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vroomvro0mferrari · 2 months ago

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LN4 | Vexing Vacation – Part 2

Summary: When you agreed to join your brother on his vacation, sharing a room with his best friend wasn’t part of the plan. Now, that you’re constantly stuck with Lando and his relentless teasing, you’re not sure whether you want to strangle him or kiss him.

Lando Norris x Fewtrell!Reader, one-bed trope, a lot of banter and a hint of forced proximity :)

WC: 3.6K

Warnings: mentions of sex/sexual insinuations, and curse words

Part 1 | Masterlist | Part 3

She didn’t know how, but Y/N had eventually managed to fall asleep in that freezing cold room. It actually didn’t even feel that cold anymore when she woke up in the morning. Nevertheless, she tugged the blanket up higher and buried her head further into the pillow. That’s when she noticed it – the heavy weight that was tightly gripping her waist, and the source of warmth against her. How had this happened? She was not even five centimetres away from the edge of the bed.

That little fucker.

Poor Lando wasn’t even properly awake when he was basically flung across the bed. He blinked groggily, rubbing his sleepy eyes. He looked up at her in confusion. “What the hell?” he grumbled, still trying to shake off the sleepiness.

Y/N, fuming, sat up and glared at him. “You were practically spooning me, Lando! What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Lando, rubbing his eyes, mumbled defensively, “I didn’t mean to! I must have just… rolled over in my sleep.”

She narrowed his eyes at him, pointing a finger in his face. “I warned you about this, Lando! I told you if you would cross over to my side I’d get Max to take care of you!”

Lando, now more awake, sat up and looked at her, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “I believe there was a promise of choking involved, too?”

Y/N’s jaw was slack in shock at his boldness. “Don’t be smart!”

“Come on, you were pretty cosy with me, too—”

“Cosy with you? I was on the edge of the bed! I literally would’ve fallen off if I moved any closer to the edge,” Y/N protested.

“You didn’t seem to mind the extra warmth,” Lando shrugged.

She glared at him. “Oh, please. It’s not like I had much of a choice with you clinging to me.”

Lando shook his head at her fiery temper; it was far too early for this. “Well, it’s not like you tried to push me away. I think you’re just too scared to admit you liked it,” he said, his smirk widening.

“Are you kidding me? I was practically falling off the bed. That was not enjoyment, that was survival. If you think that’s what enjoyment looks like, you’re obviously not very good in bed,” Y/N huffed, getting out of bed to collect her stuff.

“Wow, okay. I’ll have you know I’m very skilled, I get compliments all the time.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Overcompensating much?”

Lando smiled suggestively, “If you want, you could find out for yourself.”

“Ugh, gross. Absolutely not. One night of accidental cuddling is more than enough.”

“If you change your mind, I’ll be more than happy to provide a demonstration,” Lando smirked.

“Dream on,” she concluded, stalking into the bathroom.

– – – – –

Half an hour later Lando and Y/N had joined Max and Pietra downstairs for breakfast, the intense discussion long forgotten. The soft sound of clattering plates and cutlery filled the hotel restaurant when they sat down. The group slowly ate their breakfast while they talked about possible activities for the day. After a vote, the plan was set: a morning hike, followed by an afternoon of exploring the town – especially the cute stores they spotted on their way.

And so, soon after they finished up their breakfast, they set out for their hike before it got too hot. The scenery was stunning; different types of trees and plants lined the pathway they followed, the sun shining through the leaves above them and every now and then, through the heavy bush, they could see the beautiful view of a lake nearby with tall mountains in the back. Unfortunately, the gorgeous sight was marred by Lando’s presence. Of course, he had to walk right behind Y/N, and couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life.

“Careful there, don’t trip,” Lando told her as she manoeuvred over a large rock with little grip.

Y/N shot him a glare over her shoulder, mistaking the sincere concern in his voice for teasing. “I’ll take you down with me.”

Lando was surprised at the sharp response – he didn’t mean to insult or mock her. Y/N had always been witty; she always had a comeback ready for whatever Lando said, but she had never been good at noticing when Lando was genuine instead of taunting. She usually took all his comments as banter, even his attempts at flirting. Her consistent rejections made him play along; turning it into a joke instead of a true effort at pursuing his best friend’s sister. Maybe it was for the best; the dynamic worked, and Max would never allow anything more than friendship between them anyway.

When the group reached the edge of the lake, they decided to take a break. They climbed down the rocks carefully and perched themselves on large stones scattered at the waterfront. Max searched through his backpack for the snacks Pietra had made them bring and offered everyone some. They drank water, ate something, and took a few pictures of the gorgeous view before continuing their hike.

Lando was the first to climb up the steep rocks back to the trail. He looked down while he waited for the rest, watching as Y/N struggled to find solid footing for the rather difficult climb.

“Let me help you,” Lando offered, holding out his hand for her to take.

She glanced up at him. “I’m fine,” she said dismissively, right as her foot slipped. Before she knew it, she was reaching out for his hand, grasping it tightly while he steadied her. His grip was strong and he knelt closer to offer his other hand in case she should need it, gently pointing out where she should step next. His unwanted help annoyed her; she could do it herself, she just needed to regain her balance first. Regardless, she followed Lando’s advice, his casual yet firm guidance impossible to refuse.

Once back on solid ground, Y/N felt a flush creep up her neck, embarrassed by her misstep and flustered by how unusually kind Lando had been. She avoided his gaze, brushing off her clothes as if that would somehow dismiss the moment. "Thanks," she muttered quickly, hoping to move on.

"No problem," Lando replied, his voice softer than usual. He felt a pang of guilt in his heart for making her uncomfortable; his only intention had been to help. As he watched her avoid his gaze, he couldn’t help but think she looked cute – adorable, even, all flustered and embarrassed. The way her cheeks flushed slightly warmed his heart. Normally, she would only show him her strong and independent side, always refusing to accept his help or express her true emotions when he was near. She didn’t want him to see her in a vulnerable state, but sometimes it couldn’t be avoided. And whenever Lando managed to catch a glimpse of that softer side, like now, all he felt was the overwhelming urge to protect her.

Lando shook his thoughts away, and continued his way, not straying from the trail this time. He walked next to Max, while Pietra followed Y/N closely, letting a distance grow between them and the boys further ahead.

“What was that?” Pietra asked her.

“What?”

“You know, Lando helping you, and then you blushing like crazy,” she clarified.

Y/N laughed nervously, “What? It was nothing!”

“Mhm, sure. You guys already seemed weird at breakfast. Did something happen last night?”

Y/N sighed, checking how far ahead the boys were. She deemed them far enough to be unable to eavesdrop. “Lando cuddled me tonight,” she admitted hesitantly.

“What?” Pietra nearly screeched.

“Yes. I don’t know how it happened. I was as close to the edge as possible, like five more centimetres and I would’ve fallen off,” she told Pietra, looking at her over her shoulder, “I even threatened that I would choke him in his sleep if he crossed to my half of the bed, but it made no difference…”

“So Lando cuddled you in his sleep, and now he helped you up the rocks? I have a feeling he’s got a crush on you, babes,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Y/N laughed, “Oh, please, P. That’s not true, he’s been bothering me for five years now.”

She merely shrugged, a knowing smile on her face. Y/N rolled her eyes – she knew better than that.

They finished the hike half an hour later, not counting the brief stop at the viewpoint. Once back at the hotel, they quickly freshened up and wasted no time heading out again, eager to explore the nearby boutiques and picturesque streets lined with quaint houses. After grabbing coffee and a pastry at a small cafe, they began exploring the local shops.

The group split up as they wandered off to different stores. Y/N found herself drifting toward a small bookstore tucked away on a quiet street. She’d forgotten to pack a book for the trip – not that it would have fit in her overstuffed suitcase anyway. She picked up several books from the English section, reading the backs one by one, trying to decide which one she should read this vacation.

“Now that seems like a good literary piece,” Lando said from behind her, startling her.

“Jesus, Lando. Why would you do that?” She said, grabbing her chest with her free hand, nearly dropping the heavy books in the other.

Lando grinned. “You’re too easy to scare,” he teased, casually leaning against one of the shelves. “What are you looking at anyway?”

Y/N handed him one of the books. “Hm, a romance novel?” He said curiously and she flushed at the implication.

“Not just a romance novel, it—”

“Anything where the main characters kiss is automatically romance, isn’t it?”

She sighed; Lando grinned.

“Why are you here? For as far as I know, you don’t read,” Y/N told him, taking the book from his hands, weighing her options.

“Thought I’d check on you. Make sure you didn’t get lost,”

Rolling her eyes, she put all books but one back in their places. “More like make sure you had another chance to annoy me,” she huffed, grabbing another book off the shelf.

Lando watched in amusement as she flipped through a few of the pages before putting it back.

“Okay, I’m buying this one. Do you want to look at a book for yourself, or can we leave?”

“I’m good,” he responded with that annoying smug smile of his tugging at his lips.

“Alright, then.” She nodded before heading to the register and paying for the book. Lando followed her out of the store and led them to a different one where Pietra and Max were waiting. They visited more stores until they felt it was time for dinner. As they were already in the town centre, they just walked around a bit until they found a restaurant that seemed to please everyone.

Y/N sat down at the table they were directed to, hanging her bag with the book on the chair. When she looked up again she saw that Lando had already claimed the seat next to her. She shot a questioning look at Pietra, who was sitting across from her, subtly signing with her eyes, ‘What is up with him?’ Pietra’s lips quirked into a knowing smile, her eyes glinting with amusement. She gave a small shrug as if to say, ‘You tell me’.

Dinner went much smoother this time around, especially since Lando couldn’t constantly stare at her face from her side. They had enough to talk about after all they had seen and decided to discuss their plans for tomorrow ahead of time. It would be a beach day, so the timing of buying the book was perfect.

Halfway through the meal, Y/N felt the light pressure of Lando’s arm casually resting on the back of her chair. It wasn’t touching her exactly, but it was close enough to make her aware of his presence. She froze for a second, her fork hovering in midair as her body tensed.

Lando didn’t say anything, just continued eating as if nothing had happened.

Y/N glanced across the table at Pietra, widening her eyes slightly, slightly nudging her head to Lando’s arm. Pietra took a sip of her drink, suppressing a smirk as she met Y/N’s gaze.

She looked at Lando in annoyance before shifting in her seat, leaning slightly to the other side to put more distance between them.

Lando, of course, noticed. He turned to face her straight away with a confused look.

“Get your arm off my chair,” Y/N said harshly.

Lando raised an eyebrow, his expression mockingly innocent. “What? I’m not even touching you.”

Y/N glared at him, her voice firm. “You’re close enough.”

Lando chuckled under his breath, clearly amused by her irritation. “Oh, come on. I’m just being friendly.”

“Friendly would be keeping your hands to yourself,” she shot back, trying to ignore how much his teasing actually made her pulse race.

Lando raised his hands in surrender, but his eyes gleamed with amusement. “No need to get all worked up.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn't stop the warmth creeping up her neck. “You wish I’d get worked up over you. I’d just prefer if you didn’t touch me.”

Lando shrugged. “For not wanting to touch me, you seemed to hold onto my hand pretty tightly earlier,” he teased, leaning closer while Max eyed you in surprise.

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly as she recalled the moment he helped her up, a blush once again covering her face at the memory. “I was trying not to fall, I wasn’t touching you voluntarily.”

Lando chuckled softly, the sound annoyingly charming. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

Y/N gaped at Pietra, who was still staring at her with a knowing smirk. She groaned in frustration before the conversation continued. Only a second later realising Lando still hadn’t removed his arm, she sent him another glare but didn’t bother asking him again.

The rest of the dinner passed relatively smoothly. Lando didn’t provoke Y/N much while they all chatted about tomorrow’s beach day and laughed about Max’s story of how he got stung by a jellyfish a few years back. By the end of the meal, Y/N had only needed to throw in a few comebacks and thought she kept her temper pretty well.

They paid the bill and left the restaurant, where the cool evening air greeted them. Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, the lingering warmth of the meal dissipating quickly in the cool night breeze. The four of them strolled back towards the hotel, the streetlights casting shadows on the pavement.

In the elevator, Max and Pietra talked about what time they’d set out for the beach tomorrow, while Y/N leant against the wall, tired from the day’s activities, trying to ignore the fact that she and Lando would be alone again once they got back to their shared room.

When they finally reached their floor, Y/N said a quick goodbye to her brother and his girlfriend before trailing after Lando. She kicked off her shoes as soon as she entered the room and went in search of her toiletries. Once she’d gathered everything she needed, she made a beeline to the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower,” she announced, before promptly closing the door behind her.

The clattering sound of the running water was a welcome distraction from her busy mind which, for some reason, kept replaying the moment in the forest. She could feel Lando’s calloused hand holding hers tightly every time the image reappeared in her head, the same tingling feeling emerging along with it, too. She could see the gentle look on his face, and feel her embarrassment at nearly falling on her face – it was like she was there again. The repeating memory was just as annoying as the man prominently featured in it. The man who seemed to always find a way to irritate her, even when she was alone, in the shower.

She banished the recollection to the back of her mind and finished up her shower. She quickly dried herself off and put her underwear and top on before she reached for her shorts, only to realise they weren’t there. She sighed deeply, mumbling to herself, “Of course, I forgot my shorts. Why would anything go my way for once.”

She groaned, running her hands over her face when another realisation came, “God, why did I only bring thongs?”

She squealed into the towel, a loud high-pitched sound, at her own stupidity.

”It’s all Max’s fault. If he hadn’t screwed up and gotten me my own room, everything would have been fine, but no!” She grumbled leaning her elbows on the counter, burying her face in her hands. “I’m going to kill him one of these days.”

Meanwhile, Lando had settled onto the bed, leisurely lying back, hands behind his head while he watched a random movie. Unbeknownst to Y/N, he could hear her frustrated mumbling coming from the bathroom, but he chose to remain silent until he heard her voice calling out louder.

“Lando?”

“Hm?” He responded uninterestedly.

“Could you please hand me my pyjamas? I forgot them…”

“Nah, I’m comfy. You’ll have to get them yourself.”

Y/N poked her head out the door. “Are you serious, Lando? I literally only have my underwear in here.”

Lando shrugged, not looking away from the TV, causing Y/N to sigh.

“Lando,” she warned, “if you don’t hand them to me, I swear—”

“I won’t look, promise,” he said, and she could hear the amusement in his voice.

With a deep sigh, Y/N tightened the short towel around her before she carefully stepped out of the bathroom, scanning the room to make sure Lando was keeping his word. He was lying in bed, hands behind his head, eyes lazily watching the TV playing some rerun of an old movie.

She tiptoed to the chair, where she thought her pyjamas were, but they weren’t there. Her eyes narrowed. Of course, they’d gone missing.

Muttering under her breath, she began searching through the drawers, still holding the towel tightly around her body. She bent down, checking the bottom drawer when she heard a low, barely audible curse behind her.

“Fuck,” Lando muttered, breaking the silence.

Y/N froze for a second before whirling around, catching his eyes very clearly locked on her. “What the hell, Lando! You promised you wouldn’t look!”

