#Cold Calling Software | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gallusrostromegalus · 2 years ago

Text

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

youtube

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

#Family Lore #Dogs #It's Halloween babey #friday the 13th #blood mention #I hope that kid had a good night and at least one of his friends believed him #Long post #Video

17K notes · View notes

outright-crm · 2 years ago

Text

#businessgrowth #software #marketing #sugarcrm #cold calling

0 notes

wanders-in-wonderland · 4 months ago

Text

Technical Mastermind

Note: This is a fun little dual-POV story I put together, honestly mostly just self-indulgent fluff and a sprinkle of spice but hope y'all enjoy!

I look up from my computer when I hear a knock at my office door. My coworker pokes her head in and smiles at me, “Hey! The new tech guy’s first day is today, come meet him!” Her voice drops to a theatrical whisper, “He’s cute too!”

I let out a soft laugh and glance down at my screen for a second. “I’ll be right out, just gonna finish up this email.” She nods and gives me a wink before disappearing from my doorway.

I follow her out a few moments later, following the sound of excited chattering to the break room. All my coworkers are gathered there, along with a man who I presume to be the new tech guy. Who is indeed cute.

I walk up and introduce myself with a smile. “Hey! I’m part of the analytics team, it’s really nice to meet you!”

He smiles back at me and for a second I’m stunned by the dimples and warmth in his face. He is very cute. “It’s nice to meet you too. I’m here for all your tech needs if anything comes up,” his voice is smooth and it sends a shiver down my spine that I try to repress. Now is not the time to get the hots for my brand-new coworker.

He sticks his hand out for me to shake and I slide mine into it. His fingers grip mine firmly, the warmth in his hand making me want to melt into him.

I let out a soft laugh, “Sorry, my hands are always freezing, my office is so cold for some reason.” He chuckles and lets my hand go, “No need to apologize." I catch a whiff of his cologne and it makes me melt a little more, he smells delectable.

Before I can respond, I hear someone call his name and we both turn to see our manager come over, asking for his help with a software integration. I smile at them both, “Well, that’s my cue, I’ll let you get to doing your job. It was lovely to meet you.” I step away and give a little wave before I walk over to the espresso machine to make myself an afternoon pick-me-up.

My coworker sidles up next to me, “I told you he’s cute!” I laugh and glance back over at the new tech guy, taking in his tall, fit form, the cross of his arms making his biceps bulge while he nods along to whatever our manager was saying.

“And you were not wrong,” I say back to her, grabbing my finished coffee and adding cream and sugar.

She leans in with a devious look on her face, “You guys would make a really cute couple.” I almost choke on my sip of coffee and I shoot her a playful glare. “I literally just met the man! I don’t know anything about him. AND we work together.”

She shrugs, “None of those things sound like deal breakers.” I let out a laugh and glance back at him. We would make a cute couple but I am not about to open that can of worms, especially not with a guy I met five minutes ago who made no indication of being interested in me.

I spend the next few minutes chatting with my coworker before heading back to my office to finish up my work. I feel eyes tracking me as I reach the door of the break room and I turn to see the new guy looking at me. Our eyes meet and he flashes me another smile, dimples on full display. I smile back and slip out of the room, walking back to my office with a little extra pep in my step.

—

Today, I met the woman I’m going to marry. She doesn’t know it yet but that’s okay, she’ll learn soon enough. My first day on the job could not have gone better. I was meeting all of my coworkers when she walked in, wearing that gorgeous skirt showing off her sexy legs and a pink blouse that made her creamy skin look so delicious.

I saw the way she shivered at the sound of my voice, the way her eyes glazed over a little when our hands touched. She’s perfect and her body wants mine and soon her mind will too. I couldn’t get her out of my head, not even when my new boss was talking me through some new software update the firm is undergoing. Lucky for me, I’m damn good at my job and could do it with just a fraction of my attention.

I kept most of my gaze on her while she giggled with her coworker, the sound of her laugh making me determined to be the one to make her make that noise next time. She caught me staring right as she was leaving but the smile she sent my way and the glow on her face was all I needed to be sure that she wanted me just as much as I wanted her.

By the end of the workday, I’d already pulled every single file about her from the company database. After that it was easy enough to hack into the company’s security cameras to get me access to the feed of her office so I could keep eyes on her during the day. It was even easier to hack into her accounts to see her emails, calendars, and everything else my girl had on her work computer.

By the time I got home, I’d already come up with a plan to get access to her personal computer and phone. In the next few days, I’ll pay her home a visit while she’s in the office to set up my own cameras and make a copy of her keys. She’s mine and I plan on taking very good care of her.

—

The next morning, I step into my office and log onto my computer only for the entire thing to crash. “What the fuck?” I groan softly, this has never happened before and the timing is terrible because I’m supposed to be on a meeting in 30 minutes. I grumble with annoyance before I trudge out of my office, hoping to find the new tech guy and praying that he’s here this morning and knows how to fix my stupid computer.

His office door is open and I see him sat in front of his computer, typing away. I linger for a moment outside his door, the yummy scent of his cologne wafting out of his office towards me. I knock softly against his door frame and flash him a sheepish smile when he looks up. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

He flashes those dimples at me again and shakes his head. “Not at all, what can I do for you?” I bite my lip and sigh before responding.

“I think I broke my computer.”

He stares at me. Oh my god, he thinks I’m an idiot.

“I mean, I don’t know, I logged in and then it crashed and now it’s on the blue screen of death and I have a meeting in 30 minutes and I can’t access anything.” I blurt out my words and want to dissolve into a puddle because now the hot tech guy definitely thinks I’m incompetent.

“Let me see if I can fix it,” he says, not missing a beat and he stands from behind his desk. Fuck, he’s so tall, I could climb him like a tree. I give myself a mental slap and smile brightly at him, praying my face isn’t beet red.

He gestures to the door and we walk out together. “Thank you so much, I’m sorry for being a bother, I promise I’m usually not this technologically inept.”

He laughs very gracefully at my bumbling, “You’re not a bother at all. Plus, this is what the company pays me for, so thank you for keeping me employed.” I giggle at that. So he’s hot and funny.

We enter my office and I let him sit at my desk to tinker with the computer. I stand behind him, discreetly taking in deep breaths of his smell while staring blankly at the screen as he opens some kind of code sequence and enters a bunch of letters and numbers before giving a contemplative hum.

“Good news is I know what’s wrong. Bad news is it’s gonna take a bit for me to fix it up. But, I can remote access into your account from my computer and you can take your meeting in my office so you don’t run behind.” He turns to look at me.

“Oh my god, yes, that would be perfect. Thank you so so much!” Thank you tech gods for gracing me with this savior of a man. I beam at him and he shows me his pretty dimples again.

“Here, let’s get you set up on my computer first and I’ll come back to deal with yours.”

20 minutes later, I’m sat in his very comfy chair, breathing in more of his yummy scent, in his very nice and warm office that is far better than my freezing one, logging onto my meeting from his computer.

—

She’s so fucking adorable when she needs help. I could barely contain my excitement this morning while I waited for her to come into the office and inevitably find me to solve her newly manifested computer problem. And I made her laugh, the sound spilling from her lips so sweetly.

Now, I’m in her office while she’s preoccupied for at least another hour in that meeting. My girl is so trusting too because she left her phone, her personal laptop, and her purse all in her office without a second thought. This is too easy.

It takes me no time at all to plant a bug into her phone that mirrors it onto my own and a similar tweak of her laptop’s code gives me remote access whenever I want. I slip into her purse and grab her keys, stepping out of the office to go down the street to the hardware store to make a quick copy of her house key and her car key. I make one last stop at her car, sliding a tracker under the hood before heading back into the office.

A glance at her calendar tells me she’s still got 30 minutes left in her meeting. I easily delete the bug I’d planted in her work computer to create this glitch in the first place and restore it to its functioning form before leaving her office, putting everything back in its place.

I stop by the break room and make two cups of coffee. One black for me and another with cream and sugar, exactly the way I’d watch her make it yesterday afternoon. I slip into my office quietly, smiling at her when her eyes meet mine. I slide the cup of coffee to her and her eyes widen and she mouths a thank you at me.

I smile and shake my head before slipping back out of my office to let her finish her meeting. My chest feels warm when I step out. It feels really fucking good to take care of my girl, and I hope she sees how good of a provider I would be for her. How she’d never want for anything ever again and I can’t wait to make her mine.

—

I’m giddy for the rest of my meeting after he’d dropped off a cup of coffee for me, made exactly how I like it. This man is the stuff of dreams, I swear. My meeting wraps up and I finish off my caffeine before I get up to look for him.

He’s in my office, back facing the doorway, tinkering with the thermostat on the wall. I knock softly and he spins around to look at me, holding a screwdriver as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“You mentioned your office being cold. I think I fixed it,” he flashes me a smile. My mouth forms an O as I stare at him in amazement. If we weren’t coworkers and literally met yesterday, I would totally get down on my knees and suck his cock right here, right now. Where has this man been all my life?

“I- thank you so much, you didn’t have to do that at all. And thank you for the coffee, it was perfect, and for letting me use your office, and for fixing my computer,” I’m rambling now but I can’t stop. Seeing his dimples again makes me finally stop talking and I give him a shy smile.

“No problem at all, everything’s all sorted. Your computer is all set and it shouldn’t give you an problems anymore.” His words almost make me sad, maybe I should figure out how to fuck up my stuff again just so he can come and fix it for me.

“Thank you again, really. You’re a life saver.”

“Of course, let me know if you need anything, you know where to find me.” He tips an imaginary hat at me and I giggle as he walks out. Yum, my office now smells a little bit like him.

I spend the rest of my day half-heartedly focusing on work while my thoughts keep drifting back to that dimpled hunk of a man who seems so perfect.

—

I spend the rest of my day sorting through all the new information I’ve gathered on my girl and doing just enough work to make it seem like I’m a model employee. Her phone gives me an unfiltered glimpse into her life and I’ve discovered enough about her to know with certainty that she is fucking perfect.

I also find that she spent several minutes last night googling me and stalking my few social media profiles. It makes me smile to know that my girl is interested in me too. I’m looking through her other apps when I see a text come in. It’s from one of our coworkers, asking if she’s going out for the weekly office happy hour tonight. She responds quickly with an affirmative. And then she sends a follow-up message: “I’m gonna invite the tech guy too!”

Our coworker agrees and my chest feels warm again, clearly, my girl is thinking about me too.

I hear her footsteps come down the hall to my office and I quickly click out of my incriminating files before she knocks on my office door and pokes her head in.

“Hi, do you want to come out for drinks with the rest of the office tonight? It’s just a causal, weekly happy hour, no pressure!” Her eyes are alight with hope and excitement and it makes me want to grab her and kiss her. I restrain myself and instead send her a smile and agree. Her whole face lights up and I have to grip the armrest of my chair to keep myself in place. She says she’ll send me the details and walks off, her perfect ass swaying as she retreats down the hall.

—

I’m bouncing on my heels a little as I stand with a few other coworkers at the bar down the street from the office. My gaze keeps lingering on the door, trying to get a glimpse of the man I’m waiting for. Someone next to me makes a joke about something and I laugh with the rest of the group, too distracted to contribute anything of substance.

Suddenly, I feel a warm hand against my back and I smell his cologne. I turn around to face him and smile. His hand leaves my back and I want to complain but hold it in. He smiles at me and greets the rest of the group.

“I’ll go get us some drinks,” he says. Someone makes a request for beers and everyone else calls out their agreements. I don’t bother to say that I’d prefer something else, I’ll just grab something later after this round.

He steps away and comes back a few minutes later with our drinks, placing a pitcher of beer on the table with empty glasses. Then, he comes back again with a different drink in his hand. “This one’s for you,” he says, handing it to me.

I stare at him in shock. How did he know I don’t drink beer? And how could he possibly know my favorite drink is an espresso martini?

He smiles at me, “I asked them to make it decaf so it doesn’t keep you up.”

I think I swoon. I know for a fact my panties are drenched right now. “I- Thank you so much, how did you know?”

He flashes me that fucking smile again and my pussy clenches. “I’ve seen how much coffee you drink, so I took a wild guess.”

I beam at him and take a sip, letting out a happy sigh at how good it tastes. I get distracted by a coworker asking me a question and my attention gets pulled into an animated conversation.

—

She’s so pretty like this, face flushed from the alcohol and laughter. I’m standing close to her but not close enough. I want to sling my arm around her shoulders and pull her towards me so she can lean on me. I want to trail my fingers up and down her back and draw absentminded circles over her skin while we talk. There’s so much I want to fucking do but I can’t yet, I have to wait.

I’m caught in some conversation with a few guys from the office about a new client the firm is taking on. I check my watch and decide I’ve spent enough time here and I’d much rather head home and do some more research on my girl.

“I’m gonna call it a night, I’ve got an early morning tomorrow,” I say, giving a wave to the rest of the group. I see her perk up at my words, “I’m gonna head out too! See you guys tomorrow!”

I knew she’d take her leave when I brought it up. My girl’s got an early morning workout class tomorrow. I know that from her calendar and because it is the perfect time for me to slip into her home and install my cameras.

We walk towards the exit together and head back towards the office.

“Did you drive today?” I ask, already know the answer is no because it’s Thursday and she always takes the train just in case she goes to happy hour and drinks. Because my girl is responsible. She shakes her head, “No, I took the train but I think I’ll just grab an Uber home.”

I shake my head, “Let me drive you home, I didn’t drink tonight anyway.”

“No, I can’t ask you to do that! I’m sure you have things to do!” She says, looking at me with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Not at all, it’s no problem, let me take you home. Where do you live?” As if I really need her to answer that, I already know her address.

