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vetteltea · 1 year ago

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Am I an AWFUL human and forgot to reblog this? Yes. Am I doing it now because this remains my favourite OC series in existence? Yes.

In all seriousness, I have had the upmost pleasure of watching this series come to life, both with the story of Chris and Charles in the present and the future. Mack is so, so incredibly talented and this series just highlights each little detail of her skill.

I’ve always made such a deal a out them being “a quarter of the world away” from one another, and I stand by the fact it’s still one of the most beautiful things which has ever been written. I’m in awe of just everything.

Chris has had my heart since day one and it just grows. The fact she’s glowing, she’s nervous to speak about Charles, that she loves HARD. Chris Elliot is quite possibly my favourite girl (Except Hannah who has a place in my heart so deeply Chase you do not DESERVE HER.)

And Charles, Charles who is concerned for her safety, who has no issue with making his boys see how much he cares and how serious he is about her. That she is Chris, and oh my god they belong together.

Mack, you know how I see this and you KNOW how much this series means to me. I’m so proud of you for this chapter and of YOU for getting it out. So much love to you, my Lemonade Connoisseur.

miss americana & the heartbreak prince

—06. Quarter of the Way —word count: 5.2k —warnings: none :) love, mackie... hiii guys!!! thank you for bearing with me while I sorted all of this out. my life is so crazy busy right now, and I have a weird outlining-rule that really restricted me from getting to bust this chapter out. it's a short one, and a lot of set up for the next chapter which WILL be coming soon.

The heads of the Elliott family tree—Bill, and his brothers Ernie and Dan—will tell you that what the Elliott’s do best is racing. If you ask the necks of the Elliott family tree—the ones who turn the heads; Cindy, Tammy, and Susan—they would argue that there is nothing quite like an Elliott family holiday.

Chris is late, pulls onto the property an hour and a half after the start time posted in the massive family group-chat. She makes her own parking spot, like half of the family, since the driveway is well-filled. If her tally is correct, there are at least thirty people inside her family’s house right now. Or, at least thirty people somewhere on the property.

She hauls her way inside with a hot crock-pot of mashed potatoes, which is the reason she was late in the first place. Her internal clock is so royally screwed up that it’s not even funny. She maneuvers her way through the herds of aunts, uncles, and cousins until she finally makes it into the kitchen.

“Chrissy, you’re late, baby girl,” Cindy greets her daughter with a kiss on her temple, takes the crockpot from her arms and heaves it up onto the countertop.

“I know, I know,” Chris sighs, already starting to take off her coat. November in Georgia is not coat-worthy weather, but Chris is always cold, always. Sixty-five with a breeze does nothing for her.

Hannah appears, seemingly out of nowhere, and drops a full wine glass into Chris’ hand. “Did you go tanning?” Hannah asks, picking up her best-friend’s arm to examine her skin tone in the light. “You’re glowing.”

Chris shakes her head and takes a big sip of her wine. “No, but, uh,” she chuckles. “I have a lot to tell you.”

Hannah scowls. “Good, bad, or in between?”

Chris smiles, gets that silly little warm and fuzzy feeling in her chest. The one she always seems to get when she thinks about him. Oh, when she thinks about him. It’s disgusting. “Good. Really, really good,” she says, takes another sip of wine and leans over to whisper into Hannah’s ear. “I’m seeing someone.”

“Do they work at a tanning salon?”

Chris laughs, whispers a “Shut up,” through gritted teeth.

“Let’s go outside. Debrief on the swings?”

They sneak out the back door without being noticed by Cindy, who would undoubtedly have a long list of dinner-prep tasks for them if they stuck around for a moment longer. Wine glasses in tow, they make the journey across the porch, down the stairs, and to the back trail on the property, Chris greeting each family member as she walks past them. They’re all gathered around in the open yard, some playing cornhole, others positioned around the firepit, beers in hand, football game on the radio. Chase, who is playing catch with Reid and some cousins, warns of other family members out on the trails on the ATVs, tells the girls to be careful.

As soon as they reach the cover of the trees, Chris is telling Hannah everything. Everything. She tells her about Austin, about how she met a guy who was just too charming to not get her number. About every nervous text and hours long FaceTime call and every picture and every conversation. She tells her about how crazy she feels, how insane she felt agreeing to fly across the world— “Wait,” Hannah questions. “You flew across the world?”

“Well, yeah. He’s not from here.”

“Where is he from?” Hannah takes a sip of wine.

“Uhm,” she hesitates because she hasn’t dropped the big-bomb yet. “The south of France.”

“Mmm,” Hannah hums against the lip of her glass. “Tan mystery is solved.”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Anyways,”—She tells her about how she met his family, how they were nothing but sweet and inclusive and kind to her, even though she was surprised by half of them and looked like she’d just rolled out of a dumpster. She tells her about how they slept together, a few times, and how he pretended not to have every minute of their time planned.

“So, he was good?” Hannah smiles. Chris blushes into her wine glass, ears hot, cheeks hotter. “Oh,” Hannah laughs. “He was good-good.”

