#i want to write something at some point w this
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His Sister | Lewis Hamilton
WC: 4.6K
Lewis Hamilton X Verstappen!Reader
Max Verstappen X reader!Sister
Summery: You have always been there for your brother, giving up everything for him, so when you decide to date his rival, what will he do.
Warnings: age gap(age not specified) mention of abuse, Jos Verstappen is an a-hole, Max is also an ass, bad childhood, bad father, cursing, alusion to smut but no actual smut
AN: this had me in tears at some parts, I was going, why did he do this 😭 as if I didn't write it, lol
Hope you all enjoy
Masterlist
Growing up, Verstappen wasn’t easy. Growing up with Jos Verstappen as your guardian and the one that has custody is hard. Being the oldest, Verstappen is damn near impossible. Could you have chosen to live with your mother? Yes, but that would’ve left Max alone with Jos, something you weren’t about to do. Admittedly you were young yourself, but even at a young age you knew that if Max was left with Jos alone it wouldn’t turn out good for your brother, you’ve always been motherly and have so much love in you that you just shared it with those around you and your siblings got the most of it. It made perfect sense to you as a young girl to leave your life with your mother and sister and go with your brother and father.
At one point you were the one Karting, you loved cars and karting since you were young, with both parents into motorsport it was hard not to, and even Jos couldn’t deny how good you were, but alas you’re a female and there’s no way you’d make it all the way to F1, something that Jos loves to remind you of. That’s the reason he stopped you from going once Max started winning in karting, and he wanted to focus on his child, who would achieve all his personal dreams and make it into F1. Maybe it’s your love for the sport that made it easier but you enjoyed every time you went to a track and watched the karts race, you dreaded after the races though, to Jos anything but first is a failure. On days like that, you’d follow your father and stand in his way, he’d shout at you and push you around, and you’d take it all in all in the hope that by the time he reached Max he wouldn’t be angry, or at least you’d take the blunt end of his anger. That didn’t always happen and on those days you’d just stay with your brother holding his hand, walking with him home in the cold, in the rain and in the heat of the sun, never letting him go through a punishment alone and never letting him go through your punishments.
It was all in the hope that Max would reach F1 one day, and he did, he’s in Formula 1 now, he’s been there since he was 17, he skipped so many steps and jumped into Formula 1, he went from Toro Rosso to RedBull in a record time and he was racing with legends and world champions before you had time to comprehend it. All whilst you watched him from the garage, as a family member and a part of his team, never missing a race. Driving him around when he didn’t have his driver’s licence, hugging him after each win and DNF, picking up the pieces after a scolding from Jos and tearing up when he got his first win. Always smiling and happy for him no matter what.
You’d think now that you’re all older, the talk from your father wouldn’t affect you, that you’d get used to his words, and they won’t affect you. But he’s your dad. It never gets easy.
So here you are standing at the back of the garage you’re both watching the screen, when the camera cuts to you, you smile a bit before it cuts off back to the race, with one pull you’re away from prying eyes of people in the garage. Only the few people at the back could see you.
“What?” You ask your dad with a frown. His grip on your bicep is like iron. You hold in a wince and look him in the eye.
”What was that?” He whisper shouted, you looked at him confused. “Don’t give me that stupid look. How many times have I told you, I don’t like that look.”
”I’m just confused, I don’t know what you mean.” You explain yourself and try to act normal, all while knowing it’s about to get worse, he’s in a mood, Max’s race hasn’t been going like he’d like, he’s currently in second with Checo in first, something bad in your dad’s books.
”Don’t play stupid, I know what you’re playing at.” Jos squeezes more, and you’re bound to have a bruise by tomorrow morning.
“I’m literally doing nothing.” You move trying to pull your arm out of his grip, and he lets go of you but leans down in your face.
”I saw that look you gave the camera, don’t ruin your brother’s image.” You close your eyes and bite your lip, and it takes you a few seconds before you neutralise your expression into blankness. “Don’t look like a slut, it could affect the sponsors.”
”But I wasn’t.” You mutter, but he just scoffs.
”Don’t. Play. Games. With. Me.” With each word through his fretted teeth, he poked/pushed you with his finger at your shoulder, having you move back every time.
”I’m not.” You insist. Thankfully, before he can reply, someone clears their throat, making you both look to the side to see Hemlut standing there. He doesn’t look amused.
”Keep your family affairs out of the garage, please.” Was all he said before he turned to look at the screen. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes, giving your dad one last look you turn and go watch the race from a different spot in the garage as far away from him as you could get.
Max ended up winning the race, with Lewis second and Charles third. So all was good in the end, your brother won the race, your dad was back in his happy mode, and your day was ruined. You rushed with the crowd to congratulate Max on his win. Your brother comes to you for a hug. You kiss his cheek as you always do and pat his back.
”Congratulations Maxie.”
”Thanks.” He gives you a big smile before he’s rushed to get weighed, you look at Ferrari as they congratulate Charles, the sea of red eye catching, looking around you don’t see any Mercedes dressed personal in the vicinity. Your eyes then fell to the 7 times world champion, he’s sitting on the floor looking tired, his eyes swept over the teams looking for his own. You feel bad for him. His family must not be here today, and his team didn’t bother to show up for him.
Later that day, you found yourself pulled to a club to celebrate another Max win, you’re usually up for the celebration, but after what happened at the garage, you weren’t feeling up to it. However, you can never say no to Max when he asks you to do something all nice and loving, so that’s how you ended up here. In a random club, with a lot of Formula 1 workers from all teams and FIA, they’re all having the times of their lives as if they’re not rivals and hate each other, every other day of the week. You’ve sat down the moment you walked in and haven’t moved, drinks coming to you, but you’ve only been sipping light ones, not wanting to get drunk and deal with a headache in the morning.
An hour in, you head to the bar to order water or a soda, not in the mood to drink more. With a sigh, you lean on the bar and wait for the bartender to make his way to you, looking bored out of your life.
”You don’t look like you’re having fun.” Someone says, coming up to stand beside you, the accent familiar, but you couldn't pinpoint why before you turn and your eyes fall on a pair of brown eyes.
”Not really.” You say and shrug, turning so you’re both facing each other. “I mean you’re the first person to come up to talk to me in the last hour or something.”
”I don’t believe that, a beautiful woman like you.” Lewis gives you a small smile, and you chuckle, playfully rolling your eyes.
“I know, right, and here I dressed up, only for it not to work.” You say a tone of amusement lanced into your words, liking this banter going back and forth.
”I wouldn’t say it’s not working.” Lewis says and looks you up and down, you blush under his gaze but the smile doesn’t drop from your lips, the bartender comes up to you right then and asks you for your order, you ask for a glass of water and a soda, before he turns to Lewis who doesn’t ask for a drink. “You’re not drinking?”
”I had a couple of drinks, but I don’t feel like getting drunk.” You tell him, and he hums, you lean closer as if you’re going to say a secret. “Between you and me, I didn’t want to be here anyways.”
”Me neither, why are you here?” Lewis asks, you look around the club, and your eyes fall onto your brother having the time of his life with his friends.
”Because my brother wanted me to come.” You say not looking away from Max, who was smiling and enjoying himself, it brings a smile to your face seeing him carefree. Your favourite type of Max.
”You’re Max’s sister.” At Lewis’ words, you realise he didn’t know who you were, your head snaps to look at him and give him the smallest of smiles, a defeated look hiding behind your eyes. As if you’re expecting the worst.
”Yeah, is that a problem?” You ask him already knowing what he’ll say. Your brother is his biggest rival. There’s history between them, and it’s not all rainbows and sunshine. Just because they have respect for each other doesn’t mean they love the other.
”No, you’re not Max.” This did surprise you, and it showed on your face, Lewis winked, and you shook your head. “Do you want to head out of here?”
”Sure.” With that, you and Lewis turn and head out. Everyone’s too drunk or too occupied to see your retreating figures.
Let’s just say that you enjoyed your night, Lewis isn’t just good at racing. He did convince you to stay the night after everything was said and done, with his eyes half lidded and you both breathing hard it was the easiest yes you’ve ever said.
You woke up alone with the shower going in the background, feeling lazy. You sat up in bed and looked out the window. The view from his room was beautiful. You’re so lost in thought you don’t realise when the water stopped running or when Lewis came in the room. He stood there looking at you, your back bare for him to see, your hair messy, the sun coming from the windows making you glow. Lewis, dressed in only his boxers, moves to the bed and slots himself behind you, his bare chest meeting your back as his arms sneak around your waist, pulling you back. You lean into his chest and take a deep breath, content with the moment. Lewis’ lips find their home where your neck meets your shoulder, placing soft feather-like kisses up and down the exposed skin, you move your head to the side giving him more room to do as he wants.
”Lewis.” You moan suddenly breathless, Lewis moves his hands up your arms lightly before you wince in pain, making him stop all movements and pull away from you. You freeze and close your eyes instantly, knowing why you were in pain.
”What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Lewis asks, feeling guilt for causing you pain. You shake your head no and sigh, still not looking at him.
”No, no, it’s not you.” Lewis looks at where his hands were and he sees the bruise on your bicep, his mind goes to last night and he thinks over his actions, did he hold your bicep, maybe squeezed a bit too hard. It definitely looks like hand marks. You stand up still naked and snatch Lewis’s shirt from the night before from the floor where you threw it and slip it on. The oversized shirt falls mid thigh, and the short sleeves come down to your elbows covering your bruise.
”Who the fuck did this to you?” Lewis follows you off the bed, you turn to look at him crossing your arms protectively, suddenly feeling self conscious, you refuse to meet his eyes and clear your throat but no words came out of your mouth. “y/n, just tell me what happened?”
”It’s nothing. He didn’t mean to.” You mutter and shake your head, your hair falling into your face.
“Who? Who did it?” Lewis pleaded with you and you closed your eyes and bit your lip to stop the tears, it wasn’t a secret how rough your father is especially in the RedBull garage but no one outside a few observant people(which don’t include Max) know how rough he is with you.
”My dad, but he was just angry. He’s not like that, not anymore.” You mumble the last part, but Lewis heard it loud and clear, and just like yesterday, he surprises you. Lewis pulls you in for a hug, his tattooed arms just pulling you close, and he holds you. He just holds you.
”Bloody hell, love, I’m sorry.” Lewis says in your hair, and you raise your head to look at him, but still staying in his hold.
”You have absolutely no reason to be sorry.” You tell him and your hands move up to his face, lightly touching his cheek, your eyes taking him in. “I don’t really care.”
“It still doesn’t make it right. You shouldn’t go through something like this.” Lewis says, and you shrug.
”Life isn’t really fair.” He felt that there’s more behind those words. You didn’t just mean what happened the day before. There’s more pain in your voice, in your past, and to him, it looked like no one took the time to talk to you about them to help you through those pains. Lewis finds himself wondering why, he’s known you for less than 24 hours and all he wants to do is get to know you, uncover all your secrets, help you where you need help, support you where you need support.
”Well, if you let me, I think I can make it a little more fair.” Lewis says, deciding that this isn’t the last time he’ll spend time with you. He pulls back and goes to his bedside table where his phone rests.
”What are you talking about?” You ask him confused.
”Give me your number, I’m taking you out next time we’re both free.” Lewis says and hands you his phone. You slowly take it and look up at him with wide eyes.
”You want to go out with me? like on a date?” You wanted to make sure you understood him correctly.
”I do.”
“Even though you know I come with baggage.” You want to make sure he understands it won’t be easy.
”I don’t think it’s baggage, but even if it was, I don’t care.” Lewis gives you one of his smiles that make you weak in your knees, and you don’t think twice and type in your number. Lewis instantly calls you, and your phone rings before he ends the call. “Now you also have my number, and if you ever need something, or someone or a place to just call me.”
”Thank you.”
”I haven’t done anything yet, love.”
”Oh you’ve already done a lot.” Most people would act as if nothing happened and they saw nothing, most wouldn’t want to go out with you knowing there’s a lot in your past that needs solving, most wouldn’t go out with their rival’s sister, but most aren’t Lewis Hamilton, and you’re glad he’s not like the most.
You and Lewis start texting, getting to know each other. You see a side to the Mercedes driver you’ve never seen before. He’s so easy to talk to. You feel like whatever you tell him is a secret he’ll take to the grave. In the couple weeks since you’ve started talking you’ve been more open with him than anyone else, not just about your past and growing up with Jos but about your feelings. He never judges and gives the best advice. He’s been supportive and understanding to a point you’ve asked yourself how he is real.
You asked him to keep your budding friendship (turing relationship) a secret and he agreed 100% with you, it’ll cause a lot of trouble when and if it comes out, and you’re not ready for that. And for the first time in forever you don’t spend your free time between races where Max is, you fly to wherever Lewis is, and so for a month you both find that time to get to know the other in a way that you’ve never done before, and you find yourself being Lewis’s girlfriend and it makes you the happiest thinking about it. He’s made you happier, and those closest to you have noticed you’re more smiley and happy those days.
Sneaking around like children, not two adults was part of the fun, but it also made it harder for you.
”What are you smiling at?” Kelly asks, leaning closer to you. You close your phone in an instant to the amusement of your brother’s girlfriend. Max was in a meeting or doing something for media, so you and Kelly were having lunch in the paddock.
“Nothing.” You say, and your face flushes red, making her laugh.
”Come on, I can tell you’re texting someone.” Kelly laughs and nudges you. You roll your eyes and take a sip from your drink. “Who is he?”
”Nonone.”
”So there’s someone.” Kelly raises her eyebrows, and you sigh and nod your head. Yes, Kelly squeals and looks like she’s ready for a gossip session.
“Kelly, you’re not getting more out of me.” You tell the female, and she pouts.
”Why? Even Max is wondering who you’re texting all the time.” Kelly is confused, and rightfully so, you’re very open with her and Max. Not the type to keep something like this a secret. Or so they thought, but how can they be 100% sure when you haven’t been with anyone for years or even shown interest in anyone.
”That’s why I can’t tell you.”
”What? you can trust me, I won’t tell him if you don't want to.” Kelly felt offended that you didn’t trust her to keep a secret. She’s close to you. Anyone close to Max is close to you. His friends are your friends.
”I wouldn't do that to you, if he found out you knew and didn’t tell him he’ll get mad.” You explain to her, wanting her to understand where you’re coming from.
”No he wouldn't.” Kelly replies, and you give her a look making her sigh, Max is protective, and no one is good enough for you in his eyes. “Okay maybe he will be, but who could you be dating for you to be so sure he’ll get mad, anyways.”
“I love you, Kells, but I can’t tell you.” You both sat in silence for a bit, Kelly was thinking of any possible men you might’ve come across the last month, she started crossing some out of the list she made in her mind that you wouldn’t like, before her eyes went wide.
”It’s a driver!” She shouts, and a few eyes snapped to look at you both. You choke on your drink and cough a few times. “Sorry.”
”What the fuck Kelly, you want to tell the whole world?” You whisper shout and she looks apologetically muttering sorry.
