#and it’s not like he got dropped mid-season or something

[scuderia-hamilton]

some Carlos fans seriously need to get a grip on reality cause being racist towards Lewis and making nasty, disrespectful comments about Charles’ dad because your driver’s contract expired and the team chose not to renew it is just pathetic and disgusting on a different level.

#formula 1 #ferrari #lewis hamilton #charles leclerc #tagging it #anti carlos sainz #just in case #i could go on a rant about why a lot of people hate him but i choose peace #be grateful #i get that y’all are sad and upset but this is how this sport works #and it’s not like he got dropped mid-season or something #there’s a line and some of you are crossing it

[bigwishes]

Whoops!

Joey rubbed his skinny mid section and moaned as he heard his stomach grumble angrily.

"uuuuuuuughhhhh wh- what is happening to me!!"

Joey's stomach groaned loudly and he heard the churning inside. His stomach became painfully tight and he was so uncomfortable he had to sit down. His breathing became rapid and it couldn't help but moan from the pain.

Suddenly Joey felt his skinny arms expanding, he looked down and watched as his bicep slowly blew up like something out of a cartoon. He laughed in between his strained moans as he watched his chest fill out, his triceps hard and his legs thicken into strong tree trunks.

He tried to flex and enjoy the new size but the pain in his stomach got worse, he lifted his shirt to see the skinny stomach he had was now becoming hard as abs took shape. He let out a excited laugh which was cut short by his stomach loudly gurgling.

Joey let out another moan hoping it would stop soon when he noticed something. The definition of his new muscles on his massive thighs was slowly fading away as his legs continued to swell. He looked at his arms and saw his tricep and bicep slowly melting together as all definition was going away as it swells up evern larger. The big thick muscled pecs he had inflated a few inches bigger and sagged slightly, still a solid muscle but they looked a bit fluffy.

Joey grabbed the small black plastic bottle he had just chugged. He read the front again "Bear Tonic: INSTANT MUSCLE GROWTH" was written across in big bright letters. He turned the bottle gritting his teeth as his stomach grumbled loudly again. "DISCLAIMER: BEAR TONIC (trademark TheTransformationCompany) ensures you transform instantly into the young muscle bear if your dreams. Expect mostly muscle gain however this formula is designed to remove definition and create a slim layer of fat for the extra bulky look. 1 bottle = 2 serves"

Suddenly Joey dropped the empty bottle on the ground as he felt his stomach tremble, he watched as his newly defined abs slowly started to become less and less defined and his stomach stuck out slightly. FWOOP!! Joey's gut suddenly stuck out, almost trippling in size. He grabbed his newly formed bulk as it filled out both his hands

"Wh!-WHAT!! NO NO, THIS ISN'T WHAT I WANTED"

The pain had faded but his stomach still bubbled and churned as it desperatly tried to process the double serving he had accidentally drunk. His gut sounded like a water cooler rapidly emptying when all of a sudden,

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRPPPPPPPPP!!!!

Joey's face turned bight red as he belched, followed by another and another. The desperate grabbing has he tried to stuff his new off season gut stopped as he started rubbing it trying to ease the worst bloat he had ever experienced.

He tried to do anything else other than moan in discomfort and belch but the only other thing he could manage to do was think how he should read the entire label next time.

BUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPP!!!!!!!

#male transformation #muscle #muscle transformation #male tf #tf story #transformation #gay transformation #bear transformation

[optimist-pine]

Returns

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Daryl finds something in his pack that doesn't belong to him... (ps. it's yours)

Era: Season 2, the farm

A/n: This is a silly little thank you for everyone who's been supporting my writing! If you've liked/commented/reblogged any of my works recently, this is for you. :)

Daryl digs around in his backpack, shoving aside arrow bits and extra clothes in the search for a clean(ish) rag he knows is buried in here somewhere. Ah, there, the glimpse of a red hue must be what he's looking for. He tugs it free, but as he brings it into the daylight it comes to his attention that this piece of cloth doesn't belong to him.

He drops it immediately, head swiveling to make sure nobody saw. But no, he's tucked far away from the rest of the group, not a soul in sight. He gingerly picks up the garment before realizing how ridiculous he's being and shoves it in his pocket. He'll slip into your tent, return it, and get the hell out of there and get on with the rest of his day.

Everyone's either dispersed to other parts of the farm or busy enough completing whatever chores they've taken on to notice him. Even if he didn't already know which tent was yours, it'd be obvious from the plethora of herbs and flowers hanging to dry by the entrance, and the dog-eared foraging guidebook waiting on a lawn chair for your return.

He peers through the screen window to assure himself that you're not around before unzipping the door and stepping inside. A moment too late, he realizes the amount of dirt he's just tracked into your otherwise pristine living space, and curses. Nothing to do about it now he supposes. He squats down, opening your pack and pulling the wayward item out of his pocket.

"Daryl? What're you doing in my-" Your voice makes him jump before your words falter.

His head snaps to you; you're bent down a bit, hands on your hips with sweat dripping down your temple. Your mouth is stuck in a cute little "o" of pure confusion. He's frozen, hand halfway between him and your belongings, lungs stuck mid-breath. He really should say something in his own defense.

"Is that my underwear?" You ask a little more quietly.

"I - uh..." He gapes. He's invading your privacy in so many ways, you're going to think he's a total ass if not a complete creep. And he actually doesn't mind you too much so he doesn't want you to think of him in that way. Not that you think of him at all. But now when you do you're going to hate his guts. "They - uh..." He tries.

"Ohh. I get it." You say, nodding, like this all makes total sense. "I've got something of yours I've been meaning to return, just wasn't sure how to make it not-awkward..." You kneel down beside him, fishing around in a side compartment on your bag. "Buuuut no matter. I believe these belong to you." You hold out a pair of faded boxers that've been rolled up neatly.

"Hey, Rick wants to know if-" Glenn appears in the tent opening and Daryl can practically see the gears struggling to turn in his head as he takes in the two of you so close together, each obviously holding the other's intimates. "Y'know what? Nevermind. Just go talk to Rick when you're done or whatever, okay?" He sighs, walking away.

Daryl wastes no time grabbing his boxers, shoving them in his pocket. You do the same but with more grace, standing to brush off your pants.

You let out a small chuckle, biting down a bit on your lip. "It was so hectic when we left the CDC; must've grabbed each other's stuff then." You step outside and he follows. "Thanks for returning them." You say, stooping to re-zip the tent.

The CDC is such a blur that it takes effort to remember. There weren't enough rooms for everyone and so you'd asked to bunk with him. Even though he was sufficiently intoxicated that night, he'd been lucid enough to appreciate not being alone, your steady breaths in the unsettling darkness had quieted his nerves.

He can't seem to make his eyes stay on you for long, though that doesn't stop your gaze from lingering - he can practically feel every place your eyes land as you study him. "S'no problem." He shrugs.

"Well, I guess I'd better go see what Rick wants..." you sigh, making no noticeable effort to go anywhere.

You're leaving a space for him to say something but he doesn't really have anything to add to that. "Yeah." He replies dumbly.

A soft smile grows upon your lips. "Don't be a stranger, okay? Some of us actually enjoy your company." You nudge his shoulder good-naturedly as you walk away.

He mulls over your words, trying dissect what that last little bit means. You were just being kind, right? He's pretty sure people have barely put up with his company, let alone enjoyed it. Realizing you've already been gone for multiple minutes he pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind and trudges off, noting that there's at least a few hours of good daylight left to make use of. But those thoughts are still there, nagging, toying with him.

---

A couple of days later, when Daryl returns to his camp after a successful enough trip into the woods, there sits your well-loved guidebook. It's laying on the ground where you must've set it when you stopped by earlier and forgotten it when the two of you headed out. He picks it up, flipping through the bent pages and your frequent notes when he passes one that makes him stop and turn back. Next to chanterelle mushrooms you've scribbled 'Daryl - pair w/ venison' . He hadn't caught game that big since back at the quarry, and even then the geeks got to it first. A small swell of pride rises within him at the thought of you planning ahead in this way, of you counting on him to provide.

The feeling follows him as he settles down for the night. Pulling out a flashlight he figures he might as well see if there's anything he can learn from your book... Or maybe that's just an excuse to search for more of your annotations. He'll have another return to make in the morning, but he can't quite bring himself to mind all that much.

#twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #twd season 2 #optimist pine

[milla984]

With Neighbors Like These

Summary: Jack goes away for the weekend and Aaron and Reader can finally have some alone time (inspired by this concept)

Pairing: post season 12 Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Category: smut (NSFW, 18+, MDNI)

TW/CW: kissing, mutual masturbation, moderate dirty talk, penetrative sex, protected sex, established relationship, unspecified age gap, Hotch dealing with parenting issues, Jack is mentioned but not present

Word Count: 2k

The house was unusually quiet as you walked in, leaving your shoes at the entrance to proceed barefoot towards the small office Aaron had arranged for himself with a few retouches to the spare room in the back.

Despite having a key in case of emergencies and whatnot, like a very good neighbor, it was a common decision you’d only use it on specific occasions and mostly when Jack wasn’t around. A single soccer cleat lay abandoned in a corner in the living room; were it to happen on a regular day you knew the mere sight of it would have sparked a fierce argument, but this morning was different. 

The evening before a very concerned father had driven his fourteen-year-old son to the arranged meeting point, camping gear in tow, and Jack was now enjoying a two nights excursion somewhere in the local woods. You had a feeling that, conversely, Aaron wasn’t getting a kick out of the child-free weekend - confirmed by his rapid typing on the keyboard when you knocked on the wooden frame of the French door to catch his attention.

He looked at you and cracked a smile, still too focused on what he was doing. “It won’t take too long. I promise.”  

You dropped your purse under his chair and hugged him from behind, the scent of his aftershave filling your nose with pure delight.

“Feeling lonely, already?” 

“Why?!” he enquired. “I didn’t have to shout five times to turn off that damn videogame, last night… and nobody guzzled down half a gallon of milk directly from the bottle, at breakfast!”

“You’re also worried, I can tell,” you added and he shrugged, defeated, then went back to focusing on the screen.

He’d been working part-time as an FBI consultant for a law firm for about a year and you had never seen him putting his job before his kid: he was an active member of the PTA and even volunteered to chaperone whenever he could (something that many moms and other dads found incredibly hot, without a doubt). If he was working on a Saturday he was a hundred percent desperate for a distraction.

Your palms brushed over his shoulders and a delicate touch soon turned into a proper massage, kneading his muscles through the polo shirt he was wearing. 

“Relax. You’re too tense,” you mumbled. He had only shared a few unpleasant details about his life as a member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit in D.C. before he and Jack moved into the neighborhood; nevertheless, it didn’t take a genius to figure out his former employment as an FBI agent had taken a huge toll on both of them.

“I’m not sure I should have signed that consent form,” he confessed. 

“His entire class is with him and his teachers all have cell phones, nothing’s going to happen. Save for a few mosquito bites,” you replied. “And don’t get me wrong... but aren’t you being just a bit overprotective?!”

“Jack told me the same thing when I said I wanted to think about it. Except, he didn’t phrase it so nicely,” Aaron grinned and shook his head while he rose to his feet. “Sorry, enough with the family issues,” he apologized, “it’s a lovely Saturday morning. Have you got any interesting plans?” 

“I have. And they don’t involve homework,” you declared, and as you pushed his laptop to the opposite side of the desk he locked an arm around your waist, his expression reverting to a serious one.

“... so you’re a bad influence.”

The intimidating attitude he could pull off with a single stare never failed to make your legs turn into jelly. 

You lowered your voice to a purr. “You don’t even kn—”

His soft lips pressed onto yours stopped you mid-sentence. The fact he had a teenage son registered in your mind only as a foggy thought and the power he’d had on you since the instant you saw him jogging around the block was almost inexplicable.

“You’re right, no more homework. How about I take you out for lunch?” he proposed and the warmth of his breath on your skin ignited a fire you weren’t at all convinced you could control. Or would.

You hugged him tight, your bodies finally making contact. “How about we take care of something else, first?”

Aaron’s attitude towards romantic relationships exuded manners and consideration, the portrait of a gentleman from a different era, so the response to your suggestion came as a surprise: he’d always shown a preference for the intimacy of his bedroom, even though his palms stroking over your breasts to make your nipples grow stiff and visible through the fabric was the perfect sign he had no intention of wasting any time to move the action upstairs. 

Your tongues lustfully met in a second kiss, prompting you to let out an excited sigh as you blindly undid and removed his belt before letting it fall on the floor with a loud clunk. You reached for his zipper and he sighed in return but gasped a second later when you gave him a light push that forced him to sit down again. 

“Show me how you do it when we’re not together.”

Aaron’s eyes widened - confusion and stupor at the beginning, then the sheer thrill of the idea lit up his gaze. And made him hard entirely.

He sank into the cushion behind his back to finish unzipping his pants and pulling them down his hips so that his swollen erection was only contained by a thin layer of underwear. 

“You’re just going to watch?” he asked, locking eyes with you. You could have sworn that look alone increased the temperature in the room by a couple of degrees. “Doesn’t seem fair.”

You reached under the flowy dress to roll your panties along your thighs, letting them crumple around your ankles; you sat on the desk and lifted the skirt up to your waist, your feet resting on Aaron’s parted knees. 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

He swallowed nervously but didn’t miss a movement of your fingers starting to draw circles around your most sensitive spot, guided by the aching tension in your belly; your mouth watered at the sight of his cock whipping free and he noticed, so he took his time to wrap his right hand around it.

You knew how to work his length, moving up and down in slow and long strokes as foreplay, nevertheless witnessing such a handsome man masturbating for you proved to be one of the most lascivious experiences of your life.

“I always think about you when I touch myself…” you confessed, and he held on to your ankle with his free hand while you rubbed your clit. 

“Are you trying to make me lose control?”

You nodded in confirmation and he growled. 

He was now coating his shaft and palm with the leaking precum, using only his index and middle finger to collect some of the slickness and spread it over the bulging head, the exposed glans glistening in the process. That was when he usually begged you to move faster, since his delicate skin was lubricated enough and increased friction meant pleasure - not pain.

“I’m really wet for you,” you teased him, your own desire pooling at your core, but his reaction threw you off balance. 

“Stop, please… stop,” he whimpered, “this is not…”    

His ragged breath made it difficult for him to articulate his words. “I need you.”

You gestured at the purse that was still under his chair and he handed it to you; sharing the house with a teenager meant Aaron had grown accustomed to some of his clean t-shirts randomly disappearing from his drawers and wardrobe, so you both knew nothing out of the ordinary could be hidden among his personal stuff. 

He stared at you, entranced, as you retrieved the small box you’d carried with you and tore one of the foil packages open. 

“A little closer, maybe…?” you joked, and when he stood up you bit your lower lip in anticipation. He kissed you lightly on your forehead as you unrolled the latex down his hardness, then you pinched his chin and smiled at him.

“Better?!”   

He whined again. “Not exactly.”

You grabbed him by the nape of his neck, speaking softly to his ear. “Make me come. I can’t wait anymore.”

The uninhibited request seemed to have flipped a switch in him: the sound of a pencil holder spilling its content made you laugh as Aaron enthusiastically raised your legs in the air and held them to his chest, so he could start rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your folds.

It was torture but he was damn good at it.

When he managed to get himself covered in your arousal he slipped the bulbous head past your entrance. “It’s so big…” you muttered.

Truth be told he wasn’t that well-endowed and you had nothing against it, since you’d never been keen on painful sex, still you welcomed him with a loud moan once he buried himself inside of you. Even a gentleman from another era didn’t mind a bit of flattering and appreciation of his manhood. 

He wasn’t as vocal, though, but his deep groans reverberated in his throat in a manifestation of primal, untamed passion; he looked so solemn it drove you insane, his brows furrowed and tiny droplets of sweat trapped between his short hair, almost as if he was directing all of his energies into screwing your brains out.

When his thrusts grew slower but more intense you wriggled your legs free and locked them around his waist: with a last, fierce grunt he twitched several times and you closed your eyes to enjoy the moment, which was always the biggest turn-on for you.

With your eyes still closed you welcomed the pressure on your lips, a not-so-subtle invitation to take his index and middle finger in your mouth; you sucked on them alternately, happy to oblige, tasting traces of the salty precum. You clawed at his forearm when he brought the wet digits to your clit, rubbing and drawing circles just like you’d shown him before.

“Aaron… I’m…” you mewled, grabbing a fistful of his hair as you - indeed - came with his throbbing cock still inside you, lungs pleading for air and inner muscles clenching around him.

He collapsed on top of you, the additional weight making you realize how harsh the desk’s smooth surface was on your back, yet you cupped his face and stroked his flustered cheeks with your thumbs. 

“I missed you so much,” you breathed out as soon as you were able to.

He pulled out and started to fix his clothes, and before he got rid of the condom he planted the sweetest kiss on your lips. “I’m sorry about the other weekend. Jack wasn’t supposed to play, last minute change of plans—”

“Don’t be sorry, I know you love going to his games,” you said, propping up on one elbow to straighten yourself as he stood in front of you. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your biggest fans, would you?”

He was still heaving a little and looked at you with a pensive pout. “... what?!”

“I mean, you’ve seriously never noticed…?” you locked your hands behind his neck as you tried to come up with a good imitation of the cooing voice of the soccer moms who you knew swarmed the sidelines every time he was present.

“Aaron, can you help us move the coolers? Aaron, we need to rearrange those chairs! Aaron, come here and have some cake! We made it for you ‘cause you’re such a good dad and it’s soooooo hot!”

He laughed, the vibrations in his ribcage making your breasts jiggle, then he gave you his best smile to date. “You’re jealous?!”

You shrugged, holding him closer. “No. To be honest I don’t even blame them, you are a good dad. Which is very hot, by the way.”

“Thank you,” he laughed again as he wrapped you in his arms to kiss you one more time, forcing you to close your eyes and get lost in his tender embrace. You muffled a surprised gasp when he playfully nipped at your earlobe with another heart-stopping smile. 

“But just to be clear…” he added, his voice dropping to a whisper, “it’s usually cookies, not cake!”

@hornyhornyhimbos

NB: I don't really have an Aaron Hotchner fic taglist 'cause I usually write about Spencer Reid but if you wish to be tagged in future Hotch-centric works (SFW or not, who knows?) you can either send me an ask or leave a comment below.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner smut #post season 12 aaron hotchner #criminalminds #criminalminds fanfic #criminalminds fic #criminalminds smut #smut #mdni #minors do not interact #not beta read #my gifs #hotch is a dilf #also i hate the title but who cares we're here for the smut #milla writes n*s*f*w* #or rather... milla doesn't know why she's writing hotch stuff #i have a strong suspect someone is brainwashing me with all that talk about him #not naming names you know who you are

[cheriladycl01]

It’ll come eventually, promise! - Lando Norris x Driver! Reader

Plot: You are there for your boyfriends first race win!

Credit to hamlectay for the GIF

Starting in Miami was always a great feeling. But what was even better was having been promoted to F1 for the 2024 season and getting to drive it as one of the top 20 drivers in the world.

When Lawrence Stroll dropped Aston Martin to bankroll a new team at the end of 2023, Lance moving was without a doubt a thing happening. But that left a free seat open at a high mid field team. Which they were more than happy to get you on board with considering your racing history.

