#garage equipments near you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trashytracktales · 2 months ago

Text

Adrenaline state of mind | FC⁴³

𐙚 summary ──── After a long, eventful Sunday in São Paulo, Franco finds himself sharing an unexpected ride back to his hotel. What starts as a casual conversation about racing and dreams, slowly turns into something deeper, as the quiet intimacy of the night pulls them closer.

𐙚 pairing ──── Franco Colapinto x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, smut, explicit language, mentions of alcohol and drinking, mentions of racing incidents (Franco's crash in Brazil), swearing, suggestive/flirty behavior, unprotected shower sex (pull out game strong lol).

𐙚 word count ──── 4.6k

𐙚 date ──── Nov. 17, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── Every single time I open my silly writing app I'm thinking, this is the day I'll go for pure smut & no build-up, and every single time I fail miserably 🤍

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

FRANCO KNOWS IT could've been much worse. So, he's done overthinking for the night. After a chaotic race that ended with a crash on Lap 43, all he wants is to go back to his hotel room and wash the day off.

The adrenaline is still there, giving him random rushes throughout his body every time he remembers his error. The rain made it all difficult, of course, but he can't blame the weather — that's what amateurs do.

The impact was jarring, even from the angles the cameras caught. But for Franco, being inside the car while it was happening — it scared him. And he's now too scared to admit that he's scared. He’s spent hours afterward in the paddock, walking the line between shaking it off and dwelling on it, and still, he can't help but coming back to the same feeling. Again and again.

It's past midnight now, and most of the lights in the paddock have dimmed. The Brazilian night is humid, shadows stretching out beneath a heavy, damp sky. The sounds of engines are quieted for once, replaced by the murmur of distant voices and the occasional clash of closing garages. There aren’t many people left — just a handful of team members gathering last equipment, and a few scattered mechanics.

And her.

He knows her only through Alex. She’s the friend he’s seen around a for a couple of races — in Italy first, then US, and now here. Formally, they met in the Williams garage, after qualifying in Monza. They didn't talk much, but enough for him to remember her name. And her smile.

She’s leaning against a barrier near the Red Bull hospitality area, shielded from the light shower while scrolling on her phone. The light that comes from the screen is softly reflecting on her face, Franco noticing the little frown between her eyebrows and how focused she is, for some reason. Her head is tipped forward, strands of hair falling loose around her face, and he finds a softness in her expression that catches his eye the second he gets closer.

“Thought you left already?” he says with a thick accent, but it sounds more like a question in the end.

She looks up, a little startled, but then her face lights up in surprise. “Oh, Franco. Hey. No, just… I'm actually trying to find a ride. Alex and Lily took off right after the race. Probably should’ve left with them,” she says with a small laugh. “Caught up with some familiar faces and I lost track of time,” she explains, moving her weight from one foot to the other.

There’s a faint tension behind his easygoing demeanor, but he holds her gaze with a calm confidence. “Want to come with? We’re at the same hotel, no? I was just heading there.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, her eyes widening in recognition. “That’d be nice, actually.”

“Of course.”

They start walking together, cutting through the raindrops, neither of them looking very bothered by it. The crisp smell of rain blends softly with her sweet, floral scent, making Franco's mind wander, and he realizes too late she just asked him something, only because the space between them went quiet for a bit.

“I’m sorry, come again?”

She puffs a little chucke out, “I asked how are you feeling, but just got my answer.”

“Oh, yeah,” Franco shrugs, “Could've been worse,” he finally says it out loud.

“Still. It looked pretty intense on the screens.”

His heart clenches, but tries to keep a neutral tone, “It was. Maybe a bit too much,” he laughs dryly. “Felt like it happened in slow motion, honestly.” Franco glances down at her, half-smiling. “But I survived.”

She hums softly, nudging him gently. “Guess that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Crash, pick up the pieces, do it all again?”

He shrugs, “Pretty sure I’m supposed to try and not crash at all.”

He didn't even try to be funny, but she finds it hilarious the way Franco emphasizes the words, as if he pours his passion into each one of them. Her hands wrap around her own body as they walk, their footsteps the only sound echoing in the quiet paddock. He notices it immediately, taking off his Williams jacket and draping it over her shoulders.

“Cold?” asks Franco, smirking, without looking in her direction.

She blushes at the warmth that instantly wraps around her, the faint scent of his cologne somehow comforting. It's not intoxicating, or too strong. Just a slight trace of cardamom, followed by an unexpected freshness.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, wrapping the jacket close around her.

THE RAIN IS still falling lightly when they get back to the hotel, the sound a steady rhythm against the roof of the car. None of them kept quiet the entire drive — they started off boring, agreeing that the capricious weather was a real pain in the ass throughout the weekend, but their conversation took off, flying like ping-pong balls from one topic to another.

Now, the tension between them is like a subtle current that neither is rushing to acknowledge, but it's buzzing just beneath the surface.

Who would've thought they have so much in common?

“You up for a drink?” asks Franco, taking even himself by surprise.

She has to think about it for a while — it can't be a good idea. He's had a long weekend and needs rest, and she desperately needs to dry up. However, her pulse starts racing just at the thought of being around him more.

Her lips lift in a small smile. “ Alright. Just one,” she agrees, raising a finger in the air to accentuate her determination.

One drink turns into two.

Then three, each sip bringing them closer, the conversations drifting from track tales to late-night jokes, then back to stories about his unexpected rookie season. She listens intently, her laughter genuine, her gaze warm and focused, like he’s the only one she’s interested in hearing from. There’s a depth to her that Franco can’t look away from, a curiosity and calmness that makes him feel understood; he didn't know he needed that until now.

“So,” says Franco after taking a sip of his fourth drink. “Can I ask you something?” his gaze is observant, yet gentle, as he decides to take the conversation to a more personal tone.

“Shoot,” she nods once, just starting on her third Negroni.

“You seem to know a lot about the world of racing, and the people involved in it. But you’re not part of it. Why?”

She smirks in his direction, “Yet. I mean, there is no school to prepare someone for the position I want, but I hope I’ll get to be in front of the monitors one day. To tell your engineer when is the optimal time to pit or what tires to use in order to gain competitive advantage, maybe, ” her voice is lost in reverie, like she's been dreaming about this for a long time.

He cocks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by her answer, “You want to be a race strategist? That’s quite unique, no? Most people,” adds Franco, pointing at himself, “Dream of being racers.”

“I work better with my brain than my body. Plus, it's too late for me, even if I wanted to do something about it,” she says, a tint of nostalgia embracing her by the shoulders. “I've also seen Alex training before,” she continues, shaking her head while laughing, “Nope, thank you.”

“So then, brains over brawn, huh?”

“In my case, yes. Something like that,” she agrees, catching the little hint of interest in his eyes.

He studies her for a moment as if he tries to figure her out, because he knows there’s more to her than what meets the eye; their interaction so far proves that. It's a pleasant surprise for him, because it means there is a chance he'll get to see her around the paddock more frequently. And the thought makes him happier than it should.

Franco leans back, a playful smirk on his lips, “I see you, mystery girl. You seem to be full of surprises.”

“What about you?” she challenges him, copying his body language. “Who’s Franco when he’s not in the car?”

He grins, amused by her question. He takes one more sip of his drink, swirling the amber liquid around, stalling for a moment before he decides on his answer.

“Gonna sound cringey if I say I’m just a regular guy?”

“Oh, dear God,” she laughs, and Franco's eyes light up at the sound of it.

“I mean, I like the simple things, you know? Hanging out with my friends, music, enjoying good food… and drinks,” he continues in a suggestive manner.

“And drinks,” she repeats, nodding at his insinuation.

She looks back at him through her eyelashes, realizing for the first time since they bumped into each other tonight how late it must be. But, somehow, time seems to stay still when she catches him staring, her heartbeat fastening.

Franco’s gaze darkens slightly, the tension between them becoming suddenly palpable.

“And pretty girls,” he adds, lifting the glass and emptying it in one go, without breaking eye contact.

The warmth blooming in her chest catches her off guard, spreading from her neck to her cheeks as she shifts slightly, desperate to escape the intensity of his gaze. She tells herself it’s just the alcohol, of course. But then his lips quirk into a small, knowing smile, and her heart stumbles again in a way she can’t control it.

It’s not the alcohol, she realizes; it’s him.

It’s the way Franco looks at her like she’s something worth getting lost in, and she’s not sure she knows how to handle that.

He puts the glass back on the table and leans in slightly, as his eyes flicking from her lips to her eyes, and back again.

She looks at him, intently, feeling the warmth, and the way his breath hitches. It’s not just what she finds behind his gaze — it’s the reflection of her own desire, the undeniable pull that could easily make her lose it, if she's not careful.

And the realization is overwhelming.

“I think… we should call it a night?” she does not sound confident in the slightest.

“Probably a good idea,” replies Franco, studying her expression for a moment.

By the time they get to the elevator, the tension settles over them like a heavy blanket. He stands close, his hand brushing against hers as they walk inside, their gazes meeting in the reflective walls of the elevator the moment the doors close.

“Can you press 7 for me?” she asks, stepping back and waiting patiently.

He smirks, leaning over to do so, then he presses his own floor, just a few levels up.

The faint hum of the elevator is the only sound that surrounds them, but it barely registers over the rapid beating of her heart. Franco’s scent surrounds her from every direction, remembering the same unique smell from earlier.

His eyes catch hers in the mirrors again, and the look is almost unbearable, even through the reflection. They both know that, whatever this is, it's begging to snap. And it will. It's just a matter of when.

Every nerve in her body is dancing on the edge of patience — or lack thereof — and when he finally turns to look at her, slow and deliberate, she can't help but smile.

He takes it as a sign.

After that, Franco doesn’t think anymore — he just acts, leaning in, bringing his hand to her cheek as their lips meet in a soft, lingering kiss that deepens gradually, both of them feeling the weight of the night hanging heavily on their shoulders.

The kiss is experimental at first, like he asks a gentle question to which she answers to with a soft press of her lips on his. Then suddenly, they both start to feel the adrenaline of being in each other's space like that — so close and heated up, that it makes them wonder what contributed to the state they're in.

Aside from the alcohol, of course.

The elevator feels way smaller when Franco's free hand finds home on her waist, his fingers pushing the jacket away and then her blouse, gripping her warm flesh. The air gets heavier as they kiss, the oxygen becoming a secondary need for them, after tasting each other.

The soft ding of the doors opening goes almost unnoticed. But then she pulls back, stepping away, just enough to put some distance between them. Her lips are tingling with the aftertaste, mind so dizzy that her legs are currently made of jelly. She's about to step out when Franco's hands pulls her back to him by the edges of the jacket, their bodies colliding halfway.

So are their lips.

“That was me,” she manages, whispering against his mouth, her voice shaking slightly.

“Not tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low as he attaches his lips to hers again.

They stumble together, barely registering the way the doors close again to take them up to his floor. And by the time they reach his room, her back presses against the door as he fumbles for the key card, their mouths never straying far from each other.

Inside, the dim light of the room casts a golden hue, welcoming them as if it's not the first time.

“We walked through rain,” she reminds Franco, flushed as she catches sight of both their reflections in the mirror that’s hanged on the wall in the hallway. “Shouldn't we shower first?” she asks with a nervous laugh.

Franco smirks, his accent thick with the heat of the moment, “Ahora eso no me importa nada, bebita.” (I don't care about that at all now, baby.)

“No… vamos a ducharnos, por favor,” she cuts him off, “I feel dirty.” (No… let’s take a shower, please.)

Franco freezes for a split second, his eyes snapping to hers with a mix of surprise and something deeper, more intimate. He feels as though she has cast a spell on him, leaving Franco unable to resist doing everything in his power to fulfill her every desire, right here, and right now.

“¿Hablas español?” his voice is tinged with a boyish curiosity, as if her understanding of his language has just unlocked another layer between them.

It makes his head spin.

And that makes her smile.

“Un poquito,” the Spanish words roll off her tongue effortlessly, and he can’t help the slow grin spreading across his face.

“This just got even more dangerous,” he admits with a chuckle.

She lets out a breathy laugh as he steps back, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. Her pulse quickens at the sight of him, the lean definition of his torso illuminated under the soft light. Franco follows, finally ripping off her — his — jacket, then her blouse, revealing her smooth skin.

Each piece of clothing dropped on the floor is another barrier that’s falling away, leaving a messy trail to the bathroom.

His hands roam up and down her body, frantically, kissing slopply until they get inside. Franco lets the shower run, stepping back for a moment, his breath catching as his eyes take her in completely, as if he just realized they are completely naked — no barriers, no hesitations, no inhibitions, just them.

It overwhelms him. The way the light skims over her skin, highlighting every curve and line. It reminds him of the first time he jumped into an F1 car and how each of his senses was somehow heightened up to the max, his pulse quickened by the gravity of what he was about to experience. He was over the moon then, and he’s over the moon now, though this time around, everything feels infinitely more personal.

“You're staring,” she notices his lingering eyes, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

Instead of contradicting her, Franco reaches for her hand, guiding her toward the shower. The steamy air envelops their bodies, giving them a sense of comfort and safety. She steps in first, letting the water cascade over her. He follows closely, pausing just before the spray to watch her tilt her head back, the droplets tracing paths down her body.

Franco swallows hard, parts of him awakening at the sight of her, while the heat soaks into his skin almost as quickly as the feeling of her presence does. His hands find her waist instinctively, pulling her in while his chest presses into her back.

The steam cloaks them in a moment that feels completely detached from reality.

He brings his hand up to tuck her hair out of the way, then he leans down to press his lips on her neck. She closes her eyes for a short moment, admiring his tenderness, but something tells her that it's him who needs it more. She turns around in his arms, finally facing each other again, her heart picking up the pace once she sees his hooded eyes filled with nothing but want.

“Turn around,” she tells him, managing to get a confused expression in return.

However, he doesn't question her, complying, while she stands on her tiptoes to reach his hair. Her fingers start threading through it with care, massaging shampoo into a lather. At first, it’s easy — an act of intimacy that’s supposed to bring them closer. But then she notices the way Franco’s shoulders sag under her touch, the tension radiating from him like a silent cry for help.

Her movements slow down, “Franco…?” she says softly, stepping closer.

He exhales sharply, his head tilting forward, “It’s fucking stupid, I don’t know why it scared me so much,” he murmurs, the words raw and heavy.

She doesn’t ask him to elaborate — she doesn’t need to. Everyone saw the state his car was in after the crash; of course it scared him.

She remembers holding her breath, the way time seemed to stop until she saw him climb out unscathed.

“It’s not stupid,” she assures him, her hands sliding down to rest on his shoulder blades, placing a tiny kiss between them, “You’re okay, Franco. It’s all that matters.”

He turns around, slowly, the water falling over his face, his expression torn between vulnerability and something deeper, something he doesn’t know how to name. It's not shame, but it could be.

Her hands rise to cup his face, her thumbs brushing over his wet cheekbones. As a response to that, Franco leans down, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths blending in the warmth of the shower.

“How did I come across you…,” he whispers thoughtfully, feeling her hands sliding down his chest, slick with water and soap.

As her touch grounds him, something shifts between them in an instant.

The vulnerability melts into something else entirely — a need, urgent and impossible to ignore. When their lips touch again, her back presses against the cool tile behind her, the contrast making her gasp as his hands find her waist, drawing her closer. The water pools around them like it's simply forgotten, as the intimacy of the moment consumes them both to the point it washes away the fear and everything else in between, leaving behind only one thing — the present moment. The now.

“I know we're both un poquito tipsy and the alcohol would be such a pathetic excuse tomorrow morning, but you have to understand that I've wanted you since we were in the car, and I wasn't drunk then.”

His confession makes her heart tighten, smiling up at him.

“Okay,” she says, giggling while looping her arms around Franco's waist to bring him closer to where she wants him.

Franco chuckles, “Okay?”

“Okay,” she repeats, feeling his hands cupping her breasts, making her whimper as a result.

He pauses for a moment as he looks at her reacting to his touch. “Are you sure?”

She nods, arching more into his touch.

To cover her sounds, his lips attach back to her mouth, moving against hers with increasing fervor, the weight of the day dissolving into the way she kisses him back. Her hands slide up his chest, water-slicked skin beneath her fingertips, and she presses closer, desperate to erase the lingering fear she can still feel surrounding him.

“Franco…” she whispers his name against his lips, her voice shaky, but laced with want. “Let me help?”

He doesn't need words to reply, instead he's deciding on tilting her chin up to deepen the kiss. The other hand wanders all over her body, mapping out her curves that fit against him as though they were always meant to. Her head falls back, resting on the wall as his lips move from her mouth to her jaw, then lower, tracing a line along the column of her neck, discovering her sweet spots for the first time.

“Is this good?” he asks, reaching her thighs, brushing the pads of his fingers between them and pushing his hand further, gently opening her.

“Yes…” she agrees, moving her hips against his hand, forcing his fingers inside her.

Her moans sound like they are accompanied by a choir of drunken angels, encouraging him to find a pace, fucking his fingers in and out until he feels her squeeze him tightly.

Her arms are draping around his shoulders, pulling him towards her tightly.

“Franco,” the girl gasps his name into his wet skin before she lowers her head to watch his fingers slipping free of her.

“Joder. You're so sensitive, cariño,” he figures, widening his eyes at her.

She looks back at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly, “That turns you on?”

“Sí...” he responds gruffly, taking a small step back, his eyes not leaving her body, drinking in every curve.

“Do something about it,” she urges, raising one leg up on his thigh.

Franco gets the memo, lifting her in his arms. Her legs instinctively wrap around his waist, the motion pulling him even closer. For a moment, everything else disappears — the crash, the weight of the day, the entire world. There is only her, her touch, her breath, her whispered name for him that sends his heart racing faster than any race car ever could.

She grips his shoulders tightly as he hovers above her. His dark eyes lock onto hers with an intensity that leaves her breathless, and Franco can't be sure either of them are breathing as he guides his cock to her entrance, hissing at the contact before sliding inside.

“Ay, fuck,” he breaths hard, feeling her body welcome him in, warm and wet.

