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mickyschumacher · 5 months

Note

Can we have a part two of baby fever?

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: pregnant with charles' baby, in a surprise turn of events, he's been able to keep his hands off of you. but just how long does that restraint last when he's faced with a problem: the tenderness of pregnancy? or in which, charles is struck yet again with the case of baby fever. 𝐏𝐓. 𝟏 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: established relationship, 18+ (minors DNI), unprotected sex (wrap it if u don't want dem babies), breeding kink (although atp idk), lactation kink, mutual orgasms, pussy eating, again pussy rubbing(?), cumming inside, reader is sensitive as shit again, poor interpretation of pregnancy terminology, fluff at the start and towards the end, minimal use of french endearments, a criminal minds reference from yours truly <3

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: charles leclerc x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+

𝐀/𝐍: everyone wanted another one! sooooo here it is! i wasn't sure whether to do this during or after pregnancy but i ended up choosing the former. hope you like it ♡︎ see you lot next year :)

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆ •°. 。 .°• ⋆

You knew the exact day, hour, minute, and second the two lines on that test appeared and confirmed the wish you and Charles had been waiting for. But what got you there... now that was a mystery. It was like finding that one specific good needle in a stack of needles.

Ever since your boyfriend had mentioned children to you, you and Charles have spent more time acting like animals in heat. It was lewd, obscene, sometimes immoral given the places it happened, but God was it hot.

You were currently coming towards the end of your second trimester. Your baby bump wasn't visible to the naked eye when you wore clothes but no one would also deny that you were pregnant. Apparently, your baby girl (yes a girl, the already doting Charles couldn't be more thrilled) was the size of a banana.

Besides feeling sick, having odd cravings, and being unusually hormonal, you were heavily preparing for your due date. Honestly, you didn't need to prepare that much. Charles had been working on it himself with both of your families so you didn't feel stress. And as sweet as it was, you couldn't help it. You were having a baby for Christ's sake. This wasn't a paper you thought you could wing the night before.

Your eyes strained at the pile of pregnancy books Mama Leclerc had brought you, all new and updated with the times... her words not yours.

You liked to read. It was your favourite pastime. But this... this wasn't particularly enjoyable. Scary, if anything. How on earth did people get anything done with this much information? You have to have enough iron to prevent defects to the baby but not too much otherwise you could still harm the baby?

Huh?

You blinked and shook your head. Your eyes reverted to the also busy (reading) bee sat on the couch. You smiled softly at the sight of Charles. It was winter. The sun was still making it's visits but it was cold enough to put on the heater in the early evening. Charles wrapped up in that one cream knit sweater you brought him with his glasses and book five on parenting tips made you all warm on the inside.

You quietly walked over to him, pulling the book gently from his hands. "What are you thinking of, amour?" You queried, slowly removing his glasses from his face and resting them with the book on the coffee table.

Charles smiled at your presence, opening his arms so you could sit on his lap. His one hand automatically came to your stomach, rubbing your bump like he had been ever since he saw those two lines. The other held your waist, knowing very well your back had been getting sore without doing anything but walking.

He hummed in thought. "I was thinking about when exactly I got you pregnant. Was it the morning in the hotel room in the end of year party in Abu Dhabi? Or in the bathroom on the ride from Qatar to Texas? Italy, maybe? The wine was really good that night."

You gasped at his words, smacking him lightly on his arm. "You animal... and here I was thinking you were being all sweet, reading about parenting."

Charles grinned, blues eyes twinkling at you. "Hey, I have to tell our princess one day where she came from. And it won't be a stork. Maybe I'll say in my driving room in Japan."

Your mouth dropped in shock at the nonchalant shrug you received from Charles. You pushed yourself out of his arms. "Charles!" You practically screeched in horror, making a wave of laughter fall from his lips.

His arms quickly reached towards you, pulling you closer as your warmth was just beginning to disappear. "I'm kidding... mostly," Charles mumbled, smiling at your small glare.

You rolled your eyes, looking at Charles with sarcastic gaze before you narrowed it. "Also 'princess?' What about me?" You pouted.

Charles chuckled softly, holding you tighter. "You're still my princess, amour. But when our little girl comes, you'll be my queen."

You blinked, trying to suppress the cringe and embarrassment. "I'm going to go pretend to throw up because I'm pregnant and not because of you. But I'll find it endearing some other day... in the far, far future.

Charles sighed, shaking his head. "You're a menace."

You gaped at him. "I'm a menace. That's rich coming from you. Weren't you the one who was just thinking about which place we screwed each other to have this child?"

Charles winced, putting his forehead on your shoulder. "Well, when you say it like that..." He grimaced. Sucking in a sharp breath, he decided to change subjects. "How does brunch sound?"

Your ears perked up and your eyes squinted with a sudden happiness. "I'm cooking," Charles told you. You dropped your smile. "It sounds awful..."

━━━━━━━━━━━

After teasing Charles for his cooking, you did end up having lunch. Charles, who was initially terrible at making any morsel of food, had found his talent in making pregnancy food.

Even though Charles lacked knowledge about food, ever since you found out you were pregnant, he had made sure every single thing you ate was edible for you and your little girl.

It was amusing to be honest.

You had joined Lorenzo and the others for dinner at a restaurant and the moment a wine bottle landed on the table, Charles pushed the bottle away from you as far as he could, fearing even the mere particles of wine you could breathe in would affect you.

As entertaining as it was, it was sweet. You knew that Charles naturally had a fear of being a bad father. His own father was the kindest soul he had ever met, his role model. Living up to that was going to be difficult. Furthermore, he still wanted to maintain a high standard while racing. Similar to that of Sebastian. But even Seb had ended up taking some time off to spend with his kids.

"What's with the face?" Charles queried, eyeing from the kitchen as he finished drying the last plate.

You blinked out of your trance. A tired sigh fell from your lips. "My boobs."

The plate in Charles' hands almost fell. Charles' head snapped towards you. "I... your... what?" He spluttered, putting down the plate gently before walking over to you.

You smiled softly at his confusion. You were about to speak up but Charles suddenly jutted out his hands. "No, wait! Don't tell me. I've got this. I read now."

The comment elicited a small laugh from your chest. Nodding, you waited patiently as he pondered around you.

"Okay... boobs... uh, this is great. I actually can't stop picturing your boobs now." Charles gave you a pointed look. You raised your hands in your defence, signalling him that this wasn't your problem. Your boyfriend fell into thought again, trying to think back to all the books he had been reading. Was it chapter three or six? It wasn't exactly breastfeeding...

"Ah!" Charles clapped his hand, dragging a seat from the table to sit in front of you. "Lactation! Tender breasts. While the tenderness tends to be less during the second trimester... uh, what was it? The... the lactation, yes, the lactation may cause more discomfort instead."

You watched Charles delve into an explanation about the biology behind it as if he was Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds. Another side of him you were discovering through this pregnancy. Charles didn't retain much information unless it was about you or racing, but if it was related to pregnancy, little did you know, he would eventually become a wikipedia.

You blinked slowly. "So are you going to help?" You asked, cutting him off abruptly.

Charles paused at your words. He raised his brows. "Help you?" He enunciated each word clearly.

You nodded, leaning back into your chair. "I thought you were going clean me up," You whispered in a way that had Charles' cock jumping again. "Something about massaging my breasts."

Charles' mouth felt dry. "I did say that..." He trailed off before letting out a groan. "Ah, ma chérie, why would you say that? I–fuck. You know how I feel about this."

You leaned over, putting a hand over his knee. "Charles, the doctor said it's fine."

Charles felt strongly about your breasts during your pregnancy. They were bigger, heavier and fuller. It turned him on more than he imagined it to. But as much as he was waiting for you to lactate, Charles also felt strongly about not hurting you. 'Cleaning' you up would only make him want to have sex and he was terrified about hurting you or the baby.

"I know..." Charles murmured, sucking in a sharp breath. Your doctor who remained professional to the end when you asked whether you could have sex (much to Charles' embarrassment and joy) cleared you for it. Actually, they encouraged it, saying it was good and healthy for the both of you.

Yet, Charles couldn't help be worried. So much to the point where you hadn't had sex for well over fifteen weeks.

"I mean if you seriously don't want to," You told him, retracting your hand. "It's okay."

Charles quickly took your hand back with his own. "No, I want to. Seriously, you have no idea how much I want to," He said with his voice thick, sending a familiar tingle between your thighs. "I just..." He sighed, "You'd tell me if I hurt you, right?"

Your eyes softened. Squeezing his hand gently, you used the other to caress his face. You gave a firm nod. "In a heartbeat," You promised.

Charles smiled lightly. With your hand in his, he stood up. "Let's go to the bedroom, hmm?"

━━━━━━━━━━━

After taking off your underwear, Charles let out a low breath as he peeled off your shirt to see your bare breasts in front of him. He'd seen them when you got ready in the morning, it drove him crazy, but his fear always got to him first.

Looking at them like this, so close to him, it reminded him of the first time you had sex. Except, your breasts weren't showing such obvious signs of pregnancy: so full, almost two cup sizes bigger.

Charles pressed his lips together tightly, eyes glued to your breasts before flickering down to your stomach. He could see the bump a lot more clearly now that it was bare. The sight of it made him happy in far too many ways. It was like he was a teenager all over again. He wasn't sure what to do first.

Slowly, you encouraged him, silently bringing his hand over to your breasts.

A shaky breath fell from his mouth as a sudden surge of warmth came in contact with his hand. He moved his eyes to you, testing the waters by moving his thumb over your nipple. By your hitched breath and your suddenly dazed eyes, Charles could tell you were sensitive and completely fine. But he needed your words.

Bringing his other hand to your face, his thumb trailed of your lips. "Are you okay?" He softly asked, still grazing over your nipple.

"Charles," You let out a strained sigh, "If you don't move your fucking hand or do something, I will move it for you."

Yup, you were okay.

Charles chuckled quietly. His teeth sunk into his lips upon feeling a slight wetness at the pad of his thumb. He gulped at the white milk falling out of your nipple.

You eagerly watched Charles' head duck closer towards your breasts, mouth opening to wrap his lips around your milk covered nipple. A long whine fell from your mouth, head digging into your mattress. Your hand travelled up his neck and into his hair, eliciting a grunt from Charles as you pushed yourself further into his touch.

The taste on Charles' tongue was unlike anything he had ever tasted (well that he remembered of). It was sweet and creamy, coating his mouth ever so smoothly. It was a strange yet satisfying thought to think that while your body had made the milk, a part of him had participated in it. Technically, he had also made it. "Fuck," He hissed against your breast, realising your milk was far too addictive.

You let out another moan, tightening your grip on Charles' hair, feeling the grasp of his other hand on your other breast, twisting your pebbled nipple as he sucked on the other.

Your pussy was fully drenched, sensitive to any touch you received from Charles. You squeezed your thighs together, trying to relieve the creeping arousal that was intoxicating you.

Charles grunted, short breaths falling from his lips as he parted from your nipples. You whimpered at the sight of him licking the white liquid from his lips. The look in his blue eyes was surreal; crazed like a monster that wouldn't be satiated until he had entirely devoured you.

He brought his lips to yours, bringing you into a heated sloppy kiss. Your mouth moved against his, the taste of your own milk entering your tastebuds while your skin burned at his touch. Charles' breaths were heavy, chest rising up and down rapidly. "You taste that, princess?" He queried, lips lazily falling down your jaw. "You taste so fucking good," He rasped.

"Charles," You moaned out, hips jerking up at every tug on your nipple against a race of desperation.

"I know, baby, I know," Charles murmured with slight disbelief. He couldn't wrap his head around how sensitive you were. You were squirming and aching for his touch just by the touch of your nipples. His cock throbbed as his mind wandered just how you'd react to his cock or his tongue against your drenched folds.

Reluctantly, Charles moved his mouth away from your breasts, still keeping his hands on them, groping and teasing you with no mercy. Arriving to your pussy, he bit down on his swollen lips, uttering out a string of curses under his breath. He knew you were wet but not this wet. You had made a mess... the bed sheets were sported damp spots while your inner thighs were glazed with your arousal, ready to be eaten.

An apology quickly flew from his lips, making you furrow your brows. "For leaving you untouched," He murmured, hot breath dancing across your thighs yet cool to your burning folds. "Amour, I'm going to make up for it. Every fucking day," He promised.

Your stomach churned at his words while you drew in a deep breath. Christ. "I'm holding you to that promise, Cha," You whispered lightly, growing antsy with every passing second.

Charles grinned shamelessly against your thigh. "I should start now then, hmm?" He baited you by leaving soft kisses against your ample flesh, nose just skimming your pussy. He couldn't help but smile at the sudden gasp fallen from your reddened lips and jerk of your hips. You were clenching around nothing.

Your head dug into the mattress of your bed as Charles placed his mouth against your pussy, flattening his tongue and taking a long stripe of your warm folds. He sucked on every part of your pussy, darting his tongue on every crevice so naturally as if he had committed it to memory.

Your mewls that had turned into pure blubbers. You were sure you weren't making any sense. All that you knew was that Charles was eating you like he was tasting you for the first time, barely coming out for a breath while his nose rubbed against your clit, lapping at you like some sort of animal and it felt fucking phenomenal.

Charles' cock was uncomfortably and impossibly tight against his pants. He was struggling between continuing to eat you out because you tasted so good and prepping you for his cock. He was desperate to feel your walls again.

Your blubbers were now high pitched gasps upon feeling Charles' tongue drag to your clit, nibbling and sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves as he propped one finger into your walls. You could feel the coil in your stomach tighten. "Fuck, Charles," You moaned, hips jerking up to get even more stimulation while your eyes were clamped shut.

Charles grunted against your pussy, feeling your toes curl while he thrusted his finger out of you. God, you were even tight around his single finger. He couldn't help but wonder how you were going to give birth. His eyes darted up to your face, watching your back arch, exposing your leaking breasts to more air while your breath quivered. He could tell you were close.

Charles promised he'd be gentle. But he never promised he'd be kind.

Your eyes snapped open at the sudden loss of Charles' touch and the quickly distancing euphoria. You whined in annoyance. Even now, Charles was a menace.

"I know, princess. I'm sorry. Fuck, I just need to be in you, hmm?" Charles mumbled in a hurry, moving his body up and scrambling to remove his boxers. If he kept lapping at you like the animal he was, he was sure he was going to cum just like that.

If this was any other circumstance, you were sure you would be cursing at Charles in French. But taking a look at his throbbing cock, standing strong and hard in all it's glory... it took the words right of your mouth and had sent all the feelings straight to your pussy. In fact, you were even patient in the mere seconds it took Charles to adjust himself over you, revelling in his dazed hooded eyes, the blown pupils and his sweat-glittered skin.

Charles place the finger he had put inside you on your lips, gesturing for you to suck your arousal off. Without any objection, you parted your swollen lips and took a slow and long stripe of his finger, tasting yourself on your tongue. A guttural groan came from his mouth. Any second longer...

You sucked in a sharp breath when Charles let his bubbling saliva slowly fall from his mouth and onto the aching tip of his cock, rubbing the natural lube up and down his shaft. Shifting his hips a bit, the both of you let out a low blow upon the feeling of his flushed cock on your puffy folds.

Charles hovered over your body, placing his swollen lips on your leaking breast, savouring the sweet taste of your milk while letting his cock rub against your engorged pussy. He could hear your soft whimpers, loud enough for the entire room to reverberate off its walls. A rippling tremble surged through his body as he rocked his cock against your folds, feeling your wetness soak mix with his saliva and coat him entirely.

"Charles," You mewled, "Keep teasing and you won't feel this pussy again I promise."

The threat you made was empty and weak. The both of you knew it. Yet, the mere possibility or even the thought made Charles quickly but carefully push his cock into your pussy. He grunted at the feeling of your walls around his cock slowly welcoming you. Shit... You were tighter around his cock than his finger, already clenching around him.

"Merde," Charles swore. "You feel so good, princess."

Your hands fell around his neck, loosely holding him to you as his cock stretch you out. You could tell he wasn't as deep as he usually was with the baby taking up more space but when combined with your pregnant sensitivity, it left you more flustered and blazing than ever.

"Are you okay?" Charles managed to grit out.

You gave him a rushed nod. "Move... please," You begged, struggling to keep your eyes open.

Charles' hips began to move faster at your command, rutting at such as speed that pushed his aching cock against your walls, lost in the pleasure your brought by gripping him like a vice. His eyes fell to your mouth. Your moans and whines looked as though they were going to burst out of you. Bringing his puffy lips to yours, he swallowed all your angelic and sinful sounds into his body like he was consuming your very essence.

His hand travelled to your hips before trailing to your bump. The things this baby had done to him before even confirming those two lines was beyond Charles. Pulling away from your lips, he almost faltered when he saw your face.

God, you were just so... beautiful. Your flushed face, lust-ridden eyes, sweat-ridden hair moving in all sorts of directions, skin even stained with his marks of love he had made unknowingly... all with that pregnancy glow... beautiful.

"I love you, ma chérie," He whispered out. "You're going to be the most wonderful and gorgeous mother in the entire universe. Our baby is going to be the luckiest child."

Tears pricked at your eyes as the pleasure still coursed through you. The coil in your stomach was coming to a breaking point while broken sobs came out of your mouth. Fuck, you couldn't even tell what you wanted anymore. Your hand reached out to Charles' face, feeling the small hairs on his face as you caressed him. "And you're the only person I would ever want with me... the only person who could be the father of my... our children."

Charles let out a faint high pitched moan. His hand moved to your abandoned clit, starting his abuse on the sensitive bundle of nerves. You let out a silent gasp while he chased both of your climaxes, his twitching cock snapping into you. Everything around you began to blur while your orgasm hit you in big waves as his hips stuttered against you, spilling ropes and ropes of his warm, white cum into your walls.

Your body convulsed as Charles continued to rub your clit, taking advantage of your sensitive state almost selfishly just so he could see you completely space it out in the ecstasy of it all. You let out a soft cry, pussy clenching around him to take every last drop of his cum you could get as the last few waves of his orgasm shot through him.

Charles sighed, wincing softly while taking his cock out of you, making sure to fall down next to you instead of over you like he usually did. His sweaty arm brought you in closer to him, baby bump grazing his cock. Pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead he smiled down at your tired state. "I should clean you up more often, hmm, princess?"

You managed to roll your eyes, hitting him weakly in his arm. "You are awful."

Charles grinned, popping his dimples out at you. He nodded casually. "Yeah... but you love me," He teased.

You suppressed another eye roll and simply smiled, slowly succumbing to the heavy weight on your eyes. A yawn fell from your lips. "I do. I love you... a lot."

#f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 smut #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc #mickyschumacher

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sebscore · 1 year

Note

part 2 to the Ollie x leclerc!reader where she’s at an f3 race watching her brother and Ollie

HER BAKU BEAU

pairings: charles leclerc x sister!reader / ollie bearman x leclerc!reader / arthur leclerc x sister!reader / lorenzo leclerc x sister!reader

warnings: swearing. francesco is made up lol.

author’s note: lol yall know I had to write about this weekend, cause charles + ollie absolutely carried!! its not a f3 race, but im sure this is good as well :)

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''I can't believe mum let me go.'' Y/N told Ollie over the phone, sitting almost alone in the airport lounge as she waited for her plane to start boarding.

She could hear her boyfriend chuckle on the other side. ''I'm grateful for her, though. You're gonna see me race tomorrow.'' His excited tone put a smile on her face, touched that he was so happy to see her.

''I just can't miss any of it; you got pole, charles got pole- I just have to be there!''

It had been a task convincing her mother to let her go to the Grand Prix, usually only going when it was during school breaks or if it was in Monaco, Italy or France. However, Charles' pole position and the fact that she didn't have school on Monday had helped her case immensely, and Pascale agreed to let her attend the GP.

The youngest Leclerc was instructed by her mother to listen to her brothers no matter what- something Arthur was definitely going to abuse- but aside from that, she had trust in her daughter and knew she wouldn't do anything reckless or dangerous.

''It was the craziest lap, I swear!'' Ollie exclaimed, recalling the chaos that was his final lap after damaging his car. ''It could have gone so wrong.''

''Yeah, but it didn't! It was perfect, you were perfect.'' Y/N smiled.

''Thank you, darling.''

The term of endearment had blood rushing to her cheeks, she glanced around the lounge and hoped no one noticed her flustered state. ''You're welcome.''

''I can hear you blushing.'' Ollie laughed.

Little Leclerc scoffed. ''I am not! I'm not blushing.'' She lied, pressing her palm to her cheek as a way to cool herself down.

''You are! It's okay, I'm your boyfriend. I'm supposed to make you blush.'' The Brit said, matter-of-factly.

'Your boyfriend'

They had been together for about 6 months yet she still wasn't used to Ollie referring to himself as her boyfriend. Not in a bad way, in a 'this feels like a dream and I'm going to wake up any minute'-way.

''This is the pre-boarding call for flight 91B to Baku. We are now inviting any passengers requiring special assistance to begin boarding at this time. Please have your identification and boarding pass ready.'' The monotone female voice announced over the speakers.

''Hey, Ollie. I have to go board now.'' Y/N was still underage so she fell under the 'special assistance' category. ''I'll see you tomorrow, alright?'' She bid him goodbye.

''Yeah, let me know when you've landed.'' It wasn't late in Azerbaijan, but she could recognize the fatigue in Ollie's voice.

''You'll be sleeping, though.'' She chuckled, knowing she would arrive quite late in the evening and that the Prema driver would be getting the much needed sleep for his sprint race tomorrow.

He shrugged his shoulders. ''So? I know it will like unconsciously make me feel assured that you landed safely.'' He reasoned, his explanation warming her heart.

''You really are a charmer, huh?'' Y/N got up from her seat and grabbed her suitcase, moving to the right gate.

She could hear a small laugh on the other side. ''If you say so.''

''I'm going to board now- I'll see you tomorrow, bye bye!''

''Can't wait! Bye, love!'' And with that the couple ended their call.

Before pulling her boarding pass and ID out of her bag, she sent a quick text to their sibling group chat. Since she was travelling on her own, Lorenzo wanted her to give as many updates as she could.

| Little Leclerc: boarding now, will text when we take off x

| Thur Thur: don't die 🙂

| Enzo TL: Have a safe flight! See you soon, chérie! X

| Enzo TL: Arthur, be nice!

| Charlito: safe flight, bébé :) ❤️

| Charlito: tell the staff if you need anything!!

| Thur Thur: she's 17, not 7 😒

| Enzo TL: you are the only one acting like a 7 year-old! 😙

''He's on pole again!'' The atmosphere in the Ferrari garage was out of this world as Charles took the pole position in the sprint shootout. Everyone clapped and was thrilled the Monégasque was able to retain the top position.

Andrea urged Y/N to follow him to Parc Fermé with some of the other Scuderia crew to celebrate another pole position for her brother behind the fence.

''Charlie!'' The voice of his sister grabs his attention and he made his way over to the youngest Leclerc and his trainer. Charles pulled her into a hug, kissing the side of her head. ''Two pole positions!'' She said, holding up two fingers.

''I didn't think we would be able to pull that off.'' Charles sighed, putting his bracelets on that Andrea handed to him.

They nodded at him, understanding his doubt. ''But you did it! Now we have to get ready for the sprint and push as much as we can.'' His trainer encouraged him, wanting Charles to be as positive as possible.

''Cha, I think you have to go do your interview.'' Y/N pointed behind him, seeing the F1TV staff waiting for the Ferrari driver.

Charles let out a deep breath, not in the mood and just wanting to prepare himself for the sprint race. ''I'll be right back.'' He begrudgingly turned around and walked over to the interviewer and cameraman, still politely greeting them.

Y/N tried focusing on Charles as he spoke to the woman, but Andrea lightly pushed her shoulder with his. She glanced at him in confusion. ''What?''

''For F2- which garage are you going to?''

She scoffed at the question, a shy smile forming on her lips. ''You're really asking me that?''

