#‘this is when the narrative turns around finally!’

[emjayewrites]

All For Us - Pt. 2 (Lewis Hamilton SMAU)

SUMMARY: Lewis Hamilton secretly dates an older woman with a daughter and the public slowly starts connecting the dots. [smau w/narrative]

PAIRINGS: Sir Lewis Hamilton x influencer!OC Bree King (faceclaim is Sasha Exeter)

WARNINGS: verbal/emotional abuse from an ex, drama, age gap romance (Bree is 2 years older than Lewis), formula one b.s., pre-established relationship, step-daddy Lewis. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!!

READ THE FIRST PART: here.....part three coming soon

TAGLIST: @cocobutterqwueen @httpsserene @mauvecherie-writes @galatially @pausmoon @a-moment-captured @yeea-nah @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @weetjy @lewisroscoelove @hxneyclouds @questionable-behaviour @lovebittenbyevans @tian-monique @alika-4466 @saintslewis @cherry2stems @planetmimi @woderfulkawaii @d3kstar @trinitoldyouso @scorpiobleue @certifiedlesbianbaddie @blveeeeeee @sugardontbesweet @omgsuperstarg @bluesole16 @serpenttines-library @peyiswriting @jasmindaughteroftheworld @motheroffae @hrlzy @xoscar03 @xsweetdellzx

A/N: Read the warnings!! Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. The headers/dividers are by @inklore

The final race weekend of the season in Abu Dhabi had been a whirlwind of excitement so far for Bree, Lewis, and Sloane. They'd spent the last few days exploring the city's iconic sights and immersing themselves in the rich cultural experiences.

One highlight was visiting the stunning Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque, its towering domes and intricate mosaics leaving them all awestruck. Sloane had been uncharacteristically quiet and well-behaved as their guide explained the significance of the sacred place.

"It's so pretty, Mommy," she'd whispered, eyes wide with wonder. "Like a palace for angels."

Lewis had gathered them both close, dropping kisses on each of their heads with a warm smile.

Another memorable experience was Lewis' daring skydive over the Palm Jumeirah islands. Bree's heart had lodged in her throat as she watched him exit the plane, that wildly free spirit of his on full display. But soon, his bright orange parachute had blossomed, carrying him down safely to the ground.

"That was amazing!" he'd crowed upon rejoining them, scooping Sloane up into his arms. His face was flushed with adrenaline, eyes sparkling. "Your turn next time, princess!"

Sloane had merely giggled and shaken her head adamantly at the idea.

After Lewis' free practice session and media duties were over, he surprised Bree and Sloane by taking them to a beautiful horse ranch just outside the city. Sloane had recently become fascinated with horses, and her eyes grew wide with excitement when they pulled up to the sprawling stables.

"We're really going to see the horsies?" she asked, gripping Lewis' hand tightly as they walked through the entrance.

Lewis grinned down at her. "Of course, princess. Anything for you."

A shriek of pure joy escaped Sloane as they approached the stalls, the gentle giants peering out at the newcomers with curiosity. She raced ahead, eager little hands outstretched to pat their velvety noses.

Bree hung back, content to watch the joyful scene unfold before her. Seeing Lewis and Sloane together filled her heart to bursting. He doted on her daughter so naturally, as if she were his own flesh and blood.

A little while later, Sloane was confidently mounted on a sweet pony, listening raptly to the trainer's instructions as they walked the paddock area. Lewis settled on a nearby bench, draping his arm around Bree's shoulders as they observed her daughter's riding lesson.

"She's a natural, isn't she?" he murmured, pride coloring his rich tone.

Bree hummed in agreement, leaning her head against his solid chest. "She really is. You may have started something here."

"Well in that case..." Lewis paused, turning his head to press a kiss to her hair. "I'm going to buy her a pony."

Bree's head whipped up, eyes widening. "No way. Lewis, you can't just buy Sloane a whole pony!"

He arched one brow stubbornly. "Why not? She's taken to it so well."

"Because!" Bree protested with an exasperated laugh. "She's eight years old. What are you trying to do, spoil her rotten?"

"Yes," Lewis stated simply, that infuriatingly handsome smirk playing over his lips. "Why can't I spoil my princess?" Bree opened her mouth to argue, but Lewis kept talking. "Sloane wants to get serious about riding, yeah? So let's nurture that talent. She could be an Olympian someday if she sticks with it."

Bree bit her lower lip, wavering. He did have a point - her daughter was displaying a remarkable natural ability.

"Let's just...think about it, okay?" she hedged. "This is a huge responsibility, not some passing toy phase."

Lewis made a show of mulling it over, but the obstinate glint in his eyes told Bree the decision was already made in his mind.

"Alright, alright," he conceded airily. "But I don't know, love...Sloane might be getting that pony after all."

Early December brought the first flurries of snow to the ground as Sloane celebrated her 9th birthday. Bree had gone all out with a Parisian theme, inspired by their summer trip to France.

Lewis was on kid-wrangling duty, making sure the gaggle of energetic children didn't inadvertently break anything in Bree's tastefully decorated townhome. As Bree emerged from the kitchen with a fresh round of juice boxes and snacks, the doorbell rang insistently.

"Can someone get that?" she called out. When it rang again, she sighed and carefully made her way through the living room.

In the corner, Lewis was engaged in an elaborate tea party with Sloane and a few of her friends. The other mothers in attendance openly ogled his athletic frame, seeming entranced by his easy interactions with the children. Bree just shook her head at their antics.

Opening the front door revealed her ex-husband Tom, present in hand with a young woman at his side. Bree's eyes immediately raked over the girl - she couldn't have been more than a few years out of college at most.

"Bree," Tom greeted stiffly.

"Tom." She kept her tone clipped. "Sloane's inside."

Stepping aside, she allowed them entry. No sooner had they crossed the threshold than Lewis materialized with Sloane perched on his back, her giggles filling the air.

"Babe, I think we need more crepes—" His words cut off as he caught sight of Tom, the two men sizing each other up.

"Lewis," said her ex-husband with a tightlipped smile.

"Tom," nodded Lewis in a flat tone, his facial features void of any emotion.

Since that fateful phone call months ago, Sloane's father had kept any communication with Bree brief and to the point - something Lewis silently approved of.

Bree's ex was a middle-aged white man, his dark hair showing hints of distinguished silver at the temples. As Lewis set Sloane down, the little girl rushed to hug her dad before pulling back, brows furrowed suspiciously at the young woman.

"Who are you?" she asked bluntly.

The woman flushed, mouth opening and closing. "I...um..."

"This is Talia, sweetheart," Tom supplied quickly. "Daddy's...friend."

Sloane slanted the woman a calculating look that seemed far too mature for her young age. Then, without another word, she whirled and rejoined her friends.

Soon it was time for the birthday festivities. As Sloane blew out her candles amid a chorus of off-key singing, she tore into her gifts with unbridled glee.

Tom's present was an exquisitely detailed dollhouse, complete with miniature furnishings and figurines. Sloane's eyes shone as she examined every facet of the ornate toy intently.

"My turn next, princess," Lewis announced with a wink. "But you'll need to put your coat on for this one."

The children immediately began scrambling to bundle up, parental chaperones trailing behind curiously. Once outside, Lewis led them around to the front of the house where an elderly handler stood beside a gorgeous chestnut pony, all saddled up and ready to go.

Sloane's shriek of pure delight was like music to Lewis' ears. Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks as she dashed forward to stroke the pony's back, whispering hushed greetings.

Quick as a flash, she pivoted and launched herself at Lewis, deceptively strong little arms locked around his neck.

"Thank you, thank you!" she cried, squeezing tightly. "This is the bestest birthday present ever!"

Over Sloane's shoulder, Bree beamed, heart swelling at the scene. But something in her peripheral vision caught her attention - her ex-husband, face mottled with rage, hands balled into white-knuckled fists at his sides.

She knew that look all too well from their marriage. This wasn't something he would simply forget or let go. Bree swallowed hard, trying to shake off the ominous chill that swept over her despite Sloane's obvious elation.

Oh no, she thought anxiously.

In the weeks following Sloane's birthday, things took an odd turn with her ex. He stopped responding to her texts and messages, leaving their child increasingly confused and hurt. When the scheduled week after Christmas for Sloane to stay with him came around, Tom was a complete no-show, ghosting his own daughter.

Bree was incredulous, barely able to contain her outrage at Tom's selfish behavior. She immediately forwarded copies of all her attempted communications to her lawyers, though it did little to soothe her anger. With nothing else to be done, Bree decided a change of scenery was in order for the holidays.

"How would you like to join Lewis and me in Brazil, baby girl?" she asked Sloane, who immediately perked up at the suggestion.

Lewis was overjoyed when they arrived, sweeping Sloane up into his arms with a rumbling laugh. "There're my two favorite ladies! Ready for some fun in the sun?"

Their time in Brazil was like a dream. After visiting Sao Paulo, they made their way to the beaches of Rio de Janeiro, taking in all the iconic sights along the way.

While Bree treated herself to a well-deserved spa day at their posh beachfront hotel, Lewis took Sloane out to experience more of the city's wonders. His original plan was a solo outing…but having Sloane there somehow made it even more special.

"Where are we going?" Sloane asked, skipping excitedly beside him as they wandered the upscale shopping district.

Lewis winked down at her. "You'll see, princess. It's a surprise for your mum."

When they arrived at the iconic Tiffany & Co storefront, comprehension blossomed over Sloane's face. She gasped, delighted giggles bubbling up.

"We're getting Mommy a ring!" she whispered conspiratorially.

Lewis just grinned and led her inside, informing the sales associate that he had an appointment. They were ushered into a private viewing room where a jewelry expert awaited with several trays of glittering ring selections.

Sloane immediately clambered into the chair beside Lewis, back ramrod straight with the importance of her role. As the sales associate took their drink orders, she piped up, "Apple juice on the rocks, please!"

The woman's tinkling laugh filled the room. "You got it, miss!"

While they waited, Lewis turned to Sloane with a serious expression. "You know what we're doing here?"

She nodded sagely. "Picking out a ring for Mommy so you can ask her to marry you."

A lump formed in Lewis' throat at her childlike innocence and perception. "That's right, princess. Would you like to help me choose?"

"Yes!" Sloane exclaimed. She leaned in, examining each tray with a furrowed brow that looked charmingly out of place on her young features. Finally, her eyes landed on a breathtaking princess-cut solitaire, its envious facets glimmering even in the muted light.

"What about that one? It's really pretty."

Lewis followed her line of sight, heart stuttering at the exquisite ring. "You like that one?"

Sloane nodded firmly. "Do you think Mommy will too?"

A slow smile curved his lips. Of course his girl would have impeccable taste, even at her age. "Yeah, princess. I think your mum will love that one too."

Lewis signaled the jeweler, pointing out the dazzling princess-cut solitaire they'd selected. As the ring was securely packaged and the credit card transacted, Sloane leaned in close.

"When are you going to ask her?"

Tucking the precious cargo into his pocket, Lewis winked down at Sloane.

"Very soon, my girl. In fact…" He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her from the store. "Why not while we're still here in Rio?"

The brilliant smile that bloomed across Sloane's face was all the answer he needed.

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On their final night in vibrant Rio de Janeiro, Lewis had something special planned. He made reservations at one of the city's most exclusive rooftop restaurants, renting out the entire top floor for some luxurious privacy. The panoramic views overlooking the iconic Christ the Redeemer statue and twinkling city lights below were simply breathtaking.

Dinner itself was an indulgent multi-course affair, the finest Brazilian cuisine paired with delectable wine. As dessert was served, Lewis gave Sloane a conspiratorial wink, causing the little girl to perk up.

"Right," she piped up, shooting her mother a mischievous grin.

Bree's elegantly arched brows lifted in suspicion. "Okay, what are you two up to?"

"Mommy, I need to go to the bathroom," Sloane announced, tugging on Bree's hand insistently.

Sensing something was definitely afoot, Bree decided to play along and allowed her daughter to lead her away from the table. Once inside the restroom, Sloane made a show of taking an excessively long time before finally "finishing" and moving to the sinks.

As Bree washed her hands, she caught Sloane's eye in the mirror. The girl was primping and fluffing her hair unnecessarily.

"Yes, Mommy?" she asked sweetly when she noticed Bree's gaze.

"What's going on, Sloane Marie?" Bree asked pointedly, unable to hide her knowing smile.

Sloane just shrugged, the picture of wide-eyed innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Mmm-hmm…" Bree hummed, unconvinced but willing to let the surprise unfold.

When they returned to their private dining area, Bree's steps faltered. The floor was strewn with a smattering of vivid red rose petals, the candles glowing warmly. And right behind their table stood a makeshift backdrop with the words "Will You Marry Me?" illuminated in twinkling fairy lights.

Tears immediately pricked Bree's eyes as the realization set in. She lifted a trembling hand to her parted lips, breath catching in her throat. Turning slowly, she found Lewis watching her with an achingly tender expression, hand outstretched in wordless invitation.

Sinking shakily into the chair he guided her to, Bree's gaze remained locked on his as Lewis lowered himself to one knee before her. Her hands fluttered helplessly as he clasped them between his own, anchoring her.

"Breanna Yvonne Jamison…" Lewis murmured, using her maiden name in a way that unlocked a fresh torrent of tears. Cupping her face, he gazed at her with liquid warmth and adoration. "My whole life, I've chased the adrenaline rush of going faster, pushing every limit in pursuit of greatness. Yet you came into my world so unexpectedly, and showed me there's no greater achievement than the profound stillness, safety, and completeness I feel simply existing by your side." He brushed an escaped tendril of hair from her damp cheek, voice lowering to an impassioned rasp. "You and Sloane…you're my home, my heart, my everything. Without you, I'm lost, unmoored. So please, Breanna - will you make me the luckiest man on earth?"

Lewis slid from his pocket the dazzling Tiffany's solitaire he'd selected with Sloane's help, the glittering gem glimmering like a fallen star between their joined hands. Trembling, Bree could only nod fervently, a watery laugh bubbling up from her very soul as she choked out, "Yes!"

In the next heartbeat, Lewis surged up to claim her lips in a searing kiss, cradling her to him. The restaurant staff erupted into cheers and applause while Sloane launched herself at them both, wrapping her skinny arms around their entwined bodies in a fierce group hug.

And in that suspended, perfect moment, Lewis Hamilton knew he'd finally caught the elusive thrill he'd been chasing his whole life. It went by a million different names - joy, peace, unconditional love.

But mostly, it was called home.

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

In the blissful afterglow of his proposal, Lewis had one request for Bree - that they keep their engagement under wraps for now, just between them and their innermost circle. A treasured secret to bask in before the inevitable media frenzy.

Bree agreed readily, already protective of this sacred new chapter. Just for a little while, she wanted to exist in their loved-up bubble untainted by prying eyes and external pressures.

So they returned from Brazil as an extremely happy yet outwardly unchanged couple, Bree's dazzling new ring discreetly hidden away, its sparkle reserved for private moments between her and Lewis. Sloane proved incredibly adept at keeping her lips sealed despite her giddiness.

Finally, a couple months later after Lewis' departure from Mercedes and move to Ferrari was announced, they decided the time was right - they revealed their joy to the world.

The collective meltdown was of internet-breaking proportions. Fans, media outlets, and even fellow drivers and celebrities lost their minds over the long-anticipated news of Lewis Hamilton's impending nuptials.

At the eye of that storm, Lewis and Bree remained untouchable, buoyed by the pure love and acceptance they'd found together. The noise and chaos hardly registered in their cherished new reality as fiances and soon-to-be family. They were already living in a storybook dream.

Mid-February found Lewis back at Mercedes HQ in England, diligently preparing for the start of the 2024 F1 season. Meanwhile, Bree was gathering her things to catch a flight to Italy for a luncheon with Peroni, the new sponsor of Scuderia Ferrari.

"Sloane, honey, come give me a kiss! My Uber is going to be here any minute," Bree called up the stairs.

Sloane came clattering down, and Bree enveloped her in a fierce hug before placing a kiss on her cheeks. She then did the same to her mother.

"Be safe and call me as soon as you land, dear," her mom instructed.

"I will, Mom. Love you guys!"

As Bree headed out the door, a figure approached from the side. "Breanna King?"

She paused, eyeing the stranger warily. "…Yes?"

Without another word, the person thrust an envelope into her hands. "You've been served."

Bree could only gape at their retreating form in shock. The Uber driver cleared his throat, snapping her back to reality as he began loading her luggage into the trunk. She slid numbly into the backseat and tore open the envelope with trembling fingers.

The papers inside were a summons - Tom was suing her for full custody of Sloane, citing neglect and declaring Bree an unfit parent.

"This motherfucker," the strangled curse tore from her lips as she scanned the accusations. It had to be a sick joke, some sort of retaliation for his bruised ego over the pony incident.

Hands shaking, she immediately dialed Lewis' number. He picked up with his usual warm greeting, but immediately recognized the thinly veiled panic in her tone.

"Bree? Love, what's wrong?"

"Tom is…he's suing me for full custody." Her voice cracked on the last words. "He's trying to take Sloane away, saying I'm neglectful and unfit."

There was a pregnant pause on the other end, the weight of her words sinking in.

"That motherfucker," Lewis growled, his protective fury evident. "He is not taking our little girl."

Bree swiped at the tears streaking her cheeks, eternally grateful to have this man's unwavering support and love.

"I can come straight to you," Lewis stated, the resolute timbre of his voice already soothing her tattered nerves. "We'll get the best lawyers money can buy, and fight this with everything we've got. I promise you, Bree - Sloane isn't going anywhere."

Squeezing her eyes shut, Bree willed herself to draw strength from Lewis' steadfast presence, even over the phone. He was right; they could and would get through this latest hurdle. Their little family was far too precious to let anyone tear it apart so easily.

"No, no, it's fine. I'm on my way to the airport now," she managed in a stronger voice. "But yeah...okay, I love you, Lewis."

"I love you too, baby. We've got this."

As the call disconnected, Bree felt a surge of determination replacing the initial panic. Tom King had poked the proverbial bear - and neither she nor Lewis would rest until this custody battle was won.

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

Bree smoothed her hands down the silk blouse she had carefully selected for the luncheon at Scuderia Ferrari's headquarters in Maranello. Despite the glamorous setting and prestigious company partnership with Peroni, her mind couldn't seem to focus.

Tom had blindsided her by filing for full custody out of nowhere. As she mingled with the other influencers and Ferrari personnel, Bree wondered what had given her the strength to even make this trip to Italy rather than immediately raging hell at home.

The answer, as it so often was lately, was Lewis. His calm, reassuring presence had grounded her when the news first broke. Though clearly furious on her behalf, he had encouraged Bree to keep her head high and trust her lawyers as they prepared for the upcoming court session.

"Don't let that idiot ruin all your hard work, gorgeous," Lewis had stated firmly. "I've got your back no matter what, okay?"

And so here she was, determined not to let Tom's spiteful actions derail her life and commitments. As a Peroni ambassador, Bree pasted on her brightest smile and tried to immerse herself in the incredible experience of touring the legendary Ferrari factory.

She shared a laugh with Charles Leclerc as the young driver joked, "I guess I'll be seeing you around the paddock more often when Lewis joins the team next year!"

The comment simultaneously thrilled and unsettled Bree. Their engagement was still so new in the grand scheme of things, yet there was still so much going on, including Lewis' moving of teams, planning a wedding, and even discussing plans for their future. Despite this, everything felt inescapably right.

In the days that followed, Bree did her best to savor every moment of la dolce vita in Italy. She treated herself to a gorgeous new purse from a chic Milanese boutique, a small but meaningful splurge to mitigate the stress of the looming custody case.

Eventually, though, the time came to head to London and seek solace in Lewis' arms once more. They spent hours making love, trying to lose themselves in the heady oblivion of bare skin and tangled sheets.

Their lovemaking was slow and gentle as if they were trying to hold onto every precious second together before facing what awaited them outside these four walls.

"What if he takes her from me?" Bree couldn't stop the tremor of fear in her voice as she lay nestled against Lewis' chest afterward. "Tom's such a cruel, vindictive person…who knows what lies he'll try to spin about me."

Lewis stroked her hair soothingly, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I won't let that happen, I promise. Is there anything really damning in his past we could use? Any shady business or indiscretions that could discredit him?"

Bree shook her head with a humorless laugh. "Besides being a bastard of a human who can't keep his dick in his pants? Not really. He's an utterly mediocre person, which is almost more maddening."

"Alright then," Lewis said, resolution steeling his tone. "If he wants to fight dirty, we'll be prepared to get dirtier. I'm going to have someone do some digging, just to be safe. Cover all our bases."

Bree opened her mouth to protest, but Lewis cut her off with a tender kiss.

"Don't argue, gorgeous. Let me handle this, okay? You and Sloane are my family now. I'll do whatever it takes to protect you both."

The fierceness in his gaze made Bree's breath catch. She simply nodded, fresh warmth blooming in her chest.

As if on cue, Lewis' phone buzzed to life with a text notification. He glanced at it and smiled.

"Speaking of family…Sloane and your mum just landed. I hope you don't mind, but I may have arranged for them to visit us for a little while."

Bree's eyes widened in surprise. "You did what? Why would you—"

"Because I want my family here with me," Lewis answered simply, cupping her face. "We're a team now, remember? No more going through the hard stuff alone. I've got us."

As he pulled her into a fierce embrace, Bree felt the last remnants of fear and anxiety slip away. No matter what curveballs life threw their way, they would face it head on - together.

The courthouse corridors were hushed and intimidating as Bree strode through them, Lewis' reassuring hand clasped firmly in her own. He had insisted on accompanying her for moral support, even though it meant cutting things perilously close for pre-season testing in Bahrain in two days.

Using a discreet back entrance to avoid prying eyes, they made their way into the designated courtroom and took their seats on the defendant's side. Bree stared across the aisle with a disapproving headshake as her poor excuse for an ex-husband slouched arrogantly in his chair.

Her lawyer, Marcus, placed a tender hand on Bree's shoulder. "Don't worry, we have more than enough evidence on our side to dispute all of his ridiculous claims."

Lewis's insistence on hiring a private investigator to dig into Tom's background had paid off tremendously. They now had proof that, rather than being away at "work conferences" as he claimed, Tom had actually been partying it up with his latest fling, Talia.

The court clerk called them all to order as the judge entered and took her seat. After a brief overview of the case and opposing claims, Tom's attorney launched into his diatribe.

"Your Honor, my client simply wants what's best for his child," the weaselly-looking man began. "Ms. Jamison is an unfit mother who routinely leaves her daughter home alone to gallivant across the world, attending frivolous racing events with her athlete boyfriend."

Bree tensed, but Marcus was already on his feet, armed with printouts of text conversations, photos and more.

"I object, your Honor. We have ample evidence that Ms. Jamison's daughter Sloane was never left unsupervised. She was either in the care of her maternal grandmother or accompanied her mother, along with Mr. Hamilton, on any travel."

The judge narrowed her eyes at Tom's lawyer. "Well? Do you have proof to counter these claims?"

A tellingly uncomfortable silence lingered in the room before the man eventually muttered, "No, your Honor."

"Then I suggest you adjust your angle, counselor," the judge responded sternly. "This does not appear to be a case of abandonment."

Marcus pressed on, conviction in his tone. "The fact is, Mr. King is the one guilty of being an unfit, absentee parent. We have records showing he has consistently missed scheduled visitations with his daughter, instead choosing to wine and dine various romantic distractions."

As damning evidence continued to mount against Tom, Bree could see him slowly deflating in his seat, any bravado evaporating. By the time Marcus concluded his case, it was clear how the judgment would swing.

"Ms. Jamison will maintain full custody of their daughter, with Mr. King still allowed supervised visitation per your original schedule," the judge decreed. "However, let me be very clear…" She fixed Tom with a stern glare. "If you miss three scheduled visits without a legitimate excuse, you'll be back in front of me facing harsher penalties. This appears to be a case of bruised ego more than genuine concern for your child's welfare."

Her gaze softened slightly as it moved to where Lewis sat stoically beside Bree.

"You should be grateful that your daughter has another positive male influence in her life who is so invested. Not many children are that fortunate. I suggest letting go of this petty jealousy act before it damages your relationship with your child further."

As the courtroom cleared out, Bree finally allowed the tears of relief to spill over. She clutched desperately at Lewis, overwhelmed by the punishing stress of the entire ordeal finally being lifted.

"It's over, gorgeous," he murmured, rubbing soothing circles across her back. "You and Sloane are safe, I promise. Let's go home, back to our little family."

Pressing her face into the comforting warmth of his neck, Bree knew those words had never rung true. She had fought for the family she deserved - and somehow, against all odds, she had won.

Weeks followed the custody hearing, Tom had surprisingly upheld his end of the agreement without incident. As Spring Break approached, he was set to have Sloane stay with him for the full week - a stretch of time Bree admittedly felt anxious about.