She can't help but moan at how full she feels once he's all in.

Franco lets out another low grunt, his body responding to hers. He's struggling to hold back, to control the need that's consuming him. But soon, he realizes he can't resist the feeling of being inside her. So, he starts moving, slow at first.

“Feeling you so thight around me,” he mutters against her skin, “Fuck, there you go, cariño,” he ends up proppting a hand on the wall next to her head, to steady himself when he feels her fucking back against him.

“Franco, please,” she whimpers, digging her fingernails into his shoulders, breathing heavily at the sweet stretch.

Franco lets out a shaky breath, sliding all the way inside her, again and again, until his brain turns into mush. “You're so good, bebé. So good, unbelievable,” he rambles, his thrusts so slow and gentle, that make her see little white dots all around.

His mouth finds hers again, kissing her intently while fucking her so painfully slowly. It bothers her, but she knows it's about him right now; she doesn’t want him to rush. Franco's had enough of that today; enough speed, enough chaos. He doesn’t need to race toward the finish this time.

If he needs it slow, then she can take him that way.

She cups his face in her palms, forcing his eyes back on her — such a rookie mistake. The sight of him looking through wet eyelashes and glossy lips makes her pussy clench involuntarily around his cock, aggravating the need for him, causing a string of moans out of her mouth.

“Fran…” she loses her head, squeezing her eyes closed and rocking her hips harder against the wall to meet Franco halfway.

The way she molds to his rhythm, grounding him in the here and now, sends Franco to a completely different universe, where everything is pleasure. He needs it. Not to escape, but to rebuild himself.

They move together, each of his thrusts a reminder that not everything has to be fast to be meaningful, or to take your breath away — she's never been this close to coming from such a slow fuck before. His cock is hard and demanding inside her, though, throbbing against her walls the second he decides to pull all the way out, so he can fuck back in, finally setting a more alert pace.

“So good for me, aren't you? Letting me have my way like this?” asks Franco, his tone high and breathless. “Even though it's not how you like it, no?”

He's so close to the edge, too. She can sense it in the way his breaths are ragged and erratic.

“Talk to me, bébé. What do you want?”

“Mhm… more,” she manages, her body so close to collapsing in his arms.

That's all Franco needs to hear. His control snaps, the need and the pressure taking over as he lets out a low moan, “Sí, cariño... I've got you.”

He grabs her hips firmly, his fingers leaving indents on her skin as he slams into her harder, the feeling leaving her gasping for air. Franco smiles, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her wet skin.

“God, Franco. Don't—yes, don't stop.”

“So tight, and pretty, and hot, and—fuck, you're not real, bébé,” he's muttering in between deep thrusts, his words half-incoherent as he moves inside her, giving in to the primal lust, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

He can hear how wet she is, knowing it's just a matter of time until she finally lets go. So, he rises his head slightly, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, his voice raw and rough.

Franco's grip on her hips tightens, and it's almost painful, but then he suddenly stops, his body stilling inside her, the pleasure receding just slightly as he feels her come all over his throbbing length.

It takes everything in him to stop himself from following her, thrusting a couple more times to prolong her high. Then, he pulls out completely, guiding his cock between their bodies and pressing into her until his cum starts leaking onto her stomach. For a few seconds, it leaves a hot, dense trail before the water washes it away.

“Oh, my…” she breaths heavily, struggling to find her words.

As Franco finally releases his hold on her thighs, her legs falter beneath her, the strength utterly sapped from them. The slippery tile meets her feet, so unsteady, her body still trembling from the intensity her orgasm. Instinctively, her hands grip his arm, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping her from falling.

“Tranquila, bebita. ¿Estás bien?” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, while turning the water off. (Easy, baby. Are you okay?)

She lets out a soft, shaky laugh. “Sí.”

Franco chuckles softly, his grip on her tightening slightly.

For some reason, he feels the need to hold her, as though he’s afraid she might slip away — not in the shower, but from him.

“Have you ever been to Argentina?”

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

672 notes · View notes

katsu28 · 5 months ago

Note

Kissing away their tears with lando, please and thank you!!🫶🏻

anything for you rachel my love <3 ily!

lando norris x reader, 1.6k, there's a crash but no descriptions of injury. request something from here!

“Norris is doing really well today, isn’t he?”

You’re not sure whose mouth the words come out of, but your head whips in their general direction, as do the rest of folks in the VIP box. Variations of “Shut the fuck up!” echo around the room, people grumbling to each other about those who obviously don’t know one of the biggest unspoken rules in sports.

Whenever a player, or in this case, a driver, happens to be doing well in a match (or race), you never, ever mention that they are. You can think it, you can say it in your head, but you don’t ever say it out loud. When those words make it out into the open air, bad things happen.

Call it stupid, call it superstition, but it’s a known sentiment in sports—Formula One especially. It’s like eating the same breakfast or listening to the same song before every race, or wearing a certain item of clothing every race day because you believe it brings you luck.

Does it actually bring you luck? Maybe, maybe not, but you do it anyway because of the possibility that it could.

You take a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut with a prayer to whatever higher power out there is listening.

Please, please, please don’t let anything fuck up Lando’s race.

Your prayer is futile.

You hear it before you see it on the TV—a loud crash. Tires skidding over asphalt with a deafening screech, metal grinding on metal, carbon fiber snapping off chassis and skidding across the track.

Instantly, you know there’s been a collision. Your heart leaps into your throat at the single thought that screams its way through your mind like an emergency alarm.

Was it Lando?

A hush falls over the track, and suddenly the only thing you can hear is the thundering of your heartbeat in your ears.

On the screen flashes an aerial shot of what you assume is the scene of the crash, but you can’t see much through the smoke and dust. The vague misshapen lump of a mangled car, a wheel rolling away from the wreckage, then—

Your heart drops out of your ass.

The car is bright orange. And as the cloud of dust gets blown away by the strong wind on track, your eyes zero in on the unmistakable fluoro green of Lando’s helmet.

He’s not moving.

No, no, no, no.

Your body is in the move before your brain even realizes you’re running, sprinting through the hall, down the stairs that would take you to the McLaren garage. You’re dodging people, you’re dodging equipment and carts and everything of the sort like a pro. All the while, you feel like you can’t breathe because you don’t know if your boyfriend is okay. You don’t even know if he’s alive.

That’s what scares you the most.

You’re stopped by track security before you can enter through to the garage. You show the guard your pass, but he still keeps you there, muttering something into a walkie talkie that you don’t understand.

“Come on, mate! Do you see what it says? Let me through, please!” You plead, near tears at this point.

The frantic part of you wants to push right past this knob and find Lando yourself, but you know the only good that’ll do is get yourself thrown out, and that’s the last thing you need right now. Your best option is to play nice, despite all the worst thoughts running rampant in your mind.

The guard takes what seems like a lifetime to look over your pass, glances up at you, then back down to the pass, but steps aside eventually, waving you into the bustling garage. You force yourself to calm down a smidge, not wanting to disturb any part of Oscar’s race.

From there, it’s not hard to find Lando’s race engineer. Will looks less worried than you, even as he paces back and forth with his headphones still on.

“Will!” You blurt, coming to an abrupt stop in front of the tall man. “Please tell me he’s okay.”

“There you are! I sent someone up to the box to fetch you ages ago. Lando’s at the medical center now, he’s conscious, coherent,” Will says. You let out a sigh of barely there relief. At least he’s alive. “He was asking for you. Reckon you’ll be able to see him after the medics check him out, if you want to go wait there.”

“Yes. Yeah, yes, thank you, Will,” You breathe, wrangling him in a quick hug before making a mad dash back through the halls towards the medical station.

You’re panting when you get there, fully aware you probably look mental to any sane person, but you don’t care. All you care about is getting to Lando. “Hi, where’s Lando Norris? McLaren driver, number 4, was brought in after the crash at turn ten?”

The friendly looking woman at the front table smiles sympathetically. “You’re his girlfriend, aren’t you? He told us you’d be worried. Wanted us to make sure someone found you.”

“I am, yeah. Is he—can I see him?”

“Sorry, dear. The medic team is still doing their tests and all that. Best let them be for now, but I’ll tell you what.” She leans in like she’s about to divulge some big secret. “I’ll let Lando know you’re here. Technically, I’m not supposed to, but you both seem like you could use a little break.”

“Thank you,” You say shakily, inhaling a wavering breath. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course, dear. You just sit tight over here, alright?”

That’s exactly what you do. You sit in the metal folding chair and you wait.

Nearly an hour passes and you’re still no closer to seeing Lando than you already were. The race is nearing its end, and you don’t want to bother the nice lady who’d already bent the rules for you once, but you’re almost at your wits end.

You’ve got your head in your hands when you hear your name called. It’s the lady again, telling you you’re able to go see Lando now. You're not sure what to expect when you make your way into the station, but you've gone through so many possibilities in your head you feel like you've adequately prepared yourself for almost anything.

Lando is sitting on the edge of the gurney when you walk into the room, legs swinging aimlessly as he secures his watch around his wrist.

He’s okay. He’s sweaty and covered in dust and dirt and looks like hell, but he’s okay.

You’re not sure why that realization, the one you’ve been waiting for this whole time, is the final crack in the dam. Lando’s eyes snap to you at the same time you rush forward, jumping off the bed with a tiny grimace and crossing the cramped room to bring you against his chest.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” He soothes, holding your sobbing frame tight. You’ve got two fists twisted into the lapels of his racing suit, clutching at it like you're afraid he’ll slip right through your fingers. “I’m alright, love. I’m fine, I promise.”

“I heard you—I saw—” You can’t even get the words out through the tears streaming freely down your face.

“I know. Fuck, I know, I’m so sorry.”

You feel his lips press against your tear soaked cheeks, kissing all over your face until your breathing levels out. Even when you do stop hyperventilating, Lando continues to litter gentle pecks all around, finally stopping with one long, lingering kiss to your forehead.

You’re finally able to release your death grip on the front of his suit, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles as if it wasn’t already completely a mess.

On instinct, one of your hands slides over his fireproofs, splaying over his chest right where his heart is. It beats strongly under your palm, if not a little faster when you look him in the eyes. It helps, but it does little to get rid of the knotted ball of fear that’s been sitting right on your chest this entire time. But hey, at least you’re not crying anymore.

“There’s my girl,” He hums, swiping the pad of his thumb under your eyes gently to rid you of any stray tear tracks. His free hand comes to blanket yours where it remains on his chest, fingers curing over your own. “Hi there. Are you alright?”

“Fuck me, I’m a mess,” You say, sniffling. “I should be the one checking on you and here I am crying like a baby. How are you? Are you hurt, what did the medics say?” You size him up for any outward injuries, patting around his suit gently. Your hand presses against his torso and he winces a little bit at the sudden pressure, but tuts at the wide eyed look you give him.

“I’m fine, darling. Few bruised ribs and bumps from impact but otherwise a clean bill of health. Don’t even need to go to the hospital.”

“Thank god,” You sigh, slumping forward against his chest in relief. “That was so fucking scary.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” He murmurs, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. His nose presses into your hair, inhaling as deep as he can without pain twinging in his sides. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

You shake your head firmly. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Me too.”

“How’s the car?”

Lando grimaces, shaking his head. “Totaled. Not great.”

“Is Zak mad?”

“He’s definitely not happy, but I reckon he’s more relieved I’m okay.”

“That makes two of us.” You hug him again, careful of his bruised ribs. “I would’ve hit him with your front wing if he was more worried about the damn car.”

Lando lets out a snort of high pitched laughter, though it does sound a little nervous. He knows you're serious. “Babe, you can’t just whack my boss with a broken off piece of the car.”

“Would you stop me?”

“I’d feel obligated to or else I might be fired.”

“But would you?”

“Let’s just put a pin in that for now.”

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

#requested!#lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #lando norris x fem!reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fic #lando norris angst #lando norris fluff #lando norris one shot

874 notes · View notes

souliebird · 4 months ago

Text

[[and then I met you || ch. 27]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 4.4k

ao3 link

Police Arrest Three After Mass Protests in LA County

By C. Grant

Three people were arrested in Pasadena, California yesterday after a crowd gathered to protest the death of Sheila Pom. Police say the three individuals, whose names have not yet been released, appeared to be Enhanceds attempting to agitate the crowd. Witnesses claim one of the individuals was creating sparks with their fingers and threatening to start a fire, while the two others encouraged the behavior. Police have made no comment about these arrests and all questions about the incident have been redirected to a now defunct phone number.

Sheila Pom was killed in an officer-related shooting two weeks ago after neighbors reported her as a Dangerous Individual under the new Sokovia Accords Act. Pom, 23, worked at her uncle’s auto body shop as a mechanic while also attending online classes to get a degree in Engineering. She was also a telekinetic - someone who can move objects with their mind.

Pom was known to not be shy about her gifts. Pom was seen frequently lifting cars and trucks within garages without the help of equipment and is rumored to have once righted a tipped over semi-truck. Neighbors became concerned when Pom began using her gifts at home.

“We’d come home, and things would be floating up and down the street,” one neighbor said.

Another claimed Pom was unstable, and when she would become upset, things around her would begin to shake.

“I thought it was an earthquake until my TV hit the ceiling,” a source who lived in the same building Pom told GKTV, “I learned the next day her boyfriend broke up with her.”

Officers were called when Pom refused to return a motorcycle to the ground while working on it in a residential neighborhood. After a brief standoff, officers fired two shots, striking Pom in the head, and killing her.

Pom’s family claims she was unaware of the officer’s presence, as wireless earbuds were found near her body after. Pom was known to listen to music to block the noise of machines.

Protests began after the officers involved in the incident were cleared of any wrongdoing.

----

A full-page ad takes over your screen, and instead of continuing to read the depressing article, you close the tab.

There has been a palpable unrest in the news cycle the past week that is starting to leave you with an uneasy feeling in your stomach. You’ve noticed a shift in the general narrative tone and terminology used when discussing people who have superpowers.

Before Sokovia, before Lagos, before Connecticut, the morning shows would bring on people with amazing gifts and gently joke about them joining the Avengers as they made water fly around the set, but now those same hosts debate if they should be allowed to have the right to privacy. ‘Enhanced Peoples’ has been shortened to just Enhanceds and is now spit out like it is something dirty.

You don’t know when the conversation stopped centering around heroes and vigilantes and started being about everyday people, but it scares you that the change happened. There seems to be no official power scale about what is deemed ‘dangerous’ and your mind keeps zipping all over the place trying to justify different lines of thinking.

Does Matt fall under the category of Dangerous?

He is a vigilante, so by default the Accords are directed at him, but is it doubly so? If he was forced to reveal himself to the government, would they require him to wear a tracking device? Or would they try to lock him up?

Could he fight it in court, or would they whisk him away in the middle of the night and you’d never know what happened?

If Matt is deemed Dangerous because of his senses, and not just because he is a vigilante, would Minnie be considered the same?

With how intense and angry everyone is becoming you could see yourself having to take her in to be tested.

To be monitored.

And she is just a baby.

You can’t imagine how others must feel - people who are older, who are just trying to live their lives. The girl who was killed was just trying to fix her bike, like millions of other people do every weekend. She wasn’t going to other countries to fight terrorists. She wasn’t trying to use her powers to rule over others. She wasn’t hurting anyone.

But she was different, so they killed her.

“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! I need help!”

You’re ripped from your spiraling thoughts and look across the room to where Minnie is sprawled out on the floor. Her Starkpad is in front of her, and she’s set up Pig and Scooby so they are also peering down at the device and you know exactly what she is doing.

It is the same thing she has been doing for a week straight - playing a bootleg Muppet’s math game.

Since meeting Spider-man, all your little Mouse has wanted to do is learn math. She keeps saying she wants to impress him and make him proud, and you are in no way going to discourage her. Every day has been filled with counting and addition and subtraction and you are a bit amazed she has stayed so focused.

You are not going to complain at all about it - you are getting time to yourself while she has been glued to Elmo and Kermit.

You leave your phone on the dining table and head towards your daughter.

“You need help?” you confirm as you crouch beside her. The screen shows a Muppet you don’t recognize, along with various numbers floating around them, and up at the top, the equation that has your little Mouse stumped.

“I need help!” Minnie repeats as she scrambles up off her belly and into sitting. “I don’t have enough fingers!”

She holds up both her hands to show you all ten of her itty-bitty fingers and you make a sympathetic noise.

Mouse has been getting pretty good at using her fingers to help her with addition and subtraction, but on only one hand. She uses the index finger on her right hand to help count by pointing at each finger and hasn’t quite worked out she can use her fingers to point and count. That is okay, though, as you are happy to lend yours to her important cause.

“Okay, how many fingers do you need?”

You hold out your hands and she instantly begins to manipulate them.

“This one…this one needs three! One, two, three!” She pushes your thumb and index finger down so the other three remain up, then she pushes down the pinky of the other hand. “And this one is four!”

“So, three and four? What are we doing with three and four?” You ask, trying to not laugh at her determined face.

“We adds them!” She chirps, before starting to jab at your fingers, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven! That’s seven fingers! Mommy, it’s seven! Three plus four is seven!”

“That’s right, it is seven. Which number is seven?” You direct her back to her game, where she triumphantly picks the correct symbol. The Muppet congratulates her before presenting a new equation.

Minnie squeals in delight before ripping the device off the ground and shoving it in your face, “I know this one! Mommy! I know this one! It’s three! Mommy! It’s three!”

You can’t even process what the question is before the screen is out of sight. Your daughter holds her Starkpad above her head, treating it like some war prize as she starts spinning and dancing around the living room.

“It’s three! It’s three! It’s three!”

You laugh at her antics, heartwarming at her pureness. How could anyone ever think she’s a danger?

“Are you sure it’s three?” You tease as you watch her.

She whips around to you, eyes scrunching up into a glare, and barks, “It’s three!”

“Okay, okay, it’s three.”

You push yourself up into standing just as Mouse returns to her spot. She drops her Starkpad to the ground a little harder than you would prefer, but that is why it has a big bulky case. She plops down in front of it and happily smacks the number three that is floating around the screen.