”It’s a driver then.” She whispered and you reluctantly nod, who knew this lunch would cause you so much. “I’m not going to push you for more… yet.”
”Well thank god for that.” You mutter, but know that she’ll look and analyse every single interaction you have with any driver. Kelly went over the 19 drivers, crossing out those in a relationship. Nico, Kevin, Valtteri, Daniel, Checo, Carlos, Pierre, Alex, Esteban, Charles, Oscar, and George are all in a relationship. That narrows it down, but it’s still a bit, but a few are still single. Fernando, Lewis, Lance, Zhou, Lando, Yuki and Logan that left her with 7 drivers that are single, and you’re at the age that dating someone older would raise a few eyebrows and so would dating some of the younger drivers, but it wouldn’t be totally out of the box. Lance is the one closest to you in age, but she doesn’t think he’s your type.
After the Austin Grand Prix, Lewis makes it to your room, and a few teams booked their rooms at the same hotel, something that you’ve come to appreciate. Your room isn’t as big as Lewis’s but it just happened that he made it to your room, the brit, and you decided to chill and have a lazy night. The TV was on, but you both weren’t focused on it, each having a glass of Almave in hand, the non alcoholic drink your new favourite and it looked like you’d never run out of it.
You just finished telling Lewis about something that happened when you were younger and still karting, telling him about all the drama that happened then and how silly it is. His arm was on the back of the sofa beides your head, your legs over his lap, and his other hand was on your thigh rubbing softly at the skin visible from your bunched up shorts.
”Why did you stop karting?” Lewis asked, your smile from laughing wasn’t all gone yet, but it did falter a bit. You suck in your lips and run your tongue over them.
”My dad said that there’s no place for women in motorsport and that Max will carry the family name in Formula 1.” You shrug, your head dropping a little. The hand besides your head moves to your face making you raise your head and look at him, Lewis felt bad for you but he tried not to be obvious about it, he knew you wouldn't want him to.
“I know for a fact then if you continued, you’d be kicking all out asses on track.” Lewis said softly, and you gave him a tight-lipped smile.
”You haven’t even seen me karting.” You tell him softly and find that your breath hits his face from how close you’ve gotten.
”Next time we meet up, we’ll do that.” Lewis said and gave your thigh a squeeze. You hum and lean closer, your lips meeting his. His lips were warm and soft, his hand moving from your cheek to the back of your head. And as always, his lips made a spark ignite inside you and left you warm and fuzzy. Soft sighs left your lips as your lips moved, Lewis’s hand moved up your thigh and over your butt, tugging you so you’d move with him until you’re standing him. You pull back just a little, your breath mingling with his, his eyes looking at you and making you fall in love with him.
”Lewis.” Just the way you said his name left him breathless and needy, he pulled you down for your lips to meet again.
You’re both disturbed when Lewis’s phone rings, you move from on top of him and he reaches over to get his phone, seeing the caller ID he gives you an apologetic look and answers the phone. You sigh sadly, feeling a bit irritated to be interrupted, but Lewis is a busy man, and she understands this.
“I’m sorry, love, but I have to go.” Lewis leans over to kiss your head before hastily gathering his things. “It’s an emergency meeting, I’ll text you when I’m done and come back.”
”Okay, I’ll wait for you.” You say and lay back on the sofa taking out your phone to scroll through the TV is still going. Around half an hour later, your door is opened, making you raise your head and frown when you see Max walking in.
”How did you get in?”
”I have a card.” Max shows you the door card that had your room number on it.
”Why?” You ask him confused. He also relieved that he hadn’t come in when Lewis was still here.
”You’ve been losing yours a lot lately, so I thought to just ask for one.” Max shrugged as if it’s normal, he sat down in the chair by your legs so you could look at him, you rolled your eyes at his words, not needing to ask how the front desk gave it to him. You haven’t been losing your cards. You’ve been asking for an extra one to give to Lewis.
“What’s that?” Max asks, and you don’t bother looking up from your phone.
”What’s what?”
“That.” You sigh and sit up, looking to where your brother is pointing, your heart drops. Lewis forgot his watch, and it’s laying there on the side table that had a lamp on it, and it’s so very obvious not yours. The IWC Big Pilot’s Watch Perpetual Calendar ‘Lewis Hamilton’ Edition IW503002 is a beauty, but no way can it be yours. You curse Lewis in your mind for taking it off when he first came in. You open your mouth and close it a couple of times, trying to find words to say but coming up empty. “I’ve seen this before.”
”I don’t think so.” You say nervously, chuckling. Max frowns in thought as he tries to remember where he had seen the watch before.
”No I’ve seen it, I remember the red.” Max mumbles, and the moment he remembers you can tell, his face says it all. “L-Lewis? That’s who you’ve been seeing behind my back.”
”Max-“
”No you had your chance to tell me, but you didn’t.” Max stands up, and you follow suit. His voice is angry and irritated, a bit of betrayal in there as well. “How could you date Lewis and not tell me how could you even date him, I can’t believe you’d do something like this!”
”I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d get angry, and I didn’t want you to be angry.” You try to explain to him your reason, but he’s having none of that.
”Because I’m calm now.” Max says sarcastically.
”Max, this is why I didn’t tell you.” Your hands move in frustration, one of your legs shake in anxiety, and you whisper. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
”What is there to understand? You’re sleeping with my rival.” Max shouts, it breaks you. Max may have this image as the villain in public but he’s not like that with you, he’s always been nice and loving, you’re the best thing about his childhood, the warm hug he had, the person he relayed on, the person that could always make him smile. Seeing the look in his eyes makes tears gather in yours. “y/n, I can’t believe you. After everything you’re just, what? Selling yourself to Lewis-“
”Max.”
”-Do you have any idea-“
”Max.”
”-how this can affect my image-“
”Max, please.”
”-I thought I could count on you not to do something like this-“
”I didn’t.”
”-Dad was right.”
”Wh-what?” This just breaks you in two, completely shatters you.
”He said that you’re an attention who-“
”Okay enough.” You say and raise your hands in the air to stop him, tears leaving your eyes freely. “Please leave, I can’t hear you anymore, I can’t.”
Max fights the need to say sorry and hug you. He’s too in his emotions, and he’s too stubborn and hardheaded to say anything.
”Just leave, please.” Max turns and leaves your room. The quality time he wanted to spend with you is ruined. The moment the door closes, he feels like his relationship with you is forever changed. It cracked, and he curses himself for being so careless with his words.
NEXT
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Hey bestie! I love your work and as I've gotten to know you better, you've been an amazing friend ❤️
I was wondering if you could do some hurt/comfort/whump with f!reader x Tech! Maybe they have crash landed or been captured together or something. Perhaps they don't necessarily get along with each other but this situation forces them to work together and they discover that maybe the other isn't so bad. ❤️ Thanks!
Crash Landed 🌊
🫧 Pairing: Tech X Female Reader
word count: 5.9k
Prompts: none
Summary: After you and Tech crash land in a remote Jungle, the two of you need to put your heads together and work as a team. Which is sometimes easier said than done.
warnings: Hurt, Angst and Comfort Whump Trope, Mentions of Injury to Reader and Tech, reader has a fear of blood, Kinda Enemies to Lovers, Reconciliation, Talks about Feelings, Huddling for Warmth, Heated First Kiss, Female Reader. Not proofread.
authors note: I love this idea! I hope I did it justice. And by the word count, clearly I enjoyed writing it. Thanks for being and amazing friend @arctrooper69 🩶
You awaken, dazed and confused, your head heavy as your eyes adjust to the dim, smoke-filled surroundings. What's that smell? Is that... smoke? What happened?
Your body aches with every movement as you manage to sit up with a hefty groan, feeling the weight of gravity pull at your limbs. Rubbing your eyes with your hands to focus, you realise that everything is on its side, the walls of the shuttle caved in, sparks flying from broken control panels. What a mess. But, you're sure you were not alone before this happened.
“Tech?” you call out, your voice croaky before you start coughing, as if your lungs had filled up with smoke.
No reply. “Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead,” you mutter to yourself as panic sets in, the memories flooding back. The mission, the Imperial's, crashing. Yes, that’s it. You crash-landed. But where? And where was Tech?
Luckily, your thoughts are answered as a torch shines in the distance, followed by loud clattering as if objects were being moved. You squint through the smoke, trying to ignore the acrid scent of burning metal. “Ah, there you are,” Tech says as he comes into view, his armor scratched, and his goggles a little skewed on his head.
“What happened?” you ask as he approaches you, another spluttering cough escaping your lips.
“If you take a look around, it will become apparent that we have crashed,” he replies. Ah yes, still a pain in the neck even after both of you nearly died.
You and Tech had rarely seen eye to eye. Since you joined the squad months ago, he always seemed to be on top of you, trying to prove you wrong or point out mistakes. It was tiresome. And now, unfortunately, you were stuck with him.
Rolling your eyes, you were in no mood for his tone and began to stand. However, as soon as you did, your leg gave way, your knees slamming to the floor. A cry of pain escaped you, making Tech look up from his cracked datapad, his eyes widening with slight concern. “Are you injured?”
“Obviously,” you grumbled in reply, stretching out your legs to assess the damage, but you didn’t see anything at first. It wasn’t until Tech crouched down in front of you that he spotted it.
“You have a laceration on your calf,” he said, his voice calm but concerned, inspecting the wound closely, and you did a double-take at his words.
“W-What? Is it bad?” You tried to hide the panic in your voice, but if there’s one thing you hated, it was blood.
Tech didn’t reply straight away, his eyes inspecting the wound closely, but your nerves began to eat away at you. “Tech, is it bleeding?” You asked quickly, your chest heaving as the fear started to creep in.
“Yes,” he confirmed, not making eye contact with you before he stood again, “I shall look for a medkit among this rubble. Stay here.” Well, it’s not like you had anywhere to go anytime soon anyway.
You wanted to call out to him, you wanted him to stay with you, but that would be inviting him to babysit you. Just because you were scared didn’t mean you wanted Tech to take care of you, which he probably would not do anyway.
Luckily, he wasn’t gone long and returned with a battered medkit. Some vials were smashed inside, and some tools were of no use, but you were glad that the bandages were untarnished. You had to look away as he started to dress your leg, cutting away the loose fabric to your pants before he skillfully wrapped it up. “That should do for now. Can you stand? We need to get out of here as it wouldn't surprise me if this shuttle imploded at any minute.”
Comfort was not his strong suit, clearly.
“I’ll try,” you began to haul yourself up your feet, but again, you were too weak. “No, no, no, I can’t.” As you were about to fall once again, Tech tucked himself under your arm, a hand steady on your waist as he kept you up.
“I will have to carry you.”
“No!” You squeaked. No way in hell were you going to let him carry you around. No way you wanted to appear more of a burden than you already are.
He raised an eyebrow, unmoved by your objection. “This is not open to debate. You can not put weight on your leg.”
With a frustrated sigh, you relented. “Alright, fine.”
With a wince of pain shooting up your leg, Tech manages to slip his arm around your neck, hoisting you over his shoulder with little effort. Each step he makes sends a jolt of unbearable pain through your leg, but you grit your teeth, holding back any sign of distress, more focused on figuring out how the two of you will get out of this mess.
You escape the shuttle, and the scorching sun immediately washes over you, its heat oppressive and suffocating. The air is humid and sticky. Great.
"So, where are we?" you ask awkwardly, still draped over his shoulder as he trudges onward.
"Uncertain," he replies, which does nothing to ease your nerves.
After a few minutes of walking, he finally sets you down on some dry grass. The sun beats down, forcing you to shield your eyes with your hand as you survey your surroundings. From the looks of it, you’re stranded in a jungle, with a vast expanse of open water stretching out before you. You could be literally anywhere.
“I suggest we find shelter, food, and a water source promptly. Since you are in no state to do anything, this task falls upon me,” he says, not once meeting your gaze as he speaks.
"Are you trying to blame me for hurting my leg? If I'm not mistaken, Tech, you were the one who pushed us into that shuttle," you retort, anger bubbling over.
"I am not blaming you, although if it was not for your mistake on the mission I would not have had to intervene." He trails off, not seeming to care at the dirty looks being sent his way. "I am merely stating facts." He says simply, tucking his datapad into his pouch before glancing down at you.
Deciding to keep your mouth shut for now, you refrain from arguing, knowing it won’t solve anything. Instead, you let Tech take the lead because, as much as you hate to admit it, he's right. You are in no state to do anything at the moment.
Tech leaves you alone for a while, giving you one of his blasters as a precaution before returning around half an hour later, announcing he found a suitable place to set up camp. You simply nod before glancing over at the crashed shuttle. “Is there anything we can salvage from that at least?” you ask aloud, drawing Tech’s attention back to you before casting a glance over at the debris.
“Perhaps. But we will have to be quick-." Before he can finish his thoughts, a sudden explosion rips through the air as the shuttle suddenly erupts into a burst of flames, sending debris flying in all directions. You both watch in shock as the flames engulf the wreckage, leaving nothing salvageable. Never mind.
Once Tech had led you to a secluded spot under the protective canopy of towering trees. With careful movements, you managed to shift your weight onto your knees, the pain radiating from your leg causing you to bite back a wings of pain.
“You are doing it wrong.” As you went ahead and started to make a fire, Tech’s unsolicited advice on fire-building techniques went in one ear and out the other. Survival instincts was one of your specialties after all and so you ignored him as as you gathered dry twigs and leaves, arranging them meticulously into a makeshift pyre.
As Tech continued his lecture on the ‘correct way’ to build a fire, you struck the flint, the spark igniting a blaze that danced and crackled life. A triumphant smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as Tech fell silent, the warmth of the flames casting flickering shadows on the thick backdrop of the jungle.
“As you have accomplished the fire, all we need now is some edible food and water," Tech remarked and you hummed in slight agreement.
Carefully, you leaned back and against a sturdy boulder for support as you turned your attention to Tech, whose fingers deftly navigated his datapad. "Do you think you’ll be able to contact the others?" you inquired softly, wanting to hear good news right now.
Tech's brow furrowed in concentration as he tinkered with the device, the soft glow of the cracked screen illuminating his features in the darkness. "If I can get my device to work properly and salvage the shuttle… then possibly. But…" His voice trailed off, uncertainty lingering in the air.
"You have doubts?" you pressed, concerned lacing your words as you watched him shift uneasily in his spot.
“Yes,” he says as he stands, tucking his datapad away again, “I have my doubts.”
You both fall into silence, something quite rare from Tech as he was always chattering away about something. But for now, he was quiet. Deep in thought. A part of you wished you knew what he was thinking, wondering what was happening in that marvelous mind of his and if he had thought about what would happen if you two were never found which was a reoccurring thought in yours.
“I will be back soon,” he speaks up, breaking the silence after a few minutes.
“Where are you going?” You ask, a little too quickly. But truthfully, you didn’t want to be on your own right now. Yet you didn’t want him to know that.
