Haneybunny - ୨♡୧

Viper // Part 3 // MAX VERSTAPPEN – N.01 (N.033)

GIF by writingaslan

Author’s Note: Thank you guys so much for being patient with me for this next part. I’m so glad that you’ve all enjoyed the previous 2 parts. Again, let me know what you think cause those comments always make me smile! Also if you’re not in the taglist, it’s cause the username wasn’t working when I tried to put it in.

Find the previous 2 parts on my masterlist, here.

Summary: Y/N fills the vacant Red Bull seat at the beginning of the 2019 season, craziness ensues.

Characters: Max Verstappen / Driver Reader, Daniel Ricciardo x Driver Reader (besties).

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: Fluff, Comfort, Drama, Angst. All the good stuff. Mentions of sex, language, etc.

You missed out on a podium in Russia by a couple of tenths of a second, Leclerc just barely managing to push his car across the finish line first. Though you’d forced a smile onto your face through your post-race media rounds, the smile vanished the moment you’d stepped into the debrief room and had it out with your team because a mechanical error on the last lap (you hadn’t been able to use your DRS) cost you the podium.

You’d feel bad about yelling later, but in the moment you felt like you’d lost so many valuable points in your bid for the Championship. The gap between you and Lewis almost seemed impossible now. Based on the resigned looks that crossed your team’s faces… you knew they’d accepted the fact that it was essentially out of reach going forward.

Granted, you should be happy with the way your rookie season in Formula 1 was turning out. Already, with 2 wins and multiple podium finishes, you’d done so much more than what everyone had been expecting of you. You were currently back in second, just a few point ahead of Max, but with 5 races left to the season and an over 50 point gap between you and the championship leader… odds weren’t in your favour because you highly doubted Lewis would have 2 DNFs to let you catch up.

It didn’t change the fact that it was a hard pill to swallow.

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Japan was a weird one.

You already knew that some of your friends on the grid had a hard time at this circuit, because of what had happened in 2014. Daniel had a little bit less of that usual sparkle in his eye, the young driver clearly on his mind through the weekend. You felt bad for Charles in particular, who had to field questions about Jules from the media, because it was no secret that Charles was living out his godfather’s dream with the seat in Ferrari.

Then on Friday, it was announced that all sessions on Saturday would be cancelled, and the Qualifying session would be rescheduled for Sunday morning, in anticipation of a big typhoon rolling in on Saturday. It led to a weird atmosphere in the hotel on Saturday, drivers having an unexpected day off in the middle of the race weekend and having no idea what to do with themselves. You, and a few other drivers and performance coaches, had wound up in Daniel’s room watching movies and eating smart popcorn. Not your typical race weekend Saturday at all, but it seemed no one wanted to spend it alone.

Sunday you woke up to some beautiful clear skies, heading off to the track at the crack of dawn to get to work. It was easier that expected to get back into the swing of things after that impromptu day off, diving right into qualifying. Both you and Max had made it into Q3, and even weirder, you set the exact same qualifying time (he’d wound up in the lead because he’d set the time first), starting P5 and P6 on the grid. You’d done your post-qualifying interviews together, before heading back to the garage to go through your preparation routine ahead of the race.

The weirdness of the weekend didn’t end there. Once the lights went out, you’d managed to gain a few positions from the start and wound up in P3. Max wasn’t as lucky, involved in some contact with Charles that spun him off the track and damaged his car. Though he’d tried to carry on with the race, the team eventually decided to retire Max’s car from the race when they realized that wouldn’t make up pace and put all their focus on you.

The pressure didn’t bother you, instead motivating you to do whatever you could to get the most points for the team. And somehow, thanks to some fantastic pit strategies and a little bit of luck, you’d crossed the finish line a few seconds ahead of Bottas and Hamilton, taking the win. The celebration was a little bit bittersweet for the team, considering the DNF, but it was also their 5th win of the season.

After the podium celebration and team photo, you’d convinced your PR officer to give you a couple of minutes to change out of your champagne-soaked suit before heading to the media pen, so you’d quickly made your way through the garage, intent on getting to your driver’s room as quickly as possible.

You never expected to bump into Max and his father Jos, the latter essentially reaming out his son for the poor outcome on the race. You’d taken a few steps back to avoid being seen, not wanting to interrupt something that clearly wasn’t meant for your eyes.

That didn’t stop you from overhearing the gist of Jos’s cruel words. “-didn’t even fight to stay in the race. I taught you better than that. You’ll never become champion if you keep letting that hoer ahead of you! I thought you’d learned after Germany, but it’s clear that you’d rather be on that slet’s good graces than winning races. Ik ben teleurgesteld in jou (I’m disappointed in you.)” Oh great, they were talking about you. You didn’t know what Jos had called you, but you doubted that it was anything nice.

“Leclerc’s the one who ruined my race today by running me off the track. Y/L/N had nothing to do with it.” Max’s tone lacked the… confidence it usually held.

Jos wasn’t having it. “You gave her the better line off the start.”

“She beat me to it.” Max argued, accent strong as he continued to voice his argument. “I don’t let her do anything. She’s a fucking good driver. Red Bull wouldn’t have given her the second seat if she wasn’t.”

Jos laughed menacingly. “We all know she’s only on the team for the PR benefits of having a girl in the sport. Red Bull is making millions in additional brand deals and sponsorships. She’s a commodity. You’re just soft for her. It’s making you look like a fool on the track.”

 You didn’t know what insulted you the most out of what Max’s dad had just said, but it’s not like you could defend yourself without giving away the fact that you’d been eavesdropping for longer than you should’ve been.

“Je hebt het fout (You’re wrong).” Max snapped.

Jos only laughed. “En je bent een hopeloze dwaas (And you’re a hopeless fool.) She’ll ruin you, and you’re letting her do it.”

You’d had enough of this. You took a few silent steps further back in the hallway, before loudly reopening the door and pretending to walk through. You kept the best poker face you could as you turned the corner towards your driver’s room, pretending to be surprised to find another two people standing in the hallway, walking until you were stood in front of your door.

“Max, Jos.” You nodded to them.

“Y/N.” Max wouldn’t meet your gaze, unlike his father who was openly glaring at you.

You didn’t falter, cocking your head to the side in challenge. Jos Verstappen didn’t scare you, you’d dealt with worse in the past. “Sorry about the DNF. Super unlucky but at least the stewards gave him a couple penalties. He wound up in P8.”

Max couldn’t hide his surprise. You never expressed sympathy after a bad result. In fact, you usually avoided him in these cases. You hadn’t been awful to him lately, but you also weren’t friends. “Oh, yeah. It sucked. But, congratulations on your win. I saw a couple of good looking overtakes on the replay screens.”

“Yes, enjoy the win while you still can.” Jos added, attempting to look intimidating.

Too bad you couldn’t care less what this man thought about you. “That’s the plan, Jos.” You smiled, sugary sweet. “Actually on the theme of enjoying victories, a bunch of us are heading out to a karaoke bar tonight. Daniel’s idea, obviously. You in, Verstappen?”

“We’re flying back to Holland tonight.” His father answered for him.

“Niet (No.)” Max stood slightly taller. “Would I have to sing?”

“Most definitely.” You smirked, enjoying the fact that Max’s dad seemed to be getting more frustrated by the second. “But, only after copious amounts of alcohol have been consumed. I’m sure they have plenty of gin for you.”

“I guess I can’t leave Daniel hanging.” Max’s smirk almost matched yours. “I’ll be there.”

“I’ll let him know.” Your smirk softened into a smile. “I’ll text you the details. See you later, Verstappen.” You added, before finally making your way into your room to change. You could hear more muttering in Dutch between the two men you’d left behind in the hallway, but paid it no mind as you changed out of your champagne soaked race suit into some other team branded clothes.

You shot Daniel a text as you’d been braiding your wet hair back, giving him a heads up that Max would be joining you guys tonight. His response was almost immediate.

- I thought you didn’t like the guy. – Danny

- I don’t. – Y/N

- But if anyone deserves to get hammered tonight, he’s up there on the list. – Y/N

- I already know *exactly* what song I’m making the two of you sing together. – Danny

- Fuck off, I’m not singing. – Y/N.

You were smiling as you made your way back out to face the media, telling yourself that it was because you’d just won your third Grand Prix of your rookie season. You didn’t doubt that tonight would be one of the more interesting victory celebrations you’d been a part of. You couldn’t wait.

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GROUPCHAT: Y/L/N Offsprings

Dumb: You’re internet famous, Y/N!

Dumb: *insert link to youtube video of you singing karaoke in a random Japanese bar with Max*

Dumber: Holy fuck that thing has thousands of views.

Jesus Christ I’m going to murder Daniel for posting that. :Y/N

It’s got more views than the elevator video… :Y/N

Dumber: We always knew you were destined for fame.

Dumb: Who needs to win the WDC. Just keep singing off key with all the drivers. That’s the way to do it.

I’m going to block you both. :Y/N

Dumb: It’s the start of something new!

Dumber: It feels so right, to be here with you!

Dumb: And now looking in your eyes

Dumber: I feel in my heart……….

Forget about those Paddock passes to the Austin GP :Y/N

Dumber: Whatever. Dan will sort us out.

I’ll have you banned. :Y/N

Good luck getting through security then. :Y/N

Dumb: Love you too, Gabriella.

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After the race weekend in Japan, you’d made your way over to Canada to spend the off week with your family ahead of the next couple of North American races. Your family had delayed Thanksgiving by a week so that you wouldn’t miss it, and you were even there to celebrate your dad’s birthday. It was nice to have a little break away from it all, knowing that the last couple of races were going to be interesting.

