#wildest dreams series
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Wildest Dreams: Part 4
It seemed like weeks since they had found you in the library and tried to trap you, the two massive alphas who had practically been dry-humping in the aisle that you were needing to get into, but in reality it was a little over a week.
You had exited one of your physiology classes only to be flagged down by one of the junior receptionists that worked directly for the dean. She had caught you before you could head to your second class, and had in not so many words, informed you that the dean needed to talk to you.
You’d thought that maybe there was a problem with your admittance papers, or there could have been a few issues with your classes since you’d been told they were reaching peak registration numbers. What you had been thinking was on an entirely different level and scope than what was waiting for you when you arrived at the dean’s office.
The first indication that the older alpha and dean were not alone, was the wavering and wandering scents of the two alphas who had cornered you in the library. The first integral notes that had infiltrated your nose were confusing at best, given that you had no reason to be here with them unless the head librarian had made a complaint about you from the week before. Still, it hadn’t eased you.
Still, as you had entered the office and had taken the seat to the far right of Bucky you were not unbound.
You were confused, you were anxious and you had been stuck between wanting to throw your book at Barnes’ big head and fleeing the room as the scent of alpha became overwhelming.
“Hey bean-“
“Don’t talk to me.” You cut Bucky off with a tense snap, your entire body and hindbrain firing off neurons that only added to your feeling of unsettled composure.
There were too many alphas in the office that wasn’t nearly big enough to give you ease or peace of mind. It was much too concentrated to focus on anything but the way Steve and Bucky’s scent had reacted in time with your own, and the dean was looking between you expectantly.
There was a moment of awkward silence that fell between the four of you, as you waited for the news of why you were here to come to light. You had no possible idea why you were called to the office or why the two meatheads were here with you, the junior secretary had revealed nothing, and with no given clue as to why you were called, you were becoming more agitated and put off the flurry of scents.
It was only after the dean of the university had leaned forward and rested his elbows upon the desk, tucking his hands under his chin, that he had addressed you with a clearing of his throat.
“Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes are in need of a tutor in order to continue playing with the football team, they need to maintain a GPA of 4.2 and they’re sitting at 3.9. You were recommended by a few professors here and because of your connection-“
You felt the heat, bubbling and boiling anger poignant under your flesh as you grit your teeth and sucked air in through your flaring nostrils. You had bounced your heels against the floor as you fidgeted while listening to the dean yammer on about the pride the university had in their football team, and the great importance that having two players like Barnes and Rogers on the team.
He had continued, applying pressure to you to give in without formally asking you, all while the sound of his voice and his grading scent was fuelling your internal engine that would eventually lead to an outburst. You were biding your time, you were positively stewing from the weight of this news.
And you couldn’t cognitively explain why.
“We need the help, omega bean.” Bucky had fixated his gaze upon you, watching you with widening eyes and a droop of his bottom lip into a pout that had simultaneously made you more irritated than before and empathetic to their cause.
“We can’t play if we don’t raise our GPA.” Steve had also allocated a pout, and his blue-green eyes had become wide and doll-like.
You knew they loved the game, you knew they were talented and incredible at the sport. You knew they had to be extremely talented to have made the team in the first place, but to then have the admiration of so many people in and out of the school? That kind of talent and skill was impressive and had stirred support that was as powerful as it was poignant. They loved it, and they needed you.
Still, you were annoyed.
Was it because of the insistence that you and the two alpha form a bond again? Was it the feeling that this was all contrived by your parents and the past you shared? Or were you so annoyed and triggered by their presence because you recognized the familiarity you shared when you were younger? Was it your stubbornness that wouldn’t let you get past this re-admittance into your life?
“-you’ll receive extra credit toward your degree for your hours put into tutoring Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes-“ The dean continued to speak even as you had shoved your chair back and stood with your bag resting on your hip, and Steve and Bucky looking your way.
“It would’ve been nice to be asked instead of coerced into it.” You slammed your hand upon the flap of your bag, feeling the weight of your physiology and biology textbook that you’d used no less than ten minutes ago while wondering if you could get away with bashing them over the head with it.
“Omega Bean-“
“I’ll help you, not because I like you.” You smacked Bucky’s hand away when he tried reaching for you, warmth and piercing irritation stirring your ire like hot coals. “You miss one study session and it’s over, I won’t let you waste my time.”
You were overwhelmed by the scents of alphas, you needed out and you needed to breathe in a more even mix. You had stepped outside and slammed the door behind you hard enough to rattle the doorknob and the windows in the office. You had stumbled forward while your legs shook, desperate to get rid of their heady mix and get outside into the fresh air, your feet carried you until you hit an invisible wall and found yourself unable to move any further.
“We didn’t do this on purpose.” Steve jogged after you, coming to a stop just as you had a few feet away, his scent coming unhinged and still as potent yet it made you feel less stifled and more invigorated.
You had slowly exhaled and pivoted partially toward him, your hands clenching and leaning in a slow rhythm, his eyes fixated on you while your eyes had bounced around his face and shoulders, unable to focus on one thing for too long.
“Bucky and I, we’re not….trying to manipulate you. I know what you’re thinking, both of us know-“ you turned and darted away from him again, taking the nearest exit with a fire under your ass.
You pushed open the fire door and let it slam behind you, the metal clicking into place only to be opened again a few moments later. The sound of the door opening for the second time had echoed in your head just as the sound of their footsteps on the concrete had called out to your hindbrain like some kind of siren song to take control of your body.
“Y/N, stop!” Bucky had spoke up, Bucky had given the alpha command that slid too easily into your hindbrain and was accepted far too easily by those primordial and basest urges.
“Can you just talk to us? We’ve barely been able to keep up a conversation with you.”
They encroached, they drew closer and you were enveloped by their scents like you had been in the office only there wasn’t such a tarnished concentration as before. This was easier than before, even if you hadn’t wanted to be in their presence at all, at least their scents weren’t aggravating.
“I don’t want to talk to you, have you ever thought of that? Have you taken a moment to think that maybe I don’t want anything to do with you?” You turned on your heel, quickly coming to face them head on while also leaning into the stubborn nature that was inflicting you with such strong resistance.
The truth was, that having them pursuing you, it made you feel weak. Having them actively trying to worm their way back into your good graces and into your life, in general, was more than you could handle right now. Steve and Bucky wanting to pick up whatever you had in daycare when you were five, it had felt like you were standing on the edge of a high board, ready to dive into the water but being too afraid to look over the edge.
You knew that eventually you would have to go over, eventually you would have to take the plunge but it was your fear and your anxieties that kept you from completely giving in.
“Come on, you know that’s not true-“ You screamed in frustration and slipped your bag off your shoulder, whacking Steve in the side with your physiology and biology textbook as you countered his claim.
“It is true! I don’t want to be around you! You and your annoying little posse of cheerleaders and constant fuck cycle!” you huffed and whacked him once more before you turned sharply and started stalking away, only to stop again and turn back to look at both of them.
“That’s what you’re so mad about? You think we slept around with the cheer squad? JellyBean, those girls are our friends-“ Bucky had begun laughing, a sweeping chortle making his shoulders shake while Steve had winced and waved at Bucky to shut up.
“And the other omegas? The other girls who like to comment on your stupid instagram page-“
“Steve and I only fuck each other. Occasionally we have a third but-“ Bucky groaned when Steve had smacked his chest with enough power to knock the wind out of him, but the damage was done.
You had groaned and huffed again, stomping your feet dramatically like you had when you were younger. They let you leave, they let you walk away while they watched you and the steam billow out from your ears as you huffed and puffed about the two alphas who were caught under your skin.
They waited a few minutes before they had begun trailing on after you, walking the same path you had until you turned a corner and headed straight into one of the coffee shops on campus. Bucky and Steve had watched and waited as you took a table near the back and dumped your bag onto the seat, sitting with another, silent to them, huff and a purse of your lips.
None of this was going like they wanted, none of this had played out like what was in their heads and given how excited they were for you to be back it had felt like a harsh blow. There had been a long stint between daycare years and university, with most of the time passing as you were across the country from Steve and Bucky while they had each other.
It was, in part, a necessary evil to save you three from being socially isolated in a formed pack, but while Steve and Bucky had each other you had no one.
“We have to talk about it eventually.” Steve had grabbed Bucky’s hand to yank him into the coffee shop, the bell above the door announcing their presence but you had sparsely lifted your head.
You had only glanced at them when they approached the table as a pair and remained quiet and solemn. You had leaned back against your chair and crossed your arms over your chest, giving the two of them a deeply seeded glare that was akin to something cute and sweet trying to look deadly.
“We’re sorry,” Steve had cleared his throat and attempted an apology, settling one hand upon the back of the chair, “for…being stupid.”
“That’s a lifelong disease, Rogers. Being stupid.” You snipped and bared your teeth, your ire and anger as an omega was almost as deadly as theirs as alphas and you hadn’t needed to get physically violent. Again.
“Can we talk, please? explain ourselves?” Bucky started to slide the chair out from under the table, only to cease his actions when you whipped your head in his direction and let out a soft little growl of your own that had sparked little noughts of desire.
“We’ll buy you hot chocolate, and something to eat.” Steve attempted to smooth you over, with a bashful smile and a wave of his hand toward the counter. “You still like crushed candy cane and whipped cream, right?”
“My next class got cancelled.” You huffed and grit your teeth. “You have two and a half hours, and if I don’t want to listen-“
“You can leave anytime.” Bucky had quipped, adding the little bit as he took his seat across from you and then craned his neck back, grabbing Steve’s wrist to stop him from moving. “Grabbing me something, Stevie?”
“Are you going to pout if I don’t?” Steve grumbled, yanking his hand from Bucky’s wrist and rolling his eyes when he fell silent. “Why do I even bother asking?”
The cacophonous scents that had irritated you earlier had now dissipated and was replaced with the aroma of brewed coffee and slightly burnt sugar, the blend of teas and additives to the tops of their seasonal drinks that you had focused on.
And then Steve and Bucky’s scents crept back up and overpowered it all, leaving you feeling as if you could have purred and revelled in its comfort since your heart, brain and hindbrain all seemed to be discordance with each other.
“We didn’t sleep around, I should clarified-“ Bucky’s voice was akin to honey, laced with the kind of sweetness that was natural for an alpha trying to connect with an omega.
“Your friend…Rhys-“
“Rhys! Yes!” Steve spoke with overexcitement, knocking his knee against the underside of the table, a sharp whine falling from his lips.
“Rhys, the cheerleader, she found me after you left. But then I saw all these other comments-“ you sighed, your eyebrows furrowed. “We’re not friends, we haven’t been friends-“
“Steve and I have only been with each other, and occasionally we’ll sleep with an omega when our ruts are really bad.”
Bucky reached out and rest his hand upon yours, only connected for a moment before you yanked your hand back. “Sorry. Sorry…”
“She said you’re like their brothers, and that most of them are in relationships.” You steeled your gaze toward Bucky, yanking yourself and your coffee back to create more distance. “But you still have all those girls hanging off of you, your little fan club-“
“Omega Bean, we waited for you. We would never-“
“Yeah? Did you?” You snapped again, bearing your teeth with bite and ire. “You had each other. I had no one. You at least got to grow up together while I was ripped away and moved across the country.”
“You know what our parents said-“ Steve had reached for you again, his fingers grazing your forearm. “I’m sorry we had to leave, but you’re here and we can start off-“
“No,” you cut him off, confused by your feelings and the screeching of your hindbrain to just give in, “no we are not diving back in. Not where we left off. Absolutely not.”
“Friends then?” Bucky stole your attention, smiling charmingly and beautifully. “No courting, no dates. Just…friends? And a tutor..?”
“I’m so pissed at you, I could throttle both of you.” You growled, still as intimidating as a little bunny, but if it made you feel better they would’ve heard it all day.
“You got Steve already.” Bucky grinned, boyishly chortling under his breath. “I don’t remember you being so strong.”
