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pucksandpower · 2 months

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Lullaby

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: in which Max is the only lullaby you’ll ever need

Warnings: 18+ content

You stare up at the ceiling, wide awake. The numbers on the alarm clock seem to taunt you, the minutes ticking by as you struggle in vain to fall asleep.

It’s nearly 1 am and Max still isn’t home.

With a sigh, you roll over and bury your face in his pillow, breathing in his familiar scent.

It’s not the same.

Your body craves his warmth, the protective circle of his arms. Sleep just won’t come without him here.

You’ve always been this way, for as long as you can remember. A perpetual insomniac, tossing and turning through the lonely nights.

That is, until you met Max.

The first night you spent together, you were astonished to find yourself drifting off within minutes of being wrapped in his strong embrace. It was like magic. Now, months later, the spell hasn’t broken. Max has become a necessity, not just for your heart but also for your health.

The sound of the front door opening stirs you from your restless thoughts. Muted footsteps make their way to the bedroom and you feel the mattress dip down.

“Hey,” Max whispers, his hand grazing your shoulder. “Sorry I’m so late, the meeting ran long. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting up.”

You roll over to face him, drinking in the sight of his tousled hair and tired eyes. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re here.”

He offers you a soft smile, the one he saves only for these quiet intimate moments, and your heart skips. No matter how many times you see it, that smile never fails to make you melt.

“Let me just wash up and I’ll be right there, okay?” He squeezes your hand gently before disappearing into the bathroom.

You listen to the familiar sounds of him getting ready for bed, a ritual you know by heart. The splash of water, the electric hum of his toothbrush, the soft thud of his clothes hitting the hamper.

When he emerges in just his boxers, you lift up the covers in silent invitation. He slides in behind you and tucks your body against his chest, legs tangled together.

You fit so perfectly, two puzzle pieces made for each other.

His arms wrap around you like bands of steel and you feel yourself begin to relax into him. Here, cradled against him with your legs interlocked, is the only place you’ve ever found true peace.

Max brushes his lips over your hair. “Did you miss me?” He murmurs.

You smile into the darkness. “You know I did.”

“I missed you too, schatje.” His voice is husky with fatigue. “I’m exhausted but I had to get back to take care of my girl.”

You snuggle deeper into his embrace. “My hero.”

He chuckles, low and warm like honey flowing over you.

You talk softly as you both unwind from the day, voices hushed in the intimacy of the night. He tells you about the team debrief that ran late and you fill him in on the book you started today, trading thoughts and details as the fuzziness of sleep starts to seep into the she of your consciousness.

Eventually conversation tapers off, words replaced by contented silence. Max’s breathing deepens and you know he’s nearing slumber. But your mind still buzzes, body fighting against its own weariness.

You shift restlessly and Max instantly tightens his hold. “Shh I’ve got you,” he soothes. “Just try to relax.”

One large hand begins massaging gentle circles on your back and you focus on its hypnotic motion, on the sensation of his calloused fingers tracing delicate shapes.

He starts humming softly, a nameless tune that fills you with wistful melancholy. You’ve never asked where he learned it. It belongs to these fragile midnight moments, when he coaxes you to stillness with his voice and touch.

Between the comfort of his embrace and the lullaby reverberations rumbling through his chest, you finally feel sleep approaching. Your thoughts drift away until only the present remains — Max surrounding you, his warmth, his scent, the combined rhythm of your heartbeats.

Just as your heavy eyelids begin to close, Max shifts suddenly and cages you beneath him. You gasp as he presses urgent kisses under your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin.

“Max!” You squirm half-heartedly. “I was almost asleep.”

“Not quite yet, schatje. We’re not done.” His voice is gravelly with arousal that makes your belly swoop. “I need you.”

He kisses you deeply until you’re clinging to him, nails digging into the flexing muscles of his back. This man unravels you with barely a touch, your body open and pliant to him like a flower turns to the sun.

When he enters you it feels like coming home. You let out a shaky exhale, overwhelmed by the perfection of his body joining yours. This connection, this wholeness, is all you’ve ever wanted.

Max sets a slow, deep rhythm. His eyes blaze into you, grey flickering with lust and love and possession. “You’re mine,” he rasps, thrusting harder. “This is right where you belong. Under me, surrounding me, taking all of me.”

“Yes, yes I’m yours,” you gasp. The slide and drag of your bodies is maddening, tension coiling at the base of your spine.

Max grips your thigh, hooking it over his hip to drive himself deeper. “No one else gets to have you like this. You only come apart for me. I’m the only one who gets to feel you shatter.”

You cry out as he hits that perfect spot inside, stars bursting behind your eyelids. “Max, please …”

He crushes you closer, thin control fraying. “Please what? Tell me. I’ll give you anything you need.”

A particularly deep thrust wrings a wanton moan from you. You’re so close now, balanced on a knife’s edge of bliss. “Just you,” you manage to say. “I just need you.”

Max smiles, satisfied. “That’s my girl.” Then his lips slant over yours, swallowing your sobs of pleasure as his hips piston faster. The tension crests, higher and higher, until finally it breaks and you’re swept away on waves of dizzying ecstasy.

Max tenses and follows you over with a rough groan, your name a prayer on his lips. He collapses heavily against you, breath coming in harsh pants.

For long moments you just cling together, fingerprints bruising, heartbeats thundering through one another.

Eventually Max stirs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. But he doesn’t separate your bodies. He knows you’ll rest easier staying connected, so he simply shifts just enough to take some of his weight off you.

You let out a small sigh of contentment, his warmth seeping into every inch of you like a blanket. Utterly spent and sated, you quickly begin drifting off. But before sleep claims you, Max’s quiet voice cuts through the haze.

“I’ll always come back to you. Every night, just like this. You’re my home.”

His words wrap around your heart, a vow and a lullaby in one. You manage to murmur a quiet “love you” before finally succumbing to sleep, safe in the harbor of his arms.

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formulamoons · 4 days

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚ FOLLOW YOU AROUND - LANDO NORRIS

Rich boy Lando is practically canon in my mind! Haha, I know this might not fit perfectly into an F3-school timeline, but bear with me here. If you have any thoughts on this concept or want to share anything else, please feel free to do so!

Rich boy Lando would learn your entire class schedule and follow you around the school like a lost puppy. Even after you roll your eyes and let out an exasperated sigh every time you see him waiting outside your classroom, his smile only grows wider at the sight of your annoyance.

He would always get ahead of you in the few classes you shared, swooping in to take your books and notes from your desk the moment class ended. flashing you a flirtatious smile as he stepped out of the classroom.

"Norris, stop it! Give me my books back," you say, trying to catch up.

"Easy, gorgeous," he replies, effortlessly stopping your hand as you attempt to snatch the books away.

"I'm serious, I'm going to be late for class." You don't notice his grin until you realize he's led you into your math classroom.

“So, listen, one of my f3 friends is throwing a party next Friday” he says while sitting at your usual desk right in front of the classroom “come with me yeah?”

Lando Norris is relentless. Everyone knows that for the past six months; he's been persistently asking begging you to go out with him. All he wants is a chance to prove he’s not just another spoiled rich kid. He desperately wishes for you to laugh at his jokes the way you do with his other friends, to hold your beautiful face between his hands, and kiss you until the world fades away.

He's never chased anyone before, never really participated in the whole courtship thing. Usually, he's just fooling around with a different girl every week, uninterested in attachments. But with you, it's different. He'd follow you around forever if you asked him to. Ever since the old, grumpy English professor paired you two up for a project, he's craved more.

Even though you've rejected him every single time he asks, he still tries, his hopeful eyes fixed on yours. Sometimes, you feel like giving in, but you stop yourself, remembering that he's likely just interested in getting into your pants, relishing the excitement of the chase. Why else would Lando Norris, who couldn’t even remember your name six months ago, suddenly become so eager to go out with you?

“I can’t sorry I already have plans” you start to say not even trying to put together a good excuse. Lando pouts at your answer standing up from your desk and putting his hands into his pocket.

"Oh, okay, no problem," his voice loses some of its cheery tone, so he clears his throat, trying to conceal it. However, you notice the change. He stands in front of you for a moment before the rest of your classmates start to fill the room. "See you later, sweetheart," he whispers loud enough for you to hear him before stepping out of the classroom.

You swear that the last encounter has nothing to do with how you let Max drag you to Lando’s next race, you even smile when he waves at you from the podium.

Formulamoons, please do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend my content outside of Tumblr.

notes.- inspired by a jjk au i read a while ago

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wishlistcharles · 1 month

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secrets we keep (pt1) → mv1

max verstappen x perez!fem reader

genre: one night stand, teammates sister, pregnancy

cw: 18+ MDNI, smut, oral (male receiving), p in v, slight spit play, dirty talk, mentions of pregnancy, pls let me know if i am forgetting anything

word count: 3.1k

song: too sweet - hozier

sidenote: hi everyone! finally a new fic is here and it's a max one! this is going to be a two parter, so keep an eye out for the next one! please let me know if y'all have any ideas or requests for a fic (I write for all drivers), also not beta read. hope you all enjoy <3

♡♡♡♡

The roars of the crowd were loud as Max crossed the finish line, followed closely by Sergio. For a second there you had thought your brother would overtake the world champion, but nonetheless he fought hard and gave the team what they wanted, a 1-2 finish.

It wasn’t often you got to go to your brother's races, maybe only a handful a year but you were lucky to be able to get the time off to join your niece and nephews for the Japanese Grand Prix. Sergio would topple over if he knew you had the hots for his teammate. Every time you have met with Max, it’s been very cordial. Polite hellos, asking how life in Mexico is, what you have been up to since he last saw you.

A part of you wondered why he was so timid with you. Was it because of Sergio? Being the baby of the family left him feeling protective of you, but you don’t think that would affect how Max interacted with you. I mean you barely saw him.

Watching the pair on the podium set tears in your eyes. You were extremely proud of your big brother and his teammate.

Your dad absolutely adored max and had invited him to join us for a celebratory dinner after the race. Which to your surprise he happily accepted.

You were staying at the same hotel that both the bulls were at, so reconnecting for dinner would not be difficult. After the race you decided to head back to freshen up and change your clothes into something a little more fancy. At the race you were wearing a white tennis skirt with a red bull polo tucked in. For dinner you decided to wear a black over the shoulder dress that fit you perfectly. Finally ready you walk down and see that only Max is waiting in the lobby. Your stomach turns at the thought of being alone with him.

Picking his head up from looking down at his phone he notices you walking toward him and waves shyly. “Hi y/n, looks like it’s only us ready” he said in a tiny voice. You are always so used to him being outspoken it kinda scares you a little. “hi maxie, you know how my family is with time management, they should be down here soon” you said with a laugh, not even acknowledging the nickname that slipped from your mouth.

A sudden tinge of pink washes over Max’s cheeks and you feel heat radiating up your neck. Act cool, you keep telling yourself but you are so nervous. Max was all you ever wanted in a guy. Handsome, sweet, confident, the list could go on. You knew deep down though your worlds would never clash well. You lived in Mexico with your parents - working as a teacher. Max lived in Monaco and raced for one of the best teams in formula one history, surrounded by models throwing themselves at him. You couldn’t blame them, you would do the same, if you thought you ever had a chance.

“No worries, I always have to wait for Checo to come to our team meetings” he laughed. “I bet, if there’s one thing my brother isn’t know for it’s being on time, thank you for coming to dinner with us though, we really appreciate it, I know my dad and brother do a lot”

With a smirk on his face something shifts “oh just your dad and brother, not you?”. You feel the breath knocked out of your lungs, just as you are about to open your mouth to respond, tiny roars make notice in the room and you almost fall at your nephew running to you, so you could pick him up. Silently you thank your nephew for the interruption.

Dinner goes smoothly. You sat at the opposite end of the table with the kids, while your brother, dad, and max were deep in conversation. You swore that Max kept looking at you though, sneaking glances.

As the check gets situated, all of you make your way out onto the busy streets of Japan. You hear your brother speak up “Y/N are you gonna come get ice cream with us” and while you were deeply contemplating it, you decided to pass up the offer and head back to the hotel.

“No I think I'm gonna head back to the hotel and pack, I want to take the kids to get breakfast tomorrow morning before we leave” you say.

“no puedes caminar solo es tarde en la noche” (you can't walk alone, it's late at night) your brother worries.

“Sergio, I'm fine, it's not that far from the hotel, I'll grab a taxi” before he could protest, Max jumped in.

“I can take a taxi back with y/n, I'm super tired after the race, and I'll make sure she makes it to her hotel room”

“Are you sure Max?” Sergio asks.

“Yes I'm sure, it was a lovely evening, thank you for inviting me”

Your family bids their farewells and walks away, leaving just the two of you waiting for a taxi. As you guys are picked up, you both don't say a word in the car, sitting in an uncomfortable silence. Max pays the driver and you thank him quietly. Making your way up to the floor where both of your rooms are, you stop at his first. “Thank you for bringing me back Max, I appreciate it”

“Of course it's no problem, hey I'm actually not really that tired, do you wanna play Fifa or watch a movie?” he asks. Something deep down is telling you to decline. Spending time with him is just going to dig you deeper in a hole with how you feel about him, nonetheless, you can't let this opportunity go and accept this offer.

Walking in you notice the room is ten times bigger than yours, with a balcony and jacuzzi tub in the middle of the bathroom. Max must notice your awe because he says “I don't know why they give us such big rooms, we are hardly ever even in here”

“Haha it's nice for Checo because the kids get to play around”

“You are really close with them, aren't you?”

“They are practically my own, when their mom is out doing business I usually keep them, I also help homeschool them”

“Well that's very sweet of you” he says while taking a seat on the bed, while motioning you to do the same.

“Do you want something to drink” he offers

“No I'm okay” you politely decline. You still can't believe this, you are in Max Verstappen's room all alone.

“Okay let's put on a movie! What are you up for, should we do action” you sense a sudden shift in his mood, you can't quite place it, maybe excitement. You believe he can probably sense that you are nervous. The mention of action makes your ears perk up.“Can we please watch fast and the furious, I am on a mission to have all my friends watch it”

Max doesn't protest, just laughs quietly and nods, setting the movie in place. You make yourself comfortable and take off your big hoop earrings and heels- even though they werent big by any means they still hurt you. Once you are back in bed with him, you notice him looking at you.

“Is there something on my face?” You laugh

“No i just guess I never noticed how different but similar you look from checo”

“Really? How so?” You question

“Well for one, you are very pretty, but you have the same freckles that Checo does covering your cheeks and nose” Max’s comment has you feeling shy, you know you must be sporting a prominent blush across your face and neck.

“well thank you Max, it's funny because growing up, i never had freckles, but i think being out in the sun for races and the kids karting tournaments have really brought them to surface”

“That's interesting, I admire how close to your family you are, something I wish I had” he says so quietly you almost miss it. You don't know what possesses you to do this but you place your hand over his and say “you are always welcome in this family max, we all love you, and no matter where sergio goes next year- you will always be welcomed with open arms”

He stares at you with a blank face- unable to tell what he's thinking you begin to think that was the wrong thing to say when suddenly he leans down a plants a gentle kiss over your lips. You gasp at the touch. Max pulls back with wide eyes and says “shit I shouldn't have done that, Checo will kill me if he found out”. Instead of agreeing with him, you keep your hand held tightly over his and whisper “he doesn't have to know”. That's all it seems to take for max to lean back in and start kissing you.

You grab the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric in your hands. His palm cups your jaw, slowly deepening the kiss. Once his tongue makes his way in, you let out a quiet moan.

Grabbing your hips, Max shifts your position so that you are laying on the bed while he towers over you. “You are so pretty y/n, been wanting to do this forever” he says while tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. While you want to pour your heart out, your nerves stop you and all you can do is nod and say “want you so bad max”.

He continues to kiss you, tracing his mouth up and down your neck and along the junction between your shoulder and neck placing feather-like kisses. There’s nothing more that you want then for him to leave a big bruise plastered for everyone to see but you knew that wasn’t possible.

You grab his head and place your lips back on his. Moving his hand to your hair he grips it tightly, keeping you in his control. Slowly he rocks his hips down to meet yours, creating a union of moans to spill from the both of you. This must be the breaking point for max because he stops to take off his shirt and grabs your dress to do the same. Not before asking “is this okay”.

“Of course it’s okay, I want all of you” you whisper out. His pants also come off in the process. Both of you left in your underwear. You could feel yourself soaked through your panties. Max moves his hand so that his thumb is slowly running along your slit through the fabric. A moan is pushed out of you with a quiet plea of more.

Growing impatient you tug the straps of your bra down your shoulders exposing your breasts to him. This catches his attention because Max is on them immediately. Sucking and kissing them, basically worshiping them. “Fuck, these tits are perfect. They were practically popping out of your dress earlier, wanted to take you to the bathroom at the restaurant and just suck on them for hours”

You would have never guessed Max to be into dirty talk but it’s a pleasant surprise. “I want you in me Max, please, I’ve been waiting for this”

“How can I deny such a pretty girl? '' With that being said, Max gets up and walks to his bag to pull out what seems to be a condom. While he’s doing that, you shimmy your underwear down your legs and throw it somewhere in the room. Before he approaches the bed, Max takes his underwear off and you see his cock spring free. Your mouth instantly waters at the sight. He’s big, just like you thought he would be. Pale and veiny. Pink and wet at the tip.

