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oddlydescriptive · 1 month ago

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Reset, Chapter Seventeen

Series Masterlist

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You didn’t get flown out for the final race. Didn’t get a dress code email for the prize giving ceremony. Didn’t get a hotel keycard left in an envelope at the front desk. You watched the last race of the season from your dorm, curled up on your twin bed with a plate of freezer dumplings and a laptop that buffered at least twice before the stream caught up.

Red Bull won everything, obviously. Verstappen took the final checkered flag like it was inevitable. The team celebrated in a blaze of champagne and perfectly lit content loops. You closed the window before the podium interviews even started.

No one called. No one needed anything.

And honestly, that made sense.

You’re still under contract through December 31st- still, technically, Red Bull property- but AlphaTauri’s already been announced. You’re not just development anymore. You’re not just RedBull Racing anymore. You’re forward-facing. Pipeline material. And while no one has said it aloud, the shift’s been happening for weeks.

They’re phasing you out.

Quietly. Gently. Efficiently.

Your data access had been the first thing to go- little changes, gradual redactions. You still had log-ins, but fewer dashboards showed up when you used them. Then the assignments started thinning out. Weekly reports became biweekly summaries. Dev meeting invites stopped appearing unless someone had a specific question for you. A sim anomaly. A question about a comment you had left on the braking data a few weeks ago.

It’s not personal. It’s not even cruel. It’s just… logistics. And you got it. You get it. You do.

You’re not their girl anymore. Or, won’t be. Not in the gears-and-axles sense. You got exactly what you wanted. You’ve stopped being a cog. Now you’re something shinier. Something public. A face. A product. A name.

You’d had more access than you probably should’ve from the beginning. More control. More input. They’re only pulling back what they’d loaned in the first place.

Still.

You’d built your entire life around this place since they dumped you on the factory steps in August- broke, jagged, desperate, hungry for anything more than the Indy career you had torched to the ground. This badge. These halls. The windowless sim rooms and bitter instant coffee and shared dorm showers. It’s become your whole ecosystem.

And now?

Now you’re bored.

Not in the casual, oh-I-have-nothing-to-do sense. Not in the Instagram scroll, maybe-I’ll-go-for-a-run way. You’re untethered. No real tasks. A measly four calendar holds before the end of the year. No Gavin- he’s traveling with the team. No Alessandro- burning PTO like a matchbook before the winter build surge. No Danny- off wrapping up his last days with McClaren. Stuck, just like you. Stuck, right here in purgatory.

Lying on your back in a sterile little dorm room with your legs curled up like a child and your phone battery at nine percent. Watching the forced-air heating ruffle a stray paper on your desk, trying not to fall asleep before the year-end party even starts.

It’s not loneliness, exactly. You’ve survived worse. Objectively, you have zero complaints.

But it’s quiet in a way that makes your skin itch.

There are big things coming. Huge things. A race seat. Brand deals and sponsors. Points, even, if you play your cards right. But right now? Right now you’re still technically Red Bull. Still on their payroll. Still sleeping under their roof.

You’re not part of the machine you live in anymore. And the weight of that contradiction is making you feel… something. Not numb. Not sad. Not exactly.

Just unmoored.

The day’s gotten away from you in your spiral- cold gray light stretching thin across the dorm ceiling, your phone buzzing occasionally from across the room and left unread. You should be doing something. Hair. Makeup. Picking out an outfit for this evening’s staff year end party. Anything.

Instead, you’ve just been… still.

You can’t quite name it. The feeling in your chest like a tether’s been cut. The quiet hum of weightless boredom, pressed under the skin like a bruise that never quite blooms.

You’re still training. Still working. You show up to the gym like it’s your job- because it kind of is. Because it’s the only thing that hasn’t shifted beneath your feet lately. The rhythm, the discipline, the ache. It reminds you of the summer. The purgatory of Jos’s house. The hours you carved open just to fill them with movement. With sweat. With anything that kept you from unraveling entirely.

But this has been different.

Since you got here- since the AlphaTauri shook the marrow out of your bones and left you wrung out and trembling for your life in an ice bath- you’ve been training with intention. Not just survival. Not just control. Not just maintenance. You’ve been trying to build.

For the first time in your life, the goal isn’t to disappear.

It’s to expand.

IndyCar never cared if you were strong. They cared if you were light. No driver weight minimums. Junior series, whatever flavor you drove in any given year, same thing. Lighter was faster. Coaches, engineers, principals- always asking the same questions.

How light can you get and still drive? How many days can you go without carbs before your body starts eating your reflexes?

Smaller was better. A decade of conditioning that turned your own hunger into an enemy. Every pound scrutinized. Every calorie accounted for. Racing in those worlds meant being barely there- meant learning to cut yourself down until you fit inside the mold.

The only real advantage to being a woman in that system? You were already small. Naturally lighter. It made the weight targets a little easier- sometimes. While your male teammates were scraping muscle off themselves to make weight, skipping meals and running hot just to cut grams, you were coasting in under the line. Not because it was healthy. Not because it was fair. But because being born smaller meant you starved less.

But now?

Now you’re in F1.

Now there's a minimum. A fixed number. Now it doesn’t matter if you’re naturally small- because every pound you don’t carry is another pound your competitors get to fill with power. With strength. With muscle that helps them outdrive, outmuscle, outlast you.

You’re no longer rewarded for taking up less space. You’re punished for it. So you’ve changed.

You’ve been eating like it matters. Training like it’s math- input and output, time and tension. Your body, for the first time since before you got your first period, isn’t a compromise. It’s becoming a weapon.

You sit up slowly. Peel off your clothes. One layer at a time. Hoodie, socks, leggings, tank. Until you’re just in your underwear and bra. Cotton. Soft. Familiar.

Then you reach for the full-length mirror leaning against the wall and drag it onto the bed with you. Set it up agasint your pillows so you can see yourself. All of you. Up close.

And then you look. Really look. Take stock.

Your thighs are thicker now. Solid. Corded with new muscle, the kind that moves when you shift and flexes without trying. They press together, heavy and warm and proud. They flow into hips that have grown wider, fuller, more anchored somehow. Your waist is still there- narrow, defined- but the curve from rib to hip to thigh is smooth and deep and fucking stunning.

You twist slightly, propping yourself on one arm, and turn your attention lower.

Your ass is outrageous.

You blink. Then smile. Every inch of it earned from loading squats three times a week until you might have cried with exhaustion. It lifts high and round, fuller than it’s ever been. It’s the reason most of your jeans have become… hazardous, lately. You only have a handful of pairs left that fit at all, much less well. The shape is almost surreal- like someone photoshopped you and forgot to undo it. But it’s not fake. It’s earned. It balances the line of your back, the curve of your hips, the strength in your thighs.

You shift your hips again, slowly. Watching the way everything follows. The drag of your skin, the flex and pull of muscle. And it’s not just power. It’s not just the function of it.

It’s beautiful.

There’s a sensuality to it that catches you off guard.

Not sexual. Not quite. Not the kind of thing you’d show off for someone else. This isn’t about being wanted. You haven’t been touched in months. Haven’t been kissed. Haven’t felt the pressure of someone else’s palm against your skin or the heat of a gaze that wanted this body.

And that’s okay.

Because right now, this moment isn’t for them.

It’s for you.

You look at your stomach- still lean, but no longer hollow. Muscle built up through dedication, not revealed by deprivation. Your shoulders roll back as you shift upright, and your back pulls taut, muscles threading together like ropes under skin.

And then your eyes land on your chest.

Your bra- nothing fancy, just plain cotton- stretches over you in a way it never used to. Full. Rounded. Heavy in a way that’s new. Like your body finally got the message that it’s safe to have things now. That you’re allowed to take up space.

You trail your fingers from your sternum outward. Over the shape of yourself. The dip of your waist. The rise of your hips. The flare and the fullness and the heat pooling under your skin, not from desire- but from recognition.

This is not the body you left America with.

Not the one built for hunger. Not the one that fought, that starved, that was sold in sponsorship dollars and calories just to survive. Not the same one that felt powerless and drowned and vulnerable in pits full of men with egos that outpaced their cars.

This one is yours.

All of it. The strength. The softness. The sex appeal.

And yeah, it’s probably a little vain, the way you pose. The way you tilt your chin and arch your back and stare at your own reflection with a smirk you didn’t know you still had in you. But you don’t care.

You love her.

This new shape. This new presence. This walking, breathing proof that you are here. You deserve this space. You are every inch of who you make yourself to be.

You pull your knees up to your chest, still sitting on the bed, mirror between them, and rest your cheek on your own shoulder, watching the way your arms curve around yourself.

It’s not lost on you how much trauma lived in the old body. In the bones that didn’t bend. In the skin that always felt too tight. In the way people looked at you like a novelty or a threat or a product.

This body isn’t for them.

It’s for you. For who you’re going to be.

And it’s perfect.

Eventually… you move. Not quickly. Not decisively. Just… gradually. Like heat returning to numb limbs. You get up, still in your underwear, and pad barefoot across the cold dorm floor to the narrow wardrobe tucked beside your desk. It’s small, just to hold the things you can’t afford to let wrinkle. You’ve only opened it a handful of times since you got back from Brazil.

The contents aren’t much. A few basics. A pressed pair of jeans with a sharp, precise crease ironed down the front. Slacks. A simple blazer. At the right end, your suit hangs crisp in its plastic wrap, the one you wore to push your contract at Helmut, back when the words “development driver” still felt like something borrowed.

You touch the fabric out of habit. The pants look… impossible. Maybe, if you hold your breath and pray to Sara Blakely and her Spanx gods- oh, and don’t eat all night- but honestly, you’re looking forward to the catering spread. Besides, it’s just the staff party- it’s really not that serious.

You let them hang.

Instead, you let your fingers walk a few hangers to the left. Fingers brush something soft. Velvet. Rich, forgiving, quietly festive. Not ugly sweater festive, but more like ‘yes, we are acknowledging it’s December.’ You pull it forward.

The dress is red. Not race-car red, not attention-demanding. Just… warm. A little saturated. The kind of color that makes your skin look golden and your hair a little darker in contrast. Sleeveless. High-necked. Hits just above the knee. Enough stretch to move with you. To let the body you’ve built exist without apology.

You hold it up to your chest, glance toward the mirror still propped on your bed, and nod once. Quietly. Like you’re letting yourself agree with the version of you that smiled at her own reflection twenty minutes ago. It’s not a statement dress. It’s not supposed to be.

You pull on a pair of black nylons- semi-sheer, a soft little balance between flirtation and formality. The kind you used to wear for media days in junior formula, when you wanted to look polished but not severe. They slide up with the faintest whisper, snug but not constricting. They feel like intention.

Shoes next- your simple black pumps. Not casual, not party heels. Just clean, classic. You slip them on and they still fit the way only leather can- with loyalty. Like no matter how much the rest of you changes, these shoes will still love your feet. That feels like something. A single, stable detail in a body and world that’s otherwise brand new.

You perch on the edge of your desk to do your makeup rather than move the half-clean laundry that lives on your chair. Try not to sit in your compact while you plan your face.

Nothing heavy. Nothing loud. Just light coverage. A little shimmer. A soft sweep of blush across the apples of your cheeks that makes you look sunlit, even under factory-grade fluorescents. You gloss your lips with something pink and sheer, add a touch of mascara. Pretty. Festive. The kind of face that looks like someone you’d want to talk to at a work party without checking a credential first.

Your hair’s a little unruly from lying around until it air-dried, but it still curls easily under your hands. You twist it up in loose, polished sections, pin it in place, and finish it with a narrow ribbon tucked just above the nape of your neck. The bow is barely anything- thin, dainty. Just a little touch.

And when you finally step back from the mirror and take it all in- dress, tights, pumps, makeup, the slight shimmer on your collarbone- you don’t feel like a driver or a ghost or a PR obligation. Not really.

You feel like a girl going to a party at the end of the strangest, most transformative semester of her life. A little out of place. A little nostalgic for something that hasn’t even fully ended. Quietly proud. Quietly melancholy.

You smooth your hands down your dress once, just to feel the fabric hug your ribs. Time to say goodbye- quietly, professionally, beautifully- to the place that made you feel like someone valuable again. Even if they’re already learning how to do without you.

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The party’s better than expected.

Not flashy, not loud- just the hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, the low warmth of staff laughter echoing against the high factory walls. Someone’s strung lights across the ceiling beams, giving everything a soft golden tint. There’s music playing low from the overheads, just enough to keep the room moving. Food’s decent. Little platters of fussy fingerfoods that strike a balance between upscale and approachable. Drinks are free. Everyone’s at that perfect midpoint between polite and tipsy.

You’re leaned against a high table near the edge of the floor, nursing something red and fizzy in a plastic flute. The dress is holding up. The shoes haven’t betrayed you. And you’re laughing- real laughter, open and soft- because Ollie from dev is holding court like his life depends on it.

“I swear to God,” he’s saying, wide-eyed, one hand gesturing wildly, “the second I mentioned it, he looked at me like I’d confessed to a murder.”

Nicole’s giggling politely beside him- dark hair curling over her shoulders, dress tastefully low-cut, clearly groomed and pressed to the nine- and Ollie is doing absolutely nothing to hide the way he’s looking at her.

It’s not subtle.

He is making full, direct, devotional heart eyes every time she opens her mouth. You’re only half listening to the story at this point. Mostly you’re laughing at the sheer audacity of his infatuation. Like he doesn’t even care that you’re standing right here, clocking every stolen glance like it’s your actual job.

Ollie says something else- something about a lost data package and a RedBull fueled all nighter that left him hallucinating on his drive home- and Nicole tilts her head, clearly humoring him.

“That’s… so wild,” she says, all doe-eyed and glittery.

Ollie looks like he’s going to combust. You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing again. You sip your drink instead, cheeks warm. For the first time all day, you feel… present. A little girlish. A little like you belong. And yet, despite the comfort of that- you feel it.

You can feel Jos moving through the room.

It’s not oppressive. Not threatening. He’s not circling like a shark, and you’re not prey. It’s just… something you’re aware of. Like tracking a storm in the distance. You always know where he is.

And honestly?

You’ve resigned yourself to it.

You know he’ll find you eventually. That’s the nature of Jos. He always does. Always appears at the edge of a moment you thought was yours, all gravel-voiced analysis and heavy handshakes and that particular brand of European proximity that makes everything feel more intimate than it should.

And you’re not exactly afraid. You never have been.

If anything- God, you almost missed him.

Jos is a lot. An exhausting amount. But he’s also sharp. Dangerous in the way only brilliant men can be. Talking to him is like fencing with live wire- strategic, quick, crackling. But you’ve never felt like the target. Not really.

You’re not sure what that makes you.

An ally, maybe.

A co-conspirator.

Because Jos doesn’t talk to you like you’re lucky to be here. He talks to you like you’re a weapon. Like you’re leverage he trusts to understand what you’re worth. Like you’re playing a game with him- and unlike with most men in this sport, with Jos, the game doesn’t end with you losing. You think. Probably. So far, at least.

Still, there’s a sliver of something colder beneath it all. A flicker of discomfort you haven’t fully looked at yet. You don’t let yourself think about that too hard. Not here. Not now.

Instead, you set your drink down and laugh again- high and bright, because Ollie has just managed to turn a telemetry error into a flirtation, and Nicole is playing along like she might just let him win. You play with the ribbon in your hair, glance sideways across the room- And, sure enough, Jos is watching. Not close. Not obvious. Just… waiting.

You adjust the strap of your dress, smooth your hands down the velvet one more time. Your glass is nearly empty. Nicole’s laughing again, Ollie’s blushing so hard it’s a health concern, and somewhere across the room, Jos Verstappen is waiting for you.

So you decide- fuck it.

If he’s going to find you anyway- if he’s already watching- you might as well meet him on your terms. Even if those terms are flimsy. Even if they exist mostly as a way to keep your spine straight and your voice level and your heart from pounding through your ribs.

You slip away from the table, leaving Ollie mid-laugh and Nicole mid-smile. Neither of them notices you go.

You push off the table and cross the floor without fanfare. Slow, steady, unbothered. Your heels click softly against the concrete. The lights above throw gold over your shoulders, and you hold your posture just right. Not stiff. Not girlish. Just composed. Whole.

You don’t know what compels you, exactly. It’s not submission. It’s not allegiance. It’s something quieter. Resignation, maybe. Or- God, maybe curiosity. You’ve danced around this enough times to know it’s coming. He’ll find you eventually. Might as well see what happens when you make the first move.

