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pugh-bug · 6 months ago

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Flashing Lights

Art Donaldson x reader

If people like this I’ll write a part 2 and possibly some sub Art fics in the future. Challengers is all I can think about at the moment and this blonde man is living rent free in my brain.

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‘Come on come on, they can never have too many pictures taken of them!’

Your friend dragged you and your mediocre camera, quite forcefully, to Tashi Duncan’s party. It wasn’t just that you hadn’t been invited and that you weren’t remotely a tennis player it was that Ashley’s lame excuse of ‘they need more photographers’ was patently untrue. Everywhere you looked there were photographers with cameras that cost more than your yearly rent.

‘I’ll get us a drink wait here.’

You watched her confidently insert herself into the queue for the bar, in between endless posters of Tashi Duncan hoodies and Tashi Duncan headbands. If you hadn’t been such a feminist you might have felt a little sick from all the masturbatory self promotion.

In your idleness you decided to people watch. There were no less than a hundred people there already, all dressed elegantly with hair and makeup that no doubt took longer to do than the night would even last. You pulled at your tight dress. Flattering? Definitely. Comfortable? Absolutely not. Ashley had the tennis body, the Tashi Duncan confidence and skill but without the praise or queue of fans. You had your camera.

You hadn’t touched a tennis racket since you were ten years old. These people weren’t your peers they were your betters, including the snobby photographers and perhaps even including Ashely. At least she knew what ‘down the line’ meant.

‘Can we go?’ Your voice sounded bitter as Ashley handed you a cocktail. ‘I’ve got two photoshoots to edit for tomorrow and I don’t even like tennis! Why am I even here?’ As your friend defended her plan to ‘sleep with as many rich tennis players as possible’ your eyes wandered once again, this time landing on a man who needed no introduction.

‘Is that … Art Donaldson?’

It was him, smoking a cigarette by Patrick Zweig dressed for Summer. Fire and ice in the flesh. You suddenly felt the need to readjust your dress, your hair, your earrings. To fidget. To fidget and prepare for the chance he might look in your direction and see what he wanted.

‘Fuck me it’s Zweig.’

As Ashley launched into a thesis on why Patrick was the hottest man she’d ever seen, your eyes bored into the side of Art’s head. His curls fell so perfectly on his forehead but all you could find yourself imagining was messing them up. As your staring breached the line of too far, Ashley tapped your arm. ‘Think I should go talk to him? Flirt a bit? He’s a bit of a man whore, I’m pretty sure I could get him.’ Just as you opened your mouth to speak, the recipient of your staring began to move closer.

It only took a few moments for Art to reach yours and Ashley’s corner of refuge but his eyes never strayed from you. Zweig had followed him like a puppy and whilst you couldn’t have cared less where the brunette chose to stand, you could practically feel Ashley screaming in her head.

‘Aaliyah right? You basically murdered my friend out there yesterday.’ As Ashley corrected Patrick’s memory, you forced your eyes to look at anything that wasn’t Art’s knowing smirk in your direction. It didn’t work, in fact your refusal to make eye contact with the future star had made your feelings glaringly obvious.

You’d watched him play many times, instead of doing your own work, and although you found tennis a little boring the man had you riveted. The ease at which he hit the ball with such force, the little hand movements he’d do during a tie break and his cruel habit of taking his shirt off on hot days … you were hooked.

As he eyed your dress you wondered if he’d seen you, made note of just how many matches you’d been front and centre at. Maybe he knew you were an amateur photographer and perhaps his smirk was intended as a mockery of your being there. Art knew you didn’t belong at thee Tashi Duncan’s after party. You both knew it. He looked at you, finally as you’d lifted your gaze, and cocked his head slightly to the side.

‘So, you don’t like tennis?’

Shit.

‘Oh. You heard that.’

‘Yep.’

His voice was glazed with amusement as he sipped his cold beer, daring you to defend yourself.

‘Ashley was invited,’ you lied with little ease. ‘I’m here as her friend- well I guess also photographer but you all seem to have that covered.’ Both yours and Art’s eyes glanced at the gang of professionals taking Tashi’s photo. She was holding the shimmering trophy as if it was nothing of real value, she had the humble but proud smile down. Art clocked your jealous expression and raised an eyebrow. ‘Tashi not your favourite?’

‘She’s pretty amazing and she looks fucking beautiful tonight I can’t lie. I just, I guess I wish I was that talented.’

Despite her successful flirting to Patrick, Ashley heard your little, sad admission. Mentally you scolded yourself for letting Art see your vulnerable side. Instead of judgement he smiled.

‘Are you not the best at getting front row seats?’

He left off ‘at my matches’ but the point had been made loud and clear. You chose not to react and to ignore him completely. ‘Ashley?’ But when you turned your head to your friend you saw her mouth was occupied. Oh.

Art laughed at his best friend. ‘Seriously? You couldn’t go one night?’ No, Patrick couldn’t and he couldn’t find it in his horny heart to feel guilty for stealing your one friend and escape route from you. The pair, still connected by their lips, hurried away from the party and to some poor fucker’s bedroom. You were alone with Art Donaldson and the party that engulfed the two of you had began to die down.

‘I should go too-‘

‘Wanna go down to the beach with me?’

You couldn’t help but scoff audibly at his request. ‘You don’t even know my name.’

Art’s eyes practically gleamed with cheekiness as he moved towards you. ‘Then tell me.’

‘It’s Y/N.’

With a charming smile he repeated his offer. ‘Y/N… wanna go down to the beach with me?’

If a mind reader had been in attendance you’d have been mortified as your first thought was: Oh god have I even shaved?

The decision to take your heels off had been an impulsive one and an instant regret as you felt the brittle sand rub against your toes. Avoiding the broken glass, you walked into Art’s shoulder and quickly apologised. ‘You’re like a baby deer.’

You perched on the rock overlooking the water that moonlight reached. Art’s eyes were transfixed on you as your hair blew from your shoulders. Surely he was just bored and flirting for fun. But you hadn’t seen him speak to anyone except Patrick before approaching you.

‘What is it about photography?’ Art gestured to the camera you almost forgot you were still wearing around your neck.

‘What is it about tennis?’

Art lit his second cigarette, took a drag and smirked.

‘I’ll let you answer that.’

Much to his elation, your dress had begun to ride up but you hadn’t noticed. You simply dug your toes in the sand and smiled coyly at the blonde. But how to best handle this?

‘Watching you play tennis isn’t like watching other people play tennis.’

Art grinned, only for a moment, but you caught the ego boost in real time. He moved backwards in his chair, outstretching his long legs and looking up at you with keen interest and quiet amusement. ‘Go on.’

Your mind flashed back to his most recent match. His opponent had purposefully coughed every time it was Art’s turn to serve and instead of letting it distract him or doing it back Art had fired the ball, with force, by his head. It had been a warning, not a greatly subtle one but certainly great to watch. The shock on the boys face as he narrowly missed receiving a black eye had made you laugh and you suddenly remembered Art had beamed at you when you had.

‘You’re just really good at it.’

‘Try again.’

He wasn’t making this easy for you but that didn’t mean you had to shower him in compliments, not when he hadn’t so much as asked you your name until prompted. You watched him, completely settled and comfortable in Tashi Duncan’s deck hair and wondered if someone this confident and talented (and knew as much) could possibly be single… unless?

‘Are you and Patrick just friends?’

He twitched ever so slightly at your question before covering his shock with a chuckle.

‘Umm.. yes. Sorry to disappoint.’

You smiled, suddenly feeling more confident now that you’d put him on the spot for the first time that night.

‘Not disappointed.’

Seeing you at ease, seemingly with any answer he had to offer, Art relaxed into his chair again. A moment of silence passed as the two of you listened to the very end of the party above and the seas tumbling waves. The water was just beginning to reach the rock you’d been safely perching on. A sign to leave.

‘I think I should go back to my ho-AAA!’

You’d barely taken two steps before buried broken glass assaulted your feet.

‘Jesus fuck!’

‘Y/N!’

The pain shot through you from toe to head, it settled in between your eyebrows as you frowned, trying not to scream. Art’s face was a picture of panic. He couldn’t help but notice how much pain you were in from putting weight on your foot, which had just begun to bleed as a thought entered his head.

‘I’ll carry you.’

‘I think I can walk.’

You took a hesitant step further but your foot ,in an act of betrayal, buckled under the pain. Giving Art a look of defeat you sighed. ‘Yeah, I think you’re gonna have to.’

You thought it would feel strange, the man whom you’d been watching almost obsessively for months play a sport you despised carrying you to safety. It didn’t. It felt right. His strong arms flexed under your weight as he took confident but cautious steps to Tashi’s party. There wasn’t much left of it. In fact the only people still there were two photographers packing up their lighting equipment and they didn’t give you so much as a second glance.

‘Any chance you secretly are friends with Tashi?’ Art asked, his voice hopeful, hoping he could drop you off to safety. He pursed his lips when you shook your head. Another moment of silence passed through the two of you but this one was different. You craned your neck out to gage the distance before suggesting:

‘My hotel really isn’t far. A mile at most.’

Art smirked for a moment, forgetting what the actual circumstances were. Your foot had stopped bleeding but you didn’t feel like walking. In fact you were rather enjoying Art Donaldson: the knight in shining armour. It was a good look on him.

‘Uber?’

‘Think of it as a workout.’

It wasn’t the recreational workout Art had been hoping for that night but he did it. He carried you and your shoes to your hotel room. The receptionist barely reacted to your new person but of course what did she care? She was probably only concerned with what mess you’d leave the cleaners.

‘67, this is it.’

Art put you down, keeping his arm around your waist for support. He was a little flushed from the exertion and you were flushed from the pain, or perhaps just his wandering hand.

‘Do you want me to st-‘

‘I want you to stay.’ You interrupted him hurriedly, desperate for him to stay. In that moment you didn’t mind if he stayed to read the complimentary bible next to you or if he wanted to fuck you mercilessly in front of the bathroom mirror. You just wanted him close.

At your eagerness, Art smiled following you in. Your hotel room was not too messy for visitors but it certainly hadn’t been expecting any. For a moment you wondered how Ashley was getting on in her room down the hall and if she too had embarrassed herself in front of her favourite tennis player. Somewhat likely.

‘I think seeing as you’ve carried me bleeding you can see me in pyjamas. Give me one se-‘

You gestured to the bathroom and your dress, looking forward to getting out of it but Art shook his head. You froze. His face was one of sheer determination and unwavering confidence, not unlike the look he gave cocky opponents who needed humbling. He closed the gap between you until his chest was inches from yours but blocked by your camera. You took it off, not breaking eye contact, and placed it slowly on the desk behind you.

Just as you thought the only way to break the silence would be with a kiss, Art broke eye contact. ‘Do you have any antiseptic wipes? Anything to clean it?’ You felt your stomach unclench. ‘Yeah.’ Limping slightly, you fetched a packet from the bathroom sink and placed them in Art’s open palm. He gestured to the bed.

‘Sit.’

His order was polite but you felt compelled. Sitting on your own bed as if it was alien, you looked up at him waiting for the next.

‘Foot.’

Art got down on his knees. Your stomach flipped. With careful hands, he held your injured foot and inspected it. You’d never felt so exposed before, the way his eyes engaged with your wound as if it were more fascinating than any match he’d won. There was an unspoken rule for neither of you to speak as he cleaned you. It stung like a bitch but you only let out minor hisses in pain, barely audible to Art but not unnoticeable.

As he took out a plaster, seemingly from thin air, and applied it to your foot he said: ‘Before tonight,’ Ouch. You winced from the pressure he applied. ‘I’d seen you watching me.’ He didn’t look at you, only concentrating on his handiwork and causing you as little pain as possible.

‘Yeah I gathered from all the teasing.’

His voice grew suddenly lower. ‘I’m not talking about tennis matches.’

You were suddenly reminded of a not so distant memory. Ashley had stood you up for lunch, she’d found a better hot date, and you had been in the cafeteria alone. Art had been queuing in front of you, waiting for Patrick and you’d been in awe. What you hadn’t noticed was that he’d sensed your eyes burning holes into the back of his head long before he turned around. He had given you a passing look of recognition and slight amusement before finding his seat next to Patrick.

You imagined alongside that memory were hundreds others. Hundreds of days you’d stared at Art, watched how he span his apples before eating them and the line of his jaw when he drank water in oppressive heat. All the time he had known, you just hadn’t been as subtle as you thought.

‘Oh.’

Art gave you your foot back and sat on the bed beside you. For a moment you couldn’t bare to look at him, incase he disappeared and decided it was funnier to leave you hanging. Your foot was the least of your worries. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d really kissed someone, with feverish need, but you wanted to.

Noticing your inward battle, Art raised his hands almost in defeat. ‘I can leave.’ He meant it, there was no judgement. You turned to him, your eyes meeting his clouded with lust, and recognised that this was a man who needed to be wanted. He wanted to give and receive pleasure, not out of boredom but out of a clawing need for it. If you wanted him to leave then he’d leave but if you wanted him to stay then he’d make the most of it.

Your hand settled atop of his.

‘Don’t.’

Part 2

Masterlist

#challengers #challengers fic #mike faist #art donaldson #art Donaldson x reader #art donaldson fan fic #art donaldson fanfic #challengers x reader #challengers art Donaldson #challengers 2024 #x reader

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gilverrwrites · 3 months ago

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Call me Tim

Tim Drake/Reader, 2K

[Say his name, P2] AN: I did not expect part 1 to be se well recieved, here hoping part 2 was worth the wait! CWs: Breach of trust, teasing, semi-public foreplay, mildly stalker-ish behaviour on Tims part.

Tim had always told himself that fucking his fans was not a thing for him. Not a kink. Bernard was different, he just had so much passion. He would have been into him regardless of whatever he was fixated on.

Then you happened.

Ever since he’s been telling himself that it was coincidence, not causation. And again, he liked you before he found out you’d spent your formative years kissing cutouts of him. Well, he doesn’t know that part for sure, but he liked to imagine it. Point being; your adolescent crush on him was not the driving force behind his attraction to you.

But as he found himself plotting ways to naturally bump into you as Tim Drake-Wayne, it was becoming increasingly harder to deny that he maybe was, a little bit, kind of into it.

Hitting you up online? Too out of the blue.

Turning up at your house? Way too much.

Then one night the perfect opportunity arose. He’d overheard you making plans to meet some friends at an uptown bar later that week. He wasn’t scheduled to patrol that night. Despite the logical part of his brain telling him it was a creepy move, he just couldn’t pass up the chance. Red Robin had to be so cautious around you, but if you hit it off with Tim he could let a little loose around you.

That’s how he’s ended up sitting on the table adjacent to yours, listening in on your private conversation and praying you wouldn’t recognise him before he was ready.

“So have you guys ever had someone ask you to call them by a different name when you’re… you know?” He nearly coughs on his drink, sitting bolt upright as though it will help him hear better. He trusts you not to spill on who the guy is. You’d had that conversation already, but he wants to hear you say Tim again.

“What like ‘Daddy’? Yeah, my ex was into that.”

“No.” Your voice has grown so quiet, laced with a sheepish laugh just like the morning you’d confessed about your crush to him. God, he wishes he could turn around and look at your face. He’d bet you’re all flustered. “Like, another actual man’s name?”

“No, hon. That’s weird.”

“Who’s the guy? Whose name?”

“You don’t know him.” You shut down the first question. He bets your fidgeting, looking at anything other than your friends as you consider your next words cafeully. “But he wanted me to call him Tim. As in, Tim Drake.”

