#someone drove their car through a red light and into me today!

[dykegeology]

Strange and objectively very funny thing about anxiety disorders is the complete lack proportion about what things make you Scared™. In the middle of a car crash like '🧘‍♂️ oh interesting. so that's what airbags look like 😌. I better find somewhere good to pull over. hopefully the car continues functioning until I get to somewhere out of the way of other vehicles 🧘‍♂️' meanwhile 2 days earlier one of my housemates used a stirring spoon I had just used and was like 'FUCK. WHAT IF I DIDN'T WASH IT PROPERLY. WHAT IF I GOT LYSSAVIRUS (australian rabies) FROM THE BATS AND I LEFT LYSSAVIRUS GERMS ON THE STIRRING SPOON. I PROBABLY DID THAT!! *endocrine system makes it so I can't breathe* OH MY GOD I HAVE JUST KILLED MY HOUSEMATES PROBABLY. I AM THE TYPHOID MARY OF RABIES.'

[pucksandpower]

Car Trouble

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: in which it starts with Max insisting that you borrow one of his many cars while yours is in the shop and somehow turns into you being dragged away in handcuffs because (according to your jealous housemates) the only way you could ever afford a car like that is by having stolen it … suffice to say, your protective boyfriend is less than amused

Warnings: law enforcement abuse of power

The thing is, you know it’s a gamble the moment you put the key in the ignition. Your little car, a 2004 Fiat Panda with a chipped paint job and a suspiciously rattling exhaust, has been teetering on the edge for months. But it’s all you have, and it’s gotten you this far.

Except now, as you sit in Max’s driveway, the dashboard flickers ominously, a banner of orange warning lights. You groan, lean your head against the steering wheel, and curse under your breath. Maybe it’s the alternator. Or the battery. Or the car’s just finally decided it’s had enough.

Max is at his kitchen window, a mug of coffee in hand, his eyes narrowing as he watches you. He steps out, still in his Red Bull Racing hoodie, hair a mess, and jogs over. You don’t even get the chance to open your mouth before he’s leaning down, peering through your open window.

“Car trouble?” He asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question.

“Take a wild guess,” you mutter, throwing your hands up.

He chuckles, low and warm. “Let me have a look.”

He gestures for you to pop the hood, and you do, reluctantly. Max circles around, lifting it with a practiced ease, his brow furrowing as he inspects the engine. You know he’s not a mechanic, but he knows enough to recognize that it’s bad news.

“I think it’s, um, all of it,” he says, voice laced with amusement. He looks up at you. “You really drove all the way here like this?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you say defensively. “It was fine when I left. Mostly.”

Max gives you a pointed look but lets it slide. He straightens up, wiping his hands on his jeans, and nods toward the house. “Come on. I’ll call someone to get it towed.”

You hesitate. “Max, I can-”

“I know you can,” he interrupts gently, eyes locking with yours. “But why should you?”

He has this way of cutting through your defenses with a single look, and it’s infuriating. You sigh, climbing out of the car and slamming the door shut. Max winces, raising an eyebrow.

“Easy. I think she’s suffered enough,” he teases.

You glare at him, but he’s already dialing a number, one hand braced on his hip, the other holding the phone to his ear. He’s so calm, so unbothered, like this is just another Friday, and your car isn’t smoking in his driveway. It makes you feel small, somehow, and a little embarrassed.

“Hey, mate. Got a Fiat here that needs towing. Yeah, looks pretty bad. Can you get someone here today?” Max pauses, glancing at you, then back to the ground. “Nah, it’s not mine. It’s my girlfriend’s.”

The word hangs in the air, filling the space between you. It’s not the first time he’s called you that, but every time he does, it sends a little thrill through you. You shove your hands into your pockets, kicking at the gravel with the toe of your shoe as he finishes up the call.

“Right,” he says, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “They’ll be here in an hour or so. Want to come inside?”

You nod, following him up the steps and into the house. It’s quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the creak of the floorboards beneath your feet. Max leads you to the kitchen, where the smell of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air. He pours you a cup without asking, handing it to you as you sink into a chair.

“So,” he begins, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “What’s your plan?”

You shrug. “Get it fixed, I guess. If it’s even worth fixing.”

“It’s not,” he says bluntly. “That thing’s a death trap.”

You know he’s right, but hearing it out loud stings. “I can’t just buy a new car, Max.”

“I’m not saying you should,” he replies, voice softening. “But you can’t keep driving that. It’s not safe.”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that makes you feel like you should say something, but you don’t know what. Max watches you carefully, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in your head. He always does that — wants to fix everything, make it all better. And it’s sweet, but sometimes, it’s exhausting.

“Look, I have an idea,” he says finally, pushing off the counter and walking over to you. “You can use one of my cars until yours is sorted.”

You blink up at him. “Max, I can’t-”

“You can,” he insists, a determined edge to his voice. “And you will. You need a car, and I have plenty. It makes sense.”

“It’s too much,” you protest, shaking your head. “I can’t just borrow one of your cars like it’s no big deal.”

“It is no big deal,” he counters, his gaze steady and unwavering. “It’s a car. I have, like, a dozen of them. And I want you to be safe.”

The logic is sound, but it still feels wrong. You open your mouth to argue, but Max holds up a hand.

“Let me finish,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “You’re here for the weekend, right? We’ll get your car towed to a shop, see what they say. In the meantime, you use one of mine. If they can’t fix it, we’ll figure something else out.”

“Max-”

“No arguments,” he interrupts again, smiling faintly. “Please. For me.”

You huff, staring down at your coffee like it might provide some kind of answer. When you look up, Max is still watching you, his expression soft and earnest. He’s not going to let this go, you realize. And maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

“Which one?” You ask, finally relenting.

A slow grin spreads across his face. “The DBS.”

Your eyes widen. “The Aston Martin?”

He nods, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Yep.”

“You’re insane,” you say flatly. “I can’t drive that.”

“Sure, you can. I’ll teach you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?” He steps closer, dropping to a crouch in front of you so you’re eye to eye. “That you don’t want to accept help from your boyfriend? Because, if that’s it, we’re going to have a problem.”

His words catch you off guard, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he murmurs, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I want you to have it. Just until you’re sorted.”

You let out a long breath, your shoulders sagging as the fight leaves you. “Fine. But I’m not keeping it.”

“Deal,” he says instantly, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

There’s a beat of quiet as he stands, pulling out his phone again. He’s about to dial when you speak up.

“Wait.”

He pauses, glancing at you. “Yeah?”

You chew on your bottom lip, considering your next words carefully. “Are you sure? I don’t want to scratch it or-”

“Hey,” he cuts you off, voice gentle. “It’s a car not a piece of priceless china. It’ll be fine.”

His nonchalance is almost infuriating, but you can’t help the way your heart swells at his unwavering confidence in you. He believes in you, even when you don’t.

“Okay,” you whisper, and it’s like something shifts in the air between you. Max’s gaze softens, and he reaches out, squeezing your hand.

“Good. Now, let’s go get the keys.”

***

It’s raining, and the house smells like damp clothes and stale toast. Chloe stands by the living room window, holding her cup of tea, her gaze idly drifting over the dreary street. The drizzling rain matches her mood, which is sour on a good day and worse now that she’s been stuck inside with a mountain of uni work she has no interest in.

A sigh escapes her lips, louder than she means it to, but no one’s around to hear. Her housemates — well, most of them — are scattered across campus, probably doing something useful with their lives. And then there’s you. Always flitting in and out with your head held high, like you’re too good for this dump of a house.

Chloe rolls her eyes at the thought of you. She’s been harboring this quiet disdain ever since you moved in. It’s irrational, she knows that. You haven’t done anything to her, not really. But there’s something about the way you carry yourself, always so composed, so put together, that grates on her nerves. And lately, you’ve been acting … different. Happier, even. Chloe’s seen you, the way you disappear for the weekends, only to return with that smug smile. It’s not hard to guess why.

Chloe knows you have a boyfriend, though you’ve been annoyingly tight-lipped about it. She’s overheard snippets of conversation, seen the texts you try to hide when someone else walks into the room. But still, she can’t figure out why you’re with someone who clearly has money. A lot of money. The kind of money girls like you — girls like them — don’t get near unless there’s some major luck involved.

As she stares out the window, she suddenly sees something that makes her pause. Her tea sloshes dangerously close to the rim of the mug as her hand freezes. There, pulling into the lot, is an Aston Martin. Glossy, sleek, and roaring like a mechanical beast as it glides through the rain. The headlights cut through the fog, and the car comes to a slow, calculated stop directly in front of their house.

Chloe’s brow furrows, her pulse quickening. What in the world …

She watches, transfixed, as the driver’s door opens, and you step out, closing the door behind you like it’s no big deal. You glance around the street, pulling the collar of your jacket higher against the rain, completely oblivious to the fact that Chloe is practically burning a hole through the window with her gaze.

“What the hell?” Chloe breathes, her voice sharp in the stillness of the room.

Her eyes narrow as you cross the street, keys jingling in your hand, moving with an air of confidence that has no right to belong to someone pulling up in a car like that. Chloe watches every step, every casual flick of your wrist as you lock the car and walk toward the front door.

She should turn away, pretend she didn’t see anything, but her brain is spinning, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. That’s a three-hundred-thousand-pound car. You can barely afford rent, let alone something like that. Her mind races with the only plausible explanation — there’s no way in hell that car belongs to you.

Chloe slams her cup down on the coffee table, not caring that it splashes tea everywhere, and darts toward the stairs. She takes them two at a time, bursting into her flatmate Amelia’s room without knocking.

“Amelia! You won’t believe this.”

Amelia looks up from her laptop, startled. “Chloe, what the-”

“Come here. Now.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, spinning on her heel and rushing back down the stairs, Amelia reluctantly trailing after her. Chloe pulls her toward the window, jabbing a finger in the direction of the car still parked outside.

“Look,” she says breathlessly, her words tumbling out too fast. “Look at that.”

Amelia leans closer to the window, blinking at the car through the rain-streaked glass. “Is that an Aston Martin?”

“Exactly.” Chloe’s voice is a mix of disbelief and something darker. “And guess who just stepped out of it?”

Amelia frowns, her brow creasing. “No way. You’re joking.”

“I’m dead serious. She just parked it like she owns the place. What the hell is going on?”

Amelia lets out a low whistle, leaning back against the couch. “I mean, that’s … that’s not normal.”

Chloe folds her arms, pacing the length of the room now. “She’s probably stolen it. I mean, there’s no way she could afford something like that. Do you know how much that car’s worth?”

Amelia shakes her head slowly, eyes still glued to the car outside. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s her boyfriend’s?”

“That’s what I thought,” Chloe snaps, “but come on, who does she know that has that kind of money? I don’t care who her boyfriend is, something’s off.”

They both fall silent for a moment, the only sound the rain tapping against the window. Chloe’s mind races, jumping to conclusions faster than she can keep up. Everything about this feels wrong. She’s always suspected there was something up with you, but this? This is something else entirely.

Amelia breaks the silence, her voice hesitant. “Maybe she’s just lucky? I mean, maybe he’s, like, rich-rich. You know?”

Chloe scoffs. “No one gets that lucky. And she’s been acting so secretive lately. What if she’s involved in something shady? I mean, who just pulls up in a car like that?”

Amelia shrugs, clearly unsure how to respond. But Chloe’s not done. There’s a fire in her now, a burning need to know what’s going on. You’ve always been too quiet, too private, and now it’s all starting to make sense. There’s no way you’re as innocent as you pretend to be.

She whirls back around to Amelia, eyes blazing. “You know what? I’m going to call the police.”

“What?” Amelia’s eyes widen in shock. “Chloe, are you serious? You can’t just-”

“Yes, I can,” Chloe cuts her off, already reaching for her phone. “She’s clearly up to something, and I’m not going to sit here and let her get away with it.”

Amelia tries to protest, but Chloe’s mind is already made up. Her fingers fly across her phone screen, dialing the non-emergency number. Her heart pounds in her chest as the call connects, and she presses the phone to her ear, pacing as she waits for someone to pick up.

“Chloe, this is crazy,” Amelia says again, her voice laced with anxiety. “You don’t even know-”

“Shh!” Chloe hisses, waving a hand to silence her.

Finally, the line clicks, and a calm voice greets her. “Thames Valley Police, how can I help you?”

Chloe takes a deep breath, her voice steady as she launches into her story. “Hi, I’m calling to report a suspicious vehicle. It’s parked outside my house, and I’m pretty sure it’s been stolen.”

The operator asks for details, and Chloe rattles off the make and model of the car, her eyes never leaving the Aston Martin still parked outside. She glances at Amelia, who’s biting her lip, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation, but Chloe’s too far gone to care.

“I just … I know the girl who’s driving it, and there’s no way she could afford a car like that,” Chloe explains, her tone sharp. “I think she might have stolen it.”

The operator asks a few more questions, and Chloe answers each one with growing confidence. She can feel it in her bones — something’s off, and she’s not about to let it slide.

When the call ends, Chloe lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, her hands shaking slightly as she lowers her phone.

“Chloe, you didn’t have to do that,” Amelia says quietly, her voice full of worry. “What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not wrong,” Chloe insists, her jaw clenched. “You’ll see. The police will sort it out.”

She turns back to the window, her eyes narrowing as she watches the car, half-expecting something to happen. But nothing does. The car sits there, pristine and out of place, mocking her with its sheer audacity.

And you? You have no idea what’s coming.

***

It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon — one of those rare breaks between classes when you can actually catch your breath. The rain’s let up, and a misty sun filters through the clouds, casting a soft glow over the pavement outside. You’re halfway up the stairs to your room, your backpack slung over one shoulder, when there’s a loud knock on the door.

The sound is sharp, authoritative, and it echoes through the house, stopping you in your tracks. You glance down, frowning slightly. It’s not like you’re expecting anyone, and the others aren’t home yet. Maybe it’s just a delivery.

But then the knocking comes again — louder, more insistent. Your unease deepens as you drop your bag and head back down the stairs. By the time you reach the door, a faint prickle of anxiety is buzzing under your skin.

You pull the door open, and there they are — two uniformed officers standing on the doorstep. They look serious, their expressions neutral but firm, and you feel your heart sink. This isn’t a casual visit.

“Can I help you?” Your voice is steady, though confusion laces each word.

One of the officers, a tall woman with cropped brown hair and a no-nonsense gaze, steps forward. “Are you the owner of the Aston Martin parked outside?”

The question takes you by surprise. “Um, no,” you say, blinking at them. “It’s not mine, but-”

“We’re going to have to ask you to step outside, please,” the other officer, a man with a stern jawline and dark eyes, interrupts. He glances over your shoulder, as if assessing whether you’re alone.

“What’s this about?” You can hear the uncertainty in your voice now, a sharp edge creeping in. “The car belongs to my boyfriend. I’m just borrowing it-”

“Step outside, miss,” the woman repeats, her tone brooking no argument.

Swallowing hard, you do as you’re told, stepping out onto the front stoop. The chill of the autumn air hits you, and you wrap your arms around yourself instinctively. This isn’t making any sense.

“I don’t understand,” you say again, a little louder this time. “What’s going on?”

The officers exchange a look, and then the man speaks. “We received a report that the vehicle may have been stolen. We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Stolen?” The word feels foreign on your tongue. “No, it’s not stolen! I told you, it belongs to my boyfriend-”

“Do you have any proof of ownership?” the woman asks sharply, cutting you off. “Registration documents, anything like that?”

You open your mouth, then close it, frustration building. “The registration is in the glove compartment. If you just let me get it-”

“Stay where you are,” the man says firmly, holding up a hand to stop you. “We’ll check it ourselves.”

“Can’t you just let me show you?” You take a step forward, but both officers tense, their hands hovering near their belts. Your heart stutters in your chest, a cold trickle of fear sliding down your spine. “I’m telling the truth! I can unlock the car and show you. Please, just let me-”

“Miss, please calm down,” the woman says, her tone laced with a warning. “We’re following protocol here. If you cooperate, this will go much smoother.”

“But I am cooperating!” The words burst out, your voice rising despite yourself. “I’m not lying. It’s my boyfriend’s car, he let me borrow it while mine is in the shop-”

“Miss, we need you to step away from the vehicle,” the man says again, more forcefully this time. He pulls out a small notepad, flipping it open. “What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

You hesitate, caught off guard. “Max,” you say finally, your voice faltering slightly. “Max Verstappen.”

There’s a pause — one that stretches uncomfortably long. The officers exchange another look, something almost skeptical passing between them.

“Right,” the woman says slowly, like she’s testing the words in her mouth. “And you expect us to believe that Max Verstappen, the Formula 1 driver, lent you his Aston Martin?”

“Yes!” Your hands are shaking now, anger and disbelief mixing with fear in a volatile cocktail. “Why would I lie about that? Just let me-”

“Miss,” the man interrupts, his tone hardening. “We need you to turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

The words hit you like a slap, knocking the breath from your lungs. “What? No, you can’t-”

“Turn around and place your hands behind your back,” he repeats, each word clipped and precise.

You look from him to the woman, desperation clawing at your throat. “Please, just let me open the car. I can prove it’s not stolen. Please-”

But they’re not listening. Before you can say another word, the woman steps forward, reaching for your arm. You flinch back instinctively, panic flaring in your chest.

