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cherry-leclerc · 6 months ago

Text

star-crossed ☆ mv1

genre: angst, fluff, humor, lots of back and forth, smut

word count: 9.1k

Fixated, you and Max struggle to stay away from one another. All the while, everyone tries to convince you that it won't ever work out.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...penetrative sex, fingering

inspired by this !

cherry here!...as a wise person once told me: footnotes = crumbs. hope that helps!! enjoy :)

The table was long, practically going for miles, but not really—it was just your closest friends. They all converse with one another, talking about the upcoming season, the upcoming season, and oh, what’s that? The upcoming season. And you’ve had enough of it, he can tell, so he gently rubs his thumb over your hand, easing your nervous tick.

White florals lay neatly on the wooden top, fairy lights hang up above your heads, and Frank Sinatra plays from your fiancé’s phone, connected to the Bluetooth.

Pierre stands up firmly, clinking his glass with a spoon. When it doesn’t seem to get anyones attention, Alex lets out a loud whistle. Everyone’s heads turn. “Merde—finally. Well, first of all, welcome on behalf of the groom's best man!” Crickets. His smile drops. “I-Its me. I’m the best man.”

“More like Best Party Killer. Sit down,” Daniel yells, aiming a peony at his friend's head.

The Frenchman swats it away, to which Kika glares as it hits her. He nervously chuckles, pecking her cheek, swiftly. “Comme je le disais…we’re here to celebrate two very important people. Can ya take a guess?”

“Why did you choose Pierre as your best man again?” you whisper to the twenty-six year old. He shrugs, hushing you once before his watercolor eyes flicker back to his friend.

“Any more guesses?”

“Okay, thank you!” you yelp, standing up and motioning him down. “Thank you, Pierre, for saying a whole lot of nothing, really.”

The blue eyed boy silently pleads, hands pressed together in prayer. “Oui, oui, I’m done, I’m done.” A warm hand snakes to wrap around your wrist and you sigh, sitting back down onto his lap. He clears his throat. “I thought we could go around and…share some stories about the soon-to-be husband and wife. I’ll start.”

“Great,” Kika groans, massaging her temples.

“September 4, 2022.”

Circuit Zandvoort—September 4, 2022 (Dutch Grand Prix)

“You said it would be warm!”

Lissie squeals when you reach out to pinch her forearm. “I said slightly warm. More so cool.” A harsh glare. She winces. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Despite the evident goosebumps, you march your way over to the pen, awaiting your first interview. Lissie stands besides you, raising two thumbs up and a toothy grin. You got this! Your stomach churns as you fix your set up. She’s right, you’ve worked for this moment, day and night. You weren't going to mess up for any reas—

“Should I just come back later or…”

Blinking, your heart stops beating as your mouth runs completely dry. He looks around for his publicist who just sighs and starts tugging him away.

And we’re here with Max Verstappen, Lissie hisses—assisists. Coughing loudly, you bring up the microphone to your lips. “Max Verstappen!” The RedBull driver turns back to face you, clearly puzzled. You cringe at your sudden outburst, but continue. “So nice to see you. Saw you had a magnificent drive.”

Blue eyes pierce basically through your soul. He smiles, shoulders relaxing, hands leaning against the barrier. “Yeah. We did have a lot of luck on our side today. Plenty.”

It wasn’t that hard to pick up from there, question after question being basically given to you, to which he answers with professional ease. His dimples even pop out with every punctuation, it makes your chest swell. You clear your throat, eyes flickering to your list that now narrows down to one last inquiry.

“Everyone nowadays fears you, it seems like.” He laughs, rolling his eyes. “But I do have one question—how does it feel to be the villain in all of Formula One?”

His smile slips away. “Sorry?”

“Uh-oh,” Lissie mutters.

But you don’t catch onto it, his sudden defensive tone, his dark glare. Beaming like the sun on the earth, you nod. “Well you aren’t the most liked, per se. Often hated by others. Do you think your dominance has affected your relationship with the drivers on the grid?”

When you finally look up, you clearly notice his change in demeanor, and that makes you flinch. We should get going, his publicist squeaks, already pushing him away. Let’s not air that last question, thank you.

Fiercely, you turn to face your friend. “I still had a minute left!”

“Why would you say that?” she screeches. “Why, why, why?”

You blink. “I’m lost. What did I do wrong?”

The brunette sighs, brown orbs analyzing the short clip. “You got on Max Verstappen’s bad side, that’s what.”

“Their relationship had started rather…rocky,” Pierre announces, swaying his hands back and forth for emphasis. “But don’t you worry! I. Fixed. Everything.”

“She really said that?”

Max whips his head to Checo, then to Yuki, then to Pierre. Each wears a loopy smile. He scowls. “She’s new here, she must be—I’ve never seen her before. Who does she think she is?”

“A legend, that’s who,” the Frenchman retorts, almost high and mighty.

Max takes a long sip of his energy drink before scoffing. “I don’t care if she’s royalty, I’m never willingly doing an interview with her ever again.”

A few hours have now rolled by and you’ve finally realized—you messed up. Here you go, basically painting him out to be the bad guy, when really, he’s just a strong driver. No one thinks he’s a villain, you think he’s a villain.

“You think he’s going to protest against me? Get me fired? Boycott? Hates me?”

Lissie giggles, tidying up the equipment from the last round. “No. No. No. Maybe?”

Groaning, you hit your forehead over and over again with your clipboard before a sharp accent makes you stop. “Hello.”

“Oh! Hi!”

His lips stretch, then steps closer to you. “I’m Pierre—”

“I know who you are,” you cut him off. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m—”

“New?”

Your cheeks burn up at his accuracy. “Yes?”

“I thought so,” he pronounced with a goofy grin. Annoyance builds up inside of you but hold back and bite your tongue. The Frenchman fixes his sunglasses that lay on the bridge of his nose. “So…I’m going to take the chance and say that what you asked wasn’t meant to hurt his feelings?”

You soften up quickly. “I hurt his feelings?”

A nose scrunch. “Let me backtrack; Max doesn’t have feelings, therefore there’s nothing to hurt, but he does hold killer grudges, so yeah.” He lifts the frames. “He doesn’t like you.”

“Lovely,” Lissie mumbles from her spot besides you. “Is there a way…we…can fix all this misunderstanding? Because that’s what this is! A misunderstanding!”

The Alpha Tauri driver clicks his tongue in deep thought. “There’s not much to do other than apologize. Explain yourselves, maybe? He’s very Old-Fashioned.”

“Okay, yes.” You scurry down the paddock. “I could do that! I could so do that.”

“Other way!” he yells. Turning around, you see him pointing you down to the right. You giggle, nervously, and continue your sprint.

You catch him quite fast; his tall stature and blond hair are pretty easy to spot. “Hey—hi!” Gasping for air, you clutch onto your side. “H-hello. Again.”

His jaw ticks once, and in an eerie motion, a warm smile forms. You shudder. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to apologize about before. That was not the right thing to say, I am so sorry…please don’t demand for my release.”

A dark brow quirks up, looks around, then back down to you. “I’m not here to ruin your life, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

You sigh in relief. “God. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Crouching down to you, he tilts his head to the side with a sly grin. “You’re very welcome, but that doesn’t mean I like you.”

Your breath hitches, shivers spreading like a wildfire. “Sorry?”

“Yeah.” He steps away. “You already said that.”

“He was a bit guarded. Definitely guarded.”

“Isn’t this supposed to make me look good?” your fiancé grunts, dark eyes narrowing down on the Frenchman. “You know what? Just sit down.”

Pierre smirks. “See? Guarded.”

Autodromo Nazionale Monza—September 11, 2022 (Italian Grand Prix)

“I’m not a quitter.”

“There we go!”

“But he makes me want to quit.” “Oh, well now we’re back to square one,” Pierre groans. “He’s being hard headed, that’s all. I’ll talk to him again, don’t worry.”

And he does.

It happens during one of the worst moments in your life; you weren’t wearing makeup.

“You look—”

“Hideous?” You blush. “Yeah, don’t even mention it.”

He swallows, digging his hands deep into his pockets. “I wanted to apologize… for the way I reacted. It was immature.”

“N-no, you had every right to be upset. I crossed the line and I’m sorry.”

Max nods, Adam’s Apple dancing up, then down. “Truce?”

Staring down at his large hand, you smile and slip yours past it. “Truce.”

And as a rare occasion, his smile meets his eyes, crinkles and all. The RedBull driver disconnects first, then rubs his jaw once before signaling down to your wet hair. “Pool day, I see? Enjoying the benefits?”

With a cheesy look, you shrug. “It’s one way to relieve stress.”

“Yeah—and what’s another?”

His tone is sultry and irresistible, you can’t help but rip your gaze away. “Anything that brings thrill, I suppose.” A tick. “Whatever that may be.”

“And what if it’s something bad? Does that still count?”

You laugh, throwing your head back. The Dutchman’s lips wobble as a weak attempt to not smile. “You’re not a bad person, so yes.”

His tongue clicks. “Uh, I don't know. As I recall, you called me a villain?”

Groaning, you gently smack his chest. “Will you ever let it go?”