Jos tracks you the whole way. He’ss standing near the back, half-shadowed by a pillar and positioned with surgical precision- close enough to be in the mix, far enough that no one casually wanders into his orbit. He’s talking to someone from powertrains, nodding along like he’s interested, but his eyes flick toward you the moment you cross the floor.

Not obviously. Not openly. Just with the kind of stillness predators have right before they strike. Arms folded. Drink untouched. He shifts his weight once, almost imperceptibly, like he can’t believe his luck but is already plotting how to use it.

You keep your shoulders relaxed. You walk like you have nowhere in particular to be.

Jos smiles when you reach him. It doesn’t quite touch his eyes.His gaze flicks over you once- just once- but it’s loaded. Evaluating. Not lecherous, but not empty either. Like he’s cataloging the value of your appearance for some unseen ledger.

“There she is,” he says, low and pleased. “I was wondering when you’d come say hello.”

You smile. Easy. Controlled. “Thought I’d save the best for last.”

He laughs once, a short sound, dry and amused. “I like the dress.”

You resist the urge to fidget. “Thanks. Needed something that fit.”

Jos’s eyes flash at that- just a brief glint of approval, the kind that makes your skin feel seen in a way that’s not quite comfortable. Not inappropriate. Just intentional.

You sip your drink- what’s left of it- and let a small silence settle between you. The music hums along in the background. Conversation rolls across the room like static. You glance over your shoulder once, scan the space like you’re keeping track of exits. Then turn back.

And with practiced casualness, you say, “You hear about anything running this winter?”

Jos’s attention sharpens, just slightly. Barely a twitch in his jaw. But he clocks it. You keep your eyes on the middle distance and take a sip of your drink- mostly for the pause it offers- and then, casually, like you’re mentioning the weather: “I’ve been a little bored.”

Jos tilts his head. Interested. “Is that so?”

“Just... stir-crazy.” You keep your tone light. Bright. “Haven’t been in a real car since they flew Max in for brake testing.”

He gives nothing away. Just waits.

You glance out over the room like it doesn’t matter, like you’re not carefully placing each word. “I was thinking- if anything came up. A testing slot. A rally drive. Anything like that.” There. Gentle. Palatable. No pressure. Not desperation. Not even an ask, really. Just a statement. A floating suggestion.

Your voice doesn’t shift. Your shoulders stay easy. But your stomach coils tight. Because even now- even with this new body, this new deal, this new version of you- there’s still something about asking that feels like folding. Like peeling open your ribs.

Jos’s mouth twitches. Just the corner. “Hm.” That’s it. Just that. But you know him well enough to catch it. That sound- small, smug, delighted. It’s the sound of a trap closing.

Because you came to him. Because you asked.

No matter how subtle. No matter how casual. You asked. And it thrills him. Because Jos Verstappen lives for this.

He hides it well- he always does- but it’s there. The faint shift of weight toward you. The satisfied tilt of his head. The way his eyes sharpen just slightly, like the game he’s been playing has finally started to swing in his favor.

“You want me to make a call?” he asks, smooth and quiet, like it costs him nothing.

You lift a shoulder. “Only if it’s not a headache.”

He hums, looking away for a moment, already flipping through names, contacts, favors- building the scaffolding in his mind. He lets the silence stretch just long enough to prove he holds the reins. Only then does he speak.

“It wouldn’t be a single-seater,” he says finally. “Rally, most likely. Scandinavia. Snow. Cold. Not much exposure. Barely any pay.”

You don’t hesitate. “Send my paycheck straight back to the team,” you say. “Call it a sponsorship. I don’t care what it is.”

That gets his attention.

Jos studies you, eyes narrowing just slightly. Not with suspicion. With curiosity. Like he’s just thrown a line out, expecting it to hang in the water for a while- and you bit down before it even landed.

It was a test. A measure of your grit. Of your desperation. Of your understanding.

And you passed.

He leans back ever so slightly, nodding once, like he’s filing something away. “That sounds like a good time, does it?” he asks, tone dry but edged with something almost amused.

You hold his gaze. Steady. “Yes. It does.”

Another beat. He looks at you for a moment longer- really looks. Like he’s trying to figure out if you’re naive or ruthless, and whether or not it matters.

Then, almost fondly: “You’re smart to ask.”

There’s no threat in it. But there is a temperature. A charge beneath the compliment. He wants you to know you’ve made the right choice. That you’re wise to seek him out. That there’s more where that came from, if you stay close.

Jos smiles again, all teeth and calculation disguised as generosity. “I’ll be in touch. Keep your gear bag packed.”

And just like that, you’ve traded yourself for a favor. You feel it settle in your ribs. Weightless. But not free. The kind of thing that won’t show up in contracts or inboxes, but that you’ll carry all the same. Jos slips away only a moment later.

One minute he’s promising to make a few calls, and the next he’s clapping someone on the back and gliding into another conversation- like he hadn’t just offered you a taste of something sharp and sweet with a leash hidden inside.

You’re left standing near the perimeter of the room, drink still in hand, blood still humming from the conversation. It's not adrenaline exactly. Not fear. Just the slow, uneasy swell of something that feels like a contract being signed without ink.

You can feel him before you hear him. The shift in temperature. The static at your back. Max. Predictable, honestly. That Jos would drop you off right in his periphery. Fitting, truly. Inevitable.

You don’t see him approach- he moves like a shadow under a locked door. Silent. Sure. Unwanted.

But this time? You’re not caught off guard. You’re not off balance. You’re not scrambling to please, or prove, or endure. You’re tired. Bone-deep tired. The kind of tired that scrapes everything polite out of your chest and leaves nothing behind but sharp teeth and sharper instincts.

And you’re not afraid of him anymore.

Max takes position just behind your left shoulder, close enough that the heat of him skims your skin without touching it. Like a dare. Like he wants you to turn.

You don’t flinch.

You just wait. He wouldn’t have stepped forward if he didn’t have something to say. Fucking say it, Max.

“You really going for the full set, huh?” he says at last, voice low and dry. Venom tucked under every syllable like it’s something elegant. “Sponsorship. Seat. Verstappen family holiday invite.”

You blink once. Slow. Unbothered. “Jesus.”

You turn your head over your shoulder- just enough to catch the line of his mouth, the cut of his eyes. The disdain’s still there, as always, but there’s something else now. Something darker coiled just behind it. “Is this your idea of a Christmas card?” you ask.

He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t have to. The accusation’s already in the air between you. He’s not here to be clever. He’s here to see what you’ll do.

You inhale, sharp and silent. Then pivot on your toe, full-body now, facing him square for the first time. He’s close. Closer than you expected. Closer than anyone should be in a room full of champagne and fairy lights and factory staff pretending they aren’t watching.

You meet him at eye level. No posture. No smile. No spin.

Just you.

“I’m sorry I’m not subtle enough for you,” you say, voice steady. “But some of us don’t have the luxury of pretending we don’t need favors.”

You take a half-step forward. Not aggressive. Not passive. Just enough to reclaim the space he thought he’d filled.

“Look,” you go on, tired and clear and done with it, “I’ve got nothing to sell but my drives and my time. That’s it. So yeah, if Jos wants to hand me a favor, or a drive, or a fucking photo op, I’m going to take it. I’m going to smile, say thank you, and take everything he gives me. Because I’m not in a position to be picky.”

His jaw tightens. Barely. Just enough.

And maybe you should stop there. But you’re so fucking done. With him. With this. With the way he’s hovered all season like a storm cloud and acted like you were the one blocking the sun.

So you don’t stop.

“Seriously,” you add, biting now, “why are you standing here? Why don’t you go find another junior employee to intimidate? Do some scouting for next season. You love that shit.”

Max doesn’t blink. Doesn’t budge.

But his silence isn’t power anymore. Not to you.

In two weeks, you’re out of his factory. Out of his immediate orbit. You’re done tiptoeing through his moods like they’re weather patterns. So you lean in. A breath closer. Just to twist the knife. Just because you can.

“Or maybe,” you murmur, “you want me to yell at you again.” His expression doesn’t change. But his pupils sharpen. You see it. The flash of it. That dark, sick little thing he doesn’t want to name.

You remember it. That day in the boardroom. The way he stood there, watching you unravel like it was art. Practically licking his fucking chops in the blood of a kill. Like he’d finally pulled the right string and the whole thing came tumbling down and God, wasn’t that just so satisfying.

You raise your brows now, almost playful. “Seemed like you loved it.” The air between you tightens.

Not with fear. With something else.

Something heavier. Twisted. Threaded through with adrenaline and ego and the fact that you don’t technically need to be any nicer to him than he deserves anymore- but fuck, you’ll still take the last word.

Your drink sweats in your hand. Somewhere, someone across the room laughs too loud. A champagne cork pops. Max breathes in. Sharp. Controlled. You can see the words on his tongue. You can see the war inside him- the want to snap back. To grab. To tear. But he doesn’t.

He flicks his gaze down your body instead.

Not long. Not crude. Just one slow, scalding drag of assessment. Like he’s not even sure if he’s sizing you up or taking you in. Then he tilts his head. Just a little. Voice flat. “Careful.”

You smile. Not sweet. Not kind. Just knowing. “Or what?” you say, cool and easy. “You’ll call HR? Kick me off the team?” You let the smile grow sharp. “Oh, wait. You can’t. I’m already leaving.”

His eyes narrow- barely. He’s trying so fucking hard not to react. To be cool. Detached. Unbothered. And he almost pulls it off. Almost. Because this? This isn’t a fight.

Not yet. This is play. The sick kind.

Two wild animals circling the same patch of dirt. Teeth bared, tails twitching. Neither of you quite sure if this is about dominance or the last laugh or mutual destruction- but God, don’t you both want to find out.

You take a sip of your drink. Cool and steady.

And Max- quiet, scalding Max- just stands there. Watching.

Your phone vibrates in your clutch.

You wouldn’t normally check it in the middle of a cold war reenactment with Max Verstappen, but almost everyone on your short, carefully curated no-Do-Not-Disturb list is in this room, except your parents and-

You pull it out.

Danny Ricciardo [8:42 PM] bailing on mclaren. headed your way. party still good or should we find a pub? 20 mins out

You blink. And then you smile. It hits like a burst of light- like someone cracked open a window in a room you didn’t know was suffocating you. Danny.

Your maybe-friend. Your only safe person in the entire Red Bull ecosystem. Someone who isn’t looking at you like he’s devastated you’re leaving, or like he’ll forget your name the second the paperwork clears, or like he’s waiting for God to strike you down mid-sentence.

(Max, that last one. That look is all Max.)

You type fast.

You [8:43 PM]still rolling but up to you. everyone here keeps looking at me like a kicked puppy. wouldn’t mind a drink that doesn’t have ‘compote’ or ‘infusion’ in it.

There’s no reply for a minute.

Two.

Five.

Max, then, checks his phone beside you, his thumb hovering just a little too long. You glance at him- because you can’t not- and for the first time, he looks mildly annoyed. That makes you feel excellent. The night does have hope after all. You sip your drink just to keep from smiling.

Your phone buzzes again.

Danny Ricciardo [8:51 PM]let’s go out. I’ll text when I’m close.

You straighten, pulse skipping just once. You’re not going out in this. Not with Danny. Not to a pub. Velvet dress? Ribbon hair? Absolutely not.

You glance at Max, who’s still scrolling, now with an expression like he’s trying to burn holes through his phone. Good. He can stay here with his bad mood and his weird dad. You’ve got plans. “Bye,” you murmur, not bothering to wait for him to look up.

You disappear through the side doors, heels clicking across tile. Up the stairs. Down the dim dorm hallway that’s somehow still home even when it’s already starting to forget you.

Inside your room, you move fast. Dress peeled off in one motion. You keep the nylons- they add a little warmth, and they make you feel like your legs have a little secret armor- and pull on a pair of shredded black jeans. High-rise, frayed knees, familiar as a favorite memory. A memory that is a little tight over the ass, but it’ll do.

A sleeveless top. Tighter. Cropped just enough to make your waist look like something sculpted- enough that it just barely kisses the waistband of your jeans. Black, because of course it is, but with a slight sheen that catches the dorm light.

You let your hair down. Shake it out. Pin the bow back in, low at the base of your skull.

Quick check in the mirror- yeah. That’ll do. Cute. Sharp. A little youthful. A little fuck-you. A little fuck-me.

Exactly right.

You grab your jacket. Lip gloss. Your phone. And when you leave this time, it’s not with a sense of something ending. It’s with a thrill in your chest like maybe- finally- something is about to begin. The all black is fitting- like Danny’s come to save you from your own funeral.

You’re practically skipping by the time you spot the rental SUV idling just past the front doors.

Factory lights still gleam overhead, pooling muted white against the cold pavement. You’re flushed from the party, from the hallway sprint, from the stupid quiet thrill of knowing someone actually wants to see you.

You wave once, already grinning.

Danny rolls the window down, half laughing already. “There she is! Backseat, Hollywood.”

You stop short. “What?”

He grins wider, too casual. “You’ve got the back.”

You blink. There’s a half-second- maybe less- where your brain tries to find a joke there, or context, or anything to make that sentence mean what you want it to mean.

But then you round the side and open the door-

Oh.

Okay.

That’s fine.

This is fine.

Max is in the passenger seat, half-turned toward the window, jacket collar flipped up like he’s shielding himself from the entire world. He doesn’t even look at you. Your brain tries to recalibrate.

Because you’d assumed. Of course you did. Danny texted you. Danny said let’s go out. Danny is your friend. And for a few fragile minutes, you let yourself believe that meant just you and him. That it would be easy. Familiar. Comforting.

And now-

Now you’re crawling into the backseat behind the same man you had a little verbal sparring match with not seven minutes ago. Perfect.

You clamber awkwardly across the console, half-kneeling on the leather, and stretch your arms around Danny in the world’s least ergonomic side hug.

He laughs, warm and immediate. “That’s one way to say hi.”

“You’re lucky I’m flexible,” you mutter, chin nearly in his shoulder.

“You’re lucky you smell good,” he shoots back, arms slipping around your waist just long enough to squeeze.

You pull back, cheeks pink from wind and exertion, and slide fully into the backseat.

Danny eyes you through the rearview mirror. “You look nice.”

You roll your eyes, adjusting your seatbelt. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“No, I’m saying it like you’re trouble.”

From the front, Max shifts. Says nothing.

You glance at the back of his head. His silence is louder than the engine.

Great.

This is going to be fun.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

You’re practically folded over the center console, laughing about something stupid- Danny said a phrase wrong, or you did, and now the two of you are tangled in some inside joke Max doesn’t understand and doesn’t want to. You’re taking up space like you live there- laughing, leaning in too close to Danny, warm in a way Max hasn’t seen from you in weeks. Maybe ever.

And it’s not just the posture. It’s the presentation.

Your hair spills over your shoulder, catching the light from the streetlamps overhead. Loose. Shiny. Feminine in a way that makes his throat tighten.

Your shirt rides up slightly at the back, just enough to reveal the soft curve of waist where the jeans cling a little too perfectly- black denim, snug in all the places that would make anyone stare, especially now, with your new body- louder, prouder, stronger than the one Max last saw at a weigh-in this summer. Sheer black nylons that aren’t entirely see-through, but just enough to make his eyes linger before he can snap them away.

He doesn’t look. He shouldn’t be looking. He isn’t looking.

But he can’t stop seeing.

He tries not to. Shifts in his seat like that’ll stop his peripheral vision from functioning. Like the heat creeping under his collar isn’t his problem to deal with.

He hates this.

Because it’s not just the way you look- it’s the way Danny’s looking at you. The way you’re looking at Danny. All warm and open and lit up from the inside. Like Danny’s safe. Like he’s yours. Like he’s seen something Max hasn’t.

There’s a ribbon in your hair.

A fucking ribbon.

Tied low, trailing down the back of your neck where your curls fall loose and messy, like you meant for them to look that soft. That touchable. But Max can’t stop looking at it. He hates that bow. He hates what it implies- what it softens. Like you’re approachable. Sweet. Like there’s anything gentle about you.

And he hates that it works.

Danny said it first- you smell good- and Max hasn’t been able to un-smell you since. Now Max can’t stop noticing. Something soft and expensive and a little sweet, something that clings to the heater vents. Wraps around his throat. It’s subtle. Effortless. Exactly the kind of scent that doesn’t try to draw attention but does anyway. Warm. Light. Clean. A little vanilla, maybe. A little powder. Something soft and domestic and utterly disarming, soaking into the the edge of his patience with every breath.

He wants to roll down the fucking window.

You look good. And that should be annoying. Just another fucking thing about you that takes up too much space. But it’s worse than annoying.

He hates all of it. He hates how cute it is. Not loud. Not styled to seduce. Just naturally, infuriatingly attractive. He wants to make Danny turn the car around. Wants to shout something just to ruin the mood you and Danny are building without even trying.