“Don’t-”

“Miss, don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,” the woman says sharply, grabbing your wrist with practiced ease. She spins you around, her grip firm but not painful, and then you feel the cold, unforgiving bite of metal as she snaps a pair of handcuffs around your wrists.

“No, wait-” You twist, struggling against her hold, but it’s useless. The cuffs dig into your skin, and you can’t breathe, can’t think.

“Please, I didn’t do anything! You’re making a mistake!”

The man steps closer, his face impassive. “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence …”

His voice blurs, the words running together in a nauseating hum. You shake your head, tears stinging your eyes. “No, no, please, I didn’t steal anything! Just call Max, he’ll explain-”

“Miss, we’re taking you down to the station,” the woman says, steering you away from the house and toward their patrol car parked at the curb. “We’ll sort this out there.”

“Wait!” You stumble, the cuffs biting into your wrists as they push you forward. “You’re not listening! The car isn’t stolen! If you just let me get the registration-”

But they ignore you, their grips unyielding. The street seems to tilt and blur as they guide you toward the back of the car, your shoes scuffing against the wet pavement. Everything feels surreal, like you’ve been dropped into a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

The woman opens the back door, and the man gives you a gentle but firm shove. You fall into the seat, the leather cold against your legs. They close the door with a solid thunk, the sound reverberating through your bones.

“Please,” you whisper, leaning forward as much as the cuffs allow. “You’re making a mistake. I’m telling the truth …”

But they’re already walking away, their voices low as they talk to each other. You catch fragments of their conversation — words like “protocol” and “standard procedure” — but it all feels distant, unreal.

You slump back in the seat, staring blankly out the window as the patrol car starts up, the engine a low, steady hum. The world outside blurs into a swirl of gray and green as they pull away from the curb, and your mind races, panic and disbelief tangling together in a messy knot.

How did this happen? One minute you were heading to your room, and now you’re being carted off to a police station like some sort of criminal. It doesn’t make any sense.

You try to replay the last few minutes in your head, searching for something — anything — you could have said or done differently. But there’s nothing. They weren’t listening to you. They didn’t care about your explanation. They just saw a girl with an expensive car and decided you must be guilty of something.

Tears prick your eyes again, and you blink them back furiously. You can’t fall apart now. You have to think, to figure out what to do next.

Max. You need to call Max. He’ll sort this out. He’ll tell them the truth, and they’ll have to let you go. But how are you supposed to do that when they’ve got you locked up in the back of a patrol car?

The drive to the station feels like it takes forever, each second dragging out in painful clarity. You try to keep calm, to breathe through the panic tightening in your chest, but it’s hard when every bump in the road makes the cuffs dig deeper into your skin.

Finally, they pull up in front of the station, and the officers get out, coming around to your side. The door opens, and the woman leans down, her expression unreadable.

“Come on, miss. Let’s get this sorted out.”

You nod numbly, letting them help you out of the car. Your legs feel shaky, your whole body trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. They lead you up the steps, through the front doors, and into a small, sterile room that smells faintly of disinfectant.

“Please,” you say one last time, your voice breaking. “Please, just call him. He’ll explain everything.”

But they only exchange another glance, and the woman shakes her head slightly. “Let’s get your statement first, miss.”

And then they’re sitting you down, the lights glaring down from above, the cuffs still biting into your wrists. And all you can do is sit there, your heart pounding in your chest, as the nightmare continues to unfold around you.

***

The fluorescent lights above hum softly, the cold, sterile environment of the police station pressing down on you from every angle. It feels like you’ve been here for hours, your wrists still red from the handcuffs, a dull ache in your joints from sitting on the hard chair. Every second stretches, torturing you with the weight of waiting.

You're trying to stay calm, but your thoughts keep spiraling — back to the car, back to the police showing up at your doorstep, back to the way they refused to listen. Your voice shakes every time you try to explain, but it’s like they can’t hear you. It’s suffocating.

Across the room, the officer — her name’s Thompson, you think — sits at her desk, flipping through some paperwork. The sound of pages turning feels louder than it should. Every time you shift in your seat, she gives you this look, like she’s annoyed by your very presence. Like she’s waiting for you to break.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore.

“I want to make a phone call,” you say, your voice cutting through the stillness. You sit up straighter, your hands balled into fists on your lap.

Thompson doesn’t even look up. “You’ll get your chance,” she says dismissively, still flipping through the file.

“No,” you say, firmer this time. “I want to make it now. I have the right to make a phone call.”

This time, she looks up, her expression flat. “You’ll have to wait.”

“I’ve waited long enough,” you snap, surprising yourself with the force in your voice. Your patience is gone, the fear of being trapped in this nightmare pushing you into desperation. “I know my rights. I’m allowed one phone call, and I want to make it.”

Thompson raises an eyebrow, like she’s weighing whether or not you’re serious. After a beat, she sighs, pushing the stack of papers aside and standing. “Fine,” she says curtly. “One phone call.”

She leads you to a small side room — bare, with only a table, a chair, and a landline phone sitting in the middle. You sit down, and Thompson places the phone in front of you like it’s some kind of offering.

“One call,” she says again, her eyes narrowing. “Make it count.”

You don’t hesitate. You dial Max’s number, your fingers trembling slightly as you press the buttons. The ring tone fills the room, each ring stretching out the time between your breaths. You press the phone closer to your ear, your heart pounding.

It rings once. Twice. And then-

“Hello?”

Max’s voice comes through the line, smooth and steady, as if he’s just woken up from a nap and isn’t even remotely phased by the sudden call. But you know him better than that — there’s a sharp edge beneath the surface, a protective tension that’s always there when it comes to you.

You swallow hard, fighting back the lump in your throat. “Max …”

There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his tone shifts — serious, focused. “What’s wrong?”

“They arrested me,” you say, the words rushing out before you can stop them. “The police — they think I stole your car.”

There’s silence on the other end, just for a second. Then his voice drops, low and dangerous. “What?”

You feel the weight of his anger through the phone, and for the first time since this nightmare began, you feel a flicker of relief. He’s going to fix this. He’s not going to let them treat you like this.

“They showed up at the house,” you explain, your voice trembling slightly. “They wouldn’t let me get the registration. They didn’t believe me when I said the car was yours. They just-”

“Where are you?” His voice cuts through your explanation, sharp and commanding. “Which station?”

You glance around the room. “Bedfordshire Police Station. They won’t let me-”

“Stay where you are,” he says, his voice brooking no argument. “Don’t talk to anyone else. I’m on my way.”

The line goes dead before you can respond, the dial tone ringing in your ears. You stare at the phone for a moment, your heart racing. You know Max is angry — no, furious — but that anger isn’t directed at you. It’s for them, the people who put you in this position.

Thompson steps back into the room, her expression unreadable. “Finished?”

You nod, handing the phone back. She doesn’t say anything as she leads you back to the main room, but you can feel her eyes on you, judging, assessing.

You sit down again, your legs shaky, but now there’s a quiet fire burning in your chest. Max is coming. He’s going to make this right.

The minutes tick by, painfully slow. Thompson goes back to her paperwork, the other officers moving around the station like it’s just another day. But for you, every second is excruciating, the tension building in your chest like a storm.

Then, finally, the door to the station swings open with a heavy thud, and you hear the low murmur of voices — followed by a voice you’d recognize anywhere.

Max.

You can’t see him from where you’re sitting, but you can feel the shift in the room. There’s a sudden stillness, the officers glancing up from their desks, their postures stiffening. Even Thompson’s face changes, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before she composes herself.

You strain to hear the conversation at the front desk, but it’s muffled. Still, you catch bits and pieces — his name, the car, your name. And then there’s the sharp, unmistakable edge of authority in Max’s voice as he says something that makes the desk officer sit up a little straighter.

Moments later, the door to the holding area swings open, and there he is. Max strides in, every movement purposeful, his eyes locking onto you immediately. There’s a fire in his gaze — controlled, but fierce — and the tension in his jaw tells you everything you need to know.

He’s not just angry. He’s livid.

“Max …” Your voice is small, a mixture of relief and shame. You hadn’t wanted to drag him into this mess, but you also know that no one else could’ve handled it the way he can.

He crosses the room in a few quick strides, his hand reaching for yours. “Are you okay?” His voice is low, steady, but you can hear the tightness underneath it.

You nod, but tears prick at your eyes. “I-I didn’t know what to do. They wouldn’t listen to me …”

He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ve got it from here.” His tone is resolute, his eyes never leaving yours.

Then, without another word to you, Max turns to face the officers. His entire demeanor shifts, his posture straightening, his presence filling the room with an air of control that demands respect.

“Who’s in charge here?” He asks, his voice calm but unmistakably authoritative.

Thompson steps forward, though there’s a flicker of hesitation in her movements. “I am,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. “Officer Thompson.”

Max doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “You arrested my girlfriend under suspicion of theft. I’d like to see the evidence you have for that.”

Thompson falters, her eyes flicking over to the other officers. “We … we received a report of a stolen vehicle, and-”

“And instead of verifying the ownership, you decided to arrest her?” Max’s voice is cold, each word measured. “Did you even check the registration in the glove compartment?”

Thompson’s jaw tightens. “We were following standard procedure. She became agitated and-”

“She was agitated because you were treating her like a criminal,” Max cuts in, his tone sharp. “You had no reason to arrest her. If you had checked the registration, you would’ve seen my name on it.”

He takes a step closer, his presence towering over Thompson, making her shift uneasily on her feet. “Do you know who I am?”

There’s a beat of silence. The room feels like it’s holding its breath.

Thompson nods slowly. “Yes. Mr. Verstappen, we-”

“Then you know how much trouble you’re in,” Max says, his voice dropping to a dangerously low tone. “You’re going to release her. Now. And then you’re going to issue a formal apology.”

Thompson blinks, clearly taken aback by his bluntness. “Mr. Verstappen, I understand your frustration, but we were simply-”

“Don’t patronize me,” Max interrupts, his voice sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room. “You’ve already made a mess of this situation. Don’t make it worse by pretending this was some kind of mistake. You arrested her because you assumed she didn’t belong in that car. Because you didn’t bother to listen.”

Thompson opens her mouth to argue, but Max doesn’t give her the chance. “I’ll be contacting my legal team,” he says, his tone firm. “And if you don’t release her immediately, I’ll make sure this becomes a very public issue.”

The threat hangs in the air, thick and heavy. Thompson hesitates for a moment longer, and then — finally — she nods.

“Release her,” she says quietly, signaling to one of the other officers.

The relief that washes over you is immediate, your heart pounding in your chest as the handcuffs are removed. Max’s hand is on your shoulder in an instant, grounding you, his touch warm and reassuring.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice softening as he looks down at you. “We’re getting out of here.”

You nod, letting him guide you out of the station. But before you step through the door, you glance back at Thompson, who’s still standing there, her expression strained.

Max pauses, following your gaze. He meets Thompson’s eyes, his expression unreadable. “Don’t ever treat her like that again,” he says quietly, the words carrying more weight than any threat could.

And with that, he leads you out into the cool night air, his arm wrapped protectively around you as you step outside.

***

Max’s fingers are wrapped tightly around your wrist, his grip firm but not painful, as he guides you toward his car in the station’s dimly lit parking lot. It’s quieter out here, the cool air thick with the scent of autumn leaves and something sharper — the lingering smell of petrol. The night is still, almost peaceful, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of chaos you’ve just been dragged through.

But Max’s silence is unnerving. He’s holding onto your hand like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

He stops in front of a sleek, black Porsche 911 GT3 RS, the kind of car that turns heads and raises eyebrows. It’s an aggressive machine, all sharp edges and raw power — just like Max right now.

“Get in,” he says, his voice low and controlled, as if he’s holding back a storm. He opens the passenger side door for you, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

You hesitate for a second, looking up at him, trying to gauge his mood. “Max-”

“Get. In,” he repeats, enunciating each word with a finality that leaves no room for argument.

You slip into the passenger seat without another word, the leather cool against your skin. The car’s interior is immaculate, everything in its place, the faint smell of new leather lingering in the air. Max rounds the front of the car and slides into the driver’s seat, his movements tight and controlled. He doesn’t say anything as he starts the engine, the car roaring to life with a low, throaty growl.

He peels out of the parking lot with a precision that feels almost surgical, his eyes locked on the road ahead, his jaw clenched. The silence between you is heavy, charged with an emotion you can’t quite name.

“Max-”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” His voice cuts through the quiet like a blade, sharp and accusing. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel.

You blink, taken aback by the question. “Tell you what?”

“That they arrested you,” he says, each word bitten off like it’s leaving a bad taste in his mouth. “That they-” He breaks off, shaking his head like he can’t even bring himself to say it. “Why didn’t you call me immediately?”

You swallow hard, your gaze dropping to your lap. “I-I didn’t want to worry you. You were probably busy, and-”

“Busy?” He lets out a short, humorless laugh, his eyes flashing as he glances at you. “You think I care about being busy when something like this happens? When you’re involved?”

“Max, I didn’t want you to-”

“To what? Be pissed off? Too late for that,” he snaps, his voice tight with barely restrained anger. He takes a deep breath, his grip on the steering wheel loosening slightly. “What happened, exactly?”

You tell him, your voice halting at first but gaining strength as you recount every detail — the officers showing up, the handcuffs, the questions, the disbelief when you tried to explain the car belonged to him. Max’s expression darkens with each word, his jaw set in a hard line.

“They just … wouldn’t listen,” you finish softly, staring down at your hands. “I told them it was yours. I even tried to show them the registration, but they didn’t care.”

“They didn’t care because they had already made up their minds,” Max growls, his voice a dangerous rumble. “They saw you and assumed you didn’t belong in that car.”

He exhales slowly, trying to steady himself. You can see the struggle in his eyes, the way he’s fighting to keep his temper in check.

“Why would they think the car was stolen in the first place?” He mutters, more to himself than to you. His fingers tap restlessly against the steering wheel, his mind clearly racing.

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. “Someone must have reported it,” you say slowly, the realization dawning on you as you speak. “Someone must have seen me with it and assumed …”

Max’s gaze snaps to you, sharp and focused. “Who would do that?”

“I-I don’t know.” You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “It could’ve been anyone. The car … it stands out. Maybe someone thought it looked out of place at the house.”

Max’s frown deepens. “No,” he says firmly, his eyes narrowing. “No, it wasn’t just anyone. It was someone who knows you. Someone who knew that wasn’t your car.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and damning. Someone who knew you. Someone who saw you with the Aston Martin. Someone who-

“One of your housemates,” Max says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur.

You open your mouth to protest, but then you stop, the pieces falling into place in your mind. One of your housemates. One of the people who knows you can’t afford a car like that, who might have thought — wrongly, jealously — that you had gotten your hands on it through some shady means.

Max’s eyes are hard, unyielding. “It has to be,” he says, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Someone saw you with the car and called the police. There’s no other explanation.”

You take a deep breath, the realization settling in your chest like a lead weight. “But … why would they do that? Why would they assume I stole it?”

“Because people are idiots,” Max mutters, his gaze flicking back to the road. “Because people are jealous. And because they didn’t like seeing you with something they thought you shouldn’t have.”

There’s a bitter edge to his words, and it makes your heart ache. Max has dealt with his share of jealousy, of people looking at him like he doesn’t deserve what he’s earned. He knows what it’s like to be judged, to have assumptions made about him based on nothing but surface impressions.

But this is different. This is personal.

“Whoever did this,” Max says, his voice low and controlled, “is going to regret it.”

Your eyes widen, a pang of fear and something else — something almost like excitement — flaring in your chest. “Max, wait-”

“We’re going to your house,” he continues, his tone brooking no argument. “We’re going to find out who made that call, and I’m going to make sure they understand exactly what kind of trouble they’ve caused.”

“Max, no,” you protest, your voice rising. “You don’t have to do that. I-I can handle it. I’ll talk to them, I’ll-”

“No, you won’t.” He glances at you, his eyes blazing. “You’ve been through enough tonight. I’m handling this.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the look on his face stops you cold. There’s a steely determination in his eyes, an unshakeable resolve that tells you there’s no point in fighting him on this.

He’s already made up his mind.

“Max, please-”

“Enough,” he says softly, but there’s no gentleness in his tone. “I’m not letting them get away with this.”

You fall silent, your heart racing as the car speeds down the quiet, empty streets. The tension in the car is suffocating, but there’s also a strange sense of relief. Relief that he’s here, that he’s taking control, that he’s going to make this right.

You know you should feel bad, should feel guilty for dragging him into this mess. But right now, all you feel is a fierce, overwhelming sense of gratitude.

Max’s hand finds yours again, his fingers lacing through yours, squeezing gently. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, his voice softening just a fraction. “I’m going to take care of it.”

You nod, swallowing back the words you want to say — the apologies, the pleas for him not to do anything reckless. Because you know it won’t make a difference. Max is stubborn, determined, protective to a fault. And when it comes to you, he’s willing to do whatever it takes.

The drive to your house feels both too long and too short, every second charged with anticipation. When Max finally pulls up outside your shared house, he cuts the engine and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“Stay in the car,” he says firmly.

You blink, surprised. “What?”

“Stay. In. The. Car.” He enunciates each word with that same controlled intensity, his eyes boring into yours. “I’m going inside.”

