#knowing Exactly what alex needed in that moment

[yrsonpurpose]

henry ± being a reassuring presence for alex

#rwrb #rwrbedit #red white and royal blue #alex x henry #firstprince #userninz #userveronika #chrissiewatts #usersteen #usernuria #usermegsb #userclara #mine* #time for some acd love up in this house #back rubs my beloved #all of the election night scenes ohhhh myy henry was protective husband there #knowing Exactly what alex needed in that moment #making the little distraction about his tie 🥺 #'they ignite at different temperatures' is such a beautiful line bc it highlights how two people can be very different #but also so very right for each other at the same time #the right balance of energy that they both need

[leclsrc]

in so deep ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, charles has a huge crush and is a lovesick bloke, smut, humor, Fluff 

word count: 13.1k  

It takes you many cities, a botched Halloween costume and a failed break-in to realize how much Charles likes you. It takes Charles several years to realize he doesn’t need to do much to have you like him back. title from this

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, praise central, size kink, unprotected sex

auds here… thank u for all ur love during my periods of being awol .... i wrote this over the course of a week and i hope u all like it!!! its very much a self indulgent thing... :P

The first time Charles realized he liked you, you were both posed for a picture.

It happened at a dinner party in London, in late autumn, thrown by you to celebrate your first year on the paddock as a reporter. Few friends had been invited but, with how noisy everyone was and with the ease of conversation, it felt like a houseful of people in your narrow dining area. Lando was in front of the mirror, tipsy, demonstrating his best rendition of an Irish accent to a genuinely interested Alex and Lily. 

Max was playing with your pet cat, Gene Kelly, and mentally plotting a heist to sneak him out with Pierre’s help. Your boyfriend, Liam, was making himself a cocktail. And Lewis had been roaming around with a glass of dry wine and his brand new film camera to document the night’s festivities—but the host was nowhere to be found. Unbeknownst to everyone, full off dinner and tipsy off cocktails, you’d ducked into the balcony to find where Charles had run off to for the night.

The music was muffled when you shut the door, leaving it ajar just a little bit. Lissie had played Cocteau Twins and was singing whatever gibberish lyrics played, fully drunk off a bottle of Tito’s. Still laughing over her predicament, you turned to Charles and refocused your attention on him. Is it boring?

What w… what is? He asked, turning to you. Briefly his eyes flitted to your hand, the bracelets clasped onto your wrist. He noticed you held matching bottles of beer but yours remained full, nail tapping idly on the semi-opaque glass.

My party, you responded wryly, cocking your head to the side. A loose tendril of hair fell over your eye and he itched to tuck it back in place, thumb over your ear. You continued, still pressing for an answer. You left to smoke but you didn’t come back. 

I like the view. A half-lie but truthful in some way. He squinted to try and make out blurry, faraway signage. I should move here. Monaco makes me sick. He tried to say it jokingly, but was betrayed by the raw tone of his voice. You hummed quietly, to signify you were listening.

So move. Who’s stopping you? You smiled slightly. Aside from your ludicrous career, of course. 

You had a natural disposition of—something. He didn’t quite know how to describe it, almost like the rest of him had yet to catch up with something only his heart was already decided on. You spoke and acted with some kind of smoothness that only the most popular kids in secondary school could have reins over, but you always claimed you weren’t very popular in your teenage years. He just knew he liked hearing you talk, watching you smile. He felt something—but he didn’t want to name it even if he knew exactly what it was. Instead he played into your joke. Yeah, I’ve been told I should move to Dubai instead, become a prince.

You laughed aloud. You are terribly unfunny, you know that?

Am I? He asked. Just then, as the cotton of his tee brushed against your bare shoulder, Liam brashly tugged the balcony door open to find you. He had this drunk smile on his face, brushing his blond hair out of the way and raising a Leica to the two of you.

Hey, I got Lewis’ camera. Smile, Liam had said, eyes squinted behind it. You remained still, half-turned to the camera, and Charles gave a smile whereas you remained in a neutral, half-smiling pose. And right there, at that very moment, as a giggle escaped your lips from having to pose so quickly and even awkwardly, Charles realized with a damning force that he had a massive crush on you.

Liam had left shortly after to resume taking pictures, but would later confront you over your “weird, odd, fucking closeness with the Monegasque bloke” that you would vehemently deny despite a gut-churning feeling boiling low in your stomach. But that’s later. Your conversation continued calmly, along the passive whir of London and the streets below. You both people-watched as you thought of things to say—finally Charles said, Are you interviewing me next weekend?

I always try to get out of it when it’s with you. You rolled your eyes, feigning irritance, then smiled to break the illusion. I think so.

I’ll make sure I have good answers. You’re too smart. Hurts to be in the same room. 

Like you aren’t, you said back, but the rebuttal is shy in nature, like he struck you with a compliment so high you couldn’t bear to return it. He felt then like this was the kind of moment where you would start holding hands any minute, timid touches between clinks of bottles. He remembered Liam existed and screwed his eyes shut. He wished so hard to be able to kiss you. Abandon all sense and just kiss you.

—

“It’s 2023 and still London has the most rubbish ass, fucking cunt, stupid wanker stoplights,” Lissie huffs beside you, checking her watch. “Right then. We’re going to be late. You know how Lando is when people are late. Especially because this is his event.”

“We’re not people to Lando,” you reason, tapping the steering wheel. The ETA on your navigation app tells you you’re still twenty minutes away. “We’re his best friends. If he can’t forgive us, we should kick him out of the group chat.”

“Ooh, and add Alex,” Lily pipes up from the backseat, where she’s redoing her eyeshadow to pass the time. “I keep telling you guys he’s funnier than Lando.” Both you and Lissie make faint, vague sounds of dissent and she grunts again, deflating.

“No boyfriends in the group chat,” Lissie repeats an age-old rule that’s been around for as long as you three (four, including Lando) have been friends. “Or girlfriends, in Lando’s case, but we haven’t worried about that much, have we?”

You’re all en route to watch Lando crank out a brand-new deejay set, one he’s spent the summer break working on. It’s all house and inspired by beach music, and he’s very proud of it, so of course you’re all showing up to laud him. You’re not the only ones, though, apparently—whoever’s in the city is showing up to show their support, which includes a whole stretch of drivers.

“Oh, my God!” Lily says all of a sudden, eyes wide at something on her phone; you both gesture for her to show you and she does with speed. “Do you guys remember this? God, Instagram archives are a godsend.”

“Your dinner party in Chelsea!” Lissie coos, immediately sidling into a fond awwww! You tap at the story Lily had then posted: a video of everybody eating. You tap again to view the one she posted a few days later, which was a collage of Lewis’ camera scans he’d gotten developed overnight. There in the upper right corner, you almost immediately spot your photo with Charles.

“Oh, Christ, that picture.” Memories of your subsequent arguments with Liam flash past your head. Playfully, all you say is, “And I never had a boyfriend again.”

“Liam was an Irish arse, anyway.” Lissie scoffs. “Nobody liked him. Lewis joked about cleaning his camera after he used it that night. Plus, you actively avoid dating, so don’t complain.”

“Fair,” you say with a slight smile. Your mind lingers on the picture, the imprint of it burned fresh into your mind. 

“You—it’s also because you can’t take a hint, babe.” Lily says matter-of-factly. “Who knows how many guys have, you know… fancied, or, like, had crushes on you, and you just never knew?”

“Are you saying somebody fancies me?” You ask, voice whittling out playfully as your eyes count down the seconds to the green light.

Funnily, silence is all that answers. Beside you, Lily and Lissie exchange a look—one that communicates their years-long amusement over your cluelessness. You whirl back to them, eyebrows raised, and double down: “Wait. Does somebody fancy me?”

“No!” Lily ekes out; you don’t miss Lissie’s poorly-hidden laugh. “No. I’m just—it’s just—no.” 

Truth is, it truly seems like the only person in the entire paddock (team and Sky Sports staff included) who hasn’t caught on to a certain somebody’s boyish crush is the crush herself, oblivious as ever, even years and years later. One might think you’d have realized eventually, but perhaps owed to your type A personality and immersion with work, and Charles’ pathetic and total inability to express how much he likes you, the crush has always remained just that, despite your two friend groups’ best efforts to hint at it.

It wasn’t to say, though, that you didn’t sometimes entertain the idea of liking him, too. On that one rainy race weekend when he’d brought you a plastic cup of soup, and embarrassed, laughed sheepishly at Lissie’s joking request for one; then returned twenty minutes later with soup for everyone in the media pen. Or that time in Monaco where he’d pretended to be your boyfriend at a bar to ward off a creepo from hitting on you any further. Or another time, in Budapest, when he’d drank half his body weight in jello shots and slurred out a goofy, heavy I’m soooo sorry, baby while you helped him into the passenger seat of his car.

That one, singular time in Cancun you told your friends once and never again.

But those are isolated incidents, you suppose; plus, dating someone you work with has never seemed like a remotely good idea to you, and you don’t think it ever will.

For all your thinking on the topic, you fail to realize that you don’t know much at all—you don’t know the fact that Charles has liked you for years, after getting to know just how charming and funny you were as a friend. You don’t know that he still gets gut-churning butterflies when he sees you, hands shaky and face tinged pink. You miss the fact that he’s not had any long-term partners in the years of his liking you. You don’t know anything. 

“Don’t lie.” You narrow your eyes as you rev the car and continue the trip. 

“We’re not,” Lily says loudly and a touch too defensively, crossing her fingers. Quietly, she continues, “You should just pay more attention.”

Whatever she meant to say is lost on you as soon as you make a left and spot the club Lando’s at, already teeming with high-profile guests and their high-profile cars. Half an hour later you’re in—valet and being on the guest list effectively cuts your entrance time in half. You separate at the entrance—you, to find Lando; your two girls, to find your reserved table. You find him eventually, busy behind the booth churning out high-frequency tropical music; he pauses for half a beat to flash a huge grin and a thumbs-up before redirecting his attention to the knobs and sliders you can’t seem to guess the functions of.

These kinds of parties are affairs in and of themselves. They mimic the afterparties during the season—nothing if not shows of opulence and networking: champagne paid for by business magnates, yachts that barely make dents in anybody’s wallets, thick CVs, fruity cocktails spilled on pieces of clothing that cost upward of 3000 pounds. You make eye contact with at least seven skeevy businessmen before you spot your friends, but only because you hear them first—by them you mean Lissie, her loud voice raised even more to match the noise at this club.

“I said I didn’t fu—ugh—I don’t want ye fahkin’ champagne,” she slurs out to an old man in a pressed suit, eyebrows knitted angrily. “Got it?!” Behind her, Lily and Alex (who’s arrived now, apparently) watch, concerned and helpless to stop her but equally (perhaps more) entertained.

You step closer and make a move to calm down the exchange taking place, but somebody whispers a “hey” in your ear and startles you. You turn, and come face to face with Charles. His black tee accentuates the breadth of his shoulders, which you connect to his crossed arms; there’s a shy, boyish grin playing on his face. “Oh, Charles!” You smile. “Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Thanks,” he says with a grin, straining to raise his voice. “You look—you look well. Are you alone?”

“No, I’m—” You turn to your three friends nearby, and to Lissie’s argument heating up. “I actually have to go.” You raise your thumb, jabbing it toward them. “But hi again… again!” You both laugh, but he laughs much louder. “I’ll see you around.”

“I jus—” He says, and you stick around for a second to hear him say what he has to say.

“Yeah?”

He clears his throat and laughs stiffly, abandoning his previous statement in favor of a new one. “I just…. want… to have a great time.”

“Ohhhh,” you holler, nodding, clearly trying to mask your extreme confusion under a polite smile. “Okay, well… go ahead!”

You smooth down your dress and laugh again, evidently more forced but, unfortunately for Charles, not any less pretty.

You carry yourself in a very pretty, graceful way, loud and quiet at the same time, like your confident voice when you’re holding the mic and asking questions or making drivers laugh. He might sound creepy, though, a touch too observant, if he tells you so. He observes you instead, for a second, the low cut of your dress and the way the red overhead light shines on your exposed collarbones—and then you’re leaving. He watches you walk over to hug Lily, realizes how stupid he’s sounded, and smothers a hand over his face, humiliated. 

—

“I just want to have a great time?” Max’s jaw drops and he shakes his head, disappointed above all else. “Charles, what the actual. Like…. fuck?” They’re all camped out at the latter’s hotel room, around the dining table, in varying states of sober and doing different things to wear off the last hour of the night before they’re all due to train or debrief again in the morning. Charles had relayed the disaster of the night to everyone at some point, but Max is the last to hear of it; this, unfortunately, does not inoculate him from the shock and secondhand embarrassment.

“Pierre told me to—” Charles starts, forlorn.

“Oi, no. I told you to say something like I just wish… I’d seen you sooner,” interjects the Frenchman with a tut. “You know, flirting? Not… whatever the fuck you said.”

“I didn’t—I was—I lost my mind,” he groans, burying his head in his hands. It couldn’t possibly be entirely his fault when you looked so pretty tonight, hair down and a wash of glitter on your eyelids. Just subtle little flecks of them. They brought out your eyes, too. And your blush, the pink flush of it that sat high on your cheekbones.

“…llo? Charles.” He blinks and sees Carlos’ deep eyes, wide and staring right at him, so pointedly he’s genuinely startled.

“Jeeesus fucking Christ. What?” He places a melodramatic hand over his chest. “Yeah?”

“What do you mean with the”—Carlos mimics his confused expression—“I asked you a question, tonto.” 

“Don’t bother with him,” chimes in Pierre, half-distracted by his phone. He looks up with a devious smile and continues. “He’s still thinking of Miss Reporter of the Year.” A round of loud, jovial laughter makes its way across the table, a few teasing quips being chimed in here and there.

“I just,” mocks Pierre from across the table, adopting a sing-songy tone as he bumps his shoulder to Carlos’ with a mocking laugh. “Wanna have a great time.” His voice is much higher and more mocking, which is enough to send Charles into a fit of petulant embarrassment.

“This isn’t sixth year,” he grits out quietly, but the blush on his face could just as well be plastered on the cheeks of a twelve-year-old. “Give it a rest.” 

“Mate.” Pierre’s voice mellows into something more austere. “You do know she’s leaving the reporters’ job at the end of the season? She’s going to London full-time. No more seeing her all year round. You know this. And I keep telling you. If you are really, and I mean really, interested, I say go for it. C’est la fucking vie, yeah?”

“Plus, if she says no, you can go for pretty much anyone else, anyway,” concludes Max with a convinced smile.

“It’s not the same,” he admits helplessly, smothering his hands over his face in bleak frustration. Behind his eyelids he sees you still, beautiful and smiling and funny—he seriously needs to institutionalise himself before he goes even more mad with the years-long malady he’s called a crush. And seriously, for a twenty-something to have something he calls a crush is despicable in itself. He feels juvenile.

“I can’t tell her. She’s always told people that dating coworkers is a bad idea.”

“You’re not coworkers.”

“We’re—well, we still work closely together. It is the same.” He groans. “It’s just… I’ve said it before. If I admit I like her, things will become awkward. I’d rather we remain friends.”

“Well… see, nobody said you needed to tell her,” begins Pierre schemingly, eyebrows raising. Around them, everybody groans at the birth of another Pierre-brained scheme that will, no doubt, need the enlistment of everyone’s help and will likely end in disaster. “What?! I’m just offering… I’m just saying, mate—you’ve liked her since forever. Why not make a move?”

“—I can’t—”

“Without telling her?” 

“Pierre,” groans Carlos, ever the voice of reason, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t—whatever this is you’re planning, it’s going to go to shit. I swear.”

“You are acting like I plan to take somebody hostage.” Pierre shrugs. “You know, girls like when you don’t tell them straight up. You have to show you like them. You know, be interested in the things they’re interested in, compliment them, make them laugh. And then they think, oh, how thoughtful, oh, how adorable, and before you know it, they like you. And you’ve got yourself a girlfriend.”

“Mmm. Uh-uh. Untrue.” Max says decisively, shaking his head. “I told Kelly I liked her.”

“Yeah, sí. I told Isa I liked her, too.”

“Will you two—just—” Pierre gesticulates and makes a funny noise that insinuates just go with it. “Okay?” he points out to the latter, rolling his eyes. He turns back to Charles with a ready, dazzling, so-French-it’s-scary grin and continues. “I suggest you let us be your wingmen and help you charm her.”

“Whoa, whoa, wh—us? You’re on your own here,” Max quips with a laugh. “It’s your stupid idea.”

“It’s not stupid, and it’s going to work. She probably likes you already.” His confidence carries the lie with gusto. “We just need—you just need to show her instead of saying the dumbest shit to her face.” Pierre leans back into his chair and shrugs matter-of-factly. “Max and I will be regular wingmen, but we have a secret weapon.”

“Don’t—” Carlos starts with a sigh.

“Yes. Lando, Lily, and Lissie are all close to her, eh? Well, perfect—Carlos will get information from Lando about things she likes, you gift her those things or talk to her about them, bam she’s in love. It’s literally a perfect plan.”

Maybe it’s worth it. Maybe—

“No.” Charles shakes his head firmly, setting the record straight. “This will not work. Who’s to say she even needs a boyfriend?”

—

Despite what his best and closest friends—on and off the paddock—might have you believe, Charles hasn’t always been so hopeless when it came to trying to catch your heart. His closest call came in Cancun, after a long weekend of racing and a flight to the area, early into the night where he thought he was the only one who decided to opt out of partying.

Your skin’s peeling. You turned from where you sat on a barstool observing the shore, startled, immediately relaxing when you found him standing there eyeing you. Your hair was still damp, crunchy with saltwater, and your skin had tanned considerably, a sunburn sitting on the bridge of your nose. You stuck your tongue out.

I spent the whole day swimming. He observed your bikini, yellow and green contrasting the colour of your skin. He blinked slowly, ordering himself a drink to hopefully pass the thoughts away. His eyes couldn’t stop, though, wandering, the translucent material of the scarf you’d tied loosely around your hips, the tinge of heat on your shoulders and nose. I’m burnt everywhere.

There are remedies for that. He smiled around his glass.

I’m aware, you said lightly, crossing your legs and sliding your finger along the salt rim of yours. But just in case I forgot, maybe you could refresh my memory.

Your voice was so sweet, so low, so tempting. Already he knew he was wrapped around your finger, the same finger picking up grains of salt to press on your tongue peeking between your smiling lips. You brought your glass to your lips. It had been some time since the dinner in London so he pressed, his voice deep and a little rough, Liam can do that for you, I’m sure.

Pity, you said meekly as you set your glass down and looked back at him. He’s not my boyfriend anymore.

Out of eyeline, the bartender’s eyes widened at the exchange he was overhearing. 

Is it a pity? He asked, leaning backwards and cocking his head to the side. It’s easy, an easy glide of conversation, flirt, something he’s wanted for a while now. To have you playing into him, and have himself playing into you, just like this. It was naturally easy in a foreign city where nobody knew who either of you were, where you were just two strangers flirting at a beachside bar.

Two strangers laughing while they dug their toes into the sand. Two strangers basking in the water, tinted orange by the sun dipping below the horizon, scarf untied in favor of one last swim before night fell. There was nothing keeping either of you from doing whatever you wanted. Nothing keeping Charles from finally acting on the attraction that honest to God crushed him.

You ended up leaning on the door of your hotel room, keycard fiddled in-between your sandy fingers. You combed a hand through your hair and offered a shy smile. So. 

So, he replied, leaning closer. So.

Sooo. You were laughing and your breath smelled like a mint leaf and vodka. You looked up at him, blinking slowly. I have a rule.

What rule is that?

I don’t date coworkers. He wanted to dip down, place a hand on the dip of your waist, and kiss you.

Pity, he said gruffly instead, a smile forming on his face.

Is it a pity? You chewed on your lip and looked at his barely parted ones, pink and pretty. When I’m about to break it? He was about to help you do just that—eyes fluttered shut already—when a crash resounded from down the hall and you both turned to find the culprit. You broke apart and with your separation, whatever atmosphere of tension you’d built up popped, too, leaving you awkwardly standing beside each other.

Oh m… Lissie? You asked, leaning closer as you recognized your friend more and more. You narrowed your eyes, watching the girl crawl her way through the carpeted floor. Oh, Jesus—let’s—get you—

You both hauled her up and wrapped either arm around your shoulders, unlocking her hotel room with great effort and tossing her onto the bed. You stood back and sighed at her half-blacked out state, slightly amused but ultimately relieved she ended her night unscathed.

She pried one eye open and sleepily, she groaned out, what were… you two… doing together outside your room?

Nothing, you said quickly, face warm and eyes wide.

Because you—Lissie raised a lazy finger in your direction—don’t date coworkers. 

I wasn’t—it wasn’t—goodnight, you spluttered, eyes refusing to meet Charles’ even as you both exited the room, paying him quiet thanks as he pulled the door back closed.

Sorry, you said, pretty as ever. The light shone on the red splotch on your nose. Goodnight.

And so he went to his room that night, bummed out and still high off your scent.

—

“You’re staring again.”

“I’m not,” he lies through his teeth, averting his eyes away from your figure by the shore. Sue him if he was staring (which he wasn’t… but most definitely was) but he finds you much too pretty. After the disaster that was the Mexican GP, he figures he could use some sort of stress reliever. Apparently he was not alone in thinking this, considering half the paddock hauled ass to Cancun and prompty partied.

Across Charles, Joris and Pierre share a knowing look that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I said I’m not!”

“So you are not staring at her blue swimsuit then?” Joris tests, mouth twisted into a devious smirk. “It’s black,” Charles says matter-of-factly before catching sight of his friends’ smug expressions and realizing he’s implicated himself. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, petulantly almost. “And I wasn’t. Can you fucking—fuck off?”

