#I don’t trust anything after 2016 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unsolvedjarin · 7 months

Note

pleeeeeease something fluffy and domestic about jenson😩😩😩 there is not enough fics of him AND after those beautiful pics he posted i crave slmething tbh anything that has to do with him

CORNY

pairing: (jenson button x driver! reader)

summary: you and jenson finally have a peaceful anniversary, but both of you have surprises for one another.

note: i love love LOOOOVE this idea so much. saying yes any day to domestic jenson. i had so much fun writing this, hope you have fun reading it too!

content warning: none, just a lot of domesticity and once again, say it with me, my verb tenses bouncing like frogs!

“And you’re sure you can handle this?”

“She’s a three year old, what harm could she possibly do?” Fernando asks. You look at him with faux seriousness in your eyes, “A lot. You can’t even begin to imagine.”

Jenson chuckles at your antics, double checking if you had brought all the things your daughter needs for the weekend. It was you and Jenson’s anniversary, and Fernando had volunteered to take care of your daughter so you could both get away.

“You know, if you told me back in 2016 that I would be taking care of you two’s child, I would have never believed it,” Fernando remarks, looking at the three year old dead asleep in his living room.

“Why, ‘cause you can’t take care of children?” You joke. He shakes his head in response, “No, because I never thought Jenson would have the balls to make a move.”

The mentioned man looks up from what he was doing when he hears his name, not fully invested in the conversation. “Sorry?”

“I said I never thought you would have the balls to make a move on Y/N. You pine for four years and all of a sudden have a burst of confidence, I still don’t understand how you did it.”

“Well some things are better left a mystery, eh Nando?” Jenson teases, nudging him on the side. “Besides, you don’t need to know how, just that we’re here now and we’re happy.”

“Boo, corny.” You butt in, giving Jenson a playful thumbs down.

“Hey you’re supposed to be on my side, I’m defending our love out here!”

Fernando grins at your banter— it reminded him of the good old days. Back when Jenson was on the grid along with him in Mclaren, hearing his teammate constantly pine over their friend— you— who happened to be a driver as well.

Ever since he could remember, Jenson had been head over heels for you. Sure during your rookie year he had only seen you as a friend, but the years following that, there was no time Fernando can remember where Jenson wasn’t trying to grab your attention or trying to impress you one way or another.

It was astounding how you hadn’t caught a clue on just how much Jenson liked you during those days. He had even given up his so-called ‘playboy’ lifestyle back then just to impress you, but the only reaction he had ever gotten from you was “So no more free drinks for me from your hookups when we’re out? Shame.”

“Are you absolutely certain you can handle this, Nando?” You ask the Spaniard, causing him to snap back to reality.

“Please, I got this covered, trust me,” he boasts. If only he knew what chaos was in store for him this weekend.

You say your goodbyes to Fernando and give your child a kiss on the head, making sure she doesn’t wake up. Stepping out the front door, you see Jenson staring far into the distance while waiting for you.

“You alright Jense?” you ask him as you walk towards the car. He doesn’t say a word until you both get in the car and close the doors, letting out a deep sigh of relief.

“Alright? I’m fucking fantastic!” he exclaims. You grin at his sudden burst of energy, shaking your head. Speaking softer this time, he adds, “This is the first weekend I’ve had all year without our kid. And don’t get me wrong, I love her very much, but I missed spending time with you more.”

He gives you a chaste kiss, pulling away to look at you with so much love. God, he could never be sick of this sight. You give him a soft smile as he adjusts to pull the car away from Fernando’s home, headed back towards your own.

You didn’t say anything as he started driving, unsure how to breach the topic you wanted to talk to your husband about. You wanted this weekend to go smoothly, after all it was your anniversary, but also because it was the first actual one on one time you’ve had with each other in god knows how long. With you still racing and him with his job, you didn’t see each other enough as much as you would like to.

Of course you were always home whenever possible, doing your part in taking care of your kid, and they always tagged along to races when they could— but to you it still wasn’t enough. You felt like you were doing Jenson wrong with pursuing racing while he had to do most of the heavy lifting at home.

So you wanted to retire.

You thought it was reasonable, after all you had been racing since 2012 save for the year you stopped when you were pregnant. You were satisfied with your career and your two world championships. Sebastian Vettel had told you last year that when you know it’s time to retire you just know, and you think that time is now.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Jenson asked, pulling you out of your train of thought.

“Are my thoughts that cheap?”

“Okay, dollar for your thoughts then. Jesus, we really are in an economic crisis.”

“Corny,” you reply, slapping him on his shoulder with a grin.

“Ah, but you smiled.” Jenson teased. It made you roll your eyes at him fondly, “Eyes on the road you silly man.”

The rest of the trip home was spent in comfortable silence, Jenson putting his hand on your leg whenever you reached a stoplight. He claimed to have the whole weekend planned, and was seemingly very excited to show off whatever it was he had in store. You asked him a week ago if you could get a clue and the only response you ever got from him was a shrug and a simple “Well there’s no fun in that now, is there?”

Pulling up to your house, you contemplate when exactly is the right time to tell your husband you’re retiring. Not before his surprise, no definitely not, that would ruin it. But you weren’t so sure if after the surprise would be such a good idea too, especially if it would ruin the spirit of the weekend.

“Want something babe?” Jenson asks as he approaches the house bar. He had it made last year on his birthday, a gift for himself, he had said. Safe to say not a single speck of dust has been found on that countertop nor has it been left abandoned for a day since it’s been made. It was his favorite thing in the house, besides you, of course.

You shake your head to his question, instead opting to lay down on the couch with an oomph, turning on the television to see if anything good was on. “So what’s your big secret surprise plan? Can I know now?” you question Jenson, looking at him from your position.

He gives you a knowing grin in reply, moving towards you with his drink. He takes a sip of it before closing the TV so you would focus on him.

“Hey I was gonna watch!”

Ignoring your comment— because he knows you weren’t really going to— he bends down to kiss you on your forehead and mutters, “My plan, my darling,” he gives you another kiss, “Is to stay home all weekend.”

You give him a confused look.

Was that it? Was that the big thing he had planned? Not that you were complaining of course, any time spent with Jenson was good to you. But it puzzled you why he had kept it a ‘secret’.

“Confused?” he asks, giving you a knowing look as he picks his drink back up and takes another sip. “I would be if I were you.”

Now absolutely muddled, you get up from the sofa and follow him towards his beloved bar. Sitting on one of the stools, you’re unable to find the right questions and simply shoot him a look that said ‘what?’

Jenson grins, leaning on the counter so you were face to face with each other. “So, you’re probably kerfuzzled.”

You had used that term once when you accidentally forgot the word ‘confused’ and it had become an inside joke between the two of you.

“Yes, I’m kerfuzzled, Jenson. So you have nothing planned this weekend?”

“Well besides me cooking you the most delicious home cooked meals and treating you like the absolute goddess you are,” he says, inching closer towards your face. He gives you a light kiss before continuing normally, “Then no, I have nothing planned.”

“So all that buildup these past few weeks, nothing.”

“Absolutely nothing,” Jenson smirks.

“You seem oddly proud of yourself for that,” you tease. While you were confused with the whole situation, you had no problem with it. A weekend with Jenson alone was everything you could’ve ever asked for, especially after a stressful season.

“I am proud of myself. Wanna know why?”

“You’re asking an awful lot of rhetorical questions today. But sure, why are you so proud of yourself, sweetheart?”

“Because,” he beams, “I have noticed that throughout this entire year, we’ve spent only two full days together, just the two of us. One of those days we spent shopping for our son’s new bed, and another one of those days was spent doing our taxes. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

“We haven’t properly shagged this whole year?”

“Close, but we will circle back to that later tonight,” Jenson winks. “No, what I was trying to say is that we haven’t spent time with each other. At first I had planned a trip to Italy for this anniversary of ours, then I thought, well you’d already been there for the Monza Grand Prix. Plus, it felt like just another chore we would be doing. That’s when I had an epiphany.”

He pauses for a second, seemingly waiting for a reaction from you. Rolling your eyes, you question, “Fine, I’ll bite. What epiphany did you have o great philosopher?”

“Well I’m glad you asked. I realized that with such a travel packed schedule all year round, going on a vacation for our anniversary would be boring to you. Not only that but the travel itself would be tiring, and we would be focused on the itinerary more than our anniversary itself. Therefore, I have brilliantly concluded that the best thing I could set up this year was not only something we haven’t done in a while, but something relaxing while at the same time thoughtful. That’s why— drumroll please— my surprise is a weekend at home.”

Jenson takes a small bow after his whole speech, grinning at the way you slowly clapped for him with faux annoyance. You had to give it to him, he was spot on. You weren’t really up for any big trips on your week off, especially when that was practically what you’ve been doing the whole season.

“First of all Jense, I do actually love your plan, and I love you,” you say, giving into his antics. He smirks in reply, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’m just thoughtful like that.”

“Okay, don’t push it,” you retort, but with no malice. “But my question is, why did you keep it a secret? You know you could’ve told me if we were just staying home.”

“Yes, I could’ve told you, but because I didn’t tell you, you mentally prepared for more traveling, and now that I’ve told you that we’re staying home, it feels more refreshing, no?”

Damn him and his smart mind. You forget he was smarter than he usually lets on. The media had labeled him as a himbo of sorts back then, but they couldn’t have been more wrong. Well, except for that one time he nearly left the stove on before a race weekend. He still gets reminded of that everytime you leave the house.

“Wow, that’s actually impressive,” you concede, leaning back on your chair. Jenson pours you your favorite drink across the bar, despite you declining earlier. He knows that in the five minutes that have passed you’d now want a drink. He knew you too well. “You really thought this through, huh?”

“Of course I have. I use ninety-nine percent of my brain power on you.”

“Can’t tell if that’s a compliment or a complaint.”

“Assuming that I use only ten percent on anything else, then it’s a compliment.”

You snicker at his joke, taking a sip of your drink. From your peripheral vision you can see Jenson watching you intently while leaning on the wall, as if it was the first time he had ever seen your face. Even as you put your glass down, his eyes still follow the lines of your lips and the curves of your cheeks, with a soft smile plastered on his own face. He seemed so…content.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you say while looking at anything but him, a light blush on your cheeks you try to hide to no avail. So many years together and yet he could still make you feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. It was so silly.

“Like what?” he asks, despite knowing what you meant. If only you knew that you made Jenson feel the same way he made you feel, if not even more.

“Like that.”

“I don’t know what you mean, I’m looking at you like I usually do.”

“Yeah, sure. If you usually looked at me with puppy eyes and like you’ve discovered the secret to life in my eyes,” you retort, playing with your drink, still refusing to look him in the eye. Jenson chuckles, before pushing himself off the wall and leaning on the bar, using two fingers to move your chin and face you towards him. Your faces were inches apart, his soft yet smug smile still evident as he looked at your slightly parted lips then at you. “Darling, you are the secret to life.”

Jenson’s words linger for a second, before you snigger and push him off of you. He laughs too, knowing how corny what he just said was. While you were touched with what he said, you just couldn’t help but laugh at the seriousness of it all. You were well past love declarations in your relationships. Now those declarations were in the smaller things, like how he texted you whenever he saw something that reminded him of you and how you buy him books from every country you visit– also the reason you had to expand your library recently.

“God you are– ha!– you are so corny. That was worse than some of your dad jokes,” you cringe.

“I thought you love my dad jokes!”

“I love them because of how corny they are. This…this took the cake though.”

“Jeez, can’t even profess my love for you anymore without being made fun of. What has the world come to,” Jenson says sarcastically.

It reminds you of when he first confessed to you back in 2016.

“I can’t— I just can’t carry on without you knowing. Y/N, I am so hopelessly in love with you. And I know this is so out of the blue but if I spend one more minute with this secret I might explode. So please— please, Give me a chance to prove myself to you.”

A moment of silence passed. The usually busy streets of Monaco felt quiet outside the bar that night. It was just the two of you.

This is a prank. This must be a prank. Snapping to your senses, you replied, “Very funny. Who put you up to this, was it Fernando? I’ll kill him. Or was it Seb? He’ll get it worse if it was him.”

Jenson rubbed his face before moving a step closer to you. “Don’t you get it? I’m in love with you. I have been, for so long. No one put me up to this but myself.”

“You’re drunk, that’s what you are. Let’s get back to the hotel,” you reasoned, to yourself more than to him. You tried to walk away but he didn’t let you, taking your hand and making you face him.

“Y/N please just listen to me I— I can’t breathe without you, I can’t sleep without you, I can’t live without you. It’s you, it always has been. I understand if you don’t like me back, in fact I’ll take it with pride but please— please don’t abandon me. Please don’t leave me with no answer.”

“Don’t do this,” you begged him. “Don’t lead me on.”

“I’m not leading you on, Y/N. I swear to you, I am not. This is real. Am I so bad?” he asked, practically near to tears. He had kept this secret for so long that spilling it all out felt so overwhelming.

“You’re not bad Jenson, god that’s not it,” you laughed ironically, as you felt your eyes water. “It’s because— oh fuck it. I love you too. I love you too, okay? I have since 2014. And I— I didn’t wanna answer you because if I wake up tomorrow and find out this was all because you’re drunk then I will be so heartbroken I don’t think I could live with it. And now that this is all out there I— I don’t know what to do.”

Your words hung there for a minute, both of you emotionally vulnerable in a random street in Monaco at three in the morning. Then, Jenson, with teary eyes, slowly smiled. “You mean that?”

“More than anything. So please, tell me you’re not just saying this all because you’re drunk.”

“No, no of course not,” Jenson quickly replied. He moved closer to you, wrapping his arms around you and for a second you thought he was going to kiss you, but thankfully even in his inebriated state he knew to take things slowly. Instead he hugged you tightly, holding you as if you would disappear. You hugged him back, resting your teary eyed face on the crook of his neck.

You both stood there in silence for a moment, not caring if anyone saw you, which was unlikely because of how empty the streets were. When Jenson pulled away you missed his touch, but he immediately held your hand and asked with a grin, “Well, now that that’s over with, we can go back to the hotel. Wanna take care of a drunk guy?”

You laughed, wiping away your tears. “Do I have a choice?”

“No, sorry. You’re contractually obligated to take care of me for the rest of the night and tomorrow.”

You both start walking to the hotel, the streets now seeming more lively than they were a second ago. It was almost as if the background noise had come back.

“Jense,” you started, leaning your head on his shoulder as you walked. Jenson practically melted on the spot at that. “Even if you regret your decision to tell me all of that today, please promise me you won’t break our friendship.”

Jenson turned his head to you at that. Couldn’t you see just how much love he held for you?

“Even if I regret my decision— which I won’t, by the way, because I’ve been dying to say this for four years— nothing will change between us. We’ll still be friends, trust me on that at least. I’ll always be here for you. Now c’mon, it’s starting to rain.”

He pulled you by the hand, both of you running to the hotel as the rain got louder. He slept in your room that night, you didn’t do anything, he just wanted your company. The next morning he regretted nothing.

“Penny— no, sorry— dollar for your thoughts?”

Jenson snaps you out of your trip down memory lane, taking you by the hand and standing you up from the bar stool. He wraps his arms around your waist and you sling your own around his neck, sighing contently.

If there was one thing you could never be sick of, it was the way Jenson looked at you. Always, without fail, when you catch him staring at you, there’s so much love and adoration in his eyes that you feel overwhelmed with a sense of lovesickness.

You never wanted this moment to end. You wanted more of these, more peaceful and loving moments with him and also your daughter. It makes you remember the piece of news you wanted to tell him earlier.

