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yourlocalsmutwriter · 1 month ago

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This year, I want to be a wetter, I mean better person - Mark Webber x reader

cws: age gaps (reader is in her 20s, Mark is in his 40s), perv! Mark, semi-public, squirting, dirty talk, author loves dilfs and hopes that one day dilfs will love her too

Whichever spirit possessed your parents to decide to move to the middle of nowhere, England was a hidden blessing. It may not have seemed that way when you had to endure their company for the 4 hour drive from the airport or when you knew that there was no one fuckable for miles. Not that you could get down and dirty under a family roof, whether it was somebody else's or your own. Nothing more haunting than staring down at the lone poster of Fernando Alonso from his Renaut era on your hideously painted walls while cumming. Or, more accurately faking an orgasm. So you spent a nice, festive Christmas Eve and Christmas in your new family home. Catalogued everything that went wrong in your life to land you in this position from the 26th onwards. Actually explored the town and found that at least 1 bar (as if it would have more than that not on the main street) was open on New Years.

Your parents were not party people. By 8, they had tucked in on the couch and were yawning through a holiday concert of some Dutch guy. You shimmied into the one presentable dress they had seemed to pack from your childhood home. "Conveniently," your cute clothes were in storage, and the owner was somewhere in Dubai at the moment. So you have to make do with this black piece. It's not your first choice. But at least the fact that you had grown some tits since being 18 a few years ago was comforting. You pass your parents by with a promise to not be long now. Being met with a sleepy "Don't worry, sweetheart." you know that they're going to sleep through the fireworks anyway.

To nobody's surprise, the bar isn't crowded. The raging bull is in a pathetic state. Some top 40 hits radio station is playing. The floor is sticky. The bartender looks like he's your parents' age, and it doesn't seem like he knows just what goes into your favorite Long Island iced tea. You sit down and ask him to keep pouring you rum and cokes until either he runs out or your wallet is empty. You sip his very boozy concoction slowly, as you're texting your friends. Complimenting their party fits. Asking details about potential hookups. Looking at pictures of their pets in ugly sweaters. As midnight draws near, someone else actually gets inside the bar. You look up and see a pair of green eyes and holy shit, it's a holiday miracle. It's Mark Webber. 9 time GP winner. Manager of your current favorite driver on the grid. Ultimate celebrity crush, Mark Webber. With the grace of a newborn giraffe, you slide out of your chair. You don't want him to see you, but at the same time, you need it to survive. There goes your cover of not knowing who he is. Now, the bar name makes sense. It all aligns like a jigsaw puzzle. The car themed coasters. The signed cocktail napkin framed on the wall. The only “fancy” drink on the menu being named the Aussie grit.

After you not so subtly go to the bathroom to reapply your lipstick and try to work wonders with a mascara wand, you go back to your place at the bar. Only Mark is next to you, bendy black straw into his namesake cocktail.

"Look, I don't know how much they paid you to tail me here, but I can double it." he says, and you're confused.

"You're some kind of journalist or something.” You shake your head, still too stunned that he's here, talking to you.

“Don't tell me you're just some big city girl whose boyfriend brought her to meet the parents, and now you're single because you found him groping his cousin. Because, believe me, that romcom's more of a staple than you think." He continues.

"Wow, how bad is this town that a young woman in a bar on NYE is news. My parents moved here in April. I'm visiting them for the first time. And so far, I haven't encountered any guys, much less the ones that think the best part of waking up is Folgers in their cup." You explain.

"Are your folks the couple who hate each other but are always bragging about their daughter's graduation in March?" Mark guesses, and you are once again stunned by just much this small town gets to people. Not only does a man that's starred into many of your wet dreams know your parents. No, that's not enough, he also knows they're not the perfect relationship role models. You can't help but wonder if it's hereditary and also the reason you haven't brought home a partner. Pushing that to the side, you reply to him with

"Just the ones.”

"You know your dad thinks we're best friends, and your mom keeps asking if I can hire you at Porsche or McLaren." He says and suddenly all the facetimes with your parents come back to you. The man with a very nice house who they invite over for tea sometimes. The one that's been a little under the weather lately. The one who drives a sports car to the center.

"You're motorsport Mark? Of course you are. Be grateful that you don't have any kids my age because I'd practically be your daughter in law too." You speak before you think, momentarily forgetting about the man's wife and kid. Then you wonder why he's out here with you and not back at home. You're inching to ask, but there is no way to say “are you divorced, and if yes, can I ride you into next year, please?"”. Especially after he hits you with a reminder of why that's a bad idea.

"You should be happy that your parents are proud of you, sweetheart. And that they want you to stick around with them here." He says.

"If I was, wouldn't I be about to watch the fireworks with them?" You ask.

"Still some time until that, isn't it? Wanna make it count?" He replies to your question with a question.

You agree, and there's two more Aussie Grits on the bar. The bar tender also places two laminated sheets of paper and two markers in front of you. The comic sans text on top says "New Years Resolutions" and the neat little lines give you 5 rows to write in.

"Sick of hearing us talk, aren't you?" Mark asks the other man, and the latter just grunts.

"Bet I can write mine before you finish your drink." The former driver says, clearly still a speed fiend. You shake on it, and you start chugging the strong drink. Meanwhile, he's adding chicken scratch sentences to the A4.

He beats you, and to his credit, all his resolutions are thought out and personal. You're happy to see that he's put "do more for Oscar" in there and giggle at the "post more on Instagram?". While you're still reading, he's busy gloating, making fun of you for not learning the most important thing in college - how to hold your liquor.

"What, like you could do any better. Mark, I'm surprised you're standing after the drinks you already had. I bet that I'll have to see you get locked in here till the morning for your own sake." You say, both posing a challenge and remembering the "beauty" of some more traditional British pubs. You hope that the one booth you see is at least comfortable. He doesn't back down, and you're on the clock, writing down what you want to accomplish in 2025. But your brain is buzzing from the drinks, from the way liquid is dripping down Mark's chin and onto his pants, by the fact that you're a horny drunk and the unavailable dilf next to you is too delicious to pass on. You lose, unsurprisingly. Handing over the list, you absent mindedly say

"You know I wouldn't mind your help with the last one, I'm sure you can make it happen, wink wink, nudge nudge.". You're referring to the item "attend my first grand prix," a dream of yours since getting into the sport. But apparently, in the rush, you had added a more nsfw goal under it. Because the item on your list that ended it prematurely was, in fact, "squirt for the first time.".

"You wanna double-check your work before saying things, sweetheart. " he asks, and you're mortified when you do. You start apologizing and gathering your things to leave. Mark places a strong hand on your bare thigh to stop you.

"I never said I wasn't going to do it. I'd be glad to. I'm just making sure that here and now is the place you want to bring this up." He says. Your jaw drops, and you're like a fish out of water.

"Aren't you married?" You ask. It's not the first that you thought would come out of your mouth. Yet, you have to hear him say it.

"Divorced. Technically, in the process of, but no ring. Empty house, and a cold bed. Only my left hand for relief." He says and you're picturing Mark pumping his cock in his fist. You cross your legs and clench your thighs slightly, which doesn't go unnoticed by the older man. He moves his hand and spreads them.

"And you, sweetheart? Do you have some secret boy toy to make your switch into adulthood more fun? Or a nice pretty girl like yourself that you've been shaking up with since your dorm days?" He asks.

"No. Same as you, but I use my right hand. My clit's too sensitive if I switch up my technique." You say, hellbent on making that man go crazy for you.

Mark looks around and tips a crisp 50-pound note from his wallet. You can't help but notice the little blue wrapper peeking out of the Italian leather. He calls over the bartender and asks for "2 coffees when we come back." You think the Aussie's going to take you to his car. Have you ruin his custom leather seats and make you lick up your mess as punishment? You guess he might even take you to his house, not that you have any idea where it is exactly. Ask you to hold on tight as the headboard to his once marital bed slams against the wall. Makes sure your sensitive little clit humps against the pillow as he's fucking you from behind.

But Mark drags you to the men's room instead. Spreads your legs and makes you grab the sink.

"You know I'm a man of few words. And as much as I'd love to start you off with a hands-on approach, I think you haven't earned it yet. So let's show you some videos first, huh?". He pulls out his phone and opens his Google drive. He's got a folder titled xxx and in it is maliciously organized subfolders by years.

"I can click any of them? And I'll see you making a woman squirt?" You say, impressed.

"Never met a girl whose pussy I couldn't make gush. Although I'd stick to the pre-retirement years." He says and you settle on a 2012 video. You know the later ones probably feature his ex. But this one stars a faceless blonde, all curves and moans. You squirm when Mark smacks her ass, watching it jiggle. You keep your eyes on how his tongue slides between her folds. You try to ignore how he's rolled up your dress and is just staring at your underwear. Watching it get wetter and wetter. You're too preoccupied with younger him to ask for his touch now.

The next video is a brunette, with pierced nipples and a possible disdain for Mark. That's gone when he slides into her, fingers pinching her clit. He makes her come too, and the next one and the one after that. You've seen enough. You turn and find him eye level with your cunt, long legs bent into a squat. He may be more than a decade older than in the video, but an old dog doesn't stop learning new tricks.

"Mark, I need you, please." You beg, beyond ready to be treated like one of his "little starlets" from the spank bank. You wonder if he'd film you too. Have your pussy soaking his cock in your juices as a memento of your time together.

"How do you want me, sweetheart?" He asks.

"Need you to fuck me, want to feel your cock inside of me, please." You moan out. And he's a perfect gentleman, because he promises he'll give it to you.

But first he slides his fingers to the front of your underwear and two of them are on your clit, rubbing. Maybe it's because of his height, that the length has spread even to his limbs. Maybe it's the dexterity, the sheer speed of his movements. Usually you'd prefer it starting slow, and building up. But with Mark, it was all climbing, starting at a 100 and moving towards 200 and above. Your hips are bucking against him, searching more. He slows just for a second in order to thrust two fingers inside of you.

"Look at you, already a mess. Did I get you so rilled up, sweetheart. Does this old man do it so much for you?" He asks and smiles as you can only groan and beg for more. He's not someone who draws out things, so he tells you to keep it up for him as he opens the condom package. He watches you whine that your fingers don't feel as good, that they aren't enough.

"Oh sweetheart, just you wait. You're going to be ruined." Mark says as he feeds you just the tip. He makes you take your hands off, replacing them with his. He thrusts up, matching his movements on your clit.

"It's too big, please." You say. Were you asking him for more or to stop? Your body seemed to favour the latter , because you were practically dripping on the bathroom floor. Mark uses his other hand to bring you closer to himself, his shallow thrusts pumping deeper and deeper. He's hitting that spot in your body, the one which you didn't even know existed.

"Be good and cum for me, will you, sweetheart? I don't have all night. So unless you want me to drag you out like this and fuck you on the town square under the fireworks, you better let go." Mark says. He does miss how tight you get around him when he talks like this. He continues, telling you how good you make him feel and how he can't wait to see your pretty orgasm face.That's what tips you over the edge. They're tears coming out of your eyes, you're pretty sure you're drooling and Mark's cock is indeed soaked with your juices. You can hear the obnoxious squelching of his last few thrusts, before he also comes.

He's still inside you when your alarm rings, the sound coming from your purse, long forgotten on the floor. You scramble to turn it off.

"One minute to midnight. Well, it's more like 20 seconds now." You announce. Mark takes your face in his hands (still slick with you) and kisses you gently. He doesn't have the heart to tell you that this is the first kiss he's had all year. You don't have the heart to tell him the same. All you know is that your return flight might be rebooked to a later date. You finally found something interesting to do in your parent's new town.

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 x you #f1 imagine #mark webber x you #mark webber x reader #mark webber smut

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persepinas · 6 months ago

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I have been thinking about loustat and dancing and how it's so clearly something intimately them. They dance so regularly that Claudia thinks nothing of it. It's a regular sight, and she finds her own happiness in seeing her parents happy and dancing together. So much, in fact, that she goes to join them. It's a familiar event, with how easily she takes their hands, and they are so effortlessly together as a family there. A small joy. A blissful time.

But the moves are practiced and ingrained. Louis and Lestat dancing, their bodies following this dance that's solely theirs. It changes with Claudia, the intimacy transforming to make room for a different love they have for the family they've managed to create through the mess of what they were prior to the fire.

The dancing transcends to even their hands and easily entwining their fingers together without having to look. The connection shared is so deep that even if they were blind, I believe their souls know each other so well they'd be able to recreate such a sweet moment of holding hands in that way. Not even a glance down to their hands. They're simply together.

But to get back to the physical act of dancing, I'm lost to the moments we don't see. Be it their honeymoon era, or later, when they were more settled in their marriage. The Azalea, and perhaps hidden moments in offices, or when the sun is nearly up and the rooms have been cleared and it's just them at the top of the stairs, swaying slowly together. So many moments in between and the possibility of showing love even without words.

And that's the dancing. Louis has that with tap as well. It's connected to Paul and childhood and happiness. It's connected to innocence and a life before so much loss and pain.

Louis has that with Lestat, too. He has that with Claudia. That connection with so many he loves, so many who are so important to Louis and who he is as a person. And to be vulnerable in that way, because I don't know about others, but dancing is such an intimate act sometimes that it's hardly meant for the eyes of the world and for the eyes of those you're most comfortable with instead.

Then I lose myself in thinking about the next dance Louis will share with Lestat. Or maybe he will be lost in Lestat's music and dance alone in his Dubai home. Maybe he will be at a concert and move along to the beat. Maybe they'll dance alone because they will be alone, Lestat humming a tune, and Louis will feel joy and comfort again with someone he loves. Someone who knew him before, and after, and in the present, the solid body of Lestat's against his, dancing.

Or this could be Hozier's fault while listening to Work Song this morning.

#interview with the vampire #loustat #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #claudia eparvier #iwtv

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futfemfantasies · 1 year ago

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Communication issues \\ alexia putellas x reader

As promised, the first fic from the poll. Next fic coming shortly… enjoy!! :)

You find out via Alba, Alexia’s sister. Thankfully, your family understands why you have to leave halfway through Christmas day in Australia. Alexia knew she needed surgery for her knee to figure out why it was still painful but the question is, when is the surgery going to happen. Apparently tomorrow, Spanish time, is when. With your bag packed and the farewells beginning, the departure back to Barcelona begins, a week earlier than planned. One of your sisters offered to drive you to the airport and made you promise to text her when you arrive, regardless of the time. With a quick hug as the Australian he becomes unbearable, the airport doors lead you to Spain. With Alba agreeing to pick you up, the long flight and stopovers begins. From Dubai, sleep immediately hit to like a brick.

Next thing you know, one of the flight attendants has woken you up for landing. Putting the seat up, the view at your window is breathtaking. The plane lands and you go through the process of getting off, customs and collecting luggage. Cold winter air greets you as you walk through the airport, making you regret a warmer hoodie. Spotting the younger Putellas sibling is easy in her vibrant clothing and you give her a tight hug before moving towards the car. You notice Eli sitting in the front when you move to the back. Greeting the older woman, she immediately apologises for Alexia's lack of communication.

"Don't apologise for Ale mama. She's an idiota for not telling her girlfriend when her surgery is, while her girlfriend is halfway around the world" Alba states, earning is hard slap on the arm from Eli.

You quickly text your sister and she replied with a thumbs up emoji, must be late back home you think. Alba pulls up to the hospital and you all move inside quickly as Alexia would've woken up not long ago. You pass by a gift shop and buy a bear and some flowers before seeing your girlfriend of 4 years. As you all go into Alexia's room, your eyes meet hers and Alexia gives you a soft smile. Eli and Alba give each other a look and decide to give you both a minute. You place the bear of flowers on the table and sit next to her on the chair.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you" Alexia apologises as she grabs your hand and kisses it.

"Why didn't you? You know I would've stayed with you"

"I know you missed your family and being home, I didn't want to ruin that for you" Alexia softly says, making you melt at the thought.

"Oh baby, you do know that wherever you are is home, right?" Alexia pulls you forward until your lips are on hers.

"Te amo princesa"

"Te amo mi amor. I think you owe my mum a Christmas since I left in the middle of lunch"

"Bebita you did not!" Alexia gasps and hits your arm lightly.

"My girl needed me" you shrug.

Alexia moves over in her bed and pats the spare space next to her, a silent way to tell you she wants cuddles. You cuddle up to Alexia in the small space and she kisses your forehead multiple times.

"Sleep baby, I'll make this up to you. I promise"

And Alexia keep her promises. Around 11 months later when family start organising Christmas, Alexia discussed with her mum that you need to go home and visit your family. After what happened last year, Alexia has to jump at the chance. She organised everything with your sisters and now the final part, telling you.

One cold morning, you roll over to be met with Alexia's sleeping form. She tightens her arm on you as you move closer to give her a kiss. Alexia slowly opens her eyes and smiles at the beauty she sees first thing in the morning.

"Good morning bebita, how you sleep?" Alexia asks sitting up slightly.

"Well since I'm next to you"

"I have a surprise for you. Wait here"

Alexia jumps out of bed, nearly tripping, and runs to your shared closet. She comes back with a smile on her face, extra spring in her step, and an envelope. Alexia wordlessly hands you the envelope and you open it to see printed plane tickets. You read the dates and location and your eyes start watering.

"Ale I - I told you last year in the hospital that I would make it up to you and I am"

You straddle Alexia's lap and kiss her passionately. You both pull away and you cup her cheeks, grazing them softly with the pads of your thumbs.

"I'm going to marry you one day" Alexia whispers, causing a wide smile on both of your faces.