Fernando in the few races you’d got to know him had became an excellent mentor and had taught you lots and you were thankful for him. He was like your on grid dad.

You’d had a decent season so far.

P10 in Bahrain - your first race and you were in the points only a few seconds behind your teammate.

P6 in Saudí - where you were able to drive with your old Prema teammate Oliver Bearman who was just behind you in P7.

P5 in Australia - where you got to celebrate your boyfriends first podium of the season.

P12 in Japan - some unforeseen issues in qualifying leaving you in P16 and having to climb your way up.

P6 in China - happy to celebrate both your points finish and your boyfriends first P2 podium of the season.

And you didn’t want to disappoint in Miami, not when there was so many people riding on your going well. F1 Academy where there looking up to you, and all of the stars that normally attended Miami.

Thursday came around and you were in the paddock messing around in TikTok with Fernando. Everyone loved you guys as the ‘dad and daughter duo’ where everyone could see how much he genuinely cared for you and wanted you to succeed. He always would praise you and boost your confidence when talking about you in interviews like many others making your have a huge fan base after only being in F1 for a few months.

Friday came around and you were still feeling great, the Miami heat was blazing and you and Fernando had been making TikTok’s to the Will Smith song that had been trending on F1 TikTok with the build up and anticipation for the weekend ahead.

Getting in the car for FP1 and you were flying. P5 … Alonso down in P19. He was too stressed though. But you were beyond excited knowing you got P5 without pushing too hard as your engineers had just asked you to get used to the track in an F1 car.

It was your boyfriend who you’d snuck into his hospitality just to give a massive cuddle when you text you saying he needed you, that wasn’t having a great weekend.

Despite the vast amount of upgrades brought to his car he’d only come in P16 where as Oscar who had half the upgrades he did was cruising up in P2 and he was frustrated to say the least.

Next was the Sprint Qually which you’d actually been doing well in for the other in China the previous week.

You went coming in a measly P10, not enough for points.

Lando was even more annoyed with starting in P9 on the same row as you, not that he thought he was the better driver or anything but right now he definitely had the better car and he just couldn’t work out why it wasn’t performing.

“Baby, it’ll come eventually I promise” you sighed that night as you held him closely in your shared hotel bed. His head was rested in your chest as all of his worries and woes were let out.

He always thought so negatively of himself and you hated it, in your eyes he was the most amazing person ever.

“But what if it doesn’t, what if I never win and … I’m just a wash out of podiums and missed opportunity” he said looking up at you, and his eyes made you cave. He looked so sad and helpless.

“Lando… I promise you. When the time is right, you’ll get that win. You’ve worked so hard for this and it’s something you deserve. Baby, you are the most driven and ambitious person I know and you will be a world champion. In my eyes you already are” you told him softly and he just pulled you tighter to him as he nuzzled into you more, so thankful for you being in his life.

Come the next day, and it was the sprint race. You managed to get yourself into the points coming in P6 having overtaken Lando and those ahead. Once Lando saw you going for it he knew he had to get up there with you!

He started to push it a little too much and ended up with a DNF. It was a very disappointing weekend thus far considering the amount of upgrades McLaren had brought to the team.

Qually begun and you were all the way down in P11 after your car malfunctioning in Q2 meaning you didn’t get into Q1.

Lando had a better qualifying coming in just ahead of his teammate. He felt a lot better going to bed with you that night and it was more him comforting you than the other way it had been the other night.

“Baby, you got all you could out of that car. You literally couldn’t do anything else your engine shut down!” He exclaims as you hadn’t really spoken to him all night. You’d been silent at dinner and once your got back to the room.

He pulled you into a hug as you let out a sigh thinking things over in your head before smiling at Lando and kissing his neck and up his jaw.

“Thank you, for the pep talk. And just being you” you smiled at him.

Then came race day.

Oscar had an incredible start going from P6 all the way to P2 and was really increíble. Your also had a fantastic start, deciding to be aggressive and managed to go from P11 into P8. You managed to get the inside line overtaking Yuki, your teammate Alonso and then Hamilton.

“Amazing driving Y/N. It’s looking good, we going to try for the 1 stop. Manage those tyres for now” your race engineer explains. And you did, slowing your pace for a little bit. You abused the safety car for you pit stop, just like Lando did, leaving you coming out in P6.

“Is Lando still in P1?” You ask, knowing he would be ahead of Max and Charles right now.

“Yes, Lando, Max, Charles Oscar and Carlos ahead” he explains. Right now you were defending from Perez when all of a sudden he swung round the outside knocking Sargeant into the gravel and into the race.

“Yellow flag for Sargeant!” You say clearly into your radio for the severity of where Logan was.

“Yellow flag and safety car released” your engineer informs you. You were stressing now, you knew that Lando would be fighting Max once the safety car is released.

“Is Logan okay? Is he out the car!” You ask.

“Yes, it’s all fine”

You focused on closing the gap to Carlos, who you knew would be fighting Oscar hard to try and get up into the podium positions so he can celebrate with Lando if he can hold of Max.

You were 0.076 seconds behind Carlos but before you could overtake him, he clipped the back of Oscar as he goes for an overtake nearly sending the Australian into you.

He pitted, leaving him down in a lower position out of points by the time he had come out, meaning that you and Carlos were battling it out with each other and Sergio Perez behind both of you.

“If you can get within 5 seconds of him, he has a time penalty for the incident with Piastri” your engineer explained to you.

“And Lando, is he still P1?” You ask.

“Yes Lando is P1 with a 6 second lead on Max” he answers and you feel as though you could cry.

“Today is the day Marcus” you smile as you speed up catching back up to Carlos. With the laps left you manage to overtake him getting into your highest finish of the season in P4. You couldn’t share a podium with your boyfriend but, part of you didn’t want to.

“Race finished, P4 amazing job today Y/N congratulations” your engineer exclaimed.

“What about Lando? Did he win?” You ask immediately not too bothered about your result.

“With a 7 second gap to Max, Lando won” he says and you let out a scream of happiness for him. YES’s whooping and a lot of swear words came from your mouth into the radio.

You knew later it would be aired and you get in trouble for your language but you really didn’t care.

Today was Lando’s day and you didn’t want to damper that. He’d just won his first F1 race after 110 of them. And you couldn’t be prouder of him, you were so happy and you were sobbing for him as you pulled up into where all the cars were.

You went over to your team, in Aston who had all come out to congratulate you on your best race so far. P11 to P4 on one set of tyres.

You were hugging them before one tapped you on the back, showing you Lando who was just getting out of his car. You rushed over to him pulling him into a massive hug.

“And there is Y/N Y/L/N driver of Aston Martin congratulating Lando on his first win with a huge hug! She’s crying, he’s crying! It’s a beautiful sight really, just two young drivers congratulating each other … wow what a day for both of them” the sky sports presenter admits on the tv watching the interaction down in park ferme.

“I love you so much! You are incredible Lando Norris” you smile gripping his helmet and flipping up his visor so you could see his tears rolling down onto his balaclava.

“Omg I won! I can’t believe I did it! I WON!” He cries and you just grin.

“Believe it Lando Norris because you are now an F1 race winner!” You smile and he does a cheer. You let him walk off, watching as he jumps into his team to celebrate.

You rush with the team after they’ve let Lando go, to go watch the podium. You were so excited and it definitely wasn’t something you were going to pass up!

As you watch him lift up his trophy it feels like your falling in love with him all over again, and it’s a feeling taking over your whole entire body. There is nowhere else and no one else you want to be or be with right now.

He can’t stop smiling at you and you can’t stop the happy tears from rolling down your face. Your cheering with Bianca who you’d grown close to and started to mentor a little bit even though you had Tina and Jessica around a little bit more as your Aston Martin girls.

Once the anthem starts you can’t help but see just how radiant he looks, the way the lowing Miami sun was beaming on him and making his already golden skin glow.

That was your man, your boyfriend and your future husband because in this moment you were sure you would do anything and everything to keep him by your side.

He was your soulmate and you were his, and as he was looking down at the way your face had tear stains and was a little puffy from rubbing away the tears he couldn’t agree more.

Clubbing for sure wasn’t the only celebrations that happened that night for you and Lando, that’s for sure.

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul l @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall l @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

#lando norris fic #lando norris x reader #lando fluff #lando norris one shot #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando norris #lando #ln4 fluff #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 x y/n #ln4 one shot

[number1mingyustan]

-Cuffing Season-

Your Call

boyfriend!mingyu x fem!reader

Warnings: established relationship, cursing, explicit smut, mutual masturbation (m+f), virtual sex, size kink, fingering (f.)

Summary: Even a thousand miles away you still have the same effects on him

Word Count: 1.8k

_______________________________________________

(a/n: i'm baaaack!! im so sorry for going MIA I was busy with school and now that I'm on break I've had literally no motivation to write but I've got a few more drafts I'm working on so expect me to be more active!)

The hotel door swings open and Mingyu walks through it, hand already pulling at the navy blue tie draped around his neck.

He undoes it with one hand before dropping it onto the carpeted hotel floor. He lets out a sigh of pure exhaustion and leans his back against the wall as his briefcase meets the floor.

He’s been in meetings all day and tired can’t even describe what he’s feeling right now. He’s away from you in Tokyo on a business trip and he’s miserable. His days prior to this were light, a meeting here and there and a couple of conventions. But today?

Back-to-back meetings with potential investors and clients have worn him out. He hasn’t even gotten the chance to call you yet today.

For the two weeks, he’s called you at least three times and you’ve texted back and forth every day. Now it’s nearing 1am and he hasn’t spoken to you at all.

He strips himself down to his boxers and lays down on top of the bed. He scrambles for his phone and immediately dials your number.

You pick up on the first ring. “Gyu?”

“Hi baby,” He rasps.

"Was beginning to think you forgot about me," you pout.

"Never, I was just swamped. I knew it was gonna be a heavy day, but I had literally no time to myself. I just now got back to the hotel," he sighs.

"You work so hard babe," You say. "I'm proud of you, but take it easy."

He nods. "It'll only be this bad for the next few days. I think it'll be worth it though, seems like a lot of good can come out of this for the company."

You shift on the bed, making yourself more comfortable as you lie down. "That's good Gyu, I would hope so."

The call goes silent for a few moments. You can hear each other breathing lightly into the phone as you lay in comfortable silence.

"I really miss you," Mingyu says, finally breaking the silence.

"I know, I miss you too." You sigh. "I've been miserable without you. I'm so lonely here, we should've gotten like a cat or something."

Mingyu lets out a breathy chuckle. "Noted. It'll be the first thing I do when I come home next week."

"Ugh," You groan dramatically. "Don't remind me I have to wait a whole week to see you again."

You can practically hear him smiling into the phone. "A week can go by fast, don't worry. I'll be home in no time."

"Good," You smile. "Bed's cold without you here."

"Must be," He yawns.

"Yeah Gyu, I hate it. Need you here now," Your voice is just above a whisper.

"What are you wearing?" He asks.

"You want me to tell you or show you?" You ask.

"Fuck," he whispers. "Show me."

Before he can even finish his thought, his phone is already ringing with an incoming Facetime call. He presses on the green button and sees you adjusting the camera.

Your phone is leaning against something to hold it up and you're sitting crisis cross applesauce on the bed in front of him. "Hi Gyu."

"Hi pretty girl," He smirks.

He rises to his feet, holding his phone in hand as he makes his way over to the desk in his room. He sits down, angling the camera so you can see him.

"Really missed you today," You tell him.

"Missed you too," He licks his lips. "You wearing my shirt?"

You nod. "Yeah. Still smells like you and everything."

You pick up the phone, angling it down so he can see the black and white striped button-up you have on. It fits you big, coming down mid-thigh.

He rasps. "Looks good on you baby."

"It does, doesn't it?" You smirk. "Think it might look better off though, right?"

Suddenly Mingyu isn't sleepy anymore.

"Shit baby, don't do this to me. You know I'm going crazy cuz I can't touch you," He groans, tilting his head back.

"This is the next best thing, no?" You lick your lips, allowing your hand to undo the first button.

"Damn right, it is," He agrees, slipping his hand into his boxers. To no one's surprise, he's already sprouting a semi at the mere thought of having phone sex with you.

It was only a matter of time before this happened anyway. You and Mingyu would rarely go this long without being intimate with one another.

"You didn't seriously call me in nothing but your underwear and expect me not to want you Gyu," You breathe out.

"Didn't do it on purpose sweetheart," He grins.

You've already undone half the buttons of his shirt. He can see your bra peaking through the open material. His cock twitches in anticipation.

He watches like a hawk as you slide the shirt off your shoulders and let it fall off your body entirely. "Shit," he whispers.

You're kneeling in front of the camera in nothing but your bra and underwear. It's a matching lavender set that he bought you a while back.

His eyes are glued to his screen as he watches you. You play with your bra straps, sliding them off your shoulders slowly to expose your breasts to him. He lets out a low groan and feels his cock harden more in his boxers.

He's suddenly feeling suffocated by the material on his hips. He sits up, sliding his underwear off and exposing his leaking cock. He lets out a breath of relief as he wraps his hand around his length.

He swipes his thumb across the tip, using the bit of precum to lubricate his cock. He licks his lips slowly, watching you as you slide your soaked underwear off your body.

"You're so big," you whisper. You're practically drooling at the sight of his cock.

He spits on his hand and starts pumping himself slowly. "Touch yourself f'r me."

You sit back on the bed and slide your hand down between your thighs. He watches as you spread your legs, revealing just how soaked you were for him.

You let out a shaky breath as your finger circles your clit.

"Need you so bad Gyu," You whine.

'i'm here baby-fuck," he groans.

He pumps his length faster, gliding his hand along his hard cock as he watches you touch yourself. He strokes himself, swiping his hand across the sensitive tip every time he pumps himself.

"Inside me.. need you inside me," You whimper. You slip two fingers into yourself slowly. You spread your legs wider to give him a better look. You push your fingers deeper, curling your digits against your inner walls.

"Soon baby, 'm all yours." He breathes out.

"You're so big Gyu, want you to fuck me so bad-ah," You pump your fingers deeper inside of yourself, desperately trying to coax yourself toward an orgasm.

"F-fuck y/n... keep talking," He drops his head back and groans. His muscles are bulging and his grip on his cock is tightening. "Missed your voice."

Even through the low quality of your phone camera, Mingyu was still in awe of you. His eyes were hyperfixated on the way your fingers disappear deep inside of you. His hips jerk up into his fist, warm blood pumping through his veins and making his limbs grow hot with arousal.

You lean back, fingers tightening around his bedsheets clumped in your hand as you push your hips into your hand. "Hah- my fingers are hardly big enough. Need your cock baby–" You whine.

You curl your fingers the same way he does when he touches you, pressing your fingertips against your inner walls. The sensation has your toes curling with a familiar feeling building up inside of you.

His dick twitches in his hand. Fuck, he's so reactive when it comes to you. No one can make him feel the way you do. He lets out a low groan, squeezing the head of his cock to stop himself from cumming when he hears you.

You continue pushing your hips into your hand with erratic movements. You look at your screen, watching your boyfriend strokes his cock. You watch the way his large hand glide along the length of his cock.

"Gyu–fuck, I'm cumming," You warn him.

Mingyu stops holding back the second the words pass your lips. He speeds up his hand, loosening his grip every so slightly. You cum together, bodies shuddering with sloppy movements as you drive yourselves into a state of euphoric pleasure.

He fights to keep his eyes open. They remain half lidded as he refuses to rip his eyes way from the scene before him. He's fixaed on the way your fingers dip into your pussy, coating them with more of your slick arousal as your body spasms and jerks.

He can feel the way his load spills all over his hand and onto his lower abs, but he can't take his eyes off of you. He missed being able to see you fall apart. It's one of his favorite views. Even a thousand miles away, he was still going to see it for himself.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you come down. You draw your slick fingers out of your hole slowly, licking your lips as you tap back into all of your senses.

He blinks slowly as he comes down from his high. He grabs a tissue from the desk, cleaning up the mess on his skin. He discards it and slouches against the chair.

"Can't believe we just did that," He lets out a breathy chuckle.

"Thought it would've happened sooner. Been expecting it since your first night away," You smirk.

Mingyu yawns and decides to call it a night. He grabs his phone, plugging it into the charger and pulling his boxers back up onto his waist.

"Sleepy?" You ask.

"Exhausted," He turns off the lights and climbs under the hotel bedsheets. "I feel a lot better though."

"Good," You say.

You mirror his actions, redressing yourself, turning off the lights, and plugging your phone into the charger before climbing under the bedsheets. You're yawning too, snuggling in the sheets with your boyfriend on the phone.

The call goes quiet and it doesn't take long before both of you are fast asleep.

Mingyu can't wait to go back home and sleep next to you properly. For now, FaceTime calls will have to do. But once he can have you in his arms again, his home will feel complete again.

——————————————————————————

© number1mingyustan - Do not repost without permission.

#seventeen smut #seventeen #seventeen fanfic #mingyu smut #seventeen drabbles #seventeen mingyu #kim mingyu #mingyu drabbles #mingyu svt #kim mingyu smut #svt mingyu #mingyu fanfic #mingyu #cuffing season #kpop

[yourstrulynix]

god is a woman || cl16

social media!au | charles leclerc x singer!reader

synopsis; celebrity sweetheart and f1 dream boy leave the internet spiralling face claim; ariana grande

voguemagazine

liked by chanelofficial, flowerbomby/n, livelaughlove, nicolapeltz and 983,232 others

tagged: yourusername

voguemagazine a teaser for the y/n l/n march 2021 vogue cover next month. the young singer continues to take over the world, one record breaking record at a time. with continuous yearly grammy nominations and wins, y/n has become the top name in music. she sat down with vogue for an intimate interview in her own home to show the side away from performances and award shows. we can't wait for you to see and read about the beauty inside and out of the young superstar

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yourusername i loved every minute of it x

voguemagazine thanks for having us 🤍

flowerbomby/n what an absolute icon ✨ i can't wait to read about her new album she's been working on!

mimiy/nlove we our literally watching this woman make history! i just want her to have the world 🥺

yourusername

liked by zendaya, f1, y/nfandom, dualipa, ellemagazine and 6,140,885 others

yourusername hope i don't have helmet hair ;p

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bellahadid see you next week in Monaco my love!

f1worlds stfu is y/n going to the grand prix next week because i seriously might pass away????

leclercmania there's no way my two worlds are colliding right now 🤯!

y/nsflower what a queen 👑

scuderiaferrari we can't wait to have you with us next week 🏎️

fangirl21 wtf is a ferrari account doing in y/n's comments??

hoefory/n all the comments are freaking over our girl going to some f1 race? don't understand the hype 🙄

f1paddocknews

liked by f1fandom, charlesheart, ferrariboys, papayared, y/nsslut and 2,734 others

f1paddocknews the ferrari boys after qualifying today, speaking to y/n l/n and charles looked very smitten 🥰

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papayared charles is absolutely fangirling inside!!

charlesleheart he didn't even look at Charlotte like that and they were together for 2 years 🤭

ferrariloves i can't wait to see pictures of y/n in the paddock - greatest race weekend everrrrrrr

yourusername

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, dualipa, daydreamy/n and 11,048,444 others

location: monaco

yourusername brb moving to monaco and marrying an f1 driver

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f1 it's official, we've made her an f1 fangirl 🙌🏼

yourusername it's true, i'm obsessed

scuderiaferrari we've got just the man for you y/n 😉😏

ferrariboys not ferrari admin setting up charles and y/n - iconic

lewishamilton lovely seeing you this weekend, looking forward to seeing you in silverstone 👍🏾

hammy4life lewis what you doing here????

daydreamingy/n isn't he like 10 years older than our girl 😧

charlesheart16 charles with the sneaky follow and like....

