#and who better than the reigning champion himself?

[softquietsteadylove]

Thena watches her gladiators while they train. And she certainly enjoys watching her champion while he trains 👀

Ajak smiled to one of their many advisors before they bounded off. She turned to Thena beside her, "do you remember a single word they said?"

"Do you?"

"Thena," Ajak frowned, although her daughter was not nearly as chastised by her tone as she might have liked. Thena turned her head faintly, looking out into the courtyard as they walked. "You cannot avoid them forever."

"Forgive me, Mother," Thena smiled tightly. Usually, she did her best to avoid royal duties all together. But she had made her mother the promise that, if she were allowed to stay by Gilgamesh's side while he recovered, that she would never deny her mother again.

A promise she still did not regret making, no matter how many meetings and banquets and diplomatic invitations she had to endure. Gilgamesh was alive and well, and she had kept her promise to her mother since.

"Speak of the devil."

Gilgamesh, former Champion and now Captain of the Guard, was training the new recruits. Newer, younger gladiators who would need to know how to handle themselves in the ring in the name of Queen and Country.

"He is a fine teacher."

Ajak eyed Thena beside her, not that her daughter was paying attention to anything but the man directing their new gladiators. She cleared her throat, "there are questions, my dear--about your marriage?"

"What about it?" Thena mumbled, head practically craned so she could watch Gilgamesh as he gave a lesson on wrestling, seeming about momentum and using an opponent's size against them.

Ajak huffed; Thena had developed somewhat of an impertinence about her since the Eros debacle. Ajak halted her steps, since Thena had come to such a natural halt herself. She tugged at Thena's dress, "about it happening, dearest. You are expected to choose someone now that you have all the power in the world to do so."

Thena continued to ignore her.

Ajak had been trying to get her daughter to consider marriage for years already. She was more than of-age, but the Queen also had vowed to never force Thena into something she truly did not want. And marriage seemed to be at the very top of that list. They were lucky she took the throne and had Thena when she was as young as she was. She had half expected to hand over the throne by now.

Thena tilted her head, admiring the Captain as he...worked.

Ajak sighed, shaking her head faintly. It was so plain to see, and yet Thena had not even mentioned a fondness for the Champion who fought for the freedom of her hand rather than the possession of it. Even Ajak could recognise the romance of such an action.

"You could choose him, if you wish."

Thena finally looked at her, torn from her revelry of watching a bunch of men - one man, rather - horse around. "Hm?"

Driven to distraction; Ajak nodded her head towards Gilgamesh, "I am sure he would find it most agreeable."

"H-" Thena blinked, her head moving between her mother and their chosen and promoted Captain of the gladiatorial forces. It happened a few more times, just for good measure, "G-Gilgamesh?"

Ajak laughed faintly, patting Thena's arm; she wasn't sure when her daughter had become so much taller than she. "Have you not even considered it, dear?"

Thena looked back at the Champion himself, who had his head thrown back in laughter with his troops. Her hands wrung in front of her, "I...I suppose not."

Horseshit. But Ajak held her tongue and tried a more gentle approach with her remarkably stubborn child-turned-grown-woman. "I would approve greatly. Not that I think that matters to you at all."

"Mother," Thena furrowed her brows at her as she patted her hands into submission. "Of course that would matter to me."

"Well," Ajak turned her eyes back to the Captain, who caught her eye this time. She offered a smile.

"Hup!"

Gilgamesh stood upright and dipped to bow to their queen and princess, the rest of his troops following suit.

Ajak moved into the sun of the courtyard, still holding Thena's hands and incidentally dragging her along. "Your training seems to be going well, Captain."

"Yes ma'am," Gil responded with a happy smile, despite speaking with the revered Queen Ajak herself. He looked at the recruits behind him, crossing his arms, "they have a ways to go, but I believe they will fight well for you."

"And you?" Thena asked eagerly, nearly cutting off the end of his words with her own, "are you healing well?"

Ajak nearly rolled her eyes; she had healed him herself, and it was weeks since he was able to leave a bed.

"I am," he smiled at her gently, though, his voice going as soft as a lily petal. "Thanks to you and your mother, my Lady."

Thena smiled.

Ajak took in a breath. This required more direct action, and for once, it seemed Thena was not in any mood for directness. She drew her shoulders up faintly and turned to her daughter, "Thena, I have another diplomatic meeting."

"Oh, yes," she agreed, per her promise. But her disappointment rang out from her like a gong. "We shall-"

"You can skip this one, dear," Ajak uttered quickly. This would need to happen fast. "It shall be brief, and nothing but politics. Perhaps the Captain would escort you inside for me?"

Gil startled but straightened his shoulders, "o-of course, my Lady!"

"Very well, then!" Ajak smiled at them before all but dropping Thena's hands from her arm and dashing away. She spared them a wave as she picked up the billowing white of her skirts to move as swiftly as possible. "You have my full faith, Captain."

Thena frowned at the odd statement from her mother, following her even more odd behaviour. "It is a walk; I would not think it required any strength of faith."

Gilgamesh shrugged, though, holding out his arm, bent at the elbow. "Still, it is escorting the royal princess. I'm honoured."

Thena smiled, indulging him as she settled her fingers delicately in the crook of his elbow. "Very well, then, Captain."

"Uh," a young voice cracked, "sir?"

Gil eyed his young bucks over his shoulder, "you can conduct yourself in my absence, right? I have important business with the Princess."

"Yes, sir!"

"Important business?" Thena murmured to him as they took their leave back into the shade.

He bent his head closer to her too, like children snickering about their teacher, "breaks are very important, my Lady."

The two laughed between themselves as he guided her back inside and out of the harsh daylight. Thena cleared her throat, moving her hand further from his bicep and more to his forearm. "How are you finding your new position, Gilgamesh?"

"The promotion was kind, my Lady," he smiled at her as they strolled at a leisurely pace through the open and breeze halls of the palace. "I've never been so rested."

"But do you like it?" Thena clarified, her eyes imploring the truth out of him. "Training the recruits?"

He chuckled, smiling at her more gently (if at all possible). "I love it, Thena. And I know it's because I needed time to heal after my fight."

It was a consideration most were not afforded, given the nature of their profession.

Thena sighed, eyeing his chest place in memory of the scars still there, "you should not have to fight after what you endured."

Gilgamesh shrugged, though, back to smiling blithely. "Part of the job, my Lady."

"Gil."

"Thena," he replied, laughing again. He patted the hand of hers on his arm with his other hand. "It was generous of your mother to promote me. I don't take it for granted."

"Yes," Thena agreed, warmth stealing into her cheeks. It was she who had suggested the promotion to get Gil out of the barracks and into a more comfortable position, both in work and life outside of it. "Mother is generous in spirit."

"You've had a lot of meetings since the tournament, huh?" Gil asked, more and more casual and comfortable the longer they walked together.

"Unfortunately," Thena sighed, also losing the polished edges she wore as Princess. She looked at Gil - just Gil - with a smile that was just Thena. "And they are all terribly boring."

Gil let out a laugh that echoed through the palace halls. Thena stared at it openly.

"Our advisors are demanding I select a spouse," she confided in him as they left the more open halls along the palace walls to the interior. "You would think Mother was abdicating tomorrow, based on their urgency."

"I'm sorry, Thena."

She looked at him in shock.

"I didn't mean to put that kind of pressure on you," Gil frowned in the softer light of the room. "It didn't occur to me that being free to choose would-"

"No."

He looked at her in shock this time.

"Don't ever apologise for that," she shook her head at him. "You...you have given me something no money in the world nor the crown itself could give me."

"Without you, I would be under the same expectation to marry, except that they would be chosen for me. If not selected by our advisors, then any challenging prince looking for a prize."

Gil frowned at the mention of Eros, even now that that particular thorn was removed from their sides. He gave her hand a squeeze, "I would never have let that happen, Thena."

She smiled faintly, her head tilting and her hair tumbling off her shoulder, "I know you wouldn't have. It is for that exact reason I will never have enough gratitude to gift you."

"Well, I don't know about that," Gil smiled at her, his lighter mood restored, "the fancy new bed I have in my palace room is pretty nice."

Thena did not manage to catch her laughter before it escaped, "Gil."

"Really, I mean it's nice, and the sheets!" Gil continued until Thena gave his arm a light shove with the back of her hand. It seemed to possess no force at all, and yet he looked at her as if it would rouse him from sleep. "Really, Thena, you've done more than enough. I'm the one who should be thanking you."

Thena just sighed as he brought her hand off his arm and up to his lips in a kiss. It was more gentle and reverent than any from a suitor could hope to achieve.

Ajak watched from behind one of many pillars offering her cover as she spied on the Gladiator who so possessed her daughter's heart.

"My Lady, we really should-"

Ajak shooed away the guard about to blow her cover. She really did have a meeting she had to go to. But this was far more important.

[imaginaryf1shots]

Teacher | Max Verstappen

WC: 2.1K

Max x teacher!reader

summery: (REQUESTED) Just moments of you being a teacher during the week and a WAG during the weekend.

Warning: None

Masterlist

Max Masterlist

Who would've known, there was no way anyone would have predicted it. But Max Verstappen, 3 time World Champion is in a relationship with a school teacher. How you stumbled upon the Red Bull driver is something unknown to the public. Working in Monaco certainly gave people ideas, but no one knew that Max's 'rival' Charles introduced the two of you. Charles couldn't have known how attached you two will be, and he LOVES to take credit for it. Here you are happily together. There's a soft side to Max that's only brought out with you.

The fans all just love you, you're always seen interacting with kids around the paddock, giving away signed hats and getting bracelets that Max wouldn't wear otherwise. And yes, he wears them for a few minutes enough for a few pictures before taking them off, but that's the only way he'll do it. For you. Want Max to do something? Better get y/n then. During the school year you come to a race once a month maybe twice, if a race is close to Monaco, school is out for one reason or the other, you're in the paddock.

It was a week off for Max, meaning he's back in Monaco. A time where he likes to spend time with you. So he takes the chance of going to your job when you tell him it's a profession day. People who have different professions will all come to the school and explain what they do to the kids. Some parents would be coming and Max volunteered himself. When you brought up the idea with the school they jumped at the idea. Monaco loves Formula one drivers, and what a better driver to have than the reigning world champion. There was a Camera set up in the corner of the room behind the kids to capture everything.

Max texts you when he arrives, you planned to go meet him, but before you could do that, he comes into your classroom. Being led by your enthusiastic Principle. Once Max walks into the room, there are gasps from the children, their eyes going wide in awe and wonder. Parents all murmur and whisper to each other. Max is thankfully not dressed in his Red Bull team kit, you were afraid he'd do that. Like a good boyfriend, he wore the outfit you had left for him in the closet.

"Thank you so much for coming." You tell Max as you give him a quick hug in greeting, you usually leave earlier while he's home, he sleeps after you after all.

"No worries." Max kisses your cheek quickly, you turn to the classroom and clap your hands once.

"Okay, class, who knows who this is?" You ask with a smile. There's shouting and moving around as they scream his name in their cute accents. "That's right, this is Max Verstappen, now what does Max do?"

"he's a formula 1 driver!"

"He drives for RedBull."

"He's the world champion!"

"He's your boyfriend!"

The last one takes you by surprise, some of the parents laugh and you join them.

"Okay, how about we let Max tell us about his job." You say and step aside for your boyfriend to take centre stage and have all the attention on him.

"Thank you miss y/l/n." Max says with a wink your way. It takes everything in you to not blush. "I'm Max Verstappen, I drive for Red Bull Racing, and I'm the current world champion. I've always known what I wanted to do, but it's alright if you don't have many drivers get into karting when they're older. Being a Formula 1 driver requires you to be smart, work hard and train a lot. You have to be consistent, it's not easy but if you want to do something then you have to work and study hard for it."

"Okay, any questions? Who wants to ask Max questions like journalists?" You asked after Max was done talking, many hands raised up to ask. "Max, why don't you pick your interviewer."

"How about..." Max looked around at the classroom, seeing a shy hand raised in the air, looking at the girl, he smiled. "You?"

"Me?" She asked timidly, Max nodded and said yes. "Um, can girls be drivers too?"

"Of course, girls can be anything they want to be." Max answered truthfully, "There are a lot of girls who are in lower formulas, and on their way to Formula 1, in Karting there are a lot of girls as well, Miss y/l/n, used to Kart a little when she was young."

"Wah, really?"

"Did you miss y/l/n?"

"Why did you stop?"

