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heliads · 1 year

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there's things i want to say to you

No one on this earth can get under your skin quite like Lando Norris. It would take something insane for you to be able to move past that. Maybe realizing that Lando's crazy for you would do the trick.

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You have one mission for this particular race weekend, one mission alone, and that is to not mess up. On the track, off the track. Don’t fuck it up. This isn’t unusual by any means– flying around corners and down straights at such tumultuous speeds typically means you aren’t angling to make any mistakes anyway, but this weekend in particular needs to be perfect.

Everyone’s on edge right now, not just you. This is the time of year when contracts start expiring, when what had seemed like a decent season might end up being your last. It’s all on the wire, and at last it’s occurring to you, and everyone else for that matter, that their entire career is up to whatever they do on the track.

You’ve already sat down with your PR manager several times to discuss how you should handle this weekend, as well as the next few weekends until you can get a contract renewal locked in. You have no reason to doubt your current team, you’ve been delivering the results as asked, but there’s always the small voice in the back of your head wondering if you haven’t been picking up on the warning signs. You’ve heard of drivers getting blindsided before. Why couldn’t it happen to you?

So yes, although you’ve been just fine since your last contract signing, drivers have been let go for smaller offenses. That’s why you need to be damn near perfect this weekend. If you get through this latest race with no mistakes and some good points, you’ll be just fine. Once you’ve signed to your team again, you can relax. Up until that time, though, your behavior needs to be as proper as you can make it.

You’ve been managing such a task pretty well this whole weekend. Thursday you were nervous but in control all throughout the interviews, Friday landed you some good practices, and you did well enough in Saturday’s qualifying that you have nothing to lose sleep over yet, at least. You just need to get through today, and then luck will be on your side even more than before.

The race will start in less than an hour; you’re wandering the grid in the throngs of other drivers and team principles and spectators. At some point soon, you’ll have to head over to listen to the usual bungling of the host country’s national anthem, but until then, you’re putting on a good face. Your PR manager is flashing you discreet thumbs up whenever you see her. Life is good.

You weave around the various cars, not so close that you’ll be accused of spying but just close enough that you could, you know, if you wanted to. No one minds getting a better idea of their opponents’ sidepod designs anyway. Above all else, you keep an eye out for camera crews; Martin Brundle’s here somewhere, interviewing some poor sap, and you’d like to keep out of his way lest he turn to questioning you instead. The guy’s got a knack for getting under anyone’s skin, you don’t much feel like an interrogation today.

In fact, you can see him right now, eagerly thrusting his microphone towards some hapless driver. You see the papaya cap first, then hear the grating voice, and– well, maybe you’ll drift a little closer than before, because watching Lando Norris get picked to pieces by Martin won’t be the worst start to your race morning after all.

In single-seater racing, everyone is your enemy. At the end of the day, it’s you versus all nineteen other drivers on the grid. This means that you should have no particular arch rival, but if you were going to hate someone more than anyone else like that, it would be Lando by a long shot.

He’s just infuriating, that’s all. It’s like racing with a kid, he never learned to grow up, and every time you have to talk to him, you walk away wishing you could throttle him. Lando annoys you to death, and worst of all, he’s quite aware of it and proud of it, too. Usually, you go out of your way to avoid being near him, but you can make out the displeased look on his face from here, and if Martin Brundle is tearing him to shreds, well, you’d like to hear that more than anything.

You casually adjust course so you’ll be passing behind Lando. It looks like nothing at all, just you trying to navigate the packed grid, but you can hear every word of the conversation happening between Martin and Lando now.

You can’t help but smile as you hear Martin questioning Lando. “McLaren hasn’t had as good of a weekend so far as they’d like, I think,” Martin is saying, “What’s your strategy to turn that bit of bad luck around?”

Lando’s grin is frozen on his face like plastic. “Uh, we’ll definitely be gunning for whoever’s in front of us with everything we’ve got. Best strategy is to just go for it.”

Martin nods. You’re close enough now that you’re about to walk straight behind Lando, close enough that you swear Martin sees you just before he asks, “Anyone in particular that you’ll be going for?”

“Yeah,” Lando says, scratching his head absentmindedly, “Y/N L/N.”

Perfect timing. The cameraman quickly pans his camera between Lando’s deliverance of this answer to you, right over his shoulder like a devil. The worst part is that you genuinely don’t even think Lando knew you were there or planned it like that. He just likes throwing you under the bus for fun.

Martin chuckles– this must be the best thing for him all morning, really, drama like this gets him talked about like nothing else– and addresses his next question to you. “So, Y/N, what do you think about that?”

Lando turns around, evidently startled, but you just plaster on a smile. “He can try his best, but I won’t be letting anyone through today,” you tell Martin, and leave as soon as you can.

You can sense the cameras following you no matter how far away you go. Damn. And, as you walk further towards a group of your race engineers, you remember the most important part of your PR manager’s advice for this weekend: avoiding trouble, not just putting on a good face. That hasn’t worked out so well for you now. You do very well in that race, but what the Internet focuses on the most in the days to come isn’t your result but endless gifs of your irritated face in the background of Lando’s interview when he says he’ll be targeting you.

It’s not the greatest, to say the least. So much for playing it cool before a contract is signed. Oh, PR’s going to have a holiday over this one. You’d almost be surprised with the speed at which they suggest a media activity to wipe the slate clean, except for the fact that they’ve probably been counting on you messing something up this weekend so they had to have backup plans. Always nice to be trusted, isn’t it?

The event actually isn’t that bad. They’ve gotten a good amount of you together for some manner of charity work/awareness raising/well intentioned propaganda nonsense. They love putting F1 drivers together on a program outside race week, like it’s some kind of proof they can point to when the press conferences seem more awkward than usual. See, they hang out all the time! Of course they like each other!

(They do not like each other. Not at all. Some do, but. Most are not some. You are not some.)

Today, drivers will be in pairs, volunteering with children so motorsport can accrue a younger fanbase. Normally, you love events like this, the kids get so excited to talk to an actual live Formula One driver as if they’re typically just in display cases or something. Things will go wrong, fun times will be had, and your PR manager will ease off for a day or two provided that you do a good job. Not the worst thing in the world.

Usually, the organizers of such image-boosting nonsense at least try to put friends together. Quick camera cuts and a good deal of B-roll can only do so much to cover up the missed jokes, the cruel laughs. You’re with your teammate more often than not, a unified front, or else with one of the drivers you’re closer to. It’s easier that way. The smiles come more quickly.

That’s what you expect when you show up. Instead, you glance at the email telling you the place and the name and the time, and you see that you’ll be stationed with– no, no please– Lando. Lando Norris. Lando, the one boy you can’t stand more than anyone.

They know that. Of course they do. It is physically impossible to avoid that fact. As if you haven’t seen the YouTube compilations of terrible moments between the two of you, the Instagram posts with the hateful stares, the TikToks with captivating audios of every time you’ve slighted each other in the paddock or during interviews. You’re a bitch, he’s an ass, and neither of you get to be the good one coming out of those fights, but more often than not, it’s him.

There’s nothing you can do about it now. Causing a kerfuffle will only turn the organizers against you, and you refuse to show weakness in the face of British children, drivers or otherwise, so you keep your smile fake and your mouth shut. This is a good cause. You can hold your tongue for a few hours. The kids will, at least, appreciate it. Hopefully.

Lando’s already at your assigned station when you get there. He’s spinning aimlessly in one of the chairs they’ve given him, and you have to fight to hide your laugh at his rotation speed.

“Trying to train for G-Force, are you? I’m almost impressed with your dedication to the sport, Norris.”

Lando looks up with a start when you speak, and he hurriedly puts his feet down to stop his frenzied spinning. “You’re impressed with me? Glad to hear it.”

You roll your eyes, taking a seat on the chair next to him. “Oh, always. Do you know who put the two of us together on this activity? I want to have words with them.”

Lando snorts. “Not me, definitely. Whoever it is, they’re probably in witness protection at the moment. You look like you’re going to murder someone.”

“It might be you,” you tell him.

He groans. “Come off it. What have I even done to you? Can we not go without fighting for, like, five minutes?”

You scoff. “You’re the one who went after me on live television not three days ago.”

“Oh, you mean the interview with Brundle? That was so not my fault. He tries to trick you into going after other drivers, you know that.” Lando argues.

You arch a brow. “So he specifically tricked you into naming me as your first target? I didn’t know he operated at that level of mental warfare.”

Lando has the grace to look somewhat ashamed. “No. Uh. That may have been me.”

Thankfully, you’re interrupted by one of the event organizers coming in to tell you that the kids are arriving shortly. They pour in soon enough, about dozen children all thrilled to death about the fact that they actually get to talk to you and Lando. You’re soon distracted by the flood of questions directed towards you, ranging from kids wanting to know which drivers you’re best friends with to what superhero is your favorite.

You answer each question with equal solemnity, and before long you’re laughing with ease. You’re meant to be doing crafts and questions, so you help the kids make plastic beaded bracelets while you talk about the different colors of the flags and tyres. All in a day’s work.

Surprisingly, the fact that you have to do all of this with Lando right there beside you isn’t the worst thing in the world. He seems content to just watch you have fun with the kids with this weird, quiet smile on his face, and when everyone’s making their crafts, he’s bent over a project of his own, one that he refuses to let you so much as peek at.

At last, Lando straightens up and presents the finished product with a flourish. “It’s for you,” he says proudly, “Consider it a peace offering.”

You stare at it. He’s made a bracelet for you, complete with the same brightly colored beads that the other kids are using. Except, in the center, he’s spelled out a message—

You frown at him, confused. “This just says ‘driver.’”

“You are one,” Lando points out helpfully.

There is a fight to not roll your eyes, and you are on the losing side. “Incredible.”

“I also made it in your team colors,” he says. He’s smiling at it. At you. Fondly.

It’s not an expression you usually associate with him, but you’re smiling too, aren’t you? You can’t seem to stop. It’s just— you’re here with him, and instead of fighting, he’s gone to the trouble of making you this. Your colors, your message. Fuck.

You slip it onto your wrist before you can stop yourself. “Thank you.”

Lando’s grin broadens. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

You let out a frustrated huff. “You’ve ruined the moment. Stop having an agenda.”

“You’re still smiling despite my agenda,” Lando mentions.

He’s unreal. It’s not as bad as before, though. Not that you’d tell him that much.

Just in case he actually has ruined the brief moment of peace, Lando raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, then,” he says, “I’ll be better. Name one thing I can do to make this easier on you and I’ll get it done in a heartbeat.”

He’s expecting you to tell him there’s nothing he can do to improve himself in your eyes. It’ll make him seem like the bigger person and he’ll have the upper hand, then. Instead, you tilt your head to the side, considering him, and then at last point your finger at the offense on his chin.

“Shave the half-beard,” you say, “Please. It’s an eyesore.”

“Will that get you to stop complaining?” He asks, mouth twisting up in an amused grin.

“Nothing can,” you argue back, “I thought you knew that.”

If anything, Lando only seems more pleased by your response. “I’m starting to learn.”

He’s stubbornly unwilling to argue with you. It would be infuriating, but for some reason, it still makes you smile thinking about it hours after you get back home, rubbing your thumb over the beads on the bracelet he strung for you.

And, when you see him at the paddock for the next race, he’s fucking clean shaven. Not a whisper of a beard in sight. He spots you looking and winks. What the hell.

It makes no sense. None at all. He doesn’t say a thing about it, and if he won’t, then you can’t either, because you’re not entirely sure that this isn’t just all in your head. Maybe he felt like shaving anyway. Maybe a girlfriend put him up to it or something. This prompts a frantic research session, and after perusing many F1 WAGs Instagram accounts, you’re certain that Lando isn’t dating anyone at the moment. This isn’t important information, of course. You’re just, you know, curious.

You keep the bracelet on. Tucked under a sleeve, always, no one needs to know and least of all Lando, but it stays on. You’re not entirely sure why. Luxury brands have offered you diamonds, but Lando made this for you, and for some reason, that makes it far more valuable in your opinion than anything else. It’s silly, but it’s yours. That’s all.

No one has picked up on the war waging in your head. Your PR manager mentioned once that she was glad you and Lando weren’t actively fighting anymore, and it took you a few moments before you realized she was right. Not only have you stopped sniping at each other in interviews, but a couple races now, he’s actually approached you in the paddock to talk, and what’s more, you’ve let him.

It’s stupid, and unreasonable, and definitely not something you should be devoting so much of your life to thinking about, but now that the seed has been planted in your head, it’s kind of impossible to ignore. Lando gets you water on hot weekends. He helps you avoid Martin Brundle when the commentator is out doing his grid walks. You seek him out to talk through race results. You laugh at each other’s misfortune, but it doesn’t sting like it did before.

He’s insufferable. You love him.

You love him.

It’s the first time you’ve admitted as much to yourself. You have a feeling that it won’t be the last. There is much more to you, to him, than just the fighting, so much more that you want to explore and express and linger over, but—

But Lando doesn’t want that, does he? Lando is a spoiled brat, a young Prince Charming who is very used to getting what he wants and not at all acquainted with people contradicting that. It’s why the two of you clashed for the first time. If he had wanted you in any sense of the word other than as an enemy, he would have done something about it at the start.

Even now, the two of you have been drunk in clubs before, have walked back to hotels alone in the middle of the night. If Lando wanted something from you, something more, he could have taken it. He hasn’t, so the awful truth you must admit to yourself if this: he doesn’t want it at all. He’s studiously neutral, but nothing more than that.

It’s starting to gnaw away at you. Lando isn’t the only one who likes getting what he wants. Now that you’ve stopped hating each other, he’s closer to you than he ever has been, but yet it still isn’t enough. You can stand right next to him, can even lean against his shoulder, but it all means nothing.

It’s infuriating. It makes you act up, act out. Your shared friends on the grid invite you out to some gala, and you go because you know Lando will be there, and you leave early because you want him to follow you out. He does, and you two argue the whole way back, because if you can’t have him as you want, maybe you should push him away. It’ll certainly make things easier.

The two of you are squabbling in the back of the taxi about something unnecessary. Probably something he said and you escalated, if not the other way around. At last, you can’t take the weight of his disapproval anymore, and you ask the driver to let you out. It’s close enough to your hotel that you can walk, anyway. Lando can stay in the car and go back to his place. Problem solved.

It is, at least, until he chases you out of the car as well. He’s saying something about how you need to get back in the car, something about an approaching storm. You look up at the darkening sky and realize what he’s talking about. You had half thought that the distant thunder had been in your own head instead of across the city, but storm clouds are descending upon you now.

Lando shakes his head exasperatedly, hurrying you towards the door of the hotel. It really isn’t that far, but he still threatens to carry you there at least twice. His temper only grows more taut when he starts seeing lightning in the distance. It isn’t even raining here yet, but he doesn’t relax until you’re both through the door and out of harm’s way.

You, on the other hand, only freeze up when the roof is at last over your head. It occurs to you, not three steps into the shelter of the lobby, that your wrist is bare. Underneath your jacket, you reach over to scratch absentmindedly just beneath your other palm, but instead of hitting plastic beads, they touch only blank skin. You freeze in place, gaze swinging wildly to your forearm, but it’s true, the bracelet is gone. You don’t remember it coming off, but it’s gone now.

A frantic search of your pockets reveals nothing; as if they’re deep enough to hold anything, anyway, least of all this all-important thing. The bracelet was on your wrist when you left the cab, so it must have been lost while you were outside. It wouldn’t have been that long ago now. You could still find it.

Lando groans in irritation when you immediately make for the doors once more. “Y/N, come on–”

You’re ignoring him, though. Lando’s going to think the worst of you anyway, and you want your bracelet more than you want his incensed remarks about how it’s such a bad idea to stay out in this weather. The storm is hurriedly dawning upon you, and the trees lining the walkways shake as if with fright or chill, but that doesn’t stop you from retracing your steps, silently praying that you’ll find the one thing you cannot bear to lose. You can buy an awful lot back, misplacing jackets or other jewelry isn’t that big of a deal, but that bracelet– well, Lando only made one of those, and it was yours.

You didn’t walk that far when you were out here, all things considered, so you’re able to pinpoint the possible bracelet locations quickly. Either here, behind the flowering tree, or there, along the stone walkway—

Lando has followed you out, raising his arm over his face to protect from the spattering of raindrops now starting to fall from the sky. “Y/N, come on, I’m serious, we have to go in.”

You hold up a finger, still looking only at the ground. “Just give me a second.”

Lando heaves another tremendous sigh. “What are you even doing?”

“Trying to find something I lost.” You have to raise your voice to be heard over a clap of thunder which, although isn’t necessarily nearby, still makes Lando flinch as if the ominous sound came from overhead.

“It isn’t worth it,” he says, “we can find it later, I promise. Just get inside, will you?”

“No!” You shout back.

Lando casts a frantic look up at the approaching storm, then rushes over to stand in front of you, blocking you from moving any further. “Y/N, please. What could possibly be important enough to stay out here? You’re going to get struck by lightning.”

You try to escape past him, but Lando stays firm, refusing to budge until you tell him what the matter is. At last, you give in. “Fine. It’s your bracelet, the one you made me. You made it for me, I’m not losing it. You may not like me, not like– Not like I like you, but at least I can have that. That’s what I want.”

