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f0point5 · 2 months

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whenever i hear about ocon's parents selling their house and living in a caravan (iirc) i just feel so bad for him. it really reminds me of all those traumatised child actors whose parents quit their job because the child can now be the breadwinner. obvs it's two complete opposite sides of the spectrum but both are such unfair sitautions to be put in as a child! esteban needing to succeed because otherwise his family would be broke forever?? (also i know that these decisions are often mentioned in a heart warming "oh look at how much my parents sacrificed for my dream" -way, but i find it so hard to look at it from a positive light. i'm sure they did it all out of love but i just can't imagine putting your child in such a tough position and putting that much pressure on them. i guess i just lack that top performance athlete mentality lol.) not to mention that most of these racing children hardly have a plan b career plan since they usually drop out of school. so now you have a kid who single handedly has to save the family from financial ruin AND has no safety net or plan b whatsoever. that's just insane and it's no wonder esteban is like that. he really has the ultimate rags to riches back story but his history gave him such a massive chip on his shoulder that he's just become unlikeable, which sucks!!! wish someone would grab his shoulders and shake him around a little and say: estieee!! youve made it!! stop driving like losing would full on kill you and just focus on getting the best out of the car and be the best you can be!! you'd think that someone with his backstory would be the last person who'd need to be humbled, but fucking hell he acts so smug and can be so delusional it's exhausting.

anyyyyways, apologies for dropping a full essay in your askbox, i don't even care about esteban lmao. it's just that whenever i do happen to think about him i just get so frustrated 🤷🏼‍♀️😬

have a lovely evening!! 💞

This.

I remember reading that once when I didn’t know too much about him and thinking, okay that’s a bit extreme. And then I thought about how much pressure that must have put on him. Pressure to succeed, but also just pressure in terms of that being not an ideal quality of life for a teenage boy. His parents made his life exponentially harder in every single way to support his hobby in the hopes that he could turn it into a career to support them. And then I thought about the fact that if he hadn’t been that 0.00001% that makes it, how much harder his life would have got, and how much guilt he would have lived with. They set him up to live with constant insecurity and instability, and to shoulder the burden of making that all worth it for them. Who does that to their child? I don’t care how talented you think they are, betting you’re financial security on that is imbecile behaviour. Even Esteban said if he were in his parents’ position he wouldn’t do it. Poor guy knows what it does to child.

It’s exactly like moving your kids to LA to be the breadwinner, except it’s worse because the amount of kids able to support a family on acting work is probably 10,000 times the the amount of drivers making enough money to support a family from driving alone. Statistically, there was a 0% chance that that gamble would pay off for them but they did it anyway. That’s worse odds than a slot machine. And they bet the house their son was living in?! Ew. Just ew.

And yeah, people say “look what my parents sacrificed for my dream” with affection when that dream has come true. But what would have happened if he hadn’t made it. “Look what my parents destroyed because they bet my future and theirs on my childhood hobby”. What in the damn hell. These stories are not in any way endearing to me - they’re just examples of narcissistic and irresponsible parenting.

And now I’ve just seen clips of a podcast he did talking about his childhood and I was almost tearing up for him. How he and his dad used to take tyres from the other kids’ karts out of the bins and reuse them because he didn’t have enough sets over a weekend, and how he didn’t go to birthday parties or on holiday because it was all focused on his racing. That’s a CHILD. And he was talking about how he and his dad would see Max and Jos and how everyone was intimidated by them but he and his dad weren’t…because they had literally bet their shirts on his career and couldn’t afford to be scared. That. Is. A. Child. What if he woke up one day and didn’t want to do it anymore? What if he wanted a life beyond what his parents chose for him by putting their lives on the line? Would he have been allowed to? I mean. No bloody words.

Again, anyone who says Jos is a problem father better be coming for the Ocons (and Anthony Hamilton).

The way he is is so clearly connected to the fact that he lived his whole life in survival mode. That guy moves through the world like the last meal he had was one he had to fight for in an abandoned warehouse. And fair enough it got him where he needed to go, but once you’ve made it, It’s the most unpalatable energy to be around, and it no longer serves you. And it also makes you look like an ass because how can you be a whole f1 driver and stink of desperation. Logically it’s clear why but it’s still just not a likeable combination. He probably knows that, but doesn’t know any other way to be. That’s why he has such an issue with teammates - he can’t not fight for things because he’s always scared someone is going to take something from him. He’s like a stray dog that you take in and they hide food in their bed because they think you might not ever feed them again.

I really hope he’s getting some therapy because the childhood is trauma-ing out in the open.

I think of everyone on the grid he’s the one I feel most sorry for, because of all the backstories that you hear, he seems the most unhealed.

But the levels of delulu is something else. That f3 season where he beat Max (racing for a top team while Max was in one that I don’t think had even won a race until Max won 10 in one season) really got him thinking they were on a level and he hasn’t let go of it since. He’s like “oh I look at it like I’ve never had the opportunity to go against Max because we’ve always been in different leagues of car”…as if there’s not a REASON. You’re out here like “he’s in a red bull” well why aren’t you? By your own admission you were on the same f3 track…helmut wasn’t looking for you bro.

Hope you don’t mind my essay back lol. I’m low-key obsessed with him because I find him so annoying but at the same time he’s like literary gold dust. He has such Main Character backstory. It’s just a pity he comes across so unlikeable to me. And the thing is, I genuinely think underneath it all he is a sweet person (delulu still, but sweet), but it just comes secondary to his survival mode personality.

#esteban ocon

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jacqcrisis · 3 months

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Hello! Sorry if you're tired of talking about your older writing instead of the current works which I also love, but I wanted to say I love your characterization(s) of Charon throughout your work and I was wondering if you had any tips on understanding his character's core/just how to write him true to form?

Listen. Listen. I can talk about Charon all day. I love him. I have other hades AUs I haven’t even talked about on here that I think about often to this day and if I ever get the itch, they will be written.

And that’s very kind of you to say. Idk if I write him true to any form, but I am extremely anal about keeping characters as in character as possible. Or at the very least, as believably in character as I can. When I plan on writing a character for a longer fic, whether AU or not, I usually try to find out everything about them and break them down to the bone before building it back up. What is in canon that I can use to build back a believable skeleton that is fleshed by what I can infer from the bones underneath?

So core character concepts for Charon that are in canon that I use:

Greedy - he likes him gold and him stuff. No matter what universe you are writing in, this is one of, if not, the biggest driving factor for any job or hobby he has. He wants money, he likes money, and he knows how to make money.

Protective - of his things, his lifestyle, and the people he cares about. He’ll fight Zagreus, who he likes, if he touches his shit. One of the few emotions you can get out of him in game is anger at possibly uncovering his ‘thing’ with Hermes. He keeps Persephone’s location a secret (thereby protecting her) because either he cares for her or because Nyx does and Charon cares about his mom.

Difficult to discern - in part because he’s a big spooky skull man whose face you can’t see and who doesn’t talk, but it also seems to be mostly on purpose. Charon can communicate, given what other characters know more about him, but he specifically chooses not to. What you come to know about him, you find out through context clues, what other people say, and your own sleuthing which leads to-

Extremely private and disinterested in other people’s opinions about him - to the point, he doesn’t care what the GODS THEMSELVES think. All of them think he’s vile and nasty (save for Hermes). The people he’s close with know the kind of person he is, and that’s what matters. On top of that, he has his secrets, and he keeps them hidden, one of these secrets being who he is as a person.

Independent - Nyx states she doesn’t worry about him because he’s extremely good at doing his own thing and he likes it that way, unlike her other failsons. His intentions are all on his own, and he doesn’t answer to anyone; not her, not Hades, not the gods, only himself. If he is helping someone, it is for his own reasons (maybe because he cares, probably because of money, possibly because Hermes asked).

Clever - He’s literally the head of an underground smuggling ring in game. Like this man knows how to do shit, make money, and get away with it. He’s capable of thinking many steps ahead, and able to plan for the long con.

Methodical - He's got his routine. He rows his boat. He counts his coin. He's mans his shops. He does things his way. He has his methods and he sticks to them.

Patient - that one's a gimme. He’s older than most of the gods and paddles a ferry around at the pace of molasses and doesn’t speak and does nothing to really speed Zagreus’ plight along. Clearly he understands and practices patience.

Good Fighter - he’ll beat your ass.

Asexual (of some kind) - Aphrodite directly states she can’t get to Charon as he only ‘lusts after coin’. He is immune to machinations of the goddess of sex and beauty. But not the god of merchants, clearly.

A Gentleman - by Hermes’ opinion. Hermes really likes Charon. Please say hi to him for Hermes because-

Charon Really Likes Hermes - no matter what you think is going on between them, if it’s just friendship, or professional associates, or he’s in love, this is canon. He ignores everyone at the party for Hermes and vice versa. He’s very protective of the thing they have going on. He specifically lets Hermes into the Underworld far enough that Zeus can’t sense him anymore. Hermes hangs out in his shop. Hermes boon is THE MOST EXPENSIVE ONE AT HIS LAST SHOP NO MATTER WHAT. I cannot stress how much Charon gives Hermes a pass and how much Hermes seemingly knows about him despite the other core concepts listed above I just- I- AH

Anyways, from those bones, you can start to infer and build back a believable version of the character for whatever you are writing. Is he kind and thoughtful? Probably, given how the people who know him talk about him. Is he loyal? Given how he acts in regards to his inner circle, you could say yes. Does he have a temper? Probably not, given he doesn’t care much about other people’s opinions nor reacts very much to anything in canon save for very specific circumstances. Is he lonely? Probably, on some level considering he’s alone all the time and how protective he is of his buddy, etc, etc, etc.

The bones justify what you are putting on top of them and with that, for whatever thing you're writing, you can build up a believable version of a character. Even in the most extreme of AUs, like in the 70’s and on a beach in America or maybe in a dnd type universe where a character might be a lich for…reasons, as long as the core concepts are in place and every decision or authorial deviation from canon the characters make stem from those, it will be fine.

#jacq writes #charon hades #hades game #where is he in the proverbial circus? he's not in the circus. he's selling spiked lemonade outside it after bussing people over to it #he's so fun #again this is all for someone who wants to write in character. or arguably in character #if you don't that's fine #I need to write as in character as possible #I need to hear them in my head #if I don't I'm mad about it #as I was writing this I realized I've been doing the bone arranging for a different character obsessively #oh well its a fun hobby for me #anyways best of luck in your writing anon!#hope this was helpful

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raccoonfallsharder · 6 days

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First of all, i love your art. Your style is amazing.

