#workout data

[dynamichealthinsights]

How to Track Your Fitness Progress Effectively: A Comprehensive Guide

Tracking your fitness progress is a key element in any successful fitness journey, regardless of your goals. Whether you’re focused on weight loss, muscle gain, improving cardiovascular health, or boosting overall strength and endurance, a well-structured tracking system can give you insights that drive motivation and inform your next steps. This comprehensive guide dives deeper into the science…

[amtrak12]

Man everytime I start thinking 'huh, maybe I can do NanoWrimo this year', I look at my Lucifer WIP and I feel utterly exhausted. :/

[clever-verse]

Data Analytics - Introduction to Machine Learning

Machine learning is an essential part of data analytics. This course will teach you about automation as well as supervised and unsupervised learning. You will also study important methods to help find hidden information within your data. Machine learning is invaluable for the development of computer systems that are able to learn and adapt without following explicit instructions.

[golden42]

Vegan Meal Planning Guide & Tips with GlucoTrust

In today's world, embracing a vegan lifestyle is more than just a trend—it's a commitment to health, the environment, and ethical living. Whether you're new to veganism or a seasoned plant-based eater, meal planning can be a game-changer in maintaining a balanced diet. As we dive into this guide, I'll provide you with essential tips and insights to make vegan meal planning both effective and enjoyable.

Key Takeaways

Vegan diets are linked to improved heart health and weight management.

Common vegan challenges include nutritional deficiencies which can be managed with proper planning.

Essential vegan staples include whole grains, legumes, nuts, and a variety of fruits and vegetables.

Effective meal planning involves creating balanced meals, batch cooking, and proper storage techniques.

Incorporating supplements like GlucoTrust can support overall health and manage blood sugar levels.

Vegan Meal Planning 101

Vegan meal planning is all about ensuring you get a variety of nutrients from plant-based sources. It's not just about eliminating animal products; it's about embracing a wide array of foods that provide essential vitamins and minerals.

Benefits of a Vegan Lifestyle

Adopting a vegan lifestyle offers numerous benefits, not only for your health but also for the planet. Studies show that a vegan diet can lead to lower cholesterol levels, reduced risk of heart disease, and better weight management.

"A well-planned vegan diet is rich in fruits, vegetables, whole grains, and legumes, providing ample fiber, antioxidants, and phytonutrients." - Nutrition Expert

Besides health benefits, veganism is also an ethical choice that reduces animal suffering and environmental impact. By choosing plant-based foods, you contribute to a more sustainable world.

Overcoming Common Vegan Challenges

While veganism has its perks, it also comes with challenges, particularly regarding nutritional intake. Some common concerns include getting enough protein, vitamin B12, iron, and omega-3 fatty acids.

To overcome these challenges, it's crucial to diversify your food choices. Incorporate a variety of legumes, nuts, seeds, and fortified foods to meet your nutritional needs. Additionally, consider supplements for nutrients that are harder to obtain from a vegan diet.

Essential Vegan Staples for Every Kitchen

Stocking your kitchen with the right ingredients is the first step towards successful vegan meal planning. Here are some essentials to keep on hand:

Whole grains: quinoa, brown rice, oats

Legumes: lentils, chickpeas, black beans

Nuts and seeds: almonds, chia seeds, flaxseeds

Fruits and vegetables: leafy greens, berries, avocados

Plant-based proteins: tofu, tempeh, seitan

Strategies for Effective Vegan Meal Planning

With the right strategies, vegan meal planning can be straightforward and rewarding. Here are some tips to get you started:

Creating a Balanced Meal Plan

A balanced meal plan ensures you get all the nutrients your body needs. Aim to include a variety of food groups in each meal. For instance, a typical plate could include:

A serving of whole grains

A portion of plant-based protein

A generous helping of vegetables

Healthy fats from nuts or avocados

Remember, balance is key. By diversifying your meals, you not only enjoy a range of flavors but also cover your nutritional bases.

How to Build a Weekly Vegan Menu

Building a weekly menu helps streamline your grocery shopping and meal prep. Start by planning your meals around seasonal produce, which is often fresher and more affordable. Consider these steps:

Choose a theme for each day (e.g., Taco Tuesday, Stir-fry Saturday).

Include a variety of cuisines to keep meals exciting.

Plan for leftovers to save time and reduce waste.

With a clear menu, you'll find it easier to stick to your vegan diet and enjoy every meal.

What is GlucoTrust?

GlucoTrust is a natural supplement designed to support healthy blood sugar levels. It's crafted from a blend of ingredients known for their ability to enhance glucose metabolism and improve overall well-being. This supplement can be especially beneficial for those on a vegan diet, as it helps address some common nutritional gaps.

One of the standout features of GlucoTrust is its plant-based formulation, which aligns perfectly with vegan principles. It contains a mix of herbs and nutrients that work together to stabilize blood sugar, thereby supporting energy levels and reducing cravings.

Benefits of GlucoTrust for Vegan Diets

Integrating GlucoTrust into a vegan diet can offer several advantages. Firstly, it helps maintain steady blood sugar levels, which is crucial for preventing energy crashes and managing weight. This is particularly important for vegans, as plant-based diets can sometimes lead to fluctuations in blood sugar due to the high carbohydrate content of many vegan foods.

Furthermore, GlucoTrust provides essential nutrients that might be lacking in a typical vegan diet. For instance, chromium, one of its key components, plays a vital role in insulin function and glucose metabolism. By ensuring adequate intake of such nutrients, GlucoTrust supports overall metabolic health and well-being.

Integrating GlucoTrust into Daily Meals

Incorporating GlucoTrust into your daily routine is straightforward. It's recommended to take it with meals to enhance its effectiveness. You can simply add it to your morning smoothie or take it alongside your breakfast to kickstart your day with balanced energy levels.

Shopping Tips for Vegan Meal Planning

Shopping for vegan meals doesn't have to be complicated or expensive. With the right strategies, you can fill your pantry with nutritious ingredients without breaking the bank. Here are some tips to guide you:

Firstly, focus on whole foods. These are not only more nutritious but often cheaper than processed vegan alternatives. Stock up on staples like beans, lentils, whole grains, and seasonal produce. Buying in bulk can also save you money in the long run.

Another tip is to plan your meals around sales and discounts. Check weekly flyers for deals on fresh produce and vegan-friendly products. This approach ensures variety in your meals while keeping costs down.

Budget-Friendly Vegan Grocery Tips

Eating vegan on a budget is entirely possible with a little planning. Here are some practical tips:

Buy seasonal produce: It's cheaper and often more flavorful.

Opt for store brands: They usually offer the same quality at a lower price.

Use coupons and loyalty programs: They can lead to significant savings over time.

By being strategic with your purchases, you can enjoy a diverse and delicious vegan diet without overspending.

Reading Labels for Hidden Animal Products

When shopping for vegan products, it's essential to read labels carefully. Some items may contain hidden animal-derived ingredients, such as gelatin, casein, or shellac. Familiarize yourself with common non-vegan additives to avoid unintentional consumption.

Local Markets vs Supermarkets

Choosing between local markets and supermarkets can impact both your budget and the quality of your food. Local markets often offer fresher produce and unique vegan products that you might not find in larger stores. Supporting local farmers also promotes sustainable practices.

However, supermarkets provide convenience and a broader range of options. They often carry a variety of vegan brands and products, making it easier to find everything you need in one place. For those interested in planning meals, a complete vegan meal plan can be a helpful resource. Ultimately, the choice depends on your priorities and lifestyle.

Maintaining Nutritional Balance in a Vegan Diet

Protein — Lentils, chickpeas, tofu — 50-60g

Iron — Spinach, quinoa, pumpkin seeds — 18mg

Vitamin B12 — Fortified cereals, nutritional yeast — 2.4μg

Omega-3 Fatty Acids — Chia seeds, flaxseeds, walnuts — 1.1-1.6g

Maintaining a balanced vegan diet requires attention to certain nutrients that are more challenging to obtain from plant sources. Protein and iron are two such nutrients, crucial for muscle repair and oxygen transport, respectively.

To meet your protein needs, incorporate a variety of plant-based proteins into your meals. Legumes, tofu, and tempeh are excellent choices that provide all essential amino acids.

Iron, on the other hand, is best absorbed when consumed with vitamin C-rich foods. Pairing spinach with bell peppers or quinoa with tomatoes can enhance iron absorption significantly.

Importance of Protein and Iron

Protein is vital for building and repairing tissues, making it an essential component of a vegan diet. Fortunately, there are plenty of plant-based options to choose from. Consider adding lentils, chickpeas, and black beans to your meals for a protein boost.

Iron, equally important, helps transport oxygen throughout the body. Vegans can meet their iron needs by consuming foods like spinach, quinoa, and pumpkin seeds. To enhance absorption, pair these with vitamin C-rich foods like citrus fruits and bell peppers.

By focusing on these nutrients, you can ensure your vegan diet supports your overall health and vitality.

Vitamins and Supplements to Consider

While a well-planned vegan diet can provide most nutrients, certain vitamins and supplements might be necessary to fill any gaps. Vitamin B12, for instance, is primarily found in animal products, so vegans should consider fortified foods or supplements.

Additionally, omega-3 fatty acids, essential for brain health, can be obtained from flaxseeds, chia seeds, and walnuts. However, a supplement like algal oil might be beneficial for those who struggle to meet their needs through food alone.

Watching Out for Common Deficiencies

Being aware of potential deficiencies is crucial for maintaining health on a vegan diet. Besides vitamin B12 and omega-3s, keep an eye on calcium, vitamin D, and zinc intake. Fortified plant milks, sunlight exposure, and a variety of nuts and seeds can help address these concerns.

Regular check-ups and blood tests can also provide insight into your nutritional status, allowing you to adjust your diet or supplement regimen as needed.

Continuing Your Vegan Journey

Embarking on a vegan journey is an exciting adventure filled with new flavors and health benefits. It's a lifestyle choice that aligns with ethical values and environmental consciousness. However, like any journey, it's essential to have a plan and a support system to stay on track and motivated.

Finding Community Support

Being part of a community can make a significant difference in maintaining your vegan lifestyle. Whether it's joining a local vegan group or participating in online forums, connecting with like-minded individuals provides encouragement and shared experiences.

Here are some ways to find community support:

Attend local vegan meetups or potlucks.

Join online forums and social media groups dedicated to veganism.

Engage with vegan influencers and bloggers for tips and inspiration.

Having a community not only offers support but also exposes you to new ideas and recipes, making your vegan journey more enjoyable and sustainable.

Experimenting with New Recipes

One of the joys of veganism is the opportunity to experiment with a variety of ingredients and cuisines. Trying new recipes keeps your meals exciting and ensures you don't fall into a dietary rut. Explore different cultural dishes and adapt them to be vegan-friendly. For example, try making a plant-based version of your favorite curry or pasta dish. The possibilities are endless, and experimenting in the kitchen can lead to discovering new favorites.

Progress Tracking and Reflection

Tracking your progress is a powerful tool for staying motivated and acknowledging your achievements. Keep a journal of your meals, how you feel physically and mentally, and any challenges you encounter. Reflecting on your journey helps identify areas for improvement and celebrates your successes. Regularly reviewing your progress reinforces your commitment and reminds you of the reasons you chose a vegan lifestyle in the first place.

Frequently Asked Questions

Adopting a vegan lifestyle often comes with questions, especially regarding nutrition and meal planning. Here are some common inquiries and their answers to help guide your journey.

How can I ensure enough protein intake on a vegan diet?

Protein is crucial for muscle repair and overall health. On a vegan diet, you can obtain protein from a variety of plant-based sources such as lentils, chickpeas, tofu, and quinoa. Including a mix of these foods in your daily meals ensures you get all essential amino acids. Aim for a balanced plate with protein-rich foods at each meal to meet your daily requirements.

Are there specific vegan foods that help manage blood sugar levels?

Certain vegan foods are excellent for managing blood sugar levels. High-fiber foods like oats, beans, and leafy greens slow down sugar absorption, keeping levels stable. Additionally, incorporating healthy fats from avocados and nuts can aid in blood sugar control. Pair these foods with GlucoTrust, a supplement designed to support healthy glucose metabolism, for optimal results.

What are the best sources of vitamin B12 for vegans?

Vitamin B12 is primarily found in animal products, making it a critical nutrient for vegans to monitor. Fortified foods such as plant milks, breakfast cereals, and nutritional yeast are excellent sources of B12. Alternatively, consider a B12 supplement to ensure adequate intake and prevent deficiencies.

How often should I include GlucoTrust in my diet?

Incorporating GlucoTrust into your daily routine can support balanced blood sugar levels. It's typically recommended to take GlucoTrust once a day with a meal. Consistency is key, so choose a time that fits seamlessly into your schedule, such as breakfast or lunch, to maximize its benefits.

What should I do if I experience deficiencies despite meal planning?

If you suspect nutritional deficiencies, it's important to address them promptly. Start by reviewing your meal plan to ensure it includes a variety of nutrient-rich foods. If deficiencies persist, consider consulting with a healthcare professional or a registered dietitian. They can provide personalized advice and recommend appropriate supplements to restore your nutrient balance.