“Well, you said you only brought thongs. That’s not exactly encouraging me to look away.”

“You heard that? You know what, never mind. Fuck off, Lando. Where’s your decency?”

“Non-existent,” he replied with a smirk.

“Look away, Lando.”

“I don’t see the appeal,” he said, his smirk growing.

“I swear to God, I’m going to kill you someday.”

“Have you thought yet about how? ‘Cause I’ve got a suggestion.”

She glared at him from across the room. “Do I even want to hear it?”

A playful grin spread across his face at her frustration, “Having you sit on my face seems like a pretty good way to go…”

“God, Lando. Get your head out of the gutter!” She exclaimed, mortified at his blunt response.

Y/N huffed in exasperation, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she turned her back to him, tightened the towel, and continued searching for her shorts. “You’re impossible,” she muttered under her breath, rummaging through the drawers with a little more force than necessary. Did he have no shame?

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room in growing frustration, her shorts nowhere to be found. She groaned softly, starting to doubt herself. Maybe she hadn’t packed them at all? No, that couldn’t be right, she wore them last night. They had to be around somewhere.

Lando, who had been watching her search in mild amusement, raised an eyebrow when she turned back to him with an accusing look. "You didn’t take my shorts, did you?"

He sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. “Why do you always assume the worst of me?”

“Because the worst is usually true!” she snapped back, still glaring as if that would somehow force him to confess.

Lando chuckled. “I swear, I didn’t touch them,” he paused, a mischievous smile on his face, “but you might want to check under the closet.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes but reluctantly looked under the closet, this time turning her back away from Lando – he had seen enough of her. Sure enough, her shorts were hidden underneath the closet, all the way to the back.

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over her.

Lando shot her a smug grin. “See? Sometimes the problem isn’t me – sometimes it’s you.”

She ignored his comment and grabbed the shorts, quickly making her way back to the bathroom to change. She let out a deep breath as she slipped into her pyjamas, mentally cursing herself.

Once she was dressed and ready for bed, she walked out, trying to keep her expression neutral. Lando was now walking around the room, collecting his toiletries and making a big deal of grabbing his pyjamas before disappearing into the bathroom while she settled into her side of the bed. She busied herself with her phone as she waited for Lando to come back before she turned off the light.

She pulled the blanket up high and immediately turned on her side. “Goodnight,” she mumbled, “you better stay on your side tonight.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Lando replied overly sweet, as if mocking her warning.

She felt Lando shift in the bed as he lay down, but it stayed at that. Maybe she would have a peaceful night tonight.

– – – – –

Part 3

@dripostsstuff @willowsnook @f1fantasys @sarx164 @watermelonslut @diorsummer @zzfhcp @spideylovin @harrysdimple05 @pattydel @mayusaatma @leonie404 @mywritersmind @weekendlusting

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no-144444 · 4 months ago

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catch-up- l.norris (no.4)

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summary: lando after Monza.

pairing: land norris x fem! reader.

warnings: talk of workplace harassment

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Lando walked into your apartment with a sour expression on his face. You’d been waiting for him all night. P1 to P3, not exactly a good result.

“Hey darling,” you sighed, walking up to him and wrapping your arms around his neck. He didn’t hug you back. You tried to press a kiss to his cheek, but he shrugged you off and moved further into the apartment and left you in the living room as he went to your bedroom.

Your day hadn’t been great either, if he’d cared to ask, but you didn’t really think faulting him right now was a smart idea. Emotions were high, you’d seen the interviews, you’d seen his face on the podium, and you’d seen him. It still stung.

You followed after him and leant against the doorframe, watching him take off his clothes to be left in his boxers. He didn’t look in your direction once. He lay down in the bed, his back to you, and that was that.

Shit.

“Great discussion,” you mumbled under your breath, and closed the door. Imola to Monaco was only a 3 hour flight and he’d left Imola at about 10pm. It was only about 2am now, and you had work in the morning. Work that you didn’t want to go to. The new co-worker you were teaching was probably the creepiest guy you could ever imagine, and he decided that you were his to touch all day on Friday. Disgusting.

You saw the door open as you settled on the couch, just hoping to drown out the worried and upset thoughts that ran through your head. You were worried about Lando, worried about the Driver’s Championship, worried about Oscar, worried about Lando and Oscar’s relationship, worried about Lando’s confidence, worried about going to work, trying to think about a strategic outfit, worried about the other girls in the office, worried about-

“Hi,” his soft voice invaded your senses, and you turned to face him. There he was, beside you, his hand in yours.

“Hi,” you answered, your voice hoarse and tired. “I’m sorry about today.”

He nodded. “It’s my fault,” he shrugged. “Oscar made the pass, and I was allowed to race him-”

“Lando, you’re not seriously blaming yourself for today, are you?” You asked. He didn’t answer, just staring down at where your hands connected. “It would’ve been a 1-2 finish if Stella and the team didn’t take a page out of the Ferrari handbook of how to fuck shit up. Papaya rules can fuck off, and so can Zak Brown. You deserved that 1-2. Both of you do. P3 is still good, but I know it’s not enough for you. But Lan, think about where you were last year, or the year before. The progress you’ve made this year alone? Unimaginable. Don’t get tunnel-visioned into hating yourself because of one bad race result when you know how talented and skilled you are, and how you won against Max with a fucking 22 second gap. Monza wasn’t your weekend, but next weekend will be and that’s what matters. Also, P3, standing on the podium being a bad result? I’d say you’re doing pretty well then.”

He smiled softly as you reminded him of who he was, but also how important you are to him. Speeches like that from you made him feel a thousand times better than any consolation pity pep-talk he could’ve gotten from someone in the team. “Thank you,” he pressed his lips to your cheek. “Please come to bed.”

You chuckled softly. “I doubt I’ll be sleeping much tonight.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Just… head busy,” you shrugged. “But I’ll come in if you want me to.”

He pressed his lips to your neck in a soft kiss. “I always want you near me.”

You chuckled. “Ok Romeo,” you scoffed, getting up.

“How was work this week?” he asked, following you into your bedroom.

“Shit,” you sighed, lying down. “But probably better than yours.”

“What happened?”

“It’s fine Lan,” you brushed it off. “You’re tired.”

“Not enough to not hear what you have to say,” he sat up, waiting for you to speak.

You sighed and turned to him, resting your head in his lap as he ran his fingers through your hair. “I was training this new guy at work and he decided to make it his personal mission to make me as uncomfortable as possible. He just kept touching me, and not seeing how it was inappropriate. Now I have to think about what I wear even more, and tell the rest of the girls at the office, and-”

“Baby, you shouldn't be dealing with that,” he sighed. You could tell he was angry. “You need to tell HR.”

“That’s the worst part, he’s the HR guy,” you groaned. “Anyways, I just want to sleep, and I know you do too.”

He nodded, lying beside you and wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you close. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered. “Please don’t come to my place of work and threaten this guy Lan.”

He scoffed. “I wasn’t going to threaten him, I was going to get Max to do it.”

You chuckled. “You’re a child.”

“I’m a problem solver,” he shrugged. “Ok, but he needs to be fired. I can come in and I’ll pretend like he’s insulted me massively as a customer, boom, he’s gone.”

“Ok Superman, whatever you say,” you giggled.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

#lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris #f1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 x you #formula one x reader #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 fluff #formula 1 #mclaren #lando norris x reader angst #ln4 #lando x reader #f1 2024

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anadiasmount · 9 months ago

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just had this thought after seeing his back 😵‍💫 but thinking about laying down getting ready to go to sleep and jude laying on top of you because the only way he can go to sleep is if you are rubbing his back 🤭🤭

“it’s too hot,” you said, slightly pushing him away from you as you wanted to sleep. jude looked at you with a brow raised, a hint of sadness in his chest as you pushed him away. you had spent the whole day together, shopping, working out, and getting dinner. taking a shower together and even sneaking down to get a sweet treat before bed.

“baby i wanna lay on you…” jude whined, coming to your side and resting his forehead on your shoulder. “not right now jude… we just cuddled for almost two hours!” you say groaning, feeling your skin sticky from the light sweat when you laid together. “i know that but you know me? i can’t sleep when you don’t do that thing.”

“what thing?”

“that thing with your hands on me?”

“it’s been a long day jude. i really want to sleep,” you say tiredly, yawning and laying in your side away from him. “but? y/n?” jude noticed your eyes shut immediately, small breaths leaving your lips as you rested. he didn’t know how it was possible for you to fall asleep that quickly, but he didn’t blame you.

jude twisted and turned for almost 2 hours straight. not being able to find a comfortable spot or even yet get any ounce of sleep. he had to be up and early in the morning but it seemed like he’d only get 4 hours of sleep max. if he fell asleep now.

he tried everything. drinking water, melatonin, scroll on his phone, yet nothing worked. he couldn’t sleep if it wasn’t next to you. you were next to him but fully fully fully next to you. he hated being this clingy but it’s the only way he could fall asleep, on your chest, hands on his back.

jude squinted his eyes, turning on your nightstand lamp, you were fully asleep, not a single noise or attraction being able to wake you. he loved to watch you sleep, knowing you were resting after your hectic job that seemed difficult and unfair. your lips slightly pursed, eyes completely closed, lashes tracing just above your cheekbones, hair tamed and everywhere. he loved it all.

jude drank a huge sip of water, the familiar coldness running down his throat at the drink. he propped himself on his side, taking his finger and slowly pushing away any hair away from your face. “y/n?” jude croaked, internally cringing because he was waking you up due to his neediness. but you kept sleeping.

“y/n?” he said a little louder, making you gasp and sit up. “oh my? oh my gosh? what’s wrong? why are you still up?” you said quickly all jammed, heart beating fast in your chest as your boyfriend looked overworked and extremely tired. you looked at your watch, almost 4am, sighing deeply before rubbing your eyes. “are you okay?” you ask.

jude shook his head, “i can’t sleep, i’ve tried everything but i can’t sleep.” you softly chuckled, pushing your blanket to the side and inviting him in. you could see the cheer and joy in his eyes, not wasting anytime and pushing you down to the bed with him. “you can be so needy you know?” you tease earning a ‘yeah yeah’ from him.

“do that thing.”

“what thing?” you ask curiously, looking down at jude who gave you a ‘you can’t be serious look’. “i don’t know what thing you’re talking about!” you defend, seeing him roll his eyes before speaking up again all groggy. “your hands on my back? where you run your fingers palms? it makes me fall asleep…” jude says shyly, tucking his head in the crook of your neck.

you obliged, jude almost moaning in delight at your soft silky warm hands tan down his shoulders, spine, and jude below his hips. “like that?” you ask, feeling your sleep slowly start to take over once again. “mhmm… just like that…” jude replied, kissing your neck and playing with the small “j” initial on your necklace.

he could feel every slide, sweep, rub, brush, tingle, all run down his back. almost shivering in pleasure. it’s crazy to think how much of an affect it has on him, to the point where he needs to feel your hands rake his back in order to fall asleep. jude fell asleep almost immediately, like a baby.

you continued to do small movements before your hands got tired and stopped. sleep getting the best of you and finally resting with your boyfriend on top of you. his hands around your waist, cheek smushed in your chest, his curls slightly tickling you, his small snores. you would never admit it, but you only slept best in this position.

#judey thoughts 5️⃣#jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham blurb

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coff33andb00ks · 7 months ago

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Rule Breaker - Pt 2

max verstappen x single mom!reader

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warnings: cursing, reader y/nsplains, jos is an asshole, fluff, barely proofread, logan tries to flirt, y/n's bestie is a tumblr girlie at heart, kiddo steals the show Summary: Max has it all...right? Besides, he's too busy collecting trophies and completing side quests for anything else. Until... You moved across a whole ass ocean to start over, uprooting you and your son's lives to become social media admin for cars that drive in circles. word count: 6833 auth.note: thank you all so much for the love for part 1!!! ily all and i'm having so much fun writing this

The paddock was relatively quiet so early in the morning. Unable to sleep, y/n had left the hotel and made her way to the track. She was taking the opportunity to explore the settings on the camera and getting her bearings since she didn't have any work duties to complete until later in the day. She had expected Kevin to want to come with her, but he'd opted to sleep in with Ellie, who would bring him to the track later. So she wandered, exchanging the occasional greeting with others. Stopping to take a photo of a bird perched on the fence in front of pit lane, she backed up, crashing into someone.

"Whoop, s'cuse me, sorry," she said, turning to apologize properly. She recognized the two men by their faces but her mind blanked on their names.

"It's alright, ma'am. Didn't mess up your shot, did we?" His American accent was a happy surprise.

"I don't think so." Smiling, y/n lowered the camera. "My fault, and I'll blame it on being new."

"Marketing?" The other man guessed.

Australian. And suddenly she remembered their names. "Social media. I'm y/n."

"So great to meet you." Logan tipped his head slightly. "Carolina?"

"God, you can take the hick outta Carolina, but you can't take the Carolina outta the hick." He grinned and she laughed. "North Carolina, yeah."

Oscar stared at Logan. "How did you guess that? She just sounds plain American?"

"No, dude, it's the lilt. It's like when George got pissed we couldn't pick up on the different English accents."

"Can he pick up on the different American south accents?" y/n asked.

Logan rolled his eyes. "He knows Brooklyn, Midwest, valley girl, and just south."

"In his defense it's hard to pick out each individual one," Oscar pointed out.

Y/n shrugged. "You've got a point. I sound different from people that grew up just an hour from me."

"Yeah! And I know mine's been butchered from so much time in Europe." Logan nodded.

"You still sound more like home than anyone else I've met."

"I was gonna say the same thing – you sound like home." He smiled, a soft, genuine smile that had her smiling in return.

"And what do I sound like?" Oscar asked with a grin.

"A magical place far, far away," y/n told him. She covertly checked the time and wondered if hospitality had finished setting up so she could get some coffee.

"Hear that? I sound like Star Wars."

"She's using southern charm on you, dude," Logan snorted.

"Well it's working, I'm charmed."

A giggle bubbled up her throat and she let it free, raising her camera and giving them a hopeful look. "Okay?"

"Hang on—" Logan fussed with his hair, and y/n laughed when Oscar reached to help him, then they both had to fuss with Oscar's hair. "Think we're presentable enough?"

She nodded, moving so the sunlight was beside them. She got several photos and thanked them. "I'll send them to y'alls social media teams?"

"You can just send it to me." Logan began patting his pockets for his phone.

"Unbelievable," Oscar muttered under his breath, and y/n barely heard it, giving Logan her number and adding him to her contacts once he'd sent her a text.

"I should get going – Sorry for bumping into you."

"Don't apologize, I'm glad you did."

As she walked away she gave her head a little shake, smiling to herself when she overheard Oscar's grumbling that Logan had flirted with fuckin' Red Bull's social media admin. Something told her to glance back and she did, amused to see Logan watching her. Don't show interest, don't show interest, don't—

He gave a little wave. And she smiled, waving back.

Fuck.

Ducking around the corner, she wandered until she found hospitality, grogginess taking over as she made her way to the back to fix herself coffee. She recognized a couple engineers and mechanics that she'd met in Milton Keyes and greeted them, settling into a corner to drink and look over the pictures she'd gotten.