However, you hadn’t been able to get a certain conversation with a Dutch driver out of your head. He’d tracked you down when you’d been ordering another round of drinks at the karaoke bar in Japan, taking you by surprise when he offered you a sincere apology for that run in with his father earlier in the day. You’d easily brushed it off, because you couldn’t give two shits about what Jos Verstappen thought about you. The guy was an ass, and everyone knew it. You also somehow managed to keep your mouth shut about the part of the conversation you’d overheard, knowing that the middle of a karaoke bar in Japan probably wasn’t the best place to hash that out.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when your dad appeared beside you, placing his hand over yours that had aimlessly been stirring your coffee for a while now. “What’s on your mind, Y/N?”

“Huh? Nothing.” You shrugged it off, grabbing your mug and taking a sip of the slightly sweetened coffee.

The look your dad gave you told you that he clearly wasn’t buying it. “You’ve been quiet all weekend. You love Thanksgiving and seeing all your cousins that you don’t usually get to see.”

You found yourself looking down at your coffee again, because your dad was right. You had been distracted for a good chunk of your visit. You didn’t want to talk about what was really on your mind, so you deflected with a semi-relevant question instead. “Do you think I only got my spot at Red Bull because I’m a woman and they can leverage me to get better sponsorships and brand deals?”

“Is that what you think?” Your dad answered the question with another question.

You shrugged a shoulder, hoping you appeared unbothered, but your dad knew you better than that. “It’s what other people think.”

“I thought you didn’t care what other people thought about you.” You dad slowly said, refilling his own mug of coffee now that you’d stepped away from the coffee machine.

“I don’t, it’s just…” You trailed off, biting at your lip. “That conversation is still happening whether I care about it or not, no matter how many podiums or wins I get.”

“Let’s get one thing straight here, Y/N. You didn’t get those podiums or wins. You earned them. Regardless of what people say, it won’t take away from the fact that you went out there and won Monaco your first time around. It won’t diminish the fact that you’re having the best rookie season in recent years, consistently outscoring your more experienced teammate. It definitely won’t take away from the fact that you’re putting up a fight for the championship when no one ever thought you’d even score so much as a point. Red Bull might’ve signed you initially for the good PR, but you’re easily one of the better drivers that they’d ever signed.”

Your dad’s encouragement brought up some warm and fuzzy feelings inside of you, instantly quelling your doubts. You wished he could come out to more races, because it would be nice to have him around more often to help you block out all that stupid noise. But still, the egotistically part of you couldn’t help but fish for another compliment. “Better than Danny?”

Your dad smirked, but indulged you anyways. “Daniel didn’t win three races his rookie year.” Damn fucking straight. “What brought all of this doubt on? You’re usually far more clear headed.”

“Something I overheard in Japan that I shouldn’t have.” You mumbled, taking a large gulp from your coffee. “Jos Verstappen was quick to blame me for his son’s DNF, and overall lower standing. He thinks Max is letting me win cause I’m a girl.”

“Did you tell him he was full of shit?”

You smirked. “I thought it.”

“Good.” Your dad was smiling again, before that serious look was back on his face. “Jos couldn’t be more wrong. Max is easily the driver who gives you the hardest time on track, if the German GP was anything to go by… I’d even go as far as to say that Max was one of the first to take you seriously.”

Wait… what? “Huh?”

“I keep forgetting that you don’t watch the press things on race weekends” Your dad chuckled to himself. “Ahead of pre-season testing, he was making comments about being unsure about you, but then after he saw what you could do during testing he quickly changed his tune. He’s had your back throughout the season.”

“Max has had my back? Max… Verstappen?” You said his last name slowly, to make sure you were talking about the same person.

“Yes.” Your dad seemed confused by your surprise. “I thought you guys got along? Seemed like it in at the Montreal GP, when he was talking with us in the garage.”

At that point, they had been getting along. It was right after their temporary truce in Monaco. You’d even go as far as to say that he’d been like a friend to you, letting you use his travelling simulator so that you could get out of your head before a race. But then again, everything had changed in Germany and you’d backed off entirely, preferring to ignore him. Then that thing happened in Monaco, and you were now in this weird limbo with your teammate where you didn’t hate him or like him. “It’s… He’s complicated. He wants to win just as much as I do… so we butt heads a lot.”

Your dad laughed at your explanation. “I think it’s safe to say all the drivers on that grid with you want to win. Daniel wants to win just as much as you do, and yet the two of you are still the best of friends through it all.”

“I guess…” You trailed off, feeling a headache coming on. Daniel was different though, because he wasn’t your teammate. He wasn’t your constant line of comparison, like Max. Besides, Daniel wasn’t having the best year with his new team, so you weren’t racing him as much as you would’ve liked to.

 Urg, this was too much thinking for this early in the morning. It wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. You just wanted to be able to turn up to the track, get in your car and race. Fuck everything else.

However, you’d been wrong in thinking that this was the end of the conversation. Clearly, your dad wasn’t ready to drop the first heart to heart conversation you’d had in a long time, bringing up something that you rarely every talked about. “You know, your mom would be proud of everything you’ve accomplished this year.” Your gaze snapped up to meet your dad’s, hoping you could silently convey that you didn’t want to talk about it. “I mean, I don’t think she envisioned her baby girl regularly hurtling herself around a race track at over 300kph, but you can bet she would be so fucking proud of you for carving out a space for yourself doing what you love.”

“Fucking hell dad, give a girl a warning before diving into the deep stuff.” You rebuffed, trying to avoid the topic. It was no secret that you didn’t like talking about this. Your mom was a whole other can of worms that you did not have the mental capacity to deal with this morning. Barely anyone outside of your immediate family knew about it. Daniel only knew because you’d met him a few months after it had all happened, when you packed up your Canada life and moved to Australia for a couple of years. “Can we please not do this now?”

Your dad sighed, but nodded. He’d probably seen this coming, because you always responded the same way.

One of these days you may be more willing to talk about it, but that sure as hell wasn’t today.

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You landed in Mexico on Wednesday afternoon, Daniel insisting that he be the one to come pick you up from the airport.

He’d gotten here a day ahead of you, and was clearly experiencing some sort of separation anxiety because this was the longest you’d gone without seeing one another in a while (and it was only 9 days…) Regardless, a wide smile still made its way onto your face as you dragged your suitcases behind you in the arrivals section of the airport, easily spotting the Australian in the sea of people, even though he wore shades and a hat.

He immediately started talking your ear off about what he’d been up to this past week in Los Angeles. Whereas you’d taken the week off to spend time with you family, Daniel had been bouncing from one thing to the next, running from one sponsorship event to the other. You raised your brow when he started talking about initial meetings to launch his own brand of wine, but at the same time that seemed like a very Daniel thing to do. The guy barely new what relaxing was. That’s why you weren’t surprised when you parked up outside a restaurant instead of going straight to the hotel, meeting up with Michael and Blake for dinner. Then again, you wouldn’t change a thing.

Thursday had been rather uneventful, going through your standard media routine. You’d been put in a press conference with Lewis and Max, seeing as the three of you were the only ones still in contention for the championship. It was clear from the beginning that the three of you would rather be doing just about anything else, almost turning the conference into a game of who could answer the question the best without actually providing an answer.

The Friday practice sessions hadn’t been your best, but you chalked it up to this being your first time driving on this track. It was the only track on the calendar this year that you hadn’t raced at before, and it was showing. You were a little bit more cautious than usual, trying to memorize the turns and braking points as quickly as you could and get comfortable with the feel of the track. Others had caught on to your hesitancy, if your P15 and P12 lap ranking at the end of the two sessions was anything to go by.

“Are you feeling alright, Y/N?” Christian was there the second you got out of your car at the end of the second practice session. You’d barely taken off your helmet and balaclava, setting them down on the workbench before turning your attention back to your team principle to answer his question

“I know my lap times were shit.” You got to the point. “It’s a new track for me, I’m still figuring it out. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

Christian nodded, seemingly happy that you were on the same page. “Well then, get some rest and we’ll smash it tomorrow.”

If only it was that easy.

You’d gone straight to your hotel room after leaving the track, ordering some room service that followed your nutrition plan, not in the mood to go down to the restaurant with the rest of the team. Instead, you spend hours reviewing data and mentally running through the track, really trying to engrave it into your brain. And even then, after a couple of hours of review you felt like you hadn’t done anything at all, anxiety about the situation slowly rising.

If only you could take the car out for a spin without the pressure… Oh wait.

A quick glance at the clock was enough to tell you that it was a bad idea, but that didn’t stop you from grabbing your phone and room key and marching down the hall, stopping in front of what you hoped was the correct room from what you could remember this morning when you’d both been picked up to head to the track. It would’ve probably been a better idea to text him first, but you also didn’t want him to say no. He couldn’t turn you away, face to face… right?

You knocked at the door before you could change your mind, waiting a couple of seconds to hear if there was any movement. After about 30 seconds of silence, you started knocking more incisively. The second round of knocking was met with some muffled Dutch cursing, revealing that he was in fact in his room. The cursing didn’t stop, even as he swung the door open.

The cursing didn’t stop until his eyes landed on your crossed armed figure, a frown making its way onto his face. “Y/N?”

