#getting to know each other was so low on their list of priorities at the beginning of the movie

[pianokantzart]

There's something so wholesome about the fact that Mario told Princess Peach– a beautiful, beloved protector– Luigi's name long before his own, while Luigi told Bowser– a terrifying, threatening tyrant– his own name with little provocation while Mario's had to be violently forced out of him.

Like, they really do be putting each other first, even in the subtlest of ways.

[urhoneycombwitch]

my baby puts his mouth on me

Eddie Munson x shy!Reader

foreword: okay this is kind of written as a bonus scene for i know what they call you bc that version of reader deals with being quiet, too! (not necessary to read that one first but does provide a bit of context as far as interpersonal setting.) sort-of AU that ignores most s4 events.

cw: discussions of college, shy!reader, oral + fingering (R receiving), R has breasts and a V, weed usage, softdom!Eddie, shifting POV a bit soz 

wc: 2.2k

___

Somewhere between Eddie’s late nights at band rehearsal and your early morning diner shifts, you’ve both been too exhausted to properly fuck when you do see each other, barely time for a spare handjob in the past week. You’re crawling out of your skin by the weekend, missing and craving Eddie in equal measure.

So when your Saturday off happens to line up with his, Eddie makes an afternoon of it- picnic lunch on the shore of Lover’s Lake, lazing around in the August sun while your food settles, then stripping down to your underclothes (even though the spot Eddie scored was totally isolated, you’re still leery about skinny dipping) and cooling off with a quick dip in the lake.

You’re both sprawled out in the blanketed back of Eddie’s van, sun-warmed bodies pressed together, legs dangling out of the open rear door; smoke hangs hazy in the air from the joint being shared. 

“Almost end of summer,” Eddie says, nestling his nose into your neck, arms wrapping around your middle. He can’t look at you, dread unfurling in his stomach but needing to ask, to clear the air, to prepare in case this is one of the last times he gets to touch you like this- “Thinkin’ of going to any colleges?”

”Maybe.” One of your hands slides into Eddie’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp while the other lifts the joint to your lips for a long drag. “They love me at the diner and I make good tips, so I’ll prob’ly keep doing that. Can’t afford anything fancy, anyways- I’ll likely just go to Hawkins Community.”

You still haven’t told him the full story of the mall fire, yet- or about the underground world simmering beneath the surface. He never pushes you to share more than you’re comfortable, which you’re grateful for, but he knows something happened: something that paints your sleep with dark night terrors, something that causes you to slip in the middle of conversations, mind spiraling where he can’t follow. 

For reasons you can’t fully explain to Eddie, college is real low on your priority list- you’ve dedicated this summer to reconnecting with base instincts (weed and Pretty Boy being at the top of the list).

Meanwhile, Eddie tries to still the vibrant thrum of his heart at the news of you staying local, possibly for the next few years; he lifts his head to press his lips against your collarbone. “You should go to college. Jus’ try it out, at least. You’re certainly smart enough.”

“Mmm-” you hum around the joint, another inhale-exhale of smoke before murmuring, “So are you. For the record. We could apply to be nerds together, if you want-”

With a sharp gasp, your sentence drops out of midair when Eddie kisses over your nipple, already peaking through the thin material of your bra. In his hair, your grip tightens, and Eddie groans.

In one fluid movement, he props himself into his elbows on either side of your torso, bottom half of his weight pinning you in place, plucking the smoldering joint from your grasp to dampen it into a nearby ashtray.

“Gonna be my little student,” Eddie says, wet kisses trailing down your neck, flash of teeth making you squirm. “Get you some academic… skirts. The ones with the pleats. Maybe some stockings…”

“You’re so- oh, fuck- dirty…” It’s hard to keep the admonishment in your voice as Eddie noses between your thighs, bumping at your clit through the thin cover of high-cut cotton.

“Mm-hmm.” He seems pleased with the already-visible wet patch, your core leaking steadily as he burrows deeper, until all his senses are blacked-out with nothing but the sharp tang of your honeyed arousal- who needs weed. He could get high off your smell alone.

Eddie suckles at your throbbing clit, purring encouragement low in his throat when your hips jolt forward. “And you love it."

He’s one deep inhale from being completely pussy-drunk, mouthing sloppily at the junction where thigh meets pelvis, nimble fingers toying at the band of your underwear. He slides them down and off your legs, and you let him, wiggling in anticipation against the pressure he’s keeping you pinned with.

“Could take an electrician course.” Well aware of how close to the wire this conversation is sliding, you let the crown of your head tip back, staring at the van’s ceiling, handfuls of the flannel floor blanket squeezed into fists as you try getting one last word in- “You’re good with your h- hands.”

Said hand is cupping your bare sex, warm and wide between the V of your legs, other hand pushing your thigh back to spread you wide, obscene and on display how Eddie likes; embarrassment blooms hot in your chest as he runs a finger through your folds, slick practically loud against the far-off backdrop of forest sounds.

“What was that about my hands?” He’s teasing now, can hear it in his voice even though you can’t see the lazy grin it’s paired with; a long middle finger breaches your entrance, wet warmth swallowing the length greedily.

Your eyes flutter shut, sighing. There will be a time for arguments again but right now, with a second finger addition and Eddie’s mouth working you up, there’s no room for speech.

On your end, at least- Eddie’s proven on multiple occasions to be a master at multitasking, talking you through it while managing your pleasure, and this afternoon is no exception. His fingers curl expertly into the gummy front wall of your cunt, mouth running every second it’s not latched on to your pulsing button, dirty talk smooth and easy in his low timbre.

“Yeah, honey, that’s it. Fuck, you’re so hot. Can feel you squeezin’ around my fingers, y’so tight, angel, shit… like that- there you go…”

Etcetera. Until he’s bullied his way completely into the cradle of your legs, lying flat on his stomach to get as close as possible; until your cunt is spasming around the push and pull of his fingers, wet dripping and pooling into his palm and down your ass to the blanket below.

There’s a familiar tightness coiling in your stomach, thighs bracing around Eddie’s ears in anticipation of the unraveling. A pleasure-soaked sob gets caught in your throat, dull whine escaping instead through clenched teeth, grip on the flannel doubling until your knuckles creak in protest.

“Hey.” 

There’s a confusing lack of authority or command in Eddie’s voice; you sift through the brain fog of arousal, propping your weight up into your elbows to look down at him.

Eddie looks crazy. Debauched. Lips pink and spit-soaked, chin shimmering, pupils blown out with lust as he presses a chaste kiss to the wiry curls at your mound. “Kinda quiet up there. Everything okay?”

His thumb sweeps a comforting path up the soft skin of your thigh, the abrupt switch from animal to gentleness making your head swim. He’s still looking at you with those puppy-brown eyes, fingers still buried to the hilt but unmoving; you stammer out an excuse.

“Um- yeah. M’sorry. It’s just been awhile, since you’ve had me… like this.”

It’s the truth; over the last busy week in your lives, time has eroded some of what Eddie’s been working on building with you, bravery at making noise faded with the lessened practice time.

“No one else out here, ‘cept you and me, sweetheart.” Eddie’s coaxing his fingers back into steady rhythm, watching your face carefully for any signs of withholding. “Can make as much noise as you want. Lemme hear. Please?”

Usually, Eddie’s not so soft- a sharp crack of palm to ass, flesh jiggling as he draws all the noises he wants from you- but here, in the back of the van, heady weed and warm sun an intoxicating mixture as he asks you to melt for him. 

You obey. Let the floor take your upper body’s weight again as you fuck yourself on his fingers, hips lifted and seeking release. His mouth seals over your clit again, tip of his tongue lashing quick and precise against it, frizz of his curls tickling the insides of your legs as he shakes his head.

The weed is certainly a help as trapped noises heave from your chest, mouth falling open, lax and pliant with moans. “Oh, my god, Eddie. Fuck. Holy shit. Hah- right there, please, don’t stop-”

As if he would. Eddie moans in tandem with you, his own hips chasing the maddening pressure of the floorboards against the hard jut of his cock, leaking through the front of his boxers as he adds a third finger, spurred on by the fountain of breathy words this pulls from you-

“Oh god, oh god- f-fuck- Eddie, Eddie Eddie Eddie-”

Your speech devolves into a mindless, babbling chant of his name. That coil pulls taut, has you crunching forward in a half sit-up, hands fisting at the roots of Eddie’s hair to hold him in place (perhaps harsher than you intend but based on the way his hips stutter and grind, you can safely hazard a guess that he’s into it). 

The pattern breaks when he grazes his teeth against the pulsing nub in his mouth; you have just enough time to gasp out, “I- I’m coming, Eddie, shit, m’gonna come-” before the orgasm hits you full-force.

There isn’t room in your brain to hide all the noise that threatens to suffocate, so you let them all out, muscles tightening and flexing around every bright point of pleasure that he fucks you through. High-pitched whines, panting that wracks your lungs, a moan to top it all off that feels like it comes from your toes. 

“Jesus christ.” Eddie swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, sounding wrecked himself as he climbs back over your body, silver chain necklace and dark curls swinging in front of your blissed-out face. “Fuck, princess. That was so hot.”

“Yeah?” Bashfulness hasn’t fully settled in yet, you’re still loopy from the force of your pleasure, arms slipping over the boy’s freckled shoulders as he leans down to kiss you.

His tongue has a bright tang of you, as you lick into his mouth, one hand leaving his shoulder to trail down his chest. Dark ink whorls beneath your fingertips as you reach the scratchy trail of hair just before his boxers-

“Shit.” Eddie hisses, forehead thunking into yours when you palm the hard length of him, precum soaking through the fabric, softness of your palm contrasting with the damp and rough drag of cotton. His long lashes tickle your cheek, eyes fluttering closed, soft exhale magnified by close proximity as he slowly pushes into your hand. 

You’re mildly surprised he hasn’t come, yet- usually Eddie gets off on getting you off, then uses the rest of his energy to make you both come again, together. 

What Eddie hasn’t told you yet is that he’s done some prep of his own, this week: every night you haven’t spent in his bed, his own spit-slicked fist has taken him right to the edge, stopping just short of coming with a choking grip at the base. The idea was to build up his stamina a bit, to take advantage of lonely evenings in service to a future you.

A very noble cause that is quickly being forgotten as your hand moves with more intent and pressure against his aching cock- the drug haze is almost enough to have him completely at your mercy, to tuck his nose into the curve of your neck and find sweet release by way of your pretty palm.

But he recovers. Get just enough distance from the warmth of you to clear his mind and snake his own hand down between your bodies to capture your twisting wrist. 

The protest dies on your lips when Eddie brings your hand to his mouth, sucking your middle and index finger against the pad of his tongue, saturating your digits in spit.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do.” His eyes stay locked on yours, even as he guides your newly-wet fingers back down your bodies to rest atop your cunt. “You’re gonna touch yourself until you come. Again. And if I feel like you’re holding out on me with your noises, I’m gonna make it real difficult for you to make any noise. At all.”

A thrilling shiver races up your spine, goosebumps prickling in response to the shift in Eddie’s tone. His eyes flick to your lower lip, which he bites, unable to help himself, before following the path of your hand south.

There will be time for unwinding the past, for dreaming about the future. For now, there’s a boy between your legs and the feverish glow of summer calling your name. 

___

for more shy!Reader content: masterlist

[pulisicsgirl]

home for the holidays - mason mount

summary: just when nothing seems to be going right for Mason and Y/N, her Christmas plans are foiled for the second year in a row, leaving her unsure of how to approach the topic with Mason

pairing: Mason Mount x reader

word count:

warnings/tags: a little bit of angst at the beginning but it all turns fluffy for the rest of it, pre-established relationship, mentions of Mason’s recent injury, hurt/comfort, interrupted beauty sleep, Christmas celebrations :))))))

based on a request from @raremasey as a part two to christmas on my own

notes: Merry Christmas to all who celebrate!!!!! I wasn’t planning on posting another fic before the New Year, but when I got this request, I knew I had to write it in time to post before the holiday season was up! Thank you all for sticking with me through this year 🤍 You all mean more to me than you’ll ever know!! I hope you’re all getting to spend some time resting and enjoying your family/friends!! Please enjoy the fic!!

As Christmas Day approached rather quickly, you thought to yourself that you must never have experienced a holiday season that was quite so dreary.

You had done your best to bring the festive holiday spirit into your home—even into Mason’s as you forced him to join you in decorating his house on the very first day of December, dragging him into a few shops to buy extra decorations to fill his house. He had only pretended to be a little bit annoyed, his aversion to shopping completely overcome by getting to watch the joy on your face while decorating for the holidays. You had spread lights, tinsel, ornaments, and little snowman figurines all over the rooms of his home while you shuffled your Christmas playlist in the background.

Since your addition to his family’s Christmas celebrations last year had been impromptu, this was the first time Mason had gotten to see how much you loved this time of year. He truly thought he had never met someone who was as enthusiastic and joy-filled at the mere thought of Christmas.

However, Mason still couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment each time he remembered that you wouldn’t been spending Christmas morning with his family. He tried his best not to show it— he knew how much it meant to you that your family would be traveling to see you this year.

Your relationship with your parents had felt a bit… well, strained over the last year. Ever since the incident of last Christmas, when they had failed to give you an advance notice of their plans to travel to see your brother for the holiday and leaving you to celebrate alone, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being quite low on their list of priorities. It wasn’t just Christmas; it was a host of other incidences as well. You had done your very best to repair what seemed to have been damaged, and the fact that you would get to see your family for the holiday left you overjoyed. With a couple promotions at work this past year, you had been able to move into a nicer, larger flat, and Mason knew you were excited for them to get to see it—not to mention how glad you were to be together with them on Christmas Day and finally get to introduce them to Mason.

Despite this throwing a wrench in his holiday plans, Mason couldn’t help but think life was starting to look up for the two of you. After another brief spell out of the United squad following his head injury, he was back to getting regular minutes on the pitch, and the new gaffer seemed to be working him in as a more important part of the team. And with your successes in your career, you had been more optimistic than ever. And as the two of you approached your first dating anniversary, you both truly couldn’t have been happier together.

But all of that seemed to come crumbling down in the matter of a few days.

When you had gotten the call from your mother, you almost couldn’t believe your ears.

Your brother had unexpectedly received the news that his work schedule had changed, and he would be expected to work on Christmas Eve—meaning he, his wife, and your 2-month-old niece would be unable to travel to visit you. But your father and mother couldn’t possibly bear to miss the little one’s very first Christmas, so instead they would remain at home and your brother (who lived nearby) would host Christmas instead.

Too much in shock to form much of a thought, you had asked if she was sure. But it was final— the flights had already been cancelled, and they were firm in their decision.

Your stomach sank to your feet, and the only thing you could bring yourself to do was end the call without another word to her. Standing in your kitchen, you cried silently, the tears streaming down your cheeks as a million thoughts ran through your mind. You felt that you would never be enough for your parents, wondered what you had done to deserve such treatment from them.

The news felt like a sharp object had been driven into your heart and you spent the rest of your evening curled up on your bed, wallowing in your feelings and ignoring the calls and texts from your mother after you had unexpectedly ended your conversation.

When you awoke the next morning, your first thought was of talking to Mason about the previous night's events—a conversation that would unfortunately have to wait as he had a big game to play today: the highly anticipated Manchester derby. It was a huge game, not only because of the longstanding rivalry between the two teams, but because Mason was expected to be in the starting eleven.

Knowing you couldn’t bear to serve as a distraction from such a huge moment for him after the months and months of hard work it had taken him to get there, you decided your problems would have to wait. You couldn’t talk to him before the game and risk shifting his focus. But you also couldn’t talk to him after the game—if United lost, it would just be rude to make things about yourself instead; but if they won, you couldn’t possibly bring down his good mood with your complaining.

So then, you decided, you would have to tell him tomorrow… or maybe the next day.

You took a hot shower, hoping to wash away the heavy feeling in your chest and the puffiness of your eyes. You had donned your kit with Mason’s name printed across the back and made your way to the Ethiad stadium.

The crowd was buzzing as they awaited the start of the game. You settled into the private box, greeting Mason’s family, and you knew Lewis could tell there was something off with you, but he didn’t mention it. Everyone was overjoyed at the news of the starting lineups, bringing with it the confirmation that Mason would be starting for the first time in quite a while.

You were overjoyed for him, able to put aside your own sorrows for the time being, eyes shining with happy tears as you watched him walk out onto the pitch while the anthem played.

But for the second time in less than 24 hours, your stomach sank as, 14 minutes into the game, you watched Mason wave the physios over as he sat on the grass. He was too far away for you to be able to make out his facial expression, but there was no mistaking the posture of the rest of his body. As he spoke with the physios and they looked him over, his shoulders slumped, a resigned look taking over him.

As if this day needed another disappointment.

The rest of your day had been spent looking after Mason, bringing him anything you thought he could possibly need so he wouldn’t lift a finger and holding him tight in your arms to ease the disappointment of yet another setback in his recovery.

Surely now you couldn’t mention everything with your parents to him just yet. It would be so cruel to make him feel sorry for your when he was facing such a disappointment of his own. Perhaps you would just have to wait until his spirits were lifted—even just a little.

But as days passed and time got away from you, Christmas Day crept closer and closer, and Mason’s mood didn’t seem to be improving at all. You did everything in your power to cheer him up— bought him little treats and left them with notes for him to find, sending sweet little text messages throughout the day to let him know how proud you were of the hard work he was putting into recovering. You even went so far as to take a couple days off of work to make a long weekend for yourself and spent the time off pampering him with a bit of a spa weekend as best you could.

And though he always expressed his appreciation for your efforts, the smile he gave you was all too forced, and you knew he was still hurting inside. He had apologized to you a few times now for “being a right grump,” afraid he would ruin your excitement for Christmas time— and after that, you just didn’t have the heart to tell him that someone had already beat him to it.

So you had resolved to keep it to yourself. He just didn’t have to know, and you decided that was for the best. It tore you up inside to keep something from him, but you told yourself that it would be for his own good, allowing him to focus on his time with his own family instead of on comforting you.

For the next days, you carried the secret around like a weight sitting on your chest, feeling a small pang of grief each time you remembered that you wouldn’t be seeing your family. But you did your best to keep those feeling under wraps, so as not to worry Mason.

It was only 2 days before Christmas, when Mason had decided to stay at yours for the night and you slid under the covers behind him, pressing your chest up against his back ad tangling your bare legs with his. Many months ago, Mason had confessed that he liked to be the little spoon when he was feeling a bit more vulnerable. And after his most recent injury a couple weeks ago, it had become a staple in your nighttime routine with him. You loved the feeling of cuddling up close to his warm skin, and you couldn’t help from pressing a barely-there kiss to the base of his neck, sending a gentle shiver down his spine.

Tucking the blankets in around the two of you, you settled into a comfortable silence, and Mason intertwined his fingers with yours, where your hand was resting on his tummy, giving it an appreciative squeeze.

“Were you able to wrap everything up at work today?” Mason asked softly, knowing you had a few things you needed to get done before taking a few days off for the holidays. You felt a warm feeling in your chest at the fact that, no matter what he was dealing with, Mason always made an effort to ask questions about you—about your day, your work, the friends you had seen recently.

“I was,” you smiled, peppering a couple kisses across his shoulders, overwhelmed with the need to show him a bit of love while you held him in your arms. “Ari helped me get the last of it finished right before I had to leave, so I don’t have to worry about a thing over the break.”

“Good, good,” he breathed, and you could tell he was enjoying the attention you were giving him. “Your parents get in tomorrow, right? Are you excited to see them?”

Your breath hitched in your throat before you could stop it and you froze, trying to come up with a good enough excuse to not talk about the situation.

But you hesitated a moment too long, and Mason caught on easily to the way you’d tensed up behind him.

“Y/N? What is it?” he tried to turn in your grasp as he spoke, but you only held him tighter, pressing your face between his shoulder blades so he couldn’t see the tears that had sprung to your eyes before you had a chance to stop them.

He wriggled in your grasp for a moment, but you knew it was no use, allowing him to pry your arms off his waist so he could turn over and look at you. Your hands flew to your face, covering it as some last-ditch effort to conceal your emotions, but it was far too late, and you knew that.

“Y/N, angel…” You felt Mason’s fingers gently pull at your wrists, and you were left with no choice but to stare back at him with tear-filled eyes. “Talk to me, what’s going on?”

Mason’s brow was furrowed with concern as he reached out to stroke a thumb across your cheek. His mind was reeling, trying to figure out what had you so upset.

“Is it your parents?” You could only manage a nod in return.

“They’re not coming?” Another nod. You watched Mason’s face fall in genuine hurt for you.

“Again?” It was barely a whisper when he said it.

With that single word, it was like the dam had burst, and all of the emotions that you had been holding back for weeks sprung to the surface. You curled yourself into Mason’s chest, no longer able to think about anything other than seeking a bit of comfort in his arms. His hands slipped under your shirt, tracing circles and gentle lines across your skin the way he knew you loved, as he could do nothing else but listen to your soft cries.

It didn’t take long for you to quiet to soft sniffles, and Mason pulled back slightly from you, cradling your jaw in his hand so you’d look up at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mason did his very best not to sound accusatory, but in his mind, he couldn’t think of any reason why you would have kept this from him.

It took you a moment to respond, still working to calm your breathing. “Well, they... um, they told me about the night before the derby,” you started. “And before the game, I didn’t want to distract you, so I decided to wait. But then, you got injured, which meant you already had so much on your plate, and you seemed so down that I didn’t think I could possibly bring myself to add even more to it, so…”

“So you’ve been carrying this around for the last couple weeks all alone?” Mason finished for you. You shrugged in response. He could only hold you a little bit tighter, heart clenching in his chest at the thought of you being so weighed down by these emotions without him even knowing.

Mason couldn’t help but feel like kicking himself over the way he had been wallowing for the last week or two since his injury. He had been so caught up in himself that he hadn’t even noticed how you were feeling, and it made him appreciate everything you had done for him just that much more. Despite facing your own disappointment, you had put all your energy into cheering him up and making him feel better.

Gone was the feeling of self-pity over his recently poor luck with injuries at the United, and taking its place was the warm feeling of gratitude—for you and the way that you loved him so deeply, so sacrificially.

He pressed a few kisses onto your forehead, the gears in his mind turning as he thought of ways to make you feel better—one in particular stood out as the obvious choice among the rest.

“Tomorrow morning, I’ll help you pack a bag so you can stay at mine for a few days,” Mason stated matter-of-factly. “My family will all be arriving in the evening and they’ll be so happy to see you—Mum and Jazz especially, they were so disappointed when I told them you wouldn’t be spending Christmas morning with us.”

“Mason, I couldn’t,” you retorted, but Mason had expected this resistance from you. “I sprung everything on you so last-minute last year, I can’t—“

“You didn’t spring anything on me last year,” Mason shushed you softly. “I invited you. And better yet this year, you already know just how stubborn I am, so you know this conversation isn’t ending in any way other than you agreeing to go home with me tomorrow.”

Mason’s soft smile was infectious, the sides of your mouth curling upward as he awaited your response.

“You are quite stubborn…” you giggled quietly.

“So is that a yes?”

A beat more of silence passed before you replied with a soft “okay,” and Mason burried his face in your neck, squeezing you tightly in excitement and you couldn’t help but giggle at him, your mood instantly lifted. The hurt and disappointment was still there, but it was significantly dimmed by the knowledge that you would get to be a part of the Mount Christmas for the second year in a row.

Mason finally pulled back after scattering several sloppy kisses across the base of your neck, his eyes sparkling as he propped himself up on an elbow and hovered his face over yours. His eyes darted around your face, a look of unmistakable excitement on his features as he took you in.

“You have no idea how excited I am to spend Christmas with you again,” he whispered, his nose brushing yours.

You cradled his jaw with your hand, your eyes going misty as you thought about how lucky you were to have him in your life, through all of the ups and downs.

“Thank you, Mason.” Your voice was so quiet, if he hadn’t been right up next to you, he might have missed it.

His only reply was to press his mouth to yours, trying to pour all of his love into a single kiss. You pulled him closer by the back of his neck, pressing your body as close to his as you could manage, feel safe in the warmth of him.

After a moment, he pulled away, both of you blushing and breathless—nearly a year together, and every kiss still felt as thrilling as your first.

“C’mon, let’s get some sleep,” he said, pressing one last quick peck to your lips. “We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

You nodded, smiling at the thought of the holiday celebrations you had in store; no longer dreading the time spent alone, but excited to get to see all of Mason’s family again.

