#london free press

[virtchandmoir]

'Bringing the energy': How Scott Moir is moulding the next generation of ice dancers

Scott Moir hasn't lost his edge. 

January 10, 2023

Former Olympic dance figure skater Scott Moir, one half of the gold medal team of Virtue and Moir, now coaches teams from the U.S., Mexico and Canada. Moir works with Canadian ice dancers Jacob Portz and Alyssa Robinson as they practise at the Komoka Wellness Centre west of London on Friday Jan. 6, 2023. (Mike Hensen/The London Free Press)

“We're going to kick Charlie's ass,” Moir, 35, quipped during a lively training session last week at Komoka Wellness Centre. “Quote that one.”

The one-liners, verbal jabs, laughs and hockey talk is so familiar to anyone who closely followed Moir’s career with his longtime partner, Tessa Virtue of Ilderton, to Olympic gold and the top of the skating world.

Later this month, the ice dance superstar-turned-coach will be in San Jose, Calif., to support one of his promising teams – Christina Carreira and Anthony Ponomarenko – at the U.S. national championships.

In the fall, he bet Ponomarenko, a die-hard San Jose Sharks fan, the Maple Leafs would beat them. When Toronto didn’t, Moir wore one of Sharks captain Logan Couture’s jerseys on the ice, then handed it over to his student.

“He loved that,” said the head coach and managing director of the Ice Academy of Montreal’s Ontario campus.

The American ice dance team of Christina Carreira and Anthony Ponomarenko work through their routine under the gaze of coach Scott Moir at Komoka Wellness Centre on Friday Jan. 6, 2023. (Mike Hensen/The London Free Press)

This week, Moir will wear out a path to the Kiss and Cry area at the Canadian figure skating championships in Oshawa. His local crew is looking to take big steps after some international success.

Londoners Lily Hensen and Nathan Lickers aim to crack the Top 5 in the senior ranks while Ridgetown’s Alyssa Robinson and Calgary’s Jake Portz have that potential, too. Haley Sales and Nikolas Wamsteeker, who relocated from B.C., hope to grab a podium spot.

Kilworth’s Jordyn Lewis and Ilderton’s Noah McMillan want to earn a junior worlds berth and former novice champs Layla Veillon and Alex Brandys, both Londoners, are taking the next step up the ladder. Lewis and Veillon are also on the Ice Ignite synchro team seeking a junior worlds spot.

Internationally, Leia Dozzi and Pietro Papetti skate for Italy and Samantha Ritter and Daniel Brykalov represent Azerbaijan.

Senior ice dancers Nathan Lickers and Lily Hensen of London work on their routines under the guidance of Olympic champion Scott Moir and his mom, Alma Moir, at Komoka Wellness Centre Friday, Jan. 6, 2023. (Mike Hensen/The London Free Press)

“The project here is to create two equal schools,” Moir said. “Montreal is, by far, the most dominant in the world. At the last Olympics, they had 10 of the last 20 skaters (in ice dance). That’s a lot. It’s a big ask, but I think it’s possible now.”

Moir studied the Montreal way when he and Tessa Virtue moved there for their dominant run to the 2018 Olympic title. They worked under old friends Marie-France Dubreuil and Patrice Lauzon, then Moir brought the spirit of camaraderie and friendly, in-house competition back home.

“The kids have to create the atmosphere they want,” he said. “They cheer each other on. Even though a lot of them will go and be on the competition ice with each other, I learned the real magic is if you have each other’s back. There’s a balance to be struck.

“We (Moir and Virtue) didn’t have the same in Canton (Mich.),” he added. “We had it early when Charlie and I were really firing in 2010. I wasn’t the most mature young man in 2014, so I didn’t use that environment to my advantage. But we doubled down on it in 2018 (alongside the French team of Gabriella Papadakis and Guillaume Cizeron) and it was to our advantage, for sure.”

Former Olympic ice dancer Scott Moir now has a thriving business coaching teams from the U.S., Mexico and Canada. Moir skates past his mom, and fellow coach, Alma Moir, at Komoka Wellness Centre on Friday Jan. 6, 2023. (Mike Hensen/The London Free Press)

LENDING A HAND: Moir grew up surrounded by figure skating coaches. That family connection remains at the academy. His mother Alma, aunt Carol and cousins Sheri and Cara are part of the staff.

“It’s fun – it’s kind of hard to call him my boss now, though,” Alma joked. “He stresses a positive attitude to the coaches and an old (veteran) here sometimes, I have to do a check on how positive I am some days. It took a while for the kids to feed into it, but you could see the energy change from the summer to now.”

Moir has some non-family help, too, in Justin Trojek and soon-to-be-married Madison Hubbell and Adrian Diaz, a Spanish ice dancer. Hubbell, who finished third at the last Olympics with Zachary Donohue, called her immediate jump from athlete to full-time coach a rare transition.

“It was really after meeting Adrian and seeing his love of skating and different perspective that I started enjoying analyzing skating together,” the 31-year-old from Michigan said.

“When we trained together (in Montreal), one of my favourite things was Scott’s energy – whether it was doing back-and-forth cardio or competing on a daily basis. It can feel like a very solo sport and Scott made a point of including you and cheering you on with a compliment or kind word. He’s a big instigator in what I would consider more of a hockey mentality: rowdy, yelling and having fun.”

MOVING FORWARD: Moir, who’s married and has a two-year-old daughter, recently congratulated Virtue on her engagement to Toronto Maple Leafs defenceman Morgan Rielly. Once in a while, he admits he will press her for some inside info on his favourite team.

His skaters want to hear stories about Virtue, too.

“I looked up to Tessa so much and still do every day,” said Carreira, 22. “She came to the rink once and it was literally the best day. Getting to train with Scott Moir every day is a privilege. I grew up in Montreal and they were my heroes.”

Moir believes the much-loved on-ice connection he shared with Virtue can be taught technically, but he has no interest in churning out mere carbon copies.

“These athletes aren’t going to be able to be Tessa and Scott, because in four, eight and 12 years, Tessa and Scott aren’t going to be good enough,” he said. “They already aren’t. We wouldn’t have won the last Olympics. The sport is evolving, the skaters will and I have to, as well. It’s about making it their own. Everyone has a different look and story.”

Former Olympic dance figure skater Scott Moir coaches American skaters Christina Carreira and Anthony Ponomarenko on Friday, Jan. 6, 2023. (Mike Hensen/The London Free Press)

Carreira and Ponomarenko, whose parents Marina and Sergei won 1992 Olympic ice dance gold, are developing that mature skating connection that served Virtue and Moir so well. But Moir isn’t designing similar programs for Veillon, 16, and Brandys, 17.

“You can’t coach two athletes the same way and you motivate the man and woman different,” Moir said. “That’s the fun of coaching. I don’t come here to walk down memory lane. I come here to learn, too. How can I teach this kid a counter even though I was a good counter turner? Now, I need to figure out a different way. It’s a challenge and my coaching staff challenges me. Hopefully, this momentum turns into a snowball and keeps rolling.”

The bond is already encouraging.

“Even though I’m one of the youngest, you completely forget an age gap,” Veillon said. “You get to come to the rink every day and skate with some of your closest friends. The coaches are amazing, they want the best for us and we have such a fun time.”

ONE-ON-ON WITH COACH SCOTT MOIR

Former Olympic dance figure skater Scott Moir demonstrates some footwork for one of his teams at the Komoka Wellness Centre on Friday, Jan. 6, 2023. (Mike Hensen/The London Free Press)

Has your approach to the sport changed since on-ice retirement?

“I was much more performance and result-based. I wanted to win. I studied the points and what needed to be better to be on top. My experience with Tessa, as a coach, showed me if I strategize properly, it can work. I was a little riskier as an athlete, because it’s you out there. You’re the one who puts your heart and soul into it. Now, I feel I owe it to the kids. You feel responsible, but you still have to be a little dangerous. That edge is what gives us an advantage. The goal is not personal-best skates alone. It’s taking advantage of your opportunity. Go for it and take the lessons of being able to perform in front of people, because you have to really bring it on this stage.”

What’s the goal of the Ice Academy of Montreal’s Ontario campus?

“To make great people. It sounds so stupid, but we believe success is a byproduct. You’re a good person first, support your teammates, demand the best of yourself, never stop wanting to grow and be ready to learn. It’s not a trade-off. I used to think you can drink the Kool-Aid and be your best self, but I wanted to win. Patrice, Marie-France and Romain (Haguenauer) showed me it all goes hand-in-hand. We’re an elite school and we want to be on top of the world. As we develop these kids and these skills that will serve them well in life, we want to become excellent athletes able to stand on top of podiums. We don’t have a ton of great skating schools in Canada and our success doesn’t mean we can’t have great schools in Scarborough, Vancouver and Calgary. We’re the most dominant skating country with the most rinks. I hope we can get the footprint a little bigger so we can affect more athletes. Hopefully, we can compete against our Montreal teammates and push their boundaries, too.”

How can you affect the skating experience for your students beyond the technical elements?

“I had success in my career, but I got bogged down in the negatives over many years. Who knows if we would’ve beaten Marilyn (Davis) and Charlie, but I think my outlook on skating kept me from being my best self leading up to 2014 (silver medal in Sochi). I’d love for the kids to hear my wisdom and not have to go through the black period I did. At the same time, it’s their journey and they need to have their own path. I can have a direct impact on the negative parts of the sport that don’t need to exist. There are parts of the sport people may think of as ugly or the judging, but being able to be happy about yourself no matter what people think can be a positive. In this age of social media and all that s—, it’s important. Even before the scores, are you personally happy? Did you give everything you had? I’m hoping to prepare for them to deal with those issues the right way.”

How do you impact a generation of skaters who didn’t face the same challenges you did?

“They motivate very differently. It’s tricky for me. I grew up in the other one. My dad was fair and hard on me. If I deserved it, I got it and I deserved it a lot. He didn’t baby me and I thrived. I have fantastic parents. I had some coaches that were a little harder on me and when you go through the Russian schools, of course, that’s the way it is. I loved it. There were also dark parts it created that I also had to deal with later in life. I think there’s a way to expect the most out of these kids and have them expect it, but through love and support. There’s a balance. You can be critical and deliver the message the right way. This generation motivates from exciting things. You’ve got to keep it fresh and keep them rolling and feeling good. My first couple of years, I got bogged down in hammering on them, because I like being in the trenches. The kids felt it was super heavy and it didn’t work. I started being more positive and bringing the energy every day and you see them lift up with results much better. We’re trending that way and it’s natural for me, too.”

Are you able to watch old videos of you and Tessa Virtue skating without finding every little fault in it?

“My perspective of our career is probably the most jaded. You can’t really watch yourself without it. Watching it is getting better and better, actually. You forget the cues you’re supposed to be doing and I’m able to just watch Tessa much more than what I’m doing wrong, so that’s enjoyable. I watch it with a different eye now that I coach. I was very critical and it wasn’t fun to watch tape before, but it’s getting better. I think for the sake of ice dance – and I think that’s why 2018 was such a success for us – the sport evolved. We came back, dove in, pushed ourselves and were able to come away with Olympic gold again. It would be foolish for me to step in and say if I can create 10 Scott Moirs, we’re going to be successful. I don’t believe that.”

—The London Free Press

[klapollo]

george michael, who died seven years ago today, spent his life making private donations to organizations fighting AIDS, homelessness and poverty, including a donation to omwabini in west kenya that helped it grow to new heights. one story alleges he overheard a stranger in a cafe speaking of her debts and had a waitress give her a check he wrote for 25,000 pounds after he left. he anonymously volunteered at homeless shelters. he held a free concert for NHS nurses for his gratitude for his mother's care during her battle with breast cancer. sali hughes stated that he once tipped a barmaid five thousand pounds to help with her debts. he facilitated a trip for 250 disabled and terminally ill children to take a holiday vacation to lapland. when doing press for his big album drop for "older," he gave the exclusive to big issue, a paper devoted to helping unhoused people make income. he donated thousands to two separate women who he saw on television trying to pay for IVF -- one of them found out she was pregnant the day he died. radio dj mick brown said george quietly donated 100,000 pounds every easter to Help a London Child to support poor children.

these are only a few of the charitable acts he did. he did many of these things anonymously, intentionally so. but the thing is when you do so many things that touch so many lives, they tend to outlive you long after you're gone. i think of him every Christmas, and i wish he was still with us. but i'm glad we had him at all.

[totallyhussein-blog]

Musical talents to build bridges across the UK

The pop group Ooberfuse, together with Kurdish folk singer Newroz Oremari will be performing their new song: 'Show Me Love', to mark the start of Refugee Week. The performance will take place outside the UK’s Home Office in London on Monday, 19th June from 12.30-1.30pm.

The names of refugees who have lost their lives will also be read out and Bishop Paul McAleenan, Lead Bishop for Migrants and Refugees in the Bishops Conference will give a reflection during this special event for Refugee Week.

Ooberfuse is a critically acclaimed band on the global Indie music scene and on the 24th June, they will be hosting a concert in Dover with highly acclaimed artists from Iraq, Syria and Ukraine. The concert is free to all residents of Dover and it's hoped the event will introduce new people to new talent from around the world.

According to the United Nations, worldwide, almost 20% of all human trafficking victims are children. The UN also explains that victims of human trafficking can be any age, any gender and from anywhere in the world.