You wanted him in you but not before you got a taste of him. You motion him up towards your mouth, so that his legs are on both sides of your shoulders. “I want to taste you, can I Max?” You said hoping your voice and eyes truly show the desire you have burning for him.

“Go ahead sweetie, suck me off”

That’s all you needed to hear before taking the tip in your mouth, lightly sucking. Max groans at the sensation and places a hand behind your head for support. Popping yourself off the tip, you lick a long strip under his shaft, following the prominent vein that lies there. You place feather-like kisses on the head hoping to tease him. As you look up at him, you see his mouth slightly agape, eyes stuck on you. “Don't tease me baby, c'mon”.

You start to bob your head, up and down, making sure you move your tongue back and forth. You palm at his balls and hear a hiss, thinking he must be sensitive.

“Fuck, you suck me off so good, this mouth was made for me, wasn't it y/n”

You whimper at the words and try to push yourself further down his cock. Grabbing your head, he pulls you off and says “I need to get in you”.

You nod your head fast and practically beg “please Max, please want you in me”.

As he positioned himself between your legs, he's looking directly at your core, you start to feel a bit insecure and try to close your legs, but he uses both his to keep them open. “You have such a pretty pussy, want to absolutely devour it” what he does next has you almost combust. He hovers his mouth over your core and lets a string of spit come done to coat you. Taking his index and middle finger he holds you open and lets another drop of spit fall on you. You are moaning so loud, you place your hand over your mouth to try and keep yourself quiet.

Max places two fingers in you while simultaneously rubbing slow circles over your clit. You are desperate for him to get in you. “Max I'm good, you can get in me”.

That's all he needs to hear before he puts his condom on and sinks into you. The burn is unlike anything you have felt before. You were definitely not used to his size but the stretch was addicting. As he builds up pace, you place your hands over his back, your fingernails gripping onto his shoulders, it feels so so good. “Faster” you whisper. Max listens. You could already feel the coil in your stomach about to snap, what pushes you over the edge is Max’s dirty talk. “You wrap around me so good, best pussy I've ever had, what would people think if they saw my roommate's sister coming all over my cock” you can't respond, all you can do is moan.

Finally catching your breath you say “you feel so good Max, you are gonna make me cum” and you tuck your head into his neck licking a fat stripe near his Adams apple. “I'm gonna come too, come with me y/n”.

The next couple of minutes go by in a blur, you feel yourself clenching on his cock, cumming while he pumps in and out of you with his hand rubbing at your clit. He kisses you hard as he groans into your mouth. “Fuck that was good” he states and all you can do is nod.

Max takes off his condom, and goes to the bathroom, returning in his underwear, with a warm washcloth. You feel embarrassed but you let him clean you up. You are left undressed so you ask if he could hand you your dress. The room is filled with an awkward tension. Max can tell because he lays down on the bed and pats it for you to lay with him.

You feel like you should decline and be on your way, not wanting to overstay your welcome. But you genuinely don't think this will ever happen again and want to cherish what little time you have in the same proximity. You lay with your head on his chest and his arm thrown over you with the tv playing in the background. Time passes quickly and within 30 minutes you hear soft snores coming out of max. You take this as your cue to leave. You slip yourself away and gather your belongings. Taking one last glance at him you smile and quietly make your way out of the room.

You don't have a lot of time to reflect once you get back to your room because you have to shower, and pack for your flight in the morning. You don't know if you and Max will ever reconnect like that, but you are grateful for the time you shared.

You don't see or hear from Max before you leave Japan, but maybe it's for the best. Your brother didn't expect anything and you are determined to keep it that way.

The first couple of weeks back in Mexico were rough, slowly recovering from your trip. Around 6 weeks after being home and two more grand prix taking place, you feel sick, like a stomach bug has really knocked you down. It was so bad that you weren't able to go to the Miami gp like you wanted.

Deciding it has been lingering for far too long you decide to go to the doctor. The first thing they ask you is if it's possible if you are pregnant. Your first thought is no, but you remember you and Max had hooked up around two months ago. You feel a pit in your stomach and your heart rate speeds up. You couldn't be right, he wore a condom, and you hadn't had sex for like a year prior to that.

After you take your pee test, you have never been more scared or felt more alone. You want your mom here. After what felt like an eternity, the doctor came in with a smile and sat down. “Congratulations y/n you are pregnant”. The world came to a stand still and all you can do is cry.

Because how in the hell are you going to tell your brother you are pregnant with his teammate's baby. How are you going to tell Max that you are pregnant?

Simple. You won't.

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agendabymooner · 8 months

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SOMETHING BIG !!! TOTO W. X FEM!READER

summary: she was too good for him, and he was just a perfect fit.

content warning: smut content (minors dni!), explicit language, pwp, size kink, creampie, praise kink, beta reading what is that we rawdog our writing in here

note: just reached 400+ notes on the max verstappen one… we all need to touch some grass. enjoy xx

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

send your 💌re:moony’s planner requests here!

this wasn’t the first time she found herself in such a compromising position: her back against the mattress, her body folded in half and her legs hanging over his shoulders while his cock repeatedly speared her insides. this wasn’t the first time, but his size always made their encounters feel like it.

she didn’t complain; instead, she begged for more. she wanted to feel all of him and who was he to deny such a pretty plea?

“f- fuck,” she stammered, her mouth opening slightly as she gasped, “h- s’good. so, so good… fuck!”

toto’s 6’5 being hadn’t helped the intimidation that she normally felt, either. six months into the relationship and she still felt intimidated by his aura.

he didn’t want her to feel that way. in those days when cameras and other people weren’t around, he showered her with affection and adoration. he showed her a side that most people wouldn’t have a chance to see; one that she loved the most.

but there were times when she just wanted him to ruin her. much like now.

toto groaned in satisfaction, his hands keeping a tight hold on her ass while his cock continued to split her body. she was so light for him that he hadn’t realized her hips were lifted off the mattress. “fucking hell. you’re doing so well for me, schatzi.”

his hand took her smaller one and brought it down to her lower stomach, his hips snapping against hers as her lower stomach bulged. “d’ya feel that, schatz?”

“i- mh- hm~” she cried out, whimpering at the thought that it was him— that was an imprint of him inside her. that her body was being imprinted and fucked by his cock— one that she thought wouldn’t fit inside her.

yet he did. he fit perfectly well and he continued to be the only person who’d ever fit so well inside her.

“so fucking good for me, schatz,” he growled, his hand now reaching down to rub her clit vigorously as her mouth let out a squeak. “letting me fuck you like this— like a good girl you are. such a perfect girl with a perfect pussy…”

“ngh~ toto,” she whined, squirming against him as his fingers moved in circles on her clit, “s’good… please!” her body remained folding in half, her cunt splitting as he thrusted. her stomach fluttered at the feeling of an incoming orgasm, her body shaking as her walls clenched around his cock.

“gonna cum in you,” he groaned, his hips pistoning against hers. “gonna fuck you full of my cum— fuck, schatz. gonna make sure you’re filled to the brim with my cum— fuck!”

his hips stuttered as he let out a moan, feeling her come around him while she cried out in pleasure. her mind felt hazy, only thinking about the oversensitivity that she felt as her vision turned white.

she almost whimpered at the emptiness when he pulled out slowly, her body limping to the bed as she tried to keep her eyes open, but her mind eventually gave up as she kept her eyes closed.

toto sighed, looking down at his handiwork as he watched the mixture of his and her pleasure leaking out of her glistening cunt. so fucking perfect.

he smiled to himself, eventually finding himself lying next to her. pulling her closer, he leaned down to press a kiss on her hair before murmuring, “you did so good for me.”

of course she did. nobody could handle him and his figure more than she did. nobody could handle his desire and lust like she did, and was he ever thankful for that.

#toto wolff x reader #toto wolff smut #formula one smut #f1 smut #toto wolff imagine #formula one imagine #formula one fic #toto wolff fic

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ferrstappen · 8 months

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primero llegó verstappen l MV1

a/n: MONACO by Bad Bunny. that's it that's the tweet. this isn't very long and its all over the place but I hope you like it <3

summary: Suddenly, Max isn't annoyed about being featured in a music video.

Max couldn't stop staring at himself in the mirror of a tent full of outfits, cameras and people moving from one place to another. In his mind he already did enough promo for the team, more than enough after being crowned World Champion for the third time and a huge contributor to the comfortable win of the Constructors Championship as well.

Maybe appearing in a music video was where he draw the line?

He wouldn't have an issue if it was him on his fireproofs doing a couple of laps in some closed circuits, maybe even some hot laps, but having to pose next to his RB19, wearing a faux leather jacket and showing one of his TAG Heuer Monaco Titan, because he was a walking billboard, was a little too much on his books, especially as a make up artist mixed different shades of some foundation, and Max was trying really hard not to take offense after he told him "his dark circles were incredibly hard to conceal".

Here he was doing favors and in return was being offended by his lack of sleep and naturally pale complexion.

He almost laughed after noticing Checo staring at himself in the mirror, the same confused and uncomfortable look on his face, and the same tight jacket as they contemplated the marina from above.

In conclusion, yes, this was well above his paycheck. Max also wouldn't deny he didn't thrill on the presence of paparazzi in quiet Monaco. granted, they were looking for the big star who was doing some shots around the city, walking hand in hand with his model girlfriend, but he could still make out some yelling for him and Checo.

Then, his day took a turn.

Some crew members wearing headphones and what he assumed were the assistants approached him and Checo, telling them this wouldn't take long since all they had to do was walk around the car, get in and out of the car, with and without the helmet, all while blasting the song.

A very catchy and good song that mentioned he was the first one to cross the finish line. At least he couldn't complain about that.

But he was internally complaining when, once again, he found himself on the make up chair with the same make up artist who had a problem with his dark circles, but this time the place was much different.

A sharp suit and this time a heavy Patek Philippe on his wrist as he walked inside the Casino of Monte Carlo. Now he was greeted by Bad Bunny himself, who thanked him many many times for being a part of this, and in return Max thanked him for even thinking of him for his song. They fell into a comfortable conversations about cars when the singer motioned for two girls to come over, one Max recognized as Kendall Jenner, the other he didn't know but was eager to.

"Max, this is mi novia, Kendall, and this is her friend (y/n). They're doing some stuff on the background, don't they look incredible?"

Max swore the designer dress you were wearing was painted on you, because there was no way it could fit so perfectly on your body, with a couple of stray hairs adorning your face and long eyelashes accentuating your eyes.

"It's so nice to meet you, I'm such a big fan of motorsport," you stretched your hand and it caught Max off guard, not really knowing what to do.

So he panicked and gave you a weird handshake before lifting your hand to his lips and leaving a kiss, and he had never felt more like a creep, but he noticed you blushing and a giggle leaving your lips.

You wanted to add something when the crew called everyone to start shooting, Benito and Kendall leading the way, and the only thing Max thought of doing was to offer you his arm which you gladly accepted.

The song was blasting as everyone pretended to talk and surround the roulette, but you and Max weren't pretending to laugh or to talk.

He even left Checo by himself, he'd forgive him eventually.

"I'm pretty sure the camera is on us in this moment," you told him through gritted teeth, trying to keep a perfect smile.

"What should we do?" Max asked, trying to hide his smile while doing his best to give you his best seductive stare.

You knew he was flirting with you and it was surprising. After seeing him on screens and social media you figured he'd be cocky, not having any trouble flirting with women every weekend on different countries, figuring out a way with foreign languages, but you never pictured him as a giddy, easily flushed, good for banter man, and the only thing you wanted was to leave this shoot and have him show you the city, dressed to the nines and maybe pretending to be cold in the end so he could put his jacket over your shoulders, and that way you could see him with just a white shirt and undone tie.

But you were getting a bit ahead of yourself, especially when you heard the director yell cut and tell you and Max to pay attention to the instructions, earning you the glare of everyone in the room.

"Ey, cabrón, que se están enamorando, déjalos solos!" Hey, they're falling in love, leave them alone. Those were Benito's words.

And God, was he right.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen blurb #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen au #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x you #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fic #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fluff #f1 fluff

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readychilledwine · 2 months

Text

Pieces of You pt 3

Summary - After losing Feyre to childbirth, Rhysand finds himself leaning on one of her friends much more than he'd ever expected.

Warnings - self doubt, slight manipulation, discussion of moving forward after the death of a spouse, hurt people hurting people, HOFAS spoilers *slightly* (a lot of us had this theory to begin with and I just played with it to fit this)

A/n - It can only be uphill from here, right?.. Special thank you to @honeybeefae and @thehighladywrites for helping me think through how quickly I should let reader and Rhys move on, and for convincing me that I should continue writing this. (Ps friends - sorry I can't tag you. I evidently hit the max tag amount with my taglists.)

✨️ Pieces of You Masterlist ✨️

The 3 month milestone had changed your and Morwenna's lives forever. Rhys had finally convinced you to move into one of his homes. He was insistently whispering to you over and over that the small cabin wasn't going to work anymore, that Cassian and Azriel barely fit inside it, that once his Little Mor and sweet Nyx began to move you four would need more space.

It had been also heartbreaking, entering the home Feyre had crafted, each room so individually thought of for who it was intended to belong to. Above all else, though, it had been lonely.

It wasn't your home. It wasn't the finely crafted wooden arches your mate had assembled by hand. It wasn't the rooms you had spent hours picking colors for. It wasn't cozy. That lack of security and warmth was why you were once again up at 3am. Despite the babies now sleeping for longer chunks of time, you never did. Regardless of if it was a night Rhysand spent at your side or one he spent tucked into the room he had shared with Feyre.

You leaned your head back against the exterior of the home, looking up at the glittering sky, and it finally happened.

3 months of mourning in silence. 3 months of screaming into your pillow. 3 months of stress, of anger, of overflowing love, 3 months of feeling like a shell of the female you were, of feeling as though your body was no longer yours, it crashed into you like a tidal wave. And it swept and destroyed everything in its path.

Rhysand shot awake in bed, feeling something was off. His chest ached, begging him to get up, to move, to search. He pulled on pants, glancing at Nyx and Morwenna sleeping peacefully, but you, once again, had not come to the room. He waited for the wraith to appear, feeling her just moments after he called. “Is it y/n,” Nuala nodded to the question, moving to admire the sleeping babes. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. She is mourning. That is her right.”

Rhys sighed, moving to your room without hesitation. He had hoped getting you out of that house would help. He had hoped the luxury he could offer you would have helped. He knocked on the door, listening for the broken come in that followed. “Why haven't you come to bed?” You were taken back by the question, taken back by him holding that perfectly tanned hand out. “Come to bed. Let me hold you until those sorrows melt away for the night.”

He knew you didn't feel it. That soft string that had made him scream, made him question all he knew about love and life. Part of him hoped you never did. Part of him hoped he would never have to explain to his family how it had taken him a miniscule 3 month period to fall in love with you and for a Mother given mating bond to snap. Part of him hoped he would never have to experience losing you, to add you to his list of things he would bury too deeply to properly mourn.

“I was unsure if I was wanted there.” That hand reached for yours, clasping it. He was so warm. Always so warm. You could bask in his warmth like he was the sun if given the chance. You shook the feeling mentally, though. “It is-”

“Our room,” he finished softly. “It is our room. Where our children are sleeping. Come to bed.”

Morning came much too soon for Rhysand. It had come much too soon for you as well. You took both of the babes, laughing as they spoke to each other in a language only they knew. They had begun taking more interest in each other, in toys, in the world. They were making life the greatest adventure, even if a lingering pain came from both of you seeing them smile so brightly.

It happened at the worst possible time. You were holding Nyx, forearm under his little tummy and letting “fly” as he worked so very hard to stretch his growing wings. Rhysand was watching you from the doorway, Morwenna on his hip as she looked up at him. Her thoughts were jumbled baby speak, all so happy. Nyx's were elated and fast. When you looked to the doorway, your wide smile fell as that string finished itself and settled deep into your chest.

Rhysand had never watched someone's mental walls fall as quickly as yours did. The silence in the room almost made the giggles of the two unknowing parties fade to background noise. “I was shocked too, darling. It's okay.”

Rhysand had dinner without you that night. He flew to the House of Wind with Nyx to eat with the Inner Circle. He wanted to give you time. He remembered the moment Azriel and Nesta came home, questioning their bonds after exploring those damned caves with the Quinlan girl and learning how the Cauldron had been corrupted. He knew you needed to process. He had too after all.

He took his seat trying to ignore the one that sat empty next to him. Everynight a plate was still sitting there. Even when you came, that chair sat empty, plate untouched. It was a screaming sign that the Inner Circle had not moved in. That they may never move on.

“It just makes the two mates theory make more sense,” Cassian and Amren were deep in a debate again. “If the Daglan, asteri, whatever the fuck we want to call them, did something to the Cauldron to ensure the mating bonds were taken over by it's creation for breeding purposes, then the existence of a Mother Blessed Bond must also be there.”