Because it undermines everything. The bow, the perfume, the gloss on your lips- none of it belongs on someone like you. Someone who’s clawed her way into every room, swinging elbows, spitting fire, refusing to take a single inch without drawing blood.

But now you’re in Danny’s car looking like this?

Like a girl?

Because for the first time- the first time- Max doesn’t see you as a rival, or a nuisance, or a pressure point to push until you scream.

For the first time, he sees you as a woman.

And he hates it. Hates that it’s you. That it’s now. That it's happening at all. Because you’re not supposed to be this. You’re supposed to be sharp edges and smug retorts. A storm in a Red Bull polo. Someone to fight with. Someone to prove wrong.

You’re not supposed to be cute.

You’re not supposed to be beautiful.

But you are.

And now you’re glowing in the backseat like some perfect fucking contradiction, all honeyed edges and storm-wrought eyes, and Max-

Max can’t breathe.

Because the same power that makes him want to throw something through a wall every time you talk is the same thing that’s pulling at his nerves right now. That’s twisting under his skin like a wire.

You are so goddamn alive.

Every room you walk into, you change the temperature.

Every time you speak, you rearrange the gravity.

Max clenches his jaw. Because the worst part- the part he can’t admit, even to himself- is that this isn’t new. Not really. That presence you carry, that fire, that thing that pisses him off every time you open your mouth- that’s what this is. You’re a problem. You’ve always been a problem.

And now he’s seeing what that problem looks like in black jeans and soft perfume and a bow tied at the back of your head like a dare. You’re not just a problem. You’re alluring. You’re dangerous. And Max is hating every single fucking second of realizing it.

When the car pulls up in front of the pub, you unclip your seatbelt with a soft click and glance between the two of them.

“I can check it out first,” you say, hand already on the door. “Make sure it’s halfway subtle. Not filled with factory staff or a Max fan club.”

Danny huffs a laugh, but you’re already slipping out- shoulders squared, leather sneakers hitting pavement with that easy, practiced rhythm that says you’ve never once considered asking permission to take up space.

You cross in front of the SUV, slicing clean through the headlights. And for a second- just a second- Max forgets to breathe.The way your hips move. The way the sheen of your tights catches the light through the ripped in the denim at the back of your thigh. The bow bouncing softly behind your hair as you go.

Danny’s eyebrows shoot up.

He’s watching, too. Staring, really. Full tilt. Blatant.

And not in the way Max is- bitter and defensive, trying to smother it before it spreads. Danny’s looking like someone genuinely pleased to see you. Someone who likes watching you walk. Someone who wouldn’t mind seeing you keep going and not come back, just so he has an excuse to follow.

And Max-

Max hates that, too.

You disappear into the pub, shoulders back, posture casual. And the moment the door swings shut behind you, Danny exhales.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “She looks good.”

Max doesn’t respond. Doesn’t look. Tries not to. But he can feel you out there, just like he’s always been able to feel it- occupying more than your share of the air.

Danny exhales through his teeth, a little laugh catching at the end. “She always like that?”

Max flicks his eyes toward him, annoyed already. “Like what?”

Danny shrugs, eyes still tracking the door you just disappeared behind. “You know. All... that.”

Max doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t know what that even means. The ribbon? The legs? The presence?

Danny glances at him. A little softer now. Still watching the door, but quieter. More careful. “You knew her first, man. What’s her deal?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Max could say a dozen things.

Her deal?

Where would he even start?

He could say you are stubborn. Sharp-tongued. Obsessive. You don’t bend unless something breaks you. You’re exhausting and impressive and sometimes so fucking loud in his head it drowns out everything else.

But the truth is simpler. The truth is worse.

All Max really knows is how much it takes to break you.

That’s it.

How long you can hold your breath in the fire. How much pressure you absorb before something cracks. What your voice sounds like when you’ve been holding back a scream for hours, for weeks. What it’s like to push you into a corner until the only thing left is fight.

It’s not knowledge. It’s pathology.

And it makes him feel a little sick.

He looks away, jaw tight. “I don’t know her.” And it’s the truth, but it doesn’t feel like the right thing to say. Not when Danny’s looking at him like he wants a reason to justify feeling something warm- like he’s hoping Max can explain the thing Danny’s become infatuated with. But Danny doesn’t push. Cuts himself off as your figure comes darting back across the parking lot.

You push open the car door and duck back in, breath puffing in the cold. “It’s decent,” you report, tugging your jacket tighter. “Not a lot of quiet corners, but if we can get y’all to a table fast, there’s a good chance we can get a drink or two in before the whole town realizes Verstappen’s here for pint night.”

Danny snorts and grabs the handle. “Copy that. Deploying cover fire.”

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

The three of you head inside. It’s warm, a little cramped, but charming in that British-pub-on-a-Friday kind of way. Low ceilings, scuffed wood, red walls. A few tables of locals already deep into their second round, but no one looks up long enough to register who just walked in.

You claim a booth near the back- narrow, loud, good enough- and offer to grab the drinks. Danny rattles off his usual, Max mutters his without looking up, and you head to the bar, sharp-heeled and half-smirking as you go.

You come back balancing three pints in your hands, pushing one toward each of them and settling into the seat across from both. Max takes his without thanks. Danny gives you a soft, sideways look that you pretend not to see.

Small talk kicks up, carried mostly by Danny. Easy stuff. You all pretend for ten minutes that the last few months haven’t been a professional and emotional meat grinder. You have problems. Danny has problems. Max has problems. You talk about none of them. Instead, racing gossip. Car updates. A truly unhinged story from Danny about a team principal with food poisoning in Singapore. You didn’t need to know that much about Zak Brown, honestly, but you’re laughing anyways.

And then, half a beer in, Danny leans back. One arm stretched across the booth. His gaze lands on you.

“So.” He takes a slow sip. “Hollywood. You talked to anyone since moving?”

You blink. Oh. “Like… romantically?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Or whatever you call it when it’s mutual.”

You nearly choke on your beer. You cough once, cover your mouth, and wave a hand like it’ll clear the air. “Oh my God.”

Danny laughs immediately. “That bad?”

“That’s hilarious,” you sputter, wiping your mouth. “Genuinely. Peak comedy.”

Max shifts slightly, glass still in his hand but eyes cut sharp across the table. Maybe you shouldn’t talk about your life in front of him, but honestly, there’s nothing to tell. Not really.

You shake your head. “Danny. I live in a dorm room above the factory. Everyone I interact with is either married, under the age of twenty, or- ” you gesture lazily, without even looking- “him.”

Danny turns to glance at Max and immediately huffs a laugh. “Right. Right.”

Max doesn’t blink. Just lifts his beer and takes a long, steady sip.

You lean back in your seat, finally grinning. “Where do you think I’m meeting people? The break room? Am I supposed to flirt with the espresso machine?”

Danny’s shoulders are shaking now, head tilted back in open laughter. “Listen, I don’t know your life.”

“No. But you should. Because it’s deeply, profoundly celibate. Probably for the best. I don’t really plan on doing the whole distance thing.”

Danny’s still grinning when he gestures with the rim of his pint toward you. “Okay. No distance. Fair enough. So, theoretically- if someone not married, not a minor, and not mean,” he says, throwing a glance at Max that’s almost too quick to track, “were to, say… express interest. Someone from F1. That’d be off the table?”

You raise an eyebrow. “From F1?” The suspicion in your voice is thick enough to chew on. Profound. Amused, because this is a joke, clearly.

He shrugs, feigning innocence. “What? We’re not all emotionally stunted.”

You snort. “Okay. Let’s break that down.”

Danny lifts his hands. “I’m just asking questions.”

“Uh-huh. Let’s fuck one of my new coworkers,” you say dryly, “whose dating pool is a puddle. Like, I have seen more water on the floor of my shower.” Danny nearly spits his beer, but you keep going. You’re on one, now.

“Yeah, fantastic idea. Let me join the glorious tradition of passing around the same three girlfriends like a paddock carnival prize. I’ll get murdered in my sleep by a group of jealous ex-WAGs and my tombstone will just say ‘should’ve known better.’”

Danny’s howling now, and even he looks slightly ashamed about how funny he finds it. Max hasn’t said a word, but you can feel it- the bristle, the shift in his posture. That thing he does when he’s trying to stay above it and failing completely. Like he does not want to appear to be enjoying this conversation in any manner, yet can’t quite help it.

And then he speaks. Mistake. “They’re not all like that,” he says, quiet but pointed.

You both turn to look at him. Just one of those slow, synchronized movements that would be funny if it weren’t so precise. Danny raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” You just sip your beer, staring at him over the rim.

Because if Max Verstappen- the reigning king of WAG turnover- is about to defend the honor of the grid, you’re going to need another drink.

And you both wait.

And Max?

He says nothing. Because he can’t. Because his most recent ex was literally the mother of his former teammate’s child. Kelly. Kelly fucking Piquet.

She was with Daniil. Had a baby with him. Then moved on to Max like it was a change in season. And Max, to his credit- or to his utter lack of shame- never said a word. Just took what he wanted, like he always does.

The silence stretches.

Danny takes a sip of his beer. You take another.

And the look you both give him- matching, amused, pointed- is louder than anything either of you could’ve said. Max doesn’t flinch. But the muscle in his jaw ticks.

Yeah. That’s what you thought. Down, boy.

The conversation drifts. Eventually, even Max and Danny start talking- about tire strategy, about something ridiculous Christian said in a meeting last month, about a simulator bug that made the steering rack twitch even under a full shutdown like a haunted marionette. You know the one. You had to unplug the wheel entirely each night just to keep it from scaring the shit out of you after 9 pm.

You half-listen, sipping your beer, watching the crowd thicken near the bar. Observe the slow turn of a face or two across the room- but everyone goes back to their own beers, their own conversations.

You’re part of the table, but not the conversation. Just a warm body holding one corner down. And honestly, it feels kind of nice. To not be the one driving the story. To let your posture soften, to let your brain go quiet for a minute.

Max is talking to Danny now- something about the setup in Brazil and how god-awful the outside line was that weekend. You’re half-listening, enough to track the rise and fall of his voice, the occasional gesture of his hand, but your mind drifts.

Danny is still nodding along. Still laughing in the right places. But you notice it- once, twice, then again.

His eyes keep darting over to you.

The first glance is quick. Curious, even. The second lingers longer. Long enough that you glance up and catch it. He doesn’t look away. By the third time, he’s full-on watching you.

Like you’re the most interesting thing he’s seen in weeks. Like maybe he’s not just being polite anymore.

You glance down at your drink, the rim of your glass smudged with a faint print of gloss, and try not to fidget. It’s not romantic. Not exactly. But it’s focused. Intentional. He’s looking at you like he forgot what Max was even saying.

And Max notices.

You feel it in the fractional pause in his cadence. The way his voice flattens slightly at the edges. His story loses shape. His next sentence tapers off like he’s forgotten the punchline or just doesn’t feel like delivering it anymore.

There’s a lull- brief but open- and Danny jumps on it like he’s been waiting all night for the gap. Turns to you fully.

“You really are fun, you know that?” he says, leaning a little closer, the kind of grin on his face that usually means trouble- but not in a mean way. Somewhere between beer two and beer three, and all of him just buzzing with charm and distraction.

You blink, startled out of your haze, but smile anyway. “I hope so. Would hate to be boring on top of everything else.”

Danny’s smile softens. His voice drops half a register. “No. Not just fun. Like- bright. You glow when you’re around people you like.” That makes you pause. It’s sweet. Really sweet. And unexpected. You’re not exactly sure what to do with it.

Not in a romantic way. Not really. It’s just Danny being Danny- charming, loose around the edges, ADHD running the conversation like a DJ with a broken crossfader. You’ve gathered that he’s always this side of a flirt, especially after a couple drinks. But still, something about the way he says it lands. The way his attention keeps snapping back to you like a rubber band.

You smile, wide and sheepish. “You’re just saying that because I got the drinks,” you tease, nudging his foot under the table.

Danny laughs. “Maybe. But it’s still true.”

Max, across from both of you, exhales like he’s trying not to audibly gag. And then- because he cannot help himself- he drops the hammer. “Right,” Max says, voice flat. “Just wait ‘til you see her lose it in a meeting. Then you’ll really see her glow.”

You blink.

Danny turns.

Max sips his beer, casual. Lethal. “Full meltdown. Everyone stopped talking. I think someone apologized to her, which was insane, because she was the one yelling.”

You can feel the flush rise up your chest like a fuse.

Because how dare he. You stare at him. Stunned. Furious. You can’t even speak yet.

Because he left out everything.

He left out the weeks of poking and prodding. The whispered digs. The anonymous feedback dropped into your reports. The pointed questions in front of senior staff. The deliberate redactions in your sim notes that made you look wrong even when you weren’t.

The mother-fucking-Diet-Coke.

He left out how he made you snap. Just this. This version. You, unhinged. Overreacting. Embarrassing. And now he’s feeding it to Danny like you’re some unhinged liability who just couldn’t keep her pretty little mouth shut in a meeting.

Max takes a slow sip of his beer. God, he looks so fucking pleased with himself.

But then- Danny laughs. Hard.

You blink again, confused.

Danny’s eyebrows go up. “No way. Her? C’mon.”

He looks at you, grinning. “You? You’re the meltdown type?”

Your mouth opens, words fighting their way up your throat, then closes again. Because what are you supposed to say? That it’s true? That you did raise your voice, that you did storm out, that you did send a stack of paperwork flying over the top of Max’s head and let it rain down like confetti?

That Max got what he wanted?

Danny leans back. “Nah. Don’t believe it. Not Hollywood. Not our girl.” He says our girl, like Max might share a claim to any part of you but your absolute contempt.

You glance at Max. He’s still staring into his glass. But his jaw is tight now. Just slightly. Like the moment didn’t go the way he planned. Danny bumps your foot under the table again, teasing. “You’d have to be a menace to get her to snap.”

You lean forward slightly, eyes still locked on Max, voice just loud enough to cut through the hum of the pub.

“Yeah,” you say. “A real fucking menace.”

Max doesn’t flinch. But his next sip of beer is sharp, and silent. But you can’t gloat on it for long, because there’s something about the room, the bar, the energy that’s… changing. You sneak a glance over the boys.

A couple glances from across the pub. Someone nudging someone else. A phone tilted in your direction, not discreetly enough. The laughter from your table a little too loud, your faces a little too familiar.

You’re not famous-famous. Not like them. But you’ve got enough edge now that your name rings a bell. And when you’re sitting across from two men who look very much like Max Verstappen and Daniel Ricciardo on a Friday night, wearing a shirt that fits a little too well and a bow in your hair that people seem to notice more than they should- it adds up.

You clock it before either of them. So you slide your empty glass across the table and say, “Time to go.” No one argues.

Outside, the air is colder than you expect. Your breath fogs. Max shrugs into his coat without a word. Danny smiles, easy and relaxed, spinning his keys once before offering them to you.

“You good to drive? We can get a cab if we need to.”

You nod. “One beer. You guys had, what, two? Three?”

Max grunts. Danny grins, a little shrug, boyish. “I was thirsty.”

You slide into the driver’s seat. Max takes the passenger side without asking, which- yuck. Bad manners. Danny climbs in back. The plan’s simple: drop them off at the hotel. You’ll take Danny’s rental car back to the factory, bring it back to him tomorrow.

Easy.

But when you pull up to the curb, the quiet lingers just a little too long. You put the car in park. Danny leans forward between the seats, voice low and warm.

“You want to come in? Just for a drink. Hotel bar or my room- whatever’s less weird.” You blink. Not thrown off, not uncomfortable- just surprised. Max stiffens beside you. Danny’s smile doesn’t waver. “Just to hang out. You’ve been in factory jail for weeks.”

You glance at him. Then Max. Then back again. “I mean- sure,” you say, casual. “I’ll come in for a little.”

And that’s when Max says it. “I’ll come too.”

You turn.

Danny blinks.

Max’s expression doesn’t change. Still casual. Still detached. “If we’re doing a nightcap. Why not.”

Danny hesitates. Just a beat. “You literally said you were going straight to bed.”

Max shrugs. “Changed my mind.”

You stare at him. “You really don’t have to- ”

Max cuts you off. “I want to.”

And that’s it. Decision made.

You press your lips together, amused despite yourself. Danny sighs, a little dramatic. “Alright. Boys’ night plus you, then.”

You shake your head and kill the engine. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Max’s jaw ticks as he gets out. He’s already regretting all of it. But the idea of Danny and you alone- in a hotel bar with mood lighting, or on a couch, or anywhere near a bed- is worse.

