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greenthestral · 2 years ago

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From Waste to Wealth: Transforming Trash into Sustainable Success

In a world grappling with environmental concerns and limited resources, the concept of "waste to wealth" holds tremendous promise. Waste, once perceived as a burden, is now recognized as a potential asset that can be transformed into a valuable resource. From recycling and upcycling to innovative technologies, this article explores the various ways in which we can turn waste into wealth, promoting sustainable practices and economic growth.

The Power of Recycling

Recycling has become a household term, but its significance cannot be overstated. By collecting and processing waste materials such as plastic, paper, glass, and metal, we can divert them from landfills and give them a new life. The recycling industry not only reduces the strain on our planet's resources but also creates employment opportunities and contributes to the circular economy. Governments and businesses worldwide are investing in recycling infrastructure and raising awareness to maximize the potential of waste recycling.

Upcycling: Adding Value to Discarded Materials

While recycling focuses on breaking down waste materials, upcycling takes a different approach by transforming them into products of higher value. Instead of downgrading the material, upcycling adds creativity and innovation to turn waste into desirable and unique items. From repurposing old furniture to creating fashion accessories from discarded textiles, upcycling has gained popularity as a sustainable alternative to conventional manufacturing. This practice not only reduces waste but also fosters creativity and entrepreneurial opportunities.

Innovative Technologies for Waste Management

Advancements in technology have revolutionized waste management, offering exciting possibilities for a greener and more sustainable future. One groundbreaking technology that has gained significant attention is waste-to-energy conversion. This process involves transforming organic waste into valuable biogas or biofuels through various techniques such as anaerobic digestion and pyrolysis.

Anaerobic digestion is a biological process that breaks down organic waste in the absence of oxygen, producing biogas as a byproduct. The organic waste, such as food scraps, agricultural residues, and sewage sludge, is placed in an enclosed tank where anaerobic bacteria decompose the waste and generate methane-rich biogas. This biogas can then be used as a renewable energy source for electricity generation, heating, or even as a vehicle fuel. The remaining digestate, which is a nutrient-rich residue, can be utilized as a natural fertilizer for agriculture, closing the loop on waste management.

Pyrolysis is another waste-to-energy conversion process that involves heating organic waste in the absence of oxygen, resulting in the production of biochar, bio-oil, and syngas. Biochar is a stable carbon-rich material that can enhance soil fertility and carbon sequestration, while bio-oil and syngas can be utilized as energy sources. This process can be applied to various types of organic waste, including agricultural residues, forestry waste, and even certain types of plastics.

The waste-to-energy conversion technologies not only offer a sustainable solution for waste management but also contribute to the production of renewable energy. By diverting organic waste from landfills, these processes help reduce greenhouse gas emissions, as landfilling organic waste leads to the release of methane, a potent greenhouse gas. Furthermore, the utilization of biogas and biofuels as energy sources helps decrease reliance on fossil fuels, mitigating the negative impacts of climate change and supporting the transition to a low-carbon economy.

While waste-to-energy conversion primarily focuses on organic waste, technology is also advancing to address the challenges posed by non-recyclable plastics. Traditional recycling methods often face limitations when it comes to certain plastics, such as multilayered packaging and mixed plastics that are difficult to separate and process. To tackle this issue, innovative technologies like plasma gasification and chemical recycling are being explored.

Plasma gasification is a high-temperature process that converts solid waste, including non-recyclable plastics, into a synthetic gas known as syngas. This syngas can be further utilized as a source of energy or as a chemical feedstock for the production of various materials. The process employs extremely high temperatures generated by an electric arc or plasma torch, breaking down the waste into its elemental components.

Chemical recycling, also known as advanced recycling or feedstock recycling, involves breaking down plastics into their molecular building blocks through various chemical processes. These building blocks can then be used as raw materials to produce new plastics, reducing the demand for virgin fossil fuel-based plastics. Chemical recycling has the potential to address the challenges posed by mixed plastics, post-consumer plastics, and plastics that are difficult to recycle through traditional mechanical processes.

By exploring and implementing these innovative waste management technologies, we can significantly reduce waste generation, minimize environmental pollution, and create valuable resources. Waste-to-energy conversion technologies provide a sustainable alternative to conventional waste disposal methods, generating renewable energy and reducing greenhouse gas emissions. Additionally, plasma gasification and chemical recycling offer solutions to the challenges posed by non-recyclable plastics, fostering a more circular economy and reducing reliance on fossil fuels.

As technology continues to advance and awareness of environmental issues grows, it is crucial to support and invest in these innovative waste management solutions. Collaboration between governments, businesses, and individuals is vital to drive the adoption of these technologies, promote sustainable practices, and pave the way for a greener and more sustainable future. By harnessing the power of technology, we can transform waste into wealth, mitigate environmental impacts, and build a more resilient planet for generations to come.

The Circular Economy Approach

The circular economy is an economic system that aims to minimize waste generation and maximize resource utilization. It emphasizes the concept of "closing the loop" by designing products that are durable, repairable, and recyclable. Through practices like product life extension, sharing economy models, and responsible consumption, the circular economy reduces the extraction of raw materials and promotes the efficient use of existing resources. By adopting a circular approach, businesses can not only reduce waste and costs but also enhance their brand reputation and contribute to environmental preservation.

Waste Management as a Business Opportunity

The transition from waste to wealth has opened up new avenues for entrepreneurs and innovators. Startups are emerging in various sectors, focusing on waste management and resource recovery. From companies that convert food waste into fertilizer to those that produce eco-friendly packaging materials, these businesses demonstrate the potential for profit while addressing environmental challenges. Governments and investors are supporting these ventures, recognizing their ability to create jobs, drive economic growth, and contribute to a sustainable future.

Community Engagement and Education

Creating a sustainable future requires collective action, and community engagement plays a crucial role. Education and awareness campaigns can help change people's attitudes and behaviors towards waste management. By promoting responsible consumption, waste segregation, and recycling practices, individuals can actively participate in the waste-to-wealth movement. Community initiatives, such as local recycling centers, composting programs, and upcycling workshops, provide platforms for collaboration and knowledge-sharing. Together, we can build a more sustainable and prosperous society.

Conclusion

The waste-to-wealth concept holds immense potential for addressing environmental challenges and creating economic opportunities. By embracing recycling, upcycling, and innovative technologies, we can transform waste into valuable resources, reduce landfill burden, and mitigate the depletion of natural resources. The circular economy approach and the rise of waste management startups further demonstrate the viability of turning waste into a profitable enterprise. However, achieving lasting change requires collective efforts, community engagement, and continuous education. Let us seize the opportunity to turn waste into wealth and build a sustainable future for generations to come.

#Waste to wealth: Transforming trash into valuable resources #Innovative waste management technologies for a sustainable future #Turning waste into renewable energy: Waste-to-energy conversion #From waste to biogas: The power of anaerobic digestion #Waste-to-energy: A greener solution for waste management #Sustainable success: Converting waste into wealth #Waste management revolution: Unlocking the potential of technology #Waste-to-energy technologies: A pathway to a circular economy #Pyrolysis: Transforming organic waste into biofuels #Plasma gasification: Tackling non-recyclable plastics for a greener future #Chemical recycling: Reshaping the plastic waste landscape #Waste-to-energy: A sustainable approach to waste management #Waste transformation: From burden to economic opportunity #Recycling and upcycling: Building wealth from waste #Waste management innovations: Redefining sustainable practices #Waste-to-wealth revolution: Creating value from discarded materials #Turning waste into resources: A roadmap to sustainability #Waste conversion technologies: Bridging the gap between waste and wealth #Waste-to-energy solutions: Powering a greener tomorrow #Sustainable waste management: Embracing the waste-to-wealth concept #Upcycling for a prosperous future: Redefining waste utilization #Waste-to-energy advancements: Paving the way for a circular economy #Waste-to-wealth strategies: Maximizing resource efficiency #Transforming waste into valuable commodities: The future of waste management #Waste conversion technologies: Innovations for a sustainable world #Waste-to-wealth practices: Shaping a more prosperous society #Waste management reimagined: Harnessing technology for a greener planet #Turning waste into renewable resources: The power of waste-to-energy #Circular economy and waste transformation: A pathway to sustainable growth #Waste-to-wealth initiatives: Driving economic and environmental benefits

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whomeverknorks · 4 months ago

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chappell roan the giver is v alcina core in the cunt cowgirl sense

#would make that into a fic somehow if my neural pathways ever rebuilt themselves #i realize this is in direct opposition to the power bottom alcina dimitrescu conversation but let me live #she contains multitudes

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5-7-9 · 2 years ago

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Not everyone using social media is privileged. Something about the wording seems like it’s not trying to be directed towards minorities or working class members, but specifically for the upper class who actually are privileged enough to have free time.

“If you have time to be on social media, you also have time for…” “If you have time to watch Netflix, you also have time for…” Yeah, but do I have the energy for it? Do I have the emotional and mental capacity for it? Am I pain-free enough for it? Can I focus on it? Can I do it without leaving my bed? Can I safely do it without risk of (physically or emotionally) injuring myself by pushing past my boundaries?

#I’m sure if they worded themselves better #we wouldn’t be having this discussion #but it is still important to talk about #It just feels like the conversation went down the wrong pathway #hmmmm #chronically disabled #privilege #wording problems

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thesaltyace · 11 months ago

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Y'all I did NOT know this about Harris, and I think it's really critical that we all listen and understand as we approach this election. Video at the end.

This creator's video describes how progressive Harris was as a prosecutor -- actively going against the grain to the point she was accused of being soft on crime. Accused of being a social worker, not a prosecutor. She calls it being smart on crime. She's pushing for systemic changes to give real pathways to reintegrate incarcerated folks back into society and prevent their past from continuing to haunt them moving forward.

"Kamala's a cop" is a catchy dismissive response usually used to shut down conversation rather than add nuance. But this kind of reform is ESSENTIAL to work towards a present and future that treats incarcerated people with value.

I fell for it in 2020 and have thought "Kamala's a cop" without further inspection since - and I'm sobered by the realization that (you guessed it!) I'm not immune to propaganda.

A better system only follows liberal democracy, because library democracy allows for exploration of better systems. If authoritarianism takes hold, it will not allow for the exploration of better systems. We will have to fight tooth and nail just to try to get back to liberal democracy, and I suspect we could not achieve it in our lifetimes.

Harris isn't perfect. But she's a hell of a lot better than many leftists have led me to believe. Don't let perfection be the enemy of good. Don't let perfection be the enemy of harm reduction.

We can either help elect Trump and usher in authoritarian fascism, or we can help defeat him and pull things back in the direction we want to go. Not liking the choices doesn't absolve you from participating and doing the most good you can with the options available.

I'll link the original video in the replies. The original video has captions if you need them.

#kamala harris #2024 election #leftist hypocrisy #If we want better we have to put in the work over time. There are no instant solutions.#That means digging in our heels to prevent moving farther right.#Yep even if it means voting for a candidate you don't personally like or agree with.#Caring for your community means making strategic decisions to help everyone.#Voting your morals or whatever you call it is functionally useless in the presidential election bc of how our system works.#Save your moral votes for local elections - that's where you get the ball rolling. Put. In. The. Work.

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gffa · 2 months ago

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I'm going to climb up on a new hill to die on: I THINK PALPATINE'S PLAGUEIS STORY IS 100% MADE UP BULLSHIT. If you discount supplementary material created by other authors, the only thing we know about Plagueis is that speech Palpatine gives at the bubble opera, one we already know is designed to manipulate Anakin, but watching Revenge of the Sith in the theater again, thinking about how Anakin will later parrot Palpatine's words exactly--I realized, oh, it's not just a story being used to manipulate Anakin, I think it's a story created to manipulate Anakin, right where Palpatine wants him. It's a story about a Sith lord who learns how to make people stop dying. A Sith Lord who wants to stop his loved ones from dying. We know Palpatine doesn't actually know how to do this--the movie seems to imply that Palpatine was Plagueis' apprentice, but I'm not so sure. Palpatine says that Plagueis taught his apprentice everything--which would include the saving people bit--but Palpatine doesn't know how to save people, he says that he and Vader will discover it together and Anakin doesn't go, "Hey, wait, I thought you were supposed to know this!", which throws unreliability onto Palpatine's story already. There's a lot Palpatine is doing in this movie to manipulate Anakin very specifically--he puts Anakin on the Council, knowing they will ask him to spy on the Chancellor and even "guesses" it before Anakin can say anything at the opera, that he suggests Anakin should be the one to go to Utapau knowing that the Council will vote for a more experienced Master, he reveals himself to Anakin knowing that Anakin will tell them and be forced to choose, he tells Anakin the Plagueis story knowing that Anakin fears Padme's death (he is likely aware of Anakin's emotions about this, being an evil psychic space wizard himself) and sets it up so that it's the perfect bait. The conversation in ROTS goes:

Palpatine: "Remember back to your early teachings. All who gain power are afraid to lose it. Even the Jedi." Anakin: "The Jedi use their power for good." Palpatine: "Good is a point of view, Anakin. The Sith and the Jedi are similar in almost every way... including their quest for greater power." Anakin: "The Sith rely on their passion for their strength. They think inwards- only about themselves." Palpatine: "And the Jedi don't?" Anakin: "The Jedi are selfless. They only care about others." Palpatine: "Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise? I thought not. It's not a story the Jedi would tell you. It's a Sith legend. Darth Plagueis was a dark lord of the Sith... so powerful and so wise... he could use the Force to influence the midi-chlorians... to create... life. He had such a knowledge of the dark side... he could even keep the ones he cared about... from dying." Anakin: "He could actually... save people from death?" Palpatine: The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities... some consider to be unnatural." Anakin: "What happened to him?" Palpatine: "He became so powerful... the only thing he was afraid of was... Iosing his power. Which eventually, of course, he did. Unfortunately, he taught his apprentice everything he knew. Then his apprentice killed him in his sleep. It's ironic. He could save others from death... but not himself." Anakin: "Is it possible to learn this power?" Palpatine: "Not from a Jedi."

