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jeanie-g · 27 days ago

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#28 drysdale and zegras "ghosts" the autumn mini fic list :)

sorry for the delay! i'm literally in japan rn lol. but here it is!

[#28] ghosts

Trevor didn't hate the house, but it certainly wasn't a place he'd ever imagine living in. It was old and gothic, and shaped sort of like an octagon if you walked all the way around. It had these big bay windows that arced menacingly, and a goddamn spire at the top. It was also far too large for just his mom and him, but it was better than the alternative.

Trevor had to remind himself that they were lucky, after all. What were the odds that Great-Great Auntie Heim would kick the bucket and leave the house to Trevor's mom right around the time his dad filed for divorce?

Sure, Trevor didn't hate the house, but he didn't have to like it, either.

He did get his own room, though. Right at the top of the stairs on the third floor, on its own level along with the sewing room and the attic. It was probably triple the size of his room in Buffalo, with a walk-in closet with double doors and a hardwood floor that creaked with every step.

It was sparse save for a bed in the corner, a nightstand, and a writing desk—all covered in a thick layer of dust. Clearly, nobody had stepped into this room in quite a while—a few years at least. It gave Trevor the heebie-jeebies. He wouldn't be surprised if it was haunted.

His mom wanted him to unpack as soon as possible, but Trevor didn't have it in him to play cleanup and probably hack up a lung while doing it. He dropped his bags by the door. He'd worry about it when it was time to sleep.

Bounding back down the carpeted stairs, he tried to ignore the sounds of his mom on the landline, no doubt arguing with his dad for the umpteenth time that week. He hated hearing them fight—in Trevor's mind, the one consolation of the divorce was that they'd be doing a lot less of it once it was in motion. That turned out to be fruitless fantasy. They were fighting more than ever now—about lawyers or assets, or—well, him.

Trevor'd wanted to stay in Buffalo with his dad. He never really faulted him in any of this—saw divorce as an inevitability, really. He didn't wanna leave his school and his friends and his team back home. But he was only 17, and his dad said that his mom needed him, so here he was.

The pitch of the one-sided conversation only sharpened by the time Trevor reached the bottom. He rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets; he needed to get out of this house for a bit.

It was windy in Syracuse, and a dull overcast hung above them like an omen. Trevor welcomed the breeze as he stepped outside and sat on the porch steps, closing his eyes and willing all the buzzing in his head to vanish.

He sat in silence for a few minutes before a voice sounded several yards away.

"So, you're the new neighbors, then?"

Trevor opened his eyes with a start, relaxing somewhat at the sight of a boy around his age standing beside the mailbox. He was too far away to make out any distinct features, but his dark hair and eyebrows stood out against the sky like spilled ink.

"You can talk, right?" The boy continued, smiling, and only then did Trevor realize he hadn't answered.

"Oh, uh, yeah." He flushed. "I mean, yeah we're the new neighbors." He stood, taking his hands out of his pockets. "And yeah, I can talk," he added sheepishly.

The boy chuckled. He walked a bit closer, and Trevor could better make out his face now. Pale, dotted with light freckles, with piercing blue eyes. He looked...soft was the only word Trevor could come up with. Well, that and cute, despite his best efforts. He was undeniably cute, and his smile was contagious.

"I'm Jamie," the boy said. "I live next door." He gestured to the house a bit aways from them—not too different from Great-Great-Auntie Heim's, but maybe a little more dilapidated. The purple tiling was cracked and sun-spotted, and some of the shutters were broken or missing. That was kind of par for the course for these old houses though.

"I'm Trevor. I live, well, here." Trevor cringed at himself, but Jamie just chuckled again.

"I would hope so, or I might have to call the cops and have you booked."

Trevor chuckled, hands finding his pockets again. "So, doing the mandatory welcome wagon, then? Did your parents put you up to it?"

Jamie blinked. "Oh, I don't live with my parents." He said it so nonchalantly that it threw Trevor off.

"Oh, um. I'm sorry."