You can join Ooberfuse for the free concert on Saturday 24th June, at St Mary's Church, Cannon Street, CT16 1BY. You can also watch the music video for the song 'Show Me Love' by Ooberfuse and Newroz Oremari below.

[soon-palestine]

JULIAN ASSANGE IS FREE

Julian Assange is free. He left Belmarsh maximum security prison on the morning of 24 June, after having spent 1901 days there. He was granted bail by the High Court in London and was released at Stansted airport during the afternoon, where he boarded a plane and departed the UK.

This is the result of a global campaign that spanned grass-roots organisers, press freedom campaigners, legislators and leaders from across the political spectrum, all the way to the United Nations. This created the space for a long period of negotiations with the US Department of Justice, leading to a deal that has not yet been formally finalised. We will provide more information as soon as possible.

After more than five years in a 2x3 metre cell, isolated 23 hours a day, he will soon reunite with his wife Stella Assange, and their children, who have only known their father from behind bars.

WikiLeaks published groundbreaking stories of government corruption and human rights abuses, holding the powerful accountable for their actions. As editor-in-chief, Julian paid severely for these principles, and for the people's right to know.

As he returns to Australia, we thank all who stood by us, fought for us, and remained utterly committed in the fight for his freedom.

Julian's freedom is our freedom.

[strawberrysainz]

picture you. lando norris

“ a particularly lovely day spent in london with your beloved boyfriend. plus, you can’t get enough of each other. ”

lando norris x reader

a warning — smut. 18+! minors dni. crude language, alcohol consumption, mentions of food.

The first thing you could smell was the traitorous scent of a freshly-brewed coffee that morning. He was sitting at the little table that you had always thought never fit the overall aesthetic of the kitchen.

He was typing on a laptop when you entered. “Lando,” you murmured. He looked up, and even when trying to scold him, your heart skipped a beat when he pushed up those glasses that made him ridiculously good looking. “Hmm?”

“I thought we agreed to stop the coffees for a while, didn’t your trainer suggest it’s better for your nervous system…?” Suddenly you were shy. But the feeling soon dissipated when his mouth moved from sipping the drink to a smirk. “Babe.” You could tell he felt a little guilty, though, and he tried to hide it by looking back at his laptop.

You shook your head as you moved around him to look out the window. Early mornings in London were your favourite; it was the first time that he had come to stay at your place and not his during a break. You could hear the neighbour’s kids playing outside, revelling in their Saturday morning.

You turned to watch him crack his knuckles as he poured over what looked like a lengthy email. He started chatting about something and you sort of tuned out, watching him flex each finger. When he stretched out his hands, something made your stomach flutter.

The coffee did indeed smell good, and you ended up taking the mug from him, your fingertips brushing lightly. Even after months of knowing him, you still blushed like a kid when he looked at you. You took a sip and set it back down on the table.

“Are you hungry? I could make you-“

He was looking at you over the edge of his laptop.

You shook your head. “No thanks.” The thought of Lando Norris standing there in your kitchen making you eggs and toast was too much to bear.

He watched as you boosted yourself onto the kitchen counter. “You’re so funny,” he murmured and you shot him a look before pulling out your phone.

“I love the view out of the window.”

You looked up (as if it hadn’t been the background to your entire childhood) and looked at him, nodding. “The best view of the house,” you smiled.

“I don’t think so,” he was getting up to run a hand up your leg and you pushed him away, giggling. “You’re awful. What’s your plan for today?” You ask.

“Not much. Emails. Then gym at 4.”

You found yourself gazing at him again and zoned back in when he called your name again. “Sorry?” You blushed a little.

“I wanted to ask if you wanted to do anything today if you’re not busy.”

“Oh.” You paused. “I wanted to go grocery shopping. But that’s probably boring for you.” You let out a little giggle at his face. He always looked so endearing when you thought you were being boring.

“Any Saturday spent with you is never boring.” He was giggling and you swatted his chest as you walked past. “Calm it.”

He grabbed you. “Hey,” he whispered, arms wrapping around your waist. You smiled at him. “Hey,” you replied softly. His lips pressed against yours and you melted a little. “Let’s go do your boring grocery shopping,” he joked and picked up the car keys. You ran to change out of your pajamas.

⛲️💫🍵🏹

You put on an Otis Redding album, murmuring along before you were at the local Tesco. You picked up a basket and he linked his arm through yours.

As Lando was checking through the different options of sugar-free peanut butter, you got on your tiptoes to pick the jar of crunchy peanut butter off the shelf. His hand rested on your lower back as he reached for it.

⛲️💫🍵🏹

You were curled up on the couch as he kept on sighing with the emails. You paused your TikTok scrolling. “What’s up?”

“These people are fucking crazy.” He sighed and shut it closed.

You laughed and he did too. He wrapped his arms around you. You could hear the dog barking next door.

“Have I ever told you…” he began kissing your cheek. He was kissing your neck now and you were curling into his touch. “Hmm?” You said, absentmindedly, and he laughed against your neck. “Stop zoning out.”

“I can’t help it!” You protested. “You make my mind go blank when you start looking at me like that.”

He took that as a very big compliment and started pulling you into his lap.

You were interrupted by a knock on the door and you pulled back, staring at him quizzically.

“Fuck. Nutritionist.”

You flicked his ear and laughed when he pulled you up from the couch and kissed you deeply. You pushed him away.

⛲️💫🍵🏹

A few hours later, you were standing in the bar with him and sniffling along to the singer. He was singing along, quietly, like everyone else with a beer in hand, and he was standing behind you with his arms wrapped around your shoulders. Two friends had invited you last minute and you had ditched the night in to come and support this upcoming band.

“Love you,” he whispered and you leaned up to kiss him.

The singer pointed at the two of you and you both smiled wide.

⛲️💫🍵🏹

In the car on the way home, you pointed out the lipstick that stained the top of the collar of his shirt. He grinned.

⛲️💫🍵🏹

He was pushing you against the wall and you were protesting, making him lock the front door and take you out of view from the glass panel. Rain was beginning to patter against the windows and you shivered deliciously as he ran a hand up your shirt.

“Can I make it up to you for this afternoon?” He murmured, head burying into your neck, and you were muttering something stupid, nodding, and his hand was running under your skirt and he grasped the lacy edge of your underwear on your hip, his hands warm and his heart beating fast.

His lips were pressing against yours and your bodies were moving fluidly, in sync, his touch earth-shattering.

Leading you to your bedroom, he pushed you back against the sheets, your hair fanning out, contrasting the crisp white.

Sliding off your skirt and your underwear, his eyes were dark, a cheeky grin on his face before his lips pressed against your lower stomach, then to your thighs, and the cocktails were making you grip his hair and shove his face in between your legs. He moaned at the rough action, and your heart dropped hearing the vibration against your pussy.

“Pretty,” he murmured before he was groaning about how wet you were and you might have been on fire the way his tongue was moving.

“Just… there.” You gasped and whimpered and you were on the edge of the precipice before he was gone, and you took a deep breath, prepared to beg.

He moved up again and he was kissing you; you could taste yourself on his tongue and you were helping him take off his jeans, and his underwear, and you took his hard cock in your hands, swiping at your pussy before grasping him, up and down. When he felt your arousal on his cock he let out a loud moan, and you wanted him so desperately you might have sacrificed anything.

“Baby,” you murmured, and his hips were moving before you went let go and get on your knees; he was moving you into his lap and he met your entrance. You moaned, and he was bouncing you up and down on his cock.

“Oh, you feel so good,” he sighed, and you were agreeing loudly before you felt that familiar tightness in your stomach and you were all open mouths and whispering wildly dirty things before he was murmuring for you to come and you obliged, falling apart on top of him as his finger went to meet your clit, and you wriggled with nearly too much pleasure. Then his breath was faltering, and his hips were slowing, and you felt him come inside you, moaning into his ear as his big hands gripped your shoulders.

He kissed you, pulling you into him. “Love you, baby.” He whispered, and you were giggling, out of breath.

⛲️💫🍵🏹

The coffee machine was the first thing you went for the next morning, and as he appeared in the doorway of the homely kitchen with a stupid little look of strictness on his face you laughed out loud, offering him his cappuccino, a peace offering.

hope you enjoyed ⚡️❤️‍🔥🙏 please like, comment and reblog!!! soooo appreciated.

masterlist

[roanniom]

For the Road

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk

You lie in the quiet of dawn, cool rays of a hesitant sunrise filtering through the curtains, as Eddie plays with your fingers.

“I don’t want to go on tour.”

His words are so soft you almost don’t hear them muffled against your neck. It’s the first either of you have spoken since you’d woken up in each other’s arms. Distress pricks your throat.

“Why not? You’re going to have so much fun and the crowds are gonna be sick.” Your tone is cheery. You want the best for your man, even if that means feigning excitement in the face of his imminent departure.

Eddie shifts in bed in order to look at you.

“You won’t be there.”

In spite of the stubble that’s accumulated on his face over night, his crumpled expression leaves him looking boyish. Your heart aches.

“I will be there, silly. You know I’m coming to London to meet up with you.”

“Yeah, at the end of the tour,” he groans, burying his face back against your neck. The laugh you let out in response is genuine. You don’t want him to be hurting, but his petulance is endearing in this context. Plus, you secretly like knowing you aren’t the only one dreading your separation.

“I’ll just be a phone call away, you know.”

“Promise?”

You tap him till he looks up at you again so he can see your outstretched pinky. Grinning, he hooks his larger one around yours.

“I’ll be waiting for you, Eddie Munson,” you reply.

“And thinking impure thoughts about me?” Eddie asks hopefully, a wolfish grin lighting up his features. You slide your free hand down his chest and under the covers.

“I only think impure thoughts about you, babe.” You go to press against what you assumed would be his half aroused member only to find it fully rigid under your palm. You intake breath sharply with a laugh. “You’re already hard?”

“What do you expect? Your hand is on my dick.” Eddie says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world.

“Yeah, for like two seconds,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“What can I say? That’s all it takes—fuuuck.”

Eddie trails off into a groan as you wrap your hand around his length in earnest under the waistband of his boxers.

It’s only a few minutes before he’s panting, head tossed back and wavy hair sprayed out against the pillows.

“Oh fuck, just like that, baby.” His voice is low. Gruff with lust and leftover sleep. “You’ve got the magic touch, you know that?”

You hum in response. You’re too focused on the “task at hand” to let him really distract you with his praise. You’re stationed between his thighs, one hand gripping the base of his cock while the other fists up and down, squeezing and twisting over the mushroom head with a flourish each time.

Each time the tip is exposed, you flick your tongue over it, rewarded with his deep moans.

If Eddie was going to be on the road, you were going to be leaving him with plenty of material for his daydreams.

When you start bobbing up and down, taking him deeper in your mouth, that’s when his hips start bucking.

“Princess, it’s - shit - morning. You know I can’t…fuck. Can’t last long in the morning.” He attempts to push you off but you just look up with a grin, your hands still working him expertly.

“Oh I know.”

“I haven’t gotten you yet,” he practically whines, reaching to squeeze at your breast through your sleep shirt.

“I’ll sit on your face later. Right now I want you to cum, ok baby?” you ask before dropping back down to take him all the way down your throat without further warning.

Eddie gasps and his whole body jerks.

“Holy fucking…oh god. Yes ma’am.”

~*~

-

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—-

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I hope you enjoyed this little blurb as I get back into posting! Please let me know what you think! I’ve been gone a long time and would love to hear from you guys

[reasonsforhope]

Scientists have developed a new solar-powered system to convert saltwater into fresh drinking water which they say could help reduce dangerous the risk of waterborne diseases like cholera.

Via tests in rural communities, they showed that the process is more than 20% cheaper than traditional methods and can be deployed in rural locations around the globe.

Building on existing processes that convert saline groundwater to freshwater, the researchers from King’s College London, in collaboration with MIT and the Helmholtz Institute for Renewable Energy Systems, created a new system that produced consistent levels of water using solar power, and reported it in a paper published recently in Nature Water.

It works through a process called electrodialysis which separates the salt using a set of specialized membranes that channel salt ions into a stream of brine, leaving the water fresh and drinkable. By flexibly adjusting the voltage and the rate at which salt water flowed through the system, the researchers developed a system that adjusts to variable sunshine while not compromising on the amount of fresh drinking water produced.

Using data first gathered in the village of Chelleru near Hyderabad in India, and then recreating these conditions of the village in New Mexico, the team successfully converted up to 10 cubic meters, or several bathtubs worth of fresh drinking water. This was enough for 3,000 people a day with the process continuing to run regardless of variable solar power caused by cloud coverage and rain.

[Note: Not sure what metric they're using to calculate daily water needs here. Presumably this is drinking water only.]

Dr. Wei He from the Department of Engineering at King’s College London believes the new technology could bring massive benefits to rural communities, not only increasing the supply of drinking water but also bringing health benefits.

“By offering a cheap, eco-friendly alternative that can be operated off the grid, our technology enables communities to tap into alternative water sources (such as deep aquifers or saline water) to address water scarcity and contamination in traditional water supplies,” said He.

“This technology can expand water sources available to communities beyond traditional ones and by providing water from uncontaminated saline sources, may help combat water scarcity or unexpected emergencies when conventional water supplies are disrupted, for example like the recent cholera outbreaks in Zambia.”

In the global rural population, 1.6 billion people face water scarcity, many of whom are reliant on stressed reserves of groundwater lying beneath the Earth’s surface.