She moved efficiently around her bedroom, packing a final suitcase for the upcoming trip to New York, Seoul, and Shanghai. She would be accompanying Lewis between his own obligations, a welcome constant amid the whirlwind travel.

Downstairs, Tom sat nursing a glass of water while Lewis sat nearby, the two men united in an uncharacteristic silence. Finally, Lewis cleared his throat.

"Listen, we've never really had a chance to clear the air, man-to-man," he began. "I just want you to know that I love Bree and Sloane with everything in me. Hurting them is the last thing I'd ever want."

Tom's jaw tensed minutely before he exhaled a resigned sigh. "I know that now. And I actually…appreciate you, believe it or not."

He glanced up to meet Lewis' curious stare. "You stepped up as the kind of stand-up father figure I never could be to my own kid. I was too selfish and wrapped up in my own bullshit."

A somber pause lingered before Tom continued. "Have you two discussed… permanent living situations yet? With you being based in Monaco and all?"

Lewis nodded slowly. "Bree brought it up, the idea of us all being there together once we're married. Home for me is wherever she and Sloane are, but Monaco would make the logistics easier."

"And what does Sloane think about that?" Tom asked, surprising Lewis with a hint of paternal interest.

The race car driver couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, her main condition was that we have to bring her pony, Buttercup."

Tom barked out a startled laugh at that. "Sounds about right for my drama queen. She actually loves that damn pony more than her own father…"

The two men shared a look of mutual understanding - their first real moment of camaraderie. Maybe things were finally evening out between them.

"For what it's worth…" Lewis continued carefully. "Bree's nervous about the idea of relocating. I don't want to overstep, but I think she's worried it could impact your time with Sloane."

Tom waved a dismissive hand. "Do what you gotta do, man. As long as I still get to see my kid, I'll make it work on my end. Just…don't fuck this up like I did, alright?"

The sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupted their conversation. Bree descended into the living room, Sloane close on her heels, eyeing the two men suspiciously.

"You two playing nice?" she asked Tom pointedly.

He offered her a small smile and nod. "Yeah…everything's fine, Bree. We're good."

Sloane took the opportunity to run over and squeeze Lewis tightly. "I'm gonna miss you, Lewis!"

"I'll miss you too, princess," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, "but I'll be back before you know it, okay?"

As Sloane pulled away, Tom took the chance to lean in close to Bree. "For what it's worth…I really am sorry. For everything," he muttered lowly. "You deserve to be happy."

Surprise flitted across Bree's features before she managed a warm smile. "Thank you, Tom. That means more than you know."

With the goodbyes and well-wishes exchanged, the couple departed. Bree felt the tension seep from her shoulders as they pulled away.

This was just the start of an exciting new adventure - and she couldn't wait to experience it all with Lewis by her side.

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A few days later, Bree found herself arm-in-arm with her dashing fiancé as they strode the purple carpet ahead of the GQ Global Creativity Awards in New York. She watched with a swell of pride as Lewis knocked out interview after interview with his characteristic charm and professionalism.

Finally, they were able to slip inside, where Bree was delighted to catch up with Mellody Hobson. The two embraced warmly before Mellody's husband, the iconic George Lucas, offered his hand to Bree.

"It's wonderful to finally meet you in person," the legendary filmmaker greeted. "I've heard so much about you and your daughter from Mellody."

Bree felt her cheeks warm slightly as George's warm gaze appraised her. "I bet you have. Did you hear about the whole pony story?"

At the mention, Lewis was already pulling out his phone, queuing up snapshots of Sloane on her pony as he spoke. "Isn't she a natural? I keep telling Bree that Sloane could be a future Olympian at this rate!"

George chuckled, studying the images with an approving nod. "She definitely has the makings of one. You'll have to keep me posted on her progress."

As the two men enthusiastically discussed Sloane's budding equestrian skills, Bree felt a contented glow settle over her. Seeing Lewis so embraced in this extended family circle, so openly smitten with her daughter, felt like a premonition of the wonderful future that lay ahead for all of them, if she and Lewis could just hold on to this feeling forever.

Final part will be out soon….

#emjayewrites #sir lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfic #sir lewis hamilton x black!reader #lewis hamilton x black!reader #all for us #f1 x black!reader #f1 x reader

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── PEREGRINE // ONE

Series Synopsis: The ways that you and Seishiro Nagi fall together and fall apart over the years.

Chapter Synopsis: You wrap up your affairs before flying over to your hometown, where your best friend will soon have his wedding.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Nagi x Reader, Kira x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.2k

Content Warnings: unhealthy relationships, cheating, non-linear narrative, probably ooc, angst, nagi is endgame, kira sucks, alternate universe, original characters

A/N: you know it’s a m1ckeyb3rry fic when the main love interest doesn’t even show up for the first few chapters…also please note this is NOT THE FIRST CHAPTER of the story there is a prologue before it!! which gives a lot of necessary background so you’re not (as) confused by the plot

divider credits: @/benkeibear

“Sora,” you cooed at your cat, your torso jammed beneath the bed as you tried to pull her out. “Dearest Sora, please don’t make this so difficult.”

“I told you you should’ve gotten rid of her when you had the chance,” Ryosuke said from where he was folding clothes to put in his suitcase. “Honestly, I don’t get why you insist on keeping her around. All she does is shit in the house and make problems.”

“She uses her litter box like a good girl, and she doesn’t cause trouble on purpose,” you said. “She’s an animal, not a person. She’s not capable of malicious intent.”

“Whatever. All I’m saying is that things would be a lot easier if you had just left her at the shelter when you moved in with me,” he said.

“I’ve had her for years,” you said, finally getting a grasp on her body and yanking her out in one swift move. “She’s a part of my family. I don’t know why you’re so determined to hate her.”

“She hates me, too!” he said. True to form, Sora hissed at him as you walked past, her ears flattening to show the disdain she had always held for him. “And you always take her side. It’s like you like her more than me!”

You rolled your eyes. “She’s a cat. You’re jealous of a cat.”

And you’re the one who’s cheating, anyways. You left this second part unsaid, because it wasn’t really relevant to the conversation, and besides, you had done such a good job at maintaining the facade of normalcy in your relationship that it would be a waste to break it just because he was annoying you.

That didn’t stop you from scowling at him when his back was turned, pressing a kiss atop Sora’s head and smiling when she purred at the show of affection — or was it because you were in the kitchen and near to her container of treats on the counter that she was so pleased?

“I’m not sure what to do with you,” you admitted, scratching under her chin with one hand and opening the jar with the other, offering her half of a treat as a consolation for having ripped her so uncaringly from her hiding place. She accepted it daintily, which meant that all was forgiven, and you stroked her in appreciation.

She was an enormous, fluffy white cat, closer in size to a small dog than anything. Her eyes were a wide, endless blue, hence why you had named her Sora, and her fur felt like cotton when you ran your hands through it. You had had her for almost as long as you had been in America, and you thought that there was almost no one in the entire vapid country who you loved more.

Normally, if you and Ryosuke had to go somewhere, you’d drop Sora off at Chigiri’s. She liked him well enough, and he was typically glad for the company, so it was a mutually beneficial deal. But of course, this time, Chigiri would also be away, as he was attending the same wedding that you and Ryosuke were, which meant that you were somewhat out of luck.

Sora dangled limply in your arms like a heap of rags as you paced about the kitchen, trying and failing to come up with someone who could take care of her while you were gone. Finally giving up when you realized that Chigiri had been right, you really did need more friends, you picked up your phone and called the man in question.

“Yo,” he said, answering almost immediately, though you could hear the shower running in the background, which meant he was either about to get into the bath or had gotten out for the express purpose of answering you. Either way, you decided not to hold him up with useless pleasantries.

“Hey, Chigiri,” you said. “I heard you’re going to Reo and May’s wedding?”

“Yeah, I’m between jobs again, so it’s not like I need to take off work or anything,” he said.

“Again?” you said, your resolve to have a quick conversation shattering almost immediately. The sound of water stopped, which meant that he, too, sensed the call was probably not going to be a short one.

“Tell me about it. I can only land short-term gigs at the moment,” he said.

“Maybe you should just move away from trying to coach entirely,” you suggested. “You were a marketing major, right? You could probably go corporate.”

“I know, but I don’t think I’m that desperate yet. I’m sure something or another will come along. The issue is that no high-level team wants a coach who hasn’t played in years, but those high-level gigs are the ones that are much steadier in terms of pay and schedule,” he said.

“I’d want you as a coach,” you said loyally. “If I was a soccer player.”

“You’d be a shitty soccer player. I don’t even think my coaching could change that fact,” he said.

“You’re so mean to me,” you said.

“Someone has to do it,” he said.

“And there I was, trying to support you,” you said. “On a more serious note, though, any team that doesn’t hire you just because of what happened back then is stupid.”

“Oh, I agree completely, but try telling them that. It’s all ‘sorry, but we want a coach that has a little more experience.’ I have experience! The only reason our school ever won games was because of me, even after I stopped being able to play myself. It’s not like that dumbass coach ever did anything for us beyond praising your peacock bastard fiancé,” he said

“Exactly,” you said, though you had no idea how true this was, as according to Ryosuke, he had been the one to carry the team to victory. The roles Chigiri might’ve had to play in their victories, if any, had always been omitted.

“Ugh, it’s fine. Like I said, I’m sure there’s some youth league that’ll take me on next season, so it’s okay. I’ll work it out, like I always do,”he said.

“Let me know if you need help at any point,” you said.

“Always,” he said.

“In the meantime, uh, I actually need your help,” you said.

“Right, I was wondering why you had called,” he said.

“The thing is that I don’t have anyone else I can leave Sora with, so I was going to pay one of my company’s interns to watch her while we’re gone,” you said.

“Aw, make sure you pick someone gentle. She’s very particular,” he said.

“You know, she is my cat,” you said.

“Just reminding you!” he said.

“I think I know who I’m going to ask already, so as long as he agrees to it, it’ll be fine,” you said.

“Okay, so what’s my place in all of this?” he said.

“Ryosuke and I have to go over a little earlier, since I’m the maid of honor, so I was wondering if you’d be alright with watching her until you have to leave?” you said.

“Why, because you don’t have to pay me?” he said.

“I can, if you want,” you said. “It’s just so she can be somewhere she’s comfortable, since she’s never met this kid before.”

“I was just joking, don’t worry about it. Drop her off whenever,” he said.

“You’re the best,” you said.

“Yup,” he agreed. “Now, I was kind of in the middle of something, so…”

“Oops, right, go enjoy your shower,” you said.

“Wait, how’d you know I was showering?”

Although there were several interns working for your company at any given time, you generally paid little attention to most of them. You were too busy with your own work and life to care about their struggles, so beyond giving them advice when they asked and helping them out when you didn’t have to go out of your way to, you didn’t interact with them much.

There was one boy, though, who had caught your eye. Something about his aloof personality and quiet demeanor reminded you of a person you had known back in high school, and you had unofficially adopted him, though you weren’t sure if he was exactly aware of this fact.

Actually, he was definitely unaware, considering the way he all but jumped out of his skin when you sat across from him in the lunchroom.

“Hey, Niko,” you said brightly. His dark hair covered his eyes, so you couldn’t read his reaction, but if you had to guess, it was probably panic. If you were in his place, that was what you’d be feeling, considering it wasn’t exactly typical of the regular employees to hang out with the students.

“Um, hello, Miss L/N,” he said, somehow managing to keep his voice level. “Am I in trouble or something?”

“No,” you said. “I just need you to do me a favor.”

He got out of his seat immediately, pulling out his phone from his pocket and opening the notes app. You furrowed your brow as he tapped his foot expectantly.

“Well? What’s your coffee order? And which shop do you want me to get it from? I accidentally went to Starbucks the other day to get a latte for the director and he freaked out about it,” he said.

“Oh! He thinks Starbucks makes their coffee too sweet, that’s probably why,” you said.

“I learned that the hard way,” he said.

“Yikes, I’m sure that was not a fun conversation,” you said. “But that’s unimportant. I don’t need coffee, and you don’t have to say yes to this or anything. I guess you can consider it to be more of a request from a friend — although I promise I will pay you!”

“Okay,” Niko said hesitantly.

“I’ll just lay it on you,” you said.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“I’m going abroad for a wedding soon, and I need someone to watch my cat,” you said. “She’s very well-behaved and friendly! Honestly, she’ll just sit with you on the couch the whole time, I’m sure. I’ll give you her food and everything, and like I said, I’ll pay you, so how about it?”

For the first time, he looked up at you, his hair falling out of his face and revealing bright, shimmering eyes. He clasped his hands together, a smile threatening to dawn upon his face, and then it was your turn to grow bewildered by the sudden switch in his personality.

“Yes!” he said. “I’d even do it for free, Miss L/N.”

“Woah, are you a cat enthusiast or something? And none of that; of course I’m going to pay, or else it’d just feel like I’m taking advantage of some poor intern,” you said.

“I really like them,” he said. “I’ve had one my whole life, but my house is a three hour drive from campus, so I haven’t gotten to see her much since graduating high school. I really miss hanging out with her, though, so it’ll be nice to have a cat around, even if it’s only for a little while.”

“Perfect!” you said, cheering internally at how well things had worked out. “She’ll be staying with a friend of mine, so if you’ll give me your number, I’ll send it to him so you can coordinate picking her up at some point.”

“Sure,” he said, giving you his phone so you could type his number into your own. “What’s your friend’s name?”

“Hyoma Chigiri,” you said. Niko’s jaw dropped.

“Hyoma Chigiri?” he whispered. “You’re friends with him?”

“Do you know him or something?” you said, handing him his phone back. Niko shook his head.

“Not personally, but I remember reading about what happened to him,” he said. “It’s one of the reasons my parents convinced me to stop playing soccer.”

“Ah, maybe don’t mention it around him,” you said. “He’s doing fine now, but he still doesn’t like talking about it.”

“That’s understandable,” Niko said. “My lips are sealed. I just can’t believe I’m going to have Hyoma Chigiri’s number in my phone!”

“Feel free to act like a fan all you want,” you said, after the initial strangeness of meeting someone still so obsessed with Chigiri had passed. “He really appreciates it when people praise him. Though, you probably shouldn’t spam him or anything.”

“I’ll be just as responsible with his phone number as I will with your cat. Thank you for entrusting me with this, Miss L/N! I promise I won’t let you down,” he said.

“I know you won’t,” you said. “And, to be fair, it’s not really a difficult task. Just sit at home and watch TV a lot and be kind with her; if you can do that, then Sora will be perfectly content.”

“That’s what I’d do anyways,” he said.

“Great,” you said. “Now I can feel even less like I’m taking advantage of some poor intern.”

“Thank you again for your faith in me!” he said when you reached your office, bowing at you as if you were some kind of sage master that had offered him a great opportunity for personal growth.

At least he was taking it seriously. You thanked whatever deity had intervened on your behalf that you had found the one person within a ten-mile radius who would care for Sora as well as you or Chigiri would.

Unlike Ryosuke, you barely packed anything but the most basic of items. This was because you knew full well that the minute you stepped foot on Japanese soil, you would be dragged into Reo’s arms, whereupon he would force you into his car and take you shopping at the closest luxury mall — on his card, of course. He was prone to such acts when it came to you, mostly because you were one of the first true friends he had ever had, and so he tended to spoil you as if you were his baby sister or something.

“How can you be sure that Reo’s going to get you everything you need?” Ryosuke said, eyeing the suitcase you lifted into the trunk of the car. “It’s been a pretty long time since you saw him last. He’s probably matured a ton since then — I mean, he’s getting married! What kind of wife would be okay with her husband doting on some random girl?”

“For one, I’m not some random girl; I’ve known May longer than Reo has, and I’m also the one who introduced them to one another. She knows there’s nothing between us, so there would be no reason for her to not be okay with it. Secondly, I’ve been friends with Reo for so long that he’s more like a weird cousin of mine than anything. The Mikages look after their own, and it just so happens that I am, by proxy, one of them. So I can be reasonably confident that it’ll work out in that way,” you said.

“Don’t you feel bad, then?” he said. “You’re using your best friend for his money.”

“You’re so determined to find fault with our relationship,” you said. “It’s not like that. Everyone has different ways to show affection for the people they care about. It just so happens that Reo’s so wealthy that that kind of thing is his own personal manner.”

Ryosuke scoffed, pressing the button to turn on the ignition and starting the car without another word, prompting a worried mewl from Sora, whose carrier was currently on your lap. You tapped the side to remind her that you were still there with her, and she quieted at that.

“Don’t forget that we have to go to Chigiri’s first,” you said.

“Yes, yes, we’ll stop by your lover’s house,” Ryosuke said. At your surprised expression, he laughed. “What? You’re always with him or at his place. Any normal person would suspect it.”

There were a million things you could say in response, but the least-inflammatory was a repetition of the same thing you had been telling him since the day the two of you got together.

“You know I’ve never been with anyone but you,” you said.

“Of course,” he said. “I guess that’s true. No matter how many people you sleep with now, you can never change the fact that I was the first.”

“Hm,” you said, staring out of the window and speaking to his reflection instead of facing him properly. “Don’t be crude.”

“Come on, it’s just us two. When else can we make these kinds of jokes?” he said.

“You didn’t seem like you were joking,” you noted.

“Y/N, I’m hurt. You thought I was being serious? I mean, did you really think that I believed for a second that anyone preferred that washed up princess’s company to mine?” he said, stalling the car in the driveway and grinning. “Tell him I said hi.”

“You and I both know that’ll accomplish nothing,” you said, slinging the bag of Sora’s things over your shoulder and gripping the handle of her carrier so tightly that your knuckles whitened. “I’ll be back soon. No point in missing our flight.”

“I’ll be here,” Ryosuke said, waving at you as he began to fiddle with the knobs on the car’s dashboard, evidently trying to decide whether he wanted the radio to play classical music or the latest episode of some talk show.

You rang the doorbell and then stepped back, knowing it might take Chigiri a second to get to the door depending on where in the house he was located. Luckily, he had been expecting your arrival, so by the time your arm began to grow numb from holding Sora’s carrier, he was opening the door and inviting you in.

“Thank you again for doing this,” you said, setting the carrier down with a thump and massaging your shoulder. Chigiri crouched gingerly, unzipping the opening to the carrier and allowing Sora to peek her head out. When she realized where she was, she bounded out, rubbing her head against Chigiri’s legs as he breathed out a laugh and rubbed her face with his hands.

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “It’s nice having someone else in the house. Less lonely.”

Your face softened, and if it weren’t for Ryosuke’s presence looming in the driveway, you’d have leaned over and hugged him. But as it was, your fiancé was waiting, and if you lingered for much longer, you risked missing your flight.

“You have Niko’s number?” you said.

“Yeah. He’s kind of a weird kid,” Chigiri said.

“What do you mean?” you said.

“He keeps telling me that he thinks I’m cool and that he can’t believe he’s texting me,” Chigiri said, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. “So strange.”

At this, you smiled, vowing to text Niko and thank him later. His admiration was exactly the boost Chigiri needed when he was so down on his luck, and though he was pretending like he found it odd, it was obvious he was pleased by the attention.

“As long as he can take care of Sora,” you said. Chigiri nodded in determination.

“I’m sure he can. He obviously has good taste in other things, so it stands to reason that he’d be the kind of person who could really look out for her in the way she’s used to,” he said.

“You would be the first to die in a horror movie,” you said. “Did you know that?”

“What? Why would you say such a thing?” he said.

“Never mind,” you said. “I should go. Ryosuke’s in the car, and our flight is soon.”

Chigiri wrinkled his nose, his whole delicate face crumpling at the mention of your fiancé.

“I thought something felt off about the property,” he said.

“You are so dramatic,” you said. “He says hi.”

“Tell him I said fuck off,” Chigiri said.

“I don’t think — actually, sure,” you said. “I’ll do that. See you at the wedding. And Sora, please be a good girl for Chigiri and Niko alike.”

“She will be,” Chigiri said affectionately. Sora had wriggled her way into his arms, and he stood while hugging her to his chest, ready to shut the door behind you. “See you, Y/N.”

You were reluctant to leave, because it would be so easy to stay and talk with Chigiri while playing with Sora, but you knew you had to. Even that knowledge, though, was hardly enough — it was simply the thought of seeing Reo and May again that made you take the next step, and the next, all of the way until you were back in the passenger seat of the car and Ryosuke was reversing the car down the driveway.

“So, how is my beloved teammate?” Ryosuke said. “Did he leave you with a message for me?”

“Yes,” you said. “He told me to tell you to fuck off.”

Ryosuke chuckled. “Sounds about right. He’s always been a petty son of a—”

“Ryosuke,” you sighed. “Do you really get any gain out of insulting the only friend I have left in this country?”

“It’s the same gain he gets out of insulting your fiancé!” he said.

“Which I always reprimand him for,” you said. “And also, he at least has something resembling a reason to resent you. When you do it, it just feels excessive.”

“You defend me to him?” he said.

“Obviously?” you said. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I suddenly feel very cheerful and optimistic,” he observed.

“What are you talking about?” you said. He waved you off.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It was a personal musing. Think of it like an interjection from the narrator, except that in this case, the narrator and the protagonist are the same.”

“Okay,” you said. “Sure. If that’s what makes sense to you.”

The two of you spent the rest of the drive to the airport in relative silence. Ryosuke hummed along to whatever pop song came on the radio, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove, and you texted your friends — mostly Reo and May, who had been anxiously waiting for your arrival since you had agreed to come at all.

When you had first started dating, you used to go on aimless drives for hours, talking about whatever crossed your mind. Not a second would go by without one of you speaking, but that kind of constant conversation wasn’t sustainable. Eventually, you both ran out of things to say, and so you began to spend more and more of your time together in silence. That was around the time that Ryosuke began to seek outside assistance in quelling the fire which was constantly blazing within him; whether it was a coincidence or a cause, you could not tell, but it remained that everything had happened at once and led to your relationship now being like this.

You always forgot how long the flight back to Japan was. It was the second reason you never visited, beyond the fact that there was hardly anything worth visiting in the first place — it was a day-long ordeal composed of arguing with the TSA agents, waiting in security lines, and of course the flight itself, which was only marginally bearable because Reo insisted on buying you first-class tickets.

You spent most of it dozing, the armrest between you and Ryosuke pushed up so you could lean your head against his chest as he watched a movie. In the haze of your sleep, you could feel his arm wrapping around your shoulders, his fingers idly stroking your cheek as if that were the natural outcome, as if there was no other place that they could come to rest. It was the easiest that things had ever been between you in some time, and subconsciously, you relished in it, in the soft scent of his cologne, in the warmth of pretending like you were loved by someone again.

Reo had told you, in no uncertain terms, to not even attempt going to the baggage claim. He had contacts in the airport who would take care of it, because of course he did, and so the only thing you and Ryosuke had to do was meet him and May at the gate. You stopped in the bathroom, mostly at your insistence, so that you could freshen yourself after the long flight, which had sapped you of most of your energy despite how much of it you had spent sleeping.

“Are you nervous?” Ryosuke said as you reached the door. He held both of your carry-on bags in his hands, an amused grin on his face as you all but vibrated with every step you took.

“Of course,” you said. “I haven’t seen them in so long, and I haven’t been back home in that same amount of time. I don’t know how it’s all changed. And what if it hasn’t? What if the only one who’s changed is me?”

“Only one way to find out,” he said, nudging you in the side. “Look who it is.”

Standing awkwardly by the metal barrier separating the airport from the street in front of it, surrounded by security guards that kept the rest of the crowds at bay, was Reo Mikage. He wore a pair of khaki shorts and a polo, sunglasses perched on his head as he checked the time on the — likely expensive — watch which he wore on his left wrist.

A grin split your face, your spirit rejuvenated as surely as if you had never been exhausted in the first place. Cupping your hands around your mouth to amplify your voice, you shouted out his name with glee.

“Reo!”

The boredom dropped from his expression immediately as his head snapped up, trying to determine the source of the noise. When he locked eyes with you, he beamed so brightly that you were all but blinded by it, and then you were both racing towards the opening in the barricade where you could finally meet.

You tossed your arms around his neck as soon as you could reach him, clinging onto him tightly, suddenly and unreasonably weepy at the fact that the two of you had finally been reunited. He did the same, squeezing you to the point that you thought you might burst from the pressure.

“I can’t believe you’re finally back,” he said, letting you go and holding you at an arm’s length so that he could look you over with a critical eye. “How have you been?”

“Good,” you said. “Where’s May?”

“She had to go to the bathroom,” he said. “She should be back in a couple of seconds, and she’ll probably be furious, too, considering she was really hoping she’d spot you first. I convinced her that it would be fine for her to take a moment to herself, and that it’d probably still be a bit of time before you arrived, but, uh, I guess it ended up being kind of an unfortunate coincidence in that sense.”