“Might take me a while…”

Just as you’re about to respond, your phone rings and you smile. “L-Lissie.”

The blue eyed boy nods. “Are you going to be interviewing me from now on?”

“Ah—is my ban lifted?”

“Yes.”

You roll your eyes. “Then yes.” Strolling past him, you wave. “See you around. And put on some sunscreen. It’s good for you.”

“Where are you even going with any of this?” Lewis hollers from the end of the table, taking a sip of wine. “You’ve just been talking about yourself, not them.”

Pierre scowls. “I’m getting there!” He returns his attention to the couple, gleaming. “So, as you can imagine, once I weaseled my way in and fixed their problems—your welcome, by the way—a certain spark came through. It was clearly evident.”

Marina Bay Street Circuit—October 2, 2022 (Singapore Grand Prix)

“Nepo-Baby?”

You hum. “They all are.”

Lissie groans. “So how will I know which one?”

“Oh, you’ll know.” Squinting accusingly, the British girl sticks her tongue out before standing up, hands on her hips. She yawns. “I have to go find Will. Something about—whatever, you probably don’t even care.”

You giggle. “Nope. Have fun.”

Silence engulfs you as you close your eyes momentarily, pulling your coat over your chest.

“Don’t you have to watch the race in order to report back on it? Ask questions?”

“Dude, I was just falling asleep…” You peek an eye open. “And yes. But it hasn’t started, so I'm clear.”

Max whistles, unimpressed. Falling down next to you on the fluffy couch, he places his hands over his stomach, closing his eyes, too. You try not to laugh and instead do the same.

“Haven’t seen you around much.”

“Been hiding from you.”

“Seems like. Don’t do that.”

“Fine.” You grin, sitting up straight. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“Probably.”

You snicker, pink tongue poking from in between your teeth. The cold air makes you snuggle deeper into your wannabe-blanket and he can’t help but take occasional glances. Teeth chatter. “C’mon. I’ll walk you.”

“...and I turned and said, isn’t that Celine Dion?” Lissie waves her hands back and forth, swaying like a Fly Guy. She pouts, stopping her movements. “Turns out I was just really freaking high.” Will laughs, jotting down God knows what onto a piece of paper as she continues cluttering herself with an obnoxious amount of wires. The British girl huffs. “Y’know, sometimes I wonder if it was—” A sharp gasp. “Him? Oh my—it’s him!”

“Don’t you mean her?” Will hums from his spot, still not looking up.

But wide-eyed Lissie stares with her jaw on the floor as you and Max cross by, laughing and pushing each other as you make your way down the paddock. As soon as you blush when he winks, it becomes all the more real. The young reporter nods, curled hair bobbing up and down.

“R-right—her.”

Autódromo José Carlos Pace—November 13, 2022 (Brazilian Grand Prix)

“Is he cute? Yeah, maybe.” A finger pinches her top lip before releasing. “In a weird way.”

“Hey,” you warn.

“Is he your type? Don’t know why, but yes. I could see why you’re into him.”

“Great…”

“But is he the right choice? No. Not at all.”

“...and fantastic.” Flopping down onto your towel, you groan. Suddenly the blazing sun wasn’t the worst feeling because Lissie was right. It’s unbearable, almost. You prop up, facing her with a scrunched nose and squinted eyes. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit too harsh?”

“Oh no.” A sip of coconut water. She purses her lips. “God no.” You sigh, slowly, then sprawl back down with a sour snarl. You can hear her debate; muttering, mumbling. Still, that doesn’t get rid of your bad mood. The brunette pokes your thigh gently, nibbling her bottom lip. “He’s just so—and you’re just so—” A beat. “I’m just looking out for you.”

“Yeah.” Waves crash harder. Sun beams brighter. You open up the bottle of sunscreen, spurting some onto your burnt legs. You rub briskly; up, down. She flinches. “Yeah, I know.”

“And for a while, that was that,” Pierre announces, feigning indifference. “No more love birds.”

“Oh,” George blurts. Dark brows pinch up, teasing smile playing out. “Then why are we here?”

“Oh God,” you groan, digging your face into the nape of the twenty-six year old. You can faintly sniff out his musk scent, clean and so him. It makes you smile like a teen. “What if we just elope?”

He chuckles, vibrating and sending you on your own personal rollercoaster. “We always can. Is that what you want?” And he asks because he knows—no. That’s not what you want. Separating yourself to peck his cheek, you shake your head with a playful pout. “No. That’s not what I want.”

“Good.” Watercolor eyes flicker to where Pierre finally gets yanked down and Lissie takes over with a proud smile. “Because I think this is actually going somewhere.”

Bahrain International Circuit—-March 5, 2023 (Bahrain Grand Prix)

So you kept your distance, and oddly enough, he did too. For plenty of reasons. And it wasn’t even that hard, really. He spent his summer break traveling and you spent yours as a homebody. No texts, no calls, no nothing.

“Heads or tails?”

“Tails.”

A sly grin. The silver coins flips a couple rounds before jumping up and down, clapping. “Heads! Go on, Coffee Boy. Oh, and make it extra sweet.”

“You’re going to get a sugar high and not be able to sleep later.”

“Until I can feel my teeth rot,” you retort, slipping your tongue over your pearly whites.

Answering a few emails, you perch onto a chair. It’s too stiff, so you twist and turn until you ultimately decide to just stand. A gust of wind salutes you as your orbs flicker up to the sudden shadow. A breath catches.

Max tilts his head in greeting. “Working hard already?” Your lips part. “The season’s barely begun.”

And just like that, your world tilts on its axis, but this time with more to lose.

“As your best friend—” Lissie points clumsily at Carmen who giggles while the British girl furrows her thick brows. She glances around before spotting you dying with laughter on your fiancé’s lap. She claps. “I knew straight away—he was the one for you.”

Miami International Autodrome—-May 7, 2023 (Miami Grand Prix)

“How long has this been going on for?” she hisses, disappointed eyes challenging both you and Max. She gags at the hickeys on your neck and his tousled hair.

With wobbly legs, you take her hands into yours. “A week—”

“No.”

“Well, two—”

Green paints her face. “No.”

“One month,” he murmurs from his corner in the elevator. Watercolor eyes flicker up, loopy. “It’s been a month. Ever since—”

“Azerbaijan.” Shamefully, you look down at your shoes and nearly scream bloody murder when you spot your thong just a few steps behind her. “Ew, gross,” Lissie gasps, shutting her eyes in despair. Taking in the opportunity, you scatter down and retrieve the thin fabric. The Dutchman releases a laugh, but bites down when the British girl glares hard. She curls a brow at your breathless state. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Giggling nervously from your place on the floor, you keep your hands behind your back; out of sight, out of mind. “Begging for forgiveness?”

“Oh stop it, a piece of land is what I need in order to forgive you for being dumb as shit.”

You frown, but quickly stand up when she exits the elevator. You can hear him follow with a bored expression. “Lissie, wait!”

Like a spinning top, she turns back, long layers slapping her pink face. “You two know this isn’t a good idea, right?”

“Yes—”

“For a million different reasons—”

“I-I’m aware,” you stutter.

“Then why did you do it?” she whispers.

And the truth is, you don’t know. All you know is that nothing else matters when you're with him. It’s sickening how blindsighted you get. Anxious eyes twirl over to the blue eyed boy who shared the same expression despite being unbothered a few seconds ago.

Licking your lips, you play with the fabric. “That’s it. We’re done.” You turn to the RedBull driver. “Tell her.”

“Done.”

For a moment, you almost let yourself flinch from how fast and easy he’s able to say that one word. Lissie’s judgmental eyes look at you, then him, then sighs, reluctantly nodding. An awkward moment ticks by and then she’s focused, appalled.

“Are those your panties?”

“You were like a dog who couldn’t bear the idea of leaving its bone.” Everyone snickers while you throw the same peony Daniel had aimed at Pierre to shut him up. She laughs, raising her arms up in defense. “And I know—I know—I came in like a monster, warning you off of all the drivers because like it or not, they’re scumbags—”

“Ey. Watch it,” Carlos deadpans from the corner, brown eyes playfully glaring.

She shrugs. “But I no longer liked playing the role of an evil step-sister so…” Tears brim and you choke on a wet sob. “I’m just so happy that you’re happy.” A pause. “That you're both happy.”

Leaping off his thick lap, you rush over, embracing her. She laughs, returning the gesture. “I love you,” you start. I know. “And I’m so happy that you never—”

A knowing smile. “I’d do anything for you.”

Circuit de Monaco—May 28, 2023 (Monaco Grand Prix)

Sneaking into his motorhome, you moan as soon as he gets his hands on your; sliding up and down your body with urgency. Heat radiates off of him and onto you. All of this— the cramped room, his lips attacking your neck—makes you dizzy. Clutching onto his sweaty hair, you arch, completely to him and for him.

“We s-shouldn’t.” You gasp. Long fingers tease your aching pussy as you whine. He instantly slaps a large hand over your mouth as he continues his movements. The stretch burns, but it's fairly familiar that you don’t even cry out, just stare back with knitted brows and an open mouth that he can’t see, but can feel expand beneath his palm.