“I hate to give a man the satisfaction, but,” Chris giggles, “but,” she shrugs, doesn’t elaborate more on the topic. Her teenaged giggles and pink cheeks are more than enough for the dots to be connected, she’s sure.

Chris keeps going, telling Hannah about how she’s pretty sure he put off work to spend more time with her, and how she totally cried while they watched a movie and how he was totally freaked out by it, but in a good way? In a he-asked-me-to-be-his-girlfriend way. And then, after all that, Chris asks the burning question: “I know the RSVP date for me to have a plus-one was last month, but… is there any chance I can bring one?”

“For you? There’s room for a plus-million. I’d let you get engaged at my wedding if you wanted to—”

“I would never do that to you,” Chris assures.

Hannah nods. “Honestly, he sounds really sweet, I don’t know why you hid this from me?”

“Because,” and here comes the big one, the answer to the question she’d been dreading, the one thing about Charles she’d been dodging like the plague, “he’s not just a guy I met at COTA.”

Hannah stops dead in her tracks. Chris turns fully to face her best-friend’s apprehensive face. “Don’t tell me what I think you’re about to—”

“He’s a driver.”

“Chris!” Hannah groans. “Why do you tell me these things? Now I have to choose between protecting you and telling my fiance everything.”

Chris’ stomach drops. The thought of Chase finding out from Hannah, but especially finding out tonight, is the worst-case scenario. She has to plan out how she’s going to do it, to break the news. “You can’t tell Chase.”

Hannah shakes her head, downs what’s left of her wine. “He’s gonna fuckin’ kill you.”

“I know, just.” Chris sighs. “Please. Don’t tell him. Let me tell everyone.”

Hannah scowls, gestures dramatically. “You make my life so hard, y��know?”

Chris nods, winces when she asks: “But he can come to the wedding?”

“He can come to the wedding,” Hannah agrees, “as long as you tell Chase about him before his birthday.”

Chase’s birthday is four days from now. Four days. She can handle that, right? Four days is a lifetime, she can totally do that. It’s not like their little rule was ever all that real, anyways. She didn’t grow up under a roof where it was forbidden for her to be with a racing driver. It was always more… Bill knew the type. Bill was the type, and he didn’t want that life for his little girl. And Chase, well. Chase didn’t want his kid sister around any more than she needed to be, and that included her fraternizing with his friends, or worse, with the enemy. She can one-hundred-percent well up the courage to take his grilling.

“Just,” Hannah hesitates. “Are you sure about him?”

“What do you mean?” Chris questions, confused.

“You love hard, is all,” She elaborates. “You put up with a lot of shit, I think. Stuff that you shouldn’t have to because you think you’ve found your soulmate. I just, I want you to be careful that you aren’t blowing your savings flying to Europe all the time for a guy who doesn’t love you like you love him.”

“I don’t love him,” Chris is quick to quip back.

“Yeah, but you will.”

Chris rolls her eyes. “Also, I didn’t pay for my flights.”

“Oh?” Hannah laughs. “So you’re a sugar baby?”

Chris slaps her shoulder, bursts out laughing. “You know that’s what I thought the entire flight to see him?”

– – –

Bill leads grace around the head table, and the entire meal, Chris is acutely aware of every single family member. Of all their undesirable habits and questionable conversation topics. All of these people are going to be at Chase and Hannah’s wedding, and in a few weeks, Charles is going to be interacting with them all on his own. She’ll be too busy to be a buffer the entire time, and suddenly she feels like she’s throwing him to the sharks.

She’s never seen her family in such an unsavory light, and suddenly there are a million little flaws about everyone. Cindy is a gossip, and Bill’s accent is so thick that sometimes even Chris just smiles and nods. Chandler is half-absent, and when she is present, she’s a skunk with expensive perfume, always acts like she’s better than everyone else, more important. She has a 24/7 stick up her rear, especially if her girlfriend is with her. Chase is oblivious to his surroundings, has the attention span of a third-grader and eats like a wild animal. Reid, he’s a wildcard—just last spring he was sent home from school because he wouldn’t stop biting kids on the playground. He’s sitting at the kids table right now with nothing but rolls and corn and has his sticky little iPad in his lap. He’s feral, practically. Hannah is truly the only normal one in the bunch, but clearly something is wrong with her, too, if she’s deciding to marry into this mess.

After dinner, Hannah, Chris, Chandler, and Cindy are all on clean up duty, and as an act of sick, sick revenge, Hannah spills the beans on Chris’ relationship status. They’re all able to move past it after Cindy has collected herself—she’s very, very upset that Chris didn’t tell anyone she was leaving the country. Very upset. She almost cries over the sink of dirty china.

“You two will get along, Mama,” Chris tries to comfort her mother. “He’s also mad that I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Well,” Cindy starts, shoveling leftover mashed potatoes into takeaway boxes. “At least one of you has some sense. He could have murdered you.”

“He could’ve,” Chris nods. “He didn’t, though.”