She was on her second coffee, had uploaded the pictures to her laptop, and was editing the first batch for a short video when the chair across from her was pulled out, taking her shoe with it.

"Sorry," Max said when she yelped, chuckling as he bent to pick up her shoe. "Didn't know you were attached."

"Bad habit I'm afraid." Taking the shoe, she shifted to put it back on. "Picked it up when I was pregnant now I do it without thinking."

"For the swelling?" he asked, sitting down and taking a sip of his coffee.

"Yeah." After tying the shoelace she shifted, tucking one foot beneath her. "Good morning, by the way."

"Morning. Already working?"

"I'm gonna do a short photo tour of the track. I got some nice shots."

"You walked the track?"

"I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep, so… It's beautiful first thing in the morning."

Max nodded, picking up his coffee again. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Max, you should know that hotel beds suck. Especially with a three year old sleeping sideways and a snoring friend in the other bed. Is this where you tell me you slept great?"

"Haha, no. My sleep was shit but it wasn't because of the bed. I didn't get enough." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I was up late sim racing."

"Okay, explain sim racing to me," she requested, slipping one earbud in so she could check that the music she'd selected went well with the photos. Tweaking it as he began to talk, she realized she was barely paying attention to her work, exporting and posting the video to all the platforms then closing her laptop to focus on him. He talked with his hands. It was something she'd picked up on already, that if he was focused on the topic he used his hands. Maxplaining the fans called it. Finishing her coffee, she listened intently, propping her chin on one hand.

He smiled, almost shyly, as he finished. "It's something I truly enjoy. I'm not very sociable. I like going out once in a while, but I prefer to stay in, yeah? And I can spend hours in the sim without thinking twice."

"I spent the last few days watching a lot of interviews. Not just of you and Checo, but everyone on the grid," y/n said softly. "Leclerc talks about piano and his family, Norris talks about gaming and DJing, and Hamilton has his six hundred side projects."

"Yes?" He didn't look or sound impatient for her to get to the point, and she appreciated that.

"The thing is, they all have passions outside of racing. This – formula one, fastest cars, all that – is a goal, a dream, but they all have something else they love, that they can pursue now." She paused, meeting his eyes. "The only thing I've seen you passionate about is racing."

He blinked once, nodding his head. "Because it is my passion."

Y/n regarded him carefully for a moment. "You're very lucky, Max."

That must have surprised him, because his brow furrowed. "Why do you say that?"

"Not everyone is able to be successful following their passion. Being able to do what you love for both a job and hobbies is almost unheard of, yet you're doing it. You break records and win races and yeah you've had a few setbacks but you're still in love with this. And on your off time you're training to be better and studying tracks and you go home and race on your computer." She shook her head in amazement. "You're incredibly lucky, that your passion is not only something you're good at but something you can be immersed in nonstop, and that you haven't lost your love for it."

"I guess I am lucky," he said carefully. "But luck had nothing to do with me getting into formula one."

"I know." She held up her hands, not wanting him to think she thought he was in the position he was purely by chance. "I can't imagine how much work you've done over the years, or how many sacrifices you've had to make. It's just… In my experience, passion doesn't always equal financial stability is what I'm trying to say."

"What's that saying? Do something you love and you never work a day in your life?"

Y/n snorted. "That's bullshit. I love sleeping and yet I still have to work."

That made him laugh and she rolled her eyes, even though she enjoyed the sound. "Surely you love more than sleep."

"I love a lot of things. Maybe that's been my problem all my life. I find things and fall in love with them and when I think hey this might be it something new and shiny comes along and I fall in love with that."

"There's nothing wrong with being passionate about many things," Max said gently.

"That's what I keep telling myself. And yet—"

"Are you saying you don't love your job?"

She froze, a wave of panic rippling through her. "Uhmm… Since it's technically my first day I can't answer that."

"Okay. Do you love your social media?" he asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table.

The table which was, suddenly, smaller than she remembered.

"I like engaging others. I like creating conversations and seeing my work appreciated," she finally said.

"You sound like a PR person. Do you love it?" He enunciated each word slowly.

She couldn't say yes. The answer wasn't no, either, because she didn't hate it. "I personally hate it. But you've learned how to make it work for you, yeah? How to word things to spark a conversation among followers? What type of content people appreciate?"

"I like to think so."

"Stop being so unsure of yourself. You study it, right? At your last job when you posted a video and no one liked it what did you do? "

She exhaled harshly. "I compare it to ones that did well and pick it apart to see why it didn't work."

"Why?"

"Why?" she echoed.

"Why did you pick it apart?"

"Because I wanted it to do well," she said slowly.

"And these conversations you want to create, do you join in or sit and watch them happen behind the safety of your screen?" He reached over, gently turning her laptop so he could see the screen.

"I engage. I reply and ask questions to make the viewers want to keep the conversation going."

"Why?"

"Because—" She clicked the mouse, bringing up the comments below the video she'd posted to Instagram. "These comments? Come from people that love this brand – or sport. Some of them are trolls who just want to start up an argument to make their boring lives more interesting for a few minutes, but for the most part it's people who care. People who want to see this team do well. People who had the dream of doing it themselves but life got in the way. People who watched it with their parents and still watch to stay connected to someone they love. It's little kids who want to be like you. It's people who spend their hard earned money on a t-shirt or a hat or a ticket to see someone they admire live out their dream." She took a quick breath, scrolling through the comments. "If I don't like or respond to them, they feel like their opinions don't matter. And maybe they don't in the grand scheme of formula one. But they want to be seen and heard. When I click and they see that Red Bull Racing liked their comment or replied with an emoji or whatever, they have a few seconds of elation, and their support of this team is cemented just a bit more."

Max blinked at her, and she continued even though she heard him draw a breath to speak.

"I know very well how horrible social media can be. However, I've seen how it fosters growth for a company. You're not stupid, I'm sure you've seen how TikTok challenges or Instagram livestreams have brought in more support. Not to mention money. If a post of you wearing your Red Bull shirt gets a million likes, I can probably pull the data and show you that a hundred thousand people went to view the shirt on the official shop and probably twenty-five thousand ordered one. A silly picture of you arriving for race day or a new helmet design pulls people in and gets them excited. And, yes, it makes money. Which in turn pays the salaries of everyone on the team."

"Y/n."

She sucked in a breath. "I'm—"

"Passionate," he whispered before she could say sorry.

"I know what it's like to enjoy something and never feel included," she murmured. "So, yeah… I guess I love what I do, because I like that I can include people in something they love."

His hand covered hers briefly. "For a moment there, I even loved social media."

She watched his fingers squeeze hers before they slid away, wondering why his touch lingered. "Yeah?"

"It's easy to forget that there are real people saying nice things. Sometimes all you can see is the negativity."

"Negativity only breeds more negativity—"

"And when you look at it, it's all you'll see," he murmured.

"Well… So far everything I've posted today has been met with positivity."

"That's good."

"Okay, a few comments about wanting to see Lando on the podium. Thank you for letting me rant about why I do what I do," she said, glancing at his hand without meaning to.

"You let me do the same," he reminded her. Lifting his chin, he waited until she looked at him again. "Are you too busy to see what I was talking about?"

"I don't have anything scheduled until after lunch."

"Perfect." He lightly drummed on the table and stood. "Do you want to see my rig?"

"You do know I won't have a clue what anything but the computer and monitor are, right?" Smiling, she stood and began packing away her stuff.

Closing her laptop, he handed it over, catching her earbud when it fell off the edge of the table. "Maybe you'll like it so much you'll want one of your own."

*-*

He was rambling, he knew he was, telling her about the setup and his plan for the 24 hour race over the weekend and how he had everything scheduled so he could do two of the things he loved most. But he could tell she was paying attention, actually listening, as if she really cared. Rubbing his palms against his thighs, he finished and looked up at her.

"So this is your actual job and the f1 thing is just a hobby?" she teased.

Laughing, he got to his feet and got himself a can of Red Bull. "It's just racing, y/n."

"And racing is life."

"Absolutely." He watched her muffle a yawn behind her hand.

"Am I allowed to mention it in my posts? Because it sounds so badass. Sim race stint then qualifying, chug a Red Bull, sim race stint then race."

"You can mention it, not like it's a secret." He watched her hide another yawn and cleared his throat. "Looks like you need a Red Bull."

She shook her head. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Nodding, he checked the time. Just over an hour before he had to meet with his trainer. "Of course."

"I hate Red Bull," she whispered.

He choked on a laugh. "You what?"

"I've tried so many times! I can just about stomach one of the flavored editions, but the original? Tastes like battery acid to me." She looked embarrassed and covered her face with her hands. "Please don't tell anyone."

"You hate the drink. So you accepted a job with a team owned by the drink company." He wanted to laugh. It was so absurd to him.

"Yes," she groaned.

"That would be like me taking a job at Instagram."

"I know it's so bad. What makes it worse is I love Monster—"

"Of course you do," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Please say you won't tell anyone. If corporate hears, I'll probably get fired. It's in my contract that I can only drink that while in pubic during race weekends which means I've got to either stick to water or learn to fake it."

"Your secret's safe with me," Max promised, breathing in the aroma of her perfume as she moved past him to get her bag.

"Thank you. I think Ellie would kill me if I told her I have to find a new job."

He didn't want her to go so soon. Ridiculous because he knew he'd see her in just a few hours. By the end of the weekend he'd be sick of seeing her. Sipping his drink, he finally sighed and cleared his throat. "You can take a power nap."

She whipped her head around, sending a wave of her perfume his way. "What?"

"A power nap." Before he could stop himself he was setting down his drink and taking her bag off her shoulder. "Thirty minutes, and you'll feel great."

"Max—"

"You need to be alert and focused, and I don't have a Monster for you to drink. Please, I insist." He motioned to his bed in the far corner, gently nudging her shoulder when she hesitated.

"You're sure?" she asked softly, and when he assured her he was she bent to take off her shoes, looking almost elated as she walked over to the bed. "Wait, I need to set an alarm."

"I'll wake you."

She lifted an eyebrow and he pulled out his phone to set a thirty minute timer. Satisfied, she sat on the edge of the bed, thanking him several times as she laid down and curled up on her side. "Thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes," he murmured, sitting on the couch to answer emails. It was fifteen minutes before she stopped shifting and kicking, and when he heard her breathing even out he knew she was asleep. Resetting the timer, he stood and carefully pulled the blanket over her, then returned to the couch and tried his best to ignore that she was sleeping in his room.

Her phone started buzzing on the table. She didn't stir so he ignored it, focusing on his email. That was impossible though so he cleared out his unread texts, one foot bouncing each time he heard her breathe. A mistake. It had been a mistake. He jumped up when her phone began to buzz again and, glancing from it to her, he realized she would undoubtedly sleep through it. He picked it up and was about to silence it when he saw the name on the screen. Ellie. That was her friend that was helping with Kevin… Something could be wrong, so he answered the call and lifted the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, we just— Who's this?"

"Max. This is Ellie?"

"…Yes…" The woman sounded wary. "Why are you – Oh! Max! Right of course. Um, is y/n okay?"

Max looked over at her, smiling faintly when she shifted. "She's fine. Taking a nap, actually."

Ellie snorted. "Of course she is."

"Is everything okay with Kevin?"

As though aware of the question, Kevin began chattering in the background. "Yeah, he's perfect. I was calling to let her know we just got here but I ain't got a clue where to go."

"Are you at the main entrance?" he asked, slipping out of the room so he wouldn't wake y/n. Ellie told him where they were and he nodded as he pulled out his own phone to text one of the team assistants. "You're going to walk down to the turnstiles, scan your passes and come through. Someone will be there to meet you and bring you to the motorhome."

"Ok perfect. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. We'll be downstairs to meet you." Ending the call, he checked that the assistant was going to meet them then reentered his room. He closed the door and silenced his timer. "Y/n?"

She hummed in her sleep, and he smiled while he crossed over to the bed.

"Y/n," he called gently. She groaned, shifting to face away from him and it suddenly occurred to him that when he went to bed that night he would smell her on the pillow and the sheets. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea, but it was too late now.

Would he be an asshole if he had his sheets changed before the end of the day?

Leaning down, he gently touched her shoulder. She inhaled sharply and he saw her eyes snap open. "You have company on its way," he said softly, tugging the covers back in case she tried to get comfortable again. His eyes swept down, locking on the skin bared by her shirt, which had ridden up in her sleep. "Come on, you had a nice nap, time to wake up."

"This bed is so much more comfortable than the one at the hotel," she mumbled, slowly sitting up and turning to face him. Smoothing down her shirt, she stretched and sighed, blinking as she focused on him. "Oh! Ellie and Kevin!"

He laughed as she leapt to her feet, his hands immediately moving to steady her. "It's fine, they haven't even made it to the paddock yet. I've sent someone to meet them."

"Oh," she murmured. "Thank you."

His hands were on her hips, and he forced his breathing to remain calm as she rested her hands on his forearms. The space, which had felt roomy and open, now felt tiny with how close she was to him. He was painfully aware of the scant space between them and each place their bodies touched, but more so of her. That heady floral scent of her perfume and the softness of her palms against his skin. The gentle lushness of her hips. He could hear every breath as his gaze traveled up from her hands to her face, lingering on her slightly parted lips before settling on her eyes. "You good?"

"Yep."

"Right. Sorry," he mumbled, releasing her hips and taking a step back. "I'll get your shoes."

What was wrong with him? It hadn't been so long that he got turned on like a teenager just from touching a woman… As he bent to retrieve her shoes he counted back, dragging a hand over his face in humiliation. What must she think of him? He'd brought her to his room, showed off his fancy toys, then let her sleep in his bed. She probably thought he wanted to fuck her—

You do.

—which couldn't be further from the truth. He was just being nice. Because she was nice. That was all.

Wasn't it?

And why, he wondered as he handed her shoes to her and told her about answering Ellie's call, did he care what she thought? Not caring was his specialty.

"How do you feel?" he asked, finishing his drink in one gulp.

"Refreshed. Thank you so much, Max." She tied her shoes and ran her fingers through her hair. Her lips moved but he didn't hear a word she said, watching her gather her hair and twist and twirl it, securing it with a band from her wrist.

Witchcraft.

"That okay with you?" she asked, slipping her phone into her pocket.

"Of course," he answered automatically.

She clapped her hands together. "Great! I'll put up a post asking for fan questions."

Max blinked, pinching his brows together. "Fan questions."

"Well we can't do an impromptu Q and A without questions." She had her other phone out now, fingers flying across the screen. "We'll do it this afternoon? Just let me know the best time."

Fuck's sake. What had he agreed to? More importantly, how had she gotten him to say yes? Everyone knew he had a low tolerance for marketing. He could take it back and say no, he couldn't do it today. He could tell her to get Checo to do it, that he would do it another time. He'd gotten out of marketing and social media stupidity without a problem plenty of times before. But he was already opening his calendar, going over his schedule, already telling her the open slot he had at 5, and was already putting Q and A with Y/n in that space.