Lando’s face goes blank. Whatever he was expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. The naked surprise in his expression makes your stomach twist with shame, and you turn away, headed back to your search once more. Lando was caught off guard by your answer, so he isn’t able to stop you.

You hurry away from him. You don’t know what he’s thinking, or, hell, why he even made you the bracelet in the first place. Maybe it was for a specific reason, but it was probably just supposed to be a joke, something to be used against you, but you kept it anyway. You kept it, and you treasured it like gold.

You run further into the storm, away from him. The rain starts to fall even more than before. Maybe it’s okay, though. If the storm carries you away, if it drowns you in the flood, at least you won’t have to face him again. You look from side to side, searching for any pocket of plastic colors, but nothing, nothing.

Nothing, and then Lando’s voice, faint because of the storm, but still there somehow. Still there, despite everything you’ve said to him.

“I wanted you,” he calls back, shouting to be heard over the ever quickening wind. “I wanted you, but you hated me, and I thought it was better if we were enemies than nothing. At last then I could still talk to you.”

You feel as if you’ve been struck by lightning. The shock of it freezes you in place, even as the rain pounds down in sheets around you, chilling you through skin to bone and blood. It is only now, once your frenzy has been replaced by sheer immobilizing surprise, that you stand still long enough to spot the bracelet at last, tucked inside the cup of a stone on the walkway.

You reach out to pick it up, but your hand meets someone else’s before your fingers can close around the beads. When you look up, it’s him, it’s Lando, just as soaked from the rain as you, but here. Still here. Still here, for you.

He slides the bracelet over your wrist, then leans closer, just enough that you can feel the reverberations of his whispered hurry as he whispers it to you before urging you back towards the hotel once more. He’s pulled off his jacket and holds it above the two of you to protect from the wind and rain. It forces you to run so close to him that you can feel the heat radiating between the slim space from his ribs to yours.

You feel it still, even after you make it past the threshold of the hotel and stand there, shivering, just behind the glass doors. You can see the storm wild outside– so crazy to think that you’d just been out there, with the wind tearing at the trees and the rain so devastating– but in here, it’s calm, completely still.

Lando remains just a breath away, slowly lowering his dripping jacket away from your head. “It’s you,” he repeats, “It’s always been you.”

After all of that, all of those revelations and discoveries, he still has it in himself to surprise you. The kiss is unexpected, but not unwelcome, and warms you head to toe despite the cold of the rain still pressed deep within your bones. It’s welcoming, inviting, and it tells you that despite everything, every fight, every reason not to stay– it will only get better from here.

f1 taglist: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

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beybaldes · 1 year

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And somehow I know that you and I would've found each other

roy kent x gn!reader

word count : 8.7k

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summary : you and roy always end up finding your way back to each-other

content warning : taylor popped the fuck off with the speak now vault tracks especially timeless (another timeless fic coming out soon!!!!), slow burn that takes place over 36 years - dermatologists hate me! Roy’s sister is dubbed Molly yet again, I steal britanny brett for plot because I’m obsessed with @onceuponaoneshotfanfic and superstar (check it out now if you still haven’t, and if you have already, then reread it!!!!!!)

It's 1991 and youre not old enough to understand why your neighbour, and best friends older brother Roy, has to move away. You're only 4 years old, and so is Molly, and Roy's only 9 - so you're not sure why he's going away, where he's going, or if he's ever going to come back.

All you do know is that you and Molly's little arms are wrapped tightly around each other and you feel like it's never going to be enough to fill the hole of Roy's absence.

It's a cool September morning and Roy knows that December 19th - the day he gets to come back home for Christmas - is exactly 107 days away, but not even the last dregs of summers warmth can make this moment something he's going to look back fondly on.

He's got blankie folded perfectly at the bottom of his backpack and your favourite teddy bear wrapped up in it. Even though he wouldn't discover it until he'd arrived at Sunderland, you knew it was there and that Roy would look after it, and it made everything feel just a little bit better.

When Roy's Grandad announces that it's time to go, he gives you and Molly one last hug, pressing a kiss to both of your heads and promising to write and call whenever he can. You and Molly chase the car until the end of the street, where it turns a corner and Molly's mum calls you back to the house; you linger long enough to watch Roy turn from one of your best friends into a blurry figure in the back of a car.

Ms Kent gives you and Molly ice lolly's from the freezer and puts on 'Cinderella' while you eat them. She then sits through 'Sleeping Beauty,’ ‘The Little Mermaid', and 'Beauty and the Beast' with the two of you until your tears have long since stopped and you've fallen asleep in each others arms.

The following morning, Ms Kent nearly has a heart attack when she doesn't find you in Molly's bed, but her worry is soon ended when she realises the door to Roy's room is half opened and you're quietly curled up in tear stained sheets. Slowly, she wakes you up, and when fresh tears spring to your eyes she's quick to pull you into her arms. As she rocks you gently in her hold, she promises you that the prince always returns to the princess; even if it takes breaking a curse or waiting for 100 years.

They always find each-other in the end and live happily ever after.

And 107 days is nothing when you're 4 years old, it's the blink of an eye and sticky melted ice lolly on your hands, it's your first ever school uniform and glitter from Christmas crafts that you cant get off you no matter how many showers you take, and it goes by even quicker when Roy comes home 10 days sooner then expected.

You don't see him for the first 5 days. Roy locked himself away in his room and refused to come out or speak to anyone. But when the sixth day, and the weekend, finally rolls around, you decide to do something about it.

For a 9 year old, Roy sure had a lot to think about. He never got to say goodbye to his grandad, and he wasn't going to teach him how to ride a bike, or see him score his first professional goal, or get married, and he didn't know how to explain that when he went back to Sunderland come new year, he wasn't going away in the same capacity granddad had.

No 9 year old should've been thinking of all that.

Roy hadn't been expecting any visitors, not that he wanted any, but when you barged your way into his bedroom, he couldn't bring himself to send you away.

"Go away." Roy had growled, hidden beneath blankie and curled tightly into himself. "I want to be alone." Roy hadn't meant a lick of it and you hadn't believed any of it either.

"No, you don't." Though you had to wriggle your little self into his arms, you did it, and beamed proudly against his pyjama clad chest when he let you cuddle up to him. Roy had hugged you tightly, pulling you closer to him and wrapping blankie tightly around you both. "I missed you, Royo."

"You packed Dave in my bag." Roy stated, not asking why, or whether you wanted the teddy bear back, or telling you that he'd actually left it in Sunderland for when he went back in a few weeks time.

"You need him more then I do." Roy just nodded his head at your words, willing himself not to cry at the guilt he felt over leaving you and Molly behind and thinking about something other then his grandad. "And, if you have Dave, and Dave is mine, then you have to come and give him back to me. You have to come back from sundayland."

"Sunderland."

"What's that?" You tilted your head up to look at Roy, and found him already looking at you, half a smile on his lips.

"It's nothing."

Both you and Roy fell asleep in his room, under the safety of blankie, talking about 'sundayland' and everything good about his time there. It wasn't until tea time that his mum found the two of you and dragged you down stairs for dinner, teasing Roy once you'd gone home that you definitely had a little crush on him.

~*~

Roy's transfer to Chelsea once the season is over is announced just before your 16th birthday and you swear it's the best birthday present you've ever gotten. He's newly 21 and he's got this shaggy mullet thing going on that really shouldn't be working for him, but it is. You can't keep your eyes off of him, and Roy pretends not to notice for what he tells himself is your sake. He knows it isn't.

When his car pulls up in the drive for the first time since the weekend he came down for Mollys birthday, you and Molly run out of the house hand in hand to greet him, crying his name. He lets the two of you crash into him and wrap your arms tightly around him, almost squeezing him to death when he finds himself sandwiched between the two of you.

Roy's barely been on home soil for 10 seconds when Molly pulls away from the hug to look up at her big brother with the best puppy dog eyes she can muster up at 16. "Will you buy us drinks to take to leavers?”

"Fuck off, buy your own." You don't unwrap your arms from around Roy while they bicker, quite enjoying the familiarity of the scene before you. It was almost too long ago to fathom the last time Roy had been home long enough to start a fight with Molly, and though you never thought you'd say it, it was really nice to see.

"Incase you lost some brain cells this season, you have to be 18 to buy alcohol, fuckhead." Roy just stared blankly at Molly, and ran his fingers up and down the length of your arm as you stayed curled in his side, thinking about how similar Roy and Molly really are when it comes down to it. "So, I need you to buy it for us."

"Ask mum to buy it for you."

Molly immediately scoffs, throwing her hands in the air and muttering under her breath that she was genuinely concerned that Roy had lost some brain cells from all the headers he'd done this season. "Don't you think I tried that, dumbass? Mum said no to both of us."

Roy's gaze turned to meet yours, surprised to find you already looking at him. "Please Royo, everyone else will be drinking at leavers." Roy could never say no to you, and he was convinced both you and Molly knew that and had concocted this scheme to get him to buy it for you. He didn't mind saying yes, at least not this time, at least not when it was you asking.

Molly ran back into the house with an excited cry, promising to return with all the money she'd owe Roy for the drinks plus some as a charitable donation for his kindness.

For the first time in almost a year, you and Roy where completely alone together. He spared a moment to look at you, really look at you; notice how your hair had gotten longer and that your sense of style had completely changed, that the early summer sun was already tanning your skin and that you still had your arms around him. Roy only tightened his grip on you, dragging you into and around the house with him until you made it to the living room.

His mum had repainted since he'd last been down to visit from Sunderland and there were new photos on the wall behind the settee; mainly of you and Molly on your last day of school and one of Roy at his last match playing for Sunderland.

"You look like a proper footballer now, Royo." Despite every other seat in the living room being free, you took purchase on the arm of the chair right beside Roy and pray no one thinks it's a sign of the bubbling feelings you have for him. You may only be 16 but you're sure you've been in love with Roy for the better part of your life. It's one thing for everyone to tease you about you and Roy having little crushes on each other as kids, it's a whole other thing for people to tease you for having a crush on him when you actually did.

Roy scoffed, taking a long swig from the beer he'd grabbed from the kitchen when he first got to the house, swallowing down his smile. "But not enough for you to stop calling me 'Royo,' apparently."

"You could be the most famous footballer on the planet and I'd still call you Royo." You reached up for his hair and ruffled it, laughing at the way he pulled away from your touch and went to flatten his hair back out almost immediately. "But I mean it, you look like the kind of footballer kids have posters of up on their walls, that they want to be when they grow up."

And you're entirely right. Somewhere up in Manchester, a 6 year old Jamie Tartt is pinning a poster of your Roy up on his wall and promising himself, and his dad, that all of his time and money spent on football practice will one day pay off - that he's going to be one of the greats, just like Roy Kent.

"You'll always be my Royo, Roy. Even when you're super famous and don't remember me anymore." Your hand had somehow found it's way back into Roy's hair and he couldn't bring himself to move away from your touch. Since his sudden rise to fame, in which it seemed like he'd become an overnight sensation, he couldn't remember when he was last touched so gently. Touching only to touch, not because they wanted something from him or his name.

Roy couldn't keep in the smile that pulled at his lips. It faltered slightly at the fact he couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled, let alone genuinely, but it quickly returned and warmed his face when he meet your eyes. "And how could I ever forget the likes of you, yeah?"

Somewhere between shared words and glances, his hand had found yours and the two of you couldn't tear your eyes away from the other. "Dinners ready, guys." Molly was well known for her perfect timing, and despite some initial upset at the moment being taken from you, you knew it was for the better. Roy was Molly's brother, your best friends brother, who had 5 years on you yet. Though you knew it was unlikely anything would ever happen between the two of you, moments like this made you think there was a small possibility something one day would. The thought wasn't one worth seriously entertaining. "Did I... interrupt something?"

"What? No way." You and Molly ran from the room hand in hand, giggles bubbling past your lips and exchanged, in hushed whispers, the conversation that Molly had just walked in on.

It was like Roy had never left as he followed the two of you into the dining room. He took his seat across the table from you like he always did and knocked his foot against yours every time he wanted your attention. Dinner was good and before he knew it you were half on top of him on the sofa, sneaking bites from his plate of dessert as everyone else partook in the worlds most heated game of Pictionary.

He gave a sharp nudge to your ribs when you stole the last bite but quickly soothed it over with the gentle drumming of his fingers against your skin. The pair of you talked in hushed tones for the rest of the evening about his transfer to Chelsea and everything he was looking forward to now that he was back in London, as well as all your plans for your super long summer before you started college in September.

It was only when Roy's mum turned to ask if you were going home or staying over that anyone had noticed the two of you cuddled up in the armchair in the corner of the room, both fast asleep. She didn't dare wake you, thankful to see her son at peace for the first time in what felt like years, instead placing a blanket over the two of you and ushering Molly up to bed despite her insistence that you come with her.

One day, she thought, the two of you would finally see yourselves in other people, realise that if love looks like that then the two of you must be in it, and with any luck she'd still be alive to see it. She knew Roy was stubborn enough to keep that from happening. Maybe he would't be this time; at least, not when it came to you.

~*~

When the rumours of Roy's relationship with Britanny Brett are confirmed by a quote she gives in an interview, he finds himself typing out an apology to you. He stares at his phone for 3 hours and the most he can type out is 'I didn't want you to find out like this, I'm sorry,' but he still doesn't send it. Roy's not entirely sure what he's apologising for.

It's the night before his 27th birthday and he's debating whether or not he should show up to the birthday dinner his mum has planned for him tomorrow. You'll be there. He knows it. But only because he knows that Molly dragged you back from uni with her just for the occasion. And for some reason that he can't quite place, or just doesn't want to yet, he feels bad about having to see your face and hear you talk about his girlfriend.

Although Brittany Brett is smoking hot, and they have really great sex, he's not sure he wants to take her home to meet his family. To meet you. Sure, she's a great footballers girlfriend, but he's a little worried about what the people who know him as just Roy will think of her.

When she appears on the other side of his door the morning of his 27th birthday, the first thing he says to her is 'you can't come to my birthday party' and he feels like he's 8 years old again and making mortal enemies in the playground at school. She doesn't acknowledge his comment, instead inviting herself in and making herself at home in Roy's living room, and he's never been more thankful for her 'too good for everyone' demeanour.

He drops her off at her house on the way over to his mums house later that evening. Roy decides he hates the way her perfume lingers in his car and has buried itself under his skin. He wants nothing more then for it to get away from him but there's still 20 minutes left of the drive and he knows the second you hear the car pull up you'll come running out the door and he won't have anytime to get the smell off of him.

When he pulls up on the doorstep of his childhood home 20 minutes later, only Molly comes running from the house to greet him. For a minute he thinks you haven't shown up to celebrate his birthday with him and he feels his heart break in two. He tells himself he doesn't know why. However, when he walks into the house and heads straight to the kitchen in search of a beer to calm his nerves, and help him forget about you, he finds you there, helping his mum with making his favourite dinner and a wide smile on your face.

You notice him lingering, shocked, in the doorway and pull him into your arms. There's less strength to your hold then he's used to but he feels grateful that you even want him in your arms after everything he's done. Now Roy really isn't sure why he's talking like that; like you've been hard done by from his relationship with Brittany Brett. To a degree he feels like he's cheated on you, but he can't have done because the two of you were never together. However, he doesn't let the thought linger, instead pulling you tighter against him and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. Of course you'd be here, of course you would, but he finds himself holding onto you for a little longer then he probably should just to make sure you're really here and really staying.

Dinner is nice. It's a piece of simplicity he's missed every night since he was 9 years old and heading away to Sunderland for the first time. It's not often nowadays that he gets to eat dinner at a dining table surrounded by people he loves and who love him, so he relishes in every moment of it. He lets his hand brush against yours when he asks for the salt and he nudges your foot with his every-time he wants your attention. Being in this room, in this seat, with you, is like being 8 years old again and everything bad is yet to happen to him. Roy realises he likes the feeling of it more then he ever remembers.

No one brings up Brittany Brett, the way Roy smelt like her when you hugged him, the apology he never sent, or the way you cried in Molly and Ms Kent's arms when you found out he had a girlfriend. Dinner is peaceful and you and Roy share a slice of birthday cake on his Grandad's armchair, then fall asleep together there like he doesn't have a girlfriend and you don't have a broken heart.

His mum feels like she's got two children in her house and she wishes it would stay like this forever, as long as that meant Roy couldn't hurt your heart more then he already had. But Roy is stubborn, and she knows that. When she comes downstairs in the morning it's just you on the armchair with Roy's jacket over your shoulders like a blanket. You're hugging the material tightly against you as if it could ever replace Roy's presence, and even though you're still asleep, both of you know it won't.

When Roy sneaks out at 4am, the first thing he does is drive to Brittany Brett's house and breaks up with her. After all, there's no point being with someone when you know for a fact that you're in love with someone else.

~*~

Molly's dating this guy who doesn't let her speak to you, or Roy, or her own mum and you're scared for her life. In the two times you've managed to get a hold of her, you begged and pleaded with her to leave him. She's only 25 and so are you, you could run away together and start it all over and no one would know any different. Both times she said she wanted to be with him, that she loved him. All you want is your best friend back and for her to be safe, and rather selfishly, because you need her more then you've ever needed anyone.

Despite trying all day, you can't reach her, or her boyfriend, and you don't know who else to call. Ms Kent was the only real parental figure you'd had growing up, but it was pushing midnight and you didn't want to wake her up for the sake of your own comfort. Roy's number is below hers on your favourite contacts and you don't hesitate to ring it. You know he's got a match this weekend and practice tomorrow but you need someone and you have no one else to keep you from your own mind.