However, worldwide 56% of groundwater is saline and unsuitable for consumption. This issue is particularly prevalent in India, where 60% of the land harbors undrinkable saline water. Consequently, there is a pressing need for efficient desalination methods to create fresh drinking water cheaply, and at scale.

Traditional desalination technology has relied either on costly batteries in off-grid systems or a grid system to supply the energy necessary to remove salt from the water. In developing countries’ rural areas, however, grid infrastructure can be unreliable and is largely reliant on fossil fuels...

“By removing the need for a grid system entirely and cutting reliance on battery tech by 92%, our system can provide reliable access to safe drinking water, entirely emission-free, onsite, and at a discount of roughly 22% to the people who need it compared to traditional methods,” He said.

The system also has the potential to be used outside of developing areas, particularly in agriculture where climate change is leading to unstable reserves of fresh water for irrigation.

The team plans to scale up the availability of the technology across India through collaboration with local partners. Beyond this, a team from MIT also plans to create a start-up to commercialize and fund the technology.

“While the US and UK have more stable, diversified grids than most countries, they still rely on fossil fuels. By removing fossil fuels from the equation for energy-hungry sectors like agriculture, we can help accelerate the transition to Net Zero,” He said.

-via Good News Network, April 2, 2024

[pierregazly]

smile kisses ꨄ oscar piastri

oscar piastri x reader

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, a lil steamy towards the end [751 words]

request: if possible can you do a mix of 3 and 10 from the 🫶🏻 prompt list with oscar (if not, just 10 is fine 😽) [3. SMILING during a kiss & 10. "tell me what you want, baby." in the deepest, nearly inaudible murmur]

note: this was so cute!! the prompts??? i died 🤭 this is part of my 1.5k celebration! feel free to request away!!

There wasn’t much that could be said about the way Oscar spent his mornings. He was an early riser, always had been; his breakfast’s pre-planned and pre-made for him; a routine that hadn’t seen change in years.

Until you came into his life, of cour

Oscar had, more than once, affectionately commented about how you had blown up every routine and regime he followed. He would always finish off the joke with a soft kiss and the reaffirmation that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Winter breaks for the Australian had especially changed. While before he could’ve been found back home, enjoying the summery, hot weather of his hometown; this time around he was found wrapped around you in bed, eyes following the streaks of rainwater that littered the window and gave view to the dreariness that often overtook London this time of year.

He wouldn’t change it for anything in the world, though. Lazy mornings in bed with you on a cold, dreary day was exactly the type of change he was alright with. Especially when your body moulded against his own so perfectly.

Tracing shapes on your bare shoulder, he placed kisses against the imaginary spots after the completion of each one. A smile gracing his lips with every press of them against your skin, as small giggles erupted from inside you at every action.

It was like heaven, hearing your reaction to his ministrations, to the way he professed his love for you. He wasn’t great with words, but he knew how to make you feel loved, how to make you feel wanted.

“Having fun, Osc?”

Murmuring a soft agreement, he continued the game of bringing bumps to your skin as shivers consumed your body. A soft smile continued to grace his face, difficult to keep at bay whenever he was around you.

Tapping at the hand that was placed delicately against your stomach, you gestured for him to let you turn around to face him. Which he begrudgingly did, a mock glare directed at you before a smile broke across his lips as he traced the shape of your face with his eyes, a hand gently cupping your cheek, rubbing a thumb across the skin.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

Feeling your cheeks warm at his words, you pressed your head into the junction of his neck to stifle the giggle of adoration that was bubbling out of you. The beat of his pulse was so delicate against your lips as you pressed a loving kiss to it, a smile still stretched across your features.

“And just so adorable, really,” emphasizing his words, he pressed a finger into a known ticklish spot that instantly prompted you to flinch away from him.

You were easily overpowered by him, Oscar’s body hovering over yours as his fingers dug into your sides, loud squeals of laughter left your lips. It was hard to focus on anything as you tried to maneuver your body out from underneath him, but the large smile on his lips was infectious.

“Osc… oh my god, please. Enough! No more,” you begged, using all your weight to shove him off.

Relenting, the Australian held himself up with his now unoccupied hands, looking down at you as you caught your breath.

He couldn’t help the urge to press his lips down to yours, unable to keep the smile from his face. You couldn’t express in words how much he meant to you, but the feeling of the smile pressed against your lips was really all you needed to know how much he loved you. You couldn’t resist smiling back into the kiss, your fingers weaving into the locks of his hair, trying to show the love he was giving you, right back.

The passion in his kisses, in everything he did, was wondrous. It always felt like he was trying to form every thought, every feeling, every emotion, into the connection of your lips; especially through the never-ending smiles he always had for you.

Practically mewling into his mouth as he deepened the kiss, you felt him start to press his lower body against yours, a soft groan leaving his lips.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he murmured, his voice deepening from the arousal coursing through his system.

You couldn’t help the small whimper that was let out as you looked up at him; eyes hooded and clear with his intention, lips plump, practically begging to be kissed more.

“You, Osc. Always want you.”

AH this isn’t as long as i would’ve liked, but i just wanted it to be tooth-rotting fluff with a lil spice of an ending. i hope you all love it, and thank you to everyone that’s been requesting and celebrating with me 🫶🏻

[miirohs]

no body, no crime [o.p.s]

pairing: Mob Boss!Oscar Piastri x GN!Reader wc: 1.8k cw: reader shoots someone, poor hurt/comfort an: this one is dedicated to the local piastri lover em because that Danny Ric fic is never leaving the editing stage,,, had to change it up a bit tho bc the beginning was hampering the rest of it, but anyways I’m continuing the 2 am shitposting tradition 💀

The clock ticked softly in the background, a cold breeze filtering through the room as you curled further into the sheets, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to drown out the noise. The nightlights shone through the thin curtains, the light of the bright neon billboards cast onto the floor.

Oscar wasn’t home again, leaving you to your lonesome in his penthouse in London, something about an emergency meeting at eleven in the night.

You weren’t worried much about the call time, but you couldn’t help the pit that formed in your stomach as your head rested on his shoulder, still too tired to make out what he murmured in a low voice on the phone.

Whatever it was sounded important but he didn’t let you hear anything, herding you back to the bedroom with the promise that he’d be back sooner if not later. You held onto his hand, eyes shutting for good as the warmth of his hand slipped away once again.

With that, you fell into a fretful sleep, waking up at odd times for no explainable reason.

You felt dreadful as your eyes opened again, apartment eerily quiet, vision blurring as you read the clock.

2:45 A.M. It read.

You crawled to the end of the bed, letting your legs dangle off the bed as you reached out for your phone. Not a single notification on the screen and you sighed, opening up the messages app.

As you opened Oscars contact, something outside clicked faintly, making you jump. You slid off the bed, feet padding against the wooden flooring as you wandered into the hall.

You didn’t see any guards posted, even as you called out names you could barely remember hoarsely, getting no response back even as your voice bounced around the hall. It was slowly starting to freak you out, but you figured it was just the lack of sleep getting to you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this paranoid, and it wasn’t just for nothing.

The lights were off in the living room and kitchen, and you turned on the flashlight on your phone, your free hand pressed to the glass window. Your hands trembled slightly as you returned to tapping against the screen, typing up a message to send to Oscar.

where are you rn? heard something outside, can’t see guards anywhere.

The screen lit up, speech bubbles popping up for a couple moments before diapering entirely.

lmk when you’re on your way.

You sent the message, sliding onto a chair and hunching over the granite countertop. The phone rang only moments later, and you snapped out of your stupor, looking at the caller id.

[Osc].

You swiped, sliding off the chair and walking into the kitchen.

“Y/n? Is that you, baby?”

“Mmm, it is,” You mumbled sleepily, fingers running along the countertops as you reached to open the cabinet, "Where are you?"

"I'm on my way back," Oscar replied, tone relieved. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

“No, I thought i heard something,” You paused, anxiety thrumming under the surface of your skin as something clicked again, “And the guards aren’t here, they-”

“What do you mean not there?” You held the phone away, eyes widening as he cussed softly. The shock and fear in his voice sent a chill down your spine.

"I don't know," you stammered, glancing around the dark kitchen, "I called out for them, but no one answered. I thought it was just me being paranoid but…"

"Lock yourself in the bedroom. Now. I'm almost there, and if anyone breaks through, there's a gun in my nightchest. Don’t use it, just scare them if you have to." He instructed, voice panicked. You paused as he rambled further, eyes landing on a glass half full sitting on the countertop next to the sink.

“What the…”

Your head was slammed into the counter, blinding white pain licking across your temple as you dropped the phone.

The glass shattered as you flailed, crumpling onto the floor. Your world spun, something wet staining your hand as you clutched your head.

Oscar was now frantically shouting through the phone, and your vision blurred as you scanned the floor for the bright light. The sound of your phone cracking made you scramble back, trying to stand up as the world spun under your feet.

You could barely see the assailant in the darkness of the apartment, barely illuminated by the lights of the city.

They lunged for you, barely missing as you scrambled to the side, back hitting a wall. It was barely seconds before they came for you, pressing you up against the wall with their gun, cutting off your circulation.

The cold metal dug into your neck, and you clawed at their clothed arms, aimlessly flailing. Your kicking paid off, as the intruder gasped in pain as you landed a kick to the crotch, gasping for air as you slid down. Despite the throbbing pain, you dogged again when something flew at your head, crawling to the living room and pulling yourself up against the coffee table.

The intruder closed in once again, swearing loudly as they limped towards you. Grasping blindly, your fingers closed around a metal vase, swinging it in their direction. It connected with a resounding thud and you got up, shoving past them in the direction of your shared bedroom.

You’d stunned them, but you weren’t sure how long it’d last, locking the door behind you as you fell to your knees, crawling over to his side of the bed, slumped against the bed as you opened the drawer.

Your fingers closed around the cold metal of the gun Oscar had mentioned, hand tensing and untensing as you stared down the shiny silver. Suddenly, the door banged again, and you froze.

The rush of blood drowned out the taunts, positioning yourself in a far corner of the room, eyes straining in the dark as the doorknob jiggled.

That didn’t last wrong, the wood of the door splintering and cracking. "Come out, you-" the intruder's voice was cut off by another loud bang on the door, hand reaching down to the handle through a crack in the door.

There was nothing but the bed between you now, the door finally giving way, allowing them to stumble into a room with a malevolent look.

Panic surged through you and you raised the gun as threateningly as you could.

He grabbed your wrist, wrenching the gun from your grasp and throwing it to the side. You struggled, kicking and clawing your way out of his grip, diving for the gun. They tackled you once again, and you both tumbled to the ground.

In the struggle, your finger dug into the trigger, losing circulation as he pinned you down, gun shaking uncontrollably.

A shot rang out, followed by an intense ringing in your ears, the grip on your hands loosening. Something warm splattered against your face, blood pooling at your sides and you could only stare in horror.

There was nothing but a ringing in your ear, staring into the darkness as if expecting something else. The door burst open and Oscar rushed in, his eyes wild with fear. It was the first time you’d seen him so unkempt, eyes widening in shock as he connected the dots between the smoking gun in your hand and the body on the floor.

You couldn’t make out what he was saying, only as he pulled you closer to him, feeling the vibrations in his chest.

You couldn’t really make out what he was saying, slumping down against him as tears escaped your eyes.

You weren’t sure how much time passed till you could hear him again, blanking out for a couple of moments before you could remember again, sitting on the bed once again.

You could hear Oscar shouting in the other room, probably on the phone again. Something had gone terribly wrong for his composed self to be shattered.

He had Lando sitting in the room with you, monitoring you as your legs dangled off of the edge of the bed, staring down at hands crusted with blood.

Both of you didn’t say much, only nodding to any questions he asked, not even listening entirely.

“Is she doing okay?” You turned at the sound of Oscar's voice, opening then closing your mouth as Lando shrugged noncommittally, murmuring something about how he hadn’t heard a peep in the hour he’d been there.

You phased out again, only coming back to your senses as he gripped your hand, kneeling in front of you.

"Hey," Oscar said softly, high contrast to the way he had been yelling earlier. "Can you look at me baby?"

You blinked, slowly focusing on his face. The tears were coming back, and you swallowed them down again, digging your nails into his hands instead.

He didn’t complain, running a soothing thumb over your knuckles. "You don’t have to if you don’t want to," He continued, "You're safe now. Everything's going to be okay."

Even when you didn’t answer and stared blankly, he continued, listing things aimlessly to catch your attention.

“We’re going to increase security detail for you by the way. I won’t be leaving you on your own for a while…” He paused in his explanation, tilting his head at you. “Please talk to me, baby, I’m worried.”

You swallowed hard, feelings like a mess of strings as you opened your mouth. "I don't know what happened," You shuddered, voice barely above a whisper, "I just... I had to… I just killed someone. Oh god, I'm a killer."

Oscar's expression softened further in contrast to the steely tone he used as he gripped your hand tighter. “No, you didn’t. If anyone questions you, I was the one who did it. Not you, me. Don’t blame yourself for what happens to scum like that.”

“But then- then you’ll get in trouble,” You whispered, haunted by the thought, “they’ll arrest you.”

He smirked, reaching up to brush the hair out of your face as if he was contemplating something.

“Osc baby, what-“

“Whoever sent them,” He spoke with slight disgust, although you could tell that wasn’t at all the full gist of what he was feeling, “Started this trouble first. They can’t arrest me if there’s no body to be found. No body, no crime baby.”

