#Flat Belt Conveyor | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cheriden · 2 months

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「 double extra large 」。。。

"You grab his right hand without delay when he raises it to the cashier, and the item he’s been trying to conceal drops flat on the floor. The box shines in gold, the letters ‘XXL’ embossed in bold, large letters. He quickly bends down to grab it. At the time that his head is level to yours and your eyes meet his, both widen with yours in shock, his in embarrassment"

── synopsis 。You’re at the grocery with your roommate, and as you empty the cart at checkout, you see a purchase that snuck itself onto the shopping list.

inexperienced!kai x (slightly)experienced afab!reader

.ᐟ genre 。fluff kinda, smut, mdni!

.ᐟ tags 。lotus-style so i can look at you and confess, ab-riding & frotting, praise kink, taunting, sex (the p-in-v kind), unprotected sex (don't do it!), mutual masturbation, creampie, sub!top kai, overstimulation

.ᐟ status & word count 。oneshot | 3.34k

.ᐟ warnings/notes 。sorry folks we mentioned the condom but we will NOT be using it! reader is afab but is not referred with any gender specific pronouns/nicknames. as always my ass is to lazy to proofread

The supermart is busy and fast-paced, but not too crowded to the point that it brings you fatigue. In your hand is your notes app full of groceries, and as you call out each product, Kai brings it up within your range of vision, prior to moving it on one side. “Oh shit, I missed the toothpaste. Be right back” You mumble. The other nods at hollering, “'Kay. I’ll just meet you at the counter.”

Rushing to the hygiene section, you nearly trip over yourself trying to recall the type you use. You have no idea what difference the toothpaste with cooling crystals has over the one with cooling menthol chips, opting to grab both and just asking Kai instead.

Over at the checkout, the ash-haired boy isn’t hard to spot. Tall and broad all around, he sticks out like a sore thumb in his gray sweats and large beige sweater. He waved over at you, and you see that you came just in time to help him clear out the pushcart. You squeeze your way past the others in line, settling on his left and bringing up both types of toothpastes up to his face. He smiles, grabbing the other, to which you toss the other on one of the go-back shelves filled with toys and candies from children who didn’t have their way.

Kai is nice and considerate, knows which item to place on the conveyor belt first for the bagger’s convenience; separates frozens and hygiene, poultry from other produce.

About three-fourths through the basket, you notice Kai favoring his left hand over his right. His right hand stays unmoving by his side, though his face shows he’s unbothered. Still concerned, you inquire, “Everything okay?” He’s evidently surprised that you notice, shaking his head as he continues hauling the products.

You’re aware that Kai has a tendency to keep things to himself, fear of becoming a burden or hassle. You always tell him the opposite, and this instance is no exception. “Are you hurt? Let me see your arm.” He jolts back dramatically when you lean toward him, and with a skeptical look, you back down.

For one second.

You grab his right hand without delay when he raises it to the cashier, and the item he’s been trying to conceal drops flat on the floor.

The box shines in gold, the letters ‘XXL’ embossed in bold, large letters.

He quickly bends down to grab it. At the time that his head is level to yours and your eyes meet his, both widen with yours in shock, his in embarrassment.

The cashier taps the register with an impatient look, “Um… Am I going to ring that up for you?”

The commute home is silent and awkward; all you can think about is the box of condoms stored in the pockets of Kai’s bottoms.

“It’s right next to his extra-extra large dick.”

You smack your head against the doors, and the other, maybe even the entire train, looks at you like you’re stupid. You mentally scream at yourself to shut up, to stop pondering over it. Though it’s hard not to when a seat clears up, and you’re sat head-to-head with his nether region. The more you tell yourself not to think about it, the more you torment yourself by doing the exact reverse subconsciously. You turn your entire body away from him and onto the window, your legs to your chest, truly cementing yourself as the crazy lunatic on the transit.

Walking uphill to your apartment at the peak of the sun’s presence—a whole workout in itself, isn’t even enough to take your mind off it. Though now you were speculating about why he didn’t just bring it onto the belt like a normal person. “Kai’s a healthy adult man,” reason with yourself, “of course he’d be active.” You’re no virgin either. Maybe you overreacted earlier, clutching your pearls like chastity was something you practiced.

So why didn’t he just tell you? Were you not close enough to know stuff like that?

Kai knows the ins and outs of your love life, and upon retrospection, you’ve realized he doesn’t really share anything about himself. Not unless you see it unfold in real time, questioning follow-ups then and there.

The front door unlocks, and you hurriedly drop the bags onto the counter, taking a seat on one of the high stools.