Roy's in some club in north London when his phone rings and his screen illuminates with your name and a picture of the two of you from last Christmas. It's one of the newcomers 21st birthday and he remembers being 21 and moving to Chelsea, moving back home, like it was yesterday. He's got 10 years on the kid who's just starting his career while he's going on aging out of it. It's almost enough to make him feel old.

He's quick to answer the phone, practically running out of the club to make sure he can hear you and he's already walking back to his car when he hears the suppressed sniffle to your voice. Roy can't see 100% past 9pm anymore so he doesn't drink when he goes out with the team, he knows it'll only make it worse, and for the first time ever, it's actually come in use.

It takes him 37 minutes exactly to drive from the club to your childhood home that's pressed brick by brick against his, and that's only because he made a pit stop to his own house on the way over. Every time he comes back here lately, it feels like some cruel trick of fate, that he can't have you but can have his entire life shaped by you.

He's banging his fist loudly against the door before he can take into consideration that your neighbours, one of which is his own mother, are likely asleep and wouldn't take too kindly to being woken up at this hour. When you open the door to a friendly face, you all but collapse into Roy's arms, already sobbing and heaving and trying to get the words out but not being able to do so. He scoops you up into his arms, years of intense football training allowing him to do it without second though, and carries you to your bedroom.

He placed you against the pillows and then kicks off his shoes, he definitely scuffed them up in the process but Roy couldn't seem to find the time to mind. Before you've managed to get a single word out Roy's stripped off the bulk of his suit, leaving him in just a shirt, boxers and socks. The image is kind of funny and if you weren't so devastated, you were sure you'd be laughing.

"What's wrong?" When Roy's hands gently wrap around your wrists to try and pull them away from your face and get a glance at you, you just start crying harder. "C'mon sweetheart, talk to me."

When he's met with more silence he pulls out his surprise weapon, a raggedy, old teddy bear, with matted fur that smells surprisingly like Roy. "Would it be easier to talk to Dave?" Finally your hands move away from your face to get a look at the teddy bear, not believing it's right in front of you when you know you haven't seen it since you were five yours old. It took a couple of minutes, lots of sniffling, and really willing yourself to say it, but eventually you did. Roy's arms around your and the soft touch of Dave's fur against your skin settling your nerves.

"My dad died this morning." Roy didn't hesitate to pull you into his lap, settling himself against your pillows as he brought you closer to him. "And I have no one to tell. Molly's boyfriend won't let her speak to me anymore, and I didn't want to burden your mum with it, and I just... I didn't know who to call or talk to and I know you were probably busy-"

"Hey, hey, don't. You did the right thing calling me. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, yeah?" Both of Roy's hands are cradling your face, forcing you to look at him and really listen to what he wants to say. "I'm here, okay? I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."

You shuffle in his lap, turning enough that you can bury your head in the crook of his neck and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Roy's warm and surprisingly comfy, but you reckon that's more so because the skin of his thighs are pressing into the skin of yours and you're sure it's the closest you've ever been to him. You try not to think about how you wouldn't mind being this close to him more often.

The rest of the night is spent with you in Roy's arms, his hand running up and down your back, his other hand cradling your face and wiping away each tear that spills over. He lets you ramble and ramble about everything on your mind with no regard for the fact he's got practice at 8am tomorrow. Even when you fall asleep in his arms, tears staining his brand new shirt, practice is the furthest thing from his mind, so much so that he doesn't even remember sending Di Matteo the text saying he wasn't well and wouldn't be able to make practice in the morning.

Roy wakes up a long time before you, and he finds he has to practically drag himself away from you and the bed. When his eyes blink open he sees the sight he's spent the better part of his life waiting to see: you're in his arms, fast asleep, looking entirely peaceful and for a minute he can pretend that this is his life. While the haze of sleep has yet to fade, he can act like he wakes up to you every morning, that you love him like he loves you, and that, if he wanted to, he could press kisses all over your face until you woke up and flashed him that bright beautiful smile of yours.

If he wanted to, he could press kisses all over your face until you woke up and you would greet him with a soft smile, pressing a kiss to his face in return and not caring if it landed against his lips, cheek, or jaw, because you know you'll be able to kiss the other places whenever you like.

Roy pulls himself out of bed and drags his feet all the way to your kitchen where he cooks the two of you breakfast. Nothing about it is rushed - he knows that he has nowhere to be but here, with you. He knows you've woken up when he can hear the gentle padding of your feet against your bedroom floor. Roy hears you walk down the hall, down the stairs, and into the kitchen, where you then cross the room to him, and wrap your arms around his waist. Dave is clutched in on of your hands and your head is pressed against the dimples of his shoulder blades, your other hand fiddling with the hem of the front of his T-shirt, so casually that any passer by would think this was routine. And even though it isn't, Roy takes the risk of placing his hand atop your own and lacing his fingers through yours. When he can feel you smile into his back, he thinks maybe he should've kissed you in the bedroom, that maybe you'd have liked it just as much as he would've.

~*~

It's another year after your dad died before Molly finds out. She doesn't show up to Christmas, or Easter, but she comes by one late spring afternoon when Ms Kent had invited you and Roy over for picky bits in the garden, with a bin bag full of her belongings and a black eye. If your hand wasn't holding Roy's so tightly you were sure he would've been right out of the door, driving off to find the prick and give him an even worse beating then he'd given his sister.

You pull Roy with you when you cross the garden to engulf Molly in a hug, both of you breaking down at the contact and apologies tumbling from both of your lips. Molly apologises for not being there when your dad died, and not attending the funeral, you force her to take back her apology while also shoving your own down her throat, apologising for not finding her, for not being there. The two of you only cry harder when Roy pulls the two of you, still hugging, into his embrace. It's warm and his hands are big and it makes you feel like you're a child again, and you suppose that in some ways you still are.

It takes almost half an hour for the two of you to calm down enough for any coherent words to get out, and the first ones that do is that Molly's pregnant and she needs somewhere to stay. Immediately you ask her to move in with you. It's perfect really, you're next door to her mum and you've got a room for her and for the baby (when it comes) now that your dads passed. Roy likes the idea even more; something about his three, soon to be four, favourite people being in one place taking his fancy.

The eight months between Molly showing back up and beautiful baby Phoebe being born seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. The soft, warm, yellow paint of phoebes nursery smears your memories of those months; everything about it is caked in the glow of the summer you have when you're 5 years old and have no care in the world.

You and Molly are best friends again and it's like you never missed two years of each others lives; everything just falls right back into place. The two of you do everything together and you wouldn't have it any other way, even when everything includes being in the room with her and Ms Kent when she's giving birth.

Roy, unluckily, is the only one not invited into the room, and he spends almost 6 hours pacing back and forth and back and forth and back and forth in the waiting room, waiting for some kind of an update on his sister and his niece. It's you that comes to give it to him. You're in blue scrubs that you pull off further with every step you take into the waiting room, running right into Roy's arms with the widest smile he's ever seen cross your face.

"She's beautiful, Roy. She's so beautiful." He just nods his head and allows you to take his hand and pull him in the direction of the room Molly and his mum are in. "I love her so much already and she's only been here for 5 minutes."

Roy understood what you meant as soon as he walked into the room. Molly was absolutely glowing, and cradling this tiny, tiny baby in her arms like she was terrified any movement at all might hurt her - she didn't even look like she was breathing less it hurt the baby.

"Do you want to hold her?" You whispered, nudging his foot with yours to gain his attention. "You won't break her, promise." You didn't give Roy the opportunity to answer, instead eagerly taking the baby off of Molly and walking over to Roy. His mum all but pushed him into one of the chairs they had in the room and lectured him on how to hold the baby correctly. Slowly, you lowered her into his arms, making sure he had a comfortable and safe grip on her before you removed your arms from the little Phoebe completely. "Isn't she amazing?"

Roy can already picture it and it's breaking his heart. You, and him, and a little baby wrapped in a blanket with eyes that don't yet know how to open. But, in the daydream he doesn't tell anyone about, you're holding the baby and his arms are around you, whispering how much he loves you into your ear and promising to do everything for that baby. Your baby. He doesn't yet know if a day like that is ever going to come; he'd have to get over himself first, and he doesn't see that happening anytime soon. For you, however, he just might try.

"Yeah, yeah she is."

Molly and little baby Phoebe have to stay in the hospital overnight, but can be discharged in the morning, and Molly doesn't let any of you stay with her. In fact, she demands the three of you head home and come back tomorrow, well rested to drive her and newborn Phoebe home.

The three of you pick up some chinese takeout on your way home and eat it around Ms Kent's dinner table. Molly's absence is so heavily felt that part of you feels thrust back in time to a year ago, when you didn't have any contact with her and didn't know if she was even alive, let alone okay. It shakes you to your core and you leave your dinner half eaten as you excuse yourself to the bathroom just to breathe. When you return to the table, you find that dinner has been cleared away, but Ms Kent is holding out a spoon for you, pointing you in the direction of the living room.

Roy's sat in his grandads armchair with the biggest bowl of ice cream you've ever seen and he opens up his arms to you when he feels you staring at him from the doorway. You didn't hesitate to sit with him, squished up in the seat that fit the both of you slightly better when you were kids, with Roy's arm around your shoulders. When you didn't take a large helping of ice cream for yourself, he nudged the bowl in your direction.

"When Molly came home, I'd get in bed with her each night." You whispered, only loud enough that Roy would be able to hear you. It felt embarrassing, to try and explain why you felt Molly's absence for one night so vastly, but you knew that if anyone would get it, it would be Roy. "For the first month or so, she'd ask me to stay with her, so she knew she wasn't alone and she was safe. So I did. And then one night she was like 'I don't need you in bed with me anymore, I think I'm okay now,' and I didn't know what to do." You stuck your spoon inside the ice-cream, stirring it around the bowl but never bringing the build up of vanilla on the spoon to your lips. "I got in bed that night and I couldn't sleep at all, so I went and knocked on her door and she was still awake. Told me she couldn't sleep either, and I got right back into bed with her." Tears pricked at your eyes and your spoon fell against the bowl. "I don't know what to do without Molly, Royo, I don't want to have to do without her again."

Roy quickly moved the half eaten bowl of ice cream to the coffee table, pulling you into him and cradling your head against his shoulder. "Molly's not going anywhere, babe, she'll be home in the morning. Everything's going to be okay."

Neither of you brought up how he called you babe, and his mum didn't bring up how you fell asleep cuddled up in the armchair like you did when you were kids. But when Roy brought Phoebe and Molly home the following morning, and Molly and Ms Kent had taken Phoebe upstairs to get her settled into her new home, he pulled you in for a hug.

"Told you so." He whispered in your ear, pressing a featherlight kiss to your temple. Then Roy grabbed your hand, interlocking your fingers with his and pulling you up the stairs to join Phoebe in her new room. Dave was in his other hand and he continued to stand by you as you placed it in the crib with her, knowing that she needed Dave more then you or Roy did now.

All of you couldn't wait to watch this little girl grow up surrounded by people who loved her so, so much.

~*~

Roy gets transferred to Richmond just before Phoebe's 4th birthday and you tease him that he has a penchant for getting the best kinds of birthday present. He asks why you remember so clearly that his transfer to Chelsea 15 years ago was just before your 16th birthday, and you answer honestly that it was the only thing you'd wanted for your birthday that year - for Roy to be closer to home. You immediately get to tease him again as a blush coats his cheeks.

On his first day at Richmond, he gets you, Molly and Phoebe seats in the family box, says that they'll always be there if you ever want to come and watch him play, and you reply that you always watch him play.

"I've been playing professionally for half my life. Sunderland, Chelsea, and now Richmond. I've never seen you even glimpse at a football match."

You scoff immediately and Roy's slightly taken aback, you almost look angry at what he's saying and he doesn't know why because he's right. Not that it matters to him, but you just don't like football that much; he doesn't blame you or anything, each to their own, but he wishes you'd like it for him. "I've seen every game you've ever played."

"Yeah, right."

"Yeah, right." You turned to Roy, putting down the bag filled with Phoebe's first ever school uniform inside now that you'd made it back home. "I'm serious. I've watched every match you've ever played in. All of your games with Sunderland and Chelsea, and I'll watch all your games now that you're at Richmond." You turn to Roy with a tense crease in your brow and he's wishing he never brought it up. "You're important to me Roy, of course I'd watch every time you play."

"What's sundayland, babe?" Phoebe had ran into the living room when she'd heard the door go, excited that you and Roy returned home. Molly and you had called each other babe since you were teenagers, and Phoebe had taken to calling you babe over your actual name. It didn't help that Roy had let it slip a few time too, only reassuring her that she was calling you by the correct thing.

"It's nothing, pheeb's." You scooped the little blonde into your arms, resting her against your jutted out hip and beginning to wander through the house. "Where your mum? You need to try on your uniform."

"Can I give you a fashion show?" She asked, leaning her head against your shoulder in a way that had Roy thinking about the two of you with a kid again. He'd have to ask you out first, and with each year that passed, the possibility of him actually doing that seemed to get slimmer and slimmer.

"Of course you can, Pheeb's. Go get dressed. Me and your uncle Roy will wait in the living room."

You stuck to your word, watching every single match that Roy played in. Sometimes at Nelson road, sometimes with Molly and Phoebe, sometimes in Ms Kent's living room - but you always watched him play.

The first time Molly let you take Phoebe to Nelson road was as your birthday present the same year Phoebe turned 6. You'd been pleading all year for Molly to let you bring Phoebe along to a home game, and she finally caved - on the condition you kept her ear defenders on all night and left if it got too much for her. Phoebe loved every minute of the match, screamed her little heart out just for the sake of joining in, even if she didn't know what people were saying; You were certain her cry of 'uncle Roy' every time she saw him with the ball was the loudest in the stadium.

When the match was over, a man with glasses found you in the stands, introduced himself as 'Higgins,' handed you two family lanyards with Kent plastered all over them, and asked you to follow him. You're barely in the changing rooms when Phoebe lets go of your hand, crying Roy's name and interrupting a speak from that new, American coach that Roy had complained about.

"Phoebe!" The blonde didn't wait up for you, running right at Roy and knowing he'd catch her when she flung herself the remaining foot into his arms. "What did I tell you?"

"I didn't know grandad fancied himself a cradle robber." You'd heard enough complaints to know the dig at Roy was from Jamie Tartt, the season loan from Manchester City. "Surely, someone like you isn't married to someone like Roy."

The twinge of disgust that slipped from the mans mouth when he said Roy's name had your blood boiling. "Why? Would you rather me with the likes of you instead?"

Jamie stood in dumbfounded silence as you turned back to Roy, your face entirely brightening, and his presence being totally ignored for the rest of your stay in the lock room. He wasn't used to that. He was trying to compliment you, say you were way out of Roy's league - maybe even ask for your number - but you didn't even spare him a second glance. In fact, now that your eyes were back on him, he wasn't entirely sure you were ever going to look away from Roy again. It made sense when he thought about it in bed later that night, even though he teased the fuck out of Roy and sometimes plainly treated him like shit, Roy Kent was one of the greats. Even Jamie Tartt knew that, and had known it since he was 6 years old - of course he'd managed to score someone like you.

Murmurs of Roy Kent having a secret spouse and daughter had filled Nelson Road before you'd even left the building.

It wasn't that Roy didn't want to talk about you. If he had the opportunity, he'd scream about you from rooftops, but being a footballer was a very public affair and he loved his privacy. Almost as much as he loved you.

The dog track didn't think they'd ever see your face again, not when Roy had growled at them after he'd guided you and Phoebe out of the changing room. Unfortunately for them, they would, under the worst possible circumstances.

You'd been on the edge of your seat the whole match. Roy's been benched for the first time in what you're sure is his entire career and doesn't come on until the 60th minute and when he does, you swear he's on fire. He's playing better then he'd ever played before, running faster then he's ever ran in the past few years, and he's slide tackling Jamie Tartt and getting the ball away from the goal. People are screaming his name and so are you.

And then he's not getting up.

And then he's still not getting up.

And then he's still not getting up, the cheers have died down, and everyone's waiting with baited breath while it's determined if they've just seen the end of Roy Kent's 30 year long career with their own eyes.

And then Roy gets up, and for a fleeting moment you think that maybe everything's okay, that Roy's okay, and he's going to carry on playing.

And then he's walking from the pitch, limping, and your sprinting from your seat in the family box and running up to the owners box. You don't have to say a word because Rebecca calls a member of security over to you, and asks with a kind smile for him to guide you down to the changing rooms.

You linger outside the door for about 5 seconds before you push it open. If you were anyone else, you'd were certain he would've yelled at you to get out, even though he didn't mean it, just for the sake of his image. But you weren't anyone else, you were you.

"I'm fine." You hadn't even made it fully into the room and Roy was already trying to make his pain seem less bad then it was. "I'm fine. Go watch the rest of the match. You might have to drive us back to yours though."

"Roy." He doesn't say anything as you cross the room and sit beside him on the bench. You slowly wrap your arm around his shoulders and tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling his head down to rest against your shoulder. "Don't. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, yeah? You're important to me, let me be here for you."

Roy kisses you and you instantly realise you'd have waited 33 more years for it, if that meant it would happen.