Jamie smiled softly. "Don't be. They're fine, just back home in Toronto. We used to all come down here to see my grandparents, but now it's just me."

Trevor breathed a tiny sigh of relief. Phew—no dead parents. "Oh. Uh, that's cool."

"What brings you here?"

And Trevor had to immediately suck in a new breath. He turned and spotted his mom through the crack in the door, still ranting on the phone. She wouldn't mind Trevor airing their dirty laundry to their new neighbor, would she?

Trevor turned back to Jamie. There was no need to sugarcoat it, especially if they were going to be seeing a lot of each other. Plus, it'd be nice to be able to talk a bit of shit with someone who knows nothing about him.

"My parents are getting divorced. My mom wanted a new place but we couldn't really afford one. In comes my distant great aunt from stage left, and, well, here we are."

Jamie frowned. "I'm sorry. For your parents and your aunt."

Trevor waved his hand. "It was overdue, if you ask me. As for my aunt, we weren't that close. I think I met her, like, once when I was a baby. I'm surprised she left the house to us, really."

Jamie shrugged. "Life works in mysterious ways. Ana was a great woman, though."

"Right. You're her...were her neighbor. I should be saying sorry to you. You knew her better than I ever did."

Again, Jamie shrugged, but he said nothing else.

From inside, something crashed, followed by a string of curses half in English and half in Greek.

"That would be my cue to get back inside probably. It was really nice to meet you, though, Jamie."

"You, too," Jamie said. "I'll see you, eh? I guess I have a reason for coming around this house again."

Trevor grinned. "And what would that be?"

"New neighbor boy's a catch."

Trevor felt himself go red from head to toe. He managed a dizzying smile. "I...you're, a...too."

Jamie laughed, eyes crinkling adorably. "Right. Bye, Trevor."

Trevor couldn't manage another sentence in good conscience, so he just waved awkwardly as Jamie walked back down the length of the driveway.

Trevor turned tail back into the house as quickly as he could. He maybe slammed it a bit too hard. He had to fight the urge to slide down onto his ass like the protagonist of a bad teen movie.

"Who were you talking to, Trev?" his mom asked, hands full of mismatched cutlery—the likely culprit of the crash.

Trevor scrubbed his hand over his face, smiling tight-lipped. "Nobody. Just myself."

He strolled into the half-unpacked kitchen and sat down on one of the bar stools.

His mom sighed, almost to herself. "Not like we have any neighbors."

Trevor quirked a brow. He was literally just talking to one. "What do you mean?"

His mom went over to a drawer in the island and began depositing the cutlery. "Well, the only other house on this stretch of road is the big, purple one on our left—you know, a little bit down the road?"

An unsettling feeling nestled in the pit of Trevor's stomach, one he couldn't name.

"Realtor said the place has been abandoned for decades," his mom continued. "There was some freak accident, and now people are convinced that it's haunted."

Trevor's calves went cold, like a rush of wind ran against them. Didn't he close the door? "What?"

She shrugged. "I'm not one for ghost stories, personally. But if they are real, I just hope they're friendly."

Trevor forced a chuckle, though the sunken feeling in his stomach was compounding. He stood and walked over to the window above the sink.

This was stupid. This was so dumb. He'd look outside and there Jamie would be, heading back to his house. It was a quarter mile down the road—he'd still be walking.

Trevor approached the window and peeled back the curtain. He craned his head to the left, and—

His eyes widened. No Jamie.

He felt his calves go cold again.

#and thus began a love story that rivaled casper the friendly ghost #nhl rpf #tzjd #fic request

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vanosslirious · 3 months ago

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Seriously, after all this time, whenever they don't play games with each other in weeks/months, and then one video always reminds me why i love shipping them (friendly terms-ish). Evan saying Delirious is cute, and Terroriser being, once again, a third wheel~

I love them 

Fic: 32. Vanoss

#banana bus squad #vanoss crew #vanoss x delirious #vanosslirious #text #friendly as lowkey romantic~ lmfao.#vanossgaming #h2odelirious #rpf

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yearoftheflop · 4 months ago

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why is my boss texting me right when I'm in the middle of describing someone's dick. I'm happy to reply of course, it's just out of every moment of me doing fuck ass all, why is this the exact moment... my old mind cannot switch this fast....