[sujooon]

Discover how chest heart rate monitor Apple Watch transforms fitness by offering real-time data and personalized insights for your workouts.

[bloggerkey]

Google Fit क्या है | What is Google Fit in Hindi

आजकल के व्यस्त जीवन में स्वस्थ रहना हर किसी के लिए एक चुनौती बन गया है। लोग फिटनेस बनाए रखने के लिए कई प्रकार के उपाय करते हैं, लेकिन तकनीक ने इसे आसान और मज़ेदार बना द��या है। Google Fit एक ऐसा हेल्थ और फिटनेस ट्रैकिंग ऐप है जो आपको अपने फिटनेस लक्ष्यों को हासिल करने में मदद करता है। यह ऐप आपको न केवल आपकी शारीरिक गतिविधियों को ट्रैक करने की सुविधा देता है, बल्कि आपके स्वास्थ्य पर नज़र रखने के…

[qalbtalk]

Any lifters who track? I need friends on the Hevy app!

[wrotebymii]

EVERYTHING HAS A PLACE | Date Everything x Autistic!gn!reader

Summary: How life is with the objects and their autistic homeowner.

Warnings: Fluffy, minimal angst, reader doesn’t know their household necessities are sentient at first, I’m autistic but low-functioning so a lot of what I wrote is how I go about my day/how I act. Not edited. Reader is also slightly demi-romantic coded.

Lost the plot a few paragraphs in I’m sorry I’m sleep deprived.

MASTERLIST | READ ME

Timothy, Penelope, and You are like three peas in a pod. Using each keeps you relatively relaxed for the upcoming day or eventual break in your neatly put together schedule—which gets increasingly difficult to think about when said break comes.

Sorry, Sam, but your hang session is place obscurely in our data monthly pin board since it’s pushing too close to workout and the everything shower. —Signed Penelope

They all try to accommodate your needs; Kopi making the coffee the exact same every time, Freddy keeping the fridge nice and cool so your comfort foods don’t spoil just yet, Teddy being found under your bed when you’re having a difficult time regulating, even Lux and Barry collaborating reluctantly together to find the perfect hand lotion that doesn’t give you sensory headaches.

Everyone thinks you’re charming, not in an infantilizing way. Every single person adores you but with respect and understanding.

Most of them love that you have a routine you stick by, it’s easy to remember and gives them chill periods in between. Its a nice break because they too can get tired, so when there’s a detour in the schedule that wasn’t place advanced. They worry.

Koa and Mateo would immediately be there with you, letting you curl in the comfort of your bedding and focus on yourself. While Telly puts on a rerun of your favorite show.

But this time it’s different. An immediate change in your entire routine when you got the Dateviators. Forcing yourself to ignore the urge to clean the broken glass of your door window because a drone had so rudely forced the box in. You picked them up, they were cute a little tacky but cute nevertheless. Internally, you were still freaked out that an unknown person knew your address and sent you a pair of sungla— holy shit.

You put them on and you’re not sure how it happened but there was a very beautiful smiling pinked haired stranger standing a few feet away from you. She was practically buzzing in excitement as she explained what was happening. Causing you to…

Quickly take the glasses off and pace.

You couldn’t believe it, almost didn’t want to believe it. Within the comforts of your own home every object, appliance, knicknacks, and the literal embodiment of concepts are all sentient. It made you feel all types of ways wrong that you quickly took laps around the house before collapsing on the floor of your living room.

…this could be a good thing? You mean…it could help with your social skill and facial recognition. Hell, maybe you’ll get a friend out of this?

Slowly you put them back on, your world being brightly lit up by rose tinted specs. It hurts your eyes. Though, Skylar shows up again, looking down at you with a strained smile and wave. Easying you up without touching you to your feet and continuing what she was saying. Before another bomb shell hit you.

Dateviators…dateables

The whole point of these glasses was to date multiple of your household items which freaked you out more. However, you were truly thankful that you met Dorian first. His announcement that friendship was also an option made it less daunting on you.

Thus began the 102 way to get everything to be friends with you!

Sure, the first few days was stressful and near exhausting but long talks with Timothy and Pen helped greatly. They helped with creating an entirely new schedule color coded as well that allowed time for your humanly needs and getting to know everyone.

Jerry and You got along great, earning his friendship fast when you told him to up-cycle.

Lux was easy to hate, but with your inability to know when you’re being insulted you became their unlikely friend they hurt your eyes.

Teddy was amazing, you were little embarrassed that he knows deeply about your breakdowns but the silly advice and stories made it go away.

Barry is probably your best friend, you help him with his memory by saying he can use things he’s interested in to aid him in keeping track of things.

Chance is your second bestie, nearly tackling him in feral hyper fixation so you could yap his ear off about the game you both like. He’s the most likely to fall for you. Besides Wallace.

However, the best place is Break Box Club, but only when it’s after hours. You can only sit through terrible act before you want to put cotton in your ears. The club is soothing at closing, lights dimmer Volt and Eddie do that just for you and you get to drink a lot of mocktails Eddie teases you.

You do your share, of course. Not wanting to free load off the two. You have knowledge on the breaker box because you were frantically cleaning one day and found the manual which you spent the next hour reading through and forgot the cleaning which you regretted later.

Currently, you’re seated at the bar working on a project you and Jerry are doing while chatting to Eddie about a new dateable, questioning the person initial reaction to you. Volt was to your right.

“They were flirting…” He said, cleaning a glass with a shake of his head. The corner of his lips turning up. You give him a once over and hum in thought.

“Nah” You say flatly, not believing it.

“The hell you mean nah?” He raised an amused brow. You shrug and sit up straight, gathering your words.

“They seemed…rude? And pushy” You concluded.

“That doesn’t mean they weren’t…” Eddie pauses and places the glass down, rubbing between his eyes like he has a headache.

“Sometimes…insults can be meant in different ways, live wire.” Volt says, chuckling. They aren’t teasing you for your like of awareness but amused by the conversation overall.

“But, that’s not how it’s like in Betty’s books” You say, maintaining strict eye contact with Eddies hands as the wipe down the counter. Enjoying the rhythmic nature of it.

“How was it shown in these books?” Volt asks with more interest.

“Flashy, and oddly poetic. Like you’d sing a ballad if you saw your lover in front of you” You say remembering the way Betty gasp and sigh wishfully when she read it out loud. You thought it was pretty, and by definition romantic, but not something you think you’d like.

“Ah of course, lovey-dovey shit…” Eddie mumbles, he leans on the bar his hands on the counter supporting his weight. Volt hums.

“Betty is the overtly romantic type.” Volt looks at you, multitasking on the project and the conversation.

“-what about you?”

“Huh?”

“What is your romance like, your love language?”

“You don’t have to answer, tap your fingers twice if you want me to stop him” Eddie teases, his voice drowning out with Volts as they banter back and forth.

What is your romance like? Love language? You aren’t sure, but you know you like foundation a connection to someone. Similarities but not too many.

“I think I like just being near someone…we don’t have uh-don’t have to speak or do anything but just be there in each other presence, I enjoy that. Looking up and seeing that they’re there and I get to be there with them…” The room is silence, it’s not awkward but settle.

Then it’s broken.

“I enjoy the firey and beautiful passi-“

“You ruined it” Eddie huffs.

“Oh-ho I did not, I’m merely adding onto-“ Volt defends himself, electricity tingling over his arms—the zapping noise of it pleases you.

You giggle as they continue, adding the last bit to the Jerry project. Watching as Eddie and Volt blabber on as Eddie begins to walk away from the conversation to go on and do workaholic things.

You might not fully understand where you are in romantic relationships but you’ll take anything if it meant being in the presence of any object within this house. If they’re flirty, hateful, passive, aloof.

You don’t mind, being around them is enough for you.

[natsaffection]

Redline. Bonus 5.1 | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!Racing!Driver!Reader

Warnings: Mention of sex, feeling of replacement

Word count: 10,8k

A/n: I didn't think I'd type the title above ever again, but I'll have to do it a second time tomorrow, as there will be a second part..thank you so much ☀️ for this grandiose idea!!! Let's see if one of you finds the "mistake"/difference to the other parts..

The morning sun hadn’t even kissed the sky yet when your alarm buzzed quietly beside you. You silenced it with a quick swipe and glanced to your right. Natasha was curled up beneath the covers, her red hair spilling across the pillow in a rare moment of peace. Her breathing was soft, slow, even, and you took a second to soak it in.

You slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to wake her, and tiptoed across the suite to grab your gym bag. Your heart was already pumping, not just from excitement, but from something deeper, older. That itch in your chest that only the track could soothe. It was race season again. Time to put on the helmet and become who you really were.

The gym was empty, the way you liked it. No cameras. No agents. No engineers. Just the rhythmic hum of your breath and the burn of muscle as you pushed yourself through circuit after circuit, focusing on agility, reflexes, core strength. Every crunch, every punch, every bead of sweat was a promise you made to yourself, and to Natasha.

This season was going to be yours. Again.

By the time you stepped out of the shower, skin still tingling from the heat and heart pounding with post-workout adrenaline, you were practically vibrating. You wrapped a towel around yourself and padded back into the room, already mentally drafting a cheeky comment to wake Natasha with, something flirty, maybe teasing about her sleeping in while you were already hustling.

But the bed was empty. Still neatly made. A flicker of confusion passed through you. You checked your watch. Not that early..

You dressed quickly, tugging on a clean hoodie and joggers, and made your way down the hall to the team’s suite of offices. Most were still dark, except for one. Natasha’s. The door was open just a crack, enough to let the light spill out across the floor.

You approached slowly, the buzz in your veins dimming just a bit. Inside, Natasha sat behind her desk, eyes locked on her laptop, posture stiff. A dozen tabs were open on the monitor..data, driver analytics, telemetry charts. She didn’t look up right away when you stepped in. But you didn’t need to see her eyes to know something was off. You felt it, the way you feel a car start to slide just before the tires lose grip.

“Nat?” you said softly.

Natasha looked up, and her face didn’t match her usual morning calm. She had that tight look around her mouth, the one she wore when she was about to say something she didn’t want to.

“Hey. You’re up early.” Natasha said.

“I could say the same about you.” You leaned against the doorframe. “Didn’t expect to find you buried in data at six am.”

“I needed to get ahead of some things.” Natasha sat back in her chair, folding her arms. “Come in. Sit for a second.”

You blinked. That tone.

Not “I missed you.”

Not “How was your workout?”

Not even her clipped professional cadence.

Something else entirely. You crossed the room and sank into the chair opposite Natasha, studying her with narrowed eyes. “What’s going on?”

Natasha hesitated for a beat. Then she spoke.

“Willow Petrov.”

The name landed like a dropped wrench in a silent garage. Your brow furrowed. “From Formula 2?”

Natasha gave a short nod. “She’s twenty, Russian, ran with LunaTech last season. Three podiums. Got the best reaction time average in the pack. I’ve been watching her for a while.”

You tilted your head slowly. “Okay… why are we talking about her?”

Natasha exhaled. “She’s driving for us now. As your teammate.”

The room seemed to hold its breath. You blinked again, slower this time. Your brain raced to catch up, to reorganize the shape of your expectations. “What?”

“I signed her last night.” Natasha said, voice calm but unreadable. “It’ll be announced this afternoon.”

You stared at her. “I thought we were running solo again this season.”

“We were. But the board’s been pressuring for a second driver since last year. Sponsors too. We need more data from track simulations, better car-to-car telemetry feedback. And frankly, Willow’s too good to let go.”

A dozen thoughts flooded your head at once. You remembered Willow, bright, sharp, fearless. The type who cut corners like a knife and grinned at the podium like she belonged there, even when she didn’t win. A rookie, yes..but a talented one.

“She’s good.” you said slowly. “I’m not saying she isn’t. But this…changes things.”

“I know.”

“We have to split test runs, telemetry data, garage time. I’ll have to share my race engineer. She doesn’t know the car. Hell, she doesn’t know you. And I-”

Natasha stood then, walked around the desk, and crouched in front of you, placing a gentle hand on your knee. “Hey. Look at me.”

You did. “You are still my number one. On track. Off it. Nothing about that changes. But this team isn’t just about us anymore. It can’t be, if we want to grow. I need you to help me bring her in. Mentor her. Lead her.”

You searched Natasha’s face, heart twisting with something you didn’t want to name. Not jealousy. Not fear. Just..uncertainty.

“Can I think about it?” you asked quietly.

“You don’t have to decide anything. Just meet her. She’s arriving tomorrow.” You nodded slowly. Tomorrow. Everything was already changing.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur.

After the bombshell about Willow, you had thrown yourself into team meetings with a sort of sharp-edged focus, the kind Natasha had come to recognize over the months. When you were rattled, you didn’t fall apart, you doubled down. Your voice was steady during briefing, your analysis sharp as ever, but Natasha could feel the undercurrent. The quiet weight behind your eyes. The slightly-too-stiff posture. The questions that weren’t really about strategy.

Still, no one else in the room seemed to notice. To them, you were the reigning champion. The top driver of the Romanoff Racing team. Unshakeable.

Natasha knew better.

“Alright.” she said as they wrapped up for the day, clapping her hands once as the crew began dispersing. “Tomorrow we welcome Willow to the garage. I want everyone on their A-game. Let’s show her what a real team looks like.”