We all know Rocket is amazing in repairing space ships (and even building them) but what about a normal Earth car?

i am BLUSHING. i feel like i don't really have a set style (at least when it comes to drawing rocket - i am still figuring it out) so this really means a LOT. you’re so sweet i could actually die, little fox. just a coin-sized blueberry pancake with whipped cream. thank you for the kind words ♡ truly ♡♡~

secondly, what about normal earth cars? ur boy rocket looks at any given machine and understands it almost instantaneously. the kree charted him within .024 points of optimum intuitive grasp. a puny little earth-car is gonna be child's play for him.

not that i would ever suggest letting him work on yours.

it'll be more or less safe (for you) because rocket does care about you and isn't trying to get you killed. and sure, if you let him do that oil change you've been needing, he'll probably make some sneaky upgrades that allow for a smoother ride and better mileage. but the next time you find yourself with a lead foot, you'll realize you can also go way faster than anything on terra should be able to go. and the next time you accidentally bump one of those buttons on the console you rarely use, you'll probably end up with laser rifles unfolding from your wheel-wells, or your taillights flipping down to ready your "brand new" plasma cannons. (brand new in the sense that rocket will probably patch them together out of some old tech he has lying around his own ship, combined with whatever he can steal out of your kitchen cabinets. don't be too surprised if that mixer you bought from the thrift store no longer works because he's jacked all the internal wiring). lucky you - he'll probably figure out a way to make your powertrain UNTN-compatible and from there, he'll figure he's only gotta get you to let him do one more tire rotation, and when he's "working" on that, he can probably figure out a way to get your car capable of actual flight. it might take a bit longer to make sure it has adequate life-support systems and an airtight seal for short-term space travel but hey, he'll figure he's doing you both a favor, piece by piece.

it'll take you a while to figure out where he's hidden all the artillery in your car - and the thrusters, and the additional fuel tanks - and how to keep yourself from accidentally opening up the wings he's installed when you're in the middle of rush-hour traffic or construction. more than once you'll scrape the bottom of your car before you realize that the clearance has changed because he'll have added some re-entry grade ceramic plating to the bottom of it.

"you got any repairs you need done?" he'll probably ask casually, the next time he's planetside. "thought you mentioned your climate control being out."

"air conditioner," you'll say dryly. "and no thanks."

his jaw will probably drop. he'll look wounded. "why not? i did a fine job on the brakes last time."

your eyes will narrow. "i keep getting pulled over by the fucken cops."

his nose will wrinkle. "ew. why?"

your glare will turn withering. "because they don't believe the thing i'm driving is roadworthy anymore," you'll have to tell him. he'll sputter, probably - outraged and insulted - but you won't really be too mad. you know he's just trying to maximize the amount of time the two of you can hang out.

besides, the upgrades he'll make to your sound system will be worth it. your music will never have sounded better.

headcanons & imagines masterlist

#rfh asks #urbanfox197 #rfh headcanons #rocket raccoon #rocket raccoon headcanons #guardians of the galaxy #rocket raccoon fanfiction

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jinx-on-mars-19xx · 18 days

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Climb the Walls

🩸Previous Parts Here🩸

Dom x Colson (Yungblud x Machine Gun Kelly)

Warnings: ABO dynamics (knots, slick, heats, mpreg), alpha serial killer/hitman Dom, omega mob boss Kells, scared boys, cursing, threats, back stabbing, pissed boss bitch Kells, Dom trying to be comforting, teasing, guns, drinking (not Kells), breaking things, insults, mentions of people as objects, trying to save their people, lost boys, hurt/comfort, past abuse, enemies to lovers 💣 Rating: mature

All ideas helped by @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker 🖤

“I have no idea what happened! I just went home for the night and when I came back bright and early they were all gone!” The Doctor was shaking where she had sat on their couch since she arrived about an hour before. The moment the couple realized their friend probably wasn't safe they told her to pack her shit and drive over with her wife. Colson was putting her up in the apartment they'd planned to move Dom and Tom into. He owned the top few floors of the Four Seasons so it was a safe house of sorts. She'd been a mess when she arrived with Dorothy in tow, the female Alpha apprehensive and anxious behind her mate. She and Kells had become friends too over the years but an Alpha was an Alpha, even a good one, and none of them liked to ask for help.

The Doc was fighting back tears every time she spoke. She'd come from a bad home like most omegas but had been able to fight her way through medical school and had been part of Col’s family for almost twenty years. She hated that someone found her place of work, they'd been so careful to hide the makeshift hospital. It was their raison d’être to save as many omegas like themselves as possible and to lose even one was a punch to the gut, but ten?

“It's not your fault Doc. You know that. I don't blame you. I'm just glad you fucking texted us and got out.” Colson tried to keep his voice reassuring but he knew he was almost to his limit on stress. He didn't want to cry in front of anyone but he felt his eyes burn when he thought about his people. Because they were that, every person he saved was his. Some moved on to new lives far away but they always knew they could call him. It broke something inside him that anyone would screw with what was his.

“I should have stayed. What if they just went out for food and now they're waiting for me?” She asked but they all knew it wasn't anything so simple.

“I've got the camera feed love, don't worry. If any of them come back I'll know.” Tom soothed as he brought a tray of tea for the room and set it gently on the coffee table. He passed a cup to each of them even if they didn't want it. He knew the fear the other omegas were probably in and it made him sick. He needed to do whatever he could to help. First he served Dorothy and Doc who each asked for something stronger which the photographer happily complied with. He had a small flask of whiskey he passed around, though Dom, Colson, and Mod said no.

The girls were on one sofa while Dominic shared the other with his mate and their roommates. Collette had joined them long enough to hear the news but her and The Doctor had stepped aside and shared hushed words at one point and she'd disappeared after that. Kells had learned not to ask about his mother. “What about the feed? Does it show anything from last night?” The man asked but Mod just shook his head.

“It's been erased, and it's a damn good job. We're working to fix it but it might take time. Sorry boss.” The beta huffed. They were all pissed about the new turn of events.

“Of fucking course. I mean who the hell would do this? What do they want? What's a few mil they might make off them in exchange for me as a fucking enemy because they have to know what's gonna happen now!” Colson hadn't felt so aggressive in a long time. He hadn't realized how much his mate was helping his temper but he could feel it now. The rage inside him made his stomach turn. “This is scorched earth shit. Drawing a fucking line in the sand. No one would stand for this and I won't either. Do they think I've gone soft or something? I'll fucking-” He had to take a breath, the more upset he grew the more the baby threw a fit inside him. “Not fucking now Punk. I'm working. We don't screw with my work.” He grumbled to his stomach but it did about as much good as when someone told him to calm down.

“Col, babies don't listen. They feel what you do. Chill the fuck out before you go into early labor. Doc's orders.” The Doctor huffed and that was like a bucket of ice water on his head. He couldn't handle that on top of everything else. He would not be the reason something happened to his child.

“Babies probably listen but let's be real, this is Col’s kid.” Mod tried to lighten the mood and they all chuckled softly.

“Fairs. Don't even listen to me.” Dom sighed teasingly as he laid his head on the older man's shoulder. He wanted so badly to soothe his child but he knew he wasn't allowed in front of others. He was amazed the guy even referenced the little one or gave them a nickname of sorts.

“That's because you're the bitch. You listen to me. That's how this whole thing works.” Kells explained before a thought struck him. “Are you sure you finished the last asshole off?”

It took the Alpha a moment to process what his mate was asking because the first time it filtered through his ADHD riddled brain it sounded somehow naughty but when he did finally connect the dots he glanced around the room. Two people didn't know who he was. Could he trust them? “Yeah. Believe me luv, he weren't walking outta ‘ere or taking anover breaf. Let alone kidnapping multiple omegas.” When he let his darkness out to play and had time to savor it, he started with the ankle tendons and worked his way up. He nervously played with his hair as he watched the women in the room. They didn't seem to care what they were talking about.

“What about friends? Could he have other people out for revenge? Did you back check the bitch?” Kells wasn't trying to blame his mate but he felt wild with worry and he was terrified it was somehow all his fault.

“I vet them Colson, you know my work better than that. There was no one that cared enough to come after the boy. I think we all know who this probably is.” Tom muttered the last so low that Col barely caught it but he saw the way Mod tapped the other man's leg.

“What? Who? What the fuck are you two not saying? Because believe me, I'll take any answers right now. This won't fucking stand.” His voice broke and his lover held him tighter. He would not fucking break in front of anyone. He was still their leader, pregnant or not, he had to hold it together.

The odd couple shared a few whispered words but finally Tom rolled his eyes and sat forward to meet the other omega's gaze. “Megan. She has to be the one stealing from you. It's the only thing that makes sense. She's been stealing from you and trying to build her own empire for years. She wasn't trying to date you, she wants to replace you. I'm sorry brother but she's trying to destroy all you've built.”

Kells blinked slowly and dropped his palm to his belly protectively. All he built could fall to ruins but he wouldn't give up his mate or child. Not even ‘without a fight’, he just flat out fucking refused. After finding out she hurt him all those years ago he'd already mostly known their friendship had never truly existed but this was on another level. “Guys, she's not smart enough for this shit.” Normally he'd feel bad saying something so catty but it felt true. She was a manipulative bitch but scheming at this level?

“It's not about brains really. Yes, she'd need to hire someone tech savvy to disable the cameras but just to decide to break in somewhere she knows would hurt you most and take the people you save? It's evil but not genius level. Causing someone pain when you know them isn't that hard.” Mod explained softly and it hit Colson like a bullet to the heart. His friend wasn't wrong. Megan had been around since he was a teenager and she'd been part of his inner circle since he came up. She knew all his buttons better than most.

“Bucket?” Dom whispered when he noticed the color of his mate go from rage pink to sickly pale. It frightened him that he couldn't protect his lover from all that pain. He wanted to introduce the bint Alpha to his blades.

“No. I'm good. Not gonna barf. Might shoot someone though. We have to find them, Dom. Some of them are so fucking young. If she sells them-”

“I know. We'll find ‘em. Believe me, I know.” The pleading stare his omega gave him was breaking the boy's heart. It was so strange because he didn't used to believe he even had one but now he knew it was there. It was made up of the man in front of him and their babe and the family they were building together. “I can go looking?” He offered though the thought of leaving them alone made him ache.

“No!”

“Fuck that.”

“No point until we reverse the camera hack.” Colson, Tom, and Mod all spoke at once but at least the beta supplied a reason. The killer just hated sitting around instead of fixing the problem at hand.

“Collette! Couldn't she ask her friend? Maybe the man who Megan thinks is on her side could know something or at least find it out.” Tom offered and Kells shrugged, it was something to do at least. Something to occupy his mind for a moment instead of stressing, though the text to his mother only took a few seconds to send.

“I could kill ‘er. End of. Ain't no more problem wiv ‘er gone.” The Alpha was itching for the chance, he had been since the night he saw her lips lock on his omega's. She deserved to meet his most precious tools. Slowly.

“And then the kids are just gone? Absolutely not. It may not even be her and then you've killed someone for no reason!” The boss knew logically she was already on his lover's list but still a part of his soul begged that she not be that awful. What did that say about his judgment? Could he trust anyone?

“Don't even luv, she been on me list for a long time. I'll give yas tha’ I can't do it now cause she got collateral but she on it. Full stop.” They weren't fighting, not really, but it was hard for the boy. He needed Colson to understand how truly dark she was. He didn't need permission exactly, he'd take out who was needed but he didn't want the man looking at him differently. They'd worked through so much already.

“Mod, call Pete. Tell him to keep an eye out. Ask him if anyone has been hired off the street.” Megan would need extra grunts to pull off something so big, she'd need guards just to keep the omegas in check. He knew most people wouldn't touch the job with a ten foot pole but if she found guys who weren't working for anyone yet they might fold. A lot of people needed money. A good portion of them were already on his payroll, even if just as dealers, but there was always a chance.

“Good thinking. But boss, you know there's a chance she's saying it's for you and getting away with it. No one below our pay grade- not even Pete knows what we actually do. They wouldn't know that's your hospital. If she said this was your stolen shipment and you were just getting them back…” The beta trailed off. It was sneaky but again, not out of the realm of possibility for her to think up.