#sign from the universe #everything stands between me and the dreaded document with balkan rpf....#balkan rpf -15k words vs replying to someone trying to establish friendly connections and move beyond a person who gives out tasks -5 words

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flo55i · 2 years ago

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Maxiel. 2k. Max as the Grim Reaper. Daniel as the lost soul he’s ferrying to Heaven. Because there are some things you shouldn’t have to do alone. tw: death but it’s as fluffy as I get, promise. And also possibly tw; blasphemy?

Daniel wakes up in the same clothes he died in. He laughs at the irony of the phrase, ‘wouldn’t be caught dead in’, never believing it would apply to him. The only reason he wore the faded red track-pants out of the house was to collect the bins with. Now they look a deep purple colour in the dark swirly mist thing that the afterlife apparently has going for it.

Suddenly realising he’s dead, Daniel puts his hands in his pockets just to make sure he still has control of all his limbs and is distracted by the fact his phone isn’t in them. It makes sense. But like. He can’t remember the last time he was without it. It was definitely there when he— Quickly, Daniel pulls the elastic band around the waist of his pants back and checks his dick is still there.

“Thank God.” He mutters to himself.

“God? Like that idiot has got anything to do with this.” Says a curt and surly voice from behind him.

Daniel swivels and comes face to face with Death. Or at least he thinks it is. The long swirling black cloak and the huge scythe that is taller than he is, is a dead giveaway. Literally. Immediately Daniel’s first instinct is to run, but as soon as he takes off in one direction, there’s a snap of fingers and he’s right back where he started from.

“Was that fun?” The guy says, scowling down at Daniel from where he landed at his feet. At the sarcasm, Daniel takes his hands off his head and dares to finally open his eyes. He thinks he’s more startled to find that Death has sneakers on than the fact that he’s still alive— Daniel places a hand on his chest, checking— still breathing. Whatever he is. He doesn’t know if he’s technically dead or is he in some kind of Limbo? He looks around. It looks like it could be the land in between heaven and hell. What with the dark clouds and the horizon of agonising nothingness and—

“I can do this all day you know.” The guy says, interrupting Daniel’s freak out by tapping his scythe impatiently on the ground. Then uncrossing his arm, muttering to himself he adds, “Not like I’m busy or anything.”

Slowly getting to his feet and brushing off the mist still clinging to his bare chest, Daniel asks, “You’re not like, going to reap me and shit are you?”

Death rolls his eyes. “What is it that you think I am going to do? You are already dead!”

The hood falls back off his face as he raises his hands in exasperation and Daniel can see this guy is younger than him, and pretty much human too. At least he is from the outside. He doesn’t look very menacing. Especially with those pouty lips and bright blue eyes. Angel, yes. Evil, no.

If he really is dead like this guy says, Daniel was kinda expecting a scary skeleton type-a-thing, like how they showed in movies and comic books and stuff. No soul, no eyes. This guy looks anything but evil incarnated, what with the way he’s just waving his scythe around all over the place like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Maybe Daniel got the defective grim reaper or something?

“I mean, I’m not telling you how to do your job or anything.” Daniel starts, trying to be nice. By the sounds of it, this guy has probably had a hard day already. Or Eternity. Whatever. “But like, isn’t this the part where you take my soul?”

“Trust me.” Death says, staring Daniel down pitifully. “I do not want your stupid soul.”

“Oh.” Daniel doesn’t know whether to be offended or not so he just asks, “So what ARE you here to do then? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya dude, that scythe looks pretty ominous to me.”

Though the response gets an eye roll, Daniel thinks he can see the barest hint of a smile underneath it.

Coughing, he then states, all official like, “My name is Max and I am here because it is my duty to guide you into the afterlife.”