“Just ask her out already,” Pierre groans, nodding when Joris chimes in with agreement of his own. “I seriously can-not handle another bar of this shit. It’s been years.”

“I don’t know how to,” he laments. “It’s going to be awkward if I do it all formal, and she’s going—she’ll laugh at me, and it’s…” He blows a raspberry. “Non. Pointless.”

“Just kiss her at the party,” reasons Joris with an easy attitude, shrugging. 

“Joris! Charles didn’t know about that,” Pierre says, trying to lower his volume, but it’s pointless since they’re barely a metre apart. “Fucking tattletale.”

“Party?!” Charles repeats, eyes wide. “Why don’t I know about a party?!”

“It’s a Halloween party,” Joris says, a wacky grin on his face. “And you said it yourself, didn’t ‘cha? You told us not to tell you if any functions were happening because you’re too tired to go to any. Too… too wrapped up racing.” He laughs. “Or something of the sort.”

“Well the season’s ending,” he huffs, wringing firm fingers over his face, his shut eyes, “and I still fucking haven���t… so I think I’m afforded a party.”

“Alright, then come to the party! Dress code, Halloween. Sexy Halloween.” Pierre wiggles his eyebrows. “You know, speaking of our plan, Carlos overheard Lissie and Lily talking about what your girl’s costume is going to be.” He leans in closer and laces his fingers together. “She’s going as a… Christina.”

“Christina?” The other two echo, confused. 

“Christina. I did some digging, and I think it’s this.” Pierre scrolls and dicks around on his phone for a minute before turning it back around to Joris and Charles, who peek with great interest. They seem to be looking at an outdated movie poster of—

“Cas-per the friendly ghost,” Charles reads aloud, trying to get his accent to dissipate. “Huh. What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a movie, idiot.” Pierre shuts his phone off. “Starring who? Christina Ricci.”

“Vraiment? You think his crush is going to show up wearing… a white gown?” Joris asks, his mind stuck on the outfit he’d seen just seconds ago. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Well Carlos and I agreed, so. Two to two. And Carlos says she and her friends always wear silly costumes like these. So if she shows up as Christina, what better way to start conversation than to dress up as Casper?”

Charles’ eyes widen with comical horror. “No. No, no, no. Did the ghost and the kid fuck?”

“No!” The two men across him yell in unison.

“Right!” He gesticulates. “So it’s not a couples’ costume!”

“But it’s still—” Pierre pauses. “It still matches. Trust me on this one, mate.” He smiles. “We even brought the supplies.”

—

The party is a hit as soon as Charles and his group enter. The former finds refuge at the table, unwilling to socialize. Pierre roams for a bit and ends up finding you almost immediately—you’re wearing low-waisted pants, a strappy top, and you sport alternating streaks of blond and black in your hair.

“Hey!” He calls, jogging up to you. “I heard you were coming as a Christina. Guess who I am?”

You rake a hand through the streaks in your hair and smile. “Not just any Christina. The artist. Xtina? You know?” You twirl a bit, the dark material of your strappy pants swishing as you go, as if the movement will help Pierre deduce the costume’s identity. “Whatever. You’ll get it. Lando is—we’re matching tonight, but I g—it wouldn’t make any more sense if you don’t understand it.” You sigh a bit and gesture vaguely to the crowd behind you, referring to the Eminem-dressed Lando, who you guess is currently caught in the thick of.

“Xtina?” Iks-tina, he repeats, clearly confused. “I remember hearing… somebody saying you were going as a… a Christina.”

“Chris-tina, Xtina, yeah. Christina Aguilera.” You smile, fingers pinching at the material of your belt. “Anyway—where is everyone? I’ve only seen Daniel’s costume and then yours.” The recent memory of Danny’s neon orange traffic cone costume bumping into everybody flashes in your mind.

“Save yourself,” he huffs, smoothing calloused hands over the denim of his jeans. “Zhou and Esteban came as Bella and Jacob, Max as a Tifosi. Anyway”—he points to his ensemble—“guess yet?”

Your mental images of each cited costume are cut short. “Aha! You’re, um. Yes! You’re Ken from the Barbie movie,” you crack finally, remembering the revealing denim vest and jeans combo from the film you’d watched four times over in theaters a few months ago. “Wow, even your briefs say Ken. Very accurate. Minus the non-bleached hair.”

He tuts and shrugs. “I’m no Alex. What’d he come as?”

“He and Lily matched—Sonny and Cher.”

“Let me guess,” Pierre starts, and already you’re nodding because you can tell he’s going to predict exactly how the night has turned out, “Alex is Cher?”

“Wig and sequined dress and all.” You nod, laughing and squinting; Alex’s tall figure, head clad in a long, fringey, black wig, stands out above the rest. “Oh, I did see Carlos at the bar. Ricky Martin?”

Pierre really laughs at that, a loud, distinctly French guffaw involuntarily forced past his lip glossed mouth. “What the fuck, mate! Ricky Martin?! He’s El Profesor from La Casa de Papel. You know, Money Heist? Bella ciao? Oh, my God, he’s going to fucking freak if he hears—heard you said that.”

“He seriously gave off Ricky Martin vibes,” you defend in-between laughs of your own. “So that’s everyone? Oh—oh. Charles! What did… I never saw him! He kept telling me how excited he was for his costume, too…” Just a few hours ago, at that—a boisterous voice honing into the your voicemail inbox, boasting about a costume while you prepped for the party with Lissie and Lily. Your eyes peruse the room, but the lighting is too dark and vague for you to make out anything you haven’t already seen.

“Oh. Charles?” Pierre’s voice lilts higher. “Um. Yeaaah. Um.”

You, however, are sufficiently distracted by your own search for him, and you fail to notice Pierre’s clear scrambling attempt to stall you. He takes a long swig of beer and clears his throat. “He’s just, well, around. I should actually—excuse me, I need to actually go look for him. I owe him a drink.”

“Oh? Oh, okay. Well—be careful?”

You’re a bit surprised by his sudden, jolted departure, but bid him a rushed goodbye anyway. He waves back vaguely, his eyebrows furrowed into an expression of worry as he shoves his way back into the crowd and toward the area littered with tables. It’s only then that Lissie surfaces from the crowd, scratching absently at her nose as she crashes into you with a floaty giggle.

“Lis, you’re all sticky.” You place two palms flat against her shoulders and push her off. “Are you high?” 

“Yes but not drunk.” She giggles again, eyes fluttering.

“Oh—that’s not. Whatever, I guess.” You exhale and cross your arms over your chest. “Who’ve you been with?” She listens, plays with the braid in her hair, matching her getup as Lara Croft. 

“Um, the deejay. I gave him my number, but he’s actually pretty fucking weird. Come on, I want to pee.” As always, her speech quickens to something inhuman, an effect elicited by alcohol; giving you essentially zero time to react, she loops a hand around yours and drags you with ferocity to the nearest restroom. She moves so aggressively through the thickly-packed crowd you barely have time to react or say hi to people you’re acquainted with en route.

You whiz by the door, and in the rush, you notice Pierre entering the one adjacent with a worried expression etched onto his face. Just minutes ago you’d been conversing—you wonder why he’s suddenly become privy to worries.

“So the deejay,” says Lissie, effectively distracting you for the time being. You hum to signify you’re listening, fixing bits of your outfit in the mirror as she kicks different stalls open to judge their cleanliness. “One, he was dressed up as James Bond. Which is just about the most fucking pretentious thing ever. Two, all he played was Chainsmokers. You’re telling me this pub—club—whatever—in Mexico could only afford to commission this guy? Three, he was”—she kicks the last door open and a gasp escapes her and morphs into a semi-shriek—“a ghost?!”

“Ghosted you? Already?” Your eyes, focused previously on re-lining your lips, flits to Lissie’s in the reflection. She’s distracted, staring at the contents of a stall with comically wide eyes. “What’s up? S’that a fucking glory hole or something?”

“No!” She yells when you approach, immediately lunging forward to pull it shut. “No. It’s—I saw a roach. Serves us for going to a fucking… pub. Don’t go in there, it’s…” She exhales a long breath. “It was a mama roach and… with eggs.”

“What are you talking about?” This isn’t even a pub, it’s a nightclub—one with a door fee that definitely did not warrant rogue cockroaches in the water closet. “Lis, you’re drunk-hallucinating.” You’re not even sure if that’s a thing, but you shove past her and push the stall door open again, ready to come face-to-face with, maybe, a sleeping Tinkerbell or a puking black cat. Worst case scenario, shit on the floor; worst-er case scenario, Lissie is right and you’ve stepped into a den of roaches.

Weirdest case scenario, though, if that’s an actual thing: Charles Leclerc seated on the closed toilet seat, face painted white, wearing an all-white ensemble of a large white shirt, shorts, high socks, and sneakers. He’s got two hands on either side of the wall, as if he’d been preparing to escape; how or to where, you’re clueless. Why he’s here, you’re even more stumped.

His entire face is a stark white, with black smudges of face paint on his forehead (eyebrows, you’re guessing); his hair’s been curled by the humid air at this club, and he looks like himself in all the ways he totally does not, eyes big and caught when yours click onto them. 

Despite confusion, you chalk it up, as one would rationally do at a party, to intoxication. You spend a few bated breaths staring at him staring at you, his face of pure shock and embarrassment enough to sober up a drunk for a few days. “Hi.” You can hear yourself say it, but you’re so caught off-guard and full of confusion it feels alien.

“Hey,” he says, wiping four fingers over his stubborn face paint with a smile. The smile and the paint barely fade. “I’m a ghost.”

“I see. Classic.” You pause. “I’m Chr… nevermind. Um—are you okay?”

“A bit, uh—a tad bit drunk. I seem to be in the ladies’ room.”

“Yeah, you seem to be,” you recite back to him, amusement quickly overtaking confusion. “I think Pierre was looking for you. Let me go get him. Lis, make sure he doesn’t…” You gesture a puking movement, and the pair watch and listen to your shoes click against the tile, before the door swings open and then shut again.

“Coast is clear.” Lissie’s voice has been lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “I reckon everyone you know is already looking for you?”

“This is a disaster.” He rubs frantically at the face paint, but it’s horribly futile. “You know, I didn’t even realize I was in the ladies’ room until you two came in. She cannot see me like this.”

“She already fucking has, mate.” Lissie sounds exasperated. “Whose idea was this? If you say Pierre I swe—”

“—Pierre—”

“—ar to Jesus fucking Christ, Charles—I can’t keep saving you from Pierre’s antics.” She grumbles out a sigh. “What are you supposed to be, even? Have you—did you see how hot she looks? This is like… you look like a… I can’t—” She lets herself taper off, so disbelievingly shocked at his odd costume.

“I’m Casper the Ghost!” Lissie mentally forms a crude picture of the kid ghost, which looks absolutely nothing like what’s in front of her. “Casper was opposite Christina Ricci. Pierre told me so.”

“That’s the dumbest analogy ever, holy Christ. You look like a poster child for some…” She regards him for a moment. “Anemia advert.”

“Take that back.”

“You don’t really have the upper hand here, Charles,” says Lissie with a grimace. “I’m texting Pierre. Are you—did you even get drunk?”

“No,” he woes. “I am totally sober. I had to lie. Pierre went to the table and told me that my—that the costume we planned—it was wrong, and I just—I ran to the bathroom.” Lissie can’t help but laugh at the story, raising her camera to record the incriminating evidence.

Mid-video, Charles’ white face droops and his painted lips part to ask: “You think she found me cute?”

—

Charles likes finding things about you. He supposes the first time he realized just how much he liked hearing you talk about yourself—which you rarely did—happened in São Paulo. He’d been stressing over a spiel to recite in front of a camera, rewriting over words for hours to make everything sound more natural.

Each margin had been hastily written on with pencil, run-on sentences with semicolons in the place of periods. The team scriptwriter didn’t do much to make his lines sound more natural and less like they’d just been spat out of an online translator. You peeked into the media pen and coughed. You don’t belong here, do you?

Tch, he clicked his tongue, turning to offer a smile. I’m working on a script for Sunday. Portugese stuff.

I can help, you responded, walking slowly over toward him. You smiled quietly, approaching slowly like you were waiting for him to greenlight your offer. He did so by pulling a chair out for you, and once you sat you traced a nail over each line, murmuring them under your breath.

You speak Portugese?

You looked up and gave a half-shrug, laughing like you were amused with yourself. Kind of. It’s not very good, but it’s enough. You resumed your editing and he felt content to stare, admire, watch every movement of your lips align with the syllables of the words. You asked for a pencil and began writing something much cleaner. He couldn’t help but let himself be in awe of your intelligence.

You read over the last few lines and turned to face him. Let me guess, you said. You want to make a pun on Ferrari before you say bye.

Ah, he laughs. Yeah.

See, I know you so well, you half-joked, scrawling idle edits on the margins of his script.

He was already looking at you when you turned back to him, seeking his response, agreement, anything. When your eyes met, something caught at your chest—it tugged, tugged, then tugged again, a dull feeling burrowed deep in you. Words failed to wrench themselves free, but once they did, all you could manage was a faint—What?

Nothing. He smiled and shook his head, like he was waiting for you to figure it out. You know… sometimes, I wish I met you sooner. He does. He wishes he knew you back then, when you first learned Portugese. Or when you were in high school, so you could see just how exponentially awkward he was in his own teenage years. He thinks sometimes that he’s lost too much time, met and liked you too late.

Hm, you breathed out, because you didn't know what else to. I know why—so you could always have me. As a proofreader. Right?

Hah. The tilt of his laugh was high and mocking, and he stuck his tongue out, as if to punctuate that. He looked away then, like he wasn’t ready to say certain things to your face just yet. Quietly he added, Always have you… something like that.

—

If you ask Charles what he’s doing hiding in a laundry basket of a luxury hotel in São Paulo, he wouldn’t be able to answer you, either. It’s been some time since the disaster that was Caspergate Cancun 2023, and if he’s perfectly honest, he doesn’t feel like facing you again for the rest of his life. Pierre, of course, has other plans. 

All he knows is last night, Pierre suggested he leave a huge vase of roses for you to arrive to in the living room of your hotel; as he planted it in said room, the door’s lock turned, and he sought a hiding place in the adjacent bedroom. Judging by the prevalent scent of Dior Sauvage, this is Lando Norris’ room.

Did u get to escape??? Pierre’s text irritates him. At the same time, the light flips on; Charles curls in on himself, remaining perfectly still. Lando’s voice trills through the room. “I didn’t leave those roses for either of you,” he’s saying to you and Lissie.

Charles hears you hum. “They’re so beautiful.” His heart swells. “I gotta run for a sec, pick up something from Will’s room.” A few seconds pass and the door opens and shuts, which means Charles is currently alone with Lando and Lissie. Which means he needs to plot his escape as soon as he can. Otherwise he’ll be caught in the crossfire and much too embarrassed to—

A foot meets his concealed body and he lets out an oof! as he’s sent flying out of the hamper, along with strewn-around clothes. He keeps his eyes screwed shut, scared shitless and in a fetal position; he only unfurls when a socked foot kicks at his ass. Above him are Lando and Lissie, both extremely confused. 

“How did you know I was…?!” He asks, aghast.

“My fucking laundry was breathing, mate, s’not that hard to leave alone,” Lando retorts sharply. “What are you doing?!”

“I left roses for her,” he explains fruitlessly, gesturing to the vase outside. “But you came in, and this was the closest hiding place. I was told this would be a great gesture.”

“Right. Where did you even get that advice?” Lando tries to suppress the critical tone in his voice, but judging by Charles’ embarrassed grimace, he’s failed. Beside him, Lissie makes a hm? noise, goading Charles to answer quicker.

“I got it from.” Charles pauses. “A friend,” he ekes out vaguely.

“No shit. Who?”

“Um—” Charles’ eyes are shut. “Pierre.”

In unison, Lissie and Lando both release incredulous gasps, throwing their hands up in the air. Lissie points at the mess of clothes in the corner of the room to emphasize her point and asks loudly, with comical cynicism: “This seemed like proper romantic advice to you?”

“Scratch that. Pierre’s words seemed like proper romantic advice to you? His girlfriend is—!” Lando places a flat palm a few inches off the floor and shakes it a few times to insinuate Kika’s age, his disbelieving expression growing funnier by the second. “Mate!” His voice cracks mid-syllable, though even this mishap seems to be the least crazy thing about tonight.

Charles, burning with humiliation, releases a shaky sigh. “I know! I know!”

“You don’t know!” They shout simultaneously in response, disappointed if anything. Just then the door opens again and your two best friends hurry to throw assorted pieces of laundry on the lying Charles, exiting to make sure you don’t suspect anything. 

“Hey,” you say slowly, because they’re both posed the exact same. “Am I… missing something?”

“A shower, girl,” Lando says, and you flip him off before retreating into your room.

Belatedly you ask, “Did you find out who sent those flowers?”

“Some loser, probably,” he calls right back. Charles emerges to poke him accusatorily, but Lando just shrugs. Charles definitely does not have the upper hand here, anyway. 

“Just get out,” Lissie says, completely done with Charles’ antics. “And stop. Listening. To Pierre.” 

He rinses the odor of laundry off him once he’s at his room, but thinks, despite himself, that you called the flowers beautiful.

—

Are you—

—no. I’m not. You wiped a hand over your face and caught mascara along with it. I’m fine, it’s fine.

What he said, it wasn’t…

I said, you turned to face him, eyes rimmed and mouth trembling. You didn’t finish your sentence, just tore the microphone off your lapel and buried your face in your hands. There was always going to be a first time. Your first time insulted on a live feed, after the Abu Dhabi weekend, was not any less shocking. You felt small. You felt humiliated.

You didn’t want to show Charles any of it. You moved around the green room, picking up shit to throw into your bag. Thank God the season was fucking over, you kept thinking. I feel so, you said, still failing to finish anything you started to say. You’d been called an annoying bitch by a fan of one of the drivers—to your face, as you exited the paddock.

He moved nearer. Charles, you said, a half-sob, and then you were allowing him to crash, allowing him to hug you. Your arms were weak when they wrapped back around him, linking softly in the small of his back. You sobbed hard into his chest until his grey tee was dark with tears. I want out, I just want out.

You’ll lord your career over that prick when you’ve made a million dollars doing this, he said. You do it too well to want out. You’re too smart. You’re too good. You cried harder, your face hurt and every word felt wrestled unintentionally, like it took too much work to say much at all. I’m sorry, you said. You should go. 

No, he said. He held you closer. Not until you feel better.

—

He cries after Abu Dhabi. Bad season, everyone’s said. You snap a few smiling pictures with Max, who wins, and Lily and Lissie and the lot of them, the people who made the year so great. You notice an absence in all the pictures and you find it in a room in the Ferrari motorhome.

You’ve found you both find solace in words. In reassurance. But you’ve also found that your connection enables you both to reassure without having to say anything at all. You sit beside him, lean your head on his shaky shoulder, and wait.

“I was waiting for you to come,” he admits brokenly. “I was just not feeling good.”

“I know,” you respond. “It was a bad race. Shit strat.”

He’s quiet. His breaths are ragged and wet and shaky. “Will you stay? Until I feel better?”

You don’t move. “I’ll stay for longer.”

—

In the kitchen Charles unscrews himself a beer. The sky outside is pink and the sun hides behind faraway mountains, gradually darkening the entire atmosphere, save for the few woolly clouds. He’s by the patio door so he can spot people in the wide yard: Pierre, exchanging a Frisbee with Lando. Max, Alex, and Lissie engaged in an intense match of Uno.

They’re all gathered here in Spain at Carlos’ behest to celebrate the dawn of winter, and the end of the season, Max’s third championship.

He’s yet to spot you—he’d been told earlier you’d be late—but it doesn’t matter. He’s been feeling uncharacteristically himself all day anyway. He wrote that on his notebook this morning, on the flight here, verbatim. Looked up the word to spell it right and everything. He remembers you saying it, that time in London where you and Lando took him around and annihilated Borough Market before lounging on the grassy knoll of a nearby park. I feel so uncharacteristically happy, you’d joked. The syllables were too stunted and too fast for Charles to nail it. But he feels it now. Uncharacteristic.

He tells everyone he’s fine, though, and does a good job of it. Three beers in and he’s beginning to trick himself into thinking he actually is doing fine. Nobody suspects he’s been feeling empty from such a bad finish to the season—the season that was already bad in itself. He hasn’t been feeling his usual drive, his usual appetite. He doesn’t know when it will return.

“Here you are.” Carlos has this goofy smile on his face when he bounds into the kitchen, depositing empty dishes at the sink. “Listen, I have to tell you something.”

Charles and Carlos have always shared an easy dynamic—they’ve both always wanted the same thing. Racing has always been at the forefront of their minds. It makes conversation passionate, easy, fun; it was what helped build their now-natural rapport in the first place. “Yeah?” He prods, leaning against the counter and tipping fizz into his mouth.

“I invited everyone here to announce… something important.” Carlos crosses his arms. “But I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Me?” Charles knits his eyebrows and smiles. “Wow.” He gulps, cocks his head. “What is it, then? Are you switching teams?”

Carlos’ goofy smile grows. “Isa and I are engaged. I’m retiring next year.”

“You—you’re—” Charles laughs and shuts his eyes all at once. “Oh, my God, mate! Congratulations!” The overload of information isn’t lost on him, but he channels it all into a hug. “Are you really retiring, though? I mean. Wow, this is amazing news—but—”

“I was sure as soon as I asked,” Carlos says squarely, smiling as if he’s conjured an image of Isa’s smiling face (which is likely the case). “As soon as she said yes. As soon as I bought the ring!” He laughs aloud, so overwhelmed with happiness of recalling everything. “I’m so glad you were the first person I told.”

