#dinner in america fan fic

[hellfirecvnt]

Don't Piss me Off (Pt. 2)

John Q. (Simon) X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, oral (female receiving), "public" sex, unprotected sex (don't do that), poor life choices.

Summary: You still can't stand sticking around your parents for too long, but you stay in town for a while longer just to see him play. PART ONE IS HERE!!

Notes: I love him. I'm gonna write a million versions of the same story I stg. I didn't proof read. I got like 6 ideas at once and they're all getting written at the same time.

In the basement of a warehouse you'd assume abandoned, Simon and his band consisting of a handful of less ill-tempered, but just as dirty and dead-looking men set up for their performance. They're all spitting insults at each other as they scramble to plug in each meticulous piece of shoddy equipment they've acquired.

Simon's preoccupied. Clearly stuck on the thought of you. He realized hours ago that he never told you about the show tonight. He's wrapping the wire of the mic around his fist when he overhears the stagehands. "I didn't make it to Y/N's last party, I figured there would at least be one more before she bolted."

"She went back home?" Simon interrupts.

"Yeah, man. She left today, I'm pretty sure." The stagehands hoist a large amp to its spot, leaving Simon in the silence of realizing you two have no way of contacting each other. That's it. He shrugs his shoulders, brushing off any disappointment, as he's used to things falling through. Nothing's special to someone like him, or that's what he tells himself. He reaches into his back pocket and reveals a pair of underwear that had gotten tangled with his clothes when you did his laundry. He chuckles at the thought of how he would've made you think he stole them on purpose. He stuffs them back into his pocket and gets ready to perform as people start piling in the small venue.

You're nearly flooring it back to that gas station. Once inside, you leap over the counter and snatch the poster from the wall. "God damn! You could've just asked for the fucking flyer, man!" The cashier exclaims, certain you were attempting to rob the store.

"I don't have time!" You yell behind you as you sprint out the door. "Old fuckin' Mill building? Where the fuck is that?" You mumble to yourself, frustrated. You read that Psyops isn't set to play for another 30 minutes, so you speed around town to every old and decrepit site you can find. Four failures before you find the warehouse hosting the show tonight. "Finally!" You slam the van in park before bolting to the door.

"It's $10 to get in," a nonchalant man at the door huffs. You shove the money into his hand and he opens the large, black, graffitied door behind him. You're not shy in a crowd, so when you hear the boisterous speakers blasting the sound of guitar riffs through the building, you start shoving. The vibration sends the decently sized crowd into a wave of cheers and you finally make your way toward the front. You can hear a voice over the speakers, Simon. It's hard to make out what he's saying, but once the song starts, the crowd starts moving.

You're being jostled around for most of the set. Song after song, you try to force yourself to the front, but to no avail. Finally, once Simon takes one step off the slightly raised platform on which they're performing, you can reach him. His grip is white-knuckled around the microphone, now's your chance. You lunge forward and wrap a hand around the mic, pulling yourself forward. Confused and annoyed by the sudden tugging, Simon pulls back, effectively breaking through the wall of people blocking you. The moment your eyes meet his, under his ski mask, he grins. In the moment bringing you before him, he'd missed a few bars of the song, but effortlessly picks back up once you're front and center.

It feels like his eyes are locked on you for the rest of their set. You hate to admit it, but it's a hell of a show. The energy of the crowd, their presence on stage. No wonder Simon feels so strongly about it. He's a different person when he's John Q. An alias you found out about when you were seniors, and you hoped staying quiet about it would've shown him you weren't the snitch, but instead it took a coke bender several, several years later. Plus, he wasn't much less of a loser than you were. Who fucking cared back then that he has a stage name?

After Psyops' set, you and Simon slip outside for a smoke. Riled up from the show, he's too abuzz to make sure his face matches the angry stare he usually wears. "Someone said you were headed home already, didn't think I'd see you at a show any time soon," he says, lighting a cigarette.

"Said I would," you echo his words from his promise to back you up next time you got yourself into an altercation. "Can't let fucking John Q. be more trustworthy than me." Simon laughs at the mention of his stage persona. "I like the mask, though."

"Oh, yeah? That do somethin' for you?" He teases, reaching into his pocket for the mask, but pulling out a different wad of fabric. "Oops," he laughs, dangling your panties in front of you.

"Is that my fuckin' underwear, you god damn pervert?" You curl your lip, put off by the invasive behavior.

"They might be yours, I don't know. I get a lot pussy." Simon smirks with his eyes darkened on you.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck-" you're ready to lay into him, too violated to make any excuses despite how attractive he looks with messy hair and drying sweat.

"Calm the fuck down, they got mixed up with my shit when you washed my clothes at your house," he laughs. You roll your eyes and jump to grab them, but he's too quick. You miss the swipe and are now a great deal closer to him. "I'm gonna hold on to these," he says with a low voice as he scoops you against him with a hand placed on the small of your back. A second passes like an eternity and the two of you lock lips as he stuffs your underwear into his pocket again, allowing some of the silk and lace detail to hang out. As the kiss deepens, his hands move down your body, to your thighs before he grips your ass roughly. Soft moans escape against his lips as he gropes various parts of your curves.

"Do you know how worked up you get me?" He whispers between the press of your kiss. "Thought you left before I could get a taste." He reaches for your eyelet belt, but you stop him.

"Someone's gonna see us."

"Call it an encore," he mumbles before going back at your belt, but you swat him away again.

"At least take me around back, dumbass." You grab a fistful of his shirt and nearly drag him around the corner. It's dark and concealed from any passerby. He lifts you up onto a pad-mounted transformer and wraps your legs around him, still moving his head in sync with yours as each of your tongues explore each other's mouths.

"I guess I was kind of a prick to you back in the day, huh?" He whispers, running his hand through your hair.

"You were an angry piece of shit, yeah. We fuckin' or having a breakthrough?"

"Shut the fuck up for a second," he snaps. "I'm trying to apologize." He slips your denim shorts off your legs and all but falls to his knees in front of the large metal, green box you're sat on. His nimble index finger hooks around your thong and pulls it to the side. You barely have time to process what his "apology" will be before he plunges his head between your thighs. You fight to stifle a surprised moan as he conducts his skillful movements against your sensitive skin.

"Simon, oh, my God!" You whine, arching your back against the friction. He laughs against your skin sending waves of vibrations through your legs. One of his hands is occupied holding your panties to the side, the other is hooked around your hip, holding you securely in place as he meticulously works you over the edge.

"You want me to stop?" He asks, lips framed with drenched facial hair.

"No! No, I-" he cuts off your plea, resuming his position.

"Then stop fighting me," he snaps, harshly pinning you to the metal with the hand he had hooked on your hip. The stimulation quickly builds up, becoming too much, too quickly. You throw your head back and tangle a fist in his hair as he guides you through the high. Your legs shake and threaten to close around him, but his grip is too strong. You remain exactly where he wants you until you've ridden out your orgasm. You're slumped back on your elbows with your head down, breathing heavily as you return to reality.

Simon towers over you where you lay, staring down at you with his dark-circled eyes. You look up and watch him teasingly wipe his mouth, licking his lips like you're the first thing he's devoured in months. He slips your shorts halfway up your legs for you, leaving the rest of the work for whenever you can feel your legs again. "Um," you sigh. "Apology accepted."

"Tits."

"Is 'tits' good?" You furrow your eyebrows. He sighs, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

"You're leaving tonight, huh?" Simon lights a cigarette.

"Well... That's the plan." You feel a pit in your stomach when you think about going back home. The place is nice, it's far away. It's what you wanted, but life is full and meaningless. You don't have friends out there, it didn't strike you how hard it'd be to meet people in your mid 20s.

"You don't sound so sure about that plan, Y/N." He exhales a cloud that illuminates under the street lamp's orange glow.

"It's boring out there, but it's quiet. It's peaceful. My parents aren't in my ear telling me trying something new could kill me." You shrug.

"That's why you're running? Because of your frigid bitch mom and dad?" Simon laughs as if it's the funniest thing he's ever heard.

"Okay, well. You know, maybe don't call them that or I'll lay you the fuck out, but yeah." You stand and fasten your shorts and belt, knees still threatening to buckle. "You had a hand in me leaving too."

"I know, I apologized!" He gestures to your trembling legs and you laugh.

"Yeah, yeah," you wave your hand at him. "Where'd you go? I was in town for weeks. I thought you were in the pin."

"I didn't want to overstay my welcome," he chuckles. "Or watch another fuckin' 80s movie with the volume on ten." He turns to look at you and he smirks.

"Well, my parents are in town now. I still have the rest of this week off. I was gonna spend it getting unpacked, but-"

"Fuck that. Let's go, you're driving." He walks off around the building toward the parking lot and you're dumbfounded for a moment.

"Of course I'm driving, it's my van!" You scramble after him. He hops in your passenger seat and you pull out of the lot, leaving his disgruntled band mates to pack up their own equipment. "You're not gonna help them?"

"What for? My shit's in the van. It's a microphone."

"Yeesh, sorry. Forgot you're actually kind of the worst when your head's not between my legs," you tease and Simon can't suppress a smile. As you cruise down the dark road, bright blue lights ignite in your mirrors. "Fuck. Get it the back." Simon wastes no time, he throws himself in the spacious rear area of the van as you pull over. You both wait anxiously for the cop to approach the window. Everything feels silent, until you finally hear the footsteps.

"I'm gonna run," Simon whispers, hand on the rear door latch.

"Don't." You demand sharply, rolling down your window for the cop. The air feels still and tight. It seems like it takes hours for the cop to speak, but when he does it's a routine traffic stop. He asks you if you knew how fast you were going and you innocently explain the floating nature of your speedometer. The officer laughs when he reads your ID and sees your last name.

"You're Frank's kid, right?"

"Yeah, his one and only." You beam, proudly. Happy to name drop your wealthy family.

"You just try to slow it down and tell your dad I said hello, alright?" The cop taps your door twice and sends you on your way. As you pull off, Simon peeks out from under the blankets and sighs with relief.

"Holy shit, with the way this thing looks, you should've been strip searched." Simon tosses himself back into the passenger seat.

"Don't shit-talk my van," you hiss. Simon proceeds to tell you where to go, each turn and shortcut, until you reach a large white house, almost as status defining as your parents'.

"My parents are out of town." He points to a concealed area to park and leads you to a basement door. He fights with a key for a moment before leading you inside. It's a messy basement room with red walls and posters from ceiling to floor. Instruments take up most of the space, aside from the bed.

"Do you avoid your parents like me, or do your parents avoid you?" You ask, bluntly, not considering the weight of that question.

"Both, I guess." He says after a long pause.

"You... Wanna smoke?" You ask, unsure how to navigate the silence.

"Can't. Fucks with my motivation," he grins. You shrug, rolling and smoking a joint by yourself while Simon works on some songs. He's got an ear for every instrument in his room, and he layers them over each other, creating complex instrumentals. It's nice to listen to while you lie on his bed and watch the swirling tendrils of smoke twist into the light and air above you.

"It sounds nice," you hum, settling into the cozy divot in the center of his mattress-on-the-floor.

"Write something for it," he commands, tossing a notepad and pen at you.

"Like lyrics? Why?" You stare at the blank page, unable to read the layers and layers of writing indented into it from Simon's heavy, angry hand.

"You need an out, I'm giving you one." He leans back in the rolling chair he resides in, staring me down like a hawk.

"I don't think I'm a very musical person. I think I'm more of a doodler, really," you argue, scribbling in the corner of the paper.

"Just fuckin' write something down and stop being a pussy." He snatches the pen from you and tosses it onto the pad.

"Bitch- How does that make me a pussy?" Your eyes narrow at him.

"It'd be too vulnerable. You're no tougher than that kid you were in high school. It's all fake now." It's clear he's taunting you. Making a fair attempt at reverse psychology.

"Fuck you, give me a minute," you huff, writing a line or two to start with. "Play your shit again." And he does. Restarting the instrumental he put together just for you. After a while, you've written something and you sling the notepad at Simon. He takes a moment to read through it a few times, almost trying to decode the melody of how I'd sang it in my head.

"Perfect. Now sing it." He nods toward his microphone stand.

"Fuck's sake, dude. Are you serious?" You whine, pushed further and further out of your comfort zone.

"Come on, let's see what you got," he says in a tone that lets me know I've already lost the argument.

"It doesn't feel good to be vulnerable to you."

"Tough it out." You roll your eyes at his demand, but you do it. You tough it out and recite your song over the music he provided. He hits 'restart,' and then 'record,' and then he points to you. After a measure you begin to sing. Low effort, but still angelic. Your song is about the feeling of being homesick no matter where you end up. It's about running and putting up a face as a defense mechanism. It's about wearing a mask.

When you're done singing and the music fades out, Simon slides the headphones off his ears. "That... Was tits." He looks elated. Like a poor painter with a new pallet.

"Is 'tits' good?" You ask again, emphasizing the lack of answer last time you asked.

"Yeah, 'tits' is good." He grins. "That was good."

"Fuck you. Who's not vulnerable?" You curl your lip, clearly more moved by the challenge than the release he was offering. Simon just shakes his head.

"Let's mix it." He beelines for the computer and begins fine tuning the song. You're watching in awe of his quick skill at this craft. As if watching him play all those instruments wasn't impressive enough. The night grows older. Simon offers you your favorite party favor, but you're over it. So the two of you share a joint.

"You don't ever get tired of living in a circle?" You ask through a cloud of smoke.

"A fuckin' circle?" He looks at you.

"Just, still in this town, still avoiding your parents, still making music alone in your room."

"Fuck," he huffs, offended but acknowledging the truth in your words. "Do you ever get tired of running from it?"

"Touché." You bring the joint to your lips as you lie in his disheveled bed. His arm snaked around you ages ago, slowly pulling you closer and closer to him. Like he's worried you'll float away.

"If our only two options are run away or get sucked into this shit hole of a town, I think we're a little fucked, don't you?" He chuckles to himself.

"Maybe those aren't the only options. We just don't have all the answers yet. I don't think anyone does." Your voice is wistful and quiet. You can feel Simon's eyes on you, but you stare at his dark ceiling. He rolls his eyes at your corny words, but he knows you're right. "It's funny, because if I could run from the uncertainty too, I would." You giggle, aware of your vices and poor coping skills.

"Yeah, you would," Simon mocks.

"And you? You're just going to live with it? Sit right beside the discomfort and accept that for yourself? Have you ever tried to give yourself more, even if it meant running?" You're slowly building up a sense of passion behind your words and Simon just listens, staring deeply into your eyes as you speak. Suddenly, you're cut off when he wraps a hand around the back of your head and pulls you into a kiss. His lips crash into yours and the two of you melt into each other.

You can't even remember what you were saying, you just know you don't want to stop touching him. The heat of the kiss begins to swell as Simon's hands trail up and down your body. He's grabbing at you in a specific order, like he's been waiting to get his hands on it. Really get his hands on it. You grasp at the hem of his shirt, tugging in semblance to take it the fuck off, and he does.

His broad, pale chest rises and falls with anticipation as you strip off the same article of clothing. "Jesus Christ," he moans, pulling you to him to shove his face directly between your breasts. He breathes deeply, taking you in. With one swift motion, he's hoisted you on top of him, your legs straddling his waist. Simon unfastens the button on your jeans before tossing you to the side to undress you.

You're both naked and greatly anticipating the next moment your skin will touch. Seconds feel like hours until you're pressed against each other again. Simon buries his face in the crook of your neck as he guides his throbbing erection to your entrance. You're squirming and arching beneath him, and he releases a breathy laugh as he watches you writhe. "You're aching for it," he groans.

"Fuck you," you hiss, pulling him closer to you by his shoulders. All he does is chuckle before slowly slipping inside you. You moan loudly as you adjust to his size. Something about a lanky, dead-eyed man. His pace is steady as he rocks his hips against yours, picking up speed as you gush around him. Soon his thrusts are hard and rough, and your loud, vulgar moans echo off his bedroom walls.

"God, you're so fuckin' tight," he huffs, pulling out of you and tossing you aside. Simon quickly repositions you in front of him, on all fours. You let your back arch naturally, putting on a bit of a show for him as he watches you. His eyes are darkened and his smirk sends chills down your spine. You can't help but smile wide in excitement. With two round hands, he grabs your waist and positions you at the perfect height. His hands wander the soft flesh of your ass as you press up against him. "You drive me fucking crazy..." He sighs as he slips inside you.

Simon digs the tips of his fingers into your skin, pulling you against him with every violent thrust. You do everything you can to contort your body to give him more of you. He throws his head back, falling into a sloppy, unsteady pace. His breathing is wild and primal all the way up until the point of climax. You release a loud, fluttering moan as he fucks you through your high, quickly withdrawing to finish on your back and ass. You're both breathless for a while, the room is silent but for the sound of your lungs filling and deflating.

Simon climbs off the bed, but you're too fucked out to even raise your head up to watch where he's going. Moments later, he returns, towel in hand. He cleans you up and lands a hard smack on your right ass cheek. The sound is thunderous against the silence. You yelp and break into quiet chuckles.

Finally, you have the strength to roll over. You sit up against the mess of pillows that became a sort of headboard for his bed, feeling beautiful and bare before him. It's a nice feeling that you're not used to. Sure you've had your flings, but it's never occurred to you how quickly you tend to leave or cover up after. Not this time. You're both fully exposed and Simon's eyes drink you in, one last time before he speaks. "Don't go back." You stare at him for a long while, silent.

"I won't," you gasp, surprised by your own promise. As soon as the words leave your mouth, his lips are on yours. In the next few days, you quit your job and Simon rides with you to go back and get the most important of your shit. The rest goes with the trailer when you sell it. You don't run a single thing past your parents and you don't tell them you're coming back to town. It's a new sense of peace and adventure, though it feels like abandoning your old life.

After a month of van living, you and Simon get an apartment and constantly receive complaints about the noise, but nothing stops the music overflowing from your floor of the building. A new sense of bliss. It's comfortable now.

[starrose17]

I'm deleting all my fics on AO3.

This is in protest of the new trend of zero interaction, zero reblogs and zero comments that content creators now have to put up with, fandom is now a depressing place and I'm sick and tired of giving everything and getting nothing.

