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mediocre-shark-tales · 2 months ago

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A Summer Break for the Ages

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

Sorry for such a long wait everyone, things got super busy as my formula sae team got busy in preparation for an open house event. But I am back to planning and writing again. So to treat you all, here is an extra long and extra fluffy chapter for you.

The pen was starting to slip in my hand, not because it was too heavy or awkward, but because my palms were sweating. Stupid. It was just paperwork. Just another clipboard in another waiting room. I’d filled out dozens of these over the last few months—medical forms, release waivers, press permissions, rehab evaluations. But this one? This one felt different. This one felt… important.

The room was warm and quiet, filled with soft light and the faint scent of cedar. A dog barked in the distance, and I flinched slightly before reminding myself this was a safe place. I stared at the question on the page:

“What are you hoping to find in a dog?”

It should’ve been easy to answer. A companion. A little joy. Something to come home to after the chaos of racing and interviews and headlines I didn’t ask for. But more than that—something steady. Something that didn’t care about what the media said or the footage that kept replaying of the crash. Someone who didn’t ask questions, just stayed close when the nights got long and the thoughts got loud.

I scribbled down the first honest thing that came to mind:

“A partner. A friend. Someone who understands silence.”

When I handed it back, the woman behind the desk smiled softly like she’d read between every word I hadn’t said. “We have a little tradition,” she told me as she stood. “Our dogs… they choose you. Not the other way around.”

I followed her out of the cozy little office, heart pounding like I was about to walk into qualifying again. Except this time there was no helmet. No track. Just the sun-warmed backyard of the facility—and maybe a future waiting for me in the grass.

The gate opened and chaos greeted me in the most beautiful way. Dogs. All kinds. Bouncing, wagging, barking, rolling in the dirt. A pair of fluffy mutts ran straight for me, tails spinning like windmills, and I crouched down (as much as my shoulder allowed) to let them sniff and slobber and welcome me with happy energy I hadn’t felt in ages.

I was so distracted by them, I almost didn’t notice him.

He was standing off to the side—still, quiet, watching. A large German Shepherd, dark coat shining in the sun, ears perked, stance alert. He didn’t charge or bark or demand attention. He observed. Me. And when our eyes met, something… shifted. I didn’t know how to explain it, even now. But my heart settled. Not in a romantic way or a cheesy movie moment way, but in a deep, grounding way. Like a boat finally anchoring.

He took a few careful steps forward, his eyes locked on mine the whole time. Every inch of him radiated calm focus. And then—without hesitation—he leaned his full body gently into my leg. Solid and warm.

I let out a shaky breath, blinking hard. He didn’t nudge for pets, didn’t lick my face. He just… stayed. And that’s what I needed.

The trainer’s voice came from behind me, just a touch surprised. “Well, would you look at that. That’s Axel. He’s a bit of a legend around here.”

I looked down at him. “He’s perfect.”

“He’s more than that,” she said, stepping beside me. “He’s trained for emotional support. PTSD, anxiety, trauma cases. He knows when to give space and when to stay close.”

I blinked at her. “Wait—he’s already trained?”

She nodded. “Fully certified. And… he’s got something extra, too. Axel’s also trained in protective behavior. Not attack, just defense. He’s not aggressive unless you give the signal.”

I glanced down at him again, his head now resting gently against my thigh like he’d been mine forever.

“What kind of signals?”

“Two code words,” she explained. “If you say ‘susto’—which means ‘scare’—he’ll alert. Stand between you and whoever’s setting him off. He’ll bark, stiffen posture. Warn. But he won’t escalate especially when you say ‘hecho.’ That ends it. Brings him back down.”

“And if I don’t say anything?”

“He’ll decide based on your body language,” she said gently. “But he’s incredibly intelligent. He won’t act unless he senses real danger. You’re always in control.”

It took me a second to swallow the lump in my throat. This wasn’t just a dog. This was… security. This was someone who could help me feel safe again—not just emotionally, but physically. Someone who would see the fear I tried so hard to hide and stand in front of it for me.

“Axel,” I whispered, dropping to my knees beside him. “You okay with me?”

He looked up at me, then leaned in and licked my chin.

I laughed for the first time in days.

Later that day, after the bonding test and paperwork and basic command refreshers, Axel climbed into the passenger seat of my car like it was already his. He rested his head lightly on my thigh as I drove, his eyes flicking to mine every so often like he was still checking—you alright?

Back at my apartment, I didn’t feel nervous. I didn’t feel alone. Axel followed me through the rooms, nose twitching at the corners of my cluttered shelves, finally settling on the couch where I curled up next to him with a blanket and a box of leftover cookies.

He didn’t need to talk. Didn’t need to ask me how I was doing. He just stayed close, warm and steady.

When I whispered, “Thank you for picking me,” he let out a soft huff and nudged his head into my chest, the rhythm of his breathing syncing with mine.

And for the first time since the crash, I finally felt like maybe—just maybe—I could start to put the pieces back together again. With Axel beside me, I wasn’t just a ghost of myself anymore.

I was home and I felt safe.

—

I hadn’t been this nervous to sit in a doctor's office in a while.

It was strange, the way my heart fluttered—not from fear of bad news, but from this intense pressure building behind my ribs. The kind that came when you wanted something so badly to be okay, even though you weren’t sure you were allowed to hope yet.

Axel sat at my feet, tail thudding softly against the cool tile floor every now and then. He had this way of grounding me without needing to be commanded. Since we found each other, he’d been the constant shadow at my side, somehow always knowing what I needed even before I did. I glanced down, brushing my fingers behind his ears. He leaned into the touch, big brown eyes blinking up at me with an ease that made the moment feel less clinical, less sterile.

I heard the doctor before I saw her—her steps were confident, familiar. She stepped in with a tablet in one hand and a bright smile already on her face, and I felt a little piece of my tension start to unravel.

“Let’s check that shoulder first,” she said warmly.

I nodded, carefully beginning the familiar routine of unstrapping the restrictive brace I’d worn since the crash. My movements were slow, cautious. Not because of the pain, but out of habit—like if I moved wrong, everything might break all over again.

Axel stood up as I shifted on the exam table, his body brushing against my leg like he was offering backup support. I murmured a quiet “Hecho,” and he sat back down obediently.

The doctor’s fingers were gentle but thorough as she rotated my arm, checking each angle and joint. She paused to inspect the scars still healing near my collarbone—burns from the fire that had licked my suit. They weren’t as red anymore, not as raw, but I still flinched sometimes when the fabric of my shirts caught them wrong.

“You’ve made incredible progress,” she said finally, stepping back. “Inflammation is down. Mobility’s coming back faster than I expected. You’ve been doing the work.”

I smiled, a small one, but it was real. “Tell that to my frozen shoulder on day two of PT.”

She laughed, then reached into a drawer and returned with a smaller brace—sleek, more discreet, and definitely not the kind that made strangers on the street give me worried looks.

“This is your next step,” she explained, helping me guide my arm into the new brace. “Still no heavy lifting, and take care with how you sleep. But this will give you a lot more comfort. Should fit under clothes easily too.”

It was strange how something so small could make me feel almost normal. I flexed my arm slightly, feeling the way the support hugged just right.

Then came the next part.

I followed her down the hall to radiology, Axel once again sticking close. He waited patiently outside the door, nose pressed against the glass like he was supervising. I swear he’d taken his guardian job to heart the moment I adopted him.

The x-ray process was quick—routine by now. The techs barely needed to direct me anymore. I held still, breathed when they told me, and walked out already rehearsing worst-case scenarios in my head.

Back in the exam room, I waited. Axel laid down this time, head resting on my boot, tail occasionally tapping when I reached down to stroke his back.

When the doctor returned, she didn’t make me wait.

“Your fracture is healing beautifully,” she said, turning the tablet toward me so I could see the clean lines of my bone coming back together. “No shifting. No complications. You’ll be out of that cast next week.”

I blinked. “Really?”

She nodded. “From there, we’ll work on gradually building weight back up. If everything keeps going this well, you will be back in the car by the second race.”

A breath caught in my throat.

Two weeks, only missing 1 race.

It had been just under a month since the crash, and two weeks from now, I could be in the car again. Not just thinking about racing—doing it. Feeling the wheel in my hands. Hearing the engine vibrate through my bones.

I didn’t realize my hands had clenched until Axel nudged me with his nose. I opened them slowly, fingers still stiff in the cast, but the ache didn’t bother me today.

From the corner, Nico’s voice chimed in.

“Perfect,” he said, already typing into his phone. “I’ll update Diego.”

I raised an eyebrow, grinning. “You mean my personal stalker-slash-trainer?”

“He prefers ‘dedicated professional’,” Nico deadpanned. “But yes.”

The news brought something else to the surface—something I’d been meaning to share with my audience, but hadn’t found the right time or words. Maybe this would be the moment.

Before Deigo, my training was impersonal. A faceless contract with a faceless trainer. Someone paid through an agency who thought I was a woman training for marathons or maybe motorsport-adjacent racing. They didn’t know who I was, and they didn’t ask. It was sterile, minimal, safe. I had to stay under the radar, even in my own recovery.

But now… I didn’t have to pretend anymore.

Diego had been with me every step of this journey. He was the one who learned every layer of my body and how it healed. The one who researched PT for burns and race-related shoulder injuries and helped build regimens that weren’t just effective—they fit me.

He wasn’t just in my corner. He was the reason I’d gotten out of bed those first few painful mornings.

“Think I’ll tell them soon,” I said quietly. “About Diego.”

Nico’s face softened. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Feels like the right time.”

I pictured it—something casual, maybe a vlog or a behind-the-scenes reel.

“Hey, guys. So this is Diego. He’s been my radio engineer for a while now but he finally finished his certification and got to take over full time as my personal trainer too. He’s helped with my recovery since day one, and you’ll probably see him more often now not just as my radio engineer but my trainer too. He’s a pain, but he’s my pain.”

That would be enough.

No need to dive into the years of hidden injuries or the lies I’d had to spin to stay safe. No need to talk about how close I’d come to losing everything when the car went up in flames. They didn’t need the trauma to understand the truth.

They just needed to know I wasn’t alone anymore.

And as we left the doctor’s office, sun spilling onto the sidewalk like a warm exhale from the sky, I felt it—real, true forward momentum after weeks of feeling stuck in one small dull world.

—

When Nico dropped me off at my apartment, the world outside felt quieter, softer. Axel, the big German Shepherd who’d chosen me over all the other dogs at the trainer’s, was curled up in the backseat, looking as calm and collected as he ever did. We’d been through a lot in the past few days—vet visits, paperwork, a long flight to get him here—and now, after all that effort, he was finally home.

"Thanks for the ride," I said, giving Nico a grateful smile as I got out. I adjusted the strap of my bag over my shoulder, Axel following close behind. He trotted up beside me, calm as always, his eyes scanning our surroundings like he was making sure everything was okay. There was something so reassuring about him.

Nico caught my eye, his grin widening just slightly. “You’re sure you’re good here? No help with anything?”

“I’ve got it covered,” I said with a chuckle, even as I gave the apartment door a quick glance to make sure everything was still in order. “I’ve got a puppy now, Nico. What else do I need?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Right, you’re all set with your emotional support dog. Perfect time to leave you alone, huh?” His voice was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of affection in it.

“Everything’s fine,” I assured him, giving Axel a scratch behind the ears as the dog followed me up the stairs. Axel looked up at me, his tongue hanging out in a grin, but his gaze stayed steady and protective. It was so comforting to know that I had a partner who not only had my back but was also going to be with me all week.

