middle-ans

[middle-ans]

George was just doing routine laundry on his sudden day off in the middle of the week. He wasn't about to blatantly give the hot, gorgeous, enigmatic neighbor a surprise glimpse of what later found a floral affiliation with the shade of soft, blushing pink on his doorstep.

1.5k words

What, I'm silly. And I love that scene from Desperate Housewives with the nanny in the laundry room at Scavo's house, btw Lynnette should've killed Tom on the spot when she found out.

The laundry room was empty, just as George had hoped. It was midweek, mid-morning - the kind of time when most people in the building were at work or otherwise occupied. He had an unexpected day off, a last-minute schedule change at the boutique, and he figured he might as well take advantage of it to catch up on chores.

The space was lit by long strips of flickering fluorescent lights, but the real glow came from the high, frosted windows under the ceiling, where sunlight slanted in at an angle, casting everything in warm, golden hues. George felt it on his skin, a soft caress of warmth as he set his laundry basket down and started sorting through his clothes.

It wasn’t much - a few shirts, some socks, a hoodie he’d worn twice but wasn’t ready to call dirty. As he stuffed them into the washing machine, his gaze fell to his own clothes, the loose pajama pants and the slightly oversized sleep shirt. The pants weren’t exactly dirty, but he’d been wearing them all morning, and the thought struck him that he might as well throw them in, too.

And if he was doing that, well…

There was something else, a pair of lacy panties from the lingerie store he worked at, a test mock-up of what was the inspiration for the new collection, and Alessandra, the owner & designer, had handed them to him after catching his eye lingering on the panties for a second longer. 'Perfect for your hips' she said, and George didn't mind. He preferred lace, especially low cut ones and those that barely covered what they were meant for. So standing next to the open door of the washing machine he thought why not?

George bit his lip, he hooked his thumbs into the elastic, shimmying the pajamas down his hips. The air bit at his bare thighs, raising goosebumps. The panties clung stubbornly, lace against skin still sleep-warm, until he wiggled them free with a huff.

“In you go,” he whispered to them, dropping the panties into the machine with a flourish.

Fumbling with the buttons on the mode panel, George hummed a soft tune to himself, arching his back in a sweet stretch to relieve any residual stiffness in his muscles from sleep. One leg bent at the knee, hips raised high as he reached for the appropriate wash mode. All in peace. Until a throat cleared behind him.

George froze.

Oh, no.

Oh, fuck.

He turned his head just enough to catch a glimpse over his shoulder, and there he was - his hot neighbor. The one he only ever exchanged nods and polite hey, man greetings with in the lobby. The one with warm, dark eyes and tattooed arms and plump, unfairly pretty lips. The one whose name George didn’t even know, because they’d never properly introduced themselves. And those lips. Those lips were slightly parted, his lower one caught just between his teeth before his tongue flicked out, slow and deliberate, wetting it.

And yet here he was, standing in the doorway, staring.

George realized, with a sudden and violent awareness, that he was bent over in front of this man, pants pooled around his ankles, pussy fully on display in the golden morning light. It backlit him like some kind of deranged Renaissance painting - ‘Boy With Panties and Regret’.

Oh, fuck.

Lewis coughed, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Hope I’m not interrupting… laundry yoga?”

George yanked his sleep shirt down with a speed that could have broken records, straightening up so fast he almost lost his balance. He fumbled for his pants, heart pounding in his chest, face heating up so much he was sure he’d combust on the spot.

“I, uh, hi-” his voice cracked. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Lewis leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, gaze steady and unreadable except for the slight amusement in his eyes.

“Hi yourself. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he said, voice smooth, rich, a little teasing. “Didn’t mean to, uh… see anything, either. Not something I'd expect with my morning coffee.”

“Oh my God,” George wanted to melt into the floor.

“But,” Lewis tilted his head. “If I did see something, just know it was a beautiful start to my day.”

George made a sound. A strangled, embarrassed, horrified little sound.