You observe the other, taking his time to lock the door and organize the shoes by the door before rolling his sleeves to put the groceries away.

You think about how good a partner he’d be, if he was anything like how you see him around the house—around you. He’s fun and lighthearted, careful and honest. He’s let your faults slide over a thousand occurrences before, never failing to say sorry for his own shortcomings no matter how inconsequential they are. Quite literally the perfect boyfriend. You apologize for only appreciating him like this because of the box of condoms.

You wonder if he has a girlfriend and what his type would be. He doesn’t really bring anyone over, besides a few shared friends to rot on the couch with. “Maybe he’s gay?” You consider, “Or bi?” If he was, wouldn’t he tell you?

Maybe you’re a shit friend.

Determined to get to know the other better, you peer over at him as he places fruit into the fridge. “Hyuka?”

He turns his head with an inquisitive look. “What’s up?” Clearing your throat, you prepare yourself for the corny words that come next. “I want you to know that, I would never judge you or whoever you have sex with. You can trust me with that crap.” Your words of friendship render him speechless, mouth parting and closing without any sound leaving it. He shuts the refrigerator, taking up a seat directly across from you. “I appreciate it.” He returns, the corners of his lips curving up slightly as it purses into a line. “It’s just,” he whispers, looking around and leaning in as if there were other people present, “I’m a virgin.”

You nod, leaning in to match his stance. Proud of this bonding moment, it’s like the two of you have a little secret. Though you suppose it’s a bit mean-spirited to celebrate over Kai’s clear insecurities, watching him nibble at the bottom of his lips, bouncing his leg in his seat. “That’s totally normal.” You tell him, placing a hand over his, to stop him from picking the skin of his index fingers. “So you’re a virgin too?” He beams, and you’re almost sorry that you have to correct him that you’re not. When you do, his face portrays a red hue, apologizing for assuming almost immediately. You shake your head and say it’s fine. “So who’s the lucky recipient of your…” Regretting it almost immediately, you can't stop yourself, pointing at his crotch. You feign confidence and nonchalance, resting your chin on your palm.

You think it was impossible for him to turn darker, but he flushes to a bright cherry red with his face in his hands, voice muffled as he speaks through it. “I’m… Just going to practice. With a friend.” “Practice?” You press further, and he tells you the name of the person who offered to help him. You’ve heard about them before, one of the friends he used to work part-time with.

You shouldn't be thinking this, but you’re jealous. You’ve been roommates since legality! How could he trust some rando over you?

“Not the point, this isn’t about you!” You mentally note once again.

Kai presses his cheek on the cool marble, avoiding your gaze. “In case I do get… Intimate with someone I have feelings for. I don’t want them leaving me over my mediocrity.” In opposition to your better judgment, you nod along instead of hyping him up, knowing it would’ve done nothing to console him in all of his anxious glory.

As a great friend—you know one surefire way to instill confidence in him.

“Your partner,” you start, throwing caution to the wind as you mentally prepare for the words you’ve scripted haphazardly, “They’re receiving?”

Kai answers yes hastily, and you’re in awe of the unimaginable scene you’ve concocted as he hides behind his sweater paws. Maybe you’re just really horny, or ovulating.

With one last breath, your voice a tad too loud and fast, as you tell him: “I can do it.”

“Do what?” He asks, though he’s ninety-percent sure on what you mean. Regardless, you clarify, “I’ll be your first. I’ll help you practice and stuff.”

Truthfully, you can count all of your sexual encounters on one hand, subtracting further when you take away over-the-shirt makeouts.

Kai’s brain goes into overdrive, half-paying attention as you list all of the pros and cons of you being his partner instead. “Plus, we can stop or go anytime. I won’t take it personally, ‘cause I know you.”

His breathing is wobbly as he whispers, “Okay.”

With a grin, you take his hand and tug him to his room. “Sorry Hyuka, but since I’m helping you out, it’s your sheets that will have to suffer the consequences.”

It’s a bit unfair, you know. Unorthodox? Absolutely; however you pay little to no mind as you kneel in the center of the mattress, patting your side giddily to call him over.

He’s hesitant and timid when he rounds the bed frame, and you wonder if he’s uncomfortable with you, if you’re forcing him to do this and he’s too nice to do anything about it. Your brazenness falters a bit. “Hey, don’t think like that,” As if he can read your mind, Kai sits next to you and caresses your cheeks, “It’s just my first time is all. I’m sure you’ll be wonderful.”

Even in his own worry, he’s there to soothe you. You straighten your posture and ask: “How can I make it more comfortable for you?” He purses his lips in thought, eyeing your body.