You could only stare at him, heart aching slightly as he pulled your hands to him, allowing you to run your fingers through his messed up hair.

“You’re…” You didn’t finish the sentence, allowing him to stand up and hover over you.

“It’s going to be alright,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he wiped your unshed tears. “You’re strong, we all know that.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You sniffled, hands looping around his own as he cradled your face.

“You’ll never have to find out,” he replied, leaning down to kiss your forehead, arms holding you down almost possessively, “Never when I’m here.”

[virtchandmoir]

Photo: Scott Moir

[theostrophywife]

the crush theory.

pairing: lorenzo berkshire x reader.

song inspiration: london boy by taylor swift.

author’s note: this is just a cute indulgent coffee shop! au with my sweetheart enzo. majorly inspired by all the boyfriend vibes louis has been serving with miss olivia lately. let’s not even talk about the ass grab with his big hands and rings…🫣

Enzo Berkshire never quite managed to master the language of love. 

Despite being a polyglot and a linguistics major, romance remained a complete mystery to him. It wasn't like he could craft a conjugation chart to help him not make a fool of himself in front of the girl of his dreams. When it came to matters of the heart, Enzo often found himself at a loss for words. Perhaps that was the reason why he never mustered up the courage to speak to you. 

Until that one fateful fall morning. 

The kiss of autumn arrived on campus a few weeks into the semester, freeing the city from the grips of the summer heat and bringing with it the changing of leaves and the distinct scent of cinnamon and apples. Enzo shoved his hands into the pockets of his burnt orange corduroy trousers and savored the sound of the jewel toned leaves crunching underneath his loafers. As the wind picked up, he wrapped his chunky knit cardigan tighter around himself to shield against the chilly breeze. 

The ivy covered brick buildings and cobblestone streets faded into the background as he walked past the quad. Deja Brew, the little hole in the wall cafe that Enzo frequented, greeted him like an old friend. The coffee shop was located on the outskirts of campus and was only a short walk from his dorm, which made it the ideal place to conduct his tutoring sessions. Not only was it convenient, but the cozy and quiet ambience provided the perfect setting for Enzo to teach his fellow struggling students. 

As time went on, the choice of location became less about convenience and more about catching a glimpse of you—the surly barista that worked the morning shift. For the past few months, Enzo developed a rather embarrassing crush on you. There was something about your scowl and no bullshit attitude that drew him to you like a moth to a flame. Though in his case, Enzo was perfectly content to hover a safe distance from the proverbial light of your fancy French cigarette lest he get burned. 

Upon first glance, anyone would have been intimidated by you. With your faded band tees, ripped jeans, and scuffed leather boots, Enzo was well aware that a girl like you would never be interested in a bloke who's wardrobe consisted of sweaters with elbow patches, floral print button downs, and neatly pressed pleated trousers. Needless to say, you were way too cool for him. 

Enzo was resigned to merely admiring you from afar, but fate seemed to have other ideas. The bell above the door tinkled softly as he made his way into Deja Brew only to stop dead in his tracks when he spotted you at the register. Usually, you were behind the bar manning the espresso machine during the early morning rush, but not today.

Today, you were front and center. 

Part of him considered walking out the door, but given the fact that the shop was nearly empty, a hasty exit would definitely not go unnoticed. Enzo had no choice but to suck it up and approach the register with resignation. The minute he opened his mouth, he was sure he’d muck things up. 

Enzo swallowed thickly and pushed his round framed glasses further up the bridge of his nose; a nervous habit he developed when he was younger. The erratic beat of his heart echoed in Enzo’s ears as his gaze flickered up to your face, expecting to be greeted with a frown. To his surprise, your lips curved into a small smile once you spotted him. 

“Lemon balm tea with two pumps of peach syrup and a dollop of honey, right?” 

Enzo blinked at the melodious sound of your voice, nearly missing the fact that you’d recited his exact order, which shouldn’t have been surprising given the fact that you’ve been making it for him for months. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little warm inside as you looked at him expectantly. He stared in stunned silence for a moment. 

You furrowed your brow in doubt. “Did I get that wrong?” 

“No, no, it’s right. It’s great. It’s perfect—“ Enzo cleared his throat, mentally kicking himself for rambling. “I’m just surprised that you remembered it.” 

“Of course I remember it, you’re one of my regulars. I’d be a pretty shit barista if I forgot your order.” You cocked your head, tapping your lips thoughtfully. “Speaking of which, do you want your croissant warmed up, Lorenzo?” 

“You know my name?” 

Enzo hadn’t meant to sound so starstruck, but hearing his name come out of your mouth made his heart skip a beat.

“And your social security number too,” you deadpanned. Enzo’s eyes widened, which made you chuckle. “I’m just having a laugh. I promise I won’t commit identity theft against you. Unless you piss me off.” 

You accompanied the statement with a cheeky wink, which only made Enzo even more nervous. 

"Don't look so nervous, peach. I swear I don't bite."

“Right. Sure. Of course,” he stammered. “The tea and the croissant sounds good, Y/N.” The realization that you’ve never told him your name came a beat too late. “It’s on your chest. The name tag, I mean. I wasn’t just staring at your chest. Though I’m sure it’s very nice. Bloody hell, I’ll stop talking now.” 

Enzo cringed at himself, but eased when you laughed. “You’re a strange bloke, Lorenzo.” You said as you began making his drink. “But I’ve got to admit, it’s oddly charming.” 

He chuckled, trying to hide the flush coloring his cheeks. “That seems to be my sweet spot.” 

"As sweet as peaches," you retorted as you added two pumps of peach syrup into his tea. "You'll have to excuse the fruit references. Before I knew your name, I referred to you solely as the peach guy."

"Is that good or bad?"

Enzo hiked his backpack over his shoulder and meandered down the end of the counter where you were topping off his tea with a dollop of honey. You swirled it into a heart pattern before sliding the warm cup into a sleeve. 

"Well, I've never met anyone who's preferred drink could constitute as a dessert, so it's certainly something. You're an enigma, Lorenzo," you said thoughtfully. "Though I think I like peach better. You don't really strike me as a Lorenzo."

“You can call me Enzo. I prefer it over my full name. It sounds so stuffy.” 

“We certainly can’t have that,” you said with a smirk. “Enzo. I like it. It’s rather becoming. Not stuffy at all.” He chuckled as you handed him a brown bag. "I might still call you peach from time to time. Force of habit. You understand, right?"

"Of course," Enzo replied. "El loro viejo no aprende a hablar."

"You kiss your mum with that mouth, peach?"

Enzo flushed. "It's Spanish for the old parrot does not learn to talk. Basically their equivalent of you can't teach an old dog new tricks." He shifted his weight onto his other foot. "What I'm trying to say is, I don't mind if you call me peach or Enzo or whatever else you'd like."

"You're giving me way too much freedom, Enzo. I intend on taking full advantage." You winked as you slid his drink over to him. “Enjoy your croissant. I put a little something extra in there for you.” 

Enzo peered into the bag and saw an extra pastry wrapped in black cellophane next to his croissant. The brownie didn’t look like any of the ones behind the counter, which meant that it was probably homemade. Strange, he wouldn’t have pegged you for a baker. 

“Oh, you really don’t have to—” 

“Nonsense,” you countered, waving off his protests. “Really, you’d be doing me a favor. It’s an experimental recipe of mine, which makes you my guinea pig. As payment, I expect a full report on the brownie tomorrow morning. Don’t hold back either, peach. I want a brutally honest review.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great,” Enzo said in reassurance. “In any case, your guinea pig will take ample notes.” 

“That would be much appreciated,” you said with a serious nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Enzo-not-Lorenzo.”

Enzo couldn’t help but grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.” 

Enzo rubbed his temples, willing the headache forming behind his eyes to vanish. Unfortunately for him, his last tutoring session with Flint seemed to have left a permanent mark. While Enzo usually enjoyed teaching French, Marcus was proving to be a rather difficult case. Not only was Flint unwilling to do the work, the knobhead also spent the entire session leering at you instead of studying the conjugation chart that Enzo poured his blood, sweat, and tears on. 

“Merlin, I have no idea how you deal with rich, smarmy arseholes all day.” 

Enzo looked up to find you seated across the table, sliding a sandwich, a fruit cup, and a bag of crisps towards him without missing a beat. He hadn’t even realized it was already an hour past lunch until his stomach grumbled at the sight of food.

“One could argue that I’m also a rich, smarmy arsehole,” Enzo countered, picking up a grape and popping it into his mouth with a slight smile. “Yet you seem to have no problems dealing with me.” 

“Yes, well, everyone knows I’m just using you for your body. Specifically, your taste buds.” Enzo shook his head in amusement before taking a bite out of the sandwich. Peanut butter and jelly, his favorite. “Besides, how else am I supposed to learn new insults in different languages if I hadn’t met you? Speaking of which, I believe I’m completely justified in saying that Flint is a total gehirnverweigerer.”

“Marcus isn’t so bad. He just needs a bit of a push,” Enzo replied rather unconvincingly. 

“If by a push you mean my boot against his arse, then I wholeheartedly agree.” 

“The French have this saying, petit à petit, l’oiseau fait son nid. In English, it roughly translates to: little by little, the bird builds its nest.” 

“Except Flint isn’t a bird, he’s a twat,” you deadpanned. “The bloke was too busy staring at my arse to even pick up a lick of French. To think, you even made this cute little chart and everything. You have the patience of a saint, Enz.” 

“One of us has to,” Enzo replied as he tore open the bag of wotsits. “Given your proclivity to violence.” 

“Don’t make me take your crisps away, Lorenzo.” 

Shielding his wotsits from your vengeful wrath, Enzo flashed you a saccharine smile. For good measure, he even batted his pretty honey eyes at you. The audacity. “Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite person in the whole entire world?” 

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Berkshire. Now finish your lunch or else I’ll be very cross with you.” 

Enzo smiled to himself, wondering at the fact you were complete strangers until a few weeks ago. Ever since you gifted him with the best brownie he’s ever tasted in his entire life, he became your designated taste tester. Every morning, Enzo would start his day off with his usual lemon tea and whatever new pastry recipe you had chosen to tackle that week. Between the scones and muffins, Enzo learned that you intended on opening your own bakery after uni. Hence, his very important role of reviewing your recipes. 

Granted, Enzo didn’t know how much of a help he actually was given the fact that he thought everything you made was amazing. Still, the novelty of finding a fresh pastry in his bag with a handwritten note from you never failed to brighten his morning. Especially since you signed each one with a crimson kiss print that made him blush every time he laid his eyes upon it. It was safe to say his crush had only gotten worse the more he got to know you. 

As you settled behind the counter to help with the afternoon rush, Enzo attempted to get some work done before classes started for the day. With finals fast approaching, he was caught up on making sure he had everything in order. It wasn’t until Enzo heard a familiar voice when he finally tore his gaze away from his laptop screen. 

Enzo froze as he watched one of his best mates saunter up to the counter. Even from his seat by the window, he could tell that Mattheo was flirting with you. In hindsight, his friend seemed exactly like the type of guy you would go for. The broody bad boy who probably listened to all the obscure bands that you often talked to him about. As Mattheo directed his smoldering gaze at you, Enzo thought he might be violently ill. 

Squinting across the coffee shop, Enzo angrily shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers in an attempt to keep himself from strangling his curly headed friend. 

In a tone that was at least an octave deeper than his regular voice, Mattheo drawled a question at you. “What’s good here?” 

You stared at him pointedly before waving a hand towards the menu. “There’s coffee, there’s pastries. It’s really not rocket science.”

The deadpan delivery combined with the utterly unenthused expression on your face nearly made Enzo snort out loud. It might’ve been an arsehole move to rejoice at Mattheo’s fumble, but he found it immensely satisfying that you seemed to be immune to the infamous Riddle charm. 

“A bit feisty today aren’t we, love? I just wanted to see what the pretty lady behind the counter recommends.” 

Enzo watched in amusement as you slipped on your signature scowl, the one that made him fall for you in the first place. “The pretty lady recommends that you stop holding up the line so she can get to the other customers who actually know what they want.” 

Hiding his smirk, Enzo feigned surprise as a dejected Mattheo plopped down across from him. “Merlin, that was brutal. Is the barista always this mean? I complimented her pins and she stared at me like I’d grown an extra head.” 

“Y/N isn’t really a people person,” Enzo supplied. 

“No shit, Berkshire.” Mattheo tapped his fingers on the counter. “Let’s just get to class before I embarrass myself any further.”

“That’s probably for the best,” replied Enzo. 

Ignoring Mattheo’s glare, Enzo packed up his laptop and put his tray away. He followed his mate through the throng of people, which had thinned out once more. They were a few steps away from the door when you called out his name. With a raised brow, you held out a pink box. Enzo smiled sheepishly in return. He couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten the dessert of the day. 

“One lemon berry scone. Less tart, per your critique last week.” He took the box from your hands, blushing furiously when your fingers brushed against his. “Have a good class, peach.” 

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll have your full report ready tomorrow.” 

“You better.” Enzo nearly dropped the box when you winked at him. “Later, Berkshire.” 

Smiling to himself, Enzo came face to face with a gaping Mattheo. “For Salazar’s sake, it’s like I don’t even exist.” He muttered before breaking out into a grin. “No wonder my moves had no effect. Mate, she obviously fancies you.” 

Enzo’s cheeks immediately heated as he pushed out into the quad. “What? No. Y/N and I are just really good friends.” 