"I want nothing more my love"

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liked by alexiaputellas, stephcatley, samanthakerr20, albaps and 123,456 others

y/ny/l/n: a fairytale come true. the easiest yes I’ve ever made 😍💍 te amo mi amor. No puedo esperar por el próximo capítulo de nuestras vidas juntos ✨😘

Translation: (I love you my love. I can’t wait for the next chapter in our lives together)

view all 15,876 comments…

alexiaputellas: I love you princesa ❤️ let’s start our new chapter 🤩

↪️ y/ny/l/n: mi casa 🩷

samanthakerr20: oooooh Spanish wedding 😮‍💨

↪️ samanthakerr20: super excited for you dude, married life rules! 🤘

↪️↪️ y/ny/l/n: love you long time Sammy 🫶

stephcatley: @ caitlinfoord she’s all grown up 🥹😭😕

↪️ y/ny/l/n: im a year younger than you steffy, stfu 🙄

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

y/ny/l/n posted on their story

alexiaputellas posted on their story

#womens soccer #woso soccer #woso x reader #matildas #alexia putellas x reader #woso imagines #woso imagine #woso fanfics

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ana-bananya · 2 months ago

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Help Seme Support her family in Dubai

$27,066/$30,000 CAD

This campaign was previously shared by Sara (@/bsonblast).

Seme's family were able to evacuate to Dubai back in September, but they have been struggling to find employment. Seme has been trying to support them financially, but she is a single mother and cannot cover the costs alone.

Seme's family have rent, groceries, and medical expenses they are unable to afford. With the difficulty they've had finding work in the UAE, the family has recently been considering relocating to Kenya. But right now they do not have the means to afford to move. The funds from this campaign will help Seme's family be able to afford to continue living in Dubai and put some money away to afford to move, should they choose to do so.

Please donate and share to help Seme support her family and see that their needs are met.

#sudan #keep eyes on sudan #sudan aid #gofundme #sudan fundraiser #sudan genocide #sudan crisis #eyes on sudan #close to goal

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kathlare · 27 days ago

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crossroads of the heart

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: In the quiet aftermath of a New Year's celebration in Dubai, Lando grapples with unresolved feelings and the sting of seeing Amelie move on.

Wordcount: 1.0 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

December 28th, 2022 - Miami, FL

The warm Miami breeze hit Amelie’s face as she stepped out of the sleek, black SUV, Rodrigo by her side. The evening sky was tinged with shades of orange and purple as the city’s skyline gleamed in the distance. It had been a long flight from Barcelona, but the excitement of finally being with her family for the New Year was worth it. Her heart fluttered just thinking about the cruise ahead, but there was also something else—something she hadn’t entirely dealt with in her mind.

Rodrigo squeezed her hand gently as they walked toward the restaurant’s entrance, his presence a comforting contrast to the swirling emotions inside her. She glanced at him and smiled, still trying to adjust to the reality of having him as more than just a friend. It felt different, good, but complicated too.

Inside, the restaurant was dimly lit, with elegant chandeliers casting a soft glow over the long tables. It was a private room, set up to accommodate her large family for dinner before the cruise the next day. The chatter of her family filled the air, the warm hum of voices intertwined with the clinking of glasses and silverware.

Amelie felt a flutter of nerves in her stomach as they entered the room. Her family was already seated, everyone talking and laughing, but she could sense the attention shift slightly as they walked in. Her mother, Victoria, gave her a warm smile from across the room, while her dad, Elias, nodded in acknowledgment. Callum, her overprotective older brother, looked up with a raised eyebrow, clearly appraising Rodrigo in that way only older brothers could. Stella, her sister, beamed at her, and Checo gave a quick smile before turning back to his kids.

But then there was Jack. Jack, who was leaning back in his chair with a grin that bordered on mischievous. His eyes flicked between Rodrigo and Amelie, his lips curling into a smirk.

—Ah, Amelie, finally bringing someone around?— Jack's voice rang out across the table, and Amelie felt the heat rise in her cheeks. It wasn’t that Jack was being malicious; he was just teasing, but it still made her stomach tighten.

Rodrigo, ever the professional, remained calm, his hand still resting on Amelie’s lower back as he guided her to the table. He leaned in to whisper, his voice barely audible. —Your brother's got a thing for making things awkward, huh?—

Amelie chuckled softly, trying to shake off the tension. —You’ll get used to it.—

They took their seats, and the conversation quickly resumed around them, but Amelie couldn’t help but feel the weight of her family’s gaze on Rodrigo. She knew they were all sizing him up. After all, this was the man who had replaced someone they were all very familiar with—someone she hadn’t fully let go of, despite everything.

—Rodrigo, it’s nice to meet you,— Victoria said warmly, her voice welcoming but with that subtle undercurrent of scrutiny only a mother could have.

—Likewise,— Rodrigo responded smoothly, flashing a charming smile as he shook her hand. His polite demeanor was enough to earn him points with her mother, but Amelie couldn’t help but notice the way Callum’s eyes flicked between them with a frown. It wasn’t lost on her that he had always been the most protective of her, especially after everything with Cam.

The dinner conversation carried on, a mix of chatter about the cruise, holiday plans, and updates on everyone’s lives. Amelie tried to focus on the food, trying to ignore the tension that lingered just beneath the surface. Her family had always been close-knit, and it wasn’t easy to bring someone new into the fold, especially after everything she had gone through.

At some point, the conversation shifted. Callum was talking about a recent race, and then, quite casually, Jack piped up.

—That’s exactly what Lando told me the other day, actually,— Jack said, and then there was a noticeable pause. His eyes darted quickly between Amelie and the rest of the table, realizing what he’d just said.

Amelie’s heart skipped a beat, and she could feel her cheeks flush. Rodrigo, who had been casually picking at his food, stopped and looked up at Jack, brows furrowed slightly in confusion.

But before anyone could say anything else, her father, Elias, cleared his throat, his eyes narrowing at Jack as he shot a quick, subtle warning glance across the table. The others all shifted uncomfortably, but Jack was already sheepish, realizing his mistake.

—What? I was just saying that Lando mentioned— Jack began, his voice trailing off awkwardly, but he quickly caught himself. —Forget it. It’s nothing, really.—

Rodrigo, noticing the shift in mood, seemed to sense that something more was going on, but he wisely didn’t press. He simply turned to Amelie with a reassuring smile. —I guess I’m not the only one with a… complicated family dynamic, huh?—

Amelie managed a tight-lipped smile, hoping to diffuse the tension. —You could say that,— she muttered, her gaze flickering toward the rest of the table.

The dinner carried on with a slightly more strained energy. They all kept up the charade, talking about everything except that. Jack was quieter now, probably feeling guilty for mentioning Lando’s name in front of everyone. Amelie couldn’t blame him. Her family, especially her brother Callum, had never liked Lando after the way things had ended between them. And while Amelie had never told them the full story, they didn’t need to know the details. They’d been able to piece it together for themselves, and to them, Lando’s name was more of a sore spot than anything else.

As the meal drew to a close, Amelie’s heart remained heavy. The last thing she wanted was for Rodrigo to feel like he was being measured against Lando, and she knew her family was still processing everything. She didn’t want him to think they were comparing him to a ghost.

After dessert, Amelie and Rodrigo exchanged a glance, silently deciding it was time to leave. They stood up from the table, saying their goodbyes as her family offered their pleasantries, but there was an undercurrent of tension that she couldn’t shake.

Rodrigo walked with her out of the restaurant, the cool night air greeting them as they stepped onto the sidewalk. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was filled with unspoken things—things that Amelie had tried to push down for so long.

When they reached their hotel room, Amelie let out a heavy sigh and dropped her bag onto the chair by the window. She walked over to the balcony door, sliding it open to let the cool Miami breeze wash over her. Rodrigo followed her, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers, his brow furrowed slightly.

He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he watched her. She looked out into the city lights, the soft hum of traffic below filling the silence between them.

Rodrigo finally broke it. —Amelie.—

She stiffened slightly but didn’t turn around. —What is it?—

Rodrigo hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully. Finally, he sighed and stepped out onto the balcony, leaning against the railing beside her.

—Back at dinner… when your brother mentioned Lando. I know who he is, obviously, but— Rodrigo paused, glancing at her. —I don’t know the whole story. And I feel like… I should.—

Amelie’s stomach twisted at his words. She gripped the railing tightly, staring at the city below. She didn’t respond right away, hoping the breeze might carry the moment away. But Rodrigo waited, his presence steady and patient beside her.

—It’s not important,— she said softly, her voice strained.

—It is to me,— Rodrigo replied gently. —Amelie, I know you and he were close, but I’ve never wanted to pry. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. But tonight… I saw the way everyone reacted when Jack said his name. It’s not just some old friendship, is it? There’s more to it. And I’d rather hear it from you than piece it together on my own.—

Amelie closed her eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on her. She had spent so much time avoiding this—avoiding Lando, avoiding the memories, avoiding the pain. But now, standing here with Rodrigo, she realized she couldn’t keep running from it.

She turned to face him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. —You really want to know?— she asked, her voice trembling.

Rodrigo nodded, his expression earnest. —Only if you’re ready to tell me.—

Amelie took a deep breath, wrapping her arms around herself as if to shield against the vulnerability that was about to spill out.

—Lando and I… we weren’t just friends,— she began, her voice barely above a whisper. —We met during the pandemic, and at first, it was just fun. Playing games, talking, laughing. But somewhere along the way, it became more. We were something, though we never put a label on it. It was like this… situationship that neither of us knew how to define.—

She paused, her throat tightening as memories flooded back. —But it didn’t last. I was busy filming, and he was busy with racing. We stopped prioritizing each other. He… he started seeing someone else, and I couldn’t handle it. We ended things. Completely. Even our friendship.—

Rodrigo listened intently, his eyes never leaving hers. He didn’t interrupt, letting her take her time.

—The worst part is, I didn’t just lose him as… whatever we were. I lost him as a friend. He was my best friend, Rodrigo. And when it was over, it felt like I lost a piece of myself.— Her voice cracked, and a tear slipped down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away, embarrassed.

Rodrigo reached out, gently placing a hand on her arm. —Amelie…—

She shook her head, cutting him off. —It’s not that I still have feelings for him, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just… it was a lot to process. And seeing him again after all that time, at Abu Dhabi, brought everything back. I didn’t talk to him, but just being near him… it hurt. And then tonight, when Jack mentioned him…— She trailed off, her voice breaking completely as the tears came faster.

Rodrigo pulled her into his arms without hesitation, holding her tightly as she cried into his chest. He didn’t say anything, just let her release everything she had been holding in for so long.

When her sobs finally subsided, she pulled back slightly, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. —I’m sorry,— she whispered. —I didn’t mean to dump all of this on you.—

—Don’t apologize,— Rodrigo said firmly, his hands resting on her shoulders. —I asked because I wanted to understand. And now I do. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.—

Amelie nodded, her heart feeling lighter but still fragile. —Thank you for not judging me. For… just being here.—

Rodrigo gave her a small smile. —I’m not going anywhere, Amelie. And as for him… he might be part of your past, but I’m here now. I’m your present. And I hope I can be your future too.—

Her chest tightened at his words, a mix of gratitude and guilt swirling inside her. She nodded again, leaning into him as he wrapped his arms around her once more.

For the first time in a long time, Amelie allowed herself to feel the weight of her past—and the promise of her future.

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racinggirl · 7 months ago

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Racing Hearts - prologue

a/n: I've spent an entire evening trying to perfect this prologue. I wanted it to give away the essence and personality of both main characters, so hopefully I made that work. I have to say that I am slightly scared, because this is my first ever multi-chapter story I'm writing, but I'm trying! Hopefully you will enjoy it.

Repost, comment or any type of support is very welcomed! It keeps me motivated 🫣

Comment down below if you want to get added to the taglist

warnings: dark!lando, confident!lando, business!lando, nothing much really, just rich people stuff.

Racing Hearts Masterlist

next chapter

Olivia

The sky was filled with a range of colours, varying between bright pinks, pastel oranges and deep, dark purples contrasting against the black from the night sky. As the wind breezed past me, the few strands of hair that weren’t tucked into my messy bun flew up in front of my face. I tightened my grip on the balcony’s railing, inhaling sharply before slowly breathing out.

I can do this. I can do this.

Tonight was one of the most important evenings of the year, the annual Charity Gala in Monte Carlo, Monaco. Me and my family lived in London, but business isn’t tied to one city, or even one country.

I’ve travelled a lot, flying to New York City for an opening of one of Harrington Enterprises newest Jewellery stores, or going all the way to Dubai to accompany my mother to one of our fabric manufacturers. They were all business trips, as was the one I’m attending on my own right now.

Monaco, home of some of the most wealthy, successful and busiest people on earth. You only lived in Monaco for two reasons. A, you were born here. B, you had plenty of money and had no idea what to do with it. Seeing as the average net worth of a Monaco citizen is above ten million dollars, I’d say ninety-nine percent of the people at this gala belonged to category B. I had to make a great impression; it was my job as the PR Director at Harrington Enterprises.

I wasn’t a stranger to a high society gala; however, I had not experienced something as extravagant as this before. High ceilings, decorated with glass chandeliers that glittered in the big open room. Waiters moving effortlessly through the crowd, holding trays with glasses filled with champagne that cost more than your average rent.

My eyes roamed the big, crowded room, searching for the man that stood number two on my list; one of the reasons my parents informed me of this Charity Gala. He was a well-known fashion icon and businessman in this world. Nate Thompson.

I spotted him at the bar, talking to the women that were nearly drooling at his feet. The man was eye-candy for every woman at this event. With broad shoulders, a sharp jawline and masculinity that made multiple men run for their money, he was one of the most successful bachelors out there.

I gathered my courage and stepped towards the man, shoulders straight with a friendly yet professional smile plastered on my lips. As I approached, Nate’s eyes met mine and he gave me one of his warm, welcoming smiles.

‘’Olivia Harrington,’’ he said, extending his hand. ‘’I’ve heard a lot about you, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.’’

‘’The pleasure is mine, Mr. Thompson,’’ I replied, shaking his hand firmly. ‘’Such a wonderful place, isn’t it?’’ I slowly let go of his hand, keeping my posture straight and professional.

‘’Please, call me Nate,’’ he said with a wink. ‘’Mr Thompson makes me feel old.’’

As the night went on, we struck up a conversation about his newest fashion items. He spoke about different designs, as well as places for shop openings. As much as I loved the fashion world – shopping at Versace, Prada and Chanel never got boring – I had to hold back a yawn once every few minutes.

‘’Your father has done a tremendous job attaining the vacant buildings at Bond Street.’’ Nate did exactly what I expected him to do, and it surprised me how little effort I had to put into this conversation. ‘’A very, very astonishing job.’’ Nate continued speaking highly of my father’s deals.

Bond Street was one, if not the most expensive street in London. My father bought most of the houses a few years back, when the house market was at it’s lowest. It was no surprise Nate Thompson was looking for the best of the best when it came to opening his new store in London.

‘’He did, indeed,’’ I reached into my designer bag, fishing out a business card of my father’s company. ‘’It would be a perfect location for Thompson’s, wouldn’t it?’’

Nate didn’t hesitate once and reached out for the card I held out with my fingers. ‘’Pleasure doing business with you, Olivia, you’ll hear from my team.’’ A satisfied smile appeared on my face when Nate gave me a curt nod, me returning the favour by raising my glass ever so slightly.

One down, one to go.

‘’Impressive.’’ The dark, smooth voice scattered goosebumps all over my skin, it made my body react in ways I hadn’t felt in quite a while.

My eyes followed the voice, and I was met by a tall figure. A tailored black suit that hugged those broad shoulders. Dark curls that looked a perfect combination of messy and neat. Eyes, a colour that I couldn’t quite decipher. Green, blue, a hint of grey or even brown, but what I did know was that those eyes pierced straight through me, looking into the depths of my soul.

The low chuckle that rose from his throat snapped me out of my thoughts. I gathered myself and lifted my chin up ever so slightly.

Let’s tackle the number one on my list.

‘’Mr. Norris, what a pleasure.’’

Lando

Emerald green never had been one of my favourite colours, it stood out great with my tan, though. It was sophisticated, elegant and not too in your face. You’d think it would be a colour that I adored, well, you couldn’t be more wrong.

Orange was more my colour, it was fierce, available in many different shades, perfect for every occasion. Mix it with a dark shade, it stood out. Mix it with a light shade, it blended in. A perfect representation of my life.

As a racing driver, you needed dark, to stand out to be the best of the best, to catch people’s attention to gain yourself a spot in the spotlight. But you also wanted to blend in, to move through the field without getting noticed, yearning for the privacy that was so hard to attain.

In the world of business, it was similar, yet different. You needed dark so you could make money, be the best of the best, without having that spotlight. Because having that spotlight in the business world meant you needed that light more than ever, needing to blend in so you wouldn’t have that target on your back.

Combine the two, and you learn to be ahead of everyone, two steps ahead to get whatever you want, whenever you want.

I reached for a glass and raise it to my lips, my eyes staying glued to the business deal being made in front of my eyes.

Everybody that attended this Gala wasn’t here for the good sake of their heart. No, a Charity Gala was the perfect way to make it look like you’re donating money for those in need, when in fact it’s the perfect cover-up for a business deal. One that was being closed a few meters away from me.

Once the deal had been made, I made my way over with a few long strides. She didn’t hear me approach, causing her body to react instantly to my voice.

‘’Impressive.’’ I never expected Olivia Harrington to strike up a deal with Nate Thompson in just under 17 minutes. The man was harder to please than a newborn baby that needed its mom. However, I suppose when you’re looking for a new location for your shop, Bond Street was the place to be, a coincidence that Richard Harrington had exactly what Nate needed? I don’t think so.

I never underestimated the Harrington family; they were one step ahead most of the time. It’s a good thing I’m always two ahead.

‘’Mr. Norris, what a pleasure.’’ I took a hold of her hand, ignoring the way her soft skin felt against my own. ‘’Ms. Harrington.’’ Her hand let go of mine, and I grinned slightly at the subtle flush of her cheeks.

‘’Surely not eavesdropping, I hope?’’ Her soft yet sharp voice was a complete contrast to the previous shock on her face when she laid eyes on me.

‘’Merely observing.’’