“That’s really weird. Did he know you used to be down bad for him?”

He knows it's mean to turn around now, and worse, risky. Liable to scare you away but it’s so worth it to see the five stages of grief cross your face in the span of 3 seconds when you notice him. You're like a starstruck deer in the headlights as the word “yeah” dies on your lips. If he cupped your cheeks right now, he's certain the heat would burn away any remnants of his fingerprints.

The whole table falls silent as one by one, your friend’s clue into the situation. If it weren’t for their sickly amused smiles, and the foley of the bar, you’d think the world has stopped turning. You wish the world would stop turning.

He’s staring at you with an almost impish smile and your fight, flight, or freeze kicks in. You opt for stuttering “I have to piss!” As you abruptly leave the table.

I have to piss. You just bumped into The Tim Drake, and the first things he heard from your mouth were that you’d called his name while hooking up with someone, and I have to piss.

The queue to the solo bathroom in this place is always long, and usually you’d be annoyed but tonight you’re grateful for the extra time to compose yourself, or you would be if you apparently hadn’t been followed.

“So, is he your boyfriend?” Where the fuck had he come from? You hadn’t seen him approach at all.

“He’s…” Not, not your boyfriend. You see each other at least weekly, sometimes you cook for him, and he often brings you gifts. However, you’ve never had that conversation, you don’t even know who he is under the mask. You don’t have his phone number. Despite multiple sexual encounters, you hadn’t even seen him naked. Now that you think about it, there’s a definite power imbalance in whatever you have. “Why?”

You’re much more defensive of his teasing than you are with Red Robin. Understandable, you didn’t really know Tim, and he’s really hit you out of left field. This is all turning out a bit crueller than he’d intended, but he can’t bring himself to stop. Your apprehension tonight is as tempting as your timidness had been last time. It’s like he’s trying to seduce you on hard mode.

“Just tryin’ to find out if it would be appropriate to buy you a drink, maybe ask you to dance?” He sounds off. Not like he does in the TV interviews and podcasts you’d heard him on, but still familiar. It’s hard to focus on, however, because he’s standing so close. Close enough for you to smell the fresh sweetness of his aftershave, for you to see the features you’ve been fantasising about up close.

“This place doesn’t have a dance floor.”

“We could go to another place.”

“Oh no buddy, I’m not going to any secondary locations.” He can’t help the smile that crosses his lips. You remembered his safety tip. He just hopes it reads as anything other than prideful to you right now. “Don’t think for a second just cause you heard what you heard that I’m gonna fall all over you.”

“Buddy? You can call me Tim.” The obvious innuendo has you cracking a genuine smile. Your nerves are still apparent from the way you're tapping your fingers against your thigh, and your refusal to make meaningful eye contact with him but he’s chipping at your walls. There's four people waiting ahead, and he wonders if he can breach your shields completely before it's your turn. “Or if it makes you feel better you could call me whatever that other guy’s name is.”

“Is this how you get people to sleep with you? You tease them relentlessly until they give up just so you’ll go away when it’s over?”

“Ouch.” You have a point, he’s never behaved like this before. He’s always been a self-confessed smartass, but you just bring out something especially brazen within him. Something wicked. He’s being a jerk, but you’re chewing your lips and sneaking awed glances at him, which implies you’re more into it than you’d admit. “Am I not what you expected?”

He probably would live up to your expectations had this been your real first meeting. If he wasn’t already comfortable around you, he’d be enamoured by your appearance, too skittish to match your keen whit or ask about your hobbies, not when you look at him with those eyes. If anything, the typical Tim Drake persona might even bore you by rambling on about detective novels or WayneTech.

“You’re why people say you should never meet your heroes.”

“Okay, fine.” Maybe he had gotten a bit carried away messing with you. “Can I just ask you one more thing, and then I’ll go away, or buy you a drink? Whatever you want.”

Your eyes drift up to the ceiling as you consider his offer. It’s not an uncommon tick for people to have, but it’s certainly more endearing when you do it. Eventually, you nod, conceding to him and offering real, esrnest eye contact. You’re still willing to hear out your favourite celebrity, and a pang of guilt at once again abusing his authority thrums through his chest.

It doesn’t stop him from asking, however. “What clued this guy into your crush on me?”

“Pictures.” You frown, still not breaking eye contact. Something is different. The nervous energy you’ve been emanating since he’d followed you to the line has subsided, replaced by something tantalisingly self-assured.

“Pictures of what?”

He tries to pry but you give him nothing.

“Of you.”

“What kind of pictures.”

The answers here don’t matter to him anyway, he already knows. He’s just trying to segue into a specific set of questions.

“Just, pictures.”

“How ambiguous.” Here’s his chance to try and satisfy that burning fantasy. “Did you practice kissing on them?”

“What? No.” Your tense shoulders say otherwise. “Why would you even ask that?”

“I don’t know.” Perfect. He gives his best noncommittal shrug before leaning in closer, balancing his weight on the wall behind you until the distance between your bodies is closed. He can still pick up hints of your body wash, but it’s washed out but the smell of a parfum that he wishes he could spray on his pillows at night. “Thought I’d offer you the real thing to compare.”

Your response isn’t what he’s expected, but it is what he’s hoped. Your lips press softly against the corner of his lips, and he can’t stop from locking a hand on your hip, not to force anything further, but to stop you from backing away. Although, the wall he has you partly confined against has been doing a pretty good job thus far.

He needn’t bother, however, because it doesn’t take long for you to grow more confident. This is the moment he’s been waiting for.

His mouth parts at the first sign of your tongue and you eagerly explore his mouth. He tastes like IPA, hoppy and warm. Your hands boldly play across his chest, until you fist the fabric of his shirt and tug him closer, deepening the kiss until he moans into your open mouth.

Your sudden boldness is doing things for him. Head spinney, dick hard things. Thoughtlessly, he ruts his hips, rubbing his clothes cock against your lower abdomen until you pull away with a laugh. It’s his turn to be nervous. You’re looking at him with something fierce and canny.

“Excuse me.” A clearly unamused man interjects himself between your embrace to point at the bathroom. “Are you waiting?”

“Oh, yeah.” Tim is surprised by your chipper poise, as you smile politely at the man. He’s even more surprised when you hook your fingers into the give of his leather belt and proceed to drag him with you into the cubicle, locking him inside with you as you offer thanks to the stranger.

“What are you doing?”

“Comparing with the real thing.” You grace him with another, hard kiss, backing him against the door. Your tongue is hot against his already heated skin as you hurriedly work it along his jaw and neck. He remembers how you’d looked when you’d first noticed him earlier and wonders if his burning face looks equally as nonplussed as he lets you have your way with him against the bathroom door.

He hisses when you plunge your fingers below his belt once more, this time unbuckling it. You’ve fucking cracked, he must have broken something in your brain. There’ll be exaggerated stories about this all over the Gotham Globe’s home page tomorrow. Hell, if he cares though.

“You’ve changed your tune.” He comments, bucking his hips, helping you free him from his boxers. Your fingers lock around his base, and it throbs at finally being touched by you. He’s wanted so badly to fuck you for months but as Red Robin, he’s had to be careful, had to put his guard up which had resulted in a very altruistic sex life. But Tim Drake could fuck you. Right here, right now, Tim Drake-Wayne would fuck whatever hole you’d give him and the thought of it has him losing composure fast.

Your lips lock in one last frenzied kiss before you drop to your knees, and you look like an Angel sent from hell, looking up at him from beneath his reddened cock, with heady eyes and salacious smile.

“So, Red.” Shit. His heart skips a beat. Shit. Shit. Shit. He’s not sure what gave him away, but he doesn’t have a chance to care before you spit on his dick and start to pump with a deliberate rhythmic pace that has his head rolling back against the door. He’s not sure if he wishes he’d never done this at all, or if he’d done it sooner. “What name should I use tonight?”

#gilverrwrites #dc #tim drake #tim drake/reader #tim drake x reader #red robin #red robin/reader #red robin x reader #gn reader #nsft #divider by @anitalenia

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twister-sister · 2 months ago

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It's queue time

And once again I have messed around with Suno, this time a moon song, a positive moon song called Moondrops Watch: *Here or click the picture*

#myart #five nights at freddy's #fnaf security breach #fnaf #moondrop #dca community #daycare attendent #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf moon #daycare attendant moon #daycare attendant fnaf #dca fandom #fnaf moodrop #Suno #music #it's queue time

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taraljc · 1 month ago

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I love that Smithers is trying to give Alex grief about his complete and total lack of surveillance skills because he spotted him in the queue at the café but doesn't really process the part where Alex knows where and when he gets coffee on the way to work which is pretty specific.

Also that he never reported his phone stolen and Kyra has just been walking around with it for like a year. It's like oh hey there's been a massive data breach---o never mind it's Alex's girlfriend she's mostly harmless.

Meanwhile John Crawley still feels deep deep shame that he did not recognise the entire reason Kyra hugged him was so she could lift the key card to the safe house. He just thought she needed a hug and he was the closest available vaguely paternal adult. Which Jack would have immediately recognised, living day in and day out with moody teenager.

also every time I rewatch the first series I'm always shocked at how sullen and surly Alex is because I think of him as this smiling sunshine boy and he really is full of a lot of anger at first. like he breaks an MI6 agent's nose. and everybody is like oh look at the cute kid! except for presumably that agent who is like seriously why did it have to be the face.

I really wish we had gotten more of Wolf and the rest of K squad because he was clearly fascinated by the fact that Ian had intentionally or unintentionally trained his foster son/nephew to withstand enhanced interrogation and yet Alex did not seem to have processed that his training was anything out of the ordinary. and neither did his friends and family.

Like, Tom thinks it's completely normal for Alex to scale the exterior of a building and break inside to get his mobile phone. Even Kyra is like well I've watched Alex shimmy up a drain pipes clearly I can do it too and she's just really lucky she didn't fall and shatter both her ankles in Malta.

I also continue to be confused by the back garden of their terrace house because it was very clearly an actual garden first series and then by the time we hit third series it's walled in and I'm guessing it's because it's a set but if it is a set, they reproduced the location identically which you almost never see. usually we are just meant to believe that characters are blind to staircases being in different places and rooms being significantly larger all of a sudden.

but I do really love the set design in as much as the set dressing changes dramatically between series 2 and Series 3 where you can really see Jack and Alex's influence in the pictures on the wall and the furniture. It goes from being a very abstract bachelor home to a real place where real people live very quickly where is previously the only thing that sort of spoke to this is a home and not just an address were all of the photos on the fridge. and I have a lot of headcanon about those photos, because I had a friend who worked for the Security Services and as a result she wasn't allowed her to have any photographs of herself online.

I imagine Ian being meticulous about this and coming home from a business trip to suddenly find the fridge covered in photographs and Jack being like 'it's so Alex remembers what you look like since you've been gone for 4 weeks, I thought it was really important that he not forget your face and think you were a home invader'.

Meanwhile Alex is 9 and cheeky as hell.

Also I need to get better screen grabs but I do love that the actors clearly brought a bunch of their own photographs to stick to the fridge.

#alex rider #smithers #jack starbright #all the headcanons ever

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icallhimjoey · 2 years ago

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In 120 Hours

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: You work as a temp and are offered a very exclusive interview for a very exclusive job. You see, someone needs a personal assistant for a very eventful week, and you happen to be the perfect fit.

CW / disclaimer: 18+, language, mentions of drinking, rpf, fem!reader

Author’s note: I have no idea what being a personal assistant entails, or what London Film Festival is actually like, but we can all pretend that this is accurate shit, right? Enjoy!

Wordcount: 3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“Have you got any–”

You were already holding a hand out to him. Joe saw, grinned, opened his hand to receive a piece of gum from you and looked out the car window, hand on the door handle but not quite stepping out just yet.

Then he turned in his seat, back towards you a bit, but stared into the space in front of him.

“I’m not sure how I...” Joe trailed off, then looked at you, not finishing his sentence, but hoping that his eyes would do the talking for him.

“Could thank me? Have ever managed to function without me? Will go on living your life without me?” they were all jokes, and you were smiling, but Joe just nodded and went, “Yea,” with a crazed sort of look in his eyes. “Exactly all of those things.”

Joe stalled, looked at you, until you nudged him with a knee.

“Go on, the people are waiting,” Not just the people you could see from the car, but you imagined also all the important people, actors and actresses alike, in the cars queueing up behind you.

“Come with me,” Joe suddenly said.

“I will, I’ll see you right after the–”

“No, come with. Let’s do the whole thing together,”

You hesitated. This wasn’t in the job description. Lots of things hadn’t been, sure, but those things had been, you know, not quite so out in the open. Not like red carpets were, anyway.

“I think we’ve been spotted together enough as it is, I don’t want you to-”

“I kind of don’t want to get out without you.”

And you frowned, but only slightly, because there was that smile again. Fuck, that smile had gotten you into enough trouble as it was, and Joe fucking knew it too.

You checked the time. There was over twelve hours left still, technically speaking. That was over ten per cent of the entire job – quite a few too many hours to screw everything up and risk not getting paid. You had said you were reliable. Professional. You couldn’t, really...

“Please?” Joe opened a hand, presenting you with his palm.

But, ugh.

Fuck it. Why not?

You grabbed Joe’s hand and silently wondered if this was breaching the NDA you’d signed. Maybe not. You knew exactly who it was going to piss off though...

Stepping out of the car with Joe, you were met with girlish screams of adoration. Well, Joe was met with girlish screams of adoration. Then cameras flashed brightly, blinding you almost instantly, and you thought back to how precisely one hundred and six and half hours earlier, you would’ve never envisioned that this is where you’d end up.

Doing a red carpet with Joe.

In a slutty dress. With slutty high heels on. Without the engagement ring on.

Not even a full five days had passed...

Not even a full six days had passed, since you’d phoned your friend and she had told you about the vacancy. The whole thing felt like a vague fever dream now, like it had happened years ago.

“Please tell me you have nothing going at the moment,”

It was a weird way for your friend to answer her phone when you called to ask her if she had time to go for drinks that week. Because, consequently, you had all the time for all the drinks, you see, because you had absolutely nothing going at the moment.

No professional things. No personal things. Zero job. Zero fiancé – you really had to remove that ring, but you couldn’t yet. It used to belong to your grandmother before, after all, so it kind of felt like if you just wore it on another finger, it’d be fine.

Still adjusting to life as a single woman - with big bills that belonged to single women - working as a temp and having a best friend work at a temp agency, the two of you seemed a match made in platonic heaven. She always kept all the good stuff back for you, called you on her breaks to slip you information she definitely wasn’t meant to be giving you, so you could officially apply for the right jobs at the right times and use the right words to actually be invited to the interviews. It was perfect.

Sometimes, the good stuff would be going through PowerPoint presentations in stuffy conference rooms in deeply exotic places, like Belgium. Or you’d manage an entire office for two weeks, a holiday-cover that would start Christmas eve and left you in charge of a lot of empty desks because, didn’t everyone take time off around Christmas and New Year’s?

But then, other times, the good stuff was actual good stuff and had you help run huge music festivals, unexpectedly brushing shoulders with the likes of The Wombats and Liam fucking Gallagher backstage wearing knee high wellies, covered in mud.

“Oh my God, what have you got?”

No dillydallying. As a temp, there was never time. All jobs came fast, and all jobs went fast.

