#I thought that had less to do with George & more with George being a 'safe' answer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jude-duarte-wannabe · 3 months ago

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crepes, english muffin with a side of sparkling water, cider, dark roast served by lewis hamilton please? wife reader trying to help lewis to get off one night where he cant sleep 🥺

watch you sleep

order up!

hi lovely thanks for the request, i have been dying to write this and i took the liberty of making your order is extra sweet, i hope that's okay <3 your requested prompts will be bolded

pairing; lewis hamilton x female wife reader

blurb; your husband wakes you late at night after being gone for months during the race season during which he realized that he can't sleep without you or your help aka needy sub lewis missed his beautiful wife.

warnings; oral fem!receiving, switch!reader cockwarming, body worship, sub!lewis, gentle sex, thigh kisses, belly bulge, riding and somnophilia kink [let me know if i missed anything]

crepes; "go back to sleep, you don't have to be awake for this sweetcheeks" english muffin; "i could die between these legs" sparkling water; gentle sex cider; body worship dark roast; sub character aka lewis and i added coffee; somnophilia kink which this story relates to and victoria sponge; "you wanna hold my hand" for some extra tooth rotting sweetness

currently playing; watch you sleep by girl in red "we're safe here under the sheets, i don't ever wanna leave, i'll watch you sleep and listen to you breathe, i don't ever wanna leave, i'll watch you sleep"

"shit" lewis cursed as he ended up knocking over a lamp before stilling, listening but when he heard nothing he sighed in relief glad to have not woken you up, he trudged into your shared home late in the evening feet heavy and body aching, all he wished for in this moment was to curl up in your arms were he belonged.

he'd been gone for months due to the race season and while you visited when you could, he still couldn't help but miss you every day, his heart aching to be home with you, during their time spent together these past months, george hated how much lewis talked about you mainly because he would never shut up no matter how hard he begged. kicking off his boots as to not risk making any more noise, lewis found himself shuffling towards your bedroom, aching to hold you close but what he found left him speechless as he leaned against the door frame merely watching you sleep peacefully, hair splayed out across the pillows in a way that reminded him of a halo, cheeks rosy from the warm air that blew in from the open window and your nightgown... oh that damn nightgown always drove him completely mad, making him feel like a man starved whenever he saw your body adorned in the light blue fabric. the soft sighs that left your parted lips made his mouth curl up in a smile, you never ceased to make him breathless. you always looked angelic no matter what you did, his own personal angel. he stood there just admiring the beauty that was his wife for the longest time and as you shifted, your leg moved causing your nightgown to rise and reveal even more skin, skin that he was dying to taste.. any air he had breathed in left his lungs and his thoughts died down, the only thing on his mind was you as he sat next your sleeping form, mattress dipping under his weight as his fingers grazed up the skin of your thigh, stopping just below the hem of your nightgown, he smiled at the thought that came to his mind then. moving to lay on his stomach between your legs, his hands running up your thighs taking your nightgown with them until they found a home on your hips where he gently gripped in order to keep himself grounded and not loose his mind at his discovery of you going to bed commando. and while he was glad that there was one less layer between him and you to deal with, he also felt disappointed, he loved the way your lace panties hugged your curves and the way you squeaked when he snapped the band against the skin of your firm ass but most of all he loved tracing the hemline of them until you were begging him to do something, anything. he nuzzled against the skin of your thigh taking in the way you smelled; like strawberries and vanilla, he loved that smell so much that he'd even tried to take your perfume with him when he left so that he could spray it on the pillows in every hotel he stayed at so when he lay awake at night missing you, you seemed just a little bit closer than you actually were. he nuzzled more against your skin beginning to place sweet pecks to your thighs moving up, up, up until he found himself exactly where he wanted to be, his face level with your center and he couldn't stop himself from placing the softest of kisses there too, groaning at the very light taste of you on his lips "i could die between these legs" he mused to himself, pushing your legs further apart eager to taste you.

it could have been the warm breeze that had snuck through the curtains or the chirping crickets outside that woke you, you weren't completely sure as your arms stretched above your head, back arching off the mattress but then you felt it, the soft tickle against your thigh and the deep groan against your core as he licked through your folds, the taste of you sending his brain into overdrive "shit" you cursed, hands darting down to thread through his twisted braids and press against his scalp "lewis.." you mumbled, voice still hoarse from having just woken "go back to sleep, you don't need to be awake for this sweetcheeks" he murmured, his grip upon your hips tightening and the squeak that left you as he tugged you closer so that his tongue could slip inside had him chuckling against your core, sending sparks shooting up your spine "just wanted a taste, missed this sweet little pussy so much" his words warmed you, made you feel even more loved than you already knew you where and while his words couldn't be seen that way to most people, it was the way he said it that would have given his love for you away, the love he held for his angel of a wife. he hummed as your juices met his tongue the sweetness of you overwhelming, he didn't want to leave but when you pulled at his arm, his body listened, climbing over you hands pressed against the mattress either side of your head, he watched as you nibbled on your bottom lip the sight making him needier than he already was, oh how he wanted to bite that lip for himself but when your hands cupped his cheeks, lewis couldn't help but melt letting you pull him close to kiss him.

oh how he had missed this, the press of your lips against his own, the hum you made as his tongue slipped past your parted lips letting you taste yourself, the only sounds that could be heard within the four walls of your bedroom were the rustling of bed sheets and the sounds of your sloppy kiss "missed you so much sweet girl, can't sleep without you" he informed you in between the consistent kisses you continued to press against his lips, loving the taste of him on your tongue, when you pulled away the sultry look in your eyes told him everything he needed to know. rolling onto his back he brought you with him, hips slotted snugly against his own, oh how he loved this sight, his gorgeous wife straddling his lap with her nightgown pushed up around her hips and his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, bound to leave fingertip bruises to be discovered at a later date. "you gonna let me help sweet boy, let me help you dream" you soothed him, hands pushing his shirt up his body eager to get it off and so when he pulled it over his and tossed it into the corner to be forgotten you couldn't help yourself as you leaned down to kiss across his chest "your so perfect, my sweet boy always is" you mused against his flushed skin as he moaned, unable to hold it in any longer.

the press of your lips against his skin left him feeling euphoric like he was on cloud nine "missed you so such" he hummed, fingers threading through your hair as you kissed his chest paying special attention to his tummy, you loved the feeling of the soft skin against your lips just like he did, lewis loved laying with his head snuggled against your tummy placing kisses to the soft skin every now and then just imagining what it would be like when you were pregnant.

how he'd always wanted to see you pregnant with his child, stomach round and breasts heavy with milk, oh how he would feed from you himself, he thought but was soon distracted from that delicious thought when you kissed across his waistline causing him to gasp, head slamming back against the soft pillows of your shared bed and his sudden movement caused lewis to tug at your hair a little too hard which made you wince "careful baby, you gotta be gentle with me" you giggled, god your laugh never failed to set his heart alight "i'm sorry love" he soothed, rubbing his fingers against your scalp to soothe the ache "i didn't mean to hurt you" he smiled as you hummed from the feeling of his little massage "i know my sweet, i know" you replied, moving back up his body, enjoying his facial expressions when you dipped your hand into his sweatpants to gently stroke his already painfully hard cock.

lewis couldn't believe his luck, how lucky he was to have you and how lucky you were have him "lift your hips for me sweet boy" you asked, tugging his sweatpants off his hips and down his legs, leaving him to kick them off as you once again straddled his hips feeling the tip of his cock poke against your entrance as you kneeled above him slightly and as you sank down on his cock, your pussy clenching around him, lewis pulled you down against his body, chest pressed against his with one hand gripping your hip, the other still tangled in your hair, as you rocked your hips you couldn't help but kiss the beautiful man below you, thumbs running over his cheeks as his cock dragged along your inner walls, it was a feeling you had missed, feeling him so deeply. "so fucking deep lew" you moaned.

your forehead pressed to lewis's as you panted against eachothers mouths, your hips moving faster and faster never wanting to stop. his breath was hot against your face when he jerked his hips up trying to met your thrusts only to have you push them down when you sat back up "tsk tsk tsk, your not the one in charge tonight baby boy" you scolded playfully, balancing yourself by pressing your hands against the damp skin of his chest, the only sounds heard now were the sounds of your hips slamming down against his and the hot pants and moans leaving both of your lips, a euphoric feeling zapped up your spine when lewis pushed your nightgown further up so he could press his hand against the bulge that appeared in your tummy when you rode him like this, lewis loved the sight; in fact it was one of his favorite things in the world and the feeling of him so deep inside of your pussy was one that you'd never forget.

your hum turned into a low moan as you watched him reach for you with grabby hands, eyes begging "you wanna hold my hand" and so your fingers tangled together with his own, holding his hands tight as you bounced up and down on his cock, you knew he was close when his hips starting rutting against your own.

lewis knew he was done for and so he couldn't help himself as he pulled you back down, lips locking with yours in a messy kiss, spit coating both of your faces in the process and then he groaned so deeply you almost came from the sound alone, his arm around your waist forcing your hips down and against his own as his hot cum painted your insides white, rope after rope being released, your pussy clenched around him as your body shook, a tell tale sign of you reaching your own high, juices mixing with his own.

you collapsed against lewis, listening to his erratic heartbeat as his chest rose and fell all while he held you tightly against him so that he could place kisses upon your damp forehead "i fucking love you so much" lewis murmured while his long fingers tangled in your hair, oh how you loved those fingers and the things he could do to you with them.

you kissed at his chest just above his heart "welcome home husband" you giggled which almost sent him into a frenzy once more "don't start wife" he chuckled darkly holding you closer, never wanting to let go again.

it was in this moment that the both of you knew this, right here was your forever. you weren't going to let anyone or anything change that you promised yourself, watching him doze off, cock still buried deep in your cunt growing softer with each passing minute but you couldn't care so long as your sweet boy was content and at peace, this was the perfect forever.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton fluff #formula one fanfiction

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martialartslover7 · 2 months ago

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Headcanon time: I feel like, during the Blank Period, we should have had the Daimyos as the new major antagonists, backed by Orochimaru and Kabuto, whom they had struck a deal with, as, ever since Naruto and the Shinobi Alliance managed to put an end to Madara's ambitions, and now that Orochimaru is back, now, they fear for their position, and to keep it that way, they "have no choice anymore, but to strike a deal with the enemy". Because we all know, Naruto is no longer uninformed. Most of what happened to him, along with the likes of Sasuke, Hinata, Neji and Gaara, only happened, because these withered, old fools, enjoy playing god, whenever it suits their convenience. Pretending they are above everyone else, even the Kage, yet doing little to nothing to ensure that the villages stay safe. And the worst part, they knew, they KNEW, that what a scumbag like Danzo was doing, was endangering everyone. So even if they weren't proactively supporting him, they still didn't ask questions, meaning, deep down, they really don't care what happens to their own villages, as long as they stay in power.

Kinda reminds me of real-life politicians. They have no principles, no integrity, they just make empty promises, and never act in the name of the people that voted for them, knowing full well, options are limited. Take that piece of knowledge for what you will.

And yes, I know, by this point in time, after the war, someone like Naruto and Sasuke would be way too strong, making these old farts appear like ants going up against dinosaurs, but here is the thing: This arc is less about raw aggression and fighting, and more based on psychological warfare. Naruto wants to become Hokage, right? Like, what is the driving force behind this story arc, the overarching goal? Simple: Naruto will not accept becoming Hokage in a system, that treated people like him, and Gaara, Kakashi, Might Guy (R.I.P.), Anko (don't @ me, she is buffed to hell in my AU, and has way more screen presence, she deserves it, even now making use of the Snake Sage mode, using Wood Style jutsu, and bearing the Kusanagi sword), Tsunade or Sasuke, like dog water. And this said system, is mostly backed by the Daimyos, the same people who never once thought to stop someone like Danzo from going on his insane ego power trip.

And we also know, Naruto is not type of person to be exactly interested in handling politics in a boring and straight-forward way. He will be leading this revolution, overthrowing the feudal rule, by hosting a "tournament" of sorts, a televised event, which, in their time period, will also livestream online (you cannot tell me, they didn't have internet of some kind there, even though, limited, because of the villages being practically militarized dictatorships, because of the Daimyos), to pit specific shinobi against one another, hoping to both entertain the crowd, to get them on his side (this is also a pro-Naruto political campaign, making the acceptance for his role as Hokage way easier in the long run), and publically humiliate the Daimyos by basically showing off to them: Hey. These people. These proud shinobi. They have made it so far, despite all your restrictions and the scrutiny you put them all through. And they made it big, despite you guys laughing in their faces.

But also, this trip to the Daimyos, will be financed by all the Five Kage, meaning, they can all indulge in some luxurious hotel stays, hot springs, good food, in short, their credit cards will be on fire. And Naruto, Sasuke and Shikamaru get to spend some time alone with their ladies, to some champagne and warm bubble baths, with room service (*Ahem* insert 'Careless Whisper' by George Michael *Ahem*).

youtube

C'mon. After all the crap they went through, they deserve some peace and quiet, and if they were going to change the system, they might as well make the most of it, if it's all financed by the village leaders.

And note, the following people will be following Naruto on this journey:

Kakashi

Anko (by this point in time, she and Kakashi are married, and she plays the role of Kakashi's advisor, too)

Sakura

Sasuke (he will be joining up with them in the city)

Rock Lee

Tenten (in my AU, remember, like I have shown in my "Tenten's Untold Backstory" one shot, she is a techwiz in that version of the story, meaning, having a technician with you, and a weapon master, all at the same time, invalueable, and well, I love the idea of Naruto and Tenten being the braindead besties, don't @ me)

Hinata

Shikamaru

Gaara

Temari

Kankuro

Killer Bee

Kurotsuchi (she came by herself, because she is growing a little exhausted with her grandpa, sorry XD)

Mei

Chojuro

Karin (Naruto and Karin will FINALLY meet and get the chance in learning more about one another, two Uzumaki foxes, flocking their tail as one, yay)

Suigetsu

Jugo

And the battles that Naruto has organized for the PPV, are the following:

- Naruto VS Ai (The Orange Flash VS The Raikage)

- Hinata VS Sasuke (Bankakyo VS Mangekyo)

- Rock Lee VS Gaara (Rematch)

- Tenten VS Killer Bee (Weapon Master Duel)

- Temari VS Chojuro (Fan VS Sword)

- Shikamaru VS Kankuro (Protective Brother VS Sister's BF)

- Sakura VS Kurotsuchi (The ladies, whose punches feel like dynamite)

As you can see, as Movie Shadow would say:

But well, again, because of the Daimyos striking a deal with Orochimaru, things will not go as planned, and pure chaos will break out. Essentially, that snake man will suggest to them, a machine, built from the stolen blue prints that Tenten created (yup, she will be that vital in the story, she is the only one who can stop this machine), that shall spread madness all across the globe, until the entire planet is enveloped in a mist, so deep, humanity will be wiped out completely, succumbing to the madness from within. Following up on the trauma and scars that Madara and Obito have left behind. It's not exactly clear, that part, I still need to flesh out in my mind, but the fact remains, it's meant to be this one final hurdle of a story, until Naruto returns home, and can finally start applying for the ranks of Chunin, Jonin, and at last, the Hokage position, in peace. Giving Anko and Ibiki full clearance to do whatever they want with the arrested Daimyos, for having struck a deal with an S-rank criminal.

And just this once...

...Naruto will be landing in a very miserable situation, where this madness machine affects him the most, out of everyone, even worse than Sasuke, as Kabuto will be pulling a very nasty trick on him. Yup, Naruto is definitely colder in this story, rightfully so, for many reasons. Usually, that's Sasuke's job, but they switch places here, as soon as Orochimaru starts causing trouble.

Peace.

P.S.: Also, for the shipping freaks among all of you, during this entire trip, Mei is flirting with Shino through her phone. Yup. Shino X Mei. Thank the YouTuber @NCHammer23 for giving me this downright MENTAL, but ingenious idea. Shino is a "granny chaser" in my AU. Don't @ me. For context, here is the video, where he explains it all, and trust me, very rarely, do YouTubers win me over, but this one, made me both laugh, but also smile at the end. Shino also deserves some love.

And again, Neji is alive in my AU, so Tenten will be very lovestruck and make a lot of phone calls with him, who decided to stay back at the village, along with the others from the Konoha 12, just in case the Daimyos decide to stab them in the back and attack the villages, while the leaders are out of town.

youtube

Note: The part between Shino and Mei starts at about 17:39.

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awriterinthenight · 2 months ago

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"I'll be less reckless, I promise"-Anthony Lockwood

requested: almost-gabrielle

words: 1240

warnings: mentions of blood, torture, Lockwood being an idiot and super reckless, reader being mad at Lockwood, cute little fluff at the end, this is a bit shorter than usual I don't know why I guess it just turned out to be shorter

summary: When Lockwood's recklessness gets him in trouble you have to save him, then bring him home and patch him up from his injuries

Stupid stupid Lockwood.

He was always too reckless, which led to many issues that we always had to fix. But this was a new type of recklessness. We had been offered a job that seemed a bit odd, but we took it since we needed the business. Me and George had wanted to do more research since we weren't exactly sure what we would be walking into. But, Lockwood being his reckless yet genius self, he decided to go on the job even though me and George advised him to wait till we discovered more.

We were sifting through papers when something caught my eye. There seemed to be a slip up in one of the documents, which showed the building wasn't owned by an old man like originally thought, but rather an angry relic hunter who's name I recognized from a few stories among agents. This man was known for luring agents onto a job, then using them to get a source to sell, or to try and find one he was already looking for.

Immediately I ran out and grabbed my rapier and some flairs tucked into my jacket, as I made my way to where Lockwood was. Luckily the building wasn't too far away from where we were, so I made it there in record time.

I slowly crept my way into the building, sneaking in through a window and down to the main area. I saw signs of struggle leading to a room in a corner. Making my way over there I noticed a small bit of dried blood, making me nervous.

When I made it over there it wasn't so much a room, but more of an area closed off by tarps. I peeked through an exposed part, looking into the spot where I saw Lockwood tied up to a chair. The man was in front of a table, his back to me, as he seemed to be preparing something.

"Just tell me where it is, and I'll let you go," the man said maliciously.

Lockwood's head seemed to lull a bit to the side, "For the third time I don't know what you're talking about," he lied, his breath a bit shaky.