“What’s up, man? Congrats on the wedding,” Ryosuke said, finally catching up to you and offering Reo his hand. Reo glanced at it, and anyone who didn’t know him as well as you did wouldn’t have even noticed the way he hesitated before taking it and shaking it with the firm conviction of a businessman.

“Thanks, Kira,” he said. “You’ve been taking care of my best friend?”

“’Course I have been,” Ryosuke said, ruffling your hair. You did your best to force a laugh, not wanting Reo to have to concern himself with your wellbeing when he was about to be married. “You’ll be the one coming back to America for our wedding soon.”

“That so?” Reo said, raising an eyebrow at you. “I expect to be the first one invited to the wedding, then.”

“Was I the first one invited to yours?” you shot back.

“Er, I mean, not exactly…” Reo said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had to tell Nagi first, since I wanted him to be my best man and had to give him adequate time to prepare for the hassle of the role.”

“Then I’ll invite May first, since she’ll naturally be my maid of honor,” you said, your stomach twisting at the mention of Nagi. “But you can be second, Reo.”

“That’s right!” a new voice said. “He had better be second, considering he sent me to the bathroom so that he could win our bet!”

And then there she was in front of you: Reo’s soon-to-be wife and your former roommate, May Ducat. Her thick brown hair was loose and wavy around her shoulders, and her peacock-feather eyes gleamed as she embraced you tightly.

“May,” you said. “It’s so good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you!” she said. “I miss you every day. Mostly because you were a much better roommate than this one. He snores.”

“Hey!” Reo said, gasping in offense. “I do not.”

You dug around in your pocket before solemnly presenting her with a box of breathe-right strips.

“I know,” you said. May clapped in delight, accepting them and then turning to hand them to Reo, who took them even as he protested that he definitely didn’t need them and how would Y/N even know if I snore, anyways?

“Congratulations, May,” Ryosuke said, offering her his hand as well. May glanced at but did not accept it, opting to smile frigidly instead.

“Thank you for coming,” she said. After a discomfiting pause, Ryosuke lowered his hand, brushing it off against his pants and clearing his throat.

“I couldn’t let Y/N come alone,” he said.

“Of course not,” she said.

“It’ll be my first time meeting her parents,” he said. At this, May gave you a sad look. Though you had never told her much, she had always harbored her suspicions, always been less fond of Ryosuke than she really ought to be, considering he was typically polite to her.

“I hope it goes well,” she said. Ever the diplomat, Reo was the first to break the ensuing silence, clearing his throat.

“Alright, then! I’ll have one of my drivers take you two to your hotel room, where your things will be waiting, and then tonight, we can show you around. Y/N, they just built a new mall where that park used to be, so we can go shopping there,” he said.

“They built a mall over the park?” you said, your eyes widening at the prospect. Reo nodded.

“Isn’t it great? It’s so much more convenient than the one we used to go to,” he said. You disguised your frown with a yawn.

“Right,” you said.

“Try not to sleep,” May advised. “It’ll help you break your jet lag if you just stay up for as long as you can.”

“We’ll do our best,” Ryosuke said. May gave him a measured look before nodding slightly, turning away to continue her conversation with Reo instead of risking further discussion with your fiancé.

The hotel you were staying in was only a few streets down from your childhood home, and as with all things Reo, it was excessively opulent. The shower itself was large enough to fit at least ten people, and you spent far longer in it than was really necessary, rinsing the grime of your journey off of yourself.

“Going to sleep already?” Ryosuke said when you crawled under the covers of the bed beside him. “May recommended we wait.”

“I know,” you said with a yawn. “I’m just going to lie down and close my eyes. I’m not actually going to sleep or anything.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, patting you on the head. “I’ll do the same, then.”

Before long, the both of you had passed out.

#nagi x reader #nagi x y/n #nagi x you #nagi seishiro #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #modern au #peregrine #m1ckeyb3rry writes

[sharonccrter]

I saw this really interesting video, which talked about my two biggest gripes with challengers' discourse. Which are that everyone keeps saying Art is the heart of this movie, and secondly, the insistence that Patrick doesn't love Tashi, only Art. The creator pushes back against these two narratives, and I wholeheartedly agree. Patrick is arguably the heart of this movie.

Two of the most important scenes in the movie are the churro scene and the scene between p/t out in the storm, and they both centre around Patrick.

The entire movie is about passion and purpose in life, and Patrick is the passion.

I mean, a lot of people assume Patrick didn't really have feelings for Tashi, but the only person who says that is Art. Who is vying for Tashi and is his biggest competitor. The reason I empathise with Patrick is that he is genuine and loving to Art; he does love him. However, we are shown no evidence to suggest that Patrick is this shitty boyfriend, apart from what Art says when he's trying to get into Tashi's head because his jealous. We find out that they're talking every week while he's on tour (normal relationship shit). It's Art who insinuates that Patrick is cheating while on tour. The only person in this movie who says Patrick doesn't love Tashi is Art, and it's obviously very intentional.

I think the reason both Tashi and Art push Patrick out of their lives is because he forces them to comfort parts of themselves they are not yet comfortable with. I mean, it's obvious why Tashi would react that way to Patrick; she's just lost the most important thing in her life. However, I think it's tragic from Patrick's point of view as well. I mean, what did Patrick really do? He got into a fight with his girlfriend because she hurt his feelings.

And no, he's hurt was not about Art. The fight made him feel unimportant, which made him feel like she didn't actually care about him. And that's where Art comes in, because who was going around telling Patrick Tashi didn't give a shit? You bet ya. Art. Art absolutely got into his head. And even if he clocked it, in that moment, he still allowed it to get to him because he was emotional and upset. And because he was too hurt to support her, he was thrown out of Tashi and Art's lives.

And here's the thing, Patrick never saw Tashi as an idea. He saw her as a real person, unlike Art kinda did. Patrick wasn't going to let Tashi treat him like shit just because she was special. And, tbh, if Tashi hadn't gotten injured, I think it's something she would have eventually been grateful for. But instead, she got hurt; she pushed Patrick away, and Art slid into his place, telling her that she could be his entire world and the star. That's not healthy, and sorry to stay a little manipulative.

And let's talk about Art. Patrick and him were literally fire and ice. They always had this underlying desire. They were perfect opposites. Let's face it: Art could never replicate what he had on the court (and off) with anyone else. But instead of confronting his feelings, he took the first chance he had to get Patrick out of his life.

The girl I was watching said it perfectly, "Art and Tashi allowed themselves to find consolation prizes in each other and allowed them to run from parts of themselves they didn't want to comfort and in turn enable each other's worst habits."

Art tries to become a tennis superstar so Tashi can live through him, and Tashi gives him a family so he can finally be confident in who he is. But is there any passion? I don't know; I think at some point, it drained; nothing about what I saw on screen apart from their initial get-together screams passion.

Cue Patrick walking back into their life and showing them how they can feel. Art was always going to let Tashi live through him, but that was never going to be satisfying for her. Tashi needs to find a way to create an identity for herself, separate from him. And I believe it'll be the only way she'll live a satisfying life. That's why they need Patrick: to make them realise that and to help them rediscover their passion.

I think people think that Art is the heart because Patrick admits to being a piece of shit. But the truth is, they're all dicks; Patrick was just the only one who was willing to admit it.

#challengers movie #challengers #patrick zweig #art donaldson #tashi duncan #josh o'connor #mike faist #zendaya

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

Just listened to Bayo3’s Moonlight Serenade and it just hit me again how absolutely furious I am about this game. Waiting 5 years since the announcement and then 2 further years before I could finally play it just to be met by that was… I don’t even have words for it.

And the worst part is - I was having so much fun playing it! Sure, it wasn’t on the level of Bayo1 or Bayo2, but it was still a delight to play! I loved the new designs, I loved the new weapons, I loved the music, I loved the new flow of combat, I genuinely had such a great time! Alright, the writing wasn’t exceptional, but the idea of parallel universes was still fun to explore - and I’m not fond of the enemies’ design in general, but I had a blast fighting them once I figured them out, and I appreciate the fact that they tried to do something different once again (after fighting angels in Bayo1 and demons in Bayo2). I even loved Jeanne’s little spy levels!! They were so cool and charming and so much fun to play through!

And I liked Viola! The narrative really didn’t do her justice but she was still such an endearing character! Her fighting sections were different but still enjoyable, and I enjoyed everything about Cheshire, which made her levels even better.

And I just - to take all that potential, all that joy, and squander it so completely and maliciously right at the end was just… devastating to me. I know Bayonetta isn’t made for the girls and the gays, but that’s not even the point - I would’ve at least enjoyed a Cereza/Luka ending if it had been written properly! Instead they decided to assassinate the characters we all knew and loved, spit on all the established lore and themes of the previous games, stomp on all the newly introduced characters, and all to shoehorn in a fated-lovers narrative that doesn’t even work on its own, without taking into account everything that contradicts it in the previous instalments.

And as if that’s not enough, they forced it into the most depressing, most nonsensical, most malicious finale I have ever witnessed. Why are you punishing me for winning the fights? Where is the reward for getting to the end? I was waiting at the edge of my seat for the entire game to see how Cereza would turn the situation around, how she’d overcome the impossible odds and come out dancing on her enemies, and instead they told me no, she saves almost no-one, she dies a pointless death she could’ve easily avoided so we can get a) the stupidest romance ever seen and b) a new protagonist that we spent no time developing, and nothing you did in this game had any meaning at all, fuck you.

Sorry for the rant, but I’m just… I’m so disappointed. I really really wanted to like this game and instead the finale ruined the whole experience for me. I literally sat in silence as the final scene and credits rolled out because I just couldn’t fathom what I was watching. How do you take such a great cast of beloved characters and decide that this is what you want to do with them? With a 5-year development time, no less? They deserved better, Cereza especially deserved better, and we all deserved so much better.

#I’m sorry but I just. i can’t deal #like. this is bayonetta!!! her whole thing is that she gets into impossible situations and comes out on top with a smile on her face!! #she literally fought GODS in the first two games and WON!!! #I’d understand if they didn’t want to make any more games. I’d get it! I’d even appreciate it! #but give her a proper conclusion instead of… whatever this was #they literally scrapped everything that made her work as a character #wrote the hollowest personality imaginable #and slapped it into cereza’s walking corpse #and did the same for jeanne and luka #where are my competent confident witches? where’s my silly comic relief boy with a lot of heart and even more luck?? #when jeanne and the bayos reappeared during the final fight I remember being like ‘oh there we go! they werent really gone!’ #‘this is when the narrative turns around finally!’ #but NO #they were just ghosts and bayo gets obliterated by gomorrah instead. #i just… why. just why. don’t make the game if you hate everything about it just saying #idk if theres an anti-bayo3 tag #if there is lmk and i’ll add it #i dont want to spread any hate but I’m just so disappointed still

[blujayonthewing]

list of heavily moralizing questions to make my true neutral and deeply exhausted and fucking fed up ranger go berserk and just start tearing out throats

#'the bad guys need The Five Macguffins to free Tiamat and destroy the world. but your party got one!' #'oh you're bringing it here to see if we can destroy it and avert the apocalypse? okay well first: are you A Good Person?' #why the FUCK are you asking ME about what *I* think about the nature of good and evil CAN YOU AVERT THIS APOCALYPSE OR NOT. #'you must be TESTED on your WORTHINESS--' fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you!! FUCK you!!!! #this has been 'panopticon surveillance and Someone Somewhere Is Testing Your Worthiness: the campaign' #and it has sucked the whole entire time and it fucking sucks that this is where the finale is culminating #we've been tested enough. actually. #'what are you willing to sacrifice for the greater good' fuck you. #I wish I could express very briefly how it's not these themes I object to it's how very fucking badly they've been executed this whole time #and how little narrative sense they make when they come up #just trust me lol this is a very.... how fucking dare you turn this around on US. AGAIN. after EVERYTHING WE'VE DONE AND BEEN THROUGH #anyway elyss is about to get a bad grade in self righteous dragons I fucking guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #about me #my OCs #elyss

[deus-and-the-machina]

ffxiv garlemald discourse is so funny because people will go "ugh people just cant stand it when things aren't black and white" and then you look at how the empire are portrayed in stormblood and shadowbringers and its like hm. that seems like a pretty intense and accurate display of violent imperialism to me! Wow I wonder why people in this day and age may find it hard to feel sympathy for them or even hate them on principal. god its such a mystery.

the games like 50/50 to me on how it tackles these themes because I actually like the garlemald arc in EW, I think it has a lot of horrific and powerful scenes depicting how self destructive fascist propaganda and beliefs are, but I also think it doesn't go far enough on some fronts. the garleans' xenophobia is most notably and obstacle to getting them to accept the contingent's help, which is what they're there to do,

but there's never an admission of harm from any garleans on the uuuuuuuuh massive amount of war crimes the nations around them are still suffering from they're just kind of like "we misjudged you...but you actually wanted to help us all along" like yeah thats great now can we get you all some deprogramming because you keep talking about returning to your prime and glory days and I think we need to unpack some stuff you really SHOULDNT return to. im not even really talking about EW proper but the patches where things are a bit more chilled out and people are recovering.

It feels like they wanted to have their critique of imperialism and also have things end with the beauty of human connection and reaching out and these things just don't mesh well because hey a lot of your modern day audience is not gonna like having to treat people yelling xenophobic things at the cast and your character with kid gloves after you showed them hours and hours of the awful things these people's beliefs have done. especially in the present day hoo boy.

#im kind of torn between 'no characters dont need to be 'punished' to be redeemed but also the characters just being so lenient with the #colonizers after we see far too many people being lenient if not supportive of the colonizers irl. well. it really blows afslkjfalkf and #yeah you can argue if they'd gone through with the garlemald expansion they would've had more time to go into this but the fact is that its #absent from what they did do and I especially think the patches when we go to garlemald and the EW role quests going 'hey maybe the #provinces can help us rebuild' as if they'd have any goddamn right to ask that just make me feel like they didnt stick the landing #seeing all the characters who have suffering time and time again bc of the garleans or seen the results of their actions having to clamp #their mouths shut every time someone said something xenophobic in EW isnt satisfying and it leaves so much unsaid! #also some people feel like the narrative didnt blame emet enough but ngl I think thats reductive even with his micromanaging scheming littl #ass and the intention of garlemald turning out a shitshow that doesnt make anyone else less complicit. most governments like this exaggerat #and lie and spread propaganda but I dont think most people here excuse the actions of a bigot because 'they were raised that way' #this is also my issue with gaius' writing. hes primarily upset that ascians were behind what he thought was his good old fashioned natural #conquering ideology :( and doesnt it suck so much he killed people for it. like yeah he seems pretty aware what he did was wrong but his #ideology remains bizarrely intact and unchallenged by the characters around him. no dude it wasnt just the ascians the system is a lot more #complex than that by this point aaaaaugh #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #siren says #I hope people are nice to me about this I dont think I said anything particularly controversial to the Tumblr crowd (twt maybe but fuck em) #ig my main point with this post is that the game isnt perfect at writing this and also that look. I actually liked the main arc in EW and I #like quite a few garlean characters but I completely understand why others didnt like it or any garleans esp if they have their own persona #experiences with colonialism and I dont get to tell them they're invalid for that. too many people get judgmental about this understandably #upsetting topic and you just gotta accept that this is a big line for many people

[beardedhandstoadshark]

Which character from any show or game worth a spinoff? Their character is very interesting and should have their own show or game.

…I wanna say perry the platypus but technically it already IS his (+ doof‘s and Candace’s) Show. Phineas and Ferb are less the protagonists than they are the setting for whatever is going on with those.

Also I‘m a Zelda fan so obligatory "Zelda/Ganondorf should have their own game!“ but. Playable Zelda might just be part of the regular games, and as interesting as playing a character who’s morally in the wrong and destined to lose could be, Nintendo ain’t gonna do that ever. They do bittersweet endings, not bleak. Even the two games where you nuke a whole reality still give you a "but they lived on in some way and even fulfill their dreams“. Also having character whose whole entire deal is being op af doesn’t…really sound like fun gameplay? Not unless you circle the entire gameplay around that or their strength is a thing in the background.

Ganondorf Monster Castle Management Sim when Nintendo

…anyways, have you ever seen Bandana Dee? He’s the player 2 of modern Kirby games. He’s a waddle dee, who are like the Goombas (and toads) of this series. The first time you meet him he’s a joke boss who’s just a regular enemy you can down in one hit. But he trained a lot to improve himself, and now he’s an actual character just as capable as the rest of the gang!

Granted, Bandee’s character itself isn’t the most interesting but idk, something about seeing the flagship starter enemy, the lowest of the lowest, grow to become just as bright of a star as the protagonist, the strongest of them all, is really cool. Might be nice to see that play out in a game!

It could be like Kirby but with level ups and skill points to really drive home the growth. And the levels could be more catered to his spear weapon that way, as it would be the only thing he uses. You can unlock new skills by meeting different friends along the way. A Fire Upgrade from King Dedede, Speed and Combo lessons from Meta Knight, Idk. The last level is Green Greens and you can see Kirby have his first adventure in the background sometimes and his actions change things in the foreground

Or maybe it the Kirby series‘ version of Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice lmao. Dark Souls but you only have 1 weapon. And in this case a lot more colorful and friendly. The biggest plot twist is the lack of an eldritch horror as a boss XD

#another anon ask #i once read that in Japan Theres a different focus when it comes to stories than American or western o whatever #with American stories focusing more on narrative closure #while Japanese focus more on emotional? #Idk how much truth it holds #absolutely forgot where I read it and it might’ve just been some random sourceless post #that flew around somewhere but #it’d explain the ending of the new game at least #does zellie turning back into a human make sense? Not without stretching it a bit #but MAN would that have been unsatisfying if she stayed up there #homegirl did NOT spend 2 games fighting for everything #just to get doomed into a state of eternal mindlessness for the rest of existence #they both deserve to finally get to LIVE #after a life + century full of pain

[singmyaubade]

Shades Of Cool

toxic!dark!rafe cameron x female!pogue!reader

summary: you are just living your life, completely normal and free. but, what happens when rafe cameron decides that you are his? he's danger.

warnings: smut! 18+ stalking, manipulation, rafe is obsessed with reader, fingering, swearing, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, praise, oral (male receiving), dark!rafe cameron, choking, jealousy, violence, heavy smut..

a/n: i'm delighted I'm finally starting this, even if it took me so long. i genuinely hope you all enjoy this series. i understand that this a bit short, but the narrative is only getting started, so things will only get wilder! however, it is to be expected—this is a rafe cameron fic.

series

One thing that you hated about Outer Banks was how the heat still radiated at night, causing excessive amounts of water to be drank and a great amount of fans that blew hot air into your face.

It only made everyone irritable and only caused more arguments like now,

"I swear to god JJ, I am about to fucking murder you if you say another word," You hissed, giving him a glare as he mockingly grew scared.

"I agree," Cleo said before falling back into her nap.

"All I'm saying is that we have been moping around here for hours meanwhile we could be partying on the fresh beach and cool water," JJ replied, using his hands to represent the scenery to all of you.

"I'm going to have to agree with Y/N," Pope said, turning his head to JJ, "I'm already in tough shit with my parents for when you knocked over my great-grandmothers vase," Pope glared.

JJ put his hands up in defense, "I told you tequila makes me clumsy,"

"Besides every single Kook is there, including Rafe and if he sees Sarah with us, it will only bring another fight and you are not going back to jail," Kie warned, still closing her eyes while the fan blew the air in her face, blowing her hair.

"When have we ever been scared of Rafe?" JJ asked.

"When he gave me a full smackdown for doing my job," Pope scoffed.

"And when he almost drowned me," Sarah chimed in from across the room where she was laying on John B's legs on the carpet floor.

"And when he shot Sheriff Peterkin in front of us," John B added.

"And when-" Pope began.

"Okay that's enough," He said as you giggled, turning your head back to the fan.

You didn't know much about Rafe Cameron since you had moved to Outer Banks only last year and you had met the "star Pogues" a few months ago.

You had never really seen Rafe's face ever, only heard of him honestly.

But you didn't know if it was a bad thing.

All you had heard about was how evil and villainous he was which caused some places to be off limits for the fact that the boys couldn't handle another beat down with the Kooks and there was a greater matter at hand.

But still, you always were curious about "evil" Rafe Cameron.

"You guys are no fun," JJ pouted, sitting beside you on the couch.

You patted the lower part of his leg, "Poor baby," You sarcastically said to which moved his leg swiftly causing you to laugh.

Suddenly the lights and fans turned off as you all except for JJ groaned, knowing that meant the electricity was off you and you would have to deal with the heat and darkness.

Which meant the only choice was the beach party,

JJ cheered, "I win!"

You crossed your arms as you walked on the warm sand, lots of cheering and loud music around you. You could see the Kooks and the Pogues in their own groups, not daring to interact with eachother.

It was hard to get used to the fact that there were two groups of people based on economic statuses and that it meant that if you were one thing, the other one hated you.

You had never been to a place like that but you just kinda got used to it.

Yet you still could never tell which group was really which sometimes.

You were forced to walk around by yourself as John B and Sarah wandered off to a quiet spot while JJ started drinking with Kie as his babysitter and Cleo and Pope wandered around.

All of it sounded like a lot of third wheeling which made you stay away.

But you didn't mind being alone, you liked listening to the waves and watching the festivities that went along with a party.

And you knew that a beer would help you get more into the party festivities.

You walked over the keg where a man with a shaved head and a matching tank top and shorts poured himself a beer as you curiously looked at him.

You had to admit that he was one of the most attractive men you had seen before.

His lips were a perfect shade of pink and they were smooth like sucking on a cherry. His veins were bulging from his hands and you could see the peach fuzz on his jawline that you could only really see upclose.

You snapped out of your analysis as he looked at you as you waited there awkwardly, forming a smile on your face.

"Sorry to creepily stand here, I'm just trying to get a uh-" You said, pointing to the keg.

His face studied you for a second, almost as if he was trying to figure you out. You could tell by his face that he had never seen you before and he looked as if he was trying to figure out if you were a Kook or Pogue.

He chuckled, "Didn't mean to take so long, I wouldn't have if I had seen your pretty face sooner," He smirked, looking you up and down, causing you to blush.

You felt stupid for blushing over something that a man probably said to every pretty girl he saw but you felt something different about him.

You were taken aback by his boldness, "Do you say that to every women that waits for her turn on the keg?" You teased.

"Only the pretty ones," He replied, causing you to laugh.

"Smooth talker I see," You smiled.

"Always," He joked, "I swear I've never seen you around and usually, you know everyone in Outer Banks," He probed.

"Yeah, I just moved here last year," You answered, "I haven't made my rounds yet,"

"Figured," He said, "I would've definitely noticed you,"

"Pfft," You beamed, "I'm sure you would've walked past me on the beach, there are many beautiful girls here,"

"Nah," He laughed, looking off, "You are different from them,"

"How could you already assume that?" You asked, curiosity biting at you.

"For one, you aren't stuck up and preppy which is most the girls on this island," He grinned as you giggled.

"Ay, they aren't all like that," You replied.

"Most of 'em," He added, "But I don't pay much attention to them,"

"Figures," You said, eyebrow raising.

He saw your eyes move the keg and his cup before he offered his cup forward.

"Might as well take mine, I wouldn't feel proud of myself if I let you pour one yourself," He winked.

Great attempt at being a gentlemen.

"No no, I got it," You said before he shook his head.

"I insist" He said, his thumb grazing yours.

"Thank you," You smiled, "I'm Y/N" You introduced, taking the cup from him while extending your other hand for him to shake.

He shook your hand, "I'm Rafe," He replied with a smile as yours slowly fell.

The Rafe? The Rafe you were basically supposed to never interact with and who was the supposed devil? That Rafe?

"Rafe Cameron?" You asked, standing frozen.

"Guess my reputation precedes me," He joked as you didn't laugh but instead cleared your throat.

You took your hand back quickly, "Oh, i-it's nice to meet you," You cleared your throat, "My friends are waiting so I'm gonna-"

He clearly figured you out, "Pogue, I'm guessing?" He snickered.

Your face wrinkled, "Is that supposed to be a funny thing?"

"Hilarious actually," He answered, only angering you more.

"I don't see what's funny about that?" You crossed your arms with ur drink resting in your hand.

He wiped his jaw, "Must be tough at the bottom of the food chain,"

Your nose flared, "Must be tough being an elite asshole,"

He laughed, "I just think it's an unfortunate cause, I mean it's just unlucky," He smirked.

Asshole.

"Unlucky?" Your lip pursed, " I think what's more unlucky is thinking that your cool for a fucked up economic status that has been perpetuated on an island,"

"I just don't believe your friends belong on Outer Banks," He said, not a hint of hesitance in his voice.

He really believed in this bullshit.

"I mean you would really rather hang out with a group of dirty Pogues?" He snickered, looking off.

"Well I am one of them and they are my friends," You scoffed, "You seem more dirty than us," You insulted.

"Is that so?" Rafe mocked.

