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ham1lton · 1 month

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summer came like cinnamon (so sweet)

pairing(s): logan sargeant x reader. oscar piastri x reader.

warnings: mentions of mental health, dieting, fractured friendships and constant mention of jim’s ice cream parlour. also different povs, it goes through the minds of all three of the main characters.

summary: after their rookie season, in a bid to repair their friendship, the two drivers decide to take their new paycheques and go explore the sun, sea and sands of greece. what they didn’t anticipate was to bump into you.

wordcount: 5.6k

author’s note: this is my first semi-interactive fic, please give it some love <3 any major issues in travelling and stuff like in terms of logistics? please ignore. also let me know who you’re planning on choosing. team oscar or team logan?

— wanna be updated on the next parts? join my taglist! —

— part one of the summer lovin’ series. —

[ i ain’t a kid no more / we’ll never be those kids again ]

logan didn’t know why he was so overwhelmed with anxiety, when he knocked on oscar’s door on that rainy thursday night.

this was his oscar, the oscar that had practically grown up with him. the one who knew how he liked his toast and that he was fond of a burger with all the extras. that he had a scar on his left ankle from when he was a kid and wrestled with his brother after watching too much wwe.

ever since he had signed to williams and oscar had been a mclaren driver, they had hardly talked in comparison to their pre-formula one days. when he had crashed out during a race, he half expected oscar to text him or come knocking on his hotel door.

he didn’t. logan pretended he wasn’t surprised.

fuck it. bite the bullet. he lifted his hand high and knocked on the door. three quick taps in succession.

“one moment!” oscar called from inside. logan would wait, even if that old lady from room 135 kept looking at him like he was an intruder. maybe he was. he hadn’t been in oscar’s room for a while.

oscar opened the door with messy hair and a shirt that had been clearly shoved on before he opened the door.

“logan? hi.” oscar swallowed. the awkwardness in the space between the two of them felt heavy. “you okay mate?”

“yeah! yeah.” logan fake laughed, rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans. “just wanted to come see you.”

“i’m here.” oscar grinned, with no teeth, at his own joke. “wanna come in?”

“sure. kinda awkward talking in the hallway anyways. that old lady is about five minutes from calling the cops on me.”

“oh that’s just brenda.” oscar said after leaning out and getting a glance at the woman, who waved at him. he waved back. “she’s harmless.”

logan followed oscar into his room. it was bigger than his and he didn’t know if feeling jealous was appropriate. he had felt many emotions when it came to oscar; happy, sad, angry, and others. he didn’t want jealousy to join the list.

“sorry, my room is a mess. i wasn’t expecting company.” oscar laughed with no heart behind it as he sat down on his unmade bed. “take a seat logan, you’re giving me anxiety just standing around.”

logan immediately sits down on the desk chair.

“so, what are your plans for the summer?”

“mine?” oscar thinks to himself. “probably just to go see my family and my friends back home.”

“i was thinking maybe we could, i don’t know.” logan bites his lip anxiously. “do something together?”

“like what?” oscar is curious now, his eyes focused.

“maybe go on that european holiday we always talked about? we have the money now and no parents to tell us no like last time.” logan speaks in a rush. “but obviously if you say no, dude that’s totally fine.”

logan looks at oscar, who’s actually considering it? he thinks to himself for a moment before turning to logan.

“how many days?”

“as long as you’d like.”

“where would we go?”

“anywhere you’d want.”

“make a decision, logan. i’ll say yes or no.”

“we always wanted to go to greece? how about there? maybe for three weeks?”

“we should go for a month. we can travel.”

wait. so that means? oscar’s face is still impassive. he doesn’t say yes or no, but he is still considering it. that’s a positive.

“that’s fine. i’m flexible.”

“i’ll plan it.” oscar nods.

“so is that a yes?”

“obviously.” oscar finally smiles, open and dazzling. logan grins too, allowing himself to bask in the approval. he was almost 67% sure that oscar would say no. he’d already done the maths, but it wasn’t his strongest subject anyways.

“i’ll text you the details.” oscar nods and logan gets up, running a hand through his hair. giddy with happiness that he’ll finally win his best friend back. this’ll be the trip that heals them. that heals him.

-❀-

oscar gets stressed when he’s not in charge. everything has to go through him. the plans, the schedule and especially the driving. he’s never liked being in the passenger seat. his hands get fidgety and he doesn’t know how to calm them down.

he’s lucky that logan is all too happy to sit in it, his eyes focused on making the perfect road trip playlist. for some reason, they’d decided to drive from london all the way down to munich.

they’d already driven down from london and through the eurotunnel and took a break sightseeing in france - which oscar had already scheduled for. they ate their weight in croissants. they ate steak and frites. logan had bought them matching ‘i ♥︎ paris’ t-shirts and oscar rolled his eyes but packed it neatly in his suitcase anyways.

they hadn’t talked about anything other than surface level topics. logan talking about his favourite sports teams, them both discussing the grid and plans for the upcoming season and the usual small talk about their family’s wellbeings.

they didn’t talk about how they ignored each other unless a camera necessitated a conversation. they didn’t talk about logan’s bad season. they stayed up till stupid hours watching badly dubbed french movies and ordering takeout.

they drove to germany, dropped off their rental car and then got a plane from munich to athens. it wasn’t very long at all but logan still curled up against the window and tried to sleep. they were both connected to the spotify account on logan’s phone - logan using his headphones and oscar with his airpods. their road trip playlist still playing.

oscar didn’t know why he didn’t take them out, even when the playlist inevitably repeated itself.

-❀-

they’d been in athens all of two days when they met you. logan had gone an insanely bright red when he’d forgotten his sunscreen had ran out. oscar laughed at first but then ran to the nearest pharmacy to grab emergency sunscreen and aloe vera for the both of them.

after slathering themselves, they’d decided to seek refuge in a small ice cream store. despite the hot weather, the store was almost completely empty besides the two of them and you. you were fiddling with your phone in the corner as you attempted to hook it up to the speakers.

“fuck’s sake!” you shout quietly, frustratingly trying to make it work. “i can’t do this shift without any music. my thoughts’ll drive me insane.”

“um?” oscar breaks the awkward silence. you jump and turn around. the first thing that they both notice is that you’re pretty. really pretty. even in the unflattering oversized neon green work t-shirt.

“sorry! sorry! i apologise. i didn’t think anyone was in the shop. please forgive me.” you look flustered as you move to quickly wash your hands and dry them. “what would you both like today?”

to be honest, logan hadn’t been thinking about the ice cream. oscar didn’t need to think, he was going to get his usual order.

“can i get two scoops of mint chocolate chip?”

“oh that’s disgusting. i forgot that you eat that.” logan shakes his head in shock.

“it’s good. you’re just a hater.” oscar rolls his eyes. “stick to your boring vanilla.”

“it’s a classic!” logan turns to you and asks for two scoops of vanilla and one scoop of mango. you smile and begin to start their orders.

“you guys aren’t from around here, are you?” you ask.

“nah. the accents give it away?” logan laughs as he slings an arm around oscar’s shoulder. oscar rolls his eyes again but makes no move to push him away.

“yeah. a little bit.” you pinch your fingers together as you say it. “i’m not really from here either.”

“no?” oscar replies this time, curious.

“international student. this was one of the few places that’d hire me with my insane schedule. i’m lucky i have the next month off, thankfully.”

“aren’t you going back home?”

“i could if i wasn’t scheduled to work here practically every day for the next month.” you finish logan’s order and move on to oscar’s. you shrug. “and i need the money. the job could be worse really, i just wish the speaker fucking worked and the air conditioning. luckily i stand close to the ice cream.”

“what do you study?”

“archaeology.”

“best place for that is probably here.”

“yes. i don’t know why but ever since i was a little girl i knew i wanted to come to greece and study here. this is the less glamorous side of it but i’m here doing what i love.”

“that’s all that matters right?” logan chimes in. you nod as you scan their orders into your till.

“that’ll be €7.62.” you say. “cash or card?”

“cash.” oscar says as he pulls out his wallet. he’s infinitely glad he’d prepared and went to the cash exchange in london before he’d left. logan doesn’t even bother to offer, he picks up his ice cream and starts to eat it.

oscar hands you the cash as logan moves to a booth right by the open door to take advantage of the breeze. you count back the change and place it right in his hand. his heart doubles a beat as your hands touch for a moment but the moment is broken as your phone suddenly decides that now is the time to work.

the speakers start blaring natasha bedingfield’s ‘pocketful of sunshine’. you curse, close the till with your hip and turn to fiddle with the playlist.

oscar thinks he’s a little in love.

-❀-

logan knows that oscar likes you, which is a problem because he likes you too.

this road trip was supposed to be about finding themselves, not finding you. yet, when they find themselves back in your ice cream store the next few days, it’s no coincidence.

“you’re back again! the american and australian.” on day four, you’re not alone this time. you have a colleague, a girl who’s slightly older than you. she smirks at the two of them like she knows a secret they don’t know. “i’m not the only international one here!”

the speakers seem to work normally today, playing elton john as you hum along with it. your colleague decides that it’s time to take her lunch break, slipping off her apron and leaving the three of you to it.

“same thing as every day? or are we changing it up?”

“what do you recommend?” logan asks earnestly. he’s not losing oscar to you, maybe if he charms you enough, you’ll pick him. he doubts you will.

“everything is good here but if you really want my opinion? the chocolate fudge is a real crowd pleaser.”

“i’ll take two scoops of that and oscar’ll just have mint chocolate.” logan pulls out his wallet, opens it to find a mix of euros in there. he takes a moment to pick at the right change when you shake your head at him.

“no, it’s fine. it’s on the house today. i’m in a good mood.”

“why?”

“a lot of reasons. you know what? i forgot that i didn’t even introduce myself. i’m y/n.”

“we know.” oscar is amused.

“how? are you psychic? i used to know a psychic once and i also watched that’s so raven. great show.”

“your name badge.” logan nods at your shirt as he eats a spoonful of ice cream. you were right, it’s amazing. not too sickly but just the right amount of chocolate.

“oh.” you bite your lip in embarrassment as oscar takes his ice cream.

“i’m oscar and the american is logan.” logan smiles and waves his free hand at you. “is the shop always this empty?”

“no. it’s really busy after school and at peak times. you just always come quite early. lucky. it’s hell in here when it’s busy.” you seem relieved for the topic change. “you both here on holiday?”

“yeah. a break from our jobs.”

“lucky. my best friend is back home and i wish she was with me. she’s planning on coming up at some point thankfully. i hate being here without all my friends.”

“i can be your friend.” logan says. then he immediately regrets it. what if you think that he’s a weirdo? but when your face lights up, he realises that regret was a fleeting feeling.

“i’d love that. let me take your number. one of the guys from my class is hosting a beach party tonight if you both wanna come.”

logan looks at oscar who shrugs as if to say ‘i don’t mind if you don’t’. logan turns back to you, who is the middle of unlocking your phone and grins.

“we’ll be there.”

he types his number in your phone and sends a message to himself to save yours.

“i’ll text you the details.”

the speaker interrupts the moment that you have as it starts to malfunction. you curse again and throw your hands up in annoyance.

“stupid fucking speaker! so stupid!”

-❀-

the party is already well underway, when oscar and logan arrive. logan didn’t bother with buttoning up his shirt. he wasn’t necessarily the most confident man in the world but he was comfortable with his nakedness in a way that oscar didn’t think he’d ever be. oscar was in a undershirt with a loose overshirt.

you finally make your way over to them, panting slightly. you’re wearing a plain white bikini with an open oversized orange and yellow patterned hawaiian shirt. your hair is free from the bun they’ve seen you in work with. you smile, easy and happy.

“my two favourite customers!” you sling an arm around the two of them, hugging them so close that they can smell your perfume. “come on, let me introduce you to the five other people i know.”

you lead them down to the bonfire, where three girls and two other guys are crowded around. they cheer when you arrive with the two of them.

“guys, this is oscar and logan.” they wave politely. “oscar and logan, this is anya, jerome, alex, sienna and jaya.”

the group all cheer and welcome the two guys. it’s clear that everyone is already buzzed. oscar has never really been a big drinker so he declines a beer when offered. logan shotguns it, the residue dripping down his face. you laugh and attempt to wipe it off his face. logan goes lax in your touch and oscar can’t watch anymore.

the speaker that someone played is playing shakira as the two of you giggle in your own little world. oscar turns to jerome? or was it alex? and starts a conversation. talking about some footy game that they were watching earlier. oscar is about as into football as the next guy, but he really needs to focus on something else besides the two of you.

oscar knew that logan had always harboured some sort of inferiority complex when it came to the two of them, but logan had something that oscar doesn’t think he’d ever have - being genuinely likeable.

oscar knew he’d have to win because no one would support him as a loser. logan is just likeable regardless of what position he’s in - an underdog if he loses and a force of nature when he wins.

likeable gets the girl.

-❀-

you decide to walk the two of them to the end of the beach. the night is inky black and the only light is the remnants of the bonfire you’d lit earlier. logan is buzzed, oscar is distant and you’re still vibrating from the fact that logan made the two of you run into the cold water with him in the middle of the night.

“tonight was fun! i’m glad you were both able to make it!” you lean in and hug them both goodbye. logan swears you’d lingered a little longer while hugging him. “i’ll see you both at jim’s ice cream?”

“what is that?” logan asks bluntly. oscar elbows him lightly, not hard enough to cause damage but just enough to wind him slightly.

“the ice cream parlour she works at dumbass.” he turns to you. “we’ll see you there”

“well, i do work there. so yeah.” you laugh. all twinkly and bright. then you’re waving and jogging back to your friends. oscar watches logan look at you and sighs.

“come on man, let’s get you back.”

-❀-

logan wakes up with a hangover the next morning. oscar is a good friend and runs to the continental free breakfast and sneaks him out some waffles, croissants and eggs. he walks to the pharmacy again, paying for some ibuprofen (at least he hopes that’s what it is) with his cash and runs to the corner store to grab some extra snacks.

logan’s eyes are wide with both joy and disbelief. joy that something is there for his splitting headache and disbelief that oscar would do that for him. oscar feels a little ball of guilt unravelling inside. how bad had he let their friendship become?

they spend the day inside for the most part. watching television together. then they go outside to the pool, logan immediately jumps in but oscar sits on the side. he pulls out his phone and scrolls through the texts that he’s been ignoring. the ones from some friends, his mum, and you?

it’s not a coincidence right? that you spent the whole evening with logan and text him the next day?

he holds the phone close to his chest. he doesn’t want logan seeing this. he doesn’t know why that is. he quickly texts you back. then logan shouts.

“hey oscar! come in! the water is gorgeous.”

oscar grins and slips into the water, keeping his shirt on.

-❀-

the two of them end up at the steak restaurant together that night. they’re both dressed as nicely as possible. oscar in a nice sweater and logan in a dress shirt. the maître d’ smiled knowingly at the two of them and led them to their table.

“he thinks we’re together.” oscar whispers to logan.

“are we not?”

“we are in the literal sense. i meant in the romantic, relationship sort of sense.” logan laughs and bats his eyelashes all coy.

“oh no! oscar are you breaking up with me?”

“obviously. i’m leaving you for my secretary.” oscar’s deadpan voice just makes logan laugh harder.

“i knew it, that skank! i’ll get him fired.” oscar laughs too, breaking out into an easy smile that comes easily when logan’s around.

the sounds of the restaurant move around the two of them as they peruse the menu for a long time. it’s been a while with no conversation when oscar bites the bullet and brings it up.

“hey.” logan looks up. “i’m sorry.”

“for the secretary? don’t be. i’m running away with the pool boy.” oscar shakes his head, smiling.

“no.” oscar says. “for what happened. letting our friendship fall to the sidelines. i didn’t mean it but it didn’t excuse it. i really do like being your friend logan. i wouldn’t jeopardise that.”

logan is silent. oscar wonders if he’s crossed some unspoken line. he bites the inside of his cheek and looks at the wall of the restaurant’s decor. it’s all dark in here. would it kill them to buy some light bulbs? he understands its for ‘ambiance’ and that shit but he’s worried that he won’t be able to find his steak in the darkness.

“i was gonna say i was sorry. i thought it was my fault. that you didn’t want to be friends with,” he cuts himself off, laughing awkwardly. “a loser.”

“no. that wasn’t it. you’re not a loser, not to me.”

“i am. that’s a fact. it’s okay. you’re very nice for that but, it’s just not true.” logan swallows thickly. “now, should i get potatoes or fries as my sides?”

oscar doesn’t comment on logan’s facial expression, that he looks like he’s holding it together by a thread. he knew emotional vulnerability took a lot out of him but it was harder on the person who admitted failure.

“potatoes.” logan grins and nods before calling over the waiter.

-❀-

the next time you saw the two guys was two days after the bonfire party. they came in laughing at a joke that had happened way before they had even walked in. you find yourself standing up as soon as they enter.

“hi! y/n!” logan’s smile is always wide and happy to see you. oscar’s smile is muted but it’s still sweet. “what would you recommend for me? i liked the chocolate fudge.”

“hmm,” you think, running your hand along the counter. “we have a new flavour, chocolate covered raspberry? it’s quite popular. i think you’d like it.”

“i trust your judgement, ice cream girl.”

you crack a smile at the nickname, the smile so big that it momentarily hurts your face for a moment. you turn to oscar.

“and what about you?”

“same as usual, two scoops of vanilla.”

you nod, getting to work on the ice creams. you even offer to pay for them but they argue, threatening to shove it all in the tip jar anyway. oscar pays and when your back is turned, logan shoves twice the amount into the tip jar.

“wanna sit with us in the booth today y/n?” logan asks, taking a spoonful of his ice cream. “it’s not like anyones here.”

oscar looks up at you with his wide eyes, not really eating his ice cream. he just swirls it, until it turns into a sort of thick soup. you shrug and slide into the booth across from the two of them. you don’t have anything else to do and if a customer does decide to walk in? well, you’ll just slide back behind the counter.

“so, what’s your plan for the future?” logan grins. “and i know it’s the worst possible question to ask any young person but i’m curious. what’s the goal? is there one? it’s okay if there isn’t.”

“dream is to become an archeologist and backup plan? i don’t know. work in an office or something? maybe teaching. i haven’t thought that far ahead just yet.” you bite your lip and look out the window for a second. the day is hot, and you’re stuck inside. “what about you two? what do you do?”

“we uh, we drive.” logan looks at oscar.

“oh like uber? cool.”

“yeah, isn’t it?” oscar smiles at you.

“i still haven’t gotten my licence just yet. taxis aren’t too expensive and public transport is decent. also everywhere i need to be is pretty much walkable.” you smile at them. “have you visited all the touristy places yet?”

“not everywhere but we’re here for a while. we’re going to travel to santorini, mykonos and corfu. i’ve already planned them out.” oscar swallows his bite of ice cream. “scheduled to the exact moment we get there and get back.”

“an exotic european vacation.” you grin, waggling your eyebrows. logan laughs despite the joke not being very funny. “i’m jealous.”

“you could come with us.” oscar blurts out, his cheeks pinkening. “you’re probably busy though right? don’t worry about it. it’s weird.”

“no, no. it’s not. it’s very sweet and tempting.” you look outside the window again. “i’m not free for the whole time, but, definitely i could join you for a week? jim won’t care.”

“jim’s a real person?” logan asks, eyes wide. you laugh.

“yeah! he’s british actually. came over here when he retired and bought this place. he was one of the few people that’d hire me. my mum’s british.” you nod. “it’s a pretty decent job. if you ignore these hideous uniforms.”

you pull on the neon jim’s ice cream parlour shirt, face crumpling in disgust.

“you look good.” logan says, shyly, as he tongues the last of his ice cream. “this is good too. the ice cream. i knew i trusted you for a reason.”

-❀-

santorini is exactly like the instagram photos. well, despite being slightly too hot, a little less vibrant and he’s here with you and logan. logan has kept his shirt on this time, a loose linen blue one with a pair of shorts and flip flops. you’re dressed in a white skirt, a cropped tank top with a massive handbag.

oscar wants to do something crazy, like reach out and hold your hand or put his arm around your shoulders. he doesn’t because he’s not insane but he thinks about it for a solid moment. thinks about the way you’d curl into him or the way your shampoo would smell. he shakes his head.

“you don’t like it?” the two of you turn to look at him. fantastic. now he looks weird. his eyes widen.

“no, no! i love it. it’s lovely.” he reaches into his pocket, shaking hands grabbing his phone as he takes a picture. “i was thinking about the best angle to take this picture for my mum.”

“i’ll take a photo of you against the backdrop? maybe the both of you. your mum might like that. logan said you two were childhood best friends right?”

oscar nods. at least you bought his story. he stands against the barrier and smiles, awkwardly. he’s sure that all the other tourists are looking at him and thinking ‘what a weirdo, his crush on her is so obvious. she wants his best friend clearly, why even try?’

after a moment, logan stands next to him. logan dissipates the awkwardness with a wave of his hand and the two of them fall into an easy grin. when logan leans in and tells a joke, oscar finds himself laughing loudly with the click of your camera as background noise.

he sends it to his mother later on, when he’s in his hotel room with logan snoring in the room across from him. she texts him back quickly.

-❀-

— from mum.

well, it looks like you’re having fun honey!

— to mum.

yeah, i am.

-❀-

it doesn’t even feel like a lie when he messages her back in the cooling heat.

-❀-

it’s three days into the trip and two weeks into knowing the guys that you realise that you have a crush. it’s only a small inkling but you know it’s serious because no matter how much you try to dissuade it, it keeps popping up.

when you’re eating, when you’re brushing your teeth and even when you’re picking your outfit with him in mind. does he like blue? is he more of a yellow guy? or is it pink that’ll catch his eye?

the three of you head to a restaurant that night. it’s a seafood place, the three of you laughing and joking about something you’d seen earlier. they look good. smell good too. they even argue over who’s going to pay for the meal and look at you like you’ve got three heads when you offer to pay.

“it’s fine y/n, you’re a student.” oscar says, smiling as logan gives up. he pays quickly, all cash with no fuss. “we can get it.”

“ubering must make you a lot of money.”

“yeah. something like that.” he smiles again. this time with no teeth as he gets the receipt.

-❀-

logan goes to bed early that night, citing something about his family being desperate to check up on him. it leaves just the two of you outside in the corfu evening air.

“want to go for a walk?” you ask, looking at him earnestly.

“yeah. sure.” he’s trying not to be too eager. not to scare you off. the two of you start walking down the street.

“i always like to go for a slow walk after a big dinner. i feel like it probably helps with digestion.” you speak quietly, as if not to disturb the silence of the street. he likes your voice and is willing to listen at any volume you decide.

“i think it does. i try not to eat too much.” oscar responds, shoving a jittery hand in his pocket. “i can’t gain any weight for my job.”

“yeah, logan said. that’s weird. what kind of uber driver has a weight limit?” he shrugs and smiles. “do you miss australia?”

“sometimes. i’m used to travelling though. i’ve done it for so long.” he looks at you. “what about you? do you miss your home?”

“eh, i wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. i wanted to remake myself. i was gonna do it all y’know? a name change and everything.” you look up at the stars for a moment. “i didn’t go through with it. even if i changed my name, i’d still be y/n really. inside.”

“i get that. i think.” oscar looks at the gorgeous landscape in front of him. he ignores all the people milling around the two of you. to him it’s just you, him and the view. “so, y/n-“

your phone interrupts him. a loud, obnoxious ringing noise. you mouth an apology at him when you look at the caller id.

“sorry, it’s my best friend. she wouldn’t call me if it wasn’t important. she’s more of a texter anyways. do you mind?” you point at your phone. he shakes his head with a smile. you disappear to take your call and he finds a bench to sit on. he leans back, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

what was he thinking? asking you out? thank god the world or fate or god or whoever is in charge, stopped him before he made the biggest mistake of his life. you liked logan and he didn’t blame you. he really, truly didn’t.

when you come back, you ask him what he was going to ask. he shrugs. it wasn’t important anyways, he says. he asks what happened with your friend and listens you chatter all the way back about your friend’s current work drama.

-❀-

the next morning, logan and you head down to breakfast together. it’s a continental breakfast that the hotel offer. it’s good, with a wide spread of toast, pancakes, omelettes, cereal, fruit and sausages. you load up your plate, happy to get food for free even though technically you paid for it.

logan’s plate is smaller. you think about what they said earlier about weight limits and feel a pang of sympathy. i mean, your job was not very well paid but at least it gave you freedom in your spare time to do and eat whatever you want.

“is oscar not coming?” you ask, forking a fluffy piece of omelette and hash browns in your mouth. it’s gorgeous and you’re hungry.

“nah. he’s not feeling too good. i’ll bring him some breakfast in a bit.” logan methodically goes through his breakfast. slow, small bites and chews it for as long as possible. “wanna go for a swim later? it’s hot as hell outside. i feel my skin melting off.”

“you are going a little red.” you tease. he smiles again, shyly. his face does go red when you lean forward and press your cold cup against his cheek. “a little better?”

“it’d be better if you’d go swimming with me.” he smiles.

“of course i will. can’t leave you by yourself. who knows what’ll happen.” he laughs this time. “now wanna try some of this omelette?”

he sits politely as you lean over and feed him a forkful of the spinach and cheese omelette. for a moment, the two of you look into each other's eyes as you feed him. he turns away as soon as it’s okay and chews the bite.

“good?”

“yeah. yeah. it’s good.” he smiles at you. “let me just get some more water for us, be back in a moment.”

“is it getting too hot for you?” you tease.

“a little.” he sheepishly grins again. “let me cool down.”

-❀-

it’s your last day with the two of the guys before they drop you back off at the bus stop to go back to athens. your heart is still pinching at the thought of leaving, but you decide your last day can’t be in vain. they’ll be going home soon so it’ll be the best time to admit what you already knew. what you had known for the whole time.

you’d been on the phone with your best friend who had helped you to write a pros and cons list.

— pros - you could be a girlfriend to a great guy. you would be happy. you would have a rich boyfriend (your bff added that). you could touch them in any way they’d let you. you could sleep together. you could also sleep together (bff again). you would have a great time. you would have fun. would it improve your life? potentially.

— cons - they could say no and you’d have to jump off a cliff. they could be dating each other and you’d be embarrassed that you didn’t figure it out. they could laugh at you. they could be disgusted. they could be nice about it and gently let you down. they’re not even from anywhere close to greece. it’d be a long distance relationship. could you even deal with that?

you shake your head and lift your hand up to his bedroom door. the wood is cold under your knuckles. the world still moves around you, tourists laughing in their rooms and people walking around. their voices murmuring.

as your hand hovered there, you thought for a moment. about how this could change everything. was it too soon? too risky? then you remembered, it’s now or never.

take the plunge and with that, you knock.

liked by anyaaaa, alexjohnson and 183 others.

yourusername: this summer is going well. made two new friends, spent half of my savings and made some new memories and isn’t that what life is all about?

anyaaaa: when are you coming back? miss u girl!!

-> yourusername: soon! i just need to figure something out first.

-> anyaaaa: you’ll figure it out. you always do. can’t wait till you come back <33

taglist: @decafmickey @nichmeddar @casperlikej @purplephantomwolf @cuteskz @booksandflowrs @mxdi0 @alexmarie29 @luckyladycreator2 @23victoria @molten-m122 @evie-119 (want to be removed? or wondering why you weren’t tagged? check your tag settings or send me an ask!)

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starkidmunson · 4 months

Text

glitter & crimson

It’s both exciting and terrifying to be in Chicago when they arrive Thursday afternoon. This is, unfortunately, very often as close to hometown shows as the band gets to these days. They have the night off, before the show tomorrow, when the band will find out if Steve and his friends actually show up to the gig or not. Despite not having a show, the band doesn’t get the whole day off; Paige had booked a few radio interviews before the gig to drum up attention.

He should have seen it coming when the radio host brought up the TikTok exchange. “So, be honest, have you guys coordinated with Harrington and his friends to get him to your show tomorrow?”

“Not really. Our manager sent info and Steve gave it a thumbs up, but that’s really been it? But we’ve been busy with shows almost every night, and he’s had a lot of travel games the last few days, so we’ll have to wait and see if he’s able to make it out.” Jeff takes over the answer with ease, probably having predicted the attention.

“Did you really not recognize him, Eddie?” The host goads and Eddie lets himself chuckle.

“It may sound kind of ridiculous, but the genuine answer is yeah. I haven’t seen him in, like, 6 years. And, believe it or not, we didn’t exactly run in the same crowds. We knew of one another, I think, but there were hundreds of kids in our school.” Eddie always defaults to the truth in interviews; it’s the simplest route and leaves less room for people to poke holes in the narrative if he’s just honest.

“Will you guys be going to the Blackhawks game on Saturday?”

“We’ll just have to wait and see, man,” Gareth laughs, and just as quickly as the segment started, it’s over with their own latest hit playing them out of the studio.

A Thursday night off in the city wasn’t the most exciting thing in the world, but the band collectively made a trip to the bar closest to their hotel for wings and a few drinks. One of the guys must have posted something on social media about being out because as Eddie’s walking into his hotel, he happens to check his TikTok to find a message waiting for him.

harrington94 should I take it personally that you guys went out in my town and didn’t ask for recs or anything?

eddiecc I honestly figured you’d be too busy and didn’t want to bother you.

harrington94 never too busy to show a friend around town. But I do appreciate having a down day, so thanks.

Eddie wasn’t entirely sure how to answer as he processed Steve’s message. Friends? Is that what they were? Could they even really consider one another that? He ultimately decided not to think too much of it, in favor of keeping the conversation going. Maybe the more they talked, the less awkward the next two nights would be.

eddiecc I totally get it if you want to skip the show in favor of another down day.

harrington94 no backing out on me now, Munson. I’ve finally got the cool card with the Party. We’ll be there, no doubt.

Eddie feels a little smile creep over his face and his ears feel a little warm, but before he can answer that, text bubbles pop up again. He waits to see what else Steve is going to say before he does something embarrassing.

harrington94 now feels like a safe time to confess that I haven’t really listened to much of your music, though, so don’t think I’m rude if I’m not headbanging along with the boys.

That was more like the interaction Eddie had expected from their TikTok exchange. He never expected Steve to know their music and was shocked he even knew their band name when his response had been posted on TikTok.

eddiecc I honestly cannot exactly say I’m surprised to hear this. You never exactly struck me as a headbanger, anyway.

harrington94 i feel like that’s some kind of thinly veiled insult that I’m missing, but you’re not wrong.

The text bubbles appear again, and Eddie waits for him to finish the thought rather than respond.

harrington94 why don’t you text me instead? It feels easier than paying attention to this app I don’t really know how to use.

Eddie was quick to copy the number Steve sent and shoot off a text, weirdly enjoying the exchange the two were having and not ready to call it a night just yet.

__________

A particularly ridiculous meme from Eddie had Steve snorting from his spot lounging across the sofa. The next thing he knew, a pillow was flying at his face. He was able to react quickly enough to block it with his arm, dropping the phone to his chest, before glaring at Robin. She was watching him from the recliner across the living room.

“What the fuck?” He asks, tossing the pillow back in her general direction, more gently than she’d tossed it his way.

“You’re grinning at your phone like you’re setting up a hot date. Please don’t tell me you’re talking to Heidi again.” Robin pleads dramatically, twisting her body in the chair to face him.