“No,” Cindy chuckles to herself. “He just sucked your blood,” she says, taps her finger gently on Chris’ neck, on the caked-on foundation and concealer and color correctors. Chris looks at her with wide eyes. “Your foundation is the wrong shade, hun.”

Hannah and Chandler burst out laughing, but Chris is still shocked. “You knew!?” She squeals.

“I knew you were… having fun with someone—”

“Mom!” Chris blushes with embarrassment.

“I didn’t know he was a…” she lowers her voice to a whisper, “racing driver. Or that he lived halfway around the world.”

Chris nods. “It’s more like a quarter, really,” she quips.

“Christyn Claire,” Cindy warns, and Chris instinctively straightens, quickly finds a task to busy herself with.

“Yup.”

After dinner clean-up, the girls finally join the rest of the family outside. It’s a cool night, chilly almost, but the bonfire takes the nip out of the cold. Reid and his cousins are running around the yard like little maniacs playing flashlight tag, filling the background with giggles and hollers and the occasional scream that elicits the attention of all the parents when it’s not followed by belly laughs.

Chase is hunched over the fire, carefully roasting a marshmallow at the request of Hannah, who “could really go for a s’more right now.” For a moment, calmed by the ambiance of the fire and the lull of busy conversations, Chris considers telling him right now, around the extended family where he can’t cause a scene. He’d probably still manage to make one, she thinks, and instead kicks in the back of his knee when he stands up.

“You’re so whipped,” she teases.

Across the fire, Cindy snaps: “Chris, be nice to your brother.”

“Yeah, Chris,” Chase mocks. “Be nice to your brother.”

“Alors qu’est-ce qui se passe avec cette fille, mec” So, what’s up with this girl, Mate? Joris asks, and everyone at the table’s ears perk up.

Charles is having lunch with his friends, the whole group—Joris, Hugo, Thomas, Nico, Ricky, and Guizou. Charles rolls his eyes, glares at Joris from across the table. “C'était censé être privé,” That was meant to be private, he says, but it’s too late.

“Attends, quelle fille?” Wait, what girl? Ricky asks, and Joris giggles like a little girl.

“Ce n’est rien,” It’s nothing, Charles mumbles, takes a drink of his water and tries to glare so hard into the waitress’s head that she magically spawns at the table to take their order, that she shuts his friends up before they get to talking about Chris.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed. God, no. Not even sort of. But, people are always listening, always watching. He knows this, and he knows that when they’re all together like this, he and his friends are anything but quiet and subtle.

“‘Ce n'est rien’, dit-il, puis se promène dans la ville avec sa petite amie,” It's nothing,’ he says, and then walks around town with his girlfriend, Joris says, because the fact that Charles has suddenly gotten shy only eggs him on to keep talking.

“Oh! Oui! Est-ce la fille avec qui je t'ai vu sur Twitter?” Oh! Yes! Is this the girl I saw you with on Twitter? Guizou asks, and Charles nods, scanning the room carefully.

“Mec, tu as une nouvelle petite amie? Depuis quand?” Dude, you have a new girlfriend? Since when? Hugo chimes in, shoves Charles’ shoulder playfully.

“Depuis qu'il la présente à Pascale,” Since he’s introducing her to Pascale, Joris adds. Charles wonders, momentarily, if it’s too late for him to pick a new childhood best friend, to dethrone Joris from this role forever.

“A ta maman ?? Charlie espèce de mec ! Pourquoi n'avons-nous pas entendu parler d'elle?” To your Mom?? Charlie you dawg! Guizou giggles like a child on the playground. Why haven’t we heard about her?

“Je ne veux pas que ce soit un gros problème.” I don’t want it to be a big deal, Charles mutters, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat. He looks around the room quick and inconspicuously, eyes scanning for anyone looking, anyone listening. He doesn’t see anyone, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone. He hates this kind of paranoia.

“Tu n'aurais pas dû l'amener ici, alors. La course était assez risquée.” You shouldn’t have brought her here, then. The race was risky enough, Joris argues.

“Elle n'était pas à la course!” She was NOT at the race! Thomas laughs, hunched over the table so far he almost knocks over his glass of water. Charles thinks his friends are having far too much fun with this new revelation regarding his relationship status.

He nods, though, “Elle était.” She was.

“Est-elle apprécié?” Is she cool? Riccardo asks.

Charles nods and all he can imagine is the horrified look on Chris’ face when he tells her about this the next time they talk. She’s going to freak out, he knows it, and ask him to go over every detail a million and one times. He’ll do it, too, without a complaint. “Elle est très apprécié.” She’s very cool.

“Elle vit en Amérique. Géorgie.” She lives in America. Georgia, Joris adds again, because he really can’t stop himself, no matter how obvious Charles makes it that he doesn’t want to fucking talk about it.

Hugo scowls. “Comment est-ce?” What’s that like?