Lewis smiled, slow and warm.

“Nice lace, by the way.”

George squirmed, covering half his face with a hand. He sighed, straightening the waistband of his pajama pants and tilted his head, examining the pattern on them. A huge cluster of sneezing cats. Bloody Alex.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, lips going to be bitten into a hideous state by the end of this day. “It's from the store where I work.”

Lewis hums, viewing him like a curious fruitcake.

“So you work in a lingerie store?” his lashes fall a breath lower, a tiny movement that frames the heavy dark gaze with an even greater veil of mystery. “Might as well hire you as a model. With a curve like that.”

George sucked in a sharp breath, grabbing the now empty laundry basket.

“You, I- this never happened.”

Lewis tilted his head, considering him.

“Sure it didn’t.”

“It didn’t!”

Lewis’s lips curled, that same thoughtful, very entertained expression lingering on his face.

“Then why are you blushing, sweetheart?”

George made a strangled sound, high and distressed.

“You cannot just, just walk in here and see that and say things like that!”

“See what?” Lewis asked, all fake innocence. “I was just coming in to do my laundry.”

George glared at him.

“You licked your lips.”

Lewis exhaled a small, amused laugh.

“What can I say? You looked good enough to eat.”

George's soul left his body.

“I’m leaving.”

Lewis stepped aside to let him pass, but as George stormed past him, he heard it - low and teasing, just under his breath-

“Guess I’ll be dreaming about that all day, huh?”

George didn’t stop. Didn’t look back.

But his heart?

His heart was racing.

The rest of the day stretched on, slow and heavy with tension. George couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking around in a haze, his mind a swirling mess of thoughts. Every time he tried to distract himself - whether by reading, watching TV, or scrolling through his phone - his thoughts inevitably returned to that moment in the laundry room.

Lewis’s smirk, his low voice, the way his gaze had lingered on George’s exposed skin, it was all too much to ignore. Each time he thought about it, a wave of embarrassment would roll over him, followed by a rush of something else, something hotter. He hadn’t expected to be so... intrigued.

He shifted from room to room, trying to distract himself, but his mind kept returning to Lewis. To that moment. To the way his body had reacted to the teasing words, to the knowing look in Lewis's eyes.

George felt wound up, nervous but intrigued, and more than a little unsure of what he was supposed to be feeling. Was he embarrassed? Yes, of course. But was he also... curious? Absolutely.

When the sun began to set, casting golden hues across the apartment, George found himself walking aimlessly to the window, pulling back the curtain slightly to peer out. The evening sky was cloudless, and he could see the moon just starting to rise. He leaned against the window frame, lost in thought, his mind flickering between confusion and a growing curiosity.

He was still replaying the events of the morning in his mind, the feel of Lewis’s eyes on him, the teasing words he’d heard just as he’d stormed past him.

But then - there was a knock on his door.

George’s heart skipped in his chest, suddenly alert, as if the sound had shaken him from his thoughts. He froze, staring at the door for a few moments as though trying to figure out if he had imagined it.

No. It came again, more insistent this time.

He quickly glanced around the apartment, feeling the flush rise on his cheeks as though he’d just been caught in the middle of something he wasn’t supposed to be doing.

For a brief second, he wondered if it was just his nerves. But when he heard the knock again, George knew.

He opened the door cautiously, unsure of what to expect.

Nothing.

Well, not nothing - there, on the floor in front of him, was a bouquet of soft pink peonies, their petals open wide, and a folded piece of paper resting carefully beneath them.

His heart pounded in his chest, confusion and excitement swirling together. Slowly, he bent down and picked up the flowers, the faint scent of them hitting his senses and calming him, if only slightly.

He unfolded the note, his hands trembling ever so slightly.

The note was simple. Short. But every word hit George like a punch to the gut. The giggle though was so resonant bouncing off the walls that it was heard even by the man standing a few floors above, leaning against the wall and grinning like crazy, trying to catch his breath.