"Okay, settle down, I did kart a little, but it was only a hobby." You tell the children, giving Max a look for exposing you like that. "Besides, if I continued karting, who would be here teaching you?”

"I bet you would beat them all Miss y/l/n." One of the girls exclaimed and many agreed with her. The kids went on asking questions to Max, at one point you brought out hats, and one by one the kids came out for their hats to be signed and a quick picture, before Max took a picture with the class.

The principal was standing in your class while you went to say goodbye to Max. "You were amazing, thank you so much."

"It's nothing schatje, anything for you." Max said and pressed a quick kiss to your lips, his hand on your lower back. "I'll see you at home."

Let's say when the videos taken on that day hit the school website and Instagram, the Formula 1 side of the internet went up in flames. Everyone was losing their minds over it. Redbull even took some of the videos and pictures and posted it to their social media. And you were the coolest teacher to ever exist.

By the time the Monaco GP rolled around, Red Bull arranged with the school to have some of your students to come on Friday, you and two three other teachers would be with them. All parents agreed for their children to be on camera, which Red Bull was happy about. Someone came and took you guys from the gates, the kids were looking at everything in marvel, in awe. Each of the teachers was responsible for 5 kids. You were in your teacher mood, not WAG mode for the day.

"Come on Kids stay together." You told the children and kept an eye on them, the walk to Red Bull wasn't long, thankfully. Getting into the hospitality, you were happy to see that the team converted one of the areas to accommodate the kids, and have them in one space, with only one entry and exit.

"We'll have them get to the garage, five at a time, we have some activities for them to do while they wait and free practice to start, between Max and Checo will come and talk to them." The marketing manager told you and you nodded along with her.

You decided to let the other teachers go to the garage first, you've been there before more times than you could count. By the time it was your group's turn they were giddy, just about to burst from how excited they were. "Walk in one line everyone, remember not to touch anything and not to bother anyone."

"Yes, miss y/l/n." They all said in unison. One of the mechanics was waiting for you with a smile on his face. He gave the kids a tour explaining everything to them, showed them the car, and pointed out the wings, and a few things about it. He explained how there's two sides to the garage but still it's one team and had one goal.

"Is this Max's car?" One of the kids asked, pointing at the car with the number 1 on it.

"Yes it is." It was Max who answered, he was dressed in his team kit, hat on and everything. "Do you want to sit inside?"

They all jumped up and down screaming yes. And so one by one, the kids were placed in the cockpit. They could barely see anything with how short they were, but they were excited nonetheless.

"Miss y/l/n, it's your turn." One of the boys looked up at you.

"Oh no, it's about you guys today, not me." You said and the kids all started begging you and Max and the people around for you to get in the car. "Kids come on, it's oka-ah." Hands around your waist pulled you up, your hands landed on Max's shoulder, legs bent as he moved you over the halo. "Max!" You playfully glare at Max and the kids, they all had proud smiles on their faces. You sit down in the car, it's a different feeling and view being in the car. "Maybe I should've continued karting."

"NO! you're our teacher!" One of the kids shouted.

“I feel like I have competition.” Max said and you laughed. Getting out of the car had Max helping you over the halo. His hands linger on your waist before he lets you go.

The kids watched FP1 and FP2 on the TV, they saw the car go by through the windows, Max and Checo made an appearance, the kids asked questions, took photos with the drivers in their suites. And had a small pitlane walk. By the time you were back at the school for the parents to come pick up the kids, you were dead. This was more tiring than the normal racing week and it’s only Friday.

Max is already at home, he showered and changed. “Hey, I got food on the way.”

“You didn’t eat.” You placed your work bag by the door, the cats are all over them. You walk into the living room to where Max sat. 

“I did, But I bet you didn’t.” Max says and you give him a tired smile, Max takes your hand in his intertwining your fingers.

“You’re an angel, I’ll take a quick shower.” Max lets you go, watching you trudge through the apartment and to  the bedroom. He goes around and lights up your favourite candles, and closes all the unnecessary lights. Giving the room a cosy and calming mood.  You come out of the shower just as the food arrives.

“Something smells good.” You say coming out of the bedroom, in shorts and one of Max’s shirts, your hair towel dried and left down.

“Got your favourite.” Max tells you and you plop down on the sofa next to him, he moves the coffee table closer so you could eat from your spot. “How was today?”

“So tiring, nothing compared to a normal day in school, I can never understand how they can have this much energy.” You say opening the containers.

“But they were happy, right?” Max asked you, feeling unsure, you grinned.

“So freaking happy, god max, you made their year, honestly.” You say and take a bite of your food and moan. “That’s all they’ll be talking about for the rest of the year.”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence as you eat, and Max just watched you. His hand runs up and down you back softly, absentmindedly.

“Can’t wait to have some of our own.” Max says, and even he looks surprised by his sudden words. “It’s just seeing you with kids, makes me imagine you one day holding our own kids, playing with them, you’ll be an amazing mum one day.”

“Are you trying to make me cry while I eat?” You ask him and slowly chew the last of the food in your mouth, waving your hand in front of your eyes to try and stop the tears from gathering.

“I’m just telling you the truth.” Max smiles softly as he watches you, you swallow and turn to look at him.

“Well if we’re being honest, you should know that I have the biggest baby fever lately.” You tell him and intertwin your fingers with his. “Seeing YOU with kids makes me want to have your babies so bad, can’t wait until I have a mini Max’s running around.”

“I want mini y/ns running around.” Max says and you both smile at each other. “Wamma practice?”

“What?” You’re confused. Practise what? Raising kids?

“Practise making kids.” Your eyes hold his in a steady gaze as you realise what he meant.

“Hmm, I would definitely be up to some practice.” You say and Max gets up and pulls up after him. You’re giggling as you race through the house, the cats look up from their sleeping spots before falling asleep once more.

Main Tag-list:

@gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3 . @xoscar03 . @schniti-is-in-the-house . @lottalove4evelyn . @eywas-heir . @glow-ish .

[msbigredmachine]

Power Couple: The Aftermath (Roman Reigns)

When the Tribal Chief falls, no one helps him back up better than you do. Set after the epic main event of Wrestlemania XL.

Pairing: Roman Reigns/OC

Warnings: Excess fluff and of course, smut.

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Yes, I'm still in my feelings, and there was only one pairing I could properly convey my feelings with, because this has also been their story all along. For new readers, I strongly suggest reading the first two one-shots before delving into this one. Hope you enjoy!

Banner made by me. Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs

--------------------

1,316 days.

All wiped away with three slaps of the referee’s hand to the hard canvas.

Even after Cody rolled away from him, Roman could not move. Hell, he couldn’t breathe. Not when the air had been punched out of his lungs, literally and figuratively. It was only when Dwayne pulled him out of the ring by his pants leg that his body managed to kickstart itself into some sort of motion. And even then, all he could do was turn his head to look back and watch as Cody celebrated in the ring with his wife Brandi, holding his title belt aloft for the whole world to behold as the ultimate symbol of his victory. 

It should have been you and him up there. It should have been him. Again. But it wasn’t. Because the one time he got careless in battle, it cost him everything. Throwing years of hard work down the drain.

And it made him sick to his stomach.

The sound of ‘Kingdom’ blaring through the Lincoln Financial Field Stadium was torture to the former champion’s ears. His legs felt like lead as he dragged his battered body up the ramp, ignoring Dwayne’s baseless, performative complaints about nothing, as he put distance to the tableau of triumph of his opponent. The weight of this defeat was heavy, suffocating even, and he was desperate to get the fuck out of there, to get out of Philadelphia, out of Pennsylvania and all its environs. As he reached the top of the vast WrestleMania stage, pain surged through his abdomen, forcing him to recoil into himself and double over in pain. 

His Wise Man noticed his plight and paused to observe his charge. "My Tribal Chief, are you alright? Do you need-"

Roman shook his head. "I'm fine,” he snapped, willing himself to keep walking until he made it past the curtain. He leaned against the wall and bent over, resting his hands on his knees.

“What can I do, my Tribal Chief?” Paul implored.

“Just…get my wife on the bus and make sure everything’s ready to go. I’ll be there soon."

“Right away my Tribal Chief,” Paul replied eagerly, scurrying off to do as he was told.

It was a good long minute before Roman managed to pull himself back upright, staggering towards his locker room. Walking was so hard, his body hurt so much, but none of it hurt as much as the gut punch of failure. Much worse than any of the bumps he took was the shame, the disappointment engulfing him; so much so that he couldn’t bear to look anyone else in the eye right now.

Because he had failed everyone who cared about him.

He had failed you.

----------------

All good things come to an end. That’s how the saying goes, right? The interesting part of that was that on the surface, it was a throwaway little trope, harmless and benign, until something that meant a great deal to you got taken away in the blink of an eye, or in this case, a three-count. The moment the bell signaled the pinfall that confirmed your husband's time as the Undisputed WWE Universal Champion had come to an end, you knew he would never be the same again.

It wasn't unlike Roman to be a little on edge weeks before a big premium live event. And given the nature of the two main event matches he was locked in for the fortieth annual WrestleMania, you expected he would be grouchy. But this time around seemed different, and not in a good way. He’d been surly towards everybody, including you. He disappeared for hours working out obsessively. He’d even thrown out a female member of the press who had dared to boo him at the press conference on Saturday night. Now, despite the final match of the weekend concluding nearly an hour ago, Roman was yet to return to his tour bus. That only meant one thing; he was not taking this defeat well, and it was up to you to lift him up, like you always did.

When you found the door boasting your husband's name, Heyman was outside, pacing back and forth. The Undisputed title, which you had grown accustomed to seeing on his shoulders on behalf of his Tribal Chief, was missing; a stark, prickly reminder of the outcome of tonight’s proceedings. 

"That bad, huh?" you asked, reading the Wise Man’s expression in a second. In fact, he looked on the verge of tears, his shoulders sagging with despair. The weekend had taken an emotional toll on him, too.

"He won’t come out," he informed you, his usually confident voice shaky and helpless. “He won’t let anyone in and he won’t speak to anyone…”

You raised your index finger to cut him off. "Correction, he won’t speak to anyone that’s not me," you stated, shooting him a warm smile, one among countless others you had shared with him since burying the hatchet after years of friction between you. "Go be with your family, Paul. I’ll handle my husband.”

“He’s my family, too,” he declared softly, the conviction in what you used to call his beady eyes, palpable and heartbreaking, “Both of you are.”

Touched and at a loss for words, you could only look on as he turned around slowly and made the lonely walk down the hallway. Turning back to the locker room door, you sucked a breath between your teeth and blew it out, mentally preparing to confront this task head-on.

You knocked timidly and stuck your head inside. If Roman was in as foul a mood as Paul let on, even you did not want to be there. It had taken a few unfortunate incidents over the years for you to learn that even a kiss from his wife wasn't enough when he got too stressed. It never stopped you from trying, though. Kissing was one of your favorite things to do with him after all.

"Knock, knock," you called out softly, listening for signs of movement as you stepped inside and closed the door. The room that was bustling just a few hours ago was now stripped bare and cloaked in dead quiet. It was an eerie contrast to the majestic, sweeping grandiosity that encompassed his entrance to the ring tonight. “Babe?”

Venturing further inside the room, you found him on the couch, his strong, broad back to you, his shoulders slumped dejectedly. An open bottle of Jack Daniels sat on the coffee table in front of him. His ula fala was draped over the headrest, where his title belt would surely have been. 

This was the reality no one warned you about after a monumental loss. It plunged you into a cold, dark abyss, wrought with biting silence and dreary loneliness now that the show was over and the lights were no longer bright. The what ifs, buts and maybes crooning in your ear like a morbid symphony. It was an experience all too familiar to you unfortunately, and recently, too; you and your husband had traveled down this terrible road following the tragic miscarriage of your son in the summer of 2022.

Stepping in front of him, you wiggled into his personal space and made yourself at home on his lap. Gently wrapping your arms around him, you sighed with relief when he instantly melted into you and his huge arms enveloped your waist, holding on to you like his life depended on it. 

“My baby,” you cooed soothingly, the sound of your lips meeting the side of his head piercing through the emptiness of the locker room. “My love.” 

The audible hitch of his breath at your soft words was expected. In the course of your lifetime, those two little phrases had garnered a poignant significance. As words of comfort and solace first uttered by your mother when you were a child, you murmured those words regularly to Roman between sweet, playful kisses when he was courting you, basking in the bliss of newfound love, and again as part of your wedding vows as you became man and wife. They were the first words you whispered to Laleia the first time she was placed in your arms. They were the words that you had cried yourself to sleep with as you mourned the baby boy you had lost. You and Roman had seen each other at your absolute best and worst, and now, in the isolation of this room, with just the two of you and nobody else, this was another bad moment you had to overcome.

