#max pain data

[pucksandpower]

Racing Hearts

Lando Norris x cardiopulmonary technician!Reader

Summary: you’ve had a way of making Lando’s heart race since the moment he met you

You glance down at your clipboard as your next patient walks into the exercise physiology lab. “Lando Norris?” You ask, looking up with a smile.

The young British man grins back at you. “That’s me!”

“Excellent! I’m Y/N, I’ll be your technician today. We’re just going to do a simple cardiopulmonary exercise test to get some baseline numbers before the start of the season.”

Lando nods, looking around the lab curiously. “No problem, happy to be poked and prodded in the name of science and fast cars.”

You laugh as you gesture for him to take a seat. “Don’t worry, I promise to be gentle,” you joke. “I’m just going to put some electrodes on your chest to monitor your heart rate, then we’ll get you on the treadmill for the test.”

“Sounds good,” Lando says, settling onto the exam table.

You start placing the sticky electrode pads across his chest and ribs, trying not to blush at his shirtless state. Formula 1 drivers really are fit underneath those racing suits.

“So how’s preseason training going?” You ask conversationally as you work. “Think McLaren has a chance this year?”

Lando grins. “I’m feeling good! Me and the team have been putting in a lot of hard work over the winter. I’m definitely aiming higher than 6th in the championship.”

You smile as you finish placing the electrodes and motion for him to stand. “That’s the spirit. Alright, hop up on the treadmill and we’ll get you moving.”

Lando steps up onto the machine and you start it up slowly, increasing the speed in measured increments. “I’ll take you up to a brisk jog, then we’ll keep you there for about 10 minutes while I monitor your heart rate, breathing, and oxygen levels,” you explain.

“Sounds gucci,” Lando replies with a thumbs up, his breath starting to quicken as the treadmill pace increases.

You make sure the electrode leads are secure, then step back to observe the incoming data on the computer screen. Lando’s lean legs stride smoothly along the treadmill belt as you keep a close watch on his vitals, making notes on your clipboard. After a few minutes, you frown slightly at the heart rate readout. It seems unusually elevated for an elite athlete like Lando, even at this moderate jogging pace.

“How are you feeling Lando?” You call out. “Everything okay?”

“All … good,” he huffs out, face flushed from the exertion.

You hesitate, glancing between him and the concerning heart rate values on the screen. “It’s just that your heart rate is a bit higher than I would expect,” you say slowly. “Are you feeling any chest pain or tightness?”

Lando shakes his head. “No, no, nothing like that. I feel fine!” He insists breathlessly.

You bite your lip, still frowning. “Your heart rate is quite high though, over 85% of estimated max. For an experienced athlete I would expect values closer to 70-80% at this pace.”

“Oh … yeah, maybe it’s a bit high,” Lando acknowledges, starting to breathe harder. “But don’t worry about me, I’m fit as a fiddle!”

You reach over to slow the treadmill slightly. “Let’s bring the pace down a bit. I’m concerned about these heart rate readings. We should really have you checked out by a cardiologist before the season starts.”

Lando grabs the front handrails, shaking his head stubbornly. “No, no that’s not necessary, really! I’m fine, just maybe didn’t warm up enough.”

You give him a skeptical look. “Lando, as your technician I have to advise getting this looked at. Your heart rate is elevated beyond normal parameters.”

Lando chews his lip, glancing away evasively. “Um, well … maybe there’s a reason for that.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “What do you mean? Like a medical condition you haven’t told me about?”

“No, no nothing like that!” Lando says quickly. He mumbles something under his breath you can’t quite make out over the whir of the treadmill.

“Sorry, what was that?” You ask, leaning closer. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“Oh, uh … it was nothing,” Lando mutters, face reddening further.

You stop the treadmill completely so you can hear him better, folding your arms over your clipboard. “Lando, if there’s something I should know that’s affecting your test results, you need to tell me. As your technician, I really think we should get your heart looked at just to be safe.”

Lando locks eyes with you for a moment, hesitation written across his features. He mumbles again under his breath, so quietly you can’t discern the words.

You hold his gaze firmly. “One more time, please. It’s really important that I understand what’s going on so I can interpret these results accurately.”

Lando breaks eye contact, looking down at his feet. He kicks lightly at the motionless treadmill belt, before finally whispering. “It’s you, alright?”

You blink in surprise. “Me? What do you mean?”

Lando glances up at you briefly, his face now tomato-red. “You’re … the reason my heart rate is high,” he mumbles.

You stare at him in confusion. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

Lando groans, covering his face with his hands. “Because … I really fancy you, okay?” He admits, the words muffled into his palms. “You’re just … totally gorgeous and sweet and it makes me nervous and … my heart rate goes mad around pretty girls I like.”

Your eyes widen in understanding, feeling your own cheeks flush bright pink. “Oh! Oh ...”

Lando peeks out at you between splayed fingers. “Yeah, so that’s why it’s high. Not because I have some underlying heart condition.” He gives you a sheepish smile. “Just because my technician is really fit.”

You let out an awkward laugh, suddenly feeling shy. “Wow, uh … I’m flattered, Lando. I didn’t realize ...”

Lando drops his hands from his face, looking at you earnestly. “Sorry, is that weird? I know we just met and you’re doing your job.” He fidgets with the electrode wires across his chest. “Don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

You smile warmly back at him, feeling butterflies in your own stomach. “Don’t be silly. It’s not weird at all. Honestly, I, uh … also think you’re really cute,” you admit with bashful grin.

Lando’s eyes light up. “Yeah?” A wide, delighted smile spreads across his face.

You nod, laughing softly. “Yeah, I may have been trying not to blush myself with you shirtless here in my lab.”

“Well I’m certainly not complaining about the view either,” Lando says cheekily.

You smack his arm playfully. “I’m being professional here!”

“And doing a great job,” Lando says, smile softening. “But maybe once we’re done with all this boring medical stuff … we could get dinner? If you want?” He looks at you hopefully.

Your heart flutters with excitement. “I’d really like that.” You smile at each other giddily for a moment before you clear your throat. “But first, we really should finish your assessment properly.”

Lando laughs, nodding. “Of course, you’re the boss!”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Alright, hop back on the treadmill. And this time just focus on your breathing and try not to make eyes at the pretty technician,” you tease.

“No promises there,” Lando quips with a grin as he steps back onto the belt.

You just smile and shake your head as you start up the machine once more, unable to keep your own heart rate from quickening in anticipation of what promises to be a very special dinner date after the test is complete.

***

Several Months Later

You glance down nervously at your paddock pass as you make your way through the crowded paddock. As an unofficial member of Lando’s training team now, you have full access to the exclusive behind-the-scenes world of Formula 1. But despite months of dating the British driver, the glamorous circus still feels surreal.

Dodging golf carts and important looking people with headsets, you head for the McLaren garage. Lando had told you to meet him there before the start of the race. Your heart flutters, as it always does at the thought of seeing him again.

“Y/N!” Lando greets you brightly as you enter the garage. Engine roars echo around you as mechanics make final tweaks to the cars before wheeling them to the grid.

“Good luck today!” You tell Lando, leaning up on your toes to kiss him sweetly.

“With you here, how can I lose?” He grins down at you. His energy is infectious.

You chat together as the cars are lined up on the starting grid, Lando bouncing excitedly in his race suit. You squeeze his gloved hand. “Be safe out there.”

“Always am, love.” He winks before pulling on his helmet and climbing into the cockpit.

You make your way back to the McLaren hospitality suite to watch the start of the race. Your heart pounds as the lights go out and the F1 cars launch forward in a roar of engines. Lando makes a clean getaway, slotting into P5 heading into the first turn.

The race unfolds smoothly, Lando maintaining his position in the top five. You watch tensely on the monitors, hands clenched.

But on lap 38, disaster strikes. Heading into a fast sweeper, the Red Bull of Sergio Perez attempts a risky overtake maneuver on Lando’s inside. They collide in a shower of carbon fiber and a plume of smoke.

You gasp sharply as Lando’s car spins off into the gravel trap, coming to rest against the barrier at an abrupt stop. The McLaren crew monitor the radio channels anxiously.

“Lando, are you okay mate?” His engineer asks urgently.

“Yeh … I’m okay ...” Lando’s labored voice comes back. “Bit winded but I’m alright.”

You breathe a deep sigh of relief along with the crew. The medical car is quickly dispatched to the scene. Lando climbs unsteadily from the battered car, sitting down in the gravel trap as he awaits assistance.

Your adrenaline surging, you take off from the garage the moment you see Lando is out of the car safely. Jogging through the paddock, you make your way swiftly to the medical center.

As you rush in, Lando is just being helped onto an examination table by two medics. He’s dusty and sweaty, his hair sticking up at all angles from where he pulled off his helmet. But otherwise he seems intact.

“Lando!” You hurry over, emotions welling up at seeing him battered but in one piece.

“Y/N, hey ...” Lando greets you with a weary but reassuring smile. He reaches for your hand which you clutch tightly.

One medic cuts away the top of Lando’s racing suit, placing electrodes on his chest to monitor his heart rhythm. You hover anxiously as they check him over.

“Heart rate is quite elevated,” the doctor frowns as he reads the monitor. He glances between you and Lando with concern. “Any chest pain or tightness?”

Lando huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. He looks up at you, his green eyes glinting. “Nah, doc. She’s the reason for the fast heartbeat.”

You feel your cheeks flush as Lando grins. The medic looks confused.

“See, ever since Y/N came into my life, she’s made my heart race a mile a minute,” Lando explains cheekily.

You smack his arm but can’t help laughing too. Trust Lando to still be flirting from a hospital bed.

“Ah, young love,” the doctor chuckles. “Well, your heart may beat for her, but let’s still do a full check to be safe.”

Lando nods agreeably, though his gaze stays fixed on you. He winces slightly as they palpate his ribs and abdomen, checking for injuries.

You cling to his hand, emotionally drained from the scare but overwhelmed with relief that he seems okay. Lando keeps stealing glances at you through the examination.

Finally the doctor steps back. “All done. Amazingly, you’ve escaped with just some bruising. No breaks or internal injuries. You were lucky today.”

The medic packs up his equipment. “Get some rest and ice those sore spots. But overall good news. No reason you can’t race in two weeks’ time.”

“Phew, that’s a relief!” Lando says. He thanks the doctors as you help him down from the table.

Arm wrapped supportively around him, you make your slow way out of the medical center towards the McLaren motorhome.

“Thank you for being here,” Lando murmurs, leaning his head on your shoulder as you walk.

You kiss his dusty hair. “I’m just glad you’re okay. You scared me to death out there!”

“I know, sorry about that, love. It happened so fast.” He lifts his head to look at you sincerely. “But I’m alright. Just grateful to have you by my side.”

You stop, turning to face him fully. Reaching up, you caress his cheek gently. “I’ll always be right here by your side.”

Lando’s eyes shine. “Is it cheesy to say you make my heart race in the best way?”

Laughing softly, you pull him into a tender kiss. For this brief moment, nothing else matters but the two of you.

Lando sighs contentedly when you eventually pull back. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

You squeeze his hand, smiling up at him. “The feeling’s mutual. Now let’s get you rested up. I want my favorite driver back to full fitness ASAP.”

With his arm wrapped warmly around your shoulders, you’re reminded that no matter what challenges life brings, your hearts will keep racing together as one.

***

It’s a quiet night and you and Lando are cuddling in bed together after a long day. Lando’s arms are wrapped securely around you, your head resting comfortably on his chest. His fingers idly trace delicate patterns along your back as you lay pressed close, breathing in sync.

Though it’s late, you can tell Lando’s mind is still wide awake, trailing far from the coziness of your shared bed. His pensive silence prompts you to prop yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him with a curious smile.

“Penny for your thoughts, love?”

Lando blinks up at you before giving a small, distracted smile. “Oh, it’s nothing really ...”

You raise a knowing eyebrow. “Lando, I can always tell when something’s on your mind.” You brush a lock of hair back from his forehead tenderly. “Talk to me?”

Lando chews his lip, eyes darting away evasively. Finally he lets out a long breath, arms tightening around your waist. “I guess … I’ve just been thinking about when I picked you up earlier today.”

You think back to the afternoon when Lando swung by your lab after work like usual. “What about it?”

“Well, when I pulled up out front, I saw one of your patients leaving the exercise center,” Lando explains. His brow furrows slightly. “Some tall, muscular bloke in running shorts.”

“Oh, that was probably Brandon — he’s a sprinter I had in for VO2 max testing,” you reply casually before pausing. “Wait … you’re not jealous, are you?”

“No! No, of course not,” Lando says quickly. But the way his eyes shift away makes you think otherwise.

You frown slightly, snuggling closer against his chest. “Lando, you know you have absolutely no reason to be jealous. I only have eyes for you,” you murmur reassuringly.

Lando sighs, arms tightening around your back. “I know, I know. It’s stupid ...” He trails off, looking conflicted.

You lay a comforting hand along his jaw. “Talk to me, love. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Lando meets your earnest gaze, emotions swirling in his eyes. “I just … I wonder sometimes why you picked me, you know? You meet guys like that every day. And I’m just ...” he shrugs self-consciously.

Your heart squeezes at the vulnerable admission. You tenderly stroke Lando’s cheek. “Hey … you listen to me. You’re the only one I want. All those other athletes are just patients to me. But you ...” You smile down at him adoringly. “You’re the one who makes my heart race with just a look. The one I want to spend all my time with. The one I love with my entire heart.”

The corner of Lando’s mouth lifts in a faint, tentative smile at your words. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely,” you whisper fervently. Leaning down, you capture his lips in a sweet, loving kiss. “You’re my once in a lifetime, Lando. My soulmate. Meeting you was destiny.”

Lando’s arms wrap tightly around you again, the last of the tension fading from his frame. “I’m sorry I got all insecure like that. I know I’m being silly.” He presses an apologetic kiss to your hair. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You nuzzle your face lovingly against his neck. “You were just yourself — that funny, charming, incredible guy I fell for the moment we met.” You lift your head to meet his eyes again. “I never stood a chance. My heart was yours from the start.”

A smile breaks across Lando’s face at last. “I really am the luckiest bloke in the world, aren’t I?”

“Damn right you are,” you say teasingly, making him laugh. Your expression softens. “But truly, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. My heart only races for you. It always will.”

Lando’s eyes gleam with renewed confidence and adoration as he rolls you both over so he’s hovering above you. “Well in that case, what do you say we get your heart racing again?” He murmurs playfully, brushing his nose against yours.

You grin up at him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I’d say you’re on.”

Lando’s smile widens as he dips his head to meet your lips in a passionate kiss. Your pulse immediately quickens at his touch, heart thrumming as you arch up into him.

When Lando finally pulls back for air, his eyes are dancing. “Yep, definitely racing,” he laughs breathlessly, lifting your hand to his lips to kiss your pulse point.

You shake your head in amusement, heart overflowing with love for this man. “You’re the only one for me. Today, tomorrow, and always.”

Lando’s smile softens to something tender and reverent. “And you’re my once in a lifetime, Y/N.” He brushes his thumb along your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper. And as his lips find yours again, you let yourself get lost in his kiss, your racing hearts beating as one.

[aleskie]

hiii! i was wondering if you could write max verstappen going through a difficult year between racing and his newly growing family? some angst about how reader can’t handle if he ever had an accident he can’t come back from / “do you even think about us?” kinda thing so he internally struggles between racing and family, but ultimately decides that being their for his family is more important than (sounds corny) any trophy or championship.

HI ANON! Thanks for the request!!! This was super fun to write and i know it's not exactly the ask but i hope u like it hehehhe :>>>>>

THE PROMISE | Max Verstappen x Reader

Warnings: None, happy ending??? There's no pronouns used but like it's implied reader is afab :>>

Your mother always said that making the baby was the easy part. The fun part. 

