#Office Cleaning Miami | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

propertyofwicked · 11 months ago

Text

WAS IT REAL? - LN

lando is at risk of losing his job if he doesn't clean up his image, and his best friend needs a way of travelling the world. they come up with a flawless plan - which could not possibly go wrong, right?

based on this request! (i went a little overboard im sorry) ✧ my inbox is open! ✧

warnings - fluff, angst, small allusion to smut at the end - fake dating to lovers hehe. also, 5k words??? who am i?? (writen BEFORE the miami gp!! i needed a few days to recover lol)

the song inspo for this got removed from spotify but it is based on "was it real" by ben rodrigues <3

masterlist the playlist

✧ tell me was it real...

...or was it just pretend? ✧

“and now i’ve had zak sit me down and essentially said ‘we don’t hire slags’”

“he said that your recent behaviour was causing concern for mclarens image - not that you were a slag, lan.”

“same thing,” he argued, ”i’m 24 for gods sake, if i want to speak to women in a nightclub that shouldn’t be any of zak’s business.”

“i think it became his business when someone filmed you, in your mclaren, having what im sure was a lovely conversation with the girl sat on your lap,” she teased back, emphasising her words slightly. he huffed at, crossing his arms over his chest as he leant back into her sofa.

lando had walked into her flat 20 minutes prior, as he had hundreds of times before, threw himself down on her sofa and launched into a long rant about the meeting he had just come from.

since he was at the woking offices, zak had taken the opportunity to discuss the several occasions in recent weeks where lando had been caught in predicaments with multiple different women. when he finally left, zak’s ultimatum ran through his brain on a loop as he drove to one of his closest friends houses.

“clean your image up, or we’ll have to reconsider the possibility of you having a seat next year.”

“it sucks, lan, but i really don’t know how i can help you here,” y/n told him, moving a stack of research notes to the table before sitting cross legged next to him so that her body faced his.

y/n l/n was a newly graduated environmental researcher, who was taking a year out to decide what kind of work she wanted to pursue. she needed to travel, see the world, and experience all elements in her field before she could make that decision - but travelling was expensive and she could not afford to be in anymore debt after university.

“i have an idea,” lando announced, the realisation of what he was about to propose never really settling.

“that’s never good,” she joked.

“no, no hear me out -” he started, “i need to look like a man in a stable relationship, you need to see the world.”

“yeah? so?” she questioned, confused as to where he was going with this.

“look, it’s ok if you say no. i’m just saying - you could pretend to be my girlfriend and use the opportunity to travel the world and research your little bugs.”

“i don’t know, that seems a bit…deceitful?” y/n replied, yet the idea mulled in her brain more than she wished.

“just a few public appearances. you come with me to my races and use it as a research opportunity. maybe stay in monaco with me for a bit? let people film us being domestic and that?” lando replied, stuttering as he tried to think of more reasons - truly, he had started talking before he’d really thought it through.

“it’s tempting,” she replied slowly, “and for the last time lando, i do not study bugs, i study the environments they live in.”

“all expenses paid, travelling the world, looking at trees across the world,” he added teasingly, “- and all you have to do is hold my hand in public,” he finished, trying to summarise the arrangement.

“ok.”

“ok?”

“yeah, what’s the worst that can happen?”

✧ tell me all the places that you wanna see...

....i can take you all the places that you've never been ✧

the two of them fell easily into a natural act, almost gaining a sixth sense for cameras and fans and reaching for each other. it started small - a hand on her back, standing close to each other, being seen arriving and leaving together. but it hadn’t been enough, many pointing out that y/n had been at races and stayed with him in monaco multiple times, and concluding the two were still, just friends.

so they upped the ante. lando began holding her hand when they walked anywhere together, kissing her forehead lightly as they both pretended to be clueless to the snapping of cameras. at the last race, y/n had spotted a reporter and made a quick decision to tug at lando’s fireproof, pulling him down and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“that’s new,” he had told her, laughing lightly, but keeping his hands firmly on her waist.

“camera,” she told him, smiling up at him as he nodded.

and lando kept up his end of the deal, the two of them using the week of the australian grand prix to visit the great barrier reef.

their plan was working - the two were elated that people were finally putting the pieces together and believing the two really were together. even zak began to notice the positive effect y/n had on not only his image, but lando’s entire life.

“say y/n,” zak started as he walked up to the woman, “you work in environmental protection, don’t you?”

“i guess you could say that,” she responded, too tired to correct him, and slightly startled that he’d approached her as she sat minding her own business in the garage before the race began.

“we’re doing some work with the barrier reef group and oscar in a few days - would you consider being a sort of environmental advisor? just tell oscar a few things that he could talk about for the project?” he asked her assertively, smiling as her eyes widened at the request.

“i’d love to! but im supposed to be flying back tomorrow. let me ask lando later and ill get back to you?” she replied.

“sure,” he replied, smiling at her again before returning to his job. she was filled with excitement, it wasn’t often that she got to talk about her degree, and being able to contribute to a project of this scale was an amazing opportunity.

and her excitement only continued throughout the race, a feeling she always got watching lando compete, but overwhelmed when he cross the line 3rd. y/n ran round to join the rest of the mclaren team at the pit lane, watching as the podium cars pulled in and the drivers hopping out to celebrate with their teams.

lando climbed out, removing his helmet quickly before turning, scanning the crowd for y/n, and half sprinting when he spotted her. later, he would celebrate with his team, but for now he ran to her, pulling her in closely as he pressed his lips hastily to hers, pulled in closer by her hands cupping his jaw. when they pulled away, he kept her close to his embrace.

“im so proud of you,” she told him, smiling as he bent down to kiss her again, before rushing off to join his team.

y/n tried so hard to push away the feeling rising in her stomach - she didn’t like him like that, it was just the excitement of watching her friend succeed. so she ignored it, the same way she pushed away the feeling she got every time he calls her angel, even when they were alone.

im only here so that he keeps his job she reminded herself.

lando was distracted - he got podium, he was excited, his team were celebrating. yet he couldn’t help but let his thoughts linger to that feeling that shot through his veins when he’d kissed her. the same feeling he got every night, when she wrapped an arm tightly around his chest as they fell asleep.

she’s only here for research opportunities he told himself.

“im so proud of you,” y/n told him later that day as they left the track. wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him in to a tight hug, his arms falling naturally to hold her waist close to him. lando risked everything in that moment, pulling slightly back to look at her, before pressing a kiss to her lips.

“camera,” he told her, feeling her hesitation. her smile fell slightly before she leaned up to kiss him again. of course - the cameras, that’s why he kissed me she thought to herself, saddened slightly at the realisation.

there was no camera. they were totally alone.

✧ colours of the sky in your eyes

...fragments of the truth in your lies ✧

lando felt alone, his apartment felt so empty without her. he was happy she had the opportunity to stay in australia and do what she loves, but he couldn’t help but dwell on the flames igniting inside of him when he saw the videos of her and oscar together. it wasn’t jealousy, he told himself, he just missed her. after spending the last few months in close proximity, it made sense that he missed smelling her perfume around, or hearing the way her voice travelled through his brain.

y/n had a calming effect on him, and right now, lando was anything but calm.

which is why he found himself going back to his old ways, in a club, surrounded by women he wouldn’t remember the next day. he was too gone to remember that people with cameras tend to follow him around, capturing his every move in 4k - and he was far too gone to realise that publicly he was in a relationship, a relationship that should not include him leaving a club with a blonde.

and of course, y/n had seen the images blasted over twitter, headlines titled “cheating scandal?” consuming her entire feed. it was hard to remind herself that this thing between her and lando was not real, it was all pretend. and no matter how many times she told herself that fact, y/n couldn’t help but feel jealousy consume her entire existence.

the flat had never felt so awkward than the week before their flight to japan for the next race. she had returned a few days after the incident, lando greeting her at the door with a tight hug and a kiss to her forehead, but something was off.

“you have fun?” he asked her offhandedly as they moved to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water for himself.

“i did,” she said with a smile, though her tone held malice, “did you?”

lando’s hands stopped opening the cap of the bottle as he breathed in sharply.

“the fuck does that mean?” he replied, his tone harsh in defence.

“i was just asking if you had a good time, lando,” y/n answered, “she looked pretty, your type.”

“nothing happened, y/n,” lando told her, his voice sounding almost guilty.

“it’s ok if something did happen - we aren’t actually together,” she assured him, even though she could feel the jealousy bubbling up inside her again, “can you just be more cautious next time? im not sure i enjoy being told i deserved to be cheated on every time i open twitter.”

“im sorry, y/n, i am. i dont know what i was thinking,” he apologised, his eyes still softening with his guilt.

“clearly not a lot,” she tutted, before moving to take her bags to her room.

the rest of the week followed a similar vibe - the two of them barely spoke if they didn’t have to, making a few affectionate public appearances to show the world that their relationship was as strong as ever… oh the irony y/n thought every time she saw something dismissing earlier lando’s actions. however, by the time they flew out to japan, the friendship between the two seemed to have recovered - lando had almost sighed in relief when he saw her smile at him again.

“where you off to today?” lando asked her, pacing around the hotel room as he packed his bag for the day.

“the marina,” she replied, smiling as she pulled her coat on, “looking at the fish.”

“gross.”

“what time is qualis?” y/n asked him, ignoring his statement.

“uhh…3 i think - but you should try and get there by 2?” he told her, glancing down at his phone to see the current time. lando strode over to her, cupping her face lightly as he pressed a quick kiss to her head - this was becoming second nature to him, and she wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

“perfect!” she replied, trying to stop the nervous blush rising her face, ignoring the way her stomach flipped, “ill be there,” she added before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek and leaving the room. the moment the door closed, lando’s hand raised to touch where she had kissed him, smiling fondly at the thought.

he was utterly and truly fucked. how had he let himself fall for her? how could he continue to pretend to love her, when he really did?

y/n spent the rest of the morning in a similar state of panic, mentally shutting down at the prospect of loving lando and knowing he’d never feel the same. she hadn’t even intended to leave him today, but found herself quickly googling anything for her to do the moment she woke up with his arm wrapped tightly around her stomach and his head resting on her back. y/n needed space, she knew she couldn’t keep up their little act when her heart was slowly shattering every time he kissed her for the cameras.

so caught up in her own thoughts, she didn’t realise the time until it hit 2pm and she was stuck at the marina, desperately trying to find a taxi to get her to the track. and when she finally made it, y/n wish she hadn’t bothered.

lando was pacing angrily, talking under his breath as he checked his phone constantly - he only had 5 minutes before he needed to go down to the garage and get ready for qualifiers. the door slid open, and y/n walked through - ready to spurt out her apologies - but she stopped suddenly, sensing the anger looming in his room.

“where were you?” lando asked her, trying to keep himself calm, though the race nerves mixed with his temperament made that quite difficult.

“im sorry lan, i lost trac-”

“lost track of time? found something more interesting to do? save it, i don’t wanna hear your excuses,” he argued back, interrupting her with his ever loudening tone.

“you’d know all about ‘finding something more interesting’, wouldn’t you,” y/n replied, her own voice raising to meet his. if there’s one thing y/n will do, it’s stand up for herself, even when all she wanted to do was kiss him. dont kiss him, hit him she told herself.

“fuck you,” he spat, shoving past her to leave the room.

“at least im here!” she shouted back down the hallway, desperate for the last word

y/n stayed in the room for qualifiers, trying to stop the tears running down her face before lando returned. she hoped his anger was only heightened by his nerves, praying that after securing P3 he would return as his normal self, laughing and joking with her. in a strange way, she wanted cameras on them, she wanted him to be affectionate with her - she needed him to comfort her.

the woman walked nervously down to the garage, hoping to catch him quickly before he had to run off for media duties. maybe now he had secured a solid start position for tomorrows race he would be more willing to have a mature, sensible conversation with her.

or not.

lando spotted her immediately, pulling her arm quickly to lead her round to a secluded area outside the garage. he wasn’t angry at her, he was angry at himself for letting it get this far. he was so irritated, he couldn’t even spare a moment to see the fear in her eyes as he took in a deep breath.

he wasn’t angry at her, but he didn’t know how else to express his overwhelming emotions.

“what do you want? make it quick, ive got media to do,” he snapped, letting go of her arm as they stopped walking. she rubbed at it, her skin still burning from his tight grip.

“i just wanted to see you lan, congratulate you,” she replied softly, biting back tears once more.

“oh now you want to be here to support me?” he breathed out, crossing his arms over his chest.

“what does that mean?”

“i let you come with me to help with your career, and yet you can’t even turn up to support mine. i knew you were selfish but thi-”

“selfish?” she argued, trying to keep her voice low, “me? selfish? i haven’t got enough fingers to count the amount of times you’ve missed my important things because you were busy with your career. and have i complained once?”

“well no but-”

“but nothing, lando. i can’t even pretend to love this version of you,” she ranted, her anger being overcome with sadness, “you know what? fix your own reputation - or don’t. i don’t care what or who you do anymore,” she finished, turning on her heel and storming away from him.

he wanted to follow her, he wanted to hold her close as he apologised. lando knew he was being selfish, he knew it wasn’t fair to string her along under the pretence of saving his career. he knew he could no longer pretend, not with her and not with the public. lando needed her in every sense of the word. but duty calls, so he settles on dealing with this later, sitting her down and telling her the truth, even if it had the potential to destroy their friendship - he figured he couldn’t make it any worse.

but y/n isn’t at the track when he finishes up for the day, and she’s not at the hotel when he returns - and neither are her belongings. lando checked his phone repeatedly, messaging her desperately.

he fell to the bed, head in his hands as he tried to regulate his breathing.

she was gone, and it was all his fault.

✧ i know that you're perfect for me

…tell me that you're sorry

…won't you please just take my heart again ✧

it took a few weeks for lando to finally stop messaging her, though y/n noticed an increase in visits from max, their mutual friend, under the guise of “just checking in” on his childhood friend. y/ wasn’t stupid, she knew who was behind max’s sudden interest in her wellbeing. but max was stupid either, he knew why the two of them had taken this fall out so hard.

“you did what?” max shouted in shock.

“i asked her to pretend to be girlfriend so i could keep my job,” lando sighed, hiding his face in his hands.

“you’re stupid.”

“i know.”

“in what world was that ever going to end well?”

“the world where i didn’t realise i actually do fancy her?” lando replied quietly, questioning his own admission.

“im so stupid,” max replied.

“how are you the stupid one here?”