You didn’t speak as you gathered your notes. Just nodded and slipped your phone into your pocket. Natasha let you walk beside her in silence down the corridor, until you reached the private team garage, a sacred space for the two of you when the world felt too loud.

You finally spoke, voice quiet. “You think she’s ready?”

Natasha glanced at you. “She’s raw, but she’s smart. She’ll adjust. But she’s not you.”

You gave a tiny laugh under your breath. “That supposed to make me feel better?”

Natasha smiled faintly. “I’m not trying to make you feel better. I’m telling you the truth, Y/n.”

Dinner that evening was something simple. Homemade pasta. Natasha had cooked, which in itself was a rare gesture, part apology, part grounding ritual. You sat on the couch, legs tangled under the blanket, eating straight from the bowls, a slow jazz record playing softly in the background.

You finally started to loosen. You leaned into Natasha’s side, head resting on her shoulder, chewing quietly.

“She’s going to ask questions about you.” you murmured after a long stretch of silence.

“She might.”

“You gonna tell her we’re together?”

“I’m going to tell her you’re my top driver.” Natasha said with a smirk. “Everything else, she’ll figure out the moment she sees us look at each other.”

You gave a small scoff. “You’re obnoxiously confident sometimes.”

Natasha pressed a kiss to your temple. “And you love it.”

Later that night, the apartment had gone quiet. Natasha had gone to wash up, and you stayed curled on the couch, hoodie pulled up over your head, the laptop balanced across your legs. The screen glowed softly in the dark, video after video, all the same subject.

Willow Petrov | Rising Star - F2 Highlights

Willow Petrov Onboard | Monaco Hairpin Dive

Willow Petrov: 2024 Season Recap

Her style was aggressive, but clean. No wasted movement. Calculated chaos. And she had this look behind the helmet, fierce, wide-eyed, maybe even a little reckless. She reminded you of yourself, once.

Too much.

So when Natasha padded back into the room, damp hair tied in a loose knot, wearing only a black tank and sweatpants, she paused in the doorway, smirking at the screen before speaking.

“You stalking your new teammate already?”

You startled, slammed the laptop shut too quickly. “I was just..researching.”

“Mm-hm.” Natasha crossed her arms, clearly entertained. “Researching. With that little frown and everything.”

“I’m not jealous..” you muttered, cheeks flushed. “I’m just…making sure I know what I’m working with.”

Natasha stepped forward, eyes gleaming as she knelt in front of you, resting her hands on your thighs. “It’s okay if you are. A little.”

You met her gaze, trying to hold it, trying to be cool. But something warm bloomed in your chest at how amused Natasha looked, like this was something endearing. Like you weren’t being ridiculous, but…cute.

“She’s not a threat.” Natasha said softly. “To your seat. To us.”

You swallowed. “I just don’t want to lose what we have.”

“You’re not going to.” Natasha’s voice was sure, low, steady. “You’re mine. On every track. In every city. In every way that matters. There’s no one else I want in that car..or in this bed.”

You looked down at her, and your voice was barely a whisper. “Promise?”

Natasha rose onto her knees, kissed you slow and deep, her hand slipping to the back of your neck. “I promise.” she murmured against your lips. And for the first time that day, you let yourself believe it.

The next morning came bright and early, sun slicing through the tall windows of the paddock hospitality suite like a blade. The team’s logo, sleek and minimal, black and red, gleamed from banners, transport trucks, even the espresso machine. A few engineers were already moving in the garage, prepping telemetry equipment and adjusting the simulator booth in the corner.

You stood just outside, arms folded, watching the driveway. You told yourself you weren’t nervous. You’d given track tours a dozen times. You’d welcomed new engineers, new sponsors, new assistants. You’d even done a handshake round with a crown prince once, back when Natasha’s team had first gone international.

But something about this one felt different. When the black car finally pulled up, you recognized her instantly. She practically bounced out, tiny compared to the hulking luggage she hauled behind her. She wore the team’s new windbreaker, sleeves a little too long, brown hair in a messy braid, and a smile stretched across her face like it had been glued there for hours.

Big eyes. Too much energy. Nervous as hell. You swallowed a smile and stepped forward. “You must be Willow.”

Willow straightened like she’d been caught doing something wrong. “Y-Yes! Hi!”

“Hi.” You offered your hand. “Welcome to Romanoff Racing.”

Willow shook it with both hands, her grip too eager, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Oh my God, I can’t believe this is real..” she said breathlessly. “I’ve been watching your races since I was fifteen, I mean, not in a creepy way, I just-God, that sounded creepy, didn’t it?”

You let out a short laugh. “You’re fine..” Willow blushed deeply, nodding rapidly.

Just then, Natasha stepped out from the garage, clipboard in hand, her presence commanding even in jeans and a fitted t-shirt. Willow visibly straightened again, as if she were back in military school. Natasha gave her a nod, eyes cool but not unkind.

“Willow. Good to have you with us.”

“Th-Thank you, Ms. Romanoff..” Willow stammered.

Natasha turned to you, that subtle look passing between you like a secret no one else could read. “I’ve got a strategy meeting with the core team. Think you can show her around?”

You nodded. “Sure.”

“Stick to pit lane, garage, and test paddock. Don’t take her near the media center yet. They don’t know we’ve signed her.” Natasha paused. “And for the love of God, don’t let her try to sit in your car.”

Willow blinked. “I would never- I mean, just looking! I swear!”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed again. Natasha smirked, kissed your cheek (subtle but intentional), and then disappeared into the garage.

Willow watched her go with wide eyes. “…She’s terrifying.”

“She’s not that bad.” you said, walking toward the pit entrance.

“She is. But like, in a powerful-boss-woman way.”

You shot her a glance. “She’s also my girlfriend.”

Willow froze. “Oh. Oh. Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean..I didn’t know you two were, um- wow. Cool. Very cool. That explains the…cheek kiss.”

You arched a brow, biting down a grin. “You okay?”

“Yeah!” Willow squeaked. “Just trying not to implode.”

The track was still quiet, only the faint sounds of drills and tires being moved echoing through the pit lane. You walked her through the various zones: the telemetry stations, tire warmers, pit boxes, the private rest pods hidden behind the main lounge.

Willow asked questions, so many questions. About the car’s brake bias system, about fuel management in wet conditions, about how the team handled your post-crash comeback. Her eyes sparkled with a thousand unspoken thoughts, and despite yourself, you started to like her. She was too earnest to hate.

You stopped just at the edge of the garage, where your race car stood under soft LED lights, its sleek chassis black with crimson accents.

Willow gasped. “Is that yours?”

You nodded. “Every piece of her.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“She’s temperamental, high-maintenance, and will betray you the moment you relax.” You ran a hand across the wing. “But yeah. She’s mine.”

Willow stepped forward, a little reverent. “What’s it like? Sitting in her. That moment right before the lights go out?”

You turned to her, studying the rookie’s hopeful face. “It’s like…you disappear. And all that’s left is instinct. Speed. Survival.”

Willow looked down, serious now. “I don’t know if I’ll be good enough.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

“I thought I’d have more time..” she admitted. “To grow. To learn. And now I’m being dropped next to you. You’re a world champion. You’re her partner. What if I screw up?”

You softened. “You will.” you said simply. “We all do. But we get better. That’s how this works. Just don’t try to be me.”

Willow looked up, surprised. “Be you. That’s who she signed.”

Willow nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll try.”

You gave her a small smile. “That’s all you need to do.”

The tour ended as the midday sun baked the tarmac in a golden shimmer. Willow had talked nonstop for nearly an hour, and though you didn’t admit it out loud, the kid had started to grow on you. Somewhere between her overly enthusiastic obsession with brake cooling systems and the way her eyes lit up when they entered the data lab, you felt something unfamiliar settle in your chest.

Not irritation. Not jealousy. Something closer to nostalgia.

You returned to the garage, where the hum of the team buzzed around you like bees, techs checking tire pressure, interns typing rapidly, radios crackling between engineers. The pulse of the season was coming alive again, and you could feel it deep in your bones.

Natasha appeared just as you stepped back into the paddock. She’d changed into her track jacket, her red hair pulled back in a low ponytail, clipboard tucked under one arm. Her presence was casual, but commanding, as always.

“How’s the tour?” she asked, directing the question to Willow, though her eyes flicked briefly toward you.

Willow straightened again. “Incredible. I..I don’t even know how to process it all. I feel like I’m dreaming.”

Natasha gave her a small smile, the kind that was rare and real. “Good. I like drivers who know how to appreciate where they are. But now it’s time to stop dreaming and start driving.”

Willow blinked. “Wait. N-Now?”

Natasha gestured toward the second car in the garage, sleek, matte gray, less tuned than your beast but still mean enough to roar.

“Nothing major. Just a few laps. Get the feel of the track. It’s different when it’s ours.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t waste any time, did you?”

Natasha smirked. “Neither do you.”

Willow looked between you, nervous again but clearly vibrating with excitement. “I- yes. Absolutely. Thank you, Ms. Romanoff.”

“Call me Natasha when we’re not in front of sponsors.” she said, turning to toss her clipboard on the table. “Suit up. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Within twenty minutes, Willow was in the car. The Romanoff test track wasn’t part of any international circuit. It was private land, built with obsessive precision, modeled after the most complex corners of Monaco, Silverstone, and Spa, all folded into a brutal loop of tight chicanes, high-speed straights, and elevation changes that punished hesitation.

It wasn’t a track for rookies.

You stood with your arms crossed beside Natasha at the observation deck just above pit lane, watching the camera feed light up as the car pulled from the garage.

“She looks scared.” you said.

“She should be.” Natasha replied. “Fear keeps your hands steady.”

The engine roared to life and Willow was off, taking the first few laps with visible caution. Corners were wide, braking early, no aggressive downshifts. You leaned against the railing, unimpressed.

“She’s holding back.”

“She’s learning the rhythm.” Natasha said, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Watch.”

You did. And after lap three, something shifted. The lines tightened. Her timing smoothed. She stopped dancing around the turns and started slicing through them. Lap four, she nailed the uphill chicane without touching the apex rumble strip. On five, she drifted wide just enough to preserve tire heat without compromising the downforce.

Your brow furrowed. “…Huh.”

Natasha’s smile was faint, knowing. “She’s good.”

“She’s very good.”

You watched in silence as Willow pushed through another two laps, faster each time. Still not elite, but promising. Focused. Hungry. She cut the final corner too sharp on the last run and skidded slightly, catching herself at the edge of the gravel. She brought the car in after that, helmeted head turning as she entered the garage and coasted to a stop.

When the engine went quiet, you let out a low breath. “…Okay,” you muttered. “That can’t go unanswered.”

Natasha turned. “Oh?”

Your smile grew slowly. “Give me ten minutes and my girl back in the paddock.”

“You want to race her?”

You turned to her, eyes gleaming with challenge. “You wanted her tested. Let’s see how she handles the heat.”

Natasha considered you for a beat, then nodded.

“Don’t go easy on her.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

Ten minutes later, you were back in your suit. Helmet in hand. Every step toward the car felt like slipping back into a second skin. The hum of the garage faded. Everything outside the cockpit was background noise.

As you lowered yourself into the car, you glanced toward Willow, who was standing by the pit wall, helmet still on, clearly unsure whether to be thrilled or terrified. You gave her a thumbs-up before the visor came down.

And then, the track swallowed you. Willow took the lead on the first lap, you let her. Let her feel that taste of control, let her believe for a second she had the upper hand.

But by lap two, you were tightening the gap. By three, you were on her tail, reading every line she chose, every hesitation. On the fourth lap, as you hit the blind uphill switchback, you saw your chance.

You dove in, late brake, tighter line, a calculated brush that skirted legality, and took the inside.

Willow blinked. Hesitated. That was all you needed. From then on, it wasn’t even a contest. The next lap was yours, sharp, precise, and punishing. Your car became an extension of your body. Every muscle aligned with purpose. You were wind and fire, all instinct and fury, tearing up the track to prove one thing:

You still had it.

And by the time you crossed the line, your car a full second ahead, the point had been made loud and clear. When you pulled back into the garage, engines cooling with the ticking sound of victory, you climbed out, removed your helmet, and walked toward Willow, whose face was flushed behind her visor.

She flipped it up slowly.

“…Holy shit..” Willow whispered.

You smirked. “Welcome to the big leagues.”

Natasha joined you then, arms folded, the ghost of a grin tugging at her lips. “I think that counts as your initiation.”

Willow looked between you, still catching her breath. “I want to be that good.”

“You will be.” you said, slapping her lightly on the shoulder. “Just not today.”

As the sun dipped behind the track’s final corner, casting long shadows across the asphalt, Natasha’s voice cut through softly, “Looks like I’ve got two monsters on my team now.”

You looked over, and for the first time since the rookie’s name was mentioned, you smiled without reservation.

“Yeah.” you said. “But only one queen.”

——

It had been six days since the race. Six days since you smoked Willow on the track. Six days since the rookie came off the tarmac breathless and wide-eyed like she’d touched fire, and wanted more.

