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xo100 · 1 month ago

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Shifting gears - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: Lando and you, childhood best friends, discover a deeper connection during a drive in his new Porsche. After discussing his playboy image, the conversation takes an unexpected turn, leading to a realization of long-hidden feelings and shifting your relationship from friendship to something more romantic and intimate.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 2250

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

The afternoon sun filtered through the tall trees that lined the road, casting dappled shadows over the sleek Porsche as it cruised effortlessly along the winding asphalt. The roar of the engine was almost hypnotic, a perfect blend of power and control, much like its owner. Lando Norris gripped the steering wheel with ease, his fingers drumming absentmindedly as he glanced over at his passenger—his best friend, someone who had been by his side since they were kids.

While Lando had built a reputation for himself as a playboy—charming, confident, and always with a new girl on his arm—you were the complete opposite. Introverted, quiet, and shy. But that’s what made your friendship so special. You balanced each other out.

Today, though, something felt a little different. Maybe it was the car, the air of freedom and luxury it represented, or maybe it was the conversation you were having that shifted the mood. Either way, the usual playful banter between the two of you had taken a slightly more serious turn.

“So, who’s the flavor of the week this time?” you teased, your voice light but carrying a hint of genuine curiosity as you shifted in the leather seat.

Lando chuckled, a low, throaty sound that seemed to vibrate through the car. “Not sure yet. You know how it is,” he replied with a smirk, his eyes never leaving the road.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no judgment in your expression. “Yeah, I know exactly how it is. You with some random girl, one night, maybe two if she’s lucky, and then you’re off to the next. It’s like you’re collecting trophies or something.”

He shrugged. “It’s not that bad. I’m just… having fun. Life’s short, you know?”

You snorted softly. “For you, maybe. I can’t even imagine doing that. Just… being with someone like that, without any meaning. Doesn’t it get old?”

Lando raised an eyebrow, finally glancing over at you. “Why, you thinking about trying it out?” he teased, though his tone carried a hint of something deeper, something that wasn’t quite a joke.

Your face flushed, and you quickly turned to look out the window, trying to hide the sudden rush of heat that crept up your neck. “No,” you muttered, “I’m not like that.”

Silence filled the car for a moment, the hum of the engine the only sound between you. Lando’s eyes flickered back to the road, but his expression was thoughtful now, less playful than usual. “You don’t always have to be so… sweet, you know,” he said after a beat, his voice quieter, almost serious. “It’s okay to let loose sometimes. It doesn’t make you any less… you.”

You blinked, surprised by his words. He wasn’t wrong; you were the “sweet” one, the one who always cared too much, worried too much. But hearing Lando say it so bluntly made you feel strangely vulnerable, like he could see right through your carefully crafted exterior.

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one who’s constantly in the tabloids for having one-night stands with half the population,” you shot back, the words harsher than you intended.

Lando laughed, though there was a sharpness to it. “Touché. But you know, it’s not as glamorous as people make it out to be.”

You frowned, turning back to him. “What do you mean? You always seem like you’re having the time of your life.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it’s fun, I guess. But it’s not… real, you know? It’s just… I don’t know. It’s easy. I’m used to it.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. You had never heard him talk like this before, so openly about the lifestyle he had embraced. It wasn’t like him to get deep, not about this.

“Then why do you keep doing it?” you asked quietly.

Lando glanced at you, and for the first time, you saw something different in his eyes. Something almost… uncertain.

“Because it’s easier than thinking about what I really want,” he said softly.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and loaded with meaning. You swallowed, unsure of how to respond, your heart suddenly racing for reasons you couldn’t quite explain.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled the car off the main road, slowing down as he drove into a secluded spot overlooking a lake. The car came to a stop, and the silence that followed was deafening. He turned off the engine, and the two of you sat there, the tension in the air thick and palpable.

“I mean…” Lando began, his voice low, almost hesitant, “I’ve been with a lot of girls, sure. But none of them were ever you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “What?”

He turned in his seat to face you fully, his expression serious now, his usual cocky smirk replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. “You. You’re different. You always have been.”

Your mind was racing, trying to process his words, but all you could focus on was the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“But we’re… friends,” you stammered, your voice shaky.

“I know,” Lando said, his gaze never leaving yours. “And that’s why I’ve never said anything before. But… I don’t know. Lately, it feels like things have changed. Like maybe we’ve changed.”

You didn’t know what to say. You had always been close to Lando, but you had never let yourself think about him like that. He was Lando—the charismatic, carefree playboy who was always with someone else. But now, sitting here in the quiet of his car, it was hard to ignore the way your heart was pounding in your chest, the way his words made your stomach flip.

“I…” you started, but you didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

Lando leaned closer, his hand coming to rest on the edge of your seat, his eyes searching yours for some kind of answer, some kind of sign. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “And I will.”

But you didn’t tell him to stop. You couldn’t.

Instead, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss. It was slow at first, hesitant, like neither of you were quite sure if this was really happening. But then something shifted. The kiss deepened, and suddenly it was like everything that had been simmering under the surface for years had finally come to a head.

Lando’s hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with more urgency. You could feel the heat of his body, the way his heart was racing just as fast as yours. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and before you knew it, you were climbing over the center console, straddling him as the kiss grew more heated, more desperate.

You had never done anything like this before—never been this close to someone, never let yourself be this vulnerable. But with Lando, it felt… right. Like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

His hands roamed over your body, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You gasped as he kissed a trail down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “Lando,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark and intense as he looked up at you. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice rough, barely controlled.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yes.”

The next few moments were a blur of tangled limbs and heated kisses, the world outside the car fading into nothing as you lost yourself in him, in the way he made you feel. It wasn’t rushed or careless like you had imagined his one-night stands might be. It was slow, deliberate, and full of a kind of intensity you had never experienced before.

And then, just as quickly as it had started, it was over. You found yourself lying in his arms, the cool leather of the seat beneath you, your breathing still ragged as you tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Lando’s hand stroked your hair gently, his touch comforting, grounding. “You okay?” he asked softly, his voice full of concern.

You nodded, snuggling closer to him. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The sun had begun to set, casting a golden glow over the lake, and the quiet between you was no longer filled with tension, but with a kind of contentment you hadn’t expected.

Finally, Lando broke the silence. “You know… I didn’t plan for this to happen,” he said, his voice low. “But I’m glad it did.”

You smiled softly, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. “Me too.”

He shifted beneath you, turning slightly so he could look down at you. “So… what does this mean for us?”

You thought about it for a moment, your mind still spinning from everything that had just happened. But when you looked up into his eyes, you knew the answer.

“It means… maybe we’ve changed,” you said quietly, echoing his words from earlier.

Lando smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your heart

skip a beat. He cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that made your stomach flutter.

“I guess we have,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. It was such a simple gesture, but it held a weight of everything unspoken between you. Years of friendship, of shared memories, of teasing and laughter—all of it led to this moment. The line you’d been dancing on for so long had finally blurred, and neither of you could deny it anymore.

For a while, you just lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, basking in the comfortable silence that followed. The world outside the car seemed distant, irrelevant. It was just you and Lando now, and that felt right.

Eventually, though, the practicalities of life started to creep back in, and you couldn’t ignore them forever. You shifted slightly, sitting up in the seat, the reality of what had just happened slowly settling in.

“So… what now?” you asked, your voice quiet, as if speaking too loudly would break the fragile newness of what had just formed between you.

Lando sat up too, his hand still resting on your thigh, a small, reassuring gesture. He looked at you thoughtfully, as if considering his words carefully. “I don’t want this to be some random, one-time thing,” he said slowly, his voice steady. “You’re not like those girls. You’ve never been. I don’t want to screw this up.”

You smiled softly, feeling your heart swell at his words. “I don’t want that either,” you admitted. “I’ve never thought of us like this before… but now, I can’t imagine it any other way.”

His eyes softened as he leaned in to kiss you again, this time slower, more tender, as if sealing the promise between you. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your lips.

“I’ve liked you for a long time,” Lando confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Your heart skipped again, but this time it wasn’t from nerves—it was from the overwhelming realization that you felt the same way. Maybe you’d always felt it, buried somewhere deep down.

“I think I’ve always liked you too,” you admitted, your cheeks flushing slightly at the confession.

Lando’s smile widened, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of relief and joy. “Good. Because I’m not letting you get away now.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and for the first time in a long while, everything felt simple. No more games, no more hiding behind jokes or casual flings. Just you and Lando, finally facing what had been there all along.

The sun was almost set now, casting a soft orange glow over the lake as the two of you sat there, side by side, in the quiet of the Porsche. The future felt uncertain in the best way possible, full of possibilities and new beginnings.

Lando gave your hand a squeeze, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You know,” he said, a teasing glint in his eye, “I think this Porsche might be my new lucky charm.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Of course you would say that.”

He grinned, that familiar cocky smile back in full force, but this time it was softened by something else—something deeper, more real. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ll take you home. But tomorrow… maybe we can go for another drive?”

You nodded, your heart light as you leaned over to kiss him one more time. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

As Lando started the car and pulled back onto the road, you couldn’t help but glance over at him, your best friend—your something more now—and feel grateful for every twist and turn that had led you here.

And as the Porsche sped down the road, the two of you heading into an uncertain future, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

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wttcsms · 7 months ago

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triple trouble, atsumu miya

pairing atsumu miya x f!reader word count 1.6k synopsis atsumu steals every reporters' attention as he introduces the media to his triplets during a post-game interview; or, more accurately, his triplets steal all the attention. like father, like sons. content contains domestic fluff, dad!atsumu, atsumu & reader are married and so in love, babies, mention of pregnancy more in this collection!

The flashes of cameras going off, the constant exclamations of “Miya! Miya!” coming from the crowd of journalists and reporters all vying for his attention, the fact that the foldout chairs they use for all these post-game interviews are harder on your ass than falling on asphalt — all of this is being handled with ease by a smug Atsumu Miya.

Or, normally all of this would be handled with ease by a smug Atsumu Miya.

But right now, the Atsumu Miya struggling to take a seat in the most uncomfortable chair known to man, dyed hair a mess, his usual trademark smirk replaced by furrowed brows and a look of concentration, doesn’t appear to be the godlike adversary on the court. In fact, he looks oddly human.

The cause of what has humbled this cocky athlete and reduced him to mere mortal man are the three chubby toddlers he’s cradling in his arms.

All of them are identical, from their chubby cheeks to their little grubby hands. Heads full of thick, dark brown hair (reminiscent of their father’s natural color) poke out from Atsumu’s hold, and the eighteen-month-olds’ eyes are all full of childlike wonder as they watch the crowd, confused as to who all these people are.

After finally getting settled into his seat, Atsumu addresses the crowd casually, as if he didn’t spend the last two minutes ensuring that his baby boys weren’t going to slip from his arms while he tried to prepare for this interview. Akimitsu is secured in his left arm, Akihiko in the right, leaving poor Akinari to cling onto Atsumu’s neck.

While athletes have been getting more comfortable with bringing their kids up on stage with them, no one has ever seen a professional athlete haul his three babies with him.

A fact that one reporter is more than happy to point out.

“Miya, wife put you on babysitting duty?” A male journalist calls out from the crowd. A few chuckles follow, but Atsumu just smiles at the mention of you.

“Nah. It’s not babysittin’ if they’re your damn kids, right? Besides, she deserves a break.” A few appreciative murmurs flutter through the crowd.

After the initial surprise of seeing identical triplets being carried in the MSBY Black Jackals’ setter’s arms, the reporters are back to business as usual. They’re all professionals — even if hearing Atsumu give them a great quote to use as a hook (“I respect Nakamura as a human bein’ but calling him a setter for a professional league volleyball team is an insult to setters everywhere.”) is followed by him cooing sweet words of affirmation to whichever of his sons happens to be babbling in his ears.

“Nakamura isn’t a very good player, is he, Akihiko?” No one outside of your family and his teammates have ever heard Atsumu sound so affectionate. His words are practically coated in sugar, and it’s hard to remember that he’s insulting another player in the league whenever he’s practically bumping noses with his toddler son when he says it.

Akihiko, most likely due to his father’s influence, lets out a stream of enthusiastic gurgles that Atsumu automatically translates to him being in complete agreement with him.

“Write that down.” He says to the crowd. “Even my baby knows he’s shit at the game.”

There’s a few more minutes of Atsumu answering the usual post-game questions, but halfway through one of his responses, Akinari loses his grip on Atsumu’s neck and is about to tumble to the floor before Atsumu’s reflexes kick in. You’ve made a joke once that you think Atsumu’s reflexes have become heightened after becoming a father; his athletic instincts have merged with the famous “dad reflexes” all fathers seem to be gifted with. (Atsumu tells reporters that this is why he keeps on becoming a better player; people think his family would hold him back, but once again, family is his greatest blessing.)

“Ya gotta hang onto me, buddy.” Atsumu can’t even pretend to be stern when he tells this to Akinari, who only smiles at him and exclaims something unintelligible. He shifts Akinari to his left arm, relaxes back in his seat, and is even excited to answer a question concerning his play style compared to Tobio Kageyama’s, but as he readjusts the two boys in his arms, Atsumu can’t help but startle at the fact that he has three kids. Not just two.

Momentarily panicked, he almost wants to ask why the hell no one told him one of his kids jumped ship but then he feels a tug on the bottom hem of his volleyball shorts.

Peering under the table, Atsumu is greeted with the sight of Akimitsu’s mischievous little face. He’s the oldest of the three and takes after Atsumu the most — meaning, he’s the cutest little nightmare there could ever be.

“Whatcha doin’ under the table, Mitsu?” Atsumu asks, and Akimitsu gives out a happy, gleeful shriek. He’s clapping his grubby hands together and cheering.

“Dada found me!”

“I did find ya, buddy.” Atsumu coos. “Now why don’t you come sit on daddy’s lap?”

After wrangling up all his kids once more, Atsumu sighs and looks up at the timer in front of him.

“I have enough time for one more question.” He tells the crowd.

“Are you excited to get out of here and get back home to the wife?”

“I’m always happy to come home to [Name]. If there’s a professional league for motherhood, she’s going into the hall of fame. I don’t know how she handles these fools by herself all day.”

Akihiko takes a tiny, chubby hand and smacks Atsumu in the face. Repeatedly.

“Home! Home!” His slaps get slightly more aggressive, but Atsumu’s received some serves with his face before, so it doesn’t really phase him. “Home! Mama!”

“Well, you heard the man.” Atsumu actually gives a genuine smile for the cameras. “We gotta head home.”

You’re applying your moisturizer in the bathroom despite the mirror being fogged up from the hot shower. It’s probably why you don’t anticipate strong arms wrapping themselves around your body, and you gasp before your muscle memory recognizes him. Your body easily relaxes against his, and you’re smiling as you ask your husband,

“Had a good day today?”

“We took ‘em in two straight sets. Slaughtered the other team to the point where it wasn’t even fair.” He angles his head just right so he can kiss you on the cheek, but you gently slap him away.

“I’m putting on moisturizer right now.”

“Great. My lips are dry.” He goes in for another kiss, and even though you’re giggling, trying to pull away from him, he still plants a peck on your soft skin. “Should I go for seconds, just for good measure?” He teases.

“Hmm, I guess so.”

“Oh? What’s with the change? Realize how much you can’t live without my touch?” He pulls you in closer to him, your back pressed firmly against his chest. He’s fresh out the shower, stray droplets of water greedily clinging onto his skin.

“Maybe.” You tilt your head back on the front of his shoulder so that you can see him. “You know your interview is trending on Twitter, right?”

“Oh, yeah? Bet Nakamura’s pissed.” Atsumu sounds too happy at the concept.

“No. There’s actually an interesting clip that keeps going around. Someone already used it as an intro for a thirst edit of you.”

You like it when Atsumu is thinking. There’s an adorable crease in between his furrowed brows, and you can practically see him going through the memory files in his brain, trying to figure out what could possibly be worthy of inspiring an edit of him.

“You seriously don’t know?” You’re laughing at him, and it’s the sweetest sound in the world. Atsumu doesn’t take kindly to being the butt of a joke, but from the moment he saw you, he knew he’d do anything to stay by your side, even becoming a fucking court jester if that’s what it took.

You reach for your phone on the counter, taking a few seconds to load up the fan edit you have favorited.

He’s burying his face in your hair, hiding away as he hears the audio of him going now why don’t you come sit on daddy’s lap playing on a loop. He groans when you let it replay, uncharacteristically shy as you keep telling him to watch it.

“The comments are the best part, though, baby!” You haven’t been able to stop giggling at jackingthejackalsoff’s very bold and very true statement of yeah, if i were [name], i’d pop out triplets for him too tf 😭🙏.

As Atsumu’s hands travel to rest against the growing swell of your belly, you tease him. “So, when the twins are born, do you think you’ll have enough space in your arms to haul all five of our kids, or should we finally use that baby chest carrier Shoyo gifted us?”

“I can carry all of ‘em and you onto that stage.” He regrets making this smug remark whenever you slightly drop your teasing tone and use what he dubs The Mom Voice on him.

“Oh? If that’s true, then why did it take you so long to realize Akimitsu crawled out of your arms while you were busy calling your opponents scrubs?”

“Have I ever told you what a wonderful mother you are? And this moisturizer! Wow, I don’t know what you’ve been doing with your skin, baby, but keep it up.” He’s peppering your face with more kisses, hurriedly trying to change the subject, and you gladly let him.

#atsumu miya x you #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #hq x reader #hq headcanons #fluff #one shot #drabble #hq fanfiction #atsumu headcanons #dad!atsumu #imagine #series: sweet everything

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coff33andb00ks · 5 months ago

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Rule Breaker - Pt 5

max Verstappen x single mom!reader (with logan sargeant)

{masterlist}{prev} {next}

warnings: cursing, minimally proofread, disgusting amount of fluff Summary: Max has it all...right? Besides, he's too busy collecting trophies and completing side quests for anything else. Until... You moved across a whole ass ocean to start over, uprooting you and your son's lives to become social media admin for cars that drive in circles. word count: 4153 auth.note: logan girlies rise up, new banner, also broke this into two parts for reasons, this is a poly fic now and I need to update the summary too don't I spotify: i made a playlist

Kevin sighed heavily, his breath fogging the window. Wiping it away with his hand, he kept staring outside. As though by sheer willpower he could change the weather. "It's rained all day."

Max chuckled, swirling his coffee in his cup. "I know, maate. But it's getting better now, yeah?"

The boy shrugged, turning and jumping down from the sofa. Max knew he had to be bored. There were only so many races and demolition derbies he could put together with the few toy cars he'd brought. The tablet he sometimes played on was charging, and they'd already watched two movies since that morning.

Sighing, Max finished his coffee in one gulp and set his cup down. "Right, come on."

Kevn looked confused, even when Max shrugged on his coat and reached for Kevin's boots. "Where we going?"

"Anywhere but here." Max grinned as the boy rushed to him, nearly falling over as he tried to shove one of his feet into a boot. "We'll go out in the rain, yeah?" he suggested, helping him get his boots on then his raincoat. "It's just a little water."

"Can we splash?" Kevin asked hopefully as he skipped to the stairs.

"Wouldn't be a walk in the rain without a splash," Max promised, picking him up and carrying him until they were outside. Kevin immediately pushed the hood of his coat back, closing his eyes and giggling as the rain landed on his face.

He made sure to get plenty of pictures for y/n of Kevin riding his scooter along the asphalt, and of him trying to jump hard enough to make the puddle water splash above his head. And then he had to do it himself, the boy's childish glee contagious to the point his side ached from laughing. The rain let up and Max knew he had to be ready to go back inside but no, it was time to hunt for wildlife. His shoes squished with water at each step as he held onto Kevin's hand, letting the boy lead him to where they'd spotted groundhogs earlier in the day.

"What if they drowned?" Kevin asked worriedly a few moments later, wringing his small hands and looking down into the flooded hole at the base of the barrier.

"I'm sure they didn't, mate. They're smart, yeah?" Max squatted down, looking at the hole. "They know how to get away from the rain."

"They're on the other side of the wall," a voice said behind them.

Max wanted to be annoyed at the interruption. But Kevin's face lit up at the sound of Logan's voice, and within seconds he was trying to scale the wall.

"I'm too small." Kevin's voice was mournful and accompanied by a world-weary sigh.

"C'mon, I'll hold you up." Logan extended his hands, giving Max a quick nod as he lifted Kevin.

Straightening, Max moved over to peer over the wall, seeing one of the groundhogs creeping away. "See, little mate? They're fine."

Kevin looked and sounded relieved, waving at the animal though it didn't seem to care. "I like animals, Mister Logan."

"Country kid. There's a bunch of geese over on the lake, you wanna go see?" Logan asked.

And he had to tag along. He couldn't just push Kevin into Logan's care, even if the guy was seeing the boy's mom. Kevin chattered nonstop about animals, telling a garbled tale about a goose that had chased him in the park. Squeezing past the turnstile, he waved at the security to indicate the child was with him. Not that he needed to worry, since Kevin already knew the person by name.

"Wow," Kevin breathed in awe as they stepped onto the temporary platform and he saw the dozens of geese gliding over the water.

He looked on as Logan affectionately pushed Kevin's damp hair back from his face, keeping a firm grip on his hand when he walked to the very edge to look down into the water. The breeze sent a chill through him and he worried that Kevin might be cold, too, but didn't want to ruin his fun. Just a few more minutes. It was almost the time y/n had said she'd be done.

"You're good with him," he said to Logan once they were on their way back. He kept his eyes on Kevin, who had gotten back on his scooter and was just ahead, steering so he splashed anyone he passed. But he felt Logan look at him in surprise.

"You think so?" Logan asked.

Max nodded. "He can be a handful, yeah?"

"Yeah, but… He's a good kid." The smile was evident in his voice. "You… You ever think about having kids?"

Only if they looked like… He sighed, nodding. "Sometimes. You?"

"Not really." Logan cleared his throat. "Not until recently."

And now it was time to change the subject. Because—

"You're close with y/n." It wasn't a question.

His stomach twisted. "She's my coworker. An important member of the team."

"Well, yeah, but… You don't watch Checo's kids when they're at the track."

Fucking Americans and their need to point out the obvious. "Okay, so I'm close. I guess I'd consider her a friend." That hurt to say and he didn't want to investigate why. "Why?"

"Maybe you don't know, if you're only – Do you know why she's shy about a relationship?"

Fuck.

"I mean, we've gone out a few times, but." Logan sighed. "I just thought you might know. You're closer to her than anyone else."

"I don't know," Max said, trying his best to not sound annoyed. Watching Kevin, he slowed when the boy stopped to show his scooter off to Oscar. He spotted a Red Bull shirt up ahead and knew it was y/n, was certain when Kevin squealed and took off towards her, leaving Oscar holding his scooter. Stopping, he turned to Logan. "I don't know why, but I think it's because she's a single mom. His dad's not around at all, that's all I know."

Logan nodded. "Thanks, mate."

Max wrinkled his nose. "You've been around Alex and Oscar too much. It sounds weird when you say mate."

"I can't help it," he laughed. "Not enough Americans around here."

"There's a couple," Max said, nodding towards Kevin and y/n, who were slowly heading back towards them. And though it hurt, the words formed in his mouth. And though he didn't want to say them, they came out. "She likes you. Little mate likes you. I think… If you don't push her, it'll work out like it's supposed to."

"Really?" Logan looked over at her, and Max felt the usual bitterness in his chest when he smiled. "Thanks, Max."