As you both stand there in the middle of your quiet house, just enjoying the company of each other, you lean your head on his shoulder. It was now or never.

“Jenson, I’m retiring.”

He pauses his soft swaying for a moment, and you pull away to look at his reaction. He looked shocked yet at the same time calm, as if he had been expecting you to say that.

“Is that what you really want? I mean, I’m not opposed to it, but baby you still have so much left in you for racing. Shit I mean, you could even win another world championship.”

“Sure I could. Let me just catch up on Max who has a 200 point difference with me, easy peasy,” you scoff with a grin, slapping him on his shoulder. “Yes, this is what I really want, Jense. I’ve thought about it a lot and I think it’s time. I’m satisfied with how my career has gone, and I think it’s time I pulled my weight around the house and our daughter.”

Jenson raises his eyebrow at you, “You do pull your weight. Do you think that you don’t?”

“Well I’m definitely doing less than you,” you sigh.

Jenson could tell the topic was upsetting you, and he reached for your hand to squeeze it. “Darling, you do enough around the house and for our kid. Sure, I’m with her more, but that’s just because I have a freer schedule. There’s no malice in you being away for work. Plus, you make insanely more money than me, which is also part of pulling your weight. If you’re thinking of retiring just because of this, then maybe you shouldn’t yet.”

You frown, feeling the sting of tears in your eyes. You wouldn’t cry, you promised yourself you wouldn’t. “It’s just— I feel like I’m missing out on my life, you know? On our life. I’ve been driving karts since I was four and now I’m fully grown and I’m still driving. But this— this is new. Our family. And I want to be here for it. For you.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Jenson mutters, before taking you for a hug. He holds you tightly, just like he did all those years ago, your head in the crook of his neck with tears pricking your eyes.

He holds you there for a moment, and you feel safe in his arms like you always do. Even when everything changes he’s there, and just like he promised many moons ago, he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Look who’s being corny now,” Jenson mumbles into your hair after a pause of silence. It makes you giggle, and you pull away from him.

“And look who ruined the moment,” you retort. You try to walk back to the bar and get your drink but Jenson keeps his grip on your waist, pulling you back towards him. You shoot him a look but he simply grins, pulling your waist even closer to him.

“I love you, just in case you ever forget. Happy Anniversary.” He mumbles, kissing you on your nose, making you scrunch your face. Jenson thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world.

Taking his face in your hand, you smile at him, looking satisfied. This was it. This was everything you ever wanted and everything you could ever want. “I love you too, my everything. Happy Anniversary.”

“God, corny,” Jenson mutters, before kissing you fervently and with all the love he could muster. You feel him smile into the kiss, and you do too.

Pulling away, you sigh with a smile, content. Jenson smirks at you before commenting, “You better save some of that for tonight, darling.”

You match him with a grin of your own, “Only if you can keep up.”

#jenson button #jenson button x reader #my obsession with inserting fernando into these fics must be studied #formula one #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 #f1blr #f1 fanfic #my fic

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bad268 · 5 months

Text

Waking Up in Vegas (Max Verstappen X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 1

Requested: Nope, Vegas inspired

Warnings: Hungover, alcohol, brief joke about cheating

Pronouns: You/your

W.C. 1762

Summary: Chaotic wins mean forgotten proposals and spontaneous marriages.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(@/Max's insta from April 14, 2022)

“Did we get hitched last night?” Was not the question you thought to be asking yourself after you woke up hungover from the grand prix after-party. The Las Vegas Grand Prix after-party, that is.

Your head was still pounding to the point you could still feel the bass and vibrations from the music the night before. It was an unexpected win for Max since he started on the third row (rare), but when the silver arrows collided (replay 2016) and Ferarri fucked up Charles’s strategy, it only took a few laps to get in front of Lando. The raw speed of Max’s Red Bull was still not comparable to the McLaren. That’s what led to you both getting fucked at a popular nightclub on the strip. In all honesty, you were not even sure how you made it back to your hotel room, but you were not going to question it.

“I don’t think so, but I don’t remember,” Max groaned, turning to hide his face in your neck. “I bet Daniel would know. He’s probably the one who got us back. Either him or Charles.”

“I ask because I’m wearing a ring,” you chuckled as you looked at your left hand. Max’s head shot out of your neck to see the ring. His eyes widened immediately, causing you to get concerned. “Do you remember anything from last night? It’s all blank for me.”

“No,” he trailed off. He hesitated for a minute as he looked up to meet your eyes before dropping his head again with a shy smile as his face heated up. “I just…”

“You can be honest, Max,” you gently pushed. You moved down on the bed, so you were leaning on your side, face to face with Max. “Unless it was cheating. In that case, I would rather remain blissfully unaware.”

“No, it’s not that,” he laughed nervously.

“Then, it cannot be as bad as you think,” you reassured. “Trust me. You can tell me anything. Nothing could top walking in on Daniel singing, ‘She Keeps Me Up,’ in Austin last year. That was awkward.”

“No, it’s not that bad,” he laughed sincerely this time as he finally brought himself to look into your eyes. “I recognize the ring.”

“Oh, is it yours?” You asked back immediately, moving to take the jewelry off. “You can have it back.”

“No! I mean yes!” He rushed, grabbing your hand to stop you from removing the ring. “What I’m saying is I bought the ring for you, schat (darling).” He stopped to give you a minute to register the information. Your eyes grew wide as the gears in your head started to turn.

“You bought it for me?” You whispered back, looking back at your hand which is still being held by Max.

“I mean, I would have wanted to remember if I proposed, but I guess it worked out either way,” he chuckled, becoming shy again.

“Then ask me again,” you replied, pulling back to sit up in bed. You realized that you were wearing one of Max’s shirts, yet you still could not remember anything from the night before. You pushed that from your mind as you continued reassuring Max. “If you’re so pressed about it, ask me again. Right now.”

“I had a whole day planned out,” He jokingly whined, moving to sit up as well. This is when you noticed that Max was wearing grey sweatpants while shirtless.

“Well, now I’ll be expecting it,” You joked back, reaching out to hold both of his hands. “I don’t need anything extravagant. I just want you, Max.”

“If I ask you to marry me now, we’d need to either plan the wedding quickly to do it over the winter break or wait a year,” Max pointed out with a sigh.

“Max, you're forgetting where we are,“ You laughed, “We’re in Vegas!”

“Our families will go crazy if they find out we got married in Vegas, and they weren’t here for it, liefde (love),” Max chuckled as he shook his head. He wrapped his arms around your torso to pull you onto his lap, leaning his head onto your shoulder as he held you.

“I highly doubt your dad will care,” You retorted quickly, placing your hands on his cheeks to make him look at you. “And it’s not like we will not have a ceremony eventually. I don’t really want to have a whole wedding, but we could host a party during the summer break with all of our friends and family. We could make vows for it too. We wouldn’t be rushed to plan a wedding or wait a whole year for it. Plus, I want your last name as soon as possible.”

“Why didn’t you say that earlier?” Max joked as he leaned in to place a short kiss on your lips. “I would have proposed a lot sooner if I knew.”

“I thought I was dropping enough hints! It’s been seven years, Max!” You chuckled, leaning back a little. “You know, in some of the States, we are technically considered married already.”

“Then I see no other reason to wait,” Max chuckled, leaning in to press his forehead to yours. “Can’t wait to make you Mx. Verstappen.”

Just as you both started leaning in, the moment was interrupted by knocking at the door. You both got out of bed, throwing on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt in the process. Max moved toward the door as you started making tea/coffee and grabbed out meds to calm the still-raging hangover you had. As soon as Max opened the door, what felt like half of the grid fell into the room. In reality, it was just Charles, Daniel, Lando, and Liam.

“What the hell?” Max laughed as he helped Charles stand up after Daniel, Lando, and Liam practically threw themselves into the room, and accidentally tripped the Monegasque in the process. They all just walked in and piled on the sofa, leaving Max to sarcastically say, “Why don't you come in?”

“Is there a reason you all flooded our room?” You asked as you walked toward where Max was sitting to give him his mug. Instead of letting you move to sit in another seat, Max pulls you to sit on his lap. “Not that we don’t love hanging out with you lot, but we have plans for later.” You really should have expected them to all start talking at the same time, but you did not

“Someone dared us to jump into the fountains,” Lando chuckled.

“I did not agree to be the chaperone last night,” Liam sighed.

“I saw a video of Max proposing last night,” Charles said.

“Honestly thought one of us was gonna get alcohol poisoning,” Daniel admitted.

“Woah, woah, woah,” You shouted over the group. “Back up. Take a breath. Who remembers last night?”

“You guys made me the chaperone because I didn’t race, so I didn’t drink anything,” Liam complained. “You all got piss drunk like I’m talking 5 drinks each minimum. Oscar jokingly told Lando to jump into the fountain, but he pulled you and Max with him. That was pretty funny honestly. Max also told his entire plan of proposing to you to Alex, completely forgetting you were there until you suggested getting married in Vegas. Max said something about in the morning, and then we got kicked out of the club.”

“Not who I expected to have been the responsible one, but okay,” Max whispered into his mug as he took a drink.

“Thanks for being responsible, Liam. I’ll cover you next time,” You said to the Kiwi. “Speaking of last night, though, the plans for today were to go get married before our flight out, and we need at least one witness. Do you guys want to come?”

“That’s a dumb question,” Lando replied quickly. “I call dibs on being the photographer!”

“No, I’m a much better photographer than him!” Daniel protested, “Plus, I've known them longer.”

“I mean Lando you can be the photographer for the ceremony and Daniel can do the actual wedding if you want,” You offered.

“No, I want to do the real thing!” Lando complained.

“Then I’ll do today, deal?” Daniel compromised.

“Deal,” Lando agreed.

“Good, because photographers can't get drunk at the wedding or be part of the wedding party,” Daniel boasted with a smug look toward the McLaren driver.

“Wait, that’s not fair! Max!” Lando looked to you and Max for help.

“You agreed to it,” Max laughed. “There’s nothing we can really do, Lando.”

“We could also just hire a photographer, so you’re both included in the wedding?” You suggested the obvious. “Either way, we should probably get ready to head out now. Our flight leaves at like 7 right? You guys also probably have debriefs too.” Receiving nods in response, you stood up to make your way to the bathroom. “Then we better get ready.”

Las Vegas was not as enhancing as it was the night before. It was missing the infamous Vegas lights as all the glitz and glam was replaced with normal street lights and normal activities. There was still the occasional impersonator on the corner, but nothing seemed too extravagant. It was like Las Vegas had an on-off switch.

When you all walked out of the hotel, it was still 2 PM, and everything just seemed too normal for what you were about to do. The drivers met up with their teams for the debrief as you explored around the strip and had a little spree. By the time the debrief finished up, those Vegas lights were appearing and the city was livening up. It was nearing 5 o'clock as your group made its way to one of the (surprisingly) many chapels on the strip.

“This is the most un-serious thing we have ever done,” Max laughed as you both stood at the small alter, separated by an Elvis impersonator. Neither of you had packed anything super fancy, so you were wearing white and red feather boas provided by the chapel. “My mom is going to be so mad.”

“I mean, I’m not complaining about it. Isn’t that what matters?” You laughed with him. “As long as we get a real party after this, I think it’ll be a funny story. Plus, we were never ones to follow the rules.”