Carrying them, though? Having them? That was hell. The pain, the exhaustion, the way your body felt like it didn’t belong to you anymore. The sleepless nights, the hormonal swings that made you feel like a stranger in your own skin. Sure, there were moments of joy—feeling that first flutter of movement, hearing their heartbeat for the first time—but nothing about it was easy.

And raising them? Raising them was a whole other battle. The endless nights of rocking, of pacing, of shushing. The way your body ached with fatigue, your arms heavy from holding them for hours, your heart just as heavy when their cries didn’t stop. The moments of frustration, of helplessness, of wondering if you were doing any of it right. 

But then—then there were the milestones. The first roll, the first steps, the first words, tiny victories that made it all worth it. Watching them become a person, watching them laugh at things that only they found funny, watching them form opinions and preferences and little quirks that were uniquely theirs.

Yes, parenthood was hard. But it was also the best thing that ever happened to you.

And through it all, Max had been your anchor. He was there, gripping your hand so tight during labor that his knuckles turned white. He was there, whispering encouragement, his voice steady even when his eyes were wet with tears. He was there, cradling your daughter like she was made of glass, promising her the world in a voice thick with love. He was there, sitting through hours of interviews to find the perfect nanny so that you two could have time together—because he knew that mattered too. He was everything you needed in a husband, everything your daughter needed in a father.

And then the crash happens.

You were at home, keeping an eye on your daughter as she stacked her blocks, her tiny fingers carefully placing one on top of the other, her tongue peeking out in concentration. The television was on in the background, the familiar hum of the commentators filling the room. You weren’t watching too closely—you never did anymore. You’d glance up now and then, check the leaderboard, watch a particularly intense overtake, but you didn’t let yourself get caught up in it.

Then it happened.

At first, your heart only gave the slightest stutter. It wasn’t anything new. Max had crashed before. He would crash again. It was part of the sport, part of the risk, part of the life he had chosen—the life he had bled for since he was a child. You had known this going in. When you first fell for him, when you first tangled your lives together, he had made it clear: this was not something he would ever walk away from.

So, you learned. You learned the language of the sport, the rules, the strategies. You learned how to read the data, how to pick apart his post-race frustrations, how to hold him after a bad finish and remind him that there would always be another race. And you learned to live with the ever-present ache in your chest, the one that flared up every time something went wrong.

But this time, something felt different.

He didn’t get out. Not fast enough. Not like before.

Your breath hitched as the seconds stretched unnaturally long, your fingers tightening around the edge of the couch. He was moving—that was good. He wasn’t trapped. But his movements were sluggish, uncoordinated. When the medics arrived, he didn’t wave them off like he usually did. He let them help him. When he finally climbed out, his legs wobbled, his posture slumped, his hand pressing against his head as if trying to steady the world.

But he was alive.

You exhaled, long and slow, grounding yourself in that fact. You’d talk later. You’d let him come home, let him shake it off, let him tell you in his own time what had happened, how he felt. You’d sit with him, listen, remind him that he wasn’t alone in this. But for now, he was alive.

And that was enough. That had to be enough.

You’re washing the dishes when you hear the front door creak open, the heavy thud of a suitcase settling against the floor. Footsteps follow—soft, familiar, hesitant. Then his arms wrap around you, warm and grounding, the familiar scent of the paddock and faint traces of cologne still clinging to his clothes.

You exhale, leaning into him, letting his presence melt away the tension in your shoulders. Carefully, you peel off the dishwashing gloves, placing them on the counter before turning in his arms. The moment you do, you bury your face in his chest, listening—just listening—to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He holds you closer, his grip tightening as if he needs this just as much as you do.

“You watched the race,” he murmurs, his voice quiet but certain.

“I did.”

“Did she see?” There’s something cautious in his tone, a hint of guilt. You know he never wants your daughter to witness him like that—vulnerable, shaken, hurt.

You let out a soft chuckle, the kind that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “She was too busy playing.”

A silence settles between you, thick yet comfortable. You tilt your head up, reaching a hand to his face, fingertips ghosting over the faint stubble on his jaw before cupping his cheek. You trace him with your eyes, mapping out every detail—the precise shade of blue in his eyes, the faint crease in his brow, the way exhaustion lingers at the corners of his lips. Memorizing him, just in case.

His hand comes up to cover yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m right here,” he says softly. “You don’t have to worry.”

Your brows pull together as a quiet sigh leaves your lips. “I’m always going to worry,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I worry all the time.”

And he doesn’t argue, doesn’t tell you not to—because you both know that would be a lie. Instead, he just holds you tighter, as if that alone could keep the worry at bay.

“It was different this time, and you know that,” you say, stepping back, putting just enough space between you to breathe.

“Was it?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, a quiet challenge.

“You didn’t get out of the car, Max.” The words come out sharper than you intend. You inhale, trying to steady yourself, fingers threading through your hair in a feeble attempt to keep your hands from shaking. “If you heard the sounds—”

“I think I know what sounds I made,” he interrupts, his voice tight. “I was there.”

“Then you should understand why I’m like this.”

He exhales, shaking his head. “Baby, we’ve talked about this.”

“But not like this!” The frustration spills over before you can stop it. “Not with her in the conversation.”

His eyes flick toward your daughter’s room, just for a second. It’s brief, subtle, but you see the flicker of concern, the way his jaw tightens.

“Max, you know I understand. You know I’ve accepted it. You know I stayed despite every risk of losing you.” You close your eyes, inhaling deeply before speaking again, softer this time. “But she doesn’t know yet. She doesn’t understand yet. And I—”

The words catch in your throat. Saying them out loud makes them real, makes them a possibility you don’t want to face.

“I don’t want to raise our child without a father.”

The moment the words leave your lips, his expression shifts. The fight drains from his eyes, replaced with something softer, something that aches. He moves before you can step away again, hands cupping your face, thumbs brushing over the tears welling in your eyes.

“You won’t have to,” he says, voice firm but gentle. “I’m good at what I do. Today was a fluke. It won’t happen any time soon.”

“But it might,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “And I don’t know what I’d do if—”

“Shhh…” He silences you, pulling you against him, as if holding you close is enough to keep the worst from happening. “Nothing is going to happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t,” he admits, and then tilts your chin up so you meet his gaze. His face is open, earnest, full of the kind of love that wraps around your soul like armor. “But I can promise to do everything I can to be here—to watch her grow, to walk her down the aisle, to grow old with you. I can promise that.”

“I can’t lose you,” you whisper.

“You won’t. Ever.”

You search his face, letting his words settle into the spaces where fear still lingers. His hands are steady, his eyes unwavering, his love for you and your daughter woven into every syllable of his promise.

It doesn’t erase the worry, doesn’t silence the what-ifs that creep in when the nights are long and the house is quiet. But it does remind you of something just as powerful—he’s here. He’s trying. He’s choosing you, choosing her, choosing to fight for a future where he stays.

So you let yourself believe him. Just for tonight.

[theemporium]

[5.6k] an attack in the winter break leaves max reeling as he tries to cope with a new and furrier version of himself. the world seems to think mad max is returning to them but your presence says otherwise.

[find other fright night specials here]

.

It had been a completely normal day when Max Verstappen had his whole life changed. 

Or as normal as it could be on a cold, wet January day in England during the winter break.

The run up to the season had been weighing down on everyone’s shoulders, last minute tweaks and changes and updates being made in hopes of making a car that will continue to dominate the grid. The factory has been busy, day in and day out. With less than a month until the car launch, it felt like everyone was working themselves to the bone to get the car ready. 

Max was no different. Though, it was less about data sheets and car parts for him, and more about practising on the sim until he was beating the previous laps he set. He liked having feedback to give to the team, he liked feeling like he was contributing to the early mornings and late nights. He liked feeling useful to the team. 

He ignored most of GP’s warnings about running himself down on the late nights, waving the older man off with a smile and a promise he wouldn’t stay much later. And it was partially true, he didn’t stay too late. 

No later than you did. 

Because if there was someone equally as determined and dead-set on giving this car everything they had like he was, it was you. 

It had become a routine between the two of you on those late nights where you were the only ones left in the factory. Max would finish up at the sim, make his way towards your office on the other side of the factory where he would walk you to your car, chatting your ear off about anything other than engineering and cars and data to help get your mind off work. Even if it was for a few short minutes. 

There were some days where the two of you would sit in one of your cars for a bit, to just talk. Other days, one of you was too tired to drag the night out further. It varied but it all fit the norm.

Just like that day. 

The flickering street lights accompanied you both as you made your way towards the car park, with Max nodding and laughing along to some story you had been telling him about one of the other engineers. At first, he thought he had imagined the growl—one of those instances that could be brushed off with wind and bushes and the darkness around them that made everything look a bit scarier. 

But then he heard it again. And he saw a flash in his peripheral vision. And next thing he knew, a large beast appeared out of thin air and was heading straight towards you and Max’s body reacted with pure instinct and quick reflexes to shove you out of the way before the beast tackled him to the floor. 

It was a blur after that. 

Hot, searing pain exploding through his body. Blood roaring in his ears. His heart pounding so fast in his chest. The white dots blurring his vision as he tried to turn his head away from the beast. The glimpses of fear and horror on your face before his vision had gone black. 

The biggest concern at that moment was whether or not Max would be okay. If he would be able to compete at the start of the season. If he would be able to continue at all. If the public would somehow find out and expose the story before Red Bull could even prepare a statement. 

The beast was the last thing on either one of your mind’s that night.

But when Max woke up the next morning, completely unscathed with only his bloody, ripped clothes as a reminder of the previous night. The two of you knew there was more to that beast than a normal animal attack, that you were dealing with something beyond your imagination. 

Max Verstappen didn’t expect to go into the next season worrying how in loving fuck he was going to balance being a Formula One driver and being a werewolf. 

Despite what critics and idiots behind a phone screen like to think, Formula One was a very physically taxing sport. Max had spent the better part of his whole life giving his body to training and endurance so he could compete at the level he does. Most athletes are more in tune to their bodies and their wants and needs than the average person, and Max was one of them. He knew his body. He knew his limits. He knew strengths. He knew his weaknesses. 

That knowledge was completely useless when he became a werewolf. 

One attempt at a workout and a dented metal bar later told Max that this whole werewolf thing came with a lot more setbacks than he realised. He understood pretty quickly that this wasn’t something he wanted to get out to the general public. He didn’t know how it would be perceived—hell, he wasn’t even sure how he perceived it. 

But someone had to know. He couldn’t hide it for the rest of the season. 

In the end, a few select people in his team knew about his lycanthropy and they worked together to keep it hidden from everyone else. 

It was a mindfuck working with Rupert to sort out a whole new workout plan, to evaluate his newfound strength and other abilities, to learn his body all over again at the age of twenty-seven. It was weird having to explain to GP, a man who he considered his brother, that he was no longer the man he was before the winter break—that he was hardly a man at all, anymore. It was fucking weird having to look you in the eye and see the conflict of emotions on your face whenever you saw him, whenever you replayed the way he saved you from the same beast that created him. 

It was fucking weird. 

But he could learn. Resilience and perseverance were two traits Max learnt at a very young age. He didn’t give his whole life to this sport just to throw it away because of his newfound—and unwanted—lifestyle. He refused to let it ruin more than it had. He was a werewolf but that didn’t mean he was going to give everything else up. He would deal with his lycanthropy like he did with other problems in his life—privately and out of the spotlight. 

He just failed to realise that something could risk that privacy. 

And he failed to realise it would be his own short temper that could possibly expose him. 

…

Preseason testing taught the team a lot about the car. 

Yet, all Max was learning was that the car was shit, the media were nosy and his patience was nonexistent with every human interaction he had outside of the team garage. He could feel his skin prickle whenever a camera was pointed at him or a microphone was shoved in front of him or his name was called out. 

He thought the glare on his face would be enough to keep people away but it was wishful thinking. He was the reigning world champion and he was driving, what was seeming to be, a hopeless car. It was a journalist’s wet dream.

“Your eyes.”

Max clenched his jaw, ripping the balaclava over his head. “I’m not glaring.” 

“Not that,” GP hissed, trying to pull Max to the side, away from the cameras peering into the garage. “Your eyes.” 

Max huffed. “Stop talking in fucking riddles, mate.” 

“They are yellow,” GP whispered frantically. “Like your—“

“Fuck,” Max groaned, snapping his eyes shut as he let out a deep breath. “Fuck, what? Why? It’s not a full moon. It shouldn’t—”

“There’s a lot that shouldn’t happen with you that does,” GP pointed out, feeling the glare from Max behind his closed eyelids. “We need to get you out of here.” 

“They will see,” Max replied. 

“Put your helmet on.” 

“Yeah,” Max snorted. “Because that won’t be fucking obvious.” 

GP sighed. “Well—”

“What’s happening?” 

Despite not being able to see you, Max still turned his head towards you, almost instinctively. He could feel your hand on his arm, warm and comforting and—

“His eyes look like glow sticks,” GP muttered. 

“So he says,” Max bit back, because he was annoyed and pissed off and GP was the easiest target. 

“He’s trying to help,” you scolded lightly, your thumb swiping back and forth, almost passively like you didn’t realise what you were doing. “Let me see.” 

GP straightened. “That’s risky—”

“Let me see.” 

Max let out a shaky breath, slowly blinking his eyes open until you came into focus.

“Blue,” you said with a soft, reassuring smile. “They are blue now.” 

Max’s shoulders dropped with relief. 

“Get him back to his driver’s room before it happens again,” GP murmured. 

Max bristled, a looming realisation that he was essentially being grounded by his race engineer making his skin feel prickly. But he couldn’t disagree, it was already a close call with his eyes flashing in the garage. He didn’t need the cameras catching it either. 

“If anyone asks, we will say Helmut lost his mind and made you wear contacts whilst you drive,” you teased, keeping your hand on his arm as you waited for him to grab his things. 

Max huffed out a laugh. “I’m sure he will like that.”

“You’ll protect me,” you grinned back at him. 

And yeah, Max would. 

…

The next close call happened after the season had started. 

The car had been improved since the shit show that was the preseason testing weekend, but it wasn’t all that great either. Max knew it was a process, knew the team were reaching the point of getting the car to a truly competitive and dominant state. It just took time and he just needed to be patient. 

But patience wasn’t something Max had a lot of these days. 

All in all, a podium wasn’t bad with the state of the car currently. However, Max knew that the media would be ready to push back, to insist the reigning world champion should be on the top step and not the third, that he should have all the answers to his own failures. 

He could feel it. 

He could feel the shift in his gums as his canines pushed through, pushed against the confinement of his helmet. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He could hear the crowd booing over the blood roaring in his ears. He felt like the whole world had been dialled up to a hundred the second he stepped out the car after pulling up behind the number three sign. 

He could feel it. 

He could feel the way his team reached out for him. He could feel their hands patting his back like it didn’t make his whole body tense. He could feel their hands patting his helmet like it didn’t make his head feel like it was spinning. He could feel their hands reaching to hold his neck, to bring him closer, to suffocate him more. 

He could feel it. He could feel it. He could—-

“Another trophy to add to the shelf?”

Max’s head snapped around to see you on the other side of the barrier, headset still around your neck and a smile on your face that made the third place feel a little less pathetic. 

“Probably hidden in the back,” Max managed to mutter out, somewhat muffled by his helmet and the chaos around you both.

“Surprised you have enough space,” you joked, teasing and lighthearted and so distracting that Max almost didn’t feel the way your hand covered his gloved hands, the way your thumb swiped over the tips of his fingers. 

He hadn’t even noticed his claws retracting, hadn’t even noticed them ripping through the material of the gloves in the first place. 

“Oh,” was all he could say.

“I’ll take care of it,” you assured him, not risking any more with so many people and cameras and microphones. “Go enjoy the podium.” 

“You’re gonna stay here?” Max asked, something in his chest twisting at the idea you would have to run off back to the garage, to the screens and data sheets and computers and away from him.