You get the signal, taking your top off, him mirroring your movements. “So I guess we can just start—”

Cut off by the force of his lips against your own, you lurch at the sudden contact. He pauses when you don’t kiss back, but when you do, it causes him to fall onto his back.

His kisses are open-mouthed and pliant, as if he was waiting for your actions before mimicking them. You move to straddle him, asking if he’s kissed before. He has. You ask if he’s made out with anyone before, and he shakes his head. “You’re a great learner.” You praise, and he smiles, tilting his head to kiss you again.

Kai keeps his hand above your hips, slightly urging them to grind against his abdomen. You take him up on the offer, completely malleable to his wanting. As time passes, you can’t help but get curious at the hardening mass beneath you, brows furrowed as you detach your lips from his. You trace the garter of his jeans, mute signal to make sure if you can take it off.

He nods, and the action is slow and painful for him. You giggle as he whimpers at the view of the wet spot over his boxers, taking your time to register every facial expression he makes. He moans your name to get you to stop, hands over his face upon seeing you sneak a finger into the waistband, trailing along the sharp end of his pelvic bone. He chants your name some more, and you think it’s an angel’s calling, so heavenly and gasping for air that you can’t help but ramp him up further.

You make it a point to pave marks leading up to his jaw, mouth working harsher while you slide the undergarment to the lower end of his thighs.

You do nothing but wince at his length, eyes flickering between him and his dick. Kai’s gone red again, clearing his throat as he says, “Is something wrong?”

Frankly, you’re a bit petrified, shaking your head regardless. “So you’re XXL for real?” He’s confused, watching you remove your bottoms. “Yeah?”

“I thought that was just you overestimating.” He grabs your hand to stop you from removing your underwear, a sheepish smile from him as he comments, “Keep it on, wanna see it later—and why would I lie? That just defeats the purpose of buying a condom.” You take your hands off the tight band, and it ricochets onto your skin with a prominent smack. “You’re so kinky.” Kai avoids your feedback, rambling about the hassle of having to google condom brands and their sizes. “It’s so humiliating, I think I’m on some freak watchlist—” He interrupts himself with a moan, focusing on you as your hand swipes at his tip. He grumbles with his head against the wall, breathing unsteady as you bring his fingers near the inners of your thighs. His demeanor says he’s more than eager to give you satisfaction, watching you rub yourself onto the knuckles of his fingers. His fingers are long and elegant—thin and precise. You revert your attention to his cock, working on the upper shaft as you pout at your own hand. Kai asks you what’s wrong, and note that your hands aren’t as pretty. They’re shorter and stout, nails carelessly cut with a few nicks and scratches here and there. On the contrary, he’s enthralled by the scene. The other responds by taking the hand that rests above his, kissing each finger as he remarks how lovely they are. He carefully encircles your entrance with his middle finger, silently asking for permission.

With an exasperated sigh, you tell him he can do whatever he wants. “You’ll let me know if you’re uncomfortable right?” You nod, informing him to do the same. He slowly inserts a finger, moving it in and out, grazing your clit each time. He watches as your mouth hangs open, and he takes it as his cue to insert another. You bid yourself not to get distracted, spreading the pre-cum from his tip on the sides of his member.

He’s too wet, and so are you. At this point, you’re humping his hand, jerking his dick erratically with you calling out each other's names. You come on his hands and pursue balance on his arm as he flexes, coming down from his own high when you squeeze his dick tighter. It paints his stomach like a canvas, stare lingering as you recollect yourself.

Suddenly you’re pulled back down to Earth, watching his chest heave while you inquire about lube. He nudges over to his nightstand, and you bring out the box of condoms from earlier. “Do you know how to put on a condom?” Kai says he learned how in high school. You laugh, throwing the box somewhere onto the floor. “I’m clean, and on birth control. You’ll be fine. And besides,” you move, dragging your soaking clothed pussy over his dick, “Don’t you want to feel all of me for your first time? I know I want you to come inside me.”

You’ve gone insane, cock-drunk as you watch the lust sparkle in his eyes when he nods.

No time is wasted; ridding yourself of the heavy fabric and messily empty the bottle of liquid onto the both of you, the other making an even bigger mess as he spreads it across your cunt, his other on himself. His back shoots up when you sink lower halfway, sitting up to tangle his hands in your hair. You reassure him you can take it; he pulls you in for a kiss, long and deep to preoccupy you from the pain as he slowly forces you to drop further. You bite at his lower lip, and he comforts you by caressing the curve of your waist.