“On Matt’s birthday, too,” Roman finally spoke, wiping at his nose with a sniffle. “Fuck, man.”

“I know,” you replied, running your hand comfortingly up and down his upper arm. As he met your gaze at last, you saw that his eyes were bloodshot. Seeing him like this broke your heart afresh. You held him as close as possible, willing all his pain and his hurt into your soul, wanting nothing more than to take it all away.

"I fucked up," he breathed, his voice raw and choked with misery, "I fucked up out there, babe...I let Dwayne down...I let y'all down. I lost the title and I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what? Over thirteen hundred days as champion?" you countered, "Nine WrestleMania main events? Billions of dollars in revenue? A roof over your child's head and three square meals a day? One loss will never wipe any of that away, don't ever get it twisted."

He exhaled tiredly as he hugged you tighter, resting his head on your shoulder. "I really wish I felt that way right now," he mumbled.

"It'll take some time, but you will," you asserted, running his fingers through his loose hair before tugging it lightly, making him look at you again. "Roman, you changed the industry, just like you said you would when we started this. No one will ever, ever forget what you've done these past four years. Be proud of all of it. You've been through so much, you sacrificed too much to not be proud."

Roman nodded in understanding. He just wished he didn't feel so down. "Baby, I...I want you to know how sorry I am. I know how much you wanted this. And I've been such a dick to you lately-"

You kissed your teeth and waved his apology away. "Nah. That don't matter no more. And I don't care that you didn't win. All I care about is you being safe when you're out there. Being healthy for our family and our daughter, who will be very happy to have her Daddy home, by the way. So we took an L. Okay, we'll only come back stronger. We had one bad night. Guess what? I plan on giving you a better morning, if you know what I mean." You rounded off your words with a wink, your heart blooming when he chuckled in response. "See, there's that smile I love so much. Keep your head up, baby. You did so good tonight. I couldn't be more proud of you."

Roman leaned into you, his forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in and filling his head with your scent. It was like breathing fresh air. “I love you, Y/N. I love you with all of my heart. I don’t deserve you, I never have.”

The tears you'd been fighting all night resurfaced, but you blinked them away as you captured his lips with yours, your hand sliding over the back of his neck. He clung to you, a different emotion quickly overtaking him as he returned your kiss with a bit of aggression, his tongue whipping hungrily against yours, savoring your mouth as though he was tasting it for the very first time. You surrendered to his every whim, your other hand raking through his hair then caressing gently down to his chest, resting your palm over the spot where his heart pumped for you. You could feel how much he needed this moment of intimacy, and you had no qualms giving him anything he asked for.

With one quick tug of your legs, Roman had you straddling him on the couch, bringing you chest to chest with your lush backside resting on his growing bulge. He paused for a moment to take a deep breath, then sealed your mouths again, his tongue invading, probing, a moan rumbling in his chest when you matched his energy, the emotions take over this loving embrace. He could never get enough of you, of the passion that overwhelmed him by your mere presence, immersing him in a love and gratitude he would always feel for you no matter what state of mind he was in.

Eventually, you pulled away from each other, breathless, panting, lips glistening with each other’s saliva. His heart raced at the familiar gleam in your darkened eyes. You weren’t done with him, not just yet, and this was confirmed as you slowly slid off him and sank to your knees between his spread thighs, pushing the front of his shirt up to expose his newly honed six-pack abs.

“Do you know how fucking hot you looked tonight, Daddy?” you purred to him, leaning in to run your tongue over the ridges of muscle on his taut belly. “Last night? All week? Do you have any idea of all the nasty shit I’m gonna do to you on the bus?”

Roman’s dick jumped in his joggers as his imagination ran wild. He squirmed in his seat, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth as your tongue lapped at his belly, your mouth warm on his skin, all while you rubbed the fullness of his bulge straining eagerly against your touch. “Baby girl…” he choked out, as your fingers peeled the waistband of his pants, unveiling his big, beautiful brown dick. 

“Hmm, commando. I like it,” you commented with a smirk, curling your fist around his turgid length.

“Babe, wait…ain’t Paul outside?”

“I sent him home. Plus, won't be the first time he's seen me suck you off.” Your small hand massaged his blunt, plum-shaped head as you licked a trail along the underside of his dick, enjoying the gasps of pleasure that he made. Licking up the pre-cum that had gathered at the tip, your mouth opened wider to take him in. He stared you down with an intense look in his dark irises, which soon fluttered shut as your lips wrapped tight around his flesh, his stomach tensing as he felt himself slide deeper inside. “Awww, fuuuck,” he moaned.

Pulling back for a second, you held his lust-filled stare and stroked his dick a little harder, giggling when it twitched in your grip. A defiant look clouded your eyes as you licked at his tip before pushing him back into your mouth. It was enough for him to nut by just watching you, the visual of your lips sliding slowly up and down his length, that sexy mouth of yours making sweet love to his dick. It felt so good that he sank further into the plush leather of the couch, his head rolling back lazily against the headrest, his toes curling inside his brand new Air Reigns sneakers. All the pain and punishment his body had endured tonight melted away and was replaced with much more pleasurable sensations.

“I love the way you suck my dick, wifey,” he praised you, forcing himself to observe you through his barely open eyelids. “Mmm, that slutty little mouth is warm as fuck…You so sexy, baby, keep lookin’ up at me like that...” 

His raspy growls had you glancing back up at him, batting your pretty eyelashes as you sucked him off. Wetness pooled between your thighs at his famished expression. Completely aroused, you picked up the pace as your hands and your mouth worked in tandem, sucking and stroking his dick, pleasuring him from tip to base. His breathing became heavier as he throbbed against your tongue, his hands finding the back of your head as he got lost in the paradise of your warm, wet mouth. 

“Damn, baby. I bet that pussy leakin’ for me right now. You gettin’ wet sucking Daddy off, beautiful?” he taunted, his tongue swishing over his bottom lip at the same time your tongue swirled around the base of his shaft. The little moan that escaped your throat told him he was right. Of course he was; he knew his wife better than anybody else. “Good girl. Keep goin', I want that pussy extra wet. I’ma lick all that shit up when we get on the bus.”

With another soft moan, you crawled closer to his body and bore down on him, bobbing your head up and down that long, fat cock. Scooping your hair up into his large fist for leverage, Roman rocked his hips upwards from his seated position, thrusting in and out of your mouth. You relaxed your throat to take him deeper, moaning around his dick and letting him know how much you were enjoying him fucking your face. You rolled his balls in your hand, caressing the heavy, tightened sac to send him over the edge. It was working, as he began thrusting faster, his husky groans of pleasure amplifying as he neared his release.

“Unnnhh, baby, here it comes…Fuck, open your mouth,” he gasped, not waiting for you to do so as he yanked you by your hair to free himself from your intoxicating mouth. You quickly opened wide as he grabbed his cock and jerked it desperately against your tongue. He caught sight of the glazed-over quality of your gaze, and he knew that your panties were completely ruined, your pussy dripping with your need for him. He planned to take care of that very soon.

It was a show more spectacular than Mania, the sight of his gorgeous face contorted with pleasure, his head thrown back, eyes rolled to the heavens as his orgasm washed over his big body. Your moans harmonized together with each spasm of his cum down your throat, making you swallow every drop he unleashed. His grip on your hair was tight and almost painful, but you were turned on anyway, aroused by the knowledge that no one brought him to this state of paramount pleasure like you did. Licking your lips, you scooped him back into your mouth to clean him up, released him with a soft pop when you finished, and tucked him back inside the confines of his joggers. You giggled as he stared dazedly at the ceiling, licking his lips to catch his breath, his big frame slack and helpless as he recovered from the intense orgasm.

"Goddamn, baby...Shit," he groaned.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you stood up and sat back on his lap, welcoming the gentle press of his mouth to yours in a sweet, grateful kiss. “You feel better, Daddy?” you asked.

"Much better. I needed that so much. Thanks, baby," he smiled up at you, his stomach doing flips as you smiled back. He truly was the luckiest man in the world.

“Mm-hmm. Luckily, there’s more where that came from,” you assured him with another kiss before getting to your feet and pulling him up to his. “Come on, Daddy. Let's go home. We got a toddler to take care of. We'll figure out all the other stuff when it's time."

He nodded in agreement and squeezed your hand. “Okay, baby. Home it is.”

A new chapter in your story had been opened tonight, and the path ahead seemed uncertain and even scary. But you both took pride in the fact that as long as you kept writing it together, your love story was going to remain as beautiful as it already was.

But make no mistake about it; Roman Reigns was going to rule the wrestling world again. That was one story that was never going to end.

THE END

--------------------

Thoughts? How sappy was this😢Was quite cathartic for me, loved writing it.

Thank you all so much for reading and commenting!

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[ddejavvu]

Whipped!Hangman would:

Tell everyone to "Be nice to them, or you're all dead. Every single one of you. Especially you, Big Bird." He emphasizes the last part with a point to Rooster

Let you win at pool because you look so happy when you win and he doesn't have the heart to actually win

Give you seashells he finds

Win you a prize at a claw machine. He would literally stand there the whole night and empty out his wallet if it means he gets to see that smile when he gives the plush

Give you flowers. Idc idc, he so would

Listen to you talk and talk and talk

Send you songs that remind him of you

save your contact with a little '<3' after your name

no bc around his team members he's a whole different person than he is with you, and that's not to say he's not 'himself' around you, but he knows his friends need to be threatened into good behavior so he runs ahead when you meet them with the nastiest glare on his face like i fucking dare you to act out and lets you grab his arm if you're a little nervous to meet everyone :'))

hangman is the reigning pool champion but everyone else must be super bad bc he always loses to you?? he's really not even that good at pool, you don't know why he keeps making the stupid mistakes he does... oh well! he's asked you to teach him your methods, so you'll have fun giving him pointers <3

hangman probably never collects seashells, because he's too impatient to sift through the sand for him and there's always better stuff to be doing, like chasing a frisbee, catching a football, diving into the waves is he a dog? but he always collects seashells after you're dating, he spots one by his foot and he's like woah y/n would love this. and he just sticks it right in his pocket for you, presents the little thing in his giant palm later with a smile, like here y'go darlin'. Ain't it pretty? It made me think of you.

HNNGGH PLEASE :(( penny puts in an arcade machine in the bar to make more money, and it's proooobably rigged, but you can't prove anything >:( anyways ofc hangman doesn't know this, and penny didn't think anyone would put that much effort into the machine for a stupid pink bear, but $30 later (all paid in ones) he's about to smash the glass to get the poor thing out and you beg penny to just let him have it already 😭 she's like yk what i can buy a truckload of cheap stuffed animals with that $30. sold. so she fishes it out for him and is like ohh must be bugging out. i'll fix it. take this in the meantime. and he hasn't held it for a second before he turns around and gives it to you :')) he's all sheepish like wish I could'a won it for you. Guess I just paid Penny off, huh? I hope you like it anyways. and you sleep with it every night to make him feel better, you tuck it between the two of you when you cuddle up to his chest :')

he brings you flowers all the time!!! he's a real southern gentleman, if you ask what they're for he says 'just because' or 'just for being you' :')

he has one of those expressions where he zones out while listening to you talk and you can totally tell he's not paying attention to you anymore, he's looking at you all dreamy the same way babies look at chocolate 🥹

jake hangman country boy seresin only listens to country music. that's it. he'll send you any honky tonk song under the sun if it describes a sweet, pretty love interest, if there's anything positive at all in the song he's sending it like morning, darlin. this made me think of you <3

THE <3 !!!!!!!!! rooster's the first one to see it and his brow furrows and he goes 'hangman, who is that?' and jake snatches the phone away from him so fucking fast, snapping at him to stop snooping on people, it's rude. but bradley's seen it now, and he'll be damned if he doesn't torture the info out of hangman. within minutes everyone knows hangman's got a girl, and it's only a matter of time before you're discovered <3

[lwde-encrusted-sideblog]

One person in the group has been writing smutty fics about the rest of the gang who is it and whose more upset about how they are written than anything else?

Blake: Hello Team- What's going on?

Ruby: Well, Blake ... This is an Intervention.

Blake: For what? The fish sticks? 'Cause I can stop any time i want!