“Bucky-“
“Yeah? You’re next Barnes.” You grabbed your bag and lifted it over your shoulder, letting it fall against your hip. You stood and grabbed your coffee and your untouched pastry, clinging to both as you stood but hadn’t left.
“Friends?” Bucky batted his eyelashes at you, pouting and pleading in a very un-alpha like manner.
“You really waited? You had no one else?” You questioned, your guard slipping for a moment.
“Of course we did.” Steve’s voice had grown softer, his eyes just as tender and sweet. “I can count on one hand-“
“We missed you.” Bucky grabbed your wrist, his thumb brushing against your veins as he scented you. “We missed you every day, omega bean.”
It brought you comfort and warmth, and you had to mentally berate yourself not to close your eyes and revel in it.
“Friends. Barely friends.” You jabbed your finger into Bucky’s chest, your eyes narrowing into a glare that was neither intimidating nor deadly. “And we start studying Thursday.”
“We have practice Thursday.” Steve spoke, sliding the calendar over to you. “Friday and Saturday’s are saved for games-“
“Fine. Wednesday then,” you spoke again, with a little more fierce, “I can only do Monday and Wednesday.”
“Since we’re friends…” Bucky slowly stood, trapping you between the next table and his chest. “Would you consider coming to our practices and games?”
“Our first game is this week. Start of the season-“
“-fine.” You stepped around Bucky and began walking toward the door, stopped once more by the sound of his voice.
“Would you consider friends with-“ you turned and looked over your shoulder, a laugh bubbling on your tongue as Steve slapped his hand over Bucky’s mouth to shut him up.
“Silence,” you laughed under your breath, “it’s a real good look on you, Barnes.”
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#alpha!stucky x omega!reader fluff#alpha!stucky x reader fluff#alpha!stucky x omega!reader#alpha!stucky x reader#college football au#football!steve rogers#football!alpha!stucky#football!alpha!bucky barnes#Stucky x reader#college!steve rogers x reader x college!bucky barnes#college!stucky x reader#a/b/o#college au#university au#wildest dreams series#wildest dreams masterlist#wildest dreams#wildest dreams part 4
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For the wip game, I humbly ask for a crumb of "wildest dreams" 🥺
(love your writing, thanks!!)
thank you anon! 🥹🤍
wildest dreams is @joelscurls and my love child with our take on the dad’s best friend trope, featuring our favorite murder daddy dave. i don’t want to reveal too much of the plot, but believe me that we’re constantly driving each other insane in the dms and taking both the filth and the angst to new levels 🫠
here’s a teeny tiny crumb because i have zero self control:
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i just cannot get over how change2561 not only lied about the mpreg but just lied about it being omegaverse overall?? They were like calling all SPORTS lovers you will enjoy this RACING BL that has NO secondary genders or pregnancy whatsoever.
then they doubled down on it AFTER it started airing???? They said!! They said there might be alphas but its not an omegaverse alpha I promise!!!! They said!!! I promise there are no magical wombs!!!
But there is!!! There IS a magical womb and not only is it there, its the CENTRAL PLOTLINE????!!???!?!!!!
#pit babe the series#in my wildest dreams i could not have#do you think the executive producers are finding out with the rest of us???
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Wildest dreams, pt. 32 (Paul Lahote)
Summary: Rebuilding their relationship is slow, but worth it. They struggle to find their footing as life goes on, sharing what's on their mind and weighing on their hearts.
Warnings: angst, fluff, sexual innuendos, swearing, GRAPHIC depictions of death and blood
Wildest Dreams Masterlist
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It’s been a few days since Paul promised he’d ask Y/N’s permission to host a birthday dinner. Daisy has texted him at least a dozen times by now, demanding details he cannot provide. Some would say he’s afraid to ask, but that’s not the core issue here. The key to this puzzling silence on his behalf lies in the way Y/N is sitting on his lap, running her soft hands over his as she lathers them in sweet-scented hand cream. A soft smile lingers upon her supple lips and her eyes shyly shift to his curious ones so often he’s barely able to keep his composure. All he wants is to taste her again, to feel her responding to his advances the way she once did – hungrily, unapologetically, wildly, and often. There were days he was concerned about how often she initiated sex…he missed those days. And now when they’re rebuilding intimacy brick by fragile brick, Paul isn’t all too happy about it being put at risk because of Daisy and her inability to give others space.
“You’re staring,” she raises her left eyebrow.
“How can I not?”
Biting his bottom lip, Paul suppresses a smile. Seeing it as a challenge, Y/N cups his cheeks. Brushing the tip of her nose against his, she grins as he releases his tortured bottom lip a shade darker, lightly swollen, and kissable…so incredibly inviting.
“Now who’s staring?” Paul teases as his hands grip her hips.
“How can I not?” She mimics. “You’re incredibly beautiful and you’re mine.”
Unable to resist, Paul’s lips spread in a smile she’d been craving. She can see how it came from deep inside to light his eyes and spread into every part of him. When she lost her sparkle and stopped smiling, his faded as well. It’s truly rewarding to make an effort to get better when it reflects so perfectly in Paul.
“I am.”
“Mine?”
“Incredibly beautiful,” he exclaims, evoking a laugh from her he hasn’t heard in a long time. It’s bright and playful and she’s throwing her head back and he can’t help but laugh with her. Y/N’s laugh is Paul’s serenity and a sign she feels safe with him. Oftentimes Paul caught himself wondering if Y/N trusts he can keep her safe as he once promised her. There’s not a single part of him that trusted himself to be able to do as much, but it would kill him if she doubted him too.
Resting her forehead on his, Y/N lets out a soft exhale, her hands sliding lower until her fingertips rest on his jawline.
“Yours,” he murmurs. “Always have been, always will be.”
“Thank you,” Y/N’s voice is weak, as if her soul trembles for reassurance Paul was certain he’s diligently given time and time again. But if she needs to hear it more often, he’ll give it to her.
“Don’t thank me. Why are you thanking me?”
“For not regretting having me as an imprint.”
“I could never regret you,” Paul takes her face in his hands. Can’t she see she’s his entire world? “Look at me,” Paul orders but she squeezes her eyes shut. “Hey, hey,” he says firmly. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, she does as told. Her lips part slightly in anticipation.
“Every day I get to spend with you is another day I cherish life, love, and destiny. I didn’t believe in that shit!” Chuckling, Paul shakes his head. “Don’t you see? You made me believe in love and destiny and actually speak that into existence! There’s no one else on this planet that I would let hear me being this sappy.”
“It is a little sappy,” she jokes and he chuckles heartily.
“Well, you’re gonna pay for that.”
Raising her eyebrows, she smirks. “And how exactly are you going to make me?”
Pursing his lips, Paul pulls up his legs, his knees coming up right from behind her back enough to push her firmly into his chest.
“Crushing me? That’s your perfect plan?”
Giving her thighs a squeeze, he nods. “In a way.”
Before she had a moment to think, Y/N yelps as she lands on the soft mattress, Paul on top of her. His body weight presses her into the bed, genuinely crushing her to death. So why does it feel so good? Her nightgown moved aside, revealing a part of her right breast and Paul’s licking his lips as he cracked a smile unable to keep his eyes from wandering lower to her chest. He wants nothing more than to possess Y/N again, to feel her writhe beneath him as she comes undone. Lost in his soul’s desire, his mouth comes down hard on hers, claiming them, nearly bruising them. Restraint crumbles beneath the weight of pent-up longing, and his lips mold to hers with an urgency that borders on primal. The kiss, though almost brutal in its intensity, is an act of reclamation, a fervent assertion of belonging.
He loses himself in the warmth of her breath, in the softness of her lips yielding beneath the onslaught of his need. The world outside this stolen embrace ceases to exist. His hands find refuge in the tousled strands of her hair, fingers tangling and releasing in a rhythm dictated by their synchronized heartbeats.
An inkling of common sense washes over him, pushing himself off her instantly. Laying on his back, beside Y/N, Paul covers his face. He allowed himself to lose control long enough to forget about her boundaries, about her wishes. It was a game that turned into so much more far too quickly and he lost himself long enough to act like a predator catching up with the prey.
“I’m sorry,” he swallows thickly, unable to look at her as a cold wave of regret washes up at the shores of his conscience. What started as a game, a dance on the precipice of shared longing he’s allowed to spiral into something he never intended. In this vulnerable moment, Paul grapples not only with the awful breach of invisible boundaries he feels were drawn since their almost wedding, but with the fear of disappointing her, of shattering the trust carefully woven between them.
Y/N doesn’t respond, but the weight on the mattress shifts and then it’s on top of him. Looking at her through his fingers, Paul can’t believe the sight. She’s entirely bare before him, her breasts on display, and her hands are pulling down his boxers faster than he can comprehend.
“What are you doing?” Paul’s voice is laced with curiosity and caution.
“What you’re scared of doing,” she remarks. Her movements are deliberate, determined to bridge the emotional chasm she feels separated them as they finally made some progress.
Grabbing her hands tightly, he sits up with a frown etched upon his forehead. “Stop that and talk to me.” His words sound like a tender echo in the room.
Chuckling dryly, she shakes her head. She meets his gaze unclouded by shame or disappointment. Instead, it holds a quiet reassurance. “That’s the point, Paul. I don’t want to talk, or think, I just want you.” His face is set in a firm, serious expression as she rolls her eyes at him. “I want you inside of me;” she clarifies, as her hands reach for his, intertwining in a gentle grasp.
“If that’s what you want,” he nods.
“Do you?”
“More than you could ever know.”
She pulls him to her, seeking his mouth. He laughs at her grasping hands, teasing her, but there’s no ridicule in his chocolate eyes. There’s only the wish to prolong their pleasure. A sparkle comes alive in her eyes, and Paul knows she will have the last laugh. Her hands move downward. When she finds what she wants, there is no more laughter in his eyes. They are black with passion as he pushes her down beside him.
It isn’t long before their pleasure reaches its high and they’re both released from their sweet torment. Y/N feels drained, her bones weak as Paul moves partially aside, though his leg is still across her calf, his arm across her breasts.
“That was -” Paul begins.
“Long overdue,” she exclaims. “I don’t think we’ve ever done it this quickly!”
“As long as we both finish,” he notes happily.
“How are you so sure I did?”
Paul smirks. “Oh, I know.”
Brushing his hair back, she sighs. “I love you.”
“Even with the beard?”
Giggling, she nods. “Even with the beard!”
“Good, good. Guess I’m going to throw away the shaving cream I bought this morning.”
Pecking his shoulder, Y/N places a hand over Paul’s chest. “Definitely. You’re not shaving until we see how well that beard works for me in other places when we take things more slowly next time.”
His chest quakes under her fingertips as his laughter fills the room. The birthday dinner can certainly wait until morning because there’s nothing in this world worth endangering the sweetness of this moment.
The problem is, the sweetness of that moment repeated often throughout the morning and then it lasted the entire day. Like catching up on lost time, Y/N and Paul spent the next day wrapped up in each other until they physically couldn’t move anymore.
“I’m pretty sure they’ll send out a search party for us,” Y/N snickers as Paul swipes away all the unread messages on his screen.
“If it was urgent, someone would be at the door by now.” Burying his head in her neck, Paul inhales her deeply only to realize she almost entirely smells like him. Playfully biting at her soft skin right above the collarbone, he licks the teeth marks left behind.
“I’m not even gonna say anything,” she snorts before checking her phone as well. “Well, they’re definitely relentless.”
“Mhmm,” Paul murmurs between feather-light kisses he’s leaving across her chest.
“What dinner are they talking about in the group chat?”
Pausing, Paul looks at her through his lashes. “Fuck. I forgot.”
“Well, now that you remember, fill me in.”
“They want a dinner party for your birthday. I promised them I’d ask you, but then –“
“I screwed your brains out?”
“Something like that,” he grins, “wait, that’s exactly what you did.”
Running her fingers through his hair, she sighs contently. “I think I’d be up for a dinner. Nothing glamorous, no gifts necessary. Just a dinner with friends.”
“I don’t think gifts are optional.”