The two of you settled underneath the duvet, holding each other close. And with the promise of a family-filled few days of Christmas joy, you both got the best night of sleep you’d had in weeks.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next day passed in an absolute whirlwind of events. The two of you had a bit of a lie in, sleepily discussing your plans for the next few days until long after the sun had risen. Lying in Mason’s arms, tucked warmly under the covers, you felt remarkably more settled than you had the day before. As you lay there with your eyes closed, listening as Mason softly explained that his family would be arriving later that afternoon, you basked in the feeling of his warm skin against yours—your legs tangled together, you chest pressed up against his, and his fingertips trailing lightly over your back.

Before it got too late, the two of you decided it was time to get up, sharing a quick shower together before Mason helped you pack a bag for the next days and the two of you were off to his house, with a brief stop at the store to pick up a couple last-minute necessities.

Late in the afternoon, Mason’s family arrived, and the Christmas Eve celebrations were in full swing. The house was full of life (and noise) as Summer and Mila ran around and Mason’s parents and siblings got their things settled into the guest rooms. A magical trip to Lapland’s made for the perfect evening and left the girls exhausted, so it was fairly easy to put them down once you had all made it home.

Once everyone was in bed, you and Mason got to work setting out all of the presents that had been carefully hidden in Mason’s large closet. Mason watched with admiration as you carefully arranged the gifts and filled everyone’s stockings with the little bits and treats you had picked up over the last few weeks. The care with which you sorted everything left him feeling warm inside, thinking once again how thankful he was to have you with him on Christmas Eve.

And once Mason had finished the glass of milk and taken a large bite out of the cookie the girls had left out for Santa, you and Mason headed up to bed for the night, buzzing with excitement over the next days festivities.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It felt like your eyes had only just slipped closed when you were awoken abruptly by the sound of the bedroom door being flung open and banging into the wall.

“Uncle Masey! Uncle Masey!” a tiny voice shouted, sprinting over to the bed as fast as her little legs would carry her.

As you rolled onto your back, you spotted Summer scrambling up onto the mattress, crashing onto Mason’s chest as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Uncle Masey, wake up!” Summer shouted again, exasperated. She took hold of one of his arms and shook as hard as she could manage.

“What is it, sweetie?” you feigned confusion, as you tried to get Summer’s attention, giving Mason an extra moment to wake up.

“It’s Santa…” she whispered, eyes wide. “He came. Here.”

“What?” you dropped your mouth open, mimicking her look of surprise. “You’re kidding.”

“He really did! He really did! Come and see!” Summer wriggled off of Mason’s chest, leaping to the carpeted floor and padding out of the room, leaving the door wide open as she went.

You rolled onto your side to face Mason, giggling at his furrowed brow and squinty eyes, clearly wishing he could just sleep for a couple more hours.

“You’ve got to get up,” you beamed at him, splaying a hand across his chest as you leaned forward to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t you hear? Santa’s been.”

Mason’s heart swelled with affection for seemingly the hundredth time in the last few days as you bent forward to press a proper kiss to his lips. For a moment, he got lost in the feel of you, hoping the two of you could spend just a few minutes more together in bed. However you, painfully aware of the open door behind you, pulled back and dropped one last kiss to his forehead. Slipping quietly out of bed, you popped to the bathroom to brush your teeth before you and Mason went downstairs to join the rest of his family.

The silver lining of Mason’s recent injury was that he didn’t have to train on Christmas morning. While most of his United teammates would be reporting for one last session before the Boxing Day matches, he was settling down on the couch next to you, surrounded by his family as Tony began handing out the stockings to everyone.

Much to your surprise, yours was no longer hanging on the mantel empty, as you had left it the night before. Instead, as you took it from Tony, you pulled out a variety of face masks, bath salts, and pleasantly scented soaps. You looked over at Mason, whose face held a satisfied smirk—he must have snuck back down last night after you had gone up and filled your stocking without you knowing.

You whispered a soft “thank you,” tucking your face into his neck as he squeezed you into his side. It meant more to you than he’d ever know that he always went out of his way to make sure you were looked after—even in small ways, like making sure to fill your Christmas stocking.

The morning continued, and Summer had declared that she should be the one handing out gifts this year. So, with a Santa hat atop her head, she ran back and forth between the tree and everyone else, dropping the presents in everyone’s laps before returning to the tree to grab another.

She approached you with a small box in her hands, mumbling a soft, “here you go, Auntie Y/N,” before spinning on her heel and returning to the tree.

You froze in shock for a moment— it was the very first time Summer had ever called you that. You cared deeply for the little girl and her sister, and her clear acceptance of you as a part of the family meant a great deal to you. Mason, sitting with one arm behind you on the couch and on resting on your leg, squeezed your thigh as he saw your eyes go misty at Summer’s words.

You sniffled, trying not to cause a scene by getting too emotional as you carefully tore the wrapping paper off of the small box. Inside, you found a gold necklace with a round pendant engraved with your birth flower and Mason’s intertwined. One the back, the date that the two of you had met was engraved—above it, the words Forever and Always.

“Oh, Mase. You shouldn’t have,” you exclaimed, tucking your head into his neck once again. You could feel his chest shake with laughter as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you close.

“It’s perfect, Mason. I love it. Thank you.” You had pulled back to look at him, and you watched as a warm blush spread across his cheeks.

You spent the rest of the morning with your head on Mason’s shoulder, watching with enthusiasm as everyone opened their presents. You received several other thoughtful presents from Mason and the rest of his family—a tote bag you had mentioned wanting to get from Jazz and her husband, a wax warmer and a few different sweet-smelling wax melts from Tony and Debby, among others.

It really was the perfect morning, spent curled up in Mason’s side, and you felt so full of love for your boy and the family that had made him who he was today.

Eventually, all of the presents had been opened, and Summer and Mila sat on the floor with their new toys spread across the room. Before long, everyone started to make their way into the dining room to eat the breakfast that Debbie had apparently been up cooking before anyone else was even awake.

It was a feast beyond comparison, the table covered in cinnamon rolls, bacon, fried eggs—everything a hearty breakfast could possibly need. And as everyone tucked in, you were sure to tell Debbie how good everything tasted.

Once everyone had finished, you and Mason cleared the table and loaded everything into the dishwasher, deciding to deal with the rest later that afternoon. Lewis was working on setting up their traditional Christmas Day movie, having decided on “It’s a Wonderful Life” over breakfast.

With everything sorted and the leftovers in the fridge, you turned to go join the rest of Mason’s family in the living room when you felt Mason’s hand on your wrist, spinning you around and pulling you into his chest.

Mason’s eyes sparkled as he looked down at you.

“Huh, would you look at that…” Mason spoke with an air of mischief. “Mistletoe.”

For a moment you were struck by confusion, seeing as the two of you were standing in the middle of his kitchen with no real place to hang mistletoe. But your confusion was short-lived as you looked up to see Mason’s hand dangling a sprig of mistletoe above your heads.

A grin broke out on your face as you quirked an eyebrow at him, trying to shoot him an unimpressed look, despite the butterflies that were swarming in your tummy.

“We wouldn’t want to break tradition now, would we?” Mason tried again. “It’s probably bad luck… or something like that…”

By now the two of you were grinning like fools at each other, and you couldn’t believe your luck at having Mason in your life. You slipped a hand onto the back of his head, tangling your fingers into his hair as you brought his face down to yours.

Mason pressed his lips to yours in a delicious kiss as your eyes slipped closed. Mason dipped his tongue cheekily against the seam of your lips, and you pulled back slowly before things could get too heated in the middle of his kitchen.

“I’m so in love with you,” you breathed, nudging his nose with yours.

Mason beamed, eyes sparkling as he looked down at you. “I’m so in love with you,” he repeated your words. “And even though it isn’t how you planned your Christmas to go, I’m glad you’re here today.”

“Thank you, Mason,” you breathed. You must had said it a thousand times over the last couple of days. “For this, for everything. I’m so grateful for you. I love the way you love me.”

Mason pressed his lips to your forehead, holding your body close to his. “You don’t have to thank me, angel. I love getting to love you. It’s as easy as breathing for me.”

Your tummy did a somersault at his words, and you couldn’t help but press one more, quick kiss to his lips.

“You ready to go watch this movie?” Mason asked, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers with his. “You’re not allowed to fall asleep this year.”

You couldn’t stop the giggle that fell from your lips as he pulled you toward the living room, as you spoke. “Now for that, I can’t make any promises.”

tag list: @hischierswhore @thoseboysinblue @lovelynikol7 @swimmingismywholelife @masonsrem @brasiliangp @neverinadream @lizzypotter14 @notsoattractivearenti @chilwellsancho @sid-vii @captainpulisic

[holllandtrash]

gone | daniel ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x driver!reader (part 3 to fragile line)

I just know You're not gone You can't be gone

The 2023 season is painful, its challenging and Daniel is still very much in your life in all the ways he shouldn't be.

word count: 9.9k (i dont even know how) warnings/tags: angst, heartbreak, all the painful stuff

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?” 

You exhaled a breath that made your entire body shake, “You know what, Daniel.” 

Of course he did. For the last few months, he was experiencing the exact same things you were. The uncertainty, the tension, the sleepless nights, god you were so tired. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be you and him. You were supposed to be a team. 

So much went wrong, too much. Daniel stood in front of you now as you asked yourself if you were too far gone. 

And you both knew the answer to that one. 

That first race back in Hungary…you were a mess. You probably would have been a little bit more put together had Oliver not pointed out the lineup for the driver’s press conference. 

“You’re kidding,” your jaw dropped, staring at the list. “Who’s smart idea was it to put myself and Daniel together?”

“This is Formula 1,” Oliver sounded apologetic, he did feel bad about the situation. “The FIA doesn’t care if he’s your ex.”

The FIA didn’t care but the entire world watching did. Speculations on what would happen, where you would sit, what would be asked flooded social media. 

When you showed up on Thursday, Lando patted your back and told you to breathe.

“Easier said than done, Lando. I don’t see you being forced to sit with your ex.”

He chuckled at that because you had a point. “Look, I love Danny, but don’t let him get to you, alright?”

Originally, Lando did try to switch the sessions. He talked to Zak, PR, everyone, just because he knew how much you were dreading it. But alas, it was you who was now standing outside the media room, leaning against the wall as you waited to go in and get these next twenty minutes over and done with.

Your plan was to just say as little as possible to everyone. You were banking on the fact that the attention would be solely on Daniel and his return, and that was made clear when he walked into the hallway, getting warm greetings from other drivers and those standing nearby.

He had absolutely no reason to stand next to you, not when there were about ten other people who would have been dying for a few seconds of his time. 

Daniel cleared his throat, hands behind his back as he leaned against the wall as well. 

You counted six seconds before he opened his mouth, speaking to you for the first time since the awards dinner months ago. 

“Not even a hello?” He asked, but he wasn’t the least bit surprised that you were completely avoiding looking in his direction. You ignored him and Daniel laughed to himself at your lack of response.

The door opened again and you took a breath of relief when you realised you were about to be called into the press conference. Just get it over and done with.

Daniel didn’t have the same priorities and spoke up again, “I just want to know-”

You promptly cut him off, you had to. “Look I think it would be best if we just-” god this hurt, you couldn’t even look him in the eye. “Let’s just not talk, okay?”

You pushed yourself away from the wall when one of the media assistants handed each of you a mic and gave you the thumbs up that it was time for the five of you to head out onto the couch. Daniel quickly followed behind you, voice low enough that you could hear but it was unlikely anyone else could.

“So that’s it? You have nothing to say to me?” He asked. “For the person who got you into Formula 1?”

You as well spoke in a harsh whisper, “You may have fast tracked my career but I could have made it to Formula 1 without your help.”

You liked to believe that was true. Was it? You’d never know now.

“But you did take my help,” he pointed out, a groan slipping past his lips as he sat down on the couch. You made sure to distance yourself from him, leaving room for Carlos to sit between you. Even still, Daniel wasn’t done. “You took my help, my resources and then my seat.”

“And what did you do?” You hissed, arms crossed over your chest as different media personnel started to slowly trickle into the room, the lucky ones who claimed the first row were probably close enough to hear you and Daniel.

“Pardon?” He turned his head towards you. Carlos instinctively leaned further back, not wanting to be in the middle of this conversation, but watching and listening intently, as were the other drivers.

“What did you do, hmm?” You repeated, eyes scanning the growing crowd before you snapped your head in his direction. 

For a moment, this feud didn’t matter. Your heart skipped a beat, like it had the hundreds, thousands, of other times when his eyes met yours. The same brown eyes that for months you allowed yourself to get lost in. One look from him and everything around you faded to black. Nothing else seemed important when Daniel was looking at you, giving you his undivided attention.

But this moment wasn’t like all of those other ones.

You snapped out of it, returning to your original thought, much to Carlos’ dismay as he thought you guys were done and had started to relax in between you. 

“We both replaced a driver before their contract was up, Daniel.” You stated, wanting to point out the hypocrisy in his actions. “You are no better than me. We did the exact same thing.”

“It wasn’t the same and you know it,” Daniel retorted, not skipping a beat. He had those words lined up for weeks now, waiting for the chance to say them because there was no way in hell you weren’t going to point out the similarities in your actions.

But Daniel was right. It wasn’t the same. The biggest difference being, you were in love with Daniel when you signed that contract with McLaren, and he was in love with you. 

It wasn’t just a driver screwing over another driver. You drove a wedge between the two of you.

You had the thought to stand up and walk out. The press conference hadn’t officially started yet, the last few reporters were just finding their seats. You could say you’re ill, something came up, really any excuse to get out of here and away from Daniel’s harsh stare.

Don’t let him get to you. Lando’s reminder floated to the front of your mind and you forced yourself to just sit back and look at the small crowd instead. It was clear to everyone who even glanced your way that you did not want to be sitting there, but thankfully Tom Clarkson got the session up and running.

Of course Daniel was the star. Tom had questions about his return, about his short break, about being back with familiar faces. Daniel answered them all with such ease, the familiar heartwarming grin on his face that you couldn’t bear to look at. 

You zoned out, really, arms crossed in front of your chest as you tried to ignore the double standards coming from your right. You doubted Daniel was going to get as much hate online as you had gotten. No one was asking him how he felt about taking another’s seat, everyone was just happy he was back.

“And Y/N, onto you-”

You snapped your head up, plastering on your best smile.

“Last year you finished quite high in Hungary in Formula 2 and after your best finish out in Silverstone, you must feel quite confident going into this weekend?”

You lifted the mic up to your lips, “Yes and no, you know the car’s upgrades are proving to be paying off and we’re hoping to use them to our advantage this weekend but one can never be too confident. As a team we’ll be fighting to be at the front again but in the back of our minds we know that everyone else is doing the same.”

Tom nodded, content with that answer, “And is it nice to have another familiar face on the grid? Daniel acted as a sort of mentor for you during your time in F2, did he not?”

You tensed up and next to you, Carlos felt it. He nudged his arm against yours, a subtle move of encouragement. Carlos, like most of the drivers, knew how uncomfortable the situation was for all involved.

But you couldn’t process the kind gesture. Not when you could practically feel Daniel staring at you, burning holes into the side of your head as he waited for your response.

“I think, yeah a lot of people are probably happy to welcome him back,” you spoke quietly, and not at all convincing. But hey, at least you removed yourself from the answer and gave a general response. One that no one could flip on you.

Tom tried, though, “But personally, what’s going through your mind right now?”

You had so much media training. You knew the proper answer would be something along the lines of how Daniel is a great asset to the sport and how the grid is better with him. Nothing personal, but just facts the general public could agree with. You knew what to say.

But you scoffed instead, “Why aren’t you asking the other drivers how they feel?”

Max spoke up from the opposite end of the couch, “It’s great having Daniel back.”

You shot him a quick, yet thankful, smile. While he was good friends with Daniel, anyone on that couch could see how that question was only given to you because of your history with the Australian. And this press conference was supposed to be about motorsport, about the racing coming up. 

You stayed quiet for the rest of it and as soon as it ended you bolted out of that room. 

Unfortunately, so did Daniel.

He caught up to you with ease, “Hold up, Y/N, I want to talk.”

Daniel reached for your arm and you pulled it out of his grasp as you turned around to face him, “I don’t think there’s anything left to say. No, you said plenty last year. What was it, exactly? Something about how taking your seat before your contract was even up was the worst thing I could have possibly done? I’m not going to sit there and listen to everyone praise you for coming back when you dragged my name through the dirt for the exact same fucking move. I’m not going to listen to a single thing you have to say, knowing you’re the biggest hypocrite this sport has ever seen but won’t admit it.”

Daniel huffed out a short breath. For a second, you thought he was going to apologise, but that thought quickly left when his forehead creased, his jaw tightening, “Sometimes you gotta burn a few bridges in this industry, but you figured that out all on your own, didn’t you?”

You shook your head, taking a few more steps backwards as heavy sarcasm dripped from your tongue, “Nice to have you back, Daniel.”

It really was anything but nice. Not when that entire race was focused on how you and Daniel interacted in the paddock- or the lack of interaction was probably a better way to phrase it. Everyone knew you two to be connected at the hip. Now you were turning around and walking in the opposite direction to avoid him.

The next race was worse. Spa. It was a challenging track already, you knew this going into the practice sessions. You were prepared for a difficult weekend.

What you weren’t prepared for was leaving the garage towards the end of Q1 to set a lap time, only to be blocked by Daniel before you could cross the finish line. He slowed down before the straight, like many drivers did before giving it all they had on their way to start a flying lap. 

But Daniel didn’t speed up like you expected him to. He kept you behind him for as long as he could before shifting gears and taking off. When it was your turn to cross the line and get your time started, you heard the call come in from the garage. 

“Times up,” your engineer, Ronnie, said through the radio. “You didn’t cross the line in time.”

Once that timer hit 0, no one was allowed to start a new lap. Every other driver made it across in time, but Daniel’s little move kept you from throwing your hat into the ring for Q2. 

You embarrassingly made your way back around the track, pulling into the pit lane to park in the garage. It wasn’t long before other drivers followed, but they had all set lap times. Climbing out of the car, you noticed that Daniel didn’t make it through either.

Serves him right, you thought. 

God, you wanted to give him a piece of your mind. 

Right on time, you watched on the screen as Daniel dove into the pit lane. You ignored the calls from Ronnie and Oliver, not a single thought in your mind except to ask Daniel what his problem was.

Oliver knew what you were doing as soon as you stepped out of the garage. You ripped your helmet off and shoved it into his hands as he hurried to walk at your pace. Your eyes were set on the AlphaTauri garage just up ahead and you could hear Oliver warning you, telling you to just turn around and go back to McLaren but the second you saw Daniel get out of his car, you snapped.

“What the hell was that?” You asked, eyeing him up from where he stood at the garage opening. 

Daniel wasn’t the least bit surprised to see you, but he did stand up straighter, already anticipating whatever you had to say to him. 

“You’re a prick, you know that?” Your insult did little to offend him. 

“It's not my fault you left the garage late,” Daniel shrugged, taking no responsibility for your inability to set a lap time. 

“It’s completely your fault for slowing down more than necessary.”

“I didn’t want to run into traffic.”

“You fucked up my qualifying, Daniel.”

You felt Oliver’s hand on your shoulder. He wasn’t trying to pull you away, but the touch was to get your attention. Aside from AlphaTauri crew members watching this interaction, there was also a camera pointed directly at the two of you, streaming live to F1TV and whatever else broadcast that chose to air it. 

Daniel wasn’t as concerned about his media appearance, stepping forward the slightest bit so you were only inches apart. 

“If I were you, sweets, I wouldn’t be blaming your problems on the person who got you into this sport.”

You were so close to losing it on him for that comment. You probably would have, had he not thrown in his old nickname for you. Only it wasn’t sweet anymore. There was a distaste on his tongue as he said it, you heard it. He only said it to throw you off, to remind you that he no longer cared for you the way he used to. He was using it against you now.

Daniel saw the way you froze, completely losing your train of thought and he used it to his advantage to walk away from this conversation. He was happy to get the last word in and all you could do was drop your head and walk as close to Oliver as humanly possible as you made your way back to McLaren.

The altercation was heavily split down the middle by all who watched. Some people agreed that Daniel slowed down purposely to keep you from crossing the line in time to start a lap. They also agreed that he should have owned up and apologised for it, saying that it wasn’t in his character to leave another driver so defeated after something that was clearly his fault.

Other people agreed that it was your fault for leaving the garage too late, taking Daniel’s side. They said that it wasn’t very mature of you to confront him like that, or to swear at him. It only added to the conversation of how women weren’t ready to have a place in Formula 1. 

Your PR manager advised you to put out a statement about it, an apology. You ignored her advice. In your opinion, the only person who had to apologise was Daniel.

Of course he didn’t, though. 

Which meant you didn’t apologise when after the summer, In Zandvoort, you braked a little early when Daniel was behind you. You played it off saying you anticipated the turn too early. Daniel happily complained about you in the media pen when he was forced into the grass and then ultimately the barrier, forcing his race to end early. Social media blew up, like usual, feeding into this childish feud. 

That’s how it went for most all, of the races. It wasn’t as though you were purposely trying to ruin his weekends, nor was it his goal to ruin yours, but if you happened to be alongside each other during the race or near each other during qualifying, fans started to put their money on who would target who first.

You didn’t like that that was what your weekends turned into. It was one thing to want to know where the rest of the drivers were in comparison to you, but to be so focused on Daniel was taking it to the extreme.

But you were determined to prove you were a good driver without him, that you were a better driver than him. That taking that McLaren seat wasn’t a mistake and if anything, he should be regretting being so harsh on you. You wanted him to eat his words, and it helped your case that he was definitely struggling in the AlphaTauri. 

You finished ahead of him a handful of times. You could try and convince yourself it was skill, but a determining factor really was how horrible Daniel’s car was. That was proven when you were struggling with an upgrade package in Singapore. Some analysts compared the pace of the McLaren to the AlphaTauri, and said that the upgrades were really more like downgrades. 

When Daniel finished ahead of you, claiming sixth that race while you crossed the line in 17th, you were furious. You told the team that as a whole, you were much better than that. That the McLarens should not be finishing in the bottom five considering how successful you had been mid season. 

Those closest to you knew what you meant. You shouldn’t be finishing behind Daniel. 

Things weren’t perfect after that, despite going back to the old set up. You were back to fighting for points, but so was Daniel. And you hated it. You thought you could rely on the McLaren being better than the AlphaTauri, but you forgot to take into account that Daniel truly was one of the best drivers on the grid.

It got to the point where you and Ronnie had a code. If you finished ahead of him, on the radio, Ronnie would say way to go champ. If Daniel finished ahead of you and you weren’t already aware of it during the race, Ronnie would say there’s still work to be done. 

Again, those closest to you knew how much it meant to beat Daniel. 

You wanted to prove to him, and everyone but you wouldn’t lie to yourself it was mostly him, that you deserved that fucking seat. That you made the right choice by signing the contract, despite it meaning he was without a car for a few months. You shouldn’t have felt guilty for putting yourself first, your career first, if you were doing something great, which you were. 

Plus, the better you did, the less of a reason Daniel had to judge you. How could he still be upset with you for taking that McLaren seat when you were doing what he couldn’t? Scoring in the high points, being consistent, for the most part. How could he say that taking his seat was the worst thing you could have done when ultimately, it would boil down to jealousy? Daniel struggled in that McLaren, and he assumed you would too. That wasn’t the case. 

And deep down, even if you didn’t want to admit it, there was still a part of you that aimed to make Daniel proud. Even if you couldn’t get back to when you were each other's biggest fans, you hoped that he had moments when he looked at the driver standings and nodded to himself, smiling maybe, because even if you weren't on the best of terms, you were doing what he always knew you could do. 

You had no idea, but moments like that did come for Daniel. They were far and few between, rarely caught on camera or at least, never brought to your attention. You had no way of knowing Daniel was leaving the AlphaTauri garage, conflicted about how he felt about your accomplishments. You were doing better than him, there was no denying that. He just chose not to admit it.

The only time that season where you knew he was proud was at COTA. One of his favourite races on the calendar.

You qualified well, P3. That hadn’t happened since Silverstone. The race itself didn’t produce anything too horrible, aside from a few drivers at the back of the grid collided early on and unfortunately Daniel was one of them, being forced to retire. 

You, though, you were flying. Your biggest competition was Lando who had started P2, again, similar to Silverstone. For most of the race, your job was to defend Carlos who was aiming for that podium, wanting to take P3 from you. 