You let yourself watch her for a few seconds, silently bombarding her with all the love you feel for her. You want to wrap her up and live in this bubble forever.

Except, there is one element missing from your perfect moment. You wish there were a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and a chin on your shoulder. You want to lean back against a muscular chest and lose yourself to eternity like that.

Instead of indulging those thoughts, you tell yourself to stop fantasizing and you make your way back to the kitchen to check on dinner.

Vegetable curry has been simmering on the stove for most of the day. It has been a while since you had the energy to make the dish from scratch, but you had a craving this morning and went all out. You’ve made curry for Minnie before, and she did not complain - though you think that is because her portion was mostly rice and hot dog cuts. You plan to do the same again tonight, and if she wants more sauce, you’ll give it to her.

You check your seasonings and give everything a stir to make sure nothing gets stuck at the bottom of the pot. The rich aroma tickles your nose, and you are glad you don’t have to wait much longer to treat yourself.

As you debate adding a pinch more salt, you catch Minnie sneaking towards you out of the corner of your eye. Her movements are slow and dramatic, and you pretend you don’t notice her. This ruse works, and you appropriately jump in fear when she suddenly tugs on your shirt.

“Up!” She demands and you oblige, scooping your daughter onto your hip. As soon as she is high enough, she cups her hands around your ear and leans into whisper, “Daddy saids the food smells yummy-yummy.”

She quickly dissolves into giggles, and it is infectious, so you end up smiling.

Matt hasn’t been over for dinner in a hot minute, and you are hoping to have a nice quiet family night, before he goes out on his Patrol. The plan is to watch a movie after your meal and Minnie has already prepared for this by dragging multiple blankets out to the couch. You just know she is going to demand a cuddle pile, and now that you and Matt are intimate, it isn’t something you are nervous about.

You just want to have a good time.

“Can you tell Daddy everything is almost ready?” you ask, even though you know Matt can probably hear you just fine.

Mouse, always eager to be helpful, nods and relays the message directly into your ear. You try to not grimace, and so it won’t happen again, set her down on the ground.

“Can you plug in your Starkpad so it can sleep for the night?”

She streaks off to do her newly assigned task, leaving you to start setting the table. When you were at the store, you bought Matt a bottle of beer - a brand you know he likes - and you set it at his designated spot. You’ve grown accustomed to just drinking water and juice, but you don’t want to push that on to him - not when he’s a guest and coming over after a long day of work.

As you start to make everyone’s plates, you hear the water in the bathroom turn on. You know Minnie knows the routine for getting ready for dinner and you just hope she isn’t trying to wash Scooby’s paws again. You are worried he’ll end up moldy and you aren’t sure what you will do if that happens. You peek into the living room and are relieved to see your daughter’s best friends have been relocated to sitting on the coffee table, facing the television.

You finish setting everything up just in time, it seems. Minnie runs from the hallway right to the door as you go to wash your own hands, and you rush to get all the soap off so you can help her open the door.

Matt is standing on the other side, looking handsome as ever in a gray suit. He looks like he’s had a busy day - his hair is windswept, and he is sporting a strong five o’clock shadow. There is a garment bag draped over his arm and his saddle bag looks a little bulkier than usual and you wonder if he ran some errands on his lunch - picking up his dry cleaning and such.

You barely have time to take in his appearance before Mouse is launching herself at him.

“Daddy!” She shrieks and Matt oh so easily swings her up onto his hip. “Daddy! We’re having vege-tuhble kermies for dinner! I helped make it! I cut up ALL the carrots! By myself!”

“By yourself, huh?” Matt confirms, a bright, warm smile taking up his entire face. “Soon you’ll be making us dinner.”

You step aside so he can come in and help to take his things to hang while Mouse soaks up his attention.

“No! Mommy makes dinner because…’cause she makes the bestest foods. I just help!”

“You are a very good helper,” you interject, “You keep a very clean workstation. A professional chef would be proud.”

Minnie beams at the praise, then a microsecond later, is wiggling in to be let down. Her feet hit the ground and she takes off running back toward the living room, probably to collect something to show off to her Daddy.

Matt takes the small break to turn his attention to you. A hand goes to your cheek, and instead of a brief ‘hello’ peck, he kisses you like he wants to turn and pin you to the wall. It catches you off guard, but you easily melt into it. You clutch at the lapel of his suit jacket and try to not moan as he nips at your lips. You open your mouth for him, but being the tease he is, he pulls back just enough to whisper against you.

“Been thinking about that all day.”

The words send your blood rushing - some north to your cheeks and the rest to your cunt.

He’d been thinking about you? About wanting to kiss you? Or has he been thinking about more than that - because you must admit, you’ve been thinking about it. You’ve had more than a few thoughts about what you want to do to him the next time you two are alone together and those thoughts were certainly very explicit.

“Matt…” you totally do not whine out but instead of replying, his grin just turns cocky. He pulls away as Minnie returns to the entryway, and you decide you need a drink of your water. You escape and Mouse starts showing off her latest masterpieces to Matt.

Food coloring, cotton balls, and popsicle sticks have proven to be a massive hit and Minnie has made a whole collection of things for Matt - there’s butterflies and flowers, a house with clouds, and various abstract pieces. You are sure his office is already filled to the brim with his daughter’s art, and you would not be surprised if he started to hang things from the ceiling when he does run out of room. He seems to treasure every little thing Minnie has given him and it warms your heart so much. You hope that love never runs out.

Somehow, Matt ushers Minnie back to the dining room while she shoves different papers into his hands and gets her up in her booster seat.

“I’m going to put all these in my bag, so they don’t get dirty or lost, okay?” He tells Minnie, who nods way too enthusiastically.

“Keep them clean!” And then, just like that, she switches from being excited her Daddy is there to being a hungry toddler. She whips around to face you and asks in an almost impatient manner, “Can I has my hot dogs now?”

You give her the go ahead as Matt returns to the table and takes his place. You quickly tell him the placement of everything, including his beer, then quickly add, “If you don’t like it, I have a few different things I could make you. Or we could order something.”

A brief panic runs through you when Matt scoffs. You think you’ve insulted him - having him come all the way to Chelsea to eat a dinner he won’t enjoy and having to find a substitute.

“I love curry and this smells delicious. I wouldn’t trade it for the world - in fact, I’m hoping some of those leftovers on the stove are for me to take home and lord over Fog tomorrow.”

You flush at his sweetness and mumble out you’ll pack him some to go. This seems to please him, and he starts to dig in. Ever the little parrot, Minnie mimics him by shoveling food into her mouth with a big grin and you can’t help but laugh a little.

“It’s nummy!” Your little one declares, and even if she’s just eating plain rice right now, you’ll take it as a win. You know well she won’t eat what she doesn’t like.

“Speaking of yummy,” Matt starts, slow and deliberate, with his head angled towards you, “I was hoping we could go somewhere yummy together.”

You blink slowly at the statement, rolling it over in your mind and trying to dissect the meaning. Did he want to go somewhere for dessert? Maybe get ice cream or something? “Somewhere yummy…?”

“Mhm,” he hums, then his smile becomes a bit more sly. Even though you know it isn’t true, you feel like, behind his glasses, he is hungrily looking you up and down, “Somewhere like Uvas.”

The name doesn’t automatically generate anything for you, but after a moment, it dawns on you. Uvas in a Spanish restaurant near Central Park known to be high end and impossible to get into. It’s been in the local tabloids a few times for turning away minor celebrities who don’t meet the dress code. You’re mouth parts slightly in shock.

“What’s Oo-vuhas?” Minnie asks around her fork, her big eyes looking between you and Matt. “Do theys has yummy foods?”

“Oh, they have yummy food,” Matt teases. He then leans forward a bit in his seat and stage whispers to her, “It’s where I want to take Mommy for a date.”

“A date?” Minnie scrunches up her face at the word while your mind is still spinning.

Matt wants to take you on a date? To Uvas? You have never been anywhere that fancy or expensive as a date. Hell, you’ve never been somewhere that fancy, period. The nicest date you’ve ever been on was Hard Rock Cafe - which says a lot about your dating life.

“A date,” Matt confirms, smug and knowingly scheming. You can hear it in his voice as he tells Minnie, “That is where Mommy and Daddy go and have dinner together as grown-ups.”

Up goes Minnie’s hand into her mouth, but it stays there only a split second. Her eyes get impossibly bigger and filled with wonder, and she whispers, “Like Lady and Tramp?”

“Exactly like Lady and Tramp.”

“Mommy!” Minnie says a little too loudly, pointing her fork at you. “You gotta go to Oo-vuhas and be Lady and Tramp! You gotta!”

And at that moment you know you can’t say no, and that Matt knows that. You can’t tell your daughter you don’t want to be like Lady and Tramp. Not that you don’t want to go on a date with Matt - the idea gets you giddy and makes your stomach flutter - but you thought if it happened, it would be a coffee or something. Not somewhere where you can’t even afford to look at the building. The idea makes you a little nauseous, because you are sure you’d make an absolute fool of yourself.

But Matt looks determined and sure of himself. You are certain he asked in front of Minnie so that she could help bully you into saying yes to such a lavish date.

Luckily, your mind is working in overdrive, and you choke out, “I don’t have anything to wear. They have a dress code, don’t they?”

You don’t expect Matt to push his chair out and get up. Your throat instantly tightens up and fear shoots up your spine. Have you offended him? He clearly wants to do something with you and you’re over here hesitating. You must be coming off as a complete bitch.

You start to stand up yourself as Matt disappears into the entryway. You don’t think he’d just leave without saying goodbye to Minnie.

Maybe you can talk to him - explain that somewhere a little less grand would be ideal to start.

Before you can start to follow him, Matt is coming back to the table, holding up the garment bag he brought with him, still looking like the cat that got the canary.

“I thought you might say that,” he starts, his voice almost a little musical, “so I got you this.”

You stare dumbly at him, shock and confusion overtaking your system.

He got you something to wear? To Uvas?

No one has ever bought you clothes before - except your parents. Even when you were pregnant, the small amount of gifts you got were all for Minnie.

You distantly hear Minnie start saying something about presents, but it is all muffled under the sound of blood pumping through your ears. You step forward hesitantly and reach out for the zipper of the bag, your hand shaking slightly.

You expect it to be a joke. You’re going to open the bag and there’s going to be a clown costume inside, or a skimpy dress people like arm candy to wear, or something akin to a Burka.

You don’t expect a black floor length sheath gown. The silhouette is simple, but you can tell just by looking at it the quality of the dress is top notch. The fabric has a nice weight to it, and it is incredibly soft to the touch that you have the distinct feeling that it did not come from a dress warehouse or a department store.

This type of dress would come from a boutique uptown and would cost a few hundred dollars.

You are so caught up in admiring the dress, you don’t notice Minnie come up beside you until she is also touching the dress. Panic that she might have crumbs or curry on her fingers runs through you, but you force it down.

“It’s like a princess dress for Mommy!” Mouse cooes and you feel your face start to heat up.

You’ve never worn something so nice before and certainly nothing that would be fit for a princess, but it seems like Matt and Minnie are on the same page.

“Well, I want Mommy to feel like a princess.”

You want to hide your face, but you know you can’t, so you cover your mouth instead.

“Matt, this is beautiful. But this is so much, I can’t accept this.”

You know that while Matt is a lawyer, he’s still struggling a bit financially. If he had his way, you know he wouldn’t charge anyone for his services, and even though Nelson, Murdock, and Page has paying customers, they still have to stagger out their bills.

He shouldn’t be spending his hard saved money on you.

Matt sighs your name before gently draping the garment bag over the back of his dining chair and stepping towards you. Both his hands go to your waist, and you freeze up as he steps close enough to press his forehead to yours. Your heart begins to wildly beat when his hands slowly begin to rub your sides.

“Let me spoil you. To make up for all the dates I’ve missed. Please?” His lips dip into a small frown and you feel like you’ve kicked a puppy.

He’s gone out of his way for you, and you are being so ungrateful.

But it is so hard to say yes. Guilt is pooling in your stomach, and you just want to disappear into the shadows and be forgotten about. That is so much easier than Matt holding you, saying such sweet things.

You don’t want to ruin everything.

You close your eyes as you have a war inside yourself. All you have to say is ‘Yes’ and you’ll make Matt happy, but the monster inside of you keeps dragging your mind into a pit.

Matt wants to treat you like a princess, but how crushing will it be when he decides that is no longer the case? Can you take that?

The corners of your eyes start to sting and your monster starts to mock you for getting worked up over something as simple as being asked on a date.

Why can’t you be normal?

Why can’t you accept this?

Why can’t -

The thoughts cease as Matt’s lips press against yours, soft and sweet and tempting. You respond hesitantly.

“Let me take care of you,” he breathes into your mouth, making you shudder. “You deserve it.”

“You deserve it!” Minnie chirps from beside your knees and you very suddenly remember where you are and what you were doing. You try to pull away from Matt, thinking Minnie hasn’t seen the two of you like this yet, and it might confuse her, but he keeps his hands firmly planted on your hips, not letting you go. You don’t try to fight it, instead, you turn your head away, trying to hide away in your shell.

You know there is no way you will win this. Matt is determined and he clearly has Minnie on his side, so, very hesitantly, and feeling like you are going to throw up at any moment, you nod into Matt’s shoulder.

“Okay.”

Mouse lets out a deafening cheer and you feel her dart away.

“LADY AND TRAMP! LADY AND TRAMP! LADY AND TRAMP!”

Matt laughs at her excitement over something she doesn’t understand, while you tuck yourself into his hold, wondering how long you have before he ends up shattering your heart into pieces.

---

tags:

@two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04 @astridstark13

@lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

@Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath @roxytheimmortal

@allllium @waywardcrow @thatkindofgurl @waywardxrhea

@anehkael @akilatwt @lostinthefantasies @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @ethereal-blaze

@nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium

#soulie writes #fanfiction #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #and then i met you #matt murdock x you

310 notes · View notes

swiftiethatlovesf1 · 2 days ago

Note

Heyy, could you maybe do an age difference reader x Toto Wolff or sunshine x grumpy, where he has one of his headphone breaking moments and she scolds him in the middle of the garage? Like I’d find super funny like his smaller, younger wife yelling at him for breaking his headphones and the fans and media eating that up haha. Please and thanks!! <3

The hum of the Mercedes garage was as familiar as it was chaotic, a rhythm of voices, machinery, and focused intensity. Engineers moved swiftly, the clatter of tools punctuating their discussions as mechanics fine-tuned the car for the upcoming race. Amidst the organized chaos, you stood by the monitors, scanning data with a calm focus that contrasted sharply with the frenetic energy around you.

Then it happened.

“Verdammt!” Toto’s voice boomed from the other end of the garage, startling even the most seasoned team members. Heads turned to see him, towering as always, but now radiating frustration. His expression was a storm cloud, and in his hands were the remnants of his latest pair of Bose headphones, the poor device snapped clean in two.

You let out a sigh, half amused, half exasperated. Your husband—the esteemed team principal of Mercedes-AMG Petronas, feared and respected across the paddock—had once again succumbed to his infamous headphone-breaking habit.

“Oh no, not again,” you muttered under your breath. You handed your tablet to a nearby engineer and strode across the garage, weaving through the maze of equipment and personnel. The team parted like the Red Sea as you approached, sensing what was about to unfold.

Toto stood there, oblivious to the audience he had attracted. His broad shoulders heaved as he tried to rein in his temper, the broken headphones dangling from his massive hands. He looked every bit the grumpy giant he was known to be, but to you, it was just another Friday.

“Toto Wolff,” you began, your voice sharp enough to cut through the air. His head snapped up, and his stormy gaze softened—just a little—when it landed on you. But his sheepish expression did nothing to quell your determination.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” you demanded, planting your hands on your hips. Despite being significantly shorter and younger than him, you had no trouble commanding the attention of a man who could intimidate entire boardrooms.

“They broke,” Toto said, as if that explained everything. He held up the shattered headphones as evidence, his Austrian accent thick in his defense.

“Oh, really?” you shot back, sarcasm dripping from your words. “Did they break, or did you break them? Because I’ve lost count of how many pairs you’ve destroyed this season alone. What is it now, five? Six?”

A snicker rippled through the garage, and you caught George trying to suppress a grin from where he stood by the car. Even the media personnel hovering near the entrance couldn’t hide their amusement, cameras clicking furiously to capture the moment.

Toto’s ears turned red, a rare crack in his composed demeanor. “It was… a stressful situation,” he mumbled, looking anywhere but at you.

“Stressful?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “And snapping your headphones in half helps how, exactly? Are you planning to intimidate Red Bull with broken electronics now?”

The garage erupted in laughter, and Toto’s lips twitched, caught between a scowl and a smile. He shifted awkwardly, the 6’4” team principal suddenly looking very much like a schoolboy caught red-handed.

“You need to control your temper, mein Liebling,” you said, softening your tone but not your resolve. “You’re setting a terrible example for the team. And for the record, I’m not buying you another pair. You can use the cheap earbuds like everyone else until you learn some self-restraint.”

Toto’s eyes widened, the horror of your words sinking in. “Not the earbuds,” he said, as if you’d suggested he race barefoot.

“Yes, the earbuds,” you confirmed, folding your arms. “Consider it a lesson in anger management.”

Another wave of laughter rippled through the team, and even Toto couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. He looked down at you, his eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and affection.

“You’re terrifying when you’re angry,” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Good,” you replied, poking a finger into his chest. “Maybe you’ll finally listen to me.”

As you turned to walk away, the garage buzzed with whispered commentary and stifled laughs. The moment had been caught by every camera in the vicinity, and you had no doubt it would be all over social media within the hour.

A shadow loomed over you, and you turned to see Toto standing there, an apologetic smile on his face. In his hand was a hastily repaired pair of headphones, held together with duct tape.

“I’ll behave,” he promised, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “No more broken headphones.”

“Good,” you said, giving him a pointed look. “Because next time, it’ll be the earbuds and no kisses for a week.”

He groaned dramatically but nodded, retreating to his post with his makeshift headphones. You shook your head, a fond smile tugging at your lips. He might be a grumpy giant with a penchant for breaking expensive electronics, but he was your grumpy giant. And if keeping him in line meant scolding him in front of the entire team, well, you were more than up to the task.