Chewing on her bottom lip, she inhales deeply. “Fine. Fine. I can handle some gifts. Just promise me you’ll get me out of there if my social battery runs out.”
Pressing his lips in a thin line, Paul furrows his eyebrows.
“We’re hosting it, aren’t we?” She grimaces with realization.
“I think so.”
Staring at the ceiling, her fingers coil around the ends of Paul’s dark hair. “Tell them it’s a go, but you definitely owe me five more orgasms to be okay with hosting.”
Chuckling, he pecks her chin. “It will be my pleasure.”
When the day came, Y/N found herself overwhelmed by noon. She sent Paul to the store at least five times, constantly finding something new she could make for the pack on her phone to the point he confiscated it.
“Maybe I can make the mac n’cheese?” Paul suggests.
Pausing, with her hand on her hip, Y/N snorts. “Sure. We have time for the fire department to show up for dinner too. Might have to make a little extra. Would be rude not to invite them for dinner when they’re already going to be here.”
Folding his arms across his chest, Paul says nothing as he gives her a pointed look. She looks surprisingly put together considering she spent the day cooking. Most times he’d let the comment made go, but this time he was waiting for an apology, one he hoped she’d realize he’s owed.
Tossing the oven mitts on the table, she sighs. “Pasta isn’t your dish, babe. I love you and your cooking, so if you wanna help, pasta is not on the menu. Butttt a potato salad is and I’d really appreciate it if you made it the same way you did last month because I craved it for a week.”
Huffing, he nods. They had ONE incident with pasta and it’s only because he forgot to put the water in the pot before he lost control and shifted. The look on her face when she realized he was a wolf while smoke was bellowing from the kitchen window had him staying away from the kitchen for months on end.
“Sure,” he releases a tired sigh. Instead of turning it into an argument, Paul decided to just keep quiet. This dinner clearly triggered her in a somewhat different way; where he expected depression and doing it all himself with Emily’s tips and tricks, he received an overly anxious perfectionist who was driving him insane. But it’s her birthday…the first one since she lost her dad. It doesn’t matter how old you are when you lose a parent, especially when it’s the last parent you had, there will be a sadness that clings to your heart for a long time after. He remembers losing his mom, and later his dad, and he wasn’t prepared for either death. To this day, Paul wishes he had more time to spend with them, to ask them why.
Why didn’t his mother tell him she was dying of cancer when she decided to send Paul to live with his father? He could have been there with her in the last months of her life, to have used the time she had left better. That’s a luxury they stole from him…the luxury he didn’t have with his dad at all. The only comfort he has is how quick his father’s death was compared to his mother's. Sudden cardiac death takes moments, not excruciatingly painful months as metastatic breast cancer does.
So, yes. Paul has more understanding than Y/N thinks. The first birthday isn’t easy, especially for someone who has a close relationship with their parent. She hasn’t taken a proper breath the whole day, wasting away precious moments they could have spent together.
When he woke up, Paul found their bed empty. He cannot even try to guess how long she’s been up cooking and cleaning, all of the things he planned to do. He wanted to cook for her, for them all. Paul wanted to make this day as easy as possible for her, but he should have known better. Y/N does everything well, but relaxing is not her strongest suit.
“Jacob said he’s bringing a cake,” Y/N breaks the silence. “Apparently, Alice had seen it in her vision and bought it.”
“That’s nice of her.”
“Yeah,” she turns to face him. “Is it weird we didn’t invite the Cullens? I kind of feel bad for excluding them.”
Licking his lips, Paul shakes his head. “We’re all perfectly happy to be on friendly terms, but I wouldn’t put a family of vampires in the same room with shapeshifters who’re struggling with old urges right now. You did well.”
“Is it really that bad?” Y/N places the spoon on the counter, approaching Paul with genuine worry reflecting in her eyes. “Are you struggling?”
“Every day,” he admits with a tightlipped smile.
“You never told me,” she realizes. “I really need to do better.”
“It’s fine.”
“I wish it was,” she frowns. “What else do you struggle with?”
Glancing at her, he shrugs meekly. “I don’t think we should be having this conversation now.”
“Why?” Swallowing thickly, Y/N leans on her forearms. When Paul remains silent, she bows her head low. “I’m just gonna ask then. Are you still having those nightmares?”
Noticing his hand stop stirring, Y/N’s eyes widen. Paul’s jaw clenches and her lips part. They’re not out of the woods yet. She’s still marked for death. If anything, her father delayed her death for a little while. There’s not a single part of her that doubts she was the intended victim, but her father managed to protect her the only way he could – by sacrificing his own life.
Flashes of his ripped-open throat have her grabbing onto her stomach as nausea forces bile up her throat. Unable to run to the bathroom, it spills past her mouth into the sink and before she has a chance to take her next breath, Paul’s warm hand is splayed between her shoulder blades and the other is holding her hair back.
“Ugh,” she groans. “Throwing up in the sink is so fucked up,” she tries to laugh only to gag as she senses the smell of stomach acid. Paul lets the water run, running a wet hand across her face and neck. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. I throw up thinking about it too.”
Looking up at him, she leans into his chest. “You could have said something.”
“Your dad was killed. It’s not a burden I was looking to share when you were already struggling.”
Inhaling sharply, she wraps her arms around him. “I’m strong enough,” she states. “I promise you can stop treating me like I’ll break if we argue or you have something on your mind. I don’t care how bad it is, I’m here for you.”
“Talking about your death isn’t something I like to do,” Paul pulls back lightly, his scowl playing with her heartstrings. He’s been so strong, but when will he let down his armor again? It can’t be good for him to bottle all this up.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
“We’re having people over in two hours,” Paul reminds her.
“And we have made like five dishes already. We can order pizza if they eat everything prepared.”
Paul smiles seeing her relax for the first time that day. This is the Y/N he’s been missing. “The beach?”
“Of course!”
As the sun begins its descent beyond the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky, they walk along the shoreline, entwined hands swaying gently like the rhythm of the waves as the ocean breeze plays with their hair. Little is said about the darkness they need to share, deciding to table it for another day. This is meant to be a moment for just the two of them – the couple who fell in love against all odds and chose to love each other every day continuously.
“It’s weird how this was meant to be the place we say our vows in,” she muses.
Pulling her closer, Paul closes his eyes. “Would have been beautiful,” the ache of unrealized dreams carries in his voice.
“I was so ready to call you my husband,” she confesses with a teasing smirk, a glimmer of playful light in her eyes.
Biting his lower lip, his eyes reopen, finding solace in the depth of hers. “I was already calling you my wife that day. It felt right.”
Staring at each other as the sun goes down, they smile longingly as if each glance is a rediscovery of love after the tragedy that stained their happiness.
“Let’s get married,” Y/N declares.
“I’d love to,” Paul places his hands on her hips, lightly pulling her in front of him.
“No, I mean would you like to marry me tonight?”
Caught off guard, Paul coughs as he nearly chokes on his saliva. He grabs her shoulders for support before cupping her cheeks, bending his neck to meet her eyes with furrowed brows. “Are you fucking with me?”
“I’m serious! We can have Sam marry us and then just file the paperwork tomorrow. I mean we have the marriage license; it’s not rocket science.”
Paul, running his tongue across his lips, takes a few bewildered steps to the left. Shaking his head in disbelief, he glances at her repeatedly, searching for any sign of it being a joke. But this isn’t a joke, this is real.
“Okay,” he finally utters, the shock evident in his nod.
“Okay?” Sparked by Paul’s unexpected agreement, a giggle bubbles forth from her, carrying genuine happiness. It’s infectious, dancing through the air, infusing the moment with warmth Paul is certain will linger in his memories.
“Yeah! Let’s get married tonight!”
A/N: Unfortunately Tumblr had been making me suffer regarding the tagging, so I hope these tags work, if not I TRIED. I am also aware it has been a while since I updated, so hope this was good enough of an apology.
@notperfect-justme @sucker4seresin @ahoyyharrington @b-tchymoon @squiddaloo @abbiesxox @kellyashcroft @the-chaotic-cow @xxxjaexxx @captainrogers-19 @bexloxl @adaydreamaway08 @sunsetevergreen @volturiwolf @twihard08 @galacticstxrdust @sorrow-and-bliss @missxmarvelous @locokoca @unstablekay @makhaia @venusdelaroix @avadakadabra93 @tearsforhan @a-marie-a @lendeluxe @seagulls-corner @konigslilslut @rottenstyx @itsmytimetoodream @dreamerwasfound @convolutings @thingfromlove @jennyamanda8 @havecourage-darling @luvr-exe @alittlejudgemental @turningtoclown @emptydoorsandpaintedwindows @marvelmenarebeautiful @bringmethe-world @alitaar @sugasthreedollarkookie @chloe-skywalker @heyheyheyggg @feral-ratatattat-king @fandomrulesall-blog @dcgoddess @lilac-crowns-blog @small-town-wayward-daughter @queenotaku27 @yourqueentp @boreddemigodd @chaosgoblinreblogsthings @felinegrate @lunajay33 @gtfoana @hpboysslut2707 @tpwk-harrystyles @amberpanda99 @let-love-bleeds-red @mo-s-blog @nj01 @myheadsinanotherworld @problematicpastry @witchybabel @llovergirlll @ireadthensuetheauthors @queerrobin @wordacadabra
#paul lahote#paul lahote x reader#twilight#twilight fanfiction#twilight fandom#wildest dreams fic#paul lahote series#twilight series#paul lahote x y/n#paul lahote x imprint
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"someday when you leave me, i bet these memories follow you around."
favourite taylor swift music videos 1/? - wildest dreams
#i'm doing a series of my favourite music videos#wildest dreams#taylor swift#ts#1989#taylor swift edit#ts edit#ts 1989#torturedmirrorball's fav mvs
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Wildest Dreams 5
Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, manipulation, lying. Tags are not exhaustive and more may be added as the series progresses.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Andy Barber lost everything and you’re about to give him it all back. (dark!reader)
Characters: Andy Barber
Note: The bitch is back.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3
Love you all like snakes love Woody’s boots. Take care. 💖
You enter the office and strut over to the desk. You put down the bag and unzip it as Andy shuts the door with a soft click. You reach inside and take out one of the wrapped subs.
“I made you a sandwich, honey. And there’s pasta salad. I also brought a thermos of coffee. Decaf, you have to cut back on caffeine,” you explain as you unpack the lunch, “and tonight, I think we could go for a quick shop–”
“What are you doing here?” He hisses as he nears the desk, “you can’t be here.”
“Oh, that’s silly. You are entitled to a break. You’re a lawyer, you know the law.”
“That’s not what I mean–”
“It’s really nice of me to come all the way down here and bring you lunch, isn’t it?” A edge hardens in your voice, “so, you’re welcome.”
He growls and stares at you. You turn and tilt your chin up at him defiantly. If anyone can handle him, it’s you. And only you. Your only natural talent is stubbornness, everything else you’ve worked tirelessly to hone.
“If you’re unhappy, you just have to put your foot down,” you face him completely. “You are the man so if you must put me in my place, do so.”
His brows furrow and he sighs. You wait. He doesn’t move. You let a laugh trickle up your throat.
“You have a choice right now, Mr. Barber,” you say, “you can sit and eat your lunch or you can…” you pause and slide the bag aside, then move the food out of your way. You set your feet flat and plant your feet, “spank me and send me home. Show me that you are in charge.” You look at him again and bat your eyes, “I will do whatever you like.”
He inhales and puts his hands on his hips, “I told you, leave me alone–”
“Stop with that,” you ball your fists and hit the desk, “you need me. You want me! I felt it last night and you did too. I had to clean your cum out of your underwear–”
“Enough,” he waggles his finger at you, “enough.”
“Do you want me to go, Mr. Barber?” You spread your palms flat again and push your ass out, wiggling it, “you better be clear with me. I need a strong hand to guide me.”
“I’m not doing this,” he insists.
“Well, I’m not leaving so… sit and eat your lunch.”
