#flyaway friday

[pktechgirlus]

Northern Cardinal

Photo: LDeans

[no-144444]

the grid: when they admit they love you!

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featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, Logan Sargeant, Daniel Riccardo, Liam Lawson, Charles LeClerc, Carlos Sainz, Arthur LeClerc, Ollie Bearman, Max Verstappen, Paul Aron, Jack Doohan.

this is 18+ so mdni please! smut in some of them!

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Oscar Piastri: fumbling and scared 

You sat at the reception of McLaren, and every single day he was terrified of making a fool of himself. You were the cool, pretty receptionist he’d already gone on 3 dates with, and this Friday he was going to ask you to officially be his girlfriend. The conversation between you two flowed easily when it was just you two, but with other people there… he was less than smooth. Your desk mate, the other receptionist had a knack for gossip, and she was kind of scary, she he tried to steer clear of her when he could. 

“Morning,” you smiled as he walked in the door. 

“Morning,” he smiled back, leaning on your desk. “How are you?”

You started signing him into the building (he ‘lost’ his access card months ago, aka he threw it away and didn’t try to get a new one, just so he could have some reason to talk to you). “I’m good, looking forward to Friday,” you smiled. “You?”

He beamed, grinning like a kid. “Me too.”

“Oscar!” Chris (the guy who has the biggest crush on you ever) clapped a hand on his back, much too hard. “Buddy, I got you a new access-card! Now you can stop bothering the pretty lady here, right?”

“Chris, it’s no bother, I do it every morning-” you tried to diffuse the situation. You didn’t exactly want Osccar to have to deal with Chris, he was such an asshole.  

“Yeah, but it’s one less thing off your plate baby,” he winked at you and Oscar felt something twist in his stomach when you grimaced at the pet name. 

“Don’t call her that,” he told him. “She has a name, it’s Y/n. Use her name.” 

“Dude, I know you wouldn’t get it, but some people date other people,” Chris chuckled like a scumbag. “And me and her are together, so back off.”

Oscar laughed. He actually laughed in your co-workers face. “You’re funny, man.”

Chris laughed along. “I know right.” 

Oscar took the access card from him, leaned over the desk and pressed his lips to yours, like he’d done many times before, and carried on to his meetings. Chris stood there shocked, then walked back to his desk like a wounded puppy. 

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Friday rolled around and you were both sat on his couch watching Cars, when he turned to you. “I’m sorry about Monday,” he admitted. “I know it wasn’t the right thing to do and it probably made it worse but I just-”

“It worked,” you told him. “He hasn’t spoken to me all week, but he has been trying to report you to HR for me, but every time he does I just tell them I didn’t make the claim and then report Chris for being weird. It worked perfectly. He’s such a dick,” you chuckled. 

He watched you as you chuckled, the way your nose scrunched, the flyaway hairs on your forehead framing your face, your soft lips, you gorgeous eyes. “I love you,” he said, softly, but you looked up with wide-eyes all the same. He’d shocked himself too. “OHmygodIamsosorryIknowit’swaytooearlyand-”

You just started laughing, literally falling into his lap. You laughed against his chest and after a moment, he joined you. 

“You’re such a dork,” you smiled brightly as you ran a hand through his hair, then gently caressed his cheek. “I love you too.”

He beamed. “Can I be your boyfriend?” 

You nodded, then kissed him gently. Cars and a pretty girl as his girlfriend? Could his Friday night get any better? 

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Lando Norris: sweet and sincere (for once)

He watched as you walked from the edge of the water into it, splashing around with Mila. It was your first Norris family holiday, and yeah, maybe he had lied to you and told you it would just be you two to trick you into meeting his family only 5 months into your relationship. Maybe you were super mad at him to the point of barely speaking to him unless in the group. But also, maybe Lando was watching the love of his life play with his niece, and maybe he didn’t care that he’ just called you that. 

“Lala!” Mila called, running up to him. “I really like Y/n, can we keep her?” 

You came up behind her, chuckling lightly at her statement. He stared at you for a moment. You were sunkissed (and a little sunburn on your nose), with a bright smile, wet hair and a beautiful blue swimsuit on. You looked ethereal to him. So stunningly gorgeous that he barely knew what to say. 

“Come on kiddo, let’s grab you a snack,” you picked back up your smile and started to walk over to his sister, sitting under another umbrella with all the snacks and drinks in the world. Lando just stared at you when Mila asked. You’d thought that him inviting you on a family holiday would mean something, you must’ve thought wrong. 

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As dinner rolled around, the conversation flowed smoothly as the sun set on the horizon. 

“I’m going to go for a walk on the beach front,” you told the table once meals were finished. They waved you off and off you went. The beautiful sea and stars in the sky caught your attention as your red dress flowed in the wind. It was magical, the warm air, the magnificent views, all of it. The sand beneath your feet was warming your feet and you stopped to look out on the ocean. The soothing, calm waves with the scent of salt made you smile. You’d always loved the beach. 

“You look beautiful,” Lando’s voice made you jump, and you searched for him until you realised he was right beside you. 

“Thank you,” you smiled softly. He wrapped a hand around your waist and turned you to face him. 

He’d been quiet at dinner, too busy trying to think of how to get you to talk to him again, and how he could finally confess his love for you. It was almost overwhelming, the fact that he was in love. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that it was a family trip,” he sighed, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

You sighed. “It was pretty shitty…” you reminded him. “But I’ve been having fun with them. You come from good people. Makes sense.”

He smiled brightly at your compliment and pressed his forehead against yours. “Thank you for not leaving once you found out.”

You chuckled. “No problem.”

“I adore you,” he admitted. “More than anything. I fucking love you.”

Your eyes widened and you stood there with your jaw dropped. “Holy shit,” you cursed under your breath and he giggled. 

“You don’t have to say it back or anything, I just wanted to tell you,” he clarified, once he’d stopped laughing. 

You smiled at him, chuckling. “I love you too, Lando, of course I do. Even when you do stupid shit like invite me to a family holiday.” 

He laughed, burying his face in your neck. “I already said ‘I’m sorry’!”

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George Russell: of course…

He smiled as he crossed the finish line, finally  winning another race. 

“Well done George!” his engineer cheered, congratulating him as the garage erupted into celebrations. 

When he was finally out of the car, all interviews were over, and all that was left was to take a few team photos, he was given a moment to seek you out. You’d hugged you at the barricade, but since then he hadn’t seen you. You were busy signing things for fans, little girls who wanted to be ‘just like you’ one day. You smiled and told them they would be, that their dreams of being olympic gymnasts weren’t far-fetched. He smiled, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He was covered in champagne, and you groaned, making the small group of girls laugh. 

“George!” you groaned, pushing him off.

“What?” he smirked, pulling you back in. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, as the group of girls moved on with a giggle and a wave. “You look stunning.”

“You’re wet,” you dead-panned. “Congratulations, winner.”

He grinned. “I love you.”

You stared at him for a moment, a gentle disbelief in your eyes. “Really?”

“More than anything.”

“Not just because you're drunk on champagne?”

“Nope, I genuinely love you,” he chuckled. “Sorry,” he shrugged, unapologetic. 

You beamed, then kissed him. “I love you more.”

He shook his head. “Not possible.” 

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Kimi Antonelli: nervous 

He smiled as he opened the door to his apartment and found you on the other side. 

“Ready?” you asked, holding up a very big paint can, and some rollers. He had asked you to help him decorate his new apartment, in Monaco, and you’d thankfully agreed. You, his girlfriend / race engineer, had also just moved to Monaco, next door, in fact.

He let you in and you both began to set up the room, tarping the hardwood floors, taping off the skirting boards, and enjoying the soft music and sunny weather outside the window. You finally opened the paint and got to work. He thought you looked adorable, actually wearing paint-splattered overalls (courtesy of you repainting your entire apartment just a week ago), with a concentrated face. His eyes followed you across the room, meticulously taping every inch of the skirting board, making sure that none of the blue paint would ruin the white. 

“What?” you asked, looking back at him. 

He blushed and shook his head, finally understanding the emotions he felt for you everyday. He loved you. “Nothing.”

You raised an eyebrow and walked over, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his lips. “You sure?”

He nodded, much too nervous to tell you. He looked away, pretending to be engrossed in messing with your pockets. 

You shrugged, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Alright,” you let go of him and walked back to the side of the room that you were working on. 

He’d tell you, one day. 

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Lewis Hamilton: smooth about it

He smirked as you walked out from your bedroom, clad in one of his shirts and some tiny sleep-shorts, excited about finally sitting down to watch the movie. It had been a difficult triple-header, and he hadn’t been around. But finally, the season was over, and he could invite you over to start enjoying the Christmas festivities. He loved this. He loved the casual, regular things you two did. He liked the way you cuddled up to him on the couch, he loved the way he knew you’d definitely fall asleep before the film ended, he loved you-

Oh.

He loved you. 

He chuckled and you looked at him confused. 

“You alright?” 

He chuckled. “All good baby,” he nodded, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“What was that about?” you questioned further, putting the remote down. He ran a hand through your hair, looking at you with all the love in the world. 

“Just love you,” he shrugged as your jaw dropped. He chuckled, watching a million emotions run through you. 

“You’re such a dick!” you playfully hit him on the shoulder. “I wanted to say it first!”

He laughed and pulled you into his arms, holding you closer. “I’m sorry baby.”

You scoffed. “No you’re not.”

He shook his head. “No I’m not.” 

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Alex Albon: oh… yah. 

He sighed as he opened the door to his driver’s room. He was exhausted, another race down, another weekend closer to the end of this. 

“Hey,” you smiled. 

His mood picked up, knowing you were there. His best friend. “Hey,” he smiled, pulling you into a hug. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Surprise?” you shrugged. “I wanted to come see you.” 

He smiled, pressing his face into your neck inhaling the smell of your perfume, feeling much more at ease than he did before. “I thought you couldn’t make it today.”

“I did, but I won't be able to be in Qatar or Abu Dhabi,” you admitted, breaking the bad news. You could feel him frown. 

“Why not?”

“I'm busy for the next two weeks with work. Then I have the whole couples retreat thing and then-”

“Pardon? Couples retreat?”

“This guy I’m seeing is saying we should go, I think it’s a swinging thing though, I’m not exactly into it. But non refundable tickets and I would like a holiday before I have to deal with our families all Christmas,” you explained with a chuckle.

His world crumpled around him. “You’re seeing someone?”

You nodded. “Yeah, he’s… nice,” you smiled. “Don’t worry, you won’t be meeting him for a while, he’s not even my boyfriend yet-”

You stopped talking because he’d started kissing you. He hadn’t really connected the dots before. He liked how close your families were, he liked being your best friend, he liked being around you all the time. He liked being the person you’d come to about things. He didn’t like other people liking you. He’d been your personal bodyguard throughout your teenage years, and he had shooed off every guy, just because he was protecting you, right? It had nothing to do with the fact that he wanted both of you to wait and be each other's first kiss, like you’d promised when you were 10. 

Oh shit. He was in love with you. 

He pulled back with wide-eyes. “I’m in love with you.”

You broke out into a smile. “I love you too.”

He grinned like a little kid. 

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Franco Colapinto: shy? For once?

He froze as he heard your voice from behind. He hadn’t been home in months, too busy with racing to visit. But Christmas rolled around as it always did, and so did every single family friend. 

“Franco!” his mother’s voice rang out. “Come here!”

He turned and was met with your eyes. He felt himself blushing already.

“Y/n’s here!” she cheered. You offered a small wave and a smile, which he mirrored. 

“It’s good to see you again,” you  smiled. “Happy Holidays.”

He nodded. “You too.”

“How’s F1 going?”

“Good, well. I like it,” he scratched the back of his neck. 

“Well, we’ve all been cheering you on from here,” you smiled. “I can’t wait to see what you do next year.”

He smiled and nervously chuckled. “Thank you.”

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As he watched you over the coming days, enjoying your company, even when he wasn’t the centre of your attention, he found himself becoming even more shy, even more confused, and increasingly love-sick.

He just had to find a way to make himself tell you, easy, right? 

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Logan Sargeant: idek

Y’know how you’re told that when boys like you, they’ll bully you? That’s bullshit, they’re just bullies and their parents make excuses for them. 

You watched as Logan got into your car, getting ready to drive it, and you felt yourself tense up. You’d never gotten along with Logan, growing up in the same racing series, only you pivoted to Indycar and he went to F1. Now he was about to drive your car. You’d never been more nervous. You were the Indycar champion this year, the first women to do it, and you were proud. Giving your car over to Crash-Sargeant wasn’t exactly your choice, but you still had hope that he could drive it. 

You went up to him as he was about to get it, and grabbed his hand, holding him in place. “If you fucking car my car I will cut your balls off Sargeant. Don’t fuck with me, alright?” you whispered, getting close enough to feel his breath on your cheek. He smirked and nodded, ripping his hand out of your grasp.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He was already hearing wedding bells. Utterly and totally in love with you. 

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Daniel Riccardo: nothing like a big gesture, right?

He dropped you off outside departures, a sad smile on his face. “Don’t want you to go,” he sighed.

You rolled your eyes, then wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek as his hands circled your waist. “What’re you doing today?”

“Stuff for Enchanté,” he explained. 

“That’s why you can’t come this weekend? Not up to being my WAG in Haas?” you smirked, pressing small kisses to his cheeks as you spoke. 

“God no, I only go there for Nico,” he smirked. “And you’re replacing him today.”

You rolled your eyes, letting god of him. “Fuck you!” you called after you, trying to suppress a smile. He watched as you walked off, shaking your head and he thought about everything. Every night he went to sleep with you in his arms, every morning he woke up beside you, every smile he saw, every laugh he made happen, every hug or kiss he got from you. He smiled, realising the truth. 

He loved you. 

Therefore he ran after you, making a huge scene in the airport. When he finally made it up to you, there were 2 security guards chasing him, so he wrapped his arms around you and kissed you harshly, a bright smile on his face. “I love you,” he smiled when he pulled away. 

“You’re going to get fucking arrested!” you stressed, wide-eyed and shocked at his behavior. 

“For being in love?”

“No, you idiot, for bypassing security and running through an airport without a ticket! Go back!” you pushed him off of you with an exasperated and amused smile.

“I love you!” he called after himself as he was taken away by the security guards. 

“I love you too, you fucking idiot!” you scoffed. “You have a phone, y’know!” 

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Liam Lawson: will NOT speak to you at any cost

Being in love with one of his mechanics probably wasn’t the greatest idea, but the heart wants what the heart wants, and his wanted you. 

“Liam can I-?” you started, but he just walked away, his eyes glued to the floor. You followed behind him, trying again and again to get his attention, but he continued ignoring you, and you'd had enough. “Fuck’s sake- Liam! Stop being such a dick! I don’t know if you just don’t respect me, or if you don’t like me, but I’m a mechanic on your time, and I'm asking if there’s anything you want us to change about your car to make you more comfortable. Just answer me that simple question and I promise I won’t bother you again all weekend!” 

He froze on the spot. “I’m in love with you-” he blurted out, then clapped a hand over his mouth. “The car is fine, sorry. Thanks.”

Then he walked off, leaving you in a stunned silence. 

What the fuck had he just done?

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Charles LeClerc: weirdly calm about it

You two sat on (one of)  his (many) yacht(s), overlooking the gorgeous Monaco bay. He had an arm around you, both of you dressed in comfortable clothes with nothing to do for the entire weekend. Oh, how he adored the off-season. You were too busy reading a book to notice the way he was looking at you. In the simple, silent moment it hit him suddenly that he was in fact, in love with you. And it didn’t scare him the way previous girlfriends confessing such things to him had. It felt right, completely normal, even. 

“Do you want anything?” you yawned. 

“Pardon?” he asked, too busy in his own world. 

“I’m ordering food, do you want something?” 

“I’m alright, but let me get it,” he offered and you scoffed.

“Fuck off Percvél. I can pay for my own food,” you chuckled, getting up and walking further into the boat. 

He chuckled, watching after you. 

Wow, he was mature. And, in love. 

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Carlos Sainz: definitely not freaking out

“I love you,” you confessed as the two of you cosied up at the beach. It had been a brilliant holiday, the two of you actually getting to spend some time together. 

He looked at you with wide-eyes. 

“Sorry if that was too soon, or too much. I just… wanted you to know. You don’t have to say anything back- of course.” 

While you were catastrophising, he was freaking out. You loved him. You told him you loved him. Holy shit. 

He stuttered for a moment, making you grimace. You’d fucked it up, definitely. There was no way he felt the same, right? You were probably just a 7 month long hook-up to him, right? 

“I love you too,” he smiled, then pressed his lips to yours.

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Arthur LeClerc: accidental

“Arthur is so whipped!” his friend laughed, watching as Arthur helped you set the table for dinner. Arthur just laughed, whereas, you frowned. Did Arthur think you were too clingy? Too demanding? Too much? 

Throughout dinner, you were pretty quiet, and you didn’t even let Arthur help you clean up. You went to bed early as he entertained the guests alone, and when he came to bed, there was a pillow between either sides of your bed. He frowned. 

“Baby,” he cooed, wrapping his arms around you and placing your head in the crook of his neck. “What is the problem?”

You sniffled. “It’s nothing,” you shook your head. “I’m sorry.”

He felt his heart warm when you held on to him, revelling in the fact that you would choose him to comfort you. “It’s just what-”

“Please don’t tell me you took to heart the comment Harry made?” he scoffed. You were quiet. “My love, I love you, I like helping you, I like being there for you, I like kissing and hugging you. If he has a problem with that then he can fuck off,” he chuckled, then stopped when he realised what he’d said. 

“You love me?” you sniffled, raising your head to look at him. 

He smiled. “Of course I do,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Always.” 

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Ollie Bearman: overwhelmed 

He smiled as he watched you dance on the dancefloor of the club. You looked so free and happy, smiling brightly with friends as the lights flashed and the music was loud enough to feel it in your entire body. 

“Dude, you two are so in love, it’s adorable,” Paul, his friend, pointed out. 

“I don’t- we’re not-”

“Haven’t said it yet?” Paul chuckled. “You should. I think she’d say it back.”

Ollie nodded, trying to pretend his entire world hadn’t been flipped upside down. You. Love. He wasn’t in love, right? All boyfriends wanted their girlfriends beside them at all times, right? All boyfriends missed their girlfriends so much that they flew them out to every race, right?  All boyfriends had begged their girlfriends to meet his parents, and vice versa only months into getting together, right?  All boyfriends felt suffocated when their girlfriends weren’t around, right? 

Oh shit, he was in love with you. He stepped outside to get some air.

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After a while of not seeing Ollie, you went outside to find him. You found him, leaning against the wall of the club, staring off into space. 

“Alright?” you asked, gently placing a hand on his cheek. 

He looked at you and smiled. “Alright,” he nodded, wrapping his hands around your waist. 

“Why’d you leave?” you asked. 

“Needed some air,” he admitted. It wasn’t untrue. 

“For 30 minutes?” you questioned and he knew he’d been caught. “Did Paul say something stupid? Need me to beat him up for you?” 

He chuckled, pulling you closer to him. “No, I’m alright. I was just… thinking.” 

“Dangerous pastime,” you teased and he chuckled. “What about?”

“You,” he confessed. 

“What about me?”

“I’m in love with you,” he answered nervously. 

“Oh yeah?” you smiled and he nodded. “Good thing I love you too.” 

Wow, Paul was right, for once. 

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Max Verstappen: strange man 

He watched from the other side of the plane as you played chess against his mother, bright smiles on both of your faces as the game progressed. He noticed the way your nose crinkled, the way your eyes shone, the comfortable position you sat in. He thought of every moment he got to share with you, and he almost teared up thinking of the best ones. He loved you. But he wouldn’t tell you, not yet. 

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He thrust into you, euphoria so close he could almost touch it. “Good girl, he groaned, feeling your nails in his back. “Taking me so well.” 

You just moaned against his skin, too cockdrunk to really notice what was going on around you. Max was a 4 time world champion. He’d done it. The first thing he’d wanted was to fuck you silly in his hotel room.

He was close, he slowed down his thrusts, much to your dismay, and slowly but firmly continued. 

“I,” thrust. “Love,” thrust. “You.” 

And he came inside you as you screamed into his shoulder, reaching your own peak. He hadn’t even meant to say it, it just came out (see what I did there? 😀). He stared down at you as you looked back up at him with wide eyes. 

“You love me?” you questioned. 

He nodded, his mouth dry. He was trying to focus on the softness of this moment, whilst also having to deal with your tight walls around his cock. Torture. 

“I love you too,” you smiled, flipping him over and straddling him. He groaned when he saw you on top of him and he was hard again. “Let me take care of you, yeah? My winner,” you smirked before starting to move on his cock. 

He was in for a long night. But a long night with the woman he loved. 

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Paul Aron: finally is a victim of humility 

“Paul, just tell her!” Ralf, his brother, argued. “She adores you, you’re in love with her, it’s alright!” 

“But… what if she doesn’t say it back?” He asked, much more insecure than he meant it to sound. He wasn’t used to being unsure when it came to romance. Paul had always been the type of guy to get any girl he wanted, with you it had been different. You’d hated his guts. He had to prove to you he was a good guy, then you’d finally gone out with him, and fast forward a year, he was trying to figure out how to tell you he loved you. He’d only realised it last night, when you were waiting in his apartment with dinner made for the two of you for the simple reason ‘just because’. In that moment he’d wrapped his arms around you and kissed you to stop himself from ruining the night and confessing right then and there. 

Ralf groaned. “You are impossible!” 

When did love become so complicated?

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Jack Doohan: so not casual 

Jack watched as you wiped out in the waves once again, a giggle on his lips. As you resurfaced, he saw the panic in your eyes and he swam over, his body taking over before his brain could say anything. 

“You alright?” he called, swimming over to you. You shook your head wildly, tears forming in your eyes. 

“M-my leg,” you whimpered out, trying to keep yourself above water. He grabbed your waist and held you bridal-style so he could swim back to shore, signalling to the lifeguards as finally got you to shore. He saw the issue when you two were out of the water, a huge gash on your left leg, so bad you could see the bone. The cracked bone.

What ensued for the next 9 hours was a flurry of an ambulance, hospital rooms, and surgery, but the only constant was Jack. he stayed there the entire time, and he was there when you woke up. 

He breathed a sigh of relief when your eyes opened. “Hey baby,” he smiled, easy as ever despite the worry he’d been under extreme stress all day. “You’re awake.”

You nodded, taking his hand. “I’m so sorry about today-”

“Don’t apologise. We all get hurt sometimes, it’s alright,” he reassured you. “Plus, it’s not like I can be mad at you.”

“Why not?” you asked. 

“Because I love you,” he shrugged. He’d realised in the 9 hours of  stress that he wouldn’t go to this extent for anyone else, and that he must be insane or in love (which were probably the same thing) to somehow be blindsighted into bringing you to the most dangerous part of the beach for surfing (we was persuaded by you kissing him lots) and then bringing you to the ER and staying with you the entire time. So, he chose the love one, it sounded better. 

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[mapis-putellas]

[ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʟᴇᴀᴛꜱ ]

Summary: You never intended to meet the love of your life on a random Friday at work, and you definitely never thought she’d be world famous footballer Alexia Putellas.

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝟏

It was on a regular Friday morning when you see her for the first time, and she was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman you'd ever laid eyes on. She was dressed in what you could only guess was a football training kit, sat confidently at one of the tables in the far corner with her toned, tanned legs you couldn't take your eyes off on full display.