Charles shrugs. “Je ne sais pas. Je vais au mariage de son frère dans quelques semaines.” I don’t know. I’m going to her brother’s wedding in a couple weeks. He hasn’t really had the time to fully understand the implications of the four thousand, seven hundred miles between him and his girlfriend just yet. It felt too sweet, too pure, too good to be true until she was standing in front of him again, and it’s only been a few days since he kissed her goodbye.

“Oh? Rencontrer la famille?” Oh? Nico questions, sly smile on his face. Meeting the family?

“Elle a rencontré le sien!” She met his! Riccardo chimes.

Nico nods. “Ils vont te détester.” They’re gonna hate you.

“Copain!?” Mate!? Charles exclaims, a laugh forcing its way out of his lips. He knows his friends are just fucking with him, but. Still. Damn, give the guy a break.

“Je veux dire, tu vis de l'autre côté du globe. Les mamans n'aiment pas ça.” I mean, you live on the other side of the globe, Hugo argues, Moms don’t like that.

“C'est plutôt un quart du globe.” It’s more like a quarter of the globe, Charles is quick to correct.

“Est-ce une distinction que vous pensez que ses parents font?” Is that a distinction you think her parents are making? Guizou forces Charles to wonder. He supposes that it doesn’t really matter what distinction her parents are making, it really only matters what she thinks.

“Ne vous mettez pas dans sa tête, les gars. Il ira bien, c'est de Charles dont nous parlons.” Don’t get in his head, guys, Joris says, finally bringing some sense to the conversation. Cleaning up the mess he’d made. He’s gonna be fine, this is Charles we’re talking about.

Four days really flies by when you’re avoiding having a conversation with your older brother. Chase’s birthday dinner has come and nearly gone. Reid is already in bed, and Bill and Cindy have long headed home, so only the trio of terror remains. It is quite literally Chris’ last chance to tell Chase about Charles, and she has to. She can’t chicken out, because she’d already told Charles to buy his plane tickets.

The moment creates itself when Hannah is ushering Reid back to bed for the fourth time in the last hour, because if there is one thing Reid got from his mother, it’s his FOMO. Her departure leaves Chris alone in the kitchen with her brother, who is begrudgingly washing dishes from his own birthday dinner.

Chris hoists herself up onto the counter of the kitchen island, laying down so her back is spread over the cool marble and her eyes are fixed on the crown molding, half-blinded by the pendant lights that hang over the island.

“I have to talk to you,” she says. “I’ve been meaning to tell you…” she trails off. It’s her last opportunity to chicken out of telling him, and she knows it. “I’m uh, I’m bringing someone to your wedding. A boy.”

“A boyyyy?” Chase teases, but Chris doesn’t laugh. She’s too busy freaking out.

“A boy.”

“Who is this boy?” He asks. “Do I know him?”

“You might,” Hannah chimes in, rounding the corner from putting Reid in his straight jacket and locking him in the closet, or something not at all similar.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” Chris says. “You don’t know him. And uh,” there really isn’t any way to do it but to just rip off the bandaid. “He… drivescarsforaliving.”

“Hmm?” Chase hums.

“Hedrivescarsforaliving,” Chris repeats, somehow quicker this time than the first. Chase turns around from the sink, soaped-up scrub-daddy still in his hand, and scowls before turning to Hannah.

“Do you hear her?” Hannah shrugs. “What the fuck is she saying?”

Chris takes a deep breath and sits up. Chase rolls his eyes like he doesn’t have time for all these dramatics. “He races.”

“Oh. Stock car?” Chris shakes her head. “Indy?”

“Formula One.”

The gears start spinning in her brother’s brain, his eyes darting between Chris and Hannah like he’s waiting for them to say it’s all a big joke, to burst out laughing. Neither of them do. “F1?” He goads. Chris and Hannah both nod. “What the fuck?” he laughs. “Who?”

“Charles Leclerc.”

“You’re shitting me.” She shakes her head again, awkwardly maneuvers to grab her phone from her back pocket and pulls up a picture of her and Charles on the plane back on the way from Abu Dhabi to Monaco. Charles’ second-place trophy is sat on the floor between his legs, and he’s got his arm around her, the biggest, dumbest smiles on both of their faces. You’d think they had known each other forever, how comfortable they look. “This is fucking crazy.”

“Why aren’t you mad?” She asks, tucking her phone back into her pocket.

“Why would I give a fuck who you sleep with?” He laughs. “Just let me know if I need to kill him, or something.”

It’s not until he’s well into post-season testing at Maranello, nearly half-way through December that it really sinks in for him just how hard the long-distance thing is going to be. He’s sitting at dinner with Andrea and Joris when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He’s come to memorize the different notifications, and he’s certain this one is a text. He hopes it’s from her.

It’s not. It’s a Whatsapp notification from the PR groupchat Mia and Slyvia have him in. Charles, hai una ragazza? Do you have a girlfriend, it reads. He blinks at the screen a few times like the message might disappear. It’s not the first time he’s gotten it, the ominous relationship from two people who, as much as he respects Mia and Sylvia, don’t need to know every detail of his dating life. Or any detail, really.