“What is wrong with you?” He snarls as he throws his hand out, “I am begging you–”
You stand straight and face him. He winces as you step closer but he doesn’t retreat. You grab his crotch and he grunts, catching your hand as he jerks his hips back. You giggle as he tries to pull you off him.
“You can lie, but your body can’t,” you taunt as you feel his dick, half-hard and twitching, “you can’t hold all that in honey, that’s what I’m for.”
“Stop,” he squeezes your wrist, “I’m at work–”
“You’re on break,” you insist, fondling him.
He rips your arm away and shoves you so you stumble back. You laugh as you barely keep from falling, your ankles bending in your heels. You give a devilish smirk and wink at him.
You reach behind your head and push down the top of your zipper, then bend on arm under to pull it the rest of the way. Andy exhales loudly as you let your dress slacken and you wiggle your shoulders free. He comes forward, grabbing at the dress as you push it further and further.
“Stop,” he hisses through his teeth, “don’t–”
You rip the dress past your waist and drop it to pool at your feet. You look at him, hands on your hips as you stand in a lacy white bra and thong. He recoils and clears his throat.
“You can’t do this,” he says weakly.
“You want to fuck me now?” You ask, “I can get in your lap. Bend over the desk?”
“No,” he crosses his arms and looks away.
“I can use my mouth again,” you get closer to him, “you could cum on my tits?” You press your hands to his chest and he flinches, his jaw gritting, “or I can use my hands…”
“Please,” his voice is hollow.
“It’s all up to you, Mr. Barber. You are in charge,” you caress the muscle of his chest, “you know I can’t fight you off. But if you want to tell me what to do, you better make sure I do it.”
“Enough,” he stills your hands, “I can’t–”
“You can–”
“No,” he insists.
“What’s the matter, hmm? I’m not like her, Andy. I’m not going to argue with you. Not if you put your foot down. So do it? Show me you’re the boss.”
“Don’t,” he growls.
“What?”
“Don’t talk about… her.”
“Andy,” you hum, “she’s dead. You need to move–”
Suddenly, his hand is on the back of your neck. You wobble in your heels as he turns you and pushes your head down. Your cheek meets the desk as you bring your hands to the wood. You don’t fight it, instead pushing your ass up.
The first slap makes you moan. The way his hand cracks off your ass ripples through your body and makes your legs shake. You smile as he does it again, harder, surer. His breath deepens with each strike, coming closer and closer together. Until your ass is raw and tingling.
He stops, his palm against your hot flesh. He lets out a long heave and drags his hand off of you as he lets go of your neck. He steps away and spins, scratching his beard as he shakes his head.
“Go home,” he demands as he rounds the desk, “not– go back to my house and don’t come back here. Understand?”
You stand slowly. You’re so wet. You want to just climb over him and make him finish the job. But you won’t.
“Yes, Mr. Barber,” you step into your dress and pull it up. “I will see you when you get home.”
You reach under your skirt and roll your panties down your legs. You carefully unhook them from around your feet and drop them on his desk. He has his back to you, staring at the window as his shoulders are square and stiff.
You grab your purse and shimmy happily, “have a good day, honey. I love you.”
He doesn’t say a word. It doesn’t bother you. He’s close. He can’t hold out for much longer. You know him. You know exactly what he needs. You are what he needs.
👗
You’re making dinner when Andy gets in. You hear the door and his footsteps, slow and sonorous. You wait for him to come say hello so you can ask him how his day is. He doesn’t.
You smile at the steaming pan, scraping the wooden spatula off the bottom. He’s still afraid, but he doesn’t know why. He’s not scared of you, only of himself. He lost control in his office, showed his true colours, but doesn’t he know that’s exactly what you love about him.
You set a lid over the pan to keep supper warm. Your painstaking effort to make a new dish will not be put to waste. He will not be eating in his office or on the couch. He will come and sit at the table. This is a proper household.
You march to the door and listen. You don’t hear him. He’s hiding from you. Ugh, he needs to get over it. You are just trying to take care of him and it’s clear he can’t do that for himself.
You go upstairs and stop at the top. You hear him in his office, a low roll in his throat as the wheel of his chair squeaks. Nope, that’s not how this is going to go.
You continue down the hallway and enter his office without knocking. He’s tugging at his tie as you do. You stop before him with stone in your jaw.
“Can you not smell the dinner I’ve spent hours making for you?”
He looks at you, a ripple above his brow. “I have work–”
“You are done work,” you look at the clock on the narrow table in the corner, “it’s home time. You’re going to come eat dinner–”
“I am working,” he insists.
“Andrew.”
“Don’t,” he warns with a jab of his finger, “this is how it’s going to work, understand? You are going to stay away from me. If you insist on squatting here, keep out of my way.”
“Squatting? Pardon you,” you stomp your foot, “that’s not how you speak to me.”
“You are deranged,” he rolls closer to his desk, “do you not understand that?”
“You didn’t think so when I had your dick in my mouth,” you snap, quickly reeling back. “What I mean honey, is that I’m not the deranged one. You’re the one not seeing things clearly. You don’t know how much you truly need me.”
“I don’t,” he sniffs.
“You’re lonely, Andy. You’re miserable, you can’t just hide away every night with beer and paperwork,” you tut, “you need someone here with you. Someone to take care of you. That’s all I’m trying to do.”
“You don’t know me. You’re a fucking stalker but you don’t know–”
“No more beer, by the way,” you ignore him, “I emptied that thing.”
You point to the minifridge between the bookshelves, “it’s bad for you.”
“You what?”
“I’ve done a whole inventory. Gotten rid of all the junk. Made a list of what we need. Oh and of course, we have to clean the barbecue for next week.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re going to invite the neighbours, of course. Celebrate our engagement–”
“Engagement? What are you even talking– what engagement–”
You hold out your hand, displaying the ring to him, “I love it. Don’t you? It’s simple but elegant. Unlike that big old hunk of diamonds you got for the first one. You and me, we’re not like that–”
“You’re walking a fucking line,” he warns.
“You’re letting me,” you challenge tritely.
He sits back and huffs. His eyes roll back as his frustration tenses in his neck, twitching in his cheek.
“I can’t do this,” he breathes.
“Honey,” you soften your tone, “please, you’re stressed. We both know you doing all this…” you look around, “isn’t good for you. It’ll all catch up to you and I couldn’t stand to see you sick.”
“I’m not–”
“Shhh,” you come around the desk, “Andy, you carry so much stress.”
You touch his face and he leans away from you. You brush your fingertips along his beard and down to his neck. His jaw clenches as he stares past you.
“I’m not trying to destroy your life, Andy, I’m here to make it better,” you trail your touch down his shirt, “I only want to make you happy. I know it’s been so hard for you, so why don’t you let me make it…” you linger along the top of his fly, “easier?”
“Stop,” he breathes as he grips the arm of the chair.
“Make me,” you purr as you pick open his fly.
He doesn’t move. He shudders as you slide down his zipper. You don’t hesitate. You push apart the top of his pants and slip your hand beneath the fabric. You rub him through his boxers. He’s already getting hard.
You squeeze him until he groans and you lean in to kiss his forehead. You breathe into his hairline as you toy with him, his body constricting and his chest rising and falling fast.
“This is what you want. Even if you won’t admit it. But I’ll give it to you, honey, I’ll give you whatever you want,” You nuzzle his soft hair, “I’m ready for all of you.”
“Please…” he rasps as he pulls his head back, jutting out his chin.
“Please, what, baby?” You moan as you pump him through the cotton.
“I–” he chokes and closes his eyes.
As you play with him, his hips shift, and he trembles. Spurred on, your fingers crawl to the top of his underwear and dip beneath. You grip him, feeling the thick veins corded under his skin. You hold him firmly, moving your hand up and down, watching how he squirms and whimpers. You feel power in your very hand.
“Isn’t that good? I can be so good for you… so good to you,” you grab the arm of the chair and push it back. You get to your knees before him, watching yourself pump him, “don’t you want me to be good to you?”
You tug down the strap of your dress, then the other, all while keeping your hand moving. He grunts as you awkwardly shrug away the fabric. You pull down the strap of your bra, your tits popping free of the lacy cups. You angle his tip over the curve of your chest as you sidle closer.
“That’s it, Mr. Barber, you can do it…” you coax, “cum all over my tits. Come on, come on–”
Andy grunts and his pelvis jerks. He spasms as strings of cum shoot out across your skin. You smirk as you ease him through his climax, the warmth of his release dripping down your throat and tits. He shakes and you let him go gently. He dick pops up and twitches against his stomach.
He looks at you from beneath shroud lashes as you touch your slick chest, scooping up his cum and holding it up on your fingertips. You push your fingers into your mouth and suck off the salty flavour. He lip quivers as he gapes at you.
“Are you ready for dinner, honey?”
#andy barber#andy barber x dark!reader#dark reader#dark!reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#series#au#defending jacob#wildest dreams
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brb making this my entire personality
#namtan and film <333#never in my wildest dreams would we have gotten them together#i know these two are going to DELIVER#pluto the series#gmmtv 2024#gmmtv24
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#percy jackon and the olympians#percy jackson#poseidon#sally jackson#taylor swift#wildest dreams#1989taylorswift#riordanverse#the lightning thief#pjo series#percy series#percy pjo#percy jackson tv show
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I don't think I could ever ascent to this level of artistic and literary prowess, but I needed to share the absolute best comment I got on my fanfic and also, if I do say so myself, the best advertisement for anyone who might want to read it hahahaha.
I love you, beautiful, incredible, talented soul and thank you for the amazing words.
for anyone who wants to read The Archer xo
#what an incredible feeling honestly#i'm in shock and awe#in tears#in screams#in wildest dreams#i never dreamed of this#illicit affairs#the archer#the cardigan series#personal#neteyam#neteyam x human!reader#neteyam x reader#neteyam fanfic#neteyam reader#neteyam sully#avatar#avatar twow#avatar fanfic#neteyam x avatar!reader#neteyam sully fanfiction#neteyam angst#awow#awow neteyam#sully!reader#sully family x reader#sully family x sully!reader#lo'ak tsireya#lo'ak x tsireya#neteyam smut
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Wildest Dreams
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
Summary: After being torn apart in childhood, you transfer from one university to another across the country where you reunite with the alphas who swore you would be mates when you grew up
Pairing: alpha!Steve Rogers x omega!Reader x alpha!Bucky Barnes
Tropes: football players/tutor, childhood friends/mates, a/b/o
#alpha!stucky x reader fluff#alpha!stucky x reader#alpha!stucky x omega!reader#football!alpha!bucky barnes#football!alpha!stucky#football!Steve Rogers#Steve rogers x reader#Bucky Barnes x reader#a/b/o#university au#college!steve rogers x reader x college!bucky barnes#college!stucky x reader#college football au#wildest dreams series#wildest dreams masterlist#wildest dreams
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wildest dreams
series masterlist • dbf!Dave York x f!reader
joelscurls masterlist • janaispunk masterlist
tags/warnings: explicit smut (18+ only, mdni), dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamic (reader becomes very dependent on Dave), dom/sub dynamics, angst, feelings, daddy issues, secret/forbidden relationship, corruption kink, able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, Dave doesn’t kill people in this, more specific warnings at the start of each chapter
follow @joelscurlsupdates and @janaispunknotifs for updates ���🏻
chapter one: i can see the end as it begins
chapter two: no one has to know what we do
more chapters -> coming soon
@joelscurls i love you so much!
dividers by @saradika-graphics 🫶🏻
#series masterlist#fic: wildest dreams#dave york x reader#dave york#dave york x you#dave york x female reader#dave york x f!reader#dbf!dave york#dave york fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction
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OH. MY. GOSH.
