spine, stroke the soft patch of fur at the base of your tail.

It’s indulgent, the way you stretch beneath his touch, arching, sighing, rubbing yourself against his palm like you need more.

It’s indulgent, the way he lets you.

And it only gets worse.

Because now, you’ve started seeking him out.

It’s innocuous at first. Always pressing against him whenever (and wherever) he’s seated, stealing his warmth, basking in his protective embrace. Curling around him like you belong there, lazy and spoiled, like you already know he won’t push you away.

And he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. 

Because when you tuck yourself against his side and let out that soft, pleased little “mrrr,” it does something terrible to him.

(It snaps his unraveling restraint, thread by thread.)

-

-

-

His adorable, darling kitten. His. The moment he laid eyes on you, he knew. And oh, there is nothing he wouldn’t do for you.

His sweet little thing….. who’s getting bolder with each passing day. Pushing. Teasing. Learning exactly what makes him falter.

His baby, who goes into heat at certain times of the month and expects him to help, because he always helps, doesn’t he?

So it’s not your fault when you arch your back so shamelessly beneath his touch, when you shudder as his fingers find that sensitive spot on your tailbone.

It’s not your fault when you grind needily into his lap, rubbing yourself against his hardening cock in slow, lazy motions, feeling the change in his breathing, the sharp exhale through his nose (something that excites you to no end).

It’s not your fault when you whimper so prettily, let your tongue flick over his pulse, nip at his skin in playful challenge.

And it’s certainly not your fault when you feel it—massive, hot, and unmistakable beneath where you’re situated on top of him. 

The air between you shifts. Thickens.

His fingers tighten, grip bruising as he stills you.

His breath is slow, painstakingly measured, and he knows he’s fighting a losing battle.

Sylus, torn between the animalistic desire to give you everything you ask for, and the absolute immorality of wanting to render you useless, to force you down on all fours and thoroughly fuck you, breed you on every surface in this damned house, and the last, fraying threads of his restraint wavers.

Then his precious little pet mewls for him.

And it’s like a switch flips inside him.

A breaking. A liberation.

That’s all it takes.

Because when you whimper his name, voice desperate and pleading, hips pressing forward so insistently—when you beg him, hiccuping, to do something, please, please–

Sylus gives in.

[bunny-jpeg]

Hello, Table for 2! Under the name Toto Wolff, I recently came across your "cafe" and i would love to place an order 😁

A Millionare shortcake

A Croissant

And a Fudge

with the side of Milkshake and Fishbowl cocktail

Extra request: Could the reader be daughter of Christian Horner, Team principal of Red bull?

bakery menu

i'm slowly inching my way back into doing bakery orders. i got a really high streak with writing my own ideas (without the prompts) so i got sort of lazy with the bakery prompts. but there will be more of them mixed in. i hope you enjoy this and thank you for ordering!

millionaire shortcake: "if they saw you now, you'd be the biggest shame to your family." + croissant: "i wonder if your father knows what happens during the off hours. if he knows you're here with me." + fudge: "your father is pissing me off." + milkshake: size kink + fishbowl cocktail: protected sex served by toto wolff (formula one)

tags: smut/pwp, horner!reader, secret relationship, age gap (20s/50s), size difference/kink, protected sex, dirty talk

toto tried not to cut his loses too much. he felt like his greatest regret was not signing max verstappen. he often glanced at horner and felt a sense of disgust, especially when the dutch driver sailed towards another win.

and while toto would forever feel the regret of not signing verstappen, he didn't regret one thing. he watched you lounging in his living room in his expensive house in monaco, far away from your father. you looked up from your magazine and smiled at him. horner may have caught verstappen, but toto caught horner's daughter.

toto liked how you look in his arms. there was something about you that just made it feel right for him to hold you the way he did. but sometimes he held a little tighter, mostly when he was mad at your father. it wasn't your fault that chrisitan horner could be such a rat-bastard, but he couldn't help but take some of that pent up aggression out of on your poor little pussy.

horner's prize child, while not a racer yourself, you excelled in everything you did. you had your own trophies for the sports you did and the academic achievements. but no amount of your father's praise could make up how it felt when toto smothered you in his own praise. - or his degradation.

"i wonder if your father knows what happens during the off hours. if he knows you're here with me." toto asked as he held you by the hips a little tighter. you were about to pour another glass of wine and now the older, taller man had you pinned to the counter top.

you replied as you put the bottle down, "he thinks i'm visiting max this weekend. i was supposed to bring him paperwork regarding time off because of his new baby.." the paper work was in your bag, long forgotten as you got wrapped up in your secret lover.

toto leaned in to kiss the back of your neck, "look at you, doing your father's work. how sweet. little does he know that you're here with me tonight." he pressed up against you a little harder and felt you shudder. it was cute.

you were quite small compared to him, toto stood over six feet tall. he could easily encompass you in his arms and move you as he so pleased. there wasn't much you could do when he rubbed the front of himself up against your back. his hard cock pressed against your skin.

"you know, my princess. your father is pissing me off." he said lowly, "he talks and talks like a bratty little terrier." he exhaled loudly, he held on a little tighter, "i wish i could shut him up the way i shut you up."

you looked up at him with a look on concern.

toto laughed, "i meant with a gag. he'd look better with some of his words kept to himself." he then patted your behind before he led you to the bedroom. he kept close to you like a comforting shadow, his hand on your lower back as he guided you to the bed. he was a little more forceful once in the bedroom.

you felt a push and ended up face first in the pillows with your pert ass up in the air. you yelped when he groped the flesh. he didn't like to spank you, it felt juvenile. but, he did have his methods for making you squirm. his large hand gripped onto the swell of your ass and he watched you squirm. you were well versed in the sexual tactics of toto wolff.

"i'm sorry he's pissing you off, toto. i tried telling him to not be as mean." you said as you were stripped of the little shorts you wore. you could feel toto's hungry gaze on your back side. you helped him out by getting out of the tank top you wore.

"i know. he simply can't help it. always has to have the last word. but i think he knew what we were getting up to tonight, he wouldn't have another thing to say." toto smirked as he rubbed the front of his sweatpants at the sight of you. you looked beautiful however he could have you. there was a certain kind of magic to you. he licked his lips, "you look like such a slut right now, princess. did you know that? that you look so desperate on your knees with your ass in the air. ready to accept me."

you whined when you felt him press up against you. your hands found support in the soft white comforter under you. you cursed into the pillows. this was a dangerous game you were playing, even as he grabbed a condom to put on. you were sleeping with the enemy, horner's main rival both on the track and off. if your father found out that you were sleeping with toto, you'd never hear the end of it.

but that excited you, as toto pushed himself into you (with the condom on), you felt nothing but excited. the anxiety over what felt like the inevitable only turned into heated lust as toto started to fuck you.

"if they saw you now, you'd be the biggest shame to your family."

"toto."

"shh, shh. sluts don't get to speak. they only use their pretty little mouths to suck cock." he said as he worked himself against you. his thrusts had a force to them that made you see stars. toto fucked like someone half his age, someone closer to you in age.

you tried not to think too hard about the age gap or why you were so enraptured by someone so much older. he was technically older than your father, but yet you were a panting mess on the bed as he took you like a proper lover.

none of the boys at your school could ever make you feel this good. they stumbled their way through sex and asked for a round of applause when they gave you a crumb of pleasure. not toto, never toto. he knew exactly how to make you squirm and near scream. as he pushed your head further into the soft pillows, your hips further raised as he worked himself against you. the sex between you two was magnetic.

toto was thankful that he had you all to himself, that he didn't pass up the opportunity the way he did on a professional level. horner could be smug about verstappen's winnings, but toto would only be more smug at the idea that he got to fuck the daylights out of horner's sweet princess of a daughter. that she was back in his home waiting for him to make her cum over and over again.

sometimes it wasn't about winning one battle, it was about winning the entire war. maybe one day toto will proper introduce himself to your father, not as a colleague but as your fiance. but that was for another time, for now he was content with watching your ass with the quick movements of his thrusts.

"look at you, your father would be so dissapointed. all those years in private school." he squeezed your ass and continued to thrust up into you. he watched how your body moved against him. it was the perfect sight, you look perfect under him.

"fuck, please. toto." you whined as you lifted your head from the pillows for a moment, only for him to shove them back into the covers. you whined against the soft white pillowcases and felt the pleasure wash over you. you panted heavily and let toto fuck you into sweet submission.

he groaned as he continued to fuck up into you. he loved the feeling of your cunt slick around him. your pussy was like a vice and it left hi hungry for more. he quickened his pace and you felt the electricity in your blood. he was undeniable, he was something so alluring that it made your head throb. your core was soaked and you carnally needed him, even his dirty words made you hot all over.

"you feel beautiful under me. all mine, you know that already." his hands held onto your hips tightly as he worked himself into you. he enjoyed the pleasure, the heat of it all made him only yearn for more. he let out a sharp groan and continued to work himself inside of you. his cock throbbed for you.he continued to fuck you, working his hips against your ass as his cock nudged against all the right places.

you felt divine, a heavenly intervention for him. he kept up the pace, he worked the flesh of your skin with his hands as he loomed over you with heavy movements. the two of you were warmed, flushed with sexual want for one another as the pleasure washed over both of you.

"please, toto." you gasped as you arched your back further. you felt the intensity of pleasure come over you, you climaxed as you held onto the covers tightly. your face squished against the pillows as you tensed up. the feeling left you out of breath, you panted as you relaxed a few moments after.

toto basked in the feeling of you. the warmth of you, all of your love. the hammering in his chest was intense. he thrusted against you further, letting the pleasure bloom in his chest. the felt the excitement in his core as he fucked you feverishly. you felt like a dream come true with the amount of heat in his body. his movements picked up and with a few more strong thrusts he finished inside of you. the condom protected from any mishaps, but he loved being able to finish inside of your tight pussy.

"perfect. perfect for me." he said with affection in his tone as he slowed to a stop and admired your backside for a moment then pulled out.

you laid out in bed and watched him dispose of the condom. even if this was your father's enemy, you couldn't care. you didn't want to care about it. toto was yours above all else, the rivalry will fade one day and all you'll be left with is your adoring lover.

as he got back into bed and you wrapped yourself up in him. he kissed you on the lips, he held you by your middle and pressed you up against him.

"the only good thing your father ever did was have you, my princess." he said softly.

you rolled on top of him, straddled his waist and put both hands on his chest, "enough about my old man, either you get me my wine or we can go another round." then winked at him.

toto may have a career regret with verstappen, but he'd never have the same regret when it came to his personal life. because as you straddled his waist, he always knew that he'd have you <3

[esouliie]

everything comes out, teenage petulance ⋆⟡˖

– synopsis | someone from wanda’s past interrupts your saturday morning and you’re not happy about it. wanda, however…

– warnings | angst, hurt/comfort, age gap couple, reader is younger & inexperienced and with that comes✨ emotional immaturity✨ but wanda is *chefs kiss* at giving reassurance :3

– notes | not proof read but the writing is rough!!! but but but i tried to write the inexperienced reader in an age gap relationship with the concept of conflicting emotional maturity… and i hate it lol, the dialogue sucks ass :/ i wish i could write reader with better petulant teenager energy!

You woke up to the smell of fresh coffee and the soft hum of Wanda moving about the kitchen. Saturdays with her are your favorite, a break from the routine of the week. The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Wanda's voice floated in from the other room.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," her tone gentle and affectionate. "I've made us some coffee."

You stretched and yawned, making your way to the kitchen where Wanda stood by the counter, her eyes twinkling as she hands you a mug. You took a sip, savoring the rich flavor of your favourite Colombian blend, overloaded with the insurmountable amount of sugar and cream she put in. Usually, she complains about how you take your coffee - constantly complaining how your daily sugar intake was enough to knock out an elephant - but she knew you wouldn’t drink coffee any other way.

And you needed coffee.

"Thanks, Wands," you mumbled as you smiled up at her, noticing her nose scrunch as she mimicked your smile. She's a few years older than you, and she wore it with pride. She was confident in herself, there was never a time she felt insecure about her age, and the most emotionally intelligent person you’ve ever met. In the beginning of your relationship, all of your “arguments” ended with healthy communication from Wanda’s side whereas you’d close up like a clam, refusing to talk or fight or even run away. You’d just switch off. And so, her maturity and confidence used to make you feel a bit self-conscious. But every day was better, because you have an excellent teacher who loves you endlessly.

You and all your emotional problems.

"Ready for our walk?" she asked, reaching for the leash. "Lucky's been waiting all week."

You nodded eagerly. "Absolutely. Let's go."

You both had been watching Lucky for the past couple weeks. Your bestfriend - Kate Bishop - had recently gone to Russia to visit her girlfriend’s parents. You were all for it, an exciting buzz had followed you the whole upcoming week. Wanda was a bit unsure at first, having never owned a dog, she wasn’t sure how to take care of it, but you reassured you had enough experience for the both of you.

The park was just a short walk from your house, and as you stepped outside, the crisp morning air filled your lungs. Lucky, the exuberant golden retriever, darted ahead, his tail wagging furiously, but never too far away from you both. The park was alive with people and their pets, the sound of laughter and conversation mingling with birdsong. Children ran across the grass, their gleeful shouts echoing through the trees.

Wanda took your hand, her fingers warm against yours. "It's such a beautiful day," she said, her eyes scanning the park. "Perfect for a walk."

This week had been especially busy for both of you. Wanda had been tirelessly working as the director of her own gallery, a lifelong dream that she had finally realised after months of dedication and effort. Meanwhile, you were preparing for your finals, which meant spending countless hours holed up in the library or Wanda's home office. As a result, the past few days you had seen very little of each other, making the rare moments like this morning even more precious.

You hummed in agreement and squeeze her hand, feeling a rush of affection for the blonde. “Here! You take this!” She offered, handing you Lucky’s ball in exchange for his lead.

Just then, before you could run off to play fetch, someone called out, "Wanda!" Her grip on your hand immediately loosened, and she dropped it, stepping a few steps away. You turned to see an older man - his mousy brown hair styled neatly with a suit jacket over his arm - approaching with a skip in his step.

There was no ring on his finger.

"Wanda, is that really you?" he asked, a broad smile spreading across his face , showing a bit too much teeth for you, as he hugged her warmly. You almost rolled your eyes as they rocked side to side in their embrace, shared laughter floating between them.

As fucking if.

“Vis! It’s been ages.” Wanda is the first to pull away, and yet her arms are still wrapped around his biceps. Your eye twitched as you notice her brush her fingers along the stretched fabric.

You stood there awkwardly. The pair fell into easy conversation as if they were ex lovers or something, and you waited for an introduction that never came. Their voices became a distant murmur as you drifted away from the conversation, your attention returning to Lucky, who was no longer by your side, and who was dangerously close to the pond, trying to reach the ducks with his snout.

“Lucky! Leave the ducks alone!” You called, grabbing his lead from Wanda’s, albeit loose grip, hurrying over towards the dog who was either ignoring you or hyper-fixated on reaching those ducks.

You’re not sure what happened next. You either spooked Lucky out of his trance or he really was being an ass today, but as soon as you got close enough to clip his lead to his collar, he spun on his back legs, knocking into you and zooming away. You stumbled, your balance slipping as you flailed to stay upright. With a yelp, you tumbled down, your body hitting the muddy bank. Your leg splashed into the water, soaking your entire leg. Wet and cold, you scrambled to stand up but a sharp pain shooting through your ankle had you sinking back on to the bank, before you managed to pick yourself up on your good leg. Tears from the pain and embarrassment blurred your vision as you looked down at the state of you. Your pretty dress Wanda had picked out for you this morning was coated in mud and all sorts of dirt. You watched in grimace as pond water dripped out of your shoe as you moved away from the scene of the crime.

Remembering you weren’t alone, and your girlfriend had probably seen the dog wipe you out, you searched for Wanda, only to find her still with her “old friend.” In fact, they seem to have moved over towards a spare bench as you noticed how close they were sat next to each other. Turned towards one another, their arms were basically brushing. Wanda had laughed at something Vis had said as she threw her head back, almost falling backwards until he grabbed onto her, pulling her closer towards him.

The sight made your stomach churn. Anger swirled in a violent revenge inside, and yet, it was sadness that slipped down your face. You felt a burning sensation in your chest and a lump forming in your throat.

All you wanted to do was go home.

A mother and her young daughter who had watched you fall made their way over to you, the question already posed in the way she looked at you. “Are you alright?”

Your teary eyes shifted back to the bench. Still lost in conversation, you watched and waited, wondering what it was they were talking about, wondering if she had even noticed you’re hurt.

But it’s clear she hadn’t seen you fall… or maybe she just forgot you were even here.

“I’m fine.” You replied, but your eyes deceived you.

The woman followed your gaze, “Oh! Are they your parents?”

You scoffed but there wasn’t any bite to it, and fresh tears rolled off your face, “No.”

You began to hobble forward, in search of Lucky but the stranger was one step ahead of you. She grabbed onto your arm, claiming you shouldn’t put your weight on your injured ankle, as she sent her daughter ahead looking for Lucky. She found him in no time, on the other side of the pond, no longer trying to reach the ducks but sat watching them.

You called for him, and without a fuss, he came. You clipped him to his lead, as he stared up at you curiously. He seemed to sense your distress and was suddenly still, looking up at you with a sorrowful expression, as if he understood the part he had played in this. Before you could return to full height, he leaned his head into yours. His actions saying a thousand words, and you couldn’t help but smile at the pup, giving him a little scratch. “It’s okay, bud. I know you didn’t mean to.”

Meeting the concerned mother’s gaze, you pointed towards Wanda, “I’m just gonna…” You trailed off but she understood, turning away with a genuine “get well soon”, instructions to ice your ankle as soon as you get home, and her daughter in hand. With that, she turned in the opposite direction, heading back towards where you fell.

You walked in the other direction, deciding to go around Wanda. You didn’t want to see her right now. Noticing the park exit in sight, Lucky dragged on his lead, trying to turn back the way you came.

“No, Lucky. We’re going home.” You ushered him through the gates, “She can stay here with him.”