He knows she wouldn’t be asking him if people weren’t asking her, though, which means there’s a rumor stirring somewhere.

He opens Twitter first, searches his name and Chris’ name into the search bar. Full names, nicknames, first names only, last names only. Every search comes up with a load of nothing. There’s a sigh of relief, and then he searches just his name, plus girlfriend. Bingo.

The original tweet, a screenshot of a TikTok, a picture of the two of them walking down the street. It knots his stomach, drops it straight to his feet. Suddenly, he’s not at all hungry for the meal in front of him. Instead, he thinks he’s going to have to fight to keep it down.

There are probably two hundred, three hundred tweets about him and his quote–en-quote girlfriend. From trying to figure out who she is by searching through his following on Instagram to arguing about if it’s an invasion of privacy or not, with every comment about his ex-girlfriend’s and comparing them to the back of Chris’ head in the middle. It’s a disaster, he thinks, but at least nobody can come up with a name.

Charles texts Chris before he replies to the team. Don’t freak. There’s a picture of you and I on… everything. No faces. You can call me if you want. And then to Mia and Sylvia, sure do.

Can I call you? Mia replies.

No.

He’s mad. Fuming, almost. At the invasion of privacy, at the fact that he gives so much of his time to strangers, over and over again he maintains the mindset that it costs him nothing to give them some of his time. At the realization that no matter how much he gives them, they will always, always feel entitled to taking what he tries to keep. It will never be enough for them.

He’s mad at himself, too. The how-could-I-let-this-happen kind of mad that feels a lot more like a never-ending pang of guilt in your chest. He didn’t know they were around fans, but didn’t he? He’s always around a fan in Monaco, it seems like, and here he is putting his arm around her while they walk down the street? Sending out the siren for anyone who might want to pry into his private life? It’s a mistake he never should have made. He’s smarter than this.

He fumes silently at the table while everyone around him talks about their meals and the atmosphere and all he can think about, the only track his mind can follow, is what Chris is doing at that very moment.

He knows the time difference like it’s nothing, automatically converts it in his head when he looks at his watch. It’s 2:30 in the afternoon in Georgia, so she's at work. Today is Tuesday, which means special is at… 2? It’s art day, and he knows art is at 2. Or it is Gym today? Gym is at… what time is gym at? He can’t remember.

He’s watching Mia type, stop typing, and start again, his leg bouncing under the table, shaking the booth underneath him. Undoubtedly, she’s typing up some essay for him to read.

Chris calls, and he answers before the first ring can finish vibrating. “Hi,” he says, soft. “Hi,” he repeats, this time harder, calmer. Everything is fine.

Silently, he shoos Joris out of the booth so he can step away.

“Hi,” she says, like she doesn’t have a care in the world, like social media isn’t digging through every interaction he’s had for the last month with pitchforks trying to find her.

“Are you okay?” He’s asking before he can even process the emotions—or lack thereof—in her voice. It’s like he’s blind. The type of angry where you’re clouded by it, where all he can think about is her.

He navigates through the restaurant, trying to find a corner of quiet solace. He can’t go outside, there were fans out there when he’d shown up. Maybe the bathroom will be empty, he hopes.

“Yeah,” Chris says, and he lets out a heavy breath, the one he’d been unable to release since he got that first text. He thinks he believes her, that she’s okay, and that he’s freaking out over nothing. “I mean, you said there weren’t any faces, so…”

“I’m sorry that this happened like this,” he offers, ducking his head into the bathroom, peeking under the stalls. He finds one pair of shoes and settles for the hallway outside the bathrooms—there’s more room to pace there, anyways.

“Like what?” She laughs. She fucking laughs, and it stops him dead in his tracks. His head falls back to the sky, a sharp exhale—practically a laugh of his own—leaves his nose. Of course, she’s laughing. “This is exactly how we knew it would happen.”

“It’s my fault, I should have acted different.”

If he closes his eyes, he swears he can see the frown on her face, the familiar little disappointed sigh filling his ear. “Don’t do that,” she says. “You were just being… just existing. You’re allowed to exist. I’m sorry that anyone feels entitled to your existence.”

God, she can be so annoying sometimes; has to go and make all this sense all the time, makes all his nondescript, word-scramble of thought feel simple and linear. She does it so easily, understands him with infuriating ease. Avec toi, je suis moi, he’d say, if he could properly convey it.

He bites the nail on his pointer finger. “Are you sure you are okay?”

“Yes, babe,” she laughs again. It feels like she’s always laughing. He could listen to it, to the million variations of her laugh, for a long time. Maybe until he can’t hear anymore. “I’m so okay. The okay-est. Are you okay?”

“Me? I’m fine, yeah. Just worrying about you.” He’s not okay, but. He signed up for this life, and she didn’t. Charles asked for this, worked hard to have this. Sometimes he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to be upset when stuff like this happens, all things considered.

“I can hear it in your voice. You’re mad. Talk to me. I have fifteen minutes until I have to get my kids from art.” Tuesdays mean art class, he was right. He knew.