Max holds out the arm not carrying the weapon in invitation and Daniel takes the hint and starts walking. There’s rocks and uneven terrain that he has to climb over and crouch through. There are no trees or birds, no life except whatever he and Max are considered right now. Daniel didn’t know what he was expecting, fire and brimstone?

They come to a lake and at Max’s gentle look, Daniel moves silently forward. It’s cool and the water laps at his collarbones, coming up to his neck. His foot slips and Max grabs his arm, saving his head from going under. He shivers away from the freezing cold touch. The hands don’t linger, as if Max knows that they feel like having a corpse clinging to Daniel’s body. Body moving again, Daniel refrains from rubbing his arm and tries not to think of the water being made up of thousands of souls who didn’t make it across beneath him.

Suddenly, Daniel can’t stand the silence. He tries a joke. “Why did the chicken go to the seance?”

“I do not know?” Max looks unsure. But more so at the fact that Daniel is actually talking to him about something so stupid and not because he doesn’t know the answer. He plays along though, finally asking, “Why did the chicken go to the seance?”

“To get to the other side.” Daniel replies with a grin.

“That was terrible.” But Max is looking at least faintly amused again so Daniel doesn’t believe him.

They’ve reached the opposite bank now and Daniel steps free from the water. He feels lighter, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Looking down, his pants aren’t even soaked. He doesn’t feel as cold either even though his skin is just as cold to the touch. It’s like he’s acclimatised and has simply gotten used to being here.

“So where are we going then?” He can’t help but ask. There’s nothing in front of them or beside them now, just a whole heap of swirling mist he can’t see anything through. “Up or down? Stairway to heaven or the Highway to hell?”

Max sighs. “Up.”

“Yes! Woo hoo! Take that Mr Brown who thought I’d never get anywhere good!” Excited, Daniel starts singing. “And she’s buy-ying a stairway to—”

“If you sing one more word I will cut you down right here.” Max puts the blade right up against Daniel’s neck.

“Chill dude. Relax.” Daniel tries to reassure whilst gently guiding the scythe away from his throat. It might not be able to kill him, but he doesn’t wanna spend the rest of eternity without a head either. Where was that nice guy with the smile from earlier? Daniel keeps talking, trying to find him again.

“So what’s it like then? Heaven?” He asks whilst drifting his fingers through the puffs of clouds at his hips. It disappears in seconds, like the water, without him feeling anything at all.

“Is it Paradise like everyone says it is? Comfy digs, all I can eat? That sort of thing?” Daniel hopes the food is at least real. He can’t imagine not eating for the rest of eternity. “And are there hot angels flying around as far as the eye can see?” Daniel adds mostly to get a rise out of the one beside him.

Max ignores him, long strides taking him slightly ahead. Daniel can feel that there’s some sort of frosty tension now, like Max is actually mad at him instead of just his usual surly and unpleasant self.

“You know I always thought there’d be more trees and leaves around. More greenery.” Daniel muses out loud to himself since Max has gone quiet. “And like, I’m not going to be by myself up there, right? My family will be waiting, yeah? Cause that would suck, spending eternity alone and every—”

“I don’t know, ok!” Max shouts. Daniel stops when he does.

“What?” He asks incredulously. “You’ve never been? Aren’t you an Angel? Isn’t that like, home base or whatever?”

Max starts moving again and him not answering is answer enough for Daniel. “Is it a rule or something? No fraternising with the enemy or some shit?”

“I don’t—” Max starts, and Daniel is unnerved to see Death looking so startled. “I don’t remember.”

“How can you not remember?” Daniel snorts, struggling to keep up with Max’s pace.

“I have been doing this for as long as I can remember. I don’t know what there was before.” Max whispers sullenly. “It is maybe punishment for something, I think, but I can’t be sure.”

Just as Daniel is about to ask what type of person is charged with leading him to heaven, Max holds the tip of his scythe up to point at something up ahead. They’ve reached the gates now. Actual pearly gates, not a hint of gold in sight. And they only open when Daniel approaches them after Max takes a step back.