The man chuckled evilly, "Oh, you know what I'm talking about. The little bracelet who recovered a few days ago. I'd been scouting it out and had buyers lined up, but you had to come in and ruin everything, didn't you," he said through gritted teeth, "But, if you can remember, then maybe I'll just have to jog your memory a bit," he said, smirking as he turned around a knife now in his hand.

At this moment I froze scared at what was about to happen. I tried to think quickly which led to me pulling out a flare and lighting it quickly, then running in to throw it at the guy. I just barely missed, only scraping his ear, as I aimed for his head. Fortunately though it was just enough to startle him and make him drop the knife.

"Don't move," I commanded, pointing my rapier straight at him. He stayed there unmoving before unsettlingly smirking.

"Come here to save your boyfriend, what's a kid like you gonna do," he said, underestimating me. I looked around for a moment before seeing a bottle of rubbing alcohol. I grabbed it without a second thought and dumped it all over him, keeping my rapier pointed straight at him.

I pulled out my lighter, flicking it on, "Move, and I'll light you on fire," I threaten. His confident facade seems to fade, as I move to untie Lockwood. I successfully free him, and the moment I do, we run like a bat out of hell. I could hear the man's footsteps as he followed after us, but we were faster, and able to get out through a broken window before he caught up to us.

Once we were a safe distance away, I found a pay phone and called for a night cap, since we were too worn down to walk home. Lockwood was resting on a bench seeming to try and stay conscious.

"Alright, thanks," I said, hanging up the phone as our cab was on the way. I moved to stand in front of Lockwood, "How could you be so reckless. Me and George warned you something was off, and to not go, but you just had to prove us wrong, and go on the bloody job. You should be happy that you're lucky to be alive. If I wasn't there you would've-" I don't get to finish my lecture before he cuts me off.

"I know, I'm sorry love," he says, reaching out a hand and placing it on my waist, "I was reckless, and I should've listened to you, but can this please wait till we get home, please," he says, his head hung low.

I let out a sigh, "Alright, but once we get home you are in for the lecture of a lifetime," I tell him.

Lockwood smiles softly, "I'd expect nothing less," he says, his voice low and tired. We wait a few minutes as our cab arrives. The driver questions Lockwood's state, to which I just lie, saying how we got back from a particularly rough case. He buys the excuse luckily and our cab ride back home is silent.

When we get out I have to hold Lockwood up as we enter the house. I put away my rapier and kick off my boots, as Lockwood does the same, but leaning against the front door. I help him up the stairs and to our room, where the moment we sit down on the bed he collapses into my arms. I hold him tight, placing a small kiss on his forehead.

"What's wrong?" I ask, even though I know that's a dumb question.

He lets out a shaky breath, "Everything. I messed up, and I didn't listen to you. I'm sorry. And everything hurts and my head is pounding," he admits.

I sigh, running my hand through his hair, "Wait here, I'll be right back," I whisper to him softly. I go to the bathroom where I grab the first aid kit and some pain meds. I return and start to patch up his wounds.

He settles me between his legs, his hands holding onto the back of my legs. I disinfect the cuts on his face, trying to soothe him every time he tries to hide a small whimper from the pain. Eventually I finish disinfecting and I bandage him up, running my hands delicately across his face, as he relaxes to my touch. I give him the pain meds which he takes gladly.

We both get ready for bed as he asks, "Aren't you going to lecture me like you said you would?" while getting comfortable in our bed.

I sigh, running my hands through his hair, "No, you're in enough pain. I'm sorry for yelling at you," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"It's okay, you shouldn't be apologizing. I'll be less reckless from now on," he says, leaning over to place a kiss on my forehead, "I promise."

I lay my head on his chest, as his arms move to wrap around my waist. We stay like that till we fall asleep. Pleased to be in each other's company knowing that we're both safe in each other's arms.

#x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co #lockwood netflix #anthony lockwood #george karim x reader #george karim #lucy carlyle

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rosielovesf1 · 6 months ago

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lucky 🍀 | AA23

alex debuts an... interesting... new hair for race weekend, and y/n is to blame after a little too much to drink

word count: 1.5k

warnings: none!

author's note: MY WRITER'S BLOCK IS CURED WOOHOO SO NOW TWO POSTS IN ONE NIGHT!!!! this season seems to be the anything can happen type, so i am crossing my fingers and toes to see alex on the podium at some point. anyway, this was literally so fun to write i hope you enjoy :))

“alright kids, you’re home.” george russell did not imagine this would be his friday night when he had left his home a long six hours earlier. if he’d known that he would be assigned the role of babysitter for his former teammate and his girlfriend, he maybe would’ve stayed home. or at least worn shoes that he liked a little less, as his favorite trainers were currently sporting a new, puce green stain.

“thank youuuu, george,” y/n slurred, her eyes hazy and unfocused. her boyfriend didn’t look any better, practically putting all of his weight on poor y/n. she didn’t seem to mind though, one hand braced against the couch for balance, one hand wrapped around his waist to keep him upright.

if only the world could see the wholesome “parents of the paddock” now, george thought. satisfied they were safe and taken care of, he shut the front door quietly behind him, grinning as he made his way to carmen who sat in the passenger seat of his car. now that y/n and alex were home, they’d likely sleep it off and stay out of trouble. right?

well… not quite.

as george pulled out of the driveway, inside, alex and y/n had managed to remember that couches could be sat on, not just leaned up against. they collapsed onto the soft cushions, alex sighing contently as he pulled y/n to sit between his legs. she cuddled into his chest, craving warmth after what had been a very cold night out in a very tiny dress.

just as y/n was starting to fall asleep, alex started to shift underneath her. she groaned and just wrapped her arms around him tighter.

“love, i’m so thirsty.”

y/n shook her head, trying to get back to the drowsy state she’d just left. “too comfy.”

he poked her arm in response, and she ignored it best she could until it was unbearable.

“stop it!”

“i need water,” he moaned dramatically, starting to unwrap his arms from around her.

“i’m thirsty too, but i’m being nice and not moving.”

“you’re not being nice, you’re being lazyyy.” he drew out the last letter, and she turned her head only to stick out her tongue at him.

“fine. i’ll take you with me.” y/n didn’t mind what he did, as long as she didn’t have to walk or do anything other than shut her eyes tight against the blurriness that came with a few (okay, a lot) too many shots of vodka. alex pushed himself off the couch, and y/n wrapped her limbs around him tightly until he safely deposited her to sit on the kitchen counter.

there was the sound of the cabinet door opening and closing, and the gurgle of the tap broke through the otherwise silent apartment.

“i can hear you gulping.” y/n said, eyes still squeezed shut. “share please.”

the three glasses of water each they downed helped somewhat- y/n’s stomach had settled and her head was spinning less, but now she just had the lack of inhibition and craving for spontaneity that alcohol fostered.

from her perch on the counter, she could sit with her legs wrapped around alex’s torso, his head relaxing back into her chest as he stood with his back to her. she ran her fingers gently through his hair, smiling as an idea formed.

“when’s the last time you dyed your hair, love?”

“mmm. it’s been a while. last year, maybe?”

y/n felt a rush of excitement, but tread carefully to avoid spooking her poor unsuspecting boyfriend.

“what if you let me dye it?”

his posture became a little less relaxed, a little more alert. uh oh. say yes. she chanted silently in her head. say yes, say yes, say yes.

“have you ever dyed hair before?” not a full yes, but this was good. it wasn’t a no. there was still a possibility.

“i did rina’s hair just last month.” sure, your sister changed her hair so often that she had simply laughed at your botched dye job, rocking the streaky blue until she was able to get into a proper salon the next week. but experience was experience. he hadn’t asked about the outcome.

“okay.”

“okay?” you squealed and planted a kiss on his cheek, wrapping your arms underneath his chin and resting your head on top of his. he just laughed, relaxing even more into your embrace if that was even possible.

“alright, come on, i think i have dye under the sink.”

“wait, now? i was thinking next week after the race, love.” but you didn’t want to wait that long, you wanted to do something fun now, while the world looked a little brighter than usual and you could practically feel the blood pumping through your veins. you decided to test your luck and hopped down from the counter, pulling him along towards the small hall bathroom, grinning when he just followed along.

alex sat down on the toilet lid while you rummaged through the messy sink cabinet, finally finding what you’d desperately hoped was still there in the back corner- bleach, and the remnants of a dye kit you’d bought when your sister had encouraged you to try red hair (spoiler alert, it was a very bad idea). there definitely wouldn’t be enough red dye to do alex’s entire head though, and you frowned as you tried to work out a solution.

suddenly, the perfect idea struck. after mixing the dyes, you happily got to work. alex was content to just relax into the pressure of your fingers in his hair, and before you knew it, your masterpiece was complete. after a quick rinse, and a change into comfier, cleaner clothes for both of you, you fell into bed. there was only time for a quick goodnight kiss, and by the time your head hit the pillow, you had practically already fallen into a deep sleep.

which is why, when you woke up the next morning, cursing the bright sunlight of the gorgeous fall morning, the previous night wasn’t totally clear at first. you cringed at the memory of puking into the dirty club bathroom, but there was nothing hideously embarrassing up until george bringing you and alex home. however, at the thought of what your drunken brain had thought was a good idea once the two of you were left to your own devices, you shot up in bed, staring in horror at the sleeping boy next to you.

alex’s hair. dear god. you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips, and then cursed yourself as all the movement and noise had alex stirring in bed. he smiled up at you with sleepy eyes, getting halfway through “good morning” before clocking your expression.

“what?” he sat up in bed, sheets sliding down as his worry increased. “y/n, what’s wrong?”

“alex, love, i’m so sorry.” it was all you could do but apologize, and alex looked confused until he spotted himself in the mirror hanging to the right of your bed.

his jaw dropped as he turned his head left and right. you just winced, apologizing over and over. but you stopped mid sentence when his look of shock turned into a grin, and then a full blown, stomach-hurting laugh. he dropped his head into his hands, shoulders shaking.

you couldn’t help it- that type of laugh was infectious.

“i’m so sorry, love,” you groaned between giggles, leaning into alex’s shoulder. “i don’t know what i was thinking.”

it took him a couple seconds to get back the breath to reply, but when he did it was clear that there was nothing but amusement in the situation.

“don’t be sorry, y/n,” he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and squeezed tight. “i’m surprised we didn’t do worse with how plastered we were last night.”

“remind me that shots are very, very bad the next time we go out, please.” the dull throb in her temples was her body’s way of agreeing with that statement. in a serious tone, she looked up at him, determined to fix the situation. “i’ll find you an appointment at a salon before the race, i promise.”

“are you kidding?” he turned to look at himself again in the mirror, running a hand over his hair. “i’m definitely going to get bullied by the grid, but this can only be good luck.”

and despite your protests and offers to fix it, he remains resolute in having the absolutely horrid dye job for the entirety of the race weekend. and when he manages to achieve the practically impossible- a podium in a williams- after crediting the team’s immense efforts, it isn’t his stellar driving that he wants to discuss in post-race interviews. no, he attributes his success to his new hair, which he makes sure to emphasize was done by his lovely girlfriend.

even though your drunken mistake is now a very popular topic of conversation in the f1 world, you can’t help but feel any emotion besides all-consuming pride.

@alex_albon: best weekend ever. biggest thanks to the team, and my new barber @ y/n-l/n for the lucky hair

@y/n-l/n: HE DID IT!!!!!!!! endlessly proud of you AA23 <3

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 #williams f1 #williams formula 1 #alex albon #alexander albon #williams racing #aa23 x reader #aa23 #george russell

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maraschinomerry · 2 years ago

Note

How about a George Karim x reader where they have made it a routine to sneak into each other’s bedroom to cuddle when one of them can’t sleep (it started after one draining case) but they never told Lockwood and Lucy bc they knew they would never hear the end of it

I've Got Your Back

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader

Content: emotional hurt/comfort, angsty conversations in fluffy situations, breakdowns, Lockwood being Lockwood

A/N: oh wow this one got away from me a bit 😅 I wanted to do something super fluffy originally, but with the idea of it starting after a bad case I ended up leaning into the angst, hope that's okay! If you'd prefer something soft please let me know and I'll happily write another

Word count: 3.5k

The first time you found yourself in George's room was after your first Type Two case as a member of Lockwood & Co. Type Ones were second nature to you by this point, but you'd never dealt with anything more severe without supervision. Safe to say, you'd come away shaken.

It had been hours since you'd all returned, exhausted, and made your way to your rooms, but sleep continued to evade you. You tried everything - quiet music, hugging your pillow, distracting your mind by making lists of random things, duvet on, duvet off, on your back, on your side… Finally, a little after 4am, you surrendered and dragged yourself down the stairs towards the kitchen for a glass of water. The house was still and silent, save for the ticking from the hallway clock. You only made it as far as the landing before your body gave up and you slumped onto the unforgiving wood of the bottom step, fighting back tears as your breathing grew quicker. Thank god everyone else was asleep so they didn't have to deal with you like this. They were all greatly experienced agents and from what they’d seen they were impressed by both your abilities and your unflappability, so it was slightly embarrassing how much this had affected you.

Like some kind of horrible universal retribution, the door beside you clicked open. You frantically wiped your eyes as George emerged from his dimly lit room. His hair was particularly dishevelled and he wasn't wearing his glasses… or trousers, for that matter. He blinked at you, a mixture of blindness and confusion.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered. There was a wobble in your voice that you prayed was less obvious than you thought. Perhaps you only noticed it because you were expecting to hear it, perhaps George would think you were just tired. "Did I wake you?"

He frowned. "No, why would you-" It suddenly clicked as he peered closer. "Have you been crying?"

"No." Something in his face encouraged your honesty: "Not quite."

George was motionless for a moment. Then, he pushed his bedroom door open a little further and gestured inside. "Okay, go and get comfortable, I'll make tea once I've been to the toilet. Give me five minutes, non-metaphorical." There was a pause. "Will you be okay until then?" What a thoughtful question. He was normally so blunt and rational, you hadn’t expected him to consider exactly what state you were in after such a short interaction, or certainly not to act on it like that. You sniffled but nodded, and the two of you passed within a breath of one another as you swapped places in his doorway. His hand ghosted across your back between your shoulder blades as he directed you in, barely there and yet somehow the only tangible thing in your world at that moment. Your breath caught in your throat. The sensation lingered long after his footsteps had padded down the stairs.

Left alone in George's room, you took the chance to look around properly. You'd seen inside before whenever you popped your head in to speak to him, but now you could take it all in - the lamp on top of his crowded bookshelf emitting a warm glow across the sage green walls, neatly folded stack of laundry waiting to be put away, oval mirror on the chimney breast making you uncomfortably aware of how much of a wreck you looked with puffy eyes and hair tangled in frustration. Everything about the room was so… so George.

He'd said to get comfy, but you couldn't help but feel like you were invading his personal space. After a rapid internal argument over whether to slink back to your own room, you decided that would be rude since George had invited you in and gone to make tea, so you settled awkwardly at the end of his bed, feet planted on the floor.

Five minutes later, as promised, George tiptoed back in with two steaming mugs, kicking the door closed behind him. You thanked him as you wrapped your hands around the one he offered, while he placed his on the bedside table and relaxed back against his pillows.

"You look like you're about to bolt," he observed. That wasn't inaccurate; you were right at the edge of the mattress, feet pointing to the door and heel bouncing anxiously. He softened. "Take up whatever space you need. And if you don't want to talk about whatever had you tearing up on the stairs, that's fine, but I'm right here if you do."

You brought your feet up to sit cross-legged and sipped your tea while you worked up the courage to tell the truth (it was such good tea, too, you didn't know how he always got it just right). George did the same, not pushing matters for a second.

Eventually, you felt a little more comfortable, knowing you weren't being scrutinised. You tried to find the words more than once, faltering each time. Still, George waited patiently. They came at last: "Tonight was my first proper Type Two. I know I dealt with some in training and it shouldn't bother me, but I can't stop thinking about everything that could have gone wrong and if something happened to one of you…" You'd only been with the agency a month, but already you considered Lockwood, Lucy and George family over even your own parents, who had seemed almost relieved when you moved away. They were far more supportive, more understanding of you as a person, more respectful of your Talent. You could never forgive yourself for being the reason they got hurt, or worse. The pace of your heartbeat started to pick up again, thundering in your chest and ears.

"Hey, listen, breathe with me," George said gently as he sat forward to get your attention. You didn't even realise you were starting to fall back into the thoughts, let alone that George had noticed, so before you knew it you were following his slow, deep rhythm. His eyes, dark and lined with exhaustion and concern, didn't leave yours. He spoke again as he guided you. "We're all okay, and the whole point of being a team is we have each other's backs. It's not all on you to keep us safe, we all have to help, but it is on us to make sure you don't end up physically or mentally at risk. So if anything like this happens again, I hope you feel like you can come to me. Preferably without having to sit outside first."

The last part made you giggle. "Deal. And the same goes for you, my door is always open."

George smiled. "Thanks. For now though, get some rest, we can't have you falling asleep on the job." At this, he pulled back the other corner of his duvet. Now it was your turn to blink in confusion. "There's plenty of room," he explained like it was perfectly obvious, "and I don't like the idea of you going back upstairs on your own. If you're okay with this, of course."

The blush that crept up his cheeks reflected the one you felt on yours, and you tried your best to act natural as you put your mug to one side and slipped under the covers. George kept a respectable distance, but the warmth of his body still radiated towards you and lulled you into a peaceful sleep.

You awoke to the first rays of daylight filtering through an unfamilar window. As your eyelids fluttered open, you found yourself in an unfamiliar bed with an unfamiliar light pressure across your stomach and back. Cautiously, you turned your head. George was pressed up against you, face buried in your hair and arm draped across you. Your legs were so tangled it was hard to feel where you ended and he began. In the back of your mind you knew you should leave, get back to your own room before Lockwood or Lucy came and found you together, but this was the most relaxed you'd felt since becoming an agent. Besides, if you waited, George could check the coast was clear without arousing suspicion. That was a good enough excuse to stay. You brought your hand up, linking fingers with the boy's hand that hung across your stomach. A hum of contentment sounded from within your hair, echoing through your skull. You fell asleep once more with a lazy grin.