He watches you almost tentatively before saying, “I need to gather provisions. I will not be long.”
You didn’t protest as you watched him walk away, disappearing through the trees as nightfall approached. Sighing softly to yourself, you sat lost in thought, the flickering flames casting shifting shadows across your face as you think back to all the things you should have done on that mission. Perhaps if you didn’t let your pride get the better of you, you wouldn’t have to sit wondering when Tech will return and if either of you will make it out of here.
You don’t even remember falling asleep last night but you do remember waking up to the chill that had kept you shivering throughout the night despite sleeping by the crackling fire.
As you awaken to the gentle warmth of the morning sun filtering through the dense foliage above, a stark contrast to last night, with a heavy sigh, you sit up. You groan as your body feels more fatigued and worn out than before. Nausea washes over you as you groggily inspect your leg, the sight of the dried and bloodied bandage from the previous day making your stomach churn. Obviously, you'll need to tend to it again.
“Will you need my assistance or are you capable of tending to your own wound today?” Tech's voice cuts through the quiet morning air, his tone as matter-of-fact as ever. It's always hard to discern whether he's being genuinely helpful or simply blunt.
Deciding to handle this task yourself this time, you nod, expressing your intention to manage it alone. And even though you wanted to do it alone, Tech approaches nonetheless, the battered med kit in hand.
With Tech standing by, you cautiously remove the old bandage, your stomach turning at the sight of the open wound. Despite the lack of fresh blood, the dried remnants are enough to make you feel queasy. "You do not like blood," Tech observes, his statement pulling your attention away from the gruesome sight.
"Hm, how could you tell?" you mutter sarcastically, attempting to deflect from the discomfort.
“I have always known,” Tech responds cryptically, his expression giving nothing away as he crouches down beside you.
Curiosity piqued, you inquired further, wondering how he could have possibly known your hatred for blood. After all, you couldn't recall ever mentioning it to him before. “I… have observed your behaviour before and just so happened to pick up on it. I also recall you mentioning it to Hunter when you first joined.”
Hm, that’s… surprising.
You say nothing of it and instead allow him to take care of you. As Tech takes over, gently raising your leg and propping it over his knee, you can't help but notice the care he takes.
Despite his typically relaxed demeanor, there's a hint of concern in his actions as he tells you that you ‘may want to avert your gaze’ as he begins to peel the old bandage away.
Happily, you turn your attention to the leaves above, trying to ignore the stinging sensation spreading through your leg and the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Though, the warm breeze brushes against your exposed skin, offering a slight comfort amidst the discomfort.
“H-How does it look?” you ask, your voice strained, the anxiety evident in your tone as you feel Tech's careful movements.
“It appears that you have an infection. And I do not have the right resources to treat it.” Your heart sinks at his words, a sense of dread settling in the pit of your stomach as you try to suppress the rising panic.
“Great.”
“I will assume that is sarcasm,” he hums before passing you his canteen, “I found a water source last night. This has been purified and suitable to drink. I suggest you do that.”
Taking the canteen from his grasp, your mouth suddenly feels dry at the thought of water. You take a sip and can’t help but grimace at the taste, the bitterness lingering on your tongue. “Are you sure it’s been purified?”
“Yes, I did not say it will taste nice.”
You roll your eyes and take another remorseful sip before passing it back to him, your mind inadvertently drifting to the state of your leg. It looked worse than you anticipated.
“Shit.” You curse under your breath as you blink away the tears, the frustration and fear bubbling to the surface. Of course, your leg would get infected. Why would a crash-landing be a stroll in the park?
“I agree with your sentiments.” Tech's voice is steady as he carefully applies a new bandage, his movements precise and calculated. “I suggest you rest.”
“No,” you shake your head adamantly, meeting his gaze with determination, “I’m not going to sit here and do nothing. I have to do something.”
He blinks at you, frowning behind his goggles. “You are in no state to do anything. You are injured and so-.”
“So I’m a hindrance?” You challenge, the frustration evident in your tone as you refuse to back down.
“In a way, yes.” He says directly, the weight of his words hanging in the air as he stands up straight after carefully placing your leg down. “Any further injury could lead to loss of limb. Or worse. We cannot risk getting that leg infected even more. Do you not think you have caused enough grievance?”
Anger bubbles at his words, yet, a part of you knew he was right. You were both in this mess because of you but sitting on the forest floor doing nothing felt like a last resort. “Can you at least just help me stand up?” you grumble, your voice tinged with frustration. “Please?”
He hesitates, seemingly torn between his concern for your well-being and his reluctance to encourage any further strain on your injured leg. However, the dejected look on your face softens his resolve, knowing that he wouldn’t hear the end of it until he complies. Reluctantly, he extends his hand, offering you the support you need to rise to your feet.
Carefully, you put slight pressure on your leg, testing its strength. Surprisingly, it isn’t as painful as it was yesterday, giving you a glimmer of hope that you might be able to move around by limping or hopping for now—especially when Tech isn’t looking.
“Thanks,” you say stiffly, folding your arms over your chest, a mix of gratitude and stubbornness in your demeanor as you watch him pick something out of his pouch and hand it over to you. “What’s this?”
He presents you with a strange-looking leaf, its unfamiliar shape and texture raising your curiosity. “It is food. Edible. It is all I could find last night but will fill us with enough nutrients for now.”
The rest of the day didn’t unfold as smoothly as you both had hoped. While Tech ventured back to the shuttle in a bid to secure a signal to reach the others, you took it upon yourself to be productive. Somehow.
With the terrain familiar to you from extensive research in your past, thoughts of herbal remedies for injuries like the one on your leg flooded your mind. So, after crafting a makeshift walking stick from a discarded branch sturdy enough to support your weight, you set off from camp, determined to gather the necessary ingredients.
Luck seemed to be on your side as you found the correct herbs and plants without much difficulty. However, your return to camp was met with an annoyed-looking Tech, his frustration evident as he started an argument for your sudden departure and for not telling him where you were since comms were dead too; coupled with his ongoing concerns about your leg.
Insisting that you were fine, you proceeded to apply the herbal remedy to your wound, wrapping it back up and allowing nature to take its course. Though Tech couldn’t help but offer snide remarks whenever you winced at the slightest movement, your remedy proved effective in easing the discomfort for a while.
Meanwhile, Tech’s attempts to establish a signal to the others had proved fruitless, only adding to his growing frustration. He was normally very composed under pressure, but his visible agitation was somewhat unsettling, leaving you feeling both concerned and also quite upset to see him this way.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the camp, the atmosphere between you two remained tense. While you rested against the boulder again, Tech sat with his head in his hands, visibly weighed down by the day's events.
An uncharacteristic urge to ease his burden prompted you to speak up. “Why don’t you sleep? Try again tomorrow,” you suggest, breaking the silence and drawing his gaze across the flickering flames of the fire pit.
“One of us needs to stay awake and take watch,” he insists, decided on his decision straight away.
You frown, realising that you slept through most of the previous night, which meant… “Tech, did you not sleep last night?” you ask, your concern evident in your tone.
“No.” He mutters, “Like I said, one of us needs to stay awake.”
Squinting at him, a hint of annoyance creeps into your voice. “That’s not healthy, especially when we’re stuck like this. You need to sleep or something.”
“I am used to not getting sleep on the Marauder so I do not see why this is any different,” he counters, his stance firm.
Though grateful for his commitment to keeping watch, you can’t help but feel exasperated by his stubbornness. Rolling your eyes, you wrap your arms around yourself as a chill sets in. “To be fair,” you begin, “I kept waking up last night. It was way too cold.”
“Yes, I noticed,” he responds, his tone softened slightly by the acknowledgement.
“Oh,” you say softly before closing your eyes, allowing the weariness of the day to wash over you. However, you’re abruptly jolted from the verge of sleep by the sound of movement nearby. With a start, you almost jump out of your skin as Tech stands in front of you.
“Stars Tech!” You gasp, his sudden proximity shocking you. “What?”
“I want you to go to sleep.”
You blink at him.
“Okay…?”
“So,” you watch him shift, his movements awkward, “I will let you sleep beside me.”
It takes you a moment to comprehend his meaning before you pull a strange face, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion and slight amusement. “Are you asking me to cuddle you?” The thought surprises you, but oddly enough, it doesn’t sound too bad right about now.
“I would not put it so conveniently,” he says, his tone betraying a hint of discomfort, “I am merely stating that I could use my body warmth to help you sleep.”
You’re taken aback by his offer, but exhaustion soon overwhelms any reservations you may have had. “Oh… well, if you’re okay with that?”
“I would not have offered otherwise.” Tech’s smile is small but genuine, and you can’t help but softly smile back as you both sit beside one another, gazing into the flames of the fire pit. Soon, you find your eyes trailing down to his bare hands, frowning as you notice they look quite sweaty; an odd sight considering the cool evening air.
Curiosity gets the better of you, and you gaze up at his face, finding him engrossed in fixing his datapad. But something seems off—his complexion appears clammy, and there’s a flush to his cheeks.
Instinctively, you reach out and place the back of your hand to his forehead, gasping at the unexpected heat radiating from his skin. “Tech!” You squeak, startling him. “You have a fever? Why didn’t you tell me?”
He doesn’t even look at you, giving off a look like a character who had been bitten by something in those horrible horror holomovies and pretends to hide the bite. “Tech,” you say his name again, more sternly. “Are you hurt?”
He sighs, dropping his device into his lap before he lifts his arm to you, showing a bandage of his own that is stained in dry blood. “As I was maneuvering through the shuttle, I just so happened to trip and catch my arm on some jagged metal. It is nothing to fret about.”
“Oh, come off it, you’re burning up.” Tech notices the slight worry in your tone, watching you lean to your other side as you produce the herbal paste you used on yourself earlier. “Let me put this on.”
“Rest and water will do me fine-.”
“That’s funny, seeing as you just told me you’d rather me sleep than yourself.” You say with a roll of your eyes, taking a firm yet gentle hold of his arm before you start to peel the bandage away, holding down your nausea just for him.
Tech watches you with a concerned gaze. “I must insist…” he trails off as his eyes move to the sticky paste, clearly uncertain about your own remedy.
“Don’t you trust me?” You ask, and time seems to freeze as you both lock eyes, speaking silently to one another. His gaze is strong and, albeit, quite hypnotising behind his yellow-tinted goggles. But, you seem to snap out of your gaze as he replies:
“I do.”
“Well,” you say, clearing your throat as you drop your gaze to his arm, “let me help you.”
You’re gentle with your movements, applying the remedy over his arm with precision. You could feel his stare on your face, and so you slowly looked back up at him, his face so near you could almost feel the warmth of his breath dancing on your skin. “See? That should help with the pain,” you find yourself whispering.
For once, the two of you didn’t seem to be at each other's necks, both of you seeming to try and read each other’s thoughts. Tech was not the best at reading feelings, and as you gaze into his eyes, you find yourself not being able to read his too.
Eventually, you look away. An unusual heat started to crawl up your neck, and you didn’t think it was from the flame from the fire or his ‘body warmth’ as he put it. Lack of sleep and lack of food and water. That had to be it.
“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep, Tech?” You ask again as the drowsiness from before seeps back, and Tech turns his head away from you, inspecting his arm quietly before picking up his datapad once more.
“I am sure.”
The next day unfolded much like the one before it.
Tech grumbled about your mobility, his attempts to fix up the shuttle yielding no results, and the air between you both grew heavy with unspoken tension.
Yet, as nightfall descended once again, you found yourself nestled beside Tech, his warmth offering a rare respite, allowing you to drift into a peaceful sleep. And miraculously, your homemade remedy seemed to work wonders on both of you. You could now move with a bit more ease, and the infections on your injuries had cleared up.
But as you stared into the dancing flames that night, a wave of sorrow washed over you.
“You were right, you know?” you whispered into the night, the warmth of the fire casting flickering shadows on your face.
“About what?” Tech responded, his eyes fixed on his datapad, the soft glow illuminating his features.
Tears welled up at the corners of your eyes, and you struggled to keep them at bay, feeling utterly helpless. “That it was my fault… with the mission. If I had just let you do the data transfer instead of insisting I could do it then…” Your voice faltered, choked by a sob that escaped your lips, startling Tech. “Then we would’ve made it out in time! A-and the others… Tech, we don’t even know if they’re alive!”
Tech stared at you wide-eyed, your sudden outburst of emotion catching him off guard. Yet, amidst your tears streaming down your face and your hands clasped over your head, he uttered your name softly, “Mistakes happen.”
“But they don’t with you, Tech!” you cried, turning to face him. “You’re always so good, so perfect at everything you do, and I… I just wanted to prove myself to you! I always feel like I am not good enough for you, and that’s why you don’t like me.”
For a moment, the crackling of the fire was the only sound between you, the flames casting a warm glow on both of your faces. Tech's expression softened as he regarded you with understanding.
“Not liking you, is not something that ever crossed my mind,” he finally said, his voice low. “You were determined, and that is a trait that is to be commended. It is true, I often find it easier to rely on myself but I am programmed that way. But you, you gave it your all, and that is commendable. Do not be so hard on yourself.”
You sniffle, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you like a heavy blanket. The tears keep escaping your eyes, trailing down your cheeks as you struggle to contain your emotions. "But… because of me, you’re stuck here?"
Tech’s gaze softens, his eyes reflecting understanding. His voice carries a comforting warmth as he responds, “I am aware. But think how you would be if I were not here.”
Your mind whirls with the possibilities of what could have been, but you still feel terrible. "But we may not see the others again… we may not ever leave here." Your voice trembles with the weight of uncertainty, your heart heavy with guilt.
Tech’s gaze shifts away, his brows furrowing in contemplation as he adjusts his goggles. "We have to adapt to survive, we always have. And regarding the others, the probability of their survival is 89%. It is likely they are out there looking for us. And if I get the shuttle repaired enough to get a connection, I can send a signal and hope they pick up our coordinates.” His voice carries a note of determination.
You cling to his words like a lifeline, a glimmer of hope flickering in the depths of your despair. How could you have been so stupid? But, his words held promise but you can’t help but ask: "Promise me you’re not lying to me?"
“I have not once ever lied to you and I would not start now.” His response is steady, his words a soothing balm to your battered soul.
As your tears slowly subside, a tentative smile graces your lips. "Thanks Tech,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. “I bet I look a mess right now. I’m a pretty ugly cryer.”
Tech’s gaze softens, a hint of warmth in his eyes as he searches for the right words. "No, you look…” He trails off, his gaze lingering on your tear-streaked face. He reaches out, his touch feather-light as he gently brushes away a stray tear that glistens on your lashes.
“What?” you prompt, your breath catching in your throat at his unfamiliar touch as you meet his gaze.
“Like you,” he finishes, a little awkward but his words were imbued with sincerity as he offers you a small smile.