My gaze flew over her body, the way that emerald green dress hugged her body in the right places, the tanned legs underneath that dress going down to the Louboutin’s she was wearing. I wasn’t one to back away from a bit of flirting, I absolutely loathed the fake smiles and pretended interest at any business event. They were necessary, for the most part, and I was amongst one of many that took part in the fake contest, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed it.

‘’I see,’’ the smile on my face was less forced this time, but I blame it on how the woman in front of me swallowed hard, a clear indication of nervousness.

A chuckle rose in my chest. ‘’No need to be nervous, Sunshine,’’ I smirked slightly. ‘’I’m not as intimidating as they say.’’ I made sure my voice was smooth and filled with confidence, as always.

‘’Nervous? Is that another of your observations, Mr. Norris?’’

‘’It is,’’ I maintained eye contact as I took another sip of the Louis Roederer drink. At least they served some decent champagne. ‘’and I’m never wrong.’’

Another harsh bob of her throat.

I was aware of the fact I was on their list of business talks. Nate Thompson may be one of the most successful men at this event, but not nearly as successful as me. Like I said before, always be two steps ahead.

‘’Now, let’s cut straight to what brought you here. Let’s talk business, shall we?’’

TAGLIST

@smoooothoperator @tapedeck-hearts @cabbyhabs @wanderingreigns @samantha-chicago @alltoomaples @ironmaiden1313 @pinkbookloverslife @onlyzahraaaa

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szasfuckingwife · 2 years ago

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SELFISH

HOBIE BROWN X BLACK CAT!READER

WARNINGS: smut, black cat is white in comics but there’s no mention of race here, black reader in mind tho, british slang, gwen stacy is mentioned but it’s the gwen in hobies earth NOT ghost spider gwen , royal family existence

a/n: wrote this for my black british ppl dem, hobies existence kinda made me proud. i put some british slang/phrases here n there. also, black cat is an underrated love interest i wish they put her in a movie.

It’s midnight, what better time to steal the crown jewels? Yes, it’s heavily guarded and there’s a slim chance you’ll even make it out alive but you needed them more than some overrated family. They don’t even belong to the royals, right?

You navigate through the tower of London, looking for something worthy of taking and risking your life for. Last time, you took (what was apparently) Queen Victoria’s robe and one of those fancy looking crowns. This is light work to you, but since you know the guards will be changing shifts in fifteen minutes, all you want to do is get the big one and leave.

Oh, what’s the big one you ask? St Edwards crown.

Yes, it’s not entirely ethical, robbing something from the most notorious robbers in history but it’s better off them and in someone elses hands, you figure.

Someone reliable, honest and responsible like you

Plus, your not greedy, the charity organisations were frequently shocked when ‘Anonymous’ donated $1,000,000 every month or so.

When you come face to face with with St Edwards Crown, your eyes widen behind your black goggles in amusement. The diamonds looked so…big.

After you fawned over the gleam of all the rubies and diamonds, you took out your laser and, carefully, cut a circle into the glass. Slowly, and gently, you pulled the cut glass away from the rest of the box.

Once your gloved hands touched the crown, you felt an odd chill in your spine.

“Oh, don’t mind me, love, just enjoying the show..” That familiar voice causes a smirk to appear on your face. When you turn around, you see that same patriotic red and blue covered by silver spikes. He’s leaning on the wall, arms crossed. You wonder how long he’s been standing there.

Or if he even cares that you’re stealing from his beloved monarchy.

“Spidey, strange to see you here…” You smirk before quickly replacing the real crown with a replica so no weight detectors could go off. Hobie smirked behind his spiked mask, “Strange to see me ‘ere? In my city?”

You loudly roll your eyes, putting your new souvenir in your bag. “Y’know what I mean. Did you see what I got this time?”

“The big one…Look at you! A year ago you were robbing the richest men in Dubai..” He chuckled as you smiled at his compliment. His heavy boots almost scare you when he walks up to you, he could alarm a guard.

Not wanting to cause a breach in security, you took out your grappler and shot up to the ceiling, “I’d love to stay with you, Bee, but a new apartment is calling my name!”

Bee. He smiled at the nickname as he remembered the many times you’d say it.

He stares at your every move, and how every one of your movements makes your body look so damn sexy. Your latex black suit giving you that perfect silhouette, not to mention the fluffy white fur on your calf and chest that ultimately made you look regal.

“For fuck sake..” He sighed. He remember what Miguel commanded.

‘Stop being an anarchist or whatever you call yourself and actually try capture the bad guys!’

Suddenly, five bright flashes shone into Hobies eyes, blinding the man as security guards rushed into the room. They had their tasers in one hand and flashlights in the other, analysing the room and the shattered glass from the glass roof. All Hobie could do in response was kiss his teeth.

“Took you lot long enough…” He raised his hands, surrendering as if he was trying to make them think that they had control.

They stepped closer to him, “What are you doin ‘ere, Spider?”

Hobie groaned again. The fact that this was the useless security the stupid government spent so much on made him sick, “Tryna catch the cat that’s been stealing shit from all around the world, you donut!”

One of the security guards looked at the missing artefacts and looked back at Hobie.

Hobie scoffed, “I knew you man were racist, but you’re really gonna accuse a black man for stealing these fucking jewels that don’t even belong to that bloke in the castle?!”

The security men didn’t know what to think, looking at each other to answer spiderman. They didn’t even know spiderman was black! “N-No! I would never-”

“Shut up, just shut up.” Under his mask, Hobie smirked. He webbed up to the ceiling, leaving the security guards gobsmacked. “If I ever see you again, it’s wraps, understand?”

They all nod.

“Wasteman…” he muttered, before chasing after you.

You ran along London rooftops, your movements a little slow due to the heaviness of your bag. This stealing shit was tiring, you hoped once you sold the jewels, you’d be able to live comfortably for the rest of your life.

After a few more leaps, you rested on the top of the shard, overlooking London and it’s nightlife. From here, you could see Leicester square and almost smell the food. You sighed, taking in the city.

Dreams of getting rich might’ve blinded your vision, but the rush feels exhilarating.

“You dropped this..” You turn around seeing Hobie, without his mask. He held a shiny ruby in between his fingers. “Come get it, kitty.”

You rolled your eyes at his banter and stood, walking towards him. As much as you tried to get him out of your head, his smile alone sent thousands of butterflies to your stomach. “Why are you following me so much, hm? Thought your big bad boss made it clear there’s a Gwen Stacy here that you have to be with-”

“And when have I ever listened to him?” He steps closer, placing the ruby in your hand. You watched him as he carefully removed your mask from your face, finally seeing your face.

You recall the time when he told you about this Gwen Stacy and how Miguel clearly expressed his disappointment that someone as smart as Hobie would ruin the multiverse due to his selfishness and some ‘petty thief’. As much as you understood all this about canon events and the multiverses, you loved Hobie too much to let him go to that fashion designer, Gwen Stacy.

However, after a lot of thinking, you decided it was best if you left him, not wanting him to face any problems with Miguel.

But, you miss him. You miss the smell of his cigarettes, the sound of his guitar, the feel of his naked skin pressed against yours.

It was for the best.

“Hobie, go away.” You try to snatch your back from him but he moved his arm above your head. His smile deepens as you cross your arms, looking up at you.

God, he missed you.

“Me and Gwen? It’s like watching paint dry. It’s boring. And most importantly, she’s not you!” His callous hands stroke your cheek, has he ever been this soft? “All I want is you.”

“You can’t have me. Miguel will have your head-” “Let him have it!” Hobie exclaims, as if that is a reasonable answer. You curse under your breath, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Hobie chuckles slightly because he knows you, and he knows his love for you. But when he sees you look at him sternly, all smiles stop.

“Why can’t you just understand that I want you to be safe, fuckin idiot..” You sigh. Hobie sighs too, but out of frustration. The two of you were like immovable object meets unstoppable force. Both as stubborn as each other.

He grabs your face and rests his forehead against yours. You cringe slightly at the feeling of his eyebrow piercing but look into his eyes anyway, “Fuck Miguel. I’m safe with you, I want you.”

Bastard, you thought before planting a kiss on his lips. He held you tightly, gripping onto your hip before deepening the kiss. Hobie’s kisses are something you’ve missed, especially the horny, sloppy kisses like the one you share now.

His hands search for a zip or any easy way to undress you as remove his punkish denim jacket. The feeling of you two undressing each other whilst standing on top of a tower is inexplicable. All you want right now is him, all of him.

He finally finds the zip to your suit and he marvels at the reveal of your chest, it almost makes him stain his trousers. It also didn’t help that you were wearing only your panties underneath.

Hobie would pay thousands, millions if he could see you dressed in nothing but the many jewellery you stole.

You’re just so badass.

“Lay…down..” He whispered in between kisses. You did as he said and lowered yourself to the floor. You stay mindful of your bag of opulence, trying not to knock it off the tower and bash someones head in.

He follows you down, not breaking his steamy kiss. By now, you both are half naked, staring at each other with nothing but pure ecstasy. “Ya gonna let me make you feel good?”

Whilst Hobie males you feel oh so good, you decide it’s time to make him feel just as good. You flip him over and straddle his crotch, staring down at your ex.

No, your boyfriend.

Hobie was already hard just by looking at you, but you grinding on his lap and leaving wet kisses on his torso may send him to a whole different dimension.

You let your fingers travel until you find the hem of his boxers, batting your lashes at him when you pull them down.

Now, Hobie was huge, you know this, but after months of your short lived ‘break up’ you truly forgot how big he felt inside you.

“F-fuckin hell..”, He groans, you figure he must’ve forgotten how good your gummy walls feel when he thrusts up into you. You instantly feel his hands grip onto your hips, rocking you back n’ forth while he feels you nipping at his ear. “Fuck sake, Y/N.”

After a few small movements, you begin to ride him. Your ass bounces off his pelvis as you moan in satisfaction. Hobie looks at you as if you were an angel, but then he sees your claws scratching his chest and he realises you are anything but.

“I missed this..”, You breathed, trying to uphold your dominant side. But it felt too good. “I missed you..”

You’re achingly close to your orgasm just when Hobie flips you around on your back. He looks beautiful with the stars behind him. “Missed you too, kitty.”

Wet, breathless kisses are left on your breasts as if Hobie wants to take you all in just incase something happens. You feel his cock slide inside you again as he whispers into your ear, “You’re so fuckin tight.”

His thrusts speed up as he builds up that sensation again, he wants to decorate your insides with his cum and there’s nothing you want more but for him to do so.

If anyone walked onto the roof and saw the sight of Spiderman fucking the Black Cat so roughly, they’d either faint or run to the newspaper agencies, claiming insanities. But, you wouldn’t mind if someone caught the two of you.

I mean, by the way you’re moaning, you must want someone to find you.

“I’m gonna…cum..” You mewled, gripping onto Hobie’s arms He closed your open mouth with a kiss, letting your moans fall onto his tongue. “Hobiee…fuck!”

“Wait f’ me…I’m so close, babe!” He nipped at your neck as you moaned for the whole city to hear. “Fuckin shit!”

With one more thrust, both of you shook as you climaxed, Hobie kissing your forehead repeatedly. The moans were gone, and replaced with panting. You quickly found your panties and suit and dressed yourself.

You heard Hobie whistle, then chuckle, “Got to do that more often, love.”

“We can after we take this to your place. I’m fuckin freezing, I need hot chocolate!”

“The way I make it?”

You look at his cocky smile, “Duh?”

BONUS:

The next morning, you find yourself clad in Hobie’s Sex Pistol tee, sipping hot chocolate opposite Hobie who’s leaning in his chair, tickling his guitar strings.

“What are your plans for today?” You ask, resting your head on your hand.

“Nuffin..” He sighs as he concocts a new melody with his instrument. “You?”

“Nuffin..”, You sip your drink once more and stare off to the distance.

There is a gentle moment of silence before a blue hexagon appears in Hobie’s living room. You look at Hobie in confusion, why would his spider society choose to come this early?

From the portal, Gwen and a brown haired man holding a ginger haired baby walk in. You’ve met Gwen a couple of time but not the middle aged man.

“Hobie, we need your help with this spiderman called Miles- WOAH!” The man spoke before notcing you, someone he’s never seen before, in Hobies apartment, in Hobies shirts.

“Uhhh…Hobie, there’s somebody in your-” “Peter..” Hobie began, before taking the baby from Peter.

“That ain’t somebody..” He gave you the baby in his hands.

The cute baby looked up at you curiously as you smiled down at her.

“That’s my gyal.”

#spiderman across the spider verse spoilers #spider man: across the spider verse #hobie brown x reader #hobie spiderverse #hobie x reader #hobie smut #astv hobie #black cat #so glad we have this black british representation

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pynkhues · 2 months ago

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Speaking of Louis, Lestat and masculinity, I think a point that people always ignore is that Louis' masculinity is important to him and he's attached to gender roles/preconceptions far more than Lestat/the way Lestat is not. I think it's communicated in the show pretty well. It's why he feels comfortable in the role of the successful businessman to Lestat's supporting spouse, but not when the power dynamic is flipped, and why Lestat feels comfortable to be the supporting spouse as well. Your recent post reminded me of the "Come to me" lyrics, and I think Lestat placing himself in the feminine role of Mélisande is another example of that. Plus the Marie Antoinette dress (note Louis being kind of uncomfortable with the camp of it all lol).

I totally agree, anon. I think the show's pretty deliberate with the fact that Louis' at his most comfortable in his relationships with both Lestat and Armand when he's acting as the businessman / breadwinner and they're acting as the supportive spouse. I mention it in the post I think you're replying to, but Lestat playing host at The Azaelia and helping to manage the staff - presumably without being paid - very much plays into that sort of dynamic, and it's one Louis seems to be repeating with Armand in Dubai given Armand's helping to effectively administrate the sales of Louis' art investments. It's a form of unpaid domestic labour which in a loving relationship, can be completely fine, but does often come with (perceived or real) connotations of roles and a certain power dynamic.

A huge part of that I think is tied to Louis' sense of masculinity and the role he wants to take in his relationships, but I also think it comes from a genuine place of wanting to be the provider, which has likely been borne out of the role he took with his mother and siblings as a young man. I talk about that more here, but I do think he needs to feel like he can look after those he cares about, and I actually do think it comes from a pure place even though it can be and is often corrupted by the fact that he's capable of real cruelty and vindictiveness when he feels scorned (i.e. he wants to provide for Grace because he loves her, and he buys her that holiday for her honeymoon, and he wants her to have the house to raise her family in, but when she disowns him, he doubles down on that out of spite not because he's letting her go and moving on, but because he's holding her to it. He knows she and Levi could never afford it without him, and he really rubs that in her face at their mother's wake. She'll always be living in his house, and that once meant something pure and good and loving, albeit paternalistic, and now it fundamentally does not).

I didn't really go into it in that last post, but I also think Louis being a voracious reader is something that gets misread a bit sometimes. Like these days, it can feel like being well-read is more common with women, particularly in online spaces, but I absolutely see the connotations on the show of it being partially a performance of class and masculinity. That's not to say I don't think he genuinely loves reading - I really think he does, and I love that about him - but this is the 1910s through 1930s when hypermasculinity and wealth was very much tied to being well-read, and a lot of contemporary authors from William Faulkner to Ernest Hemingway to Joseph Conrad, were both depicting and exploring manhood in ways that were pretty formative for a generation of men.

On top of that, reading was a symbol of class because the only people who had the time or capacity to do it were people who were both educated and had money. Louis sitting on a park bench in a three piece suit reading Charles Darwin of all people is absolutely a show of class and masculinity, and the fact that it dovetails into a conversation about diet, again, is a broadcast of wealth and status. Sure, we're talking about eating people, but if you're looking at it as a metaphor, it's symbolic of Louis having' choices about what he eats when, which is inherently about having the means and status to do so.

Plus I feel it's pretty important context for Louis and Lestat's bickering in 1.05 when Louis' reading Madame Bovary - Lestat calls Louis a snob, and Louis goes in by basically calling Lestat shallow and uncultured, which is a) very funny to me, personally, I love it when they're mean to each other, haha, but also b) I think very much evident of Louis' feelings of masculinity, particularly given it happens directly after he cites Claudia calling him the unhappy housewife. Again, Louis' rejecting that role - the house is a mess (so they've either fired their staff, or they've quit), Louis' not going to do it and neither is Lestat, and Louis' sprawled on the couch reading from his husband's library and dragging him for being too frivolous to read them.

Again, I think Louis genuinely loves reading, but I also do think for him it's fundamentally a part of his identity as a Cultured, Intellectual Man. It's why he doesn't take to the campiness of the Theatres des Vampires, or as you said, get involved in lestat's Mardi Gras performance (I'm always sooo fascinated by the fact that we don't get a reaction shot of Louis to that sequence at all - again! It feels loaded!) I think his sense of masculinity is, well, pretty traditionally masculine, and I think it's pretty vital to his self-image.

#louis being a snob is literally one of my favourite things about him too tbh #i love that jacob actually said that explicitly on the podcast in s1 #i feel like we don't get all that many depictions of characters being snobs in this particular way?#like even succession everyone was a snob but there was such a throughline of money can't buy you taste that it deliciously undermined it #whereas i love that louis obviously has capital t-Taste #(and lowkey that makes me think of the ira glass the gap thing)#(where it's BECAUSE louis has taste that he can see he's not a great photographer #and that eats him up)#anyway that's a tangent haha #louis asks #iwtv asks #iwtv 1.05

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callmewrinkles3 · 2 years ago

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All Too Well - DR3 x Fem!OC

Summary: Saying goodbye is hard. Saying goodbye to your family without telling them it’s a final goodbye is even harder. But Em has come to terms that Dan doesn’t love her the same way she loves him, and leaving on her own terms will hurt less than being told he’s ending things. March 2022.