“Besides Lando,” Charles says, because he knows it’s true.

“Besides Lando.” Carlos smiles. “I’m… dios, I’m happy. I always knew I’d have something to look forward to after racing.” They hug again, and then he clambers past Charles and into the patio, where he resumes the façade of being unengaged and still a driver. Left behind, Charles thinks over it himself. What does he have to look forward to after racing? All his life, racing is all that ever existed to him. 

The announcement comes eventually—when it’s dark out, intermittent stars white and twinkly against the black above. Charles has once again turned into a blushy mess because you arrived a few hours prior, wearing a lovely dress and with your hair down in messy waves and you said hi to him earlier without him approaching first. They present a stupid, but very Carlos-and-Isa ring-shaped cake to announce it, and somebody queues up music and everyone’s cheering. Of course everyone’s cheering—it’d be impossible for this announcement to not come with bouts of yelling and cheering and goodbyes to Carlos, who accepts them with glee and—dare he say—excitement.

Charles remembers their first year as teammates, the jokes they’d made about needing to beat the other out. For both of them, he recalls, it’s only ever been the drive to race. He didn’t think Carlos would even entertain the idea of retiring yet. He wonders when he will. The thought of it alone is enough to send a well of anxiety run deep into him—which happens after he congratulates the couple, so he excuses himself to the empty outdoors area to get fresh air back into him.

He didn’t mean it, but he finds you already there. “Hi,” you say when he slides the door shut. “You okay?”

“Just… yeah, I’m fine.” You smell faintly like smoke. “It’s crazy, huh. Everyone’s… moving on.”

“So Carlos told everyone, then,” you say, pursing your lips and waiting for his response. He closes his eyes and lets a soft exhale escape him, warm air out and fresh air in, a welcome change from the heady atmosphere in the party. “I knew. I bought that God awful cake. I kept saying get a normal one but they both wanted it to be shaped like a ring.” You punctuate your sentence with a crisp laugh, a stunted exhale of air to break the tension.

You have a natural sway over words, graceful and beautiful and commanding, something he only wishes he could be. For so long he’d been told the feedback loop of one and the same thing: you’re good. You’re the best. You’re going to be the next big thing. And this season had just… aggravated every single insecurity he’s picked up in his years of racing. He wishes sometimes he’d been told something else: you suck. You’re normal. You’re irrelevant. Then at least he wouldn’t exist in some odd panopticon of feeling on top of the world and yet looking at it from the bottom of a pitch black abyss.

“Yeah,” he says instead, wringing his hands. He mimics the wrist movements he’s made to do during gym hours. “It’s wild how—I mean, not really wild, but. I just can’t… even picture my life after racing.”

“You’re young, that’s warranted,” you laugh. “You’re also… I mean, even if you drop out of racing tonight, it’s not like you’re going to become dirt poor or anything. You could become a bloody orthodontist and people will still love you.”

“Will they?”

He didn’t mean to say it aloud but out it comes, garbled and rushed and he’s a bit embarrassed for sounding like a child in front of somebody he finds so beautiful. The silence is suspended and dry, and for a minute all he hears and feels is the slow rise and fall of his chest. To somehow mend the vulnerability, he tries again. “It’s not—I just think I’ll be lonely if I decide to stop racing.”

The fact that Carlos can say with so much ease that he’s willing to drop his career to ensure his pending marriage lasts is almost terrifying, because Charles knows he wants that. He knows—he’s always known—that he wants that intimacy, that realness, but for it to come at the cost of something he’s known for so long is so scary it’s almost a dealbreaker.

“Lonely?” You echo, voice tinged with concern. “Charles—”

“Lonely.”

He says it with an edge to his voice, so final, so steadfast. Loneliness is what he’s always feared and he knows, with a deep drawling punch to his gut, that loneliness is what will come if he decides to stop racing. Even if he’s tired. Even if he’s so pent up with frustration and loss and anger. Racing is all he’s ever known, it’s all he is—when he’s not tied to it, who is he? “Like no one… like I’m just standing in front of what I’m supposed to be, and when people see me, that’s all they see—what’s behind me. Right through me.”

“Well, you’re off racing right now,” you respond, trodding carefully. “So, well. Do you feel that way?”

He knows what you mean: it’s winter break, so he’s not driving or doing some form of it every single day. And he knows in turn what to answer: no, not really, he doesn’t really feel detached from it because there’s a low anticipation in his belly that tells him he’ll be doing it all again soon. But he chooses to interpret it differently; differently, but not falsely.

“I th… I don’t feel lonely,” he says, “when I talk to you. You see me.” 

Your stomach drops and your heart begins to pulse a mile a minute, knuckles tightening where they’ve gripped onto the wooden post of the patio. You can feel the air in your lungs pass through every divot of your body as it escapes and arrives in long, shaky breaths. He’s looking at you, his eyebrows knitted like he wants—needs an answer, if you’d be kind enough to please give him one. 

“I…” You bite your lip, every thought in your head at odds with the other.

Time feels like rubber, like it’s been stretched and manipulated and Carlos is ducking out to announce that it’s time to blow out candles on the stupid ring-shaped cake and you’ve taken too long to respond and your body feels too heavy but your heart feels too light and your eyes are blinking, open and shut and open again, and you feel like the wind could honestly blow you away now because Charles has given you a neutral nod and left you alone again, to contemplate the weight of what he’s finally, finally admitted, tonight here under the sky of Spain.

You move a hand over your hair, watch him walk away. The words lodge themselves in your throat, but they’re there.

—

One minute after  you realized you liked Charles, you swallowed the feelings until they were barely decipherable.

In happened in Dublin, at a pub on St. Paddy’s Day, when you’d emerged fresh out of a breakup with the most arseholic Irishman you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. And funnily enough, it happened without Charles’ presence. You’d spent the day at Liam’s, hours of fighting over so many things—the growth of your career and the decimation of his, where your relationship had soured, why you never came to visit him, Charles, the sodding bloke you like so much—until finally, you took your things and left.

Wise, because you might’ve honestly gone insane if you stayed a minute longer, attuning your ears to the deafening feedback loop of his voice. Also decidedly unwise, because you had a piece of luggage and barely any battery, in a full city of people you didn’t know at all.

There was no chance Liam would let you return, and no chance you wanted to, for that matter—the fact still stood, though, that you needed to kill the night before your flight to France left at 6AM. You entered the first pub you heard, deposited your bag at the coat check for an extra couple of euros, and accepted the first pint thrust into your hand and first leprechaun hat plopped atop your head.

In between watching people compare how they poured Guinness pints, Sinead O’Connor songs, and exchanging headdresses with a random stranger, you found yourself impressingly drunk. The Irish did it too well.

A university student stumbled past your stool, tears in her eyes; she stopped to steal a shot of whiskey lying unattended on the bar. You looped a hand around her wrist and stared at her menacingly. Manners?!

Fuck manners, she said wetly, wrenching every word out with great effort. Nobody paid either of you any attention. I just caught my best friend and boyfriend kissing. Her accent was unmistakably Irish and was stronger with the tears.

Oh, you said, loosening your threatening grip. Sorry.

Don’t be. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid, she said, aghast, before finally stalking outside the pub. Half an hour later, you wound up at a table of thirty-somethings, all belting along to a folky sounding song.

Drunkenly you slurred out, I thought it was a stereotype.

What was, love? One of them paused her singing, dipping down to listen to you properly. Your cheek was smushed against the varnished wood, moving with every syllable you eked out.

The songs. You sound like… you belong in the 19th century.

She laughed at that, surfacing and yelling something to the band onstage you couldn’t quite decipher. The song reached its peak, loud and getting the whole crowd singing along, before fading into a familiar opening. S’this better? She asked, her voice slightly raised above the guitar.

You looked up. I liked the other one too, to be fair. M’not a fucking anti-Irish.

Nobody said that, love. Come sing. She hauled you upward, exaggerating her arm swinging in the air so you’d follow suit, which you did. You hummed the opening, eyes fluttering open and closed. You imagined opening them again and finding Charles across the room, already looking, with the same charming, boyish smile on his face that came to you as comfort.

You thought back to the dinner in London, the feeling of his shirt against your shoulder, the way he’d gotten you so easy and laughing and babbly, something you never got with Liam. You squeezed your eyes shut and exhaled raggedly. Fuck.

Linger’ll do that to you, your companion mused. Around you, the entire pub sang along to the song that served as the backdrop to your all-encompassing romantic epiphany. Missing a lover, huh?

No, just… You opened your eyes, watched the band sing out the rest of the prechorus before they slid into the next verse. A new kind of air had crept over the pub, one that exemplified just how much this song could mean to anyone, no matter who. You shut them again and saw Charles. The green of his eyes, mossy on some days and bright on others. The moles on his face. The grooves of his hand, the way it wrapped around things like pens, mics, bottles, your fingers. His voice, how he curved around words. He always knew exactly what you meant even if it took you ages to get to the point, even if you felt like you didn’t know what you meant exactly. 

You opened your eyes. Suddenly fights with Liam didn’t matter. Whatever little sympathy you had left evaporated as you listened to the lyrics and realized, with a damning force, that you were thinking of Charles. And this was not weak, this was not vague, this was a strong thing that took you off your feet like a gust of wind, hurtling you out of the pub. You thought of every time your eyes met his, both of you already laughing at something else present. Every time he saw you at the end of a busy work day and asked if you were doing alright.

Just this guy, I suppose. His name’s… yeah. We’ve been friends for ages. He’s really very talented. Very kind. Your voice was drowned out by the music but you didn’t intend for anything to be heard, anyway. And he’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. He always knows what to say. He’s not in Dublin tonight, not even in Ireland, for God’s sake. 

He’s your boyfriend, then?

You closed them slowly. No. T’wouldn’t be very smart to date him.

Is he an arse?

No either. It’s just too late.

I’m sorry, love.

Don’t be, you mused, eyes still shut as Linger came to a close. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid.

—

Charles should be in Monaco. You should be in London. But at four-thirty PM, leaning against the counter of a tiny café in Dublin, you cross paths for the first time in weeks, and everything tilts on its axis.

He notices you first, because he hears you thank the barista quietly. It’s not your reporter voice, not the one you put one when you’re interviewing him or his teammate or his fellow athletes. But it’s your real one, and it’s the one he thinks he could hear through a snowstorm.

A tuxedo-clad man exits and suddenly you’re there. You’re wearing a white top, low neck and thin straps covered by a cardigan. You’re sliding coins into the pocket of your jeans and he watches your hand freeze, drags his eyes back up to you, finds you’re already looking.

You look beautiful, he thinks. You put on a lot of makeup for the cameras, and you looked gorgeous, but seeing you like this—caught, almost, in a moment you didn’t expect to see him—you look unbelievably beautiful. He aches with it. 

“You look well,” he says first when he opens the café door for you. “What’s your business in Ireland?”

“Acquainting myself with my new coworker.” You wait for him to follow and squint when the sun hits your eye. “We’ve been here three weeks, fly back to London next Monday. You?”

“It does seem weird for me to be here,” he observes absently. “I needed a change of pace, I think. Gear up for the season.” He shakes his half-full cup of coffee. “Where are you staying?”

“Just up ahead.” A slow silence overcomes you both. “Come over. I have beer. I know you can’t be fucked to have coffee.” He laughs and nods, following you through the road and up into a flat—a BNB, if he’s guessing. There’s a tiny landing and then stairs to a wider living area, where you proceed to unwrap the croissant you’d gotten a few minutes earlier. You chuck it into the fridge and produce two bottles of beer in one go.

“Sit,” you gesture to the spot beside you, and he sits himself there. “We can talk. We should.”

You’ve shrugged your cardigan off, and he observes every detail of your exposed skin, the way your hair layers atop it. Right as he opens his mouth to respond, a blond girl enters, rings of mascara caking her eyes and a wine glass twiddled in-between thumbs. She’s talking her head off and only pauses when she spots Charles.

“Hhhh…iiii.”

“Salut.” 

“You’re Charles?” She notices how close the two of you are seated together.

“Yes,” he says. 

“Charles, this is Robyn—my coworker’s friend. And by extension my friend.” You pat her knee and point to Charles to get them properly introduced. “She leeches off the apartment.” 

“You love me,” she retorts, mockingly—but sweetly. “Anyway, sorry to intrude. I was just on the phone with my situationship.” She rolls her eyes. “Does he think I give two shits about goodnight texts? It feels impossible to be romantically satisfied these days.”

Charles grunts. “I hear that,” he says, just to make Robyn feel less excluded. You get up then, to fuck around at the kitchen sink—he suspects you’re not actually doing chores—but you come back with wet hands and you sit yourself across Charles, on the loveseat, instead of next to him. 

“The thing is, right,” she gulps wine, “there’s such a thing with dating now,” Robyn says, not missing a beat, her Geordie accent curving round the syllables with a distinctive twang. She stares at the opaque red liquid in her glass, like that will supplement her with more words. “Like a deal. A big deal. Everyone’s making this huge thing out of it, and it’s like, can’t we be in our twenties and fuck around occasionally?” She laughs, a high-pitched, tapered noise.

You shift from where you’re seated, buried into the material of the seat. It’s quiet and beginning to touch awkward, so you speak in a rough voice: “I dunno, I kind of… get it.”

“Oh do you, now,” she responds, voice saturated with wine. “No, it’s—I was joking. Of course you would, you’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, is all.”

Suddenly you feel all too seen and inclined to touch a fingertip to your cheek, feather light. You blink so you won’t feel tempted to meet Charles’ eyes, because you feel them on you. “It’s—thank you, I mean. It’s nothing to do with that. I just always feel it’s impossible to find someone who loves you. I feel like I’m not very lovable.”

“You? You’re bloody fucking likable!” Robyn’s laugh is so disbelieving you find yourself semi-convinced. “You’re a bit intimidating, yeah, but you’re lovable as fuck, babe.”

You double down anyway, voice thin. “Right. I don’t think I’m very good at being… affectionate.”

“Hah. Bull. You’re affectionate with… with Charles! I’ve heard you talk about him to Jane.”

She turns to Charles before you have the chance to defend yourself. To him she asks: “Is she affectionate with you?”

But it’s basically rhetorical. Everyone speculates, sees the way you two bend the line between friendship and romance, the care with which you treat Charles, the way you two understand each other in ways impossible for anyone else in your orbit. Fuck if it’s not overtly physical. Robyn’s known you three weeks and has never even met Charles until seven minutes ago and already she’s sensed the energy, the difference, even if she hasn’t seen you do so much as embrace.

“It’s—” You say and say too quickly. You wind up slowing your speech so you don’t sound too defiant and lean backwards, willing yourself to relax. “It’s… different with Charles.”

“Different?” She repeats, miming every dip and rise of your voice. “Why?”

“We’re close.” You refuse to meet his eyes. “Be—because we’re good friends. I feel… things are… just. They’re different. That’s all, really.” Barely satisfied with the answer you eked out, you cross your arms over your torso like it’ll help shield you from the interrogation going on. Briefly you let your eyes fall on Charles; he’s reclined, eyes all over the place, blinking in quick flashes.

“But you admit it, at least?” She smiles. “That you’re affectionate, I mean.”

“Only with…” you taper off, unwanting to dig yourself a deeper hole. “Right. Sure, yeah.”

“Well then,” she says, eyebrows raising as she dows the rest of her glass. She sets it down on the low wooden table with a clink. “I’ll get going. Don’t let me keep you two from shagging or whatever.”

“We don’t f—shag,” you interrupt, voice sharp. “And you’re not keeping us at all. Me, at all.”

Us sounds so exclusive, you realize as it leaves your lips. Us. It tastes like sour cherries on your tongue, bleeds all over. Robyn gives you a look. In response, you insist on seeing her out, leaving Charles at the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands toying with the neck of the beer bottle. He can make out faint words but he doesn’t try translating or deciphering them, just listens to your muffled voice peek through every few words. You sound amused, also accused, also endeared—a bit irritated. You end it with a laugh.

You clamber back in after a few minutes and find him at the top of the stairs.

“Sorry,” you wave off, rolling your eyes to fend Robyn’s earlier interrogation efforts of. “She’s very strong-willed.” You climb the stairs, your striped linen shorts folding with every movement of your legs. Finally you make it to the top, on the second-to-the-last stair, staring up at him.

“You know,” he says, watching you ascend to the top finally, but you’re still staring upward. “You should know.”

“Should know what?”

“I missed you.”

You inhale and are grateful to find the air is all him. “I missed you, too.”

“In a different way.”

“Me, too,” you echo again, voice quiet. “I missed you. It feels like I’ve missed you all my life.”

He can hear your still, controlled breathing. “Thank you for seeing me. Even when, you know, it’s… hard. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” you say. “It’s never difficult, not…” With you.

He leans down and captures your mouth in his then, like it’s a thirst he’s always needed quenched. You allow it, kiss him back like you’ve needed this your entire life. His lips are chapped, but you don’t mind—Dublin’s cold. He kisses like he’s smiling, like he’s happy, and you think maybe that’s not far off. He moves downward, to your jaw; lower, along the column of your throat, around your collarbones, cornering you against the wall, letting you lean against it.

Charles’ kisses are light and soft, but also heavy, like he’s trying to waste as little time as possible. You sigh, feeling light, feeling ecstatic. He puts two hands on either side of your face, presses your foreheads together, and shuts his eyes. 

You feel the divots of his fingers on your hip, your waist, places he’s never touched before. “I’m sorry I left,” you breathe into him. “Back in Spain. In Madrid. I wanted to think about it. About what you said. About everything, about you.”

“I’m glad I found you here, then.”

You tiptoe to kiss him again, because now that you’ve had it once you’re terrified you won’t have it again. In-between kisses he picks you up, cages you fully against the wall, and you breathe shaky little exhales. It builds up quicker and harder; you feel his cock at your hip and shiver, eyelashes fluttering. “Upstairs,” you say breathlessly.

He likes knowing you want this, because he’ll give you whatever you want. He’d fuck you for hours. Have you shaking, eking out moans of his name. He’d whisper praise up and down your ear. He wants this just as much, if not more.

“I want you, so much,” you exhale when he lies you both down on your bed. “So much.”

He tugs your shorts off, then your panties. He doesn’t usually lack self-restraint, but he thinks he’s never felt this much temptation in his life. He’s so hard. He brings one hand to his thigh and squeezes his dick through his pants, but it doesn’t provide him with any kind of relief. You’re needy already, whimpering, mind dizzy. He slides a finger up your slit and watches you screw your eyes shut.

Slowly he sinks in, watches you accustom to the stretch. “Wanted this,” you breathe out.

He thrusts in further, feels your warm cunt stretch around him, feels your breaths get hotter and quicker against his lips. But he takes it nice and slow, so he can feel every little ridge inside of you as you take all of him. “You like it?”

You nod, too dumbed down to speak. “Good girl. Pretty, pretty girl.”

He’s wanted this for so long, fucking you deep and slow and desperate. He thrusts harder, watches you unravel and your hot breaths pick up in pace. He reaches down, smears wetness around your clit as your thighs begin to shake. Your pretty, flushed face is enough to send him into overdrive, your eyes rolling back as he goads you into orgasm.

You’re still cumming around him when he takes a shaky breath, pulls you tightly back against him, and lets the pleasure take over. He fucks you full, rides his orgasm out while you ride yours out—buries his dick all the way inside, so each spurt fills your contracting pussy up.

He pulls out and collapses beside you, pressing his lips to your shoulder before lying on his back. “I’ll clean you up in a minute.” It’s quiet for a second, just you two breathing.

Then: “I did, I did think about it,” you say, voice reedy. “I thought about you.”

“Yeah?” He watches you blink at the ceiling, lets you clasp your hands onto his.

“About me, too.” You open your eyes and stare into the green.

“D’you want this?”

“Believe me,” you say, threading your fingers into his tightly. Your hair’s fussed from the sex. “I do. But—”

His heart drops.

“I don’t want to… I want you to not…” You sigh. “You know, I like seeing you. I like being that. I like knowing I make you feel good. And I want you to know you… you make me feel amazing. Like you and I… we understand each other.” You pause. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who understands every inch of me.”

“Ditto,” he says, and you smile.

“I look up to you, you know? I don’t want you to anchor yourself onto me. I want you to realize that on your own. You’re smart. You’re a great driver with a shitty fucking team I hated reporting on last season.” He laughs shakily. “You know I look up to you. You know… you know I love you.”

“I do. I love you.”

“I always have. It wasn’t… it didn’t always make itself clear, but I always have. And I know I always will.” You smile. “We’ll be in different cities, in separate timezones, but if we survived the years of not telling each other how bloody fucking much we liked each other, this is nothing. When we’ve sorted ourselves out, we’ll know the right time to finally call this what it is.”

He’s never thought of himself as a writer, but his notebooks might beg to differ. Many times you’ve told him yourself that he has an affinity for describing things, especially when he lets go of language as a limitation. He wonders what you’d say if you knew the amount of times he’s tried to write about you. Careful letters or typefaces, in an effort to form a coherent picture of you, the way he sees you, the way he loves you. But he’s so scared he tears the pages off before they get too intimate, too personal, crossing the border from having a crush on you to being in love with you.

For once he’s not. He nods. It’s bittersweet, but it’s a segue to a better ending. He moves a hand over your hair and holds you close.