Emotion wells up inside you, a tidal wave of gratitude and affection crashing over you. Without a second thought, you lean forward, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace. He freezes for a moment, taken aback by the sudden intimacy, before tentatively returning the hug, his arms encircling you in a protective cocoon.
As you’re wrapped in each other's embrace, you find solace; a fleeting moment of peace.
As sleep beckons, you can’t help but nestle closer to him, finding comfort in his presence as you drift off into the realm of dreams, his steady heartbeat a lullaby.
In the days that followed, a significant improvement became evident. Tech’s progress on the shuttle repair was slow, hampered by the absence of his proper tools. Despite the challenges, both of your injuries had begun to heal, and the atmosphere in camp had lightened considerably.
Although the water still tasted like dirt, you were no longer dehydrated. Discovering some rare fruits that proved not to be poisonous added to the uplifting spirit.
At night, neither of you seemed to mind huddling for warmth. You would lay against him, listening to the plans and stories he had, especially if you begged him to tell you. Although they were very matter-of-fact and not overly entertaining, you found the tales of the squad before you joined enjoyable. You both no longer bickered, clearing the air of past arguments, and genuinely enjoyed each other's company. Although it was not like either of you had any other options.
But that’s not the only thing that had changed. You found yourself getting nervous around Tech. A good kind of nervous. When he was working on the shuttle, you couldn’t help but sit back and admire him at work. He was attractive, sure, but you found him more than that. He listened intently to you, offering advice and tips without seeming to mansplain to you.
So that night by the fire again, sitting by his side, you weren’t so surprised about the next set of events.
“What are you going to do when we leave this place?” You ask, your body twisting to face him as you rest your elbow against the boulder, hand on the side of your head as you lean yourself up to look at him.
He smiles, noticing how you said ‘when’ and not ‘if’, highlighting your trust in him. “I will most likely do what I usually do, get ready for the next mission set for us.”
You roll your eyes. “You don’t want to celebrate?”
“Celebrate what, exactly?”
“Well,” you start with a soft laugh, “us finally putting our differences aside and not killing each other for one.” You suggest, earning a fond chuckle from the clone before continuing. “And surviving.”
He thinks for a moment, looking into the flames and then at you. “I suppose those are adequate reasons to celebrate, yes. Will the others be joining?”
“Sure,” you say with a smile but there’s a small swirl in your stomach as you say, “unless… you don’t want them to join us?”
Tech blinks, and for a second, it was like he was short-circuiting as he thinks about your proposal. Was it flirtation in your tone or had he imagined it? “I do not mind either way,” he explains, his chest slightly puffing out. “It would be nice to perhaps talk like this in a more formal setting elsewhere. Just us.”
You silently suck in a deep breath, a shy glint in your eyes. “I think I’d like that, yeah.” Your tone lowered, and you can’t help but notice that Tech had turned his body more to face you. Then, his eyes flickered to your lips as you inadvertently licked them, chapped but tinged with the sweetness of the fruit before.
You hold his gaze, slightly tilting your head as you take a gamble and look to his lips, then to his eyes. It was an invitation, and you hoped that Tech got the hint.
And he did.
Slowly, he sets his datapad to one side, finally letting it go as he focuses all of his attention on you. There’s a charge in the air, and you see him lean closer... and closer…
Your breath hitches, eyes slowly falling shut as he closes the distance, his nose brushing against yours before his lips meet your own in a soft, shy kiss. Leaning more into it, your hand finds refuge on his leg whilst one of his hands comes up and cups your cheek.
You sigh into him, heart racing as you feel him grow bolder. His lips, warm and inviting, meld with yours, igniting a spark that you both had been unknowingly kindling. His touch sends shivers down your spine as the kiss deepens, becoming more desperate, more intense. The jungle, the planet, the whole star system around you seems to fade away.
Tech utters your name against your lips, your soft moan of a response allowing his tongue into your mouth, exploring, igniting a fiery passion within you.
Gently, he lays you down by the fire, the crackling flames casting dancing shadows across his face. He pulls away for a moment, pulling his goggles off his face as he peers down at you, his eyes a dance of different emotions. “You are enchanting.”
But with a hunger that can no longer be contained, he crashes his lips back to yours, now allowing you to let your tongue meet his in a fervent dance; fingers tangling in his untamed hair meanwhile his hands roam over your body.
The next day brought a breakthrough. Tech managed to gain contact.
Overwhelmed by joy, you ran into Tech’s arms, jumping and letting him spin you around with a chuckle as you knew both of you would soon be saved! And better yet, the others were alive and safe too.
“I can’t believe you did it! You really did it.” You grin at him as he pulls back from the hug but does not let you down, instead cradles you in his arms.
“You seem surprised.”
“Oh Tech,” you say adoringly, leaning forward and giving his lips a soft kiss, smiling as he hums against your lips.
“I will never get tired of you kissing me,” he utters, truly in awe of how this sudden turn of events had happened. It was quick, but neither of you seemed to mind.
Last night was magic. All the bad memories had faded from your mind, solely just focusing on Tech and yourself. When all hope had seemed lost, your mistake led you to one of the best choices you ever could make. And maybe, that promised date would become something more.
Masterlist is pinned😊
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Bridgerton shade of blue
Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader
Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.
{Masterlist}
{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}
Season one
Chapter Eight - Sparkling diamond
♡♡♡
Benedict joined his sister, Eloise, out in the garden again long after the other had gone to bed. She was smoking on the swing like last time.
As Benedict takes a seat on the opposite swing, she passes him the cigarette. He takes it.
"I found bits of your sketchbook in the fireplace," Eloise says.
"Are you spying on me now?"
"You'd actually have to be interesting for me to bother spying on you," she chuckles.
"The drawings in that sketchbook were abominable," he says firmly. "I could not stand to look at them."
"I believe that is why they call it a sketchbook." Eloise looks at them. "I write in my diary, which is not the same as wiring in my novel."
Benedict chuckles.
"It must be very difficult to want something and not be able to get it."
"Eloise..."
"If you enjoy drawing but need practise, then practise," she goes on. "Hire a drawing master. Find a young lady to act impressed."
You cross his mind. However, he doesn't want you to act impressed. He wants you to be impressed by his work. Genuinely so.
"If you desire the sun and the moon, all you have to do is go out and shoot at the sky. Some of us cannot.
"Look no further than Lady Whistledown. She possesses a huge talent for writing, and yet she must hide away and publish under a false name."
"Yes, because if anyone knew who Whistledown truly was, she'd be strung up for what she said," Benedict states.
"That is not my point. Whistledown is a woman, therefore she has nothing, and still she writes. You're a man, therefore you have everything. You are able to do whatever you want. So do it. Be bold."
Eloise envies her brothers.
"At least that way I can live vicariously through you." She rises to leave.
"Eloise... are you Lady Whistledown?" Benedict asks.
Eloise laughs.
"You're an accomplished writer, always scribbling in that diary of yours. You certainly know everyone else's business. You have more opinions than anyone else I know in London. You would have my full support and admiration either way, sister."
Elosie laughs again.
"So... is it you?"
"No." She looks at him. "Though if it were... do you honestly think that I'd admit it?"
Elosie heads back inside.
Benedict is left with his thoughts.
♡♡♡
The ballroom was elegantly designed. Soft shades to light up the room. You find yourself without a dance partner, however.
Prince Friedrich was in the middle of a dance with Cressida Cowper.
The duke was standing sternly off to the side with Lady Danbury. They appeared to be talking quietly, though judging by the stern faces, it was not a pleasant conversation.
You find yourself gently, and you admire the room. Benedict wasn't here. You couldn't see him at all.
That is not to say you had gone unnoticed. You glance to your left and find a perfectly suitable gentleman looking your way. You smile softly and turn your gaze away.
Tactics of flirtation were not completely out of your power.
Before anyone could make a move, however, the doors at the top of the stairs opened. It wasn't so much the doors that caught everyones attention, more like who had come through them.
You swear you all breath left you when your eyes landed on Daphne coming down the stairs with her mother. She was wearing the most beautiful silver gown you had ever seen, and her hair was beautifully done. She looked like, well, a princess.
In her hand was a feather fan. It went beautifully with her attire. She began to descend the stairs.
All eyes were on her.
Prince Friedrich was at the bottom of the stairs. Not once did he look away. You watch with interest as Daphne gets closer, closer, and closer to him.
The prince leaves Cressida's side to meet Daphne at the bottom stair.
The duke does not move.
Daphne stops.
"Miss Bridgerton, I simply musylt have your first dance." He speaks to her softly.
"It would be an honour, your highness." She curtsies.
A moment passes between them, and then you watch as Daphne drops her fan. Just like that, the prince kneels down to pick it up.
The prince kneeled.
You don't even realise the soft gasp you let out as you watch.
Prince Friedrich offers her the fan, and she takes it. She smiles at him and then gives the fun to her mother as she takes the prince hand.
They dance.
The duke leaves. Though he turns back to look at Daphne before he goes.
In the words of Lady Whistledown, why settle for a duke when one can have a prince?
♡♡♡
The invitation to attend the boxing match came from Anthony Bridgerton. You were rather pleasantly surprised by his invitation.
Anthony apparently needed some help to keep his mother quiet about finding a wife for himself.
You laughed.
You follow the siblings until they reach the prince. He approaches Daphne, but greets you, also. You curtsy.
Anthony then offers you his arm. "Shall we?"
You chuckle and take it, allowing him to lead you over to some seats. As you settle, you turn to the eldest Bridgerton.
"Where are you brothers?" You ask.
"My brothers? Currently talking to one of the fighters." He gestures to the edge of the ring where you spot Colin and Benedict.
You don't even notice you're smiling.
"You and my brother seem to have grown rather close." Anthony points out, looking at you.
"I can assure you there is nothing untoward. Your brother is my friend, as are you all now." You smile at him.
Anthony chuckles.
"Benedict seems to have a lot on his mind at the moment. I am not one to get in the way of someone's business."
"Smart woman," Anthony chuckles.
You nudge his arm lightly and wait for the fight to begin.
As the match is announced to begin, the other brothers find their way to you and Anthony. Benedict looks rather surprised to see you. "I had no idea you were attending."
"Your brother invited me to keep your mother off his back. It seems that is all I'm good for." You chuckle.
"No true, but appreciated none the less," Benedict comments.
You smile, and he takes the empty seat beside you. It does not go unnoticed that you keep your arm looped with Anthony's. He doesn't comment on it.
The fight is intense. You gasp with every hard punch. The men around you cheer on their victor.
You had never witnessed such a match before, and you would be lying if you said you were not somewhat into it.
As the crowd stands, you stand with them and cheer along with the Bridgerton brothers. William Mondrich was their friend, and he was putting up hell of a good fight.
Benedict finds it amusing how excited you seem to be.
Mondrich wins!
You cheer along with the brothers. You laugh at the excitement. It was a thrilling match, indeed.
Anthony helps you down from your seat and speaks close to your ear so you can hear him. "We're off to collect our winnings. I shall see to it you get home right after."
You nod and thank him. As he leaves to fetch his earrings, Benedict turns to you.
"Did you enjoy that?"
You chuckle. "I did. Surprisingly."
"I must say, I did not expect to see you in attendance."
"I am full of surprises."
Benedict looks at you quietly for a moment. "Yes. You are."
You smile and look away. However, his gaze lingers on you for a bit.
Later, the Bridgertons see to it that you get home safely before they head off to the club. A place for the gentlemen only.
Anthony helps you up into the carriage and thanks you for humouring him today. Yo return the gesture and wave as the carriage leaves.
Colin has to nudge Benedict out of his thoughts.
♡♡♡
@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333
@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173
@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner
@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd -
@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle
@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff -
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[9:47PM] Jump Scare - (j.cm)
Warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), bf!Changmin, cockwarming, mentions of dry humping, making out, groping, unprotected p in v, just the tip 😏, pet name (baby), something nasty happening with other people around. Word Count: 0.9K
A/N: based on this idea that was sent a lifetime ago. Forgot that this idea came from you too omg @snowflakewhispers HAHA Proofread once, this one was fun to write! Tagging @deoboyznet @aimeecarreros @winterchimez
Thinking about bf!Changmin, who’s got both of you in a… well quite a compromising position while your friends are around. Now don’t worry, it’s not that any of your friends can actually see what you and Changmin are up to, it’s just a naughty little secret between a boyfriend and a girlfriend.
It was an accident really, you weren’t supposed to be in this position with him at all. Changmin had invited you over to his place and at some point you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. Making out and grinding into each other on the couch while a movie you put on was just playing in the background.
“Just a little bit baby…” He mumbles against the sensitive skin of your neck.
“Min, we have to- fuck, w-we should be watching.” You whine as you grip his hair.
“The movie can wait.” He licks a trail from your collarbone all the way to that spot beneath your earlobe. “C’mon please? Just the tip? I promise I’ll be quick.”
“Okay fine, just the tip alright?” You sighed in defeat.
And just like that, Changmin gets off you and sits back on the couch, patting his lap with that mischievous grin on his face. You get up to sit on him, your back pressed against his chest as you start slowly moving your hips, grinding your ass against his semi-hard bulge.
His hands play with your breasts for a bit as he leaves kisses on your neck before unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock. You lift your hips enough for him to pull your flimsy shorts and underwear to the side with one hand while the other holds his member, the tip rubbing in-between your wet folds and finally pushing the head inside your entrance.
“Fuck your pussy’s too greedy, practically sucking me in.” He groans as he slowly thrusts up, desperately wanting his whole length inside you right now.
“You said only the tip Min-” You breathe out.
“Just a little more promise, not all the way.” Changmin whispers in your ear as you lay back into him. He guides your hips lower, inserting more of himself inside. God you both can feel the delicious stretch of your walls hugging his member. Changmin continues to thrust slowly into you as much as he can go, holding back all his willpower to just shove it all in until-
Knock knock knock.
“Open up Changmin!” A voice from the front door shouts.
The sound startles both of you and you accidentally sink into his lap so quick almost forgetting that half of Changmin’s dick was literally inside you until you felt him go all the way in, the tip hitting that spot you love. You nearly moan out so loud but Changmin covers your mouth quickly.
“Stay still…” Changmin says to your through gritted teeth, trying to conceal the groan that was stuck in his throat when you fully sat on him. He scrambles to grab the throw blanket on the couch and covers you both while your friends start entering the apartment.
“What? Did you guys start the movie already without us?” Younghoon chuckles.
“Huh?” You both ask him simultaneously.
“It’s movie night lovebirds! Did you forget? C’mon!” Haknyeon chimes in as he plops on the couch next to the two of you. You subtly turn to Changmin with a panicked look on your face.
“Just keep quiet okay?” He whispers in your ear.
Looks like this is gonna be one hell of a night.
The whole time during the movie you try your best not to squirm, but as the minutes go by that task alone becomes more difficult especially when you or Changmin adjust yourselves every now and then, the tip of his cock nudging that sweet spot in you every time.