Her hair was blonde; like sunlight spun into silk, pulled back into a high ponytail with a headband to keep the flyaways out of her face. You couldn't see her face fully from your place behind the counter, but her side profile was perfectly symmetrical, jawline sharp and seemingly chiselled from the gods above themselves.

Her hands were playing with an empty sugar packet as she nods along to whatever her friend was saying, and you can't help but watch the way her long, slender fingers move alongside the thin paper, folding it as small as she could before undoing it and starting again.

It was an action so hypnotic you can't help but stare. What else could she do with those fingers?

You don't expect her head to suddenly turn and stare directly at you, catching you right in the act. You stand there like a deer caught in headlights, your hands frozen, clutching an empty plastic cup so tightly it splits down the front.

The first thing you notice were her eyes. They were brown, like the colour of mahogany wood, both comforting and steady. Then her lips. Soft. Both inviting and tempting, though pressed into a thin clearly giving away her dislike towards the situation.

She doesn't do anything; like get up and scold you for staring and her general facial expression gives absolutely nothing away. The longer she stares, however, the more her features soften, and you're unsure on whether that's because she feels sorry for you, or she finds you endearing.

You decide it would be best not to ask to save your already fragile ego.

Suddenly, another pair of eyes meet your own, her friends, and her face gives everything away. She looks between the both of you before her eyebrows raise, and her lips quirk up into a knowing smile as she slaps the beautiful girls arm effectively ripping her attention away from you.

They start talking between themselves in a language you didn't quite understand, the friend looking smug whilst the beautiful girl looked like she'd rather be anywhere else, and you force yourself to look away from them and busy yourself with starting to clean up.

The last thing you want was to get caught staring again. You were already humiliated enough and adding to that honestly brings you one step closer to throwing yourself out of the nearest window.

Loosening the death grip you had on the cloth still in to hands, you continue with the task of wiping down the counters. There were granules of sugar, dried brown marks from spilled coffee, fingerprints from the day's customers. All of it was gone in one wipe over. The coffee machine was cleaned a little while ago, sparkling slightly as the sun shining in through the windows opposite hits it in the perfect way. All that was left to do now was close up, and you couldn't do that with people still in the building.

Not knowing what else to do, you once again start wiping counters despite the fact they were already very much clean in a futile effort at killing a little time.

Someone clearing their throat abruptly startles you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see the friend of the woman you were horrendously crushing on. She was leaning against the counter, tanned tattooed arms crossed over one another as she stares at you with a small smirk on her face.

You swallow heavily as you tuck a loose strand of hair that had fallen from your braid behind your ear.

"Hola." She greets, and though you're terrible at Spanish, you do understand what she had said and return the greeting, your voice just as reluctant as it was cautious.

"Uhh...can I help...you?" You risk a glance behind her, stomach sinking when the beautiful girl was no where to be seen.

"I am Mapi." She starts, straightening up and linking her hands together.

Now deeply confused on why she feels the need to tell you her name, you nod your head and make the polite decision to tell her your name too . "Y/n."

"Y/n," she hums. "Sí, vale. I am sorry, my English is not..." she trials off with a guilty smile, and you shake your head.

"It's okay." You assure, lips momentarily quirking up into a shy smile.

"Anyway, my amiga, the uhhh...chica you were looking at," you immediately flush. "She say you are...how you say... hermosa?" She trails off unsurely, and you stare at her like she has three heads.

She sighs like she knew that was the response she was going to get. "Vale, you do not understand," she mumbles to herself. "Ehh, you are...bonita?" She tries again.

Bonita? You swear you've heard that somewhere before. On a tv show maybe? Didn't it mean...

"Pretty?" You try.

She snaps her fingers with an elated grin, one so genuine you can't help but mimic it. "Sí, yes. She say...said you are pretty. I try to...convince?" She looks up at you unsurely, and you nod your head in confirmation. "Gracias. I try to convince her to talk to you but she is very stubborn."

"That's okay," you laugh awkwardly. "I'm way out of her league anyway. But thanks for coming over."

"Qué?" Mapi tilts her head to the side. "Out of her league? Qué significa eso?"

More or less understanding the question, you flush as you fumble anxiously with the cloth still in your hands. "Uhhh, like she's too good for me."

"Huh? No. No no. I do not think so, chica. Alexia is right. Eres bonita"

Your stomach twists at finally learning her name, your lips quirking up into a soft smile. "Alexia?"

Mapi's eyes light up. "Sí. Alexia."

Speaking of the devil, at the mention of her name, Alexia walks out of the bathroom with her head buried in her phone. She doesn't look your way at all as she sits back down, and you can't help but feel a little disappointed as you look back down at your hands. How could she think you're pretty if she can't even look at you?

Mapi watches her friend sit with an eye roll before turning back round to face you. To get your attention, she reaches over to lightly tap your hand, waiting for you to look at her before speaking.

"I see your phone, por favor?"

"Um, why?"

"You will see." Is all she says, and figuring you have nothing else to lose, you pull your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans before unlocking it and handing it over. Mapi hums her thanks as she taps on the screen for a few moments before looking over at Alexia.

Frowning in confusion, you follow her gaze, only to regret doing so when you make direct eye contact with Alexia. You blink stupidly, not sure what to say or do as she stares directly into your soul.

Fortunately, Mapi makes a decision for you. She gestures Alexia over, the blonde hesitating for only a split second before rising to her feet and making her way towards you. The expression on her face was undesirable as she stops the other side of the counter next to Mapi, her hands tucked into the pockets of her red jacket.

With one last glance between the two of you, Mapi makes her way back to her table with a satisfied smile on her face. You watch her go with a slight bit of regret, knowing for a fact whatever conversation you were about to have work Alexia was going to be awkward.

Deciding to bite the bullet and get it over with, you raise your hand to give her a small wave. "Hey." You say with a small smile.

You can't tell if the butterflies in your stomach are nervousness because you're talking to a beautiful woman, or panic because 'oh my god, please let her think I'm normal.'

"Hola." The sound of her voice was nothing like you expected, and your forced to swallow back the word vomit lingering on the tip of your tongue. Do not freak her out with unnecessary compliments.

"So, uh, what did Mapi text you?" You wonder, hoping this would be a good step forward in making conversation.

Alexia hums softly as she pulls her phone out of her pocket, unlocking it before setting it down on the counter and turning it to face you. On the screen was the text Mapi had sent her, and you lean forward to get a closer look at what it says.

I'm y/n. I think you are pretty too.

Though you flush red a little in embarrassment, you don't deny it.

"I mean...she wasn't wrong," you shrug somewhat bashfully as you fumble with the cloth. "I do think you're pretty. Beautiful even."

Alexia raises an eyebrow, though it didn't take an genius to see the way her cheeks flush a light shade of red. Her lips part, and you feel your breath hitch as you watch the wet her tongue wets her lips before her eyes finally make contact with your own.

You blink stupidly, and Alexia smirks as she leans her arms against the counter much like Mapi had done moments prior but with way different intentions. Her eyes flicker over your face, head tilting to the side as she takes in every little detail. You try to remember wether or not you'd put on makeup this morning, but she was looking at you so intently you could barely even remember your own name.

There was so much being said without any words at all, and it was starting to become a little overwhelming. Why wasn't she speaking? Did she not like what she was seeing now she was close enough to actually see it?'

"I am not..." your eyes whip up to her own at a speed that shocks you both. You thank god she chooses to say nothing about it. "I am not good at this...in English."

"This?" You question a little unsurely, not quite understanding what she was referring to. Alexia nods, hesitating only briefly before gesturing to you and then herself. You take a wild guess at what she was trying to communicate.

"Umm, flirting?"

Alexia smiles as she nods her head. "Sí. Yes. Flirting. I am much more good at it in Spanish."

"Then it looks like I'll definitely have to start learning some Spanish." Was out of your mouth before you could stop it, and Alexia blinks before her cheeks once again flush.

God. She looked so good.

"It is...a difficult language to learn." Her voice breaks you away from your thoughts. You look up to see her staring at you with a somewhat hesitant smile on her face, almost questioning whether or not you were being serious. You're quick to assure her you were.

"It'll be worth it." For you. You want to add, but you refrain from saying so in order to avoid coming off too clingy.

"Then I will learn English too." She says with a firm nod as she straightens up, and you shake your head playfully with a gentle smile on your lips.

"Qué?" Knowing that means 'what' due to how Mapi had used it in a sentence earlier, you're quick to respond to her.

"Your English is perfect already." You admit truthfully, and you preen internally when Alexia flushes yet again.

Man. Who knew you were so good at this?

Alexia smiles as she fumbles with her phone, spinning it round on the counter to try and keep her hands busy. "Gracias," she murmurs bashfully. "I would like to...to take you out, if that is okay?"

Your eyes widen a little in surprise at the fact she'd been the one to ask you out when you'd fully intended for it to be the other way around. Taking your silence as a bad thing, Alexia opens her mouth to take it all back, but you're quick to reach out and give the back of her hand a small touch.

"I'd love to, Alexia." You assure, and the blonde smiles in relief as she glances back at Mapi. Her friend gives her two thumbs up and a wide grin, and you can't help but laugh softly when Alexia sends her a playful glare before once again turning to face you.

"Bueno. I will....text you?"

You nod. "I'll be looking forward to it." You smile, and Alexia returns it, lingering for a moment longer in front of you before reluctantly turning and making her way back over to Mapi. She ignores the tattooed girls soft nudges and not so subtle pestering as she packs up her things, sending you another smile as she passes and makes her way to the door. She pulls it open, patiently waiting for Mapi who was still grabbing her things.

Eventually, it's all in her arms, and you smile as she makes her way over to you. "Nos vemos, chica." She winks, and you can't help but smile as you watch her exit the shop with Alexia following shortly after. The bell dings as the door closes, and you smile softly as you make your way over to lock up and flip the sign to closed.

Yes, you'd kept the shop open an extra half an hour to shamelessly flirt with Alexia. Don't judge. Anyone in your position would have done it do.

As you head out back to grab your things, you make a silent note to once again download duolingo when you got home. How hard could leading Spanish really be?

**

Tags:

@simp4panos @goldenempyrean @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @liloandstitchstan

[ddejavvu]

Accidentally scaring Eddie Munson, so once you’re laughing at his very loud scream, he’s biting you in retaliation

You've always known Eddie has a fucked up startle response. Neither you nor your boyfriend know why it's so intense, but perhaps it's just part of his charm.

Charming is definitely the word you'd use to describe the blood-curdling scream that he lets out when you reach out to grab his ankle from beneath his bed, having told him you'd be in the bath only fifteen minutes ago. The way you'd closed the door had fooled him just like you'd hoped, and he'd assumed you were inside, basking in warm water and rose-scented soap.

When you wrap your fingers around his ankle he shrieks, jerking backwards until his back bumps the wall behind him. It's not enough to knock the wind out of him, so you don't feel bad for laughing at his aghast expression when you heave yourself out from beneath the bed.

Perhaps it was unfair of you to tease him so soon after your Halloween horror movie marathon, but you personally believe that the terror glowing in his eyes is the best part.

"I got you!" You gush, your laugh thick and full in your shaking chest, "Oh, Eddie, that was- that was amazing. You should have seen your- hey!"

In one swift motion Eddie pushes off the wall to lunge for you, and he knocks you backwards onto the bed, his weight heavy on top of you. You wriggle and squirm and laugh at his antics, but he pins you down, burying his face against your shoulder and sinking his teeth into your flesh.

"Ah! Eddie," You screech, feeling the pinpricks of pain beneath his teeth, "No fair!"

"No fair?" He retorts indignantly, "No fair? My heart almost fell out of my ass, princess!"

"It was funny," You insist, and he scoffs.

"Yeah, real funny." His flyaway hairs tickle your face but you're powerless to stop them, merely twitching your nose in earnest to try and clear them away. He watches you, then decides it's fair punishment to leave you to your torture, not making any move to fix his hair.

"The neighbors probably heard me scream," He muses, "And they're gonna call the cops and tell 'em my crazy girlfriend tried to kill me."

"That's better than why they came last Friday," Your nose wrinkles involuntarily at the memory, "That cop did not believe me when I said I asked for the bruises."

[weird-is-life]

How about a fic where the reader is baking a cake for their anniversary and it's supposed to be a surprise, but Spencer gets off of work early and sees the surprise.

Ty for the request, lovely🥰! Hope, this is okay. Warnings: fluff, use of pet names, (0.4k)

It's supposed to be a surprise. You have everything ready, the cake almost done. But just as you start decorating the icing, Spencer comes home.

You don't even hear him come in with your headphones on, so you don't even get the chance to hide it at least a little.

Spencer, as always, immediately comes up to you from behind, hugging you to his chest. And by doing so he has the most perfect view of the cake and you squeel loudly.

"Spencer, shut your eyes!" you instantly turn around and push him out of the view of the cake.

Spencer does what he's told, but asks baffles," what's wrong?"

"It was supposed to by a surprise!" you tell him miserably, "why are you home so early?"

"Hotch let us go early since it's Friday," Spencer tells you, he peeks at you through one eye, which you notice, so you put your palms over his eyes.

"Spence!" you whine," why didn't you call me?"

"I'm sorry, baby," he smiles apologetically at you," I thought, I'd surprise you."

"Well, you did. B-but I had a surprise ready for you, too," you say a bit upset, "you weren't supposed to see the cake until tomorrow."

"I'm sorry, i-i didn't even see it properly," Spencer tries to make the situation better, but you see right through him.

"Liar," you chuckle," your whole face was literally almost in the cake."

Spencer chuckles too, "I really am sorry, sweetheart. I didn't mean to ruin your anniversary surprise. Forgive me?"

You slowly put your hands away from Spencer's eyes and he takes it as a permission to open his eyes.

Your little sad pout is too cute for Spencer not to kiss you. He does, which makes you smile.

"I'm an idiot, I'm sorry for crushing your plan," he tells you regretfully, hands smoothing away your flyaway hair.

"It's okay," you are maybe a little bit down about it all, but you're not mad. You couldn't be mad at Spencer, especially when it's not his fault. He couldn't have know, what you were planning to do.

You hug him," I'll think of something else," you grin into his chest. Spencer doesn't need to see your face to know, you're grinning.

"I know, you will," Spencer whispers and kisses you on the temple, "but we will still eat the cake tomorrow, right?"

You chuckle again, "that's not even a question. Of course, we will. It looks too good to not eat it."

"Exactly my thoughts," Spencer joshes.

Spencer starts to lead you towards your comfy couch, as he adds, "now c'mon sweetheart, you need to tell me about your day...." And you....you just melt into his arms, suddenly realising that he's home early and you can have him with you longer than usual.

[miss-bushido]

make the world safe and sound for you

written for @softsteddieseptember week 3, prompt ‘anniversary’

Rating: G

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

Steve pressed his face to the pillow and groaned. “No, my head hurts. Come back later.”

“Aw, I’m sorry,” Eddie murmured, pressing a light kiss to Steve’s temple, smoothing back some flyaway strands. “How late were you up?”

Steve groaned, tapping his fingers on the bed as he counted in his head. “Last time I saw the clock it said 4:30 AM.” He had been pulling all-nighters while working to get his Master’s degree. He was only a few months away from being finished with the program, and he just wanted to see the back of it.

Eddie winced. It was 7:30 AM. Normally, Steve would be up by 6 AM, ensuring he would see first thing the text messages or emails from his boss asking him to sub for one of the teachers at a local school. Eddie grabbed Steve’s phone and winced again. There were three missed calls from his boss, and a flurry of text messages.

“I’m making an executive decision,” Eddie announced, sitting on the bed behind Steve. “I’m telling your boss that you’re sick and that you won’t be able to sub anywhere today.”

Steve scrubbed his face with his hands. “No, I can-”

“Honey, I love you, but you’re talking out of your ass. You need to rest. You can’t expect to be effective with less than 3 hours of sleep.” Eddie put his fingertip to Steve’s plush lips to silence any further protests. “I’ll call her and let her know you’re sick, and that you should be more than fine come Monday morning. When was the last time you took a Friday off?”

Steve blinked, his eyes heavy and scratchy from lack of sleep. “Almost two years ago.”

“Exactly. So. Since you’re not going to work today, go back to sleep. I don’t want to see you downstairs before 9:30 AM, clear?”

In spite of how exhausted he was, Steve felt his stomach flutter at the tone Eddie used. “Yes, sir.”

Eddie smirked, unable to resist giving him a kiss. “Let’s save that for tonight, okay?”

“Daddy?” came a small, sleepy voice from the hallway. The bedroom door was pushed open to reveal their toddler daughter Rosie standing there, clutching her stuffed duck. “We’re thirsty,” she said, her voice low and rough in her throat. Her twin brother, Theo, was with her as he always was, clutching her purple sleep shirt with his left hand, his right thumb in his mouth.

Eddie’s heart swelled to look at them. He and Steve had thought long and hard about children after their marriage, and though they were fine with adoption, they wanted to try and have biological children of their own. Obviously, neither of them could get pregnant (not for lack of trying), so they spoke to the women in their lives; Nancy, Robin, Chrissy, Vickie, to see if any of them would be willing to either donate one of their eggs or become a surrogate, or both.

In the end, Chrissy said she would do both for them: donate her eggs, and be a surrogate. It was almost immediate that she became pregnant with the twins. When they were born, Eddie cried harder than he ever had in his life at seeing their chubby cheeks and bright eyes. He couldn’t believe it was three years ago that their little family was completed.

“You’re thirsty?” Eddie asked, holding his arms out for both of them to come in. Theo broke into a big toothy grin and ran over to jump on Eddie, his light brown hair bouncing . Both Steve and Eddie loved their children equally, and they knew the twins loved them the same as well. But Theo seemed to have an affinity for Eddie: following him around and looking very interested when he practiced his guitar. He even accompanied Eddie to some band rehearsals, but never to one of their shows. Maybe when he was older. He listened with rapt attention as Eddie read to them: The Hobbit, the Redwall books, The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, and the paintings he did, while rudimentary, were clearly influenced by the stories.

Rosie could frequently be found snuggling with Steve: she liked putting barrettes in his hair, painting his nails and putting lipstick on him. Whenever they had a tea party, she put a silver tiara on him and a pair of ruby clip on earrings, telling him, "Papa looks so pretty."

How could Steve resist? How could either of them resist?

While her brother went to Eddie, she toddled over to the other side of the bed. She tossed her stuffed duck up and clambered up, crawling over to Steve. She looked the most like Eddie: she had his brown doe eyes and the waves of her hair were like his, though she took after Chrissy in terms of her strawberry blonde hair color, and the way she smiled. “Papa?” she asked, looking down at Steve. “No work today?”

Steve looked up sleepily at his daughter, unable to stop the big smile spreading across his face. “Not today, baby. Papa stayed up too late doing school work.”

“That’s silly,” she said, collapsing dramatically against the pillows. Steve had seen Eddie do that exact same thing more than a few times, and it always made him laugh.

“Papa is silly, Duck,” he admitted, quickly reaching forward and pulling her close, blowing raspberries on her neck, her shrieking giggles filling the air. He still had a headache, and her shrieks of glee were not helping, but he could bear it.

“I keep telling him that,” Eddie said as he sat back down, Theo leaning against him. Theo had Steve’s beautiful hazel eyes, but they were turning more towards green the older he got. His hair was dark brown and straight, and though he was quieter than his sister, the smile he had was pure Eddie. Both of them worried they would have a little hell-raiser on their hands as he got older and got more confidence.

“‘M still thirsty, Daddy,” Theo murmured against Eddie’s chest. He looked up at Eddie with his big eyes. “Choccy milk?”

“For breakfast?” Eddie replied in mock shock and awe. Theo immediately started giggling, tilting his head back as he watched Eddie perform. “There will be chaos if we move choccy milk time to morning instead of dinner.”

“Pleeeeease?” Theo pleaded. “Please Daddy?”

“Yeah! Pleeeeease?” Rosie shouted, jumping up from laying next to Steve, all but throwing herself on Eddie’s back.

“Oh! Attacked on both sides! The treachery! The betrayaaaal!” Eddie kept his left arm firmly wrapped around Theo before he hooked his right arm back to wrap around Rosie. He stood up, both of them in his arms. “Steve! Don’t just lay in bed! Save meeeee!” He yelled this while moving quickly out of the bedroom, giving Steve a knowing glance as he shut the door behind him with his foot.

Steve laughed at the display of his little family, though he was grateful that Eddie managed to get them out of the room and leave him in peace. He didn’t see his phone on the bed, so Eddie must have taken it with him. Which was good, as it meant he could fall back to sleep like Eddie wanted him to.

A few hours later, Steve woke up, feeling the warmth of a small body against his chest. He opened his eyes to see Theo snuggled up against him, snoring lightly. Behind him, Rosie and Eddie were also asleep. Both had their mouths open slightly, right arms above their heads as they slept.

“Happy anniversary,” he whispered, feeling happy tears well in his eyes.

[astxroiid]

empire state of mind // tasm!peter parker

❥ warm New York, cold nights, sushi, pining, heroes and their hopeless romanticism.

wc: 1.5k

navigation ✩ new york private life (I) ✩ manhattan longing (III)

The movie finishes with little to no emotional distractions from either of you. You look to Peter, "This was fun! We need to do it again sometime."

You smile but all Peter feels is dread. Are you sending him home? Already? He's had a great time but he doesn’t wanna go home so soon.

“Yeah… I had a lot of fun too,” he gives a downturned smile.

"How about you come back on Friday? I'm free all day after my class at 10."

Your voice drowns out and Peter feels a tingle up his back. The hairs on his arms stand on end. Something bad is happening...

He turns his head, realizing that whatever his Spidey-Sense is telling him is happening, is major. He tries to hide his worry as he stands, grabbing his bag from beside the door.

"H-hey! Where are you going?" the worry filling up your throat and spilling into your tone.

"Friday. After 10. Sounds amazing. I'll be there. Gotta go-" he doesn't stay to hear your response. Slamming the door behind him. You're left on the couch, in shock and feeling a little sad.

A few moments later, you see Spider Man swing by your window and off into town, towards the flashing red and blue lights.

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

That was Tuesday, it's now Thursday night.

Sorry for dashing off last night, I forgot I had to pick some things up for my aunt!

Peter's message from Wednesday sits unopened on your phone. You have no idea how to respond.

♡.

Peter's all kinds of a mess right now. Terrified he messed things up by leaving so quickly the other night. Nervous that your date is canceled. He hasn't heard back from you since that night.

What if you're mad? Or now uninterested because of the way he ran out? What can I do to fix this? Peter's internal thoughts have been going haywire since Tuesday.

♡.

You phone buzzes as you begin to study for one of your exams. You decide to ignore it

Then it buzzes, and again.

You grab the device in anger with full intentions of putting it on do not disturb. Until you see the messages are from Peter.

Be ready tomorrow at 2.

I'm taking you somewhere nice to make up for my actions.

Is that sushi place still an option?

You smile and respond: Only if you show up on time :)

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Peter does show up on time, early actually. He takes you downtown, walking through little shops, trying to get the confidence to hold your hand.

Right now would be the perfect time.

The both of you walking along the sidewalk. Shoulder to shoulder.

Do it, Peter. You both think. And then, your thoughts separate.

I'm basically begging for it with the way I'm pushing my shoulder into his. From you.

What if she doesn't want that? And I ruin the whole moment? From Peter.

Fuck it. Peter steadies his breathing and goes to wrap his pinky around your index.

Just as his finger starts to brush against yours, you move your hand, running digits through your hair.

Peter curls and uncurls his fingers by his side.