As we made our way inside, I unpacked a few things while Nico made sure I didn’t forget anything. I made a mental checklist: clothes packed, medication in my bag, a fresh set of shoulder braces and wraps in my suitcase for the arm and shoulder, Axel’s travel gear ready. Everything was done. It was all going according to plan.

Then, a soft knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.

I opened it, and immediately I was met with the loud, boisterous voices of Ollie and Kimi.

“Surprise, surprise,” Ollie grinned, stepping inside without hesitation, “Look what we’ve got, a delivery of sunshine and—”

His voice trailed off as he froze mid-step, his eyes going wide.

Kimi stepped in right behind him, also stopping when he caught sight of Axel. The atmosphere in the room shifted, a quiet awe filling the space.

Ollie slowly crouched down, his eyes filled with surprise and delight. “You... you got a dog?”

I nodded, unable to contain the excitement bubbling inside me. “Yeah, his name’s Axel. I didn’t tell you guys because I wanted it to be a surprise. I figured he could keep me company during the break, you know?”

Axel, ever the cool customer, just stood there, his tail gently swaying behind him. But I could feel him observing both Ollie and Kimi carefully. It was like he was weighing them, deciding if they were worth his trust.

Kimi, as usual, didn’t waste a second. He took a step toward Axel, his movements slow and deliberate, letting the dog smell his outstretched hand. Axel sniffed once, then twice, before he gave a little huff and nudged Kimi’s palm with his nose. That was it. Kimi smiled, his eyes lighting up in a way that made my heart warm.

“He’s already fond of you,” I teased.

Ollie grinned, and then—just when I thought Axel was going to ignore him—he walked over to Ollie, sitting at his feet, looking up with those big brown eyes like he was silently demanding attention. Ollie laughed, scratching Axel behind the ears. “Okay, okay, I admit it,” he said. “I’m in love.”

“I’m in love,” Kimi chimed in, looking at me with a grin. “But mostly because Axel’s clearly already won me over.”

Axel huffed again, letting his body relax as I sat on the couch, gesturing for them to join me. The dog nestled up beside me, one paw stretched lazily over my foot. There was something so comforting about having him with me in this moment. Something that settled the edges of my mind, grounding me in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.

“Alright, now we’re ready to go,” Ollie said, looking around the apartment for a final check. “The Tahoe’s outside. Kimi’s manager is driving, and he’s got everything planned so we don’t have to worry about anything. Plus, we saved you the entire back seat. No choosing who sits with who.”

“That’s really nice of you guys,” I said, smiling.

We made our way outside, Axel following me closely as Kimi opened the back door of the blacked-out Tahoe. Axel hopped up first, with a little help from me. It seemed like everything with him just worked in a way that made everything else feel easier.

The ride to the airport was uneventful, in the best way possible. Just the soft hum of the engine, the cool leather seats, and Axel’s calm presence beside me. Kimi and Ollie chattered about nothing and everything, making plans for the trip, throwing out ideas for hikes and beach days.

But when we arrived at the airport, that’s when the magic of the day really began. As we stepped out of the vehicle, a group of discreet security guards greeted us, ready to whisk us through the back entrance, out of sight of any curious fans. The boys were still relaxed, enjoying the anonymity, and I could see the joy in their eyes as we moved seamlessly through the terminal, Axel quietly trotting by my side.

Once inside the VIP room, I breathed a sigh of relief. The tension I’d carried with me—about being recognized, about keeping Axel’s presence under wraps—finally melted away.

“So,” Ollie said, settling onto one of the plush chairs. “Four whole days of nothing but fun and relaxation. Just us. No interviews, no press. What’s the first thing we’re doing when we get there?”

“We’ve got a boat ride planned, remember?” Kimi chimed in, putting his feet up and cracking open a bottle of water. “Lunch to sunset. Then some hiking, maybe?”

“That sounds perfect,” I replied, leaning back, watching Axel curl up on the floor beside me, his eyes half-closed in contentment. “Anything that doesn’t involve me breaking my arm again.”

“Nothing too crazy,” Ollie reassured me. “But we’re going to hike up the Alps. Get some stargazing in, cook a few meals together, maybe hit the beach.”

I smiled, the thought of it all making me feel lighter. A boat ride, a relaxed hike, some stargazing under the clear French sky… and Axel, right there with me the entire time.

I closed my eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply.

“This is going to be perfect,” I murmured.

And as the boys began talking about their plans—about markets to visit and secret coves to find—I knew that this trip wasn’t just about escaping for a while. It was about finding peace in the little things. With them. With Axel. And that, to me, was everything I needed.

—

The low hum of the plane was oddly soothing, a steady white noise that matched the gentle vibration under my seat. We were about halfway across the ocean now, headed toward a much-needed break tucked away in the French Riviera. Our little group had lucked out with first-class cubbies, each of us in our own private pod. I was tucked into mine, Ollie in the one just to my right, and Kimi across the aisle, both only a few steps away.

Axel lay in the aisle between us, his big body curled up right where the stewardess had said he should be—close enough to reach me instantly, should I need him. It made me feel safe in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. Just knowing he was there was like anchoring myself to solid ground, even when we were flying above clouds.

I had reclined my chair into its flat position a little while ago, one of the many luxuries of these fancy pods. The blanket draped loosely over my legs, and my headphones sat gently over my ears—no music playing, though. I just wanted it to be a little quieter and I allowed Axel to hop up onto the makeshift bed with me.

Axel’s head rested beside mine now. My hand was tucked into his soft fur, slowly stroking behind his ears, the way he liked. His calm breathing matched mine, and soon, sleep began tugging at the edges of my mind.

That’s when I felt it.

A gentle touch brushing through my hair—fingers sweeping a few loose strands away from my face. Soft, careful. I didn’t move. I kept my eyes closed, my breathing steady, curious what would come next.

“She looks like she’s finally relaxed,” Ollie’s voice whispered.

I could hear the soft rustle as he leaned back in his chair, clearly thinking I couldn’t hear them through my ‘music.’

Kimi responded, just as quiet. “It’s still wild. A couple months ago… I didn’t think we’d get to do this. Not like this. Not with her here.”

My heart ached gently, but not in a bad way. I held still, letting them talk.

“I used to stay up, watching the crash over and over again, trying to convince myself that I shouldn’t have to worry anymore, that I wouldn’t wake up and she wouldn’t be here anymore.” Ollie murmured.

“Yeah,” Kimi said. “I’d wake up from nightmares where she just… didn’t make it. Couldn’t shake it off for hours.”

There was a pause, the kind that weighed heavy with old fear.

“But now look at her,” Kimi added, voice softening. “She’s got a dog who practically worships her, she’s healthy, and she’s laughing again. We can’t take that for granted.”

“No,” Ollie agreed, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “I still worry, though. Every time she winces or disappears for a second too long. I hate how scared I still get.”

“Same,” Kimi admitted. “But I’ll take the worry if it means we still have her.”

My eyes burned a little. I blinked them open, letting my hand press just a little firmer into Axel’s side. He shifted closer in response, letting out a quiet whuff.

“I think she’s dreaming,” Ollie whispered.

Kimi chuckled softly. “Probably dreaming about being bossy and beating us at go-karts again.”

“Yeah, she’d better not heal that fast.”

They both laughed quietly, and I finally opened my eyes completely, turning just slightly toward Axel. I let out a little sigh and stretched, just enough to make it look like I was coming out of sleep.

Ollie immediately leaned over the partition. “Hey, hey, you good?”

I gave him a lazy half-smile. “Just comfy,” I murmured, voice still sleep-thick. “Axel makes a good pillow.”

Axel gave a very smug sigh, like he knew exactly what we were talking about.

Kimi leaned forward, his arm resting over the edge of his pod. “Did we wake you up?”

I shook my head slowly. “No. Just the best nap in weeks, that’s all.”

Their shoulders eased. The air between us was gentle now—filled with affection and warmth, with all the words they didn’t need to say out loud. I didn’t call them out on what I heard. I didn’t need to. Just hearing it had been enough. A quiet reminder of the bond we shared.

Axel pressed his nose into my wrist, and I rubbed his ears, mouthing a silent “thank you” to the best boy.

With the low lights dimming around us, and the clouds stretching endlessly beneath us, I settled back into my little cocoon. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like everything might just be okay.

—

The villa looked like it had been pulled out of a daydream.

Tucked into the side of a gentle slope and kissed by the French seaside breeze, it had an effortless charm — stone walls bleached by years of sun, pale-blue shutters framing the windows, and ivy crawling up one side like nature had given the place a warm embrace. Inside, it smelled like lemon soap and linen. The kind of place that made your shoulders drop the moment you stepped inside.

I stood in the doorway to my room, suitcase half-unpacked, just soaking it all in. Axel had already made himself at home, nose twitching at every corner before plopping dramatically on the foot of my bed. His soft eyes met mine, almost like he was saying, "Yep, this'll do."

"You're right," I said aloud to him with a small smile, reaching down to give him a scratch behind the ears. "This'll definitely do."

My room had huge windows that overlooked a gravel path winding through wild lavender and olive trees. The bed had cozy cream blankets and a little wicker bench at the end. I took my time folding things into drawers and hanging a few outfits I knew I’d want later. Even with the weight of a shoulder brace and a half-healed fracture, I felt lighter than I had in months.

Kimi and Ollie were still unpacking down the hall—though by the sounds of it, “unpacking” might’ve involved more laughing than organizing. I was halfway through smoothing out the last T-shirt in my drawer when I heard the soft thud of something hitting a wall followed by Ollie yelling, “That was not my fault, that shelf just hates me!”

Smiling, I stepped out of my room, letting the peace of this place settle into my chest like warm honey. I made my way into the kitchen—sunlight pouring across the counter, curtains fluttering slightly in the ocean breeze—and started thinking about dinner. Something simple. Something comforting.

Opening my phone, I browsed the local market's website. It had everything—fresh produce, cuts of meat, artisan cheeses, and even a little wine section. My mind was already building the meal as I jotted a quick list in the notes app:

Three nice, thick steaks

Yukon gold potatoes

Green beans

Cheese for the casserole

Milk, butter, and sour cream

Maybe a little wine…?

Definitely dessert.

As if on cue, I felt a presence over my shoulder.

“Are you plotting something dangerous?” Ollie asked, chin practically hovering next to my head. His hair was sticking up like he’d run through a wind tunnel, and he still had one sock on.

“I’m feeding you, actually,” I replied with a smirk.

“Ah. That’s extremely dangerous. I might fall in love,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, flopping dramatically onto the nearby barstool.

Kimi entered behind him, far more collected, but still with that telltale smirk that said he’d heard everything. “Did I hear the word dessert?” he asked, walking toward the fridge to check if we had eggs. He opened it and laughed. “We have... two lemons, a bottle of water, and half a cucumber.”

“Then it’s settled,” I said, grabbing my phone and the handwritten list. “We’re going shopping.”

Ollie clapped his hands. “The grocery squad is a go.”

Kimi rolled his eyes, but he was already slipping his shoes on.

Before we left, I grabbed Axel’s travel leash—one of the things I’d secretly ordered in preparation for this trip. The soft leather fit nicely in my hand, and Axel immediately perked up, trotting to my side like the perfect gentleman. I’d checked the rules a dozen times before bringing him, even booked an upgraded ticket just so he could fly cabin with me. He’d already earned his place here, and the villa was pet-friendly. He was part of my family now.