“You’re probably right.” A steady stroke. “You should be out there.” His knuckles curl as he reaches your g-spot. “Preparing those foolish questions.” A muffled moan. “But you’re here, because you know that this excites you as much as it does me.”

Calloused pads push down before drawing figure eights deep inside. “You’ve been a bit uptight. Could it be—”

“No,” you cut him off. “Don’t even try and blame it on—”

“Fine, then answer me one thing; is this stress reliever a bad thing?”

Feeling your orgasm rolling in is one thing, but your snarkiness is another. Gritting your teeth, you force him down to kiss you, teeth and all, and then rip away with a sultry smile. “Maybe, but who cares?”

You’re not completely off. At that moment in time, neither of you cared about the consequences. It’s just that as soon as a room of watchful eyes flicker to you two, you swallow a low wince.

Grabbing your microphone, you fix your disheveled hair. Lissie’s eyes flicker between you and him, slow and scary. Like she’s reading right through you and your lies.

Beaming at the awaiting grid, you raise your chin up. “Who’s ready?”

“Finally,” Daniel yells, rolling his cuffed sleeves. “Someone with an actual story to tell.” A wide smile has never made you more nervous than at this very instant, so reasonably so, you swallow the entire glass of—

“Vodka, baby! That was my vodka—your champagne is right there.”

Blinking, you giggle, wiping your plump lips with the back of your hand. “What yours is mine, no? Isn’t that what marriage is all about?”

He chuckles. Lean arms wrap around your waist like a harness. “Keep this up and you’re not going to be able to sleep later.”

“The opposite, actually,” you state as a matter-of-fact. “Just need to get blackout drunk.”

He cocks his head to the side. “That’s not like you.” “...should have seen her! She was wasted as shit!” the Australian yelps, buzzing with excitement. You nip at the air all while he raises his voice an additional octave. “I found her there, at the bar, close to getting alcohol poisoning, but you know what they say—only drunks and children tell the truth.”

Red Bull Ring—July 2, 2023 (Austrian Grand Prix)

“Oui, the beer! Fucking amazing,” Pierre declares with a mouthful.

“Say it, don’t spray it,” someone screeches, and is quickly identified to be Alex when he wipes his shimmery forehead. You laugh, taking baby sips from your drink. Shirley Temple, because contrary to belief, you weren’t a nasty drunk.

The Frenchman pouts, tapping his fingers against the brown glass. He turns to you with a sheepish grin. “I read your article.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Have to admit, it's kind of boring. It’s not your fault though. Max Verstappen's domination has made the sport sort of…” He pretends to wilt, to which you toss your head back with laughter.

“Your time will come, Pierre, your time will come.”

“Shit, shit, shit! Bathroom!” Lissie’s long legs wobble like a plate of jello as you hurry over to catch her.

“Crap—you smell like shit.”

The British girl squeals, yanking her hair, dancing from side to side. “I smoked a fat blunt, but never mind that, if I don’t find a loo in approximately five seconds, then I will smell like actual shit.”

A nose scrunch. “That’s not very lady-like.” She paces some more. “Let’s go.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the crowded room, Max watches as the two journalists slip away. He keeps a close eye for a while until a certain brunette swoops in right next to him with a loopy grin and crinkly eyes.

“You should talk to her. Seems like you really like her.”

“What? What makes you say that? What makes you think that?”

Daniel shrugs, rotating his blunt back into his mouth. “Dilation.”

The Dutchman gags. “What…like when a woman gives birth?”

A sore laugh. “As in your eyes.” Another hit. “Y’know…they just look—different. When you look at her, I mean.”

And he hopes it is not apparent that these words make him swallow. For the past year, he’s tried his best to hide his feelings for the sake of not making a fool out of himself, and later for a whole other, but…

He licks his sudden dry lips. “Hm. Doesn’t matter if my eyes fucking shine or not, she’s not my type.”

The Australian frowns. “Sucks. Lissie’s really cool.” His eyes flicker over to the RedBull driver in a nonchalant manner, but when he blinks back with rose tinted cheeks, despite not having a sip of alcohol, he chokes on his puff. “Oh shit, no…”

In a flash, Max yanks the blunt away, dipping it into an anonymous drink. “You’re right, she is so cool—”

Brown eyes narrow down in accusation, brows knitted sharply. “Right, but we’re not talking about Lissie…” A wince. “Mate, you can’t…you know you can’t.”

And just like that, Daniel notices the blown out pupils revert back to its original shape. Small and empty. “Yeah. Of course.” He plops back down onto his stiff seat, rubs his eyes, then smiles. “I know that. I-I-I was never going to—yeah.”

“He—” Daniel points over to the broad twenty-six year old who sits with a timid smile. “...didn't have a single sip of beer that night because he was too focused looking after her.” A whistle. “And if that isn’t love, then I don’t know what is.”

“Wow, congrats,” George says to your fiancé. “For not being an alcoholic, really, that's impressive.” You can hear the humor that coats his voice and you can’t help but giggle. Calloused fingers slip up to pinch your thigh as you laugh harder.

“That’s why I drank twice as much that day,” Pierre announces with a firm voice. “Because he was missing out on some fantastic beer.”

“Drunkard,” Alex whispers to Lily who stifles a snicker.

The tall Australian clicks his tongue. “So who was the wasted one who confessed their little white lies?”

Everyone’s eyes turn to face you as you burn up with mortification.

“What the fuck, I barely even drink!”

Red Bull Ring—July 2, 2023 (Austrian Grand Prix)

“You.”

“Me?”

You snarl, stomping over. “She's a lightweight, dumbass. Why would you get her high? Jesus, we have a flight in eight hours.”

Daniel cackles, clapping as if delighted at the fact. “She kept insisting! I felt bad.”

An eye roll. “Douche.”

He tries to make it up to you with a drink. “Pierre says they’re good.” You eye the bottle hesitantly. He sighs. “Come on, trust me.” He eventually sneaks off for a minute, but returns with a new blunt.

“Did you pull another one out of your ass or where did you get that from?”

“Oh no. How many did you drink?”

Squinting, you motion him to take a seat. He does, but he can’t even smoke in peace now that you sway from side to side, despite being seated. “I don’t know. Too many.” He groans, large hands tugging his hair. You take a long sip, then raise your glass like some wannabe. “He told me he loves me. Tonight. Right when you left. And you know what I told him?” Another sip. “I told him I love him too.”

The Australian chuckles. “I didn’t expect you to fall for someone like him.”

“Me either. But I fell—tumbled.” You frown. “I’m just not sure this is the right thing to feel, y’know?”

His orbs flicker to the twenty-six year old who huddles with a bunch of the other drivers. He smiles, tilting his head. “Why not?”

“Because everytime I look at him, I fear the way my heart beats. He laughs, I laugh, and it feels wrong. He smiles, I smile, and it feels wrong. He makes one of our inside jokes, I understand, and it feels wrong.” A shaky laugh. “And something that should feel fucking right, doesn’t.” Glossy eyes switch over to him. “Does that make sense?”

“Not really.”

“Great,” you let out, wiping your tears away. “It’s fine, I didn’t expect you to understand.”

Daniel smiles, fondly, like an older brother. “It doesn’t, and you want to know why?”

“Why?”

A second passes by before he leans back against his chair. “Because it looks like you really—really—like him, so why should any of that matter? Just let yourself be happy, fuck everything else.”

You scoff, furrowing your brows. “You’re a bad influence.”

“Why?”

“Because it would never work out.”

“And why not? You’re giving up too eas—oh.” Almost robotically, he drops his blunt into your beer bottle. “You can’t…”

“Yeah. I know.” A pause. “Beer’s ass, by the way.”

Daniel taps his fingers against his chin, comedically. His orbs flicker between you two who stare up at him in deep focus, awaiting for his next words. He grins. “You two, it works. It always has.”

Circuit Zandvoort—August 27, 2023 (Dutch Grand Prix)

“Oh fuck,” he grunts, thrusting into you harder as you cling onto his arm, eyes screwed shut. “H-holy fucking—hell.”

You moan, mouth hung wide open. “Feel so good, Maxie, so, so good.”

Blue eyes admire the way you arch towards him like some sort of warm invitation. The way your legs lazily drape over his sweaty waist, how your scent hugs him like no one else. It’s all so familiar, and nice, and right. Your soft palm grazing his jaw makes him alert in an instant, desperate to not miss a single thing that lives inside this moment.

He furrows his dark brows. “We-We’re not made for one another.”

“I know.” He grunts, animalistically. “They warned me about you.”

“They told me to stay away from you.” His tip brushes against your g-spot and your head lolls back, a loud sound. “But God, it’s been impossible.”

“Max, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—I’m close.”

He grins, rubs your clit, and whimpers when he feels you reach your orgasm. You shudder when he follows soon after, face digging into the nape of your neck. Your heart pounds like a ticking time bomb, but still, you run your fingers through his dirty blond waves.

“Lissie…Daniel…they’re—”

“Right?” You choke up. “Yeah, you don’t know how much I hate that they are.”