It wasn't fair. Max knew that was something that only would be acceptable if Kevin were to say it, because only a three year old could make that statement and not be looked at with disdain. So he kept it to himself, swallowing down the jealousy as Logan moved first, taking up the boy's scooter and meeting y/n and Kevin. He felt unnecessary and wondered why he moved to join them when he could be heading to the motorhome to change his shoes and get ready to go back to the hotel for the night.

She reached out, smiling as she squeezed his arm. "Thanks so much for keeping an eye on him. I can tell he had an amazing time."

Suddenly he didn't feel useless. "We both did, but he was going stir crazy."

"I'm glad you took him out." She looked him up and down while Kevin jumped in a nearby puddle, encouraging Logan to join in. "Did he splash you?"

He looked down and saw the water and bits of mud splashed up his legs. "Ah, a little bit. Then I had to do it myself."

"You did?" she giggled, squeezing his arm again and letting go. "Oh I wish I could have seen that."

"I'll send you the video," he sighed as her hand slid down his arm.

"Mama, gotta pee."

"C'mon, kleine maat." Max reached for him, waving off her insistence that she could do it. "I've got to change anyway. I'll take care of it while you get your stuff packed."

"Thank you, Max," she said softly. "I just need to check in with the other admins about tomorrow then I'll be up."

He nodded, settling Kevin on his hip. The boy wrapped his arms around his neck, head resting on his shoulder as he was carried off. "Toilet then we'll get dry yeah? And—"

"Grote maat?"

"Yeah?"

Kevin sighed and Max wondered if he was just tired. It had been a long day and as far as he knew the boy hadn't had more than a thirty minute nap just after lunch. Or maybe he wasn't sure how to say whatever it was he wanted to say. "Nothin'," he finally mumbled.

"It's something," Max said gently, catching the closing door with one foot and pushing it open so he could enter the motorhome.

"I don't have a daddy," Kevin blurted once they were upstairs and Max was setting him down.

Max blinked, freezing for a few seconds. "Hasn't your mum talked to you about that?"

"No… Yeah. She said…" His face screwed up in thought.

And Max remembered he had to use the toilet. Guiding him into the bathroom, he turned his back to give him privacy, using the time to take off his coat and sodden shoes.

"Laura has a daddy," Kevin announced once he'd flushed.

It took him a couple seconds to remember who Laura was. "Yes… Her dad has the same name as you."

"But he's not my daddy."

"No, he's not," Max sighed. Picking up the discarded raincoat, he threw it over his shoulder and held the boy up at the sink so he could wash his hands. "What did your mum say?"

Kevin drew in a deep breath. "Not everybody gets a mama or a daddy. Some people get both." He shook the water from his hands and stretched to get a paper towel, his expression far too serious for one so young. "I love mama."

Max swallowed the unbidden lump of emotion in his throat. "I know you do, kleine maat. She loves you too."

"Mister Logan likes her."

Max inhaled slowly and let it out even slower. "Yeah, I guess so," he said, setting Kevin down and ushering him from the bathroom. "But that—"

"Do you think he'd be my daddy?"

"I don't—"

"You like mama."

Oh no. No. He had to put a stop to this. "I—"

There was a gentle knock on the door and Max would have gladly kissed whoever was on the other side. "We'll talk later, yeah?" he promised in a rush, moving to wrench open the door and more relieved to see y/n than he should have been.

"Hey," she said, slipping past him. "Alright, doodle bug, let's get ready to go, okay?"

"I'm just gonna… Change," Max said, still numb from Kevin's assertion. Grabbing a clean set of clothes from his suitcase, he carried them into the bathroom and closed the door with a sigh.

Maybe spending so much time with the kid was a bad idea. Obviously he thought that time together equaled a father figure, and since that would never happen, he should pull back. Let her be happy with Logan. Or not. Whichever path she chose wouldn't include him, so there was no need for him to continue to stick around.

He could hear them talking softly, wondered what Kevin was telling her about his afternoon. Wondered what her reaction would be to her son suddenly wanting a father. He had probably brought it up before, so she would just deflect or give him her usual answer, and—

"Max? Have you got his raincoat?"

He blinked, saw the bright blue coat he'd tossed over the sink. "Yeah, sorry. A couple of his cars are in here, too. Just a minute."

"No rush, I'm making him change into dry clothes." Her voice faded as she walked away from the door.

When he came out a few moments later, Kevin was pouting as she worked a comb through his hair. Wordlessly he draped the raincoat over the back of the chair and dropped the cars into Kevin's bag then made sure to give the boy a quick smile while smoothing his own hair.

"Want Mister Max to fix it," Kevin said suddenly and Max grunted in surprise when the boy suddenly bolted towards him.

Y/n shrugged, tossing the comb to him. Sitting back on her heels, she rolled her shoulders then bent to make sure none of Kevin's toys were hiding under the couch.

Kneeling down, Max shared a smile with Kevin and began to gently work the comb through his unruly curls. "Your mum has more experience with this than me," he whispered.

"But she's tired. Work," Kevin whispered back.

He almost laughed, wondering what Kevin considered his own work that day. "Do you know what she does?"

Kevin shrugged. "It's on her phone. Pictures and movies for the online people."

"Bit more than that, but yeah. And she's very good at it," Max promised, focusing on guiding the curls back from the boy's face.

"Can you do it? Or do you just drive?"

So that was what he did. Just drove. "No, I can't do what she does." He felt her watching them and looked over at her. "She's the only one who can do it."

"What are you two talking about?" she asked.

"Taxes!" Kevin answered with a giggle.

Max grinned, shaking his head as he finished combing his hair. Aware of her disbelieving look, he shrugged. "You heard him, we're talking about taxes."

"What about taxes?" She narrowed her eyes.

"They suck," Kevin said with all the certainty only a child could produce.

Max tipped his head. "Exactly."

She snorted, taking the comb and slipping it into her bag. "You're lying but whatever. Let's get your—" She stopped, because Max was already helping Kevin with his raincoat.

"Keep your hood up outside, yeah? You don't want cold ears." Max sat down fully, stretching to get a dry pair of shoes from his suitcase. "Do you need a ride back to the hotel?"

"I was just gonna Uber," she said, zipping up the bag of Kevin's things. "Gotta stop and get some dinner, so—"

"Y/n."

"Hm?" She looked at him as he stood. And sighed. "Okay."

"Okay?"

She nodded. "Okay."

Okay. He cleared his throat and grabbed his jacket. "Unless you and Logan…"

"No." She looked on while he moved to help Kevin with his rain boots. "He's… Got stuff on his mind."

"The car?" Max guessed, seeing her nod. "I don't blame him. It's fucking shit."

"Max!"

"It is," he said with a shrug. "He'd have better luck with a bicycle."

"That might be true, but—"

"He's good," Max told her. "It's not him, it's the team and the cars. They brought him up too soon and when he wasn't immediately amazing they lost faith in him. You can't earn points if the team is constantly shitting on you."

"Max," she hissed.

And he felt himself blush. "Sorry," he mumbled to Kevin.

"Mama says it too," the boy told him.

"The point is—"

"Vowles is stupid, that's what the point is. Instead of supporting his driver he's telling the world he's looking for someone new. He favors Alex, gives him the better car, and leaves Logan to struggle." Max straightened and sighed. "Logan's not perfect on the track, y/n, but he would be improving if his team believed in him and helped him learn."

"I know," she whispered sadly. "He's—" She pressed her lips together. "Are we even supposed to talk about it?"

They probably weren't, but he didn't care. "Doesn't matter. He's what?"

"He's worried about next year. He loves this," she said. "It's what he's worked so hard to get to, and now it's slipping away."

And Max knew she was falling for the American. She, who'd known the man for barely a month, showed more concern for him than the so-called team he drove for. He wondered if Logan had any idea. "I'm sorry," he said softly. When she looked at him doubtfully, he sighed. "I really am, y/n. But we've got more than half the season to go. Don't give up hope, yeah?"

"I'll do my best," she murmured. "I'm sorry, I just—"

"Worry," he finished with a nod. "I know. C'mon, let's go, yeah? Get him some dinner before he falls asleep."

"Not sleepy," Kevin said, ruining the announcement by yawning.

"We were talking about you," Max murmured once they were in the back seat of the car and on their way from the track.

"What?" The fading daylight was just enough for him to see her look over at him.

"Taxes."

"Oh." She chuckled, shifting Kevin in her lap as he leaned against her. "That's what I always tell him when me and Ellie are talking about something I don't want him to know."

"Good idea." He looked down at his phone, replying to the messages he'd been ignoring from his father. "Did you know I just drive?"

"Yeah, you should really start doing Uber," she teased.

He snorted. "Sixty or seventy laps, three hundred kilometers an hour. Practically a Sunday drive in the country."

"Well… Isn't it usually?"

"You're not funny," he muttered, ignoring his fathers lengthy questions about strategy and stats for the weekend and opening his messages with Christian.

"I'm hilarious. You just have no sense of humor."

"The groundhogs at the track are funnier than you – Ay!" he laughed when she shoved his shoulder.

"You're such an ass, Max."

"Y/n," he gasped in mock shock, pointedly looking at Kevin.

Kevin, who was almost asleep.

"Fine, you're such a butt, Max," she corrected.

To his delight, they playfully bickered all the way to the restaurant she'd ordered their dinner from. And from there all the way to the hotel. It was fun and playful, and kept Kevin from falling asleep, and he reveled in making her laugh so hard as they climbed out of the car at the hotel, turning to get Kevin. Max waved her off, holding the boy and pausing to greet some of the fans waiting, ignoring their questions about who Kevin was. He had a sinking feeling that the photos – and movies, as Kevin called them – would be plastered online before he reached the elevator and wondered if he should have let her carry her son inside. But she had to know it would happen, and he could only hope the fans online would be polite.

"Thanks, Max," she said when he carried Max into her hotel room. He opened his mouth to say she was welcome, but she continued, "I don't mean just this. You've done more than anyone would have expected you to for me the past couple days."

While she spoke she unpacked her and Kevin's food, and Max instinctively moved to help Kevin out of his boots and jacket, sending him to the bathroom to wash his hands. "I really don't mind."

"You sure?" she asked, looking up from her phone.

"I like—" he stopped when there was a knock on the open door.

Apparently Logan didn't have too much stuff on his mind. Exchanging a nod in greeting, Max looked away, his lightened mood dimming as y/n spoke to him, insisting he come in and eat, she'd gotten an extra burger. Despite Logan's assertion that he was fine, she had him seated at the small table in no time and Max wondered how it felt, to be fussed over so affectionately. Kevin, even though he was tired, greeted the man with exuberance, and at least he knew what that was like, and wondered if he looked that happy when the boy climbed into his lap.

"I should get going," he said, feeling like a third wheel. Like he was intruding on a private moment.

She looked ready to say he didn't have to, but nodded. "Okay. Thanks again, Max."

"Anytime," he promised.

"How do I look?"

"Amazing."

Y/n huffed. "You didn't look!"

"Sorry!" Ellie turned from the counter and her eyes widened. "Holy shit."

"Too much?" she fretted, tugging at the hem of the black dress. She would swear it had been a few inches longer in the shop.

"What's the end goal for tonight?" her friend asked.

"Dinner?" she answered slowly.

"And what else?"

She sighed. "It's just dinner, El."

Ellie leaned to make sure Kevin wasn't coming into the kitchen and lowered her voice. "Have you slept with him yet?"

"Ellie."

"I'll take that as a no." Ellie nodded. "Then it's perfect."

"What does that mean—"

"He's tall, so put on your highest heels. And since your tits are out and we're not in Carolina, grab my shawl. That blue one, it looks great with your eyes."

"My tits are not out."

"Please, one good sneeze and you'll be flashing him." Ellie smiled knowingly. "It's okay to want to have sex, you know."

Y/n huffed again, reaching to run her hands through her hair but stopping when she remembered how long she'd worked on the simple updo. So she settled for an annoyed gesture. "I know that. I just – He – I'm – El, it's been four years. And last time—"

"Not every guy is a Josh," Ellie said gently. "Give yourself some credit, babes. You were young and a little dumb, and now you're older and wiser."

"I know," she sighed.

"You worry too much. You like Logan, he likes you. He and Kevin like each other. You've been seeing him for over a month now."

Nodding, y/n opened her mouth. But her best friend kept talking.

"He's a good guy. Stop holding him at arm's length."

"But what if—"

"What if you let yourself have a little fun for the first time since you got pregnant with Kev? What if you put yourself first even if it's just for one night? What if you have the best night that makes the four hours of getting ready worth it? What if—"

"Okay, okay, okay! Point made," she said with a groan. "It was three hours."

"You really hate admitting when I'm right." Ellie crossed the small kitchen and hugged her. "You look great, sweetie. He'll drool even more than he already does when he sees you."

"Ew…"

"Fine." Ellie squeezed her tight. "No woman has ever looked more gorgeous than you look tonight, and no woman ever will. Traffic will stop, heads will turn, and everyone who sees you will wish they could be graced with one of your smiles."

"That's better." She laughed softly, hugging her friend back. "Okay, he should be here soon, I've got to get my shoes."

"And the shawl."

And the shawl. By the time she found it in Ellie's closet she was nervous, palms sweating as she fixed it around her shoulders and checked and rechecked and then triple-checked her appearance in the full length mirror. He was there, she could hear him talking to Kevin and she took several calming breaths, jumping when Ellie entered her bedroom.

"Here," her friend said, reaching to slip something into her purse.

"What—"

"Just in case. He is from Florida."

Y/n looked at what she'd dropped inside and slapped her friend's arm. "Ellie."

"Come on, before Kevin gets him to watch Cars again."

Sighing, she nodded and closed her purse after making sure she had everything. Logan was on the sofa with Kevin and her breath caught a little, both at how patiently he was listening to her son 'read' his book and at how handsome he was. She was so used to seeing him dressed casually so each time he wore something other than jeans and a hoodie it was a pleasant surprise.

"You look gorgeous," he said when they were outside. He'd said great upstairs and she still felt the surge of feminine adrenaline over how he'd stared for a full ten seconds before speaking.

"Thank you." His palm burned the small of her back as he guided her to the waiting car, and when he opened the door for her he sighed her name. She wondered if it was a good thing to start a date with a kiss and decided that it was. Because it made her feel gorgeous. Great. Beautiful.

Wanted.

Driving to the restaurant, his hand strayed to her knee and she covered it with hers, meeting his eyes when he stopped the car.

"Are we still figuring it out?" he asked softly, turning his hand and lacing their fingers together.

"I think we already have," she answered, swallowing when his hand squeezed.

Wondering why it wasn't as scary as she'd thought it would be.

Taglist:

#f1 #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #max verstappen #logan sargeant #max verstappen fic #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #logan sargent x reader #my writings > mv > rulebreaker

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itsgodepi · 2 months ago

Text

First Winners | MV33

Summary: After a challenging first season, you return to the Formula One world with renewed determination and lots to prove. You and Max have finally left your rivalry behind and the future has never looked more promising. Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader Note: this is the second and last part of a collection called Chasing Firsts, being First Loser the part 1 of it. It can be read as a standalone but you'll understand things better if you have read part 1. Word Count: 11k Warnings: emotional distress, mentions of injury Also on AO3

“Sorry!” you shout, breathless, as you sprint across the track, heart racing with effort and pure excitement.

It is one of those nice sunny days, where the sky is clear but the air remains refreshingly cool, just right for the snug embrace of the race suit. Ahead of you, the drivers are already standing on position, their brightly colored team gear popping against the backdrop of the asphalt.

Formula 1 Gulf Air Bahrain Grad Prix 2022.

Just reading the huge sign placed in front of the group makes your skin tingle, the thrill of the season ahead and the weight of what had come before thrumming in your heart.

“Look who finally decided to show up!” Lando’s voice rings out, dripping with playful mockery, his face lighting up with exaggerated shock.

The teasing begins immediately as you half-run to your place, playful cheering and clapping for your ‘long-awaited’ arrival. Your eyes find Max across the group —his signature grin spreads wide, eyes sparkling with amusement. You wave off their jokes with a smile of your own, shaking your head and quickly unknotting the sleeves of the suit from your hips. Not even five minutes have passed.

"I had to take shots for the opening titles and all that stuff!” you explain, slightly out of breath as you slide into your spot.

Your position is on the left side, wedged between Yuki Tsunoda and the McLarens. Behind you, the Alpine drivers stand a step higher, getting settled in for the photo. Daniel is quick to throw an arm around your shoulders, shaking you from side to side with an exaggerated cheer while you try to fix yourself.

“Welcome back! We missed you”

You look up at him, your lower lip pushed out in a joking warning “Don’t say that! I’ll cry!”

Daniel just grins. “Oops. My bad,” he laughs, releasing you and falling back into position.

The photographers quickly signal they are ready.

You also draw a smile for the cameras, despite the emotions that start bubbling inside of you. The uncertainty, the fear that your racing career was over and you wouldn’t get into a Formula One car ever again. You weren’t even lined up for a reserve driver role, left scrambling after Hass had terminated your contract late in the off-season. Every seat was covered.

And yet, her you were again, this time wearing AlphaTauri’s colors.

The world seems to blur around you, your eyes stinging as you try and fail to blink back the tears welling up. You turn around, pressing your hands over your face in a desperate attempt to pull yourself together. You can hear the confused murmurs around you, drivers shifting slightly as they notice the photographers stopping their work.

“What’s wrong?” someone asks, but before you could respond, Alex Albon’s voice rings out above the chatter, announcing to everyone within earshot, “Aw, she’s crying!”

That was it —every driver and staff surrounding you turned into a mix of soft chuckles and sympathetic coos. You feel a hand gently land on your head from the spot behind yours, Fernando, offering a quiet, steady reassurance. Daniel also shifts beside you, using his body to shield you from the cameras as he begins to draw comforting circles on your back. You let out a shaky breath.

Some things never change, you think. At least, this time, they’re happy tears.

A couple days later, you find yourself standing among the drivers in a more composed manner. The pre-race buzz growing loud around you.

Max comes to stand beside you, flashing a grin and checking “How are you feeling?”

You cross your arms in front of you, glancing at the grandstands and staff rushing around. Everything had to be perfect for the first race of the season.

“Honestly? Weird,” you admit, scrunching your nose “It’s just... I don’t know”

Carlos, catching the tail end of your confession, chimes in “You’ve already been through the hard part,” he casually shrugs “Now’s just like last year”

You grimace, changing the weight from one leg to the other. The problem is that this could not be a repeat of last year, and yesterday’s qualy was clearly not helping that resolution. Sixteenth, for godness sake.

“Yeah, but with the new team...”

“Ah, don’t worry!” Lando chimes in, flashing you a cheeky smirk “No one will even notice the change, just a different shade of blue.”

He wasn’t wrong. In your almost identical white race suit, only the blue details and deep red logo of Hass had been swapped for the completely dark blue parts of the AlphaTauri emblem. They could have easily photoshopped you into the start of the season’s group photos.

You are fast to quip back “Says the guy who’s been a walking papaya for three seasons straight!”, nodding at his McLaren gear.

“Excuse me, it’s four seasons,” Lando corrects, mock-offended as he dramatically clutches his chest. “Have some respect!”

Carlos snickers, nudging you with his elbow. “Yeah, look at him, he’s a senior now”

“Whatever” you shake your head, waving a hand in the air to dismiss their corrections. “But yeah, I was hoping for a darker color or something. They had some nice blue ones back when you were in it” you add, glancing up at Max.

The Dutch, who had been quietly hearing the conversation, raises his eyebrows slightly. His eyes shifting between you and Carlos, his old teammate, trying to recall those days in Toro Rosso.

You, on the other hand, remembered it vividly. That lanky teenager with rosy cheeks and a wide grin, who shyly laughed off the harsh questioning from the media and was still learning how to handle the spotlight that never seemed to leave him. Max Verstappen, then the youngest driver in Formula 1 history, had merely been a young boy thrust into the cutthroat world of racing, where every mistake felt magnified and the pressure was unyielding.

And now, here he was, standing tall and confident next to you on his eighth season. He had transformed into a fierce competitor, coming off a runner-up finish in the previous World Championship and now fiercely hungry for his first title.

Max sure had grown a lot.

Just a few minutes later, a staff member gently interrupts your conversation, guiding your group toward the red carpet as the national anthem prepares to play. The Red Bull driver helps you weave through the crowd all the way to the front, and finds a spot right next to you as they finalize preparing the ceremony. The atmosphere around you hums with excitement, fans' cheers growing louder as everyone settles into place for the race presentation.

It doesn’t take long for someone to notice that Max has given up his prime position at the center, as the race pole winner, for a place next to you. But by then, he’s already achieved his goal: calming your nerves with a few light-hearted quips, leaving you smiling even as he’s more or less escorted back to his position.

Still, after the ceremony comes to an end, the Dutch manages to find his way back to you. Just to wish you good luck one last time. Max tries to do so seamlessly, thrusting himself into the sea of people and matching your pace as you walk back to your car —despite his own resting in the front row. The Red Bull mechanics waving their arms and making signs behind him, their expressions a mix of frustration and amusement, likely thinking he has forgotten his starting spot.

“Be careful, though, no ending up in the curb today,” he calls out, a playful grin lighting up his face when you near the crowd of white and blue AlphaTauri personnel “You’re not a rookie anymore!”

Your eyes widen when his words sink in, instantly transporting to last year events and how mad you had been at him. Those interviews and press conferences where you had been at each other neck, especially at the one Max references.

He had pushed you to the edge ��both metaphorically and on the track—, so calling him a rookie was the softest thing he was going to get from you.

Max lets out a hearty laugh at your reaction, taking a couple steps back in his car’s direction. You roll your eyes, shooting him a playful middle finger which is thankfully hidden by the crowd of people still swarming the grid. No need to give the media something to buzz about before the race had even begun.

In a twist of irony, despite Max’s playful warnings, it’s him who ends up in the curb in the season opener. Well, not exactly like that, a fuel system failure forces him to retire just a few laps from the end. But naturally, when he wanders into the AlphaTauri garage afterward to congratulate you on your impressive debut, you can’t resist the jab.

Max sighs dramatically, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, I deserved that." But his smile is genuine, a glint of pride in his eyes as he pats your back. "Nice job out there."

It feels good. Really good.

Qualifying may have been rough, and your aggressive overtakes might’ve drawn some criticism, but that day, you managed to score your first points for AlphaTauri and secure your highest finish yet. Eighth place. Not bad, not bad at all.

You know you can’t promise this kind of result in every race, but it still feels like a statement. A message to all those who had questioned the team’s decision to sign you, who flooded the internet with doubts about your abilities. They chalked up your signing to desperation, to picking the only driver left on the market.

Now, with a hard-earned finish in the books, you feel a sense of vindication. You have proved you belong here.

Honestly, part of you understands their doubts. Not a single rumor had circulated about you being an option for AlphaTauri—or any other team—after a long break and the presentation of the new cars for the season. It had seemed clear: you had lost your opportunity in the F1 world, like many others. Once you stepped out, it felt like there was no coming back.

Yet, just two weeks before the start of the season, you were walking into AlphaTauri headquarters to finalize your contract.

From that moment, everything became a blur—papers to sign, photos to take, and a whirlwind of patience required to navigate your new life. Patience with your new team, with the bosses, and as always, with the media.