Word Count: 12.3k

Warnings: fighting, all the angst this bad boy can carry, lil bit of a dickhead!Dan, running away from your friends, mentions of death, mentions of motorsport crashes and deaths, moving without telling anyone, lying to family, talk of medical procedures, frank talks about what people want to happen if they can’t decide.

A/N: We’ve kept you waiting, but we hope this was worth the wait! This part of our story is what started us on this madcap adventure together, and it’s a lot of what makes our beloved Em Em. Thank you in advance!

Em stared at the two boarding passes in front of her as she sat in the fancy Heathrow lounge, a caramel latte beside them. Heathrow to Dubai, Dubai to Melbourne. More than twenty hours spent on planes to get to Melbourne, to jump into work and get stuck in at the Australian Grand Prix. And it was the last thing she wanted to do.

She should be excited. She should be so happy because she was about to see the boys after over a week apart, she was about to see Dan. She was finally going to get to see the Ricciardos after almost two years apart. But she was dreading it, the memories from Saudi filling her head as she thought. Em forced her attention to the laptop sitting on her knees, emails up and the one she never thought she’d write sitting in the middle of the screen.

SUB: Resignation Letter

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Dear Blake,

Please use this email as my official resignation, effective immediately. I’m sorry that I can’t offer any more notice.

Working with you has been fantastic, and I appreciate everything we’ve gotten to do over the past three years.

Kind regards,

Emma.

Signing it Emma felt wrong. Emma was for Zak Brown and Andreas Sidle. Christian Horner had used it the one time she was introduced to him at Red Bull. She was always Em or Ems now. Except for Dan, she was his Emmy. But that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Or ever again. If he called her that she thought she might lose the last grip she had on her composure and break.

The email was scheduled and sitting in her outbox to send after the race, and the last thing she did before boarding was reschedule her flight home. Instead of leaving Monday morning with the boys, she was going on Sunday evening. She’d be somewhere over Queensland by the time Blake received the email and the boys would be at least twelve hours behind her. It was enough time to make sure she could be well ahead of them and get away.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be smiling and laughing, and she was supposed to be in Perth right now cuddling her niblings and laughing with Grace and Joe. Learning to cook yet another family recipe and insisting that she and Dan were just friends. She couldn’t even answer the question honestly if they were friends now.

He’d sent her away. The one thing she begged him not to do, the pinkie promise she’d made him give. The only promise she had ever asked him to keep. Not to stay safe while driving, not to do anything else. Not to leave her alone. The near screaming match they’d had in his drivers room that Blake and Michael had to break up. The way he didn’t even look at her but told Blake to “take Ems to the hotel”. How she had tears streaming down her face as she was escorted through the paddock like she wasn’t supposed to be there.

She still didn’t fully believe that she’d dropped her phone in the car. Em shouldn’t even have been in the car alone with Blake, but Dan insisted she went to the hotel room so she went. She was left there alone in Saudi Arabia, where Dan knew she couldn’t leave the hotel. She stared out the window at the smoke from the rockets, completely alone all night until Michael knocked on her door the following morning and she had to pretend everything was fine.

She’d worked from hospitality and as soon as the race finished she changed her flights to go back to London instead of Perth, making up an excuse. And Dan bought that she was going back for her parents.

“Family stuff.” She’d said when he asked.

“Em, you don’t talk to your family much.” She was folding clothes into her case, the one she’d brought that had her Australia clothes already standing fully packed.

“Yeah, but it’s family. My parents have their thirty fifth wedding anniversary in a few weeks, I’m helping plan it.” Only the last part of her words were a lie and she bit her tongue.

“Everyone wants to see you, they all miss you and they keep asking when you’ll be over. The kids miss you.”

“I’ll see them in Melbourne, Dan. You go, enjoy your time at home with them.”

She’d gotten a car to bring her to the airport and Dan hadn’t even asked a question, just a “text me when you land”. There was no hug, no even quick hand squeeze like they usually did in the Middle East. That’s when she knew whatever they were doing. The nearly four years of sleeping together and pretending they weren’t, of the media wondering who she was and why she was always there, was over.

She’d promised herself that she wasn’t going to catch feelings, that it was just sex. That she could do it. That every time she told Dan “y’know, right?” it was purely platonic. That the slow sex was just them wanting to take their time, nothing else. That she hadn’t murmured to Dan to make love to her in Bahrain when they shouldn’t have even been sharing a room after Grosjean’s crash, when he kissed her and held onto her and whispered that he loved her as he entered her.

Because that was sixteen months ago and nothing had changed. It was never going to change between them. Their fight in Saudi had proven it, and now she had to pretend that everything was fine before she said goodbye to the people she loved for the last time.

She couldn’t keep working with Dan when not sleeping with him. She couldn’t watch him fall for another woman, couldn’t get introduced to more people as “Em, my best friend” anymore. She was his Emmy. He was her Danny. And not getting to love him and be loved by him how she wanted to was going to kill her.

The flights were what she expected, Dan had upgraded her tickets to first class like he always did and she wanted to kill him like she always did. She spent the flights and the layovers organising his calendar for the next three months, tracking his flights and cross checking the sponsor events that had been filled in. Everything up to Hungary was booked and ready to go. She checked her watch when she was halfway to Melbourne, realising that he’d be at the Optus event she was usually on his arm for. She was supposed to be there this year, but she told him to take Michelle instead. All the events around the Australian GP that she always went as his plus one, wearing the star necklace he’d gotten her for her birthday, and the matching earrings that were her Christmas present the same year. Her outfit was usually one he’d bought for her against her protests because “let me spoil you” was how he showed that he cared, and she always wore the gold moon ring on her thumb that matched the sun one she’d bought him for his little finger. Most of her wardrobe and all of her everyday jewellery were presents from Dan. Her life was completely entwined with his, and untangling it all was going to hurt.

Her flight got in at god-awful o’clock that Wednesday morning, she’d lost a full day having left London on the Monday evening, but she walked through Melbourne customs with her suitcase glad to just be through. She’d told everyone she’d get an Uber to the hotel and meet them for breakfast, but instead as soon as she appeared in front of the glowing Melbourne sign two small figures ran to her yelling.

“AUNTIE EMMY YOU’RE HERE YOU’RE HERE!” Em dropped her bags and fell to her knees, arms wide open to pull Isaac and Isabella into her and pressing so many kisses to their curly heads.

“I’m here, I’m here. I missed you both so much. So, so much. I’m so sorry I couldn’t see you, I wanted to see you sooner.” Stupid Western Australia and closed borders and not letting people through. Her eyes began shining as she took in the difference in the two kids, Isaac at least a foot taller and losing the childlike way he’d spoken. Isabella had doubled in size, long hair and a child instead of a toddler the last time she’d seen her in person.

“It’s ok, you’re here now! Nana said you’ll sit with us for ev’rything ‘cept the race? Cause we’ve got two years of birthday and Christmas pressies for you!” Isaac looked so proud, grinning as he took her wheeled carry on and pulled it.

“I can’t wait. Who’re you here with?”

“Grandad Joe! He has our sign, Uncle Mike and Uncle Blake told us we had to use all the glitter. We were gonna wait, but I saw you and I wanted a hug. Is that ok?” He looked almost worried of her response, but she ruffled his hair.

“It’s more than ok. All I wanted was hugs from the two of you.”

Isabella clung to her waist, Em lifting her up with one arm and mentally thanking Michael for the strength training that let her carry the girl and pull her suitcase with her. She looked around to see Joe holding a giant piece of bright orange card, Auntie Emmy written on it in blue and silver glitter. It was the shiniest thing she’d ever seen in her life, and it was coming home with her even with the craft herpes that would infest her suitcase. Joe pulled her into a one armed hug on the side his granddaughter wasn’t monopolising, pushing a kiss to the side of her forehead that made her want to cry.

“We missed you, kiddo. Grace wanted to be here but we couldn’t fit her in the car too, and Dan’s doing media today. You cut it tight to get in.”

“It’s my parents wedding anniversary next week, I’ve been helping. I have to fly out after the race on Sunday.” It was Wednesday, and she could see his face fall as he realised how little time they’d have together.

“We’re spending as much time with you as we can until you go. Those boys get you all year round, we get you for this weekend.”

“That sounds perfect.”

When they made it to the hotel Em was greeted with yet more hugs from Grace, Michelle, and Michelle’s husband Adam. There were tears in everyone’s eyes at the reunion, and the long hug from Grace was the best thing ever and broke her heart at the same time. It was so restorative, so good, but she wasn’t going to get many more of them.

“Dan checked you in, here’s your key. He’s got the room on the other side of you, Blake’s on the other wall, we’re most of our corridor. Do you want to get some sleep and we’ll call you at noon?”

The first thing Em noticed about her room was the adjoining door between her room and Dan’s. She closed the lock gently to make sure she was completely alone. After that she napped fitfully, waking up to knocks on the door and yet more hugs. The day was spent going to the zoo, kids hanging out of her as she swung them around and gave piggybacks, feeling exactly like part of the family. Blake told her to take the day off for jet lag, and she wasn’t complaining.

That evening was filled with fun as the kids clung to her while she pulled out the first of so many presents. Chocolate first so she could see their faces eating proper chocolate rather than the Australian stuff that didn’t melt in the heat. The bag of duty free was quickly eaten between everyone, a movie on tv as she filled everyone in on what she had been doing. It wasn’t until after eight that Dan appeared wearing a suit.

“Ems! I thought you were coming with me tonight?” She looked up from where she’d been half dozing with Isabella curled up against her, taking in her best friend wearing a navy blue suit and white shirt.

“Coming to what? I’m taking today for jet lag. What’s tonight?”

“The AusGP reception. You always come!” Confusion was written all over his face and Em swallowed once, looking at him carefully.

“I said I wasn’t doing anything this year. I have to leave pretty much straight after the race, I don’t have time.”

“Emmy, please.” She hated that she couldn’t resist him when he did that, when her name curled around his accent like that.

“I don’t have anything to wear.” This was the closest they’d ever come to an argument in front of his family. Their eyes were going between them as if watching a tennis match.

“I got you something.”

“Dan, you can’t do that.” It was pointless to argue but she had to try make her point. She couldn’t just do everything because he wanted her to.

“I did. C’mon, it’s three hours and some schmoozing and we can come back so you can go to bed. He did his best impression of puppy dog eyes, lifting Isabella from her. “You want to see Auntie Emmy all glam and pretty, right Is?”

“Yeah! She’s always pretty.”

“You’re very right. I left the dress in your room, Ems. Please?”

“Fine.”

She said her goodbyes and went into her room, making sure the adjoining door was locked before going into shower and change. As she walked into the bathroom she thought she heard the door rattle but ignored it, forcing herself to take time to put herself together.

Years travelling around the world had taught her how to make herself look presentable in very little time, forcing her to learn how to do a blow dry with a hotel hairdryer. It took less than an hour to have hair and makeup perfectly done, a wrap around her shoulders and a pair of heels on her feet. The dress Dan had picked was perfect for her. It was lavender, knee length with a corset top, and her jewellery worked perfectly with it. He had taste when it wasn’t about party shirts. Once she was ready she picked up a clutch and knocked on Dan’s door. He opened the door confused, but ready to go.

“I thought you’d use the adjoining door? It’s why I got us these rooms.”

“I’m tired, Dan. Can we just get this over with?”

The launch was like anything else, an event to deal with. There were speeches and then wandering around the room, Dan’s hand hovering at her lower back but not quite touching her. She smiled as she was introduced as “meet Ems, she’s my best friend and my manager’s assistant who keeps my life on track”, even while her heart was breaking. But she kept her cool, finally managing to break away from Dan for a few minutes to chat to Ted and Natalie from Sky while Dan did the rounds.

“I didn’t know if you’d be here. I was talking to Michael yesterday, he said you weren’t in Perth with them,” Ted remarked as Em looked at the almost empty glass of champagne in his hand.

“Is this going to end up as gossip on the notebook if we talk?” Nat nearly snorted with laughter, Ted shaking his head with a chuckle.

“Nope. I’m drinking so I’m officially off work duties. Unless you have any gossip about things? Anything that I can attribute to an unnamed McLaren source?”

“I don’t work for McLaren, thankfully Zak doesn’t sign my paycheque. But no, I’ve got no gossip. There’s some family stuff happening so I have to head home pretty much as soon as the race is over. But I needed to see everyone, it’s been almost two years and I missed them.”

“Fair.” They chatted about the season so far, studiously ignoring the controversy around the last race, until Dan arrived back to make excuses and get them to leave the party.

“Back to the hotel?”

“You read my mind.”

The car ride back was the most awkward one the two of them had ever done and Em didn’t know what to do. Usually if they were in a car alone together they’d be curled into each other or at least holding hands. But she was on her side of the SUV, Dan was on his, and the hand she’d stretched into the middle as a peace offering was ignored. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do with that. Didn’t want to know, really. All his actions did was solidify that the painful decision she’d reached was the right one. Just because things could be easy didn’t mean they were right.

When they reached their floor in the hotel Dan stopped outside her hotel room as Em waved the keycard at the lock.

“Night, Dan.”

“But I thought…”

“What?” She was sharper than she should have been, but she was jet lagged and tired and heart sore.

“I thought we’d be sharing a room.”

“Your family are two doors down and the kids are here. The chances of at least one of them knocking on my door before I want to get up in the morning are high, and I don’t want to have to explain why we share a bed when we’re not married. Do you?”

“Not particularly.”

“Exactly. I’ll see you in the morning.”

As soon as the hallway door closed behind her she double checked the lock on the adjoining door before flipping over the door lock. If she’d looked out the peephole she would have seen a confused and disappointed Dan standing in the hallway.

The next few days passed in a haze of having the kids around, working, and ignoring Zak. She knew he was the original source of the rumours the year before, he was the one who got Mazepin to start spreading that she was sleeping with all three of her boys. It was her greatest pleasure to get to tell him no, and she did it with joy.

But in between finalising as much as she could before her resignation was sent she had time to wander Melbourne alone. She loved the city. It had always welcomed her in, it was Dan’s home race and the place where she knew everyone adored him. Em wandered around a craft market, finding a jewellery maker who made gold charms and engraved them on the spot. It took her all of ten seconds to buy two and get them put on different coloured leather cords, one each for Isaac and Isabella. The front had a pair of angel wings for each of her angel kids, and the engraving on the back read love you forever, Auntie Emmy.

Leaving her family behind was going to be the hardest part of this, and she needed to make sure that they knew just how much she loved them. Em was so aware that she was about to be the first adult to choose to walk out of their lives, and she didn’t want to do that. She didn’t want to break their hearts the way hers would break too. She just hoped that when they realised she wasn’t coming back they’d know she wanted to tell them how much she loved them.

Practice and qualifying were shit and she felt her dislike of the team growing even stronger. She didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to deal with the stupid orange team and the way that they were favouring Lando already. Dan was the one who won a race last year, not Lando. He was the one who had proven himself with podiums galore. But they didn’t care.

That night she left the door between their rooms unlocked. Her bags were half packed, her resignation email was scheduled to send and she’d triple checked the timezone on it. Em had spent the last two days hugging everyone as much as she could, surprising Chloe by popping into the Aston garage before a practice and waving to Lance and Seb as she pulled Chloe into a giant hug. Scotty got one too, trying to put the love and care she had for her best friends outside her boys into a hug. There were waves to the people she couldn’t hug because rumours would start, giving Susie a recommendation for the restaurant they all ate at the night before so she and Toto could have a family meal with Jack in privacy. The small things to make sure everyone knew she thought about them and loved them.

Em couldn’t sleep straight away. Nights before races were hard, the crashes she’d watched with her own two eyes usually playing in her head. Dan in Anthoine’s car, Dan in Grosjean’s. Dan in Lewis’s place the year before with no halo. Dan in the rain and a tractor on track. All the ways she knew people had died racing she thought about and she couldn’t deal. Her fear every time Dan slid into his seat in the car was all encompassing but racing was his first love and she could never ask him to stop.

She was about to get up and go down to Michael’s room to ask for some melatonin, but the doorknob between the two rooms rattled and clicked open quietly. Em stayed still as she was, breathing in and out steadily.

Dan slipped into the other side of the bed. If she just opened her eyes she’d be able to see him. If she reached her fingers out slightly she could touch him. It was the first time they’d shared a bed since Bahrain and being just over covid and she wanted him to hold her. Her body was screaming to curl into him and tell him she loves him and she’s his and she doesn’t want him to fall in love with anyone else because she wants him to love her. To choose her over all the models in the world he could have.

She didn’t sleep that night, too aware of his presence in the bed. She could hear his snores but she didn’t dare look up at him, didn’t dare move in case she disturbed him. He needed his sleep the night before a race.

As the morning dawned through crappy hotel curtains she could feel the vibrations from the alarm on his watch, the one he always used to try let her get some extra sleep when he needed to be up early.

Please kiss my forehead. Please, Dan. Please just give me any sign you want me to stay. Don’t leave me again.

Every morning was the same when they shared a bed. He’d delay until the very last minute to stay in the warmth and then kiss her forehead in goodbye. And then he’d leave, not content to get out from there until he made sure she knew he said goodbye.

This time he slid out of the bed without touching her, padding across the still room and going back into his. Em heard the lock slide shut on his side and rolled over, tears filling her eyes.

It hurt so much already, how was she supposed to pretend that everything was fine? How was she supposed to act normal around everyone when she wanted to scream that they were over and nothing would ever be the same again? How could she be okay when she felt like this?

He’d left her alone. Again. He hadn’t even touched her but he’d slept in her bed and she never thought Dan could be so cruel. She never thought he’d leave her with the barest hint of his scent, that if she hadn’t been awake she wouldn’t have known he was there. The ache spread through her chest and she tried to quiet her sobs but it hurt. It hurt so, so badly.

A cold shower soothed her puffy face, getting rid of some of the usual redness while makeup did the rest. She was dressed in her usual race day gear of shorts, vans, a McLaren polo, and a Dan hat on her head by the time there was a knock on her door, Michael standing there.