“It just came in, this phone call is unbelievable timing because I’m allowed to recruit for fucking once, finally, and you’d be so perfect for it!”

She had said that too when you’d been hauled off to dog-sit a poodle for some CEO of a company you had never heard of for two months, so you held off on the jumpy excitement your friend seemed to be exuding down the phone.

“It’s very short term and the money is amazing – I need a personal assistant for a high-profile client.”

“How short term, how much money, how high-profile?”

Like you said, no dillydallying.

“We’re talking not even a full week, just five days, all expenses covered and the salary’s generous. Very generous. And the money isn’t even the best part.”

Temping meant everything was short term, but this was the shortest a possible job had ever lasted you.

“Okay,” you said, knowing things were always too good to be true. There had to be a catch.

“If this is for a tory politician, or like, actual royalty, I’m out,” you warned, earning a huffed laugh from your friend.

“Don’t let this put you off, but there’s nothing else I’m allowed to tell you. You’ll have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before I can even send the job description over, and I’ll need you down in London for the interview as soon as possible, like, today? Could you do today?”

Oh, she was serious serious.

Okay, so... what was five days, really? If it was shit, it’d be over quick enough. You could really use the money too if it really was as good as your friend was making it out to be. And maybe you’d meet Meghan Markle, you know, if it was actually going to be royalty.

“Are we... are we talking like, Hugh Grant or whatever? Adele, maybe?”

Your friend laughed heartily.

“I can’t tell you anything else until you sign the NDA, but, I’m being so honest with you right now, you’re not going to want to pass this one up.”

And so, you’d given her the go ahead. Sure. Try get me in for an interview, why the fuck not? She said she’d make a call, get your CV into the right hands, and would call you back in a minute. When she did, not all but 11 minutes later, she’d already e-mailed you the NDA to sign. The interview wasn’t that day, but the day after – still too soon, but ok – and if successful, you’d start immediately too.

“Don’t worry, I think the interview’s just a formality – they love your CV, and from the sounds of it, they’re desperate. You’re a shoo-in. Get that NDA back to me and I’ll send you everything you need to know.”

She ended the call letting you know to reach out to her if you had any problems, and you said you would, knowing very well that you wouldn’t. You didn’t have problems. It was part of your charm. You carried solutions. You were dependable, reliable, one hundred percent guaranteed to make everyone’s life easier.

The only person you ever made things difficult for, was yourself. The proof of it was around your ring finger – on the wrong hand now, but still there.

From the names mentioned in the e-mail, which you’d immediately googled, you became none the wiser. They really kept you in the dark about who you were going to be working for, and the job requirements list was a lot. But you were good at job interviews. You knew the right things to say, the right energy to exude, the times to smile, the times to frown in serious thought – you could sell yourself better than you could sell anything else.

And you were competitive to a fault. No matter how arrogant of a celebrity was going to need someone handling their business for five days; you were going to get that job, and you were going to excel at it. Watch me, you thought, as you packed a carry-on with enough underwear to last you five days in case you were right. And if you were wrong, you could just spend money you didn’t have and maybe stay in London for a few days anyway. Visit old friends and old familiar places, because you kind of missed the place if you were being honest.

The next day your train had been late, and the tube had been packed, and you’d almost been run over three times, but you didn’t care. London was gritty and grimy and perfect. The London-shaped hole in your heart could really only be filled with the smell of searing, hot dust that lingered underground and became thicker and more prominent the deeper down escalators would take you.

You aced the interview. Of course you did.

Every question you were asked felt like they were trying to find reasons to not give you the job. They were all questions about what you thought about certain things, what your opinions would be about certain situations, what you really wanted, and you’d rudely interrupted. You’d said that none of it mattered, did it? It didn’t matter what you thought about anything, what your opinions were or what you really wanted in any situation – what mattered was that you would do your job. What mattered is whatever the client wanted.

They’d congratulated you. Said you got the job. And then, right on cue, the door had opened behind you.

“Joe, come in, meet your new PA who’s going to be with you for the rest of the London Film Festival.”

Joe mother fucking Quinn walked in, smiling, looking at you, like you were an actual person that people could actually perceive.

“Hi, nice to meet you.”

It was only a brief introduction before Joe was off again, called out of the room by someone else, and he said he'd see you later. Smiled again, and God, it was the kind of smile that could defrost the coldest of hearts. Joe's expression was objectively neutral, this was just his face, but his eyes exuded kindness in its purest form. Almost dreamily so.

You cleared your throat as the door shut behind him. All right. Back to business.

You were talked through the things you had already read the day before; the things you'd received in your e-mail. Things that didn't really need further explaining, but you listened politely anyway. You got a long explanation of how NDAs worked and it was almost laughable. Yes, they'd sue you if you broke it. You got it. But they were very adamant, needed to make sure that you really did in fact get it. Having to drag you to court wouldn't just be an awful thing for you personally, they also didn't want to do it because it was a lot of work on their end which they didn't have the time for.

Noted.

"All right. Get your things and meet us downstairs, your car is waiting."

"Car? Where are we going?"

"We're not going anywhere. You are. The itinerary, his full schedule, you'll find it all in your e-mail."

And when you looked at your phone screen, you saw you'd just received it, mere seconds earlier. Man, these people ran a tight ship.

Opening your e-mail in the car, you were greeted by a digital calendar that had all of Joe's days planned out, down to the literal minute. You could see past the five days that you would be working for Joe too, and although less busy, Joe had things happening nearly every day for at least the upcoming three months it seemed.

"Wow,"

This was... a lot.

It had everything on there. Wake-up calls, car pick-ups, lunch time, phone calls, coffee breaks, fittings...

There were several film screenings scheduled every day, obviously, that was how film festivals worked, and you wouldn't get to go to any of them. You weren't hired to sit and watch films with Joe, unfortunately. You were hired to haul Joe from one place to the next. Accompany him. Get him coffees. Check for schedule changes, because, “Everything is always up for change, so you better keep an eye out!”. Things could be delayed, or be postponed, or switched around – times, or locations – and it'd be up to you to sort things out. Make it all run smoothly. It was your job to make sure Joe would get to the places he needed to be on time.

"And he needs close eyes on him, because he tends to wander. Keep him company. He's used to having someone with him. A family member, a friend, but none were available for this. So, now he'll have you."

So... you were a luxurious babysitter, if you really thought about it.

"What other things are important? Anything that’s not been mentioned yet that needs special attention?" you had asked, and were met with a fast answer.

"Networking."

This whole week was all about Joe being seen and being spoken to by industry giants. Joe was invited to see many films, just about all of them, but it wasn't necessary for him to actually watch all of them. As long as he went to meet the directors, he'd be solid.

There were other obligations too. Besides the screenings there were screen talks, in depth-interviews, panels, debates, workshops, partner events (Joe wouldn't be going to those, no worries) and networking events (Joe had to absolutely be going to those, worry a lot). The industry happy hours were where it all happened, you'd been told several times.

Then, on Monday, day four, there was Joe's film screening - not his film, but the one he starred in. That showcased him. It'd be followed up by a Q&A, and then of course, happy hour after.

To make things even easier, more simple, not at all hectic or stressful: Joe also had studio photoshoots, two of them, and phone interviews to accompany the shoots. They were scheduled, slotted tightly in between all the in-person events and to be honest, it all seemed a bit much. Too much. No wonder they hired a PA for the week. This was overwhelming to say the least.

Your duties would end after the most important day. The awards ceremony. Film Festivals were a competition, and there were awards up for grabs. You'd need to make sure that after five extremely busy days, Joe would make it to the ceremony in one piece, in the right outfit, and at the right time, because people had already been talking, and Joe was meant to give a little speech up on stage if his film was to win.

"Remind him of that. Maybe help him with the writing, too?"

Sure. Why not?

"And there'll be two boxes delivered, not huge ones, it'll only be about 5000 copies, but they all need signing,"

Delivered where? Copies of what?

"Copies?" you asked, deadly afraid of sounding stupid.

"Photographs."

Oh. Alright. Of course. Yes. Fine.

In the backseat of a car, on your way to wherever they were taking you - they hadn't been clear at all - you saw that the signing of the photographs hadn't been added into Joe's schedule yet. You put down a few options and would check with Joe later until what time he minded working before you'd set it in stone. First task done. Your job had officially started.

Five days. One hundred and twenty hours of this. You checked the time. One hundred and eighteen still to go, technically, but, who was counting?

The car stopped and you heard the ratcheting of the handbrake being pulled by the driver. You'd arrived.

"Um, where are we?" you asked, undoing your seatbelt and gathering your things, but before the driver could answer, your door was opened from the outside.

"Hey, welcome," it was Joe, and he held out a hand to help you out of the vehicle. What a gentleman. That warm smile, there it was again.

"Are you ready?" Joe asked, taking your suitcase from you with an excited glint flickering in his eyes, and you weren't sure exactly what you were meant to be ready for. The whole week, was the correct answer.

Joe walked ahead of you, up the steps of a beautiful South London terraced house. Quite the mansion, by London standards. Joe stopped and turned as he reached the door. "I've only just moved in, so please, don't mind the boxes and, um, the lack of furniture. It's a mess. The only room properly done up is yours, so don't worry about that! They've made sure that at least one of us has a nice bed to sleep in,"

Oh.

"They made it look like a proper hotel room, I'm kind of jealous of it,"

This was Joe's home. His actual place, where he... you know, lived, and stuff. And where apparently, you were going to be staying too.

"This is your house?"

Joe stood in the door opening, and beckoned you in.

"It's just easier to have you close, come on in,"

Oh, this was going to be an interesting couple of days.

"Wonderful, thanks."

---

The Taglisted:

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @kiwisa @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @xomunson @sadbitchfangirl @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @eddiemunsonfuxks @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @mybffjoe @harrys-tittie @chaoticgood-munson @jenisnotlost @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @xeddiesbattattsx @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @thefemininemystiquee @hauntingbastille @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-joey @alizztor @thelostmoonofpooosh @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff - (tag list currently full)

#joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn x you #joseph quinn x you #joe quinn fanfic #joseph quinn fanfic #fluff #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #rpf #in 120 hours

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thimbledoll · 3 months ago

Text

A Doll's Defenses

Her armor was spellcraft the likes of which no mundane blade could hope to pierce. Her porcelain shell was fired in the Magicked blaze of her Witch’s kiln, imparting it with steel-like durability. Her core was pure diamond; ancient matter placed under impossible pressures for literal eons. Her Witch’s enemies would find no chink, crack, nor breach in her defenses. She was as impregnable as her begifted name implied. She was Inviolet.

Arrows clattered to the floor upon striking her. Swords shattered against her wards. Spells left the land more damaged than their target. All offense they could muster against her was rendered inert. Still, they broke upon her like waves upon a cliff.

“Your tenacity is admirable,” Inviolet declared to the gathered hunters. Under the clash and clang of their weapons striking her impervious form, her small voice barely carried to those who dared engage her in melee. “But this one must ask that you leave, otherwise she fears she will have to remove you from the premises.”

Her request was answered with a gout of spellflame direct to the face. When at last the flames subsided, the caster was met with the doll’s cold, steely, and unblemished gaze. “Very well. Then you have made your choice known.”

Belladon hummed happily to themself as they rummaged through the cupboards. The sounds of battle that had been ringing out from the courtyard had since died down, meaning their doll was likely going to be walking through the door shortly. Eschewing traditional roles (as they were wont to do), they went about preparing kettle, leaf, and china. “After what she’s had to deal with today, I’m sure she’d appreciate a pot of tea to… unwind when she gets in,” the Witch thought to themself, giggling at their unheard jest.

As if on queue, the porcelain clink of Inviolet’s hand upon the doorknob alerted the Witch to their doll’s return. If not for that, they likely wouldn’t have heard her enter at all. “I’m in the kitchen, dear. Spot of tea? I was thinking the hibiscus,” they called out in greeting.

“Hibiscus sounds lovely. Thank you, Miss,” Inviolet answered from the kitchen doorway, her movements about the house as silent as her entry. She carried such an unnatural ease for one who had just come from battle, the Witch thought. Her demeanor was as impregnable as the body they’d crafted for her. It never ceased to amaze them.

“Perfect. I’ll have it ready in just a few minutes,” Belladon declared, turning away from the cupboard, letting the momentum of the movement swing the door closed with a small bang.

Belladon froze as they realized their mistake, the sound of the slamming door echoing throughout their conscience.

Inch by inch, crack after crack after crack spidered out across Inviolet’s body. What a thousand blades couldn’t manage, Belladon had accomplished completely without intention. It took only mere moments before the doll crumbled to nothing but a pile of porcelain shards on the floor. Her weathered, beaten, and overly chipped diamond core laid atop.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Belladon cried out, as they began carefully picking their doll up, shard by individual shard. “I should know better by now. I’ll-I’ll do better… I swear. We’ll have you back together in no time.”

Though she had no voice with which to say so, Inviolet knew the truth of her Witch’s words.

(I've been hesitating to post this one for a while... It was originally supposed to be part of the second volume of Emptied Spaces, but it seems like that endeavor has sputtered out. It's unfortunate, but completely understandable. Still, I felt bad leaving this one languishing in drafts for forever, so here it is. We'll see if anything else ever manages to leave the drafts... heh)

#my writing #empty spaces #dollposting #microfiction #fantasy #witches #dolltwt

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madomkasak · 2 months ago

Text

Reckless thoughts verse

Listen. Things are going to be ok. The tributes that have poured make things a bit sweeter on the bittersweet scale. So reckless thoughts verse gets a new entry here on AO3. Now you're tire tracks and one pair of shoes - c. 7.5k. Maxiel. Lots of comfort. Lots of love. A bit of hurt. Someone breaks something - it's not a collarbone. We hear a bit about the baby cow.

The thing is. Max doesn't have anything else planned. He flies to Perth, retires, gets to Daniel. Gets Daniel. A three step plan six years in the making. Gone through iterations and small changes throughout but Max never diverted from it. He just got delayed. Waylaid and misled and now Max knows he had to fly to the farm, for it to happen. That outside of it all, they both would have been beholden to others.

So. He booked the flights before he even told Daniel about what to expect from the teams. Shook his head. Feels the squeeze of Daniel’s hand on his bicep as much as he does the kiss that follows. Doesn't tell him how the plan was jump-started into action by GP on the radio and Daniel crying in the media pen.

How Max didn't sleep until he knew Daniel was back in his room, Max scheming and planning and keeping it all to himself all the while. Refreshing the media page on his computer. The circus of it already didn't taste as good as before.

Thank you, Daniel, he thinks. So Max jumped his plans a bit.

Booked the flights, slept only two hours. Not in his own jet. Glared daggers at the snoring man as they stepped out of the plane. Glared even more when the man drove out the airport in a Ferrari. Followed the plane on the screen until the pilot told them the weather, outside. Max can't remember what he said.

Decides here and there that he will get his jet back and send an email to Seb to explain that he hates flying in first class, sorry, Max will offset the carbon emission somehow. Seb might answer this time, if it means he brings Daniel with him next. Max will swear that getting to Daniel is worth it all, to Max. Even on the cusp of environmental disaster.

He’ll buy insect hotels, fuck it.

Stands in the short queue for his passport. Hopes he doesn't have to give money to the steward when he sees Max Emilian Verstappen printed on the document. He doesn't have to. Maybe there are too many Max Verstappens going to Perth to get their Daniels. He is just one of them. He wishes them luck.