Changmin tries to subtly pinch or hold your hips whenever he feels your walls fluttering around him or when his member twitches inside you, a sign that he is also trying his best to keep calm and not make anything obvious.
Though, while you were panicking internally, seeing you in such a state and trying your best not to elicit any erotic sound was rather amusing for Changmin. He’s never seen you like this before and it was causing a little fire burning inside him, telling him that this will definitely not be the last time he would want to do this to you.
‘Whose idea was it to watch a horror movie?’ You thought to yourself. You could never stay still with these things, which was why it was becoming harder for you to not move.
And while some of your friends were talking, some focusing on the movie, a jump scare appears on the screen. The scene and everyone’s reaction caused your body to jolt up, making you slightly bounce on Changmin’s length. You yelp, but the sound of it was almost borderline erotic that you had to quickly fake cough to hide it and play it off cooly.
You’re stuck in your own thoughts, overthinking if anyone had noticed your near slip but Changmin, amused as ever, pinches your thighs, bringing you back to reality.
“Better stay quiet baby, or else they’ll know what’s going on under this blanket.” He whispers in your ear.
But what you both didn’t know was Sangyeon was growing suspicious of the two of you since he entered the apartment.
And now with that weird sound you just made along with the fact that you haven’t left Changmin’s lap since they got there, he can’t stop thinking if whether or not what he thinks is happening under those sheets is actually happening.
#deoboyznet#ji changmin#changmin smut#tbz smut#tbz fics#tbz scenarios#tbz#tbz hard hours#the boyz drabbles#the boyz hard hours#the boyz scenarios#the boyz fic#the boyz smut#kpop smut#the boyz fanfic
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on my hands and knees begging you to write that legally blonde idea… obsessed with the idea of reader thinking chil wants to get back w his ex vs chil just wanting to be friends and crushing hard on reader
take it like a man!
…ft! chilchuck x fem! reader
…tags! fluff, reader is into fashion
…wc! 2294
…notes! chilchuck tims and emmett forrest are the same to me (my type). this is so incredibly self indulgent thank you for enabling me anon. a lot of dialogue is paraphrased from the song/show, such is the way of songfics. enjoy!
Oh, how Chilchuck wished he could say no to you.
He didn’t know what he was expecting from you and Marcille’s ‘sweep your wife off her feet operation’, otherwise shortened to SYWOHF which Chilchuck pointed out was an awful name for a campaign. You elected to ignore him.
In actuality, he really wanted to just do this his own way. What he had in mind was just to pay a visit and talk things through. As those with a little womanly touch, you and Marcille knew that wouldn’t be enough. Chilchuck had to prove he was serious about this – that he really wanted his wife back in his life!
Seeing how excited you were showing off your step by step plan… he didn’t have the heart to tell you that he really just wanted to remain friends with her.
So, here he is. Having his eyes covered by your hands as you guide him through the busy streets of… who knows where.
“Almost there,” your breathless though excited voice reaches his ears, “I promise!”
You finally slow to a stop, and Chilchuck also gets the chance to speak about his thoughts on this. Simply being, “this is pointless. We don’t need to be doing all this.”
Scoffing, you fold your arms. “Don’t be like that! A conversation isn’t the only way to win her over.”
“No,” Chilchuck starts, “but it would sure make me look desperate!” He swats your hands off and away from his face. His back is turned away from the building you’re arguing outside of, not even bothering to see what you’re doing.
You frown. Chilchuck doesn’t easily get so frustrated with you. That’s what people usually say – if anyone can convince him to do anything, it’d be you. “Chil,” you try to appeal. You even try physically reaching out, hand hovering over his shoulder. “Work with me here. We can do this in a way that will prove yourself, and let her know you’ve changed. For the better.”
Chilchuck listens to you, sparing you a sidelong glance as you go on with your speech. “You make it sound like we’re in some romance novel. This isn’t ‘for the better’ I just want to talk to her.”
“No you don’t, you want her back in your life!”
“Well…!” Chilchuck stutters at how blunt your words are. You are way too observant for your own good. He never knows how to talk to you cooly when you do this. “Well, of course I do! And I can do that by slowly building up trust between us again, without rushing anyone.”
Where Chilchuck expects begging to follow through with your scheme, you simply look at him with a cold expression– colder than he’s ever seen you wear. “So you have the chance to run away again if things get too much? Sacrificing your integrity?”
You’re both lucky this little nook in the streets was away from most crowds. Save for the passersby' conversations, the silence would have been strife with weight. Chilchuck opens his mouth, then closes it again. He repeats the action, and tries to use his hands to communicate his thoughts to no avail.
He settles for turning away from you in angered shame, fists balled at his sides and tips of his ears growing red. “...I guess.”
You smile, knowing you have swayed the half-foot to your side. Even in the dungeon, your debates went this way. Chilchuck would present a cynical, logical approach whilst you were more realistic – something your appearance doesn’t really match with. Chilchuck thinks he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Not like he’d say that to your face.
Hearing your confident hum, Chilchuck sighs and turns back to you. “Why do you always have to be right?” He complains about this constantly. You always seem to one-up him in ways he can never prepare for.
“I don’t have to be,” your attitude and voice returns to its usual, jovial form, “when I’m with you, I just am!”
You reach over to Chilchuck once more right as he’s about to make a scathing comment back at you. His face is a bit too close for comfort with a wooden door, an entrance somewhere.
“You trust me to help you impress your wife, don’t you?” You ask, with a clear sense of finality.
Chilchuck doesn’t think he has much of a choice in the matter. “...Of course,” he responds honestly but you can hear his voice waver.
He can practically sense your smile from behind. “Then don’t stop now.”
You wish you could say without a spot of bias that you were 100% supporting the operation at hand. In actuality, it came with a heavy sacrifice of your own feelings remaining unsaid. Of course you just had to fall for the semi-married man. You have already tried to move on, from distracting yourself with an operation like this, to asking Izutsumi to pummel your head with a rock (which she was very close to doing).
This will have to do.
It was like magic, how the environment of the building interior rushes through you. Chilchuck even feels it, his large eyes blinking as he drinks in the sight.
“...Where are we?” he asks, almost dreamily. A beautiful ceiling lamp shines onto coloured wallpaper. The scent reminds him of the kind of perfume Marcille would use. It’s strangely… alluring.
You lean your face over Chilchuck’s shoulder. “Oh, nothing much. Just the most trendy half-foot exclusive clothing store in Kahka Brud.” You can easily sense Chilchuck’s shock from this position – amusing you greatly. “Here.”
You stand up behind Chilchuck again, massaging his shoulders. “Just take a deep breath, and let it sink in. We’ll be here for a bit so get used to the smells and lights. Feel how it draws you in.”
“I’m feelin’ it alright,” Chilchuck responds, moreso about how he has no idea what convinces people to remain in these environments for so long without feeling overstimulated.
He already feels hot with how you’re handling him.
You move around so you’re in front of Chilchuck. “Listen, I know this can be… overwhelming,” you start, giving the understatement of the century, “but think about who you’re doing this for. Swallow your pride and… pick out anything you think is nice. I’ll do the same.”
Chilchuck nods, about to set off, but not before you take his face, squishing his cheeks a comedic amount so he’s forced to pout and look you in the eye.
“Promise me you won’t run. Take it like a man, alright?”
You let him go, and Chilchuck swears the heat on his body is from the stuffy maze of clothes stalls. As he navigates the first selection of half-foot men’s clothes he sees, he tries to ignore the thoughts that seem to non-stop course through his brain.
He’s largely unsuccessful.
What are you getting out of this? Some sort of second-hand pride at bringing together two estranged lovers? Wait ‘til you find out the truth – that those aren’t where his true feelings lie. Why can’t you leave well enough alone?
Why does he let you string him along with every plan you come up with?
You arrive back with a couple of blazer–pants combos, calling out Chilchuck’s name as you do so. Damn, you sure are speeding through the process.
“So, I took the liberty of picking some of the more fancy kinds of suits.” You hold them up in your arms. “Whaddya think?”
“Suits,” Chilchuck repeats dryly, in disbelief of how far you’re taking the idea of impressing a woman. He looks through each of the three upon seeing your determined expression.
He points at the pale pink option. “Absolutely not.”
He gestures to the navy one with a thinner fabric. “I like this one.”
Finally, he only spares at a glance at the creatively patterned suit. “I think I’d sooner be fed to wargs than be seen in that.”
You assemble each of the selections in order of preference. You muse, “I see, I see… Something refined but masculine. Much better than your ‘tattered chic’ look. Like an old book forever trapped in a library.”
Chilchuck furrows his brow as you run off again. “Wh– What’s that supposed to mean, jerk?!”
He sighs. He watches you as you make a few more choices again, before Chilchuck tries to distract himself looking at ties. He’s come this far. He should trust in your instinct. It hasn’t failed him– or anyone yet.
So what the Hell?
Before Chilchuck knows it, he’s handed the acutely sized down, perfect combination of blazer and pants, and he’s stuffed inside a changing room. He’s instructed to change into the whole thing.
As he does so, you can’t help but pace. This is it. This is the winning goal to help him impress his old flame. It’ll be like an academy romance – falling in love all over again like you’re teenagers. You sigh longingly. If only you can be there, in her place.
“You’re gonna look great!” You converse with Chilchuck through the curtain. “You’ll become a whole new man, promise! You’ll bloom like a rose!”
“It’s just clothes,” Chilchuck, in his usual cynicism, calls back.
You return with a raspberry. “Don’t be such a Debbie-downer.”
“Wow. No one’s called me that since grade school.”
“Maybe not to your face.”
Even without looking at him, you can imagine the scoff and eye roll he must be giving you, interrupted by a small choke on his own spit. “Is this the price?”
“Ignore that!” You quickly respond. “It’s my treat! Come out, come out, I wanna see you!”
Better to gloss over the fact you worked hard to do this for Chilchuck with a high budget. No doubt he’d tease you or outright refuse it. You open the curtain and pull Chilchuck out by his arm. He quickly adjusts himself and you both stand in front of the wall length mirror.
“...Woah.”
It’s said naturally in sync. Both of you hardly recognise the brunette half-foot in the form fitting suit and tie. With a bit of hair maintenance and more time to actually make himself look presentable…
“I look like Laios on a good day,” Chilchuck jokes.
Your breath caught in your throat, you can only let out, “y-yeah.”
You pray he doesn’t notice how enthralled you are in his appearance, if slightly ungroomed.
Once the moment passes, Chilchuck makes himself comfortable by loosening his tie and undoing a button or two, then putting his arms where they usually are behind his neck. “But it’s just me.”
Without hesitation, you find yourself speaking without meaning to. “Is that not the best part?”
Chilchuck looks at you in confusion. “What?”
“I-I mean…” you trail off. You look nervous. That’s rare for you. Usually you always had something to say. Now you look like you’re trying to figure out how to word something in a specific way. Why?
You move behind Chilchuck to smooth down some of his hair. “You may look more charming but… this is all you. Your choices, your style… It reflects who you are on the inside. That’s the magic of fashion.”
Chilchuck laughs a little, mostly at his own cluelessness. He can’t believe he’s underestimated a simple shopping trip. “Thank you,” he says, with complete sincerity.
“No.” You shake your head. “This is not a gift. I’m just… This is me thanking you for how you let me get away with so much.”
Your hands land on his shoulders, and Chilchuck’s fingers find their way to interlace with yours. For just a few more moments, you look at yourselves in the mirror.
Catching yourself, you step away from the situation – from him. “Well? Come on, you need to buy this. I’d want to marry you if you took me out looking like this!”
The half-foot flushes red. You got to know what you’re doing to him. “That’s not really—”
“Chilchuck. Please.” You place your hands on your hips, looking dead serious. “You look hot.”
…Well, he can’t argue with you. If you really think that, then who is he to deny it?
“Fine. I’ll get it.”
You smile that cocky grin Chilchuck has grown to love. “That’s our man.”
Leaving the shop was like a breath of fresh, unperfumed air. Chilchuck would nearly fall to his knees and start kissing the ground if he paid too much attention to how his legs ached. The post shopping trip fatigue is really hitting him.
“I enjoyed this,” he however admits. “Maybe women are onto something when it comes to clothes.”
“That’s why you should always listen to whenever a woman is speaking,” you wisely advise, making Chilchuck nod with a slight snort.
He stops at a crossroads, where you go back to his place, and he goes back to his. “You can trust that I will now.”
“Good.” You sigh in relief knowing your venture was successful. Maybe too successful, because now you may lose him.
Chilchuck keeps looking at you with affection. You can’t say you haven’t noticed how he keeps sparing you glances, mostly throughout the shopping trip. Maybe he has warmed up to you?
Still, neither of you can stop yourselves at this point.
You approach, and for a hopeful second, Chilchuck tilts his head a bit to the left, eyelids lowering and leaning into you. Your arms wrap around his middle.
Your face nuzzles into his neck as you hug the man tight. Chilchuck is still for a few seconds. A hug. Right. Of course you’d want a hug… He responds in kind.
“See you soon, Chil. I wish you luck.”
“Y-Yeah. Luck with the lady.”
Your happiness comes with a heavy sacrifice of Chilchuck’s feelings remaining unsaid.
He’ll take it like a man.