The Italian shrugged his shoulders. ''I'm curious.'' The teasing smirk on his face was evidence that it was more than simple curiosity.

''I'm going to Thur's garage.'' She answered, looking down at her shoes.

She'd had this exact conversation with Lorenzo the night before in the car. Although, it was a bit more serious than the one she was having with Andrea at the moment.

Her and Ollie had agreed to keep their relationship private for as long as circumstances allowed it. They were both aware certain fans could get a little crazy and Y/N already received hate comments for simply being Charles' sister, something she couldn't exactly control.

So, showing up at the Prema Racing garage wouldn't exactly be ''low key'' as Enzo had explained it to her.

''He won't say it, but Thur really wants you in his garage.'' Her older brother told her while driving back to their hotel. ''He really likes Ollie, but you're his sister, you know? I think if you would stand with the Prema's, he would think that you're not rooting for him.''

Y/N understood what he meant, and deep down she knew it was more important to stand on Arthur's side. Her brother might tease and annoy her, but he deeply loves her and her support means everything to him.

The sudden reappearance from Charles brought her back to the present.

''Here,'' he put the cap he had been given on her head, ''you can have it.'' It was obvious he wasn't a fan of the beglittered cap that functioned as a prize for winning the sprint shootout.

''Thanks, I guess.'' Y/N chuckled.

Charles patted her head. ''Maybe you should start heading to the F2 paddock, you don't want to be late.''

''Francesco is taking me later.'' His sister answered. Francesco was part of the Scuderia Ferrari crew, but also worked with the FDA drivers. He had offered to take Y/N with him to the DAMS garage since he had to check up on both Arthur and Ollie.

Her brother nodded. ''Good, don't want you to get lost again.'' He teased, jokingly rolling his eyes at the reminder of Silverstone last year.

''Hey! That was Arthur's fault, he shouldn't have left me alone.'' She defended herself, not liking the implication that she had gotten lost by herself while it was Arthur that had decided to leave her all by herself in the Prema hospitality.

Charles smirked at her. ''You got a boyfriend out of it, didn't you? You should be a little more grateful to Arthur.''

Y/N slapped her brother's arm, much to the amusement of the Ferrari crew and nearby lurking reporters, their cameras capturing the moment between the siblings.

Charles glimpsed at something behind her, pointing his finger. ''Francesco's there, I'll see you later, okay?'' He pulled his sister in a quick hug again, bidding her goodbye.

''Bye, Cha!''

The walk to the F2 paddock and garages wasn't too long and the good weather made it more enjoyable as well. She knew Francesco from when Charles joined the academy so they were well acquainted with one another.

While making their way to the DAMS garage, Y/N and Francesco pass the Prema one. The youngest Leclerc slowed down, confusing the older man next to her as he had no idea about the relationship between her and Ollie.

The feeling of disappointment sneaked up on her when Ollie wasn't in sight. She'd hoped she would be able to get a glimpse of him before the sprint race started, not having seen him for a few weeks now.

However, his dad and trainer noticed her. David and Jamie nodded their heads, subtly greeting her. Y/N reciprocated the action, happy she at least got to see part of his team.

Once she arrived at the French team's camp, she was met by Lorenzo warming Arthur up for his race. ''Took you long enough.'' Arthur joked, almost missing the ball that his older brother dropped out of his hand.

''I wish I had one of those electric steps, they'd really help me out.'' She said, sitting down on one of the empty chairs.

Francesco shook hands with both brothers. ''I'll take over, Enzo.'' The Monégasque nodded in appreciation and handed over the tennis balls to the older man, and sat down next to his sister.

''Nice hat.'' He snickered, resulting in Y/N rolling his eyes at him. ''So, uh, you've seen Ollie yet?'' Lorenzo asked, whispering the last part of his question.

The youngest Leclerc sibling shook her head. ''No, we passed by Prema, but I only saw his dad and Jamie.'' She explained to him.

Lorenzo nodded along to her words. ''He did really good yesterday, getting pole with a damaged car and a steering wheel that's not hanging right- absolutely crazy!''

Y/N beamed at her brother's small summary of Ollie's amazing qualifying from the day before, delighted he had nothing but nice words for her boyfriend. ''I know! I watched it during recess, I was like, trying not to start yelling.''

''I can imagine,'' her older brother smiled, ''but you're here for your brother now, okay? So don't start screaming for Prema when you're in the DAMS garage.'' His tone turned more serious, almost sounding like he was scolding the young girl.

''Of course. I'm happy to be here, Enzo.'' She shrugged his words off, understanding what he was trying to tell her.

He simply nodded and focused himself back on the other youngster. ''I think it's time to get in the car, Tutur.'' Lorenzo told Arthur who sighed, but gave himself an encouraging nod.

Before walking over towards his engineer, the youngest brother stopped next to his sister. ''I know I'm starting behind your boyfriend, but root for me, okay?'' Arthur pointed at himself, as if solidifying that she's there for him.

Y/N gave him a side hug. ''You really think I would come all the way here to not support you?'' Her brother's words surprised her, Arthur wasn't usually the one to explicitly ask for her support.

''Merci, bébé,'' a soft smile found its way to the Monégasques' face, ''okay, bye now.'' Arthur pinched her side, causing his sister to pull away from him in annoyance.

''I was worried you two actually got along for a second.'' Lorenzo commented, holding both of his siblings' shoulders and moving them to the garage.

''LECLERC LOST IT AS WELL!'' The commentary of Alex Brundle sounds as Arthur retired from the race, almost crashing into the wall. Y/N let out a deep breath as he stepped out of his car, relieved her brother seemed visibly not in pain.

She took a glance at the leaderboard and saw Ollie overtaking Frederic before the safety car was called. A soft smile planted itself on her face, before it was wiped away by the sight of the disappointed mechanics as their two drivers didn't finish the race.

While they waited for Arthur to get back, Y/N and Lorenzo followed the remainder of the sprint race which finished under the safety car, and Ollie took his first win of the season.

The young girl was over the moon for her boyfriend, knowing how much the first three races had let him down. However, the way Arthur stormed passed her and Lorenzo didn't give her enough time to enjoy the moment.

''Arthuro, calm down!'' Lorenzo told his younger brother, not a fan of the defeated Arthur that sat in front of him.

His hands went through his hair, his behaviour screaming frustration. ''I fucked up! Why did I fucking stay behind Théo?'' He muttered to himself.

''There was a lot going on, you just got distracted.'' Y/N tried comforting him. The restart had been absolute chaos, a total of 6 cars retiring from the race.

Arthur's head shot up at her words. ''That's the thing! I shouldn't have gotten distracted!''

''Hey! Pipe down, okay? No need to be yelling at your sister.'' Lorenzo argued, not a fan of his agitated tone and loud voice.

The driver loudly sighed, but mumbled a quiet ''sorry''. He took a few more moments to calm himself down, before glimpsing at his sister. ''Shouldn't you go celebrate your boyfriend?''

The usual teasing Arthur momentarily came back, a small smirk hanging on his lips. ''I want to be here with you, Thur.''

His gaze softened at his sister's sweetness. Arthur didn't say anything further, simply reaching his arms out for her and pulling her into a hug. ''I hate it when you're nice to me.''

''Don't lie, you bimbo.'' Y/N chuckled, not letting the hug last long due to his sweating. ''Please, take a shower- you smell.'' She pushed her brother away.

''Alright, alright.''

| ollie 🧸: fred and his team are gone :)

| ollie 🧸: just me, dad and jamie

| y/n ❤: 5 minutes x

She wanted to slap the teasing smiles off of her brothers’ faces as she bid them goodbye. ''If you're not at the exit on time, I'm personally knocking that door down and dragging you back home.'' Lorenzo semi-threatened her, a lame attempt at making a stern face.

''Yeah, yeah. I'll be there.'' Y/N promised her brother, quickly making her way out of the door and to her boyfriend's driver room.

All of the F2 team rooms were on the same floor so it didn't take her long to arrive at the Prema room. She knocked three times and opened the door.

The three men inside glanced up from their phone, the youngest one immediately standing up and taking a few big steps towards her. ''Hey!'' Ollie engulfed her in a hug, his head resting on her shoulder.

''Congratulations, race winner!'' Y/N giggled, rubbing his back.

''It was fucking crazy-''

''Language, Oliver.'' David interrupted him, reminding his son that he needed to drop the swearing.

Ollie rolled his eyes. ''Sorry, dad,'' he apologised, his cheeks colouring red, ''it was really really crazy- like suddenly a bunch of cars were out and I was in P2. I knew the safety car was coming out so I quickly overtook Fred and-''

''Ollie, breathe.'' His girlfriend interrupted his rambling, watching him getting out of breath as his chest went up and down at a fast pace.

The Prema driver looked taken aback, but nodded his head and took a deep breath. ''Yeah, anyway- it was amazing. I hope Arthur's okay, though.'' He had seen how his former teammate didn't finish, but wasn't aware of the circumstances.

''Yeah, he just got distracted by the entire mess and couldn't get out of it.'' Y/N explained to them, pouting at the reminder of her brother's DNF.

The three of them nodded. ''That happens sometimes, it was indeed a mess.'' Jamie sympathised.

''Here,'' Ollie grabbed her shoulder and pointed at the chair he was previously sitting on, ''sit down, sit down.'' He gently guided her forward to sit down.

Y/N swiftly shook her head. ''No, no. You just did a race, I'll stand- it's not a problem.''

The gears in the young man's head seemed to stop working as he simply stared at her, not expecting her to refuse the seat and offer it to him. ''Uh, no, I- uh…'' Ollie stuttered.

''You know what, kids? We have to go do something so behave in here, alright?'' David interrupted his son once again, sensing an awkward moment coming up and wanting to save him from that.

His dad and Jamie got up from their seats and moved out of the driver's room, his trainer sending him a wink before closing the door.

The couple slowly found each other's eyes, bursting out in laughter once they were sure the two men were gone. ''He's so embarrassing, I swear.'' Ollie sighs, taking his dad's original seat.

''At least they left us alone- Enzo would rather die than leave the two of us alone.'' Y/N retorted, sitting down on Ollie's chair.

The Brit laughed at her words, despite knowing it was 100% the truth. ''Yeah, I guess- anyway, I'm happy you're here.'' A soft smile formed on his face and he grabbed her hand that laid on the armrest.

The Monégasque mirrored his expression. ''Me too. I really missed you.'' She squeezed his hand, sending a wink his way.

''I missed you too. These last weeks have been hectic and as much as I love our Facetimes- it's been really hard not seeing you in person.'' He confessed.

Ollie didn't want to make her feel bad about all the time they've spent apart the last weeks. Their schedules simply never seemed to align. When he had days off, she was busy with school and when she wasn't studying, he had to train or compete.

Y/N pouted at his words. ''It's been hard for me too. My brothers see you more than I do,'' she teased, ''but I'm here now.'' The young girl smiled at her boyfriend.

''Yeah, I'm really happy about that.'' Ollie intertwined their hands, less shy about showing affection now that they were alone.

''So you're planning on doing a clean sweep or what?'' Y/N chuckled, remembering he had been first in every session during the ongoing weekend.

The Prema driver shook his head, chuckling as well. ''The team has been doing so great this weekend- it would be nice to take the win tomorrow and it would be even better if you could come watch me on the podium…'' He trailed off, a sneaky look on his face.

''You know people will talk about it if I show up there and Thur isn't on the podium.'' She told him, carrying a doubtful expression.

Ollie nodded, understanding her concerns. ''Yeah and for all I know, I might not even end up on the podium so maybe we're worrying over nothing.'' He mumbled the last bit under his breath, the possibility of something going wrong clouding his mind.

Y/N noticed and shuffled her chair closer to him. ''Hey,'' her hand cupped his cheek, ''you're gonna win tomorrow, like- don't tell Arthur this- but you're owning everyone right now.''

Her boyfriend chuckled at her words, his loving gaze settling on her. ''This weekend has just been so perfect… I don't know, you've seen my luck so far this season. I'm just scared that something is gonna go wrong.'' Ollie confided in her, voicing the thoughts in his head.

''Nothing will go wrong tomorrow! You put a damaged car on pole, Ollie!'' She laughed, gently pushing his shoulder. ''You're gonna do amazing and you're gonna make history.''

''You seem to have a lot of fate in me.'' Ollie smirked, his girlfriend's words making him feel better about himself and his race tomorrow.

Y/N teasingly rolled her eyes. ''If you don't like it, I can go and support someone else- what's his name again, Zane?'' She pretended to want to support his rival instead of him, knowing it would annoy him.

''Hey! Not fair!'' Ollie exclaimed, lightly giving her arm a tap. ''Me and Arthur are the only people you should support. Not the Barbados boy.'' He whined to her, trapping her in a hug.

The girl laughed into his neck, happy to get such a response out of her boyfriend. The couple stayed like that for a little while, enjoying each other's company and appreciating the time they were spending together.

''Bear, what time is it?'' Y/N asked him, suddenly remembering her promise to Lorenzo.

Ollie pulled out his phone from his pocket. ''Uh, 17:08.'' He answered, putting it back.

''Shit! I have to go.'' Her loud reactions to his words made him flinch as she jumped up from his arms. ''I promised Enzo I would be at the exit in like 2 minutes or he would bust down the door.'' She explained hastily upon seeing Ollie's puzzled face.

''He's not gonna break the door.'' The Brit snickered before glancing at his girlfriend's serious expression. ''Alright, he might break down the door. I'll see you later.'' He pecked her cheek, swallowing down his disappointment she had to go already.

''Don't forget we're getting ice cream later!'' She reminded him of their little date later in the evening.

''No, no! I'll be there!''

''You better, Bearman!''

''OLIVER BEARMAN WHO WON THE SPRINT RACE YESTERDAY AND NOW HE LOOKS UP AND SEES THE CHEQUERED FLAG AS THE WINNER OF THE FEATURE! OLIVER BEARMAN DOES THE DOUBLE IN BAKU! WHAT A WEEKEND FOR THE BRITISH DRIVER!''

Y/N had a hard time to not freak out and start screaming as she watched her boyfriend do something no one F2 driver had done before, not even her own brother had been able to do it 6 years before.

Lorenzo took a glance at his sister next to him, noticing the obvious joy on her face.

He nudged her shoulder. ''He did great, didn't he?'' Her oldest brother whispered, an unfeigned smile present.

She shyly looked at him, glancing down at her shoes. ''Yeah… I'm very proud of him.'' Her words came out quite slowly as she didn't want the people around them to hear who she was talking about.

A conflicting thought rushed through Lorenzo's mind, something that might have repercussions that wouldn't be able to be reversed later.

''How about you go to Charles already? I'm sure he'd love to spent some time with you before his race.'' Her brother didn't look at her while talking, focusing himself on Arthur's car that was making its way back into the DAMS garage.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, confused as to why she would leave without them. ''But what about you and Thur?'' She asked him, turning towards him.

''He still has to debrief with the team and we don't want you to be bored with that,'' he explained, still not sparing her a glance, ''you should go now, honey. The podium ceremony is gonna start and you don't want to be stuck in the crowd, do you?''

Her face brightened once she understood what he was actually saying. He wants her to be there for Ollie when he takes the top step of the podium.

''Yeah, I'll get going then,'' she took off her headset and gave it to her brother, ''tell Thur I'm proud of him.'' She swiftly added, feeling slightly bad about leaving before saying anything to Arthur.

''I will, now go.'' Lorenzo gave her a little push.

Y/N scattered out of the DAMS garage, trying hard not to look like a fool as she tried to walk as fast as she could to Parc Fermé. She hoped she would be on time and not miss it, cause otherwise it wasn't worth it speeding past all these people and almost running into them.

Ollie, Enzo and Théo already stood on the podium when she finally made it there, relief going through knowing that she wasn't too late for his special moment. The youngest Leclerc slowed down her steps, wanting to stay for as long as she could without being photographed or appearing on the large screen.

The British national anthem started playing, Ollie visibly scanning the crowd in hopes he would spot a certain person.

Luckily for him, he found her.

It was like fate had schemed the moment; Y/N looked up at Ollie right as he looked down at her- their eyes finding one another.

A rush of confidence went through Ollie's body, aware of the incredible feat he just achieved that won't be repeated any time soon. They held eye contact, and the young girl nearly stopped in her tracks as she shared a special moment with the boy she had grown very fond of over the last 9 months.

Ollie surprised by sending a wink her way, clearly not having done it a lot as he closed both of his eyes while doing it. Her cheeks flushed, flustered by the unexpected action that put a small smile on the Brit's face.

Despite her unhurried steps, she had reached the end of Parc Fermé. In a moment of bravery, she gave her boyfriend a quick wave before making her way to the Ferrari hospitality.

Y/N pulled out her phone and opened her Whatsapp, typing a message she knew would make the Prema driver laugh.

| y/n ❤: very proud of u, oliver winkman x

Liked by olliebearman, arthur_leclerc and 112.628 others

ynleclerc a nice weekend in baku 🇦🇿 I’m very proud of my brother and the entire ferrari team 🏎️🧸🚦🥉

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| lorenzotl family time 😍

— ynleclerc ❤️

| charles_leclerc merci, bébé!❤️

— ynleclerc ❤️

| piarlesfanforlife NOT THE CAT PIC 😭 Y/N YOURE TOO FUNNY

| ferratifosi1655 the leclerc siblings >>>>

| scuderia_ferrari Grazie, Y/N! ❤️ Cut The Cat will miss you!

— ynleclerc I will miss him too! 🐈‍⬛😢

| gino_rosato FAMILY ❤️

| sharl1lechair6 the hug between Y/N and charles at the podium was the highlight of the race

| softforbearman8 the teddy bear emoji… and ollie liked the post… 👀

— sainzleclercfan pls don’t 😒 that is such a stretch

— softforbearman8 it’s just an observation!

— centraleclercs wasn’t Y/N dating paul aron? I swear that was a thing 🤔

— formulaofaron it was a rumour a while ago, but nothing was ever confirmed

— sainzleclercfan Charles made a Instagram story weeks ago asking for privacy! Haven’t you learned by now to just leave their family alone? 😤

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#f1 fic #f1 fics #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x sister!reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #ollie bearman x reader #ollie bearman x you #f1 x you #f2 x reader #f1 imagines #arthur leclerc x sister!reader #arthur leclerc x reader

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thelightsandtheroses · 5 months

Text

2. soak up the sun

Let's Get Lost Chapter 2 | Frankie Morales x female reader

Summary: You and Frankie aren’t together anymore but you’re in a good place. However, spending a week together for your mutual friends’ wedding on a luxury resort might challenge that slightly and realising you’re still in love with your ex is a sure-fire recipe for disaster … Tropes: it was always you, getting back with the ex, beach!Frankie (you know *that* photoshoot) miscommunication, only one bed, good parent Frankie Chapter Warnings: 18+ MDNI, refereneces to past drug addiction, discussions of food, small mentions of various insecurities and body image, passing reference to alcohol, Frankie and the reader are parents to a toddler, past break-ups. Word Count: 2807 Notes: Thank you for the lovely feedback so far - it's meant so much to me and I hope you enjoy this update. I have a lot planned for this fic. The chapter title is from Sheryl Crow's song of the same name.

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There’s nothing quite like a breakfast buffet. Whenever you travel, you can’t help but judge the hotel, judge the entire stay by the quality of the breakfast. If the coffee is good, if the food is fresh and tasty, if it feels welcoming … that’s the magic formula - for you, at least.

After an inauspicious start to your vacation, you’re hoping that the breakfast will be a silver lining, that you can recharge before trying to resolve the room situation.

It was hard to sleep last night. You were so aware of Frankie on the other side of the pillow barrier, so anxious over everything that had gone wrong. You couldn’t play your sleep stories or calming music and your room and bed felt so unfamiliar.

You need to relax.

You need to hold things together for Lia and Clara, because this week is about them and not the messes of your current state of mind or relationship with Frankie.

Clara is holding Frankie’s hand and happily pulling him ahead as he tries to guide her to the right place.

When you arrive in the veranda, you can see Lia, Benny, Will and Sophie, Wil’s wife, as well as Santiago already occupying a large table. Lia waves you over with a smile.

She immediately pulls you into a hug as you approach and you’re hit with your friend’s comforting presence, her familiar scent of coconut and vanilla. “Finally,” she says, “Now we’re all here.”

You look over to see Frankie giving Santiago a one-armed hug before Santi pays attention to Clara.

“Clara, look at you,” he says, adding in Spanish, “you’re so tall now, huh?” He nods cordially to acknowledge you as you sit next to Sophie.

“Heard your flight got delayed?” Will asks calmly, his arm casually resting on Sophie’s chair. Sophie’s intelligent and smart and incredibly pretty to boot. You do get on with her, but you can’t help remembering Will and Sophie’s wedding every time you see then. It’s an automatic, almost Pavlovian response that leaves you with a dry throat and sweaty palms. You’re sure she remembers that night too. It was a real lowlight for you and Frankie after all.

You hope Benny’s wedding will be an improvement.

Surely it can’t be any worse than Will’s?

You break out of your reverie and look over at Will, answering his question, “Yeah, it wasn’t that bad. Only a couple of hours in the end.” You can’t mention the room debacle yet and judging by Frankie’s subtle nod to you, he’s in agreement with you on that. “How’s the coffee?” you ask, the hope palpable in your voice.

“Amazing,” Sophie says, “Really good quality and fresh.” She winks at you, clearly remembering your breakfast litmus test.

Well, that’s something then.

Fifteen minutes later, you’ve almost finished your first cup of coffee, Clara is eating her eggs under her Tio Santi’s careful supervision. It’s funny watching Santi with her; he never struck you as particularly paternal, perhaps because he never seemed to put roots down anywhere, but Clara adores him. She adores all of Frankie’s close friends. Benny is brilliant with her, so’s Will.

Despite Frankie having less and less contact with his biological family over the years, he’s given Clara the gift of his chosen family. You can’t pretend to understand the bond and brotherhood between Frankie, Will, Santi and Benny - it runs deep. It’s enough to know that they’re his brothers. They’ll always be his brothers.

You take a bite of your own breakfast, daring yourself to relax just a little. Sophie’s right - the coffee is good.

Hope loosens the tight thread around your stomach just a fraction.

“What’s your plan for today then?” Lia asks. ”Just settling in?“

“I think someone wants to go to the beach,” you say, indicating Clara.

“A beach day sounds great. We should all go, before things get hectic.”

“Thanks,” you say in a low voice. “What do you need from me over the next few days? I know I’ve been a shitty bridesmaid recently, so just tell me what you need.”

“Right now? We’re good. I’m just so glad you’re here,” Lia says.

It’s peaceful. The steady rhythm of waves flowing and withdrawing barely conceal the soft giggles you can hear from Clara with Frankie a few meters away.

Next to you, Lia and Benny are sunbathing. Lia is lounging against him, a glossy magazine in one hand and what you suspect is a frozen strawberry daiquiri in the other hand. The two of them look like models; skin glowing in the sun, colour coordinated swimwear and sunglasses in place. They’re perfect for each other.

It hits you suddenly; you’re surrounded by couples. Even Santi is off flirting with someone by the water.

You scrunch your toes into the golden sand and exhale slowly.

It’s hard to stop your brain thinking about work for the first few days of a holiday; you find your fingers automatically twitching as they want to reach for a phone or laptop to check emails and messages.

They can cope without you. You know that. It’s just your anxiety, just the corporate machine and it shouldn’t matter. What you should be thinking about is your family, is Lia’s wedding, being a good bridesmaid, a good mother, a good friend and co-parent with Frankie.

You think back to your conversation with the hotel staff before coming to the beach. It turns out there is no alternative room for you or Frankie until the final night of your stay. The hotel is fully booked, so unless one of you stays somewhere else then you’re stuck in the same hotel room for most of the week.

It’s not fair on either of you to be somewhere else either - not when you’re both in the wedding party, both Clara’s parents.

It doesn’t feel like you have much of a choice.