Kai waits for you to stop hurting, and when you start grinding on him, he can’t help the sharp thrust that meets your form. “More!” You yelp, detaching your lips from his. Your command is fulfilled as he pummels into you at an unrelenting speed, head resting below your chin as he kisses the sides of your breasts. He makes sure no area is left blank, leaving dark violet patches littered on your curves. He’s bouncing you up and down his cock, mesmerized by the vision and sound of you malfunctioning over his dick in you. It doesn’t take long for you to adjust, playful behavior back as you tease, “Can’t believe you were gonna fuck your old co-worker instead.” Your legs wrap around his waist, nails digging the plush of his thighs. The other looks genuinely sorry, eyes glossy as he mutters his apologies. “Can’t—not you, only you.” Your pace stammers, “Only me? What—”

“I like you,” He gasps, rolling his hips slowly, “Had—shit, have for a long time now.” He lifts his gaze to meet yours, eyes soulful and seeking approval. “So you were practicing for… me?” “If you’d give me the chance!” He rushes to say, “Wanted to make sure I did well.” You free a hand to forcefully grab his face, grinning down at him. “Pervert,” His cock twitches in you, causing you to wince in return, “but it’s fine. You make me feel good.” Throwing his head back at your statement, he spreads you flat on the mattress, palms holding your wrists down. “Shit—no, wait,” He whines—watching you writhe underneath him, unable to stop his hips as they hammer into you. “It’s okay,” barely managing your words, “I’m close too.” He versus your name over and over, drool forming on the corner of his lips as you clamp down on him, Kai fucking you through your orgasm. He moans at the applied pressure, rolling his hips when yours arch off the bed, thick cum spurting inside you.

Breathing is a luxury that he denies you, flipping you over and pounding within you mercilessly. “‘M sorry,” he inhales, making no effort to stop, “so tight and warm, ‘cunt’s sucking me in.” Your figure jolts violently beneath him, moans caught in your throat while you beg for him. “Too big—too much!” You shriek, flinching at the sounds of him slapping against your ass. “S—slow down.” Kai’s brain is too shrouded in ecstasy, ignoring your pleas as you come on him again, his own cum mixing as it overflows and drips onto the sheets.

He finishes with one more passionate kiss, followed by a series of chaste ones as he entraps your body in his arms and lays you down on top of him.

“What the hell was that all about?” Kai’s confused, Peering at you with a curious gleam in his eyes. You gesticulate between the two of you. “Sex. Where did that come from?” He hums, lying back down onto the bed. “Porn? I just did whatever felt right.” Scoffing, you lie closer to him. “Yeah right, nobody learns from porn.” The other scrambles to get a pack of wet wipes, calling himself “naturally gifted” while patting the both of you down.

He fakes composure, hands giving him away as they tremble out of nervousness. “So are we, like, a thing now?”

He looks adorable when he’s unsure of himself. Like he would implode if he assumed incorrectly. “I don’t know, did I ever say I liked you back?” The other halts almost immediately, face ready to plead when you reply: “Kidding,” Laughing at his animated reactions, he shares a large exhale of relief when you reply. “Take me out on a date first, then we'll see.”

“We’ll see,” He mocks, bunching the wipes into a ball, tossing it in the bin. “Like we didn’t just have sex. I’m really hurt.” Kissing the pout off his lips and littering his face with tiny pecks, you can feel his cheek tense with his wide smile, eyes forming crescents as he basks in your affection.

Somehow, out of all the kisses he’s received in the past hour, this one set his heart racing the most.

think i've gone insane because ever since the start of the year my kai brainrot has been so bad. also his full name is a tick word for me, it's ust so fun to sayy

thank you for reading! feedback, reblogs and tags appreciated♡

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rothepacketech · 3 months

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Gravity spiral conveyor Manufacturer in Pune | India

In this world of material transport and handling, finding a suitable gravity spiral conveyor manufacturer is quite tough to find. Hence, Rothe Packtech offers a pioneering gravity spiral conveyor manufacturer in Pune, India.

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aquarelliwrites · 3 months

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All Caught Up

SHIP: Max Verstappen x driver!Reader PROMPT: “I got you three gifts for Christmas. Since I wasn’t there for Valentine’s Day or your birthday-” “We weren’t even dating then!” CONTENT WARNINGS: slight alcohol consumption in the last scene, she/her pronouns, no use of y/n

3.1k

You sigh, the door shutting behind you with a soft click. Another one, and it locks. The keys get tossed unceremoniously into the decorative tray right next to the entrance, and your shoes get toed off soon after that.