—

It happened a few more times over the next few months. You'd sneak into each other's rooms for comfort or company - it wasn't always about being scared or anxious after a case, just if one of you was having trouble sleeping or needed your mind taking off anything from research to thoughts about your family to whether you'd forgotten something on the grocery list. The two of you knew how each other ticked so it was easy to offer reassurance or support, and ending the night in each other's arms quickly grew to be one of your greatest comforts. George was an unusual sleeper, switching between curling up on his side and splaying across the whole bed like a starfish, but you found that no matter what, you were always able to slot against him like it was the most natural thing in the world. On most occasions you were the little spoon so that George could spread out behind you if he needed to, but even if he was in your arms and wriggled out, you would just snuggle back into his side with your head on his chest. It had also become second nature to make sure both bedroom doors were closed when you were together so Lockwood and Lucy would never get the opportunity to spot you in passing or find one of your rooms empty and go searching in a panic. They'd be happy for you, of course they would, but they'd be utterly insufferable about it and you were pretty sure you'd end up having to burn the Thinking Cloth as a precaution.

—

One night, just shy of six months into your time at 35 Portland Row, you were awoken by a tapping which perfectly matched the secret rhythm you'd established with George. You gave a groggy greeting, letting him know you were awake. His curly-haired silhouette appeared as he nudged the door open, but didn't move any further into the room. Normally he’d have been straight over, so his stillness set alarm bells blaring but you suspected you already had an explanation.

You'd become separated from the group on the case earlier that night. It hadn't bothered you at all, in fact you didn't even know it had happened until Lockwood told you later: you'd gone through a hatch in the corner of the kitchen to the basement, rummaging through boxes for the Source, and the rest of the group had moved through to the dining room when the kitchen door slammed shut behind them and refused to budge. For a terrifying moment, all they could think of was you, alone with a Visitor. As it turned out, it had locked you away to give them less backup, not the other way round, and they fought it off while you were completely oblivious (though you did manage to contain its Source). The team had told you what happened but having not been in the moment you hadn't been as rattled by it.

"George?" you asked into the darkness. When he didn't respond, you moved to him. Up close he was easier to see, a sliver of light from the hallway catching the edges of his features. His eyes were wide, lower lip trembling as he took one shaky breath after another. Actually, his entire body was trembling.

"Oh, Georgie," you murmured, heart breaking a little. You reached out to him. He flinched until his eyes refocused and he saw it was you, then immediately pulled you into a crushing hug. As his head buried in your shoulder he began to sob, and you wrapped your arms around him to rub soothingly at his back. Carefully, you closed the door with your foot and, still hugging him tightly, led him towards the bed. You had no choice but to pull away as you got into position, but took his hands to maintain the connection and as soon as you were leaning against the headboard he followed, crumpling against your chest. He mumbled something into your pyjama top, voice so quiet and broken by tearful hiccups that you didn't quite catch it.

"What did you say?"

He sat up, eyes fixed on your face like you might vanish if he so much as blinked. Somehow knowing that you hadn't heard him the first time made it harder to repeat. "I, um... I said I was scared. What happened today made me realise how easy it would be to lose one of us, to lose you." The realisation hit you like a ton of bricks: he hadn't just come to you for comfort this time, he was here to make sure you were okay, that you were actually there and not just the product of a hopeful imagination. Not much wonder he was so much more physical than usual (eventual cuddling aside, he was never the touchiest person).

Taking the hint, you brought one hand up to cup his cheek. He leaned into the touch as you wiped away his tears with your thumb. Your other hand began to comb through his curls, brushing them away from his face. "I'm here, Georgie, see? I'm okay." He mimicked your movements, stroking your hair to prove your words to himself. "Remember what you said?" you continued. "We're a team, and I know you guys would have done everything you could." You both knew what you weren't saying - that even then, it might not have been enough, but that was the way of the job and the last thing you wanted was for him to blame himself. "And you did - you fought it off which kept it distracted, I never would have had time to find the Source without you."

"And we'd still be fighting it now if you hadn't kept looking. You had our backs too." This was good. That wonderful, logical brain of his was fighting back against the panic. If he could out-reason someone as headstrong as Lockwood, which you'd seen him do more than once, he could do the same to himself. He'd stopped crying at least, but he was still almost vibrating with energy and in no position to take the lead.

You shifted down the mattress until your head was on the pillow and opened your arms. George looked dazed, not processing what you were doing. In fact, he almost seemed to be receding into his oversized T-shirt. He was in a worse state than you'd first thought, too deep in his own mind to clamber out on his own. No amount of baseless reassurance would help at this point. You sighed. "Look, I know there's not really anything I can say that will convince you everything's okay." Something flickered behind his eyes. "The fact is, nothing's ever really okay in a job like this, and that sucks. We have good and bad days, but it's inevitable that something's going to happen to one of us eventually, whether that's on a case or entirely unrelated."

"This is the worst motivational speech ever," George muttered, and you couldn't help but snort. If he was making snarky remarks, that meant he was coming back into himself. You stayed laying down, but reached up and took his hand. He squeezed once, firmly, before settling into a loose grip with his thumb massaging small circles on the back of yours.

"If you'd let me finish, what I'm trying very unsuccessfully to say is that you're never going to be to blame. I know how important your research is to you and you do such an amazing job, honestly we'd be far worse off without you, so the fact that there are so many things in life that we can't change or prevent no matter how prepared we are... that's terrifying," you paused as your voice cracked at the thought, a hidden anxiety of your own unveiled, "but you don't have to deal with it alone. If all this is just fate or circumstance, isn't it a good sign that the universe has given us the people who matter enough that we're willing to try anyway?"

You had no idea where you'd been going with that, blindly trying to find a way to be encouraging without avoiding the root of the issue. You just had to hope that it would resonate with George in the right way and not push him further into the darkness. Every nerve in your body was on high alert, waiting for his reaction.

He moved.

You held your breath.

He folded into your arms with a faint but genuine smile. "Yeah, it is pretty good."

Your entire body relaxed. Hesitantly, testing the waters, you placed a soft kiss into his curls. All these nights in such close proximity had made you especially fond of the scent of his shampoo - lemongrass, paired with a sandalwood body wash - and you savoured the opportunity to breathe him in. "I can't be too mad at a world that lets us do this. No matter what it throws at us, we know it can't possibly mean it."

George squirmed a bit, and you were worried you'd gone too far with the kiss or said the wrong thing. But then he spoke. "Can we switch? Just so I can see you." That made sense. It would be more apparent that you were alright that way, plus you couldn’t deny you loved how safe his embrace made you feel. You let go, both turning together until it was you in his arms. As you stilled, you felt warm breath against the back of your head followed by equally warm lips.

As the pull of sleep grew stronger, George thought fondly about the people the universe had given him. There was you, constant and calming, the reason for his worry and the solution for it. There was Lucy, who from the offset had matched him in wit and eventually in devotion to their friendship. And of course, there was Lockwood, his best friend and the real reason you were all here, universal intervention or not. Lockwood, who could annoy him from across the corridor or appease him from the other end of the house. Actually, that was something. Not once since this started had Lockwood, with his blatant disregard for normal hours and habitual need to throw things at George's door, accidentally barged in on the two of you together. Perhaps the universe was involved after all.

—

Lucy, clad in a blue jumper over her pyjamas and the fuzziest socks she owned, raised her hand to knock on your door, wondering if you were awake to lend her some paracetamol from the little first aid box in your wardrobe as she'd run out and had a splitting headache. She would be surprised if anyone could sleep on a night like this, it was bitterly cold out on the landing and your room wouldn’t be much better unless you’d managed to steal one of the blankets from the library. A second before her fist connected with the wood, a hand grabbed her wrist and she turned defensively. A fully dressed Lockwood hastily released his grip and raised a finger to his lips in a silent hush. He nodded down the landing, leading her away to where they could speak without causing a disturbance.

"What's going on?" she frowned.

"You can't interrupt. George is in there."

Lucy's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. "How do you know?! Wait, are they...?"

He stifled a laugh and shook his head. "No, no, it's just a comfort thing. They've been doing it for months."

"Okay, that only answers the second question."

Lockwood thought back, relaying the tale as he went along. He'd gone to check on you that very first night, wanting to make sure you weren't too affected by the Type Two. Seeing your door ajar and room empty had been enough to make him nervous, and not being able to find you in the kitchen, library or basement made matters worse. As a last resort, he barged into George's room, ready to ask if the other boy had been told of your plans or heard any movement to suggest you'd gone out. The sight he'd been met with had simultaneously quelled his nerves and set them alight - you and George, fast asleep in each other's embrace. Thank goodness Lockwood was so light on his feet and averse to knocking. He crept back out, vowing to always make sure in future that you were in your respective rooms before following through on his beloved pastime of winding George up.

#lockwood & co #lockwood & co fanfic #george karim x reader #gn!reader #george karim #lockwood & co x reader

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horseshoegirl · 1 year ago

Text

Damn Those Dog Tags - Part 16: In the Blood

📖I'm amused you guys voted on this one as the one that inspired DTDT. I wouldn't say this one was one of the big three, but it ended up becoming my inspiration for Jake's backstory.

Also, this was me after that last part: 🏃‍♀️<-🔱🔥

I'm so sorry I broke all of your hearts with part 15! They have a happy ending, I swear! We just have to get through the angst first... And Sadie... Oh dear... I cried writing this... so it's safe to say maybe bring tissues?

❗️+18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, original child character, Shitty family dynamics, Angst, talk about break ups, talk about therapy, probably inaccurate dogfight descriptions (I tried my best!), Jake is going through it, Emotional & Protective Sadie (She needs her own warning), & Protective Bradley.

#6K words

Part 16 | Masterlist | Part 17

It had to be the shock.

The reason why there were gaps in your memory. You don’t remember climbing into the front seat of Rooster's Bronco. Or even putting on your seat belt or him pulling out of the parking lot.

He probably had to do it for you.

You had to remind yourself he was driving you home. That you just very publically broke up with Jake in the Hard Deck. Spit-roasted George with very colourful vernacular.

You'd have to explain to Penny why you were swearing in her bar again. But you had a more pressing predicament than wondering what might happen in the aftermath of that experience, which would presumptively have Hangman's callsign back on the sign in the bathroom.

Even with a broken heart, you felt like you were a child being allowed to sit in the front seat of a car. Under the scrutiny of an "I'm not mad, just disappointed" parent driving you home from school. White hot anxiety coursed through your veins with the assumption you did something so incredibly wrong; you just didn't know what.

Rooster was eerily silent. Next to the roar of his engine and AC fan, the silence was constructing. Suffocating. He should be gloating, listing off all the ways you ignored him, ignored the team that day on the soccer field. All the ways he was going to hurt Hangman the next time he saw him.

It was driving you insane.

"Are you going to gloat? Say, I told you so?" you finally huffed through your tears when it became too much. "Hangman did what he does best?"

"Not today, Liz."

Out of all the things you expected him to say, that was not one of them. It almost made it worse. Like you were genuinely expecting a verbal argument, and the fact you weren't getting one was making you pout like an actual child.

"I'm sorry for what happened," he offered eventually, after a pregnant pause. A horrible scraggly sound accompanied your hiccup.

"I should never have let Sadie invite him to Saturday nights."

"No, I'm sorry for what I said in your hallway," he countered. "For the way I acted."

Ironic, isn't it? The person you knew to be the most childish when expressing his emotions was sobering your petulant thoughts and behaviour. Even when your mind and obsessive internal dialogue went, why the fuck did he think now was a good time as any to apologize?!

You dropped your chin to your chest. "But you did," you huffed, hugging yourself against the sudden chill. “In front of Sadie, no less.”

Had you turned your head, you would have seen Bradley nodding absentmindedly, his eyes staring blankly at the road.

“It was uncalled for, Liz. The fact you felt you needed to hide it from me….” he trailed off. You sniffed, wiping at your cheeks, letting him gather his words. "I get it. Why you didn't. I wouldn't have taken the news differently even if you had told me. It might have been worse."

“Still, I should have told you,” you offered, shaking your head before staring out the window, watching the trees blur by. “Not that it matters now.”

Bradley gritted his teeth, hands flexing on the steering wheel. He wanted to mouth off. Not about you ignoring his warnings but all the ways Hangman was a complete and utter cock.

He couldn't. You didn't deserve that in the fragile state you were in. Fragile wouldn't even be in the vocabulary of words Bradley would ever use to describe you. Hangman had made you like this, played you and your feelings.

It was never going to be your fault. He had realized that after the fight. When he promised he'd be there for you and Sadie, he didn't know what that meant or what it looked like.

A punch to Jake's face? Hearing it after the fact? Not actually being there to witness it? Him rambling off all the things he hated about Hangman? Ultimately, Bradley could only offer a measly retort of, "He's an asshole."

You swallowed hard. You couldn't deny Bradley's remark.

Jake being an asshole at that moment was him being Hangman, a side you thought you'd never have to see. For him to so readily agree with George, there was no other way you couldn’t interpret those words as anything but him playing you, using you.

Had he not given you that condensing grin and spoken those words, you might have believed he was merely being triggered by the presence of his brother.

You should have been waiting for the other shoe to drop. You felt foolish, naive, and utterly lost. The grief of losing Ridley was and had always been a constant companion, but this felt different. It was the realization that you had let him in and allowed him to become a part of Sadie's life and yours. You had trusted him, and he had betrayed that trust in the cruellest way possible.

You just wanted to know why? Why he lashed out at you? Why did he act like he cared when he didn’t?

Why? Why? Why?

You’d never get an answer from him now. You wanted to stay away from him, ignore him, avoid every mention or instance of him and his fucking callsign. The wall was back up, and it would never come back down. Instead, fixing your eyes on his dashboard, with no judgment in your voice, you asked Bradley, “Why Roo? Why did you lash out like that?”

Bradley sighed once, tapping his thumb against his steering wheel.

“Loving any of us is a death sentence, Liz. One day you might wake up and find one of us is gone. Just like that.” He shuttered in a breath. “I think, in some twisted way, I wanted to spare you the pain of losing someone you were in love with that way.”

He tried to find the words to explain his next point delicately, but there was no other way he could say it to you without not getting his point across. “You don’t handle grief well, Liz. You barely found the strength to carry on had it not been for Sadie.”

You huffed, knowing deep down he was right but doing absolutely everything in your power to keep denying it. You weren’t doing this today. If not, ever.

Bradley heard you but continued anyway, leaving your reaction tucked away for later. “I didn’t want you to end up like my mom. Sadie to end up like me. Cause him? He always flew like he had nothing to lose; he would do something foolish sooner than later. You would be left to mourn him. For Sadie to mourn him. I didn’t want that for you.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. Yet, you blurted out suddenly, "You need to go to therapy, Roo."

Bradley laughed softly. You looked over at him, slightly worried he might be having a fit. But it was a genuine reaction. And despite everything, you caught a tiny smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

You shouldn't be laughing. Not with the heavyweight still pressing down on your chest. Yet, sitting next to Rooster as he drove you home, his laughter was the only thing that seemed to be cutting through the heavy fog weighing over you.

Nothing could be done to suppress the laugh that bubbled up inside your chest. Bradley's grin widened, his laughter louder when he realized you were fighting your own. You couldn't help but join him. Whether the pain in your chest was from the laughter or the heartache, you couldn’t tell.

When the two of you finally managed to stop laughing, Bradley admitted with laboured breath. "I am, actually."

You turned to face him, utterly shocked. "Since when?!"

"Two days after." He doesn't need to be explicit. You know what he's referring to. "There's someone on base. I've only had one session so far, but it's making me realize I should have gone sooner."

You stared at him in disbelief.

If he had told you that, come to you while you were still working, or if he had called or even texted, you would have forgiven him instantly. You couldn't hold what he did to you against him after an admission like that.

"I'm proud of you, Bradley," you said, wiping your nose. "I really am."

He glanced over at you, a level of warmth in his eyes. “I needed to hit rock bottom and get a push by a few people. People who cared.”

His response was cryptic. It couldn't have been just you and Sadie, not after how you screamed at him or after Sadie kicked him out. Or even anyone on the Squad. It made you wonder who was his catalyst for the sudden change of thought. For now, you were just glad he was getting help.

You gave him a small smile, making Bradley reach over and grab your hand, squeezing it tightly. You gripped it back, but when he went to let go, you tightened your hand in panic.

"Just... Don't let go. Not yet."

Bradley didn't let go, driving one-handed the remainder of the journey back to your house. The two of you didn't say anything else. You sat silently even when he pulled into your driveway and turned off the ignition.

You didn't want to get out of his Bronco. You didn't want to walk into your house and see all the traces of Jake. You didn't want to gather his things in his bag. Leave them on the front porch, or change the spot for the emergency key.

But that was what happened when you went through a breakup, right? These were the things that needed to be done.

Bradley broke the extended silence, his voice deep and gentle when he asked, "What will you tell Sadie?"

Sadie.

You paused. You didn't really need to think about your answer. Just the weight of what it truly meant to say it out loud.

"The truth. As I've always done."

This was your worst fear about dating. The one that arose when you became Sadie's guardian. The one that so precariously dangled over your head when you told Jake you were a package deal. It wasn't the threat of betrayal, wasted time, or memories turning bittersweet.

As bad as that was at the Hard Deck, as broken and in pieces as your heart was, telling Sadie would be worse.

Jake broke your heart.

Now you had to break Sadie's too.

You glanced at Bradley, searching his eyes before asking him quietly, "Wanna come with me to pick her up from Penny's?"

Bradley smiled, nodding softly.

---

It was the eighth time the F-18s had flown this exercise this week. Coyote, Rooster, Hangman, and even Maverick, all had taken turns flying it with each other, in pairs, to navigate an imaginary narrow terrain.

Had Hangman been paying more attention, he would have questioned the sudden need to practice this particular exercise repeatedly and why it was just them, not Phoniex, Bob, Payback, and Fanboy. The first few times had been a simple flight test, learning the route, the twists, and the turns.

He was never more ruthless than in the cockpit, especially now. All that was child's play compared to some of the stuff he had done throughout his Naval carrier.

But today's addition? They wanted to see how they handled the pattern while dog fighting.

Rooster had decided to make it personal.

"Come on, Hangman!" Rooster taunted through the comms. "Is that all you've got?"

Hangman gritted his teeth, his hands gripping the controls, knuckles white. He was pushing his jet to the limit, narrowly avoiding Rooster's ‘fire’ as the alarm from the targeting system filled his cockpit.

The turn in the valley afforded Hangman the opportunity for some leeway to move out of the way. Barely.

"Come on! You're flying like a rookie today!" Rooster taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Thinking about what you did to Liz?"