“Max, you can’t-”

“I can and I will,” he interrupts, his voice leaving no room for argument. “I’m not letting you go in there and face them after everything that’s happened tonight.”

He reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin in a soft, soothing gesture. “Just stay here, okay? Let me handle it.”

You want to argue, to tell him it’s not necessary, but the look in his eyes stops you. There’s a fierce protectiveness there, a determination that makes your chest tighten.

“Max …”

“Please,” he murmurs, his voice softening. “Just this once. Let me take care of it.”

You hesitate, then nod slowly. “Okay.”

He leans forward, pressing a quick, firm kiss to your forehead before pulling back. “Good.”

And with that, he steps out of the car, the door closing with a soft thud behind him. You watch as he strides toward the front door of your house, his shoulders squared, his posture radiating confidence and control.

But the second he disappears from view, you find yourself reaching for the door handle. You know he told you to stay in the car. You know he wants to protect you.

But you can’t just sit here and let him fight your battles for you.

Taking a deep breath, you push the door open and step out into the cool night air, following him up the path toward the house.

***

The door swings open with a resounding bang, ricocheting with enough force to make the picture frames on the adjacent wall rattle. Every head in the common room snaps up, eyes wide and startled as they turn toward the unexpected intrusion.

Max stands in the doorway, the very picture of barely restrained fury, his presence so commanding it seems to suck the air out of the room. His gaze sweeps over the small group of people lounging on the mismatched sofas, taking in their shocked expressions and slack-jawed stares with a level of disdain that’s almost palpable.

“What the hell is going on?” He demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl that reverberates through the room.

No one answers immediately. They’re all too stunned, too caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the tall, broad-shouldered stranger radiating aggression. It’s Chloe who finally finds her voice, pushing herself up from her seat on the sofa and taking a hesitant step forward.

“Um, excuse me, but who are you?” Her voice wavers slightly, but she lifts her chin defiantly, trying to project an air of authority. “You can’t just barge in here like this.”

Max’s eyes lock onto her, and something in his gaze makes her flinch back, the confidence in her stance faltering. He doesn’t bother answering her question. Instead, he turns his head slightly, calling out over his shoulder.

“Come in here,” he says, his tone softer but no less commanding.

You step into the doorway behind him, hesitant and unsure, your gaze flicking nervously between Max and your housemates. You don’t miss the way their expressions shift when they see you — surprise, confusion, and something darker, more judgmental, flickering across their faces.

“Y/N?” It’s Amelia who speaks this time, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s going on? Who is this guy?”

Max’s jaw tightens, his gaze still fixed on Chloe. “I’m Max,” he says curtly, as if the name alone should explain everything.

It clearly doesn’t. The blank stares from around the room make that abundantly clear.

“Max Verstappen,” he adds, impatience lacing his tone. Still no recognition. “Formula 1 driver? Y/N’s boyfriend?” He tries again, a hint of disbelief in his voice now.

A flicker of something like realization crosses a few faces, but Chloe just scoffs, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yeah, sure,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “And I’m Lewis Hamilton.”

Max’s lips curl into a cold, humorless smile. “Trust me, I would never want to be him.”

The comment flies over Chloe’s head, but it’s enough to send a ripple of laughter through the room. Max’s smile fades as quickly as it came, his expression hardening once more.

“I’m her boyfriend,” he says again flatly, jerking his head in your direction. “And I’m here to find out which one of you decided it was a good idea to call the police and have her arrested.”

The laughter dies instantly. The air in the room thickens with tension, eyes darting from Max to you and back again.

“Arrested?” Amelia repeats, her voice rising in pitch. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Max snaps, his gaze still boring into Chloe, like he can see straight through her. “One of you called the cops and reported her for driving a stolen car. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

A murmur of confusion ripples through the group, genuine bewilderment on most faces. But Chloe’s eyes dart away, a flicker of guilt crossing her expression before she schools it back into one of indifference.

“What — no, that’s ridiculous!” She says, her voice a touch too high-pitched. “Why would any of us do that?”

Max’s gaze narrows, his eyes zeroing in on her like a hawk spotting prey. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet. “You tell me.”

There’s a beat of silence, thick and heavy. Chloe shifts uncomfortably, her gaze flickering toward the others as if searching for support. But no one says anything. No one moves.

“Look,” Chloe finally says, trying for a breezy tone that falls flat. “If she got arrested, that’s … that’s not our fault, okay? Maybe there was a misunderstanding or something.”

Max’s eyes flash, and you feel a shiver run down your spine at the barely restrained fury simmering beneath the surface.

“A misunderstanding?” He repeats, his voice deceptively calm. “Yeah, I’d say there was a huge misunderstanding. Like the fact that you assumed she couldn’t possibly be driving that car legitimately. Like the fact that you assumed she’d have to steal it to have something that nice.”

He takes a step closer to Chloe, and she instinctively steps back, her expression faltering. “Whoever made that call didn’t just cause a ‘misunderstanding.’ They caused a whole lot of trouble for no reason other than pettiness and jealousy.”

“Hey, wait a minute-” One of the other housemates tries to interject, but Max doesn’t even spare her a glance.

“Do you know what it’s like to get a phone call telling you the person you love is sitting in a cell?” He asks, his gaze never leaving Chloe’s face. “Do you know what it’s like to hear that they were treated like a criminal just because someone here,” — he practically spits the word — “decided to be a self-righteous, vindictive bitch?”

The room goes deathly silent. Chloe’s face has gone pale, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, no words forthcoming.

“Max, maybe we should-” you start, reaching out to touch his arm.

He cuts you off with a quick shake of his head, his eyes still locked on Chloe. “No. She needs to hear this.”

You shrink back slightly, your stomach twisting with a mix of anxiety and something else — something like relief. Because as harsh as Max is being, there’s a part of you that’s grateful. Grateful that he’s standing up for you, that he’s putting words to all the anger and frustration you’ve been bottling up since this whole nightmare began.

“You don’t get to treat people like that,” Max continues, his voice low and cold. “You don’t get to make snap judgments about someone based on what you think they deserve. And you sure as hell don’t get to sic the cops on them just because you’re too insecure to handle seeing someone else with something you want.”

Chloe’s lips tremble, her eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape route. “I … I didn’t …”

“Didn’t what?” Max demands, his voice rising. “Didn’t think it would matter? Didn’t think about the consequences? Or didn’t think you’d get caught?”

The accusation hangs in the air, thick and suffocating. No one moves. No one breathes.

“I didn’t think-” Chloe starts, but the words catch in her throat. She swallows hard, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I just — I thought …”

Max lets out a short, harsh laugh. “Yeah, you thought. That’s the problem.”

He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as if trying to calm himself. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, steadier, but no less cutting.

“You know what? I don’t even care what your excuse is,” he says quietly. “Because there is no excuse. Nothing you say is going to change what you did. Nothing is going to make up for the fact that you had her dragged off in handcuffs for no reason other than your own messed-up assumptions.”

Chloe flinches at the words, her shoulders hunching as if she’s trying to make herself smaller. You almost feel a pang of sympathy for her — almost. But then you remember the cold metal of the handcuffs around your wrists, the humiliating feeling of being treated like a criminal, and the sympathy evaporates.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Max says, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re going to apologize. Right now. To her.”

He steps back slightly, giving Chloe a clear line of sight to you. She hesitates, her gaze flicking up to yours, and for a moment, she just stares at you, her eyes wide and fearful.

“I … I’m sorry,” she finally mutters, the words barely audible.

Max’s gaze hardens. “Louder.”

“I’m sorry,” Chloe repeats, her voice trembling. “I-I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand. I just … I thought the car was … that it wasn’t …”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish. But she trails off, her face crumpling with guilt and shame. It’s not much of an apology, but it’s more than you expected.

You take a deep breath, nodding slowly. “Okay,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

Max nods once, satisfied. “Good. Now, if I ever hear about you pulling something like this again,” he says, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “you’ll regret it. Understand?”

Chloe nods frantically, her face ashen. “Y-Yes, I understand.”

“Great.” Max turns away from her, his gaze softening as it lands on you. “Come on,” he murmurs, reaching out to take your hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

***

The Porsche purrs along the quiet stretch of motorway, the engine’s deep growl a steady undercurrent to the conversation hanging in the air. It’s late — well past midnight — but neither of you seem in any hurry to get home. There’s a lingering tension, a heaviness that neither of you know quite how to disperse.

Max’s hand grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles stark against the leather. You watch him from the corner of your eye, the faint glow of the dashboard casting shadows across his face. His jaw is set, his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that betrays the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

He hasn’t said much since leaving your house. Just a few clipped sentences, terse reassurances that he’s not mad at you, that you didn’t do anything wrong. But the words feel hollow, inadequate against the weight of what happened tonight.

After a few more minutes of silence, Max finally speaks, his voice low and controlled. “I talked to the mechanics earlier today.”

You blink, taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation. “The mechanics?”

“Yeah.” He glances at you briefly before returning his gaze to the road. “About your car.”

Oh. You feel a pang of anxiety, your stomach twisting unpleasantly. You’d almost forgotten about your poor, beat-up little car, abandoned at some garage in Milton Keynes. “What did they say?”

Max hesitates, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “It’s … not good.”

You swallow hard, your heart sinking. “What do you mean?”

“They think it’s beyond saving.” His voice is careful, as if he’s trying to break the news gently. “There’s too much damage. The engine’s shot, the transmission’s on its last legs … basically, it’d cost more to repair it than it’s worth.”

You stare at him, uncomprehending. “But … but I just had it serviced a few months ago,” you protest weakly. “It shouldn’t be that bad-”

“It’s not your fault,” Max interrupts gently. “That car’s been through hell. It’s a miracle it’s lasted as long as it has.”

“But I can’t just … give up on it,” you say, a note of desperation creeping into your voice. “It’s my car, Max. I need it.”

“You need a car,” Max corrects softly. “Not that car. There’s a difference.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “I can’t afford a new one right now. I still have to pay for-”

“Hey, hey.” Max’s hand leaves the steering wheel to rest on your knee, squeezing gently. “I’m not saying you have to buy a new car.”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicion flaring. “What are you saying, then?”

“I’m saying,” Max begins, his tone careful, measured, “that I’ll get you a new one.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, your mind struggling to process what he’s suggesting.

“No,” you say finally, shaking your head vehemently. “Absolutely not.”

Max’s brow furrows, his gaze flickering to yours. “Why not?”

“Because … because that’s ridiculous!” You sputter. “I’m not letting you buy me a car. That’s way too much.”

“It’s not too much if you need it,” he argues calmly.

“Yes, it is!” You insist, your voice rising. “It’s too much, and it’s not your responsibility. I’ll figure something out-”

“Like what?” Max challenges, his voice sharpening. “What are you going to do, keep borrowing cars you’re hesitant to actually use? Take public transport everywhere? What happens when you need to get somewhere and you don’t have a ride?”

“I’ll manage,” you say stubbornly, crossing your arms over your chest. “I always have.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to anymore,” Max snaps, his frustration breaking through. “Why won’t you just let me help you?”

“Because it’s not your problem to solve!” You shout back, the words bursting out before you can stop them.

Max goes silent, his gaze turning stony. For a few long moments, the only sound in the car is the steady thrum of the engine and your own harsh breathing.

When he finally speaks again, his voice is low and controlled, but there’s an edge to it that makes your stomach twist. “You’re my girlfriend. That means if you have a problem, it is my problem to solve.”

The certainty in his tone makes your breath catch in your throat. You look at him, really look at him, and see the determination blazing in his eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw.

“Max …” you begin softly, but he cuts you off with a quick shake of his head.

“No, listen to me.” He takes a deep breath, his hand tightening on your knee. “I know you’re independent. I know you’re used to handling things on your own. But this isn’t about money, or pride, or any of that. It’s about making sure you’re safe, that you have what you need to get around. And right now, that means getting you a new car.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he presses on, his gaze never wavering from yours.

“Let me do this for you,” he says quietly, almost pleadingly. “Please.”

His sincerity takes the wind out of your sails, your protests dying on your lips. You stare at him, the weight of his words settling heavily on your shoulders.

“But … it’s just … too much,” you say weakly, your resolve crumbling.

Max’s expression softens, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think so. And even if it is, I don’t care. You’re worth it.”

The simple, earnest declaration sends a rush of warmth flooding through you, your heart swelling in your chest. You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you blink them back furiously, refusing to let them fall.

“Why do you have to be so damn convincing?” You mutter, half exasperated, half amused.

Max’s smile widens slightly, his thumb brushing gently over your knee. “It’s a gift.”

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he says dryly, his eyes twinkling with a hint of humor. “So … you’ll let me do this?”

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. It still feels like too much, like accepting would be crossing some invisible line. But there’s a part of you that knows he’s right — that trying to handle this on your own would be stubborn and impractical and would probably end up causing more problems than it’s worth.

And more than that, you can see how much it means to him. How much he wants to do this for you.

“Fine,” you say finally, letting out a long sigh. “But only because you’re so damn insistent.”

Max’s grin is dazzling, the relief and joy in his eyes almost overwhelming. “Good. I’ll start looking for something first thing tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind the gesture. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he counters smoothly, his grin widening at your soft, exasperated laugh.

“Cheesy,” you accuse, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“Maybe,” he concedes with a shrug. “But it’s true.”

You shake your head, your heart feeling lighter than it has in days. “I’m still not letting you get me something ridiculously expensive,” you warn, trying to sound stern.

“We’ll see,” Max says noncommittally, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Max-”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he says quickly, holding up his free hand in mock surrender. “We’ll get something practical, okay? Something that’s safe and reliable and not … ridiculous.”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “Promise?”

Max’s smile softens, and he nods, his gaze holding yours steadily. “Promise.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, a sense of peace settling over you. Maybe it’s not ideal, accepting something so big from him, but … maybe it’s okay to let him take care of you, just this once.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

Max’s smile is soft and warm and full of so much affection it makes your chest ache. He leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch. “No, thank you.”

[unabashegirl]

Different 9 — college hs

Harry's quiet, routine-driven life changes one weekend when he meets Y/N through a mutual friend at her party. She comes from a superficial, materialistic world with absent parents who believe money solves everything. Despite their differences, something clicks that night, and Y/N can't stop thinking about him.

Author's note: hello my lovely people! Here is a new chapter of different. I hope you enjoy!

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to all 25 chapters, various one shots and much more :)

----> different masterlist <----

“What are you doing here?” She looked impeccable, straight out of the shower. She smelled deliciously good, and her hair looked so soft that he just wanted to reach over and run his fingers through it. She wore a turtleneck sweater and some striped pants.

“I wanted to take you out on a date” Y/N shrugged like it was no big deal. Even though she had done multiple things to get a hold of his schedule and location. Y/N might have even gone to the extent of bribing someone in the dean's office. She was simply happy that she could flirt her way out of things, but Harry didn’t need to know.

“Where are we going” He laughed softly, taking his backpack off and placing it on the backseat of the car.

“Up north” She stated, “But first some coffee” Y/N pulled into a Starbucks in hopes of convincing him that Starbucks was worth his time and money.

“Absolutely not. It’s shit” Y/N loved how easily he noticed what she was trying to do. “it’s overpriced”. Harry shook his head noticing how she stuck her tongue out as she concentrated on not hitting the curb in the drive-through. He found it extremely adorable.

“Just try something.” She insisted, reaching back for her wallet. “If you don’t like it. I won’t insist again” Harry raised an eyebrow at her and pursed his lips as he considered it. “For me” was the last thing she needed to add to get him to order something off the menu.

“Don’t you have class today?” Harry asked her as they waited for their drinks.

“Maybe. maybe not” In truth she did have a presentation but had spoken with her professor and had submitted everything beforehand. “That’s not something you need to worry about” she added as she lowered down her window to receive the drinks.

If there was something that Harry was thankful for, it was Y/N’s music taste. The whole ride, they listened to ABBA, Tracy Chapman, Mazzy Star, and Fleetwood Mac. It was quite comforting for him to know that he never had to pretend to like what most American college students do and that he could pay whatever he liked, and she would like it too.

“How had your day been? She asked interrupting the comfortable silence that had settled in the car.

“Like any other” he shrugged, reaching out for her hand to take. “Yours?” Harry asked as he pulled into a red light. She leaned over, gripped his chin with her tiny hands, and pulled him into a soft kiss. They are abruptly interrupted by the honking of the cars behind her.

“Fun” She laughed and pushed on the gas. “Would you like to drive?” She offered, “You have a license right?” Y/N looked over her rearview mirror as she turned the light to change lanes.

“Of course, but are you sure?” He had never driven anyone’s car aside from his father’s, and it wasn’t as nice as Y/N’s.

“Yeah,” she smiled at him quickly as she pulled to the side of the road. It was the perfect time to do it before getting on the highway. She quickly got out of the car after parking it “You just follow the GPS” she said watching him, rearranging the distance from the steering wheel and pedals. “This is so much nicer” She slipped off her sneakers and got comfortable.

“Do you not like to drive?” He asked as he got familiar with everything in the car before getting back on the road.

“Not really. I like to be the passenger.” Y/N honestly just drove for convenience and because she had to, but she would not drive. Also, her father had bought her a car and she could leave it in the garage just because. “Plus, I get to pay more attention to you and kiss you when I please.” Harry laughed as he started feeling more comfortable driving her car as time went by. “There is a party this weekend” she commented as she looked through the messages. “Would you like to come with me?” She asked between songs.