This entire conversation is a set-up to make Anakin think that it's not selfish to change his views, because it's just exactly as Anakin says the Jedi are selfless and only care about others that he starts the Plagueis story about this legendary Sith who just cared so much about his loved ones that he learned how to stop them from dying. But, oh, he couldn't stop himself from dying, he was only thinking of others! Not himself! Throughout the movie Palpatine is manipulating Anakin's thoughts so that Anakin will think in exactly the lines of thought that Sidious wants him to. ("Good is a point of view, Anakin." --> "From my point of view, the Jedi are evil!", "You know I'm not able to rely on the Jedi Council. If they haven't included you in their plot, they soon will." --> "I should have known the Jedi were plotting to take over!" Etc.) So when he wants Anakin to really consider using the dark side, he tells him a story about this mysterious Sith Lord who just wanted to save his loved ones, not himself, just those he cared about. It's the perfect way to give Anakin an excuse to take that first step that doesn't seem so bad, so against everything he knows is right, and think that it's okay if it's for someone else. It's not because he's so scared to lose someone he loves that he'll make a deal with the devil, no, he's just thinking of others, the ones he loves. The story is so perfectly designed to appeal to Anakin at this moment in time and so incongruent with everything else we know about Sith Lords and how the dark side works (the dark side is not a path to anything good), that I think it's 100% made up bullshit, just like everything Palpatine says to Anakin in this movie is a set-up to direct Anakin's thoughts where he wants them.

#lumi.txt #star wars #anakin skywalker #sheev palpatine #meta

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ari-ana-bel-la · 4 months ago

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I loved ur Charles!dad and teen daughter sm can u do one where he takes her to the paddock and she gets lost and helped around by the other drivers xx

Lost and found

The car ride to the circuit was filled with the soft hum of the engine and the distant buzz of the fans already gathering outside. Yn sat in the passenger seat, her phone in her hands, fingers scrolling through social media while her dad drove with practiced ease.

“Yn,” he called, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Stay close to me today, okay? It’s going to be really crowded. I don’t want anything to happen to you, and if something does, your mother will kill me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yn mumbled, not really paying attention as she double-tapped a picture.

“I mean it,” her dad pressed, his voice firm but warm. “Stay close. Promise me.”

“I promise,” she said absentmindedly, her eyes still fixed on her screen.

When they arrived at the paddock, the sheer volume of people was overwhelming. Fans, media, team members—all swarming through the narrow pathways, voices mixing together in a loud, chaotic symphony. The moment Yn stepped out of the car, the sound engulfed her.

She followed her dad as he walked toward the entrance, waving at a few familiar faces. He kept glancing back to make sure she was following, but Yn barely noticed. Her phone buzzed with messages from friends asking for pictures and updates, and she got distracted answering them.

A few steps later, when she finally lifted her head, the crowd seemed to have grown thicker. People pressed around her, conversations and laughter filling the air. Panic prickled at her chest as she realized her dad was nowhere in sight.

“Dad?” she called out, her voice swallowed by the noise.

No answer. Her heart started to race as she stood still, trying to catch a glimpse of his familiar figure in the sea of faces. Nothing. Everyone was taller than her, making it nearly impossible to see beyond the immediate bustle.

“Okay, stay calm,” she whispered to herself, gripping her phone tighter. “He can’t be far.”

“Yn?” a familiar voice called, cutting through her rising panic. She turned around to see her Uncle Carlos and Uncle Lando approaching, both wearing their team polos and matching concerned expressions.

“What are you doing here by yourself?” Lando asked, eyes scanning the crowd around them.

Relief washed over Yn like a wave, and she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “I was with Dad, but I looked at my phone for, like, a second, and now he’s gone,” she admitted sheepishly.

Carlos chuckled softly. “A second, huh? You sound just like him.”

“Come on,” Lando said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll help you find him before he has a heart attack.”

As they made their way through the paddock, Carlos and Lando kept her close, exchanging light banter to ease her nerves.

“So,” Lando teased, “how many selfies have you taken already today?”

Yn rolled her eyes. “I’m not that obsessed.”

Carlos grinned. “I bet your dad would disagree.”

They turned a corner and nearly bumped into Pierre, who was sipping a coffee and looking far too relaxed for the chaos around him.

“Why do you have a lost child?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“She lost her dad,” Carlos explained, biting back a smile.

“I did not lose him,” Yn protested. “He disappeared.”

Pierre chuckled, tipping his coffee cup toward her. “Sounds like you. Come on, I’ll join the rescue mission.”

With their little group now four strong, they continued toward the Ferrari garage. As they approached, the bright red of the garage felt like a beacon of hope. Just outside, Lewis was stepping inside, his calm demeanor as unwavering as always.

When he spotted Yn, his face softened into a warm smile. “There you are,” he said, opening his arms without hesitation.

Yn didn’t think twice before stepping into the comforting hug. “Hi, Lewis,” she mumbled against his chest.

“Let’s get you back to your dad before he loses his mind,” Lewis said gently, leading her inside while the others hung back with knowing grins.

The moment they entered the driver’s room, Yn saw her dad pacing back and forth, running a hand through his already messy hair. His head snapped up when the door opened, and his face went from stressed to relieved in a heartbeat.

“Dad!” Yn called, rushing into his arms.

He caught her, wrapping her tightly against him. Neither of them spoke for a long moment, just holding on as if they were afraid to let go.

“I was so worried,” he murmured into her hair, his voice slightly shaky. “You promised to stay close.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Yn whispered. “But I’m okay now.”

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s embrace, until her dad finally exhaled a deep breath and leaned back to look at her. “We are never telling your mother about this,” he said firmly.

Yn laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “Never.”

Lewis, leaning against the wall with a fond smile, cleared his throat. “Glad we found her in time. Otherwise, I think we’d all be in trouble.”

“You have no idea,” her dad muttered, but his grip on Yn didn’t loosen one bit.

Yn felt safe in her dad’s arms, and even though the paddock was still loud and chaotic outside, everything felt right again in that small room filled with the people who cared about her the most.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoy this story as much as I do. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

#f1 drivers as fathers #formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x daughter!reader #leclerc!reader #dad!charles leclerc #💙🦋#f1 x female reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz x reader #lewis hamilton x reader

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iydiamartinx · 2 months ago

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THIS MEANS WAR I

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 3.6k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: This story is inspired by the 2012 movie This Means War. I went back and forth on whether to write it with a named OC or in reader format—and ultimately decided to try something new and go with reader-insert. I usually write in third person with original characters, so this is a bit of a different style for me. As for who the reader ends up with… I haven’t made a final decision yet—maybe one of them, maybe both. Feel free to let me know who you’re rooting for! Hope you enjoy the chaos! warnings: None so far except for the fact that I don't know anything about neuroscience only what my research brings up, so I'm praying the shit I write makes sense

GOTHAM UNIVERSITY

The lecture hall smelled like old paper and burnt coffee. You stood at the front, spine straight despite the fatigue threading through your muscles. Behind you, the whiteboard was half-covered in scrawls of chemical structures and dopamine pathways, neatly drawn and precisely labeled. It was the kind of lecture that left half the room wide-eyed with curiosity… and the other half silently praying for mercy.

With a quiet click, you capped your marker and continued. “Neurotransmitter binding is not a one-size-fits-all process,” you said, voice steady as your gaze swept across rows of glazed eyes and frantic scribbles. “It’s dynamic. It’s reactive. It’s shaped by genetics, trauma, medication—even what you ate for breakfast.”

A hand shot up in the second row.

“So… like, can serotonin make you hallucinate?”

You blinked. “No. And if it does, someone’s given you something else—and you should go to the ER. Immediately.”

A ripple of laughter. A few groans.

Another hand rose—this one from a sharp-eyed girl near the back. “In Joker toxin exposure cases, have you ever seen synthetic mimicry of dopamine flood patterns?”

Now that was a question worth respecting.

You’d specialized in Joker toxin during your postgraduate years, had seen firsthand the neurological carnage it left behind. The clown was a madman no doubt—but a dangerously brilliant madman.

Your mouth tugged into a faint smirk. “Yes. And no. But that’s a topic for next week.”

The clock ticked toward the hour. You fielded three more questions—one insightful, two exhausting—before dismissing the class.

Backpacks zipped. Conversations stirred. As the last student filed out, you finally exhaled. Slowly. The silence was a relief.

Rolling your shoulders, you gathered your coat and bag, the weariness catching up to you in waves as you made your way toward the door—hungry, tired, and vaguely craving something that didn’t taste like caffeine or sugary energy drinks.

Gotham’s streets buzzed with their usual chaos—honking cabs, barking vendors, motorcycles weaving between traffic like they were flirting with death. You walked with familiar ease, the city noise fading beneath the throb behind your eyes and the pressure at the back of your skull.

Your hand drifted up to your bun. It had been tightly wound since six in the morning, and now it felt like a migraine on a countdown. Mercifully, you didn’t have to be in the lab today—no microscopes, no sterile gloves, no post-doc breathing down your neck. Just freedom. Glorious, unwashed, unbothered freedom.

So you didn’t hesitate. One by one, you tugged the pins from your hair, each metallic clink falling into your coat pocket like a tiny rebellion. The strands spilled down, wild and full of indents, but you didn’t care. You tipped your head back, rubbed at your aching scalp with slow, tender fingers, and sighed like you’d been holding your breath all day.

You looked like hell. You felt like hell. But you were done. No lectures. No lab reports. Your appearance be damned you just wanted to spend the rest of the day in comfort.

Your boots clicked along the sidewalk as you headed toward Café Nero, already imagining the warmth of a latte in your hands—despite your earlier claim about cutting back on caffeine. A lie, obviously. Caffeine was practically your lifeblood— and something carby in your mouth.

But the universe had other plans.

You turned the corner—and nearly collided headfirst with a ghost.

Jake.

Three years of your life bundled into one name, one face. One half-curved smile that looked exactly like it used to and somehow worse now that it was being directed at someone else.

Three years of your life compressed into one name. One face. One irritatingly familiar smirk. His arm was around a tall blonde, her smile radiant and far too trusting. He wore the same smug charm he always had as he said something that had her giggling.

He noticed you first.

“Hey!” he said, voice way too bright. “Y/N. Wow. You look…” his eyes flicked over your rumpled sweater, your wild hair, “…great. Still at the university? Tinkering away in your little lab?”

You straightened instinctively, spine snapping to attention like your body was trying to make up for the indignity of the moment. Of all the days to run into him.

“I am,” you replied, polite but clipped.

Three years together, and he still couldn’t grasp the importance of your work—or the lives it affected. Your research had been groundbreaking, and he’d always referred to it like you were tinkering with science fair projects.

The blonde leaned into his side with a warm smile. “You didn’t tell me your ex was brilliant and pretty.”

You wanted to hate her. Truly, you did. But unfortunately… she actually seemed sweet.

He laughed. “I forget sometimes.” Then turned back to you with that same infuriatingly casual smirk. “Oh—uh, Y/N, this is my fiancée, Hannah.”

The word hit like a slap.

Fiancée.

Only a year ago, you’d walked in on him and his yoga instructor, limbs tangled and guilt nowhere in sight. He’d thrown away three years with you like it was nothing—and now, not even twelve months later, he’d found someone new and locked her down with a ring so big it probably needed its own insurance policy.

You managed a smile. A real one, for her sake. Sort of. “It’s nice to meet you.” Your eyes dropped to the large, glittering ring on her hand.

“Wow,” you said with a tight smile. “That’s… that’s a big rock.” You let out an awkward laugh, trying muster the slightest bit of enthusiasm you definitely weren’t feeling on the inside. “You’re engaged. To be married.”