His lips are chapped, and his beard is slightly scratchy, and he's already breathless before he even leans into it but you don't mind. You find that his lips slant against yours perfectly and he slides you closer against him on the bench, using the hand he'd placed on your hip to give it a squeeze, eliciting an gasp from you. He takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth but he pulls away before it can escalate.

You hope to anything listening that he wants to kiss you again, because you're sure he's ruined the touch of everyone else's lips against your skin for you.

"I've been in love with you since I was 5 years old." Roy pressed his lips back to yours in a quick succession of kisses and you're sure that thats a good sign.

"Since you were 5 years old?" He asks, nudging his nose against yours, pressing his lips firmly to yours when they brush slightly as he speaks. "Fuck, did we waste a lot of time."

~*~

Roy's been the manager of Richmond for the last 4 months and you're thankful that there's no football on over Christmas. You get Roy practically all to yourself for three weeks and it's the best feeling ever.

Phoebes still in school until the 22nd, and you live together at Roy's house, so there's no chance Molly will walk in on the two of you or his mum will hear you through the walls - meaning 90% of his first week off work is spent having sex on every surface in the house, in every position imaginable.

The second week off is the main bulk of Christmas. You pick Phoebe up from school on the 22nd and she has a sleep over at your house. The 23rd is spent curled up on your couch, with Phoebe sandwiched between the two of you, watching Christmas movies all day and stuffing your faces with popcorn and hot chocolate. Phoebe spends the night again, and then the three of you drive down to Ms Kent's house at lunchtime on the 24th. Molly comes home from work around 6pm and the 5 of spend the rest of the evening in the living room, watching 'love actually' and 'the polar express,' until it's time for bed. Even though you and Roy have been together for nearly 3 years now, you sleep in Molly's bed with her and Phoebe, reminiscing on the christmas's of your childhood and giggling over them until you fall asleep.

When christmas morning finally comes, you and Molly are the last awake, Phoebe jumping all over the two of you and demanding you get downstairs as soon as possible to see what Father Christmas has left for her. You let Phoebe drag you down stairs even though you're barely awake and you crawl into Roy's lap, in his grandads armchair, at the first opportunity. He's already got a coffee made for you, just the way you like it, and a warm hand that he slips up the back of your tshirt to scratch gently against your skin as you watch Phoebe begin to open her mountain of presents.

"How many of these are from you?" You whisper, feeling Roy smile against your temple as you sip on your coffee, slowly waking up in his arms.

"Enough. They're not all for Pheeb's anyway." Roy picks you up enough to adjust your position in his lap, making it more comfortable for the both of you to sit and talk and watch presents getting opened. "Some for my mum, some for Molly, some for you."

"You're too kind to me, baby." You lean up enough to press a kiss to Roy's lips, ignoring the loud screech Phoebe lets out at the display of affection. "I got some stuff for you under there too, handsome."

"I don't see you under that tree, Father Christmas clearly mustn't have got my list." Even though you're not looking directly at Roy you can feel the smirk that is pulling at his lips.

Before you could comment on what that could possibly mean Phoebe was calling your name, sticking her hand out with a tiny, paper-wrapped box in her palm. "This one's for you, it says it's from uncle Roy!"

"For me, huh? Lets have a look then, shall we Pheeb's?" Phoebe abandoned her half opened pile of gifts to stand beside you, leaning over the arm of the arm chair and over your shoulder to get a prime look at the gift as you opened it. "Thank you, baby."

Roy pinched your hip teasingly, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he intently watched you carefully unfold the wrapping paper. "Open it first, you might not like it. I kept the receipt so... just say the word and we'll get it changed."

"It's from you, Royo, I'm sure I'll love it." You punctuated your words with a kiss to his lips, not realising just how much your words would ring true until you'd fully unwrapped the box; finding a navy blue, velvet ring box and tears in Ms Kent's eyes. "Roy..."

"I spent 36 years of my life not knowing you felt the same way about me as I felt about you." Roy took the box gently from your hold and opened it, taking the dainty and elegant ring from it and holding it between the two of you. "And I don't plan to waste another moment of my life without you by my side."

"Yes."

"Oi, you're supposed to let me fucking ask you first." A laugh bubbled past your lips despite the tears building in your eyes. "Will you make me the happiest man alive, and marry me?"

"Yes." Your hands found Roy's face before his could place the ring on your finger, pulling him into a hot and forceful kiss, tilting his head back with how much you leaned into it, into him. "Yes. Yes. Yes, please."

"You owe me £1, Uncle Roy."

Tears are shed and the rest of the gifts are opened. Christmas dinner goes by without a hitch, and before you know it the days nearly over and you find yourself in Roy's lap, in his grandads armchair, with one bowl of dessert between the two of you, like so many times before. Ms Kent is sat across from the two of you with her own bowl of dessert and she looks like she wants to say something about it. She doesn't, but only because she knows, and she knows that you and Roy know. This day was a long time coming and she's over the moon that it's come in her lifetime.

Roy's love for you was stronger then any will he had to remain stubborn, and after a life time of waiting, he'd finally found his way to you, and she was sure he would find his way to you in every lifetime; even if it took 100 years or breaking a curse. Like she'd told you on that cool September morning, the prince always comes back, and they always live happily ever after. And she was sure the two of you were going to as well.

an : if you made this this far I love you!!! I hope you enjoyed another super long Roy fic, feel free to leave some feedback or what your favourite part of the story was, or even a request from my summer sleepover prompts!! Mwah <333

#beybaldes writes !!#ted lasso x reader #roy kent one shot #roy kent x reader #roy kent imagine

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disneyprincemuke · 6 months

Text

my reputation's never been worse * fem!driver

her boyfriend's not made for her anger

pairings: matt x rocky (hehe)

notes: let rocky be happy challenge (impossible) LOL

(series masterlist) | (📂 2025: fall from grace)

(prev)

she whines tiredly, throwing her head back. “draw of the luck.”

matt smiles slightly and drops himself into the vacant seat next to her, popping her pepsi can open. “you probably don’t wanna be sitting next to me right now.”

“what?” the girl snorts, snapping her head to him with furrowed eyebrows. “bub, why would you even say that?”

“because you’re sitting here instead of being on the track racing with everyone else, duh,” matt chuckles, offering her the soda can. he sits back in the chair and rests his arm on the back of hers. “i’d totally understand if you’re upset about being here.”

she sighs shakily, craning her neck to look at the small tv hanging in the garage. liam’s car is on the screen, just making the sinking feeling in her chest worse.

truthfully, what a shit start to the year.

the churning in her stomach makes her want to tear the walls of her garage down, but it’s simply too early to say. at least that’s what she’s been telling herself all day since sebastian had broken the news to her.

it’s just one race.

though, the devil on her shoulder is insisting that it’s not as simple as that.

she shakes her head, lips pressed into a thin line. “it was shocking,” she whispers with a firm nod. “but i’ll be back next week.” she leans against his arm, cheek resting on his shoulder and reaches over to take his hand into hers. “i’ll be okay.”

“i know you will be,” matt mutters, putting a hand on her knee. he glances at her. “but you don’t have to keep saying that to me — i’ll be here for you.”

“you’re really okay?” matt asks softly, bending to his side to try and get a look at the girl’s face.

the girl hums with a small grin, darting all over the room to shove everything into her backpack. “why do you keep asking that?”

he sighs, sinking further into his beanbag. “because you finished outside of the points today and you didn’t race last weekend. you haven’t lashed out yet, you haven’t cried… you haven’t even said anything about it yet.”

“it’s only been 2 races,” she shrugs with a small grin, standing up straight to look over at him. “bub, i’m okay.”

“i don’t wanna go there,” he frowns, “please don’t make me go there.”

she tilts her head, “what do you mean?”

“your only crash of last year, you got into a fight severe enough that it almost shattered your entire world,” matt points out softly, truly unsure if it’s even a wise decision to bring up one of her lowest points of the previous season. “you have to at least be feeling some type of way about this all.”

she sucks in a deep breath, tearing her eyes off of him. and he has a point.

right now, it seems like throwing a tantrum over mishaps from 2 races into the season just sounds like behaviour that she could easily get lost in. that’s not how she was raised, after all.

she just takes what she can get and she’ll remain grateful even though these past 2 weeks have arguably been getting harder to cope with. not starting the race felt like the end of the world a week ago — she’s just glad she got to race this weekend.

though she swore, stepping into the paddocks with her chest feeling tighter, that she wanted to cry into matt’s shirt. but when she opened the door to her room and saw him looking at her with sorry eyes and open arms, the anger and frustration seemed to be pushed away.

she shrugs again. “it’s just simply too early to tell.”

she can’t seem to say anything else that’s not an utter lie.

it’s unusual to be woken up by the heaviest sleeper he knows. matt had been woken by snuffling and he initially assumed it to be kidnapper sniffing either of them, waiting to wake them up for some snacks in the middle of the night.

until it hits him that they’re not even in her apartment in london right now — they’re in a hotel for the race weekend. his eyes fly open as he scrambles to sit up. he finds her sitting in a chair, face illuminated by her phone screen as she bites down on her nails.

“bub, what are you doing up so late?” he whispers so as not to startle the girl. “you have a race tomorrow.”

the room goes dark when she immediately shuts her phone. “nothing, i,” her voice quivers, “it’s nothing. i just woke up to use the toilet 10 minutes ago.”

he can’t help but notice the way her voice shakes. “is everything okay? what’s wrong? feeling sick?”

she sighs and shakes her head before she realises that matt can’t see her. “it’s really nothing,” she whispers, starting to climb into bed again. she sniffles and rubs her nose on the sleeve of her pyjamas. “i’m fine. let’s just go back to bed.”

matt scrambles to sit up, swiftly reaching over to turn the lamp on before he turns back to her before she can drop herself on the bed again.

“what are you doing?” he mutters, grabbing her arm and yanking her into his body. she doesn’t do much to fight it; just softens herself up as she lands in his lap, head buried in his chest. “why do you keep saying it’s nothing? i know something’s bothering you.”

“i just–” she grabs at the material of his shirt and bunches it up in her hand. she squeezes her eyes closed as another lump in her throat forms. “i hate feeling this way. you should see the things people are saying about me right now. it’s not fair; they don’t say any of that about liam.”

“rocky.” truthfully, he doesn’t really know what to say. how would he? he rests his cheeks on the top of her head as her soft cries fill the silence of the hotel room. “you really shouldn’t be reading that. didn’t seb tell you off on that?”

“he did,” she choked, shaking her head, “but after my performance in qualifying today… i had to see what everyone’s saying about me.”

he tightens his arms around her, hoping slightly that this would help her feel better. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s not your fault my life’s like this.”

so it seems that matt’s unlocked a part of her that she hasn’t shown anybody else. there’s a certain level of vulnerability now that not a lot of people have had the pleasure, or unluckiness, of experiencing firsthand in recent years.

once upon a time, she had people to turn to when her racing had gone to shit. but realistically, she hasn’t experienced many mishaps with machinery as a driver, which is probably what’s making it so difficult to cope with her current situation.

nonetheless, her only support system seems to have taken a life of their own that can no longer accommodate her. that’s what she tells herself: oscar and logan have lives and are building relationships and there’s no more space for her in their immediate lives.

she dreaded the media pen after another finish, barely making points out of the race in p9.

to her dismay, her predictions were absolutely right. her first question after stepping up to the mic and camera was something about her ending up behind logan in the placings after spending her entire racing career typically ahead of him.

she wouldn’t have noticed if they hadn’t pointed it out and now the resentment grows as the clock ticks.

matt sighs, “you don’t really mean that; they’re your friends.”

“but i do!” the young girl shrieks, throwing her arms in the air. she paces around the room as she heaves, hands tangled in her hair as she finally sighs about her frustrations. “it’s not fair! nobody cared that logan wasn’t producing results when oscar and i were! suddenly, they’re comparing me to him? i have every right to feel like this, matthew!”

“i know.” he grabs her shoulders to stop her in place then cups her cheeks to force her to look him in the eye. “and you do. i’m not saying you don’t have the right to feel this way, but–”

“you are, though!” she shrieks, stepping back and removing his hands from her. “you don’t get it. i spent my whole life better than logan and suddenly now i’m incompetent just because he’s scoring points? give me his teammate’s car — i’ll still beat him in a race by a margin.”

“i never said that,” he argues, throwing his arms in the air. “you grew up with these guys and i understand that you’re frustrated… it’s okay, but take it easy.”

“i can’t believe you’re taking their side right now, matt,” she sighs heavily, rolling her eyes. she throws her arms in the air. “everyone’s already on their side! i need you to be on mine!”

“and i am!” matt huffs. “i am on your side — i just don’t want you to burn bridges like this! it’s okay to be angry, it’s just me here anyway. but these are your best friends!”

“you’re the only one i can be this open to! i need you to be with me!” she stomps her foot on the ground with her hands balled into fists by her side. “i can’t run to my friends and say that that should’ve been me. do you realise how fucked up that sounds?”

“i do!”

“then let me have this one! let me hate them for a couple of minutes before i have to swallow it down and pretend like i’m not fucking jealous of the success they’re all finding this year!” she opens her mouth again to say something, choking up as she tries to speak again.

she pinches the bridge of her nose as a lump forms in her throat. “i can’t say that to them, they’ve worked so hard to be there. and it’s not their fault that i’m not up there with them.”

“you’re right,” matt whispers, taking a step forward and enveloping her in his arms. “you’re right — i’m sorry. it’s just all pent up right now, isn’t it?”

“they’ve been supportive when i’m doing well. i feel like shit feeling like this towards them,” she whispers. “it’s not fair to them, you know? i have to show up for them like they did for me.”

matt calls out her name and the girl simply holds a hand out to him and walks past him in the garage. she pulls the balaclava off her head and shoves the door towards the paddocks to leave him behind.

“hey, talk to me!”

she snatches her arm back just as he grabs it, a bewildered stare on her face. her eyes are teary as she scowls at him. “just leave me alone. not now, matt, god!”

he sucks in a deep breath watching the girl storm further from him. he clenches his jaw and turns on his heel to make his way back to her garage, only to be met by a familiar face.

oscar looks over matt’s shoulder where the girl had strayed off to. “is she okay?”

“she’ll be okay,” matt grins, trying to ignore the pang of pain growing in his chest. “just needs a while to recuperate by herself.”

“are you okay?” oscar asks slowly, flashing him a knowing stare with a comforting smile. “she can get a little angry sometimes, but i promise she’s not always like this.”

“i know.” he forces a chuckle out. “she’s great. but she’ll be okay — just wants to have time to herself right now.”

every week brought around a certain form of unknowing. it’s hard to keep sane when you keep having to adapt to survive.

perhaps that’s the problem: she’s finding it too difficult to adapt.

when she gets out of the car, there’s only ever one consistent thing. it’s always meeting the same pair of warm green eyes in the garage and his arms wide open waiting to receive her.

she crashes into his body, stumbling back a couple of steps from the impact. “i can always expect one thing out of a race,” she sighs, eyes fluttering closed when she feels his hands wrap around her. “and it’s the fact your face will always be here in my garage.”

she feels a hand resting on her back. “well, i want to be here for my girlfriend, you know? she deserves that much.”

“haha, very sweet,” she giggles, pulling away with a small grin. “let’s head out to dinner tonight?” he nods excitedly. “it’s a date.”

perhaps she’s pulled the gun a little too early on that one. the evening had seemed like it was off to a great start with her feeling uplifted from the way she made it to the third round of qualifiers. the interviews and her team meeting hadn’t gone as well as she initially expected.

she leans forward on the table, cheek resting in her palms as she pushes the sole piece of carrot left on her plate. sat across her is matt, talking about something from his audition a couple of days ago.

he stops himself, tilting his head at his seemingly unresponsive girlfriend. “is everything okay?”

she lifts her eyes, lips parted with an empty stare. “yes. sorry, you were saying about your audition?”

“right,” he smiles, “i was saying that i think my audition went great. it’s a good show so if i get the part, it’s going to be–” but the lack of reaction and enthusiasm from the girl makes him stop midsentence again. he lets out a shaky breath, “nevermind. maybe another time.”

“no, matt,” she sighs looking up slightly more aware and attentive than before. “i’m sorry. i just have so much on my mind right now. please keep telling me how the audition.”

he shakes his head and drops his head to continue his meal. he would have asked what’s bothering her, but he’s since learned that she would tell him if he really wanted to, especially after he’d already asked her seconds ago. “it’s alright, bub. when you’re feeling better. what’s on your mind?”

“okay, wait up.”

matt struggles to catch up to the girl after having stormed out of the garage after briefly stepping into it for a mere second. he’d barely gotten a glimpse of her before she started stomping towards the small exit door in the back of her garage.

the girl had stormed through the semi busy paddocks with tunnel vision to the racing home, ignoring anyone and anything that tried to get between that. he had even followed up with soft apologies as she blatantly continued to ignore bigger names.

realistically, they should have taken the look of fury on her face as a clear sign. with her race, she didn’t have the energy to stop and feign a smile to make small talk.

no, because she genuinely feels the world spinning underneath her feet.

the door to her driver’s room flies open with a loud thud as it comes into contact with the wall.

and at the comfort of her floral-scented room, she stands in the middle of it, hands fisted by her side. she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes as she does so.

surely the 30 second pit stop that caused her a points finish warrants this, right?

to some degree perhaps, she tries to reason with herself.

she opens her eyes and starts to look around her room for something **— anything — to keep her from tearing the walls down of the building of the team that keeps screwing her over. she keeps her eyes on the picture frame on the wall of her and sebastian from the year before in miami, champagne drenched with her trophy in hand.

at the call of her name, she feels something snap inside her.

her scream pierces through the silence of her driver’s room, followed by the loud thud of her helmet clashing against the wall decorated with a singular picture frame. the helmet falls to the ground followed by the framed picture on her wall.

she drops to her knees with another scream, quickly transitioning into a sob as her fisted hand comes into contact with the carpeted ground of her room with every word she screams. “that’s not fucking fair!”