Y/N could tell how tense he instantly got. Harry hated social rendezvous. He hated how they made him feel and how people always stared at him like he was out of place.

“We could always stay in and watch some movies and stuff.”

“No. I’ll go with you.” He sharply said, “I know you want to go and see your friends.” Harry knew that before him, Y/N attended parties and spent lots of time with her closest friends. He couldn’t except for her to dump her friends just because of him. “Where are we going?” He laughed, seeing that they still had 30 minutes to go.

“I am not telling you” Y/N decided to drop the subject even though she could see how uncomfortable he was. She would just ask him again on the day of the party.

“I feel like you’ve kidnapped me.”

“If I wanted to. I would have already done so.” Harry laughed, “I just hope you like it.” She was nervous. It had been a long time since she had gone out of her way to plan a date for someone. Hell! It had been a long time since she had cared for someone so deeply.

The couple allowed silence to settle in as they admired the colorful sky and how the sunset on the horizon. Harry noticed how there were only ten minutes left until they arrived at their destination. He sat up straighter, eager to arrive and reveal the surprise.

“I am nervous” She revealed, which only made Harry smile. “What if you hate it? And don’t like it?” Harry watched her fiddle her fingers from the corner of his eye. He reached out and held her hands understanding how overwhelming it could make someone feel.

“I’m going to love it because you planned for it and because it means you want to spend time with me” He explained, just as he pulled into a large field with lots of other cars. It took him a few minutes, to realize that it was a drive-in movie since the screen hadn’t been blown up yet. “I swear I’ve only seen this in American movies” he laughed, overly excited.

“Do you like it?” Y/N asked as they waited to be greeted and guided to their spot.

“I love it. very creative” He leaned over and pecked her lips. “Thank you”.

Harry parked the car in a small spot between two others that had arrived before them. Y/N was the first out of the car to open the trunk.

‘I’ve packed a few snacks and drinks and some blankets” He watched her say from the rearview mirror as he turned off the engine. “I mean this isn’t a trunk, but I think everything might work” she added, unloading the car.

“Let me help you” Y/N unpacked a few bedsheets and covered the trunk with them, followed by a comforter to make sitting less uncomfortable. Then she processed to carefully place pillows for their heads and backs. “Look at the screen!” It was finally dark enough for the screen to be blown up and for the projector to be turned on.

“It’s massive” He pointed out as he watched her struggle to get on the trunk. “Need a hand?” He chuckled.

“No” She sharply said, rolling her eyes at him, trying to hide her smile from him. Y/N threw her leg over and rolled the rest of her body into the trunk. Her father had insisted on high tires for the winter, and she had agreed instead of being realistic about the daily struggles that her height brought her.

Harry on the other hand, barely had to lift himself off the floor.

“Are you comfortable? Would you like another pillow?” She asked him, stretching a blanket over their bodies.

“Very”

“Alright, so this is the menu for tonight” She had prepared tacos for the occasion, aside from making popcorn and bringing chips with salsa and sweets.

“How did you manage to plan all of this?” Harry asked in awe after she had unwrapped all the food and drinks.

“I’ve got my ways” She shrugged, “I am just glad that everything went according to plan”.

“You are something is Y/N,” he said to her as he watched her prepare him a plate. They finished eating before the movie started. “What movie is it?” He asked as he pulled her in between his legs.

“I assume you’ve watched it before. If not, then you should get your nationality revoked” she said just as Harry Potter’s notorious soundtrack started playing.

“Great choice, darlin” He whispered, kissing her cheek, and pulling the blanket tighter around them. Y/N beamed with happiness and tried her best to concentrate on the big screen before her.

Chapter 10

[cheriladycl01]

Could you do one for Checo with wife reader? He's not getting enough love. Just something fluff and romantic. You decide how it goes. Thanks!!

No es suficiente! Sergio Perez x ActressWife! Reader

Plot: Sergio having just married you wanted to show you of in the Red Bull Garage, but you feel so happy to be back after being so busy in your own career that everyone is dying to talk to you and someone gets a little jealous.

It was your first time back in the paddock for around a year. You'd been away for a large period of time, between filming for an up and coming blockbuster and being in an ongoing TV show you had a tight schedule and only was able to see your husband when he had breaks.

He helped you scan your paddock pass and then placed a gentle hand on the small of your back.

"Are you excited?" he asks you as he looked over to you, the media noticed the pair of you walk through and were quick to snap pictures of your return to the paddock.

"Yes, I cannot wait to see everyone! I haven't seen Lance or Max in ages!" You admit, knowing you hadn’t really seen his friends in a while.

“Good!”

Before you know it you’ve been thrusted back into the world of F1, all the cameras and the people wanting to talk, the smells coming from the hospitalities and the cars. It was an introverts nightmare.

However, Sergio always knew you were a people person despite your social battery draining quicker than most people’s. You loved the hustle and bustle life that came with being on track and with Sergio.

Whether you were off chatting to Will Buxton about his latest Drive to Survive meme, or hunting down Crofty timo interrupt his grid walk, or chatting to the mechanics in the garage about the car, to finalise it all up speaking with Christian about Max and Sergio.

Today was a little different, you were feeling anxious where it was your first day back in a while. However the minute you and your husband walked into the garage he’d been whisked away along with Max by their race engineers towards the big bosses office.

You and Kelly not having seen each other in so long decided it would be nice considering it was media day and there was no actual racing if you guys rounded up some of the other wags and did a little shopping.

You guys ventured from Red Bull to some of the other paddocks on the hunt for the other girlies. You stumbled upon Lily, Alexandra, Rebecca and Kika who all decided they were down for some shopping to save the boredom that was media day.

You guys hit Milan central getting a train down from Monza. There were some fans around who excitedly asked for pictures. You guys all obliged before getting on with the day and going into the different high end stores.

By the end, you guys had taken the phrase ‘shop till you drop’ far to literally. You all travelled back to the hotel that you were staying in courtesy of the team in which their partner drove for. The bags were placed on the coffee table and sofa in the living area of the room.

Kelly had a separate room for her and P because she was doing a fashion show in Milan on the Monday and Tuesday after the races, so she had a lot of cases with her because of the clothes and shoes and just general space she would need. So when she invited you back for a girlie sleepover with her and P you couldn’t decline.

Sending a quick text to your husband who was still at the racetrack you left the room straight to Kelly’s which was only a few doors down. P answered the door which to Kelly’s dismay who was currently in the bathroom taking her makeup off before she could even get to the door.

“We don’t answer the door, it could have been a stranger Penelope!” She lightly scolds, the younger girl not caring to much and pulling you into a hug.

“Awwww hello P” you sigh hugging her back beofre picking her up and placing her on your hip.

“Are you going to let me do your hair tonight while we watch a Disney movie!” You ask and Ps eyes light up with excitement.

“Let me guess, the little mermaid?” You ask her and she nods furiously going towards the controller in the room to pull up what you assumed would be Disney +.

You spent the rest of the night with the daughter mother duo, doing facials, watching films and ordering an obscene amount of desserts from room service.

The next day you woke up and went to your room to see if Sergio would join you for breakfast but the room was empty, bed all screwed up and unmade showing you your husband had in fact come home last night.

You sit alone for breakfast which was nice, just to be able to think on your own thoughts for some time. Most of them being about your new movie, or the TV show and how to develop your character.

You took and Uber to the race track not wanting to be rudely late for FP1, wanting to support your husband. As you got there, running through the paddocks gates and mumbling profanities at the electronic gate which wouldn’t let you in after 4 attempts on your pass, you spotted Sergio.

“Hola, good night with Kelly?” He smiles at you, kissing your cheek lightly. You nod and open your mouth about to say something but his race engineer calls out for him pointing towards the garage entrance.

“Go, don’t want to be late on the job now!” You home and he just laughs lightly shaking his head before turning away and running out the the garage where his car was.

You stood with Kelly watching your boys drive. It felt like forever that Sergio was in the car, but again the minute he got out he was whisked away to a debrief with what went wrong with the car.

That was how the rest of the weekend went, whenever you had free time it felt like he was being taken away for important meeting, interviews and various media commitments and when he was free you were either on the phone with work or had organised to do something with the girls because you thought he was busy at that time but due to scheduling mixups he was actually free and refused to let you cancel on the girls.

It got to Sunday night after the race. Sergio had come in P2 behind Max and with Carlos just behind him. He’d had a great drive and you couldn’t have been prouder to celebrate his podium with him.

You were in the hotel room together, you’d just gotten out the shower and into night wear, he was laying on the bed, in his pijama pants and shirtless like normal.

You jumped onto the bed curling up into his side pulling him so as much as your skin was touching his.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you for ages mi amor” you voice before tilting your head that was laying in his chest to look up up him.

“Mmmmm No es suficiente!” He mumbles looking down at you. (It’s not sufficient!)

“What isn’t?” You ask perplexed.

“The time I had with you this weekend, not enough of it. I brought you here to spend more time with you and everyone didn’t want to see us together” he sighs pulling you closer with a pout on his face. On camera your husband didn’t seem like the clingy type but boy of boy was he.

“Argh you big baby, I’m not filming for another 5 weeks so your stuck with me all this time. This week was just unfortunate” you smile pulling him into a soft kiss which he quickly returns.

“God I missed this, just you” he smiles softly before pulling you into another kiss.

“Is this making up for it?” You offer smirking slightly knowing now that you were giving him the attention he was craving he was happy.

“Mmm im considering kidnapping you, so you have to spend all your time with me!” He groans pulling you over so your straddling him and laying in his chest on top of him.

“But who will be the lead in your current favourite TV show?” You gasp playfully.

“No way! Ellen Pompeo is leaving Greys?” He teases, knowing it would tule you up. You slap his shoulder lightly looking down at him.

“Mmmm im sure they could find someone to replace you if I kept you all for myself!” He teases again and you laugh this time.

“Mmmm and I’m sure if I kidnapped you Red Bull would too!” You tease back and he gasps in mock shock hand to his chest.

“Well seeing as we both seem to be staying respectively in our professions… I suggest we order room service!” You smile again, pulling him in for a kiss. He nods, rolling you off and getting up towards where the phone is on the desk. You watch as he used his hands to motion around as he talks to the receptionist on the phone.

You were so completely and utterly in love.

A/N: short and sweet! Hope you enjoy!

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @teamnovalak @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416 @yourbane

[janeyseymour]

Dancing On My Own (Tiesto Remix)- pt 2

After some pushback from the first, I knew I had to write a second part, and quick. this should placate most of you.

Summary: the aftermath.

Part 1.

WC: 2.25k

tags: @lakita-fisher @weeeeeeeeee3 @lilsmeaux @@morgana-larkin

You somehow make it home unscathed- you could barely see as you drove through your tears, your breakup playlist on full blast. You guess you’re officially done. With Melissa already having a new woman, you wonder just how much you ever even meant to her.

As soon as you’re pulling into your spot, the waterworks hit in full- as if they weren’t already. You rip off the jersey and hat that you wore out, not caring where they land as you throw them into your front room. You had bought a bottle of wine to share with the redhead that you fell madly in love with to celebrate getting back together, and hopefully a big win, but now that seems wrong to drink on your own. You reach for the vodka instead.

You don’t show to school the next day, calling out claiming that you’re sick. And you are. Your heart hurts more than you ever thought possible, and your hangover is killer. You spend the morning laying in bed, eyes rimmed red. The redness won’t be going away any time soon.

Melissa saunters into the school, happy that she hasn’t seen your car in the parking lot, and doing a little dance because her team won. She’s also quite happy that she was able to rebound with last night- even if she didn’t particularly enjoy the woman that she spent her time with. She much rather would’ve spent time with you, but… you were… are a Cowboys fan.

“Someone’s happy,” Barbara chuckles. She thinks she knows why. “Did you have a good night at the game?”

“I did!” Melissa grins. “I took this girl I met at the bar, and-”

The kindergarten teacher’s face drops. “What?”

“I wasn’t going to let the ticket I had for Y/N go to waste,” the redhead shrugs. “So I asked Lena if she wanted to go with me to heckle the Cowgirls fans.”

“Oh no,” Barbara whispers. “Oh, no. no. no.”

“What? I figured after Y/N and I, I should get myself back out there.”

“No,” Barbara states again with fire. “Oh good god.”

“What?! What, Barb?”

“I- I have to go make a call,” the kindergarten teacher grabs her coffee mug and heads out quickly. She closes her classroom door as she dials your number.

Your phone starts ringing far too loudly, and you groan. You glance at it and see Barbara’s contact picture light up.

“Hello?” you groan into the phone, just barely sitting up. Your voice is rough, both from the tears and the fact that you haven’t spoken since last night.

“Sweetheart,” your coworker whispers to you. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Home,” you grumble. “Sick.”

The kindergarten teacher frowns. “Sick? Lovesick?”

“Heartbroken,” you whisper, voice cracking slightly. “She was there with someone else. You knew, didn’t you?”

“Y/N, dear,” Barb sighs quietly. “If I had known that she was talking to someone else, I never would’ve told you to go for it. In fact, when she came in dancing today I thought it was because the two of you got back together.”

“Nope,” you pop the ‘p’. “She had her tongue down someone else’s throat.”

“Honey, I am so sorry,” the woman tells you softly.

“I’m not mad at you,” you tell her genuinely. “You didn’t do anything wrong but try to help me.”

“Can I do anything else for you?” Barbara asks.

You sigh. “Just… when I come back to work tomorrow, pretend I was sick? I don’t feel like having Janine jump down my throat.”

“I can do that,” the kindergarten teacher says softly. “And please know that even though the two of you aren’t involved anymore, we are all still on your side. You’re still a part of our-”

“It’s okay,” you sigh sadly. “I know that you’re all Melissa’s friends, and I don’t want to put any of you in an awkward position having to pick sides. She’s been here longer; it’s all hers.”

“Sweetheart,” Barbara breathes.

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay, Barb. Thank you for trying to help me,” you mumble before hanging up.

By the time you hang up with her, the students will begin trickling in, so Barbara doesn’t have time to go speak with Melissa about the situation at hand.

But at lunch, Barbara simply grabs her lunch and picks up the redhead’s that is already out on the table.

“Barb,” Melissa gasps.

“My room. Now,” is all the kindergarten teacher has to say to get her friend to follow her out of the staff room and down the hall, head hung like a child being escorted to the principal’s office.

When they get there, Barbara sets down their lunches at her desk and pulls a chair up for Melissa.

“Barb, c’mon,” your… ex-girlfriend groans. “What gives?”

“What the hell were you doing out with another woman?”

The second grade teacher immediately gets defensive. “Y/N and I-”

“Y/N went to the game last night… dressed in Eagles gear and ready to cheer for your team because she loves you,” the older teacher says sternly. “And you threw it in her face that you were done with her and already moved on.”

“She- what?”

“She spent close to a thousand dollars on sports gear last week to try to win you back. She wore Phillies gear, she wore Flyers apparel, she wore a Sixers sweatshirt, she even wore a jersey from the Union, and on Friday, she wore Kelly green to show you that she’s in Philly now.”

“Didn’t show up in a Hurts or Kelce jersey though,” Melissa rolls her eyes. 

“Because she was saving that for last night when she was going to win you back with the ticket that she managed to get next to you!”

Melissa’s face drops. “She- fuck.”

“She’s not sick. She’s heartbroken right now.”

The redhead bites her lip. “I fucked up takin’ Lena, didn’t I?”

Barbara nods. “She was crying when I called, and she told me she was heartbroken to see you with some other girl’s tongue down your throat.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” the kindergarten teacher nods. “That word.”

Melissa breathes out heavily. “Do you…” she shakes her head. “She’s still a Cowboys fan.”

“Melissa Ann, you love her. She loves you. She’s perfect aside from that one fact, and when she tried explaining herself to you at school, you wouldn’t let her get a word out. Hear her out, and even then… if she does love the Cowboys, are you really going to let something as trivial as a sports team rivalry come between you and the one person that you love?”

“I…” the redhead bites her lip. “Do you think I have a chance at winning her back?”

At that, the kindergarten teacher shrugs. “You’ll never know if you don’t try… although, I would end things with this new woman you were making out with last night.”

The end of the day could not come sooner for the second grade teacher. She’s debated texting you or calling you, but she feels this is something that she has to do in person.

So as soon as she’s finished for the day, she runs out. She leaves her lunch bag in the staff room, doesn’t wait for her work wife; she just books it. She’s tearing out of the school parking lot in the direction of your apartment complex.

The entire drive over, she’s preparing what she’s going to say to you, but once she’s standing on the door mat that you have sitting outside your front door, it all leaves her brain. She knocks a few times before stepping back.

Who the hell is at your door? Could it be Barbara checking on you? Or maybe she said something to Janine or Jacob, and they’re here to make sure that you’re okay? With a groan, you sit up and stand from the couch. You’ve been sitting there for so long wallowing in your self pity that you leave an indent in the cushions. You check the peephole, and… why is Melissa standing at your door?

You open the door, not caring how you look right now.

The sight of you hurts her heart. Your hair is messily tied up, you haven’t changed out of your pajamas, your eyes are still rimmed red… you just look so heartbroken right now.