A shout caught your attention. Behind you, Wanda was walking - almost running - towards you. The man was nowhere in sight. “Y/N! Where did you go? Why are you leaving?” You noticed a tinge of frustration in her voice, but that was dropped as soon as she took in your soaked state. “What happened?”

“Oh so you did remember I was here.” With that, you turned and walked away as fast as your ankle would let you.

“What-?” You heard Wanda struggle for words behind you before she caught up, her hand grabbing your cold, still - damp arm. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“You would know if you weren’t so impressed by your boyfriend back there.” You spat, shrugging off any hold she had on you.

She grabbed your arm again, firmer this time. “He’s not my boyfriend. His name’s Vision. We went to school together. I haven’t seen him in years.”

Her tone remained the same soft melody, despite the obvious frustration earlier.

You remained silent, scoffing in reply, as you tried to walk away, but she stopped you again, turning you around to face her.

Her warm hands held your cheeks, forcing you to make eye contact. “Hey, what’s really wrong?”

Her gaze softened, concern evident, and you felt tears pooling again as you fought within yourself, torn between letting go of your anger or clinging to it like petulant teenager.

“Don’t shut me out. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“You forgot about me,” you whispered, your voice trembling as tears streamed down your face. She wiped at them and a hum encouraged you to continue.

“You dropped my hand, and was talking to that guy so much, you didn’t even know I was still there. Lucky was acting up, so I went to get him, and I fell in the pond. My ankle really hurts, I think I sprained it, and I’ve ruined my dress and—” A sharp sob cut you off as your emotions overwhelmed.

Sensing your distress, Wanda pulled you into her arms. “It’s okay, baby,” she consoled softly, her voice remaining gentle and soothing.

Being in Wanda's arms usually helped you calm down. The warmth of her embrace and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed steadily would bring you a sense of peace. You would listen to her heartbeat, syncing your breath to its comforting rhythm, as her presence soothe your worries away.

However your anger surged, unable to latch onto a single thing as it flailed wildly. You pushed back against her chest, but she didn’t let go. "No, don't baby me! You forgot about me! I fell into a pond, and you weren't even there to help. A stranger did, Wanda. A fucking stranger cared more about me than my own girlfriend because she was too busy with some fucking guy!"

Her grip tightened slightly as she whispered, a juxtaposed effort to your loud volume, “I know, and I’m so sorry.” But you were too upset to care, your hurt and frustration drowning out her words of apology. You tried to close down on yourself, shielding away from the pain.

“Wanda, let go of me,” you said, hands pushing against her as your voice trembled with the effort to hold back the flood of emotions.

“No,” Wanda replied firmly, her eyes searching yours. “Tell me how you feel.”

“I already told you! ” Her persistence had you shouting again, the walls you were trying to build around your heart crumbled. Tears welled up in your eyes as your throat closed up as you started to sob uncontrollably. Frantic images of Wanda on the bench with the man flashed through your mind, tormenting you. You wiped at your face desperately, but the tears kept coming, a torrent of pain, betrayal and immeasurable grief.

“You acted like I didn’t exist,” you choked out between sobs. “It was like you were ashamed of me.”

Wanda’s eyes widened, not expecting that to be your response. “I’m not ashamed of you.” She said, her voice cracking with emotion. “I don’t know why I dropped your hand or why I didn’t introduce you as my girlfriend. It was a mistake and I’m so sorry.” Her own tears began to pool, her sorrow evident.

“I could never be ashamed of you, Y/N.”

She pulled you into a tight embrace, tears falling on top of your head as she whispered a few more apologies, and a promise to do better, to never make you feel invisible again or doubt her love for you.

“I want to go home.” You whispered, with a defeated energy.

Wanda remained unconvinced, though she understood your struggle. She had been tirelessly encouraging you to be more open about your feelings, and she had seen you make significant progress. However, she knew that progress wasn’t linear. Despite your improvements since you first started dating, she anticipated the occasional bad day. Recognising that this conversation wasn't suited for a public setting, Wanda shifted the focus. “I think Lucky does too,” she said softly, nodding towards the enthusiastic dog at your side.

You followed her gaze to Lucky, who was wagging his tail so energetically - despite the tense conversation he had just been present in- it seemed he might take off at any moment. “Okay, boy. Let’s go,” you said, giving him the command he was eagerly awaiting.

As the golden retriever began to trot down the street, you turned to the older woman. “I’m sorry, Wands.” The weight of those few words lingered in the air, before you felt a gentle squeeze on your hand as Wanda had intertwined her fingers with yours, her grip reassuring and steadfast. “I know. I’m sorry too.”

She didn't let go the entire way, and once again, her presence was a silent promise of growth, support and understanding as you made your way home together.

[thevillainswhore]

Familiar Ghosts

Pairing: Dark!Benjamin Poindexter x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: How you thought you could end your relationship with Dex was a mystery to him. Didn’t you know he would always come back for you? Didn’t you know that you belonged to him?

Warnings: Ex-boyfriend!dex, toxicity, dark content, stalking, smut, dubious consent, a little somnophillia?, oral (fem receiving)

Author’s Note: divider by @saradika-graphics. hi!! very very nervous to post this, but the hyper fixation of bullseye has been strong and I can’t get him out of my head. Hope you enjoy x

Benjamin Poindexter. A veteran soldier. A former FBI agent. And most recently, your ex-boyfriend.

It had been a volatile breakup. Dex was intense, while you were breezy and happy-go-lucky. Where you were outgoing, Dex was a fortress of solitude, who put you on a pillar of excellence. He made you a deity. Something so spiritually powerful it scared you. In Dex’s eyes, you could do no wrong. He would follow you to the ends of the earth if it was what you wished. 

His expectations weren’t attainable. Dex spoke of you as though you belonged with the higher powers religion based their ideals upon. He treated you like a fallen angel, simply too beautiful for this world. 

Dex was fervent in his adoration of you, in making you a pinnacle of his life. It was in the way he catalogued your facial expressions as they flashed across your face, knowing how you felt before you did. Like he could read your mind. It was proven in the obsession of keeping you safe, making sure he knew where you were at all times. He’d spend any spare moments he had with you, because as he had put it so many times, he felt like he couldn’t breathe without you. 

That’s why you had ended it, you had told him.

For you, it became too much.

You had tried so delicately to end the relationship. With sweet words and appreciation of the time spent together. But Dex had taken it like a bullet to the heart no matter how honeyed your apologies poured out. His eyes had darkened, his breaths had become unsteady, his fists had tightened against the upholstery of your sofa. 

Dex was a storm, ready to wreak total

destruction. And you weren’t ready for it. 

Your first mistake was leaving your window open. 

Naive as you were, it worked out in Dex’s favour. Of course, he could’ve entered your apartment whether you took better care to lock up or not. Though, you made it a hell of a lot easier for him to gain access and for that, he was grateful. 

See, Dex told himself internally. She does care about you. She’s still thinking of you. She’s practically letting you in. 

It was simple enough for Dex to explain away the doubts lingering in his mind. His moral compass wasn’t broken, you just made it work better. You guided him. Just like you paved the way for him to enter your home while you were sleeping. 

The invitation was there. 

And how you looked so beautiful, chest slowly rising and falling. The silk of your camisole melted into your skin, the white material clinging to the curves of your breasts as your nipples stood to attention. It was a sight for sore eyes. 

Luckily, Dex’s eyes had seen too many horrors and you were the balm to heal his wounds. 

The day you left him, Dex felt not only his heart shatter, but also his mind. You were his buoy in an open endless sea, a beacon in the night calling him home to safety. And a man so reliant on his North Star, who was suddenly deprived of that shining light, was a dangerous one. 

Frayed nerves. Destructive tendencies. A whole lot to lose. 

It was unfair. An injustice of Dex’s love you’d so easily tossed aside. 

But it was okay. Dex wasn’t angry. You were just confused. Taken aback by the sincerity of his affections and how deeply they ran. You weren’t used to it, always settling for less than you deserved. 

Men hadn’t always been kind to you. He’d know of course. Dex had always watched over you. He couldn’t remember what life was like before you graced him with your presence. 

So it was time for Dex to prove that he knew what you needed. What was best for you. 

Your second mistake was your choice in nightwear. 

It wasn’t anything different to what you’d usually wear on a night where the breeze danced through the voils of your window, goosebumps echoing along your soft skin. 

But how silly of you to leave yourself so uncovered when Dex had warned you an inconsequential amount of times about the monsters that lurked in the night. 

Luckily, you needn’t worry. Dex would always be around to protect you.  

Stood in your bedroom, Dex inhaled. Honey and caramel incense, the lotion you lathered into your body after a shower. How he’d missed it dearly. How he could drown in your scent and drag you with him to keep you for eternity. 

It had been too long. A lifetime without you it felt. The muscle in his jaw ticked while he watched you rest so peacefully. Why weren’t you itching with unease in the middle of the night like he was? How could you be so content without him by your side? 

It wouldn’t do. Dex needed you to crave him as he did you. He needed you to feel the same raw ache that had created a hole in his chest. 

Footsteps light, Dex crept towards the edge of your bed, sheets wrapped around you lightly. You were a deep sleeper, your situational awareness on mute in the early hours. 

It was why the phantom touch of his fingers, ghosting over the inside of your upper thigh went unnoticed by you. 

Plump. Buttery. So damn delicate. A shudder ran down Dex’s spine. His first touch of you in a while. Like an addict finally reuniting with its downfall. 

Trails of constellations etched into your skin by Dex’s fingertips, each manoeuvre carefully crafted in his head. He swallowed roughly, his mind was finally starting to quieten. 

Becoming more comfortable, Dex’s hands grew more desperate, more inclined to grasp instead of trace. To squeeze rather than brush.

It was no surprise that he was quick to lift the sheets covering your form, hiding your beauty away from him. Your legs were already spread apart slightly and so resting his palms in the divot behind each of your knees, Dex opened you up further, revealing the absence of any underwear as the camisole rode up your body. 

They’re so uncomfortable, Ben. I need to feel free while I’m sleeping, you know? Dex could hear the sweet melody of your voice replaying back to him in his own head. He had appreciated it back then, how you so effortlessly bent to his will when his hand smoothed over your bare hip. How pliable you became when his cock found itself growing hard against the rump of your ass and begged for your tight, warm hole to accommodate him. 

And so how he appreciated it now, no barrier to keep him away; no unnecessary layer to stop him from reclaiming what was rightfully his. 

It was almost like you knew Dex would come back. 

Swallowing the saliva that was rapidly gathering over his tongue, Dex swallowed. The pretty sight of your soft folds, framed with the trimmed hair over your pubic bone overwhelmed him. He had gone without you for so long. 

Dex gently secured his hands in the crease between your thigh and crotch on each side of your legs, his thumbs naturally resting next to your hole. He couldn’t help but smile when you shifted, your pussy twitching as though to say welcome home. 

Your slumber wouldn’t last long, Dex knew that — not with what he came to do. But he was tired of holding back, riddled with restlessness the longer he held out. 

And he had reached the end of his tether. The band had snapped. 

Wasting no more time, Dex rested himself on his stomach between your legs, opening your pussy up to him, and finally burying his nose into your sex to breathe you in. 

“Fuck,” Dex’s voice was a growl in the calm night. “You smell just as good as I remember.” 

From then, Dex’s focus was infiltrated. No longer did the honking cars outside your apartment cause him to grind his teeth. No more did the harsh lights of the city billboards make his eyes sting with harshness. In that moment, Dex’s mind liquefied in the recesses of the heaven between your thighs. His alter. 

His arms tightened around your legs, hands rested against your stomach as his tongue rolled over your sex. Reunited at last. 

Dex groaned into you, the harsh sound no doubt vibrated against you. It didn’t matter that your muscles jumped in awareness or if your chest began to heave, nothing would stop him now. 

Even as he started to grind himself against the mattress without shame, Dex still held the immaculate precision of his tongue lathering over your folds, the tip flicking against what he knew was your sensitive clit. 

While his body may well be greedy, he was at least loyal to a fault — destined to always belong to you. 

“B-Ben?” Your voice trembled and oh, how Dex loved you all the more for it. “Is that you?” 

Dex sighed contentedly. You still knew his touch. “Yeah. It’s me, sweetheart.”

He felt the muscles in your legs become more stiff all of a sudden. “What—What are you doing—?” Though you tried to sound accusatory, your exclamations couldn’t help but be airy — light with what could only be pleasure. “H-How did you even get in?”

“Shh. Don’t worry about that. Just relax, you’re safe with me.” 

Dex continued his motions, beginning to suction his lips around your engorged clit while he held you tight when you began to squirm. 

Your breaths came out more panicked, more rushed. You tried to get away. “Ben, I don’t—This isn’t right, please stop—“ 

“You don’t want that.” Dex pressed kisses over the meat of your thighs. “You want me. You can’t hide it, just look how much you’re showing me you need this.” 

Because while you may have tried to run away, your body remembered Dex perfectly. You couldn’t shy away from the wetness leaking out of your pulsing hole. Couldn’t ignore how your juices had coated the skin of Dex’s chin. 

And as much as you tossed and turned, attempting to shake off the physical hold Dex had on you, you hadn’t even realised how you began to follow his mouth. How your hips gyrated in rhythm with each stroke of his tongue, purring for more. 

“No—,” tears rolled down your cheeks in rivulets, your head shaking from side to side against the pillow. “Ben, stop—“

“You thought you could just leave me, huh? Thought you could call it quits and end us?” Your cries went ignored as Dex became more cruel with each suck, his fingers beginning to circle your entrance. “That’s not the way this works, sweetheart. You're mine.” 

Your thighs began to shake just as Dex pushed two fingers in at once, merciless and brutal, until his knuckles sat against you. 

“Always have been.” 

Beginning to grind them, Dex curved his fingers against your walls, making sure to hit the spot he hadn’t forgotten. 

“Always will be.” 

He was ruthless, brutal with each undulation of his fingers, barely removing them from your pussy. You couldn’t even keep your whimpers down, each whine and moan like ecstasy to Dex. 

Maybe it was unorthodox to gift you enough pleasure that you would forget any previous hesitancy. To make you remember how good you had it with Dex. But he didn’t care enough to let it hold space in his mind. 

Dex would do whatever it took to get you back. 

He looked up at you, hair tousled, eyes wide with fear and yet a spark of something else. 

It was your third mistake to unveil the shy excitement in your eyes.  

Your body still shook, your nervous system rewiring itself as your walls contracted around his fingers with the upcoming gratification of an orgasm. But beneath the terror, the horror of Dex’s actions, he could see behind the fog, to the exhilaration and eager anticipation digging its talons into you. 

You were made for him. 

Benjamin Pointdexter may have haunted you. 

Benjamin Pointdexter’s love may have suffocated you. 

But in the midst of clawing your way back for breath, you enjoyed the feel of his scratches marking you. Dex knew it.

Dex knew you.

And as fire burned its way through your veins with your release, Dex’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. Drinking you in like he was dehydrated and you were the water he needed to survive. 

Your stomach caved in, barely able to inhale any air with how powerful your orgasm was. It was seconds after your muscles finally had a chance to relax before Dex crawled his way up your body, his clothes somehow already shedded and neatly folded upon the chair, and kissed away the tracks still staining your cheeks from your tears while his bare cock bobbed against your pussy. 

Eerily calm, Dex whispered, “You’re not leaving me again. Do you understand?” 

He watched intently as your throat constricted around the lump in your throat. “Yes, Ben. I-I promise. I’m sorry.” 

Stroking your hair, Dex smiled, already edging the tip of his cock to rest upon your weeping entrance. “Good. Because you can’t escape me, sweetheart. I love you too much to let you go.” 

[khunwriting]

Hello :) I have an Angst/ Comfort writing prompt for the leech twins (if you want, if not, feel free to ignore) (separate please, but Floyd is my personal favorite) with a smaller, very “aware of their surroundings” Fem!Reader (or Gen!Neutral Reader). ((I wanna play into their mafia allegations 🤣)) She has her head on a swivel and it’s usually unconscious from growing up in a shady neighborhood in her world. Can’t sneak up on her. The twins have tried.

Reader has gotten close to the Octavinelle Trio and spends most of her time around them. Enjoying their company and exchanging street smart knowledge with them.

One day, reader and the twins go out on the town together to run some errands for monstro lounge. While out, they stop for lunch at a café.

Out of the corner of Reader’s eye, she sees a familiar glint from the other side of a window and is shouting at the twins to get down! Grabbing them and instinctively covering their heads with her body as the glass explodes. They tumble to the floor for cover as chaos ensues.

Then the twins smell a smell they’re all too familiar with. Blood.

Reader goes limp while still protecting the twins heads, loosing consciousness from the pain. Her back horribly shredded.

The twins work to get their dear friend to safety, and then they go hunting. Turns out the attacker was an enemy of their father.

My questions;

How would the twins punish their attacker?

How would they react to realizing this paranoid little minnow saved them, and maybe realizing their own feelings for reader and it being put into perspective because she got hurt actively saving them from likely a fatal blow?

How would the twins help her heal & would they get possessive/overly protective till either she was healed and they calmed down… if the twins ever did calm down?

[Request: Protector]

Pairing: Floyd Leech x Reader; Jade Leech x Reader (separate)

Notes: Sorry that this took a while! Work has been taking a lot out of me recently, but I finally completed this. :) This was a fun concept, so thank you for sending in a request! I really hope that you enjoy it!

You were a curious little thing. Not only do you not have magic but you’re the only girl attending NRC, a prominent all-boys academy that excelled in magical education. By all means, you were not supposed to be there; in fact, your very presence in Twisted Wonderland was an anomaly. You weren’t born and raised here, no, you came from an entirely different world with no beasts, magic, or merfolk. A completely unassuming place that sounded rather plain in comparison.

Yet everything about you was not. 

While at first glance, you seemed to rather be a jumpy little krill. Your head was constantly swiveling about, always checking over your shoulders and surroundings. One would assume you were looking for someone, but it occurred even in the comfort of your friends. With a bright grin or chuckle, your head would turn with a quick peek over your shoulder and return to the conversation like nothing happened. An odd habit for sure, but you were an odd person in general. 