The ceremony went on filled with laughs. In the end, it did not matter if it was serious or not because all that mattered was you were pronounced as Mr. and Mx. Verstappen.

~~~~~

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #mv1 #mv33 #max x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #red bull f1 #f1 imagine #f1 #formula 1 #bad268 #ship268 #thing268 #formula one #vegas gp 2023 #las vegas gp 2023

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steveandbuckysdaughter · 4 months

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Have you ever noticed that ever since season one of What If introduced Captain Carter, she's been showing up a lot more than Sam Wilson as Captain America? I once queationed it, which pissed off some Peggy stans on this site to the point where I had to alter the tags so I wouldn't have to deal with them.

Oh yeah I did, trust me, you’re not the only one. Many Sam or Steve or Bucky stans and, yk, Peggy antis here on tumblr noticed it, but her stans are just too stubborn to accept it.

In my humble opinion, I think Peggy is simply a better character for marvel to sell as cap (and not for the right reasons), which is why Sam’s cap hasn’t appeared in 2/3 years and all of Steve’s appearances were butchered.

Steve is noble, all about freedom and doing what’s right. He was a disabled son of immigrants who knew struggle and, in his own words, didn’t like bullies no matter where they came from, which means that doing what was right to him was more important than any government, any authority. Civil War is all about this characterization of Steve, and it’s why he was the perfect man for the job.

Sam is like Steve. He is a noble man who knew struggle and suffering growing up, who lost loved ones, his place in the world the moment he chose to follow what was right instead of what was ordered to him. He was ridiculed and beaten down, and risked losing it all multiple times, but that never made him back down. Plus, to add fuel to the fire, the higher powers would have never accepted him as Captain America because he’s black, no matter if Captain America himself passed the mantle to him, they wouldn’t have accepted him and still didn’t right up to the finale of TFATWS. Sam is perfect for the job and mirrors Steve as the perfect Captain America of his time.

Peggy is… well, she’s nothing of these things.

Yes, she’s a woman, and so everyone would be expected to find sympathy for her, to root for her, but aside from her stans no one actually does. Peggy has a support system and respect, like it or not, and she was relevant. She’s arrogant, she’s headstrong, and she doesn’t go against the system because she is the system. She’s not a minority, she never knew struggle, hell, she lived a comfortable life up until the war and after. And marvel can use her more than Sam or Steve because she’s not troublesome like them, she’s not going to rebel the system if not for selfish reasons or plot points. She’s not Steve, she’s not Sam, and she shouldn’t be, but at the same time Peggy should not be a Captain that marvel should enforce in their media over and over again.

As Erskine said, “Because the strong man who has known power all his life may lose respect for that power, but a weak man knows the value of strength and knows... compassion.” And while Steve and Sam don’t know strength in the sense that Erskine disregards, Peggy does. And if anything, she resembles John Walker.

Not to mention she is no character of her own, she’s simply the mixture of some characters thrown together in a cauldron, and in addition she’s a Mary Sue. She is a villain masked as hero, one that is convenient as a character and can be thrown from side to side as if she was some Y/N insert in an avengers fanfic.

Not only she has made more appearances than the current Captain America, but she managed to insert herself in the majority of What If…’s storylines, even more than actual main characters. Like, you want to tell me people actually want yet another episode about Peggy or with Peggy being a major character instead of Wanda, Loki or the main six avengers? No one does, not even the stans with a functioning brain. But Marvel will not stop, and whatever chokehold Hayley Atwell has on them will last until she’ll be satisfied with the colonization of all the possible marvel projects.

So ultimately, to answer your question: yes, I did notice Sam is being overshadow by a dusty side character that should have stayed dead back in 2016. You’re not alone, and I’m glad I’m not either. If you scroll on my profile you’ll soon find an old post of mine from last year, during the MoM era, where I was talking about this issue, and a Peggy stan went ballistic and on a rant on how I was using Sam as an excuse to hate on Peggy and justify Stucky. (Btw nice move altering the hashtags, I’ve done it too and it’s been a blessing for me.)

Feel free to check that post and come back in the asks, I’d love to discuss that and maybe share some posts regarding the issue (if I can find them lol)

#rant #anti peggy carter #Steve rogers #sam wilson #Captain America #the falcon and the winter soldier #mcu critical #what if #what if season 2 #Ross rants

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beautifulpersonpeach · 5 months

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I want to be ot7 but the company makes it so hard. Are we only going to get pushed Jungkook’s work until they leaves? We’ve been in his era for so long and even on the precipice of leaving it’s just about him. It just makes me sad for the other members. Even my non online army friends joked bts is just jungkook-and-the-six now.

***

You sent me this ask after the other Anon’s confessional, so even though I’d normally not answer this sort of ask anymore, (I think I’ve said everything I can possibly say about this), because of the context in which you sent it I’ll try to explain what I think as briefly as possible.

As much as you say you want to be OT7, I think you really should just accept what you are. Because, if in the middle of all this - Jin’s birthday, BTS Monuments release, Jimin’s documentary behind released, Indigo anni, as well as chatter that Minimoni will be releasing music in the near-term, and finally, news that Jungkook chose to enlist with Jimin - if in the middle of all this, all you can see is remixes for Jungkook, you’re taking offence on Jimin’s behalf and choosing to not support the group as a result, then there’s nothing to be done here. This conversation is dead in the water. I honestly think you should accept that you’re a solo stan and self-sort.

Also, you know you don’t have to be an ARMY, right? Like, there’s other things you can be while still keeping up with BTS without being an ARMY. An ARMY is someone who is a fan of BTS, meaning, they actually like and support BTS. This has nothing to do with Korea, with the company, with solos, with feminism, Zionism, minority rights, or anything at all. It’s very simple. If you find you do not in fact like and support BTS for whatever reason, then you’re not an ARMY. Keep in mind you can disagree with BTS while still liking and supporting them aka being a fan. Obviously. But I think the very simple definition of what a fan is gets lost in these conversations. So Anon, if you learn you don’t actually like BTS - the seven of them come as a package deal - then it’s very okay to be honest about that and leave the fandom.

All that said, I understand if people find the number of remixes Jungkook has gotten annoying. Lol. Pretty sure he’s gotten over 50 remixes already, which sounds like an obscene amount even when you know artists like Taylor Swift have roughly a hundred remixes released and Selena Gomez is chilling with 78 remixes on Spotify. But it also kinda baffles me why people are surprised (or at least not expecting) that the first main project under HYBE America is being treated like an American release. I understand that for a lot of solos, the issue is that they want other members’ projects to get more remixes too, and more of the same tools as HA’s… It’s fine to want it, just don’t be surprised if BTS doesn’t meet that expectation. It’s a bit bonkers if you start hating them for it too.

Personally, I think the simplest, most basic cause of this identity crisis epidemic causing the fandom to implode, is that many people started calling themselves fans of BTS before they understood the kind of group BTS is. If you’re fretting because your non-online armys or a k-pop stan told you BTS is now ‘Jungkook-and-the-six’, because he’s gotten a fuck ton of remixes and an English album and the fandom supports him regardless, then I don’t think you understand what kind of group BTS is. Not to be rude.

Also, your non-online ARMY friends are saying something that k-pop stans have been saying for a while. I’ve seen k-pop stans call BTS ‘xyz and the rest’ since like 2016, where xyz is all three maknae line members rotated depending on the era. I was okay with it then because it didn’t reflect reality, and I’m okay with it now because it again doesn’t reflect what I think of the group. And even if it did I’d be okay with it because I trust all seven adult men in BTS to handle their business.

So, honestly and with no malice or anger in my heart, Anon I think you should do what you were going to do anyway. If the support Jungkook is getting at this time bothers you so much you can’t see anything else, or that what you see does nothing to qualify any of this for you, then I really do think you’re not an ARMY and it’s fine to accept it. There’s no point forcing being OT7 lol, that’s how we end up with the clusterfuck that’s been chapter 2.

Good luck with whatever you do though.

*Edited for length and clarity.

#bts #jimin #jungkook #jikook #bts chapter 2 #bts solo stans #BTS army #BTS fandom #fandom behaviour

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gffa · 9 months

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Hi! You are welcome for being dragged down into this hell with me! :D The fic in this fandom is really delightful and there are genuinely some excellent comics to read! OKAY SO. Here's the thing about DC comics and DC fic, I find that it's easiest to think of it in four stages or four continuities: - Pre-Crisis on Infinite Earths (anything pre-1985 or so) - Post-Crisis Crisis on Infinite Earths (1985-2011) - Post New 52 (2011-2016) - Post Rebirth (2016---) (Note: Crisis on Infinite Earths and Infinite Crisis are two different things! So you may see Infinite Crisis mentioned here and there, but it's separate from the really big one in 1985 that changed the landscape so much.) Like, it's a bit more complicated than that, but generally that's how they're divided in my mind and each of them is separated by a massive universe-wide continuity change and what's true of one era may not be true of another era--and that's not even getting into various retcons that are told all the time. Then you have fic, which often takes elements from different continuities and puts them all in a blender because it's fic, you do what you want, you pick what you like! Which means, even aside from the usual aspects of fanon, you cannot trust fic at all to be a guide to what is or isn't canon, no matter how canon something seems. For example, in the Post-Crisis/Pre-Nu52 era, very briefly, Jason came back to life because a Superboy from a different world punched reality so hard that Jason was jarred back to life, clawed his way out of the grave, and was picked up by the League to be dumped in the Lazarus Pit. Post-Nu52, I believe he didn't wake up until after Talia dug him up and put him in the Lazarus pit. Or another example that you'll see a lot in fic is, Post-Crisis/Pre-Nu52 Nightwing had a story where he was trying to train Tarantula into being a hero and that story ended with him stepping aside to let her kill Blockbuster and then she sexually assaulted him, but Post-Nu52, I'm not sure Tarantula even exists, despite that a ton of fic will bring that event up and blend it in with the current continuity. (And this is fine! I enjoy when authors do this actually! It just means that what's in fic =/= being able to understand the comics timeline. Like, as far as I'm aware, Jason and Damian having a relationship is entirely a fic thing, I don't think the comics have touched on it? To be fair, Jason is not my hardcore area of expertise yet. XD) Now, the complicated thing--DC Rebirth isn't a reboot per se, it's more like blending pre-Nu52 elements back into the current timeline, so I'm a bit fuzzy on what's currently true and what's not, and I only mention this to basically illustrate why I think it's best to just roll with whatever the story in front of you is telling you, because there just often isn't one, true definitive version of events of the characters' backstories. And that's if DC decides to cover things at all, rather than just throwing you into the middle of the story! Which they will do a lot. That said, while others will probably have better Jason recs for you (which I would welcome better recs!), I would say some of the best places to understand his character would be: - Batman: Under the Hood by Judd Winick (~2005) - You can also watch the animated movie "Batman: Under the Red Hood" which a lot of people love, but it does have some differences between the two. But both are good places to start! - Red Hood: The Lost Days (2010—2011) by Judd Winick - Another retelling of how Jason came back to life, I believe this one is pre-Nu52 - Robin 80th Anniversary Special (2020) is a series of various Robin stories and Jason has one that's a good read as well--"More Time" by Judd Winick. - Red Hood and the Outlaws (2016) by Scott Lobdell - I believe this is the only Rebirth-era storyline of Jason's that covers his background, though, I haven't read it yet myself. You want the one with Bizarro and Artemis, NOT the one with Arsenal and Starfire. (I mean, I'm not your mom, read what you want, but I would suggest putting those much further down on your reading list. XD) And yes yes yes YOUR LIBRARY IS GOING TO HAVE MORE COMICS THAN YOU REALIZE, also if you have a library card already, check out Hoopla, because many libraries partner with them and you can use your card to log in and they have a TON of comics (I know for sure they have Under the Red Hood and Red Hood - The Lost Days and Red Hood and the Outlaws Volume 1 + Volume 2 + Volume 3 + Volume 4 and so, so many more comics) and you may be limited to how many you can check out per month (like 10/month or so) but it's a GREAT way to support libraries, authors/artists, and check out what you like before spending a lot of money! (Further recs, I personally enjoyed the Jason story in Batman: Urban Legends volume 1, even if the art wasn't my thing, the story had some great emotional punches, and Robins: Being Robin was such a fun ride of all five Robins solving a case together and was just pure joy to read. And mileages vary, but I remember enjoying the Hush storyline, back when I was still reading comics and it first came out, though, I haven't reread it since then, so it's a cautious rec.)

#lumi.txt #dc #batfam #jason todd #comics recs

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 5 months

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Even if Harry and Meghan divorce they will still never hear the end of her she will continue to use the titles. Also i would not put it past Harry for him to take her back after he is back living on royal grounds and getting a large pay check from his father Andrew took Sarah back. Meghan will demand a home in London and security for her children she will never let those children go.

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

Absolutely. As much as Meghan wants to be Diana, she’s actually Sarah.

I’m fuzzy on the exact details of the York divorce, but I’m pretty sure Sarah only received a tiny amount of cash herself. Most of the divorce settlement was locked into a trust for Beatrice and Eugenie with Andrew pretty much subsidizing Sarah’s lifestyle out of his own pocket. Which is 100% Meghan’s plan. She will guilt Harry into subsidizing her lifestyle again (she already did it in 2016 with the Toronto break-in lie, which led to the KP proclamation of love) and we already know she isn’t above using the children as pawns to do so (since she and Harry are using the children as pawns to guilt Charles into action). After all, she didn’t trauma-bond herself to a dimwit for nothing.

But I don’t think she will demand a home in London. It will be L.A. She really hates the UK. The Brits, the BRF, and the media didn’t give her anything: she isn’t more beloved than Catherine, she didn’t succeed Her Late Majesty, she wasn’t named Queen of the Commonwealth, she didn’t get a castle or a palace apartment, everyone called her out on her lies, and no one cared about her children. And consider the public humiliation she suffered June 2022 - May 2023* that made it clear to the public the BRF PNG’d her. I think it was Edward who said “you don’t really know when you’re in, but when you’re out, you definitely know it” and Meghan has her knickers in a twist trying to convince us that she wasn’t kicked out, she left. Sure, Jan.

*Platinum Jubilee: Boos, second row/other side seating, and walk of shame at the St. Paul’s service, no balcony appearance, no photographs of the children with The Queen, and no royals attended Lili’s birthday party. Queen’s Death and Royal Mourning: Prohibited from traveling to Scotland with Harry, forced into the Windsor walkabout with the new Prince and Princess of Wales, Catherine’s “try me” glare, getting “othered” by Charles during his first speech as the new monarch, blocked by a candle in the telecast, and ignored during larger gatherings. Charles’s Coronation: Not invited, Frogmore eviction, no royal christening for Lili, and they were finally publicly assigned “minor royal” status by Harry’s inclusion with his cousins instead of being given a spot in official processions.

#submission

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offender42085 · 2 months

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Post 1176

Darryl L Christensen, Wisconsin inmate 639400, born 1966, incarceration intake February 2017 at age 50, scheduled for release November 2045,

Sexual Assault by a Corrections Officer

It was an emotional two hours one afternoon in February 2017, as family, colleagues, victims, and community members waited to hear the fate of one who many had once referred to as a “good family man,” Darryl Christensen. In the end, Judge Eugene Harrington’s thirty-year sentence was an ending much different than anyone had hoped for, including Christensen.

“How did you come up with eight and a half years?” was the question Judge Eugene Harrington asked again and again, of both the defense, and the prosecution.

In November 2016, former Amery Fire Chief and Polk County Jailer, Darryl L. Christensen, 49, of Amery, admitted to having sexual intercourse with five female inmates while he was employed as a jailer, pleading guilty to five counts of Second Degree Sexual Assault by a Corrections Staff. Each count would be punishable by up to 40 years in prison, for a maximum sentence of up to 200 years.