The man cursed and nodded, a lot of the fight going out of him in a long sigh. “Call him. If she said it was for me he might be so desperate he would do it for her himself. He knows he fucked up last time. Shit!” The teacup he'd been trying to sip went flying across the room to shatter against the wall. He had been doing good controlling his anger but this was too much. At least he hadn't hit anyone. Yet. He hoped the go between would check in with him first but he knew how manipulative Megan could be. There was a chance if he had helped though that Pete would know exactly where everyone was. “Give it.” He snapped when he heard the ringing start.

Dom watched as his mate took the phone from Mod and tried to stand up to pace. He gave his man a gentle push so Col wouldn't feel self conscious and got a playful knee slap in return. “Fuck off.” The omega huffed to him and he stuck his tongue out. He didn't mean to make Kells feel like he couldn't do it, he was just used to helping by now. The other started moving, walking from one side of the room to the other. It didn't take long before an answer came but it was obviously long enough for him to crack. “You fucking asshole! How bad do you want on my shit list?”

Pete was silent on the other end of the line before clearing his throat. “H-hey boss! What's up?”

“What's up? What's up? Oh I dunno. Did you help jack some omegas from a hospital last night?” He tried so hard to stay level and he probably should have asked a different way. Now he couldn't work up to his questioning and he didn't know how to progress if the fucker-

“For you! She said it was for you. Why aren't you happy dude? We got them back!” The other man's voice was tiny on the phone but obviously terrified. Good.

“Oh, it was for me? Was I fucking there? Did I ask you? If you did it for me, why don't I have them?” He tried not to shout, every time he did the baby kicked something else he really needed. “You're all idiots.”

“She said it was a gift boss! Maybe it's a surprise and she's selling them to give you the cash?” Colson clenched his fists so hard he thought he heard something in the phone crack and he vowed mentally to get his friend a new one. He had to be honest, if this conversation kept up how it was he knew it was going across the room with the teacup.

“I don't want that. Listen to me dumbass, I did not ask for this. You and your boys better find them ALL before tomorrow or I'm coming down there.” There, that was calm enough. “I should rip your dick off and feed it to you if you think with it so god damn hard.” Oops. He couldn't say it wasn't for him, he couldn't give away that he lost control of his people, but he knew it was already implied and it scared him. He didn't know how to keep control of everyone and it put him on edge.

“Y-yes Sir. Soon as I can. I mean she had us hand them off to other guys but I'll try-”

“Find them or I'll let my pet psycho off his leash and he'll turn all you bitches into a new batch of omegas.” He didn't mean it of course, it wasn't like they'd be omegas worth saving or selling for that matter. But if Dom wanted revenge…

“What's that even supposed to mean?” Pete asked.

“Believe me, you don't want to find out. Tick fucking tock. Keep me updated.” He hung up by smashing the phone into the wall before walking over to his safe calmly and opening it, taking out a small box, and walking over to hand his best friend a new phone.

“Thanks. You did good Cols. I think you should go rest while you can. No offense but you look like shit.” Mod explained softly and Col nodded. He couldn't even talk anymore he just passed by his lover and grabbed him by the hand to pull him along. He didn't stop until they reached their room and he gently pushed his Alpha to sit. He didn't know whether to crawl into his lap and cry, sleep, or fuck.

“Do you fink he'll be okay?” Dom asked softly. He'd been trying so hard to be a rock for his partner but that small worry slipped out. There had been something special about the boy he saved and he didn't want to see him lost. Not after all he'd already been through.

Kells hurt in his heart as he took a seat next to Dom. He laid down and curled in the boy's lap, soothed when fingers teased through his hair. He craved the other's touch over everything. “I don't know. I'm worried too. If the men they got to were buyers I don't know how we get them back but we will. This is my job baby, trust me.” It didn't even bother him that Dom had taken a liking to the young kid. He was normally selfish with his lover but he could tell it was more of a big brother situation and he'd honestly grown to like the other omega too. “We should have brought him here.” He didn't mean to say it aloud but it just fell from his mouth. He was too overwhelmed for a filter.

“Wouldn't ask ya tha’. We can find a safe place for ‘em. I trust ya Cols, swear. I know you'll save ‘em all. But you do need rest.” Dom soothed back. He couldn't ask for them to take the boy in, it'd be mental. He didn't even know the kid's name yet because he'd been mute since being rescued from his home. They'd get them all back and find a new safe space and he'd take care of Megan before their child was born. Everything would be okay because it had to be. The world owed them both after the way they grew up. “You jus’ rest. I'll watch over yas.” He hummed, one hand petting through his mate's hair and the other over his belly.

Author's Note/Tags: @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker @hollywoodxwhore @jaxbreaker @fenoy7 @cole-way-iero28 if anyone wants tagged let me know 🖤

Sorry for the plot dump but we're heading to the end. Don't worry, there's already plans for a part two. I like these boys too much. There should be a little more smut mixed in but it's story time. I hope you're enjoying it! 💣🖤

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drivinmeinsane · 3 months

Text

Driver (Drive) x Ken (Barbie) ※ { masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: He twists his house key in the door and turns the knob to open it. Locked. Adjusting the basket resting against his hip, he frowns and tries his key again. The door unlocks this time. The knob is slippery in his grasp. When he pulls his hand away, it’s covered in more of that red stuff from the elevator. ※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content. ※ Content/tags: Detailed description of injury, Stab Wound, Wound Fingering, Coming In Pants, Blood and Gore, Home Treatment of Severe Injury, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Aftercare, Non-sexual Nudity, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Some reference to James Sallis's Drive novel ※ Word count: 4,988 ※ Status: Oneshot ※ Author's note: I can't help but put Driver in situations. This is a wildly self-indulgent result of a thought that wouldn't stop plaguing me, please use caution. ※ Song inspiration: Kiss Me You Animal - Burn the Ballroom

Something must be loose in the dryer because the machine keeps rattling with a sinister clank as it spins the clothing inside. Ken will have to ask for Driver’s help in filling out a maintenance request form to slip into the little box outside of the apartment building’s office. His spelling has gotten better. He knows so many more words now, but he still wants a second pair of eyes to make sure he’s not making too many mistakes.

Ken flaps a hand at his face. The poor attempt at a fan barely stirs the strands of hair plastered to his forehead. It’s humid in the basement in a way that reminds Ken of the reptile building at the zoo Driver had taken him to. It had been the first time the other man had let him hold his hand around other people. That memory keeps him eagerly coming back down to this dimly lit room to do laundry during the hottest part of the day. In the solitude of the basement laundry facility, he can relive the memory time and time again.

It doesn’t hurt that doing the laundry is something that he enjoys. He’s good at it, even better at it than he was at beach. It’s one of the few things that he can do that make him feel like he’s contributing. The task allows him to feel important to Driver. The other man takes care of him so thoroughly that these little chores are the least he can do. They’re boyfriend-boyfriend after all.

He stands up from the little chair that had been left in the laundry room by some other resident as soon as the dryer buzzes to signal that the cycle is complete. The blond man hums to himself as he scoops the dry clothing into a basket. He’s looking forward to getting the clothes folded or hung up as needed and put away. He’s done a good job, a good enough of one that Driver will probably praise him in that quiet way of his. The promise of an eye crinkling smile and a pass of boyfriend’s hand over his head is enough to get Ken thinking about other ways he can please the wheelman.

Ken has started cooking some nights. If Driver doesn’t bring something home after he gets off work this evening, he might make dinner. The mechanic always seems surprised when he cooks, looks at him in a wary way that Ken doesn’t understand. He also never eats at the small, folding table, choosing to sit on the couch instead. Ken always joins him on the couch. If he sits just right, their knees brush.

As a result of another one of Driver’s quirks, they never have sandwiches. Ken made some for them one night and Driver had taken one look at the two plates and left their apartment unit without a word. He remembers waiting a bewildered half hour before he left to try to find his boyfriend. He’d found him sitting in his parked car, staring through the pitted windshield with the look of a haunted man. Driver had apologized to him, rubbed his knuckles over Ken’s thigh as soon as he joined him and sat in the passenger seat. He had quietly explained to him that that kind of food is as upsetting to him as beer is to Ken. He’d understood immediately. Bad memories can live on in the strangest of things. He doesn’t need to know the details before the other man is ready.

He might try making pasta tonight. They’d had some recently at a restaurant. He had liked the little corkscrew shapes with the cream sauce and even the mushrooms that had been mixed in. Perhaps he could check with his boyfriend to see if pecans are a suitable addition to that kind of thing.

After gathering up the detergent and dryer sheets and tossing them into the basket, he picks up the entire bundle. It’s an easy walk to the elevator. As Ken presses the button for their floor, his eyes catch on a small, red smear. He frowns. Someone must have not washed their hands. Is it jelly? Paint maybe?

The elevator doors open and Ken steps out into the sun-bathed hallway. He pulls his keys free from his pocket. A plastic scorpion dangles from the key ring. Ken had insisted on it because it reminds him of Driver’s white jacket. He’s taken to holding it and burying his face in Driver’s pillow when the mechanic has been gone for too long. When his boyfriend is on night jobs, he usually falls asleep that way. Ken always wakes up when the other man gently eases the keys out of his hand and slips into bed beside him to wrap an exhausted arm over his waist. Ken is not sure which of them needs physical contact more. Maybe they’re equal in that way.

Even when Driver is barely able to keep his eyes open, he still checks in with Ken and gives him what he needs. Be it listening to him talk about his day or working a calloused hand over his cock. He makes Ken feel loved, and he tries his best to make Driver feel the same affection in return. Ken knows all too well what it’s like to pour yourself into someone and not be met in the middle.

Ken doesn’t blame Barbie anymore, not really. They weren’t right for each other and he can see that after the gift of time and distance. She wasn’t what he needed and he wasn’t what she needed. Ken knows he has what he needs now, what’s good for him.

He twists his house key in the door and turns the knob to open it. Locked. Adjusting the basket resting against his hip, he frowns and tries his key again. The door unlocks this time. The knob is slippery in his grasp. When he pulls his hand away, it’s covered in more of that red stuff from the elevator.

The blond man pushes the door open and closes it behind him. There is more red smeared on the kitchen entryway wall. More startling, is the presence of a hand print that would nearly match his own hand if he were to put it on top of the mark.

A cursory look around leads to him spotting Driver’s keys laying on the kitchen counter. The horse charm on the key ring is resting on the rabbit’s foot like a pillow. His boyfriend is home.

“Driver?” he calls out, worry building up in his chest.

A low noise comes from the bathroom, almost like the whine of the wounded coyote Ken had watched Driver move off the side of the road a few months ago. Ken hastily sets the basket down in the narrow hall before taking hurried steps through the cramped kitchen to their equally small bathroom. He nearly clips himself on the fridge handle as he passes by.

The door is slightly ajar and he pushes it the rest of the way open to reveal Driver sitting on the closed lid of the toilet. His boyfriend is slumped back against the tank, legs spread wide. The jean jacket he’d been wearing when he left for work at the garage this morning is off and thrown carelessly in the tub. Ken’s eyes immediately go to the shock of red saturating the other man’s abdomen. It’s welling up between the fingers the mechanic has pressed tightly against himself. He’s bleeding.

The shine of the blood in the stark overhead lighting reminds Ken of the cherry filling from a pie at the diner Driver takes him to on special nights. His mouth reflexively waters at the sight. He tears his eyes away from the mess on his partner’s stomach up to his face. Driver looks tense, eyes tight, mouth set in a faint grimace.