Hangman's jaw tightened, and he forced himself to focus on the controls. "This isn't the time, Rooster," he snapped, but the cocky twang had lost its touch.

Rooster just laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Oh, I think it's the perfect time. You need a reminder of what a colossal fuck-up you were."

"I know what I did," Hangman growled, banking hard to the right to avoid Rooster's aggressive maneuvers. The asshole was gaining on him, even with how carefree he seemed to be with his taunts.

"Still thinking about Liz?" Rooster's voice was a sneer, crackling through his headset, and Hangman could hear the satisfaction. "Maybe that's why you're losing."

"Focus on the fight," Hangman snapped, anger boiling in his chest.

"Oh, I am," Rooster replied, his voice crackling through the headset and dripping with contempt.

The mountainsides and the green of the trees were a blur as Hangman and Rooster approached the end of the valley. Hangman could hear his heartbeat against the sound of his own breath in his oxygen mask.

Rooster didn't need to say the obvious aloud. Hangman was thinking about you. He couldn't shake the image of your face from that night.

Broken. Sad. Devastated.

He wanted to close his eyes, get lost in the moments when he would awake in your bed, finding you next to him. In your touch. In your voice.

When he hadn't fucked it up.

But he couldn't.

He rolled the F-18 over once he was clear of the mountains and the flight pattern, finally able to use open space to retaliate and flip around. There was only a few seconds left in their time limit.

If Rooster wanted a dogfight, he'd given him a dogfight while he still could.

"Where are you? Where are you?" he drawled aloud. He kept his eyes on the sky, searching for any indication Rooster was nearby as the seconds ticked away. But he was nowhere to be found.

"Time!"

Hangman didn't trust Rooster would listen to Maverick's call. He'd even go as far as to admit the man was almost like him, dead set on proving a point when it mattered. At least Hangman could demonstrate some restraint.

Sure enough, Rooster's voice echoed as his plane came into view. Swinging up and hanging upset down from directly under him.

Inverted.

"Forget to look below?"

Hangman finally had enough.

"Want me to take one out of your book?!" he yelled, staring up through the glass, never once taking his eyes off Rooster as he jolted the stick to the side, rotating the plane over in time with Roosters.

Into a damn spiral dive. A fucking corkscrew.

Rooster grunted with the effort of withstanding the Gs on his body. Hangman was no different, bracing hard as he fought against the controls. Neither one listened to Mav shouting over the airway or the different tone alerts signalling information.

"You think this proves something?" Hangman's voice was cold and ruthless even though he gritted his teeth. "Break off now, and maybe you won't embarrass yourself."

"Embarrass myself?" Rooster spat back. "Like you did with Liz?"

His response was automatic, like reading a script he had long since memorized. "Life is hard, Rooster. It's cruel and unforgiving. You can either whine about it, or you can face it head-on. You think you're going to prove something, kid, by keeping me here?!"

"Watch me!"

The world faded out. Nothing mattered but the two pilots, locking in that spin, seemingly staring each other down.

Yet, Hangman was completely unaware he was running out of space. The Terrain! Terrain! Pull Up! Pull Up! was background noise on muffled ears, as were Maverick's increasing shouts for the pair to stop and break away.

He was too caught up in everything to care. Rooster would have to break away first. He wouldn't give out.

He wouldn't let him win.

But then a voice, soft and delicate despite the alarms, shouts and struggles of the Jet's engine broke through the haze.

Jake.

It was a blast of bright light like the sun suddenly blinded the corner of his eyes. For whatever spoke to him, it had been as close as he had ever been to hitting beyond the hard deck. He finally pulled up on the control stick, saving himself just in time and avoiding hitting Rooster.

His breath was harsh, anger on the edge of boiling over as he levelled the jet. And when he finally returned to the correct altitude, Hangman ripped the oxygen mask from his face, fighting the urge to hit something, as Rooster's chuckles filled the air.

"Hangman! Rooster! Get back to base. Now!"

---

"Do the two of you want to get kicked out?! How could you be so stupid!?"

Nat's question was rhetorical. Hangman and Rooster were stupid. It was so deeply entrenched into their entire being she knew she was wasting her breath by even pointing it out.

A reminder didn't hurt, though.

She had her eyes set on Hangman, but Rooster wasn't very off, sliding his way over to the blonde pilot who had only just started his post-flight checks after getting his jet back into the hanger.

He was deadset on ignoring her, not once glancing her way as she stomped toward him.

“What will Liz say when she finds out how reckless the two of you were?!”

His reaction made her pause; his hands froze from where they were adjusting a valve. Had she turned away, she wouldn't have caught the grimace on his face - however slight or brief it made have been.

“Oh, you didn’t hear what he did?” Rooster called out, smirking from his perch, leaning against a nearby table and crossing his elbows. He may have promised not to gloat around you, but the squad was fair game.

"Liz even slapped him for it too."

Confusion, shock, and pure anger crossed her face in the three seconds she took to glare at Jake. Heat laced her voice as she asked, "What the fuck did you do?"

Liz would never, she thought, only if she had to.

Jake bowed his head, slamming the panel of the jet closed with a hard bang. He turned, gritting his jaw and standing straight, ignoring Nat’s heated question. Rooster chuckled from the side, uncrossing his arms to stride forward.

“Oh, he did exactly what we expected him to,” he filled the silence. “He hurt Liz and left her out to dry, saying she and Sadie were nothing but a bit of fun to pass the time. And when she confronted him about it, he went right for the kill, not concerned about who he would hurt in the process.”

The rest of the Squad was nearby when they heard Rooster’s words, awaiting the fall out of that aerial display. They gathered around the pair, faces twisting with disdain as a dangerous silence befell the room, each looking from Rooster to Jake, reflecting varying degrees of disbelief, shock and, more predominantly, anger.

Jake's eyes were dark, his face tight with suppressed emotion. For a moment, it looked like he might lash out, defend himself, try to explain. But he didn’t. No one would believe him anyway.

"Damn you, Hangman," Phoenix whispered, her voice breaking. "We trusted you."

The room seemed to deflate as the truth sank in. Bob, who had been silent until now, let out a long breath, his face pale. He couldn’t help but think of Sadie. She would be devastated.

“So did Liz,” Rooster smirked, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing Jake.

Jake's eyes narrowed, his voice cold and defensive. "You think you know everything, don't you, Rooster? You abandoned her when she needed you most. For what? To prove a point? Now you’re acting all righteous?”

Something hard flashed in Rooster’s eyes. “At least I owned up to my mistake and apologized. I never pretended to be something I wasn’t! I never fucked around with her heart!”

Jake let out a condescending laugh. “You think she came running to you because she trusts you? She couldn’t even tell you she was seeing me. What does that say about you? She doesn't trust you as much as you think.”

Rooster grinned. “If that were true, she wouldn’t have come to me in that aftermath. After all, she asked me to drive her home,” he said mockingly. “We even went together to break the news to Sadie.”

Jake clenched his fist at the mention of Sadie, charging forward to ready a punch to Bradley’s smug ass face. But Bradley didn’t move, still smiling as Jake stared him down last minute as the Dagger’s jumped to Bradley’s defence.

Jake’s guilt over you and Sadie wouldn’t let him follow through on that punch. Bradley was sure of it. Even with the rest of the daggers looming around, he knew Jake would still be seeking your approval, even if you would never give it to him again.

How disturbing would it be for him to know little less than three weeks ago, Bradley had been at the end of the team's disapproval as they backed Jake.

The tables had turned. Nobody would stand behind him after what he did to Liz now.

The two were locked in an intense stare-down, Jake more rattled than he let on and Bradley unnerving calm. It wasn’t until there was a slamming of a door echoing from somewhere in the hangar did the Squad suddenly walk away from the feuding pair, not wanting to be caught in the crosshairs, already on their phones to message Liz. the only one who had stayed was Nat, wondering how she could have ever thought Hangman was capable of change.

“Rooster! Hangman! My office!” Maverick's voice boomed from somewhere within the empty hanger.

When neither moved or peeled their eyes away from the other, Mav’s voice rang out again, this time enough to rattle off the hollow steel walls, making Nat jolt from the force of it.

“Now!”

---

As a team, the Daggers celebrated everything. Maverick labelled it moral support and team-building. Jake realized long ago it was just his way of getting all the pilots out of the hangers to experience life. Not that he ever complained.

After the lashing he got earlier, it was surprising that he and Rooster were still invited. It was clear as day nobody wanted him here.

It was the second anniversary of the Urianum mission. The official anniversary of the creation of the squad. Jake missed the last one, so he wasn't sure what to expect. A beach party. A game of dogfight football. A bonfire.

Jake couldn’t care less what was going on. You and Sadie would have been here with him had he not snapped.

Somewhere down the line, everything had become blurred. The day he had been dubbed “Hangman” - they said he was surgical, precise, unfeeling - the perfect pilot.

It gave him purpose and confirmation. He’d even make the stretch to say acceptance. He embedded it. Cause nothing else mattered. It worked the facade. It kept people at a distance and shielded him from judgment and expectations.

But now? Things were different. You, Sadie… the two of you got under his skin.

Would you, would have anyone, listened to the truth after the fact? That he only agreed with George to throw it back in his face? To cockily stand up and remark that he was better off than he had been in years?

Then you heard him. Heard him agree with George and assume so readily it had all been a game. You had never believed he was everything his callsign represented.

You were hurt. Angry. And those words he uttered proved every word you had probably been told about him, words you had ignored. It stung, the words you had yelled back at him. You had given him a chance before, so why didn’t you have faith in him then?

The facade returned. He opened his mouth, and his father and George came out instead. Hangman came out instead.

He had sworn so long ago he would never become like them. Yet here he was, inflicting the same trauma and patterns onto you. He had proved he was just as capable of the same cruelty and manipulation his father was.

You would never forgive him after that. It’s what he did best.

The only person who seemed to stand being around him right now was Javy, but he had left to get another drink, leaving Jake alone next to their bonfire, missing you.

You would have been in his arms, lying up against his chest. The pair of you staring out to the water, watching Sadie hunt for sea shells like she hunted for bugs. He would have stolen a kiss or two, unashamed of the PDA, maybe even purposely putting on a show to intentionally piss off the squad and make you blush.

The two of you would have laughed at Sadie. Maybe he would have been tempted to get up, grab her, and topple the both of them into the water. Rooster didn't need to remind him of what he lost when the absence of both of you was staring him in the face.

"You hurt my aunt."

Well... he was half right.

"You're going to get the both of us in trouble," Jake called out, not bothering to look up from the sand. He knew she'd come for him sooner than later, no matter your wishes. With all your threats to Bradley about revoking his Sadie privileges, Jake never would have thought he’d be receiving those threats too.

Sadie stepped onto the tree log behind him, spreading her arms wide to balance herself before jumping, landing softly on the ground.

"Since when have I done anything I'm supposed to," she argued heatedly.

It took her every ounce of strength not to lay into him like she wanted. She was desperately holding herself back. Because this was extremely different than Uncle Roo hurting her Aunt's feelings.

Hangman messed with her Aunt's heart.

This one was on her.

"Who did you escape to get over here?” Jake still couldn’t bring himself to look at her, reaching over to grab a stick in the sand.

“Aunt Nat. She thinks I’m with Uncle Bob.”

You picked up a shift today where Aunt Penny was working with you. So when the offer to stay with Amelia or sit around at the Hard Deck for most of the afternoon, Sadie opted to join you.

Little did you know she had other ideas. When Aunt Nat came by to steal her away, to join the others with the promise she'd keep her away from Hangman, Sadie saw the perfect opportunity.

Aunt Nat didn't know her tricks as well as she thought. A mad and angry Sadie was a conniving Sadie.

Jake said nothing, choosing to poke the sand with the stick in his hand before adding to the fire.

Sadie knew he was stalling, making small talk to avoid talking about what he did. She had played that card enough to know when it was being thrown back at her.

But he was the grown-up. He shouldn't be pulling childish tricks. He should be the one who should be telling her all the grown-up excuses for why things just sometimes don't work out or, worst case, it was for the better.

Nothing was ever for the better.

She sat down on the opposite end of the log, reasonably close to Jake. She dug her nails into the bare skin of her thigh. She wasn't going to speak first. She had promised him so long along she'd come for him. He should know better than to expect she was here for anything else.

Yet, the words he finally uttered had her reeling.

"I don't know what the right thing is to say, Bug."

The thin sheet of ice Sadie holding her back cracked at the mention of her beloved nickname. He shouldn't be calling her that; he didn't deserve to call her that. Not after what he did. Not after what he said.

For one of the first times in her life, Sadie saw red.

She quickly reached down to grab a handful of sand, only to toss the tiny grains in his direction. Jake ducked, shielding his face with his arms. Sadie leaped up and tackled his exposed side, hands balling into fists. She didn't know what she was thinking or her ultimate goal by coming here and seeking him out. It was such a good idea at the time.

When it came down to being face-to-face with him, she was at a loss for words. Her obvious hurt overshadowed any sassy remark or comeback she could gather.

"Sadie! Hey, stop!" Jake's shouts of her name did nothing to stop her from pounding her tiny fists on his back. “Stop!”

"You don't get to call me Bug!" she hollered through her sobs, still trying to leave a mark, thumps on his back accompanying her cries. "You lost that right!"

She knew you wouldn't want her doing this. Her mom wouldn't want her to do this either. But sometimes, it was just too much for her to handle.

She didn't know how to react to something like this. The world was making her grow up faster than she wanted to. Now, she couldn't help but think about what it would throw at her next.

Jake slid off the log, twisting to kneel in front of Sadie while holding out his arms to protect his face. He was at eye level with her, finally seeing the damage he had wrought on the ten-year-old girl.

Sea blue-green eyes framed by shimmering tears, pooling at the edge, until Jake watched one linger down her cheek. It’s your favourite colour staring back at him, making everything worse.

"Why did you do it?!" she cried, still trying to hit him, arms loosening their strength by the second. "Why did you say it?"

"Sadie, stop!" his voice was starkly quiet compared to the sobs, both fragile and profound, catching in her throat. Still, Sadie wailed, "I trusted you! You were supposed to be her person! You made her happy! You reminded her she was worth it!"

With each remark Sadie threw at him, he couldn’t bring himself to stop her tiny punches. Or say anything this time that could calm her cries. It was so starkly different from the night he found her hiding in her bed because of that thunderstorm. She had been the one to jump into his arms, to seek comfort from him.

This time, he was the reason she was crying. Like that night, he wanted to tell her it would be alright.

He couldn't. In losing you, he had lost Sadie too.

Utterly weak, Sadie's final thump on his shoulder resulted in her gripping onto his shirt as she fell to her knees on the sand, face blotchy and patch-stained red.

"Why Uncle Jake?" her voice was small. Devastated. "Why did you have to hurt her like that?"

He tried not to look shocked. Sadie's voice was sudden, so unsteady and innocent-like, it was hard not to hide any reaction. She caught on instantly.

"Don't act so surprised," she snapped at him through her misery. "You know she tells me everything."

Jake felt the sharp glare of Sadie’s eyes on him, her small face always displaying a type of sternness that was way beyond her years. She was demanding answers, as horrible as they were.

He couldn’t avoid this conversation. You were… you had taught Sadie to be honest and, in her doing so, to expect honesty in return. He didn’t know how to be. How could he explain this?

He didn’t know where to start.

He wasn't going to say anything. Sadie knew that. Adults would rather hide their emotions and not speak about things. She pushed herself away from him, the little force she exerted rocking Jake’s body back, readying herself to get up and leave.

This had been a bad decision, after all.

“Did anyone tell you why they call me Hangman?”

Jake’s words made her stop, making her fall back into the sand, kneeling before him.

“It’s your call sign,” she said innocently. Jake frowned, biting his lip. “Did they tell you the story?”

Sadie copied the look on his face, thinking about it before admitting, “A little. I know you left someone behind.”

It sounded worse coming from the mouth of a child.

Jake sighed, rubbing his temple. “Yes… but there’s a little more to it than just that.” He couldn’t look her in the eye as he managed to form the words, “My father… he was a tough man. A lot behind the meaning of that call sign has to do with him. He left … scars. Sometimes, they make me act in ways I don’t mean to.”

Sadie’s eyes softened a little, but she still looked confused. “So that’s why you said those things? Hurt her?”

Jake looked down to the sand in shame, nodding once. “When I’m stressed, the anger… the frustration... It brings back memories. It’s easier to put a mask up… lash out. Even when it’s the wrong thing to do.”

"So apologize," she sniffed, shrugging. "Uncle Roo did."

"It's not that simple, Sadie."

She eyed him hard. "Yes, it is."

Her tone left no room for a reply. Who was he to refute the honesty of a ten-year-old who had seen more shit than anyone her age?

"I know you're hurting too," she said, her voice small and trembling. "But hurting others won't help, Uncle Jake.”

A sad smile crossed his lips. "I don't know what the right answer is, Sadie."

Sadie looked at the fire, watching the flames dance. She didn’t know the correct answer either. Adults would rather hide their emotions and not speak about things than admit they were wrong. But he had to try, right? Cause if he didn’t at all, it would only make it worse.

Maybe she could nudge him one last time.

"Do you still have the note I gave you when you helped me with my math homework last year?"

Jake stared at her momentarily before reaching into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet, and opening it to find the ripped piece of paper. He had kept it tucked away in the back pouch, even after all this time. Her writing was slightly smudged on account of her using a pencil, but he could still make out her words along the top.

I believe in you.

"I didn't randomly invite you to that Saturday Night," she started to say, watching him stare down at the piece of paper. "I invited you because you looked sad when you thought nobody could see you."

Sadie paused her words, searching his face for any hint of emotion, before she continued. "Because you needed to know people care."

"Your Aunt said something similar to my brother," he said, not looking up from the piece of paper. "That the only reason she allowed me to come that night was because you reminded her of something your mom believed in."

"Of course she did," she said simply as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "She loves you."

Jake's hand clenched on his thigh involuntarily, his eyes turning away from the fire to the water. Growing up without love, without hearing those words, Jake was left wondering if he was deserving of such a remark.

How could he be anything else when all he ever did was self-impose an executioner’s noose around his neck, hanging himself with his own fear and self-doubt, always cutting himself off from what he craved most.

Hangman, indeed.

But Sadie wasn’t done - not by a longshot. Even with her tears, perhaps a touch quieter now, she managed a soft smile, telling him, “You taught me it’s okay to mess up, you know.”

Jake looked at her, puzzled. “I did?”