Jake grinned. “Yeah. Things just… clicked. It was like fate.” Then he reached out and stroked her cheek with the kind of performative tenderness that made your stomach churn.

God. How had you ever loved this man?

“Isn’t that right, baby?” he murmured.

Someone gag you with a spoon.

You stood there, frozen in place, as Jake pulled Hannah in for a kiss—deep as if he was trying to fit his entire tongue down her throat. Screw you, you thought. Screw you for rubbing her in my face.

You cleared your throat, the sound awkward and a little too loud. “Well, I should get going,” you began—except your mouth didn’t stop there.

Your brain screamed abort, but your tongue had other plans.

“I actually have to go meet my guy. Yeah, he’s a neuroscientist too. We, uh… met at work.” You nodded like that somehow made it more convincing. “Anyway…”

You cleared your throat again, silently begging yourself to shut up.

“It was… great seeing you. And congrats. On the ring. The upcoming wedding. Your whole… life. All of it.” You winced inwardly. “Well… Peace.”

And if that wasn’t humiliating enough, you topped it off by flashing a peace sign like some glitching robot before turning and briskly walking away.

The second you were out of sight, your smile collapsed. You pressed your lips together, debating whether to scream into the sky or crawl into the nearest sewer.

“Someone kill me right now,” you muttered under your breath.

CAFÉ NERO

You finally made it to the café, and with it, your mortification began to loosen its grip. The familiar scent of roasted beans and fresh pastries wrapped around you like a warm blanket, softening the sting of everything that had come before.

Inside, it was calm—the gentle hiss of the espresso machine, the clink of ceramic, the low murmur of scattered conversations. A peaceful hum that felt like the complete opposite of Jake and his nauseating tongue display.

You slipped into your usual seat at the counter, letting your bag slump to the floor, and leaned against the worn wood like it might hold you up a little longer.

“Ah! Doctora!” Juan greeted you with a bright smile from behind the bar.

He was a sweet kid—maybe nineteen—who’d moved to Gotham from Mexico about six months ago. His English was improving steadily, though every now and then he’d still stumble over a few words. You’d quietly helped where you could. While he knew your name, he aways insisted on calling you Doctora like it was your superhero title.

You snorted at the thought. You, a superhero? You couldn’t even save yourself from an awkward conversation with your ex.

“The usual?” he asked, already reaching for your cup.

“Si, please,” you nodded.

He glanced up with a curious smile. “Long day?”

You let out a soft groan, dropping your face into your hands. “You have no idea.”

The door chimed behind you, but you didn’t bother looking up. Not until you felt someone hovering a little too close to the seat beside you.

You prayed your luck wasn’t that shitty.

But of course, it was.

Jake’s familiar chuckle slid into your ears like nails on glass. You closed your eyes for half a second, steeling yourself, before slowly peeling your face from your hands.

“This is too funny,” he said with a grin. “What a coincidence.”

“Right! Absolutely hilarious,” you replied, forcing a smile that you hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt as you saw Jake and Hannah standing there.

“I’m assuming this is your boyfriend’s seat?” Jake asked, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Oh, ye—”

Before you could finish, Juan slid your drink across the counter, cheerful as ever.

“No, Doctora,” he said, accent warm, words slightly clipped at the edges. “Order for one. Always order for one. Seat is free.”

You nearly choked on air.

Hannah giggled while Jake said nothing. Just raised his eyebrows slightly, in that smug little way he used to do when he thought he’d won something.

God, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

You smiled tightly. “It is. I’m meeting him back at work. Just stopped in quick. Juan, I thought I said I needed this to-go?”

Juan frowned, brows pinching together. “Mmm… no, I don’ think so. You say you finish work. You always sit here, like always.”

“Not this time,” you said—too sharp, too fast.

Juan’s face fell a little. Guilt bloomed in your chest like a bruise, he didn’t deserve that. It was your own damn fault for digging the hole in you were now.

You sighed, softer this time. “Lo siento, Juan. Can you make it to-go, please?”

He nodded, already reaching for the paper cup and bag.

You turned back to Jake with a forced laugh. “Seat’s all yours.”

The second Juan handed you the new cup and pastry bag, you thanked him quietly, paid, and practically sprinted for the door—mortified, humiliated, and more than ready to go home and bury yourself under ten layers of shame.

MILO & ANTHONY’S APARTMENT

“Ugh! I wanted to die right then and there,” you groaned, collapsing dramatically onto Milo and Anthony’s couch, a glass of wine already halfway gone. Their apartment was across from yours, and you’d made a beeline for it the second you got home, desperate to drink your embarrassment into submission. “I fucking peaced them.”

Anthony winced. “Yeah, that’s… pretty bad.”

“That’s because you need to go out more,” Milo said, waving his wine glass like a pointer. “Meet someone. Rub him all over Jake’s face like a human flex—same way he’s doing with that girl, Hayley.”

“Hannah,” you corrected automatically. “And she seemed sweet.”

“She could be as sweet as cotton candy dipped in honey and I still wouldn’t give a shit,” Milo snapped. “I give a shit about you. And you cannot keep letting that asshole rent space in your head.”

You opened your mouth, but Milo steamrolled right over you.

“Fine if you’re not ready for anything serious, but girl—you need to go out and get some good dick. That pussy is drier than the Sahara.”

You choked on your wine. “Hey! I get some!”

Milo deadpanned you. “Your vibrator doesn’t count. Honestly, it should start charging you. Thing looks like it’s about to file for workers’ comp.”

You blinked. “Have you been going through my drawers again?!”

He shrugged without shame. “I was looking for your face cream.”

“And you thought I keep that in my underwear drawer?”

“Look, the point is,” he said, sitting forward, “you need to go out. Date. Even just a casual thing. I hate seeing you mope over that troll.”

“I’m not moping,” you muttered.

Anthony gave you a soft smile—too kind for this earth. “We’re just worried about you. And hey, for the record, we’re glad you moved here. You’re part of our chaos now.”

You exhaled, guilt and warmth stirring in your chest. “I know. It’s just… I can’t believe I was that blind. I nearly gave up everything for him. I even moved back to this shit-hole of a city—where clowns and penguins blow up buildings and guys in capes fight crime in full spandex.”

“Well, at least Gotham has a certain… charm,” Anthony offered.

“I mean, it’s great if your idea of charm is daily arson,” you deadpanned.

“We are happy you’re here,” Milo agreed, his voice softer for once. “But you’ve gotta stop beating yourself up. Even I thought he might’ve been your person—but he wasn’t. That’s on him. His loss, not yours. You’ve gotta move forward, babe.”

“I am dating,” you said weakly.

“No, you’re talking to people. You don’t even give them a real shot.” He raised his brows. “You can’t test chemistry without mixing the liquids.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s more complex than just ‘mixing liquids,’ Milo. There’s neural signaling, oxytocin regulation, attachment frameworks, behavioral conditioning… Timing alone can throw everything off. You can’t just drop two people into a room and expect chemistry. That’s not chemistry—it’s chaos.”

“Why not?” Milo shrugged. “People do it all the time. You’re overthinking it—as usual. But if it helps, just treat it like another one of your experiments.”

“It’s not that simple,” you argued. “My experiments have structure. Charts. Data. Equations. Control groups.”

“Exactly!” Milo clapped his hands. “Which is why you should try online dating. They have charts and shit.”

You let out a snort. “Please. In this city? Knowing my luck, I’d end up matched with a serial killer. Or worse—the Joker.”

Anthony tilted his head thoughtfully. “Does the Joker even online date?”

Milo groaned. “You’re both insane. There are plenty of semi-normal people on those apps. It’s how me and Anthony met.”

You gave him a flat look. “Exactly.”

You gave him a long, pointed look. “Point proven.”

“No.” Milo leaned in. “The point is you need to get back out there. Whether it’s for a wham-bam-thank-you-man kind of night, or you end up calling me crying because you just met the father of your future babies—I don’t care. You just can’t keep living in Jake’s memory. Not everyone is like him.”

You groaned, tipping back the rest of your wine in one go. “I know that.”

He raised an eyebrow, giving you a look.

“I do!” you insisted. “Look, can we table this for now? I just want to drown my feelings and make future-me regret the hangover I’m definitely earning tonight.”

GOTHAM ROOFTOPS

Boots hit the edge of a rooftop with a soft scrape of gravel. Jason Todd scanned the streets below, hands resting at his sides, jacket collar tugged up against the bite of the early spring cold. He moved with restless energy—agitated, impatient, ready for something to go wrong.

“This is a bust,” he muttered into the comms. “Three blocks, no action. Not even a wannabe thug with a pocket knife and poor life choices. I’m starting to think Gotham forgot how to be Gotham.”

There was a beat of silence before Dick’s voice came through, dry and amused.

“Or maybe you’re just scaring the criminals too much, Hood. Ever consider early retirement?”

Jason rolled his eyes behind the mask. “Only if you go first, Nightwing. I thought Blüdhaven was where all the action was—what’re you doing slumming it with us Gotham bottom-feeders?”

“It is,” Dick replied. “But every now and then I like to slum it with my baby brother. Make sure you’re not burning down half the city in my absence.”

Jason snorted. “You’re only older by what, five years and a moral superiority complex?”

Before Dick could answer, Barbara’s voice cut in over the channel, sharp and clear.

“Seems like you’re about to get your wish, Jason. I’ve got eyes on suspicious movement down at the docks—east side, Warehouse Eleven.” Barbara drawled through the comms.

Jason was already moving, boots hitting gravel as he took off across the rooftop. “Now we’re talking.”

Dick followed a step behind, vaulting over a low pipe with practiced ease. “Arms deal?”

“Most likely,” Barbara confirmed. “Thermal scans show at least four bodies. No confirmed ID yet, but one of them matches a known associate of Black Mask. “Be smart. And try not to level the building, Jason.”

“No promises,” he said, grin audible.

WAREHOUSE ELEVEN, EAST DOCKS

The docks were dead quiet when they arrived—too quiet. The kind of stillness that always meant something was waiting to go wrong. The air smelled like oil and sea rot, and the only sounds were the soft lapping of water and the occasional creak of aging chains swaying in the wind.

Jason crouched at the edge of a container stack, pistols holstered at his thighs, his gaze locked on the warehouse below. His breath clouded in the cool air.

“East lot’s clear,” he murmured into the comms. “Nothing but rats and roaches.”

Dick landed beside him in a soundless roll. “So, your usual crowd.”

Jason didn’t glance over. “That’s twice tonight. Keep it up and I’ll tell everyone you cried during that Pixar movie.”

“I was twelve. And it was Up, you heartless bastard.”

“Still counts.”

They moved in silence, slipping through a broken window high on the warehouse wall. Their boots hit the rafters without a whisper. Below them, four men circled a battered folding table strewn with crates, unmarked cases, and haphazard stacks of cash. A single overhead bulb flickered overhead, casting shifting shadows across the concrete floor.

Jason zoomed in with his HUD. “I know that one—left side. Carlo Mancini. Low-tier runner for Sionis. Looks like he’s about to piss himself.”

“Might mean he knows something,” Dick murmured.

They listened.

“I’m tellin’ you,” Mancini hissed, voice tight and shaky. “It’s gonna be big. Joker-level big.”

One of the others scoffed. “The hell you talkin’ about? Joker’s been off the grid for months.”

“Yeah, and now he’s back. Lookin’ for someone—some guy who used to run with him, then bailed. Word is, he took something. Something important.”

Jason’s fingers curled slowly around the grip of his pistol.

“It’s not his usual stuff either,” Mancini went on, voice dropping to a whisper. “Heard it’s from Scarecrow too. Some freak chemical—don’t kill you right away. Makes you laugh yourself insane. Till your heart gives out.”

A beat of silence.

“No cure for it, either.”

Jason exhaled. “Shit.”

Beside him, Dick’s jaw flexed. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Jason gave a tight nod. “If the Joker and Scarecrow teamed up and made something new—and someone stole it…”

Dick’s voice was grim. “Then Gotham just became a countdown clock. And we’re already late.”

Without another word, they moved.

Jason dropped from the rafters like a shadow cutting through fog, landing hard enough to make one of the thugs flinch. Dick followed a breath behind, graceful and quiet. By the time the first man reached for his weapon, Jason had already disarmed him with a sharp twist of his wrist and sent him sprawling with a solid elbow to the jaw.

Dick swept the legs out from under another, zip-tying his wrists with practiced ease. The other two barely had time to shout before they were taken down—one with a stun baton to the ribs, the other with a boot to the sternum.

Mancini tried to run.

Jason caught him by the collar, slammed him against a crate with just enough force to knock the air from his lungs. “Going somewhere?”

The runner gasped, eyes wide with panic. “I didn’t—look, I don’t know anything!”