Twitter

charles_leclerc

liked by scuderiaferrari, yourusername, georgerussel63, carlossainz55 and 1,642,431 others

charles_leclerc a good few days by the sea and in the outback before the season begins 🌊

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danielricciardo man...that is definitely not the outback

pierregasly dropping a quick shirtless insta to keep them interested 😉

pierregaslyyyy22 pierre knows something we don't....

yourbestfriend I'm offended you called utah the outback

charles_leclerc and you called monaco france - we're even

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriend, dualipa, flowery/nbomb, pierregasly and 6,941,071 others

yourusername hot summer nights mid july when you and i were forever wild ♡

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lanadelray you beautiful girl 🖤

yourusername i love you 🤍

tchalamet it's mid january

yourusername i'll shave your head chalamet

landonorris very violent....

yourusername watch those curls norris

girlcrushy/n eh...who is that fine man ???

charlesbabygirl i recognise those calves....🫢😮

boychuckleclerc no it can't be?? there's no way...

Twitter

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, tchalamet, voguemagazine, isahernaez and 8,203,008 others

location; marseille, france

yourusername oh la la

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charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, arthur_leclerc, yourbestfriend and 1,538,542 others

location; marseille, france

charles_leclerc it was a weekend of ups and downs. we had pole position in the bag but I made a mistake on lap 19 and it cost us a win. i had great company with me to bring the ups. we'll keep working on things before the final race of the summer 👊

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carlossainz55 tough luck today but as you say, we'll come back fighting 🔥

scuderiaferrari our boys have got this!! off to hungary next

ferrariboys22 excuse me, sir? how dare you throw this at us after everything we've been through today 😡

f1girlie charles with the soft launch but who that with him???

yourusername 30 mins ago

side note; part ii will be out soon x

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc social media au #f1 imagine #f1 social media au #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc instagram edit #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #ariana grande #social media!au #f1 fandom #ferrari boys #f1

[springtyme]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑: 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐃𝐨 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮 ♡

Carmy x afab!reader || Series masterlist || Series playlist

Previous chapter || Main masterlist || ao3 || Next chapter

chapter summary: Six months ago, you made the move to Chicago and since then, the feeling of truly belonging to this new city hasn't quite settled within you. Being far away from friends and family hasn't made the transition any easier. However, one night, a new connection unexpectedly forms when your neighbor, who nearly set your apartment building ablaze, enters your life.

word count: 1.9k

warnings/tags: Eventual smut! (18+, mdni!) Language. Smoking. Angst and fluff. Slow burn. Mutual pining. Strangers to friends to lovers. Set in season one. Just a quick little chapter. I promise the next one will be longer <3

The sound of a bell chimes as you enter the restaurant, and you’re immediately hit with the smell of grilled meats and spices, making your stomach growl in response, and you are suddenly very aware of the fact that you have not yet eaten anything today. 

The room that you have stepped into is not big, the counter is taking up most of the space, with bar styled seating options up against the big window facing the street, but you spot an entrance to another room with a dining area. The wall opposite of the counter is adorned with various framed photos of the city, of customers over the years, people in chef’s attire and newspaper clippings, and at the end of the room there is a small deli counter. 

Definitely not a Michelin restaurant, you can not help but note, but warm and inviting in its own way, with that nostalgic charm of an old family-run establishment. Behind the counter, talking animatedly through the little window to the kitchen, stands a tall man, his hands moving in gestures as he explains something, but his back is turned towards you. You hesitate for a moment, he must not have heard the bell, he is laughing loudly, but as you take a step further into the room the man behind the counter turns around, noticing you standing by the door. 

“Welcome to The Beef,” he greets you, putting both his hands flat on the counter, and leaning slightly forward, as you approach with Carmen’s phone securely stored in your coat pocket. 

Now as you’re closer and he is facing you, he suddenly seems familiar, you can’t quite put a finger on from where, but you can’t help feeling like you have seen him before, and he seems to feel the same way by the way he’s now looking at you, his brow now furrowed slightly and a puzzled look in his eyes. Before you can respond and explain why you’re here, his face changes to a look of realization. “Ey, you’re the couch girl!”

Your eyes widens as you now recognize him as well. He was the other man who carried your couch up to your apartment with Michael. “Yeah, oh my god, you and…” you’re just about to mention Michael, but you stop yourself on the brink of saying it, not wanting to bring up potential painful memories. “You really saved my ass, back then,” you say, a faint smile playing on your lips. “I never even got your name.”

“Richie Jerimovich, at your service,” he replies, flashing you a wide grin as he extends his hand across the counter for a handshake. You shake his hand, offering him your own name, feeling a sense of familiarity settling between the two of you, despite having only met very briefly before. 

“Now what can I get for you, sweetheart?” He says slamming his palms back down on the counter, but you don’t get the chance to explain that you’re actually not here to eat, but to drop off Carmen’s phone, before the door to the kitchen swings open.

“Cousin, did you just call a customer sweetheart? What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” Carmen’s voice fills the room as he barges through the kitchen door, looking accusingly at Richie before turning to you. “I am so sorry about-” he breaks off mid-sentence, a look of surprise crossing his features as he realizes who you are. 

His hair is just as disheveled as it was last night, the loose curls look like he has been running his hands through them many a time throughout the day. He is also pretty much dressed the same as he was last night, but the white tee he is now wearing is looking crispier than the one he had been wearing at your place, and now a dark blue apron is tied around his waist. You can’t help but study his features, it’s the first time you see him in proper lighting, his eyes are, somehow, looking even more blue in the overhead lights of the restaurant.  

You clear your throat, feeling a sudden rush of nerves as you meet his gaze. His eyes are wide with surprise from seeing you here, but the tired lines around his eyes, softening a bit as he looks at you. “Hi,” you say with a small smile, adjusting the strap of your tote bag, hiking it higher up on your shoulder as it had started to slide off.

“Hi…” He responds in the same soft voice as you, but with surprise written all over his face. His wide eyes, blue and piercing, flickering over your face for a short moment, making your heart beat slightly faster in your chest. 

· · · · ·

By the time Richie and Syd are back from the hardware store, Carmen’s anger has defused, all that is left is a lingering sense of exhaustion and defeat. His migraine is gone as well, the excruciating pain from earlier is now reduced to a dull ache. Having to deal with a C in the window turned out to not be the worst thing to happen today.  

The talk with Jimmy had been like a fucking punch to the gut. He had come by the restaurant shortly after Richie and Sydney had left, and that is when he revealed that Mikey had loaned money from him. A lot of money. Money that Carmen now has to pay back. Three hundred grand... Three fucking hundred grand! It is almost too high of a number to be able to take seriously. How his uncle could have even thought about loaning Mikey that much is beyond him, it was down right irresponsible. 

Carmen sighs as he turns the burner down to let the pot with the simmering ragu cool off a bit. He runs a hand through his hair, his fingers feeling the knots and tangles from a long day of work. He has to figure all this out, but right now all he can focus on is to get through the day.  

“Family is ready soon,” he says, loud enough for the other people in the kitchen to hear, wiping his hands on a dishtowel before walking towards the door to the front to tell Richie. There must be a customer, he can hear the muffled sound of voices, but then, just as Carmen is about to push open the door, the anger from earlier comes back to him as he hears Richie’s voice from the other side of the door. 

“Now what can I get for you, sweetheart?”  

Carmen’s blood starts to boil as he listens to the inappropriate comment. He pushes the door open, ready to give Richie a piece of his mind. “Cousin, did you just call a customer sweetheart? What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” Carmen’s voice fills the room as he barges through the kitchen door, looking accusingly at Richie before turning to you. “I am so sorry about-” he begins, turning towards whoever the poor person Richie tried to chat up is, but his words die in his throat as he meets your gaze. 

Carmen has not even tried to process what had happened last night yet. In a weird way, it hadn’t even fully felt real, more like a dream that fades upon waking, but now seeing you standing in front of him, the memories flood back with full force, overwhelming him as your kind, pretty eyes lock with his.  

“Hi,” you say softly, breaking the silence that has settled in the room. Carmen feels a rush of words and emotions flooding his mind, but he is at a loss for how to respond, his thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess. 

“Hi…” he eventually manages to get out, his voice slightly breathless as he continues to hold your gaze. The moment stretches in time, the air filled with a sense of anticipation and uncertainty. 

“You forgot this…” you say, pulling something out of your coat pocket, which he realizes is his phone. So he had not forgotten it at home like he had thought, he had forgotten it at your home…  

You hold the phone out for Carmen, and he reaches out to take it, his fingers brushing against yours for a fleeting moment as he does so. “Thank you,” he says, his voice filled with sincerity. “How did you..?” 

“Your sister called. I didn’t know if it was you who called your own phone or what so I answered. I am sorry if I overstepped any boundaries,” you explain, looking a little bashful as you do so. 

“No, no, that’s… That’s okay,” Carmen assures you, the last thing he wants is for you to feel bad for helping him out. He is the one who should feel bad for forgetting his phone in the first place. “Thank you for bringing it by, I really appreciate it.” He unlocks his phone and sees several missed calls and messages from Sugar, confirming your story.

“You should probably give her a call when you get the time,” you say softly, there is no accusation in your tone, yet Carmy feels the familiar knot of guilt forming in his stomach. He knows that he owes his sister a call, many calls, but he just hasn’t had the strength to face the reality of everything that has been happening. But now, seeing you standing in front of him, who he barely even knows, but has already shown him so much kindness in the last nine hours or so, since you met, his guilt weighs heavy on his shoulders. 

“Yeah, you are probably right.” His voice is soft, his eyes downcast as he pockets his phone before he looks up at you again. “Are, uhm, are you busy?”  

You shake your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “No, not really.”

“We are having food, in a bit,” he adds vaguely, gesturing towards the kitchen. “If you want, you can join us.” He doesn’t really know what to do in this situation, but offering you a meal seems like the polite thing to do. You don’t answer immediately, looking a little hesitating as you mull the offer over. Carmen’s hands are suddenly feeling a lot clammier than for just a little while ago, surprising himself by how much he wants you to say yes. 

“Oh, I don’t wanna impose,” you say, fumbling with your tote bag strap again, looking a little hesitant. 

Carmen just shakes his head lightly. “No imposition at all,” he assures you, echoing your words from last night which makes a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. 

“Right, the more the merrier,” Richie, who Carmy had almost forgotten was in the room, chimes in.   

“Okay,” you say, the smile on your face growing brighter. “Food does sound really good.”

Carmen’s heart skips a beat at your acceptance, and he gestures for you to follow him. “Family’s in five,” he says to Richie, who mouths a ‘you two fucking?’ as he moves his hips like he is humping the air in front of him. This makes Carmy’s cheek heat up with anger, (as well as something else though he isn’t even sure about what exactly is, he just knows that it is something that he doesn’t really want to dissect that right) as he glares angrily back at Richie who seemingly thinks the whole situation is fucking hilarious. 

Carmen’s just thankful that your back was turned. He also can’t help but feel weirdly happy about being the one who cooked family today. 

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated :) let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapter ♡

taglist: @wittyno @eternallyvenus @eddioto @luivisa @navs-bhat @mrs-reeves-17 @johnmurphys-sass @jmamas92 @raspberrieshortcake @yubo-23 @girlorfish

#springtyme writes #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x fem!reader #carmen berzatto x f!reader #carmy x you #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto x y/n #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto smut #the bear x reader #the bear fic #the bear fandom #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto imagine #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #carmy berzatto #jeremy allen white #jeremy allen white x reader #the bear fanfiction #the bear fluff #the bear angst #the bear smut

[signedeclipse]

Please could i request a oneshot of Haganezuka meeting and falling in love with a hashira reader (Tanjiro’s older sibling) 💙💙

One More Time [Haganezuka X Reader]

Reader is Human Gender Neutral | Fluff + Romance

Recomended Song - Rather Be by Clean Bandit

It wasn't his first sword delivery, but Hotaru had never been assigned to a slayer permanently before, having only made swords for beginners of the corps or for practice, since most upper ranks in the corps chose older, more seasoned nichirin swordsmiths.

Part of him was excited, being able to tend to an individual's abilities and forge something more unique, as opposed to the clear cut ones most starter blades were.

The other part was frustrating, because it wasn't for anyone unique, no one had specifically chosen him, just a random assignment since all the others had enough to care for. Still, he tried to feel grateful that this was a chance at becoming more reputable.

He remembered his first encounter with the Kamado, the excitement at the idea of a red blade, the disappointment that followed.

It all loomed over him now that the Kamado name had long since grown. It was hard not to recognize such a unique family; a demon, one of the fastest-growing slayers, and the sun hashira. While he wasn't one to take back his words so easily, he was reminded by the chief to bite his tongue the next time he tried mouthing off to the family.

But luck had not been on his side.

When news got back to him that Tanjiro had broken his blade for the second time, Hotaru felt a mix of anger and shame.

Anger that once again his craftsmanship had not been enough, and shame at the idea that it'd likely happen again were he not more careful.

The idea flashed across his mind that his failure twice in a row might mean he would lose Tanjiro as a client of sorts, or that he would be forced to resign from being a swordsmith, so he avoided confronting or contacting him in favour of preparing himself to make the best blade imaginable.

There he was, as the sun had barely begun to rise and the sky was a mid-blue hue, casting the village and its surroundings in a cool tone. Though he slept soundly, he woke up before anyone else got the chance so he could get a head start on his exercises, which gave him time to ponder how long he had before Tanjiro came to him instead.

"So, you must be Haganezuka."

The voice almost startled him from his perch atop a cliffside, though he barely showed it besides the clenching of his fists. The voice was entirely unfamiliar, though before he could turn to look at them their presence had moved.

"Is that a yes?" You were to his right, which he turned to finally meet the individual who had managed to find him.

While still taken back by the speed at which you had moved, he was also very surprised to see the same maroon eyes as Kamado, except it was clear that you were no Tanjiro.

"Well, I'm sure you've realised who I am, but you can just refer to me as Kamado."

Hotaru had not expected your presence in the village, had you been sent in place of your brother?

"I don't have a blade ready yet." Haganezuka had bowed his head slightly. He could run and be stubborn all he wanted, but Hashira could be far more harsh in punishment.

"Blade? I'm not- no-" You had let out a string of laughs, facing away from him and covering your mouth to suppress the giggles. He looked so worried! Even if you hadn't seen his face, the atmosphere around him had certainly dropped.

"It's his first time in the village, I couldn't miss it! Well, that and my swordsmith will be retiring, so I'm here to meet some of the newer generations and pick someone I feel is capable. I was never a fan of blind recommendations." While you spoke, Hotaru had straightened out his posture and looked back out at the village, the sun now growing the area with orange rays.

You were very relaxed, and far more talkative than any hashira he had met, so any intimidation he felt melted away, especially considering you weren't here to scold him.

"Anyways, I hope you give my little brother a hard time, sometimes I think he gets it too easy because of his kindness, and he needs to be ready to combat issues that aren't life-threatening..." Judging by your words, you hadn't seen Haganezuka chasing after your sibling with knives, which relieved him.

Still pouting from his faulty blades, he kept silent, deciding he didn't want to say much if more to prove a point for himself.

By the time he glanced to his right again, you were long gone, with nothing but the imprint of where you sat left in the grass.

.

The next time he saw you, you were with Kanamori, who held two nichirin blades that had seen better days.

Having been found by Tanjiro and been given the blade he was to repair, Hotaru was on his way to eat and prepare for the gruelling 72 hours worth of work he had ahead of him.

Despite the raging inspiration he felt, you had stopped him dead in his tracks, pulling all the air from him until he felt weak again. Hotaru hadn't realised how much he'd hoped to see you again, and you were still here.

"Ah, have you met my good friend, Haganezuka?" Kanamori motioned to the taller swordsmith, who you noticed now had a wide hat fit with chimes...and his upper torso was revealed, the rest of his clothes wrapped around his waist.

You nodded, smiling and waving to the surprisingly well-built swordsmith, trying to hide your rosy cheeks with a smile.

"I have, but, it's a long story." Shrugging your shoulders, Kanamori hummed pleasantly, before returning to a slow strive towards his workshop, pulling you along considering your arms were linked.

Apparently, Kanamori had experience with dual blades, so you had chosen him for his kind personality and experience since you were a dual wielder.

Before you had entirely left, you turned to look back at Haganezuka, throwing a thumbs up.

"You better make sure this one doesn't break!! I'm trusting you!"

Of course, he would have to make the best blade he could manage, for Tanjiro; if not to prove himself as a worthy swordsmith, then to impress the eldest Kamado.

Author Note -  For some reason this took me so long to write I get procrasinating but WE GOT ER DOWN!!! Thank you for requesting <3

Word Count - 1,058

Art Credit - Kimetsu No Yaiba (2019)

#haganezuka #haganezuka x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer oneshots #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #kny x reader #kny oneshots #oneshot #x reader #reader insert

[loveinhawkins]

passing period

ao3 written for @steddiemicrofic May 2024 prompt, “top,” 510 words. Rated G, Missing Scene, post season 1, cw: brief mentions of nausea & vomiting.

The sleepless nights catch up with Steve eventually. He doesn’t know what pushes him over the edge exactly—whether it’s the brightness of the hallway, or even the movement of his bag, the strap rubbing against the bare skin of his shoulder—just knows that he’s tilting suddenly, mid-step.

Before he can slam against the lockers, he feels a hand around his forearm, a quiet, “Bathroom?”

Steve nods through clenched teeth.

He flings his bag off just in time as he’s steered into a stall—promptly throws up into the toilet.

It’s over in what feels like a blink; more time must’ve passed though, because the usual chatter in between classes has faded away.

Over the flush of the toilet, Steve hears a voice outside the stall, “You contagious, Harrington?”

Steve rubs one eye. “No,” he says curtly.

“Darn. Was hoping for a ticket outta class.”

Steve opens the door to find Eddie Munson leaning by the sinks. He’s got Steve’s bag slung over his shoulder, safe from the clinging damp of the tiles.

“Dude, you’re gonna be so late.”

Eddie checks his watch lazily. “Nah, I like a dramatic entrance. Always fun watching the light leave O’Donnell’s eyes.”

“Doesn’t she, like, take marks off for shit like that?” Steve says passively, washing his hands—it just seems like the kind of thing to ask, especially since most seniors have been hurrying around all December, faces pinched with stress.

Evidently not Eddie Munson.

“Yeah, don’t think that’d make a difference,” he says, and maybe the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Not exactly top of the class.”

Steve shrugs in vague acknowledgement. Briefly presses his palms to his eyes, blessedly cool from the water—doesn’t really think anything of it until he drops his hands, sees Eddie just looking at him, a slight crease to his forehead.

Steve feels far too drained to even try and figure out whatever he’s noticed.