Sadie nodded, taking in a deep breath. “When you helped me with my math homework. I was struggling, messing up horribly. I wanted to quit. And nobody seemed to listen to me trying to understand till you came along.”

Jake was trying to see where she was going with this. Math and messing up a relationship were two entirely different things.

“But I was messing up because I was trying. And trying means the possibility of someday getting it right. I was so scared to mess up, but then you sat with me, listened, and made me realize it was even scarier not to try at all.”

“What does this have to do with …?” he trailed off, Sadie glaring at him as his voice died down. “You messed up, Uncle Jake. Bad. But that wasn’t the worst thing you could do to hurt her,” she stated, taking another deep breath. “It would be if you stopped trying to be better. Stopped trying altogether.”

Sadie thought about what Jake just told her about his family. Then she thought about everything that had happened over the last few weeks, the question she had once asked you about, the one that had plagued her until you made her recognize the truth.

"You're not your father, Uncle Jake. You're you.”

Jake couldn’t help the tears, as treacherous as they were, from pooling in his eyes as he lowered his head. He felt a tightness in his chest, a mixture of gratitude and pain, before he grimaced stiffly, huffing out, "It's a pretty messed up world we live in.”

Sadie didn't hesitate when she replied, "I'm almost eleven, Uncle Jake. I don't understand the world at all." Her bottom lip started to tremble, her eyes watering as she let out a sniffle. "But I know you never know when you'll say I love you for the last time."

Jake knew she was referring to her mom, her sudden death that night. But her words hit Jake differently. He recalled the moment he stood on Penny's porch and decided he'd try to take his chance with you.

You were still his possibility of someday. That had never changed. Like he thought then, time was something he was never promised. It was time spent well in the weeks he lived with you and Sadie. Small moments meaning the world, whether it was staying up to play a game with Sadie or waking up to see you sprawled out across his chest.

They were moments he thought he'd never have. Now that he had them, he was left wondering if he should spare you the heartbreak that came with loving someone like him.

Sadie's admission, and words of advice, were more damning than she knew.

He looked up from the sand to peer hesitantly at her face, not surprised to find another remark about to pass her lips.

"If you can't say you're sorry, my Aunt and I don't need to add somebody else to the list of people who've hurt us. So if you want to leave, go ahead but stay away," Sadie remarked, hiccuping as fresh tears streaming down her face.

Every word Sadie uttered hit deeper than any shitty remark his father or brother could throw back in his face. The façade he built, in the face of every slight to his character, was no match for a ten-year-old who had the ability to see through everyone's bullshit, including his.

He couldn't manage a reply. She had given him blows no physical assault could ever imagine reaching.

Sadie saw Jake's silence as a chance to leave. Aunt Nat wouldn't be gone for much longer, and she knew if she weren't with Uncle Bob soon, she'd cause a panic. She got up, rubbing the dirt from her hands, standing over the conflicted aviator with a face marred by sand dust and tears.

Sadie stepped forward to leave. But at the last second, she whipped around in a move that reminded him so much of you. Her voice was firm, scathing even, adding with a note of finality, “I won't be the one to stop you from leaving. And I won’t be the one to welcome you back either if you change your mind. If you're gone, stay gone. We can survive without you."

After shooting him a hateful glare, Sadie left Jake sitting in the sand, staring after her. She wiped her eyes as she ran, finding Bob sitting at the nearby bonfire with the rest of the team. He pulled her into his arms with a laugh, instantly handing over his marshmallow-topped stick with a smile as Sadie giggled, her sadness disappearing as she roasted Bob on the quality of his marshmallow.

Jake threw his head back to the sky, still kneeling in the sand, fighting the knot in his throat.

Damn, George.

Damn, his father.

Damn, Bradley.

Damn, you.

And in some ways, despite not wanting to admit it…

Damn, Sadie.

He didn't know how to make this right. But he wanted to. He had to.

That had to be enough.

Right?

.... Ouch, Jake... And OUCH, SADIE!

Tags:

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-Wickett ;)

Part 17 - Come a little bit Closer coming soon.

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lumosandnoxwriting · 10 months ago

Text

flashback to my mistakes || George Weasley

Title: flashback to my mistakes Pairing: George x Reader Summary: George never planned on proposing marriage. Not after he broke the heart of the only woman he ever saw himself marrying. But when he’s up for Captain and the only thing standing in his way is a less than stellar reputation, he’s willing to do anything to overcome that. So when Fred suggests a fake dating scheme like all the romance books his girlfriend reads, George immediately agrees. What better way to show people he’s a serious role model than a lifelong commitment? Too bad the only woman he could even stomach pretending to be engaged to hates his guts. Or does she?

A/N:And here it is! The first part of my new hockey!george series! Hope you enjoy!

“Weasley,” Coach Morris greets as George steps into his office. George nods in response, settling into one of the chairs facing Coach’s desk when the other man motions for him to sit. “Thanks for coming to see me on such short notice.”

“Of course, Coach,” George responds, keeping it brief. He’s trying to exude a casual, confident aura to hide the fact that he’s freaking the fuck out on the inside. Getting called into the Coach's office during the season is one thing, but having him schedule a last minute meeting a week before pre-season is utterly terrifying. The fact that his Agent and a representative from Legal aren’t in attendance is the only thing keeping George from a full on panic attack.

As long as his spot on the team is safe George doesn’t care what Coach might have to say.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you in today, and as much as I want to see you sweat a bit I’ll leave the torture for the ice,” Morris teases with a laugh. George doesn’t think he’s heard Coach laugh in the five years he’s been with the Rebels, so he manages to squeak out a chuckle. “As you know, Crawford retired at the end of the last season and the team is in need of a new captain.”

George clenches his fists, feeling like his stomach might fall out of his ass. As the center to Crawford’s right wing, George had been devastated when they lost in the second round of playoffs and Tyler announced his retirement in the locker room after. Losing a teammate is always hard, but Tyler had become like a big brother to George and he didn’t even think about the fact that he wasn’t just losing a good friend, but a captain as well.

Until now.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” George says honestly when Coach doesn’t continue. “I was more worried about who was going to replace Tyler on my line.”

Coach laughs again, shocking George just as much as the first time. “Well at any rate, the team is in need of a solid Captain. We lost a few other vets to trades and we’ve got a slew of rookies coming in who will need someone dependable to look up to as a role model. And to be honest with you George, your name has come up more than once.”

“Oh, wow,” George stutters out. “Just being considered for a position like that is an honor, Coach.”

George is not the most senior player on the team, so the fact that his name has been brought up in these discussions is truly a shock. He’s spent the last six years in the league working his ass off to try and make a name for himself playing the sport he loves. His rookie year he was placed on the third line, and every spare second of his time has been spent trying to improve in the hopes of moving up.

It’s why he’s still around, even in the off season. Even when the team is on break George is training. Whether it’s in the weight room or on the ice, George is always working hard to stay fit and on top of his game. And clearly it’s paid off, since he was promoted to second line during his second season, and half way through his third Coach bumped him up to first. The feeling of being the first person on the ice is like nothing he’s ever felt, and George has worked his ass off to keep that privilege.

And just the thought of having that capital C on his jersey as well has George feeling higher than any drug ever could.

“Final decisions haven’t been made yet, but I wanted to pull you in to let you know you were being considered because, well,” Coach pauses, and George thinks he might throw up. “Some of the administration thinks you’re still a little too fresh. You know I don’t like to listen to the shit some of those magazines publish, but not everyone who makes these decisions is the same way. And what you do or who you do off the ice is none of our business, but that doesn’t mean that the admin team likes hearing about the wild parties you go to and the girls you take home. Like I said they’re really looking for someone dependable and who can be a good role model to the younger guys on the team. We got so close to the Cup last year, and this year we’ve got the talent to get there, we just need the leadership to guide us.”

George nods in understanding. “Of course, Coach. I appreciate the heads up and the ability to show you and the rest of the admins that there’s no other man for the job but me. All that shit is in my past, I promise.”

“Good.” Coach starts to ruffle through the paperwork in front of him, and George takes that as a goodbye.

He shuffles out of the office and heads back down towards the parking lot, already trying to formulate a plan.

Now that him being Captain is on the table, there’s no way he’s stopping until that capital C is his.

“So let me get this straight,” Fred starts, his familiar voice tinged with the tinny sound of a FaceTime call. “Coach said you’re on the short list for Captain, but some of the higher ups don’t think you’re a stable enough role model.”

George nods, taking a sip of his beer. “Precisely.”

“So now you’re trying to think up some kind of plan or scheme to convince everyone that your fuck boy days are in the past and you’re ready to be the team Daddy?”

“Yup, you got it.”

Even through the grainy call George can see the mischievous glint in his twin’s eyes. “Then you’ve come to the right place, little bro.”

George grins, but he knows it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The only downside of his job and his dedication to it is that it keeps him from seeing his family regularly. When your job keeps you busy for eight months of the year and you spend the other four months training for that job there isn’t much time to fly across the country for a visit. His parents and siblings still live in the small town in Washington where they grew up, and not having them close by makes the big city feel even bigger.

Under normal circumstances, Fred would be here on the couch with George. And they’d be sipping beers and scheming together. But a FaceTime call will have to suffice.

“So the partying has to stop, obviously,” Fred starts. “Or at least how publicly you do it. Same with the puck bunnies and trust me, I know, it wounds me to even say it. If I could get pussy that easily I would be fucking drowning in it, but if you want to project a new, focused and reliable persona you can’t be banging a new chick every night.”

“I came up with that on my own, genius,” George huffs. “But I don’t think that’s enough to really get through to everyone that I’m ready to be Captain.”

“And are you?” Fred asks. “Ready to be captain, that is.”

“Of course.” George is firm in his answer. “I know I can do it, and I’m just going along with some stupid scheme to show everyone else I can do it too.”

“Alright, bro, as long as you’re sure.” Fred pauses as they both think. An idea must hit him, because suddenly Fred’s eyes are lighting up. “Fake dating!”

George raises an eyebrow in question. “I’m sorry, what the hell did you just say?”

“Fake dating, it’s a book trope or whatever. Angelina is always talking my ear off about the newest book she’s reading, and it’s a pretty popular story line. You know, someone wants to make their ex jealous, or they need a fiance to get their inheritance. Bam, fake relationship.”

“Huh. That’s actually not the worst idea you’ve ever had,” George responds, his surprise evident in his tone. “A fake fiance would be the perfect cover. Shows my partying is behind me, and I’m ready to be serious and settle down. And then once I’m Captain and things have blown over, we’ll have an amicable break up and everything will be right with the world again.”

“And that little brother is how the master works,” Fred grins. “Now you just gotta find a girl. Maybe one of our past hookups.”

George frowns, shaking his head. “No, it’s gotta be someone I feel comfortable around and who I know won’t go blabbering to everyone about what’s happening. It has to be someone I might actually consider spending the rest of my life with. Some random puck bunny is not that.”

They both sit in silence, sipping on their beers as they try and figure out who that girl might be. And when they both suddenly make contact, there isn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind that they truly are identical twins. Because George can tell by the look on his brother’s face that they’ve both come to the same conclusion.

“Y/N,” Fred is the only one brave enough to utter her name.

And as much George wants to admit that his brother is wrong, deep down he knows that he’s right. Y/N is the only girl George has ever loved, and leaving her behind is the only regret he has in life. Fuck, even all these years later, just thinking about her makes his chest ache. Swearing off commitment and marriage isn’t something George ever even considered until he broke things off with Y/N. He only ever wanted those things with her, and just the thought of even pretending to feel those things for someone else makes him sick to his stomach.

“When’s the last time you talked to her?” Fred asks when George doesn’t say anything.

“The day I left. I’ve tried to reach out a few times, but,” George shrugs, taking another long drag from his beer. “She never picked up or responded.”

“She still lives in town. If you just show up she’ll probably be so shocked she’ll have no option but to hear you out.”

George nods, reluctantly agreeing with his brother. “Looks like I’m coming home.”

“Everything looks the same,” George rumiates wistfully, his eyes roaming over the buildings they pass as Fred drives.

He hasn’t been back home in nearly a decade, and yet his hometown looks as if it was frozen in time. The ice cream parlor on main street still has the same faded red and white awning, and George swears the chalkboard out front boasts the same specials it did when he used to take Y/N there after school.

The memory of Y/N reminds him both of why it’s been so long since he came back, and why he finally did. Every inch of this town is covered in memories of Y/N, and every reminder of her cuts George down to the bone. Deep down he knows that letting go of her all those years ago was the best decision for both of them, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Well here we are,” Fred announces, pulling George out of his thoughts. But once he realizes where exactly they are his stomach drops.

Parklane Community Center, is still plastered on the front of the familiar building and George thinks he may actually throw up. This is where he learned to skate, where he joined his first PeeWee league and where he led his high school team to the state championship four years in a row.

This is also the place where he first met Y/N, when they were both six year olds teetering on brand new ice skates. They’d held onto each other, rather than the orange traffic cones all the kids had been given, and that was the start of a beautiful friendship. Y/N never did anything with those lessons like George did, but she was sitting in the stands cheering him on at every single game he played on that ice.

When they were in middle school George took Y/N to the community center for open skating on their first ever date. They’d held hands as they glided across the ice and every time she so much as stumbled George was there to catch her. After they got done on the ice they drank hot chocolate at one of the tables, their free hands still intertwined.

Their first kiss happened here too, right before George tried out for the local travel team and he was practically vibrating with nerves. But as soon as Y/N’s lips touched his all those nerves melted away, and George became the youngest member of the team.

Every moment that lead to George playing in the NHL took place here at this rink, and Y/N was there for every single one of them.

“Here? You’re sure?” George asks once he’s able to speak.

Fred nods, giving his brother a sympathetic look. “Yeah, she teaches lessons on the weekend.”

Taking a deep inhale George closes his eyes, needing to take a second to center himself. Not only is he about to see the love of his life for the first time since he broke her heart, but he’s about to ask her for the biggest favor known to man. He can do this, he knows he can. He’s just not sure if he’s ready.

Once his eyes pop back open Fred claps him on the shoulder. “You got this, man.”

Giving his brother a nod in thanks, George braces himself, throwing the car door open and stepping out into the parking lot.

Here goes nothing.

It takes George several minutes to actually make his way to the rink.

Greg, the same janitor who was in charge of the facility when George was a boy, spotted him the second he came in the door, and pulled him over into a conversation. Which ended up being a good thing, because the morning lesson was just finishing up and while they were chatting a flood of parents with their kids came rushing out of the double doors that lead into the rink. So what started as an annoying inconvenience actually turned into a blessing in disguise, because George definitely did not want to see Y/N for the first time in front of her students and their parents.

With a promise to come back soon, George parts from Greg. He stands just outside the doors to the rink for a few seconds, just taking a few more deep breaths. He’s hit with a wave of nostalgia as he approaches the rink, and it almost brings him to his knees.

There’s a long figure out on the ice, and George doesn’t need to look for long to know it’s Y/N. He’d recognize the outline of her body anywhere, and she’s just as beautiful as he remembers. She’s just gliding along the ice, not really doing anything fancy and George creeps closer to the boards. He’s drawn to Y/N, and he’s far too weak to resist the pull.

Suddenly Y/N turns on her skates, and George is face to face with the woman he loves.

Y/N stops, a strangled gasp leaving her lips as she takes in the man standing less than ten feet away. Anyone else in her position would assume that it’s Fred just stopping by to be annoying. But Y/N spent years studying the slight differences between the twins, and there’s no doubt in her mind that George Weasley is standing there. At the rink. Looking right at her.

Holy fucking shit.

He looks older, more mature and even in the faint light she can see the slight crook in his nose after it got broken in a game last season. All the times she imagined this moment, never did Y/N actually think it would ever occur. She’s spent years wishing George would come home, but now that it’s here she’s not really sure how to feel.

Especially considering the way things ended between them. It almost feels like some weird twist of fate, that George should show back up in her life here at the rink, considering it was this very spot where he left her all those years ago.

“There you are,” Y/N greets as she steps up to the boards, a wide smile on her face. She’d been trying to get in touch with George for the last few hours, and when he wasn’t at home she knew there was only one other place he’d be.

The rink.

When George just keeps skating Y/N yells out. “Hey! I’m talking to you, George!”

Ice sprays out as George comes to a sharp stop, giving up on whatever drill he’d been running. He doesn’t even bother to mutter an apology, but he does slowly make his way over to where Y/N is standing.

“What’s up?”

She frowns at him. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

“Nothing, I’m just in the middle of something.”

“Oh, excuse me,” Y/N bites. She hates getting short with George, but it seems almost necessary lately with how moody he’s been. In all the years they’ve been together George has never been this distant, and it’s starting to worry her. After they managed to survive freshman year of college apart, Y/N figured the next three years would be a breeze. But now George is about to leave after Spring Break and she can’t help but feel like she’s about to lose him for good.

Softening her tone, Y/N reaches out to grab George’s hand. “I can’t help you deal with whatever’s going on in that head of yours if you don’t talk to me about it, Georgie. You and I against the world, remember?”

“Do you remember that guy Jameson? The Agent who signed me at the end of the last season?” George asks instead of responding to Y/N’s concern. He’s been torturing himself for days on how to have this conversation with her, and even still he’s not ready.

Though George isn’t sure he’d ever be ready to break up with the only woman he will ever love.

“Yeah,” Y/N answers skeptically.

“He called me, the other day. Said some teams have been interested. Chicago’s going to draft me next week.”

“George, that’s amazing!” Y/N cheers, jumping up and down in excitement. But when she goes to hug George and he steps away from her embrace, all that joy drains from her body. “George?”

“It’s still not a guarantee, they’re offering me a contract for after graduation,” George explains. “It’s provisional, if I let myself slip they can still withdraw, and then I’ll have to reenter the draft as a free agent after graduation.”

“Okay,” Y/N drawls, a sinking feeling in her stomach. She has a feeling that she knows where this is going, but part of her is still hanging on.

“I need to focus on hockey, Y/N. This is my only opportunity to prove to myself and everyone else that I’m good enough. That I can compete on a professional level.” George exhales sharply. “I don’t have time for distractions.”

“Distractions?” Y/N squeaks out, her voice already thick with emotion. “That's all I am to you, George? After everything we’ve been through together? I’m just some stupid distraction.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” George apologizes, but he can’t even look her in the eyes. “But this means everything to me, you know that.”