Loki staring at the statues changed something in my very psyche. ALSO THEY MENTIONED BALDER???? LAWD
#i never in my wildest dreams thought theyd do that#'no ones even heard of him' YEAH BECAUSE DISNEY ARE COWARDS#loki series#loki spoilers
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Wildest Dreams Chapter 27 - Wildest Dreams (Phoebe's Version)
Chapter summary: Everything has been leading up to this. It's not the last race of the season, but for Phoebe Stallard, it feels like the last, and best chance to make her goal. After all, what could be sweeter than taking her first podium at home? But in racing, just like in life, it's never quite that straightforward.
Content warning: N/A
Chapter word count: 7,100
Author's Notes: This is the end of the main story. When I finished this, though, this story couldn't let me go, and still really hasn't. I've been working on a bunch of side stories that I will get around to posting, and I'm planning on writing an epilogue that has snatches of the 2022-2024 seasons.
I'm really proud of this story, and I'm glad it's gotten a few dedicated fans along the way. I know OC-centered stories aren't popular in RPF fandoms, and that's fine, but I never feel like I am able to do the actual athletes justice, but the psyche of someone who competes in F1my original plan! Thonestly didn't even get through everything I'd wanted to. It was a challenge, too - writing race play-by-plays is really difficult, honestly! But, as far as the stuff I didn't want to get to, we'll see what I can come up with. Plejuest sprang to mind for me but allowed me to take the story in directions that I hadn't expected. Anyway, thank you again for sticking around until this point. I know this chapter was an absolute monster is still fascinating to explore. And I've really enjoyed being able to examine what it would mean to be the first woman in so long to make it that far. I hope someday that it's not just a work of fanfiction, and that it can be reality. The narrative took me by surprise, too. It's really amazing when the story couldn't let me go, and still really hasn't. I've been working on a bunch of side stories that I will get around to posting, and I'm planning on writing an epilogue that has snatches of the 2022-2024 seasons.
*also, I know the spelling is technically "kerbs" but I just cannot bring myself to spell that word that way. SORRY.
Circuit of the Americas, Austin, Travis County, Texas, United States of America
October 24th, 2021
Bee woke up well before her alarm on race day. Her entire body was thrumming with nervous energy, but at least for the time being, it wasn’t a bad kind of nervousness, at least not yet.
She took her time getting ready before she had to meet Emilia and her parents for breakfast, but time had a way of speeding up for her before something she was dreading. She did manage to eat a good breakfast, though, and Toto and Susie ended up meeting them all there - they were just in one of the hotel’s restaurants, but It was the first time she’d seen Toto since qualifying.
“You had an amazing qualifying yesterday, bienchen. I was very impressed. Your performance has definitely improved this year, and I think as long as you just go out there and have fun, you’ll be satisfied with your performance, no matter what.”
It was different advice than everyone else had given her, but it probably did the most to help relieve the pressure.
Eventually, it was time to head to the track for the pre-race festivities, and festivities they were. There was a drivers’ parade first - Bee and all of her gridmades were herded onto the back of a flatbed truck and were driven slowly around the track, while being interviewed for F1TV. She was amused by the sight of a lot of the other drivers wearing cowboy hats - it just didn’t suit most of them, being rich boys from Europe.
The exception, however, was Daniel Ricciardo - not only was he wearing a cowboy hat and cowboy boots, but he had shaved his beard into a handlebar mustache and mutton chops, and was wearing a University of Texas basketball jersey. He joked that he was an honorary American, and he certainly wasn’t wrong.
“You look more American than I have ever felt,” Bee told him as they climbed onto the trailer. “They should probably just give you a US passport right now.” He laughed at her. “I would love that, honestly.”
Bee was dreading the interviewer, Rosanna, coming around to her, but it seemed that she was first. At least she’d get it over with. The interviews were also projected over the loudspeakers in the grandstands.
“We’ll start with you, Phoebe. It’s your first race in the United States, you’re the first American on the grid in many years, there’s a lot of people in Williams blue with American flags - how are you feeling ahead of the race today?”
“I, uh… well, maybe a bit nervous, but it’s so nice to see so much home support -” Bee had to stop talking because of the cheer that rose up from the grandstand they were passing. “And I’m really hoping that I can run a good race today for everyone. I’m sure it will be fine once the helmet is on, though. This is an amazing track and I had a really great qualifying yesterday, and there’s so many people here today, it’s really incredible to see. When I started, all of the races were under lockdown and there was no audience, and it definitely makes a big difference.”
She spent the rest of the parade waving to the crowd and talking to George for a bit. The truck they were on was going slow enough that she could finally get a good look at a lot of the crowd - not only were there a ton of American flags, but it looked like someone had produced a “Super Bee” banner that had been widely adopted - she saw tons of them dotting the grandstands.
It was the first time she’d seen it, and it gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling. She’d spent so much of her racing career being somewhat of an outcast, an outsider, an oddity. She remembered showing up to testing for GP3 and getting stared at the entire time, like nobody there had ever seen a girl in their lives. They probably hadn’t ever seen one in a racing suit. She didn’t ever think motorsport fans would embrace her like this, especially when she’d reached Formula 1, the pinnacle of motorsport.
But then, she thought about Adelle and Olivia, and how Olivia had said that there wasn’t anyone she wanted to root for before she signed with Williams. Maybe she wasn’t the only one. Maybe it wasn’t the racing fandom embracing her, but her presence changing who the motorsport fandom was. No doubt that Netflix had helped with this, bringing Formula 1 to a broader audience, but how had she changed who racing appealed to by just being a woman on the grid? It was everything she’d been working for, it was everything Susie had been working for, before her.
All the more reason to try her best today, and hopefully climb the podium at last.
Once she was freed from the drivers’ parade, she headed to the Williams hospitality tent to get changed and get warmed up. Emilia was already waiting for her in her drivers’ room. She left briefly so Bee could slip out of the jeans and team shirt she was wearing and into her Nomex baselayers and racing suit.They did their warm up sequence as usual, and Bee hopped up on the massage table, ready for the rest of it. She froze for a moment, wondering if she should take her shirt off for the massage, remembering how warm, soft, and soothing Emilia’s hands were on her back yesterday.
Emilia didn’t even have to ask before Bee made her decision, tossing the undershirt onto the small futon in the room.
“Oh, okay! I wasn’t sure if you wanted to do that again. Did it feel better yesterday with -”
“Yes. It did. Thank you.” Bee said, quickly laying face-down on the table so Emilia wouldn’t notice the blush spreading down Bee’s face. Bee could feel the heat spreading down from her cheeks to her chest, and knew it didn’t have anything to do with the Texas sunshine.
“We’ll just do it this way from now on.” Emilia said quietly. “If you want.” Bee heard the click of the cap for the lotion bottle and felt her heart start to beat a little faster.
“...Yes. I… I’d like that.” It really was much more effective. Bee was almost so relaxed by the time she sat up for her breathing exercises that she felt like she could have fallen asleep. Emilia grasped her hands again and led her through a deep breathing progression, because Bee had told her that it helped ground her yesterday.
“Okay. Are you ready?” Emilia said, handing Bee her shirt and her drink bottle after they had finished. “Drink some more. It’s hot out there and I know you’ll need it.”
Before long, it was time to head out to the car to take her place on the grid. Before Bee went to head over to the garage, Emilia stopped her. She bent down to Bee’s height, wrapped her arms around her, and said, “Good luck today. Just go out and have fun. Don’t get your head so wrapped up in the result that you stand in your own way. I know this is an important race for you, but it’s not the last one this season. I’ll be here for you no matter what happens.”
Bee returned her embrace, closing her eyes, breathing in Emilia’s presence around her. “I know. But it feels like it’s a big one. And… Thank you. For everything you do. I don’t know where I’d be without you.” She meant it, too. She never dreamed she’d develop such a close relationship with her performance coach, but she was glad she had.
They walked over to the garage together.
Bee said hello to her parents. Josephine, once again, insisted on taking pictures. One of Emilia and Bee together, one of Susie with Bee, one with Bee and her dad, and one with Bee and Claire. She asked Susie to get a picture of the two of them together, after which Bee said “Mom, I have to go! I have to get on the grid!”. She sounded perhaps a little more whiny than was necessary.
“I know, honeybee, but how many times do you get to watch your daughter race in Formula 1 for the first time in your home country? I don’t think it’s a usual occurrence! I think I’m actually the first!”
Bee laughed. She wasn’t the first, technically, but she was the first in the US.
She hugged both of her parents, Susie, and Claire, and they all wished her luck.
She walked over to her car in its place on the grid, holding her helmet and gloves. Emilia had an umbrella to protect them from the hot, direct sunshine, but she was so much taller than Bee it almost wasn’t working. “Drink some more.” Emilia said. “I know you don’t like to use the drink system in your car, so you need to make sure to finish whatever’s in that bottle before we start.”
Bee rolled her eyes a little and took more sips on the long straw, but secretly, she was touched by Emilia’s concern. She was right, though - it was going to get incredibly hot in the cockpit, and she would be more dehydrated today than usual by the end of the race.
She clambered into the cockpit while the engineers and mechanics made their final adjustments. Emilia had set her umbrella down over her so Bee wouldn’t start baking while she was sitting there. Once all of the final checks were complete, Bee had to climb back out for the opening ceremonies.
The opening presentation was very American in every way - there was a marching band (the University of Texas marching band), a flyover by military helicopters, a giant American flag on the track held by various American military personnel, a giant flag carried across the sky by people with parachutes, the cheerleaders for the Dallas Cowboys NFL team, and a country singer Bee hadn’t ever heard of singing the national anthem.
Normally, she wasn’t particularly moved by “The Star Spangled Banner”. It was okay, but she’d heard so many national anthems by now that she’d grown to have opinions on them. She liked Germany’s “Deutschlandlied”, of course, and she had liked Austria’s “Land der Berge, Land am Strome” before she’d heard it so much this season because of Max’s victories. She disliked the Dutch anthem, but liked the bouncy, cheerful “Il Canto degli Italiani” because of her love for Monza. The UK’s anthem, “God Save the Queen”, always threw her off, because she’d learned the melody as a child as “My Country ‘Tis Of Thee”, an American patriotic tune.
But as the singer on the track hit the last note, a chill shot down Bee’s spine. It was moving this time, and she didn’t know why.
Finally, it was time to start. She was glad Emilia had left the umbrella over the opening of the cockpit, otherwise, her HANS device may have been too hot to pick up with her bare hands from sitting on her seat.
She climbed into her car, put on her radio headset, balaclava, helmet, and her gloves, and her focus narrowed to her steering wheel and the view out of her cockpit. She took a minute to focus on her breath, and focus on the racing line, as she always did. She snapped her visor closed, the mechanics all backed away from the cars for the start, and she was ready for the formation lap. She took off with the pack, weaving the car to get temperature into the tires and warm up the brakes, not that it would be difficult today.
“Radio check.” She heard Gaetan say.
“Loud and clear.”
“Okay, Phoebe. Let’s have a good race today. Keep an eye on your tires, the track is hot. Let me know right away if anything seems off. Remember it’s not very long into the first turn and it’s an uphill climb, so don’t be a hero. Good luck.”
“Copy. Thank you.”
It was strange to see the cars she was behind and next to at the start - she certainly wasn’t used to seeing a Mercedes in front of her or a Ferrari next to her, but she relished it. It felt like a challenge.
Her eyes locked on the starting lights, and she held her breath as all five disappeared.
Right away, she got an amazing start - she saw a gap between Leclerc and Bottas, and swept straight through it, immediately going up into 5th place. Miraculously, there wasn’t any silliness heading into turn 1, a climb steeper than Raidillon at Spa. She pressed in her throttle, and was right on Bottas’ back as they straddled the entry curb on the right.
The nice thing about the hill was that you could brake later and harder than normal without issue, but the apex was hard to spot over the blind crest. You also had to avoid the temptation to turn into the first apex early - the wider line was superior for the best exit.
She slammed into first gear to rotate the car quickly before a quick shift into second gear, making sure to avoid the sausage curb that would wreck her exit.
Turn 2 was flat, and really just a means of getting to turn 3 as soon as possible - that was where the real fun started. A mistake here could affect your drive all the way through turn 6, even as far as turn 11, so keeping a good rhythm and flow here was of the utmost importance. It was the same as Maggots and Becketts at Silverstone.