Only now did you realize how stupid this was. But, it was too late to back down. “So, I’m having an existential crisis because I’ve never driven on this stupid track before and I can’t wrap my head around it… My lap times were shit today and I’m kind of freaking out thinking they aren’t going to be any better tomorrow and I fucked up by not going to Milton Keynes last week to practice… And then I remembered that you have that nifty little traveling simulator. Any chance you’d let me run a couple of laps before I actually lose my mind?”

He didn’t say anything, simply pulling the door open further and stepping aside to let you into the room.

You walked in, immediately noticing the messed-up bedsheets, oddly placed pillows and the fact that only the bedside lamp was on. “Fuck, I woke you up. This is stupid, I can go…”

“No, I’m awake now. Sit.” He shrugged, before gesturing to the sim that was tucked into the corner of his room.

“Are you sure?” You questioned, eyeing his haphazardly thrown on sweater and joggers.

He nodded. “Track is already programmed and all. Do what you need to do.”

You shot off a thankful smile, before making your way over to the simulator. You pushed the seat forward slightly in account of your difference in height, powering it up. Then you settled into the leaned back seat, adjusting the settings to your specifications. You got into the zone so quickly that you barely noticed Max standing behind you, silently watching as you dove right into some practice laps.

“Brake later for turn 12, the car will carry you through if you stay on the line.” You hadn’t been expecting him to give you tips, but you weren’t about to ignore them if it would help put your mind at ease. You did as instructed, finding a few tenths being shaved off your latest lap time.

“Any other helpful hints?” You asked, more as a joke.

But to your surprise, Max actually gave you more tips. He showed you a different line through turn 6 that would give you a better launch after the turn and pointed out spots where you could downshift one less gear. You couldn’t quite believe that your biggest competitor was helping you out like this, knowing that his father would be absolutely livid if he ever found out about it. You appreciated it a lot more than you were willing to admit., continuing to practice on the simulator until you felt like you could do it with your eyes closed.

“Feel better now?” Max asked, once you’d topped your lap time for the third time in a row.

“Yeah…” You answered sheepishly as you powered down the simulator and pulled yourself out of the seat, stretching out your shoulders out slightly. You caught sight of the time on the clock next to the bed, eyes growing wide as you realized your performance coach was going to come knocking at your door in less than 6 hours. “Oh my god, it’s almost 2:00 am! Why didn’t you say anything!? We should definitely both be sleeping right now”

Max shrugged, holding back a yawn. “It’s fine, Y/N. Don’t worry about it.”

“I… Thank you for helping me… again.”

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a half smile. “Does this mean we’re back to being civil?”

You considered his question, unconsciously biting at your lip. You thought about the conversation you’d had with your dad, and how Max was one of the first to respect you on the track even when he had a weird way of showing it. Max didn’t have to be your enemy… You could be civil, at least until it all blew up again. “I guess so… until we inevitably piss each other off again.”

With that, you left your teammates room and fell asleep the moment your head touched your pillow back in your own hotel room.

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Your lap times had dramatically improved throughout the final practice session at the track ahead of qualifying. Christian pulled you aside after the session, letting you know that he hadn’t doubted you would come around that morning. You’d even wound up getting pole after qualifying by the slightest of margins, after Max had been given a three place grid penalty for exceeding track limits.

On Sunday, you’d somehow managed to keep your lead through the majority of the race, ensuring that Hamilton couldn’t clinch the title this weekend. He was still only a few points short of winning the whole thing, but it felt nice to be the one to make it that much harder for him. Logically, you knew that there was no way you were going to beat him now, seeing as the only way it would be mathematically possible was for Lewis to DNF the last 3 races and you to win them all, but still. A race win was a race win.

Max on the other hand, hadn’t had the best race. He’d been off to a decent start, only to finish 6th. Still, he’d stuck around with the rest of the team to celebrate your latest win, congratulating you with a knowing smile before you’d gone off to fulfil your media duties. 

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You understood from the moment the plane touched down in Texas why Austin was one of Daniel’s favourite race weekends on the calendar. The atmosphere around Austin and at the track was so different from any of the other ones you’d been to this year.

Every night, you had some kind of barbecue dinner booked at some of the best restaurants in town with your friends and family. It was one of the closer Grand Prix’s to Canada, so a good chunk of people you knew from back home were coming to visit over the weekend. The whole couple of days leading to that first practice session were a good time, filled with lots of laughs and stereotypical American moments.

You’d even let Daniel talk you and your family into going to a haunted cornfield maze on Halloween, which had been an interesting experience… You might’ve clung onto your oldest brother and covered your eyes through most of it, because you absolutely hated scary things like that, but you’d survived and laughed it all off afterwards. You had to admit, if you ignored the scary bits, it was the most fun you’d had leading up to a race weekend in a while.

It wasn’t any different on the Thursday, your knee bouncing in place as you knew you were late to meet your family for dinner. You’d gotten held up at the track, filming some extra bits for some social media content with the team. Max had tried talking to you on the way back to the hotel, when he’d noticed your knee bouncing in the seat next to his, but you’d kept your response short. You didn’t like being late and keeping people waiting on you, especially your family that had flown in to spend this time with you.

“There she is!” Your dad spoke up when he spotted you rushing into the hotel lobby, having booked it from the van the moment it had parked in front of the hotel.

“Sorry I’m late!” You rushed the words out. “I just need like, 5 minutes to change out of the team gear and I’ll be ready.”

“Gosh Y/N, so tardy.” Daniel chimed in, glancing up from his phone where he was waiting around with your family, knowing that it would get on your nerves.

“It’s not entirely her fault.” Max surprised everyone by speaking up. He’d come inside at the same time, obviously. “We got held up by the social media team. They sprung another one of those dumb ‘on the couch’ videos on us.”

Daniel let out a pained groan, recalling having to film those throughout his time with Red Bull. Forced questions about the season so far and what the drivers thought about it. They usually took a while to film because they’d get severely off topic or make too many dumb jokes throughout filming. You didn’t envy your media director’s role, trying to keep you and Max on topic as you continuously complained about the weirdly cold weather or wanting to be doing just about anything else.

“In that case, you probably haven’t eaten yet either. Why don’t you join us for dinner, Max?”

You gaze shot over to your dad’s, completely missing the way that Max’s gaze widened like a deer caught in headlights. “Dad, I’m sure Max already has his own plans.”

Your dad shrugged in a way that implied he was trying to be nice to your teammate, before his gaze returned to Max as he waited for the Dutch driver to respond. “Uh, well… I was just going to order some room service.” Max mumbled, eyes flickering over to yours making it clear that he didn’t want to intrude. You nodded along to Max’s words, hoping that your dad understood that this was completely unnecessary.

He didn’t.

“Well then, that settles it.” Your dad exclaimed, looking rather proud of himself and leaving absolutely no room for argument. “You two go on and get changed, and we’ll get this show on the road.”

You turned, shaking your head in disbelief at your dad as you walked off towards the elevator, continuing to ignore your brothers’ comments about hurrying up. You were aware that Max had silently followed you, the pair of you stepping into the elevator together and heading off to the same floor. It wasn’t until the doors closed in front of the two of you that you turned your attention towards the Dutch driver.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” You offered him an out, figuring that this was probably not what he wanted to do with the last of his free time before the weekend ramped up tomorrow.

But to your surprise, Max simply shrugged. “I don’t mind.” He paused, uncertainty crossing his face. “Well, unless you don’t want me to come. I know you don’t get to see your family as much as you’d like…”

You could already picture the look of disappointment on your dad’s face if you managed to scare Max out of coming to dinner with your family tonight. You didn’t really mind, because you’d had dinner with Max and the team plenty of times throughout the year, not to mention the many dinners with other drivers. It wouldn’t really be that different, would it? Besides, you were being civil right now, so there was no reason to be this hesitant towards your teammate joining in on your family dinner.

“My dad would kill me if I scared you out of coming…” You eventually mumbled, trying to diffuse the weird tension that you suddenly noticed in the elevator. “And Daniel’s been raving about this steakhouse for weeks. I’m sure it would beat the room service here by a long shot.”

Max’s chuckle lightened the tension significantly. “You’re not wrong.”

You let out a breath as the elevator doors finally opened on your floor, sparring half a glance at Max to tell him that you’d meet him back in front of the elevator in a few minutes before taking a right turn towards your room.

You got ready for dinner in record time. It helped that today had mostly been a media day, so your hair was still in relatively good shape unlike when you raced. You brushed through it, content with the way that it had held up through the day. You quickly touched up your makeup, before rushing to your suitcase to change into a more dinner appropriate outfit that consisted of a forest green silky tank top tucked into a pair of black high wasted skinny jeans. You dug a pair of basic black heeled sandals out of your suitcase, buckling them around your ankles. You shrugged into your trusty leather jacket, shoving your phone and room key into your pocket before hastily making your way back out of your hotel room.

All of that in under five minutes.

“You weren’t kidding.” Max commented, when he spotted you rounding the corner to the elevator.

You took in his simple light blue button up that really brought out just how blue his eyes were and dark jeans that fit perfectly, and the grey jacket he wore on top. Not to mention the lack of flat ballcap on his head, you’d almost say he looked… handsome. What?

You shook that thought out of your head, responding to Max’s comment with a smirk as you pressed the button to call the elevator once again. “I grew up with two older brothers. I had to learn to be quick if I didn’t want to get left behind. And as you’ve probably figured out, I hate being late and making people wait.”

Max nodded, because he’d picked up on this months ago. You were never late if you could help it. Nothing else was said as you both stepped into the elevator.