“rocky–”

“don’t!” she pushes away the hand that hovers over her shoulder, desperate to console her. “don’t touch me!”

she’s been holding it in since the race had started — something felt wrong. every weekend she walks into the paddocks feels like a chore; the only thing constantly in her head is the question of how another race could possibly go wrong for her.

every single passing weekend seems to outdo the previous and there is only so much she can do as a driver with a car that’s uncooperative.

the man behind her can only watch, in agony, as the girl kneels on the ground. she slowly hunches forward, elbows on the ground with her sobs echoing in the empty room. her fisted hands hit the ground with a soft thud as she cries. “i’m not any better than i was every moment before this. maybe i’m not even as good of a driver as i’d thought.”

she throws her head back as she sucks in a deep breath. she breathes out, “i don’t wanna do this anymore.” she twists her body, eyes stinging from her tears and her cheeks stained. a soft sigh passes her lips as the initial bout of anger and frustration finally leaves her. “can we just go home?”

“you still have the debrief to attend,” he says softly and hesitantly. “that might really make you feel better, you know? maybe if you talked to your team about it, they could address what your concerns are and even come up with a solution?”

“please,” she whines with a heavy sigh. “i don’t want to stay here. fuck the team.”

and so he does what he can to help, against his better judgment and the image that he tries to keep around here for her. he helps her pack her bags, wraps his jacket around her and brings her back to the hotel. he’ll just call sebastian later and explain.

she lies on her side, kidnapper nuzzled into her chest as she taps away on her phone. on the other side of the bed is matt, on the phone with his agent, talking about something regarding the audition he had gone to a couple of weeks ago.

she shuts her eyes at the constant chatter filling the silence of her bedroom, irritability growing in her chest. the peace and quiet she’d been hoping for is now gone.

she scrambles up with a soft huff before quickly leaving the room, the door slamming behind her as she leaves. she grabs the throw on the couch and wrapping her body with it. she lies back down on the couch and closes her eyes, desperate to get a nap in before their flight later in the evening.

the door creaks open, matt’s head popping out with the phone against his chest. “is everything okay? you left without saying anything.”

“i’m fine,” she mutters, voice muffled by the pillow she’s pressed her face into. “i just need time to myself right now.”

she hears him sigh. “bub, i’m on the phone with my agent. i can’t do this right now.”

“we’re not doing anything,” she scoffs, lifting her head momentarily to glare at him before lowering her head again. “just leave me alone. i want to be by myself.”

“okay,” he answers, the door slamming closed.

she wasn’t going to cry, at least not until now. all day she’d been dreading leaving for the airport to fly off for another race weekend — there are only so many misfortune a person can take in an underperforming car before it takes a toll on their confidence.

but she does and wraps it up the minute she hears the bedroom door open again.

she urges matt towards the door. “please, please. you have to come up with some lie why i can’t make it out tonight,” she whines, squeezing matt’s arm.

“what?” matt shrieks, turning around to stop her from opening the door. “they’re your friends. you should be the one to tell them why we’re cancelling on them tonight.”

“i can’t face them right now, bub,” she sighs, shaking her head. “i miss them, but i also kinda hate them right now. please?”

she’d agreed to head out to grab a couple of drinks with oscar and logan tonight, especially since it’s one of the rare times that they’re all in london together. but as the clocked would down to the time that they’re supposed to pick her up from her apartment, she abruptly changed her mind.

she just didn’t have the energy to go.

“tell them i’m sick or something or that i fell, i don’t know,” she whispers. “please, do me this favour.”

“i’m back from the store!”

matt furrows his eyebrows at the empty living room. he’s only greeted by kidnapper sitting in front of her bedroom door, mewing softly. the cat turns its head to glance at him, meowing again before turning to the door.

“is rocky in there?” he asks softly, bending down to pet the cat on the head. “and you’re mad she’s not letting you in?”

as if the cat understood what he said, he meows back again with a slow blink. he hums and puts the paper bag down next to the door.

he pushes it open, greeted by a dimly lit room. he flinches back at the figure sitting at the edge of the bed, hunched over with soft sobs filling the room.

“sorry,” she mutters, rubbing her nose on the sleeve of her sweater. “i fell down a rabbit hole. i know we said i shouldn’t but i couldn’t help it.”

“hey, what’s wrong?” he coos, walking around the black cat that’s pouring into the room with him. “what happened?”

she keeps her back facing him, yanking her phone towards the top of her bed. “i read the stupid articles again,” she cries, covering her face with her palms, “i had to know what they were saying about me.”

he sighs her name, a comforting hand on her shoulder. “why did you do that? you know that isn’t good for you.”

“because it’s not fair!” she shrieks, pushing herself off the bed to stand. “i worked so hard the past 2 years to prove that i belong in formula 1 — that i worked harder than anybody else to make it here and be the first woman in the grid in decades. but that doesn’t matter anymore, no, because i’m washed. i’m a fluke; sebastian took the chance on the wrong girl.”

“that’s why i’d said–”

“that kimi raikkonen and fucking jenson button are starting to eat their words about the girl that their friend had taken a gamble on to put in a race car alongside 21 other men on the grid,” she rambles on. she throws her arms into the air. “you don’t fucking get it, matt! and consider yourself lucky that you don’t have to because this shit is fucking exhausting!”

matt sighs, putting his hands on his knees as he takes her spot at the edge of the bed. he watches her intently as she continues her rampage.

“this shit sucks! do you have any idea how i feel? i’ve fallen so far from grace — there’s no saving my career!” she shrieks, turning her back on him to look out the window of her bedroom. “nobody’s ever going to take a chance on another woman if my results keep ending up like that.”

he closes his eyes and takes another deep breath, trying to ignore the way his patience was slowly escaping his grasp. while he likes letting her speak her mind, lately, it just seems like nothing is ever going through her head.

she listens, but nothing ever actually takes effect.

“let’s go get ice cream,” matt mutters, standing up from his spot on the bed. he only has so much self-control. “would make you feel better.”

she whirls around, eyebrows furrowed. “what?”

“come on,” matt beckons her towards her bedroom door. “let’s go. and then let’s pick stubby up from logan’s and go for a walk in the park. how’s that sound?”

“kinda nice actually,” she says softly. “okay, just let me get dressed.”

it’s happened again. she got mad at something minuscule again. if you asked matt, he wasn’t even sure what had happened. he simply asked her if she needed his help, cleaning off the contents of the vase that previously sat on the dining table as decoration.

then she just lashed out.

“yes, fuck’s sake,” she mutters after he’d asked. she lifts her head to look at the black cat sitting in the seat of the dining table, head hung low at her. “and god, kid! i told you to keep off the fucking table! that’s exactly why i keep telling you that!”

“hey! that’s a cat you’re screaming at!” matt stands up from his position on the ground, previously helping her collect the water beads that she’d thrown into the vase for the flowers. “it was a mistake — it’s a one-off thing! what’s your problem?”

“i’ve got bigger things to worry about, matt.”

“oh, my god, rocky!” he puts the vase down on the table and looks at her. “do you even hear yourself right? actually, have you taken a step back and listened to yourself lately? you’re screaming at a cat for doing cat things. your cat.”

she clenches her jaw, tilting her head. they’ve never really fought before. “there’s a reason he’s trained to not be on the table!”

“he’s a cat!” matt emphasises, pointing at the cat that’s now run off towards the balcony of the apartment. “listen, okay? there are two people in this relationship. you can’t always fucking expect me to baby you like this.”

she squints her eyes. “what are you talking about?”

“have you really even tried to look at the bigger picture lately? there’s more to life than your time and results in a race car,” he states. he hadn’t expected to break now. initially, he’d been planning to sit her down and have a serious chat about her mental state. but hearing her lash out again over something that typically wouldn’t be an issue broke him. “everyone’s telling you the same thing. it’s the car. it’s. not. you.”

“yeah, but–”

“and if you’re just going to nod your head and then drag your feet to lock yourself away from everyone else, it’s not going to make you feel any better! you actually have to believe the words that we’re saying to you. you know that, don't you?”

he takes a deep breath to collect himself. he doesn’t even really shout often. he’s more on the reserved side. “if you don’t want my help, fine. but if you need me… when you decide that you finally want my help — when you’re really ready to listen and willing to get some perspective — call me. please.”

matt finally gets a good look at her, hands clasped in front of her, now standing with her head hung low. if he’d taken a second longer to scan her, he’d have noticed the way her lips quivered and the tears that filled her eyes to the brim. “i don’t like seeing you like this,” he says softly, “but i also don’t like being treated like a fucking doormat. and i tried to be there for you, bub, but you’re unreceptive.

“i keep giving you my hand to hold and you just keep fucking ignoring it. when are you going to get in your head that shutting down and keeping to yourself isn’t going to be a viable way around this?”

“matt,” she says softly, her hand reaching out to grab his.

he takes a step back before she can touch him. “this always happens, rocky. you lash out, you hurt my feelings, you apologise then i forgive you. it’s good for a couple of days and then something happens and we’re just stuck in this loop — it’s exhausting. and i love you.

“god, i love you. and i want to keep liking you too, but love just won’t cut it,” he sighs, slouching his shoulders. “i don’t want to get tired of loving you, okay?” he sucks in a deep breath and he knows that he will probably regret uttering these words to her. “i’m sorry, rocky, but i can’t keep doing this cycle with you. i need a break.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore @notawc @sadg3 @kazuha-pista-badam @mellowarcadefun @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @a-disturbing-self-reflection @mclarengf @xoscar03 @nomie-11 @green-thots @inejismywife @love4lando @louvrepool

#fem!driver #f1 fem!driver #female driver #disneyprincemuke vr #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #vettel reincarnate

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theemporium · 1 year

Note

If you’re low-key obsessed then I am a gone😍 what about sunshine being awol the morning of a race 🤷🏼‍♀️

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

“Have you seen Sunshine today?”

“No, sorry.”

“Hey, have you seen Sunshine this morning?”

“I haven’t, no.”

“Have you—”

“Daniel, I don’t think she’s here, mate,” Max muttered, placing a hand on his teammate’s shoulder in hopes that it would stop him from pacing around the garage, and it did. But it didn’t stop his mind from wandering and spinning on where the hell you could be.

Despite the separate hotel rooms booked by the team every race weekend, you would always find each other using one room. In fact, it became rarer for the two of you to not share a hotel room when you were in another country for the race weekend, and it just so happened that it was one of those weekends.

You had been out late the night before, out with some of the others in the engineering team as you perfected a few faults you had found in the cars during qualifying. You had messaged him not to wait up for you, to not stay up and risk his own sleep just for the sake of falling asleep with you. And as wrong as it felt, he had managed to fall asleep.

However, when he woke up in the morning, you weren’t there.

And when he arrived at the paddock, you weren’t there either.

Now, it was a few hours until lights out, you were nowhere to be seen and Daniel was losing his mind.

“Where is she?” Daniel muttered, his brows furrowed in concern as he tried sending you another message, only for it to come up as undelivered once again. “She should’ve been here by now.”

“Daniel—” Max started but his teammate was already pacing again.

“What if something happened to her?” he whispered, a sense of chilling dread washing over him as he looked up at Max. “What if something happened to her and she needs my help?”

Before Max could even reply, Daniel was jumping up to grab his keys for the car he drove to the paddock. He was ignoring all logic and rationality that was telling him he should stay in the paddock, that he needed to start getting ready for the race with the rest of the team. His only thought was you.

Max, despite knowing better, knew that Daniel was in no state to be alone right now. WIth the rest of the engineering team also clueless on your whereabouts, the Aussie’s concern only shot through the roof, and his friend didn’t think it would be the best idea for him to be behind the wheel just yet.

They ignored all the warnings other team members gave them and did their best to ignore the cameras following them towards the exit. Daniel had one track mind and it was completely focused on finding you and making sure you were safe. His fingers were itching to hold you close again and it was starting to consume him.

However, neither boy expected their search to end as close to the exit as it did.

“I am telling you, I am a part of the Red Bull team! Just go get someone and you’ll see.”

“Ma’am, we have to ask you to leave—”

“Oh my god!”

Daniel’s head whirled around at the familiar sound of your voice, his eyes eagerly seeking you. And he spotted you, on the other side of the turnstiles, a frown on your face as you argued back and forth with a few of the security guards at the entrance.

“You need a paddock pass—”

“And I usually have one,” you interrupted, already angsty and on edge, and feeling like a broken record wasn’t helping your mood. “Except for today. Now can you please let me in because they need me—”

“We can’t do that, ma’am.”

“Fuck off,” you groaned, running a hand over your face.

“Sunshine!”

Your eyes instantly found his and he couldn’t bite back the smile that spread across his face. His feet were moving before he could even think to move, his body too eager to be beside you that he didn’t even bother swiping his pass to get through the turnstiles, instead just jumping over the bars.

“Danny,” you almost sagged in relief the second his arms were around you.

“Is there a problem here?” Daniel asked, his eyes now on the security guards as he placed a hand protectively on the back of your head.

“Mr Ricciardo,” the security guard blanched. “No, it’s just she needs—”

“She’s with our team,” Max interrupted this time, giving the guard a pointed look. “A very important part of the team. So, the sooner you let her through, the more appreciative we will be.”

“Of course, sir.”

Daniel had yet to let you go as the three of you made your way through the paddock, heading straight towards the Red Bull garage before Christian or anyone else could notice you were gone. You didn’t mind though, the weight of his arm over your shoulder was something you found comfort in these days.

“Where were you?” Daniel asked eventually, his brows furrowed together in questioning. “I was worried sick.”

“It’s embarrassing,” you muttered, a scowl on your face which only amused the Dutchman.

“Well, now you have to tell us,” Max grinned, poking your side and only laughing when you batted his hand away.

“I forgot my keycard last night,” you told them with a heavy sigh. “I couldn’t get into the hotel room so I had to bunk with one of the other engineers. I tried to get a new card at reception this morning but they thought I was some crazy fan trying to get into Daniel Ricciardo’s hotel room. And I couldn’t even get an extra key to my room because I had no ID with me.”

Daniel snorted. “Why didn’t you just call me?”

“My phone died,” you replied sheepishly. “I had to borrow an extra polo from a colleague before trying to get to the paddock with no phone, no money and no paddock pass.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t arrest you on the spot,” Max teased.

You rolled your eyes. “Funny.”

“Well, if I have to find any crazed fan in my room, I’d be pretty chuffed if it was you,” Daniel joked as his arm around you tightened.

“Whatever,” you grumbled but there was a smile on your face. “I gotta take you everywhere with me, Ricciardo. Might even say you’re my crazy fan.”

“That wouldn’t be a lie,” he grinned down at you.

#daniel ricciardo #formula one #f1 #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x y/n #daniel ricciardo fic #daniel ricciardo one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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tyfinn · 6 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

Thank you @ramonaflow for tagging me- Last week on my way to work I came up with a new fic idea, and made time to start it. So, fresh words! New fic!

***

“This is ridiculous! I’m a grown man and run my own business! Why do I need a chauffeur?”

“Because, Son, you have wrecked three cars in less than a year! You’re lucky they weren’t any of the antiques!”

“Oh, my God. The last one should not even count! It’s not my fault that the entrance to Prada looked like a parking garage!” David mumbled.

“Yeah, well lucky your mother is good friends with the manager, otherwise you could have been arrested and be on probation right now.” Johnny Rose looked at his son and adjusted his reading glasses.

“It’s not bad, David! I really like mine!” Alexis twirled a piece of her long blonde hair.

“I’m glad it’s working out, Sweetheart. Ted is proving to be a very valuable employee.”

Last month Johnny hired Ted Mullins to drive Alexis around, and to keep an eye on her. After last summer’s hostage situation on David Geffen’s yacht by Somali pirates, Johnny decided they needed to keep better track of their daughter. He also promised Ted a bonus every time he was able to keep Alexis from running off. He has already paid Ted two times, and it has only been a month.

“Fine! Whatever! So how does this work? Are they on speed dial or something? And how is it anyone is available to drive at a moment’s notice? The whole thing sounds pretty sketchy to me.”

“He is an employee, David. He was told what the job would entail. He has a work phone, and we already programmed his info in yours. He is aware that you work three days a week at your gallery, and that you, uh, like to go out every weekend to whatever clubs you kids go to nowadays.”

“You know, David, you could probably use him as, like a date, or something, too. That’s what I do with Ted. And then I find my friends and he does whatever it is he does until I’m ready to go!”

David glared at his sister. “Absolutely not. I haven’t even met him yet, and I’m 87% sure he would not fit in with my friends. Is there any way out of doing this?”

“I don’t see how, Son. I really can’t afford for you to wreck another car. Now, if you want to move back to New York where you don’t need to drive, I’m pretty sure I could get another gallery going. We have plenty of friends in New York…” Johnny’s voice trailed off.