What a way to spend Valentine’s Day, huh? A transcontinental flight from Nice to Luton of all places, then waiting around for nearly an hour for your luggage to find itself on the revolving conveyor belt in front of you. Then, as if the universe itself had it out for you, the thin metal frame holding your umbrella together twists out of shape under the onslaught of wind - leaving you fuming in the cold rain for 45 minutes before your Uber arrives. The guy is apologetic, of course, and the traffic isn’t his fault, so you try your best to smile and reassure him it’s alright. Following that, you spend the half-hour drive to Milton Keynes attempting to warm up even slightly in your soaked coat.

Really, that whole monologue was a long way of saying the pre-RB20-launch meeting was cold, rainy and miserable in many ways. There were a couple of positive sides to it, though, you think as you unpack your bag in the hallway - your coworkers, both the ones who’d stay in the factory and who’d join you in the paddock, were all delightful and friendly, congratulating you on the promotion. The car itself looked fantastic - all smooth carbon fiber wrapped around the innards of the car like a silk sheet, covered in sponsor logos, sharp nose already pointing to another successful season for the team.

And Max. He was… also there.

The dark and lonely flat seems to mock you at the very thought.

Well, no, that’s a rude way of putting it. Your most famous coworker was as kind as anyone else you’d met before and during that day. You’d already met before, when you became a reserve driver for the team the year before. Your first meeting face to face was nothing but pleasant, and you quickly found you both had a similar sense of humor.

You’re half-worried the kettle won't work after several months of abandonment. It turns on on the first try. You breathe a sigh of relief.

The problem arose in the fact that this grayscale day around you was eclipsed by his presence - as if he was the only object in full Technicolor - as soon as you’d noticed him. His smile was downright infectious, for one, and you honestly could have sworn your hand trembled when you clasped his in greeting.

“Hi, it’s great to meet you again.” He lit up the room with that smile, at least in your eyes. “Christian and the team have only sung your praises for the past few days.”

A softer sigh escapes you when you remember it, and your response: “Oh really? That’s good to hear - they haven’t exposed my worst secrets to you yet.”

“Your worst secrets?” He looked confused while you were busy taking off your coat.

“Yeah, you know,” you grinned, “that I’m secretly a terrible driver who has autopilot installed on her car, or that I’m awfully annoying. So they don’t scare you off, you know?”

To you, his laugh sounded like silver bells, and spring awakening in your chest, and a golden spark blooming into fireworks inside you, and every cliche thing you’ve ever read about in books. You had heard it in recorded interviews and distantly at parties you both got invited to, obviously, but the attraction fully hit you now that you were standing face to face.

Oh, attraction. That’s what it was. You hum and sit down on the couch, your teacup still scalding your fingertips. It's quiet everywhere but your thoughts. Actually, no, if you strain very hard, you might hear your downstairs neighbor's TV.

You couldn’t even fathom how headlines nicknamed him the rain of this cursed place, having spent half the meeting subtly glancing his way, and the other half trying to think of ways to look at him that weren’t… how should you put it? Outright creepy?

Hours later, you both stood in the car park under his umbrella - he’d insisted, and you really couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

“What a Valentine’s Day, huh?” You chuckled, warming your hands in your pockets. He looked towards you - fuck, his eyes were beautiful - and shrugged.

“Never was a fan, really.”

“Me neither. I’ve never had anyone stick around long enough to celebrate properly.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Any plans, then?”

“Not really. They set me up with a flat here back in December, so I’m just heading there for the night. Might get real freaky and order pizza, or something crazy like that.”

“Ooh, don’t go too wild.” He chuckled, and you joined heartily.

The LED headlights of your Uber bathed you both in white light, and you stepped out from under the umbrella. “Thanks for everything, Max. I’m looking forward to this season.”

“Yeah, no problem.” The pitter-patter of raindrops against concrete nearly drowned out his reply as you walked towards the car. He lingered for a moment, gazing at your retreating silhouette through the sheets of rain before unlocking his own car and leaving the car park empty of people once more.

You’re content to stare out of the window now, watching the raindrops race down the glass. The launch is tomorrow, and they'll announce you as the second Red Bull Racing driver. The world will either accept it, or be forced to deal with you for a year.

Truly? Honestly? You're just looking forward to becoming friends with Max.

It is barely 9 in the morning, but the late-July sun is dead-set on giving you a headache today, apparently.

The automated gates at the paddock entrance let you through, and a couple of photographers spot you from a short distance, snapping photos immediately. You grin joyfully, throwing up a peace sign at them before checking your watch.

You have time to make a detour.

The fans at the barrier buzz with excitement when you approach them, and you find yourself in an easy conversation with the front-most ones. It’s nice to hear people are fans of you sometimes, so what?