Charles groans, thinks that this must be how toddlers feel right before they throw a tantrum, when they have all these contradictory thoughts flying around every corner of his brain and he can’t make sense of a single one of them. “I just. God, I just. Fuck, I feel guilty to get upset, you know?”

“I know. You don’t have to feel guilty with me, though.”

“I don’t know, sometimes it is just,” he’s pacing again. He wishes more than anything, more than anything, that she could just be here. That they could be having this conversation on a couch somewhere together. Missing her is hard when things are going good, because all he thinks about is how much better they’d be if she was there. But when things are bad, when he’s about ready to channel his sixteen-year-old self and punch a hole through a wall, he can feel all four thousand and seven hundred miles. “It makes me angry that less and less things are mine. I can not even walk down a street without getting a call from my press officer. I belong to everyone but to me, and I know that I am very lucky to have this life I have, and I love driving more than anything. It just gets bigger and bigger and more out of control. And God. Fuck, I am so mad about this,” he pauses, waits for her to say something, but she doesn’t. She just holds the empty space. “I don’t know why I’m so mad about this one. I mean, I know that it’s because it’s not just me, it’s you too. But fuck, I’m pissed off.”

“You don’t need to protect me,” she says, and he rolls his eyes. He knows he doesn’t need to.

“I know, but I want to. I want to be able to.”

Without pause, she says: “You could. I mean, I felt safe enough to fly halfway across the world without telling anyone I was leaving, right?” He smiles. God, it really bugged him that she did that. She should have told someone. Anyone. We’re keeping it lowkey, she’s said and he didn’t know what to say. He remembers thinking it’s a trip, not the fucking nuclear codes.

“It’s actually closer to a quarter of the way around the world, you know?” He jokes. It’s such a stupid distinction to make. Half the world, quarter of the world. Who cares, really? It’s all too far. A six hour time difference just feels a little easier than a twelve hour one.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, and he’s certain she’s been making the same distinction, reminding herself of the same thing to make it that little bit easier. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

He leans against the wall of the narrow hallway, facing it, resting his forehead against the wallpaper and closing his eyes. He imagines he’s going back to a table with her sitting in the booth, that she’s inside the restaurant waiting for him. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“Are you sure you are okay?”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” he lies. She pauses like she can tell, like she’s trying to figure out if it’s worth it to call him on it. He really hopes she doesn’t, isn’t sure how much longer he can try to have a conversation like this with her while standing in the bathroom hallway at a random Italian restaurant.

“Promise it won’t ruin your night?”

He chuckles. “I promise no such thing.”

“Okay,” she says quietly.

“Two days,” he says, a reminder for him, a reminder for her. Two days until you’re in front of me. Two days and some change, for him—less than that for her. That’s what happens when you’re on different ends of the world, even your days are measured differently sometimes.

“Two days.”

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thank you per usual for @silverstonesainz for being my forever beta mwah mwah

#ma&thbp #vetteltea book club #Mack is understandably the greatest author #you will always see me hyping this series up #Chris Elliot my beloved #MACK MY BELOVED #charles leclerc imagine

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vetteltea · 1 year ago

Text

I am: ON THE FLOOR.

I knew this piece would get to me, I knew having Daniel in the crossover would hit me emotionally. But to see SEB'S NAME CROSSED OUT? You are EVIL.

Daniel is Sebastian but...elevated, I guess? I love that he was careful with the tension, he made sure to make her comfortable and then the scene? Oh my god- Daniel can have an Australian Kiss with me anyday.

The vibrator, the teasing, the AFTERCARE. It kills me that he's taking her to the diner and he really likes her and GAVE HER HIS HOODIE? Why do I have this vision of him lazily smiling at the reader and just...the car ride home too. I'm on the FLOOR.

Rose, this is INCREDIBLE! I LOVE IT SO MUCH!

austrailian kisses (sv5) (dr3)

pornstar!seb x reader , pornstar!daniel x reader

summary: you take seb’s advice to broaden your horizons and spend some time with his austrailian friend

notes: this may be the filthiest thing i’ve ever written.

warnings: !! CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI !! bondage, oral (f receiving), sex toys (vibrator), overstimulation

prev part

You were hesitant to text Daniel. How were you meant to go about this? Should you just come out with it and ask to collaborate with him? He did say he was a fan, but he just being nice?

You swallow your nerves and shoot him a text saying hello and introducing yourself.

To Daniel

Hey Daniel, it’s Y/n, the girl that Sebastian was filming with last week. He gave me your phone number so that I could message you.

I was wondering if you wanted to try to film something together? If not, I get it. It was nice meeting you the other day.

You throw your phone to the other side of your bed and bury your face in your hands. How was Sebastian able to be so confident when he asked you to collaborate?

A few minutes later your phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with a notification.

From Daniel

Hey Y/n, of course I remember you, I wasn’t lying when I said I was a fan. I’d love to work on something with you.

You let out a breath then text him back, making plans to meet in person.