Prosecutor Robert Kaiser of the Wisconsin Department of Justice, and defense attorney Aaron Nelson had reached the seemingly arbitrary 8 ½ year total sentence during that plea hearing. And that was their agreed-upon recommendation.

Harrington opened the discussion saying that 8 ½ years total seemed, to him, “unduly depreciated” given the seriousness of the crimes.

Suddenly it was difficult to determine the prosecution from the defense. Kaiser, in perhaps the more unusual position, spoke in favor of the 8 ½ year term for more than thirty minutes, citing precedents set forth in the Supreme Court’s State vs. Gallion.

Both sides leaned heavily on the Gallion case, weighing factors like previous criminal record, behavior, personality, nature of the crime, level of remorse, rights of the public, and the effects on any involved victims.

The gallery heard impact statements from two such victims, who have since been released from jail and were present in the courtroom.

One of the victims noted, as read by Mr. Kaiser, “I don’t want to feel as if I can’t trust anyone, and that everyone has ulterior motives when they are nice to me. I may no longer be in jail, confined and filled with secrets physically. But mentally, I truly feel as though I was unfairly given a life sentence,” she said.

As cited in the Gallion case, these victim statements, along with Christensen’s level of remorse, and other factors, were just a portion of what Harrington took into account before laying down his sentence.

But in the end, his decision had less to do with Gallion, and more to do with Christensen.

Christensen spoke on his own behalf, apologizing to his victims and expressing remorse for his actions. But it wasn’t until he addressed his own reputation that he began to break down.

“To the Sheriff’s Department, to the citizens of Polk County and Amery, I apologize for violating your trust that you expected of me in my decisions,” he said. “To my family and friends, I could never say I’m sorry enough for the pain, embarrassment and disappointment that I’ve caused all of you. I regret that I did not seek and accept proper treatment that could have prevented these things from happening.”

Christensen, whose children are age 21, 17, and 9, closed his brief remarks by addressing the judge directly.

“The next portion of my life is now in your hands, your honor. I pray, that you’ll accept this plea so that I can see my daughter graduate from high school.”

In an a-ha moment, Harrington pointed to Christensen and quickly replied, “That’s where the 8 ½ years came from, isn’t it?” To which Mr. Nelson quietly and quickly admitted that yes, it was part of the reason.

After a recess to give the matter much thought, Harrington returned to speak to the court for more than 50 minutes, opening with a statement aimed directly at each of the five female victims.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he assured them.

As he continued, Harrington cited numerous facts as presented in the two separate Pre-Sentence Investigations (PSI) on the matter. Throughout the PSI, Christensen engaged in what Judge Harrington called victim blaming, and took several moments to find Christensen’s exact words.

“He called her ‘raunchy?’ And now I’m to believe he’s contrite?”

Throughout the PSI, Christensen attributed his behavior to sexual addiction and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), although investigators and counselors found no evidence to support those claims.

During one portion of the PSI Christensen was asked if he would feel lucky to receive just 8 ½ years in prison, to which he replied, ‘Yeah, but given my past history and efforts in the community, I really hope that I get one year per count. I didn’t hurt anyone, I didn’t physically hurt anyone or sell any drugs.’

Harrington continued, making his case for why 8 ½ years was far from appropriate.

“In my nineteen years as a judge, except for the four or five homicide cases I’ve presided over, this is the most serious circumstance I’ve seen in all those years,” Harrington stated.

“Count two is a more serious offense than if the defendant had been at a beer bar and taken a strange girl and thrown her in a ditch and assaulted her there, because she wouldn’t have been shackled or chained.

“The court does not believe that Mr. Christensen is truly remorseful. This case is not just about Darryl Christiansen. It’s also about Jennifer, Sarah, Stacy, Sabrina, and Melinda. Because they, were confined to the Polk County Jail. Their care was entrusted to the jailers of Polk County, and Darryl Christensen. They suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. They suffer anxiety. They’ve lost part of their personage. They’ve lost their self-respect.” And then he addressed them directly, again.

“This wasn’t your fault.”

In his sentencing, Harrington split Christensen’s sentences between incarcerated and extended supervision time, count by count, for a total prison sentence of 30 years, and an additional 30 years extended supervision. Count two, for which he received the most prison time (ten years incarceration and ten years supervision), was the harshest penalty, noted by Harrington as being an “especially serious offense.”

Harrington stipulated that Christensen would not be eligible for programs, including challenge incarceration and substance abuse, and remanded him to Dodge Correctional Facility, a maximum-security prison in Waupun.

At age 49, Christensen could potentially serve the rest of his life behind bars.

Pending Civil cases on the matter, alleging civil rights violations and holding Polk County responsible for the incidents, may take much longer to sort out. Harrington said of the cases, “I don’t know if there’s enough money in Polk County’s insurance to pay for the treatment these women will need.”

Polk County was asked if changes had been made either procedurally or in jail facilities, given the incidents that occurred. Polk County Sheriff, Pete Johnson, had this to say. “We have looked at our policies and procedures and will continue to do so to make any necessary changes should issues be identified. Unfortunately, we haven’t gotten access to the full investigation yet, so our review can’t be completed until that occurs. I expect that to occur soon after the criminal case is concluded.”

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stargirlstudio · 2 years

Text

'86 Dallas [Part 1]

☆ Dmitri Antonov x fem!Reader

☆ Warnings: age gap (12 years apart), slight pain

☆ Word Count: 2016

☆ Summary: Dmitri is granted political asylum in America, rather than take him to Hawkins, Hopper drops him off in Dallas, Texas. The remaining daughter of Hopper's friend who died in combat, you told Hopper that if he needs a favor, to just ask. At the behest of you, you certainly weren't expecting your Uncle Jim to drop off an ex-Russian guard turned prisoner

☆ A/N: Yeehaw! This fic diverges from the original request. The original request was sent way before Vol 2 of ST Season 4. This fic also diverges from the canon.

“Jim?! The hell are you doing in Alaska?” I asked. His laughter fogged through the phone.

“Ah jeez it’s a long story. Listen, I have a big favor to ask of you. I figured it’s time to cash in on that promise,” He said. “I’ll explain more when I come down, but I really need you to keep an open mind,”

You watched a black helicopter land on an empty part of your plot, the dust blowing, shielding your eyes from the onslaught of debris. When it finally settled, your Uncle Jim came out and hugged you. “Wow you look like shit,”

He ruffled your hair, you looked past to see Joyce and Murray. They came and hugged you, telling you how much you’ve grown. To be honest, you barely remember them. You moved away from Hawkins, Indiana, your father’s hometown at a young age. You settled down South with your grandparents and your mother.

“How’s your mom?” Joyce asked. You gave her a sad look. “Oh honey I’m so so sorry,”

“It’s okay Joyce. It’s been years. I’ve got all this land now,” I told them. You noticed a man in a heavy coat, behind them alongside a woman with cropped hair.

Hopper noticed and patted your shoulder. “This is En- I mean Dmitri,” He said. “He’s the guy I was talking about,” You nodded. He gave a small wave.

“Should we take this inside?” The woman spoke up. You led them to the back entrance of your home. It was a sizable ranch, overlooking the land and the animals. “This place is isolated enough,” She said looking around.

“So what’s this about?” You asked. The woman, who you later learned was an agent, looked over at Jim.

He sat down with the others, right next to you. “I need you to house Dmitri for a while. Just until things calm down and he’s given the proper paperwork. Maybe for a few months up to a couple of months. We aren’t sure,”

Hopper later explained the prison and who Dmitri was. It was hard for you to extend your hand to your neighbors, much less a stranger from a different country. You’ve lost so many people, it was hard to be inviting. “A couple of months?!” I asked. Hopper nodded.

“Listen you don’t need to. We can always find someplace else, but I trust him with my life. He helped me! I am asking you, (f/n), to put some trust into me. If not him then at least trust me,” You thought about it for a while. Hopper offered financial compensation, but you declined. You knew Jim wasn’t a bad man who would put you in a compromising situation. Even when finances were tough in Hawkins, he lended a hand. And you were especially indebted to him after your father died.

“Okay, he can stay,” You glanced over at him. “If he tries anything, he’s out,” You paused. “Not just kicked out either,”

“Thank you,” Dmitri said, finally speaking up.

You both watched them take off in the helicopter, waving your hand to your dad’s old friends. You gestured for Dmitri to come inside, with him following close behind. “Have you eaten anything?”

“No I haven’t, don’t worry about it,” He said. You gave him a look and he quietly sat down. “I’m not even hungry,” He said before you heard his stomach growl. You laughed.

“Just keep your ass sat. I’ll make you something,” You told him. Dmitri watched as you took Tupperware from the fridge, preparing something with such concentration. He looked around at the family photos. Most of them with your grandparents who seemed to be long gone. Some photos of your mother and barely any photos of you with your father. You noticed him looking at the walls, serving him a plate of biscuits and gravy. “My dad had me during his junior year of high school,” You told him. “Then he went and served, never came back home,”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” He said solemnly.

“It’s okay,” You told him. “Just eat up,”

A day turned into a week and a week turned into a month. You didn’t trust him at first, you still didn’t. You didn’t like strangers. Yet still, you didn’t believe in leaving people hungry. You kept him fed and gave him some responsibilities around the ranch. He kept the horses clean, the goats fed, and picked the eggs from the coop. Your work days are much shorter now and he comes home dirty, but he always sank into the hot bath you ran for him.

He asked a lot of questions, to try to get to know you. He learned you absolutely adored romance novels, like peaches, and you once had a cat named Whiskey. On weekends you sold goat cheese and goat milk at the farmer’s market. Despite going so often, you’re there for business and keep to yourself. Apparently the ranch you now own used to be a place for children to learn how to ride horses, but it’s just a regular ranch now. You also loved photography.

“I don’t know, I guess, I just enjoy capturing things. I never know when I can’t see them again,” You said, glancing at the lack of photos with your mom and dad.

After that, Dmitri began taking up odd jobs outside of the paid work around the house. He told you about the neighbors you forgot about. And while you weren’t exactly at that place yet to introduce yourself to them after all these years, Dmitri told you that they would love to meet you. It was a friendly, mutually beneficial relationship between the two of you…until…it became something…more?

One day, a heavy knock interrupted your reading time. You set the book down, brushed out your nightgown, and opened the door to see an old man in a cowboy hat. “Hello, sorry to bother you tonight. I’m your neighbor over by the east. The name is Gael, nice to meet you,” He said, sticking a hand out. You shook it, giving him a small smile. “Does Dmitri live here?”

“Yes he is staying here,” I said. “Do you need him?”

He shook his hand, his hand waving wildly. “Oh no no no,” He exclaimed. “I wanted to give him this,” Gesturing to the box in his hand. “I have something in here for you. The gift to you was actually Dmitri’s idea but don’t tell him I said that!” He said cheekily. You looked down at the box of apples.

“Oh well that’s very kind of you,” You said. You looked out at the horizon, the sun was setting, you didn’t realize how late it was getting. “It’s still supper time…would you like to join us Gael?”

“I can’t intrude on both of y’all’s dinner,” He said. “I can get going,”

“No no…it’s okay. A friend of Dmitri’s is welcome in my home,” You said.

“Why thank you Miss. Let me go mount Delora, is it okay if I do right by that post over there?” You nodded your head and told him he can let himself inside afterwards. You put the other gift box on the table and rushed over to Dmitri’s room.

Knocking on the door, you called out to him, telling him that his friend Gael was here. After no answer, you knocked again. You turned the knob and when you opened the door, Dmitri was in the doorway of the connected bathroom. He was shirtless, hair wet, wearing jeans and a western belt. “Oh! I’m so sorry,” You said, covering your eyes.

“It’s okay! I'm not naked or anything,” That’s not the problem! You blushed harder, slowly closing the door.

“Gael will be joining us for dinner by the way,” You said quickly going back to the kitchen. You set out the special plates and utensils. Dmitri came back out, both of you avoiding each other’s gaze. He went out to check on his brisket, coming back in just as Gael came into the dining room.

“Hahaha! Look at you!” Gael said. “The grill master!” Dmitri laughed, hugging him.

“I can’t have you here, this is my first time trying your brisket recipe,” He joked. “What if it tastes bad?”

He patted his shoulders. “Can’t be worse than the time you lost my cows,” They both looked at you. Gael’s face dropped. “Oh shit you don’t know?”

You gave an exasperated look at Dmitri. “I got it back!” He said. “It took me all night but I got them back!”

You all ate dinner at your little round table, happy to hear the stories Gael was telling. Most of them involved Dmitri and all the mishaps. Dmitri has never smiled this hard, it was nice to hear him laugh. You had never heard him laugh before. “You know, it’s nice to meet you. I know the folks down at the market would love to see you more!” He said to you. “Dmitri over here says you’re very kind and offered him a home. Don’t be a stranger to the rest of us!”

“I would like to meet everyone. It’s just been a bit hard…”

Gael gave a soft pat, “And this too shall pass. You know we have a little get together at my farm every Friday. You and Dmitri can swing on down! You can bring that-“ Gesturing to the box of apples. “Mean ass apple pie. D told me you make some good apple pie,”

“I’ll think about it Gael,”

It didn’t take you a lot of convincing to go down to Gael’s farm. Every Friday, a neighbourhood potluck style dinner was held at Gael’s. Everyone seemed to be acquainted with Dmitri already but even though you were in this neighbourhood since childhood, it really felt like the first time meeting new people. He checked on you every so often, never leaving your side. Despite the many people wanting to talk to him, he always made sure you were included. After that, most days would consist of finishing farm work early and being able to go into town, and sometimes in the cities. You would eat together, have picnics, and do all kinds of stuff. Maybe you were starting to like him, but Dmitri fell for you a long time ago.

“Do I look silly?” He said one day. You gave him a confused look, thinking he meant the black cowboy hat Gael made for him.

“What do you mean?” I asked him.

“Do I belong here?” He said. It seemed like this was bothering him for some time. “I got a call from Murray, he said I’m welcome into Indiana if I want to go there. My time here is almost over. My paperwork is being finalized,”

Your heart shattered, you liked having him around. It felt nice to have a companion — were you afraid to be alone?

“Oh well. I don’t think you stick out. You made great friends here and the people love you. If you want to go to Hawkins you can,” You said solemnly. “This was just temporary after all,”

Dmitri didn’t want to hear that. He wanted to hear some sort of gesture that this was his home. His new home. Especially from you, he didn’t know why it mattered so much. He was glad that everyone liked him, but he wanted to be here with you. “Murray says that he could see me in Indiana. I don’t know how true that is, but I’m not sure if I want to give it a shot,”

You laughed. “I’m not sure if you’re a midwestern guy. Hawkins is great, I mean it’s my hometown, but I don’t know if it fits you,”

Dmitri smiled. “And what about Dallas? Do I belong here in Dallas?” You dropped your head, not wanting to give too much away.

“I think you do,” You said. “I like that you’re here with me,”

“I like being here with you too,” He moved closer. “If you don’t mind?”

“I don’t,” You replied quietly. “Stay for as long as you like,”

Dmitri Tag List: @druigswh0ree @h3k3t @milfodyssey @lucilexe @wolfstcr

#fics #stranger things #dmitri antonov #enzo stranger things #fanfic #fanfiction #enzo x reader #dmitri antonov x reader

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possibilistfanfiction · 9 months

Note

Wow uswnt really got knocked out in round of 16 huh

not surprised at all. i’ve been saying this since tokyo — just abt everything that could go wrong at a leadership level (coaching, vets etc) has. i know ppl are saying “mentality” as in they don’t want to win or whatever which is absolute nonsense, but i do think our mentality hasn’t been there in that there hasn’t been joy! togetherness! composure!

& to me those intangibles haven’t been there since 2019. (really since after 2016 but that’s nitpicking.) but yah it’s like. i think from rostering to tactics to mentality it’s all just been shit for a while. vlatko is terrible, we didn’t roster the best 23 players, we didn’t play the best 11 players in a way that would make any sense (pivot 6s) until last night (but not even then… lmao).

not to take anything away from other teams getting so much better, bc they are & it’s incredible. portugal deserved to be in this game to begin with; parity has genuinely always been the uswnt’s goal. but faced with it, i don’t think there’s a togetherness, a trust there that u need to win. tactically we don’t have players who will be patient & hold the ball; we don’t have players who are Really calm in front of goal. we looked more lively & organized last night but that’s bc we needed two 6s the whole time, & potm to sweden’s keeper, but even then! you gotta put it in the back of the net. you have to. that’s the literal sport lol