“stupid for believing the two of you had finally worked out what has been right in front of you since we were 13.”

lando was desperate. he needed to talk to her, he needed to tell her how he felt - but for now, he settled with knowing she was ok.

“she’s alive and healthy - and she had pizza for lunch,” max told him over the phone, growing tired of this weekly routine the two of them had started.

“but she’s doing ok, right?”

“she’s good, lan,” he reassured, neglecting to tell him the part where she cried on him about losing her best friend over a trivial, child-like crush.

“but…?” lando asked, sensing there was more.

“but - she still doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“i could’ve guessed that one, thanks mate.”

“hey dont get mean with me - im just doing what you asked.”

“i know, sorry.”

“don’t apologise to me, find a way to fix this you muppet.”

y/n was not ok, spending most of her nights alone, scrolling through social media seeing the rumours about her and lando’s supposed split - “she’s wasn’t at the race” “i saw her leaving suzuka crying” “he looks so sad in interviews”. why do they care so much? but they aren’t wrong, she thought.

she began looking for a job, but nothing seemed as exciting as the work she’d done with mclarens environmental programme - which seemed to no longer be an option. unbeknownst to her, mclaren also loved the work she had done with them - her presence was greatly missed in the garage by many, especially those on the receiving end of lando’s current outbursts.

y/n’s phone lit up the entire room, the notification cutting through the silence of her room, breaking her away from her own thoughts.

y/n was still convinced this was a trick, luring her to miami under the pretence of work so that oscar could push her head first into a trap. the thought stuck with her throughout her plane journey, as she checked in to her hotel, even up to the moment she knocked on oscar’s door to discuss the project. she was waiting for lando to appear, push her into a locked room and force her to talk to him.

“…’but if i talk to him, ill end up telling him why i ran, and how i feel about him, then he’ll reject me, laugh in my face and im back to feeling sorry for myself,” she told oscar, having finished giving him the run down for their project, and allowing the conversation to move to the elephant in the room - what had happened between her and lando.

“im sure that’s not true,” he replied, feeling sad for the girl in front of him, though he already knew most of the story from hearing lando’s self-destructive rants.

she opened her mouth to responded, but was stopped by a sharp knock at the door.

“oscar? are you ready to go?” a familiar voice called from the other side, sending y/n’s blood cold, her eyes widening in panic.

“what the fuck, oscar?” she whispered shouted, feeling betrayed.

“i didn’t know he was coming y/n, i swear, i’d never do that to you,” oscar reassured her truthfully, although slightly beaming as a plan formulated in his head, “stay there, ill tell him to meet me downstairs.”

oscar stood, moving to open the door slightly.

“hey mate - just got some things to sort out, ill meet you downstairs in 15?”

“sure,” lando nodded, turning to leave, but not before his eyes drifted into the room, spotting the same pair of flowery vans that had spent months sitting in his hallway. y/n’s vans.

lando walked down to the lobby, taking a seat as he waited for oscar, his mind consumed with the fact that y/n was here, in miami, in his hotel. why was she here? why hadn’t she told him? was she still avoiding him?

“he-”

“where is she?” lando interrupted the australian the moment he approached.

“’hi oscar, are you ready to go?’ would’ve been my response but ok,” oscar replied.

“where is she, oscar?” lando continued, determined.

“she doesn’t want to see you.”

“i know,” he replied bluntly, “why is she here?”

“y/n was invited to join mclaren as an advisor on a new climate video,” oscar gave in, replying as professionally as he could - he wasn’t here to discuss their ‘breakup’.

that’s a lie, he’s pretty sure zak asked him to do another environmental video purely to suggest that he contacted y/n to be an advisor. and he’s absolutely certain that zak, equally as fed up with lando’s attitude, was looking for a reason to bring the two back together.

“who invited her? where is she staying?” lando quizzed him as they walked towards the car, doubting he’d even get an answer.

“zak invited her, he appreciated the work she did for us in australia,” oscar replied, ignoring his second question. lando hummed in response, if oscar wouldn’t tell him, he would find out for himself.

it was only a press day, so lando split from his teammate and began his hunt for zak brown. it wasn’t hard, the man was wearing bright orange and had a laugh that could be heard for miles.

“hey zak,” he started.

“hey lando, what can i do for you?” zak asked, glancing at his at a text on his phone quickly before giving lando his full attention.

“how are you?” lando asked hastily, beginning his attempt to bombard his boss with questions till he slipped up.

“im good.”

“what are you doing today?”

“just going over some things with the team.”

“what do you think the weather will be like on sunday?”

“war-”

“where’s she staying?”

“the marriot i-” zak replied, pretending to stutter as he answered, feigning shock at accidentally revealing the hotel.

“thanks zak, love you,” lando called out as he jogged out. zak smirked to himself, replying to oscar’s message.

z → mission complete.

o → you made sure it looked like an accident, right?

z → jesus oscar i just told him the hotel name i didn’t kill him

of course lando couldn’t leave the track immediately, he had a job to do first. but the moment he became free for the evening, he was off, arriving at the hotel in record time. there were many cons to being a recognisable face, but a pro of being so famous was a hotel receptionist who barely batted an eyelid as lando demanded to know the room number of y/n l/n.

his knuckles rapped on the door quickly, his heartrate beating rapidly as he did. this could go so many ways, and most of them were not good. the door swung open, his eyes coming to look at the woman in front of him - she looked good, but she looked different, like something was missing.

“lando? what are yo- OSCAR!” she called out, turning to look back into the room, the door widening as she did revealing his teammate sat at the desk, “did you do this?”

“not me,” he replied, holding his hands up in defence. her head spun back around to look at lando, she was taking him in. he had a plaster on his nose, the curls were alive and well, and his everlasting tan ran the expanse of his skin. she didn’t want to admire him, but damn, miami was treating him well.

“go away i dont want to see you,” she announced suddenly, trying to shut the door but finding his foot blocking it.

“i know you don’t, but i need you to just listen to me, please. and then you can shut the door and never have to deal with me again,” he told her, pleading.

“oscar’s here.”

“actually, i should probably get going,” oscar announced moving to grab his stuff to leave. y/ns head shot back around, her eyes shooting daggers at him as if to say ‘dont you dare leave me alone with him right now’ to which he merely shrugged and walked out.

lando closed the door behind him, moving the two of them back into the room - y/n sat down awkwardly on the edge of the bed as he remained stood in front of her.

“what do you need to tell me?” she asked him impatiently.

“y/n, these last few weeks have been hell for me. i know i hurt you, i said some horrible stuff that you really didn’t deserve and i will do anything for you to forgive me and move past this,” he said, pausing before adding, “i don’t know about yo-”

“oh, so it wasn’t you sending max to “check in on me” every week?” she interrupted, her eyebrows quirking with her accusation.

“you worked that one out then?” lando replied, laughing slightly, relief washing over him that she didn’t seem angry at him.

“it was so obvious! since when has max ever felt the need to check im doing ok ever? let alone every week?”

“i sent him because i care about you y/n. you weren’t responding to my messages, dodging my calls,” he told her, watching her smile slightly, a blush rising her face.

“so why are you here now?”

“look, this whole ‘thing’,” he started, waving his arms to indicate he meant whatever the two of them were doing, “it started as something purely to benefit the both of our careers. but i think somewhere down the line, it turned into something more. something that should’ve happened years ago,” he told her, his heart ready to beat its way out of his chest and jump out the window.

the two sat in silence for a moment, y/n mulled over his words in her head. this is what she wanted, wasn’t it? she wanted him to love her the way she loved him. so, why did she feel so apprehensive about letting him back in?

“i know you felt it too, y/n,” lando said again, not letting her thoughts distract her too far.

“feel,” she said bluntly.

“huh?”

“you said felt. i still feel that way about you lan.”

“then why won’t you let me in?”

“you said some really nasty stuff to me, lan. really horrible stuff that had me reconsidering my entire life. you’re lucky i even let you stay. why couldn’t you just be honest with me - instead of pushing me away?”

“i didn’t know how to,” he admitted, stepping closer to her, “if i had a time machine, i would take back everything i said. id go back and slap some fucking sense into myself.”

lando now stood directly in front of her, his thighs brushing her knees lightly as his hand moved to her face, wiping away a tear she didn’t even know what trailing down her cheek. his fingers tucked a lose strand of hair behind her ear before settling on cupping her jaw lightly.

“can you forgive me?” he asked her softly, thumb stroking at her cheek.

“it’s not all your fault, lan. i could’ve said something too,” she told him.

“please just say you forgive me so i can kiss you, you idiot,” he laughed out.

“forgiven,” y/n said quickly, her head tilting so that their lips met. it was familiar, the feeling his lips on hers, but this time there was a sense of urgency. a sense of love that was absent anytime they had kissed before. his tongue swiped at her bottom lip, desperate for more which she granted happily, as her hands moved to rest in his hair, tugging at the curls lightly.

“fuck, y/n. ‘missed you so much,” he moaned out, the grip on his hair sending his mind blank.

“missed you too,” she replied as he moved to kiss down her neck softly, “even if you were a bit of a dick.”

“let me make it up to you?” lando teased, nipping at the skin of her neck whilst his fingers toyed with the hem of her top.

“there’s a lot to make up for.”

“ive got time,” he replied, pulling the fabric away from her body fully. her hands reached out, grabbing at his mclaren polo to remove it as well, dropping it next to herself on the bed.

lando laid her back on the bed, hovering over her as he continued kissing down the flesh of her torso.

“y/n i forgot m-” oscar started, barging back into the room, “oh my god, ive been gone what…? 3 minutes? how have you already taken your clothes off?” he exclaimed with a laugh.

“fuck off!” y/n and lando called out in unison, lando reaching for his top and launching it in oscar’s direction.

“ok ok, im going,” he replied, raising his hands again in defence, “stay safe kids,” he added before leaving the room, his forgotten phone now in tow.

“kids?” lando muttered, “im older than him?”

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando x reader #lando smut #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #formula 1 #mclaren f1 #mclaren #lando norris fluff #propertyofwicked

1K notes · View notes

13atoms · 1 year ago

Text

Handsome and a Genius (Spencer Reid x F!Bau!Reader)

Inspired by that one scene in x files where mulder stands like a himbo looking handsome and being the future of beauty. you know the one I mean

Summary: Spencer’s overactive brain draws more attention than it ought to on a case, and you see him in a new light. 3k words.

Contains: hostile witnesses, spencer being clueless (but an absolute babe), friends to lovers. (No offence to Florida im sure it’s very nice, reader is having a bad day, and I am far too British for that kind of heat)

The sticky Florida air had long since plastered your clothes to your skin, leaving you short of breath and with the unpleasant feeling of damp hair against your scalp. The whole team had groaned at the revelation their next case would be in the outskirts of Miami, and as soon as the plane door opened you understood why.

You were hot, and grumpy. The salty, swampy air made you feel disgusting as you approached witness after witness. There was a serial killer operating in and around mobile home parks in the area, with the two most recent murders taking place in Royal Biscayne Trailer Park, both over a week ago. While the rest the team spread out across the other crime scenes, you and your partner had been dispatched to this one.

It was a world away from Quantico: sun-bleached, dense, full of plastic and palms instead of concrete and maples. Nonetheless, the principles remained the same no matter where you were. Take everything in, speak to everyone, suspect everyone. Stepping in and out of trailers gave you very little relief from the heat, although respite from the sun pounding down on you was a welcome break.

Dr Spencer Reid stood a short distance away, shielding his eyes with his hand as he contemplated the sea of trailers around him. He’d stared around as you drove into the park, something faraway in his eyes as he memorised every detail from the safety of the SUV.

Now he stood close to you, heads inches apart as he whispered so that only you could hear. He faced one way, you the other, and you could focus on his words knowing that Spencer was watching your back.

“These things all come equipped with the same locks, at least each model does. If you recognise the trailer home, you know how to pick it. It’s fairly trivial, for someone with some basic industry knowledge.”

You hummed through pursed lips, surveying the small crowd who had gathered to gawk at a pair of FBI officers on their turf.

“And that would be true of all of the trailer parks… we know he’s got a common MO.”

“Exactly.”

“You reckon someone in the industry, then? A salesman? Maintenance guy?”

Spencer rolled his neck, stared up at the sky for a moment. His curls were long at the moment, damp at the name of his neck, a little frizzy in the humidity.

“Not necessarily.”

“It’s quite specific,” you agreed, “anyone operating as a common thief around here would have the knowledge too. We could be talking about a classic escalation – burglar to home invader to murderer?”

His eyes snapped from you to his phone.

“I’ve asked Garcia to check out any patterns in robberies, home invasions… the locks are hardly scratched. We know he wears gloves, cleans his tools. This guy knows what he’s doing.”

You nodded, surveying the street again. The sun was glinting off of white plastic, making you squint. You worried for Spencer, the heat and the light wouldn’t be doing his headaches any good.

“You want me to take that?” Spencer was saying, and you snapped your attention in the direction he was gestured.

There was middle-aged man a little way forward of the crowd, shoulders hunched, hands entwined. Nervous. He had the tan of someone who lived here year-round, not a big believer in suncream, with tanlines when he removed his hat and glasses to speak to you.

“I’ve got it,” you murmured, and Spencer nodded.

It was an unspoken part of your partnership, that Spencer liked when you started conversations with witnesses. You liked that he trusted you, trusted your skills, never questioned whether you’d done the right thing when you spoke to people.

Instead he remained a short distance away, climbing up the front steps of someone’s home for a higher vantage point to survey the place.

“Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. You said you’re with the FBI?”

The man had a tip, and it was an interesting one. A rumour spread throughout the HOA about someone trying the locks at night, the sound of metal against the doorways, silhouettes against frosted glass. A few people even had security camera footage, though nothing identifiable. It was great. You gave him your card, told him to get the footage to you asap.

It must be terrifying, you realised, to hear that kind of noise in the night. To be so close to danger, after a neighbour had been killed. The local sheriff’s department seemed frustrated by the interest the case was garnering – frankly you were amazed the story wasn’t bigger. There was no small amount of comforting involved in the conversation you had with the witness, and soon enough a few more people stepped forwards from the crowd. All seemed middle-aged, likely transplants to the sunshine state, and equally shaken.

When everyone’s stories had finished, they stood in silence for a moment. You frowned, noticing their gazes slightly misaligned.

Spencer.

He was stood at your shoulder, sharp gaze flickering across each face of the gathered residents.

“This is my colleague, Dr Reid. A few of you have already met, I believe.”