In the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix, the car starts having issues as soon as qualifying starts. The steering is a mess, failing to respond to every single one of your manoeuvres, and the engine loses power lap after lap. The result: the withdrawal of your car just before the end of Q2.

It’s fine, you tell yourself, repeating it like a mantra. You’ll make do with what you have. You’ll forget everything when the lights go out. Even relaying a more polished version of it to the reporters.

It is March anyway, more specifically Drive to Survive new season’s release week, so they don’t care that much about your Qualy. Their focus lies elsewhere: namely, your huge rivalry with Max Verstappen, the centerpiece of Netflix’s media campaign.

A rivalry that does not exist anymore.

“I mean, I understand the interest,” you accept, taking a sip from your newly acquired Red Bull can-shaped bottle to organize your thoughts. “Max was having an amazing sea-”

Your sentence is abruptly cut off by a hand falling on your shoulder, giving it an encouraging squeeze. You turn back in surprise to see Max himself making his way past, his PR minder close behind.

“Sorry, sorry,” he shyly smiles, noticing he has distracted you from the question

You wave it off “It’s alright”, looking back to the camera

“We were actually talking about you,” the reporter interjects, seizing the chance to bring the two of you into the spotlight, already moving his microphone towards Max.

Max raises an eyebrow, a mix of confusion and caution on his face. You can sense the tension; it’s no secret that you have not been nice to each other in past interviews. Glad it is not like that today.

“About Netflix and all that” you finish for the reporter, noticing he wasn’t going to

“Oh, right, did you see the posters by the entrance?” Max suddenly remembers, a clever shift in the conversation. Like you, he must have been receiving this type of questions all weekend. “They look straight out of a movie! The one where you are jumping out of the car is the be...”

“Of me?” you cut in, pointing to yourself in disbelief.

“Yeah, it's you! From back in Austria, I think” Max confirms with a nod, taking a step toward his waiting interviewer. That’s when the crash went down “They’re just by the gate, next to the security. You should check them out.”

And just like that, Max has deftly diverted the spotlight and got you both off the hook from what could have been an incredibly uncomfortable interview. Sometimes, his media training does work wonders.

Later, he even sends you a photo of the poster, and you have to admit it: you look amazing in them.

Sunday morning dawns, and your sixteenth position on the grid is turned into a disappointing nineteenth due to necessary changes in your car's components. Last place. You don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse that you hardly get to feel the weight of starting at the back, since the steering wheel starts throwing every known error at you the moment you drive out of the pit lane for the formation lap. The radio crackles to life in the middle of your panic, informing you that the car is also smoking.

Just like that, your car is deemed unsafe to drive, and you are left to spend your second race seated in the AlphaTauri garage watching Yuki, your teammate, raise to P7.

This time, it’s you who walk over to the Red Bull garage after the race, hoping to congratulate Max on his amazing race and to escape the celebratory cheers in your own. The moment is far more fleeting than when he had come to see you in Bahrain. Max all smiles and adrenaline, skin glistening with champagne as he pulls you into a brief half-hug in the crowd of mechanics, before he’s whisked away to a meeting room for a post-race debrief.

He’s the winner, after all, and the season seems to look better for him with each passing race.

Meanwhile, for you, things only going downhill from there on. You’re doing terrible in qualifying, and fixing it in the race turns into an almost impossible mission as the rest of the cars swarm past, easily overtaking you even in the slowest sectors.

Those words of encouragement from Bahrain morph into doubtful glances once again. It doesn’t matter that you beat your own record with a seventh-place finish in Imola or that you manage to get within the points in Spain after a grueling race. The media decides to deem that performance “inconsistent” instead, and it stings.

Then comes the Canadian Grand Prix, a moment that seals your fate. You had climbed the grid from seventeenth place with sheer determination and some questionable overtakes, you were pushing it to the limit and the strategy was looking so promising. Lap 58 and you had managed to reach P9.

But as you exit the pits on your final set of tyres, everything comes crashing down.

“There we have it. Comes out of the pits on cold tires and goes straight on into the barrier” the sportscaster's frustration is almost palpable as they show the footage of your onboard camera “Such a shame”

The clip replays in your head and the TV on a constant loop. The way you accelerated and simply lost control, as if it were your first time in a Formula One car. Do you even know how to drive? —it’s basically what Esteban Ocon had screamed over the radio during your battle in the opening laps, and at this point, you’re starting to believe it yourself.

Your phone buzzes over the hotel bed, pulling you out of the haze. It’s Max.

Didn’t see you back at the garage. Hope you’re alright.

You leave the message sitting there, unread, unsure of what to say. It’s the first time you’ve skipped seeing him after the podium, breaking what had quietly become a tradition between the two of you since the Abu Dhabi GP. Max comes to your garage when you secure a decent finish, and more often than not, you head over to Red Bull to celebrate his wins. But yesterday, you couldn’t face it.

A few minutes later, another buzz.

Got a plane back to Monaco with a few of the guys. You’re welcome to join.

Thought it might be better than flying alone.

You hesitate, the idea of being around the other drivers feels exhausting right now.

It alright, Max. I already got the flight back.

Thanks

His response is instant.

If you change your mind, we’re leaving in a couple hours. Just let me know.

After the summer break, you return to the paddock with a new mindset. You have made a decision to not to care anymore. Not about the whispers, the criticism, or the endless pressure to prove yourself. Last year, you achieved a dream you had been chasing since you were a child—your first season in Formula One. And yet, instead of soaking in the accomplishment, you had spent every race weekend consumed by the opinions of others.

You are not going to make the same mistake this year. If there’s one thing you’ve learned from your time in Formula 1, it’s those opportunities like this, to redeem yourself, don’t come twice. So, you are decided to block out the noise. If people want to talk, let them. You have a job to do: racing.

But life has a way of throwing curveballs.

It’s Qualifying day at the Belgium Grand Prix, and the paddock is alive with the usual pre-session buzz. The weather, typical for Spa, is unpredictable —dark clouds loom over the track, threatening to turn the session into a chaotic lottery as the track slickens.

Unfortunately, you have found yourself being kicked out in Q1. You were pushing, clocking good lap times, but the worry about your wheels slipping on the wet asphalt held you back from going full throttle. As the session concludes, you can’t shake off the disappointment.

You discuss possible questions with your PR minder while waiting for your turn in the media pen. Your gaze drifts occasionally to the large screen nearby, watching the remaining drivers test the limits of their cars in the second session.

Suddenly, your stomach drops, and your heart races as you see a car spin out of control on the screen. It takes a moment for your brain to register the scene; it’s Sergio Perez. The monitor shows him losing grip during a fast lap, the car sliding wildly before crashing into the barriers. A collective gasp fills the media pen, and your breath catches in your throat.

A couple of hours later, Red Bull officially announces what everyone feared:

“Following a severe accident during Qualifying today, Sergio Perez has sustained a wrist injury that will prevent him from competing in the Belgian Grand Prix. He is currently receiving medical attention, and we wish him a swift recovery.”

The weight of the news hangs heavily in the air, and as fans and media begin speculating who will fill Checo's seat for the race, whispers circulate around the paddock. Some believe Yuki, with his existing experience in the Red Bull family, will be the front-runner for the seat. Others argue that Liam, fresh off impressive performances in F2, might be a bold choice but also an intelligent one.

It is safe to say that, when your name is announced in the following statement, nobody is expecting it.

Your new photo, clad in the Red Bull race suit, plasters itself across every headline, every social media feed. The press loses its collective mind.

From the back of the grid to Red Bull’s frontlines: A risk too far?

The mistake that could cost Red bull the constructors’ title

An erratic driver in a top-tier car. Will she crumble under pressure?

Inconsistent and unreliable. The weakest link signed for Red Bull’s title chase?

Every headline, every article paints the same picture—Red Bull taking a reckless chance with you, questioning your consistency and readiness for the top-tier spotlight. It’s as though no one remembers the flashes of brilliance you’ve shown, only the times you’ve faltered.

You can’t help but notice the lukewarm response from Christian Horner when he arrives to the paddock on race day.

"We’re giving her the opportunity, and she’ll have to show if her performance is up to our expectations." declares the Red Bull principal. It’s not exactly a ringing endorsement. More like a public trial, and you’re the one on the stand.

But Max? Max defends you, openly and unapologetically.

“Everyone’s being so quick to judge, but no one gets on this level by accident” he is asked about innumerable times that morning pre-race, and his response is always firm. Leaving no room for doubts “She’s more than capable.”

It’s a bold statement, one that earns Max a few raised eyebrows and more than enough jokes about needing to be saved from his PR team. But he doesn’t care. He stands by you, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you’ve got someone in your corner.

The pre-race ceremony feels like a fever dream. Drivers and team members pass by, offering fist bumps, handshakes, and quick words of encouragement. This time you are ushered to the front line for the race presentation, to stand next to Max Verstappen because that is your place right now. As his teammate.

"You do look better in blue, I’ll give you that" he whispers with a teasing grin, giving you a playful nudge

“Told you” you smile up at him, genuine happiness pulling at your lips "Guess I’ve got to prove I can drive just as well in it too."

"You will" Max responds, his tone suddenly serious, but there’s no pressure behind it —just belief.

When the lights go out, the roar of the engines swallows your every thought. You’re starting P13 as a result of Checo’s accident, but as the race unfolds, you move higher and higher in the grid. By lap 30, you're in 8th, and there’s no stopping you now. The Red Bull feels like a beast under your hands and you’re squeezing every bit of power out of it, pulling off daring overtakes with a confidence you didn’t know you still had.

Each overtake, each maneuver, pulls you higher up the grid. By the time the final laps roll around, you have somehow managed to slip into P3, a podium spot within your grasp. This is surreal.

Still, Carlos Sainz’s Ferrari is looming large in your mirrors. He’s fast, too fast, and he’s on fresher tires —he is not the one who had to fight half of the grid to get into this position. You know it's only a matter of time before he makes his move, but you defend like your life depends on it.

The Ferrari dives down the inside after the straight, and you can't hold him back any longer. He slips past, his car a red blur as he takes P3. The podium slips through your fingers, but you hold on to P4, pushing the car to its limits until the checkered flag waves.

In the media pen afterward, the energy is electric. You raise with confidence as the reporters wave his congratulations and questions. They press you for details, dissecting every turn, every near-miss. One reporter brings up the moment mid-race where you almost went off-track, and you grin, leaning into the microphone.

“Oh, yeah, look...” you sigh, laughter bubbling up inside you “Max told me to try his settings this weekend and, wow”

The interviewer chuckles at your reaction, but he really doesn’t know the half of it. It's unlike anything you’ve driven before, a razor-sharp font end and a rear looser than you've ever seen. The result of it is an extremely sensitive car, unpredictable, always on the edge of losing control.

“It’s hard to get used to, but you know... you don't argue with someone who's going to be the world champion."

A new announcement comes like a wave crashing over the F1 world a few days later: Sergio Perez will be sidelined for up to five races due to his wrist injuries. The rehabilitation will be long and difficult, but the doctors are optimistic about his full recovery. The news spread like a wildfire, the weight of expectation settling heavily on your shoulders. You’ve had your fair share of ups and downs this season, but stepping in for Checo? That was definitely not on your bingo card.

Arriving at Zandvoort later that week is a surreal experience. This time, you’re not just las minute filling in, you step into the paddock as a —somewhat— confirmed Red Bull driver for the start of a race weekend.

You’re dressed head-to-toe in the signature blue and red, the bold bull logo stamped on your chest for all to see. It feels like a second skin, but at the same time, heavier than you expected. Honestly, the simple attire by itself draws a lot of attention, more than you wanted —though, sorry to disappoint, you’re clearly not Max Verstappen.

At least, when you finally step into the Red Bull garage, the cameras and the blatant stares don’t follow. Your eyes shift through the garage as you try to gather your bearings, taking a deep breath, but someone quickly catches your eye.

Victoria.

The sight of her sent a wave of warmth crashing over you, and you rush forward, surprising her with a hug that she instantly reciprocates. It has been so long since you last saw her, only got meet her a few times during your seasons in F3 and F2 when you came to the Netherlands.

“Oh, look at you!” Victoria whispers, her voice thick with emotion as she buries her head into your shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, really proud. This is huge”

“I know, it’s not in the best conditions but-” you lament, voice lightly trembling

“Don’t say that” she pulls away to look you in the eyes, still firmly holding your hands in hers, and you feel like a small teary child again. “You deserve it, this opportunity. Nobody gave this to you, you’ve worked for it”

“I wish you were here,” you confess, letting go of her right hand to wipe the stray tear rolling down your cheek. Victoria squeezes your hand, probably a bit overwhelmed as well, so you decide to lighten the mood a little “Your brother’s too good”

“Are you saying I wasn’t?!” Victoria shots back in faux indignation, giving you a playful light push.

“But you’d at least let me pass.”

“Yeah, I would have,” she states, confidently, her smile brightening the moment “I’m glad you two fixed things.”

The mention of last year’s chaos weighs heavy in the air, you take a deep breath, “Sorry for not coming to see you last year. That was... a hard weekend.”

The 2021 Netherlands Grand Prix was a weekend you'd rather forget. You’d felt exposed, vulnerable, and, honestly, betrayed by Max. Even though you were never more than acquaintances during your karting days, and the fact you had clashed so badly during that season that season, you thought him, more than anyone, could understand what being crossed by the media was like.

At that point especially, when, after weeks of leading drama-filled headlines, that video of you completely broken after your crash with him had flooded every social media platform. He should have known better than to approach you in such a delicate moment.

But, anyway, all of that was now forgotten.

“I know,” Victoria’s expression softens at the memory. Her eyes reflected the same pain you felt, and the understanding between you two was palpable “Max wanted mom and I to check on you since the team was dragging him everywhere, but well, he got to you first.”

That surprises you. You had guessed Max caught wind of the release of the video before approaching you after the race, but you supposed he just wanted to save his ass in what looked like an awful-looking media scandal. Never to check how you were feeling.

Someone media team swoops in just as you and Victoria are settling down, pulling you away for promo videos and media duties. You nod, giving your friend a parting smile, and follow them toward the motorhome where the familiar sight of cameras, mics, and branded backdrops wait for you. The Netflix crew is also buzzing around like bees, documenting your every step just in case you trip.

Max is already there, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed, wearing that signature smirk.

“Took your time,” he says, raising an eyebrow as you approach. You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

"Blame your sister," you say, nodding toward the garage where you last left Victoria. “She’s distracting.”

Max chuckles, pushing himself off the wall and coming closer as the crew sets up for the first video. “Told her to hang around for a bit, hope recording doesn’t take too long.”

You are guided to stand by a table with portable cooking stoves, different ingredients and cooking utensils perfectly laid out for you to use. The arrangement seems to spark a realization in the Dutch’s mind.

“Oh, I almost forgot it. My mother wanted to invite you over to the house for lunch, or dinner, or whenever you want really...” Max trails off, scratching the back of his neck “I’ll just go pick you up at the hotel”

You blink in surprise. Lunch with Max’s family? It’s been years since you and his sister were close enough to even consider something like that. The thought makes you feel warm, almost nostalgic for a time when things were simpler.

“I’d love to, but—” you gesture around, the motorsport chaos swirling around you both, “I’ve got a lot to catch up on, car stuff, strategy... I want to focus.”

“That’s okay” Max nods in understanding, and you notice there’s an ease to your interactions now that wasn’t there before. “But don’t be too hard on yourself, alright?”

From them on, the weekend unfolds with lots of promo recording, meetings with the engineers and adapting to the team.

Qualifying is... bad? Honestly, it is the first time ever in your career you have entered Q3, which, for you is huge milestone, but the high expectations put on you make it seem like an even bigger failure.

Max is second, at least, which can make for an easy race win despite the poor help his teammate can guarantee him.

Race day also brings a whole new set of challenges. The weather at Zandvoort is temperamental, shifting between light rain and slick track conditions, and making tire strategy crucial. The pit calls come fast and frantic, and in the heat of the moment, you make a mistake. You swing in for the tire change and, surprise, the mechanics don’t try to even touch your car, but instead they start standing up and getting out of your way.

It takes you half a second to understand what is happening, but when you see the white overalls, you immediately push the gas pedal. You’ve stopped in Haas’ garage.

The mechanics from both teams wave frantically, guiding you to the correct pit box, but not without some laughter.

“Sorry, too many changes in one year” you mutter into the radio, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks beneath the helmet

Your race engineer is quick to reassure you "No problem," though you can still hear the suppressed laughter in his voice.

Cameras catch the Red Bull and Haas crews chuckling after your departure, and even the commentators can't hold back their amusement.

You get driver of the day too, for some reason.

Later that night, just as you finally collapse onto your hotel bed, exhausted, Max sends you the clip of your pit stop mishap with a string of laughing emojis. You sigh, a tired smile tugging at your lips. You’ll have to get used to these post-race celebrations —Max is on the way to sweep every single trophy this season.

Another win at his home race, he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face all night. For you, a consolatory P5. You will do better next time.

Asshole

Go to sleep

Before you can even roll over, the Red Bull driver is already writing back. You pull the covers over yourself and turn off the lights, waiting for his reply to light up your screen.

Can’t

I’m drunk still

Did you get to the hotel alright?

You can almost hear the slur in his words, even through the letters. It takes a second for you to reply.

Yeah, just got here

I’m so tired, seriously, am not fit to party every week

You have to stop winning so much

There’s a long pause, the kind that makes you think he’s finally drifted off. But then your phone buzzes again.

Okay

I won’t win next week

Promise

A smile tugs at your lips at Max’s messages, warmth spreading through your chest at the silly prospect, and you tap out a quick reply.

Like you can help yourself

Good night, Max. Get some sleep.

You fall asleep before you can see his good night message, the events of the day finally taking a toll on you.

In Italy, everything feels different. Max and you fall into an unspoken rhythm thanks to the convenience of being in the same hotel. Every morning now begins with a knock at your door, the familiar sight of Max waiting to walk with you to breakfast, and then sharing a car to the track. This continues at the paddock as well, though Grand Prix’s weekends are always a chaos. You suffer through meetings, recordings and PR obligations side by side, exchanging glances when things drag on too long or when something utterly pointless is said. And sometimes, if you are lucky and the schedules align, you can even get to spend some low time relaxing back at the motorhome. Not because you are obligated, but because you want to

It is a welcome change. You have never been this close to a teammate in your time as a professional and Max Verstappen, contrary to all your previous thoughts about him, seems like the perfect person to have that experience with.

On Saturday, the meeting with the engineers stretches long into the evening. Despite the success of qualifying —better than expected, even, you’ve secured a solid P4, just a couple sports behind Max's P2—, the debrief is exhaustive. The engineers dive deep into every tiny detail: tire degradation, fuel consumption rates, weather forecasts, braking zones, and a million other things you’re digest in time for tomorrow. Your brain is buzzing by the time it finally wraps up.

The hotel’s restaurant has already closed by the time you roll into the lobby, and you both groan in unison as the realization hits —there’s no food in sight. The trainers, ever vigilant, push you both into the elevator, their meal-prep containers left earlier in your rooms supposedly your savior for the night. You know what's waiting for you though, and it's not appealing.

“I can’t eat another freaking rice bowl,” you whisper once the trainers step out on one of the lower floors, the mere thought of it making your stomach turn.

Max chuckles beside you, rubbing his stomach in agreement. “I think I’d rather starve.”

The two of you stand in comfortable silence for a moment, digesting the reality awaiting you. The floors of the elevator flash by on the display, climbing higher and higher toward your rooms.

“I mean...” Max starts, crossing his arms and leaning against the elevator wall with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I did see an open pizza place down the street when we were driving by”

“But tomorrow’s race day...” you mumble, trying to reason with yourself as much as him.

“Yeah...” Max nods, giving you space to mull it over.

The elevator dings and opens on your floor, and Max straightens, preparing to walk out and head toward the sad prepped meal waiting in his room. But just as he’s about to take a step, you reach out and grab the fabric of his shirt, halting him. You press the button to close the doors again, making a quick decision.

“Okay, but you’re not ordering!” you say, a grin starting to creep onto your face.

Max bursts into laughter, leaning back against the railing again. “Alright, alright.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, glancing at the two of you in the mirror. Both of you are still fully decked out in Red Bull merch from head to toe —Max even has his cap with his number 33 embroidered on it. This has to be the stupidest idea ever.

“The fucking Max Verstappen ordering pizza at 1 a.m. on the night before a Grand Prix,” you shake your head, already imagining the headlines. “As soon as they see you, they’re gonna freak o—”

“Like you’re any better!” Max interrupts, a teasing grin on his face.

Luckily, you manage to get through the pizza run with only a couple of selfies snapped by the restaurant owner and a few late-night customers. Once the pizza box is securely in hand, you both make a quick dash back to the safety of the hotel. It’s too late to hide your little escapade from the trainers —the notifications on your phone are already rolling in. But with the scent of freshly baked pizza wafting up to your room, you decide not to care. The film Max picked playing as a mere background as the two of you scarf down the greasy treat.

The next day, the Italian Grand Prix dawns with bright sunshine and adrenaline coursing through your veins. Each lap feels like a heartbeat quickening, anticipation pulsing through you as you steadily climb through the positions. Your focus is razor-sharp, each corner, each straight, a delicate balance of precision and control. Max is just ahead, having commanded the race since the second lap, and after battling off the Ferraris and Mercedes, you’ve finally latched onto his tail. P2.

You push hard, feeling the car respond beneath you with perfect precision, each movement sharp and purposeful. You’ve fought off them off, but they’re still close, their pace threatening to catch up any second. You need to widen the gap —need to create more space—, and you try to close in on Max to let him know exactly that.

But something feels off. Max doesn’t pull away, sometimes to the point you could easily overtake him.

What is happening? It’s not like he’s letting you pass, he is perfectly blocking the path, but why does he seems to already be at his limit?

“News on Plan X?” you ask over the radio, using Max coded name for some privacy. Better not to raise any alarms if they decide to put it up on TV.

“No changes”

You furrow your brows at the quick response of the race engineer. That can’t be. You could —easily— go faster, overtake him. Your pace keeps decreasing with every lap spent behind Max, the difference even making it difficult for you to maintain a comfortable gap between the two.

Maybe they don’t want to tell you there’s a problem? Or don’t see it? Is it his tires? Did he get any damage? —Why are you faster?

Despite the way your instincts scream for answers, you decide it’s better to keep quiet. A double podium is on the line, you can’t be fighting Max. Of course you want to win, to show your worth, but you also have to be a team player and these points are extremely important for Red Bull and, of course, for his championship.

The familiar silver and blue machine looms closer in your rearview mirror in the middle of your internal battle. Lewis Hamilton is relentless, shortening the gap between you with pure experience and determination.

You push down on the throttle, focusing on the track ahead, trying to distance yourself from him as best as you can while protecting Max. You change your line, block him at every turn, do everything to keep him at bay.

But with just three laps to go, despite your best efforts, Lewis finds his moment. He slips past with surgical precision, and the sting is immediate. Frustration surging straight from your heart. Could you have passed Max? Could you have won this race? Yes, says a voice in your head, you could have.

But it’s too late to act on it, you have betrayed your instincts and now you can only watch Hamilton as he pulls away.

P3.

As you cross the checkered flag, though, all the frustration takes a backseat in your mind. Finally, you have made it. You’ve secured a podium, your first one ever.

The moment you park the car in front of the sign with a number 3 and pull yourself out, a tidal wave of emotion crashes into you. The cheers of the crowd, the roar from the team. You can’t even keep yourself upright. Your legs feel weak, your heart thudding wildly in your chest.