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #toto wolff #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff x y/n

240 notes · View notes

the-puffinry · 2 years ago

Text

As an avid freediver since the age of 12, Allnutt remembers how his local coastline once was – full of lush kelp beds that brimmed with marine life. He used to dive near Hove in an area with kelp so dense that “you’d hardly see the rocks and mussel beds” beneath it. Now, he says, “it’s just disappeared”. Most of the UK’s kelp beds have been wiped out by destructive fishing practices such as bottom trawling that leave the seabeds scarred and barren. “We’ve taken so much out of the sea but we’ve not put anything back,” says Allnutt.

What kelp remains, he noticed, is resilient, and he began to wonder if a restoration project could simply “reboot the whole system”. When a new law in 2021 banned trawling in 200square kilometres of Sussex’s inshore waters, Allnutt was initially excited �� but soon he realised that, although the areas were newly protected, the government had no actual restoration plans. If no one else would act, he figured, it was down to him.

He set up the tanks in his garage and planted them with kelp tissue he collected from freediving. To cover the cost of the equipment, he picked up extra shifts at the hospital where he works as a physical therapy technician with patients who have had knee and hip replacements. Later, he launched a crowdfunding scheme – called the Sussex Seabed Restoration Project – which has raised more than £3,000. Local restaurants even donated oyster shells for the kelp to grow on.

I found this fundraiser for a seabed restoration project just today, thought I'd share! you can still contribute.

youtube

#this is such a cool project!!!#kelp #marine biology #environmental restoration #environment

5K notes · View notes

hemmingsleclerc · 11 months ago

Note

I'm really loving the dad max content, your style of writting is amazing

I don't know if it's possible, but could you do something where Olivia is hanging out with Checo's kids (Chequito, Carlota, Emilio) and causing chaos in the paddock

I think it would be cute and fun

Lost in the Paddock┃MV1

Omg I love this idea I just imagined it and laugh!😭💕

summary:where max and checo lose their children in the spanish grand prix

It was a sunny morning in the paddock and the excitement for the Spanish Grand Prix was growing. Max’s daughter, Olivia, and Checo’s children, Chequito, Carlota and Emilio, were full of energy and looked at everything with curiosity. The sound of the engines echoed throughout the place, but the children were more interested in playing hide and seek.

As their parents prepared for the race, the four quickly came up with a plan to explore the paddock together. Unbeknownst to their parents, the mischievous group ventured out, carefully checking all the places.

The paddock was a maze of trailers, trucks and equipment, a perfect playground for the kids. Olivia, being the oldest, had convinced the others to follow her and explore the secret corners that she had already seen before with her father. Unbeknownst to their parents, the little ones had wandered too far and were soon lost in the maze of racing equipment.

Meanwhile, Max and Checo finished their conversation and turned around to find that their children were nowhere to be found. Panic set in as they frantically shouted their names. Max's heart almost burst out of him as he screamed his little girl's name while Checo was just as bad or worse than him.

"Olivia!''

''Chequito! Carlota! Emilio!" echoed through the paddock, but there was no response. The two parents exchanged worried glances and quickly ran out of their garage in search of their children.

Meanwhile, the children had managed to find their way to the center of the paddock, laughing and laughing as they explored the different areas of the different teams. Chequito, Carlota, Emilio and Olivia were in their own world of fun, oblivious to the chaos they were causing.

They managed to reach a place where photos of their parents were displayed on a wall. ''Look! There's my daddy!'', ''Ours too!'' Suddenly, a great idea had occurred to Olivia, what better idea than to leave a nice message for her dad and for everyone to see it, so carefully she took out of her small backpack the markers that her mother had given her on her birthday and with a huge smile, she began to draw hearts on the wall, among other things, while her other three companions saw her laughing.

Meanwhile, Max was on the verge of having a nervous breakdown himself while Checo was madly asking anyone who crossed his path if there was any sign of his children.

Charles, Daniel, Lewis and Carlos had joined the search for the little ones to cover more space and narrow down the possible places they could be.

''Via!Your favorite uncle is looking for you!'' Daniel shouted

''Carlota! Emilio! Checo jr!, Come here! We have a special surprise for you!'' Charles said

''Kids! Roscoe wants to play with you!'' Lewis' turn

Just as concern was reaching its peak, a track official informed Max and Checo that a group of children matching their descriptions had been seen near the merchandise area. With a sigh of relief, the parents rushed to the scene, their hearts pounding in their chests.

There they found the quartet, happily surrounded by team merchandise, trying on oversized caps and sunglasses while devouring different flavored ice creams. The children looked up with innocent smiles as Max and Checo approached, a mix of relief and exasperation on their faces.

Max and Checo shared a look that conveyed relief and amusement at the same time. When the chaos calmed down, the parents couldn't help but smile at the getaway their children had made. With a laugh of relief, they escorted the boys back to the Red Bull Racing garage, ready to focus on the race ahead.

Max lifted his little girl in his arms while he covered her face with kisses.

''Were where you all this time angel?, and who bought you those ice creams?''

''!Uncle lando and uncle oscar daddy!'' Olivia exclamed

''They also bought us these cool caps dad!'' Chequito said to checo

''Yeah, you're not wearing those mclaren caps on our watch kids, redbull ones are better''

As the paddock returned to its normal bustle, Max and Checo were grateful to have their children back safe and sound.And listen to all the mischievous they got up to in their absence.

1K notes · View notes

blogport · 6 months ago

Text

EPOXYSHİNE - DRAGON+ (3)

Epoxy floor coating is not just a practical choice for enhancing the durability of your flooring; it's also a stylish solution that can transform any space. Whether you're a homeowner looking to revamp your garage or a business owner seeking reliable commercial flooring solutions, understanding the benefits of epoxy will help you make informed decisions. As you search for "floor polishing near me," consider how an expertly applied epoxy coating can elevate your interiors while providing a long-lasting finish.

Epoxy Floor Coating

Epoxy floor coating is a highly durable and resilient flooring solution that has gained popularity in both residential and commercial spaces. This type of coating is made from a combination of resin and hardener, creating a strong bond when applied to existing concrete surfaces. The result is a seamless surface that can withstand heavy foot traffic, chemicals, and abrasions.

One of the major benefits of epoxy floor coating is its versatility. It can be customized in various colors and finishes, including high-gloss and matte textures. This means that property owners can choose a look that complements their interior design while still providing the durability they require. Additionally, the smooth finish of epoxy makes it easy to clean and maintain, which is particularly advantageous in commercial settings.

Furthermore, the installation process for epoxy floor coating is relatively quick, often completed within a few days. However, it’s essential to hire professionals who have the expertise and equipment to ensure a flawless application. The right team will properly prepare the surface, allowing for optimal adhesion and longevity of the coating.

Floor Polishing Near Me

When searching for floor polishing near me, it's essential to find a service that not only meets your expectations but also understands the unique needs of your flooring. Professional floor polishing can revitalize old surfaces, restoring their shine and luster while protecting them from future wear and tear.

Many local companies offer specialized services in floor polishing that cater to various materials, including hardwood, tile, and concrete. A quick search in your area will yield numerous options, allowing you to compare prices, services, and customer reviews to find the best fit for your needs.

Additionally, hiring professionals for floor polishing ensures that the job is done correctly and efficiently. They use advanced equipment and high-quality products that not only enhance the appearance of your floors but also extend their lifespan. So, don't hesitate to reac

Commercial Flooring Solutions

Commercial flooring solutions are essential for businesses seeking to enhance their aesthetic appeal while also ensuring durability and functionality. The choice of flooring can greatly influence the overall atmosphere of a commercial space, leading to improved employee morale and customer satisfaction.

Among the various options available, epoxy floor coatings stand out due to their seamless finish and resistance to heavy foot traffic. These coatings not only provide a sleek look but also protect the underlying surface from wear and tear, making them ideal for warehouses, retail spaces, and industrial environments.

Moreover, businesses often explore additional options such as vinyl flooring, carpet tiles, and laminate surfaces to meet specific needs. Each of these materials offers unique advantages, allowing business owners to choose the most suitable flooring solution that aligns with their operational demands and aesthetic preferences.

Metallic Epoxy Floor

A metallic epoxy floor offers a stunning visual appeal that enhances the aesthetic of any space. The reflective properties of the metallic pigments create a unique look, resulting in a three-dimensional effect that can mimic a variety of surfaces, such as water, marble, or even molten metal. This type of flooring is especially popular in modern homes, showrooms, and commercial spaces, providing an eye-catching yet durable surface.

One of the significant advantages of a metallic epoxy floor is its durability. This flooring solution is resistant to stains, chemicals, and impacts, making it ideal for high-traffic areas. Additionally, it is easy to clean and maintain, which means that business owners and homeowners can save time and resources. The seamless nature of epoxy flooring also contributes to a hygienic environment, especially in spaces like hospitals or laboratories.

Installing a metallic epoxy floor can be a customized process, allowing property owners to choose their preferred colors and patterns. Whether you’re looking for a sleek, industrial look or a vibrant, artistic finish, this flooring solution can be tailored to meet your unique vision. By consulting with professionals, you can ensure that your metallic epoxy floor is installed correctly and maximizes its longevity and beauty.

598 notes · View notes

porcelana-r0ta · 6 months ago

Text

The Curse of Sight, Part 7

DCxDP

[Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8]

[Ao3 Link] (Registered Ao3 users only)

Summary: When Wes Weston meets Tim Drake-Wayne, the dots start connecting. And those dots form a bat.

xxXxx

After a phone call with his mom to confirm that it’s alright for Wes to stay the night, Rebecca leaves with the AV equipment in a Wayne vehicle with a WE driver from HQ. (She also absconds off with a few extra Alfred Pennyworth cookies, but no one calls her out on it.) Wes is then left alone with Tim for a grand tour of Wayne Manor.

The estate is large and sprawling, but Wes is nothing if not observant and adaptive, and he makes quick work of memorizing the layout. He’s careful to make mental notes of places that could potentially hold secret passages.

Part of Batman’s whole thing was that he had a Batcave, right? Surely it’s connected to the Manor. The entrance is most likely on the first floor for easier access if the Cave is underground, which is the most logical conclusion given that the Batcave has to hold a computer with enough processing power to be the legendary Batcomputer, all the Bat-vehicles, plus any trophies Batman has collected in his lucrative career as a vigilante. Also, if it’s as much of a cave as the name implies, it’s got to be underground.

Not that Wes wants to go exploring. This investigation is just so he can mentally note what areas to avoid and always have plausible deniability.

“Oh, no, Mr. Bruce Wayne, sir, I didn’t see you come out of a bookcase secret passageway with bruises that strangely match up with Batman’s. You see, I was over on the bench in the Wayne Gardens, much too far away from the Wayne Library to see any secret nightlife activities. I’m just a simple teenage boy, haha, please don’t steal my kneecaps. Anyway, what did you think of My Immortal? ”

Yes. Foolproof and non-suspicious, two of Wes’s favorite things in Gotham. He even deflects into the Brucie Wayne persona in this imaginary scenario.

God. This is too stressful. Wes knows too many people with alter egos. He needs normal friends—he can’t keep being the normal friend for abnormal people. Maybe he should start going to the community center in his mom’s neighborhood and meet normal teens with normal Gotham interests. (Wes imagines the normal Gotham teen experience to be the universal vaping and smoking, plus minor vandalism and maybe even some pickpocketing in the Diamond District. He’d sidestep any vigilante-chasers or gangsters, naturally. He’s got to avoid the Bats!)

Of the first floor, there are the following rooms: the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, the parlor, the drawing room, Mr. Wayne’s office, the game room, the theater room, the servants’ quarters, the bathrooms, and the garage.

The kitchen likely has too much foot traffic to keep a secret entrance, plus Mr. Pennyworth seems too proper to let Bat-hijinks take place anywhere near his domain. The foot traffic would remain an issue for rooms like the living room, the drawing room, and the parlor. The theater and game rooms may be an option — both had bookshelves to hold board games, video games, DVDs, and VHS tapes, and bookshelves are classic rich people hiding places. The library is another potential place, even if it’s rather stereotypical. But maybe he should expect stereotypes from the same people with a cow named Bat-Cow?

The servants’ quarters, only occupied by Mr. Pennyworth and not included in the tour, would be an unexpected place. It may be too far out of the way, though. The bathrooms could be an option: no one is going to interrogate someone for spending too long in a bathroom. But some people are nosy about what others keep in their bathrooms, and someone as paranoid as Batman would account for that. The garage is likely too much of a security liability given that it’s right there along the driveway for an easy getaway.

That just leaves Bruce Wayne’s office, where it wouldn’t be weird for a CEO to disappear into for hours at a time, nor would it be weird for it to be off-limits for people to be in. Wes was only shown where the room was, not the inside. It’s totally normal to not be brought into your friend’s dad’s office. So normal, in fact, that Wes wouldn’t have even questioned it if he didn’t already know that the Waynes were the Bats.

So, avoid Bruce Wayne’s study. Not a problem for Wes because he has zero reason to go in there in the first place. This sleepover thing will be a piece of cake.

Right now they were in the game room, playing Mario Kart 8 on the Switch. The Waynes were wealthy enough that both Tim and Wes had a pro-controller. (Eat the rich!) Right now, Wes was beating Tim by a decent margin as Luigi, but he’s not sure how much of that is Tim letting him win. He’s only played Mario Kart a few times, and never on the Switch, so he’s not really world champ. It’s nice of Tim to fake being bad, though.

“Damn, you win again,” Tim says, watching Luigi pass the finish line, followed by his avatar, Princess Peach, seconds after.

“‘Cause you’re going easy on me.”

“What? No I’m not.”

“You liar.” One of the best ways to lie is to pretend to be a bad liar. Make a few sacrifices with your integrity and no one will question you when you lie well about something that actually matters. His parents taught him that. “Play better this next round.”

“Are you trash talking me?” Tim is playfully offended.

Wes scoffs, grabbing one of the sofa cushions and setting it against the armrest. He buries himself into it, swinging his legs onto the couch. He’s just barely tall enough to shove his socked feet into Tim’s ribs where he’s sitting. “Am not. I just know that you’re a little tech nerd, and that you can totally kick my ass. No way you haven’t obsessively played Mario Kart.”

“First of all, I resent that.” He shoves Wes’s feet away. His ears are red. Still cooling down from outside? They weren’t so red a little bit ago. “Second of all, fine. Let’s do Rainbow Road.”

“Sweet, a challenge!”

Tim selects the Special Cup, and Wes does semi-decently in the first three courses, though Tim only barely holds onto first. The last course is Rainbow Road, and Wes proceeds to fall off the track every thirty seconds. He crosses the finish line in a very humble tenth place. Tim, impossibly, does worse than he has in previous rounds, ending in fourth place rather than the calculated second to spare Wes’s pride of their previous Cups.

“Hmm. That was humiliating.”

They both turn to look at the doorway, where Damian Wayne lurks, holding Alfred the Cat.

“Don’t be rude, Demon Spawn.” Tim scowls. Wes stretches his feet out to nudge at Tim admonishingly.

“Dude, c’mon. He’s right. That was bad.”

“Weston is correct, Drake. And besides, I was talking about you.”

“Okay, that’s it—” Whatever Tim is about to say is cut off when Wes kicks him, harder than a nudge, but not enough to hurt for longer than a few seconds. “Wes! What the hell?”

He ignores Tim, “Did you want to play, Damian?” He gestures at the TV with his controller.

The boy straightens up, and the movement makes Alfred the Cat wriggle free of his hold. She darts into the room, behind the sectional couch and out of sight. “Don’t be ridiculous. I am merely here to relay Pennyworth’s message that supper will be ready in thirty minutes.”

“Oh, so you’re scared that you will do worse than me?” He raises a challenging eyebrow.

“Tt. I could defeat you and Drake blindfolded.”

“Prove it.”

Wordlessly, Damian marches into the room and swipes the controller from Wes. He laughs, kicking his feet off the couch and getting up to grab a third controller. When he turns back to the couch, Damian is already sitting beside his big brother, his back straight and his face neutral. He turns on the controller and joins them on the couch, leaving enough room for Damian to not feel crowded with a stranger.

The kid reminds him of some of the more minor-league ghosts who like to annoy Danny for attention. Ghosts like fighting, they like arguing. Siblings shared in that trait, usually.

Tim grumbles and switches to three person multiplayer, then asks, “What tracks do you want to play?”

“The same one you and Weston were on. I will defeat you both.”

“Well, definitely me,” Wes says. Damian only sniffs in response.

They speed through character selection, Wes keeping Luigi and Tim keeping Peach, and Damian chooses Shy Guy. After choosing their vehicles (Wes is the only one who chooses a cart instead of a motorcycle), they start the Special Cup.

They quickly discover that Damian is a ruthless competitor. Wes lets out a frustrated groan at the third green shell that hits him, whereas Tim curses at his little brother. “How are you so fucking good? I thought video games were beneath you!”

“Jon has a Switch. He likes Mario Kart and Minecraft.”

“Of fucking course he does.”

Wes wonders who this “Jon” person is. A civilian friend? A fellow superhero? He hates knowing superhero identities, but his mind runs theories anyway.

Damian continues to win against them, and when that gets boring, he purposely keeps a middle-pace so he can collect shells. His aim is unfortunately impeccable. After twenty minutes of losing to his little brother, Tim calls it quits. “Okay, that’s it. We need to wash up for dinner before Alfred gets mad.”

“Scared to continue losing, Drake?”

“Hardly. Go wash your hands, brat. You were holding the cat earlier.”

“She’s cleaner than you,” Damian insults. Then, before Tim can retort, he bounds out of the room.

Tim turns to Wes, “Dude, seriously?”

“What? He obviously wanted to hang out with you.”

“No he didn’t! He’s Damian. He wanted to spy on me and you so he can insult us better later when you aren’t around.”

“Mh-hm.” Wes is doubtful. “I don’t know about that. He acts like how I did when I was in middle school and wanted to hang out with my older cousin.”