“You could never be unlovable,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead because finally, he can. “I mean it.”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

[bystarlightlore]

first things first: my boys are so touchy & affectionate with each other & it's the cutest, most adorable thing on planet earth.

i die.

moving on...

sweet alex, he’s all heart. prattling along, just as happy as he can be. 

it’s integral to watch our sunshine boy in this scene. 

the book & film are both from alex’s perspective, but there’s one thing that we’re afforded between the pages that doesn’t fully make it on screen — his emotional & cognitive layers. & that’s not anybody’s fault & it doesn’t make the film any less incredible, that’s just how adaptations occur sometimes. you can’t translate everything on screen & honestly, that’s the way it should be. some things can just stay in the written story.

tzp did a marvelous job of pulling some of those pieces from the story & threading them into alex’s movements, expressions, & actions. he gave us everything that he could & he did it phenomenally. i can’t imagine anyone else being our alex. i can’t get over how perfectly he was casted.

all this to reiterate, it’s so key to watch alex here.

we get to see some of his layers. he goes from playful, to pensive, to deeply sincere — “i’ve never felt this way about anyone” — & from there, he shifts into an incredibly exposed emotional space & you see him gather himself, working through his words & trying to share his heart in the most fluent way he can.

“it’s like there’s a rope attached to my chest & it keeps pulling me towards you.”

there’s never been a moment in his life where can’t share exactly how he feels. he’s always been free to do so. for alex, there was never a question about if he’d tell henry, the question was what he’d tell henry, & once he solved the what, he could proceed with the when. 

his mom asked if he felt ‘forever’ about henry & he didn’t consciously know at the time. (i’m a firm believer in the fact that they’ve been in love all along but that’s not the topic right now.) he watches henry in the bar & that’s where he figures it out. the next step is to tell him. point a to b. no detours. 

“& it feels so right”

all heart, all the time. our sunshine boy.

i don’t see fear here, i rarely do in alex, but i do see timidity. so with our eyes on him in this scene, we watch him waffle through his words, barreling toward the inevitable.

he stays in physical contact with henry the entire time — running his hands along his forearm, tangling their fingers together, tracing circles on henry’s wrist & back. i think he needs it here just as much as he wants it.

the most that alex has ever discovered & understood about himself has been through touching henry. he knows himself best when he’s skin-to-skin with the man he loves.

this moment cannot be any different.

—- “what i mean to say is, henry, i—“ 

i’d give anything to hear it come out of his mouth fully here. i want to know how it sounds under the texas sun — someplace as bright & warm as he is.

alex has never had to fear his own heart; even in the moments where he wasn't sure where it was going. after the NYE kiss, he went to nora to grapple with his feelings & he tried to talk to henry about it, but he never, ever shied away from how he felt. he wasn't raised to. following that giant, gorgeous heart is in his nature. he's always been encouraged to be exactly who he is.

the same cannot be said for our prince.

our mythic, beautiful boy. he literally looks like he's crumbling here. mournful, finite cracks in his glistening, alabaster stone. an absolute masterpiece withered by expectation, tainted legacies, hopeless hopes, & crippling fears.

he has to shy away. he doesn't believe or even entertain the idea that he might have a choice. to be so in love, but so trapped that your love can tangle its roots into the earth, but never bloom.

distance & longing take up far too much space in those stunning hazel eyes. it's all too much for him here. no fight or fawn, just freeze and flight. he did it all in expression: from pure bliss, to the dawn of fear, to desperate wanting, to heartbreak, to retreat. (nicholas galitzine, you wonderfully gifted creature)

in our prince’s head, it doesn’t matter how bad he wants to hear the words. it doesn’t matter if he’s loved alex & wanted alex all this time. his heart — their hearts — are of no consequence to the trajectory of their lives. & so, despite all this time; despite everything that’s passed between them in the past year — the firsts & the tender moments, the texts, calls, & emails, the falling in love — henry does the one thing he’s always had to do, lock himself up & run away. just like he did on new year’s eve.

alex has spent a year working him loose; making him feel as free & loved & authentic as he possibly can. he’s kneaded every tight curve, massaged every tensioned inch. & henry has put in the same amount of work learning to allow himself to be cared for. for someone to see his bright places, his passions, his wittiness, tenacity, & sparks.

our boys have grown so much & yet sadly, in a moment, terror bends henry back into an ill -fitting place.

the progress isn’t lost, just tucked away. fear is one hell of a keeper.

& you see him dressed up again in his suit. ramrod straight, prim & proper, the closed-off prince of england’s hearts that climbed out of his car to meet alex at kensington a year ago. a man of few words & little feeling. because there’s too much risk in feeling. feeling leads you to a dock in the middle of the lake in texas, listening to the man you love willing & ready to love you back, but you can’t be overjoyed — because you’re terrified.

grab your tissues, kids. im sure as hell grabbing mine.

#rwrb #rwrb movie #red white and royal blue #alex claremont diaz #prince henry rwrb #taylor zakhar perez #nicholas galitzine #firstprince

[dumbseee]

stalker. pt.2.

masterlist.

charles leclerc x reader. / ? x reader.

fc: lalisa manoban.

note: thanks you guys for 1k!!! i love seeing everyone’s reactions to my aus it really warms my heart <3 i love youuuuuuu <333

liked by landonorris, yourbestie, francisca.cgomes and 1 007 819 others.

y/n: thanks again @.apmmonaco for inviting me again! raising money for charity is something really important for me, and i’ll continue to do it till the end. you can donate too right here: www.donateforcharity.com

_

fan1: a fucking goddess

fan2: charles fumbled HARD

fan3: men really can’t handle bad bitches

isahernaez: stunning!

fan4: the fact that they were ALL there lmao

fan5: apparently they were sitting near each other…

fan6: where is deuxmoi when you need them.

fan7: how to be a fly in that room tbh

fan8: can we STOP talking about musty charles and appreciate y/n’s beauty and work for charity??

fan9: y/n can do better than him anyway, her family literally owns half of monaco

view all 30 738 comments.

liked by francisca.cgomes, yourbestie, maxfewtrell and 886 628 others.

y/n: enjoying some sun with friends :)

_

fan1: "friends" hm? then why is your fucking bestie still in monaco, y/n???

fan2: and who tf is that?

fan3: GUYS CHILL let the girl catch some dicks omg

fan4: i hope charles is crying rn

fan5: nah but charles must be regretting all his life choices

fan6: i wonder who that friend is

fan7: she looks so good tho

fan8: let’s stop talking about HER love life she’s a grown ass adult

fan9: my girl is thriving we love to see it <3

view all 12 792 comments.

you did your best to ignore the look in people’s eyes when they saw you in the paddock. after all, what was a driver’s ex girlfriend doing here? to be fair, you didn’t even know yourself, but he asked you to come and for a reason that is still foreign to you, you said yes. because who could say no to him?

it felt weird tho, coming here alone and supporting someone else, it was weird to you. especially because your ex boyfriend was here with the girl he cheated on you with. no wonder everyone was looking at you. but you didn’t care, you knew why you were here, and charles wasn’t going to ruin this moment.

"y/n!" a familiar voice made you sigh in relief, it was your friend, lily. she greeted you with her signature smile and hugged you tightly. "i haven’t seen you in such a long time." she took a step back and you smiled at her. you loved this tiny woman so much, she was a huge support for you during the breakup and even now. "i missed you too! where is alex?" you asked, your friend’s boyfriend not in sight which was weird because these two were tied at the hip. "doing interviews with logan. but let’s not talk about boys, how are you?" you two linked arms and walked through the paddock. "i’m fine actually, it’s weird but i think i’m moving on." you smiled and looked at the sky, knowing exactly why you were moving on so quickly. "i’m happy then." she smiled back but it dropped away from her face quickly, when she saw something in your way. when you followed her gaze you chest tightened when you saw charles and his girlfriend. when she saw you she immediately jumped in charles’s arms to kiss him, which caught him off guard and annoyed him.

an arm on your shoulder finally snapped you out of it, when you looked on your right to see who suddenly appeared next to you, you saw him. and all your sorrow immediately disappeared like rain when the sun is shining.

"hi, beautiful." he said, and you couldn’t help but smile.

liked by y/n, landonorris, danielricciardo and 2 729 099 others.

carlossainz55: red is still your color by the way.

_

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taglist: @sassyheroneckgiant @ssararuffoni @myescapefromthislife @idkiwantchocolatee @motorsp0rt @leclercdream @janeholt3 @ivegotparticulartaste @shessthunderstoms @doromoni @judespoision @ariagonzalezsstuff @angelayse @notleclerc @sm3156 @rainerax @shinrjj @ferrariloverr

(i couldn’t tag everyone :( so i just wrote the @)

#f1 fandom #f1 au #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 instagram au #f1 social media au #f1 x oc #f1 x reader #f1 x you #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz 55 #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz f1 #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x oc #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz jr

[actual-changeling]

Season One meta posts in 2024? Yes, very much so. We need more of that.

Will this be slightly unhinged? Yeah, probably, so welcome back to Alex's unhinged meta corner.

Everyone has probably connected the kiss back to the wall-slam scene in Tadfield Manor by now, but while I was re-watching it for the nth time and combing through it frame by frame like a mentally sane person, I realised just how orchestrated it was from beginning to end.

I assume we can agree that Aziraphale called Crowley nice on purpose to get a hint of intimacy out of him, but I think this time it is very different from the other instances during which he reacts with anger to being called nice.

My first main observation is the way Aziraphale positions himself.

We pick up after Crowley's explanation about the non-lethal shooting happening outside, and they are facing each other at an angle, with Aziraphale having stopped a few steps behind him.

Now, until the slam itself, Crowley doesn't move, he remains where he is, waiting. (We'll come back to that in a bit)

However, instead of remaining at a safe distance or standing literally standing anywhere else, he walks a small curve to then stop right in front of Crowley. Not at his side or a little bit away or at a respectable distance—no, right in his face. You can judge his position by looking at the wooden door (?) in the background.

The following camera position makes it hard to see the amount of distance between their faces, but we know that he must be close enough so that Crowley can immediately grab his coat without problem.

Excuse my art skills, but just to make sure everyone is on the same page, have a little drawing showing their positions and movements.

Now, that manoeuvring takes Aziraphale a few seconds, and what does he do? He stalls. Look at what exactly he tells Crowley:

You know, Crowley, I've always said that, deep down, you are quite a nice—

There are a lot more words than necessary! He could have shortened that sentence but he didn't, and on top of that, if you listen to him say it, he makes two noticeable pauses, one after 'Crowley with a little look outside, one after 'that'. By then he has reached his final position, so no more stalling, he can try to finish his sentence now.

Alex, you might say now, of course Aziraphale did it on purpose, but Crowley only reacted to what he said.

And to that I respond, nope, he was 100% in on it.

I know because when Aziraphale stops in front of him, he waits. He does not move, he doesn't shut him up even though he has heard the same spiel hundreds of times—no, he is waiting and allowing Aziraphale to initiate their little game.

This face is not the face of someone who is already angry or confused about which words will tumble out of Aziraphale's mouth. He even arches his eyebrow in a motion that I personally interpret as 'go on'.

Crowley is listening and waiting for the signal, and the moment Aziraphale says 'nice', he grabs him and pushes him up against the opposite wall. It's an extraordinarily quick reaction, the kind you have when you know you're about to act and what you'll do.

Some further evidence that the entire moment was orchestrated by the two of them.

Aziraphale stretches out his arms behind him to brace himself against the wall, he was expecting to be moved that way and intentionally put himself into a position that would allow Crowley to do so.

Additionally, by grabbing his lapels the way he does, Crowley can make sure that the back of his head doesn't hit the wall. If you watch the clip by yourself and slow it down, you'll discover that Aziraphale gently rests it against the wall on his own while Crowley is talking.

Aziraphale is completely relaxed not only because he knows Crowley would never hurt him, but also because this entire thing is a game that they willingly participate in. It is dangerously under-negotiated, sure; luckily they more or less agree on the ground rules.

Obligatory close-up with the noise squish because I am a blorbo connoisseur and not a heathen. The little eye gaze at the lips, and if you ask me, and this is my post so you ARE asking me, Crowley is very much looking at Aziraphale's lips from behind his glasses.

But I have one more observation to make!

I could never quite put my finger on why exactly the scene felt off, but now I am convinced it's because despite the act, Crowley isn't actually upset. There ARE times when Aziraphale actively crosses a boundary and endangers him with his compliments, but this is not one of them. The growling, him baring his teeth, the fact that he is pressing their entire bodies together, him leaning in thar far, and also what the FUCK is he saying?

The excerpt from the script books:

First part okay, I can buy that, a bit basic but alright. But 'nice is a four letter word'? Where exactly was he going with that and how was that sentence going to end? It's close enough to the topic to pass as real for any outsider who might overhear them, but if you actually listen and try to comprehend it—yeah, no, he was about to go full gibberish.

The goal wasn't to yell at Aziraphale about calling him nice, it was all about prolonging the physical intimacy by holding a monologue.

If you still don't believe me, have a look at their faces when they get interrupted.

Crowley has a "whot?" expression on his face and not a single hint of anger or annoyance. Aziraphale has an expression I will lovingly call "perish you peasant and let my demon husband slam me against a wall in peace".

If someone gave you only this picture—no context, nothing—what would you assume they were doing before someone rudely interrupted them? Based on what the fuck is happening on their faces and the complete lack of distance between their bodies, you'd probably assume they were snogging each other senseless.

Which they were, in a way, just without the lip contact.

I rest my case.

#alex talks good omens #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens meta #good omens season 1 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #ineffable spouses #alex's unhinged meta corner

[leaderwonim]

BUT WHY? WHY NOT.

pairing. ghostface!park sunghoon x fem!reader

summary. in a sudden turn of events, you ask with shaky tears why your boyfriend, park sunghoon, is doing what he’s doing. the answer he gives you is more terrifying than the whole situation itself.

warnings. kinda suggestive at some parts, vivid descriptions of killing, mentions of mental illness, hurt no comfort, cursing, one of the characters has a gun

tagging baes @saursoob @moons-v @wonniestars

recommended playlist. sometimes & race by alex g

“You know I love you and I’d never do anything to harm you, right?”

Park Sunghoon always loved to say that to you, especially when you separated your mouth from his and you’d give him those eyes that told him you’d do anything for him.

You were just so easy. Easy prey to catch for big strong intimidating Park Sunghoon. Easy prey to feast upon.

He was a gentleman. Looking back at the past 7 months of your relationships, you never once remembered having to open a door handle by yourself. His hand was already there before you could even touch the metal knob.

“What boyfriend would I be if I let you open doors all by yourself?” He’d say with an eyebrow raise and a smirk.

Even though he was clearly teasing you, you felt giddy that you had such a great boyfriend like him.

You just wish you saw the signs sooner.

🫀

The first red flag was how twitchy Sunghoon would get at random times. Sure, it was normal for Sunghoon to be a bit shy—even awkward—but the sudden twitchiness didn’t go unnoticed by you. It was almost if he was uncomfortable in his own skin, desperate to get out.

But Park Sunghoon was perfect. He was the perfect boyfriend, the perfect son, and the perfect boy, there was nothing wrong with him, right?

Right.

“I don’t know,” Sana says as she shakes her head, clearly frightened by what’s happening. “I feel like someone is stalking us.”

Your friend group collectively starts comforting her, all besides your boyfriend who sat next to you with a frown.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” you say, rubbing Sana’s hands comfortingly. “Right Hoonie?”

“Yeah.” If there’s another thing about your boyfriend, he’s good at reassuring people. “Maybe you’re overthinking Sana? It’s okay, you’re safe with us.”

“He’s right.” Hyoseop, one of your other friends, chimes in. “Besides San, you can’t let this scary moment dictate your life!“

Sana nods solemnly. “I guess. Are we still on that camping trip this weekend?”

“Hell yeah we are!” Your friend group cheers, which is more than enough to make Sana feel better about the whole situation.

🫀

“Sleeping tents?”

“Check.”

“Flashlights?”

“Check.”

“Batteries?”

“Check.”

“Tooth—”

“Baby.” Sunghoon wraps his arms around you from behind, putting his chin on your shoulder. “I promise we have everything, let’s go before we’re late and Eunae makes a big deal about it.”

You giggle, turning around to give him a proper hug. He smelt exactly like the vanilla scented candles you loved so much.

“You’re right, I don’t want Eunae on our asses in the middle of the woods.”

Sunghoon drives the both of you in his green shiny Jeep, the one his dad had bought him last month. The camp site was about 2 hours from your house, so you plugged your headphones in, leaning against the window as one of Sunghoon’s hands comes to hold your thigh.

“Wake up sleepyhead.” He says, flicking your forehead which makes you jolt from your sleep.

“Yah Hoonie! Don’t do that,” your cheeks puff out in annoyance, and your boyfriend can’t help but laugh, pinching it between his thumb and index finger.

“I texted Hyoseop, he says they’re already all here.” Sunghoon opens up the trunk, pulling out all your stuff with a grunt. “Jesus, it’s just 2 nights and we’re packing like we’re moving here or something.”

You roll your eyes, “we need to be as prepared as possible! I don’t even like camping, but Eunae insisted.”

“Well Eunae’s a bitch.”

You slap his arm, making the boy jump. “Hoon! You can’t say that out loud.”

“You’re thinking it too baby.” He swings his heavy duffle over one of his shoulders, his other arm holding the gigantic tent you guys had bought to share for the 2 nights.

“I don’t know why you couldn’t just put all your things in our big backpack.” You say, already feeling out of breath as you guys make your way to the site. “You don’t even have that much clothes anyway Hoonie.”

“Just wanted my own bag, that’s all.” He smiles. “Plus, the backpack is already extra heavy with all your stuff.”

You whine at his words, making him chuckle.

“Y/N! Sunghoon!” The voice of Inyoup, Hyoseop’s brother, echoes through the area. “You made it!”

“Course we did.” Sunghoon dabs up the boy, which leaves you to say hi to Eunae and Jihyun.

“Where’s Sana?” You ask, not seeing the familiar ginger anywhere in sight.

Jihyun pulls out her phone, checking Sana’s location. “She should be here by 7, said she’s running a little late because of boyfriend things.”

Jihyun sends the group a wiggle of the eyebrows, which stirs up laughter and a gross! from Inyoup.

“7 is gonna be so dark though, I’ll make sure to go fetch her.” Hyoseop says. “Now c’mon, let’s get a bonfire settled!”

🫀

Night time rolls around quicker than expected, the sky above already clearing out with the few stars being the only source of light in the surrounding campsite.

“Are you cold?” Sunghoon asks, pulling you closer to his side as all of you sit on the pieces of wood in front of the fire.

“I’m better now with you generating all this heat.” You joke, digging yourself closer into his side. “Actually, did you bring any extra coats Hoon?”

He doesn’t really hear your question, too engrossed in whatever horror story Jihyun’s telling the group.

“Yeah yeah.” He says, waving you off.

You take yourself out of his hold, going over to your tent. Honestly, it was a mess, but you were able to make out Sunghoon’s filled to the brim duffle bag. You open it, trying to scuffle through for something warm to wear.

“Ah shit,” you whisper, taking your cut finger to your mouth before examining the cut clearer. “What the hell?”

You uncover the jacket that was covering whatever sharp object that had sliced through your finger earlier.

It was a long sharp knife.

Where did your boyfriend get this? You hadn’t seen a knife like this around in your house, and more importantly, why?

It’s probably for precaution. Your brain tells you. Sunghoon is always so careful, he probably wants it to be safe incase any wild animals come.

So you ignore the knife, placing it back inside Sunghoon’s duffle. You place his jacket and make your way outside.

“It’s already 6:50, maybe we should go pick up Sana now.” You say, blowing air into your hands since it was starting to freeze.

“Oh shit, I’m cooking right now.” Hyoseop looks at the grill he’s currently grilling meat on and then back to the group. “Can someone else go get her? Preferably a guy, we shouldn’t let the girls walk out this dark.”

“I’ll go get her.” Sunghoon offers. “Let me just put on another layer really quick.”

You take a seat next to Inyoup, sipping on a glass bottle of Coca Cola.

“You think we can curl our hair with these like Olivia Rodrigo said in her song?” Jihyun jokes, raising her empty bottle up into the air. “I’m gonna try it.”

“You go do that.” Eunae scoffs, clearly unimpressed with the girl.

🫀

It takes approximately about 25 minutes for you and the group to start worrying, not seeing Sana or Sunghoon in sight.

“The parking isn’t that far right? They should’ve been here 5 minutes ago.” Hyoseop says, setting the silver plate of food onto one of the wooden logs near the grill.

“No yeah, I’m getting worried.” Jihyun stands up, “I’m gonna get a flashlight and look for them at this point.”

Jihyun makes her way to the tent she shares with Eunae, which was right across from yours.

“Shit shit shit,” she mumbles, her hands rummaging through the messy tent. “Shit!”

“What’s wrong?” You ask, quickly running over. “Jihyun, what’s wrong?”

“Some animal might’ve came in earlier and ruined our things.” Jihyun places a hand on her forehead, clearly stressed about the whole ordeal. “Please tell me there’s still a flashlight.”

She checks through her and Eunae’s bag, only to find everything but a flashlight.

“It’s okay Ji, me and Hoon have a few in our tent.” You reassure her, which makes the girl feel a bit better.

“Sunghoon’s back!”

Inyoup’s announcement makes you practically bolt out of Jihyun’s tent right away.

“Hoon!” You rush over to him, cupping his face. “Why’d you take so long? Where’s Sana?”

He gently peels your hand off, looking back at the group with a smile. “She says she forgot her toothbrush on the way and she’s gonna drive to the nearest CVS. Should be back in 20 minutes.”

The rest of the group seems to buy Sunghoon’s words, all except Eunae.

“Well why did you take so long then, Sunghoon?”

“Oh fuck off Eunae.” Inyoup exclaims. “It’s too dark right now for you to start an argument.”

Eunae scoffs. “You know what? Fine. I’m gonna take a dip in the lake, I don’t want to be near any of you right now.”

When she’s finally gone, Inyoup whistles. “I still don’t know why we’re all friends with her when she makes everything miserable.”