They creak charmingly, like a garden gate he barely remembers from childhood. There’s sunshine shining from somewhere beyond the clouds and it smells like summer rain and his grandmother’s chocolate chip cookies she would always have ready for him when he visited her. And Daniel knows everything that flashed before his eyes as the garbage truck hit him lies within— everything his Sunday school teacher taught him a life of good deeds has afforded him, but he just can’t seem to make himself take that final step. He hesitates.

“Well?” Max asks impatiently. “What are you waiting for? Go!”

Daniel shuffles on his feet, only now realising he’s barefoot. The entire journey here, rocks and lakes and mountains of dirt and he hadn’t felt a thing. Max did that. Max got him here safely even though he clearly didn’t want to. “But what about you?”

The question seems to stun Max, like no one has ever asked it before and it makes Daniel think that he has been fucking up his job all this time if the so called ‘virtuous people’ he’s been ferrying across Limbo to the afterlife don’t even have any human decency left to ask.

“I suppose I will go and get the next idiot who cannot make it across on their own.” Max states bitterly.

“By yourself?” Max looks away as he shrugs and Daniel can’t help but wonder what the crime was he supposedly committed that would warrant him to spend an eternity of torture having to watch as everyone else got their happily ever after and not him. “But for how long?”

Max is looking into the scythe now, like he can see all the answers to his past in its blade. Daniel can. Its shiny surface reflects the pearly gates and the Paradise beyond made up of everything he ever thought he could want in life. Family, friends, warmth, happiness…. But Daniel’s already had a crack at living that one. And it only ended up with him being sent here to Max.

“Don’t suppose you want any company, do you?” Daniel asks, half jokingly, half not, just to gauge Max’s reaction. He’s never believed in destiny or any shit like that, but who he is to turn down an actual Angel of God looking at him like he is the answer to all the mysteries and wonders in the universe.

Holding out a hand, he takes the scythe from Max and suddenly Daniel is engulfed in a sea of black fabric.

“Sweet.” He quips looking down at the same cloak as Max’s that’s now wrapped around him too. With the other hand not holding on to the scythe he holds it out to Max. “How’s about it then? We could call it a double team approach?”

Looking back at the slightest glimpse of heaven he’s only ever been able to see, Max looks troubled. “Are you sure of this? I do not know if you can go back.”

At the caution and care in those words, Daniel wonders who could have abandoned Max when he had obviously offered them to the last reaper. ‘Casue Daniel now knows that’s what must have happened. Max couldn’t ever be some heinous butcher or something like that. No one who has so much compassion and longing for human companionship could be capable of something so cruel as that.

“Well I ain’t no chicken.” Daniel laughs in reference to his own joke. “It ain’t all about getting to the other side, you know.”

This time, the hand that grasps Daniel’s own is warm and full and together they glow a golden colour that makes him believe that this has always been a job better handled with two.

“But you will not slow me down of course.” Max warns, still looking stunned at the glow. “I actually have a job to do and I can’t be holding your hand the whole time.”

And Daniel knows he’s bullshitting by how hard Max is still clinging to his hand but he lets it slide. After an eternity of dealing with ungrateful souls running and begging to have their lives back when he is only trying to offer them something so much better, Max has earned some faith of his own.

“Then lead on, oh grimmest of reapers, you.” Daniel says and follows as Max leads them back the way they came.

Hands still tied by the souls that shine bright within, and by the burden of the scythe now shared between them, together they make the long journey back towards oblivion and beyond.

#ficlet #inspired by all our sh*t work weeks #sorry wasn’t enough #friendly reminder you’re not alone #daniel ricciardo #max verstappen #f1 rpf #maxiel #tw: death #tw: blasphemy #fanficiton #maxiel fanfic #my fic

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ingravinoveritas · 1 year ago

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Now that Good Omens 2 is out and we've seen all those promo interviews with Michael and David (not to mention The Kiss), I am curious to see what people think...

#michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #friendly reminder that michael has been shipping himself with david for four years running #i will genuinely be surprised if there aren't more people shipping them now #at this point the subtext might as well be a billboard #david is lowkey bi and michael is highkey bi #their chemistry is and always will be amazing #a friendship that's become something more #ineffable lovers #good omens rpf #poll

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selfshipconfessionz · 22 days ago

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When I started fic writing, I would’ve never guessed that I’d eventually be writing hockey RPF self shipping fics lmao

#rpf #self ship #self ship community #self shipping #f/o community #fictional other #f/o #selfship #f/o confession #self ship confession #proship friendly

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cuntboyraytoro · 1 year ago

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i love it when men are chubby. love grabbing their tits and squeezing their love handles

#this is about gerard arthur way and frank iero btw #chubby #rpf friendly

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judasisgayriot · 2 months ago

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every second of every day I’m like yeah I am actually a weird little freak with perverse thoughts. Welcome to my twisted mind But also I am a nice girl. I am so nice. I’m literally so chill and nice and love to make people laugh and love my friends. Why does anybody malign and detest me

#I can be into weird freaky RPF and be literally so niceys.. Anni is a nice girl…#anni rambles #I’m happy big and sexually normal. also #I would also like to be your friend if you vibe w me. if you fw me I am very friendly and would like to be your friend thanks 🥺

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padiduys · 3 months ago

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Do you allow other users to use your art (with ur permission and credit)?

In general, yes, but it depends on what for and where. I prefer my ship art not to be posted on places that don't accept RPF, like Twitter or TikTok (especially on edits, sorry), but I don't mind it being shared on an RPF-friendly Discord server or something similar.

I don't mind it being used as a profile picture but again if it's on places that don't accept RPF perhaps reconsider.

#padi ask #tl dr sure but make sure no one will mock me for what i draw #being used on a fic is ok if you send me the fic (please please please please)#tbh I would love my art to be shared on RPF friendly community or something like that #if you have like discord server or group chat that enjoys rpf and want to share my art i encourage it

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blusical · 3 months ago

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hey friendly reminder: you can enjoy reading/writing sports rpf without shaming those that don't like rpf (and vise versa for that matter!) 🥰🥰🥰

#fandom wank #ish #hockey rpf #sports rpf #rpf #this is directed at nobody in particular and this isnt a personal attack #there was just a post i came across about this subject that... really rubbed me the wrong way and i hope it was a joke post #im not going to repeat what it said but... idk it just felt kinda gross #like im not against rpf and i've made references to it in the past!#and i'll admit i've written a few of my own (that i most likely will never publish because they're mostly vents)#but like... my blog is not an rpf blog and i don't plan on getting involved in rpf entirely #and unless it actually references rpf (like my gay hockey moments posts- which were intended to be satire anyway)#i dont want my posts being associated with rpf or tagged with rpf (or related terms)#especially my art pieces #thankfully i havent had any issues but like this is a psa that not every hockey fan is involved with rpf #and also a friendly reminder to please respect peoples boundaries????

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12romy · 2 years ago

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I'm afraid things got out of hand. It was supposed a cute and fluffy SHORT snippet and somehow it ended up with a 1.7k fic with Britcedes being possessive as hell over Mick. Gotta admit, it's a nice turn of event XD

Enjoy!!

Lewis couldn't help but glare as he passed in front of the McLaren hospitality with his scooter. It was stronger than him, he couldn't help it.

Mick was staying with them this weekend since he was driving Piastri's car during FP1. Lewis was happy for him, really. If it were up to him, Mick would be in a car every single race. Sadly, it wasn't, and he wasn't ready to let go of his own seat. Not quite yet.

So, he was condemned to watch Mick wear the McLaren ugly papaya orange, and drive a lame car because let's face it, the only not-lame car was their dear W14. She was a forever unmatched beauty and Lewis would die on this hill.

He found George wearing the same expression of displeasure as he parked his scooter in a corner of the garage.