Doesn't need it. He knows Daniel. Has facedtimed him even on the loo or when Daniel is in the bath. Tells him to scrub his fingernails. Daniel snickers he’d rather still smell like sex. Max imagines he smells like nature more. Sand and dust to replace sweat and fuel. Max doesn't mind.

He will make Daniel smell like them soon

He stands outside, clammy in his jeans and thinks. His plan didn't involve details beyond — get to Daniel. Stay.

He doesn't have a car. Breathes through the panic. Usually the FIA sorts the travelling from the airport, even that time his own flight was delayed and he ran to the press conference. Allows Max his comfort and preference but run a tight schedule the moment he lands.

He spares a thought to the ants in the Formula 1 anthill. He won't be there.

He stands, hovers, awkward and careful near the car for hire stands. Doesn't want to risk it. Not when it comes to cars. Not in Australia. Not with Daniel back home. His phone is at 20% battery just because the emails and calls keep on coming, now that he has a signal again. Christian called fifteen times in ten minutes. Greedy.

Max doesn't ask himself if it’s a breach of what his team have sent.

He scrolls through his contacts. Fights the urge to just call Daniel. Max wants it to be a surprise. The farm. Him. The retirement. Max staying, more importantly. Daniel still thinks he is in Las Vegas.

Max hopes he blocked Christian because he knows the man will call Daniel next. Knows that of course, they keep tabs with each other. Max doesn't want them to ever contact Daniel again. Will go to Goodwood on his own if it means Daniel isn't sad.

Max should have told the lawyers to give them a gag order.

He calls Grace. Gnaws on his lip. Turn away to face a wall, hunches over so no one glances at him as her voice rings. He mutters a hello to her joyful greeting. Something eases inside of him.

“How is Vegas? Daniel is half a text away from putting Sky Sports on.” She continues happily. Max knows Sky Sports is at the Ricciardo’s, not at the farm, because even Joe has banned Daniel from his family house for the past Grand Prix. He hasn’t quite grasped the story yet, but Daniel yelled at the TV, when Max took a penalty for something he didn't do.

He did brake too late. Jutted his chin at the media afterwards. Still won. Daniel had sent him another voicenote. A video. He stopped after Austin. Daniel doesn’t watch F1 now.

“Daniel can't watch, Grace.” He says, urgently. Sharply. Even Grace laughs a little, not at Max. But because they both know Daniel can't watch the race. Max has dozens of messages with timestamps aligning with Max being in the car - photos of their baby girl cow, voice notes of Daniel making weird sounds back to birds. One video he kept safe on his computer of Daniel stepping in manure, filmed by Michelle, twin laughs so loud. He promised Daniel he deleted it. Deleted it from his phone. Daniel should know better. So. Daniel doesn’t watch the races. Tells Max it hurts too much still. Even if the VCARB car doesn’t want to race well without her driver. Max feels good about it. Daniel doesn't watch the races but knows when Max wins. His are the first messages Max opens now. Won’t receive anymore.

He has wondered if Grace sends Daniel some Max shaped messages during races. If the Max-shaped hole that follows Daniel seeped into all of the Ricciardos.

Max can't win this one. Can't give Grace love notes from Nike’s wings to deliver to Daniel. But he can give her himself to deliver. Hopes Daniel remembers his mythologies. Hopes he won't be disappointed, that Max won't win on the track anymore.

Maybe he can get Daniel to do a shoey when he helps win sim races. Max will allow it even on the tiny desk camera. Will endure Redline jokes with a smile on his face.

Hopes Daniel wears shoes in the house. For the sim shoeys.

“Las Vegas treating you this bad, Max? You know he would be there if you asked.” Max swallows. Hasn't asked Daniel either. Just wants him to ask Max to stay. Max doesn’t want Daniel at the races, he wants to be with Daniel here. Home. Or something. “It isn't too different from Australia, there.”

It is. There is no Daniel. Everyone, not only Max, will feel the Daniel hole this weekend. It will suck. Max’s weekend won't. He smiles.

“I'm not in Las Vegas, Grace.” he admits, when there’s a lull. When Grace doesn't ask what Max wants because she too knows to let Max speak first. Lets him fight phantoms around his lungs and voices and Max is better now, when it comes to Daniel. “I’m. I am in Perth. At the airport. I can't rent a car to Daniel's farm “

“I can't get to him.”

Because his team usually handles his aliases and bookings and Max hasn't told anyone he is going to Perth. Is in Perth. Grace is silent for a moment. Two. Max feels a flush on his neck. Is embarrassed and needy and wants her to approve.

“Oh, Max.” She sighs. He thinks the sound is lovely. Hopes Daniel says it like this too. Hums. Max hears the shuffle of keys, soft footsteps. “I think Daniel can wait a couple more hours to see you. He has been a bit antsy not to hear from you during your flight to Vegas.”

“I’m sure he looked at the Jet twitter account.” She says and Max looks downward, mouthes about his own Jet having a twitter account. It’s X now, or whatever. Spares a second to think about George who promised to win all the monopoly games against Lando for Max.

Max thinks George knows. As part of the union. Or just because he loves Daniel too, tangentially different from Max. Otherwise Max will punch him next. No hard feelings. Just like how Lewis’ texts are unanswered - a bit of hard feelings there, truly.

“Sit tight, honey, ok? Traffic will be bad, but I'll be there in a couple of hours.”

Max has a joke about Grace making the fastest lap too. That she does it for Max as well, always. Counts to ten. Says it in rushed words that graze his teeth, feels sharp and tender against his flesh. Thank you, Daniel. Thank you, Grace. Smiles into his shoulder when she laughs. He will tell Daniel this, that he made his mother laugh on the phone.

That he made his mother pick him up at the airport. So Max could be here with him finally. It's evening already, Max feels a little bad that Grace offered immediately. Doesn’t let it linger because he will be with Daniel finally, when he left so many hours ago. Didn’t even take a shower in the plane because it is not his plane shower.

He thinks about many things. About Daniel, mostly. Because there is nothing to do at the arrival part of the building. Max’s phone teeters at 5%. He finds a shop to buy a charger with the correct plugs. Sees Daniel’s face in the newspapers anyway.

Buys a RedBull, throat feeling tight and dry. Dares to thumb up Martin’s one of many texts, emojis and questions and pleas because Max had told Martin to grab him at the grand Prix and. Max isn't there. He is here, in Perth. To see Daniel. To kiss him. Ask him to ask Max to stay so he will. Will anyway, even if Daniel doesn't know, doesn't dare to ask. He doesn’t say this to Martin, of course. Because he has not seen Daniel yet. Cannot let him ruin the surprise. So many would tattle on Max, for Daniel.

Daniel is so loved, always. But Max will love him most.

Martin sends him a middle finger emoji. He replies with a laughing face. Swipes to decline Christian’s call. Thinks hard about whether or not he should block all of them. Or email his lawyers.

Doesn't decide either way.

Jokes with team Redline for a moment. Doesn't tell them where he is. A quick Google search and he has a few more hours before he must be in the paddock. He won't be.

Grace arrives in a flurry of smiles and cooing and wild curls that have gone a bit more grey now. Maybe it catches up with her now that Daniel isn't racing. That she won't watch her son crash on live TV ever again. He wonders, in a small voice, if he made her go grey too.

He hugs her as tightly, feels himself to be shy when she pats his cheek, palm warm in blessing. He sees the same grey at Daniel’s temples, on his beard. Wants to pull at the curls on Daniel’s head a little and check if Daniel has grey hairs on his pubes too, so Max can focus on those when they fuck. When he makes love to Daniel in Perth.

Max turns from Grace so she doesn’t see the bashfulness on his face. She too is a Max mind reader. Learned from her son. Or maybe she is just that good. Max does love her too.

“Daniel is going to be heartbroken “ she says, and Max’s heart stutters. Frowns. Feels too big. She pats his cheek again, smiles the same heart shaped thing. It soothes Max. “He ate all the food he bought for you specifically, said he would go again as it’s not the winter break. And he isn't expecting you until then. He went a bit crazy, nesting.”

“Too many barbecues.” He states and she nods. He wonders what Max foods Daniel bought and ate all on his own. He wants to know what makes Daniel think of Max. What he has substituted whilst waiting for him. Would he have waited until after Adu Dhabi?

She talks as much and as fast as her son. Max’s brain stops. Hard restarts. When she says how Daniel has moved things around. Bought mini fridges for Max’s gaming sessions. He hasn't asked Max to stay yet. Nesting. Waiting for his baby bird Max.

“Will Daniel be happy?” He half chokes, worry gnawing at his inside. Grace’s smile loses the heart shape of her lips but her face softens so much more.

“He already is, with you.” she answers. “Always has been, Max.”

They both remember when Daniel left Red Bull. Left Max. It means a lot.

Max stays awake for a few minutes. Shuffles into the passenger seat. Doesn't let Grace heave his bag into the boot. Declines to lay down at the back of the truck for a nap. Blushes when she pats his cheek a bit longer. Listens to Grace small talk with him, just like Daniel does, until his eyes close. There is no one snoring two seats down.

That guy in the Vcarb paddock plays on the radio. Max still hasn't opened the Spotify links.

He doesn't know how long they drive. Couldn't drive the way back to the airport. Good. Max doesn't intend to leave. Or just for a few days, Daniel can drive him. Max doesn't fancy seeing the wheel of a car. Thinks of bikes and sim racing instead.

Wakes when Grace shakes him at a turn and the road turns to dirt and dust. Hands him a bottle of water, a chocolate bar - nothing with nuts, she says with a wink that makes Max blush.

That makes Max want. Because it means he can kiss Daniel.

She woke him up before they entered the farm. Max is awake, jittery, just like when the five red lights are on and he is waiting waiting waiting — go. Watches through the window, tries to imagine this is where Maximillian the baby cow lives. Sees trees and dirt bikes parked at the front. Daniel’s farm.

He has seen pictures, of course. Long before today. Long before the thing between them grew legs and names and burrowed into their hearts but he feels shaky, to be there.

The calls and the videos and how they shared snippets of lives apart doesn't do it justice.

He watches Grace text Daniel. Does it via voice control. She too lies with a smile. Tells him she is bringing groceries. A gift even. Max is the gift. She elbows his side softly, shows him the reply — Daniel is busy, his mum can let herself in. It makes Max bite the inside of his cheek. Daniel would tell him too, because he feels his own face be blank from overwhelm.

Grace dumps him at the door. Kisses his cheek. Tells him to say hi to Daniel. Races out of the farm like she’s the one in Vegas. He would give her a penalty for the way she bumps the bins ever so slightly.

He will give her DOTD. Will make Daniel text her the joke, after. Knows Grace will sends emoji kisses and the dot dot dots all mothers use.

The first thing he hears from Daniel’s real voice since September is a curse, a what the fuck mom loud and whispered because why would Grace leave the groceries on Daniel’s front step without saying hi. Max will though, has Grace’s words in his mouth.

Max is the groceries. Half a eaten chocolate bar without nuts and an empty water bottle he hasn't left in Grace’s car. He is polite.

Daniel opens the door. His t-shirt is wet from the shower or the cow trough, little shorts that make his tan lines silly. Max want to push the hem up and see for himself.

They look at each other. Max wants to do something silly like wave. Croaks a hello, dan-iel. Wants to do something less silly, like reach for the collar of his shirt, to bump him against the door and kiss him.

He does neither. Stands on the porch, devouring Daniel with his eyes. Smiles awkwardly. Lifts an eyebrow. He’s got no problem with his voice this time, or with anything else.

“Max?” Daniel says, squeaks. Reaches out between a punch and a pat and a hug and Max smiles wide.

“Hi Daniel. I am your delivery.” He says proudly, even as Daniel’s eyes sweep over him again and again. Glances at the road. Mouthes what the fuck mom again. So Max is helpful.

“Your mother drove me from the airport.” He explains. As if this is what Daniel is asking.

Doesn't explain what is happening. Daniel hasn't asked yet.

“Max. You —” yes, me, Daniel. “You can't be here?”

“Can’t I?” He asks. Max doesn't know how it sounds, what his face does but it makes Daniel pull him into a hug. Tight and shaky and Daniel’s fingers twine into Max’s short hair until his cap is lifted away. He grips too hard, Max’s neck tingles pleasantly.

“Of course you can Max — I wanted – you should have said.” He finishes. Doesn't start. Doesn't ask. But Daniel wanted, so Max is happy. Daniel doesn't have to ask, really.

Max hugs him back. Kisses the hem of the wet t shirt. Smells fresh shampoo. Not the cow trough then. Doesn't let his mind linger on Daniel in the shower.

“Maxy.” A breath. An exhale just like Grace’s but it is softer, warmer, more loving. Max kisses Daniel's skin next. Tastes sweat not shampoo or cow water. Shivers.

Two months.

“The airport, Max?” He asks after a breath. Let Max pull his face between his two hands. Let him thumb at his lips the way Max wants to kiss him but doesn't yet. “You took the plane there? Lando sent me a selfie from the jet and I thought you were —” doesn't finish his sentence.

Thought Max was going to race again. That maybe he would never come to the farm. Would not love Daniel back enough to do so. Daniel is always a bit silly, a bit slow for this.

“Yes Daniel.” He nods.

It continues for a moment. Silly questions that make Max’s thumb graze Daniel’s wet tongue, burns a fire in Max’s belly. Did Max sleep? Yes, Daniel. Slept more in the car. Is he ok? Is he is sure? Does he want to come in? Yes yes yes.

Daniel kisses him the moment Max crosses the threshold. Max doesn't actually get a tour of the house until two days after. It is ok, he knows where the ensuite is, listen to Daniel’s footsteps. Get served not quite Max foods in bed.

Tugs him back into bed. Uses his weight to keep him there. Daniel follows easily.

Max slides into the counter. Tells Daniel to ask him. Burrows in the ugly lawn chairs.

Vegas ends. Daniel has to show Max who wins. Max texts George it is rude of him to have removed Max from the group chat when Daniel is still there. George tells him everyone loves Daniel more. Max sends him a selfie from the farm, flipping him off.

Wearing Daniel’s enchanté on the ugly lawn chairs. George tells him he has this one already, try again Max. Send a kiss to Daniel, mate.

He kisses Daniel. Long and sloppy and maybe a bit jealous. Doesn't tell him about George, since Daniel kisses him back the same way.

They talk more, of course. Daniel’s nerves don't evaporate after Max slathers after sun lotion onto his skin. Max is steadfast anyway. Shows him what Daniel doesn't get with words only.

He asks about Max racing three times a day for the first week. Asked a dozen times the first day. Until Max forwarded all 43 emails to him. Probably broke whatever NDA his lawyers have in place. It isn't like Daniel will talk and have quotes leak into the Dutch press.

Max hasn't even told his people. Everyone is surprised, or so he hears. Hears about it loudly from the people who matter.

He is ready to be here. Has packed little, but has crafted a schedule for him and Daniel. Tells him what feed is available at what nearby store. Has in fact contacted the vets as well, so Maximillian doesn't happen again.

He has been planning. The retirement is new, yes, but not him being here with Daniel. If would have happened anyway. Max just couldn't wait anymore.

He talks and talks and Daniel sits there between bemused and endeared. Max wants to fuck when he looks like this and doesn't interrupt Max. Wants to promise it is real. He may or may not have truly placed a grocery order when he was waiting for Grace. It will arrive in two days, because Max ordered big quantities. And two freezers. Daniel hasn't been taking care of himself, ate all the Max foods and not the Daniel foods.