"Do you wanna talk about your father's dirty money?" You asked.

"I would watch that pretty mouth," He replied, inching closer.

"Or what?" You hummed, acting braver than you usually would.

"Fuck around and find out sweetheart," He came closer, breath fawning on your face.

The whiskey on his breath kissed your nose but not breaking your eye contact with him as you inched closer, eyes on his lips.

As he tried to close the gap, you threw the drink in his face. "Oohs" and snickers filled around the both of you as you stomped away from him.

He smirked, wiping the alcohol off of his face.

'What an asshole,' You thought,

Little did you know that Rafe only grew to like you more.

You found JJ and Kie sitting by the beach together as she laid her head on his shoulder. You were thinking about interrupting them but tarnish their moment, you choosing instead to call it a night and also you didn't feel like trying to find the rest of the group.

You were glad that you knew yourself enough to drive to the party considering that you got tired fast. You couldn't really see in the parking lot due to how dark it was and away from the lights.

You digged in your back pocket for your phone to pull out of the flashlight as you reached for your keys but dropped them instead in the process.

You audibly groaned as you searched on the floor in the darkness for the keys. You went on your knees with your flashing light, searching on the ground as you heard footsteps behind you, darting your flashlight behind you but seeing nothing.

You had a bad feeling but you thought it was paranoia because you were alone in the parking lot and maybe a little due to the interaction you had earlier with Rafe.

You couldn't stop thinking about how he came off as nice but switched so quickly into an elitist piece of shit.

Sounds like how they described him.

But still, there was a pit in your stomach that felt like butterflies when he grazed your thumb.

You sighed, pushing the thoughts out as you finally grabbed your keys, using the concrete-sanded floor push yourself back up off the ground.

Suddenly, you felt a cloth on your mouth and a hand covering your waist as your muffled screams filled the parking lot, trying to kick your attacker behind you.

You felt yourself drifting into the darkness as you screamed one last time,

And everything went black.

tags: @hysteriahall @avengersassemblee @lighttism @whereismymindnow @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @vi06ma01 @haven247 @vanessa-rafesgirl @blvebanisters @riordanness @aleidag1rly @muzanjackson22

#dark obx #dark!rafe #obx #rafe cameron #dark rafe cameron #drew starkey #outer banks #dark fic #rafe cameron x reader #toxic!rafe #toxic!rafe cameron #toxic relationship #obx2 #rafe obx #obx3 #obx fic #outerbanks rafe #outerbanks masterlist #rafe cameron imagine #rafe outer banks #outer banks smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe x you #rafe x reader #rafe smut #rafe fic #rafecameron #rafe #rafe fanfiction #singmyaubade

[fangirl-dot-com]

🐾 Il Pawdestinato

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Bianchi!Reader (fc. Alexandra) Genre: Comfort/Fluff Summary: A disappointing fourth place as Suzuka has your boyfriend feeling down. Maybe all he needs is a teeny-tiny surprise.

So this is that imagine that I've been talking about making. Sorry, it's taken so long. I hope you all enjoy and I promise I am working on the next chapter of Reputations. I just think that since it's a smaller fic, I could do an imagine and a chapter for the week. Let me know what y'all want me to do!

You internally sighed as you watched the red car with the number 16 cross the line in fourth place. Anger started to bubble below the surface and you had to turn around for a moment, hoping that the cameras in the garage wouldn’t catch the sneer on your face. 

How hard was it to get Charles on the podium that his heart needed? 

The tenth anniversary and it seemed to not matter to anyone except your family and Charles’s. But of course, it’s Ferrari. Can’t give their driver a decent car or a decent strategy. When Charles is ahead it’s race on if you’re faster. But if Charles is faster but behind it’s stay in position. 

When were Ferrari finally going to actually put actions into their words? Or give their chosen driver the better strategies? 

Your blood had almost boiled over at the very distasteful words of Damon Hill when he called Charles depressed and emotion during the weekend. Sorry, it’s not like his godfather or your brother had a fatal crash ten years ago. Totally not that. 

Charles had to hold you back from seeking out the former champion when you watched the interview. 

But now, you just had to be there for Charles. 

Your hands held the helmet that the Monegasque would have brought to the podium with him if he had been up there. The helmet that should have been brought to the podium years ago if everything had been according to plan. 

But ten years ago, fate had a different story: one that didn’t include your brother in the narrative. 

Your high-heeled feet quickly took you to Parc Ferme to meet him there. You didn’t want to be too late. Multiple people in red parted for you as you made your way to the cars. The shiny helmet seemed to blind anyone who looked at it. 

Charles took his time getting out of the car in the P4 placement. His heart was heavy as his head turned to look at the wrong Ferrari parked a few meters away. God how he wanted that to have been him. His eyes watered as he started to take his gloves off. He could see the tilt of Carlos’s lip as he gave his post-race interview. He despised the driver for it. 

However, as he turned, a glint of silver caught his eyes. The Monegasque almost choked on his spit when he saw that you were holding it up. He all but ran over, trying to get there quickly before Max was called up.  

Charles held out his hands when he got close, however he froze when you placed Jules’s helmet in his hands. His own helmet was still on, probably him trying to hide his own tears. Except, you had let yours run free. 

You gave him a little nudge. 

“Go,” was all you told him. 

The Ferrari driver, now with helmet in hand, jogged over to the cool down room. The security around didn’t bother him, almost knowing what he was trying to do. He poked his head around the corner and caught a bit of the conversation. 

“And you were struggling with tyres,” he heard Max say as he watched the Dutchman almost give Carlos a cold shoulder. Max’s eyes widened when he caught a familiar red helmet peeking around the corner. He cocked an eyebrow but walked over when beckoned. 

“Charlie?” he questioned when he saw the Monegasque crying in his helmet. Max wanted to question him further, but something was thrust in his hands. He looked down in shock. 

Charles shuffled on his feet a bit. 

“Can-can,” he stuttered under the Dutchman’s gaze. He inhaled deeply. “Can you take this with you? On the podium?” 

He shut his eyes tight, not even wanting to see if Max rejected his plea. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and he opened his eyes just a bit. He was confused when he saw that Max was close to tears as well. 

Max gulped the big lump in his throat, taken back by what Charles was asking. If Max could, he’d switch with Charles in heartbeat. 

He tried to give the brunet a smile, but it came out kind of crooked. Max clutched the helmet close to his stomach, careful not to accidentally drop it. He looked down at the silver detailing. The only thing lacking on it was the Ferrari emblem. His eyes widened a bit when he realized that this wasn’t just an extra helmet from Charles. 

“I-I’m sorry I c-can’t bring it up myself,” Charles tried to justify, but he couldn’t get the words out. 

In the back of the cooldown room, Checo’s eyes were trained on the pair. His eyes slid to the side only to find Carlos not even looking. The Mexican wished he could hear when they were saying, but the familiar helmet told him everything he needed to know. He watched Charles back away and disappear around the corner. Once the red-clad driver was gone, Checo saw Max stiffen as though he realized what this actually meant. 

The second Red Bull driver got off the seat and walked over toward the Dutchman. He peered down at the silver helmet. He could almost hear Max thinking in the silence. Now he was the one to place a comforting hand on Max’s shoulder, as the Dutchman had done for Charles. 

“He trusts you Max.” 

Max only breathed in and nodded. They were quickly called to line up go to the podium. When the blond got to the top step, he made sure to hold the helmet where everyone could see. It was kind of like a testament to truly show that he was the wrong driver to be holding it on the top step. 

His blue eyes tried to find green in the crowd below, but he failed. Max even failed trying to find you. He deflated a bit but still held his head up high. Max’s lips quirked when he heard P screaming from below in the arms of Kelly. 

While Max held the helmet, really all he could think of is if he would have friends who’d hold his helmet in reverence if he were to tragically die. He’d like to think that Charles would race with a dedication helmet all race year long. He wouldn’t want it on Carlos’s helmet or Checo’s (but he knew that the two would do it anyway). 

Even though he was missing green, his eyes did catch a wide smile. He was glad that Danny was there, knowing the Australian had been close to Jules during his time in F1. 

Max had been so caught up in the anthems that he didn’t even realize that they had ended. Not wanting the helmet to get ruined with champagne, he quickly ran around to hide it behind the wall. He made sure it was stable before running back out to join in the celebrations. He knew that he’d have to give it back after, but for now, he could only receive sprays of bubbly. 

Charles’s head had been buried in the crook of your next since he got back to his drivers room. You could only rub small circles on his back, trying the comfort the sad man. 

“Why am I just never good enough?” Charles whispered into the silence. Your breath hitched when you heard the utter despair in his voice. “Can’t even get a podium for Julio.” 

“Charles, it’s not you. Please, never think it’s you.” 

The Monegasque only sighed and turned more into you. Your hands blindly reached for your phone. Once your fingers hit the cool case, you immediately grabbed it and started to plan something. You knew that the two of you were headed to Milan this week for sim testing and for the grand opening of LEC. But, you knew that you could make it even more special. 

You grinned as you made the plans and sent over a hefty amount of money, but it’d be worth it.

Hopefully.

A knock on the door had Charles sitting up straight. He quickly rubbed his eyes before heading over to the door. When he opened it, he came face to face with a soaked Max, who had slightly sad eyes. In his hands was the helmet. 

Max’s gray eyes swept over Charles before looking around the room. He gave you a smile when your eyes met. A quick nod of you head told Max everything he had to know. He turned his eyes back to Charles and handed the headpiece over. 

There was some awkward silence before Max coughed. 

“I’m guessing you’re headed back to Maranello?” 

When Charles shook his head no, the Dutchman was a little confused.

“We’re headed to Milan first,” was all Charles offered. 

You snorted at the short words from your boyfriend. Charles grew red but then offered a little more intel. “I have that ice cream thing.” 

Max’s eyes widened when he realized that it wasn’t just a rumor or a joke. Charles made a face. 

“I’m very serious about my ice cream Max.” 

Oh, Max guesses he said that out loud.  

The Red Bull driver snorted. “I wouldn’t doubt that Charles. Everything you do, you do it best.” 

Now, Charles grew red (but not of embarrassment). 

“Thank you,” he whispered, squeezing the helmet a bit tighter. You were still scrolling through your phone as they talked a bit more. You were just making sure that the place you were staying at had the correct accommodations for your surprise. 

It was only when Charles got back into his spot on your chest did you realize that Max was gone. You turned your phone off and put your hands into his hair and started to scratch lightly. A content sigh escaped Charles as he finally melted into you. You leaned down to kiss his forehead. 

“We have to get going or the flight is going to leave without us,” you murmured into his hairline. You had talked to Fred (more like demanded) about letting Charles skip debrief for the time being. The money in your bank account could pay for whatever expenses the Monegasque would be fined if he skipped everything. 

In the plane, Charles had curled up to you once again. When you made sure that he was sound asleep, you got your computer back out. You finished typing out your email to Doni, making sure that everything was in order for when the plane would land. You just hoped that you could keep the surprise a secret for a little longer. 

Knowing that Charles would be dead tired when you got to the place where you’d be staying for almost two weeks, you put him straight to bed when you arrived. He went down with little to no arguments and was sound asleep as you unpacked everything. 

Pulling back the covers, you were able to slip in next to him. As you were about to fall asleep, Charles wrapped his arm around your middle and brought you closer. His lips met the crest of your shoulder before tucking his head back into your neck. You put your hand over his arm and held it tightly. 

In the morning, you were woken up by the sound of a blender from the kitchen. You sleepily put your feet on the cool tile and made your way to the open room. 

Charles had his bare back to you as he was slaving over frozen fruit and oat milk. He startled a bit as your cheek came to rest on his shoulder. Your lips pressed against your favorite freckle that stood out amongst the rest of the galaxy on his back. 

“Good morning amore.” 

You always loved his terms of endearment in the morning when his voice was still deep with sleep. 

“Morning Cha.” 

Charles smiled as he heard sleep still evident in your own voice. While he pressed the automatic blend button, he turned around to face you. Your eyes were still closed as you looked at him with a dopey smile. Charles couldn’t help but mirror it, even if you couldn’t see it.

 He leaned down and placed feather-light kissed on your eyelids before moving down to your nose. The Monegasque always loved doing that as your nose would immediately scrunch after. 

A whine left your lips, signally to him that he hadn’t kissed you where you wanted it yet. He rolled his eyes and stooped a bit lower, his lips finally finding solace in yours. 

After three years, you still couldn’t get over the feeling of his lips on yours. Your hands slip up his arms until they locked behind his neck, pulling him closer to you. His own hands found themselves planted against the span of your hips. 

It was just the two of you in your own little world for a bit, leaving you breathless when you finally parted, smoothie long forgotten. 

Charles rested his forehead against yours. 

You hummed, getting his attention. 

“I have a surprise for you later today,” you told him. Feeling him tense against your chest, you knew he was immediately interested. 

“Like, later today or in a few hours.” 

“More like in a few hours. We have to get ready and then get going.” 

You and Charles quickly drank your smoothies before you headed back to the bedroom to get dressed. Teasingly, you swung the keys around his face as you walked out to the car, claiming that you had to drive because he didn’t even know where you were going. 

“You get to be passenger princess now my love,” you called as you climbed into the driver’s seat. Charles could only roll his eyes. 

He would never admit it, but he secretly liked being the passenger every once in a while. It gave him the freedom to choose the music and not worry about getting one place to another. 

Once the car got closer to the location, Charles had a sense of what was going on. He turned his head toward you once you pulled into the house. His eyes were sparkling (but you knew they’d get brighter once he understood why exactly the two of you were here). 

Charles unbuckled with you following suit. 

“Are we here to see Mimi?” he questioned as he held your hand, swinging it as you walked. 

You were digging through your purse with your other. “Something like that.” 

The doorbell was rang and Charles smiled at the sight of his friend. 

“Hi mate,” he greeted, pulling Doni into a hug. You gave the man a greeting when you had the chance. 

“Follow me,” Doni said, pulling you and Charles into the house. You could tell that the Monegasque was excited as he squeezed passed Doni and immediately went to pick Mimi up. You giggled, seeing your boyfriend turn into a literally baby for the small dog. 

Seeing that he was preoccupied, you leaned over to Doni. 

“Is he here?” 

Doni smiled down at you. “We can go get him.” 

You turned to Charles. “Love, Doni is going to show me a new painting that he’s been working on. I’ll be right back.” 

The only response you got was Charles kissing Mimi on the head and waving you off. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be mad because moments later, your hands were full of puppy. You clutched the blond dachshund into your chest. 

“He’s perfect,” you whispered, kissing the puppy’s head lightly, earning a little yap in return. You and Doni returned to the bigger room, still finding Charles enamored with Mimi. You snorted at the sight. 

“Charlie,” you said, gaining the Monegasque’s attention for a moment. The minutes Charles’s eyes were on you, he froze at the sight of the itty-bitty puppy in your arms. He set Mimi down immediately, but the bigger dachshund wasn’t offended. 

Charles gingerly stepped over and his hands hovered over the little puppy in your arms. His eyes met yours, silently asking to hold the tiny thing. You rolled your eyes and you gently set the unnamed puppy in his hands. 

The baby dachshund looked tiny in your arms, but now looked even tinier in Charles’s bigger hands. The Ferrari driver held the puppy up to his face and was met with a wet tongue against his nose. The giggles that resounded out of the grown man made you melt inside. 

After the right amount of attention was given to the pup, Charles looked at Doni. 

“What’s his name?” he asked his friend. 

Doni smirked down at you. 

“That’s for you to decide love.” 

It was comical with how big Charles’s eyes got when he finally realized that the puppy in his hands was his (well, you two would share him). Tears even welled up in his green eyes, making them look incredibly glassy. 

You cooed at the two while stepping closer to put your hand back on the puppy. The little thing yawned and snuggled deeper into Charles’s hand. His head whipped up so he could look at you. 

“I’m never putting him down you know that right? I’ll make him a little pocket in my race suit and he’s going to go everywhere with me.” 

You snorted. “I don’t think puppies are built to withstand the G’s baby, but I’ll keep him company in the garage. He’ll have Roscoe to play with next year too.” 

Charles stopped listening after you had said “baby,” his brain melting. Now, he couldn’t stop thinking about a future with you and an actual baby. That made blood go to different places and he needed to stop thinking about that. 

Doni had walked away for a moment and came back with a piece of paper. 

“You think of a name superstar?” the man asked, pen poised to write. 

Charles held the British-crème dog up to his face and looked into the boba-like brown eyes. He hummed as he put him back down at stomach level, still not wanting to put him down. 

“Leo.” 

Now that you snorted. “You’re going to name our son after your rival?” 

Charles paled once he realized and stuttered as he tried to make up an excuse. “Non, it’s like the LEC logo. The ‘C’ looks like an ‘O’ if you squint.” 

You laughed but nodded at the excuse. “Sure amore, sure. But I think Leo Leclerc suits him. Little baby.” 

Doni also laughed as he wrote down Leo’s name. “More like Leo LeHandbag because I don’t think superstar is going to put him down anytime soon.” 

You turned back to Charles, but the man was already crouched down next to Mimi, showing off Leo to the older dog. You facepalmed. 

“I am dating a literally child. First an ice cream line and now this.” 

Doni smiled. “He looks happy.” 

You sighed in content. That’s all you had wanted to do since Suzuka: make Charles happy. You couldn’t bring back your brother, but you could offer small hopes to the man you loved so dearly. Your eyes widened when you looked at your watch. 

“Love, we have to go. Your launch is in an hour and a half.” 

Charles pouted. “We’re bringing him right?” 

You smiled softly. “Yes, let’s bring our son.” 

The two of you said your goodbyes to Doni before heading out. Charles still wanted to be the passenger so that he could hold onto Leo for longer, knowing that he’d have to give him back to you once the launch started. 

“I still can’t believe you named him Leo after Max.” 

“He is not named after Max.” 

“Sure babe. It’s definitely not like Roscoe being named after Nico Rosberg.” 

“Wait. Lewis names Roscoe after Rosberg?” 

“Yes Charlie. But it’s ok. I can be second best to your work-wife.” 

“Max is not my work-wife.” 

“Whatever you say. Il Predestinato now has Il Pawdestinato.” 

“HE WON IN SPA, HE WINS IN MONZA!” 

“I swear Charles, I will take him back.” 

“LEO LECLERC IS THE WINNER OF THE 2024 DOGGIE GRAND PRIX!” 

“I’m dating a child.” 

y/n_bianchi has posted

y/n_bianchi little Leo Leclerc ☀️

liked by charles_leclerc, lestappenlove, y/nxcharlie, and 4,204,096 others

leclerc_fam oh my gosh he's so cutieeeeeee

i_want_y/n do y'all need another one? cause I can bark 🗣

charliesangels STOP DID Y/N GET HIM A PUPPY AFTER SUZUKA????

lestappenlove not them naming Leo after a certain lion rival

brocedes2.0 reminds me of lewis naming Roscoe after Nico Rosberg

lecluv ice cream, a puppy, and a gorgeous girlfriend - Charles is living the life 😭

roscoelovescoco yous is goings to haves to brings him to the paddocks so I's cans meets new friend! ♥️

y/n_bianchi of course roscoe! I can babysit so the dads can do their thing 🏎💨

lewishamilton can't wait to meet the son!

charles_leclerc he'll be at Shanghai ☺️

roscoe&leo they're going to be the IT dogs of the paddock

leolovescharlie imagine having formula 1 driver Charles Leclerc and Ceo of a multimillion dollar company Y/n Bianchi as your parents

maxverstappen1 I like the name! 🦁

y/n_bianchi i told him that you'd say something

charles_leclerc HE IS NOT NAMED AFTER YOU

y/nxcharlie it's cat dad Max Verstappen vs dog dad Charles Leclerc

iamred_iamyellow choose your fighter

y/n_leclerc I'm just waiting for when y/n is going to show up with a ring

ferrari_fan when I saw I got that dawg in me, best know I'm talking about Leo

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[champagnefountains]

LUCIFER MAGNE – H.H

CHAPTER III (Finale) - Prompt: Lucifer continuing to wear his wedding ring despite being in a relationship with you.

Previous chapters: I [x], II [x] Word count: 2.6k+ words (unedited) Genre/other tags: Angst with comfort. Good ending. Jealousy. Warnings: Cursing (of course). Gets a little bit heated towards the end, but nothing too explicit. Alastor being an asshole.

Much to your surprise, you found yourself enjoying Alastor’s company. When he wasn’t being the maddening person that he can be, he was actually quite pleasant to be around. After grabbing the items that Charlie had requested (which had all been teleported back to the hotel), Alastor convinced you to have a leisurely stroll around the outskirts of town. There, he introduced you to the many places he frequented, from the small, homey cafe he would always go to, to even the butchers where he purchases his premium meats. All the while, you tried to ignore the looks that you got from the surrounding residents – a mixture of fear and distaste were sent towards the radio-demon, whilst others stared at you in question, wondering who you may be and what you were doing with the Overlord. 

Even though you weren’t in the mood to chat, Alastor was more than happy to fill in the silence, sharing a couple stories and cracking corny jokes here and there, which you had to admit were pretty funny. After an exhausting week, it made you realise how nice it was to actually smile and laugh again.

After a couple hours, you both made your way back to the hotel. All the while, Alastor had been recounting a narrative from his times in the living world which had taken a particularly hilarious turn, causing you both to chuckle aloud. You wiped the amused tear that escaped your eye as Alastor pushed through the front doors of the establishment. 

“Oh, fuck no!” A familiar voice shouted from the distance, startling and causing you to flinch on the spot. Swiftly turning your head to the source of the ruckus, you were dumbfounded to see Lucifer himself, stomping his way towards your direction with a vexed expression. Behind him, you saw a distressed Charlie staggering towards him as Vaggie followed suit.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you asshole!?” Lucifer growled, getting up close and personal with Alastor, whilst poking an accusatory finger against his chest. Before you could’ve reacted, you were then pulled back by the deer-demon, who draped an arm around your shoulders.

“Now, now, why the sudden hostility? I was only taking my darling [Name] out for a much needed breath of fresh air!” Alastor chimes, feigning innocence and batting his lashes. “I took it upon myself to look after her wellbeing. We’ve all been so worried since she’s just been so, so dispirited and blue lately…and I’m sure you know why that is, your highness.” The backhanded comment caused you to swiftly peer up at the Overlord, baffled by the harshness of his remark. But as you observe his ever-growing grin, it only then struck you, the sole purpose behind his kind display towards you. 

Meanwhile, it had Lucifer fuming. Literally. “Why you little, piece of shit–” The King then grabbed Alastor by his dress-shirt, the fabric scorching under his touch, “who the fuck do you think you are, talking to me like that?” Seeing the growing tension between the two men, Charlie immediately stepped forward. “Dad, stop it,” she sternly said, grabbing his wrist in warning. Lucifer was quick to shake the girl’s hand off, tightening his grip on Alastor’s shirt, “No, Charlie, I need to put this pompous asshole back in his place! It seems he doesn’t know basic courtesy, and how to keep out of other people’s business.”

Alastor chortles mockingly in response. “Oh, hoh? You speak of courtesy? I believe you should take your own advice, your highness, as you seem to lack consideration to those around you,” he pushed even further, all the while peering down at you from the corner of his eyes. Lucifer follows his line of sight, his eyes landing on the troubled expression etched on your face. His gaze softened for a brief moment, before hardening once more as he fixed his attention back to the Overlord.

“You better shut that damn trap of yours if you know what’s good for you,” Lucifer warns deeply. “Now, I’m merely sticking up for a dear pal of mine. So tell me, what exactly is so wrong about that?” Alastor shoots back, harshly flicking the man’s hand away. Tutting, he patted down his now-tattered suit, an eye twitching in mild annoyance. 

“It is when you decide to overstep boundaries.” With a blink of an eye, Lucifer’s scleras suddenly switched over to a red hue, sending you into sudden caution. Alastor’s grin turned almost sinister at the challenging tone. “Perhaps it’s necessary to do so. After all, dear [Name] over here had a pleasant time. There was no harm done.”

The King gritted his teeth, his horns threatening to reveal themselves, “Oh, but that’s what you think. ‘Cause someone will be harmed if you decide to keep this shit up–”

“Lucifer, stop.” Almost instantaneously, the King’s fumes were extinguished as he turned his gaze towards you. He felt shame fill him to the core at the sight of your disappointed expression, glaring at him in disapproval. Baffled, he opened his mouth to speak, “[Name], I–” 

“Don’t,” you sternly intervene, raising a hand to silence him. You then send a critical glance back at Alastor, forcibly pushing his arm off of you, “And you. I don’t know what the hell you were thinking of, pulling a stunt like this and using my vulnerability for your sick entertainment, but I expect you to apologise to Charlie and everyone else here for causing all this ruckus.” You ignored the way the radio-demon’s eyes rolled as you pushed through, stepping forward to grab Lucifer by the wrist, before dragging him along towards the staircase leading to your rooms. In doing so, you offer an apologetic look to your friends as you pass by the bar, who nodded back in silent understanding and awe.