“You okay?” Eddie asks quietly.

Steve doesn’t know what to do with the question, too bare in its sincerity; there’s no expected space for him to make a quip back, to play it off.

“Just tired,” he says, “that’s all.”

“Mm-hmm, that’ll kill ya in the end,” Eddie says, sing-song.

Freak, Steve thinks mildly.

“Hey, uh, who d’you have right now, Harrington?”

Steve has to think about it, his timetable hazy.

“Um… Mundy.”

Eddie makes a face. “My condolences.”

As Steve dries his hands, he hears the rustle of paper, a quick pen scrawl.

“Here,” Eddie says.

Steve turns. Eddie’s holding out his bag to him; Steve takes it, before being handed something else: a hall pass bearing a convincing copy of Mundy’s signature.

“In case anyone gives you shit. Folks are still kinda, y’know,” Eddie wiggles his hand back and forth, “since the whole Will Byers thing.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I know.” He folds the hall pass. “Um, thanks. How much—?”

But Eddie waves him off. “Nah, that’s your free sample.” He opens the bathroom door, glances back with parting words: “And I’d take full advantage, Harrington. Go home and sleep.”

#as ever Eddie intuitively gets some things without having the full picture #pre steddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficmay #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

[randomprose]

now posted on AO3!

Mo Guan Shan is sitting on the kitchen island eating a sandwich when He Cheng walks in. 

He looks up from scrolling through his phone, looking a little startled. 

“Mo Guan Shan,” He Cheng acknowledges with a nod before heading to the fridge. 

“Uh. Hey, boss."

“Where’s He Tian?"

“Still sleepin’,” he shrugs. “Got bored an’ hungry waitin’ for him to wake up.”

He Cheng just hums. His brother has always been one to sleep in late even as a child. 

“Have you eaten?” Mo Guan Shan asks, a hand scratching the back of his neck. He looks awkward standing in He Cheng’s kitchen — rarely used, all stainless steel, and state of the art — yet strangely comfortable behind the counter near the stoves. At least before He Cheng came in. This is the most relaxed He Cheng has ever seen him in his house over the years.

He mulls the question over, probably blurted out on impulse. He’s really only here to get a bottle of water. 

“I've had coffee”, was what he said after awhile. He can’t quite remember what time that was. Some time between the early hours of a new day and before the crack of dawn.  

Mo Guan Shan frowns, brows knitted together. The kid is very expressive, He Cheng observes. Easy to draw reaction from. He can see why He Tian loses his shit pushing this kid’s buttons.

“That’s not exactly food.”

“I don’t eat breakfast.” Never had the stomach for it. Just never made sense for him to eat so early in the morning.

“Er. It’s past noon, boss,” Mo Guan Shan somehow feels the need to remind him. He Cheng just stares at him. “Technically it’s lunchtime bordering on…mid-afternoon snack?”

It dawns on He Cheng that, given his answer, this kid wants him to eat something. Mo Guan Shan either has certain manners drilled into him — He Cheng caught him eating when he entered the kitchen so he felt the need to offer him something as well — or he has an inane need to take care of people. Just like He Tian. 

He Cheng supposes that’s a good thing, if a bit of a soft touch — something that has no room in the world he and He Tian live in but is nonetheless welcomed and desired by He Cheng for his brother. He Tian could’ve done so much worse. At least He Cheng knows his brother is eating and taken care of. He swears that kid never knows how to look after himself. 

“If you insist,” He Cheng allows and sits on a stool at the kitchen counter. 

Mo Guan Shan visibly relaxes. Like he’s relieved He Cheng agreed he could cook for him. If he hadn’t ran a thorough background on him he’d think he’s going to try and poison him. Except the kid is terrible at hiding his expressions and controlling his body language and He Cheng has known him since he was in middle school.

“Alright. So, uh, what are you hungry for?”

He Cheng isn’t really hungry for anything, but he does acknowledge that he hasn’t eaten since yesterday and this will only be his first meal of the day. Still, he doesn’t think he can stomach a full meal right now. 

“Just eggs will do.”

“Okay,” Mo Guan Shan nods. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled,” is all he says. No mention of how he likes it cooked, no preference for seasoning, no specifications of any kind. He Cheng doesn’t really care as long as it's edible and won’t upset his stomach. 

Mo Guan Shan gets to work in silence. He Cheng watches him move and is not at all surprised that he knows his way around, knows where everything is. Qiu mentioned the kid is good in the kitchen, more than a decent cook, and is not above admitting that he enjoys his food despite the disaster that occured the one and only time the kids came over his place and had Mo Guan Shan made them dinner. He Cheng knows this, too. He knows that the kid is apprenticing in a family restaurant and is saving up to go to culinary school. He’s had to drop by He Tian’s place occasionally and was pleasantly surprised that his brother isn’t just subsisting on take-outs if at all.  

But it’s just eggs and He Cheng isn’t really expecting anything. Eggs are just eggs after all.

After just about twenty minutes, Mo Guan Shan puts down a plate of the fluffiest looking scrambled eggs He Cheng has ever been served garnished with spring onions and what seem to be crushed potato chips. He serves it with a glass of orange juice on the side and the whole ensemble looks like it’s been lifted out of a lifestyle cooking magazine. 

He Cheng takes a forkful and lets out a low pleased sound at the back of his throat.

"Good?" Mo Guan Shan asks, a corner of his lips quirked up in quiet satisfaction the way a cook is when they know someone enjoys their food.

"It is." He Cheng maintains that eggs are still just eggs but this really is good. Qiu’s not exaggerating then. 

The eggs are light and cooked just right, lightly seasoned with the melted cheese adding another layer of flavor, and the potato chips give it a good crunch. He’s never even thought of potato chips as anything other than junk food.

"Yeah. Figured you and Tian like your scrambled eggs the same." Mo Guan Shan comments as he sits back down to finish his sandwich. "First time I made it he looked so pissed even though he couldn't stop shovelling eggs in his mouth. Thought he might've hated it and was just eating it to, I don’t know, not hurt my feelings or some shit, but then I heard him curse you under his breath and ask for seconds."

A thought that comes to He Cheng: He Tian eats breakfast and likes his eggs scrambled just like him.

“He hates it, but he's really alike you in a lot of ways, you know.”

Well, of course he is, He Cheng agrees. He practically raised that kid. He Tian’s bound to pick up some of He Cheng’s mannerisms and preferences for certain things whether he likes it or not.

“Coffee? Brewed a new batch.”

“Please.”

“Cream and sugar?”

“Just black, thanks.”

“You sure?" Mo Guan Shan asks like he doesn't believe him. 

“I like it as it is.” 

“Huh,” Mo Guan Shan sounds out before shrugging and pouring out two mugs.

This prompts He Cheng to ask, "Does Tian-di not take his coffee black then?"

It occurs to him that he doesn’t know his brother at all. Maybe there was a time that he did, when He Tian was small and only had him, but He Cheng doesn’t claim that he knows his brother beyond his childhood days. While He Tian seems to come to him more and more these days, their relationship is still rather estranged and not at all conventional, however that may be. 

All He Cheng knows of He Tian is that his brother is of the good sort and that’s enough for him. 

He Tian cares for his friends and cares for Mo Guan Shan in ways He Cheng will probably never understand. He’s better than He Cheng in a lot of ways that matter, more human perhaps, which suits him just fine. He never wanted He Tian to be someone their family has morphed and twisted to suit their needs and use as see fit. He never wanted He Tian to be like him. 

And so He Cheng finds himself indulging in wanting to know the little things that make up his brother. Like how he likes his eggs and how he drinks his coffee.

“He does but I know he hates it. Everytime he drinks it he makes a face like it's poison.” Mo Guan Shan shrugs as he sits down across from him. He hands He Cheng one of the mugs and nurses one himself. “I don't know why he insists on drinking it this way.” 

He Cheng just hums, breathing in the aroma of the coffee, not unaware of the way Mo Guan Shan is pointedly looking at him.

“Tian-di probably just can’t be bothered to have it otherwise.”

“Nah. He probably just thinks it makes him all mature and tough. As if cream and sugar makes you weak or some shit.”

Just before they both move to take a sip from their mugs, He Cheng mutters “Idiot” under his breath at the same time Mo Guan Shan scoffs it. They stop and couldn’t help to smirk at their consensus.

It’s good to know someone else can see through his brother’s bullshit.

He Cheng notes that Mo Guan Shan takes his coffee black. Mo Guan Shan just shrugs when he points this out. 

“I like the bitter taste. It’s what keeps you awake,” he says before taking another sip. “And you taste the flavor of the beans better without the cover up of milk or sweetener.”

A fair assessment. He Cheng will drink to that.

For a while, they sat in silence as they finish their meals. Then Mo Guan Shan’s phone lights up. He drains the last of his coffee as he swipes at the screen. It seems a message has popped up because he picks it up and types something back. He Cheng surmises it’s probably He Tian, just woken up, asking where Mo Guan Shan is. 

"Refill?" Mo Guan Shan offers, walking back to where the coffee pot is.

"No, thank you.”

Mo Guan Shan refills his cup and adds three spoons of cream and two sugar cubes. He Tian enters the kitchen with a jaw cracking yawn just as Mo Guan Shan is back on his seat and finished stirring. His brother takes the seat beside the redhead across from him and He Cheing watches the latter push the mug at He Tian’s direction. The cup is only three-quarts full. 

“I’m done. Finish this.”

“You always do this. Why bother pouring a full cup if you’re not gonna drink even half of it?” He Tian quips but takes the mug anyway. 

He Cheng notes his brother doesn’t make a face after the first sip. He Tian even licks at his upper lip and a corner of his mouth is quirked up. 

“What’s for breakfast?”

“It’s way past noon.”

“It’s my first meal of the day. What’s for breakfast?”

“Scrambled eggs,” He Cheng answers before Mo Guan Shan could and delights at the face his brother makes when he sees what’s on his plate and realizes who made it.

‘What the…’ He Tian mouths as he narrows his eyes at what remains of He Cheng’s meal.

“You know what, I actually don’t want scrambled eggs. I want—”

“Tough shit. I’m already making them and you’re gonna eat it when it’s done.”

He Tian makes a low whining displeased sound but nonetheless doesn’t protest. “Throw in some bacon.”

“Alright.”

He Tian doesn’t offer to help beyond getting the pack of bacon from the fridge, handing it to Mo Guan Shan before returning to his seat. Like it’s routine. Like there’s an unspoken agreement that Mo Guan Shan cooks and He Tian stays out of his way. And He Cheng gathers he’s probably been shooed away and out of the kitchen when the other is at work. He Cheng can’t imagine his brother even knows how to operate a stove — just another thing they have in common by virtue of being born to money. 

He Tian's attention is solely on Mo Guan Shan. His back is to He Cheng, leaning against the counter as he talks to the redhead. He asks if he slept well, what he wants to do today, if there’s somewhere he wants to go to, if he wants anything particular for dinner later. Mo Guan Shan makes a comment that makes He Tian laugh but goes over He Cheng's head and he figures it must be an inside joke between them. 

There’s a kind of ease to it, the flow of their banter, the way they move around each other. He Tian certainly seems comfortable and at ease, the line of his back relaxed and lacking the usual tenseness of someone always ready to go on either the offense or defense. 

Mo Guan Shan mirrors the same ease as he puts down a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast for He Tian, who turns his head to plant a kiss on his cheek in thanks. 

The whole thing makes He Cheng feel like a fucking interloper in his own goddamn kitchen. 

He Cheng looks at his brother with his own plate of scrambled eggs and Mo Guan Shan's mug of coffee, the one with cream and sugar he said he couldn't finish so He Tian would take it, and thinks it's the best life he could have ever hoped for him. 

“Wash the dishes when you're done,” Mo Guan Shan says as he scrolls through his phone.

He Tian looks at the sink and makes a face at the pan and other things Mo Guan Shan used to cook.

“Man, do I have to? This isn’t even my house. And there are maids for a reason.”

“Tch. Spoiled brat.” Mo Guan Shan lightly pinches a chewing He Tian’s cheek, bulging with food. “Exactly. This isn’t your house. You use them, you clean them.”

“Cheng ate, too,” he nods to where He Cheng is finishing up the last of his meal. “Why don’t you make him do his dishes?” he says with a smirk, thinking he’s on to something.

“He’s letting the four of us stay for the summer.” Mo Guan Shan takes He Cheng’s plate and the empty glass of juice when he sees he’s done and soaks them in the sink. “Here. In this house that he owns. In an island that is his. For free.” He sends He Tian a look that says, ‘need I say more?’.

“What are you talking about? I’m paying for our stay here you know.”

“Oh, really? With what? Sure as hell haven’t seen you so much as touch your wallet since we got on the boat.”

“My sanity.”

Mo Guan Shan’s hand flexes and for a moment, He Cheng thinks his brother is gonna be hit over the head with the frying pan. 

“Just,” the word is sighed through gritted teeth, “do the damn dishes. It’s not that hard.”

“Why don’t you do them then?”

“I already cooked, asshole. I ain't washin’ the dishes. 'sides, you're the last to finish eatin’ so you get to clean up. Them’s the rules.”

“Fine, but I'm only gonna wash mine,” He Tian declares, viciously biting on a chunk of toast.

“It's one plate and a mug, Tian,” Mo Guan Shan sighs sounding like he’s had this exact conversation a thousand times. “Don't be a little bitch and wash them all. Don't waste soap.”

“Baby, look around. We can afford the waste.”

Mo Guan Shan levels him a look which He Tian stares right back as he continues to chew. It goes on for maybe a minute or two. A standoff with just their eyes, willing the other to back down first. 

He Cheng doesn’t quite know what’s going on between the stare down and the silence, but He Tian is the first to look away with a groan. The one to concede first, apparently.

“Uuughhh! Fine! Fuck it! Fine! I'll do the damn dishes.”

“Yeah, as you should,” Mo Guan Shan quips looking satisfied with his victory. He Cheng marvels at how easy it is for him when getting He Tian to do anything, even if it's for his own good, has always been like pulling teeth. “I’m gonna go call my mom. There's more coffee in the pot. Creamer ran out, but there's milk in the fridge.”

“You know I only take my coffee black.”

Mo Guan Shan watches with a flat expression as He Tian sips ‘his’ coffee with cream and sugar. He catches He Cheng's eyes and shoots him a look that says, ‘are you seeing this shit?’ which He Tian doesn’t catch.

“Uh-huh, sure.” He doesn’t bother contesting. “There’s more toast in the bread box.”

“Buttered?”

“Butter it yourself, idiot,” Mo Guan Shan shoots back making a face at him. 

“Can’t even do that simple thing for me, babe? Really starting to doubt this relationship right now.”

“Good. You shouldn’t get too complacent anyway, dick head.” He hops out of his seat and swats at He Tian’s grabby hands. “Do the damn dishes or I swear to god you won’t have anything to doubt anymore.” 

He Cheng watches the exchange and feels like he’s in a sitcom. He thinks about how his initial plan to get a bottle of water has led to him being caught between his brother and his boyfriend play fighting, flirting, and the domesticity of it all. He thinks about asking Mo Guan Shan how he does that whole thing where he just stares at He Tian and makes him yield but figures it would only work if you're Mo Guan Shan. 

He remembers a time when He Tian lowered his pride. Impulsive, insolent, and desperate, he came crawling back to He Cheng and was even willing to go as far as becoming something he hates. All for the sake of some boy, some school friend, some little pet project that he picked up because he was bored that morphed into something else, something more.

Mo Guan Shan made He Tian care for another. He made He Tian care so much he was willing to make himself into a monster for Mo Guan Shan, but stopped him just in time from going the deep end and even made him more human. Hell, Mo Guan Shan made He Tian care about himself. And for all that, He Cheng is grateful.

"Thanks," he says as much and means more than just the best scrambled eggs he's had in a while, but Mo Guan Shan would never know it. "You really didn't have to." 

"Huh. Oh, uh, sure.” It catches Mo Guan Shan off-guard, halting him from leaving the kitchen. He looks a little sheepish as he says, “It's nothing, really. It's just…it’s just eggs."

He Cheng just hums and nods at him once in dismissal. 

“Why are you so mean to me?” He Tian shouts after Mo Guan Shan, who’s already rounded the corner and only shouts back, “Dishes!”

He Tian scowls but there’s no real heat in it. He even asks He Cheng if he wants the rest of the coffee, which he declines, when he stood up to get more toast before tucking back into his eggs.

He Cheng sees that He Tian is happy, thinks Mo Guan Shan brings out all the best in him, and hopes to all the gods he doesn't believe in that his brother don't ever fuck this one up. 

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until He Tian asks, “What?” around a mouthful of toast. 

“Nothing,” He Cheng says as he finishes his coffee, and as he stands up he says, “Make sure you bring him along everytime you plan to come over. Otherwise, don’t come at all.” And just to spite him, he slides his empty mug closer to He Tian. “And make sure you do the damn dishes.”

He gets the desired effect. The glare his brother sent him is acrid and his next words make He Cheng want to laugh.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.”

“I didn’t. Mo Guan Shan did.”

“Whatever. Shut the fuck up.”

He Cheng just smirks and doesn’t hit him for his impertinence if only because He Tian grumbling, “I was gonna do them anyway” has already made his day.

Later, as He Cheng sits on his desk looking over his schedule, he sees that he has an appointment with their legal team. A thought strikes him and he scribbles a curt note at the margins and tells his secretary to summon the family lawyers too.

He might as well update the family registry.

--

edit: now posted on AO3! glad you guys like this piece. please leave kudos and comments there as well. thank you! :)

#19 days #tianshan #he tian #mo guan shan #he cheng #he cheng and mo guan shan have a moment #in which mgs asks hc how he likes his eggs #hc thinks ht really lucked out on mgs #hc thanks mgs for making ht happy #not out loud tho lol #writing

[nyasiaaaaa]

In the Bleak-Mid Winter

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Fem reader (Nurse) 

Summary: This is a story about two people who become constants in each others lives, and eventually fall for each. While one learns to love again, the other learns the cost of loving a man like him. 

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Cursing, Tommy eating, Mr.Campbell, sexual harassment, reader eats, Thomas Shelby ( If I missed anything or you think something should be added please tell me.) ( Also Y/N is on dick, IDKY she acts like this)

A/N: part 1 takes place during season two, part 2/3 season 3 and 4/5/6 season 4. This is a Slow burn there will be smut eventually.

             Part 2   Part 3    Part 4   Part 5  

*******************************************

You heard the paramedics before you saw them; you were sitting at the nurse's station having a late dinner amongst the other nurses when they burst through the door shouting.

"Male, early thirties, beaten severely, Bp 80/60, in and out of consciousness" 

You had rushed over and led them to the next available room in the ER; so you and the doctor may start your examination. The doctor surprisingly showed up with the emergency instead of half an hour later. The paramedics set the man down on the gurney and got out of your way, but not before calling the man lying in front of you by name and assuring him that he was in good hands.

'Wait" you yelled after the paramedic, making them stop and face you 

"You know this man, your family … or friend," you asked as you prepared a bucket of warm water with soap.

"No, miss, he's not friend nor family; I just recognized him, is all." the paramedic responded with a tight smile.

"And his name," you asked cause you didn't catch it the first time he said it. 