Daniel makes a joke about Pinterest. Max doesn't tell him he has one, and shared it with his mother at the tail end of September. When Max felt Daniel’s loss keenly. And couldn't fly to Australia yet.

It has the dirt bikes he wants to order. Has things for him and Daniel. Max has seen the poor coffee machine. They will need a better one. One Daniel won't call a cunt.

Also room for the trophies. Theirs. Max is sure he can get someone in the MTC to take the Monza trophy and send it to Daniel. Everyone is on hair trigger about him still. Max could rally an army for him. Oscar joked about it already, but Max remembers.

Couldn't get him the seat. But. It got Max here. Got them to stop being stupid, high up in a hotel room in Singapore. Max is ok with it. He thinks — looking at Daniel scroll through Max's Pinterest board with eyebrows that rise rise and a smile that is wonky and secret. Daniel may be ok with it too.

Daniel makes the same cooing noise he has when speaking to the baby cow. Max loves him a little more.

“What about the cats?” Daniel asks suddenly. Max stops absently fidgeting with Daniel’s t shirt. It is frayed at the hem. It annoys Max and puts him to sleep too. He doesn't remember what they put on the TV.

“I have been here more than two weeks, Daniel.” Nineteen days in fact. Three since the news officially dropped. Max hasn't even looked at the tributes. Feels complicated things nest within the peace he made for himself. Doesn't care about the complicated things, when he is with Daniel.

Two days after Vegas Max sighed and called Christian back after his lawyers emailed him their agreement. Hunched in Daniel’s spare and empty room. He nearly puts Christian on speaker to measure the walls and think about his computer equipment instead. He has quotes and lead time and worked the schedule with everyone involved. He will only miss one or two streams.

Didn't because Daniel frowned at him. Made shooing motions with his hands. Max kept the door open. Glanced at Daniel hovering, thumbs up and aborted hands to Max’s hips. Unseen and unheard support. Max doesn't fight the conversation, but patiently explains his decision.

Does not even think to say he regrets anything. Ask if Christian regrets instead. Doesn't even need to bring up what happened at the last race, the lack of points from either teams.

Christian hasn't called back since. Good.

This isn't about Christian though. Daniel pokes the edge of his pectoral. A nail scratches his nipples. Max has to focus on the conversation, rather than blurting out he wants Daniel to fuck into him like that, a titjob. They could make it happen, even if Daniel will also complain about his knees. Max only cares about Daniel's fingers digging into his flesh.

Daniel pokes him harder. Max pouts. Hums a question.

“Are the cats ok?” Daniel asks more urgently. Untangles himself for the heap they make on the sofa. Drowns the sound of the TV. Drowns Max’s sleepiness back into awakening. Stops the horny thoughts.

Max is always ready to tell Daniel about the cats. They are his Maximillian. He has sent as many photos of them as Daniel did their baby cow. He knows Daniel doesn't have a Jimmy and Sassy secret folder. But.

There’s a printed Polaroid picture of them on the fridge. Max doesn't even remember Daniel taking it in Monaco. Jimmy and Sassy kittens curled on Daniel’s fridge.

They took a long time to be here, Daniel and he. It made Jimmy and Sassy grow.

“Yes they are ok. Jimmy has eaten all the food, and Sassy has posed for pretty pictures.” He knows, because Max asks for updates from the hotel ten times a day. He pays enough for them to do it. They haven't complained yet, not even when Max told them to buy better treats when he is not there.

He doesn't talk about the Jimmy pictures because not even Max’s money make pretty pictures of Jimmy happen.

“They are at the cat hotel Daniel. I have not let them be alone in the flat.” He explains. Pulls up his phone. Quickly scrolls past the Maximillian folder before Daniel sees. Explains the expensive set up he booked when Max purchased the flight tickets. Picked the expensive package with kitty spa.Doesn't mention their stay will end soon. Max can extend it. It is fine. Can extend it until Max asks otherwise.

A silence. A beat. Daniel’s hand spasms against Max’s thigh. He doesn't want to extend it. Doesn't want to think even this could end. He booked a one way flight to Daniel’s heart. Daniel’s hand forms little morse code messages between them. Goads the words out of Max’s throat, always.

“Can they come?” Max asks. The words are swallowed. He feels them tingle on his lips like Sassy scratches.

“Maxy.” Daniel says, and Max doesn't know what it means. Thinks the closest thing was when Max had asked why Daniel was leaving him. Leaving RedBull. It makes his heart ache, and Max feels like he has missed something again.

“Max.” He says again because Max closes his eyes. Exhales. Feels Daniel’s breath against his cheek. His eyelashes.

“You’re staying, yeah?” Daniel asks. Max reminds him he has been here nineteen days. Will count them all. This is what makes Daniel relax into him, the weight against his thigh sodden.

He watches as Daniel goes through a decision. Realisation that yes, Max hasn't been lying. Hasn't been booking flights back to Monaco, away from Daniel. Max waits for him. Cards fingers through longer curls, tug a little to make Daniel hum.

“Then they’re staying too. I’m only afraid of dogs, Maxy. And Jimmy at night. We can't let them roam outside.” Starts to talk about Australian wilderness like Max hasn't researched it years ago. Has spiralled when crossing Atticus spiders. Shivers.

Understandable. Max is a bit afraid too. Mostly for his furniture. Doesn't say they are expensive city cats, they won't even like the outside. They have never seen a chicken. Won't eat Daniel’s babies.

He reminds Daniel that he is scared of so many things. Sharks. And heights. And open sea water. And so many more quiet fears Max thinks Daniel got tattooed in ink. It’s fine. Max isn't afraid.

He is a bit afraid of the insects still. Yelled when a snake was in the toilet, the other day. Looked up websites to train the cats to eat spiders. Daniel had laughed so hard Max had to pat his back. A bit too strongly. Flushed deep red. Refused a kiss.

Somehow Daniel is laughing again. Making fun of Max. Max knows now that he also laughs with him. Gears up for a joke only Max will find funny.

“Will they get Air Maxed to Perth, Maxy?” He snickers. Max doesn't laugh because, yes, they will. Levels Daniel with a huff that makes Daniel honk scream, pointy elbows in Max’s soft ribs. “Do they have kitty passports?”

Of course they do. Max filled out their visa and applications the other day. Before Daniel even said yes to them being here. He squeezes Daniel’s hand in thanks. With love.

Daniel shows him the Jet account. Says it will be so funny when they see it depart Monaco for Perth. But Max won't be landing. Asks Max if he will make his mother pick up the cats from the airport too.

Max doesn't say anything. He will make Daniel drive, at this rate.

Asks if he can leak to the press that it is Jimmy and Sassy on Perth Express - just like in Zandvoort, Max, get it? Should they name it the Daniel express?

Max kisses him quiet. Presses him down the too small sofa. Daniel doesn't get the titjob, it’s fine. It only has been nineteen days. Max will make it happen.

Daniel is correct. Because Lando, Martin and three other people sent him a message about Perth the moment he gets confirmation the cats are strapped safely into the jet. Lando is supposed to be on media duties in Brazil, Max knows. It makes Max want to thank Lewis for not telling anyone beforehand and that makes him grumpy.

Daniel can talk to Lewis as much as he wants, Max still doesn't think they are friends. Hates that they both made a face when Daniel said it out loud and then Lewis laughed, the one time in the past month that Lewis called Daniel. Because Daniel told him. Lewis makes fun of Max.

Why have you got alerts about my Jet, Lando? He asks. Lando sends three shrug emojis. Max thinks about revoking jet access.

I cannot be travelling to Perth, he sends. Wait for them to send more messages. They ask why, what is Max thinking? Why isn't he with Daniel? Daniel will have him.

If Max isn't racing, why isn't he there? What the fuck Max. Max feels insulted.

Max smiles also, pleased. Yes, everyone knows Daniel will have him. Says he is already at the farm. That Daniel is cooking breakfast. That neither of them have a dietary plan to follow. Says he has been there since before Vegas.

His phone vibrates for an entire minute. Daniel looks up from his laptop, eyebrows raised. Max sighs.

After two missed calls, Lando sends a fifteen minute long voice note. He doesn't open it. Thinks about blocking Lando’s number. Knows he has burner phones so doesn't bother.

Hears the Lando screech from Daniel’s phone five minutes later. Daniel tells Lando that no, Max is the only one who can appear at his doorstep before a grand Prix he should totally have been at.

Yes, Lando can come to the farm during break. No, only if Max agrees. Yep, it’s like that mate.

Max beams at Daniel’s back.

Calls Max a world champion. Lando gags on speakerphone. They don't talk about the current point standing. Even the FIA doesn't know what to do. Max smiles. Gets up to wrap himself against Daniel’s back. Flips an unseeing Lando because he didn't even face time. Laughs against Daniel's neck when Lando calls them names.

Daniel telltales about Max flipping him off. Max withholds jet privileges for the both of them. Will put Daniel to sleep next to a snoring man when they travel back to the other side of the world. Max loudly says he will sleep soundly, alone.

Daniel of course is with him when they take the plane to Monaco.

There might be something on their fingers Max can't wait to tell his mother. They have the quickie Max wanted.

They buy the first aid kit. Max orders more anyway. Stockpiles plasters in their bathroom. Doesn't blush when lube also arrives. He ordered too much. But he takes things seriously. Especially Daniel’s comfort. Daniel’s pleasure. Tells Daniel spitroasting isn't enough.

Daniel chokes on it. Max smiles, content, eyes creased. Daniel says Max can't kiss him anymore. How silly.

He texts a play by play to Luke. They make a little joke about it on the next stream. Daniel flips him off where he sits, off camera. Watches max sim race even though it’s past his bedtime.

Max loves him.

Spends an hour or two or five looking up at first aid courses too. Drives Daniel’s car to the little town next to the farm and takes a course with new parents and two older women.

He is of course, the best there. Gets a little diploma. Shakes their hands and tells them about Daniel, who will break his collarbone one day, Max has foretold it. They don't laugh, but the instructor snickers at the back of the room. They think it is just a couple thing, a private joke between lovers. They weren't lovers then, despite the Daniel and Max shaped holes.

Max isn't joking.

Yet.

He comes back from his afternoon class to Daniel fresh from the shower, fresh from the tail end of the farm where they ride more often than not. Isn't joking when he congratulates Max. Opens a bottle of wine, not champagne, when Max shows him the stamped form that calls Max a first aider. Max jokes that he can't spray Max with wine, can’t do a shoey.

Smiles into his shoulder when Daniel says the shoey is for the next race Max wins from his gaming room setup.

It is not a DR3 wine, Max is happy. Downs one glass before Daniel kisses his cheek and cracks open a premade gin & tonic cocktail. Max burrows into the better dining chairs, even if they are outside.

And still.

It isn't Daniel who breaks anything. It’s him. It isn't even because of Maximillian the cow. She isn't a baby anymore. Max loves her now. Max raced with the dirt bikes and well. Learnt that it is different, than crashing on a track. There are no flags to wave to tell Max about debris. Looked away from the road for one second.

He would have preferred the G force and the tyre stacks. Feels the burn of dust in open grazes on his skin. Smells the antiseptic more than he does the plaster for the cast.

He is a bit out of it, as they wait.

He told Daniel it wasn't worth driving to the next private hospital. It was just a broken wrist. He won't have a cool scar like Daniel.

Daniel isn't too happy about Max’s jokes. It’s just past Christmas and the emergency services are full. A private hospital would have seen him already. Max doesn't mind waiting. Pulls a cap down his face. No one recognises them anyway, not when children are crying and Max wants to cry too.

He thinks Daniel cried a bit, driving Max and his limp wrist and bleeding knees. Kissed his face and called him baby and suddenly Max forgot about the pain.

Remembered it straight after.

“When I said you owed me a gift, Maxy.” Daniel says, tired as they still wait at the hospital, x-ray done and Max knows the bone is broken. “it didn't mean you had to hurt yourself for it.”

Even through the painkillers, Max knows Daniel isn't talking about his injury. Makes for a move but Daniel scrambles to hold him down, helps him move so Max doesn't hurt himself more. Daniel is silly. But Daniel is his now, and Max didn't have it on his list for Daniel to take care of him too.

“Daniel.” He slurs a bit. It makes Daniel pay attention. Max isn't fully in control. Doesn't care. He has never been embarrassed about Daniel. Not at seventeen. Not now.

“I looked at dirt bikes,” he says. Daniel’s face doesn't do anything different. Thinks again. Words trip in his mouth. He doesn't know where to start to make Daniel see. “In Singapore. In fact, in Baku, but I of course did not act on anything until you knew.”

Had created his little Pinterest board of emails and quotes and late night googling. Had moved the Max plan to action mode. Crossed little steps in his mind to get to the finish line more quickly. Recklessly. But Max doesn't regret. No regrets, only memories.

He says it in half bitten words.

Daniel’s mouth does something funny. Like not kissing him. Max knows it is sore, even between them, that Max is the only one who told Daniel, before. Daniel thinks still it wasn't Max’s duty. Max thinks otherwise. He needed to be the one to tell Daniel, if they wouldn't. It could not have been anyone else.

“I looked at dirt bikes and clothes to wear on a farm and got myself ready for you.” That’s what she said. Daniel would have snickered and made a dick joke too, Max thinks, if Max wasn't hooked on a IV for fluids and is waiting to get a cast. He will get the green resin, he thinks. Or the blue. If it isn't any of the blues from the teams. Would have gotten red, if they had any. Ferrari red.

Daniel would have sent it to Seb and finally Seb would have texted Max back. He is sure. He will ask for a red cast. Focuses on Daniel again. There is so much of Daniel in him.

“I always meant to come here. After —” doesn't say he thought he would retire first, in fact. That was the plan, until summer break. Thought he would watch Daniel race from the farm. “After it was done. I always wanted to be with you.”

“Maxy—”

“I want to be here.” He whines, urgent. Daniel grabs his good hand. Max thinks the pain muddles things up. Wishes he could just speak Dutch. Breng je me even naar huis? Daniel would have honked laughed. Will try it next time they go on a date not on the farm.

Will make Daniel take him home.

Max has a laundry list of thing he did, between Baku and now. Has a secret plan for after, once they cross Christmas and the new year's. Wants to show it all to Daniel so they can go back to Europe and their friends and Max’s family and Max will sit content and happy and not even think about racing.

He guesses he will say yes when Daniel asks to spend a night at Christian’s. He will rope GP into it. GP loves Daniel anyway, will say yes.

Love me. Love me. He doesn't say. But wants to scramble and urge Daniel to get it.

“Max.” Daniel soothes. Fingers tracing the furrow in Max’s brow. It is soothing. Maybe Max whined out loud again. Daniel rubs circles in his thigh, the other one, not the one with the giant gauze on it. It still burns a little. Max will look up gear for the dirt bikes next. Won't allow Daniel to ride without knee pads.

“You didn't need to do all of that for me to love you.”

Max hums, gentle. Yes, it is good, that Daniel loves him. Would be a bit awkward, he thinks, because he has a gift burrowed between the boxes in the spare room, Max’s gaming room. Daniel had vetoed it living in their dining room. Max had only beamed throughout the process.

“I loved you already, Maxy.” love you now, love you forever, he corrects when Max makes a wounded sound and the heart monitor goes beep beep beep. Soothes him with a kiss, a whispered I love you baby against Max’s sweaty temple. “You know I would have waited for you. Even until 2026. You know they all thought you’d leave then.”