“I’m not grinning at my phone, shut up.” He grumbles, ignoring how hot his neck feels as he blushes. Instead, he picks his phone back up to finish the thought he’d been typing before he’d been interrupted. “I’m just texting with Eddie, that’s all.”

Robin’s eyes widened immediately, and she sprung from the recliner toward the sofa. “Give me your phone!” She demands, grunting as she fell face first into the sofa, missing Steve by an inch. He manuveres away from her without looking up from his phone, making his way down the hall to his room. “Steve, come on!”

“It’s not a big deal! We’re just talking! It’s fine!” He insists, tucking the phone into his back pocket as he turns into his bedroom.

But maybe it was a big deal? Steve couldn’t tell; this was the part he was never really good at. He had a tendency to miss signs everyone else thought were obvious, and he didn’t want to risk making things weird with Eddie if Robin thought he was missing something that wasn’t actually there. The texts with Eddie had shifted from Steve confessing his knowledge of Corroded Coffin was strictly limited to whatever the Party played in the car when he drove them places, to Eddie confessing he knew next to nothing about hockey. It seemed to level the playing field between the two of them, and at least made Steve feel more at ease about the time they’d be spending together between the concert and the game.

When Steve had asked how the tour was going so far, Eddie had shared a link to an instagram, where fans were finding something to meme from each night of the shows. To which Jeff and Gareth were making memes in response, picking on one another in a way that felt like with some of his teammates. The message that had prompted the most reaction from Steve was the last thing Eddie had sent before Robin threw the pillow; a meme of Eddie looking confused, which Jeff had edited “So he’s not Joe Jonas?” over his head.

In his room, Steve leans over to pick up his charger, but he feels his phone lift free from his pocket. “Hey!” He calls after Robin, who’s sprinting down the hallway, laughing like the menace she is.

“I just want to see what you’re talking about!” Robin says, unlocking his phone. He’s just about to catch up to her, as she slides on her socks into her bedroom, closing the door behind her, right in his face.

“You’re being a child, Robs, c’mon. Give me my phone back.” He sighs, resting his forehead against the door. He jiggles the handle, but as he’d guessed, she’d locked it behind her.

“Do you like him?” She asks through the door, and he sighs again.

“I don’t know,” He answers, honestly and exhaustedly. “I don’t even know him, you know? We weren’t friends, it’s not like I could tell you anything about him other than Tommy used to buy weed from him and he would stand on tables and yell in the cafeteria.”

There’s a long silence before Robin opens the door, meeting Steve with a little smile. She shoves the phone back into his chest and pats his hand when he takes it from her. “I think this could be good for you. That this could be good for you.”

“I’m trying not to read too hard into it.” Steve mumbles, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair nervously. He glances back down at the screen, to see what while Robin had taken the phone, Eddie had sent another text.

Eddie: How were your games? Are you doing anything special for your day off?

It makes something twist in his chest, that Eddie even cares, and he doesn’t quite know why. It must show on his face, some part of how he’s feeling, because Robin just smiles and nods. Maybe she knows how he feels, part of their weird unspoken telepathy, because she walks further into her room and pats the edge of her bed as she goes.

“Are you going to let me paint your nails for the concert?” She asks. Everything inside of Steve appreciates how she always knows when to give him space to try and figure his shit out on his own.