"Perfect," she enthused, shouldering her bag and heading for the door, her fingers still tapping swiftly on the screen. "They should be here about now, right?"

Nodding, he followed her out the room and down, smiling when Kevin came through the front door with a woman he assumed was Ellie. The boy dropped her hand and sprinted over to y/n, who dropped down to hug him tightly. Max looked on, chest squeezing, searching for something that had been lacking, as mother and son talked and hugged, their words overlapping. They both understood each other perfectly, though, and he smiled at Kevin's excited retelling of what he'd had for breakfast. Introducing himself to Ellie, he reached to shake her hand.

"Mister Max!" The boy squealed.

"Kevin!" He was down in a split second, Ellie forgotten and chest constricting tighter as Kevin hugged him like a long lost friend.

"I saw two cats and a horse!" Kevin tugged at his shirt, grinning as he showed off his Red Bull merch.

"You did? What kind of cats?" he asked, taking the boy's cap and beginning to roll the brim for him while the boy described the cats and then the horse. Returning the cap, he enthused over animals, telling him about his own two cats and pulling out his phone to show him a few pictures.

"I miss Cotton," Kevin said with a small pout.

"Is that your cat?" Max saw his trainer approaching and gave him a quick nod.

"Yeah. We can't bring him to Eng-a-lund so Aunt Ellie's sister has him." Kevin's pout melted into a faint smile. "But she sends lots of pictures!"

"That's good. And maybe you'll be able to get him soon."

"Mama says it's s'pensive." The boy sighed as though he had to earn the money to bring his beloved cat to England.

"I know," Max sympathized. "Go with your mum, yeah? I've got to go train."

Kevin's face puckered in confusion. "Train? Like Shang?"

Y/n cleared her throat. "We watched Mulan on the flight last night."

"What did Shang do?" Max vaguely remembered the movie, but it had been years since he'd seen it.

"He made a man out of 'em."

"Okay, doodle bug, we have to let Max get his workout in," y/n said, flashing Max a smile. "If you ask another question he'll start singing the song."

Max stared at her then turned his attention back to Kevin. "What song?"

Because he had to. Because hearing her groan as her son began singing a song about being a man was priceless. And the dramatic way she hung her head when Ellie joined in made him laugh. Kevin giggled, cutting off his singing and looking at Max hopefully. "Will you watch it with me?"

"I—"

"Mister Max is too busy to watch a movie," y/n cut in.

"We'll watch it this weekend," Max promised, hating the sadness in the boy's eyes. Relieved when it disappeared in a flash, he gave him a high five and stood.

"Yay!"

He exchanged a look with y/n, who sighed and nodded, reaching for Kevin's hand. "I'll see you later," he said.

"5 o'clock," she reminded him as he headed out.

*-*

"So…"

Y/n groaned at Ellie's knowing tone. Watching as Kevin was snatched up by Lando so he wasn't crashed into by Charles in the impromptu game of football, she folded her arms over her chest. "So?"

"He had coffee with you."

God, here we go.

"Showed you his private room and his expensive computer setup… Let you take a nap in his bed—"

"He's just being nice," y/n insisted.

"And he's gonna take time out of his ridiculously busy weekend to watch a movie with Kevin." Ellie hummed, taking a sip of her tea.

Ignoring her, y/n looked on as Lando, Oscar, and Logan pretended to fight back the others while Kevin kicked the ball towards the goal. They were all shouting, dramatic and over the top, and above it all she heard the sweetest sound of her son's laughter. When the ball rolled into the net there was a roar that rivaled a championship game, and she joined in the cheering and applauding.

"You could do worse," Ellie murmured.

"Would you stop?" Y/n rolled her eyes, giving Logan a thumbs up when he gestured to the football and Kevin, understanding they wanted to have another quick game.

"He's cute."

"They all are," y/n muttered without thinking, lifting her camera for a few photos for her personal collection. Recognizing Checo when he suddenly appeared in the viewfinder, she snapped more photos, lowering the camera to watch.

"You know—"

"I can't wait for you to start your job so I can come and try to partner you up with a coworker," she huffed, snorting when Ellie gasped.

"You wouldn't."

"In a heartbeat."

"Besides, there's only one person in that group that's technically your coworker," Ellie said.

"I'm not here for that."

"I know." Ellie leaned against her briefly. "Wouldn't be me if I didn't encourage a delusion, though."

"Yeah…" Y/n laughed softly. "It's my first day, of course everyone's already in love with me."

"Exactly."

It was what she loved about Ellie. No matter what, she could make her laugh. Grinning, she watched Kevin bump into Oscar, who immediately collapsed with an exaggerated howl of pain, holding the leg that Kevin hadn't touched. "And they're all so good with kids."

"Total dad material, every one of them," Ellie agreed. "Not a stepdad, a dad who stepped up."

She choked on a laugh, playfully swatting her friend's arm. Because she knew Logan had overheard them. "Stop—"

"And probably more than willing to crack your back—"

"Oh my god." Clapping a hand over her face, she sensed someone approaching. "I have to work with these people."

"Only until they fuck a baby into you."

"Hey, y/n, your kid's so cool," Logan said.

Her face burned but she slowly pulled her hand away, giving him a weak smile. "Thanks."

He propped his hands on his waist, breathing heavy as he watched Kevin dart between Lando, Oscar, Checo, and Alex. "He always this energetic?"

"Fify-fifty. He's either like this or so quiet I worry he's up to something."

Logan chuckled. "Is he a troublemaker?"

"Nah, if he's quiet it's because he's focused on his cars or studying a bug."

"Christ! Get it away from me!"

Y/n's heart lurched at the sudden shriek from Lando, and she barely saw him sprinting away from her son, who was holding something in his hands.

"It's a frog, mate!" Oscar shouted behind him.

"Don't care!"

Kevin slowly walked over to y/n. "Mama, look!" he said, eyes shining with excitement. His cheeks were a little flushed from the hard play and he was giggling. "Mister Lando scared of a l'il frog."

"He's just not a country boy like you, honey," she soothed. "But maybe we should put the frog somewhere he'll be safe?"

"C'mon, Kev, I'll help you," Logan offered.

"Hmm," Ellie hummed once Logan had scooped Kevin up, cupping one hand over the boy's to keep the frog from jumping away.

"Shut it."

"I didn't say a word."

"Please, that hmm contained at least two paragraphs, ten innuendoes, and a pointed reference," y/n said, trailing behind Logan. Looking on as he set Kevin down near the tree line, she got a few pictures of them releasing the frog. She cringed when her son wiped his dirty hands on his shorts but Logan didn't seem to mind, lifting him up and carrying him back to her.

"He's free!" Kevin squealed. "Thanks, Mister Logan."

"Anytime, Kev." He tousled his curly hair after setting him down, flashing a shy smile at y/n.

She returned the smile, eyes following Kevin as he ran back to the game. "He's gonna pass out as soon as we get back to the hotel."

"He could probably run circles around all of us all night," Logan chuckled.

"True…"

"So like…" He cleared his throat. "Are you married?"

God, she loved Floridians. "No," she answered, turning to look at him. "Are you?"

"God no." He made a face at the thought. "So you're single?"

She nodded, already formulating how she would turn him down if he asked her out. She was too busy. Not interested in anything romantic at the moment. It never hurt to be honest, right? She couldn't lie and say she just had a messy breakup or—

"Would you be interested in – I'm not trying to hook up or anything," he said quickly when she opened her mouth. "Just, like, as a friend? I know how it is to feel like a fish out of water here. I'm kind of used to it but I can remember feeling like I was alone and surrounded by people who didn't understand my Americanisms."

"Oh." Aw. Damn it, she couldn't say no to that. "I… Yeah, sure, I'd like that."

He smiled. "Awesome. Maybe we can do something tomorrow after practice?" he suggested.

"Sure, sounds great. Text me?" she requested. Her phone alarm started going off and she pulled it out to silence it. "I gotta go. I'll see you later."

She waved to Ellie and mimed that she had to get some work done, waiting for her friend to wave back before making her way to the garage. While walking she got a message from one of the mechanics that the cars were photo ready and quickened her pace, envisioning the photos she would get of the mechanics and engineers. As she worked she asked questions, truly interested in what everyone did, a small idea forming that she'd run by Mr. Horner later. She knew that she would enjoy mini profiles on the team, with just the most basic of information like their names and where they were from. Maybe how long they'd been on the team, what had brought them to formula one…

"Thanks so much guys," she said as she finished up, declining the offer of a cold Red Bull. Her alarm went off again – twenty minutes to get ready to meet Max in the lounge back at the motorhome – and she switched off the camera, waving bye and turning to leave the garage.

She slammed into a human wall, grunting in surprise as she stumbled back. Twice in one day, really? The bump had caused the camera to slam against her ribs and she rubbed the spot gently. "I'm sorry! Wasn't looking where I was going."

She expected a chuckle, a reassurance that it was a hazard of the job. Maybe even an apology in return. Instead, the older man sneered at her, looking her up and down in such a way she felt like a child caught misbehaving. "You need to learn your place."

She gulped, fear prickling through her embarrassment. And even though she knew she hadn't done anything wrong, she found her mouth opening to apologize. "S-sorry."

"Horner know better than to hire amateurs," he muttered, scoffing. "He obviously didn't hire you for your looks."

She bristled at that. "I beg your pardon?"

"As you should." He brushed past her.

She felt weak. Clammy and cold. Shuddering slightly, she swallowed hard and left the garage, heading straight for the motorhome, where she was able to catch her breath. Who the hell had that been? He'd been wearing a Red Bull pass, so he had to be on the team. He was obviously important. She couldn't imagine him being considered her boss, not when everyone else had been so nice and—

"Ah, y/n, are you ready to do the Q and A?" Max asked.

Y/n felt her lungs burn and sucked in a breath, staring at the cup of coffee she'd made herself. "Y-yeah, I'll meet you up on the deck?"

Please go up, please go up, please go—

"What's wrong?"

Goddammit.

"Y/n?" He looked and sounded concerned, and she ducked her head as he walked over. "Hey…"

"I'm fine," she lied.

"You're a terrible liar," he said, leaning against the counter. "What happened?"

"Nothing, I'm just overreacting." Rubbing her hand over her face, she shook her head and reached for the coffee. "Just a run-in with an asshole."

"But I haven't seen you in three hours." Max's lips barely twitched at the corner.

"Not you, a different asshole." She felt her cheeks burn and groaned. "I'm not saying you're an asshole!"

"You don't have to, I already know I can be an asshole at times." Folding his arms over his chest, he met her eyes. "Who was it?"

"That's the thing, I don't even know. I was coming out of the garage – You know, I went down to get pics of the mechanics? Anyway, I was about to text you about the Q and A and wasn't looking where I was going and bumped into him."

"Who?"

"I don't know. Older, kinda tall? Sour faced." She raised a hand to the man's approximate height. "I apologized and he told me I need to learn my place, then said I was an amateur and Horner obviously didn't hire me for my looks – I didn't ask his name because I was in shock. All I know is he had a Red Bull pass."

Max's brow furrowed, and she felt him tense. Then, to her surprise, he described the man perfectly.

"Yeah, that's him." She bit her lip. "You know him?"

"Unfortunately," he muttered. "It's my dad."

"Oh." Y/n looked down at her coffee. "Sorry."

"Me too." He sighed, pushing away from the counter. "Don't listen to him, yeah? You have more right to be here than he does, and you're not an amateur. As much as I hate social media, even I can tell that you're excellent at your job."

"Thank you," she whispered. "I just… I've spent my entire adult life working to improve myself and discover my own worth as a human being, and I can give other women empowering pep talks, but I still freeze when a man that thinks he's better than me talks down to me."

"Fuck him," Max said simply. "He's not your boss, he can't control anything you do in your life."

"Either you're really trying to make me feel better or you really don't like your dad," she murmured. When he didn't reply, she slowly lifted her gaze. Seeing the muscle in his jaw twitch, she felt a pang of sympathy. If the man had been that rude to her, a stranger, she couldn't begin to imagine what he'd been like to his own son.

"If he speaks to you like that again, you let me know."

"I don't want to cause a fuss—"

"Not wanting to cause a fuss is why he thinks he can get away with it," Max pointed out. "I'll speak to Christian—"

"Max, no, it's literally my first week!"

"Which is why you have to set boundaries now. He'll either treat you with the respect you deserve or he'll be banned from the paddock."

Y/n blinked in shock. "You'd have him banned?"

"In a heartbeat." The look on his face told her he was serious, from the determined set of his jaw to the way he kept his eyes level with hers. "So either you mention it to Christian in the team meeting or I will."

"God," she groaned, knowing that this had to be just one tiny item among a long list of infractions for Max to want him banned. "Okay. I'll tell him before the team meeting tomorrow."

"Good. Come, let's do the Q and A. You ready?" he asked, taking her empty cup and throwing it away.

"Yeah." Grateful for the distraction, she walked to the stairs with him. "I did a clip of you looking confused and posted it on TikTok and Instagram that went viral because I captioned it When You Ask Max Verstappen About Anything But Racing. Oh and I found out Tumblr fans love making gifs of you laughing. Twitter likes making memes out of your face. Whereas Facebook is mostly a bunch of boomers commenting about how I'm ruining the integrity of the sport."

"I really do hate social media," he snorted.

"And that is why I'm doing social media," she teased. Halfway up the stairs, she slowed, turning to look at him. "Thank you, Max."

"For hating social media? You're welcome."

taglist

@spookystitchery | @halleest | @lyannesworld | @llando4norris

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

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dashoulinas-fandom-dump · 9 months ago

Text

Ok, everyone's been doing this lately, so I also need myself one of those.

Haven't been able to start doing anything for way too long now. I AM planning on starting going through my to do list now on the weekends, but 3 hours in my day I haven't been very successful about it... So some extra motivation would be extremely helpful right now.

Ok, let's do this:

10 notes I'll do my Finnish Duolingo for today (5 lessons)

20 notes I'll start doing some stupid music assignment that'll take 20 min max what even is the point of music assignments?!

40 notes I'll start the other a bit bigger and less stupid music assignment I still don't get the point of music assignments

70 notes I'll write a review of a random piece of media (most likely GO, anybody surprised?) for English class

100 notes I'll clean my room

200 notes I'll complete my part of the Economics presentation (due on Monday)

400 notes I'll start writing my Economics essay (also due on Monday)

700 notes I'll go ahead and learn Finnish for 2-3 hours cos I really need to and I haven't been doing it for a month already so every time I have the online lesson I have no idea what those guys are talking about

950 notes I'll go for a walk (and may or may not buy myself some chocolate)))

1000 notes I'll go to sleep early (like 22:00 early)

All tasks before the cut are all more or less due on Monday

1200 notes I'll learn some Maths I've been putting off for way too long (it's not school work but still. I'm getting dumb without it)

1500 notes I'll start researching for universities for my future studies

1900 notes Do a presentation about the them for sharing in class (why do we have to do this?!)