Everyone keeps saying "Oh but you should write for yourself" well fine, I am, this is what fandom would be like if everyone only wrote for themselves and therefore don't need to share their work. Empty. Fandom is now empty.

I've been on tumblr for a very long time and still have people who followed me for past fandoms, so should you want to keep any of my fics please download them now.

I have already deleted the majority of my fics on there except the following 7 of my long fics, which I will list here. In 24 hours they will be deleted also, so please download them if you wish to keep them.

This is the end of my participation in fandom.

Title: Asunder

Fandom: Loki

Pairing: Mobius/Loki

Summary - The violent God and the gentle Man, two sides of Loki’s split personality that has him locked in a criminal mental institution. His doctor, Mobius, has him under his care, but there are things Loki doesn’t remember, about his crime, about his past…about who Mobius really is. All Loki knows is that he is afraid of what the God will do next, and that the easy smile of his doctor makes something stir warmly inside him.

Title: See You Tomorrow

Fandom: Vikings

Pairing: Athelnar

Summary: After suffering through a horrific tragedy, Athelstan has lost his faith. A difficult thing, when living in the village on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne. Refusing to talk to God, and knowing the locals are watching him, Athelstan tries to continue with his life as though he wasn't screaming inside. When a tourist named Ragnar Lothbrok visits the island, his wild and very forward personality gives Athelstan a jump start in actually living his life, not just being alive. Though Athelstan isn't entirely sure if it helps or not that Ragnar is trying to seduce him every two seconds. Hint: It does.

Title: Bad Reputation

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Real life pairing J2 Jensen/Jared

Summary: A-list Hollywood movie star, rich, charmingly charismatic, sweetheart of the industry, Vogue’s Sexiest Man Alive 2 years in a row, wanted by all producers and all gold diggers alike with his fans in the millions. So how had lowly car mechanic Jensen now got Jared’s phone number written on the back of his hand, his chevy impala in his garage, and a promise of dinner, Jensen didn’t the fuck know! Now there’s paparazzi at his door and Jared turning up in the middle of the night in tears, what has Jensen got himself involved in?

Title: Guardian of the Soulless

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Summary: Geralt has just left a relationship with Yennefer, the boss of a top London crime family. They leave on good terms, and he stays as a bodyguard for hire to be called upon when needed. He has every reason to believe his life will carry on as normal, but he barely gets two footsteps down the street before he finds a noisy angel amongst his monsters of the crime world. Jaskier has no idea what he's gotten himself involved with, and frankly he's more excited for it. Cue Jaskier finding a heart to call home, and Geralt realising love is what he'd always been missing.

Title: The The Stars

Fandom: Good Omens

Pairing: Crowley/Aziraphale

Summary: The happy ending Titanic!Au. Aziraphale is being forcibly sent to America to be forcibly married to Gabriel. Crowley is going to forcibly screw that up.

Title: L/S - I Will Stand Here With You

Fandom: Black Sails

Pairing: Flint/Silver

Summary - Silver's the irresistible hot singer for the new band L/S. Flint is a lonely man. Miranda is his fed up friend needing to get Flint back in the game. What she doesn't expect is what she'd planned as a one night stand between the two men to grow into something beautiful.

Title - We Met At The Park

Fandom: X-Men First Class

Pairing: Erik/Charles

Summary: Unable to sleep one night Erik takes a midnight walk in the local park. He finds himself being followed and propositioned by a rent boy named Charles, and begins to fall rather rapidly for his charms. Charles however has never known what love is, and doesn't recognise it even when it's staring at him in the face. As for Erik, he doesn't realise a creeping illness is slowly affecting Charles, and his dark past is something he couldn't have imagined.

[alexjcrowley]

I realised my passion for crossover has just created a multiverse of, I don't fucking know, detectives and supernatural stuff (no, it's NOT superwholock)

So we start by assuming, like some already did, that Q from the Daniel Craig's James Bond movies is the fourth Holmes's siblings. So you get four Holmes: Mycroft, Sherlock, Eurus and Q. But then Q in clearly in a romantic relationship with James Bond.

Now it's undeniable that James Bond has a twin brother, Benoit Blanc, who is the world's most famous detective, and he is married to Philip (Hugh Grant). You can clearly notice from Benoit's...everything (passion for mistery and fasion sense most of all) that he is related to Fred Jones from Scooby Doo, he and Philip are in fact Fred's parents.

To conclude this part of multiverse of hyperfixation, James Bond exists in the same world of a bunch of teenagers with 1970's van and a talking dog. I cannot stress how important it is for me that Sherlock Holmes DOES NOT solve the mustery of why Scooby Doo can talk.

But let's now expand in a different direction.

For some of you who might not be acquainted with the medical drama House MD, it's one of the gayest shows ever made on God's green earth. And, as all the fans know, the REAL finale is House and Wilson running away together after all Wilson's problems suddenly disappeared (I am phrasing it like that because I don't want to spoil it). Now, of course they can't live in America because House can't exactly recover from his own Reichenbach falls, so obviously they have go to London. Like, no questions asked.

And as many have already speculated they are probably the married couple Mrs Hudson's friend was renting an apartment to.

Sherlock-Watson and House-Wilson have a complicated dynamic going on, I just know they suspect of eachothers because there's something wrong with the other couple.

London comes, of course, with all it inhabitants, such as Crowley and Aziraphale (whose supernatural presence could explain Scooby Doo being able to talk???? Maybe he is an ex-infernal hound sent to Shaggy??? Was Shaggy another aborted attempt at an Antichrist?????). I really likes to believe they're House-Wilson and Sherlock-Watson neighbours. And every one of these three couples tries to pretend they're a very normal couple, and not, like, non-human or a Government's resource or technically dead.

But also, you must not forget, London comes with Hob Gadling, the immortal lover of Sandman, who might as well exist in this universe, because why the fuck not, he stole the "meet every x years" idea from Crowley, the goddamn poser. Hob Gadling and Crowley clocked eachothers in a minute and now the two couples have dinners together because "they're the only other supernatural couple in the neighbourhood, we should befriend them!" (said Aziraphale and Hob while Crowley and Morpheus sighed).

ALSO to House MD fans I want to remind you that Wilson got arrested in Louisiana when he met House and there's a popular headcanon going on that Benoit Blanc is from Louisiana so do you think??? Benoit Blanc one day happened to interact with the police department of a city in Louisiana and a policeman was like "hey last week you missed a guy from New Jersey who deadass smashed an ancient mirror in a bar because they were playing a song he didn't like on the jukebox". And Benoit was like (I can't write his dialogues I am so sorry) "Mmhh yeah muhst say thur arh sum jingles I simply cannut grow fund of but by Guhd to,,, smash an ancient mirruh that wuld be bee-YOnd mahself"

And these connections are all canonical in my mind. (There are crossover fanfics between Good Omens and Sandman, and between House and BBC Sherlock, and between Sherlock and the James Bond franchise, and between House and Good Omens- there's a fic I really like with these fandoms- and there's a drawing I also reblogged on Tumblr of Fred presenting Benoit Blanc as his dad).

So, basically, in my head, Sherlock is highly pissed off by Benoit Blanc being considered the best detective in the world though he respects him, Q is Fred Jones's uncle and probably added a lot of cool MI6 features to the mystery machine, Gregory House, notorious atheist, lives in the same universe of angels and demons and the Sandman and pisses off Sherlock Holmes costantly just because they don't like eachothers, Hob Gadling amd Crowley looked at eachothers once and they knew neither of them were humans, Aziraphale and Crowley always stumble in every other characters' shenanigans and once in a while throw a miracle their way and Hugh Grant/Philip makes cupcakes for everyone.

And if you really want me to be precise, Dead Poet Society lore counts for Wilson, but Neil didn't, well, if you saw the movie you know.

And I know they are technically not correlated, but I would love to find a way to connect Dirk Gently, Todd Brotzman and The Rowdy Three in all this.

There's a part 2 to this post here

[inevitablysomber-dark]

Unwanted (Chapter 3)

Dark! Cheating! Bucky x Reader

Warning: Cheating

I wanted to break my own heart when I wrote this. I can’t say I was Wholly successful, but it stung a bit. 

The polls have spoken, Unwanted will become a full-blown series, I have gotten a few messages about making this a lighter fic and giving the reader a happier ending. Unfortunately, I had already created the outline, and didn't feel like changing the direction the series was going, however in the future I will pay more mind to this feedback. In the meantime, I will provide a warning for when the good times end for the reader. Thank you for supporting my works.

Series List

Note: Stop here at this chapter if you're ok with a more ominous happy ending, because shit hits the fan after this.

 When you opened your door, you were surprised to see Steve on the other side, scratching the back of his head with a guilty look on his face and a sheepish smile.

Captain America had been a common visitor when you and your husband were still together, but he wasn't your friend so you were confused as to why he was at the entrance of your new abode. 

“Steve! How did you know where I lived?” you didn’t care about the why, you only wanted to know how the hell did he know where to find you. 

“Come on Y/N, I’m an avenger with access to government files and Tony Stark as my colleague.” he responds.

He looks you up and down “You look… healthy.”

You were about 4 ½  months pregnant, however with the food Mrs. Jennings had been preparing for you. Your face started filling out and coupled with the giant flannel you were wearing, you assumed you looked less pregnant and more chubby.

“Would you mind if I come in?” you’re taken aback by his question and couldn’t help but to ask why. 

“I really need to talk to you, it’s about Bucky.” he states.

Just as you were about to step back to let him in, you hear someone calling out.

“Hey!”

Both you and Steve turn to the voice behind him

“Hey Frank” you say. 

Steve looks at you but you ignore his stare. 

“Is everything alright?” Frank asks.

“Everything is fine.” Steve responds. 

You give Steve a look, bothered that he answered a question that wasn’t his to answer.  What shocked you more was Frank ignoring Captain America’s response, waiting for your own as he forewent Steve's scrutiny with his gaze directed at you. You knew why he was worried, you quickly glanced over at Steve and was confident in his cluelessness. 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” you throw him a smile.

“Let me know if you need anything”.

Steve huffed and turned to walk into your apartment, and you rolled your eyes at his demeanor. 

“What an asshole.” he says “ why the hell is he so worried about you anyways, does he think Captain America would sit up here and hurt you in broad daylight?”

You shrug your shoulders, uncomfortable talking about Frank behind his back.” Do you want something to drink?” you ask, hoping to change the subject. 

He looks at you for a long time before responding “No Thank you” he squints his eyes at you. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but I was eating dinner. “ You take a seat at your small dinner table to resume your meal of Macaroni and cheese with fried chicken.

Steve takes a seat across from you “You don’t seem to mind him.”

Again, you shrug your shoulders, and resume your mac. Steve didn’t need to know how helpful Frank had been to you in the past few weeks, he didn’t need to know that for the first time in a while, you had a genuine friendship that you didn’t want ruined. 

“ Okayy.” he seats back taking a moment to process the situation “I wanted to apologize”

You raise your eyebrows questioningly.

“For Bucky’s infidelity,” he clarifies. 

“Oh.” Honestly, you didn’t care anymore. 

You were surprised at how quickly you got over the situation. You guess they were right when they said out of sight out of mind. You took another bite of your mac. 

“I may have had something to do about it.” you give him a dead stare. 

“You told Bucky to cheat on me with my sister?” you asked.

“Well, no but…” he takes a breath. “I was sort of sneaking  around behind my wife’s back with a coworker, and had Bucky cover for me, multiple times, and I can’t help but feel like I had something to do with him partaking in that lifestyle.”

Wow 

You sat in shock and awe at the entire situation. All of these men were trash, even the golden prince himself, you started getting agitated. You’d met Steve’s wife, she was a very intelligent and sweet woman. You knew for a fact that she didn’t deserve what was happening to her.

“Does she know?” you ask. 

“No, but I think she’s suspecting something.”

Your agitation grows worse and you drop your fork in frustration.

“And why are you telling me this Steve?” you glare at him. 

“Bucky received the divorce papers yesterday, and he is completely beside himself.”

“And this is my problem, how?” his jaw ticks at your attitude. 

“He’s your husband and he regrets his mistake. I think you can find it in yourself to forgive him.”

“I don’t know who’s husband he is, but it’s definitely not mine, my papers are signed and filed, and if he refuses to sign his own, I’ll go the Unilateral route. Let the public know why I really left him.”

“Be reasonable, he really is regretting the situation.”

“He should have thought about that, before sticking his dick inside of my sister and getting her pregnant.” you didn’t realize how loud you were until the silence took over afterwards.

You sigh, grabbing your fork and resuming your meal.

“When did you become such a bitch?” 

That was the last straw, the rage that boiled inside of your heart was too great to contain. Fuck him being a super soldier, this was not okay.

“I hope your wife leaves your sorry ass, and finds someone amazing who’ll fuck the sadness of her, and every night while she’s getting railed by another man, you’re forced to think about it in your repurposed bachelorhood.”

Steve did not like that one bit. 

“What the fuck did you just say?”

He stands, making himself look much bigger than usual. Your own body fatigued as you were forced to stay seated. 

Yet despite the fear that had consumed you whole, you still felt that you needed to have the last word.

“You heard me.”

He chuckles, “I’ll see myself out.” he turns and heads to the front door. 

“Oh, and I’ll try to keep my mouth shut about the baby, but I can’t make any promises,”

The door slams shut, jolting the entire room

What the Fuck?

Later that night, Frank comes over, with a strawberry smoothie in hand and some leftovers from Mrs. Jennings. You knew he didn’t want to push you about Steve, and you were pretty sure he overheard at least some of your conversation, at least with all of the yelling you did. 

During a netflix binge you admitted everything that had happened between you, Buck and Lily. He takes a moment to digest the information and admits that he isn’t surprised that Lily was a part of an affair. 

It turns out that Lily had quite the habit of sleeping around, so much so that her last escapade had gotten her and Frank kicked out of their last apartment. Which was probably why she came running to you and Bucky.

If Steve was right, and Bucky was feeling remorseful, you wondered how Lily was taking it. But then you remember that it was not your problem anymore. These people hurt you beyond repair, you had no intention of intermingling with anyone involved ever again, and if you ever saw Bucky again, it would be too soon. 

It was too soon.

You were nearing 6 months and you and Frank had plans to binge a random netflix series, he had promised Chinese with a homemade jar of kimchi, straight from Mrs. Jennings. 

You should have known something was off when you heard a knock on your door.

Frank didn’t need to knock, as your stomach grew, Frank became more worried about you being by yourself too often, so he requested to get a copy of your key for emergencies. He didn’t really use it for emergencies but you didn’t mind.

Imagine your surprise when you find your ex-husband staring back at you, looking like he had been put through the ringer. 

Good.

What wasn’t good, was that you had on a regular tank top, to help you survive the end-of-summer heat, and your belly was out and showing. The first thing he does as soon as he sees it is move forward and try to touch it. You back up, slapping his hands away. 

“Don’t touch me.” you say. 

Bucky frowns and stares down at you, he attempts a smile.

“I missed you.” he croaks, his voice husky as he speaks.

“Well, that's too bad, now can you leave?” you say, trying to guide him back out of your apartment.

“Is this how you treat your husband?”

“My ex-husband, yes.”

“I didn’t sign the papers,” he says.

“It's good that I have other options.” you respond

“I have other options too,” he says. 

You give him a questioning look.

“I could always just take the baby,” he smirks as if he’s won some competition, and you’re shocked at his insinuation “I’m an avenger sweetheart, the resources I have at my fingertips are endless. Can you say the same?”

“You can’t take what’s not yours.” he’s stunned at your implication. 

You don’t know what made you say it but Bucky was not a fight that one could take lightly. 

“Is it Franks?” he says. 

You were stunned that he knew about Frank, Steve must have spoken to him, yet instead of answering you just shrug your shoulders and gesture for him to leave. 

He grabs your chin with his metal arm, squeezing until the pain makes you squeal. He chuckles, peaks down at your lips and lays a kiss on them. 

“I’ll be back”

Later that night when Frank comes over, he notices the bruising on your chin. You break down and tell him everything. 

You were so overwhelmed that you became almost inconsolable, but  Frank being the gem that he was, stayed with you throughout the entire night, giving you words of comfort and feeding you kimchi. 

Why did he have to show up?

Your due date was getting closer, and you were bigger than ever. 

Since the incident with Bucky you had been on edge for several weeks, but as the days went on you slowly began to calm.  

You figured maybe Lily was keeping him busy, with her own pregnancy and you were hoping their child would keep Bucky busy enough to leave you alone. 

Luckily you hadn’t heard a peep from anyone, not even Steve.

You began to forget why you were anxious, but every now and then the memory of Bucky at your doorstep would resurface and scare you all over again. 

Frank insisted that Bucky was an avenger, and a rehabilitated enemy of the state, he had too much to lose. You knew he was just trying to make you feel better, but it didn’t always work.

And Frank stayed by your place so often now, that it began to feel weird when he wasn’t there. There were no romantic feelings, everything more platonic, due to your shared experience of being hurt by the same person. So he’d grown to be a bit of a comfort for you. 

That night, Mrs. Jennings wanted to watch a scary movie, and since she didn’t want to watch it by herself she had enlisted you, Frank, and your unborn child for emotional support. She loved to rub your belly, acting as if it brought her good luck throughout her daily life. 

You and Mrs. Jennings was on the couch waiting for Frank to bring the popcorn and nachos, when you had an epiphany. 

You were happy. 

And not “Fake happy to appease your husband” but genuinely happy. It was small and unconventional but you had a family of people who cared for you, and you cared for them too. Regardless of the tinge of fear you felt at the back of your neck. You were finally happy.