"Ugh, this heatwave is fucking ridiculous," you hum, holding your hair into a temporary ponytail. Smiling at the boy.

To Peter Parker, you are the most stunning woman he's ever seen. And this moment encompasses that completely. Flyaway hairs framing your face, chest glowing from sweat, cheeks flushed from the heat, and smile beaming.

If only he could grow a pair and hold your hand.

"Yeah, tell me about it. The air conditioning in my apartment's broken. It's just me, a lonely fan, and a lot of open windows," he smiles at you, nervous of talking too much.

You can't help but feel your chest flutter every time he gives you that bashful smile. Something in the way his cheeks change color and his eyes dart around awkwardly keeping your heart pounding.

"Well. Anytime you feel yourself getting too hot, you can always come over," you wink and waltz into a nearby store, holding the door for him.

Peter feels his hands begin to shake, the temperature in his body rising and he suspects it's not from the weather. He follows you in.

You bounce around the shop happily, picking up the mini glass figures and examining each one, showing them all to Peter.

He gazes at you with a content smile on his face. He could get used to this.

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

The hours come and go, but as five-o'clock draws near you and Peter begin to make your way towards the aforementioned sushi restaurant.

You step in and are in immediate awe. Neon red led's light up the dim rooms. Candles flicker on each table, illuminating the accompanying roses. The clack of your shoes reverberates off the black marble floor and falls in time with the soft jazz flowing through the building.

"Oh wow..." you breathe.

Peter walks behind you with a smug grin on his face. He aimed to impress you with this place. It seems he hit the bullseye.

"How many?" A very well dressed, middle aged woman asks, smiling.

"Just two." Peter answers.

"Follow me." The lady turns the corner after grabbing two menus.

After being sat and ordering drinks, Peter goes to look at his menu. You kick him (lightly) from under the table.

He jumps. "Ah! What was that for?!"

"You didn't tell me how nice this place was gonna be!" You whisper rather sharply.

"Well, I wanted to impress you. And make up for everything," Peter smiles.

"You can do all that without letting me dress like a slob to go to a place like this!"

"I think you look beautiful." Peter blurts. Eyes wide, face red.

"Oh." Your voice is just above a whisper. "Well.. uh, thank you," you smile at him and his whole world lights up.

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

You exit the front doors of the restaurant, cold night air stinging your lungs.

"That was amazing, Peter. thank you so much," you stuff your hands into your pockets.

"Of course! I had to make everything up to you," he smiles down at you. Again, having the same battle of brain and heart over holding your hand, both of which being pushed further into your pockets.

"We definitely have to do this again," you begin to cross the street, assuming Peter follows behind you.

"Hey! y/n! Wait!" Peter's scared tone stops you in your tracks in the street as you turn to look at him.

"wha--" you hear a horn and can barely distinguish headlights from beside you before a pair of warm, rather strong, arms are embracing you - holding you an equally as strong body.

Your chest goes numb with adrenaline, face heating up from the proximity of Peter's face to yours.

"Oh my god. Are you okay?" His breath is heavy, warm chest pushing into yours and heart pounding.

"Uh... yeah... are you?"

"I'm fine. I think my ankle is bruised from the fall but it's alright, as long as you're okay."

Your chest continues fluttering but no longer from fear. The way Peter just smiled at you could light the whole world up.

"Here," you stand up, offering the boy a hand. "Let's go back to my place and assess the damage."

Peter takes your hand, following you back home.

You turn to him. "Thank you, by the way. You totally just saved my life."

⏪︎ peter's pov ⏪︎

Peter smiled, holding the door open as you exit the restaurant. He'd had such a great day with you so far, though he worried at every point he would make a wrong move and mess everything up.

He didn't.

"That was amazing, Peter. thank you so much."

This is it. Peter thinks. My best possible chance to grab her hand.

You stuff your hands into your pockets.

Shit.

"Of course! I had to make everything up to you," Peter smiles down at you.

"We definitely have to do this again."

Peter watches you step down from the sidewalk and onto the asphalt. His head snaps to the left, seeing headlights. A car. Moving fast. Right for you.

His whole body goes numb, heart pounding.

"Hey! y/n! Wait!"

You turn, freezing.

Peter feels a build of anxiety from his toes to his head. You're not moving.

The hairs on his arms stand up, and he's moving before his thoughts can catch up. And everything feels like it's in slow motion.

He lunges, wrapping his arms around you, pulling both of you back towards the sidewalk. Peter's ankle twists and he lands, back thudding against the pavement, holding you snug against him.

His breath is harsh.

"Oh my god. Are you okay?" Peter can feel your hearts pounding in the same, fear-driven tempo.

"Uh... yeah... are you?" Your eyes search his.

"I'm fine. I think my ankle is bruised from the fall but it's alright, as long as you're okay." And he means it.

"Here," you stand up, offering the him a hand. "Let's go back to my place and assess the damage."

Peter gladly takes your hand, also taking note of the smoothness, and the gentle way you lead him. He feels warmth slowly spread down his back, realizing his ankle might not be the only injury he sustained.

"Thank you, by the way. You totally just saved my life."

likes are appreciated but comments and reblogs are the desire. Remember they do more for authors and tumblrs than a like ever could.

[formulaforza]

miss americana & the heartbreak prince

—01. all american girl —word count: 6.4k —warnings: none :) —a/n: this is queued so I'm sound asleep right now but trust when I wake... I will be throwing up about having posted this

It’s nine in the morning on Friday, and the kindergarteners at Robinson Elementary are getting picked up from the gymnasium and taken to their classroom to start their day. It’s nine in the morning on Friday, and their teacher, Chris Elliott, is running four minutes late to the first day of the U.S Grand Prix. Her fingers flatten down stray flyaways, working in tandem with the extra strength hairspray she found in the back of the Walgreens beauty aisle last night. Her makeup is strewn about in chaos atop the stark white marble countertops, a single folded piece of toilet paper in the trash can, remnants of her lipstick kissed onto the fibers. 

She played it safe on the outfit today, still hasn’t been able to pinpoint exactly what the dress code for this race is supposed to be. Her Dad has been no help–he can get away with wearing jeans and a short-sleeve button-up just about anywhere he goes. More is expected from her, though. Three days, three outfits, always walking the line between casual streetwear and Kentucky Derby without a fascinator. She settled for something painfully classic and American, figured a European sport would be eating up the concept of everything being bigger in Texas. Levi’s, a white tank top, and a beat up pair of cowboy boots should do a good enough job at letting anyone curious know she’s authentically American, without screaming out for attention. That’s the goal for the weekend; blend in and keep Dad company. 

Dad, who is not-so patiently tapping his foot against the floor, watching pre-race coverage of the Dixie Vodka 400 on his iPhone 7,  is a guest of honor for Ferrari this weekend. It was a classic Bill Elliott commitment, one he makes and then forgets about until he’s getting sent an email a month ago to remind him. One he makes when he forgets his son is racing the same weekend. That’s how Chris ended up here with him, instead of her Mom or instead of Chase or Chandler. They’re all in Florida for the Cup Series. Well–Chandler isn’t. Chandler’s at her hot-shot job in the big city living her life blissfully away from racing. 

She can count on a single hand the amount of times her dad has missed a Cup Series race in the years since his retirement. Even if he’s moved on from driving the track, racing is in Elliott blood. It comes easier to them than breathing does. Chris won’t be the first to admit it, but she's the NASCAR nepotism equivalent of a Baldwin baby. She’s no Kennedy, the first-families of NASCAR are closer to the Petty’s and the Earnhardt’s, but, you ask a NASCAR fan about the Elliott Clan and you’re sure to get an earful. Champion, Hall-of-Fame inductee father, supergenius transmission and engine mechanic uncles, and a superstar fan-favorite older brother, the Elliott family racing history spans generations of fans.

Never the Danica Patrick-type, Chris has always preferred to watch the races rather than compete in them, but she still grew up at the track and was always up for a trip to visit her dad at the auto-shop. 

“Mums,” her dad says, peeking his head around the corner into the hotel bathroom. It’s a stupid nickname, Mums, Chrysanthemum. She’d roll her eyes if it was anyone but Bill still calling her by it. “We gotta go, darlin’.” Chris nods at him in the mirror, flattens her hands along her thigh and tucks one final strand of her bang behind her ear, and then they’re finally leaving the hotel for the track. 

It’s a strange kind of first for Chris, in that it’s not really a first at all. She’s been to COTA before, multiple times. Hell, she watched in the garage when Chase won the inaugural Cup Series race here in May last season. She’s even been to the U.S Grand Prix before, back when it was still in Indianapolis, when Chris was too young to remember if it was big or if she was just little. She’s used to the crowds, spends almost every weekend with upwards of fifty-thousand people, but this? This is the kind of crowd she can’t fathom being among, and it’s only Friday. If it takes them an hour and a half to get through traffic on a practice day, she can only imagine what the next two mornings have in store for her. 

“No antics today,” Bill tells her in the car. “They’re not like us. Trust me, I know.”

Last time you went to one of these races, you were still a driver, she wants to tell him, but doesn’t. He doesn’t take well to the implication he’s an old man. Walking into the paddock with a yellow pass hung around her neck, FERRARI-GUEST-17 and a picture of the team logo popping up on the screens at the turnstiles, she’s beyond taken back by the pomp and circumstance of it all. She’s barely through the entrance and she’s already spotted half a dozen people who could buy her without it making a dent in their pockets. It’s nothing like walking around a NASCAR track. There isn’t a single Bud Light knight or backs sunburnt into American flags or t-shirts turned muscle tanks. It’s just… rich people. Lots and lots of rich people. 

In the Paddock Club tent, Bill manages to find a couple of his old buddies. Guys he raced with back in the day who’ve turned up for whatever with whoever this weekend. It’s unsurprising, stock car racing is nowhere near as exclusive a club as Formula One. They aren’t any of the guys Chris remembers being a part of her childhood, none of them pseudo-uncles in the way some other drivers were. You’re all grown up, they tell her, note her height and her features and one of them even asks if she’s in college yet. She plays along, pretends she remembers them fondly and that they haven’t been on the recipient list for the annual Elliott family Christmas newsletter for the past thirty or so years. His buddies are much more comfortable talking about Chase, anyways, about his racing and his fiancee and his little boy than they’ve ever been talking about Chris or Chandler. The concept of a quote-en-quote girl dad wasn’t such a thing in the nineties.

Chris makes small talk with one of the wives. They can’t be that far apart in age, she’s definitely of a different generation than her husband. Gross. Chris lets the woman lead the conversation; she talks about the polka dots on her skirt and Chris’ cowboy boots that are, apparently, perfectly authentic. 

They separate from the group of former NASCAR drivers and their child brides within the hour. Bill has to be in Ferrari hospitality by one o’clock for a special meeting. He’s still not sure what he did to get selected for this specific group of people who get to do a hot lap with one of the Ferrari drivers, but he isn’t about to ask any questions that might get him out of it. He sets off to hospitality and Chris sneaks out of the paddock and into the rest of the track. 

There’s only so much to see inside the paddock. Hospitality after hospitality after hospitality, just in different colors with different modern structures with pictures of different cars. She wants to experience the event, not just the rich people who can pay their way into the upper echelon of the pinnacle of motorsport. If she’s going to be on her own for an hour and a half, she might as well be fully and truly on her own. 

She ends up in the beer garden. More specifically, the bar tent. You can’t separate a NASCAR fan from the Natty Light. The pass around her neck gets her into the VIP area of the tent, which… feels like an antithesis of itself.  Her phone buzzes in her back pocket when she’s waiting on her bottle from the bartender. It’s her dad. 

Brad Pitt is here. Crazy. 

She makes quick acquaintances with a couple who looks about her age. She compliments the girl’s denim jacket and then she’s in. The DJ is playing country music with a techno backtrack at the other side of the tent and they all three spend a good fifteen minutes trying to decide if they love or hate the set. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” the guy says. 

“It’s definitely not the best, though,” Chris winces, spots a Ferrari pass hanging with the VIP one around the girlfriend’s neck. “Are you guys here with Ferrari?” She asks. 

“Oh, “ she says, looks down at the pass and fiddles with it for a moment. “Yeah, Will’s a golfer and they invited him for a tour and to do this golf event with ESPN.”

“Oh, that’s sick!” Chris nods. “Have you guys ever been here, or is this your first time?”

“We’ve come every year for…” Will starts, looks to his girlfriend for the rest of his sentence. 

“Four years,” she nods. “What about you?”

“This is my first time,” Chris explains, leaves out the technicalities because she barely cares about them, doesn’t expect a stranger to even half-care. “My dad’s here with Ferrari, and I’m here to babysit my dad.” She laughs. 

The woman nods, makes a quiet ah sound. Will asks for clarification. “You guys lose each other, or something?”

Chris nods. “Or something.”

Charles sees her before he hears her. She appears in his peripheral on the top floor of Ferrari Hospitality, moving swiftly through the groups of strangers with a confidence that makes you think she owns the place. He half-prepares to excuse himself from his current conversation–not that he’s understanding more than forty-percent of the words coming out of this guy’s mouth–to take a photo with the short brunette bee-lining it over to him. 

“Excu–”

“I think I saw Brad Pitt on my way here,” she says, and the man he’s been talking to for fifteen minutes laughs. Oh, he thinks, that’s mortifying. She’s not here to intrude on his conversation and ask for a picture. She’s here with this guy. 

“This is my Chris,” Bill says. 

“Hi,” Chris says. Chris. Chris. Chris is a woman. A woman extending her hand, thin and well manicured with a single ruby ring, for him to shake. “Chris.”

“Charles,” he says, hesitates. “You are not what I was expecting.” 

There wasn’t much he understood from Bill Elliott during their hot lap, not that Bill didn’t talk. Charles just didn’t have the focusing capabilities to drive the car in an entertaining way while also deciphering the thick southern drawl of the man sat in the passenger seat. It was thick, heavy, and sounded like maybe he’d smoked a pack a day for a few years. That, or he was straight-up making up words in a bit that only he was in on. One thing he did understand, though, was the kids’ names. I have three, he’d said, Chandler, Chase, and Chris. He’d assumed all boys. Chandler, Chase, and Christopher. Christian. Cristiano. The last thing he was expecting was a beautiful girl with a firm handshake. 

“You were expecting me?” She asks, and her voice is a million times easier to understand than her father’s. 

“No, no. He just,” He gestures absently to Bill. Chris doesn’t break eye contact. She has wonderful eyes. “I thought Chandler, Chase, and Chris are three brothers.”

“Oh,” She laughs like it’s not even close to the first time she’s had to follow behind her dad and correct the miscommunication, and a piece of her bangs falls loose from its tucked position behind her ear. She fixes it without thought. “Well, you’re one for three.” 

She asks Bill about the hot lap, asks if he had fun and he laughs. They’re very laugh-oriented people, he’s noticed. Laughy and almost intimidatingly good at holding eye contact. He’d always heard Americans had an issue with eye contact, and if that really is the case, these two practice their active-listening skills enough for the rest of the country. Their kindness is in their expressions, soft eyes and small smiles that keep you from feeling like an intrusion on the conversation. He notes all of his findings internally, categorizes them together as if he’s spent the last ten minutes looking at anyone but her. 

She’s horrendously his type. It’s painfully apparent with every passing moment. The hair and the face and the build and the smile. Just, God.

“Why didn’t you do one?” He asks, “A lap?”

“The need-for-speed bug skipped the women in my family, unfortunately.” She tucks her hair again. He wonders if she’s growing it out or if she always keeps it at such a length that it’s just too short to stay where she wants it to. 

“We could go slow,” he offers and she chuckles, closing her eyes long enough to roll them without him actually seeing them roll. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’ll be fun, I promise.” He’s never been good at flirting, always found it off-putting in the beginning, trying to walk the line between what one person finds fun and another person finds horribly uncomfortable. Once the dust settles, he can manage, but making those first few moves? He might as well be a deer in headlights. Semi-truck headlights. 

“I don’t know,” she says, drags out the vowel sounds and he’s oblivious to whether or not she can tell he’s only making this offer as a chance to spend more time with her. He’ll get an earful for it, no doubt, but if she agrees it’ll be worth it. Bill chimes in, eggs her on with a guilt trip. You should do it, don’t be a party-pooper. Charles wonders if Bill can tell he’s flirting with his daughter. Probably not, he’d bet. “Okay,” she says, and his stomach does a celebratory flip. Before he can say anything more, Mia is pulling him off somewhere. He hadn’t even seen her coming, but he fills her in on the walk.

“Domani c'è un'aggiunta al programma dei giri veloci.” There’s an addition to the hot laps schedule tomorrow, he says. Mia glares at him and he pretends not to notice, flashes her a toothy-grin as an unapologetic apology. 

When she’d agreed to do a hot lap with the gorgeous racing driver standing a foot away from her, she assumed it would be forgotten the moment he stepped away from the conversation. She never would have agreed to it if she actually thought it was going to happen. Chris was sorely mistaken though, when later that afternoon, a man dressed head-to-toe in Ferrari red finds her to gather her information. 1:10, he tells her through a thick Italian accent, be in hospitality at 1:10. 

It was wonderful, really. Perfect, fantastic, great, legendary. This is an amazing opportunity. She isn’t going to regret agreeing to this, no chance. Even for the queen of optimism, this one is hard to put a positive spin on. 

There is no underestimating just how much Chris hates going fast. She’s never liked it, spent the majority of her childhood getting carsick in a vehicle maxing out at forty miles an hour. Her sister and brother used to think she was faking it just so she could always ride shotgun. She’s not even allowed to drive the car if she’s with her dad or her brother because they can’t bear it. To her, a speed limit is just that, a limit. To everyone else, it’s a minimum. 

Her only hope is that she doesn’t vomit all over an expensive supercar at 1:10 tomorrow afternoon, or worse–the cute guy driving the car. 

In the meantime, she can distract herself with the Green Day performance and remind herself that only so much can happen in five minutes. Anyone can survive five minutes. 

– – –

They eat the continental breakfast at the hotel the next morning. Bill has pancakes and Chris has cereal because, as she’ll tell anyone, there’s just something about cereal from a plastic container. She’s also three coffees ahead of where she was this time the day before, all of her nerves personifying themselves as desperation for caffeine. She’s responding to a work email on her phone while Bill has a call with Chase. 

Somewhere on a race track in Florida, Chase is calling between practice and qualifying sessions. They talk every day during a race weekend–Bill and Chase–and it’s almost never about racing. Her dad might drop an occasional that’s not what I would’ve done or a well, that looked like fun, but that’s usually the end of race-talk. They used to fight like cats and dogs about driving when Chase was younger, so much so that Chris’ mom banned them from talking about racing inside the house for three straight years. The who of them are better now, now that Bill’s been able to let Chase find his own way and go through his own racing journey. 

“Your sister is doing a Hot Lap today,” Bill says, and Chris can hear Chase’s laughter from the muffled speaker. 

Bill and Chris are driven to the track on Saturday because traffic is so bad. It’s hot and windy and Chris has her window rolled down the entire drive, her fingers dancing through the dry air. She’s always loved the heat, the sun shining down on her skin, kissing her in a million different places all at the same time. She loves the heat, and the heat loves her. 

The morning flies by. They start the day with a tour of the Ferrari garage, where they’re introduced, or re-introduced, to their drivers. They end up with a couple other very important people hunched over Charles’ car while he explains how much pressure needs to be applied to the brake pedal for the car to actually brake. Bill eats the semantics up, cars and their mechanics run thick in his blood, braided deeply into his DNA. Chris, however, has always enjoyed the more delicate things in life; the pink hair bows and the dollar store makeup kits and spinning herself dizzy in a flowy summer dress. She never spent exorbitant amounts of time at Dad’s engine shop or Grandpa’s Ford Dealership, it just wasn’t in her lane of interests. She sips another coffee–her fifth of the day–and listens attentively to Charles talk, bites her smile at his wild gesticulations. He’d make a good kindergarten teacher, she thinks, with his huge personality. 

When the whole tour group is being shuffled out of the garage to be replaced by a new set of prying eyes, Charles makes a passing comment. See you later for the world’s slowest hot lap, he remarked, put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze as he moved past her. 

She doesn’t know why, but she’d convinced herself that it wouldn’t actually be him she would be doing the lap with. It was qualifying day, after all. Surely, he had about a million and one better things to be doing than driving a random girl around a track a few times. She figured it would be a driver, but not one of the drivers. 

After lunch, she makes her way back to Ferrari hospitality, to where she was told to be waiting at 1:10. She’s the only person who looks like they’re here on instruction. Nobody else is nervously picking at their cuticles or vibrating in place as a reaction to their seven coffees that morning.

She spent the night before grilling her dad about his experience, forcing him to give her a moment-by-moment breakdown of everything he remembered happening, from the safety briefing to the conversation afterwards. But, when it came time for Chris to actually do hers, there was no safety briefing warning her about the million different ways she could die. Instead, the same man who’d tracked her down the day before escorted her from the top floor of hospitality to the bottom, out the back into what she can best compare to an alleyway, and then to a red supercharged Ferrari. 

Charles is there, talking to what appears to be a personal photographer and another man dressed in Ferrari garb. She re-introduces herself for a third time in twenty four hours. “I know your name, Chris,” Charles says, smiles and shakes her hand anyway. She doesn’t like the way her brain reacts to him saying her name like it belongs on his lips. 

“Duh,” she laughs, “sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Right,” she nods. “Yeah, sorry.” Charles laughs out a sigh, cocks his head and smiles. Chris bites her tongue not to apologize again. It’s a reflex. She puffs out her laugh and shrugs. 

If she manages to make it out of these couple laps with her life and the contents of her stomach still intact, she’s sure to still look like a clown–a fact she realizes as she pulls the tight helmet over her head. She’s worn racing helmets a handful of times, but it’s not muscle memory to her in the way it is to him. It takes her a minute to tighten the chin strap just right and despite his genuine offer to help her, Chris turns him down and blindly works her fingers under her neck until it’s just right. 

“Why don’t you get a fun Hot Laps helmet?” She asks while she fights with the strap. 

Charles knocks on the side of his helmet with his knuckle. “Custom fit. Safety reasons.”

Chris knows, she was just messing with him. She nods like she never could’ve guessed that was the reason. “My safety doesn’t matter?” She comments, pulls the strap tight for the final time. 

“You think I’m going to crash?”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

“I would never crash with Chris Elliott in the car.” There he goes again, saying her name all annoyingly French and nice and easy. 

“Whatever,” she says, turns away so he can’t see her squished cheeks flush pink against the polyester. He opens the passenger side door for her, knocks his knuckle on her helmet this time, and horribly mocks both her words and accent before shutting the door behind her. 

Chris has her seatbelt buckled before he can get around the front of the car and into his seat. Her leg bounces anxiously against the floor mat. Charles starts the car and moves to shift into drive, but stops short. “Are you scared?” he asks, and in a moment of vulnerable honesty, she nods. She’s more than scared. She’s terrified, and despite his brief attempt to reassure her that it’s going to be fun, her leg is still bouncing when they peel off from the group already awaiting his return. 

A hot lap, she’d come to learn in the last day or so, would be more accurately referred to as hot laps–plural, multiple, several. Three, to be exact. One out lap, one push lap, and one cool down lap. Three laps. Hot laps. They should really start referring to it as a plural. 

The best thing she can compare it to is a roller coaster. The turns share the feeling you get at the tipping point, right before your body thinks you’re free falling. Her stomach is left behind three turns back and it never really catches up to the car once they start. The straights are like that first hill, fast and crazy in a way that pulls from her lips screams she hears before she consciously chooses to release. It’s like a roller coaster, if the person sitting next to you is completely unaffected by the ride and spends the entire time trying to carry out a conversation with you between your screams and their giggles. It’s like a roller coaster, if the cart never leaves the ground. 