“Let’s just calm down.” As usual, your boyfriend is the mediator, which makes you smile and lean into his side.

“You can’t be worrying me like that Hoon!” You groan, hitting him in the chest jokingly. “Had me thinking you were lost.”

“Baby you know me,” he grins. “I’m great at navigating in the night time.”

He suddenly pulls away, “ah, I’m so hot from all the walking. I’m gonna go dip my legs in the lake for a bit.”

“Okay,” you give him a peck on the cheek. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“You can come if you want baby.” He looks down to make direct eye contact. “I know Hyoseop just made beef. You wanna eat that first and meet me later?”

You think about it a second before nodding, placing one last kiss on his face. “You’re right. I’ll see you in a bit Hoonie.”

🫀

Sunghoon sighs in relief, finally glad to have you off his back for a while.

He takes out the familiar black suit and mask, the one that is seen so many times in the scream franchise. The ghostface mask and suit.

He places it over his body, the mask fitting his face so perfectly that he’s in awe.

He already knows his first victim.

Choi fucking Eunae.

God, did she annoy him. Always getting into petty disagreements, always making a ruckus out of nothing. And tonight? The way she accused him so adamantly, the way her eyes crinkled on disgust as she looked at him.

He had to get rid of her.

“Surprise Eunae.”

Eunae’s arms are no use to Sunghoon’s muscular ones that’s wrapped around her throat.

“Help!” Eunae tries to scream, but it only comes out squeaky and inaudible.

“Poor little helpless Eunae,” Sunghoon taunts. “Taking a dip in the lake to cool her nerves because she just can’t help her silly little thoughts in her head.”

He points the sharp end of the knife directly at her throat, making a slight tear which lets blood flow down.

“Why are you doing this?” Eunae chokes up, tears already falling like a waterfall. “Sunghoon?”

She wouldn’t have known it was him because of the mask, but the voice taunting her earlier gave it all away.

“Goodnight Eunae.”

Sunghoon stabs the girl repeatedly until she stops squirming in his hold. Then, he lets go of the body, watching as it floated face down on the lake.

They’ll find her by next week, he thinks. The cops—of course. Not your friends, not you. You all would be dead by tomorrow morning before you even knew Eunae was missing.

“Aw man.” He frowns. “She got my gloves all bloody.”

🫀

Sunghoon knew you would come looking for him later, he just didn’t know when. Therefore, he knew he had to leave the premises immediately as to not be caught near Eunae’s body.

He already knew his next victims, anyway. The two brothers, Kang Hyoseop and Kang Inyoup.

He had already gotten rid of Sana, who, at the sight of him in the ghostface mask and suit, barfed all over the parking lot. He found it both amusing and fascinating—how the human mind could freak itself out so much to the point of physical sickness.

“Eunae! Is that you? Look, Hyoseop said I should apologize earlier for what I did, and although I don’t want to, he might be right.”

Maybe Sunghoon didn’t have to leave. Maybe Kang Inyoup showing up now was a sign from the universe.

He quickly makes his way behind one of the tall trees, which was enough to hide him but also enough to see Inyoup’s movements.

Inyoup goes towards the dock of the lake, “Eunae? Why the hell are you swimming like that?”

He giggles, not realizing how serious the situation was and that Choi Eunae had been dead for 10 minutes already.

Inyoup gets closer, his fingers gripping at Eunae’s arm. When he flips her over, he lets out a scream of terror, which has Sunghoon coming to put his hands over the boy’s mouth.

“What the fuck—” Inyoup cries out, eyes still not believing what they just witnessed. “What the..”

“It’s a real shame.” Sunghoon whispers in his ear, the knife he’s holding is dangerously close to Inyoup’s abdomen. “When Y/Nie first introduced me to the group, you were so welcoming and kind to me. You even opened up to me before Hyoseop.”

“Sunghoon?” Inyoup breathes out, and he can’t help but feel betrayal sink into his heart. “No, please, you can’t do this.”

“Didn’t you say you got that job offer in Osaka? Japan is beautiful.” Sunghoon takes a jab, which causes Inyoup to move forward in Sunghoon’s hold, groaning from the pain and impact. “It’s too bad you won’t ever step foot in Osaka.”

And he kills him. Drags Inyoup’s body into the lake, which floats along with Eunae’s.

“You can apologize to her in the afterlife.” Sunghoon shrugs, finding himself oh so funny.

“One Kang brother down, the next to go.”

🫀

Now Kang Hyoseop was no idiot. He knew his brother and Eunae had been gone for far too long, he knew Sunghoon had been gone for far too long. And Sana? She didn’t even come to the camping site like Sunghoon had confidently stated earlier.

“Hyoseop.” Sunghoon shows up behind him, only this time, the suit and mask are off.

“Sunghoon.” Hyoseop tries his best to give a sincere smile, but Sunghoon knows.

He knows.

“You didn’t have any food Sunghoon, you must be hungry.”

Sunghoon doesn’t know what Hyoseop’s playing at, but he’s already sick of the boy. His body feels itchy, and he has the urge to kill kill kill.

“Where’s Y/N and Jihyun?”

“Oh you know, at the lake. They needed to cool themselves off after such a hot dinner.”

Sunghoon’s eyebrows raise, and he finds his itching fingers reaching for the knife that’s tucked behind him.

“Hyoseop.” He says.

“Yes Sunghoon?”

Sunghoon pins down the boy, which is a much harder struggle than Eunae or Inyoup. Hyoseop had been going to the gym, and the boy was no weakling when it came to fights.

“I fucking knew it.” Hyoseop spits at Sunghoon. “You were the common denominator. Always so secretive and weird around us. I knew it.”

He says that with such disgust that it has Sunghoon cackling, impressed with the guy beneath him.

“But you didn’t say anything Hyoseop? You just let yourself go on a camping trip with the one guy you knew had bad intentions?”

“Fuck you!” Hyoseop tries to kick Sunghoon off of him, but it only makes the boy on top press on him harder. “I wanted to be wrong you know. I wanted to be completely wrong about thinking you were some fucked up loser for the sake of Y/N. But God, you are even worse than that.”

Sunghoon leans closer to Hyoseop, their cheeks touching.

“See you in hell Hyoseop.”

Then all the struggling stops.

It’s so easy, Sunghoon thinks. He didn’t even have to take months to plan this all out, when Choi Eunae said she wanted to go on a camping trip, he knew it was the perfect opportunity to strike.

🫀

“We have to go.” Jihyun says, grabbing your arms.

You were busy crying, feeling disgusted and horrified at the two bodies of your close friends in the lake.

Who the hell had done this to them?

“Where’s Hoonie?” You cry out. “We have to get Hoonie.”

“We’ll find him.” Jihyun reassures you, but her brain says the opposite.

She didn’t want to find Sunghoon. Like Hyoseop, she had a weird feeling about your boyfriend from the get-go. She just didn’t have the guts to tell you.

“Y/N, shh.” Jihyun places her index finger against your lips. “You hear that?”

It’s the sound of a body dragging, and you could make out the silhouette of someone tall.

“I have a gun in my tent,” Jihyun whispers. “I have to go get it. Can you distract him?”

You nod timidly, feeling fear strike every nerve in your body.

You throw a big stick across to the lake, which makes a dipping sound that has the man turning.

Jihyun, who had been the star of the track team in her high school days, runs like she’s never ran before, almost tripping over her own foot.

The man drops the body, and starts getting closer to the lake, making your breath hitch.

You watch Jihyun in the tent, letting yourself let out a breath of relief when she shows you the small gun in her hand.

“Surprise!”

Suddenly, the man’s sights are no longer on the lake, but on you.

His ghostface mask bashes against your face, making you let out a whine of pain.

“Jihyun! Jihyun!” You scream.

Jihyun panics, her hands shakily try to position the gun so that it won’t hit you.

She shoots, her eyes closing from the shock after the bullet leaves the gun, making a loud sound.

The man who had a hold on you falls back, grunting in pain.

His arms are behind his back, trying desperately to keep his body sitting upright.

“That’s what you get fucker!” Jihyun shouts, running over to you and pulling you close to her side. “For what you did to our friends.”

You hesitantly walk to the man, who’s body was shaking. You take off his mask, only to reveal the one person you wished it wasn’t.

Park Sunghoon.

Your boyfriend.

“Sunghoon?” You sob out. “What? Why? Why? Why are you doing this?”

You’re practically shouting now, horrified at the thought of your boyfriend killing your own friends.

His mouth was dripping blood, and his body looks like it was spasming.

Still, he grins, eyes filled with something you can’t recognize. He has no remorse.

“Why not?”

Jihyun decides she’s had enough, pointing the gun directly at Sunghoon’s head.

His once shaking body crumples to the floor immediately, and you feel your knees buckling at the sight.

“Shhh,” Jihyun hugs you from behind, although she too is crying. “Let’s get out of here.”

It all starts to make sense now. The flashlights disappearing, the knife you found in Sunghoon’s duffle.

Although all of this is terrifying, his last words still rang in your ear.

Why not?

#enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #enhypen fluff #enhypen texts #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen x you #enhypen ff #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon x y/n #sunghoon x you #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon angst

[gentlyweeps-world]

The "It" Girl | 4

summary: Being a rookie in the world of Formula One comes with challenges, added on with the fact you’re a girl, American and racing for Red Bull doesn’t help. While you do have your “guard dogs” and “it girl” tendencies, it doesn’t help that you’re also trying to figure out romance.

pairing: 2021 grid x fem! driver, lando norris x fem! driver reader

warnings: sexism, alcohol consumption, toxic environments, uncomfortable situations

Previously: “Now Y/n, what happened last night?” Lewis softly asks, sitting on the edge of the bed.

You could feel your stomach drop, blood rushing to your ears as you recall the events of last night. You glance up at Lewis, your look giving everything away to him.

LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO

“Lewis, I…” You start, your voice sounding nervous. You take a moment to think about what you want to say.

“I think I ruined everything..” You say, taking a deep breath. “Between Lando and me that is..” A look of sorrow and remorse comes across your face as you think about the events of last night.

Lewis looks back at you with a soft and sympathetic look on his face. “Let me guess… last night it was the booze talking.” He mumbles out.

You nod your head in response.

“I felt like I needed to drink, actually enjoy myself for once..” You mumble out, “And I didn’t know what to do, Carlos was just there, nothing happened..I guess we were pretty touchy but that was all”

Lewis stays silent for a few seconds, just thinking about everything you have said.

“Have you said anything to Lando yet?” Lewis asks. You shake your head no, your stomach beginning to tighten again.

“No, because I don’t know what to say.” You confess.

“You don’t need to say anything right now, just give yourself some time.” Lewis says, he puts his hand on your leg to reassure you.

“The worst thing is..it was with Carlos, Lando and Carlos…they’re so close, and I’m pretty sure I ruined that..” You say, voice cracking

Lewis looks down at you with an understanding expression on his face. “Y/n.. I know this isn’t exactly what you want to hear, and it’s probably the last thing you’re wanting to hear right now…” Lewis says to you, his tone sounding sympathetic once again.

“But if Lando genuinely cares about you and wants to be with you.. he will forgive you for whatever you did last night.” Lewis tells you.

“I guess..” You mumble out, “It was weird Lewis…Carlos kind of put himself onto me, and made me drink..at least that’s how I felt”

Lewis looks at you, his expression remaining soft and understanding. “Y/n that’s not good, that’s not good at all…..” Lewis says to you.

“I’ll have a word with Carlos, I’ll sort it out with him, don’t you worry about any of this, okay?” Lewis says, his voice sounding reassuring.

“Thank you Lew” You say, hugging him you bury your head into his chest. Lewis wraps his arms around you, hugging you back. He takes a moment to think about what he wants to say next.

“Y/n I’m gonna head out now, I’ll go have a word with Carlos, but make sure you get some rest okay? Don’t be too hard on yourself…”

Lewis walks out of the room, and Alex wakes up, looking over at you. “Y/n you alright?” He asks, his voice sounding sleepy and concerned. “Yeah I’ll be okay” You say softly, happy to have such a great support system

“Look, I’m gonna try and go back to sleep. Will you be alright?” He asks. “Yeah I’ll be fine” You reply softly, curling up into bed once more.

The week passes, and before you know it you’re arriving at the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez track for the Mexican Grand Prix.

You check your phone quickly, but don’t see any messages from Lando. A small frown etches itself onto your face, but it was expected. You did fuck up.

You walk into the paddock with your manager Elliot, waving and giving a smile to the photographers, briefly talking to the media and of course signing some stuff for fans.

As you walk around the venue interacting with fans, taking pictures, and doing interviews you notice the atmosphere changing slightly. You feel a pair of eyes on you. Looking towards the direction of the stare you see Lando standing there.

He’s looking at you with a blank expression, barely noticing the sadness in his eyes. You can see his lips moving as he’s talking to a reporter. You give Lando a faint smile, continuing your walk to the Red Bull garage.

Time passes, the weekend is already halfway over, and now it’s race day.

You’ll be starting P5 on the grid, Lando in P6, with Max P1 of course.

Nerves settle into your stomach, but so does adrenaline, knowing you could get on podium again. The lights go, and you could make out the “Lights out and away we go!”

Reacting quickly you have a good start, overtaking Charles Leclerc who was starting P4.

After a phenomenal race, you finish P3. Max crosses the finish line in P1. Lando finishes the race just behind you, in P4. The podium happens, and you find yourself standing on the podium again, but this time not as excited. As the Dutch national anthem starts playing, you stand there solemnly, thinking of what happened in the club.

After the ceremony you head towards the post race conference room, once again with Lewis and Max. Soon Lewis is sat in between you and Max, as you three await questions from the reporters. Lewis smiles at you and you smile back.

One of the reporters ask, “Y/n, how does it feel to finish in the top three for two consecutive races?”

“It feels great, the car is good, we have good pace” You say with a polite smile, not having the energy you normally do. The reporter nods in agreement, then moves on with another question.

“Max, how does it feel taking the P1 spot again?” The reporter asks, as Max sits to your right. Max chuckles. “It feels amazing to get my eighth win for the season.” Max says with a grin.

You take a sip from my Red Bull, leaning back in your seat as you three wait for the next question. The next reporter speaks up and has a question for you specifically: “Y/n, does it feel weird to be so close in the points to Lando? Only seven points away in the drivers standing”.

“No I don’t think it’s weird, it’s good to have a healthy rivalry” You answer with an awkward smile. The reporters smile at your answer, before one reporter asks Max a question. “Is the championship now yours?” The reporter asks.

Max chuckles as he answers “It definitely could be, I won’t give up on the fight for it.”

After the conference is over, Lewis leans over to you and whispers something. You lean towards Lewis, waiting for him to tell you what it is. Lewis smiles at you before whispering. “I talked to Carlos… everything is fine now.” Lewis says in a reassuring tone. You nod your head in response, a weight being lifted off your shoulders.

“Lewis…” You whisper. “Yes Y/n?” Lewis asks back, his tone sounding concerned. “Thank you for helping..” You whisper.

Lewis nods his head, the smile returning to his face. “Yeah, of course.” Lewis says with a smile

Once some reporters start to leave, you get up.

Walking with Max back to the Red Bull garage as Lewis goes his separate way to the Mercedes garage. Max is ahead of you, and you can notice he’s a bit lost in thought as well. “Hey Max..” You say, your voice being gentle and sincere as you catch up to him.

Max turns to look at you, a surprised expression on his face. “Yeah Y/n?” Max says, not entirely sure how to reply to your kindness and tone. “Thanks.. for..” You trail off. “For not leaving me behind, for talking to me.” You continue, not entirely sure what else to say to him.

“And for being supportive, I know you get a bad rep but thank you” You smile at him appreciatively, happy to have him, Alex and Lewis as support in your rookie season.

Max smiles at you, and without being asked, he wraps an arm around you. You feel yourself smile back, before looking up at him.

“Are we okay?” You ask him, your voice sounding nervous as you recall the night of the club. Max looks at you, his expression becoming soft and understanding again. “Yeah, yeah we’re okay.” Max tells you. “Let’s just go get that first spot in the constructors championship.” Max nods his head, a small grin appearing on his face. “I don’t think that would be too difficult” You say with a laugh

Max nods his head, letting out a small chuckle. After a few seconds of silence, Max speaks once again.

“He misses you” Max says, not looking at you when he says this. “Yeah I miss him too” You say with a soft smile as you both finally reach the Red Bull garage.

“Y/n I need a word with you” Elliot your manager says, pulling you near a more secluded area in the garage. “What's up?” You ask nervously, not sure if it has to do with the club.

“There's a uh..PR stunt we want to do…” Elliot says, looking a bit nervous as he says this.

Twenty minutes later you found out what it was. “We want you two to fake a relationship” Charlotte, Landos PR manager, repeats. Since Lando and you are not quite grasping the situation.

Now you would be happy about being asked to do this, but Lando hasn't said a word to you, looked at you or even acknowledged you. Lewis was dead wrong.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Lando asks again, it had to be the seventh time he asked.

“The fans love you guys together, and it’ll boost attention, Christian and Zak are all for it” Elliot says, looking up from the tablet he always has on hand.

“Fine whatever” Lando grumbles out, rolling his eyes as he crosses his hand over his chest.

“Y/n? Any input?” Charlotte asks you, clearly not happy with Landos lack of conversation.

“No, I’ll do it” You say quickly, just wanting to leave and go back to the hotel.

“Great! So the first stunt is to go to the Moondrop club and just publicly display yourselves as a couple” Charlotte says with a smile.

You and Lando walk side by side back to the parking lot and to his McLaren in silence. Glancing over at him you can tell he doesn’t want to be doing this.

He unlocks the doors to his car and gets into the drivers side, starting the car before you even get into the passengers side.

He pulls out of the parking lot and starts the drive to the club. “So…” You mumble out, glancing over at him.

“I’m sor-“ You’re instantly cut off by him, “Shut up, I don’t need to hear your excuses Y/n” Lando snaps out, his hands squeezing the steering wheel.

You nod your head, feeling yourself grow numb at his outburst, but in all fairness, you deserved it.

After a painfully awkward silent drive through the streets it was finally time to arrive at the club.

As you two exited the car you heard the sound of hundreds of phones snapping pictures of you two together. “Take my hand” Lando mumbles out, quickly grabbing your hand and entwining your fingers together.

As you get closer to the entrance of the club, Lando puts on a smile, you copy him. The flash photography only got more intense at the sight of you two smiling and holding hands.

Once inside of the club Lando instantly breaks his hand from yours, rolling his eyes he leaves you near the entrance, walking off to the bar.

A shiver of sadness runs up your spine, but you remind yourself, you deserved it.

You glance around the club, noticing Charles, Max and Danny sitting at a booth taking some shots.

You opt to sit by yourself in a tucked away booth. You lean your head into your hand, boredom already consuming you.

Lando walks over to you, sliding into the booth next to you, throwing his arm over your shoulder, “Not as fun when you don’t have Carlos all over you?” Lando lowly says.

You don’t even bother replying, not wanting to deal with petty Lando. You hear him scoff at your silence. He hands you the drink in his hand, “It’s a vodka red bull”

It was your favorite drink, he had the audacity to be an asshole to you, yet get your favorite drink.

You roll your eyes, taking the drink, you sip on some of it.

“Just don’t get too drunk you end up making out with Daniel” He says, his voice full of venom.

Hearing that you instantly pull away from him, “You’re such a fucking….!”

“Shut up and kiss me” Lando cuts you off, pulling you into him once again.

“No! You don’t get to just tell me what to do!” You say, “Someone’s filming just fucking do it” He growls out, snaking his hand into your hair and pulling you into him.

Before you know it his lips are on yours, you instantly wrap your arms around his neck, leaning your body into his.

But just as it started, it ended. He pulls away from you completely.

“They stopped filming” He mumbles out, still keeping his arm over your shoulder.

Your heart drops, “Right” You weakly mumble out.

Instagram

f1wags.

Liked by carlando59 and others

f1wags. Lando Norris and Y/n L/n seen kissing at a public club in Mexico after the Grand Prix!

#F1 Wags #LandoxY/n

user395 YESSSSSS

user0065 tbh I feel bad for Lando

user530 stfu and go touch grass

user657 This is Christian’s way of bribing Lando

mclaren 👀🧡

redbullracing 👀♥️

user486 so happy right now

user3390 She’s probably dating half of the grid, Y/n is a whore everyone knows that

user591 she literally only hangs out with Max, Lewis, Alex and Lando????

user3390 And she’s a home-wrecker

user492 I CANT WAIT FOR THE DOUBLE DATE PICTURES WITH LANDO, Y/N, LILY AND ALEX

user660 Y/n and Lily will end up third wheeling

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

radio 🪩: I had to do the fake dating trope, I absolutely love it. Leave any comments, suggestions and requests 🫶

taglist: @willowpains @m0cha-bunny @formula1mount @fennecspage @80sloverry @nichmeddar @sadg3 @microskies @mycenterfold @victoriaholland

next chapter

#formula one #formula 1 #forumla 1 #lando norris #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 x female reader #f1 wags #red bull f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #mclaren #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 2021 #red bull formula 1 #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #red bull team #red bull racing #max verstappen #alex albon

[nrdmssgs]

Reacting to the reader, accidentally falling asleep on them. (Price, Ghost, Gaz)

Masterlist

Part 1 (Soap, Alex, Konig)

Captain John Price

Platonic

Won't mind, if his old friend takes a quick nap on his shoulder, as long as this old friend tolerates a cigar smoke.

If he was discussing something with the others, and you happened to fall asleep - he'll try to speak quieter to the point, where his low velvety voice turns into a full-fledged asmr session.

But if the talk grows heated and his low menacing rumble wakes you up accidentally - he'll just pull you back on his shoulder. "Sorry, darling, go back to sleep... Now back to you, you d**p sh*t!"