Ollie noticed the new leash, raising a brow. “Someone came prepared.”

“You think I was leaving him behind after only three days?” I asked, eyes twinkling. “Please.”

The walk to the market felt like something out of a dream. Narrow cobblestone streets, the occasional hum of a moped passing by, and the scent of fresh herbs from nearby window boxes. We took our time—laughing, pointing out little shops, Axel getting far too much attention from people who couldn’t believe such a big dog looked so soft.

The market was a little open-air plaza tucked between two streets, overflowing with color and warmth. We split up, everyone taking part of the list. Ollie became that guy who had to sample every cheese. Kimi debated between three types of steak for almost ten minutes. I picked out green beans and potatoes while Axel sat patiently beside me, tail thumping quietly.

We regrouped by the bread stand, bags in hand, sun warm on our backs.

“Mission success,” Kimi announced.

“Operation Dinner Domination has commenced,” Ollie added, fist-pumping the air like we’d just won a race.

Back at the villa, we turned on soft music and started cooking.

Axel laid in the corner of the kitchen, keeping one eye on me at all times. Ollie insisted on whipping the mashed potatoes. Kimi took over the cheese grating with intense focus, like it was a matter of national pride. I handled the steaks, searing them just right and letting the aroma fill the space.

The casserole bubbled in the oven, the potatoes were fluffy and rich, and the green beans were sautéed with a bit of garlic and butter. The kitchen became a beautiful mess—bowls stacked in the sink, spoons everywhere, but laughter filling every corner.

Dinner was magic.

The table was lit by candles we found in a drawer, and the sunset poured golden light across our plates. We sat together, eating like we hadn’t in ages, passing dishes back and forth, Axel quietly getting the tiniest bite of steak under the table as a reward for being the best-behaved boy.

At one point, I leaned back in my chair and looked at the two of them—Ollie mid-laugh, Kimi rolling his eyes but smiling anyway—and I felt something bloom quietly in my chest.

Peace. Real, soul-deep peace. I couldn’t wait to see what the rest of the week would bring.

—

The air was crisp the next morning, the kind that whispered promises of adventure.

I’d woken up to the sound of birds and the faint rustle of trees outside my window. The villa was still quiet when I slipped out of bed, Axel padding at my side, his tail already wagging like he was excited for whatever the day held.

By the time the boys were up and dressed, the sun was creeping higher into the sky, casting long golden beams across the living room.

“Still down for the trail?” Kimi asked, slinging a lightweight backpack over his shoulder. “Unless you’ve decided to spend the day napping instead.”

“I do love a nap,” I teased, grabbing my water bottle, “but I love proving you wrong even more.”

Ollie snorted as he laced up his shoes. “Someone woke up feisty.”

“Feisty looks good on her,” Kimi added, and I felt the warmth crawl up the back of my neck, pretending not to hear him as I turned to check Axel’s gear instead.

The hike wasn’t too long—about an hour and a half up, winding through forested switchbacks and stretches of rocky ledges that offered postcard-worthy views of the surrounding hills. The trail was quiet, only the sound of gravel under our feet and the occasional bird overhead. Axel led the way confidently, stopping every now and then to sniff around and look back at me like he was making sure I was still okay.

We paused at the summit, where a flat stretch of land overlooked the valley below. You could see the tiny speck of our villa in the distance, just between the trees.

The wind tugged gently at my hair as I stood at the edge, arms folded, watching the clouds drift. Then I felt Kimi step beside me. He didn’t say anything at first, just handed me a bottle of water and stood close enough that our shoulders almost touched.

“You know,” he said after a beat, his voice lower, softer, “you’ve been smiling more this trip.”

I glanced over at him, eyebrows raised. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at all.” He looked down at me, eyes warm. “It’s just… nice to see it again.”

That quiet honesty settled deep into my chest.

We stayed up there until the sun dipped low, painting the sky in pinks and soft oranges. When night finally started creeping in, Ollie pulled out a blanket from his backpack and spread it on the ground. We all laid back, heads close together, watching as the stars began to appear one by one.

Axel curled up next to me, his head resting on my hip.

“There’s Orion,” Ollie pointed, tracing the constellation with his finger.

“I always thought stars looked closer together in movies,” I murmured, my voice barely louder than the breeze.

“That’s because movies don’t show you this,” Kimi replied quietly, reaching over and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered for a second longer than they needed to.

I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t look away either.

The silence between us wasn’t heavy. It felt… full.

—

The next day felt like something out of a vacation beach magazine.

Blue skies stretched endlessly overhead, and the ocean sparkled just beyond the cliffs. After a lazy breakfast and a round of teasing about who had snored the loudest (it was definitely Ollie), we grabbed towels and made our way down the narrow trail from the villa that led to a semi-private beach.

It was small, the kind of place the locals probably kept to themselves, tucked between two rocky outcrops that hugged the shore.

I kicked off my shoes and let my toes sink into the warm sand. Axel darted toward the water with a joyful bark, skimming the waves and circling back like a four-legged lifeguard.

“God, I missed this,” I whispered, mostly to myself.

Kimi was beside me again. “The beach or the peace?”

“Both,” I said, turning to smile at him. “Though this view doesn’t hurt either.”

“You mean me?” he asked innocently, striking a ridiculous pose that made me laugh.

“You wish.”

We spent hours exploring. Ollie found a tidepool and named every crab he saw. Kimi and I wandered a bit farther, following a narrow stretch of rocks until we found a tiny cove hidden just out of view. It was beautiful—clear turquoise water, soft white sand, and just enough space for two towels and Axel to sprawl out under the shade of an overhang.

I sat down with a content sigh, brushing sand off my knees. “You think we’ll remember this ten years from now?”

Kimi didn’t answer right away. He sat beside me, our legs barely brushing. “I hope so,” he said finally. “But if we don’t, maybe we’ll just have to come back and do it all over again.”

That earned a real laugh from me. “You’re assuming I’d willingly vacation with you again.”

“You love me already,” he said smugly. “You just don’t know it yet.”

By the time the sun began to sink, we made our way back to the villa—sun-kissed, sandy, and carrying a ridiculous amount of shells Ollie insisted were "rare treasures."

That night, we gathered in the hot tub under the stars.

The water was warm, the jets bubbling quietly, and soft music played from someone’s speaker. Axel dozed on the deck nearby, completely at peace. We talked about everything and nothing, stories from when we were kids, favorite races, movies we still hadn’t seen. My shoulder brace was off for the night, tucked safely on a chair, and I felt free. Light.

“You’re glowing,” Kimi said, voice low and playful.

“I’m in a hot tub, its sweat bud,” I replied, nudging him with my foot under the water.

“Sure,” he grinned, leaning closer, “but I don’t think it is.” The look in his eyes told me he meant it. And for once, I didn’t deflect. I just smiled, heart warm and full. Whatever this was, whatever it was becoming — I wasn’t afraid of it.

—

The ride back from the airport was quiet. All three of us were sunk deep into the soft seats of the Uber, still a little sun-kissed, a little sleepy, and not quite ready to say goodbye to the calm we’d found at the villa. Axel had his head in my lap, paws twitching occasionally in a dream, maybe chasing butterflies or sniffing the sea air that still clung faintly to my hoodie.

When the car pulled up to my building, I turned toward the boys with a small smile.

“Wanna just… crash at my place tonight?” I asked softly, almost shyly. “It’s kinda late and I still have those giant air mattresses I used last time.”

Ollie and Kimi exchanged a glance, then nodded together. “Yeah,” Kimi said with a shrug. “One more night. Let’s drag out the peace a little longer.”

Inside, I got to work setting up. The air mattresses puffed up slowly, filling the open floor space in my room, one on either side. Axel wandered around while the boys brought their bags in and changed into comfy clothes, the atmosphere light again—easy.

It felt safe. Cozy. Like home was a little less heavy with them in it.

We stayed up for a little while just talking, laughing over villa memories and ranking who cooked best (I won, obviously), until the yawns caught up with us. Lights off. Axel curled at my side.

That night felt still.

The kind of stillness that usually came after something beautiful, like the final flicker of a candle before it goes out. My room was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional huff from Axel as he adjusted where he lay on the floor beside my bed. The boys were stretched out on the air mattresses—Ollie closest to the door, Kimi near the window—and I could hear them breathing slow, steady, fast asleep.

I thought I was, too.

But then—

The dark started shifting.

In the dream, I was strapped in again. Back in the cockpit of the car. The high-pitched whine of the engine screamed around me, almost like it was crying. The track ahead blurred, sun glaring through the visor, and then—impact. Metal crunched and bent around me like foil, my body jolting in the seat with a violent force I felt in my bones. The car spun, flipped once, then twice. I could feel my arm snap—could hear the muffled screaming through the helmet. Mine.

The world around me slowed, stretching the seconds. Smoke poured into the cockpit, and I was upside down. Trapped. I tried to breathe. Tried to move. But my harness held me tight, the air thick and suffocating. And then I heard it—scraping. A fire crackling too close. Something sparked.

I screamed. I begged. Please. Someone help me. I don’t want to die like this.

“Y/N?!” a voice called—but it sounded warped, distant. “Stay with us, come on—!”

I knew that voice.

Ollie.

And then another. “We’re coming! Hold on, Y/N!”

Kimi.

But in the nightmare, I couldn’t see them. I was alone. Always alone.

The panic swelled, my lungs collapsing under the weight of memory and fear, and I thrashed against my restraints in the dream until I heard a sharp bark.

Axel.

Another bark. Louder. Urgent. Close.

My eyes flew open.

I was gasping, soaked in sweat, the sheets tangled around my legs like the belts in my car. My heart was racing so fast I could barely breathe. I blinked rapidly in the dark and saw Axel beside me, paws on the edge of the bed, his eyes wide and locked on me. His body was rigid, ears forward, focused like he knew exactly what had happened.

But I wasn’t alone.

“Y/N?” a voice said softly. Not dreamlike this time. Real. Present. “Hey… hey, it’s okay.”

Kimi.

I turned slightly, barely processing the warm hand on my shoulder, grounding me. Then I saw Ollie too, sitting on the other side of the bed, his face full of concern. Both of them were crouched beside me now, eyes searching my face, their own sleep clearly interrupted.

“I’m here,” I croaked out. My voice felt raw, like I had been screaming. I probably had.

Axel let out a soft whine, then gently nudged his nose into my arm, curling closer to me once I reached out to touch him. He settled again against my side, like a sentinel resuming his watch.

I looked between the boys and then away, the shame creeping in like smoke after a fire.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I whispered.

“Don’t,” Ollie said immediately, his voice still laced with sleep but firm. “You sounded terrified. We didn’t even think twice.”

Kimi’s expression was softer than I’d ever seen it. “Was it the crash?”

I nodded once, feeling the dam behind my eyes start to tremble. I’d kept this to myself for so long—thinking if I didn’t speak it, maybe it would go away. But it hadn’t. And now they knew.

“I… I relive it sometimes,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “Not every night. But enough. I dream about the fire. The spinning. The pain. The sounds. I always wake up at the same point… trapped. Screaming.”

Neither of them said anything right away.

Just silence—and then the bed dipped beside me as Ollie carefully crawled up and sat near my legs, while Kimi moved to sit at my other side, their presence warm and steady.

“You’ve been dealing with this alone?” Kimi asked gently.

“I didn’t want to make it worse. For anyone,” I whispered. “You were both already so scared. I didn’t want to keep dragging it out.”