You all took off the moment you rejoined your family in the lobby, everyone getting into a van that had been hired for the evening. You sandwiched yourself between Daniel and your dad in the very back, Max sitting with your brothers in the middle row. Your dad kept the conversation flowing throughout the car journey, asking you about your day and what you’d been up to. You answered each of his questions patiently, jabbing your elbow into Daniel’s ribs when he started telling an embarrassing story on your behalf from your recent time in Tokyo.

Your obviously eavesdropping brothers did not need any more ammunition to use against you.

When you got to the over-the-top western themed steakhouse in the middle of Austin, you weren’t that surprised to see photographers outside waiting to snap pictures of the three Formula 1 drivers who were heading inside for dinner. Formula 1 was growing in the states, thanks to that Netflix series that had premiered at the beginning of the season. You paid the cameras no mind, weirdly already used to having them around whenever you did these types of things on race weekends. You’d learned to be aware of when they were around, yet ignore them at the same time. Even though you didn’t feel like it, there was no denying that as a driver, you were a public figure.

“That’s still so weird.” Your oldest brother mumbled, once everyone was safely inside the restaurant.

You, Daniel and Max shared an unbothered look, because this was your life. “I guess it’s what happens when you race every other week with the 19 other best drivers in the world. They don’t call it a travelling circus for nothing…” You said nonchalantly to your brother, as Daniel made his way over to the host so you could all be seated.

You were led to this big round booth towards the back of the restaurant, out of sight from most of the other patrons. You slid in first towards the back of the rounded booth, surprised by the fact that Max wound up sitting next to you, sandwiched in by your brothers on one side and your dad and Daniel on the other.

You didn’t pay much attention to the conversation happening around you, still a little weirded out by this entire situation, choosing instead to focus on the menu in front of you even though you already knew what you were going to order.

“What’s up with you?” Daniel asked quietly, leaning in towards you to talk. He’d clearly noticed that you were in your head.

“Nothing.” You mumbled, still putting all your focus on reading the menu.

You didn’t have to look up to know that Daniel had rolled his eyes at you. “You’re getting the New York strip with the house salad. You get the same thing every time. Stop eyeing the menu like it’s written in gibberish.”

Before you could come back with a smart retort, he snatched the menu out of your hand. “Hey! Maybe I wanted to try something new.” You pouted at him, even though that wasn’t true.

He only raised a brow, waiting for you to tell him what he wanted to hear.

You looked over to Max, who was laughing and joking along to whatever your brothers were saying and paying you no mind. So, you let out a long breath and quietly answered the question, telling him one of the things that was on your mind. “I’m just thinking about the race. Most of my media questions today were people asking me if they thought I could get a third win in a row… like it’s impossible. They were also asking why I’m even bothering, considering how likely it is that Lewis is going to with the WDC this weekend considering her only needs like, 4 points to seal the deal… I just want a good outcome while everyone is here.”

Daniel never got the chance to say much more about that because your dad gathered everyone’s attention so that he could take a group photo, asking everyone to squish together even more. You shuffled slightly closer to Daniel, only tensing for a split second when Max pushed himself closer to you on your other side. But, that split second was enough for a lightbulb to go off in Daniel’s head, your best friend now eyeing you with that stupid shit eating grin plastered onto his face.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” You muttered lowly towards Daniel, making it clear that you didn’t want to talk about any of this anymore.

Thankfully, he backed off as your dad’s phone flashed, momentarily blinding everyone at the table again as he took the photo. The phone flashed a handful more times, your dad making comments asking everyone to at least try to look like they were enjoying themselves, earning some chuckles and more genuine smiles from around the table.

The waitress came to take the orders around the table, pouring everyone some generous glasses of red wine at the same time. Ryan knew that she should take it easy, but the first glass went down way too easily for her to care. So did the second.

Her third glass was finished as the mains came out, the waitress happily topping up her glass.

“You know Horner’s going to be mad if you show up hungover tomorrow.” Max warned quietly, so that no one else would hear.

“I’m fine.” You didn’t hesitate to roll your eyes at the Dutch driver. You could’ve sworn he’d sighed, almost like he was disappointed by your response, but also convinced yourself that it was only the wine getting to your head on a nearly empty stomach. You really should’ve calmed down with the wine…

“You keep saying that.”

“Well, that’s cause I am fine.” You said, cutting up a piece of your steak and stuffing it into your mouth.

“You never drink the night before you get in the car.”

“That’s not true.” You hummed, even though it mostly was true. There were a few exceptions to that rule, but you usually didn’t want to risk feeling like garbage when you were in the car. You’d gone to plenty of team dinners on Thursday and passed on the drinks being served. Why was tonight so different? “Why are you and Danny so convinced that something’s up?”

Max’s brow raised in surprise, seemingly surprised that Daniel had been concerned as well. “We’re being civil. Aren’t I allowed to be worried about my teammate when something’s up with them?”

“No.” You deadpanned, finding it weird that Max was implying that… he sort of cared about your wellbeing. “Nothing’s up, so there’s nothing to be worried about.”

“Right.” Max didn’t believe her. “Is it the track? You can use the SIM later if you want.”

 “It’s not the track, I’ve been racing here since I was a teen.” You sighed, taking another large swing of your wine. You would later blame the wine for the honest words that followed. “Maybe I’m just itching to get back in the car and get this race over with so Lewis can officially have his crown and people can stop hounding me with stupid questions.”

Max took a moment to consider your revelation, each of you eating another couple of bites from your meals. You soon decided that as good as the steak was, you weren’t all that hungry, moving pieces of your salad back and forth on the plate. Max noticed this as well, silently gesturing for you to continue eating. “I thought that Viper didn’t give a shit about what the media said about them?”

 “I don’t.” You quickly agreed. “But it doesn’t change the fact that those questions are annoying. They don’t ask you that.”

“I’ve never won two in a row so they’ve never been able to ask me that question.” Max stated bluntly with a shrug.

You mouth snapped shut at that, realizing just how crazy this was all sounding. You had been annoyed this entire evening, because a question about the possibility of you winning a third race in a row had been brought up, amongst other things. But, you’d won the last two. You’d won four Grand Prix’s in your rookie season, and had given the 5 time reigning world champion a run for his money. You’d known long before you’d ever started racing in Formula 1 that people were going to talk shit about you whether you were successful or not.

“Give them a reason to ask about a 4th.” Max added, that shit disturbing grin etched onto his face.

“I’ll fucking drink to that.” You hummed, raising your wine glass up to meet his, feeling a whole lot better now that none other than Max Verstappen had managed to get you to pull your head out of your ass.

The rest of the evening was a whole lot more fun for you, finding yourself finally letting go of the stresses of the day and enjoying the limited time that you got to spend with you family. And, as the night went on, you stopped thinking of Max’s presence as slightly strange, finding that the Dutch driver fit in rather seamlessly with your little crew of people.

Instead of questioning it, you enjoyed the moment.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

You were all smiles as you walked through the paddock on Friday morning, despite the pesky not-so-little hangover that was the result of far too much wine consumed over dinner the night before. You weren’t going to announce to the whole world that you’d had a bit too much to drink the night before. You’d walked in with your dad, your brothers opting to sleep through the first practice session as they’d carried on drinking long after you’d called it a night. He’d stuck around in the garage, much like the last Grand Prix he’d attended in Montreal, chatting with anyone and everyone.

Max had been rather amused when you showed up to your briefing with your suit half done up and sunglasses still resting over your eyes, the ‘I told you so’ look clear as day on his own face. Still, you absorbed every word spoken by the engineers and strategist, determined not to let this affect your performance.

Spoiler alert, it didn’t. The second you slipped into your car for that first practice session, adrenaline took over and your hangover faded into a thing of the past. You put down some solid times, keeping your lap time ever so slightly ahead of Hamilton’s throughout the entire session. You’d never know how much wine had been consumed. That being said, you called it a night significantly earlier than the night before in anticipation for qualifying.

Then on Saturday, qualifying turned out fine. You got caught in some traffic during you last flying lap which ruined the lap. You had to settle for a P5 start tomorrow, knowing that you could’ve pushed onto the front row. Still, you didn’t find yourself too bothered by it. You knew logically that you weren’t winning the championship, so you felt like this weight had been lifted from your shoulders and you were free to just enjoy the last three races of the season, results be damned.

You were feeling pretty good.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

That good feeling disappeared before the race on Sunday.

You’d been cornered by a reporter in the paddock as you’d been walking alone to your garage after a fan event you’d popped into for Red Bull. You plastered a fake smile onto your face, answering a couple of questions about your expectations for the day. You thought that would be it, but the reporter had a different idea.

“We’ve seen some of your family in the paddock, supporting you this weekend. How’s it been, having them around?”

“It always makes the weekend that little bit extra special when your people are there to support you.” You kept the answer short, hoping they’d leave it alone. They did not.

“We couldn’t help but notice that your father and brothers have been the only ones in the paddock. Is it safe to assume your mother doesn’t support your career choice?”

You fully stopped walking, smile falling from your face as you wondered how in the hell the reporter had gotten the nerve to ask that very out of line question. “Pardon me?”

“Well, we’ve never seen her in the paddock.”

Do not freak out. Do not snap. You’re on camera. Compartmentalize, deal with it after. It’s not their fault, they didn’t know. You’d been very careful in the past when talking about your family to avoid this ever coming up. It wasn’t something you liked to talk about, with anyone, much less with the media. You couldn’t help your dry tone as you glared at the reporter across from you. “Considering that my mother’s been dead for almost twenty years, it would be quite the surprise to see her in the paddock.”