On the cool down lap, when they’re going at a speed that allows Chris to pick up her soul when they drive through turn four, he asks her if she’s single. It comes at her from left field. 

“Are you flirting with me?”

He laughs, takes a hand off the wheel and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes!”

“Oh,” she says softly. If he notices the surprise in her tone, he doesn’t mention it. “I am.” 

“Can I get your number?” She swears that his fingers are shakier than before as they hover over the paddle shift. They were sure-footed just minutes earlier, she’s sure of it. She’s sure of it, but there’s no way it’s a genuine observation. There’s no way she’s making him nervous. 

She laughs, because what on God’s green Earth is a European Formula One driver going to do with a small town American girl’s phone number? 

“I’m not abandoning my dad for a hookup,” she says, and he rolls his eyes, repeats the question. “Why do you want it?”

“Because, Chris Elliott,” she wants to scrape the way he says her name out of his voice box and pin it in a scrapbook. It’s like a tick, the way it burrows into her skin. Nobody should be allowed to make her name sound like that. “You are a very beautiful girl, and when a guy sees a beautiful girl, they act like an idiot and ask for her number.” 

“Oh, my God,” she giggles, shakes her head and looks out the window like it might ground her, or like it might reveal that she really is in some fever dream state and none of this is real. She’s not even in Texas, maybe. That’s how insane this whole conversation is to her. 

“Too cheesy?” He asks, grimaces. She shakes her head, holds her hand out for his phone. 

“Just cheesy enough.”

When they get back to where they started, someone asks Chris if she’d had a good time. She nods, flattens down the static-electricity charged flyaways on her head and tells them yes, even if she’ll be just a little bit nauseous for the rest of the day. It’s not a lie, either, she did have fun. She was scared out of her mind, but in a way that makes her happy she did it. 

They pose for a photo together in front of the car, the picture snapped by the only guy with a camera around his neck, the only one besides Chris not covered head to toe in Ferrari branding. When they pose, Charles’ arm wraps around her lower back and, almost like he remembers himself in the middle of the action, his hand doesn’t close around her side. Instead, it hovers just beyond her body, open and stiff and flat. How gentlemanly. “Good luck tomorrow,” she says.

He nods his thanks, “I hope I see you around this weekend,” he adds, and then they go their separate ways. Good thing, too, because she’s still blushing over it when she gets back to her dad in the Champion’s club. Bill is too distracted by the live feed on Chase’s qualifying laps on his tiny phone screen to notice Chris’ presence, much less the coloring of her cheeks. He qualifies third and they celebrate quietly with drinks from the bar and FP3 on the big screens. 

They stumble into more NASCAR old-timers while in the Champion’s Club and Chris spends the time fifth-wheeling their conversations about Chase and watching the second half of qualifying on one of the TVs. 

She doesn’t really understand the format of the weekend. In theory, she understands the basics, didn’t have to read Formula One for Dummies on the plane ride over, but the intricacies of it are beyond her. In NASCAR, drivers are split into two groups and then are only given, at max, two laps to set their qualifying times. It varies depending on the track that weekend, but it always hits some of the same points. From what she can gather from the low-volume televisions mounted on every surface around her, F1 is definitely different. 

They head back to the hotel directly after qualifying to ‘beat the traffic’ which is code for Chris is still nauseous and they’re both feeling a little too heat exhausted. They stop for dinner on the way back, at a barbeque place right by their hotel. Bill orders the chopped brisket with potato salad and Chris gets the pulled pork sandwich with a tomato zucchini salad. 

Chris has been really busy with work, with settling into the new routine with her new group of students, and Bill wants to hear all about it. She always struggles in September and October, feels inadequate every time the other teachers find their footing with their new class weeks before she does. It’s the first time alotta ‘em have been in a school, Bill reminds her and she shrugs it off, tries to find something more upbeat to talk about. 

Chris and Bill have really gotten close over the past couple years. Growing up, she and her sister Chandler were massive daddy’s girls, had him wrapped around their little fingers from the moment they came into the world. But, when Chase started to really take racing seriously, the girls lost a lot of their dad to their brother and spent the majority, if not all, of their time with their Mom. As a teenager, Chris did what all sixteen year old girls do and rebelled against any and every rule in the book. While Chandler was touring colleges and getting 1550s on her SAT and singing in the church choir, Chris had other plans. Whether it was stubbornly refusing to clean her half of the shared room with her big sister, ratting Chase out for coming home at 2am drunk, or sneaking out of the second-story window to go out with her all-too-old boyfriend, she tested all of the waters. It wasn’t until college, until she moved away to Athens and was out of the house for the first time in her life that she realized just how important family was to her. She’s been attempting to make up for lost time since. 

That night when she plugs her phone into the charger and shuts it off for the night, she realizes she’d been half expecting a late night text from Charles. It didn’t come, and disappointed isn’t the right word for the tiny little pit in her stomach because she wasn’t really expecting anything to come from typing her number into his contacts.  It’s not disappointment, it’s something closer to acceptance or rejection, maybe. It’s not like he would’ve been searching out anything but a hookup, anyways, and Chris made it perfectly clear that she wasn’t into that idea. 

She would never hear from him again, and that’s how it should be. The whole interaction turning into anything but a story she can tell in a couple months when she’s drunk would be entirely too complicated of an outcome. 

She doesn’t let herself think about it any longer, leaves her phone face down on the side table and tucks herself into bed. 

– – –

Traffic on race day is true-crime inducing. They’re driven, again, escorted and still spend an hour and a half in the backseat of an SUV. Bill and Chris watch from the VIP stands and Chris has never seen anything like this, especially not at COTA. Even Talladega and Daytona barely hold a candle to this spectacle. 

If she has one critique, it’s that F1 should really hire some B-List at best celebrity to scream drivers, start your engines! At the start of the race like they do in NASCAR. It would really add some flare, she thinks. 

She and Bill share Chris’ airpods, one in each of their ears listening to the NASCAR broadcast. Charles starts twelfth, for whatever reason. She can’t be bothered to look into it, knows it’ll probably be a penalty she doesn’t understand and she’ll be tumbling down a rabbit hole before she knows what’s happened to her. 

While it’s not Chase’s best race–he finishes fourteenth with a single sigh from Bill–Charles puts on a show, fights his tires all the way up into third. 

They watch the podium celebrations on the TV screens and nobody looks happy to be up there. They look miserable, almost, and she understands it to an extent. It’s hard to have energy after a race, she’s witnessed it first hand more times than she can count. It’s hard, especially at the end of the season. Burn-out is real, but still. They look bored. She didn’t know spraying champagne could look so tired. 

Bill grumpily flies them home to Georgia late Sunday night. He’d wanted to wait until Monday morning, after all the billionaires and their super-jets take off right after the race, but Chris refused to miss another day of work this early in the school year, not when she was already going to be missing time in December for her brother’s wedding. 

Bill’s been flying planes since before any of his kids were born. His most recent purchase is a Cessna Conquest II that he uses to fly the family around for short distances. In another gene that skipped the females in the family, Chandler, Chris, and their mom all prefer to be passengers. Chase, however, followed in Dad’s footsteps once more in becoming an avid aviation fan. 

By the time they take off, any thought Chris had of getting a text from Charles has faded far into obscurity. He’d probably gotten dozens of numbers from girls this weekend. He was probably at a club somewhere right now still pulling women. Women more his type, probably. He seems like he’d be more into the refined type, the girls without the ‘cheap’ accents who were all worldly and spoke seventeen languages fluently and had long legs that carried them down runways across Europe every other weekend. 

Little southern girls get texts from little southern boys, that’s how it goes. That's how it’s always gone, and Chris is beyond naive to think anything different for even a moment. 

She grades papers on the flight home. Purple pen, because she thinks that color is fun and red is too cruel to grade with. Puffy stickers for everyone, even the kids who aren’t anywhere near the right track because she doesn’t want anyone to feel less than just because they struggle a bit more. Chris has always been a firm believer that the student is never the problem. If someone isn’t learning what she’s teaching, she needs to adjust the way she teaches it to cater to their learning style. 

It’s her job to teach them, not their job to learn. 

Joris has been laughing at Charles from the hotel room armchair for fifteen minutes now, beyond entertained by his best friend’s restless pacing, providing absolutely zero aid to his current predicament. This act has been going on for some time now. Charles, pacing for five minutes before pulling out his phone and typing up an opening message to Chris. Each time, he starts to read it out to Joris and then stops himself short, deletes it, and paces for five more minutes. 

Hey, Chris. This is Ch–no, that’s stupid. 

Sorry it took me a minute to text–absolutely not. 

What’s up? It’s Charles, how–someone should just stop him from speaking to women all together. 

There’s half a dozen renditions before Joris breaks. “Mate? What is your problem?” He finally asks. “It’s just a girl.”

“I know,” Charles sighs, “I know.”

“Then why can’t you send her a text?”

“Because.” He doesn’t really know why he can’t land on a message, why everything he types sounds entirely too casual or formal or nothing at all like what he would say to another human being. This isn’t a problem that he’s used to having. It’s the in-person flirting that fucks him up, not the texts and DMs and comments. She was just… he doesn’t know what she was. She was just. End of sentence. 

It’s no help that he doesn’t know American texting culture, unfamiliar with how long he’s supposed to wait to send a message or what he’s supposed to say in the opening text. 

“Here,” Joris says, holds his hand out for the phone. “I’ve got the perfect text.”

“Don’t send it,” Charles warns, but passes the phone to his friend. 

“I… won’t,” Joris says slowly, struggling to multi-task. He doesn’t type for more than a few seconds and then hands the phone back to Charles, with the message already sent. Charles’ look of sheer panic is met with a smile and a chef’s kiss from Joris. 

She turns her phone off while Bill is shutting the plane engine down in the hangar. Because of his love of aviation, Bill had bought some land out in the woods a couple decades ago and turned it into the family’s private airstrip for their planes.  Elliott Field, they coined it, stored all their extra vehicles out on the property. She slips it into her back pocket as her and Bill disembark and lock up the place, and the entire time she can feel it vibrating, the notifications from the hour and a half flight catching up now that she’s on the ground again. 

It’s not until she’s in her car that she checks them, pulls her phone out to plug it into the aux and play some music for the drive back to her house. Right at the top of the dozens of notifications is a message from an unknown number with an unfamiliar area code. 

[one unread message] the notification reads. She unlocks her phone to check the message. 

She closes the messages app on her phone and opens up Spotify, shuffles her favorite playlist. She doesn’t reply to his text, doesn’t know if she wants to or even what she might say back. She’s sleepy, more than ready for bed after a long weekend in the sun, excited to be back with her students bright and early tomorrow morning. 

The text from the cute race car driver can wait for another day. An issue for tomorrow, maybe. 

masterlist next chapter>

[spawksstuff]

Warlock - De and the Princess

Funny story from the set of Warlock. Transcription below. Video Source: Amalie1701B on YouTube

Wanna hear a cowboy story? I’m going to tell a cowboy story I know a lot of you’ve heard maybe there’s one or two out there who hasn’t.

I was doing a western a lot of years ago called Warlock. And there was a director named Eddie Dmytryk who had a very dry sense of humor, always smoked a big cigar. And he came by me, walked by me one morning on the set and he said “De” he said “I want you to be up on that scene with Henry Fonda tomorrow” he said “because Princess Sophia is going to be here.” Well I never knew when Dmytryk was straight or not you know. So I went home and I told Carolyn, I said “maybe he’s talking about Sophia Loren.” So the next morning, I was standing outside the stage, and here comes this entourage and sure enough, it was Princess Sophia of Greece. And I was about to this scene, a showdown gun scene with Fonda, and I had been working with a Native American named Rod Redwing who was teaching me what they call a flyaway where you pick up the gun, twirl it, and put it into the holster.

And it’s a very tricky thing to do and I had been sweating that out and now that we’re on this stage, where we’re in this saloon and there’s a big  red velvet carpeted stairs up here, and we’re down here shooting the scene. And all the entourage, Princess Sophia and all of them, went up on the stairs to watch this scene.

So it was laborious on me. So I come inside with my gang of guys and we start the scene. I start the scene with Fonda, and as the scene progressed, it was going well, I got carried away with scene, forgot they were up there. So he says “Ok Curly” he says “drop your gun,” and I drop the gun. And he goes on with his scene and at the end of the thing he says “now pick up your gun and get out of here.” [unintelligible]

So I pick up the gun, twirl it around, slipped it into the holster. That’s going good. Backed up to go to the batwing doors, and I tripped over a chair and fell on my ass, and I said “oh shit.” Then I remembered that Princess Sophia was there. And I crawled out on my hands and knees through these batwing doors. And you could have heard a pin drop.

The guys behind the batwing doors that had exited before me were out there just holding their breath. Finally Dmytryk comes in, takes his cigar out. He says “De” he said “I bet you sat up all night trying to think of what to say in front of the princess.”

Now that happened on a Friday, and someone else was filling in for Fonda because he had gone to the funeral of an actor named Tyrone Power on that Friday. And on Monday, he had heard, it was all over the lot. I went to the commissary that day, and it was all over the lot that De had said shit in front of the princess. I go up in the commissary and I got a standing ovation.

Anyhow, Fonda attended a ball they had for the princess and over the weekend I saw his picture in the paper and he was dancing with her. So he came up to me Monday morning. He says “De” he says “you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

I says “Oh what do you mean?”

He said “I danced with the princess last night, and she doesn’t know a shit of English.”

[absurdthirst]

Holy Water {Max Phillips x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.3k

Warnings: Mentions of murder, mentions of blood, vampirism, bad attitudes, snarky comments, toxic workplace, physical assault, fear, anxiety, misuse of holy water, sex pollen, DUB CON, compulsion, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, rough sex, church sex, desecrating a holy place, multiple orgasms, vampire sex

Comments: Max Phillips is your new boss and you hate him for being a vampire. Clashing until you quit, you are attacked one night and take refuge in the church nearby. Where Max has a very strange reaction when you splash him with Holy Water.

A/N: We wanted sex pollen so we wrote it!

Co-written with @pedropascalsx

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Max Phillips MasterList ||

Moodboard by @pedropascalsx

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The silence is loud, almost deafening. The wind barely stirs, there's not even the sounds of animals scurrying in the dark. Not even the sound of breathing can be heard. The air is thick, heavy with something ominous. The scent is metallic, almost coppery and you can taste it. It's the perfect scene for a horror movie right before the terror begins, the moonlight hanging heavy in the unusually dark night sky. The only beacon of light to be had.

The table had been set. Candles lit and the wine poured. His favourite CD was playing quietly in the background as you perfected the final touches for what you assumed would have been a perfect evening.

The dress you wore was a knockout, hugging every curve and the neckline dipping just enough to show off your cleavage. Your hair styled perfectly with your natural makeup giving you an extra glow.

You had taken one last look at the table and giggled. It was covered with little bite size tasters of wedding cakes with multiple flavors and fillings. It was the very last thing you had to do before your big day that upcoming summer, choose the cake. So you secretly had his favorite bakery make you samples of every flavor they offered. 

He was running a little late but that wasn’t surprising, rush hour traffic on a Friday is always a little worse than the rest of the week and you’d decided to take those extra minutes to double check that everything was ready.

A loud unexpected knock at the door had signaled the end of life as you knew it.

You always peeped through the little hole to see who was waiting on the other side but you skipped it that time. Too excited and occupied by things you thought were to come.

Two uniformed police officers. Both stood with vacant expressions on their faces. *In that moment you immediately knew.* They didn’t come into the apartment. They apologized and said words that didn’t make sense, they showed you their IDs and asked you to follow them to the local hospital. You went back into your apartment and blew out the candles before slipping on your coat and shoes. 

All of you left that day, but not all of you would be coming back later that evening.

****

It’s a common misconception that vampires can’t see their reflection. Maybe at one point they couldn’t because all mirrors were made with a silver backing, but not modern day mirrors. Max checks his teeth, making sure that the intern he had just feasted on wasn’t stuck in them. He hates when he has bits of human in his gums. Causes gingivitis. He licks his lips, winking at the handsome devil in the reflection and then sets out to smooth back the flyaway hairs that had gotten out of place from the struggle the poor bastard had put up. Some don’t like the taste of a scared meal, but for Max, it enhances the flavor of the vitamin B in the bloodstream. 

Once his appearance is deemed perfect, he whistles as he strolls out of the bathroom on the twelfth floor and moves towards the break room where everyone has been gathered. He would have preferred it to be in the bullpen, but those are easily changes to be made when he is running things.

You take a seat towards the back of the break room, smoothing out your work dress before crossing your legs. Time to meet the new boss. You feel a little nervous, you had gotten along so well with your last boss and you were so grateful that he arranged for you to have a few weeks off paid after your fiancé was murdered. You can only hope your new boss is as kind and understanding.

“Max Phillips!” As soon as Max hears his name being announced, he walks through the door, grinning an award winning smile and taking in the room. He knows everyone’s names but he doesn’t say anything as he walks over to shake the office manager's hand. “Good to be here.”

Your heart sinks at the sight of him. Cocky, arrogant and clearly about to be a massive pain in your ass… And worst of all? A vampire.

You try to keep level headed about living in a society integrated with vampires, and to be honest you were happy to co-exist with them until that fatal night your beloved was brutally murdered by one. 

But things are still raw and the fact that there are specialist bars and clubs popping up for people to be fed from or turned on every corner makes your stomach lurch.

Jake had been murdered by  men who had been turned less than 2 weeks before, he was simply bitten and left to his own devices.

No one was made to keep an eye on them or help them deal with their urges and your sweet loving boyfriend of 4 years paid the ultimate price.

Max winks at one of the receptionists, Marlene is her name if he remembers the employee file right, and he does. Another helpful thing about being a vampire is the automatic photographic memory. He can see that she will be easily hypnotized; she might be a tasty snack. To munch on, not have a full course meal. Especially since she seems to be on her period. “What do we sell here?” Max asks, pouting as he looks around the room at all the bored people. They were lifeless, which was ironic considering he was the one who��s heart didn’t beat. He pauses on one face, stony and disapproving. Making him smirk slightly at the challenge the beautiful face contains. “You.” He points at her.

Your breath hitches as he points at you, flashing a disarming smile that you refuse to let affect you. “Vacations,” you say blankly before taking a sip of your cheap coffee.

“No.” Apparently this chick has an attitude, he can dig it. Turning to another employee next to you, he changes his expression. “We sell dreams.” He urges, putting a sense of nostalgia in his voice. “We sell escape from routine, life.” Oh the irony of that makes him want to giggle. “No one wants to talk about their dental plans or their 401k. They want to talk about strolling the streets of Rome and bumping into a lover that swept them away for a magical week.”

You roll your eyes at his impassioned speech. Before swallowing down the final dregs of your lukewarm coffee. “Great.” You murmur under your breath, something telling you that these speeches will become an everyday occurrence.

Most are buoyed by his speech, some aren't. Though the one who has him intrigued the most is the one who looks annoyed. He looks over the crowd again, decisions made on a few of their fates from this interaction alone. "I'll be coming around to meet all of you individually, but for now, happy selling!"

Don’t rush, you think to yourself as you discard your coffee cup in the trash and make your way out of the room. Feeling a pair of eyes lingering on you the entire time.

Max whispers your name to himself, making a note to look in your personnel file again before having his one on one with you. It's obvious that you have some sort of disdain for him and he's wondering if it's from just first impressions or if there is another reason you look like you want to stake him in the heart.

The rest of your morning is spent working on a big job. A family vacation to Walt Disney World - the commission is great and you’re occupied by the many details of the job, but you can’t shake the feeling you’re being watched. You glance up a few times but you don’t see anyone.

Your file thoroughly studied, Max has figured out that it's because he's a vampire. The little notation in your file for the extended leave for 'bereavement' led to the discovery of your fiancé's murder. Down the rabbit hole of his underworld contacts to find out that he had been attacked by vampires and killed. It explains it, and just makes Max decide that he will have to be extra charming towards you.

You hate him. It’s been less than a day but you can’t stand him. The arrogant way he winks across the room at you, the way he insists on calling you sweetheart and lets his hand rest on your shoulder as he listens intently to your work calls.

“Good job.” Max hums as you finish the call and press the break button so he can talk to you. “Only thing I would say is that you could have upsold them on that meal package.” He chuckles and pats his own trim stomach. “People on vacation love to not think about their abs.”

"They made it clear they intended to eat out and explore local businesses," you say back with a scoff, "If I could have, I would have. But they wouldn't have gone for it."

"Sure you could have." Max hums. "You just have to remind them of all their options. The value of it."

"Don't you have something better to be doing with your time?" you snap back at him, before grabbing your coffee cup and making your way to the break room.

Max's brows lift and he smirks at your retreating figure, "This is my job, sweetheart!" He calls after you. Apparently you didn't like the hands on approach. "Dave!" He calls out to the man passing by him. "Let me chat with you.”

You pour yourself a large helping on the crappy instant coffee that's kept in a large supply in the break room. Cursing him under your breath. "Arrogant son of a bitch."

"Who?" Max appears behind you and leans over your shoulder. "Who aren't we liking in the office?" He asks playfully, fully aware you hate him.

You groan out loud before rolling your eyes, "Don't you have someone else you can bother?"

"I'm getting the feeling you don't like me." Max pouts, giving you a chance to deny it, but he knows you won't.

You hum before taking a large sip of your coffee, "Maybe you're not as dumb as you look after all."

Max can tolerate a lot, but his friendly gaze freezes slightly and his eyes lose some of their affable warmth. "You do understand who I am, don't you?" The tone is still perfectly professional, but there is a warning threaded through it. "I'm your boss, so maybe try not to insult me to my face?"

"Is that a threat, Mr. Phillips?" You ask before attempting to push past him.

Max's jaw rocks slightly. "This is a workplace." He reminds you. "You would do well to remember that." Instead of staying and continuing to argue with you, he tilts his head, "Perhaps a week off without pay will remind you?" He asks.

"Make it two." You challenge with a raised eyebrow.

"Done." Max snaps his fingers and slaps his hands together. "Gather your things, you're punched out as of now." His tone is final, firm. He frowns in disappointment, hoping that you would have been a bit more flexible. On paper you were a fantastic employee, top of his list. Now it seems that he might have to rethink things. 

"Fuck," you mouth to yourself as you grab your things from your desk. Two weeks without pay is going to be hell on earth but there was something inside you that just needed to wipe that smugness off of his face. You glance over towards his office and see him standing in the doorway watching as you pack up some of your things.

He knows there are very few employees here that can afford to take two weeks without pay and he wonders if you will come and apologize. That's all that is necessary for you to stay. Although he feels like you wouldn't, too stubborn for your own good. Max shifts and calls your name. "When you are ready, step into my office to sign some papers please."

You pull the strap of your handbag over your shoulder and tuck your jacket under your arm before making your way to his office. Attempting to ignore the glares from everyone else in the room. You tap his door quietly and wait to be invited in.

"Come in." The irony of inviting someone into his office isn't lost on Max and he looks up when the door is pushed open.

"Would you feel more comfortable with the door open or closed?" He asks.

"I don't mind," you say with a shrug, unsure how this is about to go. "Whatever suits you.”

"Close the door." Max decides, setting his pen down and motioning for you to take a seat. "No need for everyone to try to walk by to hear."