“Of course I knew that,” Y/N says defeatedly, her voice breaking. “I just thought I meant more.”

George keeps his head down as Y/N leaves him behind, both of their broken hearts spread out on the floor.

“Hi,” George greets, breaking the silence.

“Really?” Y/N asks, voice firm. “Eight years and all you can say is ‘hi’?”

Her tone stings, but George knows he deserves it. He spent so much time thinking about what it would be like to see her again that he didn’t even consider what he might say to her once he did. Just add it to the list of fuck ups he’s been accruing since he walked away from Y/N all those years ago.

“I’ve never been good with words,” George explains with a shrug. “And unfortunately there isn’t a book out there called ‘what to say to your ex-girlfriend when you come to ask her for a favor eight years after you broke her heart.’”

That intrigues Y/N and she skates closer to George. “You finally came home after all these years to ask me a favor? What are you, dying?” When George doesn’t say anything Y/N feels her stomach sinking. “Holy fuck, George are you dying?”

George is ashamed at how good it feels to hear the genuine worry in her tone. Having her worry that he’s dying is the actual bare minimum, but he’ll take anything he can get.

“No, nothing like that,” he assures with a grin. “Just hear me out, please?”

Despite the million reasons why even entertaining George is a bad idea, Y/N finds herself nodding in agreement. Because she’s felt a lot of things for George Weasley since he broke her heart, and unfortunately for her love seems to be the strongest. She never stopped loving him, and even after all the years she has a hard time denying him anything.

Once she’s off the ice George helps her put her skate guards on, a simple action that has her cheeks flushing and butterflies threatening to erupt from her tummy. Y/N also takes the hand that George offers, letting him lead her over to the bleachers. Once they sit Y/N keeps her distance, sitting far enough away that they aren’t touching but so she can still feel the heat radiating off of him.

“There’s a strong possibility that I’ll be the next Captain of the Rebels,” George starts slowly, trying to find the right words. “Morrison, my Coach, said I have a lot of support. But some of the other higher ups don’t know if I’m the best role model for the team.”

“Okay,” Y/N says, her tone questioning. Clearly she’s not as devious as George and Fred, since she has no idea why George is telling her all of this.

“So I’ve been trying to clean up my image, you know? All the partying and stuff.” A knot has lodged itself in his throat, and George swallows thickly. “But I don’t know if that’s enough. Captain is a serious job, and I want everyone to know that I’m serious about it.”

“And that requires a favor from me, how?”

George sighs. “Well Fred and I were talking,” he stops, unable to keep from chuckling when Y/N mutters a quiet "this can’t be good.” “And he suggested this uh, fake dating scheme. He said Angelina reads a lot of rom coms that include it. Basically, Fred said that the best way for me to showcase that I’m a serious guy and a good role model is to uh, ask someone to be my fake fiance.”

Y/N is silent as she lets George’s words soak in, and once they do her jaw nearly drops. “Are you seriously sitting here right now asking for me to pretend to be your fiance? After everything we’ve been through?”

“There’s no other woman in the world I’d ever imagine wearing my ring, Y/N. When I think about marriage, even fake marriage, you’re the only woman that comes to mind.”

The honesty in George’s voice punches her in the gut. This is such a bad idea, and yet Y/N finds herself considering it. Because despite the pain and the years apart, sitting here with George still feels like home. All of her efforts to push him from her mind, to date other people and move on have always failed. Everything has always come back to George Weasley.

Realistically she knows that this is just going to end in heartbreak again. As soon as George gets what he wants their little charade will be over, and she’ll go back to having a George shaped hole in her life and in her heart. But the smallest part of her, the part that has read those same rom coms and knows the fake dating always turns into real dating, holds out hope that this may be their second chance.

Either this is the way she rids George from her system for good, or this is the way she keeps him in her life forever.

And Y/N will never forgive herself if she doesn’t find out which it is.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N gives George a curt nod. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

The smile that takes over George’s face takes her breath away. “Really? You will?”

“Yes, George. I will.”

Immediately George drops down to one knee and Y/N lets out a sharp gasp when he produces a small velvet jewelry box from his pocket. This is not how she ever imagined a proposal from George, but if this is all she’s ever going to get Y/N will take it.

“In that case,” George starts, opening up the box to reveal a gorgeous, simple diamond ring on a white gold band. “Y/N, will you pretend to be my future wife?”

#George Weasley #George weasley imagine #George weasley fic #George weasley fanfiction #George weasley fan fiction #George weasley AU #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter au #gw #golden

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discopaddock · 1 year ago

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MATHS - GEORGE RUSSELL

PAIRING: george russell x non-british!fem!reader

GENRE: fluff

WORD COUNT: 549

WARNINGS: none, george is once upset

George Russell always could find something interesting in people. Even if they were random people on the street in King’s Lynn. He was curious about everyone and everything.

That’s why he found himself after his own lessons in school to help younger students in maths. It was truly easy for him, he ate at mathematics.

“So, George, let me introduce Y/N to you” was said by Miss Anderson, the maths teacher. The boy smiled a little, watching a blonde girl with a book in her hands.

“Hi, I’m George, it’s nice to meet you” he spoke, extending his hand towards her. The girl shook his hand while calling her name. He thought she was cute, maybe adorable. And maybe pretty.

“So now I’m gonna leave you two, so you can study in silence. Good luck” the woman smiled, stroking Y/N’s arm. When she left, they both sat on a bench opposite each other.

“I’m terrible at maths. I'm warning you right now” she said, making George laugh.

“It cannot be that bad,” Russell said and looked into her coursebook. “Ok, so firstly you have to…” and that's how their friendship started.

George was there when she filmed her first YouTube video and Y/N was there when he became a GP3 Series champion.

“hi champ, hope youre doing well. im in [home country] with mum finally. well see each other after holidays. happy christmas champ, love you, your Y/N xx”

He really adored her. Especially her texts and voice. He sometimes caught himself that he was even watching her YouTube videos, which were filmed in [your native language], just to hear her voice but he never had told her about it.

“Hey Y/N, I'm happy to hear that your flight was safe. Merry Christmas to you too, lots of love your G💟”

Then he was promoted to Formula 1, which made both of them endlessly happy. L/N couldn't be happier than when she was with him at the GPs.

“Hey, big G, don't be so critical of yourself” she told him with a bright smile on her face. “I'll be always proud of you, no matter what'll happen, remember that” the girl added and then lended a small kiss on his cheek.

“Thanks dollface, it's just, ugh, I don't even know! I feel powerless about all of these” he announced, taking a seat in his driver's room. The girl sat beside him and put her head on his back (she didn't care that he was all sweaty, she just wanted him to know that she was there for him). “Thanks for being with me here, dollface. You have no idea how much it means to me”

“You're welcome every time, G. Don't ever forget it”

People after seeing them both in Formula 1: Drive To Survive, started to ship them. Pics of them were like on every platform: Tiktok, Instagram, or Telegram. It wasn't something that they were expecting. Y/N and George were just friends, right? For five years of knowing each other, just friends. Nothing more or less.

Well… it was an official version, which their fans knew.

They were a couple. Since George won a championship.

The truth of their relationship was a secret, because neither of them wanted any hate that their partner could receive.

masterlist

#formula 1 #discopaddock #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x y/n #george russel x reader #george russell #george russel imagine #george russell x you #george russell x y/n #george russell fluff #george russell angst #george russell blurb

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shares-a-vest · 2 years ago

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@steddie-week Day Six: True

Call him a snap. A lovesick loser. A nerd. A guy who likes fantasy stories and make-believe a little too much. An idiot who is setting himself up for disappointment and heartbreak.

But Eddie Munson believes in True Love.

He has read the stories and been swept up in the romantic plotlines of his favourites. He creates NPCs for his campaigns with unnecessarily detailed backstories with whole lives set out for them. Then he uses them to write poems and short stories he keeps safe in his notebooks for no one to see, where everyone gets a sweeping grand love story and a 'happily ever after' waiting for them by the end.

He's well aware others catch on, especially after he starts dating Steve. Yeah, an actual real-life love story sweeps him off his feet and he lets his guard down. Dustin and Lucas call him, "a pathetic lameoid". Mike and Will descend into a chorus of gagging noises. Even the guys tease him for writing song lyrics featuring admittedly, very obvious saccharine declarations. George will give a "Yuck", Gareth practically sings out his disgusted "Ew" and Jeff gives perhaps the worst reaction of all...

"Eddie... just. No."

Steve might as well be a Prince. Or a Knight in shining armour. A combination of both, maybe? Mixed in with the weapons and demon-slaying expertise of a high-stats Barbarian who runs around shirtless.

When Steve visited him in the hospital, drugged-up delirium had Eddie's mind drifting to fairytales where he lay in a nightmare-riddled slumber as a blood-stained and beat-up version of Snow White or Sleeping Beauty. Just laying in wait to be fixed by true love's kiss.

Steve calls Eddie his Prince sometimes when he's being all sappy and cute. It makes them both blush and giggle because, while it's romantic, it is also Steve trying desperately to sound impressive.

But Steve really is the Prince. Eddie insists on the matter. Even when he arrives at the trailer from a closing shift at Family Video, visibly tired with dark eyes, hair now flat and unstyled with a pained expression on his face as he blinks at a snail's pace.

"Thank god, I'm home" he sighs, voice cracking a little as he sets his keys down on the shelf near the front light switch.

Eddie snaps his book shut (A collection of Grimm Fairytales, no less), feeling all giddy at the thought Steve considers the place 'home'. But his glee doesn't last long as his homebound Prince barely toes off one of his sneakers before he clambers forward, arms unstretched in the direction of the couch.

Eddie catches him - or more, Steve collapses onto the couch and rolls into him.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he panics, brushing back the mop of hair that has flopped in his face.

"I have a headache," Steve groans, talking into his makeshift pyjama top - an old Hawkins Tigers t-shirt, "Started as I was closing up."

Steve heaves his body against the couch, resting his head on the cushion back and screws his eyes shut. He fumbles with the buttons on his polo, failing to get anywhere near unbuttoning them. So, Eddie does it for him, barely finishing on the last one before Steve pops his shirt off and flings it halfway across the room.

Then Steve starts doing the same with his belt and fly as a wash of sickly paleness drains down his pretty face.

"I'll do it," he grumbles, pushing Steve's mighty paws away.

He helps there too, willing away a blush and a dirty joke as he loosens Steve's obscenely tight jeans. He isn't exactly sure how it works anatomically, but he is growing more certain with every headache that these damn jeans aren't doing him any favours (other than giving him a tight little, very squeezable, butt).

Steve puffs out what is vaguely a laugh before he slurs, "Think this is as far as you gonna get tonight, Eds."

He gestures at his underwear peaking out from his undone jeans.

"You want me to run you a bath? Squish you into the teeny-tiny combo?"

Steve sniffs under his arm and grimaces at himself.

"'Kay," he lolls his head back on the couch.

"Anything else?"

"Can you make me some tea?"

"Tea?" he questions.

He can't help it. Usually, he keeps his queries to a minimum when Steve is like this (which has been all too frequent lately) but this is a new request.

"Wayne made me some last week when I had a migraine."

"This is the first I'm hearing of it," he says, and in lieu of a physical presence, he glares at his uncle's recliner chair.

Steve smiles at the ceiling, his eyelids softening with a light flutter as he hums, presumably thinking about this magic tea Wayne is most definitely being interrogated about first thing in the morning.

"'S'nice," Steve shrugs.

"That old man with his tea collection like he's some old English Granny."

"Stops me from feeling sick."

Eddie leans over and pecks his deceptively-hot cheek. Stinky and on the precipice of a migraine or not, Steve is still his Prince Charming. He pauses there. Steve must feel his breath lingering because his lip quirks, threatening a smile and he opens his eyes.

"What?" he asks, a teasing tone dancing in there somewhere as he blinks slowly.

Eddie takes his hand and squeezes it.

"Let me kiss you."

"Okay," Steve replies and puckers his lips without moving an inch.

"True love's kiss will make you feel better, promise," he whispers as he closes the distance between them and presses a soft kiss to Steve's lips.

Steve squeaks out a noise and Eddie can feel his frown as he murmurs, "You're so silly."

#this is pure self-indulgent sappiness sorry not sorry #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #steddie headcanon #steddieweek2023

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amazingmsme · 4 months ago

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What Do We Have Here?

AN: Finally finished the milestone celebration, & I’m already almost halfway to the next one! I can’t believe how much this blog has grown, my 15 year old self would be so shook if she knew how far she’d come. But I’m not here to get sappy, I’m here to deliver some highly requested curtwen fluff! Hope y’all enjoy the newest installment of the fake interrogation series!

All traditions must start somewhere, even the more unconventional ones. Especially the unconventional ones. Curt remembered it like it was yesterday...

He had just disposed of the remaining guards in the long hallway. The entire building had been strangely sparse, with few obstacles in his path which could only mean one thing: Owen got their first.

Damn it, he really hated when Owen got there before he did. He took all the fun out of it, only to later rub it in his face. It looked like it was shaping up to be one of those times.

That is, until Curt stumbled upon a room being used to interrogate one Owen Carvour. Oh, this was just too good.

He managed to change into one of the less bloodied uniforms from a previously disposed guard. He put on a straight face and marched in like he owned the place. All three heads snapped to look his way.

"Sorry to interrupt gentlemen, but there's been an issue. You're both needed in the lab."

"Excuse me?"

"Who the hell are-"

"Don't give me your fucking lip! Get to the lab now, that's an order!" Curt demanded in such a tone that left little room for argument. The interrogators reluctantly left their battered victim, but not before one spat on Owen before leaving. The other stared him down as he walked out of the room. Curt let them get halfway down the hall before firing two shots, watching them crumble.

Curt was sure they had been the last ones in the building, but just to be safe, he shut the heavy door, concealing them as he freed his partner.

"Perfect timing Mega, they were just about to go for the teeth," Owen quipped as Curt sauntered towards him.

"Pity. If only I'd been a few minutes late," he teased, squatting in front of him to untie his legs. Owen smirked down at him, biting back a larger grin.

"I'll be sure to remember that the next time you're in this situation," he shot back, cocking his head smugly. Curt rolled his eyes, reaching up to squeeze his knee in retaliation. He expected an annoyed huff, maybe a chuckle, but what he got in return was so much better. He shrieked and his entire body jerked in his bonds, even making the chair hop slightly.

They locked eyes, and it only took a moment for Curt to put the pieces together. Owen was already shaking his head, "No no no, Curt wait!"

"Why didn't you tell me you were ticklish?" he asked instead, cutting him off abruptly. "We could've been having so much fun together," he practically purred, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. His legs twitched in response, tugging on the rope around his ankles.

"That's exactly why, now quit fooling around and get me out of here!" he demanded, hissing through clenched teeth. Curt hummed in thought, tapping his fingers impatiently on Owen's bouncing knee.

"I don't knooooow," he drawled as he stood up and began pacing the room. "This is a very interesting situation." He didn't even bother trying to hide his smirk as he watched Owen glare up at him from his seat. "Oh come on, don't give me that look."

"Then let me out."

"On second thought- no. After all, a man doesn't get in a situation like this every day..." he mused, circling his trapped partner like a hungry wolf.

"Curt, I'm serious!"

"Oh so am I! I mean, this is a real golden opportunity here!"

"Seriously Curt, stop quoting It's a Wonderful Life, you're not George Bailey," Owen scolded as he tried to free himself, seeing as Curt would be useless in that effort. "Have you forgotten we have a job to do?"

"Actually," he corrected with a shit eating grin. "I finished it. Cleared the building too." Owen felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. "So really, we have all the time in the world."

Owen frantically shook his head, scooting the chair away from his downright evil companion. "No we don't! I'm supposed to be back at headquarters in 2 hours!"

Curt shrugged, "Alright, so you got a little tied up." He couldn't help but snicker at the pun, making Owen roll his eyes dramatically. "Wouldn't be the first time we ran late."

"Curt."

"I'll just let Cynthia know," he cut him off, pulling up the call on his watch.

"Mega, I hope you're calling with good news," came the unamused drawl through the crackle of static.

"Sure am! Just finishing up around here. But Owen and I are gonna stop off and get a beer, so don't wait up."

"Wasn't planning to." With a click, she was gone, and they were alone once more.

"I hate you."

"That's a lie," Curt said, pointing an accusatory finger and smirking.

Owen snorted, "Not right now, it's not." Curt scoffed, placing his hands on his hips.

"Oh you are so asking for it."

"The only thing I'm asking for is to be let go," he insisted, but the effort was futile. Curt's mind was made up.

"And you will! ... Eventually," Curt said, dropping his voice an octave and putting on a halfway decent Russian accent. Owen smirked in amusement, cocking an eyebrow skeptically.

"Uuh, what are you doing?" he asked, barely holding back a laugh.

"Shut up, I'm interrogating you! What's it look like?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Oh you'll be answering for a lot, actually," Curt mused. He made a show of grabbing the tray of torture tools and dragging it closer. The tiny wheels slid across the smooth, concrete floor and the sound alone sent a chill down Owen's spine. He knew Curt wasn't planning on using them, but the knowledge of their proximity and the damage they could inflict definitely made his heart race more than he'd like to admit.

Curt began rummaging through the tools at his disposal, picking them up for inspection before tossing them haphazardly over his shoulder. "Nope. Not that one. Nu uh. Too quick. No, too messy. No. No. No..." The tools clattered to the ground one after the other. Owen didn't miss the looks tossed his way as Curt showed off, clearly trying to cheer him up.

"Keep doing that, and you'll have nothing left," Owen piped up smugly. He froze and turned to look at him, a dangerous glint in his eye as he held his hands behind his back. He crouched down to speak directly in his ear.

"Trust me, that's the plan," he purred, and Owen hated how good he was at that stupid fucking accent. A deep chuckle curled around his neck, drawing his attention back to his partner.

That was a mistake, because he was met with fingers wiggling threateningly in his direction and he flinched at the sight, giving himself away. He swore under his breath as Curt laughed at him.

"A little jumpy are we?" he teased with a shit eating grin.

"Fuck you," he barked, feeling the last bit of defiance surge within him.

"Well well well, someone's eager to start!"

"Curt, don't!"

"Who is this "Curt" you keep speaking of? I'm Viktor, world class interrogator. And you will talk..."

Owen rolled his eyes, a smart ass quip on the tip of his tongue, when gentle fingers prodding his sides made him swallow the retort. He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to meet Curt's teasing gaze.