#✮ grimm's fics!#dungeon meshi#dungeon meshi imagines#dungeon meshi x reader#delicious in dungeon#delicious in dungeon imagines#delicious in dungeon x reader#chilchuck#chilchuck tims#chilchuck x reader#chilchuck imagines#chilchuck tims x reader#chilchuck tims imagines
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ellie's writing tips
hellooo this is just a lil masterpost for the writing tips i have collected over my time writing since it's a question i get often!! this way it's all in one place <3 this is also for my own reference to look back on when i forget them lol
tips for specifically writing long fics
on coming up with a main storyline.
planning out a general idea & premise at the beginning of the fic that helps two characters get closer to one another, such as a forced proximity, some sort of mutual agreement, a mission to complete, etc. is a great way to get the ball rolling on a fic and can create environments between characters that feels connected and necessary rather than forced
on coming up with secondary storylines.
after laying down the main groundwork, building some side storylines adjacent to the main one that will give you options down the line to play with narratively (you don't need to figure out exactly what you want to do with secondary plotlines up front, but having them in place can create flexibility in your story to pivot towards some ideas if you'd like to later in the story)
on planning chapters & scenes.
it's wise to have a general idea for your series, but it's also okay to scrap those ideas if ultimately they don't work. there will be scenes that do not make sense or fit in the way you thought they would've, and making last minute decisions is okay and totally normal. sometimes better answers will find you along the way, and it's only a testament to how well you're getting to know your own story and also your own characters. it's also okay to plan multiple path ideas for your story, and choose whichever one fits best once you get to that point. it's not necessary to have a scene-by-scene in order to start writing! planning is useful, but writing is more important
on finding motivation to continue long fics.
having certain "key" scenes planned out in the very early stages of writing that you know you will look forward to writing can help with finding motivation. it will also help you find momentum to write during points where you might have some writer's block. also, one of the best tips i have seen for writing chaptered fics, is to end your chapters when you still have a little bit left planned. so cutting it like 10% short so that you have an immediate jumping off of point that you can start with for the next chapter
my general writing tips
inspiration. starting off w a concept or idea that you already know you like from a tv show or book works really well for fanfiction! for example if you like spiderman, then you can write a canon-adjacent spiderman au w your fave character from an anime or something. and then maybe once you start writing, your own original ideas start to come into play and you go off of those. i think in the fanfic community, people adore spin-offs & mainstream concept ideas
dialogue. my biggest tip for dialogue would be to just write all of your dialogue for a scene completely stripped down. none of the “he says” & “she says” or action verbs in between, just write it all out like it was a simple text convo w quotation marks. that way the words will sound realistic because you’re only picturing a convo in your head, rather than also trying to juggle all the descriptive prose. then, you can go back in to fluff things up. if it’s meant to be comedic or a fast-paced argument, keeping it relatively stripped down is the way to go, but if it’s something intense or suspenseful then fluffing it up may be the better choice. also, i find dialogue becomes easier the more you write for a specific character, so if it’s not flowing right away, don’t worry!! their words will find you eventually once you get to know the character better :)
on choosing conflicts. characters won’t always act perfect, but i think a great way to make conflict seem realistic is for them to act in character but with flaws, rather than out of character with flaws. maybe make a list of what that character’s good qualities and how those qualities could also work against them, and use the latter to brainstorm realistic conflict that those qualities could put them in (ex: a character is self-sufficient, but that causes them to rely on ppl less when they need it -> they fail to reach out for help in timely manners and leads to mistakes/regrets)
pacing. when starting off a story, don’t be afraid to just jump straight into it! or jump straight into the dialogue and then build the scene gradually as it progresses, rather than [big block of text in beginning of scene that reader must drag their eyes through] and then get to the dialogue. make sure the pacing fits the scene (romantic -> longer paragraphs more focused on subtle details, comical -> short paragraphs n dialogue heavy w simple n relatable diction, etc)
for tone and mood. to get words flowing for different scenes, it can be really useful to get into the environment of those scenes while you’re writing, such as listening to a song that fits the vibe of the scene prior to/during writing, or if its a scene at night, write it w the lights off, or watch a youtube vid w scenery that matches. may sound silly, but it could help!
read more. this is sort of a miscellaneous one but a good way to subconsciously get better at writing is to just read more! your brain kinda learns how to write on its own when you read. also, when i’m reading, if i see words i really like i jot them down in my notes app so i have my own lil vocabulary of words that i know i would like to use in my writing
on writing insecurities. be proud of your writing!! your first draft does NOT have to be perfect. some days the words will flow, but on some they won’t, and that’s okay. don’t get too into your head about “i wonder what readers will think of this plot point or this character action” etc, i think having faith in your own process but also in your readers will bring you a lot of peace as you write :) create what you want to create and the rest will follow!! at the end of the day it’s just a hobby and you should be writing what YOU want to write!! and just get started! ☺️ that’s the easiest way to write—is to just write 🫶🏼💕
use chatgpt. looool ai can be useful in writing too! i usually only use it after i'm completed with a draft, and i just plug select paragraphs into it to see if it can come up with some better words for me to use. it's also useful to come up with logistical details for aspects of your stories for world-building etc
#writing tips#writing advice#writing#writers on tumblr#creative writing#fanfiction#writing fanfiction#just writer things#writing pointers
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we are SO BACK baby. is Sebchal alive?? Have I succeeded in the CPR?
ao3(with some notes), 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
Before lunch, Max is trying to catch up on the lost sleep in the lounge chair. Daniel is swimming with long, strong strokes that smoothly break the water’s surface and barely make any sound. When he dives up and sees Max, planes of milky skin on show, his mouth waters. Max's nose had already started to turn red, and his sunglasses were doing nothing to hide that.
Max thinks about joining him for a split second, but last night's dream still lives at the back of his head. He breathes in the smell of chlorine, and another memory flashes, him trying to resurface, legs and arms tied, lungs on fire from the lack of oxygen.
“Cover your tits, Max!” Charles yells across the terrace, framing his mouth with his hands so he's louder. Max doesn't even stir.
Anne is sitting on a chair, typing away on her computer. Her phone rings and she starts chattering in quick Dutch, something Daniel doesn't even try to decipher. Max, however, sits up when she hangs up.
“He gave you an E?” he asks, his voice scratchy.
Anne blushes and nods once. She picks up the drink Charles has poured for her but doesn't drink it. “I guess he didn't really-”
“Well, that's bullshit. You told me what you would write about and made some great points.” Max stands up, and the shadow from his figure stretches all the way to Daniel.
Anne sighs and lets Max sit down on the chair next to her. “It's not that bad, Max. He did have some valid criticism-”
“Honestly, fuck him.” His shoulders are hunched, and his lips are forming a thin line. Daniel's stomach tightens at seeing him like this.
“I need to try harder. My classmates-”
Max scoffs. “It's just that, you know, they are all so-” she continues, her voice wobbly now. “I feel like I need to do three times more just to be able to play with them at the sandpit.”
It always felt stupid to Max to talk to her about the glass ceiling and feminism when he was a white man from a wealthy family. After all, the only other woman here was Pierre's girlfriend. She still hasn't introduced herself to them.
“Maybe we should introduce her to Mlinarević.” Charles quips beside them and rolls his eyes when Max immediately scrunches his nose.
“What about Susie?” Daniel asks from where he is leaning on his forearms in the pool.
Anne nods. “She's nice, yeah. But she's been trying to persuade me to change my nationality for over a year now.”
“Yeah, we have to figure out something different.”
Daniel exits the pool, and the water swooshes in short, quick waves. “Maybe you should just drop out,”
“Daniel!” Max hushes him and Daniel smirks, shaking his hair just beside him so the droplets fall on Max's heated skin.
Anne just shoots him a smile and turns back to her computer. Max, however, isn't going to let him get away with it. He stands up and pushes into him just as Daniel leans over to get the towel. He falls into the pool with a loud splash, laughing as he resurfaces.
“Maybe don't try to persuade my mentee to drop out of school, yeah?” Max says, but this time, he is smiling.
“She's right, though,” Alex unexpectedly joins the conversation. “Poli sci students are assholes.”
|
Daniel and Sebastian are put on the market duty for the day. Daniel doesn't mind, thankful for some alone time with the older man.
They walk around the market in silence for a while, Sebastian looking for asparagus and Daniel for some fruits. It's buzzing with life at this time and the smell of lavender is ever-present. Sebastian is the first to speak right after Daniel manages to buy the green apples that Max likes. Daniel thinks they are too sour. “What did he say about Beijing?”
Daniel purses his lips. “He was very humble with the word count. More of a horrified-facial expression-situation,”
Seb smirks. “He's going to talk to Jos about it, but I know he doesn't want to go.” Daniel feels his voice tightening and he coughs a little to clear it.
“It would be a career suicide not to go,”
Daniel puts on his sunglasses even though the sun is not directly above them just yet. “It's going to be a career suicide for him to go.”
Sebastian stops by the stand with the asparagus, smiling winningly. “Max is still so young. He can wait a bit.”
“I think, listen, just between us,” Daniel says in a hushed voice. “They are trying to get him into politics - again. And for the first time, it seems like he would consider it. He thinks he's doing a great job hiding it from me.”
Sebastian hands him the asparagus he bought and doesn't grace Daniel's gossip with an answer.
“You know something.” Daniel accuses him after he stays quiet for just a bit too long.
The blond just shrugs, says some French pleasantries to the merchant and turns to look at him. “Sorry, Daniel, you don't have clearance for that.”
Daniel rolls his eyes and puckers his lips in an annoyed expression. “Yeah, you can fuck right off,” He looks at Seb's tanned hands, the ring-less fingers and shifts to an offense. “Any development in the tortured lovers saga?”
“Well, funny you should ask. Yesterday,” Sebastian says with a small smile on his lips. “I told Charles I had feelings for him.”
Daniel whips around so fast that he gets a whiplash. “What?” he yells out and immediately hears a low grumble in French.
Sebastian has the nerve to just nod.
“AND?” Daniel is so loud Sebastian shushes him, rolling his eyes.
“He said he doesn't care,” he continues only after they move on to another stand, this one with strawberries.
“What?” Daniel mouths soundlessly, shocked.
By now, Sebastian is blushing a bit. “He said he already knew I had feelings for him-”
Daniel makes a sound but doesn't speak in fear of spooking Sebastian into silence.
“But-” Seb sighs, observing the strawberries with the eye of a professional. “He doesn't care because he also knows I don't want to do anything about it. Said he could see I'd not decided to do anything about it and he wasn't interested in mind games. But he told me he would always say yes if I asked.”
“Oh my god,” Daniel whispers like the gossip he is. “This is the most absurd thing I have ever heard!” he says nonsensically, realising it's not true at all. “How do you feel about that?”
Sebastian stops in his tracks, thinking mutely for a second. “I'm happy. Really, really happy.”
He smiles, handing the strawberries to Daniel, who takes them, not even trying to hide his astonishment. He can't wait to have a debrief about this with Max.
#maxiel#diplomacy au#max/daniel#max verstappen#daniel ricciardo#my writing#my ficlets#f1 rpf#f1 fic#sebchal
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Up Where We Belong
Part One
Pete “Maverick” Mitchell x Writer!reader
Synopsis: When a writer experiencing horrible writer’s block goes to the Apple Valley Airshow for inspiration, she meets a certain older, daring naval aviator, leading to maybe a little more than just inspiration.
Warnings: Mentions of hospice and family member deaths, age gap (reader is in their late thirties to early forties).
But really, this is just fluff.
Author’s Note: The plot bunnies have reproduced at an unholy rate, and I am so stupid for writing this, especially since I have another chapter of “Wherever You Go”, to write, the first chapter of “Safe and Sound” and a MavDad story to finish.
The second part and another Mav story is lined up, but at this point, I’m not going to complain, because at least I’m writing, and Mav is finally getting more of my writerly attention.
We’ll see what gets finished next, 😂.
#writerlife
Again, I name a story after a song, from another movie about the Navy, funnily enough.
(Only three of my stories on my masterlist are not named after songs—I can’t stop, apparently)
So here we go!
She had always been somewhat interested in planes—it was hard not to be, when most of her family was in commercial aviation.
Her father had flown for nearly thirty years for American, her younger brother was currently a first officer coming up on his command upgrade with Delta, and her grandfather, whom she affectionately called PopPop, had flown for Continental.
Some of her fondest memories were looking over her grandfather’s maps and airport diagrams, and sitting on his lap while he taught her how to use an analog flight computer.
But one day, when she was home from her freshman year of college, where she was taking her degree in English, her grandfather took her up to the attic to show her something.
It was a footlocker from World War II, the faded paint on the outside reading “USAAF”.
“This was your granduncle Joseph’s—my eldest brother.
He was a P-51 pilot.
He ran many successful missions in his aircraft until he got shot down saving his wingman’s life, near the end of the war.”
PopPop opened the footlocker, revealing a faded American flag folded into a tricorn lying neatly atop several dark greenish-brown uniforms.
PopPop gently lifted the flag and uniforms out of the footlocker, uncovering yellowed, brittle-looking maps, a compass set, and a thick stack of letters, tied together with a black ribbon.
It was the stack of letters that PopPop lifted out, and held out to her. “Look at these, and read them.”
She did, and the story the letters contained was beautiful and heartbreaking.
Her granduncle had fallen in love with a woman who was a member of the French Resistance, named Céline, whom he’d met during a covert resupply mission, and they even had plans to marry after the war.
But she’d died in a skirmish with German soldiers in Paris, leaving him so bereft that he’d taken to writing letters to her specter, just to have an outlet for his grief.
The last letter in the pile was heartwrenching, where her granduncle Joseph talked about how he was only living because she would want him to, only being careful in the air because she’d want him to.
She’d cried reading the letters, and she’d asked PopPop why he’d wanted her to read the letters.
“I wanted someone else to know their story,” he’d simply replied.
“No one else knows?”
He hummed, considering his answer. “Sometimes you keep some things to yourself until the right person to tell comes along.”
A few years passed, and when PopPop was on hospice, the two of them were watching “Band of Brothers”, when she remembered Uncle Joe, as she’d taken to calling him in her head.
“What’s going on in that bright head of yours, darling?” PopPop’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Oh, uh, nothing much, I was just remembering Uncle Joe.
Thinking that he and Céline deserved better.”
“They did.”
She shook her head, “I wish I could write them a happier ending, you know?”
PopPop hummed weakly. “Well, why don’t you?
If anyone could do it, it would be you.
If you do that, I’m sure in a few years, those English professors of yours would be saying that they taught a great American author.”
She was shocked and touched. “Wha—I—well, I guess I could, but, are—y-you’d be okay with that, PopPop?”
He laid a cold hand on hers, “I wouldn’t trust it to anyone else, my dear girl.”
“Okay,” she smiled tearily, and nodded, the two of them returning their attention to the episode.
A week later, PopPop passed, and many things happened over the ensuing years that caused the idea of writing about Uncle Joe to be put on the back burner.
In fact, she forgot all about it, until she was sitting on her couch a couple of weeks after having been let go from her job as an English teacher at her local high school.
She was mindlessly watching an episode of some show she couldn’t even remember the name of, when her eyes landed on the footlocker which PopPop had given to her in his will.
The memory of PopPop encouraging her to write about Uncle Joe came back to her, and she paused the episode, strode over to the footlocker, carefully opened it, and drew out the letters.
Madly, over the course of the next several hours, she reread the letters, numerous research-related tabs quickly opening up on her phone, tablet, and laptop.
As months passed, she made good progress on her first draft, but somewhere along the way, about slightly less than halfway through her intended story beats, she hit the dreaded dead end, writer’s block in full force.
Rereading the letters did nothing—every line she wrote, she deleted; she felt lost, and like she’d completely lost Uncle Joe and Céline’s voices.
She felt right back at square one.
Then, one day, as she was looking at her brother’s latest Facebook reel from his layover in Korea, she saw an advertisement for the Apple Valley Airshow, which would feature an aerobatic demonstration with an actual, airworthy P-51.
Maybe seeing the aircraft her Uncle flew would shake something loose in her brain so she could move forward.
She didn’t even hesitate—she immediately booked a ticket, and prepared herself to take down a lot of notes.
The airshow was absolutely wonderful, and even though she never got as into aviation as the rest of her family, it was still something which fascinated her, and seeing the planes made her marvel all over again at the miracle that was aviation, how humankind had successfully taken the skies for itself through brutally elegant means.
Finally, it was time for the reason she’d come—the emcee began, “Now, everyone, you’re all in for a treat, because up next, we have a nearly eighty-year-old aircraft, a P-51K named Bianca, and she’ll be giving us an aerobatic demonstration!