Taglist:

@cjand10 @lovely-geek @vicmc624

@stuffyownswrld @buckysmainhxe @goobysgoobers

@chemtrails-club @buckystevelove @kentokaze @notlive06

@bruher @lovely-geek @bluebluesoblue @pattiemac1

[scenedenial]

hi scenedenial I got 2 questions pls 🧸 1 will the Sydrichie fwb pregnancy fic gonna drop this year or maybe next? I’ve been a huge fan for monthsssss & 2 would u ever write fic for dinner in America (ur smut is sOOO good I would die). that’s all ily 🩷

hello anon firstly: i love you secondly: sydrichie baby fic is happening just very slowly because my brain is broken rn thirdly: i am currently writing simon x patty because i am so obsessed with them that i want to die …. hang tight 🫶

[oyesmendes]

my dear

a/n: this ones for the anon who wanted me to elaborate on this fic so here it is! i highly recommend you read the previous fic before diving into this one, just so you get the idea. oh and this is also highly unedited....anywhos, enjoy some singer!reader x danny <3

masterlist

I swear I'll always give my best, no pretending Give you breakfast in bed every morning There ain't no answer to this complex question I just keep falling for you every day

another hotel, another city. another room, another unfamiliar setting. but this time you weren't alone. you lean against the smooth leather headboard, sheets draped lightly around your body. you were watching the scenery outside the window when the doorbell rings, and before you could even think about moving, an 'i'll get it!' echoes from the bathroom.

"i'll take this" you hear from the door, and soon you see daniel pushing in the squeaky-wheeled cart filled with food. he was wrapped in a bathrobe, hair still standing from last night's restful sleep.

"breakfast, m'lady."

you smile softly, crawling to the edge of the bed. daniel sits across from you, handing you your cup of coffee. you both eat in comfortable silence, exchanging a portion of your pancakes for some of his french toast.

"when's the next show?" daniel asks with a mouthful of fruit.

you sip on your coffee before answering, "i've got two weeks off before the european leg."

"two weeks eh?"

"yeah," you feed him a banana from your plate, "i'm spending a week in nashville with blake to finish up a couple of tunes. i'm free on the second week."

"how about cota?" he asks almost too casually.

you hum, slicing the pancakes into smaller pieces. circuit of the americas. the texas weekend. one of daniel's favourite races of the year.

"c'mon love, you know you love a good trip to texas. think about the barbecue! the people, the music." he nudges you from across the table.

daniel is glad that it wasn't an immediate no, and it hasn't been since the sponsorship event. you've accompanied him to a handful of other events at this point, and he's showed up at your shows a couple of times too.

even the fans were getting hints. the mclaren admin had been posting pictures of these said events, with you standing close to daniel; and you had sometimes given them the soft launch on instagram - the subtle hand in your posts, or the occasional picture of brunch for two.

you were starting to give him commitment, starting to open your heart up to the australian; and although it was terrifying, you were absolutely enjoying the free fall.

"let me think about it?" you asked daniel, even though you didn't have to think twice to know the answer.

he grins at you, "that's better than a no."

-

the both of you spent your last day roaming the streets of south italy - gelato cone in hand as you walked down the cobbled path. when evening rolls around, you both walk to a quiet restaurant near the hotel and ordered dinner. you look up from your menu, watching daniel quietly as he analyses the description of each dish; his brows furrowed together as he pretends to understand the ingredients listed in italian. you clear your throat to get his attention.

"so, about texas..." you say with your hands cupping your chin as you lean forward on your elbows. daniel looks up at you with his eyes glistening.

"it's a yes from me."

"YES!" he shouts a little too loudly, apologising to the patrons near him as he closes the menu dramatically. he leans over the table and kisses your forehead softly, "thank you."

-

"you ready?" daniel closes the door to the rented mclaren, intertwining his fingers with yours. you nod, and the both of you make your way into the paddock. it felt almost like a red carpet event - lights flashing, photographers calling out your name. they were having an absolute field day with your presence.

"y/n! y/n! over here!"

"are you and daniel together?"

"daniel! is this your girlfriend?"

you make your way through, smiling shyly for the cameras as daniel leads the both of you through the small crowd. he's eventually stopped by some fans, and releases the grip that he had on your hand. you take a couple steps forward, allowing his beloved fans to have some one on one time with him.

but its not long before a young girl came up to you, holding an orange number '3' cap and a black sharpie; the front of it already signed by daniel.

"i'm a really big fan, could i get an autograph?" you look at the wide-eyed girl and smiled at her, gladly taking the marker and signing onto it. she runs off giddily, shouting to her parents about the signatures she just got.

the hand on the small of your back brings you back to reality, daniel standing right next to you to guide you to the hospitality building. it's behind the glass doors where you find a different kind of buzz - various team members getting their breakfast and having meetings. you wave to a couple of people you recognised from past events, before you heard someone call out to daniel. his hand rests on your back again, pointing to the table in the far corner where lando and zak were sitting.

"tell me you've snagged the girl, DR?" zak asks. daniel looks at you then back at zak and smiles, "i'm almost there i think."

you follow daniel back outside to the paddock, where a few of the drivers and their girlfriends had formed a small circle. they were talking and catching up with one another while you stood back, not being too familiar with everyone. but someone, you recognised as george russell's girlfriend, came up to you.

"y/n, right?" she asks and you nod.

"i'm carmen, george's girlfriend. daniel spoke about you before at dinner." you shook her outstretched hand.

she nudged you after, "big fan of your music by the way."

you blushed, "thank you, it's really nice to meet all of you."

"it's really nice to finally meet you! if ever daniel annoys you, just come by mercedes, you're always welcome." she jokes, and daniel sends her a playful glare which makes you laugh.

and for a moment, everything seemed to be going okay, amazing, in fact. until you made your way to the garage and started watching the race.

fuck. shit. god dammit.

those three words echoed throughout the garage.

you watched daniel's car spin out on screen, after being clipped in the back by another competitor. your arm was wrapped around your own body, picking at the fabric of your shirt. michael, daniel's physio, turns to you to try to give you a reassuring look; but nothing was going to calm you until you see him, hear him.

"daniel, do you copy? is the car okay?"

if you could shoot daggers with your eyes, daniel's race engineer would've been stabbed by now. you watched on the screen as the cameras covered movement in the car, and daniel's voice echoed through the radios seconds later.

"i'm okay, car's fine."

you take a breath, gripping on to whatever you could to steady yourself. its more than a hot minute before daniel's car rolls into the garage, semi wrecked, and you're speechless as your eyes fixate on the australian. you watch as he climbs out of the car, going over to his race engineer, then michael; minutes feel like hours as you watched him talk, your eyes never leaving him. he scans the garage after his conversation, and he spots you.

no words shared, everything floating in both your minds as you lunged towards each other. he relaxes in your arms and so do you, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck.

"fuck, i love you danny. i'm so glad you're okay."

he chuckles, and you can feel it vibrate through his body.

"i fucking love you too, y/n."

taglist: @primadonnasdream @dr3lover @chicadelapartamento512-blog @thebagginsofbaggend @d0ntjudgemy50shades @cowspew @justthatgirlxox @ggaslyp1 @fromthedeskofjoii @lorenakaspersen @words-4u @o0itsjustme0o @gulsolsikke @enjoymyloves @rmaddens-blog @care2703 @katcontrreras @tattered-tales @piceous21​ @kyomihann @sgkophie @idkiwantchocolate @ricc3rodeo @organasith @anthonykatebridgerton @icecoldtires @vamossainz55 @ophcelia @dudde-44 @ladyf1 @kissatelier @leclerc16s @nmw-am @dan3avocado @ally4and33 @amsofftrack

[ggensblog]

Okay i loved your James fic, now get them back together :) my heart cant take this :)

ok so I thought this would happen so I had something on the back burner for a type of resolution type scenario. I don't have the energy to type it out right now so here are some head canons or like bullet points-

read the original; over-the-ocean call | j.p.

-years pass and after you graduate from the university you were attending your mom wants you to come back and move in with her.

-when you get back you're greeted by your mother and she's just kind of updating you on everything that has been going on recently- lily's doing well, the marauders are doing well etc.

-you get to your house and there's a surprise 'welcome back' party with all of your closest friends from Hogwarts.

-lily is like 'oh my gosh it is amazing to see you again'

-lots of hugs

-James isn't there. he is in his own apartment. he got an invitation but wasn't sure if you'd want to see him after all of this time and with the way things ended- which wasn't necessarily bad, but instead was guaranteed to make things awkward between the two of you.

-the party is fun and everything but you can't help but miss James's presence, he was always the life of every party you went to and even though it had been years since your break up and years since you've even seen him- you still found yourself looking for him or waiting for him to walk into your mother's home.

-the next couple weeks go by where you're just kind of getting back into the swing of things. one night you go out to a pub with lily and the marauders end up being there at the same time. lily claims she had no idea they would be there but she totally did.

-you and James run into each other while getting drinks and it's just as awkward as you would have expected. lots of 'so how have things been' and whatnot.

-eventually the two of you agree to get coffee sometime when you're both free.

-on said coffee date meeting you both just kind of catch up on everything you've been doing. you talk about how all of the work you were doing in your first year in America paid off and you were able to graduate from the university with an honors degree. James talks about how he sustained an injury during a quidditch tournament that forced him into retirement so now he's a personal nutritionist for a couple other quidditch players.

-you end up talking about your relationship and how you weren't a fan of how things ended. James expresses the same opinion on how you both were young and maybe not even ready for a long distance relationship quite yet. you agree.

-James says something along the lines of 'if I had to do it all over again- I wouldn't have let you go as easily.'

-swoon !

-you both agree to get dinner later int he week

-over time you both kind of settle into a routine of seeing each other on a regular basis and after a month or two James finally asks you out on a proper date.

-you agree.

-after that it was like two puzzle pieces were finally fit together after years of being apart. it's natural- your relationship. remus, sirius, lily and all of your friends are relieved that the two of you reconciled.

-and the rest is history

I hope that is a satisfying enough ending lmao- definitely a quick little thing I wrote in 10 minutes. anyway- I feel like most of my inspiration comes from songs I'm listening to so I am sure y'all can expect more 'songfics' in the future. but if you have any ideas or requests I would love to hear them.

[ms-moonlight-inn]

Weekly Tag Wednesday (V-Day Edition) Sunday

Hey, here I am, late again. 😁 So this week’s tag game I was tagged by my lovelies @jrooc & @lingy910y

name: Late For Dinner

where the heck are ya? The armpit of America aka upper New England

do you believe in love at first sight? So yes, I believe it's possible, but highly improbable. I believe that deep connection can be felt immediately, but that's the kind of shit that needs to be built upon.

do you believe in soulmates? Okay, kinda yes, but again that's the kind of thing that needs to be built up.

what’s a song you’ve been loving?

Can't get this shit out of my head lately.

how about a show you’ve been loving?

Will Trent

your ultimate otp: Gallavich

your comfort book: I recently finished reading Boyfriend Material, so that's been on my mind lately. I think a lot about books that I've read in the past, but the only one I've ever reread a lot was RWRB.

a fan work you adore (fic, art, manip, etc — tag the creator!): Gosh, recently I've been thinking about JQ's "In Real Life" a lot. It's a quirky little story that did not get the attention it deserves, unfortunately. And I'm obsessed with the way she ended it. Its final chapter is a social media post!

a trope that captures your heart: hurt/comfort, especially when it's emotional hurt 🥺

favorite candy: favorites are lemon heads candies, but really anything sour is good. 🍋

dark chocolate or white chocolate? neither

romance novels or thrillers? Both. Sometimes at the same time 😆

pink or red? I like hot pink and black as a combination. And then red sometimes, too. I guess that's to say that I don't have a strong preference either way.

and finally, spread some love! share words of encouragement, a positive message, or say something kind to yourself—it’s up to you!

🫶

***

I'm late on this one so not tagging anybody. If anyone wants to join in, feel free!

[pedrospaltas]

Caffeine Comfort

Plot: A simple and comforting story of how there is a man out there that consumes more caffeine than you do. How you become friends and your comfort person.

Set in winter of 2020 and the story will progress into current timeline.

No use of y/n.

Warnings: All the fluff, depiction of anxiety/panic attacks, consuming a unhealthy amount of caffeine.

This story is SMUT FREE, I respect those who write it, but I morally cannot do that to a real public figure. This is simply a comfort fic, to help my own anxieties and I do not mean to disrespect Pedro in anyway. I want to help those to envision, what he possibly could be like as your comfort person.

Disclaimer: I am not a writer, I make mistakes, please forgive any grammatical errors that may occur.

Part 1/4 (2.3k)

Every morning before you would stop by your local Starbucks to get a cup of coffee, it was your routine. The baristas all know you by name as you go to pick up the usual, iced americano, 5 shots. They always laugh at you when they go to make the drink, “How’s the hand tremors?” Someone asks and you simply laugh it off. Today was slightly different, you waltz in and made your order and as you were waiting the gentlemen behind you made his order, one of the baristas called over to you, “Hey! Someone is crazier then you are!” The others turned around from the bar to look at the cup, “6 shots…” you overheard one of them gasp. The customer paid for his order and walked over to the waiting area, the two of you made eye contact and he noticed your avengers shirt, “So who’s your favorite Avenger?” He laughs, since you had to wait for the coffee anyways, you entertain him, “Are we talking original 6 or everyone?” “Let’s start with OG 6”, you pucker your lips and thought about it, “I thought Hawkeye was really cool when I was in high school, then I really had the hots for Captain America” The guy in front of you ruffles his hair, “You a big marvel fan?”

“I dabble a bit in all the cinematic universes, Marvel, DC, Starwars.” He gives you a smirk, “Are you excited for the new Wonder Women movie coming out soon?”

Just then the barista hand you your drink and his. “Well then-“ he places to your cup to get your name, “- I gotta bounce, but I’ll see you around” You simply smile and wave him goodbye, he turns around and says “Life is good, but it could be better.” You didn’t understand what he meant and just laughed as you thought about how cute he was, absolute golden retriever energy.

The day passes at work and you go home, the night is just the same as every-other night. You get home prepare dinner, shower and heads to bed.

It’s been a few weeks since your first meeting with the coffee addict, you learned that his name is Pedro. Pedro said that he works nearby and needs his caffeine every day to function as a human being. Everyday you go to Starbucks, and everyday you run into Pedro, the conversations were awkward at first, he asked about your favorite roasts of coffee beans, and the maximum amount of caffeine you would ingest in a day. The more you interacted with him, the more you enjoyed his company, he emitted such a comforting energy. He would always clink your cups together and say, “Hope you don’t get a heart attack today!”

Today you went in expecting Pedro to be there, but he wasn’t. You didn’t understand why, but you were disappointed. Barista handed you your coffee and as you walked out the cafe, you noticed Pedro waving at you from across the street, you invoulnteemily smiled as wide as your cheeks would allow. He ran over to you as soon as the lights turned yellow, “Thought I was gonna miss you! I made it!” He wanted from the running. You smiled as you watched him catch his breath, “Yup, just me and my espresso” you shook the iced-coffee in his face.

“I uhm, I wanted to ask you, I have premiere tickets to Wonder Women 1984, would you ever be interested in joining me?” He straightens his back and slightly towers over you.

“Oh, I haven’t even seen the trailer yet, is it out already?” You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “Don’t watch the trailer, it’ll, uhm- you can watch it start to finish without any anticipation, it’ll be great” He smiles while he rubs the back of his neck.

“Okay, when is it it? I may have work?”

“Next Monday evening, you mentioned you had Sunday/Mondays off once, I remember” He laughs proudly at the remark.

You pretended like you had a life outside of work, “I’ll have to check to see if I have plans already. I’ll tell you tomorrow when I see you.”

Pedros eyes glimmer at they look at you, “Sure, sounds good. I really hope you can join me!”

You give him a smile and a nod, you pointed towards the direction of your office hinting to him that you gotta leave for work. He nods, “Right, well, I’ll see you again, tomorrow morning!” He gives you a wave and you were off to the offices again.

Today at work a few guys at IT were caught talking about the WW premiere and how they couldn’t land tickets. “I was on the site at 11:59 last night and I made sure to refresh, but it was all sold out.” You thought about Pedros invite, but it had been so long since you’ve been out to see a movie, even before the whole pandemic, you just preferred staying at home. A part of you really wants to go just to get to know Pedro more and a part of you wants to stay home and just be a couch potato. You didn’t give it any more thought before returning back to work.

It was a absolutely horrible day at work, your client requested to have the proposal revised for the 4th time and marketing decided it was a good time to change up all of the store front promotional materials causing a mountain load of work to be done. You went home, showered and head straight to bed, you had a late lunch, you didn’t feel the need to eat dinner.

It felt like you had only closed your eyes 30 mins ago, but the blaring 7am alarm disturbed your ever so peaceful sleep. You knew that today was one those days where 1 coffee was never going to be enough.

After reaching the cafe you reached to open the doors when you felt a tap on your left shoulder, you turned to see no one, and the other side Pedro was crouched down trying to hide from you view, you giggled out loud when you saw him, “Good morning!” He greeted, “I’m too sleepy for it to be a good morning…” you groaned. Pedro grabbed the door and escorted you inside, “Nothing a little espresso can’t fix!” He cheered, inline, he stood in front of you and ordered, “2 of my usuals and 2 choco cookies please” he then turned over to you, “You won’t have the energy to fight over me buying you a coffee right?” You pouted and nodded as you followed him to the bar, he couldn’t help, but he fix a strand of rogue hair that is sticking up from the back of your head, “Did you not get any sleep last night?”, you shook your head, “I got my 8 hours in, I went home after a long day of OT and after showering, I passed out.”

Pedro nodded, “Hopefully you don’t have to OT today then, I don’t think you’ll survive even a half day” He laughed. You have him a look of agreement, “So about next Monday, would you be free?” He asked. Without filtering your thoughts you blurted, “Of course I am”, the barista handed him the coffees and cookies, “Amazing! That’s awesome, okay, uhm- do you use WhatsApp?” He handed you the coffee and you immediately took a sip and nodded to his question. He hands you his phone and gesture for you to input your number. You added yourself in and he hands you a cookie, “When I’m feeling like shit a nice warm cookie always helps, my sister used to bake these every week when we were living together.” Both of you took a bite out of the cookies and walked towards the exit, “Pedro I don’t want to go to work” you whined like a 10 year old child. “Eres tan linda…” (You’re so cute) you looked to him in confusion, “Huh? Your friend Linda is here?” You look around, ��No it’s nothing” he laughs, “But you need to get to work, trust me, it’ll be fine, now that I have you on my phone, I’ll send you motivational memes, I promise!”