Daniel had waited a long time. Max knows, listening when Daniel talked about it, jittery hands drumming on Max’s thigh. Explains the Daniel timeline to Max. Fills in gaps.

Chokes up on words and confessions and doubts. The Daniel plan is as long as the Max plan. But Daniel didn't have a farm to go to. Max thinks now he shouldn't have bought a flat in Monaco. Could have bought land in the Netherlands. Might buy a house with a field for tulips. For sunflowers. They could have had a Maximillian cow in Belgium as well. But Daniel needs the sun, needs the distance. Max is happy to follow. Never cared to call anything a home until now.

But Daniel always talked about home. And family.

Didn't meet Max’s eyes until he was finished. Filled Max’s heart until he thought he would throw up from happiness. Bought the burrowed gift the morning after. Daniel has many rings for Max to steal and measure. It waits, like Daniel.

But it is Max, who doesn’t want to wait. Daniel’s eyes crinkle. He kisses the top of Max’s head. Max must have said it out loud. He says things out loud too often. Doesn't care for word games. It is what it is.

Daniel signs Max’s cast. Draws a shit honey badger. A blob. Max makes sure he knows his drawing is bad. Gives the shitty honey badger that-is-not a name. It is a lovely name, unlike Daniel’s drawing skills.

Daniel swats at him every time he brings it up, smile blinding anyway. Heart shaped lips on his face.

Daniel helps him in the shower even if Max could just wrap it in plastic to protect the cast. Says it every time. Daniel washes Max’s back and his hair and — oh. Yes. He gets it now. Doesn't refuse the help anymore.

Daniel says he crosses the line at taking care of Max’s itchy skin. Calls him a big boy. Shoots finger guns at him. Max pouts. Watches the streams from the sidelines and Luke makes fun of him. No one else outside of their circles knows Max Verstappen has a cast from a dirt bike incident in Perth.

It does make it to the daniel3 dump weeks after. Max stares, unmoved. Resolves to post an embarrassing picture of Daniel on his main account, will bypass the admin control just like he did after Spa. Maybe the manure video from his computer.

He changes the flights back to Monaco because he cannot face his friends and family with the cast on. Has shown them already yes, but doesn't want to explain why yes Daniel must help him in the shower. That’s for Max to know only. For Daniel to smirk about.

Yes, he sighs to George because of course George knows. They slipped once. No, they do not buy a bench like old people. Because get it Max, Daniel is older.

They simply run baths now. He doesn't tell George that. He is the one washing Daniel’s curls. Buys the good shampoo, even.

Grace signs the cast too, coos all over Max for an entire day. Daniel asks her to stop but Max beams, lets Grace take over, until his cheeks hurt from smiling. From nudging Daniel with jokes and teases. Daniel goes out to check the chickens five times. Never comes back with eggs. His smile is bigger each time he sees his mother and Max sat on the couch together. Smiles biggest when Max is sandwiched between Grace and Joe.

Doesn't squeak when they pull out embarrassing pictures. Max has seen a lot of embarrassing teenage Daniel. Fell in love back then anyway.

Max whispers asks to steal a few. He will copy the entire album. Daniel knows he can't win because Max knows he was the cutest child so Max is not embarrassed by baby Max pictures. Daniel has talked to his mother about it many times.

Max’s heart flipped funny then. Avoids his mother’s eyes every time. Long silences on calls. Sophie’s Max is sighed the same way Grace’s is.

Daniel makes hand motions between his eyes and Max when Max hollers at him not to break his collarbone. Daniel swears he will ban Max and dirt bikes. He won't, because they race each other and Daniel still wins for now and Max will kiss him again at that little remote spot they can only get to on the bikes. When he can ride again. Daniel stared at him when Max swore he can probably drive one handed. He drove after Silverstone. That didn't make Daniel laugh.

She signs it with little X kisses. Signs it Grace Ricciardo, fastest lap in Perth. They laugh, burrowed in the ugly lawn chairs. Watch Daniel get the barbecue ready with his father. Max and Daniel foods ready on the side.

It is a way to midnight, to the new year's. He’ll wait. Will kiss Daniel at midnight. Will do the grape wishes he learnt from Carlos. Twelve little chances on what they can do next year. Max and Daniel’s first year together.

Just them. Their calendar is mostly free now, especially Thursdays to Sundays.

Max has one big wish and twelve grapes under a table to make it happen. Max smiles. Waits a bit longer. Max will be the one to ask then, and Daniel will say yes.

#maxiel #reckless thoughts fic #my writing #idk man i love reckless thoughts max #formula 1 rpf

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seneitut · 1 year ago

Note

Hii!!! I found your work and i LOVE it so much! especially the wordcount!!

if its ok can i request gekko x freader but the f reader is really dom? assertive like gekkos talking but stutters so much and forgets what hes saying when she like looks at him the wrong way **doesnt have to b nsfw but whatever works thanks!

“Quietness”

[Part 1][Part 2] [Part 3]

[Gekko/F!Reader]

Words: 9K (I'm so sorry is this freaking long)

Tags: Fluff, violence, deaths, teachnicality of the game because I miss Ice box, slow-burn, NSFW (+18), Dom!Reader, Sub!Gekko.

[It seems I didn't know how the queue works because I thought this was posted days ago im so sorry gfjnfghgh

You can skip the nsfw part when the words are bold like this, its near the end!]

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

The silence that envelops the common room is ringing deep inside his ears.

Vibring, trembling, deafening.

Gekko hates the silence. A reasonable amount, you could say, to not be able to stand it to the point he wants to rip his brain into shreds to stop the thinking and not process the buzzing.

It brings memories he tries to suppress, echoing within the silence and rolling like a corrupted movie behind his eyelids over and over again. Gekko grunts in discomfort, trying to dissipate the images by rubbing his eyes with force until it stings but that doesn’t deter the silence to swallow him whole.

Since when has he become this dramatic.

He whines loudly, head thrown back, “Why is it so quiet in here, dios!” But finds not even the echo of his voice filling the void.

Most of the agents have left for missions earlier that day, leaving only the most reclusive people at the base alongside him, hence the quietness.

And it is not like he didn’t want to go—he’s always eager to accompany his allies in battle and have the time to bond with them through killing their counterparts— but the reasoning of Brimstone when assigning the teams is based on whether or not their powers and abilities compliment each other and not how well they get along.

KAY/O and Skye were out on two different teams, so his kits were not really necessary for the mission at all. Sova was out of commission until further instructions after getting injured and Fade was…well, he doesn’t know her whereabouts, but she must surely be busy with something else instead of hanging out with him.

They are on pretty good terms thanks to Neon, so he doubts she would avoid him on purpose. The only reasonable option would be that she was busy. And Breach? Breach is Breach, the man is unable to stay still in one place so he must definitely be either hitting the gym or committing crimes. Not really of his taste.

That only left him, the last initiator, back at home.

Most of the sentinels were with him at the base; but like the cliché they are, none of them were eager to share their spaces with others nor entertain him in, how did Chamber put it…´dumbassery´ of sorts.

Rude, honestly. Gekko is not at fault that they don’t know how to have fun outside missions.

“I’m surprised to see you here.”

Whipping his head around, he finds you leaned on the doorway with a clipboard on hand. The dark shades you’re wearing do not give away whether you’re surprised or emotionless to his presence here, which, in retrospect, wasn’t important to know.

He’s just happy someone is here to make the silence go away.

“I’ve got no missions today!” Turning his body around, he rests his head on the back of the couch to get a better view of you without breaking his neck. “I thought you left with Sage hours ago. Weren’t you going to…uh, what was it called…”

Frowning in concentration, he tries remembering the name of the place you were to set off, but none came to mind. Ice cube? Ice mountain? It had something to do with ice and something something…right?

“I can see the smoke coming out of your ears from your thinking alone.” The subtle smirk on your face was noticed by him, pouting by the teasing. “Sage is unable to go to Ice box with me.”

“Ice box, that’s it!” Sitting down on the couch next to him, he continues. “So, what's up? Change of plans now?”

Nodding, you go through the pages in the clipboard before raising your eyesight to him. Gekko seems eager, if not a little energetic for someone who has nothing to do. He seems expectant as well, jittery and a little fidgety with how often he toys with his gloves.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you ponder whether it's a viable idea to ask him to duo with you on the task that was assigned. Although you don’t have the energy to deal with someone like him: a little chatterbox and full of energy; his abilities might come in handy if the situation calls for it.

But this is an important mission, and you haven't worked with Gekko before. It would be a gamble whether the mission goes well or not and you’re not sure if you want to put something this important on line.

Gekko waves his hand in front of your face, a frown apparent on his features, “Hola? Are you okay there?”

Avoiding his question you decide to deflect it with another one, “Do you know where Cypher is?”

“In his room I think? I tried going in but I got tangled with his tripwires at the entrance and he just shut me off.” Crossing his arms, he sighs. “I’m kind of tempted to think he doesn’t like me very much.”

No shit. Who goes inside another’s bedroom without asking first? And Cypher, above all, is such a secretive man it is no wonder he loves to hide his secrets under lock and blackmail to keep it safe; the worst person to skip over pleasantries and ignorance was him.

Gekko has pissed him off, then. Great. Out of options.

“So he is in no mood, got it.”

“What do you even need him for? Such a grumpy man to work with.”

With no desire to argue, you leave Gekko to run his mouth about why he is so pissed about most sentinels at the protocol and how little social life they all have to be wasting it holled up in their rooms.

The need to defend Cypher is big, but you know the man has cameras all over the place and you don’t want to say something out of pocket in his presence—digital presence, in truth—or worse, out yourself with the soft spot you have for the secretive man.

Cypher wouldn't let it die down.

“...And you know, I tried speaking with Brimstone about having activities inside the protocol to strengthen our partnership, friendship, whatever the heck we are so we can be more trusting to each other!” Rolling his eyes, he huffs loudly. “But he said no, because this is not a fraternization house and I should take my work more seriously.”

“He is not wrong.” You comment absently.

“But I feel like it is necessary!” He continues. “How can we be a team if we aren't on friendly terms?”

“Not everyone will be your friend, Gekko.” Sighing, you stand up and begin to leave. “You cannot force yourself into others just to fulfill your need to get along. If it happens, happens, if it doesn't work, just let it be.”

“B-but, wait! Where are you going?”

Raising the clipboard, you move it slightly to let him know you still have things to do instead of indulging in his little chat.

“I'm busy. And I need this done by today.”

“But you don't have to leave!”

Frowning, you turn around to see him slouched over the couch with a pout on his face and a look that begs for you to stay.

You're not easily swayed by childish behavior from people you don't know. It didn't work on you as one might assume from your laid back personality, which most confuses it as rudeness, but this kind of attitude is what you hate the most.

If Gekko doesn't confront you about why he doesn't want you to leave, you won't hear him out. If he isn't honest, then you won't entertain him any longer.

“See you later, kid.”

Not even two steps ahead, you stop dead on your tracks when you hear him whine loudly.

He's not even looking at you, eyes downcast and making sad noises; like a kicked puppy. It makes you question how old is this kid to be throwing a tantrum because he doesn't have his friends around.

This is not your problem, though, you can just keep walking away and try your luck with either Chamber or Killjoy to fulfill your task instead of lounging around and wasting time. But deep inside, there is a little fire that has been ignited by seeing someone like him acting so pathetic that you just want to strangle him.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” You spat with anger. Uncalled for, since he's done nothing wrong. “Fucking childish.”

Gekko looks offended by receiving such rude treatment in a single question that his sad façade is forgotten.

“Why are you—!” He exclaims. “¡Háblame bonito!”

“I don't understand spanish, you dumbass.”

“Speak nicely to me!”

“I am speaking nicely. I don't get why the fuck you're so childish about this. Do you want something from me? Then say it.”

“I don't want anything from you! I just wanted some company but you're leaving like the rest do!” Huffing in frustration, he scratches his head in an attempt to subside his irritation.

“You never said you wanted company, what am I, a mind reader? And why is that a reason to be acting like a brat? Grow up!”

“No, you grow up! You are so irritating!”

Scoffing, you close the distance slightly, hovering over his form with a menacing aura and scowling at his defensive stance.

Gekko is frowning, his hazel eyes holding back a fury only he could comprehend but softens ever so slightly when you approach him and, if your eyes don't deceive you, his cheeks reddens when his sight roams your body now that he had a new angle from you.

He stammers when he asks you to back off, eyes to the side and fidgeting on his seat.

You fix your shades before starting, “I told you I can't stay, I've got work to do yet you insist on me staying to fulfill your own desire? Don't be selfish.��

“Am not…”

“You are. Stop pretending that this isn't to make you feel better.”

Gekko's eyes widened in embarrassment, “Yeah? What if I am! Is that something wrong to wish for?”

“No, only immature.” Checking the time, you decide this has taken too long “I've gotta go.”

“Nadie nunca se queda de igual manera. Go off, just leave already.”

You sigh.

Is never easy to confront others about the feelings bothering their minds and souls, and you know a person is easy to rile up if you press their buttons constantly.

You've heard of the happy Gekko at all times, bringing laughs and smiles to his fellow friends and filling that void of a friend if needed—but who does the same for Gekko when he needs it?

Usually the happy people you encounter like him are the most troubled within their hearts. You don't want to be pointing fingers, but this boy has some deep issues with solace and individuality. It makes you wonder if he's ever had a healthy friendship or a healthy relationship in general.

Because now that he's this angry, he could use some emotional support to go through his feelings and what wrongs he's done.

Capable of angering someone like him should be a feat, but besides that, you must have acted terribly for him to get to this point of annoyance.

Gekko seems really upset, but mostly, he looks so worn off that you pity him for whatever he's going through.

God, you cannot leave without resolving this first. Is going to nag your brain with guilt if you don't make amends with him.

“I apologize for my behavior.” You begin, Gekko levels you with a skeptical look. “Let’s try this again: I’m busy, I can’t stay, and sorry about that. The others might return later today if you’re patient enough.”

“Yeah, in hours maybe, or never.”

“Have a little faith there.” you shrug. “Aren't they your friends? They are coming back for sure, don't worry too much.”

“It's not only that.” He says. “I- um, I don’t like the silence here, it's too deafening, you know? I just wanted some noise, something to fill in while I wait. I keep talking and talking now because I don’t want it to be quiet.”

“Yeah, I quite get it. Still, I'm sorry about earlier.”

“I accept the apology because it really was rude of you to snap like that.” Gekko sighs, “Why did you even react like that? Like, what prompted you to do that?”

How do you explain to him you don’t even know exactly why you’ve snapped at him?

Perhaps you won’t. There is a small idea planted that you don’t want to dwell on because it would be too embarrassing to admit and you don’t think Gekko would appreciate your thoughts.

“Didn’t have a good day.” You lie. He seems to buy it. “Shouldn’t have taken it on you, though.”

Gekko nods and offers a small smile. Things seem to have calmed down for now and the other looks a little better than before, which is good in your opinion.

“Go,” He nudges your arm with his finger, smiling. “I think Cypher really likes you in comparison to us, if you ask him, he might go with you.”

Ah, clever boy.

“Maybe, I’ll think about it. Thank you.”

Waving your goodbye, you take your time to regard him silently before walking away from the common room, sighing in tiredness and stress consuming you entirely when you’re finally out of his vision.

This is not how you expected the day to be going. You expected nothing; just to do your job, return to the base and maybe get a nice glass of wine—you feel like trying your luck and figure out if today is the day you’re gonna like the beverage—puke from disgust because you will probably still hate it and take a long ass nap.