The walk towards your shared room was painfully silent as the both of you dreaded the upcoming confrontation. As the number of your shared room came into view, you let go of Lucifer to wordlessly invite yourself inside. The King followed suit with hesitant steps, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. Rubbing his arms self-consciously, his downcast eyes trailed up to you. You had plopped yourself down on the furthest side of the bed across the room, your back facing towards him and posture slumped over. Lucifer let out a shaky breath. 

“...[Name], darling. I’m sorry,” he starts softly, nervously squeezing his hands into fists, “I shouldn’t have let him get under my skin. It was–It was childish of me. I didn’t mean to upset you–“

“Y’know, you’ve got some nerve acting the way you did…” you suddenly cut in, voice surprisingly faint but filled with melancholy, “...acting all resentful and jealous towards Alastor–who mind you, was actually just taking me out for a walk–when you yourself still seem to be preoccupied with your ex.” Lucifer grimaced at the venom laced in your tone. Ouch. Though it was deserving, he dejectedly thinks to himself. 

“[Name], please, I-I can explain everything. I didn’t mean for tonight to go the way it did,” Lucifer pleaded whilst staring at the back of your head. He didn’t know whether his sincerity was effectively making its way through to you.

“Then what were you planning?” You say sharply, your voice raising a bit, “I…Lucifer, just please tell me what’s going on. Just tell me the truth.” Your eyes started to blur as a sob threatened to escape your throat. “Because I’m tired of this. I-I’m so tired of feeling so insecure, confused and lost, and I...I-I don’t even know what you want from me anymore.” You hang your head down low, hugging yourself tightly as the tears begin to pour out uncontrollably, “If…if you’re planning on breaking up with me, just go ahead and say it! I-I don't want to be waddling 'round like some–some idiot, waiting for you to–”

“No. Wha–[Name], no. Don’t even go there.” Lucifer said incredulously, immediately marching towards your side of the bed. He kneels down in front of you, reaching out to grab at your shaking hands. “That’s not why I’m here, okay? It’s not even remotely close to what I have to say. So please get that idea out of your head,” he reaffirms, while rubbing his thumbs against your hands in a reassuring manner. You decided to keep your gaze down, having no strength to look Lucifer in the eye, knowing fully well that you’d break even more if you were to do so. Your tiny gasps and hiccups were what filled the room, tearing the King’s heart bit by bit, with every second that passed. With no words spoken on your behalf, Lucifer took this as a cue to continue. 

“[Name]…I’m sorry for upsetting you. That’s the last thing I ever wanted to do. I-I know I’ve got a lot of baggage, and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for making you carry that burden with me. I…I did a lot of thinking during our time apart, and it made me realise how much of a fool I was–of how blind I was to what was in front of me. I took for granted your love and kindness. I-It wasn’t fair to you, and you didn’t deserve that. I-I truly didn't know what I was thinking, continuing to wear that ring. I came to terms and knew deep down for so long, even before we got together, that there wasn’t a possibility that Lilith and I would ever get together again. And yes, I do love Lilith. She’s been with me since the beginning of time and for most of eternity, and is the mother of my only child. Perhaps it was the memories that we shared that kept me hanging on for so long, I thought. She didn’t do anything wrong by me either…we just…sort of grew apart after a while. I-I don’t know why, but regardless…it hurt a lot. And even despite her absence now, I still do love her.” 

At that, you felt your heart drop to your stomach. His words were like a harsh punch to the gut. It was nauseating, and the room felt like it was caving in on you. Devastated, you attempted to pull yourself away to leave the room, but was forced to still as Lucifer reached up to cup a hand over your dampened cheek. He gently tugs your face upward, his eyes softening and staring deep into your crestfallen, reddened ones. 

“But darling, it’s not the same anymore. It’s different now. And it’s because you changed that. Yes, Lilith will continue to be an important person in my life, there’s no doubt about it. But…it’s you, darling. I choose you. You mended and opened up my heart when I was a hundred-percent certain that I couldn’t for another soul again. Each second and moment I spent with you made me become so hopeful and excited for the future and whatever lies ahead of us. Alongside Charlie, you've made me the happiest I’ve ever been in so, so long. And it’s you who fortunately gave me a second chance in this life. I'm so grateful for you, and words can’t even express how much you mean to me. A-And I’m sorry it took a while for me to realise that, and for hurting you in the process.” Eyes closing, he leans in to press his forehead against yours.

“And yes, it might take a bit more time to put this all behind me, and I-I apologise. But…I’m finally ready to take that leap with you. My heart is yours for the taking–as long as you’ll have me, that is. And I-I don’t expect you to forgive me now–I wouldn’t even forgive myself either. But, if it’s space that you want and need, I’ll respect that. But just know that I love you. And I’m sorry if I made it seem that I don’t, or don’t  show it enough. But believe me…I love you. I love you so damn much.” 

The sincere confession left you speechless, feeling yourself practically melt into his hands like pudding. A sensation akin to relief crashed over you like a wave, finally hearing the words that you longed for, for over a week. With a broken sigh, you cupped a hand over his own, leaning in to bask in his touch. Your breath then hitched at the realisation that he had taken off his wedding ring, no longer feeling the cold metal against your skin – it was only his warmth alone that welcomed you. Your chest suddenly felt immensely full, overwhelmed by his love and affection, but also by the guilt that came for your previous words and actions that night. Your furrowed your brows, your tears clouding your vision once more,  “Luci, I…I’m so sorry. I-I’m sorry for pushing you too much. I was being too selfish a-and I didn’t even stop to think about how you felt. I-I should’ve been more understanding and–” 

Lucifer was quick to hush you, wiping your tears and shaking his head. “Darling, no. There’s no need for you to apologise, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one in the wrong. And if anything, I needed that push.” He then leans in to press a lingering smooch on your forehead, “But I truly mean it when I say it, though. I do really love you. Being without you these past few days drove me insane–it’s crazy how much of an effect you have on me.” He tearfully chuckles. 

A smile made its way up to your quivering lips, a blush dusting your cheeks from the sweet remark, “I love you too, Luci.”  

Despite the wide grin that erupted on his face, it was humbled down by a tentative guise. “...Are we going to be okay?” He quietly asks, his eyes peering up at you in a hopeful manner. Your eyes softened at his uncertainty. Sniffling, you reach out and pull him into a hug, your face huddled into the crook of his neck. Lucifer was quick to return the gesture, holding you close and breathing in your comforting scent. Mumbling a response into his neck, you say something incomprehensible, causing the man to chuckle softly into your hair. “Come on. Use your words, love,” he teased against your ear. You giggled, all the while nodding your head, “Y-Yeah…we’ll be okay.” 

At that, Lucifer gently slowly pulled away, before leaning in to close the distance between you, pressing his lips against yours. The King inhaled your whimpers as the kiss grew increasingly sensual and near-desperate, his hands beginning to wander down your waist. Lucifer then stood up from the ground, your lips remaining connected as he pushed you flat against the bed. Straddling your hips between his legs, his lips began to trail down your neck, biting and pecking at your feverish skin, all the while dragging his hands up your sides to pin your hands beside either side of your head. "Luci, please," you whined, feeling his sharp teeth graze above your pulse. He slowly made his way back up to meet you once more, pushing his tongue inside your mouth.

Eventually, the both of you unwillingly parted for air, foreheads pressed together as you both took a brief moment to catch your breath. You both stared at each other lovingly, basking in each others' presence. “You’re perfect for me, my angel,” Lucifer whispers, softly pecking both your cheeks, your nose, then at your lips, “never forget that.” 

It was clear that the both of you had some work to do, there was no question about that. He wasn’t as perfect as he made out to be, but neither were you. But since you have each other’s company, and with your newfound reconnection, you both knew that things will eventually turn out okay. 

A/N: And that brings us to the very end! Thank you for reading and all the support you've shown for this mini-series! I'll now be focusing on requests~

#lucifer magne x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar

[ohmygraves]

ghost, but as your fake boyfriend.

you were panicking.

your mother had called earlier, asking if you could come home for a few days. apparently, your brother had returned from overseas, and she called to let you know that every single member of your family would be there. a small family reunion, if you will. of course, she expected you to show up too, perhaps bring that boyfriend of yours you always told them about.

which was a problem because one, you don't have a boyfriend, and two, you have lied to your family for years and now it's come to bite you in the ass.

you didn't even know why you did it in the first place. perhaps the constant pestering and questions about "when will you get married?" is starting to bother you, especially when it came from so many of your relatives, wondering if you'd settle down already instead of being out there in danger all the time. perhaps you just want them to leave you alone and stop worrying about your wellbeing. after all, you're an adult, and it's just annoying to hear the same thing over and over again every single time when you went home for christmas.

so, you created this narrative of a "boyfriend", who you'd talk about when your parents called. a boyfriend who is tall, handsome, and loves you for who you are. a boyfriend who you'd live with and maybe plan on marrying too in the future. a boyfriend that is so much of a textbook nice guy that your family would approve of even if it sounds too good to be true.

you're not sure who to ask. soap would be your best bet, but he would be away on a mission at that date. which was unfortunate, he seemed really excited to play fake boyfriend with you. gaz just ran out of leave for this month, so he's out too. price is too old, your family would question it.

that leaves just one person...

"lt, can you do me a favor? please, just this once."

ghost turned towards you, leaning back and letting you explain. you told him that you need him to be your fake boyfriend for a family event.

unsurprisingly, he was very quick to stand up and leave you alone, not wanting to deal with your bullshit. still, you catch up to him, trying to convince him with whatever it is you could offer.

after a few rounds of convincing, tailing him for three days and nights, constantly pestering him, and some offers of the finest whiskey and whatever he wanted, ghost finally relented. it didn't take long for the two of you to fly back to your hometown two days before the family reunion, the two of you taking a week of leave from the base with very little trouble. you assumed that ghost had something to do with it.

before you arrived, you had to give him a rundown on what to expect, what questions will be asked and how to answer them for it to make sense in the web of lies you've created. he was definitely not thrilled, telling you that he got this... whatever "this" was supposed to be. you were nervous, hoping that things will actually go well.

surprisingly, ghost did keep true to his words. walking into your childhood home, he held your waist, keeping you close to him, even would act nicer to your nosy relatives (which, of course, was not surprising when you feel his grip got tighter around you).

dinner was quite cozy, everyone seemed to enjoy his presence and kept asking you if you two will end up married. ghost said something vague that made you blush, and while it embarrassed you, it got everyone to stop talking about it.

when the crowd dissolved, you took ghost to go see your childhood bedroom, closing the door behind him as you thanked him for doing you a good favor, and that you won't forget all about this. you didn't even realize that he stepped closer to you, too absorbed in gushing how successful the night has been, pulling you close and planting a kiss on your lips. it shut you up.

"... did you just kissed me?"

"mmhm. i reckon i deserve at least that, huh love?"

"i suppose you do..."

he kissed you once more. well, at least you won't have to lie about your fake boyfriend anymore.

#this has been in the drafts for so long #i lost track of where this is supposed to go #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty headcanon #call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod headcanon #simon ghost riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #fake boyfriend

[its-your-mind]

ORV as textposts 39/???

[Photo ID - 10 images from the Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint manhwa with Tumblr posts pasted upon them.

The first image shows the backs of nine members of the main cast as they look toward the sun in the background. The text post is by Tumblr user daisies-on-a-cup and reads, "THEY DID IT THEY ESCAPED THE NARRATIVE!!! THERE IS A WAY OUT!!! THE STORY CAN BE ALTERED!!! YOU ARE NOT STUCK-THERE IS AN ESCAPE!!!! THERE IS A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL BUT YOU HAVE TO WALK TOWARDS IT!!!!"

The second image shows Kim Dokja in a suit with his hand on his hip. The text post is by Tumblr user yuridefender and reads, "i do love stories that start out with the protagonist going "hi! 👋😀 i am such a normal guy. the most average person ever. 😄 an average joe even. i have no friends or enemies. i spend my time reading books and sing to myself on occasions. nothing to see here! ^^" and it turns out that not only are they a liar but also the most fucked up person ever. and a cunt"

The third image shows Kim Dokja with a shocked face. Yoo Joonghyuk is clutching Kim Dokja's shoulder as he falls. Lee Hyungsung is behind Kim Dokja on the viewer's right, and Yoo Sangah and Shin Yoosung are running toward Kim Dokja and Yoo Joonghyuk from the viewer's left. The text post is by Tumblr user littlespoonsokka and reads "oh and btw the love was there and it changed everything. if u even care"

The fourth image shows Kim Dokja. The text post is by Tumblr user tomwambsgirl and reads, "being an unreliable narrator is inherently homoerotic". They reblogged with an addition that reads, "what do you have to hide? your sexuality?"

The fifth image shows Yoo Joonghyuk yelling dramatically. The text post is by Tumblr user fembutchboygirl and reads, "He's a cis man. He's transfem. He's nonbinary. He has 35 genders. He's a cis woman. He's a trans man. Gender, he barely knows her. He's transmasc. He's gnc. He doesn't know what a pronoun is. I didn t say his name but he popped into your head didn't he"

The sixth image shows Yoo Joonghyuk staring at Kim Dokja while he holds him by the throat. Kim Dokja is slightly beaten up and smirking back at him. The text post is by Tumblr user neilgayman69 and reads, "They have never canonically fucked. But also they have, and they should, and it would be a horrible idea."

The seventh image has Yoo Joonghyk hunched over in the foreground with Lee Hyungsung to his left and Shin Yoosung to his right. Kim Dokja is in the background with Yoo Sangah on his right and the viewer's left. He's facing Yoo Joonghyuk and the viewer slightly and is hunched over with a sword in his hand. The text post is by Tumblr user billypotts and reads, "stories about time travel are about two things. number one is inevitable tragedy. number two is seeing that inevitable tragedy and saying oh god I will make this right please even if I can't fix it I will try to make this right. also I lied they're about three things and third is obviously love"

The eighth image is a close-up of Kim Dokja with smile and dull eyes against a black background. The text post is by Tumblr user raylangivins and reads, "I love a character who's like "I know exactly who I am and I'm being very authentic about it" and then when you analyse his behaviour even a little bit you realise his self perception is completely selective and delusional."

The ninth image shows Han Sooyoung, Yoo Joonghyuk, and Kim Dokja. Yoo Joonghyuk is leaned over Han Sooyoung's back while Kim Dokja is slightly off to the viewer's right with a confused expression. The text post is by Tumblr user notsoni and reads, "Not soulmates but it always had to be them and they weren't destined to be together but they were doomed to be but also it took everything for them to get here and also it was never supposed to happen but also it always was and had to happen this way. Hope this helps"

The final image shows the members of Kimcom sitting around a garbage-can fire with drinks. The text post is by Tumblr user gothritsu and reads, "if theres no found family what is the God Damn Fucking Point". /End ID]

ID by @incorrect-web-novels tysm!!!

#listen these ones are all long all at once and I apologize #but I try to group them by VIBE #and these are all meta posts ya know #and meta posts get LONGE #so here we are #orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #omniscent reader #omniscient reader webtoon #omniscient reader novel #orv spoilers #just in case!! #orv novel spoilers #orv novel #kim dokja #kimcom #dokhyuk #yoohankim #yoo joonghyuk

[viennakarma]

My dearest friend and enemy

Part 1 | Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: You and Fernando always dreamed of the day you'd get into Formula 1. Unfortunately, the competition, the pride and the stubborness, get in the way of a beautiful friendship.

Word count: 7.8k

Tags: female!reader, driver reader, coming of age, ups and downs of a friendship, brocedes coded, very very angsty, cursing, anger, fights, overuse of flavio briatore as a plot device, lots of low blows, sprinkles of romance, kissing, making out, happy ending, not beta read

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: Someone requested this, with this very detailed request, and it has consumed my every thought for the past week or two. I had to tweak some things from the request here and there, hope it's ok. It's heavily inspired by brocedes. Obviously we don't have all the facts with whatever happened to Lewis and Nico, but I have my own theories, that I tossed around this story here and there. (There is a lot of info that is wrong or inaccurate, I did this on purpose to fit my narrative, if you catch them, please ignore)

I'm sorry if it feels rushed, this was getting way too long and I just wanted to follow my heart. Feedback and opinions are appreciated xx

[If you have never listened to Tamino, or never heard this song, please do a favor to your brain and heart, and listen!]

Find me on Twitter!

PART 2 (END)

You wouldn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry.

You repeated those words to yourself as you stared at your fucked up kart, it wasn’t even starting. You didn’t have any more money to repair it, and if you didn’t, then you wouldn’t be able to keep going in the competition.

“Hey, are you alright kid?” Someone stopped you, and your tears fell down. You used the sleeve of your overalls to wipe your face.

“I won’t make it to the final round of the competition,” you pointed to your kart.

The boy knelt down beside you, taking a look at your kart. It was the first time you really looked at him. He was a bit older than you, probably two or three years, since you had seen him in the next category, and you knew he was one of the best from what you could see.

He walked away suddenly, but came back a minute later with a tool box. He knelt down and started tinkering with your kart.

“What- what are you doing?” You asked crouching beside him. He only hummed, seemingly concentrating on his work.

After a few minutes of silence, he asked you to test to see if it would work, and you started your kart, and it did work.

“Oh my god!” You smiled, leaving the kart, “how- how much does it cost?”

“Don’t worry, I wanted to help,” he shrugged, putting back his tools.

“Are you sure?” You asked again.

“Yes,” he stood up, and as his eyes found yours, shining under the sunlight, you smiled at each other.

“Thank you so much!” You said, offering a hand for him to shake.

“I’m Fernando,” he said, and as you said your name back, he smiled a little shyly and just said, “I know.”

“You know?” You whispered.

“Yeah. I’ve seen you in your kart. You’re good.”

You bashed under his praise, cheeks warming and stomach full of butterflies.

From then on, you and Fernando became friends, always meeting up in karting competitions, despite being usually in different categories, since he was a bit older than you. But you’d always be seen together on those occasions, or either of you on the stands, cheering for the other. Your parents knew you were close friends, and after a while, your parents would take turns at taking you two for competitions, usually going together.

You met again when you got to the Spanish Junior Championship, it was your first time at that competition and it would be Fernando’s third. Your rivalry was mostly playful in that competition, you were still the best of friends, even when you got close to his score, you still managed to leave the rivalry on the track. When it ended and you stared up at Fernando from the second place podium, you felt proud of him, happy even. You understood that he had more experience than you, winning that competition three times in a row, and you always would have next year to catch up to him.

That day when he took your hand to walk back to his dad, he held your hand tight. And when they dropped you off at home, you winked at him.

“I’ll catch you next year.” You walked to the door hearing him and José Luis laughing back in the car.

You didn’t manage to catch him next year. Fernando reached new heights as he moved up to world championships. Life took you apart, and without your greatest opponent in the championship, you took it home for three years in a row.

The next few years, you and Fernando were mostly apart. The distance was eating you thin, even when you two managed to talk for a couple of hours on the phone, or whenever he sent you letters talking about his biggest achievements. You still saw each other over summer and winter, which was what mostly kept your bond strong. You also managed to kart for fun sometimes, or go for ice cream, or just sit on the porch of your house, talking about life. You two always shared an ice cream on your birthdays, a tradition that was born ever since you were 13, and you and Fernando gathered together every coin you had to be able to buy one ice cream cone that you happily shared sitting on a sidewalk.

“We’ll make it to Formula 1 one day, Nena.”

You laughed. Despite being the greatest dream of them all, by that time, it had been twenty years since the last woman had been in a Formula 1 car, really competing. You wanted to, so bad, but you didn’t want to get any hope for it to be crushed later on.

“You, most likely, Nano. You’re brilliant, I’m sure you’re going to be a world champion one day,” you said, playful, “just don’t forget us peasants when you’re rich and famous.”

“You have too much faith in me, Nena,” he shook his head.

“No, I just know stuff. When you get your world championship, I hope you will hear my voice in your head telling you I told you so.”

He laughed it off.

Fernando extended you a bottle of cheap wine, it was his way of celebrating your 18th birthday, now you were of age. The wine warmed you up, leaving a pretty stain in both of your lips. 

“What about that girl you liked? Are you dating her yet?” You asked to break the silence.

“No…” he shrugged then took the bottle from you to take a chug straight from it, “she’s not for me.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, even though he didn’t look particularly unhappy about it.

“Don’t be. It was just a silly crush,” his lips turned down, “The girls don’t find me attractive enough,” he shook his head, feeling shy for having this conversation with you, “and I don’t know, I’ve always been a little shy, I guess. I don’t have much experience in romance. None, if I’m being honest.”

“None?!” You sounded shocked at his lack of romance. He just shook his head. 

At eighteen you had your fair share of teen love, having crushes here and there, sometimes even sharing kisses under the bleachers at school. Fernando was your best friend and you knew him like no one, and you could see that he was lonely and feeling embarrassed, up until that point, his life had been school, karting and work to fund his karting.

“Would you like to?” You asked, suddenly turning to him after drinking a sip of courage from the wine bottle.

“Like to what?” He frowned.

“To be kissed?” You whispered, and looked behind you, inside your house, where your parents were inside.

Your heart raced faster than you ever did, his pretty eyes looking for your face, trying to find any sign of joking, like you were just being silly. But you were serious, looking at his face intently. You were about to back pedal when he nodded softly.

“What-” his voice failed, and he gulped nervously, “what should I do?”

“Just follow my lead, and you will feel what to do,” you said, extending a hand and holding his face, “close your eyes.”

He did, and you just closed the distance quietly, but when you had barely touched his lips with yours, he bursted out laughing, leaning back. You also laughed at the strangeness of the situation.

“It’s ok, we don’t have to, Nano” you recovered, but he shook his head, giggling.

“No, sorry, sorry! You’re my favorite person, I trust you,” he sighed, closing his eyes again.

You held his face, trying to get closer again, and this time he let you. With a soft press, you pecked his lips for a couple of seconds. You felt butterflies in your stomach, and they pushed you to push into his lips, mouth opening a little and him following your lead. One of his hands found your face, and you deepened the kiss. He was inexperienced but surprisingly patient, letting you lead and slowly picking your pace and moves. Your kiss turned into an almost make out session, lasting long minutes, with Fernando getting the hang of it with every passing second. When you parted, his cheeks and lips were red, and you two smiled nervously at each other.

“Was that ok?” You asked, suddenly insecure.

“More than ok,” he whispered back, “I think we-”

A loud noise from inside your house made you two jump away from each other, and a second later, your mom’s voice boomed through the door, reminding you of your curfew, and checking your watch, you noticed it was almost eleven.

“Sorry, Nano. I have to go,” you stood up and he followed you.

“See you Saturday to go karting?” He asked just to confirm the plans you had made earlier.

“See you,” you waved awkwardly before sprinting inside your house.

Skipping to your room, you locked the door behind you and pressed a hand to your lips, still warm from kissing your best friend. Going to your window, you pulled on the curtains and watched through the gap as Fernando left, calmly walking down the street.

You never talked about it. And when you met again at the end of the week, none of you mentioned the kiss, things quickly went back to normal as you two pretended it never happened. Over a few months, your heart never let you forget about the kiss you shared with your best friend, and whenever you laid in bed to sleep, your mind would wander back to that specific night. You spent months building up the courage to confess you had feelings for him, and you wanted to be more than friends. Your choice was to tell him on his birthday, when you usually would go for a birthday ice cream.

“I need to tell you something-” You said at the same time he muttered, “Can I tell you something?”

“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to you, but at that point, your bravery quickly faded.

“No, you first. You’re the birthday boy!”

“Uh, I’m dating a girl. I’m going to introduce her to you and my family at the birthday party tonight.”

That moment, with a smile frozen on your face, a small part of you was ripped forever. The excitement and fear of a young love turned into stone at the pit of your stomach. To this day, you don’t know how you managed to not burst into tears that very moment. Instead, you kept smiling, asking Fernando for more details so he could get distracted and not notice the pain in your eyes.

Managing to bury what you decided to call a silly teen infatuation after a few months, your friendship with Fernando became even stronger everyday that passed. 

You made it to the international and European competitions, winning the former twice in a row, and the latter once. You were in the Euro Open when Fernando made it to Formula 1.

He told you personally, when he signed with Minardi, and you were so happy you jumped on his arms, hugging him tight and screaming.

“I told you! I told you!” You shouted, as he carried your feet from the floor, “My best friend is in Formula 1! Oh my god, Nano!” You let go of him, your smile barely fitting your face, “I’m gonna be insufferable! I’m claiming bragging rights right now!”

He only laughed at your happy ramble.

You balanced your competitions with working double shifts for almost two months, so you could afford to go to the Spanish Grand Prix the year of his Formula One debut. He didn’t win anything that year, but he still had your immense support every step of the way. When waves of self doubt came and left him shaken, you’d hug him and whisper softly how he was just a rookie, how he would still have time to prove himself.