“Obviously.” He laughs softly, following her into the bedroom to sit on her bed and watch her move around collecting things to paint his nails.

~~~

The following day, Steve spends more time than he would like to admit picking out an outfit to wear to the concert. He can hear the Party starting to get antsy in the living room, even though they’d still be plenty early if they left right now, so he decides to just roll with the white shirt and fitted khakis he’d dressed himself in several hours ago before he started overthinking his choices. He finished the outfit off with a black zip-up fleece and black and white Nikes.

A final check of his hair had him walking out of his room and into the living room, where chaos erupted.

“It’s about time!” Dustin exclaims, practically bouncing up and down with excitement on the sofa.

“It took you that long to come out looking like that?” Mike asks, but Max just snorts and shoves his shoulder.

“Let’s just go.” Steve rolls his eyes, glancing over at Robin who jingles car keys she’s already holding, before leading the way out of the apartment.

In the car, he shoots Eddie a quick text to let him know they’re on the way. Eddie’s quick to reply, giving the message a thumbs-up reaction. Unbelievably, the Party somehow manages to get even louder than usual once they were inside, and it doesn’t take long for a security guard to find them. They’re led through the back tunnels of Wintrust Arena, and Steve gets a little nostalgic for playing hockey in college. He’s snapped out of it when a girl passes out their pass lanyards and gives each of the Party a voucher for free drinks and snacks.

“This is too much, really,” Steve protests as she hands him the voucher, but Paige insists with a kind smile.

“We get this kind of stuff from every venue and rarely get to use it to its full extent. The guys want to do this for you and your friends, just enjoy it.”

The Party loads up on treats at the nearest food station, while Steve and Robin grab beers with Paige. As she collects her drink, Paige hands Steve a palm-sized bag of earplugs. He frowns at them, which makes her laugh.

“Eddie said this isn't really your usual kind of scene, and these shows can get loud,” she taps her own ears to show she has similar earplugs in. “Should also help prevent headaches or anything else that might keep you off the ice tomorrow.”

“Please, he’s too stubborn to stay off the ice. The amount of migraines he’s played through is outrageous,” Dustin bounds back into the conversation, earning a chuckle from Robin. Steve throws his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders, pulling him just a little too close and too tight. Dustin exaggerates choking noises, flailing around and making a scene, but Steve refuses to let up.

_____

There’s more anxiety than usual thrumming through Eddie as he and Jeff make their way through the arena, to where Paige had said she’d take Steve and his friends for snacks. As they walk up on the group, however, Steve quickly pulls a younger boy with a head full of curls into a headlock. He lets the scene continue for a moment before he nudges Jeff.

“At what point fo you think we should intervene?” He asks with a smile, making Jeff chuckle. Steve, however, freezes, then shoves Dustin away. He turns to give Eddie a sheepish smile, and Eddie can’t help but raise an eyebrow.

Steve lets out a huff of a laugh, running his fingers through his hair, shrugging and tipping his head in the boy’s direction. “This is Dustin. He’s like my little brother. I’m allowed to pick on him when he’s being a shithead.” Dustin nudges his elbow into Steve’s gut, who’s quick to smack his arm in response. Before Eddie can stop himself, he’s twisting a curl around his finger and biting back a grin. He does, however, make a conscious effort to not chew on his hair. He knows he’d never hear the end of it, fawning over Steve Harrington after a whole 10 seconds.

Eddie offers a hand out to Dustin, hoping Jeff and Paige would let his little tells fly under the radar. Just this once, they seem to, as he greets the Party. “Hey man, I’m Eddie. Nice to meet you.”

“I know who you are, holy shit, man.” Dustin eventually fumbles through, shaking Eddie’s hand and grinning up at him.

Steve rattles off the introductions for each kid, like a proud mom, and Eddie greets each of them politely, but his eyes keep falling back on Steve. He catches his little smiles and the way he nudges different members of the Party, squeezes their shoulders, ruffles their hair. It’s gentle and sweet and it sends a warm feeling through Eddie’s chest. His smile softens as he watches their interactions. All too soon, Freak leans into the area they’ve gathered in and whistles.

“Shit, guys, we gotta go.” Jeff sighs, and Eddie pats his shoulder before he turns back to the group with a grin.

“Just hang with Paige and try not to get into too much trouble, we’ll get drinks after?” Eddie asks, looking at Steve, who smiles back and gives a little nod.

As Eddie runs to catch up with Jeff and Freak, he wonders exactly what he’s gotten himself into here.

____

It’s more fun than Steve expects, the concert. The excitement of watching the show from the suite quickly bores the Party, as they realize it’s the same as watching hockey games from a guest box. They eat their snacks and drink some through the openers, but during the break before Corroded Coffin, Lucas and Dustin drag Steve around to the side stage. Robin promises to stay with the others, and reminds Steve to wear the earplugs.

He’s grateful Paige had slipped them to him as they get beside the stage and he realizes just how loud the crowd is when the lights go down. From where they’re standing sidestage, he can see Eddie, Jeff, Gareth and Freak in a little huddle. They bounce around with their arms around each others backs, before yelling something Steve can’t quite make out. They’re handed their instruments by the crew. As they’re taking the stage, Eddie walks up in their direction and pokes his tongue out at them, before ripping into a guitar riff to make his entrance.

Despite himself, Steve finds his head bobbing along to the drum beat, and even sings along to the songs he recognizes. It’s hard to take his eyes off Eddie through the whole production. He’s a little ball of energy, bounding around from one end of the stage to the other, bantering with the other guys in the band and drawing the fans into his chaos during talking breaks. During a drum solo, Eddie climbs onto the front of the kit and holds his guitar up in the air over his head. Steve watches, mesmerized, as Eddie holds his gaze for a moment that feels like an eternity but is probably only a few seconds. Eddie winks at Steve, then, before he leaps back into yet another riff. It shouldn’t have had so much of an impact, but Steve finds it kind of takes his breath away.

It’s over before long, and Paige is quick to guide Steve and the boys back to the club box. He smiles as they walk behind Dustin and Lucas, gushing over how great the show was. Back in the box, Steve and Paige agree to meet across the street at Fatpour. He charms his way into using the upstairs as a private room with a signature to the manager and flashes a smile and wave to the few people downstairs who seem to have recognized him.

The band makes a loud entrance as the Party works their way through appetizers, and Eddie is quick to find his way to Steve. “You seemed to have enjoyed yourself, was it more fun than you expected?” He asks around a grin.

“I never said I wasn’t going to have a good time,” Steve defended through a smile, making Eddie laugh and Steve thinks that might be the best sound he’d heard all night, despite having just seen the concert. Eddie glances around then, locking eyes with a bartender to get their attention.

“What’s your poison?” Eddie asks in the most cliche way, wiggling his eyebrows a little, but Steve shakes his head.

“Strictly on water tonight. Gotta get up early tomorrow.” He says, and Eddie softens and nods. Once their drinks are in front of them, he holds his glass up to Steve in a mock toast.

“To making it the fuck out of Hawkins?”

“Cheers to that.” Steve laughs, clanking their glasses together and taking a sip.

“Any reason you stayed in the Midwest?” Eddie asks, before he can stop himself. “Sorry, you don’t have to… you don’t owe me an explanation.”

“Nah, it’s… a few reasons. Couldn’t go too far without them, and most of ‘em followed me here, anyway. And then the chips fell and I ended up on the Blackhawks and there’s kind of no other team I’d rather play for.” Steve explains, leaning a little closer to Eddie with a smile. “Speaking of; are you ready for the game?”

Eddie can’t help but grin back at Steve and laugh a little. “You know, I honestly have no idea what I’m getting in to here. All I remember from watching games on TV is that it’s violent.”

“Not always.” Steve defends quickly, before showing a slight mercy. “It’s cold in there, because of the ice. You’ll want to wear layers.”

“Layers. Noted.” Eddie stores the information away for tomorrow, suddenly concerned he hadn’t even thought about an outfit for the game before the conversation.

As they talk, Robin appears with a basket of cheese curds but pulls it away as Eddie reaches to take one.

“What’s your favorite movie?” She asks, and Steve laughs and shakes his head at her.

“Is this a quiz? I’m not good at tests, I flunked out of senior year.” Eddie whines before he stops to think about it. “Uh, well. The answer you’d probably expect from me is Almost Famous, but it’s actually a close second to Dead Poets Society.”

She narrows her eyes at him but slides the basket in his direction. “I can’t tell if you picked either of those because you thought it was the answer I wanted, or because they’re actually your favorite, so I have to give you curds.”

“They’re actually my favorites!” Eddie laughs around a mouthful of cheese curds.

“Dead Poets is one of Robin’s favorites, too.” Steve offers, and Robin nods.

“Steve will tell you his favorite movie is Risky Business, because he thinks Tom Cruise is hot, but it’s actually Go Figure. You know, the Disney movie about the ice skater who joins her school’s hockey—” Robin is grinning until Steve clasps a hand over her mouth.

“Robin is incredibly annoying when she wants to be,” He grumbles, and Eddie can’t help but laugh at their antics.

“Well, now you’ve got my attention. If Go Figure isn’t your favorite movie, what is?” Eddie asks.

Steve thinks for a moment. “I think Back to the Future feels like a safe answer.” He shrugs, and Eddie glances at Robin to gauge her reaction. She seems to approve, as she gives Steve a soft smile, pats his back, then stands from their table.

“I’ll leave you two alone, I suppose.” She says, leaning close to both of them. “Behave, got it? No funny business before the game.”

Steve flushes and flounders a little, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he just huffs and takes a sip from his water. While Eddie feels his whole face get hot in a blush, he can’t help but laugh a little.

“Is there funny business we could have gotten up to?” He dares to ask, and it’s worth it just to watch the way Steve blushes and bites at his lip.

“Maybe. But I guess you’ve got to wait until after tomorrow’s game to find out.”

________________________________________________________

Wow! Thank you all so much for the overwhelming support you’ve shown this little idea I had! I might just keep this going as a series, with updates on Mondays (Tuesdays at the latest). This is also double the word count of part 1, oops, lol.

I'm going to try to tag everyone in the replies because I hit the character limit! Tumblr wouldn't take them all, so sorry to everyone I missed, I still love you and appreciate the support!

#steddie #steddie hockey au #steddie rockstar au #rockstar!eddie munson #hockey player!steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #dustin henderson #corroded coffin #stranger things #starkidmunson writes #glitter & crimson

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penny00dreadful · 3 months

Text

And They Were Roommates! - Part 2

Part 1 Part 3 AO3

Eddie had called out of work the next day. Steve could hear him making his apologies to Mrs. Henderson who'd taken over the running of the shop when her husband passed.

Steve knew she'd probably tell him to stay home for the rest of the week, probably longer if she could get away with it, but Eddie loved every second he spent working there. Adored Dustin. Adored the other kids, Steve's kids, who used the back room for their dice game after closing on Thursday evenings.

Eddie would have to be beaten away from the premises with a bat. A bat with nails.

Steve might just have to give it a try if the idiot refused to rest properly.

He wasn't mothering him.

He was like… distant cousining him.

When he heard Eddie retreat back to his room after the call and when a light rumbling of snores came through the wall maybe a half an hour later, Steve finally made his exit from his room.

He hadn’t wanted Eddie to think he needed to put on a brave face or act like he was okay if Steve was out in the public spaces while he made the call.

Not because he cared.

Just so Eddie wouldn’t have to pretend.

And so he himself didn’t have to deal with the tension.

Yeah, right.

Also, it was the least he could do to complete Eddie's designated chores off the whiteboard that there had been war over.

Robin and Eddie’s friend Chrissy had been forced to come in and mediate the whiteboard before one of them set the other's hair on fire. Though by the end of the day the two best friends had been too busy making eyes at each other to be of any help.

Steve was taking a risk; messing with the delicate whiteboard balance that stayed the same, week in, week out, lest another war start. But if Eddie wasn’t up for going to work, he certainly wouldn’t be up for sweeping, mopping, countertops and garbage.

And like, Steve could hardly blame him, he’d been through a lot yesterday, he’d been betrayed by the guy he’d cared most about. He was attacked and had his heart broken all in one night.

So it was whatever.

Just a few chores.

Whatever.

At least he didn’t have to worry about keeping the noise down. Eddie could sleep through the apartment being ripped up by a cyclone then dropped into Oz.

He’d probably sleep through any and all musical numbers to follow, too.

Though he’d be bummed about missing them.

A few hours had passed by that point and Steve was just about to sit his lovely bottom on the couch to enjoy some good old fashioned thoughtless tv when there was a knock at the door.

He half expected Mrs. Henderson to be on the other side with half a hospital in tow behind her as well as, like, fifteen gallons of her famous chicken noodle soup. Which Steve would not turn down for love nor money and would steal a minimum 50% share.

As was his right.

But it wasn’t Claudia.

It was some guy.

Some guy who had a bandage over his nose, a harsh purple colour blooming underneath, sitting a little off as though broken. Some guy who had cuts and scratch marks all over his face and neck.

Some guy who seemed to be affronted at the very sight of him.

But as he stood there Steve could see the clogged up gears working in his brain before the guy opened his mouth and said "You're Steve, the roommate."

Steve pursed his lips.

Well, this interaction was off to a great start.

Though if this was who Steve thought he was, he couldn’t give less of a fuck.

"I'm Steve. Eddie's the roommate.” He said with a raised eyebrow. “What was with the look?"

The guy blinked at him. "What look?"

"The look you gave me, when I opened the door. Like I'd shit on your shoe." He answered with a cocked eyebrow and a cocked hip.

"Oh, uh… I just thought Eddie had shacked up with someone already.” The guy laughed. “Bit soon.” He shrugged and smiled at Steve as though looking for some kind of commiseration for a good joke, two men giving each other nudges about how silly their wives were or whatever other shit straight people did.

But Steve had no commiseration to give.

So this was definitely the shithead, then. Rick.

Steve leaned against the doorframe, practically acting like a barricade, blocking off access to the apartment with his arms crossed. "Don’t like the idea of him having someone at home?” He asked in a light tone. “Bit hypocritical if you ask me.”

Rick’s face immediately soured. "That wasn't his business to tell."

“I think you lose the privilege to that kind of privacy when you fuck around on people you’re supposed to love.” Steve shrugged. “Or just people in general.”

“Who the hell are you to judge me?” Rick puffed his chest out. “You don’t know me.”

“And thank god for that. I don’t need to know you. I know you’re a cheater, that’s enough.”

Rick scoffed. “Whatever, man. I’m not here to debate morality or some shit with you. I’m here to see Eddie.”

“No.” Steve answered as simply as he could.

The guy seemed to need things to be concise.

Rick looked bewildered. “Ex- excuse me?”

“You got cotton in your ears or something? I said no.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are? His keeper? You know he hates you right?”

Steve pulled his mouth down into a mocking pout. “Oh no.” He sighed, deadpan. “I’m so heartbroken.”

“Listen, I’m not getting into it with you right now, man. So call Eddie out or move.”

“Or what?” Steve leaned forward a little, feeling his blood light on fire.

There would be nothing more he’d love at this moment than Rick trying to square up to fight.

The guy was a little taller than him, but Steve was much broader, much stronger and though it wasn’t something he liked to do, he knew he could throw a decent punch if it was for someone else.

That much was obvious.

Thinking back on the things Eddie had said last night, the things Rick had tried, the way he’d cried into Steve’s shoulder, Steve would break Rick’s nose all over again if given half a chance.

“Steve.”

Eddie appeared next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and pulling him away from the door.

Rick looked between the two of them before his eyes landed back on Steve, snapping at him “You can fuck off now.”

Steve raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘oh, can I?’, but even so, he looked at Eddie, waiting for some sign of what he wanted, whether he wanted him to stay or go.

But Eddie gave no indication of what he wanted, wedging himself in between the two and pulling the door tighter to himself, his expression thunderous through the blooming bruises and angry cuts.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

Steve took that as his cue to go. Even through all the bluster and posturing and how much the two of them still didn’t like each other-

We barely tolerate each other, Steve insisted to himself, we don’t like each other. I don’t like him.

-he wasn’t going to force himself into this drama and if Eddie needed to tear this guy to shreds on his own, Steve would let him.

But he had barely taken a step back before Eddie’s hand shot out, grasping at what he could until he had a fistful of Steve’s shirt, white knuckling it and stopping him in his tracks.

The movement was hidden by the door, Rick wouldn’t have been able to see it and Eddie didn’t acknowledge that he’d done anything, still staring his ex down.

Steve stopped dead where he was and when Eddie seemed to realise that he wouldn’t be moving, his hand loosened, coming back up to rest against the door.

“I’m here to sort things out between us. Try to fix it.” Rick said, his voice going soft.

Eddie exhaled a derisive laugh through his nose. “Why don’t you go and ‘fix’ your wife?”

Steve crossed his arms, standing guard in the back but still mostly out of sight.

“C’mon babe…” Rick reached out, attempting to grasp at Eddie’s fingers but Eddie snatched his hand back. “I think you’re just… making a big deal out of this when you don’t need to.”

“A big deal?” Eddie snapped, leaning forward. “Not only have you been cheating on your wife but you’ve been cheating on me too.”

“You?” Rick sputtered, incredulous.

He exhaled with an eye roll and only then noticed that Steve was still standing there.

“Are you serious?” Rick almost shrieked. “What the hell are you still here for? Show’s over, normie!” He waved his hand in Steve’s direction as though dismissing him.

Steve raised his eyebrows and smiled back, not moving an inch.

Rick looked back to Eddie. “Are you not going to do anything about him? We’re in the middle-”

“Oh my god.” Steve injected as much sarcasm as he could. “Is this a private conversation? I had no idea.”

Rick’s face was turning red with frustration. “You got a real attitude problem, man.”

Steve turned his mouth down in a pout. “Oh no.”

“That’s it.” Rick slammed against the door all of a sudden, wrenching it from Eddie’s grip and almost blowing it open if it wasn’t for Steve’s hands stopping it in its tracks.

The sudden stop jostled Rick, sending him slightly off balance and Eddie took the opportunity to kick out hard, swinging his leg up until it landed in between Rick’s legs.

Eddie retracted his foot for just a second as Rick crumpled with a scream of pain before kicking out again, catching him in the hip and shoving him back into the hallway, sending him sprawling.

“Lose my fucking number, asshole.”

Eddie spat down at Rick before turning back inside and slamming the door behind him.

His eyes were still narrowed and furious as he glared at Steve who could do nothing but stand there.

The sound of Rick’s groans were still echoing beyond the door as the two of them looked at each other.

The silence stretched on as Eddie heaved heavy breaths in and out and Steve stared dumbfounded.

There was a glossy sheen to Eddie’s eyes by the time Steve opened his mouth, not sure of what he was going to say.

But it didn’t matter.

Eddie stormed past him without a backwards glance, his hair just disappearing behind the door before he slammed it closed and the wailing of a guitar and the crashing of drums started to scream out of the speakers in his room.

He didn’t see Eddie for the rest of the day. Didn’t knock on his door to try to pull him out and didn’t try to get him to talk.

Steve was only just waking up the day after when he heard Eddie’s bedroom door open and shuffling coming down the hall towards the phone.

He twiddled his thumbs, waiting in his room while he heard Eddie’s muttered conversation.

He didn’t want to interrupt, didn’t want to have to force his presence on Eddie before it was necessary but he really had to pee and he’d have to walk past the phone to get to the bathroom.

Thankfully the conversation didn’t last long but then Eddie shuffled away from his own room towards the bathroom and Steve had to take some very deep breaths.

He couldn’t really be mad at him for it, the guy hadn’t come out of his room at all yesterday after the confrontation, he deserved to pee but Steve felt like his kidneys were gonna start failing at any second.

When he heard Eddie shuffle back into his room Steve nearly cracked the wall with how hard he threw the door open, rushing down the hallway and into the bathroom before he exploded.

Eddie hadn’t made another appearance by the time Steve was grabbing his keys for work and as much as it irritated him, he was feeling a little wary about leaving him all alone for most of the day.

Turned out he didn’t really need to worry about it.

Just as he had turned back towards Eddie’s room, there was a knock on the front door.

He swung it open to find bouncing blonde curls and a bright perky smile.

“Hi Steve.”

“Oh, hey Chrissy.” He stepped aside, allowing her to sweep inside. Her sweater was very unusual. Dark blue and baggy and tucked into her light wash jeans. Steve could have sworn he’d seen it before. There was a large plastic bag in her hand that a glance inside told him was filled with every tooth rottingly sweet thing she could have scooped off the shelves at their local store.

She placed the bag on the kitchen counter with a light clink of glass against glass coming from inside.

Maybe it was also a day-drunk type of visit.

“How is he?” Chrissy asked, blinking up at him with her big earnest eyes.

“I’m… not sure?” Steve shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck a little embarrassed. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

She nodded. “Okay. That’s okay.”

“I think I’m probably going to call over to Robin’s after work.” He muttered, trying to keep his burning blush down. “Hang out for a little bit.”

He didn’t think he needed to say he was doing it to give Chrissy and Eddie their space, to do their ice-cream and chocolate and alcohol and talk about how terrible men were without him hovering. But thankfully she got it, smiling at him so bright it almost hurt to look at.

“Could you…?” She hesitated, pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her fingers. “Could you ask Robin- never mind.”

Steve opened his mouth to assure her it was okay to continue but she barrelled on.

“The boys are coming over later too. Is that okay?”

“The boys?” Did she mean the kids?

“From the band.”

“Oh! Yeah I mean why wouldn’t that be okay? Eddie lives here too.”

“Yeah. I just wanted to check in case-”

“In case I complained about it later?” He tried to ask in his kindest tone. Maybe he’d been guilty of bitching about them in the past but he would never deny Eddie his support system, not at s time like this.

Even if he did… dislike him?

Did he still dislike him?

What was he talking about, of course he did.

“I’m sorry.” Chrissy looked incredibly guilty and Steve couldn’t stand it.

“No, you were right to ask. I haven’t- I’ve been a bit rude in the past.”

She looked like she wanted to apologise again so he shot her a warm smile and patted her on the shoulder. “I have to get to work, but take care of him, yeah?”

She gave him a curious look but nodded, sending him out the door with a wave of her hand, her sleeve following loosely where it was still pulled over her fingers.

Steve was halfway through his shift by the time Robin came in. She worked shorter hours ever since she’d taken that part time internship as a translator.

They’d just gotten past their mid-day coffee rush by the time they had a chance to talk.

“Are you doing anything after this?” He asked her, leaning back against the counter.

“Is this your way of asking me out?” Robin was rifling through the under counter refrigerator next to him, throwing out any old stock that had gone out of date.

“Yes.” Steve nodded. “I’ve been hopelessly in love with you for years and I thought now was the best time to confess.”

“You could have picked a more romantic location.” She sniffed at a container of strawberries, considering before shaking her head and dumping them.

“But my heart told me it had to be now, Birdie.”

Robin just rolled her eyes at him.

“So?” He nudged her with his foot, very nearly sending her off balance. “You, me, two of the best subs this city has and your couch. It’s my best offer.”

She shut the refrigerator door, pushing herself to stand, using the counter for balance. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Steve absentmindedly snapped his fingers at her, remembering.

“Oh! You have a date tonight, right?”

“I did have a date tonight but sh- he cancelled.”

“He cancelled, did he?” Steve smirked, trying not to enjoy the poorly masked revulsion on Robin’s face at having to pretend to be dating a man.

“Yes. He did. Rain check for another time.”

“Bummer.”

Robin hadn’t told him much about the girl she was seeing and Steve hadn’t pushed for any more information than she was willing to give. When she wanted him to know, he’d know.

“But-” he continued “-that leaves your schedule wide open for a date with me.” He spread his arms wide open and smiled at her.

“Well, aren't I just the luckiest girl in the world?” She batted her eyelashes at him.

“The luckiest. Any reason for the rain check?”

Robin nodded. “Friend emergency.”

“Oh. That’s sweet.”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “He’s a very sweet…” her nose scrunched up, “boy.”

“Very sweet boy.” He repeated with a smile. “So can I steal your keys? Have everything all spread out for you when you get home?” He dragged his hand down his chest, wiggling his hips.

“God, Steven.” Robin shuddered. “You’re repulsive.”

“Wrong. I am a dish.”

“Ugh. Gag.”

Steve pouted at her. “I’ll get you a milkshake too, how about that?”

She crossed her arms and stuck her nose up. “Fine.”

She could only hold for so long before she started to break, cracking a smile.

“If you two don’t mind,” a voice next to them said and they both jumped, seeing Mark their manager standing there, “could you stop flirting and get back to work?”

Neither of them even bothered arguing that they were not flirting anymore. They both knew the rest of the staff had a betting pool going on when they would get together.

They would be waiting a very long time.

By the time Robin got home, Steve had himself swaddled in her blankets and had stolen her best hot water bottle.

Why did she live somewhere so cold?

His toasty warmth didn’t last very long, however.

She wrestled the hot water bottle from his grip by resorting to dirty tactics, pulling at his hair until he let it go.

“How many times have I told you the hair is off limits?” He hissed at her, trying to fix it. His hair was his fucking signature, how could she be so rude?

“That is exactly why I go for it every time. It’s your weak spot.” She grinned, smug in her win and attempting to pull the throw off of him as well.

“Go get one of my sweaters if you’re gonna be such a big bitch baby about it. I just got off work.” She pouted, batting her eyelashes at him. “I’m tired.”

“I brought you subs and milkshakes!”

Robin heaved out a heavy, put upon sigh. “Fine.” She heaved herself up from the couch, still clutching at the hot water bottle and disappeared inside her room.

Steve took the opportunity to swaddle himself again, just getting cosy when he heard Robin call out, “Evie, did you steal my sweater?”

“Which one?” He shouted back. He probably had five or more of hers at home and he wasn’t even sure if all of those had started out as hers or his.

“The blue one!”

“Which blue one?”

“The new blue one!”

“What does it look like?”

“What do you think it looks like, it’s fucking blue!”

Steve rolled his eyes and tried to remember any blue sweaters that existed within his own apartment.

“I’m pretty sure I don’t have it. I don’t even remember you getting a new blue sweater.”

“Well where the hell is it then?”

“How am I supposed to know? I didn’t even know it existed!”

“You’re supposed to know these things!”

“Maybe the sweater fairy stole it.” He snickered to himself until a dark red sweater that had definitely belonged to him first hit him in the face.

“You are the sweater fairy.” She pouted, sitting back down and stealing the throw from his lap.

“Don’t hate crime me. It’s rude.” He tugged the throw back over his legs, leaving her enough slack to cover herself as well.

Robin reached over to snatch her sub from the coffee table. “So.”

“So.”

“Something’s going on with Eddie.”

“What?” Steve ran through the entire day in his head. He didn’t think he’d mentioned Eddie once. “When did I say there was something going on with Eddie?”

“You didn’t.” Robin’s mouth went slack in the way it usually did whenever she was hiding something but she covered it up with a large bite, speaking through a full mouth. “But you’re here and not at home so…”

“That’s not that unusual.”

“No, but what is unusual is that you asked if you could steal my keys instead of just taking them.”

“Oh.” Yeah. That was not the norm. “Um, well it’s not really my place to say-”

“Who am I going to tell?”

“That’s besides the point.”

“Tell me.” She jabbed him with a sharp elbow.

“I don’t know if I can.” He said, running his hand through his hair.

“I mean, nothing too personal, if you don’t wanna.” She backtracked with a shrug.

“Doesn’t matter what I want. The thing is it’s not my business, it’s Eddie’s.” He shrugged. “But there was some… relationship drama the other night.”

“Ooh. Juicy drama?”

Steve winced. “Not exactly. More like… red flag drama.”

“Oh shit. Chr- I didn’t know that.”

Steve looked at her, bewildered. “I wouldn’t expect you to, how would you know?”

Robin just shrugged, shoving another large bite into her mouth.

“I don’t really… I’m not comfortable talking about the things Eddie and I talked about but I do need you to help me… figure myself out.”

“Okay, that I can do. I’m an expert at it. I helped you find your sexuality.”

“Find it? It wasn’t fucking lost Birdie.”

“Yeah, but I brought it out into the sunlight.”

“Jesus, you’re acting like you released it from captivity. I knew. I’ve always known. Just because you didn’t know that I know, doesn’t mean I didn’t know.”

She shoved his arm. “I unlocked it.”

He shoved her back. “You didn’t unlock shit.”

She shoved him again. “I unlocked it. You’re welcome.”

He gave her a final shove with a huff to go right along with it. “Whatever.”

“Okay, no more side tracking. Tell me your scrambly brain thoughts.”

“Alright. Um. Okay. So.” Shit. How much could he tell her without either breaking Eddie’s trust or revealing too much. “So there was drama the other night, between Eddie and the boyfriend, you know that much. I won’t say what happened but he didn’t get home until like four in the morning and he called out of work yesterday and today-”

“He called out?!” Robin shrieked, open mouthed. She’d lived with Eddie long enough and been through enough of Steve’s bitching to know just how much Eddie loved that job.

Steve nodded. “Yeah. It was… it wasn’t good, Birdie, what happened. It was actually really fucking fucked up.”

She nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“So then yesterday he’s trying to sleep it off pretty much and there’s a knock at the door.”

“Oh no.”

“Yeah and I go get it because I had assumed it would be Mrs. Henderson with some chicken noodle soup and you know I’d kill my own mother for some of that soup-”

“-I’d kill your mother for some too, yes.”

“-yeah. But it wasn’t Mrs. Henderson, it was Rick, the boyfriend. Or ex-boyfriend, I don’t know and he was trying to like, bully his way into the apartment to see Eddie and I don’t know what happened with me but-”

“-you went full guard dog protector mode didn’t you?”

“I…” Steve sighed, looking down at his hands. “Yeah, I did. Why did I do that? It’s none of my business. I don’t even like the guy. Why would I care?”

“Because you always care, Evie. You saw someone who needed help and you helped, it’s what you do.”

Steve scoffed. “Hardly. It’s not like I’m some fucking selfless hero for doing it.”

“Nah, you kinda are.”

“It was just some guy!”

“And you’re just some guy too!”

Steve glared at her, offended. “You take that back.”

Robin looked at him for a moment. “Okay, fair, retracted.”

He gave her a small grin and dragged the sleeves of the sweater over his fingers.

“Hey! Stop, you’ll stretch it!”

“What does it matter if I stretch it, it’s mine.”

“It is not.”

“It is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!” He jabbed her in the side, knowing full well that if they continued the way they were this could go on all night. It had gone on all night more than once.

Robin squawked and immediately lunged, her hands grabbing at the top of his head.

“No, no! I told you not the hair!”

“And I told you it’s your weakness.” She hissed, her eyes flashing as he scrambled at her wrists before she could get her fingers buried deep enough.

“Boobies!” He shouted, as loud as possible. The effect was immediate, Robin tried to cringe away from him with a look of disgust. “Boobies, boobies, boobies!”

“Oh my god are you five fucking years old? Can you not say tits or breasts or fucking mammary glands or something like a damn adult?” She wrenched her wrists away from him. “I’m so embarrassed for you.”

“I’m embarrassed of your face.”

“I’m embarrassed of your weird man hair.” She scowled, patting at his chest.

“You shouldn’t be. Everyone loves the chest hair. Even the lesbians. It’s like a respect thing.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

Steve pouted to himself.

He just wanted to help. He wanted to make sure Eddie was okay, that he would continue to be okay and there was this horrible little part in the back of his head that also wanted to make sure that no one would put their hands on Eddie ever like that again.

It was weird and possessive in a way he really shouldn’t have been feeling about his irritating as shit roommate who didn’t even have the courtesy to play guitar with headphones on half the time.

No matter how good his playing was.

“I can smell your hair burning.”

“What do I do now, Birdie?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like… I want to help, I guess. But I don’t know how. We don’t even like each other, why would he accept my help?”

“Well… how did he react when you did what you did?”

“He… I guess he… I was going to leave when Rick came to the door and he stopped me. He didn’t say anything to me, he didn’t even look at me but he grabbed onto me and… I think he was scared, Rob. I’ve never seen him scared.”

“Well Steve, I think you’re gonna do what you always do. Help. Whether you know you’re doing it or not, whether you even really mean to, you always help.”

"You're making me out to be some sort of saint."

“I’m really not.” She shook her head. “You’re just… you.”

“Wow, incredible observation there, Birdie.”

“Oh, fuck off and finish this for me.” She shoved the rest of her sub into his hands.

Part 1 Part 3 AO3

@augustjustice @geekymagicalpotato @wormdebut @eddielives1986 @releasethexbarakat @a-little-unsteddie @steddietogo @steddiehyperfixation

Big thanks as always to @hbyrde36 for her magnificent beta work and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation.

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#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #penny00dreadful #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #fanfic #pennys anniversary event #robin buckley #enemies to lovers #roommates au #roommates

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fangirl-dot-com · 6 months

Text

Chapter 8 - May the Odds be Ever in Your Favor

Guys, Max was never going to be her dad (that’s gonna be reserved for Christian lol). Everyone on the grid will be a brother figure, unless stated otherwise – like Fernando is leaning towards the wise grandpa rule and Lewis will be the cool dad (I have a funny story line to go with this idea). All that to say, Max and Kelly will look after her when she needs it most. I also switched the titles. On with the show, and don’t forget to comment if you want to be added to the tag list and or if it’s somehow not tagging you! Much love <3

Well, to Max’s dismay and according to google, you cannot adopt your 20 year old teammate that he had met hours earlier.. He had called Kelly early Thursday morning to whine. The more sensible part of his brain also knew that Christian wouldn’t let that happen either. And Kelly had to quickly remind him that he could still watch out for her.

Max seemed to finally agree at the thought of being one of the protective adults in her life. He knew that you had your manager, who you seemed to trust. But, that didn’t help much when you spoke of how lonely you were. He was going to make it his mission to get you to move to Monaco, where he could keep an eye on you.

“Maybe Christian could adopt her,” he muttered, staring angrily at his coffee. What that cup did to offend him, he didn’t know. But what he did know, was that he’d see you again later that night. Another festival for him to attend to. He only wished that Formula 1 went back to racing, and not putting on shows that had a strict attendance policy.

At least you would be there. There was a change in the schedule so that you could be with him, Checo, Daniel, and Yuki on whatever thing they were being put on for the night. The buzzing of his phone ended his staring contest with his cup.

It was a text from you.

Little Racer :

max, i need your help

what are you wearing tonight???

i have an idea, and I think it’s stupid but i want to do it

Big Racer :

If it’s you, I don’t think it’ll be stupid.

Probably what I always wear. Jeans and whatever Red Bull top they give me.

Little Racer :

that’s so grandpa core of you maxie

and what is this all proper grammar for texting lollll

you are not beating the allegations you millennial

Max’s brows furrowed. He was not a grandpa or a millennial. He just liked to use the normal setting on his phone with proper capitalization and end marks. He would just have to ask Charles or Lando to see if they agreed with you. They wouldn’t though…would they? Your next message had him actually dying.

Little Racer :

do you think that Christian will be mad if i come dressed like elvis?

he said i could but i don’t know…

Big Racer :

You wouldn’t dare.

Little Racer :

oh boy ladies and gents, he doesn’t know

*looks into the camera like an episode on the office*

Big Racer :

Did you seriously type all of that?

Don’t answer.

20 bucks says you won’t.

The three little dots danced on his screen as he waited for you to respond.

Little Racer :

just you wait maxie, just you wait

You didn’t text him anything after that. Max could only call Christian to understand what just happened. He picked up after three rings.

“Hello, Max.”

“Hi Christian. First off, happy birthday.”

“Thank you son. But I know you didn’t just call me to wish me a happy birthday. You could have told me that later tonight.” In the background, it sounded like a coffee machine was running. Max hoped he didn’t wake him up.

“Well, Y/n just texted me about wearing, uh.” Max didn’t want to say it out loud, because now it sounded stupid.

“An Elvis costume? Max, the kid called me last night to ask. Said she didn’t want to ruin an image for us if she showed up like that. But I told her that it would be fantastic idea. Poor kid sounded scared.”

Max let out a low hum. He didn’t like the sound of that. You were in no position to worry about such a thing. If anyone was to ruin Red Bull’s image, it would be him. He had no filter and Christian often had to tell him to reign in his thoughts.

Max spoke, “I think I’m going to see about her moving to Monaco. She mentioned she has a flat in Nice, but that’s far away from Milton Keynes, and not close enough to anyone. Christian, she has no one.”

It took a while for Christian to reply. Max could just imagine the older man running his hand along his forehead. It was hard to think of someone so young to be so alone.

“Yeah, I think that would be best for her. I’ll make sure she can afford it. Hell, it could even be a property that we buy just for her to stay in when we have breaks.”

Max listened and nodded his head along. Now it would only be to convince you to move. But suddenly, he remembered his previous conversation with you. He smacked his hand on his head.

“Is everything alright Max?” the Brit on the phone questioned.

“I just lost 20 bucks.”

You however, had no idea that this conversation was happening. All you knew was that you had the go ahead from Christian to wear your beloved Elvis costume. Would you make a fool of yourself? Maybe.

But who cares. It’s Vegas. To your chagrin, Vito had told you that there would be no walk out, but there would be dramatic paddock entrances. He still promised that you would get your song. That’s all that mattered to you.

While you waited for the night to begin, you roamed the hotel. Because you were bored, you actually did a lot.

You started off with breakfast. You were sad that they didn’t have the machines that made Texas-shaped waffles, because that was only in Texas, but the pancakes would do. And because you’re trainer would kill you for not eating well, you took it upon yourself to have a yogurt with some fruit as a side.

After letting the food settle, you went to the gym for that daily grind. It had been a while since you had been able to work out, but you needed to get back on track. You would be racing tomorrow and you needed to be at your best. You lifted some weights first, starting with the smaller ones as warm ups before you got to the bigger ones. The stretch bands were very useful as you squatted the weights.