You lean into the car, burying your head in your hands, your helmet still on as tears flow freely, the overwhelming joy and relief of this moment too much to hold in.

Before you can fully grasp the moment, you feel strong arms wrap around you, pulling you upright. Max is there, his face alight with pride and joy. He helps you remove your helmet, the tears still rolling down your cheeks, and pulls you into a tight hug. His laughter bubbling through the noise.

"You didn’t want to win, huh?" Max yells over the cheers, a wide grin on his face. "No more parties, you said? You were tired!"

His joy is contagious, and for a moment, you forget the exhaustion, laughing through your tears.

When he finally breaks away from the hug, it’s only to lift you onto the front of your car. You try to protest —it’s his victory, after all, not yours— but Max doesn’t give you the chance. He lets go of your hand and steps back toward the barriers, your helmet still in his hold as he cheers for you alongside the team. Leaving you to bask in your moment.

Your dream come true.

The celebration is everything you had imagined and more. The deafening roar of the crowd, the weight of the trophy in your hands, and the surge of pride coursing through your veins feel surreal. It’s all too much and yet exactly what you’ve dreamed of. The champagne flies in all directions, and Max and Lewis make sure to drench you in it until you're soaked to the bone.

By the time you make it to the post-race conference, cleaned up as best as you could, your skin still feels sticky, and your hair —well, that's a lost cause.

“An incredible race today!” the presenter congratulates you at the start of your round of questions, “It’s been a long journey to get here, hasn’t it? We’ve been waiting for you”

“I know!” you laugh, nerves still fluttering, but adrenaline keeping you afloat. “Finally got a race with nice weather. I’ve always hated the slicks, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“But you’ve always been good on rainy days,” Max interjects from his relaxed spot on the sofa, picking the mic unprompted for the first time

“What are you talking about? I almost ended up on the gravel in Spa last year,” you throw him a sideways glance, incredulous “Two times!”

“No, I meant, like, back in karting,”

“Ah, seriously?” you sigh, exasperated but amused, finally catching onto where he’s going with this. Max lets out a low chuckle, and you turn to Lewis and the interviewer “You know why he’s saying that? It’s because when that inchident thing with him and Charles happened, I was third all through it.”

You can almost see the journalists in the room perking up, pens poised with renewed energy. You’ve never really talked about this before —there was no need, especially since the main character on it hadn’t mentioned you either—, so this was probably news to everyone.

Honestly, you weren’t sure Max even remembered you being there.

“And you know,” you continue, getting into the swing of things, “those two were driving like we were playing Mario Kart or something. Max pushed Charles out to seventh. Charles came back up and almost crashed into me. That was a disaster!”

The interviewer grins, playing along with the banter. “Did you also end up in a puddle?”

“I actually won, since they were both disqualified,” you reveal, shaking your head as you look back at Max. His fond smile swiftly drawing one on your lips.

The Singapore Grand Prix looms large, buzzing through the paddock with one question on everyone’s mind: will Max bring home the championship today? Five races before the end of the season? It’s a delicate balance. For Max to seal the deal, he not only needs to win but also relies on Charles to have a disaster of a race —preferably a low grid finish or, better yet, a DNF. And with Singapore’s notorious twists and unforgiving barriers, it's not out of the question.

The fact that both of you are starting at the front of the grid, while the Ferraris languish in fifth and sixth, only heightens the expectations. It feels like everything’s falling into place. Maybe, just maybe, tonight will be the night Max brings home the title he’s fought so hard for.

“How am I going to sleep tonight?” you murmur as you pull the room key from your bag. You’re restless, still wound up from the qualifying session. “I’m all like, I don’t know. I feel like I could run a marathon right now”

“Not going to follow you on that one,” Max chuckles, low and tired, stretching out his arms as he follows you out the elevator “Sorry”

The hotel corridor is quiet, your footsteps muffled by the plush carpet as you make your way to your room. You look around. It’s a nice hotel this one, with a good gym and a big room. Such a shame the weekend has been so chaotic.

“Must be nice being so relaxed”

“Wasted all my nerves in Qualy,” he replies, shaking his head with a grin. The soaked track, the stifling humidity—it had all made qualifying feel like a war zone. Max had been knocked off pole a few times, twice by you. “I’ll have to keep an eye on you, can’t have you stealing the championship”

You pause, halfway through opening your door, and turn to look at him, incredulous. “You asshole, I’m like 200 points behind you!”

“Yeah, sure, sure” the Dutchman concedes sarcastically. “Just know I’ll be watching you”

Rolling your eyes, you lean against your door, pushing it open with your back. The door swings inward, but instead of stepping inside, you instinctively reach out, arms open. Of course, the goodnight hug —a routine that feels oddly familiar now. You can't quite remember when it started, when Max began waiting for you at the paddock or leaving you at your door every night. But as his arms wrap around you and you're pulled into his warmth, you realize you don’t really care.

“You’ll do great tomorrow”

“You too,” you whisper back into his shoulder, and a tiny smile draws in your lips just thinking about your next words “Mister World Champion”

“Don’t say that yet, you’re going to jinx it” Max susses you, jokingly, pulling back slightly but still holding onto you. Your arms rest comfortably over his shoulders.

You chuckle, looking at him straight in the eyes. “I told you, Max, there’s no way to jinx it. If it’s not tomorrow, it’ll be the day after. I just know you’re going to win so much that you’ll—”

“That I’ll get tired of it” Max finishes, in a whisper. The memory of the night you told him that, after his loss in last years’ championship, fresh in his head. “And you know, the same’ll happen to you. Just look how great you’ve done this year, with only—”

“You are just saying that” you interrupt him, grateful for his encouragement but also realistic. Just a few races are left for you to enjoy being in a title winning team, or simply on a team. Your one-year contract, once again, ticking by in front of your eyes.

“I don’t have to say it, you’ll see it” he assures you, his confidence radiating in every word. “But you won’t get tired, you’ll want win after win, after win”

You both laugh at that, maybe because it's the truth or because you are both basking in the promise of such futures. Of such fantasies.

Silence falls between you, the air grows thick with unspoken words. You gaze into each other's eyes, those familiar galaxies pulling you closer. Why does he have to have such pretty eyes?

And before you know it, you both lean in, the world around you fading away as your lips meet for the first time. Soft, tentative, but with so much want.

Max pulls back just a fraction, looking a little breathless, but then he gently nudges you toward your room, his body still hovering close to yours as he keeps the door open.

“The security cameras...” he chuckles when you glance up at him, clearing the confusion swirling in your eyes.

You can’t help but smile, the giddiness of the moment washing over you. Unable to resist, you bring him close again, your hand finding its way to his cheek as you lean in, capturing his lips with yours once more.

Sometimes, Max’s media training really does work wonders.

When you and Max arrive at the paddock the next afternoon, you feel like you are floating in a bubble of excitement. The usual chaos of race day is buzzing around you—engines roaring, engineers shouting, and the media snapping photos—but all of that seems distant. You exchange glances filled with unspoken affection, a spark of joy igniting between you at every second you get to spend together. It doesn’t matter if it’s during the endless drivers’ meeting or the PR duties, it’s nice being nice to him.

The media, ever-watchful and ever-mistaken, reads the chemistry as confidence, speculating about the brilliant strategy from Red Bull that has practically secured Max’s first championship. And yes, there’s truth to that, but the reality is that Max is simply too happy about finally kissing you.

The Dutchman makes a small detour to your driver’s room a couple minutes before you have to head to the track, a mischievous grin spreading across his face when he finds you alone. Without a word, he pulls you in for a quick, sweet kiss, the kind that leaves your heart racing and your cheeks flushed.

“What was that?” you laugh, your hands playfully resting on his chest as you look up at him, curiosity dancing in your eyes. “Do you do that with Checo too, huh? For good luck?”

“No, just you,” he replies, his tone light and teasing. Then, he leans down again, his hand caressing your face as he pecks your lips.

Yet, just as the kiss deepens, a knock on the door and a voice calls out. The race start.

The race is a delicate balancing act from the moment the lights go out. Max launches into the lead, commanding the front of the grid with the ease of a seasoned champion, while you follow close behind. Every lap is executed with seamless coordination between the two of you, the Red Bulls in perfect sync, widening the gap from the rest of the field. The strategy is clear—avoid the battles, manage the tires, and let the Ferraris and everyone else fight among themselves. Both of you know what’s at stake: the championship.

Your engineer's voice crackles through the radio at intervals, feeding you updates on tire wear, fuel management, and gaps. You can see Max upfront doing the same, his moves calculated and fast. There is no room for errors.

The laps tick down, the race dragging into what feels like an endless cycle of corners and straights. But everything changes when you hear the voice of your race engineer again, this time with a note of concern.

“Carlos closing in behind. In DRS range.”

Your heart skips a beat, though you keep your hands steady on the wheel. It’s clear he’s not going to let you both just cruise to victory.

Max is still ahead, but you know he's starting to struggle. He’s been pushing, maybe too hard, and the tire degradation is catching up to him. You can see it in the way his car shifts through the corners, just a little slower, a little more unstable. He’s giving it everything, but the gap with the Ferrari is closing, and fast.

You know the moment is coming. The moment you’ll have to make a decision, if they don’t make it for you. In the pitwall they seem to have reach the same conclusion, relaying both Max and Carlos gap to you every few seconds.

Carlos makes a try to overtake you, once, twice, without success. You are blocking him, but can’t do so for much longer while you have Max at an arm's length.

Your race engineer comes through the radio, again, the tension in his voice this time unmistakable “You can push”.

Permission.

Your heart sinks. The conversation from yesterday replaying in your mind.

As the next lap approaches, you take a deep breath and swing out of the slipstream, pulling alongside Max. There’s a brief, silent moment of understanding between you. It’s not a fight, just necessity. And with a heavy heart, you make the overtake cleanly, taking the lead.

You glance in your mirrors again, catching sight of Max falling back. The tires are gone, and the Ferraris are right there to capitalize. Within a lap, Carlos gets by, then Charles. Max is slipping, and you can feel the weight of it settle in your chest.

Later in the day, the headlines say you have feed the Lion to the vultures. You knew Max was a hard time and, despite it, you just let him go. Like deadweight.

There’s a brief second of silence on the radio before your engineer confirms, “Good job. Keep pushing.”

Now it’s just you, leading the race, with Carlos right on your tail.

The roar of the Ferrari engine fills the space behind you, the threat of him overtaking growing with every lap. You push harder, your tires squealing as you take the corners, doing everything you can to hold onto the lead. But the Ferrari is relentless, inching closer, until finally, in a desperate late-braking move, Carlos gets past you. Almost crashing into your car.

The disappointment hits you instantly, but you can’t dwell on it. You’re still in second, still in the running, but the possibility of Max winning the championship slipping away gnaws at you.

Lap after lap, you fight to stay close to Carlos, but the gap widens. Max is slipping further back, and by the time the checkered flag waves, he’s dropped to sixth. You cross the line in P2.

Your highest finish yet, but it feels hollow.

Parc fermé is a blur. You climb out of the car, handing over your helmet and gloves without even thinking, your body running on autopilot. The podium awaits, but you feel none of the excitement you imagined you’d feel standing on the second step. The cameras flash, the crowd cheers, yet your mind is elsewhere.

After the podium ceremony, you’re guided back to the garage, drenched in champagne but weighed down by disappointment. The team welcomes you back with smiles, their congratulations sincere, but you can see it in their faces —the unspoken acknowledgment of what just unfolded on track. The championship remains in a limbo.

You change into a clean race suit, steeling yourself for the media. The cooldown room had already been hard enough with all those cameras in your face, capturing your every twitch, and you’re not sure how much more you can hold together.

You don’t really think about it as you make your way to the opposite part of the garage and knock on his door, a hand pressed to your chest.

There's no response. Maybe Max hasn’t made it back to the garage.

Still, you decide open, just in case.

Your eyes widen when you see him, not sure if you are ready to face him. But your heart wills you to take a step inside. Max is sitting in the corner, slumped on the sofa with his head in his hands. The sight hits you hard. Memories from last season, of you sitting in his same exact position, flooding your mind.

Without a word, you reach into your suit and pull out the handful of candies you grabbed earlier. It’s not much, feels silly to do even, but right now it's the only thing you can offer. You place it gently on the table in front of him, just as he had once done for you.

Max looks up, his eyes tired but warm. A tight-lipped smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You try to reciprocate it, yet only a grimace comes out.

The engineers and mechanics start calling for you to head to the debrief from outside, and you look at the door and back to Max. You want to give him the same space he gave you, to be as understanding as he had been last year, but you feel rooted to the spot.

Max finally speaks, his voice is soft “Congrats on P2.”

“The first loser” you correct, with a shrug of your shoulders, a tight smile on your lips. The old joke weighting in your heart.

And Max smiles, for real this time.

That’s when it all hits you. The weight of the race, the decisions, the pressure —it all crashes down at once. Tears start welling up in your eyes, spilling over before you can stop them.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, your voice breaking. “I’m really sorry Max, I don’t want to go back to fighting again”

Max is on his feet in an instant, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into a warm, firm embrace. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, his voice soft in your ear. “It’s not your fault. You did what you had to do. Don’t cry, I’m not mad.”

“But, I shouldn’t—, I—”

Max just holds you tighter, sussing your cries, one hand gently stroking your hair as you cry into his chest. Your hands clutch at his fireproof shirt, desperate, like he might slip away if you let go.

“And I didn’t even have nice candies for you! I-” you sob, pulling away from his chest long enough to gesture to the table, your voice catching in your throat. “Just the ones for the throat. This is so bad, I’m so sorry”

Max eyes widen with surprise as he takes in your teary outburst, a chuckle slipping out of his lips, but there’s no teasing in it —just something tender and understanding.

“Don’t laugh!” you protest, fresh tears brimming in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry” the driver helplessly smiles, pulling you back against his chest and letting you cry. After a moment, he adds quietly, “If it means anything, I bought the candies like way before I gave them to you. In a nice store I found"

You pull away, confused, your brows furrowing.

“What?” Max questions with a sheepish smile “You thought I had a nice bag with your favorite candies just laying around in my room?”

You lower your eyes as you mutter “Thought it was from a fan or something”, a pout forming in your lips

“No, no” he shakes his head, rubbing slow circles into your back. “I bought them back in France, after the fight in the parade. I felt really bad about everything that happened”

Your eyes widen. France? That was weeks before you patched things up last year. Had he been carrying those candies from race to race, just waiting for a chance to fix things between you two?

More tears well up, the flood of emotions overwhelming you. “Max, no! That’s even worse!”

After a season filled with battles and close calls, Max finally clinches the championship at the Suzuka Grand Prix. Despite your best efforts to keep calm, your excitement betrays you the moment set your eyes on him. Surrounded by the team, the photographers and the fans, basking in the glory of his first title.

Without much thinking, you run straight to Max, throwing your arms around him in an embrace that’s far too enthusiastic to go unnoticed. Max pulls you in without hesitation when he sees you, laughing as you both collapse into each other, overcome with relief, pride, and sheer happiness.

The sportscasters on live TV are quick to catch it, chuckling at the scene.

“Oh, are those..?” one of them wonders, amused.

“Yeah, they are!” another commentator jumps in, clearly enjoying the moment “Do these two have something to tell us?”

That night’s celebration is truly unforgettable, a whirlwind of champagne, cheers, and heartfelt toasts. The team is overflowing with joy, reveling in the culmination of their hard work, eight years of relentless effort finally paying off in the most spectacular fashion. Laughter rings out as stories are shared, memories of the long nights and tireless preparations flooding back to everyone in the room.

Max at the center of it all, his dream come true. His first World Championship. One of many.

And although the saying states that misfortunes never come single, it is fortunes that do it this time. A couple weeks later, as you savor every moment left in the Red Bull garage —nestled in your incredible world championship-winning car and with a schedule that perfectly aligns with Max’s before Checo returns—, you find yourself at the top of the grid.

Your first win.

It’s exhilarating, the trophy gleaming in your hands as you stand on the top step of the podium, the crowd erupting in cheers below. You can hardly believe it, especially after the uncertainty of whether you would even participate in this season. But here you are, excelling everyone expectations and proving that you deserve to be here. You belong here.

However, as sweet as the victory is, there’s an inevitable bittersweetness when you slip back into the Alpha Tauri race suit. Hanging low on the grid again despite the high expectations everyone has thrown onto you. This is your true seat after all, but the contrast still feels shattering, like waking up from a dream you didn’t want to end.

Guess you will have to remind yourself of your Wolrd Champion boyfriend’s words: “It will come”. Because one day your name will be etched on that trophy right alongside his. Max is sure of it.

The end of the season arrives just a month later, and both Red Bull and AlphaTauri teams gather for their final celebration. A constructors and driver’s championship in their pocket.

It’s a glamorous night, everyone dressed to the nines. Max looks dashing in his tailored black suit, and you in a long dress that makes you nervous just to walk in. The evening is full of happiness and memories, a fitting end to a thrilling year.

After a long round of applause for Max and his championship win, Christian Horner takes the microphone, a grin spreading across his face as he addresses the crowd.

“Actually, can our newly confirmed driver for Alfa Tauri come up to the stage for a second, please?” he announces, and the room erupts into applause. Your heart skips a beat.

No one really knew about your contract extension —two more years in the AlphaTauri seat, with the possibility of a return to Red Bull on the horizon—, so the announcement makes your future with the team feel all the more tangible.

You leave your seat to walk towards the stage, confusion written all over your face. You clearly weren’t expecting a live announcement, less so bringing you up on the stage for it.

Max leaves the spotlight for a second to come to meet you at the top of the stairs, lending a helping hand.

“Can you explain to me what am I doing going up on stage with the world champion?” you whisper. You grip his arm, grateful for the support as you follow him to the center.

“Well, bringing the rising star, what else?” Max states like it’s obvious, a smirk tugging at his lips. And then he can’t help but whisper “You look beautiful”

Standing on stage, you feel the nerves tighten in your chest, the weight of all eyes on you suddenly overwhelming as Christian thanks you for your efforts this season. But the team principal’s voice breaks through the buzzing in your ears.

“I’ll be honest, kid,” he starts, turning toward you with a playful glint in his eye. “If I knew you were this good, I would’ve saved myself a lot of calls from Max.”

Laughter erupts from the crowd, and you can’t help but smile, shaking your head at Max, who just smirks and shrugs innocently. You didn’t know the Dutchman had had such a hand in bringing you into the team.

Christian raises his glass, his expression shifting into something more serious. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want a round of applause for both of them —our two first-time winners. For many more victories and better ones, if that is even possible”

Max steps forward, taking your hand and lifting it alongside his, both of you standing together, as winner, first winners. The room erupts in cheers and clapping, the weight of the season finally settling in. You exchange a glance with Max, and in that moment, you both know that this is just the beginning of an incredible adventure together.

Author's note: First of all, thank you all so much for reading! I can't thank you enough for the comments and support you gave to First Loser.

I hope you enjoy this ending a lot too. I hadn't even thought of writing a second part but now that I see it, I'll have to give agree with you: it needed a part 2. So thanks for the encouragement! hahaha

(Also thank you to the person who say they wanted to see a reunion with Victoria, I loved writing it)

Taglist: @youre-on-your-ownkid, @bieberismysoulmate, @nebarious, @drezzerk33, @yuiiimd

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula one x reader #formula one x you #f1 imagine

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mariasont · 6 months ago

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Please, Don't Prove 'Em Right Pt 2 - A.H

a/n: im not quite sure how i feel about this i feel like im really bad with resolutions but practice makes perfect and you all really wanted a part two so here we are i hope you beautiful angels like it:)

also if you commented on the first part which can be found here, i put you on the taglist for this one!

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotcher x fem!reader

summary: is it possible to forgive the man who broke your heart the most?

warnings: angst, creepy man in a parking lot, hurt lots of hurt, idk man i still wouldn't be able to forgive him for this, CURB STOMP

wc: 1.6k

The sound of your stupid heels against the pavement only served to fuel your irritation. A rough patch of asphalt snagged the stem of the shoe, jolting your ankle sharply. With a hiss and a muttered curse, you bent down, yanking off the insufferable things, all the while attempting to block out the thought of the grime that was now undoubtedly coating your skin.

Your stupid dress now dragged against the ground, collecting dirt, and your stupid makeup, once perfect, was now smeared by the tracks of your tears.

"Hey there, pretty lady, why the long face on such a beautiful night?"

The voice came from a man who materialized as if from thin air, towering over you. His clothes were worn, his tie hanging crookedly, and a predatory grin fixed on his face.

You tried to sidestep, your mood souring further, but he mirrored your movements, blocking your path, his eyes examining you with an unsettling sense of familiarity.

"Come on, don't be like that. A girl like you shouldn't be all alone. Let me keep you company."

His words were like oil, slick and unwelcome, making your skin crawl. You clutched your heels tighter, completely prepared to use them as a weapon if necessary. "I'm fine, thanks."

But he wasn't taking the hint, stepping closer, his breath reeking of booze. "No need to be shy. I'll treat you right--,"

This was it. Instead of being known for winning a Pulitzer, you'd be known as the girl who got kidnapped in the parking lot after the ceremony. The cherry on top of the evening.

"I think you're misunderstanding the situation. She's not interested."

The man of the hour. You knight in a suit and fucking tie. The stranger's gaze shifted to him, and for a moment you saw the hesitation, the calculation of a prey assessing whether he can take on his predator. The man finally scoffed--a sound meant to be dismissive, but even he couldn't mask the defeat. With a sneer, he walked away.

You released a pent-up breath, one you hadn't realized you'd been holding. Aaron turned to you. "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright? You know what fuck off, Aaron." Your words came out laced with a venom that shocked even you, their acrid taste lingering on your tongue. The tears you'd been staving off now flowed freely. You jabbed the certificate into his chest, the paper wrinkling under your fingers. "I won, by the way."

Your turned on your heel, not waiting to see his face. The concrete was frigid under your bare feet, but your pride swallowed any reaction.

"This isn't the place to be alone and without shoes." Aaron's voice followed you.

You came to an abrupt stop, anger bubbling through every surface of your body as you spun around to face him. "Neither is the Pulitzer ceremony where I'm supposed to have a supportive husband."

"I'm so sorry, honey. I got caught up with that case and there was—,"

"Aaron, stop," you cut him off, tears burning the corners of your eyes. "I can't hear more excuses because you know what? I give you excuses all the time, and you take advantage of it. You take advantage of me and the chances I give you. And you just... you just keep letting me down. All I wanted was for you to be here for this one thing. That's it. And you couldn't even do that."

"I messed up, I know," Aaron said, his usual eloquence failing him. "There's no case, no job, no damn good reason for me not to be there. I failed you, and it's not something I can just fix with an I'm sorry, but I am I'm so sorry."

The floodgates open, and you're sobbing. "I hate this. I hate that I want to forgive you. But I can't... I can't because I know you'll do this again. And every time, it chips away at me, at us, until there's nothing left."

"Oh, honey," Aaron says, reaching out, but you shrink away, the space between you filled with more than just air.

"P-Please, don't," you gasp, the tears relentless. "I can't... I just need some space. I'll get my things and stay with my sister, okay?"

You walk away, the knot in your throat growing tighter, the distance between you stretched out and you can feel his eyes on you. You slide into the driver's seat, starting the engine, and glancing in the rearview mirror. Aaron's figure lingers there. A wave of nausea hits you. Isn't it wicked when the very thing you love inflicts the greatest hurt?