You’re not sure how to tell Frankie about the conversation you’ve just had with the hotel. It isn’t your fault, not technically, but somehow it feels like another in a long list of failures.

You watch your daughter building a sandcastle. She looks so happy; half covered in sand and clapping her hands in delight as Frankie carefully lifts the sandcastle bucket. You hold your breath for a second in the hope that one particularly shaky looking turret holds out.

She’s having a great time at least. That’s what you really wanted.

You put your book down, standing up to go and join the two of them.

“Hey Clara, mum’s here,” Frankie says, waving you over with a smile. You can’t help but notice the way sand has slightly stuck to his thigh while he’s been building the castle with Clara and how he’s already unbuttoned his shirt by a scandalous three buttons.

“Hi sweetie,” you say, “that is an amazing sandcastle. Did you build that one all by yourself?”

Clara purses her lips, deep in thought. She looks at Frankie and then at you and for a second she nods then shakes her head. “Daddy helped.”

“Only a bit,” he says kindly.

“Yeah, I can tell someone with an engineering background has been involved,” you joke which earns you one of Frankie’s best smiles. It’s one of the dazzling ones that made you fall in love with him the first time.

“Did uh, everything go okay with -” Frankie begins as he stands up, grimacing briefly and covering it immediately.

“We can talk about it later,” you say, smiling unnaturally brightly and quickly looking at Clara and then the others.

Frankie immediately understands your implications - you watch a range of emotions dance across his eyes before he settles with a similarly bright but false smile.

“It’s not a big deal,” he says. “We’ll be fine. It’s just a week, right?”

You smile weakly and nod. There’s always the bathtub, maybe Frankie was right about that.

You can hear music lightly playing as you and Clara walk back into the hotel room. She’s stifling a yawn, clearly already tired from the day’s events so far. There’s just enough time for you to have a quick shower before you head out for the early family dinner you have planned.

Frankie and you have discussed it in depth and spoken to the hotel babysitting service but you agreed to save that for wedding related events. There’s no reason the two of you can’t work it out between yourselves the rest of the time and ensure at least one of you is with your daughter. Plus, the whole idea’s about giving Clara that family holiday, right?

Frankie’s reading on the bed and looks up at the two of you.

“Hey guys,” he says as Clara immediately bounds towards him.

“Daddy!” she cries, as though they have been separated for weeks not a couple of hours.

He shakes his head, raising an eyebrow at you.

Your only response is a quick shrug. “Do you mind if I have a shower before we head for dinner? I’m thinking if we both use the bathroom before we put Clara to b-well, you know where -”

“Sounds like a plan. I had a shower when I got in, so it’s all yours.”

“Great.”

Frankie places his book face down on the bed and diverts his attention to your daughter.

You loiter for just a moment before heading to the bathroom; you’ve been looking forward to this shower all day. The hotel bathroom is well appointed to say the least and the fancy, rainfall shower with all the attachments and luxurious smelling shampoo has sung to your sun and sand stressed body.

You start to feel relaxed as you wrap the white fluffy towel around your body and continue your self-care routine. Why not allow yourself some small indulgences while you’re on holiday after all?

It’s then you realise that you forgot your clean clothes. You were wearing your beach clothes when you walked into the bathroom; your costume is now hanging up to dry after all, taunting you slightly, and your cover up is sheer and oh, you have made a definite mistake here.

You feel the heat rising as you try and think about what to do.

“Frankie, can you just shut your eyes a minute?” you ask, pursing your lips as wrap the towel tighter around yourself.

“Why?” Frankie calls from the room then you hear him make a slightly embarrassed sound as he clearly figures it out. “I mean, it’s okay. It’s fine. Just uh, just tell me when.”

It’s fine, you think, you used to date after all. He’s seen you so many times in far worse states. For a second you remember how things used to be between you and Frankie. At one point, you wondered if there was a surface in your house you hadn’t been with him on. He seemed to take that as a challenge when you asked him.

You can almost hear the echoing laughter and memories as they sweep over you, a wave of emotion, regret, sadness and then finally a sad tang of bitterness.

You take a deep breath. “Okay, now,” you say and then you open the door.

He has his eyes covered with one hand but he has a wicked smirk and you can’t help but wonder if he is peeking, if he thinks you still look … no, this isn’t healthy.

You shuffle around in the towel to try and discreetly change, almost tripping over one of Clara’s toys on the way.

The clatter makes Frankie straighten slightly.

“False alarm,” you say, voice low as an unspoken tension fills the room.

“Good,” he says, one hand still casually covering those eyes.

You finally pull your trousers up and tug the light white top over your shoulders.

“Okay, it’s safe now.”

“Great.” He looks over at you with a slight smile. “You look good, cielo.” The old nickname slips out and his eyes widen, panic filling his face.

The tension in the room thickens. Somehow it feels like you’re in two realities simultaneously; one where Frankie is still yours and this one – the one where there’s scores of shared memories, pain and change between the last time he called you cielo.

You can’t even remember the last time he called you that.

It’s not as though you knew it was the last time after all.

“Thanks,” you reply softly, not sure whether to acknowledge the name or not. “You’re not doing too bad yourself.”

He raises an eyebrow at that, his cheeks fiercely colouring, then he stands up from the bed - your bed. “We should go get some dinner, huh, Clara?”

The early dinner serving is filled with families like your own. You take a sip of your soda and look out at the beach ahead of you. You think you can see Lia, Benny and the others in the distance, still taking full advantage of their time away from it all.

“You could have got a drink,” Frankie says suddenly and quietly. He looks down and away from you as you look over at him.

“I have a soda,” you reply, furrowing your brow.

“I saw you reading the wine list and the cocktails and - it doesn’t bother me.”

“Frankie, it’s fine.”

“I’m just saying, it won’t upset me or anything, or trigger me. I-I’m in a good place, right now.” He looks at you with his deep soulful and hopeful eyes. You believe him, even fighting against that tiny anxious voice in your mind that remembers the past year.

That doesn’t mean you feel particularly comfortable drinking around him right now though.

“I don’t want a drink tonight,” you say finally, “but thanks, Frankie, for saying that.”

He shrugs. “‘S nothing.”

“No, it’s not. It’s - I’m - we’re all really proud of you, you do know that right?”

His cheeks colour slightly. “You shouldn’t have to be,” he says finally, before turning his attention to Clara in a clear signal the conversation is over.

“I was thinking about the itinerary you sent through.”

“Okay?”

“You didn’t allow yourself much time for yourself.”

“I’m a bridesmaid, Frankie, any time I’m not with Clara, I should -”

“How many books did you bring with you?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“It really isn’t.” Frankie takes a forkful of his rice. “So, how many?”

“Four.” It had been wilfully naive. A combination of the books you kept hearing Lia and other friends talking about, books you’d wanted to read for so long but had gathered dust on your bedside table, and finally one of them was a stress induced purchase at the airport bookstore for the sheer audacity of your flight being delayed.

“Four books?”

“I probably won’t finish any of them.”

“Why not? You’re not on your own here with Clara and Lia doesn’t need you for every moment you’re not with our kid. I’m here too, sweetheart, so read your books and do it all. Spend tie with Clara, do the wedding shi-stuff, wasn’t that the whole point of this?”

“What about you?” you ask gently, “You should - you should have the same too. I know things have been tough and trust me, if anyone deserves a vacation -”

“We both do.”

“Okay.”

You both watch Clara cheerfully spooning spaghetti and then meet each other’s gaze again.

“I’m glad we’re doing this.”

“Me too.”

“I can’t imagine it’s easy. Maybe I should have got a twin room with Santi.”

“Like he would have let you block his chances with a holiday fling,” you joke.

“That’s why there’s always a bathtub option.”

“Absolutely not. Besides, this is family, right? Benny’s your family, Lia’s as good as mine. And this one,” you indicate Clara. Your daughter who has her dad’s eyes, so many of his features, and yet, so much of yourself too. She’s a blend of the best of you both, you think. “You’re both my family.”

“Same,” he says, looking up at you carefully, “That’s never changed.”

There’s a silence.

“Sweetheart, what do you want to do tomorrow?” you ask Clara, even for her babbling to break the moment.

She takes a deep breath and places her fork down on her plate. Frankie suppresses a giggle at her serious expression. “Well,” she begins.

The two of you raise your eyebrows at each other, the tension broken. The moment’s passed.

You feel muddled on this vacation. There’s something about Frankie looking at you in his vacation clothes, glowing with sobriety and adoring your daughter that makes you feel …. something. Something you’re pretty sure you shouldn’t feel about him.

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jjuwuni · 11 months

Text

caught in his web ; choi yeonjun ch. 1 | SWEET DREAMS

pairings — yeonjun x afab reader

genre — smut (lots of it so minors dni please), fluff, angst, college!au, friends to lovers, drama

word count (for this chapter) — ~2.3k

summary — You thought you’d be immune to Choi Yeonjun's charms, turns out you were completely, utterly, shamefully wrong.

And what’s worse? He’s your new best friend's boyfriend.

Wanna hear something even worse than that? His dad and your mom are dating.

MOA University: An educational institution created for the 1%. The elite of the elites. Those who are to inherit large multinational companies, take oath in office, and represent Korea's future in business and politics. This is where it begins.

warnings — almost-stepbro!yeonjun but not really since your parents are in the early stages of dating, kinda slow burn yes, black haired!yeonjun, bad boy yeonjun, all of you are trust fund babies, all the tubatu's make a cameo and are in the same friend group, might reference some other 4th gen idols, alcohol, drinking, drunken mishaps, lots of sex, profanity - lots of it, yeonjun is a menace but he's so cute wtf i'm screaming, jealousy, making out etc. minors dni istg! i'm watching y'all..

A/N: hello! bela here! my apologies for dipping after posting the preview. here is the official first chapter! hope you guys like it. i'll try to update more frequently. 🙏 comments and reblogs are very much appreciated xoxo also please do let me know if you'd like to be tagged for the next parts!

MASTERLIST: [ preview ] | [ 1 ] | [ 2 ] | [ 3 ]

————-　★　-———— . ————-　★　-————

“O-oh..” You clear your throat after telling yourself to get it together about a million times. Opening your mouth after what seemed like an eternity, “I uh.. Uncle Minjun? It’s nice to meet you. I’m y/n.” You offer your hand out to the man who was undeniably a splitting image of Yeonjun - just older.

He was dashing and had an air of charisma around him. One would know that being in the real estate business, you need to have some type of charm after all, so you're not too surprised that he owns the biggest housing and commercial property business in Asia. He seemed like the type to be able to sway you easily into buying things without much hesitation.

Also explains why your mom fell for him.

“y/n.. Very nice to meet you finally. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you from your mother, you seem like a very smart lady. And as expected - beautiful too. Surely you have a lot of suitors by now, eh?” He says in a playful manner, as you finally take a seat to join them, right across from Yeonjun.

“Oh, trust me, dad. Soobinnie's all over her.” The male across from you nonchalantly points out, making you cough right as you scoop the clear soup into your mouth.

“Oh? CEO Dongwon's son? Well sounds like he’s a decent man.” Your mother for sure wouldn't pass off the chance to give her two cents, “Why didn’t you tell me this, sweetie? You should invite Soobin here sometime.” She lets out a giddy laugh as you grimace into your soup.

"Well, we’re not an item, Mom. And you know I want to focus on my studies first…”

“It’s rare you hear that nowadays eh? I wish my son would see education the same way as you y/n. Maybe you should teach him a thing or two, huh?” Minjun replies, sipping from his scotch glass and giving Yeonjun a look to which the younger male replies with a sarcastic scowl.

“I’m sure Chaewon’s got that covered.” You take the opportunity to tease back, it was your way of repaying him for bringing Soobin up. “They’re a really cute couple.” You smile the sweetest one you can muster and look over at his dad who seems to suddenly be interested at the mere mention of a girl.

“Well, if you’re serious about dating her, son, stop bringing random girls home. You know the guards see you when you do that, right? It's quite distasteful really.”

Your eyes widen upon learning this little piece of information, he was still bringing girls home, even though he’s dating my friend? You think to yourself. You could feel Yeonjun’s glare directed at you from across the table, but ultimately decide to avoid it and just eat.

“I-I’ll go get the dessert.” You shoot up from your seat not too long after, wanting to do anything to get you out of that semi-awkward situation.

“I’ll help you y/n!” Yeonjun chimes in, walking behind you and following you into the kitchen- giving you no other choice.

“Ahjumma, can you please take out the cream cake my mom bought this morning? I’ll cut it myself.” You say in a polite tone and a smile to match, watching the older lady walk out back to the refrigerators to go grab it.

You let out an exasperated sigh, leaning back against the expensive Italian marble countertop. “Not even an hour with you and I’m already tired.” You glare at the male.

It’s true, there’s a reason why you never got along with him, as he was always picking on you. But it was more of a welcomed gesture for you because even though it was annoying, you were just glad you are not a part of the population of MOA-U girls who have fallen victim and succumbed to his charms.

“Well, you do know what this means�� right y/n?” Yeonjun asks, almost in a teasing tone from what you can pick up.

Soon, his hands lay flat over the countertop, on each side of your hip - effectively trapping you in.

You swallow hard, you’ve never been this close to him before.

Chaewon always had somewhat of a fence around him in school, which is why we’ve never been face-to-face like this. You find yourself taking note of his prominent features- from his black locks, which complimented his hazel eyes, his strong jawline, his raised nose bridge, and even that cute, boyish smile.

“H-huh?” Great, what was that part about being immune to his charms again?

“We’re going to be siblings," He says, arms wrapping around your waist, "..so you’ll see more of me around, most likely.” His smile stretches out even more, and it was like he enjoyed that you were flustered by the mischievous glint in his eyes.

Like a shark being able to smell fear from a few feet away.

"You're... You weirdo." Was all you were able to say, and it took all of your might to push him off of you, and right on time too, as the help finally came back with the cake to save the day.

You leave the kitchen as fast as you could, and even as you briskly walked away, you could feel Yeonjun smirking behind you.

————-　★　-———— . ————-　★　-————

"I don't know how I feel about it, honestly." You say as you plop down on one of the couches in Chaewon's living room after school that day.

"My best friend and my boyfriend becoming step-siblings? Who would have thought..." Chaewon says with a smile, though you couldn't tell if it was a sarcastic smile or one that was of genuine nature.

"I know my mom's been a notorious magnet for rich dudes but I never thought she would end up in the arms of Choi Minjun, tsk. This is driving me nuts." You whine out, pulling at your hair and punching the throw pillow repeatedly.

"You do know there's some business strategy side to this, right unnie?" Minjeong suddenly speaks up. The youngest in your group rarely opened her mouth, which is why all four of you were all ears whenever she decides to give her input on things.

"How so?" You ask, trying to make sense of the situation and guessing where she was going with this statement.

"Mm well... Yeonjun oppa's dad owns a lot of properties, and you guys own a lot of department stores.. So if your companies merge... Then, your mom can expand to more places and oppa's dad will acquire more patrons because of the brand - since your mom does have an insane amount of fans. It will be the merger that everyone in Korea will be talking about."

"Wow.. I never really thought of it that way." You say in a hushed tone, trying to put the pieces together.

"At this rate you'll be richer than all three of us combined. With the exception of Chaewon, of course." Yeji says in a joking manner, her statement causing Chaewon to flip her hair over her shoulder.

You laugh it off, "Ah, well- that's.. that's really not my concern now. All I know is that my mother needs to get her life together.."

"Well look at the bright side y/n, at least you get to look after my baby for me," Chaewon interjects, putting her hand over her chest. "You know, you can report to me and tell me if there are girls who try to flirt with him and all that. You’re basically going to be his younger sister anyways." She points out, nodding her head a few times.

You stay silent, suddenly remembering that one little fact that his dad gave away at dinner.

He was still bringing random girls home at this point.

There was an inner battle in you suddenly - should I say something? Or should I keep it under wraps since their relationship isn’t my business anyway? Something prompts you to go for the latter, not open your mouth and just nod.

You'd rather not be caught in the middle of the drama.

————-　★　-———— . ————-　★　-————

As expected, there was another party that night at Chaewon’s house.

There were indeed perks to being inheritors to future companies: your parents were more often than not, too busy to take note of anyone's whereabouts. Which is why you have the luxury to party whenever you wanted.

Surprisingly, you were actually in the mood to party then. As you’ve managed to down a few shots of soju as well as soju bombs with Yeji.

And not surprisingly, Chaewon was all over Yeonjun that night.

You could feel him staring at you from time to time though. Nevertheless, you don't think much of it- as you’ve always made it a point not to.

He's probably waiting for me to f*ck up or something so he can tattletale on me to my mom next time we have a ‘family’ meal.

“How’s my favorite girl?” Soobin’s voice made its presence known as he wraps his arm around your neck and pulls you into a hug. Your arms instinctively wrap around his torso, and you stay that way for a few minutes.

“Ah- y/n! Before I forget! Remember how you were looking for that limited edition version of that manga we both loved?!” He asks as you pull away from the hug. You, of course, nod quickly.

The two of you have a lot of similarities, and your love for mangas and graphic novels was one of them.

In a swift motion, he then pulls out something from his bag. And lo and behold, in its pristine condition, was the same novel you've been searching high and low for.

“WHAT! NO WAY!!!” You shout over the music, enough to draw attention from the people around you. You envelop him in another excited hug out of gratitude. “I can’t believe you found it?! How did you do it? I had my mom’s assistant look all over for it. Even my grandparents’ staff were searching for it.”

“Ah well, I have my connections. You’re not the only one, y/n.” Soobin winks as soon as you pull away to take the manga and read through the back cover.

The rest of the night was spent with Soobin and a few more soju bottles. And by the end of the night, you were feeling the ugly effects of alcohol.

Cuddled up with him on one side of the couch, with the two of you talking about all the animes you’ve watched the past week. It was pretty fun to have someone with whom you could nerd out, especially in a group of socialites such as the one you both have.

“Ah, you’re remarkable. I can’t believe you like the same things I do.” He said, pinching your nose which causes you to scrunch it upwards.

“y/n...?” He suddenly grows quiet after a few moments of just staring at each other.

“H-huh?” You ask, your forehead creasing in curiosity. Unfortunately, right on time, your vision starts to blur, and the dimmed-out lights in the living room turned party area wasn’t helping. “W-what is it?”

“C-can I k-kiss-- Y-yah.. y/n?! Hey! You ok?!”

That was pretty much the last thing you hear before passing out.

And that was it, your dear old friend alcohol got the better of you, knocking you out on his lap.

————-　★　-———— . ————-　★　-————

“Yeonjun, I don’t understand, you know I can bring her home safely.”

Was I dreaming?

“I know, but I promised her mom I’d take care of her, and that’s what I’ll do so hand her over.” His voice didn’t falter, standing firm to the promise he made to your mom.

W-wait.. I can’t see anything.. I can’t open my eyes. I’m still dizzy, I can only hear faintly.. Ah, what is happening to me?!..

“Pff, alright, fine Jjunie.. But you better not try any funny business.”

You could feel another pair of strong arms underneath you, cradling you as you shifted. The air is crisp and cold as it brushes through your legs. You were outside.

“Babe! Where are you going?! You can let Soobin handle her and the party’s not over yet.”

That was Chaewon’s voice..

“I have to go Chae, I’ll bring her home first and make sure she’s settled. I’ll see you tomorrow in school hmm?”

————-　★　-———— . ————-　★　-————

You wake up to music, a hummed lullaby of sorts. It was soothing and pleasant to hear. You can feel the soft mattress under your tired body. With how familiar it all felt, you could tell you were in your bed.

Apart from that, you can feel someone stroking your hair.

Your eyelids felt so heavy as you open them, curious to see who it was. But you could barely see, vision still blurry no thanks to the after-effects of alcohol.

Add that, and the fact that it was rather pitch dark around your room- signaling that all the lights were off.

Someone was in your room, that you knew. Because you can hear him and his melodic humming, and whoever it was- he was unmistakably sitting at the edge of your bed next to you.

“O-ow..” You croak out, feeling the throbbing in your head. Pressing the palm of your hand against your forehead almost immediately, the melodic, soft voice cuts as you note the mattress' weight shift when the person beside you leans in to check on you.

“y/n, don't get up, just get some rest…” That voice, you know who it belongs to, but it took you a while to process it.

Yeonjun’s voice?

Even though you wanted so badly to keep your eyes open and verify if your guess was correct, you've had way too much to drink to keep up.

You couldn’t believe it though. How can someone so rugged and nonchalant about things have such a sweet voice? Plus, the mere idea that he’s here to make sure you're okay- that definitely does not seem like something he’d do.

Or have you had a skewed vision of him this whole time?

Soon after, You feel his lips against your forehead. His soft buds leave a small peck and a tingling sensation on your skin, and you swore your cheeks felt a lot more heated than it was before.

At that point, you weren't sure if it was all a dream. You feel your stomach churn. Was it butterflies? Nah, it must be the soju. You tell yourself.

“Sweet dreams, y/n.” And with that, you drift off into dreamland.

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the-authoress-writes · 10 months

Text

Dangerous Games

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x Navy Nurse Wife!reader

Synopsis: The saying goes “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes”.

Well, Mrs. Thomas Kazansky is about to learn another version of this saying; “Play dangerous games, win dangerous prizes”.

But she doesn’t exactly mind.

Warnings: Mrs. Kazansky gets a little frisky in public, but nothing explicit, some cursing, and a little bit of steaminess, but again, nothing explicit.

Author’s Note: “I don’t write reader fic”, she said.

“I really don’t”, she said.

But here we are.

And I entirely blame both @valmare and Val himself.

I wrote this as a writing exercise, actually, because @valmare and I have slightly different approaches to Tom Kazansky; she has a more dominant take on him, while mine is more romantic and soppy, but no less passionate (I think).

I wrote this just to see if I could somehow combine both traits/takes in one story.

And… hoo, boy, I like to think I was successful.

That, combined with reading one of my grandmother’s ancient Silhouette Romance novels, I thought it was about time that the turns were tabled on the men.

Let’s be the ones to snap them like twigs, and not the other way around.

Without further ado, here we are!

“So what’s on the agenda today,” she asked her husband, as he sat at the kitchen counter eating his breakfast, while she stood on the other side, finishing her cup of yogurt, before she had to head to work for the shift she was called to fill in at the last minute yesterday.

“Well,” Tom began, after swallowing, “not much, just a meeting which apparently couldn’t wait until Monday, in the afternoon—other than that, nothing else really.

And uh, Mav and the guys are coming back home tonight; like I said last week, Sli and I were going to greet them, and they’re going out for drinks at the O Club later, but I can tell them I can’t go—”

“No, you go, enjoy yourself, I know it’s been a while since you last saw Mav and the flyboys,” she smiled.

In a rare occurrence, Mav and Tom’s deployments didn’t match up, leaving him and Slider on shore, while Mav and Merlin, Wood and Wolf were at sea.

She could hear the calls Tom would make in the evenings to the Vinson, to the various officers who owed him, already rather influential at the recently-received rank of Lieutenant Commander, for updates on Mav in particular.

She’d heard the stories both from the man himself, and from Tom, how the Mitchell name hung like an albatross around the diminutive pilot’s neck, how his basic medical needs were overlooked by dint of his “traitorous” surname.

As a nurse, especially a Navy nurse, it was beyond unconscionable.

She was glad that Mav had Tom as a friend, and it touched her to see the care he extended to his whole TOPGUN class.

“Such a Mother Goose,” Mav and Slider would say, both with sadness, but the former with a soul-deep sadness.

“Are you sure, milaya?” Tom’s voice brought her back to the present, as he came around the counter to step into her personal space, his hands on her waist, infusing her whole being with the warmth that only he could give her. “Because I’m really feeling bad that I have basically a whole day off, and you have to work.

We could have a movie night with some popcorn and ice cream, and you can talk about how people like me are the craziest sons of bitches around,” he grinned, referring to how they met a little over three years ago, after a little training mishap. “I’ll gladly keep your misery company.”