"I don't like it," announced the young man with an upset expression, a bit like a pout, and Lewis felt his own expression soften.

"I know, love," he sighed. "I don't like it either."

George groaned, and plopped his head against Lewis' shoulder, defeated. He always did this when he wanted a hug, and Lewis found it adorable because he had to lean down to do that. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, pulling him into the hug he had requested.

"He should be here with us," George muttered, the sound of his voice hushed against Lewis' neck.

"He'll be back soon," Lewis murmured in answer, trying to convince himself much as George.

As he drove into FP1, Lewis had mix feelings each time he passed Mick in the McLaren. Mick waved at him, more than once, and Lewis was happy to see him drive. But it pissed him off so much that he was with another team.

He belonged with Mercedes. Throughout the weekend, Lewis found quite a lot of pictures of Mick at Mclaren. The PR team had decided to use him as much as possible, because why wouldn't they? It was Mick. Bright smile, soft laugh, puppy eyes Mick. It would be stupid not to make everything about him.

"I want to skin them alive when they touch him like this," George said, glaring at the picture of Lewis' phone. It was a Mclaren mechanic who had an arm over Mick's shoulder as they were talking animatingly. George had just voiced out Lewis' thought, even if he was rather thinking something around strangling instead of skinning. They shouldn't be allowed to touch him. Mick was theirs. He was Mercedes'.

And Mick knew it as well. They caught his longing glances toward their garage, and even if he was supposed to stay with McLaren, he kept somehow ending up near their hospitality, chatting with the team or asking about Lewis and George.

They had, obviously, no claim as official as they wished. Lewis and George, that is. It wasn't like they were dating Mick, no matter how badly they wanted to. They hadn't found the guts to confess just yet and were still trying to find the best, most romantic way to do it. They were working on a Plan, with a capital if you please. They were practically sure Mick felt, if not the same, at least something for them.

They'd have to say something soon, or they would go crazy with possessiveness before that.

Mick fit in so well with the team. In just a few months, he had everyone wrapped around his little finger without even meaning to.

Bono had all but adopted the kid. With anyone else, Lewis would've been jealous to see Bono so fond of them. But it was Mick, so it was okay. Lewis certainly couldn't hold it against Bono. Angela was fiercely protective of Mick, and even Toto looked softer around him.

Lewis and George, well, they were head over heels for him, and half the garage had already given them a shovel-talk, even though they weren't dating yet. Everyone also said it was a matter of time when ether of them answered that, which reassured them every time that their feelings might not be unrequited.

The entire weekend was pure torture. The atmosphere in the garage was gloomy because of Mick's absence, and to add to everything, both cars had issues. George during the qualifying and Lewis during the race. He had to retire the car to his dismay, and George didn't even make it to the podium, barely getting in the points.

A bad, bad weekend for Mercedes.

The post-race debrief was positively depressing. Everyone was in a mood, pulling long faces, and exhaustion didn't help.

Bono was going over some data with a tired and monotone voice when someone knocked at the door.

"I brought you guys hot cocoa!" Mick announced in a cheerful voice, a tray of drinks precariously balanced on one arm as he opened the door.

It might as well have been a divine apparition, with the way everyone was struck with pure, unaltered joy at the sight of their reserve driver.

He was still wearing a bright orange McLaren shirt under his Mercedes jacket and had probably come straight to the garage as soon as he'd been released from his duty at McLaren.

He skipped around the table, giving out a mug to everyone.

"Yours got almond milk in it," he winked as he gave Lewis his mug. He was gone a second later, which was a good thing because Lewis would've kissed him right then and there. He and George exchanged a meaningful look. Nevermind for the Plan, they couldn't wait anymore.

"Alright, I'll leave you to it," Mick exclaimed, still smiling.

"No, no, you can stay," Toto interjected. "We're almost done anyway."

The rest of the debrief was much more animated. Questions and ideas flew around, and everyone's depressed mood was gone and forgotten.