At least they had the decency to look like they’d fucked up, gaping at you like a fish out of water. “Y/N, I’m sorry. We didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well…” You sighed, head spinning as you ran a hand through your hair. You wanted to avoid this becoming a big deal, so you decided to try and talk the reporter out of using the last little bit of footage. “Can we… forget about this? It doesn’t have anything to do with the race, and family’s on my list on no-go topics.”

“I- Of course… Good luck with your race.”

“Mhm.” You mumbled, taking off towards your garage again.

You didn’t acknowledge anyone, heading right through the garage and out the back towards the motorhome. You fully ignored your brothers who were sat having lunch, breezing past everyone and up the stairs towards your drivers room. You kicked out your shocked performance coach who’d been working on their laptop in the private room, locking the door the minute they’d closed it behind them and shutting off the lights.

Now that you were totally alone, you caved in on yourself, completely losing control.

All at once, it was like you couldn’t breathe, your body suddenly spiked in temperature, and you became so disoriented you forgot where you were. Your ears started ringing as you struggled to draw in a full breath. You paced blindly around your too small driver’s room, desperately trying to stop this from happening but knowing that it was entirely out of your control. You were stuck, confined, and tumbling headfirst into a dizzying panic attack.

It felt like the walls were closing in around you as the temperature continued to rise. Your balance disappeared and you stumbled into one of the walls, bumping your shoulder rather painfully but at the same time not hard enough to snap you out of it. You slid down the wall rather pathetically, trying and failing to gasp in enough oxygen to stop your vision from blurring. You dug your nails into your palms hard enough to draw blood, but you couldn’t feel it. You couldn’t string together enough though to run through your usual panic squashing tricks, forced to suffer through it.

You tried so hard to pull yourself back up onto your feet but you physically couldn’t do it. You’d pulled at some temporary shelving, only to have it come crashing down around you too. There was nothing you could do. The edges of your vision were starting to go dark, head pounding. The longer you couldn’t breathe, the more you became sure that you were going to die like this. Pathetic and alone, too weak to handle a stupid question. Spiralling out of control.

You were so out of it that you never heard someone knocking at your driver room door. It’s not like you could’ve moved to answer it anyways, you brain not really registering anything at the moment, too busy fucking you over. You could’ve been curled up on the floor for minutes or hours, there was no way to tell the difference.

You were in fucking hell.

And just when you thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, they did.

The door to your room was carefully pushed open, light from the hallway pouring in and making it so that you could only just make out the silhouette of the person who clearly didn’t understand that you wanted to be alone right now. You didn’t move as whoever it was gently shut the door behind them, locking it once again.

It wasn’t until you managed to focus on those familiar blue eyes that you realized just how shit this situation was. Your teammate was sitting on his heels in front of you, concern etched into those piercing blue eyes, making you feel about a million times worse.  

You wanted to yell at him to get the fuck out of here, because you couldn’t think of anything worse than your teammate, and most direct competitor, seeing you like this. But, you still couldn’t really breathe, let alone form any coherent sentences. Hell, you could see his mouth moving but you couldn’t hear anything he was trying to say because of the persistent ringing in your ears. Your stomach sank as the worry on Max’s face only grew, when he realized that you weren’t registering anything he was saying.  

He pulled you up so that you were sitting with you back against the wall, no longer in a crumpled heap on the ground. Then sitting back on his heels, he grabbed one of your hands, turning it so that your palm was facing upwards, exposing the little bloody crescent marks that your nails had dug into your palm. You instinctively tried to pull your hand back and hide the marks, but Max wouldn’t let you, his grasp on your hand firm yet gentle at the same time.

With his other hand, he pinched the tip of your thumb between his fingers, before moving on and doing the same thing to your index, middle, ring and pinky fingers, then slowly started working his way back. At first, you couldn’t feel it, but then at some point you locked in to the steady rhythm of him applying pressure to your fingers. “…. three, four. Out, two, three, four. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Come on, Y/N.”

He was trying to help you breathe.

He pinched your thumb and you sucked in a shaky breath, somehow managing to count along with him as he pressed your index, middle then ring finger. You released the breath when he pressed your pinky, eyes following his hand as he pressed backwards towards your thumb.

You don’t know how long you were sat there, gaze tracking Max’s hand as he continued to run back and forth pinching your fingers. You weren’t sure at which point your mind cleared enough and the panic subsided enough not to leave you feeling void. You didn’t know when your ears stopped ringing, or your body stopped shaking. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Max didn’t stop until you tentatively lifted your eyes to meet his gaze.

You didn’t know what to say to him, as you started to come back to your senses. He’d just seen you at your lowest… you didn’t know what to do about that, so you automatically started to slowly rebuild your walls.

“Don’t do that, heerlijk.” His voice was so quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just been occurring.

“Do what?” You croaked out, voice hoarse. You knew exactly what he was talking about but chose to be ignorant.

“Hide behind your walls.”

“I don’t have a choice…” You let out another long shaky breath, but didn’t flinch away from the eye contact. In fact, you carried on, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “If the people outside this room have any idea what just happened here, I’m as good as done in this sport. They’ll assume they were right, and that I cracked under the pressure.”

The corners of Max’s lips slowly turned downwards. “What happened here?”

You’d cracked, but you weren’t about to say that out loud. But for some reason, even though you were well aware that Max was the last person you should be opening up to, you found yourself being semi-honest. “A reporter cornered me when I was walking back from the Paddock Club. Asked me some questions they shouldn’t have and well… here we are.”

“Questions about…”

Your heart rate spiked slightly just thinking about it. “Stuff on my blacklist of questions that would never get published. Childhood trauma, that sort of thing.” You muttered bitterly.

To your surprise, Max just nodded, not pushing you any further for more details. Instead he pushed himself back up onto his feet, walking around your fallen shelving to grab whatever he was looking for. He was back a few second later, with a bright red first aid kit in his hands.

Neither of you spoke as he opened the kit and pulled out some bandages and disinfecting wipes. Max grabbed one of your hands, turning your palm upwards again, dabbing at the small cuts with one of the wipes and cleaning it up. Your right had was worse than the left, three of your nails having broken the skin compared to one on your left hand. He covered each of the cuts with the smallest plasters in the box, knowing that anything bigger would draw other people’s attention. If you were careful, you could hide this.

“Why do you keep helping me?”

You hadn’t even realized you’d broken the silence until Max brought his surprised gaze back up to you. “Contrary to what everyone thinks about me, I’m not always an asshole.”

You could’ve done him the same curtesy he’d just done you and left it alone, but you didn’t. “That’s not what I meant. I mean… like in Mexico when you let me use your simulator until a ridiculous hour and in Monaco when you noticed what that guy did and stopped things from getting out of hand… and Japan.”

“Japan?” Max asked quickly, gaze widening slightly.

Fuck, you’d just put your foot in your mouth. Max didn’t know that you’d overheard more than you were meant to with his father. “Outside our driver’s rooms after the race… I accidentally heard more than I let on… You had my back.” You explained, noticing his cheeks flushing slightly in embarrassment. “You’ve had my back for a while now… Why?”

“Well, we did agree to be civil…” It was a weak deflection and he knew it, releasing a sigh when you arched your brow in his direction. You could see in the way that he bit down on the corner of his lip that he was debating whether he should say what was on his mind. Even though it was still pretty dark in the room, you could still clearly see just how conflicted your teammate was. You fell into a silent staring contest, just waiting for Max to decide that he trusted you enough to reveal what was going on inside his head lately.

You both startled when sharp knock sounded at your door. “Y/N, five minutes till you have to be on the grid for the Driver’s parade.” It was your performance coach, letting you know that no matter what was going on inside the room they couldn’t afford to fall behind schedule.

Max snapped back into action, taking your left hand in his to clean out that last little cut.

“Thank you.” You murmured quietly as he placed the last bandage on your left hand.

Max nodded once, pulling himself back up onto his feet. He held out a hand for you, carefully pulling you up as well. “Are you okay to race today?”

“I have to be.” Missing the race wasn’t an option. Not without answering questions and disappointing too many people. Missing the race had never been one of the thoughts running through your mind.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

You shrugged, trying to play off how much you were still affected by the panic attack you’d just experienced. The real answer was probably not, because of how much focus was required to drive a Formula 1 car alongside 19 others without making any mistakes or causing an accident. But at the same time, you knew that once you got back into the race day routine, instinct would take over and see you through. So that’s what you told Max. “Once I’m in the car, I’ll be fine.”

Knowing that you were running out of time, you made your way over to your bag to grab a pair of sunglasses so you’d be able to hide your bloodshot and puffy eyes. You also ran a brush through your hair, making yourself look a little bit more put together as you put your Red Bull cap back on your head. You plastered a fake smile on your face, wiggling your brow at Max.

“Do I pass the test of not looking like I just had a breakdown?”

“To everyone else, probably.”

It gave you a weird feeling in your chest to know that this probably wouldn’t have fooled Max if he hadn’t seen you until now.

Regardless, you kept that fake smile on your face as you nodded to his confirmation, before leading him out the room. You completely ignored the way your performance coach’s eyes widened when he saw you and Max walk out of your darkened room together, already making your way through the motorhome to get to the grid. Before you knew it, you were standing on the back of a tracker with the rest of the drivers, making sure to wave to the fans with your less injured hand, your smile slowly morphing into a more genuine one when you saw the amount of support in the crowd for you.

It didn’t even bother you that Max stayed within a few steps of you, chatting mindlessly to the other drivers while silently keeping an eye on you.