Typically, you would have boxed first. That’s usually what happened to give Lando the advantage. And with Carlos most likely being on an undercut strategy, you expected the call to come in to box ahead of him. 

But that didn’t happen. Instead, you watched Lando pull into the pit lane, giving you the automatic second place position. In your mirrors, you watched as Carlos pulled into the pits as well.

“What’s going on?” You asked Ronnie through the headset. 

“Plan F.”

Plan F was one you joked about, but never actually executed. Plan Fight you and Lando called it, but both of you knew that you’d never actually be given the go ahead to fight it out for the podium positions, not wanting to risk damage to the cars.

“Plan F?” You repeated, the shock in your voice evident. That made for good content on F1 Twitter.

“Box this lap,” Ronnie instructed before going on to explain. “Carlos is struggling with his pace, we believe his main goal will be to defend.”

From what you knew, Lewis was behind him, and if Carlos was struggling with his pace he wouldn’t be fighting for a podium, he’d be fighting to keep that fourth place position. 

Which meant you and Lando were also free to fight. 

Pitting for new tyres dropped you back a bit, but it didn’t take long at all until you were right on Lando’s tail again. You stayed there for the majority of the last half of the race, the gap wavering anywhere between half of a second to three seconds behind. 

You tried to pass, truly. But Lando’s defensive game had always been strong. You looked for the opportunities in the corners, along the straights, but it wasn’t until the third to last lap did the chance come. 

You had closed the gap as much as you could, not needing to worry about whoever was behind you, you figured it was still Carlos. As you approached the back straight, you knew Lando was expecting you to dart to the left in an attempt for an overtake on the inside, you had tried it in five out of the last ten laps and each time you were still left eating his dust. 

You veered slightly to the left, giving Lando the impression that was your goal and the second he made the move to defend, you steered the car to the right and gave it everything you had. It was a tricky move, vying for the outside overtake going into the tight corner, but when it seemed to work out, you had the inside line for the following turn and Lando was soon in your mirrors. 

He tried to take that position back, but you took advantage of the clear air and set off, determined for your first podium, determined to finish ahead of Lando.

Lando ended up claiming third, crossing the finish line only a second after you did. After a victory lap, where he jokingly flipped you off, the two of you pulled into parc ferme. Immediately, you collapsed into Lando, arms tight around him because not only was this a success for you, but for the team. Both McLaren drivers on the podium for the first time this season.

Through the cheers, you could hear Lando yell something about making history. Whether that was in regards to both of you or the fact that you were the first female to ever podium in F1, you weren’t sure. It didn’t matter anyway. You just knew you were proud.

You jumped into the arms of your team next, those standing behind the barrier. Adrenaline was pumping through you, you just wanted to celebrate with everyone. When you eventually took your helmet off, a few tears were streaming down your face and you didn’t even think about the risk of turning into the new George Russell crying meme. 

You were shaking as you stood in the cool down room, too amped up to sit. Max had been through this dozens of times before. Nor was this Lando’s first podium either, but you were on top of the world.

The ceremony went by in a blur. As did the post race conference. You really did try to take in each second of it, thankful that Lando was there at your side the entire time. This entire process was new to you and if Lando wasn’t in your ear telling you to breathe, where to go, to enjoy the moment, you would have been a mess.

There was so much that happened following that race, there was no way you could have known what was going on with any of the other drivers. It wasn’t until you got back to your hotel room at the end of the day with instructions to ‘get changed because we’re going out’ from Lando, did you see what you had missed.

It felt like hours since you even looked at your phone. You had called your parents, but you didn’t have much time for anything else. Now that you were sat on the edge of your bed, you were able to scroll through your texts and notifications. 

You were able to see the clip you were tagged in way too many times, on way too many platforms.

It was short, but any longer and you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. You clicked play and watched the video of you crossing the finish line. Lando was following behind, but whatever broadcast this was from didn’t care about his finish. The shot switched to Daniel, from where he stood in the AlphaTauri garage.

Whoever was filming caught his live reaction of you coming second at COTA.

The nod, the faint curl of the corner of his lips because as much as he tried, he couldn’t fight the smile on his face as he watched you take your first podium position in F1, something that he once dreamed for you.

But you not being part of his dreams anymore didn’t mean that he stopped wishing you accomplished yours. 

This brought you back to the first video you watched of him a few years back, before you even met him, where he spoke so highly of you. He wanted you to succeed so badly back then and he wanted to be at your side while you did so.

Now here you were, succeeding, but where was Daniel?

Maybe that’s where some of his hostility lied. You didn’t need him, clearly. Or at least, that’s what he thought. 

The reality was, you wanted to prove you could do this without him, but you wished you didn’t have to. 

You were conflicted, you both were. And it didn’t help that you weren’t speaking civilly to each other because my god a simple conversation would probably do wonders for both of you. 

That was Lando’s thought, as he sat down next to you in the booth and handed you the glass of coke, no rum much to his dismay. You didn’t drink during the season, even if you had something to celebrate, Lando knew this. Champagne on the podium was the only exception.

Tonight, though, as you sat in your thoughts and replayed the image in your mind of Daniel smiling up at the screen, you figured that another exception wouldn’t hurt. 

You turned down the coke and grabbed his drink instead, downing it in one gulp and instantly regretting it because you were fairly certain it was tequila based and tequila just wasn’t something you ever enjoyed. Lando laughed and handed you the coke to chase it down with. 

“You’re letting loose tonight?” He asked, sitting down beside you. His arm stretched across the bench behind your shoulders. He didn’t even try stifling his chuckle as you struggled with the bitter taste left in your mouth.

“I need to,” you answered. 

“You deserve to,” he corrected. Lando reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet and then a sleek black card. He didn’t say anything to you, nor to the server who came by and knew that by him dropping the card on the table meant he was asking for bottle service. 

It wasn’t long before you had a row of shots to split between the two of you and a few others who had crowded the booth, some you knew, some you didn’t. Not that it mattered, you just wanted to drink, you didn’t care who you were with.

Lando being there was a godsend, though. He knew that you were a lightweight and told you that the glass in your hand was a vodka soda when in reality he asked the server for you to just be given water after a few hours of the most carefree drinking he had ever witnessed from you. 

The music was blaring, you had gotten up to dance at one point, but you kept finding your way back to the booth. Clubbing wasn’t your thing and Lando, whether he liked it or not, was an anchor for you tonight. He kept you safe, kept you from drowning in the sea of people and alcohol. 

He could do a lot that night, but he couldn’t prevent the inevitable storm that was Daniel Ricciardo making an appearance at that Austin night club.

Lando saw him first and turned to you with the intention of suggesting that you both called it a night. But no words came out when he saw the painful look of desire and despair mashed together on your features as you spotted the Australian driver. 

You didn’t drink often, but if you did, you would know that feelings are often elevated under the influence. You’d also know that alcohol lowers inhibition, giving you a false sense of security to say what was really on your mind.

“I don’t get it,” you spoke quietly and Lando leaned in closer to hear you over the music blasting from all corners. 

“Get what?”

You pulled your gaze off of Daniel before you could accidentally make eye contact and looked at your teammate instead. He seemed concerned for you, he always did when Daniel was involved. 

Lando always did what he could to get your mind off Daniel and the past. He was a good friend, a good person to have in your corner but he wasn’t who you wanted there at the end of the day. You had grown to love Lando, not in the way you loved Daniel, though, so you couldn’t deny that you wished it was the Aussie sitting next to you in the booth, celebrating your podium. You hated that you wanted that.

“Do you miss him, still?” Lando prompted, knowing you had lost your train of thought. 

When you shook your head, Lando gave you a look that clearly showed he didn’t believe you, but it was true. You didn’t miss Daniel. What you felt was much worse.

“I don’t miss him,” you answered, glancing towards him again. He stood at the bar talking to a girl that you envied because at least she was talking to him. “But I think he’s my missing piece.”

You hadn’t felt whole since the day you and Daniel split. You walked out of his flat but you left a piece of you there, a piece you desperately tried to get back through race weekends and training and distractions but it was no use. It would always belong to Daniel and you feared he had no intention of giving it back. You feared, that no matter how much time had passed, you’d always feel a little incomplete. 

You stood up to leave soon after, thanking Lando for the drinks and assuring him you’d send a text when you got back to the hotel. 

Lando tried to follow you to the door, wanting to tell you that he would go with you, the concerned friend making another appearance, but before he could get a word out he watched as someone cut him off, also making a direct line towards the door of the club.

It took Lando a second to realise it was Daniel who was walking after you now. Lando just stood there and raised his hand to the back of his neck, asking himself if he had just made a mistake by not stopping Daniel.

When Lando asked the next morning if Daniel spoke to you, you gave him a questionable look, telling him that you didn’t talk to him at all. Lando explained that he had seen Daniel leave the club right after you, but you just shrugged, chalking it up to getting into the uber before Daniel had the chance to catch up to you.

But Lando saw the photos. He, like everyone else, saw images of Daniel climbing into the car right after you. He wasn't the least bit surprised you lied about it. 

You didn't want to tell Lando that Daniel had grabbed the side of the car door before you could shut it, pulling it back just enough for him to slide into the backseat next to you. You shuffled over to make room, but you couldn’t get a single word out. All liquid courage vanished and instead your palms were clammy, the car felt stuffy and you couldn’t even look at him.

Daniel as well, didn’t say anything. His legs were spread out slightly, knee hitting yours as his hands were folded together in his lap. 

Why did he follow you?

This was the first time in ages you had been alone together, minus the driver. 

The hotel was a short drive away, but it felt like ages, the two of you sitting in uncomfortable silence. You weren’t bickering like you often did if you were in the same room, but at this point you’d rather that than whatever this eeriness was. 

You thought maybe, maybe, this was your saving grace. Maybe Daniel had followed you out of the club to tell you he was proud of you, to tell you he still loved you, to tell you he was tired of this feud and wanted you back.

But the longer you sat in silence, the more it sank in that that wasn’t the case. 

You used to love each other. Now you couldn’t even hold eye contact.

Daniel waited until the driver pulled onto the street of your hotel before saying anything. 

“Checo’s gone after this year.”

You turned to him, unsure if you had heard correctly. “What?”

“He’s gone,” Daniel repeated, more confident this time, still not looking at you though. “Marko told me on Friday.”

You had way too much alcohol flowing through your system to be able to process this. Checo’s contract wasn’t supposed to be up until the end of 2024. 

But Nyck’s wasn’t supposed to be up in June and Daniel’s wasn’t supposed to be done at McLaren in 2022. These things happened in Formula 1, as unfortunate as it was for the driver getting the boot, these things often happened. 

And Daniel…why did he know this information? Why didn’t the rest of the grid know it? Did Checo even know?

You inhaled sharply, “Does this mean-”

“The news is dropping tomorrow morning, but I wanted you to know first,” Daniel cut you off, his forehead creased with tension. His jaw was clenched, like he wasn’t happy to be saying this but felt the need to anyway. “I’m driving for Red Bull next year.”

The first thought that came to mind was he’s done it again. Taking another driver's seat before their contact ended. 2-1 now. He was officially a shittier person than you were and you so badly wanted to rub it in his face. 

But you could see now that that was why he told you personally. He didn’t want to wait until you heard the news like everyone else, he didn’t want to give you an opportunity to attack him for this, to make him feel like the bad guy even though that’s how he made you feel this entire season so far.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t all that difficult to bite your tongue. 

“Congratulations,” you settled on, quietly but you meant it and you caught him off guard because he truly was expecting some sort of lashing out. 

The driver pulled up to the hotel right at that second and you thanked him before stepping out, not giving Daniel a second look, again catching him off guard because you always looked back at him when you were together. 

Daniel waited a second. And then a few more before he bolted out of the car and into the hotel. You had made it to the elevator by that point and Daniel had to slide his hand between the doors to keep them from shutting. You watched as he pushed his way in and just like the car ride, said nothing.

You were on your way up to the twelve floor and Daniel waited until you arrived at the level before opening his mouth, waiting till the last second, wanting to cling onto this civil moment with you because who knew when it would come again?

“You’re not mad?” He asked.

The door opened and you had to brace yourself before standing up straight and walking out of the elevator, needing a moment to remember what side of the hall your room was on.

“I’m livid,” you answered, honestly. You were happy for him, but you were also angry about the situation. You didn’t know it was possible to feel both things at once, but in your drunk state, it was extremely possible. 

“Livid?” Daniel walked behind you, trying to gauge the rest of this conversation because you didn’t sound livid. 

“Enraged,” you said.

“Enraged,” he repeated.

“I want to wring your neck, Daniel,” you said, hearing him chuckle behind you because you didn’t sound the least bit threatening as you fumbled to unlock the hotel room door. The lock kept lighting up red and after your third failed attempt, Daniel took the card from your hand and unlocked it with ease, pushing the door open for you. 

You didn’t thank him, instead relying on the wall once you stepped inside to lean against as you pulled your heels off. Daniel followed you inside, standing at a cautious distance until you dropped your shoes because part of him thought that maybe you would throw them at him. You were enraged after all.

You weren’t sure why he was still there. He had told you what he wanted to tell you and he had no reason to still be hanging around. 

“What?” You finally asked, now sounding a little more on the annoyed side as you turned to stare at him. “What do you want? Why are you still here?”

“I want to talk.”

“About what?” You scoffed at him. “About the Red Bull contract? Congratulations, Danny. You deserve it. You deserve every fucking seat on this grid apparently.”

There it was.

“I knew you were mad.”

“I said I was mad!” You exclaimed, appalled that he was saying it like he discovered what you had already made perfectly clear. “I’m pissed, Dan. You have such a cult following that no one is going to bat an eye at you taking Checo’s seat, just like no one complained about you taking Nyck’s. Whereas I do it, I get offered the chance of a lifetime, to make history and I’m considered the villain? I didn’t end your contract, Daniel, I just replaced you and for some reason, no one cares about that narrative! They just care about you.”

You were yelling now. Daniel was probably regretting having followed you but it was too late for him to turn and walk out at this point.

“You know what the shitty part is?” You asked, stepping closer to him. Daniel could smell the vodka on your breath. That's how minimal the distance was between you. The last time you were this close you were wanting to rip his head off outside the AlphaTauri garage. 

“What?” He raised his eyebrows. Daniel couldn’t even begin to guess where you were going with this.

“This news is going to drop and my name is going to be circulating in the media again. They’re going to compare this, you taking his seat, to me taking yours. I will never be known as the first female signed to McLaren. I will forever be linked to you, no matter what you do in this fucking sport.”

You shook your head at him when he stayed silent. Pulling your eyes off of him, the heaviest exhale passed through your lips and you turned around, wanting this night to end. After you waved your hand in the air you muttered something about how he could see himself out.

But he didn’t go anywhere. 

And because he didn’t go anywhere and because you were drunk, you easily thought of more to say.

“You didn’t even like McLaren,” you sighed as you turned back around to face him, leaning against the wall. Your head was spinning. Maybe if you were lucky, this conversation wasn’t actually happening and it was a drunk figment of your imagination.

“No, but I loved you.” 

You definitely didn’t imagine him saying that.

“I loved you,” he repeated, the past-tense admittance felt like a stab to your chest. “And I wanted nothing more than to race alongside you without feeling the need to prove something, to be your partner off the grid. I wanted to love you and race at the same time and you ruined that.”

All you could do was shrug your shoulders. You had said everything you needed to say at this point in defence of your contract, “I’m a driver, Dan. The race, the seat, it comes first, everything else second. You of all people know that.”

“We could have had both.”

Both. Love and a spot in Formula 1. 

Clearly not.

“Could we have?” You asked, unsure if you even had an answer, but you needed him to really think about it. To think about it if that really was a possibility for the two of you. 

Daniel and you held each other's stares for a minute, waiting for the other to say something. You were still waiting, hoping, for him to say he was proud of you, that he still loved you, that it didn’t matter what happened in the past, but it did matter. Daniel was still waiting for a sincere apology, but you had nothing to apologise for. Signing that McLaren contract was the best thing you’d ever done for yourself, despite the strings to Daniel you had now found yourself tangled in, McLaren was where you were supposed to be.

“I’m tired, Dan,” you shook your head and glanced towards your room down the hall. Physically, mentally, you were drained. And you weren’t ready for what was to happen tomorrow when his contract news came to light.

It didn’t even feel like you had gotten a podium a few hours ago. The last thing you wanted to do was celebrate. You just wanted to crawl into bed and forget that Daniel had followed you here.

He didn’t stop you as you walked down the hall. He waited for you to look at him, but again, you were past that. What was a second look going to do at this point? You wiped your makeup off as best as you could and slid under the covers of your bed, quickly falling into a dreamless sleep.

And sure enough, the news dropped of his contract, of his new seat, and it wasn’t long before people started comparing it to what you had done the year prior. 

The first thing you saw when you woke up that morning, aside from the glass of water that Daniel had put next to your bed, was the news alert on your phone stating that Daniel was to replace Checo for 2024. 

The second article you read was about you. Speculating how you would feel about Daniel’s permanent return. The article highlighted the moments of your relationship, starting from the day he signed on to be your mentor to the time in the AlphaTauri garage when you were fighting over the qualifying lap he ruined.

And then there was a photo of you climbing into the car from last night, followed by Daniel getting into the car shortly after.

His name was trending. Your name was trending. Half the people online cared about his return to RBR. The other half wanted to know if you two were getting back together.

No one gave a single shit that you made history yesterday, landing that podium. 

You were the first female to score a podium position in Formula 1 and all anyone cared about was your connection to Daniel. Just like when you won the Monaco Grand Prix during F2, all anyone cared about was Daniel’s influence in your racing. When you were signed to McLaren, all anyone cared about was how you were replacing Daniel.

Daniel. Daniel. Daniel.

People didn’t care about your accomplishments. They only wanted to find a way to connect them all to Daniel.

You scrolled through the article and a new one was suggested for you at the bottom of it. Why Y/N Y/L/N Owes Her Career to The Honey Badger.

Instead of reading it, you threw your phone with as much strength as you had down the hall, out of your sight. You heard it hit the floor and slide across the hardwood. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you read something positive about yourself without a hint of Daniel’s influence. 

This wouldn’t have been as hard of a pill to swallow if he was still in your life the way you wanted him to be. If he really was still at your side, supporting you, cheering you on, you could look past the articles and speculations about how he was the only reason you were in the sport. It wouldn’t matter what people were saying if Daniel was in your ear reminding you of your potential, reminding you that you deserved that F1 seat.

But he wasn’t going to do that, not anymore. What you had was gone and you were left with the bitter memories and an unforgiving path you had to walk alone to prove yourself in this field.

You wanted to prove you didn’t need Daniel, but the entire world was making it their mission to remind you that at one point, you did. Maybe you still did, maybe you didn’t know who you were without him because let’s face it, everything you did on the track still revolved around him.

You cared about where he finished. You went out of your way to outscore him and only him. You didn’t do anything to relieve the tension in the paddock. You were very much playing into the narrative that he was still a key player in your life.

How could the world move on if you hadn’t?

Hearing footsteps make their way towards you, you sat up in bed, already knowing it was Daniel who didn’t leave when he should have.

You weren’t concerned about your appearance, he had seen you in a much worse state. He had better mornings as well, still wearing his clothes from last night, the bags under his eyes gave away the fact that he was about as tired as you were.

He had your phone in his hands, but he didn’t spend much time looking at the article on the screen. Instead, he dropped it to the table next to him and leaned against the doorframe, exhaling a heavy breath.

You didn’t move, content with the distance between you now because you had to be. Despite wanting nothing more than to be with him, you couldn’t have that anymore. Everything had to be at a distance.

Your phone chimed. Once, twice, and then about four more times. You knew it was people telling you about Daniel’s contract, not knowing that you had been given the inside scoop last night. 

At one point, you loved being connected to Daniel. Now, it was a burden. It was haunting. Each time someone mentioned him to you, sent you something about him, asked you a question about him, you were reminded that the connection was gone. 

Your lips parted and you had to take a quick, self-assuring breath before finally saying what had to be said.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?” 

Your entire body trembled as you spoke, “You know what, Daniel.” 

Of course he did. He was as tired as you were. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this and yet here you were, staring at each other knowing that you were both too far gone to ever find your way back. 

You thought, maybe, possibly, you could work things out. For a brief moment, when you knew he was proud of you, you thought you saw a silver lining amongst the grey skies. And maybe you did, maybe it was there, but it was way beyond your grasp. You couldn’t reach out and grab it, you could only dream of it.

There was one solution. One that broke you, knowing you were stuck with it. You didn’t want to admit it. You wished you could push it down and keep living the way you had but you just couldn’t do it anymore. 

You were tired. This was hopeless. You both needed closure, but he wasn’t going to say anything which meant you had to.

“I’m stuck, Daniel. I’m stuck living in the moments between the day we met and the day I left because those are the moments that meant the most to me and I haven't been ready to let them go. I’ve never wanted to move on but you forced me to. You forced me to become the bad guy, to do this without you, to grow without you, to prove that I don’t need you but I do need you, I’ve always needed you. From day one, I needed you. My first time in the F1 car, I needed you. If I crashed out, I needed you. I always needed you, Daniel, and then after a five minute conversation you decided that I didn’t anymore. You made that decision for me, for us.”

You paused, you took a breath, you weren’t done. Despite being so painfully close to breaking down, you weren’t done.

“And now here I am, finally succeeding, finally making history in this sport, but it doesn’t mean anything because no one cares unless they find a way to connect it to you. I will always be in the shadow of the man I love and for this entire season, I’ve let it happen because it was the only way you’d still be in my life.”

Daniel cleared his throat when he heard that four letter word, standing up a little straighter, “You still love me?”

You glanced down at the duvet wrapped around your hips. It was heavy, suffocating, much like this conversation. “Truthfully, Daniel, I can’t imagine the day I stop.”

Daniel didn’t need to say anything for you to know he no longer felt the same. He had stopped loving you the day you signed the contract with McLaren. He may have been proud of your achievements, he may have appeared to have extended a short olive branch, one that gave you false hope, but he didn’t love you. 

Because it always came back to that one question. How could he love you- how could he be in your corner when you had pushed him out of his own? You may not have been the one to initiate his leave, but you gave him that final shove. 

That was a move you had to live with. 

“I love you,” you repeated, your eyes then trailing towards your phone where that stupid article was still displayed on the screen. “I always will, but I can’t be tied to you anymore. I can’t do this anymore.”

Even though Daniel was the one that had broken up with you all those months ago, this hurt more. Hearing you finally cut ties, knowing you didn’t want to be done but had to be, broke him. There was no salvaging this. 

“I think-” your voice cracked as you spoke, but for the sake of this conversation you did your damn best to hold it together. “I think we need to be done.”

We are done, Daniel wanted to say, but he knew there was more to your words.

Watching your bottom lip quiver made him want to pull you into his arms one last time. He wanted to apologise and hold you close before the tears could fall. 

“No more comments to the media,” you stated firmly. Daniel nodded. 

You were stronger than him, maybe you always were. Daniel could barely get a word out and here you were, laying down what had to happen moving forward.

“No more interactions,” you then said, raising your hand to your arm, a soothing gesture or maybe an anxious one, he couldn’t tell. “No more- no more following me out of clubs for people to see. No more giving anyone a reason to connect us. I don’t want you in my life as anything more than another driver on the grid. You’re not my teammate. You’re not my partner. You’re not in my corner. I don’t want to worry about what you think about me anymore. I don’t want to worry about where you finish and I don’t want you to care about where I’m at. I want you to focus on driving just like I want to focus on driving. That’s it. That’s who we are. We’re drivers, Daniel. That’s all we’ve ever been. Strip back every layer of us and racing remains. That’s how it should be. We’ve-” you sucked in a breath, your words getting caught in your throat for a second. “We’ve always known that, I think. That at the end of it all, we’re drivers first. We were foolish to think we could be anything more.”

You couldn’t have both. You couldn’t be in love while on the grid together.

You were only ever drivers. That’s why you signed the McLaren contract. That’s why Daniel didn’t think twice before replacing Nyck and now Checo. You both put your careers first. It wasn’t selfish, it was in your blood, and you couldn’t hold it against each other anymore. 

And you couldn’t hold onto it either.

As much as you liked to think there would come a day where you would still be in love, both of you on the grid, you accepted now that it would never happen. It was a dream, one you had to let go of. You had to mend the hole in your chest that he created. You couldn’t let him be that missing piece.

You had to respect Daniel as a driver, much like he had to with you. But that was it. No more conversations. No more subtle comments made about each other or to each other. You needed distance. No more missed looks in the paddock, because surely someone with a camera would catch it. No more watching the screen if the other was showcased. No more petty feuds. No more interactions. No more caring.