A girl thanks you profusely for signing her poster, and extends a pink friendship bracelet towards you. “Oh, here’s a birthday gift!”

“Aw, I love it, thank you! Do we match?” You smile, tightening it around your left wrist, right below your watch. The girl simply responds by showing her own wrist - indeed, she has a matching one.

The short detour takes longer than expected, and shortly, one of the social media girls comes to find you. “You’re all great, thanks for coming to free practice!” You wave goodbye and jog to catch up to your coworker.

Your side of the garage is experiencing an unusual amount of activity, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s happening - the people weren’t too subtle with their cameras either.

“She’s here, she’s here!” Someone yells, and you’re ushered into the middle of the crowd to stand in front of Anthea, your race engineer. Who is, shockingly, holding a cake.

“Happy birthday!!” The crowd roars, and you spot a bunch of the drivers hanging around as well - not that it isn’t obvious, what with the colorful fireproofs in a sea of navy polos. Charles and Pierre are standing somewhere in the middle of the crowd, Carlos and Lando in the back (granted, talking animatedly with each other as soon as the congratulating was over), Oscar and Logan to your left, close by. Max, of course, right next to Anthea.

The cake itself is Red Bull blue and checkered black-and-white on the top, a small model of your car right on top, surrounded by 22 lit candles.

In that instant, you feel indescribably loved. And it's a beautiful, sparkling feeling.

Are those tears rolling down your cheeks? Oh no, they are. And you worked so hard on your eyeliner today - you feel Oscar and Logan each put an arm around your shoulders as you wipe the skin under your eyes dry.

“Happy birthday, dude. You’re finally old enough for preschool.” You yelp when Oscar ruffles your hair lovingly and swat at his hand.

“No, Osc, come on!” You laugh through tears, fixing your hair hurriedly. “Who organized this?”

Anthea grins at you, and Max suddenly looks extremely invested in the concrete floor underneath Logan’s feet. “Max suggested it, I think he was the only one who knew about it? Other than, like, Horner and the people who did your paperwork.”

A soft blush appears on your face, though you feel it burning your cheeks and ears to high heaven. Or at least that’s what it feels like - maybe it doesn’t look so bad to everyone around you. “You guys are the best, seriously. Thank you, Max, and everyone for making it happen.”

“Yeah, yeah, you big sap. Blow out the candles already.” Logan pipes up, and the entire garage chuckles. You roll your eyes in mock annoyance, but lean forward with a silent wish in mind, and blow them out in one breath.

Afterwards, you vaguely remember Oscar trying to shove your face into the cake when the candles and car were taken off - and failing - but the minutes after were so chaotic that it felt like one moment you were standing there, hugging your best friends, and the next you’re sat atop a countertop with Max, both attacking the chocolate cake with vigor.

“Oh my God, this is so good,” you practically moan, your mouth full. “Is this Belgian chocolate?”

Max is swinging his legs, hitting your right calf rhythmically with his foot. “Yeah, I think so. I’d be disappointed if it wasn’t.”

“Me, too,” you nod, licking off the ganache stuck to your fork. “Hopefully practice won’t be a complete tragedy today.”

“It’ll be good. The data shows it,” he says, completely sure of himself, before hurriedly adding, “I think. I- well, I know. Anthea told me.”

“Good, then. It’ll just be my shit driving that will put me in the wall then.” You nudge his shoulder with yours, but his core strength is greater than you expect and, alas, he doesn’t even move. For a moment, you kind of want to stay stuck to him, leeching off his body heat.

However, it is July, and you are just friends.

He nudges you back - more like shoves, you nearly go flying - and clicks his tongue. “You always say that, but it only happened in Canada. And it wasn’t even your fault.”

You blush, again. Annoyingly. Were you overthinking, or was he keeping track of your results during the season?

“And you’ve already got three podiums. It’s great for a rookie.”

He was definitely keeping track.

You lower your head, smiling. “Thanks, Max. Seriously. For the surprise and the support you’ve given me - it means so, so much.”

“It’s really no problem. I think you’re very talented.”

“I can’t believe you knew when my birthday was,” you pipe up when he takes a breath in between monologues.

It’s evening now, and the late July sun is streaming golden light through the window of Max’ room at the Belgium Grand Prix paddock. You’re standing in the doorway, chewing on your drinking straw absentmindedly while he talks about the data gathered in FP1 and FP2 - as if you weren’t in the debrief together. Or, you know, as if you don't drive the same car. It’s a habit of his that many could find annoying and is nothing but endearing to you.

He looks a bit taken aback, but after a moment simply says “I can’t believe no one’s ever celebrated it with you like this.”