“You’re not dragging anything out,” Ollie said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “You nearly died. You’re allowed to have scars we can’t see. It’s not weakness.”

“It’s survival,” Kimi added, his hand reaching for mine, steady and calm. “You got through the worst of it. But you don’t have to heal from it alone.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks without me realizing. Axel licked one gently from my jaw before settling down again with a soft sigh, satisfied now that I wasn’t shaking as much.

I sniffled and gave them a watery smile. “He’s trained for this. For PTSD, anxiety, general emotional support. But I guess I didn’t expect him to know exactly when to wake me up.”

“He loves you,” Ollie murmured, shifting to lay beside me now, one arm loosely over my waist. “Just like we do.”

Kimi laid down on my other side, gentle, careful. “We’re not going anywhere, Y/N. Tonight or any other night. Got it?”

I nodded again, my throat too tight to speak.

The three of us, tangled in quiet and emotion, let the moment breathe. Axel rested against the curve of my legs. Ollie’s fingers softly traced circles on my back. Kimi’s hand held mine, firm and warm.

I didn’t know when I drifted back to sleep, but this time, there was no crash.

Just safety.

And peace.

And three souls anchoring me home.

Masterlist

Taglist

@widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp @thatsnotaddy @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @littlesimps-world @dozyisdead @mizzy-pop @lost4lyrics @anunstablefangirl @nikfigueiredo @reiluvr @mymmyrym @ferrarisstrategy

#x reader #driver!reader #f1 #f1 angst #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 grid x reader #f1 imagine #f1 driver!reader

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tinyshyteacup · 3 months ago

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TW, Cussing, talk of sexual acts.

Part 4

A Charming Detour - Part 5

You step out of the office just as the sun starts dipping lower in the sky, stretching your arms after a long day. You hadn’t even decided if you were going to the party yet—not after what Gemma and Jax had told you.

That whole "people getting blown in the hallways” thing?

Yeah. Still processing.

Teller-Morrow is starting to quiet down, the sound of wrenches clanking and bikes revving dying out as the guys finish up.

You stretch, rolling your shoulders, when you hear a sharp voice.

“Hold up, sweetheart.”

You turn to find Gemma standing next to her black Cadillac, sunglasses perched on her nose, a cigarette dangling from her fingers.

Your stomach tightens. “Uh… yeah?”

She jerks her head toward the car. “C’mere.”

You hesitate—because that tone? That’s the mom voice.

But you go anyway.

Gemma stubs out her cigarette with her heel, before popping the trunk. The hinges groan slightly as she lifts it open, and then—

She starts rummaging.

You blink. “…What are you doing?”

Gemma doesn’t look up. “Making sure you don’t walk into the clubhouse looking like a lost church girl.”

Your face burns. “I—I wasn’t—”

She snorts. “Uh-huh.” Then, triumphantly, she pulls something free—

And tosses it at you a black leather jacket.

You barely catch it.

“…This is yours?”

“Nah. It's an old lady’s.”

You freeze. “Old lady's ?” You blink confused at the term.

Gemma waves a hand. “Luann's, she won't mind, sweetheart. And I’d rather you wear that than walk in looking like some clueless little doll.”

You shift, feeling the weight of the jacket. It smells like cigarettes and faded perfume. It’s worn in a way that makes you think it’s seen things.

You swallow. “Thanks.”

She nods. “Pair it with this." Gemma pulls out something else and tosses it at you.

“Now—about the guys.”

You glance up warily, unfolding the black top she's handed you, you eye the neckline and silently thank whatever gods told you to keep double sided tape in your bag.

She smirks. “Most of ‘em are gonna be drunk, high, or lookin’ for a good time.”

You swallow. “... and this doesn't add to the problem ?.” You motion to the top.

Her smirk fades slightly, she continues without answering your question “And some of ‘em? Aren’t nice men.”

You shift uncomfortably. “Like… our guys?”

She shakes her head. “Our guys know better. They get their dicks wet, but they don’t fuck with girls that don’t wanna be fucked with.”

Then, more seriously, “It’s the others you gotta watch for.”

Your brows furrow. “…Others?”

Gemma exhales. “We don’t just invite our own. hangarounds, prospects—people that don’t got the same… code.”

“I mean it, sweetheart.” Her voice is firm now. “You’re a new girl. And these guys?” She smirks, shaking her head. “They love girls like you. They see somethin’ sweet and new, and they wanna put their stamp on it.”

You chew your lip. “Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

Gemma shrugs “Just stick close to Juice.”

You hesitate. “Everyone keeps saying that.”

Gemma smirks. “And why do you think that is?”

You frown. “I—I dunno. Because he’s nice?”

Gemma laughs. “Look, Juice is a lotta things. But if you’re with him, the rest of the guys’ll back off.”

You hesitate. “…if they don't?”

She smirks. “Oh, Juice would lose his goddamn mind.”

You nod slowly. “…Okay.”

Gemma's smirk widens. “Good girl.”

You frown. “Don’t call me that.”

Gemma laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Go get ready, sweetheart. I’ll see you there.”

Juice is still in the garage when Tig wanders up, grinning.

“She got the talk.”

Juice blinks. “What talk?”

Tig smirks. “The Gemma talk.”

Juice freezes. “Wait—Why?!”

Tig shrugs. “Dunno, Brother. Maybe ‘cause she has no fucking idea what she’s walking into tonight?”

Juice isn’t sure if he’s nervous or excited.

Probably both, he’s standing outside the clubhouse, beer in hand, bouncing slightly on his heels as the night unfolds around him.

Music thumps from inside, bikes line the lot, and the smell of gasoline and alcohol hangs in the air. He keeps checking his phone like a damn idiot, even though you never said you’d text when you got here.

And then—

You arrive.

Juice spots you before anyone else does, stepping out of your car, hesitating slightly as you take everything in.

His brain short-circuits.

Because fuck.

Gemma lent you a leather jacket—one that’s slightly oversized, like it’s meant for someone a little taller. But it’s the top underneath that destroys him.

Low cut. Tight.

Fuck.

Your usual softness is still there, but now? Now, you look… different. Still you, but with an edge he’s never seen before. It’s just enough to make his mouth go dry.

And then—

Tig whistles.

“Well, damn,” Tig drawls, nudging Juice hard in the ribs. “Look what mama brought home.”

Juice doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

When you spot him your eyes light up and you smile—

Yeah. Juice is fucked.

The moment you step inside the clubhouse, it’s like someone hit the pause button on a movie.

The music is still playing, conversations are still happening, but there's this subtle shift—a collective double take from the guys who weren’t outside when you arrived.

You don’t notice it at first, but Juice does.

He's hyper-aware of the way heads turn—Opie pausing mid-sentence, Jax exchanging a knowing glance with Bobby. Even Happy, who rarely reacts to anything, gives the briefest flicker of acknowledgment before returning to his beer.

Tig isn’t just looking at you—he’s looking at Juice, then back at you, then back at Juice, and his grin is already shit-eating levels of bad.

You still don’t seem to notice as you adjust the leather jacket Gemma lent you, smoothing it over your shoulders before stepping further inside.

Something about the jacket, the top, the way your eyes are widen slightly with curiosity—it all adds up to a combination that Juice wasn’t prepared for.

And neither, apparently, was anyone else.

“Well, damn,” Bobby says, standing up and making his way toward you, beer still in hand.

You blink up at him as he stops in front of you, giving you an easy grin. “Lookin’ good, sweetheart.”

Your smile is polite but warm. “Oh—uh, thanks?”

Bobby chuckles, then gestures toward the bar. “Drink?”

Juice stiffens.

Because Bobby’s just being nice—he’s like that with every girl who comes through here—but it still sends a tiny spark of something through Juice’s chest.

Juice is 95% sure its definitely not jealousy.

You hesitate. “Oh, I—sure”

“Oh—he’s done,” Jax mutters to Opie.

Opie smirks. “Think he even realizes it yet?”

Chibs leans back in his chair, watching the interaction with an amused little smirk.

He doesn’t say anything right away, just takes a sip of his drink, eyes flicking between you and Juice. He knows Juice—knows how much of a wreck he is around women he actually likes—and watching him struggle right now?

It’s kind of hilarious.

He exchanges a look with Jax.

“Ten bucks says Juice can’t form a coherent sentence in the next five minutes,” Jax murmurs.

Chibs smirks. “I’m not takin’ that bet. Wouldn’t be fair.”

Happy doesn’t talk much, but he sees everything.

He watches as you shift your weight, one hand loosely holding your drink, the other still fidgeting with the hem of your borrowed jacket.

You’re still adjusting to the atmosphere, still figuring out the place.

And yet—

You’re not afraid.

That’s… interesting.

Most outsiders—especially women—are either intimidated or overly confident when they first step into the clubhouse. But you? You seem curious. Like you’re taking everything in, absorbing it piece by piece.

Happy’s not sure what to make of that yet.

But he files it away for later.

For now, he just takes another sip of his beer and mutters, “Juice is fucked.”

Juice doesn’t realize it at first.

At first, he’s just trying to keep his shit together—which is impossible, because you keep smiling at him and looking at him like he’s not a total idiot.

But then he starts to notice.

No matter who you talk to—Bobby, Chibs, even Jax—you always end up back near him.

It’s never obvious, never something anyone else would really catch. But every time you step away, you somehow find him again—standing near him, glancing at him, laughing at something he says.

It’s almost like…

Like you want to be around him.

And that thought?

That thought short-circuits his brain.

You’re standing close to Juice, sipping your drink, still taking in the chaotic energy of the SAMCRO party.

The clubhouse is a lot—half-naked women drape themselves over bikers, beer flows like water, and the air is thick with cigarette smoke.

You don’t immediately react when an arm drapes around your shoulders.

A very confident, very uninvited arm.

“Well, hello, sweetheart.”

You blink. The scent of whiskey and cologne hits you a second before you glance up and find yourself face-to-face with Tig.

Juice stiffens beside you.

Tig’s grinning like the cat that caught the canary, his arm casually resting across your shoulders like you’ve invited him to be there.

You haven’t.

“Enjoyin’ yourself?” he asks, tilting his head. His blue eyes gleam with trouble.

You shift slightly, not used to this level of unfiltered audacity. “Hi Tig” You deadpan.

Tig’s grin widens. “Y’know, if you wanna really get the full SAMCRO experience, you should let me show you around.”

Juice reacts instantly, stepping slightly closer to you.

Tig doesn’t even look at him. He keeps his gaze locked on you, smirking. “What d’you say, doll? Wanna let ol’ Tiggy take care of you?”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “I think I’ll let Juice give me the tour.”

Tig’s smile explodes into a full-blown shit-eating grin.

Juice looks like he might combust.

Tig laughs. “Well, fuck me.” He claps Juice hard on the shoulder.

“Looks like you win, lover boy.” Tig winks at you one last time before sauntering off, still laughing to himself.

Juice exhales hard.

You blink up at him. “He doesn't stop does he”

Juice lets out a breathy chuckle, running a hand over his scalp. “Yeah. You have no idea.”

And just like that—you’re laughing again.

#sons of anarchy imagine #soa imagine #sons of anarchy #samcro #juice ortiz imagine #juan carlos juice ortiz #juice ortiz #soa juice #juice ortiz fanfic #samcro fanfic #juice ortiz x reader #juice ortiz fic #juice ortiz fantic #juice soa fic #juice ortiz x you

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rafeysvenicebitch · 2 months ago

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📝009 masterlist

The first letter came tucked inside a fake Parents’ Weekly Update—

you recognized Rafe’s messy, slanted handwriting instantly, hidden between the paragraphs about “Girls’ Choir” and “Chapel Volunteer Opportunities.”