You slowly nod your head, “Fine, I’ll go to work…” He waves you goodbye and heads back into his car.

The entire day, at the top of every hour, Pedro sent a work related meme, of if them being GIFs from “The Office, but you honestly found them funny. [5 more hours to go] he texted you. [Longest 5 hours of my life] you responded.

The days leading up to Monday were stressful, you finished the pile of paper work that was sitting at your desk and before you knew it there was a new pile. Your short 5 minute interactions with Pedro were the only thing you looked forward to now.

Monday morning Pedro texts you,

[G morning I didn’t call since you’re probably still sleeping though it’s already 11am]

[Anyways, would you like me to pick you up or did you wanna meet up at the theatre? Movie starts at 4:30, I was thinking movie and dinner?]

You rub your eyes to get a better view of the phone screen.

[Hey P, just woke up lol]

[We can meet at the theatre, it’s only a few train stops away]

[Dinners good]

Pedro almost texted you back instantaneously. [Great, see you there!]

After snuggling in bed for another hour you got up to do some light cleaning and found yourself eating a bowl of cereal for lunch.

You then took a shower and got ready, light coverage make up, simple hair up-do, black tank-top, dark denims and to top it all off a brown leather jacket. You looked at the mountain of shoes you had piling up and decided to just pull on converses’, they honestly go with every look.

You pulled out your phone and texted Pedro [On my way!] and he simply replied with a thumbs up emoji.

You found Pedro by concessions, he was dressed in a similar leather jacket and had a baseball cap on, his arms were hugging a load of snacks. He held a giant bucket of popcorn, a bag of cotton candy, 3 types of choco lates and 2 drinks, when you were in earshot he shouted, “I didn’t know what you liked so uhm- I got one of everything” he had the look in his eyes like a lost puppy, you laughed out, “Oh Pedro, just popcorn would have been fine!” You took some of the load off his hands. “Wow, you look very different when you’re not in business casual attire” Pedro exclaimed as he lead the way to the theater. You give him a questioning side eye, “Good different of bad different?” He gave you another look from head to toe, “Good different, definitely good different”

When you got inside, the theatre started to pack with more viewers, you were busy enjoying the previews and enjoying the cotton candy when you noticed further sinking into his seat and lowering his hat. You gave him a look, he quickly responded, “I’m- uhm, just cold” You didn’t question him and continued to snack away.

The movie was staring and the house lights blacked out, Pedro finally lifted his cap to see the screen.

You noticed how similar Pedro looked to Maxwell Lord, you looked over to Pedro, he has a bit of a mustache/beard situation going, his hair was deep cocoa brown and he looks much younger and slimmer then Maxwell, no, you pinpointed to the fact that you were being delusional.

Then it happened. The line, “Life is good, but it could be better” the line Pedro said to you at the cafe where you first met. You looked over to him eyes-wide. He gave you an innocent smile. “Y- you’re…” Pedro placed his finger to your lip before you could finish the sentence.

You couldn’t ignore the fact that you were watching this movie with him and how he is bitterly in the movie. Your brain couldn’t focus on the dialogue anymore, your ears began to ring, your eyes are out of focus and your hands were getting sweaty.

Pedro notices that you were shaking in your seat, you had the look of impending fear in your eyes.

“Hey are you okay?”

That did it for you, after Pedro asked the question you felt a tsunami wave of anxiety wash over you and bolted out of the theatre, Pedro was quick to follow. People in the theatre quickly noticed, “Is that Pedro Pascal?” They murmured. He followed you to the fire exit stairwells, you had started hyperventilating and your face was red and felt burning hot. You gripped onto the railing like your life depended on it. Pedro placed a hand on your shoulder and pulled his cap off to place on your head, he knew the bright led lights above the ceiling would make you feel worse. “Hey, listen to my voice, just breathe. Breathe for me, okay.” He then mimicked deep breaths for you to follow, you slowly slump onto the side of the wall, your hands now vibrating. Pedro places his hand onto yours. “Breathe”

You closed your eyes and followed his breathing, after a few minutes everything was much calmer than it was before. “Feeling better?” You nodded. Pedro had the most guilty and remorseful look in his eyes right now. “I’m sorry, I wanted to surprise you, I- I- didn’t mean to- I’m so sorry” His voice sounded muffled to you, but in the moment you just wanted a hug, you wanted to feel grounded, “I wanted to tell you at the cafe, but I didn’t want to gloat so I didn’t day anything, and I-“ before he could finish his sentence you slipped both your arms under his and placed your head on his chest. For a moment the world had stopped spinning and the world was silent. Pedro wrapped you around his arms and breathed with you. A warm feeling crept into your chest, comfort.

[hellfirecvnt]

Don't Piss Me Off (Pt. 1)

John Q. (Simon) X Fem!Reader

Warnings: DRUG USE!! Y/N smokes weed and does coke. Don't do drugs, it's for the bit. Drugs are bad. Don't be stupid. This is self indulgent as fuck. Simon is mean, obvs. Y/N is also mean.

Summary: You're back in your hometown for a few weeks to house sit for your parents. A rivalry dating back to your high school years makes an appearance, but this time, he's met his match.

Notes: I finally found someone angry and hot to fill the Billy Hargrove shaped hole in my fanfic writing heart. Fuck ST. Free Palestine.

You invited everyone to this party. An absolute rager while you're house sitting for your parents. Their home is huge compared to your humble two bedroom house, states away. You've reached out to everyone you can remember from your hometown, and it's surprisingly a lot. The house is packed by the time all the guests arrive. A feeling of accomplishment straightens your shoulders as the music surges through the house. Your pride is promptly diminished when a familiar face you specifically didn't invite steps through the door. Simon.

"Why is he here?" You whisper to the nearest person, but somehow, through the music and loud conversation, he hears you as if you whispered it directly to him.

"I heard there was a party. I followed the clientele." He winks, patting a pocket on his dirty bomber jacket.

"Are you selling drugs inside my parents' house?" You ask, acting mortified. He just smirks, basking in the idea of setting you off like he used to, years ago. Long before you left this town. "Let me get an eighth of smoke and a gram of whatever I can put up my nose." The request visibly caught him off guard. He stares at you with a raised eyebrow as he rummages in his pocket for your order.

"Y'know I don't really-"

"What? You stop selling weed?"

"No, it's just," he tilts his head before shoving the illegal contents into your hand. "You seem different."

"Different?"

"Yeah, like you're not a whiny fuckin' kid blowing up my spot anymore." He chuckles as he slips past you, and dissolves into the party. That's right, years ago, when the two of you were in high school, he was expelled when administration seemingly randomly brought in drug dogs, and his locker was raided. To everyone's surprise, he still graduated from the alternative school and even went on to college, but apparently his pursuit of education stopped there when his well-known temper earned him the boot.

Sure, you were a bit of a late bloomer. A classic loser amongst your classmates. The poster child of people who took D.A.R.E extremely seriously, even though you'd never once given a shit about it. You knew he always blamed you for his getting caught, he made your life hell in college before you moved. You forgot all about him before he stepped through your parents' door.

He's already here, so you decide to let him make his money and spice up your party. It's not like you'll run into him again with the way people keep showing up. A bored town, a boring town seeking any kind of thrill outside the two bars that close at 11 PM.

You're not much of a drinker, so your eighth and blow do exactly what you need them to. The coke keeps you chatty and energetic, while the weed mellows that swinging jaw you'd have. Coke is a special occasion drug, your tolerance isn't something to brag about. You sneak off to the bathroom every once in a while, and no one seems to notice, so you get a little brave, slipping away on the empty back patio to cut out a quick line on your mother's hand mirror.

Your technique is swift, muscle memory from your harder partying days in college. The entire time, Simon watches through a window. He'd caught you in passing, and watched in curiosity as the girl he knew with big, innocent eyes and a loud mouth rails a sizable line of hard drugs. He's dumbfounded, laughing lightly to himself. You clean the glass of the remaining powder with your index finger and rub it against your gums, lifting the mirror to check your nose for evidence of your patio soiree. Just as your eyes meet your own, the patio door slides open, and you're no longer alone in the safety of darkness. "Not your first time with that shit." It's not a question, but it sounds like it was supposed to be.

"Far from it," you sigh, relieved. You don't mind smoking with others, but the coke is something you'd prefer to keep to yourself.

"Could'a fooled me," he strikes a lighter, cherrying the end of his cigarette. "You used to be a fucking bitch." He wraps his lips around those last two words, really annunciating each syllable. It's dark, but there's enough moonlight to see the dark circles around his eyes as he displays that same threatening look he used to shoot at you in college between shoulder checks and vulgar insults.

"This 'fucking bitch' will beat your ass now, Kenny. Watch ya' fuckin' mouth," you mock his accent, as yours thinned out after being away for so long.

"Who the fuck is Kenny?" He looks genuinely thrown off.

"No fuckin' poise. Stay focused. Don't insult me on my own patio, I'll fuck us both up." You're speaking almost gibberish, but the only way to knock him down is to throw him off.

"Who the fuck are you?" Simon chuckles, taking a drag of his cig.

"It's been a long time. I'm surprisingly not 16 anymore. You don't seem very young yourself."

He takes a drag, eyes widening as if he's watching a TV show that caught him pleasantly off guard. "Yeah, okay."

"How are sales?" You ask, running your tongue across your teeth to disperse the numbing of the bitter substance.

"Not bad. You just invite everyone whose name you could remember?"

"Everyone but you, Simon." You sigh.

"Well, I hate it for you, Queen Bitch. But I've gotta make money somehow."

"You could try a job," you say, but after you look him up and down, you change your mind. "Nevermind." He releases a genuine laugh, puffing plooms of smoke from his lips with each heave of his chest. "You still doing that band thing?"

"'Band thing?'" he huffs. "Yes. I'm still doing the... Band thing."

"Yikes, soft spot, huh? Not going great?" Years ago you took his verbal beatings with a cowering stance, and often, tears. Today you're giving it all back to him. The reason for your vitriol is not lost on him, so he takes every blow.

"It's going fine. You should come to a show. Get out of your little rich kid bubble for two seconds." Clocked. You've been clocked. Your stunted social skills stemmed directly from how sheltered and spoiled you were until the age of 18 when you finally realized what your life was, compared to others. You worked and saved your own money and moved away at 20. Away from your shelter, away from your helicopter parents, and realistically, away from Simon.

"Yeah, that'll be the day," you're laughing until you notice something going south right inside the door. A fight seems to have broken out. You burst through the entryway, shoving yourself between the two men. One of them, a tall, broad man steps back, acknowledging the escalation at hand. While the other, shorter, almost shorter than you, seems to only get more angry. "You need to calm the fuck down!" You yell, only trying to be heard over his own volume.

"Get the fuck out of my face, bitch!" The short man spits like venom. You look at him with a raised eyebrow, and something takes hold. Before you know it, your own fist is connecting with his jaw. The crowd is rallying you on, but your hit wasn't enough to knock him out. You're aware that your swing warrants a swing back, but God, you know it's about to hurt even with this dude being the size he is. He swings his fist under and hooks you in the stomach. It's painful, but you can't help but heave a wheezing, breathless laugh at the idea that he swung low because he might not have properly reached your face. He's not even that short, but you can't stop the laughter. That only pisses him off more, and he swings again, this time catching your cheek.

By now, you've both been separated as the spectators realize it was kinda strange to watch a man fight a woman, regardless of how it started. You're still laughing, breathless from the hit and sweating from the cocaine. When you're finally released, the laughing returns to anger and you run half of the party off.

"Party's over, fuck outta here!" You call, harshly pushing the power button on the stereo. "Short stack ruined it for all of you. Get out of my house!" You leave the passed out guests alone, they're safer here anyways. Once you return to the patio, you take your same seat and return to the conversation as if nothing happened. "As I was saying, no. I won't be at a Psycho's show."

"It's Psyops and you fuckin' know that." He speaks harshly before reeling it in, and clearing his throat. "What the hell was that?" He gestures to the door with his thumb.

"I told you I'll beat your ass now, Kenny."

"Was that Kenny? Who the fuck is Kenny?" It's clear he hasn't stopped thinking about "Kenny" since the first time you said it.

"I don't know who that guy was," you shrug. "Can I have a smoke?" You rub your sore cheek.

"Whatever," he tosses a cigarette your way. "What was with the laughing? You just fuckin' insane or something? You been in the asylums this whole time?" He looks almost serious with his inquiry. Like he wouldn't be surprised.

"No, I just-" you start to laugh again. "I imagined him punching me in the gut because he couldn't reach my face." You graze your fingers over your cheek again. "But clearly I was unaware of his lengthy arms or something. He seemed shorter from far away," you chuckle.

"Fuckin' ridiculous," Simon laughs with you, shaking his head.

"Yeah, thanks for jumping in, by the way." You joke, cutting out another line on the small silver mirror.

"Jumping in? For you? A fuckin' snitch?" He raises his eyebrows, as if he's been waiting to address this.

"Oh, fuck off. I didn't fucking snitch on you," you announce before inhaling the line.

"Y/N, it's been years. Just fuckin-"

"Simon, I didn't snitch on you. I didn't know you sold drugs at school. I thought they searched our lockers daily, I didn't think anyone would be able to sell drugs that easily at school." As you're explaining, you realize you never denied telling on him, you just silently took his punishment, hoping it'd eventually stop.

"Are you a god damn idiot? You thought they searched all those lockers every fuckin' day?" He's in disbelief.

"That's what my parents told me," you shrug, rubbing the powder from the mirror on your gums again.

"I ain't buying that shit," he mumbles like a growl. "You got that Mickey kid expelled too. Year before." He's staring you down like he's got you cornered.

"Yeah, because he pushed me down the fucking stairs, Simon. I was in the hospital for a week. He broke my arm." You're shocked that it wasn't common knowledge why Mickey was expelled. "He's in jail right now for the armed robbery of a church."

"Wait, seriously?" Simon huffs a chuckle as he pieces it all together and finally, finally considers the fact that you weren't the snitch.

"Have you ever considered that maybe you weren't very good at it? Selling drugs at school, I mean." You tilt your head, awaiting an answer.

"You really didn't do it," he exhales a cloud of smoke from the cigarette he'd just lit.

"No, I didn't. And you made every single day hell for me. You ran me out of town." You're laughing as you say it, looking down and focusing on rolling a joint, but he keeps his eyes on you. A glint of guilt flashes in his pupils, but you'd never know. He used to wonder if he had a hand in your running off, and today it was finally confirmed. Your laugh carries the weight of everything you were getting away from. A man that feels anger as deeply as Simon does, incidentally, comes with the ability to empathize with pain.

"Alright. Next time, I'll jump in." He relaxes, leaning back into the chair.

"Sounds good." You spark up your joint and take a long drag before passing it to Simon. An olive branch. A silent truce. Forgiveness that he didn't deserve. He takes it from your hand and takes a hit. The usually smooth smoke scrapes into his lungs from the guilt. The feeling quickly dissipates as the two of you get stoned.

You both stay there in those seats all night. You hardly realize the passing of time until the sky begins to light up a pale morning blue. "Holy shit, how long have we been out here?" Simon asks, noticing his empty pack of cigarettes. You throw a five dollar bill toward him.

"I owe you. I smoked over half of those." He stuffs the money in his pocket with a nod. "You can stay here, but if you knock on my door at any point after I go to sleep I will fight you like the little guy." Simon looks around and shakes his head.

"No thanks." He nods and heads towards the door.

"See ya' around, Simon." As he closes your door behind him, something sends a tingle down his spine when he hears you say his name again. A softness directed towards him that he's not used to. It's uncomfortable and new and the sensation of craving more pisses him off. He shrugs his shoulders, physically shaking the feeling from his body before heading off on foot. To where? Who fuckin' knows.

The next day, or that same day, way later when you wake up, you're already planning your next get together as you clean up from last night. It's not as bad as usual, but probably because it got cut a few hours short after the altercation. A feat that you had forgotten about until you caught your reflection while brushing your teeth. A small bruise has formed under your eye where you were hit. "Ha, what a pussy." You lift your shirt to examine your stomach and there's not even a semblance of a hit. "Pussy!" You repeat, louder.

After getting ready for the day, you head to the store to replenish the stock for your next shindig. Your parents always leave their credit card when you house sit. It's the only time in your adult life you don't mind using their money. They hardly notice it anyways.

As you're strolling the aisles of the bodega, you spot Simon. Something in you feels awkward about last night, so you hang back until he leaves. He looks tired and disheveled. More so than usual. And he's a little out of breath like he'd been running. He buys a pack of smokes with the five you gave him and disappears out the door. You make your purchase and tote two 30 packs to your rickety, old van. A vehicle you were proud to buy yourself before you moved out. Simon watches you from the corner of the store, having a smoke before continuing his trek across town. He furrows his eyebrows, trying to remember when he saw you drink anything at all at the party. "She can't seriously be throwing another shit show," he mumbles.

He bolts when police pull into the lot, no doubt still in pursuit of him. They pull up to your van and you stand outside, defensively. Unsure of what in your van could get you in trouble at this moment. "Have you seen this guy?" They hold up a picture of Simon. The way he looked in college, anyways. He's shaved his head now.

"No, I can't say I have." You shrug.

"Take this and let us know if you see anyone suspicious." The cop hands you the paper and you take it with a flat smile. Once they leave the lot, you crumple the paper into a ball and toss it in your van.

Simon just can't shake the image of you he's had in his mind all these years. Shy and afraid. Avoiding eye contact and clutching your books to your chest when he'd loom over you and whisper vicious cruelties. Now you walk with your back straight. You look him in the eye, even when he tries to make you uncomfortable just for fun. You fist-fight people and laugh because you imagined something funny in the middle of getting an uppercut to the stomach. You bought drugs from him the second he walked in the door. You're hardly recognizable.

That night, you're settling in the living room with a movie on the TV. It's a quiet, peaceful evening as you smoke a joint on your couch, enjoying the silence of your own company.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock!

Someone frantically bangs on the door before bursting in and slamming it behind them. "Hey! Are you home or what?" Simon yells into the foyer.