And the peculiar always piqued Leech brothers’ interest. 

It was interesting, watching you from afar. You were fast on your feet, and the times where you found yourself in a fight—which funnily seemed like every other day—your tiny form would evade magic spells and punches quickly and easily. The way you acted was like a cute, little barrelfish, and the brothers wanted a chance to see it all up close.

And once exams ended and the field of anemones grew plentiful, the twins were pleased to find you stumbling into the Mostro Lounge. The opportunity landed right in front of the greedy eels and they would be fools to not take advantage of it. Granted, the whole situation ended with you temporarily losing your Ramshackle Dorm and Azul to overblot, but it all worked out in their favor because now you approached them! 

Perhaps the traumatic experience made you bond with them because you voluntarily seeked the Octavinelle trio out of your own accord. And if watching you from afar was interesting, having you within reach was abundantly more fascinating.

The three had learned about your life back in your other world, and all your unusual habits became more clear: The swivel of your head was to constantly check around your surroundings, in case someone was prowling in the shadows—which was why the twins always failed to sneak up on you. You were quick because you had to be. It was unfortunate how dire your life was prior, but the tidbits of knowledge you shared with them was…Informative, to put it simply.

And maybe that’s why they were quite content to have you join their little trio. Whether it was walking together in between classes or even keeping them company during the slower nights at Mostro Lounge, they welcomed you with open arms.

So, when Azul needed the eels to gather ingredients in the village for the Mostro Lounge, the Leeches were quick to ask for your presence. Despite the rumors of how cold and callous the student body deemed the eels, you had wormed your way into their hearts. It was safe to say they had become fond of you, whether they anticipated it or not.

The twins were rather eager to spend time with you by window shopping or chatting about the fun things you learned back in your world. You were just so fascinating, and maybe that’s why they were rather pushy on going to that little cafe on the corner for lunch. It was a chance to prolong their time with you.

The tall mers couldn’t help but share a smug look between each other as the host had sat the three of you next to the window. As the host left the table, the three of you started eyeing the menus.

“Man, they sure got a lot here,” Floyd whistled lowly with an arc of his brow. His dual-colored hues flitted across the pages as his tongue peeked from between his sharp rows of teeth.  “What’re you guys gonna get?”

“I’m in the mood for something savory myself. Perhaps a caprese panini with a white tea,” Jade answered shortly afterwards, settling on his meal rather quickly. He placed down his menu to look across the table with a fond smile. “What about you, prefect?”

“I don’t know…” You trailed off with a small sigh. Your lips pursed at the rows of fancy lettering and prettily plated pictures of the food. “They all look good,”

“Ooohhh, can I choose for ya, minnow?” Floyd perked up with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. When you nodded, the eel-mer let out a delighted cackle and sat up straighter. Floyd’s expression shifted into something more focused, eliciting some laughter from both you and his twin. “Let’s see…” 

Floyd began mumbling to himself as his fingers drifted across the page. Jade leaned over to point at a few items, but the taller mer slapped his brother’s hand away with an irritated ‘I’m choosing! Not you!’ Of course, that only made Jade more eager to push Floyd’s buttons. 

With an amused huff, you just put down your menu and started to swivel your head around, to which the twins paid no attention to it. When your head craned to peer outside of the window, you suddenly stiffened up with wide eyes. Noticing the odd action, the twins stopped their banter and eyed you worryingly. 

“Is something—?” Jade never got to finish his question as you suddenly lunged across the table, reaching for both him and his brother. “Get down!” 

You moved faster than they could comprehend. Your arms quickly wrapped around their heads protectively and yanked them both down to the floor as a loud bang filled the once-gentle air. More bangs followed shortly afterwards, mingling with the screams ringing out in the cafe and on the street as the window’s glass shattered. 

Rain consisting of shards poured down on the three of you as you all sprawled out the tiled floor with a harsh smack. The falling glass became embedded into soft flesh, causing the cuts to bubble red and left a coppery scent in the air. 

Laying beside each other, the twins’ minds were jumbled, unable to process what just happened. The weight of your body spread between the two of them, and your shielding arms still coiled around them with a slight tremor. From where the two laid, they could see the slight smile on your face as your gaze flickered between them with relief.

“L-Lil minnow?” Floyd stumbled over his words as he watched your eyelids fall shut and your body went slack. His hand reached out to press against your back, but he immediately stopped upon feeling a wet and sticky liquid coat his hand. Floyd’s hand drew back and both brothers took a sharp inhale at the crimson coating his palm.

“We need to go now!” Jade spoke urgently, unable to hide the concern lacing his tone. In spite of the bangs and yelling still ringing in the air, the two carefully cradled your body between them and shuffled across the floor towards the back of the cafe. Exiting the backdoor, the brothers found themselves in an alleyway. Careful not to be seen, they peered around the corner.

There, in front of the once quaint cafe, were several sleek cars and even more men, donned in fancy looking suits with firearms in their grasp. Slowly, the shooting stopped and left the air with an uncomfortable silence after such a barrage. One of the men gestured to the cafe, and many of the suited men began to make their way towards the building.

“Jade…” Floyd breathed out, tightening his grip on you with a grim expression. From his side, Jade’s face mirrored the same bleak frown.

"I know, but our priority is her," Both casted one meaningful glance at your unconscious form before turning around and sprinted back towards NRC. It's not till you're safe in the nurse's office do they begin their hunt.

Floyd Leech

Floyd knew he liked you far before this incident happened, but knowing that you actively protected him and his beloved brother’s lives has increased his feelings by tenfold. That is not something to take lightly, and he will be forward with his intentions with you going forward.

After finding out the attacker was his father’s enemy, Floyd becomes enraged and wants to deal with them immediately. However, since it’s such a delicate matter, he becomes antsy when told to wait until his father figures out what to do.

In the meantime, he settles for watching over you in the nurse’s office. He’s not good at first aid, so don’t expect much help in that department. However, Floyd will be happy to grab you anything you need. Snacks? Games? One of those hedgehogs they keep at Heartslabyul? Whatever you wish for, you will get. 

Despite the anger swelling inside of him, he’s so gentle with you. He’s carefully brushing strands of hair out of your face, ghosting his fingers against your cheeks, and holding your hand like you’re going to disappear on him.

“I’m gonna get them real good for ya, lil minnow. I promise, so just focus on getting better, ‘kay?”

Upon getting the go ahead from his father, Floyd lets Azul take care of you in the meantime. Unlike the land above, the sea is far more unkind. With Jade at his side, Floyd goes all in. There are no limits and anything goes. He’ll sink his fangs and claws into flesh until the anger in him is soothed.

When he comes back to you, Floyd is all bloody smiles. If you ask, he’ll happily tell you everything he’s done in great detail. He’ll even bring back scales and/or teeth as trophies for you and will also use this as his way of courting you.

Once you are discharged and back on your feet, expect a very protective and clingy eel to accompany you everywhere. Even when it comes to your friends, Floyd will be a lingering presence. He’ll start adopting your habit of looking over your shoulder, and he will always be on lookout whenever you decide to leave the campus for whatever reason

It’ll take time, but he will eventually calm down. Despite taking out the people that hurt you, Floyd is still aware that there are more enemies out there. He knows that you’re already involved with him, so he might as well be by your side to ensure your safety.

“I like you so much, even way before all that stuff happened. I know you can take care of yourself, but you’re my minnow. No matter what, I got your back,”

Jade Leech

Jade was always intrigued by your actions and thoughts, but he thought that was it: Fascination. So when you put your life on the line for him and his beloved brother, it dawns on him how much he truly adores you.

Upon finding out that the attack was due to his father’s adversaries, Jade is livid. He’s already beyond angry that they would go out of their way to go after him and his brother, but his rage deepens now that you become entangled in their family business. But Jade is a patient eel, and when told to wait by his father, he bides his time.

In the meantime, Jade will visit you in the nurse’s office and wait on you on hand and foot. He’s no medic, but he’s handled his fair share of cleaning scrapes and dressing injuries—Mostly due to Floyd getting into his own mishaps. Any minor cuts from the glass he can tend to, but he’ll leave the gashes on your back to the professionals.

Jade will take care of you tenderly and sweetly, whether it's fluffing your pillow or grabbing you water when you appear parched. He is constantly watching and adjusting his actions based on your reactions. And once he deems it alright, he’ll rest his hand on your arm with a remorseful frown and dim hues.

“I apologize for dragging you into this matter…You have my word that we will get them. Even if they try to hide in the deepest depths, they will not get away,”

Once his father gets back to them, Jade entrusts Azul to care for you, though he will be slightly reluctant to leave. However, his anger is quick to return and there is no holding back. With Floyd at his side, Jade will use whatever underhanded tactics necessary until he deems there is retribution worthy of the wounds that litter your back.

It is only when the threat is eliminated that Jade will take a step back and reflect on his relationship with you—more importantly, if he wants to be involved with you any further. Though he does carry strong feelings for you, the fear of you getting injured again looms over him. He does not want to see you bedridden and hurt because of him. 

When he returns, there is a noticeable distant tone and placid smile that he will carry. After you return to full health, Jade will slip away and do his best to keep you at arm’s length. You will have to be the one to approach and assure him, and it will take a lot of effort on your part (and possibly your confession) for him to stick with you once more. 

Jade may appear calm and normal again, but the memories will never go away. He’ll grow more possessive and protective of you, especially when you two are out of campus. He’s hyper aware of his surroundings and double-checking shadows more often. Knowing that his family has more enemies out there, Jade will do his best to make sure you are never hurt under his watch ever again.

“I adore you incredibly so, pearl. I…I don’t want a repeat of that day. I cannot afford to lose you, so do me a favor and stick by my side, if only to soothe my anxiety, dear,”

[myladybelle]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter thirteen

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.7k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, descriptions of anxiety, swearing, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hi my loves i’m back!! thank you all for your patience while i was sick and preparing for the new semester, i appreciate all your kind messages so much x 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐖𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒’ 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎 

“Newcomer on the professional tennis scene, Y/N Y/L/N surprised virtually everyone when she won the Ladies’ Semi Final two days ago,” an English-accented sports journalist said on TV as you waited for your cue to step onto the court for the finals. “She’s not only the most technically excellent player of her age, but she has the fastest serve on the WTA tour.”

“She’s a remarkable player,” the other journalist agreed. You watched them play back a clip from your most recent match, highlighting one of your aces. “But if she wants to win on Centre Court here at Wimbledon for the very first time, she’s going to have to start embracing her volleys. Maybe she should take a leaf out of her boyfriend’s book.”

“Patrick Zweig? He only made it to the second round!”

“Yes, but he played some very entertaining tennis this week. It was a joy to watch and very well suited to a grass court!” 

“It’s true, Zweig plays a sneaky game of tennis. He keeps his opponent on his feet.” 

“In any case, the whole world is sure to be watching Y/N Y/L/N tonight, eager to see her take on Anna Mueller.”

“Now, this isn’t the first time Y/L/N and Mueller have played. They faced off numerous times in junior tournaments, and Y/L/N already beat her at Indian Wells, Milan, Roland-Garros, and the US Open last year. They have yet to play each other in a final, though, and Y/L/N has no grand slam titles to Mueller’s two.”

“Will it be experience and longevity that give Mueller the win, or will new talent Y/L/N take the match with precision and speed?”

“We will soon see.”

You had never been this nervous before a match until your second time at Wimbledon. 

For the first time in your professional career, just a year and a half after entering the tennis world, you made it to the final round of a grand slam tournament. The other tournaments you had won within the last year put your name on the map, allowing you to garner attention and recognition from your peers and spectators.

But a grand slam title meant you would be a part of history.

It was everything you wanted, everything you worked and struggled for. Your heart pounded so quickly that you thought it might leap out of your skin, and your quickening breath made spots appear in your vision. The pressure mounted, not just because your life goal was an arm’s length away, but from all the people who had their eyes on you. Some scrutinising, some rooting for you. 

Bracing your hands on your thighs, you closed your eyes and tried to breathe deeply. It felt like you were losing control. Everything you did to maintain your anxiety felt like it was slipping through your fingers, just like your dream of becoming a grand slam winner. 

Tashi’s voice rang in your ears. You’re going to be fucking miserable, and you’re going to hate your life just as much as your mother hates the fact that she had you. Art’s voice joined Tashi. Everyone knows that tennis is more of a mental game than a physical game. You have a lot of anxiety, and…

The sound of your phone getting a text message interrupted your tornado of negative thoughts. 

PAT 💞: Don’t listen to any of those assholes, they don’t matter. I love you so much and I’m proud of you no matter what happens today. Hold your head up high and do your best, nothing else matters. Don’t forget to breathe, pretty girl. P x

As you stepped onto the court, the cheers of the crowd were deafening. You could feel the vibrations of their applause through the soles of your shoes; the energy was electric, and the buzzing of quiet chatter set you on edge. Remembering Patrick’s advice, you breathed deeply and waved to the crowd, smiling as you headed for your bench. Everyone on your team was sitting in the player’s box with Patrick and your dad, and it was a relief to see them there supporting you. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this final round match. This match will be played as the best of three sets,” the umpire said. “To the left of the chair, from Switzerland, Anna Mueller. To the right of the chair, from the United States, Y/N Y/L/N. Y/L/N won the toss and elected to serve.”

From his seat in your box, Patrick chuckled. “I bet Anna Mueller’s terrified right now,” he commented. “Going into a match against Y/N and having her serve first would push me over the edge if I was playing her.” 

Next to Patrick, your father happily declared, “If Mueller wasn’t nervous to play Y/N before, she will be once she realises how many aces she has up her sleeve.”

Mueller crouched behind the baseline, nervously twirling her racket between her hands. Her poker face wasn’t nearly as good as yours, betraying her fear as you bounced the ball and prepared to serve. Knowing that you had this effect on your opponent, even before the game had started, made you feel powerful. 

With a mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through your veins, you tossed the ball in the air and served it over the tennis net. Mueller ran in the wrong direction, expecting you to serve to her backhand, and cursed when she couldn’t change courses fast enough to return the ball.

Your first ace of the game. 15-love.

Mueller played nervously. She knew your baseline game was strong, but her mistake was assuming that you could only play from the baseline. You decided to play closer to the net, consistently hitting gently when Mueller expected you to go hard and fast, making it impossible for her to generate the power needed to return well.

When you took the first set 6-0, Mueller cursed and turned to her box to yell something at her coach. During the changeover, you could hear her muttering to herself, failing to compose her posture and expression. She looked panicked and angry. From experience, you knew that the right amount of anxiety could help you focus on the match, but anger would destroy a player’s self-control and concentration.

When you served an ace at the beginning of the next set, Mueller stomped her foot angrily and challenged the call. The call held up, declaring your serve was in and awarding you the point. You watched in shock as Mueller’s face twisted with fury, her eyes blazing as she smashed her racket against the ground. Over and over again, the crowd gasped and booed as the frame cracked and the strings bent out of shape. 

“Code violation, racket abuse. Warning, Mueller.” 

From his seat, Patrick smirked, applauding the action while you maintained professionalism. He was the type of player who occasionally broke his racket or committed other code violations, so Patrick admired your ability to hold back. There was something rewarding about watching your opponent fall apart as you waited for her to get it together so you could keep playing. 

The atmosphere of the game changed after Mueller’s outburst. Releasing her anger had done Mueller well, and one of her backhands shot forth like a lightning bolt, making it impossible for you to return. She got a few points in, making you run for it. Sweat glistened on your brows, and your heart pounded, a steady drum beat that echoed the rhythm of your feet as you struggled to return some of Mueller’s balls. The crowd watched in awe as she started finding her rhythm, pushing through the fatigue with a newfound unwavering focus. 

Mueller looked incredibly smug to have caught up with you. So, you let her win a little bit. 

Your father frowned when you served into the net twice, giving Mueller the point. “What’s she doing?” he muttered quietly. “Are the nerves getting to her?”

Patrick shook his head, chuckling as he realised, “She’s throwing the set on purpose.” A smirk graced his lips when he remembered how you used to do the same thing when you played Tashi. “She wants Mueller to think she’s beating her.”

You let yourself enjoy it, toying with Mueller and never letting her know what you planned next. When you volleyed the ball back to her, she sprinted to the net. Just when she got used to playing close to the net, you hit a flat groundstroke past her. Once Mueller realised your pattern, she stayed closer to the baseline, and you hit her with your drop shots, far too close to the net for her to return.

Quickly, you caught up, 7-7. You needed one last game to win the match, and it was your turn to serve. 

Two aces in a row. Mueller yelled in frustration and anger when she missed both serves, once to her forehand and once to her backhand. Your focus sharpened with each passing moment. Serving was your area of expertise. You had the match exactly where you wanted it. 

With each point you won, your confidence grew. Your movements were fluid and instinctive; your racket felt like an extension of your arm, sending powerful, precise shots that left Mueller scrambling to return them. Like always, your serves were lightning fast, unerring and spectacular, kissing the line every time without fail. 

Mueller chased down every ball, but exhaustion was setting in, and her anger had returned. She was irritated that you had let her win, annoyed that it had boosted her ego so much, and furious that she couldn’t get in your head the way you got in hers. 

You were playing the best tennis of your life, each moment a testament to your skill and resilience over the years. The beauty of your game captivated the spectators, leaving the crowd in awe of your mesmerising strokes and masterful returns. The more points you won, the closer you got to winning the tournament. Tension and excitement were palpable, mounting in a crescendo of enthusiastic applause and standing ovations.

“Match point.” 

The cacophony of cheers faded into the background as you bounced the ball in your hand. You were good at keeping the pressure of winning off your shoulders, but the enormity of this point pressed down on you heavily. With your stomach in knots, you adjusted your grip on your tennis racket. Amid all the stress, anxiety, and fear, you felt a spark of determination. 

You didn’t just want to win; you deserved it. 