You shrug. “People don’t really stick around enough. Or, most of the time, my friends and family were too far away to make plans,” is your reply. “You know how it is - moving to Monaco as soon as you can and leaving everyone behind.”

“It’s a shame, though.” He’s studying your face now, and you feel some emotion between ‘uncomfortable’ and ‘flustered’ when you notice how he’s checking you out. Or maybe he isn’t?

“It is, but so what?”

“You deserve to celebrate your birthday properly.” He says it so matter-of-factly, like it’s a no-brainer. Which it may be - you’ve had birthdays, and they were great, but they seem like such a long-lost part of your childhood that it takes you a moment to remember when you last held a party.

“I did. Just- well, just not with other people.” You did. Really. You took yourself out to breakfasts and treated yourself to flowers and books and new shoes, occasionally. It’s just that you did it alone most of the time.

“Would you be opposed to celebrating with other people?” Why does he look like he has something planned?

“...Do you have something planned?”

“No, but we could go hang out. Grab dinner somewhere, and a drink after, maybe?”

It’s a casual request, and you feel inclined to accept. Maybe you’re a bit brave, or a bit stupid, or just a bit head-over-heels when you laugh softly and nod. “Sure, what is this? A date?”

Now he’s the one who looks flustered. “Uh… sure. If you want it to be one.”

“Sure.” You’re smiling again, and when he moves on to his next talking point, you’re more than happy to keep chewing on your straw and listening.

Ripping open the wrapping paper to reveal a plain cardboard box, you send the camera guy in front of you a worried glance.

It’s a lovely, warm November morning in Abu Dhabi, and the Secret Santa event is wrapping up. You had gotten Logan - who was practically too easy to shop for - but now it’s your turn to open your present, and you’re nervous.

“Hopefully it won’t explode?” You joke, then run your nail under the piece of tape holding the box closed. When you manage to get it open, your lips curl upwards into a bright smile.

The box is full to the brim without any of the items cluttering together - whoever packed this had to have put immense care into it. You spot a pair of fuzzy socks, candles, bath salts, a bottle of French wine, and many other small self-care items.

“Aww, this is so sweet- Oh, there’s no way.” You pull out the last thing, which is a copy of ‘The Book Thief’ by Markus Zusak. “This is my favorite book,” you tell the camera, having a sense of who this is from, “and I remember I was talking to Max the other day about how sad I was that I lost my copy on a flight a few months ago. We agreed to start a book club over winter break.”

The media employees chuckle at the thought, and you join them. “More like, I made him. Yeah, this is from him.”

“It is.” The woman holding the microphone confirms.

They leave you sitting on the white couch on the terrace, a small smile still tugging at the corners of your lips while you read what he’d written on the inside cover:

‘Sorry I can’t hang out - my weekend is fully booked. How about Christmas at my place? - Max’

You roll your eyes and giggle. What an idiot.

Your idiot.

“Alright.” He starts when you both settle on the shaggy beige carpet in his living room. You’re both a bit buzzed - both having had screwdrivers for late Christmas breakfast, champagne on the balcony before lunch, red wine with the lunch itself, and now you’re nursing a mimosa while he finishes the champagne. Talk about day drinking.

“Alright. Presents, right? How do you want to, like… Should we alternate?” Your head tilts at the size of the pile of presents you definitely knew you didn’t bring.

“I was thinking we could go one by one, from the top, and just sort them by whose name is on it?” He suggests, legs stretching out in front of him. You smile when he playfully nudges your calf with his foot.

“Sounds good,” you nod, taking one last sip for the time being and leaving your glass on the coffee table.

Max reaches for the first present you got him - it’s wrapped in red and green with an obnoxiously large bow on the top - and is delighted when he sees that you’ve gotten him diecast models of his and your 2024 cars, different only in the numbers and the yellow T-cam on yours. He promises to keep them on his desk with a laugh, and hands you the next present.

Inexplicably, it’s wrapped in pink. With hearts all over it. And another obnoxiously large bow on top.

Wondering if he may secretly be colorblind (or unaware of Christmas traditions), you peer up at him with brows furrowed in confusion. Meanwhile, he’s handing you another two boxes: one white one with party hats all over, and another with a candy cane pattern.

“I got you three big presents. Since I wasn’t there for Valentine’s Day,” he says. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Or your birthday.”

You can feel yourself start tearing up. “Max…”

He grimaces. “I’m so sorry. Should I have gotten more-”

“Max. We weren’t…” You swipe the tear off your left cheek, a little bit of eye pencil coming off with it. The alcohol is making you emotional, you tell yourself. “We weren’t even dating back then.”