"I'm right here, you scared the shit out of me!" You throw a handful of popcorn at him. "Why are you inside my parents' house? What time is it?"

"I don't know what time it is. Shut up, listen, I need to," he seems to search for a softer word than 'hide.' "Stay in here for an hour or two."

"I saw your wanted poster. You're a real outlaw, huh? Arson, right? Hard." He rolls his eyes. "I told them I hadn't seen you."

"Yeah, thanks. I'd hope so."

"You gonna sit down or what?" You ask, annoyed that he's interrupting your movie. He huffs and joins you on the couch and you pass the joint to him.

"The fuck are we watching?" He raises an eyebrow. You stare at him for a second before answering.

"Firestarter."

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he sighs.

"Yeah, I started thinking about it after I read your charges. Fucking idiot." You laugh. "Broad daylight is brutal."

"Their house was fine."

"Well, you can hide here as long as you need to. I'll be here for a few weeks. But I am throwing another get together tomorrow, so be down for that."

"Again?" He scoffs.

"Yeah. It's way more fun to party in this giant house than my fucking double wide."

"You live in a double wide trailer?"

"Yes. I got out on my own dime. Options are limited where I ended up." You always tell this story like a brag. It's something you're proud of. After all, it's a nice double wide. It's not even in a trailer park... This time.

"Hard." He mocks you and you laugh in response.

"So these are your two options? Party or a movie with barely any volume while you get high?" He leans across the couch to pass you the joint, unknowingly scooting closer with each reach.

"Normally I'm not talking over the movie so the volume is just fine." You shrug. He takes the hint and finally shuts up, watching the movie and keeping panicky eyes on the windows. By the time the joint is finished, the two of you are much closer than before. Not too close, but gravity seems to be doing its thing. Simon can finally see the small bruise under your eye.

"Is that from that guy?" He laughs.

"Yeah, I know. He tried his best," you join in the laughter. Simon raises a hand to brush his thumb over it, never minding to invade someone's personal space.

"There's not even a welt. What a fuckin' pussy," he says as he lowers his hand. You're not sure if you're blushing or not, but you do know that you're frozen for a moment after the sudden, close quarters. You may have grown out of a lot, but you're still pretty fucking awkward sometimes. Simon notices right away. God damn it.

"That's exactly what I said! There's nothing on my stomach either. It's like I fought a toddler." You laugh, your head is clearing up, but not for long. Simon leans in closely, sliding closer to you than before and invading your personal space much more boldly than when he touched your bruise.

"You know how to take a hit, huh?" He whispers, inches from your face. Your eyes are wide and you feel the heat rise in your cheeks when you feel his hand on your thigh.

"You're about to take a hit if you don't move that fuckin' hand," you snap with a wavering voice that you hope he doesn't notice.

"I'm just fuckin' with you. Had to find some way to do it. You're all... difficult now." He laughs at your still red face. He backs down and you roll your eyes, defeated by your own bodily reactions.

"You are God damn difficult, Simon." You jam your finger into his chest, sizing him up, invading his bubble. "You're difficult and it makes you angry. Now, I'm letting you hide in my parents house from the fuckin' police, so please, for the love of god, tone that fuck-shit down." He can't help but grin at the tables you've turned. Your forehead might as well be pressed to his as you tell him what for.

"Calm the fuck down, Y/N. I'm just fuckin' with you. Thanks for the safehouse." His thanks sounds like sarcasm, but you decide it's the best you'll get from him. He keeps his distance after that, but doesn't shift away from you. For the rest of the movie, you catch him stealing glances your way. He's silently reliving the moment you pushed back, a smile cracks across his lips, but you're too focused on the movie.

The two of you fall asleep before the credits roll. You're baked and glued to the couch, he's exhausted from running all day. It's barely dawn when Simon shakes himself awake, startled by something only a mind as paranoid and volatile as his could dream up. He looks at your sleeping form on the couch and checks his watch. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mumbles to himself. As he quietly steps toward the door, you call to him from the couch.

"You can shower here if you want. You look like shit. It'd probably be harder to spot you if you weren't filthy." Simon rolls his eyes, but you're right. You rise and stretch from your blanket cocoon. "Fuck, what time is it?"

"Early."

"Useful. The bathroom's down the hall to the right. Toss your clothes in the basket and set it outside."

"Alright," he huffs, unsure how to process your balance between "fuck you" and "I'll do your laundry for you so you can shower."

Simon leaves his clothes in the basket just like you asked and you toss them in the washer with a few of your clothes to fill it up. It'll take longer to wash and dry his clothes than it'll take for him to shower, so you rummage through some of your dad's PJs and leave a pair of soft pants and an old Harvard T-shirt in place of the basket. After a while, Simon emerges from the steamy bathroom, towel-clad. "Are you serious?" He asks, holding up the clothes you've left for him.

"Don't you wanna know what it's like to wear a Harvard shirt?" You jest. "It'll be another 30 minutes on your clothes." Simon rolls his eyes, and tosses the clothes on the couch.

"I'll wait." He takes a seat next to you, the towel secured around his waist. "Give me that." He takes the joint you've barely just started rolling out of your hands. It feels more like a "thank you" than a "I'll do it better" so you let him roll it. It's a gesture of kindness from him, and you accept it.

After a joint or two more, the buzzer sounds on the dryer. "I'll be right back, I threw some of my clothes in there too." You leave and return with a basket of fresh, clean, warm clothes. You dig through and find Simon's belongings, tossing them to him piece by piece. Once he slips off to the bathroom again, he comes back fully dressed. A cleaner, easier to look at version of himself.

"Thanks," Simon nods, but he doesn't retake his seat next to you. "I'll catch you later."

"You coming to the party? For the money?" You grin, secretly hoping to repeat your patio soiree from before.

"For the money." He chuckles as he steps out the door, leaving you in peaceful silence. You fall back asleep right away. Hours later, when you finally awaken, some people are already in the house.

"Jesus Christ, you guys don't knock or nothing?" You rub your eyes. "Don't fuck up my parents' house. I'm gonna go get ready."

"Yeah, yeah," your friends chant back, picking out music to play on the stereo. Once you're dressed and made up to your liking, you return to the party. The size of the crowd doubled in the hour it took you to get ready. As you play hostess, you're secretly searching each room and hallway for Simon, hoping he'd show up, though you're not sure why you're so eager. He was a dick for most of the time you've known him, but even back then, he's a very attractive man.

You pour a round of shots and pass them out, making sure each of your closest pals gets theirs first. You're holding onto one last one, searching for Simon, when you round the corner and see a familiar face. It's the short little shit you just fought the other night. "Aw, god damn it." You sigh, already anticipating the spectacle that's about to unfold.

"You got a lot of fucking nerve throwing another party after the shit you pulled," he says, cracking his knuckles, but you're looking down at him almost, so it's not very threatening

"What? Nerve? Aren't you trespassing right now? Get the fuck out of my house. We're all pushing 30." You're dumbfounded by this weird turf war happening inside your childhood home.

"You think just 'cause you're a broad, you can mouth off to anybody you want and get away with it."

"No, I didn't 'get away with it,' you left a faint little freckle on my cheek with that crabapple you call a fist." And with that, you catch another swing. Just as painful, and this time, no laughter follows. The shot glass is knocked from your hand and shatters on the floor just before you land, cutting up your hands pretty good. "Ah! God fucking damn it!"

"Fuck you, bitch!" The man shrieks, kneeling over you to beat you senseless, but he doesn't get a second hit in before someone's grabbed his shoulders and ripped him off of you. Simon.

He has the short man pinned against the wall receiving hit after hit to the face and stomach. "The fuck you come back here for, dumbass? Playground's already closed?" Simon taunts as he lands blow after blow. The rage in his eyes is palpable. You're on your feet in no time, folding your glass-filled hands in on themselves to swing brick-like fists at the troublesome man. It's you and Simon vs that guy until his friends eventually join in, knocking Simon around and finally dragging their friend out of the function. You wonder what the point of showing up was at all.

Simon helps you wash the glass and small traces of blood from your hands. There's only one significant cut, and a bandaid will have it fixed up in an instant. "Why and how did you manage to land on a pile of broken glass?" He asks, frustrated with the tweezers he's using to remove the tiny shards. "Who keeps inviting that fuckin' guy?"

"I saved you a, uh... I saved you a shot." Your voice lowers as the sentence goes on as you realize how desperate it sounds.

"Saved me a shot?" He laughs. "You were waitin' for me." He grins.

"Yeah, I was hoping to sweeten you up and get a heavier gram this time." You reach into your pocket for money and shove it at him, leaving your bandaged hand in front of him, awaiting your drugs.

"I'll share my personal with you, how about that?" He tilts his head up, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes as he raises a cigarette to his mouth. He already knows you'll be pulling him onto the patio, so he wastes no time lighting it.

"Sounds good, let's go." You lead him to the dark backyard and the two of you take a seat at the table, but you're a chair closer this time, making it easier to share the little mirror. You cut out two lines and pull your hair away from your face. Once the substance enters your body, you're ignited into conversation. You drone on and on, and Simon listens to every bit, quietly hitting his cigarette as he watches you go. Slowly, the adrenaline wears off, and the reality of the ache in your face settles in. "Oh, my God. My fucking face." You brush a finger over the inevitable darkening black eye on the right side of your face.

"Yeah, they uh, kinda fucked us up." Simon speaks through cigarette smoke.

"Do you even know who they are? The short guy?"

"You keep calling him short. He's your height." Simon squints.

"I just feel so much taller than him. Maybe it's the shoes, I don't know." You shrug, snorting another line with the side of your nose that hasn't swollen shut from the fight.

"It's clearly a sore spot for him, regardless."

"You jumped in," you smile, feeling as if this "friendship" has finally been validated.

"Said I would," Simon responds flatly. You roll your eyes and stare up at the night sky for a moment. Inside, the party rages on. Music thumps from indoors, but the sound is well sealed from where you two sit.

"This is gonna hurt so bad tomorrow, huh?" You ask, sniffing through your coke and blood-filled nose.

"Oh, yeah." A drag of his cigarette. "It's gonna fucking suck." He can't help but chuckle, having lived through an ass beating or two in his life.

"You gonna be here when I wake up?"

"Stop asking me so many fucking questions." He waves his hand dismissively.

"Not even to hide?" You smirk.

"I'll come back to hide." He exhales smoke through a small smile. You two are up long past sunrise, and when the last of the coke finally begins to wear off, you head to bed.

"Goodnight, Simon. Don't go to jail today." You chime behind you as you head down the hall. Simon scans the living room and it's emptier than the last party. As in, no one stayed the night. He shifts uncomfortably for a moment, unsure of his next move. Before he knows it, he's face down, passed out on your parents soft, leather couch.

You can hear the familiar sound of falling face-first into that exact couch, and you feel a sense of comfort knowing Simon won't be running from the cops while you sleep. He's gone when you wake up and to avoid any more drama, you hold off on planning your next party. Days go by, and your time house sitting dwindles. Simon hasn't come back, not even to hide.

Weeks pass and you're packing your belongings into your van, giving your parents a hug and assuring them that nothing went awry. They shower you in thanks and love, sending you on your way back home, states away. It feels bittersweet, and you wish you got to tell Simon you were leaving. Maybe give him a phone number or something stupid like that.

Before you leave town, you stop by a gas station to fill up and grab a snack. At the register, a tall man with long locs peers at you from behind the counter. "Is that everything?"

"Yeah, and the rest on pump four." The man nods at your request. You'd be lying if you said you weren't looking for Simon to pass by outside, or hopefully catch him walking somewhere so you can say bye. It's a strange feeling in you to want his presence. As you reminisce about the sheer rage in his eyes as he pulled that guy off of you during the fight, your eye catches something behind the register. A poster for some gritty, underground band. And opening for them... Psyops.

The cashier hands you your bags and you point to the poster. "What's the date on that? The concert thing."

"I think it's tonight," he answers flatly. Your shoulders fall, wondering if this late in the evening means you've already missed him. You shake these weird feelings from your head, reminding yourself that a few days of liking each other doesn't make up for all those years of torment. You continue down the road for a few miles more.

"God damn it!" You burst, cutting a U-turn in the middle of the street, barreling your van back into town. He said he'd jump in, and he did. You told him you'd go to a show.

(Part 2 is HERE!!)

[coqvttes]

oh my goodness I love this question!!! So, yes I do celebrate christmas my love thank you so much for asking <3

So here in Argentina (yes, I am an international fan, your fics reach all the way to South America) we have this sort of tradition to decorate the eight of december. It mostly exist as a christian tradition since is virgins mary day, so in her honor you decorate and prepare for his sons birth basically, and even though I’m not a christian anymore my parents are and honestly I don’t really mind. Anywayss, this friday I get to decorate the entire house and I’m soo excited. I love christmas in general, the food, the aesthetic, the movies, the overall vibes are so different than any other holiday. And here it’s actually summer right now, so after next weeks of finals I have summer vacations too. Still though, I actually hope to celebrate with snow one day, it would be so cool :,).

And also, fun fact, here we don’t celebrate Christmas Day itself, we actually celebrates Christmas Eve! Big dinner and all. What about you toots? Are you excited? I read you went to your family’s barn and found this cute childhood friend. As a delusional girly, I’m manifesting you get to experience childhood friends to lovers trope ☆*:.｡. (*^ω^*)

- (sorry for the long ask) sofi nonnie

ahhh what a beautiful tradition!! i love christmas so much too and im so excited too!! i honestly feel my happiest this time of year!

i just want to stay in bed and watch home alone with a cup of hot chocolate and marshmallows by the fire pleaseee and i’m so happy it snowed in the uk too especially after a hot summer.

sounds soo exciting!! have a wonderful time decorating sofi! i just put my christmas tree up with my family yesterday and ive spent so much money christmas shopping 😭😭 anything on ur wish list this year darling?

GIRLL IM MANIFESTING HARDD LIKE. it’s so cliche it’s just so meant to be pleaseee this would be the perfect christmas!! <333

no need to apologise i love long asks! xx

[guiltypleasurefandomface]

One of the worst spoiler warnings I ever read was in a fandom where one of the main characters died half way through the series. Let's call this character "Jane".

Everyone was already of the agreement that, cos half of the fandom were british fans and we were over 2 months behind America, that all important plot points were spoilers and therefore, should be warned for. Most people had the right idea. "Spoilers for S2:E3", "Spoilers for series 2", "Dont read if you're not up to episode 7".

One parficular Author tagged their fic, "Spoilers for Jane's death in episode 7".

Second to worst was when I was in the House MD fandom and someone put in the summary "Spoiler warning: Don't read if you haven't seen the episode where Wilson moves out of House's apartment".

Like, task accomplished... in the worst ways possible. Thanks.

And that's why I am currently avoiding Good Omens fic.

I can't remember what I had for dinner yesterday but it's these things that keep me awake at night.

[galactic-magick]

Hey dear! I really love your works on dmitri❤️

Can i request headcanons where: reader and dmitri living together in america (yeah I'm getting inspired by this post of yours) and some Hawkins dude discriminates against Dmitri for being Russian or the reader who has "a communist in their house", during their usual outing together. But the reader is immediately ready to take Dmitri's defense and give that dude a piece of their mind.

((so sorry in advance if I accidentally got the grammar of gender-neutral pronouns wrong, unfortunately English is not my native language))

First of all thank you so much! Glad to see I'm attracting other Dmitri fans to my blog haha!

This will basically be a part 2 to my first headcanon fic about him :)

Have a Stranger Things request? Read this!

you still haven't admitted your interest in each other officially, but there's definitely something there that you can both feel at this point

even though it's still unspoken, Dmitri really wants to do something for you to show you how thankful he is for everything you've done for him

so one day he offers to make dinner for you, suggesting he could make a family recipe from back in Russia

you enthusiastically except the kind offer and you both head to the store to get ingredients

some of the stuff he needs there isn't an exact equivalent to what's available there but you try to get the closest thing

he uses a lot of his native language when pointing to the ingredients on the shelves and mumbling to himself when recalling what he needs

unfortunately one of your nosy neighbors who also happens to be in the store overhears your conversation, you've noticed him watching you and Dmitri from his front porch whenever you're outside lately so it's not surprising he comes up to you

"I knew something was going on!" he exclaims. "Did you really think you could bring a commie into your house and nobody would notice?"

"Leave us alone, George," you roll your eyes and try to walk away.

"You're a traitor to our country. I don't want someone like him living anywhere near me,"

"Then move away," you give him a passive aggressive smile.

he keeps following you even when you try to get away, so you grab Dmitri's hand and turn back around.

"You know what?" you point a finger at your ridiculous neighbor. "You can shut your fucking mouth. Dmitri is one of the kindest men I have ever met in my life and I don't give a shit where he came from, and you shouldn't either. I know you're too much of a coward to actually report him anyway, so you're gonna leave us alone, got that? And maybe face the fact for once that your hatred for others makes you such a blinded asshole that you can't see how good the people you hate can be,"

he doesn't say a thing after that, and you storm off with Dmitri towards the checkout

Dmitri has probably never been as attracted to you as he is in that moment

his heart is warm because you stood up for him so ferociously

he wonders if he should tell you how he really feels tonight over dinner, but he’s still scared

your house has become a true home, and he doesn’t want to mess that up

he makes you the meal and you love it of course

but he still hasn’t properly thanked you for what you did

“You did not have to say all of that for me today,” he says. “I do appreciate it,”

You smile, “You’re very welcome. I’ve been waiting for a reason to go off on that guy anyway, he’s always been a jerk,”

“I do not understand why you have been so kind to me,”

“Oh, shush, Dmitri. I’m so happy I met you and you’re the best roommate I could ask for. There’s literally no reason for me to not like you or be kind to you,”

“So...you enjoy having me around?”

“I love having you around!” you take his hand across the table. “Do I not act like I do?”

“I just wanted to make sure before I...” his gaze bounces around your features.