If Danny falls for you, Max won’t survive it. He is not losing custody of his best friend to you.

So tonight?

He’s not letting either of you out of his sight.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

One drink turns into four.

You’re not even sure how. One minute you’re perched on the edge of the couch in Danny’s hotel suite, shoes still on, sipping something floral and deceptively strong. The next, you’re flat on your back on the carpet, legs splayed out under the coffee table, laugh-crying into your forearm.

You can’t breathe. You cannot breathe.

Because Max- Max- is pacing the room, red-faced and animated, shouting over Danny while they argue about whose fault it was that the side of Max’s caravan sheared off halfway through their marketing stunt at the RedBull Ring five years back.

“No, no, no- you hit me!,” Max says, pointing aggressively with his gin and tonic like it's a laser pointer of truth. “You always do this- !”

“I was being cinematic!” Danny yells, already wheezing. “It was for the shot!”

“For the shot?! It was a caravan, not a drone sequence! You tipped my caravan over!”

You’re howling.

There are tears streaming down your face. Your stomach hurts. You’re half convinced you might actually piss yourself on the floor of a Milton Keynes hotel if they keep going. And you don’t know if Max is actually funny or if you’re just drunk enough to believe he is- but either way, this is the funniest thing you’ve heard in weeks.

Maybe ever.

You manage to lift your head just enough to wheeze, “Please stop talking- I can’t breathe- ”

Danny falls off the arm of the couch, landing next to you in a heap. ““I was winning!!” he gasps again, absolutely beside himself.

Max throws his hands in the air, grinning like a lunatic. “You were going to kill us!”,

You’re laughing so hard now that it’s silent- just your mouth open, body shaking, face buried in the hotel carpet.

You should not be this happy. Not here. Not now. Not with them. But God, for the first time in months, the ache behind your ribs isn’t heavy. It’s light. Not this isn’t terrible, not this is actually kind of enjoyable, but genuine, rib cracking fun.

You can’t help but think it again, horrifyingly, as he gears up for another round of arguing with Danny. Max Verstappen- stone-faced, growling, rage-fueled Max Verstappen- might actually be funny. The world is upside-down. And you’re just drunk enough to love it.

At some point following drink four, Danny tries to scoot closer to you on the couch.

It’s not dramatic- just a lean-in, knee bumping yours, shoulder dipping slightly in your direction as he cracks open another story. You don’t really clock it. You’re still laughing, still breathless from whatever Max just said about how fucking terrible the sausages they cooked at the end were.

But Max sees it.

Max clocks it immediately.

And before Danny can even shift his weight again, Max moves- fast and thoughtless, dropping down right between you like he’s claiming a spot that was always his. “I mean, you could taste the propane,” he cuts in, reaching across you both for a half-empty can of tonic. “I think that’s when I realized I am an awful cook.”

Danny blinks. His arm is still outstretched where it was trying to find the back of the couch behind your shoulders.

Now it’s hovering awkwardly in midair behind Max’s neck.

You blink too, a little disoriented, because now Max is suddenly close- like really close- one leg pressed against yours, his shoulder brushing yours every time he gestures. He’s not even looking at you, just ranting about how Danny “none of it was the same after he left,” but the space between you has evaporated.

Danny tries again a few minutes later- after he stands to make another round of drinks, another bout of story-laugh-shouting that has you giggling into your wrist, head thrown back against the couch cushion.

Danny drops on the arm of the couch as he hands you your drink, shifts toward you. Barely. Just trying to close the distance. Maybe bump your shoulder. Maybe nudge his knee next to yours again.

Max leans back.

Elbows wide. Legs spread. Like he’s stretching- only somehow, his stretch ends with his knee fully pressed against yours and his arm slung behind you on the couch. Not quite touching you. But close enough that the heat of him is a presence. Enough to make you stand too, vacate the space Max clearly needed to manspread into, and drop down on the far side of the couch. Max between you and Danny. Again. It’s fine. It’s better even, because you can kick your feet up.

Danny narrows his eyes. Clears his throat. Mate, you are fucking this up for me.

Max doesn’t even glance at him. Doesn’t notice. Or rather, he pretends not to. Just keeps sitting there.

Because as far as he’s concerned, he’s just protecting his friend. That’s all. Keeping things in check. Hogging Danny, maybe, but only because he doesn’t want him tangled up with someone who ruins everything she touches.

That’s the reason.

And it keeps happening. You’ve noticed, even through the gin haze.

Every time Danny leans in- just slightly- Max inserts himself like it’s a sport. When Danny shifts toward you on the couch, Max shifts further. When Danny makes a joke, Max cuts in before you can answer. When Danny starts a story, Max finishes it.

You’ve moved to the armrest. Then the cushion beside it. Then leaned onto the floor with your back to the couch.

Each time, Max finds you.

It’s gotten to the point where you’re halfway through a laugh and suddenly there’s a knee pressed into yours and Max is talking again, louder, sharper- about you, at you, through you.

Like just by existing, you’ve ruined something that was his.

You try to ignore it.

Try to keep drinking. Keep smiling. Talk less, if only it means trying to hang onto the little bit of joy left in the night.

But the last straw comes when Danny tosses an arm across the back of the couch, joking about some fucked up F1-themed wedding he saw on Instagram- complete with matching helmets- and Max just has to cut in.

“Hey, maybe you can sell your wedding to SkySports,” he says, all casual menace. “Or maybe not. Wouldn’t want a public meltdown broadcasted when you go full-bridezilla.”

Your entire body stills, because what normal fucking person would ever say that?

Danny freezes, stares at Max. You stare at Max. Danny stares at Max. You stare at Max. Danny stares like his favorite dog just shit on the floor of the White House. And for a long moment, the room is just… quiet.

Then, you turn your head. Slowly. You speak. Too sweet. “Max?”

He glances over, cocky as hell.

You smile. Bright. Lethal. “I would rather lick the inside of a fucking racing boot than sit next to you for one more minute.”

Danny chokes on his drink. You stand, grab your phone, and type out a rideshare request in record time.

Max shrugs, already halfway smug. “I’m just-.”

You cut whatever bullshit he had loaded up off at the knees. “-you were just shutting the fuck up, thanks.”

You don’t even wait for a reply. Just turn to Danny- softening your expression, letting the warmth return. “Thanks for tonight,” you say, and mean it. “I had fun. I’ll see you around.”

And then you’re gone. Door swinging gently shut behind you.

Danny stares at it. Still holding his lowball glass of ice. Still seated on the couch, still half stuck in the dream where he was supposed to be the one walking you out. Getting a real date set. Maybe a kiss, if he’s being wishful. At the very least, not ending the night like this.

Max exhales. “You’re welcome.”

Danny turns slowly. “Sorry?”

Max shrugs. “You were about to make a mistake. I saved you.”

Danny just stares. “You think she’s a mistake?”

“I know she is.”

“Right.” Danny nods, lets it hang for a moment. “Cool. Cool cool cool.”

Silence.

Max sits back like it’s a game he just won. Like he didn’t just gut the night with a single, well-placed knife between her ribs.

“I liked her,” Danny says, finally. Quiet. Not for sympathy. Just the truth.

Max doesn’t say anything. Because he could see Danny liked you, at least a little. And he did fuck it up. On purpose. He watched Danny lean in- watched him light up like you were something precious- and he couldn’t let it happen.

Not because he wanted you. But because Danny did. And something about that felt too threatening. Too unstable. Too real. So he ruined it.

And he’s still not sorry.

Because in Max’s mind, he didn’t sabotage Danny’s shot with a good thing- he saved him from a bomb that hadn’t gone off yet. He just doesn’t know how to explain that in a way that doesn’t make him sound like the jealous asshole he refuses to believe he is.

So instead, he leans back. Folds his arms. And lets the disappointment settle between them, thin and quiet and heavy as sleep.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

Series Masterlist

A/N: Back from the dead with a 31 pager! Definitely struggling a little bit recently, and I hate that feeling of being 'in debt' to you guys with chapters, so I am going to try to make a push for a few releases this week, don't hate me if it doesn't go accordingly.

On my hands and knees begging for feedback and your commentary on the story as it quite literally is my only mental reward for the hours I am putting in. It makes my little ADHD brain go brrrr

#f1 #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #formula one #f1 fanfic #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #mv1 fic #mv1 x reader #mv33 #mv1 #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1

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svt-ara · 4 days ago

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go through ara's miumiu bag thanks to an interview made by vogue korea!

ᯓ★ 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 mention of food, mention of health conditions (asthma) | ๋⸝⸝⸝⸝ 𝗪𝗖 2.1k | ๋⸝⸝⸝⸝ 𝗔𝗡 literally loved making this, it's so funny. i tried to fit the members in as much as i could without making it too forced, hope i did my best 😭. not proofread

italics is the staff, [ additional subtitles ]

꒰୨ 𝓜asterlist ୧꒱

«hello, this is ara from seventeen. it's such a pleasure to meet everyone— today i'm here with 'vogue' to show you what's in my bag and what i never leave the house without» ara comfortably sat on a dark brown couch, her posture relaxed and her tone sounded warm as she spoke.

the room around her was minimalistic— white walls surrounded the space, the light was bright and a low glass table that mirrored the color of the couch sat in front of her. ara was clearly the focal point, dressed in a soft pale pink top adorned with a black lace around the neckline, elegant black trousers flowing down her legs and a pair of classic louboutins on her feet. beside her rested a sleek black miumiu bag— simple and cozy.

«should we start?» she smiled, though the tension in her body betrayed her— her hands were lightly rubbing the fabric of her pants. ara was used to having cameras pointed at her face all the time, but usually, there were other thirteen of them to share the spotlight. this time she was alone— all the eyes, the lights, the focus were on her and no matter how many years had passed, she still wasn't quite used to it.

«so, this is the bag i use the most. it's from miumiu, made of leather, and i really love how it's big but super fashionable at the same time. i can basically carry my whole house in there and still look cool» of curse, it was the frist thing she reached for. ara proudly showed it to the camera, it wasn't just for sponorship as the global ambassador of the brand. she genuiely loved that purse, carrying it around every chance she got.

«the frist item is my phone» she pulls out a white iphone 13 pro max with an adorable semi-trasparent case, decorated with sightly raised pink-ish sheeps. «i usually don't carry my phone in my pockets because i have this phobia that i will lose it, so it's always in my bag. it's a bit annoying to open the bag everytime i need to check the time or see if i got notifications, but it's better than losing everything i have on it» one hand held the phone, showing it to the cameras, while the other ran her fingers over the little sheeps. it was some kind of stress reliever.

«also, look how cute the case is. jun bought it for me when he was in china, he said it reminded him of me» she smiled softly, running her fingers over the little sheeps again. «honestly, the members always find the weirdest things that remind them of me. i'm still deciding if that's a sweet comment or if he was making fun of me. either way, it worked— i haven't changed it since» she ended with a soft smile, remembering the exact moment he had given to her.

«have you ever lost your phone?» a voiceover asked, making ara lower her head in embarrassment as soft giggles escaped her lips. that question should have been expected. «yes, i actually did one time, it was a long ago tho. when i was a traniee, i lost it and didn't find it for almost a week. i couldn't contact my parents and they got seriously worried. turns out, it was in a forgotten corner of the building the whole time. that's how i developed this phobia» she was grateful the lights were so bright to the point they could barely notice her flushed cheeks.

«okay, i think we can go on with the second item»

[ escaping the funny story ]

«oh...» a small sound escaped her lips as she was seen reaching for something, but seemed to be stuck inside the bag. her fingers fumbled for a moment, eyebrows furrowing in mild frustration before she let out a quiet— and embarassed— laugh. «hold on, give me a second. this always happens to me» after a few more second of gentle tugging, she finally pulled out a pair of white earbuds. «they're stuck with me, basically glued to my ears at this point. i can't survive without music, but they get tangled so easly-» her attention was somewhere else while she talked— her hands buried in the bag, fishing out a pair of airpods.

«-that's why i also bring a pair of airpods, they are comfier» she said, holding up the small white case now far from plain. it was proudly decorated by her with some tiny stickers— like some hearts, a tiny peach right in the corner or a bear sleeping. «but the most beautiful part is the case. i decorated myself out of necessity— one time i accidentally switched them with one of the member and spent the past three days trying to figure out why they didn't connected to my phone» ara chucked, admiring her own case until she came across her favorite sticker. «i really like this one, wonwoo said it looks like me when i nap backstage» she finally placed the case next to her phone, a quiet smile still lingering on her lips at the memory of his words.

[ sudded sentimetal moment ]

«the fourth item i never leave the house without is my hand sanitizer. i think i could actually go insane if i forgot to pack it in my bag» ara held up a small pink bottle with a white cap, turning it sightly so the camera could catch the sparkles inside. «but the regular smell really bothered me, tought. it used to give me headache. that's when i discovered they make it in so many scents— this one smells like strawberries, that's why it has a pink cap» she explained innocently, opening the bottle to smell it. her nose crinkled a little in satisfaction. «yeah, that's it. strawberry is one of my favorite scent» the satisfaction in her tone clear as she dared to put some on her hands.

[ because regular sanitizer is too basic 🍓 ]

«top 3 scents?» the voiceover asked, making her laugh. her hands clapped togheter as she threw her head back in amusement. she thought about it for few seconds after speaking again «hmm... the frist one is absolutely strawberry, it remindes me of my home and it's so comforting. then, maybe cotton candy and vanilla» she smiled, clearly enjoying sharing this little detail of herself.

«and right after the hand sanitizers, comes the profume» the giggled softly, a genuine smile lighting up her face. she reached into her bag again and pulled out a small, elegant bottle— it's the miss dior absolutely blooming. holding it up carefully, she explained «dare to say i'm not the biggest fan of profumes in general, but this one is so lovely» she gave the bottle a gentle spritz into the air and took a small, satisfied smell. «it's like... flowery, it lift up your mood» she took a moment to find the right words, her eyes sparkling in joy at the little trasure she found. «if out there there are people who hardly finds profumes they enjoy, that's the perfect one» she said as she placed the little bottle near the other things on the low table and smiled. «alright, that's enough scents for today. let me show you something more pratical»

«this is my wallet» she pulled out a pink wallet adorned with some cutw bows— completely the opposite from the sleek black bag it came from. «i know people matches their wallet with their bag. well, clearly i'm not one of them. when i saw this wallet i fell in love, it was too cute to not buy it even if it didn't matched with my black bag at all» she smiled admiring the stones on the wallet. «sometimes is nice to have some contrast, don't you think?»

[ completely the opposite ]

she began to open the wallet, eager to even show the inside, but then she hesistated for a moment. tucked in one of the clear pockets, sat an untouched polaroid of her and hoshi. it was from a casual night when they had gone for a walk, and when they saw a polaroid machine, hoshi insisted they had to take one. the photo captured something really genuine between them, and she loved it so much she had do keep a copy in her wallet. the original one belonged to the back of hoshi's phone «i can't show you, i'm sorry» she giggled, gently closing the wallet once more.

«is this the seventh item?» she asked, her voice was a mix of concern and amusement as her eyes scanned the sea of staff members in front of her. her eyebrows furrowed sightly while her hand continued to search throught the the bag. she almost looked suspicious at the amount of things had already come out, she even lost the count. «i swear i didn't think a packed this much today» she almost whispered to herself before letting out a quiet laugh. «my bag is surprising me like it's surprising you» she smiled one last time before taking another item.

«my lip liners and a lip balm» ara smiled at the camera as she finally pulled them out of her bag. she held them proudly— two small pencils in netural tones and a soft-looking balm with a minimal package. «i think lip liners are honestly the best beauty item, and those two are my favortie ones. can't go around without them» she twirled one pencil around her fingers while her head slightly tilted on the side. «no matter how messy i fell, if i have my lip liner i feel a little more putted togheter» she added with a quiet laugh.

[ proof it's all in your head ]

«we're finally leading to the eight and last item» ara said with a playful sigh, glancing at her almost-empty bag and all her perfectly allined items as if saying bye to her little advenutre. her tone was light but with a hint of fondness— this whole thing turned out more fun than she'd expected. «you know, i didn't know i carried around so many things until i had to sit down and explain each of them» she added with a chuckle, her fingers already inside the bag reaching for the final item.

«and last but not least— gummy worms» she announced, pulling out a small, slightly crinkled packet from her bag with a big smile. the colorful candy peeked out the trasparent part of the packaging immediatly adding a playful vibe to the items lined on the table. «this used to be my secret weapon— none knew about them. then, i don't know how, one of the member discovered and the day after everyone were going throught my purse to search them» she said, shaking the pack a little before leaning forward sightly. «now i have to hide them, if i leave my bag unattended for too long, they just magically disappear» ara laughed at herself and then placed the candy next the other items, everything is perfectly lined up. «anyway, i have them just in care— you never know if you'll need a sugar boost» and with that, she smiled at the camera one last time before the staff asked her some questions.