“For a beautiful boy who gave me the best part of my morning.

I couldn’t help but notice the color of these peonies matches something else I saw today.

Sweet, soft, and impossible to forget. Still thinking about it. Still thinking about you.”

And on the other side was hopeful “I’ll be around if you want to pick up where we left off.”.

[middle-ans]

marry you with paper rings

The small stretch of paler skin on his fourth finger makes him swallow dryly. This morning for the first time in three years he didn’t put on his ring, in preparation for today. A new teammate, a new ring.

or

The tradition of teammate rings is as long established as the sport itself.

or

The intricate team rituals being a bit closer to an actual wedding than one might think

2.6k words, gen

[middle-ans]

I can’t write them right now, but I can’t not think about you, dear Major Hamilton and Nurse George

photoshop skills of a 13 y.o. me, it’s been a while

[middle-ans]

Aha, here I was, living through my scheduled appointment, skinny skin, with this doc, McLaren guy, and I was all peace and quiet until he greeted me with “So what’s up with your teammates’ divorce, Lewis looks better in red”. Lord knows I tried, I even wasn’t about to mock his ‘Lando was in a championship fight’ kind of hopes, but heh, surely I didn’t dare to ask him to be gentle after that. Wasn’t mad about him congratulating me on my insomnia anniversary

[middle-ans]

The Wedding Whisperer: Act Four

“How the hell did you get my address?”

Lewis tapped his sunglasses down his nose, revealing eyes bright with mischief.

“You’d be shocked what a lawyer can dig up before breakfast.”

[middle-ans]

I went out alone tonight - because yes I neeed to go out all by myself sometimes - and a *man* couldn’t get what no means, whatever, so THIS was his hardest try - “you’ll never meet another guy who can mix a Margarita, quote Kierkegaard, and bench press any man here who tries to buy you a drink”

Dude, I got 4000$ drifting around in Black Sea after a cargo ship hit a mine, a full container of fabrics I was choosing for weeks, the only quote I’d take would be a clause in reparations treaty signed with putin’s nosebleed

[middle-ans]

Oh, tired writing fits, I love you, you’re the silliest of words that come out of me

[middle-ans]

Getting that shit thrown in your inbox and fighting back like a pro, girl, I love you, and even more people also do, so whatever that anon has to say, they may as well go to hell and fuck themselves. Pleeeease don’t stop creating what you create, that’s a treasure relic

I just wanna make one thing clear - I live for three years of full scale war with air raids, bombing, any possible shit falling down from sky and being harmed by it, and I’m still here, the same place when it all started, not moving anywhere, same goes with constant throws of, I dunno what it is, hate? When people create something for free, you rather read it or not, when you think you can help someone with wise points, give them some critical thinking and actually help to improve what they do - IF they’re ok with it - you may contact them and offer your advice. In other cases, I really find it childish to sit in a dim corner and bark once in a while. I’m not made of stone, sure thing, and maybe it will catch up with me at some point and I will second guess my writing, I already did after I got first asks like that, but will I stop writing at all? I doubt that, that’s too personal, too sweet, I need it for myself and if I will eventually get to the point of annoying everybody in the fandom, I may as well just write and never post. So, sorry for mental essay, but I’m trying to feel ok with occupying some space here online and don’t doubt self worth in that

[middle-ans]

glad that so little authors in gewis fan base let you stay overpraised for poor sentence grammar structure

“Few”, prof, “so few authors”, and you call this few? I can give a list of exceptionally talented folks here, click on ship button on ao3 and check the number of works those enthusiasts graciously gifted just for free, and then go check what a really small fandom is, I used to be in one where we had 7-8 fics to get crazy over. And I was the happiest when 9th and 10th arrived. But yeah, you figured out my whole plan, dig into “small” (it is not) fandom and make everyone read my poor stuff because they have nothing more. Sure sure. Btw thanks for reminding me I had anons on again after last ask game 🫡

And honestly, Fernando, you should learn hating is out of fashion.