The more time went on, the better you felt.

You yourself were almost convinced that you were totally fine as you slid into your car before the race start.

The adrenaline was almost enough to make you forget.

But not quite.

As the lights went out, you found yourself thinking about things you’d long since sworn off. The panic returned, and you lost yourself again. You weren’t aware that you’d veered off the track until it was too late.

Maybe you shouldn’t have raced today…

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

“Which Red Bull was that?!” Daniel asked, having caught every horrific detail of the rollover accident that occurred right in front of him. He didn’t want to see either of the Red Bulls crash, but his gut instantly sunk the millisecond he first saw the car veering off track after contact with a Mercedes. The car had gotten absolutely mangled; from the brief glimpse he’d gotten of it. Deep down he knew who it was, before his engineer confirmed it.

“Y/L/N.” He stated grimly.

Fuck.

If not for the skills he’d honed that had since become second nature to him, he would’ve sent his own car into the wall. He couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt, in the same way…. No, he needed to focus. “Is she okay?”

“We’re listening on the radio but no word yet.”

Daniel let out an unfiltered string of expletives at that. “Just… keep me posted.”

No sooner than he’d gotten those words out, his engineer was quick to let him know that the race had been red flagged. There was debris everywhere on the track and the extraction would be… complex. The minute it took to get back to the pit lane felt like the longest he’d ever experienced, the silence dragging on as he waited for an update.

As soon as he parked the car in the pitlane, he was rushing off to find her family. He completely ignored his mechanics and engineers, because none of that mattered right now. He needed to know that you were okay.

“Any word?” He asked the minute he walked up to the trio comprised of her devastated looking father and extremely anxious brothers.

Her dad shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

He wasted no time, ripping one of the spare Red Bull headsets off the wall and popping it on so he could hear the radio feed for himself, listening to the heartbreaking sound of her engineer asking for anything to let them know she was alive. He didn’t flinch when Max wandered over as well, looking paler than he’d ever seen him.

Fuck, he didn’t know if he could do this again. He couldn’t lose another best friend to this fucking sport. Not the person who’d basically become a second sister to him, the fiery kid that he’d grown up with.

Fuck this fucking bullshit.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Read Part 4 here!

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"Car's Outside" - part 2

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Driver!Reader

Summary: Caught in a whirlwind of unexpected moments and emotions, you find yourself drawn closer to Lewis as he attempts to make amends and sparks a flicker of hope within you, leaving you conflicted yet unable to resist the forces between you.

Word Count: 2468

Trigger Warning/Content Advisory: Contains mature content and explores complex themes. Please be aware that it may also include scenes of high-speed racing, accidents, intense emotions, emotional conflicts, personal growth, and intimate moments. Reader discretion is advised.

You find yourself in the airport, still in shock from this morning. 

It's 6 am, and Anthony's loud voice abruptly wakes everyone up. By 7:30 am, you're all having breakfast, and at 8:45 am, everyone is getting their belongings ready. Finally, at 9am, you leave the house, and now it's 11am at the airport. Your flight is scheduled to depart at 2 pm.

Feeling utterly exhausted from the chaotic morning, you slump down in an airport chair, eagerly awaiting your private plane. The kids spot you in your weakened state and immediately pounce on you.

"Oof," you manage to utter as all the air seems to leave your body. 

"Hey, you guys," you whisper, mustering a smile. 

"Hi, (Y/N)," they greet you cheerfully. 

To your disbelief, Lewis suddenly takes a seat beside you.

"What did I tell you?" Lewis warns the kids, his voice carrying a hint of authority.

"Not to ask unnecessary questions," they giggle, clearly amused.

"It's fine," you assure them, attempting to lighten the mood. 

"I answer those kinds of questions all the time in the media," you say, trying to make a joke. Unfortunately, it flies right over their heads.

"So... Do you have a boyfriend?" They continue with their innocent curiosity.

"If I did, I wouldn't be here," you tease, playing along.

"But you're pretty," they innocently comment, not fully grasping the context.

"Well, maybe I'm just too busy being pretty," you joke, trying to divert the conversation.

"Sir uncle also doesn't have a girlfriend," they inform you, unknowingly leading the conversation in an unexpected direction.

"Well, yeah, he's busy being….. pretty…. too, I guess," you blurt out without thinking, immediately regretting your words. 

What did I say about avoiding awkward or weird moments? Ugh.

The children giggle at your response, not thinking much of it. However, you can also hear Lewis laughing, which brings a smile to your face, even though you cringe at the situation.

After settling into the plane, you were initially searching for a single seat, hoping for some privacy. However, the children insisted on sitting with you, along with their Sir uncle. The plane took off, and the atmosphere was calm and peaceful.

Slowly, exhaustion took over, and you drifted off into a deep slumber. 

Time went by, and you were suddenly awakened by muffled giggles. Blinking your eyes open, you found yourself in a rather surprising situation. Your head was comfortably resting on Lewis's shoulder, while his head rested gently on top of yours. Unintentionally, you had even found yourself holding onto his arm, drawing closer in an unexpected snuggle. Thankfully, a blanket concealed your actions, sparing you from any potential embarrassment or awkwardness in front of the children.

Panic quickly washed over you as you tried to figure out how to free yourself from this situation. Your leg began to jiggle nervously, but to your surprise, Lewis's hand reached out and gently stopped your motion. 

Was he awake? Why didn't he move away?

Absorbed in your thoughts, your mind racing and overanalyzing the situation, Lewis finally lifted his head, creating a brief break in your shocking closeness. You shifted to readjust your position, and a subtle shiver ran down your spine, sending tingles throughout your body. Yet, just as you began to distance yourself, a gentle, reassuring touch caught you by surprise. His hand reached out, placed on top of yours, and a rush of dizziness consumed you. 

Heart-pounding within your chest, echoing in your ears, as a surge of emotions swept over you.

Yet, you couldn't ignore the giggling kids before you. Their amusement is when your head rests on Lewis's shoulder earlier and the undeniable blush spreads across your cheeks. 

Why is he holding my hand? you wondered, feeling a mix of surprise and confusion. Gently, you stole a glance at him, hoping for a clue, but his eyes remained closed.

The kids were called over by their mother, the ruckus settled, and they bid you a small goodbye. 

The cabin crew announced the dimming of lights, further adding to the intensity of the moment. 

Just great, you thought sarcastically.

You shifted your attention back to Lewis, who appeared to be peacefully "asleep." 

Tentatively, you whispered his name, hoping for a response. "Lewis," you called, this time a little louder. 

In response, his grip tightened atop your hand, sending a shiver down your spine once again. You fell silent, your mind overflowing with countless questions.

Suddenly, he began to rub his thumb gently over your hand, creating a comforting and intimate feeling. Being in the position you are in, it is impossible to drift back into sleep. Hours seemed to pass, and slowly, his hold on your hand loosened, he was finally asleep.

✧*̥˚ Timeskip *̥˚✧

When you stepped off the plane, you were greeted by the breathtaking beauty of Bali. The air was warm and carried a gentle breeze, tinged with the scent of tropical flowers and the ocean. Lush green landscapes stretched as far as the eye could see, adorned with swaying palm trees and vibrant tropical vegetation. The crystal-clear turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean beckoned, promising a refreshing escape from the heat.

Your cars have arrived, feeling a bit dazed by the sudden turn of events. Everyone began getting into the cars, and you found yourself lost in your thoughts, unaware of the commotion around you. Lewis noticed your distraction and reached out, grabbing your arm to urge you to get in the car. To your instincts, you didn't move, caught in a brief moment of haze as you locked eyes with him.

"Oh, umm... I'll take the other car," you explained, trying to rationalize the situation.

Lewis's voice took on a hint of sternness as he insisted, "It's already full. Just take this one with me."

You tried to reason further, "But it's just the two of us."

He continued to give you that intense stare, his determination unwavering. Realizing there was no use arguing, you finally climbed into the car.

A few minutes passed, and you heard a loud sigh coming from Lewis, sitting beside you. Curiosity sparked within you as you searched for an explanation for his audibly frustrated sound.

"I understand that you might have liked to take a break instead of being here with us, but... I want you to make the most of it. I've arranged some activities for you that could help... alright?" he proposed.

You responded with a nonchalant "Sure," not expecting much from his offer.

"I want to make it up to you," he added, his eyes filled with sincerity and a hint of sadness.

"Oh..." It suddenly occurred to you that this was only an apology for the accident that happened between you two, an attempt to lessen his guilt…

He was the one who caused the crash that day. He made contact from behind and caused you to crash into the barriers. You weren't angry at him for the accident itself, but for what he didn't do. There was no word of concern or apology from him. You heard a replay of his radio message, blaming you for not watching where you were going and blocking his path. While you didn't want to take it personally, you always had feelings for him. It was difficult to simply brush it off. 

Before that day, you had admired him from a distance, drawn to his unwavering passion for racing, which motivated you to become a better racer yourself. You had looked up to him. However, since then, your perspective has shifted. He appeared to be a different person, and you couldn't help but wonder if his previous display of passion had all been a show.

You reached the charming houses designated for each family member, including your small hut. The atmosphere around you was heavy with a somber mood, and Anthony noticed your downcast demeanor as you stepped out of the car. He shot a displeased look at Lewis, who responded with an innocent "I didn't do anything" expression.

Feeling overwhelmed, you entered your hut and collapsed onto the bed. The weight of emotions brought tears to your eyes. 