Ruby: What? No. This is about the Smut Fics we found.

Blake: What?

Yang: There's nothing to be ashamed of. We all have desire we want to explore through fiction, we just ask that you don't include us.

Blake: I have NO clue what you're talking about.

Weiss: Really? Even the one where I'm the bicycle between everyone?

Blake: Yeah, no, I legitimately don't know what you mean.

Ruby: Blake, We're just asking that you be honest with us.

Jaune: Yeah, Pyrrha was nearly in tears when she found out.

Pyrrha: *Sniffles*

Jaune: Plus you make me this "Giga-Chad Harem King" where I get with anyone and everyone! I don't like it. I'm not like that. I mean! You even Wrote me with My own Sisters!

Nora: You Vile Cur!

Ren: *Tranquility* Nora, Jaune, We're here to have a discussion.

Blake: I never wrote Smut about you guys! Do you think I'm so dumb as to Use your real names!

Blake: ...

Blake: In the event I did Write Smut about you guys!

Ruby: Look, Blake, We'll leave you to Talk to Pyrrha alone, since what you've done has affected her the most. RPF is the lowest form of fiction anyway.

*RW_YJN_R Leave, Pyrrha and Blake sit alone in the room*

Pyrrha: *Sniffles* Blake ...

Blake: I swear I never-

Pyrrha: Thank you!

Blake: What?

Pyrrha: Thank you for taking the fall for this!

Blake: ... What?

Pyrrha: I mean, do you know how irritated Jaune was when he learned he was written as the Lovely hunk he is? How could anyone resist him!

Blake: You're blaming ME for this!

Pyrrha: I mean ... Yes. Yes I am. Of course I'll need to find a better place to hide my writings, But No one would ever~believe that Me, Pure, Sweet, Innocent Pyrrha Nikos, the poor girl on the pedestal, could ever think about people in that way! My reputation would Crumble! everyone would lose respect for me!

Pyrrha: But no one knows You. Besides, you're an open pervert. No one would doubt you would do this.

Blake: ... You're evil.

Pyrrha: All is fair in love and War~ If only Jaune could Realize He oh-so deserves ALL the love in the world!

Blake: Is that your plan? To Convince Jaune to have a harem?

Pyrrha: And isn't it the perfect plan? Once everyone loves him the way I do, then He'll never hate himself again~

Blake: *Horrified*You're MAD! Depraved! A Foul-Minded harlot!

Pyrrha: And who would ever believe you about that~ One day All will bow to Jaune and I~ You're Reigning Champions of love and lust~

Pyrrha: Jaune Simply needs to learn his proper place!

Pyrrha: AS do you and the rest of our underlings~ Ehehehe~

Blake: You'll never get away with it! This is Madness! Insanity!

Pyrrha: Of course it is~ Why do you think it's called falling madly in love~ *Giggle~*

Blake: ... Oh my God, you're really trying this.

Pyrrha: Of Course I am. *Opens Door, Wiping tears* Blake, I'm so glad we could reach an Understanding!

[saphirered]

I saw the Autumn/Winter prompts and i have to.

So how about Solstice Kiss with Mollymauk preferably Spice and Fluff. I am a sucker for Molly (is it obvious?)

I’ve been dying to write for the M9 again! Especially after having been to the Live Show 😩Fluff with some spice coming right up! Hope you enjoy! 😘

The party rages on. Whatever solstice celebrations this village takes to are very much enjoyable. It’s a refreshing delight to see such peoples take to such debauchery without eye for consequence or modesty. Drink flows a plenty, delicious foods are shared graciously, and the company, the company does not judge. It indulges. When the carnival stopped here for their last show of the year they did not intend to stay this long but the snow kept them. A gift from the gods themselves according to some because they were welcomed by the locals and are more than happy to enable every poor life choice made on this eve for the sake of everyone’s enjoyment. No one would be left out. No one would feel sad or alone on this night. Tonight they are all among family and friends and lovers. It is a good night. 

Mollymauk watches as you dance with Bo the Breaker. You’re spun into the arms of Gustav next who offers you a cup you take to your lips. You’re dressed to impress. While he might be a little biased he dares say you are the most beautiful creature to be seen. While you danced he had occupied himself telling some fortunes here and there. He’d have done it for drink and trade but these people offered generously, even more so when their cups kept refilling. Pockets heavy they kept coming to him still and he would tell them their fortunes. They’d eat up every word but despite his nimble fingers pulling forth the cards he searched for, he was slower than usual. You caught his attention, distracted him whenever you entered his peripheral vision and you knew it too. Little minx you are. 

And then you disappeared into the crowd. His focus returned. If only for a little. Molly finishes up yet another fortune, reshuffling his cards how he always does, assuring they’re in the right order. He has a moment of respite and expects the next farmer to come chatter any moment. The chair opposite of him is not occupied but in front of him he finds a cup of questionable looking liquid. Arms drape over his shoulders sliding down until they link together over his chest. You perch your chin on his shoulder after pressing a quick kiss to his neck. He’s sure you can feel the goosebumps spread across his skin. Your lips are cold. He’s got every intention to change that now. 

“So everyone is having a good time and you are reading fortunes? We closed hours ago.” You chirp letting your cold fingers trail along the exposed skin of his chest. More goosebumps. He can feel your smile when your lips brush so close to his ear. Molly takes the cup in one hand, putting his cards away with the other before he turns to face you better. You take the opportunity to slide into his lap and take a sip of his cup. 

“What’s a little overtime for these good people.” He takes the cup from you. “I thought that was meant for me?” Teasing as ever. He takes a sip. Gods that’s good. Before he can ask you answer.

“Apparently they call it apple crumble mede. It sounds disgusting but tastes like apple pie. They also have cherry, chilli and whiskey but I’m particularly fond of the chestnut one.” 

“So exactly how much did you have to drink?”

“Not nearly enough to be even remotely tipsy.” You’re truthful. You’d only had a single sip of those before you settled on this one. You’d barely had one cup. Molly shakes his head. 

“Such a party and such little drinking? What has become of our reigning champion?” He jests and chuckles when you go to reach for the cup. He holds it out of your reach until you give up with a roll of your eyes. Only then does he feel safe to actually drink more. You clutch your hands together rubbing them for warmth and subconsciously move yourself closer into him. 

“Cold?” He asks. You don’t even make a point to deny it. Instead you curl closer to him. 

“I’m warm when I’m dancing. I feel like the dead of winter when I stop moving.” 

“So what you’re saying is we got to keep you warm somehow?” Molly gives you the most suggestive look he can muster just to humour you. 

“But what about the midnight dance?” You groan throwing your head against his shoulder. His fingers gently dance up your side, brushing up and down at an even pace. They slip under the fabric of your shirt. Molly is making it very hard for you to focus and he knows it. 

“If you insist. I’ll never say no to a dance with you.” You make no move to get up just yet. “Come on… It’s tradition after all.” He lifts you to your feet until you stand on your own, then takes a step backwards and with a ridiculous bow extends to you his hand. Your freezing fingers touch his and he instantly brings them to his lips, shiver running down his spine as the cold hits him but he doesn’t let it stop him. Despite his warmer body, Molly still very much is susceptive to the cold, perhaps even more so than you. 

Mollymauk leads you to the dance floor, where the commoners dance their commoner’s waltzes and let’s be honest, these are probably the only dances the carnies actually know. It’s something to bond over, to finally fit into the chaos that allows for mistakes and choses fun over perfection. The musicians play an upbeat tune while the locals sing the song in a chorus of dancers. Everyone seems to know the song, or at least enough to hum along where the words are but foreign to them or their ability to form coherent sentences, be they out of breath or too intoxicated. You spin under his arm, link your arm with his, close in, then apart, side to side and twirl around each other. You sway and sway, close in, a hairs breath away, and then too far. Repeat. 

It’s the midnight dance, following the patterns of the stars and skies and constellations long lost to Exandria but it matters not. You feel alive, so incredibly alive. The dance is a short, too short but when you see that burning in those scarlet eyes, see that love and admiration, that joy, you know it’s just long enough. You know how this dance ends. You’ve heard the locals talk about it when you ran your errands. And so when the last note strikes and the cheers erupt, you step in close within Molly’s embrace. You look him in the eye, then down to his lips and place yours against his in a feverish kiss. His response is quick, one arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer, the other at the back of your neck tilting your head ever so slightly to gain better access to you. You feel his lips part, his tongue brush against yours and you invite him wholly. Perhaps time slows, or perhaps it moves all too fast because when you part you want more, so much more and when you look him in the eye, so does he. 

Taking his hand you pull Mollymauk along away from the dancing and feasting people. Instead you make for a barn. Perhaps not the most glorious place but you’ve found yourselves in far worse. You quickly pick the lock and slide into the barn, Molly following behind. When he enters you quickly close the door and push him against it. Your lips are on his, hands sliding up his chest until you cup his cheeks. He takes a moment to recover but quickly his hand settle on your hips and in one swift motion he lifts you. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you along to the piles of hay. As you’ve done many times before, you push the coat from his shoulders. Begrudgingly he sets you down so you can take it off and without breaking contact once, place it down behind you. You use this moment to change places, urge him backwards and onto the coat. 

You are the image of seduction and you bring him to his knees with but one wanton look; your lips are slightly parted, your pupils dilated. He can see your breath rise and the twitch of your fingers. All it takes is a gentle push of your guiding hand and he is at your mercy as you crawl on top of him, legs on either side, fingers in his hair pulling at the roots ever so lightly. Your lips meet once more, tongues dancing together, but a taste of what’s to come, of what you are setting out to do. It’s safe to say those solstice kisses are intoxicating but you can do so much more and you intend to prove it. He all but whines when you trail your kisses down his neck, being sure to leave many a mark there, and go down further and further until you feel him. You look up at him when you reach for the buckles of his belt, teasingly slow to undo them. 

“Say the word.” You croon looking up through your lashes. You could have him undone right then and there. When he doesn’t respond thinking about what you’ll do to him, you let your fingers slip beneath the waistband of his trousers. The sweet noises he makes when he’s at your mercy.

“Please.” Begrudgingly he speaks but is cut off by his own mewling sounds when he feels your tongue circle him, then your lips wrap around him, just the once before letting your hands take over, stroking so slowly.

“That’s a good devil.” You grin and when you see the flush to his skin, feel his fingers lace in your hair you go down again. This will be an eventful solstice. One to remember for sure. 

[lestappenforever]

DARLING! ❤️

I would like to request 22 and 38 with Lestappen.

I love you! 🙏🏻😇

Judy, my love, my light, my beautiful, wonderful darling. ❤️

The final two from the prompt list coming right up for you.

---

22. "I want to do this.", and 38. "I can't." "You can. I know you can."

Charles stares down at the phone in his hand, at the black screen. He doesn't know how long he's been sitting out on his balcony, talking on the phone, but it has to have been a least an hour.

Christian Horner's voice keeps ringing in his head.

"We want you to come to Red Bull. We want two number one drivers for the 2025 season."

"Have you talked to Max about this?" Charles had asked.

"It was Max's idea."

---

He sits in the reception area at the Red Bull Racing headquarters in Milton Keynes, waiting for Christian to come fetch him.

Max walks past him, but stops after doing a double-take to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him.

"You're here," Max says, raising an eyebrow.

He looks surprised.

Charles frowns.

"Surely Christian told you I was coming?" He counters incredulously.

The Dutchman snorts, nodding. "He did. I just wasn’t sure you were actually going to show up."

If he's being totally honest, Charles hadn’t been sure he would show up, either. Not until he was getting out of the car ten minutes ago and let his feet carry him into the building.

It's been a difficult decision, accepting Red Bull’s offer. His loyalty to Ferrari has always run deeper than anything else, and there is nothing Charles wants more in this life than to win a World Championship with his beloved team.

But the past three years has proved to Charles that it’s not going to happen. Not for a long time, anyway. And as much as Ferrari is the team Charles so desperately wants to succeed with, he has realized that Ferrari has never loved him as much as Charles has loved Ferrari. And if Charles wants to win, he will have to do it with someone else.

As much as it broke his fucking heart to turn down Ferrari's new contract offer, he had realized that it was time to think about himself. For the first time in his life.

"Well, here I am," Charles tells Max with a shrug.

Max narrows his eyes at him.

"Yeah, and you look fucking ecstatic about it."