You had to cut ties with Daniel. It was the only way you could focus on yourself and your career.

Surely, enough time would pass where an article would be written about you that didn’t mention his name and his assistance in getting you to where you were now. But that wouldn’t happen if you were still holding onto him. You had to let go for the rest of the world to.

Daniel pushed himself away from the wall without saying a word. You watched, tense, as he slowly made his way towards you and sat down next to you on the bed. Knees touching like they were in the car ride last night. As you turned your head and stared up at him, you could make out the details in his face that you used to cherish, that you had memorised so early on in your relationship. 

But he had changed. There was a sliver of unfamiliarity in his eyes, a reminder that this wasn’t the Daniel who was in love with you anymore.

You had to look away.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” you whispered. You kept your hands folded in your lap, worried that if you unclenched your fingers you would reach out for him. 

Daniel nodded, agreeing with you. He raised his arm up, tucking it over your shoulders and pulling you against his side. You inhaled a sharp breath at the gesture, knowing this would be the last time you’d feel his touch. He rubbed his hand over your arm, neither of you thinking to say anything else, because there really was nothing left to say.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You were supposed to be in love. 

And maybe, in another world, you would be. If you didn’t make the move to F1, you could still be in love. If you settled with F2, if you moved to a different series, he could still support you and you could still be his biggest fan. 

But you were drivers. Career focused, determined, passionate drivers who wanted nothing more than to win. You both craved the honour and prestige of a Formula 1 seat more than anything, more than each other. You’d be lying if you thought otherwise.

You were drivers, so inevitably, it was always going to end like this.

__________________

is this the finale or is there one more chapter for these loveless drivers?

taglist: @torossosebs@whatthefuckerr@jspitwall@oconso@tsarinablogs@landowecanbewc@somanyfandomsbruh@christianpulisic10@storminacloud@sunnytkm23@formula1mount@azxulaa@icarus-nex@spideyspeaches @moonvr @destourtereaux @baw-sixteen @cinderellawithashoe @love4lando @alesainz @blueanfield @itsmeempar @vellicora

for some reason im struggling to add anyone else to the taglist, i deeply apologise. i would recommend turning on post notifs but i know its sometimes annoying, but i rly am struggling with my mentions

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Hcs for the boys' toxic traits. Preferably arthur, javier, john, and charles, but other boys are welcome too! I'm curious to see what you'd say Dutch's toxic traist are, though they're pretty self explanatory 😭

I just love how you write sm sorreyyyy

Van Der Linde Gang's Toxic traits

(Arthur Morgan, Javier Escuella, John Marston, Charles Smith, Micah Bell, Dutch Van Der Linde, Sean Macguire, Kieran Duffy, Eagle Flies)

HAHAHA THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE. I tried not to sugarcoat anything.

Arthur Morgan - He definitely has some trouble communicating. Not to say he never will communicate with you but it'll be long in between and after it's been plaguing him for a milenium. As we've seen, this man is capable of having deep, well thought out conversations. He'd also be pretty prideful to some degree. Mostly depends what point in time you start dating, later in game he'd be able to see past his pride. Also, I feel like if you were dating a major point of contention in your relationship would be questioning whether it's time to move on from this life.

Javier Escuella - WAY too jealous. I don't even mean it in a cute way but in a way that would genuinely cause several arguments between you two. "Why were you looking at him that way?" "That sounded like you were flirting with him" "Why do you spend so much time around the other guys?" Would also be around you 24/7. Someone would be incapable of having a conversation with you that doesn't include Javier. You two would also argue about Dutch's leadership skills.

John Marston - Oh my God this man is so indecisive. Doesn't know what he wants ever. In a modern setting you two would be sitting in the car, asking each other back and forth "what do you wanna eat?". And his commitment issues? Good lord. At some points in your relationship it'd probably feel like you guys aren't dating at all. You'd probably have to beg him to put some effort into the relationship to be honest.

Charles Smith - It's so hard to think of ANYTHING this man can do wrong but alas, I must. You probably wouldn't be his top priority at all times. Which isn't to say you should ALWAYS be at the top of his list, but sometimes it can result in your feelings being neglected over a situation that affects you. Only when the day reaches it's end will he consult you over something, which will have you feeling incredibly frustrated.

Micah Bell - This man is a walking red flag so let's not dance around his flaws. Incredibly prideful, will ignore your warnings over something just to get his way. Also probably lies to you A LOT. Can be way too rough with you in many aspects. Also this man embodies the word sleezy. Yuck.

Dutch Van Der Linde - Do I even need to say. So fucking stubborn. He also probably thinks he's intelectually superior to you. If you bring up a concern to him he'll probably use as many flowery and big words as possible to make himself appear smarter during the discussion than he actually is. And if you advise him to do anything he'll probably just ignore you, saying you don't know what you're talking about. All in all, thinks he's better than you. Also you're probably a trophy wife since Dutch views women as accessories to his success, if you can even call it success.

Sean Macguire - He doesn't take anything seriously. If you're trying to have a genuine discussion with him he'll play it down and make it seem less important or severe than it actually is. Don't even bother trying to emphasize how serious you are because he won't take that seriously either. It's only until he feels the consequences of his actions will he listen to you, which results in a frustrating cycle.

Kieran Duffy - Also very indecisive but in the way where he can't speak up for himself because he doesn't think it's important. Has such low self esteem, he also probably thinks his emotions are less important which results in a lot of miscommunication on his behalf. Sorta just let's you take the lead all the way, always let's you have your way, with no valuable input of his own. You have to shake his shoulders and beg for him to actually speak his mind.

Eagle Flies - He's probably so childish. Like, mommy issues CEO over here. Will probably seek for you to fulfill that role in his life. Has almost no control over his emotions and has trouble identifying them, and when he does indentify them, has absolutely no idea what to do with them in terms of expression. He will make various efforts to communicate with you but will struggle immensely. Being with him will probably be like teaching a man how to experience emotions in a healthy way. I could write an entire post dedicated to what I think his toxic traits are

More eagle flies ones

[changbinsboobs]

Who is more into commoners vs idols/celebs?

Skz limiting beliefs

Can you do these in between husband series?

Ugh those guys just can't give a straight answer🙄💀

Who in Skz is more into celebs/commoners?

Chan: not a definitive answer, rather he says when the chemistry's there its there, doesn't really matter what the person is. Although i believe thats what he would say but how it actually is, is that he prefers having someone thats equal to him in the sense that they're both are on the same mental&emotional level. So thats a pretty big indicator for me that for serious stuff he probably leans towards celebs cuz they share a similar lifestyle and understanding of that life.

Lee know: bro just said none💀😂 although when i look past that there's a heavy commoner energy. It just feels simple. Theres no better word to describe the feeling. So i guess he's someone that appreciates simplicity in relationships especially and by logic commoners are simpler than idols or celebs.

Changbin: my guy tells me he likes people who reject him🥲🤡 he likes chasing after something he can't have. I had to pull 3 cards for him cuz bro kept repeating the same thing in each one. Idk guys, i guess he doesn't have a preference or if he does his need to chase and be rejected and wallow in his own tears and despair is way higher on his priority list when looking for a partner than if the person is famous or not🙃

Hyunjin: ehm so...he has had a pretty bad experience with someone so he's shaken in his preference. Idk which one it is tho. Once ahain clarification cards aren't of any help🥲 after long, long, long shuffling i finally got a card which gives me groups & peers vibe so maybe he tried something with a person from his circles and it wasn't good at all so now he's confused as to if he should remain open to idols or not. That being said, my guess is that for now he's keeping it low and kind of in the middle. Maybe not dating complete commoners, but also not celebs, maybe he's oriented himself towards influencers or something of that sort.

Han: Def commoners. He needs to be the star, to be admired, to get lots of attention and having many hypemans. Among other celebs he would be just one among many, but among commoners he's a star. And he lives that. So his choice in partners also def reflects that.

Felix: he likes a good variety. A bit of everything. So i think he may not habe a solid preference but rather be in the mood for this today, and net week in the mood for the other. Yk. For now his new "mood" is wise people. I think he's really into that - people who see through others shit, who cant be fooled easily, who can teach him a lot and have a "godly aura".

Seungmin: he likes celebs, well mannared and pretty. Also may not necessarily be entertainment celebs like idols. Could be actors, ceos, owners of something, just affluent people with status, means, manners and just overall are a "good, valueable contribution to society".

I.N: so either he's saying he likes heartbreakers or that he's a heartbreaker. Boy what?! Ok i think a commoner may have broken his heart so now he's gotten cold towards them or something. Maybe he wants to repay now in ignoring "them" and focusing and considering only options that are more affluent.

[pookie-mulder]

October 2024 fic roundup

👶☑️ Beginnings by @television-overload

The most perfect follow-up to Of Our Own Making! Seeing m&s fall in love and go on their first date AFTER getting married and having a child together is just precious. (Especially Mulder’s “will u go out with me” note!) I love their unconventional relationship so much.

🐓🍽️ Untitled by @aloysiavirgata

This little fic is hilarious! I love Mulder getting the chance to be subtly petty towards Bill. I also love to see MSR being so domestic and settled down in the unremarkable house.

blue prints by @foxmulders

(Couldn’t find an ao3 link to this one)

Oof. This one hurts in the best way. It’s everything you want for these characters that they never got to have. It’s fluff, but it feels like angst because it’s a reminder of what the Mulder-Scully family could have been. I love it!

🛁🫧 the alchemy by @leiascully

I absolutely adore “platonic” intimacy that happens when they’re not quite together, and this fic starts out that way and ends in some incredibly satisfying RST. For such a short fic, this one sure does pack a punch! One of my favorites from fictober.

🕳️📍 You Send Me by spookynerd

The silliest premise leads to the sweetest romance! I love to see Mulder all pathetic and pining. My favorite line: “I’m in love. I think it’s terminal.”

🧜‍♀️💍 mermaids, native to montana by @foxmulders

I read this one a while ago and recently stumbled across it again. It’s the type of fluff with an undercurrent of sadness that creates such a powerful sense of longing. If you’re a fan of an unconventional marriage fic, read this one!

🛌🚂 Untitled by @myassbrokethefall

I usually steer clear of revival fics (I haven’t even been able to bring myself to watch it yet) but this one is just so darn sweet! I’d like to go back in time and show CC a copy of this fic so he writes it into the show.

🎂💌 Birthday Blues by Donnilee

I’m a fan of an author who can turn the silliest, most improbable situations seem probable, and this fic delivers. Read it if you’re a fan of tropey goodness and smut that’s as adorable as it is hot.

💇‍♀️💥 By the Dim and Flaring Lamps by @sunflowerseedsandscience

I was in the mood for a historical setting, and this Civil War AU fit the bill! One of my favorite things was its exploration of 19th-century gender roles, not to mention the unconventional romance.

🇮🇪🏰 Katherine of Ireland by Jenna Tooms

If you’re a fan of Hiraeth (as I am), you’ll love this one! It has a very similar setting and plot. The writing styles are very different, though, so it’s not like they’re carbon copies of each other or anything.

Anyway, this fic is achingly romantic, with plenty of lines that take your breath away.

(If you want the epub for easier reading, let me know!)

🏝️👻 Waldron Island by @sisterspooky1013

Like Gaslight, this fic features M&S not being able to trust their own minds. However, this time, it’s for horror reasons, not sci-fi reasons. Regardless, that concept is one of my favorites to explore in fiction, so I absolutely devoured this spooky fic! (And the ending scene? 😫🔥🥵🥹‼️)

😈🪞 Succumbing to the Truth by OnlyTheInevitable

If you liked Waldron Island, you’ll love this one! It’s a similar concept, but lies more in the casefic genre rather than straight-up horror. I loooove the way it uses the plot (a succubus demon) to force M&S closer together and finally talk about their feelings. It’s one of those fics where you can see where it’s going, which adds anticipation and makes the ending so much sweeter!

🥤🛍️ Inevitable by @thefinestmuffins

This alternate version of the car conversation in Tooms is an incredible Scully character study that’s absolutely dripping with UST. For a short fic, it truly packs a punch! One of my favorite parts is this: “On the Dana Scully list of priorities, want figures very, very low. It’s not that she doesn’t possess it in great quantity, it’s just that she fights like hell to rate it less highly than ambition, dignity, control, pragmatism, self-sufficiency, stability.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

✨ let’s do a twst trade ✨

Hello ^^;;

This might be coming out of the blue. I’m typically a very private person and tend to stick with social circles I’m already familiar with.

Recently, I’ve been thinking that it would be nice to put myself out there and interact more! I can get easily overwhelmed, so I thought a good way to go about this is to do a handful of art/writing trades. This keeps the number low and conversation approachable, and I think that’d help slowly ease me into being more comfortable interacting and participating in community events.

***UPDATE: Trades now closed, thank you all for the interest!***

Here are the parameters and other important notes (setting these for my own comfort and lifestyle):

This will be a Twisted Wonderland themed trade because that’s the one thing we can guarantee to have in common.

I’ll write a fic for you! Minimum 1-2k words (but I tend to ramble so it could easily go higher than that), starring at least 2 characters (I can write more, but let’s not go too crazy and ask for all 22 NRC students in one fic).

I CAN write platonic, romantic, angst, fluff, yandere, AUs, etc.

I’m okay with writing any and all TWST characters, including staff, RSA students, family members, and other NPCs.

Of course, OCs are also welcome! I’d love to learn more about yours.

Be prepared with references for your OC(s) if applicable. This could include illustrations, but at the bare minimum should include a written explanation of who the character is, their personality, likes/dislikes, and relationships with canon characters.

There are limits to what I will write, as I am uncomfortable with some subject matters. For example, I’m not willing to write anything pregnancy-related. We can discuss my “no goes” in more detail if we decide to trade!

Upon request, I can do a simple digital piece of art OR a washi tape illustration (you won’t receive the physical piece, just a picture of it) for you. I believe most people know me more for my writing, but I wanted to keep these options on the table!

You trade me a fic of your own OR an artwork of roughly the same quantity/quality. As the saying goes, “what you give is what you get.”

We will talk and agree before we start on our pieces what each of us will generally provide at the end. (For example, a 5k word fic for a full color waist up illustration, 1k word fic for a black-white doodle, etc.)

You have to be okay with receiving a vague prompt. I like to be surprised, so I’ll probably just give you a list of general themes, ideas, and characters I like, then set you loose to see what you come up with.

You can be as specific as you like with your own prompt for me though—I’m flexible. Let me know what you don’t like as well so I can avoid including those elements.

To keep things fair, we’ll both hold onto our pieces and exchange them at the same time.

Regarding my written piece, it will be in a Google Doc for you to access.

This is NOT first come, first serve. I can only realistically take on 3-5 trades at this time depending on interest and complexity. If I turn you down, it’s nothing personal!

Priority will be given to mutuals (chances are that there’s more likely to be common ground if we’re already following each other).

Preference will be given to those indicated as adults in their blog intros/profiles (this is just what vibes the best with my personal communication style)

Be patient!! It may take me a few weeks or more to complete my part.

Be aware that doing a trade with me does NOT necessarily mean we will become best friends, and nor should this be the expectation 😅

If you’re okay with the above and are interested in a trade, please DM me! In your DM, you should indicate some prompts/ideas for what you’d like me to write. Please wait for me to respond; do NOT assume that I’ve accepted the trade request just because you’ve messaged me.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart, Chapter 4 (Human!Alastor x reader)

Rated Adult Chapter Trigger Warnings: Domestic Violence AN: Next week we will be moving updates from Wednesdays to Fridays. To accommodate this, readers can expect an update twice next week. Tag list is open and tags will be in the comments to accommodate a tumblr glitch resulting in only five mentions working at a time.

Audio fic by Nyx Productions, read by @nyx-umbrakinesis found here:  Part 1, Part 2Masterlist AO3 KoFi

The radio in the living room sent smooth jazz through the first floor of the home. Music while you took care of housework or cooking was a rare luxury you allowed yourself. The little joys in your life were far and few between, but when you have the chance to cling to one, you did not hesitate to hold it close whenever it was safe to. 

 Laurence didn’t care for radio or jazz, much preferring orchestral music on the rare occasion where he allowed the silence to be broken. With him out of the house, you could indulge as you sat at the work desk in the kitchen, kneading bread one handedly as best as you could. 

It would be much easier if you could put your weight into it or even just use both hands, but your shoulder screamed at you if you so much as made a move to try. You had a shawl tied into a makeshift sling, taking the weight off the joint and a sack of hot dry rice tucked into your top, tied against your shoulder, soothing the aching joint with the radiating heat. 

The bottle of aspirin sat at the back of the table, an ever-present reminder of the constant pain you were in. You’d need to go to the pharmacy soon and pick up some more to refill the bottle. The last thing you wanted was to risk Laurence noticing the bottle was getting low and to get on you for taking too much. 

Right now you were riding the slight fog that the tincture left in the pain’s wake. You didn’t dare take a full drop, only dabbing the tip if your tongue against the side of the glass dropper before putting the tincture back on Laurence’s side of the sink, spending minutes to line the bottom of the bottle up with the ring of discoloration it had left stained into the surface. 

You didn’t know if he would notice if it wasn’t just so, but finding out wasn’t high on your list of priorities. Laurence could be particular about some of the strangest things. Often you wouldn’t find out what those things were until you had set him off. 

You knew he didn’t want you taking the drops he took for his back pain. It was his opinion that the aftermath of neither his fists nor his affection did not leave enough pain behind for you to need them. 

After setting the bread aside to rise, you turned to the stove. It was a beast of an appliance, but it was a modernization you were grateful for. Turning a knob to open the gas valve under a burner, you listened to the hiss of the gas as you reached for the matches. It took a few tries to light the large match, hand trembling as you ran the match head over the rough side of the stove each time before you lit the burner, then the oven. 

Grabbing the heavy iron kettle off the counter, you braced it on your hip to help carry the large pot as if it was a small child. You set on the stove before shoving it over the burner to heat while you clumsily chopped the vegetables as evenly as you could. 

That was a battle in itself. Between the way your hand shook and not having use of your other arm to brace the vegetables with, your knife cuts were a mess. Laurence would be angry if he saw the sloppy work or the mess of vegetables that fell to the ground, wasted. 

Blinking back tears, you tried your best. There was no use crying over it. It was all you could do to do your best. It had to be good enough. Your best had to be enough. 

Dinner had to be perfect, you reminded yourself as you spread flour over the workspace and prepared to roll the roast in it. Every step of preparing your home for a guest and preparing the dinner was challenging, and this was no different. 

You needed to get the roast searing and take a few more pills for the pain, then you could face cleaning up the mess of the kitchen. You were ahead of the pain right now, but you had to stay ahead of it if you were going to get through this dinner without embarrassing Laurence. 

You loathed to dirty yet another dish that you would have to wash tonight, but with one hand you couldn’t pick up the hunk of beef very well at all. Rolling the flour covered roast onto a plater, you braced it against your hip as you carried it to the stove. 

It would all be so much easier if you would just use your other hand, but the shoulder was still so weak. It was better to keep the weight and stress off the joint as long as possible. There were a few more hours until Laurence would be back with the guest, one Mr. Moreau, who you were nervous to meet. 

Having guests was uncommon, as Laurence preferred to meet business associates outside of the home. On the occasion when he would bring you, you were an accessory to be shown off, seen but not heard. Just as was your role during your frequent dinners and trips to the cinema.

As the pork fat bubbled in the kettle, you set the plater on an unused burner, saying a quick prayer that the iron wouldn’t be hot enough to shatter it. There was no graceful way to wrestle the meat up into your arm, wet flour and blood smearing against your day dress.

The meat fell into the pan with a thud. The sound of sizzling meat filled the kitchen as you gathered the dishes and dropped them into the waiting sink, full of sudsy water. Washing them was just another chore on your list of things to do. Mechanically, you slowly set to work cleaning your workspace one handedly.

The fog in your mind gave shape to a sharp face and warm eyes you found your mind returning to often enough. When you cleaned, that was when you let your mind run free, knowing that you were least likely to be disturbed. 

It’s when you let yourself daydream. You let yourself think about the ways your life could have been different. It was when you let yourself be ungrateful for all the things Laurence had provided for you and how hard he worked to do so. 

You thought about what it would have felt like to fall in love and if falling in love was even something that really happened outside of story books read to children. What sort of man would you have fallen in love with? Would he have a square face like Laurence, or would he be sharp and angular, like the man at the butcher shop? Would you have fallen in love with someone with kind eyes and fluffy hair?

Would you fall in love with a man like the man you kept getting glimpses of? What sort of man was he? He was tall; you remembered how he towered over you even as he leaned down to ensure you had a good grip on his arm as he walked you out of the butcher shop. 

Was he as kind as he seemed? Was he as kind as he looked?

Or was it all a show? It was a show with Laurence. He had been so kind when you had first met, offering sweet smiles and sweeter promises. He courted you quickly, promising the world and while everything happened too fast to say you had fallen in love, you thought love was on the horizon as your parents accepted his proposal of marriage. The wedding followed shortly after. 

What did it feel like to fall in love? The question and image of fluffy brown hair circled your mind as you dumped the vegetables into the kettle. It took multiple trips to the sink to cover the roast with water that would become the gravy. 

With the music playing, you hadn’t heard Laurence’s car pull up in front of the house or the front door opening. What you heard was it slam shut.

You fussed with your hair in the large living room mirror and dabbed more cover-up over the redness that was quickly spreading on your face. Laurence hadn’t been less than impressed with your choice of meal and even less impressed with your arm in the makeshift sling. 

He had accused you of playing up the pain, voice climbing into a roar as he stormed into the kitchen after turning off the music. Accusations of wanting to look battered and beaten to make him look bad bounced off the walls as he loomed closer. 

There was only a moment for you to cringe back as he slapped you across the face, the force of the blow splitting your lip open. Laurence wouldn’t like the bright red lipstick you wore now as you stood waiting for the guest, but it was the only thing that could hide the cut. It wouldn’t do for him to see the evidence of how you angered Laurence. Sleeves and bangles obscured the rest of the fading, healing marks on your arms that told a story of your prior transgressions. 

Mr. Moreau was coming to do business with Laurence. If you were lucky, he would hardly spare a glance at you to notice the hidden marks and you could eat while ignored. If he didn’t look too closely, you could hope he wouldn’t notice anything that would take away from the air of perfection. 

Laurence didn’t tell you anything about the man that was coming, leaving you waiting for the unknown man to walk through your door with your husband. 

The sound of the door opening startled you out of your thoughts. You flinched, causing pain to shoot through your shoulder. Swallowing the groan, just as you always tried to do when Laurence might hear, you tried to pull yourself together. 

It took everything in you to spread the smile across your face and force your feet up off the ground with each step toward the door. Your black heels click clacked across the hardwood floor, reinforcing to you that been picking your feet up with each step, something you struggled to do naturally through the pain in your legs. Laurance hated when you would shuffle your feet, dragging your fingertips along the furniture for an added sense of security in the aftermath of his anger. 

It wouldn’t stop you from falling if your knees gave out again, but you were not above pretending it would. There was no kind man here to help scoop you off the floor and put you back on your feet if that were to happen. 

As Laurence stepped through the door, you tried to make your small steps look normal and elegant and not painfully cautious. 

“Welcome home.” You pulled the smile tighter across your face, trying to force it into your eyes as your husband’s eyes made a quick pass over you before he turned to welcome the guest inside. Hopefully, he found your appearance acceptable. 

A tall man stepped through the door, tanned hand reaching up to pluck the hat from his head, revealing a fluffy brown hair and a pointed nose. Laurence took his hat from him and hung it on the coat tree by the door. 

Your breath caught in your lungs as his warm brown eyes locked with yours, a smile spreading wider across his face. Would he say anything? Would he mention your fall at the butcher’s shop? Would he comment at all on your prior meeting?

“My Darling,” Laurence held his hand out for you. You tried and failed to walk smoothly to him, knees knocking together as you tripped and stumbled slightly over your own two feet. Thankfully, his attention was on the guest shrugging out of his coat. “This is Mr. More-”

“Alastor Moreau,” the man interrupted Laurance, reaching out for your hand as soon as he hung his coat on the tree by the door. “A pleasure to meet you. Quite a pleasure indeed!”