«which item would you save frist if your bag caught in fire»

ara sightly widened her eyes at the random question, lips twiching into an half smile «that's such a dramatic scenario» she laughed, shaking her head «but okay, let me think... well, definitely my hand sanitizer— especially if it's the strawberry one» she added, playfull difensive and then continued with her little list «then we have my phone, because... it's my phone and lip liners, i need at least one of them to survive emotionally» she joked, nodding seriously like it was a matter of life and death.

[ priorities, but make it pretty ]

«if you had do dye your hair a crazy color tomorrow, what would you choose?»

«that's actually a good question, let me think» her fingers tapped the table few times as her eyes galanced upwards. after few seconds, a grin curved her lips. «i feel like half lavander and half light blue, is this crazy enough? i don't know» she laughed, tilting her head sightly already imagining it «i think it would look so pretty under stage lights, like glowing candy foss or something— maybe i should consider it for real» she joked, brushing a strad of hair behind her ear.

«do you think your bag matches your personality?»

she paused toughtfully «i think it's actually the opposite. the outside it black and simple while the inside it's a mixing of colour and personality» she shrugged lightly «but in real life, i'm kinda of in reverse. i look bright and bubbly outside— and, hey, inside i'm like that most of the times, but sometimes it's not»

[ looks can be deciving ]

«what's a thing no one knows about you?»

ara thought about it for a moment and then responded. «no one ever knows i have athsma, it isn't something i struggle with everyday fortunately— it's not that bad. but it can get very challenging during long perfomances, like concerts, my stamina definitely gets affected»

«if you could switch lives for a day with someone else, who would it be?»

«i think it would be s.coups. i'm curious about what its like to be the leader— is it that stressful? or maybe woozi, i'd love to try his producing skills and see life from another point of view— like that of an introvert»

«who do you trust the most to leave your bag with?»

«i think... vernon. he's the kind of person who barely even galances at it, so i'm sure noting would ever get stolen»

[ trust level : vernon ]

COMMENTS ⁸⁶⁴

not the gummy worms being stolen 😭

wdy she would rather save some hand sanitizer rather than her wallet, that's a crazy work

╰┈ girl, she has a diagnosed ocd ☠️ have some respect

the lip liners are the realest thing i've ever seen

og already knew she has asthma

the way she smiles when she is talking about the other members makes me wanna choke, i love them

the black bag ISN'T so her

how can someone lose for a week their phone inside a closed space 🥀

girl thinks we can afford a dior profume

the contrast between the black bag and the pink wallet got me

what does she has in that wallet we can't see 🤨

can we talk about how perfectly simmetric those items were on the table

we need to see a what's in my make-up bag next because her make up it's always soo good

this is for the people who says she doesn't deserve her main dancer position because of her stamina, hope they can stfu now

my junRa heart is so weak rn 💔

who knew lip liners were emotional survival tools?

if vernon barely pays attention at the bag, then a thief gonna steal it lol

in the late 13 years old i'm discovering that hand sanitizer existed in different scents

╰┈ it ain't that old 🙏

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piggyinthesea · 2 years ago

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Shoelace Theory

would they tie your shoelaces?

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ғᴏʀᴍᴜʟᴀ ᴏɴᴇ ɢʀɪᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ғᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: ᴏsᴄᴀʀ ᴘɪᴀsᴛʀɪ, ᴅᴀɴɪᴇʟ ʀɪᴄᴄɪᴀʀᴅᴏ, ᴄᴀʀʟᴏs sᴀɪɴᴢ, ᴍᴀx ᴠᴇʀsᴛᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ, ᴄʜᴀʀʟᴇs ʟᴇᴄʟᴇʀᴄ, ʟᴇᴡɪs ʜᴀᴍɪʟᴛᴏɴ, ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀɪss, ɢᴇᴏʀɢᴇ ʀᴜssᴇʟʟ, ᴘɪᴇʀʀᴇ ɢᴀsʟʏ, ʏᴜᴋɪ ᴛsᴜɴᴏᴅᴀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: ᴊᴜsᴛ ғʟᴜғғ, sʟɪɢʜᴛ ʀᴜᴅᴇɴᴇss

inspired by orange peel theory

✿

Oscar Piastri:

What? No. You could tie your own shoes. He’s not gonna stop what he’s doing to kneel down and tie your shoes.

“But why?!” You groan, following him around the paddock with your shoes untied. Almost suddenly, you trip. If it wasn’t for Oscar swiftly catching you, you would’ve ate shit.

He begrudgingly kneels down, tying your shoes. “Next time, I won’t tie your shoelaces.”

It was a lie. He did tie your shoelaces the next time.

Daniel Ricciardo:

He’s in the middle of entering his racing car when you ask him does. He looks at you puzzled but then quickly kneels down and ties them. It didn’t surprise you though, his kids must ask him all the time.

You wished him good luck before being ushered out of the garage. After the race, he comes to you with his shoes untied.

“Can you tie them for me?”

Will be salty if you don’t tie them for him

Carlos Sainz:

You asked him in the post-interviews, shamelessly interrupting. He stammers, “Could you excuse me one moment?”. At first you thought he was asking you to excuse him, until he quickly kneels down and ties your shoelaces, giving a small smile as he looks up at you.

He gets back up, mindlessly running his hand through his hair.

“What’d you think of the race?”, Carlos asks you.

“Great results! Proud of you.” You quip, raising your hands and offering a high five in which he quickly reciprocates. He watches you walk away, until he’s knocked out of his trance by the interviewer he had forgotten was still standing in front of him.

Safe to say Carlos is not so great at hiding his little crush on you.

Max Verstappen:

You catch him lacking in the Red Bull garage, and his face falls as soon as he sees you. You were the grid’s prankster and your go-to victim was always Max.

“Leave me alone, please!” He feigns fear, holding his hands up while guarding his face. He flinches when you’re in front of him, leaving you with guilt for all those pranks you’ve played on max. You had the poor boy traumatized.

“Tie my shoestrings, pretty please!” Your words came out innocent. Max looked at you as if you had grown two heads.

Suddenly he stands up, raising a fist towards you, “Get out of here!”. Of course he wasn’t actually going to punch you, he was just pranking you back.

You clench a paper-ball in your back pocket. You slowly pull it out, and instantly throw it at him. You make a run for the door, and frantically start screaming “Help!” as you hear a pair of monster feet stomping behind you.

Charles Leclerc:

He had always been nice to you. Your conversations with him had always been friendly and extremely normal. So of course, when you asked he did it. No questions asked.

The two of you continue your conversation and end up splitting ways shortly after. A few days later, he came to you with a box of converse shoes, in your size.

“So you don’t have to ask people to constantly tie your shoes.” Charles stands by as he watches you open the box, a cute smile placed on his face. He had bought you strap on shoes. He genuinely thought you didn’t know how to tie your shoes.

You did develop a little crush on him because of this.

Lewis Hamilton:

No. He avoids you at all costs. Word had gotten around on the grid about you and your shoelaces. He refused to take part of this tomfoolery and when you asked him all he did was look straight in your eyes.

He stared at you silently. A few moments pass, and suddenly he books it and runs out of the Mercedes garage and leaves you there.

That man runs INCREDIBLY fast.

Lando Noriss:

He was waiting for you to ask him and nearly sheds a tear when you do. This boy feels incredibly honored tying your shoes.

“Why yes, Madam, I will tie your shoes.”

He definitely feels included and takes it as some sort of badge of honor being included in your pranks. He goes around telling everyone about how you asked him to tie your shoes but then he finds out how many people have already tied your shoes. He was under the impression it was only Max and Oscar who had tied your shoes already but when he found out Lewis, Carlos, Charles, and Daniel had already tied your shoes before him, he felt BETRAYED.

This man ignores you for three whole days because of how late he was included. You make it up for him by doing the one thing he loved, including him in pranks. He takes it extremely well when you surprise him by shoving a face in his cake randomly and sprinting away. He laughs and begins speaking terms with you again.

George Russell:

George Russell noticed your shoes. They weren’t regular ones, these were the strap on converse Charles had gotten you. It’s funny really, because somehow they still ended up unstrapped. How was that even possible? Wasn’t the strap made of Velcro or something?

Though there’s no possible way you could hurt yourself by having unstrapped shoes. He watches you for 10 minutes, engaging in conversations with Charles. He hyperfixates on that unstrapped shoe like it’s the end of the world. It irks him to no end.

Maybe it was an ocd thing, but he completely stops the conversation you and Charles had, to stick your strap onto the sticky part of the velcro.

“Your shoe wasn’t strapped.”

Pierre Gasly:

You CAN’T find him. It’s like he completely disappeared from the face of the world, and it sucks because this time you wore your regular laced shoes for the purpose of getting him to tie them.

I mean, he had to turn up at some point, for racing season. The day you finally saw him was during qualifying. Pierre was being interviewed and you took this as your opportunity to sneak up on him.

“Pierre, can you tie-”

“No. So anyways-”

Pierre completely shuts you down, and engages in the interviewers conversation. The interviewer gave you an awkward side-eye, luckily, Max overheard him and quickly runs to the rescue as your partner in crime.

He grabs a firm grip on Pierre’s neck from behind, “Mate, you’re gonna have to tie her shoes.” He adds slight pressure, enough for Pierre to oblige, but not enough to catch a case or a fine from the FIA.

Pierre kneels down with Max’s hand still on his neck and obediently ties your shoestrings. Max lets go of his hold on Pierre once he ties them, and gives you a high five ‘mission accomplished’ style.

Yuki Tsunoda:

Nope. Not unless you tie his shoes. He hears none of your complains and refuses to tie your shoes unless he gets something in return. Honestly, give him a piece of candy and he’ll do it. Unfortunately, you’re too stubborn.

Why won’t he just tie your shoes? Totally not cool. What if you trip, hit your head, and end up in a coma for ten years? It would be entirely his fault.

You fill his mind with all these over exaggerated ways on how you could die by not having him tie your shoelaces. It doesn’t work on him and so you leave him be & angrily huff out the room. He finds himself rethinking all the ways you’ve stated you could have possible died. It’s kind of realistic falling and hitting your head ultimately ending with you in a coma. He begins to spiral and before he knows it his anxiety has taken over his mind. He sets out to look for you, walking into various empty rooms and starts searching even more frantically.

What if you’re already on the floor unconscious??

He whips open the ferrari’s garage door and finds you talking to one of the mechanic’s you made friends with. He looks down at your shoelaces, still untied. He rushes over, double knotting your laces and letting out a sigh of relief before leaving you confused.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz x you #yuki tsunoda #george russel imagine #george russell #lewis hamilton #oscar piastri x reader #pierre gasly #lando norris #l #daniel ricciardo

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dynamightsfave · 8 months ago

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bakugo katsuki—interviews

bakugo katsuki fucking hates interviews. in every shape and form. public conferences? "i did my fucking job. the building crashed down because the base sucked ass. that's not my fucking fault" one on one interviews? "why the fuck do they have so many damn questions about my methods? let them try and do what i do!" talk shows? "if you're not gonna ask me about my job, i don't know what the hell i’m doing here, my personal life is my goddamn business. also, if i wanted comedy i’d go to the fucking circus, at least the clowns wear their actual uniform instead of shitty suits"

safe to say, dynamight is every interviewer's nightmare. he's a wonderful and attentive person off camera (he’s still an asshole, but a nicer one), but when you start asking him questions and place a camera on his face, the brass defensiveness, one of the things that lingers from his stubborn teenage years, shines through. that and that mouth that curses more than a sailor in their golden years ever has. there's offers to take him of course, being in the top ten heroes ranking of not only japan, but the whole world. he's mostly partnered up in these interviews, so there's someone to lead the talking and answer for him when he doesn't want to give into "the stupidest fucking question he's had the misfortune to hear".

red riot and shoto are the ones that are usually designated as his babysitters, but other old classmates have appeared onscreen with him as well. even deku, now a teacher, has made special features. but there's never much demand for an individual interview with pro hero dynamight, and if there ever is, bakugo usually rejects them without looking much into it.

which is why, his secretary was very confused when the mention of a last attempt at a talk show made his boss perk up rather than frown instantly. his lip didn’t instantly curl with a groan and his red irises didn’t meet the back of his skull. instead, he curiously eyed the schedule placed in front of him, and gave a curt nod in thanks when he was done. ryu developed a sense of uneasiness that took over his system. surely that was a sign of the end of the world. but he couldn’t really say anything, pinky and chargebolt recommended the interviewer and swore it would go well. maybe they were right? they needed it too, dynamight hadn't appeared on many public events lately. so there's that, now he just had to pray bakugo didn’t fuck it up.

and that brings us to right now, with dynamight taking a seat in front of you and the public’s applause dimming. the tension that fills the air lingers in the audience, and for once, bakugo and his interviewer seem to be completely at ease. ryu can’t help to think to himself that this is yet another sign that the world is about to end, and he wonders if he should call up his family to say a final goodbye. for now, maybe it’s better he focuses on what’s in front of him.

"great explosion murder god dynamight!" you smile at him, as if he was a friend you’re glad to see again, "so glad you could make it!"

you have that magnetism that makes every guest comfortable around you, familiarity being the base of your show. it’s a big part of why it became so popular, the charming host that interacts with their audience and speaks their mind in such an easy way.

katsuki smirks, chest a bit puffed and fingers drumming the armrest.

"sort of didn’t have a goddamn choice, did i?" while his response only makes the people watching tense more, you only chuckle, nodding as if you understood like nobody else.

"we’re our managers’ puppets aren’t we? either way, wonderful to have you," and goddammit, you never sound insincere, "these days it’s hard to have a minute of great explosion murder god dynamight"

"you know what they say, villains don’t rest. and if they don’t rest that just means us heroes have to work twice as hard as them" did he just answer without cursing? oh the world definitely ends today.

bakugo maintains eye contact with you while he lounges on his seat like he owns the place. he’s made hundreds of interviewers and others shrink with that attitude of his, but from the looks of it, you’re not only not one bit bothered by it, but you almost encourage it. your arms flex as you lean in towards him, agreeing with him.

"all right, since i don’t want to waste much of that precious time of yours..." eyes twinkling, you could even say teasing—dare i say flirty—, you tap a small melody onto your notebook with your pen, "let’s dive right in to the questions! promise this won’t be long. first off, i want to solve a doubt i’ve had for some time now"

he arches a brow, accepting the challenge. there’s the same amusement in his eyes that yours have, it sends chills across the room. it’s so weird to see the bakugo katsuki being not mean to someone that isn’t a little kid or a polite fan.

"i’ve said it a couple times now, and i have to admit it’s a bit of a mouthful. “great explosion murder god dynamight”. why that name? how on earth did you come up with it?"

it’s funny. you say it as if it isn’t a mouthful. quite the opposite, it rolls off your tongue like quick, flowing as if it’s escaped a million times, a prayer you know by heart. bakugo rolls his eyes, similar comments follow him practically every day everywhere he goes since he made the name up. he’s built up skin to them, not that they ever bothered him, he’s pretty proud of his hero name. some might say too proud.

"it’s a reflection of everything i am," he winces after a second, "maybe not the murder part."

"i do hear die is one of your favorite words tho"

"yeah well, it’s good to let the emotions out or whatever the hell. i try not to say it as much anymore, people say it’s rude or some shit," his hand makes a fast motion, as if to sweat it off, he really doesn’t give a damn, "anyway, the name’s like that because it had to embody how fucking awesome i am"

"ah, that makes sense," you nod along, not bothered by the curses, "a loud and bright name like your explosions. it does suit you"

at the compliment, the smirk returns to his lips, a small huff with it. he shuffles around to sit higher, now getting an idea of how this interview is going to go. katsuki finds that he doesn’t really mind it, at least the questions are off to a good start. and the host... well let’s just say he likes this one.

"i know, i picked it myself," he states, and you can’t help but laugh at how sure of himself he is. reminds you of a 6-year-old, not a single ounce of doubt in his body about how cool they are.

"would you say it was inspired by something else? maybe a hero you look up to?"

"nah, ‘t was all me," liar.