After you were done, you hopped on the treadmill. By using the lower speeds, you were able to practice your runway walk, as if you would ever be a model. But the speeds increased and you found yourself in a full sprint by the end of the run. Five miles wasn’t bad, and you knew you could have gone farther, but you wanted to take a quick dip in the pool before getting ready.

The water was a nice cool down for your overheated skin. Running was not your first choice of exercise. You’d rather run out of money, than run in real life. It didn’t make sense, but it did. The chlorine in the water was making your hair gross, so you decided to get out so that you could take a shower.

Like the kid you were, you had your outfit laid out the night before, as if you were going on a fieldtrip.

You allowed to take your time in the shower. It wasn’t every day that you made your F1 debut. That had your bones chilled. Your Formula 1 debut. You. Putting your head under the stream, you rinsed out the hair mask that you put on. There would be no nervousness. You were born for this.

The thought of Max’s texts earlier made you giggle. You were glad that he was so welcoming. You would be much more nervous if you had met the infamous Mad Max. But this was more cat-dad Max. Kind Max.

You only hope that you won’t screw things up.

You turned on your playlist as you started to actually get ready. You ordered room service so that you didn’t have to go somewhere to eat. The food was amazing, well, as amazing as hotel food could get. You curled your hair as the remnants of your skin care routine dried. You mumbled the words to a song as you stuck a French fry in your mouth.

Once your moisturizer and various oils and toners dried, you started on your more pronounced makeup look. You knew you were going to be photographed throughout the night, and you needed to look good. Looking at the window, you noticed that the sun was setting. That meant that it was time for you to get dressed, and Vito would be there to pick you up shortly.

Your outfit consisted of a sparkly white crop top and some white pants. A red scarf topped the outfit off.

You would be arriving right behind Max and in front of Checo. You were excited to see the two men again. Moreso, you were excited to earn 20 bucks. With sunglasses on your nose, you were ready to hit the Sin City.

Vito could hardly contain his laughter when you got in the car.

You raised an eyebrow, “What?”

He shook his head as to somehow rid himself of his laughter. “Nothing kid.”

“Well Christian said I could wear it. I’ll blend right in. And besides, I’m almost immediately changing into my race suit.”

He nodded his head at your reasoning. You had pulled off crazier things before, so he didn’t know why he was surprised. Maybe it was because he thought that you might not want to in F1. But, on the inside he was happy that you weren’t losing your child-like nature. He never wanted to see that seeming innocence to leave. He knew that you weren’t totally innocent, but he never wanted to see you hurt to an extent that you quit being happy. That was his favorite thing about you. You seemed to care about what others thought of you, but you knew how to make yourself happy. And if wearing an Elvis costume to the paddock would make you happy, then he would protect your decision.

You could see the flashing lights even before you got out of the car. American paparazzi were on another level. You knew that Red Bull were one of the last ones to show up, and that freaked you out. Almost every single driver was already on the other side of gate. Your nerves settled when you saw Max get out, and you wanted to follow him. But, you realized that this was what you were waiting for.

The familiar sounds of 33 Max Verstappen (the original one) could be heard through the car doors. Max’s face morphed into one of almost disgust. You let out a giant laugh and rolled down your window before you knew what you were doing.

“Max, I love the music. Very Mad Max-esque.”

He quickly flipped you a loving middle finger as he scanned his card to be let into the paddock. Multiple Elvis impersonators gathered around him for a picture. You hadn’t noticed, however, that the moment you rolled your window down, all of the cameras and photographers were now pointed at you.

You buzzed with energy when you heard Life is a Highway start to fill the air.

On the other side of the paddock, Max had stopped to talk to Lando, Oscar, Carlos, and Charles. He also was waiting for you so that you could walk with him to the Red Bull hospitality. He glanced over to see if you were out of the car at least.

“Nice entrance mate,” Lando clapped him on the shoulder. He rolled his eyes. He’s sure that you roped Christian in to play the song.

“Well what did they play for you?”

Lando deflated and muttered, “Let’s go Lando.” Carlos and Charles, along with Max, laughed at his demise.

Charles suddenly looked over Max’s shoulder. At that moment, Carlos spoke up.

“I didn’t know Checo was a Cars fan.” The drums and guitar seemed to be turned up to the highest setting. What. An. Entrance.

Max had a glimmer in his eyes, “He’s not.”

And suddenly, there you were. In your Elvis costume. And you were loving it. You waved at all the people around you, quickly becoming a crowd favorite.

From his right, Charles hums and Lando’s jaw is dropped.

“That’s the new rookie, correct?” Suddenly, George was with them, along with Alex.

Max only chuckled. “Yep.” He popped the “p.”

Charles spoke up, “She’s nice. I met her at Arthur’s birthday party, but didn’t speak to her much.”

“You all will love her. Trust me,” Max said, eyes widened as you got crowded with the other Elvises. You smile could outshine a thousand suns.

Your eyes quickly met his and you gave him a giant wave. He beckoned you to come over. You flashed a nervous look before it melted away, replaced with bravery. If there was a time to meet some of the grid, you really hadn’t wanted to be dressed as Elvis.

Your steps were quick and you made it over in no time. Now, most drivers are tall, but look short next to George, being the giraffe that he is. However, you were another thing.

You’d definitely be taller than Yuki by a couple of inches. But you stood closer to five-foot-six (167.64 cm.), almost 5 inches shorter than Max, and four inches shorter than the rest.

You gave a shy wave as you spoke, “Hi, I’m Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.” You suddenly remembered something. You turned to Max and held out your hand.

The boys’ eyes widened as Max fished out his wallet and placed a bill in your outstretched hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you sir.” You mocked a salute.

Lando tsk-ed, “What did our Max loose a bet on?”

“He said I wouldn’t come dressed like this. Little did he know, I’ve had this in my closet for years.” Lando couldn’t help but laugh at your revelation, and neither could Carlos and Charles.

“Yeah, kid, you should have told me that Christian already gave you the go ahead.”

“And where’s the fun in that?” You had a shit-eating smirk on your face. Lando was the first one to speak up.

“How old are you? Max over here keeps calling you kid.”

“I’m twenty.”

It was an amazing recreation of that one tik-tok trend. I’m twenty, insert looks of disgust, uhg. Your heart dropped at their reactions.

It was Carlos who surprised you. He quickly patted your head, “Aw, just a baby.”

You looked at him in awestruck. You leaned over to Max and all but whispered, “Max?”

“Yes kid?” he said in full voice.

“He’s older than you right?”

“Yes.”

“Can I do the thing?” Max looked Carlos up and down before smiling.

“Go right ahead.” The smile that you had was wiped off your face. You squared your shoulders and held out your hand. Carlos took it with a confused look. You gave him a firm handshake.

“Thank you Mr. Sainz.” You swear he did a full body cringe. He was about to say something, but Christian had waved the two of you over, yelling something about time to get ready.

You flashed a smile at the small group, “It was nice meeting you!” You all but bounced away as Max calmly walked by your side.

“Did she just?” Lando looked to Carlos, who was frozen in his spot. He looked like someone had just told him that his car had blown up on the way here.

He looked at his hands. “Mr.,” he gulped, “Sainz?”

Oscar finally piped up. “Well, you are old.” Carlos looked close to a breakdown.

Charles put a hand on his shoulder as he watched you and Max walk on the ramp. Max’s face was now stone-cold, yet yours still radiated so much warmth. “Come on mate. We got to go.”

As they walked away, Carlos questioned, “I’m not old, am I?’ Charles could not, would not, should not, give him an answer.

Lando and Oscar just looked at each other and then back at the disappearing duos. Laughter filled the air as they also began to walk to their respective hospitalities.

As you and Max got closer to the garage, you got a little quieter.

“I don’t think they liked me very much. I knew the costume would be a bad idea.” The look of dejection was all over your face. Max looked over at you and huffed.

“Kid, they just don’t know you yet. They’re also stressed about this race. No driver liked to drive on a track that was built in a month.”

“You’re right.”

“Kid, I’m always right.” You hit his shoulder.

Christian was quick to get you, Checo, and Max all together for a couple of pictures. Since it was Christian’s birthday, there was cake and everything for a small celebration. After, the three of you were told to get into the racing suits for the opening celebration.

You were with Mitch while you did so.

“You’re telling me. That Kurt Cobain is going to perform. And I’m going to miss it! With John Legend!” Your eyes were wide as you zipped the suit up.

“For the last time kid, you can meet them after.” You pouted as you tied your shoes.

“Fine. But let me say, this is very Hunger Games of them. So Americanesque.” Mitch just let you talk.

After you were ready, minus the helmet and all that, Mitch led you to the glass box. You turned to look at her.

“Promise me that you’re not going to be dragged away to your death. This is so Katniss Everdeen coded and I cannot lose you like she lost Cinna.” Mitch was going to tell you off for worrying too much, but she could see through your eyes that you were trying to actually tell her that you were scared of the whole thing. No wonder you were rambling, you were just nervous.

Mitch brought you into a hug and squeezed. You practically melted as you squeezed her back. Over your shoulder, Max was looking at the whole ordeal. He’ll give you a hug right before they went up. He knew how scary this world was.

Mitch was given the signal that everything was about to start. You climbed into the box and some official closed the door.

Mitch looked up at you, “May the odds be ever in your favor.” Your jaw dropped in appall as you were slowly being lifted. So she did know the movie!

Max put a comforting hand on your shoulder as your face was suddenly hit with a breeze. All around you, people were cheering and lights were flashing. You suddenly wished you had brought your sunglasses with you.

Max scoffed as he raised his hand to wave.

“What’s wrong?”

“This isn’t racing. We’re standing here, being observed, like a bunch of clowns.”

“At least this won’t last long. We’ll be in the car soon Max.” You were right. If it meant anything, he would be back in the car soon, in his element.

A beep let you three know that the machine would be going down in the next few moments. When the machine jolted down, you quickly stood up straight, hand behind your back, and put three fingers to your mouth. Your lips kissed your fingertips before you held the three fingers up.

It was still loud as you did it, but the crowd died down as they watched you and mirrored your display. You watched in awe at the raised hands.

The three of you lost sight of the crowds as the box was now back where it started. Max looked at you in bewilderment.

“What was that?”

You let out a large gasp. “You’ve never seen the Hunger Games?” You must have been loud because someone else gasped as well. Looking over, you were met with the sight of blond hair and striking blue eyes.

“Max, you’ve never seen the Hunger Games?” Logan stomped over.

“Dude I know. So not girl boss of him.” Max looked at the two of you in confusion. Girl? Boss?

You and Logan were quickly swept into a conversation about American tendencies while Max just stood in between the both of you, looking like he’s in the middle of a midlife crisis. You and Logan were only pulled away when you needed to get into the car for free practice.

As you left, you turned around and faced Logan, giving him a look of faux sympathy. “May the odds be ever in your favor.”

“At least you didn’t volunteer,” Logan laughed as he turned away.

Max was still in the middle of his midlife crisis when Christian came to tell everyone that it was time to head to the garage.

You felt your heart rate picking up as you got closer to the garage. You took a deep breath and exhaled.

It was show time.

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holllandtrash · 10 months

Text

gone | daniel ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x driver!reader (part 3 to fragile line)

I just know You're not gone You can't be gone

The 2023 season is painful, its challenging and Daniel is still very much in your life in all the ways he shouldn't be.

word count: 9.9k (i dont even know how) warnings/tags: angst, heartbreak, all the painful stuff

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

You exhaled a breath that made your entire body shake, “You know what, Daniel.”

Of course he did. For the last few months, he was experiencing the exact same things you were. The uncertainty, the tension, the sleepless nights, god you were so tired.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be you and him. You were supposed to be a team.

So much went wrong, too much. Daniel stood in front of you now as you asked yourself if you were too far gone.

And you both knew the answer to that one.

That first race back in Hungary…you were a mess. You probably would have been a little bit more put together had Oliver not pointed out the lineup for the driver’s press conference.

“You’re kidding,” your jaw dropped, staring at the list. “Who’s smart idea was it to put myself and Daniel together?”

“This is Formula 1,” Oliver sounded apologetic, he did feel bad about the situation. “The FIA doesn’t care if he’s your ex.”

The FIA didn’t care but the entire world watching did. Speculations on what would happen, where you would sit, what would be asked flooded social media.

When you showed up on Thursday, Lando patted your back and told you to breathe.

“Easier said than done, Lando. I don’t see you being forced to sit with your ex.”

He chuckled at that because you had a point. “Look, I love Danny, but don’t let him get to you, alright?”

Originally, Lando did try to switch the sessions. He talked to Zak, PR, everyone, just because he knew how much you were dreading it. But alas, it was you who was now standing outside the media room, leaning against the wall as you waited to go in and get these next twenty minutes over and done with.

Your plan was to just say as little as possible to everyone. You were banking on the fact that the attention would be solely on Daniel and his return, and that was made clear when he walked into the hallway, getting warm greetings from other drivers and those standing nearby.

He had absolutely no reason to stand next to you, not when there were about ten other people who would have been dying for a few seconds of his time.

Daniel cleared his throat, hands behind his back as he leaned against the wall as well.

You counted six seconds before he opened his mouth, speaking to you for the first time since the awards dinner months ago.

“Not even a hello?” He asked, but he wasn’t the least bit surprised that you were completely avoiding looking in his direction. You ignored him and Daniel laughed to himself at your lack of response.

The door opened again and you took a breath of relief when you realised you were about to be called into the press conference. Just get it over and done with.

Daniel didn’t have the same priorities and spoke up again, “I just want to know-”

You promptly cut him off, you had to. “Look I think it would be best if we just-” god this hurt, you couldn’t even look him in the eye. “Let’s just not talk, okay?”

You pushed yourself away from the wall when one of the media assistants handed each of you a mic and gave you the thumbs up that it was time for the five of you to head out onto the couch. Daniel quickly followed behind you, voice low enough that you could hear but it was unlikely anyone else could.

“So that’s it? You have nothing to say to me?” He asked. “For the person who got you into Formula 1?”

You as well spoke in a harsh whisper, “You may have fast tracked my career but I could have made it to Formula 1 without your help.”

You liked to believe that was true. Was it? You’d never know now.

“But you did take my help,” he pointed out, a groan slipping past his lips as he sat down on the couch. You made sure to distance yourself from him, leaving room for Carlos to sit between you. Even still, Daniel wasn’t done. “You took my help, my resources and then my seat.”

“And what did you do?” You hissed, arms crossed over your chest as different media personnel started to slowly trickle into the room, the lucky ones who claimed the first row were probably close enough to hear you and Daniel.

“Pardon?” He turned his head towards you. Carlos instinctively leaned further back, not wanting to be in the middle of this conversation, but watching and listening intently, as were the other drivers.

“What did you do, hmm?” You repeated, eyes scanning the growing crowd before you snapped your head in his direction.

For a moment, this feud didn’t matter. Your heart skipped a beat, like it had the hundreds, thousands, of other times when his eyes met yours. The same brown eyes that for months you allowed yourself to get lost in. One look from him and everything around you faded to black. Nothing else seemed important when Daniel was looking at you, giving you his undivided attention.

But this moment wasn’t like all of those other ones.

You snapped out of it, returning to your original thought, much to Carlos’ dismay as he thought you guys were done and had started to relax in between you.

“We both replaced a driver before their contract was up, Daniel.” You stated, wanting to point out the hypocrisy in his actions. “You are no better than me. We did the exact same thing.”

“It wasn’t the same and you know it,” Daniel retorted, not skipping a beat. He had those words lined up for weeks now, waiting for the chance to say them because there was no way in hell you weren’t going to point out the similarities in your actions.

But Daniel was right. It wasn’t the same. The biggest difference being, you were in love with Daniel when you signed that contract with McLaren, and he was in love with you.

It wasn’t just a driver screwing over another driver. You drove a wedge between the two of you.

You had the thought to stand up and walk out. The press conference hadn’t officially started yet, the last few reporters were just finding their seats. You could say you’re ill, something came up, really any excuse to get out of here and away from Daniel’s harsh stare.

Don’t let him get to you. Lando’s reminder floated to the front of your mind and you forced yourself to just sit back and look at the small crowd instead. It was clear to everyone who even glanced your way that you did not want to be sitting there, but thankfully Tom Clarkson got the session up and running.

Of course Daniel was the star. Tom had questions about his return, about his short break, about being back with familiar faces. Daniel answered them all with such ease, the familiar heartwarming grin on his face that you couldn’t bear to look at.

You zoned out, really, arms crossed in front of your chest as you tried to ignore the double standards coming from your right. You doubted Daniel was going to get as much hate online as you had gotten. No one was asking him how he felt about taking another’s seat, everyone was just happy he was back.

“And Y/N, onto you-”

You snapped your head up, plastering on your best smile.

“Last year you finished quite high in Hungary in Formula 2 and after your best finish out in Silverstone, you must feel quite confident going into this weekend?”

You lifted the mic up to your lips, “Yes and no, you know the car’s upgrades are proving to be paying off and we’re hoping to use them to our advantage this weekend but one can never be too confident. As a team we’ll be fighting to be at the front again but in the back of our minds we know that everyone else is doing the same.”

Tom nodded, content with that answer, “And is it nice to have another familiar face on the grid? Daniel acted as a sort of mentor for you during your time in F2, did he not?”

You tensed up and next to you, Carlos felt it. He nudged his arm against yours, a subtle move of encouragement. Carlos, like most of the drivers, knew how uncomfortable the situation was for all involved.

But you couldn’t process the kind gesture. Not when you could practically feel Daniel staring at you, burning holes into the side of your head as he waited for your response.

“I think, yeah a lot of people are probably happy to welcome him back,” you spoke quietly, and not at all convincing. But hey, at least you removed yourself from the answer and gave a general response. One that no one could flip on you.

Tom tried, though, “But personally, what’s going through your mind right now?”

You had so much media training. You knew the proper answer would be something along the lines of how Daniel is a great asset to the sport and how the grid is better with him. Nothing personal, but just facts the general public could agree with. You knew what to say.

But you scoffed instead, “Why aren’t you asking the other drivers how they feel?”

Max spoke up from the opposite end of the couch, “It’s great having Daniel back.”

You shot him a quick, yet thankful, smile. While he was good friends with Daniel, anyone on that couch could see how that question was only given to you because of your history with the Australian. And this press conference was supposed to be about motorsport, about the racing coming up.

You stayed quiet for the rest of it and as soon as it ended you bolted out of that room.

Unfortunately, so did Daniel.

He caught up to you with ease, “Hold up, Y/N, I want to talk.”

Daniel reached for your arm and you pulled it out of his grasp as you turned around to face him, “I don’t think there’s anything left to say. No, you said plenty last year. What was it, exactly? Something about how taking your seat before your contract was even up was the worst thing I could have possibly done? I’m not going to sit there and listen to everyone praise you for coming back when you dragged my name through the dirt for the exact same fucking move. I’m not going to listen to a single thing you have to say, knowing you’re the biggest hypocrite this sport has ever seen but won’t admit it.”

Daniel huffed out a short breath. For a second, you thought he was going to apologise, but that thought quickly left when his forehead creased, his jaw tightening, “Sometimes you gotta burn a few bridges in this industry, but you figured that out all on your own, didn’t you?”

You shook your head, taking a few more steps backwards as heavy sarcasm dripped from your tongue, “Nice to have you back, Daniel.”

It really was anything but nice. Not when that entire race was focused on how you and Daniel interacted in the paddock- or the lack of interaction was probably a better way to phrase it. Everyone knew you two to be connected at the hip. Now you were turning around and walking in the opposite direction to avoid him.

The next race was worse. Spa. It was a challenging track already, you knew this going into the practice sessions. You were prepared for a difficult weekend.

What you weren’t prepared for was leaving the garage towards the end of Q1 to set a lap time, only to be blocked by Daniel before you could cross the finish line. He slowed down before the straight, like many drivers did before giving it all they had on their way to start a flying lap.

But Daniel didn’t speed up like you expected him to. He kept you behind him for as long as he could before shifting gears and taking off. When it was your turn to cross the line and get your time started, you heard the call come in from the garage.

“Times up,” your engineer, Ronnie, said through the radio. “You didn’t cross the line in time.”

Once that timer hit 0, no one was allowed to start a new lap. Every other driver made it across in time, but Daniel’s little move kept you from throwing your hat into the ring for Q2.

You embarrassingly made your way back around the track, pulling into the pit lane to park in the garage. It wasn’t long before other drivers followed, but they had all set lap times. Climbing out of the car, you noticed that Daniel didn’t make it through either.

Serves him right, you thought.

God, you wanted to give him a piece of your mind.

Right on time, you watched on the screen as Daniel dove into the pit lane. You ignored the calls from Ronnie and Oliver, not a single thought in your mind except to ask Daniel what his problem was.

Oliver knew what you were doing as soon as you stepped out of the garage. You ripped your helmet off and shoved it into his hands as he hurried to walk at your pace. Your eyes were set on the AlphaTauri garage just up ahead and you could hear Oliver warning you, telling you to just turn around and go back to McLaren but the second you saw Daniel get out of his car, you snapped.

“What the hell was that?” You asked, eyeing him up from where he stood at the garage opening.

Daniel wasn’t the least bit surprised to see you, but he did stand up straighter, already anticipating whatever you had to say to him.

“You’re a prick, you know that?” Your insult did little to offend him.

“It's not my fault you left the garage late,” Daniel shrugged, taking no responsibility for your inability to set a lap time.

“It’s completely your fault for slowing down more than necessary.”

“I didn’t want to run into traffic.”

“You fucked up my qualifying, Daniel.”

You felt Oliver’s hand on your shoulder. He wasn’t trying to pull you away, but the touch was to get your attention. Aside from AlphaTauri crew members watching this interaction, there was also a camera pointed directly at the two of you, streaming live to F1TV and whatever else broadcast that chose to air it.

Daniel wasn’t as concerned about his media appearance, stepping forward the slightest bit so you were only inches apart.

“If I were you, sweets, I wouldn’t be blaming your problems on the person who got you into this sport.”

You were so close to losing it on him for that comment. You probably would have, had he not thrown in his old nickname for you. Only it wasn’t sweet anymore. There was a distaste on his tongue as he said it, you heard it. He only said it to throw you off, to remind you that he no longer cared for you the way he used to. He was using it against you now.

Daniel saw the way you froze, completely losing your train of thought and he used it to his advantage to walk away from this conversation. He was happy to get the last word in and all you could do was drop your head and walk as close to Oliver as humanly possible as you made your way back to McLaren.

The altercation was heavily split down the middle by all who watched. Some people agreed that Daniel slowed down purposely to keep you from crossing the line in time to start a lap. They also agreed that he should have owned up and apologised for it, saying that it wasn’t in his character to leave another driver so defeated after something that was clearly his fault.

Other people agreed that it was your fault for leaving the garage too late, taking Daniel’s side. They said that it wasn’t very mature of you to confront him like that, or to swear at him. It only added to the conversation of how women weren’t ready to have a place in Formula 1.

Your PR manager advised you to put out a statement about it, an apology. You ignored her advice. In your opinion, the only person who had to apologise was Daniel.

Of course he didn’t, though.

Which meant you didn’t apologise when after the summer, In Zandvoort, you braked a little early when Daniel was behind you. You played it off saying you anticipated the turn too early. Daniel happily complained about you in the media pen when he was forced into the grass and then ultimately the barrier, forcing his race to end early. Social media blew up, like usual, feeding into this childish feud.

That’s how it went for most all, of the races. It wasn’t as though you were purposely trying to ruin his weekends, nor was it his goal to ruin yours, but if you happened to be alongside each other during the race or near each other during qualifying, fans started to put their money on who would target who first.

You didn’t like that that was what your weekends turned into. It was one thing to want to know where the rest of the drivers were in comparison to you, but to be so focused on Daniel was taking it to the extreme.

But you were determined to prove you were a good driver without him, that you were a better driver than him. That taking that McLaren seat wasn’t a mistake and if anything, he should be regretting being so harsh on you. You wanted him to eat his words, and it helped your case that he was definitely struggling in the AlphaTauri.

You finished ahead of him a handful of times. You could try and convince yourself it was skill, but a determining factor really was how horrible Daniel’s car was. That was proven when you were struggling with an upgrade package in Singapore. Some analysts compared the pace of the McLaren to the AlphaTauri, and said that the upgrades were really more like downgrades.

When Daniel finished ahead of you, claiming sixth that race while you crossed the line in 17th, you were furious. You told the team that as a whole, you were much better than that. That the McLarens should not be finishing in the bottom five considering how successful you had been mid season.

Those closest to you knew what you meant. You shouldn’t be finishing behind Daniel.

Things weren’t perfect after that, despite going back to the old set up. You were back to fighting for points, but so was Daniel. And you hated it. You thought you could rely on the McLaren being better than the AlphaTauri, but you forgot to take into account that Daniel truly was one of the best drivers on the grid.

It got to the point where you and Ronnie had a code. If you finished ahead of him, on the radio, Ronnie would say way to go champ. If Daniel finished ahead of you and you weren’t already aware of it during the race, Ronnie would say there’s still work to be done.

Again, those closest to you knew how much it meant to beat Daniel.

You wanted to prove to him, and everyone but you wouldn’t lie to yourself it was mostly him, that you deserved that fucking seat. That you made the right choice by signing the contract, despite it meaning he was without a car for a few months. You shouldn’t have felt guilty for putting yourself first, your career first, if you were doing something great, which you were.

Plus, the better you did, the less of a reason Daniel had to judge you. How could he still be upset with you for taking that McLaren seat when you were doing what he couldn’t? Scoring in the high points, being consistent, for the most part. How could he say that taking his seat was the worst thing you could have done when ultimately, it would boil down to jealousy? Daniel struggled in that McLaren, and he assumed you would too. That wasn’t the case.

And deep down, even if you didn’t want to admit it, there was still a part of you that aimed to make Daniel proud. Even if you couldn’t get back to when you were each other's biggest fans, you hoped that he had moments when he looked at the driver standings and nodded to himself, smiling maybe, because even if you weren't on the best of terms, you were doing what he always knew you could do.

You had no idea, but moments like that did come for Daniel. They were far and few between, rarely caught on camera or at least, never brought to your attention. You had no way of knowing Daniel was leaving the AlphaTauri garage, conflicted about how he felt about your accomplishments. You were doing better than him, there was no denying that. He just chose not to admit it.

The only time that season where you knew he was proud was at COTA. One of his favourite races on the calendar.

You qualified well, P3. That hadn’t happened since Silverstone. The race itself didn’t produce anything too horrible, aside from a few drivers at the back of the grid collided early on and unfortunately Daniel was one of them, being forced to retire.

You, though, you were flying. Your biggest competition was Lando who had started P2, again, similar to Silverstone. For most of the race, your job was to defend Carlos who was aiming for that podium, wanting to take P3 from you.

Typically, you would have boxed first. That’s usually what happened to give Lando the advantage. And with Carlos most likely being on an undercut strategy, you expected the call to come in to box ahead of him.

But that didn’t happen. Instead, you watched Lando pull into the pit lane, giving you the automatic second place position. In your mirrors, you watched as Carlos pulled into the pits as well.

“What’s going on?” You asked Ronnie through the headset.

“Plan F.”

Plan F was one you joked about, but never actually executed. Plan Fight you and Lando called it, but both of you knew that you’d never actually be given the go ahead to fight it out for the podium positions, not wanting to risk damage to the cars.

“Plan F?” You repeated, the shock in your voice evident. That made for good content on F1 Twitter.

“Box this lap,” Ronnie instructed before going on to explain. “Carlos is struggling with his pace, we believe his main goal will be to defend.”

From what you knew, Lewis was behind him, and if Carlos was struggling with his pace he wouldn’t be fighting for a podium, he’d be fighting to keep that fourth place position.

Which meant you and Lando were also free to fight.

Pitting for new tyres dropped you back a bit, but it didn’t take long at all until you were right on Lando’s tail again. You stayed there for the majority of the last half of the race, the gap wavering anywhere between half of a second to three seconds behind.

You tried to pass, truly. But Lando’s defensive game had always been strong. You looked for the opportunities in the corners, along the straights, but it wasn’t until the third to last lap did the chance come.

You had closed the gap as much as you could, not needing to worry about whoever was behind you, you figured it was still Carlos. As you approached the back straight, you knew Lando was expecting you to dart to the left in an attempt for an overtake on the inside, you had tried it in five out of the last ten laps and each time you were still left eating his dust.

You veered slightly to the left, giving Lando the impression that was your goal and the second he made the move to defend, you steered the car to the right and gave it everything you had. It was a tricky move, vying for the outside overtake going into the tight corner, but when it seemed to work out, you had the inside line for the following turn and Lando was soon in your mirrors.

He tried to take that position back, but you took advantage of the clear air and set off, determined for your first podium, determined to finish ahead of Lando.

Lando ended up claiming third, crossing the finish line only a second after you did. After a victory lap, where he jokingly flipped you off, the two of you pulled into parc ferme. Immediately, you collapsed into Lando, arms tight around him because not only was this a success for you, but for the team. Both McLaren drivers on the podium for the first time this season.

Through the cheers, you could hear Lando yell something about making history. Whether that was in regards to both of you or the fact that you were the first female to ever podium in F1, you weren’t sure. It didn’t matter anyway. You just knew you were proud.

You jumped into the arms of your team next, those standing behind the barrier. Adrenaline was pumping through you, you just wanted to celebrate with everyone. When you eventually took your helmet off, a few tears were streaming down your face and you didn’t even think about the risk of turning into the new George Russell crying meme.

You were shaking as you stood in the cool down room, too amped up to sit. Max had been through this dozens of times before. Nor was this Lando’s first podium either, but you were on top of the world.

The ceremony went by in a blur. As did the post race conference. You really did try to take in each second of it, thankful that Lando was there at your side the entire time. This entire process was new to you and if Lando wasn’t in your ear telling you to breathe, where to go, to enjoy the moment, you would have been a mess.

There was so much that happened following that race, there was no way you could have known what was going on with any of the other drivers. It wasn’t until you got back to your hotel room at the end of the day with instructions to ‘get changed because we’re going out’ from Lando, did you see what you had missed.

It felt like hours since you even looked at your phone. You had called your parents, but you didn’t have much time for anything else. Now that you were sat on the edge of your bed, you were able to scroll through your texts and notifications.

You were able to see the clip you were tagged in way too many times, on way too many platforms.

It was short, but any longer and you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. You clicked play and watched the video of you crossing the finish line. Lando was following behind, but whatever broadcast this was from didn’t care about his finish. The shot switched to Daniel, from where he stood in the AlphaTauri garage.

Whoever was filming caught his live reaction of you coming second at COTA.

The nod, the faint curl of the corner of his lips because as much as he tried, he couldn’t fight the smile on his face as he watched you take your first podium position in F1, something that he once dreamed for you.

But you not being part of his dreams anymore didn’t mean that he stopped wishing you accomplished yours.

This brought you back to the first video you watched of him a few years back, before you even met him, where he spoke so highly of you. He wanted you to succeed so badly back then and he wanted to be at your side while you did so.

Now here you were, succeeding, but where was Daniel?

Maybe that’s where some of his hostility lied. You didn’t need him, clearly. Or at least, that’s what he thought.

The reality was, you wanted to prove you could do this without him, but you wished you didn’t have to.

You were conflicted, you both were. And it didn’t help that you weren’t speaking civilly to each other because my god a simple conversation would probably do wonders for both of you.

That was Lando’s thought, as he sat down next to you in the booth and handed you the glass of coke, no rum much to his dismay. You didn’t drink during the season, even if you had something to celebrate, Lando knew this. Champagne on the podium was the only exception.

Tonight, though, as you sat in your thoughts and replayed the image in your mind of Daniel smiling up at the screen, you figured that another exception wouldn’t hurt.

You turned down the coke and grabbed his drink instead, downing it in one gulp and instantly regretting it because you were fairly certain it was tequila based and tequila just wasn’t something you ever enjoyed. Lando laughed and handed you the coke to chase it down with.

“You’re letting loose tonight?” He asked, sitting down beside you. His arm stretched across the bench behind your shoulders. He didn’t even try stifling his chuckle as you struggled with the bitter taste left in your mouth.

“I need to,” you answered.

“You deserve to,” he corrected. Lando reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet and then a sleek black card. He didn’t say anything to you, nor to the server who came by and knew that by him dropping the card on the table meant he was asking for bottle service.

It wasn’t long before you had a row of shots to split between the two of you and a few others who had crowded the booth, some you knew, some you didn’t. Not that it mattered, you just wanted to drink, you didn’t care who you were with.

Lando being there was a godsend, though. He knew that you were a lightweight and told you that the glass in your hand was a vodka soda when in reality he asked the server for you to just be given water after a few hours of the most carefree drinking he had ever witnessed from you.

The music was blaring, you had gotten up to dance at one point, but you kept finding your way back to the booth. Clubbing wasn’t your thing and Lando, whether he liked it or not, was an anchor for you tonight. He kept you safe, kept you from drowning in the sea of people and alcohol.

He could do a lot that night, but he couldn’t prevent the inevitable storm that was Daniel Ricciardo making an appearance at that Austin night club.

Lando saw him first and turned to you with the intention of suggesting that you both called it a night. But no words came out when he saw the painful look of desire and despair mashed together on your features as you spotted the Australian driver.

You didn’t drink often, but if you did, you would know that feelings are often elevated under the influence. You’d also know that alcohol lowers inhibition, giving you a false sense of security to say what was really on your mind.

“I don’t get it,” you spoke quietly and Lando leaned in closer to hear you over the music blasting from all corners.

“Get what?”

You pulled your gaze off of Daniel before you could accidentally make eye contact and looked at your teammate instead. He seemed concerned for you, he always did when Daniel was involved.

Lando always did what he could to get your mind off Daniel and the past. He was a good friend, a good person to have in your corner but he wasn’t who you wanted there at the end of the day. You had grown to love Lando, not in the way you loved Daniel, though, so you couldn’t deny that you wished it was the Aussie sitting next to you in the booth, celebrating your podium. You hated that you wanted that.

“Do you miss him, still?” Lando prompted, knowing you had lost your train of thought.

When you shook your head, Lando gave you a look that clearly showed he didn’t believe you, but it was true. You didn’t miss Daniel. What you felt was much worse.

“I don’t miss him,” you answered, glancing towards him again. He stood at the bar talking to a girl that you envied because at least she was talking to him. “But I think he’s my missing piece.”

You hadn’t felt whole since the day you and Daniel split. You walked out of his flat but you left a piece of you there, a piece you desperately tried to get back through race weekends and training and distractions but it was no use. It would always belong to Daniel and you feared he had no intention of giving it back. You feared, that no matter how much time had passed, you’d always feel a little incomplete.

You stood up to leave soon after, thanking Lando for the drinks and assuring him you’d send a text when you got back to the hotel.

Lando tried to follow you to the door, wanting to tell you that he would go with you, the concerned friend making another appearance, but before he could get a word out he watched as someone cut him off, also making a direct line towards the door of the club.

It took Lando a second to realise it was Daniel who was walking after you now. Lando just stood there and raised his hand to the back of his neck, asking himself if he had just made a mistake by not stopping Daniel.

When Lando asked the next morning if Daniel spoke to you, you gave him a questionable look, telling him that you didn’t talk to him at all. Lando explained that he had seen Daniel leave the club right after you, but you just shrugged, chalking it up to getting into the uber before Daniel had the chance to catch up to you.

But Lando saw the photos. He, like everyone else, saw images of Daniel climbing into the car right after you. He wasn't the least bit surprised you lied about it.