“I feel like you’re always doing favors for me and we’ve only just met,” she laughs and gives me her address. “Thank you so much,” she says, glancing up at me shyly.

I smile, “It’s not a problem.”

I’m a perfect gentleman when I drive her home, our conversation never lulling during the ride. The drink she’s had tonight has made her extra liberal with her laughter and I love it. I drop her off at her place and bid her goodnight.

—

The next morning, I track her location as she goes to her workout class, leaving her apartment empty. It’s so easy for me to slip into her apartment using my copy of her key.

I take my time, looking through her belongings, seeing the decoration of the space, noting what her pantry staples are, what her favorite brands of skincare are. And of course, I go poking around in her bedside table where I find a plethora of different sex toys my horny girl has. The thought of using any one of them on her makes my dick strain in my pants and I almost get sidetracked before I remember my purpose for being here today.

I hook up several tiny cameras, concealing them around her apartment so that, to an untrained eye, nothing would seem out of place. The cameras give me live video and audio feed and I take a moment to double check that the connection is secure before I take one last glimpse around her apartment and take my leave.

I get back to my car parked a few blocks down and pull up the live feed on my phone just in time to see her come home from her workout class. The clarity of the cameras is exquisite, capturing every angle of her. I groan as I watch her strip out of her workout outfit, her perfect perky tits spilling out of her sports bra and her tight ass on display.

I slide lower into my seat, my gaze fixed on her as she steps into the shower. I can’t stop myself from sliding a hand into my pants, palming my cock, the friction making me hiss. She soaps up her body teasingly, putting on a show almost like she knows I’m watching.

Fuck, she’s perfect. I groan as I stroke my cock with intention, the pent up desire burning through my veins. I want to be there with her in that shower, I want to run my fingers through her hair, to rub soap up and down her body, tease her and make her feel so fucking good.

I don’t last very long, it’s almost a little embarrassing how fast I cum, watching her shower. I clean myself off and head to the office, where I spend every single moment daydreaming about her gorgeous body and trying not to rush into her office and ravish her against her desk.

—

It’s the evening now, and I’m watching her settle in for bed, the several different cameras giving me every possible angle of her gorgeous form as she crawls into bed. I watch her grab her phone as she snuggles down into her covers and I pull up my mirrored copy of her device to see what she’s looking at.

It starts with cat videos and random TikToks and then I watch as she switches to a different app. Tumblr. My eyebrows raise when I see what she types into the search bar: rape fantasy. I watch her scroll through pictures, videos, text posts, watching as she starts to get hot and bothered. It looks like my pretty girl has a dark side.

I watch as she kicks the covers off her body and she slides a hand down into her pajama bottoms. I see her bit her lip as her hand starts to move beneath her clothes. She’s reading something absolutely filthy and the cameras in her room are picking up on her soft whimpers as she plays with herself.

Fuck, I fumble with my belt and undo my pants enough to pull my rock hard cock out. I let out a low groan as I fist the base of my cock, my breath harsh as dark tendrils of pleasure rush through my body. I keep an eye on the cameras, watching as she writhes on the bed, her pretty moans and cries going straight to my head as the pleasure builds inside of me.

I hear her whines pick up and I know she’s close to cumming. And then, I hear it over the camera. She whimpers out a name. My name. It’s enough to send me over the edge and I curse as I cum all over my hand, my vision going white for a moment before it clears just in time for me to see her ride out the waves of her own orgasm, still whimpering my fucking name.

My breathing is harsh as I sit back in my chair, watching as she comes down from her high and puts her phone away to curl up and drift off to sleep. I groan as I bask in the warm pleasure. I’m going to make all her little fantasies come to life and she’s going to keep moaning my name like my fucking slut.

—

I’ve waited long enough and I can’t wait any longer. Every single fucking day, I see her pretty smile and hear her intoxicating laugh at the office and every night, I stroke my cock to the sound of her whimpers while she plays with her dripping little pussy. I know she’s perfect for me. I know she wants me because every time I see her, I see her pupils dilate and her eyes glaze over when I stand too close.

It’s time for me to make her mine. I wait for her to go to bed after she rubs her sensitive little clit and cum all over her fingers. I’m going to give her the best orgasm of her life tonight and she’s never going to have to rely on herself to make that pretty pussy feel good because I’ll do it for her gladly.

I slip into her apartment when I know she’s asleep and I creep into her room. She’s so fucking pretty, laid on her bed, wearing those shorts that show off her ass and a tank top that barely covers her tits. I’m going to fuck her and make her mine.

I strip out of my clothes and slide into the bed with her. I pin her underneath my body and use one hand to hold both her wrists above her head and another to cover her mouth. I watch as she jerks awake, her eyes wide with fear as she whines into my hand.

“Shh, shh, it’s me, don’t be scared, darling. I’ve got you,” I purr into her ear and grind myself against her body, my hard cock pressing against her softness. I watch as her wide eyes take me in and I see that fear slowly transition into arousal. I laugh and dip my head and lick her jawline and kiss her neck.

She whimpers into my hand again. “Such a good girl for me, you’ve been teasing me at work, flaunting your pretty little body, looking at me with your fuck me eyes, did you think I wouldn’t do anything about it?” I growl into her ear.

I kiss her jaw softly, “I’m going to let your hands go but be a good girl for me and keep them above your head.” I slide my hand down her body and I pull the neckline of her top down so her pretty tits bounce free.

She’s such an obedient girl as she keeps her hands still for me. I keep my hand over her mouth and lean down to capture a straining nipple in my mouth while my free hand goes to pinch at the other. I hear her muffled moan behind my hand and I groan in response. “Fuck, you taste so good.

I let her nipple go and trail my hand down her body, pulling her shorts and panties down to reveal her dripping cunt. “Fuck, you’re so fucking wet, all for me, isn’t that right?”

I loosen my hand so she can speak and she whimpers and nods. That’s not good enough, I land a hard slap against her cunt and she lets out a short scream. “Answer me, are you wet for me, darling?”

“Yes! Yes! I’m so fucking wet for you, please!” Her voice is breathless and I reward her with a soft stroke of her hard clit that makes her whine.

I slide a finger inside of her warmth and she arches her back. “Oh fuck, please, that feels so good.” She sounds so fucking good like this.

I pull out my finger and smirk at her when I hear her whimper is desperation. I reach up and press my finger, wet with her pussy, against her mouth. “Open up,” I purr and watch as she obeys to take my finger into her mouth.

“Good girl,” I murmur, sliding a second finger into her mouth and pushing in deep, the sound of her choked gag making my cock stiffen even more. “That’s it, take it like a good girl.”

I use my other hand to rub at her clit while I make her choke on my fingers. “You like this, don’t you? You like gagging on my fingers like a fucking whore, huh? You like me rubbing your clit like this? Are you going to cum?” I growl, feeling her pussy clench and her little clit pulse at my words.

Her mouth is too preoccupied to speak but I can tell by the way she’s writhing that she’s close because it’s the same way her body shakes every time she cums while I watch on the camera. I keep up the attention on her clit and press my fingers to the back of her throat. I feel her shatter in my hands, her cry of pleasure muffled by my fingers and her pretty pussy falling apart for me as she cums.

I let her ride out her pleasure before I pull my fingers out of her mouth and capture her mouth in a bruising kiss. When I pull away, she’s whining and begging, “Please, please, fuck me, please, I want your cock.”

I laugh, “Such a cum drunk little slut, huh? I give you one orgasm and now you’re begging for my cock? Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Her blown out pupils meet mine and I know that in that moment, I’m hers forever. I would do anything and everything for her and right now, I’m going to fuck her until she breaks around my cock.

I lean down and kiss her harshly, lining my cock up with her weeping cunt. “Scream for me,” I groan as I slam my cock home inside of her. She does exactly what I tell her to do, she screams. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight, darling,” I set a punishing pace with my hips, every single thrust slamming her into the bed.

Her pussy grips me like a vice and I can feel every shudder and shiver of her body as she gives in to the pleasure. I brace one hand against the bed and the other goes to wrap around her throat, choking her just enough to make her lightheaded.

Her cries echo in the space around us, every single sob leaving her lips urging me on. Her face is flushed as her body gives in to the pleasure I’m forcing onto her. I watch as her eyes flutter closed and her pussy starts to milk me rhythmically and I know she’s close. She lets out a broken whine and I speed up my hips, every thrust rubbing against her pulsing walls.

“Come on, cum for me, pretty girl. That’s it, feel good for me, FUCK!” I feel her cum around me, the shuddering of her cunt pushing me over the edge as she screams my name. I groan as I bury my face into her neck, panting harshly as I try to regain control of my body. I pull myself off of her, the slide of my cock out of her tight cunt making both of us gasp, and I collapse next to her on the bed.

She rolls over and presses herself against me, looking up at me with her pretty eyes.

—

“You know you could’ve just asked me out, I would’ve said yes,” I tease, running a hand up and down his chest.

He laughs as he wraps an arm around me and pulls me close, “I know but this way is more fun, don’t you agree?” I smile and nod.

I snuggle into his arms, “I wanna watch the video of this.” I feel his entire body go rigid. “What?” He asks, his voice hesitant and tinged with disbelief.

I giggle, “You know, the footage from all the cameras you installed in here.”

I didn’t think he could be more still but he does. “What are you talking about?” His voice is low and panicked.

I look up at his face and giggle at his dumbfounded expression. “What, you think I didn’t know you came in here and put cameras everywhere?” I lean up and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be embarrassed, I think it’s fucking hot,” I say.

He blinks at me. “How- how did you know?”

I bury my nose into his chest and take a deep breath. “Your cologne. I knew as soon as I came back from my workout class that morning that you’d been in my apartment. And it’s not hard to notice all the cameras, you’re slick but not that slick.” I tease him gently.

He lets out a breath and gives me a low chuckle. “Fuck, you’re too smart for your own good,” he laughs. I giggle, “I also know you planted that bug on my computer that day. And you mirrored my phone.”

He shakes his head and laughs disbelievingly. “How did you figure those out? You can’t smell cologne through a phone, can you?”

I smile, “No but I can reverse engineer your code.” He blinks back at me. “I double-majored in computer science in college, I know my stuff,” I beam at him.

He presses his lips against my forehead. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

I shake my head.

“Fuck, you are absolutely fucking perfect for me. I love you, my little mastermind.”

I giggle, “I love you too, tech guy.”

#nsft concept #dark fantasy #rap3 fantasy #cnc stalking #stalker kink #stalker yandere #stalker bf #stalking fantasy #obsessive love

801 notes · View notes

sillyuin · 4 months ago

Text

Sweetest thing

Genre: very domestic fluff.

Pairing: non idol-Wonwoo x gn-reader.

Warnings: none.

Computer maintenance was as necessary as it was annoying. One of the things you hated the most was having a bunch of tools and electronic components scattered all over your desk, but you also knew that if you didn’t do it periodically, you’d regret it over time. And that day had finally come.

However, you were missing a few tools that didn’t seem to be anywhere, and you were starting to get frustrated about it. You let out an annoyed huff as your hands run through your hair, when a familiar face appeared in the room.

“How are you doing? Is everything okay?” Wonwoo asked, slowly opening the door and poking his head in.

“Fine, I guess,” you answered automatically, your thoughts elsewhere. “I can’t find the case with the small screwdrivers.”

“Want me to help you look for them?” Wonwoo kindly offered his help. You sighed and shook your head to decline.

“I’ll find them eventually, I don’t want to bother you with this.” Wonwoo smiled faintly and approaching your desk, he placed a cup near the edge, away from the electronics.

“It’s still hot,” he said. “Be careful not to burn yourself with the tea.”

You nodded absentmindedly as Wonwoo silently closed the door. You sat down at the desk, sinking into the cushioned chair, looking at the partially disassembled laptop while your mind wandered. If you kept going like this you’d waste more time, so you gathered all the pieces to reassemble it and start with another task.

The loading screen began to appear when you grabbed the cup Wonwoo had left for you, filled especially in your favorite mug and releasing a soothing aroma. Working while drinking your favorite tea made this tiresome job a lot easier. After a while, someone knocked gently on the door, and Wonwoo peeked in again to check on you.

“I had to start with the software first,” you explained, stretching your arms above your head. You’d been sitting for quite some time and felt a bit stiff. “I’ll have time to figure out how to disassemble it later—or at least, I hope so.”

“You can do it, I trust you,” he said, offering you some encouragement. “So, tell me, how much time do you need? It's almost dinner time. Would you like to order something?”

“Half an hour, up to one hour, maybe?” You rested lazily on the chair but your eyes were way too focused on the screen. “I’m craving… Whatever you want.”

“Alright, I’ll come when the order arrives. Please call me if you need anything.”

You nodded with even more laziness. You didn’t even hear the door close, even though it was right beside your desk, you were only focused on ending that torture as soon as possible and clean everything up. A few minutes later, you got up from your seat to stretch a little, this let you to take a better look at the desk and you noticed that there was a very, very familiar case.

It was the lost piece you’d been searching for, and it had appeared there almost as if by magic. Feeling reenergized, you got to work again. Some time later, you heard someone knocking on the door again.

“Dinner’s here,” Wonwoo said, opening the door slightly. “Are you free?”

You glanced up slightly over your glasses, your hands busy with the disassembled laptop, and stifled a laugh. “… Maybe not yet?”

“Sorry,” Wonwoo chuckled softly. “It’s fine, but don’t take too long, or it’ll get cold.”

After he left, you sighed, sinking into the backrest of the chair. You were working most of the afternoon, already too tired and your eyes felt heavy. The last thing you wanted was to see another screw for the rest of the week. You put the tools away, turned off the desk lamp, and walked slowly toward the kitchen where Wonwoo was silently doing the dishes.