“I always do.” 

…

It took a few months into the season before a race weekend aligned with a full moon. 

Truthfully, it hadn’t even been a risk that Max considered which, in hindsight, was probably pretty stupid. It should have been one of the first things on his mind the second he realised what he was. It should have been a top priority after his first full moon, somewhere in late January—a night full of pain and discomfort, an experience Max didn’t want to repeat but knew he would have to. 

Ignorance was bliss and all that jazz. 

Yet, it was the Canadian Grand Prix where Max found himself battling more than just the championship that weekend.

He was lucky enough that it wasn’t a night race but that didn’t change the fact he was snappy all weekend, more so than usual. He was irritant and annoyed and perpetually fighting the growing pain through the weekend as it got closer to the full moon on Sunday night. 

GP asked if it was safe for him to even race in this state.

Max, honest to god, snapped his teeth at the older man in response. 

It was tense and suffocating in the Red Bull garage.

No one seemed to question Max’s awful mood any more than it was expected. A few people poked and prodded but the gritted, sharpy responses they received in response was enough to make most people back off. It was being played off as jet lag, a bad quali session and a grid penalty that didn’t feel all that deserved. 

Max was adamant he could race and deal with the full moon. He wasn’t going to let it ruin his career, the sport that he loved and adored and had given his life to. He wasn’t going to let it get the better of him, even if that meant just being snappier than usual to the media. 

And despite GP and Rupert’s concerns, Max was coping well. 

Until lap 57 happened. 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH HIM?!” 

“Max, stay calm.”

“I’M FUCKING LAPPING HIM! IS HE FUCKING STUPID?” 

“Max,” GP tried again but his voice was a muffled buzzing in his ears, hardly coherent over the anger and adrenaline and rage rushing through him. His body was acting on muscle memory alone as his car dragged on, as it crawled into the pits before he rushed back out. 

He refused to listen to GP telling him to retire the car. 

He refused to let that fucker in the Alpine think he could fuck his race and get away with it.

He refused—

“He’s growling,” GP hissed, hand covering the microphone and his voice dropping as he leaned over to where you sat on the pit wall beside him. His lips barely moved, not with the way the cameras were laser-focused on him and his reaction to Max disobeying the orders that were broadcasted to everyone watching.

“Fuck,” you muttered, pulling your headset off and reaching for his. “Hand it over.” 

GP frowned. “I don’t think this is going to work—”

“Trust me,” you insisted. 

Conflicting emotions swirled in his eyes before he ripped his headset off, muttering something under his breath before he handed it to you. 

“—FUCKING DICKHEAD JUST—”

“Max?” 

There were a few moments of silence and, for a brief moment, you wondered if the connection had cut. You wondered if he had somehow disconnected the radio from his side, you almost turned to ask GP if it was possible to do before you heard his heavy breathing. 

“I know you’re upset,” you continued, taking the chance and hoping he was listening. “It was a bad move. But you’re a good driver, a great one even. You can save this race. I know you can. Focus on the racing, not the rest.” 

Your words were careful and precise, painfully aware that the radio messages were probably being broadcasted. You knew whatever you said would be picked apart by the media and public, dissected under a microscope. But despite your caution, your only focus was making sure Max was okay. 

“Breathe and win,” you said, your eyes watching the racing feed on the screen in front of you. “I know you can.” 

It was completely silent beyond the sounds of the car until—

“I can. I will.”

You bit back your smile. “Good. I want to see you on the top step, Verstappen.” 

He did, in fact, go on to win the race. The celebration with the team was postponed as he spent the night in aggravating, uncomfortable pain—alone, suffering, excruciating. He refused to let any of you stay with him, to see him in that state, just like he did every full moon since the attack. 

But he still won and that was something nobody could take away from him. 

...

Despite his success in Canada, it was clear the outbursts and frequent accidental exposures of his wolf were becoming a problem. 

It was something he needed to get better at controlling if he wanted to continue the way he was, if he wanted to keep his lycanthropy away from the greedy hands of the journalists. This was his life now, it was something he had to accept and learn and grow with. 

It was just a little hard to do when he didn’t know how.

“This is stupid.” 

Rupert sighed, ignoring the glare Max was currently staring into the side of his head as he continued to hook the heart monitor onto him. “It is no different to when we do this for your training.” 

“Except this time you are purposefully pissing me off instead of torturing me,” Max bit back.

“We want to help,” GP corrected, leaning against the wall opposite of him. “You need to learn how to control the wolf side of you.” 

Max scoffed. “Maybe people should stop being stupid then.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” GP snorted before getting a nod of confirmation from Rupert that they were ready to go. “Okay. We are going to start easy, alright?” 

Max nodded. 

GP glanced down at the laptop in front of Rupert that had Max’s current heart rate showing before looking back at the driver. “Following the incident with Pierre Gasly in the Canadian Grand Prix, do you think you should be more careful when lapping cars?” 

Max let out a noise of disagreement. “What the fuck? Why should I be careful? It’s not my fault he is slow!” 

“I’m sure the PR team will love that response,” GP deadpanned, watching as Max’s heart rate started to speed up. “The stewards deemed it a racing incident.” 

“And the stewards are fucking stupid,” Max snapped back. “I was lapping him. I had priority. Everyone knows that. It’s their job to know that too.” 

The heart rate continued to increase and GP could have sworn he saw a flash of yellow in Max’s eyes.

“Max, control it,” Rupert reminded him.

“I’m trying,” he gritted out.

“They are going to keep poking, Max,” GP continued. “They did it before and they will do it again. They will push and push and push until they get the reaction they want, the one that fits their agenda.” 

Max growled in response. 

“I know you’ve seen it already,” GP said, listening to the beeps of the heart monitor get faster and faster. “Mad Max is back. He is unpredictable. Unhinged. That’s the story they want and that’s the one you are giving them.” 

Max’s breaths were getting heavier. “They don’t know—”

“Exactly, they don’t know,” GP pointed out. “And we don’t want them to know so you have to learn how to control it before you wolf out on them. Before you let them win.” 

His eyes were bright and glowing and yellow, a flash of sharp teeth under his curling lip as he growled and snarled and—

“I’m here! I’m here! Sorry, I’m late, I was getting coffee. Did we start yet?” 

It was like a flip had switched. 

GP and Rupert watched the scene in front of them like it happened in slow motion. The way Max seemed to perk up at the sound of your voice. The way the glowing eyes and sharp teeth seemed to slowly morph back to the Max they knew. The way the rage and anger and frustration was nowhere to be seen by the time you walked into the room, a tray of coffee and a bag of pastries in each hand. 

You stood there, watching the three of them stare at you with mixed expressions. “What? What did I miss?”

“Interesting,” GP commented. “Very, very interesting.” 

…

“You like her.” 

Max let out a string of curse words, almost knocking the mugs of hot water over before he put the kettle down and turned to face his race engineer with wide eyes. Heightened senses aside, he didn’t hear GP sneaking into the kitchen. Or even realise he had been watching Max mutter away to himself for the last five minutes.

“Fucking hell, mate,” Max grumbled, placing a hand on his chest. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“And don’t change the topic,” GP retorted with a knowing look. “You like her, don’t you?”

Max hated the way he could feel the tips of his ears start to burn. “Like who?” 

GP raised his brows in response. 

Max deflated, his shoulders dropping. “Look, I know what you’re going to say—”

“I think she’s good for you,” GP interrupted.

Max blinked. “Okay, maybe I didn’t know what you were going to say.” 

“She’s your anchor,” GP noted, his lips twitching upwards. “I had my suspicions but today confirmed it.”

“Anchor?” Max repeated with a frown. “Mate, is that not a news thing? She’s an engineer—”

“No, I—” GP let out a deep sigh, muttering something under his breath. “God give me strength. I mean that she helps ground you, helps you differentiate Human Max and Wolf Max.”

“Oh,” was all Max managed to mutter out.

“She’s good for you,” GP repeated with a soft smile. “And she understands you. Maybe if you tell her, we can work something out and—”

“No.” 

He frowned. “No?” 

“No,” Max repeated, blunt as ever. “I’m not telling her anything and neither will you.” 

GP’s frown deepened. “Max—”

“No, you don’t get it. She…” The boy trailed off, swallowing harshly as he tried to voice his thoughts. “You didn’t see what happened that night.” 

“Max—”

“I saved her,” Max stated. “I saved her and she’s only here because she probably feels guilty. I…I don’t want to tell her and make her feel like she has to feel the same because I almost died or something.” 

“You liked her before,” GP pointed out. “Is it so hard to believe that maybe she felt the same? That she cared about you way before you jumped in front of a werewolf for her?” 

Max clenched his jaw. “Drop it. I’m not telling her and neither are you.” 

GP sighed but he knew it was pointless to fight the stubborn boy over it.

“And she doesn’t find out about this anchor nonsense,” Max added, turning around and busying himself with the mugs on the counter. “We’ll find another way.” 

…

GP’s words about you being his anchor rung on a loop inside his head as the next race weekend approached. 

The Spanish Grand Prix was always quite a hectic one on the schedule. The fans were wild and passionate. There was usually more of a buzz around the world championship by this point, an insight into a real fight after nine races. And it brought back good memories, wanted memories of his first ever race win.

It was a reminder why he was here, why he kept coming back every weekend. He wanted to race and he wanted to win and he wanted to be successful. He wasn’t going to let the lycanthropy stop him. 

And even if he would never admit it, GP was right. 

You were his anchor, you calmed the angry, rapid wolf inside him. It was like everything he felt around you when he was human was amplified. He felt seen, accepted. You took him for how he was, not how you wanted or expected him to be. 

You saw Max—not the racing driver or the face of F1’s current dominance. 

You just saw him. 

It was hard to feel anything but relaxed and calm around you, to know that his words weren’t going to be overanalysed or thrown back in his face.

“You ready for this race?” 

Max gripped his helmet a little tighter, fighting the urge to lean back against your touch as he felt your palm between his shoulder blades. He turned to look at you, smiling a little at the clear concern on your face. Like you were prepared to find a way to postpone the whole race if he said no.

“The car’s been good all weekend,” Max replied, biting back his laugh when you rolled your eyes.

“I wasn’t talking about the car,” you grumbled, scoffing. “Obviously the car is good. I was working on it.”

He beamed. “I’m good. Promise.” 

“You gonna win?” 

“For you? Always.” 

Max took deep satisfaction in the way your heart skipped a beat at his words. 

“I’ll be happy whatever you end up,” you told him earnestly, your hand squeezing his shoulder and he had the oddest urge to keep your hand there, to place his own over yours.

Max swallowed harshly. “But you deserve a podium so that’s what I’m gonna get you.” 

You laughed, the sound easing something in his chest. “You’re cute when you’re cocky.”

He barely got a chance to process your response as you headed towards the pitwall, prepared for the race ahead and leaving the boy glued to his spot, blushing like mad.

For what it’s worth, he did win the race. 

…

Things were going smoothly until the British Grand Prix.

Max had been able to keep the wolf inside him subdued and relaxed through the first two races of the triple header. He was racing well, he was being polite to the media, he was acting like the Max before the accident. 

And despite his history and previous experiences at Silverstone and the ever loyal British fans, he didn’t think things would be all that different this year. He would maybe get booed, maybe have a few more probing questions. But nothing more than that.

Nothing quite like this.

It was Friday when it happened. 

Max thought the worst of the weekend—media day—had been put behind him. He was ready to get back in the car, he was ready to make the triple header a three-for-three and win Silverstone. He was ready for a somewhat normal race weekend, one where the focus would be on the five Brits on the grid rather than him (especially with it being Ollie’s rookie season).

Sometimes, he forgot just how passionate fans could be. He forgot just how insane they could be too.

The whole thing felt like it happened in slow motion.

He was a few steps behind you and GP and Rupert, taking a moment to sign merch and take pictures with fans who had been waiting for hours. He assumed the group of you had made your way into the paddock, already heading towards the Red Bull motorhome. 

He hadn’t expected for the hair on the back of his neck to stand up, to feel his whole body react before his brain had. His head whipped around at the exact moment he saw the crazed fan reaching towards you. His body was moving as he watched the scene unfold, as they reached for the collar of your shirt and pulled, as their lips moved to mutter something about Red Bull and whatever nonsense they thought justified their attack. 

And before anyone could even react, Max was already shoving himself between you and the fan and ripping their hand away from you. He could feel his heart pounding, his body shaking, the telltale pain in his gums of his canines begging to push through. He could feel himself lose control as the anger and fear of seeing you hurt took over him. 

“Back. The. Fuck. Off.” 

The fan’s eyes widened, something quite like surprise and terror written across their face as they staggered back. Max had half the mind to wonder if his eyes were glowing yellow, if his face was starting to transform, if the crazed fan was starting to see the monster Max truly was.

“Max.” 

An honest to god growl escaped his lips until he felt warm hands wrapping around his biceps, until he felt someone pulling his body away from the fan and away from the crowd. 

“We need to get him out of here.” 

It felt like he had blacked out. One moment he was staring at the crazy fan, contemplating letting his wolf take over, to give into the anger and rage coursing through him. And the next he was in his driver room, his name being called on repeat and warm hands cupping his face as he slowly blinked back into reality.

“There he is,” you smiled, your voice a soft whisper as you kneeled in front of him.

“I–” Max started but he couldn’t get his words out. He couldn’t say what he wanted to say, not with his heart still pounding, not with the wolf inside him howling and whining and begging to check that you weren’t hurt.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you repeated like you could see inside his head, like you could hear the panic in his wolf’s howl. “Max, look at me. I promise I’m okay. You stopped anything from happening.” 

He tried to take a deep breath but it was staggered and wheezy. 

“I’m okay,” you continued to repeat, dropping one hand from his face to take his hand in yours and intertwine your fingers together. 

Max’s eyes flashed yellow once more before he clenched them shut, urging himself to calm down, to relax, to control his wolf again. And after weeks of being on top of his lycanthropy, it felt a bit pathetic that he sat there for god-knows how long, not trusting himself to lift his head and look at you until he felt human again.

“M’sorry,” he managed to rasp out.

“Don’t apologise,” you murmured, quick to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Please never apologise for being you.” 

Max let out a bitter laugh. “That wasn’t me—”

“Max,” you started but he shook his head.

“Did anyone see?” 

You took a few moments before responding. “No. Other than the fan but I don’t think they really knew what was happening. I don’t think any of the camera angles caught it either but GP is making sure the media team are ahead of that.” 

“Good,” he managed to mutter, swallowing harshly. “We don’t need anyone else seeing what a monster I am.” 

“Max,” and the way you said his name sounded absolutely broken. “You’re not a monster.”

His lips twitched upwards, almost self-deprecatingly. “You don’t have to lie—” 

“I’m not lying,” you said, a little more insistent this time as you lifted his head up to meet your gaze. “You’re not a monster, Max.” 

His chest tightened. “You’re just saying that because I saved you.” 

“No,” you shook your head. “I’m saying that because it’s what I truly believe. You are the furthest thing from a monster I have ever met.” 

Max could feel his voice waver as he spoke. “Not anymore. What I am now is—”

“Beautiful,” you whispered, smiling softly as your thumb swiped over the apple of his cheek. “Just as you’ve always been. Just as I’ve always thought you were.”

Max couldn’t quite find the words to respond.

“You saved me. And despite having every right to blame me for what you are now, what you’re having to suffer through every full moon, you don’t,” you continued. “Where most people would give up, you fought back. You took your life back. You’ve made it work, Max. Do you realise how fucking brilliant you are? You had to learn your whole body again and you’re still winning races like nothing changed.” 

Max let out a shaky breath. “I’d do it again.” 

“What?” 

“Even knowing what happened, knowing what was going to happen to me,” Max spoke, keeping his eyes on you, keeping his ears focused on your heartbeat. “I would push you out the way. I would jump in front of that wolf all over again.” 