Amren sighed, “So which do you two have then?” Nesta stiffened at the question. “A Mother Blessed Bond is meant to be true love. It's who we are technically meant to find as a soul mate. A Cauldron made Bond is evidently strictly for breeding. Which do you two share?”

The table hushed. It was a valid question and point. “To continue,” Amren took a drink from her glass before setting it down with a gentle click. “If we come out and tell other courts about this, how many other fae will begin to question their bonds? Kallias and Vivienne? Tamlin and Briar? Helion and Saraya? Lucien and Elain? How do we even begin to prove which bond is which? Does it mean they love that mate less? Rhysand would not have loved Feyre less regardless of the bond type. He will never remarry. Never move on.”

Azriel flicked his eyes to Rhysand. He knew about the bond Rhysand shared with you. He had given Rhysand his blessing to move on and pursue. He had asked his brother to find happiness again. He watched the words land on Rhysand's features, watched his eyes dull.

“If Rhysand did find a new mate,” Azriel spoke softly. “We would all support him moving forward with the bond.”

Nesta scoffed from next to Cassian. “Imagine being that poor female. Living in the shoes of Feyre Cursebreaker. No one could compare.”

But you did, didn't you? Rhysand's grip on his thigh tightened before relaxing. You were just as special, as kind, as loving. You were beautiful. Gods knew you were absolutely beautiful. You were selfless.

“I wouldn't want to try to sit in her place. I would reject the bond,” Mor sipped her wine, leaned back with one arm across her stomach.

Cassian and Azriel both looked to where Rhysand was dead silent. “I need to take Nyx home. He's getting hungry. I'll be right back.”

When Rhysand came back to the House of Wind without his son, he had no intentions of coming back to you that night. So, he never did.

3 awkward weeks passed between you and Rhysand. 3 absolutely strange weeks of either heated kisses and touches or nothing. Not even a good morning. You sighed as you laid Morwenna and Nyx down in the nursery before taking the few strides to Rhysand's office.

He was avoiding you, and it hurt. It hurt knowing your mate, this beautiful unasked for second chance was avoiding you. He was hunched over his desk, reading over some papers and signing a few. “Are we going to talk about why you are avoiding me?”

“I am not avoiding you. I am busy.”

“Yes, busy avoiding me.” You sat across from him, feeling so cold and informal. It was as if you were nothing more than his employee. “Our children are asleep. We should talk about this while we can. I deserve to know if I did something wrong.”

He didn't even look up at you as he replied. “You didn't do anything wrong. As I said, I am busy.” This wasn't the voice of the male who coaxed you to sleep. The one who whispered his dreams to you. “You can go.”

The dismissal made the bond go taunt, and when he felt the first wave of your confusion and hurt, he locked it down more. “Rhys-”

“I think we should sleep in separate rooms again. Our relationship has crossed some lines.”

You blinked at him. Stunned and almost dead silent. “I don't understand where this is coming from?”

“It's the truth. I am your High Lord. You are my subject.” It killed him to say it. His own heart was screaming to stop, but that first brick wall now stood, waiting for the other 3 sides. “We cannot continue blurring that line.”

“You're my mate,” your broken whisper almost made him stop, but he dug in.

“Something we will need to discuss at a later date and time. Surely there will be away for us to reject the bond without causing a downfall and hurting your ability to nanny Nyx.” A second wall stood in place of you and his heart. He knew it was a low blow, and he watched your brows knit and mouth slightly open.

“Rhysand.”

“High Lord,” he corrected.

“Why are you doing this?”

“The bedroom you were in previously is fine.”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“I am establishing a boundary, y/n.” He watched as you began to cry, holding in his own tears as he did. “Our relationship needs to remain appropriate.”

"Do you not want me? We are blessed with this second chance, and you are just turning your back on it. Please, is it me? I know I am not the beauty she was, I know I am not as special as she was. But I'd fight to make you happy, for our children-”

"Nyx isn't yours. Stop acting like he is.”

He watched as you crumbled inside of yourself, that last wall forming around his heart by destroying yours. He didn't mean a single word, but how else was he supposed to save you? All the Mother had ever done to Rhysand was take and take.

You recovered from the blow quickly, nodding as you aggressively wiped the tears from your face. "You have the weekend to find someone else to do what I am. Wen and I are leaving.”

"You can't just take her from me.”

"Yes I can," he knew what was coming, that new bond screaming for him to stop this all. "You aren't her father. Stop acting like it.”

You wanted to slam the door as you walked away before his act fell, before he gripped his chest and warded the room to sob. Little Mor had quickly become his everything. That dark hair, that button nose, those deep blue eyes. She looked like his sister, but you didn't know that when you threatened to take her away. Hadn't known why all three winged males so quickly became attached to her.

And now he was losing her. He was losing you. He was losing everything.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria

Pieces of You Taglist:

@dr4g0ngirl @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @blueeclipsepaperstudent @thisblogisaboutabook @mybestfriendmademe @novalovi @rachelnicolee @sleepylunarwolf @sidthedollface2 @acourtofbatboydreams @bunnyredgirl @fandomrejects @bookishbroadwaybish @littlestw01f @la-petite-lapin @juniperberriesaries @anuttellaa @luvmoo @mirandasidefics @soph1644 @hungryforbatboys @awkardnerd @bruxa0007 @eerievixen @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @ghostlyrose2 @amygdtjhddzvb @marvelouslovely-barnes @batii-skies @emma-andrea1 @buckystevelove @slut4acotar @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris @throneofshadows @sevikas-whore @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @why4anne @miadialila @12358 @blushingfawnsposts

✨️If you are not tagged but your name is listed, Tumblr will not allow me to tag you for some reason!✨️

#acotar #acotar x reader #rhys acotar #rhysand acotar #rhysand x you #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x reader #rhys x you #rhys x y/n #rhys x reader #rhys fic #rhysand fic

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caesium-55 · 3 months

Text

—seven days. [ vi.i ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore

author's note: i dunno if this is good cuz i have to delete a lot of scenes to make everything fit djsjjj. AND pls listen to two weeks notice by leanna firestone. 🐝 anon shared it to me and AAAAAAAHHH it captures the main vibe of the fic

masterlist.

"New shoes?”

The shoes come in black and it features a sleek silhouette with a pointed toe and a golden heel that is shaped as the letters Y, S, and L. Max is no expert in shoes but he knows how to recognize a luxury shoe if he sees one.

“Pretty lil things, aren't they?” you bring your foot forward to flaunt it.

Max doesn't know if it’s the heels that makes your feet look pretty or if the heels look pretty because you have pretty feet. Contrary to popular belief, Max does not have a feet kink. He just knows how to appreciate the aesthetics of a body part.

“Three years of savin’ and I finally got ‘em.”

“Good for you?” Is that an appropriate thing to say to a woman who just bought nice-looking shoes?

Max sees Daniel hug you after the Azerbaijan GP. You have twinning smiles on your face. Max's curiosity grows. You pull away from the hug and wave goodbye, returning to the garage, to where Max is standing and waiting for you.

“What did you and Daniel talk about?” he asks and if he sounds like he’s demanding, he doesn't mean it.

You stop walking, finally noticing Max's presence. The smile on your face fades a little but it doesn't completely disappear. “Oh, hi? Congrats on the podium today, big guy.”

“What were you and Daniel talking about?” Max asks again.

“‘s not important.”

“I want to know.”

You give Max an odd look, probably questioning why he wants to know so badly. He doesn't know why either. He just wants to know.

“Renault has an open spot in their engineering team,” you finally say, smile growing wide. You’re literally vibrating in excitement as you say it.

Max feels like someone just poured a bucket of iced water over his body.

“Engineer? Why would you even apply in Renault’s engineering team?” he sees your face shift and he wonders if his question is offensive. It does not seem like it is. For Max anyway.

“I’m an engineer, Max,” you're gritting your teeth, Max notices.

Oh, Max realizes. This was why Christian mentioned moving her to the engineering team. He thought you’re going to be their manager or something. Do engineers get managers, too? Max doesn't know.

Max’s world shifts off its axis when he realizes the bigger meaning carried by your words. You want to leave.

“No.”

You make a weird face, “No?”

“No, stay.”

He is perfectly aware that he is in no position to ask this of you. If you want to be an engineer and chase your dreams, you can. No one has the right to stop you. That's your dream. That's your life.

But do you really need to leave?

Suddenly, this becomes like the Daniel situation all over again.

Max isn't sure the exact time you begin holding this much importance over his life that he’s suddenly afraid of your absence. Max still won't consider the two of you friends per se, but he does not want you in Renault. He wants you here, behind him, following him at all times. You don't have to follow Daniel to fucking Renault.

Renault just keeps taking everything from him. First, it’s Daniel, his best friend and teammate. Max will not allow himself to lose you over to Renault and their sucky cars.

“Funny how you think you got a say in this,” you do the thing where you shift your feet lightly so you’re facing Max fully, one hand on your waist while the other rests limp on your side, your head slightly tilts to the right. There's a bulge on your cheek, where your tongue is pressing inside it, and one of your brows is cocked.

“You don't have to go to Renault. You can stay here,” he adds and it almost sounds like he’s pleading.

“And what Max? Let all the money I spent in engineering school go to waste?”

“Do you not want to be my manager anymore?”

“No offense, buddy, but I’ll choose being an engineer.”

Fair point but Max is still hurt anyway. Why are people always leaving him? Is it that hard to choose him and love him? Is he not a good enough reason to stay? Maybe it's because he's not a world champion yet. Maybe it's because he's not someone praiseworthy yet.

“I will win next year. When I become a world champion, I’ll ask Horner to move you to the engineering team.”

Max hopes you believe him.

The 2019 season ends with Lewis Hamilton at the top. Valtteri Bottas is close behind him. After Bottas stands Max Verstappen.

He’ll understand if you're making your application letter to Renault at this very moment. And yet, you come knocking on his hotel door.

“You’re trashin’ the room again,” you say, not ask but say, when Max opens the door and this is like 2018 again when he trashed his entire hotel room for coming in fourth. You even wear the same clothes as last year—a Red Bull polo shirt and a black pencil skirt with the same cream tote bag with peach prints but the shoes are different. “Sour loser much?”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, too,” you reply in a nonchalant tone, not even taking offense that Max has cursed you out. “Lemme see your hands. I have a cold canned beer.”

“I didn't punch the wall.”

Not yet at least. He’s definitely planning to, before you have decided to knock on his door.

“Well then,” you thrust the beer towards him. “Good thing’s beer has multiple purposes. Bruised knuckles? Beer. Bruised ego? Beer.”

Angrily, Max takes the beer in your hands. He really can't deal with you right now.

“Don't worry, man. You’ll be world champion one day. You have the makings of one,” you assure him and your words are too unexpected that Max stiffens. “Not this year but one day.”

“Why can't it be this year?” he asks after a few seconds' pause.

You shrug your shoulders, “Not your time yet, I suppose.”

Then, you turn around and walk away, the loud clicks of your black and gold heels echoing in the hotel hallway until it fades into silence, while Max stands there at the open door, a cold canned beer in his hand.

He’s trying (emphasis on the word trying) to prepare himself snacks so he can eat while sim-racing. It's the off-season right now and his mother and his sister have decided to visit his place in Monaco and stay for a few days before they fly together to Belgium and spend the holidays there. Daniel’s name appears on the notification bar of Max’s phone.

daniel: is [name] in monaco rn or did she go home for the off season

max: why would she be in monaco right now

daniel: she lives there

max: [name] lives in monaco?

daniel: you didn't know??

daniel: she’s been living there since last year

daniel: ever wondered why she comes by our building a lot?

max: how am i supposed to know

daniel: she's your manager

max: well we don't exactly talk about where we live

daniel: i cant believe you

daniel: shes been living there since she was my manager

max: that long???

daniel: i cant with you sometimes

daniel: neways do u have her number?

daniel: i think she got it changed a month ago and i forgot to ask her

daniel: she's not answering my messages in ig

max: yeah yeah i do

daniel: great

daniel: can u call her and ask if she’s in the country?

max: ok

daniel: cool cool

daniel: appreciate it,, man

You answer the phone on the second ring.

“Need anythin’, man?”

When will he hear you call him Max rather than man, dude, bro, big guy, big boy, darlin’ (teasingly), or loser?

“Hi [Name]. I’m calling because, uh, Daniel messaged me,” he begins. “He said you’re not replying to his messages on Instagram.”

“Oh, my bad, my bad. I’ll check it out later, still out playin’ ball right now.”

“He’s asking if you're in Monaco right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, I am. Flight’s still next week. Why’s he askin’?”

“Okay,” he doesn't know what else is there to say. “I didn't even know you live in Monaco.”

“Well, I do,” he hears someone yelling your name. “Aight, anythin’ else you wanna know?”

“Nothing. Nothing else.”

“Okay. Stay safe out there, my guy.”

“You, too.”

The call ends and suddenly, the world feels too silent.

max: yeah she's here

max: she said her flight is scheduled next week

daniel: perfect

daniel: i have her christmas gift with me rn she better be there when i land

daniel: i have to wrap this up on the plane

daniel: do you know how hard it is to gift wrap smth during a flight

Max’s brows furrow. Perhaps he has underestimated the depth of their friendship. They're close enough that they give each other gifts. Or at least, she’s close with Daniel enough that he buys her gifts.

max: safe travels daniel

Daniel arrives a day later, which coincidentally is the same day Sophie, Max’s mother, and Victoria, his sister, landed in Monaco as well. Max’s mother adores Daniel, which is not surprising because everyone adores Daniel.

“Join us for lunch, Daniel,” Sophie invites him. Max and Victoria stand behind her. The three of them are heading out for lunch when they come across Daniel, who is also heading out, at the lobby of the apartment building.

“Sorry, Sophie, but I have an appointment today with [Name],” Daniel scratches his nape and smiles apologetically. Sophie perks up at the mention of [Name].

“Max’s manager?”

“Yes, Max’s manager,” Daniel nods enthusiastically.

“Invite her, too! I’ve always wanted to meet her. She sounds like an amazing girl from what Max has told me.”

Max groans, “Mom, please.”

He may or may not have talked about [Name] during his calls with his mother. Mostly, it's complaints. His mother has laughed at him, used to hee son's constant complaining. Despite that, she still thinks [Name] is good for her son. It's good that someone is able to rein you in when needed, she said.

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll love it. How about I call her and we’ll meet you at the restaurant in a few?” Daniel says.

Everything is settled. Max has reserved a private room for the whole lunch meeting so he can enjoy the privacy of lunch with his family. Less than an hour later, you arrive with Daniel.

Max almost drops the fork when he sees you walking towards them, just a few steps behind the grinning Daniel.

You look different than usual. Max is yet to decide if it's a good type of different or not, because when his eyes land on you, he feels like a thousand elephants have begun a violent rampage in his chest.

You’re not wearing the usual Red Bull polo shirt—perhaps that's why Max feels odd because he’s so used to seeing you wearing it—and instead, you were in a bustier jumpsuit with a white long-sleeved button-up shirt under it.

It looks a little too tight in Max’s opinion, hugging your body in a way that Max thinks you cannot breathe. He can't even breathe when he looks at you right now.

Daniel and you stop in front of the table and Max’s mother stands to kiss you both on the cheek. Max then notices that you’re carrying two bouquets in your hand. Funny how they're so huge and colorful but for some reason, he hasn't noticed them since you walked into the room.

“For you, Ma’am,” you smile as you hand the bouquet to Max’s mother, who gasps in delight. “Welcome to Monaco.”

Then, you turn to Victoria and hand her the other bouquet, “For you, too, Miss Victoria. Welcome to Monaco.”

“Please, have a seat, you two. We’ve already ordered for you," Max's mother says. You and Daniel sit down.

You and Daniel quickly engage in conversation with Max’s mother. Victoria elbows Max, leaning over his ear to whisper, “You have a good manager, Max.”

“You just like her because she got you flowers," Max whispers back.

Victoria chuckles and the Verstappen siblings join in the conversation.

Lunch is a pleasant event. Everyone loves the food. Everyone laughs. Everyone is having a good time. However, good things always come to an end. Daniel has to leave early because he has an appointment. Max is supposed to drive Victoria and his mother to the department store because they planned on shopping together as a family and buy gifts for their relatives in Belgium. But since Daniel left and he was your ride going to the restaurant, that means you have no ride going home.

You insist that you can hail a cab or even walk to your apartment since it’s “just three streets away” but Max notices that your smile looks too forced and Max calls bullshit. Max may not know where you live but he knows you're lying. Thankfully, his mother seems to share the same sentiments and push you towards Max.

“Don't worry, honey. He’s a good driver. You're in safe hands.”

“I’m really fine, Ma’am,” you try again.

“Call me Sophie,” she says, her hand comes up to your shoulder and you flinch a little. “You take good care of Max. It's the least he can do for you. Also, I’m a woman, honey. I know the pain of walking a good distance in heels. Don't subject yourself to that pain.”