You simply nod in agreement and slowly close the door behind you. Taking small tentative steps towards the chair, he's gesturing for you to sit on. "What do I need to sign?"

"Nothing." Max tosses you a smirk. "I lied but thought it was better that I say that than publicly airing your issue with me."

"I don't have an issue with you," you say with a non committal shrug, feeling the obvious lie lingering in the air.

Max doesn't believe you, but he shrugs and leans back in his chair. "If you say so." He lets you off. "Whatever your feelings, as long as you can do your job and not incite rebellion in the office, we are fine." He lifts a brow. "Unless you like being difficult?"

"Incite a rebellion?" You say with a scoff, "Ah, so when a woman doesn't swoon and fall at your feet, we're rebels? How medieval of you.” 

Max's easy expression drops away and he stares at you for a long moment. "I don't give a fuck what you think of me." He states flatly. "But you won't be unprofessional and think you won't be corrected." He waits for another beat. "Now.... Do you want to start again, or do you want to have two weeks without pay?"

You can't help but smirk at the way his face falls, clearly not used to having someone challenge or not fall over their own feet to impress him. "Start again. But this time, you don't speak to me and I don't speak to you. I will continue being the best salesperson here and you can invest your valuable time in those interested in sucking up to you."

Max tilts his head, watching you. "I am your boss." He murmurs. "I can just fire you for cause and move on to someone with less...issues." He pauses. "But I know you're down an income already."

"Excuse me?" You ask, the smirk plastered across your face being instantly replaced with fury. "You have no right... don't you dare." 

"Awww, did I hit a nerve?" Max asks, springing out of his chair and farting around the desk before you can blink an eye. "You insult me to my face, knowing what I am, what I can do and expect me to be nice?"

"Fuck you." You spit back, forgetting about all the years you've given to this company and getting ready to walk out, "Is that a threat, Mr. Phillips?"

"No." Max settles back and leans against his desk. "It's not. But you have an attitude problem." He observes. "I didn't kill your fiancé."

"No, but someone you most likely had a hand in turning did." Your hands shake with anger as he casually brings up Jake, "I don't have an attitude problem. I have an issue with the fact you can commit any type of crime you see fit and we have to suffer the consequences whilst you clearly get away with murder." 

"I just moved to town sweetheart." Max hums. "Sorry, wasn't me. But blame me if it makes you feel better." He waves his hand dismissively. "Get back to work." You hate him and he's not going to change that, but he's not going to fire you right now. 

"Arrogant son of a bitch," you murmur as you get out of your chair and make your way towards the door, "You don't talk to me again. You have an issue with me or my performance. You go through HR." You slam the door behind you and waltz back to your desk, throwing your bag back underneath it and shaking your head.

“Shit.” Max sighs and walks around to your file and flips it open. He had decided to change you, you had been an excellent candidate to change but now….. Max circles your picture with his finger. He doesn’t want to destroy you, but you might just push him to have to do just that. It’s a shame, you’re a sexy woman and he can smell how good you would taste.

You glance over at the picture of you and Jake on your desk, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you're reminded of happier times. It's at this moment you decide that you'll work tirelessly to avoid any interaction with Max possible.

****

It's been a week since the incident in his office. You've avoided him as much as possible, slinking out of the coffee room without as much of a word when he waltzes in, keeping your head down at your desk and refusing to make any eye contact with him when he enters the room.

The only place he has you cornered is the meeting room. Every morning he calls everyone in for one of his signature pep talks and he makes a deal of calling on you every time and attempting to trip you up. Making snide comments or attempting to call you out on something to see if you'll snap, but you refuse. Instead you plaster on a sickly sweet smile and keep yourself as level headed as possible, enjoying the flash of fury that he can't quite keep at bay every time he fails in his attempts to humiliate you.

Max narrows his eyes on the sales report, your numbers are starting to slide and he smirks viciously. Your file is still one that he hasn't dealt with yet, although the changes are starting to happen around the office. He's already turned a few of your co-workers. He picks up his phone and dials your desk.

You sigh out loud when you see his name flash up on your desk phone. "Yes?" you ask into the phone, your annoyance crystal clear. 

"Would you come to my office please? We need to discuss your sales figures." Max asks stiffly and then hangs up so you don't even have a chance to deny him.

You take a deep breath and make your way to his office, knocking once before letting yourself in and taking a seat. "How can I help you today, Mr Phillips?"

Max shifts in his seat, straightening up and adjusting his tie. "Please sit, we need to discuss your numbers.

You lower yourself into the seat and shrug your shoulders, "Okay, what do you need to discuss?"

"Your sales have been slipping." Max offers you the report. "Drastically." He leans back and watches as you thumb through the pages. 

"Drastically?" you say back with a laugh, "I'm outselling everyone in the office."

"Actually…. Max pulls out the other report and hands it to you. "You're not."

"You?" You yell across the desk at him, "How the hell is someone who's supposedly senior management outselling the sales staff? Clearly you've falsified these documents."

Max smirks at your outrage and purses his lips. "You think I'm lying? How cute." He chuckles quietly. "You can check the system. All verified sales." 

"Is your ego really that fragile, Max?" you say with an exaggerated pout, "Little man couldn't handle a woman in first place and had to take on extra duties to change that?" 

"Taking on extra sales so the fucking department didn't get shit canned." Max growls. "I don't think you understand what management wants, sweetheart." He flashes a cold grin. "They wanted me to eat half the department the day I arrived."

"Oh is that what it is? You were protecting the department you're claiming you got hired to eat?" You say with a scoff. "Well congratulations, I hope you enjoy rubbing your already overinflated ego tonight as means of celebration. I have work to do."

Max calls your name sternly as you stand and turn to walk towards the door. "Get your numbers up." He cautions you. "Or you won't like the atmosphere come Monday."

"You don't frighten me, Max. I don't need to remind you that your kind has already taken everything that matters from me." You walk out the door, purposely leaving it wide open just so he has to get up and you hold back tears as you make a beeline towards the break room.

Max stands up and instead of closing the door, he marches after you. Tired of your treatment of him in front of the entire sales department.

You pour yourself a large cup of water and take a deep breath, determined not to let him see how much he's gotten under your skin today.

Striding into the room, Max clears his throat. "I'm going to have to write you up for insubordination." He announces, rocking his jaw as he gets more and more angry at the way you have been combative from the start. He didn't kill your fiancé and he's tired of being your whipping boy.

"Whatever makes you feel big, little man," you say before taking a large sip of water.

Max waits a beat to see if you will realize what you've said but you just stare at him. "You're fired." Max spits, fangs springing down from his gums as he glares at you.

"No, I quit." You say as the tears you'd been holding back start to stream down your face. "You can go and fuck yourself, Max Phillips.” You storm past him and grab your coat and bag from your desk and immediately make your way towards the exit. Needing to get out and away from him as quickly as you can.

"Bye sweetheart." Max calls, leaning against the break room door. "Try to have a better attitude with your next boss."

****

It had been five days since you're firing/quitting and you'd managed to convince your brother in law to hire you as temporary bar staff in his dive bar just to keep you afloat until you found something better suited for you. With the cleaning staff long gone and the rest of the bar staff likely tucked up in bed, you finished restocking the beer fridge and replacing the bar towels before calling it a night. It was just past 2am and the streets seemed bare. You set the alarm and hastily locked the side door before making your way towards your car. 

Max hums, checking his watch as patting the hip of the human that he had fed from earlier. "I've got to go, babe." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out some money to tuck in between her tits playfully, "go home and drink some OJ. Gotta replenish that blood for tomorrow." He waggles his brows and winks. She pouts but within minutes Max is stumbling out of the bar un-ironically named Fangs into the cool morning air. The alleyway is dark, but his hearing is better than most and he moves towards the street a few blocks over where he parked his car. 

You shiver in the cold as you pick up your pace a little, trying to push down the feeling that you're being watched.

Max hears something. A snickering that is nothing but trouble and he can hear the whispers. "Look at her. Easy target." Vampires. "That's the one - the woman of the other one we drained." That gets his attention, because how many woman's partners were drained in this town? Speeding up, he spots you in the distance, unaware of the danger around you.

You start to rifle through your bag, digging out your keys to feed them through your fingers, just to relieve a little panic rising in your chest. You glance around and don't see anyone, but you can't feel the feeling that you're being watched.

The attack comes suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, but Max sees the two fly in from the darkness. Hissing a curse, he darts down the alleyway far faster than a mortal could run, intent on stopping this sport.

Your cry as you are pushed up against the side of your car pisses Max off. He's close enough to see that it is you. Head yanked back and throat exposed. Making him growl in furious rage, the sound like an angry beast and making the two vampires pause before one sinks his teeth into your jugular. Giving him just enough time to reach you and body slam the two of them and throw them away from you.

Your legs threaten to fail as you attempt to catch your breath, you're not sure whether you find the strength but you push yourself upright and run into the building in front of you. Running past the lines of pews and heading to the confessional to hide.

Once their prey is out of sight, the two vampires focus on Max, snarling and flashing their fangs in a show of anger but they don't attack. Obviously believing that Max has some claim on the human he had protected.

You slide the confessional curtain closed behind you and drop to the floor, your hands shaking with fear as you try to regain some composure.

Only when the two slink off into the shadows where they belong does Max relax, looking around and seeing the door to the church pushed open. Groaning to himself and rolling his eyes, he stares up at the cross over the threshold and grins as he crosses it. "Sweetheart?" He calls out, the low lights are soft and he starts looking through the pews for one very scared human. "Come out."

The sound of his footsteps make you shake even harder, you wrap your arms around your legs and bring them closer to your chest in an attempt to make yourself smaller. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip to suppress any sounds that might slip through.

"Where are you?" He demands, freezing so he can listen for the sound of you breathing. "It's safe, come on out, sweetheart."

You refuse to move a muscle, remaining as still and quiet as you possibly can. Knowing that this is all just a trick and the moment he finds you, he's going to kill you.

Your refusal to answer him and it makes him roll his eyes. Of course you would be difficult even when he saves your life. Instead of calling you again, he smirks and picks up a heavy hymnal and drops it on the ground.

The loud bang causes a loud gasp to slip through your lips and immediately gives away your location. You curse yourself as you start to raise up off the ground getting ready to run.

Max chuckles quietly at the sound coming from the confession and opens the dark, heavy curtain. "Hey, sweetheart. You talking to God in there?" He asks. "You could always just talk to me. I'm better."

"Please just leave," you start to beg, your voice almost unrecognizable to yourself as he starts in front of you, "I quit. I don't understand why you're still trying to hurt me."

  “Trying to hurt you?” Realization dawns and with it comes the biggest pout. You think he attacked you. Instead of being a decent human being (well, sort of), you think he is playing some sick game. “I scared off the vampires who were going to turn you into human jerky.”

"I'm supposed to believe that? Even after all the threats and passive aggressive comments from you?" You say as a shiver runs through you.

"I've never threatened you." His pout turns into a frown. "Talking to you about the realities of the workforce isn't threatening. Besides like you said- you quit." He shrugs and jerks his head. "Come on. I'll walk you to your car."

You figure that pissing him off by refusing or pushing past him isn't your best bet here, so you shrug and take a few small steps forward.

Max steps back, giving you a wide berth and holding his hand out like he is showing you the world. He can still hear your heart galloping in your chest so figures you are still nervous. "See? Everyone's friends here."

You nod your head slightly, still unsure on how to gauge this. But you take a few more steps, picking up the pace a little to increase the distance.

You are anxious to get away from him, he can sense it. His own pace quickens to keep up with you, not wanting you to go outside without him there. Just in case.

The sound of his footsteps speeding up behind you makes your panic levels rise through the roof. You look around for something to protect you with but the only thing that's near you in the font that houses the holy water. You increase your pace once nice more and duck around it.

"Are we playing tag?" He calls out, trying to piss you off enough to make you calm down. "Are you it, or am I?"

"This isn't funny." you stutter as you move further from him. Your fingertips gripping onto the font. "I won't ever bother you again. I'll leave town. Just don't hurt me."

"I'm not going to hurt you, sweetheart." Max coos, trying to adopt a less playful tone, wanting to soothe your wary emotions. "Come out, I'll get you home safe." He sees you peer around the damn vessel of holy water and holds his hand out. He doesn't want to compel you, but he will. 

"No." You say as sternly as possible. "Just leave."

"You want to get eaten?" Max hisses. "Fine." He's trying to help you and you just keep fighting him. 

"You say that like you're not going to kill me the first opportunity you get." you snarl, "I know what this stuff does to your kind." You say as you gesture to the water.

Max glances at the water and then back at you, laughing. "Oh sweetheart." He rolls his eyes and spreads his arms wide. "I supposedly shouldn't even be able to walk into this building." He reminds you. "The "church"-" he uses air quotes around the word, "hasn't been Holy since the 1800s."

You shake your head at his words, "No." You watch him take slow steps towards you and without thinking you reach down into bowl and splash a bunch of the holy water in his distraction before scrambling backwards.

"Fuck!" Max is more pissed off about the fact that his wool jacket got wet than you splashing him with holy water. He hates the smell of wet wool but the damn thing is warm, making him feel moderately human for a moment. You dart around the vessel and Max leaps in front of you, grabbing you by both arms. "That wasn't nice!" He hisses, blinking the water out of his eyes.

"You trying to kill me outside this Church wasn't nice," you scream at him as his grip on your arms tightens

"Fucking hell, I was trying to save you." Max's nostrils flare and the bloom of your scent fills them like ambrosia, making him moan and duck his head to bury it against your neck. 

"What are you doing?" you gasp as he drags his lips against your neck. 

"I- you smell so fucking good." Max groans, holding you tighter and inhaling the gorgeous scent of your blood rushing through your veins. It goes straight to his cock, hardening against your hip as he kisses and licks at your pulse like he is starving. "Even when you're hating me, you always smell good. Skin tastes so sweet." He moans between laps at your skin.

"Max," you whimper unable to hide from how good it feels, "Are you going t-" You cut yourself off with your own gasp as you feel his rock hard cock press up against you.

"Fuck." Max's head is swimming with lust and feels like his skin is on fire from the inside. Not in the melting, about to die, kind of way that you imagined when you flung Holy water in his face. Instead, it's this need to tear your clothes off and bury his cock into your warm, wet body until you are screaming and cumming around him. "Say it again," he begs. "Say my name just like that again." He pulls your purse off your shoulder and tosses it down, sliding a hand down and gripping your ass to rock you against his hard body.

"Max," you whimper again, unsure how you're suddenly under his spell. The feeling of his body pressing against yours making your pussy drip with arousal. "What are you doing to me?"

He knows he's projecting, compelling you to want him, but he can't stop. "I- fuck, I need to touch you." Max rushes out, sounding breathless even though he technically needs no air in his lungs. "Want to taste every inch of your skin."

Every part of your brain is telling you to push him away, to run as fast as you can but the way he's touching you is like nothing you've ever experienced before. "You hate me," you choke out as he roughly squeezes one of your breasts.

"No I don't." Max groans, loving the heat you are radiating and he wants to curl around it and soak it up. His hand slides under your shirt and he covers your bra with his hand. "Fuck. Fuck I need to be inside you." You're in a church, but he doesn't give a fuck. He would be tugging at your clothes right in front of the Father and do it happily.

His other hand slides around to cup your cunt through your jeans. "You want to stake me through the heart, but I want to make you cum." 

"This is a trick," you stammer out, putting up zero resistance to all of his advances. "You're just trying to push down my defenses."

"This feel like a trick?" He rolls his hips forward and pushes his hard cock into your hip even more. "Fuck." He lets go of your breast and reaches up to strip your jacket off your body. Starting to lose control and he doesn't want to rip your clothes if he can help it.

"Fuck," you push him away, shaking your head, "Why are you doing this? You despise me. You can't deny it."

"I can't stop." Max understands you hate him, although he doesn't know why you keep insisting it's him that hates you. He pulls away to push your shirt up and over your head, revealing your pretty bra and groaning. "Fuck, fuck, look at you." He groans, ducking his head down and kissing along your bra, licking your skin.

"You can't stop?" you ask with a raised eyebrow, hating the way you moan as he kisses your skin. "Max," you whimper again as he strong arms you down onto a pew.

"Yes, yes 'Max'" He moans, "Max is going to make you feel so good, baby. I promise you. It'll be so good, soooo good." He nudges your bra down enough with his nose so that he can pop your nipple into his mouth, his fingers working on your jeans. Eager to lay you out bare and quiche this fire in his veins.

You're not sure how or why this is happening. You both despise each other but the way his mouth feels on your skin is electric and instead of moving from him, it's like you're magnetized. "Taste me." You whisper.

Max groans, pulling away so he can pull your clothes off of you. Not caring where the jeans and panties you were wearing land as he throws them behind him. Knees hitting the floors as if in prayer but if he is praying, it's to the cunt he buries his face in.

"MAAAAXXX," you scream as he starts to lap at your folds, eating you like a man starved. Like a man who needs to do this to survive.

Fingers dig into your thighs, breaking capillaries and the smell of fresh blood makes him moan. His tongue flicks over your clit rapidly. He's faster, stronger than a mere human, of course he could eat pussy faster too.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you croak out as he pulls you closer and closer to your high.

Max disagrees wholeheartedly and grumbles against your clit to voice that. Pulling you closer to the edge of the pew and letting go of one of your thighs so he can pull his aching cock out of his pants.

Your mind is clouded with pleasure and all of the thoughts of pushing off you melt away as you start to come undone

Your cunt gets sweeter the closer you are to cumming. Making him growl and double down on how ravenously he licks through your folds. Eager to make your thighs shake and your world spin around on his tongue as he strokes himself.

Your hands find purpose in his hair, pulling it tightly as you rock against his face. "Gonna cum," you say with a groan as everything goes black. White hot pleasure tearing throughout your body as he continues his delicious assault as you start to convulse in pleasure, your thighs squeezing around his head.

You taste better than blood, making him groan as your thighs press around him. If he were human, you'd be suffocating him. His tongue curls up inside you, wanting every drop of your release as his appetizer, earned from the strokes of your clit.

You moan his name as he laps up every drop. The haze after your orgasm slowly begins to clear as his tongue hits something seismic inside of you. You gently push his head away before concentrating on steadying your heaving chest. "Fuck."

Now is the time to pull away with a clear head but there's nothing but lust rushing through Max's veins. The roar of need consumes him and his hands shaking as he rips at his own clothes.

"Fuck me, Max," you mewl, shocking yourself for letting those words fall from your lips.

He knows the way his compulsion is projecting onto you. This lust is nothing more than a mirage. Still, all he can do is nod, finally pulling down his boxers and letting his cock spring free. Nearly on his knees from the pain of needing to bury his cock inside you.

"Fuck." you mouth at the sight of it. Thick, the tip an angry shade of red as it begs for release. You clamp down around nothing as he gives it a few languid strokes before lining it up to your entrance.

It's automatic. Not something he can help. His fangs spring down from his gums when he pushes into your velvet hot cunt. Gripping him like a glove as he snarls inhumanly at the sensation and the pure relief of being inside you.

"Oh Max," you moan as he splits you open. It has been a while since you've had sex, and the feeling is almost overwhelming as your walls hug his thick cock.

Your moan makes him lose control. There's nothing slow or tender about the pace that he sets. Nothing forgiving about the way his hips slap forward to feed you his cock again. Lost to everything but the way your wails pitch up and the feeling of pleasure when you squeeze him.

His pace is relentless. Every slam of his hips making you desperately gasp for air, you grip the side of the pew with one hand and roughly squeeze your breast with the other. You're not sure if it's the haze he has you under or the pure pleasure but the words 'bite me' are lingering on the tip of your tongue.

The creaking and groaning of the pew is filling the large, acoustical space. The splintering of wood increases as the drive if his hips ramps up. Baring his teeth as he looks down at you, watching your eyes roll back and flutter. Not tiring even though a human would have already collapsed in exhaustion, Max keeps fucking you like his existence hinges on being inside you.

It's indescribable the way each thrust of his cock feels, it's like everything else in the world have ceased to exist as he fucks into you. "Don't stop," you choke out as he digs his fingernails into your hips.

It's just the permission he needs. Managing to speed up as the slapping of skin echoes throughout the church. Groaning out your name as he pushes you up the pew until you're pinned against the edge.

"I'm gonna c-" You scream, cutting yourself off as you clamp down hard around his cock. Squeezing him so tightly that you feel his pace momentarily stutter.

The force that he had to use to keep moving inside you finally cracks the base of the pew. Pulling it out of the bracket to secure it to the floor and the entire bench lurches forward. Still, he doesn't stop rocking into you, greedy to see you cum again even though you are still cumming around his cock.

You whimper beneath him as he fucks you harder and harder throughout your orgasm. Every ounce of hatred you'd ever felt for him melting as he plucks pleasure from you with nothing but ease. Each slam of his hips finding that pleasure center inside of you like it's all he's ever known.

"Fuck, fuck, of course you would be perfect." Max groans, closing his eyes as he continues to ram into you. "Fu-fuck hate me and it's the best fucking pussy l've ever had." He groans and gives into the need to kiss and lick your skin again. He knows you might struggle since his fangs are out, but he won't bite you. Not unless you wanted him to and there's not a chance in hell of that happening. "Fucking perfect."

"Bet y-you say that to all the g-girls -oh god yes - you fuck," you say with a little smirk. You're still unaware how quickly he pulled you under his spell but you're beyond caring, all you want is to feel him buried deep inside your needy pussy forever. "Cum for me, Max." 

He shakes his head, not wanting to cum just yet. "Again." He begs, ducking down and kissing your pulse, letting his fangs brush your skin. "Not until you cum again.”

"I can't," you whimper from beneath him, unsure you have the energy to come apart around his cock again.

"Yes you can." Max groans, feeling your cunt flutter around him. He pulls back and lifts your legs up onto his shoulders. "I know you can, you can give me one more."

"One more," you agree meekly, as he resumes his relentless pace. His hips slapping against you with all his might, "Oh, fuck, Max," you groan as his two of his fingers find their way to your clit and start to circle it.

"That's it baby, fuck." Max hisses, loving how your body is responding to him. The heat licking through his veins is nearly tolerable as he steadily rocks his hips at a frantic speed. "Want you to feel good. So sweet for me like this."

"Feels amazing." You softly breath out as you reach down and grab his free hand. Entwining your fingers with his as you feel yourself start to lose control again.

This time when you come apart, Max is leaning in, groaning praises to you as he watches. "Good girl, fuck, so good for me." He moans. "Soaking my cock so good, fuck you feel how wet you get?"

"So fucking wet." you murmur in response, "Just for you.” His name is all you can manage to say again as the earth shatters around you as your third orgasm is ripped from you.

A growl rumbles out of Max's chest, eyes nearly yellow as his face starts to change. Brow knitting together and turning heavy. Cheek bones growing sharper, jaw wider. Turning into a visage of the monster that he is as you clench down on his cock.

"Bite me," you beg as you feel his cock throb inside of you. "Please, Max, please.”

He wants to, his mouth is watering at the idea of biting you and tasting your sweet blood. But as needy as his body is for yours, he can't. You were compelled to let him fuck you, whatever causing it making you lose your inhibitions. Never allowing him to come near you, let alone biting you. Instead of sinking his fangs into your skin, he digs his nails in and scrapes his fangs over the area lightly, never enough to break skin.

Your pussy aches as you clamp down around him, the feeling of his teeth against your skin somehow intensifying your orgasm as you scream his name. "Please, Max," you beg, unsure what you're really begging for. "Cum for me."