It didn’t take long to settle into her rhythm, thankfully - by the time they were on lap 4, she was still right on Bottas’s back end as they went into turns 9 and 10. She managed to tell herself to take 9 flat, but it looked like Valtteri had lifted a bit, and she was able to gain on him. If she could stay on him until turn 11, she’d be able to use her car’s Drag Reduction System on him. Formula 1 cars had a rear wing that had a panel that opened to reduce drag - it was like getting another 20 horsepower on your engine, but it could only be used in certain sections of the track, and only while you were a second or less behind the car in front of you.
“You have DRS on Bottas.” Gaetan confirmed as they flew around the hairpin.
“Copy, I’m after him.”
She pressed the DRS button on her steering wheel, and her rear wing snapped open, granting her an additional burst of speed. She slid out of his slipstream and flew around him. She thought he’d be putting up more of a fight, but it was a long race.
She also wondered what Toto was thinking, as he watched from his spot in the Mercedes garage. Would he have been proud of her for battling with, and overtaking, one of his works team drivers, or would he be disappointed that Valtteri didn’t fight more for his place? She hoped it would be the former more than the latter.
“Good job, Phoebe. Perez is next, but he’s about six seconds ahead, and he’s gaining on Hamilton. Just hang out here for now and watch your tires.”
“Copy, thank you.”
Her and Valtteri played leapfrog for a while, trading positions, almost like it was some sort of game. This went on for about ten laps, until she was on the long back straight again, with Valtteri in her crosshairs ahead of her.
She heard Gaetan say, “Box, box, Phoebe.”
“What?! Why? It’s so early!”
“Slow puncture, losing pressure on your front left.” She hadn’t even noticed yet, but the car had so much sensitive instrumentation that the pressures likely hadn’t gotten low enough to affect her driving. She must have developed it from the curbs she ran over while chasing Valtteri.
Images of Sakhir last year flashed through her mind, when George led most of the race while he was driving for Mercedes temporarily, until a tire mixup made him have to pit twice. He fought his way back through the pack, but a slow puncture made it so that he went from almost winning the race to almost not even finishing in the points. She remembered seeing the graphic of his nameplate sinking from the top of the rankings to almost the bottom, and was now envisioning it happening now, live, on television, with her blue “STA” nameplate instead.
She wanted to throw up - who knows how many positions she’d lose pitting this early? But, she had no choice. At least she’d have a tire advantage, but she’d have to pit again later on, surely.
As a mercy, she hadn’t gone all the way past the pitlane yet, so she didn’t have to do a full lap on a tire that was losing air. Since it was a slow puncture, she could still manage around the 12-19 complex if she was careful to avoid the curbs. Those would cause a blowout that would probably force a retirement. She made it - she pulled into the pitlane and felt the anxiety rising. The pit crew changed her tires, but just as she was pulling away -
“Stop! Stop! Stop! Stay here! Red flag!” Gaetan practically shouted through her headset. His voice was abrupt, urgent.
“What?! What happened?”
“Red flag! Latifi spun into the wall at turn 11 and took Alonso and Gasly with him. There’s debris to clear and they’ll need to repair a barrier.”
“Oh, shit! Is everyone alright?” She was trying not to sound too excited, just in case anyone was hurt.
“Yes, they’re all fine, they’re out, but the track is a mess. Red flag procedure, Phoebe.”
Her relief was almost palpable. It must have happened just before she pulled into the pitlane, and she was on the opposite end of the track from the Turn 11 hairpin, which explains why she had no idea.
“Okay, how many places did we lose? What’s our position?”
“Checking.” It was hard to say, as she was the only one pulling into the pit. Unfortunately, it meant that everyone would get a free tire change, and she wouldn’t have the advantage when she exited, but now everyone else would have to either use a harder tire or stop later on.
A moment later, he said, “We are P6, you will line up behind Leclerc.”
Okay, it wasn’t as bad as she thought, she’d only lost three places. That might not be so hard to make up. The other cars came into the pit lane, and she was able to stop the car and get out. There would be another standing start, and they had an hour.
She stripped off her headwear and walked back into the garage. Emilia was standing at the entrance again, as she had been at the Bahrain red flag. But this time, instead of immediately sweeping her back into the privacy of her drivers’ room, she said, “Are you okay? Do you need to take a minute to yourself? I know that was probably pretty stressful.”
Bee shook her head. “I’m fine. Thank you, though.”
She found it oddly touching that Emilia was just always right there, waiting for her in case she needed her. Sure, as her performance coach, she was more or less Bee’s assistant, but they’d never discussed things like that - their relationship, their routine just naturally developed that way.
Different drivers had different ways of staying alert and “in the zone” during red flag periods. She knew Daniel Ricciardo would put on his headphones and listen to music. Some just sat in their garages, or stood in the pitlane and watched. This past year, during the rain-induced red flag in Spa, she remembered actually deciding to take a quick nap, and she hadn’t been the only one to do so. She remembered watching Kimi Raikkonen on TV infamously eating ice cream during a race in Malaysia in 2009.
This time, though, she and Emilia sat in the garage, though still sitting apart from everyone, Emilia talking to Bee about everything and nothing, as a way of trying to keep her from overthinking and getting anxious again. They would go back to do warmups again before the restart, but for now, they just chatted in German together - at least it gave them some privacy. At first, Emilia strayed away from talking about anything to do with the race, but Bee eventually started talking about the race again.
“I felt like I was going to throw up when Gaetan told me I had a puncture. I didn’t even feel it yet.” Bee said. “All I could think about was George in Sakhir last year, but the red flag came in just in time.”
“You were doing so well, though. I think you’ll have no problem making up those places again. There’s still a lot of race left. And no offense, but I’d never thought I’d see you battling for position with Valtteri. At least you did it without crashing.”
Bee laughed. “Could you imagine? I’d probably just flee the country before I had to talk with Toto about it.”
Eventually, it was time to get warmed back up, but Emilia could tell Bee was starting to get nervous again. While Bee didn’t normally get very emotionally demonstrative around other people, Emilia had noticed that Bee’s body language would change considerably depending on how she felt. When she got nervous, her movements would get stiffer, she’d start to fidget and pace, and she’d start biting her lip, or her balaclava if she was wearing it.
“Well, let’s… go finish this, I guess.”
As Bee turned around to leave her drivers’ room, Emilia seized her by the shoulders, and pulled her in close, bending down until their foreheads were almost touching, looking right into her eyes.
“Phoebe, listen. Earlier was just a warm-up. You showed them what you can do. I know it feels like today is your last chance, but it’s not. We still have so many races together. And regardless of how today ends, regardless of your place, you’re going to be successful. You’ve put in the time, you’ve put in the effort, you’ve worked so hard - it’s all paying off. Those other guys might be in faster cars, but they haven’t had to climb half of the obstacles you’ve had to to get here, and you were fighting right up there at the front with them. You can do it again. I’ll be out there on the pit wall watching when you come across the line and cheering you on, no matter what.”
Emilia pulled her into a hug. Bee was a little surprised at first, but eventually, she returned Emilia’s embrace. She had to bury her face in Emilia’s shirt though, to hide the tears that had started to come into her eyes. Even in German, she felt what Emilia had said right down to her very core.
“Okay. I’m ready. Let’s do it.”
She put her balaclava and helmet back on before she left the room, wanting to stay focused and engaged, but she made sure to wave across the garage to where her parents and Susie were sitting. She saw They all called out to wish her luck as she went back out to her car and climbed back in. She and Georged walked out of the garage together, and he wished her luck as well. At least, that’s what she thought - he already had his helmet on as well, but he gave his head a clear nod and grasped Bee’s shoulder. They gave each other a quick hug.
Once again, the mechanics made their final adjustments, and Bee’s focus once again started to narrow. Gaetan did their regular radio check, and Bee’s car was moved back out onto the grid for the restart.
Once again, her focus narrowed into the view out of her cockpit, the sounds of her own breath, the racing line, and the five red lights in front of her.
As the lights went out, she got another decent getaway. Her eyes were wide open and focused, looking for gaps. She didn’t see any, but she was breathing down Charles’ neck from the start, at least. There were 42 laps left, so, as Crofty, the F1 commentator for Sky Sports in the UK, would always say, there was “all to play for”.
She stayed calm, and patient, and eventually, Charles faltered when she was able to use DRS on him, and was back up into 5th. A few laps later, she was hunting down Daniel. He locked up on turn 14 - it was crucial to be gentle on the pedal there, but he may have gotten unnerved by Bee’s presence in his mirrors. It opened the door for her to get around him, and she did.
“Good job, Phoebe. Perez is ahead by three seconds, but we have to start thinking about tires.” she heard.
“Copy. Just let me know. Going to try to build a gap with Daniel.”
As it turns out, she didn’t have to worry about tires - Ocon had a retirement that caused a safety car, which means that everyone got a free tire change. Sure, she was once again robbed of a tire advantage, but so was everyone else.
Verstappen was in first, so he controlled the pace of the pack behind him once the Safety Car period ended. Bee hated these rolling starts, because of how much control the pacesetter had - you had to have constant awareness of when the front of the pack would start to break away once overtakes were allowed again, lest you be overtaken from behind.
If you went too early, it would mean a penalty. Sometimes, the cars in the back could be caught out. In Mugello in 2020, there was an accident at the rear of the pack when they didn’t realize the cars ahead were not at full speed.
Verstapped broke away, and Bee managed to be quick enough on the throttle to end up wheel-to-wheel with Perez for a moment. She had to back off going into a corner to leave enough space, otherwise she would have ended up getting punted into the gravel trap.
She stayed on Perez for the next few laps, but she was focusing so hard she was losing the lap count.
Luckily, Gaetan was nothing if not reliable.
“Five laps, Phoebe. Push, push. Checo is 2.5 ahead, and has been talking about tire wear. Keep the pressure up and you’ll be in DRS range soon.”
It was getting down to the wire. Phoebe pushed through all of the turns, making sure to stay right on Perez’s shoulder, just to be able to take any opportunity he might have presented. She was so close.
“Three laps left, you’re 1.2 away. Almost in DRS.”
Her pace must have been mind-blowingly quick if she’d cut that much off of their gap in two laps. Maybe he was slowing down. Either way, she couldn’t let up now. One lap later, she heard Toto’s voice in her mind as they rounded the turn 9 chicane together.
“You have to squeeze your arse cheeks and commit.”
They were almost wheel-to-wheel again, and Bee wasn’t going to back off this time.
She was through.
But then… Perez had DRS on her. Bee cursed - she should have waited to overtake him until after the DRS zone. It was a stupid mistake, but she remembered what Natalie told her when she was so angry about her late pit exit during her last outing at Monza.
“Some drivers have even made mistakes that have destroyed their entire car. A few seconds on a pit exit seems like nothing in comparison, right?”
Right. It was a small error on an otherwise stellar performance so far. Nothing to lose her head over. She did her best to keep Perez in the dirty air of her car, to defend. The DRS zone would end soon anyway. She wasn’t going to let him take his position back that easily.
“Last lap, Phoebe. Good job keeping Perez behind you.”
It was now or never. She had to be absolutely dead-on for this last lap, Perez was still on her, and the endless defense she had to put up was starting to get exhausting. She could feel herself start to falter going into Turn 12, and she and Perez were wheel-to-wheel again in the 90-degree corner, but she didn’t let up. She couldn’t. Not now.
In her mind’s eye, she saw the faces of everyone who had supported her over the years - her parents, the Wolffs, Claire, Natalie, Emilia, George, Adelle and her daughter, the dozens of fans that she’d met just this weekend. She didn’t want this podium for herself, but she wanted it for them - a tangible marker to show how far she’d come because of them, a means of thanking them, and showing her how strong she’d become with their support. It urged her forward.