“You know enough to be scared,” Jason growled, pressing his forearm into the man’s throat. “So start talking.”

“Okay—okay!” Mancini wheezed, both hands raised in surrender. “I just heard whispers, man. Word on the street is Joker and the ‘crow are lookin’ for someone—most likely one of his old runners. Said he took something. Chemical notes, maybe the whole damn formula. Whatever it is, it’s important. Real important. Joker’s tearing through people trying to get it back.”

Jason’s gaze darkened. “You know who this guy is?”

“No name,” Mancini coughed. “Just that he used to run logistics—backdoor stuff. Quiet type. Smart guy. Kept to himself. Real ghost.”

“Not smart enough if he got himself tangled up with the Joker and Scarecrow,” Dick muttered.

Jason’s hand tightened. For a moment, Dick thought he might snap.

“Jason,” he said, quiet. A reminder.

Jason let go.

Mancini dropped to his knees, coughing and trembling. Jason stepped back into the shadows, tapping his comm.

“You catch all that, Oracle?”

Barbara’s voice filtered in, sharp and efficient. “Every word. Red Robin and B are already digging. If this guy’s in Gotham, we’ll find him. But until then, you two are off the clock. Get some rest.”

Jason exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. Sure.”

Dick shot him a look. “Try to actually listen for once. Not everything has to be solved in one night.”

With that, he clapped Jason on the shoulder and nudged him toward the exit—just as the distant wail of GCPD sirens broke the silence, growing louder with every passing second. Cleanup crew was on its way.

Jason didn’t answer. His jaw was tight, his thoughts already miles ahead—backtracking whispers, dissecting clues, remembering the sound of laughter that still echoed in the corners of his nightmares.

It was rare for the Joker to get invested in anything. He thrived on chaos, not consistency. But if he was serious enough to go out of his way to hunt down some nobody, then whoever had the formula was sitting on a bomb.

Next Chapter →

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bashar2023 · 2 years ago

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#AI-powered funnels #Personalized customer journey #Data-driven optimization #Machine learning automation #Conversion optimization #User behavior analysis #Targeted content delivery #Customer engagement #Dynamic user experiences #Enhanced user path #AI-guided interactions #Strategic funnel optimization #Conversion pathway

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amirasainz · 6 days ago

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Possible idea: TP with wags or other team principals? Take it in whatever direction you want! Thank you

Blonde Ambitions

The McLaren garage was its usual buzzing self, a symphony of whirring tools, murmured strategy calls, and engines occasionally roaring to life like mechanical dragons. It was FP1 morning, but there was another kind of electricity in the air—one that had nothing to do with motorsport.

Yn walked into the paddock with her tablet tucked against her hip, sunglasses on, hair cascading in newly lightened waves—bright, golden blonde that caught the sun with every step. She looked like a vision, a twenty-two-year-old team principal with the poise of a monarch and the fire of a warrior. There was no one like her, and everyone knew it.

Whispers had started the moment she entered the paddock. "Did you see her hair?" "She looks like a goddess." "How does she pull that off and manage a team?" Every driver, engineer, and strategist noticed—but the girlfriends? Oh, the WAGs were on a mission.

---

Carmen saw her first. She had just come from a hospitality, cradling a green juice in one hand, phone in the other. The moment she spotted Yn walking along the McLaren motorhome pathway, Carmen blinked once. Then again. Then dropped her phone into her bag without a word.

"Excuse me," she muttered to no one in particular, and power-walked straight toward the blonde goddess in orange.

Yn looked up, smile bright and warm. "Carmen! Hi!"

"No, no," Carmen said dramatically, taking Yn's hand like it was made of gold. "I need a full twirl. Right now."

Laughing, Yn complied, spinning once, the soft hem of her blazer flaring as she turned.

Carmen’s breath caught. She took both of Yn’s hands, then one gently slipped up to stroke her hair. It was soft, radiant, the kind of blonde that made angels jealous.

"You look like a goddess," she said, voice low, full of reverence. Her fingertips traced Yn’s cheekbone with such delicacy it made Yn giggle.

"Stop it," Yn blushed. "You’re embarrassing me."

"Good," Carmen whispered. "That was the goal."

They lingered like that for a moment too long. Carmen let her hand drift down to Yn’s shoulder, almost like she didn’t want to let go.

---

Not five minutes had passed before Lily appeared, having left Alex mid-conversation to follow the trail of whispered praise.

She found Yn near the pit wall, talking to a mechanic. The sun hit her blonde hair like a spotlight from heaven.

"Hey, Lily!" Yn said brightly when she saw her. "You okay?"

Lily just stared.

"Lily?"

"You're..." she said, voice breaking.

Yn tilted her head. "You alright?"

Lily walked forward, slowly, like Yn might disappear. "You're so beautiful."

Yn laughed softly. "Oh, stop! I went to this salon in Milan, it was such a last-minute thing. My stylist was like, ‘Go blonde,’ and I was like, ‘Are you sure?’ But then he did this toner thing, and—"

Lily wasn’t listening.

She was drinking Yn in like she was a glass of water in the desert. Her eyes moved from her hair to her lips to her hands, reverently. Her lips parted slightly as if she was seeing light for the first time.

"...anyway," Yn finished, cheeks pink, "I guess it turned out okay."

"More than okay," Lily murmured.

---

Yn returned to her office, seeking just five minutes of peace to prep the FP1 breakdown. Her door burst open.

Kika.

Hair bouncing, sunglasses on, striding in like she owned the place.

"Kika—?"

"Don’t talk," she said. "I saw the photos. The Twitter threads. The meltdown. And I thought, no. I need to see her in person."

Before Yn could respond, Kika took her arm, pulled her across the room, and made her sit. But instead of sitting beside her, Kika sat down, pulling Yn to straddle her lap.

"Kika!" Yn gasped. "What are you—"

"Shhh," Kika whispered. She cupped Yn’s face in her hands. Her thumb caressed Yn’s cheek, her fingers brushing over golden strands. One arm wrapped tight around her waist.

"You’re stunning," she said. "Like a dream. Like if Aphrodite got into motorsport."

Yn giggled. "You’re so dramatic."

"And you love it," Kika grinned.

Then came the ideas: "I’m taking you shopping. No arguments. I’ll buy you everything in Valentino’s next line. We’ll match. Twins. Blonde girls who rule the paddock. I’ll braid your hair. I might dye mine too. Platinum. Imagine the chaos. Everyone would know we belong together."

Yn blushed again. "You’re too much."

"You haven’t seen anything yet," Kika smirked.

---

The sun was lower in the sky when Yn made her way to the pit lane for the final prep briefing. Mechanics buzzed around, Carlos stood near the garage, helmet under his arm, waiting for his debrief.

He spotted her and smiled like he’d just won the lottery.

"You look incredible today, mi amore," Carlos said.

Yn smiled shyly. "Thank you! I just—"

"That’s enough from you now, Carlito," came Rebecca’s voice, silk and steel.

She stepped in beside Carlos, one arm brushing him away. The look she gave him could’ve stopped an engine mid-race. Carlos raised his hands and backed off.

"Rebecca," Yn said, cheeks flushed. "You look amazing too."

"Not the point," Rebecca said, eyes on fire. "You. This hair. That lip gloss. The entire fit."

Yn laughed nervously. "It’s just the usual blazer—"

"It’s lethal," Rebecca cut in. "What are you doing this weekend? Want to come to the villa? We can talk strategy. Poolside."

Yn opened her tablet, tapping. "I could probably shift things around. Maybe Saturday afternoon—"

She was interrupted.

By lips. Rebecca’s.

She surged forward and kissed her, deep and slow, one hand cupping Yn’s jaw, the other pressing against her lower back. The kiss was full of heat and hunger, every inch of it claiming.

Yn gasped softly against her, then melted.

When they parted, Rebecca whispered, "Just wanted to try your gloss."

"Did you like it?" Yn asked dazedly.

"Loved it."

"Okay," Yn nodded sweetly, still flustered. "So we’ll do Saturday."

"Absolutely," Rebecca said, taking her hand.

They walked off, fingers linked.

Behind them, Carlos stood slack-jawed.

"This is it," he muttered to himself. "This is it. My dream—both my dream girls. My dream finally becomes reality. I need to lie down."

P.S Carlso reaction when he saw the kiss

Ahh, had so much fun writing this. I hope you had as much fun as me. Let me know if you have any requests! 🧡

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ice-man-goes-bwoah · 1 month ago

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So I just saw that you want an ask about plus size reader and f1 driver👀 I'm a Lando Norris fan so can I please ask about him? Maybe plus size reader is his physical therapist and looks after him and makes him happy and he in return is so down bad that if anyone says or does sth disrespectful he is so defensive he always has her back and he shows that he loves her every single minute ❤️ I really hope you have many plus size reader asks cause as a midsize girl myself I really don't see many fics to represent us

All the ways you look at me||Lando Norris x mid size reader

Summary —Y/N lands the job as Lando Norris’s physical therapist, neither of them expects much beyond rehab sessions and recovery plans. But as shared glances turn into inside jokes and late-night conversations, a quiet friendship begins to blossom—one that tiptoes into something deeper to bad they are scared to take the fall into something more than friendship.

Word count—8k

Thank you @fuckoffbard for reading this for me!

A/n—depending on how well this does I’ll do a part two

"Come on. You can do this. It’s your first day meeting everyone; you’ve had plenty of first days, so this should be easy,” Y/n said to herself. She sat in the parking lot of the McLaren Technology Centre, where she was to meet her new team. Taking a deep breath, she let it out and opened her eyes. “Okay, I’m ready.” She opened the door to her car, stepped out, grabbed her iced coffee, badge, and bag, and walked to the building.

The scenery was beautiful. The McLaren Technology Center was secluded from the rest of civilization in a big field hidden behind trees. There were two buildings: the factory itself and the headquarters. That's where she was going.

Walking up the pathway, she admired the bean-shaped building with the little pond that was next to it. It was definitely something she could get used to seeing on a daily basis. Once she was up to the door, she took out her badge and put it up to the scanner to open the door. As the door opened, she was welcomed by the nice, cool air and the beautiful interior of the building.

The lobby was filled with F1 cars and cars that McLaren had produced over the years. To the right of her was the staircase and the elevator that led to the second floor, and in front of her were the trophy cases that held all the trophies that the team had won over the years. The building was truly beautiful with its simple and futuristic design.

“Can I help you?” A voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

She cleared her throat and held out her hand. “Yes, hi, I’m Y/n, I’m the new physical therapist. I’m here for the team meeting. I'm supposed to meet everyone.”

The owner of the voice shook her hand and spoke softly but friendly, “Hello y/n, I’m Sarah, I’m part of the social media team. I’m heading that way so I can help you get there.” Sarah said, shaking Y/n's hand.

“Oh, that would be lovely, thank you,” Y/n replied with a smile.

Sarah led Y/N through a maze of corridors and open workspaces, the hum of quiet conversations and the occasional keyboard tapping following them as they walked.

“This place is like a spaceship,” Y/n murmured as she looked around.

Sarah laughed. “Right? Wait until you see the simulator room. Total sci-fi vibes.”

They stopped outside a wide conference room with frosted glass panels through the translucent windows. She could see shadows shifting and hear a few muffled voices from inside.

“You’ll be great.” Sarah said, giving her a small nudge, “Come on.”

Y/N took one last calming breath and stepped inside.

The room was already half full—engineers, mechanics, PR staff. A few people turned to glance at her as she entered, their expressions curious but friendly. At the far end of the table, there were two guys, one was balancing his chair on its two back legs while trying and failing to balance his pencil on his nose. The other one had an unimpressed look on his face while trying not to smile or laugh at the other’s antics.

Y/N immediately knew who they were—Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri. Even without the uniforms and team gear, their energy gave them away.

She took a moment to observe them from where she stood, unnoticed for now. Lando had that easy, magnetic kind of charm—the type that could dissolve tension with a grin and a well-timed joke. He moved with confidence, expressive hands, and animated eyes, clearly the kind of person who filled a room without even trying.

Next to him, Oscar was a striking contrast. He was quieter, his posture more composed, his words more measured. While Lando spoke with his whole body, Oscar listened with stillness. His eyes were sharp and observing, like he was always a few steps ahead in his head, even when he didn’t say much.

They worked like a natural counterbalance. Lando brought the lightness, Oscar the grounding. It was a rhythm—one teased, the other gave dry comebacks; one stirred things up, and the other reined them in without needing to say much. And somehow, it worked.

“They’re like opposites, but at the same time, they work so well together.” Y/N thought, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Suddenly, she felt a little less nervous. Because despite their differences, there was something oddly comforting about the way they fit together. Like maybe this place wasn’t going to be so intimidating after all.

Especially if Lando kept looking at her the way he just did.