“Oh, that was quick,” he joked when he saw you enter.

You approached him and lazily wrapped your arms around his torso, your cheek resting on his back. “I’m so hungry I can’t tell the difference between screwdrivers and fries,” you joked.

“You can head to the dining room if you want,” he said as he continued with the dishes. “I'll go with you in a moment.”

“Don’t get mad at me if I leave you without dinner,” you teased, giving a peck on his back before heading to the dining room.

Two pizza boxes rested on the table and as you served yourself, a warmth filled your chest, making you smile with giddy excitement: Wonwoo had ordered all the extras you liked the most. A few minutes later, he appeared, carrying some soda cans and napkins in his hands.

“Sorry, I forgot to bring these,” he said, and sat down right next to you, opening your can before serving himself.

You took a sip of the soda, savoring it as if it were the finest delicacy in the world, and Wonwoo tried to refrain his laughter. There wasn’t a better moment in the day than this one, where the two of you could sit down together to eat, sharing quality time and a good conversation—or a comfortable silence. It didn’t matter how. Wonwoo always found a way to make you feel special; no matter what it is, he’s always there. And that thought remained in your mind throughout the entire dinner time.

“Wonu,” you said suddenly, giving him a little nudge with your shoulder to get his attention. “Thanks for everything, you're the sweetest.”

He cupped your face with one hand as you turned to look at him. “It’s my pleasure. Now, don’t move,” he said, and taking a napkin, he gently wiped the corner of your mouth where a bit of sauce remained.

“First the tea, then the tools, my favorite food, and now this,” you raised an eyebrow. “What’s next?”

Wonwoo smiled shyly. “Do you need me to give you a back massage?”

His thumb tenderly caressed your face, and his deep gaze made your chest ache in the best way possible. You were so mesmerized by his beauty that you couldn’t speak; you could only nod several times as you felt the blush rise to your cheeks.

“Whatever my love wants,” he said, and before starting to clear the table, he left a quick kiss on your forehead. “Go take a shower first, and I’ll take care of this.”

You got up from the table, and as you stood in the doorway of the dining room, he called out your name. “Or maybe…” he shrugged and looked away before clearing his throat so you couldn’t see how flustered he was. “Do you want me to help you wash your hair?”

You approached and took him by the wrist, motioning with your head toward the bathroom. “Do you want me to help with yours too?”

436 notes · View notes

throttleheart · 9 days ago

Text

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

System Error

Pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, superiors being a pain in the ass

TW: panic attacks

Word Count: ~6.6k

Summary: A system error can change everything.

⸻

The paddock was winding down after a long, grueling race weekend. Mechanics were packing up, engineers hunched over tablets double-checking logs. You and Max had grabbed a quick lunch together — tucked into the corner of the hospitality suite, quiet and lowkey. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Just two exhausted people needing food and a moment of normalcy.

But that didn’t stop the whispers. The glances. The knowing smirks from a few teammates as you walked back into the garage together.

You tried to ignore it.

Back at your workstation, you focused in on the post-race diagnostics. Max had pushed the car hard today — telemetry showed it in the stress reports. You tapped through the data quickly, then made a tiny adjustment in the feedback delay loop on the throttle mapping software. The change was minimal, a smoothing patch that would make the car respond cleaner under fatigue next time.

Except… the system hiccupped when it compiled.

A 0.4-second glitch.

You barely saw it flash.

Then Max rolled out in the car again for a systems test lap, his visor down, the RB cranked up for one last high-speed run.

And you held your breath.

He came back into the garage ten minutes later, a scowl already on his face.

“Something’s wrong with the throttle mapping,” he muttered, tugging his gloves off. “Turn 6, the input lagged. Could’ve thrown the rear if I hadn’t caught it.”

You felt a cold sweat bloom on your back.

Before you could even speak, your superior stormed toward you — red-faced, report printouts flapping in his hand.

“Y/N,” he growled. “This was your code?”

You opened your mouth. “I— Yes, I patched the response curve, but I double-checked—”

“Double-checked?” he sneered, voice rising so everyone could hear. “Is that what you call this? A delay that could’ve sent our driver into the barrier?”

The whole garage fell silent. People turned. Mechanics slowed their movements.

Max glanced between you both, jaw tense but silent.

You took a shaky breath. “It was less than half a second—”

“In racing,” the superior barked, stepping closer, “half a second can mean death. Do you understand that?”

Your hands trembled.

He didn’t stop. “No wonder the car’s lagging. You’ve been too busy having lunch dates with our lead driver to do your damn job.”

The words hit you like a slap. Your chest tightened. People were staring. Whispers were picking up again — faster now.

You tried to respond, but it was like your voice got caught in your throat.

“Pack up your station,” he said coldly. “We’ll talk to HR in the morning. But as far as I’m concerned, you’re done.”

The world stopped spinning.

You felt like the air was being sucked out of the garage.

Max turned then, eyebrows furrowing. “What did you just say?”

But you weren’t listening anymore. Your vision was tunneling. Everything was loud— the voices, the clanging metal, the roaring blood in your ears.

You’re done.

You backed away from the workstation, heart pounding, lungs unable to catch up.

You made it out behind the garage, behind the rows of equipment crates, and dropped down to the ground. Your knees hit pavement hard, but you didn’t feel it. Your chest heaved as you tried to pull air in, but it wasn’t working.

Your mind was spiraling:

I almost got him hurt.

I messed up.

They’re right. I’m a distraction.

They’re going to fire me.

Your hands shook violently, fingers digging into your arms as you curled forward, heart slamming inside your ribs.

Then—

“Y/N!”

Max.

You heard him before you saw him — voice sharp, close, panicked.

He dropped beside you. “Hey—hey. Look at me. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t speak.

“Shit,” he whispered, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’re having a panic attack.”

He moved fast — sitting behind you, pulling you gently between his knees, arms wrapping around you from behind as you fought for breath.

“Just breathe with me,” he murmured into your ear. “In. Out. That’s it. You’re okay.”

His hands held your trembling ones, guiding your breath until the storm inside your chest began to slow.

It took minutes. Long, unbearable ones. But eventually, your pulse stopped hammering so hard, and you could breathe again without gasping.

“I didn’t mean to mess up,” you croaked, voice raw. “I was careful, Max, I swear—”

“I know,” he said instantly. “I saw the data. That patch didn’t put me in danger. It was a soft glitch, nothing more.”

“But he said—”

“He was wrong.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy. “He’s going to fire me.”

Max’s eyes darkened. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

And then he stood. You reached for him instinctively, but he squeezed your hand.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Then he turned on his heel and marched back into the garage.

This time, the garage didn’t just go silent — it held its breath.

“Oi!” Max shouted, zeroing in on your superior, his voice sharp and furious. “You said she put my life in danger. That’s a bold claim. So tell me — did you actually check the patch before you threatened her job?”

The superior blinked, caught off guard. “I—It’s a breach in safety protocol—”

“No,” Max growled. “It was a 0.4-second telemetry feedback loop skip. A glitch that you would’ve seen if you weren’t too busy playing detective about my fucking lunch schedule.”

“Verstappen, this isn’t your place—”

“It is when you humiliate someone in front of the whole team and make it about some rumor instead of the facts.”

Dead silence.

Max stepped closer, voice deadly calm now. “You don’t get to threaten her because you’re uncomfortable with her doing her job and being respected by the drivers. That patch? Didn’t put me in danger. But you just made this garage a hell of a lot more dangerous by making her the scapegoat.”

Then, a pause. A chilling one.

“I’ll be speaking to Christian about this.”

The superior paled.

Max turned and walked back out of the garage without another word.

When he found you again, he crouched beside you and offered his hand.

You took it, still shaky.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said gently, helping you to your feet. “I’m sorry I didn’t speak up sooner.”

You nodded, eyes stinging. “Thank you.”

“You’re not getting fired. Not today. Not ever — not on my fucking watch.”

And this time, you didn’t care who saw when he pulled you into his arms.

⸻

The sun had dipped behind the paddock skyline, casting long shadows across the now-quiet lot. Most of the team had cleared out. The garage was locked up. The whispers were probably still alive somewhere, still circling like buzzards — but for now, the world felt still.

Max’s motorhome was dimly lit when he opened the door and motioned you inside. He hadn’t let go of your hand since you stepped out of the car. It was warm, quiet. The kind of quiet that settles after a storm but still hums with what was left unsaid.

You dropped your bag by the door and sank onto the sofa, your body too heavy. Your limbs ached from the adrenaline crash, and your chest still felt bruised from the panic earlier.

Max sat beside you, leaning forward, forearms on his knees. He glanced at you, then away, then back again.

“You haven’t said much,” he murmured. “Still stuck in your head?”

You nodded slowly. “It just keeps replaying.”

Max shifted closer, one arm resting along the back of the sofa behind you. “What part?”

“The moment he said I was done,” you said quietly. “Like I was disposable. Like one mistake made everything I’ve ever done worthless.”

He looked over sharply, his voice low but firm. “It wasn’t a mistake worth punishment. I’ve had bigger scares from software updates. What you did was smart. Efficient. Just unlucky timing.”

You shook your head. “It doesn’t matter. Not to him. Not to the people watching. They already think I’m here because of you.”

That one came out bitter.

Max was silent for a long beat.

Then, “Are you?”

You turned your head, startled.

“I mean,” he said, trying to smile but failing, “you’ve got a ridiculous resume. You worked your ass off to get here. But I just… want to make sure that if people keep talking, you know it’s not true. You’re not here because of me.”

“I know that,” you whispered. “But sometimes it feels like no one else does.”

Max’s expression softened.

“Today proved that no one’s immune,” you continued, voice cracking. “It doesn’t matter how many hours I log or how many times I’m the last one out of the garage. One lunch with you and suddenly I’m reckless. Distracted. A liability.”

Max moved then. Not fast — gently. He shifted so he was facing you fully, his legs crossed in front of him, one of your hands caught lightly between his.

“You’re not a liability,” he said, each word sharp and certain. “You’re the reason I trust that car when I go flat-out into turn one. You’re the voice in the back of my head telling me I’ve got a machine under me I can count on. That doesn’t go away because you ate a sandwich with me.”

A soft, broken laugh escaped you.

He squeezed your hand.

“I lost it in the garage,” he admitted. “When I saw what he did to you. When I saw you leave like that. I thought—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching. “I thought I’d pushed you into something you didn’t want. I thought maybe I ruined something for you.”

You looked at him — really looked at him — and saw it. The regret. The protectiveness. The bare honesty in his expression.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” you said gently. “You saved me.”

His breath caught, just slightly.

Silence stretched between you — but it wasn’t awkward. It was heavy with something else. Something slow and warm and terrifying in a way that wasn’t panic. This was different.

Your voice barely rose above a whisper. “I didn’t even realize how scared I was until I couldn’t breathe.”

Max nodded. “You don’t have to explain. I’ve been there.”

“Yeah?”

He looked down at your joined hands. “After Monaco, 2018. Lost control, smashed into the wall. Everyone called me reckless. Stupid. Said I’d peaked already. I had this moment in the hotel bathroom that night where I couldn’t even look at myself. Couldn’t breathe. Thought I’d never shake it off.”

You reached out slowly, your fingers brushing his knuckles.

“And yet here you are,” you said.

He smiled faintly. “Yeah. Here I am. With you.”

Your cheeks flushed. That warm feeling rushed higher in your chest.

“I don’t know what this is,” you whispered. “But I know I’d fight to keep it. Whatever we’re building. Even if the whole damn team thinks I’m only here because of it.”

Max leaned in slowly, his forehead touching yours.

“They can think what they want,” he murmured. “I’ll fight with you.”

You closed your eyes.

For the first time all day, you felt like you could breathe again.

⸻

The room stayed quiet, just the sound of the AC humming faintly and the low creak of the couch when you shifted slightly. Your forehead was still resting against Max’s, and you didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

“You’re exhausted,” he said softly, his voice more warmth than sound. “I can see it in your eyes.”

You gave him a tired smile. “That obvious, huh?”

Max pulled back just enough to look at you, then tilted his head toward the hallway. “You don’t have to drive back tonight. Just stay here. You can take the bed—I’ll crash on the couch.”

You blinked, startled. “Max, I can’t—”

“It’s not a big deal,” he cut in gently. “You need a quiet place. You need rest. And I… I’d rather you not be alone tonight.”

You hesitated. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to stay—it was that your pride, your fear, your racing thoughts were still tangled too tightly inside your chest.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you whispered.

“You’re not.”

He said it immediately, like he’d been waiting for that exact moment to shut down the thought. Like he knew it was coming.

“You’re not a burden, Y/N. You’re not a mistake. You’re not some weak link in the chain.”

His voice dipped even lower.

“You’re just human. And you had a hell of a day.”

Your throat tightened again, but this time, it wasn’t panic. It was something else. Something gentler.

He stood slowly and offered you his hand again, palm up, open. “Come on. Just get some sleep. I’ll make sure no one bugs you.”

You let him lead you down the narrow hallway, your hand still in his.

His bedroom was simple—clean, quiet, dimly lit. He turned the light on low and grabbed a fresh shirt from his drawer, tossing it onto the bed for you without looking directly at you when he said, “If you want something comfier.”

You nodded silently, clutching the shirt after he left to give you privacy. You changed quickly, folding your clothes in a neat little pile at the foot of the bed, then sat down gingerly like the mattress might break under the weight of everything you were still carrying.

A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door.

Max peeked his head in. “You good?”