“It warms my heart that you’re capable of seeing the good in evil.”

“You don’t mean that, dude.”

Tim smiles, “I guess not.”

After washing up themselves, they head downstairs for the dining room. They are greeted by the savory scent of steak. Wes’s mouth waters. Real rich people food.

Bruce Wayne (Batman!) is already seated at the head of the table, Damian to his right. Tim grabs Wes’s hand and pulls him to sit on the other side, with Tim acting as a buffer between him and Bruce Wayne.

“B, this is Wes Weston, my friend. He works in PR, specifically with our TikTok team.” There is no TikTok team, unless Wes and Rebecca count as a team. What is she supposed to do when he goes back to Amity with his dad at the end of the summer? “Wes, this is Bruce, my adoptive dad.”

Well, only after the whole fake uncle thing, Wes thinks to himself. But he isn’t supposed to know about that. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

“Please, call me Bruce when we aren’t at work, Wes.” Bruce Wayne grins that Brucie grin, big and disarming. I’m onto you, Batman. You can’t fool me. “It’s great to see Tim with friends his age. I had a lot of concern after he dropped out of high school, you know, but—”

“Bruce, please. Stop embarrassing me!”

“I’m just expressing my love for my son, Tim.” He turns to Damian, “Don’t follow your other brothers’ examples. Stay in school.”

“Of course, Father,” Damian says while Wes snorts.

The Waynes are really zero to nil on children who have high school diplomas. Dick Grayson ran off (or was run off?) at age sixteen, Jason Todd was declared dead (though Wes suspects that maybe he really did die—is there a way to get Danny and Co. to look into that without spilling identities?), and Tim dropped out and created an uncle after his parents passed so he could become a full-time CEO and vigilante (Wes should sit down with Tim and talk about good coping mechanisms, and also never admit to knowing about the fake uncle or the vigilante activities). Hell, even Bruce Wayne is a medical school dropout!

They still at least had Damian Wayne and Duke Thomas, Wes supposes. Maybe they can be the Wayne kids who finally walk at graduation.

As if on cue, Duke Thomas trudges into the room, clearly tired from daytime patrol as The Signal. Though, Wes is likely supposed to believe that Duke is out doing volunteer work or something of the like.

“Hey, guys. New person.” Duke squints at Wes, then rubs his eyes. A pair of tinted glasses hang on the collar of his yellow shirt. He grabs them and puts them on.

“Hello, Thomas.”

“Hey, Duke.”

“Welcome back, Duke! Have you met Wes yet? Are your headaches acting up again?”

“Nope,” says Duke, taking his seat next to Damian. “Nice to meet you. I’m Duke. And my head’s fine.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

“Is Dick still here?” Duke asks.

Bruce shakes his head, “He had to leave to make it back to Bludhaven so he’d be able to rest before his shift with the BPD tonight.”

Wes translates that as He’s got Nightwing work tonight. But who knows? Maybe he really does have a night shift.

“Ah, that sucks,” Duke says.

Alfred walks in pushing a cart of the mouth-watering steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, and roasted vegetables and starts to serve everyone.

Wes may have to sleep over more often.

“Thanks, Alfred,” Wes says when his food is plated.

“Of course, Master Wes.”

He wrinkles his nose at that, even though Alfred’s called him that a few times upon coming in for snacks after filming. Being called “master” makes him feel like some kind of egocentric wealthy elitist.

“So, Wes,” Bruce Wayne, literally Batman, starts after everyone has been served. Wes straightens up tp better search for any signs of dinnertime kneecap removal. “You’re Penny’s son and that you intern at WE. How are you liking it so far?”

Normal dinnertime conversation. Excellent. Wes has been to dinners every evening of his life, so he should ace this.

“It’s fun. I mean, I just did coffee runs and stuff at first, but it’s a lot more engaging now that Rebecca is running the TikTok and is using me as her Gen Z brain monkey.”

“She’s not that much older than you.” Tim rolls his eyes.

“The WE TikTok is doing very well,” Bruce compliments as if Tim hadn’t opened his mouth. “We should have started one much sooner.”

“I love the one you’re in. Wes, the one where you talk about the American public school experience,” Duke says, rubbing at his temple. Which is unhelpful because Wes directly made fun of Bruce Wayne in that one. “Sorry about the maybe trauma it inflicted.”

He winces, “I mean, it was fine. We were in a safe room the whole time. It genuinely was like the average American high school experience.” He cuts a concerned look at Bruce. The guy who literally can fire his mom and also rip out his kneecaps if he decides to take offense to something dumb Wes says. He just can’t help it—he’s an Amity Park teenager!

Bruce notices and laughs, “Now, now, none of that! I think it’s great that you raised awareness about school shootings. I’m very aware of my privilege, and I don’t have any hard feelings about it being called out.”

“That’s… good.”

Tim nudges him from under the table with his foot. When Wes looks at him, he’s smiling. Wes’s stomach twists. It’s not an unpleasant feeling.

Damian sniffs, “Well, nothing will compare to the appearances of Bat-Cow, Titus, Alfred the Cat, and Haley.”

“Everyone will love them,” Wes agrees. “People go crazy for animals.”

“They would be wrong not to.”

“Wes, not to be rude, but are you from Gotham?” Duke asks. He squints from behind his tinted glasses. “You don’t have a Gothamite accent.”

“That’s not rude at all.” Wes racks his brain for reasons why the meta vigilante might look constipated whenever he looks at him. Is it an Amity Park thing? The Signal’s power set isn't 100% known—the only things confirmed by witness accounts are light and shadow manipulation. Is the electromagnetic radiation spectrum that Duke can see wider than a baseline human’s, thus allowing him to see more visible light? Can Duke see auras? Can he see ectoplasmic radiation? Can he see that radiation in Wes?

He needs to be careful about what he says. “I’m from Amity Park, Illinois. So is my mom. But she and my dad divorced a few years ago and now I visit Gotham every other holiday and every summer.”

“Oh damn, that sucks, dude.”

“Nah, it’s fine. They were super chill about it.” They had an amicable divorce. Wanted different things. His parents still text semi-regularly, and they will usually steal Wes’s phone for a few minutes when he’s talking to the other. They might still be together if his mom hadn’t wanted to move up in her career and his dad hadn’t been firm on staying in Amity, or if they’d both been okay with long distance.

Still… it would be nice to be a complete family, again. Together and whole. Preferably in an Amity Park not infested with white suits or ectophobic ghost hunters.

Ugh. He really needs to call his dad after work tomorrow. Maybe his cousin, too.

Dinner goes smoothly from there, and after, Tim drags Wes to the movie room to watch Lord of the Ring: Fellowship of the Ring before turning into bed. When the credits roll, he asks, “Are you cool with just staying in my room, or do you wanna stay in the guest room?”

Honestly, what kind of rich people shit is that question? (Ignoring that his mom owns a townhouse in Gotham City and is the director of Wayne Enterprises’s PR Department. He had humble beginnings!)

“Your room is fine,” Wes says.

“You… just wanna share the bed?”

Wes had seen Tim’s bedroom in the tour already. He had a California king sized bed. Sleeping in a bed that size would be just the same as sleeping in separate sleeping bags on the floor in terms of intimacy.

“Yeah, that’s fine, dude.”

Fast forward to them actually in pajamas and actually under blankets and actually turning off their phones for the night, and Wes is learning that it’s actually not fine.

He’s hyper-aware of Tim’s form beneath the blankets, the same blankets Wes is under. And sure, they are on separate ends of the bed, nearly three feet between them, but still.

He’s slept in the same bed as a few friends before, but that had stopped around middle school, when it was suddenly gay for guys to do that. Wes is secure in his sexuality, sure, but he was still in a small Midwestern town at the time, so he hadn’t exactly wanted to do anything to confirm any queerness about him.

Tim, on the other hand, has been publicly bisexual for a while now. And he wasn’t in the room with Wes when he’d gotten his fitting and made his request that his suit reflect his sexuality, so he didn’t know that Wes was any flavor of MLM. (He’d been too insecure about his lanky basketball player frame to let a superhero overhear his measurements.)

Is it weird that Wes knows Tim’s sexuality but Tim doesn’t know his while they share a bed? Is it creepy? Is it wrong? Should Wes say something? Or would it be even creepier to come out while in Tim’s bed? Fuck, is it hot in here?

He kicks a leg out from under the covers, allowing it to be exposed to cool air. It’s completely dark in the room, but he stares at where his foot should be. Should he have worn socks to make it not gay? Is it gay at all? What even is “it” at this point, anyway?

He forces a deep breath. This is probably not weird. It probably would be weird if he did decide to come out while sharing a bed with his friend, who is a queer vigilante and his boss and could have his adoptive father rip out Wes’s spine if he so wished.

Right. So Wes needs to chill the fuck out and think of literally anything else.

His first thought is unfortunately that time he fell off the monkey bars in the first grade and landed on top of Paulina Sanchez, who had cried and hated him until sixth grade for it.

Even worse, his second thought is of his parents’ divorce, and he wants to slap himself. But he can’t do that when there’s a maybe-sleeping-maybe-not body next to him, so instead he takes another deep, quiet breath.

He thinks of Duke Thomas and the way he squinted at Wes. Right, light and shadow manipulation. But to what extent? The way he reacted to Wes might suggest he can see more than a regular human’s visible light spectrum. (More colors, like a shrimp?) If he can see ecto-radiation, then he can see that there’s something off about Wes, who has lived in Amity since the portal’s opening nearly a year ago. The average Amity Parker has a little ecto-contamination in them, but Wes’s may be higher thanks to his stalking of Team Phantom.

So Duke might know that he’s a little irradiated. Not a big deal, Amity’s a small town. There’s no reason to assume that Duke will meet other Amity Parkers and start to ask questions.

But what would happen if the Guys In White decide to outsource help and they decide that someone who can see more forms of light would be beneficial to the cause?

….Fuck. He was supposed to calm himself down, not work himself up.

Wes settles in for a long night.

xxXxx

Taglist: @theamazingfox

@theamazingfox @quietlyscared @lumosfeather18581 @blankliferain @amercurio @gin2212 @starscreamlover @hoarder-of-gender @the-ghost-trader @iariinay @ectoplasm024 @theblackcatscratchpost @chaos-n-kindness @overtherose @roseinbloom02 @jaguarthecat @i23432i

If you want to be added to the Tag List, just ask in the replies!

Ao3 is updated first BUT I upload onto Tumblr 10-30 minutes after uploading on Ao3, so don’t worry about missing out on early content or anything. Everything is updated within the hour :)

#dcxdp #dpxdc #wes weston x tim drake #wes weston/tim drake #ao3 #fanfic #stalker buddies au #the curse of sight #dcxdp crossover #dpxdc crossover

160 notes · View notes

mygnolia · 7 months ago

Text

get better! | 3. meet my neighbor ig???

SMAU! synopsis -› in which your neighbor and popular twitch streamer park sunghoon breaks his arm, so he switches to vlog style content that matches up with yours! now everyone’s curious why 1) you have a cute boy in your apartment, 2) sunghoon’s not on his grind anymore, and 3) when are you two going to date!?

(2.2K WORDS, cw: food, y/n collects smiskis and sony angels LOLL)

You open the door to see a fist about to rain bruises on your forehead- and Sunghoon doesn’t expect for you to answer so quickly. He immediately retracts his hand, an apology tumbling from his lips as he drops his head in embarrassment. You wave it off, inviting him into your apartment.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” You greet, turning to face him expectantly, waiting for him to say something.

Sunghoon stares at the bare walls. “It’s…very new.” He comments, unsure of how to take in the plants in one corner, fluffy rug, half built coffee table, and extensive video editing equipment all ready to go near your balcony.

“What do I get for being the world’s best teacher?” You start. “Will you even let me on your stream?”

He cracks a smile. “Of course. You’ll have your own verified twitch badge and everything, too. What did you need help with, by the way?”

“I need to unpack my wall decorations. You’re tall,” You mention, walking towards another labeled brown box. “You can help me hang up my pictures.” You reach for cardboard with ‘photos’ scribbled over in marker, setting it down in front of Sunghoon. “Those two.” You point, and his eyes follow. “I marked on the wall where they all go.”

Sunghoon at least knows how to keep quiet, working with an efficiency as he refers to the pictures you’ve sent of where you want everything to go. You both move floppy potted plants near couches and decorate them with proper rugs and throw pillows. You realize how much better it is to have a second person, even if he was down an arm. Your living space changes from something plain, and as Sunghoon describes, ‘new,’ into something more personable.

“Help me build this shelf.” You say, and he frowns, looking at his right arm in a cast.

“And How am i supposed to do that?”

His words make you pause, forgetting that Sunghoon can’t just build furniture for you. “Okay. Let’s build it together. Then, I’ll set up my figurines, and I’ll help you film.”

With a nod from the streamer, you make your way towards the box, slowly taking out the pieces as Sunghoon lays them out. He eyes them carefully, making sure they’re in the right piles and opening the plastic.

“Okay, it says….I need..Where’s piece 236?”

He sighs and leans over, reading the instructions properly.

“It says 23 and 6.”

You frown, almost hitting him when you turn around to scowl. “Close enough.”

It continues that way for a while, and you finally finish building the cute shelf, leaning it against the wall and starting to put the figurines on as Sunghoon adds succulents to your kitchen.

“Let’s eat.” You half yell half suggest across the spacious room. “I’m hungry.”

“But we haven’t even filmed anything.”

You grab your keys off the kitchen counter and ignore him. “I’m craving toast.”

He laughs, following you down to the elevator. “You eat like a Victorian child.” Biting your lip, you pretend to be offended.

“And you look like one.” You weakly retort.

You make sure to bring your recording stick and smaller camera, playing with the settings before you record. “Hi guys!” Waving to the camera, you pan it over to Sunghoon, tilting it up for the camera to catch a glimpse of the mysterious figure next to you. “We’re getting lunch!” Across the parking garage, you see the somewhat busy cafe, but as one couple leaves, you usher Sunghoon to take the spot, commenting slightly to the camera.

When done ordering, the food comes in a cute yplace decorated with small animal doodles. As influencers, you’re both aware of the plaster social media life you have to live, taking out our phones and snapping photos that scream ‘date.’

Sunghoon pans the camera over, and the device catches the steam from the thick fluffy bread as he cuts a small piece, showing to the camera before trying it.

You stare at him, waiting for any change in expression.

“It’s really good, ____. Try it.” He nods, agreeing with the 5 star reviews.

“I got my egg a little crispy on the end,” You tell the recording, holding up a piece you cut before eating. Despite the simplicity, the eggs are well cooked and seasoned, and the addition of small vegetables on the side makes for a light meal. It’s not expensive, and in your opinion, it shouldn’t be- it’s literally eggs and toast. After a bit of small talk regarding the menu, you both agree to stop the recording.

Sunghoon speaks up. “I might have to leave early. The groupchat is telling me they want to play League of Legends.”

You falter, confused. “But you can’t even play.” Sunghoon’s heard the line so many times and rolls his eyes, exasperated. “I’ll just sit on stream and cheer them ob, or something.”

While you’re in no place to direct him around, you definitely have the means to judge Sunghoon a little for the things he does. “You work, right? Not just streaming?”

“Of course,” He answers casually, wiping the table and stacking the plates. “I am just another computer science major with an internship.” His tone makes you laugh, and you mirror his actions to make sure your table is clean, before returning the plates and leaving.

Despite inviting a stranger into your home for business talk, you seem to get along despite your rough start online, and he seems to not take anything too personally; a huge relief for you. When back in your apartment, you grab your better camera, making sure it’s properly adjusted to the sunlight that shines through and lights your living space.

After a glance around the room to take in how much work you two did, he speaks up. “What about the shelf, and your figurines?”

“Don’t worry about it. I want the natural lighting in the video.” You refer to how you want to avoid filming late.

Sunghoon leans back, observing not only the brand but also how easily you mess around with the features, keeping a mental note of the model.

“Smile.” You tell him, pointing the camera up to Sunghoon. He flashes a grin, and the corner of your lips turn up as the perfect amount of exposure makes for a great video cover. He raises an eyebrow, and you turn the camera around, showing him how it turned out, and he’s satisfied.

“Cute.” He mumbles.

“You love telling yourself that, huh?” You shake your head, mock disappointment on your features.

“I voice the general public.” He defends, smiling as he watches you get out your laptop and open a word document. “What’s that for?”

“Ideas.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I have plenty.”

You patiently watch as he rummages for his phone through his pocket and finding his notes app. Sunghoon’s positive he’s come prepared, practicing a sweet tone in the mirror and styling his hair just right.

He scrolls and scrolls.

It’s empty.

“Plenty?”

“In my head.” Sunghoon plays it off with a sheepish expression, suddenly embarrassed. You laugh at his sudden change in demeanor, continuing to tease him.

“Thanks for all of your help, mister ‘hooniebee.’

“I was trying to come up with video ideas last night, actually! I just fell asleep before I could write it down.”

“And you didn’t remember anything, huh?” You grin at the way he shrinks on your pink couch, quick to jot down some of the lingering thoughts from last night’s brainstorming.

“I’d say we start off with a ‘simple get to know you.’ Sunghoon’s suggestion is the same as yours, and you’re relieved to share the same train of thought.

Your excitement to teach him is infectious, and Sunghoon understands why people like you so much. Even if your stuff is still in some boxes or in the wrong places, you really do live an almost perfect life, and your beaming personality is no different.

“When it comes to vlogging, you learn what people like to hear. For my audience, they love to know about some video schedule updates as I’m doing small tasks, or simple life updates and explanations. If you’re as boring as the internet makes you out to be, then you got to start overexplaining.” He scoffs, crossing his arms the best he can with his cast.

“I’m not boring!” Sunghoon counters, running a hand through his hair and making himself presentable. “Start recording. Your audience will love me.”

You smile, clicking record without letting him know. “You sure?”

He nods. “Pickles Fan Club will become my fans. Promise.”

You turn to the camera, flashing a bright smile.

“Thinking and thinking about… Hi everyone! It’s ___ and you’re here rent free!” Your introduction is cute, and Sunghoon realizes that when you pause, it’s his turn to introduce himself, and he panics.