“I’ll have to think about it. And, what do you mean you have plenty of friends in New York? What would that have anything to do with me moving back there?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just thinking out loud. Now, kids, I’m supposed to meet your mother in an hour for dinner. So, David? We are clear about using the chauffeur?”

“I guess. What’s their name?” David threw his hands up in the air.

Johnny pulled out a paper and scanned the information. “It says here Patrick. Patrick Brewer. He came highly recommended by Ted.”

No pressure open tag for anyone who may have something to share.

#schitt’s creek fanfic #writing #fanfic #au fic #wip game #wip wednesday

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formulaaone · 1 year

Note

I read this more often yesterday. And I also noticed that Logan was different. I was already worried because he hadn't posted anything about the race.

Is it maybe still because of last weekend or did something else happened?

Some people think that the way Logan spoke indicates that Williams has already told him that the contract will not be renewed.

A reporter said on Twitter yesterday, that Logan no longer has the ease or confidence. He seemed different.

Of course I really hope that we are all wrong and that we’ll get good news.

I’ve read somewhere (im sorry I lost the link, it was an interview by Turkish media that I just translated to understand) that he still blames himself for the race crash, although James said more than once that it was a car fault. One thing about Logan is, as we all know, he blames himself for everything even though it was clear that it wasn’t his fault. Just take a look at his previous incidents. This is one thing that he should know how to brush off.

What made me start to worry was during his interview yesterday, there was a part where he referred to his F1 career in past tense, then quickly corrected himself. Now this could be just a wording error, but it also means that he has lost his confidence, or worst, there were stuff happening behind the scenes:

Personally, I still think he’s staying. First, he belongs to the Williams family since his junior years, and there’s really no better option than him as of this moment. Williams will not drop Logan after just 1 year. They have invested so much in him since F2 and they have been supportive of him ever since. James Vowles even more.

Second, the articles that are coming out these past few weeks about Williams dropping him are ridiculous. In all those articles, it was NEVER stated that James has given him an ultimatum. People assumed. All James said was he has to be close to Alex in terms of results, which is a perfectly normal thing to ask an F1 driver. There are many articles that says James is committed to develop Logan, but people are choosing to ignore that for some reason. The silly season have been so boring so far and people are out for blood. Unfortunately Logan is in their crosshairs.

Third, Logan is actually improving. Just last week, he got into Q3. He crashed in quali yes, but James already said that it was okay since that means he’s trying to push the car. Logan also said that the team have been supportive of him after the crash. And we all know the race crash wasn’t his fault, and Williams have taken accountability on that.

The main reason why there’s still speculation about his seat is because he hasn’t signed a contract yet. And Logan also said yesterday that they haven’t started contract negotiations at all. That’s the downside.

What Logan needs right now is to have a satisfying Monza weekend. It would be good for his confidence, and if he gets points (which is completely possible in this track), maybe the doubters will shut up. Brush off what happened in Zandvoort. I believe he can do that.

#logan sargeant #formula 1 #f1

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bellygunnr · 1 year

Text

Tomorrow and Our Other Futures

My half of an Art Trade with the wonderful @twilighthomunculusart / @twilighthomunculus

This was a total blast to write!! Thank you!!

-----

Humidity makes the air stuffy and warm, thick to breathe, but Kai sucks it in anyway, grimacing as sweat collects against his skin, perspiring happily around folded joints and scrunched fabric. He has to swap his phone ear to ear to dry his palms, half in the mind to put Kyoichi on speaker phone just to avoid the hassle, but something stops him. Maybe it’s how public his apartment is, or how well sound carries from balcony to balcony. He doesn’t want anyone having the entire conversation, but maybe he should duck back inside anyway. It’s getting late.

“You know, me and Seiji were considering heading up to Fuji Speedway,” Kyoichi says, voice crackling slightly over the phone. “That’s near you, right?”

“Close enough,” Kai says slowly. “I haven’t-- I’ve been focusing on more local things. Haven’t hit there yet, so…”

Shuffling on the other end of the line. Something dark flits across Kai’s vision. He tracks it to the railing, where light floating up from below illuminates the shell of a beetle. Bits of wing stick out from its carapace.

“So what? You should come with us. We’ll crash at your place for the weekend, since the drive’s so long. Sound good?”

“Woah, hey. I’m cool with coming-- you know that. You sure you want to crash here, though?”

His apartment’s tiny. Barely more than a studio setup, with most fixtures a combined room except the closet and bathroom. Not to mention all the stuff he still hasn’t unpacked. Really, he’s been living out of his MR-S more than his room.

Kyoichi mumbles something unintelligible. The faint click of a lighter twinges Kai’s inner ear, followed by the snap of a zippo. Kai can see it perfectly in his mind’s eye, and, fuck.

It’s only been a couple weeks since he’s moved out. No one was particularly friendly in Tochigi, but Kanagawa is a new type of hell, trying to meet people. He’s lonely. He’d had a routine-- and now?

“Can’t be any worse than my place, Kai,” Kyoichi says.

The beetle flares its carapace, stretching out its wings. Kanagawa even has different bugs. The summer works differently. The pavement on the touge is an unfamiliar formula. Kyoichi, at least, is the same, voice tight with a perpetual edge of being irritated.

“Got that right,” Kai snorts. “Alright, okay. When should I expect you guys, huh?”

“Dunno. Guess you’ll have to call Seiji for that. It’s late here-- good night, Kai.”

The cell goes dead. Kai stares at the screen with bemusement, Kyoichi’s words echoing in his head. He’d gotten breathless and rushed, there, at the end, probably because he started having an emotion. Maybe one of them should have started an argument instead.

But he can’t deny that he feels a little better.

—

The Evo III slides up next to his MR-S like it was always meant to park there and Kai just stares at its glossy black paint, throat choked, until the doors pop open and the remnants of Team Emperor come spilling out. Kyoichi runs his hands through his hair, headwear tucked into the collar of his shirt, betraying the impact the day had on him. Opposite of him, Seiji stretches, groaning loudly as he chases off the aches of riding in a stiff sports car.

“Well! That was fun,” Seiji says. “Oh, shit, Kyoichi, pop the trunk, will you? I just remembered–”

Kai tilts his head, watching silently. Kyoichi waves a dismissive hand and tosses his keys at Seiji, who catches them without looking halfway to the rear of the car. The parking lot lights frame them perfectly, throwing them into that stark relief so reminiscent of Iroha’s slopes. Maybe something’s wrong with him, or maybe that’s all he’s ever known, and dealing with change is– hard.

“You guys better not have gotten me anything,” Kai calls. “I didn’t get you anything!”

“Obviously,” Kyoichi says.. “And if you had, I’d hit you. Go on, we’ll catch up.”

Kyoichi has the nerve to wave Kai on. Sputtering, but compliant, Kai turns on his heel and hurries up to the upper level. At least this way, he’d have time to pick up a little…

Not that he hadn’t already! Kai had spent the better part of a week making sure his stupid flat looked presentable. Some boxes got unpacked, he scrounged up some extra bedding, and he even had food in the fridge. Drinks, too. It’d have to do.

He has enough time to shove a few things into unseen corners before there’s knocking on his door. He hurries to open it with a flourish, only to gape at the gift brandished in Kyoichi’s hand.

“You guys didn’t have to get me anything,” Kai laughs. “Is that–?”

“Sake,” Seiji sings. “And movies. And an extra futon.”

Kyoichi’s footsteps are loud and heavy as he crosses the threshold. Kai wonders if he looks this huge everywhere, or just here. Seiji takes up room, too, but he slips in far more delicately from behind and immediately sets to untying his boots, overnight bag pinned under an arm.

“The movies were Seiji’s idea,” Kyoichi says with a grunt. So we’re watching them because he’ll be sad if we don’t goes unsaid.

Kai accepts the proffered gift of sake, the shiny wrapping crinkling against his arms. He’d have to get cups, and maybe popcorn, even as he reels at the sudden turn of events. Really – this was a lot. This was downright sappy for Kyoichi, no matter how dour he looks. It’s saccharine.

—

They never flipped on the lights. In the dark, they’d shoved everything over and made the bedding, spearheaded by Seiji’s giddiness, leaving Kai feeling– pleased but unbalanced. The sake helped settle him a little, but not even it could soften the sharp sensation of Kyoichi’s arm around his shoulders. When he steals a glance at him, all he sees is a barely-suppressed smile and a pink flush across his face.

The movie is a quiet one. Foreign, either French or American, Kai can’t tell, but it’s good. Seiji leans his full weight onto Kai throughout it, humming.

“Do… either of you… know what’s going on?” Kai manages to squeak out.

“Car race,” Seiji says, with a grim inflection. “It’s good.”

Well. Yeah. Kai snorts a laugh. He’s not wrong.

“Where did you even get this from, Seiji? What happened to Perfect Blue?”

“Oh, yeah, Perfect Blue. Great buddy film,” Kai says, giggling. He grips his sake closer to his chest. “I saw it in theatres awhile ago.”

“You were a baby awhile ago,” Kyoichi responds, flicking his shoulder. “Seriously, Seij–”

Seiji flaps a placating but dismissive hand, then throws his arm around both Kyoichi and Kai, dragging them closer. The pile of pillows and blankets they’ve wrested onto the floor with them shifts haphazardly. Music and noise blare from the television as one of the quintessential car races goes belly-up.

Kai stares as the scene is repeated from every angle. He thinks about SW20s, autumn, and dangerous hairpins. He thinks about the blind corner in the track he hit last week. It’s all part of the game, here. He needs to rotate his tires.

A strong hand tugs his drink out from his grip.

“Hey!” Kai says, grabbing for it.

“No,” Kyoichi grunts, and downs it. “Stop looking so maudlin. You’re giving me depression.”

“If it helps, I got the movie from Fumihiro,” Seiji says conversationally. “And you already have–”

Kai squints at the screen, theft momentarily forgotten. Who the hell was Fumihiro? Kyoichi seems to know, as he has to duck underneath his fist, striking out at Seiji with a clumsy swipe. Laughter overrides whatever the TV is doing, and Kai breaks down into giggles between them, burying his face in the blankets.

—

Kai wakes up slowly in the morning. His neck hurts. He’s too warm. There’s something sharp jutting into his lower back. When he tries to move his arms, he finds he can only retrieve one, and opens up sticky eyes to investigate.

His apartment is a disaster, is what he registers first. Not unusual, but strange because didn’t he just clean it? And then, oh, right, Seiji and Kyoichi are here– and wow, okay.

He’s half lain out on top of Kyoichi, who folded himself into a pretzel, and Seiji is the one who has his arm trapped by reaching across the gulf to grip his team leader’s hand. Sunlight flickers in through the curtains, casting a slice of light over the three of them. Kai debates waking them up, or moving, or anything, really.

But that’d be a waste. It can’t be that late in the day. Besides, Kai can’t let them know he saw them holding hands. That’s– that’s gotta be saved.

And he does feel better. More settled. Huh.

With that last thought, Kai tries to turn over, curling into the mess of bedding and Seiji’s side. He’s asleep within seconds.

#initial d #kai kogashiwa #kyoichi sudo #seiji iwaki #team emperor #that fucking mr2 guy

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mcl38 · 2 years

Text

new lando article just dropped! its fun that hes not following a strict schedule, writing (or dictating - jury’s still out) this column before the singapore gp means this is less of a race report and more of a fun update of his life. it also means that he spends a decent portion of it talking about pissing his pants (hypothetical, never happened). make of that what you will. anyways as always i am reminding you not to subscribe to the telegraph or even give them ad money by visiting their website, because i will be posting every single article in full as soon as it drops. u can find them all under the hashtag ‘lando’s columns’. this one (as always) will be under the cut, enjoy the read!

[photo of lando looking at some telemetry, jose and will blurry on either side of him. he’s wearing the black singapore fireproofs]

Imagine a street circuit like Monaco where one little mistake can put you in the wall. Now add speed. Marina Bay may not be the fastest street circuit in the world. But it’s bumpy. And hot – 30C plus and over 90 per cent humidity, meaning a tropical downpour is never far from turning the track into an ice rink.

Yep, for overall toll on the body and all-round intensity, I would say Singapore is right up there as the toughest race on the calendar. It’s not as hard on your neck or your core as, say, Miami. But it’s just so energy-sapping. So intense under those lights.

I have actually only ever raced here once, in my rookie season back in 2019. So I’m by no means an expert. But I well remember just how draining it was. Literally. You have to drink so much before the race that you begin it 2 per cent heavier than normal. Then you sweat so much during the race you not only lose that 2 per cent but at least another 2 per cent on top of that.

It’s brutal. Taking on so much fluid, and constantly topping up the levels, leads me to a question we’re sometimes asked as F1 drivers: do we ever pee in our race suits?

I can honestly tell you I never have. I love my race crew too much to do that to them! I wouldn’t be surprised if it has happened in the past, though.

[photo of the special livery MCL36 looking soooo sexy in pink guys i love this car so much u dont get it]

Sometimes, particularly in a race which involves a safety car, we can be out there for well over two hours. I was absolutely desperate for a wee at the end of the last race at Monza for instance. But I haven’t yet been so desperate that I’ve just gone in my race suit.

Most of the time, you are so focused on the race itself you don’t actually notice that you need to go. It’s only when you finish, or like I say, when a safety car comes out, that you sometimes realise how desperate you are.

To be honest, in Singapore pretty much all of the fluid you take on is secreted out through sweat. It is so hot inside your suit and helmet that one driver said he used to put a woman's sanitary towel inside his helmet to try to soak up the sweat while he was racing, so that it wouldn’t drip into his eyes.

I have never gone that far, but I do prepare a little differently for the race at Marina Bay. I train on an indoor bike wearing extra layers of clothes: a hoodie, a jacket, a hat. It’s horrible but it makes a big difference when you come here. I even have a couple of electric heaters which I put in the room with me while I’m cycling to try to get me really cooking.

The other thing I’m going to do this weekend, and which I don’t do anywhere else, is drive with a drinks bottle.

Generally I don’t tend to drink during a race. It’s just not something I’ve ever felt the need to do. I think Barcelona in May this year, when I had tonsillitis and needed to keep drinking on every lap to stop myself from going downhill, was the only other occasion I’ve needed a drinks bottle. But as I say, taking on fluids in Singapore is just a non-negotiable so I have asked my mechanics to put one in the car for me.

I’m looking forward to the weekend though. I’m feeling good and ready to go. I arrived out here quite early this week and I feel as if I’ve acclimatised pretty well. I’m a night-owl anyway so staying on European time is not a problem for me. It’s what I would choose to do. I’ve also had a lot of fun this week with my new toy: a digital camera which I bought out here on the recommendation of my photographer (who is now very jealous of it).

[photo of beloved with his face covered by a digital camera. this camera has been the bane of my existence and also a source of constant entertainment, much like this column. much like lando himself]

I’ve had a lot of fun exploring Singapore and experimenting with what it can do. I’m not very good with it yet, but I’m really enjoying it.

I just love documenting my life to be honest. I’d have someone with me documenting it all if I could stand for that person to be following me around all the time. Which I cannot. Hence why I’ve got myself a camera I suppose! I just like to look back and record cool things. My summer golf trip for instance. It would have been really cool to have a digital record of that. I like to throw myself into new things generally.

You might notice that I’m wearing a slightly different helmet this weekend. It’s actually one inspired by Master Chief’s helmet from the Halo games to celebrate my esports team announcing we’re joining the Halo Championship Series [HSC] partner programme. Quadrant, my team, is something I’m very excited about. So far Halo is our only esports title, but we have big plans to grow the Quadrant brand and expand into other titles. Watch this space!

For the next few weeks, all my focus is on Formula One. I finished P7 here in 2019. I’d love to go better this weekend. It will not be easy at the toughest race in the world. But we’ll give it everything. Now, where’s my drinks bottle?