You nodded, but it was tentative. Your hands were fidgeting in your lap again, like the nerves had crept back in the moment you were alone.

He lingered in the doorway, eyes scanning your face. Then, softly: “Do you want me to stay?”

You blinked. “Here?”

“I meant—just until you fall asleep. I can sit in the chair, or stay on the floor. I won’t crowd you.” He shrugged a little, awkwardly. “Sometimes it helps, not being alone.”

There it was again. That gentleness. That quiet way he offered things without demanding anything in return.

You nodded.

He came in and sat on the edge of the bed, a careful distance away. Not too close, not too far. You laid down slowly, pulling the blanket up to your shoulders, and let yourself settle.

“Can I ask you something?” you whispered after a while.

“Of course.”

“Why did you come looking for me after the garage?”

Max looked over at you, his expression unreadable at first. Then he said, very simply, “Because you were the one thing that mattered more than what anyone else was saying.”

You swallowed hard, eyes misting again.

He leaned back against the headboard, one hand resting lightly on the blanket near your side.

“You’re safe now,” he said quietly. “You’re here. With me.”

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut.

The last thing you remembered before drifting off was the warmth of his presence beside you, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the low, soft murmur of his voice when he whispered, just barely audible:

“You’re not alone.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed it.

⸻

You woke slowly.

The soft warmth of unfamiliar sheets, the faint smell of detergent that wasn’t yours, and quiet—blessed, undisturbed quiet—wrapped around you like a second blanket. For a moment, you forgot. Then it all rushed back.

The panic. The yelling. The threats.

You shifted under the covers, turning your face into the pillow with a small groan. Your body still felt heavy, but your chest didn’t hurt this time. That was new. That was… better.

And then you heard it.

A bang. A curse.

Another bang.

You sat up, confused and a little alarmed, hair tousled, shirt riding up one shoulder.

“Max?”

No answer—just more clattering.

You pulled the door open and padded barefoot down the hallway, the oversized shirt falling past your thighs. The moment you turned the corner into the small kitchenette, you stopped in your tracks.

Max Verstappen, four-time world champion, was standing in front of a stovetop looking like he was actively losing a battle with a frying pan.

His hair was a mess, his tshirt was on backwards, and he was holding a spatula like it had personally insulted him.

You blinked.

“What are you doing?”

He turned sharply, looking sheepish. “Making you breakfast.”

You glanced at the pan. “Is that… supposed to be eggs?”

“It was,” he said defensively, scraping something blackened off the edge. “I think the stove runs hot.”

You gave a soft laugh, the sound cracking the morning tension in your chest like sunlight through blinds.

“Max…”

“I was gonna bring it to you in bed,” he added quickly. “Like a peace offering.”

“For what?”

He looked at you seriously. “For yesterday. For everything.”

You stepped closer. “You don’t need to apologize.”

He looked back down at the eggs—if you could still call them that.

“Maybe not,” he said. “But I wanted to do something nice. Just… something normal. For once.”

You leaned against the counter beside him and plucked the spatula from his hand. “Okay. Step aside, champ.”

Max smirked but obeyed, watching you with a hint of wonder in his eyes as you grabbed a clean pan and cracked a few eggs like it was second nature.

“You’ve done this before,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “Cooked a non-lethal breakfast? Yeah. Once or twice.”

“Impressive.”

“You should try it sometime.”

He gave you a look. “I did. You laughed at me.”

“That’s because you burned eggs.”

He shook his head, but his smile stayed, soft and easy. The kind of smile that didn’t feel forced. The kind that tugged at your chest.

A few minutes later, the two of you sat on the little bench by the window, plates in your laps, legs nudging together lazily.

For a few peaceful moments, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist. Like you weren’t one meeting away from HR and an official review. Like no one was whispering about the engineer and the driver who maybe got too close.

Max broke the silence first, his voice softer now.

“You’re not going to lose your job.”

You looked over, uncertain. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he said. “I made sure of it.”

Your brows furrowed. “What did you do?”

“I spoke to Christian. Sent in my full debrief, made it clear there was no issue with your system, and that you handled it well under pressure.”

You stared at him. “You defended me?”

“Of course I did.”

“But Max, they might think—”

“Let them,” he said firmly. “Let them talk. Let them wonder. I’m not going to let their crap undo everything you’ve worked for.”

You felt the sting of tears behind your eyes again—not panic this time, just emotion. The weight of being seen. Believed.

He reached over and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve got your back, Y/N.”

You nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I know.”

And you did.

Really, truly did.

⸻

The halls of Red Bull Racing’s HQ felt colder than usual.

You’d walked them a thousand times—joking with the guys from aero, trading coffees with the engine analysts, taking calls while speed-walking between wings—but today, every footstep felt like it echoed too loud. Every stare felt like it lingered too long.

And though Max had tried to reassure you that things were handled… you couldn’t shake the knot in your stomach.

You reached the door marked Human Resources – Internal Operations and hesitated, knuckles hovering.

The memory of yesterday’s shouting still rang in your ears.

“You’re done here!”

“This stunt could’ve gotten him killed!”

“Maybe you’re too busy with Verstappen to do your job anymore!”

You swallowed hard and knocked.

“Come in,” came the clipped voice of Adrian, the HR officer.

You stepped in, back straight. Eyes forward. Trying not to tremble.

Adrian sat across from you with a screen open, data pulled up beside a few printed reports. And just to his right—your superior from the garage. Still smug. Still silent.

“Sit, please,” Adrian said.

You obeyed.

What followed was twenty minutes of cold, clinical questions. “Walk me through the system reset.” “Why did the warning not flag in the telemetry?” “Was Mr. Verstappen present at your workstation?”

You answered every question. Calm. Precise. You’d run the diagnostics again yourself last night before bed, just to be sure.

And still—

“While there’s no clear evidence of deliberate misconduct,” Adrian said, “concerns remain about… judgment. Focus.”

You stiffened. “I’ve never let my personal life interfere with my work.”

“Yet your team lead says this isn’t the first time you’ve been distracted.”

“That’s not true—”

The door opened.

Everyone turned.

Max stepped in.

Not knocking. Not hesitating.

He was in full race gear, holding his helmet under one arm, dark brows drawn low. Like he’d just come from the simulator and heard everything.

“Apologies for interrupting,” he said, voice firm. “But if this conversation is about yesterday’s system flag, I should be here.”

Adrian blinked. “Mr. Verstappen, this is a personnel review—”

“And I’m the personnel they’re saying she put in danger,” Max cut in. “So yeah. I’m staying.”

He crossed the room and stood behind your chair, his presence a wall of quiet support.

You felt your throat tighten.

Max continued, jaw tight. “There was no danger. The system glitched, she flagged it manually, and I was updated over radio before I hit lap two. I never lost control. I never felt unsafe.”

“Regardless, the optics—” your superior began.

“Screw the optics,” Max snapped. “You think she was distracted? That she doesn’t care about this team? About the car I put my life in every time I sit down in it? That’s a pathetic excuse for blaming your own lack of leadership.”

Your superior bristled. “She made a mistake—”

“You made a mistake,” Max cut in, eyes blazing now. “You let whispers get in your head. You threatened one of the best engineers on this team because you were scared of what people might think.”

The room went silent.

Max took a step forward, voice dropping low and tight. “You don’t get to fire her because we had lunch. You don’t get to throw her under the bus because she’s good at her job and people like her. And you definitely don’t get to treat her like she’s some liability when she’s the reason my car crossed the line every weekend without falling apart.”

You sat frozen. Breath stuck in your throat. Emotion burning behind your eyes.

Adrian cleared his throat awkwardly. “I believe we can… pause this discussion for now.”

Your superior stood and stormed out, jaw clenched.

Max didn’t look at him. Not once.

When the door finally clicked shut, you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Adrian gathered his things. “We’ll conclude our review this week. But off the record—” He looked at you, then at Max. “I’d prepare a public narrative. If this becomes media chatter, you’ll want a united front.”

You nodded numbly. “Understood.”

When the door closed again and you were finally alone, the tension broke.

You stood, your knees shaking, and turned to Max.

“I didn’t know you were coming.”

He shrugged like it was obvious. “Didn’t trust them to listen to you the way they should.”

“I… you didn’t have to fight for me like that.”

Max stepped closer. “Yes, I did.”

Your lip trembled. “I thought I’d lost everything.”

“You haven’t lost me.”

His words landed between you like a lightning strike.

Your breath caught.

Max’s hand reached for yours—slowly, like he was afraid you’d pull away. But you didn’t. You let him hold it.

You let him ground you.

He squeezed your fingers gently. “You’re safe now.”

And for the first time, you believed it fully.

⸻

You didn’t go back to the garage after the HR meeting.

After Adrian dismissed you, the air around HQ felt too dense, too sharp. You needed time — time to breathe, time to think, time to let the adrenaline drain from your chest without someone else demanding a straight face and steady hands.

So you went home. Showered. Changed into something soft. And waited.

You didn’t even have to text him. Max showed up at your door an hour after sunset, hoodie on, hair damp like he’d just been through a cooldown lap that wouldn’t end.

He didn’t say anything when you let him in. Just gave you a look — quiet, asking — and you nodded.

So he stayed.

Now you sat on the floor of your living room, both of you leaning against the couch like old war buddies after the battle. The lights were dim, casting soft shadows, and there was a mug of tea in each of your hands.

You weren’t even sure who made them.

Max broke the silence first.

“They’re not going to fire you.” His voice was low, certain.

You glanced sideways. “That’s not your job, Max.”

“It is when you’re being punished for being close to me.”

You looked down at your mug, thumb tracing the rim. “I’m not being punished for being close to you. I’m being punished for letting people see it.”

He didn’t respond to that. Just breathed out slowly, leaning his head back against the couch.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy — it was something else. Something more raw. Fragile.

“I hated seeing you like that,” Max said after a long moment. “Sitting in that office. Taking all of it. Like it wasn’t breaking you.”

You blinked. “It was breaking me.”

“I know.” His jaw flexed. “I wanted to tear the whole building apart.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “You kind of did.”

He gave a quiet huff — almost a laugh. Then:

“I didn’t plan any of this, you know.”

You tilted your head. “Plan what?”

“You.” His voice dropped. “Me, feeling like this. Like if I don’t see you after a race, something’s missing. Like if someone tries to take you away from this team, they’re taking my team away too.”

Your breath hitched.

He turned to look at you fully now, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I’ve spent my whole life needing to win,” he said. “But lately, that doesn’t feel like enough anymore. Not if you’re not there.”

You blinked back something sharp behind your lashes. “Max—”

“I know it’s complicated. I know it’s not fair, what they’re doing. What they’re saying.”

“They think we’re a distraction.”

“They’re wrong.” He leaned in a little closer, like he needed you to believe it. “You make me better. Sharper. Calmer. You ground me when I lose control. That’s not a weakness. That’s the only reason I haven’t lost my mind this season.”

You felt tears sting again — but this time, they didn’t come from fear. They came from relief.

Real. Tangible. Crashing relief.

You reached out and placed your hand on his chest, right over where his heart was hammering.

His eyes dropped to your hand. Then back to your face.

“I’m scared,” you whispered. “If this goes public… if they twist it… I could lose everything I’ve worked for.”

He nodded. “Then we take it slow. We stay quiet. We figure it out on our terms.”

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his hoodie. “But you want it?”

His answer was immediate.

“I want you.”

And when he leaned in — slower than ever before, eyes watching yours like he was asking permission — you didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

You just met him there.

The kiss was soft. Barely-there. A breath.

But it changed everything.

When you pulled back, your forehead pressed against his, he whispered, “I’ve got you.”

You whispered back, “I’ve got you too.”

⸻

It started with a ping.

You were in the garage early the next morning — headset on, checking tire temp data on the tablet before the briefing — when your phone buzzed.

One new message.

From a number you didn’t know.

“Didn’t take you for the type to climb the ladder like that.”

Attached: a photo. Grainy. Distant. But clear enough.

You froze.

It was you and Max. From last night. Sitting on your living room floor, mugs in hand, your head resting against his shoulder. A quiet, private moment through a window that had been half-covered by the curtain.

No kiss. No scandalous pose. Just… intimacy.

And somehow, that was worse.

Because it was real.

The second ping came thirty seconds later.

Then a third.

And by the time you opened Instagram, it was everywhere.

“Red Bull Engineer and Verstappen? Fans think something’s brewing behind the scenes.”

“Late-night rendezvous: insider sources say she’s been seen leaving his hotel multiple times this month.”

“Favoritism or just fast love? Max Verstappen’s inner circle raises eyebrows.”

You gripped the tablet tighter, knuckles white.

The whispers started almost instantly.

Two mechanics near the back of the garage leaned into each other, glancing your way.

Someone from comms darted past, phone to their ear, muttering fast and low: “Yes, we’ve seen it. Yes, we’re drafting a response—”

Your team lead approached but didn’t say anything. Just gave you a look. Cold. Cautious.

Like he was waiting to see if you’d melt down or explode.

Your headset crackled. Max’s voice came through. “Y/N, you seeing this?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

He tried again, quieter this time. “They’re handling it. My PR is locking it down.”

You stepped away from the pit wall, out of range of the others.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” you whispered into the mic.

“I know.”

“They weren’t supposed to see us. Not like that.”

“I know.”

There was a long pause. Then Max said, softly, “Come upstairs.”

You looked up at the second-floor glass overlooking the garage. He was already there, behind the tinted window. Waiting.

You climbed the steps two at a time.

When you reached the top, the door opened before you even knocked. Max pulled you in and shut it behind you like he was locking out the whole world.

You turned to him, eyes already burning.

“I can’t—Max, I can’t do this if it’s going to cost me everything.”