His head tilted slightly like he was trying to place her. His eyes flicked from her face to the badge clipped to her shirt and back up again. Then he smiled—lazy, crooked, and so bright it made her stomach flip.

“You must be the new Physio,” he said, “I was starting to think they were making you up.”

Y/n blinked slightly, off guard by the friendliest tone of his voice.

“Nope, very real. I even brought an iced coffee and everything.” She joked, holding up her iced coffee and giving it a little shake.

A few people chuckled, the tension easing, and Lando's smile widened.

“Then we’re going to get along just fine.”

Zak Brown stood and clapped his hands for attention.

“Everyone, this is Y/N. She’s officially joining us this season as part of the performance and health team—working closely with you, Lando.”

“Lucky me,” Lando muttered with a grin.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully.

“We’ll see how lucky you feel after your first deep tissue session.”

More laughter followed, and a few people around the table gave her nods of approval or polite greetings. Someone even muttered, “Bold move on day one,” with a grin.

As the meeting began and the briefing started, Lando leaned slightly toward her seat, voice low so only she could hear.

“Seriously, though. Welcome. We’re glad to have you.”

She turned her head just enough to meet his eyes.

“Thanks. I’m glad to be here.”

But her heart was racing. Because while she came here expecting professionalism and a great work performance, she hadn’t expected him.

Over the course of the few months that Y/N joined McLaren, she really had made her mark on the team. She and Sarah are quickly becoming friends, the two of you often meeting up for coffee dates and other things that friends do.

Y/N’s office doubled as her Physio room, in the corner was her desk with her laptop and a couple of other personal items that made the space truly hers. On the other side of the room was a table where the mats, foam roller, and other supplies sat, and in the center was the padded table.

Y/n was reviewing Landos' training notes Landos's trainer sent to her tablet when the door creaked open.

“Morning,” came that familiar voice—soft, a little smug, a little sleepy.

She glanced up. “You’re late.”

Lando strolled in like he wasn’t, tossing his water bottle on the bench. “You’re early.”

Y/N raised a brow unimpressed “Try that again but imagine that I haven’t heard it from every cocky athlete I’ve worked with.”

He grinned, “touché”

She nodded towards the mat, “Shoes off, warm-up stretches, let’s go.”

He obeyed, stretching his arms overhead and settling onto the mat with an exaggerated groan. “You’re scarier than my last physio.”

“That’s because your last physio didn’t have to deal with you constantly flirting with him.”

“True. He didn’t look this good, either.” Lando remarked, admiring Y/N’s curves.

God, he would give anything just to hold her—to let his hands rest on her hips, fingers curling around the softness he admired far more than he probably should. She was all curves and comfort and warmth, and it was unfair how often his mind drifted to her when he was supposed to be focused.

He swore she was made for him. It just made sense. His hands were big—meant to anchor, to hold, to fit—and when he looked at her, he couldn’t help but imagine how perfectly she’d settle against him.

His thoughts flicked back to three months ago when they’d trained together outside under the sun. She’d worn those leggings—the ones that clung just right, hugging the shape of her legs, her thighs, her hips. He remembered watching her move, muscles working under soft curves, grace and power woven together. He hadn’t meant to stare. But he did.

And the worst part?

He still remembered how she’d smiled at him afterward. She didn’t even realize the way she knocked the air out of his lungs.

Y/n didn’t even blink when she turned to face him. “Flirting won’t save you from the foam rollers.”

“Damn.” He gave her a mock-wounded look. “You are immune.”

Truthfully, she wasn’t. Not even close. But she had a job to do.

Y/N crouched beside him, guiding his leg into position. “How’s the left quad feeling?”

He shifted slightly. “Tight. Not awful, though.”

“Alright. Let me know if anything feels off.”

Her hands moved to his thigh, fingers firm but practiced as she applied pressure, feeling for tension. He stilled a little under her touch, his gaze flickering down to her.

“Are you always this focused?” he asked quietly.

Her brows lifted. “Are you always this chatty during treatment?”

“Only when I’m trying not to think about your hands being on my leg.”

That earned him a warning look, though the corner of her mouth twitched. “Behave.”

He smiled—but it was softer this time. Not smug. Not cocky. Just…warm.

For a moment, silence settled between them, the only sound the quiet hum of the AC and the shuffle of movement. She moved around him to adjust his arm, her fingers brushing his skin.

He looked up at her. “You’re good at this.”

She paused. “Thanks. It means a lot. Especially from someone who can’t sit still for longer than a minute.”

He chuckled. “I sit still for you.”

That stopped her. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and something in his expression made her chest tighten. It wasn’t teasing. It was sincere.

Dangerous, that kind of sincerity.

Y/N cleared her throat and stepped back slightly. “Alright. Upon the table. Let’s check that shoulder mobility.”

Lando obeyed with a faint smirk. “Yes, boss.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks felt warm.

And he noticed. Of course, he noticed. He’d always noticed.

Truth is, Lando loved the way her face flushed, and then she bit her bottom lip trying not to give him the satisfaction that he made her feel this way, she was never successful.

And he found it adorable.

Y/N stepped around the table to check the alignment of Lando’s shoulders, her fingertips pressing lightly along his upper back. “Drop your right shoulder just a bit,” she murmured.

He obeyed, head tilted slightly toward her. “You know, you’re very serious when you’re in work mode.”

“That’s because I am working,” she replied, eyes flicking up toward him.

“Yeah, but like—intensely serious. Like mission control, seriously. I bet you’d threaten to take someone’s kneecaps if they did a stretch wrong.”

She snorted. “I’ve never threatened kneecaps. Hamstrings, though? Fair game.”

Lando grinned at that, leaning back slightly on his elbows, watching her as she made a few notes on her tablet. “You must be fun at parties.”

“I’m a riot,” she said dryly, glancing up. “But only if someone needs help foam rolling their Iliotibial band.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It was.”

He laughed, and for a moment it felt easy—normal. The line between physio and friend blurred slightly in the warmth of their shared amusement.

Y/N set the tablet down and nodded toward the floor again. “Back to the mat. Let’s work on hip mobility.”

He groaned but complied, flopping onto his back dramatically. “You just like bossing me around.”

“It’s not that I like it,” she said, kneeling beside him, “It’s that you’d be hopeless without me.”

He blinked up at her with mock offense. “Hopeless? Excuse me—I am an elite athlete.”

“Who forgot how to do a proper glute bridge three weeks ago?”

“That was one time.”

“Twice.”

Lando gave her an exaggerated glare, then pointed at her. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Oh?” she teased, adjusting his knee with a light touch. “Is that why you’re being so dramatic this morning?”

“No, that’s just who I am.” He gave her a soft grin. “But seriously—I do like working with you. You’re not like the others.”

Y/N paused, hands still on his leg. “Is that a compliment or a red flag?”

“A compliment,” he said, softer this time. “Most people treat me like a brand. You treat me like… I don’t know. A human.”

For a beat, their eyes met again. It wasn’t flirtatious-not-not-not-not-not-not—not really. Just honest.

“I guess I figure you already have enough people telling you what you want to hear,” she said quietly.

His smile widened a little, less cocky now. “You’d tell me if I sucked at something, huh?”

“Absolutely. No hesitation.”

“See?” He gestured vaguely. “Hopeless without you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips. She pressed gently on his hip, making him flinch.

“Hey! Abuse!”

“Mobility,” she corrected.

“You enjoy this way too much.”

“Only when you whine.”

He grinned up at her again, and for a second, something warm settled between them. It was subtle. Easy. The beginning of something unspoken.

Once the session was over, Lando dropped onto the bench near the corner of Y/N’s office, sweat dampening the edges of his curls as he reached for his water bottle. Y/N tossed him a clean towel from a nearby shelf.

“Here,” she said, settling onto the floor across from him with her bottle. “Try not to collapse dramatically on my floor next time. I might not be so kind.”

He caught the towel with a grin. “You love it. Gives you an excuse to roll your eyes at me.”

She took a long sip of her water. “You give me plenty of those without nearly fainting mid-stretch.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Okay, that was one time.”

“Twice, actually, and you faked it. Both times,” she replied with a smirk.

“I did not.”

“Yes, you did.”

He pointed at her, mock offended. “You and Oscar are going to start a club at this rate.”

“‘The Times Lando Was Wrong’ club? I think there’s already a group chat.”

Lando laughed, head tipping back slightly. “God, you do fit in here.”

She blinked at him, surprised by the softness in his voice.

“I mean it,” he added, more quietly now. “The team likes you. It’s been…lighter since you showed up.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed slightly. “Lighter?”

“Yeah. You bring this kind of energy—like, calm but still sharp, you know? It’s a good balance.”

She wasn’t used to compliments like that, especially not ones that sounded so genuine.

“Well,” she said after a beat, “someone’s got to balance your chaos.”

He smiled at that. “You calling me chaotic?”

“I’m calling you exhausting.”

He laughed again, eyes crinkling. “You’re mean.”

“Only to the ones I like.”

He looked at her for a moment—looked. And for once, he didn’t shoot back a flirty line or a joke. Just smiled.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said simply.

Her breath caught. But then she smiled too, soft and a little surprised.

“Me too.”

They sat in the quiet for a few seconds longer, sipping water, the faint hum of the building in the background. Outside the window, the sun was high, casting soft shadows on the floor.

“I’ll probably regret saying this,” Lando said after a moment, “but you can drag me through those stretches again next time if you want.”

“Oh, I will,” she promised.

“God help me,” he muttered, shaking his head—but he was still smiling.

A few days later, Y/N and Sarah sat at an outdoor café nestled on a quiet street in Woking, the warm spring air wrapping around them like a soft sweater. The table was cluttered with two half-drunk iced coffees, a slice of cake they were sharing, and the occasional gust of wind that kept threatening to blow Sarah’s napkin off the table.

“I swear,” Sarah said between bites, “if we keep meeting here, the barista is going to start calling us regulars.”

Y/N grinned, pulling her cardigan tighter around her. “We already are. The barista knows our order.I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“God, you’re right. That’s dangerous.” Sarah paused to sip her coffee, then gave Y/N a look over the rim of her cup. “Speaking of danger…”

Y/N raised a brow. “What is it?”

“Look who’s here.”

Y/N turned her head—and sure enough, Lando was walking across the street, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, curls a little messy, sunglasses perched on his head. He hadn’t spotted them yet, distracted by something on his phone.

Sarah leaned closer, conspiratorial. “He looks relaxed. Like really relaxed. Must be your influence.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed. “Stop.”

“I’m serious! I’ve worked with him for years, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this chill during a season. You’re good for him. He listens to you.”

Y/N snorted. “That’s because I threaten him with foam rollers and ice baths.”

Sarah laughed. “Maybe, but it works. You’re a good team, you know?”

Before Y/N could respond, Lando looked up and spotted them.

A wide grin immediately spread across his face, and he jogged the last few steps over to their table.

“Well, well, well,” he greeted, dropping into the empty chair beside Y/N without asking. “Didn’t expect to see you two here. Or should I say, the office dream team?”

Sarah raised her brows. “Crashing girl time? Bold move.”

He shot her a cheeky grin. “What can I say? I live on the edge.”

Y/N nudged his leg with her foot under the table. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Canceling all plans immediately,” he said, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand. “Unless you’re kicking me out.”

Y/N bit back a smile, and Sarah just gave her a look—the kind that said this is exactly what I meant.

They chatted for a while, laughter threading easily through the conversation. Lando didn’t even seem to notice how comfortable he looked, slouched in his chair, legs stretched out, occasionally stealing bites of their cake. It felt natural. Uncomplicated.

And when Y/N caught Sarah looking at her with a knowing smirk, she just shook her head with a laugh and looked away.

Late nights had become something of a routine for them now. It started with playful iMessage games—8 Ball, Cup Pong, Darts. A way to unwind after long days. Eventually, the games were followed by texts, then voice notes, then full-blown calls that stretched into the early hours of the morning.

Y/N had learned a lot about Lando during those calls. How he hated olives but loved olive oil. He always watched one episode too many when he promised he’d go to bed early. How silence didn’t scare him, and how his laughter sometimes sounded like relief.

They’d grown close.

So close when the new season began, and she started to notice him pulling away—she noticed.

He was Lando, still cheeky and warm and kind. But now there was a weight behind his smile. A slump in his shoulders when he thought no one was looking. Most of all, there was tension in how quiet he got when scrolling through his phone, the way his jaw would tighten, thumb hovering over a screen that never seemed to offer good news.

The race hadn’t gone as well as they’d hoped. The car was temperamental, the strategy of. The media had been brutal. And Lando… Lando was taking it personally.

It was past midnight when Y/N’s phone buzzed.

Lando: You up?

Y/N: Always. Need to talk or need to be distracted?

It took a minute before the typing bubbles appeared.

Lando: a bit of both. I'm just… tired. Of people. Of messing up. Of feeling like I’m not enough.