She smiled, resting her hand on the chiseled plane of his bare chest, as her index finger idly played with the chain of his dog tags, “No, like I said, even last week, you go and enjoy yourself with the boys.” Her smile took on a more devilish quirk, “Besides, you can make it up to me later.”

Tom raised an eyebrow, “Oh, I can, can I?”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll manage,” she teasingly replied.

“Uh-huh,” he breathed, stepping impossibly closer, “and how exactly do you want me to make it up to you?”

“You’ll think of something.”

“How about a little down payment, then?”

He didn’t even bother waiting for her positive, always positive, response before one hand was buried in her hair, and his lips were on hers.

It was a kiss full of the easy confidence of a man who knew he was given what he took, and the passion and devotion of one who knew what a gift that was.

She could have gotten lost in her husband’s embrace and kiss for eternity, but the rude realization that she had a shift to prepare for, made her reluctantly, oh-so-reluctantly, push him away.

“As much as I’d really love to continue this, I can’t.

I have to go.”

He pouted like a child, the effect amusing to see on his already-full, kiss-swollen lips, and she gently carded her hand through his hair, soft and slightly curling without the gel, pushing it away from where it flopped onto his forehead. “I know most of this day didn’t pan out how we wanted it to, but we’ll make the best of it—we always do.”

“I know.

You’re sure it’s okay with you if I go out with the boys tonight?”

“Yes, Tom, how many times do I have to tell you?

Go have fun—but not too much fun,” she smiled.

He leaned forward, tucking his head into her neck, inhaling deeply, “You’re the only one I want to have fun with.”

“I would hope so, Thomas Vasilyevich,” she replied, lightly poking him in the side, “seeing as I’m your wife.”

“Oof,” he mock-winced, drawing back to look her in the eyes, “Russian naming me, huh?

Well, Mrs. Kazanskaya, two can play at that game,” he rejoined, leaning in to kiss her again.

However, she pushed him away, laughing, “You are a menace, Thomas Jacob Kazansky!

I have to go!”

“Worth a shot,” he laughed, letting her go.

She gathered her lunch into her bag, along with her paperwork, and shouldered the tote, before turning back to face Tom, who was leaning against the counter, long, sweatpants-clad legs crossed at the ankles, mirroring his arms, a knowing smirk on his lips. “Not going to kiss me goodbye?”

With a sigh, she asked, “If I kiss you goodbye, will you keep your hands to yourself?”

He clicked his tongue, “You drive a hard bargain, lyubimaya moya, but I’ll try.”

“Don’t try, just do,” she replied, amending one of Mav’s favorite sayings, stepping closer to peck him on the lips.

True to his word, he didn’t move an inch, but the regret on his face made her have to resist the temptation to kiss him and say to hell with her shift today. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

And here, a sudden idea struck her. “Hey, wait a minute, you said that you guys were going to the O Club, right?”

“Yes,” he replied, drawing out the syllable. “Why?”

“Because I was thinking that if I can, maybe I can meet you guys there, join you flyboys.”

Tom’s eyes lit up. “That’d be great!”

“You guys won’t mind?”

“I won’t mind,” he shook his head.

She good-naturedly rolled her eyes, “I know you won’t mind, what about the guys?”

“I’m sure the guys won’t mind, but they can take it up with me if they don’t like it.

Try to make it?”

“I will—hopefully, I’ll see you later.

And you’re sure you don’t need your other girl today?” she asked, double checking that he didn’t need his Chevelle, since her car was in the shop that week.

“No,” he shook his head, “Slider’s picking me up, you take her.

I love you, milaya.”

“I love you too.”

With that farewell, she dashed out the door, fleeing her own house like Lot, because she knew she’d never leave if she looked back at Tom.

Chaos.

That was what her shift at NMCSD was like.

Some unlucky or hapless person somewhere had probably said “It sure is quiet around here,” or some other variation of that phrase, and brought the wrath of the medical gods down upon them.

She’d had no less than ten emergencies to deal with, and at the end of her shift, she felt—no—knew—she deserved a drink.

A quick glance at her watch showed that it was just before 1800–from her experience, the carriers usually docked at 1500 or 1600, which meant they should all be at the O Club already.

Not wanting to give the charge nurse an opportunity to call her for something else, she practically ripped off her uniform, changing into the nicer spare clothes she kept in her locker just in case she had somewhere to be that wasn’t the grocery or straight home.

It was a worn, but well-fitting pair of jeans, sensible shoes, a tank top, and finally, a white buttondown with vertical blue stripes which she pilfered from Tom’s closet, that she never saw him wear.

After throwing on the shirt, leaving it unbuttoned, and tucking in her tank, she hastily walked (okay, ran) out of NMCSD, and headed to her parking spot.

God had mercy on her, as the traffic was light all the way to the O Club, the Almighty surely knowing that she’d reached her limits of bullshittery, that all she wanted after this day was a stiff drink, and her husband’s company, despite the fact that there would be others around, friends as they were to her.

It was a Saturday night, and the parking lot was full, but she managed to find a spot on the far end of the lot, a slight sheen of sweat breaking on her skin despite the AC, as she maneuvered in, not wanting to scratch her husband’s beloved car.

The flaring, insistent ache in her feet was testament to the long walk to the entrance, exposing just how many people had to be here, and true enough, once she pushed the doors open, the bar was hopping.

She moved through the crowded bar, searching for Merlin, Slider, or Tom—there’d be little hope of finding Wood or Wolf, and no hope of finding Mav, in this press of people.

She was heading through the crowd towards the bar when she smacked straight into someone.

An apology was on her lips, when the person turned, and she heard, “Hey, Mrs. Ice, how are you!”

And she looked up, up, up into the smiling face of Sam “Merlin” Wells.

“Hey, Merls, how are you, how was deployment?” she said, hugging the ludicrously tall RIO.

“Ehh, hot, as usual, but otherwise, uneventful; just running our CAPs, and buzzing the tower every now and then.”

She guffawed, “That’s Mav for you—I don’t know who’s crazier; Mav, or you, for willingly sitting in the same jet as him.”

Merlin leaned down, “Tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“Probably me, because I actually enjoy it,” he murmured.

She chuckled, “Oh, Samuel, never change.”

“Hey, what am I doing, let me get you to the guys’ table!

Come on!!”

He put his hand on her shoulder to make sure she didn’t get lost in the crowd, and led her to a table in the back. “Guys, look who I found!”

“Well, hey, if it isn’t my favorite Ice Queen!” Mav cried, leaping to his feet and pulling her into a hug.

“Hey, Mav, how are you?” she beamed, glad to see her husband’s best friend and wingman.

“Better, after seeing your pretty face,” the black-haired pilot grinned a grin which would probably make quite a few people here swoon, if its full force were turned on them.

She smacked his shoulder, though she was unable to stop her smile, “Stop it, you incorrigible flirt, you’re not my type, and even if you were, I’m very happily taken.”

“Ah, you wound me, my fair Ice Queen,” Mav dramatically clutched his chest.

“You’ll live,” she teasingly rolled her eyes.

“Mind getting your hands off my wife, so I can say hello to her, Mav?”

A glance behind Mav showed Tom standing there, a sight in his summer whites, an arch expression on his face, but those who knew him would be able to see the glowing humor in his eyes—but over all, the joy and love.

Mav moved aside, gesturing grandly at her. “All yours.”

“You bet your ass, Mitchell,” Tom nodded.

“Excuse me, I have a very nice ass, I have that on good authority,” the other pilot affrontedly stated as he walked backwards to his seat.

The voice of Charles “Chipper” Piper called, “Ugh, come on, Mav, no one wants to hear about your pasty ass.”

“You’re one to talk, Chip,” Marcus “Sundown” Williams chuckled.

Tom shook his head and stepped closer, making everything else fade into the background, his beautiful smile on his face. “You came.”

“I needed to,” she sighed, “I need a drink.

And the whole you being here is a nice bonus.”

He blushed slightly, ducking his head. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, come on, let’s get you that drink,” he replied, leading her to the table, around which sat Mav, Merlin, Slider, Wolf, Chipper, and Sundown.

“Hey guys,” she waved, taking the seat beside Tom.

They all greeted her as Tom called over one of the waitresses, ordering his usual vodka on the rocks along with her usual Old Fashioned.

When it arrived, she shocked them all by drinking more than half of it in one sitting, heavily setting the glass down on the table.

“That kind of day, huh, sweetheart?” Tom asked, his voice full of sympathy, warmth, and the slightest hint of laughter.

She turned a baleful look on him. “What do you think?”

He blinked, obviously weighing his words, the rest of the flyboys holding their breath. “I think maybe I should get you another one when you’re done with that.”

“God, I love you, Tom Kazansky,” she breathed.

The table collectively exhaled, as Tom grinned. “Aren’t I lucky?”

The night wore on, dinner eventually being ordered from the bar’s kitchen for everyone, and Merlin was the first to leave, saying that his wife was coming home late that night from taking care of a medical emergency with her mother, who lived on the other side of the States, and he wanted to be there to greet her.

The flyboys tossed peanuts teasingly at Merlin, Chipper and Mav whooping, Merlin flipping them the bird with both hands as he laughed, and said goodnight.

The remaining group continued on, and the vodkas Tom had drunk had loosened him up—he wasn’t drunk by any means, but his laughter was a bit louder, his eyes a bit brighter.

He was telling a story about one of the instructors from the TOPGUN session he’d been asked to help out with, since he wasn’t deployed this rotation.

It was a story she’d already heard, and so she allowed his words to fade slightly, just watching him as he spoke, fiddling with the straw of the second Old Fashioned Tom had ordered for her.

She smiled as he gestured animatedly, making the light glint off the gold ring on his left hand, which matched the one on hers.

Seeing it did funny things to her stomach, seeing the tangible proof that that man was hers.

Add to that the fact that Tom was in his summer whites… it was a cocktail more intoxicating than anything the bar behind her could ever offer.

She exhaled evenly, taking a sip of the water she’d switched to after her second Old Fashioned, admiring the figure he cut, an exemplar of US Naval excellence.

If you asked her later, she wouldn’t be able to tell you why she did it.

But the devilish thought of wanting to see if she could tilt him off-kilter entered her mind regardless, and she hid a smile behind the rim of her water glass.

She nonchalantly shifted her chair closer to Tom and innocently placed a hand above his knee, making him glance at her, and offer her a fleeting smile, while continuing the story.

Ever so carefully, she inched her way towards the inseam of his trousers, rubbing small circles as she went, which got her a minuscule narrowing of his eyes and a barely-there glance as he spoke.

She smiled back, stilling her hand, and he continued.

Once he had relaxed into his chair again, she began moving again, shifting her hand higher and higher, letting her fingernails catch repeatedly on the seam.

He cleared his throat and soldiered on, shifting in his seat, but the slightest tone of strain was beginning to creep into his voice now, and she mustered all the stoicism she’d learned from her husband to keep her face straight.

As her hand moved further up his inseam, she was treated to the sight of his jaw tensing, the sheen of sweat gathering at his temples, the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed thickly, the sound of the strain in his voice, and the hitch in his breath.

She knew that if she continued this, she was playing a very dangerous game, but she couldn’t bring herself to care at that moment.

So she inched further up, letting her fingernails dig into the seam, flicking it almost audibly, which elicited a cough from her husband.

Slider whacked Tom on the back, saying, “You okay, Ice?”

“Yeah,” he rasped, “just—just swallowed the wrong way.”

At this point, she was mere inches away from being so obscenely high on his thigh that the other flyboys would probably see, but just to see what Tom’s reaction would be, she made as though she were going to go there.

Smoothly, he placed his hand atop hers, somehow managing to conceal the fact that he had plucked her hand from basically his lap, bringing it up to his lips as he finished the story, his eyes stormy as he cut his gaze to her.

Maybe, she realized, as she looked into his tempestuous eyes, maybe she had made a very, very big mistake.

After another hour, they began to wrap up, hugging and slapping each other on the back, and for the first time since she’d met Tom Kazansky, she was not looking forward to being alone with him.

When the final farewells had been spoken, Tom wrapped an arm around her shoulder, walking them towards the distinct shape of his Chevelle, visible now that they were some of the last people at the bar.

“I can drive us, if you want,” she offered, testing the waters.

“No, I’ll be the one.

Keys.”

His tone was unreadable, and she fished the keys out of her pocket, handing them to him.

He led her to the passenger’s side, but just before she reached for the handle to open the shotgun door, she found herself pressed against the back passenger door, looking up into her husband’s face.

She refused to buckle at his impassive stare, looking evenly into his eyes; depthless blue, the color of the sea at twilight, in the dim illumination afforded by the streetlamps.

His hand shifted, and her breath hitched, but he only moved his hand past her, the familiar click of the Chevelle’s door release echoing in the thick San Diego night air.

Tom pulled the door further open, inclining his head and stepping back.

She swallowed, but moved to sit in the passenger’s seat, the sound of the shutting door feeling like some sort of passage of sentence.

Moments later, he opened the driver’s side door, sliding in and shutting it, however, he didn’t start the engine.

She held her breath, waiting to see what he would do next, but he only started the car, the purr of the Chevelle doing nothing to ease her tension, serving only to ratchet it up, the familiar streets leading home passing by.

The silence in the car was almost a living entity, made worse by the fact that Tom kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road before them, and she would be lying if she said that her heart wasn’t racing.

She was beginning to see the reasoning behind her husband’s callsign, between his nonchalant attitude and his unerring patience to wait her out, wait for her to slip.

Well.

She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

…

She hoped so, at any rate.

She’d always been weak for him, honestly, and she suspected she always would be.

Much too soon, they pulled into their driveway, and Tom cut the engine, leaving her in silence, literally and figuratively, as he stepped out without a word.

She briefly debated whether or not to stay in the car, but knew deep down that that was not an option, so she got out of the Chevelle, also making her way inside.

After locking up the doors and checking the rest of the house, she exhaled and looked warily up at the stairs. “‘Screw your courage to the sticking place,’ woman,” she murmured, striding determinedly up the stairs.

The lights were on in the bedroom, and she saw Tom at the dresser, keeping his submariner in its box, his face somehow still impassive.

She moved to the bed, picking up the pile of night clothes she’d laid out that morning, muttering, “I’m going to the bathroom,” and darted towards the en suite.

However, before she could make it there, a hand wrapped around her upper arm, and once again, she got the breath knocked out of her, finding her body pressed against the wall behind her by the solid mass of her husband before her, his hands on either side of her head.

“What was that about tonight, hmm, milaya?” he spoke lowly, making a shiver run down her spine.

“What was what?” she replied, affecting a light tone.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he replied, implacable.

“Oh, that,” she shrugged, caving slightly.

“Yes, that.

And just what were you thinking?”

“Ehhh—nothing much, really.” Well, she mentally admitted, that much was true.

“Uh-huh.

See, I think you were trying to get me to lose it,” he declared.

She somehow managed to muster up an innocent expression. “Uh, nope, not at all.”

“Sure.

So your hand at my inseam was just complete coincidence, was it?”

“Has to be.”

He stared her down just like he had in the O Club parking lot, attempting to keep his expression stoic, but this close, she could see his eyes—how there was only a thin ring of midnight gray, his pupils blown wide from the desire he was trying to keep down.

She inhaled sharply, her lips parting, and his gaze immediately locked onto the sight.

When he spoke next, his voice was low and trembling. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“I think I have some kind of idea,” she breathlessly murmured.

“Fuck—” he whispered brokenly before kissing her like he was at 38,000 feet and she was the oxygen he needed to breathe.

Caught in his riptide, she was helpless but to hold onto him.

Air surged back into her lungs as his kisses moved down to her neck, only to be stolen from them moments later, a cry halfway between pain and pleasure carried on her breath, when his ardor seared into the delicate skin there.

“That hand of yours—and you wearing my shirt—you drive me crazy,” he spoke into the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“I think you like it, though,” she whimpered, hitching her legs around his unfairly narrow waist, as he adjusted his arms to hold her up.

“Damn it, I fucking do,” he groaned, moving them towards the bed.

They had just collapsed onto the comforter, kissing like teenagers, when he broke away to breathe, “You’re still going to pay for what you did, though, you’re not getting out of that.”

“Oh, am I, because it seems to me like your mouth is writing checks your body can’t cash… Commander,” she cocked her eyebrow.

His jaw dropped slightly, followed by a shaky inhalation. “…I shouldn’t have told you about my rank thing.”

Her smirk was halfway to a grin by now. “What are you going to do about it?”

He tilted his head. “You’re asking for it, at this point.”

“Well, then, do what you’re going to do, flyboy; that’s an order.”

A wicked smirk quirked the corner of his lips, full of promise. “Yes, Ma’am.”

NMCSD: Naval Medical Center San Diego

The USS Carl Vinson is a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier commissioned in 1982, and she is still on active duty.

I stole @valmare’s headcanon that Tom drives a Chevelle, because if it’s good enough for Mir, it’s good enough for me!

I’m so sorry Mir!

According to a production photo, Tom’s full name is Thomas Jacob Kazansky, but since I headcanon him as Russian, his patronymic is missing.

So thusly, you have Thomas Jacob Vasilyevich Kazansky.

When Mrs. Kazansky refers to Tom as Thomas Vasilyevich, that is considered a casual, informal, yet somehow in its own way, formal, method of referring to someone.

There’s cultural rules about that.

Tom calls Mrs. Kazansky “Mrs. Kazanskaya”, which follows the Russian and Slavic convention of gendered surnames.

CAPs: Combat Air Patrols

Summer whites are the white version of the khaki uniforms, and you can see them in The O Club bar scene in Top Gun ‘86.

“Screw your courage to the sticking place” is a quote from Shakespeare’s “Macbeth”.

Did I basically steal a line from Top Gun, and completely change the context of it?

Yes.

Yes, I did.

Mrs. Kazansky calls Tom simply “Commander” instead of Lieutenant Commander, because of the convention regarding “double-barreled” ranks.

Russian Glossary

Disclaimer: endearments and translations taken from Google—please don’t hesitate to correct me if I’m wrong, which, odds are, I am.

Milaya: dear, darling (there are other translations of this word, however)

Lyubimaya moya: my darling/my one and only sweetheart

Taglist

@valmare

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

#not me 👀 at men literally old enough to be my father #officially in my val kilmer era #top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun fanfic #top gun fic #tom iceman kazansky x reader #tom kazansky x reader #tom iceman kazansky #tom kazansky #val kilmer

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chachadelight · 2 years

Text

Celle qui s'est enfuie

Part 1 | Part 2

Rating & Warnings: Swearing, smut, a tiny bit of violence

I’d also like to thank those who encouraged me to write this and! also thank you to @rymndsmth for some of the inspo I had for some of the saucyness that happens here. Their ‘kyoto’ series is top fuckin notch, please do give it a read!! This is a one shot technically, but if it’s well received I might write a second or third part, probably nothing longer than that but who knows! Enjoy!

Pairings: Tangerine x Assassin!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: All he has to do is follow the rules; but Tangerine’s never been big on rules. Where does that leave him?

“Yeah well, he’s a diesel innit?”

“Lemon what’d I say huh? If you talk about Thomas the Tank Engine again I’m gon- “

“You’re gonna’ shoot me in the face—I know”.

Yet there he went on again. It had only been about 30 minutes since they had gotten onto the train and Tangerine was already at his limit. If he hadn’t loved his dear brother as much as he did he most likely would’ve fulfilled his promise a long time ago.

Lemon sat back against his chair, huffing with annoyance as he adjusted the lapel of his jacket. “Right well, all we gotta’ do is get this fucker his lazy sod of a son and his hard drive and we can go home”, Lemon gestured to the opposing seats, a young tattooed boy blissfully passed out and pressed up against the window. “You’ve got the drive yeah?”

“Yeah thanks for the update Lemon I got it”. Tangerine rolled his eyes before checking the time on his watch; they had hours before they made it to their stop at Kyoto. Maybe this would be a great opportunity for them to actually relax for once considering that only a few hours ago they were about knee deep in blood just trying to get their hands on the White Death’s son.

It was a job they hesitated for that’s for sure, but after hearing about the pay out and just how keen their contractor was on getting them specifically for the job, they just couldn’t say no. They were professionals after all, they weren’t going to scrutinise that for nobody.

Tangerine’s gaze was suddenly stolen as one of the train crew members rolled by with a cart full of food. Without even thinking the male reached over at pinched a couple of bags from the cart.

“You don’t need to nick the biscuits”.

“Why do I do that? It’s like a compulsion or something”.

“You should see someone bout’ that”.

Tangerine cringed at himself, knowing full well his little klepto issue was something he needed to attend to but just never really got around to addressing.

The two men’s attention was stolen away when the chime indicating the train was coming to a stop sounded off, but only briefly once they noticed only a

couple of average looking citizens made their way through the cart. All but one.

“Mate she’s right lush”. Tangerine’s upper lip twitched upward ever so slightly as his head gestured forwards, causing Lemon to turn his head in an oh so not very inconspicuous way.

“Fuckin’ make it look any more obvious would ya, fucken git”.

There she was. The woman Tangerine was referring to. Hair ever so slightly covering her gaze, only adding to the sensual nature of her kohl lined eyes and red tinted lips. She walked with poise and a sense of elegance to her, she seemed unsuspecting but the way she carried herself said more about her that Tangerine just sensed deep down. What the sense was he had no idea but he really didn’t care at this point. She wore a black pleated skirt and socks that stopped just at her thighs, god, her thighs. The edge of the fabric hugging her flesh oh so perfectly it almost made Tangerine huff...almost.

His eyes flicked back up to catch the silver chain around her neck sat stark against the fabric of her black turtleneck. The man had obviously stared a little too long because she had caught his gaze by the time, she found her place into a seat that had her in perfect sight of him. The woman’s lip quirked into a shy smile, a blush forming on her cheek as she quickly looked away once realising his stare was for her only.

“Who’s the one makin it obvious now mate?”

Tangerine however didn’t look away, why would he? He wasn’t some shy schoolboy. He held her gaze for as long as she was staring back, knowing her bashfulness was his doing only fed his already massive ego. With a tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, Tangerine only chuckled with pride once he saw the effect he had on her, of course, too easy.

Lemon shook his head quickly in succession, twisting his face in disagreement. “Nah nah nah, none of that”.

“None of what?”

“None of—” Lemon tilted his head quickly to the side, motioning to the woman. “That”.

Tangerine scoffed and reached up to slick back his hair in a show of confidence and ease. “Dunno what you’re on about mate”.

“The last thing we need is you goin’ off and shagging some girl in the middle of a job”.

Immediately Tangerine showed offense to his brother’s accusation and started adjusting the collar of his suit with a shake of his head. “Don’t be stupid”. He shook his head again in dismissal but still managed to sneak another look at the woman, quickly getting the chance to catch a glimpse of the way her thighs pressed together as she sat cross-legged. Fuck she looked good just sitting there. Lemon and Tangerine’s line of work wasn’t exactly the most social occupation in the world, there wasn’t really time for making friends let alone a sexual partner. So, to say that Tangerine was a little ‘deprived’ might have been a slight understatement.

“Whatever Tangerine...I’m gonna’ go secure the train. Make sure everything’s in check”.

“Yeah right”.

A sudden slam to the table had Tangerine’s attention onto his brother in an instant, his eyes wide as if to say, ‘what the fuck Lemon’?

“I fuckin mean it, no funny business”.

‘Yeah yeah alright, fuckin ell’ you’re like my mother or somethin”.

And with that, his brother disappeared into the next train cart and Tangerine was left alone. Just him, the White Death’s sleeping son and his raging hormones.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off her and she was well aware of it herself. There was no such thing as sneaky stolen glances anymore. Tangerine had no shame at this point with the way he tapped his fingers lightly against the table, his gaze fixated on her form, tracing a line up from her legs to her face he noticed her looking back.