“Are you alright?” Ken asks, “I don’t…” he trails off. He has a vague idea of what might be going on, from the movies and shows he’s seen over the months that he’s been in the real world, but injuries, big ones... they’re just pretend when it’s people, right?

Driver grunts and gives him a nod. There is a sheen of sweat across his face. Their extensive “first-aid kit”, as Driver calls the plastic toolbox crammed with supplies, sits precariously on the bathroom sink. It doesn’t look as though he has made much progress with it. The lid is still tightly closed.

“What happened?” Ken prompts, knowing that his boyfriend won’t be the one to start a conversation.

A small exhale, a sigh. “Guy didn’t like Shannon’s price ‘n pulled a knife. Changed his mind though.”

It’s easy to fill in the holes of what Driver doesn’t say, won’t say because he doesn’t want to worry him. He’s a good man. Ken knows couldn’t stand for his boss to be hurt so he got into the middle of it and managed to get the upset customer to pay up. The ex-doll has heard Driver make plenty of annoyed noises about Mr. Shannon, but he still cares. Driver always cares, no matter what it does to him. That’s why Ken is around. He helps him remember that he’s not disposable.

“Can I see it?” Ken asks, with a gesture at the seated man’s midsection.

Wordlessly, Driver lets his hand fall from his stomach. It rests on his thigh, relaxed but prepared to correct him if he goes too far. Sometimes Ken needs the correction, he knows he can get too enthusiastic, but that’s why he needs Driver. Driver looks out for him just as much as Ken looks out for him, maybe even more since Ken knows he can’t do much.

Mesmerized by the vibrant color, Ken lowers himself to his knees for a better look. He reaches out and pulls the hem of Driver’s soaked shirt up to his ribs. It sticks there when he lets got to trail his fingers down the warm skin to the slowly trickling tear in the other man’s abdomen. He feels Driver’s stomach hitch and tense beneath his touch. The wound is just to the upper right of his belly button. The edges of it are slightly jagged.

He traces the outline of the injury. His fingers go slick with blood. Driver shudders.

Impulsively, unable to resist the desire to be closer to the other man, to find a home nestled in the sturdy shelter of Driver’s body, he pushes his index finger into the wound. It slides in with no resistance, as though welcoming the intrusion with open arms.

There’s a choked off noise from the other man, almost a breathy groan. His bloody right hand rises to clamp down on Ken’s shoulder. He merely holds on, not pushing him away.

“Is this okay?” Ken asks. Part of him knows that it isn’t, that it can’t be.

Driver gives him a nod, eyes burning bright. His face is flushed, the color spreading down his neck and barely gracing the sliver of exposed chest Ken can see in the gap of his unbuttoned Henley. The visual of Driver wetting his lips with his tongue is enough to send Ken stretching up to kiss him. The other man readily accepts the attention, groaning and panting against his mouth with every slight jostle of Ken’s finger inside of him.

He pulls away to look at what he’s doing. Driver follows the motion, and they both look at where they’re joined. The tissue pulses hotly around his finger. It’s wet, a different kind of wet than Driver’s mouth. The liquid is thick, almost silky against his skin. Ken eases his finger out until just the tip remains and pushes it back in. The hand on his shoulder tightens as the wheelman lets out another low noise. Driver’s thumb rubs back and forth over Ken’s collarbone, encouraging.

Feeling bolder, Ken slides out enough to slot his middle finger in alongside his index before coaxing both inside. It’s a tight fit, causing his boyfriend to let out a small cry. It’s a noise that Ken has never heard from him before.

He writhes on his seat atop the toilet lid, boot clad feet scrabbling for purchase on the tile, but even now, the mechanic doesn’t use his hold on Ken’s shoulder to shove him away. Driver’s insides clench down hard around his exploratory fingers like a vice. He can easily feel his boyfriend’s pulse like this. It’s steady, reliable like the man himself. Experimentally, he flexes his fingers inside of him, wringing a hitched breath from the other man’s lungs.

“Driver,” he murmurs, awed. He’s never been inside of the other man in any capacity, much less like this.

The kneeling man thrusts his fingers shallowly in and out of the wound. Wet, sucking noises join their own ragged breathing. Ken crooks his fingers, causing Driver’s back to arc. He impales himself further, pressing so closely to him that there’s nowhere else to go. Ken’s metacarpals are digging into the flesh around the injury, he’s fully bottomed out. The edges of the wound are straining, gaping wide, to take him impossibly deeper.

Driver’s left hand tangles into Ken’s hair and grips into it tight enough to hurt. A whimper of his own slips out of his throat to join the noises he’s coaxing out of his boyfriend. Driver doesn’t often touch him this roughly, unless…

“Do you like this? Does it feel good?” he asks, savoring the way Driver is digging his fingers into his scalp and shoulder. He’s holding him he might tear him apart with his bare hands, bury himself in Ken’s insides just as he’s doing to him.

As an answer, Driver firmly guides his head down. His face smears across the blood-soaked denim to press against the erection straining at the material. Automatically, Ken mouths at the wet cloth. The metallic tang of blood coats his tongue and he jerks a little in Driver’s hold, surprised at the taste. He’d almost thought it would be sweet like the pie filling that it had initially reminded him of. It does nothing to deter him, it’s just one of the many flavors he can now associate with the other man.

Driver’s cock twitches against his lips. He reaches up with his left hand to undo the wheelman’s jeans so he can properly get his mouth on him. Just as his fingers make contact with the button, Driver gives him a little shake.

“Leave it.” His voice is rough, ragged around the edges. Ken gasps at the way the tissue clenches around his fingers when the other man speaks.

Despite the almost desperate need to take Driver into his mouth, to swallow him down, he obeys him and settles for putting his hand on the mechanic’s thigh. He starts nuzzling at him through the fabric, unable to resist. His eyes slip closed and he’s working his lips over the other man’s cock as best as he can despite the barrier. His face is becoming covered with Driver’s blood, looking as though he’s been feasting on the carcass of some larger animal, diving deep between the ribs and consuming until he is swollen with the bounty.

His boyfriend shifts to curl over him, supporting himself with both hands on Ken’s shoulders, thumbs digging into his collarbones. He’s relying solely on the kneeling man to keep himself upright. It makes Ken feel important, wanted. He realizes suddenly that he’s hard in his own pants.

Letting out a muffled whimper, he rocks on his knees. There’s no friction to be found, and Driver gives him a warning squeeze when he shifts too much. Stay still, it tells him, pay attention.

Ken forces his eyes open, angles his head so he can stare at where his fingers are still sheathed inside of the wound in Driver’s stomach. His entire hand is coated, crimson running down his arm and dripping off his elbow onto the floor. He’s never seen so much red. Should there be this much? Will his boyfriend run out? He reasons that since he’s not been stopped, that it’s fine despite his faint sense of unease. He trusts Driver, trusts him to believe that he’d let him know if this was not actually okay.

He’s mostly rubbing his cheek against the other man’s erection now, gaze focused on the movements of his hand. Ken is trying to remember how Driver’s fingers feel in him when he opens him up to take him. He mimics a half-recalled gesture, and he must do something right because he feels his strong thighs clamp down against his shoulders. The satisfaction of the response is enough to keep his mind off his aching knees. The bathmat under them doesn’t offer much padding. There hadn’t even been one before Ken. Driver had been tossing a towel on the floor in place of one.

Each thrust of his fingers in Driver’s wound causes the injured man’s hips to buck. He’s grinding against Ken’s face now, like Ken himself sometimes does to the other man’s thigh when straddling it. Some nights, his boyfriend is too tired for anything more and lets Ken chase his own orgasm with Driver’s work-rough hands guiding each rock of his pelvis. He encourages Ken with low sounds then, ignoring his own arousal and gently redirecting Ken’s hands when he reaches for it. Ken always falls asleep tucked against his side, sated, afterwards.

Ken makes his own encouraging noises now. They’re pitched differently than Driver’s, not as low, but the other man must get the idea if the increased fervor of his motions is anything to go by. Ken is sure that his face is going to be rubbed raw by the damp fabric, but it’s nothing in comparison to knowing he did a good job in pleasing the person that matters most to him. His eyes wander up further for just a flash and see that Driver’s are closed, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. His mouth is open and set in a snarl. He’s close.

The kneeling blond spreads his fingers just slightly, scissoring them in the wound, half hoping to sink a third finger home. The hole doesn’t give. It merely cradles the intrusion like a lover, heart full up and unwilling to take another to bed. Ken rewards the loyalty by twisting his fingers inside and beckoning. Driver pins him in place, bucks up once, twice, and then he’s spilling over inside his jeans. The fabric becomes slicker, proof of Ken’s hunger. The heat of the release presses insistently at his cheek, hot in comparison to the chilled blood. Driver’s tissue clings tightly around Ken’s fingers. If it had been his own cock instead, it would have been milked dry. With some effort, he slips free. The wound flutters slightly as if mourning the loss, edges not wanting to meet.

Ken shifts under the other man’s hold, getting his head up enough to realize that Driver is pale. The frenzied flush from earlier has faded. He’s trembling a little, muscles in his abdomen seizing from more than aftershocks.

“Hey,” he says, giving the wheelman’s leg a shake. Driver’s glazed over eyes look back at him, disconcertingly blank. “Driver?”

The seated man slides his right hand off Ken’s shoulder and leans back with some difficulty. He clamps the hand over the wound in his side. He coughs a little and blood gushes with each expulsion of air. Ken hasn’t realized that the other man’s pant leg is soaked down to the ankle and that Ken himself is kneeling in a small puddle of blood on the tile. Part of it has been wicked up by the bathmat. The blue material is almost purple now.

“Driver?” Ken repeats, worried.

His boyfriend manages to focus on him with a little more clarity. Some of the sharpness returns to his eyes. Despite it, he looks exhausted.

“Gonna need you to patch me up now,” he says, voice sounding wet.

“Okay... okay, yeah.” Ken swallows down the worry that he’ll mess this up. His blood has rushed back to his brain and he’s almost shaky now with nerves. “What do I- What do you-”

“Wash your hands then get the sterile water. Metal can. Gonna have to flush this out.”

Eager to assist, Ken hastily gets to his feet, ignoring the pins and needles in his legs from kneeling for too long. He sets the repurposed toolbox on the floor and scrubs his hands more thoroughly than he ever has. He drops back to his knees, pressing in close between Driver’s spread legs. He locates the can, picks it up, and pops off the lid.

Driver hisses and grabs hold of Ken’s shoulder in an encore of their previous position when the jet of saline hits his wound. The injury is not bleeding as much as before. Ken’s not sure if that is good or bad.

“What next? Would a band-aid…?”

“Dry it with gauze. Use the glue when you’re done. Gotta seal it. Don’t want you to have to sew it.”

He recaps the can and pulls out a few individually wrapped packets of gauze. He moves slowly as to not dislodge Driver’s hand using him as a support. He dries him off, wiping away the fresh blood that has come to the surface. It’s hot under his touch, the only part of Driver that still feels warm. Driver always runs cold but not like this. He manages to get the glue open with one hand and squeezes a line of it on the edges of the hole. He holds the sides of the wound together, pinches the injury closed. It’s like that time Driver had coached him through gluing the handle back on Ken’s favorite mug. Spread adhesive along the break and hold it tight until the glue seals it.

He has never though of Driver as breakable until now. That worries him.