He pulls away, and somehow, his watercolor eyes appear more blue than ever before. Black, almost—nearly. And you’re sure yours do too.

Max plays with your hair, tracing it like a map. He gulps. “So do I.” A tug. “I love you. Y-you weren’t some fuck buddy to me…you’ve always been more than that. And…I hate that too.”

A wet laugh. “I love you, too.” Wobbly smile. “And it’s because I love you that I know what comes after this.”

He hums. “What would that be?”

“Nothing.”

“I know many of you guys are wondering why I’m best man—”

“Not wondering, more like questioning,” Carlos quips with a sly smirk.

Pierre flips him off and you laugh at the immature interaction between the drivers. “Because it really could have easily been anyone else. Ha! Even you Carlos.” The Spaniard mocks him with a shady, playful, look.

“Then again, who would have thrown a better rehearsal dinner for Charles and his bride-to-be?”

Circuit Zandvoort—September 4, 2022 (Dutch Grand Prix)

"You got on Max Verstappen’s bad side, that’s what."

“It’s probably nothing or he’s just a sensitive little pussy,” you shoot back defensively.

Lissie snickers, hushing you, orbs scanning the pen. “You can’t say shit like that! Any of it, actually,” she adds. “Just…think before saying anything.”

You huff, arms crossed, stubbornly. “Fine.”

As the open area starts filling up more and more, by some miracle, your nerves start dying down.

Or so you thought.

“Before I let you go, I do have one more question.” Charles smiles down at you, shy dimples poking through. You return the gesture. “Would you consider yourself Ferrari’s savior or their scapegoat?”

“Jesus,” the British girl groans, covering her eyes with second-hand embarrassment.

The Monegasque lets out a nervous laugh, turning to face his publicist who simply tippy toes and whispers something into his ear. He nods. “I-I-I actually have another interview set up, but thank you for your…questions.” Pink tints his ears as he looks at you one more time before strolling away.

“Alrighty then,” Lissie hollers. She sneaks the microphone away. “Jitters, totally normal, but yeah, you’re done for today.”

“I don’t care if she’s royalty, I’m never willingly doing an interview with her ever again.”

“Would you look at that?” Pierre gloats with a wicked grin. “Max Verstappen got butthurt.”

The Dutchman scoffs. “No, I did not. I just don’t like stupid questions, and she made one.”

Yuki snickers at his wary response. Pierre rolls his eyes. “I could talk to her, if you want me to. I love shit like this.”

“I don’t.”

“Well too bad, I’m going to.”

“Yeah. You already said that.”

Dumbfounded, you blink as he walks away, wet towel draped over his head. If you had known he was this much of a shithead, then you wouldn’t have bothered to try and apologize. Clicking your tongue, you burn with fury as you glare, but as soon as the Ferrari driver brushes past you, you fall back from your trance.

“Hey!”

He turns, green eyes furrowed with confusion. “Hey.”

A wince. “I’m sorry about my ignorant question from earlier. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Charles blushes. “Am I that easy to read?”

“No, but Pierre let me know.” You awkwardly kick your shoe against the pavement and his eyes follow. You stop. “I sort of pissed off two of the most important drivers on the grid today. You, uh, just happen to be one of them.”

He softens like ice cream on a hot summer day. “I’m not pissed.” You almost let out a giggle from how foreign his accent makes the curse sound. He stammers. “You just caught me off guard, that’s all. Plus, I can’t answer questions like those. It would make all of us look bad.”

“Oh. Duh. Of course.” Now you burn up. “I should have known. And it’s no excuse, but I’m new and I’m just…figuring it out.”

His eyes crinkle as he nods. “Who was the other driver?”

You groan. “Max.”

He winces, shaking his hands, theatrically. “Yikes. Yeah, now he’s probably pissed.”

Autodromo Nazionale Monza—September 11, 2022 (Italian Grand Prix)

“Will you ever let it go?”

“Might take me a while…”

As soon as your phone dings, vibrating against your palm, he curls a brow. “L-Lissie,” you fill in with a subtle smile. “See you around. And put on some sunscreen. It’s good for you.”

Rushing back to the pool with a new bottle of SPF, you grin as he aims a deadpan expression. “A little Vitamin D is always necessary.”

“Don’t care, I don’t want to look like a peanut in two years.” You plop some onto his hand as he childishly swipes it over his face. You squirm with the way droplets slither down his toned chest.

Charles extends his hands. “Can I have some more?”

You laugh, wet hair tossing back like a curtain. “Hypocrite.”

Green eyes glare down, playfully.

Marina Bay Street Circuit—October 2, 2022 (Singapore Grand Prix)

“I can’t believe someone’s rocking your boat,” Lissie yelps, clutching onto your hand desperately. “This is monumental.” A teasing giggle. “We should definitely document this.”

As soon as she pulls out her phone, you flip her off. “And this, my dear, dear friend, is why I’ve been keeping this a secret.” She zooms in as you laugh, brushing her away. “Quit!”

The British girl groans, slipping it into her back pocket, then wiggles her thick brows. “Can I guess who it is?”

“No.”

“It’ll be fun!”

You spin around. “No, Lissie—no.”

“Nepo-Baby?”

Flustered, you twirl your necklace and hum. “They all are.”

“Fucking hell. So how will I know which one?”

A mocking laugh. “Oh, you’ll know.”

The brunette stays wondering despite being in the middle of telling her story from last week at the pub. She traces back to every possible driver, but they’re all natural flirts, so fuck that, how would she ever even be able to guess that—

“Oh my—it’s him!” She gasps with hawk eyes as she watches you two keep a careful distance from one another, as if temptation burns within the gap. Lissie lets out a delirious laugh as she turns to Will, who is still rather focused on his task. “I, um, will be right back!”

Wearing a goofy smile, you make your way back to the pen, but squeal when a firm grip wraps around your waist, tugging you into a cramped bathroom. You cringe at the suffocated smell. On the other hand, Lissie jumps from corner to corner. “How did I not notice? I mean, shit, you’re eyes—they’re huge!”

You frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

With a toothy grin, she pokes your ribs. “It means I know who it is.”

Your heart stops, then bite the inside of your cheek, feigning indifference. “We’re just getting to know each other, but he’s really kind, and I…I really like him.”

“Oh, I bet you do,” she whispers in a seductive manner, jeweled hands slapping your ass. You chuckle, opening the door, and turning back. “You get lost in his eyes, don’t you? Heard that could happen.” A swoon. “So what? Are they like the ocean? Like a blueberry Laffy Taffy?”

“Hm. No. More like green apple.”

She halts, mid-shimmy. “What do you mean green? His eyes are blue. And I would know—they scare me half of the time.”

“What are you talking about? Charles’ eyes are green.” The brunette gapes, mouth hung wide open as she pushes herself to speak, but can’t find the strength. You knit your brows, neat and high. “I told you not to scroll through your phone at three a.m. anymore. See? Jet lag is catching up to you.”

Autódromo José Carlos Pace—November 13, 2022 (Brazilian Grand Prix)

“I’m just looking out for you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Tired eyes squint over at the blue waves, then at the kids who build sandcastles.

She sighs, propping herself to face you with a sorrowful smile. “It’s okay to be confused about your feelings.”

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it, I know its as bad as it sounds.” You raise your straw onto your plump lips, sucking. “But they’re just so different from one another. I mean, Charles makes me feel giddy. Like really giddy. It’s nauseating. He’s sweet, and caring, and he's snappy but it’s endearing.” A soft smile and dreamy eyes. “He even helps with my notes.”

“But Max…he’s hot tempered. It drives me nuts. He never asks for help and always hides behind some brick wall. It isn’t like him to show me that he’s interested in getting to know me, but…” Cries ring through the hot air as a wave washes the sandcastle. “I want to get to know him. The real him.”

Lissie’s lips turn downwards at your broken tone. You act uninterested, but she knows it just for show, and that might be the worst torture of all.

She bumps your head with her shoulder, softly, and you instantly pout. “You’ll know what to do, babe. But if we’re being realistic here, Charles won’t wait forever.” Pause. “And Max isn’t the kind to grovel for anything other than podiums.”

Bahrain International Circuit—March 5, 2023 (Bahrain Grand Prix)

“Heads! Go on, Coffee Boy. Oh, and make it extra sweet.”

Charles lets out a heavy sigh, shoulders drooping as he strolls away. You pick and choose emails to respond to before leaning against one leg, typing away fiercely. You even have time to get back to your sister who begs for a souvenir. Any, she adds with a thousand smiley faces.

“Working hard already? The season’s barely begun.” Your breath catches so sharply that it hurts your throat for a second. His voice is somehow deeper, but it could be because you haven’t seen or heard from him in about forever. Max steps closer. “H-how was your summer break?”

Your berry lips open, then close, then repeat. It’s embarrassing. “Never bad to get ahead, and I—had a good one. Much needed.” He nods attentively. “You look—” You stop before admitting. “Healthy. You look really healthy”

A booming chuckle. “Thanks. You look really healthy, too.”

Blue eyes linger for a second too long and that fills you up with unwanted adrenaline. “Why are you here?” Pink expands through your cheekbones as you grimace. “I mean—here.” You point at the tiny tent as if it weren’t obvious what you were referring to. “Here, here.”