#lando norris #formula 1 #f1 #lando's columns #i do genuinely think he wrote at least parts of this #i think the 'literally.' is such a written stylistic choice #as well as the awkward construction in 'i well remember'. it sounds like lando #and the exclamation marks around the end #idk maybe hes dictating them but i feel like id recognise his voice more #anyways enjoy him talking abt his new hobby / nico rosberg pad-gate / piss / halo #also reiterating yet again the thing i once claimed in a post (that he doesnt use a drinks bottle) and got absolutely rinsed for #whatever im not bitter (is)#lando

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ocean-anchored · 1 year

Text

Dear Future Self... June 13, 2023

I’ve been procrastinating hard. I don’t know why, it’s not like life hasn’t been good, I think I’ve just been on a high and go go go the last several months that I don’t spend too much time sitting and thinking. Allowing myself to fully feel out my thoughts, to process or anything. I have these quick thoughts that come in and pass through. I think of things that I want to make note of and write for my update but it’s like a sentence, it’s not an emotion. It’s not deep, it’s just as though I’m writing out an event or something that happened rather than the emotion behind how I felt. Anywhoo. Vegas won tonight! I watched the game and they absolutely destroyed. What an amazing team and season, they totally deserved it and I’m so stoked for them. Work has been going well. It’s been slow and not busy with Danny’s side, I haven’t been working too much honestly but I’m trying to now with some extra time to accumulate hours and keep the income. I paid my taxes for last year which was just under $3K which wasn’t too bad. I created a Business Number today and now have to figure out how to get a GST number next. Work with Ed has been great still. Learning a lot and things are always changing which keeps me on my toes. The direction is endless, there’s so many ways and routes and channels he’s going but I still thoroughly enjoy it and am really blessed to be working for him. I want to spend a little more time in listening and understanding the things he’s teaching. Our last friday training lunch was about Self, Other and Context as well as the OD/Work Culture ring he designed about where to fit in, internally or externally. Understanding more on looking at Self, Other and Context to become a better assistant to him and relieve more from his plate. Everything else is going pretty good. Still had been spending a lot of time (most my nights) with Zack. I’m trying to remember the last update I gave.. I don’t know if I really did one much. Amber and Naythan met Zack two weeks ago and then Amber & I went to Jeremiahs for his birthday cocktail night which was fun. Met Daniel another australian that was hilarious. Gray’s birthday party was that sunday which I can’t believe he’s going to be 2 soon. He’s growing up so fast, I made a 2 shape out of cupcakes in a race car track theme which turned out well. Went to the driving range with Abigail last week to practice more golf, Nova turned 5 last Thursday as well. I can’t believe it, she’s my whole world. I spoiled her but she deserved it. Zack was gone that night to Sask, went paddleboarding with Amanda which was nice. It’s been good to spend time with her. We’ve been talking about going to Silverwood theme park. I really want to but part of me also doesn’t, idk why. Zack will probably be gone then anyways because his work is picking up so I won’t see him as much but I just don’t want to have to arrange and pay for Nova care, and even though she said they would “pay” for the hotel etc I don’t want to feel that burden and like I owe them. I know they wouldn’t ever make me feel that way but idk, feels too hard with my work schedule being gone 3 days and having to work nights to catch up. We’ll see, haven’t fully made a decision yet. Last weekend Zack & I helped Amber & Naythan rip down their fence, we also had Senior’s pizza which was absolutely delicious. Saw the new spiderman movie with Steven, amanda and Cloude which was really good. I’ve been getting this weird reaction or allergy to something I’m still trying to source out. I had thought it was syasilic acid face oil but I backed off that, then I thought it was my mascara, now I’m thinking its the SPF bb cream so I stopped using that. Frustrating but the last day has been a bit better and my eyes aren’t fully burning anymore. I haven’t been eating very good lately, nor have I been watching my spendings either. I also just bought a portable cooler humidifier cause its been brutally hot lately and almost unbearable to sleep. Zack and I have just been going out too much, enjoying time together. We’ve spent a lot of time together but we’re at the comfortable point of not feeling like we have to entertain each other, just want to be in the presence of the other which is nice. He really does love me and I can tell. It’s really cute how he can get jealous though, reminds me how much he cares. I still fully trust him. He’s never given me any reason or any red flag to not trust him... like legit he’s so honest and is basically me in a man with values and the importance of honesty and communication etc. Like we’ve had two instances so far with miscommunication. One was when he (oh my side tangent of how I really hate that he got back into smoking.. hope that one dies out soon. we both know he can quit but yuck) had bought cigars for us before canmore and I had made a joke which turned out to not be funny I later realized, about how he should have a lighter for all his cigarettes. He didn’t like that one and I didn’t realize thats what it was about because it was an honest joke and I wasn’t mad. He was silent on that walk, I definitely knew and felt we were off. Came back home and had tried to get him to talked. I remember the feeling, I felt gross. It was literally 2 weeks into us seeing each other just before we went to canmore and I felt miserable, I really thought he hit a switch of not wanting to be with me or something, he was so distant. I finally got him to talk cause we went outside (I get it that he felt uncomfortable with Bob in the other room & wanted privacy) and then we easily just talked about it that it was a trigger and he thought I was mad at him for some reason and my “joke” wasn’t funny which we so easily communicated after to clear things up. It was actually right after that.. I remember exactly, we were about to walk back inside and he hugged me and said he was worried about his past, he was worried that I would think of him differently and hold something against him in a way? I said “who you were before I met you is a past version of yourself, I’ve fallen for who you are today, who you are right now” and he looked at me and said I love you. Precious. Ill remember that moment forever. Anyways, second “miscommunication” was a few weeks after that (I make it sound like its far a part but we’ve literally only been together for like 6-7 weeks. A month and like a week or whatever). He was going to come over, he was super tired from work an said it would be a little bit and I said to let me know & that I was going to Newcastle to watch the Knights game till he was ready to come. Anyways, turned out that he kept pushing coming over and then said he was too tired, we didn’t really go to bed the best way, neither of us slept much and when we talked about it the day after he thought that was me saying that I wanted the night away from him by going to the pub, he didn’t know i went alone haha, but he thought I went with Cody and wanted time away from him as well as being anxious about work and stressed. We talked it through just as easy. Past that there’s been no communication issues. He’s just straight up. It’s honestly so different than Richardt.. or even anyone for that matter. Like the other week when he was away and I stayed up super late for his facetime but he never did, I admit i sent a slightly passive aggressive text at 3am when I woke up and his morning text was saying he thought I fell asleep because he called me and I didn’t answer. He even showed me after that he did try to call so idk why it didn’t come through then and he made a point that he’ll text next time. I didnt even have to ask that which is stupid and basic but just really refreshing how honest he is and how much he does try and put in effort. Hes been gone since yesterday morning and he’s made efforts to text and facetime me. He won’t be back till friday or saturday I think which sucks man. I miss him a lot. He always makes me feel so damn special though. Tells me every day how pretty I am and makes me feel like I’m the only one. He’s so easy to talk to. Like easy to feel that he can be that best friend, that kind of relationship you always want. He always makes me laugh, we have such a playful side but we still have serious conversations. Ive met a few of his friends and his coworker now. It’s actually funny how many people have told him how lucky he is to have me and how he needs to hold onto me. Like legit there must be at least 10-12 people so far, half being total strangers that we’ve talked to that have told him that, which is great for me lol. Solidifies my confidence. Man I miss him so much and it’s been not even 48 hours. Sure there’s some things that I wish like his craving for smoking again and hes very aware of how much he drinks and how much is too much but I know he enjoys drinking, I’ve enjoyed it too and I always enjoy our time out, though I’m thankful for how aware he is about all of that. Like honestly his self awareness with most things is just so attractive. It’s so refreshing and really makes for that extra layer of relationship. He hit it off with Amber and Naythan so well too, which I knew because he’s just like Naythan but it’s funny how much he talks around them which is great. We’re so on point with goals and our future too which just keeps making me question or wondering if what he’s saying is true. How much he wants to travel which is such a big part of who I am and what I desire. How important family is but understanding all aspects of what having kids entails. Like with Travis all he cared or said was he wanted kids and a family. Even when we just barley were getting by on bills and life, no savings, nothing that would support or create a healthy life and future for kids, nor even any regard for understanding the intensity and responsibility of having kids. More of the “lets just have them and figure it out” sense but Zack is so different, obviously because he has a daughter of his own so that’s a massive understanding but to be on the same page of understanding is just so nice. And his love for Nova just warms my heart, its almost like he loves her as much as I do, but he also has made comments about how he can see how much I love her and care for her which is nice. He does notice the details and the little things. Again such a huge difference especially from Richardt. Like what Zack knows about me and who I am and what I’ve come from is literal night and day to Richardt, who I was seeing for friggin what, almost 5 months? I’ve been seeing Zack for just over a month and he knows me 100x better and deeper and has put in 100x more effort. He lives in Airdrie and yet still makes continuous points to ensure that we’re both equal and that I’m still doing things I want to do, he’s always asking me what I want. Anyways, I’m getting tired and I need to text Zack to tell him how much I miss him now before bed. I do keep saying but I wanted to get better at writing and not missing all the little things. Writing more emotion in my posts of reflecting. I know I posted a note a few weeks ago probably before my last update which was from that night of when I went to Newcastle and Zack didn’t end up coming over and our miscommunication and it’s still good to write that out. I was in fear and I was feeling so vulnerable and it’s ok. What’s different from that versus what and how I used to write these posts about Richardt or even Travis was the mere fact that what I was writing was red flags. I was silently acknowledging the issues and hoping that they would resolve over time rather than seeing it was a flag that hey this isn’t a good thing and won’t necessarily change. Whereas with Zack it’s my fear of loosing him and being vulnerable and hurt again. I don’t actually believe he would hurt me and I trust him 100. More to come... as well as getting back into shadow work... also really want to pick that back up again. Catch ya in a week.. or two.

#dear future self #dearfutureself #life update #monthly update #ZP

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f1 · 1 year

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McLaren to introduce fundamental redesign of car over next three races | 2023 Canadian Grand Prix

McLaren plan to completely overhaul the design of their MCL60 with a series of upgrades which they will introduce over the next three races. The team has suffered a poor start to the 2023 season and has scored only 17 points so far, 42 less than they had at the same stage last year. Andrea Stella, who took over as team principal during the winter, is making major changes to the team’s engineering division following the ousting of technical director James Key. Stella said yesterday the team is now planning an extensive overhaul of its under-performing car. The first batch of parts will be introduced during the next round at the Red Bull Ring, which is the second sprint event of the year, leaving them only a single hour of practice to evaluate them before the competitive sessions begin. Further parts will be introduced in the British Grand Prix at Silverstone and the Hungarian Grand Prix at the Hungaroring. Stella said the revisions will constitute a “major overhaul of the car” in order to address the problems they have observed since the beginning of the season. “Relatively soon after the start of the season we realised that the car needed a fundamental redesign,” he explained. “So this redesign is actually [involving] I would say pretty much every single aerodynamic part. “That’s why the upgrades will be spread over the course of a few races. It will be decently noticeable. We had to redesign even some parts under the bodywork, that’s also why it took some time to be in condition to deliver these upgrades. So I would say pretty much the entire car.” McLaren have struggled with poor straight-line speed and cornering performance in all but the very quickest turns. Stella is confident the revisions will work as intended. Advert | Become a RaceFans supporter and go ad-free “We haven’t tested them in the simulator yet but they just pretty much deliver more downforce with similar characteristics,” he said. “So the key point is whether they will correlate trackside, but I think correlation so far has been good. “I think with this generation of cars in general, correlation with development tools is good. So we expect a few tenths of a second of lap time improvement, we will see.” McLaren have brought a lower-drag rear wing for this weekend’s race at the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve, but expect the track will suit them less well than the previous venue did. “Here we only have a rear wing which is the version that is most suitable for the level of drag that you adopt at this track,” said Stella. “In terms of Canada, we definitely prefer the characteristics of Barcelona because the car is strong in high speed corners. Here we have no high-speed corners, quite a lot of low-speed traction so it could be a bit of a struggle. We would certainly welcome some [rain].” Bringing the F1 news from the source RaceFans strives to bring its readers news directly from the key players in Formula 1. We are able to do this thanks in part to the generous backing of our RaceFans Supporters. By contributing £1 per month or £12 per year (or the equivalent in other currencies) you can help cover the costs involved in producing original journalism: Travelling, writing, creating, hosting, contacting and developing. We have been proudly supported by our readers for over 10 years. If you enjoy our independent coverage, please consider becoming a RaceFans Supporter today. As a bonus, all our Supporters can also browse the site ad-free. Sign up or find out more via the links below: Advert | Become a RaceFans supporter and go ad-free 2023 Canadian Grand Prix Browse all 2023 Canadian Grand Prix articles via RaceFans - Independent Motorsport Coverage https://www.racefans.net/

#F1 #McLaren to introduce “fundamental redesign” of car over next three races | 2023 Canadian Grand Prix #Formula 1

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ravetaper · 1 year

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Marshmello EDC 2023 Live Set - Friday Kinetic Field

This is a 60-minute audio recording of Marshmello EDC 2023 live set from Friday at Kinetic Field. The set was recorded May 19, 2023, at Electric Daisy Carnival, which took place at Las Vegas Motor Speedway. The set began at 1:48 the following morning but there were two interruptions near the start. This is the uninterrupted final hour of the set.

Rave Tapes · Marshmello EDC 2023 Live Set - Friday Kinetic Field

I'm at the point where the audio is ready, the thumbnails are made, and I have to come up with some coherent words to accompany the post. I'm listening back to the set and...wow. It's hitting me.

This was Marshmello's Friday night set at the big KinteticFIELD. There were problems at the beginning.

It had started drizzling lightly, but it was raining hard enough to concern to the AV crew. There's usually nothing covering EDC's stages, as rain in Vegas at that time of year is somewhat rare. But then again, sporadic desert showers are known to happen.

The gear was still functioning 10 minutes into the rain, but the crew was nervous. They eventually brought out a large commercial folding canopy. It was big and heavy. And, it must have been new, because it looked very stiff. The assembly was so stiff, four guys couldn't manage to expand the structure and raise the canopy. The crew was struggling with the canopy for several minutes. Meanwhile, Marshmello is off to the side waiting to get back to the decks. The guys are struggling, the song is elapsing, the transition has to happen soon. Eventually Marshmello forces his way to the decks and attempts to salvage the mix, but it's too late. The blend trainwrecks. Marshmello throws up his hands and tells the crowd he'll hopefully be back in a minute after the issues get fixed. Bear in mind, it's still drizzling and the canopy still isn't up yet.

What was I feeling? I felt RELIEVED! Allow me to explain.

The trainwreck meant everything to me. It's called a trainwreck because the sound of two records clashing is pretty terrible, like watching a car crash or trainwreck. BUT, it can only happen if a DJ is actually mixing!!

This weekend was my first time seeing Marshmello. I honestly didn't know what his live sets were like. I know his history and know he's been a part of the scene for a while and is a legit producer. But one never really knows what's going on with the live sets. We assume all the artists are actually mixing tracks in realtime, but rumors abound about artists "faking it" or merely playing back a pre-recorded set.

I'm not saying I expected that from Marshmello. Honestly, I didn't know what to expect, and I always give artists the benefit of the doubt.

But the trainwreck proved that live mixing was live! Marshmello was legitimately killing it. In an instant, the guy's success was totally justified, and my fandom was likewise validated.

About the mix, it was one of those big room variety sets when the artist intermixes their hits with other classic anthems. And damn it was good.

I explained in the Marshmello b2b Svdden Death post how I've appreciated Marshmello's music over the years. I haven't been a super fan. I'm more into house, bass music, and more underground flavors. But I apparently have a soft spot for Marshmello's mainstream EDM trap sound.

Here's the thing. Some of Marshmello's melodies are pretty timeless. I don't know if his songs are as timeless as those written by Paul McCartney or Billy Joe Armstrong. But I am saying they are up there.

The melodies are so damn simple – just a few quarter notes and half notes using one of 'Mello's trademark raspy synth voices. Instantly recognizable, instantly sing-able. Even though I am a musician and a creative type myself, I still marvel at those who seemingly generate such beauty out of thin air.

People talk about crying during the emotional sets. I'm not admitting that it happened to me during "Happier", but I'm not denying it, either.

So the combo of the music, the trainwreck, overcoming the trainwreck, and delivering the remainder of set like a pro...it means I fight for Marshmello now.

Enough talk. Let's get this one posted and move on to the next one: Malaa b2b Wax Motif...

Follow and support Marshmello:

Marshmello Instagram Marshmello Spotify Marshmello Beatport

#marshmello #edc 2023 #live set #las vegas #trap #edm #rave tapes

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forever-rogue · 2 years

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Divide

AN | Your resident clown is back with more Javi and Dulzura! They might be perfect but even these two have rough times. Can be read as a stand alone or part of the ‘verse!❤️

Summary | Javier’s been acting…odd.

Pairing | Javier x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 4.5k

Masterlist | Main, Javier, A Good Man ‘Verse

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The last couple of weeks had been…rough. And that was putting it lightly. Something had shifted recently and you had no idea what it could have been; you thought it might have been you. But there was nothing you’d done or said that was any different than how you normally were. And yet…there had been a growing divide between yourself and Javier.

Javier had barely spoken to you or seen you. Every time you called or tracked him down on campus or even stopped by his house, he would offer you a half-baked excuse as to being busy. Busy. You almost wanted to laugh at the pitiful excuses he provided. You had been busy and he had been busy plenty of times in the year you’d been dating. But it had never felt like this before. You wanted to be mad, you wanted to be angry, and while a part of you was, more than anything you were worried about Javier.

Something was wrong and you just wanted to make it better. But you weren’t sure if he would let you or even if he wanted you to. While you remained hopeful that this was just a bump in the road, a small part of you was worried and anxious that things were never going to be the same.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you reached the point where you couldn’t take it anymore, you jumped in your car and went straight over to his house. You’d barely left work, but you couldn’t wait any longer. It had been over a week since you’d last seen and almost three days since you’d spoken to him. This wasn’t like him…this wasn’t your Javier.

You didn’t even bother knocking, instead pulling out the key to his house that he’d given you months ago. His car was in the driveway and had heard Stevie barking at something in the backyard so you knew he was home. He wasn’t going to be able to run from you this time. He was going to give you the answers you had been looking for.

“Javi?” when you let yourself in, you were met with almost complete silence. Sighing lightly, you walked down the hall to check the kitchen but only to be met with the gentle humming of the fridge and ticking of the clock, “Javier?”

It was then that you heard some noises coming from his bedroom at the other end of the house. You leaned against the counter as you waited for him to come to you, crossing your arms over your chest. On the fridge a polaroid of you and Javier caught your eye; it had been a good day - he'd surprised you with a weekend trip to the beach out of the blue. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was cold and calculated, lacking all the warmth that it normally held for you, “I told you I was busy.”

