#chefs making out or something yeah

[disasterinbound]

i find myself thinking about how yosuke calls the p4mc 'partner' like 99% of the time and then i kinda went "au where yosuke's a time traveler/p4mc's a time traveler/timelooper but yosuke remembers" and then i realised how nicely it slotted into angst.

yosuke calls p4mc "partner" because he can barely remember which name the mc goes by anymore. sometimes it's seta souji, other times it's narukami yu. maybe it's something like tsukimori or akito. the more common times are souji or yu, but at this point he's given up trying to remember with the amount of names that's been accumulated.

maybe yosuke used to write the names down in a little book because even if his partner(s) were all the same people at heart/had little to no difference than the previous, their names were still worth remembering.

(maybe he falls in love with every single version of his partner, and they reciprocrate every time which gives him so much heartache as he wakes up and the year restarts because he knows that yet again, this partner doesn't know him, doesn't love him and he's doomed to repeat this over and over again.

maybe that's why he stops recording down their names in the book and stows it away in a locked box.)

[wayward-wren]

I am thinking about. Jamie and the Second Doctor.

Because out of all the incarnations of the Doctor, Two is arguably the one who uses manipulation and disguises the most. He thrives on using people's intelligence against them, on tricking people, on bluffing and his bluffs working. He has a different disguise every story pretty much and is constantly playing some kind of role.

And then you look at Jamie, and some of Jamie's most front and center traits are his loyalty and his honesty (and protectiveness, but less applicable). Jamie is loyal to a fault and extremely trusting of the Doctor. He's honest and straightforward and deeply caring.

And Jamie is the one who sticks by the Second Doctor for as long as he physically can--and you'd look at those two characters, one who is manipulative and cunning, and one who is loyal to a fault, and you'd think the Doctor would easily be able to take advantage of Jamie, that Jamie would just be a tool for him but he's not, they're on equal footing. Jamie pulls the Doctor down and reminds him what being human is all about.

[carfuckerlynch]

u guys ever get. weird vibes from a guy

[raksh-writes]

Gosh, Im being such a lazy ass today, with finals just around the corner and an off day to get stuff done and instead I just wanna play Skyrim ffs...

[seilon]

applying to potential second jobs is funny and also frustrating because when I say that my work ethic is good or imply that I’m a valuable and reliable employee it sounds like I’m saying that just to say what’s expected in an application. but im not. i am dead fucking serious. i am such a good employee. my work ethic is actually so absurdly unreasonably good. I kind of wish I was exaggerating

[protect-namine]

.

[temiizpalace]

☆┊DEAR FUTURE HUSBAND..

SUMMARY: little things he does that remind you you’re going to marry him someday.

CHARACTERS: all dorms (-ortho)

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: none

reader gender is not mentioned, reader is not mentioned to be yuu

MAKING YOU MEALS

he makes sure you eat RIGHT. no more skipping meals throughout the day on his watch. every lunch he’ll make you a cute little bento box so you don’t have to wait in line. and when i say cute, i mean cute. it doesn’t matter what gender you are your rice balls will have cat ears. dinner? come over to his dorm and he’ll make something for you. don’t feel like it? he’s going to your place and cooking there. breakfast? he makes something quick yet delicious for you. he’s like your own private chef, and you can only imagine what it’d be like to see a ring on his finger someday.

trey, ruggie, azul, jamil, lilia (good luck), silver

CLEANING YOUR ROOM (and everything else)

it doesn’t matter if your room is messy, tidy, or anything in between, every month he’ll make sure it is SPOTLESS. is there dust on your shelves? nuh uh. are there random stains on your floor that you thought were impossible to get out? he’s rushing to your rescue and somehow got the stain out. did you not want to go through your homework? everything is suddenly organized in its respective subject, going from A-Z. you’ve never seen your room so tidy before, it was like an epiphany. please just marry him on the spot, he’s begging.

riddle, deuce, jade, jamil, vil, sebek

LEAVING LITTLE POST-IT NOTES ON YOUR BELONGINGS

without fail, you’ll find a cute little sticky-note on your almost all of your belongings. sure, it gets annoying once in awhile, but reading the sweet message on it changes your mind almost instantly. “you’re going to do great today! stay strong. :)” “don’t forget to drink water! love you 🫶” “can we go out soon? my treat. text me when u see this!” it’s almost frightening to see how much yellow papers you keep inside your desk every time you opening it, but can anyone really blame you? you’re going to keep these til the day you die, and that grand total might be at the very least over 100,000.

ace, deuce, cater, jack, floyd, kalim, epel, rook

RANDOM GIFTS

expect to see a neatly wrapped gift on your doorstep almost every week. seriously. it’s like a delivery service except the company is literally your boyfriend. “dear, did you get me this?” you ask as you enter the room. he looks up from his phone as he looks at the expensive name brand sweatshirt in your hands. “yeah.” he answered so nonchalantly!! like sir!!! this sweater was 1000000 thaumarks!! what!! while you do appreciate the gesture, you feel bad he’s spending so much money on you. he doesn’t care though!! he’ll spoil you rotten til your very last breath.

leona, azul, floyd, kalim, vil, idia, malleus

PREPPING YOU SNACKS

depending on who this is, he may not be some gordon ramsay level chef, but he’s definitely more than happy to cut you a some apple slices while you study. sometimes he’ll come into your room with a backpack full of your favorite snacks just left at the side of your desk so you can reach down and grab the one you want to eat that day. sometimes all you need is an energy boost and he’s more than happy to make some coffee or tea for you if you’re busy. he’ll press a kiss or two on your forehead before placing the plate of beautifully cut fruit down and continuing on with his day and going back to his thoughts. now, what will the theme of your wedding be?

ace, deuce, trey, jade, jack, jamil, epel, malleus

A/N: notice how jamil and deuce are in almost every category. (sorry this one was kinda rushed 😭😭)

date published: 7/30/24

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!

[harrysfolklore]

charles leclerc answers the internet’s most searched questions

gif by @countingstars-17 <33

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

"Hi I'm Charles Leclerc and today I'm going to be answering the web's most searched questions about me."

Charles said to the camera, he was wearing his typical media day outfit, a Ferrari half zip up jacket and his baggy jeans, ones that no matter how hard his girlfriend tried to get rid off it was just impossible because he liked them too much.

"First question, what is Charles Leclerc's number?" he read on the iPad the Sky Sports team had given him to read the question, "I hope we are speaking about the driver number, because my girlfriend won't like that people are searching for my phone number on the internet and I'll be very worried if you can find it," the crew laughed at his comment, "But it's number 16."

"What is Charles Leclerc's favorite song?" he read the next question, "I think overall, it's Where is the Love by the Black Eyed Peas, but recently I've been loving Sabrina Carpenter's songs, and that's thanks to my girlfriend."

"Did Charles Leclerc retire?" he couldn't help but let out a laugh at the question, "Are people really asking this question? The answer is no, I'm not that old and I hope I don't look that old. I've still got many years in me I hope."

"Did Charles Leclerc win in Monaco?" a small smile played on his face, "The answer changed just a few weeks ago but yes I did. It was a really special moment, my mum cried, my brothers cried, my girlfriend cried. It was beautiful."

"Did Charles Leclerc adopt Oscar Piastri?," he couldn't help but laugh again, "That answer also changed a few weeks ago and yes I did. He's one of my sons now."

"Does Charles Leclerc speak Italian? Yes I do."

"Does Charles Leclerc have a sister? No I don't."

"Does Charles Leclerc have a girlfriend?" he could feel his cheeks blushing as he read, "Yes I do. And as you can tell, I talk a lot about her, so much that there are compilation videos of me just talking about her, I've seen them."

"Will Charles Leclerc win a championship?" he made a thinking face, "I'm curious to know what Google says about that one, but I'll say yes. At least if I work day and night for that, so I hope it will happen one day."

"Is Charles Leclerc good at cooking?" Charles chuckled. "Well, I like to think I'm decent. I can make a mean pasta and I really enjoy it, but my girlfriend is the real chef in our relationship. She loves baking, and her cookies are the best."

"Can Charles Leclerc play the piano? Well I'm not a pianist but I have enough skill to really enjoy it. So yeah, I can play the piano.

"Does Charles Leclerc have any pets?" he smiled warmly, "Yes, my girlfriend and I have a dog named Leo. He's a an absolute sweetheart. He even comes to some of the race weekends with us."

"What is Charles Leclerc's favorite date night activity?" he chuckled, raising an eyebrow, "Did my girlfriend search that?" the crew laughed, and Charles continued, "If she did, she knows I love our cozy movie nights at home, eating whatever we want and just chilling on the couch."