so to me it’s an issue of composure. to be composed everything else has to line up — your training, your teammates, your positioning. leadership has been making excuses since 2021 for this lack of composure, & this is what happens. ofc we don’t have the same “mentality” but it’s not bc we don’t want to win or were “distracted” or whatever, it’s bc most of our players didn’t know what the fuck they were doing & everyone was just stressed tf out. no joy! no teamwork! no creativity! no clinical precision! japan, england, spain (even w the japan loss), even nigeria — all of those teams have played w calm, w happiness! they want to be on that field — even despite a shitty coach, or injuries, or etc etc etc. we just didn’t, & it starts & ends w leaders.

this is what happens when u don’t actually have a group of players that feel like a team. we weren’t going to be successful in this wc unless leadership took accountability for the lack of good play & changed things — & they kind of did a little in this last game but not nearly enough, & way too late

#i could & have gone on abt this for days w my friends lol #don’t get me started on rodman lol #but obviously i hope vlatko is fired like immediately lol

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thetwilightroadtonightfall · 3 months

Text

I reread my own fic A Light That Never Goes Out last night and remembered that I actually have notes for it so here y’all go, I’m dumping them here! 🌈

Ch 1

okay so here we go, here’s me explaining the candle thing again

To the newer folks who might not know, when you meet Ephemera in khx (browser chi), he asks you to get a candle from the Moogle because the Moogle wouldn’t let him get one. You’re more successful than he is, and throughout the quests where you’re traveling in the sewers with him, you go ahead and clear out the Heartless while he holds the candle so the flame doesn’t go out. The sewers visibly look darker too, until you both reach the end

You can watch it here

Ch 2

It always bugged me that the union leaders never got to fully grieve Ava or any of the other foretellers on screen. As far as they know, they perished in the war, they’re gone. So I wanted to let Ephemera have a moment to miss her, as one of her friends and someone who liked being around her

I also think that out of anything that happened during the war, it would’ve been really poignant if Player remembered their interaction with Ava. Of course, that’s part of their pain that was meant to be erased via union cross, but I imply that in this fic, Ephemera has gradually been helping them sift through the memories rather than completely suppressing them. Slowly re-exposing them to the memories so they don’t have a total breakdown.

As someone very close to Ephemera, it just feels more right and fair to him that Player gets these important memories back. It’s his sign of trust

Ch 3

It’s the shortest chapter, but still one I really like

It’s important to me that you know just how smitten Ephemera is with Player, and also how great of a friend Skuld is

She plays a wingman role in this fic, basically the one who encourages these two oblivious pining dorks to get together and helps when they need a third opinion

Ch 4

As I said in the notes, this is an expanded/updated version of an ask prompt which you can read here

The most important change to me was Ephemera asking to kiss them first rather than going in all gung ho. It feels more in character for him. Plus we love consent in this household!

Ch 5

I miss khux’s avatar boards…but not buying them!! 😜

The black and white tuxedo Player tries on was foreshadowing for Ephemera struggling to choose between a black and white tuxedo in ch 9

I also just really love Ephemera in red boots. It’s like…a Thing for me now. This will not be the last you hear of it

Now’s a good spot to mention that Ephemera’s absolutely relentless when it comes to being flirty. Not in the “whoa he‘s got rizz” way, but more in the “wow this guy’s a massive cheese ball” way. He’s been like this in my head since 2016 (I blame Kam. Love you Kam!!)

Ch 6

This was written with the intent of Player being somewhere on the ace/aro spectrum (one of the meanings for the chapter being called Purple is a reference to the colour purple on the ace flag). I didn’t really elaborate on it or even mention it because honestly, I’m not ace and I wasn’t sure if I was portraying it accurately enough for it to be a prominent point

What I wanted the focus to be on was simply that Ephemera would love them, no matter what they feel or don’t feel. This applies to chapter 10 too, where he’s very understanding of whatever their opinion on having kids is

Ch 7

The jokes about the barter system is actually from a bunch of skulmerayer mini prompts I tried to write but ultimately couldn’t figure out or even fit in anywhere else

Eph and Player should’ve been able to hang out in Candy Kingdom together like they did in Cy-Bug Sector…..I stand by this

They both have a severe case of the sillies, amplified when they’re around each other

Ch 8

I think Ephemera gets bad dreams too, especially after the war. He often dreams about how hurt Player got, or worse, not being able to save them at all. And now he has bad dreams of the canon universe, where he lost everything, including Player

But this is a different timeline, where the two of them, and Skuld, were all able to escape the data world and meet up with the other leaders again to plan their next move in a new world

Ch 9

In this alternate timeline, all the union leaders continue their work together in Scala ad Caelum at the main tower. Honestly, I didn’t really think of how this would happen, but just imagine some kind of override where they’re able to create a new world at the expense of losing Daybreak Town forever. That part sadly stays the same

Skuld tells Ephemera, “You’ll be alright on your own.” It’s a callback to what he told her before leaving her party.

I like listening to Chikai (orchestra), starting it right before Ephemera pulls out the wayfinder :)

LISTEN I just think gifting a wayfinder can also be a romantic gesture. The sokai fans get this. It can be a big romantic gesture in place of giving someone a ring. It’s cute and made by your partner’s own hands, doesn’t get in the way of gripping a keyblade properly, and always lets you find each other again no matter where your travels take you across the worlds. Its pretty! It’s unique! It’s cute!!!

Ch 10

This is a 10 year timeskip, they’re all in their mid to late 20s now

Ephemera and Player have settled down in Destiny Islands, but take trips to stay in Scala for a few months at a time to relieve the others of their leader duties (and later to teach at the academy). So essentially they live both in Scala’s tower, and in their own home on the islands throughout the year

I feel like in this universe, Blaine would settle down first. Him having a kid on the way ended up giving Ephemera a bit of baby fever, which can often be what happens amongst friends and family around the same age

I have a headcanon ingrained in my head that Eph was raised by two moms who owned a library, so he’s always been surrounded by books growing up

I intentionally kept it vague whether or not he and Player would conceive or adopt children mainly because of Player’s ambiguity and also cause I could easily see them doing a mix of both

(I also headcanon the two of them being a t4t couple so there’s a lot of ways the having kids conversation can be interpreted anyway :D)

but basically, they both end up being parents in canon, so why not make them be parents together? 😊

In conclusion: I love them your honor. Thank you for reading!!!

#altngo #my fics #ephelayer #khux #my posts

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vro0m · 5 months

Text

vro0m's rewatch - 170/332

2016 Chinese GP

Okay so they reverted back to the old quali format, Lewis had a problem with his PU and he's last on the grid meanwhile Nico is on pole for the first time of the year… He's sharing the first row with Ricciardo. Raikkonen is behind them alongside Seb. Valtteri is fifth, then it's Kvyat, Perez, Sainz, Verstappen and Massa.

From the drivers' truck Lewis tries to say hi to the crowd but they can't hear him. Johnny asks if he's ready for the race and Lewis says he doesn't have a choice. It reminds him of going to races with his dad and a shit car and starting from the back but this time he has a good car.

It's gonna be a challenge but he'll give it everything he's got. He hopes it's entertaining because he doesn't plan on staying where he is.

He knows he has great fans who will be on that journey with him. Johnny asks what result he'd be happy with today. Lewis says with a laugh normally you're never happy with anything other than first.

But considering where he's starting he just wants to make sure he gets points. He acknowledges the work his guys put in the night before, putting the car back together, so getting the most possible points is a reward for that.

The build up isn't very interesting. There's a segment about Haas' good results in their first two races, and an Alonso interview

They're on the way to the grid. Crofty says nobody has ever won from the back of the grid, but John Watson, in 1983, started 22nd, so same as Lewis that day, and won. At the time, there were 28 drivers total.

Okay. It's time for the race.

They are racing!

Ricciardo overtakes Nico while I see Lewis overtake at least two cars at the back. The Ferraris struggle! They got very close and Kvyat overtook them both. AND THERE IS CONTACT BETWEEN THE TWO FERRARIS! Oh it's chaos, the top 10 is in shambles. Apparently Lewis also got damage? HE LOST HIS FRONT WING omg. It's stuck under his car. Horrible horrible weekend. Seb is on the radio saying he made contact. He says the RedBull was coming up the inside "like a madman" and that's why he hit Raikkonen. At the end of the first lap, the order goes Daniel, Nico, Kvyat, Perez and Hulkenberg, Sainz, Massa, Seb, Jenson, and Valtteri. Raikkonen pits from P20 and Lewis is nowhere to be seen, unfortunately. Oh here he comes in as well. And Nico overtakes Ricciardo just as Ricciardo's tyre BLOWS UP! Completely delaminated 2013 style. Kvyat overtakes him as well, of course. And it's a safety car. There's too much debris on the track. That's good for Lewis because it brings him right back near the other cars but he's complaining of how the car feels. A bunch of people pit, of course. Including Seb. Loads of traffic in the pitlane. On the start replay we see Lewis ran over the debris from the Ferrari collision and then got hit by Nasr. We also see Seb overtaking two cars in the pitlane entry and then Lewis pits again?! They put him on supersofts now (he started on softs and then got back on softs after they changed his nose). I guess the idea is he needs to be able to overtake at the restart… On the radio, Bono says : "We have a plan, nothing wrong all part of the plan." – "Sorry I’m boxing again now?" he asks. OH MY GOD HE IS ACTUALLY PITTING AGAIN?! . "Affirm, we’re going to fit the soft so we don’t have to use any other compounds," Bono answers. It's not even lap 10 and they pitted him THREE TIMES already?! I mean I get it but it's not like he's gonna be able to do 50 laps on softs, is he?! Well I've shown over and over on this blog that I'm a terrible strategist so we'll wait and see and trust their experience but right now I'm mostly just baffled. Seb is still talking about the collision. "Kvyat's attack was suicidal, there was always going to be a crash. No way with the speed he had he could have done the corner." I haven't really watched the collision carefully so idk. I guess we'll see in the postrace. The journalists aren't convinced. Also Ted is about as convinced by Mercedes' strategy as I am because we get from the radio that they don't wanna use the mediums. Ted says getting to the end of the race only on soft tyres would probably necessitate 3 more stops, for a 6 stop strategy ultimately. So… Yeah… in the meantime we see all the traffic jam in the pitlane earlier. It's insane. Nowaday that would be a bunch of penalties. So many collisions were barely avoided. The safety car is about to come in. Here we go. Seb is making moves.

On lap 10, Nico is in the lead followed by Massa, Kvyat, Alonso, Wehrlein, Gutierrez, Perez, Valtteri, Pal ? Who's Pal? Oh it's Palmer, right, then Jenson is P10. Seb is currently P12, up two places in one lap I believe, Ricciardo is P15, Raikkonen is P18 and Lewis P19. And Seb overtakes Sainz for P11. Raikkonen overtook Magnussen for P17. Lewis overtakes him as well, quite aggressively. Seb is up in P10 in the meantime. Nico is cruising ahead but Valtteri attacks Perez who's on the tail of Gutierrez, Seb is just behind, now in P9, biding his time. LEWIS OVERTOOK RAIKKONEN! Good job. It would have been difficult having to follow him up the pack. Loads of action I can't keep up. Palmer and Ricciardo are battling over P12 and Ricciardo won, at least for now. Seb attacks Valtteri but can't quite make it. These four are very close to one another. Lewis is up in P15! Seb finally gets Valtteri for P8. Wehrlein is overtaken by Perez for P5, just as Seb makes up another place by getting ahead of Gutierrez. At the back Lewis overtook Palmer for P14. And as we're watching replays of his overtakes, Seb overtakes Wehrlein and puts himself in P6. Kvyat gets P2 by overtaking Massa and Lewis is P13 after getting Hulkenberg. Next step is Ricciardo. And here he attacks! Not enough yet… Daniel is also attacking Gutierrez for P11, they're wheel to wheel… It's done, down the inside, Lewis follows through and HE's now wheel to wheel with Gutierrez. But he has to wait for a couple more corners to do it from the outside. He's immediately catching Ricciardo. Seb overtakes Perez for P5! He's so close to Alonso he's basically tapping him on the shoulder. He attacks! He's ahead down the straight but Alonso gets the slipstream and tries to attack back. The straight is too short though. That's P4 for Seb. BUT OH HO some pieces flew off his car! Raikkonen pits. He wasn't able to follow Lewis up the field. Lewis overtakes Jenson for P10! He's 25 seconds away from Nico now. Alonso pits and that puts him on P9. Seb is chasing P3. Oh he pits. He's out behind Lewis, in P13. It might be interesting if they battle. But Lewis probably will pit as well.

Alright that was a busy 10 laps, now we're on lap 20, and the top 10 currently reads Nico, Kvyat, Massa, Valtteri, Sainz, Oh but Kvyat pits wait. There's a three way fight between him as he gets out of the pits, Seb and Verstappen. So as I was saying. Nico, Bottas, Lewis now up in P3 somehow?????!?!? /? //// seriously what? Last I checked he was P9?! Anyway Jenson is P4, Kvyat P5, Verstappen P6, Seb P7 AND NICO PITS. So we wait again. And Seb overtook Verstappen and where is Kvyat?! I CAN'T KEEP UP. WAIT A SECOND SO I CAN RECAP THE TOP 10 PLEASE. Seb overtakes Jenson.

SO. THE TOP 10. Nico, Valtteri, Lewis. Kvyat is now P4, Seb P5, Jenson P6, Perez P7, Massa P8, Ericsson P9, Alonso P10. No idea where Max went so I guess he pitted. Someone is being investigated for driving too slowly in the pitlane but I don't remember who and now we're informed some unsafe release concerning Perez will be investigated after the race. Lewis pits! He's now P14… P13. P12. P11. He attacks Raikkonen for P10. There's a three way battle for P5 between Perez, Valtteri and Jenson. A bit later, Raikkonen overtakes Jenson for P9, and then Lewis as well as he pits. He's back in the points! He attacks Raikkonen again! He still can't make it, Raikkonen is making it hard. But Perez pits so that's P9 anyway.

That's lap 30. Nico is still ahead of course, followed by Kvyat again, and Seb. Massa and Valtteri are next, then Daniel, Sainz, Raikkonen and Lewis, P10 is Verstappen. On the radio we just hear Lewis say "I am." which is confusing. The transcript shows it was in answer to Bono telling him to give it everything he has. Oh yeah NOW we hear the complete exchange. He pits again and this time it's for the mediums so what was the point of the weird strategy earlier? He's back in P10 quickly enough but as the commentators– well it's P9 now. As the commentators point out though, most people ahead of him will not pit again so he's gonna have to work for it on track. Again. Kvyat and Seb pit. Nico pits but literally nobody cares at this point. There's a battle for P3 between Kvyat, Raikkonen and Seb. Seb overtakes Raikkonen pretty quickly and then Kvyat in about as little time. He's P3. Raikkonen pits.

On lap 40, Nico, Seb, Kvyat. Four way battle for P4 between Max, Massa, Valtteri and Lewis. Daniel is P8, Perez P9– Massa overtakes Verstappen and Verstappen pits, Lewis attacks Valtteri, P5 ! Daniel is getting into the action as well. Oh that's an easy overtake on Valtteri, dangerous for Lewis. His tyres are fresher. But Valtteri strikes back! Oh he can't… ohhh there we go Daniel is right on Lewis… He defends, he defends, but Daniel has the pace… Lewis locks up again… He's looking for a way past Massa… and Daniel overtakes him. Now he's under pressure from Raikkonen… he's attacking Massa but can't make it and now Raikkonen is attacking him! 10 laps to go. He attacks again… Yeah. That's another lost place. Raikkonen overtakes Massa as well and Lewis is back to chasing the Williams. 5 laps to go now. The ending is pretty anticlimactic.

And it's the end of the race.

Nico wins again. In the end the rest of the top 10 was Seb, Kvyat, Daniel, Raikkonen, Massa, Lewis P7, Verstappen, Sainz, Valtteri.

As usual Seb speaks with Nico in German. I don't understand German despite studying it for like 10 years but I think he mentioned "schlafen", to sleep. They watch the screens. Seb says something about Lewis, but I can't hear because Nico is shaking the camera and the mic makes a noise. Kvyat says something we can't hear as well. Seb turns to him. "You! Asking what happened at the start?!" he says, half stunned, half amused. "(Inaudible) to the left you crash into us and we all flew (inaudible)." – "Well," Kvyat starts but Seb interrupts. "No, not 'well', you came like a torpedo!" – "Well that's racing," Kvyat laughs like a 13 year old boy joking about boobs. "Uh that's racing but you know if I keep going the same line, we crash," Seb says. "Well don't keep going," Kvyat says with the same hollow laugh. Seb is not amused anymore. "Yeah but there was a car on the left also," he says. Nico is all smiles behind them. Kvyat says he didn't see that because he only has two eyes. Seb shrugs. He says they could have crashed if that's how he went at it and Kvyat says "we didn't". "YOU didn't!" Seb corrects him. They keep going. Seb says sure it's racing but he's gonna get damage if goes at it like he's crazy. "You were lucky this time!" – "Well I'm on the podium so that's okay," he answers again with the same equal cocky smirk. He's annoying. Seb raises his eyebrows. This conversation is going nowhere. Unfortunately the video glitches and I can't hear the end.

On the podium they basically replay the same conversation. I'm over it. Oh apparently Nico almost got kicked out of his plane from Mexico because he was partying too much. Embarrassing tbh.

I only have a partial post race. Hopefully we at least get Lewis' interview? We do, it's the first interview we hear.