“Buzz Buzz.” He hurries, a wave of embarrassment crashing over him. You laugh, motioning at the camera to cut this part out through your quiet laughter.

“That’s not bad at all!” You promise, turning to him. Sunghoon gives you a blank stare, and your optimistic look fades just a bit. “You just can’t sound like you hate saying it.” You advise. “Buzz Buzz…what you do call your fans?”

He pauses, heat rushing to his face. He glances up, noticing the way you raise your eyebrow as you wait.

“Bae-bees.”

A grin spreads across your face, and you can’t help but find amusement in the situation. “Bae-bees??”

Sunghoon rubs his face with his one hand, waving you off. “They like it.” He promises weakly. “You named your fans after your cat.”

“So be it.” You conclude, turning to the still recording camera. “Say it.”

He shakes his head, letting out a quiet groan of disapproval before sucking in a breath, flashing a bright smile at the camera, and you anxiously watch. “Buzzin’ over here is your favorite Hooniebee! Hi guys!” He offers a little wave, and looks at you for approval.

Your satisfaction is plastered all over your starry smile. “That was really good.” You praise, and Sunghoon smiles, suddenly feeling bashful.

You turn the camera back, and start talking about what you two plan to talk about in your video. You introduce the mysterious boy as your broken armed neighbor, and you two laugh about how you met, listening as he teases you and reads direct quotes of texts from his phone. You two have natural chemistry in front of the camera, and whether that’s from your personalities or your ability to perform in front of a camera, you’re not sure.

You continue to ask questions about him, almost like a podcast as you two exchange witty banter and comments. You talk about his college life, he shares some drunken interactions, and talks about how much he appreciates his fans for sticking along. You think it’s all very sweet, the way he talks about his ‘bae-bees’ with so much adoration. You chime in, agreeing with Sunghoon’s thankful comments.

“I think that’ll be enough for the getting to know you part! We should do a quick apartment tour.” You pick up the camera, adjusting any hair and making a face before panning it over to Sunghoon, who just waves. His still slightly awkward demeanor can’t be helped, but it makes him all the more swoon-worthy to everyone who sees him.

You ramble about what you’ve started to put together, reminiscing to your long time fans about certain pieces of memorabilia that you had to let go. Sunghoon follows you around and adds a bit of commentary, even if it’s only to make jokes or make fun of you for not being able to build an ikea shelf around him.

The video ends when your half finished apartment has been toured, and you cut the recording after some cheerful waves to the camera.

“How do you think?” Sunghoon looks over at you when you ask for his input, nodding.

“I think it went pretty well. Pretty natural, or at least I hope. I’m not too boring, am I?” Sunghoon rubs at his neck sheepishly, and it takes a refusal from you for him to look up.

Offering him a nod of a approval, you say, “You did great, everyone will love it.”

Finally looking over the recording, you realize you might have to raise Amber’s pay, for how much footage there is.

prev. | ml. | next.

TAGLIST OPEN! Send an ask to be added! @riksaes @sumzysworld @en-dream @jinnibug @nodiotter @lyxnneee @yeonjunning @eleanorheartschishiya @hohohobo @yvjw @jiawji @soothinglee @chaeyunloveeee @winuvs @xiaoderrrr @cupidhoons @cryingforgyu @ahnneyong @soakedteabags @tsukkisdoll @rickysgfundercover @graythecoffeebean @velvetkisscs @haechansbbg @hooniebaekgu @theothernads @illvding @dojaejunging @mumeimei @nenojaems @jakeyloveer @eclipse-777 @hanrinz

188 notes · View notes

seat-safety-switch · 2 months ago

Text

Sometimes, when I'm feeling flush, I like to go to this little restaurant near me. It's a sushi joint, and in my part of the world that always has to come with some additional kitsch. For this restaurant, it's "bullet train sushi." You order on a little iPad, and then a train comes out of the kitchen, bringing your sushi behind it. Clean. Efficient. Antithetical to my morals and values.

See, I'm from North America. In case you're unfamiliar, it's very popular these days. You can find it on the north end of America on any map, except for that weird one that is about Pangaea. One thing we love in North America is cars. We spend a couple of hours stuck in one so we can go to an office we hate, then spend a couple of hours going home so we can spend a few more hours taking our kids to a soccer game. If we had a train, then we'd be able to do things like check our text messages without running over a pedestrian.

Being presented with this totally viable transportation alternative, albeit in miniature and towing little pieces of raw fish behind it, troubles the mind. If we had made better choices, put monopolists to the torch, could we have a utopian society where you order things on a little iPad and then gleamingly efficient tubes fly you out of the kitchen and into a glorious new world? I love the food, but I hate the frantic cold sweats it gives me as I ponder an alternative civilization that doesn't care quite so much about heated steering wheels. That's why I had to do something.

Welcome to Switch's Highway of Sushi – the only sushi restaurant in town that's sponsored by General Motors Corporation. Here, each table is actually a fully-equipped Chevrolet Blazer. Diners are commanded to get their own goddamn food the way our forefathers once did: in four-wheel-drive. The eight-storey parking garage in which the restaurant is housed features many stalls, containing highly trained chefs making delicious food that's just a complex parking job in tight confines away.

Sure, it makes the restaurant fairly space-inefficient having to make room for sixty 6000-pound SUVs. Our insurance is through the fucking roof because our customers keep backing over the waiters and their own families (why not look at the award-winning ClearView Surround Backup Camera, idiots?) And the air quality inside the place could be defined as "not great," even with the really expensive oven vent hoods you get at the restaurant supply store.

All this doesn't matter. Freedom is what matters. The freedom to not have to occupy the same space as any other member of your civilization, unless you are currently backing over them because you forgot to check the backup camera again. Come on, table four. If you're going to keep this up all night, we might think about giving you some demerits.

138 notes · View notes

lostbookmark · 20 days ago

Text

MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Finding Masterlist here

Summary: After a failed engagement, you move back home and reconnect with your friends. Maybe, just maybe you can find love with someone you never expected.

Pairing: Yoongi x F. Reader

Warnings: Explicit Sex, Swearing, Cheating (Not Yoongi), Fighting, Unprotected Sex, Protected Sex, Toxic Past Relationship,

Genre: Enemies(?) to Lovers, Neighbors to Lovers, Small Town romance. Hurt-Comfort, Slight Angst, Romance

A/N: The first few chapters will be just plot. Smut lovers need to wait until chapter 5. Also, a couple of readers that wanted to be tagged I couldn't tag you. Your name wouldn't pop up for me to click on.

“Last box,” Hobi said, bringing in the last of your belongings and placing it on your kitchen table that you pulled out of your parent’s dusty storage unit earlier in the day.

As much as you love Hobi, you couldn't live with him forever in his small two bedroom apartment anymore. Jungkook had texted you about a house that he had recently renovated on a plot of land that they owned near the neighboring Tannie Farms. He had offered to rent it to you before putting it out there for the public. He said he would rather have family in it and not some stranger that he can't trust. You quickly accepted his offer and started packing your clothes the same day. Hobi begged you to stay a little longer, but you know that you were holding him back. Your social butterfly of a best friend started to cancel plans and dates to stay with you because you wanted to become a hermit and not leave your bed. It wasn't fair. You wanted him to happily live his life, and you knew he wouldn't if you were still there.

Your mother and father, thankfully, offered to let you raid their garage and storage unit for anything that you wanted to take for your new home. It was mostly junk that they were glad to get rid of. This way, they didn't have to worry about how they were going to throw it away. You came away with an old dark oak table and a couple of matching chairs that both wobbled a little bit. You are going to need to shove something under the legs to stabilize them. You also took a lumpy couch that used to be white in color but has since turned a dingy gray color after being stored away for so many years. Your old mattress from high school that you're almost positive will kill your back but is better than sleeping on the floor and a dresser whose drawers won't open without a fight. You did, however, pass on a large area rug due to the fact that it smelled like something had died in it. They weren't the best, but it was better than having nothing at all. You'll be able to save up for better furniture later for your new house at a later date.

The two story white farmhouse with black rustic looking shutters was absolutely beautiful, and you fell in love as soon as you saw it. It was tucked away on a back road that was pure dirt several miles out of the main town square where it sat on perfectly manicured green grass. The wrap-around porch was decorated with various potted flowers, both big and small, in a range of beautiful colors. Large black solar powered lanterns lay scattered along around the perimeter of the dark wooden porch that emits a warm glow after sunset, setting a cozy and welcoming atmosphere. A large porch swing sat on the back of the porch has a perfect view of Tannie Farms in the far horizon where their crops seem to go on forever. Where the stalks of corn sway in the breeze around the various tractors and other farm equipment that sat in their cornfield. It was a picture-perfect view.

The house itself had large floor to ceiling windows with french doors that have matching black trim all encased in brand new white siding. Inside, the new hardwood floors and freshly painted beige walls were perfectly clean and crisp looking. He was able to give it the perfect blend of modern and cozy at the same time. However, the best part was the quiet. It was so serene and peaceful that you were afraid that the silence might scare you after being away from it for so many years. You never got to have serene or peaceful when you lived in the city in a busy apartment complex along the main street of a popular area. Sirens, honking cars and yelling were a part of your everyday life. After a few months, they just became background noise that blurred into your daily life. Changkyun also always preferred to have friends over at all hours for drinks and music. He didn't care if you needed to sleep or if you had to get up early. He only cared about impressing his friends. You couldn't even complain, or it would start a fight. He told you all the time that you were not on the lease, so it wasn't your decision. It was miserable, and looking back, you don't know why you stayed as long as you did.

There was, however, just one thing that Jungkook seemed to have forgotten to tell you about until after you had signed the contract and handed it back to him. That your one…singular neighbor, who you also have to share a large driveway with happened to be Min Yoongi. You thought it was a well thought out move on his end. Kook said that you wouldn't even see him since he is pretty much at the farm most of the day. It didn't really help put you at ease, but it didn't scare you away either. It was time to grow up and move forward. Like Hobi has said. You were adults, and it's time to put all the bullshit away.

“Coming through,” Jungkook called out as he and Tae came through your door carrying your super old double mattress from high school.

They head up stairs carrying it above their heads as you follow behind them and enter your bedroom. They toss it on the floor, and you can see a cloud of dust fly out of it. The particles linger suspended in the air. You'll have to figure out how to clean it later. The guys look at each other and then around the bare room in confusion. You ignore them and push the mattress into the corner of your room with your foot and give them a smile.

“What?” You ask them as you watch them as they continue to look around the barren room. “What's the matter?”

“Don't you have a bed frame?” Tae asks, scratching his head.

“Or a box spring?” Kook added a second later.

“No, I didn't see them earlier. I think my mom might have gotten rid of them. It's not a big deal. I’m just happy I don't have to sleep on the hard floor or the lumpy couch,” you say with a shrug. Down stairs, you hear a crash and something break.

“I'll buy you a new one,” Joon called up the stairs.

You sigh and head back downstairs to see what your loveable but clumsy friend broke. Thankfully, it was just a vase used for decoration that you had bought on sale and held no sentimental value. Shooing him away from the mess, you take over the clean-up carefully, avoiding cutting yourself of the sharp shards of colorful glass.

You couldn't be more thankful for them than you already were. You were thankful for Jin when he dropped off dinner for you since you haven't gotten geroceries yet. You were thankful for Jungkook for offering you the house. Also, for everyone else who helped you move things from your parent's storage unit and garage to the house doing all the heavy lifting for you. You really did love them. They were here. They never gave up on you.

“Are you going to be okay here alone? What if it's haunted?” Hobi asked, giving you wide, scared eyes. “You can always stay one more night with me if you're scared. You know I don't mind.”

“It's not haunted,” Jungkook said, rolling his eyes.

“Besides, she’s not completely alone,” Jimin said, looking at you with a knowing smirk and a wink. “Yoongi is just right over there.”

You curse yourself for letting it slip to Jimin one drunken night bar hopping in college that you may have found Yoongi attractive. You distinctly remember him and Kook playing darts in one of the darkened bars that your group frequented. You remember the way he bit his lip in concentration as his fingers held the dart, his dark hair falling over a red headband around his forehead. You just blurted it out loud without thinking as you sat with Jimin at a little table against the wall. The little shit never let you live it down when the two of you were alone. You are actually surprised, though, that it still seems to be a secret between only the two of you. You guess you can be thankful for that.

“I'll be fine,” you tell him, dismissing his concerns. “You guys can go. I have the first day of school tomorrow, and I need to get things around.”

Namjoon had agreed and helped round everyone up by the kitchen door. After a round of goodbyes and thank yous, you waved from your kitchen door as they dispersed. Kook, Tae, and Jimin went next door to Yoongi’s and the others left in their cars. You collapsed on your lumpy couch with a sigh. Closing your eyes, you tell yourself you'll unpack tomorrow. Laying there, you take in the quietness of the house. It was something that you would have to get used to. There was no extra body puttering around and making background noise. No, Hobi, singing early in the morning as he got ready for work. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock were the only things that could be heard. For the first time, it was just you. You had never lived alone, but you felt excited to see how you were going to do. It was going to be a welcomed new adventure, and you couldn't wait to see how you'll do.

You stand on the sidewalk in front of the school with your students smashed together in a yellow square that was taped off just for them as you waited for their parents to pick them up. Your first day of school went surprisingly well for the most part. When Joon found out you were back in town for good, he offered you a teaching position at your old elementary school where you had once attended. The exact same one where Jin and Hobi became your best friends. Where Jin shared his sandwich with you when you forgot your lunch in the third grade. Where you had to beat up some little boy for making fun of Hobi's shoes when you were six. You don't even remember his name now, but you gave him a bloody nose, and your dad had to pick you up early. It was a lot smaller than what you remembered. It always seemed so big when you were younger and playing on the playground, running around laughing, playing tag. When you all were so innocent and free back then.

You were initially excited that you didn't have to job hunt in the surrounding school districts, but you went into panic mode when Namjoon dropped the bomb on you. It was for Pre-K. You never taught such young kids before. You always had fourth graders in the past. Ten year olds. Ten year olds who could, for the most part, listen when they wanted to and take care of themselve. They didn't need to be taught to walk in a straight line or to raise their hand if they needed something. They knew how to zip their coats, put on gloves, and tie their shoes. These were some things that you never thought about having to teach, but yet here you were.

You didn't know anything about four year olds. All that you knew was that they were loud and sticky, and their bathroom habits were iffy at best. Thankfully, Joon, pretty much did your entire months worth of lesson plans for you, mostly to bribe you into saying yes to his job offer. All you had to do was follow his directions until you got the hang of it for yourself. Coloring, writing their name, singing, and dancing it all seemed pretty simple. Seven hours of playtime, easy, peasy.

Not quite. A few things you learned today were that they like to run and you need better antiperspirant. Do not..... repeat..... do not wear heels again. No matter how short you think the heel is….it's still too tall. You will need to buy several pairs of comfy flats and tennis shoes. Always do head count because you might have thought you lost one child between the art room and your classroom. Turns out he was just hiding under a table in the corner of the room. However, when it was all said and done, there were no tears from either you or the kids. You will take it as a win.

“Bye, Jae,” you say, waving at your last student that was picked up by her parents. You let out a sigh of relief as you watched them walk away as she held their hands, skipping between them. Good riddance, and now you get to do it all again tomorrow.

“Y/n,” a voice said your name, making you turn toward it. You smile slightly when you see the school’s music teacher standing behind you.

“Yes, can I help you…” You trail off, clearly not remembering his name.

“Shinwon,” he said, holding his hand out for you to shake. You politely shake his hand and look at him expectly. “I just wanted to check in and see how your first day was. I know a new school and new city can be intimidating.”

“Oh, no,” you say, shaking your head. “I grew up around here so…not new. I know this place very well.”

“Oh,” he said with a surprised smile, and he tilted his head to the side like he was amused. “I was going to offer to show you around our little sleepy town, but I guess you know it better than I do, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess,” you say with a shrug and look around, trying to find a way to get out of this conversation when you spot Namjoon, who was walking to his car. When you finally catch his attention, he just waves at you happily before getting into his car. You think you see him laughing. Jerk.

“Well, then maybe you can show me some hidden gems around here,” he says and hands you his phone. “Here, put your number in, and I'll text you mine.”

You take his phone and input your information very reluctantly. You consider giving him a fake number, but that would probably make things super awkward later. You hand it back to him, and he smiles brilliantly at you, his perfect teeth on display. You watch as his fingers fly across the screen before he looks back up to you.

“I sent you a text,” he tells you. “Maybe we can hang out someday. We could possibly go into the city and do something?”

“Listen, I just got out of a relationship,” you started to tell him, but he cut you off.

“No, problem,” he said, still smiling. “It doesn't have to be a date. We can do something just as friends. Friends have dinner all the time. Maybe we can even see a movie one night.”

“Maybe, if I can find the time,” you say with a tight smile. “I should go, but it was nice meeting you.”

You turn on your heel and quickly walk away as fast as your aching feet can carry you, leaving him standing there alone. Yup, definitely tennis shoes from now on. You will be able to keep up with the kiddos better and, more importantly, run away from men faster. Perfect.

Getting out of your car, you grimace as your aching feet hit the hard cement of the garage floor. You didn't mean to slam your car door so hard as you begin to limp and waddle your way up to your house in a desperate need to soak your feet in your tub. You can almost sigh in satisfaction at the thought of the hot water surrounding you as you lie there in the clawfoot tub until your fingers turn pruny. As the hot, steaming water relaxes your muscles, taking away the ache from your feet as you drop a bath bomb that fizzes while listening to music and maybe…probably drink some wine.

“Bad first day of school?” You recognize Yoongi's voice behind you, causing you to freeze. You're embarrassed that he caught you walking like an idiot.

“No,” you answer truthfully as you give him a surprised look when you turn to look at him.

“It is the first day, right?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you before popping the hood of a side-by-side that sat on his side of the driveway. “Joon mentioned something about it yesterday.”

“Yeah, umm… it was pretty good. I might have a blister and an unwanted admirer, but hey, no one stuck anything where it didn't belong. So, good day.” You explain not expecting the conversation to go much further.