Will unconsciously fidget with your fingers, John can't help it: your skin is so soft - it calms him down to lightly massage and caress your hand while you are napping.

Price finds it endearing, how flustered you got, after you finally woke up and understood, how exactly have you been sleeping all this time. Once again, he has nothing against it, but he will gladly joke about it, just to see you blushing. "Of course, you can spend a considerable amount of money on this orthopedic pillow in the hope that it will help you start sleeping better. Or you can always call one of your old friends - it costs nothing..."

Romantic

John will have to fight the urge to scoop and cradle you, so that you lean against him with your full weigh, enjoying his warmth enveloping you.

Even if he has something to do - his attention will be concentrated on you. Your calm deep breaths, your fingers clasping on his shirt lightly - that is what Price consumes with his every his single fiber. Because after all, it's memories of those things that keep him alive and sane on the battlefield.

Will definitely kiss the top of your head, even if you two are not alone. Multiple times.

It's moments like these, when he remembers to take a pause, look outside the window, remember, that his war is not everything he has - there is life beyond it.

Expect to wake up with his hand on your head, fingers sinking into your hair, a warm smile blooming on his face as he notices you slowly opening your eyes. "Had a nice nap, my love? Now how about I take you somewhere, you could actually sleep properly?"

Simon Ghost Riley

(this one turned out more like a scenario, sorry)

Platonic

Ghost doesn't notice the weight of your head on his lap right away. He's seen you curl up on a bench next to where he was sitting, but you are so small and light in comparison to him, it's hard to register your head leaning against him.

He sits at the table and talks to someone, when it hits him: a strange warmth, spreading in all directions of his body from the place your cheek meet his lap.

Simon makes a little, almost unnoticeable, pause, breathes in and goes on talking.

There's a voice in the back of his head, telling him to find anything, that might resemble a pillow, for you to sleep on. It would be so much better, than his dusty jeans. And you definitely deserve something softer than his lap to rest on.

But there's nothing, that he could offer you right now to replace him. So he settles to sitting as still as he possibly could and covering the edge of the table with his hand in case you wake up and get up abruptly. Little gesture, showing how much he really cares for every squadmate, how much he values their trust.

Back on the base, you notice, some late training hours disappeared from your timetable. Your Lt may never comment on you briefly passing out on his lap, but he never forgot, you needed a bit more time to rest after the last mission.

Romantic

He might be reserved and distant with you in public. Nothing personal, just a professional attitude, a facade, if you want. But here, behind the closed doors of his room, he freezes the very next minute he hears your muffled mumbling as you drifted to sleep on his shoulder.

"Don't go. Not yet."

Simons' heart sinks. He wishes, he didn't know, what were you talking about in your sleep, but he knows. Even in your dreams, on the territory, where you can have anything, you've ever wished for - you ask only for him to stay.

In public, you are always ok with him going on missions without you. You are always collected, supportive and optimistic. But when no one is around, you let yourself cling to Ghost for a brief moment, clasp your fingers around his arm and wordlessly plead 'don't go, don't go, don't go, don't...'

As he brushes hair from your face, you slightly flinch, not waking up.

"Take me, not him."

Simon looks at your face, feeling guilt building up in his chest. He puts his work papers aside, scoops you up and carries you to his bed. There he cradles you, caressing your face till you stop mumbling, descending to deeper sleep.

You wake up the next morning alone, surrounded by his scent, as he left you his shirt. He always does that, when he leaves on a mission without you. Your gaze wanders around, till it stops on your arm. His handwriting, black pen ink, covering your skin. Never before has he done anything like this. You grab your phone and frantically make a few dozens of photos of the inscription, that he left on you. You already know, that you'll make it permanent.

The inscription says "On my way to you"

Kyle Gaz Garrick

Platonic

Kyle is actually the one to ask others to speak quieter, when he realizes, you've fallen asleep on his lap.

Will shoo away Soap, who is ready to attack you and Kyle with a myriad of 'so when's the wedding' jokes.

Gaz is also the one to actually make sure, that there is nothing hard in his pockets and that the no sharp edges of his tactical clothes touch your delicate skin. He is a very good, genuinely caring friend.

In fact, he will protect you from any person, threatening your sleep. He will even convince Ghost to come back to you with new intel or orders just a bit later, or give them to Gaz, so that he can tell you everything later.

If you work together - he will try to help you with paperwork, so that you have more time to sleep between trainings and missions.

Romantic

Kyle has that face of the happiest, most proud man out there. It's you, the one, he has been dreaming about for so long, feeling so relaxed next to him. Not only he has you - he can make you so content, you smile, while napping on his shoulder.

His eyes are glued to your face. Nothing else matters in this very moment. It's impossible to distract him with anything.

Covers you with his jacket, always makes sure that you are warm and comfortable in his hands.

Loves to surprise you with something small, every time it happens and you wake up on his shoulder. If you two were in the park - Gaz will carefully pick a flower and tuck it in your hair. If it happened in a coffee shop - he will quietly order your favorite cupcake and move the plate towards you.

Lives for that smiles appearing on your lips in first moments after you wake up. Peppers your face with kisses. "Morning, sunshine!" (says it even if it's almost midnight, and he is about to drag you to the bedroom in a few minutes)

#cod #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod headcanons #141 headcanons #captain price #captain john price #cod price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost x you #ghost simon riley #kyle garrick #gaz mw2 #cod gaz #gaz x you #gaz x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #call of duty #price x reader #price mw2 #john price #ghost headcanons #kyle gaz garrick #gaz headcanons #price headcanons

[thatonebirdwrites]

When the news came, Lena was in a meeting with Sam and the L-Corp's board. She'd long ago set all alerts for Supergirl to come through to her phone, but ones where Supergirl was injured had been set to ignore all other settings.

The ring caused Sam to jump, but Lena kept her cool. She glanced down at her phone, and felt her veins turn to ice. A brief message that Supergirl had fallen from the sky.

Shit.

Lena grabbed her phone and bag. "I regret that I must take this call. An emergency has come up."

Sam looked at her, her brow furrowed in worry. "I can handle this, Lena. Go."

With a tight smile to her friend and CFO, Lena hurried from the room. She swapped out her shoes, and took off in a sprint. The alert had given her an intersection, but she needed to know if Alex knew about this yet.

Lena: Alex, I'm incoming.

Alex: wait, what?

Lena: Kara, she's fallen.

Alex: The hell? She's supposed to be eating lunch! Was in a meeting. Where?

Lena forwarded the alert's text, baffled that Alex had no idea.

Alex: How close are you? It's gonna take me fifteen minutes. J'onn unavailable.

Lena: Be there in five.

The doors of the elevator opened. Why drive when she could take the helicopter? When her pilot reached the intersection, Lena stared in horror. Someone had what looked like a missile launcher over their shoulder, and Kara laid in a cracked hole in the street in front of Noonan's. So Alex had been correct, Kara had been getting lunch, as drinks and food was spilled across the curb. People clustered in the doorways of the cafe and storefronts, and Kara's supersuit had a burn mark across its front.

Fuck.

"Hold us steady," Lena ordered the pilot. She grabbed a bag from behind her seat. In case of an attack -- considering she had quarterly assassination attempts all the time -- she had some specific weapons in here. One of them was a shotgun with some unusual shells. She flicked through her supplies and decided on a particularly useful set. She popped in the shells, cocked the gun, and threw open the door. The person started to look up, but Lena wasn't giving them a chance to react. She fired. The shots slammed into the person's back and immediately ice formed. She fired again. This time the person fell to the ground as a block of ice. Cryo shells had their use. She reloaded and gestured to her pilot.

He brought the helicopter closer to the ground. "Watch my back," she said, mostly out of habit, though she doubted the pilot could do anything. "And stay in the air. We'll need a quick exit." "Right, Ms. Luthor." He kept his gaze on the controls, his voice coming through her headset.

She jumped to the ground, her shotgun cocked. As she scanned the area, she realized, to her dismay, that another person stood in the shadows of the storefront across from Noonan's, armed with some sort of long rifle. Why the person hadn't fired yet confused her.

Lena aimed but didn't fire yet. She didn't have confidence that her shot would hit before the other took her out. "Step away from Supergirl."

The person wasn't that much taller than herself. Curly blonde hair leaked out of the black beanie, and blue eyes regarded her from under a black mask, their clothes definitely assassin-like. "Stay out of this, Luthor." A high-pitched voice. Possibly a woman?

"This is my business." Lena stalked closer. "Don't think I won't take you out like your friend there." She nodded at the other person dressed in black with a black mask over their face, their eyes closed. Ice was still encased around their lower body.

Lena wished she'd seen the person earlier. Otherwise she'd have fired on them too. Now they were in a stand-off exactly when Kara needed her the most.

"I don't want to do this," the woman in black said. "You're not on our list."

"Then step away now. Don't think I won't fire."

The woman stared at her for a long moment as if sizing her up. Her voice timbre changed to a hint of coy and frustrated. "Why do you care, Lena Luthor? Doesn't your family hate Kryptonians?"

Lena rolled her eyes. "I'm not them." She needed to distract her somehow. At least until Alex got here or Lena could fire the shot without getting hit in turn. "Now, how about you put down your weapon, I'll put down mine, and we'll talk like civilized people?"

The woman hesitated, her rifle moved just an inch down.

That was when the shot came from above. The bullet hit the woman's shoulder, she staggered backward, and Lena took the shot. Two blasts later, the woman was encased in ice like her friend.

Lena slung the shotgun over her shoulder and raced to Kara's side. "Supergirl!" She dropped next to her and felt for Kara's pulse. It was faint, far too faint. "Dammit." She didn't have time to check for injuries. Kara needed extracted immediately. "Riordan, drop the stretcher," she said into her headset.

The helicopter hovered closer, and a side door slid open. The stretcher shot out, swung, and slowed to a stop above her head. She reached up, snagged its side, and pulled on its rope until she had it next to Kara. It took two tries to lift the Kryptonian -- damn, Kara was heavy -- until she had Kara on and belted in securely. Flicking the switch on the bottom of the stretcher, a set of footrests dropped into place.

After she clamped her shoes onto the footrests, she noticed several people had started to come out of the stores with their phones in their hands, likely recording her rescue.

Whatever. All Lena cared about was Kara. "Go," she ordered her pilot, and held on tightly as the helicopter lifted toward the sky.

TO BE CONTiNUED...

#supercorp #supercorp fic #I wanted to write a scene where Lena does a ridiculously extra rescue of Kara #And then this was born #I'll put this up on AO3 once I have more written #But wanted to see if people liked this first #Lena Luthor #pov lena luthor #kara zor el #kara x lena #alex danvers #Assassins

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Ok while reading ur teenagers series I kept imagining the reader as the little girl from the univers that got destroyed but in ur fics she happened to make it out. But I also can't stop imagining what would happen if reader found out that her Miguel isn't her actual dad. Cuz let's be honest that's totally somthing he would keep from her. So if ur up to it could u pretty please write something like that 🙏. Maybe include hobie's reaction to??

stop this is so sad

𝐓𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬… 𝐩𝐭 𝟕

“You and your dad look nothing alike.”

You always got that, all the time. You questioned if you were even his sometimes.

“No, Lyla. I’m not gonna tell her-“

“She’s old enough. She deserves to know-“

Lyla was about to say something else when you walked into the room. You overheard it.

She’s been pushing Miguel since you turned 12 to tell you. He was always too scared to do so.

“Hey-“ Miguel turned to you quickly.

“What’s up?”

“I was just wondering if Hobie could come over?”

“Sure, yeah, whatever. I’ll see you later, there’s something wrong with Lyla or something and Margo needs me to come check it out or something.”

He was lying.

“Okay. Yeah. See you.” You said as he practically ran out the door.

You looked around his room, realizing you’ve never really snooped around in here.

He was up to something, so you decided to look around.

Hobie decided to help you, he had nothing better to do with his time.

“What do you think he’s hiding exactly..?” He asked, going through some files.

“Something. I just…. Don’t know what.”

He stopped when he saw a folder with your name. He handed you the folder.

Lord of scribbled notes, pictures of you when you were a child, but none when you were a baby. Probably about 4 or 5 in the pictures.

You held them up, and looked at them.

Hobie pulled out a document in the folder, that was hidden.

“DO NOT OPEN.” It said, so he opened it.

He skimmed through it, but stopped for a second.

“Y/n L/n, taken in by Miguel O’Hara when earth-712 was about to collapse, he arrived in time and couldn’t save anyone but the child. He now has legal guardianship of the child. This child may be considered dangerous, and must be under watch AT ALL TIMES.”

He stopped reading and looked at you, you gave him a confused look. He just handed you it to you.

You read through it, tears starting to form.

You looked back at Hobie, who gave you a sympathetic look. He went next to you, rubbing your shoulder as you started to cry into your knees. He held you while you did so.

“I just can’t fucking believe it- I’ve been lied to my whole life.” You sobbed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m gonna go beat his ass.” He mumbled the last part under his breath.

You laughed at that for a second and went back to crying. It was quiet for a moment, he looked at you.

“C’mon, let’s get up.” He said, grabbing your hand and going to your room. You both sat on your bed for a while in silence.

“Thank you.” You sniffled, wiping your nose with your sweater. You laid down and he still sat down on your bed.

“It’s what I’m here for.”

You smiled slightly at him.

“I love you.”

“I love you more. Do you need anything..?”

“No. Don’t leave. Please.”

“I won’t” he laid down next to you, and held you. You turned on the tv.

“New season?” He asked, he didn’t know there would be one.

“Yeah.” You laughed.

“Alright then.” He got more comfortable, and so did you.

—————————————————

After an hour or two after that, you both fell asleep, the tv going on in the background.

It was late, About 10 pm. Miguel opened the front door. He sighed and took off his shoes, his mask was already gone, and he went into his bedroom.

“Fuck.” He mumbled as he opened the door to his room. It was a mess, and the one file he hoped you never saw was open, dark spots covering it which he guessed was tears.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He repeated it, cleaning up the files and mess, then looking into your room.

He only opened it a little, he knew you knew. He knew that Hobie would question him about it in the morning. He knew that you would hate him if you didn’t already.

He left and plopped down into his bed, suit still on. He looked at the pictures you had pulled out. Pictures of you when you were younger.

All of it would be gone all because he couldn’t tell you.

———————————————————-

Miguel did not sleep that day, he changed and stared at the ceiling the whole night. And even when the light shined through his window, he didn’t get up.

He only got up when he heard you both shuffling around.

“You got your stuff?” Hobie asked you. You were gonna stay at his for a while, just until you felt ready.

“Where are you going?” Miguel asked, both of you turning to him.

“Away from you.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I was gonna tell you but I couldn’t-“

“You couldn’t? You lied to me my whole fucking life!”

“You have to understand, ever since Gabriella I haven’t known what love was, that was until I found you, okay? I love you. And you can hate me, you can go away, but I will always love you, because even if you’re not my biological daughter, you’re still my daughter. I raised you. And no matter what you do, you can’t run away from that.”

You stayed silent for a moment. Not knowing what to say.

“He’s not wrong, love. He’s your dad.” Hobie said, grabbing your shoulder.

You started to cry again, and went up to Miguel and hugged him. Tightly. He hugged you like he never wanted to let go.

Hobie smiled and Miguel looked at him then back to you.

“I love you.” You mumbled to him.

“I know.”

#hobie brown x reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown #spider punk x reader #teenagers hobie brown series

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

Not Like Me - Lando Norris

<word count - 893>

"Baby?" you heard from the upstairs as the front door was closed. 

"Up here!" you called back, waiting for Lando to walk through the door of your bedroom. 

"Why are you in bed already?" he asked, checking his watch as he came into the room and saw you, still in your pyjamas with the curtains closed and blinds drawn. "Didn't feel like getting up," you said, sinking further into the pillows. 

You hadn't been feeling like yourself recently, and sometimes you just needed to stay in bed in the dark to clear your head. Today, however, the darkness wasn't taking your hand and pulling you out of the slump you were in.

"Hey, you OK?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. Lando placed his hand on your duvet-clad thigh and gently ran his fingers up and down the span of your thigh. "Yeah, just a bit tired. How was golf?" you asked, changing the subject. 

As much as you tried to deny it, Lando knew every one of your little diversion tactics, and he knew exactly how to get around them. "It was pretty good, Alex won and George was pretty dismal, but that might have been due to how we changed George's club so he was hitting it skew," he lightly giggled, hoping to put a smile on your face. 

You weakly smiled, trying to show that you were alright and you were trying to figure out ways to get him to leave you alone for another hour or two. It wasn't that you didn't appreciate him trying to help, but sometimes, you just wanted to be alone. 

"What have you been up to today?" he asked, the first attempt at getting around the diversions was slightly pressing questions. "Nothing much,  just watched a couple movies and stuff,"

"Do you want to come downstairs with me for a bit?" he asked, trying to get you out of the darkness for a bit. Maybe stretching your legs might do you some good, and Lando hoped it would lighten your mood a bit. 

"I'm alright, I think I'll stay here for a bit," you said, hoping he would get the hint and leave you for a little while. Lando sighed almost in defeat, but he had one more plan to get you to open up. Well, it wasn't a plan, it was just asking you straight up.

"Come on, what's wrong?" he asked as you rolled over in bed to face away from him. "I know something's up," he spoke, earning absolutely no response from you. 

"Look, you don't have to tell me, but it might help," you turned back around and just looked at him for a few moments. There was no denying that Lando knew you weren't feeling great, and he would do everything in his power to help you feel like a million dollars again. 

"I just-" you started, immediately doubling back on your words. "It's silly, it doesn't matter," you said, starting to turn back over for a third time. But, Lando braced his hand on your waist to stop you from rolling.

"Baby, if it's how you feel, then it could never be silly and it most certainly matters. It matters more than anything else in the world," he softly soothed, tangling his fingers in your hair and soothingly tickled you.

"I just don't feel like... Me. And I don't know why," you groaned, leaning more into his touch as it made good vibrations ripple through your brain. "You don't need to know why you feel the way you do. They're your feelings, they don't need a reason," he explained, and the pieces were clicking in your brain.

"I just don't know how to get back to feeling like my normal self," you complained, wanting to be like yourself again. "Give it some time, darling. These things take time, and you can talk to me at any time about anything if you think it will help," he smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

"I love you, Lando," you said, appreciating what he was doing for you. Sometimes, you felt bad for putting your problems onto him, but he always dismissed your apologies. "I love you too, Y/N. Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

"Can you cuddle me?" you batted your eyelashes at him as if there was a possibility that he'd say no, but it just added to the scene. "Of course," he smirked, rounding the foot of the bed and you felt the mattress dip behind you. 

Rolling over, you saw a few of Lando's curls had fallen over his eyes as he flicked them out of the way. "C'mere," he mumbled, pulling you as close to him as possible. Your legs tangled together as he wrapped his arms around your torso and held you tight. 

 "You're brilliant," you yawned, already feeling tired even after you had spent the whole day in bed. You tucked your head into the crook of his neck as one of his hands gently trailed up and down your spine. 

"I try," he quietly laughed in your ear, his lips ghosting over it. As you drifted off to sleep to the sound of Lando's soft breathing, it already felt like a part of you was returning, and maybe the darkness had been reaching out for you all along.

|masterlist|

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #f1 #f1 x you #f1 x reader #lando norris imagines #f1 imagines #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 imagines #fluff

[cerise-on-top]

Cuddling HCs

TF141, LVQ, Valeria, Graves, Alex, Farah, Laswell and Nikolai, again. These are the last batch of HCs I have written out for now. I do have two stories written out, one for Ghost and one for Graves, but I'm not sure I should post those. Anyway, for the most part these are sleepy cuddles, I suppose. Very self-indulgent, but that's what writing something like this is in general. SFW and gender neutral, as per usual.

Price: He’s a captain, so naturally he loves being the one to hold you, doesn’t matter if you’re spooning or you’re safely tucked away under his chin. Of course, he’s the big, strong man in whatever your relationship may be, so he just wants to protect you. He’s so used to taking care of others and making sure they’re alright, that it comes second nature to him to try and make you feel safe too. If you ever suggested him being the one to be held he’d smile, almost laugh, at the idea, thinking it to be rather silly. But when he’s in your arms for once? He gets very comfortable and sleepy, it never occurred to him that being cuddled would be so nice. He has no qualms about asking you to hold him either, he knows you understand.

Gaz: Such a cuddlebug, honestly. You wanna hold him? You wanna be held by him? Either is fine, as long as you switch it up from time to time. Becomes especially cuddly if he’s tired, that’s when he’d love to simply grab you and lie down for the night with you. Even just a nap is alright, in spite of him not taking them very often. Loves putting his head on your chest, something about hearing a loved one’s heartbeat is just so calming to him. Every time you’re cuddling he simply closes his eyes and there’s a chance he might just fall asleep. While he might be willing to engage in conversation while cuddling, don’t expect him to always respond with full sentences, sometimes he’ll barely even hear you with how relaxed he is. Doesn’t have an iron grip on you, but it will tighten for a moment when you try to get up. That’s when he snaps back to reality and needs to remember where he is for a moment.

Ghost: This guy is actually so touch-starved, but he’d rather do anything else than admit it as he’s afraid of becoming too much. Give him a taste of what a good cuddle session is like, he’ll think about it constantly. The first few times will be him holding you only. After that? You may request holding him, if you ask him a few times he’ll crumble eventually. It’s one thing to hold someone, because if you do it right then they can’t hurt you. But being held? Being spooned, cradled or given affection otherwise? He actually becomes so soft. If you gently rub his back or run your hand over his skin otherwise you can get him to fall asleep and snore softly. Doesn’t move in his sleep but good luck trying to get out of his grasp. If it’s you he’ll try to not have an iron grip and hurt you, but it’s not exactly something he can control either when he’s asleep.