Max shouts your name, his voice rough and several octaves lower from the change he's gone through. Thrusting harshly twice more before he is grinding into you, pumping you full of his useless spend with agonizing slowness. Feeling the frantic need ebbing with every pulse of his cock.

You pass out from exhaustion the second he's finished painting your walls. Delirious from the best fucking you've had in your life, you mumble a small thank you before falling into a deep slumber.

Luckily, whatever madness had come over him was extinguished with his orgasm. Reaching out and caressing your face as you are completely unaware of anything around you. He grins, knowing he's not going to be able to keep from teasing you about this when you wake up. Max pulls out of you with a soft groan, standing up and quickly collecting the clothing so he can dress both you and himself. Since you can't take care of yourself, he'll take care of you himself.

****

You wake up abruptly in an unknown bedroom to muffled yelling in the next room. Sitting up straight you immediately feel the aching sensation in your core, your pussy throbbing from the hard fucking your taken a few hours before as the hazy memories start to flood back to you.

"I don't give a fuck if your busy." Max shouts, believing that you are still passed out. "They are obviously the ones who attacked her fiancé and I don't trust them to not come after her. I want them found and staked!" 

You slowly climb out of the unfamiliar bed and make your way towards the door. Noticing that you've been dressed in one of his shirts as you do so. You creep towards the door and slowly open it.

"YES, I meant it when I said destroy them." Max growls into the phone. "They don't deserve to fucking spend another day on the earth. They attacked her. They die." He pulls the phone away from his ear and tosses it down on the counter and sighs dramatically. He had thought to take you back to your home, but then had worried that the two who had attacked you would trace you back to your place. The myth of needing permission to come in was bullshit and so he had carted you back to his place, wanting to keep you safe even though you still believed that he had attacked you.

You clear your throat as you walk towards him, "What happened last night?"

Max's head snaps towards the hallway leading to his bedroom and he finds you staring at him. "Do you want the long version or the short version?" He asks, turning towards the refrigerator that normally holds the blood bags he gets from the clinic. He had some groceries delivered while you were still out. Pulling a bottle of orange juice out and grabbing a glass from the cupboard.

"Short," you say with a shrug, slightly wincing as you lower yourself onto one of the kitchen stools.

Max can't help but smirk as you gingerly sit down. "Two vamps attacked you on your way to your car, I chased them off, you thought I was the one who tried to drink from you so you splashed Holy water in my face and I fucked you until you passed out in God's holy temple."

"Oh," is the only thing you can bring yourself to say as your fingertips tap against the glass he hands you, "Thank you for chasing them off."

Max pauses as he stretches out his hand to offer you the orange juice but he nods and sets it down in front of you. "You're welcome." He says simply. Unsure of what you are going to say now or accuse him of.

"I uh, I remember asking you to taste me," you say barely a register above a whisper, "And then the uh... the sex, but I don't remember anything about that."

"You passed out." Max puffs up with pride. "Came too much." He brags slightly. "I redressed you and carried you out to my car."

You scoff at his cockiness and roll your eyes. "Yeah sure,” you mock. "Definitely had nothing to do with the fact I was exhausted after almost being attacked AND working a 12 hour shift at a shitty bar."

"Small details." Of course you would never give him any kind of credit and he turns back towards the fridge. "Are you hungry? Since you were exhausted and attacked and worked 12 hours at a shitty bar?" He asks, looking over his shoulder.

"Kind of." You admit "But I can get going. I'm pretty sure you'd prefer not to have someone you hate in your bachelor pad."

"Stay." Max orders lightly, but there is no compulsion in his voice this time. "The vamps, the ones that attacked you, I don't - uh, they are being hunted down." He pulls out the food that had been brought and frowns. "After that, you can leave and never see me again

Taking the prepackaged sandwich from his hand you nod your head slightly, unsure what to say. "Thank you," you say with a brief smile, "For the sandwich. The shirt. And for saving my life. Just thanks."

"It's okay, sweetheart." He promises you. " I know that you aren't comfortable around me, so I'll go shower and work in my home office. You're safe here." He knocks on the counter and walks away, needing to get away from you. The urge to touch you again is too strong and he knows you wouldn't want that.

"Oh, okay," you say, unable to disguise your disappointment at him getting away at his first opportunity. "'ll go back to bed for a bit, I guess." You take another bite of the sandwich before disposing of the packaging and making your way back towards the bedroom. 

Max sighs as he strips off his clothes and steps into the shower. He wants to think that you were disappointed but he knows you are probably jumping for joy to be away from him. The compulsion to fuck because of an adverse reaction to holy water didn't mean you liked him. "Just forget about it, Phillips."

Boredom gets the better of you after a few minutes. You climb back out of bed after hearing the shower switch on. Taking this as an opportunity to look around his apartment, when curiosity becomes too much to ignore.

Max leans into the hot water, enjoying the warmth on his skin, closing his eyes as he remembers how fucking perfect you felt around him. "Shit." He hisses, knowing that you are still in the kitchen so he doesn't hesitate to wrap his hand around his cock and tug to make himself hard. Wanting to jerk off and take the edge off this need he has.”

You spend a few minutes examining his bookcase and humming in approval at his taste in literature. Some muffled sounds come from the bathroom and you take a few quiet steps and hover outside the door to see what's going on in there. And then you hear it, barely above a whisper, a grunt of your name as it becomes apparent what he's doing in there. Your clit immediately roars to life with need as your thighs clench together.

"Fuck." Max hisses, the image of you under him swirling behind his lids. "Perfect, so fucking perfect." He squeezes his cock like your cunt had, wishing that he was sinking into you rather than fucking his fist in the shower. Rocking onto the balls of his feet as he strokes his cock furiously.

Unable to pull yourself away, you stand and listen before it gets too much. You hastily unbutton his shirt and roll down your panties before reaching for the doorknob, relief that he hadn't locked it sweeping throughout you. Silently you enter the bathroom slipping unnoticed in the shower behind him. Your hand wraps around his waist and the other pulls his hand away from his throbbing cock, and you replace it with your own. Matching the same aggressive speed he was stroking himself with a few seconds before.

Max's stomach muscles coil when you touch him. So lost in the memory of last night that he hadn't even heard you come in. "Fuck." He pants out, hips jerking forward into your grip. "What- fuck, what are you doing?" He grunts, half believing that he is imagining you here.

"You want me to stop?" You ask as you tighten your grip around his cock.

"No, fuck no." He groans, leaning his head against the tile. "You - you hate me." He reminds you. "Why do you want to jerk me off?"

"Maybe I just want to edge you," you tease as you bite down onto his shoulder, "Maybe I want to feel you deep inside me again."

"You're sore." His eyes flutter closed and he jerks his hips forward. "I- you'll hurt."

"I guess you'll just have to be a little less rough this time."

"I- I have a bench." Max pants, smirking slightly. "You could ride me.”

"Mhmmm," you hum as you think about how much bigger he'd feel from that angle. "Take a seat then, Mr Phillips

It's strange how quickly you've gone from hating him to wanting him. Still, he doesn't argue, moving over to the bench and sitting down to spread his legs wide and let his hard cock rest against his stomach. "Come have a seat sweetheart." 

You don't know why you're craving him so badly, maybe it's because he still saved your sorry ass after everything, you don't know. You rest your hands on his shoulders as you straddle him, watching as he lines his cock up ready for you to sink down on him. He was right. You're sore but you push past it and get ready to feel the pleasure you know he's capable of giving.

His fingers dig into your hips, trying to keep you from going too fast. Wanting to spare you as much pain as possible "Take it easy baby." He groans. "Not too fast, I'll fuck you like you need."

"Do it then," you demand with a cheeky grin splashed across your face. "Fuck me, Max Phillips."

Max captures your chin in his hand and turns your head towards him. "Kiss me first." He challenges you. "I'll fuck you after you kiss me." Ironic since his cock is buried inside you, but he could live right here and be perfectly fine.

You raise your eyebrow in confusion at him, wondering if he's playing a game right now. And after a few moments of looking directly into those big brown eyes you give in. Your hands come up to grip either side of his head before you press your lips to his. Licking his bottom lip to gain entry before pushing your tongue inside and tasting his mouth.

Max groans, his own tongue sweeping along yours, kissing you for the first time. Sliding his hands up your back and holding you firmly as he lets you explore him, plundering your mouth in return, twitching inside you.

"Max," you moan against his lips, "Please fuck me," you beg before kissing him again and rocking your hips. Grinding slowly on him. 

He starts to move, lifting and lowering you on his cock as he continues to kiss you. Keeping it slow so you can not ache as badly right away.

Slowly you start to take control, riding him at a delicious pace, his cock brushing against that spot inside of you. Opening your eyes you see him staring intently at your face, a slight cocky grin on his face as you smash your lips up against his.

Groaning, he tightens his hold on you, leaning forward and bracing his feet on the shower floor while you bounce on his cock. Flicking his tongue inside your mouth as your tits press against him and your walls clench. "Still so good." He pants. "Tight little pussy."

You keen at his praise, loving the way you've somehow gotten under his skin as well. "You like fucking this tight little pussy, Max?" You ask as innocently as you can.

"Fuck." Max leans in and nips the skin on your collar bone. "Love it. Fucking obsessed with it. Took it so well last night."

"Why didn't you bite me?" You ask as his teeth scrape against your soft skin. "Last night... when I asked?"

Max pulls back, his eyes focused on you in a very serious moment. He knows he's a dick, that he comes across as careless, but the majority of that is a facade. "I- I was... projecting my compulsion last night." He admits. “I couldn't stop it. Whatever reaction to that holy water was, it was making you want to fuck me, and I needed to be inside you. But..." he grips your hips harder and relaxes his hold on you to caress the skin. "Biting you was something I thought you would never want. And I - I didn't want you to hate me more than you already did."

"Oh," you say, resuming the soft rocking of your hips, "I uh-I don't hate you. It's just tough for me... I know you don't understand."

"I wasn't always a vampire." Max reminds you, his human days still not too far away that he doesn't remember them. "And maybe you can move on when the vampires who killed your fiancé are destroyed."

"Mhmm," you reply before pressing your lips to his, kissing him long and hard, before playfully teasing him, "Thought you were going to make me cum, Mr Phillips?"

The serious moment has passed it seems and Max groans. Starting to move faster now that you are opened up and not wincing when you are filled with him.

You see the disappointment in his eyes when you change the subject, but something tells you that having a serious conversation when he's buried deep inside your needy pussy isn't the smartest of ideas.

You bounce up and down on his length, the angle making you cry out in pleasure with every slam of hips against you. You feel your walls start to flutter against him and know that you're seconds away from falling off the edge.

"God you're so desperate for it." Max chuckles, deciding if you want him to fuck you, that's what you're going to get. He lets one hand slide out and slap your tit before his thumb presses against your clit. "If I had know that, I would have just kept fucking you while you were passed out. Kept you speared on my cock all night."

"Should have," you choke out with a sob, "Fuck.. Could have woken me up with your fat cock this morning."

Max twitches inside you, enjoying the small gasp and the way your nails dig into his skin. He thrusts up to bounce you harder on him. "I'll remember that." He groans. 

"I bet you will," you say with a giggle as you start to grind down harder on him, desperate to fall off that edge and come undone on his cock.

Now all he can hear is the water of the shower and the desperate little sounds you make in the back of your throat. Urging him on and making him rock his hips up faster. "You gonna cum again?" He demands, not growling but his voice is deeper.

"Yes." Every thrust of his cock is harder than the one before, slamming against paradise as his deft fingers continue to play with your bundle of nerves. "Feel... Feel so good, Max," you murmur over and over until you're unable to speak. The only sounds slipping from your tongue are broken moans and sobs as you're thrown spectacularly into another earth shattering orgasm.

Max could keep going, maybe he should since you seem to be the softest towards him when he's buried in your cunt, but he doesn't want to hurt you. Aware that humans have limits to what their bodies can take, Max tightens his hold on your trembling body as he quickens his thrusts to chase his own orgasm. 

"Fill me up," you plead as he starts to throb inside of you, "Want you to drip out of me for the rest of the day."

Max hisses, baring his teeth, though his fangs aren't showing. Thrusts steadily getting sloppier until he is crushing you to him, cock planted as deep as he can go as he spills inside you.

"God," you moan with a giggle, "So the secret to shutting Max Phillips up is pussy. Good to know."

Max smirks and winks. "I can multitask if needed." He leans back against the shower wall and relaxes, enjoying the way you shift forward with him.

You let your head forward and nestle your face against his neck, giving yourself a few minutes to catch your breath, before a loud ringing makes him shoot upright. Pushing you off of him before he climbs out of the shower.

Max walks through his apartment, completely unconcerned with the water dripping off of him as he speeds towards his phone. "Yeah." He demands as he answers it.

You step out of the shower and wrap yourself in one of the towels from the rack, standing awkwardly behind him as he takes the call.

"Both of them?" Max frowns into the phone before he grins. "Good. Thanks. Now make sure that the legal report is completed by Monday."

"Who was that?" You ask sheepishly from behind him.

"Arnold. From legal." Max smirks happily as he drops the phone back down on the counter and looks at you, "if you're going to have vampires destroyed, have the lawyers do it. They are used to getting messy."

"So, they're dead? The vampires who killed my Jake are gone?" You ask, needing to hear it again.

"Dead." Max confirms with a nod. "I heard them talk about him right before they attacked you."

"Dead," you repeat quietly. Unsure why it doesn't feel as good as you'd imagined it would feel. Maybe it's because it would never bring him back to you. "I should go then, I'll get out of your hair."

Max opens his mouth to protest but then he shuts it, knowing that you don't need a vampire around you to process. "Sure, sweetheart." He nods, shuttering his expression. "I went back and got your car, so it's here. Your clothes are in the dryer."

"Thanks," you say, “I uh, I appreciate that you saved me last night and I'm sorry for assuming the worst in you." You give him a small smile before making your way towards the dryer and collecting your things. Dressing as quickly as you can and sneaking out of his apartment without another word.

Max hears the click of the door and closes his eyes. Not understanding why you hating him has him pouting like he's lost a toy. Of course you don't want anything to do with him. He had only been able to touch you because he had compelled you. "Move on, Phillips. Don't let it bother you." Still, for a long time after you have gone, he wonders why he can't stop thinking about how you looked when you smiled at him.

The drive back to your apartment is quick, no mid morning traffic to keep you wallowing in the confused feelings clouding up your mind. The second you're inside you lock the door behind you and run yourself a hot bath, being a little too generous with the epsom salts in the process and stripping yourself down. The ache he left in your core is throbbing and you take two Advil to settle the soreness before climbing into the bath. Your mind drifts back to the previous night in the church and how your body was so receptive to everything he did to you. And despite the fact you know he was projecting his needs onto you, you can't help but think about how you still could have refused him but didn't. And on top of that you followed him into the shower earlier, desperate to feel him in your hands as you pumped his rock hard cock and felt yourself dripping from touching him alone.

Has he gotten under your skin? No. You shake the thought away. There is no way that you like Max Phillips. Absolutely not.

****

He almost calls you, or stops by your apartment. He knows where you live, but he doesn't. You hadn't said a word to him when you left and it spoke volumes of how you wanted to proceed. Instead, Max shuffles through applications for the sales position you had vacated, not finding anyone he wanted to hire to take your place.

It's been three days since you saw Max and you hadn't been able to bring yourself to complete another bar shift. Instead you wake up early and dress yourself as nicely but professionally as you can and make your way back to your old work building. Taking a few moments outside before gathering the strength to go inside and ask for another chance. With your head held high you walk towards your ex-bosses office and knock the door a few times and wait to be invited in.

"Yeah-" Max looks up from the report he had been reading and freezes when he sees you standing in the doorway. "What-" he stands quickly and motions you inside, frowning in confusion when he sees the smart professional outfit you are wearing. "What can I do for you?"

"I was hoping I could apply for my old job," you say with a sigh. "I just can't afford to live without it."

Max eyebrow ticks up in surprise and he holds his hand out for you to sit in the chair opposite him. "I take it that you would rather not?" He asks, oddly hurt by how resigned you sound.

"I would like my job back," you say with a bit more enthusiasm, "It's just not easy having to ask, ya know?"

Max knows that swallowing your pride is difficult and he can't seem to tease you like he might have before. "Are you going to be able to work for me?" He asks.

"Are you going to tell everyone about what happened?" You ask, feeling your cheeks burn.

"No." Max shakes his head. He hadn't said a word about what had actually happened that night. It was a memory he wanted to keep for himself.

"I just don't want people accusing me of sleeping with to get my job back," you say quietly. "I don't want you to think that either."

Max snorts and sends you an ironic grin. "You and I both know that if it hadn't been for that night, you would have never let me touch you." He spreads his hands out over the resumes that have been lackluster. "I haven't hired anyone for the position."

You laugh at his admission, "You say that as though you would have touched me if I didn't throw holy water at you. And good... So, can I have my job back?"

He's frustrated that you still believe that he has some grudge against you. Leaning back and shaking his head. "Not until you tell me why you think I hate you." He demands. "What reason? What did I do that said that?"

"You hovered over me your entire first day? You made it clear you didn't think I was capable of my job, Max." You sigh. "Look if you'd rather I didn't get my job back that's fine, I haven't quit at the bar yet."

"Oh. Seriously?" Max leans back and shakes his head. "I hovered because you consistently had good numbers. I wanted to see what you were doing differently from the other morons." He rolls his eyes and shrugs. "Then when I saw you didn't like me, I pushed your buttons. I'm an asshole like that. But I never thought you weren't capable of doing your job."

"It was raw." You pull at your sleeve and look down at your lap. "Jake's death wasn't taken seriously, it was just treated like something that was inevitable because we live in a community with vampires. It was hard for me, and you didn't have any issues hiding what you were, not that I think you should. And I'm sorry."

Max shakes his head, aware that he's had some relaxed attitudes about his kind, but he understands where you are coming from. "I'm sorry they didn't treat your fiance's death like it mattered." He hums quietly. "Now, go down to IT, get your logins sorted and i'll deal with HR. I've been sitting on your paperwork anyway." He shrugs causally. "You actually just were on unpaid leave, but since you're back, we can change it to paid."

"Thank you, Mr Phillips. I really appreciate this." It doesn't take long for IT to get you up and running again and you're happy to see that your desk hadn't been cleared out and was still set up how you like it. The rest of the morning is spent taking calls and booking a few big trips.

He makes sure that he doesn't venture too close to you, wanting to make sure you settle in and get back into the routine without him 'hovering'. He has a few performance reviews, changes Phil in accounting and has a snack off the temp secretary, Brenda. Typing up an excerpt in a file when the 5PM alarm sounds and everyone starts to clock out and go home for the night.

The rush around you makes you laugh as you decide to stay and rifle through the emails you'd missed over the last week just to get all caught up. Once everyone's gone and the room has cleared you pick up your coffee cup and make your way to the break room to grab a cup of coffee.

There aren't many nights when Max isn't the only one in the office, the vamps are going out to have fun and the humans are all just ready to go home. He hears someone in the break room and gets up to go investigate.

You hum along to the radio still playing quietly overhead, the cleaners will switched it off later this evening but it's nice to have it on whilst you're all alone. You sway your hips whilst filling up your mug and enjoy having your pick of the cookies without someone trying to grab the best ones.

Max smirks, leaning in the doorway and watching you for a moment. "Happy to be back, huh?"

"Oh shit," you say with a jump, spilling half your coffee over your blouse, "Fuck, I'm so sorry! I thought I was alone.”

Max chuckles and shakes his head. "I'm enjoying the show." He tells you with a smirk, imagining you naked dancing.

"Mhmm," you say as you blot the burning hot coffee on your now very see-through blouse. You giggle before throwing the cloth at him, "Glad I can entertain you."

Max huffs and snatched the rag. "You didn't burn yourself did you? Don't want a workman's comp claim." He winks at you because he's teasing.

"I'm about to go call my lawyer this minute," you tease back, "Going to take you for everything you have." 

"Well damn." He snaps his fingers and pouts. "Don't know what I will do. Maybe I can kiss it and make it better?"

You know you shouldn't be doing this here, but you can't deny the dynamic between you both has changed. And you've been craving him every second since you left his apartment a few days earlier. "That could work."  You take a few steps towards him and bite down on your lip. "But wouldn't you rather I do the other thing? Seeing as the other night you kept telling me how good I am at taking it all." 

Immediately, Max's cock starts to harden, his teasing grin becoming a bit more lusty. "You want to step into my office, sweetheart? Work overtime?"

"Kiss me first," you order, copying his request from a few days earlier.

Smirking, Max grabs your arms and pulls you down into a low dip that makes you gasp. Tilting you down like the romantic movies of old, his kiss is anything but. His tongue promises nothing but pleasure as he licks through your mouth and pulls you upright again. "Step into my office, right now sweetheart." He growls.

"Fuck," you mouth as he starts to walk towards his office, you follow closely behind on shaky legs. "Am I really about to let you rail me in your office?"

"Yes you are." Max smugly turns in the doorway and motions for you to enter in front of him. "Because you know how good it feels and you want more."

"I remember it being... just okay," you tease, unable to stop yourself from riling him up a little. "Come on then, Phillips. I do not need the cleaners to see this."

Max snorts and closes the door behind him, clicking the lock although he knows the cleaning crew won't just walk into his office. "Happy now? All alone."

Without saying a word you walk around his desk and take a seat on his chair, starting to unbutton your ruined blouse and dropping it on the floor before removing your pants.

He watches, admiring the view and the change of attitude towards him. The last time you had been in this office besides today, you had been angry and argumentative but now..... He smirks. "Get on my desk and spread your legs for me baby."

"Yes, Sir," you say with a smile, still wearing your underwear.

You stand up and take a seat on his desk directly in front of his chair and spread your legs as commanded.

He rolls his eyes and huffs as he shrugs the jacket off his shoulders and moves towards you. "Still such a brat." He grins. "Wanna throw holy water at me again?"

"Do you need it, old man?" You say as you start to unbutton his shirt. "Is that the vampire version of a little blue pill?"

His grin drops into a pout and he blows a raspberry at you. "I don't need a little blue pill. Ever."

"Shut the fuck up and fuck me, Phillips." You say with a roll of your eyes. "I'd like to get out of here tonight."

"So a quickie?" Max nods and unzips his pants. "That can happen. Even more than you realize." He chuckles. "Turn over. I'm gonna fuck you from behind."

You roll your eyes at the thought of him fucking someone else in here and slowly turn around, "Fuck me then."

"Ohhhh, someone's not happy." He coos, reaching out and slapping your ass. "Why is that, baby?"

"You're taking too long." You lie before rubbing up against him. "It's been days. I need to feel you again."

"Impatient." Max smirks and pulls out his cock to pump it a few times before he shuffles closer and kicks your feet apart so he slides his cock through your folds. "You feel so goddamn good." He hisses at your wetness.

The noise that you make as hell drags his cock through your folds is drenched in sin. You don't want him to stop teasing you but you can't take another second of him not being buried inside of you. "Please, Max."

Instead of easing inside you this time, he decides to notch himself as your dripping entrance and snaps his hips forward and buries his cock deep in one, rough thrust.

The wind is knocked out of you as he fills your tight little cunt. Your walls immediately gripping onto his fat cock as you attempt to catch your breath before he starts to move.

"Feel better sweetheart?" Max coos in your ear, enjoying the way you can barely cry out and he kisses behind your ear before he starts moving at a harsh pace.

Unable to form a coherent sentence, you simply nod. Gripping harshly onto the wooden desk as he relentlessly pounds in and out of you. Fucking you hard and fast without a care in the world.