You felt odd, waiting for Daniel at a cafe. Your mind flashed back to the nerves you had when meeting Sebastian for the first time, how he was effortlessly charming, and so easy to fall for. You shake the thoughts out of your head. You’re doing this to move on, to forget about Sebastian.

Daniel comes in wearing a cream colored hoodie with jeans, and a baseball cap over his head. He grins when he sees you. You reach a hand out to shake his, he grabs it pulling you into a hug.

He’s got a smile plastered on his face, and his eyes are bright and warm. He pays for your drink and a few pastries for you to share, scoffing when you try to pull your own wallet out to pay.

“Don’t even try it sweetheart.” He smiles, handing the cashier his card.

Daniel is different than you thought he’d be. He’s always so controlling and commanding in his videos, but in person he’s all smiles and soft touches. He’s sunshine personified.

“Have you seen my stuff?” He asks when there’s a break in the conversation. “I watched your videos with Seb, and I feel like I should tell you I’m a lot more… dominant… than he is.”

You feel a thrill run through you at his words. “I’ve seen your videos.” You nod. “But I want that. I want what Sebastian couldn’t give me.” You ignore the double meaning in your words.

Daniel smirks. “Alright then sweetheart.”

You make plans to go back to the studio to film the next day. You feel odd getting ready. Knowing that soon someone will start knocking on your door, but it won’t be the blonde German you’ve grown accustomed to.

You scold yourself for hoping to see Sebastian when you do hear knocking, and feel a little disappointed when you see Daniel standing at your door.

“Ready to go?” He asks.

You nod, walking with him to his car. The ride is silent. You spend a good portion of it staring out the window, while Daniel keeps glancing over at you.

He sighs. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. It won’t hurt my feelings or anything.”

“No, no, I want to.” You reassure him.

“If you ever feel uncomfortable, remember the safe word. We’ll stop immediately, no questions asked.” He reminds you.

He helps you out of his car, and guides you inside with a hand on the small of your back. You feel your heart sink when he takes you to the room you had filmed Sebastian’s video in.

He looks down at you as he feels you tense up next to him. “Is this okay? We can go somewhere else if you want-”

“No. It’s fine.” You cut him off. “Let’s set up your camera.”

He gives you a hesitant nod, pulling out his camera and tripod from his bag.

“Alright, let’s get started.” You say once he’s finished setting up.

Daniel can tell something is off. You seem uncomfortable in this room, so he decides to try to use his charm to lighten the mood.

“Have you ever had an Australian kiss before?” He asks.

“What’s an Australian kiss?”

“It’s like a French kiss, but it’s down under.” He smirks as you feel your face warm up.

He pulls you clothes off of you, letting his hands wander each new expanse of skin that’s revealed. He takes your arms carefully to tie them up behind you. He tugs on the restraints, then lays you down, checking to make sure you’re still comfortable. He plays with your breasts before moving down to rest between your legs. He pulls them apart and softly strokes your folds.

“Look at how pretty you are.” He softly presses his thumb against your clit, pulling a gasp from you. “You’re so sensitive, aren’t you bunny?”

You feel a pain in your chest at the nickname, the one given to you by Sebastian, now being used by Daniel, but that’s quickly forgotten when you feel his finger slowly push inside you. You moan, lifting your hips up at the intrusion.

“Aww, such a needy little thing.” Daniel murmurs as he starts to curl his finger inside you. He pushes a second one inside you, his thick digits spreading you open further for him.

He stills his fingers in you, and smirks when you whine. “I know bunny, so desperate to get fucked? Why don’t you fuck yourself on my fingers.” He coos.

You rock your hips against his hand, hands gripping the bedsheets under you. You falter when his palm brushes against your clit, slowing the rhythm you created.

“You can’t get yourself off, can you? Do you need me to help you cum?”

“Yes, please!” You whine.

“I don’t believe you bunny. Beg me.”

You plead with him, your words falling out of your mouth quickly, desperate for him to make you cum.

He curls his fingers again once he’s satisfied, now fucking you roughly with them. He leans down and takes your clit in his mouth, rolling it against his tongue.

He feels you clench around his fingers and pulls himself away from your clit. “You’re so tight bunny, are you ready to cum?”

You nod quickly. “Yes, please make me cum, please!”

He takes your clit back in his mouth, sucking on it harshly. You feel yourself practically thrown over the edge as your orgasm hits you.

Daniel pulls his fingers out of you, replacing them with his tongue. He takes everything you give him, slurping obscenely from your cunt.

Just as you feel yourself start to come down from your high, he pushes his tongue back inside you. You let out a loud moan that turns into a whine as you feel his nose brush against your clit.

“C’mon bunny, you were just begging me to make you cum a second ago, isn’t this what you want?” He doesn’t wait for your response before he throws your legs over his shoulders and buries his face between them again.

He moans against your core, and looks up at you. “You taste delicious bunny.”

You feel a second orgasm quickly approaching, and before you can warn Daniel, you feel yourself release on his tongue.

Daniel licks up your cum, but pulls away shaking his head.