The Dutchman’s lips dance, fondly. “Well I was walking by, saw you, and wanted to say hi.” He looks around with a subtle frown. “Is now a bad time?”

“Well—”

“Mate,” a sweet accent rings through the air as you screw your eyes shut. Max turns to face Charles with a slow grin. The Monegasque tilts his head in greeting, hands occupied with your beverage and his. “How have you been?”

“So, so. Yourself?”

“Good. Refreshed.”

“For me?” he jokes. The brunette chuckles, raising the coffee cups with bright orbs. “Lazy Carlos, always sending you, right?”

The Ferrari driver shakes his head, curls following, then hands it to you. You hesitantly take it from him as you avoid eye contact. “Thank you, Charles.”

His smile widens, pecking your lips. “Still don’t think you should drink it on a daily basis, but hey, you’re welcome.”

Max blinks. “W-when did this happen?”

The green eyed boy hums, lips twisting against his straw. “Over break.”

“Oh.” Gaze slips over to where you bite your cheek. “You spent it in Monaco?”

A harsh tick. “Yes.” With an open mouth, he nods, like a muppet. You purse your lips, facing your boyfriend with pleading eyes. “Do you want to start making your way over? I don’t want Carlos to say anything about being late. You know how he is.”

Charles snickers, then intertwines his fingers through yours. “See you on track?”

The RedBull driver released a low breath, cracking a smile that looked more like a snarl. And while Charles doesn’t notice it, you do. Of course you do.

“See you on track.”

Miami International Autodrome—May 7, 2023

“Then why did you do it?” she whispers. The judgment and confusion that radiates off of Lissie is enough for you to grow gray. She rolls her tongue. “You can’t be doing stuff like this anymore, you have a boyfriend.” Her eyes screw shut, then snap open. “He adores the ground you walk on, are you insane?”

Tears well up at her truthful words. They sting all at once, and you carelessly crumble as your numb lips start to wobble. “Lissie—”

“No. Just—stop. Stop talking.” Max raises his eyebrows at the journalist and her sternness, but feels bad as you inch back, heels clicking. She huffs, pacing the hall. When she comes to a stop, she glares at the Dutchman. “How could you do this, too?”

“I never meant any harm—”

“Bullshit! Both of you are so stupid, it’s worrisome.” Shame fills your veins as you look down, pinching your undergarment as some coping mechanism. The British girl sighs. “You have to tell him.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no? He deserves to know.”

Decreasing the gap between you two, you sniffle, shaky hands clutching harder. “It’s going to kill him, Lissie. I can’t do that.”

And you can tell she’s running through her options because she’s your best friend. And above all, you were hers. With hesitance, she nods. “This has to end.”

You nod, desperately. “That’s it. We’re done.”

Circuit de Monaco—May 28, 2023 (Monaco Grand Prix)

“You’ve been a bit uptight. Could it be Charles that’s making you feel that way?”

“No. Don’t even try and blame it on him.”

He pinches your nipple, then licks your humid skin. You whine at the sensation. “You’re not getting anything in return for lying. It’s pathetic.”

You hiss when your climax tempts to fall. “What's the lie?”

“That you love him.”

“I do love him—”

He groans into your neck. “You sound so pretty.” A sloppy thrust. “When you choke around my cock, my spit, my cum.” Your eyes roll back when he pushes against your g-spot at a different angle. “Admit it, you’ve always enjoyed it.”

“You’re sick."

“Maybe, but you’re well worth it.”

You clench around his length and he hisses like a snake. In pain. In lust. Doesn’t matter. “You’re a shitty friend—”

Jaw clenches. “You’re a shitty girlfriend.” When you cry out in pleasure, he smirks. “Fine, then answer me one thing; is this stress reliever a bad thing?”

“Maybe, but who cares?”

And there's nothing left for him to do, simply smiling down at you like the Cheshire Cat, somehow scarier than The Joker. If not more.

Red Bull Ring—July 2, 2023 (Austrian Grand Prix)

“Right, but we’re not talking about Lissie. Mate, you can’t…you know you can’t.” Daniel grimaces. “She’s taken.”

“I know,” Max stutters. “Who do you take me for?”

The Australian is easy to tell when he laughs genuinely, but even the RedBull driver can spot the difference to the one exiting his mouth right now. “You think she’s pretty—that’s all.”

“That’s all,” he confirms.

“And that’s not a weird thing to admit because she is a pretty girl,” the brunette tries to help as Max nods happily.

“Exactly.” A pause. “You get it.”

Daniel brings the blunt up to his mouth, taking a hit, then blows out. “Y-yeah…because it’d be bad if you liked her, liked her.”

“I know that. I-I-I was never going to—yeah.” His heart pounds fast against his ribs when you giggle, pecking Charles’s neck, all while conversing with Lissie, Kika, and Pierre. He directs his attention back to the Australian and lets out a raw laugh.

“I wouldn’t be that stupid.”

“You’re a bad influence.”

“Why?”

“Because it would never work out.”

“And why not? You’re giving up too eas—oh.” In an instant, his brown eyes follow yours, and it makes his heart drop. Because it’s not Charles that you’ve suddenly realized that you love, but Max. “You can’t…” Somewhere close by, Pierre yells, cheering with a group of older ladies as Kika glares, shaking her head. He inches closer. “You can’t do that to Charles. He loves you.”

“And I love him,” you announce, brushing your hair back. Timidly, you peek over at him. “I’m not a saint, I know that, but I would appreciate it if we kept this between us.” A sore chuckle. “W-what matters is that I choose Charles. He’s the love of my life.”

And Daniel knows he probably shouldn’t agree to any of this, and yet, he finds himself nodding, curls bouncing. “Just between us.”

You smile gently, going in for another sip before laughing at the blunt that sticks inside.

“Beer’s ass, by the way.”

Circuit Zandvoort—August 27, 2023 (Dutch Grand Prix)

“I love you. Y-you weren’t some fuck buddy to me…you’ve always been more than that. And…I hate that too.”

“I love you, too. And it’s because I love you that I know what comes after this.”

“What would that be?”

“Nothing.”

He flinches. “I-it doesn’t have to be that way. You could lea—”

You sigh, pulling your dress up as he zip his race suit. “I can’t leave him, Max. It’s not that easy.”

He pants, blue eyes tracing your face anxiously. “A-and why not? Why can’t it be that easy?”

A cruel laugh wiggles up your throat as you dig your nails into your palm. “Because I’m engaged!”

He ricochets with a scoff. “Oh, what? Now you suddenly care about not being called a cheater?” You look away and he chuckles. “Because that’s what you are—a fucking cheater.”

Your face patches into a shade of pink as you breathe heavily, refusing to let the tears fall. “And what does that make you?”

“I am not a cheater.”

You snarl. “No, but you’re a God awful friend.”

He steps back, large hand running against his lips, drying them out, getting rid of your saliva. “You’re just—you know what? Fuck you.”

You gasp. “No. Fuck you.”

Max rolls his blue eyes, finally reaching his breaking point as he pushes you against the wall to his motorhome. “You’re scared, aren’t you? Of realizing what we actually are.”

Heavy pants. Orbs flicker down to his rosy lips. He almost smiles. “What are we? A cheater and a bad friend?”

“No. A villain and their accomplice.” That seems to do it. A strong tide takes over as you sob against his grip. And it doesn’t hurt, it’s not tight. It’s only secure. He continues with a dark look swirling his orbs. “You know, you were always the first one to point out someone as a bad person, when in reality, it's you.”

“Okay, stop—”

“And I’m not innocent either—I’m well aware—but I’m not the one with a ring around their finger.”

“Stop!” you yell, pushing him away harshly. It should feel foreign, the fury and the shame, but that’s all you seem to know these days. Or ever since you met him. “You’re right. We’re two rotten apples, or whatever the fuck you want to call it, but can you blame me? You’re fucking with my head, Max!”

He softens, and for a moment, its pure silence, other than your tiny cries. Licking his lips, he pats his thigh. “You already know I’m wrongfully in love with you. I just actually thought I stood a chance. That it would be me.”

“Max…”

He winces in pain with how sweet your voice sounds pronouncing his name. It’s always been that way. When you first interviewed him a year ago, to when you first kissed him back and gasped his name. But it only got dirtier and dirtier throughout the course of time.

“Be honest with me, please.” Bloodshot eyes look up at him. “Is he your safest option? Is that what this is?”

And with one final, tormented look, you open your lips to breathe out.

“He’s someone I could envision a future with, Max.” A beat. “And you’re just a footnote.”

“Voilá!” Charles cheers as he claps loudly against your ear. You yelp at the sudden sound all while trying to reach for his hands to stop his movements. He grins, deep dimples imprinting like feet on sand. “That was beautiful, really, it really was.”

Rubbing your ass against his bulge is the only way you think you can get him to shut up, and he does, immediately letting out a strained chuckle. Smiling sweetly at your friends, you shrug. “I had my doubts, Pierre, but this was pretty cute. Thank you.”