"i see. a unique name to say the least. but on the topic, is there any hero that you look up to? someone you aspire to be like. other than, i'm sure, best jeanist"

"obviously," he repeats, "but i mean; every kid and their goddamn mother has dreamt of becoming all might, he was n.1 longer than anyone. i’m sort of a basic bitch that way. when i was little i wanted to be like him, so i followed that dream until i made it real. and now i push myself to be as great as he was and more. plus ultra and all that bullshitr"

"wow. sounds like hard work," he grunts in agreement, and you purse your lips, "we all agree all might is a one of the greatest symbols we have, must have been incredible to be able to study under him. you mentioned the school’s motto. can you tell us about that? the ua days?"

katsuki smiles, his eyes drifting away to his hands. you can’t help but think he looks rather handsome, reminiscing his high school.

"in one word: it was fucking insane. he brought a lot of insight about what to expect in the actual field, and how to treat with bystanders—the little motherfuckers—, and he was always pushing us to do our best. he’s the sort of person you just know cares about what he’s doing," he explains, "our homeroom teacher, mr. aizawa was also very much like that, even though he didn’t look it. ua students are lucky when it comes to teachers. but they’re all ungrateful snotty brats"

it’s the first time bakugo katsuki has ever said something nice in public, even if it has some mean side dishes (wouldn’t be something bakugo katsuki said otherwise). at this point, it’s just you two in the room. no lights, no cameras, no audience, not even the questions you’ve jotted down in your notebook. only a conversation between two people. katsuki wonders if it’s a you effect, and he figures it must be, because he’s never as comfortable as he is talking to you. it comes so easy.

you smile, and it takes everything in you to not reach and put your hand on his arm at his words, the reminder of all the people watching in the room and through the cameras a dying reminder in the back of your mind. you like having him here, and you frankly don’t understand why other hosts dread his visits.

"sounds like a wonderful experience. i’ve talked to others from your course and they all speak of it with so much fondness, just like you. even with the hardships you had to endure," you clear your throat, voice dropping to barely a mutter. even the mic strapped to your blouse has trouble picking it up, "but i’m sure you don’t like thinking of them, i know i don’t. so, i know you’ve said all might and eraserhead are big inspirations, but do you have any other people you admire?"

you know you’re pushing your luck. your tone is far too friendly to be considered professional now and he’s not one to be heartfelt on camera. but if you could just get him to confirm what cellophane and shoto said last week... what you just know is the truth, but dynamight is a bit too proud to admit. you can see it in the way he looks away and puffs his cheeks to blow air.

"i mean, obviously, i’m incredibly grateful to best jeanist and edgeshot, they fucking saved my life," his cheeks grow the slightest bit of pink under your intense gaze. he almost chuckles as you nod entranced and edge just a tiny bit closer awaiting for the true answer. he guesses he might as well indulge, so, with a much lower tone, he continues, "and ya know, in class there were others that were pretty good too. not as incredible as i am, but close enough. if i had to pick any, maybe shitty hair and the dumbass deku. i guess"

screw the lights. your smile is blinding. it shines so much bakugo suddenly doesn’t feel like the answer was practically yanked from his throat. this is too much for his rearranged heart.

"that’s funny, they speak pretty highly of you too," you giggle. your eyes clash, and the small smile that forms on his face is instinct, he can’t control it. one, two, three.

"of course they fucking do. they better, else i’ll crush their bodies," he huffs, snapping back to his position before he was gobsmacked by you.

"all right, i’ve just got a couple more questions before we let you go," you get back on track too, despite the heat on the back of your neck, "uhm... oh yeah! well i guess you’ve answered this already, but just in case. you said red riot and deku were people you admired as heroes, i take it they are also the easiest to partner up with? i know pro hero deku is out of commission at the moment, but back when you still worked together"

dynamight actually thinks about this one. he furrows his brows, and his weight shifts on the sofa. he hums as his hand strokes his chin.

"well, it depends on the job. generally, i do like to partner up with them, we understand each other very well, as do everyone form our class. the time we spent training with each other pays off. so yeah, they’re easy to work with. but also, the half ‘n half bastard is quick to respond to what i do, and ponytail is a great strategist when it comes to infiltration or a mission that takes planning. the damn rabbit gets on my nerves a lot, but we make a good team. she should start thinking about retiring though, before she starts dragging me down"

"it’s lovely to hear the heroes of japan are so tight and coordinated. i must say, hearing you praise them is refreshing," your lip gets caught in your teeth in an attempt to stop the growing smirk, but your eyes betray you.

"oi, don’t misinterpret what i’m fucking sayin’. they’re all still pains in my ass, each worse than the last one"

"uh huh... okay, last question. if you weren’t a hero, what would you be?" that takes him aback.

"fuck you mean? i was always gonna be a damn hero. i don’t know. maybe one of those people that handle bombs in the army or some shit like that," he shrugs, but then a beat passes, "a firefighter"

"final answer?" you arch a brow. he grunts an affirmation, "o-kay! well, it’s been a pleasure to have you here, i hope we did not waste much of your time, but you’re free to go now. i appreciate that you didn’t shout"

he chuckles, following your steps as you get up and circle your table to get to him and say goodbye. the audience is clapping for you two, ryu is releasing the breath he’d been holding all throughout the interview, and the camera people are preparing to shut off. you reach him, and just like his smile before, his next actions are pure instinct. even more, they’re almost a routine.

his hand reaches for your waist, and he effortlessly pulls you closer, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. now, in this routine, it’s not common that you tense up. usually, you wrap your arms around him and nuzzle into his chest. you look up to him, eyes wide, and it takes one millisecond for him to realize what he’s done. he curses under his breath, and you laugh.

"welp, there’s that. no more hiding this," the stunned public is so silent they hear your whispers, "see you at home?"

katsuki gives you that low laugh you love, squishes your waist, and nods.

"yeah, see you at home"

ryu dials his family to say his goodbyes as his boss steps off the stage and the audience recovers from the shock. he prays the call gets through before the world suddenly explodes.

luckily, the world doesn’t combust, and he lives to see the heart magazines with your image on their covers and headlines screaming about japan’s favorite talk show’s host and potty mouth’s newly discovered relationship.

#mha #bnha #bakugo katsuki #bakugo katsuki x reader #mha x reader #bakugo katsuki x you #bnha x you #i just think he's neat #katsuki bakugo #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x you #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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milaisreading · 1 year ago

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Imagine Crossdresser! reader passing out during an interview live while the rest of the team watches it lol

🌱🩷: I wrote something similar to what your request is! Hope you like it🩷

Warnings: Reader uses she/her, but she is crossdressing as a guy, keep that in mind! Requests are open

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura ⚽️

'This is so annoying. And I can already imagine the jokes Ness and Kaiser will be making at my expense for this interview.' (Y/n) thought as she glanced at one of the cameras. It took everything in her willpower not to yawn as she knew everyone who follows BBLKTV was watching this. The sleep-deprivation pretty much stopped any nervousness she could feel at the moment. The past few weeks weren't that kind to her, from the constant back and forth between Rin and Shidou's fights, watching over Kunigami and the rest of Blue locks BM players, to her parents and the JFA scolding her to be on her best behavior, (Y/n) was ready to call the quits.

'It's like I am their parent or something.' She thought as the interviewer entered the room.

'Not to mention that my period is about to start soon. Do I have any pads left?' The girl thought, looking over at Anri, who was standing behind the camera and sending her a thumbs up.

"Hello, (L/n). I will be interviewing you today, thanks for taking the time of your day for this." The man said warmly, causing (Y/n) to give him back a small smile.

"Thank you for inviting me, Nihei-san. It's a honor to be here." The girl got up and bowed at the man before sitting down again.

'All this media training will be the end of me.' The girl thought as she looked back at the man, who let out a sigh of relief.

'Thank God it's not another Itoshi Sae situation.' The man thought as he looked through his papers.

"So, you don't need to be nervous or anything. The questions are very easy and you can take your time to answer them, there is no time limit or anything. And, the cameras are filming right now, just a warning." Nihei said as he pointed at the camera behind him. (Y/n) slowly nodded her head, blinking the blurriness away and focusing back on the man.

"Of course. Thank you very much, I will keep the things in mind. And the staff already warned me about the cameras as well, I am very greatful for that."

'The amount of times I would have yawned...'

"Alright, let's start then. Ok?"

"Of course."

Back at Blue Lock...

"Kaiser, I swear if you don't move away I will kick you." Kunigami warned as the blonde smirked, still standing in front to the TV.

"I don't know. I like it here a lot." Isagi rolled his eyes as Yukimiya and Kurona sighed in annoyance, while Hiori was whispering something to Gagamaru.

"Nobody wants to see your flat ass, Kaiser."

"His ass isn't flat, Yoichi!"

"Shut up, Ness!" Noa was about to interject, but stopped when he saw Hiori and Gagamaru tackle the blonde to the ground.

"Shut it! (Y/n) is speaking!" Yukimiya yelled as Isagi and Kurona kept their focus on the TV.

"So, how was your experience with Bastard München so far? The fans would like to hear from the player who is in that stratum now."

"It's been great so far. I am grateful that we have a coach as experienced as Noel Noa to help us, and I am happy to I am able to play withgreat teammates. Especially the ones from Blue lock, they all progressed tremendously." (Y/n) answered back as the boys blushed a little.

"Hahaha, what can I say. I did progress quite good, actually." Yukimiya boasted as Hiori chimed in.

"So did I. (Y/n) even said he was proud of Isagi and I after the Ubers match."

"Right. It's even better for me since (Y/n) has seen my developments from the beginning." Isagi added in as Kurona thought over his words.

"(Y/n) has said the same thing to me 2 nights ago. He was even sad that I couldn't continue playing for the rest of the Uvers match."

"I got compliments on blocking Barou's shots as well! It felt really nice." Gagamaru admitted. Kunigami cleared his throat, looking nervous to everyone's surprise.

"I got told that my defense got better after the Barcha match."

Ness and Kaiser kept quiet as they spoke about the player, feeling a little jealous that they never got any compliments.

"Whatever. He probably only compliments the Blue Lock players." Kaiser rolled his eyes.

"Not really. I got complimented as well. (Y/n) also added in he likes my hair." Grim told Kaiser.

"Same for me. He complimented me after the Manshine match since my passes helped him a lot to score his 2nd goal then." Sachs added in.

"What?!" Kaiser asked in disbelief, then looked at Gesner.

"And you?"

"He complimented me on my strength when we were both on the gym." Gesner said nervously as Kaiser looked at the trio as if they had betrayed him.

"This isn't fair..." Ness pouted while looking back at the Blue Lock team.

"Sucks to suck." Kurona chuckled.

PXG...

Now, Rin tried (and failed) to pretend that he didn't care about the whole interview, but he couldn't. He cared way too much. So that's why he was now sat down in front of thr TV, ignoring whatever Tokimitsu, Karasu, and Shidou were saying.

"Shut up!! I want to hear what he is saying!" Charles yelled at the group while Loki tried to calm him down.

"Calm down,you all."

"While we are at the topic of foreign teams." The group stopped and looked at the TV again.

"Is there any foreign player you would want to play with in a team?"

(Y/n) blinked at the reporter and stayed quiet as she thought it over.

"Boooriiing. He would never pick a foreign player over one of us. Especially me." Karasu smirked, earning a few glares from the others.

"You mean me! I am the one he said he could barely keep up with during our first match." Shidou butted in.

"And yet you still lost." Karasu jabbed back.

"Shut it! He would be pick me. I am the number 1 here, after all." Rin rolled his eyes.

"Being the 1 isn't the only thing that matters, Rin. Besides, (Y/n) admires my dribbling."

Charles rolled his eyes at the team and cleared his throat.

"Please don't." Loki begged.

"Yet the interviewer cares about none of you. (Y/n) will definitely pick me here-"

"I really enjoyed playing against Julian Loki during one of our selection rounds. While I don't know his current abilities yet, I would definitely pick him as a teammate. He is very easy to get along with." (Y/n)'s answer quickly shut up the group. The Blue Lock team kept quiet as they looked at Loki while Charles looked at him in utter disbelief.

"You stole him away!" The French player said as Loki looked at him in disbelief.

"I did not?! Besides, he knows me for longer than he knows you."

"So now you are showing off?!"

"Are you stupid?!"

Ubers...

"(Y/n) should gave asked me for some fashion advice. Why would he wear the Bastard uniform during an international interview of all times." Aryu tsked in disapproval as he looked at the TV. Niko rolled his eyes at the comment and looked at the taller player.

"How does that matter now? He is having a interview about Blue lock, not a fashion show."

Snuffy chuckled at the younger players comment and ruffled his hair.

"Calm down, Niko. But, he does have a point, Aryu. (Y/n) was told to wear that, after all.

"They purposely wanted him to look ugly." Aryu pouted.

"Will all three of you shut up? I am trying to listen." Barou groaned as Lorenzo looked at him in amusement.

"Didn't thing a king like you was invested in stuff like this."

"Shut it-"

"As you are aware, the whole world is looking forward to your final match against PXG. But, the fans would like to know which game was so far the most exhausting one."

"Hmm... that's an easy one, definitely the one we had against Ubers. While Barcha and Manshine were challenging as well, the Ubers one outweighs them a lot. Not only did the team already have good and experienced players like Don Lorenzo, and their coach Marc Snuffy. But, my own teammates have evolved quite a lot. While I was annoyed that the end of the match kept getting delayed, I was very happy to see them give their all on the field."

The trio kept quiet as they blushed while looking at the TV. Snuffy and Lorenzo silently laughing at their reactions.

Manshine...

"(Y/n) looks a lot paler than I remember him to be. Don't you two think so?" Reo asked, looking back at Chigiri and Nagi for an answer. The redhead narrowed his eyes and inspected the captain before slowly nodding his head.

"It sure looks like it. I wonder if he is sick or something." Chigiri said in worry while Nagi kept quiet.

"I hope Bastard aren't stressing him out too much." Reo rolled his eyes as he thought about the German team.

"We all pretty much witnessed your hat trick during the match against Manshine city, how did you feel back then? Excitement? Confusion?"

The three looked at the TV, silently waiting for an answer.

"Well it was a mix of both, but mainly confusion. I really wasn't sure, and still I am not sure what had possessed me om the field back then. But, I am grateful for the chances Isagi, Kurona, and Sachs-san gave me to score."

"I can only imagine, especially when you got such a high bid offer from Re Al right after."

"That was a surprise to me as well. I didn't imagine they would notice me like that." (Y/n) chuckled as Nagi and Reo facepalmed.

"He really needs to work on his confidence."

"Nothing changed with him."

"It's cute. He reminds me of a puppy." Chigiri laughed as a blush coated his cheeks.

Barcha...

"Keep it down you two. You won't be able to hear anything." Lavinho said as he looked at Otoya and Bachira, which immediately shut them up.

"We didn't see (Y/n) in so long! Can you blame us?" Otoya said as Bachira nodded along.

"Do you still stand by your statement that the game against Barcha was your favorite one?" The trio looked back at the TV, waiting impatiently at the answer.

"Yes. It was probably more relaxing since it was our first one and, personally, I had a lot of adrenaline rushing through my body. Also, Lavinho-san made the match more interesting with his antics." (Y/n) laughed as the Brazilian laughed along.

"Finally someone who understands!"

"And this is why we should have kidnapped him out of the Bastard stratum."

"Bachira, no." Otoya said in a scolding manner.

Back with (Y/n)...

'Can this be over already? I van barely keep my eyes open.' (Y/n) thought, trying to keep her focus on the questions and the interviewer, but that focus was slowly slipping away.

"We have a few more questions and then we are done. Are you ready to answer the next one?"

"Sure-" Before (Y/n) could finish her answer, her vision turned black and she fell unconscious.

"(Y/n)!" Anri yelled in fear as the interviewer caught the girl before she could fall face first on the floor.

"He is fine. He just fainted. Turn off the cameras." Nihei said as the camera man quickly turned everything off. Anri ran to (Y/n)'s side, sighing in relief when she saw the girl was still breathing.

"Bring me some water and call a medic." Anri told the interviewer then looked back at (Y/n) in worry.

'I knew this whole interview was a bad idea. And the PIFA and Re Al higher-ups are watching this as well. The last thing I need is for (Y/n) to get scolded for being exhausted.'

Panic in the stratums pretty much started the moment they saw the girl faint and the cameras got cut off. Ego felt of course worried, and along with Noa and the other coaches was immediately at the medics office.

"So, he was exhausted?" Loki asked as the doctor nodded his head.

"Pretty much. Lack of sleep caused his body to crash. Aside from that, I have noticed he was under a lot more stress the past few weeks, either caused by the games or the JFA, I can't tell right now."

"What is the next best thing I can do now? I am his coach, after all." Noa spoke up.

"Just let him rest for a few days. If possible, delay the match against PXG for a week or so."

"Sure. Ego-san-"

"Consider it done, Loki." Ego said back, interrupting the French player.