“Did I tell you that you could cum?” He asks. When you don’t answer, mind still a little fuzzy from your climax, he lands a sharp slap to your clit.

You yelp, attempting to pull your hips away from him.

“Don’t try and run away. I asked you a question bunny. Did I say you could cum?” He stands up now, practically towering over you.

“No, you didn’t.” You say, your eyes welling up with tears.

“Then I think I need to punish you. Turn you back into a good little bunny.” He says.

He steps away, leaving you wiggling around on the bed. You close your legs, feeling your release spread over your thighs.

When he comes back he holds a black vibrator in one hand, and tape in the other. He rests the toy against your thigh, making sure the head presses against your clit. He tapes it to you, making sure it’s secure.

“Remember the safe word?” He whispers in your ear.

“Yes Daniel.” You whisper back.

He nods before turning it on to the lowest setting.

You whine, twisting your hips around in an attempt to move away from the vibrations.

“You wanted to cum so bad, so now you’re going to cum until I’m finished watching you.” Daniel moves behind the camera, watching you through the viewfinder.

You lose count of how many orgasms you have, you mind far too cloudy to keep track. With every one Daniel walks back over to you and turns the vibrator up one setting, until it’s buzzing is arguably just as loud as your moans.

“I can’t- I can’t! No more, please!” You thrash, feeling a mix of pleasure and pain between your legs.

“C’mon bunny, give me one more good one, and I’ll stop it.” Daniel coaxes.

He doesn’t have to wait long for your past orgasm to shoot through you, your vision almost blackening out.

Daniel reaches out to turn the vibrator off, then pulls the camera off the tripod and walking over to you. He pulls your legs apart to show the camera the mess you’ve made, then pans it up to see your face. You struggle to keep your eyes open, you’ve got a sheen of sweat over your body, and your hair lays in a mess around your head.

Daniel softly strokes your cheek, smiling when you lean into his touch. “You were so good for me, my good little bunny.”

You flush at his praise, and give the camera a lazy smile.

He shuts the camera off, then gently lifts you to sit up. He leans you against his chest as he reaches behind you to untie your hands. Next he softly pulls the tape and vibrator off your leg.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I sweetheart?” He asks, the smiley soft Daniel back immediately.

You shake your head. “No, that was so much fun.” You turn to get up, wincing at the feeling between your legs.

“Here.” Daniel grabs a towel, wiping off your legs.

He helps you stand up, you lean against him for balance, your legs shaking like a newborn deer.

“I’ve got you.” He says as he helps you get dressed.

You walk back to his car with his arm around your waist, whether it’s to help your balance or just affection after your previous activities you don’t know, but you have to admit to yourself that it does feel nice.

He keeps chatting with you in the car in an attempt to keep you awake and aware. You furrow your brows when he passes your home.

“Daniel, where are we going?”

“I’m going to take you to get some food sweetheart.” He says as if it’s obvious.

He parks his car outside an old looking diner. He rushes over to your side to open the door for you, and again wraps an arm around your waist.

“Get ready for the best meal of your life.”

He guides you inside, greeting a few of the workers as he walks over to a small table in the corner and pulls out a chair for you.

“Hello Daniel, and who is this pretty little thing you brought with you?” An older woman asks as she places menus down for you.

Daniel answers her question before you can. “This is Y/n. Y/n, this is Dorothy.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you Miss Y/n, I hope Daniel is treating you well?” She raises her brows at you.

You laugh and nod. “Yes, he’s been very sweet.”

“I’m glad, you know he’s never actually brought a girl here with him before.” She winks at you.

“Dorothy!” He exclaims, his cheeks now tinted a soft pink.

“Alright, alright, I’ll be back in a few to take your order.” She smiles as she leaves.

You smile over at Daniel. “So you don’t bring all the girls you film with here?”

He can’t hide his smile as he shakes his head. “Only the ones I really like.”

You wince but laugh at his answer.

“No, I’m sorry, that was bad.” He laughs with you.

“It was. But it was cute.” You tell him as you look down at your menu.

Daniel grins looking down at his.

You spend your meal laughing with Daniel, well more with Dorothy telling you stories about the Australian sitting across from you, as Daniel tries to get your focus back on him by reaching over the table to interlock your fingers with his.

He pays for your meal once again, claiming that your money was no good here, then walks you back to his car.

The night has brought a cool breeze with it, creating goosebumps across your bare arms. Daniel feels you shiver beside him, and whips off his hoodie. He pulls it down over you before you can protest.

The drive back to your home is filled with silence once again, but this time it’s a comfortable silence. Daniel’s music plays softly in the background, you can occasionally hear him humming softly.

You feel a sense of calm wash over you, being wrapped up in Daniel’s hoodie. His hand rests against your thigh, his thumb brushing soft circles against it.

So, this is what it feels like to be wanted? It feels nice. You think to yourself as you watch the streetlights pass by.

#DR3 #SV5 #vetteltea book club #THIS IS EVERYTHING #GO GO GO READ

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