You didn't want to tell Lando that Daniel had grabbed the side of the car door before you could shut it, pulling it back just enough for him to slide into the backseat next to you. You shuffled over to make room, but you couldn’t get a single word out. All liquid courage vanished and instead your palms were clammy, the car felt stuffy and you couldn’t even look at him.

Daniel as well, didn’t say anything. His legs were spread out slightly, knee hitting yours as his hands were folded together in his lap.

Why did he follow you?

This was the first time in ages you had been alone together, minus the driver.

The hotel was a short drive away, but it felt like ages, the two of you sitting in uncomfortable silence. You weren’t bickering like you often did if you were in the same room, but at this point you’d rather that than whatever this eeriness was.

You thought maybe, maybe, this was your saving grace. Maybe Daniel had followed you out of the club to tell you he was proud of you, to tell you he still loved you, to tell you he was tired of this feud and wanted you back.

But the longer you sat in silence, the more it sank in that that wasn’t the case.

You used to love each other. Now you couldn’t even hold eye contact.

Daniel waited until the driver pulled onto the street of your hotel before saying anything.

“Checo’s gone after this year.”

You turned to him, unsure if you had heard correctly. “What?”

“He’s gone,” Daniel repeated, more confident this time, still not looking at you though. “Marko told me on Friday.”

You had way too much alcohol flowing through your system to be able to process this. Checo’s contract wasn’t supposed to be up until the end of 2024.

But Nyck’s wasn’t supposed to be up in June and Daniel’s wasn’t supposed to be done at McLaren in 2022. These things happened in Formula 1, as unfortunate as it was for the driver getting the boot, these things often happened.

And Daniel…why did he know this information? Why didn’t the rest of the grid know it? Did Checo even know?

You inhaled sharply, “Does this mean-”

“The news is dropping tomorrow morning, but I wanted you to know first,” Daniel cut you off, his forehead creased with tension. His jaw was clenched, like he wasn’t happy to be saying this but felt the need to anyway. “I’m driving for Red Bull next year.”

The first thought that came to mind was he’s done it again. Taking another driver's seat before their contact ended. 2-1 now. He was officially a shittier person than you were and you so badly wanted to rub it in his face.

But you could see now that that was why he told you personally. He didn’t want to wait until you heard the news like everyone else, he didn’t want to give you an opportunity to attack him for this, to make him feel like the bad guy even though that’s how he made you feel this entire season so far.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t all that difficult to bite your tongue.

“Congratulations,” you settled on, quietly but you meant it and you caught him off guard because he truly was expecting some sort of lashing out.

The driver pulled up to the hotel right at that second and you thanked him before stepping out, not giving Daniel a second look, again catching him off guard because you always looked back at him when you were together.

Daniel waited a second. And then a few more before he bolted out of the car and into the hotel. You had made it to the elevator by that point and Daniel had to slide his hand between the doors to keep them from shutting. You watched as he pushed his way in and just like the car ride, said nothing.

You were on your way up to the twelve floor and Daniel waited until you arrived at the level before opening his mouth, waiting till the last second, wanting to cling onto this civil moment with you because who knew when it would come again?

“You’re not mad?” He asked.

The door opened and you had to brace yourself before standing up straight and walking out of the elevator, needing a moment to remember what side of the hall your room was on.

“I’m livid,” you answered, honestly. You were happy for him, but you were also angry about the situation. You didn’t know it was possible to feel both things at once, but in your drunk state, it was extremely possible.

“Livid?” Daniel walked behind you, trying to gauge the rest of this conversation because you didn’t sound livid.

“Enraged,” you said.

“Enraged,” he repeated.

“I want to wring your neck, Daniel,” you said, hearing him chuckle behind you because you didn’t sound the least bit threatening as you fumbled to unlock the hotel room door. The lock kept lighting up red and after your third failed attempt, Daniel took the card from your hand and unlocked it with ease, pushing the door open for you.

You didn’t thank him, instead relying on the wall once you stepped inside to lean against as you pulled your heels off. Daniel followed you inside, standing at a cautious distance until you dropped your shoes because part of him thought that maybe you would throw them at him. You were enraged after all.

You weren’t sure why he was still there. He had told you what he wanted to tell you and he had no reason to still be hanging around.

“What?” You finally asked, now sounding a little more on the annoyed side as you turned to stare at him. “What do you want? Why are you still here?”

“I want to talk.”

“About what?” You scoffed at him. “About the Red Bull contract? Congratulations, Danny. You deserve it. You deserve every fucking seat on this grid apparently.”

There it was.

“I knew you were mad.”

“I said I was mad!” You exclaimed, appalled that he was saying it like he discovered what you had already made perfectly clear. “I’m pissed, Dan. You have such a cult following that no one is going to bat an eye at you taking Checo’s seat, just like no one complained about you taking Nyck’s. Whereas I do it, I get offered the chance of a lifetime, to make history and I’m considered the villain? I didn’t end your contract, Daniel, I just replaced you and for some reason, no one cares about that narrative! They just care about you.”

You were yelling now. Daniel was probably regretting having followed you but it was too late for him to turn and walk out at this point.

“You know what the shitty part is?” You asked, stepping closer to him. Daniel could smell the vodka on your breath. That's how minimal the distance was between you. The last time you were this close you were wanting to rip his head off outside the AlphaTauri garage.

“What?” He raised his eyebrows. Daniel couldn’t even begin to guess where you were going with this.

“This news is going to drop and my name is going to be circulating in the media again. They’re going to compare this, you taking his seat, to me taking yours. I will never be known as the first female signed to McLaren. I will forever be linked to you, no matter what you do in this fucking sport.”

You shook your head at him when he stayed silent. Pulling your eyes off of him, the heaviest exhale passed through your lips and you turned around, wanting this night to end. After you waved your hand in the air you muttered something about how he could see himself out.

But he didn’t go anywhere.

And because he didn’t go anywhere and because you were drunk, you easily thought of more to say.

“You didn’t even like McLaren,” you sighed as you turned back around to face him, leaning against the wall. Your head was spinning. Maybe if you were lucky, this conversation wasn’t actually happening and it was a drunk figment of your imagination.

“No, but I loved you.”

You definitely didn’t imagine him saying that.

“I loved you,” he repeated, the past-tense admittance felt like a stab to your chest. “And I wanted nothing more than to race alongside you without feeling the need to prove something, to be your partner off the grid. I wanted to love you and race at the same time and you ruined that.”

All you could do was shrug your shoulders. You had said everything you needed to say at this point in defence of your contract, “I’m a driver, Dan. The race, the seat, it comes first, everything else second. You of all people know that.”

“We could have had both.”

Both. Love and a spot in Formula 1.

Clearly not.

“Could we have?” You asked, unsure if you even had an answer, but you needed him to really think about it. To think about it if that really was a possibility for the two of you.

Daniel and you held each other's stares for a minute, waiting for the other to say something. You were still waiting, hoping, for him to say he was proud of you, that he still loved you, that it didn’t matter what happened in the past, but it did matter. Daniel was still waiting for a sincere apology, but you had nothing to apologise for. Signing that McLaren contract was the best thing you’d ever done for yourself, despite the strings to Daniel you had now found yourself tangled in, McLaren was where you were supposed to be.

“I’m tired, Dan,” you shook your head and glanced towards your room down the hall. Physically, mentally, you were drained. And you weren’t ready for what was to happen tomorrow when his contract news came to light.

It didn’t even feel like you had gotten a podium a few hours ago. The last thing you wanted to do was celebrate. You just wanted to crawl into bed and forget that Daniel had followed you here.

He didn’t stop you as you walked down the hall. He waited for you to look at him, but again, you were past that. What was a second look going to do at this point? You wiped your makeup off as best as you could and slid under the covers of your bed, quickly falling into a dreamless sleep.

And sure enough, the news dropped of his contract, of his new seat, and it wasn’t long before people started comparing it to what you had done the year prior.

The first thing you saw when you woke up that morning, aside from the glass of water that Daniel had put next to your bed, was the news alert on your phone stating that Daniel was to replace Checo for 2024.

The second article you read was about you. Speculating how you would feel about Daniel’s permanent return. The article highlighted the moments of your relationship, starting from the day he signed on to be your mentor to the time in the AlphaTauri garage when you were fighting over the qualifying lap he ruined.

And then there was a photo of you climbing into the car from last night, followed by Daniel getting into the car shortly after.

His name was trending. Your name was trending. Half the people online cared about his return to RBR. The other half wanted to know if you two were getting back together.

No one gave a single shit that you made history yesterday, landing that podium.

You were the first female to score a podium position in Formula 1 and all anyone cared about was your connection to Daniel. Just like when you won the Monaco Grand Prix during F2, all anyone cared about was Daniel’s influence in your racing. When you were signed to McLaren, all anyone cared about was how you were replacing Daniel.

Daniel. Daniel. Daniel.

People didn’t care about your accomplishments. They only wanted to find a way to connect them all to Daniel.

You scrolled through the article and a new one was suggested for you at the bottom of it. Why Y/N Y/L/N Owes Her Career to The Honey Badger.

Instead of reading it, you threw your phone with as much strength as you had down the hall, out of your sight. You heard it hit the floor and slide across the hardwood.

You couldn’t remember the last time you read something positive about yourself without a hint of Daniel’s influence.

This wouldn’t have been as hard of a pill to swallow if he was still in your life the way you wanted him to be. If he really was still at your side, supporting you, cheering you on, you could look past the articles and speculations about how he was the only reason you were in the sport. It wouldn’t matter what people were saying if Daniel was in your ear reminding you of your potential, reminding you that you deserved that F1 seat.

But he wasn’t going to do that, not anymore. What you had was gone and you were left with the bitter memories and an unforgiving path you had to walk alone to prove yourself in this field.

You wanted to prove you didn’t need Daniel, but the entire world was making it their mission to remind you that at one point, you did. Maybe you still did, maybe you didn’t know who you were without him because let’s face it, everything you did on the track still revolved around him.

You cared about where he finished. You went out of your way to outscore him and only him. You didn’t do anything to relieve the tension in the paddock. You were very much playing into the narrative that he was still a key player in your life.

How could the world move on if you hadn’t?

Hearing footsteps make their way towards you, you sat up in bed, already knowing it was Daniel who didn’t leave when he should have.

You weren’t concerned about your appearance, he had seen you in a much worse state. He had better mornings as well, still wearing his clothes from last night, the bags under his eyes gave away the fact that he was about as tired as you were.

He had your phone in his hands, but he didn’t spend much time looking at the article on the screen. Instead, he dropped it to the table next to him and leaned against the doorframe, exhaling a heavy breath.

You didn’t move, content with the distance between you now because you had to be. Despite wanting nothing more than to be with him, you couldn’t have that anymore. Everything had to be at a distance.

Your phone chimed. Once, twice, and then about four more times. You knew it was people telling you about Daniel’s contract, not knowing that you had been given the inside scoop last night.

At one point, you loved being connected to Daniel. Now, it was a burden. It was haunting. Each time someone mentioned him to you, sent you something about him, asked you a question about him, you were reminded that the connection was gone.

Your lips parted and you had to take a quick, self-assuring breath before finally saying what had to be said.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

Your entire body trembled as you spoke, “You know what, Daniel.”

Of course he did. He was as tired as you were. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this and yet here you were, staring at each other knowing that you were both too far gone to ever find your way back.

You thought, maybe, possibly, you could work things out. For a brief moment, when you knew he was proud of you, you thought you saw a silver lining amongst the grey skies. And maybe you did, maybe it was there, but it was way beyond your grasp. You couldn’t reach out and grab it, you could only dream of it.

There was one solution. One that broke you, knowing you were stuck with it. You didn’t want to admit it. You wished you could push it down and keep living the way you had but you just couldn’t do it anymore.

You were tired. This was hopeless. You both needed closure, but he wasn’t going to say anything which meant you had to.

“I’m stuck, Daniel. I’m stuck living in the moments between the day we met and the day I left because those are the moments that meant the most to me and I haven't been ready to let them go. I’ve never wanted to move on but you forced me to. You forced me to become the bad guy, to do this without you, to grow without you, to prove that I don’t need you but I do need you, I’ve always needed you. From day one, I needed you. My first time in the F1 car, I needed you. If I crashed out, I needed you. I always needed you, Daniel, and then after a five minute conversation you decided that I didn’t anymore. You made that decision for me, for us.”

You paused, you took a breath, you weren’t done. Despite being so painfully close to breaking down, you weren’t done.

“And now here I am, finally succeeding, finally making history in this sport, but it doesn’t mean anything because no one cares unless they find a way to connect it to you. I will always be in the shadow of the man I love and for this entire season, I’ve let it happen because it was the only way you’d still be in my life.”

Daniel cleared his throat when he heard that four letter word, standing up a little straighter, “You still love me?”

You glanced down at the duvet wrapped around your hips. It was heavy, suffocating, much like this conversation. “Truthfully, Daniel, I can’t imagine the day I stop.”

Daniel didn’t need to say anything for you to know he no longer felt the same. He had stopped loving you the day you signed the contract with McLaren. He may have been proud of your achievements, he may have appeared to have extended a short olive branch, one that gave you false hope, but he didn’t love you.

Because it always came back to that one question. How could he love you- how could he be in your corner when you had pushed him out of his own? You may not have been the one to initiate his leave, but you gave him that final shove.

That was a move you had to live with.

“I love you,” you repeated, your eyes then trailing towards your phone where that stupid article was still displayed on the screen. “I always will, but I can’t be tied to you anymore. I can’t do this anymore.”

Even though Daniel was the one that had broken up with you all those months ago, this hurt more. Hearing you finally cut ties, knowing you didn’t want to be done but had to be, broke him. There was no salvaging this.

“I think-” your voice cracked as you spoke, but for the sake of this conversation you did your damn best to hold it together. “I think we need to be done.”

We are done, Daniel wanted to say, but he knew there was more to your words.

Watching your bottom lip quiver made him want to pull you into his arms one last time. He wanted to apologise and hold you close before the tears could fall.

“No more comments to the media,” you stated firmly. Daniel nodded.

You were stronger than him, maybe you always were. Daniel could barely get a word out and here you were, laying down what had to happen moving forward.

“No more interactions,” you then said, raising your hand to your arm, a soothing gesture or maybe an anxious one, he couldn’t tell. “No more- no more following me out of clubs for people to see. No more giving anyone a reason to connect us. I don’t want you in my life as anything more than another driver on the grid. You’re not my teammate. You’re not my partner. You’re not in my corner. I don’t want to worry about what you think about me anymore. I don’t want to worry about where you finish and I don’t want you to care about where I’m at. I want you to focus on driving just like I want to focus on driving. That’s it. That’s who we are. We’re drivers, Daniel. That’s all we’ve ever been. Strip back every layer of us and racing remains. That’s how it should be. We’ve-” you sucked in a breath, your words getting caught in your throat for a second. “We’ve always known that, I think. That at the end of it all, we’re drivers first. We were foolish to think we could be anything more.”

You couldn’t have both. You couldn’t be in love while on the grid together.

You were only ever drivers. That’s why you signed the McLaren contract. That’s why Daniel didn’t think twice before replacing Nyck and now Checo. You both put your careers first. It wasn’t selfish, it was in your blood, and you couldn’t hold it against each other anymore.

And you couldn’t hold onto it either.

As much as you liked to think there would come a day where you would still be in love, both of you on the grid, you accepted now that it would never happen. It was a dream, one you had to let go of. You had to mend the hole in your chest that he created. You couldn’t let him be that missing piece.

You had to respect Daniel as a driver, much like he had to with you. But that was it. No more conversations. No more subtle comments made about each other or to each other. You needed distance. No more missed looks in the paddock, because surely someone with a camera would catch it. No more watching the screen if the other was showcased. No more petty feuds. No more interactions. No more caring.

You had to cut ties with Daniel. It was the only way you could focus on yourself and your career.

Surely, enough time would pass where an article would be written about you that didn’t mention his name and his assistance in getting you to where you were now. But that wouldn’t happen if you were still holding onto him. You had to let go for the rest of the world to.

Daniel pushed himself away from the wall without saying a word. You watched, tense, as he slowly made his way towards you and sat down next to you on the bed. Knees touching like they were in the car ride last night. As you turned your head and stared up at him, you could make out the details in his face that you used to cherish, that you had memorised so early on in your relationship.

But he had changed. There was a sliver of unfamiliarity in his eyes, a reminder that this wasn’t the Daniel who was in love with you anymore.

You had to look away.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” you whispered. You kept your hands folded in your lap, worried that if you unclenched your fingers you would reach out for him.

Daniel nodded, agreeing with you. He raised his arm up, tucking it over your shoulders and pulling you against his side. You inhaled a sharp breath at the gesture, knowing this would be the last time you’d feel his touch. He rubbed his hand over your arm, neither of you thinking to say anything else, because there really was nothing left to say.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You were supposed to be in love.

And maybe, in another world, you would be. If you didn’t make the move to F1, you could still be in love. If you settled with F2, if you moved to a different series, he could still support you and you could still be his biggest fan.

But you were drivers. Career focused, determined, passionate drivers who wanted nothing more than to win. You both craved the honour and prestige of a Formula 1 seat more than anything, more than each other. You’d be lying if you thought otherwise.

You were drivers, so inevitably, it was always going to end like this.

__________________

is this the finale or is there one more chapter for these loveless drivers?

taglist: @torossosebs@whatthefuckerr@jspitwall@oconso@tsarinablogs@landowecanbewc@somanyfandomsbruh@christianpulisic10@storminacloud@sunnytkm23@formula1mount@azxulaa@icarus-nex@spideyspeaches @moonvr @destourtereaux @baw-sixteen @cinderellawithashoe @love4lando @alesainz @blueanfield @itsmeempar @vellicora

for some reason im struggling to add anyone else to the taglist, i deeply apologise. i would recommend turning on post notifs but i know its sometimes annoying, but i rly am struggling with my mentions

#daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #danny ric #dr3 #f1 fics #formula 1 x you #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo au

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roosterforme · 8 months

Text

Adult Education Part 3 | Hangman x OC

Summary: Jake visits Jessica during her office hours again, and he's left wanting her even more than before. But when he hears that there may be more to her than meets the eye, he has to decide if his feelings are worth the potential risk.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing

Length: 3500 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female OC

This story is part of the Beer Boy and Sugar universe but can be read on its own! Adult Education masterlist

Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @mak-32

"What are you doing?"

Jake glanced up from the scientific journal which was open on the cafeteria table next to his tray of lunch.

"What does it look like I'm doing, Bradshaw? I'm reading."

"You're reading?"

"Yeah," Jake replied, smoothing out the glossy page as he rolled his eyes. "I know you were in a fraternity and all, but I still assumed you knew what reading was."

Bradley set his tray down on the opposite side of the table. "Joke's on you. I graduated with a 3.9 GPA."

Jake just snorted as he read the caption under the photo of an F/A-18 that had been taken on the deck of the USS Harry S. Truman. "And I had a perfect 4.0."

"Damn," Bradley remarked before biting into his sandwich.

"Yeah, I liked school," Jake muttered, turning the journal page. "I still like school."

"Is this because of my wife's coworker? Professor Reed?"

Jake met his eyes before looking back down at the notebook he'd been scribbling some questions in. It was only Wednesday. Jessica didn't have office hours until tomorrow. He was nearly finished reading the stack of journals she gave him from cover to cover, and he actually did have some questions for her. Real questions about what he read, not just whether or not he could get her phone number yet.

"Maybe," Jake replied cautiously. He had already looked up the cost of taking one of her night classes, but he wasn't about to admit to that. "I just like how smart she is. She wrote her thesis on military aircraft propulsion."

Bradley just laughed. "This has nothing to do with how she looks? Sugar told me she's hot."

Jake bristled a bit. "She is hot." He thought back to her mini lecture and how she seemed to be the only physics professor at the school who actually knew how to teach. Then he remembered how cute she was at Chippy's, talking about her subject of study with bright eyes and a smile.

"Yeah," Bradley said, breaking into his thoughts. "I know how you operate. Each one is hotter than the last."

Jake closed the journal and set the notebook on top of it. "Doesn't matter. She still didn't give me her number. Probably thinks I'm ridiculous." He excused himself with his tray and the journals.

And by Thursday evening, Jake thought he was pretty ridiculous, too. What was he doing here? He was really going back to her office hours with his notes on the articles like some pathetic puppy? Like he was actually a student with an assignment to turn in? But even though she didn't give him her number, she had invited him back when she wrote her office hours down.

When Jake started up his truck, he had every intention of turning right at the gatehouse and heading home. But he turned left toward the bay bridge instead.

--------------------------

"Dr. Reed. I need help. These problems are hard."

The actual audacity that these students had was just impressive. They came to her office hours and whined about how hard the coursework was. And they did it all the time.

"Physics is hard, Luca," Jessica replied, loosening her grip on her pencil so she didn't snap another one. "But it would be a lot easier if you attended all my lectures."

"Aww, come on, Dr. Reed," he moaned, sliding his notebook a little closer. "I had to go surfing on Tuesday. Hey, you should come next time. I'll give you lessons if you bump my grade up just a little bit."

"Luca."

"I was kidding," he mumbled, collecting his notebook and the packet of extra practice problems she had given him to work on. "See you next week."

"Bye, Luca," she replied, opening her office door for him. And then her heart started pounding as her eyes caught on the man who was leaning against the hallway wall opposite her door.

"Bye, Professor," Luca said before he set his skateboard down and pushed off with one foot. But Jessica was too distracted by Jake Seresin to remind Luca for the hundredth time that he wasn't allowed to skate in the academic buildings.

"Reedy," Jake said softly with a tentative smile. She was honestly shocked he was here on campus again. For the third time this week. Apparently he took her note about office hours seriously.

"Jake. I'm surprised to see you here."

He just shook his head slightly and said, "You really shouldn't be."

Her blood felt too hot in her veins as he pushed away from the wall. He was all chiseled jaw, green eyes and immaculate hair, and she was once again left wondering what the catch was. The khaki uniform was back, just like Monday night, and she wondered once again if he came here straight from work instead of stopping home.

"I'm here for your office hours," he added, taking a step closer to her. He was big and strong and a lot taller than her. And the way she just knew Jake would let her run her fingers along his pins just like she'd done with his patches was making her ears feel warm and fuzzy.

Well, this was embarrassing. She hadn't been gone for a guy this bad in over a year. Not since Brian Conley. But she couldn't even focus on anything else right now, because she was devoting all of her energy to trying to say something intelligent to Jake. Where were all of her quips and clever remarks? She must have left them at Chippy's on Monday night, because she hadn't heard from them since.

"Come on in," she told him, and she left the note on the small whiteboard in the hallway letting anyone else who might show up know that her office was occupied. "What can I do for you?"

She didn't mean for that sentence to sound so suggestive, but she noted the pink flush on Jake's cheeks as she closed her door and leaned back against it. He was close but not too close, and his eyes drifted down over her uninspired pantsuit in such an appreciative way that it made her feel like she was wearing a pretty cocktail dress. Or maybe even less than that.

"You could give me your phone number."

She smirked at his statement and at the soft Texas drawl. She went to A&M for four years. She could tell he was a homegrown Texas boy who had somehow ended up transplanted in southern California. Maybe a little out of his element, just like her. Maybe trying to forget and move on, just like her.

When her eyes drifted to what he was holding, she asked, "Did you read the article? In Propulsion Science?"

He glanced down at the stack of journals and the notebook in his big hand, and said, "I read them all. Cover to cover. I have some notes and a few questions."

When he glanced back up and met her eyes, she cocked her head to one side. "Seriously? You read all of them?"

"Yes," he replied immediately.

She walked past him, letting her fingers brush the back of his hand longingly. When she took her seat, he was leaning on the opposite side of her desk with both hands and looking down at her. He already asked for her phone number. Twice. It was a bold move, playing hard to get with a man as handsome as Jake. But the steady rise and fall of his chest and his softly parted lips while he gave her his full attention was addicting.

"Take a seat," she said softly. "Show me what you have."

He groaned quietly and pulled the other chair a bit closer, and Jessica soon found herself a little warm again. While he wasn't a PhD candidate, his notes on the journal articles were thoughtful and his questions were insightful.

"This journal of physical chemistry had the most interesting article on engine mechanics, but I must admit, I was a bit lost when they talked about the implementation of fuel combustion calculations," he said, holding out his notebook for her to take. "What's your opinion, Dr. Jessica?"

This was clearly a man who gave great consideration to his aircraft and what he did all day at work. And that was hot. He was smart, and he thought she was smart. And he wasn't afraid to acknowledge either of those things.

When she slowly stood, she could practically feel his eyes on her body. "It's my opinion that you should read this accompanying article." She turned toward her bookshelf and couldn't help but glance back at him over her shoulder. His gaze met hers right away, and she stumbled a bit in her high heels. She had to steady herself before she reached up to the top shelf on her tiptoes.

"Allow me," Jake said, and the soft scrape of his chair on the floor was followed by his warm body just inches behind hers. "Which one is it?"

She thought about sliding out of his way. She considered that he'd have an easier time reaching the correct journal if she wasn't also standing in front of the shelf, but she didn't move an inch. "One with a blue spine," she whispered as he reached up past her head and ran his fingers along the journals.

"One of these ones?" he asked, moving his fingers very slowly along the spines from left to right.

"Mmhmm," she hummed as his chest pressed against the back of her shoulder. He grabbed several journals with blue spines and gently took them down from the shelf and placed them in her hands. His voice was right there next to her ear.

"There you go, Reedy."

His big hand brushed her waist before he stepped away from her, and she turned to face him, ready to throw the journals across the room in favor of pulling him closer again. "But they're for you," she said, sounding a little bit out of breath.

Jake was rubbing the back of his neck now, cheeks flushed as he reached out to take them back. "Right." His voice was rough, and Jessica plopped back down into her seat with very little grace.

She cleared her throat twice before saying, "The one on the top of the stack has a great accompanying article that you should read. And if you really want to know about the calculations, I can show you sometime."

"I'll read all of them," he replied, eyes soft on her face as she awkwardly adjusted her glasses with the backs of her fingers.

"I do appreciate a man who reads in his spare time," she whispered. It looked like Jake was ready to jump out of the chair again, and she kind of wished he would. Because she was currently thinking about crawling across the desk and onto his lap, and letting herself touch all of his pins while she tasted his lips.

She jumped in her chair when there was a sharp knock on the door, and suddenly Jake looked even more flustered. "Come in!" she called out, but she couldn't seem to take her eyes off Jake.

"Dr. Reed,'' came a gratingly annoying voice from her doorway. It was Dr. Leeland, and he was looking between Jessica and Jake like something deviously untoward was going on in here. But that's what everything thought about her, she supposed.

"Dr. Leeland, how can I help?" she asked, smiling apologetically at Jake who was now rising out of his seat. Leeland was looking at him like he was trying to place who he was, and Jessica had to hide her smile. She kind of hoped he didn't recognize the man who called him out on his incorrect math during the mini lecture.

"Need help with my printer," he growled, and Jessica was on her feet now, walking around her desk.

"Sure," she replied as smoothly as she could with Jake standing right next to her. "I'll be right there."

She watched Leeland shuffle back out into the hallway before she looked up at Jake. "Damn," he whispered. "I thought maybe I'd be able to talk you into another three dollar beer and some peanuts."

She bit her lip and said, "He'll have me in there for at least an hour helping him, guaranteed. So maybe another time?"

"I'll be thinking about it all weekend, Jessica."

Then she reached up and ran her index finger along his name tag, tracing S E R E S I N before tapping his lieutenant insignia gently. And he just let her do it with the softest look in his eyes.

"Yeah. Me too."

---------------------------

On Saturday night at the Hard Deck, Jake was happy to see that Bradshaw and his wife were both there. He knew what kind of beer she liked, so he flagged down Penny at the bar and ordered one along with his own glass of bourbon. Then he sipped his drink as he walked over to her.

Jake smirked, because she never looked quite happy to see him, but she did accept the beer when he handed it to her. "Thanks," she told him, "but you're not usually this nice to me. What's up?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I'm.... nice."

She chuckled as Rooster walked back over to her after Nat kicked his ass at pool. "You're alright, Jake, but I'm not stupid. I know what you want."

"Sugar," Rooster whined. "You got another beer but didn't grab me one, too?"

"Jake got it for me," she said, pulling the bottle further away when he reached for it. "It's a bribe, but I want to hear him admit it."

She looked at Jake again with a knowing smile, and when she pressed the bottle to her lips, he said, "Fine. It's a bribe. I want you to tell me everything you know about Jessica Reed."

Bradley rolled his eyes and kissed her cheek. "I'll be with Nat."

"So?" Jake said when they were alone again. "Will you tell me? Because that woman is driving me insane, and she won't even give me her phone number."

"Yikes. You can usually seal the deal right away," she said, glancing around the always crowded bar. "I can count like four women here who you've hooked up with."

Jake sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before he downed the rest of his bourbon. "Please?" he asked calmly.

She was quiet as she sipped her beer. "I actually don't know her very well," she said a little cautiously. "I eat lunch with her occasionally, because everyone else seems to avoid her. Especially everyone who works in the science departments."

This was puzzling to Jake. Jessica was the most interesting woman he'd met in a long time. She was even nice to Dr. Leeland when he asked her for help. He honestly couldn't imagine anyone wanting to avoid her on purpose. "You sure she's not just a bit of a loner by nature or something?"

But she just shrugged. "Come on, Sugar," Jake begged, using the name Rooster called her. "Be sweet, and just tell me what her deal is."

She laughed and said, "I like her just fine. I have no problem with her. But whether or not there is any truth behind them, Jessica is the subject of a lot of rumors."

"Rumors?" Jake's mind was immediately swirling. Jessica with her glasses and her high heels and nerdy journals and soft smiles. "What do you mean?"

"I try not to get involved, so I don't know too much. But something definitely went down between her and the head of the chemistry department. And I heard one of the other physics professors call her a slut behind her back."

Jake's grip tightened so hard and so fast on his empty glass, he was convinced he was going to break it. "She's fucking sweet," he growled. "And a damn better teacher than anyone else in her department. And nobody should be calling anyone a slut in a professional setting."

"I don't disagree with you," she said quickly. gently touching his hand. "But you asked. So I told you."

Jake nodded and said, "You're right. I asked. Thank you."

"Sure, Jake," she said softly, turning toward her husband. "And thanks for the beer."

He watched her walk into Rooster's welcome arms. He held her with a laugh while he juggled a pool cue, and Jake felt a pang of jealousy. He never used to mind being the one who was always single, but even he could admit that it would be nice to be around someone who was smart and funny and kind. And have them want to be around you.

By late Sunday morning, Jake decided he didn't actually care about any rumors where Jessica was concerned. He liked her. He could tell she liked him. He kept replaying the way her face looked as she traced his patches and pins with her gentle fingers.

He couldn't tell if she was playing coy or toying with him, but he would stand there all day long in her office and let her do anything she wanted to him as long as she was looking up at him with that outwardly needy expression. And he wanted to touch her back, run his hands along her hips and pull her close, but he still didn't even have her number.

But he did still have her San Diego State faculty profile open in his phone browser, and his thumb was hovering over her email address.

----------------------------

Jessica knew Monday morning was going to be a struggle. They always were. After a weekend of going out with friends and taking a luxurious Sunday afternoon nap, facing Brian for the weekly faculty meeting was going to be hell. But she got dressed, fixed her hair and put her glasses on. She made sure she was on time. She made sure there was nothing for anyone to complain about when it came to her.

And just like always, she was sitting off toward the back of the small auditorium alone, sipping some coffee and counting down the minutes until the clock hit 9:00 and she could go up to her office.

"Now, for those of you who are not on a tenure track yet," Brain Conley said, turning to glance at her, "make sure you pay close attention."

He was such an ass. Just such a handsome looking fucking asshole. Everyone knew that Dr. Nguyen and Jessica were the only two that statement applied to, and this was his first year out of grad school. He was like twenty four. But Jessica looked down the row of seats and smiled at Dr. Nguyen who smiled back while he blushed. And then she listened to Brian drone on and on about excellence in education and involvement on campus.

By the time she made it up to her office, her coffee had soured in her stomach, and she felt like crying. But she had an hour to pull herself together before she had to teach Physics 103 to a bunch of lazy sophomores. While her computer started up, she opened the newest journal that had been delivered to her mailbox on campus and smiled. Maybe there was something in here that Jake would be interested in. Not that she really expected him to keep stopping by. He would lose interest.

She skimmed the journal index, checking out the article topics as she logged into her school email account. And the newest email right up at the top was from jake.seresin. She pushed the journal aside and squealed as she opened it up, shocked that he had found a way to contact her again.

Dear Dr. Reed,

Thank you again for your excellent journal suggestions. I've read them all cover to cover, and I'm a little nervous to tell you that I think I've become a bit addicted to the subject matter. I find it fascinating to learn more about military aircrafts in general, but visiting your office hours has really piqued my interest in many other things as well.

I hope you don't mind that I plan on returning on Tuesday night. This time I'd like to try my hand at solving some of the physics equations with you. I'll bring a sharp pencil, but I'll probably skip the skateboard. You didn't seem too keen on that one, and I just find myself wanting you to be impressed by me.

Also, Jessica, this would be a lot easier over text, but I'll play along. For now. Looking forward to your office hours (and hopefully you are, too?).

Jake

P.S.- You should have seen how long it took me to actually type up this email. Your SDSU faculty photo has been continually distracting me for days, and I think I looked at it so long that my email timed out.

She screamed in delight. Jessica clapped her hands over her mouth, pushing her chair back from her desk, kicking her feet. She stared at the screen for a few seconds before she decided how she wanted to respond, and then she just went for it.

----------------------------

Dr. Jessica, we would all be kicking out feet, too! More than meets the eye with Jessica... Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 4

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maxverstappendefender · 3 months

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Hi I was wondering if u can make an imagine with max verstappen where the reader is an athlete also (tennis player please 😮‍💨😮‍💨😭😭🥹🥹) and she is also from Netherlands

her and max were like in the same school or neighbors or even Victoria’s friend and her and max used to be dating since they were young teenagers but they broke up because of their careers (more like she broke up with him lol🤭) and they meet again at a gala or a wedding when they are at the top of their game her being world no.1 and many grand slams winner and him being world champion and then they have a confrontation with a lot of angst and yelling and max being heartbroken 💔💔🤌🏻🤌🏻

other part to this request: "Also about the max and athlete reader like if u can make it inspired by “call out my name” by The Weeknd 🥲"

a/n: this is such a good idea, i love some good angst. i made it a smau and also written parts (more towards the hend). i don't know much about tennis but i tried. the google translate dutch is probably bad but that's fine. hopefully i did your idea justice <3

warnings: profanity (?), alcohol

my masterlist !

The Dutch Athletes

yourusername posted on instagram!

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, and 933,481 others

yourusername and that's a wrap on the lovely game of tennis, back to training for next season :)

view all 91,029 comments

user PROUD TO BE DUTCH BC OF THIS LADY AND THIS LADY ONLY