"Alright, last one," he said, looking back at the iPad, "What does Charles Leclerc do in his free time?" he read, "When I'm not racing or training, I enjoy spending time with my family, friends and my girlfriend of course. I love going to the beach, traveling or just relaxing at home."

He set the iPad down and looked directly into the camera. "Thank you for all the questions! I hope you learned something new about me. Until next time, ciao!"

did i reference my own fic here? anyway i hope you like thisss

[evilminji]

Okay this is going to drive me INSANE. D:>

Dearly beloved, Phandom darlings...

Can DANNY EAT VIDEO GAME/TV FOOD?

I... I NEED to know. You don't UNDERSTAND!? Think about it. No, seriously. THINK about all those HIGHLY unrealistic, too good to be true, PERFECT looking meals. Animated shows n games etc where there are chefs who will "cook for Anybody!"

Now think about being 14 going 20. A teenager. A broke college student. Your fridge is empty and everything you touch? Comes back to LIFE. You're... you're just so hungry. Tired. Your bruises have bruises and you have a paper due tomorrow.

I kinda want to CRY.

Can only eat cup ramen so many times before you DO.

And this show? That commercial? Yonder cooking game?? Well... they did a REAL good job animating it. It looks so WARM. So FILLING and COMFORTING. You can practically SMELL it.

You look down at your sad, soggy, cheap but you can afford it, EZ Noodles and? Feel something BREAK inside. You... you KNOW you can travel inside technology. KNOW this. Have done it before. Why... why AREN'T you? You can't keep living like this.

You gotta TRY, right?

I? Wanna believe it TOTALLY works?? Because Ectoplasm is weird like that? And just shrugs? Says "actual food, the concept of food backed by electricity, what's the difference? Sure, we can fuck with this"? And so Danny? IMMEDIATELY fucking switches his diet.

Like? Dead stop screech, slam on the breaks, u-turn to take that last off-ramp. Type IMMEDIATE.

Grocery bill? No, no, you mistake him! No. NOW it's his "carefully researched for their cooking, games and shows" bill. Touch his collection and he'll FUCKING BITE.

They got sticky notes on the cases. Menus n lil fold out "grocery store" locations. He punched a dragon for this fruit. Mmmmm, home cooked meeeeeals~

Just? Weird Foodie Danny. Yes he DOES know what those steaks taste like. While YOU fuckers were staring at the cat girls bizangas, HE was eating granny cat lady's home made meatball stew! Ha! YOU FOOLS!

More then that? I want him to write reviews. Like "yeah, fight system was OKAY but- *5 hour glowing rant about the food, sounding like a food critic who'd actually fucking gone and loved it* " and people are like?? Who? Is this funky lil madman? This is hilarious?

I want it to be DPxDC JUST? So everyone slowly starts to play the game "Meta or Shtick?" Because no one REALLY knows who he is. This dude gets POPULAR though. For some reason can't be hacked (shame on you guys! Way to try and ruin the FUN!). And like? Eventually? Someone just fucking ASKS?

And Danny is like... " wouldn't YOU like to know, weatherboy?"

So everyone is like:

"Meta."

But hey... since they're already ASSUMING~? >:3c WHOOOOO wants to help him PAY RENT~? Let's VLOG this fucker! Wooooo! Say "hi" Catchef! *feline noises* like? It's like a let's play combined with a mukbang.

Teen Heros everywhere are FACINATED. Game developers are suddenly like? "If there's food. You BETTER make it look amazing. We want that weird YouTube twink to... whatever his powers are, our game! Free viral marketing!" Food channels? Rending their clothes, on their KNEES, please! PLEASE! Just ANSWER OUR EMAIL! Just ONE SHOW! A one off! Guest appearance!

We have MONEY!!!

All while Danny? Is finally happy with his life. Weird as hell. Harrasing the world. Good food on the regular. Gets to travel, kinda. Best of all? He's raising money from it! Can help people! Now... who wants salad?

@babbling-babull @hdgnj @hypewinter @legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @dcxdpdabbles @the-witchhunter @lolottes

[thebearer]

making the bed |carmen berzatto x reader| part one

prompt: carmen's stressed. food critics, a newborn baby, balancing work life and married life and now dad life; he's bound to break, everyone knows it. but no one ever thought he'd lash out on you.

or, part one of the devastation fic. based off this ask from the other day. two more parts to come.

contains: mega angst. mega angst, with no resolution in this part. hurt, no comfort (in this chapter, will be later in part 3). mean!carmen, very mean. mom!reader x dad!carmen with newborn teddy. fighting, language, carmen says mean stuff he doesn't mean. past mentions of trauma, family trauma, mikey mentioned. very angsty and a little heavy, please read at your own discretion. word count- 3.5k+.

"Are you ok?"

Carmen now understood why that phrase used to send Donna into such a blind rage, lips pursing and jaw clenching more and more every time he heard it. First at work, then with you, it felt never ending.

It was beginning to feel like critic season with how many were coming in, snooty and demanding to be impressed. It couldn't have come at a worst time, right in the middle of busy season with the start of the holidays. Days at The Bear were filled with frantic panic, running around, making sure everything was perfect, accounted for, and Carmen always had the sinking feeling it wasn't- that he'd forgotten something, messed something up. 

It wasn't rare for him to work himself up like this, a normal that you always warned him about, but he'd always had a solitude. As long as he'd known you, he'd had a place to go, to unwind, to let himself rest and reset with you. And he still did, it was just shared now with a newborn.

Dorothea Michelle. Teddy, for short. The light of his life, yours too. Nearly two months old with a set of lungs that sounded much louder, much more developed than that. Nights were long, sleepless, spent trying to lull Teddy back to sleep, awake even if he wasn't up with her. Carmen couldn't allow himself the selfishness to relax, to rewind, to "take it easy" like everyone told him to. At work, he was the boss; at home, he was a dad.

"Fuck, fuck," Carmen's sleepy stare was broken by a lick of bubbling heat, the lamb's roux popping with the high heat, splashing all over Carmen's chef whites.

"Jeff, c'mon," Tina clicked, shaking her head, moving the pan to lower heat. "What're you doin'?"

Carmen grit his teeth, snatching a rag off the stainless steel counter tops, scrubbing the burgundy stain, huffing when it only spread the stain.

"What happened?" Sydney turned, looking from the burnt sauce to Carmen's stained chef shirt. "Oh,"

"Do we have a spare coat?" Carmen huffed, throwing the rag down with a firm smack against the counter.

"I don't think so, Carm." Sydney shook her head. "You took the last ones home with you two days ago. The wine-"

"-I know, Chef, I know." Carmen snapped, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I-I can't fuckin' serve the critics lookin' like this. With shit all over me- fuck."

"Hey, easy, easy," Richie turned the corner, his hands held up. "What's goin' on?"

"Jeff got sauce over him. He doesn't have any clean clothes." Tina muttered, irritated that she had to fix his mess, more irritated that he wasn't taking care of himself. You have a baby, Jeff, you need to rest and take some time, she'd told him. Carmen only waved her off.

"Okay, okay, hey, that's no problem." Richie's voice raised, lifting over Carmen's. "You go home and change, get your spare, check on my beautiful goddaughter, and then come back with your A game. Yes?"

Carmen didn't even humor him with a snarky remark, yanking his coat off and stomping towards the office to grab his things. Richie and Tina looked at each other, shaking their head gently.

"Kids runnin' thin, T." Richie muttered with a sigh. "He's gonna break. It's gonna be bad."

"Yeah, he is. Gonna wear himself out before then." Tina shook her head. "Jeff needs a vacation." They both jumped at the slamming of the backdoor, Carmen's angry exit shaking the foundation.

"Needs to be fuckin' medicated. Fuckin' lunatic." Richie scoffed, rolling his eyes at Carmen's dramatics.

The drive home was filled with silence, Carmen's iron grip on the wheel, tearing through the traffic towards the house- his house, his home. 

Home, but it didn't provide the same comfort that it usually did. Carmen's shoulders still stayed tense, buzzing with rage, not dissipating when he thought of you, or of Teddy, knowing you'd both be there, excited to see him. 

You jumped at the sound of the car door slamming, peeking out the window to see Carmen's parked next to yours, furiously stomping up the front steps. You frowned, grabbing the baby monitor, walking towards the front door.