The Frenchman gloats, clicking his fingers. I told you, I told you they’d like it! Your fiancé kisses your cheek. “That’s why I chose him.” A playful frown. “You see, mon amour? You never hold any faith in my decisions.”

Rolling your eyes, you stick your pink tongue out at him. “I still think you should have chosen one of your brothers.” A stern look. “Like Lorenzo—wasn’t he the one that helped you buy the ring?”

“Yes, but that would have been unfair to Arthur. He would’ve felt left out.”

“Arthur’s too distracted trying to figure out the difference between left and right!” The Monegasque tosses his head back and you admire with a soft glow. “I lo—”

“Wait,” Carlos hollers, deep accent ringing. You and Charles turn, bubble bursting. “We all went around sharing but Max.”

“Yeah,” Lily ponders, fingers tracing her lips. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Pierre hums. “Mate?”

Max blinks, shaking his head. “Ah, it’s alright. We’ve heard enough, don’t you think?” His joke is meant to be easy going, but it comes out dry, and even to this day, you can notice it. Licking your already glossed lips, you flip your gaze to Lissie and Daniel who share the same worried expression.

Because Lissie was your best friend. She would carry your secret to the grave.

Because Daniel was Max’s best friend. He would carry his secret to the grave.

But the Dutchman himself didn't care. He honestly felt like he had nothing else to lose.

“Okay then,” he whispers, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans. He slightly tilts his head to the open sky, as if wondering when it would swallow him whole. He was secretly hoping it would. Beady, excited, and petrified eyes stare back at him as he smiles awkwardly. “I…”

“He doesn’t want to,” you declare, twisting to signal the Frenchman. “If he doesn’t want to, then he doesn’t have to say anything, it’s fine.”

“No.” Blue eyes darken as he places his drink down onto the wooden table. “I want y—” He bites his tongue, immediately tasting metallic. “I want to.”

“Let him,” Charles says, chuckling softly. “Don’t kill his stride.”

So, with neat brows drawn together, clammy fingers playing with your silver band, you sit back down. Like a force of nature, the Monegasque hugs you from behind. You gulp, leaning the back of your head against his shoulder.

“I think it’s crazy how one minor decision can change absolutely fucking everything.”

“Oh shit,” Lissie and Daniel mutter next to each other, exchanging the blunt back and forth.

Your face twists up like a wrinkled shirt. “If you’re not going to say anything nice, then don’t say anything at all.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” he instantly shoots back, but feverishly deflates when Charles furrows his dark brows like some Doberman. Astonished at his cold tone, you blink, lashes fluttering like a notebook. He almost swoons at the sight, but amazingly holds back.

“If you hadn’t taken Pierre’s advice and apologized to Charles, then we wouldn't be here. If you hadn’t spent summer break with him, then we wouldn’t be here. If you hadn't fallen in love, then we wouldn’t be here.” He swallows. “It’s the little things.”

“And, um...what makes a relationship work out is the commitment. If one person commits and the other doesn’t then it won’t ever work out, but you two…” You nibble on your bottom lip harshly, holding your breath as he looks into your bright eyes. He releases a forced chuckle, as if it would help get rid of his splintered heart. “You two chose each other, so…cheers to that.”

“Wow,” Charles hums, blankly. “That was surprisingly heartfelt…” A sheepish grin. “Thank you, mate.”

It’s as if he’s suddenly admitting defeat to someone who didn’t know they had him as an opponent to begin with; the way he throws the peony at the Monegasque, who catches it with ease. “Don’t mention it.”

So, as Max sits alone, with no date, he begins to wonder that maybe—just maybe—you were right all along.

He gave his speech last.

He was the footnote.

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cherrycolored-punk · 3 months ago

Text

can you keep a secret?

pairings: modern! brother's best friend! Steve Harrington x fem! Reader

author's note: ok, ok, ok. I've had these two in my head since I first wrote it. I needed to repost it and decided to make it a one-shot instead. These two were too horny for a second part, let's be so for real.

w/c: 5.1k

warnings: SMUT, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral (reader receiving), praise kink, sorry if I forgot anything 💙

Pool water trickles down your spine, summer heat almost suffocating as you lay out to dry. The air is filled with the buzz of cicadas and crickets, the sound of sprinklers running on nearby manicured lawns. Music plays faintly from the radio on the side table, and you hum along. The sky was a watercolor blue with a stroke of tangerine and cotton candy pink; cirrus clouds were brushed delicately into the vast canvas.

Being home from college meant you finally had time to lose your head in the clouds and get lost in the stars once the sun had set. There wasn’t the constant worry of a term paper or an early morning class you swore you’d get to despite all the warnings from the student advisors. There was only possibility. You could feel it—the turn of a page, the change of a season. Things would be different. You just didn’t realize how different they would be.

“Hey, Punky,” a familiar voice calls out, drawing closer as it did. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know who it was, the sound of his steps and the smell of his cologne giving him away. Bergamot and cedar, a slight hint of tobacco.

“Hi Stevie,” you greet around the lollipop you’d been sucking on, eyes still closed, enjoying the sun.

You could feel his eyes on you, gaze roaming over the expanse of your legs and up to your chest. The seconds pass like minutes, silence settling between the two of you as he takes you in. The way your bikini hugged your curves and the way your nipples were pebbled beneath your skimpy top. He swallows hard, words getting lodged in his throat. You did your best to hide the way his gaze affected you, the way your breathing sped up, or the way you squirmed in your seat.

“Have you seen your brother?” He clears his throat, shakes his head, and hopes you don’t question the time it took him to ask a simple question.

You smirk to yourself, a cherry lollipop pulled out of your mouth with a loud pop. You open your eyes and tilt your head. Gaze trained on him so they didn’t linger on the swell of his biceps.

“Probably inside setting up for the party,” you shrug, completely casual and not at all having palpitations from how he looked at you.

You press the lollipop to your lips, swirling your tongue over it, and watched his adam’s apple bob as you did. It had always been cat and mouse, a game of boundaries and lines never crossed. You turn onto your stomach, head turned away from him as you do. He looks at the curve of your ass, the way your bikini bottoms got lost in it. Steve’s shorts feel tighter, strained. He clears his throat again, pointing towards the sliding glass door even though you weren’t looking.

“I’ll go see if he needs help,” he vanishes behind the door, eyes lingering before disappearing into your home, and you could finally breathe.

—————

Music pulses through the speakers, overwhelming and all-consuming. Your welcome home party was full of people you didn’t know or didn’t talk to, strangers that your twin brother was acquainted with. You eye the mass of people over your cup from your corner of the room. Watch as they dance to an early 2000s Spotify playlist, get lost in the sound, or play tonsil hockey on your couch. Tequila settled in your chest, warm, and you felt like you were floating.

Mingle. Mingle. Mingle. Your inner voice screams, clawing its way to your cerebellum so that you’d move. So that you’d do anything besides stand on the wall at another house party. But you walk past everyone, through the crowd, and to the pool house that sits on the edge of your yard.

The moon was bright, light illuminating everything around you in a glow. Lightning bugs buzzed around you. You could still hear the music, the sounds of the party muffled by the sliding glass door. You take another swig of your drink before placing your plastic cup on the table next to you and reclining on the cushioned seat.

“Having fun?”

“A totally rad time,” you nod, words laced with sarcasm, watching Steve as he approaches.

He gives you a sideways smirk; eyebrows raised as he takes another sip of whatever fills his red solo cup and sits near your feet on the edge of the chair. Steve had always been attractive in an obvious way. His hazel eyes bore into yours, and you avoid his gaze focusing on the new freckles that dotted his cheeks and created a path to his jawline. His caramel-brown waves were shorter, sat just above his ear, and defined his cheekbones in a way that made you want to trace them. He is wearing a dark blue t-shirt that clings to the muscles of his arms and black jeans that accentuate the meat of his thighs.

You want to sink your teeth into them.

“You’ve never been a good liar, Punky,” he’d caught you, watching as you took him in, and did the same in return. Steve works to keep his jaw from going slack and takes too many sips of beer as he eyes the way your hips flare under the satin of your red dress. You nudge his shoulder lightly, ignoring how the brief contact felt like electricity, and grab your cup to take another swig of your drink.

“You look really pretty tonight,” he manages, the roll of your eyes making his smirk grow wide.

“Not pretty enough for anyone to flirt with me,” you sulk, and takes a few more sips of the amber liquid.

“That’s because Derek would actually kill anyone who touched you,” he laughs as he thinks of how often he’d be warned not to go anywhere near you. He had his King Steve reputation to thank for that.

“Perks of being Derek’s annoying little sister. No one even sees me,” you huff with a dramatic sigh.

“That’s not true,” he tiptoes around a confession, the truth that lingers between the two of you but was never spoken.

“Oh please, I am a pariah in my own house.” You lift a hand towards the two-story tudor, your welcome home party evidence that no one necessarily gives a shit whether you were there. You play with the lip of the cup, rubbing your thumb over the sticky lipgloss left there.

“We can have a little party of our own out here,” he wraps a warm palm against your knee.

“Don’t throw me a pity party,” you pout.

“Ms.College Elite is the only one who has my attention tonight,” he urges.