“You know,” he began, “the socio-economic factors influencing the way we think about crime in mobile home communities are fascinating. Often trailer parks are stereotyped negatively in the media, and because they are generally cheaper to live in than traditional housing estates, and that can foster a sense of shame or isolation for residents. Transient populations can also make community policing and security difficult, and anomalies in the patterns of everyday life become more difficult for people to subconsciously spot.”

You held your breath, and tried not to look worried at the reaction of the small crowd. Instead, you focused on Spencer. He was speaking with his hands a lot today.

“But I think the assumptions we tend to make about trailer parks completely overlook the very nature of living so close to your neighbours. There is a sense of community in living so closely, as evidenced by the conversations we’ve been having today. I’m not sure whether the killer understands that, or is exploiting the former theory that places like this allow for more deviations from the way we implement traditional security in communities. An unsub might hold some sort of resentment towards trailer parks, or some specific resident in his past, or perhaps he’s simply exploiting how incredibly easy it is to simply walk up to a mobile home and slip the lock open with a humble mass-produced lock pick.”

He was greeted with a sea of blank faces, littered with the occasional frown. Finally he looked to you. You caught the furrow of his brow, the way his shoulders hunched into himself, the clutching of his elbows to his body.

Oh, Spencer.

“That’s really interesting!” you tried to say, but Spencer was already backing away.

“Anyway, I’ll, um, leave you to it.”

“Thank you, Dr Reid,” you called after him, as he fled, disappearing into the shade of a nearby trailer.

Your heart ached for him a bit, but you pushed that aside. Instead, you had a sea of potentially offended retirees to keep on side.

“God, what I’d give for a brain like that,” your witness laughed, his linen shirt straining under the movement.

You couldn’t help smiling, a little relieved the tension had broken.

“It’s not often someone has a face like that and a good head on their shoulders,” one of the older ladies piped up.

You found yourself looking over your shoulder at Spencer, his profile sharp as he looked down the road, deep in thought.

“He’s certainly a rare breed,” you agreed fondly.

A number of the crowd were following your gaze, and someone in you wanted to snap them out of it. Stop them from staring.

“He actually has an eidetic memory. Once he’s seen or heard something, he remembers it perfectly, forever. It’s incredible.”

“Oh, my goodness! I can hardly remember my own email password!”

“I wouldn’t mind if he hung around me and talked like that all day, even if I didn’t understand a word of it. Though perhaps he could use a haircut…”

There was a chorus of agreement and various coo-ing which seemed to occupy the entire scale from grandmotherly to entirely inappropriate. You couldn’t help staring at Spencer a moment longer, wondering if he was truly oblivious, or simply pretending to be.

A rare breed.

You were certain you’d never met anyone else like him. Certain you felt like a better version of yourself in his company. That you’d trust him with your life, that you searched every room you entered until you saw him. Watched the elevator doors each time they opened, all morning, until Spencer walked in.

You were certain you’d felt giddy the first time Spencer insisted the two of you would work together, alone.

“Imagine knowing that he’d remember everything, forever…” one of the women was saying, her eyebrows raised in a way you didn’t particularly enjoy.

You cleared your throat, and hooked one hand over the badge at your waist.

“Unless anyone has any further leads, we’d better be on our way…”

The group silenced, and watched you dutifully. You passed out a few more cards, reiterated how dedicated the team was to stopping this killer, and gave out a few promises that there would be a police presence after dark throughout the trailer park.

When the request for any further questions was met with more glances towards Spencer, you thanked your witness, and made a beeline for the car. After only a few seconds Spencer was beside you, jogging to catch up.

“All done?” he asked, and you smiled at the question.

“I think so.”

You started the engine and both waited with the doors open for the car to cool down. The department’s penchant for black SUVs was not helpful when the sun was so vicious. Feeling the heat themselves, the group of residents had dispersed into a few groups, wandering into one another’s homes to continue gossiping.

“God, I’m disgusting,” you lamented, “sorry for the sweat-smell. I might actually take a cold shower when we get to the hotel.”

Spencer was already waving you off, leaning into the car to mess with the AC. Through the open door you saw him groan at the heat, swiping a curl from his face.

“I’m afraid to raise my arms. It’s so humid, I’m not sure why anyone would retire here. High humidity aggravates a number of chronic conditions, especially respiratory ones, which are common in older people. Not to mention the skin cancer…”

“And it ruins your hair,” you teased.

Spencer faked a gasp, and reached for a damp, limp section of his hair.

“I mean, look at it!”

You laughed, and rolled your eyes at him, nothing but fondness settling warm and tight in your chest.

Surveying the road in front of you for one final time you saw a few curtain-twitchers, but no new faces. You climbed into the car, wincing at the heat. The seatbelt buckle was burning hot, and you swore as it burned your fingers.

“I always forget about that,” you grumbled, slamming the car door closed.

“You know, if you fasten your seatbelt after you get out, it stops the metal getting hot and burning you,” Reid offered, and you rolled your eyes at him again.

“Gosh, doesn’t it get exhausting being right about everything?”

Spencer went quiet, and all you heard was the click of his own belt. After a few moments the car was cool and bearable, and your lungs felt like they could finally move again. The sat-nav happily talked away, and you started stealing worried looks at your partner once you’d returned to properly-maintained roads.

“What you said out there was really good, do you mind if we go over it again once we get to the station? I think it’s worth exploring.”

“I shouldn’t have said it in front of them.”

He was right, but you didn’t have to heart to say anything. That was the thing which made your heart twinge about Spencer – he was so insecure, and yet so self-aware, it was the worst of both worlds. Being an expert in body language was a double-edged sword.

“I don’t think they minded. Did you hear those old ladies talking about your big brain?”

Spencer didn’t laugh. He turned himself towards the window, curled up with his hand beneath his jaw.

“They were very impressed. So was I, for what it’s worth. I think we’ll make some really good progress on this profile tonight.”

He hummed agreement. Watched a vista of blurred blue and green and white going past the window. The radio was turned down to a low hum, you could hardly hear it. Silence pierced its way through and sound of mumbled songs and road noise.

“Are you okay?” you asked finally.

“I’m okay.”

You sighed. Tapped the steering wheel. Sped a little to get through an intersection on amber.

“Spencer…”

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to ruin that for you I just… sometimes I think of things and it’s like I have to tell you.

“Spencer I’m not mad at you! Not at all! I think we’re both just tired, and too warm…”

He didn’t say anything.

“Honestly, I was worried you’d heard what those ladies were saying about you and gotten upset. It was inappropriate of them…”

“I didn’t hear anything. What did they say?”

Your gaze was focused on the road, but you met Spencer’s eye in the rear-view mirror as he watched your face.

“Just that you were a handsome young man. And that they wanted you to get a haircut, which I firmly disagree with…” you teased.

Spencer touched his hair self-consciously. He was still quite curled up, leaning away from you despite his interest in the conversation.

“That’s nice of them, I suppose.”

“‘Nice’ is an interesting way of putting it, but I’m glad you’re not upset about it.”

“When I was a kid, I read a book at the library about how to tell if you’re attractive. It was for women, all about makeup and stuff, but there was a section about what made guys hot. I could never figure it out, I just always thought I looked like an alien.”

The sudden change made you sit up straight, heart in your mouth as you rolled to a stop behind a queue of traffic.

“I think everyone feels like that sometimes. Being a teenager is really hard.”

“I… yeah. I suppose so.”

“I always felt so jealous of the people who walked around looking perfect every day, confident that they were not. It just never came naturally to me.”

“Really? I assumed you were one of those girls in school who I’d be too afraid to talk to.”

You scoffed, and for a moment were struck by how little you really knew about one another. The way Spencer looked at you, looked it everyone, it felt as though he had an x-ray into every tiny detail of your life. How could he know, though?

“Of course not,” you laughed nervously.

You weren’t sure if you’d prefer Spencer knew the truth, or kept believing whatever he’d made up ini his head. You weren’t sure what any of this conversation meant. Traffic was moving. The precinct was two turns away.

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

He was teasing you. Finally he leant back in his seat, shoulders square to it, legs stretched out in the passenger footwell.

“Either way, I’m glad you can talk to me now. I’d miss it if you didn’t.”

“You might be the only person on this planet with that opinion.”

You took a moment to glance across the car at him, and caught a flash of a smile. He was joking. You released tension from your shoulders you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“I’m sure that’s not true. You’re a handsome genius, just like Barbara said.”

“Her name was Barbara?” Reid laughed.

You shrugged, and took the final turn into the precinct parking lot.

“I’ve got no idea.”

Even with the SUV in park, the aircon no longer blasting away, neither of you moved. Not for a moment, at least. A moment of peace before the chaos all began again. Just the two of you. Wherever you were, with Spencer was your favourite place to be.

“You’re the same, you know. A genius. And handsome…”

You frowned.

“Pretty! Beautiful. You know what I mean.”

“Handsome?”

In truth, you didn’t care about the words. Not at all. Not when your heart was pounding at the realisation Spencer had his gaze fixed on your lips, his eyes soft and pupils blown wide.

“Beautiful,” Spencer repeated, “You know, in a lot of languages, handsome can be translated for men and women. The word itself doesn’t have a gender. Guapa, for example, in Spanish…”

You let him talk, on and on. You decided you wouldn’t kiss him yet, while your hair was matted in sweat and Spencer’s face was brushed with sunburn and embarrassment.

“Bella is more popular in South America, though, or bonita. My favourite is Japanese, though. Kirei. To be beautiful both inside and out…”

Only a few more moments passed before Morgan arrived and banged on the glass with a wide grin and a sweat-beaded brow, announcing a break in the case. You were sorry for the interruption.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #fluff #fic #13atoms #im so sorry if this is ooc

1K notes · View notes

seb-boo · 21 days ago

Text

Sebastian Vettel Interview with NRC 🇳🇱 [2025-03-23] English Translation ↴

Sebastian Vettel felt guilty. It was the end of 2020 and he had accurately calculated his carbon output from a season of Formula 1. The conclusion: his footprint was equivalent to that of 40 people.

“I came out to about 400 tons per year. An average person emits about 10 tons, and that's already a problem.”

Vettel, 37, sits in his office in a picturesque northern Swiss village in mid-February. What the village is called, Vettel does not want the newspaper to know because of privacy concerns. From behind his desk, the four-time world champion looks out on snow-covered hills and Lake Constance, which flows into the Rhine nearby. Across the way lies his native Germany.

Half an hour earlier, Vettel arrived in his electric Porsche from his farm, where he lives with his wife and three children. After his F1 retirement in late 2022, he rarely gives interviews. But he does agree to a request from NRC to talk about the unusual transformation he has gone through: he was a Formula One driver, and is now committed to climate change.

As a racing driver, are you credible when you speak out about climate?“People can decide that for themselves. Am I a hypocrite? Yes. Are we all hypocrites? Probably. Is it about not being a hypocrite? Then you should have no footprint at all. That's not doable for myself, nor for virtually all 8 billion other people.”

Somewhere on the bottom shelf of a cabinet in Vettel's office is a figurine shaped like the nose of an F1 car, with an engraved plaque on it: Sebastian Vettel, jüngster Weltmeister. Vettel was 23 when he first became F1 champion in 2010, as the youngest driver ever - a record that still stands. He drove, like Max Verstappen now, at Red Bull Racing, and immediately won another three world titles for that team. In 2015 he left for Ferrari, to bid farewell to Formula 1 at the end of 2022 after two years with Aston Martin. Vettel won 53 races, the fourth highest number in F1 history.

Vettel stood out for more than his performance, in the sport dominated by commercial interests where, apart from Lewis Hamilton, virtually no one touches on social issues. In the final years of his F1 career, Vettel increasingly spoke out publicly about injustices, such as discrimination against LGBTQ. But most of all, he talked about the environment and climate.

He also took action. For example, he gave guest lectures on sustainability to schoolchildren and went into the stands after the British Grand Prix to clean up trash left behind. When Formula One first raced in Miami, he wore a T-shirt warning that that city would be under water in a while. He also offered the shirt for sale in his Web shop; proceeds went to environmental organization Sea Shepherd. Vettel, who earned tens of millions of euros a year in his heyday, also invested in the Swiss company Climeworks, which puts up factories that remove CO2 from the air.

At the beginning of his career, Vettel knew somewhere that there was a problem. Sometimes things struck him, like when he saw firsthand the deforestation in that country around an F1 race in Malaysia. But he didn't think more deeply about it yet: he was young, the future seemed endlessly distant and racing swallowed up all his attention. The birth of his oldest daughter, in 2014, sparked a turnaround.

“Then suddenly you hold the future in your arms. You think: I have to protect this baby. That's when I started to worry. So I started looking into it and looking for a solution. I was in Formula 1, numbers and data everywhere. If the car isn't fast enough, you fix that.”

But addressing climate change is different than making an F1 car three tenths of a second faster, he soon realized. “My first emotion then was: dejection, and a kind of climate anxiety.”

Do you still have that?“Less so. I have much more hope now, after talking to experts and reading up on things. There are many solutions to the problem. We have solar panels, wind power and hydropower. Synthetic fuels for in your car. But the problem is that we still don't feel the urgency enough.”

At the time, did you ever consider stopping racing right away?“Yes. But if I continued, I could make my voice heard more clearly. I did think: I should quit today, and go live in the woods and survive with what I can find there. That's just not going to work. We can't go back. We can fly less, take bicycles instead of cars. Great, I'm all for it. But for the big picture, a lot more is needed.”

Because of that big footprint, would it have been better if you had never become a racing driver? Or do you feel that being able to campaign publicly now outweighs that?“I don't know. If I hadn't raced, someone else would have been in my seat. I want to be modest, but I think I did reach people with my actions and projects. Although there are also plenty who say: it's a hoax. You're a hypocrite, get back in the car and shut up. Fine. Maybe they are afraid of the same things I am, but just express it differently.”

When it dawned on him that he himself was also part of the climate problem, Vettel started “slightly obsessively” keeping track of everything. “Which flights did I take? What rides did I take to the airport, from the hotel to the track? In what kind of car? From what year of manufacture?”

That's how he ended up with 400 tons. “Then you think: you really are a problem for the planet. Then I changed course. I looked at what was worst on my list. I was still flying in private jets then. Was that really necessary? Or could I just get on a scheduled flight with 150 others? Yes, so I stopped private flights altogether. And when I could, I went to races by car. Belgium, Spain. Sometimes also by train. To Italy, for example, when I drove for Ferrari. I said: I take the train, to which they responded: you are a Ferrari driver. Ferrari drivers don't come by train. But I can be stubborn. Long story short: that's how I got my footprint down to 60 tons."

