#my calves and arms and wrists though 🥺

[landgraabbed]

the horrors of getting up 😔 my everything hurty

[russilton]

i've been stalking your blog and both your fic snippets and artwork is so beautiful!! i was wondering if i will leave you notes is a finished fic? there was like one post abt it and it doesn't seem to be on ao3 (def already in love with the fic, no pressure if there isn't anything else sending lots of love!)

🥺 I love a good blog stalker, I’m so glad you like both the fics and art! I rlly love being able to do both, even if it triples my wips…

I will leave you notes is so close to finished! It’s the first fic I started writing for F1 RPF, way back in May! But it just kept growing, and I so want to finish it right because I love it so much.

The reason you only see it mentioned once is you’re the first to ask about it! I don’t like to post wips if I’m not sure anyone would like them hahah, not without prompt at least. And I will leave you notes has a slightly less exciting tag line bc it’s just a 2022 season get together fic all about how George and Lewis become more and more tactile with each other.

Additional fun fact: I wrote a whole scene of this sitting on a hill next to the wellington straight bridge at Silverstone when I went to watch Friday practice. Just so I could say that I did it lmao.

But since you’re here, I’ll give you the scene that started it all below the cut:

This first time Lewis touches George, it feels like lightning in his veins. Okay, it isn’t technically the first time, in years of being a Mercedes’ junior they had rubbed shoulders or been dragged into group pictures more than once, but those were accidental, fleeting brushes with no intent behind them.

This though is on purpose, a firm pat and a hand sliding down his arm as Lewis crouches next to where George is squeezed into the mock car for a test seat fitting. His hand is heavy and warm, stopping on George’s wrist and grounding him in a way that shouldn’t be possible. George can barely hear what various engineers are trying to point out to him over the pounding of blood in his ears. Voices fade into the background of George’s periphery, his attention too caught up in the soft tone of Lewis’s voice so close now, the smell of his cologne overpowering. It should make George wince, being this overstimulated, but instead he focuses on trying to take inconspicuous breaths, not too deep, but just enough to draw the smell into his nose.

When his ears stop ringing and he can hear Lewis properly again, he realises he’s supposed to be figuring out if the seat is rubbing anywhere. He thinks of the last time he was in a Mercedes’ seat, cramped tight, feet bruised and knuckles bleeding from trying to perform for the team and himself in Lewis’ crushing absence, the sides of the cockpit not the only thing pressing down on his shoulders. He didn’t get to speak to Lewis after, too caught up in the end of the season, and plagued by guilt-laced frustration. It didn’t feel right to seek him out either, when Lewis was clearly struggling with recovery and probably wouldn’t have appreciated George telling him how much he loved driving his car. The bruises on his calves were a reminder enough of how close he’d been.

This is a world away, the team is already trying to estimate his frame, but he misses the pain somewhat, because he remembers the emotion that came with it. Even a year later he thinks about Bahrain often. Dragging himself out of his memory he forces himself to listen properly to what Lewis is telling him.

“Make sure you shift about, really get a feel for the seat, and tell the team everything. Something that isn’t too bad right now will feel a hell of a lot different after 2 hours, especially towards the front of the grid”

Lewis winks at him then, and George fights the urge to shiver and hopes the flush climbing his cheeks will be written off as excitement. The older Brit is just being friendly, but George feels hero worship and something he doesn’t want to label, churning inside him. Shoving that to the back of his mind to unpack later when he doesn’t have multiple sets of eyes on him, he lets the larger reality of what’s happening set in. This is his seat, he’s in his dream car, next to the greatest driver in the world. He lets a giddy grin overtake him and laughter bubble in his chest.

When his eyes flick to Lewis, he gets a blinding smile back, and George feels that fragile, unlabelled feeling grow. He wants to bottle this feeling, but it’s over quickly, Lewis moving on to talk to senior engineers and machinists about the new car. All George can do is try to focus on what Shov is trying to tell him. It’s not like he won’t see Lewis again, they work together now.

[pseudofaux]

Should you feel inspired, may I pretty please ask for a small bit more of Goldilocks? A day later, a week later, a year later, anything. That glimpse of fantasy of having Shige in the kitchen was *chef's kiss* delicious! A perfect cherry to the whole dessert. Spicy, fluffy, whatever feels right for you 🥺

Thank you for blessing us with your stories and friendship. I am so very excited to see where your journey takes you on original works! (And excited to support in any way I can) ❤❤❤

I owe Goldilocks all to you, and your positive response to it has been so good (and valuable!) in my heart, thank you. I hope this feels like a good followup!