Since then, the team had shifted into full gear. Training simulations. PR meetings. Car telemetry reworks. Everyone was running on caffeine, deadlines, and pit-lane adrenaline. And somewhere in the chaos, you started to feel it:

Distance.

At first, it was small. A skipped coffee. A missed debrief. Natasha pulling Willow aside in the garage, gesturing with that intense, low tone she always used when she wanted to build a driver up from the inside out. You had heard it before. You remembered how rare it was to be spoken to like that.

Now you watched it from a distance. On the fourth day, you showed up early for simulator drills, but Natasha had already booked Willow in your slot. No heads-up. Just a polite nod from the tech.

“Romanoff said to prioritize rookie reflex calibration..” he mumbled.

You had just nodded and turned away, jaw tight. You weren’t the rookie anymore. You weren’t the rescue project. You were the reigning world champion. And somehow, you felt completely invisible.

That night, the compound was unusually quiet. The rest of the team had gone out for a media dinner, but you had passed. Natasha hadn’t even asked if you were coming, she’d assumed you weren’t, too caught up talking setups with Willow, who had practically bounced through the garage all day with her notebook and never-ending questions.

You stood alone now in the garage, long after the rest had left, staring at your car in the low lights. Just you and the beast. The car didn’t judge. The car didn’t compare. You ran your hand across the edge of the carbon fiber bodywork, fingertips ghosting over the Romanoff logo near the cockpit.

How many times had this car saved you? How many times had Natasha? And now it felt like none of it was enough.

A sharp click of heels on the concrete behind you broke the silence. You didn’t turn.

“I figured I’d find you here.” Natasha said quietly.

You swallowed. “Thought you had dinner with the prodigy.”

Natasha approached slowly, a slight edge of confusion in her voice. “Willow went with the tech crew. I was looking for you.”

“You’ve been doing a lot of looking lately.” you said, the words out before you could stop them.

Natasha paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You finally turned to face her. “You tell me. You’ve been glued to her since the day she arrived. Training, testing, feedback loops, hell, you even rearranged my sim time.”

“That wasn’t personal, baby.” Natasha said. “She needs the hours.”

“And I don’t?”

“You’re already a world champion.”

“Right..” you snapped, stepping back. “So now I’m just the legacy act? The girl who came broken, who got rebuilt, but isn’t new enough or shiny enough to get your attention anymore?”

Natasha’s face hardened. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” You laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “You didn’t have to fight for her. You didn’t have to convince her to stay when her nightmares made her puke at night. You didn’t hold her hand when she spun out and started screaming because she thought she was flying into a wall again. She came ready-made. Clean slate. Untouched.”

Natasha flinched, subtle, but it was there. “I never saw you smile at me like that, back then.”

“You mean when you didn’t trust anyone and couldn’t look me in the eye?” Natasha’s voice was low now. Dangerous. “Don’t rewrite history just because it hurts.”

Your breath caught. You stared at each other for a long moment. Everything in your chest was burning, shame, longing, fear. You hated how small you felt. How much you cared.

“I know what this is..” you said quietly. “She’s the driver you always wanted.”

Natasha stepped forward, firm. “Stop it.”

“She is.” you insisted, voice cracking. “No damage. No baggage. You didn’t have to rebuild her. You just got to mold her. And I-“

“You were never a project to me.”

“You say that, but it’s starting to feel like I was.”

The silence between you was deafening. Natasha took a breath, slow, deliberate. “Do you really think I love you because I had to?”

You didn’t answer, and natasha’s expression softened, less sharp, more raw. “I love you because you fought. Because you refused to stay down when every bone in your body told you to quit. I love the way you clawed your way back to the wheel, even when no one else believed in you. That’s not pity. That’s admiration.”

“Then why does it feel like you’ve forgotten I’m still here?” you whispered.

Natasha looked stunned, just for a second. Then she reached out, gently, cupping your face. Her thumbs brushed your cheeks, you hadn’t realized you’d been crying until then.

“I haven’t forgotten you, Y/n.” Natasha murmured. “I’ve been looking at you every day and thinking: God, she’s still the fire I fell for. But I didn’t realize you were feeling this.”

“I didn’t either..” you said, your voice hoarse. “Not until she showed up and you stopped seeing me the way you used to.”

Natasha shook her head. “No. I see you. I always see you. You just started turning away.”

You closed your eyes. You wanted to believe her. Wanted to let it go. But the doubt sat heavy in your gut like lead.

“You need to tell me when I miss something.” Natasha said, pulling you in closer. “Not when it’s too late. Not when you’ve already built a story in your head.”

You rested your forehead against hers. “She’s good.”

“She is.”

“But I’m still better.”

Natasha smiled. “Goddamn right, you are.”

A beat passed. Then you added, quietly, “But I still needed to hear it.”

Natasha kissed you then, slow, grounding, a promise sealed without words. And for the first time in days, you let yourself believe that you weren’t being replaced. You were still the heart of this team. Still hers.

——

The press tent was larger than usual, elevated seating for journalists, polished banners on either side of the platform, and every camera lens locked in with laser precision. The Romanoff Racing emblem hovered on every backdrop, flanked by the logos of their newest sponsors. A gentle buzz filled the air, expectation, speculation, heat from the lights.

And at the center of it all: Natasha.

She walked onto the stage like she owned it, because, in a way, she still does. Her tailored black blazer, fitted white blouse, and subtle smile made her look every bit the icon. Calculated cool. Controlled grace. She stood at the mic with the same poise she showed when strategizing before a stormy Grand Prix.

“Ladies and gentlemen..” she began, her voice even, but firm. “Thank you for joining us today. As most of you know, Romanoff Racing is entering its fifth season on the circuit. We’ve broken records, rewritten what a comeback can look like, thanks in large part to our champion, Y/n.”

There was a small wave of applause, and backstage, you exhaled slowly as the spotlight grazed you for a moment, just enough to burn.

“But this year..” Natasha continued, “we’re growing. I’ve made the decision to bring in a second driver. A rising star. Someone with the kind of raw instinct and racing spirit I haven’t seen in a long time.”

A pause. “Please welcome our new official team driver: Willow Petrov.”

The tent erupted. Cameras flashed wildly as Willow stepped onto the stage, her team jacket pressed and spotless, her blonde braid tucked neatly under a Romanoff Racing cap. Her cheeks were pink from nerves, but she beamed like a kid on Christmas. There was no hiding her awe.

She took her place beside Natasha and gave the mic a nervous glance before speaking. “It’s… honestly insane to be here. I used to watch her replays on YouTube between my F2 races..” she admitted with a laugh. “and now I’m wearing the same patch. I’m here to learn, grow, and drive my heart out for this team.”

Natasha smiled, laying a subtle hand on Willow’s shoulder as she guided her back a step. Then came the volley of questions, standard press fare at first, then sharper, messier.

“Natasha, was this a long-term plan to bring in new blood?”

“Willow, do you feel pressure being compared to a world champion teammate?”

“Y/n, how does it feel to share the spotlight after carrying the team solo for so long?”

That last one hit. You, seated now beside Willow and Natasha, leaned forward to the mic. Your smile was tight, practiced.

“We’re not here to compete with each other. We’re here to win, together. That’s what matters.”

A professional answer. Unshakable. But inside, something twisted. You watched as Natasha angled slightly toward Willow during the Q&A. A nod here, a subtle prompt there, encouraging. Guiding.

The same way she used to do with you. You didn’t even realize you were clenching your fist under the table until Willow’s elbow bumped you gently.

“You good?” Willow whispered, low enough the mics wouldn’t catch it.

You blinked and looked at her. The girl’s big blue eyes were full of concern, not competition.

And for a moment, you felt bad for being annoyed with her. “Yeah.” you murmured back. “Just waiting for the fun part.”

After the conference, you were ushered outside for the official media line, step-and-repeat photos, handshake shots, and a trio pose in front of the new car prototype. You had done this a hundred times. You knew how to stand. Where to smile. When to tilt your chin for that ‘effortless confidence’ angle.

But today, it all felt tight around the edges. “Okay, Natasha in the middle, Y/n on the left, Willow on the right..perfect!” one of the PR reps called out.

Flashbulbs exploded. Willow grinned wide, clearly new to the pressure but trying her best to keep up. Her hand hovered awkwardly near your back, unsure if she was supposed to pose with you or not.

You glanced at her. Then, with a tiny sigh, you reached out and gently pulled Willow a little closer.

“Relax..”you muttered. “We’re not enemies. We’re just expensive mannequins right now.”

Willow laughed, nervous but grateful. “You’re kind of intimidating, you know that?”

You raised a brow. “Me? You’re the one everyone’s calling the future of Romanoff Racing.”

Willow looked over at you, more seriously now. “Maybe. But you’re the heart of it.”

That stung in a way you didn’t expect. You weren’t sure if it was pity, or admiration, or just awkward honesty, but it cut through the noise.

More flashes. Another angle. Another forced smile. Then Natasha stepped between you for a tighter photo, resting a hand on each of your backs. The press roared, headlines already forming.

“The Queen, the Champion, and the Prodigy.”

You tried not to flinch at the way Natasha’s hand lingered slightly longer on Willow’s shoulder than yours. Tried not to let your smile falter. Tried not to think about how much had changed..and how fast.

Later, when the crowd had cleared and the cameras were packed away, you stayed behind in the now-empty paddock, hands stuffed in your pockets, sunglasses still on. Natasha found you there, leaning against one of the sponsor walls, staring at nothing.

“You did good.” Natasha said softly. “Held your own.”

You gave a small shrug. “I’ve had practice.”

There was a beat of silence. “You looked like you wanted to be anywhere but next to me up there.”

You turned toward her, finally taking the shades off. Your eyes were tired. Honest. “I just miss when I didn’t have to share you.”

Natasha didn’t smile. She didn’t lecture. She just stepped forward and took your hand. “You don’t have to share what we have. But you do have to trust it.”

“I’m trying..” you whispered. “But every time you look at her like she’s something special, I wonder if I’m just…fading.”

“You’re not fading.” Natasha said, her voice low and firm. “You’re shining. And the only reason I even brought her in was because I wanted to protect you. Give you someone beside you on the road. Not behind. Not in front. Beside.”

You closed your eyes, leaned into her touch. It still hurt. But at least now you knew: You weren’t invisible.

Not yet.

The week leading up to the race had been relentless. Training drills. Lap simulations. PR follow-ups. Tire compound testing. A new aero package install that barely made it past Friday’s technical inspection.

And somewhere in between, you had started sleeping with one arm under your pillow and one hand curled into a fist, like you were bracing for something you couldn’t quite name.

Willow, for her part, had thrown herself into the grind with youthful fire, running morning laps in the rain, asking the race engineers questions until midnight, sipping black coffee like it was a secret weapon. Her natural instincts were beginning to polish into something sharper. More refined. You noticed. And for the first time, you stopped feeling jealous, and started feeling hungry.

The qualifying day sun was harsh and dry, high in a cloudless sky, beating down on the Romanoff Racing paddock like a spotlight that wouldn’t turn off. The air shimmered with heatwaves above the tarmac. Cameras hovered, drones buzzed, and pit crews moved like silent machines around their cars.

This was it. Solo time trials. No traffic. No slipstreams. Just driver vs. track, one at a time. Every corner counted. Every tenth of a second was a kingmaker, or a curse.

The starting order for the qualifying runs had been drawn the night before. Willow would go out first for Romanoff Racing. You would go last.

The reigning champion. The final roar.

Inside the garage, Willow paced back and forth in her suit, her gloves half-on, eyes bouncing between her race engineer and Natasha. The kid was wired like a live wire, bouncing with nerves, soaking in every word Natasha fed her through the headset mic.

You sat on a stool in the corner, helmet in your lap, one leg crossed over the other, quiet and observant. You weren’t jealous, not really.. But there was a grating sound in your head you couldn’t turn off. Natasha’s voice. Gentle. Encouraging. Proud.

“Take a clean line through 11, watch the outside rumble. Brake later if the tires warm fast enough.”

“Like that. That’s the right read.”

“Trust your gut, don’t overthink the apex.”

You ground your jaw. You used to hear those words. Back when you needed them. Now, you didn’t get so much as a nod.

Willow stepped into the car and rolled onto the track. The garage emptied to the pit wall, where engineers stood with headsets, telemetry readouts glowing. Natasha followed, slipping on her shades like she was watching her personal investment roll into orbit.

You didn’t go with them. You stayed in the shade. Then you stood up, pulled your cap low, and walked. Elsewhere on the paddock, the atmosphere was different, less rigid, more relaxed. Some of the other drivers were lounging under the sponsor tents, sipping water, exchanging banter, or pretending not to care.

You wandered near the corner where some of the lesser-known, but fast, independent drivers hung out. Guys from underground teams. Not rookies, not legends..just raw talent.

You leaned against a stack of tires, arms crossed, not saying much at first. “L/N, you going soft on us?” one of them joked, a smirking Frenchman named Jules. “You’re not watching your little protégé?”

You shrugged. “She’s not mine.”

“You saying that like it’s not already in the headlines..” someone else teased. “The Queen and the Kid. All eyes on Romanoff.”

Another chuckle. Then a quieter voice chimed in, “You hear about that circuit run? Off-record? Midnight, no cameras, real speed.”