Max wasn’t sure how you would respond but he hadn’t expected you to grab his face in your hands and kiss him. The tight feeling in his chest melted away the second he felt your lips on his, the second he was able to get his hands on you and pull you closer. He would’ve been embarrassed at the pleased rumble in his chest if it weren’t for the fact he was too happy to care. 

“I’ll make you see how beautiful that ‘monster’ in you really is,” you whispered against his lips, your nose lightly nudging against his. “No matter how long it takes.” 

Max was sure that he still had a long way to go and a lot more to learn before he could ever say he felt fully normal again. But the idea of facing the road ahead with you by his side felt easier than tackling it alone. 

He may still be Mad Max to everyone else but he was just Max to you. 

And if he was being honest, the opinion of his anchor was the only one he really cared about.

.

[cheriladycl01]

Against the clock - Pierre Gasly x Driver! Reader

Plot: You realize going into turn 12 of the Shanghai Circuit that your brakes aren't working that well. So what happens when they fully break going down the longest straight into a hairpin?

Y/N Radio: Y/N- Breaks are feeling loose Engineer- Copy that we are checking them now. Engineer- All seems fine, push it down the straight Y/N and you have a chance at a podium Y/N- And the car is okay? Engineer- Data says ...

Before anyone can react warning signals come all up around the car, your breaks had fully locked up and you were currently going over 200 mph down the straight of the Shanghai Circuit.

Y/N Radio: Y/N- Guys i cant do anything. I cant stop the car. I'm so sorry i...

And with that they heard and saw the crash of you skidding over the edging and your car flipping over into the bumpers. The sound of the crash was horrific and your engineer was panicked as he heard your grunt and whimper on impact.

Y/N Radio: Engineer- Y/N can you hear me? Are you okay? Engineer- Y/N Please are you okay? YN? Engineer- She's unresponsive! Horner in the Background- Keep trying to reach out to her while the medic gets there.

You were laying unresponsive in the car, half out of your seat and your head dangling down to the floor on your tilted car. However, the front half had snapped of and the engine was now leaking the racing fuel all down your suit. One spark from your car and you'd be toast.

Piastri Radio: Oscar- Was that Max or Y/N? Engineer- Y/N Oscar- Is she okay? It looks really bad! Engineer- Red Flag Oscar that's a Red Flag

You started to come too, you look around confused as to the position you were currently in. You grunted a strangled cry coming from you as you tried to move from the sheer pain coursing through your body. Tears come out your eyes in frustration of the situation.

You still couldn't breathe properly it was so labored and the balaclava and helmet weren't helping.

Gasly Radio: Pierre- Karel, is that Y/N in the Red Bull? Engineer- Red Flag Pierre Red Flag Pierre- Is it Y/N? Engineer- Come back to the pits Pierre- Fuck

You eventually had got yourself out of the car by crawling, under and around the halo. Someone reached in and helped grab you hand.

"Y/N are you okay?" the medic asks as he sat you upright on the floor and a shake of you head. You couldn't actually speak right now. Your hands shakily came up to try take your helmet off to help you breath better but your hands were numb and as your tried to peel the helmet off your hands refused to function.

"Help" you said in the quietest voice, what you didn't know what that there was a mic on the medic to pick up everything immediately to the ambulance that was on its way.

It was also going to the paddocks so everyone who could hear's hearts were currently breaking.

The medic pulled the helmet off her, the first thing he saw was the tears lining her face. But after inspecting further he could see red coming from the slit in her balaclava. He ripped it off the hair sticking to her wet and sweaty forehead.

Everyone could see from the pits and everyone was holding a breath as they watched a spaced out Y/N start to fall to the floor. Luckily the medic grabbed her in time holding her up. He inspected the place where her visor had cracked on her helmet and cut her across the cheek.

"Y/N Hey come on, wake up. Medic car is nearly here!" he says to you but your body had become dead weight.

In the pits each garage was as worried as the other.

In RedBull Max was beside himself, he saw you as a little sister and the fact that the crash was as bad as it was had him stood with Christian Horner rubbing his hands together. His headphones were around his neck.

In Mercedes, George and Lewis stood together talking, tears in George's eyes wondering if you were okay. Where you were close to Alex you would also hang out with George and you'd become close with him.

Next was the Ferrari Garage with both Carlos and Charles rewatching the crash with hands over their mouths, and similar vibes came from McLaren.

Pierre was sat down on the edge of his car, head in his hands while trying to listen to his engineer who came next to him.

"Tracks been cleared race is about to restart. Y/N has been taken to the nearest hospital"

"Okay" he says sadly getting back in the car.

All the fans could tell that everyone's minds were elsewhere, the reporters stuttering more as they continued commentating even through private live updates on you condition, and the mechanics were constantly checking their phones.

The race had finished and Pierre had come P4 just wanting the race to be over. Max had come P1 with Lando close behind him and George in P3.

He didn't wait around for the podiums, he went straight to you in the hospital. He saw your parents stood outside the room, they had clearly been crying and you mother was shaking her head at the doctor thanking him. She turned to her husband and cried into his chest.

Pierre however didn't know if this was from sadness or relief.

"Erm hello" Pierre says politely, walking up to them sheepishly.

"Oh Pierre, come here" you mother said pulling him into a hug. He accepted having know your family for a very long time, and he'd only got closer to them since you had started dating.

"Is she okay?" Pierre asks looking over your mothers shoulder to double check.

"Yes, she will be I don't think she'll be racing in Miami but she'll be back for Imola. When they brought her here they thought it was a lot worse, but you know what she's like" she smiles.

"Can i see her please" he asks.

"Of course hun, we'll wait here"

He walks into your room, seeing you sat there doing tests with the doctor where he was shining a torch in you eyes to check your responses.

"Y/N?"

"Pierre! Oh I'm so glad you here! How did the race finish they refuse to tell me! Did Max win!" you ask sitting up straighter seeing your boyfriend.

"Red Bull through and through" he shakes his head chuckling at you coming to sit on the edge of the bed.

"What do you mean baby?"

"You dont care where you boyfriend ended up?" he laughs looking at you in shock before you slam your hand up to your mouth.

"Look, I'm gonna blame the pain meds they've put me on. That shit is fire" you exclaim looking at the doctor who is looking between you and Pierre who is trying his hardest not to laugh.

"Well, Max came P1, Lando came P2 and Lewis P3. I came behind Lewis in P4" he smiles, thinking that despite the circumstances this was his best drive of the season.

"God, I'm going to have to crash more if your getting P4!" you laugh and he looks up shocked shaking his head vigorously.

"No way. I never want you getting in a crash again ma cherie. We were all so worried" he answers, pulling you in a little placing a light kisses on your head.

"I love you, P but I'm really sleepy" you admit, the meds starting to take affect and make you drowsy.

"I love you too"

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc

[askinkiskarma]

i just had an idea while talking with ai neteyam last night. What about human reader asking neteyam to make a "movie" together. Or else neteyam learning about porn thanks to one of the guy from the lab and asking reader if she wants to do one. ‼️

wait no cause Neteyam learning about human stuff does things to me and I need to write more of it for my own sanity. also i've discovered my fave trope to write is "people doing embarrassing things and other people catching them and the interactions that bloom thereafter". anyway, enjoy bestie x

ps: i'm probably going to have reached 1800 followers when this is posted so thank you besties ilysm smooches!!!

wc: 990 words

18+ minors dni

Neteyam was up and early today in the lab, too excited to see you and spend the day together to wait any longer. He was a bit disillusioned though, as he came and found you fast asleep in your bed, but despite the minor disappointment, he absolutely adored how relaxed and comfortable you looked as you were splayed like a starfish under the covers, your feet dangling slightly off both sides of the mattress.

He decided to keep busy for a while with the scientists in the lab. He essentially grew up with Norm and Max, a strange, peculiar constant in his otherwise all Na'vi lifestyle and he had his dad to thank for that. He loved them, they were like uncles to him, and despite how much he hated to admit it, there were certain things about humanity he liked, and certain things about humans he found... endearing. Clearly, he thought with a chuckle, mind wandering to you.

"Neteyam, good morning! You're here early today, is everything ok?" Norm had a big smile on his face and his predisposition brightened Neteyam's, who was suddenly happy to be able to spend a little one-on-one time with him.

"Everything's fine, just came to see her, but she's still sleeping."

Norm chuckles as he removes his gloves and throws them in a nearby yellow bin.

"Yeah, she was doing data analysis until late last night. She used my laptop, you can look at it if you want? We did some a timelapse of an immunofluorescent experiment and it's actually really cool to see. Just open my laptop and it should be there."

Neteyam did as he was told. When he opened the lid of the laptop, the image he saw stilled him on the spot, his hand still gripping the screen, almost unable to move or think, just feeling a tinge of raw curiosity, of unhindered temptation. Because on the screen were two humans. The woman was on all fours, head thrown so far back Neteyam was almost worried for her, eyes shut tightly and an almost pained expression on her face, although Neteyam doubted pain was anywhere near what she was feeling in the moment. The man was kneeled behind her, his cock sunk in her almost to the base, holding on to her long ponytail and pulling on it with one hand, the other hand tightly gripping her hip, imprints clearly visible on her skin.

The feelings this evoked in Neteyam were mixed and intense, from wonderment, to confusion, to deep, intense arousal, the blood quickly rushing from his brain to much lower down, and he felt the need to adjust his loincloth to ease some of the discomfort he was currently experiencing. What was this? Who were these people? He's never seen them before among the humans, and Eywa, was Neteyam glad to say that.

"Um... Norm, I don't think this is the experiment you wanted me to see."

Norm walked over to where Neteyam was sitting, mildly amused at Neteyam and his obvious lack of skill around technology. Neteyam almost jumped out of his skin at Norm's gasp and startled demeanour when he saw what Neteyam was looking at, and at how aggressively he was pushing the off button, trying to remove the image from his eyes, and his brain.

"Fuck... I... I'm so sorry, Neteyam. I -..." Neteyam watched dumbfounded as Norm turned on his heels and left, still wearing his labcoat and goggles, and he knew that if Norm were to have a tail, it'd definitely be in between his legs right now.

You were sprawled on the bed similarly to how you had been just a few hours ago, except right now you had the added weight of a almost 9 foot tall alien on top of you, a weight you'd never want to lose. He looked nervous about one thing or another, and you knew based on how his breath was increasing in speed that he was going to spill it soon enough.

"What is it, Teyam? Come on, out with it."

His cheeks turned a deep shade of purple as his eyes avoided yours.

"I saw something today, on Norm's laptop... something I don't think I was meant to see."

"Oh?" That definitely peaked your attention. What would anything on Norm's laptop make Neteyam so fidgety?

"It was... a man and a woman... they were... uhm... naked." Neteyam felt like his face was about to catch fire, and you cackled loudly, finding it hard to believe that Norm had porn on his laptop and was so careless about it.

"OH, MY GOD! I'M NEVER LETTING HIM LIVE THIS DOWN!"

"Wh-what.. was it?"

"Oh, yawne... it's called porn. It's... a video of people going at it."

Neteyam's confusion didn't lessen; quite the opposite, actually.

"But why?"

"Well, let's see, what did it make you feel?" Your raised eyebrow and knowing smirk was enough to make Neteyam's ears flatten in shame.

"Well...I -"

You chuckled. "There you go. That's why. It helps humans... release tension. If it's done well, it can be quite the experience."

"D-do you watch... porn?" the word felt weird and unfamiliar rolling off his tongue.

"Sometimes. But honestly, I think I'd prefer making porn."

Neteyam almost choked at your words, but couldn't help the way his cock twitched in his tewng, and how much his mind wandered at the image he saw and how much he wanted to see you in it, it in front of his eyes, there captured for eternity for him to enjoy... over and over again.

"You... want to... make porn?"

Your hips raised, brushing against his now rock hard-on, moaning a little at the way it relieved some of the pressure building up in your core.

"Only with you, yawne."

He kissed you passionately, ripping the buttons on your top as he undressed you, and made a mental note of yet another thing he should thank humans for.

[anon-sect]

Pete heard a special contest was being hosted by Chris Hemsworth. One lucky winner would receive a prize from the actor in person. He was a big fan of him and the many roles that he had played in his acting career. He went to the website and saw the contest. All he needed to do was answer some questions and submit the questionnaire. He then would be entered for whatever the prize would be.

It was a month later that Pete received an email stating that he won the contest. He would be receiving plane tickets to meet up with the actor in a couple of days. All hotel arrangements would be made in person once they meet. He was so excited. He really wondered what his prize would be. Yet, the honor of winning out of how many entered was just enough to have him jumping up and down. He couldn't wait to actually meet Chris in person.

Three days later, Pete was in a limo heading out to the actor's actual residents. That was surprising to him. He really wasn't expecting this. Now, he really began to wonder what the prize was. They didn't even bother to make hotel arrangements yet before he was ushered to his house.

Pete was met at the front door by the actor himself. "Come on in, Pete. And congratulations on winning the contest." Chris greeted him. Pete followed him in and sat on the couch in his den. "Want anything to drink? I have tea and water." He was really shocked. The actor was being so friendly with him after just meeting for the first time. "Water is fine." He told him.

He saw Chris come back with a glass of sparkling water. Pete took it and began to guzzle it down. "You probably are wondering what your prize is." He heard him say. He just nodded in response to the actor.

Chris watched as Pete finished the glass of water. He pulled out his phone and opened up the newest upgrade to the TF Pro App. The newest upgrade was TF Max app. He put in the setting on his phone. "Your prize is to help me work out at home. The water you drank has a special ingredient in it. It will make you extremely durable. But unfortunately, it will have a few side effects." He paused. "All of your senses would be heightened by almost 1,000%. All normal feelings will be at the extreme. But this is the only way to make sure you last for a very long time." He added.

Pete was so confused at what was really going on. "How specifically will I be helping you work out at home?" He asked him.

"It's best that I show you." Chris told him as he hit the flash option on his phone. A brand new pair of sneakers were there in front of him. "You will be my special pair of sneakers to wear when I work out. With the new app, I could repurpose you as I please and even turn you back to normal even if your data is deleted." He paused and laughed a little. "I guess it's not much of a prize when I am the one gifted with nearly indestructible sneakers. No time like the present to test you out." He spoke as he gathered his new sneakers and went to change into his workout gear.

Pete didn't know what to think. He didn't know whether to be upset that the act literally made him into shoes for his use; or to be honored, the actor selected him for that purpose. Moments later, he saw two socked feet enter his shoes bodies. The socked feet pressed down on his insole face. It was then he realized the nature of his fate. The pain was so intense that he was going mentally insane. It literally felt like an entire continent was crushing him, but no death. Even though the actor's feet hadn't stink yet, he could smell every pore on his feet with intensity. He could taste the cotton of the fresh socks.

Pete's fate got even worse as Chris worked out over an hour. The pain of being crushed was never-ending. But add on a sweaty and musky pair of socks. He was in a living hell. The intensity of the odor was crazy. The taste of sweaty socks made him want to gag for fresh water and air. The fact that the actor was working out without a single care about how his sneakers were faring made him realize he was literally the actor's property. He admired Chris, but to be his personal pair of sneakers was a little bit too much. He wanted to go back to being human, not an object on his feet forever.

Chris finished his workout feeling good. His feet felt no pain. His new shoes were working out perfectly. He thought about thanking the guy for offering himself, but who really thanks their shoes. It was time for him to get used to his new life. All of his other fan created objects did eventually. His new shoes were no different.