liked by yourusername

landonorris you're serving! (do you get it? im so funny)

-> yourusername ty lan (the tennis jokes are never funny)

-> landonorris not even a pity laugh.

user i see a certain someone hiding in the likes

-> user 🤺🤺🤺 be gone sir

victoriaverstappen cannot wait to see you next week!

-> yourusername i miss my favourite dutch person

-> user max is punching the wall rn

user wait, im new. why is everyone hating on max verstappen here?

-> user y/n dated him a while back but they ended it in 2021 for reasons no one knows. lots of speculation but they never confirmed or denied anything. he still has loads of pictures of them on his insta but she deleted hers, probs wasn't a mutual breakup in that case. she's still good friends with lando, charles, and max's sister!

-> user he probably cheated or something

-> user they both seem happy so we shouldn't make assumptions :)

liked by yourusername

liked by f1fan1, vstppn, y/nflowers, and 14,912 others

y/nmaxupdates still no new content of our favs together so we are doing a little throwback thursday to one of y/n's posts from 2015 (she has removed the post).

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yourusername posted a story!

yourusername posted on instagram!

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, and 791,492 others

yourusername vegas baby! vv thankful lando is okay. congrats on the podium charlie!

view all 83,001 comments

charles_leclerc You say congrats but you wear a McLaren hat

-> yourusername only because lando invited me, not you!

user max being cropped out has me CACKLING

user we were so so close to some y/nmax snippet by her posting him but she fucking cropped him out

landonorris i'm so mad i crashed, my helmet was so sick for this race. do you think i can wear it to the clubs tonight?

-> yourusername lando istg if you wear your damn helmet anywhere tonight. you are supposed to be staying at the hotel with me anyways?

-> landonorris i don't see a doctor that will stop me from leaving. but my helmet looked sick right?

-> yourusername eh

landonorris we literally spent like 3 days together before the race and you still chose that ugly picture

danielricciardo VEGAS BABYYY. tonight we party.

liked by yourusername

yourusername posted on instagram!

liked by landonorris, maxverstapen1, and 701,831 others

yourusername 'VEGAS BABYYY. tonight we party.' ~daniel ricciardo (and don't worry, i didn't let lando leave the hotel looking like that)

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it had been a wonderful night so far. lando couldn't drink due to the drugs the doctors gave him so you didn't drink either out of solidarity. lando had gone off to do lando things, probably finding a way to the dj booth or socializing with whoever he can. you were just sat at this couch in the vip area. you were talking to charles for a while before he went off to do celebratory shots. you were so tired from the timezone difference, vegas compared to the netherlands was messing with your system. you had your head leaned back against the couch, your eyes were just looking at some of the drivers having a lot of fun and celebrating in one of the best party cities in the world.

you felt someone sit down next to you on the couch. you didn't know who it was at first but you quickly smelt the cologne and knew. max. you two hadn't really spoken since 2021, when you ended it. it wasn't the prettiest of breakups but we were both stupid kids and in love back then. you both should've known it wouldn't work out. you tried, though. you tried with every single thing you had in you but at the end of the day, fate would always be stronger.

"hey, y/n. haven't seen you in awhile," max finally said, breaking the silence. he sort of had seen you though, on instagram. had he missed you? every fucking day. you broke up with him though, and you seemed happier. if you were happy, he would accept that.

"sure," was all you said. that was your telltale sign that you did not want to talk. but let's be honest, max verstappen not having a conversation when he wants to sounded impossible. he wanted to fix things, he wanted to fix it all. why wouldn't you let him? "any chance we can talk?" he asked you. he wouldn't really take no for an answer. he would just talk to you while you listened, but even that would be stretching it.

you stood up from the couch, careful to not look at him. if you looked at him, you would be a goner and would do just about anything he asked you to. you were a strong person except when it came to max. "see you around," you muttered to him before leaving the vip area. you would infact not be seeing him around, not if you can avoid it. maybe not drinking was a bad idea. you had spotted lando who was busy chatting away to someone. "fuck," you whispered under your breath, realizing that the person who you had to make sure got home safely was still having a good night. you wouldn't want to cut his night short, especially when his night started bad with the race.

you felt some hands wrap around your waist and before you could protest, these hands were pushing you out this door to the club's back alley. you knew those hands though. you knew them all too well. "max, what the hell?!" you shouted at him as you felt the cool night air hit your face. it felt better than how being inside that club felt.

he knew this was probably too far. but when has 'too far' ever stopped him. he was so done with this all. 2 years of not having more than 10 words shared between you two. you two used to talk every single day, where did it all go wrong? he knew this one was his fault. he was the one who had lost you, all for racing. he gave up you for racing. he was a royal idiot for that. "i am so done with you not even talking to me!" he shouted to you. he was thanking god that you two were in an alley and not somewhere public for this.

"i don't want to talk to you," you said to him. not many people held their ground against max, but you always did. you never wanted to talk to him again, not since your breakup. you were happy and had a great life, you didn't need the mess that was max verstappen. "you never do!" he said back. that was true and you both knew it.

"you're right! i never do! because you fucked up," you shouted to him, putting your finger straight to his chest. the breakup was infact not mutual like the media made it seem. you two broke up because you were trying to support him in racing while still building a life in tennis for yourself. you could see the stress eating away at max that year and he still wouldn't let you help. even if it was help from afar. you tried to be there. he didn't even try to be there for you and your goals either.

"i know i did. believe me, i know i fucked it up," he said to you. there had been quite a few sleepless nights where his brain just wouldn't turn off. he had only been thinking about you. tonight was just his breaking point. he was done acting like he hadn't been thinking about you.

there was a moment of silence as we just looked at eachother. we had grown up a lot since we last got close like this. "so then why? just why?" you pleaded to him to just give him a real answer. 2021 had been a hard year for him and you knew that. but you were his girlfriend. you were meant to be there and help him but he wouldn't let you. he pushed you away at any chance he got. then you were alone. it was an endless cycle of you trying to help max with his stress, him pushing you away, and then you also getting lost to your own stress.

he put his hands on either side of your face. he knew he couldn't give you the answer he had given you when you asked this question 2 years ago. he couldn't say "just a tough year" because although that was a part of it, it wasn't the entire truth. and you deserved the truth. "i pushed you away before you could push me away," he said to you as he looked into your eyes. he felt like an idiot for saying that but it was the whole truth.

you gave him a slightly confused look. that had been a different answer than what you got 2 years ago. how could he even think you would push him away? you loved him so much and you had for years. you would have clung to him, even in death. "if i wouldn't have won in 2021, there was that thought that you would be gone," he admitted.

"i wouldn't have left. i wouldn't have ever done that," you quickly said. you had to say that really quickly before he spoke again. clearly your words took him aback a little. he really felt stupid for ever thinking that you would leave, let alone leave simply because he won a championship. mentally, you said 'fuck it', and just kissed him. you pulled away for a second to whisper, "je bent een idioot, max verstappen (you are an idiot, max verstappen)". then you kissed him again.

he smiled in the kiss, his hands in your hair and yours in his. your words were true, he was an idiot. he would probably have to kiss you a million times to make up for him pushing you away. and that was a price he was willing to pay. he felt you pull away and as desperately as he wanted to pull you back into him, he knew you had some more words to say.

you pulled away. "but you left. you left when it got hard and i will never put myself in that position ever again," you said to him. your lips stung with how much desire you had for max. but you had to make smart decisions, you could not get hurt again. and deep down, you knew he would leave if it got hard again. him leaving again would hurt too much. you had a good life now, he had a good life now.

he felt his heart shatter at your words. but he knew you were right that he had left when it got hard. he had taken the coward's way out. he wanted you to be happy and you seemed so happy with your life now. he couldn't take that from you. he nodded his pain away and spoke softly to you, "i hope you have nothing but happiness in life". then he walked away. he walked away but this time for your sake. he knew you wouldn't walk away from him so he walked away from you. he really did hope you had nothing but happiness in life. he could hear all about your happiness from the bits that victoria shared with him.

liked by y/nlover, heartsfory/n, mvfan, and 19,254 others

y/nmaxupdates NEW CONTENT!! I REPEAT NEW CONTENT OF MAX AND Y/N!! that kiss?? oh we are SO back.

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#f1 #f1 x you #f1 x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen smau #formula 1 #f1 blurb #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 smau #f1 smau

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scoonsalicious · 11 days

Text

6.2 Lily

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, toxic plants being manipulative and toxic.

Word Count: Bucky done fucked up.

Previously On...: 2.5k

A/N: Please note: I will be taking a one week break from posting starting on Thursday, May 16th, to focus on writing. I will resume posting on Thursday, May 23rd.

If you ever feel so inclined to support my work, hop on over to buy me a coffee; it's much appreciated! <3

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

He was on his way!

After disconnecting from her call with Bucky, Lily bent down to her front driver’s side tire and, using her car key, pried out the nail she’d run over to ensure it would go flat while she ran the trail. Walking to the edge of the parking lot, she hurled the nail into the woods, getting rid of any evidence that she’d manufactured the current predicament she “accidentally” found herself in.

It didn’t matter if Bucky hadn’t come home from his date last night. Hadn’t told her that he’d even been on a date to begin with. What mattered was that, when Lily had called, Bucky had left the bitch behind and had come running. To her.

And that meant something.

Right?

Bucky could go out with some slut if he wanted to, but when Lily had needed him, Bucky had dropped everything to be there for her, and that knowledge made Lily’s insides glow with warmth. She was still his number one girl; she shouldn’t have let herself get worked up over one date that probably didn’t mean anything. Bucky had dated before, and Lily had made sure none of them stuck around for very long. This time wouldn’t be any different.

So, Lily waited. She checked her email, she played some games on her phone, she listened to a podcast. Finally, a little over an hour after she’d hung up with Bucky, she saw one of Tony’s sportscars speed into the parking lot and make its way to the trailhead.

Her heart sank at the thought of Bucky sending Tony Stark to help her in his stead, so it was quite a shock to her system when the car pulled up next to hers, turned its engine off, and Bucky himself stepped out. He wasn’t wearing his usual tshirt and jeans, no– he was wearing a rumpled burgundy button-up, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and the first couple of buttons left undone at his neck, and a pair of fitted, black trousers.

Lily swallowed. His hair was a mess, but she could imagine how put together he must have looked the night before, and that made her stomach twist. He’d made an effort. He’d made a real, genuine effort to dress up for this date that he lied to her about.

“Hey, Lil,” he said, once she got out of her car to meet him. He smiled, but she’d known him long enough to be able to tell when his smiles weren’t genuine, and this one didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey, Jamie,” she said, offering him a fake smile of her own to hide her distress. “Thank you so much for coming out. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I’m sure Steve or Sam or anyone from the Compound would have been more than willing to help you out, Lil,” Bucky said as he walked to the back of her car. “Could you pop the trunk for me so I can get your jack and the spare?”

Lily bent her head back inside to unlock the trunk, rolling her eyes as she did so. If she’d wanted someone else to change her tire, she’d have just done it herself. Or, you know, not popped her own tire to begin with. But that was beside the point.

She walked around to the back of the car so she could help Bucky move things around in her trunk to get to her spare. “You’re dressed awfully fancy for a Sunday morning,” she said, watching him out of the side of her eye. “You find God and suddenly decide to start going to church?”

Bucky chuckled. “Something like that,” he said. Lily stole a glance in his direction and caught him smiling softly to himself as he pulled her spare out from the trunk with his vibranium hand. Taking her car jack in the other, he moved around to the driver’s side and began loosening the lug nuts with his left hand. Lily shivered when she considered how strong he was, how much power that one hand contained.

Once all the nuts were loosened, he slid the jack under the frame of the car and began raising it. He was annoyingly efficient at this, Lily thought, and she realized her window of time with him wasn’t as big as she had originally anticipated.

“So, where were you when I called this morning, really?” she asked, leaning up against the side of Tony’s car as she watched him work. She just wanted him to be honest with her. She didn’t think she could take it if he continued to lie.

Bucky stilled in his motions. “I… I, uh, had a date,” he said after a moment.

Lily paused, playing confused. “A date on a Sunday morning?” she asked him. “That’s a really weird—oh.” Bucky left the car suspended on the jack and turned to face her, hands shoved into his pockets, and the guilt in his eyes nearly palpable.

Good, Lily thought. Let him be guilty, now that he realizes I know he lied to me. “I didn’t realize you were seeing anyone, Jamie,” she said, voice deliberately meek and soft. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Bucky sighed and leaned back against her car. “It’s new,” he said. “Like, really new.”

Good, she thought. This hasn’t been going on for a long time. There was still a good chance she could nip it in the bud before it grew into a real problem. “So, when you said you were out with Sam last night…” She left it hanging in the air. Let him be the one to say the word.

“I lied to you,” he said with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Why, Jamie?” she asked him. “I didn’t think we lied to one another.” She thought about the hole she’d punched in her own tire. Well, she didn’t think he lied to her.

“We don’t, Lil,” he said. “I just… It seems like whenever I start seeing someone new, you just…” he paused to consider his words, and Lily started to get nervous. Did he know… did he suspect the things she’d done in the past to keep other girls away from him? He couldn’t. She’d been so careful… “You just form a lot of opinions on them, really quickly,” he said, and she released a breath. He didn’t know anything. She was safe. “I wanted to get to know this girl on my own, without any outside influences, before I decided to find out what everyone else thought about her.”

“I only tell you what I think because I care about you, Jamie,” Lily protested in her gentlest voice. She was going to have to walk a very delicate line here, between stressing her point and sounding sympathetic. “I’m just trying to look out for you, that’s all.”

“I know,” he said with a sigh. “I know you are, and I do appreciate it, but… I want to be able to figure out how I feel about this one before I start soliciting opinions about her from everyone else. Does that make sense?”

It did. Fuck, it did. Usually, Bucky was so eager to talk about the new girls he was dating, to introduce him to his best friends and find out what they thought about her, to get their opinions. If he was reticent this time, it could only mean one, horrible thing:

“You really like this girl, don’t you, Jamie?” Lily asked, trying so hard to keep her voice light, when inside, she felt like she was dying.

Bucky looked up at her. “Yeah, Lil,” he said, his dazzling white smile beaming at her and making her heart stop. “I really do.”

“That’s great,” Lily choked out. She turned back to the trunk of her car, pretending to busy herself with its contents so she didn’t have to look at him. “That’s really great.”

She heard Bucky move around and start working on the tire again. “Not really,” he said, his voice sounding dejected. Lily moved her head around from the back of the trunk to look at him.

“What do you mean?” she asked, a spark of hope coming to life in her chest.

Bucky let out a long sigh. “I think I might have blown it with her,” he said as he worked to take the flat tire off of her car.

“Oh no,” Lily said, trying to keep the smile out of her voice. Maybe she wouldn’t have to do anything, afterall. Maybe Bucky had managed to fuck it up on his own. “What happened?”

Bucky was silent for a moment as he replaced the tire with ease. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” he said eventually. “Let’s just say that we left things very… ambiguously. I asked her if I could call her later, she didn’t really give me an answer either way. Just kind of shrugged. If she wanted me to call her, she would have just said so, right?”

Lily felt her stomach do a happy flip, but she put on a fake pout. “Oh, Jamie,” she said, fake sympathy oozing over her words, “please don’t tell me she’s playing mind games like that with you already! If a girl wants you to call her, she’ll tell you to call her, not play hard to get.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Bucky said defensively as he began re-tightening the lugnuts on the tire. “I just… I did something she didn’t like, is all. And she’s probably rightly pissed about it.”

Lily walked around the car to stand next to him as he finished up. “I don’t think I like this, Jamie,” she said cautiously. “You’ve barely started dating this girl, and already she thinks she can dictate your actions? That doesn’t seem healthy to me, at all.”

Bucky stood, running a hand across his face. “Nah, Lil– you’re… you’re getting it twisted. I made a mistake. I know I did, and she’s got every right to be mad at me about it. I need to talk to her, to sort it out.” Lily was losing ground; thankfully, she’d come prepared.

“Listen, Jamie,” she said, abruptly changing the topic in the hopes of getting his mind off this mysterious skank, “I was planning on having lunch up here today, since it’s so gorgeous out. I probably overdid it when I packed my food. Do you want to join me?”

Bucky heaved a sigh and looked like he was about to decline.

“Consider it my way of saying ‘thank you’ for you coming all the way out here to rescue me,” she added, knowing that she was laying it on thick, but not wanting him to walk away. “Come on, we’ll make a picnic of it. It’ll be fun!”

“Yeah, alright,” Bucky said, letting a smile cross his face. “I could eat.”

Bucky Barnes always did have a soft spot for a damsel in distress. With a grin, Lily opened the backseat of her car and pulled out the cooler she’d preemptively packed in the hope that just such an opportunity would arise. Lily was nothing if not prepared.

Bucky reached for it. “Here, let me,” he said, taking it from her. Lily smiled to herself as she reached back into the car to pull out the picnic blanket she’d packed.

“Such a gentleman,” she said as she closed the car door and led Bucky down one of the trails. It was a gorgeous late-summer day, and Lily could almost convince herself they were on a real date together. Almost. God, what she wouldn’t give for this to be the real thing.

After they’d walked for about fifteen minutes, Lily veered left off of the trail and into the woods. “You bringing me back here to kill me?” Bucky asked in a playful tone as he followed her with the cooler.

“Yup,” Lily teased right back. “I definitely have faith in my ability to take out a super soldier on my own.” Her heart swelled when she was rewarded with an amused chuckle from Bucky.

Soon, they reached her destination: a cozy clearing that sat along the bank of a creek that ran through the park, with a small waterfall that fed a crystal clear pool below.

“This is nice,” Bucky said, coming up behind Lily as she fanned out the blanket. “How’d you find this spot?”

Lily sat down and reached to take the cooler from Bucky, beckoning him to join her. “I was scouting some potential off-trail runs for the recruits and just kind of stumbled upon it,” she told him. She opened up the cooler and began taking out the food she’d brought– all of Bucky’s favorites.

Bucky nodded, then looked at the spread with wide eyes. “You packed all of this for yourself, Lil?”

Lily felt a slight blush creep up her cheeks– she had not, in fact, packed it all for herself, but specifically in the hope that he would end up joining her, though he could never know that. “I guess I just overestimated how hungry I’d be after my run,” she told him as she handed him a bottle of water. “Thanks for joining me so that all this food doesn’t go to waste.”

“No problem,” he said as he began to tear into the food she’d brought. “Thanks for getting a flat tire, I guess,” he added with a laugh.

They ate amicably, making small talk about their upcoming plans for the week, and how Lily’s latest batch of recruits looked. Lily was itching to ask Bucky more about his mystery date, to find out who she was, if she was someone Lily knew; but she didn’t want to bring it up– the less Bucky talked about her, the more likely he was to just forget about her all together, right? Especially if he’d done something to piss her off. Better to keep him distracted so that the window of opportunity for any reconciliation closed without him noticing it.

Soon, the food was gone, the sun high in the sky. Lily and Bucky both lay back on the picnic blanket, staring lazily up into the blue sky. “We should do something today,” Lily suggested, trying not to sound too eager.

Bucky chuckled. “Aren’t we doing something now, Lil?” he asked.

She playfully shoved his shoulder. “Later, I mean. Like, we’re having a good time; we should continue it. Go somewhere nice for dinner, do something after, like go to a club or see a show or something. Make a whole ‘friend-date’ night out of it!” Anything, she thought to herself. I’ll do anything, as long as I’m doing it with you. And who knew what could happen in the right romantic setting?

“Yeah, that sounds like it could be fun,” Bucky mused. “Sure.”

“Really?” Lily couldn’t believe her luck. “Leave all the planning to me, then!” She’d make sure she got a table at the most romantic restaurant she could find, and get them tickets to something steamy that would put Bucky in the right mood… She knew just what dress to wear, to show just enough skin to be tantalizing…

Yes, tonight, things were going to change. Lily could feel it.

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

137 notes · View notes

highvern · 6 months

Text

Teach Me III

gold star

Pairing: Lee Dokyeom (Seokmin) x fem!reader

Genre: smut, humor, college au, frat!svt

Warnings: cream pie, unprotected sex, cowgirl, squirting, inexperience!dk, experienced!reader, mentions of drug use (weed) and alcohol , oral (f. receiving), cum swallowing, spitting, fingering, making out, strength kink bc he's hot, minor overstim at the end but he's just enthusiastic, fwb, DK is a munch pt 2

Length: ~4.1k

Note: finally done! I’ve been working so much and this has been like the boogie man lmao part 4 is outlined so it'll probably be another week or two? lemme know what y'all think!!

read more here

[Thursday 10:26AM]

Lee Sock-mint: Did you get your exam back yet 👀👀👀

You: yep

You: you?

Lee Sock-mint: Yep

You: what’d you get

Lee Sock-mint: What’d YOU get

You: i asked first

Lee Sock-mint: Well I asked second

Lee Sock-mint: I got an A tho

You: HOLY SHIT

You: twinsies ♥️

Lee Sock-mint: HELL YEAHHHHHH 🔥🔥🔥🔥

That Night Approx. 8:27PM, Dokyeom’s bedroom

“Ohhh—-just like that!”

Obscene echoes of your sopping pussy fill the room as Dokyeom stuffs you with two long fingers, curling them upward searching for the spot he found a few days ago that had you crying. Bent between your spread legs, he’s praying at the altar of your body; tongue tracing along the inside of your thigh where it lays over his shoulder, biting a bruise into the delicate flesh. The hand not gloved in your cunt squeezes the plush flesh of your opposite leg, using the leverage to spread you out. A choked moan from your body bends your back as you attempt to suffocate him in your thighs.

In the few weeks you’ve been hooking up, Dokyeom has proven to be nothing less than a model student.

Even your first “tutoring session” had been incredibly fruitful. After you sucked out his soul through his dick, he spent an hour learning the ins and outs of your pussy.

The next few times Dokyeom begged you to show him exactly what you liked; quickly acclimating to him staring at your folds while you touched yourself, making yourself come before giving him time to mimic and perfect his technique. Once he gained enough confidence to start experimenting on his own, his progress soared beyond your expectations.

Despite earning the right to brag, he didn’t; still sheepish around the entire arrangement. But even with his shy demeanor, you knew he was incredibly happy with himself due to the one piece of evidence he allowed to exist. On his phone, hidden in a secret locked notes app, Dokyeom recorded his best times like a leader board.

From fingers: 10.33

From mouth: 7.57

From DK Jr. : 15.23 missionary, 11.57 doggy, 9.48 on top

The first time he showed you, you almost smothered him with his own pillow. The fact he was timing your hookups striking a cord in your gut that you couldn’t name; along with the knowledge that he refers to his dick as DK Jr.. But he managed to sooth your irritation with sheepish smiles and flattering praises.

Since then you’ve begun to find it endearing, especially when he shows you the other note that has all the things he wants to try with you. Positions, places, activities; tiny check markets dotting across the list they’re knocked out one by one. Your favorite so far was his desire to fuck you with other people nearby; fulfilled by Dokyeom pulling you into a cramped bathroom at another on one of his frat parties, flipping up your skirt and pushing aside your panties as he bent you over the sink to stretch you full of his cock. It was a testament of your will power to be quiet enough that no one from the party heard how good he gave it to you; aided by the same fingers currently in your cunt being shoved in your mouth to quiet your moans.

But tonight you’re pulling from your own perverted bucket list. As his reward for doing so well on the exam, you’re planning to let him fuck you raw; the vision of him spilling inside your cunt making you vibrate with excitement.

Nothing like a little positive reinforcement for the both of you.

“Taste so good,” he mumbles against your folds, entranced by how you squeeze around his fingers.

Dokyeom doesn’t know what you have planned yet, simply agreeing to your request for a post-study session hookup; but, imagining the look on his face after he finds out makes you gush against his tongue.

“Need more,” you whine, nails raking against his scalp as your hips roll against his mouth.

His fingers pick up their tempo as his mouth latches to your nub. Unlike the first time, he gently sucks it between his lips, focusing on allowing the tip of his tongue to coax against the bundle nerves.

“Don’t stop,” you sob, flailing on the mattress. “please! Gonna cum—“

Eyes crossing at the scorching slide of Dokyeom’s tongue against your clit, his hand pushes deeper before spreading his fingers apart. He finally catches the spongy patch of flash he’s been searching for, curling the tips of his middle finger against it rapidly.

“Fuck— I’m gonna, I–” you choke words catching in your throat as you snap.

Dokyeom doesn’t stop, doesn’t alter a thing except for opening his eyes to watch you come alive above him. His absolute favorite part of your frequent hookups is watching you; the way can’t hide how much you like this; how much you like him doing this.

Head dipped forward to your chest, eyes sealed shut, brow pinched tight, nose wrinkled, and jaw dropped in a long ‘O’ as you sing your pleasure. It’s permanently etched into the back of his eyelids since the first time he witnessed it but he never tires of watching it happen in real time. On the rare occasion he’s alone and you’re busy, it’s all he needs to think about to get himself off with record speed.

Dokyeom really really really loves making you come.

And after the semester you’ve had, he revels in the fact he can take your mind off everything; if only for a little while. You work harder than anyone he knows, balancing academics, extracurriculars, a social life, and a million other things. The admiration he feels deep in his chest, suspiciously close to his heart, drives him to pamper you.

And tonight, courtesy of your high marks, he plans to have you come till tears run down your face.

When your tremors subside, he licks a fat strip up your slit, tongue flat and firm before focusing on your clit once again as he sinks a third finger into your cunt.

“Minnie please!” you beg, the breathless crack of your voice an empty plea he can’t find himself caring about.

A swat against the meat of your thigh is his only warning for you to hold still, “You can take one more.”

“Too much.”

“Come on pretty girl, give me another. You deserve it.” Dokyeom replaces his mouth with his hand, fingers rubbing harshly at the raised nub as he pins you with a look. Your hips buck once again as he spits on his fingers curling into you, adding to the vulgar mess.

“I can’t!”

“Yes. You. Can.” each word punctuated with a drive of his fingers, coaxing more of your essence out of your leaking hole, coating his hand and dripping down his wrist to the sheets.

The gleam in Dokyeom’s eyes when he’s like this is unlike the usual persona he embodies. Demanding and expectant, because of course you’ll come for him again. Why wouldn’t you? He happily gives you exactly what you need to keep wallowing in mind numbing pleasure for as long as you like. Who are you to say no to such generosity?

“Oh fuck, fuck, I’m—”

Your hands nearly rip the bed spread underneath you, feet kicking out as your eyes squeeze tight against the fireworks erupting across the darkness. It's unlike any orgasm you’ve ever experienced. Stomach tightening, a thin sheen of sweat breaks along your exposed skin. Squeezing around the repeated press of his hand, a renewed gush of arousal coats his fingers. Everything is hotter. Wetter.

The spray of liquid against mouth shocks him for a moment, but as Dokyeom realizes what he’s done he turns feral.

“Holy shit.” he whines, lapping up everything you’re giving him, tongue wild and desperate. His own hips rock into the bed, curling his cock against the friction of his boxer in search of relief. You're both soaked, your essence and his spit dripping from his chin to his chest as he drools into the mess. Dokyeom planned to give you a breather after you came again but now nothing exists outside of your wrecked pussy and the smear of your arousal coating his face.

Nose scrunched against the over stimulation, tears sting your eyes. Sobbing for him to give you a moment, a second, to collect your thoughts. You're floating, barely tethered to the bed where his digits curl. But Dokyeom doesn’t listen. Tongue splitting your folds, tracing around his fingers still plunged inside your pussy.

Tangling your hands in his hair, you give a firm tug to disconnect him from your worn cunt. Despite the shortcircuiting pleasure still flooding your veins, the vision of your fuck buddy, pink tongue licking his lips, chin dripping and eyes hooded, awakes a hunger deep in your soul.

“My turn.” you growl.

Pulling him up your body, you waste no time connecting your lips. The heady taste of yourself infiltrates your mouth as you pant into his mouth, but you don’t mind as you continue to tease, the erotic slide of muscle against muscle consuming your focus.

Without disconnecting your lips, you push him until his back meets the sheets; pinning him in place once his boxers are gone, settling over his thighs. Urgently collaring his stiff length in your hand, the rigid velvet sits hot and heavy, head flushed and damp. You skim the tip through your folds, collecting the combination of juices, his own pre-cum adding to the mix before spreading it down his shaft. You gasp into Dokyeom’s mouth when the puffy head grazes your clit, giving a firm squeeze before letting go. Allowing it to slap against his belly before planting yourself on top, grinding against the underside of his cock; the red tip visible at the top of your folds, pearly beads of his cum dripping onto his abdomen with each desperate lerch.

“Oh fuck—” he whimpers.

Propped on his elbows, all Dokyeom can do is watch the hand you’d been using to play with him move to your mouth, sucking your dripping fingers into your mouth, moaning at the taste. He pulls you by the back of your neck to his mouth, echoing your whimper as he tastes the erotic mix himself. Your hips continue to grind against him, tilting yourself forward to force the tip of his cock to snare against the ring of muscle at your entrance. Barely an inch enters you before Dokyeom curls his hips away, smacked in the face by the realization of what you’re about to do.

He looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, mouth parted around stuttered breaths. An expectant look greets him, hunger flashing like lightning in your eyes. Dokyeom swallows thickly, mouthwatering at the very real chance of seeing your cunt coated in his seed. Filled to the brim, leaking down your thighs.

The fantasy is short lived as a rush of fear zips down his spine. He’s about to fuck you raw. In his favorite position. After you squirted on his face. If he can last more than a few strokes it’ll be a miracle.

Never able to hide his emotions, you catch the worry clouding his face, eclipsing the lust present seconds ago.

“You okay?” you breath, pausing to give him a reprieve.

“Great.”

“Minnie…”

“s fine.” He mumbles words under his breath.

You dodge his attempt at reconnecting your lips, refusing to let him distract you from whatever popped into his head. Shuffling back, you move further down his thighs and away from his crotch. You don’t understand the sudden shift in his demeanor but going any further seems like a mistake.

Dokyeom’s shoulders meet the bed as his elbows give out. Staring at the tiles of the ceiling, he tries to find the right words to tell you what he’s thinking. Shame thickens his throat like wet sand, preventing him from speaking but you just wait above him patiently. The comforting sensation of your fingers gently tracing the back of his hand gives him focus.

Closing his eyes, Dokyeom steels himself with a breath.

“Just need a second.” He whispers.

“Okay,” you whisper back.

Only the humming fan in the corner fills the silence between you. Dokyeom knows you’re watching him, cataloging every twitch of his lips and fully bellied breath. The skin of your thigh is soft under his palm, the warmth calming his nerves as he gently traces shapes into the dip above your knee with the pads of his fingers. The gentle press of your lips on his cheekbone startles him before your nose brushes against his own.

“What’s going on up there?” You gently ask, one of your fingers brushing his temple.

Eyes fluttering open, he’s met with the endless depths of your as you lean back a few inches to meet his gaze. The fondness softening your face reminds him that of all people, you’re the last that would laugh at him about this. You’ve literally seen him at his lowest, yet look what came out of that? If there’s one person he can be honest with, it's you.

“Might come.” Dokyeom sighs, looking at you with nervous eyes.

You’re dumbfounded. Utterly, and truly shocked. He just made you come twice, and he’s anxious that getting some satisfaction himself will somehow disappoint you. You want to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation but you know your first hookup is still a sore subject for him.

Ducking back down to leave a reassuring peck on his lips, you grin at him.

“That’s okay. Take all the time you need.” Leaning back up you see the embarrassment still clouding his features, racking your brain for a way to cut the tension. “I’ll just keep myself occupied.”

Dokyeom’s eyes flash at your words, curious at their meaning. Pushing up on your knees, one of your hands moves back to the apex of your thighs. You don’t grab for his cock still nudging you; instead, you collect the sticky mess smeared between your legs, middle finger dipping inside just a hair before coming back to your clit. Teasing gentle circles around it, your breath grows uneven, hips stuttering forward in search of more.

Shit.

Dokyeom is lost in a daze; licking his lips as you touch yourself, eyes glued to the digits swiping across your cunt. He’s still heavy and hard, the flared head of his cock glistening from its brief plunge in your depths. You can’t take your eyes off it, nearly drooling from desire to have him split you open.

“Fuck.” you whine, wishing the calloused pads of his fingers were working you instead. Ever since your little arrangement started, your fingers have become a distant second to his slender ones.

Your show isn’t helping stave the rising orgasm building in Dokyeom’s core. The exact opposite really, fanning the flame to a near inferno. The sight of you getting off, the sounds of your soaking cunt, the taste still on his tongue, the feel of you dripping on his muscular thighs. Even the smell of sex permeates through his tiny bedroom, clogging his nose like a musky perfume.

Fuck it. He thinks. If he blows his load before making you come again he’ll just have to make it up to you. How awful.

Dokyeom’s hand brushes yours away, thumbing your clit as two fingers stretch to prod your entrance again. If he can work you up enough before he’s inside you he’ll at least have a fighting chance.

“Wanna feel you inside me, Minnie.” You demand, using both hands to squeeze your breast. Dokyeom pants at the sight of your nipples peeking out between your fingers, bruised from his teeth.

Maybe you’re playing it up for his ego but you've truly never been so desperate. Greedy for pleasure even with the orgasms he’s already coaxed out of you, and on the horizon is the promise of a third. Being so close to getting railed the way you need but just out of reach is sending your mind into a tailspin. To make matters worse, Dokyeom seems just as eager to give it to you.

“Yeah? Want me to stuff you with my cum?”

“Yes! Need it.”

Shuffling back into Dokyeom’s lap, you sink down onto his cock in one motion, pushing the air from your lungs as he threatens to tear you in half. The burn from his girth races up your spine to add to the mind numbing sensations consuming you.

Tangling his arms behind you back, Dokyeom plants his feet on the bed to fuck up into you at a brutal pace. He’d never complain about fucking you with a condom but with out one? The silky stretch of your pussy, sweltering and soaked, is the closest to heaven Dokyeom’s ever been. Every squeeze around him pulls him in further, the head of his cock fitting snugly against your walls.

Your own hands find wobbly purchase beside his head, your chest aligns perfectly with his mouth to suck and lick against your breasts. Desperate pleas rushing to fill join the mess of noises rising from your bodies.

Your essence coats his cock, dripping down his balls as the clap of skin echoes in the room. Each thrust forces another whimper from your throat, the vulgar thought of your cunt dripping with evidence of him racing you to another orgasm.

“Gonna cum,” Dokyeom groans beneath you. The rasp of his voice sends your hips to meet him thrust for thrust.

“Please! Want it—” you bawl. “Want your cum.”

His head lulls back as you beg, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your sides to lock you in place. His thighs burn from exertion but he keeps going, the familiar twitch in his gut telling him to go deeper, harder. Something primal whispering in his brain to brand you with his seed, mark you as his. The way you clench around him adding to the call.

“Fuck, just like that.” You keen when he thumbs your worn clit. His other hand wraps in your hair, pulling to bare your neck for his mouth.

You feel the twitch of his cock deep inside you, and he gives you a few more thrusts before painting your insides. The sharp sting of teeth ripping the wind out of your lungs, pulling you down with him.

Using his chest for leverage, you lean back and ride him through it, reveling in satisfying fullness. Dokyeom’s eyes fall to your tits, pressed alluringly between your arms and swaying with each bounce on his sputtering length.

Gasping in each other's arms, Dokyeom keeps curling into you till he’s spent. Cracking open his eyes to take in the bliss painting your face before sneaking a peak to where you’re connected. A ring of white coats his length where he enters you, trickling down to the smattering of curly hair at his base. His cock gives a pathetic twitch of interest but that's all it manages with how hard he just came.

Collapsing onto his chest, you nuzzle against his neck. “That was…”

Great, wonderful, spectacular, best orgasm he’s ever had in his life. But no word seems to fit exactly how Dokyeom is feeling right now. When he finally can feel his body again, wraps his arms around you to keep you firmly planted against his chest, one hand moving to scratch your back soothingly. When you clench around him, Dokyeom realizes he’s still inside, softening length allowing a flood of cum to trickle out.

“Are you staying tonight?”

“Nah,” you roll off him to stretch, letting the satisfaction only a good fuck can bring settle in your muscles. “Gotta be up early.”

“I can walk you home.” He offers over his shoulder, shuffling to his closet to dress for the night.

“It’s only like nine, I’ll make it home just fine.”

“My mom would kill me if she found out I let you walk alone this late.”

Rolling to your stomach, you watch him pull on a hoodie. “Wow so it's not even you being considerate, just wanna hypothetically save your own skin.”

“I’d be worried too.”

“Fine, but at least put on some real pants.”

“What's wrong with my pants?”

The pointed look at the flannel Simpson pajama pants says it all.

“Fine.”