"They all do."

"That's a bit cliché, even for you, love," Owen said, tilting his head back to smirk up at him.

"Yeah well, I'm not the one tied up, so I wouldn't know," Curt shot back, slipping out of his fake accent before falling back into character. "So... What is it you were hoping to find, snooping around?"

Owen scoffed at the snide dig, but despite his growing annoyance (as well as nerves) he couldn't deny his amusement at the show on display. It was for his benefit, after all. Might as well enjoy it while he still could.

"Your mother's telephone number," he smirked, reveling in the way Curt's jaw dropped to the floor.

And then he felt hands digging into his thighs, and he was a goner.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly. What were you looking for?" Curt repeated, kneading into the soft flesh.

"Curt plehehease! Thihis ihihis stupid!" Owen pleaded through his already growing laughter.

"I told you, I am Viktor," he corrected, squeezing from his upper thighs all the way down to his kneecaps. He gasped and jerked in his bonds when he felt Curt "crack an egg" on his knees, so to speak. His fingers continued scratching his knees in that odd jellyfish-like motion.

Owen's legs twitched from where they were tied down, and he barely held back a surprised laugh. "Q-quit plahaying around! I'm warning yo- NOHO DON'T!" he barked out a laugh when Curt squeezed his knees. He threw his head back and cackled when he didn't stop, only encouraged by the sounds of mirth spilling free from his mouth.

"It would seem I've found your weak spot, Agent Carvour," Curt purred, whispering in his ear so his warm breath curled around his ear and neck. He giggled and scrunched his neck, leaning away in his chair. Curt's eyes sparkled with mischief as he cocked his head.

"Oh, what's this? Is your neck a little sensitive?" he cooed, scratching under his chin teasingly. He let out a choked snicker, slamming his chin down. Curt chuckled and pulled away. "I'll have to remember that."

"No!"

"I'm sorry, but who's the one tied to the chair?" Curt sassed, slipping back into his normal noice. Owen glared at him instead of answering, and Curt smirked. "Yeah that's what I thought."

"Curt, Ihihi swear, as s-soon as I gehet out of hehehere I'm kihicking your ahahass!" Owen tried to sound threatening through his growing hysterics, but failed miserably.

"I don't think so. See, you'll be way too tired to even lay a finger on me," Curt bragged, scribbling his fingers from his ribs down his sides, pausing to drill his thumbs in the hollows of his hipbones. Owen shrieked and bucked against the ropes that tied him to the chair. In fact, you'll be so tired I'll have to carry you out."

Owen whimpered at the threat, the blush on his cheeks darkening. Curt smirked.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he taunted. Owen's jaw dropped.

"I would not!" he denied, yelping when he felt Curt drill circles against the bone.

"Lying will only make things worse, you know," he teased, shooting him a wink. Owen sputtered for an excuse as he squirmed in the chair.

"Ihi hate you!" he giggled, tossing his head back. Curt grabbed his hair and yanked his head back to look at him, and Owen did not need to dwell on how that made him feel right now.

"Oh I'll make you change your mind," he growled, raking his fingers down his ribs. Owen strained against the ropes holding him to the chair as his laughter grew in pitch.

"Ohohokahay, okahay! You wihihin!" Owen conceded, not wanting to give Curt any more reason to torture him.

"Aw, thanks. Can you be my prize?" he asked, walking his fingers up his ribs. Owen gasped and squirmed in his seat.

"Wha- no! Absolutely not!" He sucked in his belly and barked out a laugh when Curt's other hand dug in without warning, scribbling against toned muscle.

“Yeah, well, you should’ve thought of that before saying I win,” he taunted, scribbling over his sides ruthlessly. Owen shrieked, bright laughter pouring from his mouth as he strained against the ropes tied around his body.

“Plehease, behehe reasonable!” he pleaded, bucking like a bull once Curt latched onto his thighs.

“I think I’m being very reasonable, all things considered,” he cooed, raking his nails down the backs of Owen’s knees. He practically convulsed, blushing when a loud snort forced its way out. Curt let out a gleeful, downright sadistic cackle of his own.

“I didn’t peg you as a snorter, Carvour. Didn’t peg you as ticklish either, yet here we are,” he winked at him before scratching the backs of his knees and thighs, drawing out another snort.

“There won’t be pegging of any kind if you don’t hurry and get me the fuck out of here!” He managed to sound semi threatening as he caught his breath, glaring up at Curt. He looked absolutely ravishing as the blush spread across his cheeks, his hair matted to his forehead with a layer of sweat. Curt couldn’t resist, and grabbed him by the chin, pulling him in for a quick kiss.

“I will babe, but I’m having too much fun right now. Maybe in a few minutes, I promise.”

“You’re going to regret this once we get back to the hotel.”

“Oh I don’t doubt it.” Curt placed his hands on his hips, resting his forehead against Owen’s as his breath hitched. “In fact, I’m counting on it.”

Owen heaved a deeply annoyed sigh, though he sported a sly smirk. “Fine then. As long as you know what you’re in for.”

Curt knew full and well what was in store for him, but right now, seeing Owen tied up and at his mercy, he knew any retribution he’d face would be worth it.

#curtwen #curtwen fic #owen carvour #curt mega #special agent curt mega #spies are forever #saf #spies are forever fic #saf fic #spies are forever tickle fic #saf tickle fic #ticklish!owen

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thisismeracing · 2 years ago

Text

King of my heart | MS47 | part. 05

Social media version

Pairing: hamilton!reader (she/her) x mick schumacher

Warnings: curse words, mentions of food and bike rides, fluff, not proofread etc etc. Minors DNI!

word count: 2.4k

part. 04 | series masterlist | part 06

Summary: Mick Schumacher rode a lousy wave for quite some time, so when the sky gets cleaner and the sun brighter he just knows something terrible may be in store for him. Whereas y/n was just so magnetic, and the possibilities of life with her seemed better than anything his mind could ever create, that's why, for the first time in forever, he throws cautious carelessly through the window, hoping to get to the finish line before it catches up on him.

Mick considered himself a shy person, and for some reason, he thought the fact he spoke less and heard more helped him read all rooms better. He was, in fact, quite right, but he also was very aware that his attentiveness would triple when it came to Y/n. She would walk inside the room, and his ears would perk up, his eyes searching for her, scanning her body, making sure she looked safe and happy. He did it every day Y/n would show up during training and races. She was still good at her job of not being seen that much, but Mick Schumacher was better at finding what he was looking for.

And he’s been looking for Y/n since the very first day.

That is why when she walked in that morning wearing baggy jeans, a sweatshirt, and a pair of sneakers instead of the usual heels she was testing for her collection, he knew the leaking of her presence and even more, her identity, had affected Y/n more than people would think.

Y/n waved his way and made small talk with those who came to her though she was quick to go to the motor home to work on her own assignments.

“It’s ok if we make a quick pause?” Mick asked one of the engineers who was talking nonstop to him about an improvement and some tactics. He could hear everything perfectly. However, his mind was unfocused. “To stretch and get some coffee, you know,” he clarified, and the girl nodded. She was probably looking for the possibility of caffeine.

Schumacher got up and made his way to the room inside the motor home he knew Y/n always used, and undoubtedly there she was, curled up on the sofa instead of the spacious work table. Laptop perched on her legs, eyes scanning its screen until she heard the door open.

“Hey, Mouse,” she greeted. Y/n has been calling him “mouse” after the first week when it was clear they would become, at least, close friends. She joked about his name, saying that it reminded her of Mickey, the famous mouse from Disney, and Mick, used to that, but finding it funnier for the first time, could only chuckle along and let her proceed to give him a nickname. He was Mick or Schumacher or even Schumi to some in the paddock, but he was Mouse to Y/n, which gave him a sense of intimacy. It felt like he was unique to her like they shared something that no one else did. Rationally, he knew it was probably nothing, she was this open and affectionate with most people, but he decided not to dwell too much on it. “You’re looking for Lewis? I saw him with George.”

“I was looking for you,” he stated before closing the door behind him.

“Oh?”

“You seemed sad. I was worried,” two simple sentences were enough for Y/n to close the lid of the laptop and sigh. There was something so touching about the fact that someone took the time of the day to look at you and look for you, really look, not just pass eyes and greet, but make sure you seemed happy and safe.

“I- you don’t have to worry. I just did not sleep very well tonight… I don’t wanna keep you from your work,” the way her eyes stared at anything but his own was the evidence he needed to know that she was probably brushing it off and lying.

“I’m on my pause. And you can talk to me, you know that, right?” when her big eyes finally found him Mick took a step towards the couch. “Do you wanna talk about it? Want me to stay in your company?”

“I-” she started but did not finish her sentence, eyes glued to the ground again.

“I’m your friend, am I not? You won’t bother me, just tell me what you need me to do, and I will do it. If you want me to leave, I can leave,” he voiced, and when one of his feet moved away from the couch, Y/n hand gripped his hand in a beat. The first thing Mick noticed was how cold they felt against his skin. How small they were in comparison, and then how good.

Her hold on him felt good.

They shared eye contact for a while before she offered “stay.”

And so when he sat beside her, without letting go of her hand, thighs, and part of their bodies touching, it only felt natural the way his arms encircled her shoulders, bringing her impossibly closer.

“Is that okay?” he tried to sound casual, but his voice was just above a whisper. Y/n’s perfume was richer this close, some of her curls tickling his cheeks and neck in a soft caress. Her body accommodated his perfectly, he thought.

“This is perfect,” she, too, whispered. “Add a chocolate bar or a pit of ice cream, and I would be 50% better,” it was a joke, her tone a bit lighter, and that’s why Y/n stilled when Mick moved a bit to reach something in his pants pocket.

“Not a chocolate bar, but close enough, I guess?” Mick dipped his head to look at Y/n, forgetting how close they already were. There was a beat before she looked down at his hands, a small smile on her plush lips. He could see clearly the undertones and how they had a darker color around the edges, whereas the center of her lips seemed a bit lighter. Mick wanted to trace it with his fingers.

“You have a sweet tooth too??”

Mick grinned, shaking his head, “Not really, but I like to have something sweet with me in case someone needs it, and also, I ran out of my regular granola bars,” it’s his explanation.

She stares at the plastic paper for a second, he can see how her brows knitted, and for some reason, he feels like clarifying, “It’s vegan if that’s what you’re thinking about.”

“Is it?” the smile she gave him almost pushes his body back on the couch. It was bright and big and so so so beautiful.

“Yup, they are usually the healthiest opinion or at least the easiest to know what’s inside.”

“Good for me,” she grins.

“It’s a family thing, then?” he asks in a lighter tone, and Y/n adjust her body, pushing her legs up to the sofa, which makes them impossibly closer.

Y/n opens the bar and pushes it closer to his lips. And, albeit Mick was not feeling hungry or wishing for something sweet, quite the contrary. He felt satisfied. His body would not let his mind reject food from her hands. Her figure was close, her fingers impossibly closer. So he wrapped his lips around the bar, taking a small bite. It was worth it because her lips tipped up in a small grin before directing the piece of food to her own mouth. Eating was not something attractive to Mick Schumacher until now. Until he experienced her cheeks puffing, the tip of her tongue coming in contact with her lips to gather the chocolate syrup that dripped a bit, and her neck working to swallow a bite. “Nah, it’s only me and Lewis,” she answered.

“Huh?” Mick asked after noticing he spaced out.

“It’s not a family thing. Only me and Lew are vegan. Dad loves to host barbecues, by the way,” she silenced to take another bite and then offered to Mick again. “You know, the bad part about the constant travel is that sometimes it’s hard for me to find proper vegan places where I get exactly what I’m craving. Not everyone can do vegan food. I consider it an art,” she rambles.

“We can explore them together…” he suggests, and her eyes find his face. It flushes a bit. “I usually know the city or have friends that can suggest locations. You would not be alone, get to eat your vegan arts, and I would get to eat good food,” and have your company, he almost added, because that was his interest.

Mick was a smart guy. He knew what attraction felt like, and although he never felt it quite the way he was feeling, he was starting to piece the fact that he cared about Y/n a bit more than the friendship lines would let him.

“Are you for real?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Then I’m in,” there’s a small smile on her lips that turns into a ghost when she adds, “I’m sorry for earlier, for giving you a cold shoulder, when you tried to check on me. It’s just so stressful how half of the internet is saying that I am my brother’s girlfriend, and the other half is digging shit up, ugh.”

Mick thought for a second, waited to see if she wanted to add something, and then spoke, “Maybe now that the cat is out of the bag, the best option is, to tell the truth, and ask people to give your privacy back or stop overstepping, you know? Sometimes this is all it takes, some people are going to start stuff either way, but when you are vocal about your space and how you feel about it, chances are high that at least a good part of the fans will try to respect it. Speaking for personal experience.”

Y/n sighs before dropping her head into his shoulders, one of her hands finding its way into the Mercedes logo on his shirt and tracing to distract her screaming mind.

“You’re right. I will try to do just that. Maybe it’s a good thing, after all, no more contracts about people saying who I am or if they saw me here or not. I will be able to walk around and talk with some of the guys I’m already friends with,” she states.

They stayed together, intertwined like that, for some more minutes before Mick had to leave and Y/n had to get back to her e-mails.

The next day Y/n woke up late but decided to let Lewis know she was going a bit later than usual just so her brother wouldn’t be worried. If it were up to him, they would arrive and leave together, he could always get her home, but most of the time, Lewis liked to get there early or had something to do before getting on the paddock. Y/n loved every minute of her sleep, so she chose to go on her own and, sometimes, leave with him. This morning, however, Y/n got a message from Mick asking if she was showing up, and after telling him she was probably a tad late but would be there, he suggested a ride on his bike. And it’s not that she was afraid of bikes, but she was always unsure, it seemed dangerous, kudos her brother's work was dangerous as well, but it was different, or so she thought it was, but when the bold asked if she trusted him, Y/n could only be honest and say yes.

That’s how she found herself staring at an absolutely breathtaking Mick wearing his helmet and offering her one.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Y/n voices her concerns one more time, her eyes scanning the big bike with uncertainty.

“Absolutely, I won’t let anything happen to you, c'mon,” he was so sure, and she could almost see the smile on his eyes, his lips covered by the helmet.

Y/n took some seconds trying to gather her thoughts. She would have to sit there and attach herself to Mick. Hold his waist. Trust his guidance. Let him fly through traffic.

“Y/n?” Mick asked, staring at her.

She nodded, and he brought her close by her hand, pushing some of her hair back before securing the helmet on her head.

“Comfy?” his eyes goes over her to make sure she was safe, and she could only nod again. She wanted to hug him like the other day, to feel his hands on her arms and his solid chest on her head. “Now, come on, or we will get late.”

Mick helped Y/n climb the bike and secure his backpack on her shoulders, the one she insisted on taking, which she started to rethink after noticing how much closer they would be without the thing between their bodies. She secured her arms around his abdomen, and he covered her hands with one of his after taking off.

He guided the motorcycle with one hand for what felt like a minute or so, but she did not feel unsafe or scared. Quite the opposite, his hold on her and his warmth only made her feel safer.

“There’s something on my backpack for you. Remind me to grab it when we get there, will you?” His voice was low under the gush of wind and car noises, but she confirmed and made herself more comfortable. Life was passing in a blur around them, and she enjoyed the feeling of watching everything at that speed with him so close.

Once Mick and Y/n finally arrived at the Paddock, they ran to the motorhome. A chuckle escaped their lips when both entered the meeting room Y/n used to work whenever she was around.

“I had no idea which one you would like, so I got two,” Mick opened his backpack, diving for a medium-sized lid and passing it to Y/n.

“Is that food?” she asked, a big grin on her lips.

The blonde just watched as she opened it to find two vegan cookies staring back at her. They seemed intact after the ride, thank goodness.

“Oh God, Mouse, this was so thoughtful!” Y/n left the sugary treats at the table before throwing herself in his arms. She couldn’t help herself.

Schumacher’s hands were fast to find their place on her back and waist, bringing their bodies closer and sharing more warmth. She got on her tiptoes and distanced her face a bit to let a kiss on his cheek, but somehow her plump lips ended up on his jaw, and Mick almost sighed, asking for one more. Just one more chaste kiss. One more touch of her soft lips.

Friends did that too, right?

Friends could be affectionate around each other.

He was not crossing any lines, he thought. But deep down, he knew that his mind and heart raced through any lines before his body could.

He was down deep, but nothing ever felt this good.

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

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blood-mocha-latte · 1 month ago

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luztoye 61 drabble 💖

61. “I love you. I’m completely and utterly in love with you. Please don’t get married.”

gigi this took me approximately One Thousand Years to develop and for that i apologize PROFUSELY… for some reason the prompt would Not click in my brain it was tragic. after much work and pleading and bargaining, might i offer you a rather unhinged snapshot into a loosely based princess bride fusion??

The way his steps seemed to drag across the stone of the flooring, cold and as impersonal as its master and echoing the hopeless sound of every person who’d ever been within its walls, told Joe everything he needed to know.

It was matched by the low, grinding sound of the door opening, the heavy wood of the thing heaving against the flooring as George pushed it open, then closed again.

He didn’t spare a glance towards the bed, immediately crossing the few feet over to his desk, plainer than the rest of the room and adorned only with a jeweled box.

Joe watched him, impossibly fond, before reminding himself it wasn’t the time for it. He could love him blindingly, all-encompassingly, once they were both safe.

The quiet rasp of the box ran down his numb, unfeeling spine as George opened it. Joe tried again, just as fruitlessly, to move in any way. He failed.

The dagger inside of the box was just as neatly adorned, though Joe was less focused on its jeweled handle than on the way that George grasped it, the way that he bore the fine cording of his neck to its blade with a careful hesitation that could almost be construed as melancholy.

The new consort will be dead, murdered by the opposing kingdom by morning, and the prince will have his war.

“Please don’t.” Joe said, hoarse and with some strained effort, before the dagger could get any closer to George’s neck. “It’s — you’re perfect in every way, but I’m not sure I’d like what a slashed throat would do for your visage.”

George’s head turned so fast that it almost made Joe huff something close to a laugh, painful as it may have been, as his eyes widened, shot through with the bloody setting sun that fell in through the window as he surged to his feet, chair toppling over in the process.

For always being loud, for always being brilliant and light, Joe’s name falling from his lips was quiet in comparison, and George dropped to the mattress, pressing a palm flat over Joe’s heart before even a second could have passed, dagger already forgotten at the desk.