"Thomas"

You thanked the man before turning back to your patient. You started to wipe away the blood and mud that caked his face making him unrecognizable, to the point where you were confused about how that gentleman had recognized him. 

You continued down his body, cleaning him up where need be so the doctor could assess and work properly. As you cleaned a nasty cut along his bruised ribs, he began to stir, and his eyes opened. 

"Sir, hi, do you know your name," the doctor asked him as he flashed a light in and out of his eyes

The doctor waited, but the man didn't answer, that's when the doctor looked towards you for help. 

You grab the mans hand, squeezing it, causing him to look in your direction; you smile gently at him before asking him, slowing.

"Sir, do you know your name"

"M- my my name," he whispered, out of breath 

"Yes sir, do you know it" You squeezed his hand again, encouraging him along 

"It's Thomas"

"Very good," you praised him

"My name is Thomas Shelby." 

You froze right in your tracks, dropping his hand and stepping back. You heard the doctor praise him for getting it right before asking questions about his pain, medical history, and allergies. 

The doctor waved his hand towards you, motioning towards you to write his responses down, but you didn't even acknowledge him. You couldn't even move. 

Thomas Shelby, thee Thomas Shelby. The most dangerous man in Birmingham is lying on your table with his life in your hands. 

It was starting to all make sense now, why the paramedics knew him but didn't associate himself with him, why the doctor had rushed over so quickly to care for him. 

You then realize that If this man dies, then you die. 

That was all you needed to hear; you grabbed your clipboard, pulled yourself together, and began to write down the things you heard. The doctor finished his assessment, and told Thomas he would come back shortly to take him to surgery, and he would have the nurse give him a couple of papers to sign while he waited. 

You rearranged the papers on your clipboard, putting the ones he needed to sign in front, then grabbed an IV and Morphine bag to set up a line. You handed him the clipboard as you put the bags on the hanger and began to put gloves on.

"What that," he asked, his head nodding towards the two bags as he turned the pages signing each of them before looking at you directly in your eyes.

"I -i-its a-a mo-morphi-e dr-drip a-and an IV ba-bag.”

You might have spoken more clearly if he wasn't staring at you with those eyes. It wasn't like what you had thought. You always thought that if you ever looked this man in the eyes, it would be no different than looking at the devil himself, especially after all the stories you have heard and the people you've seen who have been sent to the hospital in body bags after their dealings with him. 

You expected to see hundreds of souls trapped behind his eyes, but instead, you just see a man, nothing more, just a man.  

"Your papers," Thomas said, handing you back your clipboard as he looked at you looking at him.

"T-Thank you," you replied, tearing away your gaze as you walked towards the end of his bed, placing the clipboard along the edge. 

You then walked back up to him, took his arm, and searched for a vein before placing the IV.

You flashed him a smile before snatching your gloves off and waking out of the room for much-needed air. 

You walked till you were out of his sight, then you pressed your back against the wall before sliding down it all the way and placing your head in between your knees. 

You breathed in and held it before breathing out; you repeated this action four more times before you started to calm down. You sat there for a few more seconds before the doctor returned with more people to begin moving Thomas to surgery.

"You think you can scrub in, or do you need a minute," the doctor said to you, his voice laced with annoyance.

You nodded your head as you stood up and followed him. You ignored his comment toward you as you had understood that this man holds Thomas Shelby's life in his hands, and there is no room for him to fail. 

When you came into the room, the other nurse had already started to change Thomas into a gown and put a net on his head. You went around the gurney and flipped the stoppers on the wheels so that you may move it when ready. 

Soon he was all changed, and it was time to move. You had placed yourself at the head of the bed while the other two nurses stood at the side. 

"Let's go," you said as the three of you began pushing Mr.Shelby down the hall toward the surgery wing.

As you walked down the hall, you tried your hardest to not look down, even though you felt eyes on you, burning you as they looked at you. You tried to keep your eyes straight, but you couldn't and decided to look down. And when you did, you saw his bright blue eyes staring right back at you.

 His eyes are intense and chilling, yet you still stare at him as he stares at you. But his stare has more meaning behind it; he's looking at you curiously, even turning his head to, what you guess, is to get a look at your name tag. 

You break away your eyes from his as you hit the doors to the surgical wing pushing them open. You push him toward his room before leaving to wash up for his surgery as the other nurses get him ready and into place. 

After scrubbing up, you dry your hands before placing fresh gloves on them. And walking over to Mr.Shelby and sitting on a stool at his head. 

"Ok, Mr.Shelby, we're about to start your surgery. Today you are having surgery on your liver and kidney, which both have ruptured. I'm going to place the mask on your face and have you count back from ten, ok," You say to him as you set up the oxygen and gas machine for him.

He nodded his head, and you processed to place the mask on his face and nodded towards him to begin counting backward.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six….." 

You secured the mask before standing on the opposite side of the doctor. 

The surgery took four hours when It was only meant to take two; most of the time, Doctor Brown was on his game, but today, You had assumed that it was because of who the patient was that he was nervous and stressed himself out. But that wasn't the case; he became sloppy, too sloppy, to the point where you had to take over,  finish and close-up. And when you had gone over to his side to take over, you had smelled it, on his breath, Whiskey. You couldn't believe that he would take a drink before performing surgery on a patient. You m didn't say anything though and simply left it as if it was him being nervous that he held Thomas Shelby's life in his hands. 

****************

The next time you saw Thomas awake was when you went into his room to check his vitals.

“ Good Morning Mr.Shebly; how are we doing today,” You asked as you garbed his wrist, checking his heart rate and writing it down before moving to check his blood pressure with the wrap. 

“ Thomas and Fine”

“ Well, Mr.Shelby, that’s Great to hear; how’s your pain on a scale from one to ten,” you asked as you wrote down his blood pressure and moved on to check his IV and Morphine bag. 

“ Thomas and 7” 

“ Mkay, you can turn up your morphine drip with this dial “ You stopped taking to show him the action of the cord before continuing, “ And I see you haven’t eaten …….. Thomas.” 

“ I can tell you know who I am, so you know that I can not eat any old food brought up by any old nurse.”

“ Well, I assure you the food isn’t poisoned.” 

“ Please do; go ahead and have a bite.” 

“ Sure,” You said with a smile as you reached down and grabbed the spoon before scooping up some mashed potatoes and bringing them to your lip.

You were about to take a bite when you thought about it; this is Thomas Shebly, Birmingham's very own gangster; he probably has a lot of enemies. 

They could be in the hospital right now or were when they poisoned his food. You looked down at the spoon before looking over at him.

“ I will get you a new trey made by me personally,” You said as you gathered your things and the tray and headed for the door.

“ And how do I know I can trust you,” he asked with a straight face 

“ Why would I save your life and perform surgery on you just to kill you a couple hours later.” 

He responded with a nod in agreement 

“ Oh, and Thomas, you a visitor a Mr.Campbell, shall I send him in”

“ Yes” 

You let the door shut behind you as you walked down the hall, briefly stopping at Mr.Campbell to tell him that Thomas may see him now before going down the steps to the kitchen. 

The closer you got to the basement, the louder it got, people, yelling, pans slamming against each other, and the smell of piss and bleach was so strong it made you gag and shiver. 

The kitchen was the first door on the right. You entered and immediately regretted it. Two rather large men were in the kitchen; though you don’t come down here often, you know that you’ve never seen these men in this hospital anywhere and that they weren’t the chefs.

“ Can I help you miss?” the shorter of the two men asked 

“ Um, a patient of mine didn’t receive his food, Ive come down to retrieve him some.” You replied, your eyes shifting between the two as you walked up to the window in the wall.

“ Which, uh…. I mean, what’s your patient's name” the taller one asked as he stood up from leaning against the wall.

“ W-why” 

“ Standard procedure,” the taller one said to you, shrugging his shoulders as he stepped closer.

You thought for a second and came to the conclusion that you would instead give this strange man a name than pick a fight you most certainly can’t win.

“It's for Mr.Shelby, Thomas Shelby” 

“ Ah, Mr.Shelby, ok, one meal coming right up,” The short one said as he turned to grab a plate and began putting food on it.

You tried to watch him carefully as he fixed the plate, but the taller man stepped in front of you, blocking your view and taking up the whole window.

He bent down to your eye level before he began talking.

“ What’s a pretty nurse like you doing down here? You don’t run food.”

His breath reeked of cigarettes and rum, making your face scrunch up in disgust before stepping back. 

“ All the food runners were busy, and Mr.Shebly needed food; I don’t mind doing another job; I’m happy to help.” 

You realized that now that you’re not as close, you can see more, not much, but you did see when the other man sprinkled something all over Thomas's food before giving everything a quick mix. 

You look back only to catch the tall man looking at you, well, more like at your body, which you were very grateful for, seeing as you didn’t get caught. 

“ Oi, here’s the food, miss,” The shorter man said, handing you the plate after the taller one moved out of the way.

“ Thank you,” you said before scarring off.

You dumped the food in the trash in the hall before jogging upstairs; you passed the nurse's station before turning right back around and reaching under the station table to grab your paper bag with your lunch. 

Then you headed straight for Thomas's room. You opened the door and closed it behind you locking it.

You see Thomas sitting on the bed, struggling to bring his cigarette to his lips. 

You walk over and place your bag on the bed before snatching it out of Thomas's hands and taking a hit of it yourself. You breathe in the cig and pace the floor several times before blowing it out.

“ What, what happened,” Thomas asked 

“ Two men in the kitchen, they didn’t belong. I know that for a fact; one blocked my view as they fixed your plate, and I swear, I fuckin swear I saw him put something in it,” you said, looking at him before taking another long drag and putting the cig back in his hands.

You begin to pace again, not feeling yourself calm down despite taking a couple of drags of the cig; you still don’t know why people smoke them things.

“ And,” Thomas began as he pressed his lips to the cig before taking a long drag and breathing it out, “ Where is the food now.”

“ I threw it out, of course; I’m not gonna get blamed for making a hit on Thomas Shelby,” you said, throwing your hands up as you looked at him with your head cocked to the side, confusion written all over your face.

Thomas took another long drag before saying, “ Welp, problem solved.”

“ H-how can you be so cool about this? They tried to kill you.” 

“ Darlin, I’m in here cause someone tried to kill me, it's not the first, and it's not the last time,”  he said before taking one last drag and putting the cig out. 

He looked at you momentarily before tilting his head and pointing toward the brown bag at the edge of his bed.

“ Oh, since we can’t trust the food, I’ve brought you my lunch, which we know is not poisoned. And before you decline, you going to be needing your strength. I’m assuming that you will be cutting your time here short.” You said as you took the food out of the bag and walked over to the stove in the room. 

“It's soup, so I must heat it; while it's heating, I’ll pack a goody bag of bandages and cleaning wipe, some morphine too; when do you think you’ll be out of here.” You asked as you filled the pot with the soup before placing it on the burner and turning it on. 

“ I’ll be out by tonight.”

Your head snapped over to look at him 

“ What,” he asked 

“It's just too far too soon for a man with injuries like yours to be traveling 

 on foot, are you going far”

“ Far enough”

“ I’ll help you to where ever you are going,” you said, walking back over to his bed. 

“ And why should I trust you.”

“ Well, let’s see, I just saved your life, and like you said, Mr.Shebly, I know who you are and what you do. And I’ve decided that I’d rather have you as a friend than an enemy,” You said before walking over to the door, unlocking it, stepping out, shutting it behind you, and locking it again. 

You then heading off to collect supplies. 

By the time you got back, the soup was ready, and you poured it back into the bowl and brought it over to Thomas, who tried to sit up but was too weak and fell back into the bed. You quicken your pace to him and set the bowl on the table before helping him sit up.

“ Slow down; you mustn’t tear your stitches,” You told him, placing pillows behind his back and helping him sit up.

He reaches for the soup but winches again in pain, he tries again, but you slap his hand. 

“ Let me, “ you said as you picked up the bowl from the table 

“ No, I can feed myself. “

“ Obviously not, now open wide,” you say as you dip the spoon in the bowl and hold it to his lips. 

He just looks at you with a straight face; you drop the spoon back into the bowl.

“ I’m sorry,” you say with a light laugh, “ but please, you need to eat” You bring the spoon out of the bowl again before placing it into his mouth.

You stay silent as he eats, repeating your actions over and over again. Bringing the spoon down to the bowl and scooping up some soup before bringing it to his lip. You do this while looking up, down, at the soup, and then at him, all while his eyes stay on you. 

Soon you are on your last spoonful of soup, and you accidentally cause some soup to run down his lip as you had pulled it out too soon. You immediately grab a napkin bringing it up to his chin.

“ Sorry, I-“ he cuts you off, grabbing your writs, stopping it mid-air, looking you right in your eyes.

“ I’ve got it,” he said as he grabbed the napkin from your hands before wiping his chin, then licked his lips. 

Your eyes trail down his face onto his body, slowly as you study every part of him, taking your time before returning to his face. And still, his eyes are on you, lookin' at you as you look at him.

“ Do you want to fuck” he asked 

You panicked 

“What? No, I was just c-checking on your body like, umm, you cut and bruises to make sure everything looked good,” you said while standing up, taking the bowl with you, and placing it back in your brown sack. 

“ Well….  Um, you leave tonight. I will be back to help you get dressed after my shift. We can go; I, uh, have other patients to check on, so I’ll be back then, and I’ll keep the door locked, ok.” You say, keeping your eyes on the ground as you collect your things and made haste towards the door. You quickly open the door shutting it and locking it before leaning against it.

This is Thomas Shelby, a cold-hearted killer, you tried to convince yourself. But man is that man easy on the eyes. You blow out a puff of air before placing your things back under the table at the nurse's station and walking off to check on your other patients.

**************

You finished your work quickly and got off earlier than anticipated; it was around 10 when you headed towards Thomas Way. 

You unlocked his room and entered; you didn’t bother turning on some light; the moon provided enough light, and you were trying not to draw attention to yourselves.

You slowly walked over to him; he was sleeping on his back; you got up close to him before whispering.

“ Thomas…… Thomas wakes up” You reached down towards him to shake him a bit “ Thom-“ 

He reached up and grabbed your wrist, but unlike last time, it wasn’t gentle. You struggled to free your hand from his grip as you pulled back while he looked at you, confused.

“ Thomas, it's me, please” You let a cry slip as you tried to get him to understand. It was clear that Thomas wasn’t all the way there. 

“ Thomas,” you said a bit louder, causing him to let go of your wrist.

He shook his head and looked down before looking back up at you and your wrist, which you now cradled in your other hand 

“ I-Im so-“ You cut him off before he finished

“It's fine, come on, sit up,��� you said as you grabbed his shoulder, guiding him the way you wanted him to sit. 

He was sitting on the edge of the bed before you walked towards the back room to gather his clothes and walked back. 

You placed his top on the bed before getting on your knees to put his socks and pants on. This time you heard no complaint from him as you helped him. After you put on his socks, you scrunched up his pants legs before putting them around his ankles.

You then pulled them up to his thighs as far as they would go before clearing your throat. He then stood up, and you stood up with him slowly pulling the pants up as you went. He almost fell when he stood tall, catching himself before he did so using your shoulder to balance himself. 

You pulled the pants to his waist, tugging a bit before zipping them up and buttoning them. You keep your head down, even though you want to look up; you feel his eyes on you, looking down at you. His whole body towering over you. It was equally as inviting as it was intimidating. 

He moved his hand slowly down your arm

to your wrist. He took it into his hands and brushed over it softly. 

“ I’m sorry.” 

His words made you look up at him 

“It’s fine.”

He drops your wrist, and you reach down and pick up his shirt, bunching it up in your hands as you stand on your tippy toes to place it over his head. 

He bent down to help you carefully slip his arm into his shirt before pulling it down and tucking it into his pants. You then click his suspender into place before slipping them over his shoulder. 

After you get back on your knees, place his shoes on his feet and tie them. When you finished, you helped him put his coat on. You grab the rest of the things you packed for him and place them in a bag before tucking them in his coat.Lastly, you grab his hat, place it on his head, pulling it down to cover his face more. 

“ Ok, so we’ll stop at the nurse station so I can grab my thing, then we’ll head towards the back of the hospital to leave; that way, no one will see you,”  You say as you start walking towards the door.

You walk out the door and towards the station, grabbing your coat, placing it on, then your purse, before walking to the backend of the hospital. 

You grab Thomas's hand, pulling him closer as you begin to approach the final long stretch of hallway.

“ I have to keep you close so people will assume we’re together.” You say 

“ Why,” he asks 

“ Cause …….. “ you trail off, “this part of the hospital is where people bring others to have…… a good time. That’s why it's the perfect place to leave. There’s no security and no one’s concerned with who comes and goes.”

“ Ah, so you do what to fuck” 

You immediately stop in track and face him,

“I do not Im trying to “ You stop mid-sentence when you see a slight smile on his face. He’s joking, trying to ease the heavy tension between you two. 

You grab his hand again, pulling him along the rest of the way, ignoring the people in your peripheral who are getting to know each other. You finally get to the door pushing it open and are greeted with a rush of cold air. 

You and Thomas step out of the hospital into the south parking lot, which is entirely empty. You look at Thomas, waiting for him to lead the way; he wraps his arm around you, placing some of his weight on you as he starts walking.

“ Is it far where we’re going?” you ask, looking up at your breath dancing in the air. 

“ No, not far, 30 minutes at most” 

Besides the occasional whine from Thomas, the rest of your walk is quiet. As you near your destination, or you assumed cause, Thomas asks you, “ You live near here or far? If so, I’ll have one of my men walk you home.”

“ Oh, now I have peaky protection; this friendship is starting off better than I thought. But yeah, I live close no need for a chaperone, though. I’ve lived in Birmingham all my life. I know how to take care of myself.” 

And that’s the end of that conversation; soon, you approach some gates to a well-known boatyard. 

“ We’ve arrived,” you asked

“ We have; I can make it from here,” he says, and you let him go 

“ Very well, Thomas, till next time, bye.” 

He nods his head towards you and says your name before walking away. Your heart skips a beat never having heard him say your name till now, and you never told him. You can only assume that he read your name tag at some point. You flash him a smile before walking home. 

Since you got home late that night, you didn’t have to sneak in to avoid your landlord. You were a couple of weeks behind on rent, the hospital didn’t pay well, and these apartments were a bit out of your reach, but they were the only ones that were halfway decent and not rat infested. 

The next couple of days, you continued to work double shifts so you could make enough money from rent. Every day, people asked you if you were ok, you had been forgetting to complete things and messing small tasks up. 

This was unlike you, but every time you let yourself think, your mind would drift off to Thomas. You kept rethinking every moment you were together, replaying every moment like it was a scene from a movie. 

Eventually, you were told to take the rest of the day off; people assumed you were too tired to concrete, seeing that you had worked doubles for the last three days. You didn’t protest because you had to admit you were pretty tired. 

When you arrived home, you wished you had fought the people at the hospital a little more.

As soon as you walked into your building, you ran into your landlord, who was collecting his mail from his box.

“ Sir, good afternoon. I don’t have your money now, but soon, I will have it in full soon, and I shall give it to you no later than next week.” 

His body wasn’t facing you, and he didn’t answer you, so you reached out and touched his shoulder.

“ Sir ?”

“ Huh, oh, it's you; I hope you weren’t talking to me; I don’t mean to be rude. My ears haven’t been working the best of late.”