But by the looks of it, maybe you're doomed to solo this.

God you won’t be able to finish this alone.

Going back your steps, you reach the common room once again, startling Gekko who seemed to be playing with his knife. He takes a moment of consideration, gaping like a fish out of water before realization dawns on him.

You raise your hand before he can even say a word, watching his smile stretch to a grin while he waits for you to give him the chance to say something.

“I’ll offer this once: I’m going to Ice box, and I need a partner for this specific mission, are you up to this?”

Gekko didn’t even let the question be finished, jumping from the couch with a loud: ‘Hell yeah!’ and a fistpump in the air, a bright smile adorning his face. Doing him once over, you decide that the deed is done and now there is no turning back.

Take it or take it.

“We leave in five, be ready at the launching site or else I’m leaving without you.”

With that final warning you take off to gather your equipment.

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

Ice box is not like it used to be.

Throughout the time you’ve been working for the protocol, this place has changed a thousand times. You don’t even remember how it was supposed to be in the first place, but your best guess is the omega agents had something to do with it: the cargo ships, the laboratories, everything has been modified to their convenience thanks to kingdom.

You are thankful enough that at times that this place has been in danger, your team has been able to stop the detonation of the spikes and prevent further catastrophes. Either you knew the place better than them or their teams weren’t able to catch up with how fast you did the retake of the sites.

Luck was on your side, you suppose.

This time, however, you won’t need any of that to complete the mission.

Go in, download the data, steal the samples if there is some, and get the fuck out of there.

You wish your duo were someone able to surveillance while you get what you need, but it is okay, you can make it work. Gekko will keep watch while you gather the info, or maybe he can go and inspect the samples near the kitchen so the work can be doable and quick to do.

“Damn, this place is huge!” Gekko watches around him with wonder in his eyes and excitement pouring from every word uttered. “And so fucking cold, god, what the fuck.”

The wind seems to have gotten stronger after many months of keeping this place barred from people. The blizzard was picking up fast, making the snow rise with strong bursts of air and freezing you to the bone. Your shades were getting covered in snow quite quickly and you were annoyed you had to clean them up often. A bit more and your fingers will become windshields.

Gekko was wearing his usual fit, which is not proper for this kind of weather. Either he was going to die from hypothermia or worse, become an actual ice statue with the lack of clothing. This is partly your mistake for not warning him on time before taking off; you cannot expect people to travel somewhere called Icebox and not be aware that it might be a cold place.

“Here, warm yourself up.” Taking off your coat, you fix it on top of his shoulders until he pops his arms through the armholes. He sighs, burrowing his face on the fur covering his neck and shyly inhaling your scent.

Smiling at him, you pat his head gently and begin your walking towards the rafters on A site. The turtleneck you’re wearing should be enough to cover you until you reach the surveillance room. Being a closed space, you guess the old scientists might have a heater installed; and if they don’t, you are going to curse their entire lineage for this crime.

Is pretty cold out here, your supposition that people might still linger around the area is close to none, so you can breathe in peace for the time being.

“Hey, aren't you cold?” Gekko treks besides you, catching up with your quick pace. “You're not wearing much, I'm sorry I had to take this from you.”

“It’s okay, I’ve worn less when I had to come here and fight for our lives, this is alright.” Is not and your chattering teeths gives away how cold you were getting.

Gekko stretches his arms out, wiggling his hands to signal you to come to him and you cannot help but raise a brow at his antics. Rubbing your hands together to breathe in some warm air you ignore him to reach the destination.

The site is clear, quiet, and echoing the footsteps you fear someone might hear it. Gekko is keeping the silence still, and you wish he would speak or say something so the atmosphere would not be perceived as…deathly.

Is way too quiet.

“I need to download some data from the main room, it might take a while until I find what I’m looking for.” You comment, Gekko nods. “I need you to reach the kitchen and find the secondary lab to take some samples. Remember the pictures I’ve shown you on the jet? We need to take them back to base for Killjoy to analyze them.”

“You got it boss!” He exclaims, saluting you.

“Once you’ve got them, return here. Is better to stick together, but knowing this won’t take you long, we will separate for a while.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m not gonna be gone forever, you know?” He sets off, giving a slight wave in your direction.

That brings a grin to your face.

Opening the compartment where most of the computers are located frightens you a bit. The metal doors sound like they need maintenance with how rusty they crack while opening, scaring you to the bone with how loud it is.

Everything inside the room seems impeccable and things are where they are supposed to be. Most of the computers are off right now, except for one that is stuck in the far corner of the room, the screen on sleep mode and projecting a small animation of the logo of Kingdom. Is warm inside, too, which you are thankful for so you can shake off the coldness chilling you.

There is no password required when you move the mouse, the desktop greets you with multiple files organized on the side and you wonder if this should feel easy to scavenge through kingdom’s most important secrets.

Don’t mind the hours put into learning how to hack into computers taught by Cypher, you are going to get the info and get out of here as soon as possible.

Getting the usb from your back pocket, you put it in and wait for it to load. Drumming your fingers, you get a glimpse of A site from the window and admire the pristine and cleanliness it maintains while you wait. One of the reasons this place has always given you the chills, is how weird it works.

Despite how often it snows, none of it gets inside. As if it avoids entirely to be dirtied by it. Does it have to do with any of the inventions they’ve worked on here? Could it be that it had something to do with the experiments they’ve tested on Yoru’s ancestors' armors? An invisible shield?

Ping!

The computer loads the usb without problems, the work starts here.

Going file through file might take a while, but you hope this doesn’t take longer than what you expect.

There are some files already open that you think will go over first. Some titles you don’t understand quite well, but there are profiles from the alpha agents that have the basic information one might get if the both worlds share the same fates.

Some are coordinates to cities that still exist in their world and the current location of every omega agent. All their data, every single mission they’ve been assigned and their contact information is there, in open sight.

This is no coincidence. Someone had left this on purpose for you to find, but why?

You decide to dwell on it later, copying every data of importance to the usb and reading the remaining files. Paragraph through paragraph, each sentence you read is worse than the other and the horror it hides behind this screen is worse than you imagined.

Who keeps this on a scientist computer?

Unless this isn't information saved here. All you've encountered here has been placed exclusively for someone to find, with a purpose.

Oh, fuck.

Who else knew? Besides you and Sage, there has been no one else this mission has been talked about.

Brimstone and Viper are both very picky with whoever they share important details about kingdom or omega earth; unless there is a rat in your forces, you doubt anyone else would snitch it out.

You trust Cypher with your life, and after learning what's going on with his counterpart, you doubt it could be him. Killjoy is a no-no, she is Brimstone protegé and someone who you cherish very much.

There is only one centinel left whom you found nothing inside these files.

You cannot grasp the why, though.

Someone who wanted to warn you about this and knew you were coming to gather the information that was left long ago—why would he expose himself like this?

You were tasked to figure out the experiments on radiants and the power the armor from Yoru's ancestors held; to find the correlation to the spike and the radianite they so desperately wanted to steal.

They have an intel too, sharing the information openly and creating a bridge of knowledge for both sides without actually involving any party.

The intel is here.

And Gekko is alone.

Taking the usb with the information it loaded, you run out of the computer room towards the kitchen with rapid footsteps.

Your heart is pounding wildly inside your chest, terrified of anything happening to Gekko while you were not there to help.

Tapping on your comms, the only answer you get while calling out Gekko's name is pure static; that only heightens your worry.

There is a small chance he might be alright and is only messing around while he waits for you to finish. Maybe he's only exploring the sites freely because no one is here and you are just paranoid and overthinking stuff.

The blizzard has gotten stronger for the past hour, covering almost everything outside in big piles of snow and picking up air currents. It made the running impossible to do and the desperation to get a hold of your senses, making you feel like your steps were slower or simply not enough.

“If he's okay I'm going to murder him myself.” you take the mental note, worried sick and furious.

Once you've arrived at the door frame from the kitchen, you are quick to notice the door to the lab is wide open. There is no sign of your partner nor anything to indicate there has been a fight here. Some things are messed up in the lab so you could only assume it was his doing while searching for the samples.

But where is Gekko? Where the fuck did he go that he is unable to answer the calls?

Going down the hallway you stop dead on your tracks when you pick up the faint sound of ticking. Above the raging weather, it is impossible for you to not recognize that awful sound.

Taking out your ghost, the only weapon you brought with you, you swing on the corridor to B site. There is a Fade holding the angle, she seems bruised and worn off, but still holds onto her phantom with the strength she has left.

You fail your first shot, which is fatal because she injures your leg with one of her bullets before you can land one through her head. You gasp in pain, leaning on the doorway and breathing in heavily while her dead body falls to the side.

The cold is not helping the wound at all, feeling the tender skin burn under your touch and friction against the tight clothing. You're not sure the bullet has exited the appendage and don't want to figure it out now, that’ll be a problem for your future self.

Gekko is your priority.

Biting back a pained groan, you rush your walking to get the weapon, leaving the ghost strapped to your waist.

Hovering over the threshold, you are quick to spot Omega Chamber holding the angle to snowman, undisturbed and unaware one of his teammates has died. The loudness of the blizzard could be in your favor right now, since you didn’t know how many of them were left and the comms were unavailable for all of you.

The best option was to back off to the entrance to snowpile and jump down. From that distance Chamber won’t be able to detect you and you will have a chance to lower their numbers.

Reloading the gun, you follow your plan until you are close to B site.

You didn't want to use your powers, always having faith in your aim and supported your missions with that alone.

On this occasion, there is no other option left.

Taking the shades off, you breathe in deeply, holding onto the phantom tightly and canalizing the energy from the spike ticking down.

One of the reasons you fear your powers is when the spike is down.

The longer you use it, the faster the ticking goes and closer to exploding, exposing everyone to its danger. There is some sort of connection from the radianite it extracts to what you can do—experimentations that has been done to you before the first light to tranform you into a radianite magnet and localize them for kingdom.

Is a bad memory to reminiscent, painful to the core.

But if you want to get out, if you want to find Gekko, you have to become the monster you've swore to never be.

When you open your eyes, you can see your reflection in one of the cargo boxes in front of you. Your eyes are designed like waves of a radius, ring after ring moving outwards and magnetizing—demonic.

The white of the sclera and the red of the rings, Viper once mentioned how evil you look like this, which made you self conscious as to how the others might perceive you. The shades you so dearly hold onto you was taken when you killed your counterpart once.

It belonged to her, the you from another world, and the little thought that you were no different after all made you upset and sad.

It's scary, seeing yourself like this after so long of denying your nature, is terrifying not knowing what's going to happen now.

Once upon a time, you thought it matched your vibe, but those times are long gone after the many mistakes you've made while using it.

There is no time to dwindle in the past.

Every vitals from every person within the spike radius shows in front of your eyes; where are they hiding, what are they holding, and between them, Gekko lays on the floor, unmoving.

The feeling of bubbling anger chokes you, and you cannot help the hellish cry before swinging to a Sage next to the spike and head shooting her.

You can feel the life of her becoming one with the energy of the radianite when she finally dies, going back to where it belonged once.

There is another person hiding behind the yellow box, another a little far behind near their spawn and Chamber has not stopped holding snowman even after shooting Sage who was almost right next to her. You pay him no mind, perhaps he hasn't heard you yet—you've gotta act quick.

Running to yellow, you quickly swing with the phantom and shoot Yoru in the head, but he bursts into a bright light, blinding you for a moment before you see the actual one shooting you with a bulldog.

Many bullets go past you, but as soon as it makes contact with you, your body swallows them. Yoru makes such a disgusted face seeing your body contort to accommodate the new hosts before dropping dead.

Gekko's body is right behind him, wounds littering his skin and your coat covered in amounts of blood it freezes your heart for a moment.

You know he is alive thanks to the vitals of radianite inside his body, but you fear you might lose him if you were to stick here.

Reloading your gun, you throw his whole body on your shoulder. You've gotta take advantage while in this mode, strength won't be lasting for long with how close the spike is to exploiting.

Gekko grunts in pain when you start running, you mentally apologize to him but won't slow down.

Is not until you reach snowman that you finally hear the spike detonate.

Weakness takes hold of you and, without the energy from before and the bullets that Yoru shot you, new wounds start opening up, making you tumble down onto the snow with Gekko by your side.

The boy wakes startled, gasping for air and choking onto his own blood while looking around him. When he spots you shaking next to him, he crawls next to your side to cradle your head, unaware of the many wounds hurting him.

Turning to your side, you finally make eye contact with Gekko, happy to see him awake and somewhat okay despite his injuried. Before you can ask him yourself if he's okay, he lets off a scream, backing off until you are no longer touching.

The terrified expression on his face should be enough to offend anyone, but dizzy and tired with the whole play you've done, you cannot figure out why he is making that expression.

Until you blink.

You are not wearing the shades.

It must have fallen off when you ran away from the detonation and didn't notice because of the rush of adrenaline. He is staring right into you, an expression you are not able to discern through the wisps of blizzard and ice cooling you down.

“Tsk, tsk. You've gotten away, then.”

Your hair stands on its ends, turning slowly until you see Chamber hovering over your form with his weapon in hand. Gekko gasps, choking in his own blood until his throat is sore and hurting, but closing the distance until he has you within reach.

Chamber looks down at you, his operator aiming right at your head while you try to hide Gekko’s body behind you. The poor boy grunts in pain, eyes wide in fear and body trembling for the loss of blood; he can’t even utter a word after what has happened.

Is this how you both die?

There is one shot, a second one follows after that and Chamber clicks on his comms.

“The subject was found dead.” Is what he says, to your horror. There are two holes next to your leg where he's shot, clearly missing the target. “I’ve dealt with his partner as well, I’ll be going back as soon as the spike radius goes down.”

There is a conversation going on between him and the Viper that escaped before the spike detonated. The chance of jumping him while lowering his guard is high, but would prove it to be fatal if his reflexes are sharp with the shotgun he has strapped on his hip.

Giving a brief glance at Gekko, you are safe to assume he will be okay for the time being, but not for long if Chamber decides to act on his words.

Moving slowly, you try to reach for your knife. Maybe if you’re quick enough, you can slice his neck and leave with his weapon.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” He warns. There is not an ounce of pity in eyes, which confuses you as to what he wants to do with you both.

“If you’re going to kill us, why prolong this? I knew you were sick to the head, but not to this point.”

Walking slowly around you, he regards you with quietness and a pensive expression. The closer he gets, the more you cover Gekko with your body to create some sort of shield against the other.

You know you wouldn’t be able to do anything if he were to manhandle you or hurt your partner; the amount of blood pooling around you was alarming enough to not do anything drastic.

“I’m taking a look.” Is his answer. With the barrel of the gun under your chin, he raises your head with gentleness. “You’ve never given me the chance to see you in action, I’m taking the time admiring those beautiful eyes you have there. Enchanting, aren’t they, kid?”

Gekko frowns at his words, with the last of his strength he scowls at Chamber and holds your arm with a weak grip.

“Territorial as well, how amusing.”

He straps the operator on his back, extending a hand to you. “Stand up. Time is running out for you and they won’t take long before they ask why I’m taking so long.”

Accepting the offering hand, you let go of Gekko to support your weight on Chamber. The moment you’re on your two feet, Chamber feels the sharp sting on his neck of your knife threatening to cut the skin. He tries to reach for his shotgun, but the pressure of the knife gets the better of him and he stops.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” You warn. He laughs at that. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t slice your throat and leave you to die.”