"Ughhh," you exclaimed aloud, frustrated with the situation. Seeking relief, you headed to the bathroom and splashed cold water on your face. While gazing at your reflection, you whispered, "Get over it," reminding yourself to move past these feelings and recover composure.

Craving some fresh air, you stepped outside and took a leisurely walk around the area. It was still afternoon, and as you strolled along the concrete pathway, you found yourself surrounded by lush greenery, with a vibrant jungle surrounding the view. 

A sudden beep caught your attention. Turning around, you spotted a golf cart approaching, driven by a friendly staff member. "Welcome to Bali, Ms. [Y/L/N]," he greeted you with a cheerful smile, bringing the cart to a complete stop. "Would you like me to drive you to the beach?" he offered kindly.

"Absolutely! That would be wonderful," you replied, excitement filling your voice. You eagerly hopped on the golf cart, ready to be taken to the beach and absorb the beauty of Bali.

You expressed your gratitude to the driver and stepped off the cart, making your way toward the sandy beach. When you reached the shore, you could feel the refreshing touch of the cool water on your feet and the invigorating scent of the salty air. With each exhale, you released all the troubles and worries that had been weighing on your mind. 

However, despite your attempts to let go, the thoughts lingered.

He feels bad for you. You are a burden around him. He is being nice out of pity. You did something wrong by making him feel this way. Why would they like you? No matter what you do, You can't change how he sees you.

"Just forget about it," you whispered to yourself, trying to convince yourself to move on.

"Who am I kidding? He's Lewis Hamilton. Why would he care about a rookie's feelings?" You berated yourself, believing that it was your fault, to begin with.

Unexpectedly, a tear escaped your eye, catching you by surprise. Hastily, you wiped it away, hoping no one had witnessed your vulnerability. You cleared your throat, casting a glance around to ensure that no one was present to witness it. Finding solitude, you are determined to put on a brave face and push forward, determined to enjoy the beautiful surroundings of the beach.

Night had descended, and you found yourself completely absorbed by the beauty of the starry sky. Lying in the sand, you couldn't tear your gaze away from the twinkling stars above. Lost in the tranquility of the moment, you had lost track of time.

Eventually, you requested a ride back to your hut from one of the staff members, and they kindly obliged. As you entered your room, however, you were taken aback to find Lewis sitting on your bed, arranging what appeared to be dinner for two.

"Um, this is my room," you informed him, unsure of what to make of the situation.

"I know," Lewis replied calmly, not seeming bothered by the misunderstanding. "You weren't answering the door, so I assumed you were asleep. They already ate, and I thought maybe you wanted some company." He gestured for you to take a seat on the nearby chair while he occupied the opposite side of the bed.

You stared at him, unsure of how to react to his unexpected presence in your room.

You took a seat, your face contorted with confusion, while Lewis began eating as if this was a completely normal situation, disregarding the fact that he had hurt your feelings just hours earlier. It baffled you. 

Why would he act this way?

The tension in the room became unbearable, and finally, you couldn't hold back any longer.

"Lewis," you said, your frustration evident in your voice. "What are you doing?"

"I told you I want to make it up to you," he responded casually as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"After months of not caring about anything I do, you suddenly want to talk?!" your voice rose, the pent-up emotions pouring out.

"I didn't want to ignore you," Lewis replied, emphasizing the word 'want' as if he was trying to get to something.

"Well, you weren't good at showing it," you retorted.

"I know, okay? I know what I did. I just thought it was better if I did," Lewis explained, his words sounding perplexing.

"What? How does that make any sense?" you questioned, feeling your anger escalate as he seemed to make the situation even more confusing.

"I care about you, I do. That's why I ignored you," he attempted to clarify as if it somehow made sense.

At that moment, you couldn't take it anymore. Deciding to leave, you reached for the door and began to open it. However, before you could fully open it, Lewis abruptly slammed it shut, startling you. You turned to face him, finding his face just inches away from yours. Fear coursed through you as you wondered what might happen next. 

He placed both hands next to your head, creating a cage that prevented any further attempts to escape. His captivating brown eyes stared into yours, and it was the closest you had ever been to him.

"Please, just trust me with this. I... I don't know how to fix this...," he pleaded, his voice filled with sincerity. "I never wanted it to come to this."

His face drew even closer, his cheek gently brushing against yours before resting on your shoulder. His hands slowly slid down from the door and came to rest near your waist, still holding onto the door.

"Can I hold you for a bit, please?" he asked, his voice laced with vulnerability. You nodded in response.

His hands moved from the door to your waist, their warm touch like a gentle caress, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. The heat emanating from his body enveloped you. The strength and tenderness in his hold created a sense of safety, where the world outside ceased to exist. His touch enveloped you, and a symphony of sensations unfolded. The faint scent of his cologne danced in the air. The sound of his steady heartbeat echoed in your ears, a rhythmic melody that matched your own racing heart. 

At that moment, his touch soothed your tired spirit, urging your tense body to let go and embrace the surge of feelings inside you – a powerful blend of desire, doubt, and the undeniable force of love.

What are you doing to me, Lewis? you couldn't help but think, your mind filled with a blend of confusion, vulnerability, and a flicker of hope.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:• ☆ . ° .• °:.*.·:·✧ ✦✧.·:·..• ☆ . ° .• °:.*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

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Anything III (König x Reader)

Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

Requested by: Literally fucking everyone.

A/N: I was really fighting for my life with this chapter y'all. It's more to set up for the next coming chapters.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?

Warnings: Graphic language, graphic description of PTSD, graphic violence, graphic description of gun violence, graphic description of injury.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

"That fucker needs to go." 

"He's not going anywhere, Simon."

The Lieutenant spun on his heel, reeling on Price with startling speed. He didn’t budge, though. Not when Ghost stopped only inches away and not when a finger rested on his chest- a warning. A threat. 

“Birdy’s my responsibility,” his voice was dangerously low and the Captain’s eyes narrowed. 

“And you’re all my responsibility,” Price’s words were slow and enunciated, spoken through gritted teeth. The heat rolling off his body was tangible, he was fucking furious. He was torn. “You think this was my fucking idea? I get orders from up top just like you do, Riley. They got their own plans in mind.”

Ghost inhaled sharply, dropping his hand to his side. Up top. If the rank has been anything, it’s been consistently shit. 

“When someone tears their own fuckin’ face-off, the plan needs to change,” Simon murmured, the images of the incident drifting across his vision. The man was no stranger to intrusive thoughts but these were particularly vivid, they splattered across the carefully cleaned plains of his mind- taunting him. 

“I know.” Price lit a cigar, his gaze trailing across the rooftops. “Been working on it.” 

“And?” 

“Baby steps, Simon. Baby steps.” 

_________

Inhale, exhale. Again. 

Bang 

Then again. 

Bang 

And again. 

Bang

One, two, three, the hole never widened; not even by a millimetre. The target stood strong and unwavering, and you were doused in hot anger. You’d selected the biggest one you could find, it wasn’t as tall as you wanted, but you supposed the chances of finding a nearly seven foot soldier on the battlefield were slim. 

You were grateful that the one thing that hadn’t changed over the recent horrors of your life, was your aim. You were still a sniper.

Bang 

You were still the best. 

“We got another unit comin’ in for their assessments, Birdy.” The range supervisor’s voice was loud over the speaker and you forced yourself not to jump. “You gotta clear out or pick another lane, mate.” 

Your eyes trailed over the aisles beside you. The rear of their booths were all open, designed for trainees to have an instructor standing over them. Those days of needing direction were over, as were the days of leaving your back vulnerable. 

The lane you had chosen was at the very end of the range, a locked booth designed for soldier’s shooting assessments. It was a bi-annual event, where your marksmanship was tested in order to deem you competent and qualified. No instructor, no target indications, just you in a locked booth with a rifle and a target. 

Now, it was the only place you felt safe enough to shoot. 

You heaved your body up, clearing your weapon before slinging it over your shoulder. It seemed that your time was up. 

As you stepped out of your haven and into the aisle, you tried to settle the anxiety in your chest. It was a burdensome feeling that only faded when you were looking down the sight of your rifle, plaguing your every move and every thought. It was all-consuming. 

A shot rang a few lanes ahead and you flicked your gaze up to the screen as you walked. They were half a centimetre or so off from the central aiming mark but the next shot was dead on. You snorted. 

As you moved to pass, you spared a curious glance at the shooter. 

Your body locked up. 

Right in front of you, lying on his stomach with those long legs sprawled out, was König. 

You seethed. You were suddenly overcome by a rage that, for once, did not wash over you with a flush of heat. Instead, you were cold. Ice trickled the length of your spine and your fingers went numb, pins and needles pricking at your nails. 

Your face stung at the sight of him. 

He was the reason you couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror anymore, he was the reason you looked like a fucking abomination. Your face was deformed and mutilated and here this fucker lay, his back turned to the world because he was not the one that got destroyed.

König ruined you and got away unscathed. 

You waited for him to take another shot, using the cover of the resounding gunfire to put down your rifle. He had no idea that you were there, he was entirely unsuspecting. He was vulnerable.

Before you could comprehend what you were doing, your body had moved to stand over his prone figure. You could hear his breathing, see the rise and fall of his chest.

 In, bang, out. 

They had chosen this fucking imbecile to replace you? He couldn’t even breathe right, everything was wrong. His form was wrong, his breathing pattern was wrong, his shooting was wrong, and he was not built to be a sniper. He was built to destroy with his hands, with no finesse, no pinpoint accuracy- just a bludgeon. 