Although this time she didn’t look away shyly, if anything she was now smiling back. Her red lips pulled back unto a smirk as she rested her chin on the palm of her hand. With a wave the woman wiggled her fingers in Tangerine’s direction in a form of a flirtatious wave, a completely opposing energy to what she showed only moment before when she first boarded the train.

Tangerine lifted a brow as a chuckle escaped his lips, curiosity was definitely getting the better of him. He peered behind his shoulder, wondering if Lemon was going to turn the corner any moment. He did say he would behave himself.

Well who the fuck cares about what Lemon tells him what to do? He was never big on following the rules anyway.

Just like that Tangerine found himself walking towards her, a hand smoothing down his hair and fingers making quick work at is sleeves to roll them up to his elbows. Soon enough he slipped into the chair opposite to the woman, leaned back with a coolness Tangerine had long ago perfected with ease.

“Now what’s a pretty lady like you doin’ here eh?”

“Just visiting a friend in Kyoto”. Her voice rang like bells in his ears and the smile on her lips was only making her that much more tantalising.

“Got a long way to go just to visit a friend no?”

She grinned “Maybe. I guess I’m just devoted like that”.

Tangerine reached up and smoothed a finger over his moustache as he gave her another once over she didn’t fail to notice. “I guess we’re both gonna be here for a while then?”

“I guess so”.

It was almost nard to keep her focus. Almost.

Those blue eyes paired with that accent had no doubt gotten this man anything and everything he’d ever wanted. And now here he was facing her, leaned back in his seat with the scent of his ego practically oozing off of him. The way he looked at her was predatory, his gaze eating her up with every chance he could get. She was amused to say the least, and the grin on her lips was impossible to get rid of. Her job was relatively simple, get the drive from the twins and get off the train before they ever noticed. But what her handler failed to mention was just how delicious a certain curly haired killer

“I guess we’re both gonna be here for a while then?”

“I guess so”. With that she leaned forward against crossed arms, her breasts provocatively pressed up against each other. Tangerine’s eyebrow twitched upward with interest, his tongue swiping out over his bottom lip as he simply followed her movements by leaning in towards the table, closing the gap between the pair.

“What am I going to do with you luv?” She couldn’t help herself when her teeth grazed her bottom lip, why was he so hard to ignore? He was so close to her now and she could smell his cologne so vividly. He smelled of vanilla, cigars and smoke, no doubt fresh from a fight and it was a sent that could make her legs shake from excitement. She wasn’t supposed to get too involved but now he asked her that question and she didn’t really feel like behaving.

She had a little time to spare and she just couldn’t find herself not taking this delicious opportunity.

Their gazes were locked and for moment she let her eyes dip down to peer at his lips, head tilting ever so slightly as the next sentence slipped from her mouth with a little too much finesse. “Anything you want”.

It was clear they were on the same page. Yet what made everything in her favour was that he had no idea that she was after exactly what he had. He hadn’t even asked for her name; it couldn’t have been any better.

Tangerine let out a huff from his nose as he promptly stood from the chair, picking at an invisible piece of lint from his shirt before making his way past her. However not before slyly grazing his fingers over the edge of her jawline, letting his fingers glide through her hair for a moment before he continued his b-line to the train bathroom.

She smiled to herself, a breath seizing in her throat for just a moment as she felt the warmth of his fingers against her skin.

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

She soon found herself slipping into the too small train bathroom, her palms pressed against the door for just a moment longer before she turned around to find the man leaning himself against the too small sink. The air inside suddenly turned thin, and the beating of her heart thrummed wildly against her chest. Why she did not know, she was not one to get nervous in a situation like this but this man...this man was unlike any other she had come across. He made the others seem insignificant and judging by the way she almost shook just from his burning gaze; she could tell this was going to be different.

“You know...” She cooed softly as she took a step forward, noting the way his forearms flexed as his grip on the edge of the sink tightened. “I don’t even know your name”. Reaching forward she looped a single finger over the gold chain decorating the empty space on the man’s neck, a single tug forward causing him to snicker.

She was playing a dangerous game and as soon as she took her grip on that necklace and it tightened around his neck something inside him snapped to attention. “Just call me Tangerine luv”.

“Like the fruit?” She quirked an eyebrow “and his hands found her hips. “Yeah, like the fruit”.

“How – “She looped in a second finger and tugged once more causing Tangerine to grunt at the sudden squeeze he now felt around his neck. “– Cute”.

Tangerine let out a puff of air that sounded like amusement, their lips so close to one another she could feel his warm breath fan across her face. “Watch it luv”.

“Or what?” She liked this game. But so did he.

Lips against lips in a matter of seconds. The kiss was hungry, desperate, it was angry. She had clearly pressed the right buttons because the grip he help on her hips was bruising. Fingers digging deep into her skin as they both fought for the dominance of the kiss. He tasted just as he smelled, smoke and vanilla permeated her lips and mouth, and she couldn’t help herself as she whined into the kiss.

He pulled he in closer, hips pressed flush together that had her melting into his touch to the point that she let go of her grip on his, completely forgetting that she was trying to win dominance only moments before.

His fingers soon found home in her hair, digits twisting into her locks before tugging roughly to pull her head backwards, exposing her neck to him. “Not so cheeky now hey luv?” His voice had deepened, laced with arrogance as he dipped down to attach his lips to her neck and leave a trail of hungry bruises he knew she would have to look at for days to come.

If she could see herself she knew she would be mad; mad that she had let this man cause her to become so undone in a matter of minutes. This wasn’t what she had in mind but it had been so long since someone had made her feel this alive.

“Don’t—” He cut her off quickly when his mouth found hers once more, tongue slipping past her lips without a moment wasted. “Get—cocky”. She managed to let out a few breathless words between the sloppy kisses, her breath heaving in her chest to keep up with his hunger.

Tangerine chuckled against her lips before he hauled her upwards with a little too much ease, her arms found solace around his neck whilst her legs wrapped securely around his waist. He carried her over towards the closed toilet seat before settling down, allowing her to find herself seated comfortably in his lap. This gave her a chance to catch her breath from the bruising kiss, hazed over eyes peering down at an equally dishevelled Tangerine.

He was beautiful like this, in the dim lighting of the train bathroom, perfectly gelled hair now a mess on top of his head. Blue eyes turned a storm cloud grey and hooded with desire. It was almost a shame that she was going to have to steal from him and run away, never to been again.

That’s when she saw it. Peering down his vest pocket she saw the glint of the hard drive poking its head out, her heart skipping a beat. It was right there, un his pocket. And she had him seduced and sexed up in the bullet train bathroom.

This was too good.

His hands slowly slid their way up the exposed part of her thighs, pushing up the fabric of her skirt before stopping dangerously close to exactly where she wanted him. The cold of the varying rings decorating his fingers sent a shiver through her.

With her new position she didn’t miss the way his hardened length pressed against her clothed core, a coy smile on her lips growing as she took the opportunity to grind her hips downwards. Immediately eliciting a groan from Tangerine that wanted to make her go wild

“You gonna’ ride me sweetheart?” He cooed.

She leaned in towards him, her fingers snaking their way into the back of his hair before tugging softly. Doing what he had done to hair by yanking his head back to give her more access to his neck. “Anything you want handsome”.

Tangerine’s eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of her lips against the shell of his ear, the tightness of his hair being pulled sending him into a craze that his grip on his hips and thighs tightening even more. He pulled her down against himself, the sound of her soft mewl letting him smirk with pride.

She couldn’t help it, the feeling of having him press against her was driving her crazy. She had found herself at a rhythm, hips swirling back and forth. Her movements at his command as his hands guided her every move. It didn’t take her long to get panting, her head falling back to indulge in the feeling of his hardness rutting against her. His soft grunts filled the small space and run in her ears.

The heat that was overtaking her body was indescribable and at some point his hands had found home against the slope of her arse, kneading the flesh generously. She needed to feel him, just him.

And it seemed like he had the same idea because Tangerine was rushing for his pants—she reached down with him when she was able to become coherent enough to pay attention. They both knew this was going to be anything but sweet and slow, this was going to be quick and hard but neither of them was complaining.

“You’re gonna take me like a good girl...” Tangerine gripped the base of his length, pulling her panties to side to teasingly circle the head against her folds. “Aren’t you sweetheart?”

She whimpered softly, her breath catching in her throat as his length prodded at her entrance, threatening to enter her at any moment. He was too good, and the way those pet names rolled off his tongue in that accent was doing things to her she had just never expected. But she was losing patience, and the more he had her coming undone the more frustrated she became with herself.

“Fuck me good and find out”.

He growled and with one sudden upwards thrust and guttural groan he sheathed himself inside her. She cried out at the sudden intrusion, almost regretting her show of defiance before the painful sting was replaced by the sweet sting of pleasure. Tangerine reached up, his palm pressing against her mouth to muffle her scream as he let out an amused chuckle.

“Careful luv, wouldn’t want anyone to know we’re doing in here”.

She knew he was right but the way ne filled her just right had her eyes rolling to the back of her head and all her inhibitions disappeared.

“That’s it...” He cooed again, one hand squeezing against her hip and the other snaking its way up her chest. It didn’t take long to build up a brutal rhythm, his hips snapping up against her almost painfully. The pace had her biting down on her own lip, hard enough to the point she drew a small amount of blood, the taste of iron coating her tongue as she propped her hands behind her on his knees or support.

Tangerine watched her with a lust in his gaze, hard muffled grunts leaving is lips with every thrust of his hips. He kept his hold on one side of her hips whilst the other had found its way around her throat, fingers squeezing a firm pressure onto her neck that was already littered with his bruises.

Now with the added loss of oxygen, she was being sent into complete bliss. Pleasure was already overtaking every inch of her body and she could feel that familiar twinge in the centre of her core, that feeling of unwinding threatening to break at any moment.

He never let up his pace, sweat beading at the crown of his head as he focused himself on her, on her body and the way she started to tighten around him. She was close and her warmth only egged him on, encouraging him to only wreck her even more.

“Let go for me sweetheart”. He managed to grunt out his words, focusing on getting her to the end.

She whined softly, trying her best on not screaming out as the searing hot burn of her climax finally imploded inside her. Her body seized from the pure pleasure. Tangerine’s hips stuttered with her release, the constant feeling of her core flexing around him sending him over the edge shortly after her. He filled her with his warmth, the feeling sending a shiver through her already sensitive body.

“Fuckin’ ell”. Falling forwards into Tangerine’s surprisingly caring embrace his arms wrapped around her to help her ride out her orgasm, “Good girl”. Tangerine stroked the back of her head, heavy breath blowing past her ear with the words of praise.

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

Surprisingly he helped her clean herself up, where she had expected him to leave as soon as they were done. But now, here she was, watching him primp himself in the mirror, smoothing those beautiful curls back down to a somewhat more presentable way.

She hadn’t forgotten about the drive in his breast pocket however.

He had his back turned to her as she silently stayed leaning against the door of the bathroom, her head tilted in observation as she waited for the exact moment to make her move. He was gorgeous, he really was, and shit he made her feel good. Him standing there now, examining every little detail of himself in the mirror, ensuring he was presentable or perhaps just liked looking at himself a little too much. But he was charming, too charming for his own good. Damn...she was starting to like him.

“You know...it’s a real shame”. “What’s that luv?” “Sorry about this”.

“Sorry about wha—" Without letting him finish his sentence she had already gripped the side of his head, using maximum force without being lethal to send the man’s head directly into the side of the porcelain sink. With a deafening crack and a loud groan of pain, Tangerine was on the floor, a sizeable cut on that beautiful forehead of his.

She sighed dramatically before squatting down beside a groaning Tangerine, clearly disorientated from the hit to the head. “No hard feelings?” She cooed, a grin on her lips as she slipped the hard drive from his pocket and placed a kiss on the top of his head.

“Oi...you—f...fucken ch...cheeky”.

“Shhh, you’ve hit your head. Rest a while”. And with that she disappeared through the bathroom door.

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

“You’ve got to be fucken’ kidding me”. Lemon stood before Tangerine, hands on his hips as his twin held a bag of frozen whatever against the forming lump on his forehead. “What’d I fucken say?”

“Shut up mate”. “Thomas would nev-“ “Don’t even fucken go there”.

#tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine x you #bullet train #tangerine fanfic #tangerine x y/n #aaron taylor johnson #bullet train fanfic

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sashaisready · 26 days

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This Must Be The Place: Chapter 4 - Pick me up

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Brief mention to reader’s (small) injury, references to past motorcycle accident and life changing injury.

Thanks so much for the response to this story so far, I'm aiming to update at least once a week - hopefully more some weeks - but life is quite busy at the moment. All your reblogs and comments are so appreciated, thank-you!

You sat awkwardly on a rickety old desk in the backroom as Bucky carefully pulled the tiny shards of glass from your arm with a tweezer. He’d already checked out your head injury, which was barely an injury at all really, a mere scratch and small bump. After a few tests he seemed satisfied you weren’t concussed, so he’d moved on to the glass wound.

He still seemed mad, so you kept quiet, trying not to concentrate on his proximity. His fingers moved agilely and delicately despite his hefty frame, but you supposed it made sense that someone who worked on cars and motorcycles most of the day would be good with their hands.

Your mouth pulled into a grimace as he pulled another shard out and then quickly cleaned the area with antiseptic, causing you to hiss.

“Almost done…” he said monotonously.

“Thanks” you replied.

Your tone was sheepish, you felt a little embarrassed that he was now patching you up after you’d clapped back at him. Your mouth sometimes got ahead of you like that. But it was hard not to feel aggrieved when he was also making you feel like a kid who’d been sent to the principal’s office.

“Hold still…” he scolded.

Yeah…just like that.

“I am still”.

“No…you’re moving. Cut it out”.

“You cut it out!”

He sighed heavily. “Whatever…”

The two of you stewed in silence for a few more minutes until he pulled the final piece out and cleaned and bandaged the wound, then meticulously packed everything back into his medical kit. You thanked him and kept your head down, running your fingers across the bandage as you wondered what to say. You didn’t normally feel shy around Bucky, but the incident with the customer and your subsequent squabbling had thrown you off. Your general feelings towards him seemed to oscillate between sheer lust and intense annoyance.

“So…I guess you’ll be quitting then” he said glumly as he turned around and put the kit back into a desk drawer.

You looked up, surprised. “Huh?”

“After this, I mean” he cleared his throat. “I guess you’ll be quitting the job”.

“Why?”

He turned towards you; confusion and annoyance evident on his face. “…Because you got assaulted by a customer and I didn’t stop it?”

You tilted your head in sudden understanding. “That’s why you’re being so pissy? You think I’m going to quit?”

He frowned; his tone clipped. “Why wouldn’t you? You don’t need this shit on top of all your house stuff”.

Well…he was sort of right. You didn’t really need the money (although it helped), and you really didn’t need to be dealing with drunk guys trying to bottle you…but…in all honesty? You’d dealt with worse over the years. A drunk guy with bad aim wasn’t pleasant, but you liked this job – you liked the MC, you liked the regulars, you liked that it gave you something to do in the evenings rather than aimlessly wander Granny’s house, you liked…Bucky.

“I’m not quitting, Bucky” you told him defiantly.

He looked genuinely surprised, his blue eyes narrowing. “What? Look…I’d understand, we fucked up – we should’ve been there to protect you and we were fuckin’ around playing pool”.

You frowned. “Look…don’t feel guilty. I should’ve called you over and not tried to manage him by myself when he started getting rowdy…I guess I just, didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle it…” you told him quietly.

He chuckled fondly. “Sugar…I know full well you can handle it. I’ve seen the way you can handle yourself. But drunks can be unpredictable. You need to tell one of us if things get ugly, okay? That’s why we’re here”.

You nodded. “Alright”.

“Promise me you’ll call me or one of the others over if someone so much as raises their voice to you”. His tone was stern, he was clearly very serious about this.

“Scout’s honour” you replied sunnily as you held up your fingers in a mock salute, trying to ease some of the strange tension that was in the air.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with your answer, but the stern look on his face was still there.

“And you’re really staying? Because if you wanted to quit..”

“No…Bucky, I’m staying”.

The silence hung awkwardly between you until you cleared your throat, looking over at the cabinet where he’d put away the kit.

“So uh…I didn’t think you’d have First Aid training”.

“You learn a few things after you come off your bike a couple of times” he sighed gruffly.

You nodded silently in response, but he caught your eyes briefly darting to look over at his metal arm.

“Yes…” he wiggled his metal fingers. “That was one of those times…can’t fix that with our First Aid box though” he muttered.

“Oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine,” he softened. “I don’t mind talking about it. Really. Long time ago now. Got knocked off my bike by a truck and got pretty badly mangled. They couldn’t save it…”

“Jesus, Bucky, I’m SO sorry. I had no idea…”

“It’s fine,” he said pragmatically. “Accidents happen. Life goes on. Besides, got an upgrade out of it…” he smiled grimly and flexed the robotic arm.

“And you still get on your bike every day, even after all that?” you asked with disbelief.

He nodded, a smile lighting up his face. “It’s what I love. Nothing could stop me doing what I love. Yeah, I was a bit shaky at first. But you adapt. That’s what life is about, isn’t it?”

You smiled back at him. He was like regular Bucky again. You admired the way his face lit up when he spoke about his passion, quietly impressed by his determination to get back in the saddle. You wished you could be more like him in that way, rather than cowering in your indecision when things went south. You looked back over at his metal arm.

“I mean…it’s amazing. So intricate. I’ve never seen a prosthetic like it. How do you even go about getting a robot arm?”

“Friends in high places,” he tittered. “Tony Stark threw it in as part of a deal…”

Your eyes widened. “Tony Stark…the weapons magnate?”

Bucky just winked in response.

“Why would you and Tony Sta- No…you know what? I don’t need to know…”

“Yeah…probably for the best,” he laughed.

You rolled your eyes, but you were secretly relieved that the tension between you both had eased. Back to dumb jokes and sassing each other.

He smiled back at you for a second, but it faded so quickly that it made your stomach flip. He looked over at you forcefully, his eyes dark. It was a look you hadn’t seen before.

“Bucky…what is it-”

“I’m sorry again…that you got hurt,” he said gravely. “I would never…if I’d known…” he sighed. “I just mean…the last thing I’d ever want is for you to be in harm’s way…”

You paused, struck by the sincerity in his voice. You stared back at him, nodding sluggishly as he moved closer to you, unable to tear your eyes away from him. Time seemed to slow as he leaned towards you. Your eyes widened as he tilted his head, his expression intense. He leaned in closer and closer, and you found yourself moving too, like a moth to a flame. As his lips met yours it was like a lightning bolt, your breath caught in your chest as you suppressed a gasp and let yourself melt into him. His tongue was in your mouth before you knew what was happening, and you reciprocated greedily. Suddenly his hands were on your thighs, moving up your hips, your waist. The heat of his touch searing. Your own fingers grabbed at his kutte, pulling him closer and closer but still never close enough as his mouth moved to your throat. You practically mewled as his lips met the flesh of your neck, you tilted your head back to allow him full access. Your eyes closed as you bit your lip, his mouth ghosted over your skin and-

The heavy knocking sent you crashing back down to earth with a cruel bump, a tiny gasp escaping you as he pushed you back down against the wood.

“Buck…” came the muffled voice from behind the door. “We need to go. Sorry. Does your best employee need a ride home?”

“What is it, Sam?” Bucky snarled as he stood and moved towards the door.

“Rumlow…he’s apparently making a move…”

Bucky exhaled, he turned to look at you for a second, opening his mouth to speak before shaking his head in silent apology. His eyes said more than his lips ever could. You nodded in return.

He swung the door open and Sam stood there. He didn’t seem to be embarrassed or awkward to interrupt, so he was either being polite enough not to mention it, or simply hadn’t picked up on the slight heaviness in your breathing, or the way you were somewhat splayed across the desk.

“Goddamn. Alright. Let’s go,” Bucky instructed. “Sugar…you need a ride?”

“N-no. I drove. All good” you stuttered as you regained your composure.

“Sam…have someone ride back with her. Just in case”.

“Bucky I’m fine I-”

He looked at you warningly, raising an eyebrow.

“Alright…” you sighed. “Give me the motorcycle escort”.

His hard expression softened for a split second; a hint of a smile sent your way. The beginnings of a sparkle in his baby blues.

And then he was gone.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #this must be the place fic #biker!bucky #motorcycle club au bucky

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themoonfeltmyenvy · 2 years

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so let me get this straight

says she has dreams face reveal and he's only face revealing so she doesn't leak it first, then doesn't show the pictures, aka the one thing that couldn't be faked. she says they talked very briefly, give or take a month or 2. why would he face reveal to her, yet not friends of what would be 5-8 years at the time. he was so scared of his face being leaked he went out of state just to go to the dentist or to eat with his mom, so why would he face reveal to a girl he only knew for a month or 2?

the contact name on the text messages is either blocked out or cropped out. her only proof that this is him is that he "shows up in her TikTok contacts." now we know that since 2020 dream has been doxxed and his number has been leaked and changed AT LEAST once since then. this is common knowledge in the fandom but he even confirms it himself in his face reveal video. so how would she have his current number if this happened in 2020? the only way that would make sense is if he never updated his contact information on TikTok, which can't be true as he just restored his TikTok account last week and would need updated contact info or if she got his new current number from a doxx. or the video is fake.

she says "it crosses the line when he's sending me his huge house/inviting me." at that time dream lived in an apartment, there were even times when he said he was struggling to pay rent, what "huge house" is she referring to because he didn't move in with sapnap until 2021 and the huge house they live in now, they just moved into give or take 2 weeks before the meetup/face reveal

for the Snapchat thing there's really no way to prove that's even his snap profile unless dream leaks his private snap, and if it is his there's conveniently not a single saved message except for the "huh" so there's no way of knowing what was said in these chats

her boyfriend is an anti and the one driving this whole thing. she said they talked, nothing bad happened and they stopped talking because she got bored/he wasn't interesting NOT because she was manipulated. but the bf claims dream groomed her (we'll get into that in a moment). this bf is a full believer of the whole sex mod scandal and believes he's a pedo.

the twitter DMs. while these can easily be faked, I don't think they are. I think this is a case of "I had something real for credibility sake but added fake shit to make it worse". the reason I think the DMs are real is because why would she include messages of him saying "how old are you? 18 nvm" if she was trying to "expose him." it's likely she had 18 in her bio because it's clear Dream thought he was talking to someone who was 18. there's nothing damning in these DMs. it's literally just 2 people talking about school.

goes private as soon as it gets attention and doesn't elaborate on any of these claims. this is a serious situation and you're playing with someone's career, give context and elaborate.

and finally even if all of this is real, it's not grooming and it's not sexual assault. they never even met in person, they talked for like 2 months and there was no evidence of coercion in the messages shown. the only crime here is cringey ass flirting between a 20 year old and a believed 18 year old that made me want to bleach my eyes. people bring up power imbalance as well. her bf says she was never a fan of him. at this time dream smp hadn't even started, he had just blown up (2M subs), and again in the dms shown there is no evidence of this dynamic in play. if she was a fan, is it weird? yeah. is it grooming or sa? NO!

TLDR: there's a lot of holes in the story that just don't make sense and even if it is real it's not grooming or SA

#dreamwastaken

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thewebcomicsreview · 25 days

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Woah, it's a hamsteak! Bit early this month, maybe they're splitting it into two parts (Edit: Apparently yes, per a newspost). They've been teasing a big [S] page for a while, probably where the game starts in Meat and The Point is revealed in Candy, and these updates seem like they're getting everyone in position for that. We're now done with the Ship and with DIrk, and we won't see either until the [S] comes, but we still need to pick up the kids and see what Karkat is up to, so I'm expecting this is a setup-heavy update for an [S] page...next month, on 6/12? Let's see.

KARKAT: KEPT YOU WAITING, HUH?

Candy Karkat is blatantly Solid Snake and I'm a bit surprised the old team never had him riff a Snake catchphrase. New team popping that cherry right off. Also, wow, Karkles got swole.