“Oh,” you startled when he took your hand, far from used to such bold and forward actions from Laurence’s business partners. The bangles around your wrist clattered together as he pulled your hand up while leaning down at the waist, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. His eyes closed, long dark lashes fanning against his cheeks as you felt your face grow warm. “That’s not-” 

His eyes fluttered open slowly. You watched helplessly as his eyes lingered on your wrist. Could he see the marks under the shiny metal and glittering beads? You hoped not, but feared he could. It felt like he could see everything. 

When it felt like you couldn’t stand it anymore, his eyes moved again and he slowly stood tall, towering over you. It felt like his eyes were looking past everything and right into your soul. What did he see? What did he know? 

Laurence’s hand wrapped around your waist as Alastor dropped your hand. You cringed at this touch, pain shooting through your shoulder when your husband pressed it into his side. His fingers dug into your hip possessively. 

You flinched in pain; the smile faltering on your face as Laurence jostled you against him. He was saying something, but you lost the words in the sea of pain. 

Brown eyes moved between you and your husband. His sharp eyebrow rose as he cocked his head to the side. What was he thinking? What was he seeing?

“This is my darling wife.” Your mind was finally catching up with the words being said. 

“Mr. Moreau,” you started, only to get cut off again.

“Alastor, please. For the lovely lady of the house, it simply cannot be anything other than Alastor.” 

“Alastor, then.” Laurence started only to be cut off by a sharp laugh. Was the only soft part of this strange man in his hair and eyes? 

“I did not know you were the Lady of this house!” 

Laurence stuttered, tripping over his words. Thankfully, his hand fell from around your waist as he gaped at Alastor, mouth opening and closing like a freshly caught fish. 

You allowed yourself one shuffling step away from your husband now that you were out from under his touch. It was a little room to breathe. Not much, but better than nothing. 

“Alastor,” you pulled your face into what you hoped was a warm and welcoming smile as you drew the guest’s attention from your husband’s reddening face. “I’m afraid dinner isn’t quite finished. It shouldn’t be long yet. Please, do make yourself at home.” 

“Of course, my dear. And a lovely home you’ve got for me to make myself at home in!” Alastor’s smile was wide and warm and yet it felt sharp to you at that moment. It felt calculating, cutting, but you couldn’t understand why that would be the case. 

“Yes, well,” Laurence cleared his throat, and you felt your shoulders slump. You were taking too much attention for yourself while you had attempted to buy your husband time to collect himself. 

You hadn’t intended to. You were just trying to be a good hostess. You were just trying to be a good wife. 

“Shall we get down to business?” Laurence held out his arm, directing Alastor to the stairs and away from you. 

“Yes, yes- of course. The details must be worked out.” Alastor’s eyes lingered on you as he turned. 

“Darling, we’ll be in my study. Be a dear and bring us up some drinks? Alastor and I-” 

“Mr. Moreau for you. Unless there’s something I’m not aware of,” Alastor again corrected.

“Mr. Moreau and I will be talking business while you finish up preparing the meal.” 

“Of course,” you bow your head for a moment before stepping away to get the ice for their drinks, willing each step to look more steady than they felt as Laurence leads the way through the living room toward the stairs. 

You were so focused on your steps that you didn’t notice the eyes following you or the way Alastor lingered behind Laurence, letting the gap between the men grow larger than expected as he watched you. Though you tried, you couldn’t hide the way you reached out, steading yourself in the doorway. It was one of the many things Alastor saw that you were not aware of. 

That bit of information was catalogued away in the mental file he was building on your household. Alastor was a sharp man, always noticing things. It had a tendency to get him in trouble in the past, but as a man, he found it rather useful. 

Laurence was possessive of you. A little kiss to your hand had gotten under your husband’s skin, yet he was willing to offer you as collateral on a loan? The idea was almost enough to draw a laugh from Alastor as he began to climb the stairs after Laurence. 

Was he that sure of his ability to be good for the money or just arrogant? And oh, how the man seethed at not getting the same privileges as his wife, forced to pay Alastor more respect than was required of you. It was backward from social norms, but that just made it even more amusing. 

Perhaps the loan would be worth making after all. The entertainment could be worthwhile and oh, what a lovely game this could birth. 

Next?Masterlist

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[venerawrites]

Hi! I'm so excited you're writing for Naruto 🥰 So many blogs don't really write for it anymore, so I'm so grateful 🫶🏻 Could I please request Kakashi x fem reader angst, where reader and Kakashi are in an established relationship, maybe even married, but they get ambushed on a mission and reader sacrifices herself to save him? I really love Kakashi and I'm in an angsty kinda mood. Anyway thank you so much, I hope this is okay. Have a nice day! ❤️

author's note: I'm so sorry this took ages to write! I keep slipping in and out of angsty mood, so it did take longer than expected! x anyway, I really hope you enjoy it, and thank you so much for requesting! <3

warnings: mentions of death, blood, alcohol abuse

Never mix personal life with your professional duties.

This was one of the most important rules of the shinobi world. They have tried to drill this mantra into your heads since your early teenage years and kept repeating it every so often, just in case you forget.

Growing up, it was easy to follow this principle - all of your friends were civilians and you weren't particularly close with anyone from the academy, so you lived your life in peace, knowing that you don't have to worry about the people you loved and cared about.

Little did you know, however, that a certain white-haired shinobi would change that in your adulthood...

You heard of Kakashi in your early academy days. Being three years older than you and already an ANBU, your knowledge about him was based only on the rumours that kept circling the village about his past and the unfortunate death of his teammates. But it wasn't till he became a Jonin sensei, that you had the chance to meet him for the first time.

You did not have a team to lead on your own, but due to your hard work and devotion to the kids in the academy, you were often sent to help with their training and low-level missions. Team 7 was often the one needing the most help since it not only consisted of the stubborn and grumpy last survivor of the Uchiha clan, but also the hyper-energetic and mischievous 9 tails Jinchuriki.

Naturally, you and Kakashi became close. Having to supervise and protect a group of highly intelligent, stubborn, and, often, reckless genins proved to be a good enough reason for you to form some from of a friendship.

It did take a couple of years for love to blossom between you. With him being occupied primarily with the training of young ninjas and ensuring the safety of the Hidden Leaf Village, romance was not one of the things on his list of priorities. And at the time he was fine with this - you can't miss something that you never had.

But the more you matured, the more you gravitated towards each other. You worked so well together, that you started to be regularly paired for missions excluding his students. Soon after, you started to spend time outside work together. Before you knew it, you became partners in more sense than once.

And the more time passed, the more blurry the line between work and pleasure became... to the point that one single mistake changed everything.

It was a peaceful night when it happened. A day away from Konoha, you, Guy, and Kakashi were resting on your way back from delivering the sealed scrolls containing information about the next Chunin exams to Suna. You had found a small cave, tucked deep in the forest, and decided it was the perfect place to hide not only from any potential attacks, but also from the raging rain outside.

"C'mon!", you nudged Kakashi's shoulder with your own, before throwing one look at sleeping Guy and turning back to your lover, "He is deep asleep, he won't hear a thing."

The white-haired ninja gave you a stern look, but the little smile that formed on his covered lips betrayed his real mood. Moving his focus on the fire before you, he poked the burning wood with a stick, before mumbling:

"One more reason to stay still and alert", he pointed out, giving you a playful side glance, "We are supposed to be on guard."

Rolling your eyes, you let out a childish puff and crossed your arms in front of your chest.

"Guard from what? The owls?", you whined, before nudging him one more time, "C'mon, Kakashi! One kiss is all I am asking for! I haven't kissed you in like... weeks!"

"We have been away only for a few days", he lifted his brow in amusement, before leaning towards you, "And I am pretty sure you managed to steal yourself a kiss this morning. Your math is awfully bad, little dove."

You opened your mouth to respond, but quickly closed it after no good comeback came to your mind. It was true that you last shared a kiss this morning and you did exaggerate a bit about the time that has passed since then, but can anyone blame you? You were deep in your honeymoon phase when all you could think about was your lover and the feeling of his lips against yours... And making it worse, was the fact that he purposefully took with him that rich and smoky smelling perfume, that was driving you insane.

"Kakashi!", you whined his name, giving him a pleading look. Tilting his head to the side, he let out a chuckle, before carefully pulling his mask down, exposing his beautiful face.

Slowly leaning towards you, he maintained eye contact, before pressing his slightly chapped lips against yours. Immediately fluttering your eyes close, your hands found their way behind your neck, pressing his face closer toward you. Letting out a contempt sigh, you leaned to your right, giving you a better angle to keep up with the sensual dance your mouths indulged in.

After a few seconds, he pulled away, pressing the cold metal of his headband against your forehead. His breath was heavy and he gave himself a minute, calming his wildly beating heart.

"Happy, little dove?"

A wide smile stretched on your face and you eagerly nodded your head, about to respond, when you suddenly got interrupted by the loud sound of a kunai landing right above your head. Both you and Kakashi, immediately jumped from your places, your hands already reaching for your own weapons, while you shouted to Guy to wake up.

Your attackers quickly filled the cave and they visibly outnumbered you, leaving you to fight two of them each. You knew Kakashi and Guy could handle themselves, they were one of the most skillful shinobi in Konoha, after all. Yet the moment you saw one of the ninjas sneaking behind your lover's back with a sword raised high in the air, your feet suddenly had a mind of their own. You dodged a punch aimed at your face, but rather than fighting back, your body threw itself behind Kakashi, a piercing scream leaving your lips once the blade went through your stomach.

The world around the white-haired ninja abruptly stopped.

All the shouting, the sound of clashing weapons, Guy's screams for him to focus... the moment he fell your body crashing against his, it was all silence. His arms instinctively wrapped around you, protecting you from falling on the rocky ground, while his knees gave up under him. One of his hands immediately moved towards your wound, trying his best to stop the bleeding, while his other one found its way towards your face.

Kakashi's fingers shakily moved towards your forehead, moving away the few damp pieces of hair sticking to your skin. Tracing the side of your cheek, he didn't even notice he was crying, till a few teardrops fell down onto your skin. Your eyes, which were also glossy, stared at him and your lips moved, trying to say something, but the only thing that came out was blood.

"Shh, don't talk", Kakashi choked out, pressing his fingers against your mouth. Finally gaining the courage to look down, all the breath left his body once he saw how much blood you were losing, despite his best attempts to stop the bleeding.

"We have to get you to the village the fastest way possible", he muttered with a shaking voice, his arms sneaking under your body in order to lift you. You moaned from pain at the contact, using the last bit of energy to grab one of his wrists.

"N-no...", you whispered, a hefty amount of blood dripping from the corner of your mouth, "Hel-.. He.. Help Guy..."

Hearing the name of your teammate, Kakashi finally remembered you were not alone, and his head whipped around only to find the other male continuing the fight all by himself. His rough posture and scratches covering all over his face were showing he would not last long and Kakashi immediately felt his chest tightening.

He knew he had to join in and help him, but how could he leave you all alone, bleeding to your death?

Almost as if you were reading his mind, you weakly squeezed the wrist in your hold:

"Go...", you muttered, your lips twitching into a small, sad smile, "I... I will... b-be... f-fine."

"Little dove, don't... I... Why...", Kakashi cried out, not sure how to finish this sentence. Grasping your face with his hands, he pressed his mouth against yours, ignoring the metallic taste that immediately washed over his senses once your blood touched his tongue. His tears were now freely falling from his eyes and he could not hold his sobs back any longer.

Your lips weakly moved against his for a minute, before you had to sharply take a breath. Your consciousness was slowly slipping away and your gaze was now cloudy, unable to focus on one particular thing. You felt coldness slowly making its way through your limbs, bringing a strangely welcoming feeling of numbness and peace. Despite your vision getting blurry, your head tilted to the side, the outline of your lover's face still clear.

"I.. I love y-you", you breathed out, one final tear making its way from the corner of your eye. Kakashi carefully caught it with his thumb, his head violently shaking from side to side.

"No, no, no!", he kept repeating, his voice cracking, "Please just... please just stay with me!"

Your stare remained unmoving and it took a few seconds for the white-haired ninja to realize that your breathing had stopped as well.

It was too late...

you were gone.

Dozens of feelings washed over the Leaf shinobi at the same time. Pain. Sadness. Rage. Shock.

With an angry scream, he pressed your now limp body against him, while one of his hands moved to move his headband away from his face, showing his already glowing Sharingan.

The fight lasted a few minutes afterward, maybe even less. Fuelled by his raw pain, Kakashi did not hold himself back, slaying all of the enemy ninjas one by one. Soon the ground was crimson red and the only remaining sound was the white-haired man rigid breathing and the sound of the rain, which kept pouring outside the cave.

"Kakashi...", Guy carefully said, his gaze moving to your already cold body which rested in the corner of the cave. He bit his lip, unsure what to say, choosing instead to remain still and quiet. He couldn't control himself, however, once Kakashi's heavy breathing turned into sobs again, and he wrapped his arms around his friend.

"I am sorry...", the black-haired man sighed, a shaky breath leaving his lips as well. His own eyes started to tear up and he tried his best to blink them away, a poor attempt to remain strong for your lover, who was already falling apart in his arms.

The next few hours they spent in silence, with Guy guarding the entrance, while Kakashi held your cold hand in his own, his eyes staring at your face like he hoped you were just in a deep sleep and would wake up any moment.

Or perhaps, he was hoping that he was the one dreaming and that once the sun rose high in the sky, he would wake up, finding your smiling face nested comfortably between his neck and shoulder...

But that never happened. Instead, the hours kept passing with him frozen in his place next to you, till Guy gently laid his hand on his back, telling him it was time to go. With one last kiss on your cold forehead, Kakashi took off his jacket and laid it carefully over your body, before scooping it in his arms.

Leaving the cave, his eyes kept staring ahead, his expression now unreadable. The memories of you, that kept flashing before his eyes during the whole night, were now pushed at the back of his brain, while only one though kept occupying his mind:

Never mix personal life with your professional duties.

He failed to do that.

Again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Tsk, how sad!", the man behind Kakashi muttered under his breath, "I bet he is spending his whole pay on drinks again!"

The woman next to him shushed him, hitting him on the shoulder while doing so.

"Be quiet!", she scolded, "He will hear you!"

The man scoffed, his eyes not moving from the white-haired ninja before him, who kept calmly putting his shopping away, without even glancing in their direction.

"Well, let him hear! Because it is pathetic, it's what it is!", he grumbled, making sure to speak as loudly as he could, "One of our best ninjas turned alcoholic... Look at him! He doesn't even look like himself anymore!"

Years ago Kakashi would have turned around and silenced them just with a glare. But now... he had no more energy for that.

Because they didn't understand and would never be able to understand what he had gone through. They would never have to bear the burden of having someone else's blood on their hands, neither would they experience the feeling of guilt that would tear their soul apart, a constant reminder that they could not protect the ones they loved.

So why would he bother explaining to them that the only reason why he had to be under the influence, was because this was the only way to feel close to you again? The only way to silence the voices inside his head, which kept reminding him how it was him who was supposed to be dead, not you?

Instead of replying, he just grabbed his bag and exited the shop. He walked hurriedly towards his house, eager to open the bottle of sake he just bought and mute the feeling of missing you, that kept breaking his heart every single time he was completely sober.

"Kakashi!", Guy's voice sounded somewhere behind him, and his step halted for a bit, turning around. His friend gave him a little smile, which immediately fell, once his eyes fell on the neck bottle which poked out of Kakashi's bag. It was not easy to watch one of your best friends falling deeper and deeper into a hole, refusing any of your help.

The white-haired man suddenly felt small, almost embarrassed by the look the other male gave him. But instead of waiting, the moment he saw him walking towards him, he just turned around and almost sprinted back to his house.

Closing the door, he let out a breath, he didn't even know he was holding. Kicking his shoes aside, he made his way towards the kitchen and took out the piece of bread and the few bottles of alcohol he had brought earlier. Opening one of them, he didn't even bother to grab a glass, before he made his way towards the bedroom and sat down against his pillows.

Grabbing the picture of you that he kept on the bedside table, he gently traced your smile with his thumb, before taking a sip of his drink. The burning sensation in his throat was irritating, but it was nothing compared to the burning feeling inside his chest.

"We will be together soon, little dove...", he smiled sadly, "I promise."

cc artwork: concept art for "Wheel of Time"

[delimeful]

Really? You don’t find passive aggressive comments, such as your tags, do be impolite?

And how, exactly, is an ask button (which YOU enabled) that is commonly known to be used for requesting stories on Tumblr from writing pages impolite? Are you new to writing Tumblr? What do you think a majority of writers on Tumblr use that ask button for?

I’ve been a follower for a while but I’m pretty dissapointed tbh.

Anonymous asked: I noticed a reply from @/gstash So let me address that as well. No, of course I don’t expect everything immediately and for free, and I initially requested this story over a year ago. I also spent over $50 being subscribed to Lime’s Patreon specifically for this story, but I had to stop due to low finances. I was just trying to check on when it may be up soon, but I felt the response was rather rude.

(the added slash is mine, i didn't want to inadvertently @ anyone else in this debacle lol)

this is gonna be my final word on the matter because im sick of getting home from work to asks like these. anything else is gonna be deleted. feel free to go ahead and use your actual blog to reply instead of anon if you still feel that strongly about it.

i dont think my tags weren't passive aggressive they were just plain statements. no, i don't think it's impolite to express a boundary irt people asking me for updates. your indignation about this reflects on you, not me.

to clarify, badgering me for updates (verbatim: "Could you please please please post chapter 7") isn't impolite, just irritating. it was the decision to send another ask chiding me for my response that was impolite. kind of a dick move, as most involved in the tumblr writing community know. i genuinely feel sorry for the writers you follow if you genuinely only see their ask boxes as an opportunity to pester them.

i'm disappointed too, anon. i hoped that maybe keeping calm and sincerely explaining myself would be enough to prompt you to respond with empathy in kind, but instead you doubled down.

it seems like there's been a misunderstanding in regards to my patreon; there is no tier that ensures a specific chapter of a fic is updated within a specific time frame. that would be a commission, which is explicitly listed as a reward for my $30 tier, because those take a lot more time + energy for me.

my $12 patreon tier offers early access to my writing, and the ability to request future chapters be moved up on my to-do list, through polls + priority continuation requests. i can't guarantee any specific chapter update in a month, and i'll explain why.

currently, i have over 50 total WIP fics being worked on. each month, i get around 25 chapter update requests. even assuming that each chapter is 2k, my usual minimum chapter length, i would have to write 50,000 words every single month. if i had the capability for that kind of regular output, i would be churning out books like stephen king instead of constantly struggling for my usual monthly 10-15k like a chump lol.

in essence, don't subscribe to my patreon for a specific story unless you know the next chapter for it is already up there. which it is, because i eventually got to your request. and it'll eventually be up on the blog for free. and during the months you spent subscribed to my patreon, you received at minimum tens of thousands of words of content.

finally, an earnest request: please stop acting like twelve dollars is an exorbitant fee when i'm literally making pennies per word written. like, i could have worked a single 8 hour shift at mcdonalds in texas for minimum wage instead and i would have ended up with $8 more than you paid me for four months of many hours of dedicated work.

(not even a joke: 7.25 x 8 = 58.)

in conclusion, i am a human person with feelings, just like every other writer on this site. please take a moment to remember that when sending asks in the future

[z-moves]

🆘🆘 A Call for Urgent Help for Our Family in Gaza🚨🇵🇸🍉

Dear Friends and Supporters,🙏

I am reaching out with a heartfelt plea for assistance. My family, consisting of five children and two parents, is in urgent need due to the ongoing crisis in Gaza for the second year of war.

We are struggling to meet our basic needs: rent, food, clean water, and medical expenses. Each day presents new challenges, and my priority is to ensure the safety and well-being of my children, especially after we are afflicted with the ongoing infectious diseases spread in the Gaza like Hepatitis C disease.

If you are in a position to help, any contribution would be immensely appreciated and make a significant difference in our lives.

Thank you for your compassion and support during this critical time.

We hope to help us by donate or reblog/share with others .

Every donation makes a different even if it a small.

Not: our account is Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #155 )

With gratitude,

Rewaa Amir,

This is our link if you need more details of our story 👇👇

https://gofund.me/16f342ff

hello, Rewaa! i hope that you and your family will be able to afford your needs. i will share this so that others will also see it.

$566 CAD / $55K

this fundraiser is extremely low on funds!

this fundraiser is #155 on @/gazavetters's list of vetted fundraisers. [ link to Google Sheets ]

tags for reach (please let me know if you don't want to get tagged):

@heritageposts @nabulsi @appsa @feluka @timetravellingkitty @rhubarbspring @irhabiya @wellwaterhysteria @junglejim4322 @kibumkim @neechees @mangocheesecakes @kyra45-helping-others @tortiefrancis @toiletpotato @fromjannah @omegaversereloaded @vague-humanoid @aristotels @komsomolka @neptunerings @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @ot3 @amygdalae @ankle-beez @dykesbat @watermotif @stuckinapril @mavigator @lacecap @socalgal @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sayruq

[local-diavolo-anon]

Hi! if you're still willing to take requests for fnaf, may I please have some Sun (and Moon too if you want) x reader headcanons in which the reader has autism and adhd? thank you!

Yes! I absolutely still take request headcanons! And of course you may!

(i will focus on how the two of them will navigate with you your daily life for this)

Daycare attendant x adhd-autistic reader!

Being a robot trained to care after children of all ages, the daycare attendant is aware of what autism and adhd can mean for a person, and what they might need

Their caretaker role always takes priority over pretty much anything else they are doing, and mosre often than not you're the one who they are caring after

Something they learned early on was how white noise and background sounds helped you relax, especially when it was time to sleep

Both of then would alway be eager to join you in anything you do after all, and this wouldn't be any different, whichever is out will lay next to you and will craddle you close to feel the low whir of their internal vents

Sun is very careful, and maybe a little neurotic as well, this leads him to file long mental lists of things about you, like which textures make your toes curl in disgust and which you'd melt for, this both for when he is to cook for you and when/if he choosing fabric for anything

Be it a new piece of clothing in a store or raw fabric to sew something with

Because of how nervous he ALSO is neither of you lacks in stim toys, whichever you might prefer

He probably has and broke more than you ever owned tho, the grip strength of a 6 and a half feet tall robot is pretty strong

And just like you it is not hard to get overwhelmed for an anxious, neurotic robot, so both of you learned what to do when the over is at their limit

Honestly you and the daycare attendant share a lot more than what you initially believed, at least "function" wise

Something you complete each other however, is in caring for chores, be them housechores or on the job (if you're an employee at the megaplex)

Your short term memory loss and executive disfunction can make taking care of ir/regular chores hard, in a way or another, and sometimes you forget important or big things

Sun's memory however, being digital, is perfect, and his obsession for order pretty much compensate anything you may have forgotten about or accidentally overlooked

He does not mind it, and actually enjoys doing extra things since it helps him calm down, however he will also help you keep a calendar and/or an agenda if it reassures you

Moon is more of a gremlin and will lean on your gremlin side more than sun

If you like to collect things, whichever those may be, he might "borrow" something from the megaplex' lost and found, or things he found on the streets that he think you might like and bring it to you

Even just a cool enough rock can be something he deems worthy of your attention

Something he just puts those trinkets in your pockets and you will end up finding a hanful of stuff next time you put your hands in there

Moon is also the ones that has more time to listen to you infodump about whatever you're interested at the moment, be it a movie, a tv serie, a cartoon or a videogame

this is also because he will use that knowledhe to make obscure references at random that he knows only you can understand

If you take any tipe of meds, Sun is the one that WILL remind you to take them, the idea of you forgetting a medication, whichever that might be, terrifies him

It actually terrifies them both, Moon however is always left a mental note by Sun to tell him the meds have been taken and he doesn't have to stress over it

Another thing they wpuld probably do, is keep track of your eating and drinking schedule, since you may forget to eat or drink for days at the time if not reminded

That's definitely another thing where their caregiver nature kicks in perfecrly, and they'd both make sure you get a good meal, be it by reminding you, cooking with you, or doing it in your place (they want to feel included, they don't like to be alone, neither of them does)

I covered as many topics as i could here, both because as someone with adhd i'd give a kidney to be in their care, and because i really like to wroite these

i hope these are of your liking!

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his girl - ch. 7 **

You might want to put aside some time for this, I somehow managed to write 10k...and the second half is like all smut, almost.

Took me a while to get this out, it was kinda meant to be a filler chapter but then I wanted to add more so I ended up moving things around in the story line so now we've got this one. Next chapter will see their relationship move forward with leaps and bounds and then we get into the really juicy bits!