“It won’t.”

“It already is. You saw their faces. They’re all thinking I slept my way into strategy decisions. That I compromised data to keep you safe—”

“You didn’t.”

“They don’t care.” Your voice cracked. “They just want a headline. A villain. A scapegoat.”

Max stepped closer. “Then let me be it.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Let them blame me. Let them think I pushed you into it. That I used my status or—whatever. Let them hate me if they need to.”

“Why would you do that?”

He looked at you like it was the easiest answer in the world.

“Because I can take it.”

Then, softer: “And I won’t let them break you.”

You reached for the edge of the table to steady yourself.

He moved slowly, brushing his fingers against your wrist.

“I’ll call a press conference,” he said. “We get ahead of it. We say it’s personal, private, that it doesn’t affect performance, and that if anyone has an issue—they take it up with me.”

You shook your head. “They’ll crucify you.”

Max’s smile was faint. “They already try to. Let me protect you now.”

You stared at him for a long, long moment.

And nodded.

Because maybe it was already too late. Maybe the damage was done.

But if you were going down…

You weren’t going down alone.

⸻

The press room was already full when you slipped into the back.

You stayed close to the wall, cap pulled low, hoodie zipped up over your team polo—trying to disappear. Max’s manager had told you not to come. Said it would only feed the rumors.

But you couldn’t stay away.

Not when Max was about to step in front of every camera with your name on his lips.

The room hummed with tension. Journalists whispered to each other, some already typing furiously. The Red Bull PR lead stood off to the side, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Then the door opened.

And Max walked in.

He wasn’t in race gear this time. Just jeans and a navy team jacket. Clean-cut. Calm. But there was something in the set of his shoulders—tight. Ready.

He sat. Adjusted the mic.

“Let’s begin,” the PR lead said. “We’ll take questions in a moment, but first, Max has a statement.”

Every camera clicked on.

Every eye locked in.

Max didn’t flinch.

“There’s been a lot of noise in the last twenty-four hours,” he began, voice steady. “Photos, speculation, and a lot of assumptions.”

He paused.

“I’m going to make this very simple. Yes—I’m seeing someone. Yes, she works on my team. And no, that doesn’t compromise her work or mine.”

The room exploded. Flashes went off. Hands shot up.

Max held one palm out. “Let me finish.”

You gripped the back wall so hard your fingers hurt.

“She’s one of the best engineers I’ve worked with. She’s brilliant, disciplined, and earned her place here long before I ever asked her to dinner.”

Another pause.

“If anyone wants to suggest her position, or mine, is the result of favoritism—you’re insulting every hour we’ve both put into this sport. I won’t stand for that. Not for her.”

He looked straight at the cameras now. No flinching.

“This is private. It’s not gossip. It’s not strategy. And it’s not going to stop us from doing our jobs.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

The PR lead nodded, signaling the first question. It was a reporter from Motorsport Weekly.

“Max—don’t you think it sets a precedent? Dating within your own engineering division?”

Max didn’t blink. “I think it sets a precedent that we’re human.”

Another question came—something about “transparency,” about “possible bias in trackside decisions.”

Max shut it down in one line.

“If you’re suggesting she’d risk my safety or her own reputation for a relationship, then you’ve clearly never watched her work.”

The questions kept coming.

But Max didn’t falter.

He took the heat. The scrutiny. The storm.

And all you could do was watch, heart in your throat, realizing something that scared you more than any rumor ever could:

He wasn’t just protecting you.

He was choosing you.

Publicly. Unflinchingly.

And somewhere between his first sentence and his final nod to the room, something inside you cracked open.

Because you knew, no matter what came next—

You weren’t in this alone.

⸻

The hallway behind the press room was all stark lighting and hushed footsteps.

You stood tucked against the wall, barely breathing, heart rattling in your ribs as the door finally clicked open.

Max stepped out.

His eyes scanned the corridor once—and landed on you instantly.

He didn’t say a word at first.

Just walked straight to you.

Your breath caught the second he reached you, stopping less than a foot away. Close enough to see the flush still high on his cheeks. Close enough to feel the weight of everything he’d just risked… for you.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

Your voice barely worked. “You… really did that.”

“Of course I did.”

“They’re going to talk about it for weeks.”

“I know.”

“They’re going to talk about me.”

Max nodded. “Let them.”

You swallowed, eyes burning. “You didn’t have to say all that. Not for me.”

“I didn’t say it for you,” he said, voice lower now. “I said it because it’s true.”

He reached for your hand again—like he had in that HR office, steady and sure. Like it was second nature now. And maybe it was.

You let him take it.

“You shouldn’t have to hide,” he said. “Not for their comfort.”

Your breath shook. “Neither should you.”

He cracked a smile—tired, soft. “I think I made peace with that the moment I walked in there.”

You both stood in silence for a beat.

Just the two of you, in the echo of everything that had just changed.

And then—finally—you said it.

“I’m scared, Max.”

He didn’t flinch. “So am I.”

You met his eyes. “This… it’s not just a fling.”

“No,” he said, stepping in even closer. “It’s not.”

You looked up at him then—really looked. At the way he watched you like the rest of the world didn’t matter. At the warmth behind his frustration, the steadiness behind all the fire. You’d been trying not to name it. Trying to pretend this was still something you could take off like a uniform after hours.

But it wasn’t.

This thing between you?

It was already stitched into your skin.

You whispered, “I’m in this. I don’t know where it goes, but… I’m in it.”

Max exhaled like he’d been holding that hope hostage in his chest.

“Then I’m in it too,” he said. “All the way.”

He leaned in—slow, careful, just a breath away from kissing you.

But he didn’t.

Not yet.

His forehead pressed to yours instead.

And you stood there, breathing in sync, hands clasped like lifelines, hearts still racing from everything outside that door.

But in here?

It was quiet.

Safe.

Yours.

⸻

By the time you made it back to the hospitality area, the buzz had already spread.

You’d barely stepped past the doorway when someone whistled low behind you.

“Damn, Verstappen,” came Lando’s voice, half impressed, half amused. “Didn’t think you had the balls to say it on mic.”

Max didn’t flinch. “Someone had to.”

Lando’s gaze flicked to you—calculating for a second, then softening. “You alright?”

You nodded, though your voice was caught in your throat. “Getting there.”

He offered a crooked smile. “Well, don’t let the vultures get in your head. Most of them are just mad they didn’t call it first.”

Before you could even respond, Charles appeared with two coffees and a knowing look.

“I thought you might need this,” he said, handing one to Max. Then to you, “And you might want to check your socials. Public opinion is…” He paused. “Very divided.”

You groaned softly. “Great.”

“But mostly in your favor,” Charles added quickly. “Some people are idiots. But the rest? They think you’re brave.”

You didn’t realize how badly you needed to hear that until you did.

Oscar walked past then—tossing you a thumbs up as he did, like this was just another race day problem you’d solved with grace.

It shouldn’t have meant that much.

But it did.

Because the silence you’d expected never came. The cold shoulders, the whispers—they didn’t hit like you feared. Instead, there was something else in the air.

A quiet respect.

A new kind of attention.

One that didn’t just see you as her, the one from Red Bull. But her, the one he looked at like that on camera. The one who held her ground. The one who stayed.

Someone nudged your elbow gently.

You turned to see Lewis, calm and collected as ever.

“If it helps,” he said in low tones, “some of us knew a long time ago.”

You blinked. “Knew what?”

He gave a subtle smile. “That he was serious about you.”

Max was just returning from across the lounge when Lewis added, “He doesn’t risk the car. He only risks what matters more.”

Then he walked away, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

You looked at Max.

Max looked at you.

And for the first time all day, you smiled.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

265 notes · View notes

01zfan · 1 month ago

Text

venusian

producer!anton x alien!reader | 10k words

another installment of my rock the house seriez! this was fun to write even though it took me forever.

contains: face sitting, alot of implied sex, intergalactic booty call, anton catching feelings

rock the house masterlist

Anton gripped the metal of his fire escape, looking down at street below him.

He was a struggling artist, not the type that leaped over banisters down to oncoming traffic but the one that watched. He watched people like they were characters in movies, crafting stories for each single one. The student rushing to beat the light had an assignment waiting for them when they got home. The mother that had to pull her kids behind her on a plastic scooter worked all day, the man was looking at his phone was texting his mistress.

Honestly, it was too cold for Anton to be outside. He was also too busy to be doing this. He had a list of things to do before his band released their newest project. But like a thousand times before, the closer Venusian got to the release date of music Anton started getting sentimental and spending his time doing things he shouldn’t be doing. Procrastination is what Wonbin called it, Sohee referred to it as cold feet. In the deep corner of Internet somewhere they would say this was a product of Anton being a hack, and each project Venusian released, the world was closer to finding it out.

Now, Anton couldn’t dispute this. He was talented, no one could take that away from him. From a young age he was able to play instruments at an advanced level and read classical music like it was a second language. Reading notes on a musical staff came to him faster than reading actual words in a book. He confused his teachers with his disdain for math when he was so easily able to divide a beat down to the hemidemisemiquaver. He was born with perfect pitch and a metronome built into his feet, and was able to memorize anything music related at the drop of a hat.

Anton knew it would be to everyone’s dismay if they found out how often he lost faith in himself. Why would someone who was held in such high regard lose his poise so often? Why would someone so talented refuse to claim the section leader position when it so clearly belonged to him? Anton—and apparently the trolls on the Internet—knew the answers to these questions long before everyone else. He looked over the railing looking for inspiration because like he knew he was a musical prodigy, he also knows he doesn’t have a creative bone in his body.

He knew no one would understand. Creativity wasn’t sight reading music perfectly or being able to tune the other people in your section when they were off key. Creativity to Anton was being able to pull something from the depth of your mind. He would’ve settled for ideas coming to him slowly, but they didn’t come to him at all. Anton needed months to compose sheet music, and atleast a week notice if he had to improvise for the class. Everything he did was too refined, devoid of emotion. He blamed it on the classical cello lessons his mother put him in the moment he expressed an interest in music. He believed his young impressionable brain never had the ability to entertain the idea of music before the technical aspect of was shoved down his throat. He never got the luxury of being that kid that banged on pots and pans with abandon because he liked the way it sounded—he was the kid that had a private lessons teacher looming over him with a ruler in case he got anything wrong.

Anton lacked the complex understanding of the ebbs and flows of the music and where modern musicians fit into the crests. He was able to hide his failings as a musician until he made it to university, where each of his teachers seemed to pick up on it like a sixth sense.

He believed he was cursed when his senior project called for him to write and produce a whole mini album. The technical aspect of it all didn’t frighten him, he knew the ins and outs of producing software. What scared Anton shitless was that he had nothing to produce. He could hear a note and know exactly where it landed but he could never find out why it was that note. What drove someone to sing in minor key instead of major key, what idea popped into someones mind to make something?

Anton needed creativity if he wanted to graduate. At the very least enough to get him through five songs that were three to five minutes in length. He stayed after hours sitting in a practice room in silence looking for creativity, then he spent time drafting an extremely long and pitiful email to his faculty advisor.

Right before Anton could press send and reveal his biggest secret, he met his first bandmate.

(Technically, Anton heard Sohee before he met him. As he edited the final line of his email he heard the distinct voice of someone in the practice room beside his. The soundproof walls couldn’t block the voice next door. Anton perked up, straightening his slouched back as he listened, really listened to the voice next to him. Even when the voice would chip away after losing air or crack when his throat would become strained Anton knew the voice was special. The organic sound was refreshing, it drew Anton in so much that his pitiful email was long forgotten.

He left the practice room and peaked through the window. He looked at the back of Sohee’s head as he continued to sing, his hand gripping tightly on the music stand in front of him. When Sohee tipped his head back and another beautiful falsetto note bled through the door, Anton walked right in. He was able to connect a face to the voice, someone he had seen before. The nursing major in the music theory class Anton was a teacher’s aide for. Anton remembers Sohee’s reason for joining the class was to fulfill a requirement.)

From there the rest was history. Anton spoke with his foot in his mouth, the sudden idea of having someone sing on his final project coming out in a huff. Sohee looked from side to side before letting a confused huh? ring through the practice room. Anton only repeated himself in the same rushed manner, followed by him mentioning his final project.

Sohee kept the same confused tone and his hand still gripped his music stand from the exertion of hitting high notes as Anton explained his final project. Sohee didn’t really listen until Anton started flexing his knowledge in music, talking about being flatand breath control, things Sohee knew he had trouble with.

Then, he started listening. He even worked his schedule around ever so slightly to fit their practice and recording sessions into the day. A week later, when the only thing Anton had to show for was song covers, Wonbin came around. He was in the same situation as Anton, up Shit Creek with no paddle and a final project that needed to be finished if he wanted to graduate.

Everything was luck. Anton was lucky that he was able to turn in a completed mini album for his final project. He was lucky that his teacher practically forced him to upload the album to a streaming platform due to how refined it was for a senior project. Anton was extremely lucky that the blossoming indie community attached themselves to his work. He was lucky that he found his album earn a shining review from Pitchfork, and countless streams on his songs every night.

Something that was a stroke of luck fueled by energy drinks and the overwhelming feeling of getting a failing grade on a final project made Anton, Sohee, and Wonbin famous. By the time school ended they were on the list of albums to listen to and in the middle of the sweltering heat of the summer the news broke. Senior Project by Unnamed was ranked as the Top 50 Indie Albums of the Decade.

After that everyone found out about them pretty quickly. Wonbin couldn’t go on MySpace without it crashing. Sohee’s parents called him crying that their son was singing on the radio. Anton’s heart rate hadn’t been a normal BPM since early April.