Soap: Despite being open to either, he prefers being the one to hold you. It makes him feel more masculine, but that’s what he tells himself. In reality he simply sleeps more easily holding something, or someone. When he falls asleep holding you, you can actually watch his facial expression be relaxed, his mouth somewhat curving upwards too. Nuzzles into you like there’s no tomorrow, either that or he’s nestling into you like a dog or cat moving the blanket to make it just that bit more comfortable. Sleepy talks are a given for him, he loves hearing about anything and everything as he takes in your warmth. In return, he’ll tell you about how he convinced Gaz he stepped on a ladybug, when it was really just a red Skittles. If you’re spooning and he’s feeling a little bit mischievous he might graze your tummy with his hands to make you giggle.

Alejandro: He has a high rank, but he’s aware of how cathartic being held can be. Thus he’s not above asking you for some cuddles. If neither of you have anything important going on, he might just pick you up and carry you to the nearest soft surface. Loves gently scratching your scalp and feel you melt under his touch, especially if you only respond to him via humming after some time. He slightly prefers holding over being held, but on a bad day he loves nothing more than to have you run your fingers through his hair instead. If you’re lying on a bed together then he loves facing you, whoever moves first to hold the other gets to be the bigger person for the time being. Very much a talker before sleepy time, he has so much to tell you about. Besides, hearing your voice heals his soul just as much as being physically close to you.

Rodolfo: He’s more inclined to admit he’s touch-starved than Ghost, but he feels a bit embarrassed to do that. Likes holding you, but if he could choose, then he’d choose to be held every single time. There’s just something so nice about not having to worry about a thing, about being the one who gets protected for once. Trust me when I say that if something were to happen he’s the first one to jump into action, he can be quite ruthless, but putting your trust into someone else, difficult as it may be, really pays off when you have found the right person. However, even if you just hold his hand while you’re lying next to each other, he’s quite content. Not much of a talker, plus he gets a bit self-conscious as well. He’s a sergeant major, that’s not too low of a rank, should he really be the one to get treated like this? Pull him close to you and reassure him that you love any sort of cuddling with him from time to time and he’ll be very happy, though.

Valeria: Much like a hug from her, it’s hard to get her to cuddle you. She’s not entirely opposed to it after a lot of time has passed, but she will be cautious. Even then, she’ll, for the most part, only agree to spooning, but she will absolutely never be the smaller spoon. It doesn’t matter how awful she feels, she’ll never be comfortable in that position. She doesn’t have the most time for that sort of thing either, something always comes up and she can barely get any rest. While she likely won’t fall asleep cuddling someone, what you can do to ease her nerves is give her a plushie. She’ll scoff and make fun of it, but she appreciates it. Hell, from time to time she’ll fall asleep cuddling it and think of you. As much as she hates to admit it, if she’s had it for long enough she’ll grow a bit softer around you and give just the tiniest amount of more physical affection. Don’t mention it, though. She’s aware, but she can’t particularly help it.

Graves: Another guy who prefers holding. However, it’s much harder to get him to be the one being held. He has too much pride for that sort of thing. Yes, he dishes out physical affection like it’s nothing, but he’s rarely on the receiving end, especially for something along the lines of cuddling. And yes, that is because of his own doing. If you beg and plead enough, though, he might let you. Feels pretty indifferent to being held, but if it makes you truly happy he can indulge you once or twice. But be aware, the second he can, he will switch it around so you’re being held again. You can fight all you want, even when he’s tired it’ll likely be a losing battle for you. Not too much of a talker when he’s about to sleep, but he’s more than happy to listen to you talk about whatever is on your mind. Loves having you bury your face in your chest and fall asleep like that, like Soap, it makes him feel very manly and needed.

Alex: It doesn’t matter to him which way you want it, he’s happy with any position and any role. Hell, he’s a true switch at heart when it comes to something like this. Loves just coming up to you and putting his arms around you. And if either of you are tired the chances of that happening increase exponentially. Nuzzles into you, adjusts himself so both of you are comfortable, might hum a small melody as well. Latter is something he sort of just picked up from Farah, but he likes the idea of humming a small tune to make you relax. Not too much of a talker, he just gets sleepy when he gets to cuddle you. If it isn’t too hot then you can expect him to grab a fluffy blanket and put it over the two of you, even if he doesn’t want to let you go. Nothing beats holding a loved one and hearing them talk about anything and everything while under a comfortable blanket.

Farah: Gives off the impression that she prefers to do the holding, loves being held just as much. It grounds her and reminds her of her cause. As mentioned, she might hum a tune when she’s very comfortable, or when she wants to calm you down. During night time, there’s a chance she might become just a tad more melancholic, but it won’t deter her from sleeping. She does sleep especially well if the both of you are cuddling. If she trusts you enough she can go any way with cuddling as well. Her and Alex seem to influence each other quite a bit. While she may not have the most time to cuddle with you, she does like to do so whenever she can, it reminds her of some good, gone-by times. Despite not liking to dwell too much on the past, there’s nothing wrong with remembering the nice things that have happened. Life can’t always be suffering.

Laswell: Not always too big on cuddling, but she does like it from time to time. When she’s had a rough and exhausting day, nothing beats holding a loved one under the covers. It’s those days that she sort of does think about being held from time to time, putting her head on your chest. Her job is rough, so having someone and something to do to decompress is a pleasant change of pace. Cuddles are infrequent, mostly because of her job requiring her to be everywhere at once, but it’s worth it when she does have the time. Not much of a talker when she’s just about to fall asleep, but doesn’t mind you talking either. She especially loves it when you tell her a funny anecdote or a joke, it’s something soft and easy to drift off to sleep to. Her brain goes haywire, even in her sleep, but when she falls asleep cuddling you then she dreams about you very often too.

Nikolai: You’d need to be especially close for some cuddles, but once you are, then you can just go for it. As long as he isn’t busy and you aren’t in public you can just walk up to him and wrap your arms around him. If you drag him onto a couch, a bed or any other soft surface he’ll just let you. It’s a bit funny to him, he lets you do just about anything, you get away with so much, even though, if he really wanted to, he could eliminate you in just about every way possible. Loves cradling your head and pressing it to his chest. More of a cuddler, but if you ask to hold him, you may. Takes a while to fall asleep, but if you’re awake to hear it, you can hear him slip up from time to time. In the linguistic sense. He knows eight languages, it’s not gonna get more coherent when he’s about to doze off. His grip, however, does not falter when he’s asleep. Once you’re stuck, you’re stuck with him and you won’t get out of his grasp until he wakes up again.

#cod #cod x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #rodolfo parra x reader #valeria garza x reader #phillip graves x reader #alex keller x reader #farah karim x reader #kate laswell x reader #cod nikolai x reader

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Beyond the 305 || LS2 {4}

Summary: Australia GP - need I say more?

Warnings: nsfw, fluff, implied smut, angst

WC: 2.8k

One || Two || Three || Four

There really was a new appreciation for the effort Logan put in everyday for not just his team but for you too. You never understood how exhausting it must have been for him to balance his training and race preparation, media and sponsor duties, and flying home to you every spare moment. Now that you were travelling with him full time you finally got to see just how much added pressure it had put on him.

The London apartment, no, flat, as they called it here, was spacious enough for two people and one large dog, but it was a quarter of the size of your home in Miami. It took some getting used to, walking the length of the space in a matter of seconds or catching your toe on the furniture to avoid stepping on Sooty’s tail. But you wouldn’t change it for the world when you got to curl your body around Logan’s every night and wake up to his kisses.

“What’s your plans today, sweetheart?”

The sunrise here was watery and pale compared to Miami but it still managed to catch the blonde streaks of hair on Logan’s head. He was already dressed and ready to go for his morning run and you could hear Sooty’s paws on the wooden floor as he paced by the front door with his leash between his teeth.

“Not a lot. At 3 I have to take Sooty to the V.E.T.S,” you spell out knowing the black labrador would start sulking if he heard the word. “He has to have some extra shots now if we want to take him to Shanghai.”

Everything took more preparation when you didn’t have the usual support people around. There were different certificates needed for Sooty and new regulations for each country. It wasn’t like you could just drop him off at Dalton’s for the week. The usual help was across the Atlantic and Lily would probably be happy to have Sooty except she would be able to take him to her uni classes. Your big baby needed companionship or he would whine and howl to get attention.

“I’ll come with you,” he said with a kiss before grabbing his AirPods from where they were charging beside the bed.

“I thought you had your podcast today?”

“It’s a long flight, Alex figured we could record it on the way.”

You smiled at the thought of going to Australia for the first time. You pictured warmth, beaches and sun like you were accustomed to. It was more exciting than the other destinations so far this season. Your smile faltered as you remembered you really needed to finish packing for the evening flight and you tossed the blankets back.

“You can go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he said as he pulled his shoes on. “It’s only 6.30.”

“If I don’t finish packing now I will lie awake stressing about it anyway.”

The suitcases were already on the floor of the closet, his clothes folded neatly inside. One half was William’s team uniforms, the other were his personal clothes. The second suitcase only had a garment bag with a cocktail dress for a night out before the circus began.

“I thought you said you started?” he asked as he grabbed your waist and looked over your shoulder.

“I did start,” you pointed out. “Just didn’t get much past there. Someone distracted me.”

Logan’s hands started to roam your body exactly like they had the last time you tried to pack. “You should have more self control,” he teased.

“I’ve never been good with that around you.”

Logan turned you in his arms and grinned. “And I’m goddamn glad.”

His head started to dip down and his lips were already pursed for the kiss he was more than happy to distract you with, when Sooty started to cry at the front door. A deep groan exhaled as he dropped his forehead to yours, the moment stolen from him.

“I’m coming, Soot,” he said over his shoulder before looking back at your lips. “I’ll see you in an hour, honey.”

Logan stepped away with hesitation in his eyes and your hands fell back to your sides as you sent him a flirty wink. “Run faster.”

His lips kicked up and he returned the wink. “Yes, ma’am.”

—

Logan found you sat on the floor in the closet when he returned with a sweat soaked shirt in his hand and a very happy dog at his side. The smell hit you as Sooty bounded into the room and you understood why he was so happy when you almost gagged.

“Sorry, sweets, he rolled in something at the park.”

“Something seriously dead,” you coughed, waving your hand to try to get some fresh air. “Oh my god, Soot, that is rancid!”

Logan caught his collar before he could jump onto your lap and started to guide him out of the room. “Come on, buddy, showertime for both of us.”

The water started running and you heard Logan’s soothing voice through the walls as he calmed Sooty down. Like most dogs, he loved water but hated baths. While they were busy, you finished off folding the last items you were taking and closed the suitcase with a satisfied huff, just in time to hear your name being called.

“We’ve got a runner!”

You dashed out of the room and grabbed an old towel from the linen cupboard before making chase. Logan’s towel hung precariously low on his hips and he struggled not to slip as he ran through the flat behind Sooty. Your laughter filled the room as Logan tried to herd Sooty into the towel you held open, but he was too agile and skidded out of your reach. Logan wasn’t as lucky and failed miserably as he tried to avoid the collision.

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” he gasped as he pulled you onto his lap and felt your body for any bumps.

“I’m fine.” Your giggles grew as Sooty bounded back over and shook out his fur. “At least we don’t have to dry him now.”

Logan laughed, holding you tighter as he realised his towel had been lost and he was sitting naked beneath you. He swallowed deeply and your eyes started to follow a rivulet of water as it rolled down his chest.

“Soot, time for a nap,” he ordered, his voice dropping with the heated look in your eyes. Paws padded across the floor before his cuddly toy squeaked under his head and Logan rose to his feet, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you back to bed.

Pillowy kisses warmed your neck as Logan’s hands lifted your shirt up, breaking away only long enough to pull it over your head. Dropping to his knees, he dragged your leggings down and left sweet kisses on your hips before he kissed his way back up your body.

“I love you,” he whispered as his lips finally met yours and he stole your breath with his tenderness.

“I love you too, always.”

He smiled at the promise. “I’ll hold you to that, sweetheart.”

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pulled him closer until your bodies were flush together and you felt his hard length press to your core. “Or you could just hold me.”

—

The atmosphere was jovial and Logan was relaxed going into race week. Oscar had escorted you and Logan around his hometown with Lily, showing the best spots to eat and the quieter beaches to visit with Sooty. The boys hadn’t been able to resist karting at the track Oscar had learned to race after media day ended. They had tried to get you and Lily to join but you were happy to play referee to their on-track battles.

“Logan looks more relaxed this year,” Lily commented as you both enjoyed a lemonade ice block in the shade of a tree.

“He’s got some experience now but I think that’s going to come with its own pressure. People are still expecting a lot from him, I just hope he has a car that can help him meet those expectations. He was just starting to get the hang of the last one and then the season was over.”

“It sounded like the car was going to be better this year from what Osc said.”

“I'm sure that’s what Alpine told Gasly and Ocon too,” you said with a laugh.

“Serves them right,” Lily giggled. “Alpine, not Pierre.”

“What about Estie Bestie?”

Lily wrinkled her nose at the nickname. “I only met him a couple of times but I definitely wouldn’t call him that.”

It took a lot for Lily to struggle to find something nice to say about someone, she was the sweetest, most soft spoken woman you knew. So it was enough to suggest he was someone you probably wouldn’t go out of your way to meet anytime soon.

“I do wish the guys would include Lo more. I know it hurts him to see pictures of the others getting together. Not that he says anything, he’s too polite,” you said with a sigh. “He was so happy when he was invited to play padel at Testing.”

Your eyes found his blue helmet as it raced around the track, neck and neck with Oscar’s orange one. It was amazing what he could do when given an equal piece of equipment, you would never have been able to tell that they were on opposite ends of the driver standings when watching them call a draw at the finish line.

The boys abandoned their helmets and dropped to the grass beside you and Lily laughing about something Oscar had said on the walk over. Sooty was in heaven as he rolled onto his back and welcomed the fresh hands for belly rubs.

“We should get a dog.”

Lily didn’t look impressed at Oscar’s suggestion and you distracted yourself by offering Logan some of your ice block before it completely melted.

“Just something small, like a Jack Russel,” he continued. “They can’t be that hard to look after, right?”

You barely contained your laugh as you shared an amused look with Logan that he returned, but Lily caught it.

“Just ask them,” she pointed out. “It’s like having a child, isn't it? I’m studying, you’re working and travelling, who will look after it?”

“It is a full time commitment,” you agreed. “And it takes a lot of planning to have everything prepared for travelling. I actually think a child would be easier, they only need a passport to get on a plane.”

Logan nudged your knee with his and winked. “Should we test that theory out?”

“We haven’t even set a date for the wedding so calm your loins, babe,” you said with a pat to his thigh that triggered Oscar to snort.

“Okay, no dog,” he conceded, a relief to Lily’s ears. “You guys wanna get dinner?”

You were about to take up the offer but Logan shook his head and said, “we have somewhere to be.”

“We do?”

“I didn’t ask you to pack a nice dress for it to get left in the hotel. I have something special planned,” he teased. “And no, I’m not telling you, it’s a surprise.”

Try as you might, he didn’t give you a hint of what he had organised.

“You look gorgeous, sweetheart.”

Logan was struck by your beauty and his luck as you stepped out of the room in a dress that accentuated all of your features. His mouth went dry at the thought that he had the pleasure of spending the rest of his life with you.

You stepped closer and ran your palms down the clean lines of his dress shirt that had the top two buttons undone. The baring of skin showed the necklace he wore, a gift from your first anniversary. He had far more expensive pieces of jewellery but he favoured that one the most because it came from you.

“Are you sure we have to go? You’re too handsome for your own good.”

His eyes traced the peek of your tongue and it rolled across your lips suggestively and he felt his pants tighten. He did debate cancelling it all to take you straight back to the bedroom you had left but he finally wrestled his thoughts back under control. “Unfortunately, but I might cancel dessert and have you instead.”

A town car was already waiting at the front of the hotel and as it drove along you watched the city as the sun set and the street lights brightened. Melbourne was beautiful.

“We should set a date for the wedding,” Logan suddenly said as the car pulled up at the city waterfront. “Everything is so uncertain this year but you’re the one constant in my life. If I lose everything else I’ll survive, but I will always need you.”

You laced your fingers with his as you stepped out of the car and thanked the driver. “You’ll always have me, wedding or not.”

He smiled and kissed your ringed hand, leading the way to a yacht moored at the pier. “I know, but I kind of look forward to calling you my wife.”

“Kind of? I hope you’ll have more enthusiasm with your vows.” Your words were light and your smile teasing before you released his hand to board the private boat.

The light mood lasted well into the night and your heart was as full as your stomach when the boat finished its harbour cruise. You wished that mood could last all weekend, but the universe had other plans.

yourusername

yourusername date night with my favourite human @/logansargeant 💙 thank you @/lilyzneimer for babysitting our boy, Sooty, not Oscar.

You knew that look of defeat when he emerged from James’ office, it saturated his soul and leaked out through his pale blue eyes. You could count on your hand the number of times Logan had cried in front of you and your heart ached at the thought of adding another to the tally. Without a word, laced your fingers with his and walked back to the privacy of his driver room. The door shut, the sound as muted as the mood, and you opened your arms to let him fall into your embrace as he confirmed the rumours were true. Logan’s hands clutched the back of your shirt in his fists and he buried his face in your neck. “Alex is racing.”

Your heart broke at the despondent tone and you drew soothing circles across his back. He had known it was a possibility going into the meeting but had hoped his principal wouldn’t put him in a position to give up his seat for the race. Unfortunately his prayers had gone unanswered.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” you murmured as his tears hit your shoulder. “I can’t believe they are even allowed to do this.”

“James didn’t want to ask, but he’s right, Alex has the best chance for points - his history shows that clearly,” Logan rasped through the lump in his throat. He felt humiliated, disappointed and angry all at once, but he was expected to grin and bear it for the team as a united front.

Your brows knitted together and you cradled his face in your hands so you could look him in the eyes. “He gave you the choice?”

Logan shrugged. “I mean, it didn’t feel like it, but I did say yes.”

“Yes means nothing if it’s under duress,” you stated bluntly, a familiar fire warming your stomach at the thought of his kind nature being taken for granted. “Just say the word, baby, and I’ll take him to church.”

Logan shook his head and the gaping wound that had been cleaved into his chest closed a little at your protective nature. He knew you would march right back into James’ office and argue until you were blue in the face, but he feared it would only make things worse for his future prospects in the team. This was his battle to face and he was going to play the long game, even if it took playing the fool for one race.

“I know you would, sweetheart,” he said with a sniffle, wiping his eyes and swallowing down the emotion. It would have made his father proud. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said with a kiss, tasting the salty tears on his lips. “Tell me what you need.”

“Just…stay with me?” Logan took a few steadying breaths and rested his forehead on yours as he screwed his eyes shut. “The cameras, I can’t deal with them alone. I can already feel them zooming in on me, wanting a reaction.”

You draped your arms around his neck and tangled your fingers in his hair with a reassuring smile. “Let’s disappoint them all then. Shall we?”

He took a deep breath and forced his lips to tip up into a hesitant smile that slowly grew more substantial the longer he looked at you. “Yes, ma’am.”

#logan sargeant #Logan Sargeant fanfic #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fluff #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #f1 x reader

[hotformpreg]

In the bustling delivery room, with monitors beeping their steady rhythm, Dan gritted his teeth, each contraction a wave that tightened its grip around him. Across from him, his partner, Chris, held his hand, worry creasing his brow.

"God, Chris, this is intense," Dan panted, his face flushed with effort.

"You're doing amazing, Dan. Just breathe, okay? In and out, like we practiced," Chris coached, squeezing his hand in time with the breathing.

"Easy for you to say," Dan managed a half-laugh through the pain, his humor a lifeline in the storm. "This little guy's a future linebacker, I swear."

A nurse, standing by with a warm, encouraging smile, checked the monitor. "You're almost there."

Dan nodded, beads of sweat rolling down his temple. With a deep breath, he hunkered down, summoning strength from the core of his being.

"I'm right here with you," Chris whispered. "I can't believe we're about to meet our son."

A new surge of determination washed over Dan. "Okay, let's do this," he said, and with a mighty exhale, he leaned into the contraction, the room filling with the raw intensity of life about to break forth.

Dan bore down with a fierce concentration, Chris' presence a steadying force beside him. "Big push, Dan, you've got this," Chris encouraged, eyes locked onto Dan's, transmitting silent strength.

"His head... it's so big," Dan grunted, the intensity in the room cresting with each push. Nurses surrounded them, their faces a blend of professionalism and empathy.

"Another push, Dan," the nurse instructed, poised to assist.

Gathering the remnants of his waning energy, Dan pushed with all his might, and with a moment that seemed to both pause and accelerate time, the room erupted into a cascade of motion as the baby's head emerged.

"That's it, that's it!" Chris exclaimed, tears of joy welling up. "Shoulders next, love."

The final pushes were a symphony of encouragement and Dan's grunts of exertion, culminating in the miraculous moment their son was fully delivered, the sounds of his first cries a melody to their ears.

Exhausted but elated, Dan collapsed back against the pillows, a smile of relief spreading across his weary face as their baby was placed onto his chest. The connection was instant, a bond of love that pulsed with every heartbeat.

Hours later, after the adrenaline had faded and their little one had been nursed, Dan drifted into a much-needed sleep, the trials of labor a fading memory. Chris, still riding the high of becoming a dad, sat in the recovery room, their son asleep against his chest, wrapped in a soft blue blanket.

The door opened quietly, and Matt stepped in, his face breaking into a grin. "Chris, he's perfect," he whispered, not wanting to disturb the peace.