“Now I understand why you come here so often,” Mattheo remarked. “If the mean hot barista plied me with baked goods and called me peach, I’d be coming here every day.” 

“It's an inside joke about my drink order..." Enzo tried to explain. "The point is, Y/N isn’t mean. She’s actually really nice.” 

“Yeah, because she likes you.” 

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Does too.” Mattheo countered. “Why else would she bake you a scone?” 

“She wants to own a bakery someday. Obviously, that means she needs someone to test her recipes out on,” Enzo explained. “It’s how we became friends.” 

“Right,” Mattheo said with a shit eating grin. “Friends.” 

Enzo rolled his eyes. “Can we just please get to class?” 

“Whatever you say, peach.” 

“I have a theory,” Mattheo announced. 

Enzo sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Not this again, mate.” 

The rest of their friends perked up, abandoning their laptop screens and textbooks in favor of the newest piece of gossip. The little corner of the library that their group had claimed was fairly quiet, which was supposed to be optimal for revising, but Mattheo couldn’t seem to let his conspiracy theory go. He'd been badgering Enzo about it for a week.

“Berkshire here refuses to believe me, but I have it on good authority that Y/N has a crush on him. 

“Y/N,” Theo started, “You mean his mean barista friend? She’s proper fit.” 

“Don’t call her fit,” Enzo replied rather defensively. 

“A little touchy there, Berkshire.” Regulus said with a chuckle. “Is that jealousy I sense?” 

“For the millionth time, Y/N and I are just friends.” 

“Is that the same friend that makes all those tasty pastries for you?” Draco asked with a raised brow. “I’ve seen the cute little notes she leaves for you posted all around your dorm. With the adorable kiss prints and hearts. Seems to me like Mattheo’s right. Y/N’s sweet on you, cousin.” 

“Do me a favour and stop being a snooping twat, cousin.” Enzo retorted with a frown. “Y/N’s just being nice. It’s what friends do.”

“None of my mates have ever gone out of their way to bake me a bloody thing,” Blaise declared in feigned offense as he wrapped an arm around Pansy. 

“Yes, well, none of your mates even know where the oven is located, let alone how to operate it,” replied his girlfriend. Pansy smiled at Enzo. “Besides, I think their friendship is sweet.” 

“Thanks, Pans.” 

“So you don’t fancy Y/N?” Theo asked. Enzo opened his mouth then closed it. He was well aware that his friend was baiting him, but he refused to fall into Theo’s trap. 

“Like I said, we’re friends.” 

“In that case, you wouldn’t mind if I asked for her number, right?” 

As a matter of fact, Enzo did fucking mind. He minded very much. Too much, probably. But he couldn’t very well say that out loud. Instead, he masked his scowl and returned his attention to revising. 

“Knock yourself out, mate.” 

Theo smirked. “Alright then, let’s go.” 

“Go where?” Enzo asked disinterestedly, flipping through his study sheet for Latin. 

“To Deja Brew,” Theo replied smugly. “We all need a study break, anyways.” 

“You want to go there? Right now?” With each question, Enzo’s death grip tightened on his notes. “To ask for Y/N’s number?” 

“That shouldn’t be a problem, right? In fact, maybe you could introduce us.” 

Enzo would rather walk on hot coals. “I think I'll pass. I've already seen her turn Mattheo down and that was brutal enough as it is. I don’t need an encore.”

“Riddle’s probably not her type.” 

Mattheo frowned, crossing his arms. “I’m everyone’s type.” 

Theo chuckled. “Apparently not hers. Perhaps she’d prefer a handsome Italian, no?” 

Mattheo rolled his eyes. “In your dreams, Nott.” 

“Now I’m intrigued,” exclaimed Blaise. “I’d never miss an opportunity to witness Theodore get humbled. Are you sure you’re ready for a woman like Y/N, Nott?” 

“Please,” Theo scoffed. “I was born ready.” 

Against his will, Enzo found himself at Deja Brew ten minutes later. In his usual corner by the window, he brooded like a petulant child. This was a horrible, terrible, and idiotic idea. All he wanted to do was revise and now his study session had been hijacked just so he could watch Theo flirt with the girl he fancied. 

“You know, you can put a stop to this any time you’d like,” Mattheo said in a sing-songy voice. “Just admit that my theory is right. Y/N has a crush on you and I’m willing to bet that the feeling is mutual. Isn’t it, Berkshire?” 

Enzo crossed his arms, rolling his eyes. Instead of giving into Mattheo’s childish pursuits, he opened his laptop and pretended to be immersed with Russian translations. 

“Have it your way, Enzo.” Regulus declared, nodding towards the register. “Nott’s about to give us a show.” 

As irritated as he was with his friends, Enzo couldn’t tear his gaze away. Theo marched up to the counter with swagger and confidence, slipping on his signature smirk. You looked up from your phone screen, giving the tall and lanky boy a sweeping gaze. The unenthused expression on your face screamed that you weren’t at all impressed.

“Y/N, is it?” Theo drawled, squinting at the nametag pinned to your apron. “A pretty name for a pretty lady.” 

“Thanks,” you deadpanned. “My parents gave it to me. Now what can I get started for you?” 

“Aren’t you going to ask me for my name?” 

“I know who you are,” you replied dismissively. “One of Enzo’s friends, right? I heard about your little stunt in the fountain. You know, December’s not really a smart time to go skinny dipping.” Theo flushed as your eyes trailed down to his crotch. “Certain parts shrivel in the cold, Nott.” 

“I assure you, my parts were perfectly intact.” 

“That’s not what Katie Bell said,” you countered, tapping your lips thoughtfully. “I believe I heard something about shrinkage.” Theo opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. “I’ll tell you what, Theodore. Why don’t I fix you up a cappuccino? It’ll help keep you and your parts warm and cozy.” 

Enzo bit his lip to keep himself from bursting into laughter. The rest of his friends snickered as they watched a dejected Theo return to the table. 

Regulus snorted as he sat back down in defeat. “Merlin, that was hard to watch. Absolutely brutal, really.” 

Theo glared at Regulus in response. “I’d like to see you do better, Black.” 

Regulus winked. “Watch and learn, boys.” 

The older boy had about as much luck as Theo. Though the attempts had put him in a foul mood at first, Enzo was absolutely elated as he watched you turn down his friends. Regulus received an eye roll while Draco reeled from the head to toe once-over that humbled the absolute hell out of him. 

“It’s useless,” his cousin mumbled. “She hates everyone.” 

“Or maybe Y/N just doesn’t appreciate random blokes chatting her up while she’s trying to do her job,” Pansy said with an eye roll. 

“Oh bloody hell, here she comes.” Regulus muttered under his breath. “I don’t think my ego can take another hit.” 

The boys cowered as you came closer, but you didn’t pay them any mind. Instead, you set a fresh mug of tea and a lemon scone down in front of Enzo. 

“Last one, I promise. It’s finally perfect this time.” 

“You said that the last three times,” Enzo said with a chuckle. “They were all brilliant, by the way. Not that you listen to my well crafted reviews.” 

“You say that about everything I make, Enz. Honestly, a girl bakes you a couple of treats and suddenly I’m the best thing since sliced bread.” 

“I’m just being honest,” he replied with a shrug. “You couldn’t bake a single bad pastry if you tried.” 

“I’d like to try a pastry,” Mattheo interjected. 

You tore your attention away from Enzo. The smile that you reserved for him transformed into a scowl, your entire body language turning stern. “I’m sorry. Who are you again?” 

“Riddle,” Mattheo supplied. “Mattheo Riddle.” 

“Right,” you said slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “My pastries aren’t for sale. You’re more than welcome to try the day-old brownie behind the counter though. If you can manage to chew through it.” 

Mattheo sputtered, but you paid no mind to his aghast expression. Enzo fought the urge to kiss you right then and there. 

“Closing again tonight?” he asked, ignoring the blatant stares from the rest of his friends. 

“Unfortunately. Diggory bailed again. Probably too busy snogging Cho to come in for his shift,” you said with an eye roll. 

“Leave those lovebirds alone,” Enzo quipped back. “They’re in their honeymoon phase.” 

“I can’t for the life of me understand how they aren’t sick of each other by now.” 

“That’s because you’re a mean old grump.” You glared at him, which only made Enzo smile. “Luckily for you, that doesn’t deter me. I’ll come keep you company if you want. I promise to be way more entertaining than Cedric.” 

“It’s not a hard task to accomplish, but I’ll take you up on it nonetheless.” 

“I thought you might say that,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll meet you back here after my last class. Pad Thai tonight?” 

You nodded and grinned back. “This is why you’re my favorite, peach.” 

The boys gaped as you ruffled his hair in parting. They waited until you were out of earshot before launching into a tirade. 

“What the bloody hell was that?”

“Just friends my arse.”

“I can’t believe she actually smiled at you!” 

“It’s strange how treating Y/N like an actual human being instead of pestering her while she’s trying to work yields such positive results,” Pansy retorted. “I think you all need to start following Enzo’s example. Clearly he’s had more success than you lot.” 

Blaise patted Enzo on the back. “Mate, you might be the most oblivious bloke in all of Britain, but you’d have to be an absolute knobhead not to see what’s right in front of you.” 

He hummed in response, glancing up at the exact same time that your gaze met his from across the room. You winked, making him blush furiously. Merlin, you were pretty. It was honestly unfair. Maybe Zabini was onto something.

When it came to you, even Enzo had to agree that he was a total and absolute knobhead.

Later that night, Enzo helped you clear the plates and mugs as the last customers trickled out of Deja Brew. The soft sounds of your perfectly curated playlist trickled over the speakers as you flipped the sign to closed. He watched with a small smile as you hopped up onto the counter and beckoned him over. The fairy lights twinkled above the ceiling, illuminating your smile as Enzo took his place next to you. 

The sight of you grinning up at him tugged at his heartstrings. There were coffee stains on your jeans and apron, your thick hair was falling out of its braid, and a cold bowl of Pad Thai awaited in your lap and yet he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life. 

“Aren’t you glad Cedric bailed?” Enzo teased, knocking his shoulder with yours. “Now you get to enjoy cold noodles with your favorite person.” 

You chuckled, nudging him back. “I suppose this is nicer than listening to Diggory ramble on about Quidditch. It’s always bludger this, bludger that. I honestly considered bludgeoning him myself.” 

“To be fair, the man could merely breathe and you’d still find a way to be annoyed by it.” 

“No one needs to inhale that much oxygen.”

“I rest my case, you mean old grump.” 

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “You know, if anyone else called me that I’d poke their eye out with a fork.” Enzo chuckled as you stabbed into your bowl of noodles. “Besides, I have every right to be grumpy. It’s been a long day. Thanks to your incessant little friends.” 

“I’m sorry about the guys,” he said earnestly. “I tried to talk them out of flirting with you, but they’ve got this crazy theory.” 

“Oh?” You asked, raising a brow. “What’s the theory, then?” 

Enzo flushed, avoiding your gaze. “They uh…” He cleared his throat and stared at his shoes. “They think you fancy me.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe they’re not idiots after all. Your friends are right. I do fancy you.” 

White noise rushed through his ears. Enzo’s mouth fell open as he met your gaze. Surely, he hadn’t heard you correctly. 

“You alright there, peach?” 

“You…” Enzo trailed off, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You like me?” 

You chuckled. “I have for a bit. Thanks for finally noticing.” 

“How?” Enzo muttered. “What?” He cocked his head, trying to search for the proper words. “Why?” 

At the moment, it appeared that one syllable words were the full extent of his vocabulary. All those languages in his head and yet he couldn’t form a single coherent sentence. 

“Enz, I know your drink order by heart,” you explained softly. “I make you cupcakes and muffins. I write you notes every day. I thought I made myself pretty obvious.” 

“Gods,” he breathed, silently reprimanding himself. “I really am the most oblivious bloke in Britain.” Enzo licked his lips, turning over to look at you. “I just thought you were being nice.” 

“Lorenzo, when have I ever been nice to anyone?” 

“I am a bloody idiot.” 

“You never made a move, so I just thought you didn’t see me that way. Which is fine, by the way. I don’t mind being friends.” 

Enzo turned so fast he nearly smacked into the register. “Are you kidding? I’ve had a crush on you for months. You’re the best part of my day. Waking up and knowing that I get to see you every morning is the only thing that gets me out of bed.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You’re out of my league. You’re smart and funny and not to mention way too cool. Honestly, I thought you’d go for someone like Mattheo or Theo or literally anyone else but me. Someone a little more…” he trailed off, waving a hand over you. 

“Scary?” 

“No! Well, yes. Someone more confident and intimidating.” 

“Bad boys aren’t really my type.”

He scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion. “They’re not?” 

“No,” you said, setting down your food and turning over to face him. “My type is a nerdy linguistics major who teaches me how to curse in six different languages and who makes cute little conjugation charts and orders drinks that should quite frankly classify as a dessert.” 

Enzo’s smile grew wider. "I like you too, you know. A lot. Like, embarrassingly so. With your grumpy little scowl and all black wardrobe and dry humor. I like all of it."

You beamed as Enzo leaned closer, tracing your lips like he was trying to commit the curves of your smile to his memory. His heart pounded in his chest as your eyes flickered up to meet his.

"Then kiss me like you mean it, Enzo."