The Monégasque rolls his eyes, because he knows Max knows how much it has hurt for Charles to reach the decision to leave Ferrari. After all, Max was the one who had made him come to his senses in one of their many deep, long talks over the past few months — ever since Christian extended the contract offer.

He fixes Max with a firm stare as he sits up straighter in his seat, all confidence and assertiveness.

"I want to do this."

His voice leaves no room for doubt.

One corner of Max's mouth quirks up at how sure Charles seems.

"Good. Now show the fucking world what you're capable of," Max says, before walking off.

Charles watches him go and something flutters in his chest.

---

Charles Leclerc at Red Bull is a success from the get-go.

The team actually listens to him when he gives feedback on the car during pre-season testing, and they've designed the car to suit his driving style.

He manages to snatch the win from Max on the final lap of the first race of the season, and it’s fucking beautiful. Max seems as happy for Charles as he would have been for himself had he managed to start the season off with a win.

Max hugs him so tight when Charles climbs out of his car after the race that it’s almost painful. But Charles hugs him right back, just as tight.

On the podium, as he stands on the top step, looking down at the ecstatic faces of his new team, at Max beaming at him to his right, Charles feels like he's on top of the fucking world.

At the hotel later that night, when Max comes knocking at his door to congratulate him again, Charles pulls him into the room and into a kiss — and later, his bed.

Somehow, fucking the reigning World Champion — his teammate, the bane of Charles' existence for most of his life — feels even better than his first race win at Red Bull.

---

The 2025 season is a thriller from start to finish. Being in a team that actually listens to him and a car that is actually competitive means that Charles is fighting Max for the championship title. They’re far ahead of Lando in third place and Carlos in fourth, and it will all be settled in Abu Dhabi.

Max is ahead of Charles by four measily points, meaning that if Charles wins the race, he wins his maiden world championship.

And the pressure of that is sending him into a panic in the bathroom mere minutes before he has to be in his car.

He stands over the sink, gripping the edges tight enough to turn his knuckles white as he tries and fails to control his breathing, to calm his racing heart.

The door opens.

"Charles, what are you —," Max cuts himself off mid-sentence as he lays eyes on Charles.

He shuts the door behind him and steps closer, placing a gentle hand on Charles' back.

"What's wrong? What happened? Are you okay?" He asks hurriedly.

When Charles meets his gaze, his face his pale and his eyes wide.

"I don't think I can do this," he admits weakly, shaking his head.

Max frowns at him. "What do you mean?"

"The race. I can’t do it."

It's ridiculous, Charles knows. He's come this far, his first ever world championship within reach. He's proven himself, time and time again over the past season. He's shown the world what he's capable of, he's shown the world that it was always Ferrari that was the problem, and not Charles himself. He's proved to every single person who ever doubted him and their fucking mother that he deserves this. That he deserves to be at this level.

That he deserves to win.

And yet, the past is coming back to haunt him. Coming back to try and convince him that it’s all a lie — that he doesn’t deserve a single thing he has achieved so far. Even though he knows it’s a fucking lie, it’s still there, in the back of his mind.

Taunting him.

"Of course you can," Max tells him, taking a hold of Charles' arm and pulling him upright.

Charles goes willingly, letting Max turn him until he's facing the other man.

"I can’t."

Max grabs his face, holding it between his hands and looking deep into the Monégasque's eyes.

"You can. I know you can."

Charles swallows, wants to look away. But Max isn’t having it.

"You're the most talented driver I've ever seen, and you've shown it all year, Charles," Max tells him, and it’s said with such intensity — such conviction — that Charles' heart fucking soars.

"You want me to win?" Charles asks, the panic having finally started to ease, replaced by confidence.

Max smirks at him, moving his hands down to hold the sides of Charles' neck.

"I'll do my best to make sure you don’t," Max promises, and Charles knows he means it. Knows Max would never in a million years let him win.

"But if you do win, you'll have fucking earned it."

Max kisses him then, a hard press of lips against Charles'. He pulls back mere seconds later, eyes dark.

"Now go out there and fucking prove me right."

It sounds like a challenge.

Max means it like one, too.

Another peck, and then Max is out the door.

Charles glances at himself in the mirror, squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath. Then, he smiles and follows Max — his teammate, his rival, reigning World Champion and holder of his fucking heart and soul — out of the bathroom.

---

Charles wins the race and the World Championship in Abu Dhabi, and Max finishes less than half a second behind him.

And it’s fucking beautiful.

[stickytrigger69]

Helloooo,

Could I request some sorta angst with Lost light megatron for lack of a better word ‘stumbling’ across a video of his lovers battle in the gladiatorial pits years before he set foot in them?

Lost Light Megatron x GN Cybertronian Reader

Reader is gender neutral

Bot instead of mech or femme

Readers features such as optic color, size, frame type, etc are unspecified.

A bit graphic, blood, violence, and gore

Reader crawled our of the gladiatorial pits before Megatron arrived

---------------------------------------------------------------

Megatron had been hoping that he would be able to sit and listen to Cyclonus sing to pass the time. His beloved still had work to complete before their shift ended so he decided he'd wait for them at Swerve's. The bar has become a safe place for the large mech, and the bots that frequented said place were like family to him. What he hadn't expected though was for the bots inside to be entertaining themselves with Rewinds 'collection'. The small mech had a bad habit of collecting hundreds of recordings of deaths, some more disturbing than others.

All of them were disturbing of course, especially because it meant someone had filmed them on purpose. He shook his helm and went to order a drink from the red mini. He was able to find a comfortable seat far away from the screen to sip on his drink. His peace was soon interrupted though when he heard the word "gladiators" come from the large band of bots behind him. He was afraid of what or who they were going to see, thinking that they were trying to get a rise from him he stood getting ready to leave.

When he turned around he caught a glimpse of the screen and froze mid step. His optics blown wide with shock and his vents struggling to pull air into his systems. He turned his helm to look at the group of enamored bots, all of whom looked just as awe struck. Megatron started walking backwards while turning his helm around ever so slightly to get a good look at the screen. And just as he feared, he was in fact seeing what he thought he saw.

Though it was clearly there, he was praying that it wasn't true, that it must be some kind of mistake. The recording is from the gladiatorial pits that he had once fought in but obviously from a time before he became the reigning champion of them. His optics were glued onto the winning fighter. Their frame moving fast, a fist thrown here, a kick there, a weapon in their familiar servos covered in energon. He could feel his spark rate increase, his tanks turn sour, and his vents struggle to circulate air through his heating systems.

His thoughts flashed to the last time he had seen you today, your servos were clean and well taken care of. Your face is devoid of any emotion other than anger, a deep frown etched into your now soft features. You had given him a bright smile just before he left you in your office, optics glowing with passion. The war paint on your face is now long gone, but it was so vibrant then. You finish off the last bot by ripping his helm apart, standing there, looming over the carnage you left in your wake.

Freshly spilled energon pools around you and clings to your frame. An ugly spray of purple and blue covering your old paint job as thousands cheered a name he only heard when he was in those pits himself. The name of a legend, of a menace, of a bot so violent it was said they had to be restrained during recharge because their body would move on its own. The video was paused as your helm tilted upwards to peer at the person recording your match, dead optics glaring into the screen. No one said anything as they all sat there and took in what they had just seen, Megatron included.

He's really been recharging next to this bot, being so vulnerable with them, giving himself to them. This bot who used to tear others limb from limb with their bare servos. The bot who used to bathe in hot energon they spilled without any remorse or regard for the life they had taken. He knows he is also guilty of these things, but he hadn't kept it from you. He told you where he came from, what he used to do, what his old life was like, the things he's done with his own servos.

You lied to him, and apparently, to everyone else on this ship who trusted you. Looking into the cold and lifeless optics of the one he loves after seeing them pull a mechs cables and pistons from their neck made a chill run down his back. All occupants of the room snapped their helms to the doors when they whooshed open. You stood there, a surprised look on your face, optics open wide at all the faces looking at you. Suddenly uncomfortable you wave slowly to them and start walking deeper into the bar.

After nervously waving at the bunch of bots huddled together in the middle of the bar you turned your attention to your lover who still gazed into the screen. Curious to know what had your beloved so enamored you looked in the same direction as him and were met with a recurring nightmare. All the energon flowing through your frame instantly froze and your vents hitched, your mouth goes dry and frame stiffens. When you regain control of your functions you look to your lover who is now leering at you making your tanks churn. Worry presents itself in your expression but his doesn't change.

"You lied." He hisses before he steps around you and walks out of the bar. You stand there fazed for a moment before turning around so fast to chase after the large mech that you get a little dizzy.

"Megatron! Wait! Please!" You run, barely beginning to catch up to him. He is nearly halfway down the hall when you turn the corner, so you pick up the pace. Your servo almost reaches his back when he abruptly stops and turns around. You gasp at how fast he moves and how he glares at you, effectively making you feel small. He begins to slowly stomp towards you with a sneer on his derma.

"You disgust me," He growls, "was this how you wanted me to find out? You wanted me to see what you are?!" He slowly stalks towards you, your back getting closer and closer to the wall.

"I-" you stutter and fumble for words, suddenly afraid of the mech you adore. The pure rage in his optics makes you shudder and your legs to feel wobbly.

"How could you keep such a thing from me?!" Tears gather in your optics making your vision go blurry. "I trusted you, I told you everything, I was transparent to you and yet you had the bearings to hide yourself from me?!" He sounds so hurt. Finally your back hits the wall and he is looming over your crumbling form.

"You don't understand-"

"I don't understand, hm? Please, enlighten me, what is it that I don't understand?" He asks in a condescending tone.

"W-, I-" no matter how hard you try you can't seem to find the right words. You can see him losing his patience. He's never looked at you like this, scared you like this.

"Well!?" He shouts as his fist connects with the wall beside your helm. The metal gives way and cracks around his fist, and you are shaking. The coolant finally streams down your face while he grinds his denta together.

"I'm sorry!" You cry out and his face softens just the slightest. His derma form a line, optic ridge still folded into a frown. He stares into your optics, you're afraid, very much unlike they looked in the video. He can see you and his face starts to go slack, frown fading from his face. Your field releases a sickening amount of fear, anxiety, and sadness.

He pushes himself from the wall and steps back from your shaking frame. You slowly start to descend to the floor, legs turned to jelly as a sob escapes you. His soft gaze hardens again while he takes you in.

"You're pathetic." He grumbles, turning on his heels to start back down the hall. He left you there, crying in the corner, but didn't return to your shared hab. Opting instead to continue wandering the Lost Light, thoughts racing with questions and his spark pulsing with emotion. He soon felt the need to return to your hab, though, so he begrudgingly changed course. He stops in front of the door and takes a deep breath before punching in the code and opening it to find the room empty.

'Thank Primus,' he thought as he walked in. He sat at the desk against the wall and pulled out a data pad he's been writing in. Almost immediately, he began writing, expressing his feelings through poetic metaphor. For a while, he expressed anger and betrayal, but the more he wrote, he began to feel sad; for one, he hadn't listened to you. And two; he scared you.

Your fearful stare and the way your field felt so thick was burned into his core. There could be any number of reasons you hadn't told him of your brutal past. He knows you wouldn't keep something from him unless it was easy for you to talk about. The image of your face remained at the forefront of his mind, so vividly he could see the coolant pour from your optics as your derma quivered. Despite his own emotional constipation, you had only cried like that in front of him twice. One of those times happened subconsciously when you had a bad dream. You are an odd bot, keeping to yourself even with him, though you have been oh so slowly opening up to him, telling him little things.

He was so quick to shoot you down in your most vulnerable moment that it made his denta tingle with a sour sensation. He feels guilt settle heavily in his tanks. Perhaps you were like him, thrust into that environment, forced to adapt to killing so you could see another cycle. He's suddenly afraid of seeing you again. If you hadn't hated him before, even after he told you who he was and the things he had done, you certainly do now after how he just treated you.

He got up out of his seat anyway and left the room to go look for you. He doesn't know why, but he checked the corner he left you at. Of course, you weren't there. The taunting hole where his fist made contact with the wall glared at him. Then he checked back at Swerve's, and no one had seen you after you both walked out. He looked in your office. It was empty, and all of your data pads were strewn about the room. It's an organized mess, just the way you like it.

He pinged Magnus, he hasn't seen or heard from you, Rodimus hasn't either, which was a tad surprising. He had even asked Rung, knowing you would go and talk to him if you had a problem, even though you would never tell anyone who you were wronged by if a person was the cause of your strife. The one thing he hadn't expected was Drift telling him he saw you go into Whirl's hab with him. He's suddenly overtaken by fear and jealousy, worried that you might be being unfaithful, but he knows you. He knocks on Whirl's door. After a few moments, it opens only enough for the blue mech to stick half of his upper body through.