Y/N’s heart sank. Without thinking, she called him.

He picked up after the first ring.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Talk to me.”

There was a pause on the other end, then a shaky breath. “I know I shouldn’t let it get to me. The comments. The press. The expectations. But it’s like… I can’t shut it out this time. Everyone’s already written me off.”

“Lando…” she murmured, shifting on her bed. “You are not what those people say you are. You’ve done more in the past few years than most people ever get close to. You work your ass off. You care. You’re allowed to be disappointed—but not to forget who you are.”

He didn’t speak for a second.

“I just don’t want to let anyone down,” he said finally, voice quiet. “Especially not you.”

She blinked at the ceiling, her heart squeezing. “Hey. You couldn’t let me down even if you tried. I’m here. Always. Whether you’re on pole or P18. That doesn’t change.”

He let out a breath—this time, steadier. “I hate how you always know what to say.”

“That’s because you’re not very mysterious,” she teased gently. “Plus, I’m a genius.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Debatable.”

“Shut up. Let me hype you up.”

Lando grew quiet again, but this time it felt like peace instead of pressure.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he said after a beat. “For always answering. For always being… you.”

“Always,” she whispered. “Now get some sleep. I’ll beat your ass at 8 Ball tomorrow.”

He chuckled. “Dream on.”

But she heard the smile in his voice, and that was enough.

The paddock buzzed with media, team personnel, and the hum of anticipation. Cameras flashed, journalists circled like hawks, and mechanics moved with quiet urgency. But Y/N had learned to find her pockets of calm. She had her coffee, her notes, and her well-practiced ability to look like she was busier than she was.

She spotted Lando from across the garage.

Cap low, hoodie pulled over his race suit, jaw set.

But when his eyes found hers, something shifted. His shoulders relaxed just slightly, and his mouth twitched up at one corner.

He made his way over, slipping through the chaos like it didn’t faze him, though she knew better.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice only for her.

“Hey,” she replied, equally quiet.

“You beat me at 8 Ball,” he muttered.

She grinned. “Told you I would. Should’ve let me hype you up before the game, too.”

He laughed under his breath. It wasn’t loud, but it was real. And that felt like a win.

“You sleep okay?” she asked, watching his face.

He nodded, nudging her lightly with his elbow. “I did. You helped.”

“Good,” she said. “Now don’t let any of those trolls live rent-free in your head today. You’re here for you. For the team. And maybe a little bit for the drama.”

That pulled a wider smile from him. “You’re better at pep talks than my old sports psych.”

“Probably better looking too,” she teased, sipping her coffee.

He didn’t deny it.

They stood there a beat longer, just existing in each other’s calm before the noise swallowed them whole again.

Will called him over, and Lando straightened up.

“Time to go to work.” He said, turning away.

But before he went, Y/N called for him to come back.

He glanced back at her. “What is it?” He asked.

Y/n bit her bottom lip in the nervous way Lando loved, but he would never admit that, and walked up to him. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a light peck on the cheek.

“For good luck,” she said, flushed.

Lando smiled, and he smiled hard. So hard that it hurt, and he carried that smile out onto the grid.

The roar of the crowd was still echoing in the paddock. Orange flags waved from the grandstands, mechanics were cheering, champagne sprayed somewhere nearby—and Lando stood on top of the world.

He’d done it.

His first win of the season.

It didn’t hit him all at once. It came in waves—the checkered flag, his race engineer yelling in his ears, the blur of the final lap flashing back in his mind. But now, standing next to his car with confetti still drifting down like slow-motion snow, it hit.

And he smiled.

No, he beamed.

Because the first thing he saw when he turned around was her.

Y/N had pushed through the crowd just enough to stand on the edge of the garage, a breathless grin on her face and pride in her eyes.

He didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate.

He jogged straight to her, still in his suit and helmet, sitting on the first-place table stand, and before she could even say a word, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground like she was weightless.

She let out a startled laugh, clinging to his shoulders. “Lando!”

“I did it!” he yelled, spinning her once before setting her back down, still holding her like he wasn’t ready to let go.

“I know! I watched it happen!” she said through a laugh, breath catching at how happy he looked.

He leaned his forehead against hers for a second, grinning like an idiot. “It was a kiss. I’m telling you. You kissed me and boom—podium. Easy math.”

She flushed. “I didn’t say it was that kind of good luck.”

“Too late,” he whispered. “I’m never racing without one again.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too widely to deny how much she cared. “You were brilliant out there.”

He pulled back enough to look at her properly. “You believed in me when I didn’t. I’ll never forget that.”

Her heart stuttered at the sincerity. But before she could answer, cameras started clicking furiously again, someone called his name, and he gave her one last squeeze.

“I gotta go do media stuff—but don’t leave, alright?”

“I won’t.”

He took a step back, still smiling like he’d just been handed the world—and honestly, he kind of had.

And Y/N? She just watched him walk off, her heart full and racing, a little dazed by how much that boy meant to her now.

The party had faded hours ago. The team had cheered, the champagne had flowed, and Lando had done more interviews than he could count. His face hurt from smiling, his voice was half gone, and his suit still smelled faintly of victory and engine oil.

But now… now it was quiet.

Lando stepped out on the rooftop lounge of the hotel wearing a t-shirt and some joggers. The night air was cool against his skin, the concrete still warm from the day’s sun. He wasn’t even sure why he came out here—just needed space, maybe. Air that wasn’t full of flashing lights and praise.

And there she was.

Sitting on one of the lounges, looking up at the stars, sipping from a bottle of water, like she’d been waiting. Or maybe just knew he’d show up eventually.

Y/N looked up and smiled, soft and familiar. “Hey, champ.”

He walked over and dropped down beside her, shoulder brushing hers. “You’re still awake?”

“Could ask you the same thing.” She handed him her spare bottle.

He took it, twisted the cap, and drank without question. “Can’t sleep. Still buzzing.”

“Kind of hard to crash after your first win of the season.”

He chuckled. “You make it sound cooler than I do.”

“It is cool. You were incredible, Lando. No one could’ve taken that win from you today.”

He leaned back on his palms, glancing up at the stars above. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

They sat in silence for a moment, their legs stretched out in front of them, ankles nearly touching. Somewhere down the road, a car whooshed by. People were humming in the streets down below.

“You ever wonder,” he said quietly, “if it’s ever going to be enough? Like… you do everything right, you win, you prove people wrong—but then there’s always more. More noise. More pressure.”

She looked over at him, eyes steady. “Yeah. I wonder about that a lot. Especially when I see you carry the weight of it like it’s your job, too.”

Lando didn’t respond right away. He just stared ahead, letting her words settle.

“But you don’t have to carry it alone, you know,” she added gently. “Not when I’m around.”

His gaze shifted to her, something raw and open in his eyes. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do.”

Another quiet stretch passed, filled with everything they weren’t saying out loud. And then—

“You’re kind of my favorite person right now,” he said, barely more than a whisper.

Y/N’s breath caught.

“Just right now?” she teased.

Lando smiled slowly, turning to face her fully. “Alright—maybe longer.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him, heart thudding a little too loudly in her chest. “Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”

And they sat there, side by side, under the stars—two friends teetering on the edge of something more. Not ready to fall just yet, but both were wondering what would happen if they did.

They weren’t together. But they weren’t just friends anymore, either.

Sometimes Y/N would catch herself mid-laugh, watching the way his eyes crinkled when he was genuinely happy, and her stomach would twist. Not in a bad way—just that damn it kind of way. The kind that made her fingers itch to reach for him. To hold his face. To kiss him like she’d imagined one too many times in the dark.

And Lando? He was no better.

There were nights he’d finish a race and instinctively check his phone—not for the media, not even for his team—but for her. Just a little “Proud of you” text with the star emoji she always used. That’s all it took. That one sentence could undo him. He kept screenshots. He reread old messages when he couldn’t sleep. And there were moments, more than he could admit, where he caught himself imagining what it would be like to wake up to her in his bed. Not even for anything explicit—just her, warm and sleepy, stealing the covers and smiling at him through the sunrise.

They hadn’t crossed that line. Not yet.

But the tension simmered beneath the surface, unspoken but always there. It was in the way her hand lingered on his back just a second too long. The way his gaze dropped to her lips when she was mid-sentence. The way they always seemed to lean just a little too close when they laughed, like gravity was slowly pulling them together.

And when they hugged now—because they did, often—it wasn’t the quick, polite kind anymore.

It was slow. Intentional. Bodies pressed close. Hands-on waists, fingers at the nape of a neck. Heads tucked into shoulders. His heart was thundering.

Y/N wasn’t sure who would break first.

But sometimes, when he looked at her like she was the only thing tethering him to earth, she thought maybe it would be both of them.

But where it truly got complicated… was in the physio room.

There was only so much distance you could keep when your job involved touch.

Y/N was a professional. She’d worked with dozens of athletes. But none of them made her heartbeat do stupid things when she slid her hands down a tight quad or helped them through a stretch. None of them made her pause before every session and breathe, just to stay grounded.

Lando was different.

At first, it was subtle—his breath hitching when her fingers pressed into the muscle at the back of his shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed for a second longer than necessary. The way he’d hum quietly, almost to himself, whenever her hands found the spots that needed working out.

But lately, the air between them had changed.

His eyes lingered when she bent down to adjust his posture. Her fingers hesitated, not out of uncertainty, but want. His body relaxed under her touch in a way that felt like trust. Like surrender.

And sometimes… their touches lingered.

Like that morning when he came in early, hoodie tugged over his curls, voice still raspy with sleep.

She had him lying flat on the padded table, one leg bent, her hand gliding over his thigh to feel the tension. Her other hand braced his knee, her eyes locked on his body as she worked through the tightness.

“You okay?” she asked softly, fingers pausing at the sensitive spot.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Feels good.”

Too good. Too intimate.

She glanced up, and he was already looking at her—eyes soft, lips parted, breath shallow.

It would’ve been so easy. Just a little lean forward. Just one second of bravery.

But then he blinked, and the moment passed. Barely.

Another time, he sat shirtless on the edge of the table, and she stood behind him, helping him stretch out his shoulders. Her hands slid up his back, over the planes of muscle and the little freckles she was trying not to memorize. He leaned back slightly into her touch, head tilting until it nearly rested against her shoulder.

He didn’t move. Neither did she.

The air was thick with something unspoken. His hand dropped, fingers brushing against her leg.

It should’ve meant nothing. But it did.

Their sessions grew longer. Not because he needed more treatment, but because neither of them wanted to leave.

Because physio had become the one place where they could be close without questions. Without pressure. Just them. Quiet. Tense. Comfortable. Dangerous.

They weren’t together. But they weren’t just friends either.

And more and more, when Y/N found herself thinking about him—about his laugh, about his hands, about the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention—it wasn’t professional.

Not even close.

And Lando? He couldn’t even pretend anymore.

He thought about her when he fell asleep. Dreamed about her touch. Missed her even when they’d just seen each other. He lived for her voice. Her calm. Her presence. Her hands.

He was falling.

They both were.

And one day soon, one of them would break.

Lando had finished P2. A hard-fought, tooth-and-nail race that left his adrenaline spiking and his heart pounding. The kind of race where the sweat felt earned and every muscle in his body ached in the best way.

And when he climbed out of the car and saw Y/N waiting just outside the garage with that quiet smile—smile-the one she saved just for him, it was better than any champagne on the podium.

“You were unreal,” she beamed, reaching for his water bottle, like always.

He leaned in without thinking, resting his forehead against hers for a beat. He was still in his helmet, visor up, and he could feel her breath against his chin.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he murmured.

She flushed. He loved it when she flushed.

But before they could say anything else, someone behind them cracked a joke—too loud, too thoughtless.

“…Guess Lando needs extra weight in the garage to balance the car out, huh?”

A pause.

Someone snorted. A second of awkward laughter from a couple of junior engineers nearby. They didn’t mean it maliciously. Just idiots being idiots. The kind who thought fat jokes were still funny.

Y/N didn’t even flinch. She’d learned not to. Instead, she looked away, jaw tight, the smile slipping off her face.

But Lando?

Lando snapped.

He turned so fast that his helmet nearly swung into someone.

“What the hell did you just say?” he barked.

The laughter died instantly.

The guy, the one who’d said it, froze. “I was just—just joking—”

“No. You weren’t. You were being a disrespectful prick,” Lando said, voice sharp, unwavering. “She does more for this team than you ever will. She’s the reason I’m standing here right now with a trophy in reach, and if I ever hear you talk about her like that again, I swear to God—”

“Lando,” Y/N said quietly, her hand brushing his arm. But he wasn’t done.

“I don’t care who you think you are. You want to stay on this team, you treat her with respect. She’s family.”

The word family landed heavily.

Everyone was silent.