[middle-ans]

The Wedding Whisperer: Act Three

It may not be the usual. More dialogue, less looping, but you see, I turned another side chick into something deeper in my head and decided oh, a new aesthetic. They'll act through talk. I'm testing myself for proficiency in dialogue writing, it's the sacral sacrifice of the pilot effort.

[middle-ans]

i’m so sorry for your loss! i lost my aunt earlier this year and it still doesn’t go away with the feeling. if there even were any help or comforting possible to offer, please do know that however small it is, there’re still people very much wishing you best!

I’m so sorry for your loss too, if only I had some healthy decent coping mechanisms to share I’d give them out right away, but unfortunately I’m just numb for days on autopilot before I talk, eat or do something other than just work. I traveled back home, as always lucky enough to catch missile-drone-ballistic attack on a night train, classics, left my backpack, went to therapist, tried to count on how many funerals I’ve been at over the last year or two and went straight back to work. I can’t say therapy is a quick sure key for me, but I’d recommend to just talk to someone. Anyone, if you feel safe you may as well text me, if I can offer any assistance I’d be happy to help

[middle-ans]

I was on cloud nine for hours after jumping on a train I wasn’t supposed to take, because a five year old I met and couldn’t not think about every day since got adopted, she wanted to see me before moving with her new family, and those people are just the nicest, I’m so happy for her, and then my mum calls me and says “drone attack on Sumy, civil area, we believe Andriy didn’t make it” and no matter how much I’ve done, it won’t ever be enough, and I know I will flinch at every phone call for weeks again and I can’t help it every time it happens cause this still feels like first

[middle-ans]

just a bundle of emotions, i only can tell this thing about you, like you live through what you write and that what makes me weepy af 🤧

That is so accurate, honestly a hit on a spot, I do have to confess I can be a weeping mess very much so, I teared at Eight Crowns On chapter 12, with Dear Major Hamilton I cried even before writing a snippet, just picturing and noting idea from start till end, and I let out a tear for some comments on ao3, one very precise, precious soul of Mark Russilton has a way with words to leave people on a ground in a puddle of their grateful tears, what can I say, I look at “… I couldn’t break it down if I tried you’ve written this thing like marble too beautiful to break …” and I die to crawl back into this world to squeeze thank you (yes I went right to this comment on my second fic in fandom, I thought about this part immediately) and I will weep like a fluffy rabbit and almost not be ashamed of it because hey, vulnerability matters, if some people were allowed to cry more in childhood, we’d have less of a motherfucker to handle in f1 JUST SAYING

anonymous opinions

[middle-ans]

I think it might not be the most reliable option to make an opinion about you based on your exceptional works, but I feel like it’s you precisely about them what draws most, like I can see you in any universe you build, and that’s tenderness, strength and so much heart ♥️ Like I know I open some new stuff from you and there will be so much soul in it that I won’t close it till I read twice

Gosh, I can’t take that mid day, this is way too big and profound, wow, whoever you are I genuinely thank you a lot for this, my blood sugar might bring me into coma after it but it’s so bloody worth it

anonymous opinions

[middle-ans]

The Voice?? Thee Voice??? spill the song, the name, what did you sing??

I had two, main was Premiere Amour by Nour and then they asked if I happened to know any other French artist to sing so I did Voila by Barbara Pravi, plus it was easy to arrange on piano cause I of all things decided to complicate it to that extreme to play piano too

[middle-ans]

ngl, it feels like it’s too much of you in the space

Ah, see, I saw it coming, well, what can I say, I lost some weight recently, so I tried at least to take less of an air!

anonymous opinions

[middle-ans]

An absolute freak because how can you get through The Voice first round auditions and reject when they call you for blind auditions???

Natalie, what are you doing here?? You’re not even into f1, girl! And for the record - I said no because I never even wanted to participate, just thought it was fun, and there were people who really wanted to be in it 🥴

anonymous opinions