“What? Come to yell at me some more?” you try sound angry, but it just comes out pathetic.

“No,” she says softly. “Hun, I’m-”

“Here to break up with me?” you sigh. “You made it pretty clear we were done.”

“Can I come in?” she asks quietly. The woman sounds so unlike herself.

You shrug and leave the door open as you walk away. She follows you in. “I’m here to say I’m sorry.”

“It’s whatever,” you sigh as you curl back into your mountain of blankets. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be civil the rest of the school year, I’ll leave you and your friends alone, and then I’ll find another school in the area to work at.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Well, it’s a little hard to work with your ex-girlfriend,” you sigh. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind seeing yourself out.”

“Y/N,” Melissa says so softly, and she has her eyes trained on you. They’re filled with sadness. “I don’t want to break up.”

“I thought we already did,” you spit out. “And if we didn’t, I know you had your tongue down another woman’s throat last night anyway, so if you don’t break up with me, I’ll do it for you. Then you can make me the bad guy when you-”

“Barb told me what you were trying to do,” the redhead admits softly.

“If you would’ve just listened to me, you would know that I didn’t necessarily have a choice in who I rooted for when it came to football. My father, who is my idol and best friend so don’t you dare say a single bad thing about him, loves the Cowboys. He insisted on buying me the Prescott jersey despite the fact that I didn’t want him spending that money on me to begin with.”

“I should’ve known with you growing up near Dallas,” she sighs.

“But I’m here now,” you continue. “And once I talked to him and he told me that if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. So I did. I bought all of this Philly stuff, bought a ticket to the game and showed up in a hat and Hurts jersey, only to see you with someone else. So… it’ doesn’t matter.”

“Hun, I never wanted her.”

“Well, you got her.”

“The whole time, I was wishing it was you.”

You rub your temples.

“Barb told me she helped you,” the second grade teacher admits. “If I had known… I would’ve been-”

“Any time they brought me up, you shut them down,” you fire out. “You wouldn’t let me speak to you at all.”

“You avoided me too!”

“I was trying to give you space, and when I did try to talk to you, you shut me down and told me you weren’t going to date a Cowgirl.”

“How can I fix this?” Melissa asks as she comes to sit down next to you. “I’ll do- I’ll do anything.”

“I thought you weren’t going to date a Cowgirl,” you taunt her. “And you have your new girl now.”

“She isn’t my girl,” the redhead tells you sternly. “You’re my girl. She’s some random girl I picked up at a bar while I was trying to distract myself from missing you. The whole time I was with her, I wished it was you- I didn’t even sleep with her. She was throwing herself at me, but I couldn’t.”

“So what are you saying?”

“And then today when you didn’t show up to school, Barbara told me what you did and how she helped you… she talked some sense into me; asked me if I was really going to let a stupid sports rivalry get in the way of loving the one person I truly adore. The answer is no. I was… an idiot. An absolute idiot.”

“Yeah,” you snort. “You were.”

“So… I’m here, begging you to take me back. Please, Y/N,” Melissa tears up. “Please. Please don’t walk away.”

“Melissa, you hurt me more than you know,” you whisper.

“And I will spend the rest of my days making it up to you,” she promises you. “Please.”

You take a deep breath for huffing it out. Secretly, you were hoping she would come back to you. And the opportunity is right here in front of you. “It’s… it’s going to take a bit for me to fully forgive you.”

“And I understand that entirely. I was a real jackass. I’ll make it up to you however I can.” She pulls you into her arms and kisses your temple gently. “However I can.”

That ‘however’ is by having her take you to another Eagles game- with the entire Abbott crew. You wear your Hurts jersey, hanging off of her the entire night, and you cheer for your new team.

The other ‘however’ is by getting her to take you to a Phillies RedOctober game at Lincoln Financial field. When they play their celebratory song after clinching a spot in the World Series as NLC champions, you know that you’re no longer dancing on your own (tiesto remix). You have Melissa by your side. 

[theemporium]

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

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

“Have you seen Sunshine today?” 

“No, sorry.” 

“Hey, have you seen Sunshine this morning?” 

“I haven’t, no.” 

“Have you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ma’am, we have to ask you to leave—”

“Oh my god!”

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

“You need a paddock pass—”

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

“We can’t do that, ma’am.”

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

“Sunshine!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You rolled your eyes. “Funny.” 

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

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

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

.

[ikyoudreamofme]

Please.. PT2

A/N: So many of my fics are in a hospital or at a party this is out of hand. Go read part one

________________________________________

Flashes of blue and red light up the street as paramedics rush through the doors. Your head lies in Chris’ lap. Silence. The music has stopped, people silently leaving. All that could be heard was the paramedics telling Chris that he has to move so they can help you.

The paramedics put you on a stretcher putting you in the ambulance. Chris sits in the back with you as the ambulance rushes through traffic. He holds onto your hand rubbing his thumb across the back of it. The ambulance comes to a stop and the paramedics stand up open the doors.

Doctors speed over " Y/N L/N,19,possible overdose, intubated on arrival." One paramedic shouts before leaving you with the doctors, "sir you're gonna have to wait in the waiting area the nurse can show you." A nurse walks up to him. "Is she okay, that's ill I need to kno-" Chris gets cut off by the nurse, "We will get someone to update you frequently please sit down."

Chris waits for what felt like decades before a doctor comes over. "Because your girlfriend has overdosed on drugs we need to know if it was intentional or not." He says another doctor stood beside him, obviously a psychiatrics doctor. He shakes his head "I really don't know, is she okay?" Chris isn't in the right mind to correct the doctor who called you his girlfriend in fact he was gonna ask you to be his girl a few days ago but you ignored his asks to meet up. the doctor nods, "Yes she is okay, she's on medicine right now, you can go and see her but she has restraints on her wrists because he could be a threat you or herself."

"okay.." Chris replies walking towards your room. He walks in head down as he plays with his hands, he looks up meeting your hooded eyes. Chris rushes over a wave off relief goes through him, that you're okay. "Chris why are you here?" you whisper your voice hoarse and croaky. Chris looks down at you and speaks "you think I'd leave my girl, I care about you ma." you sigh blinking letting tears fall. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" you cry into his arms "Its okay, I'm here y/n you need to talk to me when you're feeling like this." Chris runs his fingers through your hair. You nod in his embrace.

"Y/n the doctors need to know if it was intentional." Chris looks at you with a pleading look holding onto your hands as two doctors stand near the back of the room. All you can do is nod, Chris sighs looking back at the doctors.

2 months later

Today was your last day in the mental health ward, Chris, your friends and family had visited you over the weeks but Chris saw you more. He was picking you up in an hour and you were so excited you sorted out all your things before having one last therapy session before they move to one every other week. "Its your last day how are you feeling?" your therapist asked you to which you smile. " I feel good, I've learnt to talk to someone if I'm struggling and I know who those people are."

You're in the car Chris' hand on your thigh as he drives through traffic, "I'm happy you're better y/n" Chris breaks the silence, you look at him smiling. Chris drove you back to his walking you to his room. On his desk lay a box of chocolates your favorite a card and a bouquet of flowers. You look up at Chris your jaw slightly slack, he nods his head to the card. The card read 'I'm so proud of how far you've came y/n . Will you be my girlfriend?'

you look up from the card walking over to Chris wrapping your arms around his neck hugging him. "yes! Yes I'll be your girlfriend!" You say loudly moving your head back to kiss him, he reciprocates kissing you back placing his hands on your waist.

[sturniololoco]

Can’t hate you pt 2

Sturniolo Little Sister (SLS) X Nathan Doe

Warnings: Cussing, hitting, mentions of SA later in the series(and no, it was not Nate), etc.

ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .° ᡣ𐭩

SLS/N’s POV

I woke up this morning to what felt like a monkey on my bed, only to find out that it was Chris, jumping up and down.

“Get up loser, we’re going to get food!” He yells, giving me a wet-willy before sprinting out of my room.

“Aw-you mother fucker!” I yell, jumping out of my bed to chase him down the stairs.

I see him up ahead, rounding the corner to the kitchen. I do the same, but instead of finding Chris, I find myself running straight into what felt like a brick wall.

“Fuck…” I say under my breath, rubbing my head where I made contact.

I hear Chris laughing from behind the island, and I shoot him the middle finger.

I look up to see what I made contact with, only to be met with the grey-blue eyes of Nate.

He hold out a hand to help me up, but I scoff, ignoring his hand while stand and brush myself off.

My head still hurt immensely as I walked into the kitchen, giving Chris the biggest side eye I could.

“Well isn’t someone just a bundle of joy this morning?” Nate says, resting his chin on his hand while he leans on the island, looking at me.

I roll my eyes, scoff again, then walk upstairs to get ready.

-

I walk downstairs, hair curled, makeup perfect, and dressed in a pair of cargo jeans and a baby tee.

Yes, I feel like a boss bitch, and yes, everyone knows imma boss bitch.

“Okay sis! I see you!” Nick says, giving me a twirl. I laugh then look to the living room to see Chris and Matt golf clapping. But Nate is just staring, his moth half open.

What the fuck is his problem?

I ignore him and follow my brothers to the car, him close in behind.

"SLS/N, just sit in the middle today, there's no point in putting the seat down for a 10-minute drive," Matt says, climbing into the car and starting it.

Oh my fucking god, why is this happening to me?!

Not wanting to start problems, I sigh then get in, ick on my right, Nate unfortunately on my left.

The whole ride there his thigh was uncomfortably close to mine, so it was a huge relief when Matt pulled into the IHOP parking lot.

We got out and then got checked into a booth near the back of the restaurant. Before anyone could argue, I called sitting in the middle of Matt and Chris.

We got settled in our booth, and then Nick started to pull out his phone and make an Instagram post.

it said, What poses do you want for our next photo shoot?

"We're doing a photoshoot?" Matt asked, already not looking forward to it.

"Yes Mat. and you're not gonna have a Mattitude about it," Nick said, giving him a stern look. I giggled at how well he knew my brother.

Before Matt could come back with an answer, our waitress came over, asking what we wanted to drink.

"I'll just have water please," I said quietly, then she walked away.

Chris poked me in the rib, using a baby voice while he said,

"Aww, is somebody a wittle shy?" The whole table burst into giggles, all but me, whose face had gone hot and was now punching Chris in the arm.

"Ow, SLS/N!" He whined as his laughing stopped.

"Aww, does someone need me to call the ambulance?" I asked, giving him a baby voice of my own.

Now it was his turn to go red, as Nick reached across the table, fist bumping me. What can I say, I learned my comebacks from the best.

-

As we climbed back into the back, we were all deciding what to wear for the photo shoot.

"I think we should all wear merch," Chris said.

We all nodded in agreement, heading home to get ready.

-

By the time we were all ready, the camera was charged, and we were ready to go, it was beginning to get dark. We drove to McDonalds, grabbing some drinks before driving around to find the place to shoot.

We decided to head the the parking garage down the street, as it had the best lighting.

We found a spot where there were no cars. Nick scrolled through his responses, looking for poses.

We took alot of photos. some with just the triplets, some with one of them individually, and then some duets.

One of my favorites where the one where I was on Chris's back while he was racing down the drive.

Nate got some as well, posing with Chris and Matt, then some individuals for his own Instagram.

Then Nick said the worst news I ever wanted to hear.

"Alot of fans want some pics of SLS/N and Nate. We should do those real quick."

I whipped my head around to stare at him, giving him wide eyes. He gave me a pleading look, begging me with his eyes.

I rolled my own, mumbling,

"Let's just get this over with."

We took a few next to each other, our arms around each other's backs in a side hug.

Our next pose was us standing back to back, holding up our sweet teas,, while death staring at the camera.

"These are so good! Hold still for two more seconds." Nick said, getting lower to take the shot.

Matt and Chris sent knowing smirks in my direction, making me angrier and angrier by the second.

"You better smile, kid. Wouldn't want people thinking I look better than the princess." Nate said under his breath, in my direction.

That sent me over the edge.

I pushed myself off of his back as I whipped around. I tore the lid of my sweet tea and threw it at him.

He was completely soaked.

"Fuck this shit!" I yelled, walking towards the stairs leading to the sidewalk outside of the building that led to our house, leaving the boys there to stare at my retreating figure.

-

I walked all the way home and up to my room, slamming my door before collapsing on my bed. My face was still burning with anger,

or was I blushing?

OooooooOooooooo!!!

@idkwhosnyla @babypat08 @eyelessdemon00 @christopherowensturniolo @sturnsxx @freshloveforthefit @matty443355 @sleepysturnss @emeraldgreenbeautiesstu @sunsetsturniolos @hoesturniolo @x4nd3rsukz @chr1sgirl4life @sstvrnioloo @sturns-posts @chrisstopherfilmed @kylasrealityx @zoeysturnioloooooo @comet235 @islaasblog @sturnioloblogs @defnotayonna @mattsleftnipple03 @thematthewlover @mattsaq @idkhowtosleep

[lightyakami]

god of the fryer

hello all here's (the start of) a death note fast food worker au. you can also read it on dreamwith. cw for abelism & abelist slurs. there is literally no chance whatsoever that i will ever finish or even consider finishing this because working food service at the restaurant this is based on gave me unfixable psychic damage. nonetheless. perhaps you will enjoy this as is.

Light is not above working in a fast food restaurant to put himself through university. He tells himself this mostly because it’s what his father told him, in a slightly exasperated tone, when he’d driven him to work this morning.

“Light,” he’d said, “Plenty of people take on part time jobs to support themselves. You don’t have some special quality which makes you better than them.” Then he’d stopped the car, put on the same wax museum smile he’d used years ago when Sayu was throwing tantrums, and said, “Have a good day at work, son,” in a tone which brokered no argument. 

As of last week, Light doesn’t even live with them anymore. He has his own, terrible little apartment, even though Touhou is easily close enough to bus — his parent’s idea, definitely not his. His father only drove him here today as a last favour. Light feels like he’s being sent to the gallows. He has no idea why this is happening to him.

So here he is, standing in front of what looks like the world’s saddest salad bar but is actually his collection of hamburger toppings while a girl in a backwards baseball cap reads off the menu in a sharp, clipped voice. She is going to be his manager.

“So we’ve got three basic burgers — regular, buttered bun, and regular with an extra bun in the middle.” 

“Like a Big Mac.” 

“Yeah,” she says, blandly, “but calling it that is grounds for instant termination.” 

He stares at her. She sighs. “I’m joking, but still, please don’t call it that. If someone asks for one, just say we have three basic burgers … anyway, we’ve also got a bunch of special edition burgers. There’s a cheat sheet pinned to your station..” She taps a laminated sheet listing a series of increasingly bizarre burger names and the ingredients which go into them. There are six.

Light Yagami, top of his class in every school he’s ever been to, is fairly certain that he does not require a cheat sheet to memorize six hamburgers. 

“All you need to worry about are the toppings, anyway. The guys at the grill will do the patties, and whoever’s on fry will bring you buns. Oh, and anything with mushrooms or fried onions. They’ll do that too. We’ll get you trained on some of that later. It’s honestly pretty simple. You’ll probably fuck some stuff up today, but I’m sure you’ll have it down in a couple of shifts.”

“I won’t fuck anything up,” Light reassures her. She laughs, which he finds offensive.

“Thats the spirit.”

She wanders off towards one of the girls standing next to the grill.

Light exhales slowly. 

The building isn’t as horrible as he was expecting. His vision of the back of a fast food restaurant involves dark, cramped quarters and grease stains on every available surface. In reality, it’s obsessively clean and painted in off whites and a weird salmon colour that isn’t as ugly as it sounds. This makes sense, now that he’s thinking about it — it faces right into the dining area, so the customers can see into it. You can find the grease stains if you look, but they’re mostly around the fry and grill.

His section is shielded by a half wall which he can just barely see over. His toppings (lettuce, onions, tomatoes, pickles, shredded and unshredded cheese, and some strange red and green sauces which he cannot identify) are refrigerated interior of the actual counter, so it’s freezing cold. 

Behind him, everyone is already milling about themselves, talking and nudging each other with a companionability that is equal parts nice to watch and achingly melencholy for reasons he does not with to acknowledge.

He takes his laminated sheet off the counter and scans it. He is very determined to do everything perfectly, especially now that his manager laughed at him for saying that he would. Regardless of what his father said, it’s just hamburgers. He got a perfect score on his entrance exams. He has literally been helping the NPA solve crimes over the dinner table since he was eleven. He can handle this. 

The bell on the front door chimes, and a man in a scrappy white shirt and a hurricane of black hair walks through it, shoulders hunched, and skitters through the dining area, past Light, and towards the break room. Skitters really is the right word for it — he moves like he’s being hunted. 

“God.” The voice comes from behind him. Light flinches, then turns to see his manager beside him, staring at the space where the man had been. “L’s on fry today. Fuck. I told Misa she was absolutely not allowed to switch shifts with him today. I didn’t want to be dealing with him and training someone new.”

There’s a scraping nastiness to her voice which Light does not like. It’s different from the tone she’d sed with him earlier. 

“Is he new, too?” 

She snorts. “Lawliet’s been working here for six months, but he still acts like it’s his first sixteen minutes. Look at it this way, I guess — no matter how badly you do, you’re not going to be the worst one here. He’s kind of a retard.” 