Code you knew by heart:

The number of flowers drawn on the margin meant days until he came.

The crooked stars by certain words meant “pack what matters.”

The smudge of grease on the corner? His fingerprints. His promise.

Every night after, you’d find another:

— Folded inside your math textbook.

— Slipped under your tray at dinner.

— Even once tucked into your Bible between Psalms and Proverbs.

Little plans.

Little pieces of hope.

You wrote back in secret, your replies stitched into fake prayer requests and book report margins.

Together, the two of you crafted a slow, careful escape.

You started to pack in secret:

Two worn duffel bags hidden under your bed frame.

Your lighter.

Your Walkman.

The tiny pink diary full of poems about him.

Old sweaters, ripped tights, stolen kitchen knives, your stash of cigarettes.

Every letter he ever sent, folded and worn soft with rereading.

And Moth, of course—sleeping curled atop your clothes like he knew he was coming, too.

⸻

It was a rainy Tuesday when it happened.

You couldn’t sleep—kept sitting up in bed, the night pressing down heavy on your chest.

And then—

A tap.

Sharp, rhythmic.

At the window.

Your heart froze.

You scrambled out of bed, pushed the curtains aside.

Rafe.

All black: hoodie, jeans, sneakers. His face ghost-pale under the moon, eyes electric.

You didn’t hesitate.

You shoved the window up, wincing at the groan of old wood.

Moth skittered around your ankles, mewling low.

You dropped your bags onto the ground below.

Climbed down the rickety lattice, palms burning, hair whipping in the cold.

When you hit the grass, Rafe was already there, grabbing your waist, steadying you, his breath hot against your ear.

“Come on, Fawnie.”

He threw your bags into the back of the Cadillac, a long, low, purring beast parked half in the bushes.

You crawled into the passenger seat, heart battering against your ribs.

Moth leapt in after you, curling into your lap.

Rafe scowled at the cat, but didn’t say anything.

Not when you leaned across the seat and kissed him.

Hard.

Hungry.

Wild.

His hands tangled in your hair, his mouth claiming you like he never planned to stop.

“I missed you so bad it almost killed me,” he whispered against your lips.

You drove through the night, the headlights cutting golden scars into the dark.

You didn’t ask where you were going.

It didn’t matter.

You were with him.

⸻

Morning bled slow and pink across the sky.

You pulled into a gravel drive, trees leaning over the road like old sentries.

The cabin was small—two rooms, a tiny porch sagging under flowerpots—but it was yours now.

Lavishly furnished inside, in that weird Rafe way: velvet throw pillows, thick curtains, a chipped porcelain bathtub, a real bed with a feather quilt.

There was a little general store a half-mile down.

An urgent care if you needed it.

Everything you might need to survive.

Rafe carried your bags in, muttering at Moth when the cat bolted inside like he owned the place.

“No one’s gonna find us here, Fawnie,” he said, pulling you close again. His hoodie still smelled like cigarettes and engine oil and heaven.

“Ever.”

You looked up at him, fingers curling in his shirt.

“Does anyone know where we are?” you whispered.

He shook his head.

“Nobody. Not even Sarah. I paid cash. Left no trail. It’s just us, baby.”

He brushed your hair behind your ear, his touch so soft it made you ache.

“And once I work enough at the shop,” he continued, “add onto what I already got stashed away in my private account, we’re gonna go somewhere even better.”

He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your mouth, like a rosary of devotion.

“We’ll get married. Have a family. No one’s gonna tear us apart ever again.”

You melted into him, the future blooming in your chest like a stubborn, defiant flower.

Home wasn’t a place anymore.

It was him.

It was this.

It was freedom.

And you would never—never—let them take it away again.

Taglist: @sarahsangelicdoll @strawberries-and-lots-of-kisses @vogueprincess @ilovefiction4lmen @mystargirl-interlude

#michelle writes ✎#rafe x lisbon!reader ༊*·˚#rafe fluff #rafe x you #rafe x reader #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron obx #rafe fanfiction #rafecore #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron fanfiction

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she-mammoth · 4 months ago

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Dear Mrs. Hale

Chapter 4: A Hunger Left Unfed

Dear Mrs. Hale,

Your ATM code is 9576.

Your family owns one Cadillac Escalade and a Camaro. All three of your children have bikes. You enter the kitchen from the garage. There’s a coffee table stacked with three copies of Vogue magazine. At the top of the stairs, your room is straight ahead, the guest bedroom is to the right, and your children’s rooms are all the way at the top of the house.

All your walls are white, like well-told lies. Everything smells like lavender. You have really nice sheets.

#teen wolf #derek hale #stiles stilinski #fanfiction #ao3 writer

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official-vampire-business · 1 month ago

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theyll get serious eventually but its a comedy first and foremost. cadillac by sophie may anyone? its gabe/colt coded frfr

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous au #miraculous fic #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ml lady noire #ml fic #ml au #ml scarab #ml scaranoire #ari’s kaleidoscope au

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superums · 2 years ago

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she's everything he's just miles—miles morales x barbie!reader

barbie movie spoilers. fluff mostly. angst in cannon event section. mentions of death. three mentions of "y/n / (name)" in total. you're mostly called spider-barbie. no race mention so anyone can read. spider barbie art (i got inspo from): black ver, braid ver, white ver. 1610 miles! happy national gf day to all who celebrate 🫶🏿💗

color coded text: miles, you/spider-barbie, rio, ken

general headcannons

when miles met you he though you were perfect. covered in pink head to toe—'they're like a doll straight out of the box...' he said breathlessly as he watched your hair seem to perfectly fall back into place despite the pink mask that covered your identity.

'that's because i am one~' you responded and he swore he saw a colorful background of hearts and flowers appear behind you.

you and miles are total opposites, one of you live a a life of imperfection and flaws—from finding out your uncle tried to kill you to be known as the anomaly amongst all the spider people & be called a mistake in-front of his friends just to find out they knew all along—and the other only has perfect days everyday.

his parents love you! at first they were a little iffy, you wore all pink and had a big hair due. "the bigger hair, the more secrets!" rio would say as she tried to persuade him to go after someone else, someone who could speak spanish.

jeff thought you were a gold digger (even though miles had no gold whatsoever), and tried to say you're a bad influence but now he views you like his own daughter (both of them do!).

when it's major holidays (valentines day, christmas, national barbie day ect.) mile likes to get/make you something. last valentines he got you this big spiderman plush that you keep on your bed no matter how much it contrasts with your dream house because he got it for you.

your gifts fall a little flat because none of the kens fashion packs really fit miles and none of your worlds art supplies are actually real so instead you always take him to barbie land for a day just so you two can do fun things together like beach and have a choreographed dance party.

he loves barbie land trust me but he dose get a little jealous. some of the kens there really like you and he feels like he kind of has to try a little more to get your attention because they keep trying to show off.

speaking of ken you have one and he feels a little insecure whenever he's around even though he knows you don't like ken like that. "you're literally made for each other." he says and you can't really debate that because it is true to an extent but you always reassure him that you love only him.

"i may be made for ken but ken isn't made for what i need like you are." you bring both your hands down to his and hold it tight. "please don't think less of yourself because of ken's, they're not who i like, you are."

speaking of jealousy

sometimes he gets jealous of you ngl. he wants to live in a world where you can just float from your roof to your pink cadillac, fight crime and still make time for the mall, the beach and girls night every night.

when he comes to you visibly upset about the things he goes through—his dad, school, his villians, his friends he tells you all about hoe he wishes his world was easy like yours.

you however tell him that his dimension isn't so bad—going to birthday parties, to see children and the elderly smile, watching the smiling faces as spider saves new york again—"your worlds amazing, you just think it's bad because thats all you know." you always tell him as you hug him from behind. miles always seemed to agree as he would quiet down after that "yeah i guess it ain't so bad..."

when you're in his world he practically holds your hand like someone is going to steal him from you. he gets nervous because even though he's spiderman he has no idea what he's gonna do if someone cat calls you or trys to slap your ass. especially in new york like what if they shoot him yk???

when you're with him you always wear things like like this[the green ones]or this [the yellow one] and he always gives you the best compliments, sometimes if you wear a dress he peaks at your butt a little when you walk ahead of him but he tries to be respectful!! his mother would tear him up if she found out he wasn't.

when you found out a way to make that peice of plastic of a phone to actually work you made him open up a instagram for you now u just post pictures and close the not knowing the evil that lurks (misogynists)

his nicknames for you are bonita and carriño (im a miles wouldn't say that (mamas) believer😼) and sometimes he calls you bella but he reserves it for when you take his breath away (when ever u invite him to barbie land galas every other week)

your terms are a little outdated because of the time period you were 'made' in but you call him things like darling, sugar and dear but you've started adding sweetheart, baby and honey to your selection after he joked that you sound like a grandma one time☹️

your cannon event

entering your second/third year of being spider-barbie things got difficult in barbie world. [after the events of the barbie movie] you suddenly got villains—two deranged doctors, and even your own ken. not only did they seem to come back just to get revenge but they also get more and more difficult to defeat.

it started with a glitter shortage and now you've had to fight your ken who's become a venom variant. your ken was jealous that you were spider-barbie while he was just a variant of news reporter ken and he tried to become spiderman himself by infecting himself with some mysterious substance.

now the two of you are fighting in a burning building.

"ken stop this isn't you!" you dodge his heavy punches. it was getting super hot and the building was about to collapse. the both of you are surrounded the flames. "ken please stop this.." you tried to reason with him but a strong inky black hand wrapped around your throat.

your pink lenses were broken—you were feeling light headed now snd the fire was making it worse. "please..." a tear rolled from your face to venoms as you started to see stars surround your vision. you tried to kick your feet to get him to stop it but it only met with the hard, unmoving mass of venom.

one by one the ceiling started to fall in and venom could only laugh as he saw you struggling. venoms long tongue came out of his mouth and his spikey teeth started to retract as he inched closer to your head. he was going to eat you.

by a miracle a burning beam narrowly missed you and fell on him. gasping as you fell on your back narrowly missing the fire you turned to the inky black figure. "ken!?" limping to him you saw your other half struggling under the beam. "(name)....?"

"i'll save you!" you put your webs on the burning beam you tried your best to move it. you were too weak. crying you put your other web on it, struggling to move the object.

"(name), go on without me..." kens voice wavered as he searched for your hidden eyes. the inky black substance of venom seemed to slip off of him like water. "but i need you!" you reached for kens face only as more support beams fell from the ceiling.

hearing footsteps you turned around, there was a cop in the doorway if the wear-house, holding the black pistol to you, you had no choice but to leave, no one knows you're spider-barbie.

you don't know this but your universe and everyone else's is heavily connected through the toy line (like in the movie) so your line of toys was very effected by your cannon event

theres mattel branded action figures when you're crying holding kens picture, theres toys where you're called 'depressed spider-barbie' and they're even selling play-sets where your dream house is in disarray

when miles found out he had to call you but they went unanswered. you've been m.i.a for almost three days, you haven't answered any of the texts messages or calls that your friends sent you and they knew someone had to reach you because the your toy products we're getting sadder by the hour.

crying into the spider-man plush that miles had given you. hugging yourself you didn't notice miles come through the portal—"(name) are you okay?" he put his hand on your waist as he sat on the edge of your bed. he knew you weren't.

you were wearing a shirt took from him and you hair and makeup weren't even done. "miles i.." you looked into his eyes, his brown irises full of worry. he brought his hand to your face as a way to soothe you but he's not good at this like he wants to be.