The guy mumbled something that might’ve been an apology and disappeared fast. The others avoided eye contact, scattering like roaches.

Lando turned back to her, face still flushed with anger, chest heaving.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

His eyes softened immediately. “Don’t. Don’t you ever apologize for other people being assholes.”

She looked at him, her throat tight. “I’m used to it.”

“Well, I’m not. And I won’t be.” He reached out and took her hand, just for a second. But it felt like a lifetime. “You mean too much to me.”

That part slipped out.

Neither of them moved. Not even when Will called for Lando to get to the media.

“I’ll find you after,” he said, voice quiet again. “Don’t disappear, yeah?”

She nodded, heart thudding.

And when he finally walked off, she stood there for a moment longer, hand still tingling from his touch, replaying his words.

You mean too much to me.

Maybe this wasn’t just friendship anymore.

Maybe it never had been.

The gym was quiet—unusually so. Just the soft hum of machines, the occasional thud of a dropped weight, and the low murmur of a playlist that neither of them was paying attention to.

Y/N sat on the mat, stretching out Lando’s leg, focused on his hamstring. Or at least pretending to be.

Lando was lying on his back, shirt clinging to him with sweat, one arm slung lazily over his eyes. But she could feel the way his body had gone still under her hands. Not relaxed. Not tense. Just waiting.

Waiting for something to break.

Her fingers moved gently, working the muscle. Slow, practiced, familiar. And yet it felt anything but.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said finally, voice soft and scratchy from the heat.

Y/N glanced up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just focusing.”

“Right,” he muttered. “Because stretching me out is so mentally taxing.”

She gave his leg a push, just enough to make him grunt. “Don’t tempt me to bend it the wrong way.”

That pulled a laugh from him, but even that sounded off.

A beat passed. Another. The air buzzed with something unsaid.

“I meant it, you know,” Lando said suddenly, lowering his arm so he could look at her. “What I said last week. About you.”

She froze, fingers stilling just above his knee.

“Lando…”

“No one’s ever stood up for you like that?” he asked, sitting up slowly. “That’s what you told me.”

She didn’t look at him, but she didn’t move away either. “People don’t usually think I need it.”

“Well, I do,” he said. “I see how you carry it all. The weight. The pressure. The way you make space for everyone else. I just—I wanted you to know someone’s got your back too.”

Their eyes locked, and everything in the room went still.

Her heart pounded in her ears. “You didn’t have to. But you did.”

“I’ll always choose to.”

That hung in the air.

And then she was moving, standing, grabbing a towel, pretending to need a break—but Lando followed and stopped her just short of the water cooler.

He stepped into her space, one hand coming up to brush a loose curl behind her ear. His fingers lingered, soft and warm against her skin.

Her breath hitched.

His eyes dropped to her lips.

“Y/N…” he said, almost like a warning. Almost like a prayer.

She leaned in just slightly, barely a fraction.

But a door slammed in the hallway, laughter echoing down from a nearby group, and they both stepped back at the same time, like the spell had been broken.

She swallowed. “We should… finish the cooldown.”

He nodded, jaw tight, eyes still locked on hers. “Yeah. Okay.”

But as they returned to the mats, neither of them could focus. Her hands still trembled faintly every time they brushed his skin, and he didn’t stop watching her like he’d never seen her before.

And maybe… just maybe… that was the beginning of the end of pretending.

Race weekends didn’t leave much room for downtime, but somehow, Lando always found time to text her.

Lando: u up?

Y/N: classic

Lando: It’s not what it looks like

Y/N: uh huh

Lando: Okay, it’s a little what it looks like

Y/N: insomnia or overthinking?

Lando: both. You?

Y/N: same. Plus hotel pillows suck and Sarah snores.

Lando: Want to come upstairs?

She stared at the message for longer than she’d admit.

Then:

Y/N: I’ll bring the gummy worms.

Y/N smiled to herself as she climbed out of bed, scribbling a quick note for Sarah to let her know where she was going.

Ten minutes later, she was standing outside Lando’s hotel room, knocking gently. The door opened almost instantly.

Lando stood there in sweats and a hoodie, his curls a tousled mess, eyes soft in that way they only ever got when he was tired—or when she was near.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said, eyeing the bag in her hand.

“I never joke about sugar,” she replied, stepping in.

“Just don’t tell Jon, he’ll flip if he finds out.”

“Don’t worry, your secret's safe with me.” Y/n joked poking Lando lightly on his chest.

He closed the door behind her, the air between them thick with the things they weren’t saying. The things they almost said yesterday.

They sat side by side on the edge of the bed, legs brushing, the bag of gummy worms between them.

For a while, it was easy. Familiar. Joking about the media circus, roasting each other over their old Spotify-wrapped playlists, comparing race notes with mock-serious expressions. The kind of rhythm that came with trust.

But somewhere between her laughing too hard at one of his impressions and him watching her like she hung the damn moon, the silence started to hum again.

“About yesterday,” Lando said softly.

Y/N looked over at him. He wasn’t smiling now. Just studying her like she was something he wanted to memorize.

“You don’t have to explain,” she said, voice quiet.

“I want to,” he replied. “It’s not just what they said. It’s that they thought they could say it. That they thought no one would care.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat suddenly tight.

Lando shifted closer. Not enough to touch, but enough that she felt the heat of him. “I care.”

She met his eyes, searching. “I know. I just… I didn’t expect it. You’re kind to me, Lando. And I don’t know what to do with that sometimes.”

He reached out, hesitating only a second before taking her hand in his. His thumb brushed gently over her knuckles.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said. “I just want you to feel safe with me.”

Their hands lingered like that—twined and quiet and warm.

Then she laughed under her breath, the sound a little breathless. “You know this is dangerously close to being a rom-com moment.”

“Is it?” he asked, smirking. “We already share gummy worms and trauma. What’s next, joint taxes?”

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t let go of his hand.

And neither of them kissed the other.

But God, it was close.

Closer than it had ever been.

And it was getting harder to pretend they didn’t want more.

The dining area was quiet, tucked into that early hour when most of the paddock was still asleep or off on their morning routines. Y/N sat at a corner table with her usual coffee, toast, and a notebook open beside her.

Lando showed up like he always did lately. No grand entrance, just that familiar presence sliding into the seat across from her, hoodie up, sleepy eyes.

“Did you even sleep?” she asked, glancing at the mess of his curls.

“Some,” he said, voice rough with morning. “You?”

“Eventually.” Her mouth quirked. “The sugar crash helped.”

His eyes softened at the memory of gummy worms and everything that nearly happened after. But he didn’t say anything about it—not directly.

Instead, he reached for a slice of toast from her plate, and she didn’t stop him. Their legs brushed under the table. Neither moved.

They talked about the day ahead, strategy notes, and the weather. All the surface-level things that kept them steady. But the air between them was still humming, still warm with the weight of almost.

She caught him watching her once, thumb brushing absently over the edge of his coffee cup. When she looked up, he didn’t look away.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just… glad you’re here.”

Before she could respond, someone slid into the booth beside her.

Sarah.

Y/N blinked. “You’re up early.”

Sarah grinned, setting down her plate. “Early bird gets the paddock pass upgrade.”

She looked between the two of them, and her brows lifted just slightly.

“What?” Y/N asked, trying to sound casual.

“Nothing,” Sarah said innocently. “Just… the tension in this booth could cook my eggs for me.”

Lando choked on his coffee. Y/N elbowed her.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” Sarah continued, eyes dancing. “You two are acting like you didn’t almost kiss last night.”

“Sarah!”

“I knew it,” she crowed, pointing her fork at Y/N. “The way you were texting him before bed? Girl. Come on.”

Lando’s ears had gone pink. Y/N looked like she wanted to melt into the booth.

But still, neither of them denied it.

Sarah grinned, looking way too smug for someone holding a half-eaten croissant. “Well, let me know when you two do something about it. I want front-row seats. Or at least to plan the wedding playlist.”

Lando finally laughed, rubbing a hand over his face. “She’s relentless.”

Y/N gave him a sidelong glance, fighting her smile. “She’s not wrong, though.”

His eyes met hers, something quiet and serious beneath the teasing.

“No,” he said softly. “She’s not.”

The room was quiet, tucked away from the buzz of the paddock. Just padded floors, low lights, and the occasional thrum of the bass from the nearby garage.

Lando lay on the mat, one arm slung over his eyes, his race suit pulled halfway down to his waist. Y/N knelt beside him, helping him stretch through his usual pre-qualifying routine.

It should’ve been routine by now—she knew the shape of his body like muscle memory. But something about today felt different. Like they’d both woken up with the echo of what could’ve happened the night before still lingering in their skin.

“Tell me when it’s too much,” she murmured, guiding his leg into a deep hamstring stretch.

He let out a breath through his nose, shifting slightly under her touch. “You’re good.”

But his voice was rough, and she could feel the tension—not just in his body, but in the way his fingers flexed slightly every time her hands brushed his thighs, her forearm skimmed his ribs.

He didn’t pull away.

And neither did she.

When she leaned in to adjust his shoulder, her breath hit the side of his neck. He shivered.

“Cold?” she asked, low and teasing.

“No,” he said, and when he looked up at her, his eyes didn’t blink. “Not even a little.”

Y/N’s breath caught. She was straddling one leg, hovering over him, face barely inches away.

It would be so easy.

His hand came up like he might tuck her hair behind her ear or maybe just touch her cheek—he stopped himself.

Barely.

A beat passed. And another.

Then the door creaked open.

“Lando?” Will’s voice broke the spell. “Time to suit up.”

Lando blinked first. Cleared his throat. “Yeah. Be right there.”

Y/N rolled off him, trying not to look rattled. Lando stood, tugging his suit back on, eyes flicking to her once more as he paused by the door.

“You coming?” he asked softly.

She nodded, grabbing her clipboard, trying to calm the heat in her chest. “Always.”

He smiled—small, knowing, charged—and disappeared down the hall.

She exhaled hard, gripping the edge of the table.

They were right on the edge of something dangerous and wonderful.

And neither of them had quite decided if they were brave enough to fall.

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shshshshshowrunner · 2 years ago

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... so this is what it takes, huh?

#i'm. actually attracted to castiel now. previously i just thought he was pretty but yesterdays conversation must have forged a #neural pathway in my brain that laid the necessary groundwork for my demisexuality to crawl over.#i think it was the mental image that did it.#that and the other. the other mental image.

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theambitiouswoman · 5 months ago

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While I’m on the subject, I want you guys to learn this…

Did you know that how you talk to yourself alters your DNA?

The way you speak to yourself, your thoughts, emotions and inner dialogue—impacts your DNA through epigenetics. Negative self talk raises cortisol, triggering genes linked to inflammation, aging and diseases. Conversely, positive self talk activates genes for healing, resilience and longevity. Chronic stress and emotional trauma can alter DNA expression and even be passed down to future generations.

This also applies to what you hear. Negative words, insults and toxic conversations increase cortisol, rewiring neural pathways to make stress a default state. Constant exposure to negativity, whether through people or media, can impact gene expression.

Just how stress harms DNA, gratitude, affirmations and meditation can rewire it positively. These practices lower stress, trigger DNA repair, and activate genes for immunity and anti aging. Consciously shifting self talk can change your biology. "It is not that easy!" Yes, it is.

Research suggests binaural beats and solfeggio frequencies influence brainwaves, promoting focus and emotional balance. Mantras, prayers, affirmations can impact cellular structures, proving sound vibrations affect genes.

How long does this take, you ask?

Immediate (Minutes to Days): A single thought can raise or lower cortisol almost instantly.

Short Term (Weeks to Months): 6–8 weeks of daily gratitude, mindfulness, or affirmations can shift gene expression.

Long Term (Months to Years): Consistent mental reprogramming strengthens immunity, reduces disease risk, and slows aging.

Your thoughts shape your body at a genetic level so choose them wisely.

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yelenaslyubov · 2 months ago

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Something In The Air

main masterlist || yelena belova || requests

requested by yelenabelovasbxtch

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ pairing: yelena belova x female reader

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ warnings: MINORS DNI (18+) smut- reader receiving, strap on, praise kink, slight degradation, begging, choking, language, smoking

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ description: you spend your morning enjoying the first spring day in NYC when the woman you have had your eye on from across the street joins you for the day.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ word count: 3k

The rhythmic sound of your boots against the concrete pathway filled your ears, along with the joyful screams of children. It was the first sunny day of springtime in New York City and there were hundreds of people crowding Central Park with their picnic blankets, kites, and friends. There was something magical about the sun and how everyone reacted when it awoke from its slumber.

You breathed deeply and exhaled as the sun hit your skin. The rays began to warm your skin, realizing that you wouldn’t need your wool coat much longer. You were close to your destination where you planned on enjoying the first nice day by having a cup of coffee and reading a book.