You don't protest any further and the four of you hop into Max’s car. Max drives Sophie and Victoria to a department store and drops them off. He kisses his mother’s cheek as they bid a temporary goodbye. Afterwards, he instructs you to type down your address on the GPS so he can drive you to where you live.

When he reads the address you input, he snorts. You whip your head around to give him a dirty look.

“Three streets down,” he says, amused. “Really?”

“Shut up, ‘s just on the other side of the city.”

“It's still far.”

The first few minutes of the drive is silent. You sit on the passenger seat with your earbuds in and legs crossed, leaning most of your weight against the car door so your back posture sort of resembles a person with mild scoliosis. Max hears you hum along the song you’re listening to, your fingers tapping along the rhythm.

Max taps your shoulder. You turn to him, pulling off one of your earbuds.

“Somethin’ wrong?” you ask.

Why do you always assume something's wrong when he calls your attention? Does he really only talk to you when he has a problem?

Max gestures to the AUX, “You can connect your phone to my car.”

You gasp dramatically, a hand pressing on your chest, “You’re givin’ me AUX privilege? Truly honored.”

Max rolls his eyes.

“But I don't think you’ll like what I listen to,” you add.

“Try me.”

El Alfa songs have electrifying and infectious rhythms and Max may not understand the lyrics but not understanding the song lyrics can't stop a person from enjoying a song. El Alfa songs are the type of songs that you’ll hear in parties and in the streets.

“By the way,” Max begins. The song changes into something else—Sofia, the title reads, sung by Alvaro Soler. It's a whole different vibe from the previous song. “Thank you for giving my mum and sister flowers today. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“Just trynna be nice,” you say nonchalantly. “Glad they liked it.”

“Also, you look nice today.”

You slowly turn to him. You have this weird expression on your face like you have an aneurysm but also indigestion and mild stroke.

“Did you eat somethin’ weird at the restaurant?”

“No, I didn't.”

“Then why are you playin’ nice?”

Max rolls his eyes, “I can punch you if you want.”

“Yeah, right, as if you can. Your mother raised you too well to throw hands to the ladies.”

Max closes his mouth.

“See? I’m right,” you continue. “You’ll fight any man on the grid but you won't fight me even though I annoy you every day. You're not like your father, Max.”

Max clears his throat awkwardly. He does not know how to respond to you. You're too… too… honest.

“But thank you,” you say. “Borrowed this from my roomie ‘cuz I don't own any nice clothes.”

You wear branded clothing way too well for someone to think otherwise.

The song switches. Danza Kuduro starts playing. Max knows this one. He watched Fast Five.

Max stops the car outside the apartment building, but instead of hopping off, you rummage through your tote bag—still the cream-colored one with peach prints, it looks so worn down now—and pull out a….it looks like a beaded bracelet but it's not closed on the ends.

“What's this?” he asks when you hand it to him. Red and navy blue beads—the color of Red Bull.

“Consider this as my gift for the holidays. I made Daniel one so it makes sense that I give you one as well.”

Oh. Max blinks at you then glances down at the little thing in his palm. Something warm blooms in Max’s heart.

“That's very thoughtful of you.”

Panic follows. His head snaps up.

“But I haven't bought you anything.”

“That's okay, man,” you smile and open the door. “Thanks a lot for today.”

You step outside and close the door after you before Max can even utter another word. Max watches as you jog inside the building. He shakes his head when you disappear from his vision, hangs the beaded keychain with his keys, and drives back to where he drops his mother and sister off earlier.

Sophie notices the keychain and compliments it. She asks his son if he got into the hobby of creating things out of beads. Max shakes his head and tells her that the keychain is a gift from you.

His mother visibly lights up, “You should get her a gift!”

Max gets into thinking. Yeah, he should.

He meets you a day before your flight to Texas in the lobby of the building where you live. You gave him a keychain. It's only appropriate that he gives you keys. (You don't seem very happy with the gift though for God knows what reason but Max is adamant on giving it to you and will not stop at a no.

“I want you close,” he says, surprised by the sincerity that exited his mouth.

“Well, I don't.” Your words sting a little. Max ignores it.

He ends up giving you a different key. You say the other key is too expensive. Max is not thrilled but it's still a key and this certain key, you accept. So Max is happy.)

Max flies to Belgium a few days after you and celebrates the holidays with his mother's side of the family. He calls your cell in the middle of the night, Belgium is six hours ahead of Texas so Max is sure it's around four in the afternoon from where you are. He does not expect you to answer as quickly as you did.

“Somethin’ wrong?” your voice sounds rough like you’ve been asleep.

“Hi, uhm,” Max clears his throat. He’s a little tipsy right now and his words are flying around in his brain. “Happy holidays.”

There's a pause.

“You called me for that?”

“Can you stop being mean? It's the holidays.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Kinda?”

“Well then,” Max hears a ruffle of sheets and suddenly, he feels bad for waking you up. “Happy holidays to you, too, bud. Appreciate the effort and the money you spent on making this call. International calls are expensive as fuck.”

They're not. At least, Max thinks they're not.

“Can I get your Instagram? The one you use to talk to Daniel?”

“My priv? Why?”

“Because I just want it.”

“Brat. You can’t follow that account usin’ your public account. PR has access to your account and they’ll see my shit. I don't want them to see my shit.”

“Then, I’ll make a private account and we’ll follow each other.”

He hears you sigh.

“You promise not to give PR access to that account?”

“Hm. I promise.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever. Send me the details and I’ll follow you when I wake up, aight?”

Max giggles, “Okay.”

“Anythin’ else?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Aight, I’ll continue my nap. You enjoy yourself there.”

“Okay.”

Then, COVID happens.

#mv33 x reader #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #f1 imagines #manager!reader #mv33 #mv1 #mv1 x reader #mv33 x you

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carmenized-onions · 1 month

Text

Pretty. | Bolting Down Booths

logline; locking down chairs and a sweaty sleep deprived man (for now) (for the night) (platonically) (for now) (what?) (I didn't say anything).

series history, this is the third; First, Second

portion; 4.5k+

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (baby, Tony's mentally ill, get WITH it). We are once again, eatin' meat (beef!). Did I give the reader a curly girl routine? ....Perhaps...

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'girl' is thrown around quite a bit.)

is this entire series just a love letter to me wanting to take care of this guy? maybe so. maybe so.

Lifesaver. Lifesaver. Lifesaver.

Alright, fuck, you need to put on something to listen to because the thought isn’t leaving and the cherry lifesaver swirling in your mouth is so ironic that it’s leaving a bitter taste.

It’s after hours at The Bear, just after midnight, and you’ve returned to a clinically cleaned restaurant, ‘Ah… Syd keeps it locked in.’ and you’re thankful that you’re alone because it means everyone’s getting their proper rest. However, it also means your intrusive thoughts are really drilling in tonight.

You drop your phone on one of the booth tables, blasting music at full volume. That’s better. Little more static to work with now. You measure each booth and table for the third time tonight, rechecking that the angles are exactly as Syd had asked. They’re still perfect. Alright, get a move on, it’s not gonna somehow get more correct than correct…

You slip yourself under the table, verifying that the bolts are the proper fit— Also for the third time today. Hey, what if Home Depot fucked you earlier?! It’s important to check! You’re definitely not unreasonably anxious right now! But your power drill is practically screaming to be used at this point, so you acquiesce.

You’re on the last bolt when you hear a click of the front door opening.

“Fuck!” It scares you so shitless you jump and knock the top of your head on the table. You lay down quickly, back pressed to the floor to get a look at the perp. You point your power drill menacingly toward the front door.

Oh.

“Fuck are you doing here?” You and Carmen manage to speak in perfect unison.

There’s a beat before you opt to go first.

“Bolting.” Still lying under the table. You raise your drill upward, revving it a few times.

He swallows, sniffs, and scratches his nose. “Thought you were doing that tomorrow?”

“Technically it is tomorrow.” He scoffs, so you continue. “No, uh, Nat asked if I could come in after hours so I’m not as much of an active tripping hazard.” You gesture to yourself on the floor.

“Smart.” He rubs his eyes. He looks red and pink all over.

“…Thought you were getting off early today?”

“I did.” He clears his throat when you make a face about it. “I—I uh, did leave early, I just, just thought I’d come in and uh… Do some work.”

He rubs the back of his neck, continuing after a beat. “I’m, I’m uh, I’m good— In, in the kitchen.”

You chew at your inner cheek, staring at a very clearly distressed Carmy. His eyes are lined red, hair is in disarray.

“…Did you do it?” Did you break up with your girlfriend?

“…Yeah. I-I did.”

You just nod, thoughtful, before slipping back under the table, finishing drilling in the last bolt. “If you need a palate tester, lemme know.”

“Heard.”

The moment is soft but then cut short by you scrambling to quiet your phone atop your table when a perfectly unfitting upbeat song starts to sing out at max volume. He hides his smile poorly as he heads into the kitchen.

It’s a nice hour or so, in the front of house. You drill each bolt efficiently, grounding each booth and table in their place permanently. Your tunes play at a much lower volume now, careful to not alert the lone chef in the back. The intrusive thoughts have vanished with Carmen around, even if distant. He might not consider himself a brightening presence, but to you, he certainly is a nice lamp.

You stand up finally, finished, doing a big stretch of your arms and a crack of your back. You notice Carmen looking at you through the glass. He looks away, then back again, raising a hand, motioning for you to come in. Looks like you finished right on time.

It smells fucking incredible in here. You’re once again trying to temper your reaction as you pass through the door, not wanting to stroke his ego, but he’s already clocked it. It’s okay, you clock his boyish smirk of pride before he hides it with his hand, so you’re even.

On the steel table, plated— On their one black plate, because he’s not over having to settle for less— Are three perfectly cubed and seared pieces of marbled meat, glazed mushrooms, and some round breaded things that you’re not quite sure about. All perfectly plated and decorated with greens, parsley, specifically.

You step next to him, staring at the plate intently, taking it in visually. “Well?”

He hums in a way that sounds like a laugh, arms crossed. He stares at his own plate just as intently. “Pan-seared Wagyu— Sirloin. Wild mushrooms, basted in the same fat. Hazelnut-potato croquettes—”

“What the fuck is that?”

He doesn’t miss a beat, he just smiles— In a way that looks actually kind of genuine. He likes to teach. “Seasoned mashed potatoes, basically. Breaded with bread crumbs and hazelnut, in this case, and fried. There’s a gruyere center, to this one.”

You don’t miss the fact that he’s not stuttering anymore. He’s right. He’s good in the kitchen. In all the ways that entails.

“Test?” He lifts a fork to you. You take it.

You lean forward, elbow on the table. You take polite, small cuts of each part of the meal initially, it feels bad to destroy what is an art piece.

But then he leans forward, head meeting your level, amusement lilting his voice. “You know it’s a compliment to eat?”

You huff, taking a larger piece of everything to get it all in one bite. Everything is so soft and lush that you don’t need a knife. Goddamn. You take your bite. Son of a bitch.

You thought fucking brisket was good?

“Oh my god.” You put your hand in front of your mouth as you chew, switching your gaze to him. “Carmen, oh my fucking god!”

“Yeah?” His glow is slowly coming back to him, like a flickering halo. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Fuckin’— So good! What is it, fire? Excellent? What’s the top one? I’m angry that it’s this good.”

“Angry is a new one.”

“I’m furious!” You laugh, “I always thought luxury dining was fuckin’ scam, I’m not gonna lie to you. But I— I took one bite and I’m incredibly full and— And, it’s just— It’s really really good, Carm—Chef. Gotta show it to Syd for the menu.”

He nods, smiling, finally, unhidden. “Thank you, Chef.”

He grabs the fork from you to try for himself, but before he can get to his own plate, you press the back of your hand to his chest, holding him back. “Uh, ah, can I do a thing, for you?”

He squints, curiously, putting his fork down. “…Yes?”

You grin, walking around the kitchen the second he affirms it. “Where’s your wine box?”

“Ah… By expo, over…” He points to it.

You pop it open, hand waving over each bottle for the right one you’re searching for. “I’ll pay for it.”

“S’fine.”

A young Pinot Grigio, you go with. Ripe, sweet, airy. You walk by him again, grazing your hand on the small of his back and placing the bottle in front of him. “Open, don’t pour.”

“Heard.” He roots away for the bottle opener.

“And get me a clean knife and cutting board!”

“Fuck are you doin?” He doesn’t complain, getting what you ask for, but he is quite curious.

You sort through the fruit pantry in Marcus’ section, grabbing the most perfect white peach you can— It wouldn’t be perfect by morning, he won’t mind. “I am an occasional bartender and poor man’s sommelier…”

You meet him back at his station, slicing the peach thinly with the knife he’s left for you. “So, when I’m given the chance to pair a meal, I try to.”

You halve the thin slices, then place a few in each glass Carmen’s so kindly set out for you— Tulip bowled cups. You whistle, “You know your shit…”

His eyes light up, just a bit. He shrugs, handing you the uncorked bottle when you reach for it. “My job.”

“You’re good at it.” You pour the wine, proper— No stops missed for Carmen. “Okay, okay, okay…”

You hand him his glass— The one you think you did a slightly better peach placement on. “Alright, now you can have the dish you worked hard on.”

With a small smile, he takes a generous bite of his dish, takes his time digesting it, then sips your wine. He tilts his head, surprised by how much of a liking he’s taking to it. “S’fire. Well worth it.”

You sip your own glass, smiling, you explain before he can ask you to. “Yeah? Good. Citrusy white to cut the fat of wagyu. Or something. Poor man’s sommelier, y’know.”

“Hm.” He sniffs, and you try not to light up when he writes down the wine pairing at the bottom of his drafted recipe card. “Better than me.”

There’s a comfortable silence before he speaks up again. “You gonna head out?”

You squint at him, head tilted. “Are you?”

Once you know one Berzatto, you’ve known them all. Their tells included.

“…Eventually, yeah.”

“You drive?”

“I take the L.”

“Are you on the red or blue line?”

He doesn’t answer. So, that tells you he’s not on the only two 24-hour lines.

“…I’ll take a transfer—”

“When were you planning on going?” You cross your arms; he can tell where this is going and he hates it. You’re foiling his plan.

“When I’m done.”

“Done what?”

“…Cleaning.”

“I’ll help you,” You pick up the cutting board and knife swiftly. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

“I need to get work done—Too.” He takes a while to reply, but when he does, he speaks with haste.

You pause, putting the cutting board down. Let’s do the math here.

He said he came in ‘early’ this morning, but ‘early’ probably meant overnight because of the Fridge Guy. He left early, sure, before the dinner rush— But only to experience his first breakup—If you can call it that. Then he’s come back at midnight again, after everyone else has left. The likelihood he’s slept since the night before his opening isn’t impossible, but if he did sleep, he slept here. And he definitely hasn’t showered. He’s likely been awake 40 hours.

You nod, picking up the board again, walking it to the sink. You stand over it in thought.

“What’s wrong with home, Carm?”

“It’s gonna hit, if I go home.”

He swallows, “Everything’s gonna hit, when I go home.”

Now that you can understand. You nod, scrubbing the cutting board clean. “When your brother died, I holed up at my parents’ for two weeks.”

You don’t turn off the sink, even after you're done cleaning, because if you do, you fear he will hear your tell-tale heartbeat. “When I came back, my plants were half dead and my fridge was a biohazard.”

He sniffs, he’s waiting for the shoe to drop, for you to tell him he has to go home, that it only gets worse if you wait it out, that he needs to find a better way to deal with this—

“You can hole up at mine.”

When he doesn’t reply, you turn your head to look at him. He’s very hard to read but it looks like he’s entertaining the idea. You add, for the sake of levity, “You need a fuckin’ shower, man.”

He smirks, though the amusement doesn’t meet his eyes. “When I shower all my fuckin’ hairs gonna fall out.” He piles his dirtied utensils and boards, sidling up to the sink next to you.

“You need rosemary water.” You grab a dish rag, switching over to dry for him.

“Does that shit actually work?” You both quickly ebb into the domestic flow of handing off dishes. He mumbles ‘left-most drawer’, ‘top-shelf, right side’, and so on whenever you’re confused about where they go once they’re dry.

“It does. I have also had the ‘am I balding?’ crisis. Believe it or not.”

He stares at your hairline so intently you put your hand in front of it, flustered. He finally flicks his gaze back to yours. “If you’re really worried, you can make it pretty easy—”

“I’ll stay over.”

You take a second to register, then nod happily.

“Good. Where’s the black plate go?”

Your apartment is surprising because it’s built on top of an H&R Block, the concrete stairs leading up to it are chipped to hell, and the front door has clearly been graffitied then painted over then graffitied then painted over then graf—

And yet, it is almost certainly one of the best-looking apartments he’s seen in Chicago— On the inside at least.

None of the furniture matches, but it’s nice, it’s eclectic. It’s heavily thrifted and upcycled from furniture you found on the side of the road. That’s the nice thing, about being a fixer—Nothing’s trash if you believe in yourself. You drop your keys in a handmade clay tray— That’s the other thing Carm notices, so much of this is you alone.