Despite your confidence, the air left your lungs as soon as Enzo cradled your face in his hands. The twinkling lights made his brown eyes shimmer like pools of honey in the dark. The tension stretched between you as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing yours ever so gently. They briefly closed around yours—tasting, testing, taunting. Then the dam broke free.

Enzo pressed you closer and kissed you like his life depended on it. You smiled against his lips, melting into his touch as he tilted your head back for more. Butterflies erupted in your stomach as Enzo sighed into your mouth, his lips molding perfectly against yours. The once shy and experimental kisses turned needy and passionate, making you feel slightly lightheaded. Enzo savored your soft sighs, kissing you over and over again to elicit more.

It wasn't until you felt like the air had been depleted from your lungs when he finally relented. He pressed his forehead against yours, noses brushing as you both grinned at each other. It felt right to be this close. It felt like you were made to do this all along. Enzo brushed his thumb over your cheek, looking dazed as he pulled back to look at you. 

“It’s about time, Berkshire.” 

“Hey,” Enzo grumbled, pecking at your lips. “You can’t blame me. I couldn’t even look at you without blushing and making a fool of myself. You’re so intimidating.” 

“Not so scary now, am I?” 

“Oh no, I’m still terrified of you. But I’ve also seen you cry during the Notebook, so I know that deep down inside, you’re just a big softie.” 

You started to protest, but Enzo just leaned in and kissed you again. With his lips pressed against yours, you couldn’t even remember what you were about to say. As he pulled you into his lap, you heard cheers coming from outside. Behind the glass window, his friends were cheering and wolf-whistling rather obnoxiously on the street. 

Enzo responded by flicking them off and kissing you even harder, pressing your bodies together as you giggled. He hauled you to your feet, his arms circling around your waist as he dipped you for a better angle. Your back hit the counter as you raised to your tiptoes, winding your arms around his neck and mussing up his hair as you arched for more. The hollering only grew more incessant when Enzo grabbed your ass and squeezed. The groan that escaped from his mouth made you dizzy with desire.

If one kiss could elicit such a response out of you, it was almost scary to think what else Enzo had in his arsenal. A cheeky little smile curved against his lips as though he knew exactly what you were thinking. You basked under the warmth of his gaze, feeling flushed and flustered. That pretty face had you entirely fooled. Enzo was far from innocent.

“Gods, I really fucking fancy you.”

With a smile, you kissed the tip of his nose. “I really fucking fancy you too, peach.” 

Despite the many languages in Enzo's arsenal, no phrase or saying could convey how he felt better than his lips against yours. Maybe he hadn't quite mastered the language of love, but he had a feeling that you'd be more than willing to teach him.

[queenshelby]

AMERICAN GIRL (PART SIX)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Grace's Stepdaughter!Reader

Warning: Grace is a bully, infidelity, taboo

Over the next few days, you tried to avoid Tommy at all costs and when Ada invited you and Emma to stay with her for a few nights in London,  you couldn't help but accept her offer with open arms.

The bustling city provided a much-needed distraction from the constant tension that seemed to have surfaced since that evening at the Garrison and Ada even took you shopping to help you find something elegant.

One evening, however, you decided to venture out on your own , eager to enjoy the anonymity that the city offered and explore the vibrant nightlife. It was then that you stumbled upon a lavish and elegant establishment, nestled in an unsuspecting corner, away from the main streets.

There was a guard or so called bouncer in front of the door, telling you that women were not  allowed in on their own. The place was exclusive, and you couldn't help but feel intrigued, craving a taste of this mysterious new luxury.

Although you wanted to press the issue, a sense of caution and self-preservation stopped you from making a fuss.

"You are not a performer, are you Love?" another man in a suit asked just as you were about to leave . The intrigue in his eyes was unmistakable, and a slight smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"And what makes you ask me that?" you inquired with a hint of amusement, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, it's just a hunch, Sweetheart," he replied, slowly letting his gaze roam over your figure, trying to gauge your response. The way he eyed you filled you with a curious mixture of unease and exhilaration. "Because, if you are, in fact, a performer, I can let you in," he continued, his voice low and seductive, daring you to challenge him.

"Well, as a matter of fact, I am," you replied boldly, with just enough of a flicker in your eyes to make him believe you. "I am singer and, after few whiskeys on the house, I may even be happy enough to perform for free,"  you added, the corner of your lip quirking upwards in a challenging grin.

The man looked at you with a newfound sense of amusement and interest, a slow smirk spreading across his face before he opened the door, waving you in.

As you stepped inside, you were immediately greeted by a world unlike any other; dimly lit, adorned with red velvet drapes, and filled with the sound of loud, lively jazz music. It was a world shrouded in mystery, decadence and, above all, allure.

As you ventured further into this unknown territory, your pulse quickened, and a heady thrill surged through your veins. The intoxicating atmosphere seemed almost tangible, and you couldn't help but be drawn into its hypnotic embrace.

Waiters adorned in crisp suits skillfully weaved through tables, expertly balancing trays laden with amber-colored liquid concoctions. A woman with fiery red hair, accentuated by an elegant sequined dress, sauntered around the baby grand piano with a predatory grace. Her voice intermingled with the music, creating an atmosphere that was as captivating as it was provocative.

"A drink for you ma'am?"  offered a waiter in a pristine suit, his eyes sharp and observant. The novelty of this enchanting place hadn't worn off yet, but his hawkish attention made you a little nervous.

"Yes, please. I'll have whatever you recommend," you responded, attempting to match his neutral expression with one of your own.

The waiter then gently placed an elegant, stemmed glass before you, adorned with a delicate slice of orange peel expertly twirled over the top.

"Will you be performing?" he too asked, seeing that you were on your own and not part of the usual décor that littered the establishment. This question caught you a bit off guard, but it also brought along a spark of excitement in your chest; you had not prepared for such a turn events, but it seemed to be unfolding quite nicely in front of your eyes.

"Yes, I suppose I will," you responded confidently, holding his gaze for a moment before turning away to scan the stage area.  The waiter nodded and walked away, leaving you to ponder your decision. You briefly wondered if you had made the right choice, but your curiosity and the thrill of the unknown whispered in your ear like a silent siren call. The temptation to stay and lose yourself in this immersive world was too enticing to ignore.

You scanned the elegant room with its sultry atmosphere until your gaze landed upon a familiar figure in the corner, sitting with his back to you. Thomas.

His presence sent your heart into a frenzy, causing it to gallop uncontrollably inside your chest. A concoction of emotions surged through you, and you realized that you cared too much for someone who was as good as forbidden.

Why was he here, out of all places, you wondered  ? A strange coincidence perhaps. You considered leaving, sparing yourself the torture of watching him from afar, yet your curiosity anchored you to the spot.

Your plan needed a rethink. With newfound resolve, you walked up to the woman on stage as she took a break and gently tapped her on the shoulder. She paused what she was doing, turned to you, and raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.

"Yes, dear?" she inquired with a knowing smile.

"I was wondering if I could sing a few songs during your interval," you confessed with a bashful smile. The woman, seemingly amused by your proposition, studied you for a few beats before nodding her head.

"Absolutely, darling. The stage is yours," she replied, extending her hand towards the microphone.

With a grateful nod, you made your way onto the platform, pulling in a measured breath to steady your nerves.

With trembling fingers, you adjusted the microphone stand and clasped it tightly to ground yourself in the swirling sea of emotions threatening to consume you. The gentle hum of conversation gradually receded, replaced by an expectant hush that blanketed the entire room which is when you began to sing.

The words and melody came almost naturally to you  , weaving together an intricate tapestry of emotion and sound. Each note resonated deep within you, released from a secret chamber that had been longing to be opened.

The enraptured patrons listened intently as they sipped their martinis and bourbons, the room's electricity shifting palpably, settling around you with an intensity that left you breathless. You felt exposed and vulnerable through each verse, and yet you couldn't deny the uninhibited freedom that singing had awakened within you.

But you did not just sing, you performed and, soon enough, the band that had been taking a break joined in. You loosened your hair  from its tidy bun and let it cascade down your shoulders, dancing wildly, as your voice weaved in and out of the pulsating rhythm. There was a wild magic in every movement, a seductive allure in the lyrics you effortlessly strung together. It was a captivating performance that left everyone motionless, including Thomas.

As you sang, you forgot about the forbidden nature of him, the danger that surrounded his presence, his empire of deception and secrets, and instead lost yourself in the music, letting go of all inhibitions.

Men cheered  and clapped, while women looked on with admiration and envy. You swayed along with the melody, the enchanting notes escaping your lips effortlessly. Each and every word seemed like vows whispered only to the man who had captured your heart, despite knowing that their paths were meant to never cross.

When you finally finished singing and the band drew their instruments to a close, the room erupted into thunderous applause, but before you knew it, there were two hands on you, ushering you off the stage, through the back.

"That's enough Love," Thomas murmured in your ear. "You had enough attention tonight, eh," he added, a hint of frustration and annoyance leaking into his voice. You were surprised by his appearance, but it thrilled you even more. 

"But I just started," you protested half-heartedly, relishing his possessive nature. Thomas simply shook his head, his expression remaining firm as he pulled you behind the velvet curtain while the red-haired woman took over again, thanking you for your impeccable performance before signing a tune of her own.

"It's time for you to leave," he declared, his voice low and authoritative.

"Why?" you asked. "There is no harm in me singing?" you queried with an arched brow, searching his eyes for reasonable justification for his sudden protectiveness.

His hold around your waist intensified as he pulled you closer, causing involuntary shivers to ripple through you. 

"That's not what concerns me," Thomas confessed gruffly. The corners of his lips twitched almost imperceptibly. "But these men are unpredictable, high on fucking cocaine and just waiting for someone like you," he began to say before being cut off by you.

"You know what I think Tommy?" you quipped, feeling a surge of courage thanks to the adrenaline and confidence from your performance. "You are jealous,"  you accused, looking straight into his eyes, challenging him to disagree.

The atmosphere between you and Thomas grew tenser as he held your gaze, searching for a response that somehow justified his feelings. You could see the internal struggle and conflict within him. He was not a man easily swayed by his emotions, yet here you were, igniting feelings in him that he couldn't suppress easily.

"I am not fucking jealous Love," he replied, barely hiding the irritation in his voice.

You smiled wryly, knowing deep down that your suspicion was not far off. The flicker of something unreadable in Thomas' eyes only served to heighten your curiosity and spur you on.

"Oh, I think you are," you pressed on. "You can't stand other men giving me attention. You can't even stand them looking at me for too long," you persisted, daring to call out his jealousy with the boldness that came from being under the spotlight.

Thomas' eyes flashed, but he didn't deny it. Instead, he tightened his hold around your waist and steered you out of the back door, away from the prying eyes of the crowd.

The chilly air greeted your warm skin as you stumbled out onto the dimly lit alleyway.

"Tell me that I am right," you demanded as, suddenly, Thomas pressed you against the cold brick wall, his body hovering close, pinning you in place.

His blue eyes glittered with an intensity that was at once alarming and exhilarating, a quiet storm brewing in their depths. Every rational thought in your head seemed to fade away as you found yourself drowning in the all-consuming presence that was Thomas Shelby.

"Listen Love," he growled lowly, a rough quality weaving into his voice. "You're playing with fire here, and you don't even realize it." Thomas' voice was barely a whisper, a low warning that only served to fuel the flame crackling between them. You stared up at him, refusing to back down from the challenge in his eyes.

"Then I suppose I'll burn," you replied, your voice steady and unafraid, igniting his gaze.

Thomas leaned in, and you closed your eyes, anticipating the touch of his lips on yours. Instead, he trailed his nose along your jawline, inhaling deeply as if desperate to etch your scent into his memory.

When his lips found your ear, he whispered, "You don't know what you do to me."

The sensation of his breath against your skin caused an ache to bloom within you, deepening with every brush of his lips against your delicate flesh. His hands slid down your arms, capturing your wrists before gently pinning them above your head. The contrast between his possessive gesture and the way he caressed your skin with feather-light strokes was both intoxicating and maddening.

You gasped, the contact sending your thoughts reeling.

"Fucking kiss me already," you  whispered, urgent need clawing its way out of your throat. You opened your eyes, meeting Thomas' gaze head-on. The hunger in his eyes was impossible to miss, mirroring the longing that gnawed at your very insides.

" Is that what you really want?" he crooned, his warm breath caressing the shell of your ear. Your body trembled almost imperceptibly, aching for his touch, for the feel of his lips pressed against yours. The suspense was overwhelming, the promise of something delicious lingering precariously close.

"Yes," you replied breathlessly, trying to keep your desperation in check as, finally, he claimed your lips with his.  The taste of whiskey and tobacco lingered on his tongue, igniting new sensations within you. When he deepened the kiss, there was an intensity that resonated in the way his hands slid down your arms and then around your waist, like he couldn't bear to let you go.

The way Thomas kissed you—with a passion that felt unmatched, as if he had been searching for something in you and finally discovered a hidden key to unlock the door. The exhilarating feeling of his strong hands exploring your supple curves only added fuel to the fire that burned relentlessly inside of you, awakening your senses, making you feel more alive than ever.

As if he could sense the effect he had on you, Thomas pulled away, leaving you both breathless. 

"I am staying at the Dorchester," he revealed with a husky whisper, his gaze still locked on your flushed face. "And I want you to come with me tonight," Thomas urged softly, his voice thick with desire and unspoken promises.

But instead of immediately responding, you hesitated. After all, venturing off into the unknown could lead to thrilling experiences, but there was always a chance they might forever change your life as he would be your first. 