You raised an eyebrow. The group shifted subtly, gauging your interest. You didn’t respond right away, but your gaze held. One of them, stocky, buzz cut, tattooed fingers, grinned. “What, the world champ thinking about getting her hands dirty?”

A few laughs. Someone leaned closer. “Wouldn’t that be something? You on a back-alley grid with the rest of us rats.”

You gave a lopsided smile. Didn’t confirm. Didn’t deny. But something about it thrilled you. The rawness. The danger. The lack of polish. No PR team. No pressure..

Just you and the car.

They saw that spark in you. And they liked it. You didn’t agree. But you didn’t shut it down either. And somewhere deep in your gut, the idea didn’t seem so far-fetched.

You walked back in just as Willow’s final lap flashed across the telemetry screen:

1:20.408

Gasps. Claps. A low cheer from the Romanoff Racing pit team.

P1. For now.

Your stomach dropped. Natasha turned to you, eyes bright behind her sunglasses. “She nailed it. Best lap of the day so far.”

You didn’t reply. Just reached for your gloves. Something in Natasha’s tone, maybe pride, maybe surprise..lit a fuse inside you.

Willow climbed out of the car moments later, flushed and beaming, helmet off and braid soaked in sweat.

“I think I blacked out during sector three.” she panted.

“You didn’t.” Natasha replied. “You just drove like you meant it.”

You met Willow’s eyes briefly. The girl still looked like she worshipped you. But that made it worse somehow. Because now you had to remind everyone who built this team’s legacy.

Your lap was up next.

You pulled on the helmet. Closed the visor. The world shrunk to engine hum and breath.

Radio check.

“Comms clear. You ready?”

“Always.”

“No overdrive early. Hold back on sector one, save the tires for the back half. We only need one clean lap. Not a death wish.”

You tightened your grip on the wheel.

“I’m not here to be clean. I’m here to be fast.”

Natasha didn’t reply. The light turned green, and you floored it. You took sector one tight, ignoring Natasha’s caution. The tires screamed at the high-speed curve through turn six. You leaned hard into the chicane, barely clipping the apex, riding the edge of the curbs with millimeter precision.

Sector two: near-perfect. You braked a split-second later than anyone else dared at turn eleven, kissing the wall on exit without losing speed.

Sector three: the fast zone. No brakes. Pure throttle. Pure fury.

You were flying. By the time you crossed the line, your final time flashed across the board:

1:19.774

Silence. Then a collective inhale from the pit. You sat in the car, helmet still on, staring ahead as the data streamed in.

P1.

Back in the garage, Natasha pulled off her headset slowly. The corner of her mouth lifted. “She’s still got fire.”

Willow watched the screen, eyes wide, but there was no bitterness. Only awe.

“She’s not human..” Willow whispered. “She’s art with an engine.” Natasha didn’t reply. But the look in her eyes said enough.

You returned minutes later, pulling off your helmet in one slow, deliberate motion. Your eyes met Natasha’s. Not smug. Not smiling..Just raw.

“I needed that..” you said quietly.

Natasha stepped closer. “You earned that.”

Willow came up beside you, flushed and panting. “I thought I had it…”

You gave her a glance. “You almost did.”

You stood there in silence, three women. First, second, and the one who saw both sides. For now, Romanoff Racing ruled the grid. But underneath the steel and sweat and smiles..Something else was brewing.

——

The hotel room was quiet.

Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city sparkled under a velvet sky. Horns in the distance. Soft wind curling through the open slats of the terrace door. The whole world was moving, just not here.

Here, it was still. You lay on your side, facing the window, bare shoulders half-draped in sheets. Your hair still damp from a late shower, your mind still too full from the day. The numbers of your lap time looped in your head. 1:19.774.

A victory. But somehow, not enough. Behind you, Natasha was lying on her back, one arm tucked behind her head, the other resting near your spine. Not touching. Just there.

The silence between you was soft, not cold, but it carried weight. You don’t know how to speak the ache that lingered in your chest. The quiet, bitter curl of doubt that still whispered..

What if she doesn’t need me anymore?

Then, without warning, Natasha shifted. She reached, slow and deliberate, and pulled you gently onto her, guiding your body across her own like it was something she’d done a hundred times, and it was. Legs tangled. Hands at your waist. You blinked down at her, surprised.

“…What are you doing?”

Natasha looked up, eyes calm, steady. “Reminding you.”

You frowned, confused. “Of what?”

“That you don’t have to be scared.” Natasha said simply. “That I’m not going anywhere.”

You froze. Of course..Natasha’s fingers brushed your lower back, tracing the faint curve of your spine with absent reverence. “I know that look in your eyes..” she murmured. “The one you try to hide behind your helmet. The one that says ‘I’m slipping.’”

“I’m not-”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Y/n.”

You closed your mouth. Natasha’s voice softened, like velvet over steel. “You think because I’m proud of her, I’ve stopped being proud of you.”

“I know you are..” you whispered.

“Do you?”

You looked away. That silence told Natasha everything. She sat up slightly, pressing her forehead against yours. Her breath was warm. Her voice firm.

“You are not being replaced. Willow’s a driver. You are everything. You are the reason this team has a heartbeat. You are why I built this whole empire in the first place.”

Your throat tightened. “I just..sometimes I feel like-”

Natasha didn’t let you finish. She kissed you. Deep, slow, anchoring. And you melted into it, not because it was heat, but because it was home.

When Natasha rolled you fully beneath her, fingers trailing down your ribs, her mouth never left yours. Her touch wasn’t demanding, it was declarative.

You are mine. You are seen. You are still the fire.

You didn’t speak again. You didn’t need to.

The Next Morning – 6:48 AM

The car ride to the track was quiet in the front. Loud in the back. Natasha drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting easily against the center console. Her face was set, calm, already mentally halfway through the first ten laps.

In the rearview mirror, she watched you. Head against the window, music in your ears, hoodie up, one hand loosely gripping your phone in your lap. You weren’t asleep, but you weren’t here, either. Lost in thought. In routine. In preparation.

Natasha didn’t say anything. She just watched you. Softly. In the passenger seat, Willow was a whirlwind of motion. She had her phone out, snapping photos of the sunrise over the city skyline, the rows of transport trucks pulling into the paddock, the backs of race trailers covered in sponsor logos.

“God, this is insane!!” Willow muttered, more to herself than anyone else. “I can’t believe we’re really here..”

Natasha smirked faintly. “It’s always real at the first corner.”

Willow didn’t even flinch. “I’m ready.”

She meant it. Her excitement wasn’t childish anymore. It was focused. Sharpened. Natasha glanced at her, proud. Then back at the mirror.

Your gaze was on the road. But your fingers tapped once, almost in rhythm to Natasha’s signal light. A quiet acknowledgment.

The moment the car pulled into the underground entrance to the paddock, cameras began flashing. They hadn’t even stepped out yet.

Natasha cut the engine and sat for a beat. “You two know the drill.”

You pulled out your earbuds and tucked them into your pocket. Still silent, but sharp now. Willow adjusted her jacket and reached for her media pass lanyard.

“God, there’s already like fifty of them..” she muttered. Natasha stepped out first. The sound of shutters exploding hit instantly. Flashes. Voices. Shouts.

“ROMANOFF, OVER HERE!”

“WILLOW, SMILE FOR SKY SPORTS!”

“Y/N! ANY COMMENT ON THE RIVALRY?”

You followed, hoodie up, sunglasses on. No expression. Willow followed last, almost jumping at the barrage of attention, but she didn’t flinch. She smiled wide. Waved once.

They didn’t stop walking. They didn’t answer questions. The three of you moved in sync toward the garage, driver, driver, boss. And behind every flash, the story was writing itself:

“Romanoff Racing Arrives, One Team, Two Stars, All Eyes On Gold.”

But behind the headline, between the silences and the stolen glances, only one truth mattered: You were here. And you were ready to burn the track down.

You sat in your chair, arms folded, legs crossed. Your race suit was half-zipped, the sleeves knotted at your waist. Your face unreadable.

Willow was across from you, helmet on the table, bouncing her leg under the chair, nervous energy leaking through the edges of her focused expression.

Natasha stood at the head of the room, pointer in one hand, the other resting on the back of her chair. Not smiling. Not lecturing. Just speaking, measured and exact.

“We’re going soft-hard-medium. Staggered stops. Y/n, you’re opening with pace. I want a gap by lap 12.”

You nodded. “Copy.”

“Willow..” Natasha said, voice shifting subtly, “you’re staying with Costa and Wolfe. Buffer zone. You’re not chasing him, not unless I call for it.”

Willow’s brow furrowed slightly, but she didn’t argue. “Understood.”

Natasha clicked a button. A screen lit up with a predictive sim. “There’s a 20% chance of light rain in sector three near the end. If it happens, we hold track position. No unnecessary battles.”

You tilted your head, watching her closely. This wasn’t her usual tone. There was something behind it. A stiffness. An uncertainty.

Minutes later, you sat in pole, visor down, surrounded by cameras and chaos. The air reeked of fuel and heat. A heartbeat pulsed under your palms, yours or the car’s, you didn’t know anymore.

“Y/n, final check. Comms clear?”

“Clear and ready.”

“Good. Watch your rear into turn three. Wolfe will try to dive late.”

“Let him try.”

“Willow, confirm comms.”

“Clear. Heart rate’s at 110. I’m breathing.”

“Good. Just survive the first five laps. The rest will come to you, okay?”

Your jaw twitched inside your helmet. There it was again..The tone-

Lights out.

The roar was immediate. Four-wide dive into the first corner. You took the inside clean, perfectly timed gear shift, shutting the door on Wolfe and Costa with ruthless precision.

By lap 2, you had already opened a 1.7 second lead.

Smooth. Surgical. Untouchable. Behind you, Willow stumbled. Turn six..wide. Lap four..too much brake into the chicane.

“Willow, pull it together. Reset your rhythm. Don’t chase, stabilize.”

“Copy. Sorry.”

Lap six, Willow found it again. She overtook Costa in a brave, inside line maneuver that nearly kissed the gravel. You heard the pit crew cheer. Natasha’s voice crackled with unexpected joy.

“That’s the fire. Keep it clean. Wolfe’s losing grip. You can take him in two.”

You grit your teeth. The car roared under you like a living thing, engine screaming at full tilt, tires gripping tarmac like claws on glass. You breathed slow. Measured. Intentional. Every part of you synced with the machine, the wheel, the brakes, the tiny flicks of balance that made or broke lap times.

You were leading. Clean start. Clean pace. Fastest lap by lap 11. Smooth as silk, precise as a scalpel. This race was yours.

In your rearview mirror, you saw Willow, P2 now, holding position. Not threatening, not faltering. Just…there. You didn’t think about her. You didn’t have time.

You thought about your line through turn 9, the slight understeer near the tunnel curve, the way your grip was softening on the softs with every corner carve. Your body was singing with focus. This was your world. And nothing, not the crowd, not the pit crew, not even Natasha’s voice, could shake it.

Until lap 34.

“Y/n. We’ve got a situation.”

“Talk to me.”

“Willow’s rear gearbox sensor is pinging. Possible instability. Data’s fluctuating. If Wolfe pushes DRS range and forces a brake duel, that casing could fail.”

You blinked through sweat. “Then pull her back.”

“No. We’re issuing a position swap. Now.”

Silence in your helmet. Your hands tightened on the wheel. What?

The wind outside felt louder. The engine scream thinned into white noise. “…No.”

“That’s not a request.”

“She won’t survive the lead! Not with a blown rear and Wolfe charging!”

Natasha was more cold this time,

“And she definitely won’t if she doesn’t have a wall behind her.”

“I am the wall, Natasha! Let me hold the front. Let me finish this.”

Another beat of silence. Then..

“Y/n. Position. Swap. Now. You protect her or she crashes out. Those are the only outcomes.”

Inside the garage, Natasha stood stiff at the pit wall, headset pressed tight, heart hammering harder than she’d admit. You hadn’t obeyed.

She stared at the live feed, your car just ahead, clean lines, perfect balance, but no sign of lifting. And Willow, driving beautifully, but unaware of just how fragile her car was, was still in second. Vulnerable.

Natasha knew what this was. This wasn’t disobedience. This was fear.

Not for Willow. For you. Letting someone pass when the win was in your hands? When every ounce of your soul knew you were better?

That wasn’t just sacrifice. That was surrender.

Your jaw was tight inside the helmet. Your heart hammered against your ribs, not from fear, but from fury. Your fingers ached on the wheel. Every instinct in you screamed to ignore the call.

This is your race. You built this team. You bled for this damn car.

But Natasha’s voice echoed in your mind, not just the words, but the way her tone had shifted. The ice. The command.

You didn’t want to listen. But Natasha wasn’t asking. She was telling.

You swore under your breath and eased off the throttle. Just enough, and Willow swept past you on the straight. The crowd screamed. The leaderboard updated.

P1: Willow Petrov

P2: You

And behind you, like a wolf in a storm, Wolfe loomed in P3. You gritted your teeth and dropped behind Willow, matching her pace, locking the line tight. If Wolfe tried anything now, he’d hit a wall of steel.