"it's nothing." you said as you turned your head to wipe the tears off your face. "please don't act like that bonita.." you knew you shouldn't do this to him—but you aren't made for this and neither is he. "i had my event today." was all you could muster before you cried into him. "i know i know..." he said as he rubbed your back.

he tries his best to get you away from barbie land for a bit. gwen, hobie and pavitr handle the crime while you recover.

he brought you to his home and had to beg his parents to lets you sleep in his room, in him bed with him, and at first rio almost hit the back of his head with such a ridiculous question

but then she saw how broken you looked. "jeff this is serious their makeup and hair aren't done.." they caved but he had to keep the door open which he had no problem with.

he distracts you with playing video games, or going out to festivals and carnivals just to clear your head.

it took a week for you to feel better enough to go back to barbie land and when you left your toys changed to something different.

"spider-barbie has a new boyfriend!" news articles were everywhere—imagine miles' surprise when he saw him in his spiderman suit carrying you through barbie land. they named him ken carson and made him dominican but he'll take it.

#1610 miles x reader #miles morales x reader #atsv headcanons #miles morales headcanons #miles morales x black!reader #x black reader #atsv x reader #📓💭🪷

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skyclan-funny-name-squad · 2 years ago

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Do you think SkyClan would continue inviting Daylight Warriors into their clan by the lake? Younge warriors and a few elders would say things like “We have a full clan now, we don’t need them.” Meanwhile Leafstar (it’s been a while since I read any book with her in it, so forgive me if I don’t get her personality was like) would respond “It’s not about having a full clan, it’s about tradition.” If I remember the map correctly, there should be A twolegplace near SkyClan, so they could meet with the Daylight Warriors there.

The other clans would be confused, as no one had there had seen SkyClan at the Gorge to know their history with Daylight Warriors.

Kits from other clans would hear Senior warriors complain, and they would be like “Why can’t we have Daylight Warriors” and everyone in the camp responds with “It’s against the warrior code!” All at once

Sorry if this feels too rambly/off, I love your stuff and wanted to contribute something /gen

I like to think Leafstar does but she just…doesn’t tell the other clans, she’s too annoyed at them so she just keeps it going and if anyone’s like “what kinda name is Cadillacpaw” they all go off about this skyclan legend about the great loner Cadillac who helped them in time of need. All the other clans are so goddamn confused but the daylight warriors also think it’s funny so they completely play into that Yes I am completely clan born yes my name of vulpixfoot makes complete and utter sense you see that’s the name of a great terrible beast that once lived in the gorge long before us, why do I have a collar? What do you guys not have TWOLEG PLACE SPIES? No wonder you keep getting surprised by kittypets!

Skyclan finally unifies about and appreciates daylight warriors now that they can use them to annoy and confuse the hell out of other clans.

#warrior cats #warriors #warrior cat #warrior #skyclan #Leafstar #daylight warriors

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 1 year ago

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1987-1993 Cadillac Allante

Development……..Code named Callisto at first, but , because the name Callisto translated into unfortunate things in some languages, a name search and an internal contest were held. Allante emerged as the winner in May 1985.

The top executives at GM decided to bring on Pinifarina for the new model Cadillac was developing.That decision did not sit well at GM Design. When then-Cadillac Studio Chief Designer Wayne Kady heard that the division planned to farm out this exciting program to an overseas design house, he was hurt and angry. Kady's team worked up its own design anyway.( photo below)

"We did a full-size clay model, interior and exterior," Kady said. "My boss, Stan Wilen, and his boss, Chuck Jordan, were going back and forth looking at the model Pininfarina was creating, and they'd come back and wonder why we were still working on ours. I told them it was studio pride, that we took it upon ourselves to show that we could design a car as well as anybody.

(Wayne Kady, Cadillac Studio Chief Designer, on the Allante

"I ended up getting in a bit of trouble over that. They looked at ours next to theirs as a courtesy, but they had made up their minds.").

Pininfarina skipped the clay model phase, preferring to go from sketches to full-size "renderings," then directly to a fiberglass model. Burger described the day when the Italians brought five renderings to Detroit from which he and his staff would choose one to pursue. They were pinned on the wall, the most futuristic on the left, the most conservative on the right. Cadillac’s luxury roadster hit the streets in March 1987. Billed as GM’s “passenger car flagship,” it was distinguished from other ultralux entries by its front-wheel drive and electronic sophistication.

#Cadillac Allante #cadillac #car #cars #pininfarina

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romanceyourdemons · 1 year ago

Note

I'm asking you about film noir

awesome. when a lot of people talk about noir tropes, noir detectives and femme fatales etc, they’re imagining philip marlowe on a dark night in a city that never sleeps. which isn’t completely inaccurate, there are films noir with philip marlowe, they’re just films adapted directly from philip marlowe novels. these gumshoe detective tropes originate in the hard boiled novels of raymond chandler and others, which are an influence on the film noir genre, but not the only or even, i would argue, the strongest influence. after all, the protagonists of many noirs are not detectives but criminals. other influences on the genre include pre-code gangster films and german expressionist films, and, like these films, many noirs do not follow chandler in depicting a seedy world irremediably steeped in crime. rather, like rico in little caesar (1931) and the doorman in the last laugh (1924), many noir protagonists expect, demand, and even briefly have within their grasp a life of postwar prosperity and domesticity—but the path they take to try and claim it for themself slingshots them into a spiral of deception and destruction. some films, such as double indemnity (1944) and the postman always rings twice (1946), the protagonist becomes trapped in a deadly whirlpool of crimes begetting crimes, whereas others, such as detour (1945) and you only live once (1937), show one crime as being more than enough. in the third man (1945) and the stranger (1946), the crimes are war crimes, and in night of the hunter (1955) and shadow of a doubt (1943) the criminal invades and superimposes himself atop the coveted world of the white picket fence. additionally, many femmes fatale, rather than being career criminals, are or want to be housewives—they just demand to be a housewife to a wealthier man, or to make love to a young and handsome man to compensate for the dullness of their prosperous husband. but perhaps the key difference between genres is that, unlike the gumshoe detective who slouches off into the night to solve another crime another day, most films noir between underworld (1927) and north by northwest (1959) follow a single tragic figure from his cadillac dreams to his wretched end by the wayside. that is the spirit of the classics of film noir: a man takes a bolt cutter to the gates of the american dream, but finds that the lock bleeds, and the bolt cutters cut back

#thanks!!

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mediocre-shark-tales · 3 months ago

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My Chosen Family is My Forever Family

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

Yes this has two titles, I couldn't pick one cause both are perfect. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter as I thought it was time for a break from most of the extremely heavy angst style writing and topics. Story Y/n needs a break too right? So enjoy this extra sweet fluffy chapter! (Also I know I said in the update that none of the romance will be described to be a specific driver - but some driver interactions may seem romantic within specific chapters - if its not the driver you want y/n to fall for then pretend the interaction is in a more platonic light than potentially romantic one)

I had fully expected the first week of my mandatory break to be soul-crushingly boring. And not just the kind of “bored scrolling on your phone in bed” boring—no, this was a special kind of frustration. The kind that claws at your skin and makes your chest ache because you know there’s work to be done, training to be completed, sim sessions to suffer through, and races to be run… but you’re stuck. Grounded. Benched.

The doctors told me I’d only miss one race this season, which—on paper—should have brought me some peace. But it didn’t. Because every second I wasn’t behind a wheel felt like I was being peeled away from everything I loved. I couldn’t even enjoy the distractions I normally turned to in moments like this. Reading was hard with my dominant arm injured, playing any of my instruments or sim work was out of the question, and even cooking—something I did just to feel normal—was off the table unless I wanted to risk re-tearing the stitches, popping my shoulder back out before the tendons have healed back over it, or even just put too much stress on the forearm fracture.

I hated it.

I hated relying on others. I hated how slow everything suddenly felt, like the world had pressed pause for me and only me, while everyone else got to keep going. I hated the silence of my apartment. The empty hours. The ache that wasn't just physical but emotional—rooted in the idea that I wasn't useful, wasn’t doing anything. That somehow, this forced pause was proof I wasn’t strong enough to keep up.

And so, when I sent a simple message to the group chat I had with the boys—just something like “If anyone’s around this week, I could use a hand, I guess…”—I didn’t expect anything to really come from it. I’d barely hit send before the notifications started flooding in.

Within an hour, they’d sent me a color-coded schedule. One of them would be with me every day—just to hang out, help when needed, or keep me company. And if by some miracle none of them were available, Nico, my ever-patient manager, would step in for the day.

At first, I dreaded it. I assumed they’d hover, fuss, and treat me like I was made of glass. I thought being babied would make everything feel worse—like I was confirming all the fears that I’d become too fragile to be the version of myself I’d worked so hard to be.

But they surprised me.

They didn’t force help on me. They didn’t smother me in pity. Instead, they came over like it was just another afternoon, acting like nothing had changed unless I asked them to. And somehow, that was what I needed more than anything. It didn’t feel like they were coming to take care of me—it felt like they just wanted to be with me.

And in those moments, I didn’t feel broken anymore.

Each of them brought something different to the table—something comforting, something uniquely them. Little acts of care that didn’t feel overwhelming or patronizing, but thoughtful, effortless, and real.

I didn’t expect to enjoy any of it. But I did.

And now, thinking back on each day of this first week, I can’t help but smile. Because each of the boys gave me a piece of myself back without even realizing it.

Charles was the first one, naturally. He had insisted, texting the group chat three times the night before to make sure no one else would try to swap with him. “I’m going first. Non-negotiable.” It made me laugh more than I had in days, and honestly, knowing it would be him kind of made everything feel… easier. Charles had a calm about him—gentle, warm, grounding. Like a deep breath you didn’t realize you were holding until you let it out.

He showed up right on time, two coffees in hand and a paper bag from my favorite bakery tucked under one arm. “For the champion in recovery,” he said with a soft smile, leaning in to kiss the top of my head before I could even mutter a sarcastic thank you.

From the start, the day felt weirdly domestic in a way that both comforted and unnerved me. Charles moved through my apartment like he’d lived here his whole life—kicking off his shoes by the door, putting the pastries on a plate instead of leaving them in the bag, and checking in on me constantly with soft touches and even softer words.

“Need anything? A pillow? Blanket? Another croissant?”

At some point, I was seated on the couch, cradling the warm mug between my legs while he shuffled through my bathroom cabinet in search of my brush.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” I called, already dreading the answer.

“I know,” he answered simply. “That’s why I’m doing it.”

I heard him walking back before I saw him—his footsteps light but purposeful. When he rounded the corner, brush in hand and a scrunchie looped around his fingers, I gave him my best unimpressed glare.

“You’ve planned this.”

“I might have practiced,” he admitted, crouching beside the couch with a playful grin. “Carlos has long hair too, you know.”

“You practiced brushing Carlos’ hair?”

He winked. “That’s not important.”

I rolled my eyes but turned around, letting him settle onto the couch behind me. My injured arm stayed close to my chest, and I winced slightly trying to shift, but Charles noticed instantly. His hand came to my good shoulder with a tenderness that stole the air from my lungs.

“Relax,” he murmured, voice low and smooth. “I’ve got you.”

And he did.