“But of course I was in a privileged position. I made a lot of money, could stop whenever I wanted. Had all the choices. It doesn't work if you start pointing your finger at people who toil very hard to make ends meet and saying, how dare you fly to Thailand? I don't believe in that culture of blaming each other. It's also never going to work to explain to people that they have to give things up.”

Do we have to give things up?“We will have to change. That's what's different. We have to become aware of the problem and understand it. I gave up fast and comfortable travel because I was aware that we have a problem. That's why awareness is so important. But that doesn't mean we should dictate people's choices.”

Does it worry you that that awareness is difficult as more and more people vote for political parties that deny the problem?“Yes. We've made so much progress, and it feels like it's stalled now. That's a danger, and I don't know the answer to it either. All those screamers who shout: follow me, I have the solution, don't let any more foreigners in. Ultimately, I think that comes from insecurity. Yes, we want strong leaders in politics, but we also want leaders who are vulnerable and admit that mistakes have been made."

“I think the younger generation is much more open to that. To give an example, when I raced, we competed super hard on the track. Outside the car you didn't talk to the other person, because that was your enemy. Now they race just as hard against each other, but they go party together the next night.”

"We've made so much progress, and it feels like it's stalled now. That's a danger, and I don't know the answer to it either.”

Now that Vettel no longer drives in Formula One, his life looks a lot quieter. Very occasionally he still shows up in the paddock at a Grand Prix, always to draw attention to a problem he considers important. In 2023, for example, he appeared at the race in Japan because he had eleven insect hotels erected next to the circuit, which he had helped build himself. At the Grand Prix in Saudi Arabia in April, he will host a race for women event.

But otherwise, Vettel is mostly occupied with his family and has far fewer commitments than during his career, when almost every day was filled with racing, training and promotional activities. He no longer races, does not come to his office nearly every day and does not do any other regular work.

After you announced your farewell, you said you were a little afraid of life after Formula One. Is it as scary as you thought it would be?*Laughs* “Well, I don't wake up screaming. But I made a conscious decision not to have anything in my schedule at all, and that is a challenge. The lack of structure. For as long as I can remember, I was always racing. You're still working on things after the season until Christmas, then you have a few weeks of vacation and from January everything starts again. Every year is the same. And besides that, I was used to getting confirmation every two weeks on how I was doing. You drive your lap time, and you know right away how good you are. But of course my wife doesn't give me a printout in the morning saying I was a good husband yesterday."

“I miss racing, but that's more about the competition, the challenge, than the pure driving. I think I've always been a little different, in the sense that I didn't identify as a driver as much as others. When people asked me what I did, I never just said: I drive Formula 1. Maybe I was a bit insecure, I didn't want to brag.”

Vettel can regularly be found in the clay these days: he is completing a one-year agricultural course next summer. “Since the pandemic I am very interested in agriculture, also because of the link between agriculture and climate. Not just of: I like vegetables and I want to grow them myself, but really the Formula 1 approach. There you're always looking for the last bit of performance from your car. Of course, I'm not looking for the last bit of performance from a potato, but I do want to know what the difference is between conventional and organic cultivation.”

Are you going to make that your job?“No, I don't see myself doing that full-time. But I enjoy that it's work that literally puts both feet on the ground. You learn patience, because you really do have to wait for the vegetables to grow. When you work with animals, you don't control everything. I think there are important values in such work, which I would like to pass on to my children.”

He occasionally gives demonstrations in old F1 cars, which he fills up with alternative, more sustainable fuel. This is made using green energy from biomass, as well as CO2 taken from the atmosphere. CO2 emissions are 80 percent lower than regular fuel, but the price is still about three times higher. Starting in 2026, Formula 1 will switch to similar sustainable fuels - and, in addition, half of its cars will be electrically powered.

“Formula 1 has a lot of potential,” he says. “With all the money going into it, the sport can really change. The fact that synthetic fuel is coming next year is a very good step.”

Although F1 is the sport pre-eminently labeled “polluting,” the footprint of Vettel's former biotope is smaller than that of, say, the World Cup. Formula One emitted the equivalent of 223,000 tons of CO2 in 2022, according to a sustainability brief released by the sport last year. FIFA estimated emissions from the World Cup in Qatar that same year were 16 times higher. Race car emissions are negligible - less than 1 percent of Formula One's total emissions. The real climate impact is in the logistics of the championship, with 24 races annually on five continents.

“At the end of the day, it's also not about cars driving around in circles,” says Vettel, ”but about all that travel around the world. Team members going to races. Parts being sent back and forth. The dog-thousands of fans coming to Zandvoort, Monza and Melbourne. How do they get around? Where does their trash go? How will such a race be powered? There are still many challenges there.”

Can all that be done in a sustainable way at all?“It will have to. And that applies not only to Formula 1, but also, for example, to all the concerts that take place week in, week out. We have to learn to think more circularly. Formula 1 can be an excellent example in this regard. It's not the first sport you think of when it comes to sustainability. But it is a global sport that can show people that change is possible.”

The goal of no more than 1.5 degrees of warming from the Paris climate agreement is virtually unachievable. Shouldn't we just ban Formula 1 then?“Fair question. I love this sport, I grew up with it. So very selfishly: it would be a shame if I could no longer watch it in the future. But much more importantly, what about all those kids who now look up to drivers, like I once looked up to Michael [Schumacher]? Who dream of becoming drivers too. Should we crush that dream? I don't think so.”

#I don't even care about the polo I am just looking at those hairy arms #sebastian vettel #ret!seb #rwt!seb #quotes25 #2025 #caj!seb

228 notes · View notes

bjwmastermind-writes · 1 month ago

Text

shared desk - bucky barnes x f!reader

A/N: This just came up while I was looking for a place to work, I mainly go to coffee shops but I’ve been meaning to go to one of these spaces. Hope you enjoy reading!!

warnings: no warnings are needed for this part, but keep a close eye

Follow for more fics like this or if you want to see how this story continues. I’m grateful for all the support! 💕☺️

do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own.

🔞minors dni, I don’t take responsibility for what you choose to consume.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Your job demanded a lot of time, and while the pay was excellent and the stress levels were bearable, it was very lonely. Yes, you worked with a team, but that team was scattered across the world—Igor was in Warsaw, Pam was in Miami, Héctor was in Puerto Rico, and Steven was five states away.

Working from home had its perks. If you were sick or had your period, you could just stay curled up in bed and work from there. But on days when the sky was clear and the sun was warm, you were stuck inside, staring at screens. Podcasts and radio shows became your companions, voices filling the silence as you typed away at lines of code or designed whatever the clients needed. But it had been a while since you worked alongside actual people.

You had heard about coworking spaces—coffee shops or shared offices where people in your situation could work without feeling so isolated. Maybe, just maybe, you could even make a friend or two.

That’s how you found yourself in a coworking space on a Tuesday morning, clutching your overpriced coffee like a lifeline…It had taken weeks of deliberation—Googling “coworking near me,” checking out reviews, debating whether it was worth putting on real pants. But the silence of your apartment had become too loud, so here you were.

The place was warm, buzzing with quiet productivity. People sat in clusters, laptops open, occasional murmurs passing between them. It felt... alive. And maybe, just maybe, you needed that.

You picked a seat near the window, set down your laptop, and exhaled. Okay. This wasn’t so bad.

And then, someone took the seat across from you.

You noticed him peripherally first—broad shoulders, dark hair falling slightly over his forehead, black Henley hugging his arms in a way that made her brain short-circuit. His presence was quiet but not unnoticeable, something about him was both composed and intense. He dropped his bag on the chair beside him and pulled out a notebook, flipping it open before glancing at you.

“First time here?”

His voice was low, rough—like he didn’t use it often.

You blinked, surprised that he’d even spoken to you. “Uh, yeah. Is it that obvious?”

He smirked slightly, tapping his pen against the page. “A little. You look like you’re waiting for someone to tell you what to do.”

You huffed a small laugh. “It’s been a while since I worked around people.”

He nodded as if he understood that more than you knew. “You get used to it. Just gotta pretend no one’s here after a while.”

You weren’t sure that was possible, not when he was sitting right across from you. But you nodded, pretending you were unaffected, opening your laptop and trying to focus on the screen instead of the way his fingers tapped absently against the table.

For a while, you two worked in silence.

Then, your laptop froze.

You sighed, tapping at the trackpad in frustration. When that failed, you let your forehead drop against the table with a dramatic groan.

A chuckle rumbled from across you. “That bad?”

“I think my laptop is testing my patience.”

“Here,” he said, getting up and walking around the table. “Let me take a look.”

You were about to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but before you could, he leaned down, close enough that you caught the scent of something clean and slightly woody. He pressed a few keys, fingers moving with practiced ease, and within seconds, the screen unfroze.

You gawked at him. “How did you—?”

His smirk deepened. “Secret.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, unimpressed by the mystery. “You’re one of those IT geniuses, aren’t you?”

He huffed a laugh, retreating back to his seat. “Not exactly. Just good with tech.”

You tilted your head, studying him now. “And what do you do? Or is that a secret, too?”

He looked at you for a moment, then—almost reluctantly—said, “Freelance security consulting.”

Your brows lifted. “That sounds... intense.”

A shadow of something flickered across his expression before he shrugged. “It can be.”

He didn’t elaborate, and for some reason, you didn’t push. Instead, you gave him a nod. “Well, thanks for saving my laptop’s life. I owe you one.”

He smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

And just like that, the air shifted. Less intimidating. Less unfamiliar.

Maybe this coworking thing wasn’t so bad after all.

The hours seem to pass quicker than usual. Maybe it’s the feeling of company.

You steal glances at each other during that time—sometimes catching him watching you while you’re working, other times your gaze lingers on him, completely focused on his laptop or writing in his notebook. His brow furrows when he’s deep in thought, pen tapping absently against the page, and there’s something oddly mesmerizing about it.

Neither of you speaks much, but the silence feels... comfortable. Like an understanding, neither of you had to say out loud.

Time slipped by unnoticed. The gentle murmur of voices and the rhythmic clacking of keyboards faded as the sun dipped below the horizon. You hadn’t realized how late it was until you looked up and found the place nearly empty.

Nearly.

He was still there.

Stretching your arms over your head, you sighed quietly and started packing up. The sound must have caught his attention because he glanced over.

"Heading out?"

"Yeah, I think I’ve done enough damage for the day," you said with a small smile. "Do you always stay this late?"

"Sometimes." He leaned back in his chair, stretching in a way that only made him look unfairly good. "I work better when it’s quiet."

You nodded, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "Makes sense."

As you made your way toward the door, you hesitated—just for a second—before glancing back at him. "See you around?"

His smirk was lazy and confident. "I’m here most days."

You nodded, ignoring the way your heart did something weird in your chest before stepping outside into the night.

The next day

The coworking space felt different today. Maybe it was because you had a reason to look forward to it.

You told yourself it was just the change of scenery. That’s why you left your apartment early, grabbed your usual overpriced coffee, and took the same spot by the window. It definitely wasn’t because you were wondering if he would show up.

But then—he did.

Same black Henley, same effortless presence. He spotted you instantly, and instead of taking the seat across from you, he surprised you by sitting right next to you.

"You’re back," he said, voice just low enough that it sent a small shiver down your spine.

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze. "So are you."

He smirked. "Guess we’re both creatures of habit."

A while later, he stretched, rolling his shoulders before leaning toward you slightly. “Lunch break soon?”

You blinked at him. “I—uh, I guess?”

That smirk again, like he could see the hesitation in your eyes, like he expected it. "Good. You owe me one, remember?"

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "Oh, this is your way of collecting payback?"

He shrugged, feigning innocence. "Figured I’d cash in while I can."

You bit back a smile.

“Fine,” you said, pretending to be reluctant. “But if I buy you lunch, that means we’re even.”

“We’ll see about that,” he murmured, standing up and waiting for you to follow.

You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you knew you’d already lost.

Hope you enjoyed this one-shot! 💻☕✨ I had so much fun writing this!

What do you think happens next? Does their “totally casual” lunch turn into something more?

If you’d like a part two, let me know! I’d love to explore this further (and maybe add some tension outside of the coworking space… 👀🔥).

Thanks for reading! 💛 Reblogs, likes and comments help a lot!

Let me know if you want to be added to a Taglist so you can be the first to know when the next part comes out!!

228 notes · View notes

cameronsbabydoll · 1 day ago

Note

jap rafe.

okay HEAR ME OUT ON THIS !!!!

jap!rafe was born in a manhattan hospital overlooking central park and hasn’t shut up about it since. legacy baby. trust fund from birth. his hebrew name’s embroidered on everything from his baby blanket to his moncler puffer. bar mitzvah at the pierre. dj. sushi bar. ice luge. torah portion memorized, but don’t ask him to recite it—he’ll only do it if you’re cute.

he spends summers in the hamptons, winters in aspen, and “can’t really do miami anymore” because it’s “too much of a scene.” went to prep school where everyone’s last name was either on a law firm or a building. now he’s running one of his dad’s real estate branches “for fun” and only shows up to the office twice a week—just enough to call it work.

he’s got that smug, clean-cut charm. soft cashmere sweaters, perfectly styled hair, gold stat of david necklace resting on his tanned chest like it’s part of the outfit. always smells like something expensive and barely says “please” but somehow still gets what he wants.

and he wants you—even if you’re not his type, even if you didn’t grow up in his world. especially if you didn’t.

because nothing turns jap!rafe on more than the idea of corrupting something good.

#anons ♡⸝⸝#rafe cameron #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x yn #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe obx #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron smut #jewish!amercian!prince!rafe

84 notes · View notes

fictionalreads · 9 months ago

Text

This Was Never Meant to Be What It Feels Like (Part 3)

A/N: Heeeeeeey...How y'all doing?....I know it's been a couple weeks when I said days but a part of this just did not want to be written! Also, this one is a bit of a beast, just over 5,200 words. This is the final part of this lil mini series, I hope y'all enjoy and the conclusion is satisfying for you guys.

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Armando Aretas x Original Female Character

Fandom: Bad Boys Movies

Prompt: Mike gets a couple visits, Shay has some news and Armando makes a decision.

Warnings⚠️: Cussing, Mentions of bad parental relationships, uh.... I think that's it for this one.

Mike Lowrey was no stranger to being called into back rooms for an off the books meeting. What was unusual was the CBI agent waiting for him when last time he checked none of the cases he had been part of lately had anything to warrant federal attention. Well, besides the one with his son but he had been cleared almost a full year ago now and Julie had corroborated his story. Nah, this was something new.