“Hey, I’m heading in with Dan and Blake now. He said you’re going in with his family in an hour?” Another cut in her heart. More space between them. But she schooled her face into a smile, hoping Michael would believe everything was fine.

“Yeah. I said I wanted as much time with the kids as possible, it’s fine. See you there?”

“See you there.”

Michael was a couple of metres away from her when she stepped into the hall, grabbing her room key from the slot just inside the door.

“Michael?” He turned and she half jogged, pulling him into a tight hug.

“What’s this for?”

“Haven’t seen you as much. You know you’re my brother, right? How lucky I am to have you as my family?”

“You’re the most annoying little sister Ems, but you’re my little sister. I’ve missed having you around.”

“Miss you too.”

She watched him walk away as step one of her goodbyes was done. The next was to go to breakfast with everyone and pretend that things were normal for the next few hours until the race was over. She could do it. She had to.

Breakfast with the extended Ricciardo clan was fun, Isabella still clinging to her and Isaac insisting on sitting beside her. She soaked up every moment she got with them, walking out to the car Dan had arranged holding Isabella on her hip.

“That’ll be you in a few years,” Michelle commented as Em struggled with the car seat buckle before getting it right. “The mother, not the cool aunt. We can swap places.”

Another stab to her already mangled heart. “I dunno. Wait and see, but I’m not sure that’s on the cards any time soon.” Considering the only man she wanted to have a child with didn’t want to be with her, it was a no.

You’ll be a good mother, Em. Plus you’ll have loads of family around.” She wanted to scream that she was leaving her family behind for good this afternoon but instead she just smiled tightly. It was too close to home. She couldn’t keep this conversation going. It hurt.

The race matched her mood. The strategy wasn’t good, the car was a tractor, and the oblique team orders to not let Dan try overtake Lando made her want to scream. The team points would be the same, but no. Not for his home race even. The crowd were amazing and let out loud cheers every time the orange car made its way around the circuit, but it wasn’t enough and Em knew it. It hurt. Her last time at a Grand Prix, her last time cheering for the man she was so deeply in love with, and the team and car had let him down again.

The plan was already to delay debrief till Monday so Dan got to spend time with his family, and Em decided to head to the airport nearly immediately. She couldn’t stay any longer. She couldn’t deal with any more hints from Michelle about a niece or nephew in the future, couldn’t listen to Grace or Joe talking about how much they’d missed her. She couldn’t spend more time with Blake and Michael without wanting to break down and tell them that they had changed her life and she wouldn’t make them choose between her and Dan.

Because that was what it came down to. She was the last one in this group that was all united by their love of Daniel Ricciardo. She was the one who loved him so deeply it hurt, the one who loved every single member of the group to the moon and to Saturn. And she loved them so much she couldn’t bear to have them walk away from her. Because that was what would happen.

Her own blood family didn’t choose her. They saw her as a disgrace, as a failure because she was thirty one years old, unmarried and without kids. They didn’t realise that she was the one who kept Dan on schedule, who organised sponsor events and filtered out the crap he and Blake didn’t need to know about. She stopped the balls from falling out of the sky. Because she was just an assistant.

And if the people who gave birth to her wouldn’t choose her, she knew the family she’d built wouldn’t either. She was never the one who was chosen, and she didn’t blame them. She was just Emma. Danny was Dan. She knew who she’d pick if given a quarter of a chance.

She’d just finished packing when the adjoining door opened, Dan walking in already speaking but stopping when he saw the case by the door, her carry on full with the edge of the orange poster getting folded in.

“Where are you going?” His tone was accusatory and she steeled herself for the argument.

“Home.”

“Emmy…”

“Don’t Emmy me, Daniel! You know I have to go back for the anniversary.” She turned to look at him, watching as confusion turned to anger.

“And I also know that’s bullshit. I’ve known you for how many years, Em? You’ve visited your parents twice. Michael was with you one of those times, the visit lasted twenty minutes and even he didn’t have anything nice to say about it. Michael. Who has a good thing to say about almost everyone. So tell me the truth, why are you leaving now? Why not get on the flight with us tomorrow?”

“Because I have to go back.”

“Don’t lie to me Em!” He raised his voice and Em gave as good as she got, staring back at him.

“You want the truth, Dan? All of it?”

“Yes! That’s all I want, it’s all I’ve ever wanted with you.”

She took a deep breath, staring into his brown eyes for the last time, soaking in that even so angry he was so beautiful. She’d had the privilege of sleeping with him for nearly four years, of loving him for three. Whoever got to do that next would be so incredibly lucky.

“You left me alone. The one thing I ever asked of you, the only thing I ever asked you to promise me was to never leave me alone. I begged you. Whatever was going on, whatever was happening with us, please don’t leave me alone. And then there were bombs flying and I watched one explode and you made me get into a car and leave. You made me stay alone, and you didn’t come back to me that night. I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know if you were even alive because I didn’t have my fucking phone until the next morning and all the news was in Arabic. You were gone to the track before I knew what had happened. You left. You broke your promise, Daniel.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” It was the worst thing he could have said.

“But Blake and Michael got to stay. Angela stayed with Lewis, don’t try to lie to me and tell me she didn’t. Britta stayed with Seb. You sent me away, Dan. I was sobbing and begging you to stay and you made Blake drive me away. You made me leave when I was scared.” She let her words sink into him fully. “Just leave. Get out of this room and leave.”

“Emmy…” His voice was soft and she blinked back the tears she knew she wanted to cry. Not until the airport. Not until then.

“GET OUT DAN!” She yelled at him for the first time, shock on his face. “JUST LEAVE! It’s what you’ve been doing this whole weekend, just leave.”

“Fine. Fine. If that’s what you want, I’m fucking gone. I’m done here, I’m gone. I’ll be downstairs in five for you to say goodbye to everyone.” She watched him walk through the adjoining door and lock it as Em’s heart completely broke in two. She’d ruined it. He was done. He was gone. He was leaving and she was going and she would never speak to him again because her Daniel wasn’t hers anymore. One person down, eight to go.

She brought her bags down to the lobby alone, everyone standing there waiting to say goodbye. Michael got a hug, she’d said everything she needed to earlier that day. Blake was beside him, wrapping her in a full body giant one and holding her tight.

“You know I love you, don’t you? I really love you.” Blake grinned and pulled her close again.

“Love you too, Ems. Moving beside you was the best decision I ever made.”

Saying goodbye to Michelle and Adam was hugs and whispers of seeing them for Christmas when she knew it was a lie. Grace pulled her into a hug that only a mother figure could, whispering in her ear.

“We’re coming over for Silverstone and yours and Dan’s birthdays, so we’ll see you then. We love you Em. If you need anything I’m only a FaceTime away. Don’t let them get you down when you’re with your family.”

“I love you too, Grace.”

Joe got a hug and a murmured love you, his hand patting her back soothingly. The kids were last, sulking as Em squatted down in front of them.

“So I got my angels a present to say goodbye, cause I know I didn’t get to see you lots. Want to see them?” There were identical nods and Em strapped the bracelets on, Isaac’s on a black cord and Isabella’s on a purple one.

“It matches the one I made you and Uncle Dan,” Isabella murmured as Em pulled her into a tight hug.

“It does. It’s a reminder that I love you both so very, very much. No matter how far away we are, I’m always going to love you, okay? Don’t ever, ever forget that. Pinkie promise me?” She held out her little fingers, laughing as they both enthusiastically took part in the ritual. She pulled them in for a final hug, pressing kisses to both of their heads.

“See you on winter break!” Isaac grinned as he spoke, Em putting a tight smile on her face.

“We call it summer break, but I’ll see what we have to do then buddy.”

“Do you want a lift to the airport? I’ve got the rental?” Joe asked but Em shook her head.

“Nah, I’m good. I’ve got an Uber coming, I just want to get on the road. It’s hard enough to say goodbye to everyone I can’t drag it out much longer.”

“Fair. Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too, Joe.” Her phone buzzed with the notification that her driver was there and she started towards the door. Dan still hadn’t come down and that was it. He didn’t love her. He didn’t feel anything like how she did because no matter what he’d said, he’d never make her leave. But she made him leave. He was gone.

She was almost at the door when an oh too familiar voice called across the lobby, running up to them.

“I didn’t think you’d be leaving already.”

“My Uber’s outside, I need to leave.”

“Oh.” There was none of their usual hugs, none of the subtle kisses he pushed to the top of her head when they were separated. He didn’t even squeeze her fingers. It was like they were strangers. “Send a text when you get to London?”

“Yeah, sure.”

She turned to get her luggage into the car, shielding her face from everyone with her hair. The driver lifted it in and she was soon safely ensconced in the back seat, tears falling down her cheeks as she waved goodbye behind partially tinted glass.

“Was that Daniel Ricciardo?” The driver asked, Em forcing a smile.

“Yeah, I work with him.” It was true for another five hours at least.

“He seems like a good guy.”

“He’s one of the best.”

Tears streamed down Em’s cheeks the entire way to the airport, through the fancy check in area and security, and following her into her first class pod. She mostly ignored the staff apart from nodding at them, continuing to cry and wipe her eyes on tissues. The tears barely stopped until Dubai, only aided by Blake’s near constant texts as soon as her email sent.

She knew when she arrived in London that she had about twelve hours before the boys landed, Blake texting even while he was on his flights. She sent a I got back safely, receiving another flurry of responses.

Em, what’s this email about?

What’s going on?

Tell me you didn’t mean to send this

Is it the travel? Do you want to slow down? Why?

Ems we need you. How am I supposed to tell everyone you’re not coming with us anymore? Did you meet someone? Did something happen?

We’re about to land in Heathrow. Dan’s going to his place and looks miserable. I’ll be at your door in less than two hours.

When she got the final text Em grabbed the bags she’d hastily packed with clothes and the things she needed for the next eight days until the boys had left London for Imola. The address of the last minute airbnb was in her email, getting an Uber to it handy. She was long gone by the time Blake arrived, sitting in her temporary home for the next while and planning what she had to do. They’d leave England on the Wednesday, she had five days to empty her flat.

It started with an email to her landlord to give up the lease. Her family reasons excuse was accepted quickly, the landlord told she had to leave London and the apartment would be vacant from the end of the month. After that she had to start planning on where to go to.

There were too many memories in London. Nearly every street reminded her of Dan, of days walking around hand in hand to show him her London, not the tourist one he knew. The city she’d moved to at eighteen with a dream and a student loan and where she’d discovered who she was. Dan was everywhere in the city for her - memories of their first kiss in the pub she’d spent too many hours in, museums she’d dragged him to, streets he’d stolen a kiss from her at with a grin and a chuckle when they were waiting to cross the road. The cafes and greasy spoons she’d brought him to with the promise of not telling Michael. She couldn’t stay there, it was too much.

But everywhere she thought of had memories of him. Filthy weekends away when they were at home because of covid, eating out to help out and driving to Manchester or Glasgow to spend time together and have hotel sex. The midlands were completely out because of Silverstone, of memories of Enstone and the Renault factory, of Milton Keynes and his goodbye from Red Bull.

The only big city she could think of without a memory of Dan - with only one memory of her boys - was Liverpool. Which meant her parents. Which meant a conversation she never wanted to have. Calling her mother wasn’t like calling Grace. But she didn’t have Grace in her life anymore, so she had to do it.

“Emma, what country do you deign to call us from today?” Her mother answered the phone, disdain dripping from every word.

“Good morning, Mother. I’m in England. I was calling because I need to ask for a favour from you.”

“Yes?”

Em swallowed, teeing up words on her too thick tongue. “I had to leave my job, they didn’t have the funding to keep me on. I was wondering if I could move home for a few weeks while I’m applying for new jobs. I want to leave motorsports, there’s too much travelling and I want to settle down.” She hit every keyword that her mother had as she checked her bank account balance, spotting her final pay deposited in the account. It was more than healthy thanks to travelling so much for work and Dan covering that under work expenses. But she needed to be sensible, and renting somewhere without a job would be a mistake.

“You can. You will need to pay rent while you’re here.”

“Of course. Just let me know how much. It wont be for long, it’s just a few weeks. It’ll be like I won’t even be there, if I’m not interviewing I’ll be in my bedroom.”

“Fine. Let me know when you plan to arrive.” She sounded bored of the conversation already.

“I’ll be back April twenty fourth. I can send you the train details then.

“See you then.”

The difference between the call with her mother and a call with Grace just cut the wound in her chest even harder. Grace never let a call end without a million “I love you”s between them. She made sure that Em spoke to everyone in the family, and if Joe was out at the garage she took a message and told Em that he loved her. Instead her mother hadn’t even asked if Em wanted to leave a message for her father.

It felt so, so wrong.

The list of things she had to do before the boys left for Italy was beginning to shrink, but there was still so much to do. She ignored Blake and Michael’s texts, refusing to even open them. The chats were archived so the red dots didn’t irritate her. Dan didn’t send her anything at all, yet more proof that he meant everything he said in Melbourne. He was done with her. She didn’t realise that emotional pain could hurt this much. She’d never believed in soulmates, never believed in fate. She always thought that if a relationship ended she’d get through it. But now? This not quite a relationship over? It ached to her core.

Friday morning she had an appointment with a solicitor, walking in with a tear stained sheet of what she wanted to leave to different people. She’d always fought with Dan about being prepared if something happened to him, not wanting to know what he left her. She was one of the two people who could decide what medical treatment he got if he couldn’t consent. She’d cried when he told her that day in Spa when they got that tragic news what he wanted if he was in a crash like that. That he trusted her to not let him stay on machines. Some of her nightmares included his plaintive “I don’t want false hope” that made her ache.

She didn’t trust her parents to not do the same for her. They’d keep her hooked up to machines for as long as possible, they’d insist it was for “hope”. Em didn’t know what hope, but she knew them. They’d barely spoken for five years apart from occasional texts and birthday cards, they didn’t have the right to decide what happened to her.

It was a blustery Friday morning when she walked into that office and signed the papers to say Daniel Ricciardo, Blake Friend, and Michael Italiano were the people who decided what would happen if she couldn’t make her own medical decisions. She gave the lawyer the makeshift will that was handwritten and tearstained. It was simple - her cookbooks and exercise equipment to Michael because he was always trying to adapt her recipes. All but one piece of her furniture to Blake. Her CDs and DVDs to Dan, along with the coffee table he kept falling over. Her collection of Dan’s raceworn helmets to Isaac and Isabella. Dan, Grace, and Michelle were to divide her jewellery between them based on who wanted what. The rest of her belongings were to be sold and the money put in Isaac and Isabella’s college funds. It was too easy.

Even after everything that had happened, even after walking away, she trusted her boys more than she trusted anyone else in the world.

After all of that her final task was to organise her storage unit and movers. That was easiest of all if Em was honest. A call to a moving company who agreed to put everything in the unit without her there, and walking into a storage company. She signed a two year contract and paid the full rent then and there, surprising the man at the counter. Now she was able to disappear.

The texts kept coming from Blake and Michael. WhatsApp and iMessage, even a signal account she’d forgotten she had on her phone. Michael sent her instagram DMs so she deleted the app instead of trying to avoid reading them and appearing online. But finally it was Wednesday and she knew exactly when the boys were flying out of London City Airport. She’d organised the private flight for them, booked the plane and made sure the flight was as clean as possible. As soon as they’d take off her plan could start.

Walking back into her apartment felt too normal, just checking her post and finding it mostly full of letters from Blake. Get in touch, we’re worried, we miss you. Sentiments she knew he’d share but it would be easy for him to forget about her. The letters went out in recycling and she began to pack up her life.

The boxes were settled easily. Storage, donating, and Dan’s stuff. The ones for him filled quickly, clothes and accessories and things he’d left lying around the apartment that had become theirs instead of just hers. It took three boxes to get rid of the sense of him.

The storage boxes were easier, but the final thing she had to do at four that Sunday morning was decide what to do with her helmet wall. Ever since Monaco and his win, Dan had given her his race worn helmet for any new race design. She could name which race each of them was from, and in the middle was her Monza win one. McLaren had wanted it for the MTC but Dan refused to give it over, insisting it was his and he was keeping it. They got the trophy so he got the helmet. And then he put it in the middle of the IKEA shelves that they’d spent a weekend putting together and laughing.

Part of her - a large part if she was truly honest - wanted to donate them. Get rid of them for the clean break she insisted she needed. But she couldn’t. They were the good parts of the last four years, the best part of her life and the reminder that for years she got to love Daniel Ricciardo and travel the world with her best friends. Once she was settled somewhere she’d put them all back up to get her and explain to whoever asked that she was a part of Formula One for a short while, and it meant so much to her.

It took longer than she expected to get them wrapped carefully and boxed away. Two just about fit in one box, but they were light at least. When they were carefully labelled with the races, a tear falling from her eye when she wrote Monaco 2018 on a box in looping letters, she sat down to write notes to her boys. They deserved more than a resignation email and leaving without saying goodbye but if she saw them in person she wouldn’t walk away. She was barely strong enough to do that the first time. Em couldn’t do it again.

Dan’s took the longest. It started with anger. How could you make me love you when you didn’t love me back scrawled angrily, tears staining the lined pages as she wrote everything. But she couldn’t give it to him how she’d written it. She couldn’t deliberately hurt him. It wasn’t Dan’s fault that she’d fallen in love with a man who couldn’t love her back the way she wanted him to love her. It was her fifth draft, still tear stained, that was the one she was giving him.

Danny,

I’m sorry I didn’t say this in person but I couldn’t do it. We both know that things between us haven’t been working for a while. It’s nobody’s fault. I guess we just wanted different things. It happens to us all. But we’re both done and writing this is easier than another long conversation and another fight.

Go be happy. I’ll cheer you on from wherever I end up, no matter what. You’ve changed so many lives, mine included. Thank you for the amazing years and experiences. You let me do things that so few people ever get to do and I can’t thank you enough for that.