You served her backhand, which Mueller anticipated and hit back with equal intensity. The ball hit the ground awkwardly on your side of the net, creating minimal bounce with little power. Regardless, you hit it hard. As the two of you rallied back and forth, you followed the sports journalist from earlier’s advice and used a trick shot Patrick had taught you. When Mueller hit your forehand, you pretended to miss the ball. She celebrated, prematurely stopping while you hit the ball back between your legs, surprising Mueller and making her trip as she tried to return the ball. 

As Mueller landed on the floor, the ball bounced on her side of the net for a second time, earning you the point and the Wimbledon Ladies’ Singles title. 

An overwhelming surge of triumph and disbelief hit you all at once. Your ears rang, drowning out the cacophony of the crowd’s ecstatic roars as you collapsed to your knees, dropping your racket. The weight of victory crashed upon you, and tears streamed down your face as you sobbed. Each teardrop released the intense pressure and emotion you had carried through the gruelling tournament. 

You cried for your mother, who you no longer needed to please; for Tashi, your former best friend who would not be here to celebrate this moment with you; and you cried for yourself, the person who got through it all and made it to the other side. 

When you wiped the tears from your cheeks and stood to shake your opponent’s hand, the world around you blurred back into focus. The cheers and applause of the crowd went from being a distant echo to a deafening roar. Mueller barely touched your hand before going to shake the umpire’s and—for a brief, solitary moment—you were enveloped by a profound sense of accomplishment. 

You did it.

After waving to the crowd and thanking the umpire, you turned to your player’s box. There, Patrick stood applauding your victory. His heart swelled with immeasurable pride and love for you, feeling an overwhelming admiration for your strength and dedication. You laughed, running across the court towards the box and excusing yourself as you squeezed past ball boys and line judges. Stepping up on one of the nearby benches, you lifted yourself closer to your boyfriend, who leaned over the railing, giggling.

Up close, Patrick’s eyes were misty, and a broad, genuine smile spread across his face. Every sacrifice you made, every early morning and late night, came rushing back to him in a flood of memories. He could hardly contain his excitement. 

“You just fucking won Wimbledon!” Patrick yelled. “You were incredible!”

“I love you,” you replied, equally breathless and giddy. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Pat.” 

Pushing up on your toes, you hooked your arms around Patrick’s shoulders and kissed him. The crowd cheered even louder around you, but you didn’t care. Nothing and nobody else mattered at that moment. All you knew was that you had just achieved something incredible and Patrick was the only person you wanted to celebrate it with. He held your head carefully and kissed you hard, expressing his passionate pride with every press of his lips.

“Thank you. For reminding me to breathe,” you acknowledged when you parted, gazing up at your boyfriend with sparkling eyes. “And for teaching me your favourite trick shot.”

Patrick chuckled, taking one of your hands and pressing several kisses to the back of it. “That was all you, gorgeous. I had nothing to do with it. This win belongs to you,” he said sincerely. “Fuck, I love you, pretty girl.”

Art Donaldson stood in the crowd, his heart heavy with pride and melancholy as he watched you give Patrick a final kiss before returning to the court for your interview. It was a privilege to watch every powerful swing of your racket and every point you earned. Art was reminded of the countless hours you had poured into your practice, the determination that had always driven you while you were at Stanford. He had once been the one to share in those moments of victory with you, celebrating every win with the joy you now showed on the court. 

But now, as Art saw the happiness in your eyes and heard the crowd’s cheers, a wave of sadness washed over him. He was no longer part of your triumphs. He was just another face in the sea of supporters, knowing your victory wouldn’t be shared with him.

Art’s gaze flickered between you standing on the court and Patrick sitting with your father in the player’s box. His former best friend looked happier than Art had ever seen him, and knowing that your memory of this day would always be intertwined with your relationship with Patrick filled Art with an ugly jealousy. 

He knew he had no right to your life and joy, but Art wanted to celebrate with you. He wanted to tell you that he was proud of you and always knew you had the talent and perseverance to succeed. In fact, there were a lot of things Art wanted to say, including a sincere apology for what he said the night you broke up. But you had moved on, and you were happy, and the last thing Art wanted to do was ruin any of that for you. 

So instead, Art got up and pushed through the crowd, making his way to the exit as he heard your voice thanking Patrick for his love and support over the loudspeakers.

𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟏��, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

It felt good. 

Sitting in the booth with Tashi was almost like when Art used to sit in the dining hall with her at Stanford, back when you, Art, and Tashi were all attached at the hip.

A month ago, Art and Tashi graduated and began working in the professional tennis world, but it meant nothing to either of them without their best friends by their sides. Neither of them could have guessed that you and Patrick would leave behind such a huge hole when you stopped being friends with them.

“Maybe you wanna jump ship?” Art said, half-joking as he signed the bill and paid for their meal. “Come be my assistant coach?” When Tashi stared dumbfoundedly at him, he grinned. “Oh, I get it. You want to work with someone who has a little bit more potential.” 

“No!” Tashi protested. “No. No, it’s not that. I mean, you have plenty of potential. It’s just–” she cut herself off, nervously observing the blond sitting in front of her. It had been years since you and Art broke up, but it felt like yesterday. “You think that would be a good idea?” 

“Why not?” Art retorted. Tashi gestured vaguely, referencing their complex shared past. “That was a long time ago–” 

“–It was not that long ago,” she disagreed, interrupting Art’s attempt at nonchalance. 

“Well, it feels like a long time ago,” Art mumbled. 

“So, you’re saying you’re not in love with her anymore?” Tashi argued, raising a questioning eyebrow at her old friend. 

Art schooled his expression, not wanting to give his lingering emotions away. But Tashi saw through it, recognising the familiar signs that indicated his love for you still ran deep. His features softened at the mention of you, and there was a faraway look in his icy blue eyes.

Back when you were dating Art—and Tashi and Patrick were casually seeing each other—Patrick used to describe the look on his best friend’s face when he first laid eyes on you. That look of pure, absolute adoration and love never once faded from Art’s face at the mention or sight of you. Tashi knew with certainty that it would never fade.

“Well, I’m not holding my breath waiting for her,” Art retorted. “That ship has clearly sailed.”

“Doesn’t mean you aren’t clutching the hull for dear life,” Tashi remarked, using Art’s ship analogy against him. “Did you see her at Wimbledon?”

“Of course I did,” Art replied, fiddling anxiously with the napkin on the table. 

“She was incredible, wasn’t she? I mean, I always knew she had it in her, but watching her win that final…” Tashi sighed.

If she was as good a friend to you as she always thought, she would have noticed that you used to hold back to help Tashi pursue her dreams of being the best tennis player in the world. Upon reflection, Tashi realised she would never be as good a friend to you as you were to her, and she should never have considered you to be less talented, hard-working, or capable than herself.

“It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” Tashi said proudly.

Art agreed, “She’s officially a grand slam winner, the whole world was watching her that day.”

Tashi nodded. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” Her lips curved in a disappointed frown, recalling all the times you and Tashi promised you would always be there to celebrate each others’ accomplishments when you were teenagers. “All of a sudden, the whole world feels entitled to a part of her. Instead of going through this journey with her, we’re on the outside looking in, just like everybody else.”

“It was pretty surreal,” Art affirmed. “I mean, I always knew what she was capable of. I remember all those late nights, talking about what she would do if she ever won a grand slam. And now that she has, I can’t help but feel a little lost.”

“Like you should be there with her,” Tashi guessed. She gave Art a sympathetic smile, her eyes soft with understanding. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Art sighed, leaning back in his booth. “We used to be the people who knew her best in the world,” he recalled. “And now, we aren’t a part of her life anymore. It’s not just about tennis or success, it’s about her. She didn’t just hold us all together, she was seeped into the essence of everything I did and everything I dreamed.” The vulnerable honesty in Art’s voice made Tashi swallow harshly. “What am I supposed to do without her now? None of my plans ever accounted for me reaching this point in my life without her in it.”

Art’s words rendered them both silent.

You used to take up so much space in their lives, filling a void neither of them knew existed until you left them. Thinking about you and reflecting on your absence was always bittersweet. There was so much warmth and joy in their memories of you, but they were constantly paired with painful reminders of how much they hurt you. You, who only ever wanted to love and be loved. 

“Maybe this is what we deserve for hurting her in the first place,” Tashi offered. “The things I said to her that day–” she inhaled sharply, pain filling her chest as she recalled the argument that ended your friendship– “I don’t blame her for wanting nothing to do with me.”

“The look on her face when I told her I went to see you the night you fought…” Art shook his head in disappointment, his jaw clenched tightly as the frustration simmered beneath the surface. “I should have told her I went to confront you for hurting her. I should have told her I was desperate to figure out why she was inconsolable, but I let her believe I went to you because I was on your side. I was so angry and frustrated during the break up that I told her things just because I knew they would hurt her. Who does that to someone they love?”

“Us, apparently,” Tashi said, grumbling like she couldn’t believe what they did to you. Reaching across the table, Tashi covered Art’s hand with hers, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “My mom says that Y/N was my life lesson,” she explained. “That losing her was supposed to teach me something.”

“Yeah?” Art met her eyes and frowned. “What did it teach you?”

“To hold on,” Tashi declared. “When you meet someone like her, someone who’s warm and loving and far kinder to you than you deserve, you hold on to her. Because going through life without her is unimaginably worse than when she’s by your side.” 

It hurt to reflect on how much worse life was without you. You had been everything to Art for so long, and his eyes stung with tears every time he thought of you. The emptiness you left behind felt insurmountable, a constant ache he couldn’t escape. Every moment without you reminded him of what he’d lost, of how your presence had once filled his world with light and purpose.

Now, that light was gone, leaving him to navigate the shadows of what used to be; the pain of your absence was a relentless companion.

Art pulled his hand away and cleared his throat, staring at his lap. “This is really stupid, but, uh… After your injury… I couldn’t help but just think about what would have happened if I had beaten Patrick,” he confessed. 

Tashi froze at the mention of how you met Art and Patrick. 

She knew Art well enough to understand that everything he did led back to you and how he lost you. No matter how badly Art wanted to change the past, Tashi knew you would always love him and Patrick throughout your life. 

In a way, Tashi, Art, and Patrick were the three great loves of your life.

One for a friendship that was supposed to last a lifetime, one for the boy who made you realise what it was like to be loved, and one for the man who would wait a lifetime just for a minute of happiness with you.

No matter how much you once loved Art, Tashi knew you would love Patrick in every life, too. It didn’t matter what order you met them in; you were the catalyst that changed each of their lives. 

Tashi thought she was the only objective spectator to your relationships with Art and Patrick. She was your best friend at Stanford when you dated Art, and she was practically a stranger now that you were with Patrick. Watching your romantic relationship unfold on TV and in newspapers and magazines was entirely different from having a front-row seat back in college, but Tashi knew you well enough to see how deeply and genuinely you loved Patrick, just as you had loved Art.

“So you want me to join your team because you couldn’t win Y/N’s number that day?”

Art lifted his head to meet Tashi’s gaze. “No,” he denied. “I want you to join my team because I want to win.”

Tashi suppressed a grin. She should have known that if it wasn’t about you, it was about Patrick. “I think you’d beat him now if you guys played,” she commented, sipping her coffee. “Don’t you think?” 

It was a challenge that Tashi knew Art would easily see through. 

Perhaps Art could beat Patrick if their history wasn’t complicated by you entering their lives. If the two of them were just best friends trying to make it in the tennis world, Art had the skills, practice, and tenacity to win now. After all, he had dedicated himself to the sport at Stanford and had an excellent team supporting him, while Patrick continued to rely on raw talent. As Art steadily climbed the ranks with every game, Patrick floundered somewhere in the lower 200s. 

But all of this was negated by one simple fact. Patrick had the one thing that Art truly wanted: you. 

If Art and Patrick played a match tomorrow, you would be in Patrick’s player box, cheering his name and applauding his wins. Your presence at the match—and in Patrick’s life—would be more than enough for Art to lose every time he faced his former best friend, just as he lost you. The only thing that could give Art a chance to beat Patrick would be having you on his side. 

“Don’t know,” Art replied cryptically. “We, uh… haven’t played professionally, and don’t keep in touch.” Tashi laughed, nearly choking on her coffee. “What?” 

She cleared her throat. “Just… She never saw it,” Tashi explained. “The rivalry between you and Patrick. Ever since that night we first met, she always assumed the two of you were after me.” She shook her head, visibly entertained. “She used to say that I was the sun and she was the moon. But, God, wasn’t she just everything? The moon and the stars and everything in between, that was her.” Tashi and Art shared a soft, sentimental expression. “I never understood why she couldn’t see it. Everything was over the moment you and Patrick met her, and I knew none of us would ever be the same.”

A small smile stretched across Art’s lips. “Yeah…” 

Tashi was right—you had been everything to him. 

Art felt it the moment his eyes first met yours, an instant connection that went beyond mere attraction. It was as if something within him recognised you, a deep and undeniable pull that resonated in both his body and heart. It wasn’t just about your smile or how you moved; it was how your presence seemed to complete something in him, filling a void he hadn’t even known existed.

You became his anchor, the one person who made everything else make sense, and from that moment on, he knew his life would never be the same without you.

“We joked that we weren’t homewreckers the night we met you, but…” Tashi trailed off, sighing as she set her mug on the table and crossed her arms. “I never thought it would come between me and her. I always thought I was a better friend than that. And I hate it, but running into you today is the closest I’ve felt to her in years,” she confessed.

Sitting there opposite your former best friend, Art couldn’t help but agree. So many parts of you lived on in Tashi, remnants of your lifelong friendship that had shaped both of you in ways he could now see clearly. The way she tilted her head when deep in thought mirrored your own, a habit you’d both picked up during your countless late-night conversations. That amused, all-knowing expression on Tashi’s face when Art tried to lie to her was uncannily similar to yours. 

Even her choice of words, the little phrases and inside jokes that only you two shared, brought you vividly to life at that moment, making it feel like a part of you was still there, sitting right across from Art.

“Yeah, me too,” Art agreed, trying to keep the sudden gust of sadness out of his tone. 

To make matters worse, seeing Tashi was the closest Art had felt to you and Patrick in a very long time. 

It brought back memories of his former best friend, who had once been his world. There was a time when the four of you felt inseparable, and now, sitting there, Art could almost hear the echoes of those days. The way Tashi absentmindedly rubbed her forearm was like Patrick used to, a nervous habit that always surfaced during serious conversations. Tashi’s honest recount of how much she missed you felt like a mirror image of how much Art missed Patrick. Being with Tashi now, it was impossible not to feel the empty space left by the absence of the friendships that had once defined them both.

That night, as Tashi stepped into Art’s hotel room, the invisible string that still bound them both to you seemed to tighten, pulling them a little closer to where you slept just a few floors away.

𝟐 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟐𝟖, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

“I just got off the phone with Elora,” you declared, stepping into your shared hotel room with Patrick and finding your boyfriend lounging on the bed with the TV on. “I’ve been asked to play an exhibition match tomorrow. Just something quick and fun before the first round to boost ticket sales for the qualifiers. A bunch of American players from the tour will be there.”

You dropped onto the bed beside Patrick, kicking off your shoes and curling up in his awaiting arms. The two of you had been travelling together for over a year, sharing rooms while on tour and cohabitating in every aspect of your lives. It was like a reward after enduring a long-distance relationship during your final year at Stanford. Instead of just talking on the phone and occasionally getting surprise visits from Patrick, you went everywhere together and supported each other at every match and tournament you attended.

The two of you had slipped into an easy routine. Having the same profession meant that you were constantly going to the same places, and it made travelling and sightseeing so much more special. After working hard for over two weeks at each tournament, exploring new cities with Patrick was the ideal way to wind down and relax. There was something incredibly special and romantic about doing every day of your life with him.

Your relationship had been grabbing headlines ever since the press caught on to the fact that you were together over a year ago, but the attention ramped up exponentially after you won Wimbledon.

What used to be short articles about an up-and-coming, attractive couple in the tennis world had snowballed into detailed timelines of your dates and public appearances with Patrick. Luckily, the public adored you, and there was very little criticism or negativity surrounding your relationship. Other players on the WTA and ATP tour often teased you about being real celebrities, pointing out how rare it was to win public favour as much as you and Patrick did.

Even though this shift was odd, and you had yet to get used to the constant eyes on you, there were perks to having your picture taken professionally every time you went on a date with your boyfriend. You had framed your favourite newspaper clipping, a beautiful picture of you kissing Patrick after winning Wimbledon, with the heading The Darlings of the Tennis World written above it in a large, bold font.

“Great,” Patrick drawled, blinking lazily as he wrapped his arms around you. His hands gravitated under your shirt to draw circles on the bare skin of your midriff, immediately sending butterflies to your stomach. “Which unlucky girl’s getting her ass handed to her while you beat her in straight sets?” he joked, knowing any match you played would end in a crushing defeat for the other player. 

“Actually…” you trailed off, sending him your best smile as Patrick drew his head back to meet your gaze. 

He observed your innocent expression with quizzical, unsure eyes. Even though you were giving him your sweetest look, there was something mischievous about the glint in your eyes. When realisation hit him, Patrick sighed and said, “I’m the unlucky girl, aren’t I?” His distraught tone made laughter bubble from your lips.

“Smart and handsome? I really hit the jackpot,” you teased, buttering him up with compliments so that he would agree more readily. “Come on, Pat, it’ll be fun!” 

“Oh yeah, really fun!” Patrick agreed sarcastically, matching your energetic tone. “Like how a lion treats a lamb during slaughter!”

You rolled your eyes, stifling your laughter at your boyfriend’s dramatics. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, I’ll go easy on you,” you said, imitating his voice and tone. He had never used those exact words about playing tennis, but Patrick’s tone was always thick with the same arrogant confidence. “Think about it! If you play against me, you’ll get to see that winning serve of mine up close and personal.”

“Excuse me, I’ve been on the opposing end of your winning serve plenty of times during practice,” Patrick defended. “I always knew you were better than me, gorgeous, but I don’t remember agreeing to public humiliation when we started dating!”