MEENAH: took you long enough bossman KARKAT: I THOUGHT I ASKED YOU TO STOP CALLING ME THAT WHEN WE'RE ALONE. MEENAH: big bossman KARKAT: NOT BETTER. MEENAH: sweetie-pirate KARKAT: BOSSMAN IT IS.

We're just going all-in on the Metal Gear references, but Meenah loses fishpoints for not calling him Big Bass. It's right there, Meenah.

KARKAT: AS YOU MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE NOTICED THERE'S AN ESCALATING, LARGE-SCALE MILITARY CONFLICT UNDERWAY;

Is there? I hadn't noticed, because the war is entirely fucking offscreen in HS2, to the point where I'm really unclear on if it's huge open battles (as in the epilogues) or a terrorist insurgency (as implied by Jane's focus on PR, the lack of any on-screen fighting, and even here Karket saying he was blowing up "Crockercorp" supply depots instead of "human" supply depots). "Escalating" is an interesting word, though. I have a theory that Jane and Rose both don't consider any of Earth C's population "Real", and in Jane's mind she's basically just been larping as a bad guy up until her dad died and she got serious, and this is why Jane was seemingly cool with helping Jade raise Yiffy, even though Jade is a commander in the anti-Jane rebel army. Jane's going to just stop being evil on a dime and everyone but Rose and Jane are going to be baffled.

There was a writer commentary where they kept making jokes about doing this, but I guess it's real. Why is the Carapacian naked?

These guys, who are not guaranteed to survive to the end of the update, are already fucking great.

KARKAT: ALRIGHT, COMPANIES 1 THROUGH 3 ARE IN PLACE. KARKAT: 4 THROUGH 6 ARE EN ROUTE.

Is this the first 413 in HS2? I'm surprised they're not using 612, the troll number.

KARKAT: ALSO THIS COVERT-OPS SUIT IS TIGHT AS ALL FUCK. MEENAH: well if its any consolation that may be rough for you but its a pretty great time to be your rear admire-all 38) KARKAT: MUCH OBLIGED.

The ship no one expected!

KARKAT: NOT LIKE DAVE. MEENAH: how you feelin about that

I know Karkat hasn't had a lot of screen time in HS2, and I know they've justified why this is coming up now, but as far as Karkat knows Candy Dave A. Married Jade, and then B. Died fifteen years ago. Has this really not come up in fifteen years?

SOLLUX: there's like a bazillion m0oks swarming ar0und my crib and none 0f the grubereats dudes are accepting orders right n0w. SOLLUX: probably 0n account 0f your inc0nvenient ass war. SOLLUX: could y0u pick me something up? SOLLUX: i'm assuming you're 0n your way.

Is this...the first on-screen interaction between Karkat and Sollux since Cascade in 2011? It was worth the wait.

KARKAT: MAYBE YOU'D GIVE MORE OF A FUCK ABOUT THE REPRODUCTIVE FUTURE OF OUR SPECIES IF ARADIA WAS EVER ACTUALLY THERE LONG ENOUGH FOR YOU TO GET SOME. MEENAH: ohhh snapper KARKAT: ANYWAY YEAH I CAN PROBABLY SWING THAT.

This is maybe the most Karkat interaction ever. He's furious for extremely good reasons, he's constantly insulting his friends, of course he'll swing his A-team war truck by McDonalds on the way to the war zone to get Sollux something. Doesn't even occur to him not to.

KARKAT: AND WE NEVER LET IT GO. LOB 4: Well said, sir! KARKAT: WHAT THE FUCK. KARKAT: HOW LONG HAVE YOU ALL BEEN LISTENING? TER 2: Pretty much since the beginning, sir!

It's cool and thematic that these guys talk in Dave's colors but I'm unbelievably sad they don't have names.

KARKAT: COMMANDERS HARLEY, MARYAM, AND LALONDE ARE INBOUND, AND NOT LONG AFTER THEY GET HERE THINGS ARE GOING TO GET BATSHIT STUPID!

Last time we saw Vrissy, she was seeing Yiffy for the first time. I was expecting an update following up on that before the big everything coming together, but maybe they won't get a chance to talk yet

Because this sure feels like the last page before an [S]

Edit: But it isn't, the news post said another update this month.

#Homestuck 2

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devizakura · 9 months

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Hey, hi, I'm not dead, and I bring you my new favorite trio (Lyney my beloved especially... He highkey managed to rizz me ngl snsdnxn).

Now if anybody wants to see me get real: it's just kinda been hard to get back into drawing once I took that break and then got into cosplaying which allows my ADHD brain to create a week's worth of serotonin in content in one day as opposed to drawing, where the proportion is reversed (high time input, low content output). And even if I draw something, it just feels... weird to return here. It's really bizarre to me, drawing was my LIFE since ever, something I needed like it was air, and now I kinda... switched to something else. That one Barbie movie song really hits right now, huh...

I haven't even had the motivation to post stuff I already have, like some more of Dasha's voicelines or an updated reference pic for her, but maybe I'll try...

#genshin impact #lyney #lynette #freminet #lyney and lynette #art #devi's art

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leslie-lyman · 1 year

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And I’ll Be All in Clover

Summary: Marcus attends the White House Easter Egg Roll and finds someone he did not expect.

Pairing: Congressman!Marcus Pike x nameless OFC/f!reader

Rating: G

Word count: 3.2k

a/n: Oh hi there. It’s been a minute, huh? Remember when I promised this update like three months ago? I’ve been tinkering on and off with this installment forEVER and finally finished it! Note that we find out some more about Marcus’s mystery lady from Part 1 here; she is referred to only with she/her pronouns and no defining physical description, so you can read her as a female reader insert if you like, though she does have a specific job and background in this story. If you’d like to be notified when I post new writing, please follow my writing update blog @leslie-lyman-writes and turn on notifications.

Part 1 || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

———

“Alright, who is she?”

Marcus flinches, startled at the sound of Linda’s voice. He turns towards the door of his office where his chief of staff is standing, one hip resting against the door jam.

“What are you talking about?”

Linda shakes her head, wild black curls swishing back and forth over her shoulders.

“Don’t play dumb, Marcus. It doesn’t suit you. You’ve been moping around the office for three weeks, staring off into the middle distance, and I’m pretty sure it’s not because you’re daydreaming about the defense budget or campaign finance reform. So who is she?”

Linda is astonishingly good at reading people. It’s part of what makes her such an effective chief. But Marcus is also astonishingly easy to read, and Linda knows about his history with women better than most.

It’s especially embarrassing that he can’t actually answer her question. And the shame at being caught out makes him raise his hackles in defense.

“You know, just because I may have been a little quiet lately doesn’t mean it’s automatically about a woman,” he huffs. “Not everything with me is always about a woman. I’m capable of caring deeply about lots of things. Maybe I’ve been mulling over what I wanna say at the NASA hearing this week. Or wondering whether Jackie Evers is gonna agree to co-lead our economic development bill. Or wrestling with the fact that San Antonio remains the most impoverished major city in the nation.”

“Marcus…”

“Three hundred and fifty thousand people below the poverty line, Linda,” he continues, working himself up. “And what are we doing to make it better? Children going hungry, undocumented families scared for their lives, lead pipes in the walls and guns on the streets, money for fighter jets but none for child care, and you think just because I’ve been a little moody lately that it’s about a woman? You’re really gonna just walk into my office and assume that any change in my mood has to be about a woman?”

Linda waits until he’s gotten it all out of his system, watching him rise from his seat and gesture more and more broadly with his hands the more indignant he becomes. When he finally stops, breathing like he’s just run a hundred-meter dash, she simply raises one eyebrow and says:

“So what is it about, then?”

Marcus meets her stare with his own for a few seconds, then deflates entirely, flopping back into his chair.

“It’s about a woman.”

Linda has the good grace not to lord her correct assumption over him. She merely hums at the satisfaction of being right and wanders over to stand in front of Marcus’s desk. She tosses a small envelope at him, which he catches with a start.

“What is this?”

“A distraction.”

With a small frown Marcus opens it, pulling out a slip of official-looking card stock.

“The White House Easter Egg Roll?”

“Rebecca was supposed to go with me and Olivia, but she has to work. So now I have an extra ticket.”

“I suppose that I should be flattered that I’m your second choice right after your wife.”

Linda rolls her eyes.

“Oh please. You need to snap out of this funk you’re in, and perhaps getting outside and touching some grass will help. And if that grass so happens to be on the South Lawn at a wholesome family event where President Ramirez will also be in attendance, along with a certain senator whose support you need to get the drug treatment court money included in the omnibus…”

Marcus looks up, suddenly interested.

“Jones will be there? How do you know?”

“Because I know everything.”

Marcus has yet to find that to be untrue.

“He’s been dodging my calls for weeks.”

“I know.”

Linda can see the wheels turning in Marcus’s brain based on this new information, and knows that he’s probably already jumping ahead to formulating what he’d say to make his pitch for the money to the senator.

This is what Marcus needs: a cause and a plan.

“I’m gonna need updated stats on — ”

“Yeah.”

“And I’d like to look over the list of organizations that have come out in support again, too.”

“Yup.”

Marcus stares hard at the base of the lamp on his desk without really seeing it as he thinks things through.

“If I could just talk to him about it, if I could just lay out the case for this funding, I know I could convince him to do it. I know I could.”

Nearly twenty-five years in politics has made Linda nothing if not a realist. But to see the fervor with which Marcus clings to his convictions, to his belief in people and in their ability to do the right thing, threatens to chip away at her more jaded edges. She can’t bring herself to try and rein in his optimism, so she gently changes the subject.

“Olivia will love to see you too. It’s been too long since she’s gotten to hang out with her Uncle Marcus. And maybe you could try and have some fun while we’re there? You know, relax a little bit? There’s usually a few celebrities who show up to this thing. There’s a rumor going around that Bad Bunny might make an appearance this year.”

Marcus lets out a bark of laughter.

“That’s funny,” he says.

The look on Linda’s face remains unamused.

“Y’know, cause it’s the Easter — ”

“Shut up, and don’t be late.”

The sounds of Marcus chuckling follow her all the way to her office.

———

The White House Easter Egg Roll dates back to 1878. Egg rolling had become a popular Easter Monday event for Washington, DC’s children in the 1870s, who would race their eggs down the west grounds of the United States Capitol. In 1876, Congress outlawed the practice out of concern for the impact on the Capitol grounds. Two years later, President Rutherford B. Hayes initiated the first White House Easter Egg Roll as a new alternative venue for the tradition.

In its present form, thousands of families descend upon the South Lawn every Easter Monday for an event that has become essentially the world’s most tightly secured garden party. The titular egg roll is still the main event, but the vast grounds that stretch from the White House’s Truman Balcony down to the edge of the Ellipse also boast all manner of food stations, educational activities for kids, a proper Easter egg hunt, a petting zoo, various costumed characters, and a performance stage.

The United States Marine Corps Band is halfway through a rendition of “Easter Parade” when Marcus, Linda, and Olivia enter the grounds. It’s a beautiful day for the event; April weather in DC can range from sleet to blazing sun, but today is downright idyllic. Fluffy clouds float across the clear blue sky over the nearby Washington Monument. The South Lawn gleams emerald green, covered in a sea of people in mostly pastel outfits.

Dressing for an event at the White House is usually a formal affair, but per Linda’s advice Marcus has foregone a tie and opted for the most springtime-like shirt in his closet: a button-down in crisp periwinkle under a suit a shade too bright to be considered navy. A Congressman’s business casual.

Olivia is, as predicted, overjoyed to see the man she’s called Uncle Marcus since she learned to talk. She remains glued to Marcus’s side as they wander the grounds, stopping to load up on sugary snacks and feed handfuls of grain pellets to the baby goats at the petting zoo. Her long black curls and boundless energy mirror Linda’s, and before long she has grass stains and dirt streaks on her pink Easter dress but neither of her chaperones is concerned. Stains will wash out, Linda had told Marcus once, the fun she had getting them is far more important.

It’s more fun than Marcus has had in a long time. It’s a beautiful day with people he considers family, but there’s a twinge of something he feels deep in his gut that threatens to spoil it for him.

Envy.

He would be hard-pressed to find a situation that makes more clear than this one that which he lacks: a family of his own. He’s surrounded by the shrieks and laughter of children, the sight of moms and dads cheering their kids on as they race eggs down the steepest part of the South Lawn’s slope. He’s spotted many of his colleagues here, other members of Congress with their families, happy and together and full of love for each other. There is no doubt in Marcus’s mind that he loves Olivia, but nothing can ever change that fact that she isn’t his.

After the painful saga of his divorce and the whole mess with Theresa, Marcus had thrown himself not long after into the drastic career change of running for office. That had consumed eighteen months of his life and had worked wonders in keeping him so busy and exhausted that the idea of venturing out into the dating world again had been pushed from his mind. His singleness had even become something of an object of fascination to the public. Politico had dubbed him “Congress’s Most Eligible Bachelor” not long ago on what must have been a particularly slow news day. But now…

He’s starting to think he’ll never stop yearning for it, of finding that someone, that connection, that partner. Of having what everyone else does: a happily ever after. And he’s also starting to fear that it might never happen.

“I don’t see Jones yet,” Linda murmurs to him as they clean their hands after the baby goat encounter. Oh right, he remembers. This is also technically a work event.

“Somehow I can’t picture him willingly spending much time near farm animals,” Marcus replies.

Linda makes a noise of amused agreement before Olivia suddenly lets out a squeal of excitement.

“Mom, mom, look! It’s Bluey!”

Sure enough, the cartoon’s titular dog has made an appearance near the performance stage to the audible delight of seemingly every kid here. Olivia grabs Linda’s hand and starts trying to drag her over.

“You know I’d hoped when she turned five she’d move beyond her Bluey obsession, but it hasn’t happened yet,” Linda mutters to Marcus.

“The trials of parenthood,” Marcus grins.

“I’ll take her over there, why don’t you go do a lap and see if you can’t run into a certain senator?”

Marcus nods.

“And you looked at the latest stats on recidivism?” Linda calls over her shoulder as Olivia impatiently leads her away.

“Yes! Now go get your kid a picture with that dog!”

———

Marcus wanders. He stops to say hello to some of the other Members he knows and is friendly with. Several times it’s other people who stop him. He’s a more recognizable face than most other elected officials, despite his short tenure on the job, and every few minutes someone comes up and asks for a selfie.

There are also professional photographers mingling about from the ever-present White House Press Corps, the gaggle of reporters from all manner of news outlets assigned to cover the White House. Marcus runs into a journalist he’s spoken with a few times from CBS News and grants him a quick interview for the outlet’s TikTok about what his first Easter Egg Roll has been like so far. But there’s no sign yet of the senator he’s hoping to speak with.

He’s wandering past the section of the lawn where Jorge Ramirez, the First Gentleman, is reading from a picture book to a group of children when he notices a camera pointed in his direction out of the corner of his eye. He turns in the photographer’s direction and before she even lowers her camera recognition hits him like lightning.

The woman from the botanical gardens.

The surprise is written all over his face and he knows it, but he can’t muster the wherewithal to school his expression into anything more neutral before he hears the click of the camera’s shutter. But when she lowers the device, she’s smiling at him, and the unexpected delight at seeing her again has him grinning back.

She walks over to him, inspecting the photo she’d just taken on the camera’s display. She’s dressed in black trousers, a white blouse, and comfy-looking sneakers, a black camera bag slung over one shoulder.

“Hello again, Congressman,” she says.

“Hi,” is all Marcus manages.

Something from their first meeting occurs to him then that throws cold water over his excitement.

“I thought you said you weren’t press.” He tries to keep his tone as light as possible.

She fishes an ID badge on a lanyard out from around her neck and holds it out for him to see. It’s not the standard press badge all credentialed reports are required to wear when on White House grounds. It’s a staff badge.

“You work for the President?”

“I do.” She tucks the badge away. “I used to be press, but I’ve since come over to the other side.”

“Ah.”

The chatter of a thousand people surrounds them. Not far away the band finishes a medley of Disney songs to a round of applause. But to Marcus it all feels very far away. Instead he’s hyper-aware of every detail about her: her fingers fidgeting a bit nervously with the camera she still holds, the white flash of her teeth between pretty pink lips, the mismatched earrings she wears (one a carrot, the other a bunny).

“I didn’t get a chance to get your name, before,” he says.

She gives it to him, and the knot he’s carried around in his chest for weeks wondering who this woman is loosens.

“Marcus Pike,” he returns, holding out his hand.

“Oh, I know,” she replies teasingly. Her grip is firm and sends a little shiver of electricity up Marcus’s spine.

Being an FBI agent meant that Marcus was used to projecting an air of authority, to having people sit up and take notice of when he spoke. But being an elected official deferred upon him even more authority whether he felt it was earned or not, it made his time, his attention, be in great demand. If you knew who he was, you probably wanted something from him. And people were so impressed by him, so deferential to him, so flattering and accommodating. Many of his colleagues let it go right to their heads. But all it did was make Marcus constantly second-guess who he could trust.

There’s nothing of that here with this woman. What he sees is the curve of her lip and the quirk of her eyebrow and what he hears is her Oh, I know but what he feels is that she fails to find his status impressive or intimidating and how refreshing that is. How rare, these days, for him to have a conversation feeling like someone is talking to him instead of his title.

“I’m so happy to see you again,” he tells her. “I…regret that our conversation in the gardens got cut short.” He hopes she doesn’t take that to mean he’s blaming her.

She shrugs, attempting to look nonchalant, her bag shifting at the movement.

“I know how it is with Members. I didn’t want to impose on too much of your time.”

“You could have,” Marcus blurts out before he can stop himself.

“You could have,” he repeats more quietly. “Talking with you…it was the best part of my day. Of my whole week. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.” About you, he adds silently, but doesn’t say aloud.

The teasing edge to her smile fades, replaced by something shyer, more genuine.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it either,” she admits.

Warmth blooms in Marcus’s chest that has nothing to do with the bright April sunshine.

“Could I — could we talk more, sometime?”

“Are you asking me out, Congressman?”

“It’s Marcus, actually,” he says with a coy grin, finally finding the ability to flirt again that usually comes so naturally to him.

Something in her face falters, a flash of disappointment.

“Not here, it’s not,” she murmurs, “not right now.”

Her eyes slide past his to glance about at the crowds of people around them. Guilt clenches in his gut as reality floods back in, the bubble around them bursting and the sounds of the crowds around them suddenly returning to full volume in his ear. How could he be so careless? He’s a Member of Congress, she’s a White House staffer, and right now, she’s working. There are still power dynamics here that he’s completely forgotten about until this moment.

“Oh, fuck, you’re right. I’m so sorry, forget I said anything—”

“Don’t be.” She shakes her head at him, eyes wide. “What I meant by ‘not right now,’ is that—it’s not that I’m not inter—” She blows a raspberry with her lips and swipes a hand over her face.

“What I mean to say is, I should be done with work today by seven. If, if you’d like to talk more. Which I would very much like, for the record.”

She reaches into her camera bag and pulls out a crisp white business card and a pen, scribbling a phone number down on the back. He takes it from her when she holds it out to him, their fingertips just barely brushing.

“Hey boss!” The sound of Linda calling for him from over his shoulder is a rough yank back to reality. He turns to find her walking towards them, a giddy Olivia in tow.

“Senator Jones, three o’clock.” And sure enough, off to Marcus’s right, he spots the man in question, sun gleaming off both his bald spot and his veneers, talking with several other men in stuffy suits and ties.

Linda looks past Marcus at his no-longer-a-mystery woman, then back at him, the look on her face telling him that she’s immediately figured out who it is he’s been talking to.

“I’m sorry,” Marcus says, “I can’t believe I’m doing this again, but I gotta—”

“It’s okay,” she reassures him. “Looks like we both have to get back to work.”

Marcus sighs, fingers tightening on the little card he still holds.

“Happy Easter, Congressman,” she says.

“Happy Easter,” he replies with a murmur of her name, and finds he likes the way it feels on his lips.

———

The rest of the day passes in a blur.

He has a good talk with Senator Jones (he thinks, he hopes), he gives three more impromptu interviews, he eats too much chocolate with Olivia before carrying her back to her mother’s car. He grabs Chinese takeout on the way back to his apartment, a sparsely furnished one-bedroom in Navy Yard, and fights the urge every step of the way to google the gorgeous White House photographer whose number is burning a hole in his pocket.

There’s so much he wants to know about her. And he could so easily find out so much if he wanted to right this moment, her whole career likely just a quick google search away, but he resists. Don’t dive in so quick, he tells himself. Don’t rush. Besides, he wants to hear it all from her herself.

He punches in the number at 7:02.

It rings only once before she answers.

“Hello, Marcus.”

#marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #Marcus pike x ofc #Pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #the mentalist fanfic

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spitdrunken · 3 months

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currently i'm really busy with writing for my thesis, which unfortunately leaves me with little creative juice... ive been engaging with other people's creations a lot more rather than writing for myself, but have some assorted thoughts on things ive enjoyed recently below, for anyone who is interested. feel free to send me asks about anything that's mentioned, but because of the above, might take me a bit to get back to u <3!

these aren't really x reader thoughts, just rambling! if you read this, thank u, i am giving you a kiss on your forehead/hug/fistbump/handshake/whatever words of affirmation you have been wanting to hear today. pick your favorite!

(Pokephilia mention) Pokémon Legends Z's announcement!! It'll be forever until it's released (which, as a true Pokémon fan, I'm very happy about BAHAHAH), but I'm so excited! Very curious how they are planning to implement, what seems to be, citybuilder elements... If Emmet shows up in this game, I'm going to be super delighted, but I honestly doubt it. Either way, it's made me think a bit more about the twins, and Poképhilia stuff in general as well! It's such a shame/pain the main tag is blocked... one day I will start and stick to my intention to write, like, porn about all the Pokémon, haha. A dream...

(cannibalism(????) monster eating??? mention. consensual!) Dungeon Meshi really was as much fun as everyone mentioned! Don't really see myself writing fic about it, except for a very specific idea I had... I like the thought of Laois 'obsessed with eating monsters' Touden got to meet a monster (AKA Reader) who is equally obsessed with the idea of being eaten!! Maybe a mermaid, or something like that? It's his one chance to eat a humanoid monster! Though the others probably won't believe him when they tell him that it was 100% consensual, and are judging him harshly LMAO

Welcome Home updated! Very happy about this. Though I don't connect them publically, I actually have written quite a bit of WH fic and my sfw sideblog for it used to have more followers than this one LMAOO. Maybe one day I'll write NSFW works for it, but I dunno if there's interest... Plus, I very much fall underneath people the creator would consider 'unwelcome' in their squeaky-clean fandom or whatever, but they have like a quarter million followers now, lol. Anyway, Wally is, as has been said many times before, the Most! He draws me in <3

And also, poor Eddie, lmao. It's very interesting to me, with the inclusion of the Narrator, that the characters seem to be forced to steer in a specific direction, if that makes sense? To upkeep a certain mask. I wonder if 'as above, so below' is a reference to that, in the sense that whatever is dictated by the stronger forces of narrative, is what shall occur 'below'-- In their world. Like, the animosity some of these puppets have for each other!!!!! Some of them are just straight up Not Friends, lmao.

I need to play more of it, but if anyone is reading this, go play I Was A Teenage Exocolonist. I expected it to be waaaay more popular, especially on Tumblr, but it's so underrated? The writing is wonderful, the characters are well-defined, and the art is breathtaking! Please take a look at the trigger warnings, cuz there are a few that are definitely applicable, but it's soooo good... If it has to be said, I romanced Dys first, lmao.

I am watching The Apothecary Diaries right now, just started today, and can I jsut say... I'm such a fan of all the women in this show!! I love the perspective it gives on court life a lot! Maomao definitely is pulling in all the men AND women, huh.... i appreciate that. Jinshi also 100% wants to get degraded by her, huh. Maomao is the sexywoman of this show.