"Thanks, Matt," Chris whispered back, a protective arm around his son. "It's unreal, holding him like this. Makes you feel like you've become a guardian to the world, doesn't it?"

Matt nodded, looking down at his own slightly rounded belly, where Alex's hand rested. "Three months along and already feeling it."

Chris smiled knowingly. "It changes everything. The moment they arrive, you're not just living for yourself anymore. There's this... fierce need to protect them, to make the world a better place for them."

Alex stepped closer, his eyes on the baby. "Looks like Dan's out cold," he noted, a gentle tease in his tone.

"Yeah, he's earned it. He was incredible," Chris said with pride. "And soon, you'll know exactly what it's like. All the pain forgotten the second you hold your baby."

Matt nodded, a mix of anticipation and nerves dancing in his eyes. "Can't wait, honestly."

As the four men shared the quiet joy of the moment, the sense of a shared journey was palpable — the beginning of a new chapter not just for Dan and Chris, but for Matt and Alex as well, each step forward a movement towards a future crafted with love.

#male pregnancy #mpreg #mpreg belly #mpreg birth #mpreg kink #pregnantman #mpreg art #mpreg ai #mpreg story #mpregbirth

[strlingsav]

Bestie. Can I request Keegan. He needs the Savannah treatment. Tension with reader and they bang. That’s all I need.

Can be enemies, can be friends who refuse to acknowledge the tension, what ever you fancy. ✨🌚❤️

Anything for you and your man 🫶🏻 ily

Requited

– Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

— Tension between yourself and Keegan comes to a boiling point post-mission.

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

Your recon-patrol mission had finally come to an end, an exhausting endeavour among the rubble of No Man's Land with a short detour. Alex, having been successfully extracted from the stadium, was all too keen on retreating to safety and crashing for the evening. You yourself found the invitation for sleep nearly impossible to resist, but your stomach had been growling loudly for majority of the evening.

You'd showered, scrubbed every particle of blood, dirt and sweat from your body, still sore from the day's work. Your arms ached, legs stiff and your back tight; the warm water worked at the knots in your muscles, but a good night's rest was still calling to you. You opted to find something to settle your stomach, before heading to bed.

Elias and Thomas busied themselves in the kitchenette, raiding the cabinets for some form of liquor to wash down the stress of the day. You tried to slink into the room unnoticed, hide your presence under the loud laughter and talking from only a few feet away. Your eyes shifted as you caught a glimpse of Keegan, hands on the table, nodding along with the conversation.

You'd first met Keegan under complicated conditions- working with the Federation to further their cause, you'd only recently come to join the Ghosts and their efforts against the organization.

He'd nearly killed you when you met, filled with unbridled rage as he demanded to know Rorke's whereabouts and what exactly you knew of him. It was a long night of interrogating, shouting, swearing; threats passed between you before it crumbled with your confession. News of your commanding officer's betrayal spurred your decision to leave, whether it meant joining Keegan or being executed.

You were shown mercy, recruited to their task force with the overwhelming knowledge and insight you held of the federation. You were valuable, though still sat on the outskirts of their brotherhood, a stranger.

Your feelings for Keegan were layered between pure hatred and attraction, though they had softened over the last few months while working with him. In fact, to your reluctant dismay, you even had moments of weakness where he was endearing.

It grew from a vague fondness to entertaining the thought of his hands and lips on your body. Even now, noticing the swell of arousal seeping into your lower stomach.

You'd never admit it- you clung to the shadows, kept yourself hidden from the spotlight and cooperated as best you could to avoid ruffling feathers. Making yourself obvious was not in your interest, nor was drawing attention to your conflicting feelings about Keegan.

You were a bit annoyed with yourself for finding Keegan's presence, physical appearance, even his voice from across the room- to be attractive instead of irritating.

You'd be lying if you hadn't imagined what it would be like to kiss him- after a long day, to pull the mask off his face and taste words of affection and praise in that gruff voice that gave you goosebumps. Only late at night would you let the thoughts snowball, otherwise, he was still as far out of arm's reach as he'd always been.

You noticed most of them, including Keegan, were half-way to intoxicated. You tried to wiggle your way in unnoticed, but Merrick drew attention to you as soon as you stepped in the room, calling out your name.

"Join us," He gestured, waving you over to the aged table. "Long day calls for a drink."

"Just getting something to eat. I'll see you in the morning."

You'd managed to find a ration hidden in a scarcely-stocked cabinet, and held it up to show him.

Keegan's eyes followed you in your military-issued T-shirt and sweatpants that you managed to fit into so well. Ghost trails plagued his vision, watching you dig through the cupboards for a utensil of any kind, then straighten again. He took a shot of the cheap liquor being shared, his eyes narrowed at you, when you turned and met his gaze.

"The Rookie's too good for a drink with us," Keegan spoke up, indifference in his tone, but you picked up on a sour note. "Let her go." He shrugged.

You wanted to pretend it didn't sting- the rejection hurt more than you cared to admit, especially given the man it came from. It wasn't like you were trying to weasel your way into their good graces, but some slack would've eased your nerves.

Keegan didn't look away when your eyes met his, instead, he took it as a challenge. A dare, of sorts- who would cower from the exchange first. It wouldn't be him, couldn't be him; not with the alcohol in his bloodstream and sudden onset of intrigue - or something like it- simmering in his gut.

His eyes moved to the outline of your curves. Sometimes, he swore you knew exactly how you made him feel; infuriatingly aroused. It always irked him, the feeling of betrayal, like allowing himself to picture you in any way other than the enemy made him a traitor.

His brain hadn't yet entirely rewired itself to see you as his teammate. He still held contempt for your past secrecy and cooperation with the federation. It was only a coincidence that this contempt manifested itself into a sick irony of attraction, admiration, lust.

He had been impressed by your commitment to your cause, though your new-found loyalty to the Ghosts was much easier to digest. He was still suspicious, of course- good looks and a glimpse of your ass wouldn't change that, but his mind always wandered to what you felt like, sounded like, especially if it were to involve him.

He'd spent more than a few frustrating evenings with his legs spread, head against his pillow, fist wrapped around his cock as he imagined you riding him- something he desperately wanted to stop doing but couldn't. You didn't help, either; always unknowingly adding to the collection of mental images he'd circle back to in the darkness of his bunk.

"Nothing you could say would interest me anyway, Russ." You answered, watching him drop the bottle from his lips.

Elias and Merrick hid their grins, watching Keegan's face drop.

You bowed out, a sliver of pride settling in your chest, and strode away to your bunk to devour your meal. It wasn't worth the extra effort to stay and argue, wasn't worth destroying the already delicate ecosystem between yourself and Keegan. Anything tipping it off balance would be potentially catastrophic for you and the task force.

Your nerves had settled after retreating to safety, though were quickly rattled again as Keegan appeared at your door nearly half an hour later. You set the rations aside, standing to meet him, before he entered of his own accord.

"Do you like being alone, rookie?" He asked, leaning against the door frame. His question came in the form of an accusation, rather than genuine curiosity.

You hated the nickname- your rank was equal to that of Keegan's, though he liked to be poignant about how he viewed you. You weren't yet truly a part of the task force.

"No, I'm just tired."

Your argument was cut short as he neared you, uncharacteristically bold. You'd known him as a quiet man, a bit antisocial when he wasn't working- but his demeanour had changed, his tone cutting your words in half. You suspected the alcohol had something to do with it.

"I've seen you sneaking off. Makes me think you're hiding something."

You quirked a brow up, knowing you'd hurt his ego with your snide remark. You wanted to scoff in his face, but swallowed your attitude for later. As he came closer, you felt a familiar tremble of arousal beginning in your gut- the same one that shouldn't be there.

"Not hiding, just staying out of the way." You insisted.

"I know your history."

"I don't have anything to hide," You said, lifting your head to meet his eyes.

You gulped, hoping he was oblivious to the unsavoury thoughts and feelings you'd been experiencing about him. Surely, he was suspicious because of your past with the federation- still, your heart raced in your chest for all the wrong reasons.

"Seems like you do. And I don't think you've forgotten how it ended last time."

You breathed out, now imagining his large hands punishing you. The bittersweet sting of his palm against your ass while his hips rocked into you- it made you shiver. You squeezed your thighs together, hoping it was more subtle than it was.

He closed in on you, nearly chest-to-chest.

"I have nothing to hide," You repeated, watching his brows furrow.

"Bullshit," He scoffed. "I can see it on your face."

"Sergeant," You warned, feeling flustered and overwhelmed, but now filled with a bit of contempt for his relentlessness. "If you have reason to believe I'm hiding something, say it. Otherwise, I'm going to bed."

He set his jaw, taken aback by your sudden influx of confidence. He was almost confused, the liquor amplifying every emotion he was feeling, including the strange sensation in his gut that yearned to touch you, feel your lips just once even if never again.

"You're trouble, rookie. I just know it." He shook his head.

"Maybe," You said into the air, locking eyes as he licked his lips. "Or are you just looking for it?" It wasn't meant to be laced with a sultry tone, or sound so deviously sexual, but it hit Keegan's ears and caused a rush of blood to his groin.

He shook his head again, trying to lose the wild thoughts that snuck up on him. He knew you were trouble- maybe not a traitor, but a damn tease. His cock was already pushing against his jeans just watching the furrow of your brows and small pout you put on. Everything about you was inviting- your eyes, your lips, your smell.

"I don't need to look, I know it when I see it."

"You're just looking for a reason to get rid of me, Russ."

"I'm looking for you to be honest," He growled. "You've got something you're not sharing with the rest of us."

"I'm entitled to my privacy."

"Not with your past offences."

"Are you always an asshole to your teammates, or do you save it for me?"

"You'd know if I were being an asshole."

"I'd hate to be around when that happens."

"I think you can handle more than you let on, Rookie."

"If my position on this task force is too much for you to handle-"

His hand came up to rest beside your head, his body moving closer yours, leaving barely an inch between you. It became clear when his next words passed his lips, what exactly his intentions were.

"I can handle you, rookie," He said; quiet, but filled with the deep husk of his voice in your ear. "I promise you that."

Your knees nearly melted, dropping an inch as you met his gaze. Your hands flattened against the wall, your stomach tying itself in knots.

A surge of arousal awakened your confidence once more- fairly certain that his interrogating was not the result of suspicion, but lust. You straightened your legs, finding his eyes as you stood up.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Sergeant. I'd hate to be disappointed." You pursed your lips, afraid that you'd gone too far, that he hadn't meant what he'd said the way you perceived it.

But he cracked a smile- a twitch of his lip that made you exhale harshly. He liked a challenge. Didn't back down from dangerous or difficult conditions- he was notorious for his resiliency. You weren't going to be an exception, not when he wanted you so badly.

The air stood still for a moment- the two of you silently reading the unspoken words settled in your eyes. It was tense- undeniably rigid, heat passing between your bodies.

Without another moment passing, he lifted his hand to the back of your neck, rough callouses scraping your skin as he pulled you closer. His lips engulfed yours so quickly, it shocked you, caused your teeth to clash together and your brain to pause for a moment while you registered the chain of events.

Whether passion or frustration, he opened his mouth, forcing yourself to do the same, and slid his tongue against yours.

Your small squeaks and quick breaths turned to quiet moans as his other hand snaked around your waist, pulling your groin flush with his. You could feel the thick length of his cock pressing against your abdomen, and a flutter of excitement tickled your insides.

Your hands lifted to his shoulders, wrapping around to feel the hair on the nape of his neck, pulling him closer into you, pressing your breasts against his chest.

"Shit," He cussed, low and quiet. He prompted you to jump up into his arms, his hands gripping your ass as he held you close to his groin.

You clung to his waist, reconnecting your lips as he travelled slowly to the small bed against the wall. With each step, your lips and teeth knocked against each other, tongues sliding together, hands tangled in his short hair.

He dropped you down, eyes locked on yours like a predator about to devour his prey. He used his hand to push the waist band of your sweatpants down, finding you bare beneath them. In response, he groaned.

"Damn, you infuriate me," He breathed.

"Shut up," You replied.

You pressed your lips against his again as his fingers crept toward your pussy, two of them beginning to rub circles over your clit, in turn causing your back to arch off the mattress. He watched with parted lips, so focused on your expression of pleasure he nearly forgot about the aching in his pants.

He listened to your sweet moans of desperation, watched your lips part as you breathed deeply, moaned quietly. Your arms had tangled themselves around his shoulders, holding onto him tightly as he slowly forced his fingers inside you.

His head dropped, eyes wandering to your breasts, hard nipples pressing against your T-shirt, and the view of his fingers inside your wet cunt as he yanked your sweats off.

He could hardly believe how soft you were- tight around his fingers and almost moulding around them. He flicked them inside you, massaging the spongy dome that made you clench around him, while his thumb returned to your clit.

He took a deep breath in, resisting the urge to slide inside you without anymore delay.

"You are trouble," He breathed, his head dipping down to your ear. "Were you thinkin' about me before I came in here?"

You opened your eyes to find his, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to find the words to respond. Haphazard strokes over your clit were already helping lead you closer to orgasm, and his fingers filling you only pushed you over the edge.

"I-" You gulped, pausing to catch your breath. "I was thinking about you," You answered. It was honest, vague- there were too many things you'd thought about.

"Thinkin' about the guy you hate making you cum?" He sped up his pace, earning a tortured squeak from your lips.

"Asshole," You breathed.

"Give it up, baby. I know you wanna cum."

You wanted to be irritated, but his fingers were still inside you and he showed no signs of relenting until you climaxed, which meant there was no focusing on anything other than the building suspense in your gut.

It unraveled quickly, especially with his confession to paint a vivid picture in your mind. Your pussy convulsed around his fingers, and his lips found yours amongst your open-mouthed moans.

You were muffled by his lips, whimpering quietly into him when he removed his fingers and undid his belt in one fell swoop. He had hardly dropped his pants off his hips before he was pulling your shirt over your head and lavishing your breasts with hot kisses.

Your breathing increased, chest heaving as he savoured the taste of your skin, ran his warm tongue over your nipples. At the same time, he guided his cock to the heat of your pussy, gently probing before sliding deep into your soft, silky depths.

He groaned harshly, matching a soft moan that bubbled up from your throat as you felt his cock fill you. Your chest flooded with warmth, abdomen clenching as he reached your cervix and pulled back.

He cursed, gathering your hands in one of his and pinning them above your head.

"You feel just as good as you look," He grumbled, his hips moving slowly.

Your nostrils flared as you tried to regain some semblance of control, widening your legs to allow his hips to become flush with yours. Your back arched again, unintentionally wrenching against your flesh restraints before settling beneath him.

"Keegan," You whimpered, meeting his gaze as his pace began to pick up.

His breaths of exertion fanned your face, disappearing until he was beside your ear and you could hear every moan and groan that left his lips.

His cock continued to penetrate your walls, shifting your hips to angle it in a way that made your teeth clench. His cock rubbed against your clit, simultaneously stimulating your G-spot.

Your eyes squeezed shut, hands flexing open and closed while he met your hips with aggressive thrusts. Your breasts were pressed against his chest, quiet moans escaping between deep breaths.

"You're hard to resist, you know that?" He grunted.

You turned your head, watching him as he watched you. His hand released yours, and you took the opportunity to force him beside you, sliding over his lap as he lay back.

His brows lifted in shock, lying back as he helped guide you over his lap.

"It doesn't have to be that way," You breathed, repositioning yourself until you were comfortable. "Stop the interrogating, and I'm willing to surrender- anytime."

You gently sat down, his hand helping to guide his cock back inside you with a short grunt.

He grinned softly, until you moved your hips forward and rode his lap. His hands flew to your hips, grabbing at your flesh. His palm left a quick smack against your ass.

"Deal," He nodded. "Just don't stop now."

You continued, grinding your hips against him, thrusting his cock inside you. Your hands planted themselves on his chest, your hips moving at a pace that began to cause a build up of tension in your stomach.

His fingers began to rub circles over your clit again, causing a shudder to run through you before you continued.

"Shit-" He cursed, feeling you pulse around him. "Shit baby, that's it."

You exhaled, throwing your head back and watching the ceiling as you tried to avoid cumming, to avoid giving him the satisfaction of making you orgasm twice; but your stomach twisted with pleasure.

Your fingers dug into his skin, your head falling as your orgasm descended and you froze. Aside from your hips grinding sloppily, your lips were agape, breath stopped.

Keegan continued, gently thrusting up into you as he neared his own orgasm, watching your eyes meet his with desperation, pupils blown from the adrenaline and oxytocin in your veins. His hands moulded to your hips, gliding around your waist and thighs until he reached your hands on his chest.

"I'm gonna cum, baby," He moaned, squeezing your hands before letting go.

You didn't relent, continuing to ride his cock until he went rigid. His fingers probed your flesh, grabbing harshly as he released inside you and his hips stuttered. He shivered, blinked a few times before he regained sentience and met your gaze.

"You're trouble," He grinned, exhaling harshly. "But I won't hold it against you."

#keegan russ x reader #cod ghosts #keegan p russ smut #Keegan p Russ #cod #call of duty keegan #call of duty #strlingsavwrites

[nrdmssgs]

Little things, they do (Alex, Soap, König) (headcannons)

Masterlist

Part 2 (Price, Ghost, Gaz) here

Ok, guys, first of all, thank you all for giving this little sketch THAT much love. Honestly, I'mm shocked. I'm blaming mister Riley here, but boy, thank you so-so-so much for 100 beautiful followers. I`ve actually had something for this milestone, but I was sure, it would be hit somewhere in the end of the summer. Hope, you like it!

Little things, they do, that get you every time. Silly, warm, heart-melting, wholesome things.

Alex Keller

Almost unconsciously lowers his head to stay on your eye-level whenever you two are sitting at a table and chatting.

If you are cooking and even insisting on doing it solo (maybe it's just your thing, maybe you like to have more room in the kitchen), he is never leaving you. He will just sit there and keep you company, or tell you some stories, or maybe find a youtube video for you both to listen to, while you're doing your magic.

Talking about your cooking, he never turns down anything, you've made. Never. “Alex, don't take that bun, I burnt it!” Eats it anyway, because it's your effort that counts and makes anything you cook so special to him.

If you are dating, and he needs to go early in the morning, he covers your eyes with the corner of his blanket (very carefully so as not to wake you up!). That way, he can turn on the light and collect his clothes without waking you up.

Def pulls you closer in his sleep. Buries his face in your hair, mumbles some sweet nonsense, places a soft kiss on the top of your head. (by gods I need more headcanons on this man sleeping)

Sometimes just stops whatever he is doing to say “I love you” and give you a kiss. The fridge is still open, his sweater is halfway off him, his hands still wet and water runs on uncleaned dishes? Doesn't matter, the kiss is what important to him.

Johnny Soap MacTavish

Once Price saw how you two interact and commented it like “Looks like our Tweedledum finally found his Tweedledee…” And while other pairs could get offended, you two weren't bothered at all (you're two chaotic crows, nothing can stop you!). In fact, from that moment anything he buys or makes for you, comes with a small handwritten note, saying, “to: my Dee. from: your Dum.”

Once he cooked an absolutely amazing pie. You were practicaly moaning, while savouring it and he just sat there all bright with pride. In a few years you saw the same kind of pie in a menu in the pub, where you were supposed to meet Johnny and others from the 141. Once you pointed it out to Johnny, others flinched and looked at each other. In response to your uncomprehending look, one of them admits that Soap was so worried that you would not like his cooking that he practiced at the base for several weeks. Because of it, their diet consisted only of Johnnys` pies for these weeks.

Has no concept of “too girly stuff”. Will gladly go shopping with you, paint your nails, help you dye your hair at home, if you feel like it. Will sneak your eye patches, because they smell so nice, and he feels so fresh after using them!

During his deployments, sends you tons of the most random photos just to calm you down and cheer you up (because every time you are too scared, this could be his last mission). “Ok, bonnie, this time I present you the collection of random rocks, I've met on work.” For the next week, you keep getting… exactly that. Photos of rocks with short comments like “Here's wee one.”

You don't know why the last photo he sent you that week was a photo of some guy in a creepy mask. You also don't have a single idea, why Johnny then goes radio silent for two days and why he has a brand-new phone, when he's back.

König

You have a stiff back? He will gladly take you by the hands and lift you up so that your spine is extended. "König! No, no, wait, don't, OH!... Oh… Sweet mother of jesus, I actually feel better..."

Even if you are just friends, and you are staying over at his place - he presents you with a shampoo, shower gel, conditioner and body lotion of EXACTLY the same brands as you're using at home. He just notes these small things and wants you to feel relaxed and taken care of when you're around him. 

You can call him anytime on any occasion and if his phone is on, he will answer in SECONDS. You had a bad dream, and it's 4 am, and he lives on the other end of the town? In another town even? No problems, he answers almost immediately and comes to you as soon as he can. Even if It's just to hold you for 15-20 minutes, while you slowly drift to sleep, and then to drive back to his place for another good hour. 

Thanks you for everything, and not only verbally! Writes small notes and leaves them on your bag or just straight gives them to you. He doesn't take anything for granted. Every your intention is a gift for him.

And that goes not only for the time, when you two have just met each other. You are his wife or husband since 10 years, you already have 2-3 beautiful kids? He still writes you notes, thanking you for the most incredible goodnight kiss, you gave him yesterday (every your goodnight kiss is the most incredible to him).

#cod #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mv2 #cod x reader #könig #konig #konig mw2 #könig cod #konig headcanons #konig fluff #konig imagine #konig fic #konig modern warfare #konig cod #mw2 #call of duty mw2 #konig x reader #konig call of duty #soap mctavish #soap mw2 #soap modern warfare #soap call of duty #soap x reader #cod mw soap #john soap mactavish #soap cod #alex keller x you #alex keller x reader #alex keller