Please enjoy and if you do, please reblog so that more people see the fic, I'll love you always if you do

If wanna catch up from the beginning, here is chapter 1 of The Pilot and his girl

Chapter 8

Tag list: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer

Sometimes you think back on other guys you’ve dated. The guy who wanted to be able to call you up whenever he wanted sex and always got mad when you weren’t around to supply, the college guy who never wanted to touch you in public, the older guy who ‘forgot’ to mention his wife and two year old son, the guy who cheated on you and then messaged all your friends and told them he’d dumped you because you’d cheated on him with his boss. And that didn’t even cover all the ‘normal’ guys who just wanted to play the game, date and have sex but never commit or say what they actually felt or introduce you to their friends or family. 

And then there was Frankie Morales. Sweet, loving, loyal Frankie who never seemed to hide what he was thinking or wanted to play games. Who never made it difficult or made you guess what he felt or what his intentions were. He was just always happy to be with you, to see you and to let the world around you know that he belonged to you and no one else. Who would kiss you in public just because he felt like it, took your hand as soon as you were near, and never hesitated to include you in his plans. Being with Frankie was easy and you finally started to understand that dating someone shouldn’t be non-stop drama, it should be easy and that’s how you knew it was right. 

And Frankie slipped into your life as easily as he let you slip into his. After your first few dates he made it clear that he would happily spend as much time as he could with you, the only other priority in his life being his daughter and you happily took a back seat to her. Frankie was always a bit low when he came back from seeing her, or she’d spent a weekend with him, his guilty conscience about not seeing her enough always on his mind. But he was also full of stories about her, his eyes beaming, a wide, proud, smile on his face, as he told you about what they’d done, the things she’d said and how much she’d grown or what new skills she’d learnt. She was the centre of his universe and you didn’t mind, she grounded him and made him happy and a better man. Both for her and for you. 

When Frankie wasn’t working or went to see Lucía, your weekends were spent mostly in each other’s company. He’d pick you up on Friday evening and take you out ‘properly’, as he said. He’d show up in his truck, freshly showered after work and in a clean shirt. If he’d ditched the cap you knew he’d made plans for a more upscale restaurant. If the cap was firmly pressed down over his, still very, unruly curls, you knew he was taking you on one of his special Frankie dates. 

The first time you’d expected maybe a cool food truck or local BBQ place when he said he’d made ‘special plans’, your expectations from previous guys were not exactly high. But instead he’d taken you to a secluded spot up on a hill, parking the truck and walking with you through the forest on a small path until the trees fell away to a cliff overlooking a lake. Stuck into the ground was a small sign that read “Reserved - Morales” that made you giggle at the thought that he’d hiked up here earlier, just to place the sign. Frankie had then produced a thick blanket from his backpack, a lantern, a camping stove, various containers and bottles and proceeded to cook you dinner while the sun set behind the forest on the other side of the lake. When dinner was done with, and you’d expressed your deep astonishment at how romantic he was, Frankie blushing to the tips of his ears, he’d wrapped you both in the blanket and leaned back against a rock with you tucked in against his chest. 

“You’re setting the bar very high for all the other guys, Francisco Morales,” you hum as you feel the cool tip of his nose brush against your cheek. 

“What other guys, hermosa?” he mutters, lightly kissing the tip of your ear. 

“All the other guys in general,” you lean into his warm lips skating along your neck, “once word gets out this is how Frankie Morales treats women, who’s gonna want a regular guy?” 

Frankie chuckles quietly, his rich, warm voice close to your ear. “I don’t treat women like this, only you, solo tu hermosa mujer.

“See, there you go again, setting the bar impossibly high,” you smile and push your fingers into the curls at the back of his neck, scratching his scalp and drawing a soft moan from him. 

When the night became too cold even for the blanket and the Frankie shaped furnace at your back, he’d held your hand as you walked back, his powerful torch shining the way through the pitch black forest. At any other time the thought of walking through a dark forest would’ve made you slightly panicky, but with Frankie’s warm hand in yours and his broad shoulders in front of you as he easily navigated the path back to his truck, you felt as safe as you did at home in your bed. 

It was easy, being with Frankie was the easiest thing of them all. 

…

You woke up with a groan on Sunday morning, six weeks or so into dating Frankie. You’d been out the night before with friends and now you were paying the price; dry mouth, headache and that horrible shaky feeling as you moved your limbs. You were definitely never, ever drinking again. You were in Frankie’s bed but he was absent so with a groan you pushed the covers aside and sat up carefully. 

As you sat on the side of the bed, contemplating death, you heard Frankie’s bare feet coming down the hall, pushing open the door. 

“Morning, my little ‘I’m not drunk’ girl,” he smiled, far too cheerful and you groaned again and fell back into bed, pulling the covers with you as Frankie chuckled. 

“Just stay in bed, hermosa, I’ll get you some water and coffee, and breakfast whenever you feel up for it.” 

“Thank you,” you mumble from under the covers. 

“Anything for you, I love you,” he says as he bends and kisses the covers over your head. 

Oh yeah, you said that last night too.

…

Towards the end of your night you’d met up with Frankie and his friends at a bar. Your friends  were heading home, and you probably should’ve done the same, but you wanted to see Frankie and you’d promised to call him before you went home. He was the designated driver for the evening, as most evenings. Frankie didn’t like tempting fate with too much alcohol after he got clean from the coke. 

“Mi hermosa, hi,” came his warm, smiling voice over the phone when he picked up, and you immediately heard someone shush loudly in the background. 

“Sssshhhhh, everyone, ssssshhhhh, it’s the girlfriend, sssshhhhh!” The drunken voice of Benny was easily recognisable in the background.  

“Hi Frankie boy,” you cooed, definitely a little bit more than tipsy, “and hi Benny,” you giggled. 

“Tell her to come here,” Benny’s voice was suddenly very close, “I need her as my wing woman!”

“Benny, for fuck’s sake!” It sounded like Frankie had to pull his phone away from his friend as he shuffled away from the table they were all at, chairs scraping across a floor. 

“Sounds like Benny’s a little bit drunk, baby,” you give him a tipsy giggled again. 

“Sounds like you’re a little bit drunk too, cariño,” Frankie chuckles. “Do you wanna come over, we’re at the usual place.” 

“Only if you want me to, I don’t want to crash boy’s night.”

“You should definitely come over, I wanna see you this drunk,” he laughs as you protest and claim to be only slightly tipsy. “Get yourself in an Uber, and send me the details so I know when you get here.” 

“Ok, Frankie boy, always so responsible,” you pout and give him a salute before you remember he can’t actually see you through the phone. 

“Just be safe, hermosa,” he smiles before he hangs up. 

He’s waiting outside for you when the Uber pulls up, opening the door of the car and giving you a hand as you step out. 

“Hi sweetie,” you purr, wrapping your arms around his neck, stumbling slightly on the curb, as Frankie catches you around the middle. 

“Hey there, not drunk girl,” he smiles down at you and accepts your wet kiss to his lips with a chuckle. “How’s your night been?” 

“S’been good, everybody came, even Hannah who always cancels because her kids are sick.” you say as Frankie guides you towards the door of the bar. “And we got free drinks from a bunch of guys who were trying to hit on us, but their loss, because we’re all taken,” You pull him close and place a kiss on his cheek, “You’re my Frankie boy.”  

“Did you accept their drinks?” Frankie’s got a worried look in his eyes that you don’t notice as you shrug your jacket off as the heat of the room hits you.” 

“Yeah, sure! It was free drinks. It’s not like they were gonna get anything in return.” 

“Cariño, you shouldn’t accept drinks from random men in bars, what if they slip something in it? You’ve got to be careful.” He’s got his arm around your waist, walking you towards the table where the guys are. 

“Wait,” you stop halfway across the bar, poking his chest with your finger, “you were gonna buy me a drink when we met, are you saying I shouldn’t have accepted that?” 

“Uh…I mean…” Frankie flounders, “technically, I guess, no?” 

“You’re so cute when you blush, sweet Francisco,” you gush, wrapping your arms around his neck again and standing on your toes to kiss the tip of his nose, “I know I shouldn’t accept drinks from random guys, baby. But free drinks!” you grin again and Frankie can’t help but chuckle when he sees your delighted grin. 

“My tipsy girl,” he smiles, “we should get some food in you.” 

“Nachos!” you exclaim as Frankie puts his hand on your back and ushers you towards the table and the guys again. 

Pope pulls you in for a bear hug as Frankie pulls out a chair for you, and Will gives you a grin from across the table. 

“Hey, there she is!” Benny whoops as you sink down on the chair, “My wing woman!” He attempts to high five you but you’re too focused on telling Frankie you want the biggest serving of nachos they’ve got, and Benny’s hand slaps down on your shoulder instead, making you jump. 

“Jeez, Benny, calm down,” Frankie scowls and knocks his hand off your shoulder. “I’m getting nachos for the drunk girl, anyone else want anything?” he asks. 

“Nachos and drinks, if you’re offering,” Pope says and Frankie nods, heading back towards the bar. 

“I’m really not drunk, just a little bit tipsy,” you tell the three guys as Frankie walks off. “He’s being very overprotective.” 

“I heard that,” Frankie calls from over his shoulder, making you giggle loudly and snort.

“Well, you’re in good company here,” Will nods at Benny who’s slightly red eyed appearance betrays that he’s by far the furthest one gone at the table. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Benny taps your arm excitedly, looking at a table towards the back of the bar, not paying attention to his brother, “Can you help me get that blonde over there? Like, walk over to her or something and tell her I’m great in bed and she should totally let me buy her a drink.” 

“What Benny?! No!” you protest, “I’m not lying to some poor woman, I don’t even know if you’re good in bed.” You give Benny a slightly unfocused once over, “Are you any good in bed?”  

“I’m totally good in bed!” he insists, “I’d prove it but you know…Fish would literally kill me dead.” 

“Ewww!” you exclaim, sending Pope and Will into a laughing fit as Benny blinks, trying to figure out if he should be insulted or not. “Sorry! That came out wrong!” you grab on to his arm, “I mean, you’re cute and all but just not my type, I like - “

“We know what you like,” Pope interrupts with a grin, “you like ‘em dark haired, brown eyed and tanned.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you as you snort out a laugh. 

“I mean, I can’t deny that, but I like my men taller and with less body hair, Santi,” you smirk and Pope tries to look insulted. 

“Ouch, going after my height, evil woman,” he huffs, but he’s still laughing. 

“You got the right one then,” Will chuckles, “Frankie’s got less body hair than a hairless cat.” 

“Why the fuck are you talking about my body hair?” Frankie says, coming back to the table, sending Benny and you into a laughing fit and Will just waving his hand. 

“Forget it man, not important.” 

Frankie raises his eyebrows and gives his head a slight shake as he sets down the nachos and drinks for the table, although you’re also getting a large glass of water. 

“Are you riling them up, cariño?” he asks, smiling down at you as you try to pull him down for a kiss that he willingly gives, your lips tasting of tequila and wine, oh, you’ll be hungover for sure in the morning. 

“I’m innocent,” you smirk, looking anything but and Frankie chuckles. 

“Move, baby, sit on my lap, there’s no extra chair.” 

You happily oblige, sitting sideways across Frankie’s lap, his warm arm around your waist, holding you tight. 

Nachos and beers are soon gone and Pope gets everyone a new round, getting Frankie a Coke that he tries to make you drink instead of the beer Pope got you, but not having much success. Benny’s trying his luck with the blonde across the room and Will and Pope decide to shoot some pool while you and Frankie watch from the table. Despite there being several empty chairs now you stay on Frankie’s lap, his legs are slowly falling asleep but he won’t make you move, he’s got you tight against his body, and your arm is draped across his shoulder, absentmindedly dragging your fingers through the curls around his neck at the edge of his cap. He hums contentedly as your nails scratch his scalp and you feel the rumble in his chest. Looking down you see his eyes slip closed, he always has trouble keeping them open when you play with his hair. He’s not asleep but his muscles relax and his head slumps forward, leaning against you. 

Gently you pull his cap off so that you can run your fingers through more of his hair, Frankie mutters his consent and you feel his fingers trace small circles on your back, warm through the thin fabric of your top. His soft curls slip under your fingers as you run them through his hair, the buzz of alcohol in your system making you sleepy, Frankie’s warm body making you feel safe and content. You bend down and press a kiss to the top of his head and with your lips still close to his hair it slips out.

“I love you.” 

Frankie’s eyes snap open and he pulls back from your chest, looking up at you, searching your eyes to see if you mean it or if you’re just too drunk. 

“What did you say, hermosa?” he asks softly as you look down at him, a small, uncertain smile on your lips. 

“I’m sorry…” you waver, “it just slipped out, it’s too soon and I’m drunk and it’s -” 

“I love you, I love you too,” Frankie interrupts, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest as he pulls your lips to his, “don’t be sorry,” he mumbles against your mouth, “I would’ve said it weeks ago if I had the guts.” 

His hand slips behind your neck, holding you to his lips, as you wrap your arms around him. His heart is racing, he can feel your smile against his mouth as you press yourself against him and it feels like millions of tiny bubbles are gathering inside his chest, pushing up through his throat and making him grin like a fool against your soft lips. The kiss turns sloppy as you both start to giggle, foreheads leaning together, you look into his warm, brown eyes that are crinkling at the corners. 

“I love you, Frankie,” you say, still smiling so wide you feel like your face is splitting but happy tears are threatening to spill out. The way Frankie is looking at you makes you feel like he just wrapped you up in a blanket, tucked you against his chest and enveloped you with his love, making you his axis point. 

“I love you too, hermosa,” he replies, “I love you so fucking much, I wanted to tell you when you took my hand after I told you about all the shit in my life, but I was scared it was too much. And when you still wanted to be with me and the first morning you woke up with me, you told me how amazing you think I am…” Frankie reaches up and strokes his thumb over your cheek, catching a tear that’s escaped from your eyes, “I almost said it then too, I really wanted to tell you then, but I chickened out..” 

“You should’ve said it all those times, Frankie,” you say, putting your hand over his, still on your cheek, “I would’ve said it back, but I thought it was too soon. I thought you’d run a mile if you knew how fast I fell for you.” 

“Not in a million years, hermosa, never.” He pulls you in, catching your lips in another kiss, slow and searing, making you part your lips so that he can taste you, despite all the alcohol. You feel his tongue, soft against your own, as he moves to kiss you deeper, his arm wrapped tight around your waist, holding you firm against him as you hold onto his shoulders, and push your fingers into his hair. You’re in your own bubble, only you and him, and the noises of the bar fades away as you hum against his mouth, the taste of him, his tongue, overtakes your hazy mind. 

…

You stay under the covers, you can hear Frankie moving around his kitchen, making coffee. You remember him taking the guys and you home last night. The truck had been full, the guys in the back and you tucked into Frankie’s side in the front, falling asleep against his shoulder as he dropped the others off first. You vaguely remember Frankie gently scooting you out of his truck and picking you up. You’d woken up when he had to put you down to dig out his keys, his soft voice telling you to stay awake as you leaned on him. Finally he’d gotten you both into his place and he’d tucked you in under the covers of his bed, the last thing you seem to remember is him taking your shoes off. 

Now he pads back into the bedroom with a bottle of water and a large coffee. 

“Here, cariño, drink the water first.” 

“Thanks, Frankie, you’re more than I deserve, I was way too drunk last night,” you moan, gratefully taking the water bottle from him. 

“You’re a very cute drunk,” he smiles and sits down on the edge of the bed as you pull yourself up, leaning against the headboard and taking a long drink of water. 

“And I love you too,” you say, putting down the water and taking his hand, “I remember that part at least.” 

Frankie chuckles and pulls your hand to his lips, kissing your palm, “I was a bit worried you’d said all those sweet things and then forget about it. 

“Never, Frankie,” you smile, “how could I? I just wish I hadn’t blurted it out when I was drunk...” 

“It was very sweet, hermosa, alcohol clearly makes you honest. I need to remember that,” he pulls you towards him with a big grin and you lean against his chest, breathing into his clean t-shirt, fresh cotton and the smell of just him underneath it. If you weren’t so hungover you’d pull him back into the bed with you, he feels good next to you, warm and solid, his little belly soft to the touch as you absentmindedly run your hand over it and listen to his heartbeat under your ear. Frankie’s hand is rubbing up and down your back and you can feel his breath against the top of your head where he's leaning his chin. 

“I wanted to ask you something,” he says after a little while of enjoying just sitting together in silence. The slight hesitation in his voice makes you lift your head and look up at him. He’s got that worried look in his eyes, and it makes you mirror his look, raising your eyebrows in concern as he goes on; 

“Lucía is supposed to come here next weekend, she’s staying Saturday and Sunday. And you can say no if you think it’s too much but, but I really want you to meet her, if you want?” 

“You know I’d love to meet her, Frankie” you say, sitting up so that you can look properly at him. His expressive eyebrows immediately shoot up in a relieved look. 

“I know, I just wanted to make sure,” he says, “I’ve…I’ve never…let her meet a girlfriend before and I wanna make sure you’re fine with it too.” 

“I’m absolutely fine with it, sweetie,” you rub his arm, wanting to reassure him that it really was fine. “If you want, we can start easy though, maybe? Just tell her I’m a friend of yours or something and we keep the PDA to a minimum around her?” 

“Yeah, I was thinking that too,” he agrees. “I haven’t talked to her mom yet either, it’s not like I need her permission for it or anything, but you know, just so that she hears it from me and not Lucía afterwards.” 

“I won’t stay over at your place when she’s here,” you stretch your arms up, yawning big and Frankie pushes the coffee mug into your hands with a smile. “We’ll just hang out a bit,” you say, “I don’t wanna intrude on your father - daughter time, I know you feel like you don’t see enough of her as it is.” 

“You could never intrude, cariño,” Frankie protests, “hang out with us as much as you want. Although, four year olds can be a bit rowdy so you might need to work on your stamina,” he chuckles. 

“I know how to handle four year olds,” you grin, “I just buy them the loudest toy I can find and be their new best friend.”

“That’s just evil, just pure evil,” Frankie groans, “every parent's worst nightmare, you would never.” 

“I would never do that to you, Frankie,” you smile and accept his hand as he pulls you out of the bed. “But my brother’s kids, absolutely.” 

“Remind me to never piss you off, cariño,” Frankie chuckles as you make your way into his small kitchen where he’s got breakfast laid out. 

Right from the start Frankie had claimed he couldn’t cook and his mom’s brownies was the only thing he could bake. You’d quickly figured out that the ‘can’t cook’ line was more a show of Frankie’s insecurity rather than an actual thing. And he excelled at breakfast, making both blueberry pancakes, omelettes and smoothies so good you’d rather have his breakfast for every meal of the day than anything else. The first time you had his pancakes, made from scratch and not a box mix, you’d eaten four in one go and not even felt bad about it. Frankie’s smile when you kept asking for more was worth the bloated feeling you had for the rest of the day. He admitted he’d taught himself to make them because they were Lucía’s favourite food and the thought of Frankie looking up pancake recipes online to be able to serve his daughter her favourite food made you almost teary eyed. The more you got to know him, the more you saw of his big heart and soft side, the more it became difficult to equate the man you now knew, with the man who had been in Delta Force and displayed such skill at violence in the bar that horrible night. 

There was one thing that betrayed his background though, his nightmares. Frankie said he had them less these days but there were still several nights where you’d been woken up by him thrashing around in the bed, crying out incoherently. A few times you’d been woken up by Frankie throwing himself on top of you when his sleep hazy mind thought there was a threat in the room and you had to be protected. Sweet on one level, but on those nights it took you both a long time to go back to sleep, Frankie’s adrenaline spiking high and your own heart rate going through the roof after being so brutally woken up. You were grateful that he seemed to need to hold you as close as possible on those nights, it made it easier for you to fall back asleep with his heavy arm draped across your waist or chest, pulled in so tight that you could hear his heartbeat, feel it slow down as he calmed. 

The next morning he’d wake up in a dark mood, feeling guilty about scaring you and bringing his issues into your life. You soon figured out that the best way to get him past his sullen thoughts was to pull him down on the sofa and make him lay back, resting against you. That way you could hook one arm around his broad chest, make him tip his head back on your shoulder and then scratch his scalp with your fingertips. His mind would stop racing, he would feel your heartbeat under his body and your fingers softly scraping through his curls, slowly realising that you weren’t leaving, that he wasn’t scaring you away by showing you the darker sides of himself. 

“I’m sorry, cariño, I’m such an idiot, it’s just me and my stupid brain causing trouble,” he mumbled while your fingers worked through his hair. 

“You’re not an idiot, Frankie,” you gently admonished him, “you know why your brain gives you nightmares, you’ve been through more than anyone should have to endure, “ you press a kiss to his head and he leans towards you. 

“My sponsor always says I should tell people close to me what’s going on when I start spiralling out of control, but that’s always been the hardest thing.” 

“Why is it hard?” you ask, still brushing through his soft curls, willing him to relax against you. 

Frankie shifts under your arm, turning so that he can press his face against the side of your neck, you feel him inhale deeply as he stretches his arm across your chest and pulls you closer. 

“It took me a long time to figure this out,” he says in a low voice, “I feel like I fail when I lose control, fail my family, my friends, anyone I wanna be close to.” His voice is muffled, pressed up against you as he hides his face, “I feel guilty about failing so I don’t ask for help and then it gets worse, I fall into to bad habits and that makes me feel like more of a failure and that makes me feel even more guilty and then it just spirals out of control.”

“What do you think will happen when you tell those you love about losing control?” you ask in a soft voice. You’re leaning your cheek against his head, feeling his breath fan across your neck and chest as he draws a deep breath. 

“That you’ll leave me, see what a fuck up I am and realise I’m not worth the effort.” You can barely hear his low whisper, it cracks at the end, and your heart clenches, your hands leaving his hair as you wrap your arms tight around him, burying your face against his soft curls. 

“Never, Frankie, never.” You squeeze him, willing him to understand how much he’s come to mean to you in this short time. “I don’t know what happens in the future but I can promise you that I’ll never leave you because I think you’re not worth the effort. And don’t say that about yourself, you’ll always be worth the effort, Frankie,” you lean back, putting your hand on his chin and tilting it up so that you can look at him, his eyes are distressed, the usually soft look, pained and tight. “I’ve already told you I think you’re the best man I’ve ever known and even if you spiral out of control and your demons get the better of you, I won’t leave because I know how good you are, what a great man you are and what a great father you are to Lucía.” 

Frankie closes his eyes as you lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips, a long breath escaping with a shudder, as if he’d been holding it in.

“I’m always scared I’ll fuck things up with her,” he says when you pull back from his lips. “How am I gonna be any kind of role model to her when this is what I’ve done with my own life?” 

“Frankie, you idiot,” you smile softly at him, and he looks confused. “You’ve had a passion for helicopters since you were a kid right?” He nods and you continue, “So you found a way to become a helicopter pilot, a very difficult profession that takes enormous dedication and skill. You then got sucked into the fucked up system of the military, and saw some horrible things. Things that any normal person would consider fucked up and have trouble processing, right?” 

“Yeah, I guess, bu- “ 

You stop him, “You didn’t get any adequate help to deal with your PTSD so you found a way to deal with it yourself. A stupid way, sure, but you had the willpower to get your shit together when it became about someone else but you, your daughter.” 

Frankie just nods, his eyebrows pulled up in that tight little knot you’ve seen so many times. 

“Don’t you get it?” you say, “you’ve already proved to her, before she was even born, that she’s the center of your universe and that you’ll do anything for her and that she can do anything she wants. All she has to do is to look at how you’ve managed to get through some of the most fucked up shit.” 

Frankie looks at you as you stroke the lines between his eyebrows with your thumb, smoothing them out. “Frankie Morales, you’re amazing, and if you keep thinking you’re not I’ll have to smack you,” you smile at him and you see the corners of his mouth twitch up, “or I’ll get Pope to smack you,” you say and Frankie smiles properly, his face changing into that soft smile you’ve always loved. He drops his head down on your chest again, his nose pressed against your throat. 

“I’d like to see him try,” he chuckles as he wraps his arm around you and pulls himself on top, looking down at you. 

“Thank you,” he says, using your real name as if to emphasize, “I don’t know what I did in my last life to deserve you in this one.” 

“Maybe you saved my life somehow,” you smile and stroke your thumb over the bare patch in his scruffy beard, “and now you get to have incredible sex with me as a reward.” 

“Yeah?” he smirks, pulling up one corner of his mouth, “Maybe I wanna claim some of that reward right now.”

…

On Friday night, before Lucía’s coming to stay, Frankie picks you up for your date wearing no cap, but a white dress shirt with his dark jeans. You open the door and do a double take, holding out one hand in front of you to stop him, as you shamelessly admire the view. 