“Oh,” says Light, not sure what to follow that up with. He had not been aware that people said things like that out loud anymore. She seems to mistake this for companionability, and smiles at him. He smiles back, automatically, and she turns and walks away. 

Maybe he should have said something, but it’s his first day, and what is that going to accomplish, really? Keep your head down, he tells himself. It’s just for a little while. If he can figure out whatever the hell his parent’s game is and play it properly, they’ll realize that he doesn’t require whatever lesson they’re trying to teach him and they’ll let him stay at home and eat their food until he graduates and can get an actual job at the NPA which does not involve putting tomatoes on top of lettuce or calling your coworkers retards. 

He stares at his little laminated sheet of six varieties of the exact same food. From the corner of his eye, he can see L scuttling out of the break room, a baseball cam jammed on top of his mass of black hair. He does not join in with everyone’s chatter. 

Someone sprays something on the grill and a cloud of grease rises up towards the ceiling. Not to be dramatic, but he already wants to throw himself into the fryer. 

---

He is a burger god. Of course he is. His manager — her name is Tomoko, and he should probably start remembering things like that — praises him loudly for his formidable talents in memorizing the six recipes and remembering to put the toppings on buns instead of, what, his face. It’s absurdly easy, but they seem impressed for some reason. So that’s neat. 

The less great part is that people absolutely will not stop shouting. They aren’t angry. This just appears to be the only way anyone knows how to communicate. Literally everything — the need to restock the lettuce, the number of french fries L needs to make, whenever L needs to drop a chicken into the fryer — requires shouting. To acknowledge the shouting, the shoutee has to shout back. Light is required to shout at the customers whenever he’s finished bagging their burgers, so he is contributing to the problem. 

The only person who isn’t yelling is L, which makes him Light’s favourite person in the restaurant. Right now, possibly Light’s favourite person in the entire world.

Light absolutely despises unnecessary human noise. Even when he takes his exams, he shows up no more than a minute early, so he doesn’t have to sit through the panicked whispers and incessant rustling of papers and pens which always proceeds them. Between all the yelling and the hiss of the grill and the gurgle of the fryers, he’s just about ready to throw himself directly into the meat grinder. 

Luckily, he has always been excellent at coping in adverse situations. So he makes absolutely perfect hamburgers and wraps them with absolutely perfect folds and pairs them with the perfect number of napkins. If he pays total attention to what he’s doing, he can almost ignore all the sounds. 

He’s focusing well enough that it takes him a while to notice that the number of french fries which appear by his side is almost entirely random. Sometimes there are more than he needs, and sometimes there are less. This actually evens itself else nicely, so it doesn’t occur to him that anything is going wrong until Tomoko touches her hand to one of the bags, then makes an irritated noise deep in her throat. 

“These are cold,” she says, and tosses it with what Light personally thinks is excessive force into the trash can. “Just check before you bag them.” 

She marches off. 

He assembles a Seismic burger (three buns, secret sauce, shredded lettuce, fried onions, and a slice of cheese — and shouts at a customer to take it and its associated heart attack. 

From behind him, he can hear a new voice rising up among the clamour. Light stops what he’s doing for the first time since customers started walking in through the doors.

Tomoko is standing in front of L as he cowers back fro her. He must be tall when he stands up properly, but right now he’s just this tangle of limbs trying to knot and disappear into itself. She’s talking in a voice that’s curled like a fist — quiet, but it carries, and Light can’t help but notice how everyone seems to have paused to listen.

“This is the third time I’ve seen you drop double fries,” she says. “And I know it’s not the first because Yagami’s been bagging them cold.” Light feels a twinge of unfairness. No one told him he was doing anything wrong. “And you missed two orders of chicken. Yuri had to come back and cook them herself. I don’t know why you can’t get this --“

“If everyone would just be a little quieter —“ L starts. One of the guys by the grill cuts him off, abandoning any pretence of not listening. 

“How else do you want anyone to tell you what we need?” His voice is acidic, but L looks at him like he’s just thrown him a life raft. 

You’re misunderstanding, Light wants to tell him, the same way people shout advice to characters on television. He’s not being kind to you. That’s not a real question.

“If you could just talk to me instead —“

“Six months,” Tomoko said. “You’ve been here six months. I’m trying to handle a new trainee — who’s already three times as fast as you, by the way — and you’re screwing up the line. 

Someone drops a set of three buns in front of Light. He looks up, startled, then assembles three sets of cheeseburgers and turns back. 

“I apologize,” L is saying now. He’s actually physically stepping back, as if Tomoko’s going to hit him. From the way his voice is getting lower, more ragged, the way it’s speeding up like he needs to rush to the end before all his words topple over, Light can tell he’s trying not to cry. “It will not happen again.”

“I find that difficult to believe, because it’s already happened three times today and it’s been happening for the entire six months you’ve been here. If you want to keep your position —“

“It’s not going to happen again,” L says, words all in a rush now. He’s blinking quickly. “It will not. I can guarantee —“ 

This is absolutely the stupidest situation that Light has seen in his entire life.

There are many people who look down on adults who cry in public. Light has never been one of them. What he hates is people who look for little cracks of vulnerability and press down on them until they break, then hold their hands with their palms out and act like they had nothing to do with the result. It’s a peculiar kind of cruelty. 

It should be patently obvious to anyone that L is trying his best — if that’s not adequate, they should just fire him instead of batting him around like this. The way they’re talking won’t accomplish anything other than getting him even more upset, which has not once in the history of humankind helped anyone do a better job. It’s bad management, and it’s fucking sad and frankly cruel.

Light thinks of the word retard slipped to him like a gift he didn’t wand and which he’d accepted anyway. He sidesteps Yuri as she drops patties onto his station and strides over to L. 

Light steps between him and Tomoko and clamps his hands down on L’s shoulders. L looks up at him. His eyes are wide and so black they’re disorienting, like the aura of the night where a car’s headlamps drop off, and he looks not just upset but actually terrified. 

But he holds Light’s gaze like it’s a shelter being offered to him.

“Okay,” Light says. “Just look at me, okay? Focus. You’re okay. You’re doing fine.” He isn’t, really. It doesn’t matter. The truth is a malleable thing best tossed away in favour of the information which would be most useful in any given situation. “Do you remember what you were supposed to make?”

“Three orders of fries, two with cheese, and three pieces of chicken tenders,” L says, snapped out in a tidy rhythm. 

“Okay,” Light says, “Make that. One at a time. Don’t worry about all this other stuff. It’s got nothing to do with you.” 

“Yes,” L says. He presses his knuckles to his mouth. He’s swallowing hard. 

“You’ve got this. I know you do. You’re okay?” 

“I’m okay,” L says. He nods, once, as if to prove it. That’s why Light asked him — if you can get people to say something about themselves, most of the time they’ll end up believing it.

Light smiles at him. “Then go on.” He squeezes L’s shoulders, grabs one of the fries, and turns away. 

Everyone is staring at him. He finishes his three burgers, wraps them up, and sets them on the counter. “Customer thirty-eight!”

---

“You’re a miracle worker,” Tomoko whispers to him when three hours have gone past and there haven’t been any errors. He smiles at her. He doesn’t think it’s such a miracle — all he did was decide not to treat someone like dirt. 

His miracle lasts for about twenty minutes longer, after which L sends double fries and can’t seem to get back on track, but at least no one starts snapping at him again. 

---

After work, Light steps into the bus shelter and finds L already curled up on the seat, his knees pressed to his chest, staring straight into the traffic. The lights from the passing cars flicker on his face. 

“Which bus are you taking?” Light asks, just for something to say. 

“Oh,” L says. “None. I’m waiting for my brother.” He brings his thumb to his mouth and chews on it. It’s such a bizarre, childlike gesture. His coat, a long army-green thing which hangs off his skeletal frame, seems too thin for this weather.

“Older or younger?” 

“Mm. No.” 

For a moment, Light thinks that L’s batting down the conversation, but he takes another look at the spellbound way L stares out into the rivers of cars and realizes he’s just distracted. “You’re a twin?” 

L tilts his head very slightly. “Still no.” But there’s something different in his voice now — like it’s a game they’re playing, this guesswork. 

“Triplet, then.” 

L smiles. It’s sudden and starting. He tips his head further in Light’s direction and looks at him from the corners of his eyes. 

“Correct, Light-kun.” 

Light wants to say more, but the blue lights of the bus flash across the glass of the shelter. They reflect L’s face, turning him into a strange and scattered thing. Somehow both inhuman and more human than anyone has a right to be. He straightens his messenger back on his shoulder and steps out of the shelter. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?” he says, then hurries out.

[disneyanddisneyships]

@gyubby99 hehe

Warnings: alastor being ooc. Angst.

Summary: Alastor watches aponi sing a breakup song about him.

Aponi walked through the halls of the hotel.

Today was supposed to be alastors day off, so she decided to go practice her singing in the lobby with the grand piano that alastor had donated himself.

It had been a week since his former significant other came back into the picture, and aponi was practically heartbroken.

She had been avoiding him for days.

Sitting down at the table, she played the music froma. Pirated site that allowed sinners to listen to human songs.

And that she did. It was the karaoke version.

As the music placed, aponi kept up with the piano herself, her eyes closing as she took in the music and sang the lyrics.

I got my driver's license last week Just like we always talked about 'Cause you were so excited for me To finally drive up to your house But today I drove through the suburbs Cryin' 'cause you weren't around

Alastor walked through the halls, following a voice he recognized into the lobby.

And that when he saw her....

He hadn't seen her for a week....

He didn't know what the feeling was, but he just chalked it up to feeling guilty. Which he had never felt before... but this seemed more prominent. Like heartache.....

But he was I love with Ruth! He was when he was alive! He had to be in love with her now.

And yet, as he watches aponi, something in him breaks.

And you're probably with that blonde girl Who always made me doubt She's so much older than me She's everything I'm insecure about Yeah, today I drove through the suburbs 'Cause how could I ever love someone else?

As aponi sang, a tear fell from her eye. Sorrow..... so much sorrow.....

As alastor listened to the lyrics, his eyes widened. "Love"?

Since when? He's never even heard her mutter the words.

And yet here she was. Professing her love for some unknown person.

And alastor couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy flood through his body.

But.. no... he was with Ruth again. He loved Ruth.

And I know we weren't perfect but I've never felt this way for no one And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that I'm gone Guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me 'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

Alastor tilted his head.....

Usually he hated modern music. With a burning, fired passion, in fact... but right now... all he saw was the most beautiful woman get wrapped up in the emotions of a song.

He hadn't even processed what the words were saying.... at least not until he paid more attention.

Who in all hell was she singing this about?

And all my friends are tired Of hearing how much I miss you, but I kinda feel sorry for them 'Cause they'll never know you the way that I do, yeah Today I drove through the suburbs And pictured I was driving home to you

As aponi closed her eyes, she felt as if she had drifted off into who knows where, surrounded by music, and thoughts and feelings.

Unrequited love.....

How cliché.

And I know we weren't perfect But I've never felt this way for no one, oh And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that I'm gone I guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me 'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

As aponi sang softer she seemed to shrink in on herself.

Alastor watched her with a mix of feelings. Maybe even love....

No wait.

He was in love with Ruth.

Was.....

Red lights, stop signs I still see your face in the white cars, front yards Can't drive past the places we used to go to 'Cause I still fuckin' love you, babe (ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh) Sidewalks we crossed I still hear your voice in the traffic, we're laughing Over all the noise God, I'm so blue, know we're through But I still fuckin' love you, babe (ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)

As aponi belted the lyrics, a warm orange glow illuminated around her as she put her entire soul into her seemingly private performance.

Her voice cracked a few times from the heartbreak she felt....

Alastor watched on....

I know we weren't perfect but I've never felt this way for no one And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that I'm gone 'Cause you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me 'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street Yeah, you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

As the song finished, neither of the demons realized there was another.

Ruth.

She had been looking back and fourth between alastor and aponi......

She knew.

It was so painfully obvious, but of course she knew.....

As the song ended, aponi wiped away her tears, turning off her phone and cleaning up her area.

Alastor watched in heartache as she walked back into her room.

[paranoidkid]

I am trying so so hard to think and do things but it’s become increasingly difficult for some reason! (I know the reason)

it just feels really really bad to not have a car. if I didn’t have an emotional attachment to my car I dont think I’d feel this awful, but it feels like I just Lost A Family Member (again) and it’s really making things hard to comprehend.

for reference. my car that I drove was my grandmother’s car first, she bought it and owned it. Recently (a couple years ago) I borrowed it to start driving places without using my parents car, and my grandpa just told me to keep the car (my grandma had really severe dementia and couldn’t drive much less leave the house). cut to November of 2024 and my grandmother dies. it’s very sad. on top of her passing, it feels like we’d been mourning her for years, because she was barely able to remember any of us and could not function on her own. [deaths 1 and 2]

The car was an extension of my grandma, to me, on some level. it was Her Car. so when we got the title transferred to me, that was already one step away from it no longer being Her Car. and I’ve been working so so hard to keep that car going for as long as possible; it had a lot of shit wrong with it but I was just glad that It Drove and Had Air Conditioning. bonus points to the speakers, I loved my car speakers. [death 3]

Cut to today, someone blows through a red light in front of me, trying to pass through an intersection, and totals my car. everything about the situation is cut and dry, I am not at fault and nobody is seriously injured. but my car is gone. [death 4]

I’ve spent the entire day having arguments with my manager and a very long panic attack and being at the ER because I panicked so bad I thought I had a concussion (I didn’t hit my head and I was just extremely disoriented). I’ve forgotten how easy it is for me to have a severe response to something that wasn’t “that bad” all things considered. my life has not changed significantly, I am not injured, I got all of my things, my car is totaled, my grandma is dead. I’m really having rough time today.

[flowerandblood]

My Best Friend (25)

[modern! club owner • Aemond x fem!reader]    

[warnings: swearing, physical violence]

[description: Aemond has his own club and often does business at the home of one of his business associates. There he often meets his younger sister, with whom he develops a deeper relationship through shared secrets. This is slow burn love story.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

"Get out." Aemond tried his best to stay calm and not pull Y/N out of the car by force. He was standing in front of the open door on the side of her seat, they were under his apartment building. "I'll give you the keys to my apartment, you wait there and I'll be back in an hour."

"I don't want you to go to a place like this alone. I'll worry, I'd rather be with you." She said in a tone that brooked no argument. Aemond squeezed his eye shut. He wanted to grab her and just pull her arm by force, but she quickly unbuckled her seat belt and jumped over to the driver's seat. Aemond stared at her, not knowing whether to laugh or scream. “I will not stay here. You can't make me!" She said, moving as far away from him as possible so he couldn't reach her.

Aemond wondered why everyone was doing this to him, and for once, someone just couldn't listen to him. Talking to Alys, his mother, and now her, had completely exhausted his patience. However, just as he felt with Alys that he could really do something to her, watching her curled up fiercely in his seat, despite all his anger, he also felt undue gratitude. But he didn't want her to see it, or worse, that any harm would come to her there. He resented his irresponsibility in the park and did not want to repeat the same mistake.

“What if they take a picture of you and send it to your father? How am I supposed to explain to him why I took his daughter to a brothel?" He smoked through pursed lips. Y/N looked at him intensely.

"You will tell him the truth. That we went at your mother's request to get your hungover brother out." She said, shrugging her shoulders without changing her position an inch. Aemond sighed heavily and shook his head.

"I have no strength for you." He said as he closed the car door on her side and walked over to the driver's side, so she jumped back into the passenger seat, moving as far away from him as possible. He sat in his seat and started the engine, shooting her a murderous look. Y/N pursed her lips but said nothing.

They drove to the suburbs. Aemond stopped in front of the same building he'd picked up Aegon from last time. He sighed at the thought of having to go through the same thing again. He turned off the engine and looked at her.

"Stay in the car, I'll be right back." He said as he unbuckled his seatbelts and opened the door. Y/N wasn't going to do that though and left with him. Aemond looked at her like someone on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"I'm going to hurt you today." He said in a low, dangerous voice. Y/N only laughed at his words.

"No, you are not."

He had no idea where she got so much confidence around him. He was angry with himself that her laughter made him laugh inside out. For some reason, her approach made their trip seem like a silly adventure. He just shook his head. He wanted it over with.

"Come. Stay close to me." He said in a tone that brooked no argument. This time Y/N obeyed him, rushing over to him right away, keeping close to him. They entered the building, the staircase illuminated only by tiny red lights. By the descent to the cellar, naked women were smoking cigarettes, looking at them curiously. Y/N blushed at the sight of them, pressing herself tighter against his arm.

They went down the stairs, soft music played in the background, they could hear people talking, sighs, laughs and moans. There was a lot of smoke in the room they entered, mostly from cigarettes. Y/N had never seen a place like this before in her life. Plenty of naked and half-naked women sat with men and other women on couches, floors, tables, some in plain view, some hidden by translucent curtains.

She didn't know where her eyes should go. Her gaze wandered from one group of people to another. Women knelt in front of men with their pants down, others rode them, others injected them with a small syringe. Some people just had sex, in two, three or more people, others sat and talked, completely drunk. Y/N felt Aemond grab and squeeze her hand. He must have seen the shock and uncertainty on her face.

"Do you want to leave?" He asked quietly.