He smiles as she says it hasn't been his weekend. He says he got a good start but it's always difficult from the back not getting caught up in what happens ahead. He tried to fight his way through but everytime he had to pit he had to do it all again. "But anyway, that's racing and uh… Not a great finish for us this weekend but uh, you know, hopefully onwards and upwards." She asks if in hindsight maybe one of the stops wasn't needed. He says he just got out of the car so he doesn't have any hindsight. She asks how difficult it is to follow the cars in front in the Mercedes. He's not enjoying the question. He hums. He says he talks about it all the time. The track is good because you can overtake but the car was pretty damaged. He suspects there was suspension damage as well.

Toto says there's some stuff they need to work on but he's happy RedBull is back in the mix and it was exciting to see three teams battling for the podium.

Out of the press conference, Ted says Kvyat has moved from laughing it off to standing his ground while Seb still can't let it go. He also confirms that Lewis not being able to do longer stints on his softs tyres (12 laps compared to Nico's 23) was due to the damage to the front of the car that was shredding the tyres.

At the end of the notebook, Ted mentions Lewis saying something about fighting himself during the press conference. He then says Toto said Saturday night during the Mercedes press conference that Lewis was so one with himself and it was fantastic to see so they asked Lewis about it. Apparently he said it was nice to hear that from Toto. "He's a very big part of the journey I'm on, you know earlier in my life, throughout my life my friends used to say to me 'Lewis you don't know who you are, it's like you're searching for yourself.' but now I've found myself, I've found my identity". And I think that's a very important thing to mention in this rewatch.

That's it for now!

#f1 #lewis hamilton #vro0m's race reviews #2016 #2016 chinese gp

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hollybell51 · 3 months

Text

Without you

^I would do anything for him

Navigation

Philip Pearson x fem!Reader

Travelers (2016)

Word count: 9.6K (I'm as shocked as you dw)

Summary: things come to a head between you and Philip after a close call.

Content: SMUT smutty smut smut. Gratuitous smut. Bit of angst, bit of blood (not too graphic dw), arguments and all that fun stuff. Swearing, cannon typical tomfoolery, making out, hickeys, making out on a table, and a bed, drug references (guys it's Philip), mentioned weird Traveler number names (I made one up just fyi don't bother googling it), blowjobs, bit of dirty talk, bit of hair pulling, vaginal sex, safe sex (yay! Trojan please sponsor me), a little fluff at the end. Philip could possibly be a little ooc I actually can't tell but I did try.

Notes: ok so I've done it again, disappeared for weeks and then popped back up with a new obsession for a stupid little dude in a stupid little show and I've gone and written some stupid smut about it. Philip makes me insane. I cannot tell you how insane he makes me. Like... he is objectively mid. I know this. But he's also so hot??? Like do you get what I mean??? Also WHERE is all the other content for this dude like come on guys I cannot be on my own here. I need some support. Anyways, niche market n all, so I hope you enjoy.

This takes place at the end of episode 3 after Philip got shot, so I've taken some liberties with the timeline (ironic, innit). There's a few extra hours in there, and I know he was awake when everyone was talking after they got back but this is fanfiction and I am God here so you just have to trust me. I wanna blow him so bad it hurts.

Philip was stable. Stable and asleep and breathing evenly on the table, thanks to Marcy. You could see his chest rising and falling out of the corner of your eye from where you were leaning against another table beside the medic, eyes fixed on the floor just in front of MacLaren’s pacing feet, idly picking at your bloodied hands. It was uncomfortably sticky as it dried, and beginning to crack and flake around the creases of your skin. It was going to be a pain to get off.

No one was looking at MacLaren, you realised as you raised your head. Your team leader’s face was serious, dead serious, and you really couldn’t blame them for not wanting to meet that look. You kind of wished you hadn’t, and, as Marcy nudged your arm with her own, you realised that you had not heard a word of what he’d been saying with such gravity.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “Come again?”

He blew a breath out hard between his teeth, taking a step back and raising his eyes to the ceiling. “I was just asking,” he said slowly (oh, ok. So he was pissed pissed), “whether there was anything else anyone wanted to tell me.”

“Oh, right. No.”

MacLaren nodded. “Are you sure, (Y/N)?”

“Yes.”

“Ok. Cause I don’t know and I do not want to know what the hell is going on between you two, but I want you to sort it out. Sooner rather than later.”

“Yep,” you nodded, looking back at your hands. You had no doubt that “you two” was you and Philip, and it made you want to sink into a hole. You knew you hadn’t exactly been calm and rational when he’d been shot, how could you be? But it hadn’t been that bad. You’d done what Marcy had told you to. You hadn’t broken down or frozen and maybe there’d been a fair bit of whispered pleading with him to just hold on and just keep breathing, that it was only going to be a few more minutes and he just had to listen to me, keep squeezing my hand. But that had nothing to do with what was “going on” and more to do with the fact that he’d been bleeding out in your lap in the back of a van. Anyway, if you’d freaked out a little, that wasn’t MacLaren’s business.

Marcy’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Hey, Earth to (Y/N).”

You sighed and offered her a small smile. “Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s fine. I was just saying that I need to get back to David. Are you–?”

“I’ll be fine,” you interrupted her, glancing at Philip. “I guess someone should stay with him anyway, huh?”

A tiny crease appeared between her brows as she studied you, then nodded after a moment. “Yeah, might be a good idea. It was pretty straight forward, didn’t hit anything major, but still.”

But still. It was still a bullet wound, and as mad at Philip as you were for dragging you all out there in the first place and getting himself shot, you didn’t want him to wake up alone and in pain and craving those goddamn drugs with no knowledge of whether he’d saved the boy, just that he’d killed the kidnappers.

“What about you?” Marcy was saying, and if she hadn’t been using that measured, even tone she took when she was treating or assessing someone, you’d have said it was gentle. “Are you gonna be ok?”

You shrugged. “I’m fine. I’m not the one that got shot.”

Another measured look, then she nodded and stepped back. “Alright. I didn’t want to put anything on the wound too fast, and it’s sealed for now, but it’ll need a dressing if he’s gonna be moving around or anything. Can you do that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

She nodded again. “Don’t let him do anything stupid. And don’t do anything stupid yourself.”

Despite the anger and residual panic still heavy in your stomach and the blood crusting your hands, you shot her a smile and waved. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.” You thought you saw her roll her eyes before the door clunked shut behind her, and you were alone.

You let out a slow breath, sagging further against the edge of the table. You had to wash your hands. You had to scrub Philip’s blood off your skin before it legitimately drove you insane. So, with a groan as your bruised knees protested the shift of weight into them (you probably didn’t have to drop and slide quite so hard to Philip’s side when he’d fallen. That, you could admit, had been excessive), you walked stiffly to the shitty sink and began scrubbing.

Your skin was raw by the time the water finally ran clean, or at least not bloody, and while there may have been flecks of blood still hiding under your nails, your hands were cleaner than they had been in days. Maybe weeks. You really didn’t know if your host had washed them before she was supposed to die.

You glanced over your shoulder as you dried your hands, wincing a little as the rough fabric of your jacket scraped against over-scrubbed knuckles. Philip hadn’t moved and was still breathing, which you were taking as a good sign. You crossed the room after a moment, gingerly lifting his shirt to peer at the spot on his stomach where the bullet had gone in. It was raw and red and far from pretty, but it wasn’t a gaping hole anymore. It wasn’t bleeding, even if it was still covered with blood. Sighing, you grabbed a pair of scissors from the kit Marcy had left lying open on the table, snipping neatly up the centre of the bloody shirt and pulling it (not uncaringly) from his shoulders. You didn’t let your eyes linger on the pale chest, the track marks in his arm, the faint chafing around his bicep. Instead, you turned away and walked quickly and quietly to the adjoining room where he slept, rifling through the pile of blankets and sheets and clothes and god knew what until you found a shirt that didn’t reek.

You ran a clean corner of the ruined one under the tap, spongeing and wiping at the mottled russet stains on Philip’s skin until it was passably clean, the streaks of it on his face from your hands in the back of the van, then wrestled him (again, not too roughly) into the garment and stepped back. He could have been sleeping, really sleeping, instead of passed out from the drugs and blood loss and pain. Maybe you should move him. But then again, he was probably too heavy for this body to lift. Maybe not.

He didn’t really look like himself when he was unconscious, you decided. Even in an unfamiliar body, there was something of the man you knew behind his eyes. You could recognise him past the strange face, make out your Philip in him when he was awake. Like this, with his eyes closed and his face slack, it wasn’t the same. It was like looking at a real, true, genuine stranger. A stranger who wasn't exactly bad to look at (in fact, you quite liked looking at him), but a stranger all the same.

Hesitantly, you raised a hand and brushed at a strand of hair hanging across his forehead. His skin wasn’t icily clammy as it had been in the van, but was still cool to the touch. Softer than you’d expected, though you didn’t really know what that was. You let your fingers trail across his forehead, smoothing a tiny wrinkle between his eyebrows, down over his cheek to his shoulder. You felt the expansion and contraction of his lungs through his body’s movement, regular and deep and alive and you knew what MacLaren meant.

You and Philip were… complicated. That’s how anyone would describe you. He was too reckless, too hasty, felt too much too fast and didn’t think enough (and yes, you were aware of the irony there). And you understood, you really did. It was hard to look at it all objectively, and you couldn’t imagine how it must be to walk around with all that just floating around in your head. All those deaths, when they’d happen and where, and not be able to stop it. But you could also see the bigger picture. What you were doing was important. You had the protocols for a reason and the director for a reason and getting bogged down in the details and the individuals and the humanness of it only ever ended badly. Case in point.

You really should have seen it coming, and now, in the aftermath, you wondered how you’d missed it. His disillusionment. The discomfort when you’d reminded him of the protocols. The discontent and grumbling and (very understandable and reasonable) grievances he’d raised around the whole protocol 3 thing. And you really did get it. It sucked, and the whole reason you were in this was to save people so why couldn’t you do just that? But at the end of the day, you also understood that you didn’t have all the information. Good things could lead to bad things. It might be superstition, but the butterfly effect was all too present in the forefront of your mind.

And that was where you differed from Philip. He didn’t believe in “just letting someone die because someone else decided they’re not worth saving” (a recent and quite heated argument that still rang in your ears) and you… Well you wouldn’t say you did, but you didn’t not either. Maybe that determination and righteousness (“pig-headed”, you’d shouted at him not too long ago) was part of what drew you to Philip, too. It had never not been like that as far as you could remember, and so you butted heads. A lot. And as soon as you had one fight, one of you was rushing back to the other with an olive branch and you were both trying to not bash into each other so often and so hard, then before you knew it it was happening again.

But this hadn’t been a fight. It hadn’t even been an argument. It had been Philip rushing into something his conscience told him was a good idea, lying to everyone else and dragging them all along and then getting shot and almost bleeding to death in your arms in the back of a van. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what you were going to say to him when he woke up.

Pull your head in.

What the fuck was that.

I’m so angry I could punch you.

I wish you’d told me.

That was stupid.

Don’t ever do something like that again.

You almost died.

You fucking idiot.

You fucking idiot, you almost died.

Don’t go and almost die ever again.

I don’t want you to die.

I can’t take it if you die.

You blinked, hot tears prickling in your eyes. Before you could even really think too much about it, you bent and pressed your lips to Philip’s cool forehead, straightening almost immediately. You took a slow breath in, held it, released it with a hiss and set your shoulders. There was shit to be done besides hovering over him, and standing here waiting wasn’t going to make anything better. It was going to make you worse.

“Ok,” you whispered, and turned away.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour when Philip stirred. A soft groan had you turning your head from the disassembled gun you were cleaning, watching as he tried to sit up, winced and lay back down.

Maybe you should have started with a nice, simple, normal, “how are you feeling?” You supposed you could have at least smiled at him, even just nodded or raised your eyebrows. And you could admit that the snort had been a little out of line. Still. You’d been festering – that was the only way you could describe how the last vestiges of panic and adrenaline had cooled and settled low in your gut, right beside the simmering anger that just refused to go away. No matter how much you told yourself to cut him some slack and just wait until he was actually awake to hear his side of it. Don’t do anything stupid, Marcy had said, and you were determined to abide by that.

“What…?” he started, then groaned. “(Y/N)?”

“Yep.”

Another groan, and this time you raised your head. He’d swung his legs over the side and had managed to sit up, breathing heavily and gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles were white. As you watched, he pulled up the bottom of his shirt and frowned at the spot where the bullet had gone in. It didn’t really look like a gunshot anymore, thanks to Marcy’s attention, but there was definitely some bruising around the edges.

“Marcy said to put something on it if you’re gonna be… doing stuff,” you said.

He looked up, dropping the shirt and eyeing you warily. “Ok.” He turned, reaching towards the open kit at the end of the bench, face tight with pain. It scraped along the rough surface as he dragged it closer, the scissors you’d left resting on top of everything sliding out and onto the floor with a clatter. Philip paused, glanced at you, then kept pulling.

“For fuck’s sake,” you muttered, slamming down the gun in your hand and crossing quickly to him. You slapped the scissors back on the bench, turning the kit to face yourself and rifling through the neatly compartmentalised packets of first aid supplies until you found a wound pad that looked big enough.

“Up,” you said, gesturing to his shirt as you withdrew a roll of tape. Then, with a ‘turn around’ motion, “down.”

He got the idea, swinging his legs back onto the table and lying flat, watching as you tore open the packet and laid the pad against his skin, placed his hand over it with a simple command to “hold it” and cut a piece of tape. He drew in a sharp breath as you smoothed the tape down the edge of the pad, perhaps a little harder than you’d meant, and you paused.

“It’s still…” He trailed off, looking away.

“Sorry.” You were gentler this time, glancing up at him as you stuck down the dressing. You may have been pissed, but actually hurting him was the last thing you wanted to do. It wasn’t as neat as you’d seen Marcy do it, but it was functional. That was what mattered. You lingered a moment, scissors and tape in one hand, the other resting gently by the slightly puffy white square. He’d warmed up, here at least, which you supposed was a good thing.

“(Y/N),” he started, and you quickly withdrew your hand. You were still angry at him, no matter what else was now causing that deep, tight feeling inside you. Like someone was pulling on a string attached to the very centre of your being, right behind your sternum.

“How’s that?” you asked as you stepped back, crossing your arms.

“It’s fine, but–”

“Good.” You turned away, stalking back to the guns on the table before he had a chance to finish. He groaned again as you sat down, not out of pain this time. And ok, you could definitely have been nicer about it all, but you were determined not to be the one to take the first step. He’d gotten himself and everyone else into this bullshit, he could at least be the one to bring it up.

“How long was I out?”

“An hour. Give or take.”

“The others…?” A soft grunt, the rustle of fabric and the sound of feet hitting the floor.

“Gone.”

There was a pause, a few hesitant footsteps, and when he spoke again his voice was much closer. “Not you?”

You didn’t look up as you grabbed another gun and began the smooth, practised movements of dismantling it. “I’m sitting here, aren’t I?”

He gave a noncommittal little hum, and this time you did raise your eyes. He was leaning against the end of your table, watching you. It may have just been the dimness of the room, or the clouded haze of thoughts and feelings swirling in your own head, but there was something in his face that you couldn’t quite pin down. That wasn’t usually a problem with Philip, he was the kind of person who you could always tell where his mind was. And he always knew yours.

You sighed and leaned back in your chair, folding your arms across your chest once more as you swivelled to face him. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged, his brows pinching together and his arm tensing as the movement tugged at his wound. He cursed softly and glanced down.

“Are you in pain?”