“You’re gonna be one of the best there is, Nano.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

He also would show you support whenever your schedule at the Euro Open didn’t coincide with his at Formula 1. It was one of the best feelings to get to the podium and see your best friend as you held the trophy. When you finally found him after the podium, he hugged you for a moment, commenting on his favorite moments from your race. As you stood, he gestured to someone, and a beautiful girl came closer.

“Nena, this is my girlfriend, Lucia,” he pointed. Your smile froze for a second. Another one, since the girl from last year couldn’t handle the distance of dating someone who was constantly traveling the world.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You shook her hand, suddenly self conscious of your frizzy hair and sweat damp overalls. She was so pretty. So much prettier than you. 

Lucia was pretty and kind, a little bit clingy, but she treated you very well, and wasn’t jealous of your friendship with Fernando, different from the last one. All your flings never went as far as becoming boyfriend or girlfriend, so you decided to focus more on racing and trying to make a name for yourself.

“Fernando,” you called one of the rare days you two were both free and could laze around, this time, sitting on the ground of the garden, staring at the clear sky and sharing a pint of ice cream.

“Hm?”

“I talked to your dad, and you’re going to be free the day of the last race of the Euro Open, so I was wondering if you will come to see me become the champion?” You turned to him, a smile adorning your face.

“Confident, are you?” He teased your certainty that you would win the competition.

“Not confident, just focused,” you corrected him, and started explaining the date of the race, but as you talked, his smile quickly faded and you stopped.

“I’m sorry, Nena. It’s Lucia’s graduation that day, I can’t miss it.”

You swallowed, thinking it would matter so much to you that he’d be there, but at the same time, you didn’t want to be selfish or make it seem like you’re competing with the girl he loved. You tried to disguise the disappointment in your face, but he noticed. At that point he knew you for half of your lives, he knew very well when you tried to mask your sadness. And unfortunately, he had been on the receiving end of that sad face one too many times.

“Oh,” you nodded, “Don’t worry, I totally understand.”

Fernando pressed his lips thin, your meek voice doing nothing to soothe the squeezing in his heart.

The day you won the Euro Open, you could barely contain your happiness as you stood on the podium, showing your trophy to your parents, who were watching you all emotional. As the podium ceremony finished, you walked back to your parents, your mom wiping her tears and your dad the happiest. Then, you finally noticed Fernando was with them.

“Nano!” You hugged him.

“Congratulations, champion!” He said. Your heart was so full you thought it would explode, so all you managed to say were two words.

“You came.”

“You called.”

Later you found out through your mom, who found out through Fernando’s mom, who found out from Fernando’s dad, that Fernando and Lucia had broken up. They said it was because of the distance and the relationship didn’t last more than seven months. You couldn’t blame her, you as his best friend barely saw him that year either.

You became a reserve driver for Renault in 2003, meeting Flavio Briatore yourself after you won the Formula 3000 two years in a row. You knew that, by that time, Fernando had ties with Flavio, but the man assured you it had nothing to do with Fernando, and everything to do with you being extremely talented.

Still, that same week you found Fernando, to inquire if he had anything to do with Flavio’s invitation, but he assured you that you’d achieved that with your own merit. The unexpected chance to race came when by the end of the following year, Fernando’s teammate was fired by the end of the season. So you had to replace him for the remaining three races of the season, the team fighting for P2 in the constructors championship. The first two races you went alright placing P7 and P5, but still not where you wanted to place.

“Hey, you’re doing great, Nena,” Fernando told you right before the race started. He knew you were upset, frustration practically emanating from your body.

“Not as great as I can do,” you shook your head.

“Just do your best, ignore everything else.”

You nodded, before closing your overalls and gettin ready to get in the car. That race, you and Fernando managed to race just like in your karting days, with a silent partnership never seen before coming from Fernando. You placed a 2-3 podium, him ahead of you.

When you got out of the car, you jumped straight into his arms, screaming and celebrating. Your first ever podium in Formula 1.

During post race interviews you accidentally let out to the media that you and Fernando were childhood best friends, which they took as a personal reason to go digging into your lives.

Next season, Flavio signed you with the team. But before anything, he sat you down for a talk. He explained how Fernando would be top priority this year, you were a rookie, and they would offer you all the support but you had to help Fernando first.

“You will gain experience, work together with your best friend, and we can achieve great things this year. And depending on how good of a performance you show this year, next year you will be able to race for the championship, yes?” Flavio explained.

And you were fine with that, Fernando would be the main priority while you took the year to get used to the car, to being in an entirely new category, while helping your best friend reach his peak. It was the dream, finally. It was the thing both of you had daydreamed together, nothing could get in the way of that.

So you did just that. You kept your head down, fighting fiercely against your rivals, and keeping yourself out of the way whenever you and Fernando were close in a race. Your time would come, as Flavio had promised. That season you managed good results in the points, and even got five podium finishes, which landed you fourth in the drivers’ championship and managed Renault to win the constructors.

That day in Interlagos, during the Brazilian Grand Prix, you woke up knowing Fernando would become world champion. You didn’t tell him to not put any more pressure on him. He only needed a podium to mathematically become the champion of the world.

He finished P3, and you finished P7. Seeing Fernando radiantly happy, dancing, shouting and jumping was etched forever in your brain as one of your happiest memories. The way he eventually found you, holding you firmly against him, the both of you crying happy tears became headlines all around the world.

“I told you, didn’t I?” You broke the hug so you could stare into his red rimmed eyes.

“You did. You’re right more often than not, I’ve come to realize.” He whispered. When someone tried to put a mic in your faces, Fernando pushed it away.

“This is your moment, go.” You gestured to the other side, where he had to go before the podium.

Looking up from the ground to Fernando, you were so happy you thought your heart would burst open. And you couldn’t wait for it to be your turn, to feel this happiness the other way around.

That night, you, Fernando and the entire team got ready to party, to celebrate his championship. You dressed up to the nines, putting makeup and spending a good half an hour styling your hair. When you left the elevator, meeting the whole team at the lobby, they shouted and whistled saying you were pretty. It made you a bit shy but you liked the attention.

You and Fernando danced and drank like crazy that night, going strong all the way into the morning. When the party ended and you two sat on your suite balcony, watching the sun rise, you bought out an ice cream pint you had kept in the room minibar.

“How do you feel, Mr. World Champion?” You sat cross legged in front of him.

“Like a dream come true, sometimes I don’t even believe it’s real,” he said, staring into the horizon.

“Remember when we would talk about this moment?” You took his hand in yours, as he nodded, “Wow. This is great. I’m so happy for you, and happy for fifteen year-old Nano, the bright eyed boy that fixed my kart charge free.”

It’s barely a second after you finished speaking that Fernando leaned into your space and just kissed your lips. It took you a second to understand what was going on, but when his hand found your hair, you reciprocated. His lips, that had been cold from the ice cream quickly became warm under your ministrations. You held his shoulders and let him pull you closer, until you were straddling his lap. The kiss was messy, all over the place, clanking lips, teeth and tongue. You moaned softly as he squeezed your ass, and you pulled his hair at the nape, grinding down on his lap, making him groan too.

“We should not,” he said, breaking the kiss. You nodded, panting.

“Yeah, totally, we-” you tried to speak but he nipped at your neck and you lost all train of thought.

“No, we won’t ruin-” he tried again but you pulled his hair, forcing his head up so you could kiss him.

“You’re right-” you muttered against his lips, right before smashing it when you kissed him again. You stayed there, kissing, making out like you were teenagers again, too scared to reach for each other's clothes and take the next step.

When the sun was fully up in the sky, and whatever was left of the ice cream had melted, your alarm rang, and you and Fernando parted. You were about to invite him to sleep with you for a few hours when he paused, his face worried. Fernando took one of your hands.

“This is a one time- thing, right?” He frowned, and you swallowed before nodding.

“Yes, of course.” You don’t correct him with memories of your eighteenth birthday.

“I just, I don’t want anything to ruin our friendship,” he stared at you, visibly scared for your friendship, and you didn’t have the heart to ask for more.

“It won’t ruin, I promise. If you want, we can forget it ever happened,” you said, hoping and praying he would change his mind. But he looked relieved at your words.

After he left, you sat down on the bed, disheartened, knowing that these scraps of affection would have to be stored in a safe spot inside your heart, and would be nothing more than memories, and what-ifs you’d only dare to look at late in your sleepless nights. You wondered how many times he would have to undervalue your romantic affections for you to understand he didn’t want you and never would. That was the second time you shared a moment, and the second time he had dismissed it. It’s not meant to be, you whispered to yourself.

When the new season started, you had gotten a grip over your feelings for him, focused on moving on. Being in love with your best friend for around a decade was pathetic enough.

Fernando was great during the start of the season, scoring two wins within the first three races. And despite not being the results you wanted, you placed top ten in all of them, even managing one podium finish.

When the fourth race came, though, it was when you and Fernando started to collapse. It was a very carefully plotted race for you and your team, and after managing your tyres with care, you didn’t have to pit twice. And you won, for the first time ever, you stood on the top of the podium. Unfortunately, Fernando didn’t get a podium. Holding your trophy, you looked down from the podium looking to your team, and searching for Fernando.

He wasn’t there, and your heart shattered a bit with his absence.

Maybe he had a problem and couldn’t be there for you. Maybe he was busy.

You went down to speak to the press, happily talking about strategies, how you and your team masterminded it, how you managed to preserve your tyres for longer than expected.

“How do you and Fernando manage to balance your friendship out of the track with the rivalry happening inside the track?” Someone asked. You were caught by surprise, taking a few seconds to actually compute the words he said.

“Well, I haven’t seen Fernando yet, but I believe he’d be happy for my good result as much as I’d be happy for him,” you told him, but immediately regretted it as the reporter had a gotcha expression on his face.

“Well, actually, this is what Fernando said a few minutes ago when he gave an interview-”

The man gave you a tape recorder attached to a pair of headphones, and your stomach filled with dread as he pressed rewind and play.

“Fernando, today’s win puts your best friend as a contender for the championship, what do you say?”

“Well, I believe she is talented, but too young and not yet ready to face me and actually compete for the championship.”

His voice was bitter, like he didn’t see you as nothing but a bug under his shoes. Instead of making you sad, it only left you seething in anger, but as you removed the headphones, you controlled the urge to smash the headphones on the nearest wall and smirked coldly to the camera that was waiting for your reaction.

“What do you think about Fernando saying you’re still not ready to become world champion?” The reporter urged, waiting for a beef that he would successfully get.

“Well, I guess he feels threatened by me, so I’ll take that as a compliment,” you shrugged, not caring about adding more fuel to the fire. If Fernando thought he could go running his mouth and you’d be fine or not jab him back, he was in for a surprise.

After wrapping up the interviews, you finally managed to go to your room and take a shower. You were getting ready to leave when Fernando found you again, walking into your room without bothering to knock. You didn’t even look at him, just kept packing your bag.

“Nena…”

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” you shook your head, holding on to the anger instead of allowing yourself to be sad. How he was able to ruin your first ever win in Formula 1, you couldn’t know.

“Nena, please, just-” He tried again, blocking your path to the door.

“No! Fuck you, Fernando!” You took a step back, letting your bag fall to the floor, an accusatory finger pointing to his face, “How dare you do this to me? You know how many times I cheered for you? How many times I wasn’t even on the podium and still, I was happy for you? Huh? I was there for you every step of the way, and you can’t be there for me once? Now you go out there and disregard my win in front of the whole world? What did I ever do to you for you to say that shit about me?” Your voice trembled, but you refused to cry in front of him, “I’d never do that to you, you selfish asshole.”

“I shouldn’t have said that, but I was pole and didn’t even manage to turn it into a podium? I was upset, the strategy fucked me up! I know I should not have said that! You’re right! I was selfish and an asshole-”

“Damn right you were!” You shouted, then picked up your bag, “I don’t want to see you right now.”

You walked past him, leaving at once.

That night, you went to celebrate with the team and without your teammate, you got pretty wasted, dancing and drinking like you had never done before. You refused to let yourself feel down because of Fernando’s big mouth. Dancing the night away, you didn’t stop even when people on the team asked you to, since you were getting out of hand. You were grinding on a stranger, dancing to reggaeton when you felt a hand on your arm.

“Let’s go,” the voice said and you turned, seeing Fernando in front of you. He looked like he was dressed in pajamas and hair all disheveled.

He was asleep when someone on the team called him because they wanted to leave and you were being difficult, so they hoped that your best friend could come pick you up and convince you to leave.

“Excuse me?!” You pulled your arm from him.

“We’re leaving!” Fernando said, pointing to where your team was, seeing it empty, “you’re not going to stay here alone.”

Begrudgingly, you let him lead you outside, one hand in your arm, and the other one on your back. You stumbled in your heels, and Fernando pressed you against the wall, kneeling to remove your shoes and help you walk better outside. Silently, he drove you back to the hotel, while you were with your arms crossed and sulking.

He walked you to your room, helping you change into pajamas, then tucked you into the bed. He stood there for a second, pushing your hair away from your face as you closed your eyes, letting his knuckles run over your cheek softly.

“I wish-” you mumbled, sleepy, “I wish you were happy for me.”

His eyes filled with tears, seeing just how awful he had been to you. A dream was coming true and all he could think of was himself.

“I am, Nena. I’m so happy for you,” He said, but you didn’t answer, already asleep, due to being tired from the race and heavily drunk.

You woke up with a pounding headache and a stomach churning hangover. Still, you showered, drank tea and got ready to go home. When Fernando knocked on the door of your hotel room later that day to apologize, you were already on a flight to Spain. Your birthday would be later that week and your family wanted to throw you a dinner party. 

Your birthday was nice, despite obviously feeling Fernando’s absence.

You were sitting alone on the porch, after the party, when he showed up, late in the night. You didn’t say anything as he walked up to you.

“Peace offering?” Fernando showed you a small ice cream pint “I’m so sorry. I never meant to undermine you. I was a jerk, and you didn’t deserve any of it. I’m so, so sorry.”

You hesitated for a second, but his eyes were so gentle, remorseful, that you couldn’t help but give in. You jumped into his arms so suddenly he almost dropped the ice cream, but he managed to balance it and hug you back with the other arm.

“Happy birthday, Nena,” he whispered, 

“Thank you,” you said, without letting him go, “I’m sorry too. I apologize for implying you felt threatened by me.”

“You should have called me worse things,” he whispered.

You ended up sharing the ice cream once again, talking about life.

Deep down, you hoped things would go back to normal, but a part of you knew that things would never be the same. You two were too much alike for anything to work. Too proud. Too stubborn. Too competitive. When you were good, it was great, but when you were mad, your words were daggers.

The both of you tried to stay normal the next couple of races, but it was strained, forced, especially when you were racing each other. You supposed Fernando was used to you backing down for him, since it was all you had done the year before when you were a rookie. But now you were used to the car, to explore all the possibilities while pushing your tyres to their maximum, while trying insane strategies and making it work. You were a risky driver, just like him, often seen as reckless.

All the while, the media started catching up to it. They went digging to find pictures of you and Fernando when you were kids, in karting and junior competitions, finding out people to interview, old classmates, people you two had met over the years, telling everyone about your close friendship, about you growing up together. Despite you both refusing to comment on your past, the journalists would always find a way to learn more and more about you.

Eventually, it got to your nerves, harsh words were often said whenever questions were thrown at you. You were in a press conference, where Fernando was also there along with a few other drivers.

“It is noticeable that you and Alonso’s driving style is very similar, would you say that he taught you everything you know?”

You didn’t like his tone, you hated whatever he was implying, not because of Fernando, but because it meant to reduce your efforts and abilities.

“No, Alonso has no part in my racing,” your tone was firm against the mic, and you could feel Fernando’s eyes on you, two chairs away on your left.

“But you grew up together?” The man insisted, and you loudly sighed, exhausted from everyone trying to make you talk about it all the time.

“And that doesn’t mean anything!” You said with gritted teeth.

There was a moment of silence right after your outburst, and you didn’t dare to look anywhere besides ahead. When the questions moved on to other drivers, you breathed again. Finally sparing a glance to Fernando, he only looked at you for a fleeting moment, but you knew him so well, you could recognize his teary eyes. Only then it dawned on you how badly you fucked up by insinuating he didn’t mean anything to you.

When the conference ended, you watched as Fernando left really quickly, not even looking in your direction. You ran, trying to find him, going to his room that was right beside yours.

“Fernando-” You walked inside, not even bothering to knock.

“So, our friendship means nothing!” He shook his head, looking disappointed.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Nano!”

“Now I’m Nano again?” He scoffed.

You wanted to cry and plead, to explain that you never meant it this way. You were just tired of people trying to attribute your success to others. You were tired of people comparing the two of you, and saying everything you were came from him, just because he joined the category five years before you. 

“Fernando, please-”

“Leave.” His eyes were cold, almost detached when he pointed to the door.

“Please, Nano…” You whispered, feeling your own eyes welling up with tears. He just shook his head ‘no’ again.

You walked out quietly, not allowing your tears to fall down as you got into your room, inhaling and puffing your chest. You didn’t let up, trying to talk to him again, because it was just a misunderstanding.

Three days later, you tried to find him again, after the race ended, hoping he would have calmed down after a good result, a P2 in that race. You knocked on his door and entered. He was changing clothes as you walked in, he finished dressing a shirt.

“What?” He said, barely looking at you, as he sat down on the sofa, brushing his hair.

“I wanted to talk about what I said during-” your words were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in!” Fernando said, and soon, two pretty girls walked in, wearing pretty dresses, one blonde and the other brunette, “pretty girls!”

You recognized they were grid girls, and they looked familiar from this weekend.

“Can we talk?” You said, trying to make him at least send the girls away for a moment.

“I’m listening,” he smirked, and you gulped as the blonde ran a hand up and down his chest. The brunette leaned into his ear with a seductive smile, whispering something.

“Fernando, please…” You asked again and he didn’t even look at you, laughing at something the girls whispered to him, “I’m sorry,” you whispered, before turning in your heels and leaving his room.

Shame and jealousy burned inside you.

He started giving you a silent treatment from then on and three races later, your silent strain came to a head, once again.

You were right behind him at the race, you P3 and him right ahead, but you had enough speed to outpace him soon, maybe a couple more laps and you’d equal him enough to try and overtake, you rode turn 2 smoothly, but as you two kept going, Fernando half a second in front of you, he suddenly hit the brakes, making you hit his rear.

“What the fuck? He brake tested me!” You shouted into the radio, reassessing, you gulped, noticing the damage to your front right tyre, “I’ve got damage!”

You called into the box to change your tyre, which fucked up your entire strategy, and made you go from the P3 to P9 in the grid. You managed to recover a little bit, but still ended P5 and out of the podium.

The rage was burning your chest as you went to the garage absolutely fuming. After all the podium proceedings and celebrations, you waited for Fernando, but he just walked past you without a care in the world. That made you even more pissed, and nobody managed to hold you when you tossed your helmet aside and marched up to him.

“That was really fucked up, Fernando!” You cut his path, making him stop short. Suddenly a bunch of people started gathering around you two, everyone ready for a show.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He shrugged, but you knew him like the palm of your own hand, and you knew that condescending smile he showed you.

“You are a fucking coward if you have to brake test me just to get a podium,” you said, venomous, feeling your dad trying to pull you away and dissipate the commotion. But you weren’t done, “you’re pathetic, Fernando.”

“That’s enough!” Your dad said, pulling you back.

“Or maybe you’re just not good enough, have you thought about that?” Fernando said back, and you jumped on him, trying to get close enough for violence, but your dad held your waist, removing your feet from the ground and pulling you back.

“Man up, Fernando! You fucking asshole!” You shouted as your dad dragged you back into the garage.

Your dad placed you inside your room, grabbing water so you could drink and calm down. When he turned back, a sob broke from your throat, and you covered your mouth with a hand, trying to muffle the sounds of your crying. You shook as you cried again, your dad hugging you close and murmuring to you to let it all out.

You never thought your friendship with Fernando would ever come to this. You weren’t even sure of how the buildup happened that led to this.

“I don’t recognize him anymore, Papá. I don’t recognize my best friend anymore,” you shook your head, your voice breaking in hiccups. You pressed the plant of your hand to your eyes to try and stop the tears falling down, but it was useless.

“It’s ok, beb��. You’re both hotheaded, you need to talk calmly, try and fix it.”

You didn’t try to talk to him. He was wrong when he brake tested you, and if he couldn’t apologize for that, and for the hurtful words he said, then it was better to stay that way.

It only got worse as the season went on, the team tried to force you to give him advantages, but you refused many times, making the competition for the World Drivers Championship be between the two of you.

“We need to talk,” Flavio called you a day after another one of your wins, one that Fernando placed third, one that he didn’t even look at your face when you were up there.

“What happened?” You sat down in front of him by the table.

“You have to follow team orders. When we say you have to switch places with Fernando, you switch. You are deliberately going against orders, what is going on? You and Fernando are now in a cold war, the media caught up, the other drivers caught up too, why-”

“Am I the only one getting lectured?” You crossed your arms, seeing Flavio getting red in the face, angry.

“No. I want answers from both of you, and the way you’re being aggressive with each other, we believe it’s better to talk to you separately,” Flavio sighed, “What is happening? Before it was interesting, a beautiful rivalry, but now you way past that. You’re harming your own races and the team.”

“You talk to Fernando. He thinks because I won’t back down he needs to use every dirty trick in the book to damage my race. If he can’t handle competition like an adult, then he shouldn’t be here.”

Suddenly, the door opened, which made you jump. Fernando walked inside, fuming.

“So that’s what you think of me?” He raised his voice.

“Yes, you have been acting like a fucking kid,” you stood up.

“Me? You told the whole world our friendship means nothing to you! Have you any idea how that made me feel?!” Fernando got closer.

“Do you know how many times people disdain my career to pin it to someone else? To attribute my successes to you, or to Flavio, or even my dad?! You’ve got no idea what it's like being a woman here!”

“Power got to your head! You think you have to walk all over everyone to get what you want!”

“Power?! Literally every man here does that! You do that too, Fernando!”

“Funny you say that since you wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me!” He shouted, pointing a finger to the ground.

“Fernando, stop.” Flavio muttered, coming closer to where you were face to face with Fernando.

You frowned, your anger completely dissipated and what was left was dread. And a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” You hated how your voice was nothing more than a vulnerable whisper.

“Fernando, enough!” Flavio commanded out loud, gesturing with a hand.

“What do you mean, Fernando?!” You asked again, ignoring Flavio trying to pacify the fight.

“I was the one to ask Flavio to sponsor you. I asked him to take a shot and invest in your career!” Fernando’s words were poison and in his eyes you couldn’t see anything left of your former best friend.

“Is it true, Flavio?” You asked but your eyes never left Fernando’s.

“Yes, but if we calm down, we can talk like adults.”

You couldn’t even come up with words, speechless not only from what Fernando told you, but from the tone he used. It was like he had punched you straight in the gut. You couldn’t contain your tears anymore, the lump in your throat threatening to suffocate you. You wanted to jump on him, to push him to the ground and punch his face. You wanted to scream in his face and call him all the dirty names you could think of. You tried to hold onto the anger but your limbs were still, and the pain expanded inside you like wildfire. He had lied to you, in the biggest step of your career he had lied to you. Even when you pressed for answers, he lied straight to your face.

You stared into his eyes one last time. It was the first time he had seen you really cry. He had seen you teary eyed or even emotional before, but it was the first time he had seen you truly cry.

“You’re dead to me, Fernando.”

Was all you managed to rasp, fat tears streaming down your cheeks. Flavio called your name as you walked away, but you never looked back and didn’t stop until you were inside your car, wailing like a baby. You sobbed all the way back to the hotel. You cried as you packed your bags, and tried but failed to contain your tears all the way back home, until you were at your parents’ door, sobbing on their sofa.

They didn’t ask anything until a couple of hours later when you managed to stop crying.

“I hate Fernando, so much, Mamá,” you whispered.

“Honey, don’t say that. Don’t do or say something you might regret later on,” She told you. You shook your head.

“I’m done with him. Done.” You bit back a sob, “he was so cruel, you had to see it.”

“He’s your best friend, dear. I’m sure it will be alright later on.”

“You should’ve seen the hate in his eyes, I don’t know him anymore. That’s not my Nano.”

So, your racing career was a lie. You didn’t make it because of your talent or your efforts. You were in Formula 1 because of Fernando. That was the cruelest thing someone ever said to you, not only because he was mean in the way he said it, but because with a few words he diminished your entire career. And what could you come up with to contest? He was right. You would never be there without him.

You wanted to give up so badly at that moment. You wanted to stay home and never come back, but you knew you couldn’t, your sense of duty was loud and you had to make it work. You had to prove that you deserved your spot in Formula 1, that all of Flavio’s forced investment on you was worth it.