Carmen nearly hit you with how fiercely he flung the door open. "Woah," You reached for the door, stopping it before he could flick it shut. "Carm, don't slam it. Teddy's asleep. I just got her down." You frowned at him, shutting it slowly.

Carmen looked at you but didn't speak, looking through you with a rage that had your spine tingling before he finally broke his gaze, stomping towards the laundry room. "Carm? What’re you doing home? Don’t you have dinner soon?" You hesitated slightly, lingering in the doorway with an uncertainty you hadn’t felt with Carmen before. 

Carmen didn’t answer, his jaw still ground tight while he rummaged through the clean clothes, carelessly unfolding and shifting the folded clothes.

"Carmen," You said more firmly, caching his gaze. He didn't speak still, just stared at you- through you. "Are you ok?" You lifted a brow, features softening in worry.

Carmen paused, eyes closing, shoulders tensing in agitation. Are you ok? His ears rang, a familiar rage that he hadn't felt in years bubbling up deep in his chest. Frustrated and blinding and rampant, heat rushing through his veins, pulling himself further and further from reality into someplace different- someplace darker in his mind. 

"What's wrong?" You pressed, he could barely hear it, ears ringing at your question. "Did something happen? Did the critic come-"

"-Where's my chef whites?" Carmen barked, cutting you off, his chest tightening more and more with every heavy heave of his chest. You flinched at his tone.

"Uh, I-I haven't seen the whites. I washed your white tee-"

“-You what? Y-You what?” Carmen spat, eye widening with a wild, raged glint in his eye. Your stomach flipped and fell with fear, stepping back instinctively. 

“I-I washed your tee, Carm, that’s all that you left in the laundry basket-” 

"-Are you fucking kidding me?" Carmen boomed, his head spinning, body buzzing with rage. Your breath hitched, frozen in fear at the anger in his tone, the roar of his voice bouncing off the walls, echoing through your ears in a painful drum. 

Carmen moved, snatching the dirty clothes basket, dumping it into the ground with a shake until the dirty chef coat fell on top. He gripped the basket, flinging it across the room with a hard throw. The final push to his bad mood that sent him right over the edge, crashing into a pit of blinding fury, aggravation, breaking him from the inside out.

"Fuck!" Carmen roared, his voice shaking the walls, your breath leaving your lungs in a trembling exhale of fear. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! This is- This is- Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” 

You tensed in shock, gripping the baby monitor in fear, maybe surprise, as it started to buzz to life with Teddy's startled whimpers. Her small cries pulled you out of your frozen state, something deeper than fear replacing the ache in your stomach. 

"Carmen-" You gaped, voice wobbling with uncertainty, taking slow shuffled steps towards the stairs. “Carmen, calm-calm down. Ok? Calm down.” 

“Calm down? You want me to fuckin’ calm down?” Carmen sneered, an angry red flush blossoming in splotchy deep hues up his neck, towards his cheeks. “You don’t do shit, nothin’ that I fuckin’ ask for! Just sit around all fuckin’ day an-and I’m supposed to calm down?” 

“Carmen,” Your voice wobbled, throat tight with tears, hurt and fear strangling your words. “I-You didn’t ask me to wash them. I-I didn’t know. They weren’t in the hamper-” 

“-I shouldn’t have to ask you to wash them!” Carmen roared, eyes so wide you thought they might pop right out of his head, neck vein protruding on exemplifying his rage. “You know what I’m going through! You know how much fuckin’ stress I’m under! I go to that-that shit hole, an-and work my fuckin’ ass off so you don’t have to! Then I come home, and I-I can’t even get a second of peace!” 

“Stop,” You hiss, finally regaining your composure, his words fully sinking into you  now, feeling the full effect of them. “I-I just had a baby. I’m still on maternity leave taking care of a baby- our baby, and I’m tired too. But I’m not yelling at you-” 

“-Oh, right. Right.” Carmen laughs sarcastically, humorless as he runs his hand down his face. It felt mocking, left you feeling small and too vulnerable for your liking. “Because in between your napping an-and feeding, you couldn’t stick a fucking jacket in the wash, right? You’re so busy.”  

“What is wrong with you?” You snap, hoping he can’t hear the tears in your voice, the way your voice shakes with emotion. 

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?” Carmen scoffs, throwing his hands out. “I get no fuckin' sleep, go work my fuckin' ass off, a-and then I come home so I can go back and work my ass off some more, and-and you can’t do one simple fuckin’ thing? You can’t help me out? And then you wanna know what’s wrong with me? When you sit on your ass all fuckin’ day-” 

Teddy’s piercing wail pulls you out of your shocked trance, nose and throat burning with hurt filled tears you refuse to shed. Instead, you turn, climbing the stairs on shaky legs, the sound of Teddy’s cries growing louder and louder. Anchovy watches you from the top of the stairs, sensing the tension, your upset, sliding against your leg as if to comfort you. 

Carmen scoffs, hands buzzing and trembling with rage, the ringing in his ears growing louder and louder with each of your footsteps on the stairs and down the hall. He can barely hear Teddy’s sobs, hands threading through his hair, pulling at his scalp. He sees you walk towards the bedroom, quickly, hugging Teddy to your chest. 

“Oh, don’t go fuckin’ do it now!” Carmen roared, your ignoring him only infuriating him further. “It won’t be ready in time now. I’ll just look like a fuckin’ idiot for the critic tonight! Not that you care! Why would you, huh? I-I mean just our livelihood, just our fuckin’ income!” 

You swallowed back your tears, head tilting towards the ceiling, hands shaking with every shove of your things into the overnight bag. Just enough to get you through the night, the next day. A few essentials, Teddy’s spare onesies, a charger, your wallet- you stopped mid-shove of your items into the weekender bag, the sun’s rays catching in your wedding ring. Your heart fell, more and more, you weren’t sure how that was even possible. 

Carmen’s furious voice was still booming from downstairs, ringing and shaking in his furious fit. Richie and Sugar both warned you about Carmen’s tantrums, brought them up to embarrass him, tease him about it until he was red faced and hissing hushed threats at them. You never, never in your wildest dreams thought you’d be on the receiving end of one. 

You jumped, another slam of something Carmen had thrown, maybe hit in a fit of rage, causing Teddy to wail louder, Anchovy skittering nervously away. Tears leaked out of your eyes, twisting the ring off your finger, setting it on Carmen’s bedside table. Pulling the carrier out of the closet, Anchovy got in much easier than usual, which you were thankful for. 

Carmen was gripping the marble of the countertop when he heard you again, walking from the bottom of the stairs, quick steps towards the door to the garage, Teddy’s voice nearly hoarse from her crying. You kept your head high, tunnel-visioned towards your car, ignoring his heavy breathing and frantic pacing. 

“Wha-What are you doin’?” Carmen’s voice was softer now, still with a jagged edge that was cutting and harsh. The car door opened, the baby carrier hooked into the car seat. 

“Hey, wha- what are you- where’re you goin’? What’re you doin’?” Carmen’s heart dropped in a damning rush of hour, stumbling on heavy legs towards the garage. You ignored him, shushing Teddy gently, running a calming hand over her wet cheek, trying to coax her paci into her mouth. 

“Baby, no-no, no. Hey, no, I-I- What-” Carmen’s chest felt tight, mind numbing and racing, stuttering nervously. You reached for your bag, his hand reaching to grab the strap. “Whe-Where’re you-”

“-Don’t touch me.” You hissed, teeth bared, eyes shining with tears. Carmen flinched, pulling his hand back like he’d touched a hot stove. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me.” You sneered, pinning him with a watery glare that had his stomach turning in sickening fear. 

“Baby, hey, w-wait-C’mon, d-don’t-You don’t, you don’t need to do this, ok? I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Carmen choked out the words, frantic and unsure, his hands shaking when they ghosted over you back just for a moment. Wanting to touch you, to hold you, to grab you and keep you from leaving, but too scared to. Instead, he grabbed the car door you flung open, holding it when you tried to yank it closed. 

“Let go.” You hissed, sniffling back wet, snotty tears of fury and hurt. 

“Please, don’t-do-don’t do this. Please, baby, I-I’m sorry.” Carmen begged, blue eyes deepening with the burning red hues of tears, bloodshot and lashes wet. “Don’t-Don’t do this-” 

“-I didn’t do this.” You sneered, leaving Carmen flinching at your words. “Don’t you dare try to say this was me. After how you just talked to me? The shit you said to me in there? You think I’m going to stay?” Your voice cracked with emotion, lips pressing together to keep a cry in. 