“Before what-”

he then leans in and gives you a quick kiss, cutting off your question

he didn’t think he was going to make a move right then, but he just went for it

you gasp a bit, but it quickly turns into a grin

“Well if you keep doing that then I’m going to like having you around even more,”

letting out a sigh of relief from your positive reaction, he doesn’t hesitate to kiss you again and again

[dilemmaontwolegs]

*gasps* empty inbox? well we can’t have that! just wanted to say thanks for churning out fics the way that you do. you’re a machine and i love reading your work.

do you ever think bucky would be able to hide his life with the reader away from everyone else? (with the exception of steve and maybe sam bc, well he’s sam ofc he’s gonna find out). he tries his hardest to keep the two separate because he never wants to put you in danger with his work but one day he has to bring the 2 together (almost like a clint and laura in ultron type vibe).

if this sparks interest for a full fic i won’t mind but you could also answer with some short thoughts and i’d be more than thrilled xx

*fans face* too much, too much, you're gonna make me cry! I don't know how to do anything half measure so you have a full fic my sweets xx

Family First || Bucky

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, mentions of injuries, guns, violence, fluff WC: 2.1k

main masterlist || bucky masterlist || Part One || Part Two || Prequel Blurb

“Shh, sweetie, daddy will be home soon.” You cooed as your daughter cried for Bucky.

The ice pack on her ankle didn’t seem to be helping but at least the bandage on her knee had stopped the bleeding. You checked your phone once again, seeing he had read the message you sent and you cradled her head close to your chest. At least this latest injury wasn’t as bad as the time she broke her wrist falling out of a tree. You had to admit you didn’t handle that very well but it was the first serious injury your daughter had sustained. You had left a hysterical voicemail for him that really didn’t explain what had happened, only that you were rushing your daughter to hospital.

Bucky had charged in like he was about to face down a legion of aliens again, Steve and Sam right behind him. You weren’t sure who was more surprised, you at the fact he had brought friends from work or them at the fact he had a family. It was no secret being married to anyone in the Avengers was a risk but out of all of them, Bucky thought he had the biggest target because of who he used to be. After Bucky had seen that your daughter was safe, hurt but safe, he had introduced you to the men you had heard so much about and swore them to secrecy.

“You have a daughter?” Steve was still stunned at the revelation and his eyebrows were almost crushed together as the nurse had stepped out into the waiting area and called out her name.

“Sarah Barnes?”

Steve looked like he was going to cry when he realised Bucky had named her after his mom. They two men were still waiting there when she was released a few hours later with a bright pink cast covering her arm.

“Do you think Captain America and the Falcon could sign it, mommy?” She had asked, turning her bright blue eyes that she got from her father on you just like he did when he wanted you to say yes to something.

“Only if they want to.” You nodded with a small smile, leaning into your husband's embrace as you finally took a breath that the ordeal was over. “I’m sorry, I just freaked out.”

“It’s okay.” He had chuckled, rubbing soothing circles over your back. “I’m surprised we went this long without them finding out. I’m just glad you two are alright. When I heard you crying I thought…doesn’t matter, you’re both fine and that’s all that matters to me.”

You looked over at Sarah and saw she had climbed up onto the bench between Steve and Sam to regale the story that had led to her broken arm. You would not have thought that only three hours earlier she was a screaming mess and now she was anything but.

“Do you have to go back to work or do you want to invite them over for dinner?”

“If I have to eat another tv dinner I swear I’ll lose my mind.” Sam answered for them.

“I didn’t say you were invited.” Bucky shot back and you nudged your elbow into his ribs.

“You are both welcome to come. It’ll be nice to talk to someone who actually knows my husband exists and doesn’t think he is some fictitious character I made up.” You half joked and Sam gave you an odd look. “Parent teacher night last year. That really happened.”

His booming laugh filled the hallway and he held his hand up in apology to the nurses that looked his way disapprovingly before he clapped Bucky on the back. “Ouch, that has gotta hurt man.”

You were pulled from your thoughts as the sound of tyres crunching the gravel driveway filled the quiet countryside and up to the porch swing you were sitting on. You wiped away the latest tears that clung to Sarah’s eyelashes and pointed to the dust trail snaking up the hillside.

“See there’s daddy.” You smiled. “I told you he would come.”

Your smile faltered as you saw the reflection of the roof and realised it was black but Bucky’s SUV was silver. Not wanting to alarm her, you scooped her up and carried her inside. “That dust is going to get everywhere if I don’t shut the door.”

You placed her down on the couch and shut the front door, quietly bolting the locks in place and opened the coat closet to get the gun and burner phone that was hidden inside. You hit the only number that was programmed and it was answered on the first ring.

“Bucky, someone’s here.” You rushed as you peeked through the curtain beside the door.

“I need you and Sarah to go down to the basement. Lock yourself inside and don’t come out for anyone but me, Steve or Sam.” You had known him long enough to recognise his voice when he was scared, god knows you had held him through the nights when he cried and he had that same voice now.

“What’s going on baby?”

“Someone hacked us, they stole almost every piece of information on each of us.” He admitted and you heard metal groan as he put his vibranium fist through it. “I’m so fucking sorry, I think they know about you, about Sarah.”

You shoved the phone into the crook of your neck and shoved the gun down the back of your waistband before scooping up Sarah from the couch. “We are going to go treasure hunting downstairs ok sweetie.”

“That’s not daddy is it?” She asked as she heard the car doors slam closed and squealed.

“Daddy’s coming, Sarah.” Bucky called out as he heard his daughters panic but she couldn’t hear, even you could barely make out his words as the cell signal cut out the further down the stairs you descended. “I love you - so much. I’m on - way.”

“We love you too.”

You prayed he heard you before the call dropped and you put Sarah down roughly as you heard the front door slam, it would take all your strength to push shut the heavy reinforced steel door. Sarah cried as her ankle gave way beneath her and she fell to the ground but you had to focus on shutting the door, it was all there was between you and the men you could hear ransacking your home.

“It’s okay, sweetie, I know it's scary, mommy’s scared too.” You rasped as you held back your tears and brushed Sarah’s dark hair back from her face.

She was a prettier feminine image of Bucky and sometimes you thought the only thing she got from you was your clumsiness. Especially now, she bit her bottom lip to stop it from trembling and she hugged her arms around your neck as you sat in the corner, hidden by a barrier of moving boxes you had never ended up unpacking.

“It’s okay mommy, you don't have to be scared. Daddy’s going to save us from the bad men.”

There was not a single speck of doubt and you nodded your head, wishing you had the infallible hopes of a child but fear of reality kept grounding you with despair. It felt like hours but the phone showed it was only minutes later that the men descended the stairs and the loud rounds of gunfire rang out as they tried to shoot through the door. Sarah’s screams pierced your eardrums and you cradled her to your chest even tighter, wondering how long it would take for them to break through.

You were sitting ducks if they managed to get through and there were so many things you never got to say to Bucky. Dropping the useless burner phone, you pulled yours from your smartphone pocket and opened the voice recorder since it didn’t have any bars of signal either.

“Do you want to tell daddy how much you love him so we can play it for him when he gets here?” You asked as your voice broke at the lie and you hit the red record button.

“I can’t wait to see you bust in the door daddy! You’re going to kick their asses.” She growled proudly before you mouthed I love you. “I love you, daddy, you’re the bestest.”

“Mommy will be back in a minute.” You carefully moved her off you so that she was hidden behind the boxes and you walked to the opposite corner as you swallowed the lump in your throat and put the phone back up to your lips. “This is probably the worst time but I never thanked you. I know this is the worst case scenario you always feared and I wish I could see a way where we get out of this but…if this is it, I want you to know I don’t regret us. I know how guilty you feel and I know you will blame yourself but this was not your fault, baby, it was not your fault.

I knew the second I saw you in the market that you would change my life and I’m so glad you did, James. You gave me the world, you gave me your heart, you gave me a family. I-” You heard the door starting to groan and saw the hinges turning red as they torched their way through, panic gripping your last words and holding them hostage in your throat and you had to raise your voice over the sound of the blow torch. “I love you, so fucking much!”

“That’s a naughty word!”

You sobbed a laugh as you ended the recording and attached it to an email so that the moment your phone had signal it would complete its final mission to reach your husband. Tears blurred your vision as you pulled Sarah into your embrace and hummed the tune to hush little baby, just like you did when she was a baby.

Screams and gunfire broke out and you covered Sarah’s ears as her own cries added to the noise, her fear finally overriding the faith she had in her father. You could see the line of fire had almost completely made its way through the hinges on the door and the metal was groaning under the pressure of its weight pulling it down. Light broke through the room as the door gave way, the crash of it hitting the concrete floor threatening to blow your eardrums and it shook the foundations of the house.

“Sarah! Y/N!”

Sarah tore your hands away as she heard her dad’s voice and she tried to get up but you pulled her back down. “Wait! Wait for daddy to come to us, sweetie.”

You struggled to hold her still as she tried to run towards the voice that promised her safety but you didn’t know how many men stood between you and him. You pressed your lips to her forehead and begged her to stay silent until she finally quietened down. The gunfire was no longer constant and it was only every few breaths that one or two shots went off and you weren’t sure if that was good or bad.

Heavy footsteps descended the stairs and you heard a deeply relieved sigh before you caught sight of Bucky’s boots stepping into your line of sight. “DADDY!!!”

You let Sarah go as she jumped up, Bucky easily catching her and cradling her to his chest and he checked over her for any injuries, aside from the scrap of falling off her bike.

“Told you I would come for you babygirl.” He choked as he peppered her forehead with kisses. “Daddy’ll always come for his two best girls.”

You had sagged with relief at seeing him arrive and your eyes closed as you realised the terror was over. You opened your eyes as you felt movement and found Bucky sitting beside you and pulling you into his side so he could hug you both.

“I have some bad news.” He murmured quietly as he ran his hand up and down your arm and kissed your forehead.

“You got blood on the carpet.” You tried to joke but your voice failed to hold any humour.

“That too.” He said, the ghost of a smile tipping up at your attempt. “There’s some more people I want you to meet.”

“Who else came with you?” You asked, worried about even more people knowing but grateful for their help nonetheless. You watched him chew his lip and knew it was bad before he even answered.

“Everyone.”

Part Two/Parallel Story

taglist join form

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[writingbyshiloh]

Strange Company [Raymond Reddington x Reader]

Authors Nore: My first fan fic! If you enjoy please send me a request for some feedback. This fic takes place during S1 E8. Word Count: 2.8+k

---

You glanced in your coffee mug, hoping it would have been magically refilled. Unfortunately, it was still empty. Your class this morning – Terrisom Tactics in America – was cancelled due to a leak. Your afternoon class – Government and Terrison – was still going ahead, providing that the leak was fixed by then. This caused you to be stuck in limbo, unable to call the day a wash yet, so you remained on campus. You stood to fill your coffee cup but a call to your work phone caused you to sit back down.

“Dr. (L/N)’s office” You said into the phone.

“Hey (F/N), it's Liz. Listen, are you still in DC?” a voice on the other end said.

“Hey, Liz! Yes, I’m tenure track so I don’t think I’ll be leaving soon” you laugh. “What can I do you for?”

“Can you meet me at the diner on 18th St NW in 30 minutes?” Liz asked. You could hear the tension in her voice. Checking your watch you agreed, and she hung up the phone.

You arrive a few minutes early, scanning the dinner before you spot Liz sitting in a booth. The man next to her was unfamiliar but handsome. You gave her a wave as you walked over to the booth and slid in across from the two of them. You noticed as the man's eyes raked over your form, lingering slightly at your chest.

“Y/N, this is George Robinson, George, this is Prof. L/N. She is one of the leading terrorism experts.” Liz said finishing the introductions. You extended your hand for a handshake and George took it. You looked into his face, noticing how blue his eyes were up close. Realizing you had been shaking his hand for too long you quickly removed your own and felt heat rising to your face. George gave you a knowing smile.

“Do you remember when we were doing our undergrads?” Liz asked, your eyes snapping to her face.

“How could I forget? I’m surprised my liver survived” you joked. You met Liz in university, quickly becoming fast friends, pulling all-nighters to study, talk about crushes, and drink. You were the maid of honour at her wedding to Tom a few years ago.

“Have you had any contact with Nathaniel Wolff recently?” she asked, shifting into FBI mode. George studied your face while you rolled your eyes.

“No, thank god.” You replied. “Ever since the breakup, I haven’t been in contact with him”.

“He's calling himself General Ludd now if that rings any bells,” George said.

“I’m aware.” You said, now looking at George. “That was one of the reasons we broke up. I felt that readings from Marx or Gramsci would have been a better theoretical standpoint on his cause. He disagreed so –“ You started to say before Liz cut you off.

“I’m sorry, I know you love theory but we have to go. Thank you for meeting with us.” Liz said, standing to put her jacket on.

“I’d love to hear more. How about over dinner, at 8? I know this fantastic Italian place. The owner is a close friend of mine.” George said. You reached into your purse to take out a business card. He took it, glancing at it before smiling at you.

“Sounds like a date” you smiled back, as he grabbed his hat from the table.

“My driver will pick you up around 7:45, I'll call you when he arrives,” he said, placing his hat on his head, while Liz rolled her eyes waiting for him. Watching the two of them leave you realized that George didn’t tell you what he does for the FBI.

---

You glanced at the clock in your room as you finished putting on your jewelry. Stepping back you admired your reflection. Your hair and jewelry were just right, and your dress was sitting just how you wanted. Grabbing your purse from the dresser, you went into your front hall to find some shoes. Settling a pair from the closet you put them on and leave your apartment. Before you could open the door your phone buzzed. The number was unknown but George said he would be calling you around 7:45.

“Hello?” you said, answering the call on the third ring.

“Hello, Gorgeous.” A deep voice said on the other end, sending a jolt of arousal down your body. “Dembe should be outside, whenever you’re ready.” You walked to the window in your apartment, to see a sleek navy car parked with a handsome Black man standing outside.

“The navy car?” you asked.

“That would be the one” he chuckled. “I’ll see you soon”. He said hanging up the call.

You grabbed your purse and locked the door before making your way to the ground floor of the apartment. Outside, you saw Dembe outside the car, holding something in his hands. Catching his eye, he handed the object to you. It was a bouquet – orchards and peonies you thought – beautifully wrapped. You thank him for the flowers as he opens your door for you.

“I have an undergraduate degree in English” He spoke once you both were in the car. Soon you two fell into a conversation about universities you attended and classes you took. Quickly you arrived at the restaurant where Dembe put the car into park and opened the door for you.

Entering the restaurant you saw George immediately as he was the only person in the restaurant. When he saw you, he stood and approached. His eyes swept you up and down, lips curling into a smile.

“Thank you for the flowers,” you told him, trying to calm your first date nerves. “They're gorgeous”.

“Not as gorgeous as you, my dear” he murmured, wrapping an arm around your waist, guiding you to the table, where a candle was lit in the center, and white wine was waiting in a bucket of ice.

“I took the liberty of ordering the wine” He said pulling out a chair for you. As you sat a soft thank you fell from your lips. He sat in the chair next to yours.

“Before the night gets away from us, I should say that my real name is Raymond Reddington. Goerge is an alias I use.” He said casually, pouring wine into your glass. You reached down and took a sip.

“Raymond Reddington” you repeated, liking the way it felt on your tongue.

“My friends call me Red” Reddington said, placing one of his hands onto of yours. “You can call me whatever you wish”.

A waiter soon delivered a menu, where you took Reddington's advice on what to order. Throughout the dinner, you filled him in on your undergraduate years with Liz, your career, and the problems you had with your undergraduate boyfriend Nathanial. In exchange, he told you about his career – financial broker for the elite – and an extremely funny story about a trip to Casablanca.

While you may have been nervous about the date, you were having a great time. Your head was fuzzy from the wine, the food was incredible, and the man you were with was a gentleman. You offered to pay for your half of the food, but he dismissed the notion with a wave. You tried to do the math on what the bill was but it gave up home when he placed a few one hundred dollar bills in the check holder. It stood in stark contrast to other dates you went on.

Still giggling from the wine and Red’s stories, he wrapped his arm around your waist to lead you out of the restaurant. He carried your flowers in his other hand. Stopping outside the doors, his arms moved to the small of your back. In response you lifted your arms to his neck, chest pressed against his.

“Can I kiss you goodnight?” He murmured, eyes darting between your own eyes and lips.

“You’re not going to ask to come over?” You quietly asked, confusion flickering over your face. Did he not want a second date? Was he that old-fashioned?

“Trust me, I’d love nothing more than to see your place. Unfortunately the FBI has chipped me like a prize dog”. He said, rolling his shoulders slightly. You nodded slightly.

Gently, you pressed your lips against his in a chaste kiss. Pulling back, you looked into his eyes, trying to gauge if you should kiss him again. Seconds later he kissed you with more urgency than the kiss you gave. His hand moved to your face, this thumb stroking your cheek. You kissed back, mouthing opening slightly.

A buzz on your phone caused you two to separate. You moved your hands down to the bag strapped across your shoulders. Red’s hand still rested on the small of your back. He must have read the frown on your face, as he asked what was wrong. You sighed, showing him your phone screen. He let out a chuckle, reading the text Liz sent you, telling you that she hoped you didn't go on the date with him. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Dembes's car pull up.

“Dembe will drive you home, I have to talk to the chef” Red said. He took your hand in his and brought it up to his lips as a way of saying goodbye.

---

The next morning, you almost tripped over a small package outside your door. On top of the package was a note which read ‘Hope to see you again. Maybe wear this the next time? – R’ in gold. Holding the note between your fingers, you opened the box. Inside, was a thin silver chain, with a silver circle hanging from the bottom. On the circle, a small letter R was engraved.