The drive home was silent, the stereo left untouched. Your fingers clenched and unclenched around the steering wheel, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths that you couldn't seem to control. The reflection of your tear-streaked face was lost in the blur of streetlights streaking past. Your mind replayed every missed anniversary, every birthday, every empty seat beside you. You were tired of being alone.

Before you knew it, you were sitting in front of your garage. Each movement was a chore--unbuckling the seatbelt, opening the car door, the garage door, and finally the front door.

You stop dead in your tracks, eyes roaming over the living room. Balloons lie strewn about the floor, streamers dangling from the mantel. Almost every surface glimmers with the soft glow from the intermittent flickering of battery-operated candles. Aaron had an insistence on fire safety, which always negated the use of actual candles.

Tears threatened to spill again as you closed the door behind you, your steps leading you down the hallway to the kitchen. A congratulations banner hung over the island, done in Aaron's chicken scratch handwriting but it made your heart give out all the same.

The scent of chrysanthemums, your favorites, wafts through the air before they come into view--large, splendid blooms of pink and yellow cradled in your largest vase. Your hands, trembling, ran over the accompanying card, fingers fumbling to unfold it.

For My Pulitzer Prize Winner,

I realize I'm writing this before the ceremony, maybe I'm jinxing it, but in my heart, I know you will win. I know this not just because of the undeniable quality of your work, but because of the sheer force of will and passion that drives you. You are the greatest thing in my life, and every day, you inspire me to be the best version of myself.

When we first met, you told me your favorite flowers were Chrysanthemums. I remember asking if it was because it was your birth flower, but you shook your head and told me about your favorite story instead. You told me about a book that showed the beauty and strength in being unique, and that sometimes, it takes a bit of time for the world to recognize the splendor of what's different.

This has been your journey—filled with moments of doubt, but ultimately, a triumph of self-belief and talent. You've blossomed in the most extraordinary ways, and tonight, the world sees what I've always seen.

Love, Aaron

Tears speckled the paper as you dabbed at them with your sleeve, trying to clear the blots. Your focus moved to the present, wrapped neatly and sitting beside the flowers. You tugged at the ribbons, unraveling the wrapper paper with deliberate gentleness.

A shaky giggle slips out as you draw out the book. Chrysanthemum by Kevin Henkes. But what really starts the tears isn't the book itself, not, it's the familiar loops and lines of your nine-year-old self's handwriting.

This is my favorite book because it's about being special. I am special too.

This was the copy you had as a little girl, the on you lost. How did he find it? Turning the page, another stifled sob breaks free. The margins are crowded with affectionate notes penned by your family, friends, colleagues, the BAU team, and Aaron.

Fuck.

The door creaked open and clicked shut, and in no time at all, he was standing behind you. He stopped, a few steps away, as if too scared to close the distance and scare you off.

"Did you do this?" Your voice was soft, book clutched to your chest.

The pause stretches on, his breath the only sign of life. "Yes."

You turn to him, searching his eyes. "Why?"

"Why?" Aaron repeats, as if it were a stupid question. "Because I love you."

He takes a cautious step forward, like he's all too aware you're getting that shaky feeling in your stomach that's telling you to run.

"I am so sorry. You have every right to be mad, to be upset with me, and I get it. But I love you, and I want to work on this. It's tearing me apart to see you like this."

"I'm scared, Aaron." You voice breaks. "Scared you're going to do this to me again."

He steps closer, close enough to share the same breath. "I'm scared too," he admits. "But I'm more scared of losing you. I'll prove it. Today and every day after."

The room is still, the only sound the ticking of the clock. You're standing at a crossroads, the kind you read in books and see in moves, the power to forgive or walk away. You watch him, the man who is the love of your life and also the bane of existence, and you see it in his eyes. Something you haven't seen in a long time—fear. Not the fear of consequence, but the fear of loss.

It's a humanly glimpse into the man you fell in love with, the man who you know is still there beneath his layers of work.

"I'll be waiting."

Maybe you could be considered stupid, naive, with no self-respect. Maybe one day you'll curse yourself for not walking away. But maybe, just maybe the man you love will make his way back to you and prove the rest wrong.

regular taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253

comment taglist: @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @simpingformiddleagedmen @222hwilsss @michasia24 @vsplanet @himboelover @dangerousprincessharleyinhawaii @gibson-g1rl @gghostwriter @lilozg-123 @uranometrias @miley1442111 @welcometothemaraudersspam @ladycaramelswirl @callmekanytime @maxiismp @delusional-4-fake-people

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #hotch #hotchner #Spotify

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trashmouth-richie · 7 months ago

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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 :: part 1

꧁ eddie x female reader :: part 2 here

a multi chapter mini series— based on thoroughfare by ethel cain

listen here (apple music) + here (spotify)

summary: jumping into his truck at seventeen, eddie takes a journey in hopes to find love. years pass with no such luck, along the way he stumbles across you, a timid drifter who reluctantly agrees to join him, heading west. you’ve never trusted men, but something in those kind, deep colored coffee eyes stirs up a feeling you’ve never felt before. strangers to lovers trope, one bed trope.

triggers: 18+ smut

author’s note: no upside down, eddie was raised by his mom and dad in florida and they were in love.

The wet shell of a sunflower seed stuck to the tip of your finger. Slicked with salted spit and the tart bite of cherry chapstick, you hung your hand out of the passenger window, waiting for the western wind to blow the husk from your finger.

His thumb rubs against the rough edges of the flint wheel of his zippo, the sweet tang of tobacco invading your nose as the flame sparks leaving a burning cherry on the white paper. A slight chap to his lips from too much sun yesterday at the motel pool in BullHead City, you had supposed. Still, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. The only time you could was when his eyes caught yours, daring you to look away.

The way he stared at you with a smirk twisted on his mouth took every bit of breath from your lungs. Holding your gaze in a cozy embrace with the deep warmth of his russet colored eyes until you finally forced yours to break away and look out the window instead. Bottom lip bit between your lips as a growing heat travels over the apples of your cheeks.

If you would have looked back at him you’d have noticed the way he licked his lips as he watched you sigh as if you hadn’t been breathing. Snapping another sunflower seed between your teeth before putting them on the crest of your lips to put them out of the window— he had your movements memorized. Each more tantalizing than the next.

Neither of you were able to deny the tension between you lately, letting it build and fester, aching for relief in the form of pleasure.

The last eight weeks had started to wear heavy on your chest, and you found yourself daydreaming about the beginning of this adventure, like a record on an endless spin to your favorite song.

Not a single radio station would come in wherever the hell it was in Texas he was right now. With every crank of the tuning dial, only the agonizing noise of static strained through the speakers to keep him company as he drove along this highway that never seemed to end.

He cursed himself for not buying a map at the gas station he filled the truck up at this morning. His gut instinct usually guided him on which roads to take, and today was no different. Only today felt like he was pulled by something else, something deeper within himself.

The sky was a mix of cyan and cotton clouds, already hot for May, he was just about to give up on the radio before he popped over a hill and an oldies station came in clear as could be. And something else came into view, plenty far away yet.

Hot wind whipped at your shirt, providing next to nothing for comfort as you trudged along the broken asphalt. You now understood why this place was called the Lone Star State, because you haven’t seen a damn soul in miles. For today, you didn’t mind the loneliness. Leaving home, years ago, you didn’t have a destination in mind, only the knowledge that you needed to get the hell out.

Whatever highway you were on looked to be deserted. As if the state built a multi-laned monstrosity elsewhere and gave up on this slow, lonely stretch, leaving it to the elements. Prairie grass poked through the splintered road, tumbleweeds swayed in the ditches, collecting and tangling as one like a tawny bundle of barbed wire.

Looking behind you, a vehicle showed in the distance like a wavy mirage in the desert. You had half a thought to stick your thumb out and catch a ride to the nearest bus station, but when the vehicle got closer your conscience took over, and anxiety thumped in your chest.

Please don’t stop, please please.

The engine hummed to a lower gear, and you automatically put a hand on the pistol at your waistband. Moving further over to the side of the road where whoever was driving could see that you weren’t interested in their good deed, you kept your head down and kept walking.

Tires slowed and you went into a small panic, wishing you had something sharp to hold between your fingers, but the barren highway offered no such vice.

You heard faint music as the vehicle got closer, crawling almost to a stop as you quickened your steps hoping they would just keep going and leave you be.

“Pretty hot out today… need a lift?”

The voice felt like velvet on your skin, a warmth you’d never known. Endearingly charming, no southern twang like someone from Texas would have. You ignored him, letting the crunch of gravel on your worn boots answer instead.

You had never been given the luxury to trust someone, and you’d be damned if you were gonna start today with some stranger on the side of the road. Heart rate kicking up, you all but bolted to avoid him.

“Baby don’t run, I’ll take you anywhere,” his drawl wrapped around you like a vice, soft and pillowy, and finally your curiosity got the better of you, as you came to a halt. You wanted to look this asshole in the eyes and flash him the pistol you kept, maybe fire a warning shot over the hood of his truck so he’d get the message. That no, in fact you did not need a ride, not from him.

Stopping so his passenger window lined up with you in the center you eyed the only other beating heart on the side of the road.

His hair was past his shoulders, brown and wavy, more than likely frizzy in high humidity. Eyes that were shaped like Bambi’s colored like a bottomless cup of coffee without creamer. His nose sat with a fading sunburn painting along his cheeks, each dwelling a poked dimple in the center. And you swore the key to Heaven was buried in his smile.

When he spoke it was clear that his intentions weren’t to cause you any harm. Minutes ticked by as he waited for your answer.

“Hey, do you wanna see the West with me?”

It was a simple question asked from the quirked mouth of a guy you’d never met before, you would have remembered those eyes in any setting. He leaned an elbow out his window as he threw the truck in park, twisting in his seat to face you a little more. A cigarette dangling from his large hand.

The butter colored sun shone against his caramel curls like a breakfast roll full of sticky sugar, the same light changing his eyes into a whiskey auburn.

He was a complete stranger, but what was even stranger was your one word answer that spread that million dollar grin further onto his face than you thought humanly possible.

You moved your hand from that handle of the gun in your tattered jeans, bearing more holes than actual threads of denim. It was meant for situations just like this, and you had nabbed it from your dad right before you walked out the front door for the very last time.

Instinct told you to run, but something in those dark eyes brought you a wave of calm, whispering out as if you’d known him for years. Your boots had already blistered your heels from walking this far, so what the hell?

Pressing a thumb into the release of the door handle, you swung yourself and your knitted bag into the moth-bitten navajo rug that covered the seat.

His smile didn’t fade, never so much as creased into a frown as he waited for you to get situated. Before he put his truck into drive he explained where he was going.

He was making the grand gesture of looking for love like the kind he grew up watching with his own mom and dad. Explaining that love like that was out there waiting for him, and he was determined to find it, no matter the distance.

Suspicion jumped to your brow, and you tried to stifle the scowl on your lip. “What?” he chirped, a little twist to his lips, “don’t believe in stuff like that?”

This bastard clearly didn’t know heartache the way you were practically related to it. You sigh lazily before looking over at him. Trying not to break his dreams before he even had the chance to realize what a waste of time it was, you simply murmur, “honey, love’s never meant much to me, but I’ll come with you if you’re sure that’s what you need.”

After years of living and growing without being loved, it had become almost useless, something heard in songs or read in books, surely it wasn’t real. But hell, you’d humor this man whose smile danced like a western sunset against a salty ocean breeze, what was the worst that could happen?

A large calloused hand reached across the cab of the truck, and you shook it with a small grin as his voice rubbed like silk across your soul, “I’m Eddie.”

And so it began, the journey to find a love daring to be something greater than anything he’d ever known, hell bent and determined it was out there, wherever that may be.

He had asked about your life. Never pushing when your answers were too short, or ended the conversation entirely. Letting you have your space, he built a trust between the two of you that you weren’t sure about at first.

The roads were desolate, and you couldn’t imagine walking along them alone. You thanked whoever cared that your thoroughfare crossed into his, almost as if destiny had placed you there. Knowing you needed a friend after leaving the only thing you’d ever known and not having a single soul to rely on.

But as time went by, you realized just how much you could rely on him.

That first day, he drove until the windshield bled to ink. Stars dotted across the sky once the sun went to rest, and he encouraged you to follow suit, pulling a hooded sweatshirt from behind his seat and tossing it towards you. Your hesitation told him all he needed to know, that the uncertainty of him was rooted deep. Too deep for you to let your guard down around him.

That pearl handle poked out from your hip and his kind eyes met the scared look in yours. He rubs his lips together before he speaks calmly, “you uhm,” he looks over at you to show how serious this was to him, even if you couldn’t see it in the dark, “you don’t have to worry about using that with me… I’m not that kind of guy.”

His innocence spoke through his eyes in words he hadn’t said, showing you that he wasn’t lying, that you could trust him. You took a deep breath, wondering if you were insane for feeling comfortable with a guy you just met, but it wasn’t long before you whisper, “okay.”

When you snuck a peek over at him, his face was lit by the dim lights of the dash, a smirk nestled on his lips, cheeks welled with the deepest dimples you’d ever seen, and your shoulders eased for the first time since hopping in.

Neither of you spoke for the rest of the night. Your head resting on the window, his sweatshirt rolled under your neck as you fell into a sleep so tender and warm you felt like a baby being lulled to bed as he sang along to the radio.

The heat from the window warmed your cheek when you woke, leaving a less than glamourous mark. Letting out an embarrassingly long yawn, you stretch your arms above your head, feeling your back crack into submission.

“Shit, ‘m sorry, how long did I sleep?” you ask, covering your mouth again from another yawn.

Eddie smiled tiredly, his hair was wrapped into a bun at the base of his neck, sunglasses topping his nose, pushing up from his cheeks as he grins, “don’t apologize for sleeping when you’re tired,” he said, shrugging, “besides, you probably would’ve woken up if I crashed.”

A chuckle hits your dry throat and you cough, “where are we?”

“Still in Texas believe it or not,” he groans, turning it into a long yawn, holding a hand to his mouth, swallowing a bit, “I hoped we could’ve made it to New Mexico before I pulled over but I’m starting to think that ain’t gonna happen.”

You figured he would have stopped to sleep at some point in the night, even if it was just for a few hours. Guilt throttled you at the thought of him staying up while you were asleep. “I can drive while you take a nap.”

“Nah,” he says with a lazy smile, looking over at you, “not that I care if you drive my truck or not, I just think we could both use some decent sleep, watch a little tv, eat, plus… I need a shower.”

Taking a whore’s bath in the gas station sinks had kept you clean, but you almost cried outright at the thought of water, cold or hot you couldn’t care less, running down the length of your body. But the lack of money burning in your pocket stopped that dream in its tracks.

You had a couple hundred bucks left after selling off your car before leaving home. The cost efficient option would be to drive while he slept. “It’s really not a big deal, I promise I’m a good driver.”

The charm you tried to emanate when pulling out your license to show him that you indeed weren’t lying, fell flat as Eddie waved you off, “deodorant only lasts so long before we’ll have to ride with our heads outta the window.”

He laughs in your place as you stare out of the windshield, mind racing over the trouble of being able to afford a motel room.

“C’mon,” he smirks, that same lazy smile stretched on his face, you wondered if he ever got mad. “We survived almost a whole day together, if I was gonna rob you I would’ve done it already.”

“It’s not that,” you say, picking at your nails, fighting the urge to bite them to shreds, “I wasn’t walking because I wanted too…”

Wheels turn in a tired mind as Eddie nearly chokes when he realizes what you meant.

“Don’t worry about it,” he confirms, brushing you off as if it wasn’t a big deal that you’d be bunking with him for free, and when your facial expressions didn’t change, he lowered his voice, and took off his sunglasses, “seriously sweets, you’re doing me a favor keeping me company, ‘m not gonna make you pay for a trip you didn’t plan, okay?”

You sighed, and shook your head yes.

The nearest motel was a hole in the wall type of place. Adhering to the kind of people that either paid by the hour or stayed for weeks at a time. The perk being it was next to a gas station where you refused to let Eddie pay for the armful of snacks he had carried to the counter. Including two hotdogs that you couldn’t be bothered wondering how long they’d been spinning in the warmer.

His boots clunked against the sidewalk as he jumped from the bed of the pickup hauling his duffle bag over his shoulder, the hotel keys wrapped around his forefinger. Outside of you both relieving yourselves on the empty shoulder of the highway last night, this was the first time you’d seen just how tall he was.

He squints in the sun and cocks his head, “bet you a dollar the carpet is orange.”

Room 8 consisted of two full sized beds, a lamp between the two, an arm chair and a small television. A stiff neon brochure for adult channels lay next to the remote, and you scrunched your nose as Eddie pushed it to the floor with the heel of his boot.

Laying out the snacks neatly on the table, you hand him the other hot dog, licking a drop of mustard from your palm. He thanked you, and took a bite consuming almost half of it before dropping onto the bed closest to the door, laying flat on his back.

Having four walls around you gave you a sense of peace you hadn’t been expecting. Slipping off your shoes you wiggled your bare toes and sat on the bed facing away from him, rolling your socks into one another.

“How’s the hotdog?” you asked over your shoulder, moving your bag between the side of your bed and the wall for the bathroom.

A muffled sound comes from the other side of the room as he shovels another bite in, “rubbery, but not too bad for having been made at midnight.”

You snort and swing your legs into the bed. Grabbing the hotdog from the comforter and peeling back the white paper around it, taking a small bite. It was warm, and tasted a hell of a lot better than the moldy ham sandwich you ate yesterday. A satisfied hum leaves your mouth and you giggle.

“Hotdogs for breakfast… don’t think I’ve ever had this before.” You laugh again before taking another bite of the squishy snack. Eddie looks up as he chews the remaining bite, realizing this was the first time he’d ever heard you laugh loud enough for him to hear, what a beautiful sound.

“Stick with me, we’ll have breakfast for dinner, too,” his tongue pokes out to lick a smear of ketchup from the corner of his lip, and he yawns loud and proud.

You cross your feet beneath your legs, a content little smile on your face. “Do I still owe you a dollar if the carpet is also brown and green?”

Your combined laughter echoes across the wood paneling and the pictures of dogs playing poker. The two of you joke about the severely dated room, agreeing that this was probably the place to stay in its prime. But the sheets were clean and that’s about all you could ask for at this point.

Eddie’s eyes were nearly closed as he scrubs large hands down his face, his voice strained, “mind if I shower ‘fore I fall asleep?”

“Not at all,” you say, jumping from the bed and looking through the snacks to find the licorice, “take all the time you need.”

He tosses the remote to your bed and unzips his bag, pulling out a toothbrush and a clean pair of boxer briefs, a minute passes and he scratches his head before diving back into the bag, yanking out a folded pair of sweatpants.

Sighing as he peels off his boots, he walks to the bathroom door and before shutting it, he pokes his head back out, a curious little grin on his lips as he asks earnestly, “you’re not gonna run away, are you?”

You swallow the bite of licorice and smile back, “think you’re stuck with me, if that’s cool with you?”

His grin broadens to a cheshire smile and he says he won’t be long, promising to save some hot water.

Neither of you can quit the grin on your lips until the door unlocks, and Eddie mutters “cool,” to himself before leaving the steamed bathroom.

Diners with smudge stained windows and siding that was warped from the sun's rays, came few and far between on those lone, dust covered roads. Eddie had pulled into almost every one. “Never know when the next one will pop up, sweetheart,” he smirked, sending a wink your way that had your stomach fluttering.

Each menu, although stickier at some places than others, was relatively the same. Eggs, Bacon, Toast. Waffles at the fancier joints or maybe a bowl of fruit alongside a flapjack.

He watched you intently as your eyes scanned the menu, keeping his promise of having breakfast for supper a few week into your trip. His own stomach had been grumbling since you packed up from the last motel somewhere on the border of Oklahoma and New Mexico. A wrong turn near McCamey had taken you North to Amarillo, three hundred miles in the completely opposite direction.

Instead of screaming about the wasted fuel, Eddie had only shrugged. He was excited to cross into the panhandle, and to make a check along the list of states you’d scribbled onto a napkin a few days into the trip to cross off as you came through them.

That quiet, suspicious drifter he had picked up three weeks ago seemed to blossom with life the more he peeled back the bricks that you had surrounded yourself with. But Eddie was charismatic, easy to talk to, and you found yourself deep in the throes of explaining things to him you haven’t talked about in years.

When your cheeks would heat and embarrassment creeped up your neck, you apologized for talking too much. He only shook his head, a small smile on his lips as he said that he didn’t mind, he wanted to know more.

The waitress strolled back over with a cigarette hanging from her lip, a gray ash practically a mile thick on it as she grumbled about the specials and set glasses of water on the table—ice already melted besides a sliver of a stubborn cube.

“I’ll take a cup of coffee,” he charmed, folding the menu placing his hands on top of it, “two eggs hard fried, a couple of sausage patties and wheat toast, also one of those slices of lemon meringue pie I saw in the display window.”

Without so much as a grunt, the waitress lifted her eyes to look you over. Setting down the vinyl menu, you place your order and lick your lips at the thought of the homemade lard crust on the rhubarb pie.

Looking out the window to the dry landscape, you sigh with a breath of content. You had never been this far west before, never been anywhere really besides the small town you grew up in.

Two coffees sit in front of each of you and Eddie thanks the waitress, a dimpled grin on his cheeks as he opens a packet of sugar. Warm eyes look at you as he stirs the coffee into a swirl, “Nothing like home, huh?”

A smile presses to your lips and you sip the bitter liquid, chipped porcelain against your front teeth, “definitely not, the air is dry here.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, slipping the spoon into his mouth to clean the coffee up, taking a big gulp of the burnt— probably microwaved— concoction, “it is, but that’s the beauty in the journey, exploring different places, meeting new people.”

He tucks a curl behind his ear, a tiny silver hoop in his lobe, you hadn’t noticed before and you ask, “you keen on picking up strangers on the side of the road?”

A laugh bubbles from his throat, and he smiles big showing all of his teeth, “in all the years I’ve been on the road, I never have, not until you,” he takes a sip of his coffee, a pretty blush rides on his cheeks, “guess I haven’t run out of luck just yet.”

You hide your own smile, itching your nose, “how long has it been?”

Eddie thinks for a minute, “well, I left Florida when I was seventeen..,” he adds up the years on his fingers with this thumb moving to each one, “… shit,” he says with a smirk, “almost nine years now.”

He was older, not by much, but you had both left at a younger age. Calling the open road and warm air home for years. Living like a Steve Earle song sporting a two pack habit and a motel tan, it seemed like fate put you on the same road that he was traveling that day.

But you push that thought away, Eddie was looking for love, and you were just tagging along like a pet, a friend at best.

“Do you ever miss it?”

He stretches himself across the booth, arms on the back of the peeling seat, pearl snaps straining against the denim from the broadness of his chest, and you find it hard not to look, “Nah, I’ll go back someday, me and my girl.”

That flutter happens again in your stomach and you feel almost nauseous at how infectious his smile is.

You spend the rest of dinner that way, trying to shove down a grin with each bite of breakfast food as the sun fell behind the mountains. Letting the butterflies swarm, with each time he looked into your eyes.

Not knowing that Eddie was also slowly losing his own battles, leaving with something more in his stomach that was sweeter then the stiff meringue on that damn lemon pie.