“No, no, no, no, no, baby, please. Please, ju-just come inside. Come inside, please? Please, don’t-” 

“You don’t get to talk to me like that. To say that kinda stuff to me. That hurt, Carmen. That was mean.” You glared at him, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes. “I don’t care if you’re stressed. I don’t care what’s going on- nothing, and I mean nothing, warrants you talking to me like that. Just because you fucked up, because you forgot to ask me to do it, because you’re stressed out- I don’t care what it is. You don’t talk to me like that, say those things when I’ve been home all day taking care of my ch- our child.” You nod back towards the sniffling baby, whimpering and crying half heartedly, her little eyelids drooping with sleep that was interrupted. 

Carmen felt sick, his knees tightening in fear, he was sure they might give out, that he might fall to the ground right there. Looking at the tiny baby, lip jutted and shaking in the mirror hooked on the back of the seat, then back at you, eyes red-rimmed and glaring at him with a hurt filled anger. 

“Don’t-” Carmen’s chest shook, a white-knuckled grip on the door. 

Your own hand curled around the door’s inner handle, yanking it away from him. “Move,” You hissed, pulling again. 

Carmen wasn’t sure why he let it go, why he let you shut it, locking the door in case he tried to open it again. Why he let you pull out of the driveway, why he didn’t stop you, why he didn’t run after you, only taking soft shuffles down the drive like a zombie as you drove away. Standing in the drive, Carmen swallowed down the spit that pooled in his mouth, stomach churning, sure he was going to be sick. 

He managed to trudge back to the garage, mind racing and far away, the ringing in his ears dulling but still deafening. It felt like he was in a dream- a nightmare, a hallucinating trance that felt like a sick, sick dream- Carmen was hoping it was. That he’d wake up and find you next to him asleep. That he could hug you, pull you into him, nose buried in your neck, still warm from your slumber. 

As the sun began to sink low into the sky, minutes turning into hours that Carmen sat motionless in the garage, staring in a trancelike state, he realized that this wasn’t a dream or a nightmare. No this was his reality, a horrific reality that he’d made into his own. Carmen sat, eyes trained on the concrete of the garage, voice racing and blending in his mind- his words, yours, Teddy’s cries, Natalie and Richie’s, flashbacks of his mother screaming fits. 

He didn’t move, frozen in chilling, eerie fear. What ifs and terrifying possible scenarios, consequences to his own actions that left him feeling sick, hands trembling. A spiraling of fears that only drug him deeper and deeper with every haunting replay of his outburst. Even the flashing of headlights turning into the driveway, filling the garage with light, didn’t pull him from his trance. 

“The fuck is he- Cousin!” Richie roared, laying on the horn. Carmen didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge that he heard it, only stared. Richie frowned, turning the car off, throwing the door open. 

“Cousin? Carm? What-What are you doin’? Dinner service started an hour ago. Syd is freakin’ the fuck out.” Richie threw his hands up, walking towards the man who still didn’t move. Richie’s heart skipped, flashbacks of Mikey flooding into his vision, parallels of the two brothers blurring before him. 

“Yo, Carm, you-you good?” Richie stepped into the garage, his spine tingling with icy fear. It was quiet, an eerie, unsettling quiet. “Cousin, hey, what-what’s wrong?” 

Carmen's chest rose and fell, tighter and tighter. He was suffocating, head spinning and mind racing so fast he felt light headed. He could barely hear Richie’s voice over the noise in his head, Richie’s hand shaking his shoulder finally breaking his trance enough to meet his eyes, rounded in fear filled question. 

“Carmen, what’s wrong? Is it- Don’t fuckin’ tell me it’s the baby. What the fuck is goin’ on-” 

“-She left.” Carmen’s voice shook, raspy and scared. His tongue still felt too thick, head still spinning. He wasn’t even sure he said it, Richie’s widening eyes the only thing confirming that he had said it. 

“What? Who-Who left? Who?” Richie looked around, like the clues might be there, sure that Carmen wasn’t talking about you. No, he wouldn’t- he couldn’t. Not you. 

Carmen’s breath hitched, a strangling of a sob caught in his throat, running his hand over his face. Richie didn’t miss the way it trembled, shaking even as it rested over his eyes. Your car was gone, the house too quiet, no baby Teddy crying, nothing but silence was left. 

Richie’s heartbeat crawled into a rapid, scared pace. “Why? Wh-Why would she-” Richie looked at Carmen, eyes wide but still, reading his expression. “No. No, Cousin, no. What-What did you do? Carmen,” Richie grabbed both his shoulders, shaking him lightly until he met his gaze. “What did you do?” 

Carmen’s face began to crack, behind his eyes, Richie could see flashbacks of something- something he didn’t know what, but whatever it was, it was painful. That was evident by the fear that glossed over Carmen’s eyes, realization and horror. Carmen’s shoulders shook, frame rocking with a sob he tried to swallow, but couldn’t. Deep cries, guttural sobs breaking out of his frame, heels of his hands pressed to his eyes, fingers curled and clenched around his greasy curls in agony. 

The damning realization flooded over him, that you’d left. 

You’d left, you’d taken Teddy, taken Anchovy- you’d left because he’d driven you away. His angry outburst, petulant, mean, hurtful- he’d been so cruel to you. You. His wife, the love of his life, mother of his child, the one person who loved him endlessly without stipulations or boundaries, the one person who truly understood him. 

And he’d driven you away. 

He wished he could blame his mom, his dad, his family for fucking him up so severely, maybe Mikey, even, for leaving him the shit show that was the restaurant, making his anxieties worse and fuse shorter. But sitting in the empty garage, Richie standing above him in silent shock, his sobs and angry sniffles echoing off the cement floor, Carmen knew he had no one to blame but himself. 

He’d fucked up. Really fucked up. Fucked up in a way that made all the other times look obsolete. 

Carmen had fucked up, and for once, he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t avoid it, ignore it, deflect it like other times. Half hearted apologies and promises of change wouldn’t work, you weren’t here for him to even try to give them to you, and he didn’t know where you went. 

Carmen wasn’t sure where you went, how to fix this, why he’d done what he did, and a million other things that raced through his mind. What he did know, sitting in the too quiet garage, chest stuttering with heaving cries, was that he’d do anything. 

Anything, to get you back home. To make it right. To fix this and make it up to you. 

He wasn’t sure how, but he’d give up everything. Anything. His restaurant, his dreams, his hopes, his life, at this point, to make it up to you. 

[revasserium]

Okay okay hear me out Rain: reader watching Sanji cook, just sitting, waiting, maybe reading a book but catching glances at him every so often and he knows they're looking at him and just smiles....sorry I love that man

accidentally in love

opla!sanji; 2,569 words; fluff, banter so much banter, flirting, flustered!sanji, whipped!sanji, no "y/n", confessions, "sweetheart", fem!reader, straw hat"!reader

summary: in which sanji is trying to cook dinner but you're very, very distracting. or, sanji finally meets his match.

a/n: i know i said i might not write for anyone other than zoro but i lied. i guess i'm a sanji bitch now too. fuck.

Sanji’s always liked to say that he can cook anywhere, anytime, given that he’s got something that resembles heat and a smattering of ingredients — like any great artist, he knows how to make do. But, he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy this — the quiet of a ship’s kitchen, the gentle sway of the ocean, the simmer and pop of fat on a pan, the soft bubbling of boiling water — and you.

You, perched on the counter with your legs hanging off the side, hair piled up and pinned with a chopstick, a book in your hands or on your lap, the early afternoon sun spilling in to caress your skin like so many loving fingers. Sometimes, he’ll glance over while chopping onions or mincing garlic to catch a glimpse of you, and he’d find himself stilling, his fingers slowing, his breath suspended in his chest, caught like an insect in amber: held weightless and perfect.

“You’re staring,” you say, flipping a page without looking up, a smile twitching at your lips.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve found that admiring beautiful things helps me in my creative process,” he says, his grin going lopsided as he lowers his eyes to the ingredients on the cutting board — tiny, plump cherry tomatoes ripe to bursting. He resumes slicing each in half with swift, decisive cuts and relishes in the sound of your laughter.

“Careful with that mouth of yours — someone might accidentally fall in love with you,” you flip another page.

Sanji slides the cut tomatoes into a bowl and wipes a hand on the towel slung over his shoulder.

“Accidentally? C’mon, you gotta gimme some more credit. But if anyone’s fallin’ in love, it’s gonna be with you.”

Another page. Sanji plucks a few zucchini from a large bag and starts to julienne them into thin strips.