[tribblefarmer]

Murderbot Media Review

How Murderbot feels about Star Trek: The Next Generation

(I’m going to mostly focus on the show, not the movies)

Pros:

The right kind of unrealistic +3

Lots of content +2

Large ensemble cast with recurring side characters +2

adventure/action serial with enough interpersonal drama to be interesting +2

No SecUnits +1

Anti-corporate message +2

The humans are friends with each other (and the alien crew members) +3

I think it would enjoy the practical effects, the CR probably overwhelmingly uses CGI. +1

Humans on a ship show, ART would enjoy watching with it. +5

Cons:

Too many sex scenes (but at least they’re off screen) -1

Bad things keep happening to security personnel -1

Why the fuck are there juvenile humans and civilians on this ship that regularly engages in combat? -1

Too much philosophy -1

The borg creep it out (Alien remnant contamination) -2

Data (hear me out) (will score in separate section)

Pros+Cons score= 15

Characters (by the order listed in the season one credits): 

Jean-luc Picard -  8/10

A good leader with a strong moral backbone who can keep his head in a crisis. He reminds it of Doctor Mensah. 

It likes that he mostly stays safe on the ship and listens to advice from his crew.

His constant philosophizing is a bit off putting. 

William T Riker- 5/10

Oh gross he’s making out with someone again.

Overall it likes him, but doesn’t have a strong opinion.

Geordi LaForge- 7/10

Augmented human

Seems like someone it would feel safe around

It likes that he’s friends with Data without talking down to him.

Tasha Yarr- 9/10

The Chief of Security!

Its favorite character in season one

Projects on to her a little,

It feels so uncomfortable about what happens in The Naked Now though.

It was so pissed off by the end of season one that it quit watching for a whole cycle.

Worf- 8/10

The new Chief of Security

Mixed feelings at first but grows to like him

Wishes the humans would listen to him more

Likes that he gets to be grumpy without consequences

Relates to him as a non-human who has to keep his identity in a human world

It is fairly ambivalent to Klingon culture and their focus on combat and pain, but likes the political drama.

Beverly Crusher- 7/10

Mom energy like Doctor Mensah

It likes and respects her

It finds her drawn out will they/won’t they romance with Picard a bit annoying. Just pick one and stick with it already.

It calls the romance annoying but it’s invested in the drama.

Deanna Troi- 5/10

Bharadwaj energy. Sometimes it feels a bit attacked by her keen observations.

It would not want to encounter someone with empathic powers irl, It’s annoying enough that ART can read its emotions in the feed.

Hates all her romances except what she’s got going on with Riker.

Mixed feelings about her being married to Worf in that one parallel universe.

Data- 2/10

Data makes it deeply uncomfortable.

Reminds it of Miki.

The crew’s human-form pet robot, except technically none of them own him.

It hates that he wants to be human.

It hates that he’s “fully functional.”

Why does Data get to live without a guardian but not it? It’s not jealous.

Whenever the question of whether Data is sentient comes up it gets really angry.

It doesn’t like how the rest of the crew are condescending to him sometimes. They just communicate with him badly.

Data is friendly, social, wants to be human, is a scientist, and experiments with art and literature. Is this what its humans want it to be? Will it ever be enough?

Has an emotion whenever he calls someone his friend or vice versa.

Roots for him in the courtroom episode though

It says it hates Data but pays more attention to him than any other character.

Wesley Crusher- 6/10

Juvenile human

He’s annoying but it also feels protective of him.

It doesn’t like how his character arc ends. It wanted him to graduate and rejoin the crew permanently. 

Q (honorable mention)- 8/10

Threat assessment high

Annoyance assessment max

It does think it’s funny that he puts humanity on trial for being shitty though.

Character score=65

(Murderbot likes drama serials, which are typically character driven, so this is the most heavily weighted section.)

Favorite episodes:

Encounter at Farpoint S1E1 & S1E2 +2

Redemption S4E26 & S5E1 +4

The Next Phase S5E24 +3

Attached S7E8 +2

Least favorite episodes:

The Schizoid Man S2E6 -1

Data’s Day S4E11 -1

In Theory S4E25 -3

Sub Rosa S7E14 -1

Most emotion-inducing episodes:

The Measure of a Man S2E9 -2,+3

The Hunted S3E11 -1,+3

The Offspring S3E16 -2,+3

The Most Toys S3E22 -2,+1

The Quality of Life S6E9 -1,+1

Episode bonus score= 8

Total score= 88/100

I think Murderbot would like Star Trek: The Next Generation a lot, and ART would enjoy watching it with it too. It would enjoy the characters, drama, and action, but be challenged by the way machine intelligences are portrayed in the show because of its own complicated feelings about itself.

If you want me to do a Murderbot review of another piece of media, send me an ask! These are not necessarily my opinions on this piece of media, they are what I imagine Murderbot would think. (I love Data.)

[faytelumos]

Mech pilot system where there's three pilots???

One for the left hemisphere, one for the right hemisphere, and one for the cerebellum?

Like, you all still have to be drift compatible, you all still have to be in the cockpit together, but there's basically two thinkers and one translator.

Imagine that the mech designers fought this for years. Two humans every time with massive neural network loads on both the machine and the humans. Pilots could only be medically cleared to operate a machine for four years, max, and then their careers were over. Most didn't make it even that long.

And then someone figures out that if you put in another human to translate between the humans and mech, it flows so much smoother.

Two pilots in the front, the ones doing the strategy and the martial arts and the orders and the takedowns. A third in the back, suspended and all but fugue as they relay human-to-mech and mech-to-human, a person turned into a slave drive, but still tangled up into everybody's heads.

Like, imagine the possibilities?!

You walk into the chow hall and the people who are interested in the shiny new pilots want to know if you're a Leftie or a Migi or a Cera.

Lefties and Migis who spent too long in the cockpit that day who feel like they can't think clearly without that little voice in the back of their head whispering the answers.

Ceras who space out when the room gets loud, who accidentally expect someone else to say what they're thinking, who have nerve damage all across their bodies because it takes all they have to sort data.

Mechs who are older than the trio structure who had their cockpits gutted and refitted, who have spaghetti running up to the chunk of metal that is the third pilot's seat, like a spare part slapped into the room and given too much control.

A Cera who hangs out in the mech bay because the humans are too far from them anymore, but the mecha can't talk to them, either.

a Leftie who can't stand being in the same room as their Migi without the Cera to talk between them.

A Migi who barely knows how to be their own person anymore because so much of their brain is just outside of their reach.

A mech that just wants things to go back to the way they were, pain and lag be damned.

[hbyrde36]

Steddie | R: Explicit (for eventual smut) | WC:4541 | Ch 1/8 | AO3

Chapter 1: Ghost of Yesterday

Two days after they failed to defeat Vecna, after Max died and came back, after Eddie died—and didn’t. Two days after they were forced to leave his body behind in the Upside Down because everything had gone to shit, a bright yellow pizza delivery van that looked like it’d been through its own apocalypse pulled into the Wheeler's driveway.

Jonathan, Mike, Will, and El finally made it home to Hawkins with the help of a friend.

On day three, Max woke up. 

She’d have a long road to recovery, but the doctors seemed fairly confident she’d walk again. Though, no one could be sure how much of her eyesight would return, if any. The same day, in a twist no one saw coming, Joyce showed up, fresh off a plane from Alaska after escaping Russia—yes, Russia—with a miraculously alive and mostly well Jim Hopper. 

And four days after the world both did and then didn’t end, the ghost of Eddie Munson appeared in Steve’s living room.

The kids and older teens, including the newest member of the doomsday squad, Argyle, were having an off-the-books meeting. After everything they’d done and been through, the so-called ‘adults’ were attempting to pull their same old shit, trying to sideline the younger set for their own, supposed, safety. 

Steve sort-of agreed about Dustin and the others, they were still too young and had already lost so much, but if Hopper, Joyce, and whoever the hell else thought they were going to bench him? They had another think coming, and he was pretty sure Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan felt the same way too.

But, whether he agreed or not, what he wouldn’t do was stop the kids from helping to come up with a plan. Because damned if he knew what the hell they should do next. 

Dustin leaned forward from his spot on the couch wedged between Erica and Will, steepling his fingers together in front of him. “So let me test my understanding. You set him on fire, and shot him—multiple times. He fell out of a third story window, and he just went… poof? Vanished without a trace?”

There was a collective groan from the room, everyone except for Lucas and El who were at the hospital sitting with Max, and of course Dustin himself. 

Robin rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, yes, Dustin. How many times do we have to go over this?”

 “I’m just laying out the facts!” Dustin snapped back. “Clearly we got something wrong here. We underestimated Vecna, and by a lot.”

 “And how is repeating our obvious failure helpful?” Nancy asked, a little defensively. 

Steve understood the attitude, he'd also been wresting with his guilt since that fateful night.

“The scientific method!” Dustin answered with a bit of the same slightly forced cheerfulness he'd been displaying ever since Max woke up. He held up a hand, ticking each step off on his fingers as he spoke. “Question, research, hypothesis, experiment, data analysis, conclusion.” 

“I got a question—“ Erica pursed her lips, giving Dustin such intense side-eye Steve wondered if it was actually painful. “Why are you such a nerd?”

Dustin sighed, as though it were everyone else annoying him instead of the other way around. “The question is—if Vecna is just a guy with powers like El, how could he have survived this long in the Upside Down? What’s keeping him alive?”

Okay, fine. Attitude or not, Steve hadn’t really thought about it but maybe the kid had a point. 

“The hive mind!” Robin offered up.

“Possibly.” Dustin nodded to her. ”Probably. So, what does that tell us?”

Erica crossed her arms, leaning back heavily into the couch. “I don’t know Mr. Clarke, you wanna share your thoughts with the class?”

“I didn’t say I had all the answers.”

“That’s a first,” Robin mumbled. 

“I’m just trying to get us brainstorming here!”

A flutter of movement pulled Steve’s admittedly already drifting attention away from discussion at hand. Something in the corner, the air there shifting and bending strangely, a little like the way heat shimmers off a sun drenched black top. He watched through his periphery, not daring to actually turn his head to look as a familiar figure materialized there. 

Fuck.

Though he looked confused and disoriented at first, it wasn’t long before the long-haired apparition tried approaching one of them.

Steve swallowed hard, his throat growing painfully tight. He fought to keep his face neutral as the ghost raised a hand in front of Dustin's face, calling the boy's name loudly before moving on to Erica, then Nancy—and Steve panicked, knowing he had to do something before the figure tried the same with him. 

“Water,” he muttered, mainly to Robin as he rose and bumped her shoulder. She was the only one really paying attention to him anyway, while the others still argued the physics and limitations of the alternate dimension. 

Steve fled for the relative quiet and safety of his kitchen. He just needed a minute alone to get his shit together, but he should have expected the phantom footfalls that followed him across the tile floor to the cabinet. 

As he took out a tall glass with shaking hands, the ghost hopped up to sit on the counter just beside him and started talking to himself.

“What the hell does a guy gotta do to get a little attention, huh?” The figure held up his slightly transparent hands in front of his own face, turning them over and back again. “I-I’m kinda freaking out here.”

Under the show of irritation he sounded sad, and a little terrified.

“They can’t see you,” Steve muttered softly, regretting it the second the words passed his lips. 

He knew better than to engage with ghosts. 

Since the moment he’d first shown signs of the gift, he’d been taught by his late grandfather to leave the spirit world be, and mind his own goddamn business.

He’d only broken the rules one other time, about a month or so after they learned the full truth of what happened to Barb and he’d seen her essence lurking around his pool at night. That experience had only served to further prove the old man’s point. 

Nothing good ever came from acknowledging the dead. 

But this was Eddie. 

They’d fought together, bled together. Eddie was his–his ally, his compatriot, his friend. 

And towards the end there Steve was even starting to think that maybe… maybe one day they could be more, if he ever got up the courage to flirt back.

Not that it mattered now.

“No shit, Harrington!” Eddie spat. “I’ve been waving my hands in front of their faces, screaming Dustin's name at the top of my lungs and getting jack squat back in return. I mean what the fu—”

With a sad little smile Steve turned, finally looking straight at the other boy just in time to see his eyes go impossibly wide. 

“Wait—holy shit! Harrington, does this mean you can see me?!”

Steve winced, grimacing at the sheer volume of Eddie's voice. “And hear you, unfortunately.”

Who knew the loudest guy he’d ever met would be even louder in death. 

Actually, that tracked. 

“Steve?” Robin’s voice filtered in as she called out to him from the other room.

Steve took a deep breath, locking eyes with the adorably confused looking ghost haunting his kitchen as he shouted back to her. “Yeah?” He raised a hand to his head, rubbing at the bridge of his nose just as Robin appeared in the doorway. 

“What are you up to in here?” She asked.

“Oh, just…” Steve trailed off, trying and failing not to track Eddie’s movements as he hopped down off the counter and began to stalk towards Robin, a determined, mischievous glint in his eye. 

“ …talking to myself.”

Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “You okay?”

“Are you okay she asks,” Eddie grumbled, tipping his head mockingly from side to side. “Pfft—I’m the one who’s invisible. Why isn’t anyone asking if I’m okay?”

“Um,” Steve fought to keep a level expression and not laugh, even as Eddie blew wet raspberries and made increasingly silly faces inches from an oblivious Robin’s nose. “No, actually. I think I might have a migraine coming on,” he lied.

“You want me to get everyone to leave?” She asked.

Yes, good plan! 

In fairness he wasn’t exactly feeling his best. He was exhausted. It had been a long few days.

A long… week and a half? 

Years. 

It had been a long few years.

And he needed some time alone with Eddie, to talk.

“That'd be great, yeah. Thanks, Rob.”

“Sure thing. Why don't you go get in bed with your eye mask on, and I'll bring water and painkillers up?”

“Oooh,” Eddie crooned. “His majesty sleeps with an eye mask? Fancy.”

Ugh, why were all of Steve’s favorite people such fucking smartasses? He glared at Eddie before he could stop himself. Which meant he was staring daggers at a blank wall right now, right in front of Robin, leaving her looking more concerned than ever. 

Shit. 

He should have known she’d wanna stay behind and take care of him. 

“I—um, t-that’s okay,” Steve stuttered out. “M-maybe you should just go on home too.”

Her face fell.

Hacking and wheezing, he forced a fake coughing fit in her direction, only barely covering his mouth with his hand.

“Very convincing,” Eddie commented with clear sarcasm.

Robin wrinkled her nose, recoiling like the germaphobe Steve knew and loved.

“Sorry, I think I'm coming down with a cold or something actually. You should get out while you still can.”

Robin bit at her lip, looking mildly dubious, but eventually she nodded. “Fine. Just promise you’ll call me if it gets any worse, or if you need anything?”

“I promise.”

While everyone cleared out, Steve hid in the kitchen, finally getting that drink of water he so desperately needed—his throat was on fire now that he thought about it—and splashed some more cold water from the sink on his face for good measure.

“You sure you’re not actually coming down with something?” Eddie asked, sitting back up on his perch on the counter. “You don’t look so hot.”

“I’m fine,” Steve said with practiced ease, though his head was beginning to throb a bit. Maybe that migraine thing wasn’t as much of a lie as he’d thought.

With the house now safely empty of prying eyes and ears, he ventured back out into the living room, with Eddie hovering along behind, and locked the deadbolt on the front door before plopping down hard on the couch, letting his head rest against the back of it.

“Okay, so what’s the plan?” Eddie asked, pacing back and forth along the floor in front of him.

Steve let his head loll to one side. “Plan?”

Eddie groaned, stopping in his tracks to throw his head up to the ceiling. “Why couldn’t it be Henderson who can see me.”

Okay, rude.

“A plan, y'know?” Eddie went on. “To get me back? To get me out of the Upside Down or whatever purgatory I'm currently languishing in?”

Steve could only stare at him blankly for a moment as the words sank in. “Eddie—” he began hesitantly, sitting up straight.

“What? Don't tell me you’ve all given up on me already?”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Steve had heard about this, how sometimes spirits don’t realize they’ve passed on, but surely Eddie had to know. What other possible explanation could he have for suddenly becoming invisible and incorporeal? 