His eyebrows rose incredulously. Ok, yeah, dumb question. Of course he was in pain. You’d be more concerned if he wasn’t. Wordlessly, you rose and crossed to the first aid kit again, withdrawing an almost empty packet of painkillers. You handed them to him as you sat down, and didn’t watch him swallow two. You just heard it.

The silence stretched between you, the occasional clunk of the guns and the quiet ticking of the clock the only sounds in the building. Outside, someone was shouting and the traffic roared.

After what felt like ten minutes but was probably only two, Philip blew out a breath and shifted. “Ok, just… spit it out,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

Wow, ok. That was a loaded question if you’d ever heard one. You stopped what you were doing, cooley and slowly placing the gun you’d been about to slide apart onto the table almost soundlessly. “What’s wrong?” you echoed, turning to face him.

He either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the frost you couldn’t have kept out of your voice if you'd tried. “Yeah, cause something clearly is.”

God, where did you even start? He’d lied to you. He’d gone directly against protocol, protocol that could be stupid but was ultimately there to protect you and everyone else. He still hadn’t even actually addressed any of it. Hadn’t checked if you were alright, hadn’t checked if anyone else had been hurt (and ok, you couldn’t really blame him for that, but that was besides the point.) In the end, you decided on starting with the elephant in the room. “You almost died.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again. Looked away, back to you. “I didn’t.”

You shook your head. That wasn’t the point. “You could have.”

“And?”

Now it was your turn to open your mouth, only to find no words. You floundered for a second, then, “And? And? Philip what the fuck do you mean and?”

“It’s not like people aren’t dying every day, huh?” He pushed off the table, standing up straight and tapping the side of his head. “Huh, (Y/N)? You get this worked up about them too?”

You shook your head, rising from the chair so fast it skidded backwards. “That’s different. You know it is.”

“Oh, so now you’re–”

“This is not about that.” The words were tight, forced between your teeth as you stepped around the corner of the table to face him. “This is about the fact that what you did was reckless and stupid and you got shot.” You lifted a hand, poking him squarely in the chest hard enough that he swayed. “What part of that is not getting through your head?”

“He was a kid, (Y/N)! A little kid! You saw the place, they’d already killed one. How can you just sit and let that shit happen?”

“It’s not our place, Philip. Bad things happen every day. People die. We wouldn’t be here right now if people didn’t die! I know you're–”

He didn’t let you finish. “You don’t. You don’t get it. If you knew, you wouldn’t be standing there saying what you’re saying. You’d be on my side.”

“Your side?” You raised your eyebrows, incredulous. “There isn’t a your side and a my side. We’re trying to do the same thing! We’re a team, for fuck’s sake!”

“Well you sure as hell don’t act like it.”

“Oh my fucking God.” You could have screamed. You’d really wanted to avoid this. Hadn’t wanted to get into a shouting match when he probably wasn’t even supposed to be walking around, no matter how many dressings you taped onto his stomach or how many painkillers he downed. “You’re being insanely stupid. Insanely fucking stupid.”

“At least I stopped a kid from dying.”

You slammed your hand down on the table so hard it went numb, then burned all the way up your wrist. You ignored it. But still, even through the haze of anger and whatever else, you recognised the words for what they were. He was trying to confirm that he actually had managed to save Aleksander. As pissed as you were, you weren't cruel enough to leave that unanswered. “Ok, fine, you did. He's being reunited with his mother and they're riding off into the sunset and they're gonna live happily ever after. But you could have died, Philip! How many times do I have to say that?”

You didn't miss the tiny flash of relief — or something close to it — at your words. “This shit isn’t exactly risk free. Do you know how many others die on missions?”

“I don’t care.” There were tears in your eyes now, hot and prickling and you couldn’t even care enough to wipe them away. “You were bleeding out on top of me in the back of the van. And it could have been any one of us, too! What if it’d been Trevor? MacLaren? Carly? What if Marcy had taken that bullet and fucking kicked it, huh? Where would that leave us?”

He hadn’t stepped back as you’d pressed closer, and for a moment you wondered if this was it. If you should just walk away now before either one of you did some real damage. Then he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Guess it’s lucky it was me, then.”

You half stifled your sob (an actual sob, which you were not proud of), raising your hand again to slam into his chest, press to your face, run through your hair. “What can’t you understand? Why can’t you understand?”

His own hand moved, slowly and hesitantly towards your arm. He paused and thought better of it before it got past waist height, searching your face. “What’s this really about?”

“I…” You stopped, breathing hard. He was right. It wasn’t just that he’d lied about the messengers or dragged you all on an unsanctioned and ill-prepared mission. It was more than that. It was, when you got down to it, his head in your lap in the back of the van. His blood coating you. His hand in yours. His eyes unfocussed, his breathing too shallow and the possibility that that was the last time you’d ever get to see him. When you spoke, each word felt like you were vomiting up a bowling ball.

“I don’t want to do this without you.”

There was a pause, then, “Fuck. Fuck, (Y/N).” And his arm was moving again, his hand coming to rest behind your head, and before you even realised what was happening his lips were pressed against yours.

It only took you a moment to melt into him, to step that little bit closer and tilt your face towards his, your hands settling on his chest between the two of you, fingers twisting in the material of his shirt as his tangled in your hair. He kissed you like you belonged to him, like he wanted you to be his and his alone. A tiny, involuntary sound slipped from you as his tongue slid between your parted lips, searching and exploring your mouth like you’d been dreaming of doing to him for far too long now. You pushed back against him, sliding your hand up to caress his neck, brushing over the stubble littering his jaw and cheek. The hand that wasn’t in your hair had settled on your waist, pulling your body flush with his, fingers digging into your flesh enough to send heat coursing through your whole being.

You moaned softly, your hold on the back of his neck tightening ever so slightly as you pulled him down further towards you. He was growing hard against you, you could feel it, his own choked hum of pleasure reverberating against your mouth as you moved your hips. You did it again, and this time it was a sharp breath sucked through his nose.

And God, you wanted him. You wanted him so badly it almost hurt, but as soon as you had the thought another one rang through your mind like an alarm through a good dream. You relaxed your hold on him, drawing back even as he chased your lips.

“Protocol 4,” you murmured, the tears that had slipped from your eyes already crusting dry on your cheeks.

“We’re not reproducing.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing down to where his hips pressed against your own. You watched his hand move from your waist, down over the front of your hip to where your leg joined it. Your stomach swooped, desire pooling low in you as his fingers traced over your inner thigh, soft and teasing.

“Fuck you,” you whispered, your hands already back in his shirt and pulling him to you, lips crashing against his once more.

He gave a little grunt of surprise, the hand that had stayed close to your hair sliding back into it. But you were moving now, turning and sweeping one hand across the table behind you before jumping up onto it, parting your legs for Philip. He fit perfectly between your thighs, his hardness now flush with your clothed core in a way that had you arching shamelessly into him. His hand trailed down your neck, over your shoulder and down over your ribs, your waist, fingers curving there once more and pulling you closer. You didn’t think you could get any closer, but you needed to feel his skin on yours, touch him and have him touch you. You could feel his heartbeat through his shirt where your chest pressed against his, but it wasn’t enough. You needed all of him.

You managed to wriggle your hand into the tiny space between your bodies, fingers searching for the hem of his shirt and pushing unceremoniously under it. You had your tongue in his mouth now too, stroking and tasting every inch of him just as he’d done to you, and this time you were sure your lips were going to be bruised. Somewhere between your hand on his skin and his shirt being bunched up to his chest, Philip got the hint and broke away just long enough to shrug it off, dropping the piece of fabric on the table beside you.

“Tell me you changed that,” he said, voice low.

You nodded. “I threw the other one out.”

“Mhm.”

“It was so bloody it was starting to go stiff.”

“God, just stop talking.”

You smiled at that, and this time when he kissed you it was less… urgent. Still thorough and firm, still fraught with want and need, but less like a man starved and more like a man who was determined to enjoy a good meal. And hey, you were more than happy to provide that. You were barely sitting on the table anymore, your own wriggling and Philip’s hold on your waist to blame for the edge of it digging into your ass.

Without his shirt, there wasn’t anything for you to tug Philip by as you shifted backwards. He hummed softly when your hands slid up his bare chest, over his shoulders, pulling at him to come closer, come here. He stumbled a little as he leaned against the table, his own hand moving smoothly from its place on your waist down over your hip, along your thigh to your knee and back up again. You lifted the leg slightly, hooking it behind him and squeezing. There wasn’t much muscle to work with, not what you were used to anyway, but his breath still hitched in his chest as you did it again.

His hands were firm on your legs as he broke from your lips, staring at you with that same look you couldn’t quite pin down. Gently, you moved your hand up over his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you cradled the base of his skull. It was so different to how you’d held him in the back of the van, your fingers leaving bloody stripes across his cheeks and neck and forehead, his gaze unfocussed and wandering until his eyes had just closed and you hadn’t been able to get him to look at anything, much less you. But somehow, it was the same. It was still Philip, warm and conscious and standing between your legs, face clean and eyes clear, lips kiss-swollen and just begging to be touched.

You swallowed, tearing your eyes away from his mouth and curling your fingers in his hair as you ground your hips into his. A muscle in his jaw twitched, his grip tightening on your thighs, his face still only inches from your own. His eyes, as they flicked down to your mouth, were dark with want.

“God, (Y/N),” he whispered as you did it again, your lips curling into a smile. He bent his head, breath warm against your neck as he kissed under your jaw, down the muscle at the side of your neck, sucking gently at the spot.

“Philip,” you sighed as he did it again, harder this time. Fuck, you hoped he left a mark. You cursed as the thought that that was probably a bad idea hit you, pulling gently at his hair to raise his head.

“Is that…?” he frowned, uncertain.

“No, no I like that. A lot. I just…” You stopped, reaching for the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head, dropping it beside his. “I think here is better?” you offered, pointing to your chest.

“Oh, ok.” His smile was quick as he bent once more, overtaken by a wince as it pulled at his side.

“Are you alright?” you asked quickly, ducking your head to meet his eyes.

“Fine,” he said tightly, leaning forwards once more.

“No, wait a second. You got shot, Philip. You’re not… Jesus, I don’t know if we should even be doing this.”

A pause as he searched your face. “I want to. I want you, (Y/N), if you want me.”

“I do. I really, really do. But I don’t want to hurt you.”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a small smile. “You won’t.”

“You’ll tell me if I do?”

“You won’t.”

You huffed and crossed your arms, covering your chest. “Promise.”

“Ok, fine,” he sighed. “I promise I’ll tell you if you hurt me.”

“Ok.” You smiled again as you closed the little distance between you, unfolding your arms to run your hands over his chest. “Bed,” you murmured against his lips. Then, when you felt him hesitate, “it’s better than the table.”

He barely pulled away, even as you slipped from your perch and followed him to the door in the corner, through the mess you’d rifled through earlier and towards the bed. You turned, pushing him gently onto the edge of it, your hand resuming its place in his hair as you bent to kiss him again. His own hand had settled once more on your waist, and as you licked lightly at his bottom lip it slid up your side, hovering over your ribs. His thumb skimmed the skin just shy of your breast, where your bra sat, and you smiled even as you mapped the inside of his mouth with your tongue.

“Off,” you muttered, still kissing him as he undid the clasp behind your back (albeit with a little difficulty) and slid the piece of fabric from your shoulders. You raised your free hand, placing it over his and moving it those last few inches to your breast, squeezing your fingers over his. He drew a sharp breath and you squeezed your own breast for him again before dropping your hand to cup his jaw. You tilted his head gently further upwards, stepping between his legs as his thumb swiped an arc over your skin. Then he squeezed – just as gently as ever – and you let a moan slip from you. He took that as encouragement, pulling you even closer with his free hand as he moved, kneading the soft flesh, moving his hand until his finger brushed over your nipple and you half moaned, half gasped against his mouth.

He paused, then when you pushed harder against him did it again. You whispered a breathy “yes,” hardly drawing back at all before you were sinking to your knees between his, Philip following until he couldn’t, simply staring at you.

“What are you doing?”

Oh, you liked the view from here. You smiled as his fingers spread over your jaw, turning your face to place a kiss on the palm of his hand as you slid your own up his thighs. You paused when you reached his hips, nodding to the now very noticeable bulge in his pants. “Can I?”

You thought there might have been a faint flush dusting his face, but it was really too dim to tell. Either way, he nodded and watched as you undid his pants, lifting his hips as you pulled them down to pool around his ankles. His cock strained against his underwear, and your mouth watered as you looked up at him. His cheeks were definitely pinker than usual, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, not looking away even as you removed the last piece of clothing between you.

“Fuck, Philip,” you breathed, glancing from his face to his dick and back again.

He frowned, unsure. “What?”

You grinned. “I can’t wait to put that in my mouth.”

His thigh tensed under your hand, breath hitching in his chest. “Jesus, (Y/N), you can’t just say shit like that.”

“What?” you asked, bending forwards to place a kiss on his stomach, your thumb moving in slow circles on his skin. “That I’m gonna take you until I choke? That I’m gonna ride you so hard you’ll see stars, let you fill me up and fuck me six ways into next week?”

Before you could look up again, his hand was under your chin and he was raising your face for you, fingers careful where they gripped your jaw. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he said softly.

You raised an eyebrow, finally reaching out and gently taking hold of his cock. “Don’t I?” you asked as you moved your hand, want surging hot through your whole body as he moaned low and deep. You shifted closer still, settling yourself between his legs before you bent your head and kissed the tip of his dick, licked it, relishing in Philip’s quick hiss of breath.

“Oh fuck,” he gasped as you sank your mouth over him, heavy and hot and already salty with precum. “Oh, fuck, (Y/N).”

You drew back, glancing up at him. Holy shit you never wanted to forget the look on his face – pure want, and directed entirely at you. “Ok?” you asked.

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Shit, ‘s more than ok.”

“Good,” you smiled, licking a long stripe up his shaft and sliding your lips over the head once more, tongue soft and pliant against him. Your hand worked what wouldn’t fit in your mouth, slow strokes to match the slow bobbing of your head.

His stomach twitched as you hollowed your cheeks, another groan reverberating through his chest. You’d wanted to be gentle with him despite what you’d said, and were all too aware that he was still injured and maybe this had been what Marcy had meant when she’d told you not to do anything stupid. Not to let him do anything stupid. Well, it was too late now. What the medic didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, or anyone else.

You snuck another glance at Philip, the sight that met you sending a fresh bolt of heat shooting down your spine to pool between your legs. His head was tipped back, neck and jaw barred to you, his nose ring glinting in the dim light, chest heaving and hands tight where they gripped the sheets. You wanted to memorise him, here in this moment, and never let it go. You clenched your thighs, shifting in your search for a little friction, any relief at all.

Philip cursed softly, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he lowered his head to look down at you. “You’re so fucking hot,” he breathed, one hand trailing over your upper arm, your shoulder, weaving through your hair. He didn’t pull it, as such, but the pressure and the praise together was enough to make you moan around his cock. His hips jerked with the sound, fingers tightening and a muttered “fuck,” slipping from his lips.

“Hm?” You didn’t stop, eyes watering as you sped up your movements, his dick slick with your spit and only getting messier. Maybe with anyone else it would have been gross, but not with him. Never with him. His hips bucked up again, followed by a quickly gasped apology and a loosening of the grip on your hair. You rubbed your free hand over his thigh, squeezing gently. It’s ok, it said. I’m fine. Then, as you squeezed his cock and relaxed your throat even further, please.

“Yes,” he gasped. “Please, (Y/N), that’s—”

You hummed again, pulling your head back and sucking at just the tip, tongue flicking over the sensitive slit across it. He cursed again, loudly, your name falling from his lips once more. He thrust up into your mouth, hard enough that your eyes watered and you wondered if you were going to gag. You hoped not.