"Yeah, you feel better." He answers his own question as he snaps his hips forward again and again. Rattling the pen cup on his desk and making it shake. "Should- should just make you sit on my cock all day at work."

You hate how you react to that immediately clamping down around the length of him and gasping at the thought of it. "Fuck," you barely croak out as you start to move your hips.

"That's it baby." Max's body crowds you, wraps around you as he fills you again and again. "Let me know how it feels."

"So good," you murmur into the desk. "You feel so fucking good. Too good."

"Never too good." He kisses along your neck and presses his tongue to your pulse. "Never too good, baby. You feel so fucking perfect around my cock. You like it? Getting fucked by a vampire?"

"Nope, I just think I like you fucking me." you say as he hits something glorious inside of you, "Fuck, just there Max," you plead.

Max hums, approving of your answer and concentrating on replicating the angle that makes your toes curl and your cunt clench.

"Make me cum," you start to beg as his thrusts continue to knock the wind out of you, "Let me soak that fat cock."

"Fuck you know how to talk to me." Max groans, sliding his hands up to pinch your nipples while he fucks you into the desk.

You gasp at his harsh treatment of your nipples but he can feel the way it makes you clamp down around him, "Fucking love that big fat cock."

Max chuckles. "So what you are saying is that when you start getting mouthy, I should just shove my cock in it?"

"Maybe. Maybe I'll just sit on your face every time you start to be an annoying asshole."

"Now that's just going to make me be more of an asshole." Max teases, leaning in and biting your shoulder, without the fangs.

"Yeah?" You moan as his teeth graze your neck, "Is that what you need, baby? Need me to sit this tight little pussy on that handsome face of yours?" The position he has you in makes it difficult for you to move, his body boxing yours against his big desk. All you can do is clamp your walls down around him.

"Fuck yes." Max groans. "Especially when you're on your period."

"Fuck." The men you'd been with before refused to touch you during your period, and the idea of him using his mouth on you whilst your bleeding almost sends you over the cliff at that moment.

"Yeah ..you like that." Max huffs in your ear. "You can sit that little bleeding cunt on my mouth all day. I'll just lick you clean until you can't take another orgasm."

"Oh fuck." Your thighs start to shake as he pushes you close to the edge, the way his cock hammers into your g-spot paired with the filth he whispers into your ears is too much. You let go with a breathy moan of his name and everything goes black. Pleasure coursing through your veins.

You cumming around him is something that Max wants to experience every day. You get so tight and wet. Making him snarl out your name as the wet slaps of his cock drilling into you ramp up so he can cum.

You lay against his desk, unable to move as you come down slowly. Waiting to feel him fill you up, the sound of sick slapping against skin bounces off the walls as you lay there in your blissed out haze.

It takes another dozen thrust before Max is cumming, scraping the desk across the carpeted floor as he buries his cock deep, groaning happily as he fills you again. "Thank god my seed is dead." He jokes. "Because I would have definitely just got you pregnant."

You giggle before pushing yourself up a little, his softening cock still buried deep inside of you as you look over your shoulder. "That was incredible. Fuck. How am I supposed to sit a few feet away from your office and fight the urge to come in and ride you everyday?"

"Don't." Max smirks. "Or come over every night to ride it."

"You'd get sick of the sight of me, or start fucking other people as well." He slowly pulls himself out of you and you stand upright on slightly shaky legs before turning around to face him, "And I don't share."

Max snorts and lifts a brow. "Who says I share?" He asks. "If you want it to be causal, that's fine. If you want more...." He tucks himself away and zips up. "Let me know."

You can't help but raise an eyebrow at him as you reach for your panties. "Didn't peg you as the kind of guy that's interested in more?"

Max rolls his eyes and grabs your arm, dragging you close. Your squeal of surprise is masked by his mouth covering yours less than a second later in a needy kiss.

He kisses you for ages, pressing himself against you as his mouth dominates yours in a messy battle. A week ago you wouldn't have dreamed about kissing him but you feel a stab of sadness in your chest at the thought of never kissing him again. You slowly break free of the kiss and rest your forehead against his, "I want more."

"Good." He murmurs softly. "I want more too."

"Good." You finish getting yourself dressed as he tidies up the mess you've made on his desk. "So where do we go from here?"

Max flashes you a grin. "That's up to you, sweetheart. But let's get take out, I'm starving." He chuckles. "How does Chinese sound?"

"As long as you're paying," you say before reaching out for him to take your hand. "Let's go."

****

"What do you want, baby? Hmmmm?" Max kisses as licks along your neck while you grind your hips down on him. One year later, you are still wanting to be with him, which surprises and delights Max. His own need and connection to you grew to the point where he had asked you to give up your apartment since you were always over at his anyway. Living together, or rather, cohabitating since he technically wasn't alive.

"You know what I want, asshole," you say with a groan. He's still a massive tease after a year and loves nothing more than making you beg. "I love you, Max Phillips, I want to spend an eternity with you. Bite me."

"Hmmm, I swear if my heart was still beating it would flutter." He muses, actually really touched by you wanting to become a vampire when you had hated all creatures of the night when he first met you. His nose bumps your pulse. "Are you sure baby?" He pulls back and looks into your eyes seriously. "There's no changing your mind if I do it."

"Yeah? Would I have THE Max Phillips swooning?" You say with a slight poke of his shoulder. "Yes. I am sure. You promised you'd help me and make sure I don't hurt anyone and I trust that you'll do that... Plus I've grown accustomed to that annoyingly handsome face of yours."

"I am handsome, aren't I?" Max preens and grins at you smugly, laughing when you roll your eyes at him. "I love you, baby." He promises, just as serious as he had been when he cautioned you.

"Eh, you're okay." You giggle. "I love you, Max." You press your lips against his and give him a reassuring nod that this is what you want.

"Okay." Max presses his lips to yours one last time as a human. "Close your eyes, baby." He tilts your head to the side and licks your pulse one last time, letting his fangs spring down from his gums. "Let me show you a whole new world." Opening his mouth wide, Max sinks his fangs into your jugular and moans, finally getting to do what he wanted to nearly a year ago when you had flung holy water in his face. Make you his for eternity.

[bradshawsbaby]

Hiii! For the physical intimacy series, could i get "Hand on chest during casual conversation" with fem!reader x jake ?

I love your work sm!

Thank you so much! I’m so used to writing Jake only in the context of Hannix, so I hope this is alright! 😂

When you’d agreed to a beach day with your girlfriends on your day off, you hadn’t expected to stumble upon some sort of “dogfight football” championship game. And you certainly hadn’t expected to catch the attention of a green-eyed, blonde-haired fighter pilot whose southern charms and cocky self-assurance had your heart skipping several beats.

You assumed after a few hours of casually flirting in the sand, he would grow tired of you and move on—that’s the way things always seemed to go for you—so you were surprised when he asked if you and your friends wanted to join him and his friends for sunset drinks at The Hard Deck.

That’s how you’d ended up on the back patio with Lieutenant Jake Seresin, a fruity cocktail in hand as the two of you chatted easily and watched the setting sun turn the sky various shades of pink, orange, and red. The potent combination of sun and alcohol must have gone to your head because as Jake was telling you a story about his first time at TOPGUN, you found yourself leaning in closer and pressing a hand to his deliciously bare chest. Evidently, he believed the buttons on his shirt to be a suggestion only.

Jake didn’t fail to notice your touch, his green eyes flicking down to take in the sight of your warm palm pressed against his naked skin, still glowing from an afternoon spent shirtless on the beach. Smirking playfully, he leaned in closer as well, brushing some flyaway hairs behind your ear.

“Say, you doin’ anything Friday night?” he asked, those stunning eyes looking hopeful as he peered down at you.

Smiling, you shook your head, keeping your hand right where it was. “Nope. I’m all yours.”

physical intimacy prompts

[pktechgirlus]

Photo: LDeans

[liightsout]

the blue - part three

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✯ summary: the morning after and mattie is NERVY!! ✯

✯ pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!oc ✯

✯ content warnings: light swearing ✯

✯ now playing: goodnight n go - ariana grande ✯

✯ series masterlist ✯

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The first thing Mattie thought when she heard her alarm going off that morning was I wonder if Daniel Ricciardo is still sleeping in my living room. 

It was only when she remembered it was 9AM on a Saturday that she decided the likelihood was certainly high that he was still asleep on her sofa. 

The second thing she thought was who the fuck schedules a meeting for 9:30AM on a Saturday. 

She groaned as she pulled herself from the comfort of her bed. The 3AM wake up call and spontaneous meet and greet with a famous Formula 1 driver in her living room had not awarded her a peaceful slumber for the last few hours. 

The anxiety filled sleep had left her tossing and turning all night. Her mind replayed each moment over and over. Her brain refused to switch off. 

It wasn’t that she was starstruck by Daniel. Well, she was, but it was more than that. He could have been anyone really and she would have felt as embarrassed as she did right now. Although the fact that he was beautiful, rich and famous certainly did make it a bit worse. 

She repeatedly told herself she had nothing to be embarrassed about. He was the one that had drunkenly stumbled into her flat and woken her up. Not that he should be embarrassed. He had just been having fun. More than she can say for herself on that Friday night. 

Mattie quickly got dressed, changing into something more suitable for a 9:30AM Zoom meeting with a prospective client. Brushing out her brown hair she attempted to tame the frizz and flyaways, she settled for a messy ponytail. A quick touch of makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes and some blush to make her skin look less tired and she was done. 

Staring at her bedroom door she sighed. She wished she had brought her laptop into her room last night. But no, it was placed on the kitchen island, along with her diary and notebook. She was going to have to brave bumping into the Aussie whether she wanted to or not. 

With all the courage she could muster, with shaky hands she opened the door. She walked out into the flat quietly. She may have been rudely awoken at 3AM, but did not wish to do the same to her roommate and guest. She imagined they’d both be fairly hungover. 

Entering into the living room she paused. Daniel was not asleep on her sofa as she expected him to be. Where she had left him last night lying horizontal on her sofa, covered by her favourite knitted blankets, was now an empty space. Her blankets neatly folded on the edge of the sofa where she had pulled them from last night to hand to him. 

She frowned. She didn’t expect him to leave so early. Did she make him uncomfortable? She hadn’t meant to shout at him. She hadn’t really shouted at him. She had slightly raised her voice. But not at him! At Adam! Where was Adam? 

One thing at a time, she thought. 

The lack of Daniel Ricciardo did make her life a little easier, even if she did find herself vaguely disappointed that the Aussie was no longer taking up residence on her sofa. Not that she would ever admit that out loud, or to herself really. 

She pulled out her phone and checked the time. She had 10 minutes until her meeting. Enough time to get set up and make herself a quick coffee. Food would have to wait until after the meeting. 

She quickly moved through the living room and into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee machine on the worktop. Turning it on she selected the option for an iced latte and went to reach for her laptop. 

She stopped in her tracks, finally noticing the pink pastry bag on top of her laptop. Next to it a scribbled note reading “hope this makes up for last night! :)” 

Picking up the bag she peered inside of it. Her favourite blueberry muffin from the bakery across the road. A smile grew on her face as she decided Adam was forgiven for his drunken behaviour. Mattie dug in, tearing off pieces of the muffin and placing them into her mouth while opening her laptop and getting ready for her meeting. 

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It was 3PM when she started to grow worried for the safety of her best friend. She knew he was alive due to the muffin that had been left for her. But hours had now passed and she had not heard a peep from him. 

At first she had assumed he had woken up, gone to the bakery and then headed back to bed. It wasn’t until her meeting had finished and she realised Adam’s keys and trainers were not by the front door as she had expected them to be. 

She sent him a quick text letting him know the flat was safe to come home to, in case he was avoiding her after the 3AM wake up, and knowing she had an early morning meeting and wanting to keep out of her way. 

Mattie: i’m done with my meeting if you’re waiting for me to be done to come home! and yes you’re forgiven for last night lol. apart from the bit where i shouted at danny ric while in my pjs!!!! you still owe me for living through that embarrassment

Mattie changed out of her smarter clothes and got into something more casual. She opted for an oversized sweater and a pair of loose fitting jeans. She shook her hair out of the ponytail and ran her fingers through it, her straight hair turning slightly wavier than usual. 

Mattie entered the living room and started to light various candles she had around the room. Grabbing her blanket, she sat down on the sofa and opened up the book she was currently reading, Cleopatra and Frankenstein. 

She had made it through a couple pages when she realised her favourite blanket smelt… different. Sandalwood, musky and a bit spicy. She recognised the fragrance from hours she had spent in John Lewis trying all the different fragrances she could never afford. It was definitely Le Labo, and definitely not hers. Bringing the soft fabric up to her nose she inhaled. 

Of course Daniel smelt good. And of course her favourite blanket now smelt like him. 

Her train of thought ended with her phone vibrating against her leg. 

Adam: hahaha, ur joking! he didn’t mention that to me! i’m on my way home now, was just out with lando, danny and some of the guys from work. do u want anything from the shops? 

Mattie: yeah of course he didn’t… 

Mattie: i don’t need anything, do you wanna get take out for dinner? i was thinking sushi? also ty for my muffin, it made my morning x  

Adam: he actually didn’t haha, yh sushi sounds good to me. 

Adam: what r u on about? i didn’t get you a muffin? 

Adam: ur weird lol, see you in like 20 mins x 

Mattie stared at her phone a little longer, connecting the pieces in her head. 

Daniel didn’t tell Adam about their embarrassing interaction from earlier this morning. 

He also must have woken up early, gone to the bakery and bought her a muffin, and then returned and gone out with Adam to see Lando, and not told him he had done so. 

Did he just guess the blueberry muffin was her favourite or was it a happy coincidence? 

Her cheeks flushed for what felt like the hundredth time in the last 24 hours, and yet again it was all because of Daniel Ricciardo. 

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✯ authors note: here's part 3!!!! hope you enjoy :) ✯

[bouncybongfairy]

Glorious Purpose

Rick Sanchez x Diane

Summary: After Evil Morty goes through all the files in Rick Prime's brain, he discovers there is one remaining Diane that Rick Prime created in hopes of one day killing her in front of C-137 to taunt him. Evil Morty makes Rick aware of the situation and decides to use the mind-blowers helmet to show this Diane the memories he has of them together.

Word Count: 5.0k+

(!THIS FANFIC HAS SEASON 7 SPOLIERS!)

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Diane was getting ready with her friend Rena at her apartment. It was Friday and after a long week filled with the stress of university and work she was ready to go out. They were both sitting on her bed, doing their makeup using the mirrors of several pallets. Ranting back and forth to each other about how irritating life was. Diane just started her sophomore year of college and was content with everything going on in her life. Grades were so promising that she was expected to graduate early, she was financially stable, and for once had an amazing friend group. She ran the straightener through her long blonde hair, making sure to spray down any flyaways. After announcing that the flatiron was available, she took the blunt and stood up, examining her appearance in the mirror that was attached to the closet door. She was wearing a pink pleated mini skirt and a white tee shirt that she purposely bought too small, it was cropped and didn’t go much farther than her second or third rib. It had the word CUNT in pink sparkly font and to complete the look she slipped her pink platform pump heels onto her feet. 

“You’re so fucking hot bitch,” her friend Tina said, standing beside her and taking a few pictures with her. 

“We both are,” Diane said, pulling out her phone and realizing they should have ordered the Uber 45 minutes ago. 

After ordering, they stood outside and smoked the remainder of the blunt. Diane got mad at Rean for dropping it onto her shoe but ended in laughter. The car ride was nice, they had a woman driver who complimented her nails and was amazed you could get duck nails to be so long. She was an older lady which made the interaction that much more sweet. They were dropped off in front of the entrance, where they waited in line, passing a pen back and forth with each other. Once they got their IDs checked by the bouncer, they made a b-line for the bar. Both ordered two shots of vodka each, downing them back to back. This bar was Diane’s favorite because, unlike a lot of today’s clubs, people actually danced. Not just standing around against a wall with their face buried in their phone. They also didn’t only play Hot 100s which is refreshing. They continued dancing with each other till the liquor kicked in. 

~

Rick was sitting in the garage, tinkering with a device Jerry asked him to make that will keep certain bugs from fucking with his plants. He set it down and stared at the wall for a second, ever since killing Rick Prime he’s been feeling like shit. Making him question if he was just using him to fill the void of no longer having Diane. Now that purpose and mission have been completed, what will occupy that need for purpose? Alcohol? Evil Morty coming through a portal into the garage broke Rick out of his numb dissociation. Morty came into the room at the same time, creating a wonderful little family reunion.

“I need to show you something,” Evil Morty said flatly.

“The same way I need both of you to get the fuck out of here,” he grumbled. 

“I went through Rick Prime’s brain files. He used the Omega Device on Diane but he found an existing pair of her parents. He locked them in the equivalent of a hamster cage and waited for them to produce a Diane. He was going to kill her in front of your Rick but obviously, we killed him before we could. I found the planet she’s living on, I don’t care what you do but considering you spent your whole life avenging her you might as well know,” Evil Morty said. 

“You’re lying, it’s probably a trap to lure inferior Ricks into a death trap,” Rick said, chugging the entirety of his flask and then refilling it. 

“I checked it out, I really don’t think it’s a baitline. He drew up blueprints of the location he was going to build to lure you and kill her,” he said, tossing the hard drive on his table. 

“If I get there and she’s not there, I’m killing both of you and bring you back to life over and over again and use that to fill the void of having no purpose,” Rick spat at Evil Morty as he opened the yellow portal,

“Yeah yeah, Loki called he wants his character arch back,” Evil Morty said. ‘

“Did he s-say both of us?” Morty C-137 asked as they all walked through the portal. 

~

Diane was currently bent over with her ass pressed against Rena as they danced to Bossy feat. Too $hort by Kelis. It was that point of the night when nothing seems real anymore and everyone’s morals began to loosen up. A blunt was hanging from her lips, she turned around so that she was facing Rena. Drunkenly deciding to have one more shot, practically skipping to the bar. Instead of getting a shot, she ended up getting a vodka cherry cocktail. She chugged the entire thing after Rena dared her to. Before returning to the dance floor, she made her way to the restroom. She was so intoxicated she didn’t even both hovering, she let her body plop down on the seat. She let her purse sit in her lap as she sat with her eyes closed for a while. This was the first weekend she had off all month, so the liquor was hitting harder than usual. Not to mention the only thing she ate that day was a chicken caesar salad at lunch. She finished her business and pulled out her phone to check how she looked, applying some lip gloss and fixing her hair before flushing. As she stood up, she stumbled a bit but sat her ass right back down when she saw a yellow glowing from outside the stall. 

“If you’re fucking with me right now I-” she heard a hoarse male voice grumble from outside the door. 

“Rick if I wanted to fuck with you I wouldn’t have helped you kill Rick Prime,” another young-sounding voice spoke. 

Diane was really nervous, especially because she was sure it was a man’s voice. She figured that Rena was waiting for her right outside so if she ran maybe she wouldn’t have interacted with the creep at all. Taking a deep breath in she opened the stall door and was taken back by what she saw. It was an older man with blue hair standing in front of you, tears were welding in his eyes creating an intense look on his face. 

“Is uh- is that Diane? Rick, you never said s-she looked like-” Morty said before being interrupted. 

“I’m going to take him home, looks like you’re gonna have an amazing time here,” Evil Morty said before dragging the other Morty into a portal by his shirt. 

“How do you know my name?” you asked, thoroughly confused and starting to wonder if your drink was spiked. He continued to stare, almost like he was in disbelief. He took a step towards her which made you step back into the stall.

“Dude what the fuck are you doing?” she asked. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

Seriously back-” Before she could finish, he blew some type of mist into her face. It immediately impacted her, making her slowly start to lower herself to the ground. Rick grabbed her which made her freak out a bit, like she was trying to get away but becoming too sedated to fight back. 

“It’s okay, I’m here,” he said, almost whispering. She bawled her hand into a fist and hit his chest weakly before passing out. 

When she woke up she couldn’t figure out where she was. Looking around at the random bed and the fact that she wasn’t wearing her clothes scared her. She was in a blue long sleeve that she was drowning in. Tears welled in her eyes, she looked over and saw her original clothes neatly folded in a pile near the bed. After wiping her eyes, not caring about the old makeup on her eyes, she went to open the door but found that it was locked. She started kicking and punching at it, hoping it would eventually give way. Starting to have a full-blown panic attack, she grabbed her heel and used it to bang on the door. This continued until Rick came through the door, which caused Diane to take a few steps back. 

“Let me out of here you fucking creep!” she yelled throwing her heel toward him, he didn’t even flinch because the throw was so bad. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he spoke in a soft yet firm voice.

“I don’t give a fuck what you want- oh my fucking- is this guy fucking serious? You fucking kidnapped me!” she cried, running over to grab the other heel. 

“I understand that this is confusing but I have a device that can help you understand,” Rick said, holding the mindblowers helmet in his hands. At this point, she was feeling so deranged as if she could explode at any moment, “I invented this device that can show you depictions of someone’s memories, I loaded my own on here so you could-” Diane interrupted by charging at him, armed with her heel. He dodged her so that he was behind her and put the mindblowers helmet on her, then waited. 

The first memory was of the first time they met, both lived in the same neighborhood and went to the same school. That being said, they never really interacted with each other. Rick was similar to Morty in high school, quiet and awkward. Not to mention their extracurricular activities were polar opposites, she was a cheerleader and on the swim team. Rick was looking to be valedictorian and although he wasn’t very athletic, he had his charming moments. He gained confidence especially throughout his senior year from all the praise his teachers gave him. This is what led to Rick asking Diane on a date, she said yes because she secretly had her eye on him for a while. She always knew he was different but not in a superficial way. She liked how observant he was, most of the guys she was around talked about their health. Bragging about the stupidest things, like how much they could bench and how much alcohol was accessible to them. Those same boneheads were ready to fight if someone breathed wrong in their direction. There was one time when Rick accidentally bumped into one of the football players. As the jock cussed out Rick, who then walked up to Diane and asked her to hang out after the football game.

“Hey um, I know you’re on the cheer team but maybe after the football game we could get some takeout?” Rick asked, standing stiffly with his hands in his pockets. 

“That actually sounds really nice, I have to run but, I’ll see you then,” she replied with a small smile on her face. 

When Diane was at the game, she kept looking for Rick in the bleachers. He didn’t show up until the last 20 minutes of the game. When they made eye contact, she practically jumped in the air and waved with a big smile on her face. As they did their routine, she couldn’t help but stare as she danced. Seeing how intensely he was giving her a feeling she never felt before. Finally, the game ended and she gathered her sports bag and met him in the parking lot. He was leaning up against an old pickup truck. He not only opened her door but also put her bag in the backseat for her. She was still in her uniform and only then did she notice how short the skirt was. It was a stick shift and she thought it was hot watching him maintain conversation while operating the car. They stopped at Wendy’s and then made their way back to Dianne’s house, her dad worked night and her mom was always passed out by 9 pm. The first time Rick came into her room, she felt more embarrassed than ever. Normally when her little girlfriends came over, she felt really proud of her bedroom. When she showed Rick, it felt like she was showing an intimate and private. He set his food and backpack down and you excused yourself to change. While she was gone, he looked around the room for a bit. The walls of the room were navy blue and her curtains and bedspread were baby pink. He took in the little details like all the cosmetics she had scattered about on her vanity. The Beatles posters and other magazine cut-outs were stuck to the wall.​​ The way her room smelled like vanilla or the white cat that lay at her windowsill, it hissed at Rick when he sat next to him. That was when Diane came back out wearing a short babydoll nightgown that had matching bloomer shorts. Her blonde hair was still down but she’d washed the make-up off her face, letting her freckles show. 