The pressure to release something and have it be as good as the accident weighed heavy on him. The sole producer of his trio—and the de facto leader—couldn’t make a beat to save his life. The mere thought of sitting down and crafting something left him even more stumped than he was before.

But before Anton could confess to Sohee and Wonbin that he couldn’t deliver the same way he did on Senior Project, he found out they were all in. Sohee dropped out of medical school and Wonbin quit his day job. Wonbin spent his earnings on a new guitar and Sohee spent his on vocal lessons. Anton was considering spending his money on a one-way plane ticket to Hawaii and never looking back. They couldn’t make you produce an album if they didn’t know where you were. He could’ve been sipping Mai Tai’s looking at the Oahu sunset but instead he sat out on the curb of Sohee’s apartment complex with his head in his hands as Wonbin and Sohee tried to understand what was wrong.

Anton for the first time in his life voiced that although he was a prodigy, he had nothing to show for it. The confession came out like vomit, splattering on the concrete and warming underneath the sun. Wonbin looked up to the clouds while Sohee twisted his head away in defeat. Anton felt actual bile raise in his throat as grasshoppers rubbed their legs together in the silence.

Wonbin put a hand to his face to block the sun. Anton heard the muffled shock of Sohee saying he dropped out of med school for this. Then, as if lack of creativity could be cured in a weekend, Wonbin gave his recommendation.

“Let’s buy a van and go sleep in the forest. Completely disconnect with the world and reconnect with nature.”

Wonbin said it so happily, backed with the reasoning that some rock band neither Sohee or Anton had heard of has done it before. Apparently the band went on a societal cleanse and came back to create one of the best albums ever made.

(Years later, Anton listened to the album and hated Every. Single. Song.)

In any other instance Anton would’ve called Wonbin crazy, but the lack of an album and the increasing pressure from everyone wanting a new body of work pushed Anton into reluctantly saying yes. So within the week Anton blew some of his earnings on a van, the three packed their bags and went to camp in the dense forest an hour away from their hometown. Wonbin’s words played again and again in Anton’s mind as he stayed in the passenger seat. He looked for creativity in the tall trees. Anton looked for it all and stayed in the front seat in an effort to see it first.

When the sun no longer gave him light he switched to the flashlight in the glove compartment, keeping it close to his page full of marked out lyrics and mindless ramblings. He couldn’t think of anything else without lingering on each failed attempt. One of the last things that wasn’t crossed out was the tiny print at the bottom of the page. You’re not going to make it stared at him, it caused his flashlight to go out and it made a headache form right in the center of Anton’s head.

He came to the shocking discovery then and there that he was a one hit wonder, that he was lucky to have famous song on that found its way from an obscure streaming site to the biggest social media platform. His unnamed bands overnight success would dwindle within the week, and they would go back to living their regular pedestrian lives.

Anton finally gave up when he made it to the bottom of his page. He let the flashlight take a break in the cupholder between the two front seats and closed his notebook. He opened the glove compartment and slammed it shut a little too hard, not caring a bit when Wonbin groaned from the back of the van. Anton looked back to see Wonbin and Sohee dangerously close to cuddling as they both shared a single blanket on top of the small inflatable mattress.

Anton turned away and rolled the window down by the plastic crank and stuck his head out as if inspiration would be carried into the van by the gentle wind. He balanced his head on his arm that hung out the window and sighed. He thought about the lyrics Wonbin wrote, how his bandmate had no instrumental to put it over. The sinking feeling Anton got at the thought of Sohee and Wonbin waking up tomorrow even more worried about the future of the band suffocated him.

He opened the van door and shut it so hard the van rocked.

Anton tried to find inspiration in the sound of twigs snapping underneath his foot, the absence of sound as the trees blew in the wind. He walked to the side of the van and leaned against it, hoping that something would whisper to him in the dead quiet of the night.

When nothing came and only the moon shined down on him, Anton let out another sigh. He leaned his head back until he felt the large window of the van press his hair flat. He looked directly up to the moon, the only thing that seemed to be awake like him. The stars in the sky were shining bright, or maybe they were normal—Anton couldn’t remember the last time he looked to the night sky. He closed his eyes and fisted his hands so tight he could feel his nails dig into his palm. He pressed his head against the glass even harder, trying to remember the last time in his life he was so desperate for results. He drew in a breath, parted his lips, and screwed his eyes shut.

“Please give me something.” Anton whispered into the night.

When he opened his eyes he started laughing at himself for how ridiculous he sounded. Wishing on planets and stars for inspiration like he was a child. Talking to God like he wasn’t a man of science. He considered waking up Wonbin and Sohee to tell them that this wouldn’t work out. Dissolving the band before it even has a man, carrying on with their lives like they didn’t have the most downloaded EP on iTunes.

Anton looked down at his hands, spreading out his fingers so far he felt the stretch. These hands could play Flight of the Bumblebee with ease and could write a paper on music theory overnight, how could they not produce a song? Anton looked at the callouses on his fingers in the moonlight, twisting and turning the rings on his fingers to feel something. Everything about him was hard to the touch, but he felt so incredibly soft. Like he was about to cry, despite not being blessed with the talent of music.

Anton wiggled his fingers again and felt the urge to curse at them. His eyes drifted to the shadow that was cast underneath him onto the ground.

He was still staring at his fingers when the white light of the moon shifted to a muted green. The change was so sudden Anton blinked first, making sure that his eyes weren’t failing him. When he realized the color being casted on him became hidden by the clouds, he looked up to the sky again. He saw something in the sky, a white cloud trailing behind it. Anton followed its path in the sky, walking around the edge of the van as it came closer and closer to making an impact on the Earth.

Anton’s first reaction was to drop his jaw. Then to pound on the side of the van, as if waking up the only two people on the planet more clueless than him would help. He mindlessly followed, stepping on leaves and twigs and tripping over things as he saw the thing come even closer. Right in front of Anton it crashed into the trees, then straight into the ground. Everything moved around him, he went backwards to hide behind the protection of the van. Underbrush was uprooted from the speed of the wind caused by the impact.

Anton looked bak up to the sky. White moonlight replaced the green. He looked around. The sound of something falling was replaced with the normal sounds of the night. He looked down. The Earth didn’t split down the middle.

“What just happened?” Anton said to himself quietly.

He peaked past the van, looking right where the crater would be. Past the lining of trees, less than a two minute walk away. Anton should get back in his car and drive away. But the fact that something unbelievable needs to happen to him made him stay in the same spot.

Anton debated for a long time on if he should take a step closer. More leaves and twigs snapped underneath his foot as he crossed by the van entirely. His blood went cold and everything in him told him to turn around. He should put the key in the ignition of his car and drive away. But he took another step. Then another. Anton creeped past the tree line walking like a prey animal. He looked back to the stationary white van behind him. There was still a chance to go back, but the something unbelievable was calling to him. Anton took the last step to make it to the edge of the crater before looking in.

His hair stood on end when he looked down into the impact on the earth. The circumference of the crater was the length of two vans put together, but it was deep. So deep that the bottom was almost hidden by the night. Anton had to bend down close to look deeper.

When Anton saw something move in the crater, he was gone. He no longer was looking for something unbelievable to happen to him, inspiration be damned. He cleared out of the forest to make it to the van, opening up the back with an incredible amount of speed. The momentum caused the car to shake, and Anton’s hands were on the shoulders of his bandmates in seconds.

“A girl fell from the sky.” Anton said it quickly, shaking Wonbin’s shoulder harshly.

Wonbin tilted his head to the side as Anton continued to relay what he saw. He blinked his eyes once, twice, then a third time as he tried to comprehend what was being said to him.

“Is that the name of the album?” Wonbin said, groggy voiced as he rubbed one of his eyes.

Anton shook his head angrily before trying to catch his breath.

“Green Comet…” Anton huffed, suddenly realizing his vision was starting to spot. The adrenaline and the confirmed sighting of an extra-terrestrial being made him feel dizzy. “Fell from the sky. She’s in a crater.” He huffed.

When Wonbin moved from the pallet of clothes and blankets, Sohee did the same. His eyes fluttered open but stayed partially closed. His hair was bumped on one side as he also tried making sense of what Anton was saying.

“Are those song titles?” Sohee asked.

His voice was high-pitched and whiny, Anton knew he was angry from the lack of sleep and being woken up in the middle of the night. There were more important things happening. They needed to call the cops, they needed to call the press.

Anton continued shaking his friends awake, but the lack of mentioning a song title, album name, or anything music related made them go back to sleep. Anton watched in dismay as the two laid their heads back down, ignoring and turning away from his hands that were trying to will them awake. The only thing they did was move their shoulders out of his reach, one of them grumbling wake us up when you have a song finished.

Just as Anton was about to climb into the back of the van to shake his bandmates awake, he heard leaves and twigs snap. His full body froze, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and his throat was suddenly dry. The spring night suddenly felt cold as he felt a presence behind him.

When Anton first heard a voice, he didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t want to acknowledge whoever was speaking to him. He wanted to heave his body into the back of the van and shut the doors behind him. He wanted to speed off back to civilization, at the very least he wanted to scream and wake his bandmates up. But Anton couldn’t do anything, he didn’t move an inch when he felt the presence take another step.

“Where am I?” You repeated

Anton quickly told you that you were in the quiet midwest of America. He said you were on planet Earth, and some other things he forgot now. He was rambling at the mouth, he’s sure he started telling secrets of his own at some point. He’s in a band. He’s a hack. He has no creativity. He’s scared that you’re getting closer. He thinks you’re going to abduct him and probe him and he’s going to be your human prisoner for the rest of his life.

At some point between your first step and your last step, Anton closed his eyes. He prepared for death, his life flashed before his eyes, everything. But then you grabbed his hands. He felt warm all over, his rambling stopped and his fear was replaced with something else. The turbulence in his mind cleared and everything stopped making sound around him. The wind stopped blowing, Wonbin stopped snoring, everything felt peaceful.

Then, when Anton opened his eyes you were gone. All traces of you vanished into the night. Reality came back slowly. Anton clasped his hands hard, then looked down at them again. He was no different. He wasn’t being beamed up into the sky, he wasn’t hurt. He was suddenly alone again outside, the trees and the sounds came back to him like they never left. He could also clearly hear the beginning chord to a song and a name for his band.

Anton heard everything, the longer he stared at his hands the more inspiration struck. He heard it all, he could see it all so clearly. The album name, song titles, album covers, music videos. Anton was up for the rest of the night, filling out pages and pages in his notebook until his hand could no longer hold the pen straight.

Sometimes Anton could still feel the pain in his hand from writing all night. He flexed his hand that gripped the railing, closing his palm in on itself before leaning closer to the banister. He looked behind him to his apartment. The studio door was wide open, and had to audibly sigh to try and relieve some of that burden.

The word had dropped nearly three months ago that a new album was coming. A rumor that wasn’t really a rumor, and once people caught wind of it there was no use in denying it. Their recording company was already reaching out about any possible singles. Wonbin started already reinventing himself. Sohee was sending Anton lyrics everyday in hopes of getting the music faster.

The only way he was able to get a break from everything was to say he needed time to collect and recenter himself. What this meant for his colleagues was to go on a weeklong coke fueled bender. What that meant for Anton was to look at foot traffic in the street below him hoping to see his alien girlfriend-who-is-not-his-girlfriend.

He learned that you would always come when he least expected you to. Washing up on the beach during his vacation to Vietnam. Offering him a wine glass at an industry party. Appearing as room service during his stay at a hotel abroad. He wasn’t sure what summoned you. He was always so used to the feeling of not being inspired that he never knew when he was about to reach a breaking point.

But you always did.

The first time you appeared and he found you in the forest, when he thought he was going to die but he lived and Venusian and the chords for the first EP was in his head.

The second time you appeared was outside of a diner. Anton spent the whole day disconnected from the world, enjoying an AYCE sushi special instead of finishing the vocal mixing on the first single when you appeared across the street. Locked in the phone booth right in Anton’s line of sight the moment he lifted his head from his salmon roll.

He thought he was seeing things at first. By this point in time he had convinced himself that seeing you in the forest was the product of starvation, anxiety, and sleep deprivation. In the morning when he finally got Sohee and Wonbin to come and see where you landed, they said it was only the beginnings of a construction site. So Anton told himself you were just a very real figment of his imagination. But across the street you were very real and you were beckoning for him to come to you.

In the phone booth, Anton finally had a conversation with you. Cramped in after you pulled him inside you two had a formal interaction. To offset how normal the greeting was you told him you were not from this planet. Anton thought he was imagining things again. He shook his head and smiled waiting for the punchline of your joke, and an actual explanation as to why you fell from the sky and asked where you were so honestly.

Anton doesn’t remember speaking very much in the phone booth. His first reaction was to shiver from the feeling of the hairs raising on the back of his neck. His second was to deny you not being from this planet. You talked like a human, you smelled like a human, you looked like a human. Then you said something ridiculous like being human is relative, which ended up being a track name on Venusian’s first full length album She Fell From the Sky.

(Anton could’ve named the album My Girlfriend Fell From the Sky Because She is an Alien and no one would’ve done anything about it. No one second guesses the names or titles indie bands use for their titles, but giving you the title of girlfriend seemed a little presumptuous.)

He found out on your third visit when you knocked on his door in a private studio that you kissed better than any human being ever has. You two kissed better than people could, all of his past experiences and stories he heard paled in comparison. The way you leaned in close, hovering over him while he basically shook in his office chair. You looked so beautiful standing above him, you smiled to ease him into you. You pressed your lips to his so softly and his hands went to your waist, holding onto you. You weren’t able to disappear into thin air. That night you kissed Anton goodbye, he was able to see you leave, and he was able to get you to promise you’d come back.