2000 notes I'll start finally doing my research practice essay task (first part of which was due a month ago😭) (I did confess to the teacher tho, and she said it's not a big deal now, because it's not even graded, but it is for my own good because next year it will be very much graded)

5000 notes and I'll read the book we have to read for the exam and start getting ready to tell the teacher something coherent for 10 min straight on the exam day (I don't think I'll be physically able to do it, I'll start asphyxiating on the second minute of the speech (not that I have breathing problems, but the social anxiety does things to me))

Idk is that the appropriate amount of notes for each task?....

#notes for motivation

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mermaidgirl30 · 2 months ago

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✨Saving What Was Lost Part 2: A Million Shades of Red ✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I’m so excited to bring you chapter two! I’ve been working long and hard on this, so I hope you do enjoy it. As always, I LOVE to hear your thoughts so comments and reblogs really make my day 🩷 I loved getting to write the last half of this in Joel’s POV. No beta for this one. Happy reading! I have reached my max number of tags for this, so please go follow my updates blog if you'd like to be notified for future updates @mermaidgirl30-updates

Summary: Trying to figure out your way through grief is hard, but Joel seems to give you that first flicker of hope that you need.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 12.7k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of being trafficked, flashbacks of being abused, angst, soft and protective Joel, violence, PTSD, no use y/n, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is late 40’s), pre-outbreak au, switching POVs

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The next day you don’t leave your room, can barely stand to get out of bed. So, you don’t. You just stay curled up in a ball between the twisted sheets, listening to the soft drizzle of rain and the howling wind that taps at the glass window. You tossed and turned the entire night while nightmares tore their way through your worn body, reminding you that your life was ripped from your hands more than a year and a half ago.

You’re not hungry, can barely even choke down a glass of water. But Joel goes out of his way to make sure you get something down, even going as far as helping you hold the glass, encouraging you the entire time. You never asked him to; he just does it.

He brings you food to your bed. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And even when you can’t stomach anything, he leaves the plate next to your bed in case you change your mind. He checks on you every hour of the day, even if that’s just him walking by and peeking his head in the doorway to make sure you’re still breathing, alive.

You don’t feel alive, but maybe one day you will. Maybe one day you won’t wake up and immediately feel like dying.

One day. It’s only been one single fucking day since you’ve been pulled from the reins of Angela and all her grimy men, saved by the hands of Joel Miller. And you still don’t understand why he picked you. Of all the girls he could’ve saved, he chose to save you…

He saved you. And you’re eternally, forever grateful. Even if you can’t express that. Joel Miller is your hero. And even though you don’t exactly trust him yet, maybe one day you will. For now, this is enough.

Take it one step at a time. That’s what he keeps telling you. And you just swallow it down and stomach the pain like hot wire scalding your skin.

One day at a time.

When the night comes around, so do the nightmares. They leave you soaked in sweat, hair sticking to your damp forehead, eyes wide when they drag you from sleep. Blood curdling screams leave your lips, the raspy wails choking you as the tears pour like raindrops down your face.

And then there’s Joel slamming the door open, watching you with those sad brown eyes locked on yours, his soft voice calming you down from the brutal memories of the past that try to drag you back to the awful, pain-filled house. You’ll never go back. Not ever again.

Again, he doesn’t leave until you’ve calmed down enough. He asks if you want him to stay, sit in that same chair he sat in the entire night the evening before. But you shake your head and tell him you’ll be okay. But you’re not okay. You’re far from okay. And when he nods and walks out of the room and closes his bedroom door, you let the tears soak the sheets until you’re dragged back down into darkness.

That’s exactly how the next three days go. You stay in bed, only dragging yourself from the cool sheets to crawl to the bathroom. You have no strength, no will to do anything. So you stay in the safety of your room and just sleep, praying the nightmares will leave you alone for just one fucking day, but they don’t. They come like creatures in the night, swallowing you whole with their sharp fangs and feasting on your misery. They bleed you dry just like all those men did.

And then there’s Joel and those sad doe eyes… He scares away the nightmares sometimes. But you don’t dare tell him that. You just stay silent, letting him stalk the halls day and night until you’re pulled down to sleep.

It’s a repeated cycle that you can’t break: wake up, get a teeth clenching migraine, cry, fall back to sleep, wake up with nightmares clouding your mind, cry, let Joel talk you back to sleep, cry. But you can’t stop, can’t shake it. It’s like it’s ingrained deep in your mind, becoming a part of your new identity.

You’re completely hopeless.

And still Joel doesn’t push you, doesn’t make you do anything you don’t want to. He’s just a crutch that he’d gladly let you use, if only you’d touch him. But you don’t. You stay far far away from his tanned skin, his rough hands. You don’t want to be touched, and he doesn’t dare go there. He just stays like a lingering shadow in the hall, making sure you’re still here. Alive. He wants you alive, breathing. And you don’t know why…

When the fourth day comes around, you make it your goal to get up. You have to try; you can’t stay in bed forever, even if your weak body is completely revolting against any sort of movement. You ignore the blinding pain of your aching bones and push yourself out of bed. And that in itself is a step in the right direction.

With messy hair, sweatpants, and a purple hoodie, you take a deep breath and make your way out of the room, praying you can make it all the way downstairs. Every step feels like sharp glass shards cutting the bottom of your heels, but you fight the burning pain and walk on. You have to make it downstairs. You just have to.

Take it one step at a time. Joel’s soothing voice floats through your mind, and that alone is enough to get you down the steps and into the kitchen.

When you turn the corner and see him slumped against the counter, one elbow leaning against it and his other hand skimming the newspaper intently, you freeze in place. He must’ve not heard you tiptoe in because his eyes are locked tight on the folded black and white paper.

He’s focused, jaw tense as he reaches for his cup of coffee. It’s black. No cream, no sugar. Just black. And you can smell the fresh brew lingering in the air. His green flannel hugs his broad shoulders, the rolled up sleeves leaving his tanned forearms exposed to the light. His eyes have dark shadows underneath them, and he looks like he’s gotten just as much sleep as you have these past few days. Basically none at all.

Your eyes avert to the floor, your fingers nervously twisting into the soft fabric of the hoodie. You don’t know what to say, so you just take one more step into the lit up kitchen and clear your closed-up throat.

Joel’s eyes snap up, and he immediately drops the newspaper, pushing back his sturdy mug of black coffee. “Oh, hey. You’re up.” A ghost of a smile meets his lips and then those soft doe eyes appear.

He needs to stop looking at you like that, like you’re a lost puppy. But you won’t lie, they do make you feel a little safer.

Nodding your head, you push your hands inside the pockets of the hoodie, twiddling your thumbs mindlessly because you don’t know how else to act when anxiety and fright sit tucked away in the back of your mind.

“You hungry?” he asks, tilting his head as he studies you with soft eyes.

Those soft brown eyes…

Your stomach rumbles at the thought of food. You’ve barely eaten the past few days, unable to stomach anything under than choking water down and only able to tolerate a couple pieces of toast. Anything else was left untouched, and all Joel would do was sigh when he kept seeing the full plates of food left on your nightstand. But again, he didn’t force you to eat anything, only encouraged you while he asked if you felt okay.

He was… too good. Why on earth did he choose to save you…

“Mhm,” is all you can hum out.

“Okay then. Why don’t you sit down, sweetheart. I can fix you somethin’ up real quick,” he answers from across the lavish kitchen, pulling out various ingredients from the refrigerator.

You slip into one of the barstools at the kitchen island and lean your elbows against the white quartz that reflect against the bright lights displayed high in the room. Your back is as stiff as a board, and your fingers knot together like you don’t know how to act when you’re in the presence of Joel. He won’t hurt you, yet in the back of your mind there’s always that little alarm that says you can’t trust anyone.

You can trust him. He’s safe.

“Apples or blueberries?” he calls out behind the open refrigerator door.

“What?” you ask confused as your eyes flick back up to him.

He leans his head out and smiles softly. “Which one do you like more, sweetheart? Apples or blueberries?”

You take a second to think on the question. He’s asking which you like more. He’s giving you a choice. Something you haven’t had in almost two years. Do you even remember how to choose anything for yourself? You doubt it.

“Oh, ummm,” you sputter out, fingers locked tight around each other. You almost think they’ll break with how hard you have them knotted together. “Blueberries,” is what you finally decide on through your racing mind.

He nods his head and grabs a container of fresh blueberries and sits them on the counter, pulling out other ingredients like butter and syrup. You sit there motionless while he gathers a couple of pans and glass plates out of the cabinet. And you just don’t know what to think about any of this.

After a couple minutes of just listening to him bustle around the kitchen, he breaks the silence. “You want some coffee? Just made a fresh batch a few minutes ago.”

Coffee. You don’t remember the taste of it anymore or how you even liked it. “Oh, okay. Yeah, I could take some coffee,” you say shyly with your hands still shoved deep in your pockets.

He wastes no time and pours you a cup, sliding a spoon in as warm steam escapes from the black liquid. “How do you like it? Black, sweet, lots of creamer?”

Your lips mold together in a tight line as you try hard to remember how you used to make it. You can’t recall anything you used to like before you were taken, and it makes you want to beat your fists on the countertop and spill the tears you’re trying so very hard to hold back.

“I don’t—I don’t remember how I like it,” you whisper, eyes dropped to the shiny island, legs trembling beneath you.

Joel takes a step in your direction and sets the steamy cup of coffee down in front of you. You can feel his body looming across the island, his large hands leaning against the quartz material, and those eyes. You feel how soft and sad and intently he’s looking at you, like he understands your pain.

“Sweetheart, can you look at me a second?” he asks quietly, his deep voice a staccato in the heavy air. When you lift your eyes, he gently encourages you by saying, “There ya go. Attagirl.” And for some reason, that makes you want to cry even more.

“S’alright, sweetheart. How ‘bout I leave out the cream and sugar, and you can make it sweeter if you don’t like it plain. That alright with you?” he asks softly, his gentle brown eyes locked on yours. You sniffle out a yes, and he gives you a small smile as he turns to grab the creamer and sugar.

You drag the coffee cup closer to you and tap your nails against the ceramic material, thinking long and hard about everything you’ve lost. What did you even like doing anymore? You can barely remember what you liked before the last couple of years were snatched away from you. You can’t even remember your favorite color…

When he returns and sets the bottle of creamer and a shaker of sugar down in front of you, you crack. A tear slips down your cheek, and you look up at him through glassy eyes. “I can’t remember what I loved to do before they—before they took me. My hobbies, my passions, my likes. I just don’t remember…” Your voice is barely audible as it shakes beneath your broken stature.

God, you’re so broken.

His jaw flexes and his knuckles tighten into closed fists. He seems angry, but those sad brown eyes tell a different story. He’s not mad at you; he’s furious about the ones that took your life away. The murders that tainted and destroyed your life, your mind, your heart. They took everything from you, and Joel knows this. He hates it as much as you do.

He takes a deep breath and relaxes his fingers against the cold material of the kitchen island, his brown eyes focused directly on you. His bottom lip twitches, and then he sighs as he speaks. “It’s gonna take a while, sweetheart. Gonna take time and work to remember what it was you loved before, what you lost. But I have no doubt that you’ll get ‘em back. You’re gonna discover new loves, new passions, new hobbies. And trust me when I say that you will thrive. One day, you’re gonna be soarin’, and all this pain and sufferin’ will be gone. Maybe not completely, but you’re gonna fly, sweetheart. Wings and all.”

Another tear escapes your lash line, and you nod up at him slowly. “Thank you…” is all you can muster out of your highly emotional state. Thoughts are hard after he just painted a masterpiece with his words.

You’re gonna fly, sweetheart. The words stay sealed in a safe space deep inside your mind. No one can take what he just said away from you. Words that were spoken straight from your savior. Words meant just for you. Wings and all.

“Why don’t you take a sip of your coffee? See how you like it.” He encourages you to try while he stands back and watches.

You bring the curve of the cup to your lips and take a small sip. As the warm liquid washes down your throat, your nose instantly crinkles up. Joel’s laugh floats around the room, bouncing off the stained cabinets and right back to you. You almost want to laugh back because his laugh is so infectious and light, but you don’t.

“Take it you’re not jus’ a plain cup of coffee type of girl,” he chuckles as he pushes back his sandy tousled hair, a couple strands of silver flashing beneath the bright lights.

“Guess not,” you reply as you reach for the sugar next. When you pour a large spoonful in and mix it up, you take another sip. It’s closer to your liking, but there’s still ingredients missing that you can’t recall.

“Not sweet enough for you yet?” he grins, taking a sip from his own coffee cup, watching you struggle with finding just the right mix.

“Not yet,” you sigh, annoyed with your own self from not knowing how to make your coffee anymore.

“S’alright. Try the creamer next. Maybe that’ll do it.”

As you start to pour the thick creamer into the warm liquid, he sets a shaker of cinnamon in front of you. And again, he just watches you with those warm milky-brown eyes.

You look at him all gawking and wordless, speechless because he’s trying to strike your memory, make you remember what you liked. He just stands there and smiles, watching you pour some cinnamon in next, like that’s what you needed. You don’t know why, but it makes your heart race just a beat faster.

“In case that’s what you were lookin’ for,” he replies, flicking his soft eyes down to the brown cinnamon atop the now lighter-colored coffee.

When he turns back around, a hint of a smile curls against your pink lips. In case that’s what you were looking for. He’s so… kind. You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve him.

You take a sip of your creamy, sugared-up coffee and hum at the sweet taste. Almost there, almost how you want it. You toss in some more cinnamon, mixing it into the almost white liquid. And when the delicious flavor meets your tastebuds, you freeze.

Caramel. That’s the ingredient you’re missing. It’s like a lock clicked right into place. A lost piece that was missing, and Joel helped you find that piece of yourself again.

“Joel?” you call. His body whips around, and then those soft brown eyes are on you. Those doe-colored irises that make your mouth run dry.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asks, like he’s right at your beck and call.

“Do you by chance have any caramel?”

His eyes light up at that request, and he smiles warmly. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he grins.

He walks over to the refrigerator and pulls it open effortlessly, digging around until a small bottle of caramel materializes and lands in front of you, his fingers brushing past your coffee cup as he takes a step back.

“Hope you found what you were lookin’ for.” The way his deep timbre and the meaning of his words leaves you smiling behind the hand that’s leaning against your mouth.

“I think I did,” you say shyly up at him.

He chuckles and nods, knowing exactly what that means. “I’ll make sure to always have caramel stocked in the fridge from now on. Jus’ for you.”

Just for you.

A smile ghosts over your lips, and another tear leaks when you realize what just happened. You actually smiled. You smiled. Even just a small one is progress. Joel made that progress happen. He made you smile…

After pouring in a glob of syrup and stirring the sugary goodness with your spoon, you almost moan from the way the savory coffee hits you like you just swallowed the best piece of cake in the world. This is how you liked your coffee. Caramel, sugar, lots of creamer, cinnamon, warm. You just unlocked a forgotten piece in your mind, and it’s all because of Joel…

The way he’s looking at you, soft doe eyes and a big smile curled against his plush lips, makes you give him a small nod. And in that moment, you see a ghost of a tear in his clear brown eyes. He knows you just found another lost part of yourself, and he loves to see you discover it once again.