And then - she saw a flash of Helmut Marko’s face. She could see him so clearly - the round, balding head, the thin gray hair, and his small, beady blue eyes. His left eye was a prosthetic and his gaze was always a bit off-center. She saw the disdainful, sour look that he had whenever he talked to her towards the end of her time at Red Bull. She thought about how he’d look from his spot in Red Bull’s garage if she snatched this podium away from his own driver. She wanted, more than anything, to deny him a double podium today.
She also imagined the inevitably pissed-off look on Christian Horner’s pointy, freckled, ferret-like face - she didn’t know Christian that well, she’d avoided ever talking to him. But, it would be a bonus.
She kept her foot down through the turn 16/17/18 series, making sure to cling to the curbs to maintain the most speed. She could practically feel Perez right on her, but she stayed firm, steadfast - it was literally the meaning of her surname, after all.
Perez was practically next to her going through the home straight, but she held her breath and stomped the throttle coming out of turn 20.
Time froze, and then dilated as she crossed the line. It was a split-second that felt entirely too long. She felt like she could feel her pulse between the thin margins of seconds it had doubtlessly been.
She saw a spray of fireworks that shot off as soon as the race leader - Max, probably, crossed the line, and she followed a few seconds later. Did she make it? She couldn’t tell. She’d seen Perez inching up to her on her right side at the last minute, but she didn’t think he’d made it through.
“PHOEBE STALLARD! P3!” Gaetan shouted through the radio. She could hear the cheering from the Williams garage in the background. “THAT’S A PODIUM!”
A scream came from somewhere deep inside of her. She didn’t even feel it coming. She’d just run the race of her life. Even through her helmet and headphones, she could hear the roar of the crowd - it sounded like a prolonged, rolling thunderclap. She practically felt it in her chest, even over the hum of the engine behind her.
She looked up and ahead of her, onto the pit wall, and saw something incredible. The crew of practically every team was clinging to the pit wall fence over the home straight, cheering for her. So it seemed, at least. She saw the British racing green of Aston Martin, Ferrari red, Mercedes white and teal (she spotted Toto easily, as tall as he was), McLaren papaya, Alpine and Williams blues - at the last second, she caught a glimpse of a tall woman, in a blue shirt, with blonde hair, grasping the upper corners of an enormous American flag - Emilia.
She was on her cooldown lap, and was speechless. Normally, a driver would thank the team, depending on their mood, but Bee had felt herself start crying. She was grasping onto the bottom of her visor, trying to wipe her eyes through the gap.
She heard Claire through her radio.
“Phoebe, that was an absolutely incredible race. I’m so proud of you, and I’m so proud of how far you’ve come with this team. I know Dad is at home watching now, and I know he’s so excited and happy right now. It’s been a pleasure to be your team principal, and I’m going to miss you so much next year.”
Bee took a breath, and swallowed around the lump in her throat.
“Thank you, Claire, for believing in me. It’s been awesome working with you, and it’s not going to be the same without you. I wanted to get a podium before the end of this season to send you out on a high note and to thank you for bringing me onto this fantastic team - you’ve all been the best part of racing in Formula 1. The spirit and heart of everyone here and in Grove keeps me motivated, and this podium is for all of you - I couldn’t have done it without you.”
It sounded corny, but she’d meant every word of it. Williams had come so far in the last two years, even with the sale and the transition of leadership, but she loved it. She was proud to have been part of the small resurgence they were experiencing.
She waved out to the grandstands as she passed by them on the cooldown lap, and it was clear that people were absolutely losing it. She could have never imagined this. She almost didn’t want to pull into parc ferme - she was enjoying this particular moment - just her, her car, and the distant shouts of her fans - too much.
But, even so, she arrived and pulled up to the 3rd place bollard (another thing she’d never imagined doing) and saw that her team had gathered around the fence to wait for her.
She was 5’2”, not even 160cm, but she felt twice that height when she climbed out of the FW43B and stood on its nose. She tossed her head back and let out the same scream she’d felt tear itself from her chest earlier - of triumph. All of the tension and pressure of the weekend was gone. She jumped down and sprinted over to the crowd of Williams team members at the gate. She wasn’t quite tall enough to jump up and on top of the barriers like some drivers did, but they did their best to reach her, and she was caught in a hailstorm of hugs, cheering, and hearty slaps on her back and helmet.
It was so loud in that crowd of people. The atmosphere was electric.
Someone - probably Emilia - placed the corner of the American flag in her hands, and she gripped it fiercely.
She turned around to see Lewis waiting for her. He grabbed her into a tight hug that lifted her off her feet, which was not difficult. He set her down, and she stripped off her helmet and balaclava. He did the same, and took a moment to re-tie his braided hair back into a ponytail
“I can’t believe it, Phoebe - you’re the first woman ever on a Formula 1 podium!” Lewis shouted over the commotion around them.
Oh. She’d forgotten about that part. It wasn’t what she’d set out to do, necessarily.
He hugged her again, patting her back. “You must have run an incredible race. I can’t wait to watch it later. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Lewis, for everything. You’ve always been so kind to me, and it means a lot.”
At the other end of the parc ferme area, there were small stands for them to place their equipment, and a scale to be weighed right near the pit lane. There used to be cool-down rooms where they did this, but they got rid of them during the abridged COVID season to maintain team bubbles. She stepped on the scale after Lewis. Claire was in the garage outside of parc ferme, standing with Emilia. She went over to them, and they both pulled her into large hugs, telling her how proud they were of her, again.
She wasn’t sure where to go next, though. The podium was on the balcony above the FIA garage area they were in, which was where the medical car was parked. Emilia shoved Bee’s drink bottle into her hands while Bee was looking around, trying to take everything in.
“Here. Drink. It wouldn’t be a good look to pass out on the podium in front of your entire country, would it?” Bee shook her head, and drank greedily. She was only just now aware of how thirsty she was. The race she ran was intensely physical, and the fatigue was only now starting to set in.
She wasn’t sure what she should be doing next, though. She wasn’t sure where Lewis had disappeared to, but she heard some cheers outside that indicated he must have been outside.
She peeked around the door of the garage to see that he was doing an interview with Jenson Button, and just as she did, the F1 employee next to her said, “You’re next, Phoebe.”
She typically didn’t hang around after races to watch the podium ceremony these days, so she was happy for the direction - this was all new to her.
She walked over to take her place in front of the microphone, and Jenson asked her a few questions. The cheer she got when she stepped out of the garage was deafening, and a flurry of American flags unfurled in the crowd. She barely paid attention to whatever Jenson was asking her, but she got through it.
She walked back into the garage area, and stood next to Lewis for a few minutes, chatting companionably with him.
“Uh…” she said. “Where do we go now? Upstairs, or -”
Lewis laughed, and grabbed her by the elbow. “I forgot, this is new for you - come on, this way.”
He led her upstairs into a small waiting area that had an FIA official. It was the “backstage” behind the outdoor podium platform, which was set up on the balcony of one of the permanent buildings at the track. She was still gripping onto the flag she’d been handed. She draped it over her shoulders.
They were also joined by someone from Red Bull to accept the constructor’s trophy for the team. She was just glad it wasn’t Christian or Helmut, but that was apparently rare. The trophy presentation party came in - they were all various local officials that she didn’t know, and…
Shaquielle O’Neal? Bee never watched basketball, but knew the enormous man when she saw him.
“We’re just about ready to start, gentleme - I mean… sorry, ladies and gentlemen.” The FIA official said, looking directly at Bee. Bee waved it off. “It’s fine. I know, this is new for all of us.”
The presentation party all filed out. Bee laughed because Shaq had to duck out underneath the door frame. Certainly not a problem she’d ever have.
“Hey, good job.” Max Verstappen told her. “I heard you gave Checo a bit of a headache. That’s not easy to do.”
It was the first thing Max had ever said to her, that she could remember.
“Ah… thank you. I tried. Congratulations to you, as well.”
He nodded a quick nod at her. “Thank you.”
“And in third place…” she heard from around the temporary wall. “The first woman to ever stand on a Formula 1 podium as a driver… Phoebe Stallard, of the United States of America!”
She walked out from behind the barrier. If she thought the cheers were deafeningearlier, this was nothing. It was incredible. She could barely hear anything else, and it was coming from everywhere - from the audience below, from the people crowded onto the paddock club balconies on the left side of the stage area. She glanced at the LED screen behind her, which was playing a pre-filmed video loop of herself making various celebratory poses - she remembered when they filmed it during pre-season testing, and it felt silly then, because she didn’t think it would even be necessary. Well, she was wrong.
They introduced Lewis and Max next, and the Dutch and Austrian national anthems played. Shaquille O’Neal handed Max the first place trophy. She congratulated the Red Bull employee standing next to her on the constructor’s trophy. Lewis received his trophy, and finally, a man came over with the small statuette for her.
She raised it aloft, and it felt like she was lifting the weight of this season, the weight of her entire career - it was everything it represented. Her own expectations of herself, her desire to perform, her desire to show the people that supported her how much she appreciated it. It was all there now, in the form of a solid metallic statuette.
“And now… the champagne!”
She barely had time to react and put the trophy down and pick her victory bottle up. It didn’t matter anyway, Lewis and Max had done this dozens of times before and were far too quick on the draw. They had both set out to drench her, too. She thought she felt Lewis actually pouring the bottle down the back of her race suit. It was sticky and smelly, but it felt kind of good in the heat.
She did her best to return the spray, but it was too late. She showered the crowd below instead. From this vantage point, she could see the faces of everyone that was there for her. She could see her parents, she could see Emilia, she could see the Wolffs, she could see Claire. She smiled and waved to all of them as they smiled back up at her.
It was just like what she’d envisioned the night before, but it was even better, because it was real. It was her goal for the season, the line she’d been striving for, and she’d made it through it all - all of the terror, all of the beauty, both in equal measure.
Schönheit und Schrecken.
It was true that Rilke had said that no feeling was final, and this feeling wouldn’t be, either. She had a few races left for this season, and had already signed for another season. There would be terror. There would be triumph, so she hoped. There would be defeat. There would be anxiety and sadness.
But none of that was here, right now. All that was here, now, was a memory that she wanted to hold onto forever.
#series: wildest dreams#f1 fanfic#f1 oc fanfic#formula 1 fanfic#original character#female oc#female f1 driver#toto wolff#george russell#my fanfic#susie wolff
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why is wildest dreams(taylor’s version) now giving me sylki vibes
“say you’ll remember me standin’ in a nice dress starin’ at the sunset” Loki talking to Sylvie before he goes to sit on the throne
“say you’ll see me again even if it’s just in your wildest dreams” this could work either way ig with Loki hoping Sylvie will think of him and Sylvie hoping Loki will dream of her
anyway i am now balling my eyes out listening to this song
#someone should edit them to it#sylki#loki season 2#loki laufeyson#sylvie laufeydottir#loki series#wildest dreams#taylor swift#1989 tv
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VICTORIA HATHAWAY & JJ MAYBANK
he's so tall and handsome as hell he's so bad, but he does it so well i can see the end as it begins
reading link | edited by dunbonnets | june 2023
#ch: victoria hathaway#fic: wildest dreams#series: the dear reader duology#obx fanfiction#obx oc#outer banks#outer banks fanfiction#outer banks oc#wattpad#wattpad fic#wattpad fanfiction#wattpad oc#wattpad collab#*my friends oc#*my graphics#*my edits#*my gifs#*graphic by dunbonnets
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Wildest Dreams 4
Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, manipulation, lying. Tags are not exhaustive and more may be added as the series progresses.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Andy Barber lost everything and you’re about to give him it all back. (dark!reader)
Characters: Andy Barber
Note: Here ya are.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3
Love you all like snakes love Woody’s boots. Take care. 💖
It takes you too long to tear yourself away from Andy. His snores comfort you. After so many sleepless nights, alone, you can’t help but smile at his warmth. You’ve spent all night just watching him; how his chest rises and falls, his eyes moving beneath the lids, and the slight twitch in his lips.
There’s a pillow between you, a laughable barrier he’s set there, but you still feel him.