"Look at me," he whispered tenderly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead. "I promise you; nothing will happen that you don't want to." His reassurance touched your heart as he leaned into gently place a soft kiss on your forehead.

"Okay, so lead the way then," you murmured, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin.

Your decision made, a shiver of excitement and anticipation raced through you.

You straightened your dress, smoothing out the creases as Thomas lead you down the dark alleyway towards the luxurious hotel that he was staying in, which was just a short stroll from the establishment you had just sung at.  

***

Several minutes later, you arrived  at the Dorchester, a magnificent building with an elegant exterior. Thomas held the door open for you, and you stepped into the grand foyer, your heels clicking against the marble floor.

You could feel the weight of the staff's curious gazes on you, as whispers filtered through the air, but Thomas paid them no mind, his hand rested securely on the small of your back as he guided you towards the elevator.

The doors slid open with a soft ding, and the pair of you stepped inside. Thomas slid his key into the slot and pressed the button for the penthouse suite.

The elevator ascended smoothly, and your heart raced with every floor that passed. When the door finally slid open, you stepped out into the luxurious penthouse, your eyes wide with awe at the opulence surrounding you.

Thomas walked over to the expansive windows, his hands thrust deep into his pockets as he took in the view of London below. You lingered behind, taking in the surroundings of the lavish room. The plush carpet felt soft under your heels, and the scent of fine leather and rich mahogany filled the air.

Tommy turned to face you, a sensual smile on his lips.

"What do you think, Love?" he asked, gesturing to the surroundings before approaching you and caressing your face. 

"I think it's perfect,"  you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, as you leaned into his touch.

Thomas leaned in, brushing his lips gently against yours, sending a wave of pleasure surging through your veins. You couldn't deny the chemistry that sizzled between you, nor could you resist the temptation of finally crossing the line that you had both been dancing around for so long.

The tension between you had been building for weeks, and it was a spark that was ready to ignite into a raging inferno. The connection you shared was magnetic, a force so powerful that it seemed impossible to resist.

"Fuck, Y/N," Thomas murmured against your lips, his voice low and gruff. "You have no idea how much I want you."

His hands roamed over your body, leaving a trail of heated desire in their wake. You gasped as his fingers brushed against your breasts, the silk dress you were wearing offering little protection against his touch.

A soft whimper escaped your lips as he slowly began to undo the buttons on your dress, his fingers fumbling slightly in his haste to touch your naked skin.

"Tommy wait," you breathed, placing a hand on his chest to halt his movements. He looked at you, his eyes darkening with desire at the sound of your plea.

"What is it, Love?" he asked, his voice low and husky, filled with a barely restrained hunger that sent shivers running down your spine.

"I have never  done this before," you confessed, biting your lower lip nervously, as if the words tasted wrong on your tongue. Thomas paused, his hands stilling on your body as he looked at you with a tenderness that took your breath away.

"Do you want to stop?"  Thomas whispered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"No," you replied, your voice firm despite the nervous tremor that ran through it. "I want this. I want you," you assured him, your voice filled with conviction, as you looked deep into his eyes.

Thomas nodded, understanding dawning in his gaze before leaning down to capture your lips with his own. The kiss was slow and passionate, a promise of the pleasures to come. His hands returned to your buttons, finishing what he had started.

The dress opened, revealing the thin lace lingerie you wore underneath. Thomas trailed his fingers along the exposed skin, making you shiver with anticipation. He cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," Thomas breathed, his eyes raking over your body.

He lowered his head, taking one of your nipples into his mouth through the lace fabric.

You gasped as his tongue swirled over the sensitive bud, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he continued to tease and tantalize you.

"Fuck," you breathed, your head falling back as you surrendered to the overwhelming sensations. "Please, Tommy, I need more."

Thomas raised his head, looking at you with dark, passion-filled eyes. "Begging already, Love?" he teased, a wicked smile twisting his lips as he finally guided you towards the large four poster bed. 

You didn't dignify that with a response, your gaze locked onto his as he slowly began to remove your clothing. The anticipation was almost unbearable as he painstakingly revealed inch after inch of your skin until you were left in nothing more than your panties.

"Lie down for me,"  Thomas commanded, his voice hoarse with desire. You obliged, your heart pounding in your chest as you sank back onto the cool sheets, your body bared for him.

He looked like a predator preparing to claim his prize, a dark and dangerous look in his eyes that made your insides clench with need. Slowly, deliberately, he began to strip off his own clothing.

You couldn't tear your gaze away from the sight of him, the rippling muscles of his chest and abdomen, the hardness of his erection straining against the confines of his trousers. 

"I can't fucking wait to taste you, Love,"  Thomas growled, his eyes glinting with hunger as he crawled up the bed, settling himself between your legs.

He parted your thighs, his breath hot against your skin as his fingers brushed against the dampness of your panties.

"Fuck, Tommy," you whispered, writhing beneath him as he teased you, his movements slow and maddening. You could feel yourself growing wetter by the second, your desire for him reaching new heights.

"Please," you begged, arching your hips up towards him, desperate for release.

Thomas chuckled low in his throat, the sound reverberating through your entire body.

"God, you're impatient," he teased, his fingers dancing over your damp folds, lingering just outside of your entrance. You whimpered with frustration, your fingers gripping the sheets tightly.

"Tommy, please," you begged again, your voice trembling with desire. Thomas finally took mercy on you and pulled off your  soaked underwear, leaving you completely bared to him. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to your inner thigh, sending a shiver down your spine.

"You're so fucking perfect," Thomas whispered, his voice filled with reverence. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a fierce determination that made your heart race before, finally, liking  the tip of his tongue over your entrance.

You cried out at the contact, your back arching off the bed as he began to tease and taste you, his movements slow and measured.

"Fuck," you gasped, your fingers desperately gripping the sheets beneath you as he sucked your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your breathing grew ragged, each breath sounding like a soft moan as he continued to worship you with his mouth, his tongue delving inside of you, tasting your sweetness.

Your hips bucked wildly, desperate for him to bring you closer to the edge, but Thomas had no intention of rushing. Every lick, every kiss he planted on your heated flesh was done with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Fuck, Tommy. This feels so good," you moaned, not knowing fully what was actually happening to you. You never felt like this before  ; this overwhelming wave of pleasure and desire, this sensation of losing control. It seemed to come from the depths of your very being, rising to the surface as your body trembled under Thomas's expert touch.

"God, you taste like heaven," Thomas growled, his voice thick with desire as he continued to explore you with his mouth. You could feel the orgasm building inside of you, the knot of pleasure growing tighter and tighter with each passing second.

Your breath hitched, your hands clenched into fists, and your toes curled with pleasure as Thomas continued to devour you.

Suddenly, he pulled away, leaving you panting and writhing on the bed, desperate for the release that had been just within your grasp. You looked down at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and desire.

"Why did you stop?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Thomas looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of desire.

"I want to feel you come apart on my cock, Love," he said, his voice rough and raw. You nodded eagerly, your body trembling with anticipation.

Slowly, Thomas crawled up your body, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin as he went. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting yourself on his lips. It was filthy and primal, and you couldn't get enough of it.

Thomas' body hovered over yours, his muscles rippling in the dim light of the room. He was a vision of masculinity and power, and you couldn't believe that he was here with you. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Open your legs, Love," Thomas growled, his voice deep and raw with desire. You complied, allowing him to settle between your thighs. He rubbed his cock against your wet folds, teasing you and making you gasp with pleasure.

Thomas was a master of anticipation, drawing out the moment until your body was trembling with need. 

"Go slow, please," you said, reminding him that you never had sex before .

There was a look of concern that crossed his face for a moment, but then he leaned down to kiss you with a passion that stole your breath away. His mouth devoured yours as his hands roamed your curves with reverence.

When he broke the kiss, Thomas whispered, "We don't have to if you, -" he began to say but you cut him off.  "I want to. I trust you," you replied, looking him in the eyes. A soft smile tugged at the corner of Thomas' lips before he nodded.

"I will go slow. I promise, Love,"  Thomas breathed the words against your lips before he reached down between your bodies to grip his cock. He guided it toward your entrance, teasing you by rubbing the head of his cock along your wet folds again.

You whimpered, your body trembling beneath him, begging for more.

Slowly, Thomas pushed inside of you, the feeling of your warmth enveloping him causing a low growl to rumble in his chest. You gasped at the sensation of him filling you up. It hurt, but it also felt so good.

" Oh God, Thomas..." you breathed out, digging your nails into his shoulders as he paused, allowing you to adjust to his size.

Thomas kissed you desperately, his tongue driving into your mouth as if he was trying to convey how much this moment meant to him. You tasted whiskey and something bitter, but that only turned you on more.

"You're so fucking tight, Love," Thomas grunted, his hips starting to move in slow, teasing thrusts that quickly gained intensity. Each plunge of his cock pushed you further up the bed, your body writhing beneath him.

Your breath caught in your throat as he hit a spot deep inside of you that triggered a wave of unparalleled pleasure. Thomas grinned against your neck, his thrusts quickening as he pressed his tongue against the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

"I can feel you, Love, clenching around me. It feels so fucking good," Thomas groaned. His hand snaked down your body, finding the swollen bud of your clit. He rubbed slow, gentle circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting a guttural moan from deep within your chest.

Your hips lifted off the bed in a desperate attempt to grind yourself against his fingers, but Thomas was relentless, his rhythm steady and unyielding.

"That's it, Love. Let go for me," Thomas coaxed, his voice strained with desire. He moved his hand from your clit, replacing it with his lips as he sought out the sweet spot just below your ear. "Come for me, Y/N."

 He had said your name, and the sound of it on his lips sent shivers down your spine.

With that, you let go, your orgasm rushing through you like a tidal wave. Your back arched off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling under Thomas's powerful frame.

His thrusts grew more frantic as your inner muscles clenched around him, milking him for all that he had. The sensation of your warm release coating his cock triggered his own orgasm, and Thomas roared as he filled you up with hot jets of his seed.

He continued to thrust into you as you both came down from your highs, prolonging the exquisite pleasure that held you captive.

As you lay beneath him, limp and thoroughly satiated, Thomas rolled off of you and gathered you in his arms. He pulled you against his chest, tucking your head under his chin as he breathed in the scent of your hair.

"Fuck, Love," he muttered, his voice hoarse from the force of his release. "That was... incredible."

You couldn't help the smile that spread across your face.

Your entire body still tingled from the mind-blowing orgasm Thomas had given you. You felt like putty in his arms, completely content and relaxed. Thomas brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, leaving a soft kiss in its place.

"You okay, Love?" he asked, concern etched on his face as he looked down at you. You nodded, still unable to find your voice. Thomas grinned, pride radiating from him.

"Good," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Y/N. The moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you."

You looked up at Thomas, your eyes meeting his as he spoke. His gaze was intense, and you could feel the desire simmering beneath the surface.

"No one can ever know about this, Tommy ," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"I know, Love," he reassured you, his voice low and husky. "But I am going to struggle to keep my hands off you, Y/N." The way he said your name made your heart flutter. It was as if you were the only person in the world that existed to him. You knew you shouldn't feel this way about him, but you couldn't help yourself.

You stayed in his arms for what seemed like hours, basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking. The world outside of the penthouse room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of intimacy until, eventually, you fell asleep in Tommy's arms.

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[pickingupmymercedes]

Home is wherever you are - Lewis Hamilton

request: I was wondering after hearing Lewis saying that he is looking to going home after the Canadian gp. Can you write a sort piece of the agony he has in his voice and he just want to be in the arms of his loved one.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: angsty, mentions of Mercedes fuck up, Canada 2024 and that post quali interview

wordcount: +1K

a/n: I've had this sitting in my drafts since Canada, but I wanted to wait a bit for things and the rumors to settle down before I reread it and posted. I'm still salty on that hard tyres at the end though.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The cheers of the Montreal crowd celebrating a Mercedes's pole echoed in Lewis' ears long after Qualy had ended. He had led every free practice session, feeling the car was finally locked in with him. But in Q3, something had been missing. Maybe it was luck, maybe a fraction of a second's hesitation. Whatever it was, it had cost him dearly.

P7. A miserable P7 after dominating practice all weekend.

He plastered a tired smile on his face for the cameras and interviews, his own disappointment evident in the lack of the usual glimpse to his eyes.

“What’s going on in your mind after that qualifying session?” one reporter asked, leaning in expectantly.

Lewis shrugged, trying to keep his composure. “Nothing much, just looking forward to going home,” he'd mumbled to the reporter's query about his thoughts, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew it was a curt response, but he couldn’t bring himself to elaborate. All he wanted was to escape the scrutiny, the forced smiles, and the disappointment that hung over.

Home, at least for that night though, was the hotel room that felt more like a business conference room these days, devoid of warmth or the one person who could chase away the guilty he felt for not leaving up to his own expectations.

Back in London, Y/n scrolled through post-quali highlights, her smile fading with each dejected clip of Lewis. He wasn't just disappointed, he looked defeated. A knot formed in her stomach, the all so familiar feeling of helplessness twisting with the protectiveness she always felt towards him.

9 pm. Ridiculous, she knew, but the need to hold him, to be around him, was an urge she couldn't ignore.

"On the first flight out," she typed furiously, the message a lifeline thrown across the Atlantic. "There in 10 hours, tops. Around 2 am, your time"

The phone buzzed to life almost immediately. Lewis' voice, sharp with disbelief, echoed in her ear. "Y/n, are you insane? It's the middle of the night for you!"