“I’m here to talk to my Javi,” you raised an eyebrow, trying not to completely lose your temper, “you know, the one that’s been avoiding me for weeks. Are you really busy or just lying to me?”

“I haven’t been lying-”

“Really?” you asked and a tangible silence fell between the two of you. You listened to the clock tick for a few moments before swallowing thickly, “you’ve never been like this before. You’ve never shut me out like this, Javi. Did…did I do something? Are you seeing someone else?”

“You’re too in your head,” he waved you off with so much as a flash of emotion in his eyes, “I’ve been busy and you need to accept that. No - I wouldn’t do that to you, ever. Not everything is always about you.”

“I never said it was,” you did not like this Javier. This odd, hollow version was nothing like him, “I just…I feel like I haven’t seen you much and we don’t talk as much. I feel like there’s…a disconnect or something between us. If I did something, I want to know what it is so I won’t do it. If it’s something you’re going through, you know I’m always here for you. I’m your partner, Javier, I’m always here for you.”

“Stop,” he held up his hand and refused to meet your eyes, “just stop. I need you to go.”

“Javi,” you took a step closer, and he visibly flinched away, “what is-”

“Go!” he shouted, pointing at the door. He’d never, ever yelled at you before. It sent a shiver of fear down your spine, “get. Out.”

"Why are you yelling at me?" your voice trembled with effort to keep from crying. You weren't going to let him do that to you - not now or ever, "what is going on with you, Javier? I can't help if you don't tell me what the problem is!"

"I don't need your help," he sighed, running a hand through his unruly hair in exasperation, "I don't need you to fix me. I don't need your pity."

"I never…I don't think there's anything to fix, Javier. I’m not trying to fix you" you sighed heavily, "I have never once pitied you and I'm not doing that now. Just tell me what's going on! When you’re acting normal one day and then completely different the next, I’m inclined to think there’s something wrong!"

"Just go," he gripped the edge of the counter tightly and refused to meet your eyes, "this is over."

"Javier," you refused to let him just send you away like this. If anything, he was going to look you right in the eyes as he ended things, "I am not walking away without you telling me what's going on. You don't get to just break up with me and not tell me why. I'm sure a lot of women would just accept what you're saying but I'm not one of them. You should know that by now. So you better explain yourself, Javier Peña."

"I'm leaving," he said with no emotion, no expression on his face, "for Mexico. I'm going back to the only thing I'm good at."

"I hope you realize at this point that I would follow you anymore. I'm in love with you, stupid pendejo," you huffed, "but go ahead, I'll humor you - what is the only thing you're good at?"

"Being the bad guy," he finally looked up and met your eyes. You'd never seen that expression in his eyes before and it sent an unpleasant shiver down your spine, "I’m going back to the DEA. And you sure as hell are not coming with me."

"The DEA?" You were almost yelling at this point, "what the fuck, Javier? You said…you said you were never going back. What happened?”

“I realized, too late, that I can’t do this.” he threw his arms in exasperation, “I’m not…I’m not meant for this life. I don’t deserve it…I don’t deserve you. But you don’t get it, you just don’t understand and I’m tired of pretending to be this person.”

“What?” tears had pearled up and run down your cheeks, “are you telling me that everything we’ve had is a lie?”

“No,” he sighed heavily, “it’s not that. I love you, fuck I do, but I will never be enough for you. So I’m doing you the favor here. You can go and find someone easily. So go - and don’t come back.”

“Are you serious right now?” your voice cracked as your vision grew blurry from how hard and fast the tears were coming, “Javier…do you really want me to just leave?”

The way you were looking at him made his heart constrict before it shattered into a million pieces. He knew he was hurting you - he was hurting himself too - but he couldn’t do this to you. He wanted you to have everything; and he felt like he could never give you anything close to that. Did he want you to leave? Absolutely fucking not. Did he think it would be best for you if he did? Absolutely.

“Just go,” he didn’t even have courage or heart to look you in the eyes before turning his back to you, “please. Leave.”

“Fuck you, Javier,” it was a choked up sob, but you were determined that he would not get the last word, “fuck you for just deciding all of this on your own. Fuck you for breaking my heart. Fuck you for not seeing that you are worth giving a damn about. I don’t know how else to tell you or what to do, but I love you more than anything in this world. You deserve everything, you stupid, silly man. I wish I could be mad and hate you for doing this. But I can't and that’s the hard part. But if you want me to leave, I’ll go. But I’m not coming back.”

“Dulzura-”

“Don't you dare. You don’t get to call me that anymore. You know my name,” you wiped away the tears with the sleeve of your cardigan, “goodbye, Professor.”

You were storming away and out the door before he even got the chance to turn around. He flinched when he heard the door slam shut. It sounded hard enough to practically fall off the hinges; he wouldn’t have blamed you if it did. You were the best thing in his life, but he would never be worthy enough of you or your love. Realistically, he’d let it get too far already. But now you would have a chance at a happy life with someone your own age that didn’t bring a million pounds of baggage with them. And he would go to Mexico where he could try to keep you off his mind while doing something that might make a difference.

“Fuck,” he sighed as sat down at the kitchen counter, trying to keep himself from crying and falling apart. If he believed he was making the right decision, why did this hurt so much? Probably because he was madly and irrevocably in love with you, “fuck.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You sighed as you looked at yourself in the mirror; your hair was a mess, your outfit consisted of whatever you had that was still clean in your closet, and even makeup couldn’t cover up the dark circles under your eyes. You hadn’t slept much in the last few weeks. You hadn’t really done much of anything in the last few weeks. You’d done the bare minimum; you got up and went to work and then came home to mop around. There were baskets of laundry that needed to be done, cleaning that you’d put off, and you’d been surviving off packets of ramen and crackers. You looked as bad as you felt; even one of your young students had noticed and asked if you were okay.

Were you okay? Absolutely not. Were you going to have to learn to live with it? Unfortunately.

You were going to have to accept and live with the fact that Javier Peña was no longer going to be a part of your life.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Okay,” you huffed as you looked around your disheveled bedroom. You couldn’t continue to just mope around and hope that something was going to change. You needed to take control back of your life and move on, no matter how long it would take or how difficult it would be. The first thing you would do is put clean sheets and blankets on the bed. It had been sometime since you’d changed them; you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to do it once you realized they smelled like him.

With one last dismissal look, you ripped the pillowcases off, and gathered up all the blankets and sheets in one big bundle and tossed them into the hamper. The next thing you did was reach into the top drawer of your dresser. A stack of his clothes was still there, smelling like his laundry soap and his natural scent that always lingered. It was like they were still waiting for him, waiting for the moment when he was in your home again. But that day wasn’t going to come again.

You picked up one of his t-shirts, the old worn, navy one that stretched across his broad chest deliciously. A wave of emotion washed over you as you held it to your face, breathing in the faint smell of him that never seemed to go away. It was tempting to slip it on and curl up on the couch while crying and watching a sappy romance movie. Instead, you folded it and put it back on the pile of clothing, grabbing it out of the dresser and putting it to the side to donate. The temptation to burn them or throw them away was there but you figured donating was better so at least someone got use out of them. It felt like a piece of your heart was going along with them.

Forcing yourself to keep going, you grabbed one of the basketfuls of laundry and trekked to the washer to start the first load. Everything was going to be clean and put back together to your normal standards. It was one step towards normalcy that you desperately needed right now. If nothing else, you knew that it would help your mental state to at least a certain extent.

It was nearing midnight and you were sprawled on the couch, waiting for the last of the laundry to finish. Then you could take a long, hot shower before crawling into your fresh, clean sheets. But before you could move, the phone rang loudly in the kitchen, causing you to almost fall off of the couch in surprise.

“Who the hell…” you almost ran to the kitchen and yanked the receiver off the base as you pressed it to your ear, “hello?”

“H-hi,” the voice on the other end sounded tentative before he said your name, “I hope I have the correct number.”

“I, umm, yes, you do,” should you have admitted this to the stranger on the other end? Maybe not, but then again, as terrible as it was to say, you didn’t really care about what came of it, “who is this?”

“Steve,” he said after a moment, “Steve Murphy.”

“Steve,” you repeated, trying to figure out where you knew that name from. You were sure you knew it…and then it hit you, “wait. The Steve? Javi’s partner Steve Murphy?”

“The one and only,” he laughed as you breathed out a sigh of relief. At least it wasn’t some weird stalker, “listen, I know this is going to sound weird but Javi’s at the airport. His flight leaves in an hour. He called me and I know things didn’t exactly end well with the two of you from what he’s said, but I just…wanted to let you know.”

“He was an ass,” you admitted with a huff of teary laughter, “he’s such a dumb fool sometimes, but I still…”

“I know,” Steve replied to your unsaid words, “I think he’s making a huge mistake. I wasn’t sure if I should call you, but I figured you should know.”

“Thank you,” you whispered softly, “I appreciate it and I’ll question how you got my number and would love to speak to you properly sometime but right now, I gotta go.”

“I figured,” you could practically feel his smile, “kick his ass for me, will you?”

“With pleasure,” you promised, “I’ll kick his ass for you and me.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The drive to the airport was half an hour; luckily at this time of night there wouldn’t be much traffic. You didn’t even bother to look at yourself in the mirror and only grabbed your purse and slides as you ran out the door to your car. Your appearance was the least of your concerns. You made it to the airport within twenty-five minutes, breaking more than a few traffic laws, but you didn’t have time to worry about that. You parked the car and ran into the airport, cursing its confusing layout and how far away the parking garage was from the entrance.

Now all you could hope for was easily finding the right gate and not raising too much suspicion by running through the airport. You read over the inbound and outbound flights and found the one that Steve must have been talking about. You glanced at your watch and groaned when you saw that you were down to only twenty minutes. You could either forget it and turn around, go home and to bed, and count your losses.

Or you could take this last chance.

You had to take this chance.

You weaved and dodged your way through the throngs of people that were lingering about. Once you arrived at the right gate, you were out of breath and felt a stitch in your side. Your eyes scanned the small crowd, trying to pick him out from the others.

“Javi!” his name came out in a pathetic little shout, and you were sure that he wouldn’t have heard. You had no time to lose and just mustered up the courage you had, and shouted his name so he definitely couldn’t miss it, “Javier Peña!”

His head whipped in your direction, almost giving himself whiplash as he looked around for you. When he finally found you, he stood up, his mouth hanging open in a mixture of happy surprise and shock. He was standing in front of you in an instant, his expression going through a mess of emotions.

"What are you doing here? How? I didn't…"

"Steve," you stated simply, "Steve called me, you pendejo."

"I should have known," he sighed lightly as he hung his head, "but why…why did you come?"

"I…" you paused for a moment, blinking away the tears that were threatening to well up, "because I'm in love with you, you dumb, stupid, silly man. I can't…the past weeks have been an absolute hell. I don't want to live without you - I can't. Nothing felt right…everything was falling apart. You hurt me deeply, Javi, but fuck I'm still so in love with you and I couldn't just let you go without doing something."

"When did he…call you?"

"Like less than an hour ago."

"You made it all the way here in that time? Just to…to talk? Why?"

"He called and then I ran out the door, probably broke several traffic laws and ran through the airport looking like this," you gestured at your disheveled appearance, "I couldn't let you go. Not without at least one last try. Don't you realize how much I love you, Javier? You are everything to me."

"Dulzura…"

"If you want to get on that plane and go, that's fine but I'm coming with you," you insisted firmly, and for the first time in a long time you saw the corners of his mouth twitch up slightly, "I don't care, Javi. I'll live with you in Antarctica if you want to. I…I'll follow you wherever you go. You are my home, Javier. You have my heart, and I can't let you go with you thinking you are not worthy of it. There is no one else that could ever be worthy of it. Only you. It's been you from the moment I first saw you. Please, just…don't go."

“You came to stop me…even though I treated you like an-”

“Asshole? Yeah, you did, Javier,” you couldn’t help but laugh lightly, “and god, I’m so angry with you and I really want to slap your stupid, handsome face but I’m still in love with you. Nothing’s going to change that. There are always going to be times when things are harder, but that doesn’t mean we can just quit. We’re supposed to be a team, and whatever happens we’re supposed to work through it together. I will never give up on you, Javi. You’ve never given up on me, so why would I do that to you?”

“I don’t deserve you,” he sighed as he hung his head. You could hear how choked up he was; despite wanting to be angry with him, it still broke your heart. Before you could fully process what you were doing, your hand was on his face, gently touching his cheek, “especially after what I did and said.”

“That’s just the thing, Javi,” you whispered, “you think you don’t deserve anything, but that’s not true. I know it’s hard, but you have to let the past go, let it die. It’s not who you are. I know you think that things are too good to be true, but you have to realize I’m not going anywhere. You’ve worked hard for everything you have now, no one can just take that away from you. Nothing’s going to take me away from you.”

“I don’t know why,” he chided himself, “you could have run far away by now. I was giving you the chance.”

“I’m well aware of that,” you reminded him, “and I didn’t like that. You are stuck with me for life, buddy. One day you’ll realize that…I don’t know how else to tell you that I want to be with you, I want all your baggage, just as you accept all of mine. There are so many people that love you, and need you, Javier. Don’t turn your back on them and run just because you’re scared. The future…all of it scares me too. Sometimes….it scares me how in love with you I am. I wonder if there will be a day when you’re tired of me, when you decide I’m not the one. But what I do know is that I love you, and I want to be with you, so I’m going to do that. If you’ll let me.”

“Why?” he was stunned at your words - and the fact that you worried about the same things as him, “why me?”

“Why not you?” you gently carded your hand through his dark locks, “Javier Peña, I am so in love with you. Love makes me people do stupid, crazy, wonderful things. I don’t know why it was you, or why it’s me for you, but I do know that you and I were meant to be.”

Before he could say anything else, the last call announcement rang out through the speakers. You swallowed thickly before realizing you were out of time. He was either going or staying.

“I should…” your heart broke when it appeared that he was going to leave to board. But in a surprise turn of events, he dropped his bags on the floor. You watched him with nervous eyes, but he just reached over and brushed away the tears that had rolled down that you weren’t even aware of, “I love you.”

“I know,” you nodded lightly, “but I guess you’ve made up your mind.”

You took a step so you were out of his reach before quickly walking away. If he was going to leave, you weren’t going to watch him go. You heard him call your name, but didn’t stop. Not until you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist and he easily stopped you. You turned around to find him looking at you with the most intense expression you’d ever seen.

“Javi?”

He grabbed your face, gently, tenderly, as if he was afraid he was going to break you before crashing his lips onto yours. You were so surprised that for a moment you didn’t even react. But once you realized what was happening, you leaned into him and wrapped your arms around his waist. And he kissed you until you were both left breathless, only pulling back when he absolutely had to.

“Javier?”

“Dulzura,” he whispered as he pressed his forehead against yours, “mi Dulzura.”

“You’re going to be late,” you sighed lightly, “you have to get going.”

“I’m not…I’m not going anywhere,” he promised as your eyes widened in surprise, “I can’t. I can’t be without you. You were right, I was running because I was scared, because it all feels so…foreign. But I don’t want to run anymore. I want to stay, and I want to stay and build a future with you.”

“Yeah?’ you looked at him with big, soft eyes that made him want to melt, “you promise? Whatever comes our way, we’ll be able to get through, I promise.”

“I promise too,” he kissed you again, slowly and gently, “I’m sorry for how I acted. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did. You deserve better than that.”

“You’ll make it up to me,” you grinned, “don’t worry, you’ll have your work cut out, Peña. I’m just…I’m glad you’re here. With me. Can you promise one more thing?”

“Anything,” the familiar smell of him, the one you had been seeking out for so long now, almost overwhelmed you. You couldn’t help but throw your arms around him, hugging him as tightly as possible, “please tell me that we’ll be okay. That we’ll always be okay.”

“I swear it,” he kissed the crown of your head, “we’ll always be okay, Dulzura.”

“I love you, even though you can be such a stubborn pendejo,” you laughed lightly, “let’s go home, Javier. It’s late and I feel and look terrible, and I really, really just want to lay in bed with you.”

“You’re beautiful,” his smile was almost sheepish as you playfully rolled your eyes at him, “even in pajamas and messy hair, you are the most beautiful woman in the world. I just can’t believe you came for me.”

“Do you see that I love you, dummy? I broke the law and ran through an airport looking like this for you,” the familiar feel of his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together was enough to almost make you cry. Nothing felt more right than this - the two of you together.

“Are you tired?” he asked as he ducked back to grab his bags before rejoining you. You raised an eyebrow at him but shook your head gently, “good, because I intend on starting to make it up to you when we get home.”

“Insatiable,” your giggle made his heart feel whole again, the way you teased him still gave him butterflies, “te amo, Javi.”

“It’s been a long time,” he was feeling very cheeky right now, “and I have a lot of making up to do. Can’t let you down. Can I?”

“Javier!”

“Te amo, Dulzura,” he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you close to him, “thank you for keeping me from making the biggest mistake of my life.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you kissed his cheek, “we’re a team, now and forever.”

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you walked out of the airport together. In the distance the flight that he intended to be on took off, leaving for Mexico without him. You owed Steve one, that was for sure. But for now, you were glad you were able to get through to Javier and get him to see reason. Everything else could wait.

All that mattered right now was the two of you.

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x fem!reader #pedro pascal #pedro psacal x you #pedro pascal x reader #agm

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