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valkyriexo · 7 months ago

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You have the Flu | Felix

ᑉ³pairing; Felix x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Sickfic, Comfort, Fluff,

ᑉ³warnings; use of pet names

ᑉ³Authors Note; Other members coming soon!

As you leave the office, the weight of the day begins to lift. You're looking forward to heading home, maybe even curling up with a good book or binge-watching your favorite show. It's been a long week – Thursday afternoon, the anticipation of the impending weekend is palpable, yet one more day of work still looms ahead.

The rain catches you off guard, a sudden onslaught that seems to mirror the weight of the week you've just endured. Dark clouds hang low in the sky, casting a somber shadow over the bustling streets below. The sound of raindrops hitting pavement fills the air, drowning out the usual cacophony of city life.

You hadn't expected rain today – hadn't bothered to check the weather forecast, too consumed by the demands of work to think about anything else. Now, you find yourself standing on the sidewalk, unprepared and unprotected against the elements.

The air is thick with the scent of wet asphalt and the sound of rain hitting the pavement is a constant, soothing rhythm.

With a heavy heart, you reach into your pocket for your phone, hoping to call for a taxi and escape the downpour. But as you bring it out, you notice the battery icon blinking ominously – a glaring red warning that it's about to die.

You curse under your breath, frustration mounting as you realize the extent of your predicament. Without a working phone, you're stranded in the rain, with no means of summoning help or seeking shelter.

Reluctantly, you tuck the phone back into your pocket, resigned to your fate. The cold seeps into your bones as you huddle beneath the feeble shelter of an overhang, watching the world pass by through a curtain of raindrops.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours as you wait, the anticipation of a taxi's arrival your only source of hope amidst the relentless downpour. With each passing moment, your patience wears thin, your spirits dampened by the relentless assault of rain.

Finally, a taxi pulls up to the curb, and you practically leap inside, grateful for the warmth and shelter it provides.

As you settle into the backseat, you let out a long exhale, feeling a chill creep into your bones. The sound of rain against the windows is muffled now, replaced by the hum of the engine and the soft patter of droplets on the roof.

You give the driver your address and sink back into the seat, closing your eyes for a moment of peace amidst the chaos of the storm. The gentle rocking of the taxi lulls you into a state of calm, the tension in your shoulders slowly melting away.

Outside, the rain continues to fall, a steady rhythm that serves as a backdrop to your journey home. But inside the taxi, you're safe and dry, cocooned in a bubble of warmth and comfort. And you watch as the city lights pass by in a blur of color.

But as the night wears on, you start to feel worse. Your head throbs, your throat feels scratchy, and your body aches all over.

As you stumble through the door of your apartment, you can't shake the feeling of exhaustion that weighs heavily upon you. But you're grateful for the familiar surroundings of home.

Dragging yourself to the bathroom, you strip off your wet clothes and step into the warm embrace of the shower. The hot water soothes your aching muscles, but it does little to ease the pounding in your head or the scratchiness in your throat.

After what feels like an eternity, you emerge from the shower and clumsily towel off. You're too tired to bother with your nighttime routine, so you simply crawl into bed, shivering despite the layers of blankets.

You glance at the clock on the nightstand, its glowing digits informing you that it's now 9:26 PM. Your phone, now charging, sits on the nightstand, but you can't summon the energy to check it. Instead, you drift off into a fitful sleep, the fever burning through your body like wildfire.

As you slowly awaken from your fever-induced slumber, you're greeted by the persistent pounding on your door. Every muscle in your body feels heavy, and the thought of moving seems impossible. You try to call out, You try to call out, but your voice comes out as nothing more than a raspy croak, barely audible even to your own ears.

The persistent pounding on your door feels like a distant echo, a sound from another world intruding upon your fragile consciousness. With each thud, your heart beats a little faster, a sense of unease creeping into the edges of your mind.

The pounding grows louder and more urgent, reverberating through the room like a drumbeat. Then, above the din, you hear the unmistakable sound of keys jingling in the lock, sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through your veins. Your heart skips a beat as anticipation and anxiety intertwine within you.

Suddenly, the door bursts open, and Felix rushes into the room, his face a whirlwind of emotions – concern, relief, and something else that you can't quite place. His eyes lock onto yours, searching for reassurance amidst the chaos of your fevered state.

"Felix," you manage to croak out, your voice barely above a whisper. Relief floods through you at the sight of him.

"You didn't answer any of my messages or calls," Felix says, his voice tinged with worry as he rushes to your side. "I got really scared when I went to check up on you at work and you weren't there, so I came straight here. Are you okay?"

"Felix," you whisper. "What time is it?"

"It's 3 PM," he replies. "I've been so worried about you. Are you okay? How are you feeling?"

You manage a weak nod, reaching out to grasp his hand. "I... I think I caught the flu. I feel awful."

Felix's expression softens with concern as he feels your forehead. "You're burning up. Let's get you some water and medicine, okay? We'll make you feel better."

You nod gratefully, letting Felix guide you to sit up as he hurries to fetch a glass of water and some fever-reducing medication. As he fusses over you, you can't help but feel overwhelmed by his care and concern.

Felix's brow furrows with concern as he settles beside you, his worry evident in his voice. "How long have you been feeling this way?"

You sigh. "Since last night. I... I think it's because of the rain," you admit reluctantly. "I got caught in it on my way home from work yesterday, and I didn't have an umbrella or anything. By the time I got home, I was already feeling sick."

Felix's expression darkens with concern and a hint of frustration. "You were out in the rain without proper protection, and you didn't say anything?" he asks, his voice tinged with worry and reproach.

"I didn't think it was a big deal," you mumble, feeling ashamed for not taking better care of yourself. "I thought I'd be fine, but... I guess I was wrong."

Felix's features soften as he reaches out to cup your cheek, his touch gentle. "You should have told me, sweetheart," he says softly. "I would have come to get you, or at least made sure you got home safely. I hate seeing you like this."

You nod, feeling tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. "I'm sorry, Felix," you whisper, feeling overwhelmed. "I should have said something. I won't do it again, I promise."

Felix pulls you into his arms, holding you close as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "It's okay," he murmurs, his voice warm and comforting. "Just focus on getting better now, alright? I'll take care of you."

With a tender smile, he rises from the bed and heads to the kitchen, returning moments later with a steaming mug of his favorite tea. Its aroma fills the room, carrying with it a sense of warmth and comfort.

"Here," he says softly, offering you the mug. "This always makes me feel better when I'm under the weather. Maybe it'll help you too."

You take the mug gratefully, the warmth of the tea seeping into your hands.

As you slowly try to drink the tea, your hands trembling slightly from weakness, Felix notices the sadness etched on your face. then, he suddenly disappears into the other room.

A couple minutes later he returns with BbokAri cradled gently in his arms, a soft smile gracing his lips as he approaches you.

"Here," he says gently, placing the plush toy in your hands. "This little guy never leaves my side, but tonight, I want him to keep you company. I thought he might help cheer you up too."

Taking the plush toy into your hands, you can't help but marvel at its softness and the love that emanates from it. As you hold it close, feeling its comforting presence, you notice Felix's gaze lingering on you, filled with concern and tenderness.

Seeing your body tremble with chills, Felix's heart wrenches with concern. "You're so cold," he murmurs. "Let's get you warmed up."

He quickly rises from the bed, leaving you momentarily bereft of his comforting embrace. However, he returns moments later with an extra blanket, which he wraps snugly around you. Then, he retrieves a heating pad, placing it gently near you.

As you shiver from a combination of fever and cold, Felix notices your discomfort. Returning to your side, he slips under the covers beside you, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle embrace. He holds you tightly, his own body heat radiating against yours, as he murmurs soothing words of comfort.

You snuggle closer to him. Felix holds you close, his steady heartbeat a reassuring rhythm against your ear. You hold BbokAri close to your chest, feeling its softness against your skin. Felix wraps his arms around both you and BbokAri, and you feel a sense of safety and security wash over you, banishing the cold and the fear that had gripped you moments before.

Felix presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as if to convey all the love he holds for you. "I'll do whatever it takes to see you smile again," he murmurs, his voice a gentle caress against your skin. "You mean everything to me, and I can't stand to see you like this."

"Do you want more medicine, or is there something else I can do to ease your discomfort?" he asks gently, his voice filled with a desire to help.

"Having you here, holding me like this," you say softly, "is all the medicine I need."

Felix's smile is tender and full of affection. "I'm glad I can provide some comfort," he replies, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "But if there's anything else I can do, just let me know. I'll bring you more tea, medicine, anything you need. Or we can go on a walk? Get some sunshine and fresh air."

"You already bring the sunshine with you, right here in this room," you say, your voice soft with love.

Felix's eyes shimmer with warmth at your words, a soft glow of affection enveloping him. Pressed against each other for warmth, you drift off into a peaceful sleep, the sound of Felix's steady breathing lulling you into a sense of calm.

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metalhoops · 2 years ago

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Steve was used to climbing out windows. Before his junior year, he’d made a habit of entering through and escaping from girls' houses unnoticed. He was stealthy. He’d learned how to scale trees and tread lightly across roof shingles with the deftness of a nocturnal animal. Yet, for the first time, he found himself escaping his own home. There was a first time for everything, right?

Steve’s parents were home. The second Steve saw the familiar BMW pull into the Harrington’s driveway, he knew he wanted to be anywhere but home. His parents were only palatable when he had good news, but all he had to tell them was that after their last visit, The Mall had burnt down and he’d gotten a new job at a video store. He really was doing the family proud. He didn’t want to deal with it, not today.

That’s how he found himself crawling out his bedroom window, shimmying across the guttering and trying not to sprain his ankles as he dropped onto the lawn. He headed out back, past his pool and into the woods. Usually, it was the last place you’d find Steve. He kept expecting to run into a Demogorgon or something equally as nasty.

He walked for a while without direction, trudging through the underbrush until the rustling of leaves behind him set his teeth on edge. His body moved before his mind had time to keep up. He spun on his heels, hand scrabbling to the forest floor in search of a weapon. It supplied him with a fallen tree branch, almost too large to heft comfortably, but he did it, running on adrenaline. He came face to face with a familiar, wide-eyed boy.

“Holy shit, Harrington. Take it down like ten notches,” the boy grumbled, showing his upturned hands as though trying to calm a startled animal.

Hawkins was a small town, the kind of place where everybody knew everybody. Steve knew the boy with deep brown eyes and dark hair, halloed by fallen leaves, was none other than Eddie Munson, or as he was colloquially known, ‘The Freak’. They’d gone to high school together. He thought the guy was due to repeat his senior year, again. He didn’t know what he was doing alone in the woods.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked.

You couldn’t blame him for being on high alert. Even if Eddie was someone he’d grown up with, that didn’t make him safe. Steve was still riled up after running down Billy Hargrove with his car. He was paranoid. He’d had a rough couple of years.

“Collecting sticks,” Eddie breathed, indicating the large bundle in his hand.

“Collecting sticks?” Steve echoed. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe him. He couldn’t fathom why the guy was doing it.

“Yeah, I’m making a miniature log cabin for my D&D campaign, and you know, miniature logs are just... sticks—you don’t care, anyway. Sorry for startling you, my liege.” Steve tilted his head, thinking the acronym was familiar.

“Is that the dragon game, with the Demogorgon and junk?” Eddie looked at Steve like he’d sprouted a third head.

“How the hell do you, Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington, know what D&D is?”

Steve wished people would stop calling him that. Every time he heard the stupid nickname it felt like someone was rubbing chunks of asphalt into his gravel rash. He wondered if Eddie felt the same about his title.

The old Steve would’ve used it just to spite the guy, to see what buttons he could push, not because he wanted to but because it was expected of him. It wasn’t an excuse. He knew that. Instead, Steve shrugged his shoulders and told the truth, something the old Steve never would’ve done.

“I babysit some nerds who play it,” he confessed.

Eddie looked at Steve in wonder. He was puzzled, amazed and, for once, a little intrigued. He’d never looked at Steve like that back in high school. The two rarely crossed paths and when they did, they never spoke. Sure, Eddie ranted about ‘jocks’ as a whole, but Steve had always just been one piece of a puzzle. It would seem redundant to yell at a patch of blue and grey for being a picture of the sky.

“Why did you need to take up a babysitting gig?”

To answer that, Steve had to embellish a little. Maybe he no longer liked lying about who he was, but he couldn’t exactly dump the cosmic mind fuck that was The Upside Down on some unsuspecting guy.

“I needed money.”

“You needed money? What, did you get cut off?” Steve shrugged in response.

“Christ, what did you do? Piss in a family urn? Trash the house? Get a girl pregnant?” Eddie questioned.

“I think generally existing was enough to do it,” Steve mumbled, kicking at the dirt beneath his shoes.

Eddie let out a low whistle.

“Hey Harrington, think fast,” Eddie called, throwing the bundle of twigs in his direction. Steve dropped the branch and grabbed the bundle with wide eyes.

“What was that for?” Steve choked.

“What are you doing in this neck of the woods, anyway?” Eddie asked instead of responding. Steve shrugged, still cradling the bundle to his chest.

“Avoiding my parents.”

“You got any plans for the rest of the day?” Eddie spoke. Steve responded with a shake of his head.

“Well, you know, this really is a two-person job, so if you wanted to come back to my place, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

For some reason, Steve agreed.

Eddie had a habit of collecting strays.

There was the cat he’d kept under the bed when he was six and the gathering of stray dogs that hung around the back of the trailer park that he’d been feeding for as long as he could remember. The same theory applied to people. He made friends with the loners, the weird kids, the ones with wide eyes and nowhere to go. He was a bleeding heart, so sue him. However, he’d never expected Steve Harrington to trigger his urge to protect and befriend. That really hit Eddie out of left field.

Never in Eddie’s wildest dreams did he imagine he and Steve would be sitting across from each other at his small dining table, Steve’s knee pressed on the inside of Eddie’s thigh. The jock’s still hands held small bits of twigs in place as Eddie worked around him with his hot glue gun. The guy had seemed so lost, back in the woods, so unlike how Eddie remembered him. He knew about D&D for Christ’s sake. Eddie wondered if he’d woken up in an alternate universe because it seemed like Steve Harrington was actually a good dude.

He asked Eddie about his goddamn log cabin, tavern. Then he’d pushed deeper. ‘Why do you need a bar in a game about dragons’? To which Eddie explained, of course, you do more than just fight dragons, which appeared to be news to Steve. Besides his friends, no one showed interest in Eddie’s ‘stupid little fantasy game’. With Steve, questions came thick and fast. Eddie loved every second of it. When he’d asked why Steve cared so much, the guy had shrugged his shoulders and muttered,

“I might be able to impress the kids.”

Eddie decided to ask about ‘the kids’. He and Steve didn’t have much in common. Sure, the two could commiserate about high school together, but neither man was in the mood to do that. And god, Steve could talk about ‘the kids’.

“I run a D&D club called Hellfire. If they’re starting high school this year, send ‘em my way. I’ll tuck your little ducklings under my wing. Keep the big scary jocks away from ‘em,” Eddie noted, feeling comfortable enough with Steve to take a jab at him. Steve surprised him again by snorting out a laugh.

“Make sure you do. That Jason kid’s a senior, right? Total psychopath. The kid would peg basketballs at pigeons.”

By the time the sun set, the boys were in stitches and had a fairly decent log cabin to show for a day’s work. Eddie was surprised that the idea of Steve leaving set a pit in his stomach.

“Hey, Steve? We should do this again,” Eddie proposed, and Steve was too quick to agree.

“I have work tomorrow morning, but how about the afternoon?”

Eddie hadn’t expected the guy to be as keen as he felt.

“It’s a date,” Eddie agreed, before promptly wanting to shove his head through a miniature log cabin. A date? Really, Munson?

A flicker of amusement crossed Steve’s face as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his too-tight jeans. Mind out of the gutter, Munson. You were doing so well.

“You’re weird, you know that?” Steve remarked, running his hand through his trademark hair, and yeah, Eddie should’ve expected that.

Now Steve was going to call him a Freak, the ‘King Steve’, he’d heard about would make an appearance and Eddie would be glad he dodged a bullet by cutting his crush off at the knees before it had the chance to grow legs.

“Weird is good,” Steve corrected, seeming aware of Eddie’s inner turmoil.

“One thing I’ve learnt about myself since high school is that I like weird.”

Oh, no. Eddie was so gone for Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.

Read Part 2

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #drabble #ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #alternative 'first' meeting #pre season 4 #long post #I always forget to tag that #just assume all my drabbles #are long posts tbh #thing I had to google to write this #'when were hot glue guns invented'?#apparently the 50s #Metalhoops writes

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jakeromanoart · 1 month ago

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ALLEY ALLIANCE 🐈 this year’s halloween collab with @comicspasta (her lines my color) ✨ available as a print here this will be the 6th jake/pasta halloween collab ⚡ first one was back in 2019 before we were dating and this year we got married 💗

"your jacket is worn ragged from years of keeping you safe, and all the souvenirs you can’t seem to let go of are weighing you down. dirty puddles collect on the asphalt of the alley, reflecting red-tinged moonlight. it’s hard to find a living creature out of doors these days. it’s even harder to find a friend. Maybe that’s why, when the three-eyed alley cat paused to look your way, you held its gaze. maybe that’s why when it moved on, you followed. maybe that’s why you ignored the warnings. maybe it’s the best choice you’ll ever make."

#cat #art #artists on tumblr #colorful art #rainbow art #eyestrain art #halloween #spooky #eyestrain

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loaksky · 1 year ago

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— 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒊 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 | 𝒆. 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔

collegebff!ellie x fem!reader based on this ask ! fluff / angst / suggestive content / bff2l , wc: 7.1k (sum1 sedate me)

synopsis: since the beginning of college, it’s always been you and ellie. you like to think you’ve got her figured out, but there’s one thing you can’t get a read on and it’s the matters of her heart.

content warnings: language, suggestive content, kissing, ellie’s clueless and reader’s shy. (seemingly) one-sided pining, jazz cabb. this is literally self-indulgent mush.

fic soundtrack: like i want you — giveon / can i — kehlani / electric — alina baraz & khalid / sdp interlude — travis scott / options — doja cat & JID

main masterlist | tlou masterlist

YOU MEET ELLIE BY CHANCE during the first week of freshman year.

It’s a story you recall often in the wee hours of the night, giggling and side-by-side in her full size. The room usually reeks of weed, blanketed by stale incense and Ellie’s favorite cologne.

She’d been skating across the campus quad on her splintered deck in hot pursuit of her mis-located class when she chanced a peek at her cracked phone screen for the time. You’d been equally engrossed, coffee and unread text message from your new roomie occupying far too much attention to realize that Ellie’d been heading straight for you.

Next thing you knew, you were wearing your coffee and Ellie had scraped an elbow and a knee.

“Fuuuuuck,” Ellie moaned, cradling her elbow while inspecting the asphalt burn on her kneecap.

Your quiet sigh of disappointment caught her attention and her eyes were widening when she noticed the growing splotch of milky brown splattering your fitted white top.

“Dude, fuck, I’m so sorry,” Ellie spluttered, scrambling to collect your empty cup and your phone.

She’d inspected the screen to assess the damage, let out a sigh of relief to find it in pristine condition.

“S’okay,” you huffed out a breathy laugh, taking the phone from her as she stretched to grab for her discarded deck. “Accidents happen.”

“Your—” Ellie’s cheeks warmed when she’d noticed the full outline of your bra underneath your top. “Your shirt.”

Your lips parted once, twice, before your arms crossed over your chest in embarrassment. She wasn’t even able to offer you another apology, or anything else for that matter, before you staggered off sheepishly.

She’d redeemed herself, obviously, if your friendship now was anything to go by.

The following week, she’d dipped out of her preluding class a few minutes early to file in line at the student-run coffee shop. She’d taken a snapshot of your coffee cup before throwing it in the bin the week prior, and next thing she knew, she was sitting on the steps of the building you’d emerged from the day of the debacle and hoped for the best.

When she heard the telltale sign of students emerging from the double doors at half past noon, she sprung to her feet so fast, she nearly toppled over.

And there you were, coming out of the math building in a pretty skirt that had Ellie wetting her lips.

“Uh, hey,” she called hesitantly when you blew right by her.

You threw a split-second glance over your shoulder once, then came full stop after the second.

Ellie traveled down the rest of the steps to join you, one hand stuffed in the pocket of her cargo shorts, other practically strangling the poor coffee cup.

“Oh.” You sounded surprised, eyebrows twitching up momentarily. “Hey.”

“This is, uh, for you,” she’d said, offering the drink to you.

“For me?”

“Yeah,” she affirmed. “Y’know, ‘cuz last week and…”

You took the coffee, eyes glancing over the modifications scribbled on the side of the cup.

“How’d you know my order?” Your smile had been enough to make Ellie blow out a shaky breath.

“You left your cup.”

“Right,” you replied shyly. “Thanks, really. You didn’t have to do this.”

“Nah,” Ellie assured you. “I…I—”

And she’d been so fucking speechless because you were staring at her with round eyes through thick lashes. Had her spluttering like an idiot and wringing her unoccupied hands.

The rest—

“Well the rest is history,” Ellie mocks, reciting the end of that stupid story as she takes a deep pull from the skinny joint and watches you through the mirror as you get ready.

You let out a little laugh as you roll a clump of mascara from your corner lashes, the memory fresh in your brain like it’d happened days ago.

In reality, the two of you have been glued for nearly three years. It’s a thought that makes you ruminate a little too much for your liking. Makes you wonder if she’d felt the sparks like you did.

Sometimes you’re convinced that she had. That theses lines you've danced your entire friendship are just ticking moments waiting to detonate. There can’t be any other explanation.

Not when she’d started showing up outside of the math building every Tuesday and Thursday that semester and walked you to your next class. When it’d escalated to exchanging socials medias, then eventually phone numbers, and making plans to eat lunch during a mutual free period. Or hanging out off campus, orbiting each other at gatherings when you find that you've made some mutual friends.

And not now when she shows up every Wednesday evening no later than five past eight with takeout from your favorite spot right outside of campus. Not when she waits for you to finish tutoring outside of the library with your regular coffee in tow (surprise; you haven't changed your order since freshman year). Especially not when she drops what she’s doing, who she’s doing, every time you call.

Course it’s not like she can’t say the same. You’re her biggest supporter, her number one girl no matter what ways the others in your friend group and distant peers try to twist it. You’re there at every one of her research presentations for her astronomy major. Despite not having an athletic bone in your body, you’re at the skatepark with her on the weekends, cheering her on from the stone picnic tables. And when the sun goes down and she’s caked with sweat and dirt, you’re positioned between her knees as she sits on the hood of her car, hissing when you dab a little too much ointment on the cut across her cheek.

To the naked eye, you and Ellie are a lot more like lovers than friends, and the idea is one that makes your gut flutter, makes your toes tingle and your cheeks warm.

But those feelings are tamped down when, like clockwork, Ellie laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s heard. The picturesque fantasy you’ve built of being with Ellie as more than a friend is smeared. Because even if she doesn’t deny it, doesn’t correct whoever’s made the observation, she’s not confirming it either.

And, Jesus, you don’t want to read too much into it when things are so good between the two of you, but you can’t fucking help yourself when it comes to her. Can’t help but want her when she does what she does, when she looks the way she does.

Your eyes flicker up when the springs in your mattress creak and Ellie’s climbing off your bed to lean against the edge of the desk.