There was no honour in what König was. 

Again, your face stung beneath the gauze. A reminder. Encouragement. 

You reached for the Glock strapped to your belt, cold sweat trickling down your neck.  König took a breath in and you flicked open the buckle. But he didn’t take a shot as you had predicted, and he’d heard the noise from above him. 

When König turned, you let him see you, just as he’d given you that mercy. 

Then you struck. 

Unlike before, König hadn’t been given the chance to kick the weapon from your hands before you descended upon him. A startled rasp ripped from his mouth as you dropped onto his body, bringing the butt of your firearm to strike his temple. 

His head knocked back, bouncing off the mat beneath him. 

How merciful, that it was not concrete? How gracious, that you didn’t grab his head and crush it? 

König groaned, his hands flying up to defend himself, stunned by the sudden impact. You knew that his vision would be spinning, a loud buzz ringing in his ears. You knew too well. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

You pushed his hands away, bringing the gun down again. You felt his skin render from beneath the metal, a wet thud echoing through the booth as you split the skin of his cheek. The blood made your eyes widen. It wasn’t enough. 

You would give him your scars. You would peel his skin from his bone. You would shatter him until he was unrecognisable. 

This wasn’t enough. 

König’s eyes flickered open, hard and betrayed. 

You knew that the element of surprise had run out, but you were not finished. You’d just gotten started, the purple of his cheek and the red dripping down his temple only marked the beginning. But you couldn’t overpower the man below you. 

When his hands gripped your biceps and he opened his mouth to yell, you pushed the barrel of your handgun past his lips until his teeth scraped the steel.

Everything fell still, his hands frozen on your body and his eyes wide. You hoped that he could taste the gunpowder, you hoped that he could taste his death. The sound of the safety flicking off resounded in the booth and the man beneath you flinched. 

His fingers shook against your skin, his breath rattling in his chest. 

König was afraid. 

And at that realization, for the first time in over a year, a genuine smile twisted your lips. The soldier’s eyes widened, his body twitching beneath yours, groaning around the barrel in his mouth. 

“How do you like it?” You whispered, the words a snarl as you leaned down close. 

König’s emerald gaze was steady on yours and you could visibly see him attempt to calm his breathing. In, out, in, out. He was breathing wrong, everything was still just wrong, wrong, wrong. You pressed harder on the gun. 

This wasn’t enough. 

He wasn’t bruised enough, he wasn’t bleeding enough. You moved your left hand to cup his cheek and his eyes flickered. König wanted to buck you off, he wanted to disable you, maybe he even wanted to murder you. You hoped he did, you wanted to see the same hatred in his eyes that you saw that damned fucking night. 

You wanted him to look into your soul and know that you were going to ruin him. 

That you were going to kill him. 

“You feel guilty?” You hissed, your fingers slowly digging into the skin of his cheek. “You feel bad for what you did?” 

König’s eyes softened. 

Don’t want your pity. 

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. 

Finally, he hummed his affirmation around the barrel in his mouth. Your nails dug into the flesh of his face, dragging a jagged scratch inch by inch across his features. The man didn’t flinch, he didn’t move, and he didn’t make a sound- he only watched you. 

When you leaned in to brush your lips against his ear, he knew what was coming. 

Satisfaction flooded your senses, righteous anger gripping you by the throat and forcing the words that you’ve wanted to say for so long from your lips. 

“Your fight is finished.” 

König took in a sharp breath. 

You pulled the trigger. 

The sound was deafening and for a sweet, beautiful moment, you felt vindication. You’d  won. You’d bested him. The man that had ruined your life had gotten what he deserved and he needed to die, die, die. That was the only thing that would settle his debt, the only thing that would serve the justice you felt owed. 

With the simplest pull of the trigger, you had been avenged. 

Then, you realised that the blood that had sprayed aross the space between your bodies wasn’t his. It was yours. 

König was on top of you. The gun was gone, his mask was on, and your face was crushed. You couldn’t breathe you couldn’t think and the only thing you could feel was the searing pain of the knife twisting in your chest. 

No, no, no, no. 

This was wrong, this wasn’t what was meant to happen. Why were you back here? His hand was on your face before you could protest and you felt your head lift from the ground. 

“Even in victory, you are nothing.” 

Crack

“You will always be nothing.” 

Crack

You were screaming, you could hear yourself doing it but your mouth wasn’t moving. Your teeth were caved in, your jaw had collapsed, you felt as though your face had melted from the bone. Yet you could hear the shrieks, hear the wailing. 

The back of your head was wet, your skull felt like it was falling apart at the seams. The breeze tickled against your brain and your nerves were on fire. 

You were broken, broken, broken. 

“Birdy!” 

This time you could feel every crack of your head into the concrete. This time you felt your brain matter smear across the floor. 

“Wake up!” 

Wake up.

Wake up. 

You sat up with the gasp of someone who’d been drowning, clawing at your throat for air. Sweat trickled down your spine, the room was hot and the blankets were tangled between your legs but you were in your bedroom- you recognised it instantly.  

“That’s it, sweetheart,” a rough voice murmured from beside you. There was a hand pressed flat against your chest, firm and grounding. “Breathe.” 

“Simon,” you sobbed. The man hummed in response, his other hand rubbing your back with enough force to rock your body. He was trying to keep you rooted in reality, give you something physical, something tangible to hold on to.

“I’m losing my mind,” you gasped, your chest caving at the realisation. You didn’t know what was real or not, fact or fiction, tangible or imaginary- you lived on a plain of uncertainty. You were lost, you were broken and you were unreliable. 

Price was right. You had become a liability. 

“You’re late to the party,” Simon loosed a soft chuckle, pulling you close against his body. “I lost mine years ago, kid.” 

You relished in his touch as you tried to regroup. You were in your room, you were in your bed, it was the middle of the night and you’d had a nightmare. Your clothes were soaked, sticking to your skin uncomfortably; and you had the horrid realization that maybe it wasn’t all sweat. You sucked in a breath, scrambling to push the blankets from your body. 

“What-” 

You ignored anything that the Lieutenant might of said, scrubbing your hands over your limbs, neck and face. The sweat threw you off and you checked your fingers in the dim light for crimson stains. You couldn’t deal with it again, you couldn’t cope with more damage. You were already disgusting, you were already mutilated and scarred. Unloveable, untouchable, irreparable, irevevocable, irremediable-

No more, no more, no more no more no more-

Simon gripped your hands, tugging them towards his chest and jerking your body forward. You dragged in a sharp breath, eyes wide and frantic. 

“You didn’t hurt yourself,” the words were urgent and low, his gaze holding you still just as well as his grip. “You’re alright, Birdy.” 

You took in a rattling breath and his grip tightened. 

“You’re alright, kid,” Simon reinforced, that ocean gaze compelling you to calm your heart rate. He left no room for discussion with the way that he looked at you, there was no option to disobey. You pushed air into your lungs, following the pattern he’d set for you. “It was just a nightmare.” 

You frowned. “Only at the very end.” 

Not when you had been shooting, not when you’d been atop of your enemy with a gun in his mouth; that was not the nightmare. You’d felt vindicated, you’d felt insane but satisfied. During those moments in the dream, you were not afraid of König. You were not shaking, you were not whimpering or begging for your life. 

You were strong. 

Stronger than him. 

“How’d you know I was–” You cleared your throat. “How’d you get in here?” 

The silence that followed had you on edge, as Simon’s hand worked methodically across your back.  He didn’t answer for a long while and your thoughts began to sober. Why was he in your room? How had he gotten there? How did he know you were having a night terror? His quarters were nowhere near yours, he was in the hallway over, divided by thick concrete walls; he most definitely couldn’t have heard your screams.

“Someone tipped me off,” the words were spoken through clenched teeth and his minsitrations against your back faltered. Your chest tightened at the implication. “They thought I’d be better suited to come help you.”

“How-” 

“He’s down the hall, Birdy.” Simon interrupted and you could feel his fingers curl into a fist against your spine. “Everyone in this fuckin’ corridor could hear you.” 

Your breathing began to pick up and heat flushed against your skin, the blood boiling from beneath the surface.

“That doesn’t explain how you got in,” you rasped, gripping the blankets at your side. You needed to ground yourself, you needed to be calm. 

“He thought you were being attacked or somethin’ with the way you were yellin’,” Simon sighed. It wasn’t a direct answer but it was a good enough indication as to what had happened. 

You let your gaze drift to the door, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight before you. The hinges had been ripped from the wall, the frame torn straight from the brick. The door itself was missing completely, and as you slowly leaned over to get a look at the floor, your heart dropped to your stomach. 

Your bedroom door lay in pieces, the splintered remnants splayed across the floor like shattered glass. 

_

NEXT CHAPTER

Anything VI (König x Reader)

The 6th instalment in the Anything-Verse

Main Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Like the characters? Read their fics below!

Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

Series Summary:  A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

A/N: It’s been a while

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Unrequited Pining || Tension

Warning: Graphic Language

-

The sunrise had become a welcomed sight, it was always something that you craved after a night of fitful sleep. You were never well rested when you opened your eyes but, by God, were you relieved.

However, unlike the hundreds of mornings before, this time you woke up with a pit in your stomach. There was no relief and only a sense of dread as you lay staring at the ceiling. You took in a deep breath. 

The sun crept through the window, reminding you that it was the weekend and that you should be out and about. You’d done plenty of contemplation, wondering about your circumstances every day and every night for over a year. 

You weren’t going to solve the mystery in one day. 

Wrong place, wrong time. 

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