If you've never read Goldilocks, that's right here on tumblr (and also up on Ao3). It's one of my favorite things I've ever written. I don’t think it’s required reading or anything, but do I think this will be more fun if you know the basics of their dynamic from that story.

(Requests are currently closed, I am finishing up what I owe from earlier this year. I will post a masterlist when they are all complete. Thank you for reading!)

They don't get married on a beach, despite all the happy, sandy memories they've made on beaches since the night they met. They don’t have a big wedding, even though they love going to weddings.

They have a small wedding, and they have it on his cousin's boat. Their guests are kind enough to celebrate with them joyfully and then clear out after a nice meal, and the boat is theirs for the next two days before they leave for their honeymoon.

Now that the little party is all over they are alone, and she’s already changed into something small and silky and covered it up with a robe not much bigger (and no less silky), just in case there’s anyone nearby in the marina. But Kojuro bought the slips on either side of Masamune’s, so she doubts it. Those Date boys run sweet and wild, and she’s just gone and married the sweetest and wildest one. It’s really a wonder Shigezane doesn’t have a boat of his own, now that she thinks of it.

She is out on the deck, appreciating the way the moon reflects in gently-moving glimmers of brightest white over the darkness of the water. There’s a comfortable night breeze around her wrists and calves, softer than cool. It reminds her of the reverent way Shigezane touches her when she lets him peel her leggings off after a workout so they can get sweaty together.

There’s a quiet clinking sound getting louder behind her. Her husband is coming up the stairs from the cabin. She turns so she can greet him with a smile.

“Brought champagne for my beautiful wife,” he calls out, just as his beautiful hair-- freshly messed into its usual mop-- peeks out over the top of the stairs. “I didn’t forget glasses this time!”

(The time he did forget glasses, they managed to finish the bottle just fine without them. Their bodies even turned out less sticky the following morning than she feared they would be. And “sucked off Shigezane’s tongue until he whimpers” is her favorite way to drink champagne and she learned that when he forgot the glasses, so she’s willing to consider it all a happy discovery and not a misadventure.)

“That’s good,” she says, giving him the smile she planned to. It gets a little wider than she planned when she sees he’s wearing the wedding night boxers he was so excited to buy, the cheeky, fitted pink with pale gold hearts stitched over the ass. She’s excited to see what those hearts look like now that he’s wearing them instead of holding them up like a science fair trophy. It’s their wedding night and the marina seems empty, so she lets him see the way her gaze lingers on his shorts as she adds, “I would really like to have a drink with my husband.”

He grins so hard she briefly worries for the glass in his hands, but he sets everything down on a table at the top of the stairs and practically skips to her. His strong arms go around her, their warmth the perfect comfort against the mild night air. He’s not too hot, and the air is not too cold. Just right. The silk of her sleeves moves over his bare chest, then his waist, and she finds the good hugging spot around his middle while he holds her and breathes her in.

It’s not hard to kiss his shoulder goodbye when she knows she is only leaving it to kiss his mouth. But when their lips are just shy of connecting, she reminds him: “No running on the boat.”

He stops. “Not even to you?”

“Only if you’re going to save me from falling over.”

“I would never let you fall over,” Shigezane promises, just as sweet and sincere as his vows. He might be a goof, but he is rock solid.

“I know,” she whispers, and finally kisses him. “I love you.”

“Doll,” he says, and it’s dazed and so full of love and sweetness it should be glazed as well. She lets a hand slide up his back until she can touch the ends of the hair at the back of his head. There’s the taste of icing and jam from their wedding cupcakes in his kiss, and she knows it would pair perfectly with champagne.

“Are there cupcakes left?” she asks, grasping at the hair the way he likes.

He makes a series of sounds that start with b, but doesn’t answer her question. So she holds the hair a little tighter.

“Yeah,” he says. His hands are sliding over her robe like he’s trying to plan how to sculpt her. He already knows all the places she likes to be touched and cupped, and the best places to linger. There under the moon on the boat in the quiet, his hands are moving aimless but fast, like he’s searching for something he won’t be able to name until he gets it under his palm.

“Shigezane,” she breathes, and his hands go still, then faster, with more pressure as they move over her. “You didn’t eat them all?”

“Babe, I didn’t,” he promises. His hips buck toward hers, always eager to please. “I want to feed them to you and eat them off you in the morning. I wouldn’t. I had one. There are twelve left.”

When she smiles, he lets out the softest sigh. “Thank you, honey,” she says, and kisses him again. Once she’s gotten him good and breathless--and hard, those wedding boxers better be no better at hiding his ass than they are at hiding his dick-- she gives him one more sweet tug and steps backward out of his arms.