She doesn’t say anything, just swipes the edge of your bottom lip absently, a mixture of your sticky lipgloss and saliva coming off on the pad of her thumb.

“Too much,” is all she says, kicking off the desk to shrug her hoodie on over her black tank top. She’s halfway out your bedroom when she turns to glance at you over her shoulder. “You coming or what? We’re gonna be late, dingus.”

“Yeah...yeah, coming.”

Party’s in full swing when you squeeze in. The bass shakes the grass as you cross the front lawn and the LEDs glow through the closed curtains. For the most part, the festivities are contained, a few bodies on the porch smoking a mixture of cigarettes and greens, but as soon as you and Ellie are sliding through the door, it’s like the vibes start melting and Ellie’s getting into the zone.

She’s in her element like this, couple of prerolls in her pocket for when she’ll find a quiet place out on a balcony or squeeze onto the roof from somebody’s unlocked bedroom and smoke with some friends who’ll either bum a couple passes or pay in full.

“You wanna drink?” Ellie asks you when you guys find a good spot in the living room.

“Sure,” you agree easily. “Seltzer if they have it.”

She nods.

“Gotcha, I’ll be back.”

She’s disappearing into the crowd and you take the opportunity to assess your surroundings. It’s relatively laidback, couple of familiar faces from different lectures and seminars soothing the tiny niggling of anxiety that blooms behind your navel. The living room is shrouded in mood lighting and the vibrations from the speakers rattle the walls.

“Wait, was that Williams?”

Your ears perk when you hear it, eyes flitting to a group of girls that stand in a clump near the stereo.

“Yeah, she’s headed towards the kitchen,” one of the girls says, tall and willowy.

“Think I should?” the girl towards the middle asks.

She’s too pretty for her own good, has glittery shimmer on her eyelids, pearlescent lipgloss and low rise jeans that hug her ass like they were hand-crafted for her.

Something green starts to swell.

“What?” another asks, and you recognize her from discrete calculus.

“Should I talk to her?” Glittery Eyeshadow says.

“Why not?” Your calculus classmate shrugs. “Her little shadow’s not around.”

Okay, wow. Ouch.

You angle your body away, turn your head to hide the burn of your cheeks and to tune in a little better.

“You sure that’s not her girl?” the tall one asks. “They kinda seem like they’re together.”

“Doubt it,” your classmate chuffs like she knows something they don’t. From the corner of your eye, you see them lean in close to each other. “Ellie’s been with a coupla girls on campus. Heard she gives phenomenal head.”

That makes you swallow so hard, your eyes begin to burn.

Ellie usually kept her love life hush, didn’t really mention the likes of anyone else around you, and you’d always been too shy, too enamored to ask. Perhaps too afraid of what the confirmation of her escapades would do to you.

This was Exhibit A.

“Let’s add to that list,” Glittery Eyeshadow says, and your heart absolutely sinks to your ass when you see her walk confidently across the living room and into the kitchen.

You see them from the cutout, and your breath hitches when a switch flips and Glittery Eyeshadow’s tapping Ellie’s shoulder gently, tucking her hands behind her back when she turns on her heel.

Ellie’s widened eyes go soft, a small smile easing its way onto her lips as the girl says something that has your best friend laughing behind a sip of the drink she cracks open. You see the seltzer, the one you’d requested being cracked open and offered to the girl.

“What a lucky fuckin’ bitch,” your calc classmate giggles. “Ellie’s sooo hot.”

“How much do you wanna put on it that it’s not gonna happen?” Tall Girl huffs a laugh.

“No way,” her counterpart scoffs. “Liv’s got infinite ways into anyone’s pants.”

You put a name to the face, find that it’s fitting and feel the envy begin to roil full force.

Tall Girl hums thoughtfully.

“I dunno, Ellie and that one girl are virtually inseparable. Even if they’re not together, there’s something there for sure.”

You peek long enough to see your classmate roll her eyes, but when your gaze swings back to the kitchen, Ellie and Liv are nowhere to be found.

Panic begins to cloud your system, absence of any alcohol or weed making you far too aware of how fucking awful all of this makes you feel.

You decide to stick around for a moment, back nearly plastered to the wall, but after a moment too long passes and you don’t see any sight of Ellie or Liv in the kitchen or through the sliding glass doors that lead to the back porch, you’re peeling away.

The chitters from Liv’s friends die out when they realize you’d only been a few meters away.

The house had seemed like the perfect size when the two of you were walking up, but now, as you weave through every room and poke your head into empty bedrooms, it seems so much larger than you’d expected.

Your last resort is down a set of stairs nestled near the back of the house. There’s more music that bumps from the basement and you figure it’s why it seemed that the grass was rumbling outside.

The basement is finished, paneled and reeks of weed. There’s far less people down here from what you can observe from the railing, but you clock Ellie and Liv before you make your full descent. They’re cozy on a loveseat, one of Liv’s legs is propped over Ellie’s knee while her manicured fingers fumble with some rolling paper.

You hear her over the thrum of the bass.

“You’re so much better at this than I am,” she moans. “Show me how?”

You’re still watching them over the railing, partially hidden by the drywall. And you’re glad, because you nearly retch when you see the way Ellie’s ringed fingers close over Liv’s and they roll the joint together. Ellie’s head is in her space to get a closer look, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that Liv’s pupils are probably blown wide from the proximity.

And fuck, the way the flat of Ellie’s tongue rolls over the edge absolutely seals the last nail just as she does the joint and you’re turning to shakily climb the steps again.

Maybe the two of you were better off as friends. Maybe you were reading way too much into things, into what the two of you could be.

Tonight only solidifies that.

Ellie is stupid, stupid, stupid.

She’d been halfway through the blunt she was sharing with the girl who’d cornered her in the kitchen when she remembers. Remembers that she’d left you upstairs. Only does so because Liv’s taking a swig of the seltzer that was meant to be yours and she’s pushing her leg from her knee and shooting up from the chair.

“Shit,” she breathes. “My bad, I gotta dip.”

Liv’s arched eyebrows raise.

“Huh?”

“I left my girl upstairs.”

And Liv’s eyes narrow.

“Your girl?” she asks, smoke wafting around her pinched expression.

“Yeah, my friend?” she says like you should be common information.

“The girl that follows you around like she’s leashed?” Liv laughs humorlessly.

Ellie’s confused. Like majorly confused right now. Liv had asked her to smoke, had been nice enough when they were chatting in the kitchen, but something’s flipped and it makes annoyance simmer in the pit of her belly.

“The fuck did you just say?” Ellie says stonily.

Liv blinks.

“Dude, fuck you,” she bites, snatching the blunt from Liv’s fingertips. “You owe me forty for the wrapper and the roll. Venmo me by the end of fuckin’ night.”

Liv and a couple half-sober bystanders look stunned at Ellie’s outburst as she rushes from the basement and takes the stairs two at a time.

The first place she looks is where she’d left you, but you’re nowhere to be found. She nearly combs the house top to bottom searching for you, green eyes frantic as she flashes her lockscreen to shitfaced party-goers.

“You seen her?” she asks quickly.

The guy looks at the brightass screen, bleary-eyed.

“Her?” He points to the screen. “Left like fifteen minutes ago…I think. I dunno.”

And that makes it all the worse considering Ellie was your ride.

She’s dodging bodies, moving through the smoky foyer to get to the front door while she shoots you a text.

me: where’d u go bug???

Ellie’s slipping out of the house, taking survey of the front porch and the lawn, gut twisting when she doesn’t see the familiar silhouette of your neck or shoulders among the other bodies.

me: r u still here?

Ellie passes the hedges and jogs down the sidewalk as she presses the phone icon next to your contact and holds the phone between her shoulder and her ear.

She’s so engrossed in getting in contact with you that she barely notices you sitting on the curb a few feet from where she’d parked on the street.

“Jesus,” Ellie sighs in relief, hanging up as soon as the operator tells her to leave a message after the tone. “Been looking everywhere for you.”

You look up at her, blinking quickly like she’d caught you in a daze.

“Huh?”

Ellie’s brows furrow as she lowers herself to sit next to you.

“What d’you mean huh? You scared the shit outta me,” Ellie laughs breathlessly. “Thought you disappeared.”

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Just needed…”

Ellie watches you expectantly.

“Needed a breather,” you admit. “Got a little overwhelmed.”

Her expression falls, eyebrows drawing in concern as she tucks some of your hair from your face. The corners of her lips twitch when a mixture of the pale moonlight and the yellowing streetlights cast a glow over your features. Your lashes are wet and she finds your cheeks warm when her thumb brushes over the skin.

“Did something happen?” she asks suddenly. “Because I swear to god—”

You shrug away from her and stand, unable to stomach the gooey gaze she gives you or the gentle brushes against your skin. It makes you fall back into old habits, into trying to read between the lines.

“I’m gonna call an Uber home,” you tell her. “We just got here and I know the party’s barely started—”

“Nah, no, fuck this party,” Ellie says, standing up to invade your space again. “We can go home, it’s okay, bug.”

And the way she calls it home, like the two of you share, makes that thread tied to domesticity tug entire too hard for you to stand still.

(Perhaps Ellie’s too chicken to admit that home isn’t necessarily just under a roof, but wrapped in the warmth of your arms).

“Ellie—”

“Are you mad at me?” she asks hesitantly, and the look on her face is devastating.

Because no, you could never be mad at Ellie, not when she’s sweet despite being rough around the edges. You can only be mad at the circumstances, at yourself for letting your delusional heart get the best of you.

“No,” you say quickly. “God, no. I’m just not…feeling it tonight, I guess.”

You want to hate Ellie for looking wounded, but instead it makes your heart grow more around the shape of her.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she almost whines, arms wrapping around your shoulders to pull you into her chest. “We coulda just stayed home and ordered pizza. Watch that stupid documentary you like.”

“S’not stupid,” you say weakly.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

“But—”

“No butts except for yours in the front seat,” Ellie says, opening the passenger side door open for you. When you drop in the seat, she’s plopping her unlocked phone in your lap. “Order pizza. And none of that pineapple bullshit on my side or I die.”

You like to think that you could put the party behind you. That maybe you were being a little overdramatic. But after you’ve settled into your favorite spot on Ellie’s couch, wearing a pair of her sweatpants and an oversized shirt, the final crack shakes the front you’ve been maintaining for the past three years.

Ellie’s dozed off, only half a crust left from her half of the pizza sitting in the open box on top of the coffee table. Your documentary’s playing in the background, lulling your droopy eyes to close, but the faint buzzing of Ellie’s cell has you shifting awake.

You don’t mean to, but your ego’s been bruised and curiosity gets the better of you as you’re leaning forward to capture her phone from where it’s nestled between the remote, underneath the takeout box.

An unknown number flashes across the screen, a succession of texts sending the device fluttering in your sweaty palms.

It feels like the ultimate breach of privacy, like you’re using the fact that Ellie trusts you with her phone password in the worst way possible, and perhaps you are.

(307) 578 9432: got your number from your friend cat.

(307) 578 9432 sent $40

(307) 578 9432: here’s a tip <3

(307) 578 9432 sent a photo.

You don’t know what you expect, but a photograph of a girl’s tits definitely isn’t high on the list. A lump forms in your throat, choking the air from your lungs as the tears begin to prick the corner of your eyes.

You know that gemstone choker, seen the way it gleamed under the lowlight of the party when Liv had taken a deep breath before sauntering over to Ellie. It’s the same one in the racy photo, and it’s the last straw.

Ellie’s phone vibrates again.

(307) 578 9432: don’t let your lil pup see ! xx

And that sends you spiraling. Has you closing out of the text thread, sliding Ellie’s phone back in place, and shooting up from couch.

The sudden movement makes Ellie stir, but she never fully rouses from her sleep, and for once, you thank the universe for being on your side.

You’re collecting your things from where you’d discarded them on your way in, and it feels a lot like things are officially crumbling. And you don’t know why. Should’ve seen it coming, really.

She’d never see you that way. She’s leagues above you, charismatic and cool in a way that has everyone wanting a slice of what it’d be like to be friends with Ellie Williams. Doesn’t help that she’s so painfully attractive, energy magnetic. She’s so kind, too fucking smart for her own good, and a really really good friend.

You realize as you slip from her apartment and make the trek home, that maybe that’s all you and her were ever destined to be.

So you mark tonight in your books.

Tonight’s the night you’re gonna start falling out of love with Ellie Williams.

Ellie wakes up to the soft pings of her alarm and she’s rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she pats the area next to her in search of your sleeping form.

She comes up empty and she squints past the filtering sunlight to find that her apartment is completely still. The television’s been turned off, pizza boxes stacked neatly on the eat-in.

She calls your name, once, twice. But she’s met with absolute silence.

“What the fuck?” she mutters under her breath as she stands from the couch and stretches the sleep from her bones.

A quick glance at the digital clock underneath the TV shows that her 10am seminar starts in about half an hour.

Ellie decides, as she takes a quick shower and brushes her teeth, that she’ll call you on the way to class.

But as she skates across the campus, pushing so hard against the asphalt, her knees hurt, you don’t answer her calls. She’d being sent straight to voicemail and straight to confused frustration.

She’s one of the only people you have set to bypass DND, so she knows you’re ignoring her.

When she makes it to the science building, she kicks off her skateboard, straps it onto her backpack and jogs through the corridors.

Ellie’s sliding into her seat near the back of the lecture hall with a few minutes to spare, so she uses the shortcut on her phone to open your text thread, only to find that there are no new additions.

All that glares back at her are the messages she’d sent you last night when you disappeared from the party.

me: hey bug lunch after my sem? half-off day @ benny’s :)

me: also why won’t u answer my calls, you disappeared on me this morning :/

Just as the professor files in and starts getting ready for his lesson, Ellie’s phone vibrates and she frowns at your message.

lovebug: raincheck on lunch, got a lot of work to catch up on

Something feels way off, makes Ellie queasy.

me: cmon bug jus half an hr, wanna c u :/

lovebug: you saw me yesterday??

me: and ?? ur my best friend, wanna c u all the time

Little does Ellie know that that text makes your stomach roil, makes you curl tighter in a ball in your bed because not only does your room still smell like her from the night prior, but because you don’t have it in you to face the world right now.

When you don’t reply to her message, she huffs out a frustrated breath just as her closest friend after you takes a seat next to her.

“Oh, boy,” Jesse comments. “This can’t be good.”

Ellie falls back in her seat, frustration seeping off her in waves.

“She’s being weird as fuck,” she sighs.

“Who?”

“________,” Ellie fills.

“Oh, your lil’ girlfriend,” Jesse snorts. “Why, what’d you do this time?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Ellie whispers. “And stop calling her that.”

Jesse rolls his eyes.

“Don’t know how many times I gotta tell you it’s not like that,” she grumbles, closing out of your text thread in fear that it’ll drive her even more crazy looking at the Read at 10:01am.

As the professor begins his lecture, Ellie continues fumbling with her phone, only to see a thread from an unfamiliar number. Her brows furrow at the most recent message: don’t let your lil pup see ! xx.

Liv.

It had to be.

She hears Jesse choke on a gasp when she opens the thread and a 4K photo of Liv’s tits flash the screen.

“No fuckin’ way,” Ellie hisses under her breath.

Jesse’s snickering beside her, eyes wide as she accepts the forty dollars into her account and deletes the entire thread altogether.

“Hate that stupid—”

“Shh!”

You avoid Ellie like the plague.

It’s a difficult feat on its own considering Ellie knows your schedule like the back of her hand and she’s waiting outside your lectures for you to surface.

But you adapt quick and you’re taking side exits and different routes while you collect yourself enough to face her.

Nearly a week out and you find that the wound’s still too fresh to pick. Realize as much when Ellie finally corners you during a vulnerable moment in the late afternoon on the way to the library.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

The voice startles you so much, you trip one foot in front of the other, and Ellie’s catching you before you can faceplant on the smooth concrete.

She’s righting you, hands dusting your shoulders off before bumping your dipped chin up to look down at your flushed face.

“Hello?”

“Around,” you answer meekly. “Been busy.”

“Alright, cut the shit,” Ellie sighs. “Last year you had that two week auditing BS and we still made time to see each other. You think you’re slick, but your location’s been pinging from home.”

“I can be busy at home,” you argue quietly. “And if you’re so hellbent on seeing me and you knew I was home, why didn’t you stop by?”

Ellie’s face softens.

“‘Cuz something’s obviously bothering you, bug,” she says, smoothing your hair from your face. “And I’ve been waiting on you to be a big girl and tell me what’s up, but it looks like I have to use other tactics.”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” you try again, gently guiding Ellie’s hands away and making a move to side step her in pursuit of the library.

“Bug, come on,” she groans, turning on her heel to watch you walk away. “I’m trying my best here, what’s got you pent up?”

“Nothing, Ellie!” you say so forcefully, she flinches. “I told you nothing’s fuckin’ wrong! Maybe I just want to be left the fuck alone!”

Ellie blinks hard.

“Oh.”

You take in a deep breath, closing your eyes in defeat as your body goes slack.

“I- fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

She shakes her head.

“S’alright,” she assures you, taking a step away. Suddenly, the air seems to thicken. “Sort yourself out. Call me when you need me, I guess.”

“Ellie–”

She’s turning, dropping the board in her grip down onto the asphalt and mounting before the downslope and your eyes begin to water as you watch her figure grow smaller in the distance.

At first Ellie’d been a little disgruntled, maybe a little frustrated, but her feelings have since simmered and now all that remains is lingering sense of sadness.

There’s a you-shaped hole in her life, one that makes her stare at the swirling ceiling of her living room as she smokes through a joint by herself and wonders what the fuck happened to the two of you so suddenly.

She’s almost embarrassed with how quickly she launches from the couch when she hears three quick raps against the front door. Her yearning heart could only hope, but she’s deflating when she finds Jesse and Dina on the other side.

“Oh,” she sighs in disappointment.

“Oh?” Jesse huffs. “Oh?”

Ellie’s grumbling as she leaves the door open for them as a silent invitation, padding back into the living room to continue her moping session.

“We bring you Benny’s and it’s oh?” Jesse continues.

“Not hungry,” Ellie gripes, forearm draped over her eyes.

“Why the fuck not?” Dina whines. “We got so much food ’cuz you eat like a man.”

“Just not hungry,” Ellie mumbles.

She hears the plastic crinkling and then the telltale sign of Jesse throwing his body weight into the right side of the loveseat.

“Alright, what the fuck is going on?” he prods. “You’ve been weird and mopey for the last two weeks and it’s gross.”

Ellie’s arm falls away and she’s sitting up.

“I don’t fuckin’ get what her issue is!” Ellie moans, throwing her hands up in the air. “One day everything’s fuckin’ great and we’re good, but then it turns on a dime and she won’t even look at me!”

Dina and Jessa share a knowing glance.

“Okay, what’s that supposed to mean?” Ellie grunts.

“Walk me through the last time the two of you talked and things were good,” Dina says, taking the arm rest next to Jesse.

“I think, like, two weeks ago at the party? We were at her house and I was smoking and then we just showed up to the party?” Ellie recounts.

“Okay, what else?” Jesse pries.

“Uh, I dunno, we walked in and I asked her if she wanted a drink,” Ellie continues. “While I’m in the kitchen, Liv comes in and asks me if I wanna smoke. Obvious yes, duh.”

Jesse raises an eyebrow.

“The girl who sent you a picture of her tits?”

“Ew, yes. But that’s besides the point,” Ellie huffs. “I rolled and smoked a little with Liv when I remembered leaving ________ up on the main floor, so I told Liv I had to dip to go get her.”

“You left the girl you’ve been in love with since freshman year all alone at some seedy party—”

“Not seedy, it was Marco’s!” Ellie argues. “And it was like fifteen minutes, tops!”

“Ellie!”

“What? I didn’t stick around anyways,” Ellie says like it assuages the entire situation. “She was being a cunt about me being friends with ________.”

“Okay, well there’s your issue,” Dina says matter-of-factly.

Ellie looks clueless.

“You’re really gonna make me spell it out for you?”

“Well obviously because I’m lost as fuck right now,” Ellie bites.

Dina rolls her eyes.

“You ditched her to smoke with some bitchy mean girl!” Dina says like it should make all the sense in the world. “And then said mean girl sent you a picture of her tits!”

“Okay, well how would—”

It clicks. Like an epiphany, Ellie’s shooting to her feet.

“Oh, fuck.”

It really does make sense now. Why you hadn’t been around the morning after, why she hadn’t seen a notification for Liv’s messages on her lockscreen, why the thread had already been marked as read.

“She saw the messages,” Ellie says, horrified. “Fuck, probably thinks me and Liv were making fun of her.”

Jesse groans.

“It’s way fuckin’ more than that, dipshit.”

Ellie’s brows furrow.

“Huh?”

“Christ, are you actually this airheaded or—”

“Okay, unnecessary,” Ellie interrupts.

“Do you not realize that the two of you have been in love with each other for the past three years?” Jesse cracks. “Of course she’s gonna be upset when you ditch her for other girls, when they send you nudes and—”

“I didn’t—”

“She’s jealous, Ellie,” Dina says. “Probably under the impression that you’re fucking around with Liv and she doesn’t know what to do with herself.”

“Dude, there’s literally zero chance she likes me like that,” Ellie says hesitantly.

“I actually want to play in seven lanes of traffic right now, holy shit,” Jesse scoffs. “You have to be unforgivably blind to not see how fucking down bad that girl is for you.”

“Am I the only one not seeing this, like—”

“Yes.” Jesse and Dina are in unison.

Ellie shifts uncomfortably, rolling her lips as she collapses back in her seat.

“She’s my best friend,” Ellie sighs in defeat. “And I don’t want to ruin things with her. What if she…”

“You gotta take the plunge, Williams,” Jesse encourages. “There’s a lot more than something there.”

Ellie opens her mouth to argue again, but Dina’s cutting her off.

“Stop being such a pussy.”

“Wait, I don’t understand, you said it’s at the student planetarium?” you ask, rushing briskly across the campus.

“Fuck,” Dina mumbles over the receiver. “Yeah, almost positive. Astronomy club was having free donuts during lunch hour and I think I left it in the back row.”

“D!” you whine.

“I know, I’m so sorry,” she moans. “I’m the biggest idiot.”

“No, no,” you breathe, tote bag tight in your grasp as you break into a jog. “I get it, D. It’s the shark-shaped one, right?”

“Yes,” Dina confirms. “God, babe, I really owe you one.”

“You’re okay,” you assure her, climbing the steps to the science building. “I’m going in now. Should be there in less than ten.”

“Okay, I’ll be outside of the lecture hall.”

You hum your goodbye, line going dead as you enter the modern atrium. The area’s spacious, a replica skeleton of a massive dinosaur spanning the center of the entrance.

A digital directory built into one of the imposing square pillars indicates that the planetarium is on the third floor.

You’d only been in twice, both times for research presentations Ellie’d given. Her talk of the the stars and the vastness of the universe made you feel so small. So silly. Now you feel infinitely more silly hunting for a shark-shaped pencil case that houses Dina’s flashdrive she needs for her evening lecture’s slideshow presentation.

You decide to take the steps two at a time, choking for a breath by the time you make it up the third flight of stairs. The double doors to the planetarium are at the end of the hall, and if Dina’s directions are correct, the pencil case should be among the first few seats walking in.

Past the double doors, you find that Dina’s pencil case is, in fact, nowhere to be found in the first aisle that you check. But as something rustles down near the semi-illuminated podium, you find your Ellie standing from one of the front row seats. She turns to face you from the bottom of the auditorium, something akin to nervousness etched into her features.