“Eddie, what is it you think is happening here, exactly?” He asked, praying he was wrong but bracing himself for the worst. How on earth do you go about telling someone you care about that they’re dead?

“Well, clearly I–I'm…” Eddie sputtered haughtily for a moment before looking away. “I'm not sure. I’ve been separated from my body somehow, obviously. S-so It’s gotta be some weird Vecna shit, right? And uh, you can hear me and see me b-because… because we both got bit by the bats and it gave us, like, our own little freaky hive-mind type… thing?” 

He sounded less and less sure as he went on, and Steve’s heart ached for him. He remembered the bats attacking him part, but not the dying part. That just seemed cruel.

“Eddie, um,” Steve cleared his throat, rubbing his hands together nervously. “I don’t know how to tell you this but you… you died.”

“Bullshit,” Eddie snorted.

“I’m sorry, but it’s true. We came back from the Creel house and you…” Steve paused, struggling for a second to force his words past the sudden lump in his throat. “Dustin was sitting there with your—”.

“No.” Eddie shook his head roughly. “No–no, because, if I'm dead… then how is it you can see me? Huh?! Explain that!” 

“It runs in my family. My dad doesn't have the gift but my grandfather was able to see ghosts, and his father before that.”

“Suuure, Harrington,” Eddie’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “So—not only am I supposed to believe that I'm dead, but also that you’re descended from some long line of ghost whisperers? Is this a joke to you?! I’m in dire need of–of fucking rescue, and you’re over here trying to fuck with me? Not cool, man. Not cool.”

Steve stood, almost reaching out as he itched to comfort the other boy in some way, but he knew well that it was pointless. “I’m not, I swear I'm not messing with you. I know it’s not what you want to hear, and I'm so sorry but I'm telling you the truth. Dustin, he—” Steve’s voice cracked. “You didn’t have a pulse, Eddie.”

“Stop it!” Eddie snapped.

“I’m sorry, really. I–”

“I said stop!” 

With a choked off sob Eddie moved to shove him away, only to stumble when his hands found nothing solid, or rather, as Eddie’s ghostly and very not solid form passed right through Steve’s body.

Steve held his breath as he waited for it, the sensation of being doused in a bucket of ice water, the spine tingling, creepy crawly thing he’d felt the only other time he’d let a ghost near enough to touch.

But this was nothing like that. 

Eddie felt… warm. And while Steve still shivered it wasn’t because the failed touch had been bad or painful. Quite the opposite, actually. He was left with a pleasant buzzing in his core, the initial warmth lingering, wrapping around him like an embrace before fading slowly.

Maybe all spirits were different. Maybe Barb had felt cold because she’d hated him, because it was his pool she died in—his fault she was out there in the first place.

But Eddie was…

Oh shit—Eddie. 

Steve spun to find him on the floor with his knees pulled up, hugging them to his chest, his huge brown eyes shining with unshed tears. 

Could ghosts cry?

Steve knelt down next to him, biting back a wince as the movement pulled at the bandages hiding beneath his shirt. He’d need to change those again tonight, they felt tacky with dried blood.

Eddie's voice shook when he finally spoke again. “I’m—dead?’

Steve bowed his head in a solemn nod. He would have given anything in that moment to be able to wrap his arms around Eddie.

“T-the bats?”

“There were just too many of them,” Steve explained. “It looked like you put up a hell of a fight, but I think you bled out.”

“My uncle, Wayne, do you know if he—” Eddie trailed off, worrying his bottom lip.

“Dustin talked to him. He couldn't risk telling him everything, but he gave him your guitar pick, and told him you were a hero. That you died a hero.”

Eddie barked a wet laugh, shaking his head.

“It’s the truth," Steve said, hoping his tone left no room for doubt. "If you hadn't distracted them we never would have made it into that attic. And If you hadn’t led them away when you did…” He didn’t need to say it, they both knew Dustin could—and likely would—have been hurt or worse, and those things would have gone through the gate and into the right side up.

It was exactly what Steve would have done too, had their roles been reversed.

“How long has it been?” Eddie asked, quietly.

“Three? No–no, four days.”

“And Vecna?”

“Down, but not out. We wounded him for sure but he got away. That's why everyone was here tonight.”

“Okay,” Eddie blew out a long breath, rubbing hard at his eyes. “What happens now? Do you like, help me find the light or something?” His eyes darted around as though some doorway or portal might appear right there in the living room. “Or maybe I'm going the other way. I can think of a few reasons the big guy might not let me upstairs, but what do I know, maybe self-sacrifice gets you a free pass?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Isn’t this your legacy or whatever?”

“I’ve never done,” Steve waved a hand, gesturing between the two of them. “This before. I was taught to ignore the dead. Pretend I can't see them just like everyone else and let them go about their business.”

“How come?”

“Grandfather said if you get too involved, if the dead find out you can see them they’ll never leave you alone. That it’s dangerous. The dead linger for a lot of reasons, but the most common are unfinished business and revenge. Lots of angry spirits out there according to the Harrington journals.”

Eddie tilted his head thoughtfully. “Am I really the first ghost you’ve ever talked to?”

Steve thought of Barb again, the way her face had morphed into a rage-filled mask when he revealed he’d been able to see her all along, but he pushed it forcefully out of his mind.

And lied.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I just told you, my grandfather—”

“No,” Eddie cut in. “I mean why, after a lifetime of ignoring ghosts, did you choose to acknowledge me?”

“B-because, you’re—“ Steve faltered, not knowing quite how to put it into words. He wasn’t sure even he totally understood. Yes he’d started developing a crush on the guy, but it was more than that. They had a connection, Steve felt it, even if Eddie didn’t. And maybe it was normal—inevitable even, when you get thrown into this shit together. But whether it was all just trauma bonding or something more, Steve couldn’t deny the pull.

“You’re—” he tried to say again as he pushed himself to his feet, only to double over, sucking air through his teeth as the dull pain in his sides turned searing and sharp.

“Steve?” Eddie shot up as he spoke, sounding worried.

“‘M fine,” Steve grit out, managing to straighten his posture without another outburst. “Jus' tired.”

Eddie raised a single eyebrow, but thankfully didn’t argue, silently following Steve as he headed for the staircase and began to climb.

Of course, this was Eddie, so he was only capable of being silent for so long.

“Hey, how come I can’t touch you, but I can walk up the stairs?” 

“I don’t know,” Steve huffed out, breath stuttering as he neared the top landing. 

Just a few more steps.

“Do you think I could, like, sit on a couch, or—or lay in a bed?” Eddie asked.

“I don’t know,” Steve repeated, trying not to sound as annoyed and in pain as he felt. He just had to make it to his room, get these stupid wounds cleaned and then he could pass out for a few hours. Maybe then he’d be able to answer questions and figure out what to do about all this. 

“What if I—”

“Eddie!” Steve barked from the top step, whirling to face him. He nearly lost his balance before catching himself with a hand on the wall. His sides were screaming at him and the throbbing in his head was getting worse too. “I really don’t know any more than you do. I don’t know all the ins and outs, or why things work the way they work.  Can you please just give it a rest for a minute?”

Eddie wilted, dropping his gaze to his feet. “Sorry.”

Fuck.

“No,” Steve sighed. ”No, I'm sorry, I shouldn’t be… y’know, when you’re—”

“Dead?!” Eddie snapped, raising his head again. He looked hurt.

“Sorry.” Steve sucked his lip between his teeth.

“Whatever.”

“Eddie—”

Eddie stomped past him and into the upstairs hallway. “Spare me the pity party. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m telling you, if I was dead, I'd know it.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue but snapped it shut again without another word. He didn’t have the energy, and If that was what Eddie needed to believe for now to get through this, then who was he to tell him what to think? It wouldn’t change the facts but if it made him feel better, what was the harm?

Somehow Eddie had guessed the right door. He waited, leaning up against the opposite wall and very deliberately didn’t look at Steve as he walked over, and pushed into his bedroom. 

Steve went right through to the bathroom to get this over with, not bothering to close the door behind him, assuming Eddie would be able to walk right through anyway if he wanted to.

Eddie did follow, still silently brooding as he found another piece of wall to hold up.

Steve ignored him for now, he felt awful but he’d try to apologize again later once the other boy had calmed down, and carefully peeled his shirt off as he stood in front of the mirror. 

The bandages at his sides looked gnarly and gross. He’d bled again, and it looked like there was something yellow seeping into the huge squares of gauze too. He turned his body to the side, looking over his shoulder to see how the road rash on his back was doing. It looked better than the front, but that wasn’t saying much. The skin around the wide scrapes was red and inflamed. He couldn’t cover those on his own and could really only clean them in the shower, but they were shallow at least and would eventually heal on their own, he figured. 

A quiet gasp reminded him of his audience, and a quick glance over through the mirror showed Eddie staring at his torso with wide eyes.

“It looks worse than it is,” Steve said quietly, quickly looking away. Which wasn’t exactly true but the last thing he needed right now was another person trying to force him to go to the hospital. 

He knew some first aid. 

It was fine.

Turning back to face the sink, Steve ran water over a washcloth and held it to each of his dressings to soak them off. The air stung when it finally hit the wounds, as though they'd been freshly opened, and, sure enough, there was definitely some pus seeping from the edges.

No problem. He’d just have to clean them extra thoroughly.

Gritting his teeth, Steve poured a hefty amount of peroxide on a new clean washcloth and began to gently pat his right side. 

The pain was instant and excruciating. 

Bile rose in his throat, a cold sweat breaking out across his body as the world around him swam. Steve swayed on his feet, dropping the cloth to the ground as he himself began to fall. 

A sudden warmth at his back, and strong hands wrapping around his chest were the only thing that kept him on his feet. Carefully avoiding the worst of his wounds, Eddie had caught him, holding the bulk of his weight until the spinning in his head stopped.

The moment Steve could stand on his own again Eddie jumped back as though he’d been burned.

Steve’s eyes snapped up, locking with Eddie’s in their reflections as he realized with a start what had just happened.

“How?” He whispered. He could still feel the imprint of Eddie’s hands where they had cradled him to his chest. He’d felt so… real, so solid, so—alive for that handful of seconds. 

“I-I don't know!” Eddie said, a little too loud in the small space. “I didn’t even think, or-or like, I forgot that I couldn't. I saw you about to go down and I didn't want you to hurt yourself.”

“I didn’t think it was possible." Steve took a step towards him. "You should try to do that again.”

Eddie tucked his hands behind his back, moving as far away as he could without actually leaving the room. “Don't we have more important things to worry about? Like maybe getting you to a hospital?”

“No.” Steve shook his head. “I told you, it looks worse than it is.”

It was abundantly clear that Eddie didn’t believe him, but something about the accidental touch had freaked him out enough that he let it go.

As quickly as he could, Steve finished cleaning the ruined expanse of his stomach and got both sides wrapped in fresh bandages, managing to do so without nearly fainting this time, and threw a clean t-shirt on to hide the evidence. Hopefully that would stop Eddie looking at him with those big brown fucking sad worried eyes of his. 

Out of sight, out of mind, and all that. 

As much as he liked Eddie’s attention on him, these weren’t exactly the circumstances he would have hoped for.

Steve shut the lights off, and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin.

“We should try it again,” Steve mumbled through a long drawn-out yawn.

Eddie laughed softly from his corner hiding spot. “What was that, big boy?”

Steve wished he’d try to join him on the bed, but didn’t know how to ask. He untangled one of his arms from the sheets, reaching a hand out in Eddie’s direction. “Touch me?” 

The room was dark, and it could have been that Steve was a little delirious but he was pretty sure a light blush crept over Eddie's cheeks as he took a step closer, his own ringed hand outstretched.

The sight set off butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

Steve waited to feel the tips of their fingers brush, was desperate to feel Eddie’s touch again if he was honest, but it was no use, Eddie’s long digits passed right through.

“Maybe we have to–” Steve interrupted himself with another deep yawn. His body still ached but now that he was tucked in and warm in his bed, it was getting hard to fight the inevitable. 

“Just go to sleep, man,” Eddie said, his lips quirking into a small crooked smile. “It's not like I'm going anywhere.”

It should have been awkward, or weird to know someone would be there all night, lurking around while he slept, but as Steve drifted off he felt safer than he had in a long time, oddly comforted by the fact that Eddie would be there watching over him, even if he was just a ghost.

Chapter 2: This Haunted House Is Not A Home

Thanks as always to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta and an absolutely amazing cheerleader!

Permanent taglist(open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog 

@goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari @awkwardgravity1 @rocknrollsalad

Fic taglist (open): @sidekick-hero

[tagsecretsanta]

From @idontknowreallywhy

From @idontknowreallywhy to @womble1

My prompts were:

1. There's no such thing as a free lunch.

2. The sound of laughter.

3. Sirens blared, warning of the approaching...

Things went a little… bizarre 🤣 (Apologies in advance for the earworms)

A Refrigeration Situation

Sirens blared, warning of the approaching apocalypse.

Or at least that was the impression the sociopath who had chosen this frantic tri-tone screeching sound clearly wanted to inflict upon the eventual owner of their top of the range high tech appliance.

The very one Virgil was about to take a wrench to. A heavy wrench.

Except that doing so would mean he had to remove at least one of the hands he had clamped hard over his ears. And he was not ready for that yet.

His teeth vibrated at the frequency of unbearable and he yelled Brains’ name again. No way of knowing if there was a reply because he would likely never hear again.

Alright, deep breath. It was no worse than that time Gordo tried to learn the bagpipes.

He shuffled closer to the cursed thing and peered at the luminous green and yellow message flashing from the excessively complicated control panel.

TEMPERATURE WARNING!

Oopsie!!! Too toasty right now!

… what the?

Virgil prodded the “more info” button with his elbow and was rewarded with an error code and a string of screaming face emojis.

“EOS?!” He bellowed above the din “You have the manual for this thing? What is Error Code S1E11?”

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

The first indication that everything had gone sideways was when MAX shot through the living room and out again bleeping frantically and waving his arms around. This didn’t cause much of a flickering of Tracy eyelids because it had happened so many times before when Brains had started musing about extreme upgrades to his mechanical assistant. As MAX’s personality developed, so it seemed did his sense of self and his attachment to his physical form. Brains did not share this attachment and thus MAX continued to evolve and generally came to enjoy the additions to his capabilities eventually. Virgil remained unconvinced that MAX’s new ability to hover 6cm above the floor was really worth the shrill daggers of noise produced by six tiny VTOL jets but most of Brains’ inventions came in handy in unexpected ways so he wasn’t about to argue.

What made today’s demonstration of those rockets weird though, was that MAX zoomed straight out of the glass doors, off the balcony and into the swimming pool.

Whereupon he sank like a stone.

And stayed there. His inflatable water wings remained inactive, which again was odd because the trigger was supposed to be automatic. They’d seen them in action on many sunny afternoons when Brains firmly refused all invitations to join the pool party but his robot assistant had attended in his stead.

Gordon promptly dived in to rescue him. MAX refused to be rescued.

There was no response on the internal comms so Virgil had volunteered to take the elevator down to Brains’ lab to let him know. And to check everything was… well… alright with their resident genius.

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

The speaker by the ceiling crackled into life and Virgil’s digital niece appeared to be singing at him. Loudly. And just a fraction of a fraction off key:

“Why’d ya have to make things so complicateeeeeeeed?”

“EOS?”

“I see the way you’re acting like you’re someone else, gets me frustrateeeeeeeed!”

“Um… right.”

Virgil stood frozen in the confluence of two sonic hellscapes.

“We might have a situation!” EOS’s feed was suddenly cut and replaced with his brother’s shout.

John materialised with Brains at his heels.

“You don’t say.” Virgil yelled back.

“We have to shut it down.”

“Right! It’s painful!”