In true Seokmin fashion, the next five minutes are spent huffing and puffing as he digs for a suitable pair of sweatpants to wear for the short walk to your dorm. You receive several pointed looks and a final “hmph!” as he finds a pair he deems worthy. At least he makes good use of his theater classes.

“Alright, let's go!”

The walk to your dorm zigzags through the busiest parts of campus, and as such despite the late hour, you and Doekyeom run into friend after friend. Most are headed off campus to take part in thirsty Thursdays at the bars just blocks away. A few scampering home from the library, surrendering to the exhaustion that comes post-midterms.

Of course, Dokyeom’s roommate is in the mix.

“Hey! What are you guys doing out?” Soonyoung’s question is innocent but the way he yells it across the courtyard you're currently passing through snags the attention of a few other students.

“Just walking her home.”

“How sweet.” The older man coos. “By the way, what’d you get on the practical?”

“One hundred.”

“No shit!” Soonyoung high fives you. “So did Dokyeom. Wait…are you guys going to celebrate?”

The wiggle of Soonyoung’s eyebrows make him look like he’s having a stroke.

“We already did.” You smirk as Dokyeom gapes like a fish, red as a tomato.

All you can do is shrug. It's crazy the same man next to you was drilling your guts less than an hour ago, but the proof is still pooled in your panties.

“Anyway! What are you doing out?” Dokyeom asks, eager for a subject change.

“Didn’t do too hot but the TA said I can get half credit back if I do test corrections.”

“Ahh. So it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that the girl you have a crush on has a shift in the tutoring labs on Thursdays?”

“You told her?” Soonyoung turns on Dokyeom, eyes wide.

“You told me, idiot.” You cut in.

“Oh! Well maybe that's part of the reason but Minhyuk said he’ll only give me till Monday morning so it's a happy coincidence.”

“Well good luck!” You call, taking a step in the direction of the dorms.

Soonyoung calls you back before your foot hits the sidewalk.

“Oh, by the way, are you coming to the cabin with us next week? We’re trying to figure out cars right now and need a headcount.”

“What cabin?”

“It's SBT’s mountain weekend!” He announces before turning to DK. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Ugh,” the still blushing man chokes.

“Well, this is awkward.” Soonyoung winces, slowly backing away. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Discomfort swirls around you and Dokyeom as you return to your original path. You’d spent enough time around frats to know they spent a weekend at some old cabin deep in the mountains each fall, drinking and smoking in excess. Traditionally, its invite only, a plus one for each fraternity brother. An upperclassman in MX, Jooheon, had brought you to his own your freshman year. The shiny allure of spending a weekend with a hot guy quickly dulled by the reality of fifty plus people cramming into a shoddy building to fuck and get drunk wasn’t as fun as it sounded on paper. To this day, you still can’t get the horrible wails of the girl Minhyuk had brought. It's why Soonyoung and DK attend the lecture he TA’d at a normal hour and you braved the horrors of an eight AM.

It shouldn’t matter that Dokyeom hadn’t asked you, or how he didn’t even bother to mention it in passing. The relationship between you is nothing more than two acquaintances who hook up. Frequently. At its core, you’re his friend who occasionally tutors him in anatomy. Why would he ask you to stay with him for a weekend? Why would you be upset if he didn’t?

And yet…

“I completely forgot it was even happening.” Dokyeom shares quietly.

“It’s really fine!”

“I mean if you wanted, you could come with?”

“Already have plans. Sorry.”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

Fortunately the awkward conversation is cut short as you approach the lobby of your dorm. You’ve never been happier to see the tacky green walls beyond the glass door lined with old campus flyers.

“Thanks for walking with me.”

Dokyeom looks like he wants to say more but before he can speak you’re turning around and marching inside. You don’t catch the way he stares at your retreating figure, only leaving the way he came once you're firmly out of sight.

#svthub #lee seokmin #lee seokmin x reader #svt x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt #dokyeom #seokmin x reader #seokmin smut #dokyeom x reader #dokyeom smut #🫡 highvern

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leewonkyeom · 6 months

Text

027: entering private property in 3... 2... 1

light a flame [27/51]

☆ summary: when your roommate quits his job at the coffee shop you frequent you never imagined the new guy would be hot or even your type. to make matters worse you both study law at the same university.

your friends to try to convince you to get together with him. you try to convince them you just find him really nice... but are you able to convince yourself?

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continues below the cut

y/n, mingyu

yn: hi, mingyu. what's up?

mg: WHAT DO YOU MEAN "what's up?

yn: you called me, didn't you?

mg: oh. that's right. so you really don't know?

yn: know what?

mg: what's "hbg"s real name?

yn: oh come on. i've probably told you a million times

mg: you have not

yn: sure, i have?

mg: is it wonwoo or jihoon?

yn: who's jihoon?

mg: his roommate

yn: is he?

mg: ask him

yn: yeah, sure. i'll just waltz into his bathroom while he's showering to ask him... wait. he's done. wait two seconds

mg: okay?

[...]

yn: how did you know what his roommate's name is? that is super creepy

mg: because... he's also MY roommate

yn: you're fucking with me

mg: i'm not. that's why i called. i recognized my own living room

yn: wait. aren't you at seokmin's?

mg: yes. why?

yn: SOONYOUNG IS FEEDING YOU INFORMATION TO FUCK WITH ME

mg: what?

yn: it's the only logical explanation. we would have known if you knew wonwoo

mg: only we did not. he's my best friend. yn i'm serious

yn: *laughter* no way... i'm texting seokmin

mg: go ahead

yn: i still don't believe you

mg: go check my room

yn: i can't go into a strangers room!

mg: it's not. it's mine

yn: if you describe this place with enough detail, i'll do it

mg: if you go into the hallway, the one with the bathroom at the end of it... it's the only hallway really. it's the second door on the left

yn: you're not mixing up your lefts and rights?

mg: i'm sure

yn: okay. entering private property in 3... 2... 1 *click*

mg: you see?

[...]

yn: aww, you have a picture of you, me and seokmin on your desk!

mg: shit... i forgot about that

yn: no, it's cute. don't worry about it. i'm sorry i didn't believe you, mingyu, but are you really that unobservant?

mg: apparently. no wonder seungkwan knew...

yn: what?

mg: oh nothing. by the way, if you need somewhere to sleep tonight, you can borrow my room

yn: thank you! i'll change the sheets and leave your stuff alone, so don't worry

mg: i wasn't worried before now...

yn: SHIT!

mg: what's happening?

yn: wonwoo's wondering where i am. i have to explain this to him... love you. bye!!

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☆ a/n: okay so👀👀 hope y'all were happy you werw right😌😌 also, mingyu needs some time to process, so stay tuned for thursday👀 as always, i hope you enjoyed this part, and i always appreciate likes, comments and reblogs!♡

fill out this form to be added to the taglist!

#jeon wonwoo #wonwoo x reader #seventeen x reader #svt #svt x reader #svt smau #wonwoo au #seventeen #wonwoo smau #wonwoo svt scenarios #wonwoo #seventeen au #seventeen smau #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo fluff

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a-little-unsteddie · 5 months

Text

stuck in your throat || 1.3

1.1 | 1.2 | [here] | 1.4 | 1.5

part three!! this is all new babyyy! hope you enjoy <3 the next part will be out thursday <3 also: next part has steddie interactions weeeeee

When Robin got home an hour later, stumbling through the door and rambling at a hundred miles per hour, peeling off her coat and shoes, Steve could barely hold back from immediately breaking and telling Robin about the interview. He stared at her intently, almost shaking from excitement, as she hung up her coat. She turned towards him and cut herself off mid-sentence.

“Yes?” Robin asked, tilting her head to the side with raised eyebrows.

“I got a call from the NDA people, and we did the interview, and she said she’s gonna get back to me in a couple of days!” Steve exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement.

“Oh, shit, really?” Robin asked, rushing over to him with a grin. Steve bobbed his head in affirmation, Robin squealed and wrapped her arms around him, scenting him all over in her excitement. Steve laughed as she spun him around in a celebratory dance, just as he knew she would.

“That’s fucking awesome, Steve!” she exclaimed as she slowed them to a stop.

“Isn’t it? She said I was her top pick so far.” Steve barely got the sentence out before Robin was wrapping her arms back around him and shaking him.

“I told you!” she cheered, unable to fight the grin that was taking over her face that was causing her cheeks to ache. “Have you signed the NDA yet?” she asked curiously once they were still again.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’, “she said she’d send it if I move on to the next step.”

Robin hummed as she led them into the living room, needing to sit down. Her body was aching, from more than just the long day at work. “They’d be stupid not to choose you,” she said in a tone that held no room for arguments.

Steve snorted and settled on the couch next to her, pulling one of his knees up to his chest to rest his cheek against it.

“We’ll see what happens,” Steve reached for the remote to turn on Vanderpump Rules, something they had started binging because one of Steve’s classmates, Chelsey, recommended it to him, and he got Robin addicted to it, too.

The phone call came just about twenty-four hours later, when Steve was doing dishes. He squeaked when he saw it was Chrissy’s name flashing on his phone, and rushed to get his hands dried. Robin looked at him in confusion until he grabbed his phone and showed her the name on the screen, then excitement took over her features.

“Well! What are you waiting for? Answer it!”

“If you’re staying you have to be quiet!” he hissed before he pressed the green icon on his phone. “Hello, this is Steve,” he said, knowing that his voice pitched a bit higher when he answered, as he tried to seem as collected as possible.

“Hello, Steve! It’s Chrissy Cunningham,” her voice greeted him cheerfully. Robin gestured violently for him to put it on speaker. Steve rolled his eyes, but pulled his phone away from his ear to do so.

“Chrissy! It’s good to hear from you,” he said, slightly louder than he had been talking before.

“I’m reaching out to let you know that my client has decided to move forward with your application to do the in-person interview,” Chrissy explained, causing Robin to fist pump.

Steve bit back a grin as he responded, “That’s awesome! When would that be?” he asked, which prompted Robin to scramble to find a pen and paper. Steve gestured to the fridge, which the whiteboard calander was hanging on.

“I’ll send you the NDA paperwork for you to sign, and as long as that gets done, my client will be in Indianapolis tomorrow through the month,” Chrissy informed him. “So, whenever you’re free during that period of time.”

Steve walked over to where Robin was to looking at the calendar and saw he was free every day that weekend, “Well, I’m sure your client probably doesn’t want to worry about doing an interview the day they get here,” Steve hummed, “I’m free on Saturday if they’re available then.”

“Perfect! Does 2pm sound okay?” At Steve’s confirmation, Robin wrote the time down. “Once you get the NDA email and return it signed, I’ll forward your contact information to my client.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose in surprise, having expected to have to go through Chrissy for the whole process. “Sounds good to me!”

“Great! I’ll have the email sent right away. Do you have any questions or concerns for me in the meantime?” Chrissy asked, to which Steve replied with a denial.

“I don’t think so,” he said, “I’ll look for the email. Have a great rest of your day!”

“Thank you; you, too! Bye!”

The line went dead, and no sooner did the call disappear from his screen, did Robin’s ability to hold back her excited noises vanish.

“Fuck yes!” she cheered, circling the time on the calendar repeatedly.

“Fuck! I can’t believe this might actually be happening, Robs!” Steve exclaimed, navigating to his mail app to get the NDA signed as soon as it was sent to him.

“‘Might’? She obviously loved you!” Robin boasted with a grin. He refreshed the screen and saw the email containing the NDA load in.

“She’s just cheerful on the phone,” Steve rolled his eyes, following the link that the email provided.

“Yes,” Robin replied, dragging out the word slightly, “both can be true.”

“Either way,” Steve huffed, doing a shoddy job at doing his signature on his phone, but accepting it anyway. He submitted the form, then put his phone away. “Saturday I’ll be meeting her client and then we’ll see how I do.”

“Oh, you’ll be fine,” Robin said confidently, nodding her head.

“That’s what you say, I have to actually meet the person,” he sniffed, turning his head away from her indignantly.

“And you’ll do great, dingus.” she nudged his hip with her own, trying to get Steve to smile.

“Thanks, Bobbie,” he muttered reluctantly as he turned back to the dishes, a hint of a smile on his face.

if you want to be added to the tag list, confirm your age. if you want to be removed, lmk!

tag list: @marklee-blackmore @paintsplatteredandimperfect @steddie-as-they-go @disrespectedgoatman @lingeringmirth @hyperfixated-on-stuff @swimmingbirdrunningrock @littlewildflowerkitten @sani-86 @thegingerrapunzel @adventures-in-mangaland @missingmalfoy1 @yellowdevilkitten @extra-transitional @queen-stevie @stevesbipanic @crypticcorvidinacottage @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

#steve harrington #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson #eventual steddie #steddie #steve x eddie #tw omegaverse #stuck in your throat #siyt 🎤#unsteddie writing

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macgyvermedical · 26 days

Text

My Experience in Inpatient Psych

So I know a lot of people on here have talked about their experience in inpatient psych facilities, but I'd like to add mine just to give all you writers out there a writer-focused one. It's below the cut just in case you have to sit this one out for your own reasons.

To give you some background, I am 30 years old and have had hallucinations since about 16 and bizarre intrusive thoughts (someone living in my house that wasn't supposed to be there, somebody poisoned my walls, etc...) for about a decade, as well as very severe anxiety since I was about 3 years old. This is something not a lot of people know about me, even people I am friends with IRL.

The only thing I am actually diagnosed with is anxiety, which I'm starting to think is a failing of the psych systems I have been a part of. I have had counseling off and on and prior to this hospitalization I took escitalopram, aripiprazole, and gabapentin prescribed by my primary care doctor- all for the severe anxiety.

Quite frankly, I should have been in inpatient psych at least a few times before this, and it's by sheer dumb luck that I've survived to continue this blog.

On Friday, I was at home alone and made a few pretty bad decisions. I wont say what they were because frankly they're embarrassing, but they have to do with self-harm. I was scheduled to work Saturday and at about 9pm I realized that if I drove myself to work I would crash my car. Since my wife drives me sometimes, I figured I would just ask her to.

I told my wife and she asked- even if she drove me to work, since I was a nurse, would I be able to keep myself safe around insulin or other potentially dangerous drugs? I couldn't answer that question. We talked for a couple hours and came to the conclusion that I probably needed to go to the emergency department.

At this point I figured they would evaluate me and release me because I couldn't possibly meet the criteria for inpatient. I was wrong in this assumption. After telling them the decisions I had made that day, the feelings of wanting to die in a car crash, plus about a previous attempt, they recommended inpatient. Turns out, when you're a nurse, you can make some really bad life choices with the knowledge you have, and they didn't want to take any chances.

I was given paper scrubs to wear (so I couldn't hurt myself with my clothing or a hospital gown). I was also given a patient companion (someone who sits in the room and makes sure you don't hurt yourself).

They gave me the option of signing myself in voluntarily, or putting me on a writ of detention. A writ of detention is a piece of paperwork that allows a medical professional or law enforcement officer to hold someone for 3 days in a psychiatric facility against the person's will for the purposes of psychiatric treatment. Whether you sign the voluntary or get placed on a writ, you cannot sign yourself out. You need to wait until the psychiatrist taking care of you thinks you're ready to go.

I didn't believe at this point I needed to go inpatient, but I took the voluntary option because there are some perks, like being able to leave within 3 days if appropriate. At this point I was convinced I was probably going to have to call off work Saturday and Sunday, probably be out of the hospital Monday, have a few days to rest and be back at work on my next scheduled shift after that, which was Thursday.

Well, that's not what happened.

Because of some of the decisions I had made, along with bed availability, they wanted to keep me in the observation unit overnight before they sent me to psych. I stayed overnight in a unit that shares staff with the unit I work on, so I was taken care of by my coworkers. This was surprisingly not that bad. I like my coworkers and they were really professional about it.

Saturday I felt like I was in a fog all day. I couldn't watch TV. I couldn't color or write. I worked out some in my hospital room and paced the halls once or twice. Mostly I hung out with my wife and occasionally talked with my companion, but even talking was difficult. I had refused ativan because I felt like I had no hope of finding a medication that made me feel better, and I figured I didn't want to take the one medication that might actually work and then not be able to get it ever again.

Around 7PM I took a 45 minute ambulance ride to the facility. Getting my blood pressure taken is a big anxiety trigger for me, but my brain felt so scrambled that I couldn't express this well. They took it every 10 minutes on the ride there and by the time I got there it was in the 170s/100s (BP goes up when you're having severe anxiety). This was not their fault of course, but no matter how much I thought about telling them or refusing the BPs, I just couldn't do it.

When I got to the facility I was greeted by a tech who took my BP again (150s/90s this time), showed me around and looked through my personal belongings (basically just the clothing I came in with since my wife took my phone and wallet knowing I wouldn't be able to have them on the unit) to make sure I didn't have anything I wasn't allowed to on the unit. She showed me around my room and was really thorough with telling me how things worked, what the rules were, etc..

The rules included:

No patients allowed in other patients rooms

No personal belongings that had strings, belts, or laces, or that could be used as a weapon

No caffeine after lunch and no free access to caffeine

No personal electronics (including eReaders and watches). There was a TV in the day room and 2 phones mounted to the wall for patient use

A little later my nurse came into my room and asked me a ton of questions. Here's the thing about any hospital- you get asked the same questions over and over. By the time I'd gotten there I could give my story in under a minute. Or at least, that's what it felt like. There were only 2 clocks on the unit, at the nurses stations.

The unit itself was laid out in a "T" shape. There was a main nurse's station at the place where the two hallways intersected. At the end of the long hallway there was another smaller nurses station, a cafeteria/day room, and a "comfort room" which was a small room off the day room that had a collection of the oldest and worst donated books that have every come together on a bookshelf.

I did some pacing that night and then went to bed, but didn't sleep particularly well.

On Sunday morning the tech woke me up to take my blood pressure, which was, not unsurprisingly, still high. It was about 5 AM so I got up and paced the longer of the corridors for about an hour. Breakfast was served at 8 and the food wasn't that bad. The coffee was about the worst I'd ever drank, which I suppose helped with the no caffeine goals.

Just after breakfast I met with a psychiatrist on an iPad for about half a minute, and I'm not exaggerating there. The only questions he asked were whether I was suicidal and whether I would be fine with tripling my dose of aripiprazole in light of the hallucinations. I had had a 50-lb weight gain in the last year so I asked to switch my med. He switched the med to cariprazine. That was all.

I had a much longer meeting with my nurse later. All the nurses did an excellent job of assessing me, asked tons of questions, and it seemed like they really tried to figure out what was going on. That day I also met with a social worker, and a therapist, and a nurse practitioner. Each of them did an assessment to see what my needs were while I was there.

There was also a music therapy session where I cried my eyes out to Because of You by Kelly Clarkson.

I was really tired by the end of the day but I also didn't think I could sleep so I asked for trazodone. I should clarify that when I say "I" in this piece I really mean my wife convinced me to ask because I legitimately didn't believe I needed or deserved any of the things I asked for at this point. To my utter shock and surprise, they gave me the trazodone.

My first night on trazodone was amazing and I realized I hadn't slept well in a long time. With trazodone I fell asleep and stayed asleep until the blood pressure cart came rolling down the hallway at 5am. The second I got up on Monday morning I was wide awake.

I paced a lot Monday. I went to a goals session in the morning where I gave a goal to write 3/4 of a page. I didn't know if I could do it or what I was even going to write about, but I know I like to write and it might be a reasonable introduction to getting back to life.

I also was having kind of a rough day brain-wise. My brain was coming up with all the ways I could hurt myself in my room. There weren't a lot of them, but it was trying. I told the nurse during her assessment and she asked if I felt I could keep myself safe. I asked her what she would do if I said no. She said they could move me to a more secure part of the unit and give me more supervision. I knew what part of the unit she was talking about, and I didn't want to go there (no space to pace, and pacing was keeping me alive right then). So I told her I could keep myself safe (if anything, the idea of moving was good motivation to do stay safe in itself). I hallucinated some black and white blood cells falling from the ceiling and music coming out of my vents.

I also had another meeting with the social worker to figure out discharge plans. I voiced in the meeting that I wasn't sure that I could trust my wife, since it felt like at the time she was the one who exaggerated my symptoms to get me in here. The social worker said we had really good communication skills, since this was something I felt needed to be said in front of both of them and we both stayed really calm through the whole thing.

I finished the day with an art therapy session that really helped me turn a corner. The prompt was to draw the emotion(s) you felt right now on one side of the paper, and to draw the emotions you wished you could feel on the other side. For the first time I realized that my emotional state was actually really bad and that the suicidality hadn't come out of nowhere, and that I needed help.

When my wife came to visit later that night I was able to tell her about my breakthrough, even though I still felt a little bit like she had done something to get me in here and I still wasn't sure I needed to be inpatient.

Tuesday was a lot better. I felt like I had woken up out of some kind of fog and I had no idea how long I'd been in it. I went to goals group, a spiritual group, and group occupational therapy. My goal was to be more social and I made a friend and we paced together and worked out. I read a quarter of The Martian by Andy Weir (my wife brought it for me because the best thing on the bookshelf was Louis L'Amour). I wrote about how good I suddenly felt. Turns out, I thought, a few days of good sleep, lots of therapy, and a new medication or two will really change things.

A quick side note about The Martian. I highly recommend it to anyone who is chilling in a psych hospital but has the ability to read while they're there (I sure didn't the first few days). I don't really know why, but the first few times I read it, I felt like they had created this superhuman character in Mark Watney just so they could throw a ton of wild things at him for the story. This time reading it, as a suddenly not suicidal person, I realized anyone with Mark's skill would have done the same thing and not just died on Sol 7 to get it over with.

Wednesday I woke up not feeling nearly as good as Tuesday, but still like the fog had lifted. I was a little disappointed (I hallucinated my cat (thanks for coming to visit me, Corina), some spiders, and just felt kinda meh. But I remembered how good I felt the day before, and that really kept me hopeful about going home.

I saw the psychiatrist again and asked to go home. He joked a little about me staying till Christmas, but ultimately he said as soon as his note was in I could go. I ended up leaving at about 12:30 with my wife.

In the time since leaving I have required a lot of support from my wife. The medications are all locked up, so are the blades and anything I could use to hurt myself. My wife has me in eyeshot at all times. I can't drive due to intrusive thoughts, so she does all the driving now. I quit my job because I feel like it was a big part of why I ended up as bad as I was. As someone who has been a pretty independent person this is a big change of pace, but something that is really necessary to my healing.

Ultimately at the end of my hospital stay, I was prescribed escitalopram, gabapentin, trazodone, cariprazine, and then a few days later propranolol. I'm currently on a total of 5 psych meds and honestly I don't care one bit because its so much better than being not on them at this point in my life.

#mental health #personal #writing reference #inpatient psych #suicide mention #hallucination mention

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sirfrogsworth · 8 months

Text

Last week was crazy.

I honestly can't believe all of it happened in the span of a week. Well, I guess it was more like 10 days. But it was another... Alot.

It all started when I got my disability denial letter. I couldn't wait until I got into the house so I opened the envelope as I walked back from the mailbox. Once I saw the bad part I had an instant panic attack in my driveway.

I ran inside...

Okay, that isn't true.

I walked very quickly inside...

Nope, still not true.

Okay, I walked at my personal top speed which is probably still slow for most people... but the point I'm trying to make is that I was attempting to hurry despite only saving myself about 3 seconds of travel time.

But the hurrying made me feel better, okay?

Out of breath from my geriatric-style powerwalking, I called my lawyer's office immediately. And... he is on vacation. Won't be back until the next Thursday. I spent the entire weekend going through every panic state a body can feel. I go from angry to depressed to anxious to panicked to angry (again) to scared to more scared to extra more scared. Visions of homelessness danced in my head.

I can't sleep for over a day because my brain won't shut off. Finally my body gives out and I fall asleep on the couch watching random YouTube videos. But falling asleep on the couch is bad because I'm not hooked up to my CPAP machine. Then I finally do hook up my CPAP and my damned mask breaks. Thankfully it has happened before and I have a cool hot glue and duct tape solution. But it is hard to manage hot glue and tape when you haven't slept in days and your eyes will barely stay open. So a few burned fingers later, I am sleeping comfortably in my janky duct tape-laden CPAP mask.

Monday rolls around and I decide to go into problem solving mode. Problem solving is my superpower, so I was going to lean into that in an effort to reduce my anxiety. The denial letter said they had no records from before I was 22, so I put on my detective hat and began the hunt to prove I was sick before 2004. My aunt helped me dig through my mom's document drawer. I distinctly remember an essay I wrote to the disability people back when I first got sick. It was part of the paperwork they had me submit. It was a first hand account of my symptoms back in 2001. It also had an essay from my dad talking about how sick I was. I felt like if I could find that, the records surrounding it would all be related and from the same time period.

We go through the entire drawer and only find a few things that might be helpful. Then I realized my mom had a *second* drawer full of documents and my aunt was blocking it. So we start going through that and find a folder labeled "Ben's Disability Stuff." I would have never kept any of that stuff but my mom kept *everything* and it was all in chronological order.

She is still looking out for me.

And she may have kept me from being homeless.

We find the essay and records of my ECT treatments and the names of doctors and all kinds of evidence of my medical woes before 2004. And even if they won't accept it as direct evidence, I can use these documents to show doctors I was their patient. And my primary care doctor said he would be willing to talk to those past doctors to help me convince them to write a letter on my behalf. All they really have to say is they treated me for severe depression and fatigue. And because my mom kept a list of my prescriptions and my ECT treatments, I'm hoping that will be enough to convince them even if they don't remember treating me.

Wednesday I had my monthly checkup. And I got to peek at my main doctor's records from before 2004. It's all handwritten notes and a little hard to read (bad doctor handwriting is the most accurate stereotype in existence). But it clearly says I had depression and was undergoing ECT treatments. It even mentions one of the doctors I want to write me a letter. It's not a lot, but it is first hand, direct medical evidence from that time period. I think it will be very compelling to whoever reviews my case.

I also talked to the nurses/assistants in the office about copying my entire chart, and I thought we were on the same page, but as you will see later... we were not on the same page.

I exit the building and remember how far away I had parked. And once again I forgot to use my cane—even though I keep a spare in the car. The main lot was full and the disabled parking was occupied, so I had to park in the secondary lot. My legs were holding up so far, but it was already a lot of walking for me. Very slow walking.

His office is in the same complex as the hospital. Which is my next stop. It's the same hospital that I have been going to all of my life. And the hospital where both of my parents died.

But I need vintage medical records and that is where they keep them.

Or so I thought.

I drive from the medical office parking lot to the hospital parking lot and only the spots farthest away are empty. And because of goddamn global warming, it is 90 fucking degrees in late September. I park, lock my car, grab my man purse, and start hoofing it to the hospital entrance. I'm so nervous about getting these records that I forgot my damn cane again.

My thoughts are basically, "What if they only keep 7 years of records like everyone else? What if the records from Christian Northwest aren't kept with the records from Christian Northeast? (Christian NW doesn't exist anymore.) What if they won't send them to my lawyer? What if it costs a thousand bucks? What if, what if, what if..."

I get to the front desk and ask the lady where the records department is. She gives me directions that my brain is only capable of half paying attention to. Then I realized I left the records release form from my lawyer in the car. So I walk another half mile in the heat to my car without my cane. And initially, my thought was, "Well, at least I can grab my cane once I get the form." But by the time I got to my car my thought was, "AHHHHHHHHH THAT WAS A LONG FUCKING WALK. KILL ME!"

And so I forgot my cane.

Again.

I get back to the lobby and wave at the lady who gave me directions. I pretend like I remembered and confidently walk in the direction I recall her pointing to. I found the elevator. Thankfully this particular elevator only goes two places. Which seems like a waste of an elevator, but... whatever. I get off on the second floor and am met with a big sign with all the departments and little arrows next to them.

(I'm sure you knew what I was talking about but I'm trying to break up this wall of text with images because I am a professional blogger person.)

I see "Medical Records" and a leftward arrow. I used my keen detective skills to surmise I should probably veer left.

I find myself at the beginning of the world's longest hallway.

Without my cane.

And it is flooded with sterile florescent light and the walls are adorned with the world's most inoffensive art.

Here is a painting of a plant. Here is a painting of a bird. Here is a painting of a bird sitting on a plant. Wait, is that a... WATERFALL??

Suddenly Indiana Jones' voice shouts in my thoughts...

So, if you had to guess, do you think the records department was...

A.) near the beginning of the hallway? B.) in the middle of the hallway? C.) beyond the world's longest hallway in the world's second longest hallway?

As I enter the world's second longest hallway, I notice the art is repeating itself. I've seen that bird sitting on a plant before. I worried I was going in circles, but it turns out they probably just bought the inoffensive art in bulk and weren't concerned about repeats. I get about halfway down the second longest hallway and see a big sign sticking out... "MEDICAL RECORDS."

Note to God: The real world needs a fast travel mode.

I was a big sweaty mess and my legs were like jello. I lumber through the door and find a young woman scrolling through her phone and probably wishing she was anywhere else. She was behind a huge partition with a plexiglass divider—probably still there from COVID days.

I mean, it's still COVID days. But no one is acting like it so I am just pretending it is all over like everyone else seems to.

She notices an out-of-breath Hagrid towering over her and apathetically inquires, "Can I help you?"

I hold up a finger as I try to gain my composure and figure out exactly what I want to say. I usually rehearse this kind of thing beforehand but with all of the anxious thoughts spiraling through my brain, I totally forgot to do that.

"I need to ask questions about records." "What kind of questions?" "Well, how long are the records?" "I'm sorry?" "What year do they start?" "What year do you need?"

I'm suddenly realizing why I rehearse these things. So I take a moment and breathe deeply. I form the proper question in my mind.

"How far back do you keep medical records?" "30 years."

I shoot my hands up like I just scored a touchdown and say, "OH THANK GOD."

She is very confused.

"30 years, oh my god. 30 years just saved my life."

She is still very confused.

"And do you have records from Christian Northwest?" "Yes, we have everything from all Christian hospitals."

I try to give her a brief explanation of my situation and she cuts me off. "Fill out this form."

I look at the clipboard and it is a release form.

Do you remember way back when I walked an extra mile to and from the car to get a release form that my lawyer prepared? Well, turns out they have their own version of that and I walked all that way for nothing.

I finish the form and hand it to the bored, indifferent front desk lady. She tells me someone will be out in a moment. So I sit in the uncomfortable waiting chairs and try to rest a bit. A much tinier young woman walks to the front desk partition thingie and calls out my name. But due to her diminutive stature, she is completely obscured by a pillar and I have no idea where the voice is coming from. We do this little awkward dance on either side of the pillar, attempting to see each other, and finally we both end up on the same side. She starts looking over my form and seemed a little annoyed that I left a section blank. I wasn't sure what kind of records I needed and there was no box that said "everything everywhere all at once."

What I really wanted was any document with my name on it from the beginning of time.

But I was worried about asking for too much labor from this person so I started negotiating for some reason.

I was like, "Well, like, I really need like anything you have from before like 2004. And then maybe, like, some general records after 2004. Like, the pre-2004 records are super important. But, like, I also need to show I was sick all my adult life. So if there are like, summary records? Or, like, something?"

I couldn't stop saying like. I was turning into a Kardashian. Again, some rehearsal was probably warranted.

"I just don't want to be a burden and make you dig up all of my records. I mostly need my ECT records from 2001."

"What is ECT?"

"Shock therapy. It's for depression. I just need to show I was really sick before the age of 22."

"And who is this guy on the form?"

*ramble mode engaged*

"Oh, that is my disability attorney. You see, I'm trying to get a special kind of disability, but I need to prove I was sick before the age of 22. So anything like that before 2004 would be very helpful. But like, if you have less detailed records after 2004 that is good too. Because I may need to prove I've been sick my entire adult life."

*continued rambling until I notice she stopped paying attention*

She did not need to know all of this. And I was not answering the questions she needed answered. I was nervous and babbling and oversharing and I couldn't snap out of it. And I was really concerned if I asked for too much, she was going to be upset. But then she told me all of the records were in a warehouse and she would not actually be finding them for me. She just places an "order" for them. So this weird negotiation thing I was doing to keep her from being annoyed at me was pointless.

And I also realized... this is super important.

I yell at myself, "Ask for everything, stupid! Quit trying to get halfassed records because you're worried about inconveniencing someone."

Finally I just say, "I want every medical record you have from before I was 22 until now."

And she was like, "Sure."

Well... that was easy.

I thanked the tiny lady and the bored lady and exited back into the second longest hallway. My adrenaline was surging. I kept yelling, "30 YEARS!!" in my brain. I had to tell someone this amazing news. I had to tell them right that second or I might burst. So I grab my phone from my man purse and dial Katrina.

The thing is, I only call Katrina when something really bad happens. People don't make phone calls anymore. People text! So when she picked up the phone she answered with a very worried tone. As if somehow a third parent of mine died or something.

"THIRTY YEARS!!!!" "WHAT IS HAPPENING??" "They keep records for 30 years!" "OHHHHHHHHHH!!! That's amazing!"

She probably didn't hop for joy in real life, but in my mind I like to pretend she did. I start explaining everything that just happened and how they most likely have my ECT records and then I realize I am in the middle of the world's second longest hallway and I don't remember which direction leads back to the world's longest hallway. And because I am having unusual and extraordinarily good luck, a medical worker was walking by right at that moment.

"Which way back to the elevator?" "This way!" "Oh great! Thank you!" "Or that way. There are two elevators."

There is that normal luck I recognize.

I can feel the universe realigning itself. But that is okay, because...

THIRTY YEARS, BABY!

I talk to Katrina as I traverse the two longest hallways. Thankfully I was going in the correct direction and found the proper elevator. After a nice chat about various things including problematic 80s movies, we hung up and I decided to treat myself to a hospital cafeteria chicken quesadilla. They are surprisingly delicious and I ate them every single day while my dad was in hospice. Those quesadillas were a single bright spot during one of the hardest times of my life.

So I walk up to the grillmaster and look at the menu.

"Wait, where is the quesadilla?" "We stopped making those two weeks ago."

Universal realignment completed. Luck has returned to its original state.

A male nurse in front of me commiserated. "Yeah, man. I miss them too."

I walked back out to my car both happy and depressed. An odd combination of conflicted feelings. But my day was not over yet. I needed vaccines and groceries. Naturally, I went to the grocery store with the CVS. I got my dad his last booster there, so I was confident they could take care of me. I grab a shopping cart and pick up a few things on the way to the pharmacy. I get in line at the little vaccine check-in spot. The woman in front of me is getting her booster as well. Otherwise, the pharmacy is empty and the three employees are just scrolling through their phones.

After the previous booster seeker was taken care of, I tell the woman I need a booster and a flu vaccine.

"I can give the flu shot now and set an appointment for the booster." "You never required an appointment before." "We just started a few weeks ago." "Can I make an appointment for, like, now?" "No, sorry." "Do you have the booster in stock?" "Yes." "Do you have someone here qualified to give the booster?" "Yes." "Do you have any other appointments right now?" "No."

I tried very hard to keep my composure and remain polite.

"I am disabled. It is very hard for me to get out of the house. Returning another day would be very difficult. Can you please make an exception?"

"I can get you in tomorrow."

I probably should have asked for a manager at this point. But I had no energy for confrontation. She started preparing for me to get the flu shot, but I told her I was going somewhere else. My happy news was quickly being soured by weird rules that made no sense.

But I did see a cool robot.

I got my groceries and loaded them into my car. Some were frozen items so I made sure to turn the A/C on full blast. I called another pharmacy. It was the one run by the Jamaican family who came out to the house to give my parents boosters during the height of COVID. I asked if they could do walk-in vaccinations without an appointment. And in that beautiful accent, they replied, "Sure, come on by. We'll take care of you."

Their shop is in Ferguson. Which I'm sure the news has convinced people is a constant warzone or something. But the main street, West Florrisant, is actually really neat in spots. A lot of small businesses catering to the Black community. There was a soul food place and an African hair braiding place and a Taco Bell. Okay, it wasn't all Black-themed shops, but the pharmacy was directly next to the "Wumzy African Attire" tailoring shop that was combined with the party planning store.

And in the back was an African beauty supply depot.

Three shops in one! Just a very efficient use of space.