“What do you say, Punky?” And you debate, mouth twisted to the side as you look at the hot tub and back at him.

“We’ll need more beer,” you shrug. What was better than a party of two?

“Atta girl,” he gives your knee one last squeeze before sneaking back through the glass door and towards the kitchen.

You stand and strip out of your dress, staying in just your bra and panties. The summer night feels cold against your skin and sends a shiver through your spine. You sink into the hot tub, wincing slightly as your body adjusts to the temperature before lazing back and watching the stars. Steve returns moments later with a six-pack in hand.

“You got in without me?” He teases, eyes focused on your face and ignoring the way the water made the fabric of your bra just a bit more translucent.

“Sorry about it, King Steve,” you mock, splashing water at him as he pulls at his shirt and flips off his shoes. He hesitates as he unzips his pants, suddenly unsure and looking back at the house.

“Is this a party of one?” You tease, hiding the way the possibility stung.

“Not a chance,” he pulls his pants down, green boxers clinging to his sun-kissed skin, and you try not to linger at what they reveal. There was truth to the whispers around school and you giggle to yourself as he climbs into the jacuzzi.

“Not what a guy wants to hear when he’s stripped nearly naked,” he pokes at your side before grabbing a beer. He holds one up as a question, and you nod as you reach for it, his fingers brushing yours.

“I promise my giggles have nothing to do with the way you look,” even though they kind of did, you just don’t want to talk about his endowments.

“Sure thing,” he chugs his beer, red blossoming in his cheeks the longer he sits in the warm water.

“I mean it, I promise. Scouts honor,” you hold up four fingers.

“It’s three fingers, you dingus,” and he splashes water at you as you laugh.

“Watch my beer,” you whine and try to block it from the onslaught of water.

You press one palm against his chest, turning your back to him as he continues. His chest flexes under your hand, rough hairs rubbing against your palm. Steve tries to reach around you, big hands grabbing for the can of beer as you lean in to take a sip, back flush against him and ass pressed to his center. You feel his arms wrap around your waist and pull you closer, lifting you in the air until your beer can slips from your hands and plops into the water.

“My beer!”

“Way to go, Punky,” he laughs, warm breath fanning your ear, and you turn to look at him.

“It’s not my fault. You’re the one who attacked me!” You push away from him, palm pressing into his pec once more.

“Only because you laughed as soon as I took my pants off. Talk about a blow to the ego,” his hand presses where yours just was.

“Oh please, Harrington. Like you haven’t always been told you’re something out of a Calvin Klein ad,” you roll your eyes, back pressing into the side of the jacuzzi.

Steve’s cheeks darken to a shade of red, the tips of his ears crimson at your words.

“Something out of a Calvin Klein ad?” He teases, inching closer until he was floating in front of you.

“Like you don’t know you’re some kind of beautiful, Stevie. I’m sure all the girls you’ve dated said as much,” you ignore the way your heart races being so close to him, the way his gaze makes heat pool at your center.

“Maybe cute, sometimes hot, but never some kind of beautiful,” his words come out lower, nearly a whisper. You lift your shoulder, attempting to bring levity to the butterflies springing free and taking flight in your abdomen.

“Well, now you know, don’t let it go to your head,” you nudge him, a small giggle escaping from between your lips as you turn to the side to put distance between you so that you can breathe, but he holds onto your hand and pulls you towards him, chest to chest.

Your breaths come out shallow, eyes searching his for an answer. He shakes his head, words lost, as he takes you in and looks at you how he’d always wanted to.

He was cast in a glowy haze, string lights shining orange and yellow against his sun-kissed skin. Steve eyes the pout of your lips, debating, adam’s apple bobbing as he throws all caution to the wind. He closes the small space between the two of you, watching as your eyes flutter close as an answer to an unspoken question. Do you want this too?

Your noses brush, breaths shaking as his lips hover over your pout before he takes the plunge. His kiss was softer than you had imagined as his lips eased over yours. Tasting like beer and a hint of spearmint mixed with the taste of your strawberry lipgloss. Your hand brush against his bicep and up to his neck, twisting into the waves of his hair. You pull lightly, bringing him closer, lower, swallowing his gasp of surprise as the kiss becomes hungrier, more urgent.

The world around you disappears, the noise of the party ignored as you focus on the way he felt pressed against you. The way his hands explore the skin of your abdomen, the curve of your ass, and the lines of your thighs. His touch consumes you, leaving a line of electricity wherever the two of you are connected. He kisses you like he’d wanted this, like he’d wanted you, for years.

He rubs your face with his hand, thumb pulling at the side of your lips so you’d open up for him. Steve slides his tongue over yours, lifting you onto his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck, anchoring yourself to him as the kiss turns filthy and his fingers dig crescent moons into your sides, pushing your center onto his arousal. He sucks at your bottom lip, swallowing your moans as you begin to grind against him. The water sloshes against your hips, the sound covering his groans and your sighs.

You wanted him, needed him. Steve pulled away, hands firm and stilling your hips as he looked at you with glassy eyes. The realization hung in the air, lines already crossed, and boundaries breached.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he says it like a question. Like he needs convincing, but you were just as lost, lips bruised and a little dazed as you took him in. Your chest heaves, breaths coming in shallow as you shake your head. You shouldn’t be doing this.

“Can you keep a secret?” You ask, and he nods, his lips back on yours rougher than before.

Steve’s fingers dig into your flesh, jutting his hips up to meet yours as you rock against him. He swallows your whines, nose pressing into your face as he tries to get closer. His fingers trail up your thighs, slip under the fabric of your panties, and rests them on the fat of your ass. Steve pulls away and eyes the way your lips are pouty and bruised.

“Is this okay?” He asks, eyebrows raised, and you nod, needy for more. For him.

“Don’t stop,” you plead, and he presses open-mouthed kisses to your neck, nipping at the tender flesh as he trails to your cleavage.

Your chest arches under his touch. Head tilted back as his tongue dances along the line of your bra, nipples hardening under his warm breath.

You are lost in the moment, head under water, electricity coursing through you like a live wire wherever Steve touched. You want to blame the alcohol, want an excuse for making out with your brother’s best friend in your hot tub as you circle your hips against his length and swallow his groans. You kiss a trail from his jaw to the space between his neck and shoulder, sucking a bruise and kissing it sweet. Steve tilts his head, giving you more space to make your mark, eyelashes fanning his cheekbones as he watches you.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he admits, breathy and eyes a little hazy.

You pull away from him, hands resting on his shoulders as you took in his darkened gaze. Questions swirl in your head, the answers found in how he still holds you close, almost like a plea.

He opens his mouth to say more but a loud bang from the house had the two of you scrambling, heads turned and looking for the source of the noise. Afraid you’d been caught, and your chests heave as you wait, moments passed in shared silence, watching as people began leaving the house.

You weren’t ready to stop. Needy to feel his lips pressed everywhere they could reach. Your fingers pressed into his jaw until he faces you.

“Pool house,” you instruct and climb out of the hot tub, pulling him along. He follows without question, the sounds of his wet footsteps trailing right behind you as you push the door open.

The moment that it closes, he turns you around and pins you to the door. You suck in a breath as his lips hover over your skin, warm breath causing goosebumps to sprout in anticipation.

Steve chuckles, enjoying how affected you are by him. His knee slots between your legs, balancing you against him as his teeth graze your exposed shoulder. He runs one hand over your hip and the other twines with your hand above your head. Electricity shoots through you, hips rolling back against him as you search for the friction you desperately need.

He tugs at the strap of your bra with his teeth, pulling the fabric down before switching sides and doing the same to the other. You feel his absence as he pushes off of you to unhook your bra, his fingers making quick work of the hook. The lace loosens from your body, and you allow it to fall onto the floor before turning to him.

You watch as he swallows hard, his eyes dancing over your exposed skin, highlighted by the moonlight streaming through the curtains, painting you in a pale glow.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, fingers itching at his sides to reach out and touch you.

Slowly, you approach him and reach for his hand guiding it up to your supple flesh. He cups you with a groan, his thumb brushing over your perked nipple. You push on his chest, guiding him backward towards the couch at the center of the room until he plops onto the cushion with a huff.

His hands automatically reach out when you straddle him, one leg on either side of his lap. He wastes no time, his mouth creating a hot trail along your naked flesh, making your brain melt.

Steve’s tongue swirls over one of your nipples, and he sucks it between his lips, watching you with hooded eyes as your head falls back in bliss. Your hands curl in his hair automatically, holding him against and tugging as you swirl your hips against his hardening length. It drives him wild, watching you like this. An image he’d always pictured, but his imagination definitely didn’t do it justice.

His fingers push under the fabric of your panties once again and grip your ass, spreading your cheeks apart as he begins to meet each swirl of your hips with a rut of his own. He needs you, wants you, in a way that he’s never wanted anyone before.

“Baby-” he groans against your skin, releasing your nipple and pressing his face between your breasts.

The nickname makes butterflies swarm at your center.

“Steve,” You whine, desperate for there to be fewer layers separating him from where you need to feel him most.

He flips you onto your back suddenly, caging you between his arms and kissing down your body.