"Yes~?" He asks, a slight edge to his voice.

"Is (Y/N) in there with you?" His patience begins to swirl down the drain when Whirl looks him up and down.

"And if they were? What do you want from them?" His claw holding tightly onto the door.

"I only want to speak with them," He mumbles, "please." Whirl looks him up and down again.

"Well, that's great and all, but." He pushes the door the rest of the way open, "They left already." Megatron's hopes of mending things die in his tanks. "Not sure you're going to find them either." With that, the door slides closed, the lock audibly clicks in place, making Megatron sigh.

'You're not going to find them either.' Whirl's words sink in and replay in his mind slight panic starting to rise in him. He knows that's the truth, too. if you don't want to be found, you won't be, and it worries him. You can disappear for as long as you want, and no one can say a thing to make you come out. No one even knows where you go or what you do, the nano klik that they do figure out where you go you find a brand new hiding place.

You never frequent the same hiding place again after you leave it because they always find out where you go. So instead of searching every inch of the ship for you, he decides to just wait for you back in the hab. The walk back is quiet, his helm overcome by endless thoughts, especially the thought of how he could have handled the situation differently. The myriad of ways he could have dealt with the issue, instead he allowed his own feelings to cloud his judgment, let himself be consumed by his anger and deep feelings of betrayal. He doesn't even realize that he's arrived at your hab, he decides there at the door while he puts the code in to unlock the door that he will send you a ping when he gets inside.

And that's exactly what he did. He'd sent you the ping a long time ago, no response, you hadn't even looked at it. He understood why. He would just let you have your space, allow the both of you to collect your thoughts. Him more so than you.

"Wait! Please, (Y/N)! Please, I don't wish to fight you!" Your fists are held in a defensive position, ready to block and attack. Your optics are full of rage, devoid of the bot he knows and loves. He's never felt this way around you before. He never felt so afraid of you. You have never threatened anyone before, with your words or your frame or field. Right now, you are using your frame and field to intimidate him, strike a deep and carnal fear in his spark, fight or flight, and take over his frame.

You lunge for him and successfully grapple the grey mech, wrapping your arms around him to try and wrestle him around. The sounds you're making are feral and new to his audial receptors, shock pulsing through his fuel lines and increasing his anxiety. He doesn't want to hurt you, but he won't allow you to take him down either. His only goal is to incapacitate you so that he can try to talk some sense into you. He holds fast, planting his pedes into the ground and servos grasping onto your upper arms tightly to keep you in place.

"This is not who you are! You are not the same bot they made you into! You have changed, you're my beloved spark, please!" He shouts as loud as he can, his optics glowing brightly, bathing your face in a soft red light. You stare back into his optics sneering at him, your sharpened denta bare before him. What happens next seems to happen in slow motion. You pull your helm back and swing yourself towards him. He can't do anything about it either, only capable of watching as your face and forehead get closer before finally making contact with the bridge of his olfactory unit.

He staggers for a moment as his grip on your arms loosens just enough for you to use his own weight against him. Your left leg plants itself behind his right one as you push harshly, he falls to the ground as if he were underwater. You quickly mount the fallen giant and hit him fast and hard, punch after punch connects to his face with a loud clang. He can't do a thing about it, he has no strength to try and push you off or hit you back. When he looks at your face contorted with hatred he can't help but feel he deserves it.

His spark wrenches at the sight, pure ferocity and hatred that burns in your optics and floods his senses from your field. The need to survive has flown out the window and he accepts his fate the more you hit him. You stop punching him to catch your breath, Megatron sputters and chokes slightly on his own blood. Coughing and swallowing hard while he tries to pull himself together. Your right arm reaches behind your back and reappears with a large sword you sport during your gladiatorial matches.

Your optics are narrowed as you gaze upon the broken mech beneath you, his gunmetal grey paint has rubbed off onto your servos, arms, and tribulen. You say nothing as you plunge the sword into his abdomen just beneath his chassis, the sharp blade going through his tanks and stabbing into the ground beneath him, skewering the mech. Megatron's vision is fading, black framing the edges of his vision. Your face a blur of grey and purple from the blood that splattered onto your face when you were hitting him. His shaking servo rises from his side and reaches up to try and cup your cheek to show you affection.

You slap his servo away, and it falls back to the ground with a loud clank sound, causing the grey mech to groan. Coolant leaks from his optics. The more you fade from him, the more he can feel your weight lift off of him. He feels at peace almost. Weightlessness takes him over as the dark holds him oh so gently.

"Megatron?" Your soft voice cuts through the darkness causing him to hum. He starts to feel heavy again. He's being shaken. "Megatron, are you okay? Megatron?" His optics snap open and his servo immediately snatches up your arm, gripping it tightly. He's still afraid, vents heaving and cooling fans whirring, his face is wet with coolant.

You don't try to pull away from him nor do you react to his tight grip on your arm. His vision is slightly blurry from being pulled out of recharge. When he finally can see perfectly, your soft features are all he can see.

"You were dreaming again, my love." Your voice is quiet and soft, but he hears it so clearly that he shoots up into a sitting position. His optics are wide as he stares at you in disbelief. "I just um, came to grab a couple of things. I understand if you want or need some time to yourself." Your helm tilts down, gaze falling to your pedes.

"No," He picks you up and hugs you tightly to his chassis "please." He hiccups. "I didn't listen to you and-"

"I'd only give you some excuse, I'm a liar." Your voice is low and full of chagrin.

"No, shhhh, I didn't. I just..." Megatron couldn't think of anything to say. A mech with such a vast vocabulary is at loss for words.

"I made you feel so horrible. I lied to you, I kept things from you and I shouldn't have. I just, I couldn't find the right way to tell you. I was scared to. I don't like to share certain things, not only because it hurts but because I don't want it to affect anyone around me. I didn't want to make you feel like I was trying to overshadow you with my own complaints or just use you as some crutch when I can handle it myself without problem. I don't want to have to rely on you and use you as a crutch. I'm supposed to be your rock, your foundation." Your arms tighten around him, field leasing wave after wave of guilt and gut wrenching sadness and an overwhelming sense of self loathing.

How long have you felt this way? How long have you been holding on to such turmoil while giving him nothing but support? Why couldn't he see it? Such anguish has wreaked havoc upon you for so long, so much longer than he could have guessed and yet you still only ever offered him pure love, happiness, joy, and care. He feels selfish and guilty and angry at himself, he should have seen it, even just a fragment of it.

The dream was so real, though he was afraid of you he knows you would never do anything to hurt him. You would never fight him, you must have taken a vow as well because he's never seen you raise a servo to anyone before, not even in self defense. The past is the past, it shouldn't have mattered as much as it felt like it did.

"I know I don't deserve anything from you, you don't have to apologize, it was my fault for not having said something. I should have told you that something was off about me, shouldn't have let you trust me so blindly. Surely you remember the rumors about me from those times. I understand if you don't feel safe with me anymore." Coolant pools in your downturned optics. You sit facing him in his lap with your helm lowered, trying to make yourself appear weak. You'd allow him to throw you out of the room or even to just shake you around a bit before making you leave. You would accept his anger and resentment however he so chooses to express it to you. You'd let him crush your spark with his servos if it meant he would forgive you for lying to him. "I didn't meant to lie to you." You sniffle, you hadn't even been aware that you were lying to him, you only thought it was like saving that part of yourself for a more appropriate time.

"You weren't lying, you hadn't lied about anything, you just haven't told me. I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't tell me. If you ever need to, please, don't hesitate, don't feel like you're a burden. I'm here for you, we stand together, we are the foundations of our shared happiness. I can't bear the thought that you have been crumbling this entire time." He tilts your helm up to look him in the optics. Coolant threatens to spill from yours, they look nearly as empty as they were in his nightmare and it breaks his spark. He's never seen you like this before, never thought he would, never would have hoped.

You take in a shaky breath and say, "I'm sorry." Your derma quivering. So he kisses you. Planting his derma to yours as the coolant finally begins to stream down your face. He releases you but presses your forehelms together, his optics closed while he feeds love and worry through his field. Remorse finds its way through as well and it makes more coolant trickle down your face in a heavy flow.

"You are everything to me, I'm the one who should be sorry. Primus knows why you were in there, and you don't have to tell me unless you want to, but I'm so sorry that I wasn't trying to be understanding of you." His optics open, looking at your servo in his. It's clean and well cared for. Your paint job is not stained in blood. Your frame is free of scratches and scars. You're a completely different bot than the one who lived in those Primus forsaken pits, chained to a wall during recharge.

You buried that bot a long time ago.

[anony-man]

Chubformers drabble #91!

Characters: Megatron (& Soundwave - TFP)

Word count: 842

The arena was alive with shouts and cries as Megatronus prowled. They had come here for a fight, and for his success by the chanting of his name in the air. A fight is what they wanted, and a fight is what he would give them.

His success had crossed the boundaries of Kaon and drawn in hundreds, if not thousands, of bloodthirsty and sadistic viewers. His gruesome successes and fiery speeches caught the attention of just the right bots, it seemed, and while he was still aiming for the abolishment of Cybertron’s awful systems, Megatronus was starting to gain more than just a crowd of curious audials and willing viewers.

The sway of his belly followed each thundering step he took around the ring, and Megatronus swung his helm back and forth in a show of aggression as he searched for his next willing opponent. The pits were about putting on a show and nothing less, and he’d grown accustomed to doing just that.

His name wasn’t the only thing growing these days, and neither was his growing victory streak. Gartering attention from those above him meant making a statement, and Megatronus had discovered a foolproof way of doing just that. Megatronus was great, but his reputation would be greater.

What better way to gain the attention of his people than to gain himself? The crowds loved it, his opponents mocked it, and Megatronus came out on top every time.

“Who out there is brave enough to fight against me, Megatronus, reigning champion of the gladiator pits?” he shouted, pounding a fist against his protruding chest as he studied the crowd.

The people roared, servos pumping the air and fingers pointing as a new figure crept through the entrance. Megatronus watched, waiting curiously for the first sign of his next victim.

“Well?” Megatronus continued, servos on his pudgy hips as he waited. “Show yourself, coward! Come face me!”

Unlike his past opponents, the new arrival was hardly cocky in his approach towards the ring. Each step was crept forward with calculated movements, and the bot’s face—a full visor covering his expression—bore no sign of the ridicule or shock Megatronus had received before.

A fair fight, then. Megatronus had been dying for one of those.

He waited for a battle cry, or a speech, or a show of power, but the only thing he received was the mech pausing at the center of the arena and lowering his helm, allowing Megatronus to make the first move.

Easy work then. At least, that’s what he had thought.

It took all of ten minutes for Megatronus to force his opponent to the floor, but when he went in to pin the mech beneath the weight of his belly, he hesitated. The crowd around them was up on their pedes and shouting his name in a chanted mantra, desperate for the cry of war and success he uttered after every defeat, but this… this was no success. It was no simple fight, either.

The bot beneath his belly made no attempt at a struggle as the weight of Megatronus’ massive frame was rested atop him. Instead, he merely gave in and allowed himself to be pinned. Strange, he thought, but the fight was still on, and the people were hungry for a show. There was no time to linger on such an occurrence, no matter how badly he tried.

“I am… victorious!” he shouted, and the silent crowd began screaming his name.

“I am victorious,” he continued, leaning into the pinned mech beneath him. “And I will continue to succeed. Hear my name and mark my words, for I, Megatronus, will bring about a change to Cybertron as we know it!”

All optics were on him, just as they were meant to be. Megatronus reveled in the attention and soaked up the joy of the moment, but never once stopped thinking about the silent, submissive bot he’d defeated that still lay beneath his belly.

Even after the fight had ended, and after the bot had crept back into the shadows to nurse his wounds with only a brief glance back at the fat gladiator who’d defeated him, Megatronus couldn’t get it out of his processor. There was something different then, something different about the fight, and about his opponent, and about his reputation that had changed then.

He was still Megatronus, the fearsome gladiator of the pits of Kaon, and his days would be lived in the light of his success. Even so, he could hardly forget that blank visor staring back at him. With every downed opponent and every mech torn apart with each bloody battle, Megatronus could only wish more and more for that familiar yet foreign face to be the one staring back at him.