You had to prove to Fernando you were more than a friend he pitied, more than a charity case he took so he could throw it at your face later.

It was one of the hardest things to realize and accept, the fact that he wasn’t your friend anymore. Maybe he never was. Despite all the disagreements the past couple of years, and all the beautiful history you had before the pinnacle of motorsport, maybe he never saw you as a friend. You thought you’d never treat a friend the way he treated you.

So you had to prove Fernando wrong.

NOTE: If you want to be tagged on part 2, please let me know in the comments!

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 fic #f1 #formula one #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso #brocedes #Spotify

[jeongharine]

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⚝ wonwoo x reader

⚝ comedy, light smut

⚝ notes: the one where jeon wonwoo is your nerdy math tutor. but he’s unexpectedly hot. and you’re his friend’s sister. obviously.

“a pc bang?” “yes she’s always there,” says hoshi, while munching down his sandwich.

“but i can’t teach her there-” “of course you can’t, but you’ll find her there. it’s the one on the left around the corner,”

“now, remind me why i am doing this,” “because you’re my friend and i’m fantastic at being one,”

wonwoo just gulps down his apple juice, looking at the time on his phone.

“you should change this narrative, it’s getting boring,” “wonu, i just need you to do me this favour because if she doesn’t pass this class it’ll be a problem, okay?”

a sigh. “yes, that’s fine. but only for this class okay?” hoshi grins, all teeth “you’re the best,”

“yeah.. i better be going then, i hope she’s a well-mannered student otherw-” wonwoo says, setting off.

“oh.. about that..” “what?” he stops.

“nothing, she listens well,” hoshi says, scratching the back of his head.

x

she listens well when she wants to, he should have said.

not that this a surprise for wonwoo, knowing her brother. but damn, this girl is getting on his nerves.

“okay y/n, let me be clear. your brother begged me to give you lessons, so now please can we go to the library?”

“nu-uh, i have a tournament here this afternoon. we can do another day,” you crack your fingers and re-position your chair.

“see, maybe this is why you’re not getting through this class. you can do the tournament another day, it’s more important to study matrix systems to pass the exam than gaming,”

“boooooring, i will do that tonight if i feel like it okay? i don’t need your-” you turn your chair around to face him. “...help...”

since when your brother’s friends were this handsome. holy fuck, with that cap on before you couldn’t see anything and maybe he should have kept it on for your sanity. fuck. fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. fuckity fuck.

you can see that he is deeply annoyed by your behaviour, probably he’s used to people who take academic life very seriously. nah, he’s friend with hoshi so. you scoff a laugh.

and he’s just there, looking at you, waiting for an answer.

or maybe to beg you.

“but on second thoughts...” you begin to say, “we can come to an agreement..” “that is?” he shifts in his position.

“we game for about an hour, because you game and i can see that just by looking at your face. and then, we can look at the first two chapters of maths analysis. i think this we’ll do, yes.” you grin widely.

and he hates to admit that the grinning suits you best.

wonwoo promised hoshi that he would have at least gotten through the matrix systems today with you, but here he is. without a fucking clue of what to do.

and you are just looking at him smiling prettily, as if you absolutely don’t know how charming and good-looking you are.

so wonwoo just sighs, and turns his head to glance at the pc screen near him.

even his side profile is pretty, you think to yourself.

“fine. but at least let’s play some battlegrounds.”

“can’t promise you anything,” you say pleasantly, eyes creasing in a glittering smile that suddenly makes wonwoo skittish.

x

“do you want to fuck my brains out?”

the air in his little dorm becomes unbearably stuffy all of a sudden but you refuse to let it show, after finally voicing the thoughts that were possessing your head for the past few weeks.

wonwoo turns to face you, looking far more collected. you never would have thought it would all come to a head like this in his room on a monday afternoon. but here you are, feeling a little light headed but inexplicably brave.

“i mean,” you say. “doesn’t every girl on campus you know want you to fuck their brains out?” “that you have to tell me, i don’t think i can give you an answer,” he says, piling up the books on his desk.

he starts to drum his long fingers on the cover of the statistics textbook for a good minute, eyes focused on the dusty windowsill while he is chewing on the inside of his cheek.

and it takes you a second to really make that sink in: wonwoo is restless. he is hanging on your next words.

“so, are you going to say something or you will make me wait here all afternoon?”

you smile. and he hates how his palpitations go up by a notch.

“neither. just knowing that you rubbed one out to the thought of me is closure enough to me.” he clearly tenses up. “who says i have?”

you close your textbook with a thud. “oh, don’t be embarrassed wonu. we’ve all been there at one point or another.”

he’s at the brink of being disgusted with himself for getting a hard on when you just used his nickname like that, but despite it all his heart still leaps up into his throat when you sit up from his bed and collect your bag.

“you touched yourself thinking of me?”

you look at him with one hand on the door handle and wonwoo swears his vision blurs slightly as you grin at him like that.

“you say it like you’re surprised.”

there is no build up, no easing you into the uncharted waters. he kisses open the seam of your mouth without any hesitation, the heat of your tongue against his. it feels so harsh and erotic, so completely unlike the wonwoo you just got to know.

so polite and so pleasant.

but now his hands are on you. and you haven’t had the time to realize your eyes were closed until his hands come up to palm around your waist, searching for skin while you whine against him.

your brain is foggy with the taste of him. he pulls back just as you starts to sway in his arms.

“you don’t even know...” he traces up your back. “..what you do to me, uhm?” you gulp, lips all wet.

the muskiness of him makes your head spin fast, especially when he leaves soft kisses on the skin behind your ear. his mouth is so hypnotic, every move perfectly placed.

“wonwoo,” you stammer, not knowing what else to say. your voice has gone croaky and his hand is venturing up your sweater now, not looking like it would stop any time soon.

your breath catches in your throat when wonwoo trails his fingertips over your clothed breast, dancing across it before brushing the underside. you expected his touches to be harsh, sharp. but they are slow, feather-light. practiced.

his chest heaving like he’s just run a mile, the skin of his stomach hard and hot under your fingers from where you shoved his t-shirt up. his lips are smooth when you inch up to kiss him, gently by his cupid’s bow just to make him grunt. wonwoo’s hands curl around your wrists gently, pampering you with kisses for a couple of minutes before pulling away.

“fuck me,” you whisper. and then, because he has to double take like he didn’t quite hear you right. “fuck me wonwoo, please.”

“please. please, wonu. i’m begging.”

“y/n…” wonwoo growls, because he is really close to pop a blood vessel when you sound all whiny and shameless like that.

“i don’t care if someone will hear us,” you murmur against his mouth before pressing it there for a short kiss. you proceed to trail wet pecks all over his jaw and neck, so that he has to close his eyes with a soft sigh. 

“fuck,” he whispers, “you’re really begging me to fuck you here when your brother could come back any minute,” wonwoo says, kissing you.

it’s getting difficult for you to respond when his hand ventures down to undo your jeans though, mouth hanging open in pleasure while he nips at your bottom lip before pushing you back down on his bed. 

“you have to be extra quiet, okay?” he huffs. and there is something wonderfully satisfying for wonwoo to see you like this, underneath him and all putty in his hands.

“wonu,” you whine again, accepting the soft kiss he presses on your lips before he turns you over and positions you how he wants: on your knees, ass up, face pushed into a pillow to muffle your moans.

“you’re so impatient,” he chuckles behind you, but it sounds so soft. fond, even. he pecks your ear swiftly while you listen to him sliding down your jeans and undies and prepare himself, your heart thudding in anticipation. you’re so thrilled you barely register the embarrassment and awkwardness of being left to wait like this, propped up and ready for him to fuck you stupid. and you gasp when you finally feel his erection against your weeping slit, hot and everything you want.

he keeps grinding against your slick folds. “wonwoo,” you whimper, because his tip keeps slipping in and that alone is making you gush. you push your hips back, tears blurring your sight with how desperately you want him inside you. “please.”

he chuckles softly, leaning over to kiss your shoulder before finally pushing into you.

x

“so, i assume the lessons are going well since you two see each other three times a week now,” hoshi says, voice muffled by the noodles he’s slurping.

his eyes are set on wonwoo’s face, lost in the gimbap in front of him.

because if wonwoo has to be real honest, the lessons are going really well, yes. but also his dating life.

and how can he say that to hoshi... ‘oh yeah, she’s really smart hosh and also a fucking star at giving head!’

in his defence, wonwoo would probably never get over the fact that he has succeded in pulling someone like you. he suddenly turns pink thinking about your pretty smile and your prettier laugh. the glint in your eyes when gaming together and the concentrated face you make when trying to understand math concepts that even he has difficulties in teaching. you clinging onto his arm, the late night ramen runs at the convenience store and your honeyed sighs and moans when you’re in the private of your own.

so yeah, he doesn’t really know where to start with this.

“wonu-yah?” hoshi hisses, and suddenly wonwoo gulps when his friend is holding his stare in a vice grip.

“we’re fucking hosh,” he admits timidly, and hoshi starts swearing.

#wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #seventeen x reader #wonwoo smut #seventeen fic #wonwoo fic #svt fic #wonwoo x y/n #seventeen smut #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines

[maangoes]

there’s a parallel between nope and get out that i love. at the end of get out, after chris has fatally injured rose and is about to actually get out, a cop car pulls up. it turns out it’s rod, but you’re reminded that, even though rose and her family are dead, the racism they capitalized on is alive and well

similarly, at the end of nope, when jeanjacket finally dies and em gets the picture, the shot widens to show the media rushing forward - ready to make a spectacle of all that has just happened, likely to exploit em and oj’s story the same way their great great great grandfather was exploited. this is overshadowed by the reveal that OJ is alive, just like the cop car was overshadowed by rod’s presence - but these symbols remind the viewer that the social evil which created the monster/the villain is still around.

the cop car and the shot of the news media are intentionally placed after the monster/villain is defeated. the effect is that the real world systematic violence viewers have been desensitized to is made newly terrifying by jordan peele’s narrative. and that’s how you make a “spectacle” out of violence/pain that is not itself exploitative

#nope 2022 #nope spoilers #nope #imagine me as the it’s always Sunny guy w the conspiracy theory board #meta

[longing-for-the-past-times]

The four times you fell asleep on Ghost and the one time Ghost fell asleep on you - five.

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

word count: 9k (as you will see, a lot of stuff happens)

synopsis: When the mission goes south and you end up in the hands of the enemy, Ghost finds himself alone and angry, reflecting on what your presence actually means to him.

warnings: violence, graphic descriptions of torture, occasional swearing, mentions of smoking, hurt/comfort, slight happy-ending, Ghost being angry and tortured by his inner demons, military inaccuracies

notes: So this is it - the finale of a series that was initially meant to be a one shot consisting of several random fluff-filled scenes. I am actually quite satisfied with how the story turned out, although I have to warn you that this chapter is longer than usual because it consists of several pure narrative parts (background descriptions and such).

If you need therapy after reading this, just dm me the bills and I'll work something out :)

reader's callsign is Bambi (she/her)

find it on ao3 part one part two part three part four part five

masterlist

five.

To say Ghost was angry would have been an understatement. He was fuming, his heavy breathing being the only sound that filled the now-silent room. Even after half an hour had passed, the burning feeling in his chest did not fade away, serving instead as a reminder of his helplessness. He was angry at Laswell for pairing you up with the younger sniper team. He was furious with Price for his decision to not go after you the moment your radio stopped working...

But in the end, he was livid with himself for not being there to protect you in the first place.

He couldn’t shake the guilt that ate him from inside like a parasite, and as the seconds turned into minutes which would be bound to turn into hours, he felt the weight of his inaction suffocating him like he was the one under torture. Clenching his jaw, he began to stomp around the living room of the safe house. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife and, as he felt the concerned looks of the others on him, Ghost couldn’t help but replay the events of the past 36 hours in his mind.

He felt he had failed you when it mattered most, but he was determined to set things straight and bring you back unharmed.

Or at least alive and breathing.

--- 28 hours earlier

The sky was painted in golden hues by the time you left the briefing room, the morning air being a cold, yet comforting sensation that welcomed you when you got out of the main base building. Your mind was reeling with a plethora of classified intelligence and even more questions, but at least your adrenaline levels were high enough to chase any remnants of sleep away.

It had been almost a day since you left your apartment, but you weren't in a rush to go back. You would have to pack for the next mission anyway, and the given approximation of "an undefined amount of time" was an additional reason to delay the task. Instead, you went to the only place where you knew you'd find Ghost at this hour: the unofficial smoking spot of the base, named after the lack of security cameras in the area.

And there he was, perched on a plastic chair that made him look comically big and threatened to barely hold his weight. His mask was raised to his nose, highlighting a prominent jawline, peppered with faint scars and a hint of blonde stubble. Involuntarily, your eyes focused on his plump lips and the way they were wrapped around the cigarette, its burning tip glowing orange with each drag he took. His eyes were focused on a random point on the ground, but you knew he had heard you coming- his body had unconsciously shifted towards you, his legs adopting an open stance, almost as if to greet you.

"Thought you said you'd quit", you teased him in a soft tone, dragging a chair and sitting next to him. You opened your mouth to add something but were taken aback when you saw his lips curl up in a gentle smile, accompanied by a weak laugh.

There was no humour in it, but that did not stop you from relishing in the rare sight of Ghost's grin, your eyes once again focusing on the faint scar that rested on his lower lip. You didn't know the story behind it, nobody but Price did, yet that didn't stop you, Soap and Gaz to come up with scenarios of your own, one less likely than another.

"You're staring!", he remarked in a gravelly tone, blowing out a huff of smoke.

You knew it was wrong, but you secretly enjoyed second-hand smoking when he was around. He was too stubborn to let you try one of his cigarettes, always arguing about the negative impact on your health, but it was not like he could forbid you from keeping him company. The traces of smoke in his scent were an integral part of him and sometimes you just couldn't get enough of it, your lungs always begging for more.

"I'm not!", you eventually countered, taking a deep breath in. "And you did not answer the question!"

"It wasn't a question!", he argued back with a serious expression, his lips now forming a straight line.

"You know what I mean!"

You also knew that the banter you two had going on was meant to keep him away from the edge that would send Simon away and bring back Ghost. You'd already seen glimpses of him back in the briefing room when Laswell brought you up to date on the details of the mission. Just as you were witnessing Simon now, smoking half a pack of cigarettes in a desperate attempt to keep the deadly persona of the 141 Lieutenant away for as long as possible.

"Can I try one?", you went on with the distraction, already knowing his answer.

"No." - his answer was definitive, his clipped tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Huffing in annoyance, you crossed your arms over your chest and furrowed your brow, slightly scrunching your nose. He did not seem to be fazed by your childish outburst and instead, inhaled deeply, cheeks hollowing as he drew in the smoke. The exhale came shortly after, grey tendrils of smoke escaping his parted lips before he decided to speak again:

"Wanna hear something funny?"

You were already aware of Ghost's penchant for what he called "dad jokes", but what actually were just really bad puns, although, with him, they often had the tendency to turn out darker than expected. That was why you had to carefully pick your answer because you did not want to have Ghost on the bad side before going into mission - either because you refused to listen to a pun, or because of your reaction to it.

"I'm really not sure…", you shook your head, struggling to avoid eye contact.

As expected, he went on regardless of your answer.

"What do you call cigarettes you find in a thrift shop?"

A faint smirk was profiling on his lips again as he was clearly waiting for your reaction before delivering the pun.

"Go on, tell me", you eventually nudged him, rolling your eyes in fake pretence.

"Second hand smokes."

You struggled to suppress the smile that was threatening to spread on your face, but eventually, you ended up looking to the ground and shaking your head in defeat. Another low chuckle was heard from Simon, yet when you looked back at him, the cigarette butt was already in the ashtray and his balaclava was back on. You let out a deep sigh, your lips forming a pout, but you accepted his extended hand, allowing him to lift you from the chair.

"Come on, I'll drive you home. Price said the plane leaves at 1300 hours which leaves us with… exactly 6 hours and 45 minutes to get our things in order."

"Can't wait for it!", you let out an ironic huff, a shiver going down your spine upon hearing a hushed laugh in reply.

You and Ghost were in a good place. You could only hope this would last.

---

"Sergeant L/N, these are Privates Reynolds and Jones! They will be accompanying you on this mission as a sniper, respectively a spotter!"

From the instant you set eyes on him, you knew Captain Price had chosen the tarmac to make the introduction with a firm reason in mind. Perhaps it was the thunderous roar of the engines or the massive air currents caused by the propellers of the military aircraft you were about to board, but you could tell the atmosphere was intimidating enough for the two young men that they could only hold your gaze for so long before nodding their heads in acknowledgement.

"This is Sergeant L/N and she is going to be your mentor and leader for the duration of this mission", Price went on, his tone mercilessly cold.

The previous night he'd been a friendly face, "the dad of the group", as you drunkenly mentioned him in the toast, but that day he was the Captain of one of the most lethal Task forces there had been. And with that position came no room for mistakes or second thoughts.

"You will listen to her, no matter the situation. She tells you to shoot, you shoot. She tells you to hide, you hide. Hell, she tells you to come out and surrender, you do just that if you want to come home in one piece and not in a body bag!"

And he had a tendency to be slightly dramatic sometimes. Yet it was well-intended: you could only remember the "pep-talk" he'd given you before your first mission, after having placed you in the care of one of the most deadly operators you've ever seen, also known to others as "the big boy with a skull face"; that mission had gone sideways minutes after it had begun and you ended up saving yourself and the Lieutenant twice just by being high on energizers and adrenaline.

You and Ghost did not talk about that.

"Good to meet you, boys!", you shook their hands with a firm grip before nodding them into the direction of the aircraft. "You should go and buckle up. I'll be joining you soon!"

"Yes ma'am!", they answered in unison, shooting each other a cryptic look before heading in the direction of the plane.

You and Price caught that, but before being able to talk about it, you were interrupted by the big boy with the skull face himself:

"Those are the boys Y/N's supposed to be babysitting?"

Ghost was not one to mince words, even on a good day. Perhaps, at one point in the past, he had simply decided that hiding behind a wall of well-chosen words was not worth it, or he simply preferred to make himself understood from the beginning. And when opposing something, as he was at that moment, he did not bother to hide it:

"You're lucky they're not in your care!", you decided to steer the conversation in another direction. "I don't know where Laswell found them, but I bet at least one's dad has stars on his shoulders!"

Neither you, nor Ghost liked Price's lingering silence, but you didn't show it. You trusted Kate well enough to know she would have ensured they posed no real threat to your safety and the mission's success before having them join you on the field.

What actually bothered you was that it all happened on such short notice. You barely had time to bounce back from the previous assignment before having to start a new, high-risk, high-stakes one. You were aware of your limits and confident enough that you could pull this one off - but having to look after another two people you met a couple of hours before going into the field? Sure, you knew your limits, but did they know theirs?

"Stop it! Get it out of your mind, now!"

Ghost's deep Manchester accent pulled you out of your head and back into the present moment. You shot him what was meant to be a reassuring look, unaware that you actually looked like a deer caught in the headlights. It took you a moment to realise Price had left, leaving you two alone on the tarmac.

"They do anything you don't like, they act fishy - you report directly to me!"

He took a step forward, the tac vests you'd fastened on your bodies almost making contact. You pursed your lips in an attempt to hide the tremor that coursed through you and raised your eyes to take a better look at the skull plate, firmly attached to his black balaclava by messy stitches.

Just like Price, he was quick to bounce back into being the Lieutenant of Task Force 141. You were used to seeing him in full combat gear considering the big count of missions you went together into, but you couldn't help but furrow your brow at the sight of an additional Ka-Bar knife strapped in a detachable holster on his belt. And at the two fragmentation grenades attached to the same belt. But after all, he and Soap would drop out of the plane before you hit the landing zone - he would need all the additional equipment and ammunition he could get.

"Are you ready to go into the hornet's nest?", you tried to tease him in an attempt to mask the audible gulp you had to take as the adrenaline started to kick in.

"You'll have reduced it to half before I even take out my knife!", he hummed as an answer, a soft warmth glowing in his chocolate eyes.

You opened your mouth to talk back, but you were interrupted by the loud beeping that signalled you to board the aircraft. You knew you had to go, you had a tight schedule to follow after all, but neither of you seemed to want to be the first to leave.

"I'll meet you at the safehouse?"

This time you couldn't look him in the eye, pining your gaze to the ground as your voice trembled, a soft vibration that got lost in the brutal cacophony of sounds. A surprised sound left your lips when his tac vest came back into your sight, two gloved fingers resting on your chin and lifting it until your eyes made contact with his.

"I'll be there."

You maintained eye contact as his hand fumbled for something on his vest. His glance was soft and tender, just as reassuring as his words and the gloved fingers that still lingered above your helmet strap.

"And I'll want that back."

You shot him a quizzical look before feeling an unfamiliar weight in the pocket of your tac vest. Your eyes shot down to the place, catching a glimpse of his skeleton glove before setting on the crumpled, half-smoked pack of cigarettes, and a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

"That's an order, Sergeant!", he barked out before heading towards the aircraft. You couldn't help but roll your eyes and follow him, left hand resting over the smokes.

"Roger that, sir!"

--- 2 hours earlier

"Watcher 1 to Bravo 4-7, how copy?"

Laswell's voice could be heard through the radio, partially interrupting your watch. With mechanic moves, you pressed the communication button and brought the microphone closer to your chapped lips:

"Watcher 1, this is Bravo 4-7, solid copy! Go on for traffic."

"Interrogative, have you got eyes on the target?"

Shifting a bit under the dessert camouflage net, you peered down the scope of the rifle to check the gates of the compound. Two men with hunting dogs seemed to be on foot patrol, automatic guns swaying at their hips.

"Affirmative. Do you want me to take them down?"

It had been more than 20 hours since you got into position, yet all you were ordered to do was to keep watch and stand for future orders. Since it was not the first mission of this kind, you had expected that yet you could see the Privates getting jumpy and distracted, the two of them idly chatting between their own shared camo net.

"Negative, we expect the smugglers to arrive shortly after they switch patrols- we plan to infiltrate so hold your fire!"

"Copy, Watcher 1! Bravo 4-7 out!"

Taking one last look at the current patrol, you switched the communications on the channel you used to communicate with the two Privates. During your first mission, Ghost wasn't exactly the most talkative partner and not being able to entirely understand his intentions almost got you killed. After you got to know him better, you knew that he had been testing you and that he was always ready to step in if things went more south than expected, but nonetheless, you decided to do things differently with the two soon-to-be operators:

"Bravo 4-7-1, this is Bravo 4-7, how copy?"

You turned your eyes to the left, a frown on your face as you saw the camo net slightly shift as the radio began to crackle.

"Bravo 4-7, this is Bravo 4-7-1. Uhm… solid copy?"

"This is Bravo 0-7. Why the hell are you talking to your supervisor on the main channel?"

You couldn't help but giggle at Ghost's rough voice and you rolled your eyes at his antics. He was surely having the time of his life after having found a way to pick on the two men.

"Sorry sir… uhm, we were answering to Bravo 4-7-1 and…"

"Bravo 4-7-1, this is Bravo 4-7, switch to channel 4 and we'll continue our private chat there."

The quiet air was filled with even more crackling static and occasional mutters coming from who was probably Reynolds. Still keeping your eyes locked on the gates of the complex, you let out a sigh as you pressed the communication button again before Ghost could intervene:

"Bravo 4-7-1, use the red dial that is next to the communication button. All Bravos, sorry for the disturbance - though we could all use a small break!"

"You've got it, Bambi! How are you holding up there?"

You smiled hearing Kyle's reassuring tone, briefly accompanied by what must have been Price's laugh. Ghost and Soap would infiltrate the building from one side, while the Captain and Gaz would break in from the other- and you would keep watch and annihilate any unexpected threat, coming from the outside.

"It's all good, Gaz, all good. Just sitting my ass here and waiting for the moment I get to save yours!"

"Have you seen this ass though? Definitely worth killing for!"

Naturally, Soap couldn't help but intervene, his cocky reply being laced with a hint of playful arrogance. You opened your mouth to give him a well-chosen answer, but Ghost beat you to it. He was in full-combat mode, his stern voice being more than enough to make you bounce back into the harsh reality of the mission.

"Keep talking, MacTavish, and there'll be no rear-end left of you by the time the job is done! Party's over, get your asses back into the game!"

"Roger!"

But you still laughed after you made sure your radio was off, shaking your head in disbelief. Even when pent up on combat stress and adrenaline, you knew Ghost's pun was intentional. Involuntarily, your hand brushed over the crumpled pack of smokes, fishing it out of the pocket and bringing it closer to your face. Closing your eyes, you inhaled slowly, a deep sigh leaving your mouth. Even after a bumpy plane ride and 20 hours spent on a stakeout, Simon's scent was lingering, a silent sign of his presence.