“Ellie…” you swallow.

“Hey, bug.”

“What are you doing here?” you ask, brows furrowing as you fidget on the first step down, hand gripping the armrest of the last seat.

She rolls her lips, plays with the string of her hoodie as she sucks in a deep breath.

It’s now or never, Jesse pep-talked her on the way here, folder full of coordinates and computer commands pushed into her chest as he bounded away.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she starts. “I…I—”

“I have someplace to be, Ellie,” you interject. “Dina needs me.”

“Dina doesn’t have a presentation,” Ellie sighs guiltily. “She’s probably sitting on my couch eating my Doritos as payback for getting you over here.”

You look lost.

“Huh?”

“Listen, I knew you weren’t going to talk to me, let alone come all the way here if I asked, so…I got some help.”

And the thought makes you guilty. You and Ellie have been best friends for years. Have seen almost every ugly part of the other. But you don’t know how long you can handle being just that.

“It’s not…” You don’t even know what to say, how to deny the blatantly obvious.

“You’re my closest friend,” Ellie says. “I genuinely don’t know what I’d do without you, and…and these past few weeks have been so shit because this has felt like the end and I didn’t know why.”

You murmur her name, taking a step down.

“I have to ask you something.” Ellie’s throat bobs as she slowly climbs the steps. “And you have to be honest.”

You hesitate before nodding, breath hitching when she stands on the step below you, gazes eye level.

You’re sure she can practically feel the vibrations of your heart nearly beating from your chest, pounding against your ribcage and begging to intertwine with hers.

“Okay,” you whisper.

“Did you leave because you saw Liv’s messages?” she asks bluntly.

Your cheeks warm and your gaze falters, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shorts.

“I—”

Ellie’s eyes are unblinking, sage and searing.

“Yeah,” you admit hoarsely. “You were asleep and she…she…yeah.”

“Why?” Ellie asks, watching you with bated breath.

This is it, she’s got you right where she wants you and this moment could be the final fissure that cracks the very facade of your friendship and sends the two of you as you know it up in flames.

Her face softens when she notices the tears welling in your eyes, the way your body language has shifted so much in these passing moments. It’s unfamiliar.

“It makes me sick,” you mumble in embarrassment, knuckling the brimming tears aways. “It’s so fucking stupid, but the idea of you with anyone else makes me fucking sick.”

Ellie’s stomach is in knots, knees like jelly and heart squeezing in anticipation.

“Why?” she repeats, voice catching in her throat.

“You know why,” you croak in defeat, expression crumpling.

Your name leaves her lips firmly, hands coming up to grasp your biceps.

“Don’t be cruel,” you hiccup.

Ellie’s biting the inside of her lip, eyes searching yours in contemplation before she’s digging in the pockets of her hoodie and producing the remote to the projectors.

She’s brushing past you, up the steps to hit the lights and fully submerge the room in a split second of darkness. Then a heartbeat passes before a constellation blooms near one of the edges of the domed ceiling.

August 20th, three years ago, labels the smattering of stars and the alignment of the planets.

“What’s this,” you whisper, breath hitching as Ellie leans against the back wall.

“The day we met, first Thursday of freshman year,” Ellie says shakily. “With that stupid fucking coffee. You were wearing that white shirt.”

Your throat tightens when another constellation appears, labeled a few weeks later.

“When we first talked. I got you another drink and started walking you to class.”

You realize that every knitting of stars and planetary bodies are captures of the skies in each labeled moment.

“There was something about you,” Ellie says. “There still is. But this one—” She clicks a button and the projection ripples, clouds rolling and stars twinkling like you’re looking up at the real night sky. “This is when I knew.”

Her voice is dangerously close, a hairsbreadth from your ear. You can feel the warmth of her body enveloping yours, toes curling as you look up to the date marked and mentally sort through your thoughts.

Her first research presentation.

“I was so fuckin’ nervous, bug. And I thought I was gonna shit myself, but then you came in at the last minute and you smiled at me and it felt like we were the only two people in the room,” she admits. “And when I finished that stupid presentation and you found me after those higher ups were talking my ear off about my findings, I—”

Your eyes are glassy as you remember the way Ellie seemed to deflate in relief when you slipped into the auditorium with seconds to spare.

“You…?”

“I realized that maybe you were it for me.”

The breath’s knocked from your lungs as Ellie slides her fingers through yours and tugs you down the shallow steps of the planetarium.

The both of you stop at the beginning of the podium’s circle, sheen of tears blurring your vision as you watch more projections sprout onto the screen like fireworks.

They’re all memories, ones that you’ve cherished since the beginning. You just hadn’t realized that Ellie held them as dearly as you did.

She sucks in a deep breath, hand squeezing yours. And god, she wants to look you in your eyes when she says it, but you make her weak and she’s losing courage.

“Guess what I’m trying to say is that...” She licks her lips, pushes the words out through the nausea. “I love you. A lot. And not just as a friend."

“Oh.”

And Ellie wants to shrink at your response, palms clammy as her fingers loosen.

She feels the dread filter in, mixed with a curdling feeling of regret. But something like sick relief floods her system all the same because this feels like a semblance of freedom.

“Ellie—”

It’s her final shot in the dark.

“Tell me I’m not reading into this wrong,” Ellie says softly. “There’s something here, right? I’m not batshit crazy, am I? I— I—”

Ellie’s frequently wondered what your lips taste like. How they would feel against her own. She’d always figured it’d be a good experience, something she could kick her feet to in the dead of night, but this? God, nothing compares to this.

You taste like peach chapstick and wintergreen, lips plush against hers and Ellie’s pounding heart stutters when your hands cup her cheeks.

You kiss her so fervently, she nearly misses it, the way you murmur against her mouth.

“I love you, Ellie,” you whisper between a breath. “Love you so fuckin’ much.”

You feel her giddy grin, feel the way her hesitant hands finally find purchase, fingertips searing the curve of your waist and the small of your back as you eliminate every space possible.

As the two of you meld together under the stars, Ellie realizes that, that maybe this is what coming home feels like.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams #ellie williams fic #ellie williams au

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kysslasher · 2 months ago

Text

KINKTOBER DAY 3:: Mr.officer— choso kamo

WARNING:: police officer!choso x reader, oral (f!receiving) doggystyle, slight power play, spanking, bribing.

SUMMARY:: speeding to the reception of your sisters wedding and getting pulled over was not in your plans, but offering to do anything to get out of a ticket with the fine officer who pulled you over was a last ditch effort.

It was scorching outside. Choso could feel the heat come in waves making him sweat so much that stray hears across his forehead began sticking to his skin. The tight uniform that covered his body added an extra layer of weight and heat that made the rookie honestly think he would suffer from heat stroke.

He sighs as he rests against the hood of his car, the odd sensation of warm drips down to his eyebrow making him reach up and drag his fingers against his brow bone collecting the sweat on his fingers making him sigh. The small family cars that roll through the deserted long streets that connect give him no joy as he holds out the radar each time the sound of wind whipping and tires against the asphalt meets his ears.

Choso is bored, incredibly bored to the point he almost wanted to get in his own car and speed just so he can pretend he got even the slightest bit of action on his shift. But just as he blinks a few times as the stale air makes his eyes water a car speeds down the road making Choso lift the radar and see it is way over the speed limit, Choso let's put a large puff of air as he turns to get back in his cruiser.

His lights flash as the siren above him wailed and demanded the car to stop.As he pulls out of the dirt path on the side of the road he speeds up hoping whoever was driving the mini silver Nissan wouldn't turn the situation into a chase.

As he pulls out of the dirt path on the side of the road he speeds up hoping whoever was driving the mini silver Nissan wouldn't turn the situation into a chase. As he gets closer the car begins to slow down and pull off to the side, Choso feels like he hit the lottery for his first day when he steps out of his car and walks up to the window. Not entirely sure what he was expecting but it wasn't this.

A pretty girl dolled up to the tens, expensive looking jewelry, thin strapped dress that hugged you so perfectly that it made your cleavage more noticeable.

As the window gets rolled down you have a glare strongly aimed towards Choso. "You were speeding" he says plainly making you sigh "I have places to be so can you just give me the ticket so I can go?" You roll your eyes hoping the reception of your sister's wedding hasn't started.

We're you drunk? Choso can't believe the unnecessary attitude. "Are you headed somewhere because of an emergency?" Choso asks hoping that explains why your in a bad mood and why you're speeding. He would let you off with a warning and no ticket because he doesn't want to step on any toes especially when you're rushing but what falls out of your mouth makes Choso look almost flabbergasted.

"I have a wedding reception to get to and l'd much rather be speeding towards a bar than sitting here in my car still" You explain flatly making Choso's eyebrows shoot together like magnets and metal.You had to be drunk. Choso told himself; because what sober person would ever let that fly out of their mouths to a cop? Just you? "Ma'am can you step out of the car?" He asks his tone sweet as if he were a retail worker dealing with a stubborn customer.

But regardless you do it anyways, Choso asks you gently to stand against the hood before he looks inside your car a bag in the back seat which was expected to be a gift so he pops open your glove looking for license and registration, what he didn't mean to come across was the pink flask that fell out littered in gems and hello kitty stickers. He just huffs out a laugh before picking it up off the carpet flooring and looks at you holding it up shaking it to the sound of liquid still inside. "You do realize driving with open alcohol is a fourth degree misdemeanor?" He asks; watching as your eyebrows shoot up almost to your hairline.

"Listen officer...?" You trail off leaning in close to him to look at the shining gold badge "Kamo" he pipes up before you can speak "officer Kamo. I haven't drunk that at all since I've been on the road. I'm 100% sober. I swear" your voice shakes. "Sweetheart, I don't know how many fines you are going to wrap up by the end of this meeting but it just seem to be all kinds of a handful" he almost laughed at the change in expression "I'll do anything, I swear I can take a breathalyzer or walk in a straight line. You name it and I swear I can do it" you plead and Choso almost feels bad for you.

"Anything?" He asks and Choso hadn't realized the change in tone until you step closer to him pulling at top of your dress that looks to be suffocating your boobs. "Anything you want" puts more confidence into your statement. How could you back down now after you said it? You've never had sex with an officer before to get out of a ticket, maybe a little flirting but with the way things were looking for you, your best bet was to suck him off or even go all the way.

"I don't think you mean that" he shakes his head as his hands tug at the collar of his vest with a smug expression. "Are you trying to say something Mr.officer?" You ask him as your eyes glaze over the banter was one thing but the dark glint in his eyes made your stomach churn. "If you think I am, you can come out with it" his eyes trail over your face for any hints of hesitation but he's met with none.

"Sir, isn't it against your code to take bribery from a suspect?" You ask your tone sweet as honey as your head tilts to the side, you play up the ditzy role just a tad "isn't it illegal to bribe officers?" He asks back tilting his head back at you. "Well if it is, shouldn't you be putting me in cuffs right about now?" You hold out your wrists with a sickeningly sweet smile that makes Choso huff at your bravery. Only grabbing your wrists and turning you around, pressing your hips to your hood as pressing to your lower bag guiding you down makes you gasp at the feeling of him pressed against your ass.

"I think you need a routine pat down before I put you in the back of my car" he says slowly before pulling away pressing his hands to your hips and patting down one of your legs the feeling of his hands on your warm skin sets you a flame. His hands on your bare inner thigh almost brushing against your panties makes your back arch. "Aren't you a little excited to be getting put in the back of a cop car?" He asks "if it weren't for the circumstances I don't think I would be" you mumbled back "and what circumstances would that be?" He asks as he moves to your other leg " its the part where you put me in cuffs and fuck me in the back of your cop car that makes me excited" you say as Choso finally stands at full height.

"Yeah?" He asks as the sound of his clinking cuffs meets your ears that has your body responding to him so pliant. "Mhm" the cuffs snap around your wrist making you smile. “Mr.officer, am I in trouble?” You asked teasingly “you’ve got the cuffs and everything, I think it’s time to put you where the criminals go” he says his voice like gravel, his words sharp and filled with lust.

He roughs up your shoulders a bit before pulling you along to his car. Opening the back door before pressing you chest-down to the backseat; you can feel his growing hard on against your ass making you perk up with a smirk “Mr.officer is this a part of the routine arrest?” You tease, you can hear the groan rumbling from his chest “just for you, you're the special kind of criminal, and I have to perform a strip search on you” you say as his rough hands grip your ass through your dress. “How could I hide anything from you sir? How did you know I was hiding something under here?” You ask spreading your thighs wider, grinding against him.

“You are a really dirty girl, did you know that?” He asks making you giggle before looking over your shoulder “I’ve been very bad Mr.Officer- and I think I need to be punished” you say- your words filled with amusement. “Oh I know” he chuckled as he pulls up the fabric of your dress he playfully scoffs at the black lace G-string snapping the pinkie sized string on your hip letting it snap against your hip which earns a yelp. “Are you hiding anything behind this miss?” He asks making you giggle and nod, your lips were practically being bitten raw.

“Can I take a look?” He spoke up, rubbing his hand against your ass. You could feel your heart beating in your throat as he kissed your lower back,pulling your panties off; hanging from your ankle he lifted your legs over the seat like they were nothing and kissing your inner thighs.

"You're being such a tease" you whisper you could feel the warmth of his breath fan across your pussy that had almost made your thighs snap shut. "Just doing my job" he mumbled as his tongue pressed flat against your pussy earning a breathy moan as he dragged it from your entrance to your clit loving the sweet sound of your moans.

"Oh fuck" you whispered as he presses his thumb against your clit and continuing to lick and kiss everything he possibly can. You moan as your hand reaches for the back of his head pushing him against your pussy.

Groaning against you sent vibrations all over as you let out a small giggle that broke into a moan feeling the harsh pad of his thumb rub against your clit while his tongue worked to push inside you. Pushing your thighs against your chest and pushing them together you became more aware of every touch, lick, and kiss he gave to you.

The sounds you make are music to his ears. He presses his nose on your clit, inhaling your scent deeply before his tongue dives inside your waiting pussy. You pull onto his hair, writhing against his face. "Feels so good mr." you moan.

You could feel his lips curve against your pussy sending shivers down your spine. The wet muscle repetitively enters you, eager to gather your juices. It feels like heaven, stomach tightening with each second.

Pulling away his thumb Choso flattens his tongue against you licking from your entrance to your clit again, kissing it he sucks harshly on the bud with no regard as you moan his name mindlessly.

"Oh my god" you manage to whimper out you tug at his hair as he groaned, your eyes shut as you "please use your fingers" you moan neediness dripping from your tone. His hand moving from your plush thigh, his thumb rubbing harsh circles on your clit he pulled away licking your clit once more his middle and ring fingers make way to your entrance.

Pushing in slowly you groan at the penetration, easing your tight walls around his thick fingers as he pushes them deeper you feel the cool metal of his rings all the way at the knuckles of his fingers as it grounds you from the euphoric feeling.

Pulling his head he looks up at you as your head presses against the seat to get any view from him; with your juices on his swollen lips and on his chin his fingers begin to move opening your eyes you look down at him feeling his gaze as he watches you react gasping as the feeling you grind down against his fingers "you like that? Hm?" He says as he licks your essence off of his lips.

His hair now disheveled as his cheeks were blooming with a soft blush, you nod eagerly "yeah? You want me to go faster for you?" He coos feeling you clench around him at the sound of his dirty words, you clench harder "yes please" you say losing your mind on his fingers as you absentmindedly grind down on them.

Without a single falter in his movements his fingers began to rub against the gummy part of your walls at a faster rate as the sound of your sopping pussy getting pounded by his fingers made you squeal.

"Feels so good" you cry out hoping to god he wouldn't stop the rewarding pace he had set. Your hips involuntarily buck against his fingers as his assault of pleasure on your pussy consumed you whole.

"I'm close" you whine as the sloshing sound and the sound of you and Choso's mixed heavy breathing had been the only thing you could hear "yeah, you gonna cum all over my fingers?" He asks teasingly as his tongue licks a long stripe against your clit that had the feeling in the pit of your stomach churning in anticipation for your orgasm.

"Yes, wanna cum just for you" you whine under your breath as he pushes and pulls his fingers in and out of you faster watching you come closer and closer to the edge waiting for him to catch you. He sucks and licks your clit harshly making you let out a loud moan as you cum all over his fingers.

"So good" he hummed as he fucks you through your high slowing down as he kisses your clit that's now sensitive making you writhed under him. "Doing so good for me" he giggled as he pulled away from you kissing your thighs as if he was rewarding you.

You let out a small giggle that turned into a choked whine when his long fingers pulled out of you. With no hesitation he sucked on his fingers licking off any essence and cum you had left on his digits. “Please fuck me” you moan, if he was only bulging through the pants before he is definitely a move ment away from breaking his zipper. “Yeah? You gonna be good?” He asks making you nod quickly, so desperate to have him filling you up.

The sticky sensation of spit and cum dripping down your pussy and thighs makes you clench around nothing. You can hear him pulling his pants past his thighs; you arch your back urning for the feeling his skin on yours, his hand reaches the middle of your back pressing you down, the tip of his cock rubs against your clit making your body jolt but he continues regardless as he pushes himself inside you slowly.

Your hands clutch tightly into a fist at the stretch he fucks into you, easing you down to his base making you shiver. Choso watches you grind your hips against him slowly as he bottoms out inside you, the feeling being all too good for his liking.

"It's so big" you groan as your hands press against his abdomen lightly bracing yourself to start moving. The soft thudding of your thighs meeting against yours sends goosebumps all over your skin. Choso couldn't possibly keep his hands to himself as he finds the straps of your dress pulling them down revealing more of your skin.

"No bra?" He groaned watching as your bare chest bounced with every movement you made which had you smiling with your lip caught between your teeth. "You're so big" you slur seeing how good he filled you up to the brim your arms wrap around his neck your foreheads pressed together as you watch him begin to slowly move. Choso couldn't get enough of the sight as his cock disappeared inside your Pussy.

His cock buried deep inside you that you moan and dig crescent shaped dents into his skin. set a pace for bouncing in his lap. The feeling of your velvety walls tightening around making him choke back a moan.

"Oh- god" you whisper shakily. His hands holding onto your hips guiding a pace, the soft sound of skin slapping with your small moans reverberated through the car.

You looked so good with your chest bouncing and your hair all messy. You looked good with a small sheen of sweat on your skin and your makeup smeared, he was addicted to the sight.

He slowly thrusts into you letting you get used to his size not realizing you were beginning to bounce yourself on his lap desperate to feel pleasure. His pace practically teases you and shows you how desperate you really are from your small moans whimpers.

Choso; eager to let his load off inside you, holds your thighs stopping you from bouncing any longer and begins to thrust his hips up into you. The feeling of his tip pushing at your cervix.

His hips pushing into you as your thighs and ass jiggle at the repetitive thrusts "oh my god!" You moan as you feel him pounding in a certain part of your walls. You tighten around him as your essence forms a white ring around the base of his dick.

"Just like that" you babble mindlessly as his stomach churns at the words spewing out. "Yeah? Want me to fill you up with my cum?" he groans as the knot in your stomach begins to tighten and Choso's death grip on the fat of your thighs almost sends you over the edge if it wasn't for how hard he was pounding you.

he placed his hand on your ass, kneading the flesh harshly as whimpers left his lips at the feeling of your walls closing around him. "Just like that, yes, please please please!!" You beg, feeling yourself getting closer and closer as he punctuates his thrusts. You pull his hair, again and again, harder and you can't help but become more aroused from the sounds he lets fall from his lips.

Sitting up completely Choso doesn't hesitate to kiss against your warm skin, from the valley between your breast to sucking on your nipples, the warmth of his mouth has you utterly out of it while you fuck yourself on his cock begging for some sort of release. The sloppy sounds make your head spin, your hand trailing from his hair to between the both of you.

Rubbing your clit in hopes that this would send you closer to your orgasm. "Fuck- oh fuck" he moaned against your chest as you clench around him as he felt absolutely pussy drunk with you on top of him. Choso could barely comprehend a thing as he stops you all together.

"Get up" he said breathlessly as you pushed yourself off of his lap, you slowly started to crawl back into the passenger seat thinking even the sex was a complete bust. But the feeling of his hands on your waist keeps you from moving. "Bend over into the seat" he says moving out of your way as you feel a smirk on your pretty lips.

With your back arched and your face pushed against the headrest you knew that you were done for, Choso pushing inside you again and without a care in the world thrusts into you at the same pace he was going before.

"Harder- please" you moan out as the windows begin to fog over, Choso begins to buck his hips into you at a faster pace as the slick sound of your pussy and precum mix loudly along with the patterning of your thighs slapping against his. You feel ecstasy at the way he made you feel so full.

His large hands onto your spine as making your chest push into the seat, not that you minded at all. Choso from behind absolutely loses his mind as his fingers card through his brown locks. Fucking into you with harsh and sharp thrusts that have your toes curling. Your ass bouncing against his lap has him tossing his head back leaving a stinging sensation in both of your thighs.

you begin to bounce and grind against him to meet his hips. It felt like he was in your stomach and you didn't mind at all, your hands the seat tighter as he used his other hand to wrap around your throat pulling your back against his chest.

"Aw look at you, all fucked out. What would your friends think about me bending you over in my car and fucking you like a slut hm?" He asks as his grip around your throat tightens, you couldn't even gather your words as he hits a spot that has you breathing shakily and your moans are even more louder.

"Right here? Does it feel good here?" He asks as he drags his cock against that same spot again and again "yeah, it feels so fucking good officer" you moan as your eyes roll back. The feeling of his sweet lips on your skin as you feel like you're in heaven.

Your thighs are practically shaking at the feeling, pleasure practically taking over your body as Choso pounds you into his front seat without a single care in the world. Pushing your face against the seat while he becomes sloppy and rougher with every passing second you could feel the pressure in the pit of your stomach growing and waiting to be released.

"I can't take it" you moan as you shake your head "I'm gonna cum" you whimper as you feel warm tears slide down your cheeks. "I think you can baby, you wanna cum so bad right? So take what I give you" he orders sweetly in a faux tone. His thrusts are non stop and you can't help but let the pleasure envelope you.

"Oh fuck" you gasp as the feeling of release comes closer "cum for me. I know you can" he coos at you while pulling your hips into his harder than before tipping you over the edge as your walls clench around him sporadically earning a guttural moan ripping through his throat.

"I'm close, where do you want it?" He asks as he continues to fuck into you "inside. Please cum inside me" you whimpered before you felt the pressure in your stomach let loose "I got you, you're okay" he praised as his fingers rubbed down your spine leaving goosebumps up and down your body.

A few more thrusts slow and deep have your toes curling and sending Choso into an orgasm struck daze. "Fuck you feel so good" he groans as his hands rub against the red warm skin of your ass. Leaning of you and kissing up your spine as you both bask in your pre orgasm clarity.

You sit up as you realize your cuffs are still latched around your wrists, the jangling caught the ears of choso as he pulls up his pants and unlocking them he watches you fix yourself up before he opens the front seat door grabbing a notepad. “Do you want to maybe write your number down in case you ever need any help?” He asks which makes you smile as you take the pen from his hand writing it down and giving it back.

Looking over at the side of the road you had finally come down to earth “shit- I need to go, this was great but I still need to make it to my sisters reception” you panic as you rush into your car and starting it up you shoot your head out of the window “call me!” You pipe up once more before finally pulling off.

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