The place is a mess, there’s half-finished projects in the corner of every room, tools strewn in odd places. And it’s perfectly welcoming. Warm. In a literal sense, too, because there’s a humidifier going off on a timer in the living room to make what Carmen estimates are your forty thousand plants and cuttings happy.

This is a perfect apartment because you live in it.

Nothing can hit, in here.

He comes back to reality when you reach your hand out to him, there’s a coat hanger in your other hand. Oh. Jacket.

“Oh, fuck.” He peels off his jacket, handing it to you. “I uh, I left your Carhartt at work.”

“S’fine, if I was in a rush for it back, I would’ve asked.” You brush off easily, hanging up the jean jacket in your small coat closet. “Ah…”

Your apartment has a pretty open layout, but you point at everything regardless.

“There’s the kitchen…” It’s on the right at the entry, with an open archway— Which you’re in the middle of rounding the corners on with plywood.

“The living room…” Straight ahead, he can see the half of it that isn’t blocked by the kitchen. You’ve got big windows, with a fire escape. Suncatchers and more plants are hanging from the ceiling by it.

“To the left, down the hall— The only hall, bathrooms on the right and straight ahead is the bedroom, you can put your shit there.”

His brows furrow, you say the last part quickly, and he’s going to say something but you grab the black plate he’s brought and brush past him to the kitchen.

So, he just shrugs off his backpack, “Heard.” And heads down the hall. For now.

It feels odd to put this very fancy, very expensive one black plate on top of the rest of your own cheap dishware— But he insisted you take it, so, here it is.

You march down the hall, going to grab towels for him from your room, but stop short when you hear him in the bathroom, mumbling, “Fuck is this?”

You peek in, “Fuck is what?” You come in when he turns the bottle in his hand for you to look at. You stare at it for a solid few seconds, genuinely alarmed, you look at Carmen with wide eyes.

“Carmy, look me in my eyes and tell me you know what conditioner is.”

“I—I know what conditioner is, but what are all the words for?”

“All the words?”

“Like, strengthening, bonding, texture—”

“Carmen?!”

“Don’t say my name like that…”

“You have wavy hair, too, Bear!” You stare wide-eyed, mouth in an open-mouth smile because if you don’t laugh you’ll start screaming. You swipe away the hair in front of his face, holding the tress between your fingers to get an idea of texture. You’re too focused to clock the way he flinches— At the nickname and the touch.

“We’ve got like, the same hair texture! What the fuck are you using?”

He doesn’t answer, he opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

“Carmen…” You can make a pretty good guess. He bristles again. He has discovered does not like it when you say his name with any sort of animosity or disappointment.

“Carmen no… Two in One?”

“…Five in One.”

“Five in One?!” You clutch the sides of your head. “What are the Five?!”

He waves his hands in defense, “It’s—”

“Y’know what, don’t fuckin’ tell me, I don’t wanna know, I don’t need to know.” You cover your face and shake your head. “Just— I will get you clothes and a towel, wash—” You reach into your shower, grabbing your fruity body wash. “—Wash yourself with this, like a civilized person— And just don’t— Don’t touch your hair, I’ll take care of your hair after you shower.”

“You’ll take care—”

“You’ve lost your hair privileges; I will be taking up the arms.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, “I just—You need a tutorial, please.”

He holds the body wash in his hand, debating this fight or not, “I think five is—”

“Just fuckin’ say heard.”

“Heard.”

Despite everything, you both laugh. You tap the doorway on your way out, yelling to no one as you turn back down the hall. “Corner!” It’s worth it when he laughs again.

Ironically, the one shirt you know will fit him that you have is ‘The Berf’, so you grab that. Pants are a bit tougher, but with enough scrounging through your closet you find a long-forgotten pair of sweatpants your brother left here ages ago.

You approach the bathroom door, it’s still ajar, so you invite yourself in. He’s staring at your skincare products with a clinical fascination, stopping only to acknowledge your presence.

“Alright, alright.” You pop your pile of things down on the sink counter, handing each thing to him individually.

“New toothbrush.” Still packaged. It’s got your dentist’s address on the clear plastic. “Pyjamas. Towel, wash cloth— I think you’re good.”

When you turn your head to look at him, you catch the tail end of him staring— Again, his eye contact is so soft and also scary. And now that the sleep is catching up to him, he’s half-lidded and— Goddamn it he is very pretty, sonofabitch.

He straightens up, sniffing, nodding as a form of thanks, the likelihood he’s registered anything you’ve said isn’t likely— Which is fine, you are now too flustered to care. There’s a boy in your house and you’ve just discovered he’s pretty.

“I’m just gonna wash my face n’ grab a few things and I’ll be out of your way.”

You wash your hands; he unwraps his toothbrush. And without verbally checking in, you once again flow into a silent rhythm. You grab your toothbrush, dole out toothpaste on both of your brushes, and stare at yourselves and each other in the mirror, side by side as you brush.

You make a face, and while he doesn’t fuckin’ guffaw, he does smile, foam peeking through the corners of his mouth, and that’s enough for you.

You rinse— You try to be dainty about it but it’s not, because when has brushing your teeth ever been dignified?

You pump face cleanser into your palm, then nod to him to do the same. Good Carm, he listens. Like a mime tutorial, he follows your actions of foaming it in the hands and properly washing his face. There’s hope for this five in one boy yet.

You pile together your skincare and leave him to shower in peace. More importantly, leave to let yourself lose it in peace.

Oh my god there’s a pretty boy in your bathroom and it’s two in the morning. What the fuck were you thinking? You just invited him over without hesitation? You met him like barely two days ago! Oh my god! There’s a pretty boy in your bathroom! And it’s two! In the morning!

You need to kill the teenage girl in your head because she’s freaking you the fuck out. You were literally being so calm and chill and cool and cool and chill and calm— Oh my god you’re doing it again—

Everything is fine. He’s literally here because he’s experiencing a torrential downpour of awful. You invited him over because you’d invite anyone like that over. Pretty or not. Get your head in order.

You take a deep, mindful breath and exhale, returning to neutral as you meditatively go through your skincare routine and change into your nice pajamas— Y’know, the one modest matching set for when you have guests or go somewhere. Instead of the one usual incredibly stained oversized t-shirt.

You set up a chair by your kitchen sink, towel on the back for comfort. You were serious about the hair thing. Your scalp and his are curly girl sisters, you cannot leave them to die like this.

When he comes out, knots in his back undone, steam wafting, grime finally removed, he approaches you with much more energy, and leans against the doorway. You both speak at once.

“Weird to see you out of uniform.”

You snort; he flattens his mouth into a line to keep from smiling too hard (which, for Carmen, would really just mean smiling with his teeth). But really, it is weird. You’re both suddenly… People. You can see all his tattoos and his stupid gold chain...And he can see you.

You kick the chair with your foot, gesturing to it. “Sit, I’m washing your hair.”

You’re walking past him before he’s got the chance to deny, collecting proper products from the bathroom to use. Y’know. Not fucking five in one.

Once again, good Carm listens, sitting in the chair. Not without complaints, though. “Big fan of babying people?”

You wrap the towel behind his neck, tilting his head back into the sink. If you pretend, it’s like a salon. You hum in reply, blunt, “Yeah, I am.”

“I like to take care of people. In a way, it’s kind of my job.” You re-rinse his hair once the water is warm— Thank God your kitchen faucet is a sprayer.

“You’re good at it.” He’s too comfortable and lethargic to be aggro about this, so he’s just sweet and honest. It’s hard not to beam.

“I try.” You massage shampoo through his scalp, “I know I’m pushy about it, sometimes.”

He sighs, a breath of relief. When’s the last time someone else washed his hair? He’s been cutting his own for years, he cannot remember the last time. Had to have been before New York.

“Were you pushy with Mikey?” He’s not fully sure why he said that, and he’s waiting for you to make him regret asking it.

You just hum, nostalgically amused, “I think I got pushy because of Mikey.”

“Stopped hoping my friends would take care of themselves with the right tools and decided to just take care of them myself.” You rinse the bubbles from his hair. You’re happy to see his wavy pattern returning.

“A lot of work.”

“Not to me.”

You pump conditioner into your hand— And while he’d probably love for you to elaborate on that point, you have to pivot, “Alright, this part you actually should pay attention to— When you condition— Because you will be conditioning, from this point on.”

He just grunts in reply, but it sounds like enough of a yes to you.

“—When you do it, you’ll hang your head upside down and apply conditioner from the bottom— You gotta like, squeeze your hair in it—” You do the proper routine, squelching his hair, does he laugh at the sound? Yes. Yes, he does. “It’ll sound like that. And then rinse.”

You look at his peaceful, amused expression. His eyes closed. “Heard.”

“Are you retaining any of this?”

“I said heard, didn’t I?”

You just scoff, rinsing his hair. You teach him how to scrunch with the towel, but his eyes are so dazed during it you give the poor boy a break and don’t explain that what you’re putting in his hair is mousse. He might have an aneurysm if you use a ‘food word’ in relation to hair right now.

“Alright, alright, the exhaustion is setting in, let’s get you to bed before you start seeing spiders.” You take his arm and hoist him up. Everything is fine until this bozo tries walking to the living room while you’re trying to pull him down the hall. You once again, speak in sync.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m taking the couch.”

He now realizes why you spoke so quickly about him putting his things away in your room instead of the living room. It’s like you just awoke every Italian ancestor in his bones because he is immediately alert.

“No, you’re not.”

That’s fine because he’s in your household, motherfucker. Your family tree is in the furniture.

“You’re the guest. You take the bed.”

“You’re the host. You take the bed.”

“I’m the one that invited you.”

“And what? You’re the girl.”

At a point, you are both speaking with your hands, words tumbling on top of each other's.

“Bitch—” “It’s just not right—” “I literally made you come over specifically to get proper rest—” “I will be haunted all night by my Nonna if you sleep on the couch—” “The couch is a pull-out, it’s comfortable!” “Then let me use it!” “No!”

This is going nowhere fast.

“My own grandmother takes the couch when I visit. She would throw me off my own balcony if I made a guest take the couch.” Is your hard stance.

And his, “My Nonno would stab me if I let a pretty girl sleep on a couch.”

Now this does immediately shut you the fuck up.

That doesn’t mean he’s won; he’s also shut the fuck up. A slip-up of mutually assured destruction.

You bite back your wheeze of shocked laughter, and you’re very thankful it’s two in the morning now because the moonlight through the window doesn’t entirely catch your reaction of being embarrassingly bashful in this moment. How did the teen girl in you survive? You were so sure you got her…

Your hands hang in the air for a moment, before you finally manage to say, “Either I take the couch—”

“No—”

“Or, it’s a double, so we share it.” You shrug, wringing your hands, “So whichever one you find the least sacrilege.”

God, there’s no simple way to make that not sound like you’re coming onto him, is there? You’re not, for the record. It’s just the fastest solution. You’ve shared beds before, it’s not a big deal— It’s actually only a big deal if you make it one, it’s actually very normal—Get this fucking teen out of here—!

“Fuckin’— Alright!” He huffs after thinking on it for some time, rubbing his forehead in some sort of anguish before marching down the hall.

When you don’t follow, he clicks his teeth. “C’mon, Tony.” His tone is languid and aggravated.

Ah, the sweet sound of a man who has had to compromise— But will be damned if he doesn’t get his part of said compromise. Also the sound of a man who really wishes he hadn't just said pretty girl.

You follow him to your room. Fuck it. Say the thing. You've been trying to keep a level social playing field with him anyway.

“Heard, pretty boy!"

two idiots realize the other one is pretty and nice and try to not acknowledge it (DIFFICULTY LEVEL: IMPOSSIBLE)

Would you believe me if I said I was trying to not do the 'one bed' trope? I really was! I'm not a huge trope guy! But writing it down I was like 'neither of these people would fucking fold'. The only other option would be for both of them to stare at each other in the hallway for 8 hours and come to no agreement. Did not plan Pretty Girl but thank god because it was the only thing that would get them out of that time loop.

It's always my favourite thing when a person who's been cavalier when it comes to boundaries suddenly finds their line (he's pretty) and is now immediately so hyphy. I hope you also messed with this.

Tell me your thoughts!! Favourite bits, lines, etc!! Feeds me!! (Oh, speaking of fed, shout out to Daniel NYC, I did steal their menu for this. I'll probably do it again because I am not a Michelin Star Chef.)

Next Part

#carmen berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto #carmy the bear #the bear fx #the bear x you #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear

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finsterwalds · 3 months

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Got a very inspired ask inquiring about the villains in my Better Call Saul french AU so here's Gus aka famous chef Gustavo Faure and his main waiter Léo haha. More info under the cut as always...

So at first I thought about making Gus a fast-food owner like his canon counterpart, but it just doesn't fit really well if you wanna frenchify it all with nuance. We have fast-foods ofc and we do enjoy fried chicken lol, but Los Pollos Hermanos has this very distinct "patriotic" feeling that wouldn't translate as well in France, as fast-foods are american in conception. I thought about making Gus the owner of some cheaper chain like Courtepaille lmao, but it feels too memey and doesn't have the prestige that his character has canonically. Gus assimilates perfectly into american society with his brand, and caters to the people locally, so I thought it would be fair for him to do the same in France. And if you wanna cater to lovers of chic, gastronomy and prestige, what's better than being the chef of some fancy restaurant, right? It felt cliché af and looses the "close to the people" part but it honestly fits his character well, imo...

He would be extremely respected locally but still friendly and approachable due to him crafting some kind of tragic backstory for himself and his restaurant. Basically he would play the "Chilean refugee that climbed to the top of foreign cuisine" card and everyone would buy it. French people love to eat and are fond of mixing their culture's meals with more international food, so yes: I think he would serve a fusion of french/Chilean food!

He'd also be an entrepreneur as famous french chefs often have side businesses like bakeries or published books, which I think respects his canon personality pretty well. Fancy french chefs also like to hang out outside their kitchen to greet their guests and I can totally imagine Gus do that. He'd still be able to conceal his shady side nicely. He's canonically seen to like fine wine, good products, and cooks Paila Marina for Walt, so congrats to Gus for already being french in conception and not making this idea feel like a stretch lol.

I have no idea about his exact role concerning drug traffic in Europe, as I said I'm pretty ignorant about that… But he'd use his business and image to form connections and launder his money. His backstory with Max stays the same in the AU aka Max was his business """"partner""" who died killed by the Salamancas.

I don't think changing his first name was necessary, but his last name sounding american I thought I would just frenchify it a bit lol. I don't know what the name of his restaurant would be, but definitely something short, spanish, and aesthetic/poetic. Maybe a reference to Max to allude to the Hermanos part.

Bonus : I know they don't canonically meet, but in my AU I think Chuck, as a rich lawyer, would eat at Gustavo's often. They'd be acquainted :) And maybe Jérôme aka Jimmy meets him thru his brother and later discovers Gus' shady side, when the events of BrBa start.

#gustavo fring #better call saul #french au #breaking bad #brba #bcs #chuck mcgill #my art #i wonder if he'd participate in french cuisine shows like top chef that'd be funny #hope you like it!#and don't be afraid to add more lol! i have just enough Gus knowledge to craft this but im sure more could be done

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withacapitalp · 9 months

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How to Rehabilitate a Jock Pt 18

Part One Link to ao3 Part 17. Part Nineteen

Thank you to @stevethehairington for being supportive af and the worlds best beta and @thefreakandthehair for encouraging everything I do y'all rock!!!

Step Eighteen: Get Some Supplies

Eddie had spent quite a lot of time watching Steve in the last few weeks. Observing the way Steve spoke, the way his smile curled slowly on his lips when he thought no one was watching, the way he noticed almost everything, but was somehow still so oblivious. Eddie saw it all.

But by far the most interesting thing about Steve was the way he could switch at the drop of a hat.

It was the most interesting, but also the most frightening. It was like the headlights on the van all over again- one second Steve had been joking around with him, saying things that made Eddie’s heart race and his chest sink heavy with guilt; and the next his entire face went blank, a hard protective look in his eyes and a painful tension setting his spine perfectly straight.

All because of the sound of a car.

Eddie had no way of knowing what happened to Steve to make him like this, but curiosity was eating at him again, completely pushing aside the fact that he had almost spilled the entire bet to Steve in a fit of regretful shame.

Well, not completely pushing it aside. Eddie’s heart was still racing like a jackrabbit, but that was besides the point.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie murmured.

“Nothing,” Steve replied immediately, his voice so dead it killed something in Eddie too. Steve carefully pulled away from Eddie, leaving cold handprints where his warm palms had just been against Eddie’s skin. “Stay here.”

Not a chance. Eddie knew whose car that was, and he knew that if Hargrove was here, then nothing good was about to come of it. He waited maybe two seconds before following Steve out of the kitchen, tracing his steps to the front door that was slightly ajar, slipping out the door and onto the porch-

And walking directly into Jim Hopper’s back.

Hopper startled like he had been shot, and Eddie reared back on instinct, nearly hitting the door in his effort to put space between himself and the police chief. When Hopper saw who bumped into him, he practically growled, his eyebrows furrowing into one long fuzzy stripe as he gave Eddie a completely unwarranted death glare.