“Not the noise the whole…“ John waved his tablet at the fridge and continued at the top of his voice. “EOS is in defence mode - when she detects a hostile digital presence she sings at it and refuses to accept any incoming data. I suggested it as an improvement to the LALALALALALALA approach she took with me.”

“You suggested Avril Lavigne?!”

“She’s going through a… phase.”

“EOS is going through a pop punk phase?”

“Last week it was Irish boybands. There was… a discussion. My musical tastes were found lacking and I have deemed it prudent not to comment any further on the topic.”

Virgil was saved from working out how to tactfully respond by the remainder of his brothers thundering down the corridor.

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

“Oh! It’s just Fridgey!” Gordon skipped up, confident he could save the day and double tapped the control panel in the top right, just like the saleswoman had shown him. The noise stopped. Virgil remained frozen in place, looking as though somebody had hit him with a spade.

Scott prised his brothers’ hands from his ears.

“Virgil, you with us?”

Scott patted the bear on the shoulder then shifted The Look at him.

“Gordon, did it come with a manual?”

“Pfft what comes with a manual these days? It’s all inbuilt…” he poked at the control panel again but the error code persisted. “Ok maybe we could Google it?”

John hissed.

“Or any search engine or hacking method of your preference, Johnny boy”

“Don’t call me Johnny. What’s the model number?”

“Ooh no idea err….” Gordon swept his eyes over the front face of the refrigeration unit until his eyes alighted on the embossed text on the bottom left.

“It’s called FRIDGLER 4000”

Scott’s head snapped up.

“YOU BOUGHT A FRIDGE FROM FISCHLER???!!!”

There was a silence.

“LANGSTROM FISCHLER???!!!”

Oh crap.

“I didn’t know it was him!!! I thought he just made weather stuff!! And stupid rockets! I just thought it was a cute name for a fridge! I… I was more focussed on the Features.”

“What feature could possibly be more important than it being made by that… by that…” Scott, aware of Grandma’s approach from the elevator, reached for an appropriate word but floundered.

“Rat-faced weasel?” Alan ventured and then blushed as he received his eldest brother’s finger guns of approval.

Gordon didn’t need those. He didn’t. But he did desperately need to justify himself.

“It was the biggest I could get for the budget you gave me! It was internet-linked to make the grocery run easier - Grandma liked that! And it had cool features like the snow cone maker, everyone has enjoyed those! And… and the instafreeze Virg and Brains have used that loads for their espresso cubes this summer… and there was that special humidity-controlled section to stop your pie crusts getting soggy, Scooter! You weren’t complaining about that!!!”

Gordon looked around at a full house of angry Tracy eyebrows.

“I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS GONNA GET SENTIENT AND START FIGHTING EOS.”

John pointed one shaking finger at the sickeningly cute animation of a bubbling conical flask beaming happily at them all from the control panel.

“None of you noticed it either…” that may have been whinier than Gordon was proud of.

Maybe it was the reminder that his little brother appreciated the importance of a reasonably firm crust that softened the big brotherly heart. Maybe it was just the realisation that said crusts were unchilling… and fast. Either way? Scott intervened just as Alan opened his mouth to add his verbal interpretation of John’s silent scorn.

“Alright. This isn’t getting us anywhere. What we need to focus on is how to fix the situation. Our first priority has to be saving the food else it’s gonna be a lean, lean Christmas.”

Vehement agreement filled the air.

“What are our options? The kitchen fridge has limited free space. Hmmm. Brains, can we use your cold storage in the lab?”

“Ah w-well there are a f-f-few p-p-p-projects whose g-gaseous em-missions m-might interact p-p-p-p-problematically w-with items intended f-for human c-c-c-c-consumption…”

“You’ve been making new engine coolants again.” John stated with a sigh.

“Y-yes. Incredibly t-t-toxic.”

“We can’t risk a toxic turkey.” Virgil mused.

“Or a noxious nut roast?” Alan added tentatively.

“Or lethal lebkuchen dough!” Gordon accepted Alan’s high five.

“Or fatal figgy pudding” John added in a disarmingly perfect British accent.

“Or soggy crusts.” Scott added distractedly, poking cautiously at the twinkling control panel

Gordon was shook. His facepalm echoed down the corridor. “BRO… you wound me deeply! “Poisoned pie” was right there for the taking. RIGHT THERE.”

Scott was spared the shame of acknowledging this failure by a sickeningly cheery voice blaring out from a hidden speaker.

“Good Evening Insert-User-Name-Here! You have activated Voice Control, you clever sausage. Please speak your command loudly and cheerfully!”

Scott swore under his breath as his siblings chorused their disapproval.

“W-well it m-might work.”

Even as the words left his mouth Brains rolled his eyes at his own optimism. Gordon felt compelled to defend the indefensible.

“It might! He’s got to get lucky sometimes, right?”

Brains snorted.

“Well what choice do we have?” Virgil gestured at Scott to give it a go.

Scott nodded and visibly steeled himself as if about to leap into an abyss. He cleared his throat and used his clearest most commanding voice:

“Set refrigeration temperature to 2 degrees Celsius.”

“Oooh someone’s a grumpy pants. Give it another go.”

“What?!!”

“I don’t think it was cheerful enough bro.”

“You gotta be kidding me.” Scott rolled his eyes and tried again.

“Oooh someone’s a grumpy pants. Give it another go.”

“I’M PERFECTLY CHEERFUL! I AM A RAY OF SUNSHINE!”

“Scotty Scotty Scotty…” Gordon inserted himself between the control panel and the man who appeared ready to break it with his face. “Allow me.”

“Hey hey fridgey buddy! It would be awesome if you could maintain a steady refrigeration temperature of two degrees Celsius. Thanks a million!”

There was a slight pause.

“Hmm your accent’s a bit funny isn’t it but I think I got it. Switching to proving drawer mode. Target temperature 38 degrees Celsius. Your rise is going to be GLORIOUS!”

Ah.

“NONONONONOOOOOOOO!!” Scott howled and yanked on the handle which refused to budge.

“Uh uh! No peeking! Patience is the most important ingredient in bread making. I’ve cleverly applied the locks so you won’t be tempted!”

“You’re a fridge!!! Make it cold! Make it COLD!! Don’t ruin my crusts!” He sank to his knees and hammered on the door as if his beloved pastry might hear and open it from the inside.

Gordon, detecting a dangerous deterioration in his elder brother’s grip on sanity, shuffled hurriedly backwards. Virgil growled and ran from the room.

John stabbed at his tablet “Unbelievable! This thing is unhackable. The code is completely illogical. I think this part is the dna sequence of a banana…”

Alan nodded seriously as if he too could recognise the genome of any given fruit on sight. John sighed.

“EOS? It’s me. Please engage? This is an emergency situation.”

The AI passionately informed him that he was a skater boy.

Alan edged himself towards the control panel and peered at it thoughtfully. Perhaps it was something Game Theory could help with.

The happy conical flask bubbled innocently at him as if to say “Press me! Go on! What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I w-would advise against…”

Brains advice was interrupted by the sound of the door at the end of the corridor flying off its hinges and the familiar hiss-whine of an exo-suit powered by angry eyebrows. NOTHING and NOBODY would make Scott beg and remain in one piece.

Alan pressed the button. A twangy guitar riff was followed by the cheery voice crooning “oooh, baby”.

Alan took personal offence and punched it. The track increased in speed:

“OohbabyoohbabyIt'smakingmecrazyit'smakingmecrazyEverytimeIlookaroundlookaroundEverytimeIlookaroundeverytimeIlookaroundit’sinmyfacehowvbizarrehowbizarrehowbizarrehowbizzzzz”

Virgil emitted something akin to a war cry and tried to reach around his sobbing elder brother to rip the door from the cursed appliance when suddenly everything went quiet.

Kayo walked around the side of the fridge holding a cable with a plug dangling limply from the end.

Grandma gasped. Alan blinked. Brains’ jaw dropped. Scott sniffled. Virgil’s exo-suit wheezed as he sagged in relief. John head butted his tablet.

Gordon sat on the floor and laughed hysterically.

Kayo handed the plug to Virgil who crushed it with his pincers.

Scott scrambled to his feet and dragged the door open and the family feasted their eyes upon their festive bounty.

“Well, we’d better get all this upstairs to the other fridge then? hadn’t we?” Grandma decided to take charge.

“But there isn’t enough space in the upstairs fridge.” Alan whispered.

“We’ll have to prioritise.” Grandma’s tone shifted to that of a doctor giving bad news.

With a yelp, the Commander of International Rescue leaped forward, grabbed three boxes of pies and sprinted for the stairwell.

The others watched him leave.

“Shall we take the rest in the elevator?”

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True to his role as the resident genius, Brains’ suggestion that the best way to avoid waste was to eat most of it today had cheered the family up no end. Scott, John and MAX (who had finally emerged from the pool) cooked up a storm in the kitchen and created the largest and most eclectic Christmas Dinner Tracy Island had ever seen.

John had persuaded EOS to restore contact and she was providing a soundtrack of Christmas hits interspersed with her favourite festive jokes. Gordon and Kayo were competitively decorating a lebkuchen penguin army. Gradually the basement fridge was emptied.

Virgil and Alan did the last run which turned out to be armfuls of cheeses of indeterminate vintage. Trying not to breathe too deeply, Virgil kicked the door closed and Alan stuck his tongue out at the errant fridge before they turned their backs and walked companionably towards the elevator.

The control panel flickered.

Very faintly, at the very limit of human hearing, there was the sound of laughter.

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[qwerty019283ytrewq]

That's what I'm thinking about right now.

It was supposed to be a short sketch.

✨️Imagine✨️

JP watches Max grow up, Daniel grow up.

JP watches Max blush, and Daniel touches him more often. JP pushes Simon in the shoulder, who rolls his eyes. They're making bets.

JP sees Daniel's face darken when Jos appears, sees Max's face turn to stone, his shoulders tense. Simon throws off a photo of JP, as these two idiots drink milkshakes.

JP sees Max's rage after Baku and Daniel's anger. JP listens to angry circulations about Max's bee costume and Simon's stories about a drooping Daniel.

Simon pokes JP in the shoulder at a New Year's Eve party and points at Max and Daniel as they walk off into an empty hallway.

JP sees the longing in Max's eyes when Daniel laughs at Nico's joke and sees the longing in Daniel's eyes when he turns around and notices Max shooting a video for the team with Pierre.

JP writes a message to Simon about their idiots pouring champagne on each other on the podium.

JP sees Max and Daniel holding hands and talking quietly after the news about Alex. No one else sees it. Simon is angry because he didn't get the photo.

JP dies inside when he hears Max's moan of pain in Silverstone. Simon sends him a link to a video of Daniel's reaction. JP listens to a tirade about Mercedes bastards from Jos and Helmut. "Another 10 minutes, I can't take it anymore," he writes to Simon. After 8 minutes, Daniel carefully slips out of Max's room.

JP is sure that Max is not listening to him at all and then notices Daniel's resignation video. JP talks about this with Simon for a long time. A month later, he receives a voice message from Simon, in which his friend wearily says that He is coming back. JP already knows that, Max is not as secretive as he wants to appear. And why is it only Simon and JP know?

JP writes about Max and Daniel's follies on video shoots in Australia. "Poor Checo," Simon writes.

JP laughs at Simon's story about how he hid Daniel's balaclava, how the poor intern almost burst into tears when he handed Max's balaclava to Daniel. Oh, if he only knew what JP knows.

JP is telling Max about the received data for the third time when Max takes off and runs out of the office. JP is glad that there is no need to distract anyone.

JP says, "Daniel's fine, he got out of the car," and his conscience doesn't think about Alex.

JP sends Simon a video showing Daniel carrying both helmets and Max almost jumping up with a bottle of wine. Simon sends him a link from the helicopter video.

JP hears the rumors, sees how the rumors reach Max. He sees Daniel's smile droop. If it wasn't for Max, JP would have gone to Ferrari.

"And your old pal Daniel took the fastest lap at the end, as well." "Thank you, Daniel!"

JP gets a special Christmas card. Max and Daniel are on the beach. It seems the longue will break under them, but these idiots are smiling at the camera. "Merry Christmas from Max and Daniel!"

JP brags in a message to Simon.

[stripedstarsblueflags]

goodbye to a world

reading between the lines of the various goodbyes and dismissals to logan sargeant

Pt. 2: Alex on socials

full series

oh, alex albon. you beautiful soul.

it goes without saying that the social media presence of drivers is so important that it’s monitored and orchestrated by an entire group of people– but a team like williams? they’ve got that shit under lock and key. i’ve said this before and i’ll say it again: the shitstorm williams has been in puts an unbelievable amount of pressure on their drivers not just to perform well but to pick up the pieces. they’re at the forefront of the “let’s look forward! let’s keep pushing” optimism campaign that all backmarker teams have to put together for the sake of professionalism. logan basically doesn’t have a social media presence, and you see more of him on the official f1 grid photography dumps than williams’ own account. alex’s posts are more frequent, but the content itself might as well be autogenerated. in conferences, they’re both reserved, careful what they say, always swinging back inelegantly towards the same one-liner: “we’ll look at the data, reset, hope to come back stronger in [next race]”. and unlike teams like mclaren, mercedes, ferrari– the two teammates definitely don’t make posts to or about each other.

alex posts this three hours after the official august 27 announcement:

alex…

this is going to have to be a list again, isn’t it? one post, a few photos, and he’s already said and conveyed so much more than the williams “statements” ever even tried.

first of all, 12:20 exactly? that’s been queued. obviously. we also know that alex found out about logan being axed mere hours before the decision, and i for one think that was absolutely deliberate. they wanted to get logan out– like, physically out of their vicinity– as quickly and as discretely as possible. so are they going to give alex, who’s famously kind and compassionate and talks too much and pays more on-camera attention to logan than practically anyone else in that team… they’re going to give him a heads up? unlikely.

so is there a chance that this post was composed for him before they even told him? that’s actually almost a certainty, but the most important detail to mention is that caption. let’s go sentence-by-sentence.

“i know firsthand how brutal this sport can be…”

wow. okay. i said sentence-by-sentence but i can’t even get past this because… BRUTAL. what a word. this is clearly a reference to alex’s own replacement by red bull. 2019. not that long ago, but considering alex’s f1 presence has already been solidified as “adhd cat dad who can also outperform the SHIT out of a backmarker car” it’s not something that’s called back too often, that he had a shot in a front running team. it wasn’t really a fall from grace, was it? because even in a williams alex has continued to prove himself and put that car way further ahead than it deserves to be. so it was painful but not in a way that, like, max’s silverstone crash is still painful to some people. it’s pretty distant in the f1 public consciousness from what i can tell.

but alex is making a point to throw back to it. not in detail, not heavily, because he’s not making it about himself. the only allusion to the actual event is the word “firsthand”. high is the right way to go about it because saying anything about “back when i” would be going too far, reshifting the spotlight in the wrong direction. but he’s asking us all:

remember when i was a kid and i was trying to build myself up and they tossed me aside like i was nothing? remember when i got discarded by a team that’s burned through so many second drivers already, and left thinking my only f1 legacy would be “that disappointment”? remember how much that hurt?

brutal. what a word. because that’s what red bull is, that’s what they do. famously. but it’s definitely not the word you’d apply to a team that’s supposed to be The Underdogs and A Family and A Lovely Sense of Familiarity and Support what fucking ever.

so alex gets away with this by the way he’s planned out the last half of that phrase: “how brutal this sport can be…” because he says ‘this sport’, not ‘this team’ or ‘james vowles’. so he’s flipping a two-sided coin here:

side one, on the surface. what williams want to see from him and want to believe. the sport is brutal. it is what it is. life’s not fair. that’s just how it goes. no blame but the harsh reality of the sport itself.

side two, between the lines. not too far deep between the lines, too, all you have to do to see this side is not have a compulsive, ashamed, desperate desire to see anything else. this is brutal. what’s happening to logan is brutal. what’s happening is painful and humiliating and you’re leaving him in the dust like he was always disposable, like you never wanted him, like you can’t wait to forget about him and i know because that’s what happened to me.

he’s saying this right to their faces. he’s saying it to everyone.