Emma

Michael and Blake’s were harder and easier. She only needed one attempt at them, trying to wipe the tears before they fell.

Blakey,

I’m sorry for leaving like this. I’m sorry for leaving you in the lurch, but I made sure that everything logistically is booked until the summer break. Just get him where he needs to be on time, you were always better at that than me.

I love you. You’re my big brother and i wasn’t going to make you choose between me and Dan, that was never going to be fair. I’ll be happy and I want you to be happy too. Find a girl and settle down or bring her around the world. I’m rooting for you the entire time.

Will you make sure everyone in the paddock knows I love them? Tell Chloe and Scotty to get their wedding planned. Chloe will be the most beautiful bride and I’m so sorry I won’t get to see her in person. Scotty will look ok, I guess.

Thank you for everything.

Love,

Ems

PS - the extra key is for my storage unit. A1 Storage in Wimbledon. Figured you’d be a good person to have it.

She folded Blake’s letter into an envelope and labelled it before writing the last one. Somehow this was the hardest, having to ask Michael to do what she couldn’t.

Mike,

I’m sorry for leaving and I’m sorry for asking you to pass a message on but I know you will. I love you so much. You made lockdown bearable even when I was being a bitch, and you made me actually enjoy exercising you cruel man.

Tell everyone that I love them and I’m sorry? You let me know exactly what a family is and how I deserve to be loved and that’s something I can never thank you enough for. Ever. I can’t make people decide between me and Dan. He wins every time and that’s how it’s supposed to be. It’s easier if I just leave.

Tell Grace and Joe I love them and I will forever be grateful for their love and support. Let Michelle know that she’s the best big sister ever. Please make sure that Isaac and Isabella know that I love them no matter what. It’s not their fault I left and I will always love them. Whoever gets to be their auntie is the luckiest person in the world and I wish it got to be me.

Tell all your family I love them, and ti voglio bene to Nadia and your Nana. I love you all so much, and I’m cheering you all on from wherever I end up.

Love,

When the movers came she handed them the key to the storage unit, letting them know what to do. Everything was out of the apartment in a few moments and Em took a last look around her almost empty apartment. The memories were suffocating. Dan tripping over the coffee table, the London lockdown when they got back from Australia and they lied to Michael about what the yoga mat’s primary purpose was. The way Dan danced with her in the dark kitchen, distracting her from finding food for them in the fridge and getting them to sway in the silence. The kisses and living together like he loved her the same way she loved him.

He’d been blowing up her voicemail since Wednesday and she deleted them I listened to. The first “Emmy” hurt her too much, so she decided to practice self preservation for once. As soon as her voicemail said “you have an unlistened to voicemail from Dan” it was deleted. The same with Blake and Michael. She couldn’t do it.

Finally it was time to leave, and she carried Dan’s boxes one at a time into Blake’s apartment. The three were stacked one atop the other, the letters on top of them. Em stared at her thumb, at the moon ring that had been there since Dan bought it for her calling her his moon on dark nights. She couldn’t bear to take off the three necklace hanging on her chest, but this she had to leave behind. She wasn’t his moon, and he was too bright to be her sun.

She slipped it off and rubbed her finger against the warm gold, pushing a kiss to it before stepping back. The final thing she needed to do was leave the envelope with her medical power papers and will on Blake’s coffee table before she locked the front door and slipped his keys in his post box. It was done. She was gone.

The tube to Euston was quicker than expected and she joined the trek to the Liverpool train, settling into her seat a few minutes before they were due to pull out. Her phone lit up with a notification that the race was about to start, illuminating the photo from lockdown of her and Dan holding Isaac and Isabella. They looked like a family. Em unlocked her phone and pushed her thumb firmly down on the F1 app to delete it. A clean break.

The train pulled off exactly at two, her mind echoing Crofty’s “lights out and away we go”. Dan was in the car and racing and all she wanted was a good points finish for him. But she couldn’t check. She couldn’t let herself find out what he was doing.

Her tears fell harder as the train pulled into Milton Keynes, the memories of the last time she’d done this train journey as Dan’s plus one. His leaving Red Bull party, staying in a hotel with him the week before they flew to Perth for Christmas. It was the only time she’d gotten to visit the impressive Red Bull factory. Meeting Max properly, Christian cornering her with his wife - and keeping her cool around Geri fucking Halliwell - to ask if she could convince Dan to come back. Getting whisked away from Helmut quickly when he tried to speak to her, meeting the mechanics and team that she’d seen at several races properly for once. Yet another place she could never visit again because all she’d think about was Dan.

Em made herself stop crying shortly after, pushing a cold bottle of water to her eyes. She couldn’t be red eyed or puffy seeing her parents. It was bad enough returning with her tail between her legs. She didn’t know if she’d survive the I told you so.

When Dan got out of the car in Imola he knew what he had to do. His first stop was being weighed and getting his slip, Mike pushing one of those AG1 drinks into his hand to down to get electrolytes and water back into him. After that it was media rounds, apologising to Carlos, and doing media. Once the debrief was finished it was London. He needed to get to Emmy. For the second time he’d gotten on a plane when he should have been with her and he needed to apologise. Needed to make things right.

“The jet will be ready when we finish? I need to get back to London tonight.” Michael handed him a McLaren branded shirt and pair of skinny jeans to put on once he was out of the shower.

“It’ll be ready. Mate, you need to know that she might not want—“

“She’ll see me. It’s Em. She’s my Emmy. She’s going to see me and I’m going to tell her everything. I can’t do this without her. I can’t. I dunno how I did it before.”

“Ok. Go shower and head out.”

The debrief was painful. Lando on the fucking podium, Dan last. They wrote off his technical debrief after the collision. It was clear Dan couldn’t have done anything, and the rest of his race was nothing to write home about. He should have just retired. It was shit and he just had to listen to how Lando had a flawless race and was extracting the most out of the tractor McLaren had built. He had to wait until it was over, half listening and taking notes while stewing.

All he could think about was Emmy. He hadn’t reached out because he thought she needed space, wanted time. He’d had the fucking ring in his pocket in the hotel room and then they’d fought and he couldn’t exactly get on one knee and ask her to marry him after that. But now she was gone and she’d been gone for weeks and he didn’t know. He needed her to be ok. He needed to go home and see her on the couch and beg for her forgiveness because he was hers. His apartment was so fucking lonely, driving in and out of the factory without seeing her. Without going to sleep curled up beside her and waking up with the fairy lights glowing as she read whatever dog eared book she was rereading that month.

The voicemails were being listened to. Her inbox went from full to empty and he kept texting, determined to get through to her. Needing her to talk to him. To say anything at all. People kept asking where she was, he laughed it off and gave the excuse of family stuff. Natalie had nodded and said she hoped Em would be back soon. Chloe had looked at him oddly when she heard the excuse but he shrugged and moved on. The elder Stroll could be terrifying and he didn’t want to get on her bad side. Not even Scotty could save him from that.

There was nothing he could do but wait to be freed. The moment they were able to break - after Dan apologised to the mechanics for the job they’d have to do on the car - he was on his way to the driver room. Blake and Michael were already there with bags packed and ready to go.

It was a two hour flight to London and they landed at nine. After forcing their way through traffic in a black cab it was after nine thirty by the time they arrived at Blake and Em’s building. Dan stepped out of the car and grabbed his bags, heading straight upstairs to the two identical doors. He didn’t realise when it became more normal to stand in front of Em’s door than Blakes, but it had years before. He knocked twice to no response.

“Em? I’ve got my key, I’m coming in.”

The lock turned easily with the familiar key and Dan set his bags down to flick the light switch. What he saw terrified him.

The room was empty. The couch that killed his back, the coffee table his shins hated, gone. The bookshelves and the kitchen table they’d spent a lockdown day building, gone. Her helmet collection was missing. Em had once told him that if the building went on fire she would save whichever helmets she could. If they were gone, she was gone.

He ran to her bedroom but everything was missing. The fairy lights they’d taped up with double sided tape. Her bed. The throw cushions he laughed about. Even the case at the bottom of her wardrobe with the lingerie he’d bought her was gone. Her pink boots weren't there. It was like nobody had lived there for years. He couldn’t even smell her perfume in the air.

“Dan?” He hadn’t realised tears were streaming down his face when he turned to see his best mates standing in the doorway. “Mate, you need to see this.”

He followed them back to Blakes, pausing to lock Emmy’s front door. She had to come back. The idea that she wouldn’t come back was impossible.

Until he saw the boxes.

Three of them, neatly stacked almost up to Blake’s chest. There were three envelopes on them, and a glint of gold on top of one. He nearly ran to it, ignoring the post race soreness going through his body to see the ring he’d given her sitting on top of the one neatly labelled Daniel.

She’d used his first name. Emmy never used his first name unless something was wrong. He’d fucked up so badly that he didn’t want to open it.

Instead he held the ring firmly in his palm, the metal cold against his hand. She was there. She had been there and now she was gone and he didn’t know what to do. But instead he followed what Blake and Michael had done and opened his letter.

It was how impersonal it was that killed him. Em was done. She’d be fine. Thanking him for bringing her around the world and letting her work with him. She didn’t want another fight and she thought he was done with her.

She didn’t love him like he loved her and for a brief moment that made him want to die. The moments they’d shared, the times they’d said they loved each other. The times he’d held her and traced I love you down her back or against her clit when he was eating her out, desperate for her to know but too afraid to say it. The 'y’know, right?'. Everything from the last nearly four years. None of it had ever mattered because she wouldn’t have married him. He had her ring in his fucking ever present backpack and thank God he hadn’t tried to propose because she’d have said no and he’d have been humiliated.

“I guess you were right. Buying the ring was a mistake.”

His choked voice broke the silence, but it was Michael who got the next sentence in, cutting off Blake’s question about the ring.

“Mate, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“She doesn’t love me like I love her. I was wrong. I just got my heart broken so please, don’t rub it in right now?”

“Did you read any of what she wrote?”

“Yeah. She’s done. She thanked me for letting her travel with us. Like she didn’t earn her place. She signed it Emma. I was wrong, ok? I was wrong and I can’t take you rubbing it the fuck in when I think Im gonna break.”

“What happened? Because the two of you were fine in Bahrain, and then after Saudi she disappeared and skipped Perth, and she was barely in Melbourne. What happened with you?” Blake was the one who asked, Dan flopping on the couch beside him. He held out his much shorter letter for them to read.

“Things were weird when we got back after Christmas. Then we had covid and got through it. And Saudi fucking happened. With everything going on and keeping her safe I didn’t see her till after the race and she was already leaving. And in Melbourne we… We had a fight.” The memories of what he’d said were circling again, the anger between them, Em telling him to leave again. Him walking away.

“We thought that much. You didn’t even hug her goodbye.”

“She told me to leave!”

“In self preservation.” Michael’s voice was low and Dan was almost afraid of his best friend. “She said she didn’t want to make us choose between you and her, that she knew we’d pick you. So she left. I have to tell your fucking family she’s gone, by the way. She asked me to. So you’re going to tell me everything that’s happened between the two of you and we’re going to fix this. What the fuck did you do?”

He wanted to be annoyed that he was being blamed but he couldn’t blame the boys. So he let everything out.

He told them about wanting to kiss her in Blake’s that first night, of Monaco and their agreement that it was over once she left Monaco. Coffee and Silverstone and her birthday drinks. Spa and I love you when they were faced with the reality of what could happen with his job again. Em begging him to never leave her behind, that no matter what he wouldn’t leave her alone. Her dick of an ex who’d destroyed her self-esteem and meant she lost her friends. The meaning of 'Y’know, right?', the phrase that had been their mantra since 2019. That he hadn’t slept with anyone else since he’d met her because he just knew she was supposed to be his. That he’d bought the ring when they spent Christmas 2020 together but was just waiting for the right moment. And then in Saudi she’d been sobbing and he sent her away. He made Blake take her away from him. From them. He’d broken his fucking promise and again in Australia he walked away when he should have stayed in that room.

She’d picked the fight. She’d picked it so she’d be left alone and leave and the realisation of how well she fucking knew him hurt so much. She knew him like the palm of her hand and for a minute he forgot about it.

“Let me get this straight. You’ve known just how shit her family is for longer than any of us, and I’m the only one who’s actually met them. She asked for exactly one thing from you which was don’t leave her alone. And in Saudi, one of the countries she’s most scared of being away from us for any length of time, you made her go back to the hotel and stay there on her own. She begged you to stay and was sobbing and you left her to cry when she asked you to stay? I could fucking punch you right now.” He nodded at Michael’s words, shame filling every cell in his body.

“You made us leave her alone.” Blake spoke and Dan thought he was going to be sick. “In Melbourne. The morning of the race. 'Em’s going with my parents. She wants family time.' She didn’t know she was going with them, did she? Why?”

“She… I… No. We weren’t ok. I didn’t know if I could be in the car with her. Not after that night.”

“What happened?”

“I… Fuck. She kept the door between our rooms locked that whole week. But Saturday night it wasn’t locked. I had a habit of just trying it, just in case. It was open and I went in. I just lay down on the edge of the bed and watched her sleep for a while before falling asleep. I left before she woke up. She didn’t know, she was asleep the whole time.”

“You think our Ems was asleep for a full night before a fucking race? Are you an idiot? Did you get brain damage in that crash today? She doesn’t fucking sleep! You slept in the same bed as her for four fucking years and you don't know that? She’s into me for melatonin every damn night because she can’t sleep worrying about you. She was awake that entire night and you left her without saying a goddamn word and then you abandoned her again. Again, Dan. Don’t tell me you did something stupid and cheated on her like her fucking ex.”

“I never cheated. I haven’t touched another woman.” The thought made him sick. “I’m not that asshole. You know I’m not.”

“I don’t mean to be funny Dan. She lived beside me for nearly five years. She’s my friend. And now her apartment is for rent, your shit is here, and she’s told us all goodbye and to give messages to the people she loves. So you might not have cheated on her, but you broke her. It took us four years to help Em feel like herself again and put her pieces back together and you broke her.” Blake was opening another envelope mixed in with the post on his coffee table that Em had left in as he spoke, eyes widening slightly. Before he could get the words out Michael had to.

“You’re telling your family, by the way.” His voice was solid, a way Dan had never heard before. “She asked me to tell them but I can’t. I can’t break those kids hearts and tell them their auntie Emmy loves them forever but she can’t see them again. I can’t tell your sister that she’s lost a sister, and I can’t tell your parents that you ran off the woman they want you to marry. That the woman your mum teaches family recipes to had to leave, because you fucked up that much. You know she’s their second daughter, right? Even before whatever the fuck you’ve been doing started they adored her. From Monaco. Em’s lost the only decent mother she’s ever had because of you. She didn’t want to make us choose but if she was here right now I’d choose her over you any day.”

“If you think she doesn’t love you, read this.” Blake held out a package of papers, Dan skimming them.

Everyone in his line of work was familiar with leaving a will behind. The fucking academies basically demanded it at this point. He’d put Emmy on his own medical power of attorney form after Spa, told her what he was leaving her when she was ready for that conversation after Roman nearly died in Bahrain.

But Emma wasn't racing cars every weekend, so she didn't need the papers she signed. She didn't need to leave a will behind, but his name was there to make decisions for Em. She’d left him specific things. The cold fear snaked up his spine, tightening around his lungs and making it hard to breathe.

“She wouldn’t. She won’t do anything stupid. It’s Em, she wouldn’t.” The words came out as a rush but certain. She wouldn’t hurt herself. God, he couldn’t live with himself if she did.

“It’s probably just a precaution. But Jesus Christ, Dan. She’s gone. We have no idea where she is, we don’t even know what country she’s in. We don’t know what kind of head start she has and with the amount of frequent flier miles she has she could be anywhere. We can probably cross off here and Australia, but that doesn’t take away much.”

“I need to leave.” Dan turned to see Michael pick up his bag. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk. I’ll email you workout plans. She’s my fucking sister, Dan. She’s my little sister and I trusted you knew what you were doing with her. She said goodbye to me and I didn’t even know. You… I can’t look at you right now. I’m this close to quitting too because I don’t know you anymore. The Dan I grew up with? He would have said something. He wouldn’t make the woman he kept saying he was going to make his wife run away. He wouldn’t make her feel unloved. Just work out what you’re going to do. I’ll be on the plane to Miami but I don’t know if I’ll see you before then.” Dan watched as his oldest friend, the man he’d known since primary school, who’d supported him through thick and thin, walked out of the apartment into the London night.

“She’s gone. She’s really gone and she’s not coming back. I… I have to find her, Blake. I can’t do this without her.”

“You need to work out what you’re doing. You need to tell your family she’s gone. You need to do your job. We’re all hurting right now and yeah your heart is breaking. But its my job to do tough love and tell you that you need to work first and then think about her.” He stared at Blake in shock. “I’m pissed. But work first. Em somehow managed to take everything off my plate when she was leaving, because she didn’t want to make things hard on me. Go home, Dan. I have to call Chloe Stroll and tell her Em’s not coming back.”

“Not yet. Please. Let me f—“

“I’m telling her. You can hide it from the media, from your family, whatever. Chloe is Em’s best friend outside us. Do you really think she hasn’t tried calling Em already? Really?” Dan nodded once. “Go home. Your place, not the empty apartment next door you called home. Go home and get your shit together. Em would kill you if you fucked up a race over her.”

Dan got an Uber on his phone, taking his bags downstairs along with his letter from Em. He slipped the moon ring onto his little finger, settling it just above the sun. He needed her back. He just didn’t know how to find her.