“Officer Lowrey, I’m Agent Garrett with the California Bureau of Investigations. Please have a seat.” She was standing at her full height on the other side of the table while gesturing to one of two chairs in the room, the only one near him. He saw straight through her bullshit tactics to make him feel like she was in charge and had the upper hand.

“It’s Detective Lowrey and think I’ll stand. Now why don’t you cut the shit and tell me what the hell you want.” Her jaw tensed and he just barely managed to hold back a smirk. She wouldn’t get what she wanted by using the same perp tricks he had been using when she was still in diapers. You can’t bullshit the bullshitter.

Coming clean, she began, “I’ve been put in charge of running a task force out in LA, similar to your AMMO squad here. Our goal is to find and stop cartel drug from entering the country, maybe stop a few murders while we’re at it.”

So this was about Armando, just more recently than he thought. Damn son of his was definitely payback for the hell he raised when he was younger. If he was back on his shit, he might not be able to help him this time.

“Sounds like a good idea. I wish you luck,” he stated, feigning ignorance as to what this was really about.

“Your son Armando Aretas has many connections on the west coast that could be useful. Figured I could use him to knock down some of my open cases.”

She clearly had found out their connection, but he still wasn’t sure what she wanted from him. “I don’t know if you’ve been watching the news lately, but my son isn’t here in Miami. He’s been on the run for the better part of a year. I don’t know where he is.”

“You’re his father.” Agent Garrett takes the chair on her side of the table. “If anybody could find him, it’d be you. You’d know where to look right?” The flattery, the subtle leading questions to confirm what she believed and the sitting gave her away.

She was desperate.

If he had to guess, those open case files were all big cases that had her boss breathing down her neck. She’d probably been given an ultimatum with her job on the line and now she was desperate to do anything that would get her back on top, including working with a wanted man.

Mike sat. “What are the terms?”

“Terms?”

“What does Armando get in exchange for helping you?”

She looked at him in disbelief. “Terms are you don’t go to prison for aiding and abetting a murderer and he doesn’t get a bullet in his head immediately. Don’t know if you know this but cops aren’t a big hit in prison and I’m betting that’s especially true for you.”

“Don’t fucking insult me, please. Aiding and abetting implies I know where he is and I’m actively helping him. I’ve already told you I don’t know where he is. But like you said I’m your best shot at finding him. I’m also your best chance at not getting your men killed and losing him again. I’m not doing this shit without some assurances on his end. So I’ll ask again. What does he get for helping you?”

She shook her head. “You know when I came up with this whole thing, I did my my research on you. Figured I should know who I was getting into bed with. Everything I read told me you were one hell of a cop, always got your guy and made Miami just that much safer. Are you, this great cop, really going to bat for a murderer like him?”

That was where her approach was faulty. She was trying to appeal to his cop side, but he was a father first. “No, I, a father, am protecting my son.”

“I can offer him protective custody, knock some time off his sentence depending on how fruitful his tips are.” She offered lightly.

Too lightly. This was her throwaway offer, the one she knew was shit but was hoping he’d take anyway. So he called her bluff.

“He won’t come in for that. He had that deal with me already. All the shit that went down last year? The bodies dropped had to be put on someone and he got ‘em since he was a convicted felon, one that was alive and a part of the mess. Not to mention he ran off and became a fugitive. He’s looking at almost double what his sentence was when I arrested him. You’ll have to do better.”

Agent Garrett seemed to be debating with herself. She let out a heavy breath,”I’ve been authorized to grant him a special deal.”

Now they were getting somewhere.

“What kind of deal?”

“The kind that puts my ass on the line.”

Something about this whole interaction was bugging him. “Tell me something. Why are you willing to put your badge on the line for someone you clearly can’t stand?”

“I don’t trust Aretas. But this isn’t about me. Its about making my city safer. His intel could be the key to shutting down major operations. He has connections everywhere, and that’s what I care about. I’m not putting myself on the line for him, I’m doing it for my city.”

“You sure you’re not doing it for your bosses? They up yo ass about getting shit done?”

“I proposed using Aretas. They were against it. Said we were cleaning up just fine but I’m tired of cleaning up after the fact and only getting low level dealers. I want to cut this thing off at the head.”

“At the end of the day that’s my son. I need to know that somebody has his back. Why should I trust that that’s you?”

“Like I said this is my proposal. My bosses made it clear that if he fails I fail. He gives me the wrong intel, he leads us astray, he turns on us, I’m fired. I’m just as invested in his success because I have something to lose too.”

“What’s the offer?”

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

“Hi, I’m looking for Mike Lowrey?” Shay swallowed down the feeling of nausea, hoping it was just the nerves making her feel this way.

“He’s not in at the moment, but I’m his wife Christine. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Shay hesitates. Could she do anything? Hell she wasn’t sure what this Mike Lowrey could do for her either. She flew all the way to Miami, and for what? Some detective Armando had left the name of in case she needed help? This was a bad idea. She knew he was a cop, and after looking him up a supposedly good one, but how could she trust him when he socialized with a murderer? Ignoring her own dalliances with the man, she could only think about the fact that Detective Mike Lowrey had sworn to arrest people like Armando, not be someone they trusted.

She felt overwhelmed for the millionth time in the past month and a half and was debating just leaving when Christine offered, “why don’t you come in? Mike should be home soon and you can wait inside for him instead of in the heat.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the heat, Christine's sweet voice coupled with the endearing British accent or the way her face screamed warmth, but she found herself saying, “yeah. Yeah okay.”

Christine opened the door wider for her to enter and Shay marveled at the inside of the house as much as she had the outside. This guy was definitely a dirty cop. There was no way he was able to afford this on a detective’s salary. What the hell was she getting herself into?

“Please have a seat,” she gestured towards the couch. It looked like it was more for the aesthetic than actual use but she was pleasantly surprised to find it very comfortable. “Would you like something to drink? I have water and that disgusting stuff my husband calls sweet tea,” Christine joked.

“Water is fine,” she replied with a smile. Shay watched as Christine stepped past a wall into what she assumes was the kitchen. The creeping sensation of nausea hit her once more. Digging in her purse and finding a ginger chew, she didn’t see Christine come back in the room with a bottle of water. Almost instantaneously she felt relief, so maybe it was all psychosomatic. Just her nerves going haywire.

“How far along are you?” Shay startled at the question.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.

“It’s okay. What makes you think I’m pregnant?”

“I saw the chew and just assumed.”

She didn’t believe that for a second. “Some assumption based off just a ginger chew. What if I just like them?”

“Honestly the chew was just the cherry on top for my assumption. You hold yourself the same way my sister held herself when she was pregnant for the first time. A bit unsure, scared definitely, but ready for war all the same.”

Well, damn. She didn’t know she gave off that much with just how she stood.

Ignoring how unexpectedly open she felt, she answered Christine’s question from before.“Thirteen weeks.” Suddenly Shay realized how this could look, a random pregnant woman showing up looking for her husband and not telling her what she wants, so she quickly explained. “It’s not your husband’s!”

Christine laughed brightly, “Oh darling the thought never crossed my mind. Mike may have once been that guy, but he’s not anymore. He’s a good man.” Shay kept her doubts to herself.

“Christine? Who’s car is that out front?” The man she assumed to be Mike Lowrey was juggling a duffle bag and struggling to get his keys out of the door, not once looking in their direction.

Smirking like it was a game, Christine replied, “It’s a rental.”

“Why do we need a rental?” He finally looked up, noticing Shay in the room. She could see his guard go right back up.

“Mike, this is Shay. She was hoping to speak with you,” his wife explained to him.

“Do I know you?” He was blunt but not unkind with his words, something she hoped would continue in their conversation.

“Mike!” Christine admonished before turning to Shay with, “Please, excuse Mike. He can bring his interrogation tactics into other parts of his life sometimes.”

“It’s okay. If a random woman showed up saying she needed to speak to me, I’d probably question it too.” She was hoping her understanding would get her some traction and not immediately thrown out when he found out why she was here.

Mike still held caution in his face. “So…?” He left the obvious question unspoken, wondering who she was and why she was here in his home.

Shay paused. She wasn’t sure how to bring it up and didn’t want to say anything in front of his wife in case she truly had no clue her husband was a dirty cop. She may have been desperate enough to find this guy, but she wasn’t going to be the one to ruin this poor woman’s marriage.

Luckily Christine picked up on her reluctance to speak in front of an audience and excused herself. “I’m going to head upstairs for a moment, give you two some time to talk.”

While Shay relaxed, Mike tensed. Once Christine was gone, he questioned her. “Who the hell are you and what do you want?”

“I was told if I ever needed anything, I should find you.”

Mike carefully focused his attention on sitting his duffle near the armchair, going to take a seat himself. He might not be looking directly at her anymore, but she knew all of his attention was on her as he spoke. “Who the fuck told you that? Better yet, why my house? Why not meet me in the station?”

Ignoring the second question, she replied, “Armando Aretas.”

Mike’s head snapped back to her. She was almost concerned for his neck with how fast he moved.

Continuing at his silence she said, “I figured you wouldn’t want to discuss him at work.”

“What about him?”

“He was in LA a few months ago.”

He first whispered to himself, “Dumbass don’t listen.” Then he spoke louder, clearly to her this time, “What does this have to do with you and why you’re here?”

She wasn’t sure where to start. How does one tell a dirty cop working for one’s murderer baby daddy that you need him to tell said baby daddy you were pregnant? “We were…together. I’m pregnant now.” She hoped he would catch on without her spelling it out but he didn’t.

Instead, Mike blinked. “What?” A million unidentifiable emotions ran over his face before he carefully shut it down, facing her with no emotion at all now.

“I am with child, in the family way, carrying a bun in the oven, whatever you want to call it.” There was still no response from him so she continued her rant, “look I’m not asking for him to come back or pay for anything. I’m fully prepared to take care of this kid myself, but not even trying to tell him was weighing on my conscience. So I figured if I found you like he said, you could pass on the message for me. I just need to be able to know I did everything I could to let him know.”

She had prepared for a lot of responses to her plea. Anger on Armando’s behalf, a dismissal, hell even laughter at her audacity, but his next words were ones she somehow missed in her spiral. “I’m not in contact with him.”

Shay tried not to be hurt at his response, not for herself, but for her baby. Okay, well a little bit for herself. She was in love with the man-yes, still- and knowing he truly didn’t leave a way to contact him again crushed the little bit of hope his note had left behind. Why would he send her to Mike if it wasn’t a way to get in touch with him? “So why would he tell me to find you?”

A pause.

“Armando’s my son.”

The statement was so far from what she was expecting to hear that she paused. “Wait so you don’t…you don’t work for him? With him? Whatever.”

Mike laughed loudly, “nah, I don’t work in that world. I stand by the badge.”

“So how did he…?” She trailed off, confused.

“Look our situation is…complicated, but if he sent you in my direction I’m gonna help you in any way I can. I mean, I’d love to get to know you and be in my grandchild’s life if you’ll let me.” His words were reminiscent of the night she had asked Armando about his family. He too had called his relationship with his father complicated.

Despite the unknown of it all, his offer was partly the reason she had found Mike. A family for her child, something she never really had. “Yeah. Yeah I’d like that.” It may not be exactly what she was looking for, but she would take what she could get. At least her baby would have some connection to their father’s side of the family. But she still had a question, one that had no answer now that her assumptions were corrected.

“So if you aren’t dirty, how do you afford living like this?”

Mike let out a laugh louder than the one from before. “I’m a trust fund kid. Never really had to work but all I’ve ever wanted was to be a cop.”

“Sounds like one hell of a trust fund,” she scoffed.

Turning serious he impressed, “One that continues to grow from a few investments made along the way. This kid will have that same freedom. They’ll be able to do whatever they want in life and never have to worry about money.”

That statement alone almost made her cry. She didn’t have much growing up, wondering if she and her mother would even be able to eat everyday. When she had found out she was pregnant, despite making more money than her mother did she found herself worrying her child would have those same experiences.

She may not have Armando, a partner she’d hoped to have, but he had made sure she had everything she needed.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Habitual but flexible.

That was Armando’s motto. Habitual in the precautions he took but flexible enough everywhere else to not create patterns. Patterns were how you got caught, and Armando refused to be put in another cage. He always double checked his locks when he left his place, checked his surroundings before leaving and arriving at his place so as not to run into his neighbors. The less people who could identify him the better.

Which is why seeing his door wide open as he turned onto his street was so unsettling.

Normally he would just leave town, dump this alias and start over with another elsewhere, but there were a few things he didn’t want to part with. Upon his first return to Mexico, he had managed to find his mother’s emergency stash and in it was a photo of the two of them before he was forced out of the prison when he turned six. Despite his conflicted feelings on his mother’s choices and the lies she told him, he still loved her and this was all he had left of her.

If she were around she’d chastise his sentimentality.

He also had a letter his father had written him when he left Miami that he kept because even with the complexity of their relationship, he still wished he’d had the opportunity to get to know him. He wished he could have done things differently. That letter may be his only chance to know his father, even a little bit.

The last thing was a photo of Shay. He had taken it one morning before he left on a polaroid camera she had lying around. The sun had been rising and he remembered wishing what they had could be real, that he could stay in bed and wake up with her instead of having to run out and lie all the time. It was the only thing he had left of the only relationship he’d ever have again.

So he weighed his options. Either he went in and fought whoever was there, grabbed his things and hopefully made it out in time to not get caught, or he left now and hoped whoever it was left without calling for backup so he could get his things before leaving town. He either risked his freedom or he risked losing the only items that reminded him of his humanity forever.

He pulled his gun and carefully made his way into the apartment he’d called home for a couple weeks.

“Don’t shoot, it’s just me.”

Armando relaxed, but kept his gun in his hand. “What are you doing here Detective?” His tone was snippy, as though his father speaking to him was a bother. He knew that wasn’t true, but it was like he couldn’t help the animosity that came out when he spoke to his father. No matter how much he’d love to try with the man, he’d just get so angry about it all that it came out confrontational.

“What? A man can’t see his son?” Mike didn’t rise to the obvious bait of his tone, instead trying to lighten the mood with a tease.

Armando simply raised an eyebrow at the deflection. “Not when that man is a decorated detective and his son is a fugitive,” he coldly stated. He needed to know what Mike wanted so he could get on with his life. Who knows how many eyes are on the man, he was risking Armando’s freedom, not that he seemed to care. Irritated at the lack of concern for him, he accused, “you risked the badge once just to let me go, you won’t risk it again, not even for me. It means too much to you.” I don’t mean enough to you went unsaid but not unheard.