“What are you making?” you ask, finally setting the book down in favor of peering at all the ingredients he’s got laid out. He quirks an eyebrow, glancing up.

“What, finished with that book already?”

“Nope — just found something more interesting to look at, that’s all.”

Sanji blushes.

Let it never be said that Vinsmoke Sanji can’t take as good as he gives but by all the gods and monsters and sea kings — you’re a damn good flirt. Almost as good as he is, he used to think. Now, as he covers up his rapidly darkening cheeks with a chuckle, turning away to grab a potato for skinning, he wonders if you might just be better.

“You never answered my question, y’know.”

He looks up again, his tongue feeling strangely swollen and uncoordinated in his mouth. You’re grinning at him, your legs still swinging, but in the few seconds he’d looked away, you’ve inched closer, your outer thigh now almost pressing against the edge of his cutting board.

The first time he’d found you perched up on his long work table with a book in your lap, he’d blinked, crossed his arms, and debated on asking what on earth you thought you were doing. Chefs generally do not take kindly to their prep spaces being treated like free real estate for sitting, but he’d never been able to say no to a beautiful woman, now has he? And least of all you.

“Thought you could use the company,” was your answer to his then-unasked question. He’d laughed, nodded, and gotten on with his breakfast prep. But that was months ago and since then, it’s become something of a habit; a ritual, almost.

“What question was that? I was —” he asks, clearing his throat, his fingers almost slipping on the freshly peeled potato, “distracted by your —”

“What are you making?”

“Oh —” Sanji returns his gaze to the cutting board, now acutely aware of the smell of your skin, creamy and warm. He swallows, trying to focus on slicing the potato.

“Just a cherry tomato and zucchini noodle pasta — not often that we get such fresh produce. But Luffy’d asked if I can make chips from scratch the other day so that’s what this bad boy’s for,” he says, holding up half the potato.

“You sure one potato’s gonna be enough?” you shift your leg to cross one above the other, and Sanji has to swallow passed the thickness building up in the back of his throat at the sight of your soft, smooth thighs.

“Good point,” he says, laughing as he bends down to grab a few more.

You fall into a companionable silence, the quiet only punctuated by the tack-tack-tack of his knife on the cutting board and the occasionally shunk-thump of ingredients being swept into a metal prep bowl.

“You’re staring,” he says. And this time, it’s Sanji who grins, keeping his eyes fixed on the remainder of the herb mix he’s chopping up.

“Yeah, I know. I’m making a habit of admiring beautiful things. I’ve heard that it’s good for me.”

Heat bursts in Sanji’s chest as if he’d swallowed a shot of whiskey or gin or perhaps something even more potent. His head spins, but he steadies himself before letting out a soft, low whistle. He fights the urge to look up just to check if you’re as affected as he is.

“Keep talkin’ like that and falling in love with you’s not gonna be an accident.”

When he finally looks up to shoot you a flirty smile, he finds himself faltering as he meets your eyes.

“Who said I wanted it to be an accident?”

The knife in Sanji’s hand slips and he swears as it knicks the skin of his forefinger.

“Ah, shit —”

“Oops.” You have the decency to look sheepish as he shoots you a mildly reproachful look. But you shift your legs and tug open a drawer that had been tucked beneath where your knee had been, pulling out a small bandage.

“Come here,” you offer, reaching out as he stares at you for a second before moving forward to give you his hand. You gently wipe away the blood before pressing the bandage to the small cut, running a thumb over the edges to make sure it’s sealed.

The air hangs between you like dust motes trapped in sunlight, like first snow caught in the silvery breaths of awestruck children.

“There,” you say, the word no more than a whisper. Your hands linger over his, his skin burning where you’d touched him. Shivers skitter down the length of his spine as he gulps in a breath of air that tastes faintly of fairytale endings and happily-ever-afters.

“Thanks.”

He doesn't pull away. Neither do you.

Like this, he can count every single lash that frames your doe-wide eyes. Like this, he can feel the static thrum of electricity threatening to jump from his body to yours, and all at once, he understands why lightning always tries to reach for the closest thing to its storm-ridden skies.

Perhaps it, too, yearns for closeness — for that infinitesimal moment of connection.

He wants to reach for you.

Your lips hover a kiss’s-breadth away.

An alarm goes off.

“Oh fuck —”

He jerks away from you, the world clanging rudely back into focus as he reaches for the lid of a large pot, his heart hammering something fierce inside his ribcage. He nearly burns himself on the thick fog of steam rising from inside the pot to reveal six flat-face crabs, freshly caught that morning.

Behind him, he hears the distinct sounds of you slipping from the long work table.

“Leaving already?” he asks as he turns back around with a stab at his usual light-hearted cheek.

You lick your lips, grinning, “I feel like I’ve caused enough damage for one dinner service. If I keep hanging around, you might lose a finger next.”

“Small price to pay for the company of a beautiful woman,” but there’s a gravel and grit to his voice that wasn’t there before, and he looks away first when this time your eyes catch. He tries to busy himself with prepping the pan sauce for the crabs.

“I’ll let Nami know that the next time she wants to peek in on you cooking.”

“Hey —”

You pause at the sound of his voice just as you reach the door. You turn.

Sanji’s expression flickers between caution and anticipation as he opens his mouth, his eyes somehow sharper and darker than they usually are.

“We’re not done talking about this.”

You cock your head, “About what?”

But there’s a smile teasing at the corner of your lips and Sanji lets out a good-humored sigh.

“Alright, go. Or else I might lose more than a finger.”

Like a heart, he thinks as you close the door behind you with a soft click.

Dinner is an appetizer of cold zucchini pasta followed by a warm, tangy tomato veloute. Then come the crabs — freshly steamed over a bed of risotto and served with a lemon and rosemary pan sauce so delicious it has even Zoro sighing with satisfaction.

“Wow, special occasion?” Nami asks, looking up as Sanji comes around with a tray full of cocktails, complete with blood orange slices garnishing the lip of each glass.

“Ain’t every day a special one with this crew?” he asks, winking at Nami as she takes her drink.

Everyone laughs, but as he sets down your drink, you notice a tiny note tucked beneath the base of your glass.

You take a sip of your drink, glancing down at the note. It has three simple words written in Sanji’s unmistakable, slanted handwriting:

Kitchen — after dinner.

You tuck the note away in your pocket with a secret grin, taking another long sip of the cold, refreshing drink.

The final course is a heaping pile of home-made potato chips with garlic and cheese dip, and Luffy wastes no time in shoveling half the batch into his mouth, crunching loudly over a series of vague, animalistic hums and grunts that all seem to denote happiness.

You finish your drink and slip away under the guise of going for another.

When you get to the kitchen, it's to find Sanji already cleaning up.

“Need a hand?” you ask, setting your empty glass on the counter before lightly hoisting yourself up onto it.

Sanji shakes his head, turning off the water and wiping down his hands. He pours you another drink from a large pitcher before setting it down and pursing his lips.

“This afternoon —”

“I meant what I said —” you say, cutting him off as you look away, eyes fixed on your knees as you swing your feet away from the table’s edge, “if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sanji clears his throat, reaching into his pocket to grab a cigarette and a lighter, if only to keep his hands busy. The thing in his chest that he’d been so convinced was his heart for most of his life now feels very much like a ticking time bomb. Or perhaps a hand grenade, with the pin held precariously between your teeth.

One word from you and —

“So? What about you?” you ask.

Sanji sucks in a long breath of smoke, holding it in his lungs before letting it out. The familiar sting grounds him as he looks at you and wonders if you know all the things he’d do for you. All the things he’s already done.

“Me?” he asks.

“Yeah — did you mean it?” And for the first time since he’s known you, you sound uncertain, “All… all those things you said? All the things you’ve been saying?”

He takes a few steps forward, finally allowing himself to breach the delicate circle of your personal space, his free hand coming to rest on the counter next to your thigh, his palm pressing flat to keep himself from going too far, too fast.

“Three guesses,” he says, letting his eyes flicker down to your lips and linger there, “You guess right… and there might be a prize involved, hm?”

A small, knowing grin spreads across your lips even as you quirk an eyebrow.

“Three guesses to a yes or no question? C’mon, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re losing your touch.”

Sanji leans in and you can almost taste the smoke on your tongue.

“But you do know better, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You suck in a breath, reaching up to tug the cigarette from his lips.

“Yes.”

You catch a flash of his smile a second before his lips find yours. He tastes of salt and tobacco and lemon-rosemary sauce.

“That’s one,” he says as the pair of you break apart. The cigarette lies forgotten on the counter.

Somehow, his hands have found their way to the bend of your waist, settling there as naturally as the tide might settle against its favorite stretch of forgotten beach.

You smile as you reach up to tug him closer, “Yes.”

Another kiss.

Sanji notes with a satisfied grin that your cheeks are just as flushed as his feels when he pulls away this time. He nods, trailing long fingers up your side, one hand reaching up to cup your cheek, the other pressing at the small of your back.

“That’s two.”

You nudge his nose with yours and he feels his hand-grenade heart leap into his throat.

“And…” you hum, letting your head lilt to one side as you ghost your lips over his, “Hm, lemme think about this one…”

Sanji rolls his eyes, tugging you forward by the back of your neck, crushing your mouth to his. It’s more insistent this time — the kiss, the breath, his fingers, your hands — more desperate and fumbling, fueled by the ever-growing heat bubbling at the base of his spine.

“Yes —” you hiss, panting as the pair of you pull apart, your pupils blown wide and dark in the dim kitchen light.

“And that’s all three,” he says, his smile going wide with warmth, “See? You’ve got it. Knew you’d get there.”

“Did you ever doubt?”

Sanji shrugs, taking half a step back to admire the sight of you, with kiss-swollen lips and heat-flushed skin. Perfect might not be strong enough a word.

“There was a moment here or there,” he says, to which you respond with a light shove to his shoulder as you hop off the table.

“Oh, I meant to ask you — what’s for dessert?”

Sanji laughs, “What? Did my garlic-cheddar chips not satisfy?”

“Really? Chips for dessert? And here I was hoping for something sweet.”

You make to leave the kitchen but Sanji reaches forward, pulling you back all too easily, spinning you around and pinning you against the door. His eyes are soft with mirth but as he leans down, you can’t help but shiver at the promise of something more lingering beneath the smoke of his breath.

“Well then, sweetheart, I think I’ve got my dessert picked out already now, don’t I?”

recs r technically closed, but... if you have an opla!sanji one... send it here.

[xo100]

Stirring up love - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: Lando Norris discovers the joy of cooking and quiet moments with you, cherishing the love and connection that grows through your shared, intimate experiences in the kitchen.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1586

୨ৎ

Lando had never been the type to spend much time in the kitchen. The idea of cooking had always seemed like such a hassle, something to be avoided by a simple click on his phone. With his busy schedule as an F1 driver and the constant whirlwind of travel, press, and races, takeout had always been the go-to. But then, you came into his life, and suddenly, everything changed.

He wasn’t sure when exactly it had started, but somewhere in the first few months of dating, he found himself gravitating toward the kitchen more and more. It wasn’t because he’d suddenly discovered a passion for cooking—though he did find himself enjoying it now—it was because of you. Watching you cook had become one of his favorite things, an act so simple yet so intimate that he couldn’t get enough of it.

-

It was a Tuesday evening, and the warm, golden light from the setting sun was flooding through the windows of your shared apartment. You were at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables with an effortless grace that Lando admired. He sat at the kitchen island, chin resting on his hand, eyes following your every movement. There was something calming about the way you moved in the kitchen—confident, sure, like you belonged there.

“You're staring,” you teased, not even looking up from your chopping.

Lando grinned, the kind of boyish smile that always made your heart skip a beat. “Can’t help it,” he replied, his voice soft and warm. “You’re mesmerizing.”

You glanced at him, playfully rolling your eyes, but the smile tugging at the corner of your lips gave you away. “I’m just chopping vegetables, Lando.”

“Yeah, but you make it look like art,” he said, slipping off his stool to come closer. His hands found your waist as he stood behind you, pulling you against him gently. His chin came to rest on your shoulder, and you felt his breath tickling the side of your neck.

“Are you trying to distract me?” you asked, even though the warmth of his embrace was something you welcomed.

“Maybe.” His voice was low, a soft murmur against your ear. “Is it working?”

You laughed, leaning back against him for just a moment before turning your attention back to the cutting board. “Not really. You’re going to have to try harder.”

Lando chuckled, his arms wrapping a little tighter around your waist as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “I could help you, you know,” he offered, even though both of you knew he wasn’t much of a cook.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him over your shoulder. “Oh yeah? You, Mr. Takeout, are going to help me cook dinner?”

“Hey,” he protested with mock indignation, “I’ve improved! I can, like, chop stuff now. And mix things.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the proud tone in his voice. “Alright, alright,” you said, stepping out of his embrace to hand him a second cutting board and a knife. “You can chop the garlic then.”

Lando took the knife with a playful salute, determined to prove himself useful. He positioned himself next to you, glancing at your precise movements before starting on his own task. His chopping was a little slower, a little less smooth, but the concentration on his face was endearing.

After a few minutes, he nudged you with his elbow, and when you looked up, he gave you a cheeky smile. “Look, I’m basically a pro now.”

You glanced at his pile of somewhat unevenly chopped garlic and smiled. “Not bad, Norris.”

“Not bad?” he echoed, pretending to be offended. “That’s not the level of praise I was expecting.”

You turned to face him, hands resting on your hips as you gave him an exaggerated once-over. “Okay, okay. You’re amazing. Master chef level, even.”

Lando grinned, looking satisfied with your compliment as he set the knife down. “That’s more like it,” he teased, before pulling you into his arms again. You didn’t protest this time, letting him hold you close as the smell of garlic and spices filled the air.

Moments like these were Lando’s favorite. Not the loud, fast-paced moments of race weekends or the excitement of podium finishes. No, this—these quiet, domestic moments, where it was just the two of you, where everything felt so simple and right—this was what he treasured. There was something about the way you fit so perfectly into his life that amazed him. You made even the most mundane things, like cooking dinner, feel special.

“You know,” he started, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your back, “I never really liked cooking before you.”

You hummed softly, your hands resting on his chest as you looked up at him. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, his eyes soft and full of affection. “I used to just order food all the time. Even when I was with someone else, it was just easier to let someone else cook or grab takeout.”

Your curiosity piqued at the mention of his past relationships, but you knew Lando wasn’t one to dwell on the past. He had moved on, and so had you. Still, there was something about the way he spoke that made you want to know more. “So, what changed?”

Lando smiled, his thumb brushing along your cheek. “You did.”

His words were so simple, yet they carried so much weight. You felt a warmth spread through your chest, the kind that only Lando could make you feel. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he said softly, his gaze never leaving yours. “With you, I like being in the kitchen. I like cooking with you, being close to you, doing these little things together. It makes me feel… happy. Like I’ve got something good, you know?”

You could feel your heart swelling at his words. It wasn’t often that Lando was this open with his feelings, but when he was, it hit you like a wave. You smiled, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips, the kind of kiss that was full of unspoken promises and shared love.

“I like cooking with you too, Norris,” you whispered against his lips, your fingers tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss for just a moment before pulling back. “Even if you are just chopping garlic.”

He laughed softly, his forehead resting against yours. “Hey, it’s an important job. Someone’s gotta do it.”

“Sure, sure,” you teased, but there was no denying the affection in your voice. You loved these moments with him, the playful banter, the lazy touches, the way he made you feel like the most important person in the world.

The two of you stood there for a while, wrapped up in each other, content in the warmth of the kitchen and the quiet rhythm of your lives together. It was peaceful, the kind of peace that Lando hadn’t realized he’d been missing until you came along.

Eventually, though, the food on the stove demanded attention, and with a soft sigh, you reluctantly pulled away from him. “Okay, okay, back to work,” you said, though the smile on your face made it clear you weren’t complaining.

Lando pouted dramatically but didn’t argue. “Fine. But I get to taste test everything.”

“Deal,” you agreed with a laugh as you returned to the stove. You could feel Lando’s eyes on you again as you worked, but this time, you didn’t mind. There was something about the way he watched you, so full of admiration and affection, that made you feel like the most special person in the world.

As the meal came together, Lando continued to sneak up behind you, stealing quick kisses or wrapping his arms around your waist whenever he got the chance. It was like he couldn’t keep his hands off you, and honestly, you didn’t mind. There was something so comforting about the way he held you, like he couldn’t get enough of being close to you.

-

Eventually, the two of you sat down to eat, and as you shared a meal you had made together, Lando couldn’t help but think about how perfect it all felt. The food, the company, the quiet moments in between bites where you’d share a soft smile or a playful comment. This was what he loved—these little moments that made everything else in life feel worth it.

After dinner, the two of you curled up on the couch, your head resting on his chest as his fingers ran absentmindedly through your hair. The TV was on, but neither of you were really watching, too wrapped up in the quiet comfort of being together.