“Thank you.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Not without your voice cracking.

Final Laps

Willow held the front with everything she had. Her lines weren’t as perfect, her exits not as sharp, but they were enough. You buffered every corner, forced Wolfe wide, stole DRS range every time it threatened to open. You weren’t racing anymore. You were guarding.

Lap 39.

Lap 40.

The checkered flag waved. Willow crossed the line first. You followed, less than a second behind.

Back in the garage, Willow was pulled from the car by techs and PR and cameras. The first win of her Formula 1 career.

And you? You climbed out in silence. Helmet off. Sweat running down your neck. Eyes unreadable. You stood there beside the car, breathing hard, ignoring the cameras.

Across the garage, Natasha didn’t move. She just watched you. Not as a manager. Not even as a lover. But as a woman who had just asked someone she loved to let go of something sacred.

You walked past her. Didn’t stop. Didn’t look at her. Natasha reached for your hand, just a brush, but you pulled it away gently, and disappeared into the corridor.

Part 2

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[oceantornadoo]

ch8 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: reader has some body insecurities and a small panic attack. also oral sex. not at the same time lmao

masterlist | next

In the hazy morning of the next day, John moves to get out of bed at his ungodly workout time. Instead of feigning sleep like usual, you grab his shoulder forcefully. He freezes, then turns to look at you as you prop yourself up on an elbow. “Stay.” You murmur, voice gravelly from sleep. “You sure?” He asks, but he’s already sinking back down into the mattress. You nod, then climb on top of him, your head in the crook of his neck like always. “Go back to bed, John.” And he does.

-

The thing is, John wasn’t supposed to marry her. She wasn’t Kyle’s first recommendation, nor second. He had recommended an oil heiress, which his Captain turned down. Next, an Irish mafia princess, also turned down. In fact, his Captain didn’t seem to want to be married at all. Which was fine, if this was a normal life where Kyle hadn’t been nicked off the streets after picking the pockets of a Price man and plopped into the office of John Price, a leader who needed sneaky men with audacity like Kyle. Now, Price was pushing 40 without heirs, and that needed to be solved quickly. The Riley sister was only offered as an offhand comment.

“Christ, sir, if y’re gonna be picky, might as well marry the Riley. Then we’ll have a real shitshow on our hands.” Instead of answering, John leaned back in his office chair and stroked his beard, like a villain from a movie. “She single?” If Kyle wasn’t better trained, his mouth would’ve dropped. But he was Head of Security for a reason, so all he did was hand his boss her file. 

Kyle didn’t like the Rileys - specifically, John MacTavish. The bastard was always trying to one up him, with new toys on the streets and the threat of bombs lurking around every corner. He knew MacTavish was close with Ghost’s sister, having seen the two giggle, thick as thieves, at galas and weddings. If he was a stupider man, he’dve sensed an affair, but he knew she wasn’t Tav’s type. It was a well-kept secret, but Kyle kept it as well as his own. There were some lines you didn’t cross, even in this business.

Price flipped through the file, frowning at the data before him. “Ghost has had these weapons all this time?” Kyle shakes his head, pointing to a graph in the report. “It only really started when he recruited MacTavish, ‘bout six years ago. An’ my sources tell me the sister’s got a mind f’r business.” Price hums thoughtfully. Kyle knows what, or who, he’s thinking about. Shepherd encroaching on their territory, supplied with weapons from American ex-pats. The streets smell of gunpowder, more and more skirmishes by the day. “Ghost’s tryin’ t’ get cleaner.” It wasn’t a question, but a fact. Kyle’s informants had made him aware of the Riley family trying to buy businesses, only to be turned away when they found out who they were owned by. Price’s businesses for Ghost’s money and weapons. “Might not be the worst trade, sir.” Kyle murmurs. He can’t believe he’s proposing a wedding where he’ll have to see MacTavish on the other side of the aisle. 

-

After said wedding, Kyle started regretting the whole thing. He knows what it is to love a man, to be in love with one, and that’s not what he has with his Captain. It’s more like seeing a big brother leave for college, knowing he’s nearby but out of reach. The plan was to have Mrs. X, as the security team had taken to calling Price’s future wife, live in a property an hour out of the city. Out of harm’s way but easy to visit when baby-making was required. The plan had been developed before they’d decided on a wife for him. It decidedly went out the window once he’d decided on Ms. Riley.

Suddenly she was in the Castle, changing decor and befriending staff. She was meeting with Laswell and had taken Terrance as her own, a change Kyle had not approved of. So, sure, he was a bit of a jerk to her. It was the childish notion that she’d taken his favorite person, and he’d lashed out, only to be reprimanded by said person. Kyle's in toddler timeout, and he's determined to make it right.

-

A few days after the Friday incident, he finds her eating lunch in the kitchen. It seems she’s finally befriended Chef, a feat he could never perform. Chef’s a French grandpa, huffing out syllables that don’t go together under his breath. 

“What’re ya eatin’?” An odd opening, seeing as this is their second conversation ever. He plops down into the chair next to her as she sets down her sandwich, brows furrowed in a question. He can’t blame his Captain; she is pretty. Not his usual type in women, but her wit would attract any man. “Um, a sandwich.” She eventually responds, after getting over the shock of Kyle in her kitchen chair. He probably could’ve been smoother on entry.

“Right, well…” He looks at her and she stares back, like they’re locked in a game. He breaks away first, feeling like he’s lost. Kyle reminds himself he’s not a bloody twelve-year-old. “I liked wha’ you did with the sittin’ room.” That opens her up, a hesitant smile growing on her face. “Really? Those chairs were so uncomfortable, I could barely sit on them for more than five minutes without getting sore.” He huffs in agreement. There’s a reason no one meets in the sitting room. “Ya sure tha’s no’ the only reason you’re sore?” It slips out too easy, a question he’d usually tease one of his men with, not his boss’s wife. Kyle opens his mouth to apologize but is cut off by the sound of her laughter. It’s not manufactured to sound pretty, almost like a snort. “Sorry, I just haven’t heard those kinds of jokes in a while. You remind me of Johnny. Thank you for making me laugh, Kyle.” She seems almost grateful for his presence, and it doesn’t take an idiot to see she’s missing her family. Even if that means getting compared to MacTavish.

“Call me Gaz, ‘s what everyone calls me.” She nods contentedly, reaching for her sandwich to take another bite. The silence is peaceful, interrupted when he remembers why he originally sought her out. Kyle pulls out a report he’s been carrying and sets it near her plate, noting how she sucks in a breath at the title. Protection Plan for Mrs. Price.

“Since y’r openin’ up y’r store, Price wanted me t’ give ya a team. Could’ve done it on my own but I had a feelin’ y’d want to give some input.” She nods thoughtfully, pushing her plate away to focus on the report. It’s a few minutes until she finishes it, diligently reading every page. “I want at least one woman on my team. And I still want freedom, I don’t want to be followed everywhere.” He sucks in a breath at her words, which won’t be possible if Price has anything to say about it.

“Righ’ well, can’t guarantee tha’ second part. Not sure if ya’ve noticed, but London’s an active war zone right now. They’ll be discreet, an’ the lowest amount I can do is four.” She harrumphs, crossing her arms like how his Captain does when he’s upset. It’s eerie how they’re already starting to mirror each other. “Fine, but I want Terrance on it.” Kyle nods, going to stand. 

“Gaz.” She grabs his forearm to get his attention. “I know we didn’t get off on the right foot, but I’d like to be friends. If you’re willing.” He gives her a half smile, ruffling her hair. Kyle doesn’t notice how she freezes at his action, like she’s trapped in a memory. “Only if ya give me the rest of y’r sandwich.” Unfreezing, she laughs and pushes the plate towards him. “Don’t worry, there’s enough to go around.” He winks at her, and heads towards the security room. He might’ve accepted Terrance’s earlier security report, but he’s determined to make it up to his Captain, starting with re-running Phil’s background. Kyle’s got some security tricks up his sleeve, and he’s ready to prove his title to John.

-

The dress fits you like a glove.

It’s a fresh Saturday night, London’s night sky only slightly smoggy. John’s been invited to some benefit for cancer, a philanthropic cause you didn’t even know he supported. So now, you’re in a formal red dress, floor length with a high thigh slit. You stand in front of your vanity and smooth down the satin fabric, ready to slip on your heels. You usually do that step first, but they’re a mile high and you didn’t want to risk slipping on the carpeted dressing room floor. John’s been in the shower, but now he’s buttoning his shirt in the other room. Your dress is unzipped too, requiring a force of nature for the zip to go all the way to the top.

“John, can you help me?” He’s there in an instant, arms circling the length of your waist. “You look so fuckin’ good. Smell fuckin’ delicious.” He noses the crook of your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your perfume. John rubs his hands up and down, smoothing out creases in your dress. “So pretty f’ me, aren’t ya?” All you can do is nod when he’s like this, allowing yourself the precious gift of easy affection. “Can you help me with my heels?” He kisses your exposed collarbone, then squeezes your hip as he goes to find your heels. They’re higher than what you’re used to wearing, putting you closer to eye level with John. He goes to his knees, finding your right leg through the layers of fabric in his way. You got a pedicure the day before, patting yourself on the back as he kisses the top of your foot. “What’s gotten into you? It’s like you're under a spell or something.” He’s quiet as he slips on your shoe, kissing your ankle before setting it back down. John reaches for your other foot in quiet reverence. “Ya look like a princess.” He finally murmurs, having finished with your heels. “You feelin’ ok?” He asks. You shrug. Clearly, you haven’t hidden your nerves well. This is your first official entrance into mafia society as a couple, even if the lines of your relationship are too blurry for you to understand. 

“Let me make ya feel better?” His hands are already tracing your plush skin, parting the slit of your dress. He works his way up efficiently, stopping at the apex of your thighs. “What’s this?” You shrug again, this time with a smirk on your face. “It’s black tie, right?” By black tie, you mean the black lace under your dress. It’s a little piece you found at a boutique lingerie store near the bookstore. There’s a heart cutout in the middle of the front part, right above your slit. John kisses the exposed skin, sucking hard before he pulls away. “Black tie my fuckin’ arse.” You giggle and push your hips forward in a wanting motion. “Weren’t you going to make me feel better?” He goes to work with a single-minded vigor. John pushes the scrap of lace to the side, nearing closer so he can lift your leg onto his shoulder. He doesn’t tease you like usual. Instead, he licks and sucks lewdly, moaning at your wetness. He flicks his tongue against your clit as it hardens at his motions. “Even sweeter down ‘ere.” The low tone of his voice vibrates against your cunt, sending a spark to your core. “She like when I talk to ‘er?” He’s talking to your cunt, you think. It’s hard to hear over the rushing of blood in your ears. All you do is nod, pushing his head closer with your free hand as your other one scrambles for purchase against the wood of your vanity.

“Thought so. So wet, baby, like I’ve been neglectin’ ya. Have I?” You shake your head as he keeps up the pace of his tongue, adding a finger into your hole to up the pressure. “No, no, not neglected.” You cry from near-overstimulation. You can practically feel him smile against your pussy, the scratch of his beard making the coil in your stomach grow tighter and tighter. “Thought so. Yer husband takes care of ya, tha’ righ’?” Your hips cant against his face, almost fucking it. “Yes, yes, John.” He sucks your clit hard, finger pumping in and out. “She’s so close I can fuckin’ taste it. Come for me, go’on.” And you do, pressure rushing out of your core in waves. “Good girl, baby. Knew you could do it.” He tugs your underwear back in place, cleaning up the cum on your thighs with his fingers. You hear him suck them clean, sending another shock to your core.

John stands, wiping his hands off on his slacks. He’s in a full tuxedo and wears a dashing red tie to compliment your dress. You quickly peck him on the lips and pull back before he can ruin your makeup. His beard pulls up in a half-smile, elated that you kissed him first. It’s not hard to tell he loves when you do that, returning his affection of your own volition. “Thank you, Mr. Price. You clean up well yourself.” You tug his tie playfully. “Now zip me up.”

He does it gracefully, fingers brushing your back as he inches the zipper up. You swear this dress is too small as you suck in more and more the higher he zips. Unfortunately, your husband has the power of turning any encouragement into sinful words whispered in your ear. “There we go, tight fit, love. Squeeze in, baby, tha’s a girl. Feel ok?” You can only nod, ribs heavily constrained. It reminds you of your wedding dress, except this time you chose to be trapped.

It’s a whirlwind of a drive as John helps you into the limo and helps you out only minutes later. The gala is at a nearby museum, but etiquette and uncomfortable footwear required you to drive. It’s a grand marble building, like a bigger version of John’s flat. Limos line the outside as people step out of cars dressed to the nines. You do have something to look forward to tonight - your family.

John guides you in with a hand to the back and you’re already escaping his grasp to search for Simon, who promised he was coming. Apparently, philanthropic foundations are great to donate to when you run a gang that needs some tax benefits. You’ve been to a few of these, but a glance at John’s upcoming calendar revealed he donates a lot more than your brother. A new routine to get used to. 

“On your left.” John murmurs, and sure enough, there’s the top of Simon’s blonde head. He’s Mr. Riley at these events, not Ghost. You hold yourself back from running. Instead, you gather your skirts and walk quickly towards him, ignoring how John’s hand slips from your back.