"Also, I would like you all to keep the players at bay for now. Just let him sleep, visitors will only cause more harm now."

"Don't worry about that."

"We will handle it." Chris and Lavinho nodded along as Snuffy patted Noa's back.

"The boys need to practice, anyway. So keeping them away will be easy."

The doctor nodded his head and looked back at Ego.

"Anri is currently with him, so you don't need to worry. Should something happen I will immediately inform you. But, as I said, everything will be fine. He just needs rest."

"Alright." Ego said back, a little bit relieved that (Y/n) wasn't in a life-threatening condition or anything. As the doctor left, Loki and the adults silently thought over their plans to tell the other players.

"It will be quite a headache. Especially since Nagi, Reo, and Chigiri are so stubborn." Chris groaned as Lavinho shrugged his shoulders.

"Just give them punishments if they don't listen. What else can we do."

"True, but let's try being reasonable first." Snuffy added in.

"Lucky for me I have the most unreasonable players in my team." Noa butted in as Loki chuckled a little.

"You clearly didn't meet mine yet."

"I don't care how unreasonable they are, if they defy the rule, inform me. I will give them a proper punishment then." Ego told the coaches in a serious manner.

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evermarch · 3 months ago

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Hi. Do you think Peeta finds it easy or challenging to read Katniss?

hi!! that’s a great question. i think that peeta pre-hijacking would probably find katniss quite difficult to read purely because of her inconsistency with herself. he tries to find patterns in places that just…don’t exist. i think he views her in a certain light and doesn’t anticipate deviation from that perspective.

for example, he doesn’t anticipate her reaction to the interview reveal in thg, and he’s shocked by her anger (which makes sense because they hardly know each other). but he doesn’t seem to fully comprehend the source of her anger even a year later because, in catching fire, after the baby reveal, he asks if there’s anything he needs to apologize for. before that, he’s shocked she’s mad at being perceived as “pure.” and later, he tries to use her family and gale as a means to get her to let him die in her place. these are moments that katniss herself can’t fully explain her feelings in her own head (at least, strategically, in the way she’d been so bent on thinking in other circumstances), so no wonder he’s confused!

however, i think he develops a strong instinct about her throughout their time together in the first two books that comes out more clearly post-hijacking. that’s not to say that it doesn’t exist pre-hijacking—the fact that he tries to have that “piece of their games” conversation on the rooftop, the nights on the train, and his uncertainty that the beach kiss is “for the cameras” (an uncertainty which even pushes through the hijacking state) demonstrates his instinct for her true emotions and thoughts. but i think it takes him until post-hijacking to truly *get* her and how she thinks.

the remarks he makes while recovering from the hijacking (telling her she’s not big or pretty, flirting with annie in front of her, implying they did more on the train than they did, etc.) are all sharp and devastating comments that hit katniss severely BECAUSE of the nature of their relationship. and i think he makes them to test her limits and get her to react. as gale says, the way he hates her is “so familiar.”

by the time they’re in the capitol, he’s able to get through to her in a way no one else can when she admits her plan was based on a lie. i personally subscribe to the belief that he is responsible for saving her from the worst of the burns in prim’s bombing because he anticipated her actions (though that’s not officially canon, it’s just subtly suggested). then, of course, there’s the fact that he knew she was going for her nightlock capsule after shooting snow and put his hand out to block her.

post-hijacking peeta can read katniss like a BOOK. that’s not to say she can’t surprise him—i truly don’t think he knew how she’d react to the primroses outside her house. but i think that, once the admission at the end of thg that she had been acting stripped him of his rose-colored glasses, and the shiny, animus-filled fog from the hijacking cleared, he was probably able to see her more plainly than he ever had.

by the time they reach “so after,” there’s no doubt that he knows every inch of who she is. and he loves every single part. when he asks her if she loves him, real or not real, i personally believe that he’s not asking because he doesn’t know that she chose him, that she wants him, and that she loves him. he asks less because he wants validation (although that is certainly part of it), but because he wants to know that she is healed enough to admit to herself, and to him that she loves him before they dive into forever.

#sorry this took so long #i mostly wrote it before sotr but i got it early so i was reading it #i wanted to give it proper attention though so it’s been in my drafts #the hunger games #thg #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #everlark #anon ask #anonymous #thanks for the ask!#ask answered

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likeadevils · 3 months ago

Note

13 questions you'd ask Taylor about her artistry?

there’s a lot of songs that taylor hasn’t spoken about publicly so honestly i would love take like a week and sit her in front of a camera and go “what was the process of making this song?” and go through all of her songs. but outside of that:

TRACKLISTING. in 2009 you said you would create tracklists throughout the album process, do you still do that? what was the driving philosophy behind the order of each of your albums? is there an alternate grouping of songs that you really tried to make work but couldn’t?

how do you decide when an album is done?

where have you seen yourself improve as a songwriter over the years? were any songs turning points?

what do you value in a producer?

you’ve said your driving force behind for your first few albums was to try to make a better record than the last one. what drives you now?

in april 2006 you said that you only had a couple more vocals left to finish on your first album. you didn’t end up finishing the album until august 2006. what happened?

how long did you need to take to process the events described in dear john before you were able to write a song about it?

how much were you writing in 2015 and early 2016? what made you decide to go back into the studio in september 2016?

can you clear up when you wrote so it goes? also, oscar gorres said you told him you wanted to add so it goes to reputation because it sounded like nothing else on reputation. what made so it goes unique to you?

literally anything about the creation of lover. there’s lots of themes of conflict and reconciliation, how did you see your writing on those subjects develop throughout the album? how early on in the process did you decide to make political songs— did they come all at once, or spread out?

you said you started writing for tortured poets as soon as you finished with midnights— what was the first year of writing tortured poets like? what were you expecting the album to become? did you have a placeholder name? were you recording full songs in New Orleans?

RAPID FIRE ROUND: just show a bunch of pictures of old tweets and clips from old interviews where she talked about writing songs and be like. what song did you write on an airport bathroom towel and put in a frame in your room. what song did you write on the beech in sydney in march 2009 and said we’d for sure hear it on the next album. what song were you writing right before you left nashville to go to the 2009 vmas. what song were you writing when you dropped a pen in your piano in december 2009. what songs were you recording in january 2010 that you posted about multiple times. what song did you write in madrid in march 2011 that you said would for sure be on the next album. what song did you post a picture of you writing in dublin in march 2011. i could go on.

and then bonus hyper niche things that i care about because i’m insane and can’t widdle down

castles crumbling and i can see you are the first songs you registered from speak now on ASCAP, were they some of the first songs written for the album?

for whatever reason i’m personally really invested in when state of grace was written. like whenever i think “if i could ask one question to taylor swift what would it be?” my first thought is always “when was state of grace written?” and i can’t really explain why but there you go

#asks*#i’ve been to a lot of doctors appointments these past couple days (i’m fine!) and this has been such a fun waiting room activity

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jesterkoops · 3 months ago

Note

What worries me is there’s no Markhelly in Dan Erickson’s original outline.I think it’s pretty safe to say it’s only there because Adam and Britt improv and they also seem very willing to do the bit when often co-stars aren’t often very enthusiastic about.But when a romance is shoe horned in it always impacts the end of the story which they say it hasn’t.Because they are pretty adamant about the ending remaining unchanged.So idk how Helly/Helena amounts to the plot in the end.Mark is the sole protagonist and I am very worried how the romance might affect Helena’s charecterization.I am very concerned where this is going.

Hi anon,

I am not particularly concerned about this for a couple of reasons.

Original outlines are just that: original outlines. From the sound of things (and I had a chat with @kestrel-of-herran over the weekend about this), it's likely that Dan's vision was more about the more philosophical/ethical/psychological and sci-fi aspects of the story that provide the scaffolding, and they then developed the human aspect within it. Basically, I think they realised that introducing a romance would drive home those points even better, raise the stakes even higher, simply because romantic love is such a quintessential part of human nature and especially in the context of such a dehumanising environment as a severed floor created for consciousnesses that exist to be purely machines for their outies (maybe a similar realisation to the one I had). So while his overall goal was not about romance, it also does not preclude a romance to now be crucial to the story and the endgame.

Dan talked about how he sees the story to be primarily about discovering one's true self, through facing pain and grief, accepting all parts of oneself, and the excitement that comes with it, and so on. So I think this is probably his vision for the story as a whole and what he talks about when he speaks of an ending. To take these characters from where we first meet them to an end where they become whole. This is not incompatible with a romance (even an endgame romance) developed subsequently, quite the opposite. And it is most definitely not incompatible with Helly/Helena being essential to the plot since she embodies that discovery of one's self perhaps even more than Mark.

Finally, I think it's clear from the interviews, from how much Mark and Helly/Helena are front and centre, from the fact that Adam knows how it ends and he is so enthusiastic about Hellyna and Mark/Helly, that this is what the story is about. Like, they're not vague or subtle about it at all. It doesn't guarantee that they will end the story in a relationship (although I think it's very possible) or alive (although this doesn't seem to be a show that is heading towards killing its main characters) but, personally, that is not a dealbreaker for me. The main thing I care about is that, no matter the endgame, the characters and their bond are not cheapened and shat upon causing everything I loved about them to be retroactively, irreparably ruined and I can no longer enjoy the story and don't want to go anywhere near it again. And idk... I am getting good vibes from this team that they care a lot about their characters and the story and are not the kind of writers that are cruel to their characters because they get off on traumatising and upsetting their audience.

ETA: I also want to add that I think (I am pretty sure) that the ending to S2 was envisioned with the possibility of the show not getting renewed/to work as a stand-alone ending. So I think that partly answers your question about whether Markhellyna/Hellyna can be relevant to the endgame (yes).

#anon #koops answers #severance #markhelly #mark s #helly r #markhelena #helena eagan

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spearsillustration · 9 months ago

Text

🏛️ Senator Shockwave X Cybertronian Female Assistant Reader (Part 1/3)

Notes: Why did I ever have to learn that Shockwave had a super tragic backstory? When I was younger he was my least favorite Decepticon since I just thought he was pure evil. Practically crying after seeing what happened to him in the comics. And his line "Remember me as I was-." Was an even harder blow. 😭

This will probably end up being super long. I had half of this planned and the other kind of thrown in randomly so not my best work but I'm proud of it nonetheless.

- I fear this might be a boring read, So I'd love some feedback after you finish reading this. -

Part 2/3 -

Word count - 5,424

Page number - 15.2

I was rushing to get to the senate building where I had a meeting this morning. I went to the front desk asking where I could find Shockwave. The person at the front desk gave me extremely vague directions. I just hoped I could find his office.

Luckily for me, I found an office that looked at least a bit useful I could probably ask for better directions. I lightly knocked on the door to politely get their attention.

He seemed lost in thought before looking up at the door where I stood.

"Oh, welcome to the senate. How can I help you?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, I was scheduled for an interview with Shockwave for the assistant position and seed to have gotten myself lost," I said shyly from the door. I was definitely lost.

"I'm probably in the wrong place."

He looks up from his desk. "Ah, yes. That was today. You're in the right place."

He stood up, moving around the desk to greet me at the door. "Please, do come in. Take a seat."

I tried my best to shake off my nerves and smiled. "Of course thank you."

He gestured to the seat across his desk.

"Please, make yourself comfortable." He returns to his seat. "May I have your name first and foremost?

"(Y/N) sir. It's nice to finally meet you in person."

"(Y/N), hm? Well, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And you said you were here for the assistant position?"

"Correct." I kept my hand neatly folded in my lap so I wouldn't nervously fidget.

"Right."He leaned back in his chair, seemingly studying me before nodding.

"Now, just so you are aware, as my assistant, you would essentially be my second pair of hands. You would need to be there at my beck and call for anything I may need." He explained. "You will also need to keep track of my calendar and make sure it's up-to-date and correct at all times. Can you do that?"

"Yes sir."

"Very good. I should also mention, that if you *do* get this position, it will be long hours. Long hours and more than a few late nights. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Nothing I can't handle, I'm a night owl myself so some late hours aren't a problem for me."

He seems pleased enough. "Excellent, as a follow-up question, are you at all familiar with my work or... philosophy?"

"Of course, I've read some of your historical studies and other works related to your late mentor. I always found it quite interesting."

"As you should!" He leaned forward on his desk, a slight smile on his face as he spoke, clearly pleased by my answer. "I find a surprising amount of people in this city don't see the true potential of the technology we develop. Not to mention our society itself. But I can sense you're a bit more aware than the average individual."

"I graduated from the same academy you went to. I've seen some of your work firsthand. It was one of my old professors who told me you were looking for an assistant so I quickly applied to work with you."

He chuckled heartily at this news. "Ah, is that so? Hah, they're still teaching my work? I'd almost be flattered if that old building hadn't fallen apart even more since my time there. But, I digress, it's an interesting coincidence, of our... similar histories. Although I can't say most of my old professors had anything positive to say about me, to my face or not."

"Yeah he can be quite stern but he seems proud of your accomplishments. He almost made my spark give out when he sent me a message telling me about you. Not very often he reaches out."

He laughed again. "That old coot? Hah! You know, I don't think he's changed a bolt since I first met him. Always so "passionate" about progress, about expanding our minds and inventing new technology and whatnot."

He leaned back against his chair again, taking a moment to size you up as a person.

"And he has a soft spot for you, does he?"

"Apparently and completely unexpected. I graduated five years ago and this is the first time I remember speaking to him besides running into him a few times. I always thought he hated me or at least my class." I laughed at the thought.

He chuckled as well, shaking his head. "Oh, he most "definitely" thought of your class as a bunch of dunder-headed fools and idiots. I couldn’t count on my servo how many classes of his I had to sit through as he bemoaned the incompetence of his students. But something about you… must've caught his optics."

"I suppose, but you as well it seems. He talked pretty highly of you. But he also said at least one of his students had to do something with their lives."

"Did he, now? Hah! I can hear it now…Well, at least at least ONE of my students will accomplish something*.”

He imitated the professor, lowering his voice and making it harsher and gruff to replicate him. I couldn't help but laugh at his silly impression. Causing his smile to grow wider as he continues the imitation, laughing himself.

“Shockwave! Yes, I remember him… He was the ONE I had hopes for. He had a good brain! But now he’s a politician, so I can see it’s all gone to his head!" He continued.

"Sounds about right. If I closed my eyes I'd think I was back in the academy."

He chuckled, resting his arms back on his desk and watching me intently. It seemed he enjoyed my presence.

"He certainly did have a way with words, I'll give him that. As I said, very passionate. Very *very* passionate. Okay back on topic. So tell me, miss (Y/N), why do you want this job?"

"I'm honestly interested in working with you. Your research is top notch and you're a politician I fully support."

His smile widened. "Ah, a flattery, as well as a loyalist. You're a sharp one. And a quick learner, I imagine." He leaned back in his seat a bit. "Now, tell me this; if you don’t mind, what interests you about my work the most? I’m curious."

"Your outlook on the future Is quite interesting and you seem to be one of the only researchers interested in our resources. You are aware that as our population grows we need more energon mainly. Too many people try to simply think in the present which won't help us in the long run." I accidentally ranted on.

He nodded, pleased with my answer. "So you understood what he was trying to accomplish...Precisely. People in this city, especially those I work with up in the Senate, are more concerned with now, or themselves more than Cybertron as a whole. In this day and age, a city of this size requires a very specific amount of energon for it to thrive. And we’ve nearly used up our planet’s natural resources." He laced his fingers together. "Something must be done to maintain that balance."

"And I know your research is to find a solution. I'd love to assist you in that endeavor."

He smiled at this. "It’s been a while since someone was so enthusiastic, or willing, to assist in his cause, let alone someone with a similar mindset to my own. I like you. You’ve got ambition, you’re quick, and you seem to be capable of thinking for yourself. It’s very refreshing, I’ll say that much."

"Thank you, sir."

"Oh please, sir makes me feel old. Just call me Shockwave. I have a question for you if you don’t mind."

"Oh of course Shockwave."

"Now, I have to ask. You’re not interested in getting into politics, are you?" He chuckled softly. "You’d either be a terrifying political opponent or an excellent addition, given what I’ve seen."

"Oh me, I couldn't do politics. I'm a horrible public speaker. I stumble my words and get super anxious." I answered a bit too honestly.

"A shy one? I never would’ve guessed." He seemed almost genuinely surprised. "You carry yourself well. You look like a confident person, you certainly sound it, although a bit reserved."

"I do the best I can in professional settings."

"Fair enough." He seemed to think for a moment, studying me, then smiled again. "Tell you what. How about I give you a week-long trial? See how you can handle yourself working alongside me, get a true taste of the position, hmm?"