When you closed the studio door behind you, Anton did what any artist would do. He turned the situation he found himself in to profit. All the confusion and love and lust from an alien he’s met a handful of times, who appears and disappears on her own accord. An alien who always knows where he is and when he needs her. Always smells so good, and looks at him so intensely it literally sparks creativity. Someone who his bandmates thinks is fake. He put all of that—and much more—into the second album. My Girlfriend is an Alien. A little on the nose, but it was green lit nonetheless. The album featured tracks such as i hope you’re real, please meet my friends, imaginary friend, and star/meteor.

On the fourth visit Anton found out you were a fan. He knew because you liked the song come to my apartment next time, and no one liked that song. A dud on the album but something you felt like was just for you. You called him on the phone in his hotel across the world, just when he was about to fall asleep. You talked to him but didn't tell him where you were, it sounded like you were driving or laying in bed and kicking your feet and writing in your journal. Before you could hang up and disappear for an undisclosed amount of time he had questions ready. In his notebook next to lyrics he looks at the chicken scratch in the margins, the hotel phone caught between his shoulder and ear as he made sure to speak clearly into the receiver.

“Will you come when I ask you to?”

“No.”

“Will you come when I need you to?”

“Yes.”

“How will I know when you will be here?”

“You don’t.”

“What’s your favorite song by Venusian?”

That was the question that stumped you. You were silent for a moment, the crackling sound of a connection. Anton looked at the lamp on the bedside table, staring at it until it left an imprint in his vision. He thought the line had disconnected before you spoke.

“The ones you write about me, of course.”

All of them were about you, he couldn't tell you that before you told him that you loved him and had to go. Without a doubt in Anton’s mind, every song was about you. Even when Wonbin wrote the lyrics, they were always about an elusive figure that was appearing in and out of someone’s life. When Sohee wrote lyrics, they were about wanting something. On the rare occasion the song wasn’t about you, the bands name itself was a homage to you. He never asked if you were from Venus because he thought it'd be rude, but he wished on that planet before you came down in a crater his bandmates thought was a construction site.

He couldn’t escape you, but no one even knew you existed. Sometimes Anton didn’t even know you existed. He searched harder in the street. He saw a school teacher finally heading home. Someone with a coffee cup, spilling it on themselves because they were walking too fast. Taxi driver smoking on the corner, letting possible clients pass him to hop in the cars of his competition. A woman walking down the sidewalk, past the smoker and the school teacher and the spill on the person shirt. Her pace got slower and slower until she came to a stop right in front of his building.

Anton looked further down, leaning even closer to the banister. The metal railing pressed into his stomach, going right through his thin shirt as he looked down. Foot traffic continued around her. From the high floor of Anton's apartment his hair started blowing, whipping forward and closing his eyes. The woman in front of Anton's apartment building was unmoving, so was he. If Sohee was here he would've believed it to be the paparazzi, Wonbin would've thought it was a coincidence. But Anton knew before you looked up. The hat and sunglasses you had on obstructed the view of your face, but Anton knew. All you had to do was point towards the front door before Anton was turning on his heel, running through his apartment until he made it to the front door.

Anton cleared his apartment a little too fast to ring you up. He kept his eyes glued to the front camera of the building as you walked up the steps. When the buzzer sounded off you smiled, pulling at the large door before you walked out of frame of the camera.

Anton imagined you coming up the stairs. He swore he could hear you from floors away, your heeled shoes coming through his apartment building as you made your way to him. He could hear the elevator music from his living room, and he could see you looking at the red number climb until you were at his floor. He wasn’t sure how you knew, but you always knew. He stopped asking questions long ago. He was just so happy to see you, a relieved smile coming across his face as he opened his door to you standing there.

“Did you miss me?” You asked.

Anton nodded, pulling you by your arm to get you to come inside. He learned to not waste time when you were here. No more shy greetings or acting amazed when you’d show up. He learned to think about your surprise appearance when he was alone. He helped you take off your hat and shades to put it on the table at the entryway. He guided your jacket off of your arms as you looked up to the high ceilings.

“This place is so big just for one person.” You said quietly.

Anton didn’t know how you lived. He didn’t know where you lived either. Venus was the presumed place, but it could've been the moon. Both were visible when he made his wish that night. He didn’t know if millionaire musicians lived in gigantic lofts by themselves where you came from. He could’ve had roommates. Sohee and Wonbin always wanted to stay with him during the album creation process, to really get involved in the body of work. Venusian tours made Anton encounter his fair share of groupies that wanted him. He could’ve had one of them as a live in girlfriend that uses his money to buy drugs and his fame as an aphrodisiac. But Anton preferred to live alone, even if he had a guest room littered with things he’d think you like in between your visits.

Anton continued guiding your jacket off, then the fleece button up you had on underneath. You always complained about the cold. Anton imagined wherever you came from was always in an eternal spring compared to the frigid weather here. You liked the weather in Puerto Vallarta the most. You came to Anton on a pool floatie saying you could get used to the weather here. You hated it the most in Germany. You emerged from a snow bank when Anton was leaving the convenience store late at night. You were shaking like a leaf then, and Anton gave you his jacket and had to spend the whole night warming you up.

(At first the sentiment was innocent. He offered you all the blankets his room had to offer, and then you said you needed body heat. His huffs of hot air was sticking to your skin, and you were clinging to him for dear life. He repeated how badly he wanted to warm you up as he covered his body with yours, and hushed you over and over again when you were running out of breath. You were both sweating by the time the Sun came up, and then you said you were finally warm enough to go home.)

He knows you probably hate the weather now. But you bite your tongue to stop you from saying how cold it is even when you’re shivering. You just walk fully into Anton’s living room, sitting in the middle of the couch before you tap the spot next to you.

Anton is uninspired. He’s not creative. That’s why you’re here. Offering your magic touch again, his next Grammy nomination and wave of accolades is waiting for him on his large couch.

He follows in your footsteps, discarding his robe on the chair next to the couch. In his plain black tee and sweats Anton gets on the couch, climbing on until he rests his head in your lap. Even with all this space he’s too big. His foot dangles over the edge of the couch, and you let out a soft grunt when he lays his head on you. He doesn’t care because this is enough. When your fingers massage his scalp he closes his eyes, trying to will the stress away.

Anton felt you stir underneath him, and he already felt the stress coming back. He instinctually reached a hand to your arm, trying to keep you there. When he realized you were only repositioning yourself his hand left your wrist, going to his chest. He rubbed the fabric of his shirt and hummed the beginning of a song.

He looked forward as your hands carded through his hair, flattening out the bits that were sticking up.

“Where were you this time?” Anton asked.

“Your kind haven't discovered it yet. But I came back pretty fast this time, didn't I?” You asked.

Anton nods his head against your fingers because you did come back faster this time. When Venusian was just beginning you used to appear every week, when the band was at its peak the longest Anton was left waiting for you was two years. Before you showed up at his apartment today you called him over the phone a month and a half ago. Your voice crackled through the speakers and you sounded like you were somewhere far away. Anton almost asked you if there was reception on Venus, but instead he decided to put it in a song. Not knowing the answer made him look for it himself, and that’s how he came up with the idea of the first single for Venusian’s upcoming album.

Anton remembers the last conversation you guys had over the phone. He asked you if you were real for the hundredth time and you laughed before saying yes. He asked if you’re real why can’t he reach out and touch you and you said he would just have to save it for next time. So Anton opens his eyes and reaches up with one hand, until he can feel your cheek underneath his fingers. His other hand wraps around your hand in his hair, and he keeps eye contact with you while you look down at him. It’s really not fair that you get to come and go as you please. You should stay here with him, be his live-in alien girlfriend who helps him write music. You wouldn’t even have to do housework, he’d hire someone to do that. He can get whatever people eat on Venus shipped right to his doorstep just for you.

Anton holds you tighter, there’s silence and you moving your legs underneath his head again. From this spot on your lap all Anton can focus on is you. You two are floating in space together, holding eachother’s hands. Anton thinks about a spaceship and then Star Trek, and then the parts of you that he couldn’t touch over the phone. He was telling you about it long after the phone call suddenly disconnected until he was shaking and his body was covered in sweat.

“How’s the music thing going?” You asked.

The question was asked just to fill the silence, because you wouldn’t be here if Anton wasn’t struggling with the music thing. If Anton could finish the mixing on this song you’d still be floating around space somewhere and Venusian’s latest album would’ve already hit streaming platforms.

Anton sits up from your lap and your hands combing through his hair. Even though he lets go of your hands he still feels them close, and when he turns around to face you on the couch you have them pressed in the space between your two bodies. You look like you want to reach out and touch him. Anton feels your pull, he sees your eyes focus on him after running down his body. He put his hands on your shoulders then your face, forcing you to look at him and only him.

“It’s going well.” He couldn’t believe that your face was already becoming hot to the touch. Anton watched you become so bothered you didn’t correct his lie, only nodding against his hand. “Did you hear the new single?” He asked.

Anton watched your hands finally leave the edge of the couch to go to his thighs. Nothing about you was alien. He knew you well, he knew your hands would go underneath his shirt to touch his soft stomach. Anton knew you’d look down first then to him as you let your head rest in the palm of his hand.

“It was pretty. Felt like you were singing to me.”

“Well,” Anton trained himself to never answer the question directly when he’d be asked who his muse was. Wonbin always said he sang about love he never found and Sohee said he was singing about an idea. “who else would I be singing to?” Anton

“Thought maybe you went out and got yourself a girlfriend.” You say.

Anton smiled to hearing that. Like he wasn’t waiting everyday for you to materialize. He could never waste his time dating when he spent all of it waiting for you and making music. He only shook his head, bringing you closer by the hold on your face.

“I was thinking about you the whole time.”

“Oh yeah?” Your hand left his hair after pulling it one last time. Anton looks up at you sideways as you tilt your head. “I was thinking about you too."

He knows he's being dramatic, because just the thought of you somewhere thinking of your human boyfriend makes him smile. He already thinks of a bonus track for the album think about me will be the title, and he will get Wonbin to write something beautiful about a couple in love. He'll pair it with a beat that's light and sounds like someone's dreams, then end it with the sound of a phone disconnecting. He might even pair it with a music video.

"What were you thinking about when you were thinking about me?" You ask.

Anton has done this dance with you plenty of times. He knows that you’re here to breathe creativity into him, like the fate of his world depends on it. Fuck or die, fuck or never make another song again—it’s the same thing in Anton’s mind. But he still falls victim to your ability to raise the tension, like it was the first time all over again. Back then he was all nerves, thinking about music and how you were his sign from the universe that everything would be alright. He spent more time on his knees than he ever did in his life, he was drained but you kept wanting more. Sometimes Anton can remember the exhaustion vividly, and he also remembers when he woke up the next morning he knew exactly what he was going to do for that collaboration with his favorite artist.

You’re here now, countless save-his-career fucks later and still looking at him like you haven’t gotten enough. He sits up from your lap and turns to face you.

“I was thinking about the last time I saw you,” Anton’s hands start moving to the side of your face then down to your waist. You’re already moving to straddle him. “and you did that think I really like.” He continues.

Anton watches you look down at him and he wonders what’s going on in your head. He remembers last time you were here and you said sincerely he should get a girlfriend. He asked if you had a boyfriend on Venus but recanted his question immediately, knowing he wouldn’t be able to handle the answer. He has been making happy music as of late and didn’t want to change that.

Now you looked at him like he was delicate, your little human boy toy you entertained between periods of floating around space.

“I was thinking I just need you so I can get inspiration for this song.” He didn’t mind if he was nothing but an intergalactic booty call. Sometimes it felt like you did things for his benefit, like showing up at to him when he needed you the most. Your hands went to his face and he felt his heart stop. He swears he doesn’t mind.

“How many times do I have to tell you Anton, it’s all you?” You started letting your hips rest heavy on his lap, and he could feel how warm you were all around him. You can say all you want that your fingertips don’t have magical powers, but he has already found a chord for the lyrics Sohee sent him the other day. “You’re talented, just stressed and—” He presses your hips deeper into his, until you feel him twitching in his pants. “You’re already hard?”

Anton is helpless against you. You’re extra-terrestrial, that has already been established, but there’s something more. The planet Venus must have blessed you with powers. Anton's hand goes to the back of your neck and brings you closer.

“I just need a little bit more.” Anton murmurs against your lips.

Before you can speak Anton brings his other hand to reach into your pants, pushing his hand in your panties. Instantly you arched from the touch, when he applied pressure you swiveled your hips. He’s been here before, he’s been here a million times. An intergalactic booty call on his Italian leather sofa. You're already doing the thing he likes, where you whimper and push your tongue into his mouth. The simple action makes him already falter, becoming your puppet so easily.

Anton doesn’t know what you have in store for him. After discovering he was already hard the look in your eye changed, and your idea of comforting his feelings of inadequacy shifted to something different.

He’s been holed up in this apartment for more than a week, and he hadn’t made a new friend in God knows how long. Anton forgot how to interact with people beyond his bandmates, and he felt ill-equipped to keep the conversation going with an alien. You’re here, getting off of his lap until his hands follow after you and you’re standing in front of him. When the coffee table is too close to you Anton wastes no time pushing it away with his foot, giving you enough space in front of him. You don’t say anything about it, instead bringing your hands to the bottom of your shirt and lifting it over your head.

Your shirt is balled in your hands then it’s obstructing Anton’s vision. He pulls it into his lap too quick to see you messing with the waistband of your jeans, shimmying out of it before pushing it down your legs. You came all the way from Venus in a matching set, all for him. He’s lied by saying he just needs a little more. Whatever happens each time you leave has only made him worse, and only makes him crave more. Each time you leave he’s left with a sense of this being the last time.