“Okay,” he says, letting his hold go. “What do I do?”

“Just like a scratch now.”

Good. Ken knows what to do with that. He’s always insisting on putting bandages on Driver’s arms and hands when he comes home with scratches from the garage. The other man accepts it with quiet bemusement each time, like he’s never had anyone care enough to bother with it.

With his tongue pinned between his teeth in concentration, he puts ointment over the glued line. He presses a gauze pad to it and secures it all with waterproof tape. He looks up at Driver and the other man passes his hand over his hair. Good job. Ken got his praise after all.

He pulls off Driver’s boots, his socks, shifts him around enough to pull off his pants. He’s glad he doesn’t have to worry about underwear. He stands up so that he can ease the shirt off over his head. Everything feels spongy in his hands, the material sodden. He throws a drying, already used towel on the floor at Driver’s feet so he doesn’t track blood through their small apartment when Ken helps him to his feet.

Ken gets one of the wash cloths off the shelf and wets it with warm water. He cautiously leans over the other man, and wipes him down as best as he can. His touch is tender, almost reverent. He has to step to the side to rinse the cloth out multiple times.

The sink basin is stained red and the entire room looks like that bathroom from the horror movie he had watched with the mechanic, about the two men that got chained in there. He knows that if it had been him and Driver in that room, neither of them would leave the other behind. No matter what.

“Come on. I want to get you in bed.” He tugs at the man, Driver barely moves. “Please, Driver. Get up. Please. I’m worried.”

At his pleading tone, the mechanic forces himself to his feet. He uses Ken for support all the way down the narrow kitchen and around the corner into the main room, their only room really. It was what Driver referred to as a “studio”. Ken likes it, likes that they’re forced to be close every second they’re home together.

He nearly trips over the laundry basket that he had abandoned earlier. All thoughts of housekeeping had fled from him the minute his boyfriend had needed him. Driver makes an amused noise when Ken almost puts them both through the wall when he stumbles.

Ken gets Driver to the side of the bed with no further mishaps. Making sure to pull down the blankets first, he helps his boyfriend into bed. He’s not worried about the smears of red on the burgundy fabric. He’s good at doing laundry. He can fix it tomorrow.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere, okay?” He waits for the other man’s nod before he ducks back into the bathroom.

Hurriedly, not wanting to spend more time away than is absolutely necessary, he rinses Driver’s jacket and other clothing with cold water in the tub. He’s relieved that the other man had worn the denim today instead of the white jacket. The staining from the blood wouldn’t be nearly as reversible. The flecks of glitter liberally adorning the majority of Driver’s wardrobe have been much harder to erase than this will be. He’ll leave the items to soak overnight in the sink.

A look in the mirror reveals that he looks like the stereotypical dumb blond in a horror movie. His hair is streaked through with red where Driver’s hands had gripped into it. His face is smeared, saturated almost, with the other man’s blood. It looks as though Ken had been the one in an accident. No, he had just savored. He had partaken of what Driver had offered him. It’s almost a shame to wash himself clean, to remove the traces from his body of what had transpired between them.

He pushes aside the twinge of loss he feels and throws himself into their rundown shower to rinse himself off. Pink spirals down the drain. As he rubs his hands over his face, he thinks about the man he left laying in bed. He picks up the pace, ignoring the way his skin stings under the water and his own touch. He wants to sprawl out on the mattress beside his boyfriend.

Once he’s satisfied he’s cleaned himself as much as he can in the brief minutes he’s willing to spend on the endeavor, he shuts off the water and hastily throws the soiled bathmat and blood-soaked towel into the wet tub the minute he gets out. They will be another problem for tomorrow.

Pulling a clean towel off the rail, he pauses before leaving the bathroom. He’s suddenly remembered what Driver had said once about making hurt go away. He pulls a bottle of red pills from the toolbox that is still on the floor by the sink. Ibuprofen.

Barely toweled dry enough to not drip, he exits the room to fill a glass of water from the tap before taking both the liquid and the pills to his boyfriend. Ken watches as the other man rouses enough to take the bottle and shake out two pills. His throat bobs as he swallows them down and chases them with a mouthful of water.

A drop of moisture escapes the corner of Driver’s mouth, and Ken wants to chase it with his tongue as it carves a path along the underside of the mechanic’s jaw. He manages to control himself and takes both items from the other man to sit them on their dresser. The piece of furniture serves as a spot for their TV and also functions as the bedside table. Driver sleeps on the same side of the bed as it so that he’s closer to the door. Ken knows that the other man likes to be between him and any potential danger, even if he won’t elaborate on what that danger might be.

Ken turns off the lamp and crawls under the blankets next to the other man. He’s damp enough that the sheets cling to his bare skin. Driver immediately wraps an arm around him and coaxes him against his side. There’s a sharp exhale from the injured man when Ken rests his head on his shoulder like he does every night.

“Are you going to be okay?” he blurts out, unease creeping to the surface.

There’s a long pause, typical for Driver before he finally speaks. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” Ken doesn’t normally question him like this, hasn’t felt the need to.

“’M not gonna leave you,” Driver responds, rough fingers rub at the side of Ken’s waist. He’d understood the silent question Ken was really asking.

“Was what we did wrong?”

“No.” The fingers squeeze down on his flesh, anchoring him.

“I hurt you,” he mumbles into the side of Driver’s neck.

“Not really. ‘Sides, I liked it.” He must be worried about Ken in return if he’s this chatty.

“Why?”

“Felt good.” The admittance is hushed, secretive.

“I made you feel good?”

Driver nods, slow. Warmth blossoms in Ken. His greed to consume, to make the most of what had been offered, hadn’t been too much.

They’re quiet for a long while, Ken listening to the even sound of Driver’s breathing. He feels warmer. Some of the color has returned to his face. The strained crease between his eyebrow is gone.

“Tell me ‘bout your day.” His chest rumbles under Ken’s palm, voice thick with the edge of sleep.

And so Ken does, just like Driver asks him to every night. He talks and talks about everything he can think of. He speaks until Driver goes lax underneath him and his breathing settles with the occasional rasping snore.

#Drive (2011)#Drive (2011) fanfiction #Driver fanfiction #Driver #Barbie (2023)#Ken #Driver x Ken #Ken x Driver #.my work #.my posts #.my fanfics

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everybodyisasebfan · 2 years

Video

Sky Germany’s best of Norbert Vettel as co-commentator during FP3 at the Austin GP.

Translation under the cut!

***

Norbert, welcome to the team, we are glad to have you!

***

It would be a pity for Mick because Mick is actually- I know him personally, I find him a very decent, nice person, who stands with both feet on the ground. Very down to earth and it would be sad- and he has brought the performance, always, whether in formula 3 or in formula 4 or in karting. It's not as if he came last or was in the midfield and advanced because his name is Schumacher. He has shown that he can win championships. You can't imagine that someone like Mick... but that's the way it is in this business, very strange at the moment.

***

Sascha: That was Alex Albon’s girlfriend. I don't know her, do you know her Norbert?

No, I'm not like that in the paddock. I'm with the guys in the pits, I talk to the mechanics. These are the people who make a difference, and it has to be said that they all do a great job.

S: I've noticed that you often go to see the mechanics, the ferrari ones as well.

The guys who worked on the car, I still get along with them. There are always two classes, there are the ones on the pit wall, they’re... the politicians and there are the ones who work. It's like real life, the politicians don't have a clue or have never gotten their hands dirty, and the guys who do the work, you have to thank them.

***

Let's say that Lewis was used to winning for a long time. It's not about being first or second or setting the best time, a race is a race. But there also comes a time when, as they always say, you first have to be able to lose before you can win and sometimes it's the other way around.

***

I form my own opinion because I was a mechanic for Sebastian myself. For me, they all boil water, the water isn't hotter, it's just more expensive. Sometimes you don't understand them, they can't see the forest for the trees or the trees for the forest.

***

S: Sebastian has a beautiful helmet.

Yes, I think it's cool, very peace and love. I think it's very fitting for America: Woodstock, cool times like in the 70s and 80s. It gives me goosebumps.

(both laugh)

You are the way you are. I can't pretend to be someone I'm not, I am who I am. I think some people might need subtitles to understand me, but if I tried to speak High German, I think that would go a bit awry.

***

When we were in Suzuka, that's what he loves so much, the speed.

S: Yes, we saw that.

That's the way it is. Suzuka is a track that you have to... as Sebastian might say, you have to have the balls to go into the corner and keep your foot on the pedal.

***

S: Now come the two Alpha Tauri, Gasly and Tsunoda, maybe you can see a difference there.

Ralf: That one is a bit slow.

S: That's right.

A bit slow...

Ralf: Yeah, he's probably on a cool down lap.

That's such a cramp.

(they all laugh)

Ralf: That's such a cramp. Unfortunately that's modern Formula One, whether you like it or not.

Modern Formula One. The cars are so long, when you see them in reality, they’re almost like minivans.

***

They’re adjusted to be so hard, it's like a plank. When they hit the barrier (...) it's like a kart, it lifts the rear axle. That's how hard the machines are now.

***

With Mick in Japan, you have to wonder what they were thinking, I have no idea.

S: When he was left to drive on wet tyres for a long time.

They were hoping that someone would make a mistake at some point and they could then use the safety car, which did not happen.

***

The car is tailored to Max like a fist to an eye. Or, in other words, maybe he's just able to get the most out of the package.

***

When you read, "Mick cost us millions," that's nonsense. The millions they've wasted, they've blown themselves. With strategy and whatever else. You can't just dish it out, you also have to be able to take it. That's always the problem, they never want to take it. It's always the person sitting between the steering wheel and the engine who gets the blame.

***

S: Norbert, I had a lot of fun.

I also had a lot of fun. I hope people understood most of what I said and I would like to thank all the viewers and also Formula One - or motorsport as a whole. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for everyone. I hope I didn't talk too much käs.

S: Absolutely not! The feedback was great, we got lots of great messages, I'll show you those in a moment.

Thank you very much!

#sebastian vettel #mick schumacher #norbert vettel #Norbert my beloved #f1 #formula 1 #us gp 2022 #the stars mean there's a cut... just to be sure everyone catches on lol #if you see any mistakes pls let me know!#tagging seb so I can find this again #and tagging mick cause norbert defending him deserves a mick tag

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effervescentdragon · 1 year

Note

“ungodly hour” title, maxiel!! (but if you don’t wanna write them someone else works too!!)

i have slept very poorly. i am drowning in studying about a country i know in its native tongue in fucking german. i am in class talking about influencers. i like torturing danny. i hope you like this anon ✌🏻🥰

Sometimes when the night is too quiet for Monaco standards, Daniel thinks about what may be, or may have been, if only everything was just a bit different.

He used to be on top of the world. Almost. It felt like he was on his way to be on top of the world, something he knew was in his power to do, something he knew he could do. He beat Seb in the same machinery, Seb who was the four-time World Champion for Red Bull. He fought his way through the ranks of Red Bull, which was pretty much what he imagined soldiers in the wars did fifty years ago, complete with the blood and everything. He'd gone against Seb and came out on top, and then Seb left and he was going to be the one who won all the time, the one who would win the ultimate prize, like the good guys won the war. Nothing would stand in his way, because nothing could. He beat the reigning - or not anymore, but close enough - World Champion, and now was his time. Time to shine. Time to win, baby.

Except it didn't happen that way, because he got Max for his new teammate.