“Drama queen,” you accused. “It really will be fun! We’ll be mic’d up and we can talk and joke the entire time. It’s the best of three sets and it’ll be just like practising together. Come on, what do you say?” At Patrick’s uncertain expression, you sat up in bed and swung a leg over his lap to straddle him. The fire that instantaneously burned in his gaze made you smirk triumphantly. “I’ll be really grateful if you do it,” you said suggestively, placing your hands on his chest and grinning. “Pretty please?”

“Well, since you said pretty please,” Patrick joked, unable to keep the wide smile off his face when you tilted your head at him. “Sure. What’s one more event where everyone thinks you’re out of my league?”

Happily, you exclaimed, “That’s the spirit!” 

“Wait–” Patrick frowned when you got up from his lap and began scurrying around the room looking for your phone– “I thought you were going to show me how grateful you are?”

You snorted. “Nice try. You can have your reward after the exhibition match,” you declared, chuckling quietly.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Patrick complained.

“Don’t act like you don’t love the chase,” you retorted, winking as you texted Elora that you and Patrick were happy to participate in the exhibition match. 

From his place on your shared bed, Patrick rolled onto his stomach and observed you. It was hard to imagine that he had only known you for four years. Your participation in his life felt so insurmountably important that it was like he had known you his entire life. You had seamlessly woven yourself into the fabric of Patrick’s daily existence, shaping his world with a depth and significance that defied the brevity of time. 

Unlike Tashi and Art, Patrick realised early on that you were someone he should hold on to. His life before you had been filled with disappointment from his family, and Patrick recognised what a rarity you were. Having already lost you before when his relationships with Tashi and Art ended, Patrick knew losing you meant losing something irreplaceable. Your presence filled gaps he hadn’t noticed before he met you, making it obvious that you were someone worth cherishing. 

As you picked up a phone call from your coach, Patrick went on his laptop and checked how much money was in his savings account. He won enough matches to pay for plane tickets, tennis equipment, and other daily necessities, saving an immense amount of money because the fat cheque you got from Nike every month more than covered your shared accommodations. Over the last year, in particular, Patrick had started saving for something very special. 

An engagement ring.

As much as Patrick wanted you to have the very best, an engagement ring from Harry Winston or Bulgari just wasn’t within his budget. He was entitled to a family heirloom ring, but Patrick didn’t want to give you something from his family. Any engagement ring he chose had to represent you and your relationship with him, rather than the generations of unhappy, reluctant marriages his family seemed destined to repeat.

After carefully perusing different stores and comparing the cost and quality of various rings, Patrick found the perfect one at Cartier. It was simple and classic, exactly the style you had mentioned you preferred offhandedly on several occasions. To his surprise, it didn’t cost an arm and a leg, and he had almost saved enough to get you the exact ring he wanted you to have.

After Wimbledon, you noticed and commented on the fact that Patrick was training harder than ever. To you, it seemed like he was finally starting to take himself more seriously. Instead of coasting on his natural talent, Patrick began seeing your physical trainer with you and even quit smoking to improve his stamina. What you didn’t know was that he was doing all of this to increase his chances of winning more matches at the US Open, where a significant amount of prize money was on the line.

In Patrick’s mind, the more matches he won, the more money he could take home, and the nicer your engagement ring could be. 

“Hey, do you know what ring size you are?” Patrick asked as casually as he could when your phone call was over. “Jess got a bunch of rings that don’t fit her and she was wondering if you want them instead?”

“That’s so sweet, I can’t believe she thought of me,” you acknowledged, grinning. Ever since you met Patrick and his extended family last year, you were constantly invited to spend time with his cousins Jess and Alex. While Patrick wasn’t best friends with them, they were the closest family he had, so you had accepted several invitations over the past year. “I would love that, Jess has amazing taste in jewellery! Tell her I’m an eight in ring size, but I’ll squeeze into anything she wants to give me,” you joked, not thinking much of Patrick’s question. 

With shaking hands, Patrick sent a text with your ring size to the sales associate at the Cartier store in New York, who had been keeping him updated on when the exact ring he wanted was available. Once the US Open was over, all Patrick had to do was head to Manhattan and pick up the ring. It had taken him almost four months to find the perfect one for you, and then it was just a matter of winning enough prize money to afford it. As long as Patrick won two rounds at the US Open next week, he’d have enough to buy your engagement ring.

Then he would have to decide how and when to propose to you.

[asksonicverse]

*not for any of the Bois* but omg I love this. How they're all drawn where theyre all Shadow and Sonic but still uniquely themselves. Esp that glowsticks ask for the SMU duo and how expressive the primes are (the ears omg, one of my fav parts of that show). Love that Lance and Arthur are together like an old married couple. Love this so much and looking forward to where it goes next. (Really glad I watched Snapcubes play through of TMoStH a few days ago, excellent timing on my part lol)

[ CREATOR SPECIAL! ]

I love it when you guys notice all the little details I try to pack in to make sure each Sonic and Shadow is different. I fear I will dip into more OOC/headcanon personality traits for some of the Sonic’s and Shadows as we progress (it’s a bit unavoidable… sorrey)

Paradox and Prism are the only Sonic and Shadow who emote with their ears. I try to keep Latch and Reeves eyes more square and give them pupils. The tops of Bandi and Boosts eyes are colored black. Lance and Arthur are just 🏳️‍🌈 and there’s other stuff like Snap and OG being “low poly” hehe.

Yes!!! I headcanon that he “accepted” and really realized he liked Prism pretty recently (as we’ve seen) but before that it was an unconscious crush from this moment onward.

LIKE OH MY GODDD THE WAY HE REACHES FOR HIM AND HIS PUPILS GET SMALLER AND HIS EARS DROOP OH MY GRRRAHHH

At first he just chalks it up to caring about Prism like a friend after their shared experience. And his ass thinks “man I sure would like to cuddle under the stars with this guy, damn I hate him, must be normal friendship feelings since I don’t have many of those” and now he’s like “ah shit yeah I see it”

Their “task” was just being together with Amy. Which they already were. So they have special permission to exposition dump help out!

YOU BOTH ARE SO SWEET THANK YOU SO MUCH YOU GUYS. I appreciate all the kind words I get on this ask blog and I wish I could reply to every single one of them.

You guys have no idea how much YOU mean to me and this blog, I would NOT be half as motivated to continue it if not for you guys. I do my best to balance the characters based on popularity so if some of them do slip through the cracks, I’m sorry 😭💕

And I’m still learning how to draw Sonic characters… I’m trying my best to get the best I can so that you guys can get the highest quality I can achieve with such my skill set :’D

I think I have a bad habit of mostly doing headshots… but I’m glad to know they get the job done! 🤣

Awwwwh omg thank you so much!!! I love it!!! Thank you for taking the time to create something even if you don’t think it’s great. I think it’s amazing!!!!

As long as you keep practicing and stay consistent you will see improvement fast!! Thank you again 🥹

Previous | Next

[ellealyssum]

come into my arms ✦ sylus x reader ✦ fluff/smut ✦ 1.6k words

It's almost unbelievable how much this man really loves pleasing you.

established relationship, v in p sex, creampie, unsafe sex, face sitting, dirty talk?, aftercare, fem!reader, not suitable for readers under 18

loosely inspired by sylus's upcoming "magnum opus" card because the tub in that bathroom would definitely seat two. he is the epitome of "i can do it myself/i know but let me" and i need him so bad. also i might do a chapter 2 for this if you guys like it! (however i fear this may be bad and it's been sitting in my drafts for several days help)

also on ao3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 You didn't really know what princess treatment entailed before you met Sylus. You'd been looking after yourself your whole life and the concept of other people doing things for you was strange at first. Sometimes it was just small things, like opening doors for you or picking up something you'd dropped. You'd thank him, a little pleasantly surprised, but it didn't strike you as anything unusual. Sylus seemed like a chivalrous man. You didn't even mind all that much when he insisted on paying for all your dates himself. You knew how disgustingly rich he was, and it was nice not to worry about affording things for once. But then you noticed how he'd buy you anything your gaze lingered on for more than five seconds, whether it be a chocolate bar or a pair of diamond earrings. And he kept picking you up and carrying you places when you were perfectly capable of walking all by yourself, thank you very much.

 "I know you're capable, kitten," he'd explained with a smirk. "I just happen to enjoy carrying you around." That's when you realised this man loved to please you. And he excelled at it in every possible way.

 Sex hadn't been something you'd had much experience with prior to your relationship with Sylus. It's not that you didn't like the idea of it, and you got yourself off plenty. You simply hadn't found someone you were comfortable exploring with. You didn't really know what you liked, and the thought of trusting someone enough to help you figure it out was daunting. But Sylus treated making you feel safe like it was his full-time job, and God was he good at it.

 A month ago you would have never imagined yourself gripping the headboard as you sat on Sylus's face, but now it was a common occurrence. You whimper at the way the bridge of his nose rubs against your clit as he fucks your swollen cunt with his tongue. His hands are wrapped around your thighs, keeping you firmly in place against his mouth. You can't help but grind against his face and his moan vibrates through your pussy. Your hand makes it's way down to fist in his hair, almost of it's own volition. "God, Sy, I'm gonna come," you whine, and he pulls you impossibly closer, encouraging you to let go. Your walls squeeze around his tongue as you come undone above him, thighs trembling as he licks up as much of your slick as he can.

 Tenderly, he helps you climb down his body to lay on his chest. His hard length nudges your thigh. "You taste good, kitten." He kisses you, rubbing his tongue along yours. You can taste yourself on his lips and it sends a delightful shiver down your spine. "Seems you agree with me." You roll your eyes at him, then yelp as he flips you over, laying you back with your head on the pillow.

 "You didn't think I was done with you, did you, sweetie?" You let him push your thighs apart and watch him stare at your sex. "I still need to fill your greedy cunt with something a little more substantial, wouldn't you agree?" Your answer is nothing but a whimper. Dirty talk was a recent discovery for the two of you, but the deliciously filthy words he uttered always turned you into a needy mess. "I can see you dripping, darling. Making a sticky mess of the bed." Two fingers stroke your labia and pull you open for him while another finger gathers up your wetness and pushes it inside you. You sigh and tighten around the digit. "Such a desperate little hole." You cry out when he adds another finger. "Listen to the noises my fingers are making inside of you. You're drenched." You can feel his breath on your exposed clit and the rhythmic squelching sounds that hit your ears have you groaning and arching your back. Pleasure surges through your body, making you feel heavy, sinking into the soft mattress. You reach down and grip his wrist, trying desperately to get him deeper inside of you. Sylus chuckles. "What do you want, love? Tell me."

 "You." You stare at him through half-lidded eyes.

 "You're going to need to be more specific, sweetie." He pulls his fingers out of you and you clench around nothing. "What do you want? My fingers?" He shows you the hand that had just been inside you, rubbing your wetness between his fingers.

 You shake your head, hair tangling against the pillow. "I want your cock."

 He rewards you with a devilish grin. "Where do you want it?"

 "Inside me." He raises an eyebrow at you. Your breasts heave along with your desperate pants. "In my pussy, Sy. Please."

 "Good girl." He strokes himself, coating his thick length with your slick. You feel his tip enter you, the slight stretch pleasant. "Still so tight, even after my fingers." You just nod, bringing your heels to his lower back, encouraging him to move. "So needy for me, princess." He leans down to kiss your breasts. "So perfect."

 He slides in slowly, letting you adjust. He's so big you can barely even think anymore, your mind so focused on the feel of him filling you up. You hear his voice as he starts to thrust. "You take me so well, pretty little pussy stretched around my fat cock." You look down and watch him slide in and out of you, coated in your wetness. "You want more, baby?" You nod eagerly, biting into your bottom lip. Your mind and body are chanting it like a prayer, moremoremoremoremore.

 He pulls out but you don't have time to complain because he's flipping you over and lifting your hips, pressing your tits into the bed as he moves a pillow beneath you. His fingers are leaving indents in your ass as he spreads you for him. He bottoms out in one swift move.

 He's so deep inside you. His cockhead kisses your cervix and drags across a spot that has you seeing stars. You feel his pace picking up, his balls slapping against your clit as his carefully crafted control recedes into nothingness. He's bent over you, breath on the back of your neck, rutting into you at a speed you can't even comprehend. You're vaguely aware that your mouth is open and you're drooling into the covers.

 "So messy for me. So beautiful. Gonna make a mess in your hot cunt. You want me to fill you up, huh?"

 "Yessssss." His words push you over the edge and you spasm around him. It's only a few seconds before he's sheathing himself fully inside you and you feel his cum, warm and thick, coating your walls in spurts.

 You don't know how long you lie there with him clinging to your back, dick softening inside you, slowly coming back to yourselves. He slides out of you with a groan and rubs your inner thighs affectionately. You can feel his spend leaking out of you and you twitch as he rubs some of the escaped fluid around your clit.

 "I love seeing you like this." He runs his big hands up and down your sides soothingly. "Thoroughly fucked and full of my cum." You mewl, satisfied and entirely worn out. "As much as I would like to stay here and admire you, my kitten needs some tender loving care." You let yourself be scooped up and carried the short distance to the bathroom. You doubt you could have walked there without wobbling around like a newborn giraffe, anyway. "Bath or shower?" Sylus asks as he gently sets you down on the tiled floor.

 "Hmm, bath." He kisses your forehead sweetly and leaves to fill the tub while you clean yourself up.

 He's bent over checking the water temperature when you're done. "I used the lavender bath salts you like." You take a deep breath in, the soothing scent filling your airways and clearing your mind. He sits in the almost-filled tub, arms out, beckoning you to join. You carefully slide in between his legs. The water is the perfect temperature and you relax easily, leaning back against Sylus's broad chest.    "Thank you, Sy."

 "It's the least I can do." He wraps his arms around your torso, holding you close.

 "I don't know how you do it."

 "Do what?"

 "Function after such an impressive... performance." You feel laughter rumble through his chest against your spine.    "Well, I have to take care of you, don't I?" You smile, knowing full-well that it was non-negotiable.

 "But I want to take care of you, too." He takes your hands, entwining his fingers with yours.

 "You already do, my love."

 "Hmm, one day I'll learn the secret to your stamina. Then I'll show you." The water covers your breasts now and you turn off the faucet.

 "My secret is you, sweetie." You shoot him an incredulous look over your shoulder. "It's true. Watching you enjoy yourself and come apart for me, knowing I'm the only person who gets to do that for you, makes me feel like I could run a whole damn marathon." It's almost unbelievable how much this man really loves pleasing you, but you suppose it sounds plausible enough.

 "You're letting the cat out of the bag, you know? Maybe I should give you a taste of your own medicine." He nuzzles into your shoulder, his familiar laugh gracing your ears. 

 "I'd love to see you try, kitten."

[hamilton-here]

Hiii! I really love your work, you're the first full LH writer I found and followed. I read and re-read all your fics and loved them. I was wondering if you could please write one in where reader is Lewis private chef and he falls for her...? I really thank you in advance if you decide to write it and if not for also reading my request :) (English is not my first language so I hope that makes sense lol) Have a good day <3

𝒯𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒 𝒯𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇

Authors Note: Hey everyone! I’ve still got three more requests to work through, but I’m trying my best! I’m so glad you love all my fics! Have a wonderful day, lovely. Lots of love xx

Summary: Lewis Hamilton falls for his private chef as shared meals turn into something more.

Warnings: none

Taglist: @nebulastarr @hannibeeblog @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You’ve cooked for A-listers, Olympians, and people whose names are whispered more in boardrooms than on red carpets. Your work is quiet, behind-the-scenes, and exactly how you like it. You know the rhythm by now book the gig, learn their preferences, adapt, excel, move on.

So, when your agent sent through the request for a new high-profile client, the message felt routine. Until one name jumped out, as if someone had taken a marker and underlined it twelve times:

Lewis Hamilton.

You blinked. Read it again. Then leaned back in your kitchen chair, letting it sink in. Not just any world-class athlete. The seven-time Formula One World Champion. Vegan. Socially conscious. Globally adored. And, yes, drop-dead handsome in a way that didn’t make you flustered but did make you keenly aware.

You weren’t nervous not really. You’d cooked for the best, fed entire sports teams, crafted tailored menus for Oscar winners. But this felt different. Not because he was famous, you were used to that. But because something about his request felt intentional.

He wasn’t just after someone to cook vegan meals. He wanted someone who could travel with him, fuel his body through the most physically demanding season of the year and this was the line that stuck with you “someone who understands that food is connection.”

Aww

The tasting was scheduled at his Monaco apartment, which was a sleek, minimal space overlooking the shimmering water, all muted stone and soft lighting. You arrived early, allowing yourself a moment to take it in before the doorbell echoed.

When Lewis opened the door, he was in black sweats and a sleeveless hoodie, his curls damp and tousled from a recent shower. His smile was polite but distant in a professional, cool, like a champion used to people hovering around him, wanting something.

“Hey,” he said, stepping aside. “I’m Lewis.”

“I figured,” you replied with a grin, which earned the smallest amused huff.

He led you into the kitchen a stunning open-plan space that looked more like a set for a photoshoot than a functional cooking zone. But it was well-stocked. Sharp knives gleamed under soft lighting. Spices lined the shelves. A gleaming Vitamix sat ready. You raised a brow.

“You cook often?” you asked, unpacking your carefully prepared ingredients: jackfruit, creamy avocados, cashews soaked from the night before, lentils cooked just right, flaky sea salt, rich maple syrup, shaved dark chocolate.

“Sometimes,” he said, leaning against the island, arms crossed casually. “Not like you. I mostly blend stuff and hope for the best. This is where I unwind, you know?”

You liked that answer. A lot.

He poured himself chamomile tea, no sugar and you noticed the deliberate calm in his routine. As he made it, his gaze flickered to your hands focused, precise, moving through familiar motions.

“You sure you don’t want me out of your way?” he asked, watching you pour a blended cashew creme into a small saucepan.

“Not at all,” you replied, glancing up with a small smile. “You’re part of the process. Remember? Connection.”

That earned a real smile, the kind that lit up his eyes.