"That sounds perfect to me."

He smiled, nodding in agreement, and stood up. "Excellent, be here at 9 am, next Monday, sharp. No being late, first impression, and all that. I’ll clear out some space at my desk for you, you’ll be working there for the majority of the time. I’m expecting good things from you, (Y/N)."

"Thank you so much, you won't regret your decision." I shake his hand with a smile.

"So I shouldn’t, (Y/N)" He grips my hand firmly in a handshake, his expression stern yet pleased, before it softens again as he releases you. You best be on your way now, you know the way out. Until next Monday, it’s been a pleasure, I’m looking forward to working with you."

"Me as well. See you Monday." I stood up and gave him a curt nod with a smile before leaving.

I was so giddy with excitement the second the door closed behind me I had to take a deep breath to calm myself.

Can't wait to start.

---

[Time skip to Monday]

I made sure to leave early so I wouldn't be late. I arrived at his facility half an hour early so I walked the halls a bit anxiously waiting for the proper time to enter his office. I think five minutes early would suffice. When I stepped into his office, he looked up from his work, smiling at me.

"Ah, (Y/N) right on time. Good, you seem to be a punctual individual, good quality to have."

"I do the best I can Shockwave."

"That’s what I like to hear," He set down the datapad he was going over and got up from his chair, gesturing to the small, clearly recently made space on the other side of his desk. "Come, take a seat."

"Thank you." I walked over to my new nicely organized work space.

He stepped out of the way as you slid into the seat, standing next to you as he gestured to your area. "Ah, I had one of the staff set that up for you last Friday. I trust it’s to your liking. If not, feel free to request a change whenever you feel necessary."

"No It'll work perfectly for me."

He nodded, satisfied with my response, then pointed at the datapad he had put down earlier. "Speaking of which, your primary function here will be to assist me. You’ll be taking care of my calendar, and you’ll also be a sort of…second pair of hands. Whatever I may need you to do around the office, I expect you to do it well, with minimal error, and promptly. Is that understood?

"Completely."

He smiled, pleased, and sat back down in his chair. "Excellent, and remember, my work here is private, what you see or hear in this office stays in this office, understood?"

"Of course, I figured as much with your position."

His smile grew. "You learn quickly, good. That’s a very necessary quality to have, around here."

He put a fresh datapad in front of me. "Now, first thing’s first. Open that, and familiarize yourself with my schedule for the day."

"Understood," I said reading through the list. "Seems like an easy workload for today. Some paperwork to sort through, and meeting with one of your fellow senators later this evening. Which in the end would probably include more paperwork to fill out."

Shockwave nodded, watching intently as I quickly read through his schedule. "Very good, correct on both counts. Very observant, I must say. Tell me, you read fast, don’t you?"

"Yes sir, always have. I quite enjoy it as well."

He smiled again, resting his chin against his fist as he studied me from behind his desk, amused by how enthusiastic I was. Eager to learn, eager to work. Exactly the kind of person he had been looking for I hoped.

"Reading is a hobby of yours, then?"

"Yep," I answered while looking at the data pad.

He chuckled and leaned back in his Chair, "Any other hobbies you might have? You know I’m going to do a background check on you, I might as well have the whole list."

"Reading, writing, and art are the main things I enjoy."

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by that. "Reading, writing, and art, hm…? You’re a creative type, then?"

"Yes, and it comes in quite handy for work."

He smiled again, leaning his chin against his palm. "Oh, I imagine it does. And these aren’t just things you do during your leisure time? You put them to good use, as well? I’m almost jealous, I have a one-track mind, it’s all about politics and work."

"Well, we all work differently." Though it was a bit disheartening to hear. He must overwork himself.

He chuckled bitterly like I read his mind, confirming my thoughts.

"Indeed we all do. But unfortunately, politics isn’t kind to individuals with many, diverse, interests. My mind tends to hyper-fixate on the present, on work, and my research. Sometimes I wish it weren’t that way…" He paused, thinking for a moment.

"Say, what time was my meeting later?" He changed the subject so quickly that it almost made my head spin.

"Oh um, five this evening." I quickly answered looking back down at the datapad.

"Tch, 5?" He looked at the time, a bit bothered that the meeting was later than he thought. "That’s right, why am I only just now remembering this…?"

He mumbled, clearly annoyed with his forgetfulness. Then, turning back to me, he looked contemplative for a moment and then got to his feet. "You’re joining me for the meeting."

"To take notes I assume?" I was a bit nervous joining a meeting room full of senators.

"Of course, that’s one of the main purposes of your being here, I’ll need you to take notes." He said with a nod, walking over to stand next to my chair, and leaning on my desk. It seemed he noticed my nervous expression and smiled. "But you don’t need to look so frightened, you won’t be the one in the hot seat."

Well, that eased my worry for the most part. "Shouldn't be anything I can't handle."

"Exactly."

He chuckled, folding his arms as he leaned over the desk. We both were so close now, and he seemed almost amused by how nervous I looked. "And even if something were to go wrong, I’ll be there. Don’t worry, I don’t throw my assistants to the wolves."

"W-well I appreciate that."

He quickly continued with his line of thought, still leaning up against my desk. "And if I may ask, why do you look so nervous? As far as I’m concerned, you’re not the one being scrutinized by the other senators, you’re here for my benefit. Is it the other senators that worry you?"

"A bit, I just don't know what to expect. I'm just a bit nervous and I'm new to the job. The longer I work with you the calmer I'll be."

"You’re very inexperienced, yes, I’ve noticed. That’s another one of your good qualities, you’re not afraid to admit that." He smiled, tilting his head, still leaning next to me. "The others won’t scrutinize or judge you, I promise. They may question me, and be somewhat skeptical of you, but I’ll handle them, you needn’t worry."

[Timeskip To Meeting]

Now I was walking beside Shockwave, the halls of the senate building bustling with activity around the two of us as we made our way to the meeting. It was evident Shockwave held an established presence in the halls, his gaze commanded respect and demanded attention.

Eventually, we arrived at the meeting in question, a large room with a long table taking up most of the space. A few other senators were already present, chatting amongst themselves at their seats. A few of them looked over to Shockwave as we both entered. I stayed behind Shockwave and silently followed him to his designated spot.

He took his seat, right at the center of the table, with me beside him. The others were still chatting, a casual atmosphere until Shockwave clears his throat, and they fall silent. He waits until everyone is in place before speaking. "Alright, let’s get down to business."

His booming voice was completely different from his usual tone. It silenced the room entirely as everyone else looked our way making me take a deep breath.

He smiles as everyone quiets down, some of them glancing in my direction before turning their attention back to him entirely. He takes a moment to glance around the table, observing everyone’s expressions, and their demeanors, before speaking again. "If I may have your attention, I have a new assistant that I wish to introduce." He motions to me, and I immediately feel multiple pairs of optics and attention on me.

My eyes widened a bit anxiously as I turned to him hoping he would do the introducing part. I'm worried my voice wouldn't hold nearly as much volume as his.

He chuckles softly, seemingly amused by my hesitation. He glances at me then back at the other senators, before addressing them all again. "This is (Y/N), she’ll be my assistant from now on, and a valuable asset to me."

I note the smile he gives me while he says this, and the senators begin murmuring and whispering amongst themselves. Shockwave doesn’t object to this, instead smiling wider, clearly waiting to hear what they have to say. You also notice some of them glancing your way occasionally.

I quickly whispered my thanks. I probably would have made a fool of myself and him if I spoke.

He glances over at me and nods, before turning his attention back to his fellow senators, his expression slightly more serious. They had now finished their whispering, and Shockwave spoke up again, his voice returning to a somewhat stoic and serious tone. "Now, enough distractions, I believe the topic at hand was funding for the Iacon Academy. Yes?"

As they went back and forth with their arguments I wrote down every word from the Senators, which I will say is quite difficult with all the useless bickering some decided to partake in.

It was clear some of the senators were more interested in arguing for the sake of arguing, rather than actually getting things done. Shockwave was getting noticeably more annoyed with each word spoken in the meeting. His fists occasionally clenched, and his jaw tensed, he was growing frustrated with it all. Even still, he was a master at keeping his composure, his expression stoic, never letting anyone see him annoyed. The fact that I had noticed, was a slight testament to my perceptiveness.

I looked up at him with a nervous smile easily noticing his annoyance and whispered to him. "I didn't realize how annoying your job must be at times."

He glanced at me when I spoke and sighed internally. He was trying his best to maintain a professional demeanor, but they were pushing it.

"The arguing, the bickering, is just one of many parts of the job I could go without." He whispered back, keeping eye contact with me, before returning his attention to the meeting.

"How do you ever get anything done around here?"

He chuckled a little at that. A rare moment of lighthearted humor in the tense atmosphere of the meeting. "A fair and understandable question to ask in this situation."

He sighs, as the arguing only raises in volume, before tapping the table, and commanding all attention on him.

With a stern expression and a commanding tone, he speaks. "That is enough!"

His tone would have scared me out of my seat if it had been directed at me. All eyes turn to him in unison. Shockwave stares straight ahead with an intense, yet serious expression, waiting for one of them to argue or object. No one speaks up, and he takes this opportunity to speak again. "All this arguing among friends doesn't get us anywhere, does it? We’re all here with the same goal, to aid the best interest of Cybertron. We may have our own beliefs and personal goals, but our purpose here is to keep things running smoothly for the greater good of all."

I wasn't always completely certain of his goals as a politician but his voice rang out with a truly hopeful and optimistic outlook for Cybertron. I was proud to be working beside him. He glanced in my direction again, for a moment, a silent gesture of reassurance. He wasn’t done speaking yet. But he was pleased to see he had made an impression. His expression and tone soon turned serious again, and he began speaking once more. "We’re all on the same side here. Let’s put this childish squabbling aside for a moment, and start getting work done."

I looked around the table to see all the senators had a slight look of shame. Shockwave smiles, pleased to see them all quiet and a bit humiliated by his actions, and continues speaking, as he pulls up a holographic map for them all to see. "Alright, let’s get back to business." He says as he moves on to the subject of the Iacon Academy.

It had seen better days since I last saw it. A heartbreaking sight to see such a wonderful facility going to shambles. He brings up some numbers, charts, and other data related to the academy. All concerning funds, or lack thereof.

"This academy has stood as a beacon of learning and knowledge for generations of individuals in this city, but funding is running dry. More and more of its resources are dedicated towards its deteriorating state rather than actual education, and it's getting worse by the day."

It was truly a shame to see. I just hoped they could all agree on a solution.

A small discussion ensues between the others, some agreeing some arguing, and some simply keeping to themselves. It goes on for a short amount of time until one of them speaks up.

"I say we cut funds entirely from the Iacon Academy, and dedicate those funds to something more useful." Came from one of the quiet senators on the far end of the table.

I accidentally gasped at the suggestion louder than I'd like. So I quickly covered my mouth and looked down at my notes hoping I didn't get scolded for my disruption.

Shockwave raised an eyebrow at this unexpected outburst and glanced over at me. Then, glaring at the one who suggested cutting all funds, he says, pointedly and sternly, "The Iacon Academy needs funding, we cannot just cut funding entirely. It's a core part of our city, and we can't simply just let it fall apart."

Shockwave took the words right out of my mouth. Shockwave glared at the one that suggested the foolish idea. The others all began to speak up and add their own opinions, some more heated than others. It was clear it'd become a bit of an argument again, one quite different than the bickering during the start of the meeting. It was now a tense discussion of different opinions, with everyone throwing ideas into the mix. Again, Shockwave's fists clench, and his jaw goes tense again. He seems frustrated but keeps himself from reacting, for now.

He called for the meeting to close for now so everyone could think through their decisions and come back with clear plans rather than arguing with one another.

And just like that, the meeting was over. Most of the other senators seemed disgruntled and mildly irritated with Shockwave's decision to close the meeting in the middle of a discussion, but they didn't object.

He knew they'd come back later with even more to say, and even more to argue about, but it would hopefully be less heated than this meeting, and actually accomplish what it was meant to. After the others began to leave, Shockwave sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, tired from everything that had just taken place.

"Are you alright Shockwave?" I asked kindly while making sure all my notes were together and organized properly. I know he'd like to read over them later.

He looked over at me, surprised, and sighed. "Just tired. Frustrated with all their arguing and bickering, it happens every single time. I don't know why they bother to show up if all they do is go back and forth about things."

"Well, that's how it always seems to be when people with positions of power get in a room together. But you seem different. You don't act like most politicians."

He raises an eyebrow again, amused by this comment. "Oh really? And how is it you expect politicians to act, exactly?"

"Well like most of the people arguing during the meeting. Argumentative, rude, judgemental, and completely self-centered."

He rolls his eyes at this, nodding in agreement. "Unfortunately, that's just what it's like working with most fellow politicians, I could spend hours listing everything I find annoying about the way most of them act."

"Then why do you do it, why deal with them? There are plenty of other things you could do to help people. And less dangerous. You're always in danger while in your position and no one can get along."

He crossed his arms, a serious but calm expression on his face. "Because if no one like me does it, then everything will go to waste, and nothing will change for the better. Someone needs to maintain balance and make sure things run smoothly. I am quite aware of the dangers that come with the job, but I am willing to take the risk to make sure Cybertron continues to thrive."

I could almost sigh. "You're too good for this job. I mutter to myself. An old friend of mine also told me about you before I got this job, you know him pretty well. Orion Pax, the name should sound familiar. I might have liked a bit about why I signed up for this job."

His eyes widened and he raised an eyebrow again. "Orion? Of course, I've known him for longer than I can remember. What does he have to do with this?"

"He's the main reason I applied for this job. He's worried about your safety. We all know you've had multiple death threats in your time working here. We'd all hate to see you get hurt."

He raises an eyebrow at the death threats part. "Of course, he is."

He sighs. "I appreciate his concern, but I'm not in danger. I know how to handle myself, and I'm perfectly aware of all the risks that come with the job. I knew what I was getting into when I decided to join the Senate, and I won't let a handful of death threats from scared politicians stop me."

"Well Orion wants to make sure you're safe so..he might have asked me to try and work with you. Everything I said in our interview was true but I'm not just a simple assistant. I worked with Orion before on more important and dangerous operations."

"You…Worked with Orion on something dangerous?" He tilts his head, looking at you with a curious yet somewhat uneasy expression. "Tell me truthfully, did Orion know you were going to mention this to me?"

"No he wanted me to stay quiet, but I hated the idea of lying to you. I wanted you to know the truth, but my main reason for being here is to help you and make sure you're safe for Orion's sake."

He crosses his arms, and his expression turns into a serious yet slightly displeased look. "Orion knows that I don't want to be protected or treated differently because of his concerns. And he should have told me this ahead of time. I understand his concern, but I didn't ask for him to send someone to watch over me."

I looked down in defeat. "If you want me to leave I'd understand."

He shakes his head and sighs. He's angry with Orion, and his expression makes that clear. "No, I don't want you to leave. I want you to do exactly what you were hired for. It's Orion who I have some… choice words for."

"He only means well. He views you as a good friend. But times like these are unsafe for good bots like you. Well us I suppose."

"I'm aware, he's mentioned that fact countless times before and I always tell him the same thing. There are others more valuable than me, and I can handle myself if there really is danger. And I know he means well. The concern comes from a good place and I appreciate the sentiment, truly. But sending someone to protect me, without ever asking me about it is just… a bit insulting."

"That's why I wanted to tell you. And the only reason Orion sent me is because he's heard word of someone planning something against you. We're not sure yet but it seems like you're in danger."

He raised an eyebrow, listening intently. "Heard of something? From who? Do you know anything concrete about these threats?"

"From what I know it's possible some of the other senators want to take you out. But that's all I know for sure. I wish I could tell you more."

He closes his eyes and puts a hand to his chin, in a thinking pose. "They want to take me out? That's certainly an interesting development… and probably not all that surprising, a good portion of the senators don't like me one bit." He sighs and turns back to me, his expression more serious now and his tone matching it. "So you're here to what? Look out for me?"

"In simple terms, yes."

He looks me up and down, considering the situation. He's still somewhat unhappy about this arrangement, but he's not exactly opposed to it either. "I don't need anyone's protection, no matter what Orion says. But I respect the honesty you've shown...Alright, I accept your presence. But don't expect me to be any more careful than usual."

"I accept those terms. I'll still only function as your assistant unless you're in danger. My goal isn't to be an overgrown babysitter. I'm only here when needed."

He nods, and his expression softens again. "That's all I ask. As long as you still function as my assistant. I'm still not happy with Orion, I'll need to speak with him later."

#transformers #senator shockwave #Shockwave #x reader #transformers x reader #Senator Shockwave x reader

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