“…it’s tough to see Logan leave the team mid-season.”

i have a feeling this is the part that was prewritten just because of the word tough. “this is, of course, incredibly tough on” et cetera, we know where that understatement came from. the emphasis is on the fact that the disruption, the replacement is happening literally during the season, which is Such A Mess For Everyone, not the fact that the disruption is logan losing his entire career in disgrace (because he’s already said that part). so this single sentence toes the line so gracefully it’s almost an art.

“You gave it your all brother and it’s been a pleasure being teammates with you.”

this is really interesting specifically for the fact that 1) shortly after james manages to say the same thing as a put-down and 2) he goes on to contradict himself. i’m going to pick up later on the “you gave it your all” part because we will definitely revisit that, but the second half is nice too. it’s not focusing on logan’s performance as a williams driver, or as an f1 driver. it’s about logan– and, to an extent, himself– in a light people don’t tend to see either of them in: as a teammate. when you’ve got a team like mclaren or ferrari where the teammates are so closely matched that their race craft, cooperation and competition is a direct talking point in their racing, we talk about that a lot more often. but alex and logan can spend a race more than half a grid apart from each other, and as a williams driver that’s been true for alex this whole time. so we don’t think of which of them is or isn’t a better teammate because they’re barely driving the same race, and they’re not being treated like they’re in the same team. but even bringing that up in a post is good to see, just another way to give logan an additional title. the williams’ failure, the underperformer, the disappointment, the backmarker, and– oh yeah, alex albon’s teammate. love to see it.

“I know whatever you do next, you’ll be awesome.”

WOAH. okay, talk about shifting the spotlight. what’s been the williams 2024 story so far? i mean, if you were going to use a sentence to describe “how we got here” and “where we’re going”? we would probably see something like: logan’s failure in 24 brought in carlos sainz for 25. the narrative from james vowles in particular is: whatever we do next with carlos sainz, we’ll be awesome. the williams narrative since jv took over has basically been “uhhh yeah we’re nowhere now but WE’RE GONNA BE!! UH! SOMEWHERE! EVENTUALLY!” all about the future.

logan, in contrast… his whole narrative since joining f1 and immediately tumbling has been “he had a chance for a future but it’s gone now.”

not. to. alex. albon. in the wake of this announcement everybody is fucking reeling, and in the context of williams people are buzzing all around colapinto and how he’s been rocketed into the limelight for the better or worse, and all the distraught logan fans are either throwing up or screaming to the heavens, “WHAT NOW??” logan is being pushed aside the same way you’d push some clutter off a desk. he’s evaporating into thin air, or at least that’s what williams are trying to make him do.

three hours in, and alex albon is there to remind us: logan’s story is not over. he’s acknowledging that logan’s future is wide open, empty, undecided and unprepared (“whatever you do next”) but he’s ACKNOWLEDGING THE FUTURE. and the change in tone from third-person “seeing Logan” to second-person “you’ll be awesome”… once again, it’s not about him. it’s not about alex being a nice guy and a nice teammate and showing the world how nice he is by taking pity on this other person who’s leaving. he’s personally telling logan and by extension us: you’ll be awesome. doesn’t matter where you go, what you do, you have the potential to be awesome and so you will be. it’s not even “have fun” “enjoy where you’re going” “i hope you do well” it’s <<you will>>.

“Just you fucking wait,” Alex is saying. “You wait and watch. He’ll show you.”

it’s not just a lovely goodbye, it’s a ferocious goodbye. it’s a statement. it’s a confident send off, maybe the only genuine vote of confidence he’s ever gotten from williams.

and we love to see it.

[f1-disaster-bi]

Writing Prompt List

"Being strong doesn’t mean never asking for help or admitting you’re in pain." Nortrell

-💖

"You're not alone, you know" Lando didn't look up at the comment. He ignored it, keeping his eyes focused on the iPad in his hand. His eyes ached from staring at the screen. His dyslexia made the words dance and melt away but Lando kept staring. He kept staring and reading until Max pulled the iPad out of his grip. "What the fuck, Max?", Lando hissed, blinking rapidly and feeling the anger well in him as he glared up at the other. He tried to reach out for the iPad but Max held it out of his reach, "Give it back. I need to go over the data from last weekend" Max didn't give the iPad back. Instead, he knocked off the document Lando was reading and locked it. He settled it out of reach on a nearby shelf before he returned to stand over Lando, looklng down at him with worry. "No, Bob, it's time to get out of your head", Max argued back, arms crossed over his chest as Lando kept up his glare, "You've been staring at that document since the jet back three days ago. It's not healthy" "If I don't figure it out, I'll just end up fucking up the next race", Lando knew his argument was weak but he needed to do it. He needed to be better. He was letting everyone down. He knew he was. Lando could see it with the way the team looked at him. He saw it in the way his parents shared little looks whenever he was around them. They had given a lot for him to get here and he was fucking it up. He needed to be better, he had to do better. God his throat was getting tight and his chest ached as he thought about all the people he was letting down.

"Hey, Bob, look at me", Max demanded calmly as he knelt before Lando. His hands were a warm, ground weight on Lando's legs before they reached up to cup his cheeks, "That's it, babe. Breathe for me. You're doing so good. Just focus on me, yeah? Look at my ugly mug. It'll scare you right out of this" "You're not ugly", Lando managed to hiss out, "Wouldn't kiss you all the time if you were"

"There's my boy", Max laughed, brushing his thumb under his cheek, "You need a break. That's the second panic attack today, baby. I know you're trying to be strong, but being strong doesn't mean never asking for help or not admitting being in pain. So let me help, yeah?"

Part of Lando still wanted to fight it. It still wanted to push Max away and focus on being an island. A one man army, but Lando was exhausted as he leaned into Max's touch.

"Okay, okay I'll try"

The smile Max gave him was filled with relief and fondness as he leaned in to kiss Lando's nose softly.

"That's all I ask"

[stupidlovergirl]

Thinking of...

Working out with Beel!

Beel, who is a gym bro, will give tips to anyone if they ask for it

So of course, you got curious!

Beel, who takes you to workout with him one day, and gives you a basic run down of do's and don't's.

Beel, who helps you stretch! He makes sure your not hurting yourself! He's right in front of you showing you what to do, a big smile on his face

Beel, who teaches you how to lift! He's so in his element telling you why you don't lift you max every time

Beel, who runs on the treadmill next to you if you suggest cardio! He says not to try and match him and you understand why when he easily reaches speeds past even Olympic runners can't reach

Beel, who leaves you to do a little more intensive training for himself after you say it's alright! But he always trying to keep an eye on you!

Beel, who does a cool down with you, and launches into another explanation on why it's important, and your realizing that he is so smart about all of this?? You knew he knew his stuff, but man's listing scientific data dawg

Beel, who gives you a protein shake! He smiles real big as he drinks his, saying how this was one his favorite things after a workout (you agree)

Beel, who takes you to eat after if you suggest it, and after asks if you want to do it again next week, with the biggest puppy dog eyes, and even though you feel exhausted and feeling pain in muscles you didn't know existed, you agree

Beel, who smiles a 100 kilowatt smile when you agree, and you sign your fate if working out probably every week

[whiteraven87]

Driven by Speed: A diamond among stones - 17. Wicked Game

------

The Unstoppable series

Part 1: A Diamond among stones

Prologue

F1 start

Loss and Pain

Calm after the storm

First victory

Unbreakable

Unexpected blow

The Secret

Beginning of New Era

The Burden of a Leader

Sad Anniversary

Unexpected feelings

Hungry Eyes

The Infernal Race

Kiss from A Rose

I shouldn't

Wicked Game

They would be Proud of You

Unstoppable

This is the Beginning

Epilogue

---------------------------

Warnings: long (very long) slow burn, age gap (23 years), woman racing in F1, boss/driver relationship, difficult and painful past, death, anxiety,

---------------------------

17. Wicked Game

Qatar, Mercedes Motorhome, Evening

POV Toto

This season was hell.

For the fans—it was a spectacle. A rivalry Formula 1 hadn’t seen in years. Three drivers fighting for the title, point by point, race by race.

For me—an endless agony. Max, Lewis, Miriell.

Each of them had everything it took to become champion. Each had the talent, the determination, the hunger for victory. But above all, my eyes were on her.

I knew how much it was costing her. I saw Miriell struggle every day. Pushing herself to the limit in the simulator, analyzing data late into the night, waking up at dawn to perfect every detail of her driving.

I saw her clench her jaw after a bad qualifying lap, dig her nails into her palms when she lost by mere hundredths.

I saw her fight. And now… now I felt her slipping away.

At first, I ignored it. Blamed it on exhaustion, on pressure. After all, she was carrying more on her shoulders than she should. But the more I watched her, the less I believed that was the case.

She was avoiding me.

Not in an obvious way. Miriell was too smart for that. But I knew her too well. I recognized when she avoided my gaze, when her answers were shorter than usual, when she deliberately steered clear of places she knew I would be.

I didn’t know why. I didn’t know what was going on in her head.

That evening, I was about to leave for the hotel. I turned off the light in my office in the motorhome and headed for the exit.

Then I heard it.

A guitar. Soft, melancholic notes floating through the cool autumn air.

I knew who it was.

I moved toward the upper terrace without making a sound. And there she was—alone.

Sitting on a wooden bench, her long fingers moving over the strings with the ease of someone who had done it for years. And then she started singing.

"What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you..."

I recognized the song—Wicked Game.

Her voice was pure, melodic, but there was something else in it. Longing.

Something tightened in my chest.

I stood in the shadows, watching her—the girl who dared to challenge the best drivers in the world, who was strong, relentless, unyielding. But right now, I didn’t see a warrior.

I saw fragility. Something she so carefully concealed. And suddenly, I wanted to know exactly what was going on in her mind.

I started forming questions in my head, ones I could ask. But I knew a direct approach wouldn’t work. If I asked, she would shut down even more. I couldn’t force her to open up. I had to wait.

Miriell finished singing, lowered the guitar onto her lap, and sat motionless for a long moment, staring at the track lights in the night.

She didn’t notice me. I turned and left just as quietly as I had come.

That night, I lay awake for hours. I could feel something shifting between us, the thread that had always connected us growing tighter.

Lying there, staring at the ceiling, I already knew—I loved her.

It had been there for a while now. But I had fought it.

I waited, hoping it would pass. But deep down, I knew it wouldn’t.

With every day, with every breath and every smile, she became closer to me.

Inevitable Feelings

Qatar, Mercedes Motorhome, Evening

POV Miriell

This season felt like a war.

I couldn't remember a day when I didn’t feel exhausted. I couldn’t remember a night when I wasn’t analyzing every lap, every turn, every mistake. Max, Lewis, and I—three drivers who threw ourselves at each other’s throats every Sunday.

It was the best thing Formula 1 had seen in years. But for me? It was hell.

I had to be strong. Not just for myself, but for the team. Every fraction of a second mattered, every pit stop could determine the championship. I couldn’t afford to show weakness.

And yet… I had long felt my thoughts were scattered.

All because of him.

Toto.

He was my mentor. My support. Someone I trusted in a way I had never trusted any man. After years of building walls around myself, he was the only one who had managed to break through them. With him, I felt safe.

And that was fine… or at least it should have been.

But for some time now, I had started to notice things I had previously ignored. The way he looked in a perfectly tailored suit. The way he focused on documents, his hands moving over the paper with the precision any surgeon would envy. The way his smile—that subtle, barely perceptible curve of his lips—made my heart race.

It shouldn’t have been like this.

He was my boss. He was older. He was… out of my reach.

But my heart didn’t care about what was reasonable.

At night, when I was alone, the longing became unbearable. I craved his presence. I was terrified that if he ever found out… I would lose everything.

The closer I got to him, the more I understood that this wasn’t just a fleeting infatuation. This was love—silent, hidden, shy, but real.

I was afraid he would notice. I was afraid that if he ever saw what I felt for him, everything would fall apart. Our friendship, my career, my place in the team.

So I started pulling away and locked those feelings inside myself.

I pushed them to the back of my mind and focused on my goal. The championship. The training. The analysis. The work with the team.

That was my shield. But even it couldn’t protect me from moments of weakness.

Like that evening.

I was exhausted. Mentally, physically. Too tired to return to the hotel, too restless to sleep. So I took my guitar and went to the motorhome terrace.

I started playing. Soft, melancholic notes carried through the night air, my fingers moving over the strings mechanically, as if they remembered the melody better than I did.

"What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you..."

I closed my eyes and let the music say what I couldn’t.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t notice I wasn’t alone.

I didn’t know how long he had been standing there… but I felt him.

His presence.

Toto.

I didn’t need to see him to know he was there. There was something in the way the air around me changed, in the almost imperceptible shift in the atmosphere.

Had he been listening from the start? Had he seen how fragile I was in that moment?

My heartbeat quickened, but I didn’t dare look in his direction.

Because if our eyes met… if he saw in mine everything I had tried so desperately to hide…

I couldn’t let that happen, so I didn’t look up.

I kept playing.

When I finished, I sat in silence, waiting for my thoughts to settle, but he was already gone, leaving behind only the echo of his presence.

And me... With a racing heart and the fear that if I didn’t stop feeling what I felt for him…

One day, it would destroy me.

-----------

NEXT -> 18. They would be Proud of You

----------

"I put my armor on, show you how strong I am."

Read the story here:

AO3 Unstoppable Series

Wattpad Part1 I Wattpad Part 2

======

[nitecore-wolfie]

TW:/: huge rant of an idea I had in my shower..

MHA x Wild kratts AU 😨

Basically I had this thought for some reason while I was in my shower LITERALLY JUST NOW…ಠ_ಠ of the WK crew being in the my hero academia universe? And I actually came up with like scenarios and stuff about it? ( might be a small comic )

And I’m going to play one out and tell some ideas I think about it..

Ideas//

The brothers:

Martin is the eldest so his quirk wouldn’t be as developed as his younger brothers, Chris, and so the way martins quirk would act for his body wasn’t the best.

The way the quirk works is, if they touch an animal and know what makes them special, they can turn into them, for Martin this would be 5 minutes and he’d be able to use one creature power— Chris however can turn into two animals for 10 minutes each not after the other however.

The side effects would consist:

Martin: broken bones, ripped tissue and muscles along with little to no mobility for an hour or two max.

Chris: sprained muscles, a little nerve damage and achy pains.

Due to this they couldn’t use their quirk much, only in dire situations.

Once they joined UA highschool (few years before deku and that joined they where kids in middle school so the Kratt team had finished once they joined) they became friends with the support team members.

Aviva: quirk: DTE (design and technical eyes)

Her quirk allows her to create holograms from her pupils, herself only being able to control them, she can scan physical objects and alive creature and access their gene code or mechanical data and such to create more.

Koki: quirk: TCH (telepathic communications holograms )

This allows her to telepathically connect to computers and devices- with training even people, only for a certain amount of time before she gets nauseous or a migraine. She can also create holograms of information or ‘calls’ with people being able to see them in third person like on a screen.

Jimmy: quirk: DC (device control)

With his built in controller in his palm, he can teleport, or movie man made objects- he has to know where, how big and why to teleport the object.

The three became good friends with the Kratt brothers even making them support items for their quirk, it being a blue and green vest, it allows them to keep animal dna in a disc within the suit. Appearing when needed. It helps the brothers body stay functional and healthy while their bones and muscles, their own dna mixes with the animal’s and changes their body to an uncanny resemblance to the animal their using. This group ended up graduating and becoming hero’s in America all around the world even saving animals from villains such as Zack and Donita ect..

I must made a short comic of this…