“Armando I’d risk everything for you.” The fight left Mike, and he sighed, finding a seat on the edge of the bed. “You’re my son and I know I’m not the best at showing it, but that shit means something to me. Our relationship means something to me. I didn’t have the best relationship with my father so I told myself I wouldn’t have kids cause I didn’t want to repeat the cycle. But then I found out about you. And despite the fact that circumstances made it so it isn’t easy, I still don’t want the cycle to be repeated. I love you man. I’ll do whatever you need me to, to prove that to you. Including walking away if you say no to my proposal.”

There it was. The real reason he was here now, he needed something like always. Armando put his gun away in exasperation. He was so tired of just being used that he couldn’t help but get a jab in. “Whatever man. This don’t mean shit to you. It’s all transactional for you, I’m good enough to help you get what you want and that’s why you come around. So what is it this time?”

“Is that what you think? That I don’t care about you?” What the hell else was he supposed to think?

“If you did, you would have come to see me in prison without needing my help on a case.” He argued before quietly following up with, “I would have been enough of a reason to visit.” He hated when this stupid hurt boy routine flared up. He looked weak, like una puta.

Mike stood and stepped close to Armando. Refusing to back down, Armando met his stare head on, ignoring the way his throat was getting tight and tears were pooling in his eyes. “Armando I never needed you on those cases. I knew that if I could get intel from you and put you down on paper, it would help you out. I was trying to help.” He blinked and a single tear made its way down his face. It was too much now and he had to look away.

Mike placed a hand on his shoulder, continuing, “I love you. Nothing is more real than that. If I had known you would take my help as me using you, I never would’ve asked for your help.”

Facing his father once more, Armando spoke lowly, “Si lo hubieras sabido, ¿te habría importado?” He didn’t explain what he meant, knowing his father understood what he was asking.

“Nada me hubiera importado más.” Mike asserted.

He nodded, finally having an answer to the question that had been burning inside him. He focused on the reason Mike was in front of him, not the emotions his answer stirred in him. “What’s the proposal?” He asked much more calmly this time around.

“LAPD is starting up a team like AMMO. They were hoping to recruit you to be a part of it, use your knowledge to help stop cartel drugs from entering the states.”

“And go back in a cage? No I’m good.” He shook his head, a clear no coming from him.

“You wouldn’t be arrested again, you’d be put up in an apartment. Free to walk the city after an initial probationary period of just work and home. After that, there would be twenty-four hour surveillance, random drug tests and check-ins. Eventually you would become a private citizen.”

It sounded like a trap. “If I don’t give them what they want I get arrested right?”

“Yeah, but I have all the faith you’ll be great at it. Plus I made sure it was as ironclad for you as possible.”

“Why would I agree to this? Sounds like a lot could go wrong and land me back in prison. If that happens I’m never getting out again.”

“You aren’t the killer your mother made you into. You only did any of it because she fueled you with rage and ideas of revenge before she pointed you at a target. If you were really a killer, you would’ve killed me anyway. You live by a code, and only do what’s necessary. No more, no less.”

Sometimes when he was feeling really low he’d think about what his life would have been like if he’d had a normal life. Would he have chosen violence anyway? He’d like to think he’d hav e chosen to protect. Maybe be a firefighter or an EMT cause he was still an adrenaline junkie, but maybe he wouldn’t have to hurt anybody. If his father was saying the same thing he thought, then maybe he could believe it to be true. Before he could think on it, his father spoke once more, shifting his whole world.

“Besides, Shay’s pregnant. We not giving another generation of Lowrey these bullshit daddy issues.”

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Six Months Later

“Marcus we ain’t got time for that shit.”

“I just asked the man a question!”

“No, you used the question as a cover to try and buy some damn skittles.”

“Oh so now you the skittle police? I thought we worked narcotics?”

“Yo ass ain’t supposed to have that shit and you know it. Don’t try to make it out like I’m the one that’s going overboard.”

“Aye Mike what would they call the skittle department? The rainbow division? Don’t worry everybody! Mike Lowry is working the rainbow!”

“That’s homophobic.”

“It’s the slogan! What else would it be called Mike?”

“Why the fuck are you here?”

“Man fuck you-“

“Your presence really wasn’t needed-“

“I’m just trying to be a good friend-“

“This is a moment for my family-“

“And now I’m not family to you?!”

“You called my family fucked up remember?”

“Yo son was tryna kill us and his mama was gonna let us burn in a fire!”

“Are you pendejos done?”

“Mike! That mean assholes right?”

“Yeah he just called us assholes. But Imma let it slide cause he got to be high on that new father shit to call me an asshole.”

“Nah I just think he don’t respect you. That’s what you get for not raising him. My boys would never.”

“Marcus!”

Shay knew this could devolve again if she didn’t get their attention. “Guys! Do you want to meet her?”

The men focused their attention on the baby Shay was holding against her chest. Marcus visibly melted at the sight, Mike simply softening his shoulders with a small smile.

Armando joined Shay, leaning on the bed using a finger to trace down their daughter’s arm. When he spoke, he kept his eyes on his daughter. “This is Amada Rose Lowrey.”

“Lowrey?”Mike coughed.

Armando shrugged. “I wasn’t actually an Aretas, I was supposed to be a Lowrey. Figured she and I could claim our real family name.”

Mike nodded. “That’s cool man. Real cool,” he choked out.

“Awe Mike,” Marcus cried.

“Mm-mm Marcus. Stop it right now.”

“But Mike he’s taking your last name!”

Ignoring his bumbling partner, Mike walks over to Shay, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “How you doing Mama?”

“Extremely sore, but happy.”

“Well you did good, she’s beautiful.”

“You wanna hold her?”

Knowing his father’s aversion to holding babies, he goads hims, “Yeah Papa, wanna hold her?”

Surprising them all, he said, “You know what? I will.”

Shay handed her daughter over to Mike, making sure he supported her head correctly.

Armando joined Shay on the bed and wrapped her in his arms now that she wasn’t holding the baby. He simply watched his father holding and whispering to his baby girl with fond eyes, knowing his daughter would know nothing but love and presence from the man. They would have a real relationship right from the start. He and Mike themselves had been working on things, talking through the lies and anger and getting to a better place.

“How’s work? They give you any time off?” Marcus asked him.

In the end there hadn’t been a choice. He was going to be present in his child’s life, no matter what and sneaking into LA would just get riskier every time he did it. If he didn’t get caught just trying to get to his family, he would’ve gotten caught because if how much he would’ve been there to see them. And he’d be damned if he was raising his child from behind bars so he took Agent Garrett up on her offer.

He turned to face his uncle, replying, “Good, we wrapped a case a day before Shay went into labor. I’ll have about a couple weeks at home with the girls before I’m expected back.”

It had somewhat surprised him how seriously Marcus had taken to being his uncle. The man was supportive of his new role with the LAPD and called almost as often as his father did, checking in and making sure he was being safe. Seeing him at the hospital now wasn’t a shock at all.

“I’m just glad they gave him any time at all,” Shay interrupted. As his employment with the LAPD wasn’t under normal circumstances, he wasn’t sure if they’d grant him time at home with his girls. Agent Garrett had stuck her neck out for him once again and gotten him twelve days exactly.

Armando leaned down and kissed her, forever grateful for the woman who stood by his side despite his past. She had lost a couple friends when they found out who he was, the ones that stayed had definitely judged her and never truly came around to him as a person. She never wavered though, taking it all with grace and holding his hand as they planed for their future. He couldn’t wait to ask her to marry him.

Amada let out a cry, disrupting his internal debate on the pros and cons of asking her right that moment. He knew it probably meant she was hungry again, so he shifted his hold on Shay so she could get the b baby again and feed her.

“I think that’s a cry for mommy,” Mike chimed as he passed the baby back.

“Yeah Mike you ain’t got the right equipment,” Marcus tossed out.

Mike turned to Marcus incredulously. “Now why would you say some dumb shit like that?”

“You don’t!”

Armando turned his attention from the bickering men, whispering to his little family, “Here they go.”

Honestly, though? He wouldn’t trade his family for nothing.

A/N: Don't forget to leave a comment or reblog/like! What did we think? I have a few other ideas in mind for Armando but I'm not sure how they'll play out, so I'm CAUTIOUSLY open to prompt from you guys for drabbles. Please keep in mind that I can't do smut.😅

Translations:

Una Puta - A bitch

Si lo hubieras sabido, ¿te habría importado? - If you had known, would you have cared?

Nada me hubiera importado más. -Nothing would have mattered to me more.

Pendejos - Assholes

Taglist:

@yeahnohoneybye @bootlegroach @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful

#armando aretas #Armando x ofc #Armando aretas x ofc #mike lowrey #marcus burnett #original female character #christine lowrey #fan fiction #minors dni #Jacob scipio #bad boys ride or die #bad boys for life

153 notes · View notes

umseb · 21 days ago

Text

Former Formula 1 champion is committed to the climate. "Then you think you’re a real problem for the planet."

Sebastian Vettel was Formula 1 champion. Now he is committed to the climate. "Am I a hypocrite? Yeah, yeah. Yeah. Are we all that? Probably."

Sebastian Vettel felt guilty. It was the end of 2020 and he had carefully calculated his CO2 production from a Formula 1 season. The conclusion: his footprint was equal to that of forty people. "I came up with about 400 tons per year. An average person emits about 10 tons, and that is already a problem." Vettel (37) is sitting in his office in a picturesque northern Swiss village in mid-February. Vettel does not want the name of the village to be published in the newspaper for privacy reasons. From behind his desk, the four-time world champion looks out over snow-covered hills and Lake Constance, which is fed by the Rhine. On the other side lies his native Germany. Half an hour earlier, Vettel had driven up in his electric Porsche from his farm, where he lives with his wife and three children. After his F1 farewell at the end of 2022, he rarely gives interviews. But he does agree to a request from NRC to talk about the unusual transformation he has undergone: he was a Formula 1 driver and is now committed to the climate.

Are you credible as a driver if you speak out about the climate?

“People can decide that for themselves. Am I a hypocrite? Yes. Are we all hypocrites? Probably. Is it about not being a hypocrite? Then you shouldn’t have a footprint at all. That’s not possible for me, and it’s not possible for almost any of the other 8 billion people.” Somewhere on the bottom shelf of a cupboard in Vettel’s office is a statuette in the shape of the nose of an F1 car, with an engraved plaque on it: Sebastian Vettel, jüngster Weltmeister. Vettel was 23 when he first became F1 champion in 2010, the youngest driver ever – a record that still stands. He drove, like Max Verstappen now, for Red Bull Racing, and immediately won three more world titles for that team. In 2015 he left for Ferrari, to say goodbye to Formula 1 at the end of 2022 after two years with Aston Martin. Vettel won 53 races, the fourth most in F1 history.

Bee hotel

Vettel stood out for more than his achievements, in a sport dominated by commercial interests where hardly anyone except Lewis Hamilton addresses social issues. In the last years of his F1 career, Vettel increasingly spoke out publicly about injustice, such as discrimination against LGBTI people. But he mostly talked about the environment and climate. He also took action. For example, he gave guest lectures on sustainability to schoolchildren and went to the stands after the British Grand Prix to clean up litter. When Formula 1 raced in Miami for the first time, he wore a T-shirt warning that the city would soon be flooded. He also offered the shirt for sale in his webshop; the proceeds went to environmental organization Sea Shepherd. Vettel, who earned tens of millions of euros a year in his heyday, also invested in the Swiss company Climeworks, which builds factories that remove CO2 from the air.

At the beginning of his career, Vettel knew somewhere that there was a problem. Sometimes he noticed things, like when he saw the deforestation in Malaysia with his own eyes around an F1 race in that country. But he didn't think about it any deeper: he was young, the future seemed endlessly far away and racing absorbed all his attention. The birth of his eldest daughter, in 2014, set a turning point in motion. "Then you suddenly hold the future in your arms. You think: I have to protect this child. That's when I started to worry. So I started to delve into it and look for a solution. I was in Formula 1, numbers and data everywhere. If the car isn't fast enough, you solve it." But tackling climate change is a different matter than making an F1 car three tenths of a second faster, he quickly realized. "My first emotion then was: despondency, and a kind of climate anxiety."

Do you still feel that way? “Less. I have much more hope now, after talking to experts and reading up on the subject. There are many solutions to the problem. We have solar panels, wind energy and hydropower. Synthetic fuels for your car. But the problem is that we don’t feel the urgency enough yet.” Did you ever consider quitting racing right away? “Yes. But if I continued, I could make my voice heard more clearly. I did think: I have to quit today, and go live in the woods and survive on what I can find there. That just won’t work. We can’t go back. We can fly less, take the bike instead of the car. Great, I’m all for it. But for the bigger picture, much more is needed.” Would it have been better if you had never become a racer because of that large footprint? Or do you think that being able to take public action now outweighs that? "I don't know. If I hadn't raced, someone else would have been in my seat. I want to be modest, but I think I have reached people with my actions and projects. Although there are also plenty of people who say: it's a hoax. You're a hypocrite, get back in the car and keep your mouth shut. Fine. Maybe they are afraid of the same things as I am, but they just express it differently."

By train

When it dawned on him that he himself was part of the climate problem, Vettel started keeping track of everything "slightly obsessively". "What flights did I take? What trips did I make to the airport, from the hotel to the circuit? In what kind of car? From what year?" That's how he arrived at 400 tons. "Then you think: you are really a problem for the planet. That's when I changed course. I looked at what was the worst thing on my list. I was still flying private planes at the time. Was that really necessary? Or could I just sit on a scheduled flight with 150 others? Yes, so I stopped flying privately altogether. And when I could, I would drive to races. Belgium, Spain. Sometimes by train. To Italy, for example, when I was driving for Ferrari. I said: I'm taking the train, to which they responded: you're a Ferrari driver. Ferrari drivers don't come by train. But I can be stubborn. Long story short: that's how I got my footprint down to 60 tons. "But of course I was in a privileged position. I earned a lot of money, could stop whenever I wanted. Had all the choice. It doesn't work if you point your finger at people who are working hard to make ends meet and say: how dare you fly to Thailand? I don't believe in that culture of blaming each other. It will also never work to explain to people that they have to give things up.”