When you come back to him in your bra and panties he’s too rash. Instead of guiding you to his lap Anton gets on his back. He doesn’t tell you what he needs when you try to adjust to the sudden change. When you still try to go to his lap Anton’s hand on your wrist stops you. You look at Anton and it takes both of you too many dragging seconds to see what Anton is silent hinting at. He’s missed your touch, your voice, and your taste. When you realize it your eyebrows are raised nearly to your hairline, and he’s still guiding your body towards his face.

From that point everything happened pretty fast. You asked Anton a million times if he was sure and said yes without fail. When you finally situated yourself with your knees on either side of his head, he knew this was what he needed. The skewed perspective of you down here, his hands on your thighs trying to guide you down. Feeling you cage him in and you taking up all his senses was what he needed. But you were still unsure, even with Anton’s eyes honing in on the pretty pattern of the panties he was determined to eat through you hesitated above him.

“You’ll stop me if you can’t breathe right?” You fought against his hands trying to bring you down. Every breath he took fanned your heat, he could already see the fabric forming to you. “I really couldn’t deal with the guilt if I killed you.” You said.

Anton thought this would be an amazing way to die. Suffocating between thighs and drowning in you. Could aliens be persecuted on Earth? Would you just go back to Venus and never come back?

“Anton.” He looked from your heat back up to you. You tried leaning back to see more of his face but his hold on you kept you in place. “Are you listening to me?” You asked.

“Yes. I’m listening.” He almost went crosseyed focusing back on your center. One of your hands went to grip the armrest past Anton’s head, preemptively giving yourself something to stabilize your body with. He dragged his words out, purposefully letting his breath fan your clammy skin. You were twitching for him already. He pulled you down again. “I’ll tell you, I promise.”

He was grateful his plea was what made you give in. One more tug at your thighs and you were lowering yourself on his mouth, and Anton was sticking out his tongue to lave your panties that covered your clit. He felt you hovering your weight above his head, scared to give him all of it, then he pushed your panties to the side. Almost immediately Anton felt more of your weight and your thighs close around his head. He felt your body lean forwards and he heard your exasperated breath, then a whimper that told him you were getting used to this. He lifted you only a second to drop you directly on his tongue, and he started sucking and licking whatever he could touch.

Your thighs were shaking around his head, and Anton was becoming increasingly aware of his own body. His dick was twitching in his pants, with each jump or sound you made he was beginning to feel the tension rising along his entire body. He needed more. He was almost there, he almost had the chord or the arrangement. Revelation was on the tip of his tongue. Anton's fingers kept your underwear pushed to the side, he could feel the wet cotton sticking to the side of his face. He hummed again, and you pitched forward to grab the armrest of his couch for stability.

"Do you want me to touch you?" You asked the question quickly. You two made eye contact, his words of just needed you to get off was trapped between your legs. Even if you heard him he knew it'd be lost on him. You were too giving, and he revealed that one of his favorite things in this life was when you'd touch him.

You push yourself from the armrest of the couch and reach behind you, instantly pressing into the bulge. He's so strung up stimulation feels like pain, he's ready to pop at any moment. He hasn't been touched since he saw you last, and he couldn't think of doing anything for himself when you weren't here. Part of being from a different world must mean that your touch goes right through fabric. When your hand cups over his pants it's like you're gripping him in your own hands.

Whatever it is you're doing to him is too juvenile for him to cum first. It almost becomes a competition, he becomes greedy. He tongues you until he pushes past the ring of muscle, sucking on whatever his lips touch. Anton pushed on your ass until it pushed you forward, where his nose bumped your clit. His other hand wrapped around the top of your thigh and pushed you back. He repeated the motion, sucking harder each time your body hitched from you bumping into his nose. When he stopped guiding you Anton was grateful you abandoned more of your inhibitions to repeat the motions on your own. He was grateful that his pleasure became an after thought. You abandoned his dick completely to lean forward again, to press your hand to your lower stomach to really focus grinding on his face. Anton could feel you over his body, but your slick coated his chin. You You were making a mess on his lips too, moaning louder than the sounds he was making between your legs.

Anton was too busy watching the way your stomach tensed and relaxed each time you ground your hips on his face that he was getting lost. Between notes and songwriting and everything else he was grinding against nothing, his legs draped over the other end of the couch and his body tensed up. You were becoming rigid above him too, your hand in his hair pulled roughly as your body came increasingly heavy on his lips. Anton still drove you forward, until your clit bumped his nose over and over again. You shifted on top of him to fully ride his face, bucking on him over and over.

"Close." You whimpered. Anton felt your hand grip his hair, keeping him in place. He was getting smothered by you, your thighs came close to his face and kept him caged in. "Close, Ton. You're always so good for me."

Anton nodded and continued the motion. He guided you easily, through your body shaking above him. He still continued to suck, until your thighs shook around his head. When you looked down at him Anton kept going, even when you tried lifting your body again he kept you there. He was so close, he just needed a little more. His hands on your waist was rough, he could see your skin dimpling underneath his fingers. He vocalized how he needed you to hold on, but it was hard to break through your noises and how your body was muffling him.

When you finally froze above him, Anton could taste all of you. He continued sucking even when you pulled even harder at his hair. You had to shake your head and cry out to finally get him to stop. You melted above him, it was Anton who had to lift you off of his face. He watched you stagger on your knees forward, he tiled his head to follow your movements until you were leaning against the edge of the couch.

Both of you had to catch your breath. Anton sat up fully to see you mold into the couch, your chest raising and lowering. He was a little bit more composed, save for the way his hair stuck to his forehead and his entire face glistening with you and sweat.

"Did that help with your writers block?"

Suddenly, everything hits Anton at once. He stands up from the couch, still painfully hard and face flushed, leaving you in your seat. Anton peaks past the doorway of his bedroom to stare directly at you.

"Don't leave." He says quickly before disappearing past the doorframe.

Anton woke up from the sun coming through his window. He forgot to draw the blinds last night, leaving him blinking and already fighting through a headache. He blinked to try and adjust to the light, moving from his side to the other. His door was open. He remembered closing it last night. He also remembered you being on the bed next to him, but he went to sleep knowing you wouldn’t be here in the morning. Still while he faced the open door his other hand mindlessly ran over the spot you were laying last night. He still felt a crater in the sheets where you laid and he swore you left your perfume there too. When he took a deep breath in he could smell you, and he could still taste you too.

When he looked past the open door he could see the mess you two left in the living room. There was a moment you two were having a heart to heart and the next you were pushing things off the coffee table. His expensive glass fruit bowl was surely chipped if not broken, and he had his throw pillows and blankets laying on the floor. He was still waking up when the buzzing sound from across the bed pulled his attention back to his room. Anton had to crawl over your side of his bed to his nightstand, unplugging his phone and mindlessly unlocking it.

He meandered on the homescreen, blinking constantly as he tried to jumpstart his mind. He even looked away from his phone completely for a moment, focusing on the quiet of his room as he let his thoughts come back to him. He remembered what he was doing the moment his eyes landed on his home studio. He looked at the turn tables and his computer screen that was still awake. He still had the file he was working on open. Anton recalled the song as he clicked on Wonbin’s phone number in his call log.

Anton brought his phone to his face and listened to it ring. He went back down to laying on his bed, one side pressed into the mattress as he kept his phone balanced on the other side. Anton even let his eyes close again as the phone continued to ring. He let out a yawn, fully expecting to catch Wonbin’s voicemail instead of catching him.

“I was calling you last night.” Wonbin says.

Anton still keeps his eyes closed as he hums an acknowledgment into the transmission. Wonbin doesn’t continue to pry even at the clear sign of disrespect, both of them already know what Anton is about to say.

“I have a new song.” Anton could practically hear Wonbin on the other end of the line sigh in relief. Anton imagined Sohee was there with him, the two crowded around the receiver of the phone trying to see who can hear the good news first. He imagines the two of them hitting eachother in excitement at the thought of releasing something new. Anton opens his eyes to look at his computer screen again. He finally feels the embarrassment as he recalls the inspiration he got for the song. He clears his throat, trying to will the memories away. “Come by and I can play it for you guys.” He says.

Anton didn’t have time to clean up his place before the two of them arrived. It seemed as though Wonbin and Sohee were waiting on his call. Within ten minutes he already got the text from Wonbin that they were outside. Anton only had five minutes to light an incense and try to desperately clean up the mess you two made the night prior. He ended up stuffing somethings into his closet, there were still shards of glass on the floor when the two were knocking on his door.

When Anton opened his door the two barely spared a greeting, instead making a beeline past Anton’s mess of a common area to his bedroom. He saw Wonbin’s attention scatter across his terribly cleaned mess, speaking over his shoulder as Anton closed the distance between them.

“Your place usually isn’t this much of a mess, Anton.” Wonbin says casually.

Anton watches Wonbin’s attention stay on the jostled throw pillows and blanket on his couch. Anton’s face heats up when he remembers the night before. After you rode his face, the rest of the night was a blur. What you two did after that came in snatches. When Anton followed Wonbin’s gaze around his apartment he remembered it. Your hand planted on the back of the couch and the other clutching at the armrest as he fucked you from behind. He remembered the feeling of your sweaty shoulder clasped in his palm as he kept you driving backwards and the way you looked back at what he was doing to you.

“This usually happens to artists when they work on a project.” Sohee says matter-of-factly.

Wonbin stops walking and looks at the back of Sohee’s head. Anton stops behind Wonbin and Sohee stops right before he walks past the threshold of Anton’s door.

Anton feels like at any moment their attention will go to the mess and ask why it looks like a tornado ripped through his apartment. Anton almost feels relief that the two decided to bother eachother instead.

Anton watches Sohee give Wonbin his snooty know-it-all look, the one that always drives Wonbin crazy. Instead of responding, Wonbin only drives his finger into Sohee’s side. Sohee instinctually reaches forward to return the favor, causing Wonbin to back up on reflex before reaching forward to try and prod his side again. Anton watches the two of them try and fight.

They don’t stop until Anton clears his throat and points towards his room. Almost immediately Sohee and Wonbin come to their senses to walk towards Anton’s room. Wonbin pokes Sohee’s side one more time as a joke, causing all three of them to laugh.

When Sohee goes into Anton’s room, he heads to the bed first. Anton tries to be calm seeing Sohee sit in the same spot on the edge of the bed you occupied not even twelve hours ago. Sohee unknowingly sets his backpack next to him, right on top of the pile where your discarded clothes rested before. Anton had to push past Wonbin, remaining neutral as he prepped the song to be played.

Anton trailed behind the two of them, and had to remain neutral at the sight of Wonbin doing a once over of the ground. Anton panicked and did the same, praying that he picked up all evidence of the night he had. When Wonbin’s eyes lingered on a crumbled shirt that looked a size to small, Anton cleared his thought. When his face went hot again he focused back on the computer, letting the sound of Sohee moving on his unmade bed fill the silence.

“When’d you finish this?” Sohee asked.

Anton looked back briefly. He saw Sohee playfully kick his feet that dangled over the edge of Anton’s bed as he leaned back onto the mattress. Anton forced himself to focus on clicking through the files on his desktop not looking back again.

“Uhm. Last night.” Anton mumbled.

He felt bad for his non-assuming friend, how he had no idea he sat in the same spot where you were pathetically drooling onto his mattress the night before. The thought made Anton the complete opposite of how he was in that moment, he could only shyly nod his head when Sohee made a sound of acknowledgment.

Wonbin moved to the same spot beside the bed where Anton got down on his knees and draped your legs over his shoulders.

“Let’s hear it.” He said.

Anton pressed play and adjusted the volume, letting the beginning play. As the instrumental picked up Anton sheepishly described the type of song he had in mind for the beat. He prayed Sohee and Wonbin didn’t pick up on the deep bass immediately. He tried desperately to beat around the bush to such an extent that Sohee and Wonbin would come up with their own interpretation.

“It’s on the slower side, but I think we could have really hard hitting lyrics here.” Anton said while making an encompassing motion with his hands.

Anton was grateful that his bandmates didn’t notice the flustered tone or his nervous habit of speaking with his hands. Sohee was thinking about the vocal color he needed for this song and Anton could already see Wonbin crafting the lyrics in his head. The true inspiration of the song seemed to go over their heads for a moment—Anton started easing as they nodded along approvingly to the beat.

He believed he was in the clear, but when the chorus of the song came around and the sound of a bed creaking played through the speakers of Anton’s computer his bandmates froze. Anton saw Sohee and Wonbin exchange a side eye. Sohee’s legs that dangled over the edge of Anton’s bed stopped kicking suddenly and his head tilted to the side. Wonbin’s mouth dropped and he pulled his hand away from his face.

Both of them were pulled from their reverie, looking up from the ground to look Anton dead in the eye.

“What type of song is this?” Wonbin asked.

Anton watched Sohee slowly turn around to take in Anton’s unmade bed. He could practically saw the lightbulb go off above his bandmates head as he watched Sohee look over the jostled covers and the folded pillow still laying in the center of the bed. Sohee slowly lifted his hands from the mattress and sat upright and turned back to Anton just as slow.

“No way.” Sohee says in disbelief.

At Anton’s reddening face and Sohee’s agape mouth Wonbin did a once over again. When the lightbulb went off over his head he begins laughing so hard he has to bend over and hold his chest.

“Unbelievable.” Wonbin wipes the tears from his face. “Unbelievable.”

#seriez: rock the house #01zfan: anton #anton smut #riize smut

143 notes · View notes