And looking through the window of the tailoring shop was like a feast of colors for the eyes. I don't know how they get fabric so bright and colorful. Really beautiful patterns too. I tried not to look like a creep while staring inside so I just walked reeeeeally slow toward the pharmacy entrance.

I just wish people knew that side of Ferguson. It's a beautiful community that was really dragged through the mud by the national media.

I digress.

I walked into the pharmacy and it was long and skinny. They had a few shelves with over-the-counter health products. But the main area was pretty empty. I guess they want to make sure they can accommodate long lines without people having to wait outside. But their working area seemed really cramped. There were some awards on the wall and news articles. Apparently, they are very involved with vaccinating the local refugee community. Something you won't see at pointless appointment-having CVS. I just felt like I was in the right place even if my frozen items were thawing and my legs were buckling from constantly forgetting my cane in the car.

The shop was run by the pharmacist and matriarch. Her son took my information. He looked about 18 and was a bit shy—but very kind and helpful. He directed me to this little partition they set up for vaccinations and they had a liquor bottle full of hand sanitizer. The label had a big "DO NOT DRINK" warning. I found a picture of the exact one on Google.

I washed my hands and rolled up my sleeve. The pharmacist greeted me with my shots prepared. Some people have a sort of magic touch when it comes to giving shots. I'm not sure if it is a special technique or just lots of experience, but aside from a little pressure, I didn't even feel the needles going in. And my arm was only mildly sore despite the double shots.

I really wanted to thank her for sending someone to vaccinate my parents when no one else would. But I was really tired and chickened out. So I just thanked her and drove home.

I unloaded my groceries and collapsed on the couch. I could barely move at that point. Everything hurt.

But... 30 years.

I was feeling good the next day despite everything. My body hurt, but my brain was contented from my success. But there was more to do and everything was trending downhill. I called those doctors mentioned in my personal medical records. I knew it was a long shot, but I asked if they kept records from 2001. They did not. However, I thought the psychiatrist who did my ECT was dead. And it turns out he is just old-as-heck and still practicing. So even though he doesn't have records and probably doesn't remember me, I am hopeful he will write me a letter.

My other psychiatrist from back then is also still practicing. No records there either.

So far my phone anxiety wasn't getting the better of me. But I still had more calls to make and I could feel my brain starting to get melty.

My pocket knife doesn't open correctly and I couldn't get anyone to email me back from SpyderCo. So I called their office in Colorado and tried to get someone to talk to me. I got bounced to three different people and finally a guy told me that model is just hard to open. So that was pointless.

Melt. Melt. Melt.

And finally, I had to call the dreaded CPAP supply place.

It did not go well. At all.

You can read more about it at that link, but the short version is I got angrily sighed at for asking reasonable questions about what the hell "chart notes" are. And the lady refused to answer those questions for no reason I can fathom. She eventually brought me to tears and got angry at me for doing so. And it turned out the call was pointless as well.

Oh, and my lawyer was sick. Remember him? Vacation guy? Who skipped town at the exact moment I got my disability denial letter? Yeah, I had been waiting for 7 grueling, anxiety-filled days to speak with him and he gets sick the day he returns.

Brain is melty goo.

Hey, Universe! I think you are overcorrecting with that luck realignment. I appreciate the 30 years of records thing, but can you let me enjoy it a little?

Friday arrives and I still have calls to make. The CPAP lady really messed up my brain and so just dialing the numbers was freaking me out. But I decided to start with the worst first. I called the CPAP lady and she finally had her precious "chart notes" and put my order through. She was cheerful and helpful and I was confused but thankful.

I thought maybe things were looking up in my phone call adventures.

My next call was to my primary care doctor's office.

One thing you need to know about my doctor is he is a bit of a... hot mess. A very smart, capable doctor. He knows his stuff. I suspect he has an eidetic memory due to his instant recall of medication names and doses and things that happened 8 years ago and detailed descriptions of medical conditions he only heard about in school 40 years ago. Aside from that, he is kind and compassionate and he has my back no matter what.

But he is technologically stuck in the 80s. His personal life is a roller coaster of drama. He once hired his girlfriend of 2 months to work at the office and his regular staff secretly whispered "She's so awful" behind his back. (They broke up soon after.) He is disorganized and constantly running late. And he takes on tons of frustrating patients because they have nowhere else to go. I admire him for treating so many poor elderly folks without any family to take care of them, but you can tell it is extremely challenging at times and a lot of that labor is delegated to his staff.

His office manager is probably the only person on the planet who can tolerate him being a hot mess.

Unfortunately, she is also a hot mess in completely different ways.

She tries to speedrun through everything. It's probably because she has a million things to do and is trying to fit 12 hours of work into an 8 hour workday. I try to be sympathetic and understanding of that. But one of her methods for speeding things along is attempting to use her psychic powers. You will start telling her what you need and she will do this thing where she cuts you off and tries to predict said need.

"I need a prescription for..." "Your thyroid meds are due, right? I'll send it over to the pharmacy." "...insulin. But I have a question about..." "So thyroid and insulin? No problem. I'll send it over." "...increasing my dosage." "Wait, what's yer question, hon?" "Was it 50 units..." "No, it's says 100. Okay? I'll send it over. Take care." "...twice per day or 100 units once in the morning?"

Often her predictions are so bad that it actually takes a lot more time to correct her than it would if she had just let you finish speaking. And this is especially problematic for me because I rehearse everything I need to say and she constantly interrupts and so I have to end up improvising new things to say that I never accounted for. And I'm already anxious and not thinking clearly so I do a poor job of explaining my needs and it just ends up in disaster.

So I have a complicated situation. I need my entire written chart copied and sent to my lawyer. I know it is a lot of work for the office staff. They probably have to copy several hundred pages. But this is probably the most important evidence in my disability case. And my lawyer has already volunteered to pay the several hundred dollars it will cost. It's worth it because if my case goes well, I could get years of back pay.

I call and get the young woman whom I really like on his staff. She is very quiet and unassuming but secretly the star of the office. Like a ninja of competence. If you really need something done properly without mistakes, she is the best one to go to. But her job does not include handling the records, so she transfers me to the office nurse. The office nurse does not process new information well. You often have to explain things several times. And if she gives up trying to understand, she hands you off to the office manager.

The Final Boss, if you will. I was really hoping I could avoid that.

"Okay, so my lawyer needs all of my written records..."

"He needs to fax a form saying what he needs, okay honey?"

"He already faxed a release form asking for records and I brought in a new copy yesterday with all of his mailing information..."

"He didn't fax anything. He needs to tell us what he needs. I'm not seeing any form. Just tell him to call me."

"He is out sick today and he already faxed the form and I brought a second one just in case. I signed it and dated it and I watched Competence Ninja put it in my chart. It asks for everything..."

"Okay, I see it here. This doesn't look right. He needs to tell us what he needs us to send him."

"It says in the letter, 'to release any medical information, including medical records, written letters, treatment reports, testing results, or similar information.' Should it say something different?"

"I've been doing this 20 years and I've never seen anything like this. He needs to be more specific. I ain't sending him all that, hon."

"So, this is for my disability case. I already talked to the nurse about this. And I know it is a lot, but the doctor's records are the only direct evidence that I've been sick since 2001."

"So you just need something from 2001? Okay, the lawyer needs to fax something saying that."

"I need the entire handwritten chart copied and sent to the lawyer. We need a full record of my illness because..."

"This is ridiculous. You're lawyer is fucking lazy. I've never seen anything like this. And I'm worried he is not going to represent your interests."

"This is not a normal disability claim. If you'd allow me to explain I think you'd understand why I need..."

"Disability should already have all this. We shouldn't need to send this. This is fucking ridiculous and you need a new lawyer. You're going to lose your case with his lazy ass."

"This isn't normal disability. I need to prove that I've been sick for a long time and..."

"This is going to cost a fortune, you know? We charge 50 cents per page. You're going to be out hundreds of dollars."

"Okay, but I will be out thousands of dollars if I don't get this copied."

"Fuck it. I am going to copy this ONCE. No more after this. UNDERSTOOD?"

And... she hung up on me.

My heart was beating out of my chest with panic and my eyes were blurry with tears. And in that moment, I thought I had done something wrong. My doctor gave me his personal mobile number so I call him up with tears apparent in my voice. I explain what just happened and that I was really sorry and that I didn't mean to upset her. He told me she is "just like that sometimes" and I shouldn't take it to heart. They have a very serious deadline for something due that day and she was very upset and I was collateral damage. I asked him to apologize for me and he said there was no need. He said we'd work it all out on Monday when this deadline wasn't stressing everyone out.

It wasn't until I calmed down a bit that I realized I did absolutely nothing wrong. That she was just being a big jerk and taking her other problems out on me. And I was probably the one deserving of an apology. I also remembered this is not the first time she has blown up at me. She was the one who tried to make me get a ventilator instead of a proper CPAP machine years ago. She said, "My mom has one and it works fine." And I was like, "So if I travel I'm supposed to take 12 pounds of medical equipment instead of a 1 pound device that fits neatly into a backpack?"

I get why my doctor made excuses for her. She works very hard and puts up with him. He'd never be able to find anyone that would last a week doing that job. And I have a feeling he probably defended me after I called. I played what he said back in my brain and noticed a frustrated tone. Despite what he said, it seems clear he was pissed.

I can make amends and figure things out with her. That isn't an issue. But I am worried that between her and CPAP lady, all of the progress I've made trying to reduce my telephobia was erased. I really was getting better calling people. I used to need Katrina hanging out on Skype while I called anyone as moral support. And while it still helps, I've gotten a lot better at calling strangers on my own. But now, I'm not so sure.

I might ask if there is an office email address I can use from now on. If I can write out what I need there is no way to get interrupted. I can be clear and detailed and use my writing skills to communicate way better than my phone skills.

I don't know.

It was just a crappy way to end a stressful, exhausting week.

But it wasn't the end!

Friday evening my sick lawyer finally called. I had rehearsed all kinds of things I wanted to say to him. But it turns out, all of my emails already did most of the talking—proof that I write a great email. He was really impressed with all of my detective work. And he said if those records pan out, he is very optimistic about my case going forward. He also said that he was expecting a denial. And it was probably good that we got that out of the way quickly. And now we get to mount more of a defense, which is what lawyers are good at. We talked for about 20 minutes and came up with a battle plan. He explained the process going forward. But he mentioned one thing that worried me.

This could take a while.

A lot longer than I was expecting.

I explained that I currently have a runway until about June 2024. That's when the mortgage money runs out. However, my brother should be willing to release my inheritance in March. I hope. I have a hard time trusting anything my brother says anymore. But if he does, then I should have another year of mortgage payments. But I am definitely going to have a Plan B just in case my brother finds a new way to disrespect my father's wishes.

The lawyer said there is a quick thing and a long thing. The quick thing has a low chance of success. But it is worth trying. The long thing is a hearing with a Social Security lawyer. He said a lot of these lawyers are miserable and don't want to be there and don't really care. Which is a good thing because they'll just be like, "Fine, whatever." But it can take a long time to get a hearing due to backlogs.

So, as long as I can gather all the evidence and the hospital records have my ECT stuff, I think there is room for hope. A little hope. After years of chronic illness I know hope is sometimes dangerous. So I allot a tiny bit of hope to keep me going forward, but not enough hope to leave me devastated if things go tits up.

So... umm... I think that is the end of this novel of a post. I feel bad that I don't have a big climax or twist or cliffhanger. Should I add a big CGI dragon fight?

Even though a more down-to-earth kung fu fight with my brother would be a more satisfying conclusion?

Or I could pull an M. Night Shyamalan and reveal that I've been dead for quite some time.

This post is getting really long.

Why are you still reading this?

I am thankful that you are. I just needed to get all of that out. I hope I wrote it in a compelling way and you weren't bored.

I love you all.

#long post #i see dead frogpeople

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eddies-house · 9 months

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Smoke Signals

Chapter Three - Two Old Fashioneds

W/C: 5.2K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Your first shift at The Bourbon goes less than smoothly and more chaotic. Does the town's hard-ass really have his shit together like he leads everyone to believe?

A/N: guys I'm so excited for this to pick up even more (i want to make them kiss like barbies but all in good time)

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The ins and outs of a bar were something you could have never anticipated and while similar in certain ways to a diner, there was a distinct line that separated the two. A diner had grumpy old men complaining about not getting their coffee soon enough. The bar had grumpy old men slurring their words, groaning about their lives and insisting that a ‘cute lil thing like you’ would fix everything. You had to stop yourself from gagging, plaster a smile on your face, and carry on. Because one complaint and you could be out of a job, only proving that you couldn’t handle the ‘rowdy’ customers as disclosed by the boss, who now that you thought about, hadn’t seen in the last forty minutes.

Not one other server was on staff to at least show you the ropes, it seemed like you were the first one. One of the bartenders, Jett, who had been the one you’d seen working the day before, was unfortunately selected to both train you and run the bar for the most part tonight, no time for a proper introduction before you were thrown into the deep end, only a quick exchange of names. It was a Thursday night but apparently to people in Knife’s Edge that meant the weekend started early. Poor Jett was nineteen years old and the whole bar depended on you two ever since 8:00 PM when you clocked in for your very first shift. It was nauseating having to ask him stupid questions in between attempting to serve tables while he made drink after drink, desperately trying to keep up with each order and delivering them to the right customer, even going as far to step out from behind the bar to tend to some of your tables. You assume he was probably used to it, what with how he did it without hesitation and seemed to have his own little system in place.

It wasn’t your fault, he assured you. It’s just that you happened to pick up your first shift the very night that the kitchen ran out of beef which also happened to be the main ingredient of one of The Bourbon’s only menu items, the famous Shreddar Burger topped with an ungodly amount of cheese and jalapenos. Turns out the customers went wild for it. It didn’t seem appetizing but you weren’t going to argue with the crowd favorite. And now it was being requested left and right, the explanation that the kitchen was currently out but should be back to whipping up another round soon, not enough for their hungry bellies. The best you could offer was a basket of fries until the beef magically showed up, Jett insisting that someone was taking care of it and that the cook would be back to whipping them up as planned sooner than later. You were beginning to lose faith in his promises but proceeded one step at a time regardless.

Just one more task and then the beef will be here and I won’t have to hear another damn grievance over a heartburn-inducing burger.

Yet it seemed to never come to an end, table after table requesting the very same order each time; only for you or Jett to break the news that their precious burger would have to wait and that again, the best you could offer were some fries or chicken wings, neither measuring up to the pedestal they held this burger on.

By around 9:15 PM, out came Eddie from the kitchen, door swinging behind him as sweat dripped from his brow. He was out of breath, chest heaving while he gestured for you and Jett to come over to which you obeyed, zigzagging around tables in a hurry with a tray tucked under your arm, brows pinched together stressfully. A new party of eight had just arrived which prompted you to push three tables together to accompany them, their drink order hadn’t even been taken yet and Eddie seemed to pick the worst time to call an impromptu meeting, in the middle of a never ending rush. Burgerless.

“Beef’s here. Jett, I need you to help with the rest of the boxes so we can get burgers going.” He instructs, the boy immediately following orders and frantically heading through the swinging door at full speed, very aware that he still had the front of house to attend to. “And you, Bambi, change of plans. I need you in the kitchen.”

So much to unpack in just one sentence. The kitchen? Bambi?

“Well–I-I thought I was just a server–”

“I said change of plans, I need you in the kitchen.” Before you could ask further questions, he disappears into the kitchen and for a split second you turn to glance at the full bar awaiting service only to wince and follow him. No one was managing the front and that made your nerves twitch but you suppose the boss knows what he’s doing. At least you hope. Your first hour or so had been a shit show.

Pans clanked against the metal worktop as he shoved them out of the way, clearing the space and igniting the flat top all while not batting an eye at you or caring to further explain. You could just make out the formation of numbers on his lips, no sound coming out, but he was distinctly lip syncing the numbers one through three over and over. It was strange though you didn’t have much time to process it, instead opting to internally lose it over the sheer idea of filling in for another position. You didn’t sign up to be a cook and this was way out of your scope of skills. He deemed you as incapable of being a server and now he was putting the foundation of this place on your shoulders.

“Randy, our cook left.” He begins, oiling up the surface, his focus never faltering. “Don’t know why, don’t know where. All I know is I went to pick up beef and when I came back he was gone.”

Jett scrambles near the back door, hauling boxes of beef into the walkin freezer as your eyes dart between him and Eddie, a certain queasiness forming in your stomach. Eddie continues pulling supplies out and though it's within your rights to demand to return to your original position in the front, you can’t, the words won’t come out.

“So you’re gonna flip burgers, Jett and I will be in and out to help while also holding it down out there.”

“I don’t even know how to ‘flip burgers’!”

It comes out less hostile and more alarmed, your eyes feigning apprehension at the current inconsistency of the place. In any other circumstance you should leave, quit with your dignity intact however that is not an option and you are in no position to be calling any shots; you begged for this job, afterall.

“You don’t know how to flip burgers.” He deadpans.

“I-”

“You ever flipped a pancake?”

It’s not a genuine question, more of a mockery of your simpleminded excuse. His head drops to catch your line of sight that had been previously shooting around the colorless kitchen, saturated in grays and whites that would drive anyone mad.

“That’s not what I meant–” You proclaim, setting your tray on an unoccupied work top.

“Just–cook the meat. Make sure it’s not raw.”

As if that wasn’t the whole point of ‘cooking’ it. This guy must have thought you had mush for brains yet he was the one with a crumbling structure of a business just based on what you’ve experienced in one night. One hour, even. You were starting to miss the senior citizens from the previous evening that appeared to have had a great deal of patience in comparison to the younger crowd that seemed to have more audacity and a shorter attention span.

“But what about–”

“Stop asking questions! Just follow my lead.” He demands, rushing out to the back, the door propped open so he could assist Jett in retrieving the remaining boxes from his truck.

What lead? There was no lead. Only chaos.

You idled next to the grill, shuffling your feet against the grimy tiles beneath you and taking notice of the astonishingly disgusting drain on the floor, coated in some kind of copper-colored grease. At least if Eddie came back in to yell at you for not doing anything, you had the excuse of manning the grill, ensuring his precious bar didn’t burn to the ground though metaphorically, it already was. What else were you supposed to do?

–

You were sure the smell of beef, onions and cheese were going to be crusted into your hair for eternity when all was said and done. Eddie and Jett had been taking turns walking you through the steps of creating this so-called famous burger and after a few mutilated testers, you eventually got the hang of it and it became a game of rinse and repeat. Sometimes an order for a rare cooked burger would come in and you could only hope that you cooked it just enough that it wouldn’t bring on a nasty case of food poisoning to whoever had requested it.

Eddie stood behind you at the fryer, back to you while putting together another batch of fries to store under the heat lamps while you pieced together yet another burger, setting it along the space designated for finished meals along with its corresponding ticket underneath. Eddie dumped some fries onto the plate before swiping it up and delivering it to its table. When he quickly came back in to repeat the same motions, a question lingered in the back of your mind and it only made sense to ask it.

“Why am I on burger duty?” You question, mentally facepalming at the phrasing you chose.

“Come again?” He gives you another chance.

“I-I mean, if I’m brand new, why put me in charge of one of the most important things on the menu? Why don’t you cook and I keep serving?”

It seemed like a valid concern, only your first day and suddenly you’ve moved up to head of the kitchen? Okay, maybe not head of the kitchen but that’s how it felt when thing one and thing two were constantly rotating out and mainly only managing fries and other small bar foods that were simple enough to make in big batches. The grease from it all felt prominent on your skin, and you feared your sweat was going to become one with the vegetable oil.

“Every person out there knows me. And I know them. I know how to butter them up.” He explains, a rogue curl escaping his messy bun in the mayhem of it all as he dumps another large portion of potatoes into the fryer. “You…well, you know.”

It’s uncertain whether that was meant to be an insult or simply him losing his train of thought. Either way, you didn’t read much into it, only nodding hesitantly.

“Don’t worry, we’ll throw you back to the wolves in no time.” Eddie half jokes, exiting the kitchen once again, this time with plates balanced on his forearms and palms, Jett zooming past him to start up another round of wings.

“So, how are you enjoying hell?” He laughs, giving his hands a good scrub down.

“Oh, it’s amazing.” You exaggerate, piling some cheddar cheese high on top of the charred meat, topping it off with jalapenos and a bun, then plating it up with some fries.

“Well, I promise it’s not like this every shift. And contrary to what you may have seen tonight, Eddie’s a good boss. Just kinda cranky but you learn to ignore it.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” The man in question rushes by, heading for the walk-in freezer, yet again counting in threes, this time using his fingers as well.

–

As promised, you were sent back up to the front once things had slowed down, the bar emptying out aside from a few regulars that had straggled behind. It was a manageable workload between three people, plus Jett was able to offer a little more in depth training behind the bar as well as giving you the official tour of The Bourbon.

There was the main room where all the action was, dimly lit to create a nice ambience littered in knick knacks that decorated the walls, torn band posters covering the ceiling along with some Christmas lights. Of course there was a pool table though you hadn’t witnessed any intense games in your short time here. Jett took the liberty of educating you on the kitchen a little further should anything of tonight’s nature happen again. You learned where everything was kept for their small but cherished menu, where the storage closet containing all the cleaning supplies was as well as the back office which was only reserved for Eddie according to Jett. Lastly, he showed you the dumpsters, in case you happened to be on trash duty and he even gave you strict instructions on how to close them back up so animals wouldn’t rummage.

Now you were back behind the bar, being taught to make the signature drink, an old fashioned containing cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger. You could appreciate it, a bit spicy and a touch smooth, accompanying that burnt wood taste that would get you there fast. It wasn’t a difficult drink to make however, perfecting the presentation was what set you back. You couldn’t simply toss a cherry and an orange twist into the liquor, it had to be done tastefully. Or that’s how Jett explained it, claiming that those were Eddie’s words. The drink was in a way, an art and you couldn’t be sloppy with it, not by The Bourbon’s standards.

A hectic night of becoming a makeshift cook, training as a server, and an intake of so much new information would do a number on anyone and the bags under your eyes clearly showed the physical exhaustion you were experiencing. You didn’t think you ever worked so hard even at the diner back at home during rush hour.

“Little lamb made it through the night.”

Tilting your head up from the cocktail before you momentarily, you’re met with that pair of intimidating but gorgeous eyes, nearly black in the low lighting of the bar. It was interesting, you’d seen many brown eyes in your lifetime but none of them resembled something quite like the universe he held in his, his outlook on things noticeably different from the average person. He had taken a seat at one of the stools on the opposite side of the bar from you, some paperwork laid out in front of him as he began scribbling something down. All you could offer him was the raise of your brow in acknowledgement of his presence, too engaged in perfecting the cherries on the toothpick just right, balancing them on the rim of the glass like a circus act.

“They’re too close together.” Eddie remarks, his gaze glued to the paper he had been marking up, an inventory list you notice at a second glance.

“Hmm?” You might as well have been in your own world, some kind of trance caused by fatigue pulling at your muscles and overworked mind.

“Cherries. They’re unbalanced.”

For a man of such few words, he still seemed to say a lot. The attitude ingrained in his tone never appeared to let up and it felt as if something was either always bugging him or losing his interest. Never content, always sour and sharp-tongued.

“Oh.” You sigh in defeat, as if it were impossible to simply pick up the toothpick resting against the glass and your finger and move the cherries, solving the case of the wobbling toothpick.

Jett emerged next to you after participating in some small talk with a regular at the end of the bar, a grin on his youthful face despite what a shit show the night had been. So far you observed that he was something of an optimist, smiling his way through tough situations. It was refreshing.

“There you go!” He praises, gesturing greatly to the drink you’d just created. Your third try at it.

“Jett, you’re bein’ a shitty example. Leaving your sheep unattended.” Eddie grumbles, sticking a toothpick in his mouth. You’d be lying if you said you wished he’d stop sticking toothpicks in his damn mouth. Well, half-lying. You’d admit he looked good chewing on a tiny piece of wood but he did it far too often.

Wait…sheep? Were you the sheep? Was this a jab at you? You’d just spent the night keeping this place afloat and he was insulting you once again?

“Munson, I’d say I’m doing just fine considering you left us without a fuckin’ cook the whole night.” Jett defends. You want to grimace, knowing this wasn’t the standard when talking to your boss but Eddie seemed unphased while the boy kept grinning at him as he leaned against the bar. “Plus, it seems like this sheep kicked ass on only her first day.” He nudges your shoulder with his, sliding the drink you’d just concocted in front of Eddie. You smiled in appreciation of his kind words.

“I didn’t leave you without a cook. Cook fuckin’ left without telling anyone.” He reasons, immediately throwing half the drink back in one swig.

Please don’t taste shitty, please don’t taste shitty, please don’t taste shitty.

“And I guess you proved not to be as dainty as I thought.” Eddie admits to you, throwing the rest of the drink back. No complaints yet. Only what you could make out to be a compliment.

“So can she stay?” Jett pleads, bottom lip jutted out for emphasis. He seemed to have taken a liking to you but then again, the place was short staffed so maybe he was just desperate to have anyone help out.

Eddie looks up from his list, pen tapping against the bar top with annoyance. There was still no indication whether the old fashioned had been any good or not, seemingly forgotten about amongst the conversation and it was quietly eating at you. The need for validation.

“That’s up to her, kid.”

Both pairs of eyes landed on you, anticipating your answer.

“Well, uh, I dunno.” You shrug. “Was I even any good at making a drink?” Like you had a choice in accepting the job, this is all you had.

“I dunno.” Eddie replies, sliding the glass back over to you. “Try again, let's see.”

“That’s a yes.” Jett chimes in. “Big boy wants a refill.”

“Jett, I will personally give you a swirly.” There’s a glimpse of humor in Eddie’s tone, the smallest you’ve seen within him so far though you refrained from giggling.

“Oh, a swirly? Real mature.” Jett mocks, Eddie quietly snorting a laugh in response.

His smile was cute.

And it may be the first time you’d seen a genuine one from him. He had dimples, deep, deep dimples. It was a wonder why he didn’t put them on display more.

In the midst of the banter, you began whipping up another old fashioned, The Bourbon way. You figured it wouldn’t be your place to insert yourself among the jokes, being the new girl. It was best to keep quiet until you blended in a bit more. Several customers throughout the night had already initiated conversation stating they’d never seen you before and you didn’t need to draw any more attention to yourself than you’d already received.

“Make it a double?” Eddie interrupts your process.

Again you look up to meet those large eyes, practically black holes absorbing any and all light aside from a tiny sparkle you found that survived within them. He was asking and not demanding. He owned the whole damn place and yet he was asking you to make it a double when he could very well just tell you.

“Yeah.” You whisper, unsure of yourself. A double just meant…well, double, right?

So you turn to Jett who was now scrubbing at an especially sticky spot on the bar. He didn’t take any notice in your silent plea much to your regret. You looked like an idiot, pondering over what exactly the measurements should be since today's training didn’t exactly cover what to do should someone ask for a double. At least you knew how to use the entirety of the kitchen though…

“Just another shot.” Eddie instructs, emotionless.

With a nod, you kick right into action, using what you learned and putting it to use while remembering to add an additional shot and not completely overlook it in your uneasiness. You didn’t care to peer up at him once more, uncertain if he was still watching your every move and unsure whether he would reprimand you for making one mistake in crafting his drink. He said nothing so it was safe to assume he had resumed filling out his boring paperwork.

“See, she’s a natural!” Jett applauds upon turning back toward you as you carefully pierce the cherries with a toothpick, balancing them just how Eddie had taught you.

It really wasn’t rocket science and you could feel the humiliation seep into your bones at the thought of him judging you for simply not being able to figure out why they kept falling in before. You were by no means a natural.

“You’re gonna be the new favorite, I can already tell. Everyone’s gonna love ya.” Though Jett’s words are appreciated and far too kind, you can’t help but doubt his confidence in you.

You were used to being a fly on the wall, observing and keeping to yourself among loud personalities. And you were okay with that. Being so removed grants you the ability to perceive everyone else without barely even being perceived yourself. It was flattering, the way Jett talked you up having only known you for a few hours but you knew you were nothing special. He was just being nice and most likely picked up on your anxious undertones.

Eddie remained mute, continuing to scribble away at the paper in front of him as if you and Jett weren’t there. Just as silent, you slid the drink over into his peripheral before occupying your hands with a rag to wipe up any remnants caused by your shaky hands. He only scanned the drink over once before tapping his pen against the counter, three times. Always in threes.

Awaiting his consensus on your bartending, you pretend to pay no mind, as though his opinion is the last thing on earth you would want. Really, it’s all you want. To know if you exceeded at crafting the bar’s signature drink or if you failed so miserably that he wouldn't let you behind the bar again. After all, your official job title would be ‘server’ and server’s didn’t generally make drinks, they served. But this wasn’t a normal bar and it seemed everyone was performing more than one job at a time so if you had to make drinks you might as well be somewhat good at it. And if not, it could render you useless in his perception, seeing as he’d already underestimated you before.

When he finally takes a sip, large hand wrapped around the glass, you refrain from sucking in a breath because although he had already had one, he gulped it down like water. This time it seemed he was performing a quality check.

“Good.” His monotone voice doesn’t convey much other than you’ve at least satisfied him to some extent. But that's it.

Next to you, Jett celebrates again before tending to another customer and then yelling out for the last call. Eddie’s focus doesn’t budge from his work while he sips away at his drink, this time nurturing it rather than greedily throwing it all back.

–

Some time around 12:30 AM Jett had dashed out after the bar received a phone call from his mom complaining that the racoons had stormed their barn and came too close to threatening their chicken coop again. With all patrons now gone and only cleaning and closing left to be done, Eddie dismissed him from work and told him to get a better handle on the raccoon situation seeing as it happened three times in the past month. Jett muttered something about how raccoons are relentless and how they will find a way if they really want to on his way out.

With one last wipe down of the tables and a thorough cleaning of the bar top, all that was left on your mental checklist given to you courtesy of Eddie was making sure behind the bar was organized and pristine for the following day, bottles accounted for, and glasses washed and dried. He was absent for a good thirty minutes but you concluded he was doing his share in the kitchen as you heard the clanging of metal on metal and a few curses every now and then when there was an extra loud crash.

The sudden crackle of a speaker and booming music startles you, a glass nearly slipping out of your grasp at the sound. A harsh metal song blares through the bar, guitar wailing and bass vibrating, causing a few bottles to gently clink against each other on the shelf. Seconds later, Eddie came sauntering out from the back office with a broom in hand and a cigarette hanging from his bottom lip, unlit.

You try to ignore whatever he may be up to but find it impossible not to look up from the glass you were polishing off. His hair was unruly, now out of the confines of a bun and seeming to have only gotten bigger throughout the night and–he wasn’t using the broom for sweeping. Instead, he crawled on top of a freshly cleaned table with his dirty, clunky boots and poked at something in the rafters, tugging it forward. You wanted to be mad that he was stepping on your freshly scrubbed table but you couldn’t help but be curious, pausing your motions to stare and try to predict his next move.

The end of the broom was looped under the handle of a small wooden box and his arm stretched out to open it before pulling some cash out of his pocket and sticking it in the box. Then he closed it back up and shoved it back into place, out of sight. Once he jumped down off the table, he began walking toward the back again, stopping in his tracks when he realized you were standing there watching him the whole time.

A puff of air escapes his lips, his bangs briefly blowing upward before resting back against his forehead. You tear your gaze away, now more interested in cleaning water droplets off of another glass. Your heart pounding, his footsteps only inch closer and closer and yet again, he is on the opposite side of the bar from you, staring you down. It was obvious he had forgotten you were there. The unlit cigarette is plucked from his lips in between his fingers and tucked behind his ear.

“You didn’t see that. If it goes missing, I’ll know it was you.” He speaks so gruffly and low, as if someone might hear despite the place being empty.

Nodding in submission, you can’t bring yourself to catch his fierce gaze.

“Yeah?” Eddie pushes for a verbal response, more intensity to his tone.

“Yes.” You chirp. Like a pathetic little bird.

Satisfied with your answer, he hums, resting the broom against a stool before making his way around the bar, pulling a rag out of his back pocket and assisting you with wiping down the remaining glasses. There had to have been at least a dozen left and by the looks of it, he had finished his tasks and wanted to get out of here. So you worked in silence, side by side.

It felt like an eternity but it must have only been two minutes later when you began to feel antsy. Like you were supposed to initiate a friendly conversion. Some kind of bullshit small talk. And then your better judgment kicks in, telling you ‘better not’ since the man beside you didn’t seem like the small talk type. In all fairness you weren’t either but it felt like you had to constantly conform to certain standards. Then your mouth started running without a second thought because one thought provoked you and now you just had to know.

“So…the bingo night…is that a regular thing?”

A side eye from him may as well have shot daggers directly into you, his movements pausing as he scowled. So you backtracked.

“N-nevermind–”

“Yes.” He answers abruptly, much to your surprise.

“Oh.”

Your voice comes out soft, as if trying not to spook an animal. And for as annoyed as he looks, he’s the one who answered after you attempted to give him an out. He was a very conflicting man, hard to read and mysterious.

“Every Wednesday. The senior home wants its residents to get out every now and then.”

“And…they chose a bar?” A smile tugs at your lips, one that you can’t help.

“What’s wrong with that?”

His face shows offense but his tone holds some kind of amusement, the slightest bit of personality seeping through the cracks and exposing itself to you.

“I just–nothing, it’s just, out of every place they could choose…a bar?” You couldn’t wrap your head around the idea, shaking your head.

“I mean, we’re the only place that offered.”

There’s a genuine kind of hurt behind his words. You’re unable to determine if it was directed toward your question or something else wading through his mind. Or if it was even meant to slip out in any way based on how closed off he was. Your guess was that his sudden projection of an emotion was a slip up and that it was up to you to ignore it otherwise he’d give you an even harder time.

“Oh.” Again, your soft spoken voice carries itself gently to his ears. “That’s…nice. Really nice.” You say honestly, glancing at him.

For having such tough armor and such offputting behavior, Eddie was pretty. His curls were messy and appeared to be pieced apart by his fingers running through them constantly, leaving them fuzzy and unkempt. But still appealing. And his side profile illuminated by the warm lights was soft but still manly, handsome. He was good looking, there was no denying that. His personality was rather repelling though and good looks could only get you so far, not that he was flaunting how attractive he was and using it to his benefit.

Coming out of your trance, you find that you’re both down to the last few glasses, silence taking over once again. Out of the corner of your eye, you take notice of the way Eddie’s mouth forms numbers again, without sound.

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

All mouthed as he seems to breathe unevenly. You don’t draw any attention to your observation much like earlier when you’d caught him doing the same thing. There were depths to him that you were beginning to feel were unexplored by anyone other than himself. A loneliness detected beneath the surface of his solid and impenetrable armor.

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiemunson95 @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean@micheledawn1975

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