“Hi!” You don’t give Simon a chance to answer, smothering him in a hug. He picks you up at your waist and spins you, a remnant from your few shared childhood memories. “Hi, lovie. Look at you, all dressed up.” He sets you down gently. Simon’s hand brushes your left one, causing you both to glance at the ring on your hand. You catch a slight frown, but it disappears into the collage of scars on his face. “Doin’ ok?” He asks quietly, only at a volume you can hear. You glance back at John, who’s making small talk with Johnny as the two men stand nearby. You turn back to Simon with a small smile on your face, nodding shyly. “It’s goin’ ok.” He drags a hand down in his face in exasperation. “Christ, the way he looks at you, kid. Not somethin’ a brother should be seein’.” You groan, swatting his hand away. “Gross. You’re acting like I don’t have to constantly dodge you and Johnny making out.” You say it in present tense, like it’s a problem you’re still facing. Unperturbed, you grab his hand and make your way to the bar, leaving your dates behind. “C’mon, Si. Let’s catch up.”

-

You must’ve had black magic in that perfume of yours. It’s the only explanation for why John feels like this, like he can’t be untethered from you for more than a minute. He was worried this thing between you, new and delicate, was just lust, but it’s becoming clear it’s much more. It’s the way you immediately sought out your brother, not caring for social niceties. How you challenged him with your argument at the bookstore, fire in your eyes as you protected your livelihood. It’s all rolling into a grand, sticky mess in his heart, weighing heavier and heavier every day.

The gala is full of politicians milling against the backdrop of the London Art Museum. Paintings of old rich geezers surrounded by the bodies of new rich muppets. There’s some people dancing in a slow waltz in the middle of the room, with high tables bracketing the dance floor in a crude outline. He doesn’t think you’ve noticed any of this, content to abandon him high and dry in search of your brother. John exchanges niceties with Johnny MacTavish, then leaves him to find Kate. She’s around here somewhere, schmoozing with potential clients. She may work on retainer for John, but she’s an independent contractor in her own right, always on the lookout for the next big fish. 

He finds her eventually, talking to a MP far from the dance floor near a statue. “Lord Walsh.” John inclines his head at the man, who’s severely shorter than him with a significant bald spot. “Mr. Price. I’m surprised to see you here.” Jon frowns at the insinuation. Kate slowly inches towards John, looking polished in her navy pantsuit. “How so?” There’s danger laced in his words which Lord Walsh takes a few seconds too long to process. “I, well, excuse me.” He exits not-so-gracefully with sweat beads running down his receding hairline. John turns back to Kate, who’s wearing a rare smirk. “What?” She shakes her head, turning to face the crowd. “Sometimes I forget how much of a shark you are. Too used to seeing you surrounded by finery at home.” He snorts, turning with her. 

They both find his wife in the crowd, easy to spot with the shocking red of your dress. You’re throwing your head back in laughter at something Ghost said, giggling like a little kid. John feels a smile growing under his beard. Kate notices too, elbowing him in the side. “We get it, you’re disgustingly infatuated.” He shakes his head, dropping the smile. “‘S not like that.” She snorts, a rare show of emotion, a credit to how long they’ve worked together. “Whatever you say, John. Now let me find new clients before you scare them away.” He nudges her shoulder, content to stay alone as she walks away.

Unfortunately, his newfound solitude is immediately interrupted by a foul-smelling scent. He turns and lo and behold, there’s a phantom at his shoulder. “Lady Walsh.” John takes a step away from her, preventing their shoulders from brushing. “I saw you talking with my brother.” There’s a bite to her voice. It’s reminiscent of the one regrettable night they shared years ago, a night clouded with too much whiskey and not enough forethought. “Exchanging pleasantries.” He can hear her frown from a mile away. 

“Is there something you need?” He bites out when she doesn’t respond. Lady Walsh does this occasionally, finding him at events and trying for a recreation of that lone night. He didn’t consider it then, but he especially doesn’t consider it now. In fact, all he can do is track the sound of your laughter and drown in it, even across the dance floor. Lady Walsh leaves, and John decides to find the bar that you’ve abandoned and bring you a drink.

-

“I miss you, Si.” You mumble after your second martini. He’s found you two a table in the corner, somewhere you can hear each other over the quartet. “I do too, kid. Manchester’s different without ya.” You take a sip of his water, then spit it out when you realize it’s vodka. “Gross! Since when do you drink vodka?” He takes the glass out of your hand and downs it in one sip. “Johnny’s been on a kick. Think he’s been bored since ya left.” There’s immediate regret on his face as you take in his words. “No, love, ‘s not yer fault. There’s been other things happenin’. Nothin’s yer fault.” You nod, swallowing hard. “I think I’m gonna find the bathroom.” He nods worriedly. You push on the table to get up, but he stops you with a soft hand on your shoulder. Simon kisses your forehead, then shoves you towards the bathroom. “Don’t overthink. Go piss.” You snort, swatting his hand away.

In the bathroom, you stop in the mirror to apply your lipstick. A woman exits one of the stalls behind you, going to wash your hands. She’s like the image of your better self, with clearer skin and a figure you’d kill for. It’s the gin speaking, your brain reasons, but that doesn’t stave off any insecurities you’re projecting. Your heart is raw after your conversation with Simon, and this just makes it worse.

“You’re John’s new wife, right?” The mystery woman says as she finishes washing her hands. It shakes you out of your reverie. “Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” She purses her lips, now reapplying her blush. “Lady Walsh. I’m not surprised; I don’t think John would’ve mentioned me.” You frown at her insinuation. She takes your silence as acceptance, turning towards you with a feline smile on her lips. “I’m surprised you’re even walking. Lord knows it took me a week to recover from the last night I spent with John.” Your mouth drops. “Anyways, love your dress!” She breezes past you in a whirlwind of soap and perfume, leaving the bathroom gracefully.

You, however, exit in a fit of starts and stops. Your chest aches with the pain of breathing, reminiscent of the panic attack you had in a London garden almost two months ago. That thought makes things worse, blurring your vision. Someone grabs your arm, a warm presence guiding you to a bench in a darkened hallway.

“Sweetheart, you okay?” It’s John.

“No, I- I just need a second.” In the background, you hear people laugh and glasses tinkle. John places a warm hand over your knee, grounding you to the moment. “In an’ out, yeah?” You nod as your breathing slowly calms. It’s just you and him for a second, listening to the sounds of your breath go in and out. “Want some water?” He moves to get up, but you grab his arm before he can. “Stay with me?” You whisper. John sits back down, wrapping that same arm around your waist to pull you closer. 

“Wanna tell me about it?” He kisses the temple of your head, and you stiffen under his touch. The change is noticeable as the air goes cold. “Why haven’t we fucked?” It bursts out of you, almost in anger. John’s shock is clear as day as his arm drops from your waist. “I- why’re you askin’?” His hesitation is not what you wanted to hear. “I talked to your friend in the bathroom. Lady Walsh.” John groans, dragging his hand down his face. “Christ.” You wrap your arms around your waist at the sudden chill between you. John shrugs off his blazer and places it on your shoulders. The scent of it is overwhelming: musk and pine and man.

“She an’ I happened once, years ago. Been followin’ me like a hound ever since.” That makes you feel slightly better, but the conversation brought out a monster you didn’t want to face head-on. Your insecurities over this limbo of a marriage have been haunting you, and now they’ve taken the form of that woman in the bathroom. “You didn’t answer my question.” You murmur. John nudges your shoulder, moving closer when you don’t scoot away. “I didn’t want t’ pressure ya. Could eat ya out every night an’ be the happiest man on earth.” You bark out a laugh. He takes it as a sign to close the distance between you, tucking you under his arm. “What about the kids? The heirs?” You emphasize it with an eye roll. He snorts, pulling you closer. “Ever heard of artificial insemination? Surrogacy? A lot they can do these days.” He talks like he’s a hundred years old and not barely 38. “Why wasn’t that in the contract to begin with?” He’s quiet. “Not sure, actually.” 

“I don’t think I want to do anything sexual for a while.” You eventually whisper. “‘S fine.” John replies. “I want to go to dinner.” You turn to him with a small smile on your face. “Ya want to go’on a date, baby?” You nod. He frowns in that way when he’s upset that he didn’t think of it first. A realization dawns on his face when he understands what you’re asking for. A new start, free from this societal gossip and pressure. John kisses your forehead gently. “Tha’ okay?” You nod like a lovesick teenager, giddy with the thought that he understands you so well. “Dance with me?” He stands and offers you his hand. You take it.

-

“Graves. Report?” The General is half-cloaked in the darkness of his office, eyes glinting through the shadows. “Comin’ along well, sir. Price has given himself a new weakness right when we needed one.” Shepherd hums in agreement. “Don’t fuck this up, Graves. You’re on your last strike.” Phil nods, backing out of the room. He will not mess this up. He can’t afford to.

-

yayyy gaz redeemed himself and we have a plot! i was lowkey getting worried. i hope nothing bad happens...

-

@heretoreadanddrinktea

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[astonmartingf]

FALLING FOR YOU ; MV1

max verstappen x reader

. . . in his own little way, max finds the solutions to his problems not without a little help from his friends and ends up giving you the confession of a lifetime

amgf yeah... there's this, just fluff. i won't be as active this week because of exams and research but this is prime time of my impulsive ideas so either i can milk this opportunity to write every single day, or avoid this app for the remainder of the week. enjoy 👍

Max strives for stability. 

He enjoys the same routine that consists of jogging at eight am, early morning workout by nine am, brunch, a few rounds of sim racing, stopping by for a few phone calls and online meetings. If he isn’t expected to fly anywhere else he’d have his usual afternoon snack, play with his cats, more sim racing from six to eight pm, dinner with his team, reviewing data and notes, an hour for his own leisure— mostly sim racing, before heading to bed at one am.

Whatever happens in between is usually one of Lando’s plans in an attempt to spice things up in his life. Whether it’s going to the movies, buying ice cream at the convenience store down the street, or playing padel. Max is very much thankful for his friends.

Max also strives for the best.

He takes pride in his skills in racing and acknowledges his talent, and flaws. Honing them like a sharp knife through whetstones, he polishes himself and cuts through the defenses of the grid. He is a World Champion for a reason, and with a great car and team behind him, he knows they’ll get far. Max is very much thankful for the trust his team set upon him.

Max hates uncertainty. 

Well- hate is too strong of a word and dislike would be too weak for his opinions. 

Max despises uncertainty.

Especially when there’s you- the current root of all his “problems”. Despite his tendency to be blunt and straightforward statements, uncertainty always left a distasteful feeling in his mouth. 

Realizing that his wavering feelings for you have now shattered the routine he built to perfection. Long gone are sleeping on time and hello to staying up with you crowding his thoughts. Head full of the lingering scent of your perfume and the same voice playing in his head.

Max hated it. He despised how you orbit around his mind, bouncing through the walls of the gray matter inside his skull. He often catches himself smiling at the thought of you- before a bitter scowl fills his face and an incredulous and slightly constipated look pasted on his face.

But that was the least of his worries, such feelings could be fixed (a term he used to convince himself these are temporary). It’s not that Max doesn’t believe in relationships or think it’s nothing but a distraction, deep inside he’s aware that he craves affection. It’s the vague emotions clouding his heart making him think twice.

Then again, Max is thankful for his friends. 

“What did you say?” Lando squinted his eyes in the hopes to hear his words clearly. With a blank look- almost as if he put on a mask void of emotions Max spoke once more.

“Do I like YN?” 

The rest tilted their head to the side, in confusion. “D-did you perhaps ask us. . . if- if you like someone?” George, asked once more to make sure of his words, sighing in disbelief.

“It’s not just someone, it’s YN.” Max pushed the question once more and glanced at everyone on the table.

The silence was deafening. Max’ statement was too loud and too quiet at the same time, no one spoke and they left each other contemplating on the next words he will say.

“I need help. How do I know I like YN?” Collective gasps were heard throughout and one by one they slowly left the group of friends on the table leaving Max with Lando and George.

“How about we sleep over your question and. . .think— think about it you know?” Lando, the first to talk regarding the revelation that their stoic friend has now developed feelings for someone.

“Sleep? I hardly get any sleep these nights. I want to confirm my feelings now so I can finally sleep peacefully.” 

That’s when the pair noticed the bags under his eyes, mostly due to the lack of sleep like he said. Lando took a glance at George and started to talk telepathically at each other.

George sighs before pushing Max from his seat, “You see Max these feelings can’t be confirmed in a night, these requ-”

“It’s been weeks, George, I can’t lose sleep over such a trivial matter.” Max retorted with a firm stance using his lack of sleep as a front to confirm his feelings.

“Okay, first of all feelings are not a trivial matter. They are valid, and whatever is going on in your head about YN shouldn’t be taken lightly. Not because we’re curious but because we care about your emotional well being.” Lando spoke in a serious voice which only added on to Max’ confusion.

Feelings are not a big deal, at least not for him.

“And we're curious as to why you like YN.” George chimed as he followed the pair outside the room.