You were surprised when he actually started laughing. You don't think you have ever made Min Yoongi laugh. It was a good look on him. You wouldn't mind if he did more around you.

“Please tell me it's not some single dad?” he asks once he stops laughing. He uses the wrench in his hand to tinker around with mechanical things that are beyond your knowledge. You can drive a car but that's about it. You just pray that you never get a flat tire in the middle of nowhere. Triple A is a thing, right?

“Worse, the music teacher. He offered to show me around town,” you say with a nod of your head. “Like what was he going to show me? Jin’s cafe?”

“I mean. We do have a new hardware store in town,” he informs you while he concentrates on his task. “Maybe he can show you where the screws are.”

A small silence falls between the two of you as you look around in contemplation.

“Is that..” You start but pause for a second, and you feel your face heat up. “Is that supposed to be sexual?”

“I don't know what you are talking about,” he said innocently and smirked at you as his eyes met yours through the fallen blonde hair in his eyes. He shakes it out of his vision and continues with his task. You shake your head at him, limping and waddling your way up the stairs to your house. “Wait, I have some of your mail. Let me go get it.”

You lean your hands against the railing of the porch as he disappears in his house. You take turns lifting each foot off the ground behind you and giving it a little wiggle, hoping to find some sort of relief. He better hurry because all you want to do is sit down. You continue your little foot routine when you hear the squeak of his screen door open and Yoongi walks across the driveway to you. Reaching up, he hands you a singular piece of mail over your railing that you take from him, and he retreats back to the side-by-side. You sigh in annoyance when you see what he gave you.

“To the current resident….” You say loudly. “Do you need to lower your cable costs? You really felt the need to give me this junk mail?”

“It would have been a federal offense if I hadn't,” he answered while not even looking at you.

“Well, thanks,” you say sarcastically and turn back toward the house. You pull out your mess of keys that jingle and jangle with too many keychains as you unlock your door.

“Y/N,” Yoongi calls out again, making you look over your shoulder at him once again. “I would have helped…you know….yesterday when you moved in. I just figured that you wouldn't want me there.”

That made you feel horrible. You felt like a horrible human being who is still acting childish over some weird grudge from college. If what Hobi said was true, it was only one-sided on your part. Your shoulders slump just a little bit before you turn back to him once again. His hands are fiddling with that wrench looking a little nervous as he tries not to stare at you for too long. The wrench makes quite the clicking sound as he turns it over and over again as he twirls it with his finger. He glances up at you quickly before turning his eyes back to the silver tool in his hand.

“I appreciate it,” you tell him as you tap that piece of junk mail on the palm of your opposite hand just as nervous. “Maybe, if you want to, that is. Maybe we can start over again and actually try to be friends for once.”

“Yeah, sure, sounds good,” he rambles, agreeing with you, trying to nod his head nonchalantly. “Hey, are you going to help out at the Farmers Market again? The guys think you will bring more business in.”

“I highly doubt that, but yeah, I can come and help again,” you answer with a nod of your head. “Have a good evening, Yoongi,” you say with a small smile on your lips.

“You too,” he says, eyes watching you until you unlock the door.

Finally, getting into your house, you close the door and lock it behind you. You reach down undo the straps of your shoes and proceed to kick them off with a careless fling of your foot, not caring where they land as you hear them hit the floor with a thump. You waddle your way to that old dirty couch and flop down unceremoniously with a groan. You think your aching feet hurt more now than they did in the heels. Your nice hot bath with your wine and the bath bomb is going to have to wait until you get enough motivation to stand up, and that might not be anytime soon. You might have to put off unpacking one more day.

You turn your head and look out your living room window. You can see Yoongi with the top half of his body bent over and working away on the vehicle on his side of the driveway. You never thought in a million years that you would be friends with the cute, popular basketball player turned handsome neighbor. You smile a little as you continue to stare at him, and you think you might feel a little fluttering in your stomach. You're going to have to squish those butterflies. That flapping, flitting feeling that you haven't felt in years makes your body tingle in excitement. Your heart was not ready for that feeling. It wasn't ready at all.

Tagged Readers

@mar-lo-pap, @bontensbabygirl, @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs, @redragdoll, @svnbangtansworld,

#yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #min yoongi smut #yoongi au #bts min yoongi #min yoongi #bts yoongi #yoongi fic #yoongi fluff #suga bts #bts suga #bts fic #bangtan fanfic #bts smut

107 notes · View notes

fluentmoviequoter · 7 months ago

Text

Lonelier in Misery

Part 2 of Lonely in Misery

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!paramedic!reader

Summary: After you first date with Tim, you decide to keep your relationship from Nolan and Bailey for as long as possible.

Warnings: brief angst, fluff

Word Count: 1.7k+ words

A/N: Titles are hard sometimes. This is one of those times.

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

The morning after your first date with Tim, feigning your continued misery isn’t hard. You miss him already, even though it’s been less than twelve hours since he kissed you and turned your world on its axis. He changed everything, and you never want to go back to how it was before. Now your absent smile and downcast demeanor are because you miss Tim; you miss someone rather than not having anyone. It’s a nice change, but you’re still craving another kiss.

When you arrive at work, Bailey runs across the station to meet you. She pulls you into a tight hug, and you slowly wrap your arms around her in return.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I thought it would work out with Tim.”

“Oh,” you murmur as you realize she’s still making assumptions based on your text from last night. “Right.”

“Don’t take this as a sign or anything, though. I promise I will do better next time! Just tell me what you did and didn’t like.”

“Bailey, you don’t have to set me up again.”

“No, you need someone. I hate seeing you like this. Being lonely sucks, and with our job, we deserve to have a person to go home to.”

“I agree, but a blind date isn’t-“

“You have to give me another chance. Nolan has more friends, plenty that aren’t cops, so I can find you the right guy.”

Bailey turns when the battalion chief calls her name, and you’re left alone again. You’ll have to convince her not to set you up on another date later. The problem is that you can’t tell her why, not unless you want her to insert herself into your relationship with Tim. Bailey is great, she’s your best friend, but she meddles.

You sigh as you pull your phone out. Tim has responded to your good morning text, so you send a quick warning: Bailey wants to set me up on another date since last night ‘didn’t work out’

Tim answers quickly, and his message brings a smile to your face.

Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle all the dates from now on.

While you avoid answering Bailey’s questions, Tim is dealing with his own line of inquiries about the date last night.

“How did it go? You like her, right? I know you’ve met before,” Nolan asks quickly.

“It was fine,” Tim answers.

“Fine… Is that it? I don’t get more details?”

Tim shrugs and repeats, “It went fine.”

Nolan tosses his hands up in exasperation. Tim won’t elaborate, he already knows that, but he needs to know if he and Bailey were right about their idea that you and Tim would be perfect for one another.

“Sergeant Grey!” Nolan calls. “Bradford and I can deliver the safety brochures to the police station.”

“You want to do a rookie’s assignment for them?” Grey asks, his skepticism audible.

“Yes, sir.”

“Yeah. I know you’re just going to visit Bailey, though, you’re not smooth, Nolan.”

“Never expected to be. Thank you, sir!” Nolan turns to Tim to say, “Let’s go.”

“Why?” Tim asks.

“Because I want to hear from both of you. Fine isn’t good enough.”

Tim grumbles as he follows Nolan to the shop. “I’m driving,” he yells when he catches up.

You’re restocking an equipment kit near the open garage door when a police car parks outside. As you set your gear aside, you see Tim exit the driver’s seat. You smile at him, but he shakes his head just before you see Nolan on the other side. It’s not a friendly visit, then.

“Good morning,” Tim greets. “We are here to drop off these public safety cards.”

“Great. Thanks,” you reply as you take them.

Your fingers brush over Tim’s and you feel the same jolt as when he kissed you last night.

“Where’s Bailey?” Nolan asks.

“Kitchen, I think,” you answer.

He nods to thank you, then walks past the fire engines to find Bailey. You raise your brows and look at Tim, but he just sighs. It’s not far-fetched to assume Nolan gave him treatment similar to the one you got from Bailey.

“Alright,” Nolan calls. He returns with Bailey beside him, and you sigh with Tim this time. “Let’s get to the bottom of this.”

“What happened last night, Tim?” Bailey asks. “You get to the restaurant, and?”

“She’s not who I expected,” Tim answers. He glances at you quickly, and you immediately decide to play along.

“Exactly,” you agree. “Blind date usually implies that you don’t know the person. We’ve met before.”

“Okay, but there’s no animosity or anything. You get along,” Nolan argues. “So, why’d you leave just as sad as when you got there?”

“Because I was still lonely,” you answer.

It’s not a lie. Neither you nor Tim will lie, but you’re going to answer the questions without admitting that they were right. They’ll never let you live it down if they can take credit for your relationship with Tim.

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t enjoy yourselves,” Bailey says. “But your relationships are your decisions. And I already have another guy lined up that I want you to meet.”

You open your mouth to argue, but Tim winks at you before you speak. He told you not to worry about it, so you won’t.

“We need to get back to the station if you’re done with the interrogation,” Tim tells Nolan.

“Sure, yeah,” Nolan responds.

You wave discreetly as Tim leaves, and your internal countdown to when you’ll see him again resumes.

As you walk out of the fire station after your shift ends, your phone rings.

“Hi,” you answer.

“Hi,” Tim repeats. “Are you off?”

“I am. I’m leaving right now.”

“Then you should come over for dinner.”

“I’d love that.”

Tim texts you his address, and you smile for the entire trip to his house. When he opens the door and pulls you into a hug, you feel complete again.

“Whoa, it smells amazing in here. Are you cooking?” you ask.

“Maybe,” Tim answers. “That depends on if you have any stereotypical views that I can’t because I’m a man and a cop.”

“I think you can do everything and look good doing it,” you reply happily.

“Then, yes, I’m cooking. And thank you.”

You follow Tim into the kitchen and settle at his side as he finishes preparing the meal. Everything looks great, but you’d do just about anything as long as you were with Tim.

“I’m sorry if I pushed everything too far today. I know we don’t want them in our business, but if you want me to stop covering things up, I will,” Tim offers.

“You didn’t go too far. I thought it was kind of fun. Plus, I like being with you, even if we are lying to my best friend.”

“Lying,” Tim scoffs.

“By omission, yeah.”

Tim rolls his eyes but tugs you closer to kiss you. His hands rest on your cheeks and as you move with him, you know that it is impossible to feel sad or lonely around Tim Bradford.

Two days later, you find yourself pacing beside your ambulance. Tim texted this morning, just: I won’t answer for a while.

There hasn’t been anything on the news or the radio channels about big police operations, so you’re left to worry about him with nothing more to go on. You try to convince yourself that he’s just in a meeting or on patrol with someone, so he can’t use his phone, but then your mind wanders to a dangerous situation where using his phone could get him killed.

“Oh no,” Bailey murmurs. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” you answer, snapping yourself out of your thoughts. “I’m just stressing. For no reason.”

“Get your stuff.”

“What? Why?”

“You need a distraction, and John Nolan is my favorite distraction. Tag along with me?”

You consider it for a moment. If you stay here, you’ll just be worried and alone. “Yes, please,” you decide.

When Bailey parks at the Mid-Wilshire station, you follow her inside and force yourself not to check your phone again. Tim will reach out when he can. Someone calls your name, and both you and Bailey stop.

“Hi, Detective Lopez,” you greet when you see Angela.

She hugs you tightly as she says, “Stop, it’s Angela. Especially now that you’re dating my BFF.”

“What?” Bailey interrupts.

Angela’s eyes widen, and she whispers, “I’m so sorry. I thought everyone knew. He told me, so I just assumed.”

Bailey says your name and points at you, ready to accuse you of lying to her and keeping secrets. Before she can, Nolan yells, “Why?!” from somewhere else in the station.

A few seconds later, he walks into the bullpen with Tim following closely behind him. Tim is talking, sternly and meanly, based on his stance. Nolan sees you and Bailey and quickens his pace.

“Bailey,” he begins.

“I know!” she replies. “They’re liars.”

“Why would you lie about that?” Nolan asks.

Tim steps to your side as you answer, “Technically, we didn’t lie. We answered your questions.”

“You just didn’t ask the right questions,” Tim agrees. “Which is part of your job, Nolan.”

“No, no, no. Don’t make this about me,” Nolan argues.

“Wait, so then are you going out again?” Bailey asks.

“And did you actually consider that to be a date? Enjoy it and everything?” Nolan adds.

Tim takes your hand as they continue asking questions, and you wave kindly to Angela as he leads you away. You smile as you follow him blindly. Once he has you away from the bullpen and the endless questions, he stops and pulls you close.

“Are you okay?” you ask. “I’ve been worried.”

“I’m sorry. I got called into a meeting to consult on a UC operation. Everything is confidential, so I couldn’t have my phone on me.”

“I’m not mad. I feel much better now that I know you’re okay.”

“It’s Friday,” he reminds you. “We have another date tonight.”

You nod, and Tim moves his hands, one on your waist and one on your jaw. He dips his chin and kisses you in the empty hallway, and you wonder what did it feel like to be miserable again?

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford fic #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie x reader #the rookie abc #fem!reader #hanna writes✯

315 notes · View notes

punisheddonjuan · 2 days ago

Text

(I Will Soon Be Offering) Private Guitar Lessons

A few months ago one of my followers inquired if I had ever given thought to offering guitar lessons online via webcam. I replied that it was indeed something I had thought about but that I would need to give it more thought as to how I would approach teaching online, whether or not I had the proper equipment and software to provide a professional experience, how many students I could take on, and what exactly I could offer as a teacher. I also noted that I would have to create a suitable space in my apartment for hosting students, this part took care of itself when my roommate moved out, my girlfriend moved in and we converted his old bedroom into an office. As for the rest? Well I gave it some thought and I've hacked together reasonable solutions for most of those other issues, so I would like to announce that beginning later this winter/this spring I will be offering private one-on-one guitar lessons via webcam.

My Qualifications:

While I graduated with a degree in Classics and attended graduate school in that field, I was initially accepted into university as a music major on the basis of my guitar playing. It was only after a few years that I switched majors into Classics. In the end I still managed enough credits to claim a minor in music.

Before attending university I spent a year studying jazz theory/jazz improvisation at college.

Both prior to and concurrent with my college/university music education I studied classical guitar privately with my former guitar teacher for a little over a decade; through him I can claim teaching lineage back to Francisco Tárrega.

I have played in a few little garage bands that never really went anywhere, performed with friends at house parties, jammed around as much as I could, and performed live as a solo guitarist.

I previously taught guitar privately during university; this is not my first rodeo.

All things accounted, I have been playing guitar for near to twenty-five years.

What I Can Offer:

If you're an absolute beginner, I would be happy to guide your playing to a level where you would feel comfortable learning songs on your own, and we would start with learning basic chords, basic technique, and putting it all together into learning a few songs.

If you're past the beginner stage, I can take your playing to a level where you would be able to convincingly improvise a solo over a song, play more advanced songs, and sit in with a jam session.

If learning to read sheet music is a goal of yours' I am able to assist with that.

If you're interested in beginner classical guitar I would feel comfortable teaching repertoire and technique to the level of what is asked for by the Royal Conservatory of Music Grade Five examinations. Grade Five repertoire is generally the minimum requirement for auditioning to a university level music program in Canada. I have several guitar methods at my disposal for teaching technique, and access to a wide array of repertoire sheet music.

I am also able to teach theory as it pertains to playing the guitar and point you towards texts that from beginner levels up to basic harmonic analysis. I can teach you how chords are constructed, how they fit together into a progression, and the basic grammar of music.

What I Can't Teach:

I can't teach you to shred. Shredding has never really been my thing. Can I show you how to sweep pick? Sure. Can I teach you to play some arpeggios? Sure. Can I drill you in accurate and fast alternate picking? Absolutely. Can I show you a few weird and exotic scales? Yes. But I'm not a shred player.

I can't bring you to a level where you could effortlessly solo over the changes to "Giant Steps" or play in a Steely Dan cover band. But, I can teach you some jazz chords, I can teach you how to comp with chords and how to use guide tones, and I can teach you the basics of soloing over chord changes and what scales to use with what chords. That said, I'm not an expert jazz player, but we can still jam on some modal stuff.

Lessons, Pricing, What to Expect, What a Prospective Student Will Require:

The typical going rate for private music lessons is around $35-$40 and ranges up to well over $100 for some in demand teachers. My fee operates on a sliding scale with a floor of $20USD/$25CAD per hour lesson. If you are comfortable with paying the typical going rate, wonderful, if you are unable to afford more than $20/$25, then that's what you will pay, no questions asked. Payment can be sent through PayPal or Interac e-transfer.

Due to the nature of my chronic illness it would be extremely difficult to take on more than five students a week. They needn't necessarily be the same five students every week; if a bi-weekly lesson schedule works better for a number of people, they can alternate. In the rare event that there is more demand than I am able to fulfill mutuals and longtime followers will have priority.

What you need as a student: A guitar (reminder that these lessons, excepting students interested in the classical guitar, are geared towards the electric guitar); a webcam (I will need a way to see you, your hands, and what your hands are doing); a microphone; a way of letting me hear your playing (whether this will be through positioning your microphone in such a way that it picks up your amplifier or utilizing a direct input method); headphones would be a good idea too.

If you commit to more than one lesson the first will be free of charge. Your first lesson with me will look something like this: we'll talk about your goals and intentions i.e. what it is you hope to get out of taking guitar lessons and how far you want to take your playing. As we chat about that we can chart out a course to get you there, and then we'll just generally see where you're at. The rest of the lesson will be taken up with some pointers on properly caring for and tuning your instrument, and then we'll put some thought towards the way our bodies are posed, how we have the guitar positioned in relation to our bodies, exercising good hand ergonomics, and finding a playing position that is both comfortable and which allows for optimal freedom of movement.

I live in Toronto which is located in the Eastern Standard Timezone (UTC -5) keep this in mind if you're interested in taking lessons and are located elsewhere.