“You were alone, though. I mean we did go on that date for your birthday, but it was just dinner. I, just…” He trails off, pulling at the carpet fibers. “You deserved better for this year.”

You set the box down gently, and move over to sit on his lap. He’s a little surprised when you hug him tightly, but he embraces you back quickly, one of his hands immediately reaching up to play with your hair.

“You’re one of the most thoughtful people I know. Thank you.” You whisper, and you can hear an exhale of a laugh when your breath tickles the back of his neck.

“It’s my pleasure, shatje.” He pats your shoulder, and you kiss him with a giggle still on your lips. Crawling off of him, you turn your attention back to the presents he gave you. The pink box holds the silkiest, softest cami nightgown you’ve ever touched; the one with party hats, a signed copy of your favorite author’s newest novel laying on top of a heavy navy blue knitted blanket. Arguably, though, the Christmas one is your favorite - a pair of Lightning McQueen Crocs. Signed by Charles Leclerc.

“You’re ridiculous,” you burst out laughing again while he only smirks and pours his champagne flute full once more.

“You know it, darling."

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avastrasposts · 1 year

Text

Frankie to the rescue

A Frankie Morales drabble inspired by @secretelephanttattoo who suggested that "Frankie welcomes you home after a long day of travel...."

Written in half an hour after a long day of travel so any mistakes should be ignored. Also, I had no suitable Frankie coded pic to use so if anyone has a suggestion, please link me and I'll update the post! Thanks to @secretelephanttattoo for finding the perfect pic in five seconds flat!

Word count: 690

(and what do you know, i can write short stuff too!)

You groan as you watch the conveyor belt slow down and come to a halt. Two bags remain, none of them yours. An eleven day business trip, a fourteen hour flight back home from Japan, delayed of course, and your luggage is a no-show. The lost luggage counter is mercifully open despite the late hour but it takes the bored attendant an extraordinarily long time to fill in your claim and give you a case number. Or maybe it just feels extraordinarily long when you’ve been on the go since you left your hotel in Tokyo over twenty four hours ago. All you want is to get home and take a long shower and sink down into your own bed, next to your own Frankie.

Frankie…soft brown eyes, even softer brown curls, warm smile and large hands that always seem to find exactly the right spot on your body for whatever you need. He’s waiting at home, probably in bed already at this late hour, but you know he’ll wake up the second you put your key in the lock. He’ll come padding through the house in his boxers, let you shrug your coat off and then envelop you in his long arms. You know what he’ll smell like as you press your nose against the warm skin on his broad chest, clean cotton, rich wood and that apple scented fabric softener he always buys.

You tuck the receipt for your poor lost luggage into your shoulder bag and start heading towards the exit. Passport control waves you through, thank god for your citizenship, customs is empty at this hour and you stagger, bleary eyed, into the arrivals hall. There should be a driver waiting for you, company perk, and you just hope he’s still there after the delay. But none of the waiting drivers in their neat uniforms hold a sign with your name and you groan again and pull up your phone to see if you can get an Uber.

“Ma’am, your car is this way,” the man behind you bends unnecessarily close to your ear and you almost drop your phone. An arm comes out to steady you, hooking around your waist and pulling you close. You’re just about to shove him away with a shout when his warm eyes find yours, his patchy beard a little bit neater and trimmed since you left, lips already close to yours, half pulled up in a smile, ready to kiss you.

“Frankie…” you sigh and his lips find yours, soft, warm and tender as they press against you, parting slightly to taste you under his tongue. It’s his long arms around your waist, one palm sliding up your back to hold you close against him as you wrap your own arms around his neck, finding those soft curls under the edge of his ball cap.

“Vida mía,” he mumbles, pulling back a little to lean his forehead against yours, “I missed you so much, I told your PA I’d pick you up instead of the driver, couldn’t be away from you for a minute longer.”

“I missed you too, Frankie, my love, so much,” you whisper, trying to take in all of him as the late night airport bustle fades around you. His hands are warm through your coat, his breath smells of cinnamon gum and coffee and his arms around your back hold you so tight that you’re on your toes, reaching up, melting into him.

“Let me take you home, mi amor,” he slides his hand down and takes yours, “and show you how much I missed you.” His lips slip down from your lips, down over your jaw, the bill of his cap making you tilt your head to the side, exposing your neck to him. He nuzzles into the crook of it, his mouth tasting the warm skin, teeth biting just a little, making heat rush through you as soft moans slip out from your both. His fingers tighten his grip around your hand and he pulls away a little, tugging you with him towards his truck..

“Now,” he growls, his eyes suddenly dark and needy.

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales fanfic

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