His fingers threaded into my hair, separating gentle sections before beginning to brush. His touch was delicate, each stroke deliberate and slow, like he was afraid of hurting me or pulling too hard. The brush moved through the tangles patiently, occasionally catching on a stubborn knot, but Charles never tugged. Instead, he used his fingers to work them out, fingertips grazing my scalp just enough to make my eyes flutter shut.

“Feels nice, hmm?” he teased quietly, clearly noticing how still I had gone, how I was just breathing and existing beneath his touch.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because it felt too nice. Too comforting. Too intimate.

And then he laughed—soft and warm, the kind of laugh that made you want to curl up inside it.

“You’re going to fall asleep,” he said. “Then I’ll have to carry you to bed, and you know I’ll complain the whole time about my back.” I turned just enough to shoot him a crooked smirk. “You act like I don’t know you’d gladly carry me anywhere.”

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. The air between us settled—quiet, safe.

He finished brushing with a final little tug and then gently pulled my hair back into a low ponytail, securing it with the scrunchie. His fingers lingered just a second too long against the back of my neck, and I swear I felt the warmth of his breath before he leaned back. “There,” he said softly. “Perfect.”

Later, while I was napping with my legs stretched across his lap and his hand absentmindedly tracing patterns on my shin, I realized something.

He never once treated me like I was broken. Not even for a second. He just made sure I didn’t have to do it all alone. And that meant more than I could ever put into words.

The second morning of recovery started a little differently.

I didn’t wake up to pain, or to the dull frustration of being limited by my injuries. No. I woke up to the faint clatter of pans and the unmistakable scent of something warm and buttery drifting in from the kitchen. My brow furrowed as I blinked awake, arm still tucked securely in its sling, a blanket half-hanging off the bed. It took me a few seconds to remember that no—I hadn’t left the stove on. I hadn’t even cooked in days. I mean, I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

Oscar.

Of course.

I should’ve expected it. He had the spare key from a couple months ago when I struggled with my panic attacks the most and he’d insisted on “emergency access” in case. Plus, the boys had agreed on him hanging out with me today.

I pushed myself up slowly, groaning at the dull ache in my side. My ribs still hated me for breathing too hard, and my forearm protested every time I shifted. I considered calling out to him, but the sounds in the kitchen only got louder—along with what I assumed was him humming softly to himself.

Padding out of the bedroom with one socked foot and the other dragging a blanket behind me, I turned the corner to find Oscar in the middle of what I could only describe as controlled chaos.

The counters were littered with ingredients—half-used eggshells in a bowl, pancake mix in a measuring cup, a bottle of orange juice open and half-poured into a glass, and Oscar standing in the center of it all, wearing one of my aprons like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He hadn’t heard me yet. I watched him lean down to check the skillet, spatula in hand, eyes narrowed in pure concentration. He flipped a pancake with the kind of careful deliberation usually reserved for high-speed turns on a track.

And the best part?

Nothing was burnt.

Yet.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed—a soft, surprised burst of sound that startled him just enough to make him jump and spin toward me.

“You’re not supposed to be up yet!” he exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up. “I was going to surprise you.”

“You did,” I smirked, leaning against the doorway. “Surprised you haven’t set off the fire alarm.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, cheeks dusted a light pink as he returned to the stove. “You’re hilarious. I’m actually doing fine, thank you very much.”

“You’re doing great,” I teased, eyes twinkling. “Even if it looks like a tornado hit my kitchen.”

He gestured dramatically with the spatula. “A small price to pay for gourmet breakfast.”

I walked over slowly, settling into one of the barstools with a wince as I adjusted my arm. Oscar glanced over immediately, eyes scanning me like he could somehow absorb the pain for me if he just stared long enough.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Don’t even think about helping. You just sit there and look pretty, alright?”

I blinked.

The words were said with a teasing lilt, but his eyes held something quieter. Something real. Something sincere and steady.

“I mean it,” he added, softer now, pouring the last of the batter into the pan. “Let me take care of you today.”

I didn’t argue.

Because the truth was, Oscar was one of those people who didn’t need to be loud to make you feel safe. He didn’t hover. He didn’t pity. He just existed beside you, making space for you to breathe without asking anything in return.

Once the pancakes were done, he plated them carefully—fruit on the side, syrup in a little ramekin like he’d seen me do once. Then he brought the plate over like it was a five-star meal, setting it down in front of me with a proud grin.

“You made this?” I asked, trying not to look too impressed.

“Every last slightly-lopsided pancake,” he replied.

I took a bite. It was fluffy, warm, and surprisingly good. My eyes flicked up to his and I nodded once. “Not bad, Piastri.”

“I’ll take that as a Michelin star.”

Later, after we’d eaten and he’d forced me onto the couch with a blanket and another coffee, I caught him washing dishes without being asked, sleeves rolled up, humming again under his breath. Oscar made even the dull ache of healing feel a little bit sweeter.

On the third day, Max arrived like a storm disguised as calm.

No dramatic entrance. No teasing comments or sarcastic remarks like I half-expected. Just a knock on the door, a quiet “It’s me,” and then the gentle thud of his backpack hitting the floor as he stepped inside like he’d done it a thousand times before.

I hadn’t realized how much my body had begun to ache from sitting awkwardly all morning until Max gently guided me back to the couch, fixed the pillows behind me, and placed a blanket over my lap—tucking it in with a care that didn’t match the usual intense persona he carried on race weekends.

“What?” I asked, arching a brow as he stood above me with crossed arms, eyes scanning me like he was memorizing a damage report.

He shrugged. “You look tired. And grumpy. That’s my job, not yours.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Uh huh.” He didn’t look convinced. “Have you taken your meds yet?”

I blinked.

Shit.

He sighed, pulling out his phone and tapping the screen once before showing it to me. “I set alarms. You’re officially on the Max Verstappen Recovery Program.”

“You’re kidding,” I said, eyes widening slightly.

“Nope.” His voice was steady, almost playful, but there was something under it. Something fierce and unwavering. He reached into the side pocket of his bag and pulled out the familiar orange bottle, the one I always seemed to forget in my frustration with being… well, this version of me.

The version that needed help just to function.

“I was gonna take them—”

“Sure you were,” Max said, cutting me off with the smallest quirk of a smile.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he stepped closer, expression softening as he crouched in front of me. His fingers reached up, slow and careful, and tilted my chin gently so I had no choice but to look at him.

His blue eyes—always sharp, always focused—held something different now. Something quiet. Protective. Real.

“No excuses,” he murmured. “You don’t take care of yourself, I’ll do it for you.”

The pill bottle was pressed into my hand, and for a second, I just sat there, stunned into stillness by the tenderness in his voice.

This was Max. Max who never sugar coated. Max who rarely let emotion crack through the armor of being a two-time world champion. And yet here he was, setting alarms to make sure I didn’t forget my meds. Holding my gaze like the sky might fall if I didn’t take care of myself. Acting like my well-being was the only thing that mattered in the world right now.

I swallowed the pills without another word.

“Good girl,” he said softly, before standing and ruffling my hair in the most annoyingly affectionate way possible.

“You’re lucky I can’t punch you right now,” I muttered.

“You’re lucky I know that.”

Later, he sat beside me, our legs tucked under the same blanket as we watched mindless TV. He kept half his focus on the screen and the other half on me, occasionally checking the time or asking if I needed anything. Not hovering—but always there.

Not once did he make me feel like a burden.

Just someone worth showing up for.

And in the safety of that simple, quiet evening, I let myself lean just a little into him—into the warmth, the presence, and the overwhelming peace of being taken care of by someone who rarely let the world see how much he actually cared.

—

The knock on the door came earlier than expected, just as I was halfway through the frustrating, one-handed battle of pulling on my hoodie. The pain in my shoulder had flared up again, throbbing in time with my heartbeat, but I wasn’t about to call for help—not yet. I was stubborn, if nothing else.

“Don’t rush,” Franco’s voice called from the other side of the door, light and teasing. “I come in peace. And with croissants.”

I smiled despite myself.

By the time I shuffled to the door and opened it, he stood there grinning, one brow raised and a paper bag balanced in one hand. His hair was a little windswept, sunglasses still on, as if he’d sprinted over without a second thought.

“Morning,” he greeted, stepping in. “I hear we have a mission today.”

I sighed and tilted my head. “Please don’t tell me Nico sent you with a checklist.”

“Something like that,” he chuckled, setting the croissants on the counter and pulling off his sunglasses. “He wants people to see you. Remind the world that ‘Ghost’ is still very much alive and kicking.”

“Barely kicking,” I muttered, glancing down at my wrapped arm.

Franco didn’t miss a beat. “Barely is still enough.”

He was already moving toward the hallway, grabbing the gear bag I hadn’t even asked him to bring and pulling out my helmet. He held it like it was something sacred, brushing his fingers along the top before turning toward me.

“C’mere,” he said softly. “Let me help.”

I hesitated, but he gave me that warm, patient look—the one that always made me feel safe, even when everything else was chaos. So I stepped forward, and he carefully guided the helmet on, making sure nothing tugged too hard against my injury. His fingers brushed my skin as he adjusted the padding, gentle and deliberate, and I caught the way his eyes softened when he saw me wince.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Just hate feeling like this.”

His hand paused against the side of my jaw, thumb grazing lightly before he pulled back. “You’re allowed to hate it. Just don’t let it convince you that you’re weak.”

Once I was dressed—slowly, awkwardly, with Franco helping me get the shoulder support back on without making a production of it—we headed out to the team headquarters. Just like Nico wanted, everyone got a chance to see that “Ghost” was up, alive, and recovering. Franco stayed by my side the entire time, making it seem natural, like he was just there because he wanted to be. Though I am sure he did want to be with me, just not here where I could easily mess something up in my healing.

He didn’t treat me like a porcelain doll. He let me lean on him if I needed to, but never hovered or made me feel helpless. Just present. Grounding.

After enough smiling and pretending to be perfectly fine for the cameras and the team, we ducked out early. “You’ve earned the rest of the day off,” he said, nudging me with his shoulder as we got into his car. “What’s next? Grocery run?”

“God, yes. If I eat another instant noodle cup I might scream.”

We wandered the aisles like two university students who barely knew how to shop for real food. He made fun of my oddly specific snack preferences, and I teased him for the fact that he apparently can’t function without a very particular kind of olive oil.

When we got home, we cooked together—well, I supervised while Franco did most of the cooking, reading the instructions with exaggerated concentration. He looked so serious trying to make the sauce just right, even though it was something so simple. I sat at the counter, legs swinging slightly, letting the domesticity of it all sink in.

The soft sound of the simmering pan, Franco humming under his breath, the occasional “Try this and tell me if it’s too salty”—it was the kind of quiet intimacy I didn’t realize I’d been craving. It wasn’t about being cared for, it was just… being with someone who wanted to care.

By the time dinner was done, my arm was aching again and I was half-asleep at the table. Franco cleaned up without asking, humming that same soft tune he’d had going all day.

Before leaving, he leaned down and gently bumped his forehead against mine. “Tomorrow’s Lando's shift, but text me if you need anything. Or if you just want more pasta.”

I didn’t say anything until after the door clicked shut and the apartment returned to stillness.

Then I whispered it to the empty space he left behind: “Thank you.”

And I meant it more than he would ever know.

I had barely rolled out of bed when my phone buzzed. A FaceTime call from Lando. Not a text. Not a “hey, you up?” warning. Just a full-blown, front-camera assault first thing in the morning. I sighed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and accepted the call.