“Just kill him!” Gekko chides in, frightened. “He’s the bad guy, anyway!”

“Now, now, that’s not the way to treat your comrades, is it?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you spat, hand trembling with anger seeping out of you.

“You better get running, the spike radius has gone down by now. I have to report back that your bodies were sadly disintegrated by the explosion so there is no proof of you leaving.” Pointing at the pile of snow covered in crimson, he continues, “The blizzard has not gone down yet, it will be no time until your trail is covered if you leave by now.”

“Why should I let you go alive?”

Smiling, he coyly asks back, “Say, who do you think gave you the information you have now? Quite promising, isn’t it?”

Dropping your arm, you let him go easily. Chamber doesn't strap his gun off nor threatens you when he makes distance, giving you the time to compose yourself and think for a moment what will be the course of the situation.

Gekko hiss loudly, gasping for air when the current gets colder. Not even giving a look at Chamber, you fall to your knees to get your partner before he hits the floor.

You need to leave.

With your busted leg and the last of your strength, you try to carry Gekko on your back. Chamber approaches then, to help you on your feet with the boy secured on you.

“I'm sorry…” Gekko whispers in your ear, coughing up some blood and sniffing back some tears. You shush him softly, holding his legs tightly.

“Is alright, Gekko, I'm going to take you back home.”

He hums, nuzzling your neck. His cheeks are freezing, “With you?” he asks, words slurring.

“Yeah, Gekko, with me.”

Nodding to Chamber, you start walking away.

“Give my regards to my counterpart, I bet he is doing fantastiqué!”

You don’t turn back, ignoring his words and moving forwards where you left the jett. Gekko has long passed out, having his full body weight on you slows the trail to safety, but you won’t be leaving him behind just because of a little setback.

Your only hope is he is going to be okay by the end of this.

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

Reporting back everything that happened feels like a far off dream you wouldn't believe your tale if you were to not be there.

From the files, to the samples Gekko did get and held onto them so he could fulfill his mission; you think you deserve a little rest.

Your conversation with omega Chamber still nags your brain, leaving many questions unanswered and many things inconclusive. There is no one you can confide this information to; you decide to keep it out of the report.

Gekko seems to be recovering well—Sage did an amazing job calming you down when you arrived at the protocol. Worried sick and begging her to please heal him as a priority, she did not fight you and complied with the request.

The boy has said nothing from the moment he woke up and has avoided talking with anyone but you. Being sedated and under many medications to his full recovery, he only has asked for you to accompany him while bedridden.

Gekko is cute under the effects of sedatives.

He asks for your hand to hold his, to please talk to him to avoid the silence, to kiss him on the forehead and whatnot; you are amused by his straightforward attitude, and appreciate the direct requests with pure intentions—you don't fulfill his requests, much to his dismay, but do talk to him softly to help him sleep better.

One would think that after such a mission and adventure you both went, the relationship would change eventually.

Under sedatives it looked like, all cuddly and emotional—but after he was discharged and time passed by, it was the opposite.

Gekko is acting weird.

Weirder than you think he could get.

Confidence is something that oozes off him constantly, finding him caught off guard is not right nor an event that happens often; so you wonder, why does everytime you cross paths with him it seems like he gets scarred for life.

He gets all flustered, stammering over his words and fumbling hands all over the place trying to excuse himself, avoiding your gaze like it was the plague itself, and then escaping from wherever room you are situated.

There is no moment where you can go and stop him because he always finds a way out. Is bothersome and annoying that his childish behavior gets the better of him instead of confronting you about whatever has happened or is bothering him.

“Say now, what have you done to our new residential kid?” Cypher asks, tinkering with his camera. “He seems…skittish around you, haha.”

Grunting, you kick him under the table until one of your hits gets him. “Gekko is acting so fucking weird. I’m not in the mood to entertain you with my dramas, you devious man.”

He chuckles, caressing his offended appendage after your attack, “Devious, you say? I’m stating the obvious, the eyes don’t deceive from what I’ve observed, dear.”

“Oh, yeah?” Crossing your arms, you dare him to keep talking. “Go on, then, speak.”

Leaving his tools on the table, he leans in one of his arms, his whole posture seems to change from the relaxed stance towards a more formal one. “Everything comes with a price, my dear. Nothing is free in this world.”

“Your annoying self is.”

Cypher hums, fascinated, “Is it now? Go on, you know what I want to know. Tell me, and I’ll offer the knowledge of what’s going on with Gekko.”

Drumming your fingers against the table, you consider his offer for a moment.

The weight of the information he is offering is not worth what you know. What you’re asking for is a more personal matter. What Cypher is asking for could potentially endanger the protocol and its integrants if mistakenly shared with the wrong people. And under an oath, it is impossible for you to disclose it to him this easily. Brimstone would have your head on a stick if he were to know.

The keyword here in play is know.

Cypher won’t tell a soul, there is no unless, you know he won’t tell a soul so there is nothing to lose here.

Maybe a little bit of dignity because you’re this distraught over a boy, something you thought were beyond and above, but that is a matter for you to figure out later.

“We found part of the coordinates of the omega agents, most are scattered around their world, without the need to survive nor coexist within the same space like we do because the first light happened but the catastrophe was completely different. They are seen as heroes, not villains.” You begin, Cypher leans in, interested. “Brimstone seems to believe they are using radianite to support their own world and create matter from the power it gives them since they can’t afford to. Their world is dying at a fast pace, so the attacks with spikes might occur sooner than we think.”

“How so?”

You shake your head. “I’m not sure, Killjoy is investigating that aspect as we speak right now. I don’t think they are going to share that information with me nor any of us except Viper and, perhaps, Sage. And until we get assigned another mission, we have to pretend everything is under control.”

“Anyhow, we’ve got another problem.” You sigh, “There is one amongst us who is giving the omega counterparts our information, and vice versa. Viper seems to believe it could be Chamber—so do I, but we have no proof to support the supposition. They’ve yet to discuss how to tread in to obtain more information.”

Keeping the conversation you had with omega Chamber as a secret might be the wrong move, but if you can work on the shadows and try to get in contact with him once again, maybe you will get a lead as to how to read their moves before they act.

Risky, but willing to test it out.

“Anything else?”

Thrumming against the surface, you consider whether to share this tidbit of information to him or save it for yourself. Because, how do you tell the man who has lost everything and everyone, that his counterpart has been able to get his wife and kid back, unlike him?

Cypher has been your friend for many years, you cherish him enough to not want to hurt him in any way; for his sake, this will also die with you.

“Nothing more, is just a summary of what I was able to get.”

Cypher hums, contemplating your words and the information given before nodding, satisfied with what he’s learnt.

“Gekko seems to have developed quite the feelings for you, dear.” He announces after a moment. Blinking, completely caught off guard, you scowl at him.

“I’ve given you all the information I've gathered so you could laugh in my face, fucker?” Cypher watches your hands close into fists, holding back the need to punch him in the face. “What else, are you going to tell me he is in love or something?”

“But he is!” He defends himself, both of his arms shown in surrender. “Is it not my fault the boy is completely enamored with you now, you can ask him yourself.”

“You are an idiot.”

He laughs, “Maybe, but in matters of love, dear, one is not deceived so easily. Gekko is in love, if not a little obsessed with you now. Say, you don't know how he looks at you when you're distracted.”

Huffing, you roll your eyes. “He's scared of me, I think.”

“Says who?” Going back to his camera, he keeps going, “If only you were to see how much he hates our close relationship, or how heated his gaze is whenever I approach you. Ah! Young love, murderous and territorial.”

“Someone said something like that before…”

“See? Eyes do not deceive what we perceive.” Cypher chuckles, putting his tools back into its bag. “He won't make a move, and it is up to you whether you want to pursue something with this kid or simply start bedding someone else until he gets the idea, hm?”

“You are disgusting.”

“But I'm not wrong. Better break his heart now than later.”

If Cypher isn’t dead by the end of your little chat, it is only because of the years you’ve known each other or else the protocol would be one less man on their lines.

Something he’s said is true though, you can ask Gekko directly the fuck is going on with him to solve the problem. Bedding someone else is not an option, disgusted by the many men inside this place, Gekko and Phoenix are the only ones you might consider handsome and eye candy in your opinion.

You have the lingering suspicion that what happened at Ice box had something to do with his shift and new perspective of you. Which you find unfair, since all you did was try to save your asses and he was only awake partly through the end.

Why would your eyes be of enough importance for Gekko to run away from you? Something wasn’t adding up here. Nothing about what Cypher said of Gekko's newfound love for you made sense with the way he was acting. It could almost pass up as if he was afraid of you, right?

No matter. You are going to find out one way or another.

Gekko finds that you can be terrifying when you really want to, finding you hanging and waiting in the darkest corner of the base to ambush him or worse, kill him. Is a ridiculous thought, in truth, he doesn’t think you would be capable of such a thing.

But right now, after what’s transpired on Ice box and witnessing how fierce, methodical, hot, you were, he is sure you can snap him like a toothpick and he won’t complain. Which is why he is so concerned! That is the main reason why he’s so scared right now, because if you asked him to bend over, Gekko would do it without hesitation!

Too much, that’s way too much. His own thoughts are embarrassing, and he doesn’t know what he’s capable of when you’re in the vicinity. He needs to keep his libido in check or else he’s going to burst if you were to direct a word at him.

But of course, life never wants to give him a moment to breathe in peace.

You are able to corner him once his practice is done in one of the empty hallways of the base.

Patience has been a key in the whole process of waiting for Gekko to be left alone. The boy seems to be surrounded by people all the time, which infuriates you because you wanted nothing more than to squeeze out the information from the source from the moment your conversation ended with Cypher.

Gekko looks like a second away from passing out with his red face and how hard he is shaking from the close distance. You thought if you were to put your arms and cage him with no way to run, it would be easy to talk to him, but he isn’t even looking at you!

There is no moment to waste, “Gekko, have I done something to you? Something to offend you?”

“N-no.”

“Then why won’t you talk to me? We’ve literally gone through a life threatening situation together and now you won’t just direct a word at me?”

He whines low, eyelids lowering and refusing to meet you in the eyes—or the shades, to save yourself some embarrassment— and something about his voice, the way he is acting so vulnerable and weak, ignites the same fire inside you like it did the first time; and to your horror, you are able to discern it wasn’t anger what you were feeling that day, but something entirely different.

Great, now are two who are flustered enough that the conversation won’t be able to go on.

Gekko gulps loudly, eyes darting everywhere except your face and fidgeting slightly.

On a sudden rush of adrenaline and braveness, you take your shades off, closing it and hanging it on your shirt. Once the other gets a hang of what you’re trying to do, his eyes widen in panic. But by then it was too late.

Your fingers close on his chin, making him raise his whole face to level with yours and finally, his hazel eyes make contact with yours.

Is a gamble, but you are ready to accept whatever happens here.

There is a whole shiver that runs down his spine when he tries to speak, stuttering over his words but his eyes never leave yours. Too many things, so much blabbering of his trying to fill in the silence to keep his hammering heart at bay, you’re getting tired of it.

Unspoken things sometimes should stay that way, unspoken.

Your lips crash against his on a bruising kiss, stealing his breath in one single contact and swallowing his whines when he tries to protest. Gekko is quick to reciprocate and deepen the kiss, letting his tongue invade your mouth eagerly in an attempt to savor every crevice and keep the contact to last long, for as long as you want, anything you give him he is going to devour with fervor.

One of his hands finds purchase behind your neck, obligating you to push him against the wall while the other snakes his way under your shirt, feeling every inch of skin available until his fingertips toy with the hem of your bra.

His mouth moves in tandem with yours, desperate and wanting. You cannot escape from the iron grip behind your neck nor the other hand trying to figure out how to take the clothing off.

Gekko wants you, wants you, no kidding. With the way he is grinding against you, and how he keeps making these noises when your tongues connect in his mouth, to the low grunts he slips when you regain dominance. This boy is desperate to bed you, and you cannot deny you don’t share the same sentiment.

You groan loudly when his hand gives up and tucks under the bra to grab your right breast, toying with the mound and fingers stimulating the nipple. Gekko smiles against your lips when he hears the reaction, sucking on your lower lip and claiming your mouth once again.

Your hand finds purchase on his hip, guiding his erratic movements to a slow one, making the friction harder to pursue but more aware of the pleasure flooding his system.

“More, please.” he whispers, kissing your cheek and leading his mouth down your neck to suck on the skin. “Give me more.”

Submissive.

Holding his cheeks you redirect his lips to yours, giving him what he wants. Rising your leg and applying pressure, he groans loudly for you to stick your tongue down his throat. His cock feels hard rock against your thigh, twitching with the need to be touched directly by your hand alone.

Gekko doesn't know what comes over him nor how he finds the courage to be touching you without shame. From kissing you, to feeling your breasts fit perfectly in his hand and having you ride his thigh unconsciously, is all too overwhelming and hot and it turns him on so much he wants to be devoured by you.

Own me, he wants to say, own me, mark me, make me yours only, please.

His finger racks down your chest with the many sinful thoughts running his head, leaving a red trail of his mark on your body. Gekko’s hand lowers until he grabs a handful of your ass now and tries to bite your lips in an attempt to seduce you. But somehow gets to draw blood because of his eagerness to feel you too. You stop for a moment, whining in pain and catching your breath from the make out session.

Taking distance, Gekko grunts in protest, eyes begging you to keep going. But when he notices the slight blood, he panics wildly.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you!” His hands hold your head with tenderness, and he watches your lip bleed slightly and get swollen with how hard he was chasing after the kiss. “I’m really sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

Huffing in amusement, you grab him by the neck and push him against the wall once again, his hands fall to his sides. He seems caught off guard, a surprised expression painting his features while he figures what you’re trying to do.

Leaning in, you whisper in his ear, “You’re such a brat, you know that?”

Gekko sighs at your words, melting under your touch, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I am…”

Wanting to test the waters, you tighten your grip on his neck, Gekko moans at that, bucking his hips.

“Who gave you permission to talk back, hm?”

You feel him gulp, having enough braveness to let his hand fall on your waist and caress you softly. Your eyes soften looking deeply into his eyes, finally understanding that his feelings are real.

The tenderness in which he looks at you fills your heart with this unknown feeling. Overwhelming, blooming, that is suffocating. In a good way, though, is pleasing.

“Are you okay with this, Gekko?” you ask. Gekko blushes and nods. Leaning your forehead against his, you smile gently.

“I-If you are, yes, anything.” Your stare is heavy, scorching, but he thinks that has nothing to do with the fact your eyes hold so much power and weight; but because he’s made you this flustered with his kisses.

That alone is enough to rile him up even more.

The blood has dried by this point and you are more than eager to keep going, but the fact anyone could find you both like this, and Gekko would be unable to hide the hard on he is sporting right now, obligates you to keep your feet grounded.

“Want to continue this behind doors?” you ask him, your hand touching his lower lip with care. Gekko nods excitedly, kissing your thumb.

“Yes, please.”

Oh, you cannot wait to wreck and ruin this man for anybody else.

Bold of you to assume he would want anyone but you on his bed by the end of tonight.

#seneitut writes #gekko x reader #gekko smut #valorant fanfiction #i love me some jealous gekko sometimes hehe #once again im so sorry it didnt post the day i set it on #ill post the other one in a couple of hours because i want to do a last revision uwu

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