He lets her slip her body even out of his hands, but he looks hurt. She can tell he’s about to talk, so she lays a finger on his lips and shakes her head, smiling. Then she whispers, “Go get us two? That’ll still leave ten for tomorrow.”

The sun is hours away but she swears it rises behind his pretty brown eyes as he recognizes what she means. He kisses her finger, takes his own step back, and turns on his heel.

There are the pale gold hearts on the handsome swell of his ass, and while she usually has no problem waiting, she has to close her hands into fists to keep from reaching for her husband.

“I like your shorts,” she murmurs. He turns his steps into a dramatic strut, and her laugh is low and doesn’t hide how much she likes it. “Hurry,” she coos.

She has half a mind to follow him down into the bedroom, and it is their wedding night… could anyone blame her? She wouldn’t accept it if they tried. But how glorious will it be to see his mouth and chin shining beneath his eyes while the moon watches him between her legs on the deck of the boat? It’s just warm enough, and they will keep each other cozy.

She unties the cushions from the lounge chairs on the deck, but doesn’t remove them. She just wants them ready for later, when Shigezane snaps and begs her to let him pound her through the floor. This deck is textured to help people keep their footing. No need to start married life with a scraped ass, or knuckles.

The champagne bottle calls to her. It would be nice to offer him a glass when he comes back with the cupcakes. Maybe she will give him a little toast. Maybe she will give him a great big toast. She is good at playing it cool, but her love for him is definitely in “great big” territory.

There’s no towel to use to twist the cork, so she undoes the tie on her robe and let it slip off her shoulders until the sleeves pool in each of her waiting hands. She wishes he could have been there to appreciate that view, but there will be other robes. They are just beginning their life together, after all. She thinks on that as she pulls on the edge of the foil at the top of the bottle.

As she doubles the silk over her arm and then works on the wire, she can hear him singing one of his happy, heartfelt songs, and though she only catches a few words of his crooning, he is (always) enough to make her smile.

My wiiiiiife is soooooooo sweet

My wiiiiiife has greatttttt leggggggs

Her… … …theeeeee best

She is going to suck every drop of this champagne off his tongue until the bubbles burn them both. Her cheeks are already burning from smiling so hard.

He’s switched to humming the bridal march as he comes back up the steps with a fancy plate from dinner. Their contract with the caterer did not include any plates left behind… but Shigezane is sneaky about making her happy. He’s also so honest and charming she knows they might have just given it to him with an adoring giggle.

She can’t hold the adoring giggles against anyone. If she were a different type of woman, she would giggle at him every day.

He sings, “Here come the cakes,” low and slow and sweet.

She gets the cork out with a satisfying twist and he clicks his tongue in time with the pop.

“So hot when you do that,” he tells her, just like he does every time. It’s a little rougher this time, which registers in her tummy, different but in line with the sight of the cupcakes.

“Thank you. Put those down,” she tells him with a smile, not taking her eyes off him as she puts the cork and her robe onto the table. She is smiling a lot today. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be, for a bride? She certainly has the perfect groom. He does exactly as she says.

“Now turn around,” she says, and she takes her eyes off him only so she can pick up one of the champagne flutes.

She watches him and the pouring, and when her view includes his full shoulders and all that is below them, she says, “Stop. Right there. That’s the cake I want.”

He smiles over his shoulder and points at his ass with a finger from each hand right before he flexes a cheek. The way she clears her throat doesn’t quite hide her laugh.

“I love you,” she says, putting down the glass and picking up the other. It seems like it’s time to go in for the kill, so she adds, “Come have some champagne and cupcakes with me... hubby.”

Sometimes he rubs his palm on his belly when he’s excited or nervous, and she wonders why his elbows are jiggling like he is doing that as he turns around. She expected him to groan, or pounce on her. But he is silent, and when she holds out the glass of champagne he goes to his knee and holds out something right back to her. Something that is bright like moonlight on the water.

“Marry me?” he says, grin brightest of all.

He wasn’t rubbing his belly, he was making a tiny loop out of the champagne foil. She swipes it with a grin and says, “Feed me a cupcake and I just might.”

He rises, looking like a man entirely up to that challenge, and takes the champagne from her. “Cupcakes or bubbly first?”

“Bubbly,” she says, quietly and decisively.

He breathes out a thank god, takes a swig, and sets the glass down without swallowing. He steps into her space, puts his hands on her cheeks, and holds her while his mouth goes where it belongs.