Should we give things up? “We have to change. That’s different. We have to become aware of the problem and understand it. I gave up fast and comfortable travel because I was convinced that we have a problem. That’s why awareness is so important. But that doesn’t mean we have to dictate people’s choices.” Does it worry you that awareness is difficult, now that more and more people are voting for political parties that deny the problem? “Yes. We have made so much progress, and now it feels like it has come to a standstill. That is a danger, and I don’t know the answer to it either. All those screamers who shout: follow me, I have the solution, don’t let any more foreigners in. Ultimately, I think that comes from insecurity. Yes, we want strong leaders in politics, but we also want leaders who are vulnerable and admit that mistakes have been made. “I think the younger generation is much more open to that. To give an example: when I was racing, we competed really hard on the track. Outside the car, you didn’t talk to the other person, because that was your enemy. Now they race each other just as hard, but the next night they party together.”

Now that Vettel is no longer in Formula 1, his life looks a lot quieter. Every now and then he still shows up in the paddock at a Grand Prix, always to draw attention to a problem that he considers important with an action. For example, he appeared at the 2023 race in Japan, because he had eleven insect hotels built next to the circuit there, which he had helped build himself. At the Grand Prix in Saudi Arabia in April, he will organize a race for women. But otherwise Vettel is mainly concerned with his family and has far fewer obligations than during his career, when almost every day was filled with racing, training and promotional activities. He no longer races, does not come to his office every day and does not do any other regular work.

After announcing your retirement, you said you were a bit afraid of life after Formula 1. Is it as scary as you thought it would be? Laughing: “Well, I don’t wake up screaming. But I’ve consciously chosen not to have anything in my diary, and that’s a challenge. The lack of structure. As long as I can remember, I’ve always been racing. After the season, you’re still busy with things until Christmas, then you have a few weeks off and then everything starts again in January. Every year is the same. And besides that, I was used to getting confirmation every two weeks of how I was doing. You drive your lap time, and you know straight away how good you are. But of course my wife doesn’t give me a printout in the morning saying that I was a good husband yesterday. “I miss racing, but that’s more about the competition, the challenge, than about pure driving. I think I’ve always been a bit different, in the sense that I identified myself as a racing driver less than others. When people asked me what I did, I never just said: I drive in Formula 1. Maybe I was a bit insecure, I didn’t want to brag.” Vettel can often be found in the clay these days: he will complete a one-year agricultural course next summer. “Since corona, I have been very interested in agriculture, also because of the link between agriculture and the climate. Not just from: I like vegetables and I want to grow them myself, but really the Formula 1 approach. You are always looking for the last bit of performance from your car. Of course, I am not looking for the last bit of performance from a potato, but I do want to know what the difference is between conventional and organic cultivation.”

Are you going to make that your job?

“No, I don’t see myself doing that full-time. But I enjoy the fact that it’s work that literally puts your feet on the ground. You learn to be patient, because you really have to wait for the vegetables to grow. When you work with animals, you don’t have everything under control. I think there are important values in this kind of work, which I would like to pass on to my children.” He occasionally gives demonstrations in old F1 cars, which he fills up with alternative, more sustainable fuel. This is made using green electricity from biomass, and also from CO2 that has been removed from the atmosphere. The CO2 emissions are 80 percent lower than regular fuel, but the price is still about three times higher. From 2026, Formula 1 will switch to similar sustainable fuels – and the cars will also be half electric. “Formula 1 has a lot of potential,” he says. “With all the money involved, the sport can really change. The introduction of synthetic fuel next year is a very good step.” Although F1 is the sport that is most often labelled ‘polluting’, the footprint of Vettel’s former habitat is smaller than that of, for example, the World Cup. Formula 1 emitted the equivalent of 223,000 tonnes of CO2 in 2022, according to a sustainability statement released by the sport last year. FIFA estimated the emissions from the World Cup in Qatar that same year to be sixteen times higher. The emissions from the racing cars are negligible – less than 1 percent of Formula 1’s total emissions. The real climate impact lies in the logistics of the championship, with 24 races on five continents each year. “Ultimately, it’s not about cars driving around in circles,” says Vettel, “it’s about all that travelling around the world. Team members going to races. Parts being sent back and forth. The hundreds of thousands of fans coming to Zandvoort, Monza and Melbourne. How do they get around? Where does their waste go? How is such a race supplied with electricity? There are still many challenges there.”

Can all of this be done in a sustainable way? “It will have to be. And that applies not only to Formula 1, but also to all the concerts that take place week in, week out. We need to learn to think more circularly. Formula 1 can be an excellent example of this. It is not the first sport you think of when it comes to sustainability. But it is a global sport that can show people that change is possible.”

The Paris Climate Agreement's target of a maximum of 1.5 degrees of warming is virtually unachievable. Shouldn't we just ban Formula 1? "That's a fair question. I love this sport, I grew up with it. So it's very selfish: it would be a shame if I couldn't watch it in the future. But much more importantly: what about all those children who now look up to the drivers, like I once looked up to Michael [Schumacher]? They dream of becoming a driver too. Should we crush that dream? I don't think so."

#sebastian vettel #f1 #formula 1 #fic ref #fic ref 2025 #not a race #2025 not a race #between china and japan 2025 #with michael #sewis

47 notes · View notes

minawritesfanfic · 7 months ago

Text

You are who you eat

Dexter Morgan x F!Reader

Word count: ~1k

Summary: It seems there’s another careful serial killer roaming the streets of maimi and their police department

Part 0

Previous | Next

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Chicken schnitzel with creamed watercress, a delicious meal even with a few ingredients changes.

I coated the meat in buttermilk with my left hand then dipped it in the breadcrumbs, with my right hand I scooped up more bread crumbs sprinkling them on top and pressed them down into the meat. I flipped it over and repeated the process until it was carefully coated in breadcrumbs, and did the same for three more pieces. I wiped my hands clean and checked on the watercress, tasting a small bit of it making sure it was satisfactory. I smiled happy with the taste even despite me adding my special sauce into the mix, I set my spoon down and turned down the heat returning back to my breadcrumb covered chicken substitute.

In just a little under an hour I finished cooking, I was reveled in the smell of a homecooked meal wafting through the air. I set aside the other servings to eat later and sat down at my kitchen island with a glass of wine. I cut into the schnitzel picking it up with my fork and carefully placed it into my mouth, I let out a satisfied hum as I savored that first bite. The media likes to portray all cannibals are barbarians but I’d like to think I’m far more civilized than that. What barbarian knows how to make a good watercress and human meat schnitzel? A wonderful meal made from the shit of the earth Caleb Sands, full time solar panel installer part time serial killer and fuck does he taste delicious.

I sipped my wine with a smile as I continued to eat, my diet was a strange one consisting mostly of human remains or food drench in their blood. I’ve tried animal blood and no blood at all, but none of them have that unique taste that human blood has. I’m addicted to and couldn’t stop even if I tried, and I certainly have tried. It’s not like I was born this way but thanks the trauma from my childhood, I was doomed to live as a cannibal thanks to Mr and Mrs. Kerrigan.

I shook away the thought as I finished my meal and started to clean up, I left my wine and took my plate to the sink. I gave it a quick rinse and place it into the dishwasher before doing the same with the rest of the dishes in the sink. Once I was done loading the dishwasher I gave the countertop and stove a quick wipe down, with the kitchen clean and the dishwasher cycling I took my wine and headed into the living room. I relaxed onto the couch with a sigh and turned on the tv, I didn’t particularly care for what was on I just needed a distraction and it was working. I was a serial killer and not even for the love of the crime, I hated killing people it was gross, gorey, and the clean up was exhausting. I tried so hard to see it as a means to an end but it was hard, I hated why I became who I am, I hated who I’d become, and I hated that I was addicted with no clear way to escape from it.

I wiped the tears forming in my eyes and downed the rest of my wine, I turned off the tv and left my glass by the sink. I ran a hand through my hair as I made my way to my bedroom, thankfully the wine and food made me tired. Watching tv hadn’t really helped keep me from my thoughts so hopefully just shutting my brain off entirely by going to sleep, I collapsed onto the bed and turned on my white noise machine. I snuggled under the blankets and let my mind focus on the noise and it wasn’t long before I had fallen asleep.

★ ✮ ★

Work was busy that day with calls and requests coming in for the whole IT team, which consisted of Jackie a sweet and spunky girl fresh out of Texas, Sterling a flirty but nerdy guy born here and Miami, and Josefina a jokester from Tampa bursting with life. I loved them all and they made this job ten times more fun and enjoyable, speaking of them Sterling and Josefina came back into our tiny ‘office’. It was just an old storage room the stuffed four desks into, but it was our corner of the world and a second home.

“How was rubbing shoulders with the fraud department? Did they catch onto you yet Sterling?”

“Oh haha, it was fine just another stupid request. You’d think they would try turning it off and on again but the never do, and I’ll never get caught I’m that good.” He teased back at me as he sat at his desk.

“Some just aren’t as bright as others unfortunately.”

“Oh yeah and you are?” Josefina asked with a smirk as she spun her chair to face me hut I just rolled my eyes.

“Yeah I am, way smarter than you at least. Mrs. I thought the moon was made of cheese.” She turned red and threw a pen at me but I just dodges it.

Sterling and I couldn’t help but laugh as she just huffed and rolled her eyes at me, I smiled as I went back to typing up a report on my latest request. Sure the work was mostly menial task but the people made it worth while, and it wasn’t always boring. Sometimes I did have more difficult tasks to do but it was always fun and allowed me do what I loved, work with technology. Overall life was good, work was good, and my cooking was great. What more did one need in life?

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Previous | Next

#prologue #minawritesfanfic #reader insert #x reader #my writing #fanfiction #fluff #dexter morgan x reader #dexter #dexter morgan #dexter moser #new series #new fanfic

138 notes · View notes

timetojointheclub · 1 month ago

Text

Excerpt(s) from my Dexter x Male!Reader fic to convince you to read it :)

It shouldn’t feel this exciting to be stalking another man, god this is so wrong. But you can’t stop, you take another photo of the blood analyst. You sit in your car, your shirt sticking to your body and a sweat bead coming down your temple, the Miami sun wasn’t forgiving. But your commitment to this stranger was all too consuming.

You take another picture of Dexter Morgan crouching low to the ground, examining the crime scene talking to the other officers. You made sure to park at least five cars down, so as to not be suspicious. That's not suspicious right? You think to yourself.

As you ponder that, Dexter looks right at your camera, and–really looking at your camera, like he can see you, as if it wasn’t even there. You immediately roll your window back up and start up your car, driving mindlessly in a panic. He didn’t see me right? No, no way. You bite your lip in worry.

Excitement and nervousness settles in your gut as you park your car, and you couldn’t really explain it.

Something has been growing in the back of your mind, and it weighs heavy. This feeling, this–need. And becomes stronger and stronger with each passing day. It started off with small animals, usually rats, or the occasional squirrel, but it’s been growing.

The biggest thing so far that you’ve managed to kill is your neighbor's dog, it was quite big and old, and you hated to see it suffer. It was a large husky with two different colored eyes, the dog whined any time you’d pass by it. And you couldn’t bear to see it suffer in the miami heat anymore, your neighbor has never even taken the time to groom the poor dog.

It’s fur matted and hard, and you thought it your duty to put it out of its misery. Or–that’s the excuse you used to cover the miniscule guilt you felt in your chest. And well, long story short, the dog is no longer in the complex, and now you are in possession of a husky’s heart, which you took the time to clean off the fresh blood it’d been pumping.

You took your time admiring this wonderful piece of beautiful life, in fascination that this hunk of meat kept everything alive. And now that hunk of meat was beneath the dirt of a large plant in your living room, the first of many.

Knowing that it was safe and no longer supporting such a sad sight filled you with satisfaction, and made you feel whole–for a time anyway.

It seemed right in your head, but you knew that you shouldn’t have killed that poor dog, but what else could you do? Let it suffer and die a horrible sad death? Absolutely not!

Washing your hands in the sink you see someone familiar in the reflection, Dexter Morgan, you whip your head around, eyes wide, and there he stands. He eyes you with contemplation, “What are you doing here?” He asks.

You blink slowly, was the margarita that strong? “Why are you here?” You ask accusingly, though your words are a bit slurred. You move closer toward Dexter, he doesn’t seem real, you’re staring, you know, but he’s just so handsome up close. Dexter scoffs and grabs your arm and drags you out of the bathrooms, though your hands are still wet.

His hands are big and strong wrapped around your bicep, he pulls you to a relatively quiet corridor. He sets you against the wall, and you realize he’s wearing the same green long sleeve shirt, with those same gloves on, you gasp lightly at the realization.

“Are you here for me?” You whisper loudly, you’ve never really been the best with your alcohol you have to admit. The confused face Dexter gives you is almost comical.

“You’re drunk.” He says simply, you laugh slightly, “Just–just a little bit.”

“Why are you here?” He asks again. Now you have to choose, do you want to tell Dexter that you were stalking Immanuel Washington because he was going to kill Dear Dexter? Or were you going to lie and say you were just relaxing on the weekend? Why was Dexter here anyway?

“I’ll tell you, if you tell me.”

You can tell that Dexter absolutely does not have the patience to be dealing with you right now, but he’s still standing there with you for whatever reason.

You sigh, “I was here for Immanuel.”

Dexter’s eyebrows raise in question, and then his eyes squint, his voice goes low, “Were you going to kill him?” He looked around suspiciously, making sure no one was around.

You scoff and roll your eyes, “No, no—just keeping tabs on him.”

“And getting drunk, lounging at the pool.” He sighs heavily, “Where even is he?” He runs a hand down his face.

“He’s in his hotel room with some woman, pretty sure he’s just, y’know.” You make a vague gesture with your hand, Dexter backs away from you, “Why were you here anyway? You’re wearing the same thing from the other day. Do you have a costume or something?” You laugh.

Dexter doesn’t laugh with you, he just looks miffed about the whole thing, “I was-” He pauses, thinking, “I was also here for Immanuel.” You blink, does Dexter want to take out Immanuel himself? As far as you’ve seen, Dexter could fight but you didn’t know if he could kill.

“Are you trying to kill him?” You say an octave too loud, as a family passes by, Dexter quickly turns back to you and clamps his gloved hand over your mouth, “Be quiet!” He hisses, your eyes go wide with shock.

You both are breathing very heavily, and your chests are nearly touching, and you're not ashamed to say you let out a slight breathy moan. Fuck he’s strong, you don’t think you could get his grip off of you if you tried. Your eyes hood and he lets you go, realizing how close he was, and that you both were in fact, in a public place.

He scowls as he moves away from you, he takes his gloves off and shoves them into his back pocket. He makes a move to leave and you follow, “Why don’t we get some food?” You ask almost a little too eagerly, he gives you a side eye, and no answer.