[littlemisspascal]

Formula 101 - Prologue: September

Summary:

Vulpecula picks Oddball to replace Juan Badillo for F1 2023

Formula1Daily - 5 minutes ago

Vulpecula reserve driver, known by the racing community as Oddball, is set to replace Juan Badillo as one of the team’s two full-time drivers in the 2023 Formula 1 season…

Pairing: eventual Javi/Fem!Reader "Oddball" (OFC)

Word Count: 7000+

Rating: T

Warnings: Formula One AU ft. multiple Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe characters, Canon Divergence, Switching POVs, Worldbuilding, Social Media Fic, Headlines inspired by true events but edited for this plot, Usernames were created for PPCU characters and if they do exist irl there's no affiliation, Slowest of Slow Burn, Language

Author Note: I've been a longtime fan of Media Fics ever since my days in the Captain America fandom and I decided to finally give it a shot writing one of my own. This might be the most fun I've ever had working on a fic--and it's also been the most challenging by far 😅 Hope someone out there enjoys this! Can't wait to share more with y'all 💗

Also, in real life, CEOs and team principals are 2 separate jobs but for this fic I decided to combine them :)

Special shout out to @beecastle for keeping me sane! Looking forward to documenting our many adventures together with BBB 😉

A03 Link | Series Masterlist

Summer was in full swing, afternoons hot and Sorgan's forests green all around, when your dad took you to watch your first race. It was a karting championship at the track near the Common House. You remember the electric thrum of excitement in the air, the roaring drone of the engines as the wheels devoured the concrete, how the drivers were mere blurs whizzing by, distinguishable only by the colors of their gear. And despite being only seven, you knew right then and there you wanted to race too. Your dad raised an eyebrow when you told him your desire, but he didn’t say no. He didn’t say much at all, really, just got that wrinkle between his eyebrows he always got when he was thinking particularly hard about something.

You hadn’t known that motor racing was a predominantly male sport. Didn’t know how hard it was for a girl to get her foot in the door of the racing community without some kind of connection (usually in the form of a father, brother, or husband). You just thought it looked like fun. Like something new and exciting and nothing at all like the tedious krill farming the rest of your village loved.

That night, your dad brought it up at dinner. You remember your mom had seemed to freeze for a second, biting her bottom lip, meal momentarily forgotten. And then—

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with trying new things.”

Your dad hummed in agreement. “If she starts practicing now, she could be ready to join the local team next season.”

“She’ll need gear, of course,” your mom stood up to grab a piece of paper and pen to start a list of necessities. “And a kart—maybe one of Myra’s boys has an old one we can borrow for now. They haven’t gone down to the track in months. We’ll go ask first thing in the morning after breakfast.”

A grin spread across your face as you listened to her continue to ramble on, your dad occasionally chiming in once he’d swallowed his mouthfuls. The way your mom talked, it all seemed so easy, so simple. 

Years later, you’ll laugh at your own naivety. There’s nothing easy about the world of racing. It’s a roller coaster of ups and downs, the thrill of success and the brutal disappointment of failure, never knowing what’s coming next. It’s high speeds and long hours and harsh words screamed in your face, telling you to quit, telling you that you don’t belong. 

And later still, when you’re making history in Formula 1 and opening doors for future generations of girls to follow after, you’ll think it was all worth it. 

There isn’t anything you would change.

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Formula1Daily

All You Need to Know About Formula 1: A Beginner’s Guide

Ginger Ale ─ June 20, 2022

What is Formula One?

Formula One (aka Formula 1 or F1) is the highest level of international motorsport where 20 drivers compete in the fastest single-seat, open-wheel, and open-cockpit racing cars in the world. The word ‘Formula’ comes from a set of rules the constructors, mechanics and drivers of the car must strictly follow which were devised by the Fédération Internationale de l'Automobile (FIA).

What’s so special about a F1 car design?

Formula 1 cars are designed to achieve high speeds by generating aerodynamic downforce. They are capable of top speeds of 360km (223mph). Therefore the cars are also equipped with rear wings and diffusers to keep them grounded on the track or else the drivers would have little steering control. 

How to become a F1 driver?

Most drivers begin their racing careers in kart racing competitions, then gradually progress through other single-seater series, and then onto Formula 3 and Formula 2. Champions of F2 are commonly recruited onto F1 teams, but it is not a requirement for F1 drivers to have competed in F2.

Drivers must develop high stamina and quick reflexes, as well as intense concentration. They are required to commit a lot of time maintaining their physical and mental health both during the season and off. 

When driving around corners, a driver’s head will be pulled sideways by a force of 2 to 6Gs (the equivalent of a force 6 times their weight), making breathing and focus challenging for the duration of the race which could last from one to two hours. Formula 1 drivers are known to spend much of their training sessions strengthening their neck muscles in order to withstand the pressure.

Drivers must also be at least 18 years old, pass an official FIA knowledge test, and have a FIA Super License which allows them to annually compete in the motorsport. 

How many people are on a Formula 1 team?

Drivers in Formula 1 compete in teams which are each supervised by team principals, aka CEOs. There are 10 teams overall and they must compete with two cars apiece. There may be upwards of a thousand members on a team when including engineers, mechanics, designers and support staff. 

How many races are there?

There are 21 races which take place all over the world during the F1 season. Each race is called a Grand Prix (or GP) and lasts the length of a weekend. Typically, the season lasts from March to November.

How to win?

There are two championships which take place each season in F1: the World Drivers’ Championship and the Constructors' Championship.

The driver who finishes a race the fastest is determined to be the winner. A points system is used at each race and the top ten fastest drivers earn points. The amount of points decreases the lower a driver’s finish. For example, first place receives a hefty 25 points whereas tenth place only earns 1. 

At the end of a season, all the points are added up. The driver with the most points is declared World Champion, and the Constructors’ Championship goes to the team with the most points accumulated by both of its drivers.

What’s it cost?

Formula 1 teams must pay an entrance fee per season starting at $500,000. The cost for building a brand new car, staff expenses, and transportation to each of the races are different for each team, but typically every one spends at least $50 million. A budget cap of $145 million was introduced in 2021 to make a fairer playing field for all the teams. 

Why should you watch?

If the speed, strategies, and incredible technology of the sport hasn’t already hooked your interest, then stick around for the controversies, the rivalries, and, most hilarious of all, the reaction from social media. Whatever reason prompts you to start watching, it’s a guarantee the endless drama will make sure you always stay invested.

 _________________________________________________

Present Day - September 5, 2022

“I see no Ferris wheels,” Javi’s father used to say whenever Javi complained about the unfairness of life during his preteen years. The phrase is an odd mix of humorous and poignant, meant to make whoever hears it stop and take a look around at the world, to notice life isn’t a fairground to entertain us. Back then, the words usually provoked Javi’s temper rather than quenched it, but now that he’s older he finds them coming to mind more and more. 

“I swear you’ve been looking at your phone every five minutes, Javi,” Frankie says, taking a seat on the other end of the couch. As far as teammates go, Frankie isn’t so bad. He’s quiet mostly, keeps to himself and doesn’t cause unnecessary drama in the paddock.

“You got a secret girlfriend or something?”

If not for his irritating obsession with Javi’s non-existent love life, Javi might even call him a friend.

Javi doesn’t have to look at the man to know he’s smirking. “Or something,” he answers, only a little prickly sounding.

Frankie sits up straighter and braces his elbows on his knees, leaning closer into Javi’s space. He actually looks a little concerned now. “Shit, man, I was just kidding. There really is something going on?” 

Here’s the thing: there’s always something going on when you’re an F1 driver. If he isn’t racing, he’s practicing; if he isn’t practicing, he’s reviewing data; if he isn’t reviewing data, he’s standing in front of a camera answering questions for the press or fans or God knows who else; and if he’s not doing that, then he’s usually passed out in a hotel room in whatever country they are in for the week. For as much as it’s a dream come true for this to be his career, it also has the tendency to turn his life into a roller coaster of chaos. 

I see no Ferris wheels.

Javi lifts his cap off his head just enough to drag a hand through his curls, and says, “I’m expecting a call from Gabriela.”

His PR agent is quite possibly the closest thing to an angel on earth. She keeps his schedule organized, his interviews short, and doesn’t take any bullshit from anybody who dares try to stand in her way. Other drivers can only wish to have someone as efficient and quick-witted as her on their team. Javi honestly would rather lose a limb than lose her.

“It’s like pulling teeth with you,” Frankie mutters, shaking his head, though he doesn’t seem truly irritated. Javi can count on one hand the amount of times he’s seen his teammate angry and each of those times were out on the track in the aftermath of a shunt. “Wait, don’t tell me you got dropped again?” 

The team polo Javi’s wearing does absolutely nothing to hide the way his shoulders tense up. Irritation flares in his chest—not at one particular person, that would have been easy to deal with, but at a whole list of names and things. 

At the top is his younger self who agreed last year to be transferred from Black Gold to Triple Frontier for the current season, believing Maxwell Lord’s promise his seat would still be available for him to return to in 2023. Such an idiot. Next there’s Dave York announcing not only was he returning to F1 after two years of retirement, but also that he’d be joining Black Gold.

The media was shocked, the fans were shocked, Javi was shocked. And also hurt and a little—no, a lot pissed off.

Dave York is a two-time world champion so Javi gets the appeal. Hell, if he had to decide between himself and York he’d choose the other man without hesitation. Still, the betrayal from his former team had stung worse than a venomous snake bite, not to mention they didn’t have the consideration to even call ahead and warn Javi they were breaking their contract with him. If they had, Triple Frontier could have arranged to keep him as their second driver next season along with Frankie instead of devoting their time to finding a new rookie to fill the spot.

For the first two weeks of the summer break, Javi’s future looked helplessly bleak. He’d been an F1 driver for four years, barely given the chance to make a household name for himself and it was scary to think it could all be over. His career, his childhood dream— finished. Just like that.

I see no Ferris wheels.

But August proved to be another strange and unpredictable month within a strange and unpredictable year.

Pietro Alvarez announced his impending retirement. Vulpecula wanted an experienced driver to fill the seat. And all of the sudden, after a long phone call and no less than a dozen signatures, Javi’s future didn’t look so miserable anymore. He would be trading his dark green Triple Frontier kit for Vulpecula’s cobalt blue next year. 

“No, Vulpecula hasn't dropped me,” Javi says stiffly. Frankie at least has the decency to look abashed for jumping to the wrong conclusion. “They’re supposed to be announcing my teammate today.”

“Poor guy,” Frankie says, wincing in mock sympathy. “He has no idea what an intolerable asshole you really are.”

Javi rolls his eyes. “I’ll miss you, too, Morales. No one else will ever compare.”

The other man beams at that, but his response is interrupted by the chime of a new text message. Javi’s not sure what surprises him more, the fact Gabriela—who notoriously condemns texting, claiming 99% of misunderstandings occur as a result of a text’s tone being misinterpreted—is the sender, or the actual text itself.

From: Gabriela (11:15)

Don’t say or do anything until I’m there

To: Gabriela (11:16)

What’s going on???

From: Gabriela (11:17)

Vulpecula officially announced your teammate

From: Gabriela (11:17) 

Next season’s going to be interesting

“What the hell does that mean?” Frankie asks, unashamedly reading the texts. He sounds as confused as Javi feels.

Ignoring him, Javi exits out of the conversation and looks to the internet to make sense of Gabriela’s crypticness. He takes one look at the breaking news headlines and—oh. 

After the whirlwind of last month, he hadn’t thought anything else could stun him. And yet here he is, five days into September, gaping at his phone like an idiot.

Frankie nudges him. “So, who is he?”

“It’s—” Javi swallows against the dryness of his throat. “It’s not a he.”

 _________________________________________________

HoloNet

September 2022 Latest News

Vulpecula picks Oddball to replace Juan Badillo for F1 2023

Formula1Daily - 5 minutes ago

Vulpecula reserve driver, known by the racing community as Oddball, is set to replace Juan Badillo as one of the team’s two full-time drivers in the 2023 Formula 1 season…

Third female driver in F1 history has signed a multi-year contract with Vulpecula

BBB - 1 hour ago

Oddball makes it to F1, taking over for Badillo, what a turn of events! She’ll compete with Gutierrez…

Vulpecula F1: Oddball will partner with Javi Gutierrez next season

Weekly Motorsports News - 2 hours ago

“We’re ecstatic to have Oddball join us as a F1 Vulpecula driver,” said Vulpecula CEO Vivian Etten…

 _________________________________________________

_________________________________________________

“I hate you so much right now,” Ben says, appearing out of nowhere. You look up at him, tucking your phone away back in your jacket pocket. He glares back at you, expression indignant. “How the hell did you get a seat before me? And with Vulpecula? Seriously?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a late bloomer, Benny,” you retort.

“Takes one to know one,” he shoots back, pointedly looking at your chest. 

“Wow, a joke about my boobs.” You slowly clap your hands in mock applause. “How original.”

“Oh, don’t mind him, Odds,” Eggsy says just as his arm drapes loosely over your shoulders. He pulls you in for a side hug. “He’s just mad he’s not the center of attention around here anymore.”

Ben scowls. “I hate you too.”

You’ve known the two boys for several years now, moving up the different series from karts to cars together. There’s a common misconception that anyone who is a rival is therefore an enemy, but Ben and Eggsy have become as close as brothers to you. Ricky, too, even though you scarcely see him nowadays since he’s too busy being one of the best rookies in F1. He’s already texted you congratulations about your promotion, followed shortly by: When I podium, I promise I’ll wave down at you amongst the peasants :)

It was nice to see Ricky’s trash talk game hadn’t improved in the slightest. Poor kid uses proper grammar and emoticons like he’s a seventy-year-old man. It’s ridiculous. Even your own father knows how to send gifs every once in a while and he’s one of the most technologically impaired people you’ve ever known.

“Oh, quit it already,” you say with an eye roll. “Everyone knows Santiago’s gonna pick you for Triple Frontier next season. He’s just being a drama queen and taking his sweet time getting the contract ready.”

Ben grumbles under his breath and crosses his arms. He doesn’t deny it though.

“And then there was only one,” Eggsy says with a chuckle, but the way he fiddles with his glasses gives away his nervousness. 

You and Ben exchange subtle looks. It’s been a tough season in Formula 2 for all three of you, but while you and Ben have been vying against each other for first place, Eggsy’s been struggling a bit further behind. With only two races left before the season ends, he’ll have to have high finishes for a chance at fourth or third place in the Drivers’ Championship. And the higher he finishes, the better his odds of impressing the F1 team principals.

“It’s only September,” you say, trying to lighten the mood. “Plenty of time left for recruitment.”

“You’ll make it.” Ben’s voice is uncharacteristically serious, full of such raw certainty it has you and Eggsy blinking at him with surprise. “We’ve been through too much together to be torn apart now.”

“That,” you start, just as serious, pointing a finger in the air, “might be the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Benjamin Miller.”

Ben offers you the sight of his middle finger as a response.

 _________________________________________________

Wonder World Sports

Football | Tennis | Golf | Olympics | US Sports | Motorsport

Oddball: The young woman set to make Formula One history

By Steve Trevor, WWS

Friday September 9 2022

(Picture : Oddball, brow furrowed with concentration and lips pursed, studies her recent track data alongside Vulpecula engineers. Caption: Oddball is on course to become the third female F1 driver in history.)

(WWS) – It’s a cloudy September morning when I meet Oddball at a coffee shop in downtown Los Angeles. She’s dressed casually—a National Treasure graphic tee, blue jeans, and well-worn sneakers—looking like a local university student rather than someone who was recently announced to become the third Formula One female driver in the sport’s history.

“It was one of the best days of my life,” says the 20-year-old, reflecting back on the day she learned she’d be on the grid next season competing against nineteen other elite racing drivers.

What began as an ordinary race weekend for Oddball at August’s Swedish Grand Prix quickly changed with a single phone call from Vulpecula CEO Vivian Etten asking to meet with her.

“Vivian’s wonderful and hilarious. Everybody loves her,” Oddball says of the chief executive, who first recruited her as a junior driver for Vulpecula back in 2020. “When you go to a race or to headquarters, it’s always a positive environment—and that’s all because of Vivian. She looks after all of us.”

(Picture: Oddball, dressed in full cobalt blue Vulpecula driver kit, gives CEO Vivian Etten a thumbs up in the Vulpecula garage. Caption: Oddball began her racing career at the age of seven.)

READ: Marcus Moreno wins fourth world title

READ: Javi Gutierrez to replace Pietro Alvarez at Vulpecula

Vivian Etten, who has repeatedly described Oddball as “a fabulous driver” and “immensely talented,” made the decision to promote the young reserve driver to help the team improve and become a force to be reckoned with once again after several years of struggling in midfield.

Once Etten told Oddball she would replace Juan Badillo, a driver ten years her senior, for the upcoming season she was required to keep it a secret from everybody until an official announcement was made. Even her own family. She admits, “It was almost impossible keeping it from my mom. I tell her everything that happens to me, but somehow I managed to keep it under wraps.”

Oddball was born and raised in Sorgan, developing an interest in motorsport racing after watching the Outer Rim Kart Championships at the local kart track. “My family’s encouraged me from the start,” she says, smiling. “I travel so much, always on the go since I was seven, and I’m lucky to have their constant support.”

(Picture: Oddball photographed during a practice lap at the Spanish Grand Prix.)

She speaks fondly of her parents. They agreed to allow the 15-year-old Oddball to quit school and focus entirely on her racing career. “I thought it was great at the time,” she says now, looking amused. “No more math or vocabulary tests.” Homesickness, though, was a feeling she struggled with immensely once she began living on her own at eighteen. “It was so much harder than I thought it would be to move away from home. I called my mom every night the first six months and we’d both start crying. But over time, Vulpecula has become my second family of sorts. And I have more friends at the track than I ever did back in class.”

Oddball enjoys a strawberry lemonade while we talk, preferring the tart, citrusy flavor over the long list of coffees and teas on the menu. Her answers are polite and thoughtful, not a trace of smugness to be found. Her social media accounts are full of movie quotes, comedic gifs, and sarcastic one-liners. The fact that her name will go down in F1 history behind Anita Moreno and Ahsoka Tano hasn’t inflated her ego.

She has lived in an apartment in Altair for two years, about thirty minutes from Vulpecula headquarters. “No, I love it too much to move,” she says when I ask if she has plans to reside in the Mos Espa region where many past and present F1 drivers call home. “The food, the people, the closeness to Vulpecula—Altair is the best place for me right now.”

These past few months she gracefully balances the increasingly thin line between the worlds of F1 and F2—where she is currently second in overall standings—and also manages to squeeze in a plethora of interviews into her hectic schedule. September is a particularly busy month with two more races for Oddball to prepare for following this last weekend’s Romanian GP. The California GP is next weekend and then the Paradise Island GP will follow on the 30th. In general, Oddball says she enjoys the whole experience, but admits it can also be “pretty crazy at times.” 