#call it what you want fic #ciwyw writing #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo oneshot #f1 imagine #f1 oneshot #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 oneshot #formula one fanfic #formula one imagine #daniel ricciardo x ofc #daniel ricciardo x reader

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srbachchan · 10 months ago

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DAY 5904

Jalsa, Mumbai April 17, 2024 Wed 11:25 PM

🪔 ,

For April 18 .. our love and wishes for the Ef on their special day .. to Ef Jonoon Alhob from KSA 🇸🇦 .. Ef Ninad Junnarkar from Dubai 🇦🇪 .. Ef Manoj Lahoti from Ahmedabad .. Ef Mahesh Ghantasala .. and Ef Amlan Goswami from Lucknow .. love always from the Ef Family .. ❤️🙏🏻🚩

.. and it seems so odd and uncoordinated when there is an effort to keep the timings of the Blog in time and space and effect .. the fingers move to punch all the words and dates and days and timings to the day next as is the recognised practice ..

but change took place and .. took place in time ..

It is a joy when there is express and question in express , and all of them barking up the wrong tree .. it's not the tree its the wrong bark ..

got it .. ??

the X and the FB !!

the thought is that to be humorous , without being humorous .. a funny thought but at times it works .. one could expect to announce that he or she are the greatest comedians of the World, and the audience is repelled into uncontrollable laughter .. and the comedian merely stands there in the glory and admiration of his own joke ..

that is if you comment ..

'no comment' was not invented by celebrities or answerable individuals without reason ..

comment ferments .. !!

hahaha .. that was funny .. just came out of the oven baked and fresh .. ready to be consumed ..

and fermentation ..

"a chemical breakdown of substance by bacteria , or other microorganisms, involving efference and the giving off of heat .."

🤣🤣🤣

aaah .. the epitome of mastered questioned answers , one that would bring great intrigue to the questioner and a 😀 for the responder ..

Not anymore though .. for social media has obliterated commented news ..

which is why the coefficient of linear expansion is juxtapositioned by the haemoglobin of the atmosphere .. sophisticated rhetorician and all, intoxicated by the exuberance of verbosity

LONG live the Industry of Film .. and its presence among us .. the strongest medium of communication ..

EVEN NOW .. !!

in the liberty to manufacture in its creativity of wondrous understanding and composure , towards the elements of a free will and mind ..

" enough no more .. tis' not so sweet as it were before "

Love to all .. and the bard 👆🏼

Amitabh Bachchan

96 notes · View notes

ellesthots · 7 months ago

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Fateful Beginnings

XXV. “Mr. Wayne”

read on AO3 🦇

parts: previous / next

plot: debuting a new playboy persona, Bruce banks on a moment of reprieve that never comes. after saying goodbye to a friend, you make your way to city hall for a final meeting that leaves both you and the billionaire in a haze.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, anxiety, romantic tension, infidelity/flirting, mention of sexual harassment, mention of illness

words: 7.4k

a/n: a treat of a chapter for everyone 🏹 thank you for continuing to show fateful so much love! adoring the comments and reblogs, it's so fun to see your reactions ✨ soooo much more to come <3

It'd been long enough of occasional high-profile, low-commitment public escapades as Bruce Wayne. With the candidates coming, he felt it deep in his gut he had to show out and perform. He put on his best suit, had Alfred do his hair. He ordered the most expensive cologne he could find (that didn't seem to be oversaturated on the market like Baccarat Rouge; he knew Bruce would need to keep ahead of the trends) as well as the watch. He spritzed Guerlain Tobacco Honey on his wrists, chest, and neck before getting into his Bugatti. He spent so many millions in one week Alfred had checked if this was some sort of mental breakdown. He assured him it was 'only necessary' and 'only temporary', and that these items would eventually make good money at a charity auction.

When he arrived (after making a showy tip to the valet), he made a beeline for the cocktails. He asked the steward to give him a mocktail, quietly, and with a successfully deceiving martini in hand, he moseyed about the room and made small talk in a booming voice. Rich guys aren't afraid to take up space and well, as the richest man in the room...

He sipped his martini as an incredulous man's gaze lingered on his wrist. A moment of hesitation and the man appeared mere inches from his glass. "Mr. Wayne, I couldn't help but notice your Patek. Is that the Philippe Chime?" Hook, line, and sinker. He nodded, as if it were confusing the man would even approach him. He had a split second to deliberate on an asshole persona or a charming one. An easy decision, remembering his family image needed all the support possible after the antics of Edward Nashton. "Ah, a man with good taste."

They chatted for a moment about different watches and stocks (thank god Bruce had remembered to talk to Alfred to get a refresher), until a tall woman in a red silk dress tugged on his elbow. After a small laugh and excusing himself, he turned to face the blue-eyed blonde. Her smile was sparkling white and veneered, and her face didn't move a wink. "Mr. Wayne, excuse me if this is too brash but, I need to know the name of that cologne." She smiled bigger, flit her lashes, and whispered to him. "If you can't tell me, I might just have to replace you with my husband."

Oh this was going to kill him before the night was out. He grinned wider, flashing teeth, and performed a rehearsed laugh; he lowered his voice to match her evocation. "We wouldn't want that, now would we?" He winked, internally cringed so hard he thought he'd turn to diamond, and watched as she gave him a once over and walked sultrily back to the man she'd so brazenly been willing to abandon.

He knew he couldn't be seen standing around, and moved swiftly over to a gaggle of men with their martinis delicately in their left hands, positioned just below their breast pocket. The chandelier to his right kept twinkling in his periphery like an omniscient presence.

"Mr. Wayne, this renewed presence of yours..."

This was gonna hurt. "I'm glowing, right?" He flashed a bright smile and all the men grinned and rolled their eyes, their wives blushing demure side glances amongst themselves. Am I going to have to keep this up forever? Good God. He shook his head and leaned his weight on his left hip. Sip, absentmindedly. Look as if perusing through a scrapbook of memories. "There's this spa in Dubai, it does wonders for the spirit. And the body." He laughed again, feeling like he was shoving out the very last oxygen from the deepest well of his chest. "This past Spring I jetted over there for a few week-long stays, nothing crazy."

"Playboy bootcamp, hmm?" A woman in a midnight blue dress stood by Mr. Gavenstein, a popular investment broker on the Northwest side of town. Gavenstein glanced hard at her for a split second before interrupting her seduction. In all honesty he couldn't blame the ladies, remembering from a few summer camps that many upper-class Gothamite girls were raised to marry wealthy—and to lend no concern to things as trivial as loyalty to men who were probably cheating on them anyway.

As Gavenstein talked to the group (but mostly to Bruce), it became difficult to hide his increasingly strained attempts at mellowness. Bruce's first night at one of these city hall meetings a handful of years ago had led to the one and only time he'd gone out with these men, and every single waitress and bartender who served them that night got a side of sexual harassment from the husband himself. The ring his wife wore looked like it'd been longer than a few years since they gave their vows, corroborated by the same subtle chip in the gold of his wedding band. Bruce had made a small comment about the 'strange lack of respect people had for staff', and tipped the servers a few thousand each on the way out. He made it a point to lay as low as possible from that point on.

The man in the same white linen shirt interrupted the reverie by opening the door to the conference room with an announcement. "The meeting will convene in two minutes, but tonight we have an intermission at half time for the candidates to prepare their initial statements."

This schtick wasn't easy, but it was easier now that you weren't here. With the conference room's opening and you nowhere to be found, it left him no choice but to know with surety you'd left back to Washington and cut your losses. He bristled at the thought, but paid it no mind. No one here knew this wasn't the real him; no one here would be scanning to see if his hand was clenched in his pocket to try and metabolize the anxiety of performing. And if someone did notice, he would be able to effectively lie that he'd hurt his hand playing polo. Bridgit wasn't here either, and he let his shoulders relax knowing he wouldn't be grilled until he walked into the foyer of Wayne Tower.

He followed the men into the room with its sturdy, polished mahogany table set, making sure to chatter with the people at his side—until Convoy shot him a confused look as he struggled to control the din and start the meeting. Be annoying, but never rude. Feign innocence, seem to mean well. As embarrassing as it was, he had binged a smattering of critically-acclaimed films all week to prepare his psyche only to realize upon stepping back into this lion's den he'd already studied these men enough to camouflage.

Dr. Vry had been suspiciously apologetic upon your return to her office to grab supplies. She gave you the 'very best' voice recorder, a sparklingly new leather-bound notebook, and 'only the finest' 'Italian' fountain pen. As you hurried out the door she told you to keep everything but the recorder, and 'not to worry' about the price. Her Hermés Birkin bag sat bright and pink in the corner, making a mockery of whatever 'expensive' ink lie in the pen.

While she had largely been unhelpful, she had told you ahead of time that this city hall meeting would be inundated with candidates and their teams, meaning there would be an intermission halfway through meeting time. At seven sharp you'd be in the lobby waiting to whisk him to a room she'd already secured for the fifteen minutes between sessions. The key glimmered on your keyring under the shimmering streetlights as you walked to city hall.

On the way you stopped at Rai's. The store wafted with the familiar warm scent of a perfectly spiced, decadent deli, and he beamed at seeing you again. You grinned and pulled out your wallet to get a container of tabbouleh. Rai, with his deep, reverberating voice, teased you as he took the bills. "Strange woman you are, no lettuce boat! Straight 'bouleh."

"I like the tartness, what can I say?" You watched him scoop up a double helping than the cash you'd given, and felt a pang of sadness. He's the only one that's been consistent my whole time here. The only person that seems to genuinely enjoy my presence. If the two of you hadn't known each other better (coming off of a night of particularly hard partying at Mora's your first term) you might have thought he was simply schmoozing a loyal customer. But Rai had patched you up after icy falls on the way for snacks, chatted with you about early dating troubles, and you'd given him advice on how to care for his sister's elderly cat. When his grandfather had been in the hospital, and he'd received the call as you were checking out some Nutter Butters, you'd covered the rest of his shift without question. You'd had to pull an all-nighter because he'd left the keys on his keychain, but nonetheless.

"Getting ready for another school year?" Rai handed you the tabbouleh and a to-go spoon. You averted your eyes, lost in thought. "No, I'm moving home actually." The statement reminded you that Mar had yet to get back to you officially about moving things tomorrow.

His face fell, his brows pulling together. "Gotham has plenty jobs available." Now he was standing right across from you at the register, his arms crossed around his chest so he could rest closer on his elbows. "Don't tell me this is permanent!"

Anxiety was rising in your chest because you didn't want to say goodbye to him, he was possibly the only good thing in Gotham. C'mon, just uproot your entire family and move your business to nowhere Washington. "My mom is sick, actually." The truth spilled out easily for him, and thankfully no customers came in during your retelling with the tears beginning to streak your cheeks. After a few anguishing moments talking over her prognosis, he walked around the counter to wrap you in a hug. His hand was firm and soothing against your back. "Make sure you do what is best for you. If that means leaving the city, leave the city. But you must take a summer here at least once! I will feed you and your family for free."

You hoped Rai's would still be open if you did ever visit. He was the kindest man you think you'd met here, and it was a blessing he was still open—whenever someone was hungry, he'd feed them. He practically ran his own soup kitchen on the weekends, when the houseless would line up to pick some meals from his deli. As far as you knew he relied wholly on catering jobs to make the bulk of his rent. Do I even want to come back? It felt like Bruce owned this city; as much as you'd pushed back when he'd said Gotham was his, it kind of... was. His family's shadow was cast over every street and alley like a weeping willow; but that wouldn't stop you from visiting Rai. "I'll make sure of it, thanks." You grabbed your tabbouleh and spoon, and walked to the doorway with its little signs and small wind chimes. He smiled and waved at you from the register. "Thanks for being a friend, Rai. See you around!"

"I'm only saying, none of these candidates seem to actually want the best for the city."

"Well we gotta pick one of them, right? Unless one of us wants to run."

The candidates hadn't set foot in the conference room yet the space was alight with debate. Convoy had precipitated the intermission by rallying off the candidates' stances in small blurbs. "Ms. Grange is in favor of tax cuts, Mr. Hady wants to tax the churches, and Mr. March wants to increase taxes on... all of you."

"Can you believe that guy," Gavenstein was two to Bruce's left, and nudged the man closest to him. "Thinks he can waltz in here and empty our pockets." His graying hairs were sculpted fashionably above his ears on either side of his head; Bruce wondered if he painted them on to appear wise.

"The only person in this room left with a decent account would be Wayne." The man to his left chuckled and glanced at Bruce, then leaned back in his chair. Christ. He would've rather watched paint dry, then chipped off a mansion's worth of said paint with a single thumb than hear that noise again.

Bruce wanted to stay out of it, he actually wanted to leave this room forever and never come back, but that wasn't his new M.O. "At least he had the guts to say it to our faces." He got a few shrugs and murmurs before the next guy spoke.

"Grange wants tax cuts, now there I'm willing to listen."

"Hady, an attack on the churches? Isn't that unconstitutional?" The man to Bruce's right spoke like he'd never said the word before, and he stifled a laugh at how blatantly they grasped at straws to sound informed. Like a cold glass of water, Convoy announced it was intermission and to find the lobby for the next few minutes. "Our caterer has prepared ample appetizers for the break. Please enjoy!"

Lincoln... how to avoid him... As he walked out Bruce braced himself for being bombarded by the man, his opponents, and excess reporters. Never spoken to them before, don't have to speak to them now... or did he? Next week. Or the week after. He'd have more than enough time to be interviewed and photographed during the rest of this election cycle. It was already enough for him to burst simply talking with the usual suspects that didn't have a recorder on their person. He'd read up a bit on the candidates in the moments between marathoning movies and deduced a small amount about them, though the blurbs on their campaign sites seemed hastily written. Grange was indeed wanting to cut as many taxes as she could get away with, Hady was set on making sure churches paid equal tax while simultaneously cutting taxes on the elite (seemed personal), and March... well, he just wanted all the rich people to be less rich. Bruce had yet to parse if he was only not bothered by that because he had more money than someone could ever tax away.

The lobby was shockingly crowded. Three individual, large clusters splayed across the room supported the candidates, their teams swarming like flies. Reporters stood with their mics and recorders throughout, some with point-and-shoot cameras limp in their bored hands. The very second he was out of the doorframe, all eyes snapped his direction. This has to get easier eventually, right? Right? He walked to grab another mocktail, counting each step to force his nervous system to regulate. He waited behind a blonde reporter after effectively sussing out whether it was Bridgit back for revenge. He closed his eyes and took some deep, slow breaths. In, out. Innn, outttt, nose, mouth... palo santo? He'd smelled that warmth before.

"Bruce."

He spun around to see you standing with your same recorder, a different notebook, and the same slight reflection under your eyes as when you'd come out of the bathroom the night you'd gone missing. A nauseating blend of relief and anxiety displayed brightly across his face. "Y/N."

Bruce looked as he usually did now, with his perfectly slicked hair that fell just slightly askew across his forehead to look like he'd woken up that way. Only now instead of a suit he donned a dark gray cashmere sweater; it read as fancy as one, due to how expertly it had been fitted to his torso, and the same went for his slacks. You admired the fact he didn't seem wholly catering to the people here, or he'd be decked out in some starchy suit. The only way you could tell he wasn't replaced with a robot was how his face turned up looking at you.

The clock was ticking, and the room was just across the hall. You hadn't thought it would be this busy with reporters—how were you going to get him into the room without suspicion? You adjusted the PRESS badge to be loud and clear across your back, since that's what they'd be seeing. You let the notebook slip slightly to take up more real estate on your silhouette, trying to look as official as possible. "I need an interview with you. I got us a room." You strode past for him to follow in tow, knowing otherwise he'd overwhelm you with questions that would only waste the clock. Heavy footsteps behind you (how was he the picture of stealth in the heavy suit?) alerted you to his compliance.

You messed with keys on your keyring and jammed it into the lock, which was stuck. You expected him to gaff and make a snide comment, but nothing interrupted the silence. A few moments later and the door opened cleanly to a dark conference room about half the size of the one he'd just came from. As he made his way quietly in and shut the door behind him, walking easily to his seat, you grew increasingly suspicious and frustrated. He pulled these emotions out of you so easily it was almost clinical. His compliance frustrates me? I almost want to call him out on it, but we don't have time. In, and out.

The notebook slid across the heavy glass with a small squeak. First page was clean, and you pulled out the insert you'd tucked into the middle. The other half of the table was so silent you had to monitor your periphery to see if he hadn't somehow made a getaway. Unfolding the beige paper in the middle revealed your printed question sheet. You cleared your throat to give the customary announcements you'd role played so much in intro journalism. "I'm with the Gotham Gazette, and this interview will be transcribed and published in next week's paper, both physical and digital." You glanced up to see him sitting nicely with his hands rested together on the table top. Through the streaking in the glass you could see the ghosts of where he had first placed his hands. You drew a deep breath. He makes intimidating eye contact. "Feel free to decline answering any question, all I ask is that you answer things as honestly as possible. Though I may cut answers short if they run long. As this is your first interview we would like things to be as comprehensive as possible, outside of what is already known via public record. As soon as I ask the first question I will hit RECORD." You clicked your pen ready and hovered above the switch. Your hesitation combined with his silent acceptance of this made the room drop twelve degrees. "Is there any topic off limits, Mr. Wayne? You and your team will not be able to edit your answers after the fact."

Mr. Wayne? He clenched his fingers against the backs of his hands. His eyes narrowed, but your eyes were fixated on the ruled paper beneath you. You must've cried on the way here, your tear troughs were still slick. Bad news at home? Scared of him? You'd rather get fired than be in this room talking. What could've brought you back? He shook his head. "Not that I can think of. I'll let you know."

So cordial. You clicked RECORD after landing on an acceptable first question. "Mr. Wayne, this is your first public interview. Why did you choose to break the silence now?" You readied your pen to jot any additional questions that spurred from his answers.

He'd anticipated this question months ago and had an immediate response. "The timing finally feels right. For so long I hid, still feeling trapped by my parent's murder. Now that I've hit 30, well... I realized I need to make myself useful. You could say I finally figured out I didn't have to die with my parents."

Jeez, that's rough. You pressed on with the follow-up without obvious sympathy. "I'm sure many are wondering why the timing was not right after the historic flooding? Gotham was in dire need."