#nw #insight into my brain...

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tanoraqui · 7 months

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hey!! i love your blog so much your takes are *chefs kiss*

i saw an Amazing post a few months ago where someone laid out a really cool plan for a silmarillion tv show and i cant find it again. it haunts my every waking moment. i think i saw it on your blog so i figured id ask if you knew it.

Either way, have a great day!

(note: I got this ask several thousand years ago, and am answering it now because I asked my roommates if I should write something serious tonight, or something ridiculous, or read a book; and they said ridiculous.) (note 2: I wrote the above several days ago. I'm posting at 6.5k words) (note 3: I'm going to pretend this is a deliberately timed gift to @thelordofgifs for their latest fic updates, which were bullet points of heartfelt and sober compelling canon divergence. this...is bullet points of [heartfelt? compelling?] lunacy. I hope you might enjoy it.)

Are you thinking of this, the "Supernatural but make it Silmarillion lore, and also women" show of my dreams? (Me, approaching the Tolkien estate with an offer for the rights to the Silmarillion: I swear, I will ONLY show the First Age in limited flashbacks. Everything else will be the characters as they are at least 10,000 years later, maybe even with an active framing device to identify them as modern interpretations of the characters...")

Oh huh, I forgot I thought a bunch more about that "teeechnically-not-AU" and never added it to that post. Regardless of whether it's the show you were thinking of, dear Anon:

one of the protagonists is definitely the reincarnation of Fëanor. Her name is Seraphina, which translates to something like "fiery divine being", bc her mom had a good sense of these things. They don't know this at first

her slightly older twin sister is Martha, named after their grandmother but it does mean the feminine of "master", because I spent at least an hour trying to translate any name Turin ever had into something reasonably modern and this is the best I could do (they also don't know about this reincarnation at first, ofc)

their father was killed by some sort of monster when they were babies so their mother took up monster-hunting ranging, etc. etc.

(the underground community of modern monster-hunters are called Rangers, in reference to the roaming heroes of old)

Seraphina, the Wild One(TM), ran away to go to college, where she double-majored in astrophysics and mechanical engineering and double-minored in linguistics and metallurgical engineering, and wrote an art history thesis. Martha, the Dutiful One(TM), stayed with their mother and kept ranging. They reunite when Martha shows up on Phina's doorstep because "Mom went on a hunting trip and hasn't been home in a few days", etc. etc.

the Bobby-style substitute parent should really, to (kind of) round this out, be a dwarf or hobbit. The full "Team Free Will" should represent all peoples of Arda... But I'm not making up OCs right now (yet)

a unifying legend of the Ranger community is that their unofficial network has been supported and guided for millennia by their cousins, the peredhel, Elrohir and Elladan, who quite simply never Chose and have been wandering the earth, saving people and hunting things, ever since their sister died. They don't NEED to Choose until they die, technically!

This is, in fact, true - or, it was. Until about 25 years ago, when [flips a coin] Elrohir married our heroes' mother, settled down into peaceful domesticity, and a few years later died dramatically to buy [throws a dart at a wheel of names] Laura and their children time to escape the whatever.

Laura knew about his profession and that he was older than he looked, but not his whole deal. She found that out later while vengefully hunting monsters...and never told her daughters.

The plot of Season 1 involves unravelling this mystery, including at some point meeting their elusive uncle Elladan (who has maybe gone a little mad with the sudden death of his twin? That'd be a fun season antagonist/arc/theme...dealing with grief...very topical!)

By the end of s1, all of the above have probably had a nice closure-giving(-ish) confrontation/conversation with Elrohir's ghost - who's been waiting in Mandos for his wife and/or brother despite Mandos's INCREASINGLY strident blandishments to stop acting like a cat in a doorway and choose - and Laura and Elladan are both dead in suitably dramatic circumstances.

...or, Elladan is. Apparently John Winchester didn't die until s2e1! So, what happens is:

- (earlier in the s1 finale episode, Laura, noticed something once or twice which her daughters didn't - saw a curl of smoke, seemed to be examining a McGuffin extra closely...)

- Laura has been mildly injured, and someone needs to guard a McGuffin or maybe a random innocent civilian caught up in this, so she stays behind while Phina and Martha go off to deal with whatever the actual big bad of the season is. Maybe a cult trying to sacrifice half-elves for some reason? Directed, though not personally managed, by whatever killed Elrohir in the first place, which is...I gotta figure an OC balrog? Like, not one of the big ones from canon. We'll just call her (Laura's) Bane henceforth.

- not long later, while Phina and Martha are fistbumping in the remains of the cult's hideout Seraphina maybe have used chemical explosives), or maybe discretely looting Elladan's body for useful weapons laying their uncle to rest, the scene cuts back to Laura

- she's pacing, patrolling. Ready for a fight. She senses something and goes even tenser, drawing her ancient sword. It glows softly blue - but this is no orc. Heavy footsteps, flickering shadows and firelight, maybe the sound of wings. We do not see the enemy, just a middle-aged woman in improvised combat gear with a pistol in one hand and a Gondolin-made sword in the other, and a look of iron determination and defiance. She pulls off the bandage on her arm, revealing that she'd faked her injury so the girls would leave her behind.

- "I knew it was you," she greets her old enemy, unflinching, as a faint reprise rings unnoticed in the Great Music. She moves to attack, met by a whip-crack and a flash of fire, and cut to black.

Season 2 starts where s1 ended, for Martha and Seraphina. They're almost back at their car (the beloved 1967 Chevy Shadowfax). Note: few times in s1, Phina has had strange visions or nightmares, never anything prophetic but once a good clue to defeating the MotW...

She reels with the force and horror of this one. Darkness, utter and choking, pierced eventually by a single desperate torch. A dark and empty hall where there should be life and light. Flickering firelight reveals blood on the floor...

She gasps, "Mom," and demands that Martha drive, drive, fucking drive faster already -

They're too late, of course. Laura is long-since dead.

...so, back to Monster of the Week, with additional focus on tracking down the Bane!

Seraphina's strange dreams and visions get more frequent, more memorable. Sometimes they're peaceful, full of beautiful Light. More often they're dark, or at least, dim - climbing strange, starlit mountains (finding a cousin of aconite which turns out to also be useful for defeating werewolves). Choking grief as her hand brushes the air just above a vibrant tapestry, too afraid to ruin it with touch. Fire in her throat as she shouts world-shaking words in a language she doesn't remember (she repeats them a moment later, fending off a corrupted wind-spirit, and it flinches even before Phina feels a burst of vicious, raging, burning strength.)

Seraphina is curious as hell and keeps pushing herself to learn more, see more. Do more. It's not just visions, eventually - she starts to read minds, here and there. She's always been a fidgeter, happiest with some petty creative task of wire and beads or yarn in her hands, but now she can swear that sometimes her craft supplies sing at times, directly surpassing her ears, and she can make things with quality, with power. A new-knitted scarf is sturdy as a gorget. Glass beads glow. The more Phina does, the more she's frustrated rather than satisfied - she knows she's missing something, and she HATES being ignorant. Being wrong.

Martha, always the responsible one, especially feeling the need to be so now that their mom has died, wishes she would stop. Wishes she wouldn't put herself, put both of them, in danger like this. Martha is literally game to fight an orc with her fists one on one, any day of the week; she's no stranger to a quick temper and impulsive action. But she grew up! Why can't her sister!

(Martha: [venting the above to a stranger in a bar or something. Meanwhile, Seraphina has found an medieval Songbook and is trying to, like, apply principals of Elvencraft to chemical engineering. more arguing ensues.])

Toward the end of the season, there's, idk, several murders at the site of a geothermal drilling experiment in the North Sea, and oh shit, Bane is trying to get something that came out of that drill shaft! Violent interrogation of some evil minions reveals that it's no less precious thing than a Silmaril! Our heroes read about those recently in some ancient tome! (Phina got a headache so bad, and a sense of being aflame, that she passed out.)

In the third-to-last episode of the season, they hunt the Silmaril to the unlucky random research facility to which it's been taken. Mundane authorities and/or scientists are already coveting it as a potential energy source, adding extra mooks...who mostly just die when Laura's Bane arrives. But our girls get to it just slightly faster. The jewel is in a jead-lined box. Phina has been increasingly consumed by single-minded focus on getting this thing; even as the Ban storms in all fire and darkness, she's furiously picking the lock. She flings back the lid; we see a shining gold-white jewel - and the Light consumes the screen.

The second-to-last episode starts with pure Light - then it fades to simple Mingling, as the Noldor hold a funeral for Miriel. They had rites for the fallen in their starlit home of old, when they knew no return. They are having a modified version now, knowing that in her weariness she will, at least, take a very long time; in the hope that it will help those who loved her move through their grief.

- young Fëanor (age 5ish), tears running down his cheeks, whispers to his father that he is sorry, so sorry he killed her. Finwë denies it fiercely, lovingly, and holds him tight. Indis approaches, seeking to offer comfort; Finwë sees her over Fëanor's head and, gratefully, shakes his head. She retreats.

- but in the next memory, it is Fëanor (age 10ish) who watches Finwë and Indis, as they move joyously in unison around their wedding dance floor. Someone says something to him, he responds bitterly.

- (I'm not sure exactly what narrative of Fëanor's life I want to construct here, but assume subsequent memories/short scenes include: dislike of half-siblings (ft. fear of loss/abandonment masked as superiority complex), finding genuine joy and contentment in craft, exploration, and Nerdanel & their children; Melkor & rising tensions with Fingolfin, the Silmarils, the sword Incident, banishment (ft. savage dislike of Valar), Finwë's death (the same memory that struck when Laura died!), the Oath, Alqualondë, the theft and burning of the ships...and Amrod...and shortly thereafter, Fëanor himself, in a rush that only wasn't suicide because he really thought he could bust in and kill a Vala right up until he realized he absolutely could not do that.)

- (very fast final montage of key events post death, only snapshots, maybe styled as tapestry seen from Vairë's Halls? Fingolfin, crowned, raising Maedhros from a bow and embracing him; the glorious hosts and castles of the Noldor, Dagor Bragollach, Fingolfin's death, Doriath & Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin's deaths, Sirion & Amras's death (both with the Silmaril evading them in the background), Morgoth's defeat by Host of the West with Eärendil shining far overhead, the final attack/theft, Maedhros's death, Maglor flinging the third into the sea and collapsing)

- camera close on Seraphina's face as she opens her eyes. They are shining with Light. She says, "Fuck."

FINAL EPISODE OF S2 STARTS WITH:

- a few second earlier: Martha sees from across the room as Phina opens the box and a joyous Light shines forth, and her sister collapses. The Silmaril falls and rolls.

- Martha doesn't have time to see where it rolls, because she has to fight the monster that killed both her parents. We've seen Laura's Bane in the shape of a woman with cavern-black hair and fiery eyes a few times before, and when it killed Laura and Elrohir, we glimpsed much more. But 2 episodes ago was the first time we saw it in all its terrible, burning darkness. The building is falling apart around it. There were a couple security guards and a scientist here; they're dead within moments.

- like her mother, Martha started out with a gun and a sword. She quickly gives up on the gun - it IS a special magic gun, but she's just better with a sword. She's snarking at the monster as she fights, because this is a gritty urban fantasy show so she's going to die, but by Eru she's going to die with sarcasm on her lips.

- the Bane's whip finally catches her around the wrist. It's not clear if it's the pain of the break or the burn that makes her drop her sword. The Balrog steps over it and grabs her by the throat. Darkness enwraps her, the searing, choking claws and the all-encompassing wings and the swallowing of her vision -

- Light pierces it like a blade. The Balrog falls back, dropping Martha to the floor.

- there stands her sister, Silmaril raised, almost glowing herself with its Light. Her eyes blaze with the particularly fiery Light that was always Fëanor's.

- Power in her voice, in English she says, "I am Seraphina Elrohiel [cool epithet she's picked up as a hunter]"; in the most traditional lisping Quenya she adds, "and I am Fëanáro Finwë-Curufinwë." English again: "I wrought this jewel five ages of the world ago…and to be honest, I don't really know what I can do with it now."

- - (the soundtrack crescendos, the Music crescendos; unseen, all around Arda and beyond, beings tuned into the Great Song of Ëa know that Fëanor once again holds a Silmaril, and go oh, shit, fuck!!)

- she smiles, fey and burning. "Do you think it's a good idea to stay and find out?"

- Laura's Bane flees with a snarl.

- Martha gets to her knees, and no further. She's panting, still catching her breath, bleeding and bruised and burned, and staring up at her incandescent sister(?).

- Seraphina (who is, has always been, Fëanáro Curufinwë) stays standing and glaring for a moment more, making sure the enemy has truly gone. Then -

- - [note: it came up, in their hasty recent recent research into the Silmarils while chasing them, that they are blessed such that evil hands can't touch them. they'd hoped this would be protection against the Bane, if they got there too late to stop it]

- - [note: in the very very brief memory-views of Maedhros and Maglor's last moments, it was clear that their grips on the Silmarils were agony]

- Phina falls to her knees, Silmaril dropping from her hand without protest. Once again it rolls offscreen, glow faded but still bright. All force of presence gone, she cradles her burned hand and sobs in agony and irreparable loss, not to mention the sheer overwhelming experience of everything.

- older sister instincts (again: despite the fact that they're twins) gets Martha moving when nothing else did. Still not actually sure what just happened, she crawls forward and hugs her sister.

...then they get out of there. Martha picks the Silmaril up carefully with a piece of cloth and puts it back in the lead-lined box, and Phina carries the box. For the rest of the episode, they hunt down Laura's Bane before it can escape them utterly - unless it tries to come back and get the Silmaril while they're still off-balance, which is entirely possible! Either way, they kill it so dead!

Season ends with the two of them sitting in a dingy motel room, or maybe back in the Shadowfax [car], staring at the Silmaril box. Martha says, "So...what do we do with this?" Phina says, "We find out what the hell happened to the other two!"

IN SEASON THREE...

...I stop having particularly coherent ideas for what happens, is what happens in season three

honestly, I was originally conceiving of this as 5 seasons a la Supernatural didn't it have a great show finale in 2010? so great. thank goodness they didn't make 10 more seasons for some canonically godforsaken reason. But Fëanor retrieving even just one Silmaril would so kick off an s4 level of divine intervention and incipient apocalypse...

I dunno, or maybe they CAN have a full season of Monster of the Week plus arcing plot which is half standard hunting, half various supernatural entities tracking them down either to steal the Silmaril or to kill Fëanor (again) for her many crimes?

They retrieve 1 Silmaril that season, while evading, idk, I guess Sauron is our Lilith equivalent... And it WOULD be fun to have s4 start with Martha kicking open Mandos's doors (she's holding 2 Silmarils; she can kick open whatever doors she wants) and demanding her obnoxious sister back...

(We COULD do a thing where the Valar deliberately put Fëanor back asap, but lbr they...would probably rather not, even if they need her alive to do certain things. On the other hand, if they did, what a fun conflict for her! On the third hand, SOMEONE has to Lúthien the other's Beren at least once - not that Martha is singing. She's going more for the 'threatens Ainur with swords' side of her heritage.)

(That WOULD create a fun 'Martha has been doing increasingly badass and angsty shit offscreen (while Seraphina was dead)' scenario that could lead smoothly into some flashbacks about what Martha was doing before the show started - namely, increasingly badass (and angsty) shit while Seraphina was in college...)

Because in terms of focus, the first 2 seasons are a little more about Seraphina. Having not Ranged for a while, she's more the audience's pov character to start, and then the big plotty drama is focussed on her in s2...and in s3, as they hunt the next Silmaril and she adjusts to being... That is, Fëanor adjusts to being...

She was Fëanor for a MUCH longer time than she's been Seraphina, but she's been Seraphina more recently and kinda more...vividly? She hasn't fully processed being Fëanor. Her hröa is human (and female-shaped and human-female-gendered, and elves don't define gender the same way and don't have gendered pronouns at all, so she's sticking with 'she/her' and it's not a big deal), and her fëa has been acting human, so her memory capacity is still mostly human, as are her reflexes, her need for sleep, etc... She's getting better, but it takes time.

But boy has this enhanced ALL of Seraphina's natural attention-seeking, forward-leaping, fight-starting, prideful, self-centered Protagonist(TM) behavior!

Which is driving Martha CRAZY, all the moreso because there's reason for it now. Aside from the fact that even with no memory of her past life, Seraphina was always brilliant, while Martha was just...normal at best. Clumsy and un-witty except with a weapon in her hand. Prone to sulking and shyness. Downright unlucky, while the universe seems to shower blessings on her sister.

Even when Fëanor is trying not to start a fight, she's so condescending. to her sister who is a mere mortal Man. Having been one for 25-odd years - still being one, in fact - Fëanor has lost much of her suspicion of Man as an usurping species (it was never really about Men anyway). But she's SO condescending.

(Martha IS her sister, still. Martha can hold the Silmaril without the Oath pushing Seraphina to burning wrath, because she is Fëanor's kin.)

(Though "Fëanor's kin" was only ever a stand-in for, roughly, "people Fëanor could trust to temporarily hold a Silmaril because he knew they'd give it back to him instantly if he asked." So, as the rift deepens between then, as she grows paranoid again...)

...returning to the point above: as Seraphëanor steps up as Person Who Can Explain Advanced Supernatural Shit, audience pov connects a little more with Martha. Also because Fëanor's radius of destruction is really fun to watch from the outside.

Yeah...Seraphina gets pretty high up her own ass over the course of s3, then dies, maybe heroically or maybe as foolishly as last time, then post-season hiatus smash cut to Martha kicking in Mandos's front door and dragging her back to life... I do love that.

SEASON FOUR...

After the shock wears of, the classic Fëanorian paranoia isn't helped by the fact that Martha IS keeping secrets. What she's been doing, who she's been doing it with...(some Maia, maybe even an Úmaia?) Though Arda's mythology doesn't have the same Heaven/Hell dichotomy as Earthly Christianity, so alaos we can't have the sexy sexy s4 thing of an angel on one sister's shoulder and a devil on the other's...

But basically I think s3 has to have been somewhat of a tragedy, as Túrin (unknowing) and Fëanor (just bad at this) played out their old tragedies in tandem. Rashness was often the undoing of both. Leaping to conclusions, action or both, though usually in opposite directions. With maybe a dash of parallels with ancient (ie, Second Age) Elf vs Man conflict - Martha is increasingly down on herself, but also, jealous of Seraphina's Protagonist Energy and increasingly ready to do some violence about it.

And none of that resolves in s3! Seraphina just gets killed!

So in s4, they have to figure it out. Seraphina needs to learn some sort of (gasp) humility, and how to let grievances (and loved ones) go. Martha needs to learn how to cope with regret and grief with means other than changing her name and moving to a different city.

(She's already starting, though! This time, she asked "what would Seraphina do', then broke into Mandos and demanded solutions!)

(...and Mandos, perhaps, was very ready to refuse until he got a good look at her fëa, silently went 'huh' in recognition, and waved them out.)

Then Martha starts having strange dreams and visions - maybe after they fight an ancient dragon? or maybe she already was, in the s3-s4 gap (after fighting an ancient dragon with her new Maia friend?)

Seraphina is initially PSYCHED about this- twinnies for real!! But they get some entity to look at Martha's fëa and they confirm that she's 100% a Man.

Monster of the Week episodes are still the main focus btw. Vampires and werewolves, cursed magical objects, rogue petty nature maiar, peacekeeping between factions of non-humans still dwelling secretly here and there... Though perhaps the masquerade is starting to fracture?

And, of course, some (other?) Maia has shown up and informed them that Sauron is embodied again and trying to complete a ritual to break a hole in the envelope of the world to let Melkor back in, which our heroes must stop!

Also, definitely need to get the 3rd Silmaril back this season. They got the one in the earth and the one in the sea...

- so, a fan favorite recurring character [a/n: IT'S MY IMAGINARY TV, I CAN IMAGINE THE FANDOM'S REACTIONS, TOO, AND ALSO TBH I'M CERTAIN I COULD DELIBERATELY CRAFT A FAN FAVORITE CHARACTER] is the twins' Uncle Earl, who isn't technically their uncle but rather an old family friend of their mother's. He is, in short, kind of an old kook. Some flavor of Southern - I'll flip a coin and say Louisianan? Lives on a houseboat, refuses to go ashore unless absolutely necessary because "the feds'll get me." Visiting nieces means there's someone else to go get groceries and gasoline (necessary, but he doesn't trust most delivery services or modern technology, either), so they've possibly never seen him set foot on land except maybe once on an isolated beach in rural Oregon. Fought in Korea. Has probably looked grizzled since age 12. Eats mostly fish, talks to birds, talks back to the radio.

- to be clear, this guy is not filling the Bobby 'faux-parent' role. ...okay maybe he is a little, emotionally. But he's not involved in "the family business." In terms of SPN characters, he's roughly Garth - appears once a season or so, is a delight for 1 episode, then we part ways. He calls Martha in s1 because there's been some "weird deaths" in the port he's in right now, and he knows they deal with "this sort of thing" but he can't get ahold of Laura. There's a mention of him in s2, that they called to tell him Laura had died. In s3, they need to lay low for a while so they join him on his boat for a few weeks, go stir-crazy and end up fighting a sea monster.

- Idk if he calls them again in s4 or they're trying to lie low again or they just run into him by chance...but they're dealing with MotW murders in some swampy Florida shore-town and on his ship (The Flower) when something much bigger than a swamp monster catches up with them. Say, Sauron sent an unstoppable Carcharoth-sized wolf monster, or maybe a super-vampire (some aerial combat would be fun), or just some Úmaia miniboss that a season or two would've been a season-climax boss fight...

- they're moored up when it arrives. Phina curses, Martha shouts for Earl to drive, drive the boat out as far and fast as he can! Earl was half-asleep at the table; he starts awake demanding if it's the feds?! Phina leaps to the wheel herself and slams the gas, while Martha grabs the old shotgun off the wall and fires at the giant shadowy wolf-monster.

They leave it howling on the pier. They'll have to go back and face it eventually, but they're not ready right now. Maybe they can even re-land far upshore, and it'll have lost their scent again...

- the giant shadow-wolf finishes howling starts chasing them running on the water

- Martha curses, and shouts Phina to drive faster. Earl (looking over Martha's shoulder, also cursed, almost impressed, at the sight of the wolf) tells her to give him the wheel. Phina shoves him away and shouts back as she yanks the wheel that they need to turn back, they can't win this fight on the water -

- the wolf is snapping at the Flower's keel. Phina curses in Valarian and yells at Earl to take the wheel and steer them back to land, while she runs back to help Martha fight the wolf.

- Earl flips a red lever in the [boat mechanics] cabinet under the wheel which we've probably seen before (Seraphina fixed something in s1), labeled "High Octane" and shouts, "Hold on, girls!" He slams the throttle again and the whole houseboat hydroplanes. The wolf falls overboard; Phina goes with it but Martha grabs her.

- the wolf gets to its feet on the water, and starts chasing them again

- "Confession time, girls!" Uncle Earl calls, steering the boat beyond full throttle while Martha and Phina get to their feet. "I did befriend your ma's dad while he was fighting in Korea. He whispered to the stars at night, when he felt lost." Adjusts a standing spyglass, tugs a string a couple times to turn on the lanterns on the prow and above the steering console, dons his navy blue-and-gold captain's hat. "I thought I couldn't have been happier to guide him home - then Elrohir met his Laura, and they fell in love. And had the two of you!"

- "Do you have a point?" Phina shrieks. She's scrambling to get her jacket out of her bag under one of the seats, because her Silmarils are in its pockets and the shadow-wolf is gaining. Martha, shooting at the wolf again, glances back, maybe having noticed that the old anecdote is phrased differently than before. Old Uncle Earl is standing unusually straight, his grizzled-gray hair gold-ish in the warm lantern light.

- "Yes!" he calls, jerking the boat away from the wolf again. Some of his Louisiana accent has fallen away, too. "Don't lose your wits - and keep holding on to something!"