"No. I can handle this." She responded, feeling her heart pounding hard, and squeezed his hand tighter. She felt a whole range of emotions. Fear, excitement, curiosity and disgust at the same time. It seemed to her as if all these people were in some kind of trance.

Suddenly, among all these people, Y/N spotted Aegon sleeping between two naked women. She looked away, seeing that he was also naked. "He’s over there, on the bed against the wall." She said to Aemond without looking that way. Aemond turned his gaze there and Y/N felt his whole body tense. She knew he was furious.

"Wait for me here." He spoke softly through clenched teeth and walked towards his brother. Y/N obeyed him. She saw that they had already caught the attention of some of the people in the room. The men who were playing with other women were looking at her in a way that made her very uncomfortable. She felt as if she herself was naked. She glanced out of the corner of her eye at what Aegon was doing.

She saw that somehow Aemond had put pants on him. Aegon, however, seemed so drunk that he didn't even know what was happening to him. She saw him mumbling something to his younger brother, staggering and falling as Aemond tried to pick him up. It was a pitiful sight, and she wasn't surprised that Aemond hated doing it.

Aemond swung his arm around his neck, grabbing his waist with his other hand, and lifted him up. Y/N moved towards them, seeing that Aegon's legs were like rubber and he couldn't even take a step. Aemond gave her a stern look, but like him, she threw his arm over her neck and hugged him. He smelled terrible of alcohol and sweat, but she tried not to think about it.

Aemond ordered them to head for the stairs. She could see that he was furious and ashamed. But she didn't want to leave him alone. She didn't pay much attention to the couples sticking to each other's sides now, but she found this place to freeze her blood in some way. Aegon's babble snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Ah, who is it? Your girlfriend?" Aegon asked, his expression amused, his remark clearly arousing him. "You took her to a brothel and didn't fuck her?" He snorted, leaning his face closer to hers. She felt his drunken breath against her cheek. “My brother likes to pretend to be tough, but he really doesn't know how to make a woman happy. If you ever want to know…”

"Shut your mouth or I'll leave you here, you fucking bastard." Aemond shot suddenly, his eye dark with rage. Y/N swallowed hard, his brother's remark sending a shiver of embarrassment down her spine.

"See? He can only scare. But deep down, he’s a soft cunt." He laughed, and Aemond suddenly released him and shoved Aegon down the stairs in front of them. Y/N jumped, mouth opening in surprise and horror.

"Then crawl up those stairs yourself, fucking punk." He fired and kicked him in the stomach. Y/N grabbed him quickly, pulling him away. Aegon just cringed and coughed.

"Stop! It's no use, he's completely drunk." She said quickly, terrified of where this was all headed.

"When he's sober, he's the same. Fucking peace of shit. I should spit in your face." He said furiously, but Y/N squeezed his arm pleadingly. He looked at her, fury in his eyes. "You wanted to accompany me, now you have what you wanted. Enjoy it." He said, his voice dark and low, Y/N shivered and swallowed. She thought that he was on the verge and that she must be a sanctuary for him to keep him from going mad.

“Let's pick him up and carry him to the car. Not for him, but for your mother." She said softly, looking pleadingly at him. His jaw was clenched. He stared at her without a word, and his brother only moaned softly under their feet.

"No. I don’t care. Let him handle himself." He said stepping over him and heading up the stairs. "Let's go." He said in a voice that brooked no argument, but Y/N stood still. As if she hadn't heard him at all, she leaned over his brother and slung his arm around her neck again. Aemond had never looked at her with such fury before.

"Wake up, Aegon. Try to get up." She spoke to him gently. Aegon groaned, but made an attempt to get up. He managed to kneel down and slowly got up, resting his other hand against the wall. "A step up." She said calmly, and he tried to lift his foot and nearly fell over again. When he regained his balance, he slowly began to climb the stairs with her help, without any unnecessary comments. A large limo slowly formed on his cheek from the collision of his face with the stairs.

Aemond stared down at the scene with his lips pressed together. He finally came down when they were halfway up and helped them to the top. After a few minutes, they managed to get him into the back of his car. Aemond slammed the door shut, Y/N stepped closer to him, but he walked past her.

"Don't be angry with me." She spoke quickly to him, but he got into the car from the driver's side and slammed the door behind him. Y/N felt a pang in her heart, but she climbed into the car and silently buckled her seatbelt. Aemond started the engine and they drove through the city wordlessly. Once in a while, Aegon groaned from behind, tossing from side to side, falling into short dozes every time.

Y/N glanced at Aemond from time to time, but he was staring through himself. His face was stone. She knew what she had done made him furious beyond measure. But she knew that if they left Aegon there, the situation would be even more hopeless. She didn't want him to take it as a rejection, but she knew he resented her for not taking his side at the time.

"You're like my mother." He fired suddenly through clenched teeth, disapproval and revulsion in his voice. Her lips trembled and she felt tears welling up in her eyes.

"I’m sorry." It was all she could choke out. She stared at him for a moment, then turned her face to the window, clasping her hands in her lap. Fifteen minutes later they reached the outskirts of the other, much more prosperous part of the city.

It was already night, so Y/N couldn't see much. She was aware that they had entered a wealthy neighborhood full of huge houses. Aemond stopped in front of one, turned off the engine, and wordlessly unbuckled his seatbelt as he got out of the car. Y/N got off too.

"Get out." Aemond said impatiently to his brother, but he was on the edge of sleep and waking again, babbling to himself. Aemond pulled his arm in one swift motion, Y/N had to catch him to keep him from falling to the ground like a log. Aemond glared at her, but Y/N didn't care anymore. 

They led Aegon to the door, and Aemond rang the bell. After a while, they heard the sound of a lock opening, and his mother appeared in the doorway, already in a nightgown and bathrobe. When she saw Y/N, her eyes widened with surprise and embarrassment at the situation.

"Y/N, what are you doing here? Come in." She said, moving away. Aemond and Y/N went to put Aegon on his bed in his room, but he vomited on the floor as soon as he stepped through the door.

"Fantastic." Aemond said coldly, Y/N only swallowed silently. Their mother just waved her hand, trying to smile, though her eyes expressed desperation.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it later."

They took Aegon to his room and laid him on the bed. His mother wiped his face, which was stained all over with his vomit. Aemond looked away, he couldn't look at it.

"Will you stay overnight at our house? It's already so late. We could have breakfast and lunch together tomorrow." Their mother said, rising, a note of hope in her tone. It disappeared as soon as Aemond laughed.

"I take your eldest son out of the brothel at least once a week, and you want me to have a nice dinner with him tomorrow?" He asked amused, but his face was tense, his gaze cold. Y/N had never seen him like this before, she looked at him with pain and horror. His mother flinched at his words and looked down in embarrassment.

"We haven't eaten together in years." She said softly. Aemond looked away, enraged. He shook his head, stared at the point beneath his feet.

"I will never go for him again. Never. It was the last time. Understand?" He asked, looking at her with eyes full of regret. "I know you often forget this, but I am your son too."

_____

If you want to be tagged, just leave a comment. ~

@chainsawsangel​​​​​​​  @yentroucnagol​​​​​​ @cardi-bre91​​​​​​ @melsunshine​​​​​​ @bellaisasleep​​​​​​ @candypurplebutterfly​​​​​​ @malfoytargaryen​​​​​​ @serrhaewin​​​​​​ @svtansdaddyx​​​​​​  @iiamthehybrid​​​​​​  @beiigegalx​​​​​​ @sarahkimtae​​​​​​ @fangirlninja67​​​​​​ @namoreno​​​​​​ @thetrueblackheart​​​​​

[peep-is-writing]

Chapter 1 of The Empty World:

Warnings: there will be swearing because swearing is fun. There will also be nsfw in later chapters, because this is also fun. Nothing and no one tells me what to write.

If you are younger than 18 years old: GO AWAY I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOU. Sorry kids. This is an 18+ story and I’m working on putting everything under a read more so no one stumbles across it. Please be patient.

Where is everyone?

As cliche as it might sound, Mel’s day truly did started like any other: with the sound of her alarm. She never did get up on the first ring, and often referred to the many times hitting the snooze button as time to process being alive. She really needed them today, she felt like she was coming out of hibernation or something. Eventually she got up, went to the bathroom, got dressed, and was out the door by 6:40. It was a comfortable routine that she had worked to perfect so she could have a 15 minute buffer in case there was excessive traffic, and also gave her just enough time to go to the bathroom and grab everything she needed before she started her shift. It was hard being a baby teacher, but the little faces of her students made it all worthwhile.

The first odd thing of the day was barely noticed: the neighbor’s dogs didn’t bark as she walked past their apartment. It was odd, but elicited more of a sigh of relief rather than any red flag. “The dogs must be just as tired as I am,” Mel thought to herself. It’s not like she held a grudge against their barking, it was their nature, and she loved to pet them when she got the chance.

It was just as quiet outside, which wasn’t too odd either. It was late January, and Mel didn’t even pause to think about it before turning on her music and starting her commute.

Mel always had a seed or two of worry in her gut. Anxiety was something she had learned to live around since she was a kid, after all. But there was one that started to slowly crack open as she noticed something:

there were no other cars on the road.

Mel checked the clock in her dashboard, and then her watch. It was definitely 6:45, and no matter how early her shift was there was always someone on the road. It was something Mel could easily dismiss, but that seed of worry let out its first little tendril, finding purchase in the depth of her gut.

The lights were off in the local coffee shop. Mel always went through the drive through for a donut before work. All part of her comfortable routine. She dutifully drove around the small building looking for signs of life, even waited a bit at the speaker, but there was no response except for the automated greeting.

Mel’s eyebrows furrowed, just a pout of uncertainty. This place was always open in the mornings but there was not a soul in sight.

Mel was uneasy as she continued to work, but continued to brush off her worry even as she traveled the empty road the seed of worry had rooted itself firmly in the foundation of her gut and began to creep upwards.

A tendril curled itself around her heart as she pulled into the small parking lot of the preschool. There wasn’t a single car in the lot except for the bus used to take the older kids to school. There wasn’t anyone parked in the street either. It didn’t make any sense, the school should have been open for at least an hour and by LAW there had to be two employees in the building as long as there were any kids.

Mel checked her phone. It wasn’t the weekend. It was a Wednesday, and school was almost never cancelled on a Wednesday. She looked at the work schedule, and there she was scheduled to start at 7:30. She sent a quick text asking where everyone was, and then checked her phone to see what day it was.

But the date displayed by her phone made no sense, because there is no such date as January 33. That is not how dates work. You know that, I know that, and Mel knew that. It was not something that should be possible, how could a phone even glitch like that? It connected to the internet automatically and surely SOMEONE would have fixed it by now!

Now, I could go into the details of everyone she called, every person she texted, every place she went, but the simple truth is that Mel could not find or contact a single other human being. Not only that, but she couldn’t even find any animals. There were no cats, dogs, birds, ANYTHING.

Other than the absence of any living things that Mel could see, there was no evidence of what had happened. It would have almost been better if she had found a body, blood, any of the gruesome details that Mel had come to expect from apocalypse movies. But there was nothing. No clues, no answers. Just questions. It was like everything on earth had just dropped what they were doing and vanished.

The seed of anxiety that had sprouted that morning had been growing steadily throughout the day. It pushed itself into the chambers of her heart, wrapped itself around her lungs, and crept up her spine and into her skull.

The bramble of her brain was budding with questions as she drove along the lonely road. The machete of reason had broken hours ago, and she no longer had any defense from the greenery that threatened to burst from her eyes. The only question you need to know is the one that broke her:

What happened to the babies?

The full bloom of Hysteria finally took hold of Mel. Tears blossomed from her eyes as the bramble crushed her heart and choked her lungs with desperate sobs. She could barely keep her eyes open as she cried out at the horrific realization that whatever had happened to the creatures of this empty hellish world had also happened to the little humans that she had built her life around. In the absence of any information, her brain filled in the blanks with nebulous and malicious horrors.

She had to stop the car.

She stepped on the brakes, careful not to slam or swerve, but she did not pull off to the side of the road. Mel would have been grateful if someone had run into her, if they had honked their horn, ANYTHING to break the spell and return her to the world she knew. But the seed that started it all sat heavy as a stone in her gut, solid and undeniable as the steering wheel of her car: something horrible had happened. And Mel could no longer hide behind rationalization, because this WAS her new reality.

Mel sat there until her sobbing finally died down. She felt so hollow. All she could do was stare out of her window at the empty sky, nothing but clouds.

No.

There was something.

A single trail of smoke going directly into the sky.

Not a sign of life in itself, but where there is smoke there is fire, and where there is fire there are probably humans.

Mel didn’t know whether it was a flare, a cooking fire, or just the start of some accidental blaze. But it was the only source of hope she had and she knew that it wouldn’t be long until the wind blew it away.

Without another thought she put her car into gear and sped off in search of whatever answers this clue led to.

[crowinahole]

Yes I do want to get my Ps but I am genuinely so sick of fucking driving right now, I drove to school for my exam, I drove all over south side and that shitty ass traffic with people slamming on brakes and just general red light camera which make me so paranoid. I also had to drive through the god awful car park at a shop and someone was sitting right up my ass while I was trying to reverse park which made me do a shit park and god I fucking hate it. I have to drive at least three more times today just to get people places and to get my hours up in time for my Ps. I am genuinely going no where tmrrw. I don’t care, I am SO SICK OF THAT FUCKIN CLUTCH

[daydreamsandafternoonteafics]

Crossroads-Chapter 6

banner by shesaidpoptarts

"You're taking prenatal vitamins, right? You should probably be working on your maternity wardrobe as well, you'll be showing in no time,"

I press my mobile close against my ear hardly listening to my mother's ramblings as I peep into the pot of simmering meat and vegetables. The house had that eerie silence that I absolutely couldn't stand and a light shower of rain had pelted against the roof all morning. It was a quaint and quiet Saturday morning and as much as I usually enjoyed them I wasn't in the best mood.

Harry had left in the wee hours of the morning without waking me to say goodbye and needless to say I was completely disappointed to wake up to an empty bed. We were once again on our silent treatment basis after my suggestion to attend couples therapy. I'd voiced a simple and valid concern somehow managed to piss him off and I couldn't figure out why. Our constant fighting was obvious and it drove me insane how he kept insisting otherwise. It was already bad enough when we weren't on speaking terms but it always felt a million times worse when he took the angst with him. The thought of something happening and my last memory of him being a bitter one never failed to haunt me.

"We can go shopping today if you want," Mom continues.

Ever since I'd revealed my pregnancy it was hard to get my mother to talk about anything else. She was hands down the most excited person regarding the baby. Her enthusiasm was unmatched.

I sigh. As much as I really needed new bras I really wanted to be alone today.

" I would," I reply slowly. "but I've got chili and cornbread to bring over to a repass at noon." I eye the kitchen clock. It was just past ten-thirty.

"How depressing," she replies. "maybe later?"

I feel bad wanting to avoid her. I just knew her mother's intuition would kick in and see through my facade.

"I should be around the coast this afternoon." comes my vague reply.

On second thought it did sound nice to escape this miserable and drafty house for a while.

"Great," Mom practically squeals. "we can catch lunch or dinner when you come around. You are eating enough, right?"

I can't help but chuckle at how protective she's become in the past few days whilst staring down at the small bump under my shirt.

While it was still quite hard to tell I was pregnant, I was certainly starting to feel more like it. My hips were slowly beginning to widen, making me resort to wearing skirts, dresses and yoga pants as most of my jeans were becoming too small. My back had already begun to ache as the baby's arms and legs grew longer and I was beginning to feel winded. Physically I was feeling great if only my emotional health was up to par.

"Yes, Mom." I reply "I'm eating plenty. Baby Styles is well fed." ***** I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel, letting out a deep breath as I stared at the quaint little house in front of me. A few cars were parked in the driveway, the crowd goers of the repass having yet to arrive, and a black ribbon hanging ominously on the front door.

Most people around town requested my services for happy occasions: retirement parties, bridal and baby showers and birthdays. It was very rare that someone wanted my food for sad occasions. I hardly knew how to act. While I'd managed to witness Ryan lose his mother, I could never imagine the pain of grieving someone first hand. I'd never lost anyone close to me. My matching mauve top and skirt seemed far too cheery for the occasion and what would I say? "Sorry for your lost but enjoy the food"?

With a deep sigh I unbuckled my seatbelt and grabbed the Tupperware containers, careful not to spill anything as I sauntered up the sidewalk. Ringing the doorbell with my manicured finger, I nervously waited, cursing myself for suddenly feeling the urge to run to the bathroom at a time like this. Just as soon as I pushed the thought out of my head, the door swung open.

"Hello there," a red-headed woman dressed in a black tweed dress greets me with a tight-lipped, polite grin. Her face looks aged with grief and the dark circles under her eyes that have been masked with concealer still manage to smile through. "Are you here for Jim?"

I plaster on a smile hoping my confusion doesn't show.

"I'm sorry?"

"James Anderson? The deceased."

"Oh, I'm sorry, no." I stammer. "I'm from Groovy Goods. My name's River, I spoke to someone named Rose about an order of chili for the repass?"

Her brown eyes light up.