“It’s all part of the job, though. I’ve learned to become adaptable over the years.”

Of course, an interview wouldn’t be complete without mentioning four-time world champion Marcus Moreno, son of Anita Moreno, the first female F1 driver in history. “I knew he was going to come up at some point. He always does,” Oddball says, but her tone stays light, good-natured. 

Similar to Oddball, Moreno was once a reserve driver for Vulpecula before making his F1 debut in 2013. However, he received additional insight and training from his legendary mother to propel his career forward, while Oddball has had to learn the tricks of the sport one step at a time.

She mentions she has talked to Moreno a few times, but she has learned the most from Vulpecula’s Pietro Alvarez, the three-time world champion who has announced his retirement at the end of the season.

They first worked closely together at the Ando Overland in January during F1’s offseason, taking turns driving during the 24-hour event. 

(Picture Gallery 1 of 40: Marcus Moreno on first place podium sprays second-placed Din Djarin with champagne. Caption: Moreno and Djarin celebrate at the Florida Grand Prix before the midseason break.)

READ: Pietro Alvarez accomplishes Ando Overland dream

“It was a great experience teaming up with Pietro,” Oddball says about the endurance race, where the team came in twelfth out of fifty. “He gives everything 110% effort, even if it’s just reviewing data or rewatching footage. His advice on how to prepare myself for F1, both physically and mentally, has been extremely helpful.”

According to Alvarez, he sees “a bright future” ahead for Oddball. “She’s smart and has a natural instinct for this sport.”

Despite there being seven races left before Alvarez’s retirement, Oddball has already begun preparing to make an impact on the grid next season. What goals does she have for her debut? “Honestly? Just have fun,” she confides. “Everyone always says they want to start their career by beating their teammate or finish in the top three, but I…I just want it to be a good time, you know?”

And with that, the future F1 history-making rookie takes the last sip of her strawberry lemonade and steps outside onto the busy streets of Los Angeles.

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Trending

F1

#OddballMakesHistory

Oddball

Javi Gutierrez

Vulpecula

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Busy Bee Blog (BBB) - Vlog Post #57

Thursday September 15 2022

Summary: The F1 world is abuzz right now with the news of Oddball joining Vulpecula. I asked some of the other drivers at the California Grand Prix what their thoughts were about the announcement and their answers may surprise you.

Bee Castle holds her signature black-and-yellow striped microphone, standing in the middle of the paddock walkway with a bright smile directed at the camera. “Hello everybody! Tis I, your Queen Bee, coming to you live from the paddock at the California GP.” She gestures towards the blue sky overhead. “It’s a beautiful Thursday morning, the teams are looking forward to a great race weekend while I’m looking forward to getting some drivers’ opinions on the new addition to next season’s grid, Oddball.”

 ~

The camera is zoomed in on Marcus Moreno’s grinning face. Bee coughs once, twice, and there’s a moment of fumbling before both Bee and Marcus are in view side by side. In the background, Sunspear’s motorhome is full of fancily dressed people and team members in gold shirts enjoying brunch, including Marcus’ teenage daughter Missy.

“Look who I found,” Bee says, gesturing with her thumb. “How are you doing today, Marcus?”

“Fantastic,” he replies, bobbing his head. “I love coming back here every season. Definitely one of my favorites.”

“I won’t keep you long so you can get back to enjoying everything, but BBB readers and I are dying to hear your opinion on Oddball joining next season.”

“I think it’s great news. F1 has been without a female driver for too long since my mom and Tano retired.” His smile widens at the mention of his mother. “It’s going to be great for girls to have another role model to look up to. My daughter even told me she would be rooting for Oddball instead of me!”

~

Pero Tovar glares at the camera.

“Good morning, Tovar.” Bee nervously shifts in place when the Spaniard remains silent. “Um, what’s your opinion on Vulpecula’s new driver?”

She tentatively holds out her microphone towards him, biting her lip.

“If she can race,” Pero says, voice a low grumble, still glaring at the camera, “she deserves a place.”

And then he’s stalking away down the paddock walkway, people all but leaping to get out of his way. His PR agent offers a quick apologetic smile before hurrying to catch up.

There’s a moment of silence. Bee looks at her camerawoman, arching an incredulous eyebrow.

“I’ll never understand why he’s your favorite driver, Rae.”

~

“I heard you were going around, asking opinions,” Nico Loro leans against a wall inside the Sunspear hospitality suite and places a hand over his heart, lips pulling down into a pout, “I gotta admit I’m a little hurt you didn’t come to me, Bee.”

“Well,” Bee extends her microphone with visible reluctance, “what do you think about—”

“I’ll tell you my opinion,” Nico interrupts, leaning in closer so his mouth practically touches the foam cover. “It’s most likely an advertising ploy, you know what I mean? A novelty to draw in more viewers. A gimmick. Not that I mind though. It means I have one less competitor to worry about next season.”

The camera pans to Bee’s face, catching her uncomfortable expression before she’s able to hide it with a strained smile. “Thank you, Nico,” she says through gritted teeth. “It’s always nice hearing your view on things.”

~

Bee, unaware the camera is recording, holds the microphone under her arm and attempts to fix her hair as the breeze picks up, ruffling it. 

“Be honest, Rae,” she frowns, “does it look as much like a bird’s nest as it feels?”

“I think you look beautiful as always, Bee.”

Bee jumps with fright as Frankie Morales steps into view. She recovers quickly, offering him a beaming grin, and there’s the quiet noise of someone behind the camera snorting.

“Frankie,” she says, sounding pleasantly surprised by his appearance. “I didn’t think you’d get here until tomorrow.”

“And miss meeting with my favorite reporter? Not a chance,” he replies with a teasing wink.

Bee gasps. “Favorite?” She laughs then, delighted, and aims a fierce look at the camera. “Steve Trevor, eat your heart out.”

Frankie watches her, hands stuffed in his jeans’ pockets. It’s hard to tell if the rosy tint to his cheeks is from the sun or perhaps something else.

Turning back to the Triple Frontier driver, Bee resumes her professional blogger persona, asking, “How are you feeling about this weekend’s race, Frankie?”

“Good. Excited. Javi and I have both been preparing on the simulator, so fingers crossed one of us will end up on the podium.” He glances at the camera. “Preferably me, obviously.”

“Speaking of Javi, what do you think of his future teammate?”

“I’ve been keeping up with the F2 results and Oddball’s doing a great job holding her own against her competitors,” he replies, scratching at his scruffy jawline. “I think she’ll definitely make next season an interesting one.”

A voice off-camera calls out to Frankie, catching his attention. He waves, then holds up a finger asking them to wait for him.

“Nice seeing you again, Bee,” he says.

“You too, Frankie. Best of luck at qualifying tomorrow!”

The camera zooms in closer on their smiling faces.

~

Bee power walks through the paddock, in-between the motorhomes, talking over her shoulder to the camera rushing to keep up with the brisk pace. “Let’s try to get one more opinion. I think I see Dieter Bravo up ahead.” She pitches her voice higher, waving a hand in the air, “Dieter! Over here, Dieter!”

The Van Chance driver spins on his heel, lifting up his sunglasses to get a better look as Bee slows to a stop. She takes a second to catch her breath, missing the way he squints at her in silent confusion.

“Hi,” Bee greets.

“...Hi.”

“I’m doing a vlog for BBB asking drivers what they think about Oddball officially joining F1 next season.” 

There’s an expectant pause which follows. Dieter merely stares at her blankly.

Bee jiggles the microphone, prompting, “What do you think about Oddball officially joining F1 next season, Dieter?”

“I had no idea she’s joining,” he answers distractedly, tonguing at the inside of his cheek. “Who’s she replacing?”

“Juan Badillo.”

“Right. That’s a shame.” Dieter looks appropriately dismayed at the news.

Bee subtly exchanges a look with Rae behind the camera.

“Is…is that all you have to say on the matter?” she asks.

He scrubs a hand through his thick curls, grimacing. “Listen, I’m sorry, I’m trying to care, but it’s way too early for this conversation.”

Bee stares with disbelief at his departing backside. “But it’s already eleven thirty…”

~

Bee leans against the balcony railing of a suite overlooking the pitlane. 

“Thanks for tuning in to watch your Queen storm the paddock!” She gestures to the side where a like button appears on screen resembling a giant smiling bumblebee. “Let me know what you liked and what you didn’t about this video, I love hearing all your feedback. Rae, any thoughts about today’s vlog?”

“When’s lunch?”

Bee stares at the camera flatly.

 _________________________________________________

Just because Javi’s never officially met Oddball doesn’t mean he’s not aware of who she is. She’s one of only a handful of female drivers who’s ever competed in F2, let alone F1, of course he’s damn well aware of her.

He’s seen her around at races, usually hanging around Vulpecula’s motorhome, decked out in their cobalt blue apparel, sometimes out on the track when the team lets her take Badillo’s place during practice laps. 

She’s fast, whipping down the straights and around the corners like it’s second nature. She still needs some more time and experience behind the wheel to adapt to the changes between a F1 and F2 car, but she’s definitely got potential. He can see why Vulpecula’s taking a chance on her.

Javi has watched some of Oddball’s interviews with reporters after races. Some of her own personal Youtube content, too. Half to get a sense of his future teammate’s personality, half because once Gabriela told him Oddball creates her own videos he couldn’t resist his own curiosity.

The casual way in which she seems to handle attention is as admirable as it is surprising. When she wins, there’s no arrogance. No look at me, look at me attitude. When she loses, there’s understandable disappointment, but there’s no badmouthing her competitors. Just a fire in her eyes, determination to do better next time. 

She knows she’s making history (not that she ever has a chance to forget given the amount of times the press brought it up), but she doesn’t expect special treatment for it. In comparison to how many drivers he’s met over the years, sons of politicians and millionaires, who expect the world to bend over backwards to accommodate them, Oddball’s equanimity is…refreshing.

Before the announcement Oddball was joining Vulpecula’s F1 team, she didn’t have much of an impact on Javi’s life. And even now, he hasn’t been formally introduced to her yet, only has a vague impression of what she’s like when not in front of a camera, yet somehow she’s taken up a corner of his mind. Makes him wonder about their future together at Vulpecula. If she’ll be able to hold onto that fiery determination.

Javi hopes she knows what she’s getting into.

 _________________________________________________

_________________________________________________

Speed Beasts Magazine

United States' Top Motorsport Weekly

September 26 2022 Issue

Outer Rim's Next F1 Star

Can Oddball find success with Vulpecula?

How she’s making history in F1

What can she do to end Vulpecula’s bad luck with young drivers

Why she’s passionate about racing

(Cover Photo by Fennec Shand: Oddball, wearing a Vulpecula polo, offers the readers a wide smile.)

In This Issue:

4. Ricky Hauk nabs Aurelac seat 6. Pietro Alvarez retirement plans 7. Paradise Island Grand Prix first look 10. A chat with BBB’s Bee Castle 12. A chat with Speed Beasts’ chief editor Darren Eigan 13. Fan opinions on who’s hot and who’s not 14. Can Oddball find success with Vulpecula? 22. The next rising female F3 stars 24. Inside the Bravo twins’ garages 32. Be kind rewind: 2020 season highlights 36. Stats of Sunspear SS4/1 38. Remembering Paul De Santo 48. De Santo’s top 10 fastest F1 drives 52. Early predictions for the 2023 season

  _________________________________________________

The second floor of the Vulpecula motorhome is a bustling hive of activity all hours of a race weekend. Drivers, mechanics, and management coming and going up and down the stairs, disappearing into the different rooms where they’re needed. The seating in the main center space has been arranged so no matter where you sit there will always be a good view of the three giant screens constantly displaying the current happenings including drivers’ standings, highlights, and weather patterns. 

Having finished with your required duties for the day, you grab Diana, a spare video camera from the PR team, and sit down in one of the corner stools, out of the way of everyone else. It’s been a while since you’ve updated your personal Youtube channel, too busy dealing with the media circus exploding in the wake of your F1 drafting announcement. 

“You feeling up for some fan questions today?” Diana asks, already pulling out her phone and pressing the Twitter app. This isn’t the first time your performance coach has doubled as your videographer, so she knows the drill by now.

“Yeah, sounds good,” you nod, though you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a flutter of nervousness in your stomach. You love your fans and interacting with them on social media, but there are also a couple rotten apples in the bunch who find joy in harassing you with rude remarks and invasive questions about your personal life.

Fortunately, Diana immediately skips over those with a derisive wrinkling of her nose, seeking out the thoughtful and funny queries instead. Although, sometimes those are hard to wrap your head around as well. Why on earth does it matter if you prefer Winnie the Pooh or Paddington Bear more? It seems like a total waste of a tweet.

The answer’s an obvious one though: Paddington Bear all the way.

Diana presses a button on the video camera, turning it on with a quiet beep and a flash of green light indicating a full battery. You give yourself a once-over, hoping nobody notices the stain on your jacket sleeve from lunch earlier, and then meet Diana’s patient gaze with another nod of your head.

She mouths, three, two, one—

“Hi everyone,” you wave at the camera, “Diana and I are here in beautiful and sunny Themyscira at the Paradise Island Grand Prix. Fun fact for those of you who don’t know, Diana grew up here. Which explains why she’s such a hardass coach—”

Diana chimes in with a cheerful, “You mispronounced badass.”

“I said what I said.” Your mouth curls up into an amused smile. “So if you want to see some of her favorite spots, I’ll be posting a couple of pics on my Instagram later today. But right now I’m going to answer some of your questions, whatever ones you’ve got, and uh,” you shrug, smile turning sheepish as your brain fails you. “Yeah, here we go.”

Hopefully there will be enough watchable material to post after you edit the hell out of the footage. You’re sure your hands are fidgeting too much, your voice too high, tongue too clumsy. Probably look like a total idiot who doesn’t know what she’s doing, but you’re trying, alright? That’s got to count for something.

“An easy one to start with,” Diana says with a smile, reading the question off her phone. “What is your favorite drink?” 

“Lemonade,” you say immediately. “All kinds, though especially strawberry or lavender. Unfortunately, I can’t drink them during races. Gotta just stick with water, water, and more water.”

“Where’s somewhere you want to visit but haven’t yet?”

Your face scrunches up, imagining a world map in your head and looking for noticeable blank spots. Travel is a major element in the sport of motor racing. As both an F2 racer and Vulpecula’s reserve driver, you’ve been to every continent except Antarctica. And that doesn’t include all the years competing in karting, F4, or F3. You consider yourself incredibly lucky having seen so much when most people your age are in college right now, stuck in one spot.

“I guess…” You chew on your bottom lip. “Maybe the Water Gardens in Dorne? I know it’s impossible to go there, that only members of House Martell are allowed, but from what I’ve read it’s supposedly the most beautiful place in the whole world.”

Diana clears her throat, prompting an eye roll.

“Next to Themyscira, of course. I mean, what can beat a place literally called Paradise Island?”

“Exactly,” your coach hums affirmatively. She looks down at her phone, reading the next question. “This one is a popular one. Why are you called Oddball?”

Diana isn’t wrong; it is a popular question. So popular, in fact, it’s followed you around ever since you were seven-years-old. You wish your nickname had a cool origin story, like the superheroes from your favorite comics growing up, but life is unfortunately not a wish-granting factory.

“When I first started karting, I was the only girl competing at the time. I didn’t have sponsors like a lot of the boys, so my suit didn’t have as many advertising patches and stuff. There’s an old Disney movie, 102 Dalmatians, and in it there’s a puppy who doesn’t have any spots. I think you can guess where I’m going with this,” you look directly at the camera, shrugging a bit. “An article came out calling me Oddball and the name’s stuck with me ever since.”

“And how do you feel about it now?” Diana asks.

“Good,” you say, and you mean it too. “Both Ahsoka and Anita have nicknames—Snips and Daybreak. I think it’s actually pretty cool to have one too. Like we’re in a special club or something. Plus, if you have ever watched 102 Dalmatians, you’ll know Oddball is the G.O.A.T.”

Diana looks at her phone and whatever she sees has her shoulders shaking with restrained laughter. Oh God. “Alright, I like this next one. Would you rather have fingers as long as arms or arms as long as fingers?”

You bark out an embarrassingly loud laugh at that. “What the hell, D?”

“Don’t ask me! I didn’t write it,” she counters through her own snickering.

“Um,” you rub your hands over your face, trying to imagine the two scenarios without dissolving into another round of giggling. You only partly succeed, another snort escaping before you can stifle it. “I dunno. They’re both awful. Let’s just go with…Fingers as long as arms.”

The Q & A session continues for another few minutes. Most questions are about racing—how to get started, what’s your favorite car, best driving advice you’ve ever been given, etc.—and then there’s a couple more weird ones you suspect Diana only purposefully includes so she can laugh at your reactions, the most notable one being would you ever eat yellow snow? Hell to the no.

“This is the final question,” Diana announces, tone mimicking the overdramatic seriousness of a television game host. You school your features into an expression of intent listening, hands folded on top of the table. “Are you excited to have Javi Gutierrez as a teammate next season?”

You force yourself not to squirm. Ask anyone else the question and they’d probably give a positive or negative answer right away. Even after being faced with dozens of similarly phrased questions from the press, your brain fumbles for words each and every time. How do you say you're excited to meet him while also simultaneously feeling like you’re about to fall off the edge of a cliff—but in a good way? He’s one of your favorite drivers, been keeping up with his career since he was in F3, and when the realization sunk in he was going to be your future teammate you almost passed out. You can only hope you don’t do anything to embarrass yourself when you finally meet him.

However, there’s no guarantee you and Javi will become friends, let alone get along in a civil manner. Most of the grid doesn’t spend much time with each other off-track or consider each other anything more than teammates and fellow competitors. Javi could be a total asshole, for all you know, his whole persona on camera just a ruse to gain support from sponsors and fans. Only time will tell, you suppose.

“I am, yes,” you finally admit, hoping your smile conceals your inner turmoil. “He’s a great driver with a lot of talent and experience. I’m sure I’ll learn a lot from him next season.”