"I didn't want anyone to mistake my intentions. I figured if I were to do public-facing work, it would read as opportunistic. I don't want to capitalize off of tragedy. I spent my time working on the back side of rebuilding."

Hmm, convenient. But you couldn't say that on tape. You still refused to look at him, buried into your notes. You'd seen him in the doorway, how he'd transformed from a recluse to an unapologetic schmooze overnight. On your way to get him at the snack table you'd heard some women talking about flirting with him at the meeting's front end. Was he genuinely as good as he seemed? His intentions only the purest and brightest? You struggled to believe it.

"Speaking of rebuilding, at Gotham University's commencement you announced a desire to invest in Gotham city. Any sneak peeks for your Spring 2025 rollout?"

In truth, he hadn't started. He figured he'd speak to Alfred, get a board meeting set up, meet with his investors, and within a month there would be a budget drawn up for his funds. He figured he could start it early in the new year, but your delicately tamed tongue nor floundering public opinion would be charmed by the honest answer of 'I've put it off'. "Pass."

That bristled you, and for a half-second you seriously considered stopping the tape; but this wasn't personal. It couldn't be.

Why aren't you looking up? So... stoic. Guarded. Sitting down here had happened so quickly, with no fuss or snide commentary. Did Vry outfit you with a shock collar and a mic? As much as he hated your rustling, the stillness was more uncomfortable, eerie even. It was like you had a moat between the both of you, with armed guards ready to fire.

The LED lighting was causing an ache in your temples. Your feet were cramping from walking halfway across town in heels through cobbled streets, and being in a closed room with Bruce was choking out your oxygen. Every time you saw him he grew larger, and tonight was far from the exception. You'd been smacked with his cologne at a ten foot radius, he was actually taking up social space in the foyer, he'd worn well-tailored clothing for once... next question. Ask it. "With efforts towards rebuilding a better Gotham in your near future, we have come to know the business side of you far more than the personal. What brings you joy in your everyday life, away from the cameras?"

These questions were far kinder than he'd anticipated from you. Did Vry... threaten you? He refocused on your question to try and rid of the thought before he blurted it out to you. He didn't know what brought him joy, but it didn't seem the type of question to skip. His heart fell into his chest as he continued to come up empty-handed, no matter how deep he sifted into his memory.

It'd been thirty seconds and still no answer. He'd forced your hand to look up at him, and his face was pale. His eyes moved from left to right as he peered at the center of the table. Does he ever feel joy? When do I feel joy?

If this were any other reporter he would lie. Say he loved meeting with people in the city. Loved traveling. Loved sports. Maybe he woke up every morning with the songbirds, a cup of coffee in his right hand and the daily stock exchange pulled up on his MacBook. Maybe his muscles were from a home gym, playing polo, sparring with his butler. That won't fly with you. But this wasn't about you. Even still, as he tried with utmost desperation to sink it into his skull, he couldn't get the words to form in your presence.

Do I ask him if he heard me? Clarify? "Mr. Wayne," He met your gaze and it constricted your chest. You were afraid. Afraid of him and his influence, afraid of writing a good enough essay, afraid of the time running out, afraid of your mother's condition, afraid for your father if she passed, afraid for yourself and this debilitating loneliness that sat like a brick in your gut.

He spit the word out. "Pass."

God that was sobering. You swallowed a hard lump in your throat, and the room went stale in the silence. A dissonant sensation of camaraderie fluttered between the two of you. You drew a sharp and deep breath. You'd had cramps this morning, your period was on the way. You'd have cried if a dog looked at you the wrong way; this new sympathy was environmentally influenced. Next. Question. "What motivates you?"

He stared at you, blank-faced. When would this facade break? Almost imperceptibly you narrowed your eyes in response. "My parents. I want to make the city safer so no one else has to lose anyone. My parents believed in Gotham. I want to make them proud."

If only they knew their son was an infamous vigilante. Next question. You didn't have this written down, but followed off his last answer. "You speak very fondly of your parents, even after what Riddler said of them. Two months after the tragedy, Commissioner Gordon made a statement on behalf of Wayne Enterprises. Is there anything you'd like to add to it?"

If his response hadn't been succinct and wholly accurate to his feelings, he might have regretted spitting something out without thinking. "My father was a good man. Everything in the statement I gave Gordon can be corroborated. It wasn't right what he did, trying to bribe a reporter into silence, and I do not support that in any circumstance. But that is all that he did. Falcone is the one who decided to threaten and murder an innocent."

You might strike that question in editing, as he didn't add any additional information outside of what was already public record. Glancing at your phone showed that five minutes had already passed. You pressed on. "Speaking of your parents, what positive memory stands out when you think of them?" This would be the last question related to his parents; you gathered it was a kind segue between what was known to the public and comfortable to Bruce, and more personal questions.

Except, it wasn't that easy. Bruce sat in silence again, unable to stir up positive memories. This combination of questions was making him dizzy from shame. How the hell could he not remember a good memory with his parents? He knew he had good memories, he knew there'd been beautiful times with his mom, his dad. He knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. Yet... "Pass."

You shut your notebook and turned off the recorder. He watched it like a hawk. "If talking about your parents is off-limits, tell me."

Bruce shook his head, a bit too fast and a bit too hard. "My mind is cloudy tonight."

"Finally gave in and drank on the job?" He certainly hadn't been in line for the food.

He shot a glare at you, a glare that caught the light for a brief second, exposing you to the rich blue of his irises. "Thinking about it." He sat his head in his hands. You were left stunned, looking at the back of his head across the table. Tower Bruce would've said something brutal back to you, maybe even accused you of being an alcoholic. He was unarmored. It was unnerving.

You let the silence sit. He stayed with his nose nearly touching the table, his hands massaging the back of his neck, slowly, thoroughly, painstakingly. For the first time since knowing him you felt like you were sharing space with an actual human... nah, not quite. He still stalked my family. When he looked like this though, this was his greatest defense against being found out. Batman didn't read as sensitive or lost in troubled thoughts. The same muscles rippled down his shoulders and back, but the bullets had been removed from the gun.

The silence went on, and it must've been another two minutes passed staring at him. You could've color picked his hair at a Home Depot you'd been so well acquainted with its hue. You remembered you hadn't truly responded to him when he'd told you why he paid for your parent's debt. You gripped the sides of the chair and broke the extended silence. "Was it true what you said about your, motive?"

He roused, barely. His eyes were tired, his body limp like a ragdoll. More hair had fallen across his forehead, and after the impromptu neck massage his clothes looked a bit haggard, wrinkled in new places and scrunched up just below his ribcage. He wanted to clarify what you meant about motive, but he didn't want to give you the glee of knowing he had no idea what you were talking about. His body was melting in front of you, relaxing until he became one with the chair, but his mind was frantic and frayed. Motive about Batman? Motive about wanting to help Gotham? Why weren't you asking him more interview questions? Why were you here?

The silence had been too long and you already regretted asking him. You flicked the recorder back ON. "Mr. Wayne,"

"Y/N."

OFF. "That's not professional,"

"I never officially agreed to this anyway."

"What do you mean? Dr. Vry said—"

"What did she say?"

"She told me you'd only talk to me."

"Why would I only talk to you?"

This felt strangely reminiscent of when you'd awoken in his bed. Anything that connected the both of you was tossed aside like a rotten, wormy apple by the billionaire. You hoped he felt too accosted to recognize the hurt in your tone. "She said you asked for me, Bridgit said,"

He rolled his eyes. "I couldn't tell them I was worried,"

"Why?"

"You left in the middle of the mission."

"I left a note."

His scoff echoed off the whiteboard. "I'm supposed to trust that?"

He pissed you off so easily. Leaving me alone in an alleyway, expecting me to just stay put? After he'd effectively bribed me? "You're lucky I left anything at all."

"Lucky..." He laughed as he shook his head. The guts of you.

The nerve on him. You tucked your chin up and away from him. "What tech did you use to find me?"

This again. "Nothing."

I'm supposed to believe that? "Sure."

"I waited until the next meeting. When you didn't show,"

"You asked where I was, okay, I get it." There was a part of you that believed Bruce, or at least wanted to; a part of you that begged to turn off your brain and naively believe all the pretty words from the pretty man so you wouldn't have to feel so on edge. If you believed him, you weren't supposed to listen to the frustration, the lashing out, the way he spit his words at you graduation night. You were supposed to kindly follow him into the dark and abandoned streets of Gotham night life. He'd only accidentally seen your texts, looked you up, found your mother's doctor, and put his card on file, and all out of the kindness of his heart. It had nothing to do with you knowing information that could land him behind bars. He didn't do bribes. He was just another upstanding citizen who spent his nights breaking people's jaws.

"How dumb do you think I am?" If this was really your last night here, he really had no answers, and he really wouldn't hurt you, nothing would come from a little hotheadedness.

He struggled to size you up. "What are you talking about?"

"Yeah, my mom's sick. But I don't think you're out here filling up GoFundMe's—why me?"

"I don't know."

"How could it not be a bribe? Do you regularly pay other people's medical bills?"

You'd backed him into a corner... or maybe he had. "I felt compelled."

"Because I know confidential information about you."

You weren't not making sense, it just wasn't what had happened inside his head. He didn't know what happened in his head, besides his snaring, insistent fixation on how quickly you'd found him out. "I don't think that played a part."

"This is why I asked if you think I'm an idiot, because? You 'don't think' it did?" Your fingers made air quotes for good measure.

"I don't have a good answer for it."

"That's not the same as not having one."

He loathed to admit it, but you had a strong point. When you put it so frankly it begged suspicion. "Maybe I believed you more than I thought. A thank you instead of bribery." Your blank face compelled him to speak again. "Saying you wouldn't tell."

"Then why were you so mad at me that night? When you found me?"

How could he navigate away from this conversation as quickly as possible while evading your suspicions? What would he do if you asked why he'd needed your help? "I was having a rough time."

"You seemed to really not believe me."

"I was in my head."

"So what's it now?”

He barely heard you through cascading thoughts. He liked being seen; he hadn't internalized it, maybe because he couldn't fathom accepting it even months after the fact, but it felt relieving to be known. Well... equal parts relieving and terrifying. What if you knew the only reason he was here right now was because you found him out? He shrugged, a move that was too casual for you. "I hope you won't."

You glanced at your phone again and saw it'd been over ten minutes. Any moment now someone could come looking for him and your window would be gone. If he were any less analytical, you might have thought he read your mind. "The meeting resumes any minute."

"Then let's use what we have." You slammed open your notebook and tried to find a question that wasn't related to his parents, childhood, or any positive emotions. You paused before pressing RECORD, begrudgingly asking for consent to interview, since apparently Dr. Vry hadn't cleared it with the man. "Are you fine with doing this interview?"

What choice did he have? He feared Vry would never lay off of him (or you, if it mattered) if he were to deny you. And if he were being completely honest, who would he be at all willing to talk to outside of you? You were aggravating and abrasive, but because of that he was allowed to turn 'off', even if just a bit. As his mouth opened to say a begrudged yes, he came to a peculiar standstill—in that he realized he might have deflected interviews all this time as a coping mechanism. Maybe he didn't have a personality outside of the Batman, and Batman himself was only borne of tragic grief. He didn't know what propelled him to honesty, but he averted his eyes and did just that. "I don't think I have answers."

The tone in which he said it brought back the earlier sympathy pang tenfold. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling a desire to poke fun and steamroll past the palpable despair in the room, but you were finished fighting. You'd be home tomorrow night, and soon the only thing on your mind would be making a life for yourself away from Gotham. This place had served its purpose, turning black and burnt as you further overstayed your welcome. This city was so big and you so gone from it you could crash into a building and abandon the car in Kansas without being caught; what meaningful consequence could come from being temporarily kind to someone who would forget you in the next five years? He didn't have answers, and that was... fine. "You have a good reason to feel that way."

He knew you were talking about the murder of his parents, and suspected this was some sort of personal comparison. After some deliberation, he went for it. "And you don't?"

You wanted to retort something about how he didn't know anything about your relationship with your parents, your life, or general wellbeing, so much so that it sat on the tip of your tongue like a yellowjacket freshly landed on its target. You cooled its vice grip by considering just how fucked up you'd feel if you'd seen your parents get shot to hell lying in a pool of their own bloody excrement. "My parents didn't get murdered in front of me."

His eyes narrowed. "I don't want pity. I've had enough of it."

"No, I'm saying it makes sense. Grief is..." You shook your head and sighed. "Strangling. All-consuming."

Shit. He'd expected you to say 'just get over it'. Thankfully he didn't have to scramble much before a hard KNOCK took the space. Foregoing polite hesitation, Mr. Convoy entered. "Mr. Wayne! We thought you might have flown the coop." A watery grin. "Please, the candidates are settling into the conference room." He glanced for a moment around the smaller, darker room you three stood in. "Well, the main conference room."

Convoy held the door open wide and a hand out to mime leaving, obviously anticipating Bruce would simply follow orders and stand to attention. No acknowledgement of you. He didn't like that. When he rose, following a squick of the seat, Convoy stepped just outside the doors in waiting. The door was wide open, and by the way his eyes tracked the floor in front of him he was very much still listening. He maneuvered round the table and hovered at your side, facing the door that was to your back. He spoke quietly, but loud enough that Convoy wouldn't think he was listening in on a secret. "Next week. Should have more time."

You'd gotten yourself into this mess by opening a can of worms. Frustrated and kicking yourself, you groaned. "This has to be in by tomorrow at 9am." Once again he was filling your periphery; you tried not to breathe through your nose, suspicious that the warmth of the honey could subconsciously warm you to him. His brows knit together as they so often did, and you felt a jump in your gut.

"Mr. Wayne?" Convoy peeked his head in and startled Bruce, whose fingers clenched momentarily, reflexively moving toward a fist. God, he's so Batman. "They'll be closing the doors soon."

"It's fine, I'll talk to Dr. Vry before I leave. It's my fault, I'll rip the bandaid off." You stood up and gathered your things. She's gonna hate me for this, but I never have to see her again. I never should've lied. I never should've felt entitled, I could've done anything and I chose this fucking mess. You could already tell you were going to have a miserable rest of the night, but at least you didn't have to type up an interview anymore.

Leave? He glanced down the hall to see the doorman looking befuddled in his direction, but there were still a few stragglers making their way in. He calculated he had about thirty seconds before attention was glaringly drawn to his absence.

You pushed your chair in and it slammed against the corner of the table, smashing your pointer and middle fingers. Bruce tracked the movement, like he always did, and you noticed it, like you always did. "She'll be angry."

Now it was your turn to shrug something off. "Can't get fired twice." Vaguely aware of Mr. Convoy's presence, you held out your hand and forced your eyes to make contact with his, the motion as heavy as lifting a slab of concrete. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Wayne."

His hand was warm and strong. He pulled some vetiver from your perfume. His eyes were such a gentle, crystalline blue that for a nanosecond, you forgot they were his. If they weren't, you could've stared into them all night. And your eyes, they were enchantingly bright and equally deep. For no longer than a brief moment, a single split hair, something sacrilegious flickered in your eye and reflected back in his.

Quick breath in, arms back to position.

Walking out of the room felt like a hard reset. The ping-pong game of emotions Bruce had just pulled out of you was erratic. Frustration, anger, sadness, camaraderie, helplessness, defiance, sympathy, and... You barely remembered what either of you had said at all. It felt... weird. You felt doused in a blanket of sticky emotional sweat, the most peculiar, offputting sensation you'd ever felt. Mr. Convoy led Bruce towards the foyer, and by the time you finished locking up he'd been swarmed by women who pet his forearm with their long, delicate fingers. You noticed his left hand tucked away into his slacks, tense and clenched. He glanced back and caught your stare at his pocket, and deja vu grabbed him by the throat.

You took the back exit, but he couldn't linger on it. He strolled into the room and sat down, this time not by Lincoln, who was standing third in line by Grange and Hady. He flexed his hand beneath the table, his left hand absentmindedly tracing the inside of his palm; slow, swirling zigzags painted across the high points down to his wrist. He tapped his foot impatiently, revved up and jittery.

Grange was first up, standing at a haphazardly placed podium. Her assistant adjusted the mic and handed over a folder, presumably filled with projective data and other persuasive elements for the bored elitist crowd. As much as he wanted to tether himself to this conversation, echoes of his dad's voice tempting him to cling to every word said by the candidates, his mind was with you. In a few minutes you'd be long gone, never able to be contacted again. Every second he sat in this stiff chair was a foot's more distance between the both of you.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for hearing me tonight." Her midwestern accent only pushed the words further out of active listening territory. His foot tapped anxiously, each sentence increasing its fervor. You could be in an Uber by now. Already at your hotel room.

"I differ from the other candidates in my distinctive approach to city taxes. I'll be passing around a chart showing..." Her voice completely left his head as her silver cufflink glinted off the fluorescents. The insignia taunted him, its beak and feathers embedded under his epidermis, just searching for a vein to latch onto.

Fuck. He stood so abruptly the security nearly lunged at him from the doorway. His chest was heaving and there was nothing he could do about it. His brow beaded with sweat, and there was nothing he could do about it. He stammered a response to save face. "Excuse me, I need to use the restroom. Carry on, please." He was already out the door.

Frantic eyes traced the perimeter of the room; reporters whipped their heads up, and a quick glance to the entry revealed a steady stream of paparazzi fighting for the sliver of window. You'd left through the back. He sped toward the hallway in a desperate haze, his good sense rapidly falling by the wayside as he turned the corner to the emergency exit. The instant mildewed, cool air smacked his cheek he broke down the alleyway; a paparazzi had been looking down a side alley from the front of city hall and noticed Bruce's rush. His name shouted behind him, then a cacophony of scuffling feet and metal. He broke into a sprint, the slick soles of his dress shoes struggling against the wet pavement. He careened down side streets, cloaked in shadow from ill-wired streetlamps, his eyes busy with a constant scan for your silhouette. Universe willing, he would—found you.

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