Rude. And uncalled for.

It wasn’t like they were friends, but Eddie and the chief usually had a pretty good rapport. Kind of like Tom and Jerry, if Tom was the chief of police in a podunk Indiana town, and Jerry was a trailer kid who dealt drugs on the side for grocery money. Usually Hopper regarded him with put upon fondness, not straight hostility, and the shift was… disconcerting to say the least.

Luckily for Eddie, Hopper seemed to have a bigger target for his rage tonight. A target with a blue camaro and even worse anger issues.

Steve had only been outside for maybe thirty seconds, but that thirty seconds was long enough for him to get in trouble. Hargrove had gotten out of his stupid car, leaving the engine idling as he swaggered up to Steve, a condescending smirk in his face as his eyes flashed dangerously. Max had also scrambled out of the car, and was on her way around the hood and over to Steve’s side.

This wasn’t going to be good.

But, before anything could go wrong, Eddie was reminded they weren’t alone.

“Is there a problem here, Hargrove?!” Hopper barked just as Billy reached towards Steve, putting every ounce of authority he had into his growling tone, making even Eddie shudder. Eddie had only gotten that tone out of Hopper once or twice during his many run-ins with the law, but each time it scared the bejeezus out of him.

“No sir,” Hargrove spat out, instantly taking a step away from Steve. It seemed that even his impervious armor of assholery could be penetrated by Hopper’s power.

Hop started down the steps of the porch, and Eddie burst into action, scurrying after him and attempting to look at least a little bit intimidating as he came to Steve’s aid.

Mission probably not accomplished, but Eddie hoped Steve at least appreciated the gesture. Hargrove was fucking scary, and if he could beat Steve’s face in, Eddie was pretty sure that Billy might actually kill him if Eddie decided to take a swing.

“Max, go inside,” Steve said softly as they came over, a gentle hand pushing against her arm and urging her towards the safety of the house. She pushed back, giving Steve a silent glower. Little Red was stubborn, almost as stubborn as Steve, and it was obvious she didn’t want to go anywhere without knowing nothing bad would happen to her babysitter.

It was admirable, but it was also really, really, stupid. If anything happened, Steve would one hundred percent focus on protecting her first, which might get him hurt. Eddie wasn’t great in a fight, but he knew how to find people’s weak spots, and anyone with eyes knew that Steve’s weak spots were the people he loved.

“Please,” Steve whispered, taking his eyes off of Billy to give her a silent look.

Another switch. The guard dog was gone, a sweet chocolate lab in its place. Soft and careful not to hurt as he nudged his pup away from the mountain lion that wanted to devour her whole.

Max sighed shortly, stopping to press a quick hug to Steve’s side and an even quicker flick of her middle finger towards Billy before she ran over to the porch. She sat herself down on the bottom step, her fiery red hair standing out in the dark as she leaned forward with her hands on her knees, watching them all like a hawk waiting to take flight.

It was a compromise, and enough to keep her out of the fight that still seemed to be coming.

“I’ll be back to get her at 8 sharp tomorrow, Harrington. She better be out here waiting,” Hargrove stated, bristling with barely concealed fury as Hopper and Eddie both flanked Steve.

“I’ll drop Max off sometime in the afternoon, Billy,” Steve replied coolly, leaning casually backward as he crossed his arms. He was a picture of calm, a complete deviation from the rest of them. “If she’s gonna be later than 3, I’ll give you a call. Mkay?”

Steve finished his sentence with a bitchy little smile, and Eddie bit his tongue, hating the way that his pants were starting to feel tight. It should not have been so much of a turn on to see Steve act like an ass, but when he was using his powers for good, there was something incredibly alluring about watching the former King tear someone down without so much as a swing of his fist.

Hargrove’s nostrils were flared, and he looked like he swallowed an entire bag of lemons. He opened his mouth, probably to say something stupid, but Hopper wasn’t having any of it.

“Anything else?” The man asked rhetorically. Before Billy could even shake his head, Hopper continued, putting his hands on his hips, “Good. Then scram before I bring you in on trespassing charges.”

Hargrove deflated like a balloon, and Eddie barely resisted the urge to scoff. Of course Billy was the same as any other bully. It always went that way- they were all cocky and confident when they were with someone they thought they could beat, but if someone with actual power over them showed up, they instantly showed their belly.

Eddie had no doubt that if Steve was out here alone, words would fly at the very least, and Steve might’ve even ended up with some new bruises. But the prospect of spending Christmas Eve in a cell seemed to be enough to get Billy Hargrove to fuck right off and leave them alone.

Good riddance.

“I could’ve handled that,” Steve complained the second Billy’s car disappeared around the corner. The annoyed face he was making at Hopper was ridiculously cute, and honestly, unfair. Eddie probably could have handled just the scrunched up nose, or the adorable little pout, but together they were a deadly combination that left him wanting to clutch his chest and beg for mercy.

God, he was down bad for this boy.

“Mhm,” Hopper hummed, raising a brow.

“I could have!” Steve insisted. He turned to Eddie expectantly, waiting to hear his DM back him up.

“You definitely could have,” Eddie reassured, despite not being entirely sure that Steve actually would have gotten out of that on his own, “but as much fun as bringing you to the hospital tonight sounds…”

The unsaid words spoke louder than Eddie had intended, and he even managed to get Hopper to bark out a short unexpected laugh. Eddie broke into a grin and shot Hop a smirk, the smile fading as Hopper seemed to realize exactly who had made him laugh and quickly went back to his angry scowling.

What was his problem?

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Babydoll,” Steve said with a roll of his eyes, dragging Eddie’s attention back over to him. Behind them Hopper seemed to choke on air, but Steve didn’t seem to notice, too focused on his next mission.

“I thought you couldn’t come tonight?” Steve asked Max as he walked towards where she was sitting.

“Mom and Neil decided to go to a resort for the holiday, so it was just me and Billy alone for Christmas.” Max sighed as she stood, casually stretching her arms high above her head. “I’d rather step in front of a bus then deal with that so I gave him five bucks to drive me here.”

Her movements and her tone were nonchalant, uncaring and almost lazy, but Eddie wasn’t fooled. Max was chewing on the inside of her lip, and she was avoiding eye contact like the plague. Most people might’ve missed it, but Eddie was good at looking.

And Steve was too.

“Sorry about your mom,” Steve murmured as he pulled her in for a hug. Max let him hold her for all of four seconds before pulling away roughly, tossing one braid over her shoulder and sticking her nose in the air.

“I don’t care,” Max declared, despite all of them knowing how very much she cared.

“Well El is going to be thrilled. She’s been stuck with just the boys all night,” Steve offered, giving Max an out from the big feelings talk.

“I’m sure she was fine,” Max muttered, kicking at the ground, “not like anyone was missing me.”

Eddie had spent the better part of his life being unwanted. From his parents, to his teachers, to basically the whole world. Not only was Eddie the local freak, he was also a barely closeted gay man in a small Indiana town. He had gotten good at being okay with being left behind or abandoned.

But seeing that part of himself in the little girl in front of him hurt in a way he didn’t even think to expect.

Luckily, Steve seemed to have this handled.

“Lucas was missing you,” Steve said teasingly, crushing her against his side as he dragged them both up the stairs. “I was too. Now that you’re here I can finally start karaoke. I’m thinking of starting with "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.”

“Fuck off Steve, that song sucks and you know it,” Max complained, trying to wiggle out of his grip. Steve held her tighter, turning back to give Eddie a ‘watch this’ look before taking a comically long breath in.

“I WANT A HIPPOPOTAMUS FOR CHRISTMAS,” Steve crowed at the top of his lungs, startling the silent frigid air of the night with the force of his voice, “ONLY A HIPPOPOTAMUS WILL DO!”

“Oh my god, you suck!” Max shouted, finally escaping his grasp and clapping her hands over her ears. Her tone was angry, but Eddie could see the huge beaming grin that was overtaking her face. Once again the unstoppable force of Steve Harrington had managed to smooth things over.

“I can see me now on Christmas morning creeping down the stair!” Steve continued without a care, giggling like a kid as he did. “Oh, what joy and what surprise! When I open up my eyes! To see a hippo hero standing there!”

Now Max was laughing too, holding her stomach as she tripped towards the front door to try and run from Steve’s singing. He held up his hands in mock trumpet form, vocalizing the instrumental parts of the song as he followed her in, leaving the front door wide open.

And leaving Hopper and Eddie all alone outside.

The silence materialized out of nowhere, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. As much as Eddie wanted to just run into the house after Steve and never even look at Hopper again, he held back. Yes, this was awkward, but Eddie could deal with awkward. He was good at awkward. He regularly stood on lunch tables for fun. He could do this. He would have them back to their normal bantering rivalry before midnight.

“Hiya chief! So how’s-”

“Are you selling Steve drugs?” Hopper demanded, cutting him mid-sentence and rounding on Eddie with fury in his eyes.

Eddie, unable to help himself, did the absolute worst thing he could have in response.

He laughed.

He couldn't help it. The question was just that ridiculous. He had sold to Steve in the past, even jacked up his price with the ‘rich douchebag’ tax, but it was only ever weed. A joint here and there barely counted as drugs in Eddie’s book. Steve wasn’t even one of his regulars. And since joining Hellfire, Steve hadn’t even mentioned Eddie’s side hustle.

“Chief, even if I was, would you really expect me to tell you?” Eddie snickered, still in shock that he was being asked this by Jim Hopper of all people. Was he worried that Steve was going to give Jane drugs? It couldn’t be that, there was no way anyone would ever think Steve would do that.

So Hopper was just… weirdly overprotective over Steve. He almost sounded like a dad.

“Cut the crap, Munson,” Hopper growled, taking a menacing step forward. “I’m serious. I don’t know what game you’re playing here-”

“Dungeons and Dragons,” Eddie supplied, still chuckling at how insane this conversation was.

“-but!” Hopper continued, putting emphasis on the word and on ignoring Eddie, “nothing better happen to him, or so help me god-”

“Hop!”

Hopper was cut short by the sound of Joyce Byers. She and Steve were standing in the open doorway, twin disappointed looks on both of their faces as they took in the scene in front of them. Steve hung his head low, softly muttering to himself as he plodded down the steps and grabbed Eddie’s wrist, tugging him back towards the house.

“Handle this?” Steve begged as they passed her.

Joyce, who was in the process of lighting a cigarette, gave him one short nod, eyes already locked on her target. Eddie didn’t really know Mrs. Byers all that well, but he had dealt with enough irate mothers to know when to stay out of a woman’s way.

“You promised you wouldn’t act so crazy-” Eddie heard her hiss to Hopper from behind their backs.

“I am concerned! Am I not allowed to be concerned?!” Hopper exploded, and Steve slammed the door before they could hear anymore, pressing his back against it and groaning as he hid his face in his hands.

“Why does everyone think I’m doing drugs?” Steve muttered. It was definitely a rhetorical question, but Eddie couldn’t help being a bit of a jackass.

“I mean it’s not like I’ve never sold to you before, Sweetheart,” He pointed out, sticking both hands deep in his pockets and letting the smirk on his face grow three times as big as Steve groaned even louder. Eddie wasn’t exactly happy to be threatened by the chief of police, but it was nice to know that there was someone who was looking out for Steve.

Hop was no Wayne, but every person needed a grumpy old man to watch over them in Eddie’s humble opinion, and if Hop was Steve’s, then Eddie could handle a few words thrown his way.

Steve slowly slid down the door as he grumbled and mumbled, ending up cross legged on the floor, staring up at Eddie with the most pitiful pout known to man.

If it was anyone else, Eddie would have kept the joke going, teased them to oblivion until they were both laughing until their stomachs hurt. But Eddie was a weak, weak man, and Steve’s eyes had somehow grown inhumanely wide and sad, and there was only so much he could take.

“Come on, let’s go check on our completely clean, absolutely drug-free cookies,” Eddie offered, sticking a hand out to Steve to help him up, “just to prove to Hopper that I’m not your hookup.”

Steve heaved the world’s biggest sigh in response, but took Eddie’s hand anyway. As he stood, rather than letting go, he intertwined their fingers, pulling Eddie into the kitchen and squeezing their palms together once before he went for his oven mitts.

“By the way, I didn’t get to thank you,” Steve said randomly as he slowly lifted the tray filled with cookies out of the oven.

“Thank me for what?” Eddie asked, reaching a hand towards the fresh treats, his mouth watering at the delicious aroma filling the air.

“Hey! Too hot, you’ll burn yourself,” Steve said, jostling the tray to one side as he smacked Eddie’s fingers away before they could get singed. He placed the tray down far from Eddie and began to transfer the cookies onto a cooling rack.

“I meant thank you for having my back out there… you didn’t have to do that,” Steve explained, his voice getting uncharacteristically shy as he continued to stare down at the cookies and avoid looking at Eddie in any way. His shoulders were curled inwards, and his bottom lip was caught firmly between his teeth.

Eddie could have lightened things back up, made a joke about Steve’s innate ability to get into trouble, or pulled some bullshit insult about Billy’s intelligence to make them both smile and shake their heads, but he didn’t. There was something about the hesitancy sitting in Steve’s body, the way he was almost holding his breath, waiting to see why Eddie had gone after him when Steve had told him to stay behind.

Like he couldn’t understand why someone would want to protect him instead of the other way around.

“I didn’t want you getting hurt by him again,” Eddie stated, feeling his cheeks get stupidly warm as he did. It wasn’t like some big declaration of feelings or love, but the way the words laid his soul bare felt just a shade too close for comfort.

“I would’ve been fine,” Steve protested, wrapping two cookies in a paper towel and handing them over to Eddie to test taste, shooting him a wry little grin as he did. “Billy won’t touch me now anyway. Not after last time. Max made sure of that.”

“There shouldn’t have been a first time, and there won’t be a second,” Eddie said firmly, ignoring whatever weird joke Steve was making about Billy’s thirteen year old little sister being able to stop her eighteen year old brother. “Hargrove might be able to kill me with a single punch, but I’ll die fighting for your honor, Stevie.”

“Well, I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t need anyone else dying on my watch,” Steve said softly, his smile disappearing as his eyes faded somewhere distant and sad.

In an instant they were back in no man’s land, unmoored and untethered to the reality around them. Steve wasn’t at a party with him anymore, just lost in some far away place that Eddie couldn’t reach. Somewhere painful, and empty looking, and all Eddie wanted to do was pull him back and protect him from whatever was trying to steal his happiness. He wanted Steve to let him in, unhook the heavy cape that was set on his shoulders and unburden himself from whatever guilt was holding him hostage.

Whatever it was, Eddie would help. He could make this easier, at least a little bit. All Steve had to do was tell him. All Eddie had to do was ask what was wrong.

The time for being cautious was past them, and the time for being afraid Steve might run was over too. They had to be close enough for Eddie to at least know something about whatever was torturing Steve so badly.

And Eddie had to care enough about Steve to put him over his stupid little crush.

So despite the fact that his heart was threatening to leap out of his chest, and the dread was making his fingers ache, Eddie took a deep breath in and forced himself to speak.

“Hey Sweetheart?”

But unfortunately, the universe had other plans.

“Steve!”

“What!” Steve yelled back to Mike, breaking away from Eddie and turning just in time to see all of the kids pile into the doorway like a pack of rabid animals.

“Now that Max is here, can we do White Elephant?” Lucas pressed, impatiently drumming his fingers on the wall.

“Please?” Will added, quickly shooting a look over to his friend before turning back to Steve with barely hidden glee.

“Fine,” Steve sighed, dragging out the word as the kids cheered and ran out of the room.

The wild tornado of children had passed as quickly as they came, but whatever moment the two of them had been having had long since passed. Sharing Steve was gone, and Babysitter Steve had come back in full force. There was nothing wrong with him, nothing that would take precedence over his kids at least.

It was admirable, but Eddie kind of hated it. Actually, more than hate. Eddie despised the fact that Steve was no longer with him, lost in taking care of the rest of the world once more. It was a good trait, something to respect, but it meant that Eddie had lost his chance to dig past Steve’s walls a bit more, and maybe finally get some answers.

“Oh wait, Eddie what were you going to ask me?” Steve said, halting in his pursuit of the kids and turning to face Eddie.

It was sweet that he cared, but it was pointless. This wasn’t the time anymore.

But…

The supplies he had in the lunchbox in his van might just be the perfect way to get Steve to open up a bit.

“I was going to ask if you maybe wanted to make some not clean kinda full of drugs cookies for us to enjoy later?” Eddie asked, mentally apologizing to Hopper. Steve quickly looked around to make sure no one else was listening, his eyes wide as a secretive smile already started to pull at his lips.

“Ask me again once the kids are asleep,” Steve whispered in his ear, intertwining their fingers. Eddie steadfastly ignored the full body shudder rolling through his body, already calculating how much of a profit loss he was going to have to go through to get Steve to finally talk.