Lando’s face filled the screen instantly—grinning, eyes bright, clearly way too awake for how early it was. “Good morning, sunshine!”

“You are way too chipper for this hour,” I groaned, flopping back into the pillows.

“I’ve got a surprise,” he said, practically bouncing in place. “Nico gave the okay. I got you cleared for something fun today.”

I blinked. “Cleared for what?”

“Quadrant. Video shoot. You and me. Karting track. But—” he raised a finger, “—don’t freak out. You’re not racing. You’re coaching. Like a proper boss. You get to wear your helmet and everything. Total mystery. Maximum ‘Ghost’ vibes.”

My heart fluttered at the thought. It wasn’t racing, not exactly. But it was a toe back in the world I loved. A toe that wouldn’t risk undoing the progress I’d made. A smile crept onto my face despite the dull ache in my shoulder.

“I’m in,” I whispered.

“I knew you’d say yes!” Lando grinned like he’d just won a bet with himself. “Be ready in an hour. I’m picking you up.”

Exactly sixty-two minutes later, Lando was in my apartment—letting himself in with the spare key Oscar had reluctantly given him, armed with a large quadrant hoodie and one of my helmets already polished and tucked under his arm.

“You’re a menace,” I told him as he helped me pull on the hoodie. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m your menace today,” he shot back, grinning as he gently fixed the collar so it wouldn’t irritate the sling. Then, softer, more sincere: “You look badass. Even with one arm fully out of commission and the other only half as bad.”

He helped me with the helmet, adjusting the straps like he’d done it a hundred times. His fingers were careful, brushing under my jaw as he worked.

“There,” he said when he was done, stepping back to admire his work. “Ghost is back.”

The shoot was at a private karting track, nothing too intense, but buzzing with energy. Lando had already worked it out with the Quadrant team: he and I would each coach one half of the group for the day. It wasn’t about speed or competition—it was about chaos, laughter, and low-stakes fun. And somehow, even though I wasn’t driving, it felt like coming home.

Lando stuck close to me but never hovered. He made it look natural, like we were just teammates riffing off each other—his chaotic jokes balancing my deadpan commentary. He made sure I had a stool to sit on whenever I needed, slipped water bottles into my hand without saying a word, and every once in a while, he’d shoot me a look across the track—a grin that asked you okay? without needing the words.

And every time, I’d nod. Because I was.

One of my favorite moments was when a member of his team spun out dramatically and Lando nearly lost his mind laughing. I leaned into his shoulder, laughing just as hard, and he slung his arm around me without hesitation. It was instinctual. Natural. Like it had always been this way.

By the end of the shoot, we were both exhausted but glowing. He helped me out of my helmet and immediately fluffed my hair like a brat.

“You were incredible today,” he said softly, his voice almost lost beneath the fading roar of the track. “You know that, right?”

I nodded, cheeks warm. “It felt good. To just... be seen again. Even if no one really saw me.”

“But I did,” he said, eyes soft. “And you were you. All day.”

We rode home with the windows down, wind tangling our hair, laughter still lingering in the car like an afterglow.

That night, as I lay in bed with the ache in my shoulder reminding me I still had a ways to go, I smiled. Because today, I wasn’t just recovering. I was living. And Lando made sure I didn’t forget what that felt like.

—

When the knock came at the door, I knew it was Ollie before I even peeked through the peephole. There was something about his timing, always perfect without trying. He knew when to give space, and when to break the silence.

I opened the door and he immediately grinned, holding up a bag of pastries like some sort of peace offering.

“I bring sugar and distraction,” he said.

I chuckled and stepped aside to let him in. “That’s my favorite combo.”

He kicked off his shoes at the door and wandered inside like he’d done it a hundred times—which, honestly, he had. My apartment didn’t look like much now that I was practically living on the couch full-time, but it was still my space. My comfort zone. And today, it felt better with him in it.

“I figured we could start looking at places,” he said, setting the pastries on the coffee table and flopping down onto the rug like it was his natural habitat. “Kimi already sent me a voice memo from a mountain he hiked up at 6 a.m. to tell us how much he wants to freeze to death next week.”

“Oh god,” I groaned, easing onto the couch with a soft wince. “If he tries to make me hike, I swear I’ll fake a rib puncture.”

Ollie snorted. “I’m already making the executive decision to veto snow.”

He leaned back on one arm, looking up at me with that lopsided smirk of his, and for a moment, I forgot about the weight in my chest. About the way healing felt more like surviving these days. About how this break was supposed to be a rest, but mostly felt like punishment.

But then we passed the hallway later on our way to grab my laptop, and it all came crashing back. He stopped. I didn’t have to look to know why.

The display shelf by the hallway had always been a quiet little timeline of my career—my first F4 helmet, the one I won my first karting championship in, and a couple others from standout races. But now… now there was another.

My most recent one.

The one from the crash.

Still blackened at the edges. Still scarred by fire and dirt and desperation. I hadn’t touched it since it was returned to me. I didn’t know why I left it there—maybe to remind myself I survived. Maybe because I hadn’t figured out how to hide it.

Ollie stood frozen, staring at it like it had personally insulted him.

I turned to say something, anything to break the tension, but then he spoke—and it hit like a punch to the ribs.

“You kept it like that?” His voice was quiet. Unsteady.

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I... I guess I couldn’t bring myself to clean it. It feels like—like proof that I got out, you know? That I made it.”

He didn’t look at me. “I thought you didn’t.” My breath caught.

His hands were balled into fists again, just like they had been in the medical room.

“You were moving,” he said, voice raw. “I saw you crawling out. I kept telling myself, she’s out, she’s out—she’s gonna be okay. And then it exploded again. I only saw it in my mirrors. Just... flames. You disappeared. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t go back. I didn’t know if you were—”

His voice cracked. I stepped forward, gently placing my good hand on his arm. “Ollie.”

“I couldn’t do anything,” he whispered. “I just kept driving and praying they’d pull you out in time.”

“You don’t have to carry that,” I murmured. “You didn’t leave me. You were racing. You didn’t abandon me.”

He finally turned to look at me, and there it was again—that same look from the hospital. Like part of him still hadn’t let go of the moment he thought I was gone. “I’m here,” I said softly. “I made it. And you’re here, too.”

He didn’t say anything, just let me pull him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around me carefully, holding tight but not too tight, like he didn’t want to cause more damage.

We stood there for a long moment, the silence more healing than any words could’ve been.

When we pulled apart, his eyes were a little glassy, but his voice had steadied. “Okay. No more crash talk for today. We’ve got a vacation to plan.”

“Finally,” I said with a smile, wiping at my cheek. “Something that doesn’t involve ice packs or medical tape.”

Back in the living room, I curled up on the couch with a blanket, and Ollie sat on the floor beside me, laptop open between us. He pulled up a tab with about ten bookmarks already waiting.

“I did some scouting. Don’t worry, I filtered out anything colder than 10 degrees.”

I laughed. “You’re a saint.”

“Obviously,” he said with a grin. “First up: this little seaside villa in Cinque Terre. Gorgeous view, private terrace, walking distance to gelato.”

“Sold.”

“Wait, wait—next one’s even better,” he said, scrolling to a cozy mountain cabin in Switzerland. “Fireplace. Hot tub. Comes with a dog named Muffin, apparently.”

I gasped. “Muffin??”

He grinned. “Now you’re invested.”

We kept flipping through options, laughing and bickering like we weren’t two people who’d almost lost each other. At some point, we ended up side by side on the couch, sharing a pastry and debating which place had the better vibe for “healing, but make it cute.”

By the end of it, we had a list narrowed down and a tentative plan to leave in three days with Kimi.

And for the first time since the crash, I felt something like normal again. Not just alive—but living.

—

I didn’t realize how nice it would be to have Kimi around until he showed up with an armful of empty duffel bags and a determined look in his eyes.

“No offense,” he said, stepping inside and immediately kicking the door shut with his heel, “but your packing system is a crime. This time, we’re doing it properly.”

I blinked at him, leaning against the doorway of my bedroom in an oversized hoodie and a sling. “Hi to you, too.”

“Hi,” he replied, grinning in that boyish way that made it hard to stay annoyed. “Now sit down and point at things. I’ll do the rest.”

And he did.

Without hesitation, Kimi opened drawers, folded clothes, sorted toiletries, and somehow managed to get all my essentials into a suitcase in a way that looked almost... aesthetic? I couldn’t decide if he was just naturally organized or if he’d learned how to be useful from traveling nonstop with F2. Either way, he didn’t need to be asked. He just did things. Quiet, capable, and oddly comforting.

“You’re scarily efficient,” I said as he zipped up the second bag.

He shrugged. “You need comfy clothes, beach things, and at least one outfit in case we go somewhere nice. Everything else is overthinking.”

“I am overthinking,” I muttered.

“I know,” he said, eyes flicking to mine, teasing. “You always do.”

That made me roll my eyes and throw a sock at his head. He caught it without looking, like some kind of casual ninja, and smirked. “Is that your way of saying thank you?”

“Sure. Also, you’re lucky I can’t throw properly right now.”

“I’m lucky either way,” he said quietly, almost too casually—but the way he said it made me freeze for half a second. I opened my mouth, ready with a sarcastic reply, but he was already standing, stretching his arms behind his head like nothing had happened.

“Alright,” he said. “We need food before I start unpacking things out of boredom.”

We ended up ordering our usual takeout from the Chinese place two blocks down. Kimi set up camp on the couch while I shuffled over with the food, and even though I knew I looked like a gremlin in sweatpants and messy hair, he didn’t blink. Just scooted over, fluffed the pillow next to him, and patted it.

“C’mon, your side of the couch looks lonely.”

I plopped down and groaned dramatically as I got comfortable, which earned me a quiet laugh from him.

“You’re so needy,” I joked.

“You love it,” he shot back, unbothered. Then he handed me my drink without even looking. Like he knew exactly which one was mine.

We ate in comfortable silence for a while, trading bites and throwing in the occasional “this is so good” or “okay that chili sauce is illegal.” After eating, Kimi picked up the controllers and waved mine in front of my face.

“I updated your save file. You’re welcome.”

“You what?”

“You were stuck on that one level. I fixed it.”

“Are you trying to one-up Oscar’s breakfast day?” I asked.

“No,” he said, eyes bright with amusement. “I’m trying to make sure you never get rid of me.”

Again, the words landed softer than they should have, sitting somewhere in the back of my mind like a puzzle piece I hadn’t quite figured out.

The night went on like that—lazy and warm and full of inside jokes. We played a few rounds of our favorite co-op game, him carrying us through the boss fights and me screaming every time we nearly died. When the controller finally dropped out of my hand and I leaned my head against the couch in defeat, he just chuckled and tugged a blanket over both of us.

“Movie time,” he said, already scrolling through the streaming options. “You get first pick. But choose wisely, because I will complain the entire time if it sucks.”

“I thought you were supposed to be helping me heal, not raising my blood pressure.”

“Stress builds character,” he deadpanned.

I laughed, sinking deeper into the couch. We eventually settled on an old comfort film, and somewhere between the opening credits and the halfway point, I felt my eyelids growing heavy. Kimi didn’t say anything when I rested my head lightly against his shoulder. He just shifted slightly so I could fit better and kept watching, one arm resting casually along the back of the couch.

He smelled like clean laundry and citrus shampoo and something that was just Kimi—familiar, steady, safe.

As I started drifting off, I heard him say something under his breath.

“Might be my favorite day of break so far.”

I didn’t say anything.

But I smiled.

Masterlist

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