While the jackfruit cooked low and slow with smoked paprika, you talked. About expectations. Logistics. Travel. The gruelling hours of race weekends.

Lewis was straightforward, precise. “I train in the mornings, usually want something light after like smoothies, easy digestion. Bigger meals in the evening, when I have time to relax. But race weekends? Different story. I’ll need food packed, labeled, heat friendly. No microwave stuff. I don’t touch that.”

You nodded. “Understood. Heat-friendly means things that reheat well, no soggy textures. I can prep stuff that keeps its flavour and integrity.”

He nodded approvingly. “Good. I’ll have to trust you with my nutrition. My performance depends on it.”

“And it has to taste good,” you added firmly. “You shouldn’t feel like you’re missing out just because it’s healthy.”

He met your eyes, a little challenge in his own gaze. “No compromises.”

You smiled, “None.”

He glanced over the ingredients you’d laid out, then tilted his head. “Why jackfruit for the main? You think it’s the best for post-training recovery?”

You explained, “It’s a versatile meat substitute rich in fibre, low in fat, and it absorbs spices well. With the smoked paprika and chipotle, it adds a smoky depth without overpowering. I balance it with the chipotle cashew crème to add healthy fats and creaminess. Plus, pickled red onion gives a sharp contrast to refresh the palate.”

He crossed his arms again, nodding slowly. “I like that you thought it through. Not just throwing something together.”

As you moved to plate the dishes for jackfruit tacos, lentil-stuffed sweet potato drizzled with lemony tahini, and a tiny chocolate chia mousse topped with flaked sea salt and a shard of candied hazelnut - he watched you like it was a performance. Not judgmental but invested.

He picked up the taco first, took a deliberate bite, and paused.

Then looked up at you, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Not doubt. Not surprise. Just quiet disbelief.

“You did this for me?” His voice was low.

You nodded, “Of course.”

There was a pause.

Then a smile. The real kind. The one that curved slow and soft and warm across his face like maybe something inside him settled.

“Alright,” he said, licking his thumb where some crème had smudged. “You’ve already ruined every other chef for me.”

Before you could respond, a soft shuffle echoed across the tile floor. You turned just in time to see a floppy-eared bulldog trudge into the kitchen, blinking sleepily and plopping down next to Lewis’s bare feet.

Roscoe.

His collar jingled softly as he sat, then turned those soulful brown eyes up toward you. And then at the plate you assembled.

“Roscoe,” Lewis warned lightly, nudging him with a foot. “No begging, mate.”

But Roscoe didn’t move. Just stared at your food with comical intensity, then gave a soft, hopeful whine.

“May I?” You asked giving Lewis a quick glance and he gestures a nod of approval.

You crouched down, offering Roscoe a small, safe piece of sweet potato. He accepted it like royalty.

When you looked up again, Lewis was watching you - not your food, not your technique, but you. Something thoughtful in his gaze.

“You’ve thought about everything,” he said quietly. “Packaging, textures, timing. How do you manage this on the road?”

You smiled, “Routine. Prep meals that reheat well, pack them in reusable containers labeled by day and time. I use silicone bags and glass containers as it’s good for the environment and the food.”

He nodded, impressed. “Sounds like you’re ready to hit the track with me.”

You felt your pulse quicken. “I am.”

He studied you a moment longer, then his expression softened, something almost vulnerable flickering behind his eyes.

“So, do I get the job?” you asked, trying to steady your heartbeat.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah,” he said, “I think you do.”

And just like that, the next chapter began, one you’d never seen coming but already felt like it was meant to be. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains of your small but efficiently packed carry-on as you double-checked the last containers sliding into your insulated bag. Everything was labeled by meal and day, exactly like you’d promised. The precision felt satisfying, even if your nerves buzzed just beneath the surface.

You caught your reflection in the mirror of the hotel room: calm, composed, but wide awake and ready. This was the real test. You weren’t just cooking you were becoming part of Lewis’s rhythm, his routine, his relentless world.

A soft knock on the door announced your cue. Lewis stood in the doorway, dressed casually in a fitted black track jacket and joggers, his curls pulled back loosely. He looked up at you and smiled less reserved than before.

“Ready for day one?” he asked, voice low but steady.

“As I’ll ever be,” you replied with a grin, zipping up your bag. “You?”

He shrugged, a little smirk tugging at his lips. “Depends. You sure you can keep up?”

“You’ll be the judge of that.”

The car ride to the airport was quiet but comfortable. Lewis’s phone buzzed with incoming messages from his team, but he silenced the notifications as soon as you climbed in.

“Alright,” he said, glancing over at you. “Tell me what you’ve got planned for the flight food.”

You pulled out your meal plan sheet, laying it on your lap. “Light and easy to digest for the flight I made chia pudding with fresh berries, cashew and vanilla overnight oats as well as a handful of raw nuts for crunch and energy. I’ve packed it all in a small cooler with ice packs, so it stays fresh.”

Lewis raised his eyebrows. “No junk food?”

“Junk food never made a world champion,” you teased, earning a chuckle from him.

“Fair enough.”

Once on the plane, the cabin dimmed for takeoff, and you unpacked the meals with quiet efficiency. Lewis watched with genuine interest as you prepared his tray not just assembling the food but explaining why you chose each element.

“Chia seeds are great for omega-3s and slow energy release,” you said, spooning the pudding into a small container. “The berries add antioxidants and the oats give you complex carbs to keep you steady.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. You’re like my nutritionist and chef rolled into one.”

You laughed softly. “I get that a lot.”

The flight passed quicker than you expected, punctuated by small conversation, a few questions from Lewis about ingredients, and a surprising amount of laughter when Roscoe curled up in your lap under the seat.

At your first hotel stop - a sleek, modern building overlooking the circuit you had just enough time to set up the kitchen space before Lewis’s training session.

He watched you unpack your supplies, then gave a slow nod. “I can tell you’re used to this. Everything’s got its place.”

“It has to,” you said. “When you’re on the move, you don’t have the luxury of chaos.”

Lewis smiled. “Good. I like order.”

Later, after training, Lewis swung open the kitchen door, sweat still clinging to his brow. You were plating up a post-workout meal quinoa salad with roasted veggies, a bright lemon-tahini dressing and a side of grilled tempeh.

He leaned against the counter, watching you work. “I’m going to be picky,” he warned, “but I want honest feedback too.”

You raised a brow. “Bring it on.”

He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “The dressing is great fresh, not too heavy. But the tempeh? I usually prefer something a bit less chewy after training. Maybe baked tofu or seitan?”

“Got it,” you said, jotting down notes. “Texture matters.”

He smiled, clearly pleased you weren’t offended. “You’re already adapting. That’s good.”

By the end of the day, something had shifted. The professional distance had softened into something more real. You felt the edges of exhaustion from jet lag, the new routine but also a quiet thrill.

Lewis caught your eye as he packed his gear for the next morning. “You’re good at this. Better than I imagined.”

You shrugged, cheeks warm. “I’m just getting started.”

He grinned. “Good. Because this season’s going to demand everything.”

You met his gaze and, for the first time, felt less like the new person trying to fit in and more like a part of something bigger.

Your routine with Lewis built itself with the kind of quiet rhythm most people search their whole lives for effortless, unspoken and steady. It was the way his mornings began, how your days folded neatly into his and how the world seemed to fall away in the simple sanctity of shared moments. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Breakfasts were always early, the sun barely awake when you slipped into the kitchen to prepare his first fuel of the day. You crafted smoothies thick with spirulina, flaxseed, hemp protein, and frozen blueberries - a blend dense with nutrients yet light enough to stir awake without ever weighing him down. You knew the delicate balance between flavour and function and you found satisfaction in seeing the way his lips would twitch in approval with every sip.

Sometimes he’d shuffle in, still tangled in the remnants of sleep, hair tied loosely back as if still caught in a dream. His voice would come out gravelly, a half-mumbled compliment on your “magical” abilities to make healthy taste like indulgence.

Post-workout meals followed with an almost ritualistic precision: vibrant bowls filled with roasted vegetables like sweet potatoes, red capsicum and tender zucchini mingled with fluffy quinoa, creamy avocado, earthy black beans and bright citrus tahini drizzled just so. Each bowl topped with something crunchy such as toasted pumpkin seeds, crushed almonds, or crispy chickpeas adding texture and life to every bite. Next to each meal, you placed a turmeric-ginger recovery shot, chilled just enough to soothe his muscles without dulling the sharp zing of spice.

You didn’t need to be reminded that food was fuel. But with Lewis, the act of cooking was becoming something more a language of care, a quiet offering in a world that never stopped moving.

Traveling with him was a whirlwind, a blend of jet lag and adrenaline and the constant shuffle from one city to the next. Back-to-back Grand Prix weekends, testing days in Bahrain under the blistering sun, simulator sessions in Brackley where you’d both grin at the virtual tracks, and media runs in cities so unfamiliar you lost track of their names.

No matter where he went, so did your knives, your spices, and your laminated, colour-coded meal plans of those colourful little guides you’d painstakingly assembled to make sure the menus never repeated, and the macros never slipped. You’d unpack and set up kitchens in sleek hotels or cramped paddock spaces turned temporary culinary stations, sometimes improvising with whatever was available.

Lewis made it easier, in his own quiet way.

He never hovered, but he was always there through the way he’d casually help carry bags of groceries, rinse berries without a word of thanks, or hand you a clean towel just when your hands were slick with moisture from washing produce. Sometimes, he’d drift into the kitchen mid-prep, hair damp from a post-gym shower, the faint scent of eucalyptus and citrus clinging to him like an invisible cloak. He never asked for much just leaned on the counter with soft curiosity shining in his eyes, and would say something like:

“You don’t mind cooking at mine all the time?”

You’d smile without looking up. “Not when your kitchen’s nicer than most restaurants.”

And it was. Sleek marble counters that caught the light, industrial burners that roared to life without hesitation, a double oven, and a fridge so advanced you half-expected it to suggest new recipes. But none of that was why you liked it.

It was because it was his.

Because the moments in between those small pauses and shared silences were becoming the parts you treasured most.

Like the way he always brought you a fresh glass of sparkling water without needing to be asked, catching your tired eyes with a quiet smile.

Or how he hummed under his breath when he was relaxed, a soft sound that blended with the whirl of your blender and the chopping of knives.

Or those rare evenings when you found yourselves both lingering in the kitchen after a long day Lewis perched on a barstool, watching you finish prep, and he’d look up from whatever he was scrolling on his phone and ask how you were doing. Not just the polite “how are you?” but really asking, like he wanted to hear your answer.

And then there were the snack boxes.

You started them as a practical solution of bite-sized fuel that could live in his bag, waiting patiently to bridge the gap between qualifying and race briefings or long travel days.

Protein bites dusted with cinnamon and cacao, coconut-date balls rolled in shredded coconut, seaweed crisps for a salty crunch, almond butter-stuffed dates that melted with every bite.

At first, your notes were purely practical:

“Don’t forget to hydrate.”

“This one’s got extra turmeric, I know you hate ice baths.”

“Packed extra energy - you’ve got this.”

But slowly, the notes began to shift.

They grew softer, more personal, and somehow more you.

“Hope this one makes up for how early your wake-up call was.”

“A little sweet for my favourite speed demon.”

“For when you need a quick win just like you on the track.”

You didn’t mean anything by the “favourite speed demon” line. It was just a joke; a casual phrase scrawled in purple ink on a sticky note you found at the bottom of your bag one day.

But later, when you were reorganising his pantry, you found that very note folded once, tucked carefully inside a drawer beside his magnesium powder and zinc capsules.

You stood frozen, hand resting on a vitamin bottle, heart doing a quiet flip.

He hadn’t pinned it to the fridge or stuck it where anyone else could see. He had just kept it quietly, privately.

And then something changed.

Lewis became warmer, more present.

He lingered in the kitchen longer, even when he had somewhere else to be.

He started texting you mid-flight, checking if you’d remembered to eat.

He noticed when you wore your hair tied up instead of down and he offered you his jacket without a word when a breeze caught your shoulders one night after dinner in the paddock.

One evening, you found a note waiting for you in your own snack box.

It was small, written in his unmistakable hand on a folded slip of paper:

“Thanks for making even the busy days feel like home.”

From then on, little notes from Lewis started appearing tucked into your bags, slipped between cookbooks, or left on the kitchen counter.

They weren’t grand gestures.

Just quiet messages like:

“Don’t forget to breathe. You’re doing great.”

“Found this spice you love - thought you might want to try it.”

You smiled more than once, your chest warming with each one.

You noticed him too.

Not the famous Lewis Hamilton who’s the racing legend or the icon but the man who double-knotted his shoes before a run, who softened when Roscoe climbed into his lap, who looked at you with quiet curiosity not trying to solve you but wanting to understand.

It wasn’t love. Not yet.

But it was something.

Something simmering, unfolding quietly in the spaces between the roar of engines and the flash of cameras.

Something that smelled like rosemary, sea salt, and something else - something you hadn’t found words for yet. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Your phone vibrated sharply on the kitchen counter just as you were about to start dinner for yourself. Lewis’s name flashed across the screen, yanking you out of the quiet comfort of your evening routine. The soft hum of the city outside mingled with the distant sounds of traffic and occasional footsteps in the hallway.

“Hey,” you answered, surprise threading through your voice. “Everything okay?”

There was a breathless edge to his voice, as if he’d been running or rushing. “Hey. Listen, last minute my dad and Linda want to come by tonight. They want to check in, see how I’m doing. Could you come over and whip up something? Nothing fancy, but nice. I don’t want to be caught off guard.”

You glanced at the clock on your stove just over an hour before they’d arrive. Your mind kicked into high gear, the familiar thrill of being thrown into the deep end mixing with a flutter of nerves that had nothing to do with the race.

“On my way,” you said, grabbing your bag and keys with steady hands, trying to mask the little surge of excitement that bubbled inside.

The city air was cool, tinged with the faint scent of rain and blooming jasmine as you stepped into Lewis’s apartment building. You pushed open the door to his place, and immediately, the quiet buzz of controlled chaos hit you. Lewis moved through the space with a jittery energy on the phone with his manager, half-folding a shirt draped over a chair, the sharp, clean scent of his cologne lingering in the air: crisp eucalyptus layered with a subtle hint of musk.

“I’m so sorry for the rush,” he said, running a hand through damp hair that clung slightly to his forehead, eyes darting anxiously. His usual calm, effortless confidence was replaced by a restless edge. “I just didn’t expect them to want to come so soon.”

You gave him a warm, reassuring smile, setting your bag down carefully on the counter. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

You slipped into the kitchen and flipped on the stove with practiced ease, the familiar click and whoosh grounding you. You pulled out fresh ingredients you’d brought along: bright, glossy cherry tomatoes, fragrant cloves of garlic, a handful of fresh basil leaves, creamy mozzarella and a colourful medley of vegetables. The rhythmic chopping soon filled the room, mingling with the soft hum of the extractor fan and the faint city noises drifting through an open window.

The sizzle of garlic hitting hot olive oil made your mouth water as you stirred gently, the warm, rich aroma wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. You slid a tray of vegetables into the oven, watching the soft golden edges promise a perfect roast.

As you worked, your fingers moved with smooth confidence, even as your mind kept track of the ticking minutes. A soft melody hummed in your throat, blending seamlessly with the sounds of the city outside and the distant revving of engines somewhere far away.

Meanwhile, Lewis flitted around the bedroom like a restless spirit, trying on shirts and adjusting his braids before checking his reflection in the mirror. His glances toward the kitchen were frequent, filled with a rare mixture of admiration and quiet gratitude reserved just for you.

“Do you need help?” he asked suddenly, leaning casually against the doorframe, an amused eyebrow raised.

You held out a spoon dripping with sauce. “Only if you want to taste-test.”

He laughed, taking the spoon cautiously and nodding with approval after one careful sip. “Definitely better than anything I could make.”

You smiled, the tension in the room softening between you.

Together, you set the table. You unfolded crisp napkins with gentle care, polished the silverware until it caught the soft light just right, and arranged fresh wildflowers in a small glass vase delicate bloom that brought a touch of life and colour to the sleek apartment. The room, with its clean lines and subtle shadows, transformed into a cozy sanctuary a warm refuge from the relentless speed and pressure of Lewis’s world.

“Okay,” you said, brushing flour from your hands. “Ready for company.”

Lewis grabbed his jacket and ran a hand through his hair once more, attempting to summon that effortless charm that came so naturally but felt just a bit elusive tonight. “Yeah. Just need to look like I have my life together.”

You laughed softly, the sound mingling with his as you shared a quiet, steady moment before the inevitable storm.

Lewis walked you to the door, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm, a silent thank-you. His eyes caught yours deep, steady, and sincere.

“Thanks for this,” he said, voice low and earnest. “Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Your heart fluttered, a warm rush blooming in your chest. You smiled, steady and sure despite the sudden wave of emotion. “Anytime.”

You took a small step back, ready to leave his place and opened the front door however everything seemed to freeze.

Standing just beyond the threshold, bathed in the soft glow of the light outside the door, were Anthony and Linda. They had arrived earlier than expected.

Anthony’s smile was steady and warm, eyes full of the kind of cautious kindness that had softened over the years. Linda’s face was bright, her eyes sparkling with genuine warmth and curiosity as she took in the scene of the neat kitchen, the flowers on the table, the subtle tension still lingering in the air.

For a long, breathless moment, no one spoke.

Lewis cleared his throat, stepping forward with a calm that belied the nervous energy humming beneath.

“Dad! Linda!” he said, his voice steady, welcoming, carrying an unspoken promise of a better evening to come.

You exchanged a glance with Lewis, the unspoken question hanging between you, how was this night going to unfold now?

Anthony steps inside first, his gaze settling on you with a mixture of curiosity and quiet respect. Linda follows, taking in the thoughtfully arranged table and the soft hum of city life filtering through the open window.

There’s a pause, the air thick with unspoken questions.

Anthony clears his throat, glancing at Lewis. “Lewis, we don’t often get to meet the people who mean a lot to you. And we don’t believe we’ve met this lovely lady before. Who is she?”