The corner cafe was painted a beautiful green that matched the florals growing from above. You requested your usual order this time of year, along with a lemon loaf as an added treat. You brought your loaf and lavender latte outside to a small table on the street. You made yourself comfortable and sat down for a morning of relaxation.

Between the distractions of dogs passing by that you couldn’t pass up petting and the excitement in the air, you were able to finish half of your loaf and your coffee. You were around fifty pages into your book before a strange energy commanded you to pause. It felt as if someone was watching and observing your every move.

Though it was New York City and there were hundreds of people surrounding you at all times, it felt different. You looked around the cafe first, trying to pick up on any odd behavior. You looked across the other street corner where a different restaurant resided and saw a woman outside.

She was dressed in all black and wore sunglasses to shade her eyes from the heat. Even with her glasses, she was unmistakably staring straight at you. She locked eyes in your direction as she blew out a puff of smoke.

This wasn’t the first time you had seen the woman, but it was the first time she had been so forward. Maybe it was the sun making everyone act up, but you could feel her connection from across the street.

You tried to refocus yourself from the distraction, opening your book back up and reading where you left off. It was easy to get back in the swing for a few moments, but that was until a voice made you sit up.

“Good book?”

You looked up to see the woman in black standing in front of you. Not only was she much more attractive up close, but she had a strong accent that made your heart beat a little faster.

“Uhm, yeah, so far. I just started it.”

She nodded smugly. “Good because the second is even better.” You couldn’t help but let a small laugh escape from your mouth. “Mind if I sit?”

The right words couldn’t find you, so you gestured to the seat across from you, instructing her to sit down. She did so quickly, sitting and crossing her legs before pulling her sunglasses up on top of her head.

“I’m Yelena, and you are?”

Her confidence unsteadied you. It was not so often that you felt so strongly towards someone so quickly, which made your impending conversation more nerve wracking.

“I’m y/n.”

Yelena nodded while studying you. It was as if she was taking note of every small feature that you showcased. She was mentally writing everything down so she didn’t forget.

“Do you live around here?” she asked.

“Yeah, I live in the area. What about you?”

“Sometimes,” she smirked. You weren’t exactly sure how to interpret her response since she wasn’t giving you much to go off of. “What are you doing here all by yourself on a day like today?”

“A day like today?”

“The sun is out and everyone is with someone.”

“Must be something in the air, but I could say the same about you,” you smirked.

Yelena crossed her arms and smiled. “Fair enough. I guess that means I get to be your somebody today.”

Luckily, the heat warmed your cheeks enough to where Yelena couldn’t tell what was heat or embarrassment. “Seems like it.”

You were fully convinced that the weather had completely messed with your sense of reason as you began to have filthy thoughts over a woman you had just met. Though that wasn’t fully true. You had seen the woman before— several times actually. This was only the first time you had seen her up close and personal.

The idea that Yelena had also seen you from afar multiple times was thrilling. There was a familiarity to Yelena that made you just comfortable enough to ask her a very forward question.

“If you’re not doing anything, care for a drink? My place is a few blocks away.”

Yelena smirked as if she had been waiting for you to pop the question. “Sounds perfect.”

The walk went quickly with someone else by your side, especially when it was Yelena’s banter that kept you preoccupied. The sound of her voice was drowned out occasionally by your own thoughts, flashing in your mind like manifestations for the future.

You both made it to your apartment building in no time, climbing up the stairs before reaching your door. You fumbled awkwardly with your keys while Yelena stood behind you, looking back and forth down the hallway. The door opened with a squeak as you held it open for Yelena. She walked through before you shut the door behind you and locked it.

“You can put your things down here if you would-”

Before you could fully close the door, Yelena did the honors by slamming your back against it. Yelena dropped her things to the floor before grabbing your face and recklessly kissing you.

You couldn’t say you were completely surprised. Yelena had been making eyes at you from across the table, but you didn’t expect things to escalate this quickly.

Your body shivered from the feeling of her cold rings gliding across your skin. There wasn’t a place that was untouched by her hands.

In this short time you quickly understood Yelena’s force. She led with passion and power, which seemed to translate into every part of her life. Her grip on your hips could have made you wince in pain if it wasn’t for how aroused you were.

You almost lost your breath when Yelena kicked your foot off to the side to gain more access between your legs. Without missing a beat, her toned thigh shoved its way between your legs and upwards, pressing against your center.

You were having a hard time keeping your composure and Yelena could see that. “Come on, I know you want to,” she whispered.

Her words were dripping with dominance. You knew she wanted to see you whining and begging for it.

You did exactly as she wanted. You let yourself go, grinding your hips against her leg and silently begging for more friction. One of her hands situated itself on the curve of your lower back, guiding your movements.

“That’s it, just like that,” she spoke.

Your head hit the door with a thud from the force of it being sent back. Your chest was rising and falling at an increasing rate, and even more so as Yelena began unbuttoning your blouse one by one. She tore it open and sank her teeth into the soft flesh beneath it.

She kissed and licked above the lace that covered your breasts. You so desperately wanted everything off of you, but Yelena was more than content to have her way with you against the front door.

You tried to indicate your impatience by pulling away and leading her towards your bedroom, but Yelena was frozen in place.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Yelena said through gritted teeth.

“I thought things might be…easier in the bedroom?” you spoke while catching your breath.

“Oh, baby,” she said in such a way that sounded both condescending and enduring. “There’s nothing that can be done in there that I can’t do right here.”

You let a breathless chuckle slip before trying everything you could at matching her level. “I can think of one thing,” you smirked.

She finally got the hint and led the two of you into the bedroom while each of you stripped down to almost nothing. There were brief moments in which your lips disconnected, but you stayed flush against each other.

The back of your knees hit the bed quickly causing you to gracefully fall onto the bed. You reached for your bedside drawer, throwing the contents from inside towards Yelena. She made quick work of sliding the garment on while you adjusted yourself on the bed.

Yelena towered over you, staring down at your bare frame as if she had no shame in the gesture. Your face reddened the longer she stared and you slowly started to close your legs to try and hide some part of you that you could.

Yelena forced your leg outward without hesitation. “No,” she said, almost like a command. “Do you know how long I have been waiting to take you like this?”

A shiver ran down your spine, turning your skin cold and your brain fuzzy. You never thought there was a moment that Yelena had actually been paying attention to the distant looks from across the street. And you never thought in a million lifetimes this moment would be something that the woman would crave.

Before you could question any further, you reached for Yelena’s face and pulled her in close. You couldn’t wait another minute without so much as a small touch from her.

You tugged on her short hair, creating small whimpers that traveled from Yelena to your mouth. Coffee and tobacco had never tasted so good as the flavor lingered on Yelena’s tongue.

With every movement Yelena made, the tip of the strap kissed your cunt teasingly. She made it so hard to wait patiently when everything she was doing made your body react in the best ways.

Yelena kissed you harder and longer as a diversion to slowly sink the strap into you when you least expected it. You grabbed her shoulders suddenly and moaned at the feeling of taking all of her in. Yelena leaned farther over you to gain better access, which you used to your advantage. Your teeth grazed the curve of her neck and with every movement you bit down on Yelena’s skin.

You could taste the expensive cologne that coated her skin and blended so perfectly with her natural scent. She was practically a drug you found yourself lost in with each passing moment.

Yelena’s hips moved faster now, moving in and out of you with precision. Your hands traveled from her shoulders to her lower back. You placed your hands on Yelena’s ass, pushing her forward each time. While touching her you must have lost consciousness of yourself, your legs absentmindedly closing.

Yelena stopped, leaving you whining. That was nothing compared to the sight of Yelena using her knees to stretch your legs further apart. “What did I say about closing those pretty legs of yours, hmm?”

You would do anything to appease Yelena in these fleeting moments. You gave yourself to her so she could use you however she pleased.

Your legs were opened as wide as they could be while Yelena buried the strap deeper inside your pussy. You were a moaning mess, not caring if anyone heard the pleasure Yelena gave you.

Yelena’s hands were gripped so tight to your hips that you were sure to find bruises by morning. You didn’t care in the slightest, you even liked it. It would be a reminder that she was real and that the moment in fact happened outside of a dream.

She had a way of making you feel so damn beautiful while she was destroying you beyond comparison. Maybe it was the way her touch was rough with deep intention behind it— or it might even be the way she looked like a fallen angel on earth with the drippings of lust running down her forehead to bleed into her smudged eye makeup.

You had a burst of confidence. A moment of courage that reared its ugly head to prove something.

When Yelena loosened her grip only slightly, you used your strength to flatten Yelena out onto the bed while you straddled her without disconnecting. Her mouth was slightly agape in surprise at your finesse.

Her reaction gave you the drive you needed to keep going for her. You leaned forward, steadying yourself by grabbing onto the headboard. You moved your hips at an easy pace, one that wouldn’t allow you to finish as quickly since you predicted that Yelena would want power over that choice.

Yelena met you in the middle where she wrapped her arms around your back, pulling you flush against her. She kissed your neck while her hot breath set your skin alight. One of her hands pressed on your lower back, forcing your hips to move. Between the angle of your hips on Yelena’s hitting your most sensitive spots and her lips, you couldn’t stop the sounds that escaped from you now.

While you were fully bare, Yelena was still covered on top by a dark green vest that bore many pockets. Feeling that it was a bit unfair and a disgrace that Yelena was still clothed, you tried to sneak the vest off, pulling on the zipper quietly. When you got to the bottom, Yelena grabbed your hand, catching you in the act.

“If you’re going to act like a slut, I will gladly treat you like one,” Yelena grumbled. She quickly lived up to her expectations.

She dropped your hand before forcefully clutching your neck in her own hand. Yelena lightly choked you while guiding you to continue your relentless actions around her strap. You didn’t care how you received it, you just wanted Yelena’s touch to be never ending.

You bounced on her strap while it was becoming harder and harder to keep your orgasm suppressed. Heinous noises filled the room just as much as the smell of arousal.

The hand around your neck relaxed, but she wasn’t done. Her finger laced into your hair starting from the base of your head and extending down to the midsection of your hair. You gasped and whimpered when she twisted your hair and yanked down to expose your body to her.

“I bet you like it when I do that, baby,” she whispered. “You want me to use you however I wish, don’t you?”

You would have nodded if it weren’t for the fight grip she had on your hair that prevented you from moving your head. Whatever you did, you didn’t stop the movements of your hips. You wanted Yelena too badly.

Yelena began marking you wherever she could. To be honest, you didn’t know why it took her so long since you had been silently begging her for it the entire time.

Your chest was tattooed in pink and purple marks. You didn’t dare try to defy what Yelena wanted, even if you would pay for the fun later.

She also seemed to make it her mission to avoid the sensitivity of your nipples, somehow making it even hotter. You took it into your own hands, literally combing through her hair and guiding her head closer to your chest, but she seemed to resist your internal begging.

“Yelena…” you dared to speak.

You could feel her body become more rigid after muttering her name. “Say it again.”

You seemed to find her weakness. The use of her name caused her to abandon all means of resistance. Her lips and teeth found your nipples quickly after. She so delicately flicked your nipple with her tongue, teasing you while your body twitched in pleasure.

She sucked harder, taking you into her mouth. She licked back and forth, causing your body and voice to have a reaction.

“Fuck, Yelena!”

“Again,” she whispered.

She laid back now against the bed and watched you. She was the painter and you were her masterpiece that was finally coming together.

You leaned back and rested your hands on each of Yelena’s thighs, giving her the perfect view of you. You didn’t care how desperate you looked, you moved your hips recklessly, shifting back and forth and up and down.

“Yelena,” you continued to say, gaining volume with every word evoked.

When you were at your loudest, Yelena’s hand found your soaked clit. She knew well enough that you were close to your breaking point, so she helped you along.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Do you want to cum, baby?” Though your head was thrown back, you nodded fiercely. “What was that, I can’t hear you?”

“Yes, please,” you whispered.

“You’re going to have to be louder for me.”

“Please!”

Yelena rubbed your clit faster while her other hand pinched at your nipple. You took this as her way of allowing you to come undone.

Your body twitched and convulsed as you reached your climax around Yelena’s strap and fingers. You came with Yelena’s name on your tongue, just how she liked it.

Yelena didn’t stop touching you until you physically couldn’t stand the touch anymore, moving her hands away from you. You clumsily removed yourself from Yelena’s strap, falling down on the bed beside her.

The room seemed to be spinning as well as your thoughts. The best sex you ever had was with the woman you had been spying on for months. You did have one peculiar question to ask.

“What’s with the vest anyway?” You had seen her wear it either on top of or secretly under her garments.

“It’s complicated,” she sighed.

You sat in comfortable silence for several moments. You, as well as Yelena, needed to process the result of a pent up crush you each had for months— if you could even call it a crush.

“So,” Yelena broke the silence, “want to grab dinner some time?”

(thank you to my beautiful gf for the inspiration ;)

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