“Damn, Frankie…” you purr, letting your eyes travel down from the v of the open neck, the smattering of freckles dark against his tanned skin and white cotton, the wide shoulders that stretch the fabric when he crosses his arms, leaning on the door frame with a smile, his forearms on display where he’s rolled up the sleeves to his elbows, and all the way down over his slim hips and lean thighs under the black denim. 

“Are you taking me out to dinner, or are you delivering yourself for dinner?” you ask, giving him a wicked smile as you hook your finger into his shirt and pull him closer. Frankie chuckles and brushes his lips against yours. 

“Maybe I’m here to make a meal out of you…”

“Cheesy,” you giggled into his mouth, “but I’ll definitely remind yo-” 

He cuts you off with a kiss, pushing his hand into your hair and sealing his lips to yours, licking against your bottom lip before he gently sucks on it. A jolt of electricity immediately shoots down your spine and settles between your legs, the sheer promise of what he could deliver had you trembling. A moan escapes you as he pushes you against the wall and lets his thigh spread your legs, the friction shoots another jolt through your body and Frankie knows exactly what he’s doing. You can feel him move his thigh, the thick muscles giving just a taste of what his fingers would do later, and with a crooked smile he pulls back, both from your lips and your legs. 

“Frankie…” you moan, chasing his lips, but he chuckles and takes your hand, pulling you towards the door. 

“Let's get actual dinner before I make a meal out of you, my greedy little girl.” 

With a pout you follow him out the door but when he wraps his arms around your waist and kisses your neck in the elevator on the way down you melt, you were never really upset. “Who says I’ll keep my hands off you, hermosa,” he murmurs, “the restaurant is really dimly lit.” 

…

The place Frankie has picked is a new place you’d mentioned a while back and you squeeze his arm tightly when you realise that he’s made a reservation especially because he knew you wanted to go. He’s even requested a table at the back where the restaurant has a few tables in small window nooks overlooking the river. The waiter seats you and lights the two candles in the windows and in the small hanging chandelier over your heads, casting the whole table in a soft light. 

You sit down in the middle of the plush bench that curves under the windows, and Frankie sits down close to you, rather than opposite. You’re sharing a corner at the table, and even though there’d be more room if you sat at opposite ends, none of you are moving, least of all Frankie. Instead you feel his hand on your leg, slipping up under the edge of your dress, as soon as he sits down. His hand is hidden under the table cloth and although he lets his hand rest on your thigh for now, you’re fairly certain he won’t let it stay there.

The waiter returns to take your orders and while you’re asking about the fish dish Frankie’s fingers start moving, gentle little circles on your thigh but steadily moving up along your leg. You steal yourself to not let his touch get to you while you talk to the waiter, sitting perfectly still in your seat as you ask about the evening’s special. You can feel his fingers creep further up your leg, starting to tickle the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh. From the corner of your eye you can see Frankie innocently studying the menu but you can also see the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. As the waiter finishes with your order he turns to Frankie and as soon as the waiter’s eyes are off you, Frankie squeezes the inside of your thigh. Not hard, but enough to make your limbs clench together as you shudder from the jolt of heat that shoots through you, settling between your legs. Your involuntary spasm makes the waiter look at you again and you pretend to reach for the breadbasket as Frankie struggles to keep a straight face.

As soon as the waiter leaves Frankie turns to you with a mischievous grin and moves his hand further up your thigh. 

“Hermosa,” he purrs as you try to scowl at him, “your skin is so soft and grabbable right here.” He kneads the plush flesh of your inner thigh as you try to ignore the way it feels as he sinks his fingers into you. 

“You’re a menace, Francisco Morales,” you glare and he leans in on the table, propping his chin up with his free hand, so that his mouth is only inches from your lips. He continues to draw shapes on your skin as he looks at you, his face softening into an innocent look, big brown eyes looking at you like he’s only adoring his girlfriend, not slowly moving his hand up to brush the edge of your panties under the table.

“Why would you say that, cariño?” he asks, smiling as you clench your jaw when his finger tips nudges at your legs, beckoning you to spread them, and you obey without hesitation. “Am I distracting you from the nice view?” You scowl at him again but you can’t hide your smile and Frankie closes the last bit of distance between you and nudges the tip of his nose against yours, letting it brush along your cheek as he captures your lips with his. 

The kiss is soft and demure, anyone looking will only see a couple in love sharing a tender kiss, a sweet moment together. Frankie’s free hand takes your hand on the table and your fingers entwine, but under the table his fingertips are slowly brushing over the thin lace in your panties, feeling the dampness his touch is creating. He traces the slit under the fabric and grazes over your clit, making you quake against his lips, and you feel his mouth pull up in a smile. His tongue quickly darts between your lips as the pad of his thumb rubs with more pressure against the spot, pulling a soft moan from you as you lean into him. With a chuckle Frankie pulls away, moving his hand down your leg, and when you open your eyes to protest you see the waiter walking over with your drinks.

“I’m gonna get you back for this, you know,” you mumble and Frankie gives you a look of perfect innocence as he thanks the waiter for the drinks. When he leaves Frankie takes a sip from his beer and over the brim of his glass his eyes crinkle at the corners in a smile. 

“I think I’d like that, cariño, why don’t you try right now?” 

“No, I think I’ll pick a moment you’ll enjoy less,” you smile back at him, taking a sip of your own drink. 

Frankie leans forward, his hand falling below the table again and you quickly cross your legs as his hand touches your knee. 

“Ah, c’mon, cariño,” he coos, caressing the top of your thigh, edging under the hem of your dress again. 

“Keep your hands on the table, Francisco,” you give him a stern look that only makes him grin and scoot closer, leaning in so that he can skate his nose along your jaw, his lips brushing up against your ear, his hot breath tickling you. 

“Mi hermosa,” he mumbles, his lips barely touching your skin, “I want to touch you, feel if you’re as wet as I think you are.” He moves his mouth down and you feel the tip of his tongue slip out and lick across the spot he knows makes you shiver whenever he touches it. “I wanna to feel your sweet pussy tighten around my fingers as you think about what I’m gonna do with my mouth later.” 

His words make your eyes close as a shiver goes down your spine, heat pooling rapidly between your legs. And Frankie knows, he knows exactly what his dirty talk does to you. And now he continues to whisper how he wants to push your dress up over your hips, spread you before him and taste your sweet pussy, all the while his hand gently nudges your legs apart under the table. You feel heat rising in your cheeks as his fingers brush up over the soaked material in your panties. He’s telling you how good he knows you taste, how he loves the feeling of your pussy clenching around his tongue as he pushes into your tight hole. 

“I know you love how my nose rubs against your clit when I bury my face between your legs, hermosa,” he murmurs and you bite your lip to stop a moan escaping. Outwardly he’s still just whispering sweet nothings to you, a loving boyfriend nuzzled against the neck of his love, under the table his fingers have slipped past your panties and are pushing into your pussy, his thick index and ring finger stretching you. You lean forward on your elbows, tilting your head towards him, hiding your face from the room. Frankie’s teeth scrape against your skin as he curls his fingers back inside you, rubbing against the spot he always seems to find so easily. The thrill of him fingering you in public has your cheeks burning, your jaw is clenched tight to stop yourself from panting. Tension is building inside you as Frankie’s breath fans over your skin. 

“Are you gonna come for me, baby?” he whispers, “I wish I could get down on my knees and lick you, tug that sweet little clit of yours into my mouth, make you come on my face just like I did - “

Frankie suddenly pulls back, footsteps approaching your table, his fingers slipping out of you as he sits up. 

“Alright, I’ve got the grilled tuna for the lady and the lamb racks for the gentleman,” the waiter says, placing plates on the table. 

You’ve still got your face turned away, cheeks burning as you calm your breathing. Frankie’s hand comes up and genty cups your chin, a soft smile on his face, as if you say he’s got you, and not at all sorry that he’s got you on the edge of an orgasm in the middle of a crowded Friday night restaurant. 

…

You barely make it to the truck once you're done with the meal. The thrum of your near orgasm is still humming through your body and Frankie’s warm arm around your waist, holding you close, makes you want to duck into an alley and risk getting caught for public indecency. You stop him and cup his cheek, pulling him down for a kiss, letting your tongue slip between his lips as his large hand cups the back of your head. You feel his other hand sliding up your back, pressing you against his chest and you lick into his mouth, tasting him and the chocolate he had for dessert. Heat shoots through your body as he presses his hard on into you, he’s trying to create friction to give himself some relief but the way your body reacts, a low moan slipping out, only makes him harder. With a groan he pulls away, grabbing your hand and almost drags you the last bit to the truck. 

It’s parked on a side street and you pull him against you again when he takes you around to the passenger side. Slipping your hand in between you, you palm his cock through his jeans, Frankie grumbles, dropping his head on your shoulder and letting his mouth kiss your neck.

“I need to get you home, hermosa,” he murmurs, his face buried in your hair. “I wanna get you out of this dress so badly.”

 Letting your fingers trace the outlines through the fabric, you circle around the tip pressed against the zipper and Frankie’s breath hitches, his teeth sinking into your neck, sucking against the skin. Behind your back he opens the door to the truck and manoeuvres you so that he’s got his arms at your waist. With casual strength that takes your breath away he lifts you up, setting you down on the bench seat, and for a second you think he’s going to climb up after you. Instead he stops, one foot up on the step, his gaze dropping to where your knees fall open, he’s got a perfect view and his eyes go dark. His hand grabs your thighs, pushing you further into the truck and pushing them wider, the tip of his tongue comes out and licks his bottom lip, before he tears himself away, looking up at you again and inhales deeply as he steps down and closes the door. 

You can’t help but giggle at the effect you had on him and he notices your smile when he pulls himself into the driver’s seat. 

“What are you giggling about, cariño?” he says, buckling in and starting up the truck. His hard cock is straining against his jeans, and you scoot closer to him, cupping your hand around it. 

“Nothing,” you say, “nothing at all, sweetie,” but you smile when you see his jaw clench as soon as your palm presses against his cock and his voice is strained when he replies.

“If you keep doing that I’m gonna have to park the truck somewhere dark before we get back to my place.” 

“Would you like that, Frankie?” you ask in a low voice, leaning in so that your breath tickles his neck and you see goosebumps break out on his skin.

“If you’re asking if I wanna fuck you in my truck, then, fuck yes. But let's save that for a date where I can do it properly, and not in the corner of some Costco parking lot.” His voice is a dark rumble as he looks over at you, pausing the truck at a stop sign. His unruly curls are creating a halo lit by the street light behind him and it reminds you of the first time you were in his truck. Him driving to the airfield with you and you’re struck by how much has happened since that first day with Frankie. 

“Remember when we were first in your truck together?” you ask, mirroring the gesture you did then, lifting your hand to push it through the soft curls on his head. 

“I do, vividly,” he smiles, leaning into your hand, “I told you to do that again when we weren’t in any vehicles I would crash.” 

“You also said you wanted to kiss me.” 

“I did, and I wanted to kiss you right then, but it took like three more tries before I got my chance.” Frankie chuckles as he puts the truck in drive again. He lifts his arm so that he can put it around your shoulders, pulling you in, and you take your hand from his cock, not wishing to cause any accidents, resting it on his thigh instead. 

“Put your hand back there as soon as we’re inside the apartment, please,” Frankie says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, making you giggle and squeeze his thigh. Your sexual energy is still thrumming in your nerves but they simmer lower as you lean against Frankie, feeling a different kind of energy in your system. 

This man makes you feel safe, comfortable and wanted. You drop your head against his shoulder, relishing in the way his sheer presence wraps you up in a cocoon of happy content, as if his solid, calm energy makes your body relax and sink into him. Frankie’s own self doubts and nerves never seemed to seep out of him, he pulled them into himself, you could see in his eyes when he was pulled under by his negative thoughts, but the energy he gave to you was always solid, like a rock holding you steady. 

“You’re my rock, Frankie,” you say, as you wrap your arm across his waist, hugging him tightly. 

“Your rock, cariño?” he smiles, dropping his eyes from the road for a second to look at you. 

“You’re solid like a rock, making me feel calm when I’m with you, like you can handle whatever happens and keep me safe.” 

“I don’t know how much of a rock I am, I’ve struggled with keeping myself steady for most of my life,” he says, his voice a little doleful. 

“I know, but somehow you still manage to make me feel like you’re the most stable person in the world.” 

“You mean boring,” Frankie snorts, “should I be insulted?” 

You slap him playfully and shake your head, “Anything but boring, Frankie, just…you make me feel calm, and relaxed, when I’m with you. And happy. Very, very happy.” 

You feel him tighten his arm around your shoulders, “Mi amor,” he mumbles, his lips pressed to your hair as he keeps one eye on the road, “you make me very, very happy too.”

…

The mood changes as you get to Frankie’s apartment, riding up the elevator he nods up at the security camera in the corner and you resort to snuggling into him, keeping everything PG. But the second he’s got you over the threshold he cages you in between his arms against the door, his long body pressed up against yours, and you wrap your arms around his neck as his mouth finds yours. 

“Longest fucking dinner of my life,” he murmurs against you, his hips are flush against your belly and the hard line of his cock twitches between you. “Would’ve pulled you out of there and actually fucked you in my truck if I hadn’t waited three weeks for that reservation.” 

“You’re such a romantic, Frankie,” you smile, grabbing hold of his curls and pulling him back a little so that you can see his dark eyes, his eyelids half closed and a greedy look on his face. 

“Put your hand back on my dick, please, hermosa,” he husks, rolling his hips so that you can feel his cock more firmly. Keeping a hold on his hair so that you can look at him you snake your other hand between you and cup it over the hard bulge in his jeans, stroking it firmly with your eyes locked on his. His lips curl up almost as if he’s in pain and a dark groan slips out between his parted lips as he keeps his eyes on you, his pupils are wide and half hidden under his eyelids. You repeat the motion, adding your nails, rasping them over the bulge and Frankie’s head falls back. 

“Fuuuuck….” he moans, louder this time, “fucking feels so good but I’m about to break the zipper, cariño,” he pants. 

You tug at his hair, “Eyes on me, Francisco.” The use of his full name snaps him back as you palm him again, using your nails, and the look in his eyes sparks something inside you. Leaning in, close to his ear, you nip lightly at his earlobe, pulling a soft gasp from him. 

“Frankie,” you whisper, “do you like it when I tell you what to do?” The groan from deep in his chest is answer enough, and when you lean back, looking at him again, his jaw is clenched and he’s got a strained look on his face. 

“Tell me what to do, hermosa,” he grates out, his hips still against your palm cupped over his aching cock. His eyebrows are tightly knitted, his dark eyes fixed on your as he swallows hard, but he doesn’t move. 

You smile, the thought of having Frankie obeying your orders turns you on more than you thought it would. He’s always in control when you have sex, apart from the last few minutes when he loses himself, pumping into you as he chases his orgasm, he’s always in control. He always makes sure you come once or twice before he thinks about himself, he’s always thinking about how to give you as much pleasure as possible and seems to get as much out of it as you do. But he’s always called the shots, until now. 

“Frankie…” you purr, pulling your hand up from his dick to stroke your fingertips over his patchy beard, “this is new, I can call the shots tonight?” 

“Yes, baby, tell me what you want me to do,” his face is less strained now that your hand isn’t caressing his aching cock but his tone is still a dark groan

“Take me to your bedroom, Frankie,” you say, testing the waters, although this is hardly a difficult one. 

With a swift motion he bends and puts his arm behind your knees, the other at your back, picking you up as your arms wrap around his neck for purchase and he walks through the dimly lit apartment.  

“With the risk of sounding like a cavewoman,” you giggle, “your strength always turns me on, I forget how strong you are until you pick me up like I weigh nothing.”

“Maybe I should pick you up more often,” Frankie grins, pushing open the door to his bedroom. “Tell me, what do you want me to do with you now?” 

“Put me down,” you say and he gently sets you down on your feet and you sit down on the edge of the bed, giving him a mischievous smile. 

“Take your clothes off for me, Frankie.” 

He grins and starts rolling down the sleeves of his white shirt before unbuttoning it, revealing more tanned skin as he moves down. 

“The thing is,” you say, your eyes shamelessly watching him slide the shirt off his wide shoulders, “you’re always in control when we have sex. Making sure I come first, making me come several times before you even let me touch you.” Frankie gives you a proud smirk while his hands undo his belt and slides it out, dropping it on the floor next to the shirt. “And tonight, I wanna do the same to you.” You watch as his hands still, his zipper halfway down. 

“Don’t stop, Francisco,” you tell him. “You take your pants off at the last moment, when you’ve already got me spread out on the bed, coming down from you eating my pussy. I wanna watch you properly this time.” At the mention of him eating you out he narrows his eyes and you see the pink tip of his tongue peek out between his lips, his eyes dropping to the hem of your dress. 

“Maybe later, Frankie, if you’re a good boy,” you smile and his eyes find yours, the greedy look in them almost makes you want to drop your game and let him take control again. But instead you watch him push his jeans down over his narrow hips, catching his socks at the same time as he steps out of them. He stands up, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his snug black boxers, looking at you with his head tilted to the side and a crooked grin. 

“Want me to keep going?” he asks, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

You bite your lip, it’s hard to keep a straight face when he’s looking so good standing in front of you and he knows you’re cracking. “I didn’t tell you to stop, Francisco,” you manage to press out. 

The boxers are stretched over his rigid cock, doing nothing to hide the sheer size of him or how aroused he is. When you first had sex with him he was a bit self conscious, both about his body and the size of dick. Any qualms about this size you’d dispelled the first time, he knew you loved how he filled you up and you let him know it, loudly. His hang ups about his flat butt and soft belly were harder to dispel, but now he’s standing in front of you without any nerves, confidence oozing from him as he drags his boxers down his hips. He keeps his eyes on you as they slide over his cock, making it jump out as the elastic pulls over the tip. You’re flitting your eyes between his boxers and his face, your tongue peaking out without you noticing, licking your lips as he drops the boxers and strokes himself a few times with languid passes. 

“Lie down on the bed, Frankie,” you order him, standing up so that he can stretch out and lie back. He puts his hands out for you, trying to pull you down on top of him but you smile and slip away from his hands. 

“Patience, Frankie boy,” you purr and swat his hand away from your leg as he grins. 

You’ve still got your dress on and you see his cocky smile fade away as you give him the same view you just got. You’re wearing the black wrap around dress he loves and as his dark eyes watches, you untie it at the waist and let it fall open, pulling the ribbon out of the dress. 

“Hermosa,” Frankie moans, “you’re so beautiful, come here, let me touch you, please.” 

Shrugging it off your shoulders you step back up on the bed and straddle Frankie’s thighs, his hard cock jutting up towards his stomach just in front of you. 

“Not yet, my sweet Frankie,” you coo, “I know you want to taste me, make me come with your face buried in my pussy, but not yet.” 

Frankie’s jaw clenches and you can see his hands grabbing hold of the covers as you sit down. He’s desperate to touch but determined to let you guide him this time. The black lace panties and bra you’re wearing aren’t helping, it’s his favourite set. You’d asked for his advice when you bought it a few weeks ago and his cock had twitched when he thought about seeing you in it, wrapped like a present for him. Now you’re hovering above his erection, wearing that set, leaning down over him as your hand closes around the base. 

“Cariño,” he grumbles with a shiver as your breath ghosts over the head of his cock, it’s already weeping, drops of precum collecting at the slit. “Please…” 

“Please what, Frankie?” you smile, leaning closer to the tip, sticking out your tongue, keeping your eyes on him. His eyes are black, his eyebrows furrowed as he looks at where the tip of your tongue traces the slit of his cock. When you make contact he moans, his hips bucking up involuntarily. 

“Please, hermosa,” he pants, and you lick your tongue over the head, collecting the salty liquid as he groans and bucks his hips again. Your mouth sinks over him and he’s fisting the covers, fighting the urge to grab on to your head, instead he watches as his aching cock disappears between your lips. He can feel the head gliding along the inside of your mouth as you take him deeper, your tongue licking along the length, teasing along the swollen ridges and veins that thrum with heat. Saliva drips from your mouth, down over his cock and you use it to slide your hand up and down him, easing the friction over the part that’s not in your mouth. 

Heat is building fast in his belly, your mouth is a hot vise around his cock, taking more and more down your throat as he gasps and groans, screwing up his eyes when he can’t watch, when he gets too close to coming. He’s rambling as he shivers underneath you, praising your mouth, your tongue, your hands. When your nose brushes against the wiry curls at the base of his cock, the head bumping the back of your throat, he cries out, begging you for release. 

“Please, you’re so good to me, let me…oh fuck you feel good,” he stutters, his voice catching as you close your mouth around him, dragging your lips along his length as you increase the pressure.

“Fuck…your mouth…hermosa, your mouth, make me come, let me come in you.” He opens his eyes again, looking down at you as you sink your mouth down over him again, you can taste his precum on your tongue, more of it leaking out. 

His hips are jerking up, he’s breathing fast as he whimpers and you lift your eyes to him, meeting his gaze. Seeing him like this, his mouth hanging open as he whines, looking wrecked, he screws his face up as if he’s in pain, makes you shudder, your panties are soaked, every one of his moans and whines going straight to your core. 

You sink down deeper over him, your tongue licking every inch of him as you take as much as you can, letting his cock brush against the back of your throat again as you move your mouth up and down his length, stroking the slick base with your hand coated in his precum and your saliva. 

Frankie lets out a broken growl, “fuck, cariño, ple…please…I’m gon - “ his stuttering turns into shout as you feel the first burst of thick liquid coat your tongue, he’s jerking his hips, his hands fly from the sheets and tangle in your hair as he pumps himself upwards, your mouth closing tight around his pulsating cock, milking his spend as it shoots out of him. Frankie’s whole body tenses up, his back arching off the bed, the corded tendons on his neck stretch and tremble when he throws his head back, a cry as if he’s in pain tearing itself from his throat. 

You continue to stroke him through his climax, looking up at him, seeing his throat strain as he pants, groaning through his high. His thrusts grow slower and you let your mouth drag along him, softening your lips as you let him pump the last of himself over your tongue, ending with a small kiss on the tip of his sensitive head. He relaxes and looks down at you again, seeing your mouth come off him and you wipe the back of your hand over your mouth. 

“Help, I can’t move,” he groans softly and you smile at him as you crawl up his body and lie down in his arms. 

“I liked that,” you say, wrapping an arm over his chest as he pulls you in close. “I see why you like eating my pussy first, it’s a rush to have that power.” 

“Don’t get used to it, cariño,” Frankie smiles, “I’m not giving it up so easily.” 

“I’ll get Benny to teach me how to bark orders like in the military, you seem to like me bossing you around.” 

“Only because I let you,” he pokes his finger into your side, “I wanted to see if you had it in you.” 

“Bullshit!” you splutter and almost sit up, but Frankie’s arm tightens around you and pulls you back down. “The second I used your full name you caved.” 

“I hated hearing my full name in the army, it meant I was in trouble. But when you say it, cariño lindo…I melt.” 

“I know, Francisco Morales,” your giggle turns into a squeal when he suddenly grabs your arms and flips you over. 

“Ahora, mi hermosa,” he murmurs as he sinks his mouth to your neck, “now it’s your turn.”