Lewis looks at you, and for a second, you see the hesitation in his eyes like he’s weighing how much to say, how to protect both you and himself.

You step forward, steadying your voice. “I’m Y/N, Lewis’s personal chef. I’ve been helping him tonight with dinner, and I guess I’m lucky enough to be here now.”

Linda smiles warmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lewis speaks highly of you even if he’s been a bit secretive.”

Lewis chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to keep you in the dark. I just wanted to make sure it was the right time.”

The tension begins to ease, replaced by a gentle understanding. Anthony nods, stepping closer to the table. “Well, we’re glad you’re here. Let’s eat, get to know each other If you aren’t in a rush to get home of course.”

You exchange a look with Lewis a mixture of relief and something quietly hopeful.

As you all sit down, the conversation starts to flow, sometimes hesitant, sometimes easy. The evening stretches out like a fragile promise that maybe, just maybe, this new chapter could be something steady, something real. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

It was after Silverstone when everything began to shift.

You’d flown in early that week, slipping quietly into Lewis’s flat like you always did before a big race arms full of market bags, fingers smudged with ink from handwritten meal plans and shopping lists. His fridge had been half-empty when you arrived, his pantry stocked with old protein bars and two near-empty jars of almond butter. You sighed, rolled up your sleeves, and got to work.

Silverstone was different. It wasn’t just another Grand Prix. This was his race. The energy around him was different - charged, frantic, and buzzing like electricity in the bones. And you felt it, even in the kitchen. Especially in the kitchen. You knew him well enough by now to sense when he was just a little too quiet, when the weight of expectations pressed into the back of his neck and down his spine.

You felt it too, but your job was to anchor him. Not with words, but with routine. With quiet comfort. With nourishment.

Race morning, you were up before dawn.

The city was still cloaked in blue-grey quiet, the light just beginning to break through the blinds. You padded barefoot across the cool tile, pulling your hair into a loose bun as you lined up ingredients like a surgeon prepping for an operation. Sliced banana. A scoop of almond butter. A dash of maple syrup, just enough to sweeten but not overwhelm. You poured oat milk into the blender and calculated macros in your head as it whirred to life. Spirulina, maca, oats, hemp, chia every spoonful measured, every decision deliberate.

When Lewis walked in hood up, curls damp from the shower, sleeves tugged over his hands he looked like he hadn’t fully landed in his body yet.

You handed him a glass. “Try this.”

He blinked at you sleepily. “What’s in it?”

“Banana, almond butter, maca, oats, a little maple, and love.”

He cracked a grin. “Heavy on the love, I hope.”

Before you could answer, Roscoe trotted in, tail wagging, toenails tapping against the tile.

“I didn’t forget you, bub,” you murmured, crouching to add warm lentils, steamed sweet potato, and nutritional yeast into his bowl. Roscoe responded with a happy little sneeze, tail thumping wildly as he buried his face in the food.

You stood, turning back to Lewis. He was still watching you with a softness in his eyes that he rarely wore in the morning. You handed him a small container.

“Eat this between FP3 and quali. Chia, coconut milk, goji berries, almonds. All your All your favourites.”

He glanced down at it, then back at you. “You sure you don’t want to drive today? I think you’re more prepared than I am.”

“You’re joking,” you said with a wink, “but I’d still lap a few people.”

He chuckled, the sound low and genuine as he leaned in, brushing a kiss to Roscoe’s head before heading out. “I’ll see you there.”

You kept a low profile in the paddock.

Press passes tucked deep into your jacket pocket. Roscoe’s leash looped securely around your wrist as he trotted beside you like he owned the place. You stayed on the periphery of team meetings, close enough to be needed, far enough not to intrude. You watched Lewis with quiet pride as he moved through the garage focused, poised and magnetic in that way only he could be. When he came in for lunch, you were ready. When he needed quiet, you gave it.

This was how you showed up for people through quiet acts of care. Through food, through forethought. You didn’t need thanks, not really. But every now and then, when his eyes found yours from across the motorhome, holding that long, unreadable look, your heart gave something away.

He finished on the podium that Sunday.

P3 at home. Union Jacks waving like waves on a sea of roaring faces. The noise was thunderous from press, fans, photographers. But when he found you behind the garage, away from the chaos, all of it seemed to fall away.

He looked exhausted. Euphoric. Alive.

“Did you eat?” you asked, holding out a water bottle before he could say anything.

He laughed, hoarse and bright. “I just finished a race and you’re asking me that?”

“Yes,” you said seriously. “Because that’s my job.”

He stepped closer, his smile softening into something quieter, something more personal. “You’re more than your job.”

And then he reached for your hand. Just for a second. A quick squeeze but it said everything.

That night, back at his flat, the windows were open, and the air was heavy with the scent of rain on asphalt. Roscoe was curled in his favourite corner, snoring softly. You stood at the stove, stirring the butternut squash risotto he always asked for after a good race your own little post-podium tradition.

Lewis hovered nearby. He always did. Sometimes he asked questions, sometimes he just watched. Tonight, he didn’t say much at all.

“You okay?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He nodded slowly, leaning on the counter, his eyes following the movement of your hands. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”

You smiled, still stirring. “Because of the risotto?”

But he didn’t smile back. Not fully. “No. Because of you.”

Your hand stilled.

He stepped forward. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of his skin, smell the salt on his collarbone, the faint trace of soap from his post-race shower.

His fingers reached up and gently brushed a smear of coconut cream from your cheek.

“You take care of everyone,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But who takes care of you?”

You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come. Not because you didn’t know the answer because, for the first time, you were beginning to understand it.

He didn’t press you. Didn’t push. He just stood there, looking at you like he already knew.

And maybe just maybe you were ready to let someone take care of you for a change.

The confession came weeks later, in Tokyo.

The air in the city buzzed, thick with neon and noise, but inside his rented apartment, it was quiet low lights, a candle flickering on the coffee table, and the smell of miso broth warming on the stove.

You hadn’t meant to stay for dinner. You rarely did. You liked your boundaries, liked giving him space to wind down, to rest, to be just Lewis and not Lewis Hamilton, seven-time world champion. Still, that night, when he asked you to stay to sit, to eat you said yes. Maybe because of the way he asked. Maybe because of the way he looked. Or maybe because your heart had already stopped pretending.

You plated the food together, your hands brushing occasionally as you moved in sync without thinking. Bowls of soba noodles with sesame glaze, crisped tofu, steamed bok choy dressed in tamari and ginger. A side dish of Japanese sweet potatoes roasted until golden.

“I feel bad letting you cook for both of us,” he said, settling into the floor cushions around the low table, Roscoe snuggled into a blanket behind him.

“You paid for the groceries,” you teased. “And the entire apartment.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “I just show up and drive. You’re the one making all the magic happen.”

You tried to laugh too, but your cheeks flushed as you looked down at your bowl. Something in the air felt different tonight weighted and delicate, like a moment balancing on the edge of something new.

Halfway through the meal, between casual chatter about free practice sessions and a ridiculous story involving Toto, Roscoe, and an unfortunate eggplant, he went quiet.

You glanced up, catching the shift. His shoulders were tense, chopsticks stilled midair, eyes fixed on his bowl but not seeing it.

“Everything okay?”

He set the chopsticks down gently. “Yeah. I just…”

Then he reached for your hand across the table.

It was tentative barely more than a touch, but it sent a ripple through you. You didn’t move. Just stared down at where your hands met. His thumb brushed the side of your finger, warm and steady, grounding you in the moment.

“I know you didn’t sign up for this,” he said, voice low and unsteady. “To be anything more than my chef.”

You looked up slowly, heart thudding, pulse skipping.

“But I think about you,” he said. “Even when I’m not hungry.”

The words settled into the silence like a secret being laid bare.

“I think about your smile,” he continued, eyes searching yours. “Your stupid little notes. The way you hum when you cook. And the way everything tastes better when it comes from you.”

You couldn’t speak. Your throat tightened, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and something that felt too much like hope. Your fingers curled around his instinctively.

“Lewis…” you whispered, unsure what you were even going to say.

“If it’s too much,” he said quickly, stumbling over his own breath, “tell me. I’ll drop it. I swear I’ll drop it. But I had to tell you. Because if I didn’t, I’d regret it.”

You stared at him for a long, heartbeat-heavy moment. At the vulnerability stretched raw across his face. At the way he looked both terrified and hopeful all at once.

And then softly, like something inevitable you let go of his hand.

Only to rise from your place at the table, heart pounding so hard you felt it in your ribs, and step slowly around the corner of the table. You lowered yourself onto the cushion beside him, knees brushing.

He turned to you; lips parted like he might say something else.

But you didn’t let him.

You kissed him instead.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t rushed.

It was slow. Delicate. Nervous.

The kind of kiss that trembled on the edge of something fragile and new. Your nose bumped his slightly, and you both let out a tiny, breathless laugh against each other’s mouths, barely breaking contact. His hand rose to your cheek, featherlight, fingers trembling as they tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You could feel the tiny tremor in his touch the same nerves that were making your own hands shake.

You deepened the kiss just barely, lips molding softly to his, like a secret passed between you. His other hand slid to your waist, anchoring you gently, and for a moment, you forgot everything else. The race. The world outside. Even Roscoe, snoozing in the corner. It was just this - warmth and want and the wild beating of two hearts afraid to say too much.

When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his, both of you a little breathless, a little dazed.

There was a second of silence, then:

“Okay,” you whispered, voice still catching. “Okay.”

He blinked, brows lifting with surprise. “Okay?”

You let out a tiny giggle nervous, giddy, and overwhelmed. “I just kissed you, didn’t I?”

He laughed too, that quiet, full-bodied sound that always made your chest ache. “You did. Definitely did.”

You peeked up at him, grinning now, cheeks flushed and lips tingling. “And I didn’t mess it up?”

“You couldn’t if you tried.”

Your nose brushed his again, a breath shared in the small space between you.

Outside, Tokyo glowed. Inside, the whole world had shifted and neither of you would ever taste dinner the same way again. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

It’s been three months since that night in Tokyo.

Three months of shared kitchens and tangled limbs in bed. Of early mornings where he pads in quietly behind you, barefoot and warm from sleep, wrapping his arms around your waist while you blend frozen bananas and almond butter into something silky. Of whispered goodnights and murmured dreams, your legs tangled beneath linen sheets, Roscoe snoozing at the foot of the bed like he’s claimed the space as much as you both have.

Three months of racing and resting and falling deeper into something neither of you had planned but both of you now held onto with quiet, grateful hands.

You still cook every meal. You still leave notes.

Only now, they’re part of a rhythm. A ritual. Kisses over coffee. His chin resting on your shoulder as you stir something on the stove, his voice still rough with sleep as he mumbles, “Smells amazing, babe,” and drops a kiss to the side of your neck. He picks at ingredients like a kid stealing cookie dough nibbling raw cashews, sneaking tofu cubes before they crisp. You swat him away, but he always gets his way with a smile that crinkles his eyes and a dimple that still weakens your knees.

The notes still live in his containers tucked beside overnight oats, quinoa bowls, roasted veggie wraps. But now they’re folded into tiny hearts. Sealed with silly stickers you found at a grocery store in Milan a grinning avocado, a winking sun, a turtle in sneakers. You don’t know if he ever shows them to anyone, but you do know he saves them. You found him once, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his dressing room in Barcelona, fingers brushing over one you’d written weeks ago:

Carrots for your eyes. Kale for your heart. And a kiss for everything else.

His smile, when he caught you watching, was quiet and reverent. Like he’d been caught holding a treasure.

This morning, in the soft grey light before dawn, you handed him a smoothie in a frosted glass bottle. He was half-dressed in his team gear, hair tied up, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows. You’d packed it all carefully into a cooler bag: the smoothie, a small container of baked tofu bites, a banana and a warm square of oat crumble from the batch you’d made last night.

The note was simple.

Win or lose, I’m already proud of you.

He read it just before leaving for the track.

You were rinsing out the blender, humming softly to yourself, when the front door clicked open again. You froze, sponge in hand, turning just as the quiet thud of his boots came back down the hall.

“Lew—?”

He didn’t say a word. Just crossed the kitchen in four purposeful strides, dropped the cooler bag to the floor and cupped your face with both hands.

The kiss was sudden, fierce but not rushed. It was grateful. Deep. Like he needed you to feel everything he didn’t have time to say. Like the note wasn’t enough. Like you were the thing grounding him more than any steering wheel ever could.

When he pulled back, his lips brushed your cheekbone. The tip of your nose. Then he whispered it against your skin.

“I don’t care if this is too soon, but god I love you.”

The words were quiet. Steady. Familiar now, like your name on his tongue. But still enough to make your stomach flutter like it was the first time all over again.

You smiled, pressing your hands to his chest, feeling the thrum of his heart beneath the soft cotton of his team hoodie.

“I know,” you murmured. “You murmur it to me under your breath every time you finish your vegetables. I love you too.”

He laughed into your shoulder, the sound muffled and warm. “Well. I’ll finish them forever if it means I get to keep you.”

You turned your head, brushing your lips against the corner of his mouth. “You already do.”

When he left again, it was with three kisses: one on your lips, one on your forehead, and one pressed right above your heart. The door shut gently behind him, and you stood in the kitchen a long while, smiling to yourself. Roscoe wandered in, stretching before curling at your feet with a huff, as if to say, He’ll be back soon. He always comes back.

Later that afternoon, between race debriefs and stretching Roscoe’s legs in the garden, you decided to bake.

“Come help,” you called, already tugging a mixing bowl from the cupboard.

Lewis padded in a few minutes later, barefoot and curious, a towel slung over his shoulder. “What are we making?”

“Oat cookies. With dark chocolate chunks and orange zest,” you replied, measuring oats into a bowl. “Help me stir?”

He reached for the wooden spoon. “You just want me to get messy.”

You grinned. “I like you messy.”

He smirked but didn't argue, and soon enough you were both shoulder to shoulder, ingredients flying, laughter bubbling between measurements. He leaned in close, whispering something cheeky in your ear, and you nudged him with your elbow, sending a small puff of flour into the air.

That’s when he did it.

A smudge of flour, right on your nose.

You froze. Narrowed your eyes.

“Oh, you did not.”

His grin widened. “I did.”

You lunged for the flour bag. He yelped, dodging as you smeared a cloud of it across his cheek, the both of you giggling like children. It turned into a full-on war with flour in your hair, streaks on his hoodie, laughter so loud it startled Roscoe in the next room.

By the time you finally calmed, both of you were coated in white dust, breathless and flushed, arms wrapped around each other in the middle of the flour-covered kitchen.

He looked at you, eyes soft. “You’re the best thing I never saw coming.”

You leaned in, brushing your flour-dusted nose to his. “And you’re the best mess I’ve ever made.”

He kissed you again slow, sweet, warm and you tasted oranges and chocolate and everything you’d built, one note, one kiss, one morning at a time.

Because love, like food, is better when it’s shared.

And you’re just getting started.

There will be more notes. More flour fights. More airports and early flights. More quiet nights and chaotic afternoons.

And always, there will be him.

Coming back to the same kitchen.

To you.

To home.

[justwinginglife]

Royal Pains

You had thought that the title was a joke at first.

Recently you’d received a letter in the mail congratulating you on becoming the new duchess of a small island colony in the south, but you hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Sylus was always pulling ridiculous stunts, paying whatever copious amount of money would allow him to name the new planet that had been discovered after you, or to have your name painted across his newly purchased yacht, or to buy the hotel you were staying the night in and have it renamed so that your name was perched atop it in big, glowing letters. 

So when you received the news regarding his newest acquisition, you simply thought to yourself, “There he goes again, buying more things in my name,” and smiled to yourself, before depositing the papers atop the rest of your legal documents, claiming you the owner of this and that, thinking nothing more of it. 

It wasn’t until Sylus proposed a trip to go see the island that you realized how mistaken you were. 

“My lady.” He held out a hand to help you out of the jet. 

Thinking him humorous, you decided to play along, taking his hand with all seriousness. “Ah, yes, my lord. How very kind of you to assist me.” And when your feet had properly landed on firm ground, you even gave him a curtsy to finish off your performance. 

He gave a light laugh before continuing with the charade. “Excellent form, Your Grace.”

You raised your chin to him, straightening as best as you could. “Why, of course. As you know, I was raised from birth to be this land’s Duchess and as such, I have always been held to high standards, so I expect my form to be nothing less than pure perfection.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “I see Your Ladyship is also quite humble.” 

You rolled your eyes, shoulders slouching again as you broke character. “Alright, alright- I’m done with the whole prim and proper thing now. C’mon, I want you to show me around!” Your eyes glimmered with excitement. “Isn’t that the reason we’re here?”

He smiled warmly, eyes gazing fondly at your enthusiastic expression. “Yes, love. I wanted to show you all the sights this island has to offer.” 

Taking you by the hand, he led you through the forests and meadows, over bridges and through tunnels, until you’d been over every hill, admired every flower, and pet every creature you laid eyes on. Every inch of this island was covered in life, covered in light, and every inch of it was yours. And for no reason in particular. Just because you had someone who loved spoiling you as much as he loved you.  

Eventually, the two of you made your way into town. 

You were so focused on oohing and ahhing all the quaint houses and little gardens, that you almost didn’t notice every villager staring at you. Almost. And it wasn’t until you dragged Sylus to a nearby stall to purchase some sweets from the local baker that you understood why they were all watching you so intently. 

“You’re the new lady of the land, aren’t you?” He asked as he bagged up your treats.

You blinked at him, gears rotating in your mind, as you tried to figure out what on earth he could possibly mean. Then it hit you. The Duchess thing. That was probably what they called whoever had ownership over the land. Made sense. It was an old fashioned town. Titles like that were still being used around here. “Well, technically, my fiancee here is the one who bought the land, so I guess that would make him the… ‘lord of the land,’ I guess? But yes, we are the new owners, and we are very happy to be here.”

You could tell Sylus was biting back a laugh but you just chalked it up to him being thoroughly entertained by the whole situation.