Soundwave, he later learned. Soundwave was the mech who had caught his attention, and it would be Soundwave standing by his side who would put an end to the reign of fruitless fights and empty victories of crushing bots beneath the weight of his frame.

[moonlightseve]

hi hi I enjoy your analysis posts so much!! do you have any thoughts on the undercurrent of performance that runs throughout yuri on ice - re Victor ' 'performance' nikiforov (contrasted with yuuri's (and yurio, eventually) absence of a persona while skating) and the whole episode 3 premise of the trio trying to perform an emotion until it clicks (highlighting yuuri's eros monologue arc specifically) while the program itself is constructed by someone who at that point doesn't fully comprehend the extent of the emotion he puts into the sp. not to forget the performance inherent to sport in and of itself! sorry if this doesn't make any sense I hope you're having a good day tysm for reading!!

Hello, I hope your day is going well too! It was wonderful to wake up and see your ask in my inbox xxx

Oh boy, of course I have thoughts. I spent a little while trying to figure out how to condense all of them, but no matter what I do it seems like this post is going to be pretty long.

As you said, Viktor can certainly be very performative, which we see throughout the show as he reminisces about his career and tries to discover what role Yuuri expects him to play. He doesn’t show emotion unless he has to and he’s very concerned with his image – always going out of his way to interact with fans (and scolding Yuuri when he doesn’t do the same). He has a persona of sorts, putting on the air of Viktor Nikiforov: Living Legend, 5-time GPF Champion, 5-time Worlds Champion, Olympian, etc etc. There is little room in his life for him to simply be himself, instead shelving his own wants and desires to embrace the idea of who he thinks he’s supposed to be. 

On the ice, however, is a completely different story. This is where I veer off partially into headcanon because we unfortunately don’t know much about Viktor’s backstory (curse you Mappa!!!), so I need to speculate a bit. I have always viewed Viktor as someone who feels things quite deeply. He’s very passionate and emotional, but has incredible self-control and keeps himself reigned in. The ice is where he lets that go a bit, allowing himself to feel what he feels and express it through his skating. 

Evidence for this is present in how he choreographs and selects the music for his routines, giving him full creative control and the chance to embrace whatever he feels he will do best with. Stammi Vicino is heartbreaking, and lonely, and desperate – all things I would likely associate with Viktor at the beginning of the series. 

It’s present in how he coaches, always falling back on his own experiences as a skater to guide Yuuri and Yurio. When he begins to give advice, he tends to reflect on how Yakov coached him rather than coming up with something entirely new that better serves the different personalities of the Yuris. This implies to the audience that all of his attempts to get Yuri-squared to connect with the emotion at the heart of their short programs is how he himself worked on his programs. 

It’s present in one of my favorite Viktor quotes from the entire show, a little moment in episode 2 or 3 where Yurio is frustrated with Agape and trying to get Viktor to tell him what’s wrong, and Viktor says something along the lines of “It’s an emotion, why would I bother trying to explain it in words?” The feelings he presents on the ice are just that: feelings. They are important to him and sometimes indescribable, a little window into the truth of who he is that he keeps closely guarded at all other times. 

Viktor off the ice knows when to smile for the cameras and flash a wink to the crowd, keeping his image perfectly tailored to the one he wants to present. Viktor on the ice is able to let the artifice fade away and become, for just a moment, wholly himself. He would never tell anyone that he is lonely, but he skates Stammi Vicino as if it’s an extension of himself. 

The point you brought up regarding the fact that Viktor choreographed routines for emotions he may not understand is SO interesting to me because I have never even considered it! I think about Viktor a lot, and switch between two opposing ideas of him depending on how I’m feeling that day:

Viktor has known unconditional love, whether through his parents (I pretty firmly believe his family was not active in his life) or through Yakov (one of my favorite headcanons) or through Makkachin, even. Makkachin may not be quite the same thing, but he may not know any better and is therefore using that as his inspiration. Or, maybe he feels unconditional love for something/someone else. 

Viktor does not know unconditional love. He has never had anyone who could give him that, which is why Yuuri is very important and such a big deal and he needed to get on a plane to Japan IMMEDIATELY!!!

Depending on which of these you subscribe to (or a secret third option, perhaps) then Viktor’s ability to choreograph Yuri and Yuuri’s short programs is very interesting. He truly seems to have a grasp on Eros and Agape in a way that Yuri-squared struggles with. Since he encourages them to feel those emotions deeply in order to skate them correctly and those routines were originally for him, it means he must feel them deeply enough to think them worthy of creating and presenting to the world. 

So that’s how I view Viktor. When he is skating, he is not a performer, but a performance – the entertainment he produces is not the end goal, it merely comes from watching him be himself. And that authenticity is what makes him such a wonderful skater. 

Yuuri’s battle starts with him NEEDING to perform something (the tale of the katsudon fatale, how could we ever forget) and ends with him finally being able to draw upon himself for his skate. Creating some sort of narrative and slipping into a persona helps get him off the ground, but it’s really like a set of training wheels Viktor tries to get him to shed as their story progresses. It’s why his Yuri on Ice free skate is so important to his journey as a skater – there’s nothing for him to perform, just him being himself. To properly execute the program, he must be Yuuri, aware of the journey he has taken and each iteration he has been, mastering all of it to embrace who he is now. It must be less of a performance and more of a confession to those watching. 

Yurio’s Agape is so powerful for the same reasons! It’s because it comes from his own personal experiences with his grandpa, who he loves dearly. He needs to embrace that softer side of himself that he hides behind the prickly angsty exterior to truly do his program justice. 

“We call everything on the ice love” is very important because on the ice is when a skater’s truths must emerge. This is when they are most authentically themself, and when love therefore shines the brightest. 

I hope I answered your questions, and I’m sorry if I got a bit rambly there at any point! This was a very fun topic to discuss and if anyone has any thoughts I’d love to hear them. I have this account because I have things that I love that I want to share with other people and to hear about the things they love in turn, so it genuinely makes my day when I get to do that.

Thank you for the ask!

[doomed-jester]

TOTK Ganondorf is really cool and all but after everything I still think my favorite incarnation of the character is the one we see in Wind Waker.

I don't like Wind Waker very much. I think the later dungeons (the escort missions) get tedious and the ocean exploring (especially in the original or without the swift sail in the HD version) is very slow and repetitive. But Ganondorf? Oh he's great.

The Ganondorf of Wind Waker is the Ganondorf who was defeated at the end of Ocarina of Time. The one who reigned over Hyrule as the Demon King, who became a monster in pursuit of power, and who ultimately failed. The Ganondorf of Wind Waker is one who held power and lost it, and it shows. He's not as smug and power hungry as the Ganondorf of Twilight Princess, who never saw his plan fail, or as outright monstrous as the Ganon of the downfall timeline who lost every shred of his humanity.

Wind Waker had a Ganondorf who had been humbled, brought back down to humanity after standing as a god. He was still evil but he was introspective, he was measured, he was patient. He even explains his motivations! He wasn't just evil for Evil's sake, he wanted a better life, for himself and his people. His monologue at the end of the game is such incredible writing and it's honestly seared into my brain. He got corrupted by his desire for more and more power, but he genuinely did have the best interests of the Gerudo at heart at some stage.

This line is tattooed into my cerebrum I stg.

Meanwhile, the Ganondorf of Tears of the Kingdom is, without spoiling anything, just kind of a massive cunt who's evil from day one and his goals amount to plunging the world into darkness because he's evil. Seriously, I collected the dragon tears, I saw the memory cut scenes, I spent days in that game and I feel like I must've missed something because Ganondorf's motives felt absolutely paper fucking thin.

That's not to say it's a bad game! I loved Tears of the Kingdom, more than Breath of the Wild even. The champions get more to do, the side quests are numerous and very fun, the visuals and gameplay are amazing, and it has what every Zelda game deserves: really good, unique boss fights. But... Well I just find its villain lacking. He gets a lot of screen time, apparently more dialogue than any past incarnation of Ganon has had, but even with all that it just feels like he didn't have reasons to do what he did.

[fandonnavyce]

Ectoberhaunt 2023 Day 5: Hunt

Ghost King Phantom the Great, High King of the Infinite Realms by Right of Conquest, Saviour Sovereign of the Infinite Realms, Master of Space, Minister of Time, Deliverer of the Unquiet Dead, Restless Spirits, and Lost Souls, Lord of Harmony, Champion of Amity, Protector of the Balance, etc. long be his Reign.

Cordially Invites you to the First-Ever Wild Hunt Since Long Ago. This Wild Hunt will be Led by The Great One Himself. We greatly anticipate your presence.

For such auspicious occasion and the commencement of a renewed tradition, to the victor go the spoils: Bragging Rights, the possession and ownership of the soul in its entirety belonging to one John Constantine the Hellblazer, the Laughing Magician, the Master of Bad Luck Magic, upon his Death, and the Friends, Foes, and Fellows In-between you’ll make along the way!

Read More

“There hasn’t been a Wild Hunt in centuries” Clockwork muses. 

Danny looked up from his paperwork. Accidentally befriending the latest generations of Observants had the best of unintended consequences. Instead of a bunch of naggy, bureaucratic, homicidal alarmists, always ready to bring about Danny’s immediate End. He now had a cohort that scouted the infinite dimensions and then told him the interesting things they’d observed. They were interdimensional news reporters, always ready to bring back the latest from all over the realms. His reports now read like gossip tabloids or snarky info-dumping blog posts. People got up to the wildest shit in all the dimensions, and Observants were spilling all the tea. His next objective was seeing if they would be willing to give reports in comic book form.

Upon hearing Clockwork, Danny squinted.

“Ok, what’s that got to do with me?” Clockwork doesn’t make random announcements. Danny could feel this in his core, this was gonna lead to shenanigans. 

“You are the newly crowned High King of the Infinite Realms are you not? You of all spirits have enough power and authority to lead a Wild Hunt”.

“But why can’t you do it? You’ve got power and authority. You’re literally the God of Time!” Danny protests. Clockwork shifts into his decrepit Father Time shape.

“But it wouldn’t be fitting for an old creaking ghost like me to be leading the Wild Hunt. The Wild Hunt is an event better suited for youngins”

Danny stares at Clockwork utterly unimpressed. “Clockwork you were literally a baby just seconds ago”

Clockwork scoffs, “To you maybe. My seconds last longer than yours, however. I experience Eternity in a Hour,”

“That’s not, no they don’t. I know that’s not how that works. Why are you even? Wait, hang on, was that last bit a quote from somewhere? You know what fine, fine,” Danny sighs in resignation, “What even is the Wild Hunt?”

“A H̛̤̰̲͙͈̘̺́u҉̯n̂̑͗̆҉̪̪̲͇̙͔t̬͊͌” ::chase-thrill-pursuit-procession:: (nostalgia-of- fierce-fury-and-rampant-joy)

“A H̛̤̰̲͙͈̘̺́u҉̯n̂̑͗̆҉̪̪̲��̙͔t̬͊͌. ::chase-thrill-pursuit-procession:: (unimpressed-incomprehension) Danny repeated in a different tone. "Wow, supremely helpful CW. Anything more you want to add to that?”

Clockwork shrunk down to his baby form.

“No”

Then shifted through his adult form and back up into his old man Father Time form.

Danny face-palms. “You know for a ghost who wants me to lead the Wild Hunt, you’re not being very persuasive in getting me to lead the Wild Hunt.”

“That’s fine I don’t need to persuade you”.

“What?”

Suddenly the stack of paper that Danny had been reading from glowed green. A new report had come in. Eyeing Clockwork suspiciously, who smiled benignly back in his adult form, he picked up the report and gave it a glance over.

Then he read it again to make sure he was understanding this right.

“Clockwork, this guy has bargained his soul like five times over and now a bunch of Demonic Sovereigns want me to mediate because I am quote-unquote "a neutral party”.”

“Ahh yes, the quadruply damned soul belonging to the Hellblazer, one John Constantine.”

“This petition was submitted by… The Third of the Fallen? Well that name's pretentious.”

“They are all Fallen, arrogance and pretentiousness is a tiresome given” Clockwork sighed. “Also the Heavenly Host has reportedly made endeavours to ensure that John’s soul doesn’t end up into the hands of Hell. Specifically that the Presence, their God figure, is incentivised to prevent John’s transformation into a powerful demonic threat. So Heaven technically wants John’s soul too even if it’s just to keep it out of Hell’s grasp.” 