Taglist: @paopaupaus @zerokrox-blog @surferboyzaza @whatever-is-a-good-name@minjintea @addelyin @5ammi90 @hagbaby420 @shinekocreator @bornonthesavage @starxlark @electrick-marionnett @resident-gay-bitch @ash-a-confused-enby @classicdinosaurdeathpose @valon-whomsttf @rotten-lil-goblin @thereindeerlady @love-ya-kash @kerlypride @sparkle-fiend @thefreakandthehair @flowercrowngods @milf-harrington @sadcanadianwinter @gothbat99 @hotcocoaharrington @henderdads @lightwoodbanethings @colorful565 @h0n3y-dw @craterbbox @sourw0lfs @lesliiieeeee @bidisastersworld @tinynebula @ravnlinn @bonescaro @mexmatch @cottagecoredreams @joruni @hellykelly @maegan1116 @farewell-wanderlvst @desertfern @due-to-the-fact-that-im-a-slut @anythingforourmoonyedits @eerielake @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @sidekick-hero

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dwarvenchords · 5 months

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Hi im bored here is a breakdown of the color palettes for (most of) the 2024 f1 grid:

The many men of deep winter:

There are four deep winters on the grid, as follows:

daniel ricciardo, yuki tsunoda, lance stroll, & carlos sainz

my thoughts and feelings regarding these people and their palettes:

the fact that lance's race suit (and fernandos but we're not there yet) fit in their palette makes perfect sense, im convinced this is an element of aston martins driver selection process (look at how his skin is GLOWING!!)

yuki and daniel ALSO have team colors (the white and navy) that match their palettes, but daniel plays with color a bit more outside work.

the autumns of both soft and deep:

there are seven autumns on the grid, as follows:

soft autumns: fernando alonso, oscar piastri, & george russell

my thoughts and feelings regarding these people and their palettes:

like i said for lance we love nandos race suit being in his palette.

oscar's papaya *kind of* fits but he doesnt wear much other than his white tshirts outside of that sooo papaya photo it is. the teensy bit of blue on the polo needs to be the base color for him to glow

george actually dresses to his palette veeeery well. he sticks to his light neutrals, im picturing him and carmen at wembley this year (their hunt people for sport outfits specifically)

deep autumns: charles leclerc, lando norris, lewis hamilton, & alex albon

my thoughts regarding people and palette:

lando you can do so much more for yourself. lando the papaya matches you perfectly (unlike closely for oscar) but outside of that wear some PURPLE PLEASE. theres a reason your skin is glowing in the new quadrant announcement video because it is your COLOR.

charles...your all white outfits.....take a look at the colors to avoid king. if youre gonna wear white i beg of you, wear cream.

lewis youre perfect sweetie never change.

alex you made my life difficult by having fifteen different hair colors but this recent era is SLAYING becasue you are dressing and EDITING YOUR PHOTOS TO MATCH YOUR PALETTE. KEEP KILLING IT.

the complicated summers:

there are two soft summers and one classic summer:

soft summers: max verstappen & logan sargeant

logan you have fourty diff eye colors but the dolphins colors match you (except the orange) and we love it for you

max you dont wear anything but your team kit. its fine we still love you.

classic summer: pierre gasly

thought feel:

idk pierre youre here im sorry i dont know your social media or fashion presence enough to have thoughts

thank you all for indulging me im so glad i spent my entire evening doing this did i get some wrong probably argue with me in the tags

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lorifragolina · 2 months

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Bad Luck Groom

This is my contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race!

@harringrove-relay-race

Summary: Can coming back to Hawkins to marry ruin everything for Steve Harrington? The wedding is in less than 24 hours...

Rating: G

TW: marriage

WC 2872

Ao3

“It’s me, or is it incredibly hot here?” panted Steve, widening the collar of the shirt.

The fitter grunted and adjusted the tie again.

“It’s you,” said Robin, smoothing his black and white suit with bow tie.

“I think I’m gonna puke,” continued Steve.

“Not here,” barked the fitter, adjusting the waist of the trousers.

Steve was sweating profusely, and the man wasn’t happy he was doing it in the wedding suit.

“It’s… so tight…” whined Steve.

“It fits perfectly,” replied Robin, taking off her jacket and changing herself behind the screen. Steve tried to look at himself in the mirror: he was on the stand, slouching, uncombed and pale. He tried to straighten himself out, fixing up his hair and imagining himself walking down the aisle in the suit. He couldn’t.

He dropped the jacket two times trying to take it off, and the tailor rolled his eyes. The shirt was wet from sweat and thank God it was only a sample.

“What is going on?” Asked Robin when they left the shop with the suits in their bags. “Second thoughts?”

Steve sighing loudly, passing a hand on his eyes. “I… I don’t know. I… what if it’s all wrong?”

“What is wrong, Steve? I’m your best man and I’m here to help, come on… do you want to call the thing off?”

Steve sat in the car. “No! No, of course, I’m just thinking… what if… what if everything changes from now on? What if…”

“What could change, Steve? You are together for years, now, you know each other… and as long as I know, you proposed”.

Steve pursed his lips and nodded. “I know… but if it is not what we wanted? Maybe we shouldn’t do it here…”

“Oh I understand, the problem is Hawkins? I thought you decided to come back to marry here, in the garden and so on, you know, your parents, bla bla bla…”

“Yes, maybe we should have done it privately… get wed in Vegas, you know… avoiding… avoiding people here…”

“Steve, the wedding is tomorrow… it’s normal to be scared… so they say, I don’t know it…” Robin giggled but her jokes didn’t relieve Steve at the moment. “Steve, I can manage if you want to…”

“No, I don’t want to cancel… I think I don’t want it… but… what if I feel like running away tomorrow? What if… it is all a big mistake?”

“It isn’t a mistake. You two love each other. You two love each other, right?” Robin's voice trembled a little. Of course Steve was scared, but why now out of nowhere he thought it could be a mistake? He always wanted a wedding and a family, she knew. It was the natural avancement she expected in his friend’s life, but… now she wasn’t sure returning to Hawkins had been a good thing for him.

And the wedding was in twenty-three hours.

-------

“I think I’m gonna throw up, Max”.

Max hid her face behind her hands and tried to breathe. She wanted to scream.

“Just go and see him, for Christ sake!”

“I can’t!” whined Billy, walking in a circle in the room. “I can’t ruin everything for him… you know…”

“But if you feel so bad…”

“I can’t!”

Max looked at the window not far away and considered that if put an end to her misery, but the room was only on the first floor, it wouldn’t work.

She tried to breathe again, rubbing her eyes. Both she and her brother were really quick tempered, but it wasn’t the moment to start a fight, although she really, really wanted to yell at him and maybe get some steam off from each other. But in that case it could have a terrible flood effect. All she had to do was keep Billy out of trouble for a day more. Hopefully she could put him to sleep early and have some hours of relaxation.

“So what do you want to do?” she asked carefully, hoping not to unleash another nervous breakdown. It worked only partially.

“I don’t know!” whimpered Billy, squatting on the floor with his face in his hands. “I’m… I’m such a mess, Max! Look at me!”

Max didn’t see anything wrong in Billy’s aspect. He was in his sweatpants, his hair messy as usual, that studied messy that made him appear really hot, and a pink crop top he wore a lot in the Indiana summer. It was quite old, but the matching tan mark made her believe he used it in California too.

“You look fine, if only you stop agitating and try…”

“No, I’m not in the mood… I’ll ruin it. I’ll ruin everything, Max!”

God in heavens. She needed to get her hair done and go picking the dress, but she couldn’t leave Billy in the throes of anxiety. Or could she?

“Why don’t you go and see him, if it could help you to…”

Billy whined. “No… I promised to behave… I can’t ruin everything… It's just one day before the wedding!”

“But you can…”

“Why did he have to return here for the wedding!”

“But I thought…”

“And if I run in the wedding tomorrow screaming like crazy and run away with him and ruin everything? Oh God!” Billy curled on the floor, keeping whining and babbling. “Enough, Billy,” Max sighed, trying to be firm, for a change. “You know what? Now you take a shower, put some decent pants on and we’ll go together to the hairdresser, ok? We’ll do our hair, our nails and you try to relax, ok? Then we’ll come home, order chinese and watch the Disney movie you want, ok?”

Billy stood from the floor, smiling lightly. “Could it be sushi? Chinese makes me bloated”.

Max grinned and nodded. Twenty-one hours to the wedding, girl, you can make it.

She gulped a shot of tequila while Billy was in the shower.

----------

Robin managed to make Steve take a nap, while she went to the beauty parlor. In the parking lot, when she was leaving, she saw Billy and Max at the other side parking and entered the same saloon, and she sighed. Billy seemed as messy as Steve earlier, and she clenched her teeth. Twenty hours. She returned to Steve’s house, woke him up and they had a light dinner, that Steve should skip to pass directly to the shots, but Robin was trying to avoid a hangover groom the next morning.

“Ehi Robin, why don’t we have my bachelor party now?”

“We had your bachelor party three weeks ago, remember? Vegas? Dolly Parton’s show?”

She bit her lips. She shouldn’t name Vegas, Steve was babbling they should run there to get married alone, and his eyes became a little glossy.

“Ok, my bad… well I don’t think a couple drinks are a bad thing. But only a couple! Promise!”

Steve smiled lightly. “Pinky promise. I won’t get drunk and I won’t get in trouble”.

---------

“See? I said that having your hair and beard done will calm you down”, said nervously Max at home, while Billy kept turning his head right and left examining every millimeter of his face.

“It’s acceptable,” he grunted, but he was visibly satisfied. He was pretty and hot and he knew.

They had the sushi but he didn’t feel like watching The Little Mermaid once again.

“Why don’t we go for a stroll instead? To the club, maybe?”

“I don’t think you should get drunk, Billy, honestly”.

Billy joined his hands.

“I won’t drink, I promise. Just a Coke, I swear. I need something fresh”.

“We have Coke at home,” she teased, feeling she needed two days of sleep after going through Billy all day.

“I need fresh air,” insisted Billy.

“Why are you punishing me, God,” she muttered while taking her jacket.

Fortunately it was early and the club wasn’t crowded or loud. Billy grinned ordering a Diet Coke and she sighed and nodded. They sipped their drinks in silence, Billy appeared calmer than in the afternoon, and Max thought he had accepted the idea, and the worst was over. Hopefully next morning he wouldn’t have those negative thoughts anymore.

She excused herself and went to the bathroom. She spent a little time looking at her freshly styled hair, and when she returned to the bar, Billy’s stoll was empty.

---------

Steve ordered a margarita, then he wanted another one but Robin forced him to take a skinny one. Steve sighed and obeyed. He drank obediently, finally relaxed in some way, talking about the charcuterie aisle and the catering for the party. Then Robin's mobile rang.

“Shit, it’s the wedding planner. I have to take it”, she got on her feet to leave the club. “You’ll be ok for a couple of minutes?”

Steve smiled. “Of course, I’m not a baby,” he answered, grumbling a little.

Robin went out, and, after sorting a minor problem with the boutonniere that apparently couldn’t wait for the next morning, rentuned to an empty table.

------

Steve felt bored by the soft drink and shifted his gaze in the room. It was almost empty when they came, but now after more than a hour, it was more crowded. He lazily looked at the bar and jumped on his seat.

“Shit”.

“Shit,” whispered Billy, seeing out of the blue Steve seated on the table at the farest side of the club.

He didn’t imagine they could bump into each other in that way, but Hawkins was a hole, a cursed one, but still a tiny hole and they couldn’t avoid each other for long, not now that their guard dogs let their guard down.

Steve took a big breath and stood up, waving at him. Billy looked around and left the stall at the bar, joining Harrington. They were seated a little agitated in a dark corner.

“So,” started Steve with a trembling voice. “You here, too”.

“Yes… so…” Billy smiled slyly. “I heard you’re getting married tomorrow…”

Steve looked him in the eyes, directly. “Yes… and I’m alone, I don’t supposed to see the bride until the wedding, tomorrow”, he whispered.

“Too bad,” Billy got nearer, staring at Steve’s lips. “Why not?”

“Oh, it’s bad luck, you know. It’s tradition…” he was breathing heavily, following the freshly trimmed profile of Billy’s beard, feeling all the nerves of that afternoon sliding away from him.

Billy slipped a hand on his thigh. “It has to be difficult… I mean… separated from the love of your life… so hard…”

Steve grinned, but after a moment flinched a little and lowered his eyes. He felt Billy’s hand, heavy, on his leg.

“You aren't supposed to be there… You aren't supposed to do this…” he whispered.

“I know,” Billy bent over him and kissed him. Steve loosened himself up and closed his eyes, melting in the kiss.

Both their hearts were beating like drums. Billy separated and looked Steve in the eyes, and Steve nodded; they took each other's hands and ran into the gentlemen's bathroom, crashing together against the wall.

-------

“What the heck, where were you!” hissed Max when Billy emerged from the bathroom, looking furtively behind him and nodding, and returned to the bar.

He cleared his throat. She noticed that his lips were a little more swollen and red than before, but she wasn’t sure. She also noticed, just in the instant Billy took his jacket and put it on, that he had his shirt badly buttoned and he had a dark pink circle on his collarbone.

“I had to go to the bathroom,” he shrugged, turning his back to her to hide the clues. “You know, the sushi and all…”

“Gross!” she shouted, and she took her purse to go away.

Steve nodded in return when Billy left the bathroom. He waited a couple of minutes and left it too, trying to act nonchalantly.

Robin was at the table with his drink completely melted, and luckily she couldn’t see Max and Billy leaving. He raised his eyes and lightly nodded at Billy’s wink.

He tried to smile at Robin, but she immediately noticed his polo upside down and widened her eyes.

Steve blushed entirely and his upper lips trembled.

“Robin. I messed up”.

Robin sighed, covering her face with her hands. Sixteen hours to the wedding.

-------

“I’ll have to go, Billy, you sure you’ll be ok?” Max yelled to him from downstairs. She hoped she wouldn't have to go upstairs, because Billy was blasting his metal as usual.

Billy looked at himself in the mirror, adjusting a lock on his forehead. He put some of his great occasion colony on his wrists and inside his pants too, then lit a cig blowing the smoke to the mirror, winking to himself.

He smiled looking at the perfect fit of his pants, then sent a little kiss to himself again.

He turned off the stereo and went to the bedroom’s door.

“Ok!” he yelled in return, listening to Sinclair and Max voices and then their car leaving.

“Showtime,” he whispered to himself fifteen minutes later, clinking his keys and starting the Camaro.

---------

Robin was shifting her weight from foot to floor at Steve’s side, really nervous. She felt really comfortable in her smoking, and Steve was absolutely stunning in his dark gray suit with the blue tie, that matched the color of the ocean blue decorations. Max and Jane wore the same blue and they’re glowing with happiness.

Everything seemed perfect under the canopy in Steve’s back garden, his parents were perfect too, Hopper, Joyce and the party sat on the white chairs in the grass and the sky was perfectly clear.

But she was nervous. She wasn’t sure that a disaster wasn’t on its way, and she was trying to spot it as soon as possible.

“Calm down,” whispered Steve, bothered by her wiggling. “I should be nervous, not you”.

“You tortured me all day yesterday, and now I’m annoying you?” she hissed, a little drop of sweat running on her forehead.

The noise of the Camaro got louder and louder and finally the car stopped at the end of the driveway, just near the last line of seats.

All the guests rumbled, looking at each other and standing all together.

Robin breathed loudly. “About time,” feeling Steve gasping and stiffening and she drew herself up at his side. They turned, facing the car.

Billy came out of the car, in a white suit with a blue tie bow on a black shirt. He adjusted it and took a big breath walking down the path until the canopy, tilting his head and smiling at the guests on his way. He sometimes looked furtively at Steve and hoped not to blush too much.

Billy winked to Max, who had been tense until that moment; she knew he wanted to do his great entrance alone, but she offered earlier that morning to go together.

“No, go with Sinclair. I will not flee”.

Steve was breathing faster. and smiling like an idiot. “You see”, he whispered to Robin.

“I can walk you if you want”.

“No, nobody will give me away, I’ll give away myself alone,” he winked one last time.

When Billy reached them, Robin went to hug and kiss him on both cheeks.

“Finally you make it”, she rambled in a whisper.

“You got the rings?” giggled Billy.

“Of course. And what about not seeing each other the day before?”

“I don’t think it was bad luck, I had a good one”.

Robin blushed and pinched him on his arm, then pulled him gently to Steve.

“You came”, said Steve, blissed, looking at his soon-to-be-husband.

“I came last night too,” Billy answered in a sough, kissing him on the cheek.

“You are impossible,” Steve cocked his head.

They took each other's hand, their handcuffs shined at the afternoon sun; baseball bats, for Billy, orcas for Steve.

They turned to the celebrant while the guest sat down again. They thought that maybe it had been better to get married in California, where they lived, or secretly in Vegas, but it was just the nerves of the day before. They were exactly where they needed to be.

Robin blinked furiously the tears away when she passed the rings to them.

“I do”, said Steve putting on the wedding ring at Billy’s finger.

��I do,” Billy did the same.

“You can kiss your husband”.

Robin clapped and cried, Max hugged Jane and Lucas.

Billy grabbed his husband’s hand and kissed the shiny new ring on it.

“So, bad luck, husband?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking about. I’ll never pass another day far from you”.