His other hand curved along Joe’s jaw, cradling it carefully as lips pressed immediately to his own, nearing harsh and open in a quiet pant of nonsensical words of relief before trailing over his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his forehead, anything George could reach.

“Joe.” He said again, and Joe did his best to kiss back, clumsy, trying to both feel and become accustomed to George’s weight on top of him. “Joe, I thought you were—”

Joe just hummed, clumsy against the corner of George’s mouth as the other curved his palms along the back of his neck, drawing him into an easier kiss. He tried, for the thousandth time, to even move his foot, and found it impossible in a frustrating mix of numbness and ache. “I don’t know what I was.” He said, which was true enough.

He remembered The Pit of Despair, the… well, despair, and then darkness. Guarnere had summed it all up to him clumsily, wrapping up the confusing conclusion on Joe being almost-dead to his brother's killer and six fingers.

George pressed his lips to the skin under Joe’s eye, trailed back to his cheek, parted lips finding Joe’s own for the thousandth time, and Joe didn’t really care about any of that.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, still quiet. The hand on Joe’s chest shook slightly, barely a tremor, as he traced the same loving path down the curve of his jaw, kissing at the gentle space below his ear. Joe hummed, the sound more of an awkward rumble from the depths of his chest that just made George shift on top of him, chest bleeding warmth into Joe’s own from the way they pressed together.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” Joe asked, not as dry as he’d like as he shifted, managing to twitch his fingers against George’s wrist enough for him to twine their fingers together, not pausing where he pressed another kiss to the bridge of Joe’s nose almost absentmindedly.

George just hummed, closed his eyes briefly to press his forehead to Joe’s own before kissing him again. “It’s not like you to not hold me back.” He said, a careful swipe-and-parry of spoken swordplay as his eyes shone, ever present in some sort of warming joke. “How—” Another pause, this time his mouth falling to his brow, “how did you get in? Everything’s been so locked down—”

Joe grimaced, didn’t want to think about it. George soothed the expression with his fingers and mouth in well under a second, kissing him again before considering his careful crusade. “Figured I had to save you.” He said, slightly muffled as George kissed the corner of his mouth, just below his lip with a hum.

“I need saving?” The words were bright, almost like a dance, and Joe clumsily took his hand in it with a short huff, kissed back yet again entirely too clumsily.

“What you were about to do seems to tell me that you did.” It wasn’t really a joke, but George dismissed it with the soft exhale of a laugh as his mouth found Joe’s neck again.

“Oh, please.” He murmured, came back to his mouth and kissed him for longer, this time, more reverent. “I was only going to do it because I thought you were gone.”

Joe made a soft sound against his lips, managed to press his own kiss into the soft corner of George’s mouth. “We need to get you out of here,” He said, wanting the corners of George’s eyes to crinkle in the same ever laughter. “That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

George just hummed, pulled back enough for Joe to see the way that his eyes shone, something between glassy and mirth. “Well,” He said, and when he dipped down to kiss Joe again, there was a faint taste of salt. “That’s because I’m not me if you’re not there. You know you’re the same way.”

Joe made a soft noise against his cheek as George settled against him more fully, slowing his kisses if only to further sink into him. “I don’t like that.” He murmured, but didn’t protest when George just huffed, blinking rapidly and pulling away just enough to see the familiar way his mouth curved upwards.

“How can I help you, Dread Pirate?” He asked, voice settling into the more familiar swing and settle of a joke that Joe grasped onto carefully, turned over in his mind to help glide along the easy line they could walk.

“Came to crash a party.” He said. George just hummed, both hands coming up to curve at either side of his face, thumbs running along his cheekbones. “Worried I might be too late, though.”

George just huffed, shook his head briefly and pressed the pad of his thumb into the careful dip below Joe’s cheekbone. “We didn’t say ‘I do.’” He said, eyes warm and wide, dipping closer yet again to kiss the other, pressing his lips along his jaw, the hollow of his cheek, his temple, the bridge of his nose in a reverent dance. “It doesn’t count if you don’t say ‘I do.’”

Joe hummed, managed to tilt his chin upwards enough for George to understand and press their mouths together again. “What a horrendous wedding.” He murmured against the others lips, got a breath of a laugh in agreement. “If that’s the case—” A pause, as the kiss sank briefly into something deeper, “—could I say something?”

George kissed him more fully, pressed their foreheads together as his thumbs kept tracing their path along Joe’s cheekbones. “Please.”

“I love you.” Joe said and didn’t hesitate. Couldn’t, when the sun set both slowly and rapidly outside of the window and dyed George every color he saw behind his eyes, couldn’t when it was truer than anything else he’d ever had to say. George just hummed, a bit shaky, kissed him again. “I’m completely—” Another kiss. “—and utterly—” Another. “—in love with you. Please don’t get married.”

George’s huff of laughter was something Joe had heard dozens, thousands of times, had possibly dreamt of even more. He still couldn’t move, and still everything ached, but it seemed less, now. Always was less, with him.

He didn’t respond, instead just kissed Joe again, deeper. “I’d like to run with you, this time.” He said, curving over Joe enough to kiss his cheek again. Joe kissed back clumsily, as best he could, wished he could push a hand through George’s hair.

“You’re better at swords than I am, anyways.” He said, tried to find the swing and line that George loved to walk, and earned another warm breath of laughter, lips pressing to his temple before going to his lips again.

It wasn’t a denial.

They could do it. They could get away, this time.

#rie writes #these are. words lmao #i actually had a lot of fun writing this lol so if anyone is interested in seeing more of some kind drop me a line lmao #george luz #joe toye #joseph toye #band of brothers #hbo war #luztoye

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scenetocause · 6 months ago

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🧡 for norrussell please?

omg i was really hoping someone would ask for some genders georg. set in the every colour illuminates cinematic universe. this goes a bit beyond kissing so like, m or whatever.

"Hi."

George feels the bed shift, as much as Lando moving. It's light, behind his eyelids, which means he's slept in as long as the jetlag or apparently Lando will allow.

"Hello, you." Cracking his eyes open enough to see his husband looming over him jumbles his brain for a second, wondering when Lando got so big.

He seems much more normal-sized when he snuggles down onto George's chest, under the duvet, wriggling until he can lie between George's thighs. "Missed you."

It's hard, Lando not coming to every race, now. It's better for Lella, it's insane to drag a three-year-old across the world with them and she deserves better than being stuck on 14-hour flights every other week but George got so used to them always being there it's really hurting, to be apart.

"Missed you too."

Lando wriggles down on him again, like he's pleased, was worried George might not care. Even though they've been calling each other every possible opportunity, suddenly realising how much they had to say as soon as they couldn't do it casually.

Like Alex is such a fucking headache in qualifying, George never knows how he's going to beat him, until he does. Lella's getting really good at Mario Kart (and the things they don't say, that maybe it's starting to be time for her to try it for real) and Lando's got some new designs. The pygmy goats are definitely gonna have whatever goat babies are called again. Did you know Natalie Pinkham's leaving Sky?

Turns out you can get very used to having each other on tap. To picking up the conversational threads they've been weaving for years, that other people would only get tangled in.

"You can sleep in," Lando's sort of mouthing at his chest, just above his right nipple, in a kind of lazy way that feels like he's just checking George is real. "I've checked on Lella, she's watching cartoons."

"Oh really?" He can't help the slightly smug tone. Normally Lando would be bringing their daughter straight in to see George, so this means he's got other plans.

"Yeah." Lando props himself up, still strong even if he's a little bit softer around his hips, now. "Gonna fuck you back to sleep."

George knows he's a bit of a stereotype, all that British uptightness but him and Lando have always been filthy. Still, it's a shock to have Lando on top, Lando actually topping not just writhing around on a strapon or begging George to let him rub off on his abs or something.

It's getting George interestingly wet. Maybe they should try it again, when he's less tired. Just for the data.

"Ok, sounds good."

"It does, yeah?" Lando's got a bit of a cocky air to him, pleased like he knows he's turning George on. "Let me-"

George does, spreading his legs easily. It's still, sometimes, weird when Lando touches him like his but it feels safe, in their bed, in their house. Lando's big fingers gentle, where he's working them over and into George, rubbing inside him.

"Are you-" George tries to get his own hands on Lando, find his dick but he gets them batted away.

"Of course I fucking am. Do you know how hot you are?" Lando dips his head down, hiding it against George's chest. "Watched the podium like fifteen times, thought I was gonna have a wet dream before you even got back."

He can't help giggling, even when Lando's hitting the good spots and there's definitely a sense of urgency starting to overtake them. "Fuck - well, I'll try and win again, for you."

"For me." Lando sounds happy about it, mumbling into George's skin. "Fuck, c'mon."

Lando's tongue presses into George's mouth at the same time his cock goes inside him and it's easier to enjoy it, with the distraction of less complicated penetration. It's always been easy, with Lando.

They don't need to say they love each other, mouths too busy with every familiar curl of tongue, Lando's tooth gap sharp against George's lower lip. It's enough to make a man ludicrously wet, that they know each other so well. That Lando's panting, frantic after less than two minutes and has to break the kiss because he's that fucking turned on, whimpering into George's shoulder while he reaches a hand down to actually get him off.

It's over quickly, for them both, everything sharpened by having been apart from each other for what feels like the first time in forever. George forgot how much they need each other, how they'd almost started taking time together for granted.

It pulls an embarrassing sobbing noise out of him, when he comes and Lando's just as bad, sighing and whining against George's neck when his hips rabbit a few, last, jerky times. Ludicrous, is what they are. Always have been.

Lando kisses him again and George doesn't call out the fact his face is wet, clearly feeling the same emotions.

"Go back to sleep, I'm gonna take Lella to buy bagels." It looks like it takes a monumental effort for Lando to roll off him. Even though it's George who's still an athlete, he's definitely not capable of that right now, melting back into the sheets as Lando tucks him in.

"Y'should shower first," he suggests and Lando flicks his shoulder, through the duvet, for it.

"Thought I'd just wander to the bakery stinking of sex, actually." He probably won't but there's something still-cocky about the way he says it.

George smiles inton the pillow, eyes already closed, when he hears Lando add. "Bet none of them have ever fucked an F1 driver."

#emptyhalf fic

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bedforddanes75 · 2 months ago

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hold on im having ideas

matty in his lap, arms resting on his shoulders, knees bent beneath him, looking down at him.

he's telling george about something he likes, he thinks, but he really can't understand a word being said, focussed only on the way matty's eyes are big and brown and beautiful and staring directly into george's own, almost forcing him to look away, unable to hold it. he's so beautiful, hands occasionally meeting behind george's head, usually running through his hair just after doing so, pulling it straight just to see how long it's gotten.

each time he moves, george feels his stomach fizz, and his brain empty even more. he can't form a single thought. it's like matty's using up all his...brain power...for his own ranting, speaking of something to do with his records, maybe explaining how they work, maybe explaining where he got them from, maybe not even talking about records anymore, moving onto something better, but george isn't bothered either way.

he'd, usually, stop speaking after a while, then ask george if he wanted to say anything, because he would quite happily let matty talk his ear off all night if it meant he got to look at him, even if he had a speech planned, too. george wouldn't dare interrupt him, sometimes (like now) couldn't find the words to even do so. either way, he doesn't stop talking for a lot longer than he'd normally let himself.

but, when he does stop, it's because george has gone wide eyed, glossy, too, and he doesn't know why.

"are you...alright?" he asks, raising a concerned eyebrow.

george tries to stutter over a response, something like "yeah, no, yeah, i'm...fine," being the result. matty's brow sinks further.

"are you sure? you look like a fish."

that snaps him out of it a little. a fish? "excuse me?"

matty laughs, realising what he sounds like, "i meant you look like a goldfish, opening and closing your mouth like that." he looks almost endeared.

well, george can't really argue, because if he thinks about it, he probably does look like that.

matty seems to take that as a way to tell him to keep going, and so he does, and george only gets the first few sentences before he's blinded by how gorgeous he is again.

he's trying so hard not to stare at his lips, but it's so difficult, especially when they're red with the cold and from matty biting them, and he just can't help himself, letting his eyes flicker down every few seconds. if matty notices, he doesn't mention it.

it's only when matty shifts his hips a little, and george has to hide the weird, moan-like noise he makes behind a terribly faked cough, that matty notices his...state.

really, he's only shocked he didn't realise sooner.

"well, what's this then?" matty asks, smirking.

george whines, embarrassed, and covers his face with his hands, knowing that he's already blushing.

"i haven't even been doing anything! i've just been talking about my things!"

he gives matty a look. "you're sat in my lap! and you're...pretty." no matter how many times george tells him that, it never gets any less embarrassing.

he's hard, definitely, but he's refused himself the freedom to look and see how hard since he noticed the warm in his belly earlier, and now he's a little afraid to see what matty sees. he could feel it happening, knew exactly when he got too far gone to come back without matty's help, but it was just so nice to let it happen, felt too good to stop it.

matty leans down, presses a kiss to the arch of his nose.

"you're pretty, not me," he breathes, kissing again, and george squirms.

he doesn't like being watched, not really, but when it's matty, it's just so nice. when it's him, he feels more appreciated than observed, like he's seen, not just viewed, yet, still, he squirms as though there's a crowd all the same.

"well, do you want me to do something about this?" matty asks, and george nods. he feels like he's being held hostage, but safe, secure, everything nice but with the odd fear of having no release. matty always lets him, so he's not sure why he's always so afraid, but, now's not the time, because matty's shuffling forwards, and pressing somewhere that feels heavenly.

he threads his fingers into george's hair again, and does just what he was doing before, squeezes the strands between his fingers and pulls them up, looking at them like they're made from gold, and putting on the act of 'ignoring george'. he pretends to be so interested in the feel of his hair that he doesn't notice when george's hips come up to meet his own, and acts like he doesn't hear the quiet, breathy sound he gets when he tugs just that little bit harder.

but then, he gives in, looks back at george and kisses him.

george makes a noise into his mouth, puts his hand up to matty's waist as if to hold him still there.

it's not long before matty's equally as hard as george, and starting to want to grind down onto him for his own pleasure, too. and he does, he rolls his hips forward and holds himself up on his arms with george's shoulders, and george lets him.

matty doesn't let his face come too far away from george's as he moves, making sure he can kiss whenever he likes, however hard he wants, and george doesn't argue. he likes when matty kisses him, especially when he's gentle, and he's being very gentle now, treating george like he's a ceramic figure that would break if matty put too much pressure on him.

and it's like matty's in his head, because when he pulls back to catch his breath, he's smiling so softly that george can almost feel it, and then he asks, "what do you want me to do, honey?"

george tries to tell him, but the words don't come out right, partly because of how matty's still moving down on him, pressing himself into george and watching with glee as his eyes roll back a little, doing whatever he can to make it happen again.

he does manage eventually, somehow gets the message across that all he wants is this, what's happening right now, as long as matty does it harder, and he gets exactly what he wants the second matty knows what it is.

he still moves like george might crack, but at the same time, with even more strength than before, squeezing george's thighs between his own and relishing in the response.

for whatever reason, george loves the feeling of being touched through his clothes, and, angel that he is, matty lets him love it. he often does it to him just because he likes to watch, loving how quiet he gets. as much as he likes it, though, he's always slightly afraid of it, because george just...stops being able to speak most of the time, overwhelmed to the point of being forced to stay quiet or he might explode, but he checks in, and all his worries disappear, because george gives him looks that no words could equate to, begging.

but, that's those times, and this is this time, and george is still speaking this time. he's breathing the word 'please' into matty's neck, over and over and over, intermittently matty's name, too, and matty thinks it's the most wonderful thing ever.

matty gives him what he needs, kisses his face, the space below his ear, his neck, and george tilts his head to give him a better angle to work from each time he adjusts. matty would kiss him until the sun burned out if he could. he'd break the laws of physics if it meant he could be inside george fully, take up as much space as something that isn't even possible just so he could love him harder.

he settles on kissing, tasting the sweat building and kissing just to kiss, gentle pecks on his collarbones, shirt pulled down so he can get to the hot skin, charm on his chain necklace thrown behind so he can reach anywhere he pleases.

george doesn't even feel like a person anymore, he feels like an entity, a floating, glowing ball of light, with matty being the only thing tethering him to this earth. he's light and he's dark and he's warm and he's cold and he's so, so close.

"matty. matty, please."

the only indication matty gives that he's heard george is a nod, a slightly harder kiss to his neck, and then a roll of his hips that feels like it's done only to make george fall apart. if that was the intention, it's working.

"matty, i'm, oh my g–i'm close. i'm so close." he feels like he might cry, so weak, feeling so good that it's almost unbearable. he's starting to shake.

matty nods. "i know, honey, i know. you can come whenever you want, go on." he's so quiet, words all spaced out between kisses, that george can only just hear him.

he lets himself grind back up, friction from his jeans letting the heat in his stomach turn into some fire, burning through. he's so wrapped up in how beautiful matty is that he doesn't even fully realise when he's about to come, not until the last second, and as he does, he makes a weird noise, sounding like he's wrong and needs to fix something impossible to change, and then he comes.

he comes hard, just into his underwear, and matty talks him through it. he tells him he's gorgeous, tells him he's doing well, and it only serves to make george feel like he's died and gone to heaven. he feels so good that it's almost sickening, like eating too much of something sweet and feeling unwell, and he's so blinded by it that he forgets to pay attention to matty. but, regardless, matty keeps talking, cupping his face in his hands and pressing strong kisses all over his cheeks like he's trying to ground him.

he'd do the same back if he could, but just as he's starting to come down, matty comes, too, and he doesn't even get the chance to try, because he's rolling his hips into george's and collapsing down onto him, and it makes george feel slightly bad, because he didn't even think about matty being tired from holding himself up, only himself.

but then matty's wrapping his arm behind george's neck and letting him bury his face into the dark curls there, and it's all fine again. he can't care because he's completely coated in matty. he's swimming in a bath of matty. the air smells like him and he's with him and matty's there and it's all fine again. it's fine.

idk i dont wanna write anymore. make do with this. i didnt read over it and i think if i try ill just kill myself

#idk i just wrote this all in like 2 seconds #deus in absentia #gatty #i vomit every time i have to write that word #wait omg #matty x george #oh good lord #goodnight now i am Very tired #blah blah!#im kind of posting for Saving Archiving purposes but also becayse i like attention even if its Lies #cowboys matty #cowboys george #my fic

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