He ends up making you blueberry pancakes drenched in butter and syrup, and you have to admit that these are the best pancakes you’ve had in your entire life. While you indulge in the sticky, syrupy plate, Joel joins you at the kitchen island after a few minutes. He’s careful to sit one barstool away from you, knowing very well that you need your space. And that’s exactly what he does. Gives you space while also being close, present, in the moment. And you appreciate that about him. He’s respectful of your boundaries when no one else has ever been before.

He gives you a smile every once in a while as he sips his black coffee, barely touching his own pancakes. You think he just likes watching you eat, for whatever reason that may be. You know damn well you don’t look pretty shoveling a huge forkful of pancakes in your mouth, but you let him watch anyway. Maybe it’s because you aren’t used to being fed like this, only used to being starved to death. He’s trying to give you the freedom and enjoyment back in your life, you think. And that alone almost brings tears to your eyes.

Another couple of minutes goes by, and that’s when you decide to break the silence. Maybe he could answer some questions that’ve been crawling under your skin since the moment you stepped foot into this house. “Joel?”

“Hmm?” he hums, taking one more sip of his coffee and setting the mug down on the quartz island.

You take a second to breathe, tapping the fork nervously against the glass plate, gathering your words together. And then you ask the question that’s been eating you alive at night. “What were you doing at the auction, really?”

He taps his thumb against the brim of his coffee cup and stares off into the blue silently, his jaw slightly clenched. “I was there for business.”

“Business?”

“Yes,” he answers blatantly.

“Seems like you’ve done it more than once. Been at auctions, I mean.” You drag your fork over the syrup-filled plate, wondering what he’ll say next.

“That’s ‘cause I have,” he says as he swallows a sip of coffee, setting it back down carefully. Like he might break the glass if he’s too loud.

That doesn’t answer your question, so you grit your teeth together and ask again. “Why were you there, Joel?”

He sighs and runs his fingers back through his tousled curls, making it messy and disheveled as thick lines map across his tanned forehead. “Was tryin’ to find someone. A girl named Rebecca. Her family, they reached out. Told ‘em I would find her and bring her back home.”

Words get lodged in the back of your throat, your mouth suddenly dry as a desert. He was looking for someone but instead found you. He could’ve left you to the awful blonde man. The nameless face that still haunts your nightmares, depriving you of adequate sleep.

“Oh. I see…” you say quietly. “But you found me instead?”

He nods slowly. “S’right, sweetheart. Found you instead. Got you out jus’ in time, too. Glad I did.”

Your bottom lip quivers as tears prick the back of your eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. He should’ve left you there to die. You already feel dead, so why does he want to bring you back to life?

“You could’ve just left me there. You could’ve just—” Your words are smeared with guilt because he shouldn’t have wasted his time and money and efforts on you. But he did, and you still don’t think you deserved it. His kindness. Just everything he’s done for you. You don’t deserve any of it.

“Whoa. Hold on there, sweetheart,” he says as he halts you from finishing your sentence. “I wasn’t gonna jus’ leave you. So don’t for a second think I would’ve.”

His sad brown eyes don’t help your trembling, but you just nod and brush away any trace of tears with the sleeve of your hoodie.

“Okay,” you choke out.

His fingertips brush against the edge of the kitchen island and after another minute of silence, you ask the next question that you’ve been wondering. “What exactly is it that you do for work?”

He blows out a deep breath and answers. “I was a former CIA agent. After Sarah was taken, I did everything I could to find her and get her back. Turns out when I found her, I found ten other girls that were missin’. I decided then what my line of work was gonna be. Opened up my own private business that focuses on huntin’ down sex traffickers, shuttin’ down auctions, findin’ missing girls. A lot of families hire me to help bring their daughters home, and that’s what I do.”

Your eyes widen as you take in the information. Joel does this sort of thing on a weekly basis? “So, you’re kind of like a bounty hunter?”

“Something like that, I suppose,” he chuckles. “It’s almost like I never left my former position sometimes. But this seemed more important. After Sarah was taken, I made it my life’s mission to take down as many traffickers as I could. And trust me when I say I will find every single fucker that ever laid their filthy hands on you, and I will destroy them.”

You swallow back a lump in your throat and gawk at what he just said. “I don’t know what to say, Joel. That’s uhh—that’s…”

“Don’t gotta say anything, sweetheart. That’s a lot of information to take in.”

“You kill people?” you ask quietly, dropping your fork as it clatters against the glass plate. You’ve suddenly lost your appetite.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he sighs, dragging his palm down his patchy beard in deep thought.

“A lot?”

He nods. “I’ve killed a lot of bad men, sweetheart. Both for the CIA and for my own business. After knowing what most of ‘em have done, that’s the only thing you can do sometimes. ‘Cause if they go to prison, they’ll jus’ get bailed out and do it all over again. I’ve witnessed it happen quite a lot, unfortunately. So, the only way is to get rid of ‘em for good.”

“I see…” you whisper, twiddling your thumbs together mindlessly as your eyebrows knit together in concentration.

He kills people. Bad people.

“Look, if you’re uncomfortable with this topic we can—”

You stop him right there by shaking your head, your eyes snapping up to look him intently in the eyes. “No. No, I just—that’s gotta be heavy, Joel. What you do.”

He groans under his breath and nods, his brown eyes heavy with years of dealing with traffickers. “It is, sweetheart. But I do it to make a difference. Seein’ those girls go back to their families, watchin’ ‘em get back to living their lives is truly worth the long nights and heartache of this job.”

Your eyes get a little foggy as you look at him like a lost puppy, admiration and sadness swirling through your irises. You don’t have a family to go back to. You don’t have anyone. But you don’t see Joel rushing to kick you out. In fact, he hasn’t even said anything on the topic yet. You don’t even know where you’d go, what you’d do.

How can a person get by in life if they don’t even know who they are anymore? You’d probably just wither away into burnt ashes if it wasn’t for Joel…

After a beat of silence, Joel digs around in the pocket of his denim jeans and takes something out. “Oh, and this is for you.” A new iPhone appears on the clean counter, and then he slides it over to you.

Your mouth drops open as you unlock the screen, your index finger flicking through the different pages.“You really got me a phone?” you ask with disbelief in your voice.

“Sure did, sweetheart. It’s got my contact information in there, and I put Sarah’s in there for ya. In case you wanna reach out. Or I could do it. Whatever you’re comfortable with. And Tess’s number is in there. Whenever you’re ready to talk to her, she’ll be there. Jus’ don’t push yourself. Only when you’re ready. You’ll know it when you are.”

Your lips tremble as you swallow back fresh tears. He’s already done more than you deserve. “Thank you, Joel. This is… this is more than I could’ve asked for. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

He holds up a palm to stop you, scoffing at the last sentence. “‘S’not necessary, sweetheart. You don’t owe me a dime.”

“But I—.”

“Hey, listen to me. You don’t owe me anything ever, sweetheart. Not a damn thing. The only thing you could possibly give me is the chance to see you healing from all this trauma. Learning to love life again is all I wanna see. Understand?”

He wants to see you enjoy life again. He wants to see you healing…

“Oh. I uhh—okay,” you stammer out quietly.

“Go on and finish your pancakes. You want some more coffee? I could—”

Before Joel can finish his sentence, the front door opens with a bang, and you jump in your seat, your fork going flying to the ground.

“Joel! Hey, Joel. We need to talk. I…”

Your eyes widen in fright as you see a tall man with slicked back dark, greasy hair standing in the hallway. The breath gets knocked from your lungs like you’ve been kicked in the chest, and adrenaline courses through your veins like lightning. Fear sets you on edge, and all you can think is that this man is here to take you away or worse, hurt you.

No, no, no. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening!

“Jesus Christ,” Joel growls as he slips off his barstool, stalking toward the man with a matching pair of dark brown eyes. But they’re much darker than Joel’s.

“Joel, I—Oh.” The man freezes as Joel stands over him, clearly upset that he appeared out of thin air.

Your body tells you to run, to hide. So you slide off your stool and start to move quickly. Before you can get out of the kitchen, Joel stops you in your tracks.

“Hey, s’alright. He’s not gonna—” Joel coos, trying to calm you down, one arm outstretched like he’s reaching for you.

Your hands lock around the edge of the wall, trying to grip onto something that’ll ground you into place.

Calm down. He won’t hurt you. But you don’t know that. You don’t know this man. And you can’t trust any of them. Can you even fully trust Joel? You don’t know now.

“Tommy, I told you to call first. Don’t jus’ show up. You knew she was here! The hell’s the matter with you?” Joel growls, shoving him hard in the shoulder.

“Shit, Joel. I wasn’t even thinkin’. Sorry, I just assumed you talked to her already,” he apologizes, brushing off the spot on his leather jacket that Joel moved out of place.

You watch the banter between them, not knowing what to do or where to run.

“Well, I was ‘bout to. I said four in the afternoon, Tommy. Not the fuckin’ mornin’. Christ,” he scoffs, hands on his hips while his lips form into a tight line. “Now you apologize to her.”

“Darlin’, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Tommy sighs, taking a step forward in your direction.

“Stay back,” you warn, trying your best to sound brave, but you’re anything but that.

“Hey, s’alright, sweetheart. He’s not gonna hurt ya,” Joel soothes slowly, stepping forward as his brown eyes soften when he looks at you. “This is Tommy. He’s my brother. He works with me. Actually helped me the night I got you out.”

Your eyes flick quickly between the two of them. Your mouth feels like sandpaper when you realize what he just said. He was there too? “He… helped you?”

Joel nods, keeping his distance to make you feel more comfortable. “S’right, sweetheart. Helped me get you out safely.”

“What…” you whisper, your eyes wide as you look at Tommy. He looks like he doesn’t know what to do right now as he stands between you and Joel, trying to figure out if he’s too close.

“It’s true, darlin’.” Tommy has the same mannerisms and Southern drawl as Joel. They really must be brothers.

“Th—thank you,” you say directly at Tommy, your hand dropping from the wall as your guard drops.

He smiles and stuffs his hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket. “Don’t mention it, darlin’. Glad you were able to get out of that hell hole.”

“Me too…” you answer back in a whisper.

“Joel, I need to speak with you for a minute.” Tommy nods his head toward the living room, and Joel looks between you and his brother, brows furrowed together undecidedly. He obviously knows how uncomfortable and uncertain you are with a strange man in the house. But this isn’t your house. It’s Joel’s.

“Is it alright if he comes in, sweetheart?” Joel looks over at you with soft brown eyes. And God, those fucking eyes will be the death of you.

“Why are you asking me? It’s your house. Why are you—.”

He rakes a palm down his thick beard and sighs. “‘Cause I don’t want you scared, sweetheart.”

You just stand there like an idiot looking between him and Tommy, deciding how this will go. Your body screams for him to leave, but half of you trusts Joel. And if he says he won’t hurt you then you know he’s not lying.

“It’s okay, Joel. He can come in,” you say hesitantly, your fingers curling in, making half crescent moons against your skin.

Tommy smiles while you just stand there silently, watching like a hawk. “Thank you, darlin’. You know you’re a brave girl, don’t you?”

You give Tommy a bewildered look and just shake your head while Joel watches the interactions between the two of you. “I don’t feel like one,” you half whisper out.

“Well, ya are,” he confirms.

Again, you stand and stare. Fingernails embedded into your palms. You might as well be drawing blood now.

“C’mon, Tommy.” Joel leads him into the living room, leaving you to an empty kitchen with half-eaten pancakes on the countertop. But your appetite has sailed away. And suddenly, you can’t even catch your breath.

You make your way over to the barstool, knocking the knife to the floor with a loud clatter. There you go again making messes. When will you ever learn?

You twirl a piece of hair anxiously, awaiting whatever the conversation is to be over. You don’t like not knowing what’s being said, especially when it’s two large men that could take you down in a matter of seconds.

Joel would never. At least you don’t think. It’s weird, the thing between you two. He saved you, continuously tries to comfort you in a way that you’ll accept, tries to take care of you. And you haven’t even been here a fucking week yet.

He’s… different. He wouldn’t hurt you. Not ever. At least that’s what you keep telling yourself. But his actions match his words. And he feels safe. But are you ever really safe anymore? Your body thinks not, and it makes you sick to your stomach.

You saunter over to the edge of the kitchen, leaning your ear against the edge of the wall, hoping to get a glimpse into their conversation. You have to know what’s being discussed. For your safety and the comfort of your mind. They could be discussing anything.

Leaning a little closer, you get a drift of their conversation.

“You sure, Tommy?”

“Positive. We got ‘em, brother. We found ‘em. And they’re not gettin’ away this time.”

Blood pumps like a fountain through your ears, and your nails dig in deeper into the painted wall. Who did they possibly find?

“You found ‘em. Shit.”

“That’s right. Now it’s time to give them what they deserve.”

You whip around the corner in a whirl and stomp into the room, arms crossed and on guard. Joel and Tommy snap their heads up, and Joel meets your eyes that are swirled with a look of desperation. A plea for him to trust you enough with whatever this is.

“You found who?” Your bottom lip trembles and your hands shake. You’re so fucking worked up over nothing.

“Oh—uhh.” Tommy looks from you and back to Joel, not able to make a decision.

“Tell me.” It isn’t a question but a demand. Not like you’re in a place to be demanding answers, but you deserve them. All the secrets Angela and her men kept left you vulnerable and in a dark place. And for fuck’s sake, you deserve to be told things.

Joel steps in and saves Tommy from the decision. “S’okay, Tommy. She has a right to know.” His dark eyes flick over Tommy and then back up at you, and they look a little softer when he’s specifically looking at you. “Some of the buyers. Tommy was able to track ‘em down. He was able to help shut down another auction last night, and some of the same men that were at yours were there.”

You stand there stunned and wide-eyed like you’re frozen to the wooden floor. Even… the blonde one?

Before you can ask, Tommy steps in. “Wasn’t jus’ me. My brother here helped. And some of our other men.”

Joel helped. But he was here? How could he…

“What umm—what happened?” you choke out. You can barely speak. Too stunned to barely even blink.

“Was able to take some of ‘em into custody. Got some of our other workers watchin’ ‘em. Makin’ sure they don’t see daylight again. Not until Joel—well, steps in.”

You drag your tongue gut wrenchingly slow over your bottom teeth and just stare with a locked jaw ahead at Joel. His eyes are the color of honey, fluorescent onyx swirling in those stormy eyes. But they’re still so fucking soft. Even though his jaw is clenched and his dark eyebrows are knit together.

He always looks at you so fucking soft. It’s hard not to just sink to the floor even though your heart is in your throat thinking about those filthy men.

“What guys exactly?” you grind out through your teeth.

Joel’s jaw clenches, his broad body becoming stiff and upright in the leather chair, palm raking heavily over his mouth. His dark, sad eyes tell you enough. He doesn’t even have to say anything for you to know who exactly he’s talking about. But you hold your breath nonetheless.

“The blonde…” he whispers out, his deep voice barely making a sound. But you hear it like a loud, booming crash of thunder as he nearly knocks you back two steps.

The blonde… the man that couldn’t fucking keep his hands off you. And those piercing blue eyes that dragged scars down your body.