He was talking, but you weren’t really paying attention; he had some nasty fresh bruises on his face, cuts above his eyes, swollen eyes, and a busted leaking lip that he kept bringing a towel up to dab. 

“ Sir, what happened? And I said I will have my rent to you by next week.”

“ Oh no, I’m fine, just some bumps and bruises, and no need to have the rent to me; from now on, you live here for free,” he said and started to walk off.

“ But sir, wait, I don’t understand why,” you asked, yelling after him

“ What was it that them peaky boys had said” Your eyes immediately widened; you had caused this. “Oh yeah, the rent for the girl is free, or the house burns down.”  

You were about to apologize, but he had already returned to his apartment. You stood there for a good minute before heading upstairs and fixing some tea and food.

You sat down and ate your snack, staring at the wall as you sipped your tea. Then you laughed and kept laughing; your landlord was a horrible man who once tried to get you to offer sex as payment, and by getting, he locked you out of your apartment until you had his rent, you had only been a day late when he did it, and it took you a week to get his money. You had to sneak into your apartment through the window every night and leave out the same way every morning.

He got what was coming for him, with his crazy rent prices like we live in the city. 

You smiled; this becoming friends thing with Thomas was already working for you. You had hoped that, that wasn’t the last time you saw Thomas.

And it wasn’t. 

#thomas shelby #tommy shelby #cillian murphy #peaky blinders #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby fanfic #oppenheimer #cillian x y/n #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x oc #cillian murphy fanfiction #john shelby #arthur shelby

[everythingne]

akin to a pride, mv1

[series, 1] - 'the lions come at night'

Reina 'Little Lion' Matsumoto is known for her reckless driving on the track, earning her the nickname she partly shares with a certain 3x WDC. Off the track, however, she's known for being bubbly, bright, and kind. When she's reached out to by F1 about joining their new 'Siblings Mentorship,' a program that will pair her with a 'similar F1 driver' as her mentor for the upcoming season, she fully expects Daniel or Lando.

Her surprise comes in the form of Max Verstappen, and though she thinks they won't be that much alike off track, she's quick to find it's quite the opposite. Reina learns she needs someone who understands what shes going through to lean on, and Max learns that sometimes healing comes in breaking a cycle that's not your own.

(multipart series, non-linear in writing)

warnings/notes: mentioned/implied abusive father, father being manipulative and nasty via phone call, [word] used to show other languages being spoken, probably inaccurate/purposefully inaccurate f2/f1 information but its for the plot, also purposefully incorrect NASCAR information (RBR having a currently running NASCAR team being part of it), and probably incorrect Japanese culture (please correct me, I'm not Japanese myself!!), 5k words.

face claim: nina hillman

MAX HAD ALWAYS ENJOYED MEETING YOUNG FANS. Especially the ones who were karting or just getting into motorsports, there was something strong and pure in their hearts--a full love for what they were doing that was so refreshing to him. The media could wear him down day after day, racing every few weekends and changing time zones over and over making him a bit of a husk. He and the people he worked around were always so drained and tired, but one meeting with a young fan, listen to their proud "I'll be just like you when I grow up" and a big grin as they snapped a photo with him would always set him right.

Victoria had called him soft but he didn't care. He was the go-to babysitter of her two sons for a reason, the so called 'baby whisperer' by her husband and the beloved Uncle Max who they cheered on every other weekend on TV. When Victoria's eldest had an F1 themed birthday party with his class, Max had shown up with some of his gear in his car just in case, and ended up being the life of the party as he let each kid try on some of his old helmets and gloves and such.

Max loved the few and far between meetings he had with kids because they always seemed to come to him at the perfect times. Like the day Christian asked him if he wanted to do a program a few other drivers were a doing. It was a season long 'older siblings' mentorship for teens in the F3 or F2 leagues so they could get insight into what being an F1 driver was like and how it differed from what they were doing now. It had been mentioned off hand, with Christian expecting Max to say no and that he 'didnt want to do that media stuff', but imagine Christian's surprise when the man instantly said yes. He said it with no hesitation, a small smile peeking on his lips as he asked who he'd be helping.

"Reina Matsumoto." Christian had said and Max's eyes widened with a mix of excitement and genuine happiness as a grin peeked at his lips as he looked through Reina's social medias. It was a face Christian hadn't seen much, typically reserved for Penelope or Victoria's boys.

"Oh, wait until I tell Kelly!" He'd laughed, following the driver and shutting off his phone as he'd crosses his arms and smiled.

Geri had laughed with her whole heart when Christian told the story to her that night, watching as she attempted to pack three school lunches, do the dishes, and clean up while he was making his way over to help her. He dropped his bag on the floor by the island, hands coming up to her back as he slipped behind her and into the kitchen.

"He's got a big heart," Geri said gently with a grin on her lips, pausing mid sandwich packing to press a kiss to her husband's cheek. Her nails scratched slightly as she pat his shoulder as she handed him the dishes she needed put away, "and look at him and little Penelope! He's practically her father."

"This is a teenager though." Christian emphasized as he opened the cabinet with one hand, the other balancing a stack of plates from dinner--porkchops, he'd missed it due to being in the office for the exact thing they're talking about.

He sets down the dishes in their respective spots and shuts the cabinet as he turns back to Geri, "She's seventeen, she’s Bluebell's age.”

"First of all," Geri zips closed the remaining lunch bags for the kids and turns to Christian as she points at him, "Teenager or not, Max knows how to deal with kids. We've seen that."

Geri then flicks her wrist to show a peace sign she points at Christian once more, "and second, she's from Formula Two and she? Is it Matsumoto?"

"Yep. The Reina Matsumoto, Miss Little Lion," Christian nods, the girls nickname being given due to her driving style being very similar to Max's when he was her age. Controlled chaos, slightly reckless depending on the day, but she almost always left unscathed.

"Her dad was one of Japan's top Tour Racing drivers," Christian explains as he moves to help Geri finishing wiping off the counters, "Her mom raced drift cars in the states, works in NASCAR now. Reina used to live with her dad in Japan. She just moved to England to continue pursuing racing."

"So she has two motorsports parents... how much pressure is on her?" Geri crosses her arms as she leans back on the kitchen island and Christian lets out a low whistle as he rubs his forehead.

"I don't know, they don't exactly brief me on her entire past, Ger. But from what I was able to dig up on her father? It's not good."

"Do you think they teamed her with Max because of how they were both raised?" Geri pushes off the counter to open the fridge and waves over Christian to help her stuff the lunch boxes inside with all the leftovers and other foodstuffs stacked in the fridge,

"I don't know. But looking at the words 'Project Matsumoto' as the third term when I looked up her name; and having it be an article where her dad says he pushes her to be her best 'no matter what he has to do to make her'? I can't imagine it's anything good."

Geri sighs, rolling her neck and then nodding, "But how's her mother?"

"Oh, Hana is a sweetheart. She owned the NASCAR side of Red Bull Racing until about... two years ago, when she took full custody of her daughter. Now she does engineering, she has nothing but good articles about her."

"So, dad who forces her to be the best in every race she does, and a mom who was in racing but doesn't seem to push her too hard. Parents divorced, she lived with her father, now she lives with her mother." Geri recounts and when Christian nods sharply she starts to laugh and rub at her forehead.

"So... literally Max?" She says and Christian just nods again. There's no other way to explain it, she was simply a younger version of Max. But maybe there was a chance here, to save some of the love for the world she had left, because while Max was a genuine sweetheart he was always a bit haunted in Geri's eyes.

If she could save Reina from looking the same way, that would be her own personal WDC.

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reinamatsumoto: winter break recap. whew. what a time. from my dad's place in fukushima to my grandparents home in washington state, to buying an apartment by myself in london :D!! (with my mom living there until I know how to adult because lord knows I can't be trusted by myself yet..)

also, big news! I am excited to announce ill be joining in the f2 to f1 mentorship program! I cannot wait to see which f1 driver I get to annoy with my useless knowledge of everything (and katsu…)

tagged: mrshanatanaka

mrshanatanaka: [my beautiful daughter] xx

user1: so pretty!!

biancabustamente: so i need your whole workout routine

⤷ reinamatsumoto: when are you back in london ?? I can take u to my trainers .. 👀

premaracing: so happy to have you back reina!

Dear Reina Matsumoto,

I READ MY NAME FOR THE THIRD TIME, fingers dusting over the slight texture change from the ink on the white paper that slightly creases in my hand. René had handed it to me at Prema last weekend before I went home for Christmas. Inside was a little invitation from Formula One. I had assumed, and kinda prayed, it was some sort of contract for any team (my fingers had crossed briefly for Red Bull) but was also a bit more delighted to see it was an invitation to their 'siblings' mentorship program. I took my time reading the letter, glossing over the words asking if I would be fine being trained by a handpicked Formula One driver who matched my driving style and my personality...I was elated.

I didn't know many drivers who matched both, maybe like Lando as the closest, or if we pushed it a bit maybe Daniel but his driving was more reserved than mine. I had explained to my mother, and she had joked saying my closest match would be Max. But I doubted they'd put him with me. I doubted he'd even said yes to the whole thing, everyone knew Max hated media stunts that didn't involve him driving some weird ass vehicle or like, putting snow chains on an F1 car.

I roll over to slide the note back on my bedside table, sighing as I curl deeper into my blankets to try and fight off the chill I still felt after my afternoon run in the light snow. Probably my last exterior run of the year, I was lucky to get one so close to the end of December.

The heater fan is on high blast next to my bed, rolling warm air across my chest as I look out the window and into the setting sun on the snow tipped trees of Washington State. My mom had worked hard to get us here, to her parents home up in a coastal town, where I can faintly smell some sort of curry dish being prepared by my grandmothers nimble hands. My grandfather a fisherman, my grandmother a school treasurer, my mother a business owner and engineer, her only daughter an aspiring Formula One driver.

Quite a group.

My attempt at warmth is abruptly ended by my mother knocking on my door, waiting only a brief moment before entering. She's dressed from work, I can tell it was some sort of zoom meeting by the slippers she has on. Her hair is pulled back, makeup light on her face as the warm golden rays slip through into my room from the hallway.

"You got mail, Rei, did you not see it on the counter?" My mother asks with a slight huff, sitting on the edge of my bed and cranking up my heater with a complaint about how its still too cold in my little room. It was supposed to be an office, but when I visited my grandparents and moms side of the family (since my aunt and cousins lived with them here in the states) it became my room so I didn't have to share with toddlers.

"Jiji was cooking, didn't wanna disturb her." I say softly, looking over at my mother and noticing the giddy expression on her face. Her eyes are sparkling as her nails crease the edges of the letter.

"What?" I ask, looking up at her through the thick fuzzy blankets that cover me and basically cement me down to the bed with their weight. Another wonderful thing about my grandparents, they were always prepared.

"It's from Oracle Red Bull Racing." my mother emphasizes each word with a huge smile that only seems to grow. My mother had raced for Red Bull back when she was a bit older than me, and owned their NASCAR team for years, which she now was an engineer for. I think her excitement bleeds onto me as I throw myself up into a seated position and snag the unopened letter. I take it and nearly tear the damn thing open, my mom laughing as I hand her the envelope and flip the letter open to read aloud.

"Miss Matsumoto/Matsumoto-san," I say and then whistle, "Someone did their homework."

My mom laughs and urges me to keep reading, and so, I take a deep breath and read the words that seem so powerful even with their tiny ten or so pixel statue.

"We at Oracle Red Bull Racing wish you well this holiday season, and it's an honor for me, Christian Horner, to welcome you to the family as the younger sister/mentee of three time world champion, Max Verstappen!--"

My mom squeals in excitement at the same time I do. The usually reserved side of her gone as she leaps off my bed and jumps around as I kick my legs in excitement. Seconds later I'm falling back as my mom is crashing into me in a bone crushing hug as she laughs with watery eyes I ignore for both of our sakes.

"Oh! Oh my god, that's so exciting!" She shouts.

"[Is everything okay?]" I hear my grandfather rough voice call from the base of the stairs in Japanese and my mother lifts her head away from my ear to shout through the doorway,

"[Yes, yes, everything is fine!]" My mother laughs once more, "[Just some very good news,] keep reading Rei, keep reading!"

"Okay, okay!" I laugh, grabbing the letter and continuing down the page, trying to keep myself from skipping ahead in excitement.

"We are very excited to get to know you over this season, and look forward to meeting you in person for the first time soon! In fact, we have extended an invitation for you to meet Max and the rest of RBR at our home base in Milton Keynes on January 5th-10th. We will provide you and one guest a flight over if needed, room and board at The Berkeley in London as well as transportation to and from our garage.

We eagerly await your response. Thank you and welcome!

Christian Horner."

But the letter doesn't stop there, in fact, there's a little hand written note that's been scanned to fit on the paper and I squint to read the scratchy handwriting.

'Reina,

Hello! It's Max, your 'big brother' or mentor for this upcoming season. As you may know, I'll be your right hand this season when it comes to advice with driving and media, but I wanted to extend an invitation for you to ask/talk about any of your interests or just life in general. I genuinely cannot wait to get to see how we get along (as I'm sure we will) and I hope you have a wonderful holidays with your family.

See you in January!

Max Verstappen.

(ps. I wrote my phone number on the back of this, feel free to send me a text/call and introduce yourself!)'

The exciting news brings my family to tears of joy as we celebrate with loud laughter and tight hugs. Max Verstappen. A three time world champion helping me of all people learn the real ins and outs of racing? It’s like a dream come true.

And even though I know it should be the absolute last thing I ever could even think about asking, he’d been raised similar to myself. I needed to know how he handled it, or the lack thereof.

redbullracing made a new post !

liked by gerihalliwell, reinamatsumoto, misshanatanaka and 674k others..

redbullracing: Introducing the final set of mentorship siblings for this season! Our @ maxverstappen will be mentoring @ premaracing 's @ reinamatsumoto for the upcoming season. Reina is known across Formula 2 for her bubbly bright personality and colorful disposition. Join us on TikTok Live, January 5th at 6pm BST to see them in action!

user1: sunshine x grumpy trope frfr

misshanatanaka: so excited for my little lion cub !

user2: they definetely picked her for her little lion nickname and yk what. respect.

reinamatsumoto: this is such an incredible opportunity, thank you so much red bull!!!

danielricciardo: soon we will have a whole god damn lion pride in RBR.

user3: unlikely duo actually?

logansargeant: and they wouldnt give ME reina???

⤷ maxverstappen: another L for logan sargeant

⤷ logansargeant: i'm gonna take your damn knees old man

⤷ reinamatsumoto: its ok logan i will never forget my first (and favorite) f2 teammate 💙

WALKING INTO RED BULL'S HEADQUARTERS WAS LIKE A DREAM. My mom chats with the woman whose brought us in eagerly, and excitedly points to a photo of her on the wall from the early 2000s. I'm shocked to see Christian Horner's in the photo as well. Reading the little plaque under makes it all click, it's a photo of all the 'team principles' or their equivalents of each Red Bull Sporting branch at the time.

My fingers skim over the names, EHC Red Bull München, FC Red Bull Salzburg, Hansen Motorsport, JMB Racing, and eventually I find my moms name, 'Hana Matsumoto (neé, Tanaka) Team Leader: Red Bull Racing (NASCAR).'

"Ah! Glad you both could make it!" A voice calls and I snap my head to its source, making his way across the big expanse of the lobby is Christian Horner, Geri following close behind her husband with a glittery smile. My mother shakes his hand and the two begin conversing, immediately snapping back into some sort of old pals situation while I step back to admire it.

My mother, after my father abandoned us when I was twelve, refused to touch racing for years, except for when it came to me and my karting. When I advanced to rally, she got back into working for NASCAR as an engineer, and then when I was going into Formula Four she had become a head engineer for Red Bull's NASCAR team.

I had never had an opportunity to work for Red Bull myself, narrowly missing making their junior team due to my dad's interference. I had hated Red Bull due to my fathers influence, but once or twice I caught my mother reminiscing over old images of her in her glory days of drift cars and owning a NASCAR team, and it made me wonder...

I wondered about wearing navy blue, standing on a podium, racing a car that would rocket itself around a track with no issue. And then slowly my mind would shift and I would wonder what else my father had stolen from her other than money and her daughter for years. A stolen daughter for some sort of prize he could never get for himself. A Formula One racer. Something I could be, something he would beat into me.

"And you must be Reina." Geri's voice catches me off guard and pulls me out of whatever pouty moment I've found myself in. The smile on my face is real as I allow her to pull me into a tight hug, her warm hands settling on my back as she squeezes me. It's safety in two arms, immediately, and I relax into it as I place one hand on the center of her back.

"Geri Horner, it's such an honor to finally meet my favorite Spice Girl." I say into the hug and Geri laughs, stepping back to squeeze me shoulders in her hands as she looks me over with an approving grin.

"Good to know you have taste!" She teases, turning to my mother who nods and laughs as she makes her way over to where Geri has come to distract me. Christian grabs his phone out of his pocket, glancing behind him, but I miss what he calls out as my Mom starts to speak to Geri.

"Yep! God, we have so much Spice Girls stuff in our house in Washington you'd think it was a museum." My mother giggles, patting my back as she sends me a small grin, "I think you even have a replica of the union jack dress."

"It's in Fukushima, so who knows if it's still there." I hum, my smile dropping for half a second as I remember the cold home I had lived in for years, before I force it back up, "But I bet I can find photos of it!"

"Would love to see them." Geri places a hand on her heart, then turns to Christian as he approaches us. He brings us to a small room, two chairs facing a few cameras, interns and workers milling around the room as I'm instructed to sit down in one of the chairs. I sit down as told, crossing my ankles as my mom frets with my collar and sweater for a few moments, then presses a kiss to my forehead and tells me to be kind before slipping behind the lights that shine on me.

"Alright, we're gonna have you introduce yourself..." A woman starts to explain the protocols to me. The stream is running right now, people can see me, but the audio is muted. On her signal, I'll introduce myself, and then they'll start a QnA with me while they wait for Max to arrive. I nod along, smiling when she compliments me and laughing at her jokes with practiced kindness. I wasn't media trained, but rather trained by walking on eggshells and keeping peace for years.

Eventually, I'm cued in, and I wave happily.

"Hello!" I cheer, "I'm Reina Matsumoto, known as Rei or Little Lion, this is my third year racing for Prema in Formula Two. I finished my first season with them in second, right behind Oscar Piastri, my second season I unfortunately didn't complete due to personal issues and an injury, and so I'm looking to use this season as a comeback to finally get my hands on an F2 win.

"I'm going to be mentored by Max Verstappen, which is... just really incredible." I feel heat rush to my cheeks and I let a giddy smile cross my face, "So yeah! Let's get on with the QnA?"

A man steps up so I can see him, and holds up a phone, he scrolls before landing on a question he likes,

"Can you explain your racing journey to us?"

"Oh! Yeah! So I started karting in Japan with my father when I was barely three, and started competing on my fifth birthday. I kept karting, I won, I lost, y'know, and got into rally racing for a few years when I was around ten to fourteen, then I went into Formula Four when I was fifteen, did half a season of F3, and then jumped to compete in Formula Two the last three years." I explain, having to pause a few times to think and make sure I'm getting my age right. Trying my best to keep my voice happy as I recount the time spent with my father, "Around the time I switched to Formula racing, I also moved in with my Mom, Hana Tanaka, in the United States and lived partially in England."