"Oh yes, the chili. Dad loved chili. Mom would have made it herself but she hasn't got the energy, you know? Daddy really loved Mom's chili. I'm Michelle by the way, Jim's daughter." I flash a small smile fearing that a full-out smile will be inappropriate.

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

Michelle leans against the door frame with a sigh.

" You know, Mom and Dad were together for forty-five years. Isn't that amazing? They were a soul mates, you could really tell, " she grins at the memory. " one night they go to bed and the next morning he just doesn't wake up. Daddy always said when he went he wanted to be by Mom's side- and he was. I just don't know what Mom is going to do now that he's not here. They were never apart for long and this-this is permanent."

While listening to her heartfelt story my mind immediately goes to Harry. We were a young couple just as Michelle's parents had once been but instead of cherishing each other we spent most our time bickering or not even talking at all. Were we even soul mates? Would we ever grow old together? Did we even feel the same way about each other as these two had? Before I could even process my emotions I had burst into hysterical tears.

"Oh, dear. I hadn't meant to make you cry. My father just died and you're crying harder than I have."

I could only blink back my tears as I was still holding the Tupperware.

"I'm sorry, " I hiccup. "I just- I'm just thinking about my own husband right now. He's away for a few days and I've been a bit worried."

It was a perfectly generic explanation for speaking with a perfect stranger. Plus I felt it was a bit too early to pull the hormonal-pregnant-woman card.

" As corny as it sounds, maybe you should call him-tell him you love him. What Mom would give to tell Daddy that once more,"

She reaches into the pocket of her dress retrieving a few dollar bills.

"That should about cover it, " she declares holding the money out to me.

I shake my head.

"I couldn't- it doesn't feel right. You're family's had enough expenses already. This one's on the house."

The corner of her lips turn up into the slightest smile.

"Would you like to come inside for maybe a slice of coffee cake? I know you didn't know my father but you're one of the nicest people that's passed by the house in the past few days. And you've worked so hard on the chili I have to repay you somehow."

I smile, shaking my head once more as I hand over the Tupperware.

"No thank you. I should be going now. Feel free to keep the containers and please give your mother my condolences." I reply.

"I will. Thank you so much, River. I wish you and your husband the best."

"Thank you and no problem."

With a final wave I make my way back down the driveway. I sit in my car for a few minutes, soaking in my conversation Michelle. The chiming of my cell phone soon breaks my thoughts and I realize I have a few texts from Mom and a missed call from Ryan but absolutely nothing from Harry. I wonder how he could do it, being miles and miles away from me and not once think to call me. Even if we weren't on speaking terms it only felt right. Why wouldn't he call?

Before driving off I decided to call Ryan back, placing the phone on speaker in order to multitask. I waited a bit for the dial tone until his deep voice could be heard on the other line.

"Hey, Angel," he greets me.

"Hey," comes my simple and flat reply.

"Why do you sound so glum?"

I draw in a deep breath no wanting to go into a spill about the emotional tidal wave I'd be riding since I'd opened my eyes this morning.

"I'm driving and I just left a repass."

The line is silent for a bit before he speaks.

" Who died?"

"No one I know. Just a family in need of chili Anyways, what's up?"

"Let's meet up for lunch," he speaks. "And I'm not taking no for an answer, Audley."

It was funny. As much as I didn't want to be bothered today, I was just a magnet for human interaction. I thought about the quick breakfast of yogurt and granola I'd managed to burn off and eating sounded like a good outlet to relieve my angst.

"Pushy. You're lucky I'm hungry." **** "Anyways, the first time turned out better than the last,"

I'd hardly been paying attention to anything Ryan said since we'd been sat at our table. I was far too engrossed in my food. As I was getting into the groove of the second trimester my appetite had come back with a full force. It was safe to say I was back to enjoying food as I had before. Okay, maybe a lot more than I had before.

"Are you going to come up for air anytime soon, Angel?" he stares at me under the New York Giants ball cap that covers his messy chestnut-colored hair with wide blue eyes and an eyebrow arched in amusement.

I can feel my face burn red with embarrassment. Ryan had hardly finished his meal and I was already on dessert, having already inhaled more than half a slice of carrot cake.

"I'm sorry," I giggle. "my appetite's been very ferocious lately."

I still haven't told Ryan about my pregnancy. He was probably the last to know and while I had every intention to tell him, it didn't feel right breaking the news whilst stuffing my face.

Ryan grins.

"Hungry enough to eat for two?"

"Maybe."

He stares down at his plate briefly before meeting my gaze.

"So it's true then," he speaks.

I trap my lip between my teeth, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"What's true?" I question, folding my arms on top of the table.

"That you're knocked up," Ryan replies simply.

I blink slightly taken aback by his crass response.

"How do you know that?"

He shrugs, a small smirk settling on his lips.

"People talk in this town, Audley. I mean, it's all your mother will talk about,"

There was certainly no lie there. This wasn't the way I'd intended on telling him.

I stare down at my half-eaten slice of cake with a sigh. Ryan was my best friend. I didn't understand why it felt so nervous and awkward about breaking the news to him.

"Well then hear it from the horse's mouth. Yes, it's true. I'm having a baby."

He takes a sip of coffee, chuckling to himself.

"What's so funny?" I ask.

I can feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment once more.

"It's just, yesterday we were kids," he sighs wistfully. "and today you're going to be a mother."

A small grin settles on my lips as I place my hand on top of his.

" Ry. We haven't been kids for so long. This was bound to happen anyway, right?"

It was something I'd been telling myself to get through the first few weeks of being aware of the baby growing inside me but there was always something deep down inside that kept telling me this wasn't the right timing.

"Maybe for you. I don't think I'm cut out for the whole marriage and babies bit."

I pick up my fork.

"There's someone out there for you, Ryan. You're unmarried and attractive. That's an automatic catch." I quip.

Ryan grins.

"Where can I find a woman in this town that's over eighteen and under forty that's isn't already married and hasn't been divorced?"

I chortle.

"Try to be positive. You'll never get a woman with that attitude. Besides, what happened to that girl you brought to the wedding? She was really pretty."

He chuckles once more.

"That was almost four years ago and one night. I just didn't want to go alone. "

"You men are so ungrateful"

We eat in silence for a bit until Ryan speaks again.

"So, are you happy?"

The question completely catches me off guard and I drop my fork onto the plate with a clatter, my breath hitching in my throat.

"Happy? About what?"

I know the answer but maybe playing dumb will make the truth a bit easier to swallow. "The baby," he answers simply.

I tuck a fallen strand of hair behind my ear, taking in a deep breath.

"There's so many emotions I've felt in the past few weeks it's really hard to put them all together. I just want this baby to have the very best. Everything I didn't have. "

"That wasn't a trick questions, Angel. Just a simple yes or no."

He stares at me with his deep blue eyes as if he already knows the answer.

"It wasn't really the right time," I admit. " but I'm excited. And scared as hell."

I stare down at the table top, hoping to avoid his gaze. It's the first time I've been completely honest about my feelings about my pregnancy and I feel so ashamed to let the words leave my mouth.

"I figured," he replies. " It's Harry, isn' t it?"

Hearing his name pass through Ryan's lips makes my stomach twist into knots and I push my plate away from me, having lost my appetite.

"No," I reply, biting my lip to keep it from trembling.

He sighs.

"You always walk around like you've got it all figured out but I know you better than that, Audley. Behind that Wonder Woman exterior is a different kind of girl. You don't have to pretend for me."

I don't know if his words are more offensive because they're true or because he's the last person I want to hear them from.

"Pretend?" I scoff, choking back the lump in my throat. "I'm not pretending. My feelings have nothing to do with Harry. "

I say the words with bravado but I know I have zero confidence in them. I could just be honest and admit that I was having a horrible time in my marriage but it somehow felt like forbidden territory. Ryan couldn't understand how complicated marriage could be and I was too prideful to admit that my own marriage was destined for failure.

"River," Ryan sighs. I know he's absolutely serious, he never calls me River. "stop vouching for him. You can just be honest with me. He's the reason you're not happy about this."

I snatch up my purse whilst pushing myself up from the table completely outraged by his bold accusation.

"You know what? I don't need you to be a therapist right now, Ryan. What I need you to be is my best fucking friend who's happy for me."

He strokes his beard in frustration. It's obvious he knows he's crossed the line.

"Audley, you know I support everything you do. Just, please sit down."

In my constant state of erratic emotions his words do little to appease me.

" I spent all my childhood wondering who my father was and longing to have a normal family like you. And now I'm having a baby of my own. A baby who will know who their father is and have a mom and a dad. Whether I'm happy is completely irrelevant."

"Shit. I'm sorry,"

I blink back the tears that have already made their way down my cheeks.

" Just- Don't. I really need to leave. I wasn't in the mood for this anyway."

I didn't even stay to listen to his half-ass apologies or see the look of remorse on his face. None of that could fix the damage that had already been done. *** "This looks really good, Adele."

I eye the bowl of pesto pasta and fresh salad in the wooden bowls, mouth watering in anticipation. After my horrible lunch with Ryan, I'd stuck to my promise of spending the rest of the day with Mom managing to forget about all my woes for a time being. There was usually nothing being with my mom and a little pasta couldn't fix.

"Don't thank me," she smiles, pulling out her chair to take a seat. "I didn't make any of it." While the couples staying at the B&B were having dinner in the dining hall, Mom and Adele had suggested to eat on the terrace overlooking the beach. The sun has set, the moon dancing over the gentle waves that crash along the shore and a jazzy rendition of "My Silent Love" carries from the dining hall. It's the most beautiful and perfect of moments, the kind you'd search through your lexicon of memories for on a rainy day.

"Well, I'm eternally grateful to whoever is responsible," she speaks, going to pick up her silverware.

"The other option was fish but I figured it wouldn't be a good choice for our little mother," Adele flashes a smile at which I return although I'd rather not get into anymore baby talk.

"You know, I was thinking," Mom dumps a pile of pasta on my plate before continuing. " we can have your baby shower here. All the expenses will be paid for. All you have to do is bring yourself. And anyone else you might want to invite."

"Mom," I chide whilst reaching for a croissant. "I'm not due till November. Isn't it a bit too early to be planning a shower?"

She chuckles.

"River, babies grow fast. You can blink and the next thing you know you've got a squealing infant in your arms. You've got to plan these things ahead of time, otherwise you won't be prepared,"

I knew my mom was right but I couldn't help but feel as if I was being scolded. While most parents had names and nursery ideas by now, I'd thought no further than the next day.

"Your mom's right, River." Adele chimes.

My only response is to stuff my mouth with food, hoping that the topic of conversation can be moved on to something else.

"Do you even have a birthing plan?"

She stares at me, eyebrow raised and awaiting a response.

"I'm still thinking about it." I lie.

Mom shoots me a look that warns me of her super-mom powers that can see through my lies and I go back to eating, avoiding her gaze. A wave of relief washes over me when I feel my mobile vibrating in my pocket.

Glancing at the caller ID, my stomach flutters with excitement at the sight of Harry's name. This was the call I'd been waiting for all day.

"Excuse me, I have to take this." I speak, gingerly rising from my chair. I walk closer to the water where its a bit more quiet and press the receiver to my ear.

"Hello? Babe?" his deep voice drawls.

I bite my lip, trying to contain my grin.

"Harry. I'm so happy to hear your voice," I greet, steadying my breath. "how'd the flight go, did you land safely?"

"Yeah, yeah," It was fine." he replies before pausing for a while. "is that music I hear? I didn't interrupt anything did I?"

"Oh, no! I'm just having dinner at Mom's. The ocean's really pretty tonight. I wish you were here."

I wait for him to say he misses me too but he says nothing.

"Listen, darling, I was wondering if you could pick up my dry-cleaning slip? I meant to do it before I left but it slipped my mind and I won't be back until Tuesday. Don't want anyone else snatching up my clothes."

I suddenly feel as if I've taken a swift blow to the gut and I draw in a deep breath, trying to contain my anger. He wouldn't even wake me up to say goodbye but he can call about a stupid dry-cleaning slip.

"Your dry-cleaning." I laugh, although nothing is funny. "Yeah, sure. I'll take care of it." I can already feel the tears of frustration stinging my eyes.

"Thanks, babe."

"Well, you probably have more important things to do than talk to me so I'll go now."

My voice comes out wobbly and I wish I would stop getting so goddamned emotional about everything.

"Alright. Thanks again. Love ya."

"I love you too, Harry," I reply, brushing away a fallen tear.

I give no chance for a final goodbye quickly pushing my mobile back into my pocket. I glance at the sea, a deep sadness brewing in my chest as the melody from inside drifts on the wind.

You'll go along, never dreaming I care Loving somebody,somewhere Leaving me my silent love.

[cvbullshit]

LV Triangle Incorrect Quotes

Y/N: Dust, gather the others. We need to have another Crimson-is-doing-something-stupid-again-and-we-have-to-stop-them-before-they-hurt-someone convention.

Y/N: Has anyone seen Crimson? Dust: Hold on, I got this. *clears throat* Dust: Bill Nye the science guy! Crimson, crashing through the door: BILL BILL BILL BILL BILL

Dust: Crimson and I were crossing the street, and this man drove by and honked at us. Y/N: What did you do? Dust: They chased him to the next red light, and reached into his window, and- Crimson: *walking in* Who wants a steering wheel?

Crimson: sapnu puaS. Dust: What?? Y/N: What language is that. Crimson: Turn your phone 180 degrees. *Crimson was removed from the groupchat*

Y/N: So, Crimson is no longer allowed to take the trash out at night. Dust: Why? Y/N: Because I've caught them trying to train raccoons to fight five times in a row. Crimson, arms crossed and pouting: You'll be thanking me when the third raccoon battalion saves your ass.

Dust: I didn't drink that much last night. Crimson: You were flirting with Y/N. Dust: So what? They're my partner. Crimson: You asked if they were single. Crimson: And then you cried when they said they weren't.

Dust: Ooh, somebody has a crush Crimson: Pfft, I don’t have a crush on Y/N I just think they’re cool, it’s not like I stay up at night thinking about them. *Later that night* Crimson, very much awake: Uh oh.

Dust: Wow! Y/N made you cry? Crimson, tearing up: Yes, and they said some really mean things that are only partly true.

Y/N: If I say I love you, will you say it back? Dust: Yes. Y/N: I love you. Dust: It back. *Later* Crimson: Why is Y/N crying face-down on the floor?

Dust, holding a rock: Crimson just gave this to me and said "I feel like you deserve the moon but all I can give you is a rock". Y/N: If you don't marry them, I will.

Dust: I’ve never asked someone out. How do you even do it? Crimson: Oh, what I do is, I look them up and down and I say: “Hey… how you doin’?” Y/N, scoffing: Oh, please. Crimson, to Y/N: Hey, how you doin’? Y/N: Y/N: *giggles and blushes*

*Something crashes* Dust: Shoot- Y/N: *running into the room in a panic* WHAT FELL?! Crimson: *walking by the room calmly* What died?

Y/N: We need to distract these guys. The voices of the sympathetic: Leave it to me. The voices of the sympathetic: Centaurs have six limbs and are therefore insects. Discuss. The voices of the guarded & The voice of the indifferent chaos: *immediately begin arguing*

The voices of the sympathetic: Where is The voices of the guarded? The voice of the indifferent chaos: I'll do you one better, who is The voices of the guarded?? Y/N: Here's a better question, why is The voices of the guarded?

The voices of the sympathetic & The voices of the guarded in the back of The voice of the indifferent chaos's car: MCDONALDS! MCDONALDS! MCDONALDS! Y/N: We have food at home. The voice of the indifferent chaos: *pulls into the McDonald's drivethrough* The voices of the sympathetic & The voices of the guarded: YAYYYYYY! The voice of the indifferent chaos: *orders one black coffee and leaves*

The voice of the indifferent chaos: I am darkness. I am an power. I am your worst nightmare. I could kill a man in more ways than you can imagine. I am the night. I am fury, I am a weapon, I am- The voices of the sympathetic: A doll. The voices of the guarded: A cinnamon roll. Y/N: A sweetheart. The voice of the indifferent chaos: The voice of the indifferent chaos: ...stop it.

The voices of the guarded: I fell down the stairs today... Y/N: I hope you're okay. The voices of the sympathetic: Stop falling down the stairs. The voice of the indifferent chaos: How'd the ground taste?

The voice of the indifferent chaos: Oh god, they texted you ‘hi.’’ punctuation only means one thing, Y/N. They're mad at you. Y/N: No, it's The voices of the guarded. They're just being gramatically correct! *meanwhile* The voices of the guarded: And then I used a period so they'd know that I'm mad at them. The voices of the sympathetic: A period doesn't say 'I'm mad', it says 'you're dead to me'. The voices of the guarded: I stand by my choice.

The voices of the sympathetic, holding a Wii mote with a knife attached: Are Wii gonna have a problem? Y/N, bringing out their switch remote with a blade: You best switch up that attitude. -An hour later...- The voice of the indifferent chaos, in the ambulance: Wii-U! Wii-U! Wii-U! The voices of the guarded: I hate this fucking family.

The voices of the guarded, pointing to the wall: What color is this? The voices of the sympathetic: Gray. Y/N: Grey. The voices of the guarded, turning to The voice of the indifferent chaos: Now tell them what color you think it is. The voice of the indifferent chaos: Dark white.

LV Triangle Brainrot is real