“Your fiance?” The baker gave Sylus a lookover. “I didn’t hear anything about there being a new Duke, just a new Duchess.”

“That’s because there isn’t a Duke.” Sylus confirmed.

“Or Duchess, really.” You added on.

The baker’s brows furrowed as he turned back to face you. “But you’re the new owner, aren’t you? So you’re the new Duchess.”

You could tell he wasn’t going to let this matter go and you really just wanted to disappear over some hilltop with Sylus and enjoy your snacks together in peace, so you decided to give in. “I- yes, yeah. That’s me. I’m the new Duchess. Caught me. Nice to meet you.”

Upon hearing your admission, more villagers started to crowd around you, to ask when you intended to move in, to ask your thoughts on how they could run the town better, to ask if you’d attend their baby’s christening or their daughter’s wedding or the unveiling of the new building in town. All things you did not have the answer to and did not know why you were being asked in the first place. 

After answering as best you could, as politely as you could, you gave a proper little wave (a wave you thought -or simply hoped- was befitting of a Duchess) before snatching Sylus’ hand and scurrying off with him. As much as you liked the idea of playing nobility, you were getting tired of having to keep up the charade. Especially with random people you didn’t know. And on your vacation. You honestly just wanted some alone time with your fiance and it seemed like you weren’t going to get it if you stayed in town any longer. 

“My, my. It appears the new Duchess is shy.” Sylus teased. 

You pouted. “Syyyy. Enough with the Duchess stuff. We both know I’m not royalty.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you so sure about that?”

You rolled your eyes. “Sy, I think I would know if I were secretly a Duchess my whole life.”

“Not your whole life. Just recently.”

You laughed. “What do you mean just recently? I think I would have remembered someone dubbing me ‘Lady of the Land.’” Then you stopped in your tracks. “Sy…you didn’t.”

Sylus didn’t even bother to hide how pleased he was. “I didn’t what?”

Those eyes. That damn smile. He absolutely did what you thought you did. Suddenly, you began to quickly rummage through your purse. Where had you put it? Where was that damn letter? Finally your fingers caught the edge of an envelope and you yanked it out hastily. Skimming over the words again, your jaw dropped as your eyes landed on the information you were looking for. 

He snickered into his hand.

“Sylus! You BOUGHT me a title as a FREAKIN DUCHESS???”

“Guilty as charge, milady.” He gave a pronounced bow. 

You flicked him in the forehead once he’d bent low enough. “And WHY did you buy me a title??”

He shrugged like it was only natural. “I thought I might as well since I was already buying the land.”

“And WHY did you buy me the land??”

Another shrug. “I thought I might as well since I was already buying the castle.”

“And WHY did you- wait. What castle?” You’d explored every inch of this island; you think you would’ve remembered seeing a castle in the distance. 

“That castle.” He turned you around, and there, hidden at the edge of the forest, was the castle of your dreams. 

You stumbled towards it in a daze. 

It was just like walking into a fairytale. There was a large courtyard with a decorative fountain in the center, ornate details carved into its stone. Hedges lined the entrance, making it feel like your own private paradise. A grand staircase lead up to an even grander set of double doors, and past those doors, there were towers to climb, rooms to admire, foyers to gape at, and even more proof of Sylus’ love with every awestruck step you took. 

“You…you didn’t have to do all of this. Why…why did you buy me a castle?” You murmured under your breath, eyes still glazed over, as though you were still wading through a dreamscape. 

“You said you wanted to get married in a castle, didn’t you?” He mused. 

You blinked. 

You had said that. Once. When you had first started dating. Oh. Oh, this man. If he wasn’t careful, you’d just marry him right here and now, with no one to witness your union but the sun streaming in through the windows and the birds flying by. 

“Do you like it?” He asked softly.

“Like it?” You let out a laugh. “I love it, baby. I love you.”

“Oh, good, so you’re not still mad about the Duchess thing.” He teased. “Because you do still have to go to Moira’s baby’s christening and Sheila’s daughter’s wedding and-”

“Oh, no, no, no. If I’m the Duchess, then by default, you’re the Duke. I’m not ‘Ladying’ over this land without my lord. You got me into this mess, now it’s your mess too.” 

“It’s a shame, I only bought one title. It’s not enough for the two of us.” He grinned.

“Then, I guess it’s a good thing I’ve got money too, now isn’t it? Better straighten your crown, pretty boy. You’re stuck with me for life.”

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @minasfwoopyponytail @ouiouimochi @tbaluver

[verstappenalty]

asking as a newbie max/f1 enjoyer, what races can i rewatch that show Max's skills/are entertaining/he wins? i know he was dominating the 2023 season and i plan on watching it already, but what else should i watch?

obviously he was showing his skills even during last gp, but it was painful when mclarens inserted themselves into Max's race and i want something where he is the it girl the whole time

hopefully it's okay to ask you of this :>

absolutely love this question thank you for asking!! I completely understand wanting to watch max HAPPY races, I'm simply never in the mood to watch other drivers succeed 🙄

this is a bit from memory so I will absolutely forget some banger races sorry (if people want to chime in their suggestions then please do so!!)

putting it under a readmore bc uhhh. it got long.

spain 2016: teen max holds off wdc kimi raikonnen on older tires for like 30 laps and becomes the sports youngest race winner. baby 🐐 showed off his tire management skills excellently here

brazil 2016: not a max win but he is absolutely the main character of the race. pits onto full wets with 16 laps to go, drops to the back of the grid and makes his way up. everyone and their mother thought this would be the best display of skill ever shown at a wet race in brazil. little did they know 😎 highly recommend watching the onboard on youtube of this - gp and max working together so beautifully is everything to me

2017 and 2018 I'm so sorry babes I'm skipping you guys to keep this list from being "every max verstappen race win ever" (that being said, 2018 austria is a race I enjoy rewatching)

austria 2019: max has anti-stall on the first lap and then HUNTS down the win and proves he is the hottest bitch to ever do it. truly just excellent racing from maxy

germany 2019: this is austria's flashy cousin. I just recommend this race bc it's so chaotic. everything happens all the time

brazil 2019: this is a max vs lewis race before we had THEEE max vs lewis races and wow it's so good. very cool strategy plays throughout the race too. honestly interlagos ALWAYS delivers

silverstone 70th anniversary 2020: this is the race where martin brundle famously says "thank god for max verstappen" bc he was the only one serving cunt against the mercedes that year. insanely overpowered car vs a max verstappen who refuses to give up (note there are 2 races in silverstone in 2020, this is the 2nd one)

2021 I could recommend basically every single race but I'm going to suggest just two:

sochi 2021: NOT a max win BUT he comes back from p20 to the podium and the last 5 laps of this race are absolute chaos. he is so superior in wet weather it is insane

COTA 2021: we know now that max was having vision issues at this point in the season and that COTA was particularly difficult for him. and he popped his whole pussy on track. he hunted lewis DOWN. the rest of the grid were nowhere, it was these two going toe to toe and FUCK it hits

okay this is getting very long im just going to choose one from each of the next years

hungary 2022: max starts p10, has a full 360 spin during the race, and STILL wins. very fun time

zandvoort 2023: this was the race where max was up for matching seb's 9-race win streak, and it was chaos from the very first lap. any other driver might have lost it. not maxy. not here.

brazil 2024: literally race of all time. my comfort race. I watch this whole thing in FULL more than I should probably admit to. max is a class above everyone else the entire time, and he is having FUN. bonus points for the happiest cooldown room and podium ever

and recently - japan 2025 was max demonstrating an absolutely flawless race. he didn't put a foot wrong the ENTIRE time. just a metronome of perfect laps.

okay this was um. VERY long but that is because max is MAX and keeps winning incredible races. there are definitely LOTS more but hopefully you enjoy watching these ones!!

ALSO for serotonin I would obvs recommend watching every race where max wins a championship but like. abu dhabi last 15mins onboard is the best thing in the world

[shadow211e]

Kelly had just gotten off work, she worked in a retail store in the mall, the place over recent months had become more dead, though it was frustrating to watch the decline of the store, she knew the money was decent and she only had a few more classes to finish her degree. She talked to her boyfriend Seth as she walked to the food court to grab a quick sandwich, she ate it quick and went to the bathroom to wash her hands before heading home. She told Seth she would talk to him when she got home.

As she walked out of the bathroom she didn’t see the tall man in black step out of the shadows and walk up behind her. She felt a small prick in her neck and the world started to go black.

30 mins later she started to come to, she was strapped down on what looked like a gurney in the back of a van, she looked around, it was fuzzy, she wasn’t wearing her glasses, she mumbled, “where am” was all she could say her voice was slurred.

The man in the back of the van with her, looked down, “wake huh, let’s give you the next dose.” He pulled out a needle and looked at her, tapping it, the needle had the number 2 on it. She felt the prick in her arm, and then blackness started to rapidly come for her again.

Kelly woke up again, she looked around the room, she could see the room looked like a lab of some sorts, there was tables, and machines, monitors as well as a large mirror across from her. She couldn’t see in it because the angle of the mirror was tilted from where she was. She did notice something she was standing, she tried to move but found herself locked in place, she thought maybe it was a drug or something or her being restrained still. She also realized after a few minutes of trying to look around, she couldn’t move her neck but her eyesight was normal, she wasn’t wearing glasses but could see clearly now.

A man walked in, he was in his late 40s maybe early 50s, he looked like a doctor. He smiled at her “good morning,” he said in a pleasant tone. “Name?”

She wanted to tell him to go fuck himself and to let her out of here but she heard herself “Model 25.”

“Good, previous name?”

“Kelly Armstrong.”

“Excellent, you are starting off beautifully” he said starting to walk around her. “Arms up.”

Without hesitation her arms went up into the air, then she heard him say down and her arms went down. She realized she wasn’t restrained, but if that was the case she could run, she could leave but she was finding it impossible.

He looked at her “I am sure you have questions, so go ahead you are allowed to ask, I will answer what I can.”

“Where am I?”

“In a conversion lab.”

“What is happening to me?”

“You are being converted into our newest model.”

“You can’t do this, I have friends, I have a boyfriend, they will come for me.”

He looked at her and a small chuckle came from him, “Of course, don’t worry in time you won’t be bothered by that.” He walked over and pulled the mirror slightly to the side, she could see herself now. She looked the same, but she was naked, she blushed at the fact she was standing naked in front of a man and it wasn’t even bothering her. She noticed her skin around her neck and down her arms was looking slightly shiny, and that her body hair, well her trimmed bush was gone. Before she could say anything else, “Shutdown 25.” Her mind started to go black.

*****

It had been 3 days since Kelly went missing, Seth had made calls to her friends, to her work, to her parents, no one had seen her. He went to the cops after the first day she was missing and they filed a report. On day 3 he went to her apartment, the detective had called him, they had gotten access to her apartment, when Seth showed up, he was stunned to find the apartment cleared out, completely empty of everything. There was nothing left, even the walls looked like they had been painted over. The detective told Seth that this happens all the time, girlfriends up and leave, disappear to get away from something bad. Seth tried to explain she was happy, was in school, loved her family, she would have never just left. The detective shrugged saying maybe he didn’t know her that well.

*****

Kelly woke up again, in the same room, the man appearing from around the room behind her again.

“Name?”

“Model 25, if you are the owner, you can designate a Name for the unit.” She was shocked to hear herself answer like that, so coldly.

“Former name?”

“Kelly.”

“No surname?”

She was silent, she had a surname right, she knew what it was, she had to know what it was. But she stayed silent as she watched the smile on the man walking around her.

He told her to do things, move around, raise and lower arms and legs, rotate neck, open mouth. Then when she was back in the same position, he moved the mirror and she was stunned to see her body. Her skin was slightly darker, like if she had a constant tan, her skin was also looking more glossy. She noticed her hips looked wider and her stomach was tighter looking. She wanted to yell, wanted to ask him to save her get her out of here but she couldn’t seem to move. Then he said “Shutdown 25,” and her world went black again.

*****

It had been almost 10 days since she was missing, the news did a report it was a 2 minute segment that was quickly forgotten in the constantly insane world news cycle. No one was really going to care about one missing woman. Even the detective called him to say that even though they weren’t closing the case, that it was becoming an inactive file with no leads. They would keep in touch if they heard anything about her from anyone across the country.

*****

She opened her eyes, the man smiling at her “Name”

“Model 25.”

“Former name?”

“Model 25.”

“Excellent, your mental progress has come along nicely, percentage of conversion?”

“57.62%”

“Perfect.”

She moved around under orders, feeling more sway in her hips, jiggle in her ass and even more bounce in her tits. She couldn’t seem to look down at herself. The man moved the mirror again and she was shocked how different she looked. Her breasts which she vaguely remembered as B cups seemed to be nearing DD range, her ass was huge. What was happening to her, how was this possible?

“Subroutine Club dancing,” she heard him say.

It was like something clicked into her head, she started swaying to music in her head, she looked at him, he was a man, she started to move to him dancing, being seductive, feeling herself becoming aroused around him. She wanted to fuck him, her whole body wanted him.

“Reposition to start.”

She stopped dancing and moved back to the spot she woke up at, she realized how nice it felt to move, it felt so natural to move her hips to music, to grind and show off her body.

“Shutdown 25,” and her thoughts left as she went black.

*****

It had been 3 weeks since Kelly had gone missing, Seth was struggling, her family was pissed at him, and when they had a “funeral” for her, he was asked not to attend the funeral. He was drinking a bit more, and struggling mentally.

*****

She opened her eyes, the man in the coat smiled at her “Good morning, name?”

“Model 25.”

“Good, now today I need you to follow me, down the hall to a room, we are going to be filming you today. So I am activating your human subroutine so you can act like a human.”

“Acknowledged,” as she started to blink feeling good, feeling different. She looked at him “I feel good,” she said her voice now even more sultry and seductive sounding.

“I’m glad, let’s go.”

She started to follow him out of the room and down the halls. Left, right, right, left again, she barely focused but was sure she could easily remember where she was going. He walked her into a room that was set up with cameras and different things, she smiled as people waved at her, she waved back. The man in the coat smiled “you are going to end up dancing and trying to look good for the camera, please listen and adapt to what they want.”

She walked farther in, greeting people, no one seemed to act like she wasn’t human it was nice. There was a small part of her in her mind screaming but soon she was able to ignore it. She was told they wanted her to dance and act out some things and she did it. After about an hour, feeling more human than ever the man with coat came over, “ok return to start and shut down.”

She nodded and headed off, back down the halls, she started to notice numbers on all the rooms, 100s of numbers. She passed one door that was open, she looked inside, seeing a girl struggling and yelling, she was standing there in front of a man with a coat, screaming that her name was Stacy.

She finally got back to her room, number 25 on the door. The door was shut, she leaned into an eye scanner, it scanned her eye and the door opened for her. She walked into the room, the room was completely dark but she had no issue finding the exact spot to stand, then she went dark again.

******

Seth was about to lose everything, he barely went to work, he wasn’t paying his bills, all he did was sit and drink and think about Kelly. It was about 2am and he was getting up from a drunken stupor to go pee when the show he was watching from the 80s went to commercial. He barely was listening to the announcer, but stopped cold in his tracks, staring at the image on the screen. It was of a girl dancing.

Seth stared at the screen, Kelly was so different. Her body, her moves, she was like a walking porn star. He was stunned but he couldn’t stop staring he knew no matter what she looked like, her eyes were the same. This was his girlfriend, the love of his life. He stared watching the screen, then it said Model 25 was available for purchase. He had no clue what it meant but he had to find out about whatever company was selling this model and he would find his Kelly there.

*****

2 weeks later her eyes opened to see the man in the coat again “Good morning, name?”

“Model 25.”

“Excellent, please look at me in the eyes and tell me your state of conversion.”

She leaned in and he saw what he was hoping to see, her eyes had fully changed, she was another one of the Bim-bots they were selling, then her sultry voice “100%”

“Good good, I’ve got better news, you have been sold, you have an owner now.”

A warm feeling flooded through her, she was going to be owned, it was her purpose.

“He wants you to be his flirty tease and a very sexually needy trophy girlfriend, he wants to to tease other men, only want you and be clingy that it makes it seem you want him to fuck you constantly. We will be updating your profile and your name he requested is Jasmine.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Name?”

“Jasmine” she purred.

“Perfect, now shutdown, we will do the finer adjustments and you will be at his house in days.”

Her world went black again.

*****

No one believed Seth, but he had to figure this out, he found the company’s website and was sure that they would have information on her. But then after a week he found out her profile was greyed out and she was “sold”, and he was devastated but he knew she was alive and that was driving him.

He reaffirmed himself at work, making sure to get his life around and make the money he needed, he was going to find her and if he had to buy her, he hoped.

He was at work doing some med level tasks but he was also surfing the dark web to talk to people who might have information on her. He didn’t notice that movement in the office, the managers starting to look nicer as the owner of the company, the big boss was showing up. The man owned buildings and businesses all over the world and today he was coming to their little office building.

The elevator dinged and two people were met, the men were chatting and bragging to the owner about all their growth and achievements while the younger guys in the cubicles around the office could only talk about one thing, her. The woman cuddling up against the 53 year old man. She was a fucking bombshell. She walked next to him in a skin tight dress and heels. One guy looked at Seth, “dude check her out, fuck whatever her name was she left you, check out this piece of ass.”

Seth looked up and then looked back down at the computer, it took him seconds and he stood up in shock. “Kelly!” He screamed

Some people turned to look at the man who had been such a hermit as of late as he bounded over desks and chairs, grabbing the woman by the arm “Kelly, it’s me Seth.”

She looked at him, looking down at him like he was trash, “my name is Jasmine,” she said as she tugged her arm away.

The owner looked at him, giving him a look of death and destruction. Seth’s boss moved him back, warning him that this guy paid his salary. He called out to Kelly one more time, breaking into sobs.

The woman was back in the arms of her man. Back into his safe grasp. She looked back to the poor fool starting to cry. And for one second, Seth and her locked eyes, he had hope that his love was there, but then her stare turned to wicked hate and the flipped her hair back no longer paying the boy attention.