He should've known. Probably. Maybe. He should've known when Christian smiled at Max after his first drive for Red Bull and said Good job, Max. He'd seen that smile before. Even worse, he'd seen the way Max beamed back on another blond, blue-eyed face. He should've known. The fact that he didn't was on him. The fact that he tried to fight it when he realised was all him, too. The fact that he lost wasn't as much of a surprise as it may have been if he hadn't held Seb's smile and Christian's answering one in the garage somewhere deep as his core memory.

Life is a circle, his mom used to say, and he'd laugh and run off to race bikes and cars in the dirt. The only circles he'd ever been interested in were the ones he could leave on track, perfect donuts, a winner's right. Those are still the only circles he's interested in; except.

Except he's in Monaco with Red Bull, a reserve driver this time, for Checo and Max, and he's got circles around his eyes that the make-up girl that, if he smiles right, he thinks he could fuck tomorrow - tonight, already, it's way past midnight - will cover up perfectly for the latest video in the Red Bull marketing machine. Sometimes, Daniel gets an immense burst of satisfaction when he thinks that no amount of PR will ever make Max likeable, one that he can only compare to taking a chicane perfectly. Not that he would remember anymore. Not for a while.

Except he's about to get up on less than three hours and put his well-practiced, charming smile on, and go watch Max win the Monaco Grand Prix. He's going to watch Max win, win again, circle after circle, round and round, on a track that was his once. On the track where he had his last victory. On the track where he last felt the high. On the track where he last had Max.

Or at least fucked him. Daniel isn't sure anyone will ever have Max. Max belongs to the racing more than Daniel can remember anyone else belonging to the racing. Max doesn't really care about anything else, and Daniel didn't really think, or want, Max to care about him or whatever. Max cares about winning, and so does Daniel. So when Daniel won, and they all got drunk in Monaco and ended up in Max's apartment, because it was bigger than anyone's, except maybe Lewis', and Daniel -begged- asked, Max -sighed and didn't quite roll his eyes as he- rolled his zipper down.

Daniel knew it wouldn't happen again the moment Max won the Championship. Their hug was immortalized for forever, and Daniel dutifully shared it on his own social media, and then promptly gave his phone to his manager before the picture finally disappeared from his grid. Just like he himself disappeared from the grid.

He resented Seb. That much he could admit. He resented Seb for being able to choose to leave. He resented Seb for winning. Most of all, he resented Seb for showing Red Bull what they could have - a golden boy for whom the worldd parted and who drove in circles like it was his only purpose in life, and who won every time.

He's looking at Seb now, in the VIP area. Retirement suits him, and he looks better than he did for the whole of last year. Nico is there too, and Daniel always resented the easy way him and Seb found their way around each other after only a couple of pointed jabs. Neither of them was as charming as Daniel, and still they somehow made it work. Still, they were both worth of adoration. Still, they both had what Daniel didn't have, and nobody could take it away from them.

"So how do you think is Charles handling his penalty?" Nico asks in English, and Seb laughs in his face.

"Nice try," he says, and Daniel knows he's missing something. "You know, I told him what Niki used to say, but that was a while ago. I don't know if he forgot."

Nico's gaze falters for a moment; the most feelings he will ever allow himself to show. "Niki used to say a lot of things, Sebastian, you have to be more specific."

Daniel catches the brief look Sebastian gives him from the side. "I'm talking about that thing he used to say usually when he git really annoyed. 'It doesn't matter if you're driving in circles, still you have to drive in better circles than the other nineteen guy'." He laughs, and it echoes in the sudden hollow of Daniel's chest. "Do you remember that?"

Nico laughs too, and Daniel has always thought Seb and Nico's laughs sounded very similar.

"Yeah," Nico says. "I remember."

Daniel turns his head to the skies. It looks like it will rain during the race. That should make it interesting. Max is good in the rain. He rubs his hand across his chest and sets his smile firmly on his face.

#effervescentdragonwrites #f1 rpf #unrequited maxiel is the beat maxiel #maxiel #i needed this out of my head so here tou go #im back to this pointless class so keep fingers crossed that i dont murder someone

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soulofapatrick · 1 year

Text

Sunshine on a Cloudy Day - Tommy Miller x Reader

Summary: You’re the Millers neighbours who has become practically family within two years except Joel has kept your from Tommy in fear of him breaking your heart... What happens when Joel one day tells you Tommy really cares about you and he has no problems of you pursuing Tommy...

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: pining; smut (p in v) and lots of fluff

Notes: This is my first try at no outbreak au

Y/N’s POV

Being best friends with your hot neighbours had its perks as well as its downsides. I had a spare key which the outwardly grumpy Joel Miller had cut for me a year into our friendship, ignoring the way Sarah looked between the two of us with a knowing look. Except she really didn’t know. Sure, Joel Henry Miller is fucking hot with his curly brown hair; deep caramel brown eyes and the messy scruff of a beard but he’s not the Miller I found myself falling for. Joel saw it first, of course, and told me that his little brother - Tommy - is too much of a playboy for me and that he’d break my heart but that didn’t stop me thinking of him at night or giggling myself silly when he was around.

Today was no different, my house was boring and empty so I grabbed my phone and the keys before heading across the street to the Miller’s house. It’s quiet stepping inside as Sarah’s at school and I’m guessing Joel and Tommy have a job today so I busy myself with cleaning up their mess. I’m off work until Monday, with nothing to do except twiddle my thumbs for the next two days so cleaning their house and cooking a hot meal for them is a great distraction and it’ll take my mind off my sister’s phone call. They’re not messy people, it’s just Joel struggles with getting up early but, he does it anyway to take his sweet daughter to school everyday before he and Tommy then drive on to wherever they’re working. If I’m at the coffee shop they’ll stop by for their usual coffees and tell me about their mornings if there’s no queue behind them. It’s nice. I love the routine we have. It could be seen as a little chaotic and weird to anyone else but it works for the four of us and I don’t want to lose it for anything.

Joel��s room is the messiest of course, the duvet half off the bed and clothes on the floor as if he overslept today which being Joel… yeah probably. I sniff every shirt on the floor, organising them into clean and dirty piles before folding the clean ones and putting them back into the drawers and stripping the bed because he probably hasn’t had time to wash his duvet in a while. The dirty pile is thrown at the top of the stairs as I go do the same in Sarah’s room, her bed being made and it’s clean enough to leave alone so I just grab her hamper of dirty clothes, adding them to the pile. The guest room hasn’t been touched since I last slept in there so all that’s left is Tommy’s room.

I knock first as he might be in there, you can never tell with Tommy, but there’s no reply so I cautiously open the door. It’s empty, he’s at work with Joel it seems and it gives me time to be able to clean his room, doing the same as I did with Joel’s but the smell of his shirts has me a little weak at the knees. I don’t know why but there’s just something about the way Tommy smells so much like vanilla; woodsmoke and fresh coffee that has me intoxicated. It takes me a minute to shake the thoughts of what he’d be like in bed, lips soft and persistent and the low husk to his voice. I have to quickly grab his dirty clothes and the stripped duvet cover, leaving the room before I do something stupid.

The pile of all their dirty laundry is a struggle to get into the washing machine but I refuse to do two loads so I make it fit, putting the detergent in and turning it on before focusing on getting the kitchen tidy so I can get food prepared. They have a dishwasher that makes things a lot easier so I load it with the dirty plates and cups that are piled on the side before wiping down every surface and checking for any glasses or plates elsewhere like the living room before putting it on. Then, knowing how busy the three of them have been I check their fridge and yeah I was right: there’s left over pizza and like three day old takeaway chicken wings along with condiments and milk that is on its last day. Their cupboards are in similar condition: a lonely bag of pasta and some cereal as well as a few sandwich fillers like Nutella. It’s only three in the afternoon so I have at least two more hours before Joel and Tommy get back so a quick trip to the supermarket is definitely an option but then again so is ordering the shopping as I’m not going to be able to carry four peoples worth of food back from the shops and I don’t have a car.

It doesn’t take long for the shopping to be ordered and delivered, our nosey neighbour bidding me good afternoon when I open the door to grab the bags from the delivery driver. I thank the driver then smile at William, sending him a wave before moving all the bags to the table so I can unpack them and put everything away. It should feel wrong, being in Joel’s house without him here and buying him shopping, putting it all away to then get started on dinner. Others would say they should pay me to be a stay at home mum but I’m not, I’m… I’m not sure what I am to them, maybe platonic soulmate? I don’t have to say anything for Joel to ever understand me and vice versa, that’s what platonic soulmates are, aren’t they? I don’t care what others think anyway, I’m happy in my own little bubble, it’s why I moved to Austin in the first place. I had to get away from everyone and everything I knew after the death of my brother, I couldn’t deal with the sympathetic looks and whispers.

The front door opens and familiar voices fill the house as I’m plating up the one pot creamy chicken pasta I settled on making. The three of them file in, eyes widening and mouths watering at the steaming food set at the table, throwing their thanks at me before they’re practically racing to their seats and digging in. I make sure the hob is off and that the seconds are covered before joining them, taking my seat next to Tommy with Joel opposite me and it’s perfect. Joel and Tommy begin to talk about their days, one of their workmen not having turned up and made everything stressful and they’ll have to work late tomorrow which means I’ll be spending the day with Sarah tomorrow. Sarah then tells her dad and Uncle Tommy about her day, how a fight broke out and her best friend - Theo - told her the kids were expelled. They’ve both had eventful days so I’m just glad I could help take some of the pressure off of them.

Joel’s doing amazingly as a single father, giving the fact Sarah’s mother just up and left him with Sarah one day. The brothers were forced to work things out, Tommy stepping up to be there for his older brother and little niece, and they’ve both done so fucking well for it. Sarah’s growing up to be a beautiful and fun, well mannered girl who is both equal parts strong and compassionate. It sometimes makes me jealous, seeing how well put together and close knit they are, longing for the same things but everything changed for me after losing my twin brother two years ago. My sister has reached out to me a few times but other than that not much has happened communication wise. Seeing the Millers makes me want to reach out to my parents but I know they would just reprimand me for leaving and if they found out where I lived they’d come all the way here and try and drag me back to California against my will. They had called me rude and disrespectful for not attending Scott’s funeral despite seeing the way I couldn’t leave the house that day without throwing up from the stress and realisation that my partner in crime was gone. I had packed up my things and hired a removal company to pick me up and drive me across the country to get as far away from it all as I could.

A hand settles on my thigh and I’m whipping my head up to see Tommy and Joel watching me, concern in their eyes and Sarah’s no where to be seen. Her plates empty and there’s movement upstairs which means she’s probably gone to do her homework. The hand tightens on my thigh, “You okay baby girl?” I can’t stop the shiver that runs down my back and directly to my core whenever Tommy calls me ‘baby girl’ as it does stuff to me.

“Y-yeah,” It’s not convincing, both of them raising their eyebrows at me, “My sister called me again to tell me my younger brother graduated yesterday.” I shrug and just focus on the comforting weight of Tommy’s hand through my jeans, the brothers sharing a look before they go back to eating and their own conversations knowing I’ll tell them one day about my past and my family. It’s another thing I love about them: they don’t push me to tell them things, knowing I’ll come to them if I want or need to. They’re always there for me and I hope I’m also there for them just as much. Maybe tonight could be the night I tell them about Scott… or tomorrow.