Fright. Pain. Memories. You feel everything all at once. Suddenly, you don’t feel brave at all.

And then there’s Joel who’s looking at you like the lost kitten that you are.

“What about Angela or Garrett?” you spit out quickly, your hands trembling as every syllable scratches the surface. Their names feel like fire on the tip of your tongue.

“Haven’t been able to track ‘em down yet, sweetheart,” Joel sighs, his palm skimming over his patchy beard, brown eyes in a far away place.

“You mean they’re still out there somewhere…” you mutter, tears pricking at the back of your eyes just threatening to spill.

“S’alright. We’re gonna find ‘em. And when we do, you’ll be the first to know,” Joel confirms; Tommy nods beside him.

You and Joel continue watching each other, eyes never leaving one another. He looks like someone just stole the last piece of pizza from a box and tossed his dog out in the street. He looks just as wrecked as you do.

Lost. Abandoned. Betrayed.

You can’t seem to keep your footing, so you grab onto the railing of the staircase to keep yourself up. “I’m just—I’m going to go lay back down again.”

Joel gives you a nod, understanding hitting his dark brown eyes. He doesn’t want you to go back up just yet. “You gonna finish your pancakes?”

“Lost my appetite,” you shrug, your grip tightening against the smooth railing so you don’t fall back and crumble to the floor.

He looks at you for a good five seconds and nods, his jaw flexing slightly like he wants to reach out, but he doesn’t. “Alright, sweetheart. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay,” you shutter as you start to climb the marble steps.

“It was nice to meet you, darlin’. Take care now,” Tommy yells, but you don’t even stop to say goodbye to him because the tears come swimming in your vision.

By the time you get to your room, your eyes are heavy and blurry as tears stream down, tunneling your vision. You throw yourself against the sheets and get lost in the memories all over again.

There you are like a pretty diamond on display, men drooling and catcalling you as you cross the polished stage. And then the blonde’s hands are on you, his hot breath blowing down your breasts, hand sliding up the skirt of your dress, dipping underneath your lace. But Joel stopped him before he could go any further.

Joel stopped him.

You cry all over again from the night of the auction, the past hundreds of days you’ve been trafficked from state to state, not even knowing where you were most of the time. And then there was that house. That fucking rundown house where you were used and abused with the rest of the girls. Some didn’t even make it out alive…

You stay in the room the rest of the day. Mostly in bed. Except when you drag yourself up and force yourself to brush your teeth, wash your face, run the brush through your messy tangles. You need to do something other than rot in that big, comfy bed but for now, that’s exactly what you’ll do.

When 9:00 p.m. rolls around and the full moon is high in the sky, twinkling lights shining through the open window, Joel materializes in your doorway. Blue flannel buttoned up, hands deep in the pockets of his denim jeans, his greying curls disheveled, a concerned look on his tanned face. But the thing you notice is the jangle of keys in his pocket.

Why does it look like he’s leaving?

“Joel?” You yawn, rubbing the sleep from your tired eyes as you sit up.

“Hey, sweetheart. You still up?” Joel leans against the doorway, biceps flexing beneath his flannel, the black Rolex on his left wrist glistening under the dim hall lights.

“Mhm. Still up. Barely.” You yawn and push yourself up to where you’re leaning against the intricate headboard with gold flecks splashed into the dark wood.

“Listen, there’s somethin’ I gotta take care of tonight. Should only be gone for a few hours but—”

You flinch at his words and swallow the lump that’s forming in the back of your throat. He can’t just leave. Not in the state you’re in. “You’re leaving me here? All alone? What if—”

He shifts his weight and takes a step forward, barely breaching inside your room. “S’alright. Maria, Tommy’s wife, is gonna come over while I’m gone. Didn’t think you’d be comfortable bein’ alone, and she was my next best thing. If you’re okay with that.”

You sit there tumbling his words over again in your head, repeating what he said. He’s not leaving you alone with a man but a woman. He thought you’d be more comfortable that way. Even though you don’t know her, Tommy was nice enough, or so it seemed. And if Joel trusts Tommy enough to be around you, then you think you’d be okay with Maria.

“I think so,” you muster out.

His chocolate eyes soften, and the crow’s feet pull tighter as a small smile spreads across his mouth. “Good. That’s good.”

“Where are you going?” you ask, cocking your head to the side as you watch him stiffen up at the question.

“Jus’ ‘bout forty minutes south of here. Shouldn’t take me too long.” He doesn’t answer specifically what he’s doing, but you have a feeling that it involves the blonde man that haunts your dreams.

“Is it dangerous?” You shift in the sheets and pull the velvety blanket tighter under your chin.

“Not tonight it ain’t.” He hesitates a little, and that makes you wonder if he’s not telling you everything because he doesn’t want to set you off again.

“Only a few hours?” you ask softer, voice low as your stomach twists and turns.

“Only a few,” he confirms.

“Okay.”

He hooks his thumb around one of his belt loops and pushes his other hand through his tousled curls, his brown eyes never leaving yours. There’s something heavy in his stare, but you can’t quite place what it is.

“Well, go on and get some rest, sweetheart. Shouldn’t be much longer until Maria gets here. I’ll introduce you before I leave for the night. But for now, I’ll let you sleep.”

You sink back under the sheets and get comfortable, the nightlight plugged into the wall the only thing glowing except the dim lights in the hall. As he turns to walk out, you stop him. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” He turns and smiles, and you can’t help but to feel a little flutter in your heart. He really has a beautiful smile.

“Promise me you’ll come back.” Your eyebrows thread together in concern, fingers curled firmly under the sheets.

“I promise,” he nods, flashing you another smile. There’s no lie in those brown eyes of his.

“Okay.” You give him a tight-lipped grin and let out another yawn, sleep about to take hold of you once again.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He pulls the door closed and when it shuts with a soft click, you call out goodnight too.

In another half hour Maria gets to the house, and you get a brief introduction with her. But sleep is all you can think about, except for Joel leaving. You don’t want to think about that, so you fall back into bed and force yourself to succumb to the darkness. Maybe when you wake up then Joel will be back home.

Please, come back.

Joel makes his way into the private warehouse, one that’s small and tucked away north of Austin. No one ever lurks around these parts. If they did, Joel would know instantly because there’s cameras all around the perimeters.

The metal door slams closed as he stalks in, pushing past empty boxes and wooden crates that sit scattered next to dusty shelves. He pushes himself forward deep into the warehouse, close to the back where he knows the fucker is at. He’s going to fucking rip his icy blonde hair from the scalp and kill him for what he did to you and every other girl he’s gotten his filthy hands on.

Blood boils like lava in his veins and his hands are fisted at his sides, ready to finish what he should’ve that night of the auction. One punch wasn’t enough. Not when he was defiling you like a dog.

Joel hates him and everything he stands for. But tonight, Carter Williams wouldn’t get away with what he’s done. No. Joel would end him.

The dim lights overhead pop and flicker, anger brimming in his blood-red eyes. When’s the last time he got a full night’s rest? Not since he rescued you. No. He’s been too worried sick over you.

God. He’s never going to get the memory of how absolutely terrified you looked that first night. Won’t ever get the image of your pretty eyes filled with tears, blood running down your soft skin all because he wouldn’t call you a whore and wouldn’t dare ask you to get on your knees.

Goddamn it. He won’t ever forget that. He wants to strangle every single fucking person that ever gave you that mindset. Wants to completely ruin them for making you feel like all you were worth was for getting used and abused by disgusting men.

You’re not any of those things they made you believe. You’re a beautiful, broken woman that needs time to heal and fall in love with life again. He’ll help you get there as much as he can. He thinks he’d do just about anything for you and those big doe eyes.

Fuck. He’s going to break every single one of them. Starting with Carter.

As Joel rounds the corner and kicks a metal pole forcefully, he comes face to face with Carter. The fucker that’s going to die tonight.

His hands sit bound behind him tightly. Wrists, ankles, and chest restrained around the cold metal chair with sharp-edged rope. Blonde hair is slicked back with a tinge of blood perspiring down his sweat-drenched forehead. His stormy eyes widen when he sees Joel appear before him like a dark shadow.

“You!” Carter accuses, glowering at Joel who lives a double life night after night. “You were the one at the auction!”

Joel crosses his arms across his broad chest and smirks, eyes darkening as he focuses on the man that caused you pain. It makes his fingers twitch from anger. “I was.”

“Let me go, man! I didn’t do anything wrong. You’ve got the wrong guy,” Carter shouts, twisting in his confines, thinking he can escape his restraints. He’s not getting that lucky tonight.

“Didn’t do anything wrong, huh?” Joel asks, raking his fingers slowly through his patchy beard, trying to hold on for just one more second before he explodes with rage. He chuckles and shakes his head in unbelief, and then he throws a punch against Carter’s jaw. Blood spews from his mouth and lands across Joel’s button-up, but he could care less at the moment.

“Shit! What was that for?” Carter chokes out, a purplish, red tinge bruising his now swollen face.

“That’s for touchin’ what doesn’t belong to you,” he scowls, jaw locked tight like a hidden safe.

“Oh, I see. This is about that bitch you bought,” Carter spits.

Joel jumps as fast as lightning and grabs Carter by the throat, his hold firm as he squeezes just enough to get his point across. “Call her that one more time and see what happens,” he warns, glaring at the pathetic man who got caught.

Carter gasps for air the second Joel releases his hold and howls out a raspy laugh that sounds like poison to Joel’s ears. When he finds his voice again, he smirks like the bad guy that he is. “Go on then. Do your worst. I’ve already seen her on video. Legs spread, tight pussy being fucked by some—”

Joel takes the back of his hand and smacks him across the cheek so hard that blood spews from his mouth. “I said shut the fuck up!” he screams, his angry words echoing around the walls of the stuffy warehouse.

He’s going to fucking kill Carter. One more word and he’ll end it with the snap of his finger. He just needs that tiny push over the edge. One more revolting comment about you and his life is over.

Hell, it is already over.

Joel paces back and forth uncontrollably in front of the man whose face looks like it’s been through a bar fight. His hands clenched into tight fists at his side, jaw locked, narrowed eyes that could kill with a single stare. He’s livid, way over the edge of being angry. He could kill a whole goddamn room of traffickers and buyers at this rate. If more were here, they’d be finished.

Carter rudely interrupts Joel’s chaotic thoughts and murmurs lowly. “Is she really worth the trouble, man? What? You gonna beat me to death because of her? She’s not worth it.”

“She’s worth everything!” he shouts, his deep growl echoing around the room. He can almost feel his blood boiling beneath him like he’s already on fucking fire.

“So, this is what it’s about? You want to ruin me because I tried ruining her,” he chuckles darkly, like he has no remorse in any stiff bone in his body.

Fucking bastard.

“It’s part of it,” Joel says with a clipped tone, his fingernails digging into the denim of his pockets like he’s about to rip them clear off.

He needs to calm down, but he can’t. Not when he’s in the presence of a beast who tried to dig his claws into your delicate skin. So, he won’t be calm. He’ll be chaotic instead.

“Don’t act like you know me,” Carter shakes his head, tendrils of smeared red strands falling over his cloudy eyes.

“Oh, I fuckin’ know you alright. Read up on your filthy past,” he growls. “How many women have you taken? How many have you kidnapped, raped, murdered? How many did you fuckin’ wreck? More than ten, you son of a bitch,” he storms, kicking over an empty bucket and cursing under his breath when he walks off the pain that spreads like wildfire through his foot.

“Was worth it, and I’d do it all over again,” Carter replies with a smirk.

That does it. Something snaps inside Joel. Hard. A feral growl leaves his throat and then he’s jumping in front of Carter, his hand wrapping tightly around his neck until he sees red flash in Carter’s dead eyes.

“You sick fuck. You know what I do to men like you?” he screams, wrath swirling off his tongue and making his fingers curl extremely tight around Carter’s pale skin.

Carter hacks violently under Joel’s grip. He’s only able to get dry coughs and garbled words out until Joel backs off just enough to where he can speak. “What, kill them? Go ahead. Fucking kill me. It won’t make a goddamn difference because there’s one of me all over these states. And the trafficking isn’t going to stop with me. The buying isn’t going to stop. It’ll keep happening over and over and over again.”

Joel fists Carter’s short locks until he’s cringing in pain, snarling a pit bull glare into his piercing blue eyes that are laced with pain.

“Well, it ain’t gonna hurt when you’re dead and buried six feet under the ground!” Joel says with bared teeth, blowing hot air into Carter’s clenched face.

“You can’t save all of them, you know. You can’t save her.”

That strikes a nerve in Joel, a sharp ache stabbing him directly in the middle of the chest. He drops his tight hold on Carter and takes a step back, eyes blown wide with guilt.

He couldn’t save them all. He didn’t… he couldn’t. He couldn’t save her. But through all the pain that’s flaring in his body, all the lost souls that he’ll never be able to avenge, one thing still rings clear. He saved you… when he couldn’t even save himself. But he still saved you.

He takes a deep breath and lets out a long sigh, holding back tears he refuses to shed. He’s not a weak man, but he’s so weak for you.

“I have to try…” he whispers, his voice broken and muddled against the slight echo and dripping sounds from the leak in the ceiling.

For a moment it’s silent, only the screaming voices in his head breaking the stillness. He almost forgets that Carter’s there, until he hears his choppy voice gritting against his eardrums.

“You’re going to fail, you know,” Carter whispers, taunting him again with the rasp of his throat.

“What did you say?” Joel asks, whipping around to face the blue eyes of a killer. A killer he’ll surely strangle to death.

“You’re going to fail her. You’re going to fail her so hard that she goes running when you try to fix her. She’s beyond repair, and you know it,” he spits out, smirking like a madman who’s lying through his bloody teeth.

“No, she ain’t,” Joel snaps, eyes narrowed and fists clenched at his sides.

“Yeah, she fucking is. You know how many men fucked and abused her? Do you know what her handlers put her through? Do you know how many women she’s seen murdered right in front of her eyes?”

“I fuckin’ know enough! So jus’ stop! Jus’ shut your fuckin’ mouth!” He’s way past angry. He feels feral with the need to choke this man out just to silence him enough to where he won’t hear how broken you really are. Joel knows this. He knows the unimaginable pain you’ve been through. The abuse, the torture. They tried to fucking destroy you, and this fucker was one of them.

“I was going to give her a nice home, you know. Yeah. Was going to treat her real nice. Like a brand new dog. Maybe teach her some table manners. Bitches always get on their knees before their meal is served,” Carter chortles with wicked eyes. Eyes that could burn icy flames out of those hellish blue pits. But Joel would burn them out first. Maybe jab a knife through his skull. He wasn’t about to let Carter win this war.

“Fuckin’ stop,” Joel warns with a deep scowl, teeth clenched as he fists the front of Carter’s blood-soaked shirt.

He slips the semi-automatic handgun from the back pocket of his jeans and triggers the safety off. His arm darts out as he shoves the barrel of the gun to Carter’s sweat-soaked forehead, daring him to say one more goddamn thing about you. He swears he’ll shoot. He won’t even flinch. Not when it comes to protecting you.