- he tugs the light-cord again and the yellowy lantern-case above the wheel opens, and the light that shines forth is far brighter and paler. Its source falls into his hand as the lantern shakes with the Flower's speed, and he sets it on the brim of his hat - the illusion of which fades, leaving only the golden band on his brow with the Silmaril set upon, and Eärendil standing as tall, young, and golden-haired as when he first sailed the sacred seas. He gives the wheel another stern yank and the ship's prow rises even higher - and keeps rising, with the rest of the Flower in tow - the Foamflower, Vingilotë, every plank now aglow.

- "Also," he admits, looking over his shoulder to make sure neither of the twins has fallen off (again), "I'm your great-grandfather. I really am sorry to have - hey!"

- that's for Seraphina, who is Fëanor, Oath blazing in her heart, regaining her balance, sprinting up the deck and lunging with wrath in her eyes for the Silmaril.

- Eärendil dodges smoothly, while still keeping one hand on the wheel. "I said," he says reprovingly - while Martha bodily tackles her sister to the floor - "keep your wits Fëanáro. I'm here to help, as I ever have been for the people of Arda."

- the girls wrestle on the deck for a few more seconds before Seraphina calms down. It helps that they realize the wolf had grown giant wings of shadow and is chasing them aloft as well.

- btw: late in s4, the dwarvish researcher who's Bobby's fill-in and/or Martha's probably-trustworthy Maia friend should really be present as well for all of the above, but this ain't really about them. So I think they're just kinda. awkwardly Present for this family not-reunion. helping fight the wolf & all that.

- (Eärendil doesn't actually give back the Silmaril. But he lets Seraphina hold it for a few minutes, during which she is more at peace than she has been in millennia, and promises to let her have it again if/when she really needs it, if it isn't more urgently needed elsewhere. This is, more or less, satisfying to the Oath: as discussed "Fëanor's kin" was only ever shorthand for "people whom Fëanor could trust to hold a Silmaril without ever withholding it from him.")

Eeexcept it turns out that even Eärendil doesn't know that the Valar DO want Morgoth back, because they're kinda totally down to have Dagor Dagorath and reboot the world. Look it'll be great - Túrin - that's you, Martha - will help Eonwë and Tulkas slay him, then Fëanor will break the Silmarils, releasing the Light so that Eru can use it to Remake the world, Unmarred this time - Hey, where are you Children going? Stop stabbing people! Stab only the people we tell you to stab!

(Ulmo, ever wise, offscreen: When has that EVER worked? Especially with Fëanáro and his kin?)

Yeah, there's a scene very much like the end of SPN s4, wherein Martha gets grabbed by the celestial "good guys" and they admit that this is all kinda set-up but don't worry - here's your destined fuckoff-huge black sword, just wait a few minutes for your "sister" to once again achieve an evil end that's the exact opposite of what she intended; and then Martha has to convince the Maia she's been befriending all season to help her escape and go rescue Seraphina before she jumpstarts the apocalypse...

(Nb: Martha was already trying to stop Sauron from freeing Morgoth when the season started - she broke Seraphina out of Mandos party bc she loved and missed her sister, partly because she needed a Silmaril expert. But she's grown skeptical of the task somehow, while Seraphina - perhaps because Seraphina - has gotten vengefully obsessed with it. As Fëanor is wont to do. Hell, she has even more reason than she used to - she knows what Sauron did to her grandson.)

So, y'know

They do, of course, accidentally free Morgoth.

On the plus side, in the process, they get to jointly murder the SHIT out of Sauron, who was the REAL mastermind behind much of Laura's Bane's actions (and, honestly? Might've been the real one who killed Laura, and only set it up to look like a Balrog. Flames and shadows both can have many masters!)

SEASON FIVE, THE FINAL SEASON DEFINITELY FOLLOWED BY NO FURTHER SEASONS despite the temptation of a terrible sexy humanoid Ungoliant

I only have 3 ideas for season 5:

1. They go to Valinor at some point, of course. Perhaps to rally aid? The first elf they find, they introduce themselves grandly, Fëanor and Túrin Turambar here seeking allies to fight Morgoth! and the elf says blankly, "I have never heard of either of you." *squints* "You're Men, you say? Lord Ulmo keeps a Man on Tol Eressëa, I think. You could go to him?" But after that, as a running joke all episode, every other elf they meet recognizes Fëanor on sight (she has a very distinctive fëa) and immediately punches her in the face...and every other elf recognizes Tùrin on sight and all but tackle-hugs Martha while shouting joyfully that they never expected to see him again. Some (Beleg) actually do tackle-hug her (and nearly gets stabbed again) (#worthit).

2. To everyone's surprise, including the other Valar, Morgoth started his war upon creation subtly when he returned...but doesn't remain subtle for long, nor do those opposing him. By the end of the season, the masquerade that non-human sentient peoples and various other supernatural beings still live in Arda is all but shattered.

3. Then it's THOROUGHLY shattered in the finale. I don't know if the general human populace participates in the final battle - though I am SO weak for a moment when, like, the regular-ass armed forces, who are not necessarily allies to the heroes, show up to help fight a massive superhuman threat. When the SHIELD helicarrier shows up to evacuate civilians in Age of Ultron, when UNIT does pretty much anything in Doctor Who...I love it when the best protections & warriors the mundane human race could pull together also show the fuck up and help save the day because damnit, this is their planet too. ...Which is, in fact, very on-theme for Tolkien. So yes, actually, this definitely happens. Probably there's some conflict with US military forces mid-season, our heroes have to talk (fight & escape) their way out of being arrested for blowing up a national landmark while fighting a balrog, and the general in charge whom they'd half-convinced returns in the finale with a battalion to slam some missiles into Morgoth...

oh, and 4: Ar-Pharazón et al totally do come back from the dead. Probably on Morgoth's side lbr. They get a twisted undead immortality wherein they cannot die, just go on fighting for the dark lord to whom they once turned in jealous worship...

More importantly...

Okay, I really don't know exactly how the Dagor Dagorath goes. We're following the version that Eärendil will chase Morgoth from the skies; Tulkas, Eonwë and Túrin will fight him upon the field and Túrin will avenge his House and all the Race of Men by slaying him; and Fëanor will break the Silmarils and Yavanna will use their Light to remake the Trees, and the lands will be leveled or in some cases raised from the depths, and everyone will live happily ever after except possibly Men who aren't mentioned beyond Túrin.

This is what the Valar expect to happen (though they don't actually know-know Eru's plans.)

What happens instead is...

Most of the Morgoth-defeating does go exactly like that. Except probably they don't kill him for good - they CAN'T, because the Marring of the world is part of what Morgoth is, and the only way to undo him completely is to remake the world completely.

Which maybe could be done, by Eru if no one else, if He were beseeched? Which might be done with the strength of the Silmarils, their Light released?

And Seraphina does break the Silmarils. That's important for her - giving up her Protagonist role, just as slaying Morgoth - embracing her Protagonist role - is important for Martha.

...but I don't think they give the Light back to Yavanna. No offense to the Trees, but they never illuminated most of Arda anyway, and the world is round now anyway - and making it flat again would fuck it up - and we have, like, electrical lights, now.

Hell, maybe Seraphina is ready to give up the Light... Her instinct is to hold it back, to follow her own novel plans with it, but, oh, to regain what was lost! And she has come around on...some of the Valar. Selectively. Yavanna's one of the okay ones.

- but Martha, half-dead from the battle, drops to her knees beside her and catches her hands before she can loose the Light upward unto the grasp of the Tree-Queen.

- "Together?" Martha says (Túrin Turambar, ever the greatest Men had to offer - bull-headed, loyal, brave, unafraid of death, loving and losing and loving again).

- Seraphina's trembling lips curve into a fierce grin (Fëanäro Curufinwë, ever the greatest Elves had to offer - brilliant in mind and spirit, devoted, ever seeking to preserve and glorify the beauty of the world, and eventually learning some wisdom about letting go).

- "Together," she agrees.

- together, they hold the Light that once shone in the Trees, the Lamps, and the Flame Eternal of Creation itself; and as they release it, reach for the Great Music of Ëa that is deep in both their blood - for they are the daughters of Elrohir, son of Elrond, son of Elwing daughter of Dior son of Lúthien Tinúviel, daughter of Melian the Maia; and indeed, even before that, they are both trueborn Children of Eru, are they not? - and eschew utterly the Choice of the Peredhel by leaving the world round but Un-Sundering the Sea, that the kindred might still live apart, if they wished it - the Elder in their land undying, the Younger in their realms of quick and sometimes joyful, often savage change - but that they might visit one another, at least, as they pleased.

(I mean, wasn't the false division of siblings the whole problem from the start?)

Random Additional Features of this Show/AU/Thing

All elf and ainu side characters, canonical and not, will be cast gender-blindly, and characters referred to with the understanding that elvish personal pronouns don't necessarily correlate with physical phenotype, but Ainur do generally try to match local standards of gender assignment. Dwarves will all use he/him (and have beards!) even when fairly clearly female.

I have no idea what Martha is doing for gender once she remembers being Túrin. With all the time Túrin spent with Elves, she probably rolls pretty smoothly with being she/her now, though it's weird. Her memories definitely integrate more easily than Fëanor/Seraphina's, though, as much because she's the same kind of being both times as because there's less of them.

Both protagonists are definitely bisexual. Martha has a range of love interests; it's a running joke (at first) that Seraphina has a total Thing for redheads. Any kind of redhead. But especially creative ones - any kind of art or invention.

The role of Gabriel WILL be played by Maglor, albeit with a different death (don't worry, he'll be back for the finale) and much more...gloominess. And angst. Okay, and maybe his first appearance, in s1 or 2, IS cursing them - not knowing who they are - into a musical episode. (A WOMAN HAS NEEDS; THE WOMAN IS ME.)

When Martha meets Fingolfin and/or any of Fëanor's other siblings, probably in s5 but maybe s4, they immediately Vibe completely. It's the shared experience of growing up with Fëanor for a sibling. Needless to say, Seraphina Hates This.

Their chief researcher friend is a dwarf, who is also on the young-ish side I think, and a woman (he/him).

There's gotta be a notable hobbit on the Team before the end, too...but overall, hobbits remain symbolically representative of the Civilians in this war story.

Durin is alive again somewhere. Durin usually reincarnates in time to guide his people through particularly difficult times - or, to try. Their dwarf friend - what the hell, I'll just call him Bobby - tries SO hard to be Cool about meeting him, and fails SO hard.

I generally prefer to judge and characterize the Valar and associated Maiar as fallible to the point of clumsiness or negligence but basically wise and thoroughly benevolent...but I AM willing to throw some of them under the characterization bus for ease of making conflict in this hypothetical CW show.

...I probably have many more random thoughts but it's 3am and I want to post this whole insane thing. Feel free to ask me questions if you have them! And/or petition both the Tolkien estate and a major TV network for the rights, money, and support to help me make the terrible but wonderful show we deserve!

#the silmarillion #supernatural #my fic #feanor #turin turambar

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thelightsandtheroses · 3 months

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3. we can get away, palm trees, beach views ...

Let's Get Lost Chapter 3 | Frankie Morales x female reader

Summary: You and Frankie aren’t together anymore but you’re in a good place. However, spending a week together for your mutual friends’ wedding on a luxury resort might challenge that slightly and realising you’re still in love with your ex is a sure-fire recipe for disaster … Tropes: it was always you, getting back with the ex, beach!Frankie (you know *that* photoshoot) miscommunication, only one bed, good parent Frankie Chapter Warnings: 18+ MDNI, references to past drug addiction, references to food and alcohol, discusison of TF canon events, Frankie and the reader are parents to a toddler, past break-ups. Word Count: 2500 Notes: Thank you for the lovely feedback so far - it's meant so much to me and I hope you enjoy this update. I have a lot planned for this fic. The chapter title is from I Want You Around by Snoh Aalegra.

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You can hear the birds outside when you wake up. Soft, lyrical songs coax you awake and you hear yourself groan slightly.

There are thin lines of light streaming through the gaps in the shutters and you’re surprised you can’t hear your daughter. She’s usually awake by now.

“Clara’s still asleep,” he says in a low voice.

“That’s got to be a record,” you whisper back drowsily, quietly shifting yourself so you’re propped up by your pillows.

Frankie is bolt upright in bed, a book loosely clasped in his hands and you can see that the reading lamp by his side of the bed is turned on. Despite the dim yellow light you can still take in every detail of his face, the freckles adorning his neck, the laughter lines, his stubble.

“Mornin’” he says, meeting your sleepy gaze.

“Hi, what time is it?”

“About six?” Frankie stifles a yawn.

“Why aren’t you asleep still?”

“Just woke up early. Couldn’t - y’know …”

You look at the book in his hands, he’s a lot further ahead now than you remember him being when he placed the bookmark in last night. You notice his worn eyes, the way he looks like he’s been awake for a while.

“How’s it shaping up?” you ask, indicating the book and leaning slightly over your pillow barrier.

For a second you’re not here, you’re back in Florida a few years ago and this is your usual morning routine. All sepia lighting, soft kisses, lingering touches and hot skin against you.

You remember awkward giggles about morning breath, the way he’d kiss you like he’d been waiting for years when it had only been a matter of hours.

You return to reality with the sound of Clara’s soft snores.

Frankie smirks at you. “She gets that from -”

“Do not finish that sentence, Francisco.”

He raises his hands with an easy grin. “Full name, huh? So, do you want to try her for a bit at the kids’ club this afternoon? Get her used to it more before we’re deep in all the wedding events?”

“She’s been really excited about that and meeting the other kids,” you say. You often wonder how two introverted people produced such a gregarious child. You imagine maybe Frankie was that confident as a little boy; you can see it - all round cheeks, mischievous grin and open eyes.

“She just takes everything in her stride,” Frankie whispers.

“She’s strong.”

“Like you.”

“I meant, like you,” you say.

Frankie shakes his head but there’s the slightest hint of a twitch on his lips.

You could reach over and touch him - it feels natural.

You can remember what his lips felt like on yours - the way his hand would so carefully and lightly move down your waist in a movement so delicate you used to think of it as his fingers dancing down your body.

It’s just proximity, it’s just the proximity.

You need more pillows for the barrier.

You lean back against your chair, listening to the steady sound of the ocean in the distance.

You spent the morning exploring in the local town with Lia and Sophie. At first you felt slightly guilty to not be spending time with Clara, but she was excited about a morning with her tios before heading to the kid’s club. It is Lia’s wedding break after all and you want to celebrate with her.

It had been a really good morning; you’d found a great cafe, wandered around tourist destinations and most importantly had enjoyed your time with Lia and Sophia. The three of you kept laughing and joking and any doubt you had that you would feel out of sorts for being the only one of them who was an ex swiftly vanished. In fact, you hadn’t discussed men once. It had been great.

All of you have now met up for a late lunch back at the hotel before you drop Clara off at the kid’s club. You’re sitting opposite Frankie who today has bought out one of what you used to semi-affectionally dub his ‘loud shirts’. Frankie’s style has always ranged from simple, casual basics to the occasional louder shirt that you feel would be associated more with a PI than an ex-army pilot. It’s Frankie though. You seem to remember those shirts were pretty soft too.

You take a sip of your drink, enjoying the sweet and refreshing taste of the coconut flavoured cocktail.

Frankie catches your eye and smiles briefly.

You’re finally starting to feel a little relaxed; that nagging anxiety to check your emails or to just be ‘on’ all of the time is starting to abate.

Santi stands up and raises his glass. “Okay, I wanted to call out that we’ve got the team back together and it only took Benny here getting married for that,” Santi says cheerfully, “and it’s a double celebration today because we need to mark that Frankie got the official confirmation yesterday he’s getting his licence back.”

You watch Frankie’s face colour up with the attention.

“No fucking way,” Benny exclaims, “finally, Frankie! I’m so fucking pleased for you.”

He’s got his licence back? you think immediately, proud that he’s achieved this goal he was working towards. It’s another sign of his sobriety, of his recovery.

It stings though. He didn’t tell you. He couldn’t do this while you were together either.

He didn’t tell you. He could have told you this morning - did he not want to? Or is it just that in your new co-parenting role you don’t get to know these things immediately anymore. You’re not his girlfriend or fiancée, you’re not one of his best friends, you’re not sure where you stand anymore.

He meets your gaze and nervously nods at you, wringing his hands slightly as Benny swallows him into a one-armed hug, delicately balancing his drink with the other hand.

“That’s great news, Frankie, well done,” you say, your voice sounding clipped and cold even to you.

Will frowns at you and you feel your palms growing sweaty with embarrassment as you notice Santi shaking his head. You tighten your grasp around your oblivious daughter who immediately fidgets on your lap.

You’re doing this all wrong.

You shouldn’t be here anyway.

“I - it’s time I need to drop Clara off. I’ll uh - I’ll, um, see you all later.”

You feel Frankie’s eyes on you the whole time you’re walking away.

“Fucking really, Santi?” you hear Frankie say as you walk away.

You're not hiding. Not officially. You watch the waves ebb and flow in the near distance, scrunching your toes on the sand just past the terrace from your room. There's the faintest sound of laughter, of people enjoying their time on the beach.

You shut your eyes. How did you get the lunch so wrong?

The door closes behind you and you turn around instantly, caught in the headlights as you see Frankie standing there.

“Are you okay?” Frankie asks, hesitance clear in his voice. “You just walked off? I thought we’d take Clara to the club together.”

Another failing. Why do you keep getting this so wrong? "I - I just - crap."

He pulls the terrace door to and sits on the sand next to you, hugging his knees. "It's not a big deal, sw- it's not a big deal. Just - what's wrong?"

“You didn’t tell me,” you finally say, trying so hard to hide the hurt in your voice. Frankie doesn’t have to tell you things anymore, you know that. You just thought that maybe he’d want to.

You’re friends again, right?

Frankie looks down at the sand and exhales a heavy, poignant sigh. He seems to be stopping himself from saying something, probably that it is none of your business. You watch him open his mouth then close it a couple of times and wait patiently.

“I know.”

“Do you not want to tell me things anymore? I mean, I guess you don’t have to but I thought -”

“I didn’t tell you because I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he confides.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve spent the past few years with this single mission. Get sober, get my licence again, get my life, or at least something like it, back.“ He pauses, looking at you and then away from you quickly. A question pops into your head and immediately dissipates - no, you can’t go there.

“Well, you’ve done it,” you say gently, placing a hand on his sandy bicep. He’s all sun warmed skin and you can smell the hint of sunscreen as you sit next to him too.

“I never thought about - about what would happen once I got those things,” he admits. “I guess, I didn’t want to jinx it, I didn’t think I’d even get it back.”

“You don’t know if you want to fly anymore?”

Frankie lives for flying. The passion you remember in his voice, the way his eyes light up when he talks about the technicalities, the detail of the science and data behind flying. He used to read flight manuals to Clara when she was sobbing with colic through the night, right before the relapse and Colombia. Every time you see a helicopter or a plane, you think of him.

Can you remember him talking about flying recently though? Can you remember that passionate, bright look in his eyes at any time recently other than when he’s with your daughter?

“The last time I was flying - I crashed it. Tom ended up dead,” he says, barely above a whisper and once again looking away from you. “It’s all on me.”

Automatically you squeeze his arm in sympathy, in the only consolation you can give right now. “Not in the crash though, you said -”

“If I hadn’t crashed it, if I had just said no to the extra weight, if I -”

“Stop, stop, Frankie.”

He looks over at you, finally meeting your gaze with wide, brown eyes. His eyes are a swirl of emotion; pain, achievement, memories you can never know, regret. There’s so much regret in his eyes now.

It’s funny, you stood in an airport baggage hall just days ago thinking he’d entirely glowed up since the break-up, but his eyes are telling you wildly different stories now.

“You can’t change the past; you can’t go over what ifs. It was - it was a tragedy but it wasn’t your tragedy, it wasn’t your fault.”

“What if it was?” he asks plaintively, “And I robbed a kid of their father, of my friend, if that’s true. Do you realise that? Can you even imagine that weight?”

“You were all grown-ups, all making your own choices that led to that exact moment. I know, I know there’s a lot about that time I don’t know, probably never will, and I don’t - I don’t want you to tell me if you don’t want to, or can’t, but know this, Frankie, you are a good man.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. For what it’s worth, I’d feel safe in any aircraft if you were flying it. ”

He swallows, looking away from you for just a moment.

“You mean that?”

“Of course.”

He nods.

Your hand has slipped into his and he squeezes. It feels so familiar, so right at this moment.

“If you don’t want to fly,” you add, “that’s okay too.”

“I don’t want Clara to have a deadbeat dad.”

“She won’t. She doesn’t.”

“I don’t want know what I’m supposed to do other than fly.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Okay.”

It’s only later as you return to your hotel room that you realise you said we, that you made you and Frankie a unit again.

You still mean it too.

You feel awkward about what’s going to happen at dinner. Even though you’re walking in alongside Frankie, even though you know he’s going to demonstrate that the two of you are just fine, all you think about are the disappointed looks at lunch.

To your surprise, it hurts worse than leaving your daughter with a sitter.

You can only imagine what they must think of you right now.

They must think you’re becoming that stereotype of an ex - resentful and bitter and you don’t know how to say it’s not that at all. It’s that for some reason the confirmation you weren’t the first person he’d want to tell anymore cut a deep hole in your heart.

It’s hypocritical and stupid and risks ruining everything.

There’s a revelation low in your stomach you cannot let rise yet, you cannot voice because it really will ruin everything and you’re not ready for that. You’re not ready for this - things have just started to stabilise again.

You’ve prepared for dinner though. You chose one of your favourite outfits, doused yourself in your favourite perfume and spent time on your appearance for dinner. It’s armour.

Lia smiles when she sees you. “You look gorgeous,” she says in greeting, rising up and hugging you as you join them at the large table you’ve all now mentally claimed as your own throughout your stay.

She draws you in next to her. “How’s Clara? Did she like the kid’s club?”

“She did and she likes the sitter too.” You feel terrible about having a sitter on holiday but it’s novel to have a dinner with all of your friends in the evening. Besides, between you and Frankie, you’d both extensively researched and interviewed the hotel sitter so you felt as at ease as you could under the circumstances. It’s a family holiday yes, but two hours at the club and a sitter for a dinner hardly makes you and Frankie bad parents.

“That’s so good. It’s great having you and Clara both here, you know. I know work’s been a lot recently but I’ve missed you. I’m just - I’m pleased you made it.”

“Like I’d be anywhere else,” you say candidly. “You’re my best friend, Lia.”

“Ditto, just like, don’t tell my sister that?”

“Guide’s honour,” you say with a wink.

You’re grateful for Lia, she’s one of your closest friends and somehow she knows just what you needed to hear. You vow to be there more for her this week - it’s her wedding after all!

It doesn’t escape you that Frankie’s been sat with Santi and some distance from you and you are next to Lia. You wonder whose idea this seating arrangement was - Will’s perhaps, or maybe it was Sophia. You know they must be worried about a repeat of their wedding.

You take a long sip of your drink. On the other end of the table, you can hear Frankie’s soft laughter. You can’t help thinking about your conversation with him earlier, the slight tingle in your stomach when you spoke this morning.

You broke up for a reason. You know that.

It was the right thing at the right time and it hurt that all that love you had for him, that you think he had for you, was changed by everything that had gone on them.

It has to go somewhere though, doesn’t it? It can’t just stay stagnant; you’re supposed to move on.

It’s just, you think that maybe you still love Frankie a bit. Maybe you never stopped.

This is a hideously unwelcome revelation, it’s inappropriate, it’s clearly unreciprocated. You’re supposed to just be co-parents.

There’s no just with Frankie though, there never has been.

You feel nauseas. It’s starting to look like once again you and Frankie are going to end up ruining another friend’s wedding. Your best friend’s wedding to make it worse.

Only this time, it will be entirely your fault.

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