“Come on baby girl, movie night.” Tommy grins at me, that stupidly cocky smile making my cheeks heat up and I have to avert my gaze, feeling Joel roll his eyes at me and he snorts quietly from amusement, “Let’s go old man!” Tommy’s smirking at Joel who throws his napkin at Tommy, the younger slapping his arm in retaliation. Children.

I lean into Tommy’s side, pretending to sniff his shirt and pull a disgusted face, “Nice try, go shower first, you stink.” Before grabbing my now empty plate and heading to the sink, a gasp ripped from my lips when his familiar frame covers my back and presses me against the counter. His nose is cold against my neck, spreading goosebumps in its wake, lips ghosting over my neck before he murmurs, “Maybe you should join me, you stink too.”

It takes everything in me not to let him have me, not ready to have my heart broken like Joel said but a huge part of him wants him. From everything I’ve been told about Tommy, and what I’ve seen, it’s hard to tell if he really does like me or sees me as a challenge because I don’t just fall into bed with him. Those velvety lips really settle on my neck, teeth scraping my collarbone and I’m gripping the counter so hard my knuckles go white and his chest rumbles against my back. The vanilla; woodsmoke and coffee mixed with the sweat and heat of him being out in the sun working all day makes me dizzy with everything Tommy and my lips are parting with a shaky breath.

“Are you two gonna spent the evening fucking or join us?” Sarah’s cheeky voice scares me, my face heating up while Tommy doesn’t even seem phased as he just turns to her and winks. I stay where I am, too embarrassed to move as Tommy steps back a little, every fibre in my being wanting to follow him but I don’t. I have to take a deep breath before turning around to see Sarah grinning innocently at me while Tommy begins to raid the fridge as if I haven’t just fed him.

“Sarah!” We hear Joel scold Sarah for her language from the living room, no actual venom in it as he also swears sometimes in front of Sarah. Better to teach her it’s okay to swear in certain situations and calling sex ‘fucking’ is definitely not the right situation. Especially when it’s directed at her uncle and me.

Sarah just giggles and calls back a quick “Sorry Dad!” before watching me and Tommy. She’s always been curious and quickly worked out I wasn’t into her dad but her uncle, not as quickly as Joel but damn nearly as quick. It catches me off guard when she says, “I think you two would be cute together.”

“I was just going to grab some sweet treats I may have got you all,” I change the subject, feeling shy suddenly, Sarah’s face lights up at this and Tommy reappears from having his head in the fridge at the word treats, “But before any of us can have any Uncle Tommy needs to go shower.” I fix him with a pointed gaze and Sarah’s grabbing her uncle and pushing him towards the stairs.

“My offer still stands baby girl.” Tommy calls before Sarah’s making sure he actually goes upstairs. Once she’s sure he’s doing as he’s been told she waits for me to grab the only bag I didn’t unpack before we join Joel in the living room. He fixes me with a look as I settle on his left and Sarah sits on his right.

Joel doesn’t have to speak for me to know what that look means: He will break your heart. There’s something else though, something that has me frowning down at the bag of sweets until Joel’s taking the bag and handing it to Sarah who knows exactly what sweets and drinks are for who as we all have our own favourites. Joel leans close, wrapping his arms around me in a hug before he whispers something I didn’t ever expect from him, “He really cares for you.” I just frown at Joel, unsure of what he’s getting out as he’s always trying to deter me from my feeling for Tommy. It’s never out of jealousy, Joel and I have talked about us and we agree we are and always will just be best friends. I need to bring up the platonic soulmates to him at some point actually as- “He hasn’t even looked at another girl in months.” Joel’s sighing softly, forehead falling to my shoulder and I finally understand. Tommy cares for me. He’s not just trying to get in my pants, he actually cares for me.

The little touches, the flirting, the way he looks away when I catch him staring. He’s not flirting with me for the hell of it, he gets shy. Tommy gets shy over me but fuck his flirting game is something to be envied. The way he leaves me breathless and frustrated, that knowing smirk on his oh so kissable lips, the way he runs a hand through his dark curls and his cognac eyes sliding over me. Tommy’s hair and those freckles have to me the biggest weakness for me. The amount times I’ve dreamt about tangling my hands through those curly locks, watching the way his eyes would darken and he’d probably gasp so dirtily. It has me shifting in my seat and Joel’s smacking my leg with the back of his hand as if reading my thoughts. His caramel eyes are soft and he seems to nod ever so slightly and that’s all it takes for me to stand up and make my way out of the living room and upstairs as calmly as I can.

The bathroom door is unlocked so I open it silently, slipping inside and closing it without a sound. Tommy’s humming to himself, music playing on his phone so he doesn’t hear me and it gives me the opportunity to undress. It’s a huge risk I’m taking but I trust Joel’s words, quietly stepping in behind Tommy and just admiring how good he looks from the back. His lean muscles rippling and the smooth slide of his back, leading down to that very slap-able ass, all sun kissed skin and freckles. I have to refrain myself and instead step closer, snaking my arms around his waist causing him to jump a little before I’m pressing a kiss to his shoulder and he’s practically purring. He gently tugs me around him to I’m under the hot water, a groan escaping my lips as the water melts away all the tension in my shoulders and Tommy’s lips are on my neck. He’s smiling into the trail of kisses he’s leading up until the shower head is turned to the side so he can press those pretty lips to mine in a gentle kiss. I expected Tommy to be hot and needy like his flirting but he’s far from it, his kiss being slow and romantic, hands skimming over my sides as if his hands are trying to map and memorise every bump and curve of my body. It has me gasping a little, his tongue brushing against mine until my lung burn for oxygen.

“Hi there baby girl,” His cognac eyes are warm and full of emotions I’ve been trying to ignore for so long, they stay on my face, never once straying despite being naked in front of him, “Didn’t actually think you’d join me.”

“‘M crazy for you,” I mumble, going to duck my head but he stops me with a finger under my chin, pupils blown wide, “I’ve been crazy for you since we met.”

“Fuck baby girl,” He’s whining, pulling me flush against him and capturing me in another breathtaking kiss, this one wanting more and it doesn’t take long for me to tangle my hand in his hair and tug experimentally. The breathy moan he lets out has me tugging harder, wanting to hear more and his hands grip my hips tightly, “You keep doing that and we will be skipping movie night.”

“Is that a challenge?”

He’s turning the shower off, picking me up and making sure my legs are wrapped around his waist before he drags me into a kiss, walking us to his room. He’s throwing me on his bed, shutting his door as the sound of the movie gets turned up a little more, like Joel knows. Oh god, we’re about to have sex with Joel and Sarah in the house. I can never look at them again-

Lips are on my thighs, kisses scattering their way up, moustache burning the sensitive skin a little and as much as I’d love for him to eat me out, having seen the way he eats ice cream I need him. My hands reach for his hair, pulling him away from my aching core and over me, drawing him for a slow and passionate kiss while wrapping my legs around his waist. He gets the hint, chest rising and falling quickly as he murmurs in my ear, “You need prepping sweet girl.” It has me whining, back arching with need when he circles a rough pad of his finger around my wet heat. Any sound I make is swallowed by those addictive lips when he finally pushes a finger in, my walls immediately trying to clench around it and it draws a guttural sound from him. His lips trail down my neck and chest, teeth grazing my nipples before he’s sucking while beginning to move his finger inside me. All of it has my slamming a hand over my mouth as I try to stay quiet, especially when a second finger joins the first and he’s stretching me out. He’s rocking his hips into my leg, trying to be patient to make sure I’m comfortable but if he doesn’t stop soon I’m going to come.

He can feel me fluttering around his hands, smile on his lips where they’re now biting a hickey into my neck, his fingers curling and hitting that bundle of nerves that snatches the air from my lungs. Fuck. It’s as if he already knows my body with the way he has me teetering on the edge of bliss, my walls trying to keep him in and my thighs slamming shut around his arm. His thumb comes up to rub teasing circles into the hard bud and it has my body tensing as I cry our his name, wave after wave of ecstasy shuddering through my body and my mind blanks of everything except Tommy.

His lips find mine, moving leisurely, thumb caressing my cheek as he replaces his fingers with the head of his dick, already stretching me wide. A heavy gasp is ripped from me when he slowly begins to slide in, eyes squeezing shut as he’s bigger than he could have prepared me for but he’s whispering soothingly in my ear, “Shhh, shhhh, it’s okay baby girl. I’ve got you sweetheart. It’s alright. Deep breaths. Relax baby girl. I’ve got you.”

The whispers accompanied by his fingers gently working on my clit has me relaxing enough to accept him all the way, the moan he lets out when buried to the hilt makes me almost come again there and then. He holds himself still until the uncomfortableness turns into burning hot want and need and I’m cautiously rolling my hips against him, his cognac eyes flying open to meet mine with a hungry look in them. He draws me into a hot and heavy kiss as he pulls out so just the tip is still in before he slides back in, filling me up and it’s nothing I expected from Tommy. I never understood the difference between sex and making love until now with Tommy resting his forehead against mine and our hands tangled together either side of my head as he slowly thrusts, taking his time and drawing out our mutual pleasure. The sound of our panted breaths and soft whimpers and whines drowns out the muffled music from the movie downstairs and all I can smell is Tommy, the vanilla and woodsmoke still clinging to him even after the shower. It all adds to the slowly building tightness in my stomach and I’m moving my hips down to meet his, my back arching when he hits that sweet spot that has me seeing stars.

“T-Tommy..” I whine and his teeth graze my chin, adding to the pleasure as every fibre on my body is on fire, that coil tightening almost painfully as he drags against my g-spot with every thrust until I’m tensing up and my eyes roll back into my head. His hips begin snapping against mine, face buries in my neck and has tightening in mine as I ride out my high, him not too far behind.

“Fuuuckkk baby girl,” He pants against my neck, hips stuttering as he thrusts a few more times before he’s filling me up, teeth sinking into skin to muffle his moan before he’s collapsing on top of me and I’m untangling one hand from his to bring it to his hair. He hums softly as I begin carding it through his messy curls, “‘M so in love with you. Have been for a while.” He admits, slipping out and leaving me feeling empty.

“I’m in love with you too.” It’s spoken so quietly I’m not sure he hears it as he stands up to grab the towel and clean us up but from the grin that breaks out on his face he does. He’s grinning the whole time he’s wiping away the mess sliding down my legs as I’m too spent and tired to move. He helps me into a pair of his boxers and a baggy shirt before pulling on a pair of boxers himself. I can’t not blush when he just stands there, admiring me until I have to turn away as it’s too much attention, I’m not used to anyone looking at me like that. He’s looking at me like I hung the stars and it steals my breath away.

“We can have another movie night tomorrow to make it up to them,” Tommy laughs, sliding into his bed behind me, wrapping himself around me like a safety net between me and the uncertain world, “I want you to know I really fucking love you and always will. You’re my sunshine on a cloudy day sweetheart.”

That’s how I fall asleep, Tommy wrapped around me with his lips brushing against the back of my neck and his arm around my waist. A smile one my lips as his words echo around my mind.

Sunshine of a cloudy day.

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

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halfbakedspuds · 16 days

Text

Thanks to @illarian-rambling for the tag!