You get up and ready for the day. Your routine takes a while, you have to be absolutely perfect for him. You have to choose the exact right shade of lipstick to match your dress and make sure your hair is just so.
His alarm will go off shortly. You need to hurry! You sneak out past the bed and go downstairs to start the day. Coffee, bacon, eggs, rye toast.
You take out a small plastic container, likely meant for dressing, and you count out the vitamins, setting them out in wait of him. He’s a bit older, not too old, so he should start considering these things. Especially if you’re going to have a baby. Or two.
You hear him above and that’s your signal to get the bacon sizzling. The grind of the coffee machine fills the silence and you restlessly pace with the spatula in hand. It’s almost too real. So long you’ve been dreaming of waking up next to him, of living each day with him, that you can hardly believe it.
His steps descend the staircase slowly as you wait for the omelet to cook. You flip it as he enters behind you and you set the spatula down, flitting over to him in your kitten heels. He watches you, his expression stony and fatigued.
You kiss his lips and he flinches, turning away to finish knotting his tie. You would do that for him but he’s evasive. That hurts.
“Coffee? Breakfast is almost ready?” You tweet.
“I don’t have time–”
“Andy, I know you have time,” you go to the carafe and pour a mug for him, “oh, and you need to take these.” You put the cup and small container of vitamins on the island, “the magnesium is good for your memory and–
“No thank you,” he growls as he scratches his beard, “I usually get coffee on the way–”
“No, you don’t,” you insist, “you have a cup before you go, then you take a thermos with the leftover from the machine–”
“Not today,” he sighs, “I have to get to work. I have an important case–”
“Oh? I didn’t see anything on the docket for you today.”
“What the fuck?” He stops short and faces you across the marble topped island.
“I told you, I know you, Andy. I have to know everything if I’m going to take care of you.”
He closes his eyes as he grips his hips and drops his chin. You see that he wants to argue. He’s a lawyer, of course that’s his instinct. He won’t win though, because deep down he knows you’re right.
“I got low sodium bacon for–” You pause and sniff the air, “oh, golly!” You spin on your heel and rush over to the stove as you smell the burning. You swipe up the spatula and flip the omelet. It’s black! “No! No! No! No!”
“What’s going on?” He asks.
“It has to be perfect,” you exclaim as you peek over your shoulder, “it has to. Andy, I have to be perfect for you. But you distracted me!” You turn and wip the hot pan across the kitchen. It hits the corner by the door as the egg flies out and steam clouds around the ruin as it clatters to the floor, “you won’t listen! You won’t listen and you ruined the eggs!”
He’s quiet as he stares. Your nostrils flare and you stomp as you wave the spatula in your fury. His jaw clenches. You see that concern in him, you see the pity, the judgment. He’s not supposed to do that. He’s supposed to love you and support you. Not look at you like you’re–
Well, you’re not crazy.
“I’m calm,” you stand stalk straight and lower the spatula, “Andy, everything is fine. It’s perfect and I’m okay.”
You force a smile as you turn and put the spatula in the sink. You stride swiftly to the closet and pull out the broom and pan. You go over and gather the overturned pan and set it aside as you sweep up the mess from around it.
You dump out the spoiled eggs and rinse the skillet in the sink. You grab the dishcloth and wipe the errant oil from the wall from where you flung it, paying close attention to the divet there. You’ll have to patch it.
“I’ll restart the eggs, honey.”
“Maybe you should relax,” he says, “take a breath.”
“I’m fine, I told you–”
“I don’t need eggs, I’ll just have some toast–”
“No, you’ll have what I give you,” you turn on him and ball your fists, “what I strive so hard to do for you. Andrew, sit down.”
“Don’t talk to me like that–”
“Then listen to me and don’t be so fucking rude–” you stop yourself and put your hand to your chest, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to curse. Andy, please, sit down. It won’t take me very long. Do you like sunny side up?”
His blue eyes linger on you. He looks tired. He bites down and puts his hands on the edge of the island. He sits on the tall seat as his lips thin and slant. He puts his palms together and presses his mouth to his index fingers.
“Good,” you declare, “good, can’t do much on an empty stomach.” You go around and slide the coffee and vitamins closer, “some Vitamin D too. Since you spend so much time in your office. You need it.”
He nods and accepts the coffee, fingers curving around the porcelain as he drags it over the marble, “thanks.” He utters behind his hand.
“Anything for you, honey,” you preen, “just like last night, remember?”
He blanches and looks away. His cheeks tinge with a soft hue of pink, “that was– I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“I wanted to,” you bounce back around to the sink, speaking as you work, “I can do it again before you go.”
“N-no,” he clears his throat, “I… I can’t be late.”
“Hm, yeah, I wouldn’t want to distract you from work,” you agree, “so you’ll just have to wait until tonight. Oh, you could use my tits instead or… we could do more?”
“Please, I just woke up,” he shifts and exhales.
“Oh, uh,” you giggle, “I’m sorry, honey, I just get so excited thinking about it.”
He doesn’t reply. You hear the soft slurp over the brim of his cup as you put a clean pan on the burner. You add oil and wait for it to heat. As you do, you frame your waist and wiggle just a little. You push your hands down your skirt, emphasizing your ass shamelessly.
“Do you like this dress, honey?” You peek back at him.
“It’s fine,” he answers flatly.
“Fine?” You pout and face him, boosting up your chest, “what about me? I could get a lift? Or implants?”
He coughs and shakes his head at his coffee. His throat bobs as he runs his fingertips over his beard. The way he does when he’s thinking.
“Aw, you’re so cute, honey,” you trill, “acting all shy. Mm, I could eat you up.”
He takes another drink. He’s afraid. Not of you, but himself. He just can’t admit to himself that you’re exactly what he needs and all he ever wanted.
🌹
Everything is great. Everything is perfect. Just where it belongs, you included.
You take one last look around before you leave the house. It’s after lunch and you know that Andy hasn’t torn himself away from his desk to eat. That’s his problem. He doesn’t think about the basics. He’s so caught up in his work, he doesn’t take a minute to look after himself. That’s exactly why you’re good for him.
You wait on the curb with an insulated bag hanging from your elbow. It’s a nice neighbourhood. Bright, sunny, suburban. So quiet and calm. Picturesque. A place that can’t handle scandal and with Andy Barber, they’ve already gotten their fair share. You know the whispers are still traded back and forth, about his past, about the wife and child who ruined his life.
But you can fix all that. You can fix him.
You check your phone. The uber seems lost in the roundabout a block down. Ugh, why is everyone so incompetent?
You check your makeup in the phone camera before you lock it. A speck looms in the edge of your vision and you turn to greet Andy’s neighbour, Pamela. That old fucking bitch. Oh, you know about that mommy blog she runs where she posts all those nasty things about the other wives in the cul de sac.
“Hello,” she chimes like a creaky old bird, “you must be new around here. I didn’t know anyone was selling.”
“We aren’t,” you say promptly and turn your attention back to the street.
“We?” She wonders.
“Me and my fiance.”
“Fiance? And who’s that?”
You roll your eyes and tap your toe impatiently, “it’s lovely to meet you but I’m waiting on a cab.”
“Who…” she begins again and pauses, glancing back at the big house, “Andy Barber? Fiance? Already?”
“I don’t see why it’s any of your business.”
“Well, hon, this is my neighbourhood and I’m a part of the Home Owners’ Association so it is very much my business.”
“What we do within our homes has nothing to do with you,” you sneer.
“I was being friendly, sweetie, just wanted to introduce myself. You’re the one who’s being nasty.”
“Nasty? Is that what you call it when you send those pictures of yourself in thigh highs to your yoga instructor? Or what would you call flirting with your son’s friends? Isn’t that illegal?”
“How– you’re crazy. You don’t even know me.”
“I know everything I need to know,” you smirk, “Pamela. Or what is it Kenneth calls you? His Hindi is absolutely god awful, you know, I can’t really make it out.”
“What the fuck–”
“What the fuck indeed,” you face her with a grin, “go off and gossip to everyone you like. Yes, me and Andy Barber are getting married. And unlike you, I will be completely content in my marriage.”
“I don’t…”
“I don’t need you nosing in and ruining anything, Pammy, so steer clear,” you warn, “and when you get the invite to our neighbourhood barbeque, you can bring the potato salad and keep your lips zipped. Do you understand me?”
She bats her lashes, fake and crooked, almost as tacky as the caked on foundation and heavy blue eyeshadow. Geez, has she not seen a beauty counter since 1997?
“You’re fucking nuts,” she hisses.
“And you’re fuckng a wannabee yogi,” you retort, “we all have our flaws, Pam.”
She scoffs and storms away. You glance over as her ass jiggles in her leggings. The yoga isn’t doing much, but she isn’t doing much yoga either.
🌹
It’s not your first time inside the building. You had to do a bit of snooping around before but this time, you’re able to get past the security. You bribe them with a cookie from your bag and a flash of your engagement ring, explaining that you’re surprising your fiance with lunch. It’s not a lie at all so why would they ever turn you away?
You continue on and take your time in the large corridors. It’s so airy and everything is so big and flawless and orderly. It feels like a very important place to be. And it is, Andy is there. Waiting for you.
As you get to the D.A.’s wing, you wander through the door with an emphatic look around. There’s a receptionist behind the circular desk. Her name is Malory, you don’t need to check the name plate, you already know. She greets you with a curious peek over the top.
“Hiya, how are you today? Can I put you in the right direction?”
You near the desk and look her up and down. She’s squat and plain. No competition.
“Yes, I’m here to see my fiance. I’ve brought him lunch,” you smile prettily.
“Fiance? And who would that be?”
“Andy Barber. The new DA.”
“Oh, of course,” she sings, “I didn’t know he was engaged.”
“He’s like that. So tight-lipped,” you intone, “oh, and he only just proposed.” You lift your hand and flash your ring, “picked the perfect ring for me too!”
“God, it’s absolutely gorgeous,” she stands to get a closer look, “congratulations.”
“Thank you,” you beam, “we are so happy! And oh, I have been telling him he needs to start eating his lunch so I just came to surprise him and make sure he does. He’s a very busy man.”
“That he is,” she agrees, “I’ll let him know you’re here.” She lifts the receiver on the corded phone and hits a button. She waits, smiling at you appeasingly, then finally speaks again, “Mr. Barber, yes, you have a visitor.”
She listens and frowns, “no, I think you should come out here.” She insists.
She hangs up and sits back down, “he’s coming out.”
“Thank you,” you turn on your heel and pace.
You near the wall and admire the long list of previous DAs around the governmental crest. You clutch the handle of the bag as the weight of its contents grows heavier. You made sure he’ll have more than enough.
“Where–” you hear Andy’s curt tone and as you spin, he spots you and gulps back the rest of his question. He crosses to you urgently, “what are you doing here?”
“Bringing you lunch, silly,” you raise the bag, “I know how you are–”
“Quiet,” he hisses, “you shouldn’t have come.”
“I’m being nice,” you say through clenched teeth, “trying to be.”
“I’m not hungry,” he counters, “go.”
Your lips quiver and you fight not to let your irritation show. You love him but he can be so ungrateful.
“I’ll scream,” you threaten, “do you want me to scream?”
“Fuck,” he combs his fingers through his hair, “fine, let’s just– go.”
He grabs your arm and angles you back the way he came. As you pass by the front desk, Mallory pops her head up, “oh, congratulations, Mr. Barber.”
“What?” He stops short, his hand still on your arm, his touch consuming you. He smells so good.
“On your engagement. That’s wonderful. You must be so excited.”
He sniffs and nods. He hesitates as his grip tightens on your arm. “Thanks,” he chokes out before he directs you back to your path, stomping away as he herds you between desks, “Jesus Christ,” he utters under his breath.
“I’m sorry, baby, I had to break the news–”
“Shut up,” he snarls as he nears his office door, “get inside. Now.”`
#andy barber#dark andy barber#dark!andy barber#andy barber x reader#andy barber x dark!reader#defending jacob#dark reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#series#wildest dreams
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