“I hope so,” smiled Billy. “I hope so”.

Thank for having me here and thanks to @dragonflylady77 for preceding me!

I had that stupid silly idea in mind for a long time and I hope you enjoy it!

I am so proud to introduce the amazing Suo @camaro-and-smokes and I'm really looking forwards for all the works in this event!

#stranger things #writing #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove relay race

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slytherheign · 9 months

Text

THE WAY I LOVED YOU | max verstappen

PART 3/4 OF BROKEN GLASS AND HONEY SERIES.

CAN ALSO BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT.

PAIRINGS: ex!max verstappen x fem!reader, daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

SUMMARY: you're with someone new now, but memories of the past still haunt you relentlessly.

WARNINGS: feelings of hurt and guilt, mentions of an unhealthy relationship, and allusion to sex. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: 16+]

AUTHOR'S NOTE: inspired by taylor swift's song with the same title. reader's choice is made in this one. sorry in advance for hurting y'all but trust me all will be well in the last part.

DESTINATION: Angst Avenue | GO TO SERIES MASTERLIST or GO BACK TO THE STATION.

Those two sets of three little words.

I miss you.

I love you.

And you swore your heart jumped and your world stopped again.

How did you end up here? You thought you were past this.

You were with Daniel now, someone who cared and loved you wholeheartedly. He was wonderful, and he deserved all of your affection. But, truth be told, there were times when your mind wandered off to a place you wished it wouldn't.

Memories, like fragments of a broken mirror, haunted you relentlessly. The laughter you shared with Max, your late-night conversations, the way he looked at you... It was all so beautiful, so genuine. And now, you felt guilty for even acknowledging those memories.

But love wasn't something that faded easily, was it? It lingered, hidden in the darkest corners of your soul, reminding you of what was once pure and electric. It was as if you were two puzzle pieces, fitting perfectly together. But life had different plans, and the road you walked upon veered in opposite directions.

You wished you could erase the unwanted emotions, and replace them with unwavering loyalty and devotion. But the heart was a complicated thing, a labyrinth of contradictions. It was telling you to stay committed, to cherish what you have. Yet, it whispered Max's name when you least expected it, tugging at your heartstrings with every beat.

You couldn't help but question yourself. Were you being unfair to Daniel? To your relationship? How could you truly be present when scattered fragments of your heart remained entwined with someone from the past?

But there was a reason why the heart was situated on the left side of our bodies.

It was because it was not always right.

Max told you to use your brain, and that was what you needed to do.

You needed to confront the residual emotions, for the sake of both your present and your future. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was necessary. You owed it to Daniel, to yourself, and to love itself.

6 MONTHS LATER.

You couldn’t ask for anything better.

Daniel Ricciardo was the embodiment of peace and the personification of sunshine. He gave the biggest smile a person could ever see—the type that once was shown to you, your mouth would automatically mirror his.

He was a sensible man—an incredible feat he had that made all your single friends jealous of you and your relationship. He was the special someone you would dream about every night.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said, opening the door for you as you entered his car. You wore a gorgeous dark blue velvet dress that highlighted the shape of your body. “Thank you,” you replied, feeling… perfectly fine.

You watched him walk around the car until he settled on the driver’s seat and locked the door. He glanced at you with that contagious smile of his. You looked at him. “What?” you chuckled.

“Nothing,” he shrugged but he was still grinning. “You seem excited about something,” you commented. “Where are we going, Dan?”

He turned the key and started the engine. But before he could push the pedal down and drive the car, he looked at your confused face again. “You’ll see,” he winked.

You couldn’t ask for anything better.

Daniel Ricciardo was the type of man you’d wish upon the stars and that someone you’d wish for as you blew the candles out. A true gentleman who made sure you were happy at all times—always putting your needs and wants above his.

He always respected your space and your boundaries. He never made you wait and would call exactly when he said he would. He was close to your mother and talked with your father who was a businessman, though most times he probably didn’t even understand what your father was saying. He was charming, endearing, and with him, you were comfortable.

The ride ended and he took you to an exclusive restaurant on a rooftop where you could see the skyline beneath the starry night sky.

Deep inside you, you could already feel the anxiety creeping up on you. You had no idea why, but something about this night made you extremely nervous and uneasy. You just hoped he didn’t notice it.

You were in awe when you realized he booked the entire rooftop for just the two of you. In the middle, laid a table for two with white sheets. Atop were expensive wine, two glasses, and luxurious cutlery.

He led you to the table, pulling your chair for you to sit on. You thanked him as you adjusted yourself into a comfortable position. He smiled and then winked again.

It made you even more nervous.

A waiter made their way to your table, serving you your meal which was pre-ordered by Daniel. He never asked you what your favorite type of food was, but he knew the exact food that you would love.

“How did you know?” you asked him, looking at your plate with your favorite food.

“I observe you every time. Whenever we go out to eat, I take note of what you always order. This wasn’t actually on their menu, but I managed to convince them to cook it.”

Truly, you couldn’t ask for anything better.

You have felt your heart beat fast countless times when he was around you.

But your heart never skipped around him.

It never jumped and fell for him.

Daniel Ricciardo was the man of your dreams.

But Max.

Max Verstappen.

He was the man of your desires.

All the screaming and the never-ending arguments with him, the fighting almost every night before you went to bed, the throwing of items at each other when things got intense—you missed all of them.

The raised voices, the shattered glasses, the rough way he touched you when you made up in your bed after each argument…

The crying. The breaking up. The making up. The kissing in the rain.

You missed it.

You knew you shouldn’t, but you terribly missed it all.

There were times you found yourself cursing his name in your head at 2 a.m., while you rested with Daniel next to your bed.

You shouldn’t even think of him. This was wrong.

But the breaking down and the coming undone, the way he always pushed you into a wall as he shut you up with a kiss, the way he pulled your hair while he destroyed you from behind—you missed the roller coaster kind of rush. You craved the toxicity.

Max Verstappen was toxic and the type of man your mother taught you to avoid when you were just a child. But the toxicity of everything made you live for the thrill of it all. Both of you, so in love, that you acted insane. You never even knew you could feel that much when you were around him.

That was the way you loved him.

You looked at your boyfriend, Daniel, who happily told you some of his favorite memories. You weren’t even listening to him, you just laughed along every time he laughed. He couldn’t see the smile you were faking.

When he stood up and guided you to a slow dance, you followed his moves and looked deep into his eyes.

For a second you swore you saw his face. The wild, crazy, frustrating, intoxicating, and complicated man. But after a blink, it returned to Daniel.

How was it, that after all this time, Max Verstappen still haunted you?

And how was it, that after all this time, you still let him?

All of a sudden Daniel pulled away from you and you looked at him confusingly. Your heart started beating fast again. He took a few steps back…

And then he knelt down on one knee. He pulled a small box from his suit, opening it to reveal a beautiful ring. He had shown that ring to you before. It was his mom’s.

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

He was proposing.

It was now or never.

Present or past.

Calm or chaos.

Sweet or toxic.

Dream or desire.

Honey or broken glass.

Daniel or Max.

“Danny…” you said his name, a tear falling down your face. You crouched down to his level, hugging him.

And then you stood up, still crying.

“I’m sorry…”

You turned your back on him immediately, not wanting to see his face after you broke his heart. You wanted to look back, but you decided not to. You didn’t want to know the sight of him breaking down.

If you were going to remember Daniel’s face, you wanted to remember his big smile. Not his broken expression after you killed his heart.

You just shattered the heart of the sweetest man you have ever known. You just killed his butterflies.

You couldn’t ask for anything better from him, because you knew the best you’ve ever felt was with Max Verstappen.

So you ran away. From the place and from him.

You traded serenity with madness and chose the rocky road instead of the smooth sailing waves of the sea.

And now you found yourself at the place where Max and you had your first date.

It was 2 a.m. and it started raining. There was a streetlight above you from where you were standing.

You closed your eyes, basking in the feeling of rain that was pouring heavily. It was kind of comforting because the raindrops concealed your tears.

And then the rain suddenly stopped touching you and all that was left on your face was the drops that your eyes teared.

You opened your eyes, only to see a shadow of an umbrella and a man holding it to stop you from getting wet any longer.

You turned around to see his face.

Max Verstappen.

SLYTHERHEIGN TAGLIST: @writingstoraes @joshiiieeenesx

FORMULA ONE TAGLIST: @dreamingofautopia @lpab @matildrry @fangirl125reader @tall-tanned-tattoo @aundercover @stevesworld9 @princessria127

JOIN THE FINALE CELEBRATION!

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moeyynorris · 7 months

Text

I Feel My Shadow Dissolving

Let’s Make Trouble in the Dream World - Part 3

Max Verstappen x F!Reader, Charles Leclerc x F!Reader

Warnings: Emotions related to a break-up/end of relationship, cheating (kind of?), fluff (kissing).

A/N: This chapter is a bit longer, sorry. I hope you like it!

Master List

You sat at the cramped make-up desk in your dressing room, eager to get the caked-on make-up off your face. Sure, it still looked great, but it felt like a concrete mask. Yuck.

Just as you reached for a make-up wipe, you heard a knock on the door. You shrugged in your seat, anticipating Max and his empty congratulations. After your show, and the feelings that plagued you as you sang your heart out, you realized that he was no longer the man for you. The three time F1 champion of the world was no longer the man you loved.

With a deep sigh, you checked your phone, spotting a text from Max. You swiped to reveal the message just as another knock sounded.

“Coming! Just a sec!” you blurted. Then, you narrowed your eyes on the screen.

Max:

I will see you at the hotel. I know Craig was going to give you a ride. I want to get enough sleep for the race tomorrow. Be safe.

Your brow furrowed at the tone of the message. It wasn’t unlike Max lately to have you find your way back, so you weren’t super surprised. But, if Max wasn’t the one knocking on your door, then who…

The door slowly creaked open and a light voice called out as you turned. “Y/N?” It was Charles. Honestly, he was the last person you expected to come see you after the show, but it was definitely not unwelcome.

“Oh, hey Charles. Uh, Thanks for coming to the show. How did you like it?” You stood from your seat and face the Ferrari driver. He smiled and chuckled ever so lightly.

God, if you thought he looked good under the stage lights, he looked even better in the dimmed fluorescent glow of your dressing room. The jeans he was sporting fit every hint of a curve perfectly, and his very fitted shirt was short of obscene. His hair was tousled in the most delicious way, and the best part was that you knew he didn’t mean for it to fall that way.

In this moment, he was a Greek statue. He was perfection.

Charles licked his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest. “The show was spectacular. I have to admit I had never really listened to your music. I didn’t think it was my style, and I just didn’t know you were so talented.” He took a step forward as he continued. “The fact that I got to hear it live first made it so much more… special.” He smiled at you, obviously realizing he was ranting. “I loved it, Y/N. I really did.”

You nodded and smiled, touched by the honestly in his words.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I hope the others weren’t too rowdy for you,” you chuckled. He shook his head.

“Oh, no. I actually got a few payback pictures if I ever need them.” You both laughed as you leaned against the counter.

Charles let out a humorous sigh, then peered around the room. He furrowed his brow.

“Where is Max? Surely he would want to be here to congratulate you on a performance like that?” Your gut sank at his words. And before you could hide your reaction, the expression was already painted across your face. You sighed deeply and shrugged.

“He wanted to get sleep for the race tomorrow.” You nibbled on your bottom lip, a nervous habit you had never been able to kick.

“Well, it is an afternoon race, but I guess he is someone who needs a lot of sleep?” You could tell he was trying to make you feel better. It’s not like the fact that Max wasn’t there really bothered you. If anything, it solidified the weird feelings you had towards him over the last few… weeks? You sucked in a breath thinking about how long it had actually been.

It didn’t fucking matter. What mattered was where you were at that moment.

You offered Charles a smile and huffed a laugh.

“He hasn’t been here the last, geez, I don’t even know how many times now. He’s usually at the show, but after, it’s hit or miss.” You shrugged again. “I mean, there will be a million more shows.” Desperate to change the subject, you nodded towards the door and grinned.

“So, was that your first concert?” Charles’ cheeks reddened a little.

“My first one like that! The music I usually like is a little, well, calmer than that. Not that there was anything wrong with—“

“I know what you mean. I’ve heard a few of the songs you’ve shared on posts. It’s mellow, not anything like this. That’s why I’m even more thrilled that you liked this show.” You played air guitar for a second and chuckled.

Charles shrugged his shoulders and met your gaze. “Well, the fact that it was you made it even better.” Your stomach nearly flipped at his words.

‘What—“

“I just mean that it was special to see someone I know and care about on that stage.” His cheeks reddened as he peered off to his left. “Honestly, Y/N, you’re an important person in my life. Sure, you’re the partner of a fellow driver, but—“

“That’s debatable.” You didn’t realize you had said the words aloud until Charles reacted. His eyes widened as they locked on you. His whole body tensed for moment, is what almost seemed like a mixture of anger and… maybe relief?

“What are you saying?” Charles’ voice was soft, soothing. You sighed as you plopped back down on your stool.

“Max and I haven’t been right for a while. I mean, the intention is there, but the actual feelings behind it aren’t anymore. It really hit me on that stage tonight, when I was singing. Those words were written about him when I first wrote them, but now, they aren’t. It’s almost like they are meant for someone else now.” You stiffened at your lack of a filter. “I don’t even know why the fuck I’m telling you this.”

Charles sat on the make-up stand in front of you and sighed. He was closer than you expected, his legs almost brushing yours. You peered up at him as he reach out for your arm.

“I’m sorry you’re going through this, Y/N. But, sometimes our gut tries to tell our brain what is really best for us. And, now, I think that is what yours is trying to do.” His hand gently grazed down your arm, making its way to your hand. He curled his fingers around your palm as he rubbed circles on the back if your hand with his thumb.

“Well, I guess you’re right. I’ve been feeling it for a while, but pushing it off, not wanting to believe it.” You crossed your legs and nibbled nervously on your bottom lip.

Charles nodded ever so slightly as he listened, still holding your hand in his. He squeezed it gently, as if trying to soothe you. But, the weird part was that you didn’t really need to be soothed. You weren’t upset by the love lost between you and Max. He had his busy life, you and yours, and there wasn’t much in between. Sure, when you first started seeing each other, there was something there. Max was sweet and romantic for the first year or so. But, then everything just crumbled. You couldn’t remember a specific instance when it started. But, tonight was the affirmation that there was nothing between you anymore.

Charles tugged on your hand gently, waking you from your thoughts. You sighed and looked up at him, unable to hold back a smile as his eyes met yours.

“Y/N, you mentioned that your song seemed like it was meant for someone else now.” You heart nearly punched out of your chest. “Is there someone in particular?”

You slowly nodded, trying to calm your heart rate. “Yeah, Charles. You.”

Charles leaned back slightly, as if he wasn’t expecting the words that left your mouth. You knew better, by how he was holding your hand. No, he knew what you were going to say. What surprised him was the fact that you actually said it. Honestly, you were just as surprised.

You gasped lightly as Charles quickly stood, pulling you up with him. You rose to your feet, and found yourself pressed lightly against Charles’ chest. He was warm, the scent of cologne filling your senses.

Charles quickly took a step back and sucked in a shallow breath, still staring at you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to react like that—“

You cut him off with a kiss. You had no idea what had compelled you to do it, but it just happened.

Your heart pounded again as Charles kissed you back, his arm snaking around the small of your back as he pulled you against him. His warm lips encased yours gently, yet passionately, while his free hand found the back of your neck. You melted into his touch, taking in the comfort and passion heating in your chest.

Charles’ fingers snaked through your hair, coaxing a breathy whimper from the back of your throat. His lips curled into a smirk against yours, making your stomach flip.

There was something natural about bring held by Charles. It felt like something you had experienced for years, like it was something you were meant to do. Sure, that could just be your brain getting all sappy, but you couldn’t dismiss your feelings now. After all, they got you here in the first place.

Charles’ phone pinged loudly in his pocket. He slowly pulled his lips from yours, smiling as he gazed down at you.

“That would be Carlos. He is driving me back.” You froze for a moment, furrowing your brow.

“He’s been waiting for you all this time?” Charles chuckled.

“I told him I was going to find the restroom, and say goodbye if I can find you.” Charles winked, or at least attempted to. “For all he knows, I’ve been in the bathroom.”

You huffed a chuckle. “I don’t think he would believe that.” Charles laughed with you, just shaking his head.

“What he doesn’t know right now won’t hurt, right?” You nodded in agreement, then leaned back in one more time for a quick kiss.

“You should go meet up with him. I’ll see you tomorrow at the race.” The grin on your face wasn’t leaving anytime soon. “Craig is going to drive me back.”

Charles nodded, matching your grin. “You have my phone number right?” You nodded. “Please let me know that you are back safe. It’s late.” Your stomach swirled at his words.

“I will.”

After one more nod from the Ferrari driver, you watched him walk out of your dressing room. A few moments after he left, you plopped yourself down on your stool, wondering what the hell came next. You turned and looked at yourself in the mirror. Whatever your next move was, it was going to happen after your got all of that make-up off.

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