“I need to taste you,” he groans against your skin, dragging his tongue against your abdomen and to the tops of your panties. He hooks a thumb underneath the fabric, and you lift your hips so he can take them off, watching as he discards them absently.

You’re completely exposed, every inch of you revealed to him, but the look in Steve’s eyes has never made you feel more beautiful. He watches you with an intense regard, almost reverently, as he takes in every inch of you.

“Fuck, honey,” he breathes and swallows harshly, “so fucking perfect.”

Steve kisses over your hip bone and down the tops of your thighs, savoring the feel of your soft skin beneath his lips. The stubble along his chin rubs against you just right, and you reach out to curl your fingers back into his hair.

He’s trailing kisses back up your legs and to your inner thighs, creating an agonizing pace. Teasing, licking, sucking. Leaving his mark. Your hips rise involuntarily, seeking the release you need, desperate for his touch, and he obliges with a swipe of his tongue along your slick folds.

“Oh,” you gasp, hips falling back against the couch. His chuckle against your sensitive flesh sends vibrations straight to your core, and before you can protest, his tongue is dragging against your slit. Pushing deeper until his nose is pressed against your bundle of nerves.

“Taste so sweet,” he murmurs, sending another wave of vibrations through you, and your cunt clenches at his words. Lost in the feeling of his movements and what was to come.

His tongue pushes at your entrance, dipping into your center and humming as he tastes more of your essence.

“Steve,” you grip his hair as his tongue darts in and out of your cunt, creating a lewd noise that fills the pool house.

He groans against you, nearly losing his mind at the way you moan his name. Watching as you buck against him with each swipe of his tongue.

You whine as he pulls away from you and raise yourself onto your elbows to look at him, jaw falling open when you see his chin glistening with your arousal.

He watches you as he traces his middle finger over your slit, gathering your slick before pressing it against your cunt. You stretch over him, sucking his finger into your sopping hole until he’s knuckle-deep inside you.

The sensation has you falling back against the couch, head swimming with need.

Steve bends down and flicks his tongue against your clit, curling his finger inside you as he does. His pace is slow at first, gradually picking up speed to match the flick of his tongue and you’re already close to coming undone.

The sound of his fingers sinking into your center is vulgar, his pace making your breath quicken.

Every nerve in your body is on edge, and you feel close to combusting. Each lap of his tongue sends a jolt of electricity through your body. He adds another finger, stretching you more, and you hum at the sensation. Your hand cups one of your breasts, fingers pinching your nipple, as your breath quickens and you approach the edge.

“Oh, fuck, Steve,” you moan again.

Steve’s lips wrap around your clit, and he sucks, making you jolt against his face. You hold him there, grinding as you chase your orgasm.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans against you, eager to make you come undone. His words sending you ever the edge.

Your hips lift as your center unfurls, your body stiffening as it courses through you. A feeling that takes your breath away, makes your toes curl, and is felt through every inch of you. Your screams are trapped in your throat, focused on the feeling as you clench around Steve’s fingers and grip his hair.

Seconds drag on like minutes, and your legs begin to shake. A guttural moan escapes your lips, and goosebumps sprout along your skin as you continue to hold him there.

“Steve,” you keen, and he swears you’re driving him crazy. His fingers don’t stop, and his mouth doesn’t slow as he laps at your release. Groaning as he licks you clean.

You’re panting, core sensitive, and aching as his fingers continue to drive into you.

“Please-,” you plead, and he smiles against your skin, his fingers slowing before pulling out of you. You watch him with half-hooded eyes as he licks your spent from his digits, groaning as he tastes your sweetness.

He kisses your bud, the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, and creates a trail up your body. Taking his time to savor the way your soft skin feels underneath his lips. You gasp when they press into your neck, when his tongue swipes before his teeth graze your pulse.

“So fucking pretty,” he whispers and kisses your jaw, his hard length pressed into you.

Your hand reaches between your bodies, and you run a hand over his boxers, gripping his cock - slowly stroking him through the fabric. Satisfaction thrums through you as you watch his jaw go slack, his hips bucking to meet each of your movements.

“It’s my turn,” you whisper and kiss his jaw, but he shakes his head, swallowing hard.

“Next time,” he insists, and your heart thuds at the thought—next time.

You continue to stroke him, dragging your tongue across his lower lip and humming when you taste yourself there.

It’s all too much and not enough.

“I need you,” you whisper and pull his lower lip between yours.

“Baby,” he groans, one hand gripping your hip and the other cradling your face.

“Are you sure?” He asks, pulling away and meeting your gaze. Measuring your sincerity.

You nod rapidly and move your hand to the top of his boxers, pulling at the fabric. Holding his gaze. He springs free against your center, and you inhale deeply, hand running along his hard flesh. You stroke him once, running your thumb along the vein on the underside of his cock before swiping it over his tip coated in precum.

You yearn to taste him, to feel his length against your cheek as you pull him into your mouth, but he’d said next time. You bring your thumb to your lips and lick the precum from it, your gaze never leaving his as you suck it clean.

“Fuck-” he shakes his head, and you push at his chest until he’s seated. You straddle his lap, one leg on each side of his, and reach between your bodies to line him up with your entrance. His tip pushes at your entrance, and you gasp at the pressure, anticipating the stretch that he’s going to be.

You sink onto him slowly, and he watches your face as you take every inch. The way you gasp, how your eyes squeeze shut, and the grip you have on his shoulders is enough to send him over. He lets out a groan when he’s feeling seated in you, his fingers gripping your hips and leaving marks.

“So fucking tight,” he breathes, jagged and affected, “So perfect.”

You’re hyperaware of every place you’re connected; his naked chest pressed against yours, his hands on your hips, and his throbbing cock deep in your center. It drives you wild, makes you feel a little drunk on his touch, and slowly you lift your hips. He cups your ass to help your movements, guiding you up and down his shaft.

“Oh my god,” you moan as you increase your pace.

He drags a tongue over your pebbled flesh and kneads your breast as he pumps up into you. The sound of your skin slapping against each other intertwines with your breathy moans spilling from your parted lips, and your nails dig into his shoulders. He ruts up to meet the rhythm of your hips, pumping into you at a brutal pace, and watches how well you take him with hooded eyes.

“Take me so good, honey,” he mewls against your breast, and your grip on his shoulder tightens. His hand leaves your tit and traces over your abdomen until his fingers meet your clit.

“Fu-,” you breathe, words lost as he begins to draw mean circles against your sensitive bud.

“I’m gonna,” you try to say between moans.

“Come for me, baby,” and the desperation in his voice makes it sound like he’s begging.

Your legs squeeze shut, hips faltering, but he pumps himself into you. He watches the way your tits bounce with each thrust, the way your head falls back, and your mouth falls open as you come undone.

“Holy shit, Steve,” you cry, and a strangled groan leaves his lips when he feels you clench around him.

The orgasm rushes through you, even more intense than before. Heat creeps into your chest as your walls flutter around him, and you dissolve into pleasure. He grips your hips, continuing to pound into you as he chases his own release.

“I’m so close,” he grunts, his hips stuttering and abdominal muscles tightening. He lifts you off of his lap as his release spurts onto his stomach in white streaks, and you moan at the sight of it. Wishing you could feel him fill you. His fingers press into your flesh, his breaths shaky as he holds onto you.

He looks beautiful and disheveled, his chest red from the intensity of his orgasm. Unable to form a coherent thought, let alone speak.

Steve taps your thigh and you move off of him, watching as he disappears into the bathroom. You sit there, suddenly nervous, suddenly feeling exposed, and begin to look for the little clothes you wore when you led him inside.

When Steve returns, he finds you pulling your panties back on near the door. Your bra already pulled back into place.

“Running off?” He laughs and reaches down for his boxers near the couch. You spin around to face him with a nervous smile.

“I just thought you’d want to,” you pause and wave your hands around, unsure of yourself, “y’know?”

He can’t help the chuckle that escapes his lips as he pulls his boxers into place and approaches you, his hands wrapping around your waist.

“Making me feel a little cheap, honey,” he teases and kisses your cheek, holding your face between his hands. Surprising you with how tender he was being.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and he catches the way your brows furrow.

“What is it?” He asks you softly, studying your face.

“I just didn’t know if you meant what you said and thought I’d spare you the awkward conversation,” you sigh deeply and meet his gaze.

He doesn’t speak but presses a kiss to your lips, softer and slower. Sweeter. You follow the path his lips create, sighing at the feel of them.

Steve pulls away and smiles at you, his hooded gaze dancing between your tired one.

“I mean everything I said,” he states and rubs a thumb over your cheekbone.

You nod, trying to hide the wide grin that threatens to overtake your face.

“Next time?” You repeat and rolls his eyes, affectionately.

“Next time, I’m taking you on a date,” he promises and leads you back to the couch. He pulls you on top of him, rubbing circles against your arm.

“Oh, a date with King Steve?” you tease and poke him. Just like before.

“Shut up,” he responds, his voice thick with fatigue and something that sounds like affection.

He pulls you closer, tucking you between his arm and his chest. His head pressed to the top of yours and the sound of his soft snores lulls you to sleep.

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