"Doesn't matter" she cut him off, shoving clothes into a duffel bag. "I'm coming. Just... don't argue."

The next hour was a blur of packing, the phone pressed tight against her ear as Lewis argued, pleaded, then finally relented with a weary sigh. By the time she boarded the plane, the weight of exhaustion had settled in, but the worry for him was still deeply rooted.

The 9-hour flight felt like an eternity. Touching down in Montreal, she hailed a cab, the city still wrapped in the pre-dawn darkness. At the hotel, her heart hammered against her ribs as she used the spare key the hotel provided, the beep of the door lock seemingly taking longer than normally.

Three a.m. The monotonous hum of the air conditioner was broken by the door creaking open, Lewis propped on one elbow at the bed, his eyes looking tired and a bit sunken.

Before he could understand what was happening, she rushed forward, engulfing him in a tight hug. The familiar scent of his aftershave and the warmth of his body flooded her. He stiffened for a moment, then melted into her embrace, burying his face in her hair.

"You shouldn't have come" he mumbled; his voice thick with sleep.

"Had to." she whispered, stroking a hand down his back. They stayed in each other’s arms, the only light coming from the bedside table, a silent language passing between them, a comfort only they could offer each other.

Finally, he pulled back, hesitantly sitting up on the bed. The suite was grand but cold, much like it always used to be, only this time it also happened to mirror the emptiness in his eyes.

He waited for her to strip from her clothes and pull one of his discarded t-shirt over her head before gesturing for her to join him. The silence stretched once she took him in her arms, thick with unspoken questions and a heavy feeling of disappointment.

"Quali," she finally ventured, her voice soft.

He let out a humorless laugh. "Bottled it. Again."

"C’mom" she countered, her voice firm. "It happens, Lewis. Even to the best."

He looked at her, his eyes raw with a vulnerability he rarely showed the world. "Again, and again?! Maybe this was my real only shot this year."

The weight of his words settled on her like a lead blanket. This wasn't just about a bad qualifying session; this was about a season slipping through his fingers, about the gnawing fear that that was probably how the end of his years with Mercedes would be like.

The pressure, the constant fight to live up to expectations, it was a burden he carried mostly alone, a burden that threatened to crush him.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She couldn't offer him a magic solution, couldn't guarantee a win. But she could, at the very least, offer him a safe harbor, a haven from the storm.

"I just don’t understand" he said after a while, his voice raw with emotion. "I felt so good about the car all weekend."

"I know," she replied softly. "You did everything you could. Sometimes, things just don’t go our way, no matter how much we want them to."

He sighed, pressing his face closer to her. "It feels like I’ve let everyone down. The team, the fans... myself mostly."

"You haven’t let anyone down," Y/n insisted. "You’ve given it your all, like you always do. That’s what matters. And no one who truly cares about you would think any less of you for it."

Scooting closer, she took his hand in hers, the warmth a meagre offering against the chill that had settled over him. "You're one of the best drivers on that sport, Lewis. And you know that."

He squeezed her hand, his gaze flickering with a flicker of defiance. “That’s not enough. You know how it goes, we’re only as good as our last race."

"Then you keep going because you’re Lewis Hamilton," she said firmly. "You’ve faced tougher challenges than this, and you’ve always come out stronger. There will be other races, and you’ll have more chances." She cupped his face, her thumb tracing the worry lines etched around his forehead. "I believe in you and you need to believe in yourself again. Remember why you started. Remember why we watch you race."

His gaze softened, but his mind still seemed lost in thought. He leaned into her touch, a silent plea for the belief she always seemed to possess. "I’ll always be here to remind you of that" she promised, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You’re not alone in this, Lew. Not ever."

The race day dawned grey and damp, mirroring Lewis' mood. The strategy meeting was tense and when the decision for the strategy was announced, a flicker of doubt crossed Lewis' face on using those hard tires.

The race itself was far from normal as usual, the ever thread of rain, the chaotic pit stops and strategies. Lewis fought his way through the pack, competition momentarily pushing the doubts aside. But at the end a “free pitstop” he wasn’t considering had him emerge on hards – a strategic decision that left him to fight even more with the car and potently lose on all the pace he had been building.

Lewis' blood ran cold. It felt like a betrayal, a deliberate attempt to stop any chances of fighting for the podium with him trapped on the slower tyres. He crossed the finish line in P4, the roars a distant echo in his ears.

Back at the hotel, Y/n watched, with an aching hear, how he couldn’t hide his disappointments to the media, his face a mask of controlled frustration almost letting loose.

Later that night, as the cities lights twinkled outside their plane heading to Los Angeles, Y/n pulled out her phone. "Look," she said, handing it to Lewis.

The screen buzzed with tweets and comments, the familiar #TeamLH trending worldwide. Messages of support, fans and commentators alike dissecting the race strategy, and vowing that Lewis had the pace to fight for that podium.

"They got your back. And I fear they’re not leaving." Y/n said softly, squeezing his hand with a soft chuckle. “I told you, you’re not alone in this. You’ve got an army of supporters who believe in you, just like I do.”

He leaned in and kissed her, feeling some of the weight of the day a bit lighter on his shoulders. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For everything.” his voice hoarse but laced with love. "We'll come back stronger next time. But before that, Roscoe’s waiting for us in California"

Y/n smiled, her heart brimming with pride for the man beside her. Home wasn't just a place, it was a feeling. And in each other’s arms, their home could be found even across the Atlantic.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

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[lnlightning81]

So Sorry [LS2]

Part two to Reunited

Summary: Logan and Oscar accidentally spill the secret. Logan thinks into your future together.

Pairring/s: Logan Sargeant x reader, Logan Sargreant x Oscar Piastri (platonic), Alex Albon x reader (platonic), Lily Muni He x reader (platonic)

Word Count: 1.2k

Masterlist

Logan Sargeant Masterlist

Coming Soon

Tag List

Having followed Logan around the world for a little while, Logan was feeling more comfortable travelling because you and Aurora were with him. He was performing better than expected with the equipment that he had been given.

Logan was sitting in his drivers room on the floor with Aurora sitting in front of him as he played with her on her little play mat. This was the last race before the summer break where Logan was going to go back to London but start looking for a family house so you could all stay there. 

Auroras little giggles filled his driver's room as there was a knock on the door, and Oscar walked in with a smile 

“There’s my girl” He smiled, sitting on the floor next to Logan. Rolling your eyes while taking a picture of them. Logan still hadn’t told the world about you or Aurora, not that you minded because you got to keep your privacy and Aurora's, although you knew it would come soon enough. 

However, you hadn’t expected some camera’s to overhear him and Oscar during the press conference you were currently sitting watching. 

“What are you planning on getting Y/N?” Oscar asked both with the microphones on their laps as they spoke to each other 

“I’m not sure. She doesn’t know what she wants either” He shrugged, and Oscar groaned 

“What am I meant to buy her then? Maybe like a canvas of you, her and Aurora?” He asked, and Logan nodded 

“I guess that’s an option. I was thinking of a little family holiday” Logan answered

“Ohh that’s a good idea. Maybe I could get her a puppy?” Oscar joked, and Logan laughed 

“She wants one, but with Aurora still not being that old, it makes it hard. Especially because she’s not at uni anymore, and she’s following me around the world” He chuckled, and Oscar joined in. The interviewer called on Logan to answer a question about the car

Back in Logan’s driving room you were attempting to get Aurora to have a nap although she had grown into the habit of getting fed from you and cuddling Logan until she fell asleep so she got the best of both parents. Gently bouncing around Logan’s drivers room as you hoped that his interview was almost over 

“Come on baby girl please go to sleep” You whispered with a sigh as her cries picked up attempting to think about the next best thing to Logan you opened his driver room door and took the two steps across the corridor knocking on Alex’s door. 

Alex pulled the door open with a smile. Lily sat on his couch, smiling over 

“Y/N is everything okay?” Alex asked as you shook your head

“Aurora’s got in the habit of Logan holding her until she gets to sleep, and he’s doing the interviews. So is Oscar. You’re the next best thing. Will you hold her?” You asked, biting your lip, hoping that he’d be okay with the request

“Baby cuddles? Who’d ever say no to that?” He asked carefully, taking her from your arms.

“How does Logan normally hold her?” He asked, and you gently moved her within his arms so she was now being held in the normal sleeping position. 

“Come take a seat lovely” Lily smiled, tapping the space next to her on Alex’s couch. You looked to Alex to ensure it was okay. Alex nodded with a smile. You didn’t want to intrude on his personal space when you’d already asked him to hold your child. 

Sitting down next to Lily as she took pictures of Alex 

“I want one” She whined, and you laughed 

“Feel free to take mine for a couple of days. You’ll change your mind instantly” You chuckled 

“Oh but she’s so cute. She could never do any wrong” You smiled 

“She looks so much like Logan as a baby, which makes me a little sad because Logan used to be exactly like her then coming into F1. It changed him. This team has changed him and everytime I see James I want to punch him because I miss the old Logan and deep down I know he’s still there but the way James is treating him makes the old him hide” You sighed and both Lily and Alex nodded 

“I agree, and even if I bring it up in meetings, then I get shot down. I don’t understand why they’re treating him like this. If they didn’t want him for the season, then they shouldn’t have signed him again” Alex sighed as you watched Aurora’s eyes flutter shut in Alex’s arms. Lily wrapped her arm around your shoulder, gently rubbing your arm to comfort you. 

“He’ll find his team Y/N. He’s still got years ahead of him, and maybe this break is what you need as a family” She smiled, and you nodded. There was a knock on the door as Logan peaked his head around the door 

“Alex. You seen” He paused mid sentence as he spotted you 

“Found you” He smiled, walking into the room. 

“Hey. Aurora wouldn’t sleep because you or Oscar weren’t there, so I came to the next best place” Logan leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips with a smile you looked up at him 

“So we’re trending on twitter” You pressed your lips together as his eyes widened 

“What? How?” He asked 

“Your microphones picked up  your conversation with Oscar. I would very much like a family holiday thanks” You hummed as he stood back up 

“Shit babe. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise the microphones were that sensitive even that far away. Shit. I’m so sorry, babe. What can I do to make it up to you? I’m so sorry” He rambled, shaking his head as he ran his hand through his hair. Standing up, you walked over to him. 

His arms pulled you into his chest as he sighed, still repeating that he was sorry as he whispered into your ear. 

“How can you make it up to me?” You teased pretending to think about it 

“Apart from that holiday you mentioned. Maybe a dog?” You teased, and he shook his head 

“We’re not getting a dog. I’m sorry. I know you want one, but we don’t have the time or space” He sighed, and you nodded 

“I know. I’m just teasing you, love. I don’t mind. I’m kinda glad no one knows everything, but it’s still out in the world” You shrugged, and he nodded 

“Yeah that makes sense” He smiled, taking Aurora from Alex. 

“I’m gonna take my girls back to my room” You smiled, thanking Alex before walking back to Logan’s room with him. Sitting on the couch, you pulled your legs up to your chest, watching Logan with a wide smile 

“So obviously we’re getting married during this break. However, I was thinking about our future. Like very far into the future” You nodded, listening to him

“I want another child. Maybe within the next year or so. Aurora will be one very soon. We’ll be married, and at least if I don’t continue in F1, then I’ve got a family there. My second dream that’s kinda more real at the moment”  He explained, and you nodded 

“I think having another baby is a brilliant idea, although maybe two years? I’m still kinda recovering from having Aurora” You hummed, and he nodded 

“That sounds good to me” He smiled, pressing your lips together.

Tag List

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[steveyockey]

“Feel free to share your positive feelings about the film on Twitter after the screening,” said the usher introducing the London press preview screening of Barbie, Greta Gerwig’s Mattel-produced film. The embargo for reviews, however, would not be lifted until two days later, closer to the film’s release. The audience generally didn’t bat an eyelid and it wasn’t the first time my colleagues and I had heard such directives, yet we were left feeling censored: if they won’t allow for our negative reactions, why should they get our positive ones?

The purpose of this strategy barely needs specifying: in addition to the film’s omnipresent marketing campaign, positive reactions on social media were to seal the deal and ensure that the most dubious potential spectators would be persuaded to turn up to the cinema on the opening weekend, the most crucial days for a film’s box office success. The fact that the audience at this preview screening consisted mostly of influencers was another blatant marketing strategy, which would not have been as insulting were it not for the fact that it meant many film critics were unable to see the film before its release. The phenomenon occurred in other cities as well. A few days before the film’s release, Parisian writers were dumbfounded to see some colleagues sharing glowing takes on the film on Twitter, after being told there would be no advance screenings for any of the press. Moreover, what were presented as exclusive interviews with the cast turned out to be prerecorded and pre-approved by the studio. Ahead of its release, the film was to be seen only through pink-tinted glasses.

While it is customary for film studios to try to control the narrative by organising advance screenings if they believe in a film or avoiding them if they don’t, the methods employed for the release of Barbie were more extreme. They are symptomatic of a trend that has been evolving over the past few years and that concerns not only the film criticism profession, but culture at large. If all discussion of a film’s merits before release is left to influencers, whose driving ambition is to receive free merchandise by speaking well of the studio’s products, what can we expect the film landscape to look like? Where will engaging, challenging and, if not completely unbiased then at least impartial conversation about cinema take place, and how is the audience to think critically of what is being sold to it?