"Well, I think we're gonna do great next race," Toto announced at the end. "That'll be all for today. Rest and relax, and I'll see you all tomorrow morning on the plane."

Lewis had found himself flying more often with the team when it meant both George and Mick would be there.

The three drivers drove back to the hotel together, and instead of parting ways in the lobby, George offered Mick to join them in their room for a movie night. He agreed immediately, and they made their way to the suite Lewis and George were sharing.

"Man, that shirt has to go," Lewis growled the second they closed the door, glaring at Mick's shirt as if it personally offended him. Mick blushed, looking down at the McLaren shirt, and Lewis realised his words could've been misinterpreted.

"What- What are you guys gonna do about it?" Mick stammered, face flustered but with an unexpected glint of confidence in his eyes.

"I-" Lewis hesitated. He looked at George helplessly, and his boyfriend sighed.

"This was not how we planned to do this," he lamented but took a step closer to Mick. "We had a whole plan, you know... But then, McLaren had to try and steal you from us."

"I think we should help you get out of that shirt," Lewis added, a seductive smile on his lips. "If you want to, of course."

Mick nodded shyly, and Lewis took another step forward. George gently took off the Mercedes jacket off Mick's shoulders, and Lewis pushed the tip of his fingers under the hem of his shirt, grazing at his stomach. Mick was breathing hard, and Lewis wanted to press his palm against his heart, just to feel how fast it was beating.

He started to lift off the shirt, searching Mick's face for any sign of discomfort that would've made him stop immediately. He pulled the shirt above his head and took a moment to admire Mick's naked torso.

"God, you're so beautiful," George breathed out, stealing the words out of Lewis' mouth. "Can I kiss you?"

"Please," Mick pleaded softly, and George wrapped his long fingers around his neck to pull him in a gentle kiss. Lewis took in the sight in front of him. It was one of the most overwhelmingly beautiful things he'd seen in his life. And he'd get to have this, to have them both. He was one lucky guy, for sure.

Mick expectantly turned toward him after they broke the kiss, extending his arms toward him. Lewis snatched him in his arms, chuckling a little at Mick's neediness, and kissed him.

He noted distractingly that his lips tasted like cocoa, and he licked along his lower lip as Mick opened his mouth to deepen the kiss.

"Let us take care of you," he whispered in his ear, enjoying the shiver that ran through Mick's body.

"Only- only if I get to take care of you, too," Mick negotiated, flustered and timid.

"Gosh, what did we do to deserve you?" George hummed l, kissing Mick again.

"If we do this, we need you to know, Mick..." Lewis started, hesitating. "That I- we- er..."

George came to his rescue, a hand on his forearm to appease him.

"We love you, Mick," he said with a confident smile. "Lewis isn't very comfortable to say it aloud, but it doesn't mean he doesn't feel the same."

It was Lewis' turn to turn red with embarrassment. He buried his face against Mick's neck, who giggled.

"We had planned to do better," Lewis grumbled. "We wanted to wine and dine you, do things properly..."

"You've been doing that, though," he pipped up. "You've spent the last four months or so taking me out to dinners, and surfing and movie nights and boat rides... In my head, that counts."

"Oh," George breathed out.

"Were we that obvious?" Lewis inquired.

"Kinda," Mick giggled again. "But I like it. It's cute."

He kissed them again, one after the other, taking his time. Lewis hummed against his lip, pulling him toward the bed.

"Ah, I haven't said it yet, did I?" Mick stopped right as they reached the bed. "I love you both."

George basically tackled him to the mattress under Lewis' amused expression. He didn't wait any longer to climb onto the bed, joining them.

Later, that night, they fell asleep curled up in bed, Mick between the two of them and wearing a Mercedes hoody. He was where he belonged, and everything was as it should be.

#merc boys #f1rpf #rpf fic #f1 #fluff #getting together #no smut even if it's suggested #mick does end up shirtless but he had it coming #mick schumacher #lewis hamilton #george russell #not mclaren friendly :)

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