"Do you race for Japan or for the States?"

"I'm racing for Japan since I'm technically a citizen of Japan living on a work visa in the UK. I lived in Japan for years, my mother traveling back to the states a lot for work, and--uhm," I swallowed, glancing down at my left wrist briefly as my hand twitched and my pinkie struggled to close up in the fist I balled up, "I lived with my father there when my parents divorced, from when I was nine to thirteen."

"Do you have a favorite F1 driver who is racing right now?"

"If I say anyone other than Logan or Oscar they'll be very upset." I grin, kicking my feet a little, "They're basically my older brothers! They took me in when I started racing F2, since we all raced together, and I'm really proud of both of them and all their hard work."

After maybe ten or so more questions, the man leans back as someone whispers something to him and he nods, there's a bit of a shuffle and then I see a door open. I know it's Max who walks in even if I can only see his shadow behind the lights. I try to hide my giddy smile as the same woman from before steps in front of me and begins to announce Max and I are meeting for the first time. I take a deep breath, swallow my nerves, and plaster on the most professional smile I can muster. Max is much taller than I am, that much is obvious when he dips under a light to come in front of the camera and I stand immediately to greet him. I expect him to go for a handshake, but I'm pleasantly surprised with a hug. We take our respective seats, Max gives his little introduction to the camera, and then we're off.

"So this is a drawing challenge." We're both handed whiteboards and I grin, looking at Max who laughs and looks down at the whiteboard being set in his hands. I can see a little playful gleam in his eyes, something I've never caught before in the hundreds of photos and videos I've seen of him. It's intriguing but I don't have time to stare, and this is hardly the place to do so.

"You guys are about to be amazed at how much someone can suck at art." He says, uncapping his pen.

"You both have to try and draw each other in three minutes," She says, "and then there will be a poll on who won."

The timer goes off then and I prop the whiteboard up and begin drawing. I had doodled as a hobby, so I make it less realistic (because lord knows I can't do that) and make it more cutesy. I giggle at my drawing as I add a little flare to it and when times up, we flip them around. The crew audibly awes over mine and Max laughs, tilting it so he can see it past the glare of the lights.

"Oh my god, I need someone to save this so I can have it. This is genuinely the cutest thing anyone has ever drawn for me." He looks at it in awe and I laugh into the back of my hand as he takes the whiteboard from me and just looks at it.

"Proud dad moment," I grin, trying to hide my obvious giddy attitude at the fact that Max fucking Verstappen was praising my shitty art skills. He nods, holding it up and telling everyone to look, which only makes me blush and grin harder.

We move on from that a few moments later, we're asked to draw each others cars, then we play a few rounds of pictionary where Max fails horribly the whole time. By the end of it, I'm laughing teary eyed as I lean onto his chair for support--and he's pretty much in the same boat as me as we both struggle to catch our breaths.

"How the hell is this a cat?!" I wheeze out, pointing at the oddly long cat he's drawn with a much too big head and much too small legs, "don't you have two? Do you not know what they look like?!"

"I can't draw! It's the thing I can't do!" He leans back in his chair, struggling to catch his breath and I have to pause to dot under my eyes so my makeup doesn't run. After a while we catch our breath, and move into QnA.

Max asks me, from a Twitter tag we both idly scroll on our phones, "What are some of your favorites? Racers, colors, TV Shows, etc?"

I look up as he asks the question and a big grin splits across my lips as I proudly announce, "When it comes to F1, I'm one hundred percent a Vettel girl,"

"Really?" He says, and I start laughing as I nod to him, adjusting the way I'm sitting as I lean on the arm of the chair a bit and wave my phone as I speak,

"I grew up watching him and Lewis Hamilton winning, y'know, so it was always like--my dad would always reprimand me and say stuff like 'you should race risky like Hamilton' or 'go fast like Vettel' so they're kinda cemented into my brain as the like--top drivers."

"My dad was the same with some older drivers, always had to practice like I was the best of the best." Max nods, but waves for me to continue on with answering the ret of the question,

"NASCAR is huge in my family, my mom works for Red Bull's NASCAR team," I explain, looking to where I think my mom stands behind the camera, "So my favorite driver from there? I'd say Jimmie Johnson or Kyle Busch. I've met them both quite a few times, since they both raced with Red Bull, and Kyle is one of my sponsors for racing right now which is so kind of him to do."

I continue when Max doesn't have a comment, "Favorite color, blue." He agrees, "TV Shows..? Right now I'm binging Doctor Who--I'm on Matt Smith's doctor right now."

"Oh, which episode?"

"Uhm... I just finished The Almost People. So I think next is A Good Man Goes to War?" I turn and watch Max's face light up as he makes a soft gasping noise in the back of his throat.

"Oh you have to tell me how you like that episode. It's so good."

My eyes widen, "You've seen Doctor Who?"

"Kelly watches it all the time. When I started watching them with her she made us restart at The Ninth Doctor and watch from there, and then we went back and watched all the older episodes but her favorite is The Ninth Doctor so she made me start there. I think my favorite is him or The War Doctor."

"My favorite so far is the eleventh." I smile, kicking my feet a little once again and Max nods.

"A solid choice."

We run through another twenty minutes or so before signing off, and the energy in the room is light and almost electric as we begin to pack up. A phone call ends up with me slipping out into the hall as everyone mingles, my mom loudly laughing with Kelly and Geri as Christian brings Max over to introduce to my mother. I catch Max's eye fleetingly as I whisk around and slip out into the much quieter hall, pressing my phone to my ear.

"[Hello, Dad.]" I say into the phone, the ten missed calls from him already enough to make my blood icy and my hands shaken.

"[Why weren't you answering me? Am I not important?]" His voice is hard as it always is when he thinks I've wronged him. It makes my heart pound a little bit harder, makes me swallow, makes my hands twitch.

"[I was doing work with Red Bull, Dad. I wasn't with my phone, I'm sorry.]" I say into the phone, crossing one arm over my chest as I look out into the little track behind the building from the windows, walking up to lean against a pole that separates the panes of glass.

"[Oh, about that, you didn't want to tell me? Hm? That you even thought of signing up for that? You're going to waste the talent of a three time world champion on yourself? On the lack of talent you have? You couldn't even beat that Australian boy, now you expect Max Verstappen to want to help you?]" My fathers voice grows harsher, the insults digging deep into my chest and ripping at my confidence and my heart. I hear the door next to me open, but I can't even spare a glance as my fathers hateful tirade continues. I lose track of what he's saying, his voice louder, and when I don't respond he claims I'm 'losing my heritage' and switches to English to mock me. I feel someone behind me, eyes glancing up in the reflection to see Max leaning on the wall on the other side of the hallway.

"[Dad--]" I try, but he cuts me off with more ramblings.

"A waste of talent, a waste of that mans time!" He shouts, "You are nothing but--"

A hand comes to grab the phone, a thumb thats not mine pressing to end the call. I flinch at the touch, but it's warm, and when I look up Max just watches me before slipping my phone back into my hand and sighing. Nothing is said, he just turns and nods over his shoulder. Max moves like a ghost back to the doorway, eyes peeking over at me from under his hat and his voice carries down the hall to me.

"You're not wasting my time. I picked you."

And then he slips into the room where I can hear my mother replaying some story of my early racing days to someone, and I blink back the tears that well up with my shaky sigh. Then something hits me, eyes widening as I stare after Max's retreated form.

Max had picked me to be his mentee.

He picked me. Me.

And a giddy smile crosses my face before I can try and suppress it.

formulaupdates made a new post!

liked by user1, user2, user3 and 359k others...

formulaupdates: Reina Matusmoto (Prema, f2) joined Max Verstappen (Red Bull, F1) to welcome their 'siblingship' this season during a livestream on Red Bull's TikTok wearing the teams signature color in a vintage Ralph Lauren sweater! (+ a scanned version her drawing of Max for everyones icon needs)

tagged: reinamatsumoto, ralphlauren, premaracing, redbullracing, maxverstappen

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tag list!

(open !)

#f1 fanfic #f1 smau #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fanfic

[padfootagain]

Home for Christmas

Hi everyone! Here is a cute fic for Christmas! I hope all of you who celebrate have a great time <3

Hope you like this silly little fic! Tell me what you think of it!

****

Pairing: Hozier x reader

Warnings: none! It’s just cute fluff!!

Summary: Andrew is touring at the moment, and his busy schedule will keep him away for the Christmas season. Or at least, that’s what you thought would happen. That was without counting on how much he missed you.

Word Count: 2390

Hozier's Masterlist - Main Masterlist

24 December.

It’s midday and it’s raining. Against the window panes, the rain falls in a patted rhythm, adding to the soft voice of Ella Fitzgerald, a warmth that lulls you into a gentle sway. Around you, dispersed across the carpet, are a set of gifts, wrapping paper, some tape and glitter. You’re wrapping up presents for Christmas, ready to be delivered on Christmas morning throughout your relatives and friends. It makes for a rather tall pile, as you look at all the work you have left. You’re about half-way through, so you gather your courage in a sigh and get back to work, grabbing a box and some paper and trying your best at turning the whole thing into what vaguely resembles a gift.

On your left, you have set the presents that are already wrapped in red and golden paper. Three of these are for Andrew, and you’re quite proud of what you’ve found for him this year. Your gaze lingers on the items, the ghost of a smile lingering on your lips as you think of him… but you end up looking away in a hurry.

He won’t be home for Christmas this year. His touring schedule won’t allow it. If he’s in Europe, he’s currently trying to catch a few hours of sleep in a hotel room in Vienna.

You’ve thought about joining him on tour for a few days, but you wanted to see your family at Christmas. Besides, the look your mother gave you when you mentioned the idea was enough to make you abandon the thought altogether. She looked too sad for you to go ahead with it. You guessed you would simply have to miss your boyfriend this year.

You aren’t angry or bitter about it, though. It comes with dating a musician. There are moments when he isn’t around, and that’s alright. He makes up for it when he comes home, or when you can join him for a few days. Still, as you glance over at his gifts, knowing that they will remain unopened until mid-January, you can’t help the tug at your heart that thought brings.

You grab your phone as an act of revenge, snapping a pic of the three gifts, and sending them to Andrew.

Your gifts are ready! And as I’m an awful girlfriend, you won’t get any clue to guess what they are until you open them in a month!

You add a few emojis to tease him some more, and wait for the phone to buzz while you go back to work. You’ve got glitter on your fingers, it’s all over the beige carpet too. You don’t mind so much, though.

Your Christmas tree is glimmering on the right side of the room, you’ve turned its lights on to get into a festive mood. You have a cocoa on the coffee table, and a bag of marshmallows as a snack. But despite the music, you can’t help but notice how silent the house is.

No humming, no guitar, no voice lost in conversation with you about the most random topic. No padding steps going back and forth across the living room, no curses after hitting the angle of a table, no clutter made in the kitchen to make something as simple as tea. There’s nothing but Ella’s singing, the rain, and the sharp sound of your scissors cutting the wrapping paper, the quick tug at tapes…

Your phone buzzes, and you drop everything to reach for it. A laughing emoji appears under the name Andy, followed by a short text.

How mean! An awful girlfriend indeed.

A pause, some little dots appearing as he writes another message.

I’m worse though.

You shake your head as you type.

Nah! You’re all good. It will only take some extra chocolate to make me forgive you, that’s all. The worst is being abandoned for gift-wrapping. I’m terrible at it.

You’re too focused on the screen to notice any sound coming from outside, like a car-door closing.

I don’t have chocolate. Opted for flowers instead. Hope that works too.

You giggle at that, failing to hear footsteps before your door.

You still have a month to get the right thing.

You jump as you hear keys unlocking the front door. Frowning, you finally stand. Andrew’s parents have a set of keys, just in case, but they’ve never used them. And why would they when you’re here?

You’ve barely reached the hallway that the door opens… on a very tall figure you recognise in an instant. You gasp at the sight, hands flying up to your mouth.

Andrew, on his part, is grinning like an idiot, soaked despite the small distance he had to cross from the cab to the front door. The rain is still heavy, falling on the bouquet of flowers he’s carrying.

He barely has time to step in, throw a travel bag across the hall, and find shelter in your home that you’re jumping into his arms, and he laughs as he catches you with ease. He hasn’t closed the door yet, the air is cold as it sips into the hallway, but you pay no attention to it. You don’t care either about the fact that your clothes are getting wet against his drenched coat, that your fingers run through wet locks as you pull him closer, that his face is cold as you kiss, at long last, for what seems like forever. But then again, you’ve been waiting to see him for weeks, months even… you can’t be blamed for being eager to catch up on lost time.

“Hey,” he breathes as you finally pull away, although he keeps you in his arms.

Rubbing his nose against yours, your eyes are still closed. His voice is a bit deeper than usual in this whispered tone, and it makes shivers travel up your spine, makes your heart melt in a puddle.

“Hi,” you grin against his lips, stealing pecks there. “What are you doing here?!”

“You didn’t think I would really miss Christmas, did you?”

“But your shows…”

“I have nothing until the 26th. I’m not staying here long, just a couple of days. But I’m home for Christmas, at least.”

You hug him as close as you can, still too much in shock to truly believe that he is here, that this is happening, that he truly is home…

“I thought you couldn’t travel back here, that the flights didn’t fit the schedule.”

“I haven’t slept in 27 hours, but aside from that, it all went well,” he laughed, but you frowned at his statement.

“You couldn’t sleep on the plane?”

He blushes a little, averts his eyes for a second, before looking at you again.

“No, no…” he shakes his head, sounding a little embarrassed but smiling all the same. “I just… I was too excited to see you. Couldn’t fall asleep.”

You coo at him, making him wince as he finally puts you down.

“Oh, don’t start…” he warns you, but you love teasing him too much for that.

“You wanted to see me too much! You’re so cute!”

“I did fly all the way across Europe to see you, remember?”

“That’s what I’m saying. You’re hooked, buddy!”

You both laugh at that, but his smile grows tender as he reaches to brush his thumb across your cheek.

“Don’t I know that already…” he states, and again, the warm feeling spreads across your entire form, a perfect balance of happiness, fondness, and love.

He finally hands you the bouquet, and you breathe in the perfect scent: sweet and addictive, making you dizzy for a moment.

“So… no chocolate,” you tease, and Andrew struggles not to laugh, his smile tugging at his lips.

“No, I’m afraid not. The flowers will have to do.”

You hum, as if pondering.

“You’re lucky they’re so pretty,” you add, and he breaks into a cheeky grin.

“Not as pretty as you, though.”

You laugh, walking to the kitchen to give your flowers a vase and some water.

“Lousy line!”

“It was a masterpiece, are you kidding? That timing! Delivery!”

“And he pretends he’s a poet…”

You both laugh, Andrew has followed you after leaving his coat, scarf and shoes by the door. He wraps his arms around your waist, unwilling to be parted from you even for a minute, chasing after your warmth like a moth to a flame.

He drops a kiss to the top of your head.

“I pretend to be a musician, not a poet.”

“Considering your lyrics, you are a poet.”

You feel him grinning into your hair.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and you know he’s blushing without seeing his coloured cheeks.

“Thank you for the flowers, I love them.”

“Next time, I’ll get you chocolate. I promise.”

“I was just joking. You didn’t have to get me anything. I was happy enough to simply have you here.”

You turn in his arms to face him, gently pull on the collar of his green cardigan until his lips meet yours, and that’s the best feeling in the world, really, to be there in his arms, to feel his heart against your palm…

But as you look up at him again, you notice the dark traces under his eyes, the heaviness in his eyelids. He looks exhausted, and if he always does when he’s touring, he seems to be barely being able to stand. For proof, he’s leaning more and more against you as he hugs you tight.

Gently, soothingly, you rub his back, and you don’t fail to notice the sigh he lets out, his body relaxing under your hands.

“We still have a few hours before heading to your parents’ house for the evening. Want to take a nap?”

“Only if you come with me.”

“I have to finish preparing all the gifts…”

“We can do that in the morning. We can even just hand them without any wrapping…”

“No! We’re doing this properly!”

“Tomorrow then.”

You yield easily, nodding.

“Alright. You go and dry your hair while I prepare some hot chocolate, and then we cuddle and take a nap. Deal?”

He grins.

“Deal!”

He kisses you again, passionate and overwhelming and leaving you dizzily blinking; before he disappears upstairs to change out of his wet clothes and get dry.

Meanwhile, you’ve prepared some warm beverage for him and go grab your own mug in the living room. You abandon the gifts for now, climb upstairs and under the covers to wait for Andrew.

You’re grinning at the thought of him joining you, and your smile only brightens when he actually does, clumsily hurrying to the bed.

He slips under the covers, on his side of the bed, the one you’ve been staring at for entire nights, feeling the empty space of his absence. He’s barely settled in that you’re already reaching for him. He takes the hand you’re holding out, kissing your knuckles before placing it against his heart.

He takes a few sips of his warm beverage, complimenting your creation before lying down fully with you, tucking you both in, making sure you’re both fully covered by the heavy blankets. You lie there together for a long time, legs tangled to the point that borders between his body and yours disappear, on your sides so you can stare at each other, bathe in the presence of the person you love most in the world, in the warmth of this home you share, this bed that feels empty when you’re not both here.

A few minutes are all that’s needed for the bed to be filled with the warmth of your entwined bodies, and you relax as you shuffle even closer, arms wrapped around his torso. He holds you close, his large palm rubbing circles into your back that make you close your eyes. He rests his forehead against yours, closes his eyes as well.

“God, I’ve missed you so fucking much,” he whispers, his voice quiet and soft in the gentle air of the room, the one disturbed only by your shared breaths, the tapping of the rain, and the occasional movements of your limbs under the covers. “I needed this. Needed to hold you close… you can’t imagine how much I needed this.”

You tighten your hold on him, an attempt to silently tell him that you understand, that you need him too, just as much.

“I’ve missed you too, honey,” you breath, your tone matching his. “So much. I’m so happy you’re home.”

“Only for a couple of days…”

“I don’t care. You’re here, now. That’s all I care about. I might not think the same in a couple of days when I cry my eyes out at the airport but…”

You chuckle together, and he kisses the tip of your nose as a reward.

“Same here,” he mumbles as he buries his head into the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply your scent, the one he tries to get drunk on, to commit to memory so he can reminisce later, once he’s alone again at night in some hotel room.

“Thank you. For coming home to me. Thank you, Andy.”

But he chuckles, shaking his head ever so slightly.

“I did it for myself as much a I’ve done this for you, you know.”

“I bet everyone in the band was tired of you complaining all the time,” you laugh, and he does the same.

“Alex was this close from kicking me out of the bus.”

You double with laughter, and yet keep on holding onto each other just as tightly, unwilling to ever let go again.

“I bet he was!”

He nuzzles into your neck, kisses the skin at the base of your shoulder, making your heart skip beats and your breathing stutter. His beard tickles your skin, and you’re certain you’ve been transported to heaven.

“I love you,” you whisper into his hair, kissing every inch you can reach. You feel his grin against your neck.

“I love you, too. So much, darling.”