So let’s give a warm Apple Valley Airshow welcome to Bianca and her owner and pilot, US Navy Captain Pete Mitchell!”
She clapped along with everyone else, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the P-51.
Soon, the sound of a propeller engine grew louder and louder, and then, there she was.
Bianca was gorgeous, gleaming silver with red markings, the American star roundel on her side.
The shining aircraft got closer and closer to the ground, towards the crowd, and just as she was about to worry that the P-51 was in an upset condition, the plane pulled up slightly, buzzing the transfixed people.
Laughing in awe and delight, she clapped with everyone, and watched as the daring pilot put the plane through a series of hair-raising spirals, rolls, dives, and elegant, breathtaking passes with such precision, skill, and ease, just knowing that whoever was flying that old girl had aviation in his blood as surely as it ran in hers; it made her wonder what her granduncle would say about how the venerable fighter was being flown.
Before she knew it, the demonstration was over, and with another low pass and wing wave, the P-51 flew off to land.
It actually took her a moment to come back to herself, she was so stunned by what she saw, and she knew she had to see Bianca up close.
After asking for directions to the flight line, she scanned the row of planes, eventually spying a flash of red.
She walked over, catching sight of a tall, mustached man a few years younger than her, standing in front of the aircraft, wearing a borderline-obnoxiously-loud Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned over a white tank and jeans, stereotypical Ray-Bans pushed up onto his head.
“Excuse me?”
“Yes?” the man replied.
“Is this the P-51 which flew a few minutes ago?
She is a P-51, right?”
“That’d be a yes to both questions, ma’am.”
She chuckled grimly at the idea that her age was maybe showing enough for her to be ma’am-ed by someone only a few years younger than her. “Are you the owner?”
He scoffed, good-naturedly. “Nah, that’ll be my dad.
Hey Dad, someone wants to talk to you!”
A moment later, a man stepped out from under the P-51, and she’d absolutely be lying if she said her breath didn’t catch.
First off, if she had to guess, he was older than her, but there was something about him which made him seem younger than his age.
Then there was the fact that he was absurdly good looking—ridiculously so, in fact; impossibly raven-dark hair, mischievously sparkling, brilliant green eyes, and a physique that people half her age would kill for, all sinewy muscle, visible with the snug white t-shirt and jeans he was wearing.
The final nail in the proverbial coffin was his smile—God, it belonged in a museum, because it was a work of art, and coupled with his roguish air, everything about him screamed the most delicious kind of trouble, sending echoes of Whoopi Goldberg’s voice saying, “You in danger, girl,” through her head.
“Hi,” he began, extending his hand.
Luckily for her, she was quick on the draw, and extended her own hand, proffering a “Hi,” of her own, though she kicked herself at the fact that the next words out of her mouth were, “Are you the owner?”
Oh, well—couldn’t win them all.
His grip was firm and calloused, but gentle, without the cool metal band she expected on his fourth finger, quick eyes observing the lack of even a pale band of skin on the same finger, and she shook herself from the observation in time to hear his, “That’s me—Pete Mitchell, you can call me Mav.”
At her quizzical look, he continued, “It’s short for my callsign, Maverick—I’m Navy.”
She nodded, “The emcee did say you were Navy, and that tracks; judging from that impressive demonstration, you don’t strike me as the kind who blends in.”
“Thank you—I aim to please,” he grinned.
Miraculously, she managed to ignore his brilliant, beautiful smile, somehow mustering a “Well, you certainly delivered,” before she introduced herself.
A cough from the younger man, Pete’s son, made her realize that she hadn’t let go of Pete’s hand, and vice versa, which caused the two of them to practically spring apart.
“Oh, uh, this is my son, Bradley,” Pete introduced the younger man, reaching nearly comically up to wrap an arm around Bradley’s shoulders.
“Nice to meet you, Bradley,” she replied, trying to recollect herself while her mind acted like it was the first time she’d interacted with a good-looking man.
“Nice to meet you too, ma’am.”
“I look that bad, do I?” she chuckled.
“Just the way he was raised,” Pete proudly said, patting his son on the back.
Embarrassingly, she just then remembered the reason she was here. “Oh, I—I actually had a few questions for you, Pete, about the P-51, because I’m writing a book, and I wanted to get some details.”
His eyes lit up. “Details about this old girl, huh?
I can do that; come on, let me show you around.” He moved to the side of the aircraft and gestured grandly. “Bianca here’s a Dallas-built North American P-51K, with a Packard V-1650-7 engine and an 11 foot diameter Aeroproducts propeller.
She was donated to the Civil Air Patrol in 1946, and I acquired her in 2001.
I’m not sure if she ever saw combat, because her military flight logs were lost, but I know for a fact that she routinely patrolled the California skies way back when.
Let me show you the controls.”
He nimbly boosted himself up to the wing and held his hand out to her. “Come on up.”
“Uh, is this a wise decision?” she asked, glancing between his hand and the wing. “She is nearly eighty-years-old.”
Pete laughed, “She’s stronger than she looks, and these girls were made to withstand this sort of thing, come on.”
Deciding to trust his judgment, she took his hand and jumped up to the wing at the same time as he pulled her up, causing extra momentum which propelled her body into his.
He caught them on the edge of the cockpit, and after a second, she realized that she was pressed up against his body, both hands resting against his…very solid chest.
She prayed that her suddenly pounding heart and the burning flush on her cheeks could be discounted as a reaction to her stumble.
“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, scrambling back to put some distance between them for her sanity’s sake, while trying not to fall off either wing edge.
“Eh,” he waved off, “that’s my fault, I should have said I’d pull you up,” as he shifted to kneel on the wing. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she replied breezily, “I believe you were about to show me the controls?”
“Mm-hmm, come here.”
They slowly adjusted themselves into a configuration that enabled them both to see into the cockpit, and he pointed out the many gauges—explaining each one—and the literal stick stick, which looked nothing like the controls of any aircraft she’d seen in person or in the movies, as well as her general flight capabilities and technical specifications.
A further glance to the right showed something she didn’t expect to see. “I thought the P-51 was a single seat aircraft?”
Pete absentmindedly rubbed the back of his neck, “They are—I made a… few modifications.”
“Oh.”
“You want to sit in her?” he offered, gesturing to the pilot’s seat.
She was not about to pass up an opportunity like that. “I—wh—sure!”
He carefully helped her into the cockpit, and once settled, she breathed in and out while she absorbed this moment, and imagined her granduncle sitting in a seat similar to this one, looking out at the boundless sky. “Wow,” she reverently murmured.
“I know, right?”
“This is amazing, that aircraft like this is still around and still flying, I mean—this is history,” she said, getting slightly emotional.
“It is; she is.”
After a few beats longer, she sighed, and reached for his hand so she could get out, and he carefully eased her out of the cockpit, onto the wing, then both of them back onto the ground.
“Thank you, for showing me around, this was really helpful, Pete, I think this really helped me.”
“You’re welcome,” he nodded easily. “If I may ask, what kind of book are you writing?”
For the briefest second, she instinctively recoiled from the idea of telling the story, but then, some part of her heart said that Pete Mitchell was someone she could tell this story to. “It’s uh, a fictional version of my granduncle Joe’s love story; he was a P-51 pilot during World War II, and he was in love with a woman in the French Resistance named Céline.” She turned to look at Bianca’s gleaming fuselage. “But they both died in the war; she was killed by the Germans, and he got shot down saving his wingman soon after.
I never even knew until my first year of college, when my grandfather told me the story through the love letters my granduncle and Céline wrote.
When my grandfather was dying, I told him that I wished they had a happy ending, and… well, he told me to write it for them, since I was an English major.
So here I am,” she shrugged, turning to face Pete.
He looked grave and touched. “That’s… that’s beautiful.”
“Thank you, I have to admit, I’ve wondered if what I was doing was disrespectful.”
“I know quite a few people who deserved happy endings that didn’t get them,” he glanced into the distance, a wistful, pained look in his eyes. “If I can help at least two people who didn’t have their happy endings in this world get it somehow, I’m more than willing to help.”
She sincerely replied, “Thank you for the validation,” wondering what his story was.
“You’re welcome.
And uh… you know what?
Gimme a second.”
He leapt back onto the P-51’s wing, and rummaged through the cockpit, pulling out a flight log book and a pen, hastily writing something on a page, before he tore it out, and leapt back down.
“Here, it’s my number—if you had any more questions, feel free to call, I’d be happy to answer them.”
If she had been placed in a similar situation as this maybe twenty years ago, she’d have probably done something to embarrass herself, because this—things like this didn’t happen to her—they only happened in movies, but here she was.
He gave her his number—yes, it was if she had any research questions, but still.
‘Get a grip, woman, just because you didn’t see a ring doesn’t mean he isn’t in a relationship,’ she told herself, trying to project “Respectable Professional Woman”, while her inner adolescent was trying its level best to come out.
“Th—thank you,” she managed to get out, with only a minute stammer on the first syllable.
“I’m serious, call if you need anything—I mean—there’s not a lot of people out there who can tell you what it’s like to actually fly one of these beauties.”
“Be careful,” she chuckled, already determined not to call unless it was absolutely dire, “You don’t know if I might take you up on that offer.”
“It’s what I gave you my number for,” Pete winked, and she commended herself for keeping it together.
Deciding to quit while she was ahead, and while she still seemed like a normal human being, she came in for final approach, as her dad would put it, with, “Alright—I better go, I’ve already taken too much of your time.”
“It’s fine, it’s always a pleasure to talk to someone about this girl.”
“Thank you again,” she stated, honestly grateful, feeling the creative juices flowing and simmering in the background.
“You’re welcome.”
And with that, she walked away, exhaling evenly for so many reasons.
That night, she wrote and wrote just as she expected, and the story was flowing.
That is, until she hit another wall just before the next weekend.
And this one was even more stubborn than the first.
It didn’t help that she had written herself into a corner with this dogfight scene she was on—she had no way of knowing if the tactics were sound, and she was thinking of completely cutting it, but it seemed so stilted without it, and she had no idea of how to avoid writing this scene.
But one part of that thought, she realized, wasn’t true.
Her gaze landed on her coffee table.
The sheet of flight log paper with ten numbers written on them stared tauntingly back at her, daring her to call Pete.
“Nope, no, I am not going to do it,” she told herself. “No—absolutely not.
I’m sure he has better things to do than answer stupid questions.
No—I will not call him.”
The paper raised a nonexistent eyebrow.
“No!” was her battle cry, and she turned back to her laptop screen, but it offered no relief.
The depressing reality of her blinking, unmoving cursor cackled at her in harmony with the flight log paper.
It was like that healthy cereal ad from years ago, with the little girl in a prim uniform, enticingly calling “Donuts?”
However, after ten more minutes, the dictatorship of the blank page grew too cruel and harsh, and she folded like a house of whatever was more insubstantial than cards.
“Fine,” she muttered, snatching up the paper. “I’ll call, but if he doesn’t answer, it’s no skin off my back—I’ll manage… somehow.”
At least that’s what she told herself.
She dialed the number, heart pounding as the phone rang…
And rang…
And rang…
And rang.
She was just about to breathe a sigh of conflicted relief and hang up, but then the line clicked, and she heard a slightly breathless “Pete Mitchell.”
“Hi,” she blinked, cursing herself for not thinking through what she was going to say. “I don’t know if you remember me, we met at the Apple Valley Airshow—”
“__, right?
The writer.”
“Yeah, that’s me, you said I could call if I had any questions,” she scratched her head.
“Uh-huh.
I’m guessing you have one,” she could hear the smile in his voice.
“More like a lot, really.
I’ve unfortunately written myself into a corner, it’s this dogfight scene, and there’s no way I can currently remove it without sacrificing practically all of my progress since last week.
I just need to know if the tactics are sound.”
“Huh.”
“I—you know, I can figure it out myself, if it’s too much trouble—”
He interrupted, “No, it’s no trouble, I’m more than willing to help, in fact… uh, this might sound—weird and uncomfortable—or—both, really, but if you want, why don’t you come out to my hangar tomorrow, we can talk about this, rework your scene if we need to, without having to do video calls or text or email.”
“Oh,” she breathed, eyes wide.
“I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything,” he chuckled.
“I—thank you for the reassurance, by the way—but I mean, that’s a lot of confidence in how well I can write a dogfight.”
“It can’t be all that bad,” he assured.
“I’ll just prepare to be ripped to shreds,” she half-teasingly replied.
Pete snorted. “Even if it were that bad, I wouldn’t rip it to shreds—I save that for my new students.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t know what’s worse, being torn apart or the porcelain treatment.”
“How about a balance, then?”
“I’d be very happy with that.”
“So… is that a yes to coming out to my hangar?”
“I… suppose it is,” she replied, before she could convince herself otherwise.
She was a mature, responsible adult, and she was capable of being said mature, responsible adult.
(And if time permitted, she was even capable of looking respectfully, when he wasn’t watching.)
(She was only human, after all.)
“Perfect, I’ll send you the address; I have to warn you, it’ll probably be a bit of a drive, is that okay?”
“That’s fine, after all, where else will I find someone with experience flying the P-51?”
“You could always try the local VFW post,” he joked.
“What are the odds my local VFW has a former P-51 pilot?
I’ll go with the expert I’ve already met.”
“Alright, alright, I already agreed to help, no need to butter me up,” he lightly said, humorously.
“Just send the address,” was her amused response.
And that was how she found herself on US-395 North making the three-and-a-half hour drive from her apartment in San Bernardino to the Mojave, praying that she wouldn’t somehow make a fool of herself today.
To be continued…
Next Part
Was part of this story inspired by Atonement?
Maybe.
I didn’t really have the movie in mind when I wrote the plot device, but I realized the similarity after the fact.
Analog flight computer
USAAF
Band of Brothers
The Apple Valley Airshow takes place every year in the town of Apple Valley, located in San Bernardino, California.
(I considered setting this story at the annual Miramar Airshow, which takes place at MCAS (formerly NAS) Miramar, but I imagine that Mav would probably want to avoid going to MCAS Miramar for obvious reasons.)
Roundel
I don’t think that most pilots would do very daring aerobatic stunts in a plane as old as the P-51, just because she’s a darn P-51, and she’s a flying piece of history, but this is Mav, he absolutely knows what his girl can handle, I’m sure he knows how to make something look more crazy than it actually is, and bottom line, let’s just suspend our disbelief, 😂.
Did I introduce Mav in that way just so I could use that gif?
Probably absolutely.
It’s a great shot, and I do not blame me.
“You in danger, girl.” Timestamp 1:35
All the information about the P-51 is taken from the information available about the model and history/registration of Tom’s P-51, except for the details of her name and the military flight logs being missing, as the history available for N51EW never mentions if she saw actual WWII combat.
She is registered in the FAA database with the serial number 44-12840, and her name since 2006 has been “Kiss Me Kate”.
(I know why she’s named this, and it hits something in my heart that Tom never bothered to rename her.)