OC interaction tag

Katie's OC: Mashal Darezsho is a towering robot man with bronze plating, a human looking face, and baggy clothes. He is incredibly strong and fights with a sword. As a person, he's kind and honorable, even knightly, and enjoys nothing more than helping people in need. He loves listening to folk talk and takes pleasure in the simple beauty of the world, translating this to sketch art. He is quite orderly. His main issue is that he has a strong sense of right and wrong, but he also extends his morality to others, making choices for them whether they asked for it or not. In addition, he tends to be rather naive due to his inclination towards seeing the best in people. Sometimes, this works out and he helps people to become a better version of themselves. Other times, not so much. However, beneath all this is a hidden violent streak. Mashal doesn't remember his past. He doesn't remember how he came to be broken on the side of the road. All he knows is that there is someone out there he must kill, and that anything magic-adjacent causes something deep within him to freeze with horror and rage. He tries not to give in to this dark current, to remain honorable and helpful, but every so often, he slips up.

My OC: Archmagos Lifvinja (Lif) Ravenscar was a Norse Viking in the 11th century CE, during a period known as the sixty years' night that would eventually be wiped from human memory and history. When she ascended to become a hunter, she contracted what is called the puppet's curse, which slowly calcified her muscles and caused organ failure, with her not expected to survive into her 20s. However, she was gifted with the use of draconic runes and began to slowly replace parts of her body as they failed, seeking to just slightly prolong her own life. This had the unintended consequence of making her virtually immortal; a brain preserved in a vat piloting a magitech war chassis. Lif values knowledge and strength in equal capacity, however she does not tolerate incompetence. She's slow to bond with anyone and often needs to be reminded that although everyone is a child from her perspective, she can be trusted to do their jobs unsupervised. With age, she has grown almost unbearably cynical, however there are several entire fields of magical expertise in her mind, and thus the high council keeps her around. She's morally grey, serving her city and the wellbeing of humanity in whatever way she thinks is best, however her main reason for even bothering anymore after a millennium of life is her daughter- a demihuman that she adopted. She fights with a mixture of draconic magic and a body that was engineered from the ground up to kill monsters. However, beneath her tough exterior, she just misses her wife and day after day wishes that she could've just lived a regular life with a body that could grow old or adhere to the passage of time.

How they'd interact: Mashal would probably immediately feel an instinctive drive to kill her because of the amount of magic she performs constantly, and if a fight did break out, I think they would probably be evenly matched in a physical sense. Lif would not trust Mashal's naivete at all, believing he has an ulterior motive. Once she realises that he's genuinely just like that, though, she'd just be disappointed. Mashal might think that her willingly making herself into a machine was a fools errand before realising that she's really as much a victim as he was. Lif would definitely respect his drive and discipline, especially his skill with a blade. Another reason that Mashal might not enjoy meeting her is that she shows evidence of the very real possibility that he'll outlive everything he cares about. Overall, though, I think they'd have a very neutral interaction, and if he asked I think she'd likely try to help him find who he's hunting down. Hunters help people, it's their job after all.

Open tag for whomever wants it

#writeblr #writing #wip #oc interaction

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villa-kulla · 2 years

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What do you think Howard would have done if Lalo had died in the laundromat, like what happened in the show?

He was going out on his sabbatical and all, but he would never get that call from Lalo and probably would be able to find out that Gus was still alive and thriving in ABQ. Would he just be sad, and keep his distance from the city?

DON’T DO THIS TO MEEEE.

How dare you make me think about the death of characters in my otp, who are in fact, only an otp by virtue of their both being dead lmao.

Omg. Dear god. WELL. The plan (had Lalo not been shot and had his ‘come to Jesus’ moment and crawled away to die with Howard cue “you’re my guy”/”matches your shoes” love confessions + driving off into the sunrise together) was for Lalo to just go straight back to Mexico , enemy out of the way, cartel prince again, maybe missing Howard more than he thought, but able to compartmentalize and move on. And Howard was going to stay out of town for an indeterminate period of time to take the heat off, and honestly I don’t think he made it much farther than that in his head. All he knew was that he needed to get out: out of his job, his marriage, and his town. He would have holed up in some hotel a couple states over and called in regularly to check his messages both at home and at work, because Lalo said he’d check in just to let him know he was okay. Then he could make his decisions, figure out what to do with this fresh start, and move on. That was the PLAN.

But imagine Lalo dies and Howard keeps calling. And keeps calling. But there are no messages, no letters, not even a quick note. Howard wonders if Lalo just went clean break on him and feels temporarily huffy to not get so much as a “goodbye”. But even though Lalo was a lot of things, he was always honest with Howard, and if he said he’d reach out, he’d reach out. So Howard starts fearing the worst, calling all his contacts in Albuquerque, reading up on police raids, getting more and more paranoid. And eventually he finally does what he’d been avoiding, and calls the Pollos restaurant, and asks to speak to the manager. And when he hears Gus’s unmistakable voice, Howard just slowly hangs up and starts to cry, because if Gus is alive, then Lalo must be dead. And suddenly, cutting all his ties and starting fresh doesn’t feel as exciting and hopeful as it used to, because Lalo’s dead.

So Howard drives back to Albuquerque, hollow and grim, and starts closing up shop properly, but with less excitement than the first time he was going to get out of dodge. He quits his job officially, the divorce is finalized, and Howard wanders the streets like a ghost, no idea what to do now, which is stupid because it’s not like he and Lalo were going to end up together anyways, but somehow knowing he was out there helped, gave Howard direction and inspiration, and now that he’s gone, everything he embodied to Howard - fun, danger, passion, adventure - is gone too. But then one day as he drives aimlessly around town he winds up parked at a red light, stopped next to a laundry. Howard thinks of the laundry he sent Gus to, and stares through the window, and watching the machines inside spin and spin and spin gives Howard an idea...he can finish what Lalo started.

Fring is a dead man.

(can't make the read more work, warning that what follows might not go well for Howard.....but YOU STARTED IT WITH THIS TALK OF DEATH </3)

Howard starts planning, and he’s certainly not able to raid a fortified laundry guerilla style, like Lalo. But he can play to his own strengths, and sniffs out all the benefits and charity dinners in town, donates money to all of them, plays nice, circles the rooms with a glass of wine in hand, but eyes always sharp, until one day he gets lucky because across the room he sees him. Fring. Howard follows him into a deserted hallway, Lalo’s pistol tucked up his sleeve, and he’s almost at Fring’s back, swinging the gun up, when of course he’s slammed out of nowhere by two bodyguards, and drops the gun, and Fring turns around, knowing Howard was following him and says “Were you hoping to kill me, Mr. Hamlin? The last time I saw you, you weren’t nearly so obvious about it.” And Howard just spits out “Where's Lalo? What the hell did you do with him?” Gus just picks lint off his sleeve like “I’m not in the habit of leaving loose ends. Which brings us to what I should do with you.” And hearing it confirmed, or as confirmed as it could get, Howard just breaks down on the floor of whatever fancy hotel they’re in, and Gus motions for his guys to release him and steps towards him and says, “This is your only warning”. And he picks up the gus Howard tried to use and puts it in his own pocket and coolly says, “This isn’t your world, Mr. Hamlin.” And it’s like being stabbed in the chest, because Lalo had said that to him the last time they saw each other, but out of care, not as a threat, and it’s like Howard can still feel Lalo’s fingers brushing his jaw as he said it. He watches Gus leave through blurry eyes, but then his eyes narrow in cold satisfaction, because he’d never planned on shooting Gus here, didn’t even think he’d get close, knew he’d lose his gun, but that’s fine because inside Lalo’s gun, he’d put....A TRACKING DEVICE. Howard never knew which laundry Lalo was talking about, but now Gus or one of his goons is bound to go there, and Howard can FOLLOW.

Howard has a project now, he’s a man on a mission, and that mission is bringing down Fring. He has some vague plan to collect evidence on what Fring is doing, turn him over to the authorities, and if that doesn’t work, well, like Lalo told him, “there’s always a good reason to kill someone”.

But...unfortunately for Howard, more experienced men than him have tried and failed to take Gus down. And while Howard’s plotting goes undetected longer than anyone could have guessed, he’s simply not a criminal, and it’s really not his world. And maybe after a couple months of investigating Gus, and getting closer and closer, one day while he stakes out the laundry, the black bag comes down over his head and he’s knocked out.

He wakes up inside the superlab, bag yanked off his head, hands tied behind his back, kneeling on the dirt floor of some huge room. He’s facing Gus, and this time Gus is leaving nothing to chance, a cavalry of guys behind him all staring at Howard to make sure he can’t try anything. Gus says “you had your one and only warning to stay away, Mr. Hamlin. Any final words?”

It’s the end. Howard knows it’s the end. He failed to avenge Lalo, but he doesn’t have to fail Lalo’s memory. He asks himself what Lalo would say in this position, and he looks up at Fring and grins and says “Yeah. Lalo was right. Eres un hijo de puta and your chicken tastes like shit.” And when Fring steps forward, snapping open a knife, and cuts Howard’s throat, it’s so sharp and quick it doesn’t even hurt, and Howard collapses to the ground, slowly growing cold, wondering how the hell he got here, murdered by gangsters and about to die in a hole all alone.

That’s when Gus steps over him and yanks Howard’s head back to make him die faster, and hisses in his ear “Your lover died right here, exactly like this.” And Howard looks up at him, eyes wide, and Gus delivers his coup de grace and says “he’s buried under you right now.” He expects this to break Howard once and for all, but Howard just lets out a gurgling choking laugh because Lalo’s here? He’s with Howard? Can he feel Howard’s blood seeping through the dirt, trickling down to meet him? He’s here and Howard isn’t going to die alone after all, and suddenly Howard doesn’t feel so cold anymore, and he laughs again and then can’t stop laughing, and Gus takes a step back genuinely rattled because it’s like he’s looking at Lalo's ghost, laughing on the floor of the superlab while drowning in his own blood, staring up at Fring, face still fixed in a challenge. This Hamlin guy isn’t looking at Fring anymore though, because he’s turning his face to the dirt like he’s resting it on someone’s chest, blood spilling into the ground, eyes slowly closing, smile lingering, until he’s utterly still, gone now, somewhere else with someone else, and now Gus is the one who’s forgotten and alone, still alive to see another day, but no one left on earth who’d care either way. Covering his sudden crushing depression with disdain, Gus orders “get rid of him” and walks out. And there’s already a 6x6 patch in the ground where the soil is still loose, and they’re nothing if not efficient, so they redig the hole, not deep enough to see what might be left inside, and throw Howard in too, his face grey but still with that unsettling smile. And as they pour the dirt back over him, the last thing to be covered are Howard’s hands, cut loose now and curled into the dirt, cold and still, but almost like they’re reaching out to someone. And in the dim light of the superlab, where shadows dance on the walls and death is always close by, it's easy to imagine that only a couple metres down, someone is reaching back.

#togetherforever

So yeah.

Apparently that's what I think would happen.

THANKS FOR THE ASK I GUESS???

#anon #laloward #SORRY ABOUT THE ABOVE THOUGHTS #I KNOW IT GOT DARK BUT ALSO WE'RE ALL WATCHING THE SAME SHOW HERE <3 #my boys..........#so yeah anyways in shoot your shot they are MUTUALLY ALIVE AND HAPPY #but in this hypothetical scenario if lalo's going down then by god howard's going to follow. that's his GUY.#it's the ~romeo and juliet~ aesthetic of it all........#anyways. TOGETHER FOREVERRRRR.#but yeah as far as SYS is concerned we'll leave them on that beach lol #or - depending on if you've read Conviction more recently - lalo's motel room with clothes scattered everywhere

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