“Thank you,” Lando said softly after a while, his voice barely above a whisper.

“For what?” you asked, tilting your head up to look at him.

“For this,” he gestured vaguely, but you knew what he meant. “For making everything better. For making me want to do things I never thought I’d enjoy. For just… being you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you pressed a soft kiss to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your lips. “I love you, Lando,” you whispered, your voice full of sincerity.

“I love you too,” he replied, his arms tightening around you just a little bit more. And in that moment, with you in his arms and the quiet hum of the world around you, Lando knew that he had everything he needed.

Because with you, everything was perfect.

୨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, I hope y’all enjoyed! Also thank you so much for the support on my other stories!

[trans-leek-cookie]

I'm going to burn my house down

[amirasainz]

Can you please do driver reader is literally the absolute Angel of the paddock and everyone adores her, she’s the cutest sweetest little bean that you can’t help but love, she’s a Redbull driver and Christian always fawns over her and talks about his ‘daughter’ ( it’s clear she’s the favourite ). Even the older drivers love her e.g kimi, jenson, Seb, mark. Platonic pleaseeee

Omg, that is such a sweet idea. I did the format a bit differently, hope you don't mind.

Enjoy reading and send me some requests!!!

-XoXo

The Redbull Princess

YN YLN was a known name in the motor sport world. Not only was she the youngest driver currently on the grid - only 19 years - but she is the first female to ever drive for RedBull. Not oy that, but also the only woman on the grid.

Despite having a different gender, the other drivers never treated her bad. In fact, one could say that YN got the whole "Princess Treatment" from the drivers and teams. Each driver has taken a special place in her life.

Exhibit A: The protective one

The paddock was buzzing with energy, reporters swarming like bees near the Red Bull garage. YN was prepping for her media rounds, already feeling the weight of the spotlight on her. As she stepped into the press pen, a group of journalists immediately approached, firing off questions.

"YN, how do you feel about the pressure of being the youngest driver? Do you think it affects your performance?"

Before she could answer, Max appeared out of nowhere, slipping between her and the reporters with a grin that was anything but friendly. "I think that's enough for now," Max said, his blue eyes narrowing. "She’s got a race to focus on. Back off."

The reporters, visibly intimidated by the reigning World Champion, quickly shuffled away. YN let out a breath of relief, nudging Max with her elbow.

"You know, I can handle them."

Max chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, steering her away from the crowd. "Yeah, but why would I let them bother you when I can have fun scaring them off?"

"You're impossible," she laughed. "But thanks."

Exhibit B: The gossip King

YN walked into the Ferrari garage, still buzzing from practice. She found Charles leaning against his car, drinking water. His face lit up when he saw her.

"Charlie! Did you see that move I pulled in turn 9?" she said, excitedly plopping down next to him.

Charles grinned, instantly slipping into gossip mode. "I did! Smooth as butter. But did you hear about Fernando's radio message? He was furious about the tire degradation. Drama!"

YN's eyes widened. "No way! Spill all the tea, Leclerc."

Charles leaned in, whispering. "Apparently, his engineer told him to manage his tires better, and Nando snapped, saying, ‘I am managing them!’" He mimicked Fernando’s accent, making YN burst into laughter.

Exhibit C: The helping hand

The young RedBull driver just exited her car, when she felt someone grabbing her Birking Bag. When she quickly turned her head, she was meat with the sight of Carlos not only caring her bag in his hands and her coat on his arm, but carring his own stuff as well.

"Carlito, what are you doing? You don’t have to carry all my stuff for me." she told him, after they started walking towards the entrance.

Carlos mate an irritated sound, before responding to her. "Nonsense, hermana. Your job is to win this weekend. So let me help you with all the other things, comprende?"

Before Carlos could get an answer, she threw her arms around him, whispering a small thank you in his ear.

Exhibit D: The personal chef

YN sat in the Red Bull hospitality area, poking at her plate of food with a discontented look. Yuki walked over, noticing her lack of enthusiasm.

"Not good enough for you, huh?" Yuki teased, sliding into the seat across from her.

YN scrunched up her nose. "I don’t know what it is, but I just can’t eat this."

Without missing a beat, Yuki stood up. "I’ll make you something. What do you want?"

Her eyes brightened. "Yuki, really? You don’t have to!"

He waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, you’re picky. I know that. What do you want? Miso soup? Onigiri?"

YN tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Onigiri sounds perfect."

Within minutes, Yuki was back, placing a plate of freshly made onigiri in front of her. YN took a bite and sighed contentedly. "You're the best, Yuki."

He grinned. "I know."

Exhibit E: The "annoying" prankster

YN was busy trying to make sure her helmet and gear were ready when suddenly, her entire backpack fell off the counter with a loud thud, spilling everything.

"Lando!" she yelled, spinning around, catching the British driver grinning like a mischievous child.

"What?" Lando said, feigning innocence, hands up. "It slipped."

YN gave him a look but couldn’t help the smile creeping on her face. Lando always knew how to lift her spirits, even if it was through relentless pranks.

"One day, Norris, one day!" she warned, pointing a finger at him.

"I’ll be waiting," Lando chuckled, before helping her pick up her things

Exhibit F: The shoulder to cry on

"I just can't believe it. I was so close. How did I manage to bin the car into the wall on the last corner" muttered the 19 year old. Her face pressed in Oscars neck, who was busy stroking her hair. He knew better than to interrupt her during her rant. Knowing it would help her when she got everything of her chest.

After a moment, she shakily breathed out. Oscar knew that the only thing he could do now was to let her fall apart while he would catch every piece of her.

And that's what he did. While she cried her heart out, Oscar held her close to him, rocking them slowly in a soothing matter. It felt like nothing could happen to her in Oscars arms. He would protect her from the outside world as long as she needed

Sometimes actions speak louder than words

Exhabit G: The fashionista

Lewis stood beside YN, eyeing her racing suit critically before smirking. "That’s not gonna work."

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

He pointed at her boots. "Those shoes? No way. They don’t match the rest of the suit."

YN raised an eyebrow. "I'm not trying to walk the runway, Lewis. I’m racing."

Lewis rolled his eyes. "You can do both. Come on, let’s get you a new pair of shoes. You’ll thank me later."

And true to his words, YN received a new pair of racing shoes only a few hours later. They certainly looked better than her old pair.

Exhibit H: The mother-hen

George was hovering near the buffet in the paddock, watching YN closely as she piled food onto her plate. He narrowed his eyes as she bypassed the salad section.

"YN, you need to eat more greens. And have you had any water today?" George asked, his tone dangerously close to motherly.

YN groaned. "George, I’m fine. I had water this morning."

"That’s not enough," he replied sternly, filling a glass and handing it to her. "Drink. Now."

She pouted but took the glass. "Okay, Mom."

Exhibit I: The proud dad

During a press conference, Christian Horner stood beside YN, smiling at the reporters. "You all know my daughter here is the star of the show," he said, gesturing towards YN.

YN blushed at the comment. "Christian!"

The reporters laughed, but YN knew Christian wasn’t entirely joking. He had taken her under his wing from day one, treating her like family. And she couldn’t have been more grateful.

Exhibit J: Bwoah

In a rare quiet moment, YN had somehow convinced Kimi Räikkönen — the Iceman himself — to do a TikTok trend with her. As the camera rolled, Kimi deadpanned his way through the trend, barely moving but somehow nailing it.

"Thanks for doing this, Kimi," YN said, grinning as they finished.

Kimi shrugged. "Bwoah, don’t mention it, kid. But don’t tell the other drivers that you are my favourite"

YN laughed. "Deal."

[haoboutyou]

gym crush | choi seungcheol

fluff | 1151 words | suggestive descriptions. i’m y/n’s just really thirsty

an: please take this as a formal invitation. requests are open! (whether i answer on time is another problem)

you don’t like the gym. absolutely not. it gets super hot and humid inside, it stinks of sweat, and the big machines always intimidate you.

what to do? you’re just a girl.

you usually wouldn’t even phantom the idea of stepping foot into the gym if it wasn’t for your best friend. really, the only reason why you’re even sitting in one right now was because you arrived too early for your meet up with him.

that’s how you ended up perched on a high stool, legs swinging as you patiently look around while soonyoung finishes up his last few sets of… pull-ups? you’re honestly not sure. how he’s still chatting with you while completing his sets – barely panting through it, too – is beyond you.

“so i was thinking,” soonyoung casually starts, lifting himself like he was made of paper. “we can get dinner at the new italian place downtown? i heard they’re having a opening promotion right now.”