“Yes we’re curious but now how about I give you some romance books that you can study and read. Only you can confirm your feelings Max, let’s stop by my room and I’ll give you books you can read and next week- next week we’ll talk about this matter again.”

Lando now sounds like a mom scolding his child for misbehaving, dragging the latter to his room and sending him off with a tower of romance books.

Max is smart, he can understand such concepts by himself.

Feeling accomplished, Lando glanced at George smirking at him before walking away with Max to his apartment.

Max on the other hand went inside his room and began to bury himself in the books he brought along. “If I’m not sleeping at least I get my feelings in line.”

One chapter. And another turns to five and in the blink of an eye a week has passed. Max returned to his routine but instead of sleeping at one he pushed it to an even later hour to make time for reading which helped him sleep.

The first nights were hard, after finishing a chapter of the book he finds himself falling asleep and now you appear to become more vivid in his mind. Invading his dreams as romantic scenarios play on repeat while Max mindlessly sleeps which results in him waking up flustered and warm.

Passing by you on the paddock became frequent; it's as if the universe has its way to bring you together. Now everywhere Max looked there was you, in the corner of his sight you occupied a chunk of his thoughts and as much as he hated to admit he found himself anticipating your presence.

By the end of the week you managed to invade his thoughts and heart which only strengthened his theory and confirmed his feelings for you. With no time to waste, Max went to look for you. The second practice was over, he’s telling you what you’re doing to him.

With new found information from the team about your whereabouts, Max made his way to the hospitality locating where you’re assigned he opens the door abruptly to see you preparing food. You stand straight feeling the intimidating aura around him, you watch him exhale a sigh of relief before talking a large step in your direction. On instinct you back away giving him space, every step Max takes is a step backward from you.

Unknowingly your feet hit the corner of the marble countertop and like a cliché scene Max remembers from the books he’s been reading you stumble backwards.

Max is a racer for a reason, and with swift reflexes he managed to catch your fall and brought you up to your feet. “You should watch where you’re going. I don’t want you falling just like how I fell for you.”

Silence. Complete, utter silence from the both of you paired with the low buzz of the booming air conditioner right near you. You blink your eyes incredulously, “What?”

“I mean. . . I do want you to fall for me, it would be sad to find out that my feelings are one-sided. But I mean my words YN.”

You adjust your posture and back away. “What are the words Max? About me falling to the ground or you. . . you f- falling for me?” Your voice thins out at the end unsure of what you just heard.

“Both. I don’t want you to fall, it’s dangerous just like how you did to me. You enamored me with those charms, I just want to know how you did it.” Max spoke with the most bored and plain looking face he could muster up. His palms were sweating inside his pockets in extreme nervousness.

“Is this- is this your confession perhaps?” You try to piece things together, like the subtle clues Lando and George have been leaving out of nowhere.

“Yes. This is my confession.” Max blurts out as sweat drips from the side of his forehead. And just as he was losing hope from this failed confession your bubbly laugh bursts the silence in the air.

“You know, you need to work on your confession more. That was unlike any other, but I understand what you mean. Do you want me to fall for you, Maxie?” 

Max stares at you and you don't miss the soft gaze he set upon you. You note the light blush spread around the apples of his cheeks as his eyes light up the moment you called his name. The once awkward silent air was now filled with a warm feeling that spread all over your body, leaving goosebumps all over your skin.

“I do. I fell for you, I like you, and I want to mean something to you.”

His way with words caught you off guard, Max Verstappen, who would’ve thought. You smile at him, this time it’s you walking towards his direction.

Max stiffened at the proximity between the two of you, his feet stuck to the floor preventing him from backing away. Your face gets closer to his and all the thoughts clouding his mind have been wiped away.

You face him and whisper something in his ear before walking away towards the kitchen at the back, legs shaking and breaths heavy. 

Taking a moment to himself Max meditates in an attempt to calm his bouncing heart, legs shaking as if they ran a hundred miles, and his mind whirring into different ideas and possibilities.

Max never falls- literally and figuratively.

Yet you managed to be the root of all his problems. The person who made him fall, there was no doubt that Max fell and will still be falling for you.

[lightofthestar]

50 DAYS CHALLENGE - WINTER ART GLOW UP ⠀

READ: Starting today 01/11/2024 for the next 50 days - untill 21/12/2024 to be exact, is the perfect timing to speed up while everyone else is slowing down and level up during the winter arc.

10 Rules-

— wake up early.

— 7-8 hours of sleep.

— 60 min workout each day (20 min yoga + 40 min walk / run to reach 5-10K steps)

— sunlight exposure.

— meditation

— read 10 pages / listen to an audiobook

— language learning daily

— Data analyst course

— take vitamins.

— eat 80/20 vegetarian diet

this is your sign to get 8 hours of sleep, drink 2L of water, try yoga, 10k steps, eat healthy, enjoy your skincare time, drink green tea, take healing seriously, meditate, journal daily, be grateful, start reprogramming your subconscious mind and keep showing up for yourself. •

[sujooon]

Discover how heart rate monitors provide precision and comfort in your fitness routine, optimizing workouts and enhancing overall training experiences for better results.

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽️

VERSION XI.

(a/n: cause of disappearance: my bad habit of mass version production but I’m currently in spring break and want to finish this series so apologies guys 🙏 forgive, forget, enjoy this ep! ty for ur support ❤️)

Warning-none

wc: 0.9k

also: @ttheggrimrreaper @irethepotato @ohagiyo 🫶

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

"Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number...

...4, Chigiri Hyoma.”

“Damn, she got the princess!”

“Who?” you raised a brow at the nickname, glancing at your friend for an explanation. She only shrugged, admitting she had no idea who the boy was. Letting out a quiet sigh, you took a moment to memorize his information before heading off to grab your things from Anri.

As she passed you his profile, the photo of the boy instantly caught your attention—his vibrant pink hair and delicate features made him one of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen. Curious, you flipped through each page of the folder, carefully reading his data as you found your way to him.

Imagine being Chigiri Hyoma’s manager.

——————

Chigiri Hyoma who you can barely catch a glimpse of as he’s sprinting on the field, instead opting to scream his name to get the boy’s attention. You call him to the benches, slightly embarrassed by the amount of eyes on you. A bit sweaty, and out of breath from your poor attempt at running after him, you extend your hand for an introduction. He lazily accepts it, a small chuckle leaving his lips at your state.

“Almost caught me, didn’t you?”

Rolling your eyes at his sarcasm, you thought back to the morning workouts you’d endured for months, realizing this meeting only confirmed that he was indeed one of the fastest players out there.

“Yeah, was right behind you.”

——————

•Chigiri who’s actually quite easy to get along with, perhaps the advantage of having a sister finally coming in handy as he starts to tease you on a daily basis.

•Makes you do all the talking while he silently nods in agreement. Enjoys the drama involving other players, but if anyone even tries to offend you—which only he’s allowed to do by the way—they will receive the side eye of the century as he sassily walks away, dragging you along.

•Can’t make him shorten his shower time, otherwise he’ll throw a fit. Has the longest hair care routine known to mankind, and uses a bunch of products, emptying out the stock of the facility.

•Lets you touch his hair on rare occasions, and if he’s really exhausted, you get to dry it—what an honor.

•Chigiri whose blanket needs to be pulled off first thing after the alarm rings otherwise both of you will arrive late to practice.

•Drills with him are tiring, he’s too fast and always complains, forcing you to use a megaphone, or a whistle whenever you want to suggest something, or simply tell him to shut up and get to work.

•Training usually consists of timing his run or betting on how many rounds he can finish in a minute. He always wins, but hey—at least he’s doing great.

•Always keeps an extra hair tie on his wrist in case you need it. Has a gallery of goofy pictures he took of you, and when he feels sappy, he scrolls through them for comfort. Also, Chigiri is just so easy to fluster, one compliment completely freezes him.

•It’s basically pre-match ritual how you always tie his shoelaces while he’s sipping on water—that you brought him—making you look like Prince Charming who’s currently helping her Princess before the big battle.

•Listens to your advice and actually does all of it, trusting you to somehow make him improve despite his injured leg. Helping him with stretches at the end of the day means listening to him ramble about the new tactics they learned that day.

•Queen of gossip and side eyes—the problem is that he eats at a snail’s pace. Yaps A LOT during meal time as he whispers some things about the other boys like it’s top secret information.

•Arguments with Chigiri happen like every five minutes. You would consider yourself to be a fairly patient, understanding, and calm person but with him?

•5 minutes is enough to make you tear out your hair ‘cause he’s just so self-centered and arrogant at times, it drives you crazy. After that he refuses to talk to you for the whole day, and turns away when you try to say something.

——————

AFTER THE U20 MATCH…

•He’s waaay more active than before and actually enjoys playing soccer now—his fire is back. Practices and recovery routines go smoothly, and his career is off to a great start.

•It’s given that Chigiri is handsome and pretty but when he’s doing an interview, and the camera zooms in on his face? Lethal face card. Answers questions pretty easily, but sometimes he’ll accidentally let his intrusive thoughts take over.

•His favorite way to relax after matches is sitting on the floor, reading a book while you braid his hair in the meantime. Grants you the privilege to call him princess after pestering him for months.

•On moodier days when both of you are just so easily irritated even by the tiniest inconveniences, everyone makes sure avoid you like the plague.

•They observe from afar how Chigiri just complains about everything as you look him dead in the eye with no intention of answering and move on.

•Tutoring is another interesting part of your job. He sure pays attention unlike you who’s extremely distracted by the sheer amount of highlighters he uses, and the way his handwriting is both readable and not at the same time.

•Chigiri’s injury had always been a sensitive topic, but after everything you two had been through together, one night he finally opens up, sharing the full story of his injury, and thoughts that he’s never told anyone before. It’s a vulnerable moment that deepens the relationship you share with him.

[anon-sect]

Pete heard a special contest was being hosted by Chris Hemsworth. One lucky winner would receive a prize from the actor in person. He was a big fan of him and the many roles that he had played in his acting career. He went to the website and saw the contest. All he needed to do was answer some questions and submit the questionnaire. He then would be entered for whatever the prize would be.

It was a month later that Pete received an email stating that he won the contest. He would be receiving plane tickets to meet up with the actor in a couple of days. All hotel arrangements would be made in person once they meet. He was so excited. He really wondered what his prize would be. Yet, the honor of winning out of how many entered was just enough to have him jumping up and down. He couldn't wait to actually meet Chris in person.

Three days later, Pete was in a limo heading out to the actor's actual residents. That was surprising to him. He really wasn't expecting this. Now, he really began to wonder what the prize was. They didn't even bother to make hotel arrangements yet before he was ushered to his house.

Pete was met at the front door by the actor himself. "Come on in, Pete. And congratulations on winning the contest." Chris greeted him. Pete followed him in and sat on the couch in his den. "Want anything to drink? I have tea and water." He was really shocked. The actor was being so friendly with him after just meeting for the first time. "Water is fine." He told him.

He saw Chris come back with a glass of sparkling water. Pete took it and began to guzzle it down. "You probably are wondering what your prize is." He heard him say. He just nodded in response to the actor.

Chris watched as Pete finished the glass of water. He pulled out his phone and opened up the newest upgrade to the TF Pro App. The newest upgrade was TF Max app. He put in the setting on his phone. "Your prize is to help me work out at home. The water you drank has a special ingredient in it. It will make you extremely durable. But unfortunately, it will have a few side effects." He paused. "All of your senses would be heightened by almost 1,000%. All normal feelings will be at the extreme. But this is the only way to make sure you last for a very long time." He added.

Pete was so confused at what was really going on. "How specifically will I be helping you work out at home?" He asked him.

"It's best that I show you." Chris told him as he hit the flash option on his phone. A brand new pair of sneakers were there in front of him. "You will be my special pair of sneakers to wear when I work out. With the new app, I could repurpose you as I please and even turn you back to normal even if your data is deleted." He paused and laughed a little. "I guess it's not much of a prize when I am the one gifted with nearly indestructible sneakers. No time like the present to test you out." He spoke as he gathered his new sneakers and went to change into his workout gear.

Pete didn't know what to think. He didn't know whether to be upset that the act literally made him into shoes for his use; or to be honored, the actor selected him for that purpose. Moments later, he saw two socked feet enter his shoes bodies. The socked feet pressed down on his insole face. It was then he realized the nature of his fate. The pain was so intense that he was going mentally insane. It literally felt like an entire continent was crushing him, but no death. Even though the actor's feet hadn't stink yet, he could smell every pore on his feet with intensity. He could taste the cotton of the fresh socks.

Pete's fate got even worse as Chris worked out over an hour. The pain of being crushed was never-ending. But add on a sweaty and musky pair of socks. He was in a living hell. The intensity of the odor was crazy. The taste of sweaty socks made him want to gag for fresh water and air. The fact that the actor was working out without a single care about how his sneakers were faring made him realize he was literally the actor's property. He admired Chris, but to be his personal pair of sneakers was a little bit too much. He wanted to go back to being human, not an object on his feet forever.

Chris finished his workout feeling good. His feet felt no pain. His new shoes were working out perfectly. He thought about thanking the guy for offering himself, but who really thanks their shoes. It was time for him to get used to his new life. All of his other fan created objects did eventually. His new shoes were no different.