He only needs one fucking reason to blow Carter’s head off, but he has more than enough reasons now. “I swear to God if you don’t stop—.”

Carter gives Joel a devious smirk as he watches Joel’s finger hover over the trigger. He knows Joel won’t hesitate. He’s just pushing him to the edge until he snaps.

“You want me to stop? Not until you hear all the filthy ways I was going to fuck—”

“I said enough!” Joel seethes, anger taking over every single nerve ending in his body until he completely snaps. He pulls the trigger and watches the bullet fly through Carter’s forehead, spewing blood all over the front of Joel’s button-up, sloshing droplets of crimson on his wrinkled forehead. He’s too worked up and furious to even care.

He’s fucking wrecked.

He steps away from the pool of blood at his feet, teeth bared as he clicks the safety on, sliding the gun into his back pocket once again. But this time, blood is smeared across the metal barrel, reminding him of the mess he just made.

His head is fuzzy, shapes foggy, and he’s got a raging migraine that could take him to his knees in an instant. He needs sleep, needs to wash off the blood of the day, bask in the darkness where he lingers most sleepless nights. He needs to get a handle on this grief that eats him alive night after night. But he can’t. And ever since he took one look at you, his mind has barely thought of anything else.

Scared. You were so fucking scared. The way you walked sheepishly across that stage, high heels dragging while you held back muted tears. And in that moment, he wanted to kill every goddamn man in that room of sinners.

Isn’t that what he’s doing now? Avenging you and every other girl those vile men did unspeakable things to. He’s going to fucking…

“Joel?”

Joel’s name pulls him out of the fog just long enough to realize Jimmy, one of his workers, was calling his name.

“Clean up this mess. I can’t be here right now. Gotta get home,” Joel replies quickly, voice strained as he clenches his jaw tight.

“Sir, you good?” Jimmy tries again, dark eyes trying to read Joel.

“I’m fine. Call me when you’re done here. Make sure no trace is left.” He walks out of the room, passing a few of his other workers until he’s making his way out of the stuffy building, letting the door slam behind him with a bang.

Once he’s in his truck and turning the key in the ignition, he slams on the gas and makes a run for it, leaving behind the giant mess he just caused. Carter was going to end up dead either way. Joel just decided he couldn’t stand another fucking word out of that bastard’s mouth.

He clenches the leather steering wheel so tightly that he leaves claw marks in the black material. A hand rakes slowly down his patchy beard, trying his best to alleviate some of the rage, but nothing helps. Maybe seeing that you’re sleeping peacefully tonight might help him calm down a bit. Maybe just maybe you’d be the cure to his never-ending suffering.

When he pulls up in the long driveway and kills the gas, he hops out and rushes to the front door, barely stopping at the bottom of the stairs to even say hi to Maria. Right now he just needs to see you. Needs to make sure you’re still breathing, still in one piece, still alive.

“Whoa there. Everything go okay?” Maria asks as she shoots off the leather couch and paces toward Joel, a look of worry flashing across her wide eyes.

“As good as it could’ve,” Joel rasps, wiping the dried blood from his forehead.

Maria looks him up and down, taking in the stained flannel and tendrils of messy curls that stick to his sweaty skin. “By the looks of your shirt and your face, guess you got him.”

He nods, letting the ice settle deep in his bones. “I got the son of a bitch alright,” he growls.

Maria stares at him with concern swirling in her dark eyes, her body stiff as she folds her arms over her chest to take a good look at him. As if she’s just seen death in his hazy eyes. “Hey. You alright? You look—”

“Tired? That’s ’cause I am,” he sighs, lacing his fingers back through his dark locks.

But the wavering stare she gives him makes it seem like tired isn’t the word she was going for. Defeated might’ve been a better word. Because right now that’s exactly how he feels.

Destroyed.

“I’ll just get out of your hair,” she murmurs, leaving him with a light pat to the back of his shoulder. But before she can grab her keys off the coffee table, he stops her.

“Maria, wait. Thank you. For watchin’ her for a few hours.” He gives her a tight-lipped smile, and she nods back in return.

“It was no trouble, Joel.”

“How is she?” he asks, letting the stuffy air settle while she shifts her weight on the wooden floor.

“She’s sleeping. She’s fine,” she confirms with a smile.

He lets a puff of air leave his lungs, thankful you’re safe and sleeping.

“Good. That’s good. Thank you, again. I really appreciate it, Maria. I know it was last minute and all.”

She presses a palm into his bicep, giving it a light squeeze, letting him know it’s all fine. “It was really no problem, Joel. Whenever you need me to come back over, I won’t even hesitate.”

Joel nods in thanks, letting her walk toward the front door. But before she decides to leave, she turns and leaves him with one more thing. “She’s a lovely girl, Joel. Nice, sweet, a little shy. She’s lucky you found her.”

His spine goes stiff, a lingering sensation crawling up his skin, bubbling its way into his brain. She’s lucky you found her.

“Yeah… she is.”

“Well, goodnight. I’m going to head back home to Tommy. I’ll see you later.” She makes her way out the door, the lock clicking in place once she’s gone.

“Night, Maria…” he finally croaks out, throat suddenly tight as he hears the creak of bed springs and a tiny whimper float down the end of the hallway upstairs.

He rakes a hand slowly down his patchy beard, sighing as he climbs the marble staircase. He’s prepared for another restless night, knowing you’ve been having nightmares every single night since you’ve been here. Every single time he makes sure to check on you, wake you from your violent nightmares. And every fucking time you wake up with bloodshot and tear-soaked eyes, it makes him want to wrap you in his arms until he can soothe the nightmares away. But he can’t. He just can’t.

When he makes it up the staircase and down the hall, his foot hits a particularly creaky spot in the floor, and he curses under his breath when he hears you shift in the bed and stir awake.

“Joel?”

Fuck. He didn’t want to wake you. He didn’t want you to see him like this. Looking just as much of a monster as Carter did.

The blood. It’s going to fucking terrify you. And that’s the last thing he wants. You to be scared of him. He doesn’t want you to fear him because he’d never ever hurt you. Never dare lay his fingers on you without your consent. He’d rather chop his own hand off with a dull blade.

But you’d still be scared either way. Blood or not.

He takes a deep breath and spins around, hovering in your open doorway and giving you a strained smile. “Hey, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine. I was just…” You gasp, eyes wide and wild as you take in his bloodied flannel and disheveled hair. “Your shirt. The blood. Are you hurt?” You look scared, worried, and it makes his heart clench at the sight. You don’t need another thing to worry about. He’ll be fine, even if he doesn’t feel fine.

“Nah. It’s—not mine,” he stills, fingers clenched around the stained material.

You knit your brows together, studying him closely as you analyze the splattered blood stains on his cotton material. “Whose is it then?”

He flinches, not wanting to tell you what he did. Even if Carter deserved a thousand deaths, each one worse than the other, he doesn’t know how you’ll respond to this. He doesn’t want you afraid.

He takes another deep breath, inhaling as much oxygen as his lungs can take in. Because in the next moment, he might not have any left.

Carefully, hesitantly he lets his raspy voice choke out. “Oh. It’s ummm. It’s the blonde’s blood…”

You still, eyes blown wide, mouth dropped open like you’ve just been shocked by lightning. Your body becomes stiff, as stiff as a wooden board, fingers curling nervously against the lavender comforter. You look lost, wading off into the distant sea, waves carrying you far far away until he can’t reach you anymore. Until the sea swallows you whole.

Damn it.

“Oh. Oh… I see,” you whisper out, jaw tight as your eyes travel up to his.

Jesus. Those fucking sad eyes. It could bring a man to their knees. They’d bring him to his knees.

“What was his name?” you ask hesitantly.

“Sweetheart. I don’t think—”

“Tell me,” you plead adamantly. “Please...” Your voice is a breath of a whisper, just loud enough to stir a hurricane inside his hollow chest.

And then he breaks as a wave of grief washes over his slack jaw.

“His name was Carter,” he finally says, breath shaky as his eyes momentarily fall to the dark wood, until he’s looking right back at you and those fucking eyes that are full of fear and hurt.

“So he’s dead?” you ask muffledly, your features frayed as you contemplate his answer.

“Yes,” he confirms, his blood-stained shirt suddenly feeling too suffocating and tight, like someone is trying to strangle him to death.

Another beat of silence falls over the dark room casted in shadows, ghosts of green trees swaying in the moonlight behind the glass window that overlooks the slumbering forest.

You lick your bottom lip slowly, fingers twisted against the sheets, your eyes looking vacant and lost as you contemplate. “How many—how many women.”

He knows exactly what you’re asking. How many women has he hurt, killed, mutilated to shreds.

“More than a dozen…” he says calmly, his fists tight at his sides as the flash of a bullet and blood invade his thoughts.

You slowly nod and curl in on yourself, your knees folding into your chest, blanket tucked up under your chin, your eyes vacant as he sees your trembling form relive the past all over again.

He can’t see you like this. Like you’re being tortured all over again. Like there’s not a single thing he can do right at this moment to make you feel better. He wants to wrap you in his arms, tell you it’ll be okay, that no one will ever hurt you again. He wants to take the pain away from you; suck it all out so he can carry the burden instead of you.

You… how could they ever hurt you? You’re too… special. They took everything from you. Took every last fucking piece until you were left on the floor like a broken vase, glass shards unrecognizable until all the glitter and shine was scraped off and covered in dirt. They wrecked you, and he fucking hates them for it.

Diamonds aren’t supposed to break or lose their shine. They’re meant to be treasured, taken care of, meant to never be broken. But you… you’re so very broken. And all he knows at this moment is that he’d do anything to see you smile again. He’d do anything to put all the shattered pieces together until you’re sparkling like glitter even in the darkness.

“Are you… okay?” he asks hesitantly, like he might crack you like the spine of a new book if he talks too loudly.

“I’m… yeah. I’m okay,” you reply with a muted response, lips quivering, tears licking at the edges of your waterline. You’re not okay. You’re far from okay, but you put on a brave face anyway. Even if you’re lying through your teeth. You want to be okay, so that’s what you say. Maybe if you let the words fall off your quivering lips then you’ll believe them.

But he knows the truth. You’re fragmented and defeated. This much he does know.

When you look up with tears welling in your eyes, he freezes, jaw clenched as he stares at the face of a woman who had her entire life ripped from her own hands. Hands that were never meant to be ripped open and scarred from filth and grime. Your life was never theirs to take, but they took it anyway.

Your big doe eyes sear into him, splitting him in two until he feels pain radiate down his chest, suffocating his insides like oxygen is being stolen from his lungs.

Stop that. Stop looking at me like you want me to fix you. Like you want me to wrap you up in my arms until all the pain is gone. That’s what he sees when you look at him like that. Like you want him to make it all just stop. Drown the noise out until you can’t hear the world tilt on its axis anymore. Until you just feel peace.

He wishes you wouldn’t look at him with those beautiful doe eyes, your held back tears making them glitter in the moonlight. God, he’s never seen such big sad eyes. Eyes that could make a grown man crumble into tiny pieces by both heartbreak and awe.

He can’t fix you, can’t make the pain stop, can’t wipe your memories from the hell you’ve managed to survive the past almost two years. He can’t even… fuck. He can’t even hold you the way you should be held. Gentle, tender, affectionate. That’s what you deserve. And he can’t fucking do that because you’re so traumatized and fragile that even one light caress would send you into an unbreakable panic attack.

He just… cares. He cares a lot. And there’s nothing much he can do except slowly show you how good life can be again. He just wants to see you smile. And that’d be enough. That’s honestly all he wants — you happy again. He knows you can bloom. And one day you will. Just like a pretty sunflower that thrives in the giant Texas fields.

One day you’re going to be that sunflower. And he’ll be there to see you blossom and sprout.

They might have cut down your stems, ripped out your strong roots, destroyed your green leaves, crushed your beautiful bright petals. Making sure to kill everything that was good inside you, but Joel would replant you. He’d watch you grow until you bloomed into the most lavish garden he’s ever seen in his entire life.

You’re going to thrive. One day at a time, you will get your petals back. He’ll put his life on that promise.

The weight of your heavy stare and the thick fog that hangs in your room makes him dizzy, makes him a little off kilter every time you flash your teary eyes his way. He can’t see you cry. Not right now. Because then he’d want to wrap you so tight in his arms that all your pain would fade away. But he can’t do that, and he knows it. So, he’ll do the only thing he can before he breaks in two himself.

Leave. Not the perimeters of the house, just your stifling room.

“I’m gonna jus’—go lay down. You know where to find me if you need me,” he mutters under his breath, his hand finding the edge of your solid door until your shaky breath stops him cold.

“Joel?”

He can barely turn his head, too afraid that if he looks at you one more time tonight that he’ll finally crack. “Yeah?” he chokes out.

“Thank you…”

One more look at your starry doe eyes and he’s gone.

His hand finds the cold doorknob while he gives you a tight-lipped smile and gently closes the door behind him. Your wide doe eyes will surely haunt his dreams tonight. If he even gets any sleep. He thinks he won’t, even if his body is screaming at him, wanting to drag him down until he sees nothing but the backs of his dark eyes.

When he finally releases his hand from the doorknob, he stops in his tracks, back suddenly rigid when he hears the faint sounds of your voice cracking, finally letting the tears shed from your eyes. The sound nearly takes him to his knees.

He slides down to the ground, back flush to the closed door, sinking lower until he’s sitting against the hard floor feeling completely defeated. He feels as if a large anchor got thrown down on him, chaining him to the cold wood, imprisoning him to hear your muffled cries through the cracks in the walls.

He’s so fucking weak. Every part of him is telling him to run into your room, take the pad of his thumb and wipe the tears from your eyes, hold you against his firm chest until you’re quiet and calm, until he can rock you to sleep and take every ounce of pain you feel.

But instead, he sits there like a fool with his head hanging low between his thighs, elbows resting on his aching knees, fingers lacing roughly through his mess of greying curls. He needs to get a grip on himself, needs to find just one speck of courage to drag himself to his room. But he finds none, letting the grief and despair chain him right against your door.

He can’t stay like this forever. Can’t stay glued to this spot where he can hear you cry yourself to sleep. But he just can’t shake how scared and vulnerable you looked the moment he told you about Carter. Or yet, even just the look on your face when he walked over and you asked if he was hurt.

He is hurt and he feels a sharp blade slicing straight down his spine, opening him up and cutting out his nerve endings until he can’t feel the weight of those sad fucking doe eyes.

Your pain is now his because he feels everything that you keep bottled up inside. Just like spilled perfume, he’ll soak you up until your pain is no more. He’ll swallow all of it like a spoonful of cough syrup until every last drop is gone.

After half an hour of sulking on the floor, your cries die out, and then you’re sound asleep, escaping your pain for just a little while. Until the nightmares run rampant. So, he drags himself to his room, doesn’t even bother shedding his clothes, too tired to do anything but sleep. And when he falls into his bed, he instantly passes out and lets the pain swallow him whole.

The last words he hears echoing in his head are ear splitting. You can’t save all of them, you know. You can’t save her.

But he’ll try. One way or another, he promises to save you.

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