You forget to set up an alarm, and when you both fall asleep a few minutes later, you’re too comfortable to wake up. You arrive late at Andrew’s parents’, but they can’t pretend to be mad. They’re too happy to have their son for Christmas, and you feel the same.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #hozier x reader #hozier x y/n #hozier x you #hozier fanfiction #hozier fanfic #hozier oneshot #the hoziest #fanfiction #fanfic #writing

[d1stract-and-daydream]

No Doubts Anymore (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x You) [Dual POV]

WC: Almost 3k

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Not Beta-read.

Alternate ending where Simon didn't die, as requested by an anon!

Part 1

Deep, almost purple lines had been a permanent feature of your face, now. Where your eyeliner used to go, there are now tear lines extending from the corner of your eyes—a product of sleepless nights and unhealed grief.

Has it been four months now? Five? Hell, half a year? Time heals all wounds, they said, yet you wake up with more pieces tumbling out of your chest every day that sleep decides to grant you mercy.

Simon’s balaclava, all his bloody shirts that he used to wear, they lie pristine where you last kept them. 

In a box, inside the closet.

For you fear the scent of him will disappear with every touch, every kiss upon his belongings.

But sometimes—like tonight—it gets unbearable.

Curled up on the mattress, bedsheets probably moulding in the dryer back when you had the sudden burst of energy to be productive, you took a rationed inhale of the skull balaclava in your arms. 

The position was a pain to maintain. Yet, even that kind of pain was preferable. Maybe if you’re in enough physical pain, angry enough, drunk enough-

You’d said no to Price’s repeated recommendations to see a therapist, because how could he understand?

How could the man ever understand the irrational, undeserved hatred—that you’d tried to tell yourself off for—you had against him for having a hand in Simon’s death?

It was just one of the multiple poisons you’d let into your body. Hatred. Substance. Isolation.

“You’re supposed to get up, love. The bills are stacking up.”

And sometimes, like today, the ghost of him materialised to taunt you with an untouchable form. Sitting on his side of the bed—not even kind enough to make a dip on the mattress to tell you that he’s there—and talking you out of misery.

“When’s the last time you’ve eaten something? This is not how you move on.”

“I don’t want to move on! You left. You didn’t even give me a chance to say goodbye- I hate you. With all my heart, I hate you, Simon Riley.”

And, like clockwork, he disappeared into thin air.

***

It is over. He had kept up the ruse, going along with Price’s plan to pronounce several soldiers dead just so he can join a team of spies to infiltrate enemy bases and gather valuable intel.

So he spied, waiting things out until Price gave him the go-ahead to leave, knowing what was waiting for him at home; the state in which he’d left things at.

He didn’t want Price to drop his box onto your lap and let you know that he was dead. Because what use would it be for him to fight against hell, to keep the breath in his throat if it weren’t for the sake of coming home to your arms?

Still, he relented. And, for it to work,, he had to rid himself of every trace of you, just so there would be no connection linking him to his one and only pressure point.

But it’s over now, and God, he has a lifetime of apologising to do.

As soon as he reached his quarters, he knelt by the mattress he’d slept on many a night that he wasn’t able to spend besides you. He lifted it up, and under it—if one knows where to look—was a stitch where he’d taken a drag of his combat knife to before his mission, hid one item of yours he wasn’t strong enough to burn, and meticulously threaded the hole back together.

This time, his slice met with less resistance. He reached into the fillings and felt around, and, there-

He pulled out the glossy picture of you he used to keep in his wallet and brought with him to everywhere he could go. 

He got it from the time he’d taken you out on the walk in mid-autumn, letting you pester him to try one of those seasonal drinks he used to care less about. There’s a photo booth right out of the cafe and, of course, you pulled him into it and took so many pictures he’d gone half-blind, but this picture wasn’t from that, no. When you were ordering the drinks, he came back out to the booth because he noticed there was an option to print his own picture from his phone. 

He did his best to figure out how the fuck was he to connect his phone to sync up his gallery to it, but it worked eventually.

That damned machine ate almost thirty pounds off his wallet to print out his favourite pictures of you.

One where you were petting a dog. One where you were biting into a caramel apple. One where you had the most ridiculous foam mustache. And this one-

Where you were asleep, right next to him. An image of peace that he regrets not being able to bring you more.

Instinctually, he brought the picture to his chest, right where his heart still beat. 

He’s coming home and making sure he treats you well for the rest of his life.

***

When he reached the flat, his spirit deflated, realising that it was empty.

Well, at least, that’s how it seemed from the outside. It was all dark, quiet. There was nothing that could indicate life within the walls of your home, until he heard soft, inconsistent sniffles behind the door, getting fainter and fainter the more you moved away from it.

Even though the key was in his hand, he figured it would be most sensible to knock. After all, you were under the impression that he was dead up until three days ago, when Price had hopefully relayed the actual news to you, giving you ample time to react.

Three classic knocks. No answer.

Another three. The sniffles had died down. Were you asleep?

After about five minutes of waiting, he finally decided to use the front door key. 

It’s late, he thought, and you were probably comfortably sleeping.

Like he noticed from outside, the darkness bathed the entire space. Save for the dim glow from the battery-powered LED snow globe that doubled as your nightlight—signs that you were awake were minimal.

I’ll just crawl into bed and hold her, he thought, until an unpleasant smell wafted from the kitchenette.

The sequences of what greeted him? A miserable discovery.

Overflowing bins, unwashed plates. Spoiled food leaking out of the refrigerator and a full load of clothes were still in the dryer.

In truth, Simon had a feeling you’d fall into depression a week or two—a month maximum—before you moved on from his ‘death.’

It had been a year. Has this been your year? Falling into unkemptness when he never knew you to love clutter?

“Love?” He called out, softly, just in case you were really asleep. He tossed his belongings on the sofa unceremoniously—where he put his belongings were the last thing on his mind at the moment—before making his way to the bedroom.

The sight shushed his brain to a ringing silence.

In the middle of the room was the box of his military belongings, opened, its cover flapping against the opening at every oscillation of the standing fan in the corner of the room.

Two things were making sounds at that moment. The fan, supposedly comfortable white noise now an attack to his senses; you, struggling to get a breath in as you cried, hair matted and red sores visible on the sides of your hip.

“Fuck me- Love-” he immediately moved up to the side of the bed. You were facing the other way, curled up and hugging something close to your chest.

“It’s me, love, I’m back, I’m sorry,” words stumble out of his mouth in wasteful attempts. Not even managing to elicit a reaction out of you.

Hell, it took him almost a full five minutes of apologising before you even turned back to look at him.

And the first words that had come out of your lips?

“I hate you, and I wish I had never met you.”

***

Again, the vision of him came to torment you. 

What is it this time? To tell you to air the room out? To drink more water?

Again, you tell him the words that would normally make him disappear.

“I hate you, and I wish I had never met you.”

It was like a spell that you had used to stop unwanted hallucinations—or so you thought. They always come back and it takes sleeping to finally stop some of the visions.

This one didn’t seem to budge. In fact, it answered! Maybe you need to take up Price’s offer for professional help.

“You don’t mean that, darling…” he spoke, face absent of the non-expression you were used to seeing in the figment of him that continues to visit you.

Of course, you don’t mean it. But how else would you deal with the fact that you’re slowly losing your mind? How else are you going to attempt to move-

The touch on your face is warm. Textured.

You can’t remember the last time you dreamt about being touched like that again, his hands brushing hair away from your face, and this time, oh, how cruel is it for it to feel this real?

How cruel, how evil?

With fresh tears and wobbly lips—your attempt at trying to hold on from simply breaking down—you whispered, “You never gave me the chance to say goodbye. Don’t you love me enough to even give me that, Simon? Am I not worth a single glance back, when we fought, when I asked you if the mission was more important than your life? Than us?”

The fight, your last memory of him, was unfortunately always the fight. 

When you were uselessly clinging to him to not go because your inkling was proved true—it wasn’t a mission that he’ll come back from.

Even knowing that, he kept it to himself. You were to read and interpret his facial expressions and body language yourself, coming to your own realisation that he was given a death mission.

“I hate you,” you say again, “I don’t think I will be able to move on from you. Go away, please. Don’t haunt me anymore.”

Turning your back on him, the silence tells you that the vision had dissipated. A deep sense of regret fills you, intermingling with loss and guilt that tasted like bile in your throat.

You didn’t mean that; you didn’t mean to be mean. Maybe if you turn around and apologise, it could help ease the process. Maybe, maybe-

His sad eyes still stared down at you. It didn’t work.

Where his arms rested, the mattress dented.

“Do you mean it? Have I returned to find you hating me?”

***

He didn’t know if you’d even let him touch you, so his arms rested on the uncovered mattress and hoped for the best.

It sounded like you’ve developed venom for him. Rightfully so, given the way you ended things before he went off on the year-long mission. 

Simon was not good at that, the talking part of a relationship. Despite how he presents himself, he still stuttered over his words and lost his speech when being in love occupied a big part of his brain—rendering any sort of poetic affection null. His body speaks for him most of the time.

“Am I losing my mind, or have the ghost of you taken on a physical form?”

The confusion in your face was apparently enough to put a pause on the sobs. You hadn’t an idea how relieved he is at the lack of them. Never in his life would he want to make you cry as hard again, if he could help it.

“It’s me, sweetheart. I’m back. It was a covert mission…haven’t Price informed you?”

He didn’t expect a ‘welcome home’ with cakes and a banner—but he admitted, the least he wished for was a hug. A tight, long hug, followed by a night of holding each other until his body couldn’t physically take it anymore.

Has he gone and ruined it?

“Price?” Your hands thud against the bed to feel for your phone. It had been days since you last checked it, or more. Time moves differently when you’re busy nursing loss and heartbreak. Realising the device was nowhere close, you finally got off the bed—after spending a consecutive day and a half in it—to scan the nearest floor and then-

Ah, there it is. You picked it up and unlocked the screen. 

Your eyes bulged as the notifications rolled through the notifications bar, Price’s name consisting of the majority of it.

Simon trails your every movement. After his question, it took you several pauses to think, but almost a quarter of the time to look for your phone, which had undoubtedly dropped somewhere on the floor throughout the day.

His breath stills as he watched your eyes increasingly widen reading the messages. Messages that should’ve reached you at least a couple days ago, that were to prepare you for his arrival.

“Simon?” You called out as you read through each of Price’s explanations and apology. There was another number that tried to reach you, too. Also, a series of apologies—this time, more intimate.

“I’m here,” he answered. God, he wanted to hold you so, so badly. But he can wait. He waited for a year with nothing but the memories and dreams of you to keep him going. He can wait the few moments more that it took you to decide on a path.

“Simon, is- is that really you? I’m not imagining things? I swear, if it’s my head again, this is really cruel-“

“It’s me, love. It’s really me. Not a hallucination. I’m home.”

You look at the figure on the other side of the bed. Slowly, you climbed onto the mattress, scooting ever so hesitantly with your knees to the middle of the queen sized-bed, hands reaching out half-expecting your touch to go through him.

Damn it, he couldn’t wait. When you got onto the bed, his body rushed to mirror the movement, meeting you halfway and grabbing your hand to place it over his cheek—now with an additional scar over his jaw.

His eyes shut. Your touch upon him righted his world again, and suddenly-

He’s crying. Or at least, about to. He’s here, and warm and tears brim his eyes, somehow never falling down. 

Most importantly, he’s home.

“My dear, what have they done to you?”

He’d returned to you almost unrecognisable—the certain look in his eyes that made him Simon washed away until only a dull imitation remains.

“Not now, love. I don’t want to talk about it now.” 

He’d gone through torture before, and came out of it with deeper scars than the last. 

But this torture was different. The enemy they were against was known for targeting the person closest to whomever was against them, thus the need to cut contact with you. Every night was a constant pacing, wondering if they had found you, if you were okay. Every damned moment, your imagined screams and cries took over his decisions, despite him trying his best to keep his head on the mission.

The torture was visions of you being in his place.

“Please, is it too late for me to answer your question now?”

“What question?” 

You were always the more emotional one in the relationship. So, despite all the tears you’ve exhausted through months of mourning, there was no surprise that your body had decided to create more. 

Though, this time, it was his head pressed to your chest instead of the other way around. Because yes, you may have suffered through the loss of him, but he had been actively fighting for his life in that same duration—and having to hide all of it from you, too, never having the comfort of home at the end of the day.

Your question, which had been making a home out of his skeleton by now. 

“When you asked me if I love you. If I did enough to stay.”

You remembered that. It was a last ditch effort—perhaps a manipulative way to make sure he stays. It was a question you regretted asking. Because Simon is Simon, and there were more lives at stake than making sure your pretty little heart stays unbroken.

“I didn’t mean to ask that. Simon, it was wrong of me-“

“Yes, I do.” His answer resolute. That was to be his last mission, and he decided the minute the door closed on him when he left the flat that day. His last, and he’s going home—and if he’s lucky, you would still be there for him. 

Simon straightened and this time, took you in his lap. When you didn’t fight, he leaned down and hesitated for a kiss over your lips.

When you reciprocated, his tears fucking fell, seasoning the kiss with its salty essence. 

But you didn’t pull away. You kissed him, and every inch of his face, paying extra attention to the fresh scar on his jaw.

You pulled back from the kiss when you started losing breath. 

“You do?” You ask, suddenly remembering the velvet box next to his dog tag resting on the dresser beside the bed. Your eyes slid to it.

Simon’s eyes followed the direction yours went.

Fuck, he thought, forgetting that he had intended to propose right after his last mission. Well, apparently the secret’s out.

“I do, I love you. And I will make sure to not make you doubt me anymore. I love you, darling. You keep my head above water.”

Perhaps it will take time to go back to the way it was. Time, and lots of outside help.

After all, there would be no sunrise without the darkest of nights.

“And you keep my feet on the ground. I love you too, Simon.”

#simon riley x you #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort #simon ghost riley #fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #call of duty

[stuckysbike]

Kiss Me Once In The Moonlight

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Angst, unrequited?feelings. Fluff.

Summary: You’ve fallen in love, but he wants someone else.

It was a cold mid October Saturday night when you realised you were in love with Bucky Barnes.

Natasha had ushered you out of your solitude and over to her private apartment on the compound. Steve was already there, along with Sam, Joaquin, Yelana, a few from the medical team and a few mechanics.

The place was decorated for spooky season, with playful ghosts and fuzzy spiders hiding in the corners. Everyone got comfortable and music played in the background whilst you snacked on nuts and candied apples and sipped beer. Halloween meets Octoberfest was the theme.

Bucky had been telling a story, his face lit up and his big hands flying everywhere as he described his mom chasing him with a broom during his teenage years after a Halloween fright. Occasionally his eyes met yours and they sparkled, but you figured he was like that with everyone.

You’d been crushing on him since you arrived in January and he was first to greet you. He seemed fascinated by your job, research and data analyst, but it was ultimately boring to almost everyone but you.

You lunched together sometimes and you swapped books every few weeks. You even got him into podcasts and you were always swapping recommendations.

But tonight he looked happy, relaxed even, and when Natasha dropped her dainty feet into his lap you felt the world skip underneath you, you wanted to put your feet in his lap. You wanted his big hands dwarfing your feet.

He rubbed her toes without thinking, and she snuggled down as the mechanics started describing the prank they’d played on Tony this week, going so far as to rope Pepper in.

“Wanna stay here tonight?” You heard Natasha murmur to Bucky during a lull in conversation. Sam was changing the music and Joaquin was setting up tequila shots.

He smiled at her but shook his head. “Nah,” his voice was thick with tiredness.

“You finally made a move on that girl?” She teased wiggling in her spot.

Bucky’s cheeks tinged pink and you dropped your eyes when you realised you were staring. You didn’t want to be caught looking like some dumb kid.

It was foolish to think that Bucky with his wonderful abilities and handsome looks would be interested in you who spent most of your time at work or alone.

“Think I’m gonna’ take her out, yeah,” he nodded. You snuck a glance at him in time to catch him looking from you to Natasha.

Oh god, he must have noticed you staring. How embarrassing!

Tears that had no right to form stung your eyes and you stood suddenly distracting Steve who was kneeling at the coffee table next to you. Sam took the opportunity to defeat him in their thumb war game much to Steve’s annoyance.

“I’m going to head back, I’m just really tired,” you said to the room, avoiding Bucky. “Thank you for the invitation Natasha.”

There were a few comments asking you to stay but ultimately everyone wished you a good sleep. Your own room was a fifteen minute walk away in a shared block and you pulled your arms around yourself to fight the cold as you stepped outside.

“Hey Doll,” Bucky called startling you.

“Bucky, hi,” you frowned.

“Thought I’d walk you back,” he said falling into step with you. “And I wanted your advice.”

“Oh?”

“So there’s this girl I like. She’s not like the others, she’s not really - she’s different. And I really want to make a date special for her, you know?” He glanced as you, letting his arm bump yours as you walked.

“I do,” you sighed resigning yourself to your fate. You didn’t want to have this conversation but you didn’t want to not help him either. He was your friend after all.

“So I’ve had a few first date ideas, I’m thinking farmers market then making brunch together? I started this really great podcast and I was thinking we could listen together as we cook then talk about it while we eat? Then after we could go to a museum or something?” Bucky licked his lips and stopped looking at you.

You didn’t want him to share a podcast with her. That was your thing with him. You knew you were being unfair, childish even but right now you didn’t care.

“That sounds lovely,” you said. And it did, you wished you were that girl, you wished Bucky wanted to go to all that trouble for you but instead you’d have to sit home alone tomorrow whilst he woo’d someone else.

“Yeah?” He asked excitedly. “I really just wanna’ hold her hand, at the market, in the museum, I just crave that feeling you know, like this,” Bucky reached for your hand and laced your fingers together, holding your joined hands up to inspect. “It’s been a long time since I held a girls hand like this.”

“I-I’m sure it has Buck,” you swallowed. He resumed walking and you could do nothing but join him, he still had your hand in his. He described his outfit for his date and wondered if you had a cosy chunky sweater.

“I do, it’s so comfortable,” you said softly. You couldn’t hide the disappointment as you slowed in front of the doors. “It’s my favourite colour too.”

“Will you wear it tomorrow?” Bucky tilted his head to the side.

“Why does it matter what I wear?” You couldn’t help but giggle at his odd request. You couldn’t though, thinking of him with someone else whilst you wore what he asked you to.

“I want to know that you’re warm tomorrow. You know, on our date?” Bucky pressed his cool left hand on your cheek as he turned to face you. His kiss was soft, just a sweet brush of the lips and then he pulled away. “I’ll see you at nine thirty?”

“Uh huh,” you nodded dumbly. He kissed you again, and you caught the faint taste of whiskey on his lips. He was warm as he pressed into you and you let your hands slide up his chest to his shoulders.

“See you tomorrow baby girl,” he pressed one last kiss to your forehead then opened the building door for you.

You walked inside in a daze, waving goodbye and drifting up the stairs like you weighed nothing.

You couldn’t remember getting changed into your pj’s, all you knew was that you were snuggled under your duvet setting an alarm for your date with Bucky in the morning.

You smiled, and suddenly your legs kicked and you let out a little squeal. You were going out with Bucky Barnes and he kissed you three times.

You feel asleep to the memory of one hot hand and one cold hand cupping your cheeks as he kissed you in the moonlight.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader