THE GRIDS DELIGHT | SERIES MASTERLIST

THE GRID’S DELIGHT | SERIES MASTERLIST

summary: the shenanigans of female gen z driver and the formula one grid.

author’s note: I started this series, because I’d like to imagine what it would be like to be part of the group of drivers and how it would be like to interact with them on a regular basis. It’s all fun and games, and I don’t know these people in real life. everything is fiction! the stories aren’t written in chronological order, but I try to put them in the right order below! 

Requests are always welcome in my inbox! Opinions, thoughts and feedback are also greatly appreciated.

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141 Neighbors imagine

The boys have been in a relationship for a long time. They've all taken a small break from the feiled after Johnny almost dying... they have been staying in a small and sweet place, a nice flat for them to share.

And while not out on the feiled, they still worked overtime. And weren't home often; and when they were, they always just got some takeaway and loved each other before going to work the next morning.

You had noticed this; You had lived in the flat adjacent to the four hunks. You lived alone in your cute, comfy flat with your cat "Binks,".

You didn't like that they lived off cheap takeaway and three hours of sleep at most. So you decided to be a kind neighbor and give them a good home cooked meal. You made extra for dinner that night, packaging the warm meal and leaving it at their door with a small and short note.

John slowly walks to the door after hearing the soft 'tap tap tap' outside his door. His hand rested on the gun on his hip in case things went south after opening the door.

But nobody was there, he looked down and saw a small basket and a note. "W'as tha?" Johnny asked, coming up behind his former captian; picking up the small basket and bringing it into his lovers home.

"Trying to be a friendly neighbor, I noticed all the takeaway, and I thought you'd all enjoy a nice meal," a short note and nothing more. John didn't trust it, showing it to Simon and Kyle, and Simon agreed. It was too suspicious, Kyle wanted to think maybe their was a kind soul, but knowing their line of work, he wasn't sure.

"I don' kno 'bout ye, but I t'ink this 's delicious." The three men looking to their other lover and to their shock and horror he was munching away on the mysterious meal. "JOHNNY," Simon yelled in disappointment and fear, "well, how are you feeling?" Kyle asked, unsure if this was 100% safe.

"Feel great," the Scott says before taking another spoon full. Kyle shrugs, and they all settle into a comfortable silence as they eat the dinner from their friendly neighbor.

This becomes a normal occurrence. They hear a rapping on their door, and when they open the door, there is a meal waiting, but nobody there.

They didn't know who their friendly neighbor was, but they were thankful for the warm meals. However, one day Johnny came home after a last-minute grocery run and spots you.

Placing the basket on their door quickly knocking before rushing to your door and shushing your fluffy cat as it meows at your feet. Johnny found you cute, and he knew his lovers would love to know you too.

Sorry for the poorly written and rushed little imagine, I'm very tired and I just wanted to write this down before I forgot about it. Maybe make this a real fic later, it'll be written way better I promise.

Couples Therapy

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: let’s go to couples therapy and see how long it takes the therapist to realize we don’t know each other

You fidget nervously in the waiting room chair, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. This has to be the most ridiculous first date idea ever …but then again, Lando was never one for convention.

The office door swings open and a smiling middle-aged woman in a cardigan beckons you both inside. “Y/N? Lando? I’m Dr. Ramanujan, please come in.”

Lando shoots you a mischievous grin and you can’t help but return it as you follow the therapist into her office. This is already off to a delightfully silly start.

“So,” Dr. Ramanujan settles into her chair, notepad at the ready. “What brings you two in today?”

You open your mouth but Lando beats you to it. “Well doc, it’s like this — Y/N and I have been together for five years now but things have gotten … sticky, you might say.”

You fight back a surprised laugh at his casual lie. Five years? You met this lunatic ten days ago.

Nodding solemnly, you play along. “Yes, unfortunately some issues have arisen that we haven’t been able to resolve on our own.”

“I see,” the therapist jots something down. “And what would you say is the primary issue troubling your relationship?”

Lando strokes his chin in mock contemplation. “You know, now that I think about it, we really struggle with intimacy.”

You splutter, cheeks flushing red. He did not just go there on a first date!

“We’re very passionate people,” he continues effortlessly. “But I think we both have some hang-ups that stop us from really connecting, you know?”

Clearing your throat, you decide to steer into the skid. “Yes, you could say Lando is quite … insatiable in that area.”

Dr. Ramanujan’s eyebrows shoot up but she simply nods. “I see, I see. And how does that make you feel, Y/N?”

“Honestly?” You shrug helplessly. “Exhausted. The man is completely relentless — it’s like he’s an animal sometimes!”

Lando clutches his chest in feigned offense. “An animal? That’s a bit much, don’t you think darling?”

“Don’t you ‘darling’ me,” you snap, pushing aside your amusement at the increasingly absurd situation. “I’m just calling it like I see it. We’re here for honesty, right?”

“Touché,” Lando turns back to the therapist. “Doc, maybe you could help us find … a compromise of sorts? Because my needs are evidently not being met.”

You scoff loudly. “Not being met? Lando, I let you do that thing with the-”

Mercifully, Dr. Ramanujan interjects before you can continue that train of thought. “Perhaps we could steer our discussion in a more productive direction? Intimacy issues often stem from deeper underlying problems within a relationship. Is there anything else concerning you both?”

Lando ponders this for a moment before snapping his fingers. “You know what? I think a big part of it is that Y/N doesn’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust you?” You echo incredulously. “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. I Flirt With My Teammate Constantly!“

His jaw drops perfectly. “You’re bringing Oscar into this? That’s a low blow, babe.”

“I’m not blind!” You shoot back, doing your best to ignore how silly you both must look. “I see how cozy you two get. Tell me there’s nothing there and I’m a fool!”

“Woah, woah!” Lando holds up his hands defensively. “Oscar and I are just good friends and teammates. Nothing more.”

You cross your arms stubbornly. “If you say so.”

An uncomfortable silence falls over the room. Dr. Ramanujan seems perplexed by your crazy banter.

Finally, she clears her throat. “Right. Well, it sounds like there are some potential trust issues at play here that we should unpack-”

“Oh I’ll unpack it for you, doc!” Lando interjects, real passion entering his voice now. “Y/N is massively, astronomically insecure about our relationship. She questions my faithfulness at every turn!”

You swivel to face him fully, eyes wide. “And why, pray tell, would I possibly be insecure about that?”

“I don’t know!” He throws his hands up in exasperation. “I’ve never given you a single real reason to doubt me!”

“Except for all the pet names and inappropriate touching with Oscar!”

“Those are just friendly gestures!”

“Keep telling yourself that, buddy!”

The two of you are practically shouting at each other now, completely absorbed in your make-believe argument. Somewhere in the back of your mind you feel a bit bad for putting the poor therapist through this, but you’re having far too much fun to stop.

Dr. Ramanujan finally cuts in, raising her palms. “Okay! Okay, let’s all just take a breath, shall we?”

You and Lando freeze mid-rant, remembering where you are. He shoots you a conspiratorial wink and you have to bite your lip to suppress a smile.

“Now,” the therapist continues once the tension has diffused slightly. “Clearly there are some deep-seated resentments and triggers being hit here that we need to unravel. But I think a lot of it comes back to the intimacy and trust issues we were discussing earlier. Y/N, would you say you feel emotionally fulfilled by Lando?”

You ponder this for a moment, drawing out the suspense. Lando watches you with bated breath.

Finally, you sigh deeply. “No doc, I can’t say that I do. And maybe that’s why I’ve been so tempted to stray myself ...”

Lando’s jaw drops perfectly again. “You’ve been tempted to cheat? With who?”

Holding his gaze boldly, you declare: “My yoga instructor, actually.”

“Shane?” He looks like you just slapped him. “But he’s so … so bland!”

You shrug nonchalantly. “What can I say? Opposites attract sometimes.”

Dr. Ramanujan looks like she’s watching a tennis match, unable to get a word in edgewise.

Lando points an accusatory finger at you. “This is unbelievable! You had the audacity to blame me for the intimacy issues earlier when all this time you’ve been lusting after another man?”

“I’m a woman of insatiable needs!” You cry, borrowing his phrasing from earlier. “You said it yourself!”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” He turns desperately back to the therapist. “Please doc, you have to help us!”

She blinks owlishly a few times before finding her voice. “I … I’m not sure I can be of much assistance here.”

Lando clutches at his chest dramatically. “No, don’t say that! Our relationship is hanging by a thread as it is.”

“If it’s even still a relationship,” you mumble darkly, inspecting your nails with affected nonchalance.

“You see?” Lando pleads with the doctor. “This is what I’m dealing with every day! The constant barbs and lack of trust! I’m at my wit’s end.”

Dr. Ramanujan’s eyes dart between the two of you, seeming to deflate a little more after each deranged declaration. She sets her notepad aside with a resigned sigh.

“Listen, you two ...” she begins carefully. “While I appreciate you being upfront about your ...” she pauses, clearly searching for the right word, “unique situation, I’m afraid it goes well beyond my abilities as a therapist.”

You simply blink at her innocently while Lando dissolves into feigned hysterics beside you.

“But you have to help us!” He cries, flinging himself backwards dramatically. “Our relationship is the only thing I have left!”

You can’t help but let out a small giggle at his antics, quickly disguising it as a cough when the therapist shoots you a look. Dr. Ramanujan just shakes her head slowly.

“I’m sorry, but I clearly don’t have the tools or expertise to assist with … whatever this is.” She gestures vaguely between the two of you. “My advice would be to seek a different form of counseling. Or perhaps … separate for a while until you both figure out what you want.”

Lando clutches at his chest, feigning heartbreak. “Separate? Doc, you can’t be serious!”

“I’m afraid I am,” Dr. Ramanujan states firmly, rising from her chair. “This session has become … unproductive, to put it mildly. I think we should call it a day.”

You open your mouth to protest staying in character, but the defeated look on the poor therapist’s face gives you pause. With a sidelong glance at Lando, you decide to put her out of her misery.

Rising from your own seat, you loop your arm through Lando’s and favor the bewildered doctor with your most winning smile.

“You’re probably right, doc. We’ll, uh, take some time and really think things over. Thanks for your … insight today.”

Dr. Ramanujan simply nods, seemingly too drained to even reply as she opens the door and gestures you both through.

The second you’re out in the hallway, you can’t contain your laughter anymore. You dissolve into a fit of giggles, doubling over and clutching at Lando’s arm for support. He joins in instantly, that mischievous grin stretched wide across his face.

“Oh my god,” you gasp between peals of laughter. “Did you see her face when I brought Oscar into it?”

“I thought she was going to kick us out then and there!” Lando howls, wiping away a mirthful tear. “The things we put that poor woman through ...”

You finally manage to regain your composure, still grinning madly at the ridiculousness of it all. Leave it to Lando to come up with a first date idea as wonderfully insane as fake couples therapy.

“We should do something normal for our next date,” you quip, shooting him a sly look. “Like go skydiving or swimming with sharks.”

Lando matches your playful tone, draping an arm around your shoulders as you meander away from the office. “Whatever you say, darling. Just promise me you won’t leave me for one of the skydiving instructors, yeah?”

You pull him closer with a laugh. “No promises, babe.”

poly!141 x reader but when they come home from a mission, you're unable to take off work the following day :(

a/n: yes, this is a repost. i accidentally deleted it instead of making it private so i could fix something.

cw: domestic fluff, gn!reader, gaz and soap are clingy but in a cute way

they often get home at night, so it's not unusual for you to take off the following day. but this time was different.

whether it be a work party or an upcoming project, you were unable to take the day off. you knew your boys would be upset, but you were sure they would understand. they were excited to spend time with their lover after they came home from the grueling mission, so they were understandably dissapointed when they found out. but you weren't going to risk losing your job or an upcoming promotion, and they knew that.

so that is how you found yourself in the bathroom at 7 in the morning, brushing your teeth while your four companions are sleeping in the alaskan king-sized bed. they have no problem staying asleep despite the sound of running water as you get ready for the day. you were lucky that your alarm didn't wake any of them, or so you thought. moments after you finish rinsing your mouth out, kyle shuffles his way into the bathroom and stands in front of the toilet, where he shucks his pants down to relieve himself.

"kyle," you groan, "there's another bathroom, y'know?"

" 'm aware," he grumbles. "this one was just closer. and you're in here," he says as he finishes up his business and makes his way over to where you're standing in front of the sink. he rests his chin on your shoulder and snakes his arms around your side to wash his hands. he takes his time scrubbing his palms together, making sure the soap is all over his hands and between his fingers, before turning the water off. he reaches over to grab the hand towel, but he doesn't leave after he hangs it back up. instead, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses soft and light kisses against your neck.

"don't want you to go," he mutters. "stay in bed and cuddle."

"kyle, i have to," you tell him as you turn around in his arms and lean against the countertop. he leans forward, pressing his body against yours, and rests his head in the crook of your neck. "now go back to bed, or you're going to be grouchy," you insist.

he inhales your scent and gives you one last squeeze before reluctantly following your orders and making his way back towards the bedroom. you finish up in the bathroom before heading to the bedroom to change out of your pajamas. you notice that john and simon are no longer in bed, and kyle and johnny are cuddled up against each other. you grab your phone to take a quick picture of your boys before changing. once you're dressed and ready to go, you place a kiss against each of their cheeks.

the scent of eggs, coffee, and tea fills your nose as you exit the bedroom. you hear quiet chatter coming from the kitchen, which is where you are headed. you walk in to find john at the stove with simon behind him, his arms wrapped around the other man's waist, much like kyle's when you were in the bathroom. you smile at the two before moving towards the island, where there's a plate of bacon, eggs, and a mug filled with tea. simon is the first one to notice your presence.

"good morning, love," he greets. john turns around in his arms and flashes you a tired smile.

"morning," he mumbles.

"morning guys, what are you both doing up?" you ask as you take a sip from the mug sitting on the island.

"simon woke up when kyle left the bed and asked if i wanted some breakfast," john answers. "i was already awake so there was no point in saying no. plus, you and the boys deserve some breakfast as well."

"well, thank you," you say. the three of you continue to make small talk until john and simon finish cooking. johnny and kyle make their way into the kitchen not long after.

"thought i told you to go back to bed," you tell kyle, to which he rolls his eyes.

"johnny was the one who wanted to get up, and that bed is lonely when there's nobody else in it," he replies. you hum and nod before being crushed by johnny in a bear hug.

"missed you this morning, didn't even get a proper kiss!" he whines. you giggle and give him a quick peck on the lips before rubbing his back.

"didn't want to wake you," you justify, and he tsks.

"that's the whole point of a good morning kiss," he states. the five of you chat while finishing your breakfast and washing dishes, and the next thing you know, it's time for you to head out.

"have a good day at work, love," simon says as he places a kiss against your forehead. you give him a sweet smile and nod.

"yeah, we'll miss you," johnny says with a pout.

"it's only 8 hours, don't worry," you assure him, and he huffs.

"you're gonna have to make it up to us later," he replies, and you chuckle.

"and you're going to have to make it up to me for being gone for almost a month," you say before giving him a peck on the lips. you make your way around the room and kiss everyone before grabbing your bag and keys and heading out. they all watch out the window like sad puppies as you get in your car and wave goodbye.

they totally didn't mope around all day until you got home.

banner creds: @cafekitsune

Goldilocks and the Four Bears

I haven’t written for the cod fandom yet so all the 141 might be terribly out of character. In fact I haven’t written for a while. I appreciate all the people that still read my work and continue to support me. I hope you’re all doing well :)

Poly!141 x reader

Masterlist -> Here (will be made later :))

Warnings: 18+, mature themes, descriptions of torture, injuries and mistreatment, etc

Summary: After escaping from your last mission that had gone terribly wrong, your stumble through the woods leads you to a log cabin.

It was snowing. Fucking snowing.

Any belief in a deity had been long since crushed after the last few months. Well you thought it had been months. Your captors (a small but deadly terrorist group) had failed to provide you with your own calendar and clock. Much like how they had failed to provide you with new clothes to replace your own, that had been ripped and torn and become tattered to the eye.

It was stolen clothes you now wore as you made your escape. Trudging slowly through the already six inch snow, your thoughts trailed to the fresh snow adding to the existing six inches. The size 12 pair of boots were rubbing at your heels with increasing vigour. Leading you to contemplate if bruised skin could blister or not. The guard you’d killed as part of your escape had been good for one thing. Or three things actually. The ill-fitting boots, a loose pair of combat trousers and long sleeved compression shirt.

As you made your way through the terrain you felt a cold chill steadily working it’s way up your trouser leg. Slowly, spreading across the flesh, affecting any skin that wasn’t in direct contact with the trouser material. It made you wish you’d waited for a guard more similar to your stature. While the compression shirt was better than nothing, it was still thin. The flimsy seeming material now doing little to ward off the cold.

Maybe the sudden awareness of the less than ideal weather conditions wasn’t down to your stolen clothes, but the sudden loss of adrenaline. How long had you been running now? Well trudging desperately through the snow, making your way further and further into the thick forrest and fauna.

It was hard to try and map where you’d been, what direction you’d walked in and where you’d come from. It was all white. Every tree looked the same. Every incline became and decline and you’d become disoriented.

Months of abuse, of torture, ofpain. All ignored for a few short hours as you willed your aching body forward. Through trees and snow and stone. Through anything that would put you at a greater distance from them, from Miasma.

They hadn’t transported you. At least you were mostly sure. When you blacked out, you woke in the same dingy cell, on the same dingy floor. Only covered in more bruises or cuts. So you hoped you were where this all started. In Slovenia.

You’d done solo missions before. It was easier that way. One man in, one man out. No one to turn on you or leak information. With Gunner in your ear, nothing ever went wrong. Until it did.

Your objective was to gather intel. To stay under the radar before formulating the next attack. While sneaking around you’d learned just how large their operation was. In turn you’d also learned just how large their base was.

The small outpost hid underground levels. That became clear after your covert operation was blown and you were dragged down to the very heart of the multi-storey building.

Each day (if that’s what you could call them) gave you no indication of the time of day or how much time had passed. They made sure of that. In fact it was the first time in months you’d seen the light of day.

The light that you noticed was now fading apparently, as you looked desperately up into the sky. Grey clouds had rolled in, covering the majority of the sky. The sun was still peaking out from the dense overcast that was rolling further forward. Soon the sky would be covered and the snow fall would quicken.

A few miles back you were struck that no one from Miasma had followed you. You’d expected armed guards to be shooting at you and angry dogs to be tearing at your ankles. Yet you’d had no chase.

Maybe they knew you would get nowhere in the climate. That you’d be weakened by the terrain and from the violence you’d endured. They were right of course. But you didn’t let it stop you.

Even now as you’d gone further, you still felt the burning desire to survive. Granted it dwindled under the ache of your body and the never ending valley of white before you. But you wanted to live. You wanted your revenge.

The final rays of the sun had been clouded and the snow started to pick up. At least your footprints would be covered under the fresh snow. Not that it mattered if all your footprints lead to was a frozen corpse.

Flexing your fingers, you found yourself wishing for gloves. Your toes were long past numb and every injury you’d endured felt like it was waking up. Old cuts that had turned to scars felt fresh, bruises that had yellowed felt like they’d returned to their starting purple colour. Your felt heavy. You felt dense. You felt tired.

Your desire to drive on had dwindled now. The once raging fire was now only a candle. A candle that was down to its wick. The wax around it long since melted and now it was to its edge. Trying to burn the glue that chained it in place. The image made you crave warmth even more.

Was this it?

All the work you’d put in over the years. From a child you had trained for a mission you didn’t fully understand. A mission that belonged to someone else, to Gunner. He’d turned you into a soldier, his perfect soldier.

Is this how his perfect soldier died?

No it wasn’t.

So despite your blue fingers, numb toes and foggy mind, you push on. Just a little further, you tell yourself. Past these trees, past this stream, past more trees.

Your doubts evaporate when you come upon a clearing. You find a decent space boarded by snow dusted trees from all sides. They stand tall, seemingly acting as natural walls to protect those inside. The grass is covered in undisturbed snow. It’s thick and white and makes you smile.

None of it matter though because sitting in the middle of it all if your salvation.

A log cabin.

You consider the sight to be a mirage. Created from and low blood sugar, dehydration and desperation. But you trudge on, almost to a stumble speed, as you reach for the door handle.

It’s unlocked.

Despite any moral compass telling you that breaking and entering or trespassing is wrong, you ignore it. You’re hurt, aching and this is a last resort.

You close the thick wooden door behind you. Taking note of the copious locks it has. When you move inside the cabin you find that no one’s home. As quietly as you can on stiff legs, you sneak around the house. Trying to wake up the instincts you’d been trained on.

Enter a room, check your surroundings, check again. Don’t assume anywhere is empty. Threats could be hiding around any corner.

So for each room of the ground floor you do just that. Open door, check the rooms, move on. From your searching you’ve found a large living room, a kitchen, a dining room, a toilet some sort of office/drawing room. The decor gives you no clue as to who’s house you’ve invaded. There are no pictures of people, no personal possessions. It feels surreal. And wrong.

To start with you go back to the living room. Using the large fireplace, stockpile of logs and matches, you start a fire.

Again, better sense would tell you to avoid such an action. To avoid alerting anyone of your presence here. But you decide to put sense aside in a bid for survival. If you didn’t get warm soon you were sure you’d be frozen soon.

Next you go to the kitchen. You rifle through the cupboard in an attempt to find something edible. To your surprise you find the place to be well stocked. Even going as far as having fresh milk in the fridge. The sight confuses you. Send alarm bells ringing in your ears.

There are products in the fridge that are in date. Fresh products. Yet no one is home. It doesn’t make sense.

As you empty a can of soup into a pan you realise, it doesn’t need to. You’re happy to play stupid and see this as all some sort of blessing, some miracle.

While the soup cooks you fill a glass with clean, cold water. Relishing in the taste of something fresh. When you’ve downed the first glass you refill it again. This time with an intention to make it last longer.

After the first spoonful you find that you like vegetable soup very much. Almost burning your mouth as you devour it in a few minutes. Immediately it feels as though you’ve been recharged. The warmth from the fire has spread throughout the ground floor, your fingers have warmed around the bowl of soup and your body no longer feels related to a glacier.

The sky only darkens as you sit by the fire. Basking in the warmth and taking a moment to rest for the first time in months. You don’t imagine ever leaving your spot on the floor. But the promise of a bed upstairs has you moving your legs in that direction.

Before your ascent to the second floor, you strip your clothes and hang them on a drying rack you found to the side of the fire. Now left in the nude.

Upstairs you find multiple bedrooms. All almost identical, except for one at the end of the hall. You assume this is the Cabin’s master bedroom as it’s slightly larger than the others. Inside there’s a wardrobe full of clothes, a full length mirror, a TV, some sort of game station, and of course the larger than most bed.

In the mirror you catch sight of yourself. The cuts of course stand out first. From the slight turn you can muster in your neck, you can see large welts and thin cuts, bruises and scrapes, all littering the previously plain skin. From the front and behind, your legs look like a Jackson Pollock original piece.

Capturing various purple and blues surrounded by smaller splodges of green and brown. With the occasional black blob or two to really contrast the overall tone of the piece.

As a child you had a strange infatuation with your bruises. Likening them to a sticker or badge of achievement. They were easy to come by during training. A strange part of you liked the way they looked on your skin. They acted as a log book of the hits you’d taken, the falls you’d taken, any sort of impacts you’d had. They made you feel strong, maybe even proud too.

Staring into the mirror at your body again, it all seems worthless. You knew you were strong before. You didn’t need months as a prisoner to prove it.

You take a few steps forward to properly look at your face. Who stares back must be a stranger. You haven’t let your eyebrows be this out of shape since you were thirteen. You didn’t have that scar above under your chin before. Your eyes were always so bright and vivid. Not lifeless or hollow or so lost.

With newfound energy you take yourself to the nearest bathroom. That just so happens to be the en-suite in the bedroom. It doesn’t surprise you. Nothing about this abandoned, well stocked cabin does anymore.

Instead you shower in one of the nicest bathrooms you’ve been to in a long time.

At first the water has you freezing. Not due to the temperature but because of the fire it lights on your back. Every scrape, every cut, every burn now being cleaned. The cleanse sets your body alight. In a way you feel the heat is helping you to heal. Granted, all you have to show for it is a mixture of blood and grime, floating slowly down the drain. But it’s more than that.

It’s the last few months being scrubbed off your skin. Your wounds and ailments being shown that this is the end. They can heal in peace. You can heal in peace.

So you take your time. Using any products you can find; shampoos, conditioners, body wash, face wash. You’ve acquired a new razor, fresh from the packet. It’s amazing what a difference shaving your legs and various other places can do to your mood. You’ve always preferred removing the body hair. Afterwards the feeling of smooth legs under a thick duvet made all the work worth it.

The final step, bar drying yourself, was brushing tour yellowing and plaque ridden teeth. The minty taste in your mouth feels unfamiliar but it welcomed nonetheless. Wiping your tongue across the now almost pearly-whites you’re happy with how smooth they feel.

Now showered, shaved and dried, you make you way into the bedroom. Finding the wardrobe and drawers to be filled wit strictly masculine clothes. You pick out a pair of boxers and one of the large white t-shirts to sleep in. The shirt dwarfs you in size, looking more like a dress. Not one that you would wear outside though. Not with the black boxers showering through the material, or your hardened nipples making an appearance.

With your towel back in the bathroom and the lights off, you crawl into bed. Letting out the loudest sigh your sore throat could muster. Then quickly falling asleep on the linen.

It was snowing. In fact it was a fucking blizzard.

A barrage of white, dagger-like snowflakes pelted against the four men. The lack of light and the dense haze of the storm made it impossible to see where they were going. They were all thankful for the less than modern compass. Hidden away at the bottom of Jonny’s bag. When he acquired it was unknown. But the four were grateful nonetheless that the Scott had the dated equipment in is kit.

After their week long training they were ready to fall asleep on the nearest surface. The blizzard they now faced was an unexpected one. Nothing on Price’s radar Gad alerted them to such a storm.

They’d just finished their survival training in the mountains when the first snowflake formed. During the rest of their descent it had only worsened.

As the snow around them thickened they trudged on. Becoming more aware of the weight of their kit, ache of their muscles and chill in their bones. These men were tired, hungry and cold.

After more miles and more words of encouragement from Price, Gaz was sure they were close to the safe house now.

Laswell had been kind enough to let them use the safe house after a particularly gruelling training exercise. It would be the closest thing to a holiday the 141 would get this year. Before the worst of the storm it had the Scotsman joking that he would build a snowman outside. An idea quickly shot down by Ghost in the interest of remaining vigilant to an enemies surrounding the house.

While snowmen were out of the question, snowballs were not. Something Ghost found out, twice, in the back of the head. Turning to see an innocent looking Gaz and Soap.

“You’ll regret that when we’re back on base and you two are on shit duty” the balaclava wearing Brit grumbles.

Soap sighs dramatically, “Oh come on Lt. Dinnae be like that, it was only a joke”.

The threat prompts Kyle to add, “It was all Soaps idea, think he should get shit duties on his own.”

Soap gasps feigning offence, “You bleeding clipe, don’t come knocking on my door when you want someone to warm your bed tonight.”

The comment causes the younger man’s face to heat up and laughs to come from the others.

“That if we get there in this blizzard” the captain quips. Trying to keep morale, but refusing to ignore the sinking feeling that they’ve missed the safe house completely.

“How far now?” Gaz asks, determined not to start pestering like an insolent child. Yet equally determined to have a proper meal and get out of his cold clothes.

“Two klicks north, then we should be there.” Soap tells him, loud enough for the others to hear in the now whipping winds.

“It was two klicks north last time someone asked Soap, are you sure you’re reading that right lad?” Price finds himself asking. Despite his rank, his military expertise and all his training agains the elements, it doesn’t make him immune to the cold. Immune to looking forward to sitting by a fire with a cup of tea in his hands.

Laswell wasn’t one to be stingy with safe house stock. From previous safe houses he’d been to that she had set up, they’d been a home away from home. Proper bedrooms, running water, stocked shelves. Price found himself ready to welcome anything that had four walls, a roof and could shelter him and his men from the storm.

“Two klicks north Captain, I’m sure”. Jonny confirms.

Sure enough, through the dense curtain of blizzard, light emerges. A gentle glow against the black nights sky. The closer they get, the clearer the house becomes.

A log cabin.

A big one at that. The sight is inviting enough to bring a smile to the men’s faces.

“Laswell’s outdone herself this time, fuckin yaldy” soap practically exclaims. Pushing forward to the front of the pack, in an effort to get in first.

“Hold it Jonny,” Simons voice is quiet through the mask, but harsh enough that the others can hear.

Ghost points to the chimney, “someone’s here”.

Sure enough as the others look up, they too see the plumes of smoke, gently rising from the brick chimney.

“Another team captain?” Gaz finds himself asking, while reaching for the know hidden in his thigh holster.

Price finds himself doing the same, “No, we’re the only ones in the country.”

The tension in the air is thick, rivals the thick snow pelting down on them. The four of them stand motionless, a short distance from the front door. Covered head to toe in winter gear, a layer of the snowstorm attached to anything it can stick to.

“Right, there’s only one door. I’ll lead. We’ll secure the ground floor first. Stay silent, we do this quietly.” Price commands. The men nod, moving to grasp their various knives. Following their captain as he moves to the front of the cabin.

With an almost inaudible creek, Price turns the handle of the door. Pushing the oak forward, grateful that it seems to glide over the wooden floors. Allowing him and his men to breach the property without alerting its inhabitants.

Price enters the living room first, signalling for the others to spread out and search the rest of the floor. He does indeed find a crackling fire, yet no one man’s it. The warmth is welcomed, but for the time being he ignores any desire to sit near it and warm himself.

His attention moves to the drying rack set up beside the fire. Upon further inspection of the items he finds combat trousers, a compression t shirt and a pair of large boots, size 12 he gathers from the label on the tongue. The clothes are still damp to the touch, leading him to infer that the intruder arrived a short time ago.

The badge on the arm of the shirt catches his eye. He rips it off the Velcro and examines it up close. An unknown insignia, contractor perhaps? Some new found terrorist group? Price doesn’t know. It’s not one he’s come across before.

Simon searches the kitchen. The space is a decent size, dark too. He blends into the shadows as he checks the space for any sign of life. He finds a empty soup can on one of the worktops. Turning to the sink he notices a single glass and pan siting there.

Once finished in his search he creeps back to the living room. Finding his captain there, along with a stoic looking soap and serious looking Gaz.

Price raises his hand to Simon, showcasing the fabric insignia to him. With cold eyes Ghost runs over the stitchwork. Mind running through the possible groups it could be associated with.

“Any ideas?” Price asks in a hushed voice.

Ghosts silence is a loud enough answer for the group. No

“Whoever they are haven’t been here long. Their clothes are still damp. Large boots, size 12.” Price goes through the details he’s uncovered.

“Men’s?” Gaz asks.

“Most likely”.

“There’s a pan in the kitchen. They’ve had soup. Only one glass.” Ghost reels off.

“We don’t know who we’re dealing with, could be anyone. Stay vigilant. Be prepared for a fight. I’ll take the lead upstairs. Shout if you find anything.” Price commands.

The team follow him single file up the stairs. Weapons at the ready as the sneak up the steps. Footsteps light on the wooden floor.

Price takes the first door, Gaz the second, Ghost the third and Soap the last door at the end of the hallway.

While three of the 141 find their rooms to be empty, Soap stops in the doorway. After almost silently twisting the door handle and letting it slide open, he stands in silence. What he didn’t expect to find was a girl sleep in the master bed, a pretty girl to be exact.

The Scotsman finds himself lost for words. He expected to have to fight someone of his stature. Maybe larger. He expected to walk away with a bruise or two. He feels lost on what to do. Should he wake her? Should he leave her?

Meanwhile the others have gathered in the hallway. Sharing a concerned glance at their teammate.

“What is it soap?” Ghost asked quietly.

“It’s a lass. A bonnie lass at that.” He tells them. Wonder in his tone as he stares at the sleeping girl. Watching as her chest rises and falls at a steady rate. Completely unaware of the four men that have entered the house.

The men collectively frown, walking further to investigate themselves. Sure enough, after they pass the threshold of the master bedroom, they too stand frozen. A girl. Not a man, or group of men. A girl, sleeping in their bed, in their log cabin.

Completely unaware.

Careful Around Feelings - Max Verstappen

Summary: After their 6 year old tells y/n something, she has to encourage them to tell Max but even she wonders how this will end and if feelings will be hurt or not.

No part 2 requests please

With Max and y/n having Matthew before the end of Max's F1 career, Matthew's first couple years of life saw him so obsessed with seeing Max on track, it was no surprise that by the time he was 3 he was begging for a kart and getting to bond with Max and even on some occasions Jos.

He loved it.

Or so everyone thought.

"Mummy..." A small voice mumbles as y/n grunts trying to change bed sheets because for some reason her second pregnancy has her changing them twice a week, she's really in a cleaning frenzy for some reason even though at 7 months pregnant it's pretty exhausting.

"Hey, baby. Everything ok?" Y/n smiles brightly since she's made it a priority to never let Matthew think he's lost priority with a younger sibling on the way.

"Mummy." Matthew sniffles, hiccuping and making her rush forward. Picking up the 6 year old despite knowing Max would have an aneurysm from such a physical activity.

"Ok, baby. We need to just calm down and then when you've done that, you can tell me what's wrong ok?" Y/n soothes sitting down on the bed and managing to keep Matthew on her lap despite the compromised space by her bump.

It takes a few minutes but Matthew does eventually calm down and catch his breath.

"Alright, baby. Tell mummy what's wrong." Y/n smiles lightly though internally seeing Matthew so worked up by something like this is honestly so horrible to see.

"I don't want to kart anymore." Matthew hiccups making y/n almost deflate in relief that it's not something more serious like...he killed an animal and she had a mini serial killer on her hands.

"Oh. Well that's ok. You don't have to kart if you don't want to baby." Y/n states since she'd support her children through any interest and loss of interest if that's how they feel.

"I'm scared to tell daddy."

And if that knowledge wouldn't break Max's heart, Matthew being too scared to tell him that he doesn't want to kart anymore. But she gets it, for Matthew this is a big way he gets to spend time with Max one to one and Max is always so happy and proud of Matthew.

"Baby, you should never be scared to tell daddy anything. He loves you for you not because you kart. You're his baby, he just wants you to be happy. We both just want you to be happy. If karting doesn't make you happy anymore then you can stop. It's ok." Y/n states making Matthew sniffle as she pulls him closer and kisses his temple with a sigh. "I hate seeing you so sad about this baby. You don't need to be sad."