“Don’t stop,” he practically pleaded. “Shit, don’t stop.”

You wouldn’t dream of it. You sped up again, sucking hard and sagging over him, mapping every inch of his cock, every ridge and vein and sensitive spot. God, you could stay here forever, the warm weight of him in your mouth and his hand in your hair, listening to his moans and grunts and uneven breaths.

“I’m— shit, fuck, fuck, (Y/N) I’m so fucking close.”

That sent a thrill through you, the wet heat between your legs almost unbearable now. You took him deep, a gentle squeeze to his thigh the only reassurance and confirmation you could offer as you looked up, your vision slightly blurry, blinking rapidly to clear it. There was no way you were going to miss this.

Then he was groaning deeply, hand tightening in your hair and head thrown back, dick twitching in your mouth as he spilled hot and thick down your throat. His chest heaved as he said your name like a prayer, repeating it over and over again until it blurred into one sound. How many times had you wondered what he’d sound like? What he’d taste like? What he’d look like here, like this? It was better than anything your mind could ever conjure.

You swallowed, slowing your movements as he rode out the high, only drawing back when his breathing had slowed and he’d ceased trembling. You licked over him gently, cleaning up the worst of the mess of spit and cum, wiping the corners of your mouth delicately. You sat between his legs, tracing little arcs over his skin with your thumb.

“Alright?” you asked softly.

He took a long, shuddering breath and looked down at you, nodding. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. You pressed your cheek into his palm as he slid the hand that had been gripping your hair down over your face, turning quickly to kiss it.

His brows creased, and he paused. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shook your head, rising on stiff legs and taking his face between your hands. “You could never,” you said softly. Then a thought occurred to you. “It wasn’t… too much?”

He huffed a laugh at that, shaking his head. “No. You were great. Better than great.”

“Mm, good.” You smiled as he raised his hand to cup the back of your neck, pulling you towards him and into a gentle kiss.

“Off,” he murmured against your lips, free hand running along the waistband of your pants.

“Magic word?”

He just rolled his eyes. “Please.”

“Say it again,” you grinned.

This time he paused, drawing back ever so slightly, searching your face.

You just shrugged. “They’re not coming off if you don’t ask me nicely.”

His hand dropped from your neck, skimming over your chest and stomach to rest on your hip. He held your gaze as he leaned closer, large hands firm and warm against you, then dropped his eyes to your skin as his lips met your stomach. You felt your insides turn over as he kissed you there, your teeth digging into your bottom lip hard enough that it almost hurt.

“Philip,” you started, then hissed as he did again, his tongue soft and hot where it touched you – so quickly you wondered if he’d even meant to do it. But no, there it was again, the sensation sending more electric heat shooting through you. You moaned outright when he sucked at the spot, hand flying to his hair, fingers curling in it. God, you’d never get tired of that, and from the way he hummed against your stomach neither would he.

“Philip,” you breathed again. “Philip, that’s not asking nicely.”

He glanced up at you, and you could have come undone from that alone. His tongue darted out over his lips. “Then can I please take off your pants?”

Oh you really didn’t want to give in that easily. A few kisses and half a hickey on your stomach and you were caving? Really? But then he was whispering “please” and his breath was raising gooseflesh all over you and you were tingling all over and his voice was so soft and husky like this and–

“Yes.”

“Yes?” he echoed, frozen as he waited.

“Yes, Philip. Sí, ja, oui, just—” Your breath caught as he pulled you close before releasing your hips, making quick work of your fly and easing your pants down over your hips. Your underwear followed suit, pooling around your ankles before you kicked both pieces of clothing off to the side and stood, completely bare, between Philip’s legs.

“God, (Y/N),” he murmured almost reverently, stroking down over your hips and thighs, around behind your knees and up to your ass. And wow that did something to you.

“Can I?” You motioned to his lap, already bending your knee at the edge of the mattress.

Philip nodded quickly, already inching backwards to make room for you on the bed. “Yeah, yeah. Go ahead.”

You smiled, bringing your lips to his for what had to be the millionth time as you straddled his thighs and draped your arms around his shoulders, his lips parting easily under yours, his tongue dancing alongside your own as if he’d been born to kiss you.

“I wanna touch you,” he said softly into the space between your mouths. He was all over you, kissing along your jaw and neck and under your ear, touching your back and sides and legs and hips and ass, pressing flush against you. The only part of you that hadn’t touched him yet was, ironically, where you wanted him most.

“Please,” you replied almost immediately. “I want you to.”

A breath of laughter hushed over your chest as he ran his hand up over the top of your thigh, along the spot where it joined your hip, tantalisingly close to the throbbing heat between your legs. You bit your lip, watching his face as his fingers crept ever closer.

“Philip,” you warned.

“Hm?”

“Stop teasing.”

“I’m not, I’m just… taking my time.”

“Well— fuck.” The word was torn from you as his hand moved that last tiny distance, fingers sliding easily through your wetness.

“Jesus, (Y/N),” be breathed. “You’re…”

“Really fucking wet?” you suggested, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it. I didn’t…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Didn’t think I did anything that special.”

You snorted, shifting closer still. “It’s you, Philip. I just really, really, really, want you.”

He stilled for a moment, studying you like he was trying to memorise every cell making up your face. Then he stretched up and kissed you, stifling your moan with his lips as his finger slid over your clit. He did it again, a small, precise movement that had you grinding against his fingers as your own tightening on his shoulders.

“There?” he asked, barely breaking away from you.

“Oh God, yes. Yes, right there.”

His eyes didn’t leave your face as he circled your clit, your breathing ragged and your body arching into his of its own accord. You bit your lip hard enough that it hurt, trying desperately to stifle another embarrassingly desperate moan. God, how was he so good at this?

“Don’t do that,” he muttered, leaning forward to kiss along your collarbone.

“What?”

“Try to be quiet. I wanna hear you, wanna hear everything.”

“Shit, Philip,” you panted.

“Ok?”

“Ok. Ok, I— fuck.” He’d sucked hard at a spot on your chest, the faint pain cutting through the sharp pleasure spiralling from his hand. “Fuck,” you whispered again, your own hand flying to his hair as you scrambled for purchase.

“Mhm, that’s it.”

You felt the praise, something about the quiet huskiness of his voice and the way he gripped your hip making you squirm. “Philip please,” you gasped. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“I want you inside me. I need you inside me, now.”

He cursed, fingers leaving your clit to circle your entrance, almost tentative. Double checking.

You shook your head. “No, that’s not what I mean.”

He frowned, raising his head.

You let go of his hair, brushing a stray piece from his forehead as you slid your other hand down his front. You glanced at the tiny remaining space where his cock sat, hard again between you. You spat into your palm before wrapping your hand gently around it, moving your fist slowly. “I mean here, Philip.”

“Oh.” He swallowed hard, searching your face. “Are you sure?”

“Mhm. I’m sure. Are you?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Fuck yes, I’m sure. Just—” He pulled away, reaching for the overcrowded nightstand (which, now you were looking at it, you were pretty sure was just a small filing cabinet) and rifling through the first one. When that didn’t turn up anything, he reached for the second.

“What’re you looking for?” you asked as he moved on to the third.

“Condom,” he grunted, then withdrew his hand triumphantly to show you a square of faded red foil.

“Jesus, how’d you know that was gonna be there?”

He shrugged. “Seemed like the kind of place to put one.”

“Yeah. Yeah, ok.”

“Ok?”

“Mhm.” You surveyed the package as he opened it, placing the foil pieces on the filing cabinet. “They don’t just… stop working, do they? If they’re a bit old?”

He frowned. “Don’t think so. It’s only a month out of date, anyway. Less, actually. And it wasn’t open.” He looked up, meeting your eyes. “We could get more?”

“No, no it’s ok. I trust you.”

“Trust Trojan.”

“Fine, I trust Trojan.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he rolled the piece of latex over himself. The dressing on his side gleamed eerily in the dimness, and you silently cursed yourself. How had you not thought of that?

“Is that gonna be alright?” you asked, gesturing to it.

Gingerly, he ran a finger of it. “I think so.” Then, as if it explained everything, “Painkillers.”

“Ok, just—”

“Let you know if it hurts,” he interrupted. “I will.”

You rolled your eyes as you lifted your hips, bracing yourself on his shoulders. “Alright. Ready?” At his nod, you sank down slowly onto him, pausing as you adjusted to the stretch.

“You ok?” he asked, breath unsteady, grip firm around your waist.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Gimme a second.” A soft moan slipped from you as you lowered yourself the rest of the way down, glancing at Philip. “This ok?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes dark, lips parted. “Uh-huh. You?”

“Yeah. Can I move?”

“Yes. Please, (Y/N), you can—” He broke off with a groan as you rocked your hips over his, slowly at first, finding your rhythm. It may have been a little tight initially, but now as you moved atop him you slid easily, Philip’s uneven breath and your own soft moans mingling in the space between your faces.

“Fuck,” you panted. “Fuck, Philip you feel fucking amazing.”

“(Y/N), oh, you— you feel amazing.”

You brought your lips to his, messy and uncoordinated and hardly a kiss by any stringent definition. You moaned into his mouth as you took him deep inside you, the delicious friction of his cock lighting every inch of your insides on fire. You needed him, needed to go harder and faster and—

“Harder?” he half asked, half offered. It was like he’d read your mind.

“Yes,” you whispered, lifting and lowering your hips with a little more of the desperation filtering through every fibre of your being.

“Oh, yes, fuck yes—” His hips jerked up into yours, hands almost rough on your hips as he guided your movements. “Used to dream about this,” he confessed to your neck. “Having you like this.”

Oh shit. You hadn’t been expecting that. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. What you’d look like. Sound like. What you’d— ah— feel like.”

“What do I feel like?” you breathed, then cursed loudly as he reached down between your bodies and rubbed at your clit.

“Like Heaven. You feel like Heaven, (Y/N), I—”

You cut him off, tilting his face to yours and kissing him so hard you thought he was about to overbalance. But he held you tight, lips and teeth and tongue clashing against yours, swallowing your increasingly desperate moans and whines — because yes, you’d gotten to the point where you were almost whimpering.

“Philip,” you practically sobbed, pleasure coiling tight and hot and hard with every push of his cock inside you, every movement of his finger on your clit. “Philip fuck don’t stop—”

“Yeah, no, shit (Y/N), keep doing that.”

“I’m gonna cum,” you managed. “Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum—”

“Me too, you’re gonna— again—”

“Yeah, Jesus Christ 33— Philip—” And then you were crying his name over and over, white hot bliss flooding out through your body, back arching and legs spasming as Philip continued to move you. You were vaguely aware of his arms tightening around your waist and his face pressing into your neck, his chest heaving against your own, your name and what you thought might have been your number — both familiar and strange and so deeply tied to home it almost shocked you — mixed with his deep groans as he too climaxed. You hovered, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, breathing heavily as the aftershocks faded from trembling limbs and your heartbeats slowed to normal.

After what felt like an age, you turned your head and kissed Philip’s temple, combing your fingers gently through his hair. He hummed appreciatively, raising his head from where his spit and your own sweat mingled at the joining of your neck and shoulder. He rubbed the spot softly, placed a featherlight kiss there and drew back to look at you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured.

You smiled. “Mm, I think I have some.”

His laugh was little more than a huff of air. He shook his head and he lifted you carefully off his lap, turning on the tiny mattress and pulling you close. You frowned at the sudden empty feeling inside you, but then he was tying shut the condom and dropping it on the nightstand, wrapping his arm around you and wriggling impossibly closer. You slid your hand up over his side, pausing when your fingers brushed the tape you’d used on the dressing. You were tempted to check it, make sure you hadn’t disturbed the wound at all — you’d never hear the end of that from Marcy.

You drew back just enough that Philip’s face came into focus, cheeks still faintly flushed, nose ring gleaming dully. He was already looking at you, his thumb moving in tiny half circles on your back, something close to awe shining in his eyes.

“What?” you asked, smiling.

“Nothing.”

“Come on. What’s going on in that super brain of yours?”

“Super brain?”

“Yeah. Your big historian super brain.”

His lips twitched up into a smile, soft and a little confused and all for you. “Not much,” he replied. “You, mainly.”

“Wow, ok.” You snorted, relaxing your neck and letting your face fall against his chest. He didn’t exactly smell nice, but something about it was incredibly comforting. There was that little breath of laughter again, his body moving with it and jiggling you.

“At least now I know you think I’m smart,” he said.

“Of course I think you’re smart. I think you’re a goddamn genius. The things you think of…” You trailed off, shaking your head. When you continued, it was in a whisper. “I think you’re amazing.”

He stilled, and for a moment you wondered if you’d said the wrong thing. Then, “I think you’re amazing, too.”

You lifted your head again, stretching up to brush his lips with yours. You shifted, but groaned as your thighs rubbed together. Your wetness was cooling between them, uncomfortable and slimy now that you weren’t moving with Philip anymore.

“I’m gonna clean us up,” you said softly, already drawing away.

“(Y/N), wait a second—”

You turned as he caught your wrist, watched him sit up with a faint wince. “What?”

“Nothing just…” He shrugged, still watching you.

You smiled, reaching up under his chin with your free hand as you stepped closer. You leaned down, and this time when you kissed him it was soft and tender and slow and careful. His lips parted, his hand still gently holding your wrist as he kissed you back with just as much care and deliberation. You could have stayed there forever, tongues and lips locked in a slow sort of dance. But the air was cooler when you stood, and the mess between your thighs really was uncomfortable.

“I’ll be back,” you whispered as you drew away.

He just nodded, eyes following your every movement as you swiped the used condom and wrapper, wrapped yourself in a blanket and stepped out into the main area. You were quick to find a towel, wet it, wipe yourself down, dispose of your rubbish inside an empty chip packet and pad back into the bedroom.

You slid onto the edge of the bed, glancing to Philip for permission before gently cleaning around his crotch. You wished there was a shower. You just wanted to stand under a flow of hot water (one of the things you’d been looking forward to most about the 21st century), maybe with the man currently watching you like you’d personally hung the stars, and not think about anything.

“Still just thinking about me?” you asked, half joking, as you dropped the towel over the edge of the bed and draped yourself along Philip’s side. You could hear his heart directly under your cheek, feel the expansion and contraction of his ribs on your front. You shifted closer and hooked your leg over his.

“Mm, pretty much.”

“What else?”

He paused, then, “Did you almost call me 3326?”

It was your turn to hesitate. “Maybe. Almost.”

“Thought so. Wasn’t sure if I was just hearing things.”

You looked up, frowning. “You hear things a lot?”

He just shrugged, then muttered an apology as you moved with his shoulder. “A bit, yeah.”

“Ok.” You weren’t sure what to do with that information, so you just turned your face and kissed his chest. “I could have sworn I heard you call me 3430.”

“Maybe.” You could practically hear the smile in his voice. “Maybe you’re hearing things too.”

“Maybe, Philip, but I don’t think so. Leave the future in the past.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I know.”

You squeezed him gently, and his arm tightened around you momentarily in response. You could get used to this, you thought as you closed your eyes. Your body was so heavy, and Philip was actually warm now. Warm and firm and real and very very comforting. “Can I stay?” you whispered. “Here? With you?”

When he answered, his voice was just as soft as your own. “Yes. I don’t want you to go.”

“Mm, I’m not going.”

He stroked your shoulder, the movement almost hypnotic. “Good.” You were vaguely aware of his arm moving, then something thick and a little itchy was being dragged over your bare body and his other arm was coming to rest over your waist, hand heavy and so warm on your back. The last thing you were aware of was the faint brush of stubble and a kiss on your forehead.

Note: obviously don’t use expired condoms that’s stupid. Anyways I binge read acotar like a few weeks ago and I genuinely think my writing skills have gone downhill because this is NOWHERE NEAR some of my other stuff. Not to toot my own horn and like I know I'm not the most amazing writer in the world but I am usually decent as far as smut goes. This is not on the same level. Also I had no idea how to address the host thing or the names thing or the numbers thing so I chose to simply mention it and hope for the best. I apologise (there really isn't much about this show floating around, huh). Also I'm only just realising this is weirdly similar in a lot of ways to my Ethan Hunt x reader one, but I really like this specific trope so yeah... deal with it lol

#travelers netflix #philip pearson #philip pearson x reader #philip x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #fem!reader #philip x you #philip travelers

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