“Is this okay?” she asked, playing with her hands, Rick didn’t speak. Instead, he shook his head, closed her agape mouth, and pulled his burger out of the paper bag. 

You’d think they would have initiated some type of sexual act but instead, they talked for hours while sitting on her bed. He opened up about the difficult relationship between him and his father. She explained how her mother is crazy and they can’t go more than 5 hours without screaming at one another. They talked about future goals and career paths. They ended up falling asleep well, Diane did with her head lying on Rick’s chest. He stayed up, rubbing her back and admiring her face as she slept. It was too easy just to say he found her attractive, he liked that every guy talked about her. He liked that every girl wanted to be her. The way she wasn’t just a pretty face, she could hold a conversation and had goals beyond just being a mother and wife. Sometimes at night, he would get angry while thinking about her being with some other guy. They wouldn’t love her the way he did, they wouldn’t care about her mind and well-being like he could. 

One night, Rick was doing his homework when the phone rang. It was 1971 so it was a push-button phone. Because there was no way to see a color ID, Diane would only let the phone ring twice before hanging up, singling to Rick that she was on the other line. Rick picked up the phone, happy to hear her voice until he actually did. She was crying, he could hear her mother screaming in the background. They’d been together for the past 6 months and Rick knew all about the relationship between Diane and her Mother. Her mother was Russian and really strict, a lot of the time she would throw the sacrifices she made in Diane’s face. Both her older brothers moved out and had families, so with only the two of them left at home, it was like a war zone. Maybe Rick was biased but Diane’s mother was over-critical of the 18-year-old. She did everything in hopes of impressing her mother but to no avail. 

“Rick? I need you to pick me up right now. I can’t be here anymore!” she cried into the receiver. 

“I’m on my way, I’ll be there soon just hang tight okay? I love you,” he said, his heart pounding out of his chest. 

“Okay, I love you too but please just hurry okay?” she asked, her voice quivering. 

“I’m coming baby,” he said, hanging the phone back on its receiver. 

He grabbed his keys and coat, putting his shoes on before leaving. Before walking out the front door, he stared at his dad, who was passed out on the couch. He didn’t even bother taking his shoes or tie off, he shook his head in disgust before heading out. It was raining pretty hard, he turned the heater on before making his way to Diane’s. She only lived about a ten-minute drive from Rick’s house. Pulling into the driveway and honking to let her know he arrived. Diane came out, putting a couple of her bags into the backseat. Her mother followed her, screaming in Russian. He knew Diane was mad because she was screaming in a mixture of English and Russian, her face was red and tears streamed down her cheeks. Hair was soaked from walking back and forth from her house to Rick’s car. He just watched making sure nothing got too physical between the two of them. Once she packed the last of her things in the car, she approached her mother who was standing on the porch, laughing at her. Rick cringed as he heard the taunting cackling coming from the older women. 

“He’ll leave, you think the world is a fairytale place. You think you’ve found  prince who will build castle. Shower you will jewels and riches you’re blinded by desperation. He will use you, and you’ll let him because you have no brain, beauty is not enough to keep man anymore,” her mother spat.

“Just because Dad left you doesn’t mean I can’t find a man who will love me for real!” Diane said, more like screamed at her mother.

“Your father left because of you, I made him happy, I did everything right. It wasn‘t until you come that he leave and drink!” her mother screamed. 

“I hate you, fuck you seriously you drove everyone away and then blame everyone but yourself, God you’re just such a cunt!” Diane screamed so loud that neighbors began coming outside. 

“Go be with prince, go get pregnant, you’ll see how he loves you when pregnancy strips you of beauty,” her mother laughed as she slammed the door on Diane. She just stood there, she was completely soaked from the rain, and black mascara tears ran down her face staining her cheeks. She screamed at the door, just stood and screamed. Rick went and put his coat over her shoulder and directed her to the car. She was hysterical, not even comprehending what Rick was saying as he tried consoling her. He drove her back to his house, she was shivering and sobbing loudly. Rick was driving with one hand because she was death gripping his other arm, crying into her sleeve. He finally got her to calm down enough so they could sneak past his dad. He carried her inside, she clung onto him like he was going to disappear out of thin air. Bringing her to his room, when he set her down to go get her stuff from the car. 

“No, please just stay here, please don’t go!” she cried, holding onto one of his hands with both of hers. 

“I left the car on and I have to get your stuff, I’ll be right back,” he said, she didn’t protest but he also had to pry her hand off his arm to go. 

He managed to get all her stuff on the first trip. When he got back upstairs, he sat on the floor for a while with Diane consoling her. After she’d calmed down for the most part, she wanted to take a shower. He had a bathroom attached to his room and got everything ready for her. He let her know everything was good to go but she wanted him to join her. He shook his head in agreement but couldn’t form any words. They’d been intimate before but never fully nude or actual intercourse. She got in before he did, and nervously he joined her amazed at what he saw. She was so statuesque, like the women in Playboy magazines. Her skin was so soft and it glistened as the water ran down her curves. She turned around to make eye contact with him, shamelessly looking down at his package before fluttering her eyes up again. When he imagined this moment he thought it would have been more sexy and intense but it wasn’t. Instead, they just sat in the water embracing each other’s skin. Even when her eyes were closed you could see how swollen they were from crying. They stayed there till the water got cold, Rick cut off the water and helped her out of the shower. He didn’t know what she would want from her stuff, so he gave her one of his shirts and a pair of boxers and socks. He even brushed her hair so it wouldn’t get matted as she slept. 

“Do you think she’s right, do you think I’m the reason my dad left?” she asked, her voice getting lighter and cracking towards the end. 

“You’re dad left because he was a pussy and didn’t want to own up to his responsibilities,” he said, crawling into bed with her.

“Promise? That she’s wrong,” she asked looking up at him, he knew she wasn’t talking about her dad anymore. 

“I would only leave you if I died,” he said, pressing his forehead into her. She kissed him until her lips were swollen and hurting.

Ever since that night, they were completely inseparable. Everyone rolled their eyes, thinking there was no way they would last. They assumed Diane would leave Rick for a more mainstream athletic guy but she didn’t. He went to all of her swim meets and she supported him with all his college applications and the stress of his job. He worked as a paid apprentice for a watch store, it wasn’t the most exciting job but they were happy. The time between then and graduation seemed to fly by. Rick was valedictorian and Diane had to beg him to wear something nice underneath his gown. They ended up going to college together at Stanford, living in an off-campus apartment. He was trying to earn his Bachelor of Science while she was working on becoming a veterinarian. This is when the honeymoon phase ended and things started getting more domestic. Even though things were different, it didn’t mean things were bad. 

One night after she’s eaten with Rick at the dining room table. He was still there, shoveling forkfuls of meatloaf and mashed potatoes into his mouth. He was working on his homework, his brow  Every now and again wiping his hands so he could use his abacus. As she finished up the dishes, her body was practically shaking with anticipation. Diane had been saving up for months to buy Hewlett-Packard’s first scientific calculator. 

“Look, baby, it adds and subtracts obviously but it can also compute logarithms, exponents, AND, trigonometric functions. It’s called the HP-35, God it looks so cool I wish I could get it,” he said, showing Diane the newspaper ad.

“Well why can’t you?” she asked. 

“It’s 395 dollars,” he laughs. 

“Oh,” she said, turning her head back to the TV. 

She saved up enough money, working as a vet tech to buy it for him. He’d recently proposed, and the fact that he was more focused on her ring and marriage that he would sacrifice something that would make his schooling so much easier really touched her. She finished drying and putting the last few dishes away, she went over to the hall closet and grabbed the shopping bag. Rick was still hunched over his plate while working on his homework. She set the bag on the table in front of him, this made him look up at her. He had a bit of food in his mouth which made her laugh, she picked up the napkin and wiped his face. 

“What is it? Did you have a chance to pick up my socks?” he asked, Diane laughed again before responding. 

“Open it and find out,” she said, kissing the top of his head. He cleaned off his hands and opened the plastic bag. When he saw what it was, he set it on the table, pushed his chair back, and engulfed her in a bear hug. He lifted her up and squeezed her tight so she couldn’t move. 

“I’m glad you liked it,” she breathed out, he set her back on the ground, took her face between his hands, and kissed her. 

“You really are my everything you know that?” he asked before kissing her. 

“I love you,” she said. 

They both graduated with their degrees in 1976 and things were looking so promising. Rick already found a job working at a biotech company with a great wage and Diane was working as the lead veterinarian at her clinic. They bought a house that was perfect, two-story with a big garage. This worked out perfectly because it turned into Rick's workspace. For a while they just worked, saved up, and went on vacations every once in a while but things were beginning to get complacent. Every day the same routine, both Diane and Rick began to wonder about the concept of children. There was no reason why they couldn’t start trying but Diane was scared. Actually terrified of what pregnancy would do to her body not to mention having to birth a whole baby. Diane came home early one day because she was feeling so sick. It wasn’t until she walked into the store and into the pharmacy that it dawned on her she could be pregnant.

They used to use condoms religiously but they’d been married for years now and to put it bluntly, they got lazy. She picked up a pregnancy test and then made her way back home. Rick wasn’t going to be home for about an hour so she ran into the bathroom to take the test. She bought 5, just to be sure it was completely accurate. She was pacing around the bedroom for a while, waiting for the tests to develop. She took her scrubs off and walked back into the bathroom, every single test read positive. For a while, she sat down and cried, sobbing even. She turned on the shower, in hopes that it would help calm her nerves. It wasn’t like she was nervous about Rick’s reaction, she knew he wouldn’t be mad or anything. She was just scared of no longer having control of her body. On the other hand, I'm thinking about having a little mini-her. As she cried in the shower, she couldn’t help but think about what her mother had told her. About what caused her dad to leave, she knew Rick would think she was silly for thinking this but her insecurities were getting the better of her. When Rick came home, he was surprised to see her car in the driveway, normally she got home after him. When he found her she was still crying in the shower. Rick was really worried until she directed him to the tests on the bathroom vanity. 

“Honey why are you upset, you don’t want to be pregnant,” he asked gently, turning the water off once he realized it was ice cold. 

“No, I just.. I don’t know,” she sighed, getting up and wrapping a towel around herself. 

“How do you feel?” he asked, taking his work clothes off as you changed into comfy clothes. 

“I think it’s just bringing up past memories of things like my mom and stuff,” she said wiping her eyes. Rick joined her on the bed, wrapping his arms around her. 

“I would never leave you, especially if you were or are pregnant. I know it’ll be hard because of your past but I love you and look on the bright side. We’re having a little baby,” he said, moving his hands to her belly.

“Yeah, we are. Isn’t that so weird?” she asked rhetorically which made them both laugh before sharing a kiss. 

The pregnancy went along smoothly, she still worked until she was 7 months pregnant. Taking a break to start nesting and planning for the baby. Diane didn’t want anything elaborate, the baby shower was very intimate. Only close friends and family her mother wasn’t invited. The birth scared the shit out of Rick, he had so much anxiety watching her contracting. She looked like a cat that couldn’t get comfortable, shifting positions and writhing around. She kept reminding Rick not to let them do anything crazy to her which he reassured her every time. She pretty much blacked out while pushing, her face was so red, practically purple. She was so exhausted that she kept dozing off while waiting for them to bring her back. As the doctor stitched her up, Rick watched making sure they didn’t give her the husband stitch. Diane’s face was bruised from how hard she pushed, she was sleeping curled up on her side. Rick held Beth as he waited for her to wake up. The nurses thought she was a redhead at first but after they bathed her they realized it was actually blonde. He talked to her the entire time, whispering how much he loved her on her forehead. She was perfect, like a little doll. Rick couldn’t believe he made her or how tiny she was. Diane woke up shortly after, immediately taking Beth into her arms and gushing over her. 

This was the last memory on the mind blowers, Diane ripped the helmet off herself and started crying. She felt like she was going crazy, the overwhelming feeling of watching herself live a completely different life made her want to throw up. Going to one of the corners of the room and just hyperventilating. Rick sat behind her so that his knees were on either side of her. 

“Did we really do all that together?” she asked, wiping her face.

“A version of you, yeah,” he said. 

“I can’t be that for you, I’m not a mom I don’t know how to do that yet. I wasn’t born like forever ago either,” she cried

“I’m not asking you to become a different person or my wife. I just worry about other Versions of me, getting a hold of you. They won’t be as… nice as me,” he explained. She turned around to face him, he looked sad and tired. Maybe it was because she was feeling overwhelmed and needed comfort but she moved to hug him. He wrapped his arms around her and she did the same. Tears streamed down his face, he was squeezing her so tight she couldn’t breathe for a second. 

“I’m exhausted and my head hurts,” she said, which made Rick stand her up and start the shower for her. While Diane sat, soaking in the hot water, Rick got her a pain pill to help her sleep and ease all the anxiety this entire ordeal had caused. He waited on the bed until she came out of the bathroom, showered, and changed. He wrote down his number just in case he needed anything before he went to leave. 

“Wait! Can you stay with me please?” she asked, sitting on the bed. He agreed and lay there till the pain pill he gave her kicked in. She ended up cuddling up next to him and sleepily protested when he tried to break free and leave.

[chameliyun]

Fic Rec Friday - #56

Rec #56: hopes, wants, and wishes - allfromnothingatall Fandom: Haikyuu!! Rating: T Pairing: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi, Hinata Shouyou/Yamaguchi Tadashi, Tsukishima Kei/Hinata Shouyou, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi/Hinata Shouyou Word count: 52,953 (11 chapters) Summary (copied from fic):

There’s not a single part of him that believes the ragged little hole in the ground in front of him has the power to grant anyone’s wishes, much less his, but the first time they came here, Yamaguchi had just landed in foster care two streets over, Kei had just told off his bullies, and after finding this place together after school one day Kei told the fountain, I wish he’ll stay here forever. The year after that, when they decided it’d be a tradition, it was I wish dad would come back, and then it was, I wish I could be more like Akiteru. And then it was, I wish I didn’t get hungry, and then, I wish I was normal, and then I wish I was better at volleyball, and then, I wish Mom was proud of me, and then— And now he’s standing next to his and Yamaguchi’s well listening to Dumb and Dumber bicker, his toes and fingers numb, watching the breeze tease the little flyaway strands of Yamaguchi’s hair and thinking about how pretty he looks in the sunrise. “Just be honest, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi sighs. Unwillingly, he thinks, I wish I could be. In which Tsukishima gets what he wishes for. Other notes: I don't normally ship Tsukishima and Hinata, but this fic does it so beautifully. this one does deal with some heavier topics (e.g. depression, emotional abuse, suicidal ideation), but has tws in the notes of each chapter. there's also a sequel fic that adds Kageyama, from his POV (the first one is Tsukishima's).

[ru5t]

FIRST IMPRESSIONS MEME A meme for first meetings and introduction threads, or a ‘What you will notice about my muse’ cheat sheet. Copy from template meme: x , don’t reblog. 

GENERAL APPEARANCE

Sex: Feminine. Notes: afab and has never encountered a reason not to just go with that, though really she doesn't strongly feel pressed about presenting as any particular gender, like. She's Tech. It's sort of a non-thought? Gender is a performance and she is the show's tech crew.

Race: Caucasian

Complexion: Fair and freckled; holds a little color, but even now she's more likely to freckle further (or even burn) than tan very deeply. Pale girl struggles. (At least she's not as pale as Vi-)

Height: 5'2"

Build Type: Slight. Other / More Details: In terms of physical development, she fell behind in her preteen years for a variety of reasons (but mostly because of interference/side effects) and never caught up or reached her full potential. She's not frail, but she'll never be particularly strong, and she struggles to put on any mass, muscle or otherwise (also for many reasons but mainly because of that interruption in her growing years.)

Hair: Varies a little from a shorter bob (close to her chin) to kind of medium (touching her shoulders) with choppy layers and a slight wave texture Color: Naturally red; it was lighter when she was younger, almost more strawberry blonde, and got darker as she got older, into coppery, rusty shades. I tend to draw it orange because it suits her but I do technically think it has mostly been natural lately, because of her smuggling efforts/fake city identity. Style: She wears it up a lot to get work done, often putting it into a ponytail or sometimes a big jaw clip or with a hair stick. Lots of smaller clips for the many little flyaways. When not working she generally leaves it loose, because having it up for long periods tends to give her a headache or make her head tender

Eye color: Hazel Notes: Often described as curious, sharp, and/or seeing. A little wide-eyed vibes, too, sometimes.

Scars: Quite a lot of little ones, largely work-related (burns and cuts on her arms and hands) and from that whole survival thing. Some more notable ones include: one through her right eyebrow, one on her outer left arm, the Many on her outer left thigh, and the entry and exit wounds on her upper back and chest respectively. It's probably worth noting that before her reeducation she had different scars, including one through her bottom lip, which were 'scrubbed', so anyone who knew her before would probably note she looks different, even if they couldn't exactly place why.

FASHION

Fashion Style: A little tomboyish at times. She's got some clothes purely for functional reasons when dealing with bigger scale projects, and the rest of the time it's very... early thousands punk-y/grunge girl, spiky updos and all Notes: In terms of silhouette, think like Linds.ey Lo.han and her on-screen friends in Freaky Friday - actually kind of just early thousands Lindsey most of the time? Avril La.vigne(!). Early thousands P!nk a little bit. Whichever of those Mary-Kat.e n Ash.l.ey movies is the one where they have this vibe.

Typical Clothing: More fitted tops, t-shirts and tanks, paired with looser bottoms that are usually cargo-pants in spirit if not literal application (pockets!!! a must-have.) Sometimes she has a jacket or secondary loose layer over top, sometimes she does not. It's not usually Noticeable with a capital N I don't think but there is a pattern/fact of her shirts never touching her neck- they either have some kind of dropped collar to begin with or she will alter it. She dabbles in clothing theft, but usually more for sleepwear than every day. Loves a good giant shirt for sleeping.

Color Palette: Maybe like.... orange, green, pink? A dash of teal and yellow? All over the place if we're honest. The more regular note is: stripes. She wears a lot of striped tops in particular- she's owned no less than three different orange striped shirts. Her pants, if only because she likes the cargo style, tend to be the more neutral part of her outfits, ranging around in khaki and dark greens, dark blues, grey- you know. Cargo pants colors. She's owned at least two pair of camouflage colored/patterned pants, one of which she cut into shorts at some point (and the second pair to replace the first lmao)

Jewelry & Piercings: Her ears are double pierced on the lobes; she tends to wear studs in the higher/second set, and likes dangly bright charm earrings in the lower/first set. She had a septum piercing at one point but I don't know if it's still there. She does not and will not wear necklaces (though may occasionally pull her goggles down and leave them there, while she's working. Mostly they go up on her head though.) She likes woven bracelets, and anything clicky-clacky (but not jingle-y) like wood and plastic. She picked up the habit of wearing 'bad luck beads' from a certain someone.

Tattoos: N/A

Other Information: Gloves! Fingerless. Sometimes practical but more often a fashion/cultural thing, the patterned useless kind. Headphones sometimes, and welding goggles of some kind, I haven't settled on a particular style. I'm still not sure I'm committed to the cat ear helmet, but. Potentially there is also the cat ear helmet sometimes (<- which would not be in that color but that is soooo the vibe, the energy, if she does have one)

EXPRESSION

General Facial Expression: Fluid and ever-changing, even when she's otherwise placid. It would be incredibly heart-on-her-sleeve if not for the fact that her expressions and moods don't match the way you'd expect. (In fact, it often counterintuitively serves to obscure what she's thinking; people generally have a hard time reading her expressions (and sometimes body language). More information does not always mean better clarity.)

Default Body Language: Much the same as her expressions, though a little more traditionally matched. Small for scared, fidgety for nervous, tall shoulders for angry. The problem is more that she doesn't really seem to have anywhere to settle. There is no default, only wherever she's at that day.

General Movements: Cautious and guarded. A hand-talker, though she's often known to keep herself strictly contained in unfamiliar settings— she's typically an incredibly high self-monitor, constantly aware of where she is in a space, how much of it she's taking up, if she's in the (apparent) way, how close people are to her, etc. etc. Thus, she gives off this sort of... tightly wound energy. Like she wants to go big, but won't commit. When at work on a project she's very nimble and clever, generally confident, almost a whole different vibe: she's great at tiny fiddly machines and wires.

NOTABLE FOR RP

Presence: In person, usually pretty innocuous. She's colorful yeah but in home setting that's the norm, so she doesn't generally stand out in a crowd. She mostly just wants her own space, but with her wandering expressions and habit of talking to herself and the occasional little tic, some people are put off and/or rude to her. She also... doesn't necessarily Miss social cues, but will fail to initiate them first, or the way people expect. She's just... a bit odd. Has some crazy currency. Over the transmitter she's an absolute menace and regularly antagonistic to anyone who gets on her nerves even a little.

Appearance: Always at least a little wild looking— her hair messy, her clothes crooked. She (accidentally) ends up with tears in the knees of her pants a lot. A little like... you know how people dress after they develop a personal style but before they get it in their head to be self-conscious about being "put-together"? It's kind of like that. There's an energy and a vibe just not necessarily a huge amount of polish — things she likes, rather than outfits she puts together for people to look at. Also, with all her workshopping and tendency to bump her elbows and scrape her knees ... a little bit spicy kitten feral. A dash of mad-scientist. Odd little bug.

Scent: Ignoring the obvious notes to be made about people in apocalyptic-esque settings (although I really think. Personal HC disclaimer or whatever but I think it's not that bad, broadly speaking. No-showers georg probably exists but... there is a city actively manufacturing things, and a thriving smuggling scene, and an entire trade system, and sort of prairie-culture more than apocalypse wasteland, you know? it's more about conserving the safe water than not having the access to the necessities, I think. Dry alternatives are probably popular. ANYWAY-) I think anything else noticeable might be... a little bit of a (good) cat-smell, because of how much time she spends with Glitch+how often he's sitting standing or laying on her.

Voice Description: Honestly I have never had a particular association other than knowing she talks fast.

Accent: (This was presented as a "yes/no" question and I am here to say: Everyone Has An Accent.) More information: There's a kind of... zones accent? That isn't formally plotted out but just sort of developed as we were writing. It involves lots of dropped consonants + some Spanish influence and rapid-fire sentences ft. all that slang. To me it's always seemed almost... American South in terms of vibe? But that might be a biased take on it. I don't know that it necessarily sounds that way, like with the same vowel placements, but it reads that way to me.

Speech Mannerisms: Sort of wobbles between some natural leanings and just a little bit of putting-on — she tends to exaggerate her 'zone accent' a little bit when she's feeling either superior or inferior or if she's just trying to make a Point of something. Naturally a chatterbox, though it might take her a bit to warm up (and sometimes she also goes entirely nonverbal). Time alone during years she should have been expanding her social skills led to her talking to herself out loud a lot, and sometimes she forgets people like to be able to respond. If she gets snapped at or fussed at specifically for talking a lot/too much she's incredibly likely to A) snap back and then B) become a lot more stiff and/or outright refuse to speak with a person anymore. Practices being brave about things she doesn't want to say by saying them AllinOneBreathWithNoSpaceAndVeryVeryQuickly

Anything else to add? People who think they have her figured out off a first impression and go on to try and predict and/or direct her behavior typically set off several alarms for her, and always fuck it up one way or another. This is largely lefftover from the way her mother treated her. I know what specifically sets it off, and how to avoid it but don't like to announce it because then people. try to Outwit it. and it annoys me.