"I don't want to make daddy sad." Matthew mumbles only further breaking y/n's heart. Matthew really is the perfect kid, with his only flaw that he considers others too much. Sometimes the kid just needs to learn to be selfish and not sorry for it.

"I think when daddy gets back, you and him can sit down and talk and you can tell him. I promise, I double-triple crossed my heart promise, that he won't be upset. Ok?" Y/n smiles gently while cupping his face with one hand and wiping the stray tears away. "Your daddy and I will be proud of you no matter what you do. Is there something else you think you want to do?"

"I want to tell daddy what I want to do instead."

"Oh right, not mummy?" Y/n jokes with a fake pout. "No, it's ok. You tell daddy first and then you can tell me. Now, how about you help mummy finish making the bed?"

Matthew is too small to really help with much, but he ends up doing the pillow cases and helping her carry the dirty sheets to the washing machine.

Then they decide to eat to kill time while waiting for Max to get home.

-

Matthew ended up wanting y/n there as a form of emotional support but she insisted he would need to tell her.

"Uh oh, am I in trouble?" Max chuckles as Matthew walks in holding y/n's hand and then being gently guided forward while y/n smiles with an expression that tells Max is going to be spoken to about something that is serious.

"Matthew has something he wants to tell you." Y/n states making Max nod before the 6 year old steps up to him, tears already welling up as he feels y/n gently rub his back before she steps back. "Go on, baby."

Max acts quickly wanting to comfort his son as quick at possible and pulls him up onto his lap since he hates seeing Matthew in tears over anything.

"I don't want to kart anymore." Matthew mumbles in such a way that even y/n frowns since it's impossible to decode his words.

"Sorry, buddy. I missed that." Max frowns in confusion while Matthew glances at y/n and she smiles reassuring him as best she can.

"I don't want to kart anymore, daddy." Matthew repeats making Max sigh then wrapping his arms around the 6 year old who starts sniffling clearly a little overwhelmed by saying it out loud for Max to hear. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, you don't have to be sorry. You don't have to kart if you don't want to. That doesn't matter. I just hate seeing you so upset." Max states trying to laugh and lighten the atmosphere. "You can do whatever you want. You don't have to do karting."

"Ok." Matthew nods with a thick swallow.

Max continues to hold Matthew tightly sighing as he looks over him to y/n who smiles at him.

"I want to do MotoGP. Not F1." Matthew states making y/n almost feel like he's just punched her gut.

Obviously F1 is dangerous enough of a sport. But there's something slightly more comfortable that the car is built with elements to protect the driver in the car. MotoGP basically replies entirely on the suits they're wearing and they can, and often do, go flying off of the bikes in races.

"MotoGP, well you're already cooler than me. We'll look into it and start seeing what we can do." Max nods not missing his wife's physical reaction that Matthew thankfully didn't see.

-

Max smiles walking into the bedroom finding y/n is just lying splayed out on their bed.

"Thinking about MotoGP?" Max teases as he closes the door.

"He told me he wanted to do something else. I was really hoping it was like...open a cat cafe or maybe football-padel! But how did he take the one route that is more dangerous." Y/n groans then sighing. "I blame your genetics entirely."

"That's ok, I don't think we can blame yours." Max smiles sitting on the bed next to her and leaning over to kiss her before he sighs pushing her top up to expose the bump. "How is baby girl? Any name ideas?"

"You think I've had time to think about names when my first baby has just raised my blood pressure. No wonder he didn't want to tell me first..." Y/n groans while Max rubs over the tight skin of her bump. "Our kid is annoyingly intuitive for knowing when to not break news vs when to break it when it comes to me."

"At least he trusts you to help him get the courage to say it...I hate that he was so scared to tell me." Max mumbles earning y/n's attention but he speaks up again before she can utter a word. "I'm going to get the oil for your bump."

"Max, you know he just didn't want to lose the time he gets to spend with you because he knows you did karting-it's not because he's actually scared of you." Y/n states as Max grabs the oil for her and begins to gently pour it onto her skin then closing and tossing bottle. "Max..."

"I know, but...I thought I'd done a good enough job that he would be able to just come to me."

"Well you can't blame him for being a mummy's boy, I'm a pretty amazing mum and he always asks for my help before yours." Y/n smirks trying to light the mood which thankfully seems to work. "Matthew adores you, baby. All he wants it to keep making you proud of him."

"He always makes me proud. I'd be proud of him if all he dad was follow you around like a puppy...that's what I do when I can."

Y/n grins at him as he leans over kissing her then getting back to rubbing the oil into her bump.

"How are you feeling beside his new choice of future career?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Might need to start waiting for you to be around to help with the sheets. I think I almost had an asthma attack today." Y/n sighs shaking her head.

"If you'd wait. Then I'd do it for you."

"Well I'm not sorry for being impatient. I just like to do things that I like to do them." Y/n states making Max grumble a little while she grins at him. "Anyway, enough of that. I'm exhausted so finish rubbing that oil in and we can settle down and cuddle."

"Yes, boss." Max salutes with a grin.