“mmh, sounds good.” your eyes are flitting all around the gym, trying to find something interesting enough to catch your attention.

“right, i almost forgot! seokmin texted earlier; he said he’ll drive by to pick us up later too.”

“really? that’s great.” you sound enthusiastic but your hunched posture informs soonyoung otherwise. at this point, your best friend can tell that you’ve tuned out of the conversation. he huffs at the way your eyes zone into the far corner of the gym, where the weight benches are. soonyoung scoffs more when he realises your eyes are trained on a very specific person, watching intently at the way the muscles on his arms bulge every time he lifts a dumbbell.

“yeah, he also said he saw mingyu running into a tree earlier… even said a rat fell on him and started pulling at his hair and controlling him like a robot. do you think the rat would make a better chef than mingyu?”

“wow really? that’s great.” your replies get progressively monotonous as you keep your eyes trained at the corner. yeah, now he definitely knows your mind has completely left the conversation.

your breath hitched as you watched the mystery man run a hand through his faded red hair, baggy t-shirt sleeves hitched up to reveal more of his biceps? triceps? never have you ever wished you paid more attention to your biology lessons back in high school.

everything about this mystery man has you swooning. the thick veins on his hands running up his arms, the way his eyebrows furrow in concentration, how the sweat glistening on his forehead seemed to cast a heavenly glow all around him. you can’t forget the grunts he lets out with every movement, entrancing you with his deep voice. gosh, even his hands are perfect. an angel has descended to soothe all your gym-related problems, converting you into a devout worshipper of his physique.

you’ve never been more thankful for soonyoung’s suggestion to wait in the gym.

soonyoung’s arms may be burning from hanging on the pull-up bar for too long, but he just couldn’t believe his eyes; your mouth is hanging open and– wait, is that drool?! is his best friend really drooling over a man in the gym?!? a laugh of disbelief escapes him as he finishes the last of his rep. soonyoung mutters a quick prayer of thanks to god for gifting him prime blackmailing material. he drops back to the ground and swiftly snaps a picture of you, in all your thirsting glory, before he picks up the rest of his stuff.

“y/n,” he calls out. “i’m gonna hit the showers and then we can go. you good staying here on your own for a bit?”

“yeah, yeah! i’m not going anywhere, don’t worry.” you wave him off, not even bothering to turn towards your best friend. soonyoung lets out another tut as he turns towards the gym’s locker room. that is, before a brilliant idea comes into mind.

“hyung!”

the red-haired man turns towards soonyoung’s voice. “hoshi, you’re going already?”

your best friend nods his head, grinning at how your eyes seemed to pop out at the way he was casually talking to your new-found eye candy. “are you doing anything tonight? i’m meeting seokmin and the others for dinner later, wanna join?”

“kwon soonyoung!” you whisper-hiss. “what the hell are you doing? you guys know each other!?” is that blush creeping up your neck he sees? the tips of your ears tinge so pink soonyoung thinks he can almost feel the heat radiating from them.

“thanks, but i’ve already got plans.” the mystery stranger shoots you a gentle smile, flirty (flirty?!) wink (WINK?!?) towards you. still, you can’t hide your disappointment; you would’ve loved to get to know this new-found work of art more.. “maybe next time? you can properly introduce me to your pretty friend then too.”

soonyoung thinks he heard a strangled cry from you, coughing as you somehow manage to choke on your own saliva. he chuckles at your suffering. “sure, hyung. i think she’d like that too!”

soonyoung doesn’t know what to expect when he finally emerges from the locker room cleaned and refreshed, but it definitely wasn’t you raining attacks on his sore arms and shoulders. seungcheol (he had introduced himself to you while soonyoung was gone– in fact, the two of you managed a whole conversation while he was gone (no, you were so shy and embarrassed you were barely able to keep eye contact with him)) waves at the both of you as you leave the gym to wait for seokmin to arrive.

you’re convinced the blush on your cheeks is going to be a permanent feature of tonight. it doesn’t help that it becomes the main topic during dinner with seokmin and mingyu, the other two boys cracking up at soonyoung’s dramatic retelling of your new-found gym crush.

(it also doesn’t help that you had a balled up fist under the table all night, hiding the hastily written phone number on a piece of paper that seungcheol had managed to slip to you while you were leaving, mouthing the words ‘call me!’ behind soonyoung’s back.)

-

bonus!

“remember when you couldn’t keep your eyes off me when we first met?” seungcheol swings his arm around you, broad shoulders almost engulfing you whole.

you groan, choosing instead to bury your head into your boyfriend’s chest. soonyoung cackles from across the booth. you have to physically restrain yourself from clawing him alive.

“hyung it wasn’t just that; she was drooling over you!” he wiggles his eyebrows, ignoring the daggers you were staring his way. blush makes its way up your cheeks, dusting them pink.

seungcheol laughs, planting a kiss on the crown of your head.

“if it makes you feel better,” he whispers in your ear. “you were my gym crush too.”

soonyoung almost falls off his seat laughing when you blush even harder.

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

“Fuck, fuck, shit.” Simon cursed as he ran to the kitchen. He’d lost track of time again, and in the process, burnt the chicken that was supposed to be your dinner for the night.

How did you always make cooking look so effortless? Simon could recall in the dozen times he’d watched you cook for him, how you’d dance around the kitchen with your beautiful head in the clouds.

He sighed deeply before throwing out the chicken, frustrated with himself that he couldn’t cook a single dish right today. He’d been in the kitchen all day trying various recipes, and ended up wasting nearly your entire fridge of food in his attempts.

Simon ran a hand through his hair, frowning as he now had nothing planned for tonight, and had a little over an hour until you’d come home. You’d had a long week, and he figured the least he could do for you was to make you dinner.

With seemingly no other options, Simon decided to go with his last resort- takeout. He’d remembered you said that you wanted to try the new diner down the road, so he quickly dialed the restaurant and ordered something he was sure you’d like, including your favorite bottle of wine.

~

With ten minutes to spare, Simon raced through the front door, and began to set up the kitchen table for your arrival. He set out your favorite candles, poured each of you a size-able amount of wine, and out the food from the takeout containers, setting it all neatly on the table.

Upon hearing the click of the front door, Simon quickly put the finishing touches on the table, before making his way over to you- his eyes softening as they landed on your tired frame. “Hey, sweetheart.”

You looked up at your boyfriend, your foul mood immediately forgotten upon looking at the shy smile lining his lips. “Hey, Si.”

Simon walked over to you, grabbing your coat from you and placed it on the back of the couch. He turned back to you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips before pressing another kiss to your nose. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m starved.” You groaned, grabbing Simons outstretched hand and following him into the kitchen.

You felt tears tricking the corners of your eyes as you took in the sight of the table Simon had prepped for you. You looked over at him, and found him wearing a proud expression. “Oh, Simon you didn’t have to-.”

“Don’t even finish that thought. Just sit, and eat, yeah?” He gestured to your chair, which he held out for you. You giggled slightly as you sat in your chair, and looked down at the food in front of you.

“This looks incredible, Si.” You said in awe, before placing the napkin in your lap.

“I’ll certainly say you make dinner look like a breeze. I uh..didn’t have the easiest time with what to do for tonight.” Simon chuckled, his cheeks turning red from embarrassment.

“Oh my god, this is amazing. You cooked this yourself?” You asked, your eyes practically rolling in the back as you took a bite of the food.

He was going to tell you, he honestly was, but with the way you were looking up at him in complete admiration had Simons heart melting, and before he knew what he was doing, he was nodding at you with the biggest smile on his face. “Yeah, ‘s nothin.”

“Nothing my behind. You’ll be Chef Riley from now on this house. This is incredible, all of it. Thank you.” You praised, practically beaming up at your boyfriend.

Simon felt his cheeks burn red at your praise as he continued to eat, occasionally stealing glances at you throughout dinner.

Conversation flowed naturally between the two of you as you finished eating, and Simon could see the weight of the day visibly leaving your shoulders as you began to relax into your chair.

Simon stood and bent down to place a lingering kiss to your lips, causing you to moan softly against him. You sighed deeply before pulling away from him. “I should help you clean this up.”

“Don’t worry about clean up, love, that’s my job come mornin’. You’re my priority right now.” He spoke, as he looped his arm underneath your thighs and began to carry you bridal style toward the bedroom. “Be a good pup and let me take care of you.”

~

You, of course, would never mention the takeout containers you found in the trash can the next morning - after all, “Chef Riley” did have a nice ring to it.