“This guy has Heaven and Hell fighting over his soul when he dies. John’s soul better be the prettiest in all the realms because even Helen of Troy didn’t kick off this much warfare.” Danny stared hard at the report. “What do they even want me to do about this?”

“No parties want to relinquish their claim on Constantine’s soul, or to be more precise, no party wants any of the other parties to claim it.”

“If I can’t have it, then no will,” Danny said wryly.

“That is the current status quo," Clockwork affirmed. "But Constantine is mortal, that man will die one day sooner or later. But no party wants to have a full on war over Constantine’s soul either.”

“Which is why they come to me, an outside party, to arbitrate the matter”

“They hope that you will judge the matter and decide who gets his soul upon his mortal demise”

“That sounds like a whole lot of bother, absolutely no fun, and like I’ll get a bunch of powerful demons, angels, and whatever else pissed off at me.”

“If a Trial and Judgement is not to your liking you could just provide an alternative to War”

“What like a,” the dots start to connect in Danny’s head, “Like a Wild Hunt, to the victor go the spoils i.e. John Constantine’s soul”.

Clockwork smirks. 

@ectoberhaunt

[moonshynecybin]

the marc-max dynamic is so rich to me not in a ship way but just that they’re both red bull boy athletes child phenoms who came in and defeated the godlike reigning champions of their respective sports

any thoughts on their similarities and differences?

okay i do need a disclaimer that i am not an F1 scholar by any means i simply enjoy it very casually adn see my lovely mutuals post about it :) like i got into it bc my very offline best friend has loved max forever hes like my most beloved blorbo in law <3. daniel ricciardo is my babygirl though i love his ass. so dont throw rocks at meee

so for in terms of their similarities.... ive talked a little bit about the inherent ego that is tied to racing at the level these guys race at, adn max is definitely in that same vein. he's confident! super sweet off track but in the heat of the race knows when he has to prioritize himself and is not apologetic about it in the least. thats how you win. and thats where him and marc often get into trouble with the media lol (though marc is better at withholding, max will mostly just. say it. king.). but i also think theres a conversation to be had about how any single person in the conversation for GOAT in their respective sport has to be at least mildly crazy in terms of how they relate to their jobs. like obsessive religious devotion from young childhood in many ways.... for vehicular death sport more than mildly methinks. so one fun thing is that whenever they meet they can kind of talk to each other about racing in circles forever bc they love it :) freak4freak friendship where they relate to each other bc their sports are in conversation but not competition with each other, which makes the convo more fun! and it means they can literally just sit there and explain racing to someone who understands what its like to be a too-young protege champion but has enough gaps in their knowledge that a lot of info is mostly new. that must be pretty interesting to them both (especially max who loves that shit lol)

but the thing about max (and again im not a scholar) is that his childhood is so dominated by this complex entanglement between racing and his family and his father and all that mess. marc doesnt really have that same familial trauma tied to this huge polestar of his life (there are other traumas adn other family weirdness with marc but uhhhh this aint about that.) like max absolutely has that dog in him. but i think if he got super injured like marc he wouldnt necessarily do the crazy resilient comeback against all odds like marc did, i think he would retire! and some part of him would be kind of quietly relieved that he can let it go without disappointing anyone and then he'd go on the sim 8 hours a day adn be pretty happy. in a way marc absolutely would not be. but again i am no expert!!

[celuloideycarbono]

His eyes were half-closed, on the verge of falling into a deep sleep. Suddenly, a scream from Urska pulls him out of his stupor. She is staring at the television without blinking: there has been a massive crash in the peloton, during a descent. He doesn't like seeing that. He knows anyone can be involved in a serious accident, and every time he sees a crash like that, he remembers Gino. Then a shot from the helicopter shows a rider in yellow, lying on the ground, almost motionless. It can't be him, he tells himself. But yes, his worst nightmare is true: it's him.

The damned broadcast keeps showing images of him lying on the ground. A hand moves, and Tadej breathes a sigh of relief, but fears that Jonas is not well at all. Many memories come to his mind. Who was that pale rider who dared to challenge his graceful dominance on Mont Ventoux? Little by little, he got used to his presence. That young Dane was two years older than him, but then, as the reigning champion, he felt he had to exercise a kind of older brother tutelage over him.

But that role didn't last long. The following year, after the Granon stage, completely exhausted, on the verge of fainting, he remembered approaching him, seeking his contact like a sailor seeks solid ground. He tried to hug him. Jonas was on the phone. The cameras were there, and he hesitated for a moment whether to get so close: some might interpret his courtesy as a cynical gesture, done to please the media. But in reality, he felt tempted to be near that weak, pale body that had beaten him up. He desired greater proximity. He had felt humiliated but, at the same time, felt a powerful attraction to that pale young man who had brought him back to his most human facet. But he was afraid of too much closeness, so it all boiled down to a brief handshake and an incomplete hug.

A similar scene repeated itself the following year. Again, Tadej had suffered a bitter defeat in Combloux and yet needed to hug that young man who had crushed him. Masochistic impulses resurfaced. He wanted nothing more than to prolong that pain in a more intimate setting, shared with Jonas. And his smile in front of the camera, he wasn't sure if it completely hid his true desires.

However, everything around them forced them to distance themselves. They couldn't be friends. Their teams, their environments, the fans who supported each of them, the journalists, wouldn't understand it. A narrative had been built that opposed them: Tadej the fun one, the jokester, a bit proud but gooffy and carefree; Jonas the cold one, the impenetrable one, the hard worker, the silent one, the reserved one. All those were lies, he knew it. Did Jonas realize it too? Despite this, they remained distant. They didn't even have each other's phone numbers. At first, Tadej had felt that Jonas was younger than him, but now he saw in him someone more mature. Did Jonas feel something similar about him?

Since then, they had barely spoken. They had organized their schedules with the sole intention of not seeing each other and perhaps thereby avoiding a desire and a power of attraction too strong. Now, watching Jonas's crash on television, he felt powerless. He wanted nothing more than to be able to talk to him, to be with him in the hospital, by his bedside. Could it be possible? Surely it wouldn't be accepted, as it would be irreverent, incomprehensible. Two young men who want to crush each other on the road... do they also want to do it in a hotel room? Maybe it was better to keep the distance, even if it was hard. But, would Jonas be able to understand that his silence was nothing more than an attempt to get his attention?

[openshanklygates]

Never Ashamed

Whumpril 2024 April 3, 2024 SHAME Alex Shelley/Chris Sabin Main Verse

Two hundred and eighteen days.

Alex Shelley had been the Impact World Champion for two hundred and eighteen days. For most people that would be a title reign to be proud of. He had faced off against and beaten some of the best in the world. Hiroshi Tanahashi, Josh Alexander, even Jonathan Gresham had stepped up to the plate and all had been sent back to the back of the line. He had led the Impact roster all the way into the new era of TNA. They were all honorable moments.

So losing to a cheat and a bully like Moose brought him so much shame.

The sun was rising against the Las Vegas skyline, but Alex had yet to go to sleep. His mind raced with the events of the night before. What if he had been just a little more aggressive? What if he had put just a little more of himself into the match? Would the championship still be sitting next to the hotel room television, reflecting the hotel room bed where he and Chris Sabin currently laid, his partner pressed into his side snoring peacefully.

Chris.

In his loss, Alex had almost forgotten to congratulate Chris on his historic win. It was officially the longest reign that Chris had ever had, his tenth as X-Division Champion. El Hijo del Vikingo was no joke for such a young talent and Kushida, well, Alex felt like it would be cheating to say anything more about this best friend. Alex was certain that Chris would have preferred meeting up with some of the other roster members for drinks and a laugh. instead, Chris had stayed behind to hold Alex until he fell asleep.

"You could do so much better than me," Alex murmured to his sleeping companion, pressing a kiss to the top of Chris's head. He attempted to get up, but Chris snuggled in closer and tossed a leg over both of Alex's to trap him there.

"Shuttup," Chris tiredly murmured, burying his head in the crook of Alex's neck, "'stoo early for this."

Alex gave a small laugh, "Go back to sleep. I'm just gonna-"

"You are gonna do nothing but sleep," Chris protested, raising his head to scowl at Alex. It would have been much more intimidating if he didn't have to squint at Alex to properly see him. "I don't wanna get up. I don't wanna have you get up. I think I earned it. Ch-"

Chris cut himself off, closing his eyes before Alex spoke up, "No! No, you're right! Champ's privilege. You earned it. You did so good."

"Yeah, but you-"

"Let you down, that much I know," Alex admitted, "I should-"

"Shut up and kiss me," Chris nuzzled the back of Alex's neck, "we are gonna lay in this bed til you go to sleep."

"I don't need sl-"

"I said we are gonna lay here til you get some sleep," Chris groaned a little more forcefully. He tightened his grip on Alex, who sank further into the mattress. He may have felt shame, but at least he knew Chris was here to love him through it.

[im-probably-crying-rn-ngl]

my wips

i wanted to organise and share my wips and i am actually sorry to whomever has ever tagged me in a tag game, i actually just don't know how to do them✨ if anyone is curious about any of these please do drop me an ask because i do love the sound of my own voice/sight of my own words and will provide detail 😌

okay so we have britcedes (rip to them ig) to start off, rn trying to figure out how the actual fuck i will write lewis' move to ferrari into them:

End Game: okay so a/b/o au where lewis is coparenting his son with his ex (teammate and boyfriend, buy 1 get 1 free) nico rosberg. lewis might have a lot on his plate but he finds himself attracted to his new teammate (he has a bit of a type) and against his better judgement they start up a "thing". what lewis doesn't realise george is absolutely head over heels in love with him and has been for YEARS. but george tries to play it cool, he fails, shit happens, gax happens (yes okay i don't want to fumble with this, max is incredibly complex in this but i still love him in it) but yes they get their end game of course.

Chasing Silver: set in canon universe, starting from the 2021 season. honestly like yeah that's it. i think this fic is just an excuse to ramble about their racing and ever shifting dynamics.

My Girl: OH THIS FIC. its absolutely one of my favourites if not the favourite. so lesbian britcedes, lady louise hamilton is the first black and female driver to make it to f1 and she is the champion of the sport. its 2022, she has won 7 wdcs and is looking for one more but it is just not clicking, neither is her personal life really. love left her a long time ago, walked away on 6 inch red stilettos. but enter george russell (yes her name is george and no it is NOT short for georgia and yes she will correct you on that every single time) louise's new teammate alex albon's race engineer. all george ever wanted was everything and being louise's girl might just give it to her or maybe it will be what takes it it all?

then there is gax my beloveds, i adore writing them, gax nation will always have my loyalty, i really want them to give me more this season:

Lovely: this is a/b/o, childhood sweethearts, non-driver george, son of toto wolff au i have shared snippets of before. writing this fic feels never ending and i am slowly losing my mind haha but its still! my! baby! and! i! won't! abandon! it!

Mad Max's Princess: this is pure self indulgent fluff. girl george who is once again is casted as alex albon's race engineer in this fic. her (mostly) loving boyfriend of 10 years is none other than rival team red bull racing's star and the reigning world champion. the guy they have to beat to get her driver and team to the top. oh when the love of your life is your biggest fan and your biggest hater. this is gax, of course hijinks ensue.

Fire & Blood: medieval fantasy/game of thrones (a song of ice and fire for the ones who know) au with a/b/o dynamics. mercedes are the rulers of the land and their dragons' fire melted the gold in their crowns and the moulded their iron throne. but a dragon can die and a dragon can be killed. a dragon can be shot from the sky and brought down to earth or a dragon can be trapped in a dungeon till it can fly no more. a dragon's neck can be pierced by a lion's teeth.

galex because okay who am i to argue against true love and george's russell's wishes:

Hell is a Teenager: this is a pretty dark fic where i actually do some social commentary on the a/b/o universe. so george and alex are neighbours and the best of friends who are just on the edge of more. at 14 george presents as an omega and is shipped off to an all-omega private boarding school. alex doesn't hear from him till their final year of high school and all of a sudden george is back in town. he is not the same boy that cried in alex's arms the night before he left begging for him to love him. george has changed even if no one else can tell, what happened in there? why is he back? why does alex's heart still give a stutter when he looks into those blue eyes? even if those eyes no longer sparkle. *sigh* yeah this is a toughie

lastly there is my landoscar wip, they write themselves into ffs not us:

The Only Exception: another a/b/o au (one hit wonder i know), basically its the good boy/play boy trope. lando can't get his shit together and oscar is too oblivious for his own good. it would be angst if they weren't so incredibly adorable and down bad for each other.