Chapter 8

[kragehund-est]

hey, not to make this your problem, but my adhd is kicking my ass. what systems do you use that work for you?

here are some of the things i use to help myself. everyone's different though, so see what works for you. @ anyone else, feel free to chime in with what you do.

study/work:

do NOT have your phone in the vicinity, and also put it on do not disturb.

dedicate a clear space to work in, don't do other things in that space.

set a timer for 25 min and study til it runs out. take a 5 min break. repeat 3 times. then take a 40 min break. (pomodoro technique) plan ahead of time what will happen in each of those time slots.

it's fine to fidget or doodle, but do a periodic check that that's not becoming your main focus. i use a grip strengthener because i don't have to look at it to use it.

if you listen to music, either set a playlist or accept whatever music comes on. if a song you dont like comes on, simply accept it and let it pass. DON'T PICK UP YOUR PHONE TO CHANGE IT.

if you find your mind drifting while you're studying/working, don't stay in the same place, get up. get a glass of water, stretch, get a snack, whatever. come back once you feel you can focus better.

memory:

a lot of people will tell you to set up a morning/nightime routine. instead of putting in steps like 1. brush teeth 2. take meds, etc., my routine is to force myself to walk along a predetermined path in my house. it's much easier to remember to do things when i SEE them

if you have something you misplace often, like you wallet or keys, give it a home. i have a little box on a table by my door.

if you have to remember to bring something with you (like a backpack, gym bag, or gift for a friend), place it directly in front of the door. you cannot leave without looking at that thing.

also, you can get carabiners and clip things together. i used to always forget my water bottle. well now i physcially cannot do that because i clipped my car keys to it.

write things down! "nahh i'll just remember it" <- no you will not. bring a notepad and pen.

in that same vein, don't put anything off when it takes two seconds. pay for something with your card? immediately afterwards put the card back in your wallet, lest you drop it in your pocket and then forget it there when you wear different clothes the next day.

i have a huge whiteboard in my living room that has my calendar and my to-do list.

on my calendar, i put not only the event, not only the TIME of the event, but also i include the time i need to leave in order to arrive on time, and list anything i need to bring with me.

the to-do list has completion times and priority level next to it. i will NOT start a low priority 40 min project when i have high priority 5 min project. even if the 5 min one sucks.

general tips:

everyone with adhd knows routine is important, but if you find part of a routine difficult, find the root issue and adjust it. problem: i take too long to get dressed in the morning. cause: too tired to make a decision, uncoordinated because of sleepiness. solution: lay your clothes out and loop your belt through belt loops *before bed* so you don't have to do it half asleep

don't mix stimulants. caffeine or adderall alone: cool. caffeine and adderall mixed: twitchy sociopath behaviors and shaky hands.

don't worry about maintaining "normalcy", if something works for you, do it.

limit phone use, especially short form media like reels. it has been proven to both induce and worsen adhd-like symptoms.

i know this is cringe but maintain your physical health. exercise, sleep well, drink water, eat balanced meals.

[cgogs]

dear atlas, c!dnf | 4.7k | angst with a happy ending

@dreblrsecretsanta for @purpleglitch !! Sorry for the early upload, it's just that I'm about to be BEYOND busy for the holidays and figured I'd upload this now while I have time. I hope you enjoy it so much!! Happy holidays to you <3

Each step up the castle tower sends a razor-sharp, bone-deep bolt through Dream’s legs. It’s his boot’s fault, mostly. He’s been meaning to replace them, it’s just that every hour more important things are added to his to-do list. Mediate this conflict, protect George, meet with someone here, monitor status on this, go here, deliver that, and try not to die until the day’s itinerary is complete.

Shopping just isn’t a high priority, but he’s beginning to reconsider that sentiment. He really should just give in and invest in another horse, but it would probably just be killed within a month and they’re just far too expensive for that. 

His armor clinks quietly as he moves, uneven and exhausted. A small part of him alerts like a guard dog– straighten up, nobody can know you’re vulnerable, anyone could hear how hurt you are– but another painful step quiets the barking. He traps the groan behind his teeth.

Dream stops for a moment to lean against the wall, hand braced on where the candelabra fixture hooks into the stone. This spiral staircase is dearly kicking his ass, more so than usual. Without the climb to focus on or the pain to blur his vision, he has the opportunity to take in his surroundings.

The castle is quiet, quieter than usual, candles burning low and dripping on the floor. Moonlight cuts through the windows at an angle sharper than it should. 

Dream pulls his communicator from his belt to check the time, a curse slipping out under his breath as the numbers meet his eyes. It’s nearly three in the morning. He’s coming home late. Very late. They talked about this, Dream promised he’d try to get home earlier. 

Guilt settles thick in his gut, despite barely having the brainpower to feel much of anything at all other than exhaustion. He blows the stray hairs out of his eyes, chuffing like an annoyed horse.

Four nights ago, George had been waiting behind the door at the top of the tower. Dream knew he was in trouble before George even opened his mouth. He was holding a clock and asked Dream to guess how late it was. When he guessed wrong, George shoved it in his face, too close to even see the hands, and angrily proclaimed it was nearly one in the morning, and that Dream had been coming home at one in the morning every night the last week after spending all day ‘doing god knows what, who knows where.’

Dream had done his best to be earnest and honest, as much as he could be. If George had it his way and was privy to every little thing Dream did, he’d be stoned in the street or tied to a pyre. Dream’s not sure what events would bridge the gap between these two truths, but he knows it would happen.

He had told George he would try, but that he had so much to do this week. George was anxiously picking at his cuticles the way he did when he was thinking hard, and asked him to promise he wouldn’t come home later than this. Dream thought he’d be able to. And, yes, he’s sorry he broke his promise but… it’s all so important. So important.

He hadn’t meant to let time get away from him. He just had so much to do, and so many stupid things got in the way, Tubbo and Fundy, then Q… and he got in a scrape on his way back and it was all just so fucking stupid.

Guilt grows like a vine up his throat.

He’s sorry. He thinks about what he’s going to say, how he’ll explain himself. He can’t grip on a coherent sentence or script, eyelids heavy like mud, mind fuzzy, feet aching.

Maybe it’ll be fine. George will be asleep, and they can talk about it in the morning. He’ll open the door and see dark hair splayed over feather pillows, still as death. Dream will strip his armor and curl into his body and fit whatever position George fell asleep in, and he’s so excited for it. Though currently, he’s not sure which lover he’s looking forward to seeing more– the bed or the boy.

The last seven days have felt like seven years.

Wax drips onto his fingers. Wincing, he takes another painful step forward. Suddenly things like guilt and excitement were as far away and abstract as distant planets or stars. 

Dream nearly falls through the door when he reaches the summit. He catches his breath, straightens his posture, and prepares to get ready for bed without waking his king. 

He opens the door as quietly as possible. Thankfully, it squeals only a little bit. He tiptoes in, craning his head to look at the boy already fast asleep. He’s curled all the way to the edge of his side of the bed, back facing the door. Dream wonders if it means something. 

He unhooks his cloak first, folding it gently on the table in the middle of the room. It’s a large room that can fit a round dinner table, as well as bookcases and couches and a fireplace. The kinds of things George doesn’t appreciate as much as Dream thought he would.

The boots are next to go, then his sword and his axe, then armor one by one until he’s stripped to his pants and shirt. After a moment’s thought, he shucks off his pants. Shirt and boxers. He looks at the bed and practically salivates, not even thinking to bother with changing his bandages. He sets his comm on the bedside table and attempts to lift a leg to climb in.

Dream’s legs wobble and give out as soon as he leans his weight on the bed. He collapses onto his side, a symphony of pained noises trapped behind the cage of his teeth. He looks up, wide-eyed, to see if he’s woken his Sleeping Beauty. George remains still as a corpse. 

He rather pathetically pulls himself up to spoon him, arm laying limply over George’s side. A sigh of utter relief slides out of his lungs as his chest decompresses. It’s relief like an ice bath in the desert or hot soup in the snow.

The bed is soft on his aching body, George’s sweatpants soft on his bare, bruised legs. Dream drags his calves to tangle with his, allowing himself a relieved whimper into the crook of George’s neck. He sometimes teases George for dressing like he’s living in constant winter, but really he wouldn’t change it for the world. It means soft hugs when he drags his miserable body into bed at the end of the day. If he didn’t wear his sweaters, George wouldn’t be able to cradle his head in his sleeves when he’s bleeding, and Dream wouldn’t be able to bite down on the thick fabric when he had to scream. 

He feels the tension in his body slowly unwind. Every breath has him sinking further and further into the mattress, a taut string slowly, slooowly let to rest. He pulls George closer, hooking his arm tighter around his waist. If he wasn’t used to it it might feel a little like cuddling a corpse. 

That dog in the back of his mind starts growling again. Telling him to check, check, check. 

Dream obliges since it’s a simple request, and he knows he’ll never be able to sleep otherwise. He slides his fingers down George’s arm to find his wrist, pressing on his pulse point. It takes a few adjustments, but he finds that steady beating pressing against the pads of his fingers. Alive. Safe. The last requirement needed to sleep is fulfilled. Dream sighs, nuzzling his head against George’s neck, hand still loosely wrapped around the bone of George’s wrist. 

The midnight air is clear and cool. Dream is warm and holding the love of his life. Nothing outside that horrible wooden door matters here. Nothing else matters. No blood, no bone, no war. Just George.

That is, until he hears the unmistakable sound of his communicator buzzing against the table behind him. Dream ignores it at first, but it comes again and again. His eyebrows knit in frustration. He buries his nose further into the dark space between George’s neck and the pillow, like he could outrun the nagging in the back of his mind. 

It vibrates again, breaking Dream’s resolve. He groans miserably, more than half asleep, as he untangles himself to reach back for the comm. His vision is blurry with sleep, making it near impossible to read the screen until he’s blinked a dozen times. The light of the screen shines too bright for how dark it is. He uses a hand to shield George’s direction so it won’t wake him.

It’s Punz. Punz, in code, telling him he’s finished the reconnaissance he’d been told to do two days ago. Updates on the pet experiments, no luck yet. Their theory about the revive book being exclusive to human souls is seeming more and more solid, but that’s not something he wants to be thinking about at the moment. 

<Dream> thkx

<Dream> domt text me this lat e

He fumbles the buttons, accidentally sending Punz a string of gibberish before giving up entirely on typing a coherent goodbye. He’s about to throw the device down and shove his nose back into the crook of George’s neck when the body next to him begins to tremble.

Dream stares for a moment, wondering if he’s hallucinating from lack of sleep. Then there’s a hiccup, followed by two sharp breaths, both so quiet Dream would have missed them if he wasn’t holding his breath. 

“George?” Dream whispers, voice wrecked from all the yelling he’d done today. He drops the comm on the bed so he can lay his full hand on George’s shoulder. He could be having a nightmare, but he’s not sure. All he knows is that he wants to fix it. “George?”

George gives up on keeping it in and starts crying honestly. Whiny but guttural, more hurt than angry– but it’s with his teeth, not throat. Dream sits up in bed, the exhaustion that had been possessing him instantly chased away. 

“B–by?” Dream whispers, word cracked in two from his shredded voice. “What’s wrong?”

He feels like an idiot trying to catch something that’s about to fall, chasing it around with his arms outstretched. He wants to fix this, but doesn’t know how. George is mad, he can tell, but he’s hugging himself, and that isn’t something George does when he’s mad. It’s something he does when he’s scared. 

“You’re safe.” Dream rubs his arm, pushes those beautiful brown curls out of his face, watches the tears fall over the bridge of his nose. “I’m right here.”

“Why’d’you– why’d you lie to me?” George says, strangled. He seems to decide crying is stupid and embarrassing, because he furiously wipes at his eyes. “Why are you always lying to me?”

Dream bites his lip anxiously. The same guilt from the hallway lacquers his insides again. 

“I didn’t– I’m– I didn’t lie. I lost track of time. I’m sorr–”

“You’re lying to me.” George sits up, eyes red and stubborn. He’s pulling his thoughts together to form an argument, Dream can see the gears turning. “You’re hiding things.” 

“I’m, that– okay, just. What am I lying about?”

“Where you go all day!” George has grabbed a pillow to hug, rocking himself back and forth. Dream thinks, briefly, that he looks cute. He wants to hold him, but the way they’re sitting is classic parley formation, facing each other with crossed legs, knees touching. Neither of them can cross the middle line until the argument is over. That’s just how they do things. “I don’t– I don’t know exactly what, but…”

“I’m not lying to you about where I go. I have a lot of projects, and I’m helping–”

“I know. I know. Helping, helping, helping. Fingers in a lot of pies.” George puts up an honorable fight against the wetness in his voice, still furiously wiping his tears. The skin under his eyes has turned an irritated pink. “But why? Why do you have to do so much? You’re my knight. I’m your king. You should be with me.”

George has a way of shooting arrows straight through him. Dream rubs his eyes as the words dig into his gut. His voice sounds defeated already. “I can’t be everywhere at once.”

“Dream. Like, I– I just don’t understand…”

“Yeah, you don’t.” His voice breaks and turns quiet halfway through, like he could’ve softened the blow.  He doesn’t know why he said that. He’s just tired of this same argument, over and over. It’ll be over soon. So soon. He wishes George would just believe him.

George’s expression screws into desperation, fingers digging into his pillow. “Then tell me! Just, tell me, Dream. I’m not– stupid, I can understand things. I’m not stupid.”

It’s not that Dream is angry. It’s just that he’s tired beyond tired and this is the only time of the day he doesn’t have to wear his armor. The one room where nothing else matters but the people who occupy it. He burrows his head in his hands. 

“Why don’t you trust me, Dream? Did I do something wrong?”

“Why don’t you trust me? Why don’t you just–” 

“Because I can’t even trust you to keep a super simple promise! I’m– you can’t expect me to just, like, be fine with never getting to see you.”

“Well maybe if you tried to be king even a little bit, I wouldn’t have to go do all your shit for you.”

George damn near barks, sharp and angry. Dream watches his mouth form the beginning of a thousand different sentences, hands clenching into fists before his expression breaks entirely. His angry grimace turns into a quivering frown, eyes wet with fear, voice pitched and tight.

“Are you cheating on me?”

Dream feels like he’s swallowed a bucket of ice. His back straightens as he shoots up. Instantly, he regrets antagonizing him. He doesn’t know why he said that. He’s lined with dog teeth.

“No! What? Absolutely not.” He wants to break the rules to touch him. So he does. His side stings as he leans to brush his fingers against George’s knuckles. “Never.”

Whatever angry force of nature George had been channeling before is dying now, Dream can see it fading in his eyes. Fading into some kind of relief. Maybe it was the reassurance, or the touch, but something is pacified.

“Did someone tell you that? Or make a joke?” He knows people don’t have many kind things to say about him these days. George picks at his cuticles, rocking slightly. Dream rocks with him a bit, too.

“No. I guess. Not really…” He sniffles. There’s a stiff silence. Dream searches his eyes, trying to read his mind. “I’m sorry. I’m just crazy.”

“What happened?”

“I just really wanted you to come home tonight. I stayed up.” George shrugs hopelessly, looking anywhere that isn’t Dream. “You have to understand from my perspective. I never see you, and then when I do see you you get into bed and start texting someone else. This isn’t the only time it’s happened.”

“It was just Punz,”

“I don’t care. I don’t care. Not, not my point.” George stresses, “you swore you’d be my knight but you don’t even. Knight. And I guess it’s whatever because I don’t really king either. But I… miss you. I miss you.”

Dream doesn’t know what to say. He opens and closes his mouth like an idiot fish, trying to find a way to comfort him but not make a promise he can’t keep. George waits for it. It never comes. They both feel it when the other gives up on a solution. Defeat on both sides. 

They look at the sheets silently. Their knees rub together. Moonlight makes the room glow, lines the edges of George’s hair in silver.

His voice is small when he speaks next. “Where were you tonight?”

Dream was going to lie so he wouldn’t worry him, but. “I had some trouble with monsters. I got pinned down in the forest. I’m sorry.”

George scoffs. Somehow, Dream knows the frustration isn’t directed at him. “Oh my god. That’s not even your fault.”

“I don’t know. I could have texted you or something. I’m sorry I kept you up.”

George wipes his nose with the edge of his pillow. Dream would think it was gross if it was anyone else. “It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry I’m not around. I want to be. This, it’ll all be over soon. Things will settle down.”

“Does it have to be you?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

George nods weakly. He knows he won’t get a better answer. Dream doesn’t have a better one to give him. He’s too tired. 

“And you’re not cheating on me?”

“You are the prettiest thing in the whole world. I’d be an idiot.” He doesn’t know if flattery will get him far, but he can see the corners of George’s mouth flicker, and that’s enough. “You’re the only one that would put up with me anyway.”

“Why is your voice so messed up?” George lays his pillow back down on the bed. His legs unfold and he moves to lay back down. Dream wants to scoot closer, but thinks twice. There’s a moonbeam shining there. He doesn’t want George to see his legs. 

“Screamed a lot.”

“Why?”

“Scaring people to cut their shit out.”

“Mmh.”

This is George’s script for end-of-day. It doesn’t have a lot of heart this time. Dream is realizing it never truly did. He feels bad. George lays his hand in the empty space, beckoning him to come forward or lay down. Dream doesn’t move. He sucks in a breath.

“Are you okay? Did… Dream, are you hurt?”

He’s an idiot for thinking he could keep it from George, of all people. But he didn’t want to worry him.

“Uh. Well, yeah. But it’s okay. I promise. I already treated it.” Dream knows this won’t work. He tries to lay down, legs twitching through the pain. George clocks it immediately, propping himself up on his forearms.

“Show me.” 

It’s not a request. So, Dream does. He pulls his legs into the light in all their bruised glory. His foot, the one that was giving him the most trouble, is a far deeper shade of purple than he anticipated. 

George runs his fingers over each bruise, marble white and cold as stone. His expression is stone. He must spot a hint of bandage from under Dream’s shirt, because his eyes flit from his bruises to his side, and Dream knows the jig is up.

“I promise it’s okay. I promise, George.” Not that his promises mean anything. 

George must think so too. He ignores him in favor of gently pulling up his shirt, spying the blood soaked bandages wrapped around his middle. Dream hisses when the fabric of his shirt catches on the gauze. George frowns.

“Why would you let me just yell at you for being late? You should have told me.” 

“To be fair. I was late.”

“To be fair. You were wounded. You literally got jumped.” 

George gives it an apologetic look, tracing the blood stains with the tips of his fingers. Guilt doesn’t look good on him, but Dream doesn’t know how to fix it. 

“Change those first thing when you wake up.” George sets his shirt back in place. He gently tugs on Dream’s neck to lay down. Nothing sounds better. “And don’t jump around and stuff.”

“I know.”

They curl up together, noses nearly pressing. It’s faint in the dark, but Dream can see the pitiable expression on his face. Thin, cold fingers come to rest on Dream’s jaw. Dream holds his hip in return. Equal and fair, reciprocated and even. George searches his eyes for an anchor, something to respond to. He just looks sadder and sadder as the minutes press on.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers. “I just miss you.”

It’s hard for Dream to whisper back. “I miss y–u too.”

“Do you really?”

“This is my favorite part of the day. Getting to hold you. ‘N be held by you.”

The fingers on his jaw twitch. George’s thumbs cradle his face. Dream watches his face carefully. Though he knows every curve and edge and nasty imperfection of George’s being, it only hits him in moments like this just how much he has to protect. The whole world fits in the curve of his arms. The whole world has a kiss like a nine-volt battery and fury like a god. The whole world waits for him to come home every day, hoping he’s in one piece. Dream wonders if the world knows he’s trying to save it. 

“I love you.” George whispers, barely tethered to the waking world. Maybe he realized he hadn’t said it when they were fighting, or after they decided to stop fighting. Maybe it's the last thing he thinks before going to sleep, and the first thing he thinks in the morning. Maybe it was coating the back of his throat like Dream’s guilt coats his, and he just had to tell him.

“I’m sorry.” Dream kisses him. “I love you.”

George falls asleep with tear tracks that have just barely dried. Dream wipes them away with his thumbs, admiring how peaceful he looks. 

Dream sleeps like the dead, but wakes with the dawn no matter what. He lingers in the warmth for a while before the sun’s light is too much to bear. Properly waking up to pain first thing in the morning is beginning to be a more and more common occurrence. His legs pulse with every beat of his heart, and his side isn’t much better. There’s a few droplets of blood on the sheets, which is what finally gets him to untangle himself from the mess of limbs that snaked around him in the night. 

George stirs lightly, but it’s unlikely he’ll truly wake before eight. Dream gently tugs at the arms around his neck, and they retract with a sleepy, confused mumble.

“I have to change these bandages.” Dream whispers against his temple. 

George makes an agreeable noise before moving to hug his pillow instead. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Dream spends the morning planning his mental itinerary. But also, redressing his wounds, and trying to figure out what to do with his legs. Salve, maybe. A healing potion, but he’s running low and wants to save them for an emergency. Besides, he took a few sips when it happened. It should be fine.

He’s supposed to get up now and meet with Punz. And then work on the book, and then go here and do this, and patrol that. But his legs just won’t move. 

He thinks, maybe for one day, he can spend it doing nothing. Besides, he actually is wounded. He does need to recoup. It’s not an excuse, yeah?

He wants to make it up to George. He’s not much of a romantic, and really he sucks shit at being a boyfriend, but he knows one thing that always makes George smile. The big toothy kind that makes his cheeks pink. He wants to see it before he has to get back to work.

Dream leaves a note on his side of the bed telling him that when he wakes up he should go to the hill outside. The one with the big tree.

Dream hobbles himself to the florist. He hopes that with his mask and baggy clothes, Niki won’t notice his limping. A dozen red roses. By the time he’s gotten there and halfway back, he’s convinced himself he’s walked off his bruising. 

Under the oak tree on the hill overlooking the castle, Dream spies a red cape blowing in the wind, and the glint of gold. The person faraway raises a hand over their eyes to peer, then uses his entire arm to wave at him hugely. It makes Dream laugh. 

They hurry to meet each other. George just seems excited to see him, like he always seems to be, except late at night when he’s already too angry. George doesn’t leave the shade, but he holds out his hands for Dream to take so he can pull him up the hill. Dream gives him one arm, the other holding the bouquet behind his back. 

“Wow. You’re actually in the sun. I never see that.”

“I got you something. I’m, uh, making it up to you.”

George pauses, wide eyed, trying to lean to see what’s behind his back. 

“It’s not a puppy, right?”

“What? No. What? Why would I get you a puppy?” Dream keeps turning to keep him from seeing. He can feel his own smile cracking his face. 

“I don’t know, I got scared! Now gimme.” George tries to blindly reach behind him. Dream grabs his wrist and pulls him close, wrapping an arm around his waist. George smiles at him smugly.

“Not even a thank you or anything?”

“I don’t know what it is yet, idiot. You haven’t given it to me.” George’s busy hands settle for pushing his mask up, instead. The breeze feels cool on the light layer of sweat that’s formed on his forehead. George smiles warmly at his face. It’s a smile Dream doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of. But not the exact one he’s aiming for.

Dream’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “Ohh, you want me to give it to you? Here? Outside??”

“Oh, shut up! Show me. I demand it. As your king.” He tilts his head regally, crown glinting in the light that’s casted through the leaves. Dream almost forgets they ever had a fight at all.

Dream pulls the flowers from behind his back and presses them to George’s chest. He tries to give him a smile with it, but knows it probably looks a bit forced. George doesn’t seem to notice at all, face erupting into a smile nearly immediately. The smile. Dream can’t help but stare.

Dream thinks this must be what sunbathing is meant to feel like.

“Dream! I love it. I looove it.” George hugs them close, still beaming. Dream thinks he understands religion. “What’s the occasion?” 

“Huh? Oh. I’m sucking up.”

George laughs. Takes a brief break, then laughs again. “You’re so stupid.”

“I wanted to cheer you up.” Dream rubs his thumb on his side idly, soaking in the feeling. 

“You derailed your whole day just to get me flowers?”

“Uhhh, well. I canceled my whole day to recover from my grievous wounds. My life threatening injuries. Oh no. “ Dream spins them a bit dramatically, just to make George laugh. There’s a few rose petals on the ground.

“Oh, you need someone to kiss it bett– wait, really?”

“Yeah, really. Hey, what was that you were offering just now?”

“You’re not doing anything today?”

Dream shakes his head. George’s face lights up. 

“Stay!” He blurts, “You should stay. Stay here. With me. I’ll kiss the stupid boo-boos better.”

“I don’t have anywhere better to be.” Dream shrugs, casual, aloof. “And I like kisses. Sure.”

Unexpectedly, lips crash into his. All of George’s weight crashes into him, really. Arms snake around his neck, and he tries to support them both before he realizes George is trying to make them fall. He goes limp, letting George tackle him into the grass. George is still kissing him. He pulls Dream’s neck to the side, which Dream allows because he hadn’t realized they were on the edge of the hill.

He yells into George’s mouth as they go tumbling, wrapping his arms around George’s head to make sure he doesn’t hit it. Someone is laughing, maybe both of them, as they spin and spin and spin and leave a trail of petals behind. 

The world finally comes to a stop with George cradled on top of him, gloved hand still covering the back of his head. 

George sits up, looming over Dream’s face, laughing like the whole world is laughing with him. Dream might have gotten the wind knocked out of him. The sun is eclipsed by George’s hair, a halo hanging behind him. His actual crown has probably rolled further away, but neither of them can care about such stupid things when there’s so much in front of them. 

Dream breaks the mirage to sit up and kiss him. Then kiss him again. There’s a buzzing in his back pocket, but it’s tomorrow’s problem. 

Today, the world loves red roses and fits in the curve of his arms.