Her name in this story will be explained later, but those who follow me on my main blog, @oh-great-authoress, might have a hunch as to why I named the P-51 “Bianca”.
The ad I mentioned was a real Kellogg’s Special K ad.
VFW
The travel time between San Bernardino and Mav’s hangar is estimated using the travel time from San Bernardino to NAWS China Lake, and then a further hour and twenty minutes from there.
Taglist
@valmare
@callsign-skydancer
@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88
@tadomikiku
@malindacath
@aviatorobsessed
@lynnevanss
@djs8891
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#not me 👀 at men literally old enough to be my father#but my reader DEFINITELY is—and he’s not old enough to be HER father#bahaha 🤣#top gun: maverick#top gun maverick#top gun: maverick fanfiction#top gun maverick fanfiction#top gun: maverick fanfic#top gun maverick fanfic#top gun: maverick fic#top gun maverick fic#pete maverick mitchell x reader#pete mitchell x reader#pete maverick mitchell#pete mitchell#tom cruise
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I apologize if this has already been pointed out, I've specifically been offline more recently so my head hasn't fully been aware of everything flying around. But I wanted to note that Tyler Trances claims he had nothing to do with the original call out doc, but if you look at the one he 'did' write trying to call plaidos racist, they are formatted the same way. The screenshots are just as compressed as the original doc, and I really want this noted that the fucked up appearance of some of those screenshots is so bad they're sorta one of a kind in this day and age, but both docs have screenshots just as crunchy as each other. Both docs utilize the exact same highlighter method, which seems silly but how a person decides to highlight information to draw your eye is very telling, and in this case it's the same. Everything about the two docs look nearly identical. The way they present information is the same. The throwaway blog Tyler made to host his doc even feels similar to the throwaway blog made for the original. I think everyone already suspected he had something to do with that original doc even if he claims otherwise, but straight up I firmly believe he wrote it.
ok, kind of a loaded ask. anon, i appreciate ur observations, but i have honestly not read enough callouts (ive seen like 5 total) to know if this is just a callout thing or if this is a "these two docs are suspiciously similar" thing. highlighting very selective parts of bad screenshots of posts doesnt seem to me like that big of a similarity as to claim he wrote both. its just unserious, rushed and sloppy work, and anyone w enough time in their hands and passion (hatred) in their heart can do that. even if he wrote both or not i think its kind of irrelevant
more worrisome imo, is that both show that there is an organized effort to document every interaction a loud enough transfem has (moreso if theyre "gross and problematic"), and i think thats far worse than the possibility that the same person wrote both. i think some people have noticed that a callout, when effective, "detects the filth and defeats it," and to some people that is a good way of getting rid of the Undesirables and "cleansing the world," because they genuinely believe that some people (almost transfemmes exclusively), when theyre Undesirable enough, can be excised from their communities either by universal collective shame and harassment, or by being ostracized by their own peers. just paint a big enough target with a good enough motive and people will shoot and take down an entire group of people, or they will shame, silence or ignore them as long as theyre an Acceptable Target
these latest callouts being so sloppy and transparent in their efforts to justify socially killing us, have been hilarious and a good demonstration of how pathetic these things can be. they were almost completely ineffective. almost. im sure some people have seen them and silently agreed with parts of the callout tho
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"the creator said in a reddit thread -" "the official twitter account posted that -" "the actors confirmed in a livestream that -"
i don't care and that's not real to me. put it in the text.
#for fun stuff like 'this character's favorite food is meatballs' im like cool but for worldbuilding and stuff? nah#i do understand some nuance with writers or w/e who were held back by corporate teams on confirming a character is gay or something#and wanting to talk about their hopes and intentions#but this is rly about the opposite with creative teams wanting the points for diversity or plot choices#or world building without putting it in the actual story#esp if its bc they just didn't want to piss off bigots or can't write well#sw giving backstory on the sith fleet situation in a TWEET will always be infamous to me#not st#doctor's log
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thinking.
#tbd.#hi! im here lurking!#i havent been writing for no other excuse than D.C Doesnt Know What To Do With My Son#ive been chewing on the insides of my brain figuring out simply where i want to take him next#i really cant rely on c.anon for ideas bc LOL! their stories for him suck rn#why is there robo!broose?#why is dami uber loyal to him?#why is r.as a genie attached to n.ika rn? oh right bc she can talk to dead ppl#but apparently cant talk abt it to her /not-developed-relationship/ bf ? about it?#or really anything ?#sighs i wish they'd get more development#like i like her as a character i think she's neat af - and they're doing . alright w dami's severe lack of affection#.... but THAT SAID-#how are we gonna go from kiss @ the end of rob 21 -> some allusion to Theyre Official by dami talking to broose -> present#present being ' theyre a thing !! look at that BOYF and GIRLF ' !!!#:| at least give me some suspense or something jfc#maybe i read too many romance novels lol this romance is DRY ! AF ! WHERES THE SPICE! !!! THE LONGING!!!!! THE PINING!!!!!#de.monfire wouldnt treat me like this#i digress#my point here today: dami's character is in a limbo and its frustrating#so im approaching it from the idea of / let me just uhh . rebuild him from ground 0 and see where the dice roll /#so i have thousands of words offline in hc dumps ...#but when i get to his timeline around 15- it goes stagnant. sure that's where i'd put his t.itans verse but also ?? the c.anon for it SUCKS#i'll only be pulling characters from it & the /idea/ of the plot is good#m.ara deserves more screentime#so does . m.aya.#sighs#dami isnt allowed to have female friends thanks d.c#scrubs my face#i need to give him a Direction and ik i'll be flooded w muse again
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think ive finally figured out a building process i dont despise. still got a LONGGG way to go improvement wise (a whole lifetime even) but the process occurs regardless :3
#danny phantom#fentonworks#background art#lineless art#drawing process#my art#fan art#ignore the lack of sign btw i forgor :skull:#VERY messy in places but! im reaching a point where i can bust out something like this kinda quickly :)#which is good because i really dont have the focus for cool week-long pieces most of the time#so if i can get fast enough at making shit that looks ok? thatd b so awesome.#btw expect some ops center concepts soon because im not happy w how restrained i made it#like it looks fine. but i want it to look like the abomination cobbled together over the last 20 years it is#like i wanna feel the same emotion looking at this thing that i feel looking at the pathologic polyhedron#i think thatll both be cooler and more accurate to the show fentonwork's vibe#i also wanna explore the modern industrial thing i had in mind w that giant window#think i could do better w a few more iterations. i like it as a starting point though!#anyways my wifi is really slow so im just gonna ramble while the video uploads ok? :3#So! im starting to write out some worldbuilding for my rewrite#basing shit off of ohio mostly because i live here#but also personally i hc amity park being around where/in the place of cincinnati#tho i have way more experience in the northern part of the state#because lake eries a daytrip whereas a wisconsin trip needed a sleep break#like i doubt theres an Official Location in a meta sense due to all the inconsistencies#like id genuinly b suprised if they even had like “midwest” written down#but its more fun to work w a solid base so :p!!!#ANYWAYS rewrite ideas#1) major change. im fusing amity w elmerton#because im a hater but also because i like the idea of east/west clevland applied to amity so im doing that.#although cincinnati is north/south...
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i need to share the commission i got of my inkling, i love my little guy. my little man
#i love my ocs#i need to talk about splatoon w more folk#bc im at that point i might cave and start writing fanfiction#just to make a completely fictional region that doesnt exist in canon#i need to create#i NEED to play around with the fact#that the technological advancements heavily rely on region#i want to fuck around with the concept of a very old fashioned group of inklings#sequestered away in rolling hills with rice paddies#them having rotary phones and wearing#traditional clothing from the 1800s and earlier#some feudal shit right there#and i need to talk about my own ocs separation from that life into a life full of#wonders and new technology#i need to write about his struggle to learn how to use a flip phone#and that people have cards for purchases instead of straight up currency he carries around in a fat coin purse#i also need to talk about the concept of noble families having their own like#techniques with weapons passed down through the generations#like something people from that area would only recognize#and people who are the history buffs of varying regions
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honkai domination and kolosten arc spoilers/rambling+ some heavy complaining after the read more (it's basically a whole ass essay im so fucking sorry lkfjdslkfjdslkfj)
thinking ab how fucking rad and meaningful kolosten would've been if the domination arc had ended with kiana and HoV coexisting instead of what we got.
It definitely would've been better to do that with more setup of them actually talking throughout the story (which is the same thing you can say about the way it went, imo) but even without it- it would've been even more in line with what I think are the most resonant themes of that story.
The thing that made me fall in love with honkai like I did was the themes around victimhood and antagonism. Sirin, Wendy, Bronya, basically all the Herrschers we've seen- whenever a character that wasn't Otto during the beginning stages of the story became a threat to the world, it was never really because they were "evil". They were victims of the cruel world around them, sometimes victims of the same organisms that fought against the supposed real evil of the honkai, and either broke or lashed out because of their real vulnerability.
But in a lot of those moments the story understood two things: one, that that's a tragedy, one that deserves to become motivation to change the world so this kind of thing can't happen again, and two, that if at all possible, despite the threat they might pose to our characters or the world, what they deserve isn't hostility but compassion. Because they aren't the perpetrators of their own violence, only the victims through which it becomes externalized.
This compassion IS extended to Sirin, not only in Second Eruption but also through Kiana, who, despite being a danger in a sense because of HoV, is shown compassion as one of two different people carrying on from Sirin's past.
But imo, it undercuts this theme that HoV isn't extended the same compassion. Because HoV is not only a more direct threat to the world than just Kiana by proxy, she's a much more direct inheritor of what Sirin could represent: A righful anger at the world that victimised her, one that isn't content to fight to protect that world.
And in a story that had at that point so wonderfully allowed characters who were framed as villains to be accepted for who they are, to be recognized as the victims they are and shown a path forward that didn't end with them burning out, in a story with Bronya's self-determination being fought for, with Mei becoming a Herrscher that fights in her own way to protect who she loves, with HoS being shown compassion, Fu Hua being stopped from sacrificing herself for absolution and a pointless so-called victory, with Seele being allowed to live in harmony with her other self and taking her own name, it's just painful that HoV's anger cannot be accepted and coexisted with.
I know that it's not a hugely popular opinion, but I think kolosten drops the ball with Otto, and I think it's because until that point, we had seen Otto from the perspectives of those who were the most hurt by his actions, some of whom might have developed a sort of stockholm syndrome but who were still able to see the hurt he's caused the world. We knew, always, that his view of the world did not include the real compassion that we'd seen growing in the main cast towards those victimised by him, the thing that to me was the emotional core of honkai. Where kolosten fails for me is that now we got so, so, SO much from his own perspective, his own hand-washing, while getting absolutely NOTHING about the people he'd hurt.
We knew throughout the story, always, that the kinds of experiments he'd done to people en masse for hundreds of years were a kind of mass torture that was what created Sirin as a Herrscher in the first place, the pain that created her anger. We knew that Kallen would've been better off if he'd never been so obsessed with her because we got her perspective on that history, and we knew that the world would've been better off in the years after that because we got the perspectives of the people most hurt by his actions. And yet kolosten gave us none of those perspectives, only focusing on him, the people with the most stockholm syndrome for him, and Kiana as a newly-reborn protagonist who isn't about to let anger cloud her judgement.
All kolosten felt like was a pity party for what was undoubtedly one of the most horrid men imaginable in that world. And that's really only because there were perspectives that were sorely lacking, perspectives that could've been there, ANGER that could've been there, if HoV was allowed to exist, if she was allowed to be there to say what I wanted to say the most to every character that I otherwise adore throughout that entire arc.
"Fuck this garbage fire that's been burning for 500 years. He doesn't get his pity party, or his one in a million shot to save someone who never wanted to be saved by him. He's hurt too many people to deserve anything other than a million void lances tearing him apart, one for each person whose life he ruined by existing."
Because if your compassions for victims doesn't extend to accepting that they're allowed to just fucking HATE those who hurt them, then it isn't worth shit.
#(this is like actually extremely long tbc pls don't click if ur not ready to read a whole ass essay)#honkai#honkai impact#honkai spoilers#herrscher of the void#hov#im not tagging anything else cause i don't want this to be seen as like tagging hate or w/e?#i love honkai and i talked ab the reasons why in here#it's just#i couldn't stop thinking and wanted to write it out#all the reasons why it felt like at some point it started really failing in the regard that i used to love it the most#yes even beyond the fact the girls are gay#i read yuri every day that's not gonna be what moves the needle and makes something one of my favorite games ever
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if zuko isn’t meant to be gay then why do they write him. like that
#like am i being delusional??!??? he’s literally not written as attracted to women?!?!?!?? why do they make such a point of it#every time he’s w a girl it’s meant to symbolise him hiding smth abt himself or he’s just REALLY bad at it#that scene where he’s w mai and then right after he goes and talks to uncle iroh like I feel like i’m caught between what i’m meant to be#and who i am (or something)#that joke scene before that in ba sing se where some girl likes him and he keeps running away and avoiding her kissing him and finally lets#her and then gets annoyed and runs off halfway through#the whole beach ep where he shows little romantic interest in mai (i believe he cares abt her as a friend but) like the only time he shows#anything romantic is getting obsessed w this other guy and suddenly rly possessive of her. help#it’s slightly less evident now i feel like they’re maybe writing him as into girls#but for a while i was like. I truly don’t understand why he’s written like this if he’s meant to be a straight boy#also i have not finished atla so no spoilers#atla#zuko atla#it was 2005 so like DID they?!?!? but they didn’t want to canonise it?!?! but i’m sure i’d have heard that before and i haven’t#oliver talks
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OC-tober day 8 - past
relatively unfinalized designs,, except sabrina I suppose but she's really just here to fill space we love u sabrina <3
left 2 right, top 2 bottom is sabrina, jake, nevaeh, iris, n evie, all from slightly different time frames but pretend they aren't,, just for a second because I don't want to strictly define said time frames yet.. (<- this guy doesn't have a rigid timeline w dates n such in place just yet (point and laugh))
#notwordswordstag#oc-tober#bweirdOCtober#horghg.......... wack but we ball [neither fucking nor balling]#probably not doing day 9 but we'll see... did already draw something for day 10 though good job us#ummm [checking smudged writing on my hand] we're watching those movies again#dammed movies#amyways can you tell i'm undecided on how i want the....... the lapel i gyess apparently. that's a terrible name#it should be like. Flare or something. Flaire. whatever can you tell I don't know what I want that 2 look like..#i stated making a uquiz like yesterday 4 yesterday then stopped. What's up witht hat#also 4 u quiz... there seems to be no real question limit#uum#i need 2 mess around w nevaehs hair later (disnrt draw it bery good here either bevahs rush...)#i don't think i ever wrote down her hair type (though I KNOW i decided on that at some point) so it doesn't exist. Sad.#I forgot... ears........... .... it's ok jsut don't look at it. As a whole. Don't look at my art#ok um. goodbye forvwr.
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