"Bravo 4-7, this is Bravo 4-7-1, how copy?", Private John's voice could be heard through the radio, a tense silence settling in after his words. You had an inkling that they still had second thoughts on whether they were on the right channel or not.

"Solid copy, Private." You eventually decided to end their inner torment and reply, a grin forming at the corner of your lips when you heard a collective sigh from the two.

"Ma'am, we're sorry about before…"

"Mistakes happen- let that be your biggest and last one", you were prompt to cut them short, remembering how Ghost had tried to instil discipline through clipped, yet complete orders. "Now, Reynolds, tell me what you two are looking at!"

"Yes, ma'am! We're looking at two solid iron gates which are openly guarded by two mobile patrols, each one consisting of an armed man and a hunting dog. They haven't rotated in the past 5 hours, I think, so they are probably expecting to be changed soon-"

"Which also means that they might have got bored and should not be as attentive to their surroundings as-"

"Wrong, Private Johns, you are dead. Lesson number one on the battlefield, never underestimate your enemy!", you barked through the headset in a manner that would make Ghost proud. "You always need to uphold the enemy to the highest standard, not rely on their mistakes to succeed. Mistakes are occasional, but underestimating them is what will get you killed!"

The prolonged silence on their part was not a good sign and, for a moment, you wondered whether you'd been too harsh on them. But they must have known what they were signing up for temporarily joining the Task Force, so you sighed in defeat and pressed the communication button once more:

"I want you to move to the next ridge and keep watch from there. I expect detailed reports every 15 minutes from now on. Any questions?"

"No ma'am. Bravo 4-7-1 out."

"Bravo 4-7 out."

---

You started to realise something was wrong when another hour passed and the patrols were not switched, but instead doubled, with no signs of smugglers in sight. So far the main channel had been quiet and you divided your attention between the Privates' reports and being on the lookout for any signs that you've been compromised.

Your left hand was unconsciously fiddling with the cigarette pack, while your right one was adjusting the scope to focus on the road leading to the complex. Your breath hitched upon seeing a Humvee heading towards the gates and you fumbled for the communication button of the radio, bringing the mic closer to your mouth.

The sudden explosion of static coming from the radio had you almost ripping off the headset from your ears, a cold shiver running down your spine the moment you realised it.

Your radio was not working.

"All Bravos, this is Bravo 4-7, how copy?"

You could feel your heartbeat increasing at an alarming rate when no answer came and you turned to look at the place where Privates Reynolds and Johns should have been, keeping watch on the complex. Your heart dropped further in your chest when you realised the ridge was empty and there had been more than 15 minutes since their last report- still that didn't justify why they'd left their position without telling you. Were Price's orders not clear enough? Sure, your radio may have broken somehow, but they should have come and checked in with you in person as they must have been trained.

You let out a string of curses under your breath, the realisation of the imminent danger you were currently in hitting you like a bullet train. You must have been compromised, the same way the scouts Laswell mentioned had been - and your radio was not working because someone must have been using a signal jammer in the area. And judging by the absence of the two Privates, the order to retreat had already been given.

You needed to get out of there.

With rapid, but calculated movements, you disassembled the sniper and began to pack it into a camo warbag. You were slowly rolling up the camouflage net when multiple gunshots were fired on the road you had been watching. Your eyes widened in disbelief when you saw what must have been the convoy supposed to transport the weapons Laswell talked about, coming under heavy fire. There had been someone else who had known about the transport, and who must have done everything they could to get their hands on it.

And taking into consideration what they had done to the Special Forces scouts, you could easily rule out the saying that stated that the enemy of your enemy was your friend. So when you heard men hollering in what seemed to be Russian in your vicinity, you ripped out your dog tags and all the badges that identified you as a British Special Forces operator and buried them into a shallow mound, carefully placing one of Ghost's cigarettes on top of it. As the shouts grew closed, you took in a deep breath and your left hand gripped around the hilt of the extra Ka-Bar knife you kept in your boot.

With a small sigh of resignation, you accepted the fact that you couldn't outrun them without the high risk of getting killed. While the ridge you were stationed on was a good point of observation, it provided no proper cover outside of the camouflage net you've already packed and it only left you with the choice you've been trained to make and despised the most.

Surrender yourself and hope somebody will come to save you.

-- present time

"Why didn't she listen to the orders to retrea-.."

One of the Privates whose nametag read Johns tried to speak up, but his words faltered as the deadly gazes of the remaining Task Force 141 operators were set on him. And at that moment they resembled a pack of hound dogs, eager to be released on a hunt.

"Listen here, boy", Soap began in an unusually calm tone, although his tensed-up form spoke otherwise. "You and your friend here- you better pack up and make sure you board Laswell's ride, as soon as she touches ground here." His words were cold and calculated, his voice getting harsher as he went on. "See, right now we are all focused on getting back our comrade- to put it plainly, we do not have the time to deal with you leaving her behind deep in enemy territory."

He paused for better effect.

"But Lord save you once we find her because nothing will hold us back and we. Will. Be. Coming. For. You."

"That's enough, MacTavish!", Laswell curtly said as she entered the safe house. She was dressed plainly, if not for the bulletproof vest she'd donned and the usual stack of manilla folders she was usually carrying around had been replaced by a laptop she placed in front of Price and opened. "I take full responsibility for what happened to Miss L/N. As for now, she is declared as MIA."

"What do you mean, happened? I don't care what you're going to say, but I am sure as hell going to get her out of wherever she is!", Ghost couldn't contain his growl, his fingers turning white from his hard grip on the chair.

If any of his teammates noticed the sudden shift in his demeanour when Laswell declared you as missing in action, they had the common sense to keep their thoughts to themselves. All of them were stressed, angry and tired, but there was one more feeling that was bubbling in Ghost's chest, something that he hadn't felt in a long time, not since he'd been buried alive in a dead man's casket.

Simon Riley was scared. He was scared he wouldn't be able to get you in time, that he would fail to protect you when you needed it the most. He couldn't control the frantic way his heart hammered in his chest when his brain fabricated scenarios in which you were alone, cold and petrified, and it took him a great deal of what was left of his self-control not to throw caution out the window and run to find you.

Ghost was scared for you, but what terrified him the most was the thought of having to live in a world without you.

On the outside, he seemed still as a statue, his trained blank look not betraying the internal conflict that was raging inside. He saw Laswell's lips move and the laptop screen that was placed in front of him, but the lights were too bright and the colours, too saturated. He was supposed to watch a video, a drone footage, as his military-trained mind registered, but the voices in his head became too loud to ignore and the temperature in the room was too high for his liking. His breaths quickened and he felt the mask sticking to his face, suffocating him, as if he was in the coffin again, in the dark, and alone with a rotting corpse. Only it was not the body of the person who'd betrayed him, but your sleeping silhouette, gently resting your head on his chest and sighing every once in a while.

The footage from the drone zoomed in on a familiar figure who was encircled by armed men from all directions. The scene of you being taken as a hostage played in front of Ghost's eyes, but his mind did not register it as his sole focus was on your slumbering figure, the warmth of your body against his playing a big role in persuading Simon that you were actually there, with him, safe and sound.

Yet you weren't, and when he tried to brush a strand of hair away from your face he was met with the rough and cold surface of a skull plate, his fingers instantly jerking away in repulsion. A wave of nausea had him shot up from his chair and stumble to the bathroom, shaky hands fumbling with the thick mask before he could empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

When he opened his eyes again, he felt as if he'd been dunked in a barrel of cold water. His mind was no longer muddled with what-ifs and second-guesses, but had a clear purpose in sight: one that would keep him going until the end of the earth just to see it done. His hands no longer trembled as he pulled the black balaclava on his face and headed back to the main room, paying no mind to Soap's concerned gaze.

His eyes were cold and determined as he laid his hands on the first assault rifle within reach, methodically assembling it and stuffing as many ammunition magazines as he could into the pockets of his tactical vest. His hands itched for a cigarette, but the urge only strengthened his resolve: he would find you, even if it meant it was the last thing he did.

---

You didn't even have the energy to flinch when the fist collided with your face, sending your head rolling backwards. The world was reduced to a blurry mess, blue stars dancing before your eyes. Out of instinct, you lolled your head to the side and spit on the ground, in an attempt to diminish the metallic tang of blood in your mouth. You could still feel the unpleasant stinging that overwhelmed the left half of your face where you'd been hit with the back of a gun but tried to ignore the blood that was trickling across your cheek, all too aware of the jagged line that started near the temple and stopped short of the jawline. The bastards knew how to do their job and they weren't ones to shy away from using you as a means to an end- the future facial scar they'd given you serving as solid proof for that.

"He asked you a question, filth!"

An angry conversation was taking place right in front of you, but you were too busy trying to alleviate the pain, to focus on your captors. Sometimes, familiar words would reach your ears: american, military, information; but it was clear that they were struggling to find a way to make you talk. The questions were always the same ones, similar to what you've been prepared for in interrogation training- who were you, who were you working for, what are the Americans planning? Why has everything had always something to do with the Americans?

And just as you'd been taught in interrogation training, your answers were short and clipped- revealing little to no information at that time. You were still in the phase where they saw you as an asset, a potential source of information, taking into consideration the fact that they didn't kill you on the spot, and it was up to you to dictate the rhythm of their game. Speak too fast and too soon, they will get everything they need and kill you. Say nothing for too much time, they will see you as a dead-end and kill you.

You were currently walking the tightrope, trying to keep the balance between the increasing pain you found yourself in and the amount and importance of the information you were giving them. All you had to do was to make sure you stayed alive long enough for your teammates to find you. You knew they would take care of the rest.

"We shall try a different question then, kotyonok…" You shot your captor a cold look full of spite, not sure what disgusted you more: the mocking nickname he gave you or the pressure his fingers applied on your face, so different from the calloused, yet gentle touch of Ghost. "You wouldn't tell us your name- at least give us your codename and we might get Boris here to clean up your cheek. I know you wouldn't like that cut to scar…"

Your hands were numb from the tight grip they used to tie you to the metal chair, but you could still feel them shake when a knife, your Ka-Bar knife, was pressed against your cheek. You bit your lip so hard it drew blood in an attempt to stifle the tears that were pooling in your eyes, and you couldn't help but whimper when the blade was lightly traced against your skin before being sheathed, a heartless laugh following the gesture soon after.

You closed your head and let your head hang low, the rhythmic drip of your blood being the only sound that filled the room for a while. You could only hope you would make it through the next hours and your teammates wouldn't have to be greeted by your still-warm body.

---

Ghost was quick to follow the sound of Gaz's voice, his steps leading him to what proved to be quite a strategic place to observe the complex. A brief look at his compass confirmed the coordinates registered along with the drone footage, and even if more than 4 hours had passed since you'd been captured, his eyes were frantically searching for any signs that might lead him to you.

"I found something! She must have been camped here, there are still traces in the ground from where she pinned the camo net!"

"There was something in the footage…", Gaz started to mutter to himself, starting to hit heaps of dirt at random. "She was crouched over the earth like.. she was trying to bury something, I think?"

Not bothering to reply, Ghost's eyes began to systematically scan the area. At first glance, it all seemed the same, the desert soil not providing much diversity in terms of landscape. But you had to leave a mark behind, something subtle, yet noticeable at the same time, something that you could find only if you knew what you were looking for…

"That's bloody good work, Gaz!"

Kyle stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening at the sudden praise coming from his usually cold-demeanoured Lieutenant. For a couple of seconds, he was too distracted to notice that Ghost had kneeled on the ground, his gloved hands digging through a heap of dirt, a white cigarette carefully placed away from the mound. By the time Price and Soap joined them, he managed to unearth your dog tags and Special Forces badges and put them on display:

"She knew she would be taken in… and that revealing her identity at a later point would buy her time…"

"That's basic interrogation training, Sergeant!", Ghost barked at Soap in an unusually aggressive way that made the Scot frown in his direction.

He opened his mouth to talk back, yet no words came out when he noticed your dog tags wrapped around Ghost's hand and the obsessive way he seemed to fiddle with them. Subtly sharing a knowing look with Price, who just raised his eyebrows in a silent suggestion to let it slide, Soap turned around and started scanning the perimeter for any sign that might point to your current whereabouts. Your sudden disappearance had a big impact on all of them, yet it seemed that it affected Ghost the most, his recent mood swings being strong proof of it.

"Bloody bastards… they smoked my cigarettes…"

Simon stomped the cigarette butts under his boot, turning his head to Price, but the Captain was already meters away, fishing another cigarette butt from the ground. Nodding his head in Ghost's direction, he brought the radio closer to his mouth and pressed the communication button:

"Kate, I think we have a lead. Well, at least a path of …smoked stubs?"

Yet before Price could give the order to spread out and start looking for more tracks, Simon already went ahead of others, pulling the automatic gun from his shoulder. Under all the layers comprising of the tactical vest and the rest of the military-issued gear, his heart was thundering in his chest. Second thoughts were already forming inside his tired mind: they really got you, they stole your cigarettes, the pack he gave you for safekeeping and that was supposed to be your lucky charm- somehow, he had thought that having a physical piece of him would keep you out of harm's way.

He could only hope he found you in time before the damage you'd sustained would become irreversible.

---

"I don't think you understand how this is working, milaya…"

He was so close to you, that you could feel his rancid breath on your face, a faint familiar smell lodging in your nostrils. Your head was throbbing, and you decided you were hallucinating- Russians didn't smoke the British cigarette brand Ghost did. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you, subconsciously wishing for the masked Lieutenant to find you faster.

"So far we had a monologue…- but I still think you have potential."

Out of reflex, you flinched when someone gripped your shoulders, but the pain your mind was preparing for did not come. Instead, you were untied from the chair and violently shoved forward. Your hands were still tied behind your back and you ended up falling face first on the hard concrete, letting out a pathetic moan that raised a few laughs from your captors.

As you lay there, disoriented and struggling to regain composure, you felt a pair of arms hooking your shoulders, pulling you upright and dragging you out of the room. You were too exhausted to put up a fight, the pain dangerously dulling your senses, but that didn't stop you from thrashing around in your captor's grip and throwing curses at him. To your dismay, he didn't seem fazed by it, his grip never faltering as he hauled you through a deserted corridor, seemingly underground, judging by the lack of natural light. You maintained your aggressive facade, yet your eyes were carefully studying your surroundings, taking in every little detail that might prove crucial, should you be able to escape.

Before you realised it, you were thrown into a dark room, yet this time you were able to cushion the fall and land on your knees. Wincing at the brutal impact, you squinted in an attempt to make out your surroundings and any potential escape routes.

"See, little one, everyone has a breaking point.."

The harsh voice of your captor broke through the silence, followed, as if on cue, by the lights being turned on. The sudden brightness had you close your eyes in discomfort, your wrists starting to turn red and raw from your relentless efforts to free yourself from the tight ropes. You could feel blood trickling through the small abrasions where the rope had cut into your skin.

"It seems plain violence is not yours. Not even cresting your pretty little face… I will tell you a secret, you might not live long to keep it anyway, but that is the breaking point of many- ladies and men both."

As he went on with what you decided was a well-rehearsed discourse, he started walking in circles around the room, almost like a predator circling its prey. The intimidation technique was not foreign to you, yet you did your best to morph your face into a scared and hesitant expression, giving him what he wanted to see: a person who was on the verge of breaking, someone who should be kept alive for a little more.

"So I thought to myself- the doll does not work alone. Maybe we should bring one of her friends here and see who gives in first."

If you weren't busy maintaining the terrified mask, you might have laughed at his weak attempt to extract information about your teammates. He was trying so hard to be menacing, yet he didn't know that you had been trained by the Ghost himself, who had drilled all possible interrogation scenarios into your mind. You made a mental note to thank him if you ever got out of there.

"But then I remembered we had a special room we haven't been able to test yet."

His voice grew closer and closer. Keeping your eyes glued to the ground, you focused on the blood that was dripping from your face, staining the concrete floor crimson. When he exhaled in your direction, you could clearly feel the smoke of Ghost's cigarettes wafting towards you, your hands clenching in fists at the audacity he possessed. You opened your mouth for the first time, if only to give him a piece of your mind, yet you barely had time to register him roughly grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and violently dragging you to the middle of the room.

"And if this doesn't break you… do not worry, we will find something else!"

You could barely make sense of his words, his unveiled threat, before your head was forcefully shoved into what you made out to be a basin. Piercing-cold water enveloped you from all sides, and panic surged through every fiber of your being when you realised that there was a firm grip on the back of your head, preventing you from pulling out. Your throat burned with each passing second, and your vision gradually darkened as you struggled to stay conscious, your body going limp on the edge of the bathtub.

"After all, we have all the time in the world. No one will find us here… not when we are right under their noses."

---

It took them one hour under the scorching sun, but the members of Task Force 141 had managed to discover the Russians' hideout. Following the cigarette butts eventually led them to a camouflage net, one which Ghost almost ripped away when he recognized it as yours, and they ended up staring at the entrance of what was supposed to be an underground bunker. The few guards that were lingering around didn't know what hit them, a blood-splattered skull plate being the last thing they'd seen before collapsing to the ground.

As he carefully threaded through the dimly lit corridor, Ghost's demons had never been so loud. On the one hand, his feet were urging him to bolt, to sprint through every room and hallway and find you as quickly as he could, but on the other hand, he was still part of a team with whom he shared a common purpose. Ditching them would be highly dangerous and irresponsible and it would help no one in the end.

Yet all common sense jumped out of the window when the silence was shattered by a high-pitched scream followed by a loud string of curses, both in English and Russian. Simon barely waited for Price's curt order to go before he bolted in the direction of the commotion, swiftly incapacitating any man who was foolish enough to get in this way.

At that moment, he didn't even need the mask to become one with the Ghost- the primal need to protect you overtook his senses, the chaotic surroundings fading into the background as the singular purpose took hold of him. When the automatic gun ran out of ammunition he simply threw it away and lunged for the rifle strapped on his back. When he ran out of throwing knives, he openly jumped on anyone who got in his way. He did not hold back, being quick to send his opponents staggering backwards and crashing into walls or doors. His objective was clear - to create a diversion, a way to distract attention from you and put an end to the torment you must have been going through.

He didn't even bother to check if the door was unlocked before kicking it to the ground, unaware of the splinters that lodged themselves into his gear. When he registered the lower half of your limp body, beaten and bruised, he saw red. Dropping his rifle to the ground, he let out a feral growl as he launched himself at the man standing in the middle of the room, who was staring at him wide-eyed, fumbling with the safety of the gun he was holding. Blow after blow rained upon him, each strike being filled with a mix of madness and rage that Ghost had struggled to contain within himself throughout the day. The Russian, unable to defend himself from Ghost's fury, was crouched in a fetal position, whimpering and sobbing, just like you did hours ago, yet Simon's assault did not seem to falter. He was determined to make him feel at least a fraction of what you've been put through.

Until he realised that there was no other movement in the room, that you hadn't crept up to him and assured him you were fine like he secretly hoped you would. He was almost scared to look in the direction of your still-limp body, his blood running cold at the sight of you leaning against the edge of a water basin, your head still submerged in the water.

Simon had often fantasized about what kissing you for the first time would be like. It was a small comfort he liked to indulge in whenever he would try to go to bed and sleep wouldn't find him. Where would you be, how would your lips feel when pressed against his? Would it be gentle, or wild and passionate? What would you say to him afterwards? Would you regret or do it again in the following moments?

He definitely did not expect your first intimate contact to be on the cold, hard floor of the torture room, with your lifeless body hanging limp in his arms. He ripped his gloves away from his hands, searching for your pulse with trembling fingers and the relief he felt upon feeling an irregular, yet faint heartbeat, had him peel the mask from his face and discard it on the floor. Without wasting a second, he tilted your head back gently and sealed his chapped lips against yours, trying his best to breathe life into your still body. Your skin was cold against his fingers and he could almost feel his heart stop beating when he realised your condition was not improving.

Ghost was not a religious man, yet he started to recite the only prayer his mother ever taught him when he pressed his hands against your chest and started the compressions. Hot tears started rolling down his cheeks as he counted the compressions, lips trembling as he kept chanting your name again and again, urging you to open your eyes and wake up.

A choked sob left his mouth when you gasped and started coughing, your body twitching against your will. He was quick to roll you onto your side, gently patting your back in an attempt to help you expel the water lodged in your throat. His vision was still clouded from the tears, but that did not stop him from cradling your shaking figure in his arms, resting his head atop yours. He could feel your erratic breathing and your heartwrenching sobs, but all he could do was hug you tighter and try to reassure you, even though his voice was breaking:

'It's alright. They won't be hurting you again… I'll keep you safe!"

You didn't know how long you stayed in that position, but you were convinced you had been so deprived of oxygen that you started hallucinating. Somehow, you were absolutely convinced it was Ghost who was holding you tight in his arms, your cheek being squished against a tactical vest that could only be his, judging by its specific scent. Yet the sight of a head of dirty blonde hair made you scrunch your forehead in confusion. Why was he not wearing his mask? Your eyesight was still too blurred to make out the features of the person who was holding you, but you could trace the contours of his face in your sleep, even though you could count on your fingers the number of times you had seen them before.

Breathing heavily, you lifted a shaky hand towards his face, scared that if you moved too suddenly, the spell would break and you would be once again pulled out of the basin and asked the generic set of questions you've been asked for the past half an hour. But when your fingers made contact with Simon's cheek, softly threading through his stubble and tracing the deep scar that almost split his lip in two, you let out a breath of relief, a warm wave of comfort washing over you. Your tired mind took note of the foreign voices that were mixed with Simon's reassuring whispers: there was someone repeatedly asking whether you were okay, someone talking over the radio and someone asking for med-evac. Yet the sudden commotion only made you nuzzle your head against Ghost's chest, letting out a sigh of relief as you finally allowed your eyes to shut closed, the constant thought of finally being safe serving as a temporary balm to your wounds.

The base's hospital was no different in any of those regards, yet Simon had spent the last days inside its four walls, camped out on the armchair Price had arranged to be brought into your salon the moment you'd been transferred from the municipal hospital.

---

For someone who had spent a good part of his life in hospitals, Ghost hated them. He couldn't stand the pungent smell of chemicals or the hushed conversations that took place in the brightly lit corridors. The constant beeping of the monitoring devices would drive him insane and he detested the cheap food.

Ghost hated hospitals, but he hated being away from you even more.

So he had resorted to spending the last three days acting both as a makeshift nurse and a guard dog for any of the curious passers-by who would try and peek at the operator who had been captured by the enemy and survived torture. Soap, Gaz or Price would usually join him outside working hours, trying to make small talk or urging him to eat the take-out they bought him, but he would only leave your side for bathroom breaks and showers.

He spent the rest of the time next to your sleeping figure, lying still in the armchair and keeping his eyes glued to you. Every once in a while, he would zone out and find himself counting how many times your chest went up and down, totally unaware of the heart-rate monitor that was placed right next to him.

For the time being, Simon was grateful you'd been filled up with painkillers and still sleeping. He couldn't wait for you to wake up, but he wasn't mentally prepared for it: it wouldn't be like before when you fell asleep on him and woke up feeling slightly ashamed, but refreshed, a soft smile lighting up your face. This time, you would wake up to a body full of bruises and a new scar marking your face- and he had no idea what he could say to help you get through it.

Simon was not a man of words, so he decided to convey his feelings through actions and gestures. His moves were well-rehearsed as he emptied the glass of water he'd filled a couple of hours before and refilled it to the brim, placing it on a table next to your bed. His gloves had been long gone by the time he changed your blanket with a fresh and soft one that Soap had brought the last time he came in. After he ensured you were comfortably tucked in, Ghost busied himself with rearranging the flowers and the get-well-soon cards that had already been neatly arranged at the edge of your bed.

After there was nothing left for him to do, he eventually dragged the armchair close to your bedside, removing his mask with slow and weary movements. The dark circles that had formed under his eyes were a stark contrast against his pale complexion, and the stubble he'd neglected for the past few days threatened to turn into a full-grown beard. Yet that did not stop him from exposing his face in your presence, his tired mind arguing that perhaps the sight of him might pull you out of your head, at least temporarily.

A heavy sigh left his body as he laid his upper body on your bed, his head carefully resting on the top of your hand. Out of instinct, he nuzzled his cheek against the soft skin of your palm, relishing in the warmth of the contact, and draped one arm against your body, gently pulling you closer to him.

Minutes passed and his eyes gradually fluttered closed, his soft breaths slowly mingling with yours. He would never admit it out loud, but especially after the events of the last mission, the sole way he could fall asleep was in your proximity, only finding solace in the warm feeling of your touch. It may have taken him a while, but he eventually came to the realisation that it was in your arms that he felt safe, where the turmoil and chaos of the outside could temporarily be forgotten. And he was determined to keep it that way, no matter what it took.

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

more notes: do you guys would like a bonus part, say, an epilogue for this? I'm thinking of something like "the one where they finally get a bed" or something... let me know in the comments (or ask box if you'd like to remain anonymous)

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