“I’ll just call you when you’re gone.” You say, and that makes Dexter stop, he turns to you fully once again, “If we get food will you leave me alone?” His tone is hard and annoyed, his brows are furrowed and his chest is heaving.

“Yep.” You say all too happily.

You can read the first part here!

#dexter morgan #dexter showtime #dexter #dexter x male!reader #male reader #fic writer #fic writing

13 notes · View notes

itookyoudown · 3 months ago

Note

i need ur thoughts on what a post-canon (post-raylan) tim would be like (for science)

hi justie (justified bestie) 🖤

let's do some science! i really truly feel 100% in my heart that Tim "powder keg" Gutterson finally blows within 2-3 months of Raylan leaving for Miami.

that's with my givenson shipper hat on and off.

i feel Tim's due for a blow-up + burn out (season 4 teased us SO BAD with it and did a whole ass set-up and never went anywhere with it RIP) and Raylan's leaving (whether or not they were fucking or broke up or went LDR or never speak again) is the perfect catalyst for that.

in their last scene together, Tim is visibly distraught. boy swallows down a lump and makes himself not cry. what's all this then??

Tim is weird in season 6 and not in his usual gay little weirdo way. i mean he's concerning "oh i'd consider him a suicide risk" way.

he spends season 4/5 on the ratty side with his hair and then come season 6 he has a minor glow-up. they go back to styling his hair, his face has that clean-cut boy scout look again, he's back in layers (though to be fair this could just be because the show is trying to trick us into believing it's winter time and they're not shooting in California 🫠), and there's just something a lil feral in the way he speaks/acts that makes me think he's shaking a warning bell.

sure, we could attribute it all to some behind the scenes change regarding the crew or cast (i'm not sure here but someday i want to research the makeup and costume department to see who's who there exactly you know).

however, i think the tidying up Tim does to his appearance in season 6 is just a band-aid over how unwell he's doing mentally and emotionally. looking fine on the outside, but sick on the inside.

i think whether it was romantic or platonic, Raylan leaving is a big loss for Tim and he doesn't adjust well to losing his desk mate and deputy partner.

i'd say it really makes Tim have to confront and process Mark's death (and might also bring up his daddy's death and the death or loss of anyone else he's ever served with) and Tim just...doesn't do well with that on his own.

i like to imagine it triggers Tim's alcoholism big time and its a speedy spiral. does something extremely stupid (drunk driving again, fight at a bar, suicide attempt). he ends up in rehab or a psych ward or goes on leave from work. something that gets him some help with the alcohol + PTSD so he does some measure of healing to make himself functional again.

i don't think Tim stays in Lexington or even Kentucky post-canon. we know there's no family tying Tim there (if it was his hometown or home state they would have said so -- the US marshals apparently love to assign deputies to where they grew up). i think the Lexington office is just Tim's initial duty station and he'll move on once he's eligible to leave.

i like to think after Tim shapes up and sorts himself out a bit, he ends up out west in a big city like LA. or once he qualifies he's pulled into something like SOG due to his skillset.

to me, Tim's a lifer in law enforcement and he'd stick with the US marshals. long-term, i love the idea that he ends up settling down in Louisiana and becomes some sort of teacher/trainer at Camp Beauregard for the marshals.

and I really do believe Tim stays Tim for his whole life. i think he stays a little weirdo and he's forever closeted at work. i can't see him undergoing any softening or massive change as he gets older.

i also think alcohol and his PTSD is a lifelong struggle for him, but he does get better about making local connections with veteran support groups and gets himself a real friend or two through some nerdy hobby (he seems like a prime candidate to do D&D or something) or at a shooting range.

anyways, there's my post-canon Tim talk 🤠

#tooks.txt #💌#welcome to my tim talk #tim gutterson

16 notes · View notes

violetmuses · 7 months ago

Text

Honor - M. Lowrey ❤️‍🩹

Title: Honor - M. Lowrey ❤️‍🩹

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Mike Lowrey

Main Storyline: Detectives Mike Lowrey and Marcus Burnett discover the most unexpected “gift” out of nowhere. @adoresmiles 🏷

Honor - Part II ❤️‍🩹

=====

1996

“Come over.” Detective Mike Lowrey stepped out of the Miami Police Department with his partner and best friend Marcus Burnett. “I'll have food and everything. It's been a while since we hung out together.”

“That's cool. Your penthouse? I don't wanna make noise if we start watching this football game at home. Theresa will kick my ass!” Noting his wife Theresa, Marcus chuckled over the household.

“Got it. See you later.” Mike tossed car keys of his midnight Porsche and rolled out, blasting music through Florida sunshine.

______

“Hey, what's wrong? You looked creeped out, man.” Mike stood from the couch when Marcus showed up. This television channel echoed around.

“There's a baby perched in the hallway.” Marcus whispered. “I pulled up to see you and this random woman held one buckled car seat.”

“What the hell?” Mike shoved Marcus out of his way and rushed out, facing that shadowed corridor.

Right away, Mike and Marcus glanced over to see an adorable baby boy crying on the floor.

“Told you! Now bring him in, Mike. I'll help unfasten the carseat.” Marcus turned his “parent mode” in action.

“Okay.” Closing that front door behind him, Mike whispered as this baby kept shrieking.

No chilling after all.

=====

2003

“$21,000 dollars in damage? What? Oh, kiss my Black ass! It was the dashboard. We'll cover that reimbursement because somebody's on the way with your money.”

Following one large fail with ecstasy pills, Detective Mike Lowrey grilled this caller while answering his cell phone at the Miami Police Department. Partner Marcus Burnett looked on, silent.

“There's vehicular wreckage, and you sank someone's boat?” Captain Conrad Howard ranted through questions.

While Burnett and Lowrey took Captain's anger, Mike's cell phone rang once more.

“Hello?” Mike narrowed both eyes during this second phone call.

“Detective Lowrey? Apologies for disrupting your day, but it's almost 3:00 PM.” A secretary for one of the elementary schools called this time.

“My goodness! Thank you so much for calling. I'll be there to pick him up right away.” Ignoring the case, Mike grinned with joy.

Closing that flip phone, Mike glanced toward Marcus and smiled even brighter.

"Look, I'll pull strings with the case. Go pick up your son, Mike.” Whispering, Captain Howard settled emotions, dismissing Lowrey and Burnett from his office.

______

“Armando's in third grade now? I can't believe it, Mike!” Marcus nearly sniffled in the passenger seat.

“Please don't cry again.” Mike pointed to his best friend before exiting the car.

“Papa!” Eight year old Armando Aretas cheers to greet Mike up close.

“Hey, man! Sorry I'm late. Work was crazy.” Mike holds hands with Armando while moving back to the car.

“Dónde está Tío?” Still using his native language of Spanish, young Armando looked for “Uncle” Marcus Burnett.

“Right there.” Mike gestured near the passenger seat after safely buckling Armando.

“What's up, man!” Wearing this football jersey, Marcus glanced over one shoulder with the biggest smile on his face.

Armando's genuinely kind laughter echoed through sunlight as Mike Lowrey returned home.

=====

2020

Almost twenty-five years later, international deployments outright shifted the personality of Armando Aretas.

Laughter stopped reaching his heart and smiles faded away.

“You good?” Mike offered the question more often than not these days.

“Tired.” Armando clipped through slightly accented English and still helped clean up the kitchen tonight.

“That's all right, man. Night.” Mike excused himself from Armando's personal space while his son focused on chores.

_____

Just before Armando would turn out the main lights and go to sleep, knocking reached that front door out of nowhere.

“Yes?” Armando pulled himself together when two strangers arrived here.

“Armando? We have news for you.” One of the professionals spoke up.

“I won't talk. You're not Miami PD.” Armando folded both arms right as Mike Lowrey returned downstairs.

“Can I help you?” Mike joined questions and faced both strangers, protective.

“We found out that…” One stranger tried to explain himself again, but two gunshots pierced the evening sky and killed each man.

“What the fuck? We've been ambushed, man. Go!” Mike signaled Armando to prepare himself with weapons.

Calling that police department for help now would've strangled the moment with red tape and put their lives at risk.

“Look out!” Armando shouted between lights of the waking neighborhood and scoped for Mike's presence just in case. There was no other choice.

“Don't worry, I'm right here. Keep moving and stay with me.” Mike noticed Armando after running down the sidewalk.

“Kay.” Both men nodded toward each other, quietly prepared.

Just when gunshots echoed once more, smoke billowed uphill in the distance.

“Who set shit on fire?!” Mike looked forward while destruction unraveled.

Moments later, as she wore this bloodied prison uniform, Isabel Aretas emerged past the burning flames.

#dark themes #au fanfiction #fanfiction #mike lowrey #armando aretas #❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹#Isabel Aretas #movies #jacob scipio #will smith #bad boys #armando #my writing #violetmuses #💜💜💜#strong language #drug reference #drabble requests #requested!

26 notes · View notes

thevelvetpage · 21 days ago

Text

“Beneath The Seoul Sky”

Two hearts. One city. A love that defies legacy and ambition.

Chapter 1: Arrival

The glass doors of Incheon International Airport parted with a soft whoosh, releasing Naomi Sinclair into the heart of a city she had only seen in K-dramas and stock images. The air was crisp—cooler than expected—and carried the sterile tang of jet fuel mixed with a delicate floral fragrance from the automatic diffusers embedded into the ceiling. The buzz of rolling suitcases, voices layered in multiple languages, and polished heels echoed against sleek marble floors. Everything felt fast, clean, and hyper-efficient.

Naomi’s black wool coat fit her like armor cinched at the waist with a belt that emphasized her hourglass figure. Her skin, a warm chestnut hue with golden undertones, glowed subtly beneath the soft airport lighting despite the exhaustion of a fourteen-hour flight. A sleek low bun kept her curls tucked away, and her edges lay with practiced precision. Deep burgundy lipstick clung to her full lips, untouched after hours of wear—like everything else about her, it held strong under pressure.

She moved through the arrivals gate with grace and quiet command, her carry-on trailing behind her with rhythmic clicks that matched the confident tap of her heeled ankle boots. Everything about her said poise, purpose, no-nonsense.

Two years. Just two years, she reminded herself, scanning the crowd with sharp, almond-shaped eyes framed by long lashes and subtle eyeliner. She wasn’t here to chase cherry blossoms or indulge in romantic daydreams beneath Seoul Tower. She was here for one reason: to set up her company’s first data operations branch overseas. Lead the team. Deliver results. And when it was all said and done, she returned to Miami with a VP title under her belt and a career that would silence every doubter.

No distractions. No detours. Just domination.

Her gaze landed on a man holding a white placard: SINCLAIR, NAOMI in crisp block letters. He stood out not just because of his height—easily over six feet—but because of how he stood. Impeccably straight, feet shoulder-width apart, the sign held level and steady in gloved hands. His dark gray overcoat hugged broad shoulders, and his jet-black hair was parted cleanly to one side, every strand obeying its place. His face looked like it had been carved from stone—sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and a mouth set in a line that didn’t look like it had smiled in years.

So that’s the infamous Kwon Him Chan, Naomi thought, hiding her smirk.

She approached, her steps unhurried, posture perfect. “Mr. Kwon?”

His eyes lifted, scanning her in one brief, unblinking sweep. They were dark, unreadable, sharp as obsidian. “Ms. Sinclair,” he said, voice low and even, like a well-calibrated machine.

Naomi extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

He paused—just a fraction too long—before accepting it. His grip was firm and professional, his palm warm through the thin leather of his gloves. No extra squeeze. No smile. No charm.

“I’ll take you to your apartment,” he said. “The office is ten minutes from there. You’ll meet the team tomorrow.”

No welcome. No. “How was your flight?” Just bullet points.

Naomi arched a brow. “Straight to business. I like it.”

He gave no reaction. Just turned on his heel and began walking toward the parking structure, expecting her to follow.

She rolled her eyes with a hint of amusement and trailed behind him. Ice King, indeed.

The sleek black Genesis sedan glided smoothly onto the expressway, the city unraveling before them in a blur of neon and snowfall. Naomi sat in the back, her head resting lightly against the leather seat, watching the city flicker to life. Seoul was already different from anywhere she’d ever been—futuristic but somehow intimate, every building humming with quiet energy. Streetlights turned the falling snow into gold dust. Signs in glowing hangul advertised things she didn’t yet understand but already wanted to.

Next to her, Kwon Him Chan drove like he did everything else—precisely. Hands at ten and two. Back straight. No wasted motion. The silence in the car was palpable, broken only by the soft hum of the heater and the occasional swipe of the windshield wipers.

Naomi cut a sideways glance at him. “You always this talkative?”

He didn’t flinch. “I prefer efficiency.”

Her lips curled. “So do I. But a little conversation wouldn’t kill you.”

Still nothing. Maybe the faintest twitch in his jaw. Maybe not.

She leaned back, arms crossed, boots crossed at the ankle. Okay, Mr. Ice King. Let’s see how long you last.

Her apartment exceeded expectations.

Minimalist in design, with clean white walls, light oak floors, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a sweeping view of the Han River. The skyline sparkled like it had been dusted with stars. The kitchen was compact but modern; the bathroom was outfitted with a bidet toilet that looked smarter than her old phone. There was even a sleek espresso machine perched on the counter—an olive branch, perhaps?

“I’ll send you the office itinerary for tomorrow,” Him Chan said from the doorway, a living post-it note in a tailored coat.

Naomi set her carry-on down with a soft thud and turned toward him. “Thanks. And… thank you for picking me up.”

He gave a curt nod. “We’ll see you at nine. Don’t be late.”

She tilted her head. “Do I look like someone who’s late?”

That gave him pause. He met her gaze squarely, his face still unreadable, but… something flickered there. A flicker she couldn’t quite place.

“We’ll see,” he said, then disappeared into the hallway.

The door clicked shut.

Naomi took a slow breath, removed her coat, and kicked off her heels in the entryway. The apartment was warm and quiet. She padded to the window and rested her hands on the glass, looking out over Seoul.

Bright. Cold. Beautiful.

She wasn’t here for romance. She wasn’t here for games. But as she stood there, watching the snowfall settle over a city that pulsed with life beneath her feet, she had the oddest feeling that Seoul wouldn’t play by her rules.

And neither, maybe, would she.

#ambw #romance novels #novel #novel writing #fiction #readers #books #authors #bwam #south korea #seoul #seoulromance #love #Beneath Seoul’s Sky

8 notes · View notes