I intend to do my best at being a trooper and toughing it out, and I will aim to not cancel lessons without fair warning, but the nature of my illness virtually guarantees that I may need to resort to this occasionally. You will need to be alright with this.

If you're interested, you can contact me here or at [email protected]. Hopefully I can get enough people interested that I can go about figuring out everyone's availability and drawing up a schedule.

#blog #guitar

73 notes · View notes

clanwarrior-tumbly · 1 year ago

Note

“You’re scared…. and broken…” With, literally any of the Glamrocks after Ruin(preferably Eclipse and Monty)-

"N-NO!! STOP IT!! BAD GATOR!! BAD GATOR!!!!"

Hearing the terrified shrieks of a certain daycare animatronic, you were quick to rush into the garage, stumbling upon a rather frightening scene:

Eclipse, who reverted back to Sun, was on the floor as Monty's teeth were latched onto his leg, violently tugging on it in an attempt to shred what little remained of the tattered striped material. The gator snarled all the while, shaking his head around while the former kicked and screamed.

It didn't take long for you to figure out how to separate the two, grabbing a metal pipe and tapping it loudly against the wall to get Monty's attention on you for a second.

"Montgomery Gator. Let him go NOW!!"

Upon hearing his name, he let go of Sun and stared at you, shrinking away as you approached. With a huff, you tossed the pipe towards the furthest part of the area. "Go fetch."

As he crawled away, that gave you a chance to examine Sun for any serious damage. You kneeled down, frowning as the traumatized animatronic was whimpering at the current state of his other leg--arguably the only "good" leg he had remaining.

'Jesus..I can't leave these two alone for even a second..'

"Are you okay?" You asked worriedly. "Is your leg still functional?"

"Yes, but alas....p-pretty patterns are all ruined now..." He bemoaned. "No stars..no stripes...all gone. No more..."

"Sun, I promise I'll get this sewn up for you. But listen...I warned you not to go anywhere near Monty." You set a gentle hand on his knee. "Why did you go near him?"

"I....we just wanted to say hi! I-I didn't think he'd hurt me! He used to be so nice! S-Sure I might have called his music too loud, but he didn't seem offended by it!!"

"What he did to you wasn't anything personal." You shook your head, sighing. "He's not himself. He's gone...completely feral now. Do you know what that means?"

He was still for a moment, before shaking his head.

"It means he's not gonna know who you are. You all have been stuck there for so long that...he's acting on animal instincts now. He barely even knows me anymore."

"..so..you mean....he thinks he's actually a gator?"

"Exactly." You nodded. "And until I can figure out how to restore his original personality, we'll have to treat him as such."

Sun remained silent, his gaze wandering back to Monty. He was gnawing on the pipe. It wasn't much, but it stopped him chewing on anything else in the garage, such as the important Fazbear Ent. equipment you stole from the plex.

It's not like anybody was going to use it anyways.

"It's not fair to him...o-or me. Why did this have to happen to us?"

"..I don't know. I wish I knew why, Sun." All you could do was shake your head, feeling sad that you couldn't simply repair them both like nothing even happened.

Like they weren't left to rot in that mall for years.

Your exploration of it was still fresh in your mind.

While you couldn't track down Chica, Roxy, or Freddy...you were able to at least find Eclipse and Monty, convincing them to come home with you as it was a lot safer.

Eclipse was more than willing despite being worried about when the children will return to the daycare, whereas Monty just started following you randomly, always being at your heels like a protective guard dog.

He was your favorite out of the Glamrocks, so maybe part of him remembers that--hence he never attacked you.

Unfortunately you had no idea how he would behave around Eclipse, considering you just rebooted him after Sun and Moon were fighting for control nonstop. The two were in obvious pain with the lights being broken in the daycare, so you were lucky to have a fazwrench on you at the time.

But the strangest thing during your time working for the pizzaplex was that you never knew Eclipse even existed as a character. The company never talked about him, and not a single advertisement (old or new) mentioned him anywhere.

There was only ever Sun and Moon.

Regardless, you were glad to officially meet him and see his balanced personality--with Moon's calmness and Sun's optimism

Unfortunately Monty had some fit of aggression when he tried talking to him, sending him into a panic so bad that it made him switch back into Sun. Now you weren't sure how to bring Eclipse back to the forefront without doing another reboot...as that apparently caused Moon great pain.

The gator, as feral as he was, seemed guilty for what he did as he stayed huddled in the nearest corner of your garage. You could clearly see that he didn't mean to attack Eclipse; he just couldn't control himself.

"[Y/n]...a-are we monsters? Is that why nobody comes to see us anymore?"

Those heartbreaking questions almost made tears spring to your eyes, before you turned back to Sun, taking his hands into yours. "No. Neither of you are monsters. You're scared...and broken. But I'll try my hardest to put you back together. You, too, Monty."

"Grrahhh..?" He perked up at his name, dropping the pipe and crawling over to you when you beckoned him closer.

At first the attendant was panic-striken, almost hyperventilating even. But then he saw him abruptly stop beside you and was confused for a moment.

You smiled sadly and patted Monty's head, feeling what little remained of his red hair. "It's amazing that your mohawk is still attached to you, pal."

He chuckled at that, before looking to Sun and huffing. Although he couldn't speak anymore, the guilt was clear in his body language, something that was quickly understood by the solar animatronic.

"Awh, it's okay, buddy. We can still be friends!" He giggled, mimicking your gesture and patting Monty's head, albeit with great caution.

Fortunately, he didn't bite his hand off this time.

All you could do was continue smiling, being a watchful observer of your two (technically four) favorite characters who you were relieved to have rescued.

'Looks like there's hope for them yet.'

#clanask #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's x reader #fnaf ruin x reader #fnaf sb x reader #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sun #fnaf eclipse #ruin monty #ruined monty #platonic #hurt/comfort #angst/horror prompt

1K notes · View notes

ivorydragoness44 · 3 months ago

Text

Ahkmenrah x Reader: Sarcophagus Part 2

Sarcophagus Part 1

Word Count: 2,388 Warnings/Notes: Minor angst (disappointment, worry, disbelief), Reader kinda panicking over touching ancient artifacts without gloves. Summary: Having yet been able to free Ahkmenrah from his sarcophagus, the Reader tries to find a way into the museum at night.

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

The sun was hanging low in the sky as the day was nearing its end. But for two people inside the Museum of Natural History, they were missing every moment of it. Deep within the ancient Egyptian exhibit, you and your archeologist colleague were hard at work. Though as day was nearing evening,you both were finishing up with cataloguing the hieroglyphs around Ahkmenrah’s sarcophagus. Packing up their equipment into their satchel, your friend and longtime colleague turned to you. “Are you sure that you want to ask to stay in the museum after closing? I mean, I know that this is important and downright fascinating to you. Believe me, I know. And I couldn’t agree more, but…do you honestly think the museum director will allow it?” They kept their voice down. Even in an empty room, the flooring could echo off of the large walls. You plopped down beside the sarcophagus, you bag between your legs. “I hope he agrees. It’s just that we always have a limited amount of time. We’re lucky we got four weeks to do this,” you sighed. Glancing at the scale of the room around you, you shrugged. “This museum has been open for how many years? And no one has though to catalogue the hieroglyphs?” They gave a dry laughs as they finished packing. “Well, they found the tomb and brought all that they could here. They at least have a decent list of all of the items.” “And after a while, they move on to the next big discovery.” “There’s nothing wrong with that,” they stood, slinging their bag over their shoulder. “Not everyone has the luxury to sit around with the same discoveries for a while.” Following their lead, you grumbled. “It’s like searching for garage sales, but having to pay beforehand without knowing if you’ll ever really find something.” With a tilt of their head, they squinted teasingly at you. “And with that strange comparison to archeology…”

Turning toward the exit, you both headed down the straight path. Between the near ceiling height jackals, and away from the ancient glittering gold artifacts. A fleeting glance from you at the far most interior of the exhibit, and you felt it. A mixture of emotions. Guilt, wonder, and even skepticism. Since that fateful evening, you had not dared to utter a word about the incident. Unfortunately, there was your reputation to worry about. The dream career clutched tightly within your grasp as well. Besides, who in their right mind would believe you. It was outlandish. Ridiculous. Outrageously peculiar. And if it was late on a Halloween night, potentially terrifying.

Into the hallway, the pair of you headed straight toward the museum curator’s office. Though as you passed by a few guests, you found that the director was out in the lobby. The dress-suited man’s brows rose in recognition when he noticed the two of you. “Ah! I see that another day’s work has come to a close,” he smiled as you approached. “Yes. Thank you again for allowing us such access into the museum, Doctor McPhee.” “Of course,” he nodded, clasping his hands together. “I was enthralled to see if such an…investigative task would draw in more visitors.” As he glanced around, you held your breath. “However, no one quite attends the exhibits like they used to. They like the new and the exciting. Unless either of you found something worthwhile?” Your partner spoke up first. They seemed always ready when the situation demanded it. “Not yet. We still need to take time to translate the hieroglyphs.” “Right, right. They can’t possibly translate themselves, now can they?” Polite, and partially awkward laughter ensued for a few moments.

A decent amount of courage grew, and you knew that you had to ask. If not now, when? “Um, Doctor McPhee, we were hoping to complete more of our findings after the museum’s closing at night. To also avoid the possibility of disturbing the visitors during the day, and the overall normal functioning of the museum activities.” With a fading smile, the curator shook his head. “No, no. I’m afraid not. I appreciate your hard work, and wanting to maintain the integrity of the museum. But my answer is no.” A heaviness dropped within you. Despite that feeling, however, you smiled politely. “Thank you, anyway,” you nodded. “We understand completely,” your partner added. “Have a good evening.” As further pleasantries came to an end, you made your way to the exit. It was not unlike every other time, and yet, it was. The museum curator held the final word. Someone had to. You were just hoping to leave with an emotion other than disappointment.

Days had passed and you had yet to take a single step back into the museum. It was not so much that you were upset, but that other work needed to be done. Other responsibilities needed to be tended to. You could not stay in the museum forever. Recording the hieroglyphs more legibly and digitally. The time it tok to translate each symbol, and record your findings. As well as to share all of that information with other colleagues, and other such procedures. It could be overwhelming sometimes. What you could not let occupy your thoughts, was Ahkmenrah. Or at least not during work hours. You worried about him. What if he lost faith in you helping him? A stranger he could not see or touch. What if he was still waiting for you? Keeping someone waiting after making such a promise felt more awful as the days went by. But worse yet, what if the whole ordeal never happened in the first place?

Hours later, you woke up with a jolt. The phone was ringing. It was much too loud for you to deal with at the moment. “Hello?” “Okay, wake up!” Your colleague. “Look…I know it’s late…it’s uh…” Squinting in the dark, you glanced at the time. “So late that it’s almost tomorrow.” “Heheh, sorry about that. But this is important. You need to hurry to the museum.” Sudden alarm pushed aside any remaining tiredness and lulling thoughts of sleep. “Why? What’s wrong?” You asked in a rush, sitting up in bed. “Uh, not necessarily. Apparently, someone’s throwing a party.” Your nose scrunched at their words. “A party?” “Yeah. So, I was thinking that maybe we can get inside to check on our pharaoh.” Hope sprung in your chest and you swung out of bed. “Let me get dressed and I’ll be right over. Wait,” you paused in your rush. “Where are you?” “Out front.” They explained with a more casual tone to their voice. They’re playing great music, by the way. The light show is a little much though.“ You laughed. “Thank you for your commentary. I’ll see you soon.”

Minutes dragged on through the late night as you hurried to the museum. When you arrived, your colleague was just where they said they were. “This looks insanely out of place,” you said. Looking up at the building, it appeared as if all of the lights were in use. Not ailing to mention a number of them that seemed more fitted for a concert instead. “What,” they smiled beside you, “you’ve never partied among artifacts before?” You elected to not respond. And with the music pumping as it was, you did not feel like raising your voice to be heard.

A single head nod from your friend, and you both made your way up the front steps. At the top, the glass revealed an interesting party scene. Everyone indoors was dressed like the mannequins and statues from a variety of exhibits. You were about a second away from complimenting the accuracy in their wardrobe before you saw something else. There was no widely used technology like it, that you knew of. Even theaters and roaming exhibits used elaborate costuming and puppetry. The animals prancing fluidly were definitely neither. “That’s..a zebra,” your friend gawked. “There’s no way.” You glanced at each other in disbelief. “We’re either looking at something that we can never afford, or…witnessing something else entirely.” “They look like they’re enjoying themselves though. I mean—” Eventually, through your wide-eyed staring, someone approached. Dressed in dark navy, a museum nightguard made his way over and opened one of the doors. “Uh, hi. This is kinda a private party…so…” For the save, your friend spoke up. “I’m an archeologist. My colleague and I have been residing here for the past month cataloging the pharaoh’s hieroglyphs.” Though you were sure that they were going to say more, the nightguard’s face lit up with recognition. He was much younger than the three you had met on occasion. “Oh! Right,” he smiled. Gesturing at you, he added further. “And you’re the hieroglyphical—” “Egyptologist,” you corrected kindly. “Right. My apologies. I’m Larry, the new nightguard. It’s pretty late, um, did you need something, or left something inside?” He asked with genuine curiosity. You swallowed down your anxious nerves. “I would like to check on the sarcophagus, if you don’t mind.” Urgency pumped through your veins. Uncertainty hung in the air. Could your heart handle any more disappointment? “Oh, uh,” Larry checked behind him. “Yeah. Come on in.” Stepping aside, he let you both into the lively museum. “I’ll escort you over. Mind your step.”

“This is unreal.” Your friend awed beside you. The tyrannosaurus rex skeleton that typically posed on its perch at the entrance was not in its place. Instead, it was chasing after a little remote controlled car.

Leaving the main party scene, you sighed quietly to yourself. The hallway had a dramatic decrease in activity. Your ears, among your other senses, were grateful. Too much all at once was all too overwhelming.

To your right, the exhibit for the Pharaoh Ahkmenrah. “Don’t look up…jackals,” advised Larry. “Protectors of tombs. Anubis,” you recalled, eyeing your friend. “Hah, yeah, and they do take their job very seriously.” “As do we,” your friend said before placing a hand to your arm. Your heart dropped as you passed through the last archway. Stepping around Larry, you noticed something awful. Not only was the stone slab on the floor, but the lid to the sarcophagus had been opened. It was empty. Empty, with the exception of the ancient mummy’’s cloth wrappings. “Oh my,” you covered your mouth. Staring down into the sarcophagus, you could hardly believe your eyes. “It’s open. Who took the mummy out? No one here is authorized.” Larry put his hands up defensively. “No one took the mummy, he walked out.” Staring at the man, your eyes narrowed a fraction. “Walked out?” “Yeah,” he shrugged awkwardly. “He does that. Well, I mean, he technically has to climb out of there…” “Since when?” You asked, remembering that night more clearly. “He was trapped, and the other nightguards wouldn’t let him out.” “He—you know a lot.” Larry paused, looking as confused as your colleague. “How do you know that?” “I was here later than expected, accidentally. I was working.” “Okay, I’m gonna have to ask you about that later,” your friend pointed out. “But where is he, because my Brendan Fraser impression isn’t great.”

By the sound of approaching footsteps, you all turned around. There, walking up the pathway into the exhibit was someone wearing a complete ancient Egyptian pharaoh outfit. The gold gleamed off even in the dim lighting. “Oh, hey, Ahk,” Larry greeted, striding toward the young man. “I have some people who would like to meet you.” Puzzled, you were sure your entire face scrunched in your bewilderment. “Ahk?” Larry smiled between the pair of you. “Yeah, Ahk—” “Hello. I am Ahkmenrah. Fourth King of the Fourth King. Ruler of the land of my fathers.” “Well, shit,” your colleague squeaked out quietly. Familiarity echoed in your ears. That introduction was the exact same that you were given so many nights ago. His voice, though much clearer, was almost striking to hear. And his youthful face? It reminded you of the digital facial reconstructions performed from thorough scans. Ones of which that were not shared with the public for some reason. Though it was from a few years ago, the likeness was uncanny. “Oh my gosh,” you murmured. Tears began to well up around your eyes as you looked at him. Ahkmenrah’s dark brows curved up in curious worry. “Apparently you two have met,” Larry explained. “Like, before I worked here.” The Pharaoh’s eyes widened, understanding. Slowly, he approached you with gold bracelet bound arms extending outward. In the next moment, you found yourself in a tender embrace. “I’m sorry,” you whispered to him. “I’m sorry I could not free you sooner or find a way like I had promised.” “It’s quite alright,” he assured. His hands remained to the upper portion of your back, thumbs rubbing gently. Leaning out of the embrace, he looked to you with soft brown eyes. “Larry, Guardian of Brooklyn, freed me. And so I was able to restore order to the museum.” Your brows nearly shot up to your hairline. “Oh.” Restore order? What was—? Ahkmenrah’s eyes looked between your own as you stilled in place. At such a close distance, you took notice of the pharaoh’s attire. Ancient gold and fabrics. Intricate beadwork that was supposed to be inside their proper display cases. All for their protection and preservation. And you were touching it with your bare hands. A small intake of air lead to you hardly breathing at all. “What’s the matter?” Asked of Ahkmenrah, his face downcast in his concern. “I shouldn’t be touching this without the proper gloves,” you stared in horror. Fingertips shaking over polished blue beads. “I won’t tell,” your friend piped up with a shrug. “Breathe.” Stepping back carefully, you took a steadying breath to calm yourself. The pharaoh’s hands slipping down to your arms. Again, your friend spoke up. This time, they directed themselves toward the museum’s nightguard. “Is there any other surprises?” They asked, looking around. “Like…uh, the tablet glowing?” “Glowing?” You peered behind you. “Yep, it’s glowing. Does it…do that at night?” Ahkmenrah nodded. “After the sun sets each evening.” You gawked at the golden tablet across the room. “I’m not going to believe any of this in the morning.”

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Thank you for reading!

#ahkmenrah x reader #ahkmenrah natm #ahkmenrah x you #ahkmenrah fanfiction #night at the museum #natm fanfiction #natm fanfic

58 notes · View notes